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andypantsx3 · 7 months

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DEAD RECKONING : TODOROKI TOUYA x READER

SUMMARY: A makeup artist at a haunted maze, all you want to do is make it to the end of the season with a little extra cash in your pocket and no murder convictions on your record. Scare actor Todoroki Touya makes that last part a challenge. (7.8k) CONTENT & WARNINGS: no quirks au, halloween, enemies to lovers, fem + afab reader, slight scumbag touya, haunted maze workers, smut, semi-public sex, smoking, heavy swearing, touya likes having his hair pulled + girls who are a little mean to him, sort of good girl vs bad boy vibes, 18+ minors please dni NOTES: Happy Halloween from me!! This fic is part of the Willow's Haunted House collab. Dedicated to cat-slippered and ofmermaidstories, for workshopping what eventually became this fic with me about a thousand years ago. I’m sorry I turned Bakugou into Dabi. And I’m sorry for dedicating the now Dabi fic to you. But not sorry enough to not have done it. Love you. :)

If there was one thing you hated about Halloween, it was Todoroki Touya.

Shockingly, this was not a commonly-held sentiment, which was the only reason there even was a recurrence of Todoroki Touya darkening your Halloween seasons in the first place.

For the last three years, you’d spent your fall semester working as a makeup artist at the Musutafu haunted maze alongside a slew of other college and local kids looking to make a little extra cash. The hours were fairly flexible, and the wage covered your textbooks, with a little left over to keep you in the occasional coffee between lectures.

But your wages did not nearly cover the amount of psychic damage you had been dealt, managing Todoroki Touya’s obnoxious, sarcastic, chain-smoking ass day after day for seasons on end.

On lucky days, someone else was on Touya duty. But on unlucky ones, you found him sprawling in the plastic makeup chair opposite you, those intense blue eyes tracking you with no small amount of pleasure, like he was this afternoon.

You stopped in the doorway, a curse slipping out of you. You’d been hoping that you’d get lucky today, as the day was otherwise an excellent one. You’d invited a group of friends to do the maze with you after you got off shift, and you had been looking forward to it all week.

But it figured Touya could never let you have too good of a time.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he drawled over the noise of displeasure that escaped you. He was at least already dressed in costume, so he wouldn’t go smearing his makeup as he pulled it on, a tumble of stitches and frayed edges that had once been a dark-blue duster, but now just mostly gaped open to show the hard planes of his chest.

“I’m so sure,” you told him, averting your eyes from his pecs. You sighed, resigning yourself to his presence, and made your way in, dumping your bag on the staff room couch.

“This is a very hostile work environment you’re creating,” Touya rasped, his grin sharp. Years of chain-smoking outside the maze had left his voice even lower and raspier than when you’d first met him three years ago.

“Don’t worry, it can always get more hostile,” you told him, affecting your own sweet grin as you moved over to the vanity, digging through all the makeup and prosthetics for the ones he’d need.

Touya himself was severely scarred, which was likely why he’d applied to work at the haunted maze in the first place. You’d never asked him about his scars, but you’d heard enough gossip from the other maze workers to know that they were the product of a childhood accident, involving the burning down of his father’s—the then-and-current mayor’s—house.

He’d accentuated them with a shit load of facial piercings, and was sort of off-putting to look at the first time you caught a glimpse of him. The issue was that, once your eyes made sense of what they were seeing, he was infuriatingly handsome.

You’d heard he’d initially been unleashed on the maze with no makeup or prosthetics, and within the first evening was causing line backups, with all the parties of teen girls who were taking a little too much time lingering around his section of the maze.

So now he was subjected to prosthetics to make him uglier, a fact that he seemed to absolutely relish.

You dug out the monster prosthetic pack that gave him jutting forehead ridges. “Let’s make the outside reflect the inside, shall we,” you told him as you flapped the rubbery pieces at him, smirking your own little smirk.

Touya’s answering grin was wicked, and he relaxed back in his seat, sprawling his legs out wide in that infuriating way men had. “Think my outside is too pretty then, huh?” he asked, sapphire eyes flickering over you.

Your face went hot in a weird combination of anger and embarrassment. “I try not to think of your outside,” you told him pertly, making sure to slap the forehead piece onto him hard enough to make a splat noise.

His mouth twitched again but he let you go to work, gluing the pieces down against his face, careful not to press them to the seams of any of his scars. He was tall enough even lounging in his seat that you only had to lean over a little to focus clearly on his face, all long legs and rangy muscle.

This close, he always smelled like cigarette smoke, with an undercurrent of something rich and dark, like cinnamon or chocolate. You could never put your finger on it, but you were not about to go sniffing him at any length to figure it out, even if it was annoyingly appealing.

He’d probably love that, and would absolutely never let you live it down.

Touya’s eyes tracked you closely as you worked, but otherwise his expression was still, and you thought not for the first time that it really was too bad he was so obnoxious. He was actually quite handsome, with a soft, sensuous mouth, a blade-straight nose, and vivid blue eyes that all but glowed like the embers of a crackling fire when he was provoking you.

It was a shame he wasted all his beauty being the most annoying man on earth.

You’d heard from the other maze workers that he was relatively well-known around the area, having spent his teen years doing petty criminal shit to destabilize his father’s reelection campaigns, netting himself several jail stays and a record a mile long. He’d settled somewhat since he’d gotten a job at a piercing parlor downtown and several side gigs like the maze, but people weren’t fully convinced he’d abandoned his old ways, and he still clearly relished any opportunity to discomfort and destabilize anyone who got on his bad side.

Apparently including you.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard, sweetheart,” Touya said, those cerulean eyes blinking up at you.

You realized you’d paused over him, midway through blending his prosthetic forehead in, and another annoying little smirk rode his mouth.

You took care to roll your eyes at him, gesturing at him with your brush. “I know several places I can stick this if you’re not careful.”

Touya’s smirk melted into an unholy grin. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he rasped, eyes glittering up at you.

You went back to work on him with a little more force than necessary, blending hard enough that you saw his broad shoulders shift in an effort to keep his neck braced. “I doubt any time with you could be classed as good,” you said pertly, giving a final few brushes before stepping back, satisfied with your work.

The forehead made him look unhinged as he offered another smirk, leaning forward. “True—the feedback I usually get is ‘incredible’, ‘mind-blowing’, ‘earth-shattering’, ‘toe-curling’, ‘scream-inducing’—”

“Oh I’ll scream if you keep talking,” you said hotly, even as your cheeks warmed. Even with the stupid fucking forehead he was annoyingly handsome. You needed him a thousand million miles away from you before you herniated something, jumping back and forth between annoyance and attraction.

Maybe it was time to stop signing up to work here.

“Now get out of my room, I have other people waiting,” you commanded, thankful when you heard the scuff of a boot at the door confirming another maze worker waiting.

Touya didn’t look at all chastened, but he unfolded himself from the chair in an unfurling of broad shoulders and long legs. He leaned in close as he passed, voice dipping low. “See you later, sweetheart,” he said, a smile curling his mouth.

Annoyingly, his proximity crossed a bunch of the wires in your brain, and you fumbled before managing, “Not if we’re both lucky.”

“Stop, I’ll blush,” he drawled, another unholy grin splitting his cheeks before he saluted two fingers at you and ducked out of the room. The scent of smoke and cinnamon followed him, and you let out a sigh of relief, the air and your brain clearer now that he was gone.

No sooner were you free of him, however, than another problem was immediately introduced.

“So…he actually talks to you?” The other maze worker’s head poked through the door, her eyes resting on you intently. You recognized her as a local highschooler who’d just joined this season, who usually ended up getting in early enough to get her makeup done by the other artist.

You blinked. “I…unfortunately?” you answered, confused.

She stepped into the room, and you reflexively gestured her over to the chair that Touya had just abandoned.

She hummed as she took her seat, eyeing you curiously. “Wow. How’d you get him to do that? He doesn’t really talk to any of us,” she informed you.

You could feel your eyebrows lift towards your hairline. “He…doesn’t…?”

She shook her head, her pretty golden ringlets swaying with the motion. “He’ll chainsmoke with Tomura and he sometimes talks to Himiko. But the other girls—they say he just laughs and walks away if they try to chat with him.”

Well. That sounded rude enough to be true to form, you thought. But when Touya was in your makeup chair you couldn’t get him to shut the hell up. You shifted, uncomfortable with the idea that Touya had any special soft spot for you. Maybe, like a cat, he could sense who didn’t much like him and decided to latch on out of spite.

“You might be a little young for him,” you decided, going over to the vanity and digging out the prosthetics she’d need—a witch chin and a raised gorey slash that would open along one cheekbone.

“No—it’s all the other girls too. And most of the guys,” she told you. “He must like you.”

A laugh escaped you, and you turned back to her with the prosthetics in hand, a few new brushes and a white, cakey paint palette shoved beneath your elbow.

“I don’t think he likes anyone,” you told her, setting everything down and applying the tacky glue to the underside of her chin prosthetic. “I think he just likes to inflict himself on people he knows it will annoy. You could act disinterested in talking to him and he’d probably come flitting right over.” The image of Touya suffering at the hands of a league of flirty high school girls pleased you—better they suck up his time and energy than you.

“I don’t know,” the girl said uncertainly. “Maybe he likes you.” But she was forced to leave it at that once you started applying her chin, making it difficult for her to speak.

You certainly didn’t think that was the case.

But the seeds of doubt had already been sown, a question that you thought would probably haunt your evening now that it had been formed. Just why did Touya talk to you if he was so standoffish with other people? And what did it mean that he made such a point of it?

You knew for sure it wasn’t because he liked you, his obnoxious manner said that well enough. But why did you get treatment that was significant enough that even the other maze workers would comment on it?

And, perhaps even more concerningly, why did the thought agitate you so much?

You decided to try your best not to think about it, and have a good time with your friends once they got there, putting Touya out of your mind. You returned to doing the girl’s makeup with vigor, suddenly as eager to get her out of your chair as you had been Touya.

She was finished in record time and she thanked you, carefully not to smile too widely lest she dislodge the prosthetics. You took in the next person waiting as she left, slowly working your way through the line of people as the hour drew ever closer to the maze’s evening opening time.

Eventually you finished up and collected your things, making your way out front to find your friends already waiting for you. They’d clearly dressed with the intent to go out after—something you hadn’t considered—their dresses short and slinky and their makeup smoky. You’d have liked to have joined, but you were still in the sweater and leggings you’d come straight from lectures in.

Maybe you would have time to go home and change after the maze.

You were scooped up into several hugs, breathing in the sweet scents of various perfumes, and informed that you absolutely did have to go home and get changed after so you could come out and get “Hallowasted!” too.

“Okay if I’m not busy peeing my pants, which monsters are the ones you did?” your roommate asked, dancing around to warm herself in the cool fall air. “I wanna see ‘em.”

You named several of your creations, conveniently leaving off Touya. You knew that if your friends took too close a look at him and figured out what he looked like under the cakey makeup and forehead prosthetic, they’d never leave the maze. You knew he sat somewhere around the end of the set up, in an alcove that had been decorated to look like an abandoned village with burned out cabins, a mess of bones dotting the ground at the side of the walkway.

You were also hoping you could pass unnoticed in the group of your friends, as there was no doubt in your mind that Touya would take special care to annoy you in particular. So you did not want your group to linger long enough for your friends to scope him out.

You would know it was him under the makeup you’d done yourself, but being cornered somewhere in the dark with the soundtrack of screams echoing in your ears would not exactly have you feeling your boldest.

Your group had dinner at the food trucks parked out front, chatting and laughing and waiting for the crowds to die down, each indulging in one drink for bravery before joining the line. Eventually you ended up at the front of the queue, late in the evening, your friends crowding in behind you, whispering nervously.

“You first,” your roommate hissed when you looked back at them questioningly. “You work here, you have to do the honors.”

You sighed, accepting your fate, making a mental note to subtly shift to the back of the pack as you made it further into the maze.

Then you were being greeted by Shigaraki Tomura, whose makeup you’d done last. He’d been given layers of prosthetic peeling skin and a scar at his mouth, and he was decorated with a layer of disembodied hands gripping him all over. He shredded your tickets, looking unenthused.

“Remember that inside the maze, none of the monsters can touch you,” he recited dully. “You are not permitted to touch them in return; do not hit, kick, push, bite, slap, lick, scratch, or otherwise assault the actors. Don’t tamper with the props, do not leave items behind. Be respectful of other guests and do not linger too long in the rooms. If you need to leave for any reason, every room or alcove has clearly-lit exits marked in red.”

His eyes briefly met yours as he waved you through, and you thought you saw a pale brow go up.

But then you were being shoved forward by your friends, several hands clinging to your arms and the back of your shirt, and you stepped forward into the dark of the hall.

The maze truly was a labyrinth—it started indoors in a pitch black room, with fake body bags hanging from the ceiling. Toga Himiko, a highschooler whose makeup you usually did, stalked you around the edges of the room, dressed in a torn school uniform with fangs peeking out of her widely grinning mouth, and a dripping knife clutched eagerly in her fingers.

Once you made it past her, the maze spilled outdoors, into a tangle of hedges and artificially-constructed set, steering you in twisting loops around the property.

You were pleased with how terrifying all the actors looked, even having done most of their prosthetics yourself, and found your heart racing as you took every new corner, found yourself freezing up and stumbling back whenever someone jumped out at you, suppressing a shriek.

Your friends participated with gusto, shrieking and ducking away from the monsters, holding you like a human shield between them and the maze workers. You would have been insulted if it hadn’t been so funny.

You made it through most of the maze with little trouble, passing through a haunted swamp, a graveyard with mummies twisting and screaming in their bindings, grasping for you. You stumbled past a man wielding a chainsaw and a set of clowns waving axes, making it through in record time thanks to the push of your frantic friends behind you.

It was only on the last leg of the maze that you finally ran into Touya.

You peered around the corner, recognizing the set up instantly. The burned out houses flickered with blue flame, lighting up the set in an eerie, unsettling sapphire light. The fake bones on the ground sat in piles of ash, glowing stark white in the light. You couldn’t spot Touya anywhere, and you slowly crept forward, trying to shepherd your friends in front of you.

You even almost thought you had been successful, until a rasping voice drawled behind you, “Hello sweetheart.”

And then your roommate screamed, bolting forward, knocking into you and sending you stumbling over a pile of the fake bones. You landed hard on your ass in the patchy grass, the wind punching out of you.

“Oh fuck—” you heard one of your friends say as she too was steamrolled, and you watched the group of them trip over one another in their desperation to get through the alcove, dissolving into chaos in a matter of seconds.

You quickly tried to get to your feet to follow, but a hiss forced its way through your teeth when you tried your ankle, a wave of sharp pain washing over you.

Oh fuck. Not good.

The tread of a boot in the grass next to you made you jump, and your head whipped up to catch sight of Touya crouching over you.

“You good down there?” he asked. His eyes glinted in the dark of the maze, and the blue light cast shadows over his features, twisting them in the dim. Your heartbeat picked up, even as your brain recognized him for who he was.

You cringed, embarrassed that you’d had to hurt yourself in his part of the maze specifically. It figured.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, trying to climb to your feet again. Your ankle twinged in protest, and Touya must have caught the flash of pain on your face because then his hand was under your elbow, supporting you as you rose in an unexpected show of courtesy.

Although he broke the illusion immediately when he opened his mouth again.

“Yeah you look real fine,” he said, quirking an eyebrow. With the prosthetic forehead it made him look sort of demented.

“Well I’ll be fine,” you insisted, even as those blue eyes flickered over you assessingly. His fingers tightened a little on your arm before he bent down, tapping his other hand on your leg.

“Which leg, sweetheart?” he asked. “And where?”

It took you a minute to catch up to what he was asking, confused at seeing him on his haunches before you. A scream went up in the background, some terrified maze goer, and a little shiver went down your spine.

“Uh, the left ankle,” you supplied, startling when Touya’s fingers slid underneath the cuff of your legging over the aforementioned ankle, rolling it up gently. You blinked, surprised at the careful touch.

“Can’t see too well in the dark,” he announced. “But it looks like you ripped it open on something.” He peered back up at you. “Think it’s sprained?”

You shook your head. “Probably just rolled. It hurts but not like go-to-the-hospital level,” you said. “Just give me a minute, I’ll be good.”

Touya considered you for a moment, then got to his feet, moving closer. That scent of smoke and cinnamon drifted over to you, and he bent his head to look into your face.

“Much as you’re the most terrifying thing in this maze, I don’t think people are gonna wanna see you here,” he told you, a smirk cutting into his mouth. “Would ruin the experience. So we’re gonna have to get you out of here.”

You scowled up at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Well no thanks for the concern, then. “I’m going, I’m going, keep your shirt on,” you told him, preemptively gritting your teeth before readying yourself to take another step.

But before you could, one of Touya’s hands was suddenly sliding under your knees, his other slipping behind your shoulder. In the next second the burning buildings were swinging wildly in front of your eyes, and then you were being hefted up into Touya’s arms. You let out a startled yelp, your own hands shooting out to grab his jacket, giving him a wild-eyed look.

“Touya—!” you garbled out, as a smile pulled at his expression.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he told you, looking a little too smug about the situation he’d just put you in. He strode towards the exit, kicking the door open with a heavy boot, carrying you down the hall and back into the building. He was hard with wiry muscle underneath you, and so deliciously warm against you. Your ears went hot with every sure, easy step he took, like carrying you was little effort for him.

Thankfully it was barely a minute before you reached the staff room, where Touya laid you out gently on the couch, much more carefully than you might have expected from him.

Your cheeks and your nose burned, flaming even hotter when he squatted down in front of you and took your ankle in his hand again.

His dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he took note of your injury. In the light you could definitely see that you’d caught your ankle bone on one of the fake bones you’d tripped over, as there was a long gash up the side of it, but nothing else looked bruised or otherwise concerning. You thought you’d probably be fine in a couple hours, just a roll.

It was definitely nothing Touya had needed to princess carry you through the staff halls for!

“Don’t move,” Touya told you, and you watched, bewildered, as he stepped away, stalking over to the other side of the room where the staff lockers were. He dug out a shabby backpack, pulling something out of it, and then returned to your side, spreading out his haul on the couch next to you.

You noted a little tube of rubbing alcohol, an antiseptic cream and a bandage, as well as an ice pack. One of your eyebrows went up.

“You rob a hospital or something?” you asked reflexively, heart fluttering a little bit weirdly when Touya’s eyes flickered back up to yours. His eyelashes were long and thick, startlingly pretty.

“Nah,” he said, his gaze cutting suddenly away from yours. “Usually keep shit on hand for my burns.”

Your stomach flipped, and you realized how rude your question had been. Embarrassment welled up in a hard lump in your throat. Well shit. “Oh—fuck. Of course. I’m sorry, Touya.”

A pinch to your leg had you yelping, and his handsome face was serious when he stared back up at you, his eyes practically glowing with intensity. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

You rolled your eyes, rubbing the skin he’d pinched absentmindedly. “It wasn’t sympathy, asshole,” you said. “It was an apology for being thoughtless. Although if that’s how you’re gonna be then I take it back, geez. As if you need sympathy when every girl in this maze—” you froze, clamping your mouth shut when you realized what you’d been about to say. “Uhhhh.”

Touya’s eyes slowly slid down your face, flickering over you as another fucking obnoxious smirk started to twitch at the side of his mouth. “When every girl in this maze what?” he asked, pleasure turning his tone a little silky.

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to grab the rubbing alcohol off of the couch so you didn’t have to look at him. “When every girl in this maze would like for you to shut up and stop asking questions,” you said, unscrewing the top with a deliberate focus.

Calloused fingers came up to yank the tube out of your grip, however, and Touya leaned in, his grin sharp and white.

“Lemme do it, sweetheart. Return the favor for my prosthetic,” he said. You winced, remembering how forcefully you’d applied his forehead earlier. As you braced yourself, however, his fingers brushed gently over your skin.

You suppressed a shiver at the feeling of him wiping off the blood with the rubbing alcohol, then going over it with the antibiotic cream, smearing it delicately, your nose going hot again. He took his time, careful to cover every inch, kneeling on the ground in front of you with your ankle clutched in one large hand. His duster fanned out behind him, dragging on the ground as he bent over you, but he didn’t seem to care, too absorbed in his task.

When he was done he carefully applied the bandage too, and you looked on, mystified, as he cracked the ice pack with long, strangely elegant fingers, and pressed it over your ankle bone as well.

His eyes flicked back to yours when you let out a short hiss, feeling the zing of the ice all the way in your teeth. Some of his expression looked squashed, given the obstruction of his prosthetic, but you thought he looked maybe just a little bit concerned, before he realized you were just being a baby. You were suddenly overcome with the urge to rip off his prosthetic so you could see his expression in full, and had to pin your arm to your side to stop yourself.

“This was—unexpected,” you admitted, watching him closely. “You’re…a surprisingly good nurse, Touya. Thank you.”

His answering smile was nothing short of wicked. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

You fumbled with the antiseptic and sniffed pointedly, just to have something to complain about. “Well. Your bedside manner could use some work.”

Touya leaned in, his smile suddenly going dark. “Oh, angel, now that’s not what I’ve been told—”

Your palm shot out to cover his mouth, horror overriding your normal brain function. Touya just laughed into the skin of your hand, however, shockingly boyish and sweet-sounding.

You pressed harder, hissing at him to shut the hell up, until you registered the feeling of dry, raised skin under your fingers. You jumped, realizing you were pressing down on his scars.

“Shit, did I hurt you—?” you asked, yanking your hand back, only for Touya to catch your wrist. He blinked, looking surprised that he had.

“No it’s—you didn’t—” he said. His fingers shifted over yours and his eyes darted over your hand in something like shock. “They get dry and pull but they don’t—it wasn’t that.” He sounded annoyed, but not that you’d touched him. That you’d pulled away from touching him.

Somehow, that settled you. Before you understood what exactly was possessing you, you reached back in, satisfied when Touya let you. The pads of your fingers met the edge of a scar again, feeling along the seam. You carefully traced over it the way Touya’s had just traced the cut on your ankle.

Touya’s eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a slow breath. “You don’t need to touch ‘em, sweetheart,” he said finally.

He said it as lightly as he’d said all his earlier nonsense, but he’d been giving you shit for long enough that you recognized there was something deliberate about the ease of his tone this time. This wasn’t his usual, natural timbre.

“Does it bother you?” you asked.

It seemed to take him a minute to decide.

“...No,” he answered, those cerulean eyes catching on yours again. You felt like you could feel your heartbeat in your own fingers, and your skin prickled with something—annoyingly not annoyance.

“Well then shut up,” you told him. “Or I’ll pinch you right on the seam.”

Touya laughed, a slow rolling sound. “Promises promises,” he said, but he seemed more relaxed.

You felt along the contours of his face, mystified by what the hell you thought you were even doing, until you reached the edge of the prosthetic you’d applied. It only took a second for you to give in to the impulse you’d had earlier and start peeling it from his skin, slow and deliberate.

You reached down and helped yourself to the rubbing alcohol, applying it around the prosthetic, letting it dissolve the adhesive before pulling gently. Shockingly, Touya let you do it. He just sat there, watching you with an intensity you’d never experienced before, hardly blinking.

You kept careful track of the prosthetic, unable to look him in the eye, focusing on rubbing off the makeup you’d used to blend it in for good measure. You tried not to examine the weirdly satisfied feeling that settled in your stomach when his natural face was visible to you again.

It was probably just his looks. He really was so handsome for such a grating personality.

You set the prosthetic aside, lost on where to go from here. Touya probably thought you were so fucking weird for just like, rubbing his face like he was some kind of cat. He certainly looked like he had no idea what to do now, which was such a departure from his usually snotty self-assurance that it threw you for an even bigger loop.

“Always thought you’d be a little rougher with me, sweetheart,” Touya finally managed, flashing you a smirk. It looked a little smaller than usual though, like he was drawing it up like a shield, but your hackles raised instantly, like always.

You always, always responded to him.

“Trust me, that can be arranged,” you promised darkly, trying to crack your knuckles. Only one of them crackled obligingly, however, and Touya blinked, before laughing again.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning in closer. Cigarette smoke and cinnamon clouded your senses, fogging up your brain. “Gonna fuck me up nice and good, sweetheart?”

You dredged around for something snarky to say, but words were suddenly failing you as those infuriatingly pretty features drew closer. Seriously could a makeup artist not catch a break around here?

“Uhhh,” was all you managed, your brain bluescreening, as Touya huffed a laugh, exhaling over your mouth.

“Shut up,” you finally spat out, catching a fistful of that black hair. Touya groaned, however, looking like he liked that of all things, and a red hot flash of something jolted through you.

There was a pause, then, a tiny sliver of a moment where it seemed like one of you might pull back—move away and snipe at one another from a safer distance.

Things somehow seemed to be spiraling out of control, in a way you hadn’t expected, after just one kind gesture from him. You didn’t really understand how you’d suddenly found yourself with him leaning over you, your hand pulling at his hair, but if you had any good sense you’d have pulled away immediately and told him something extra mean, just for good measure.

Except then Touya opened his mouth and escalated things, as usual.

“Make me,” he said, the most absolutely heinous line of all time. You yanked his hair harder, deeply disgusted that he’d try that on you.

And then, like a thread had snapped, you leaned forward and crushed your mouth to his.

Touya reacted like a lightning strike. He surged up over you, weighing you down into the staff room couch. He tasted like spearmint muddled under bitter smoke, and he was broader than he looked under that duster, heavy with lean muscle. You could feel every kilo of it press you down into the cushions as Touya licked hot and filthy into your mouth.

His tongue curled around yours, wet and teasing, and he exhaled on a groan like he’d never tasted anything better. It sent little sparks of electricity jittering up your spine, especially as he shifted between your thighs, that trim waist slotting between them perfectly.

“Fuck, angel,” he said, his tone somewhere between sweet and nasty. “Wanted me this whole time, huh?”

You yanked harder on his hair, telling him to shut up, but the swelling of something hard against your thigh told you he only liked that more. “You are so nasty,” you told him, and you could feel his mouth curl into a wicked grin against the side of your face, before he leaned in and bit the shell of your ear, grinding the evidence of his interest even harder into your thigh.

“I can show you nasty, sweetheart,” he promised, his tone going silky-soft again. A calloused hand slid up into your shirt brazenly, long fingers teasing the underside of your bra. When you didn’t immediately try to yank him out of there he wiggled in further, until his fingers met your nipples, and he got even harder against your leg.

He pinched carefully, moving back to kiss you again so that the sound that escaped you was muffled into his mouth. He kissed you harder as your nipples tightened, pebbling in his fingers, something far too satisfied filling the air around you. His hips canted up, grinding himself into you again, this time a little closer to your core.

Your own hips shifted, moving to increase the friction, trying to shift him closer to your center. His fingers and tongue teased you, each flick of his tongue mirroring the caress of a finger, the soft pinch of his index and thumb.

You couldn’t have controlled yourself if you wanted, too focused on the sensations he was drawing from you, the desperate need to get closer to him though you were already pressed together from mouth to shin. You realized you’d been pulling at his coat when he finally withdrew from your shirt and let you yank it down his arms, exposing a patchwork of scars over dense, mouth-wateringly well-defined muscle.

You inhaled sharply, and Touya paused for a minute—until he seemed to realize that you were fixated on the shape of his arm, rather than the purple bruise of scar tissue. The quickening of his grin in the corner of your vision told you that you’d pleased him.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice obnoxiously sweet. “Want to see the rest of me, angel?”

You ripped your eyes off of his arm to glare at him, which only made his grin wider. The fluorescent lights behind him limned his hair in a pale light, blinding you when he moved his head—and all of a sudden you recalled where you were and what you were doing.

“Here? No! Touya, anyone could walk in!” you said, trying to scramble out from beneath him.

Touya caught you around the thigh, hauling you back underneath him. You noticed he was careful to angle your leg up so you didn’t catch your ankle against the arm of the couch.

“This is far from the worst thing I’ve done in a public place,” he said, laying himself back out over you.

You pushed at his shoulder though, casting a worried glance back at the door. “I am not trying to get fired,” you hissed, even as you shivered with the delicious heat of him over you.

Touya sighed through his nose, and then heaved himself off the couch. You watched him seize the plastic makeup chair and haul it over to the door, stuffing it under the knob at an angle so that it held the lock in place. Then he turned around and prowled right back to you with predatory intent. Your stomach fluttered.

“Better, angel?” he asked, tone soft.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of nodding, but he seemed to know what you wanted anyway, leaning back in to kiss you fiercely.

You melted into the feeling of his mouth over yours, kissing him back just as passionately. You hated how good he was at that, hated how pretty he was under all those scars and piercings, hated how his obnoxious personality wasn’t even a factor in what you wanted to do with him right now.

Touya groaned again when you pulled at a fistful of his dark hair, and then you were dragging him down to the couch and climbing into his lap. Touya seized your left leg as you did, pointedly guiding your ankle away from the edge of the seat, and it only inflamed your desire for him.

“Like you a whole lot better like this,” he said into your mouth, as calloused fingers slid into your leggings.

Your reply was cut off by a moan as he traced his index finger lightly over the center of your panties, before pressing down firmly over your clit. A thousand little points of electricity lit up under your skin, and you shifted into his hand unthinkingly.

A smile formed against your lips, and it was only Touya’s hand making its way into your panties that suppressed the annoyed buzz that started in the back of your brain.

“You kick up such a fuss, sweetheart, but look at what you really think of me,” Touya purred as his fingers slid up into your incriminatingly wet folds. “All this for me, angel?”

You wanted to bite him for his cheek but you feared breaking the skin of his scars, so you settled for giving him a pointed look. He just laughed, his smile smug.

“I’ll show you what I’ve really thought of you too, sweetheart,” he promised, taking hold of your leg again to slide your leggings and panties down. He settled you back over the hard line in his pants, grabbing your hips and pulling you firmly down over it, grinning.

“Love when you’re a spitfire little fucking brat. I’ve imagined taking you right over the vanity every single day for the last three years, sweetheart. Taking you against the lockers and then right here over the couch. Fucking you so hard that you scream and everyone comes running in to see you squirming and crying and begging on my cock, and you want it so much that you don’t even care—”

He laughed when he felt you clench up in his lap, working to unbuckle his belt and free himself, immediately angling you over him. “You want that too, sweetheart? Want to see if I can make you scream so loud that people come to see what’s wrong?”

“My god you never shut up,” you told him, pointedly avoiding the question. In lieu of an answer, you shifted, guiding him to your center and sinking down onto him instead. You watched with satisfaction as he threw his head back and hissed at the feeling of you slipping down around him.

“Fffffffffffuck,” he said to the ceiling, a hand tightening in your sweater. You had to agree, gritting your teeth with the delicious slide of him inside of you, hot and thick and full and perfect. You leaned in, putting your mouth over the scar tissue on his neck, smirking when he exhaled shakily again.

“I think,” Touya huffed. “I should have put you over my lap three fucking years ago.”

You thought back to your first glimpse of him, flicking ash at you as he chainsmoked outside the maze entrance, and thought you would have probably gouged his eyes out if he had tried. Honestly he’d barely scraped together enough good will with his little ankle treatment as it was.

But maybe this is what that girl had been talking about, when she said Touya didn’t talk to anyone besides you. Had he really been more into you than he’d let on, these three years? Is that why he’d been at your throat this entire time?

The thought was lost when Touya’s hips lifted into yours, grinding himself into you just right, and your head fell back with a shivery moan. Touya’s mouth found the skin of your throat and sucked as he bucked up into you, picking up into a faster pace. You rocked back and forth over his lap, guided by Touya’s grip on your hips, relishing in the feel of him inside of you.

His fingers slid back down, brushing over your clit, and you bit down a yelp as he dragged his thumb over it firmly.

“That’s it,” he said, biting down softly on your neck. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You pressed a hand over your mouth instead as he slid in and out of you, those clever fingers working you deftly. He pinched softly, then swirled the pad of his thumb firmly over your clit again, groaning and pounding up into you. “I wanna hear you, sweetheart. Always want to hear your mean little mouth.”

“Touya—shut up—” you panted as he moved you how he wanted, played you like an instrument. Between his fingers and the hard press of him inside you, you felt like you couldn’t escape the pleasure, the feeling mounting within you. No matter how you moved your hips, his fingers were there to meet you, rubbing maddening circles, teasing you mercilessly, and he filled you so good that it felt like he was pressing against that spot from the inside too.

You writhed with the feel of him, as he steadily covered your neck and shoulders with marks of his attention. You couldn’t help but moan, much much louder than you would have liked, and Touya leaned back to look at you again, looking pleased.

“That’s it, yeah,” he said, another grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Louder for me, sweetheart. Want you to come for me.”

You huffed, unable to do anything but squirm in his lap, chasing the feeling closer, ever closer to the edge. You weren’t going to let his infuriating attitude ruin this for you, not when you were so close—

Without input from your brain, your hand reached out to grab a fistful of Touya’s hair again and his hips stuttered, slamming up into you with more force than he had previously. He looked a little shocked, and then a little dazed, and the grip he had on the side of your hip tightened almost to the point of bruising as he forced you down onto him harder, gasping.

“Fuck, yeah, sweetheart—fuck yes,” he rasped.

His fingers rubbed you harder, and his hips slapped up into you frantically. The uptick in intensity had your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head, and you bit your palm to keep the sounds in.

Touya ground into you with a renewed fervor, and it was only another matter of seconds before something inside of you was being wrenched loose. You lost the grip on your control, every nerve ending in your body lighting up and coming alive, singing with pleasure. You seized up, crying, “Oh my god, Touya!” and then you were cumming hard, harder than you ever had, Touya’s talented fingers still working you, his cock still fucking you mercilessly.

Touya swore, spitting out your name like a curse, and then again in almost reverent tones, before he too was following you right off the edge. He slammed you down on him once, twice, and then he was cumming too—shivering against you as he held you tight against him.

The silence of the room around you was ringing, once you managed to return to yourself. Touya was a long, hot, hard wall of muscle between your thighs, his hair mussed and a patch of makeup you’d missed smearing into the hair at his temple. His cheeks were flush with effort over the seam of his scars, and he looked, irritatingly, even more beautiful than he usually did.

Like he could sense what you were thinking, the corner of his mouth rose as those cerulean eyes searched over you, blinking like a pleased cat.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I knew I liked you mean,” he said, his raspy tone rougher than normal.

“And I don’t like you at all,” you sniffed, though you knew the protest was pointless when he was quite literally softening inside of you. You let go of his hair, remembering yourself.

“Aww angel don’t be like that,” he drawled, his grin widening. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss over your mouth. “I can make it up to you—all three years, if you’ll let me.”

You knew he felt your involuntary shiver, pressed up against you like he was. And that was definitely answer enough for him, as his smile went more handsome and boyish than you’d ever seen it. You hated that you liked it.

“I’ll clean up and clock out,” Touya told you, gingerly helping you off of him and back into your leggings, his eyes fixating a little too closely on your legs as you did so. “You tell your friends you’re gonna go home and rest that ankle. And I’ll pick you up out front, angel.”

You flushed, embarrassed that you’d completely forgotten that you were at work, and you’d intended to go out bar hopping after. But you figured you could be forgiven just this one time.

“Fine,” you said, though your insides were feeling a little fluttery at the thought of leaving with Touya. “But I expect penitence or there’s going to be a reckoning.” You supposed you were owed, for all these years of suffering.

Touya looked down at you from under his lashes, dark and beautiful and still as infuriating as ever. “I’ll give you my best, sweetheart. Over and over until you can’t even walk,” he promised, “Gotta keep you off that ankle, after all.”

You flushed again, yanking your sweater down over your leggings, and fled out the door. Touya’s laughter floated after you, sounding pleased.

You sped up your pace, your ears burning.

And if you were actually rushing not to get away from him, but to return to him sooner? Well, then, nobody needed to know that but you.

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya x reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki x reader #character: todoroki touya #andie's writing

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steveslevis · 19 days

Text

‘tis the damn season

AUTUMN

chapter contents/warnings: exes to whatever the hell this is, a little bit of smut, angst, weed and alcohol use, mutual pining, steve is an idiot and is afraid of commitment </3, barely proofread (sowwy)

w/c: 5.3k

The first big frost of the season blankets the town of Hawkins when you arrive on Wednesday night, the bits of ice glittering on the orange and brown leaves making the barren streets seem less intimidating as you make your way through your hometown for the first time in months.

There’s a sense of anticipation and dread that fills your stomach while navigating the streets you know so well, knowing you’re going to be asked the same mundane questions about college in the big city a thousand times over during the next three weeks. You know that’s not the only thing filling you with dread for the weeks to come, but keep telling yourself that’s all you have to worry about — right?

The first evening you arrive in town is jam-packed, since your friends insisted on having a so-called “Friends-giving-mas” as the night that you arrived, due to your anticipated absence on the aforementioned Christmas. You spend a few hours with your mom and dad before leaving, enlisting your mom to help you make some cookies for the party, promising you’d leave her and your dad some behind.

The clock hits 7 p.m. and you’re finally finished getting ready, having just thrown on a red velvet, long sleeved dress that hit just above your knees and your best black boots, Robin had requested everyone to look their best so she could take photos with her new camera throughout the party. You grabbed your secret santa gift and jacket, checking yourself in the mirror one last time before leaving your room.

“Alright, I’m leaving.” you call out as you bound down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Don’t forget your cookies, sweetheart! They’re on the table.” she replied from her place next to your dad on the couch, watching some rom-com while he was dozing beside her, “if you need us to come pick you up, we will.”

You let out a laugh at her remark, knowing that you were only walking to the next house over on the road, so picking you up would be ridiculous.

“Oh, I think I’ll manage just fine.” you joke in return while grabbing the plate of cookies, “love you guys!”

—————————

The outside of the Harrington’s house is gleefully lit with warm string lights, wreaths already adorning the front windows and main door to the house in anticipation of Christmas in a few weeks. You always admired the way their house looked during the holidays, but knew it was only a cheery facade to hide the dysfunction that lay within the halls of the residence.

You knew the family all too well, having grown up next to Steve your entire life. You were the same age as him, grew up attending all the same parties as him, but ran in completely different circles than him — well, up until your senior year of high school at least.

Long story short, being best friends with Robin led to you ultimately becoming so-called friends with Steve Harrington as well. The two of you had what you now called a stupid summer fling before you left for Chicago in August, but the rest was history. The two of you had agreed to stay civil and not let the remnants of any unresolved feelings come between your friendship and the rest of the friend group.

So here you were, knocking on Steve Harrington’s front door on a random Wednesday in late November, cookies in hand as you stood there, shivering. You faintly hear Robin say that she would get the door, then hear footsteps pad towards the entrance.

You’re greeted by your best friend with the strongest hug you swear you’ve ever experienced, and you feel like you might not ever be let go if she has anything to say about it.

“Oh my god! I missed you so much.” Robin exclaims, the widest grin on her face as she grabs for your hand, “everyone’s in here, we’re just waiting on Nance and Jonathan then we’ll be ready to eat but come in! I have so much to tell you about everything you don’t even know—”

You follow behind her wordlessly, smiling to yourself as she rambles on about college applications and band and Vickie — who just so happened to be in the kitchen helping finish making the mashed potatoes so you had to be quiet — and everything that she can think to fit in a conversation to catch her best friend up on after months without. She leads you to the dining room after dropping off the cookies, where you hear two familiar voices having a very passionate conversation.

“I’m telling you, man, I’m cursed—“

“You’re not cursed, Harrington. I’m telling you, you’re just looking in the wrong place for love.” Eddie retorts to his frustrated friend, rolling his eyes at him.

“Oh yeah? And where should I be looking?” Steve snorts, haphazardly tossing forks, knives and spoons atop the napkin at each seat of the table.

“I’ve been saying ever since what happened this summer, you should be going after — oh shit, Y/N!” Eddie interjects, cutting himself off when you trail in behind Robin.

The metalhead pulls you in for a bear hug, whispering in your ear about how he promises not to ask you boring questions about college like everyone else. As you’re being engulfed in his embrace, you hear the sound of silverware tumbling to the ground from the other side of the table, followed by a string of mumbled curse words from the dropper.

You pull away from Eddie’s hug to look at where the noise is coming from, only to see Steve fumbling with a fork and spoon while trying to stand up from where he was just kneeling. Your gaze lingers on him for a moment too long, taking in everything about him that you told yourself you didn’t miss. Eddie gives you a knowing look and you roll your eyes, knowing that he’s trying to tell you to not make things weird, so you try your best.

“Stevie, how are you?” you call to him while walking around the table, putting on the best oblivious and excited face that you can.

“H-Hey, Y/N.” Steve says, feigning coolness as he pulls you in for a quick hug, nearly stumbling over his words when you use the nickname you always loved to tease him with, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

His eyes flicker over to Robin momentarily, who shoots him a guilty grin before mouthing ‘sorry’ over your shoulder.

“Yeah, it was kinda last minute on my part, I just so happened to be coming home tonight since my finals were all at the beginning of the week. I kinda forced Rob to tell me when it would be so I could crash it,” you lie, trying to throw the blame on yourself instead of her, “sorry if I messed anything up, I-I’ll lay low and won’t eat if that messes up numbers or something—“

“No!” Steve rushes to retort, shaking his head at you adamantly, “I mean, shit—sorry. No, you’re not messing anything up at all, you know you’re always welcome here.”

The smile on Steve’s face is genuine as he speaks, but there’s a glint of sadness in his eyes while he scans yours for any sign of hesitancy. You give him a small smile in return, quickly moving your gaze from his to push down that sinking feeling in your chest you know is coming. Your chest aches as you focus your eyes downward, realizing that this night would be a lot harder than you had convinced yourself that it would be.

“Well!” Robin interjects, interrupting the growing awkward silence filling the air of the dining room where you stood. She reached for your hand while smiling over at you sympathetically, beginning to drag you towards the kitchen as she spoke, “gotta go say hello to everyone else before dinner!”

Your best friend whirled you around to the rest of the guests–which was just Nancy, Jonathan, and Vickie–who were all in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the meal.

A slew of awkward questions about Chicago ensued in the moments leading up to and during dinner, but you took them in stride as they distracted you from the bright eyed boy across the table who kept sneaking glances in your direction any chance he got. You explained your major, what you did for work outside of class time, and talked about all the new friends you met in the short few months you’d been gone. You could’ve sworn Steve’s jaw clenched at the mention of a date you went on prior to leaving for break, but you didn’t put too much thought into it.

Dinner goes by fairly quickly, and then it’s time for Secret Santa gifts in the living room. Robin begged everyone to participate, and even went through the effort of making sure you and Steve didn’t get each other, partly to not ruin the surprise of you being here and partly to diminish any awkwardness that might arise from it.

You had drawn Jonathan’s name, so you gifted him a few rolls of different camera film. Each person had to guess who their Secret Santa was, but apparently your gift was pretty obvious since he hadn’t been able to find any film like it anywhere near Hawkins, so he guessed you first.

Your turn rolled around and a small red gift bag was sat in your lap. You immediately knew who your gift was from, halfway from the grin plastered on his face and halfway from the smell lingering from inside the back in your hands.

“Thank you, Eddie.” you giggle out while pulling out four perfectly rolled blunts from the gift bag, courtesy of the best dealer in Hawkins.

“It’s always a pleasure,” he jabs back, “we can fire one up after presents if you’d like.”

You nod quickly at him, grinning widely before turning back to the circle where Robin was handing out gifts.

—————————

It’s not long before drinks are flowing and laughter is spilling through the Harrington residence, something that’s happened very few times within those halls. The night seems to go by too quickly, you notice how quickly when you check and it says 11 P.M. already, even though it feels like you’ve only been there a few hours. You’re sitting on the couch with Robin and Vickie, giggling their way through a story about some guy in the Hawkins band, when the sight of the back door sliding open and closed catches your eye.

You turn your gaze to see Steve stalking into the cold on his own, head turned down as he walks towards one of the ice-slicked pool chairs on the deck. A frown passes over your face as you furrow your brows, excusing yourself from the couple on the couch as you slip outside to follow him with your bottle of wine, one of your newly gifted blunts and a lighter in hand.

It’s the last thing you should be doing tonight, really. You shouldn’t be following Steve Harrington – the man who was too afraid to say he loved you and too afraid to commit to you – onto the porch. You should’ve stayed inside and drank some more wine with the rest of them and let yourself cut loose for once, but you just couldn’t do it. You just had to talk to him – you weren’t so sure what you wanted to talk about, but you just felt the need to.

“You alright?” was all you could slip out as you closed the sliding glass door, watching the brown haired boy from afar, making sure you weren’t making the wrong decision.

“Yeah–Yeah, just needed a little bit of fresh air.” Steve stammered, eyes widening for only a moment when he notices that it’s you that followed him outside.

You only hum in response, stepping closer to him as you sense no annoyance or anger in his voice, finding a spot on the chilled pool chair next to his. After setting down the bottle of wine you’d been nursing throughout the night, you took the blunt you’d brought as a peace offering between your fingers and waved it in front of his face.

Steve looked up for a moment, gaze shifting between the blunt between your fingers and your lips that curled up into a mischievous yet friendly smirk. His own lips perked up in a lopsided smile, raising an eyebrow at you when you brought the blunt to your lips, followed by the lighter.

“Would you like to partake?” you joke while puffing smoke through your lips, mixing with the cold puffs of breath coming from Steve’s.

“I’ll never say no to that,” he retorts, reaching to grab the blunt from your fingers.

There’s a breath of comfortable silence between the two of you as he inhales, then lets out a long exhale before focusing his gaze back onto the pool in front of him, onto the ice forming on the pool cover as a way to avoid your eyes.

“So, how’s the Stevie Harrington been faring since I’ve been gone?” you joked after a moment more of the quiet, shoving any nerves down that were threatening to force you to run back inside.

Awful, utterly dull and extremely depressing, was what Steve wanted to say.

He wanted to tell you how he fucked up so badly, how he hasn’t been the same since the last time he saw you, how he hasn’t even been able to look at anyone without thinking of you. He wanted to grab you by the cheeks and pull you in for a kiss and never let go. He wanted to scream and tell you how much he regretted ever letting you leave without knowing how he really felt, but he couldn’t now. It was too late, so he just said; “Oh, y’know. I’ve been fine. Just the same shit, different day.”

Steve wanted to kick himself for saying something so lame, something so uninteresting when the most interesting person in the world was sitting right in front of him.

“Does ‘same shit, different day’ just mean you’re stuck being the same old chauffeur-babysitter you’ve been for the last two years?” you tease, reaching down to grab the bottle of wine at your feet.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Steve chuckled, giving you a warm smile as he took another puff.

It only took a few moments to finally break the ice between the two of you, then things fell right back into place, right back into a comfortable normalcy. There was something that put you so at ease being outside with him, being able to talk to him without the looming thought of who would be the first to say “I love you” or who would be the first to leave waving over both of your heads.

The next hour went by in a breeze, and it seemed the party inside died down by the time the two of you decided to walk back in. Steve closed the sliding glass door behind you two and you noticed only Eddie and Robin were left standing in the living room. Vickie was presumably in the guest bed, where Robin was about to head to. Jonathan and Nancy had left twenty minutes prior, only popping their heads out to say a quick goodbye before driving off.

Robin said a quick goodnight to you before heading up the stairs, along with a promise to see you tomorrow for a girl’s day. Then, it was just you, Eddie and Steve in the living room, Eddie at the couch setting up his bed for the night while the two of you stood in silence by the sliding glass door still.

“I–I guess I should probably head home for the night,” you say, breaking the silence between the three of you as you start towards your bag and coat on the other side of the room.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Steve interjects a little too loudly, the weed and wine in his system instilling some false confidence in him. “It’s so cold out and I’m sure at this point your parents already think you’re staying anyways.”

You stop on your toes at Steve’s voice, cheeks heating at how interested he sounded in you staying there for the night. It’s not like it was a far and dangerous walk, Steve just wanted an excuse to be around you for longer. You turn around to look at him, then to Eddie, who was giving you a tired smile.

“We can have a sleepover on the couch,” Eddie chuckles, reaching for one of the pillows he was setting out for himself to move it to the other side of the couch for you.

“I don’t have any clothes,” you suggest, looking down at your velvet dress that would be extremely uncomfortable to sleep in.

“Oh, I’m sure Stevie has some clothes that you can sleep in!” Eddie says, shooting a smirk in his direction.

“O–Of course I do, I’m sure I still have your favorite pajama pants up there if you want them.” Steve says hurriedly, as if you would change your mind if he didn’t answer quickly enough.

You give the two of them a smile, pretending to contemplate the decision for a moment before nodding. You could’ve sworn you heard Steve let out a breath of relief at your nod, but he turned towards the stairs before you could acknowledge it. Without a word, you follow right behind him up the stairs, slowly realizing the effects of the cherry wine and weed are coming to the surface.

Steve steps into his bedroom and you follow behind him, a situation the two of you knew all too well.

—————————

You don’t know what led to this, but there you were, in Steve’s bedroom, him towering over your space on his bed as he pulled you in for a heated kiss. Tongue against teeth, hands against cheeks, legs tangled together, just like they were meant to be.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t come crawling back every time you were in town, but here you were.

Somehow coming upstairs for a stupid pair of pajamas led to Steve giving you that look of lust and utter desire, led to you becoming a willing participant in his games once again after swearing you would never touch him again, led to you letting him sneak his way into your heart – and pants – yet again.

Your head is spinning as he kisses you, his lips slotted into yours like they belonged there, a perfect fit. You’re unsure if it’s the wine, the weed or the sheer yearning that’s making you feel like this, but you don’t want it to stop any time soon.

There’s a gnawing feeling in your stomach when Steve props his knee up on the bed next to your hip, you know you should stop before he gets any further, but the ache between your thighs is outweighing any thought of what would come after he spreads you open.

Steve groans into your mouth when you pull him closer, fingers intertwining with and tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, and you only smirked against his lips in satisfaction. You knew everything about the boy who was turning to a puddle just from the touch of your fingers. You knew exactly how to make him tick, and him the same for you.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes when he finally pulls away from you, full lips parted as he stares down at you. There’s a twinkle in his eye that you haven’t seen in so long, one you used to mistake for love but now only know to be pure lust. “I–I’m sorry I just, I need–I need you.”

You stare at the desperate, doe-eyed man in front of you for a long moment, mind wandering to a place of fear as you think about what you’re about to do.

Instead of saying anything in reply, you close the space between the two of you once again, smashing your lips into his in a feverish and bruising kiss. Steve is on you in an instant, gently pushing you back and up on the bed, letting your head fall on his pillows. You can tell by the way he stumbles on his way up to you that he’s intoxicated — on the weed or the wine, or you, you’re not sure — but you soon realize that you are too.

A hand wanders toward the hem of Steve’s sweater, tugging at it quickly as he pulls away from the bruising kiss. He wastes no time in pulling the cable-knit up and over his head, tossing it to the side while sitting up on his knees to take you the sight of you in. Your skin was hot and your eyes were blown with lust, cheeks flushed and lips parted as you stared up at him.

You’d only been under him for a minute and had completely folded to his touch. You cursed yourself for letting your inhibitions crumble so quickly, but another part of you didn’t actually care, the same part of you that wanted to claim him as yours forever.

Steve’s eyes trailed over you, from your cheeks to the low neckline of your dress, over the curve of your hips, ending on your thighs spread on either side of his knees. The crushed velvet of your skirt bunched where your leg met your hip, letting the fabric ride up enough for Steve to see exactly what he was searching for.

He sucked in a breath at the sight of your white lace underwear beneath, having to hold himself back from diving in right that second.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, hands tracing over your hip bones while lowering his lips to yours once again.

A moan falls from your lips as his meet yours, his knee coming up between your thighs, creating friction against your core.

“Fuck—Stevie,” you say, choking back a pitiful whine while grinding against his thigh desperately, “please, I need you.”

You swear you hear Steve nearly choke at your words, three words he’d been dying to hear from you for months.

“I know, I know, baby.” he coos at you, trying to keep his cool as he strains against his pants, “I’ll take care of you.”

You nod feverishly as he leans down to pepper kisses along your neck, taking his sweet time while trying not to get drunk off the scent of you.

“This—This doesn’t mean anyth—this doesn’t change anything,” he stammers between kisses, peering up at you as he speaks, “we can still stay close—keep being friends after this.”

You hum in agreement, ignoring the dread building in your gut as you do. You want to be more than friends, you want to scream at him until he admits that he loves you too. But he nearly said it doesn’t mean anything, so you’re convinced he wants nothing to do with you after tonight, nothing but a friend to laugh with and a pretty face to fuck on every break from college.

You push the thoughts from your mind, focusing on the boy in front of you as his hands begin to massage your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your core with every circle. Steve chuckles lowly as you let out a whine of anticipation, teasing you silently as he gives in to your desires.

Steve knows your body like he knows his own, so what comes after pulling off your dress is nearly second nature to him. One large hand trails to the waistband of your underwear while the other reaches for your breast, nipple peaked from the exposure to the cold air conditioning. You moan in surprise when he wastes no time in putting his mouth to work on your other nipple, tugging your underwear down your legs simultaneously.

His fingers immediately fall to your core once you’re free of the underwear, fingertips circling the bundle of nerves at the top as you let out another whimper.

His moves are careful but quick, he knows you want to waste no more time, and you’ll whine about his teasing if he doesn’t act soon.

He’s out of his boxers in an instant, one hand keeping contact with your clit as he situates himself above you.

“You look so good like this, sweetheart.” Steve says, voice low as his eyes raked over your body, “so pretty spread out for me, all fucked out for me even though I’ve barely touched you.”

“Stevie…” you whimper, reaching a hand up to him, but he pulls from your reach with a smirk across his face.

“Tell me what you want from me,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek as he lines himself up with your slick, teasing the tip against you slowly.

“I—I need you, Steve.” you beg, cheeks flushing at the admittance, “I need you to fuck me, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” he retorts with a smirk, sliding into you with ease.

You both let out a low moan as he bottoms out, filling you in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. You forgot how thick he was in the time you’d been gone, your body wasn’t used to the stretch of his cock inside you, but it still felt like he was meant to be there. Like he was the only one who could make you feel this way.

And you were right, nobody could make you feel that way. Nobody else could touch you and make you fall apart in less than five minutes like he could. Nobody else could get you so riled up over a few praises thrown in with some condescension (which you embarrassingly loved too much) like he could. Nobody could hold off from cumming long enough to give you three orgasms before getting one of their own like he could.

Nobody did it like he could.

This doesn’t mean anything you repeat in your mind, clinging to his arm like your life depended on it after the two of you calmed your breathing and cleaned up. You weren’t sure if you were repeating those words to convince yourself or to ease your own mind about what just went down, but you knew they stung your heart more than any fighting words the two of you had ever exchanged.

“I missed this, cuddling with you, holdin’ you like this.” was all he slurred out against your hair, pressing a sleepy kiss into the crown of your head.

“Yeah, me too.” you mumble in return, accepting the warmth of his embrace as sleep finally took you in, ignoring the gnawing pain growing in your chest.

—————————

The spice of Steve’s cologne mixes with the familiar scent of his room, filling your senses when you wake, nearly sending you into a panic. You sit upright in the bed, turning to face the boy you claimed you wanted nothing to do with romantically just a few hours ago. Steve is sleeping peacefully next to you, plush lips parted and brows furrowed as he subconsciously pouts about the loss of your touch. The alarm clock behind him read 2:03 A.M., meaning you hadn’t been out for too long, but long enough to sober you up somehow.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I gotta get out of here. Is all you can think as you stumble out from under the comforter, knowing you would never live it down if anyone found you’d slept in his bed, especially with your limbs entangled like they just were. You quickly dress in the clothes you’d originally come into the bedroom to fetch, and snuck out of the bedroom without a sound.

Before making it to the living room, you turned toward the dimly lit kitchen for a glass of water. What you weren’t expecting to be faced with in the kitchen was Eddie, but there he was, leaning against the counter with disheveled hair that probably mirrored your own.

“What a night so far, huh?” he jokes as you shoot him a knowing glare while trudging across the tiled floor.

“Don’t even start with me, Munson.” you warn, absentmindedly reaching your hand up to the cabinet for a glass while shaking your head.

“Woah, don’t get that attitude with me! I didn’t say anything,” he laughs, setting his own glass into the sink, “but that also doesn’t mean I didn’t hear anything.”

“You did not,” you snap back, eyes wide and cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he gives you a shit-eating grin, “there’s no way you heard anything because nothing happened.”

“You’ve always been such a bad liar, Y/N.” Eddie laughs, stepping out of the kitchen to walk towards the living room where the two of you would be sleeping.

A sigh escapes your lips when Eddie leaves, letting you be alone with your thoughts finally. There was an ache in your chest that wasn’t going away any time soon, and it was in that moment that you wondered if you would ever be able to get over Steve Harrington, or if you would be in a continuous cycle of hurt and comfort for the rest of your damned life.

You collected your thoughts as you downed a glass of water, throwing back two ibuprofens with the last chug for good measure, before finding your way back to the living room. Eddie was on his side on the long side of the L-shaped couch, leaving the shorter side for you to sleep on. His eyes were closed as you laid down with your feet next to his own, but you knew he wasn’t asleep yet.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” you heard through the darkness after turning off the table lamp once you were settled.

“I know.” you sigh in return, staring up at the ceiling that was only lit by the streetlights flowing in from outside. “I just don’t want to live like this forever, I–I can’t keep being the secret that Steve is too embarrassed to talk about.”

“He’s not embarrassed of you,” Eddie said, voice barely above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear, “he’s just afraid of fucking everything up even more than he already has.”

If only he could say that to my face, then maybe I’d believe it, you thought to yourself, chest tightening at just the thought of the brown-eyed boy who was fast asleep upstairs.

You don’t reply to Eddie, unsure of what to say back, unsure of what you could squeak out without breaking down.

“Goodnight, Eds,” is all you say in return, though you know you won’t be getting any sleep.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

—————————

After falling asleep for all of fifty minutes around 5 in the morning, you decided you had to leave.

The entirety of the almost four hours you laid on Steve’s couch consisted of staring at the ceiling and fighting off tears while thinking about how you regretted everything you said and did over the last twelve hours.

Coming to the Harrington house was a mistake, even stepping foot back in Hawkins was feeling like a mistake at this point.

The only words repeating in your mind were This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything.

You eventually had enough of the self-loathing and inability to sleep, so it was time to go. It was time to hastily change out of the pajamas that smelled too much like the boy you loved too hard, and time to go collapse in your own bed. There was no telling if you’d actually fall asleep once you made it there, but that was beside the point.

It was when you finally made it back to your parent’s house, to your childhood bedroom, that you swore that you wouldn’t see Steve Harrington again for the rest of Thanksgiving break, and hopefully would avoid seeing him again for a long while, for the sake of saving yourself from another heartbreak.

---------

tags: @carinacassiopeiae

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stevis writes #ttds*

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sailorholly · 8 months

Text

Stressed

Summary: Spencer’s been in a bad mood lately, you help him feel better.

Pairing: Season 5 Spencer Reid x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY.

W/C: 1.4k

See my Masterlist here

“Who drank the last of the coffee and didn’t make another pot?” Spencer propped up on his cane, asked the crowded police station. One of the officers set his mug down beside the case files spread on the table before him.

“I did. I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t know it was a big deal.” Spencer scoffed. “You didn’t think that anyone else would want coffee, when we have barely had three hours of sleep?” The officer looked stunned, obviously caught off guard by the grumpy FBI agent.

“Kid, like I said, I’m sorry.” Spencer limped over to an empty chair, taking a seat. “Don’t call me kid. It’s Dr. Reid to you.” Hotch shot him a warning glance. “Reid.” Spencer dropped his gaze. The officer put his hands up in defeat, muttering under his breath as he walked away.

You wait until the room clears before going over to Spencer. You walk slowly as if you were approaching a wounded animal. “I started a fresh pot just for you. I’ll bring you a cup when it’s finished.” You smile at him, but he doesn’t return it. “Thanks.”

You can tell he’s still upset. He has been moody for a few weeks. Even though you all had agreed not to profile each other, the team had been taking guesses about what was wrong. You still didn’t have an answer. Hotch tried to speak with him privately, but he wouldn’t open up.

At the end of the day, everyone was glad to be back at the hotel. It wasn’t like the comfort of your homes, but at least it was a place to lay your head down. You all had been running on fumes.

You took a shower, thinking of every detail of the abduction. Something didn’t make sense to you, and you couldn’t get your mind off it. You dried your hair, deciding to knock on Spencer’s door to talk through it.

If anyone could help you figure it out, it was him. He answers the door, looking grouchier than before. “I’m trying to sleep. What do you want?” He snaps. You take in his attire. He’s wearing a cardigan over his button up and dress pants, the same outfit he had on earlier.

You frown, pushing your way into his room. “Since when did you start sleeping in your work clothes?” He closes the door, gripping his cane as he walks toward you sitting on his bed. He sits beside you, keeping his distance.

“You’ve been a real asshole lately, Spencer. It’s so unlike you. Is there anything you want to talk about?” He looks away, avoiding your face. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge you. I’d love to help you, especially if it gets you out of this bad mood.”

You watch as he considers your words. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” He asks quietly. You place a hand on your heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” The faintest of smiles appears, the first one you’ve seen in a while.

“Now spill.” He sighs. “I am unbelievably stressed. My mom is on a new medication, and she’s giving her doctors a hard time. I got a new neighbor and he plays loud music late at night. I’ve asked him to stop, and he does for a while. Until I go on a case, when I get back, he’s started again. And I’ve been getting these headaches that won’t go away.”

He rubs his left eye, shoulders sinking in relief after he confessed. “Well, all those are valid reasons to be stressed. You really need to get laid.” You giggle, elbowing his side. “I’ve tried.” You stop laughing. You weren’t expecting a sincere answer. You were only joking.

“Wait, you’ve tried to have sex, but can’t find a partner?” You ask, a little surprised. “Yeah, I think it’s my awkwardness paired with the cane. It freaks them out. They probably think I’m an unsub.” He pushes his hair behind his ear.

“I like the cane.” You admit. “Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah! I think it’s sexy. Don’t take this the wrong way, but couldn’t you just take care of yourself?” You wince. You were having the most awkward conversation of your life with your favorite coworker.

“I tried that. But I couldn’t finish. My mind would race with a million thoughts. It kills the mood.” You lower yourself to the floor, getting on your knees in front of him. “Wha.. what are you doing?” Spencer asks nervously, his voice raising.

“Helping.” You state matter of factly. You unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down. You’re careful when you tug his pants and underwear down his legs, going slowly so you don’t hurt him. He takes a deep breath when you wrap both hands around his hard cock.

You lower your head toward his lap, taking him between your lips. You suck slowly, waiting for his reaction. He lets out a shaky breath when you take him to the back of your throat. You suck harder now, saliva dripping down your chin.

Spencer watches you intently. He can’t believe this is happening. All the nights he had laid in bed, imagining this exact scenario as he pleasured himself. His biggest fantasy was playing out before him. He grips the white comforter on the bed with one hand, the other holds your head in place as you bob up and down on him.

This was too much. He was going to come, and he hadn’t seen you naked yet. “Come up here, I want to touch you.” He sounds almost like he’s begging. You release him, standing to remove your clothing. “Take everything off.” You command as your panties hit the floor.

He wastes no time, throwing his cardigan and shirt beside your discarded clothes. He didn’t even unbutton his shirt. You didn’t know how he managed to get it off. “Lay back against the pillows.” He scoots until his back hits the cushiony wall. You climb on top of him, legs positioned around his hips.

You start grinding against him. The head of his cock rubbing against your clit. He tilts his head back, greasy curls splayed out on the pillows. You pepper kisses against the sensitive skin of his neck, while large hands cup your breasts.

He tugs at your nipples, rolling them between calloused fingers. You feel your arousal dripping down your thighs. You couldn’t remember a time when you were more turned on. “I want you to sit on my face.” You notice the faint blush rising on his cheeks as he said the words. “You sure?” He nods his head, confirming. “I want to taste you.”

You place your thighs on either side of his head. He kisses your inner thigh, working his way up to where you need him the most. His curious tongue meets your center, collecting your arousal and bringing it to your clit. He moans, the sound vibrating against you. You clamp your legs tighter around his ears, letting him devour you.

His tongue swirls around you expertly. He could be writing in Morse Code for all you know. You reach for the headboard when his lips wrap around your most sensitive spot. The suction and heat of his mouth tip you over the edge. You reluctantly remove yourself from him, still feeling needy.

“I need you inside of me.” You kiss above his belly button and his cock twitches. “I can’t get on top because of my leg.” He points to the offending appendage like you had forgotten about it. You beam at him, as you you straddle him once more. “I got this.” You line yourself up with his hard length, sinking down on him.

He gasps when he fills you all the way. You move yourself on top of him, placing your hands on his shoulders for support. You rock your hips back and forth, letting your head tip back when he brushes your g-spot. You call his name, tilting your hips so he hits it again.

“You like that?” Spencer asks, gripping your hips, working your body with his. You feel the pressure building inside you. It’s unbelievable. You’re lucky if you get off once during sex, and your second orgasm is quickly approaching. Spencer feels you clenching around him.

“Already?” He is in complete awe of you. You were even better than he imagined. “Oh God, Spencer! I’m so close.” His hands hold you harder. He sits up, pressing his chest flush against yours. Your peaked nipples rub against his chest, adding fuel to the flames.

He removes a hand from your waist, bringing it down between you. The pad of his thumb drags across your clit, making you writhe with pleasure. He looks down at where you’re joined, admiring the view. “You’re taking me so well, Angel.” He swirls fast circles against you, and your orgasm rolls over you in waves.

Spencer watches as you come undone. He follows closely behind you, a string of curses leaving his lips. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily. “I need to be in a bad mood more often.” Spencer thinks out loud, his lips curling upward into a smile.

Tagging some people I think would like this.

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @wheredafandomat @cynbx @lamentis-10 @megharat-barnes @anonymously-ominous @kats72 @vivian-555 @itzdarling @emarich7 @nomajdetective @aelinismyqueen @wildernessflora @academiareid

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fluffypotatey · 3 months

Note

okay so:

the year is 2021. the month is june. the new season of hermitcraft, season 8, has just started, and everything is great! the hermits are all messing around, having fun, building insane things within the first week of the server being active, and generally having a good time. everyone's collected themselves into little factions, pranking each other, and it's all the fun, lighthearted, mostly-vanilla content hermitcraft is known for.

and then the split between minecraft versions 1.18 and 1.19 is announced. the delay of new terrain, and especially of new mobs like the warden, considerably disrupt several of the hermits' plans. but it's fine, they'll figure something out, they're professionals, and it mostly goes unnoticed.

about two weeks later, on november 9th, grian turns to mumbo jumbo in one of his episodes, and asks the famous question that would seal hermitcraft season 8's fate:

"mumbo, is the moon... big?"

suddenly, the fans panic. they search back through videos and streams, and realize that the moon had been abnormally large and stuck in a full-moon phase since october 30th. the Moon Big event has begun.

this is where the roleplay really starts. once the moon's size has been brought up, the hermits start a weird combination of scrambling to figure out why the moon's growing, and how to stop it- but also of ignoring it, hoping it won't be a problem, hoping someone else will deal with it. the moon keeps getting bigger, more hermits start realizing it's going on, and a creeping sense of dread starts to grow. but it's fine. it's fine, right? they do little plotlines like this all the time. they'll figure something out, the moon will go back to normal, and we'll laugh about it when this is all over. it's fine.

and then, blocks start flying away. just floating up out of the ground, and falling right back down! like for a moment, a square meter chunk of dirt has decided it's a ballerina and leaped out of the ground! but it's fine, right? the blocks are coming back. no lasting harm is done. they're going to fix it all... right?

the moon gets bigger. it's growing every day- local hermit weirdguy joe hills measures it every stream. the blocks start flying higher. gravity starts getting... weird, with players getting the slow falling effect at random, and being lifted off of the earth themselves. the players form cults and rituals and whatnot to try and appease the moon, convince it to leave them alone, making plans to escape. nothing works. things keep getting worse, and the moon keeps getting bigger. but it'll be fine. these storylines never leave lasting harm, or at least they never have before. they'll be fine.

and then the blocks stop coming back, just floating into the sky forever. the players have the slow falling effect more than they don't now. the moon is now so big it's visible even during the day, and fills the entire sky at night. they start planning their escapes in earnest, and say their goodbyes. some hermits jump into a void hole in the overworld (it was the centerpiece of their village). some flee to the End, some to the nether, some just fly with elytras and hope they can get far enough away in time. one brave hermit, tango, flies himself to the moon in a futile attempt to blow the whole thing up before it can crash.

but in the end, the moon crashes into the server, and everything they'd built was destroyed. and the whole time, there'd been nothing any of them could've done. season eight was over, a full six months before anyone had expected it to end, and season nine wouldn't start until about three months later. and im still not okay about it.

(here's a cool animatic of the moon's crash! honestly i dont think you need too much hermitcraft knowledge to get the gist)

(also the moon crash happened on the day before my birthday lmao.)

….

holy shit

#ok ok let me see if i have the timeline correctly:#1) s8 begins in June and so does the new update announcement #2) months go by with no issue (that they’re aware of)#3) it’s in November when they realize the moon has been growing #4) does the moon crash in January???#but gawddam #that is one apocalypse story if I’ve heard of one #also fitting bc i think it was 2021 where we were getting a LOT of asteroid/moon fall movies #idk what was in the air (possibly the pandemic that led to unforced isolation & ppl coped with apocalypse stories)#and somehow that bled through to a Minecraft server???? somehow?????#wild #this also reminds me of an apocalypse movie i watched with a friend called ‘3 Días’#very good movie btw #highly recommend (it is a Spanish only film which i don’t think will be an issue bc subtitles)#anyway #asks #smp 101 with gumy #hermitcraft edition!

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sc0tters · 6 months

Text

Strike Out | Luke Hughes

summary: a series of events that lead to Nico finding out about your boyfriend, the newest edition of the New Jersey Devils no less.

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual scenes, p in v, swearing.

word count: 1.46k

authors note: this is more plot than smut (less than 600 words are smut) and I really liked this one. The prompt Luke with Nico’s sister gave me many options yet this was one I’m happy I took.

Luke knew he was playing a dangerous game.

Not only you the total it girl at NYU with men double taking you whenever walked past. But you were also his captains younger sister.

Nico and Jack had both given him warnings about you when Luke first joined the team at the end of last season. Yet the moment Luke locked eyes with you all of those warnings were out of the window.

You were the girl of his dream for lack of a better phrase. You had the banter, the personality, but most of all you got on with Jack. And of course you knew how to wrap Luke around your little finger.

So when it took you less than three weeks to get the boy into your bed Luke finally realised what Jack meant by you were trouble.

It wasn’t in the sense of you were twisted with the cops but rather that you were addictive. Someone so far out of anyone’s league that people weren’t sure if you were real.

That’s what you were, an enigma to everyone but Luke.

Or at least that’s what he liked to say as he stuck into your dorm because somehow it was safer in there than it would have been if you were in the apartment with Jack.

As much as Luke knew he shouldn’t stay in your dorm as it meant you two were awkwardly on top of each other due to the weird size that dorm bed were. He could never help it as he got to see you in his old band tees that you had stolen from his closet during one of the many trips you had taken to Jersey.

Nico and Jack at this point were either choosing to ignore what was clearly going on or they genuinely couldn’t see it.

But that meant you and Luke were feeling more adventurous than you had before.

Constantly pushing the boundaries being less careful than before as you were now even spending nights in the Hughes apartment.

As your life360 began to have these spurs where it randomly turned off only to be turned on when you were minutes away from Nico’s apartment. You seemed to feel this thrill as your brothers phone calls came in wondering why your location had gone off.

Dawson made the mistake of walking into the Hughes apartment one day when Jack was running late making him the first and only one to have seen it.

You had been straddling Luke’s lap when the Mercer boy walked in “Hughesy I didn’t know you had - y/n!” The boy clutched his chest in surprise as you locked eyes with him.

Some would have called this, strike one.

After all of the threats that Nico gave the boys Dawson was surprise that it only took him this long to get with you.

Luke was quick to place you next to him and before either one of you could beg for his silence Jack was home “oh I didn’t know you were going to be here y/n.” Swollen lips and messy hair didn’t seem to be picked up by the older Hughes boy as he flashed you a friendly smile “you want to stay for lunch?” He added letting you and Luke know that you were in the clear with him.

The younger Hughes boy frowned as you got up “I’m actually meeting Nico for lunch.“ You explained sending Luke a wink “I’ll see you soon Hughesy.” His nickname rolled off of your tongue as you left the apartment “I didn’t know that you two were friends.” Jack had to say that you and Luke were not a pairing he thought he’d ever see.

Next you seemed to grow ballsier than ever.

After a successful preseason the entire team were at Nico’s apartment for a celebration party.

Of course your brother sent you an invite as you were spending that weekend in New Jersey.

Much to Nico’s dismay you were hidden from your brothers side for most of the night.

Primarily because you were a bit too focused on a certain Hughes boy “baby you’re going to have to keep quiet.” Luke raised his finger to your lips as you rode his cock.

Your eyes fluttered as your nails raked up his chest “you’re so good for me.” You groaned as his finger rubbed against your clit “y/n you there?” The knock at the door made Luke wrap his lips around your breast in an attempt to suppress his own moans.

Say it with me now, strike two.

You’re chewed at the inside of your cheek “little busy.” You whined making the mental note to kill Luke later.

The boy smirked from beneath you as your hands locked into his hair “Jack is just looking for Luke and he said he saw you with him last.” That almost felt like strike two in the now game of baseball that you had Luke had found yourselves in.

Nico groaned as you remained silent “I sort of wanted an answer from you kid.” It made you roll your eyes as Luke squeezed your ass “I’ll help you find him in a sec.” Your head fell back when Luke’s lips grazed over your collarbone.

You grumbled “I would have liked if you could do it now.” You were grateful that the door was locked because Nico would have opened it by now.

If Luke hadn’t been bringing you close to an orgasm you would have killed your brother “Nico give me a minute.” You were dangling closer to hitting the older boy “okay jesus I’ll see you in the kitchen.” When Nico finally left Luke was able to go back to what he was doing beforehand.

He watched as your lips pursed “I’m gonna come Luke.” You cried making the boy beneath you capture your lips in a kiss.

It was hot as he held your hips against his “where are you going?” Luke complained as you got off of him before he had the chance to do as much as cuddle you reached for your dress “remember Nico?” You spoke in a duh tone shaking your head.

The red dress wasn’t doing a lot for your body “maybe you should find something else.” Luke mumbled seeing the bruises already forming on your collarbone “maybe you should get dressed before our brothers realise that we’re both in here?” You proposed realising that he was right.

The Hughes boy pulled you back by your hand “you’re so hot when you’re bossy.” Luke mumbled pecking your lips.

Finally and by far you’re most stupid of all moments.

Otherwise known as the time that Nico finally caught on.

It was when Luke had scored his first goal of the regular season and you couldn’t help but praise him tonight.

Naturally you in the crowd as it was in New York but as you ran past the crowd of family and friends of the Islander players you were trying to find Luke.

It shouldn’t have been a hard challenge given his height but still there you were trying and failing to find him “there you are!” His voice came from behind you.

He wrapped his arms around your torso so by the time you had spun around you were now facing him “hey.” You smiled looking up at him.

His hands comfortably found their way to your cheeks making Luke grateful that he had taken his gloves off moments before “what are you doing?” You mumbled trying to see what he was getting at as you could hear your brothers laughs echo off of the walls.

Luke ran his thumb over your lower lip “he is so busy talking to Jack that neither one of them is going to notice a thing.” The Hughes boys words made you feel at ease “bout time I congratulate you on that goal then?” You smiled as he nodded dropping his head to yours.

The two of you forgot how good it felt having his lips on yours as you two had been so busy recently that the idea of hanging out was simply out of the question “what the fuck is this?” A loud voice pulled you two back to reality.

Strike three, you should have been out.

Your eyes went wide as you saw the irritated Nico in front of you “look Luke I might not be good at these things but-” your ramble was cut short as Luke matched your expression “run?” He asked slowly repositioning you to block your brothers attempt at running after him.

Part of you wanted to do more as Nico cut in “I’m going to kill you Hughes.” The captain saw you as his little baby who needed to be protected at all times, even if that was from Luke Hughes.

“definitely run.”

#luke Hughes imagines #luke Hughes oneshots #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl oneshot #oneshots #imagines #nhl imagines #hockey one shots #amber writes fics

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cupcakesmoothie · 1 year

Text

I did all three backstories for Touchstarved (I have 12 hours on this thing and it's only the demo)

Kuras and Vere don't seem to have red options, but Vere does have a secret ending and Kuras... I don't know, holds you for a bit longer?

For Mhin, it really is just picking The Alchemist backstory. You can call them short or whatever and you'll still get it.

For Leander, you have to take the flowers and keep touching him. It's okay if you hold back the first time even.

For Ais, you gotta tell him fuck you and pet the soulless, and after that red option pretty much all yours.

Differences I found between the three backstories:

It is pretty much like how they tell you, Oracle gets premonitions, Hound has experience with people and survival, and Alchemist has knowledge about magic and science, so there's different things you find out with each one.

The Alchemist:

I may be a little bit biased, but think The Alchemist is the most informative (It's also the first one I picked). There's the expected info of noticing that Vere's collar is enchanted, or knowing about how strong Leander really is when it comes to magic, but it's got the added bonus of MC's mentor having been in the Senobium in the past.

Compared to the others, The Alchemist is more familiar with Senobium, albeit through word of mouth. It's interesting how many times the MC says something similar to "I didn't know the Senobium did that." It calls into question whether MC's teacher was lying, or more interestingly (and what I think might be the case), the Senobium has changed a lot recently. It's talked about, even without the Alchemist backstory, that the Senobium used to be somewhere you could go to for help, but now most of the characters you meet do not like the Senobium, so what changed?

The Hound:

The Hound (the least popular option, apparently) was pretty fun. The Hound notices more about Ais, specifically that he's very suited to be a leader, and that the number of scars he has (one) seems suspicious for his temperament (or "how seasoned he acts", as the MC puts it).

One thing that I found very fun was doing Mhin's route as the Hound. They're somewhat able to keep up! They can (or tried to) recognize tells, and noted that Mhin was one of the few people who was able to sneak up on them. They also weren't sure how Vere managed to get their key. They were also prepared to steal to survive.

The Oracle:

While The Hound notices physical things, the Oracle notices... how do you say, otherworldly things. The Seaspring seems to be hiding a lot (of course it is), but the MC notices a heartbeat. A presence. They feel something from Ais. The name Ocudeus means something, they can feel it. They feel like they can see Ais' tattoo move.

Also, the MC feels something from Mhin and Kuras (in his clinic at least), which is interesting!

If I had to decide which love interest was better with which backstory...

Vere: The fact that the Alchemist thought that they could tell what enchantments were on his collar if only they could touch it feels promising! And both their connections (though I mean connection in the loosest term for MC here) to the Senobium makes it feel like you might very well find something.

The Hound might be one of the few who can actually survive this guy if I'm gonna be honest. (I mean you can still get killed by him but. You know.)

Ais: The Oracle's sixth sense makes going to the Seaspring a lot more interesting compared to the others, and the way they can feel something from Ais is very cool.

The Hound can tell his character better than the others, and I wonder how that will come into play later on.

Kuras: The Alchemist knows their way around spell-crafting and alchemy (When I picked this I wondered if they would be able to help Kuras around the clinic, which doesn't happen, but hey it might).

The Oracle seems to also feel something from him.

Mhin: First things first, their red option literally requires you to have the Alchemist backstory. Mhin's precision is noticed by the other MCs sure, but not to that detail.

Watching the Hound observe where they could be was so fun to watch. It feels like this MC will be able to keep up.

The Oracle feels something from Mhin, something inhuman.

Leander: The Alchemist was able to tell that the flash of magic was a barrier spell, and that most magic (or at least the ones they're familiar with) uses an incantation or spell circle. His didn't.

But either way, there will be things to find no matter the backstory you choose, and all of the character's stories are intertwined, so don't let this dissuade you from a specific backstory! There will always be things to find, you just need to look.

Extra: I found it pretty cool how each MC has a different way of knowing what a Groupmind is. Story-wise this makes sense of course, but each of their reactions to it are slightly different, from I heard this from rumours of people in cults (Hound), to I used to be told I could put people in a groupmind (Oracle), to legends suggest it was possible with a strong enough catalyst but it's never been done before (Alchemist).

Also, it's interesting to know what they each think of surroundings (specifically the Amaryllis district). They all have different opinions from I used to be told bizarre things about this place and now I kinda get it (Alchemist), to it's not that different from the place I grew up in (Hound), to it's VERY different from where I grew up in (Oracle).

And if I'm not mistaken, the reason Vere gives for your desperation is different for all of them!

You can find gameplay from me on my Youtube channel, or watch me getting all the red options and secret ending here:

youtube

I didn't read it out loud cause my mic sorta sucks and sometimes it peaks and gets a bit shrill. Also you see how my mouse moves sometimes? It means I'm screaming. I don't think I'd have been able to keep calm enough for this. Also my reading kinda sucks anyway hope you like it lol

#If you guys watch the 3 hour unedited version and find my friend going online please tell me the timestamp #I cannot find it #There are two and I found one of them #It's a fun little easter egg I guess. If you even care #Touchstarved #Touchstarved game #touchstarved spoilers #I had fun doing this #sweetmountainseeds #Oh btw #I may be wrong #Yes I replayed the game four times #But I might be wrong #There might be things you need/don't need to do #I can't really tell anymore #I mean everything here should be right but do correct me if I'm wrong

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netherfeildren · 4 months

Text

At the Restaurant

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Size Difference; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you’re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him.

It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it.

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself.

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine.

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good.

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you.

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other.

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway.

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him.

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention.

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here.

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be.

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it.

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him.

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it.

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu.

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please.

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge?

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely.

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point.

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.”

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you.

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one.

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore.

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore.

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there.

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence.

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up.

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long.

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of.

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return.

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger.

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side.

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing.

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt.

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough.

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom.

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.”

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about.

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his.

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that.

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm.

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him.

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this.

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him.

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others.

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here.

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth.

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart.

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him.

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can.

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had.

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary.

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins.

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake.

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and Grogu and his parents. Grogu, a baby, Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him.

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice.

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It’s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside.

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence.

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time.

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain.

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart.

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing.

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless.

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

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#vic fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin AU #din djarin modern AU #the mandalorian AU #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal characters #din djarin angst

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aza-writes · 8 months

Text

Morning Affirmations

Lip Gallagher x female!reader

Requested: no

Summary: Lip walks in on his girlfriend singing to the younger kids while she gets them ready for the day. Takes place in season 4 after Liam gets home from the hospital

Warnings: few curse words, mentions of drug use (Fiona in jail) but overall, it’s just tons of FLUFF

A/N: inspired by “I love my body” by @mothermoon on TikTok. Might rewrite something similar for dad!lip, lmk what you think. Got bored before lab and wrote this

The floorboards creaked under every step Lip took to get down to the kitchen. He wasn’t too concerned with anything too wrapped up in his mind until two sweet voices pull him out.

“I love my body from my…”

“Head to my toes.”

Liam’s voice was hard to hear, even in the quietness of the unusually empty Gallagher house. Everyone was already at school or wherever they ran off to today—leaving Lip home alone to take care of some things.

Liam has only been home from the hospital for two days, leaving Lip and the rest of the family still scrambling without Fiona running the show. Lip had school off today, some random college holiday that didn’t make sense for a lot of people, but they took it anyway.

Lip had been out of bed since 5 that morning, unsure if it was considered a late night or an early morning due to the fact he hadn’t slept for more than a few hours the night before. His mind was going a million miles an hour, mixed with him worrying himself sick about Liam and going to check on him every thirty minutes. Every time he would get up from his bed, y/n would sit up, too. Her concerned look was always dismissed with a quick “go back to sleep” or “I’ll be back soon” from Lip. The “soon” in question was around five to ten minutes of Lip just sitting in front of Liam’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall.

Y/n stayed up and waited for Lip the first few times, but soon enough her eyes got too heavy for her to ignore. Even with the extra sleep, caffeine would be her best friend today.

Lip’s mind was still groggy as he trudged down the stairs, stress and sleep deprivation felt like chains were strapped to the back of his ankles. He barely made out the words y/n and Liam were exchanging.

“I love my face…” She lingered for a second, allowing Liam to think about the next verse. She smiles and continued on. “My-”

“Eyes, my mouth my nose.” Lip could help but smile at the sight of Liam touching every body part mentioned. He clearly knew this song, yet Lip couldn’t think of any of the words. When ever you would sing it to one of his younger siblings, all he could do was hear your voice. The kindergarten-teacher-like tone was enough for him to abandon all of his thoughts and focus on you.

“I like the way I look when I look in the mirror.” Liam didn’t have to wait for y/n this time, he sang it with her. Their voices both were quiet, almost scared to wake anyone up, but the house stayed quiet. It was just those three in that house, the outside world didn’t matter.

“I stand a little closer just to see a little clearer.” Both of their smiles were beaming. Liam giggling at y/n’s little tickles all over his belly and neck. Lip’s grew too. Y/n was so amazing with the kids, Lip could’ve sworn it as always been this way. Y/n and Lip, Lip and y/n. They belonged together.

Everyone in his family loved her. Carl made her a gift out of melted spoons and forks, Debbie demands they have a girls day at least once a month. Shit, even Frank called her “one of the good ones.” Technically it was after she downed a shot of vodka without even wincing, but he still liked her non the less.

Y/n turns around smiling, it only growing when she finally sees Lip.

“Good morning babe.”

“Morning babe!” Liam repeats immediatly, causing Lip and y/n to giggle with him.

Lip pours two cups of coffe before heading to the kitchen table. “Good morning to you.” He sets the coffe right in front of y/n while kissing her cheek. He carefully set his down too and kissed Liams cheek. “Good morning little man.”

#lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher #lip x reader #shameless us #phillip gallagher #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher fic #lip gallagher blurb

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luna-writes-stuff · 2 years

Text

A super quick five-minute guide to writing a Stranger Things fic with no experience of DnD:

Edited for some clarity since people asked for it. See reblogs for more time-accurate DnD, and more specific rules!

Alternatively; If you never played or barely know DnD, but wish to write about it nonetheless, here are some quick FYI’s

These points are made based on things I have read on this site and other platforms. In no way is this a personal attack if you recognise your own writing! I have seen many posts where people complain about the inaccuracy of DnD represented in fics, but none offer any ideas, so that’s why I wrote this. Hope this helps!

1. DND IS NOT A TWO PLAYER GAME

You need one Dungeon master, and at least three players to create a good campaign. I’d say a normal party consists out of five players (DM not included), but it can quite easily be bigger.

(There are starter campaigns with one DM and one player, but for a good game, you’d need a bigger party. Introductions to DnD are way more fun with a good group)

2. DND IS NOT A QUICK GAME

There is no such thing as playing a quick round of DnD. Even starter campaigns can be hours long. A short/mini campaign is usually around 4, if not more, hours.

3. THERE ARE MORE DICES THAN JUST THE D20

Though the D20 is the dice you will use more often, there are other ones as well; the D4, D6, D8, D10, and - occasionally - the D100

4. THERE ISN’T ONE DND BOOK

DnD might appear as a fun role playing game, but there is a lot of effort that goes into it. With that counting the books. Players usually only need the Player’s Handbook, which contains information about how to play and how to make a character. Vice versa does the DM have a Dungeon Master’s guide, which introduces them to the game and how to direct it. Aside from that, there are a lot of other books containing different worlds, campaigns, creatures, characters, monsters etc. etc.

5. YOU CANNOT MAKE YOUR OWN DND HANDBOOK

Bouncing back on point 4, as there are many books, there are also many pages. A book isn’t easily studied, and is usually only used as a reference, and not something you have to know by heart. It is incredibly difficult to memorise every little detail of only one book. Aside from that, there are many many rules and restrictions bound to certain worlds and characters, so creating your own book, 9 out of 10 times would not make sense. It doesn’t make it impossible, but it is highly unlikely. Also, the DM will often times pitch in on which races and classes to use for certain campaigns, so creating your own species often won’t get you very far.

6. NOT ALL DND CAMPAIGNS HAVE A MAP AND MINIATURES

In season 4, we see Eddie’s campaign, with it a map and miniatures of creatures (under which Vecna), but this doesn’t occur as often as you think. Starter campaigns or other well known campaigns do contain maps, and miniatures of both the characters and creatures, but this is only because most of those campaigns don’t actually allow you to make your own character. A campaign self-written, or a campaign taken from a book about a certain world often times do not have anything, save from some drawings of your surroundings. There will be a lot of times you’ll have to imagine your character standing in a certain spot.

7. WRITING A CAMPAIGN IS DIFFICULT AND ISN’T WRITTEN IN A DAY

Extending some information; writing campaigns are a pain in the ass. As a first time DM, you will not write your own campaign. Unless you are really committed and already have some experience as a player…. If you have played often, writing a campaign is possible, but it takes weeks, if not months. A lot of info and rules and restrictions and creatures etc. etc. are involved in the process. Besides that, you’ll have to help your players out with their characters to fit to your world, while not revealing too much. You cannot write a campaign in a night.

8. CREATING A CHARACTER TAKES A LONG TIME

Like writing a campaign, a character also takes time. If you are really dedicated, you might have one in an hour, but if you want to properly study every race, class and background, you’ll be stuck in the books for a while. And that’s not even with counting characteristics, alliances, backstory, mannerisms, bonds, relations…. And then you’ll have to actually get in character. It takes time.

(As said, some people can create characters quickly, but this is with experience. More often than not, if you want to write a good character, you’ll be busy for quite a while)

9. EVERYTHING RELIES ON THE DUNGEON MASTER

As a player, you can’t change the story. You can’t make things up. Everything, and I mean everything, goes by the Dungeon Master first. You can’t propose things, you can’t ignore things. Dungeon Masters spent a lot of time working on campaigns, even the ones that have already been written. They know what happens, they decide. There is no second voice.

(Yes, players are able to interact with the story. It wouldn’t be DnD if you couldn’t, but the DM knows what happens, and the players - or the characters - do not. You could ignore creatures or buildings. Smart? Meh.)

Hope this helped! If not, feel free to ask or leave a suggestion!

#stranger things #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #Netflix #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler x reader #lucas sinclair x reader #dustin henderson x reader #mike wheeler x reader #will byers x reader #jonathan byers x reader #max mayfield x reader

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 2 months

Text

Open Mic Night

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Soldier Boy and the reader go to a bar on a double date with Hughie and Annie. This takes place beyond season three in alternate universe. Reader is a supe. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Fluff, Age Difference, Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Established Relationship

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ just to be sure because this fic contains dude being super creepy and sleazy, swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, references to past sex, and Soldier Boy. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. This is my first time writing for Soldier Boy, so please be gentle. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Masterlist

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Music swung low and heavy over the crowded bar from the band on the stage that dominated the central wall of the building. Speakers stood like stoic watchmen, thumping and blasting the haunting music on each side of the stage. Spotlights stung the air, spewing colors of orange, yellow, and green onto the figures that writhed on stage.

It was open mic night. That much was inferred from the collection of mismatched people swarming the edge of the stage where a bouncer stood holding a black clip board.

Each one pushed and shoved, trying to shout over the death march ballad flowing from the lead singers mouth and threatening one another with musical instruments clutched in their hands.

The song is an odd choice. You thought to yourself noting the outfit of the lead singer. He was wearing a bright red and yellow pinstriped suit that clashed with bright pink hair that fell past his waist and was braided away from his face.

How does it not get caught in his guitar?

You were still standing just inside the doorway, staring beyond Hughie to watch the lead singer gyrate and writhe against the standing microphone.

You glance over at Ben. He’s hovering by your right elbow, mouth turned down in disgust, but even frowning he looks just as handsome as ever. His dark hair lies in soft waves over his brow, he trimmed his beard so that it’s more of a dusting over his cheeks and chin, he’s wearing a black t-shirt that makes his eyes a dangerous bright green and a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. Even without his suit he looks flawless, every bit the hero that people believed him to be.

“I don’t understand music nowadays.” Ben continues to stare at the lead singer. "It used to make sense."

“Isn’t he talented?” You laugh elbowing Ben in the side. “Aren’t you glad we let Annie pick the place?”

“I definitely am.” Hughie responds. “I think my life has been enriched by watching that man hump the microphone.”

“Oh definitely.” Annie adds.

“Do you think he’d sign my butt?” You ask enthusiastically. “I carry a sharpie with me at all times just for this possibility.”

“Y/n-“ Annie snorts.

“What?” Ben snaps, turning to look down at you. His eyes are narrowed in jealousy and confusion.

“I’m only kidding Gramps.” Your hand entwines with his. “You’re the only one who gets to see it.”

He doesn’t look pleased, but the nickname you assigned him when you first met often makes him angry.

"Don't fucking call me that." Ben mutters.

“You know you love it.” You whisper back.

“Ew. So don’t need that image-“ Hughie makes a face.

“I don’t need to hear it from you. When we all lived in that safe house and you and Annie had ‘alone time’ I wanted to wash my ears out with soap. Y’all could at least have gone to a room on the other side of the apartment, not to mention Annie took out the power every time.”

“You have super hearing Y/n.” Annie’s face flushes. “And you and Ben weren't exactly quiet either.”

"I won't apologize for that." You shrug.

Someone comes in the double doors behind you and jostles past you. You stumble into Ben’s chest, who steadies you with a hand on your waist. The man doesn't turn around to apologize, instead he continues to walk towards the giant wooden bar on the left side of the room.

You ignore the urge to haul him back by the back of the shirt and make him apologize and one look up at Ben lets you know that he's thinking the exact same thing.

Ben watches the man’s retreating figure murderously and opens his mouth, but before he yells something, you squeeze his hand. Ben's gaze drops to you, anger burning behind his green eyes.

“It’s okay. It’s busy and there’s a lot of people. It happens.” You whisper trying to bring him some comfort.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the double date. It wasn’t that he hated Hughie or Annie, you think it was because after a long day he’d rather spend time with you than keep up appearances. When Annie suggested it, it had seemed like a good idea but now standing here in the overcrowded bar it was overwhelming. Ben and you had been on dates just the two of you in a bar before, but it wasn’t nearly as loud or as crowded as this one. You spent the night in one of the quiet booths in the corner, his arm wrapped around you while you listened to the music coming from the juke box, music that Ben actually recognized. Sometimes you think he liked quiet restaurants more, where he could breathe, and relax in a booth next to you. You think being around too many people activated his PTSD.

Ben frowns, but tightens his hand on your hip.

Sometimes you thought that you being there helped. As much as Ben didn't like to admit his feelings, you noticed that his actions spoke more. The way that he let you hold on to his arm or the way that his hand often drifted to your waist when in public made you believe that Ben did depend on having you with him. Plus he never seemed to want to let you go out of the apartment alone. Even with something as mundane as grocery shopping, Ben would come with you. And despite him sighing each time you walked down an aisle and complaining under his breath, Ben wouldn't stay at the apartment when you told him to.

Plus there were the mornings when you woke up before him and noticed how he pulled you to him in his sleep or the mornings when he woke up first and didn’t push you away, instead he liked having your head on his chest watching your gentle breath.

However, the look in his eyes as he gazed around the room at the crowd was not calm or collected, it was bordering on manic. He looked almost like he wanted to pick you up and move you to the corner, caging you in and fighting off anybody who tried to get close to you.

“Hey we are going to go get drinks. Why don’t you guys find us a place to sit?” You say to Annie.

Maybe I need to talk to him alone.

“Sure.” She doesn’t sense Ben’s discomfort and pulls Hughie in the direction of an empty booth that lines the wall opposite the bar.

You gently lead Ben through the crowds, past the bar to a small alcove where the restrooms are.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Yeah?" Ben raises his eyebrow and you can imagine his thoughts.

Probably revolving around the idea that he's not a pussy and that he's not afraid of anything.

Sometimes you hated that Ben was so guarded and that his usual emotions circled around borderline toxic masculinity, annoyance, and anger. Well, until you started dating. At the beginning Ben had been nicer to you than anyone else, which meant those three emotions appeared less when you were around. But now, you were slowly coaxing him out of his tough exterior to get him to open up more, difficult, but not impossible.

You knew it was only a matter of time until he opened up more to you. In the few months you had been dating he was already doing better than when you first met- when there was a constant parade of women through the apartment and he tried his upmost to get in your pants.

“Because if you’re not we can leave right now. I can tell Annie that I’m having bad cramps or something and we can go home. Get a pizza delivered or something? Watch one of your old films?” You look into his face, trying to read his expression, but Ben has mastered the art of hiding his emotions. An infuriating skill, because you prided yourself on being able to read people.

“I’m fine.”

“Ben-“

“I promise I’m fucking fine.” He snaps. His broad figure blocks the view of the singer on stage who has begun to gyrate again.

You hoped the song would be over soon.

Despite his tone, it didn't make you angry. You knew that he tended to slip into annoyance when he was afraid to tell you what he really thought.

He doesn’t look fine. His eyebrows are pulled down low over his eyes and his mouth is turned down in a frown.

“I’m serious. I won’t be mad if you just want to go home, just the two of us. Being out is supposed to be fun and if you’re not having fun-“

“I swear I’m having as much fucking fun as I can listening to terrible music.” He doesn’t smile.

You release his hand and your fingertips raise to brush back some of his dark locks that have fallen into his eyes. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I love you-“

He sighs leaning into your touch.

“I know you think that you have to do this for me, but I’m okay with just going. I know you don’t like crowds or people.” You smile at him, putting as much love and comfort as you can into your tone.

“I’m okay y/n.”

You search his gaze for the lie, trying to uncover how he feels, but you find nothing. “Okay.”

You arch upwards to kiss him hoping that it will relieve some of the tension he was holding in his muscular shoulders.

To say it works is an understatement. As soon as your lips touch his, he backs you against the wall and continues to kiss you feverishly, his hand finding your waist.

I guess that’s one way to channel all that nervous energy.

Ben’s hand begins to sweep lower along your back to grab your butt and bring your leg up over his hip, holding you up against him so you don't have to stretch as far to kiss him. It makes you smile into his mouth, knowing that he was doing that for you, that he cared enough to make sure you were comfortable.

“Ben-“ You breathe.

“What?” He smirks at you. “Didn’t you want me to have a good time?”

“Well yes but-“

“You aren’t having a good time?”

“Ben-"

“No? I think I can make you have a good time, a few times before Hughie and Annie notice we're gone.” He begins to nudge you backward in the direction of the bathroom.

“No.” You giggle pushing against his muscular chest, but he doesn’t move.

“Come on doll. Don’t you want me to enjoy myself?” Ben pouts, before bringing his lips down to your ear. "I definitely think you'd enjoy yourself." A shiver travels down your spine. "That's my girl." He smirks, as he begins to kiss your neck again.

“Ben, I do want you to enjoy yourself, but I also don't want to have a good time in the bathroom at a bar.”

“Didn’t stop us last time.” He arches a brow.

“That was much cleaner and we weren’t at a bar with two of our friends.”

Ben frowns at you.

“How about you get me a little drunk, we dance for a bit, and then you get to take me home.” You press a kiss just under his ear, tangling your hands in his hair.

“Or we go into the bathroom for 10 minutes then you get me drunk enough to dance and then you get to take me home.” His hand tightens just under your thigh, rubbing his thumb against your soft jeans.

“Ben.”

“You know you want to.” He grins wolfishly. “Have I told you how sexy you look?”

He didn’t have to say it. You were wearing a green top that showed a little more cleavage than usual and your best pair of jeans that hugged your curves. The same pair of jeans that usually made Ben handsy. You had also spent an inordinate amount of time curling your hair before you left the apartment. Plus the green was exactly the same color as his suit, something that Ben loved was when you wore his color or his clothes.

“You have, several times. And I do, but please I don’t want to when our friends are out there waiting for us.”

He sighs, knowing that he’s lost. “Fine.”

Ben reluctantly lowers your legs to the ground, but you kiss him gently on the mouth to kiss away the frown that replaces the seductive smirk he had moments ago.

“Go on. I’m going to go to the bathroom.” He steps around you.

“What?”

“I have to take a piss. Go on get the drinks. I’m gonna need a lot of them to get through that fucking music.”

“Beer?”

“Beer and a whiskey.” Ben winks as he closes the door behind him.

You take in a deep breath to cool down from whatever almost happened, but you saw your ability to say no as a personal victory. Ben was usually able to coax you into doing whatever he wanted.

You hate how easily he won.

You begin the slow trek back to the bar, weaving in and out of the people trying to get closer to the stage or just dancing along to the music. The previous band was gone, replaced by a man wearing a fedora and playing a saxophone. The melody was smooth, and reminded you of what you father used to listen to on long days after work.

Ben would like this song. You think to yourself. You suddenly wished that he was here so he could hold you and sway along to the music, but you knew that getting drinks was equally important.

It would probably take at least two glasses of whiskey to get him out on the dance floor.

You maneuver yourself between two people sitting on stools to talk directly to the bartender. “Hey can I get four bottles of beer and a whiskey.”

“What kind?” The bartender is a blonde girl, pretty, only a few years older than you, dressed in an electric green top and mini skirt.

“Do you have anything that’s really old?” You never got what kind of whiskey Ben liked, just that he often complained that the older stuff was better.

It was a common opinion he voiced.

“Yeah but it’s pricy.” She shrugs

“That’s fine.” You pull Ben’s debit card out of your pocket.

You thought it was weird to use his card, but he kept telling you to even though you didn’t have a shared bank account. One time you tried to pay him back, but he wouldn’t let you and said that it was the man's job to pay for everything.

Another time you tried to pay for dinner and he told you not to worry. But you still felt guilty.

Sometimes you felt like a sugar baby. Given the age difference, it was closer to reality than you would have liked.

You were living together, well, Ben lived in your apartment. He kept talking about moving to a nicer apartment and as much as you wanted to, one day you found him looking at apartments that were worth more than seven times the monthly rent that you were paying currently.

You were going to see one in a few days, but you still hadn’t admitted to him that you didn’t think you could afford it. The only thing that stopped you was how excited he got about going, about moving in officially together in a new apartment that you didn't want to say no. Seeing him excited about something so domestic warmed your heart.

You didn’t know how much money he had, you just knew it was more than you given the fact that he was such a big hero and that he used to be in movies.

You hadn’t had a solid job since you started working for Butcher, who would give you some money under the table but who knows where he got that. You had some money that you inherited from your parents when they died, but other than that, nothing. An unwelcome thought, given the indestructible nature of your powers, which meant there was the possibility you would live forever.

I’m gonna have to start budgeting better.

The bartender turns to look for the drinks, while you lean forward on the bar, closing your eyes to listen to the smooth jazz that floats over the crowd.

Someone’s hand slides down your back and grips your butt.

You snort, not opening your eyes. “Ben I thought I told you-“ You turn around to look at who you thought was Ben, but freeze when you realize it’s the pink haired singer from before.

“Hey baby.” The man smiles tightening his grip on your butt. “I saw you admiring me, thought I’d come say hello.”

“Um. Yeah. That didn’t happen, now can you please take your hand off my ass?” You ask forcing your voice into a cool collected tone.

“I think it did.” He doesn’t remove it, in fact he moves further into you, to pin you against the bar. “Did you like my song?”

“No.”

One word answers usually were a good way of telling people that you weren’t interested, but this man didn't seem to understand that.

“Aww that’s too bad. I’ve got a few others that I can show you. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone?”

“We’ll see that’s the thing. I’m not alone and I’m going to ask you nicely one more time to fuck off before I break your arm.”

“A little thing like you do that? Come on baby let’s be serious.”

By now every time he said little your eye twitched aggressively. You did a good job of pretending you weren't a supe on your days off. You hid really well in a crowd, a skill that helped you evade Homelander and Vought more than once. Of course it had its annoyances as well. Case and point.

“Trust me. Me breaking your arm is much better than the alternative.”

I should get rid of him before Ben gets out here. That will definitely not end well if he sees this guy.

“What’s the alternative?” He oozes moving so close to your face that you can smell the stale alcohol on his breath.

“Well-“

The man is snapped upwards away from you and into the air.

Ben looks murderous. His usually bright green eyes have hardened into an emerald, his smile turned into a snarl. He’s holding the man by the front of his brightly striped suit, two feet off the ground, so close that Ben’s nose is almost brushing his.

“The alternative-“ Ben’s voice is a growl. “Is that I break your fucking face for touching my girlfriend.”

Why does he look so hot when he’s angry? You sigh to yourself, admiring the way his muscles tense under his black t-shirt as he holds the guy and how the shirt pulls up just enough for you to see the top of his hip where his low hanging blue jeans have fallen.

There’s something wrong with me.

“Whoa man I’m sorry I didn’t know she was yours.” The man stutters, holding on to Ben’s wrists where he still holds him in the air.

Ben is easily a foot taller than him and broader by a mile. Gazing down at him with enough hatred to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

As much as you liked Ben like this, you knew you had to do something before Ben killed him. Because as much as he deserved a good beating, the man didn’t deserve to die.

“Ben put him down.” You say.

“No.”

“Ben please.” You put your hand on his muscular shoulder, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the palm of your hand. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

“But you are-“ His teeth are gritted together when he looks at you, green eyes blazing in fury. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

“No he shouldn’t. But he doesn’t deserve to lose his life just because he felt up the wrong person in a bar.”

Ben’s jaw is locked together, nostrils flaring, but even you know that somewhere deep down he knows you're right. He turns his head to look back at the man. “You’re lucky that she’s more forgiving than I am.” Ben drops the man, who lands in a lump on the floor and turns to look at you.

Ben doesn’t look happy, but he still takes your hand, preparing to shuffle you towards where Annie and Hughie are watching in horror.

But before Ben can say anything the man on the ground rolls to his feet, more gracefully than you would have guessed and lunges at Ben a small knife gripped in his left hand.

He really doesn’t know when to quit.

Although you know that a small knife will do little to Ben other than piss him off, you react. Before he can reach Ben, your free hand flashes out, fastening around the man's left wrist and you pull his arm behind him at an unnatural angle. His arm jolts, the sharp snap of bone overshadows the jazz music, and the man falls to the ground clutching his ruined arm to his chest with a broken cry. All of this happens within five seconds, too fast for a normal person to see.

“Told you I would break your arm.” You say, pulling Ben away before he can do anything worse to him.

“What happened?” Annie asks eyes wide.

“Total jerk at the bar. I ordered drinks but I think it’ll be better if Ben and I leave.” You glance over at the bartender who is talking to the bouncer and gesturing over at you and Ben. “I already paid so y’all enjoy yourselves.”

“Wait y/n we’ll come with you-“ Hughie says. His arm is draped around Annie’s shoulders where they sit in the booth. You think about letting them come with you, but they look so comfortable and they should enjoy their day off.

“No it’s okay.” You squeeze Ben’s hand. “I’m kinda wiped from today anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Annie asks.

“Yeah.” You nod once, before smiling wide at Annie and Hughie. “Let me know if you find the next Billy Joel.”

“There can only be one!” Hughie shouts as Ben and you weave through the bar goers to avoid the bouncer.

When you finally get outside and start towards home, Ben finally speaks.

“We didn’t have to leave.” He’s still holding your hand tightly, but you can feel the heat of his anger stirring beneath the skin.

“Yes we did. The bouncer was coming.” You stop walking and turn to look up at him. “Plus. I thought it was incredibly hot that you went all Soldier Boy on that guy’s ass to defend my honor.” Your hand drags against his muscular chest, mouth turning up in a sexy smile.

“Oh did you? Because here I thought that you were angry. And that you were going to yell at me for not letting you handle it.” He tugs you forward so that your chests are pressed against one another.

“Nope. Why do you think we had to leave? I want to get you home asap.”

He runs his free hand through your hair, fastening it behind your head, to pull you against him for a searing kiss. “You know, I also thought it was pretty hot when you broke that guy's arm.” Ben whispers against your lips.

“Wouldn’t have expected anything less. Now let’s go home so I can thank you properly.”

****************************************

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this fic, be sure to try out my series You Call It Madness But I Call It Love!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fluff #the boys #the boys fanfic #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy #jensen ackles soldier boy #the boys tv #the boys amazon #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy/ben

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cosmicghoul99 · 5 days

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An interesting Hannibal theory I think you should know about

I'm not sure how many people know this, but if you're unaware, some really interesting things relate to the show and Hannibal's character specifically. (Wanna add that I am not religious, so apologies if I get something wrong. I mean no offense to anyone, this is just a little analysis on my part)

There are a lot of biblical references in the show. It makes sense; religion has always been a deep, moral, and philosophical concept, and Hannibal loves to incorporate the ideas of religion and God into his actions and that of those around him. One of these references is a recurring one. Hannibal is often referred to as the devil. Like this quote from Gideon:

"You really are the devil," Abel Gideon - Antipasto

Or this one from Bedelia:

"Who holds the Devil, let him hold him well. He will hardly be caught a second time." Bedelia Du Maurier - The Wrath of the Lamb

Add this to all the religious imagery, the references to stags and the wendigo, plus the season three discussions about Dante. Bedelia says that she was "swallowed whole" by the beast at the mouth of Hell. You get the picture. There is a lot of talk and allusions to Hannibal being "the Devil."

Obviously, this is a metaphor first and largely used because he is the main "evil" or antagonistic character, but there's actually some truth to this.

Both Bryan Fuller, the creator, and Mads Mikkelsen, the actor of Hannibal, have stated that Hannibal is meant to be the literal devil. He is meant to be both a personification of the devil and the literal devil.

According to Bryan Fuller, Mads Mikkelsen plays Hannibal like he is Lucifer. In an interview, he stated that "he is as close as you can come to the Devil, in the sense that the Devil has no reasons," following it up by saying that Hannibal's reactions aren’t something of a person, but of the Devil. He intentionally plays the character through the lens of the fallen angel, Lucifer. Hannibal is meant to, in the eyes of the actor, be a manifestation of the Devil

Bryan Fuller has also said in interviews and online that he believes Hannibal is the devil. Of course, he states that this is his opinion and that others are up to their own interpretation, but the show's main creator and writer believes this also means that we can reasonably see this in the show.

Throughout the show, Hannibal is simply on another level. Many times, he does not seem human but rather otherworldly. I think that is where Mad's acting presents itself, alongside whenever Hannibal is talking about humanity and God.

Hannibal loves to play at being God and also criticizes God as well. I believe it is in episode three after Will kills Hobbs, that they discuss how Will killing Hobbs felt good. Hannibal responds with this.

"Killing must feel good to God, too... He does it all the time, and are we not created in His image?" Hannibal Lecter - Amuse-Bouche

Oh boy. This is such an interesting line. He talks about being created in His image. Let's be honest; he speaks as if he were God or knows God at least. His comment actually makes more sense if you view this as him being the Devil. Lucifer, the fallen angel, was cast from Heaven for rebelling against God. He feels that it was unjust. Most people talking about God and His actions view him with benevolence. Hannibal does not. In the bible, Lucifer had a problem with humans. And humans are, of course, said to be created in God's image. You could also argue that angels, especially Lucifer, were created in that same image, too. Hannibal has an issue with the rude. Why the rude particular? It is because those who are rude often showcase the worst of humanity's attributes and free will. Hannibal despises the rude because I believe that it, in some ways, represents the hatred that the Devil, or Lucifer, holds for humanity. The Devil had an issue with humans gaining free will and felt they did not deserve life via God's hands. This is similar to how Hannibal feels that those who are rude do not deserve to live. Hannibal, then, of course, being Satan himself, would be resentful of God for casting him from Heaven. Again, Hannibal often discusses God's motives, or what God feels doing certain things. Literally, a few seconds later in that episode, he says this:

"Hannibal: God's terrific. He dropped a church roof on thirty-four of his worshippers last Wednesday night in Texas while they sang a hymn.

Will: Did God feel good about that?

Hannibal: He felt powerful." Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter - Amuse-Bouche

That last line about him feeling powerful gets me thinking. Hannibal is speaking not just about this but also about his own fall. But more importantly, he's also showing us what he thinks of himself. Killing makes God feel powerful. That means that killing makes Hannibal feel powerful as well. He is both giving motives and somewhat criticizing God at the same time. Hannibal seems to find the situation amusing. I think he believes it quite funny that humans were killed while worshipping God. He might even see a comparison between what happened to him and what happened here. He is simultaneously praising God and calling Him a hypocrite.

Hannibal's motives for killing are also interesting, and I said earlier that I think the reason why he kills is because he believes that rude and ill-tempered people are the problem with humanity. And he wants to get rid of them.

Now, let's explore how this connects with other metaphors, his decisions in canon, and his relationship with Will.

Let's talk about the stag. I did some research, and in many religions, including Christianity, stags represent God and his might, at least from what I could find. I find this interesting because stags are also meant to represent opposition to the snake, another symbol of the Devil. Why is the representation of Hannibal, at least in Will's mind, a stag? I think it actually represents the darkening of Will. If stags are meant to represent good, then that means that Will starts off that way and then slowly follows the stag and is affected by it, which, to me, means that Will is slowly being corrupted. Just like the stag was corrupted due to Hannibal's influence, Will is starting to change and fall deeper and deeper into darkness. It's also interesting that the dynamic between Hannibal and Will is clearly that of one between the Devil and the person they are trying to tempt. Hannibal is trying to tempt Will into changing himself and embracing the darkness inside of him.

Will is Hannibal's realization that humans are actually not that bad. They are complex, and their free will actually makes them relate to him more than he thinks. Will is his weakness, and Hannibal is intrigued by him. If the Devil, which is Hannibal, is the snake, then, in Hannibal's own words, Will is the mongoose that preys on the snake. Hannibal originally fell because of humans, and at the end of the series, he falls because of humanity again. He fell for Will. Will is meant to represent the lamb of God. The symbolism is that Hannibal fell for Will, who sacrificed himself to keep the Devil away, getting corrupted in the process.

Dolarhyde is also a factor. The original painting, "The Great Red Dragon," represents Satan. How does that tie into this idea? I think it's not Dolarhyde who is meant to be Satan; rather, it is Hannibal. We know that Dolyrhde idolizes Hannibal in a sense. Like Will and many of his other patients, which I'll get into later, Francis is influenced by what Hannibal says. Yet another temptation by the Devil. This is also connected to Will coming into his own life because Francis is also manipulated by Will. There is a connection between Hannibal and Will, which is shared via the tempting and manipulation of Francis.

I mean, we have this statement by Jack talking about The dragon, the lamb, etc. Jack says that,

"He's not the Dragon, you are. The Devil himself bound in the pit." Jack Crawford

Hannibal compares Jack to God. But I think they both are, in some way.

Many of Hannibal's patients and the people in his life, in general, are manipulated by him. I mean, some of his patients are tempted and influenced by him to do bad things commit crimes, and murder people. That's very indicative of the Devil's work, in my opinion. Even Jack and Alana end up being manipulated and deceived by him.

There is a lot of other religious imagery and symbolism, so I'll only discuss some of it. To start with, the reference to Bedelia's presentation and Hannibal's name in Italy and what they could represent. I mentioned earlier that in season 3, Bedelia talks about her time in Florence with Hannibal. She talks about how Dante gave a physical space to Hell, a solid concept, but before that, people would say, the "mouth of Hell." Then she says that she was "swallowed by the beast." This refers to Hannibal, but here's the interesting thing. In the Bible, the Devil is also referred to as the Beast. Bedelia is yet again referring to herself being used and brought into the mouth of Hell by the Beast, Hannibal. The name that Hannibal was monikered by in Italy is also the same. "Il Mostro" translates to the monster, which can be interpreted as yet another way to refer to the devil. Then, there is the obvious references to lambs in the show, with it being a sacrificial symbol. I'm sure that's been talked about a lot, and I mentioned it earlier.

There are many mentions of justice, redemption, retribution, and more in the show. This connects with the religious themes, of course, but it also plays into Hannibal's view of himself as a God, as well as how the show depicts him as the Devil. He is the one who casts judgment onto people, like his patients, and onto the rude, like a God. He is the one who issues punishment for sins and misdeeds, like the Devil. I think it's so interesting to see them both working in tandem.

I once saw a post saying that Hannibal acts like he's lived the same life a hundred or so times. And I agree. He does. He acts like he has been around for a time so long that many have forgotten it. It makes sense why he's so confident, and nothing seems to phase him. Nothing that happens has any consequence for him. The only thing, really, that he cares about is Will. That's why he tries to get Will to have his Becoming and Fall with him. He wants Will to be there with him. Which is sweet, I think :) And not to bring up related trauma for anyone that has ever been a fan of Devilman or Devilman Crybaby, but IMO, it really really reminds me of Akira and Ryo and how Ryo is stuck in the same cycle over and over again as a lesson. Idk, my opinion. Let me know what you think.

I also wanted to touch on some other interpretations of the raven stag shown alongside the wendigo and how other religions and beliefs might relate to this.

The Wendigo is a demonic entity or evil spirit from the Algonquian people of Canada. It is a winter spirit that is meant to represent greed and gluttony. When humans succumb to greed, like being greedy for money, being cruel to people, or generally evil things, the Wendigo spirit can possess you. During harsh winters, when food is scarce, people commit taboo acts and consume another human, participating in cannibalism. This also causes a possession and turns this person into a wendigo, never to be satisfied and constantly craving forever. I am not Algonquian, or even Indigenous/Native American, so I can't speak too much on this, and I don't know too much, but I hope I explained it well enough. I apologize if I did not. The show has its own visualization of this, and Wendigos traditionally doesn't look like the one in the show, but the overall message is the same. Even if Hannibal is not the Devil, he could be some manifestation of a Wendigo. It makes sense. Remember his back story? He was forced into captivity while hiding by soldiers during an extremely harsh winter during the war. Harsh enough that food became scarce, and the soldiers had to resort to cannibalism. They fed Mischa to Hannibal, which might have triggered something. Ofc this is a reach, but I did want to bring another interpretation into this.

Obviously, this is all just speculation. I love this show, with its dark complexities and incredible depth, and I wanted to talk about something I've been thinking about for a while now. Again, not everything might be correct. I apologize if that's not the case. Please feel free to correct me. I also apologize if this made no sense or was not cohesive, it's pretty late for me, but I couldn't get this out of my head.

I hope it was interesting ;)

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram #just a little analysis #i'm sleep deprived so apologies if this makes no sense #i just really wanted to share

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suzena · 10 months

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Complete Dead Apple Explanation

Or: “The Ultimate Guide to Dead Apple”.

Warning: this is a long post! I’m not kidding, I worked on this for three months. There is a TL;DR at the end but it will only briefly cover the most important points.

I see posts about Dead Apple not being understood far too often and so I’m introducing: this explanation! I do want to preface this by saying that I can completely understand that this movie can be confusing. Or, as Fyodor said it:

But, as someone who has seen it many times, I’m here to shed some light on it! Hopefully after this post it’ll all make a bit more sense, and you’ll at least have different questions.

If you haven’t watched the movie yet and are wondering when to watch it, the story officially takes place between season two and three, though you’ll be able to watch season three with no issues if you haven’t watched the movie. Please do note that this post will contain light spoilers for the plot after season two, so don’t read it if you haven’t at least finished catching up to the anime.

I’ll try not to summarize the movie, but instead explain it. That means that this post does not replace the movie, but instead tries to elaborate upon it and tries to place it in the larger plot. Most of the early movie is therefore ignored, but please do not hesitate to ask if you have extra questions, comments, different interpretations or you want me to go into more detail about something. I may not know everything, but I’m always down to talk about this movie!

Alright, with all of that out of the way…

The Dragon Head Conflict

We’ll start at the beginning, which is to say, we’ll start at the prologue, which can be found as a permanent event in Mayoi (and also as a part of the Dead Apple manga). This is not technically needed to understand most of the movie, but it does give some context that will make it a little easier, since this is where it all starts.

The Dragon Head Conflict, sometimes also translated as the Ryuuzu Conflict, is (as the movie states) the largest conflict in the history of Yokohama’s underworld. It took place six years ago, and originally was about five hundred billion yen an ability user left behind after they died, which various organizations were very interested in. It lasted for a total of 88 days, and involved conflict between eight different underworld organizations, including among others the Port Mafia, Gelhart Security Service/GSS (from Fifteen) and Takasekai (also from Fifteen).

Now as you can imagine, the government isn’t super stoked that gangs are shooting each other up all night and leaving corpses everywhere, to the point where the sidewalk is torn up from the bullet holes. To try to combat this, they thought that they could best fight fire with fire, and let a strong ability user from outside Yokohama settle this conflict all at once.

This new ability user, known as the “White Qilin”, unfortunately doesn’t really care about ending the conflict and kills other strong ability users left and right just for the fun of it, contrary to what the government had hoped he would do. Whether they are uninvolved parties or Port Mafia executives, it doesn’t matter to this guy. The White Qilin also ends up taking the money the conflict was originally about, but that doesn’t stop his murder spree. In this way, the White Qilin gains control over the entire conflict pretty fast, making him the main target to eliminate in order to put a stop to the killings.

Dazai approaches this problem similarly as to how he did during the conflict of Stormbringer, with a group of ability users to overpower the lone individual, but gets his plan twisted on him and gets kidnapped instead. Naturally, he predicted this outcome, leaving a hint for Chuuya where he left a transmitter for a tracking device so that Chuuya could come rescue him.

This is then the first scene of the movie, where Dazai and Chuuya confront and defeat the White Qilin using Corruption, and the whole Dragon Head Conflict ends since the White Qilin is finally gone and all the money burned. This battle is so iconic in the underground circles that it gains them the name “Double Black”, or “Soukoku”.

A few small notes on the Dragon Head Conflict before we move on.

As can also be seen in the first scene of the movie, this is where Oda adopts all five of those kids you see during the Dark Age, which was also already stated in the Dark Age itself.

“I heard all about it, Odasaku. You’re raising five kids, huh? And not only that, they’re orphans from the Dragon’s Head Conflict.” ―Dazai, Dark Age

Also, ever wondered why the Port Mafia is the only major criminal organization in Yokohama? There actually used to be five in total but four of them completely perished during the Dragon Head Conflict. Another reason why Dazai & Chuuya ending the conflict is so impressive, since because of that the Port Mafia is the only one to even survive it at all.

Shibusawho?

As you’ve probably guessed by now, the “White Qilin”, also named “the Collector” in Dead Apple itself, are both different names for our main antagonist: Shibusawa Tatsuhiko. The government had good reason to believe Shibusawa would be able to stand against the entire Yokohama underground and come out on top: his ability.

Shibusawa’s ability, Draconia, creates a fog around him, which separates other ability users from their own ability and makes non-ability users disappear as long as the fog persists. When surrounded by this fog, ability users are confronted with this version of their ability that is split from themselves. If an ability user is to die within this fog, their ability will be added to Draconia’s collection room.

There is decent evidence that it takes a while before the fog activates, so the effect isn’t immediate. This can be seen with Chuuya, who makes very short contact with the fog before he lifts up the building that he shoves in the Dragon’s mouth, but it’s seen even more clearly with Atsushi and Kyouka at the start of the movie. They spend a small while running around Yokohama wondering why everyone is gone before they’re finally confronted with their abilities.

To some extent the separated abilities represent the inner conflict in an ability user. This can of course be clearly found in Atsushi and his shaky connection to the tiger, or in Kyouka who has Demon Snow which is the last remnant of her parents but also murdered them in front of her. But the clearest example of this in the movie is actually Kunikida, since there is a visible change between him and his ability.

The notebook of Kunikida’s ability does not read its usual “理想” (ideals), but instead now says “妥協” (compromise). For Kunikida, a person so tied to his ideals, this version of his ability is an “abomination” (his words, not mine), and thus a source of inner conflict, since it represents a side of Kunikida that he carries within him.

“A copy of himself that didn’t follow ideals but made compromises was an abomination to Kunikida.”―Dead Apple (light novel)

If ability users manage to defeat their abilities in a physical fight, and then also accept these parts of themselves for what they represent, they will regain their ability. For example, Atsushi does not immediately regain his ability after defeating the tiger because he does not completely accept that the tiger represents that he has killed a person. For Atsushi, a person who connects his entire reason of living to saving other people, this is nearly irreconcilable. The only reason he probably is able to get over it in the end is that the person he killed was actively torturing and trying to kill him, so Atsushi had to kill to survive.

Shibusawa, then, is dead. Chronologically, his murder is the earliest you see of him. Fyodor has told Shibusawa that Atsushi contains something that “guides the envy of all ability users”, so Shibusawa, who feels like he is missing something, seeks to take this by any means. This doesn’t work out too hot for him, and Atsushi kills him.

Now a fun thing happens. Since Shibusawa is the center of the fog at all times, so to speak, and he’s the keeper of the abilities that die in his fog, his ability is separated from himself and lives on, nearly indistinguishable from his original body. Only one downside to this: he completely loses his memories.

I can only assume the government steps in at this point to take this strong ability user in his vulnerable state, and then have him solve the Dragon Head Conflict not long after. He most likely also survived Chuuya’s Corruption by being an ability, and having ability crystals in his collection to fall back on and recover, as he also does in Dead Apple. However, all of that is just pure speculation.

After the Dragon Head Conflict, Shibusawa spends some years abroad, casually killing thousands of ability users for the same reason as during the Dragon Head Conflict: just playing around and trying to fill that hole of something that is missing inside of him. The Japanese government mostly does a spectacular and spectacularly unethical job of cleaning up after him, since they learned nothing from the Dragon Head Conflict and still think that they can control him to protect Japan should it ever be invaded by foreign ability users.

Eventually, when the timing is right, Shibusawa gets invited back to Japan by Dazai. At the same time he is told by Fyodor (can you see the manipulation happening on both sides?) that Dazai’s ability is the ultimate ability that will finally complete him, and so Shibusawa eagerly comes to Yokohama.

From here on out, as far as Shibusawa is concerned, it’s just a matter of covering the entire city in fog, killing Dazai and then taking his ability. Since Dazai cancels the fog itself with his ability, Shibusawa does need to kill him first, since the fog will work just fine on a corpse. Unfortunately, Shibusawa, however smart he is, is not in control of the plot in this movie. That control is left entirely to the combination of Dazai and Fyodor.

Intermezzo: Singularity Crash Course

Let’s do a lightning quick crash course on singularities before continuing, because you’re going to need that to understand what is happening in the next part. While Stormbringer was released after Dead Apple, I’m still going to be leaning heavily on and paraphrasing the information provided in that novel since it gives a really nice overview.

Abilities are bound to rules, just like everything else. No organisms other than humans, such as plants or monkeys, can possess an ability. Each human can only have a single ability, and when they die the ability disappears with them. Finally, there is a limit to the strength of any such ability.

But what if you wanted to go beyond that limit? What if you wanted to play with the natural laws of this world? What if you wanted to get really silly with it? Well, in that case, you can try your best at creating a singularity.

Singularities are defined as “the interaction of multiple abilities that develops into a higher-level phenomenon different from the original abilities”. This mostly exhibits itself in a massive release of energy, but rarely there are semi-stable versions of them. Singularities aren’t bound to conventional rules, and can be much more powerful for that exact reason.

As for creating singularities, there are two defined ways. The most reliable method is to have two contradicting abilities clash with each other. This leads to fun mental exercises, think “unstoppable force meets immovable object”, or, two ability users who can both see a few seconds into the future fighting to the death (sound familiar?). As a second method, an ability can also contradict itself, essentially causing the same result, but it’s a lot more finicky.

“Dead Apple”

The latter part of the movie revolves around exactly the creation of such a singularity, as all planned out by Fyodor, and accurately anticipated by Dazai. Let’s lay out all the layers of this.

Shibusawa is after Dazai’s ability. Meanwhile, Dazai is trying to stop the fog to save Yokohama. As for Fyodor, we’ll get to him in a second.

Dazai “teams up” with Fyodor and betrays Shibusawa to put a stop to the fog. The idea of this is that Fyodor combines two abilities from Shibusawa’s collection, which Dazai can’t do himself without canceling them: the ability to pull abilities in a surrounding area close, and the ability to merge abilities together. When these two are merged, together they create an ability that will absorb Shibusawa’s entire collection, and then Dazai only has to touch this ability to effectively get rid of Shibusawa’s power source.

There is a specific reason why it has to happen like this, and Dazai just touching Shibusawa isn’t quite enough. Let’s mentally walk through the process if Dazai were to touch Shibusawa. The fog disappears for a bit (and Shibusawa with it, most likely), but Shibusawa now knows Dazai’s intentions. Fyodor will take Shibusawa’s side and now Dazai is at a large disadvantage. Ultimately, it doesn’t even solve the problem. We know from the Dragon Head Conflict that just destroying Shibusawa’s body is most likely not enough, and he will be able to resummon the fog (and his body) with time and energy. The problem needs to be cut off at the root, the ability crystals.

Unfortunately, Fyodor didn’t really team up with Dazai, instead choosing to team up with Shibusawa in order to get rid of Dazai. This is then where Shibusawa gets to kill Dazai, and discovers that wait, Dazai’s ability may not be what he’s seeking after all. However, the abilities are already merged, and Dazai’s ability joins them. This combines “the ability to merge” with “the ability to nullify”, which don’t exactly mix well. Does Dazai’s ability become part of the other ability? Does his ability nullify the merging ability before that can happen? It’s already part of it, but at the same time the merging can never happen. It’s contradictory, and thus a singularity is born.

Fyodor, meanwhile, hasn’t quite had his fill of betrayal yet, and decides to remind Shibusawa of what he is by killing him, reminding Shibusawa of his earlier death by Atsushi’s paw. All of this, killing Dazai and using his ability to create a singularity, having that power from the singularity then go into Shibusawa to create the Dragon, all of that was part of Fyodor’s plan. Shibusawa is only able to cover an entire city with fog because of the large amount of ability crystals he has collected, and so with enough power (like from a singularity) he can cover the entire world in this fog. Up until this point, neither Fyodor nor Shibusawa have seen a single ability user survive the fog, and thus it is the perfect method for getting rid of all ability users in the world, which does seem to be Fyodor’s end goal.

However, Chuuya swoops in and defeats the Dragon. Dazai was well prepared and had the antidote to the poison he was killed with hidden in his mouth, so he is alive and well again. That means that Dazai has his ability back and it cancels out the singularity space they both are in. It doesn’t completely get rid of the Dragon however, as some energy still lingers around the tower.

Fyodor is still on the scene, and uses a part of the merging crystal that he saved which was used earlier to create the singularity to merge Shibusawa with the singularity, giving Shibusawa a very anime transformation into his final form.

At this point, as a result of Shibusawa’s transformation, the fog turns red. If this red fog then covers the entire planet as Fyodor is hoping, and you were to watch it from space, it would look just like a poisonous red apple. The name of the movie therefore refers to this plan of using Shibusawa to rid the world of ability users.

This idea of poisonous apples in this movie comes from two different sources. From Fyodor’s side, it is referring to the apple Eve ate in the Bible, the original sin. For Fyodor, there is poetic irony in this: the world will end with the same sin as it began with. The crime is the punishment. On Dazai’s side, it refers to Snow White, who bit the poison apple and died (temporarily). He already talks about this to Oda when he is sixteen, vaguely implying he knew all of this was coming as soon as he met Shibusawa during the Dragon Head Conflict. Since Fyodor was already around at that time and also had a hand in enabling Shibusawa originally, this may indeed be planned out this far in advance, but it’s always hard to tell with these guys.

Then the kids take over the fight for the rest of the movie, and Atsushi, Akutagawa and Kyouka work together to defeat Shibusawa’s final form in the form of a long, epic final fight. Shibusawa is finally defeated and it all ends happily ever after.

The End.

Byakko VS The Dragon

…Or is it? You thought we covered the entire basic layer of the movie, so we’re done now, right? Think again! This is only where things start to become really interesting. Please note that this section will take some ideas that were already pointed out by other people, and build on those.

When looking at lore relevance of characters, Atsushi may not immediately spring to mind as one of the most important ones. Sure, he’s the protagonist of the main manga, but in comparison to the mystery surrounding Dazai or Fyodor he fades a little into the background.

Even in this post, an explanation about a movie that’s basically about Atsushi, I’m able to explain the basics of the movie without mentioning him much at all. And yet, the movie’s core conflict is not between Shibusawa, Dazai and Fyodor, but between Shibusawa and Atsushi.

While there isn’t a lot of information given about Shibusawa’s and Atsushi’s connection, what we do get is very interesting. Shibusawa is consistently referred to as a Dragon during Dead Apple, and while subtitles usually translate everything as “tiger”, Atsushi’s tiger is actually referred to as “Byakko” half of the time.

Now what is the difference between any good ol’ normal tiger and the Byakko, I hear you ask. The Byakko is much more than an ordinary tiger, since it is part of the 四神 (shijin/ shishin), the Four Guardians of the Four Compass Directions, which the Dragon is also a part of. What you essentially need to know from this is that the Byakko belongs to the same group of creatures as the Dragon, and that this solidifies Shibusawa’s status as Atsushi’s foil in this movie.

It also allows us to make a direct comparison between Shibusawa and Atsushi. The thing is, I have been lying to you a little bit. So far, I’ve been calling the Dragon a singularity. The truth is, it may not be. I know, I know, if it’s not a singularity, then what was that whole Dragon thing about?

Fyodor actually specifically tells us that the Dragon isn’t a singularity, but instead it’s “the true form of the chaos born from abilities”. (Note here that the Dead Apple light novel talks about Fyodor as if he is “reciting some Oracle”. Did Fyodor get this information from someone else?) Is this related to why Fyodor wants abilities gone from this world? Is there another layer to abilities and other creatures that BSD hasn’t even touched upon (think Lovecraft)? It’s hard to say at this point. All we can say is that the Dragon gets referred to as something else, and… that the Dragon is similar to the Byakko.

The tiger ability we see that got separated from Atsushi in the movie actually doesn’t follow the rules the other abilities do. It has a clearly defined face, and the red gem is not on its forehead. The gem found on the ability tiger is also red, which is in line with the other extracted abilities we see, but what gets extracted from Atsushi by Shibusawa is this blue cube. The weirdness continues in the flashback we see of Atsushi being tortured by Shibusawa.

We see Atsushi’s ability leave him, but then in a flash of self protection instinct, he partially transforms into the tiger, claws and all, while the blue gem is outside of his body. Earlier in the movie it is shown that if an ability is extracted from an ability user, they no longer have access to the powers of that ability. Then how is Atsushi able to use his tiger abilities here?

Granted, there is a bit of conflicting information within the movie about this, since during the final fight with Shibusawa this blue cube is once again extracted from Atsushi, but now he does lose his tiger powers. Could he resummon the tiger while not in possession of the cube if the situation is dire enough? Is this just a psychological thing because Atsushi is aware of it this time? Who can say. At any rate, this blue cube is connected deeply with Atsushi, but the clues given imply that it may not be the Byakko itself.

“That’s not an ability! That is me!”―Atsushi, reaching out to the blue cube in Dead Apple

To be honest, the movie does very little in explaining anything around Atsushi, instead raising more questions than answers. For that exact reason, the rest of this section will mostly be speculation about one possible angle on Atsushi’s ability that personally makes sense to me, but of course this is only one potential theory.

I do also want to add here that Atsushi personally goes through an arc in this movie from seeing the tiger as something separate to something that is intrinsically part of him. This can also be a reason for this final exclamation of “that’s me!” when he reaches out to the blue cube, but it doesn’t explain everything, which is why we explore an alternate possibility here.

My take on it is that the Byakko and this blue gem that get extracted from Atsushi are not the same thing. With the side note here being that they are probably deeply connected, but not the same regardless.

My reasoning for this is that everything Atsushi-related you see in Dead Apple makes a little more sense when you consider the Byakko and the blue cube as two separate entities. The Byakko’s gem is red, the cube is blue. The Byakko is framed as something separate from Atsushi, while he claims the cube is not an ability but he himself. Atsushi had access to the Byakko while the blue cube was outside of him. Shibusawa even makes a point of mentioning that the orphanage director, who correctly thought Atsushi was the tiger, had the wrong idea about Atsushi’s ability. The Byakko is definitely Atsushi’s ability, but this blue cube is… something else.

And yet, the tiger is also deeply connected to whatever this blue gem is. Currently, one theory that makes sense to me is that the tiger is an ability that can be passed on, just like Demon Snow, that has the specific task of protecting the power of this blue gem. So, a two in one deal. Atsushi also gets referred to as “the one holding the Byakko ability” by Ivan, which would be in line with the Byakko being an ability that can be passed on as needed. Shibusawa makes a similar statement, calling Atsushi “the one clad in the Byakko”. Atsushi also has issues controlling his ability before joining the ADA, just like Kyouka and Tsujimura, who both also inherited their abilities. I would love to further speculate on this, but there is so little information on anything relating to this, so anything further would be completely baseless.

However, there is one more different clue given to us by the movie. Namely, what this comparison to the Dragon means for Atsushi as the one holding the Byakko.

Almost in the same breath as Shibusawa is recounting Fyodor’s words about the Dragon being the chaos of all abilities, the holder of the Byakko also gets its own description about its true form: the one opposing all abilities.

This relates to what the blue cube may really be. What Atsushi does to Shibusawa in his final moments is what I essentially believe to be this blue cube’s true power: it completely unravels an ability. The blue power eats up everything supernatural about Shibusawa until only his natural skull is left.

If you think this sounds familiar, it kind of does! I cannot ignore the similarity to Dazai here, though I do have to point out that Dazai can only cancel out an ability, and this blue cube power seems to… completely erase the ability itself, leaving no trace of it. The similarity to Dazai is further found the moment Dazai dies and his ability leaves his body. At first, his ability is white and vaguely similar to the blue cube before deciding that nope, this is just barely not it.

I have a hard time connecting this to anything larger simply because the series does not give a lot of clues on this subject. How did abilities come to be? How is the Book related to that, since it is not an ability or borne from an ability? And how does Atsushi factor into this?

Shibusawa has been led to Atsushi since he believed Atsushi would grant him something special, something he had been looking for all this time. “That which every ability user desires.”

This is actually a familiar story! This is not the first time Fyodor has led someone to Atsushi with the premise that he would be able to lead them to what they were seeking. The first two seasons of the anime follow that specific idea, of Fitzgerald wanting Atsushi so he can lead him to the Book.

The tiger as the guide to the Book is something emphasized again and again. While in English it gets translated as “guide”, the original manga panel said “道標（タイガービートル）”, or, “guidepost (pronounced: tiger beetle, in English)”. While this is partially just a funny pun, it also once again points to the tiger specifically as a guide.

It did leave me to wonder about the absence of a certain scene in the series. Fyodor has been sending other people to Atsushi for the entire length of the series, but has never interacted with Atsushi himself. For someone who claims to be looking for the Book, and knows that Atsushi is somehow the guide to the Book, isn’t that a bit weird? Is there a reason Fyodor won’t interact with Atsushi himself? Fyodor knew about Atsushi way before he joined the ADA, so it’s not like Dazai is particularly standing in the way here.

Regardless, this factor that makes Atsushi so special may very well be this blue cube. How does the power to completely undo abilities lead to the Book? Who knows. We simply do not know enough about the Book or the origin of abilities to say more about this. Maybe the true power of the blue cube is something else entirely.

What does all of this mean? Where will it all lead? Only the future (Asagiri) can tell.

The Unexplained and Weird

Welcome to the section I’d fondly refer to as “a collection of things I have no explanation for”. There is plenty of that in this movie, but I do want to touch upon them since not being explainable as of currently does not necessarily mean that they aren’t important in the future. Also, not having an explanation for these things is driving me insane and I need to share in my suffering. Let’s go! :)

Let’s get the big thing out of the way first.

Mukurotoride, my friend, my enemy. For those unaware, Mukurotoride is the name of the large black tower that Shibusawa, Dazai and Fyodor were chilling in for most of the movie. The name gets translated as “Skull Fortress”, but the kanji used gives the name more of a “Dead Man’s Castle” feeling, since it refers to a person long since dead more than a skull. My problem with this tower is as follows: it doesn’t make any sense. Whatsoever.

Why is it there? Fifteen establishes it’s there seven years before the current timeline, so a year before Shibusawa dies. I would’ve accepted it if the tower was a weird side effect of Shibusawa dying or something, but the current facts point towards this tower not having anything to do with Shibusawa at all. It’s also very decayed. How long has it been there? Who put it there? Is it relevant that it’s right next to Suribachi? Or in the Yokohama foreign settlement? (Side note: foreign settlements have not been a thing since 1899. What’s up with Yokohama having a foreign settlement?) No one seems to know anything about this tower, not even in the Japanese community. And then in-universe, everyone also seems okay with this wildly out-of-place tower that looks like it’s made out of human bones being there in the middle of the city? It’s giving me Sky Casino vibes.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, we can talk about Fyodor’s ability.

I want to start this part by explaining my personal stance on the current Fyodor theories, since it influences how I talk about what is shown of his ability in Dead Apple. There are a bunch of theories about Fyodor having an insta-kill ability that only works on non-ability users. Personally, I don’t subscribe to this theory, and I have multiple reasons for this.

First, I don’t think we’ve ever seen Fyodor’s ability being used. At the end of Cannibalism a cop dies as soon as he touches Fyodor. In the manga abilities don’t have a special shine effect, but in the anime they do. However, in the anime there was no ability-shine here.

A stronger argument, perhaps, is that this happens right in front of Dazai, and Dazai immediately afterwards says he has no clue what Fyodor’s ability could be. He could be lying, of course, but since this is a common enemy he shares with Fitzgerald, who is the one asking him about Fyodor’s ability, I don’t see any reason for him to do so here. The whole murder reads a little bit like Fyodor just putting on a show for Dazai.

Finally, from a narrative viewpoint, killing with a touch is a little… useless? Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure it’s convenient, I guess, when you’re a terrorist who seeks to exterminate part of the global population. But there are many ways to kill a person, and Fyodor has shown time after time that he doesn’t need to rely on an ability to murder people.

The strongest argument for the insta-kill ability in my opinion is Fyodor himself saying “this is my true ability” before killing that kid who was enslaved by Ace. However, this may also be part of something else that is going on with Fyodor, in a way that is perhaps very similar to Atsushi.

Alright. Whether you agree with that or not is up to you. To get back to the movie, there are a few interesting clues provided about Fyodor’s ability.

The first is of course Fyodor’s iconic line when his ability shows up on screen: “Crime and Punishment are close friends.” Everything he says after that point is already referring to Shibusawa again, so this is the only clue he himself is willing to offer up. If we consider that the abilities that get split from their users represent inner conflict, all he is saying here is that he apparently has no inner conflict. Does he know something else about the world? Does he just know who he is? Honestly, I don’t think we’ll get anywhere talking about Fyodor’s mental state.

Then there is the “I am Crime”, spoken by Fyodor holding the skull, and “I am Punishment”, spoken by his ability holding the apple. This one is slightly more straightforward. The ability user being the crime, and the ability the punishment. I’m not 100% sure if this is actually referring to Fyodor himself, or if it’s just about Shibusawa again. The skull (Shibusawa, an ability user) being the crime, and then the apple (covering the world with fog through Shibusawa’s ability, thus punishing ability users) being the punishment makes sense when viewed like this, but it could be that Fyodor is somehow also referring to himself during these lines.

Okay, if Fyodor is apparently not willing to open up, we can gather some more info just from what we can see instead of what we’re told. Most of what this part covers is taken from these excellent posts, but I’ll summarize it here for the sake of completion. Fyodor’s ability looks different compared to most other abilities. Most of the abilities shown in the movie have a blank face without any features, and have their gem on their forehead. The exception to that first part, interestingly enough, is Elise, Mori’s ability. This is most likely because she has physical form as an ability to begin with. Which then raises the question: does Fyodor’s ability also have a physical form outside of the fog? His ability looks identical, so that would imply some sort of clone ability. Next to this, Fyodor’s epithet is “The Conjurer”, which would be in line with him being able to create another copy of himself. (Though I should add here that the Japanese seems to just refer to him as “魔神”, which can be any type of evil spirit. However, if I’m not mistaken, the “Conjurer” should be from the official translation, but let me know if I’m mistaken on that.)

Finally, there is the position of the gem on Fyodor’s ability. Nearly all other abilities have their gem on their forehead, but for some reason Fyodor’s ability has his on his hand. The only other ability that has its gem not on its forehead is… the Byakko. I don’t have an explanation for this one, but the weirdness should be pointed out, since it’s another way in which Fyodor’s ability deviates from the others.

Next to the above, there are two other weird details I want to quickly touch upon.

First, the knives in the apples in the dish in Mukuroride, as well as the apples with a knife in them in general, as they are the theme of this movie. I believe this to be of a more metaphorical touch, so we won’t read too much into it, but it does have physical consequences that tie back to the title as well.

This exact shot is used four times throughout the movie, but with a varying amount of knives stuck in the apples. It starts with one, then two, then three. The room starts with just Dazai, then Shibusawa enters, then Fyodor. With each of them showing up, another knife appears in an apple. This is then a metaphor for these three being the instigators behind the Dead Apple incident. These knives in the apples can also be seen as their calling cards, as they were left both at the bar and at the scene of the crime where that agent was killed who was supposed to meet with Kunikida and Tanizaki.

In a later scene, it cuts again to this frame, but a knife and the skull has disappeared. These both get taken by Fyodor. The knife is used eventually to kill Shibusawa, but Shibusawa also took one of these knives to kill Dazai with. Either way, these knives that have been in these apples are used to murder, once again corroborating the connection between death and apples.

And finally, the relevance of the moon.

There are a few impressive shots of the moon in Dead Apple, where the moon is shown to be enormous, to the point where even the light novel points out how extraordinarily large it is. The novel also points out that the blue cube crystal holds a similarity to the moonlight. Just symbolism to show that it’s connected to Atsushi, or something more? The other side of the page in the main series will also only be written on the night… of the next full moon.

The Point of It All

I hear a lot of “Dead Apple doesn’t matter to the plot, just watch it for the Soukoku scenes and move on”. And while I do agree that it’s not mandatory viewing to understand the storyline that corresponds with season three onwards, I do think there is more to Dead Apple than most people give it credit for.

I always like to ask myself after reading a book or watching a movie: “Okay, so what was the point of that? What was I meant to take away from this?”

For example, in essence Stormbringer is a case study on singularities. Likewise, BEAST is a study into the limits of the Book, and all other side stories similarly have a message, however big or small.

So what does Dead Apple establish? Why bother?

I hope by now you agree that Dead Apple seems to be the introduction to explaining more as to what is so special about Atsushi. This seems to go deeper into chapter 28/29 of the manga, or season 2 episode 8 of the anime, where Atsushi also has some weird things going on with the tiger. What this exactly is, or where this seems to be going is unclear for now, but the Dead Apple definitely emphasizes Atsushi’s importance as well as the concept that there can be something more than just abilities.

In-universe, there are also reasons for this conflict to happen.

Most likely both Dazai and Fyodor knew the end result long before the conflict ever started. It’s their reunion in a way, so I suppose they are both seeing how the other’s condition is at the moment. They may even have gathered some intel somehow? It’s almost like collecting metadata, they won’t have a direct conversation about important things, but they try to collect information just by seeing how the other acts, to see if the other lies within prediction.

Aside from that, on Dazai’s side, except for foiling Fyodor’s plan and keeping Yokohama safe, the Shin Soukoku dynamic also gets strengthened, something Dazai is actively working on. On Fyodor’s side, next to giving the whole “eliminating all ability users” a good honest shot, he also gets to collect a lot of intel on the opposing side. For example, Fyodor in Dead Apple gets to see Corruption up close, which may potentially be relevant.

Finally, from a storytelling perspective, it sets up a lot for the third season, especially in character interactions and relationships, e.g. Atsushi & Akutagawa, Dazai & Chuuya, Kyouka, Fukuzawa & Mori. It should be noted that some characters literally have been intentionally regressed to make the ending make more impact. Whether that was a good decision or not is not why I’m here. You should just know that it’s intentional. You could chalk it up to Atsushi losing his ability impacting him and his behavior a lot, if you wanted to justify it somehow. The Order of the Clock Tower also gets its first anime appearance, showing Agatha Christie on screen, who will most likely play a more important role later on. Likewise, Dead Apple is the introduction to Fyodor as a villain, where you get to see him for more than just a few flashes.

Trivia and Fun Details

I suppose this section is skippable. But who doesn’t love trivia? This is by no means an exhaustive list of everything included in this movie, but rather an overview of what I personally caught, understood and thought relevant to include.

The “Dragon Head” in the Dragon Head Conflict refers to a Qilin, which are said to have similar heads to dragons. Since the conflict centered around the White Qilin, this is where that name comes from.

At some point Akutagawa and Kyouka use a mafia code to refer to a passageway. The code “0505” refers back to Atsushi’s birthday.

The symbol ᛟ found on the outfits of the Mukurotoride squad refers to inheritage, since Shibusawa inherited his own ability. More information about that here.

Dazai at some point meows at Fyodor. This is a very sassy way of telling Fyodor that he will personally eradicate all of Fyodor’s rats in Yokohama, including Fyodor himself. (The light novel calls it a “tedious” meow. Lmao.)

The music from Dead Apple seems to be recycled in season three of the anime. I’m guessing to save on budget?

Atsushi’s door that he eventually opens to unlock his hidden memories has its own music motif that shows up every time he thinks about Shibusawa, the fog or his memories associated with killing him. Try to pay attention to this, it’s really cool.

The motif of the door is also a tune that sounds a lot like the track named Dead Apple, further showing Atsushi’s relevance in his movie.

The lyrics of the soundtrack tell their own story. When the Dead Apple plot first takes off and Dazai is at bar Lupin, a song called My Prince plays telling of Snow White who is sleeping and waiting for her prince. However, it seems to be a spin on the classic, where indeed Snow White chose to knowingly bite the apple knowing it was poisoned, in much the same way as Dazai knew he was going to be poisoned in Dead Apple. Le Cheval Noir tells of how bored the singer is, and how nothing is special to them anymore. This plays during the scene where Dazai talks to Shibusawa, showing Shibusawa’s apathy towards everything. Mein Prinz, the song that plays as Dazai gets backstabbed, is nearly exactly the same song as My Prince, but now more dramatic and in German. This is a clue that Dazai saw this coming from before the Dead Apple conflict even started, and it’s now up to Chuuya again to save him. Overall, Dazai is leaning into the Snow White aesthetic hard in Dead Apple.

And finally, a list of everything the light novel insists refers to the theme of poisonous red apples: the red apples with the knives in them, apple suicide, the merged abilities producing a red sphere, the singularity that results from that in all its forms and the planet covered in red fog. If it’s red and spherical, you can just assume it should represent a deathly apple.

TD;DR

Recapped extremely briefly:

The Dragon Head Conflict introduces Shibusawa as a villain who was kept by the government but went off the rails. Shibusawa’s ability is a fog that splits ability users from their abilities. If ability users die, Shibusawa obtains their ability. Shibusawa died and inherited his own ability, also causing him to lose his memory. Therefore he wants to obtain Dazai's ability in order to gain what he feels he lacks. Dazai betrays Shibusawa together with Fyodor by combining abilities. However, Shibusawa kills Dazai first, adding Dazai's ability to the merged abilities creating a singularity. Fyodor kills Shibusawa, causing him to regain his memory of being previously killed by Atsushi. A dragon is created and defeated, and Fyodor's plan is revealed to be the covering of the entire planet in Shibusawa's fog, killing all ability users. This plan is foiled, but Atsushi is shown to have potentially another power next to his ability (the tiger). This power is possibly the ability to completely unravel abilities, and may be what makes Atsushi the guide to the Book. Mukurotoride is completely left unexplained in the movie, but there are clues given about Fyodor's ability that point away from an insta-kill ability, and more towards a clone type ability.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd dead apple #dead apple #bsd analysis #bungou stray dogs analysis #posted this also on reddit but. i forgor to post it on here. whoopsie.#glad i got this all written out though #like a weight lifted from my shoulders #this is actually longer than the reddit version so rejoice! you're getting the premium version #here's to hoping it shows up in the tags! 🙏🏻#suzenanalysis

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ch0c0-cake · 2 years

Text

Fly

five hargreeves x fem!reader

found this idea by a post by @col0rlord ! Apologies if it’s a little long ! I got a little carried away

summary - it’s the end of the world, and luther is getting married. once your ‘secret’ admirer sees you all dressed up, it’s all over for the poor boy. (i’m adding a little singing scene because i’m a cliché motherfucker)

warnings - spoilers for season three, cursing

“I’ve barely even started and you look so good!” Sloane let out a happy squeal as she carefully applied the black eyeliner to your eyelid.

“I don’t how how you managed to convince me to let you to do this.” You tensely muttered, gingerly scratching at your thigh so you wouldn’t smack Sloane’s hand away from your face. “I hate shit near my eyes.” In fact, you knew exactly why you were letting Sloane do this. More than half her family was fucking dead. Marcus, Alphonso, Jayme, Fei, and Christopher. You didn’t know her well, but if Luther liked her so much to where they wanted to get married, she must be someone special. Sloane at least deserved this much.

“I know, but I promise I won’t be very long.” She hummed out, being very careful to not make you uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable than you already were as she was now applying mascara.

“Sloane, I swear if that thing gets in my eyes-”

“Shh, it won’t!” She said with a giggle, putting a hand on your shoulder to try and get you to relax. “This is nice, y’know? You’re like a little sister I’ve never had.” She smiled, and your shoulders relaxed.

“Keep in mind, I’m technically older than you.” You reminded her. “I just look like a prepubescent teenage girl who doesn’t know what foundation matches her skin tone.”

“Do you know what foundation matches your skin tone?”

“…Sloane, I wasn’t exactly wearing makeup while I lived in the end of the world.”

“I know that, silly.” She breathed out, finally pulling the mascara away from your eyelashes. You blinked uncomfortably, blowing a strand of hair from your face. “Oh, maybe I should have done shadow before mascara…” Sloane reached to her cotton candy pink makeup bag and pulled out a few palettes.

“You do know what you’re doing, yeah?” You grit your teeth a bit. “No offense, Sloane, I really do not want to go down there looking like a crazy person.”

She giggled and spread out the options for you to choose from. “You pick one of these, and I’ll go from there, okay?”

You hesitated and picked up the one that looked the most casual. You didn’t need bright and shiny colors, thank you very much. “Please take it easy.” You said as she excitedly grabbed the item from you and a couple brushes.

“Don’t worry, you’ll look gorgeous for Five. He’ll love it.” She cooed out, about to apply the first shade until you pulled your head back in surprise.

“Huh? Who said anything about Five?” You defended, but you could feel your face getting a little warm.

“Hm…I didn’t think I put that much blush on you.” She teased, gently guiding you forward so she could get started. “What, you and Five aren’t a thing at all?”

“What led you to think that?” You mumbled, the embarrassment written all over your face.

“Oh honey…” she giggled as you scrunched your face up while she applied the colors to your eyelids. “You may not have noticed over all the soft bickering you both like to indulge in…but the looks you give each other are very sweet. The way you both reach for each other when you sense danger.” She only laughed again when you furrowed your eyebrows in skepticism, eyes closed but the message getting across.

“…whatever…” you mumbled.

“Oh, I don’t think I told you how angry he got when our families first met.” Sloane hummed out. “Remember when I kinda tossed a vase at you and it broke over your head? Knocked you out?”

“Don’t remind me. That shit hurt, Sloane!”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry!” She quickly said, but continued here story. “Five saw your head bleeding and you on the floor, and I’ve never seen someone look angrier. I’ve never even seen Ben look that mad. It was like I had killed someone’s mother or something.” She said softly, pulling the brushes away which signaled she was done.

“He’s my friend, Sloane. Of course he was worried.” You softly defended, quietly cursing out yourself. Oh how badly you wanted Sloane to be right. But you really didn’t want your final emotion before the end of everything to be one of heartbreak after confessing and being rejected. Spending so much time with someone in the apocalypse can lead to some intense feelings. Five kept you sane for so long, while driving you mad at the same time with his stubbornness and sass.

“Hun, you aren’t understanding me.” Sloane sighed with a gentle smile as she grabbed a container of lip gloss. “There’s being worried, and then there’s being scared shitless. After he knocked me away, the way he picked you up was so gentle. You were like fine china in his arms. The fear in his eyes was so prominent. I really think he’s in love with you. Just wait until he sees you, his eyes are going to pop out of his head.” She held your face in her hands as she applied the lip gloss. “Dance with him tonight, okay? See how it goes.”

“…damn it, Sloane.” You breathed out with a chuckle, reluctantly agreeing and she squealed happily.

“Yay! Be sure to tell me all about it!” She said, standing up as she was now finished. She pulled you up and dragged you to a full-length mirror, and your eyes widened like quarters when you saw your reflection.

You were never one for dressing fancy in dresses. You usually stuck to suits, since that’s what you and Five did Commission work in. Dresses were hard to murder people in. Plus, you’d feel bad staining a beautiful dress with blood. You knew you could look good without dressing up, but this side of you wasn’t that bad. The way the dress fit your body perfectly astounded you. The makeup looked wonderful. You had truly underestimated Sloane. She’d done your hair exactly the way you wanted too.

“So..? Do you like it?” Sloane asked with a nervous smile.

“I look like a girl on prom night…gross…I love it.” You mumbled, trying to make up your mind. Sloane just laughed and pulled you in for a hug.

“I’m so glad you think so! Thanks for agreeing to be my maid of honor, by the way.” She smiled, and you could feel the pure joy radiating from her. You would never admit it, but you truly were glad you could help Sloane in this way.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” You shrugged with a cough, and Sloane pulled away, beaming.

“Let’s go, then! You gotta go get your man!” She started toward the door.

“Wait, Sloane.” You quickly called, staying at your spot in front of the mirror with a soft frown.

She turned and tilted her head. “Is everything okay?”

“Just…do you really think Five will like it?” You asked quietly, but just loud enough to hear. “He’s never seen me in this attire. What if he doesn’t like it, Sloane?”

She gave you a smile and walked back over to you, taking your smaller hands in her warm ones. She really was like a big sister, despite the fact you were technically much older. “You’re overthinking this. I know Five is going to be head over heels for you. How could he not be? If he has something else to say, he can march right over to me and tell me his complaint. Okay?”

“…thank you, Sloane.” You said softly, before pulling her into a hug. She was definitely shocked, as she didn’t expect you to initiate the hug. “Don’t tell anybody about this though, okay?”

“Aww…of course.” She smiled, hugging back for a few moments before pulling away. “Okay, now let’s go!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☂️~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where is she..?!” Five quietly hissed under his breath, pacing back and forth in the wedding venue that was managed to get set up. Everybody else was here, so where were you? You told him you would be there, that’s the only reason he agreed to go.

“Now, what are you so worried about this time?!”

Shit. He should have kept his mouth shut and have stayed still. Klaus came sauntering over, his usual carefree smile on his face.

“Nothing, Klaus.” Five breathed out in irritation.

“Ohhhh, you are waiting for your little girlfriend..!” Klaus teased, wiggling his shoulders suggestively.

Five turned and gave him a sharp glare. “How many times have I told you? She is not my girlfriend.”

“You want her to beeeee!”

“Klaus! Shut up or I’ll end you before the Kugelblitz does.”

“Ohh, don’t be so mean. It’s a wedding!” Klaus exclaimed, not paying much attention to Five’s irritation. “I bet she’s just getting all dressed up! With makeup and all!” He hummed. “And she’s gonna come down and have her Disney princess moment, and you’re gonna be all flabbergasted like ‘oh you look so beautiful, go out with me!’ Exactly like that!”

Five’s eye twitched. Klaus may be slightly right, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying. Before Five could snap back with a response, the elevator dinged and the doors open. The sight that fell on Five’s eyes made his mouth fall open like a complete idiot.

There you were. Like a princess. Hair just the way he’d envisioned it would be, dressed in the color that just worked for you. The way it brought out your eyes astounded Five. The way it showed off your body perfectly, good god. There was a plethora of body types out there, all beautiful, but yours? Like a goddess. He’d been everywhere anybody could imagine, but never anywhere did Five see someone as remarkable as the girl he’d crushed on since he was a boy. He’d seen so many things, but nothing could take his breath away like you could.

Take his breath away was right, Five realized he wasn’t breathing. He turned away and quietly gasped for some air, turning back around as soon as he could.

“Well, who knew you could dress up so nice?!” Klaus announced with a big grin, soft claps coming from the others.

“Shut up or I’ll end you before the Kugelblitz does, Klaus.” You mumbled.

Klaus chuckled nonchalantly. “Funny, Five said something similar earlier.” He hummed, putting a hand on your back. “Speaking of! He was looking for you, go say hi!”

Five’s eyes widened. ‘Thanks a lot, brother,’ he thought with a hint of annoyance. He caught a glimpse of you whispering to Klaus for a sec, but Klaus didn’t seem much for conversation and he lightly pushed you over to him. You didn’t seem to like that considering the shoes you were in.

“Klaus, I’m in heels-!” You yelped, and Five watched as your foot slipped.

“Shit-!” He hissed and blinked right over to where you were and caught you before you could hit the ground. “Klaus, you absolute idiot!” What was Klaus thinking? She’s never worn heels a day in her life! He recalled that you hated heels. You always resorted to nice looking loafers for missions, never heels.

Klaus feigned shock and covered his open mouth with his hand. “Oh, I am so sorry! You caught her, though!”

Five rolled his eyes and simply blinked to somewhere else in the room, looking at you. Your eyes really were beautiful. “How bad did Sloane beg to get you to wear those, my friend?” He raised an eyebrow and cracked a smile, helping you stand up straight. He had to steady you before you spoke, and you crossed your arms.

“She just…has these eyes, Five.” You groaned, but you had that face where you were annoyed but were also endeared by something. He saw that look a lot.

“You shoulda just said no.” Five chuckled with a shake of his head. “You still would look astonishing without them.”

He only realized what he had said when the awkward silence hit the both of them like a truck. ‘I really just said that.’ Then he caught that smile. It was shy. Timid. Your face would darken with blush, and even though you would turn your face away, you were so perfect.

“…thanks, Five.” You said, rubbing your arm. “You look astonishing, too.”

Before he could respond, the elevator dinged and out came the bride. You smiled a mischievous smile.

“Gotta go, Five. We’ll talk later.” You pat his shoulder and people got in their ‘places’. Luther and Sloane at the altar, Klaus being the one officiating the wedding so he stood in between them. Viktor took his spot near Luther, while you took yours near Sloane.

As Klaus spat some wedding nonsense with his own little twist, Five found himself not able to focus on his brother and sister-in-law. His eyes were on you. What the hell was wrong with him? He could hardly even focus, and his face felt hot. His palms were sweaty and his stomach was churning. His throat felt tight, as if someone was choking him. But he knew what being choked felt like, and it definitely did not feel like this. It was like you had a chokehold on him. Every time his eyes flickered away from you, something made him look right back to your celestial figure.

Soon enough, the I do’s were said, and the group dispersed to allow Luther and Sloane their dance. Just as Five was about to go right to you, Sloane got to you first. She caught Five’s eyes and giggled softly, giving him a knowing smile before talking quietly to you. Five silently watched your facial expressions, trying to get a read on what was happening. He also just adored looking at your face.

Sloane smiled, and you made a face of annoyance. She made a face of pleading, and you hesitated before answering with a roll of your eyes, leading to a very happy Sloane.

Five wondered what it was about Sloane that made you agree to do things for her so easily. Nonetheless, he admired the way you would do things out of your comfort zone to make her happy after all that shit that went down the past few days. It was terrible just thinking that you had been dead in the apocalypse before he found you, so he could only imagine Sloane’s heartbreak after five of her siblings died so close together.

Five was about to blink and go see what you were up to, but he saw you grab the mic and he understood. Sloane wanted you to sing. Hell, he wasn’t complaining. You would sing a lot during the end of the world while you were together and he would never get sick of hearing your angelic voice. He shot you a smile and walked over to the alcohol. If Five wanted to dance at all with you, he was gonna need a little courage.

Luther and Sloane walked to the dance floor, and you tried finding an instrumental for a song you wanted. Five smiled at the look of concentration on your face. Eventually you found it and stepped in the opening and began to sing.

“When I was a child, my eyes were clear, I saw the good side

That's the kind of second sight that doesn't last too long

Then when I was lost, I heard a voice that brought me healing

That's the kind of special hope he brought me with his song

People only saw the doctor, lawyer, Indian chief

But he was just a lonely little boy to me

With his sweet and gentle touch he sure unlocked my soul

So in return I surely want to help to set him free”

You weren’t sure why you had picked this song. It was a wedding, so you needed to pick something lovey-dovey, right? Sloane didn’t specify what she wanted, would this be okay? A showtune? Maybe not the greatest wedding song ever. Then as you kept singing, you realized exactly why you picked this song. That lonely little boy…with a sweet and gentle touch was the boy you’d been in love with for so long.

“Yeah, now I wanna see him fly, fly

I’ll be your alibi, my baby

Fly, fly, fly away

We didn't get to say goodbye, goodbye

No need to tell me why, my baby

Maybe it's because you'll fly back home to me one day”

Five silently watched you stand and sing. He recognized the song very quickly, you’d heard it after the two of you returned home and you would quietly sing it to yourself. He watched as passion slowly started to fill those beautiful eyes. You chose this song for a reason.

“Men who they call real were really fakes who left me nothing

But this man they call a fake gave me something real

I've known cruel men with Christian names that taught me manners

But this man without a name taught me how to feel

They only saw the magic tricks, the smoke and mirrors

Was I the only one to ever see the boy?

So now they want to clip his precious wings and bring him down

But in his heart and soul's the kind of good they can't destroy”

You found your eyes wandering to Five sitting alone, a glass of alcohol in hand. Instead of focusing on his drink, he was looking directly at you. He usually had such an intense look on his face, but he looked so…gentle. And soft. It was the look of the boy you fell head over heels with. You met men at the Commission who gaped at you, stared in awe, but in reality they didn’t do anything for you. Five gave you everything you could ever ask for. Without trying, he’d taught you so much and you loved him for it. Sometimes you felt as if nobody knew this soft side of Five, not even his own siblings. Five getting attacked physically by Commission lackeys and emotionally by his siblings hurt you so bad. Deep down, you knew Five had such a good heart, and cared so much about you and his family.

“So now I wanna see him fly, fly

I'll be your alibi, my baby

Fly, fly, fly away

We didn't get to say goodbye, goodbye

No need to tell me why, my baby

Maybe it's because you'll fly back home to me one day,”

Five stood up immediately once he saw the tears start to form in your eyes during a particular line. We didn’t get to say goodbye. The two of you truly did not get to say goodbye when you both were sent off into the apocalypse. He had screwed up and landed the two of you in different time periods of the apocalypse. You were stuck in the past of the apocalypse, while he was further ahead. He had screwed you over so bad, but you forgave him and greeted him with open eyes. He spotted Diego and Lila slowly go over to the dance floor, and Five decided he wanted to dance with somebody.

“Baby, when you're in the clouds, please keep a lookout

Maybe, darling, find a hideaway for you and I, you and I”

You had to stop a grimace from appearing. Ew, feeling emotions. You felt the tears in your eyes and tried to force them down, but it was hard to stop them. That’s when you saw someone making his way toward you. The look on Five’s face was unreadable, which you never thought you’d say. You were usually able to tell somewhat what Five was thinking. Without a word, Five gently grabbed your waist, despite the fact you were occupied with singing a very emotional ballad, and he gently led you to the dance floor along with Luther, Sloane, Diego, and Lila. Looking into the eyes of the boy you’d pined after for so long…man, it does things.

“And now I wanna see you fly, fly

I'll be your alibi, my baby

Fly, fly, fly away

We didn't get to say goodbye, goodbye,”

Five felt terrible seeing the tears roll down your pretty face as you sang your sweet little heart out. Your eyes screwed shut and you maneuvered so that only he would be the one seeing you cry. He was the one who got to see you so vulnerable. The fact you were crying, singing, and now dancing in heels was incredible to him. All he wanted to do was make you feel safe. You two weren’t able to say goodbye before, but before this new apocalypse, you two would be able to say goodbye.

“No need to tell me why, my baby

Maybe it's because you'll fly back home to me one day

And I'll be waiting for you there

You'll fly back home to me one day”

You allowed yourself to weep openly in front of Five as you sang. You weren’t one to go rattling off your emotions all the time, and you despised thinking about your time in the apocalypse. This was the first time you released how you felt about it in some way. Five’s hand slowly reached up and touched the side of your face, using a thumb to wipe away a tear. Five took the mic, blinked away and put it back where you found it, and put on some other song. He was right back to you.

“You know…in all my years I never thought my breath would quite literally be taken away by someone.” Five said softly, his hands gentle on your waist.

“Oh, you’re just saying that.” You chuckled softly. “I sang a pretty song, that’s it. Wasn’t even too good. Her vocals do not match mine.” You replied, earning a soft sigh from Five.

“How many years have we spent our time together?” He asked seriously, tilting his head and squinting his eyes. He took a deep breath, like he was preparing himself. “Goddamn it, it’s the end of the world, so why not? I like you, okay?”

You hesitated. Was Five being serious? He wasn’t the type to pull pranks. “I…sure hope you would like me somewhat, we’ve seen each other almost every day for many years-”

“You know what kind of like I’m talking about.” He gave you an expectant look. Was he confessing to you right now? You never thought you’d see the day. “I’ve seen all sides of you and I like all of them. Even the one that argues with me when I’m right.” This earned a chuckle from you. “Like I said, it’s the end of the world, so might as well tell you now. I saw you tonight and knew you were the only one right for me. You have every right to reject me. Terrible timing, I know.” He chuckled lightly. “Judging by how passionately you stared at me while singing that song, I’m inclined to believe you feel the same. Do you?”

You were practically speechless. “Five…” you could feel your face heating up again. “Idiot, what the hell took you so long?”

“Well, better late than never.” He hummed, a smug smile on his face. “Come on, you have to admit it now.”

“I’m not admitting anything, Five.” You huffed, averting your eyes to Sloane, who looked very very excited as she looked at you both.

Five clicked his tongue. “Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to go get a drink.” He started to pull his hands away but you were quick to pull them back.

“No! God, you’re such an ass.” You mumbled in irritation, before closing your eyes and sighing. “I like you a lot, Five. Maybe even love you. I think I’ve loved you for a long time.”

“Finally you admitted it, you stubborn bastard.” He teased, and before you could start to protest, he had suddenly teleported the two of you to a more secluded area of the room. “Well, I love you too.” He hummed softly, gently taking your face in his hands. He cleared his throat, almost nervously. Was Five nervous? That was unusual for him.

“Five..?”

“You have every right to say no, but…” he took a deep breath, averting eye contact for a few moments before looking you right in the eyes. “May I kiss you?” He breathed out shakily.

Now that was something you didn’t expect. Five was standing there, timidly asking if he could kiss you. His touch was sweet and gentle, like it usually was when you two touched.

“Of course you can kiss me, Five.” You chuckled softly, your own face very hot while you tried to play it off. You could see the relief in his eyes at your answer, and he stepped closer to you.

When Five’s lips touched yours, he was so incredibly mad at himself that he didn’t do this before. How long could he have been doing this with someone like you? How long could he have been holding you? Kissing you? Doing all these sickening, cheesy, romantic things with you? Why did his stubborn ass wait until the end of everything? He was such a dumbass. At the same time, he was addicted to this. The way your lips moved against his, like they belonged together. He could feel you smile into the kiss, and that made him feel things he’d never felt before. This was making you happy, and that’s what mattered.

When he pulled away, he lifted a finger to your lips to prevent you from saying anything.

“We’ll get to say goodbye this time, okay?” He said gently, keeping his hand on your face in hopes it would make you believe him. “I promise you that.”

He felt your face lightly lean into his hand. “We better, or I’ll kick your ass, Number Five.” You mumbled, and he laughed ever since slightly. That was you, ‘threatening’ him every ten seconds.

Suddenly, there was a loud obnoxious gasp from somewhere somewhat nearby, and Five cursed.

“I knew it!” Klaus cheered. “Luther, you owe me fifty bucks, dear brother!!”

#umbrella academy season 3 #the umbrella academy #number five #five hargreeves #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #umbrella academy x reader #afab!reader #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #allison hargreeves #the sparrow academy

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vitaminseetarot · 1 month

Text

PAC: How Will You Experience Good Luck This Spring? 🍀💰🌈

Sup y'all, welcome back to a rather verdant and hopeful pick a card reading! I hope y'all are antsy for a colorful free tarot game, 'cause I'll be rolling one out starting tomorrow 3/18, until Thursday 3/21. More details will be out tomorrow when the game opens, but today's three swatch selections will give you a little hint at what's to come.

Select one of the three green palette cards below, or from one of the corresponding emojis, to find out how you'll experience a bit of luck this coming season.

Pile 1 - Luck of the Irish Pile 2 - Winter Shamrock Pile 3 - Clover Patch

Pile 1 - Luck of the Irish 🌄

Mystery, Lady's Mantle - Fortitude, 14. Intuition, 7 - Clear Aura; IX Hermit, 2 of Pentacles, 6 of Swords, 9 of Cups, Page of Cups

"Gently place your feet on the path you were meant to travel."

Hey pile 1, I'm seeing that you're going to be fortunate where traveling anywhere may be concerned. You're feeling more ready than ever to take on the outside world. Can you see the winding road in Lady's Mantle? Even if you're not traveling physically, you will be lucky in whatever path you begin to follow in spring. With the key in intuition, you may have recently had to overcome certain trials in order to get to this point, and you seem pretty anxious to move on. But your message says to "gently place your feet," not "scramble to get out the door without checking your shoelaces first". You're being advised to walk, not run to your nearest destination, perhaps because you may still need to come to terms with the decision you're making. Be sure that this next path is one you want to follow, and keep in mind that what may seem to be the next stop is not necessarily the final one.

During your last chapter in life, which may have ended as recently as a day ago or as long as a year, you've had to put up with a lot of stress. Trying to juggle your personal needs along with everyone else's drama. You may have had the strong urge or tendency to stay tucked inside in order to recuperate. Winter has mainly been about healing from the previous year. This spring, you will be luckier going out the door to your next adventure without the baggage. I see the Hermit as stepping out of a dark cave to feel the first warm spring day of the year. You'll be rewarded for your patience and determination in getting through your ordeal, if even just by making it through each day even when it was difficult.

The key reminds me of video games specifically. In day to day life, we use them as tools to get from one place to another. But in games, a key can symbolize either an opportunity to find some good loot, or the chance to step up to the next level. Now that you have this key, this solution to a particular problem, you'll be able to move forward with more ease. The way is being gently lit for you, like a glowing path that takes you to your next goal. As easy as it makes the game to have this glowing path, don't forget to pick up things and check out areas along the way. Keep at least one foot in the present moment so you can find these bonuses.

You may not be necessarily sure of where you're going next right now, just a vague sense that you're moving on ahead. And it's okay if you don't have it all figured out right now. You'll be able to see how you can manage the life you have now with the life you desire. Tap into what you want, and meditate on where you would like to go next if money, energy, time, or obligations weren't factors. Dream of your next adventure before you fall asleep, imagine one that you make your inner child sing. Envision that every time you take a bath, you're washing away parts of the past that you no longer need, as with sleep. Spring will bring to you a sense of replenishment and newness.

Pile 2 - Winter Shamrock ❄

Faith, Yarrow - Pocket of Protection, 21. Travel, 9 - Self-Acceptance; Capricorn, 8 of Wands, Taurus, Page of Cups, XI Justice

"Fill up from the healing waters of Mother Earth's sacred springs and connect to her heartbeat. Become as one energy."

Dear pile 2, your hard work is finally paying off somewhere. Your luck will let you open up to your life again, like a butterfly stretching its wings. The Travel card here can talk about being lucky in your travels, but it more specifically talks about the chance of a new job or project opportunity coming in. This is something you've been diligently working for, even if it's just working for a certain amount of time off. You're used to putting in a significant amount of effort to go further. Your luck this spring will give you a chance to rest AND receive blessings that are overdue, the kind of good fortune that comes directly from your energy and time.

I'm seeing an emphasis on 8 here, with Faith and the 8 of Wands. Perhaps this represents the days or months you've had to work and wait for something important. The Eightfold Path of Buddhism may have some relevance for you. Your luck will come as a result of sticking to your virtues. The Wheel of the Year may also have relevance. Taurus and Capricorn are both hard working Earth signs, they're difference being that Taurus indulges in what it has worked for, while Capricorn gets more empowered by regularly pushing to the top. Understand that you do not need to do any extra or go above and beyond for the sake of receiving this luck any more. You've done all you needed to do to attract this energy to you. Remember that hiking is more than continuously climbing; it also involves chances to eat a snack while watching the clouds roll by between the mountains.

The Taurus card was meant to clarify Yarrow. Taurus is known for "I Have", the sign for material possessions. See how Yarrow is being held between hands safe in a bubble? You may be lucky in receiving something special this spring like a gift, or an expensive item you've wanted to splurge on for a while. If you're not sure how you'll acquire it just yet, try not to get too winded controlling the outcome. If it's meant to be in your life, it will be. If it's out of sale in one store, luck will have it that you'll be gifted by a friend who thought of you as they saw it. Your most precious possessions will be protected by luck this spring, particularly during your trips and vacations abroad.

Time based blockages are melting away, and you may be surprised at how quickly things progress once you take the chance to stop and breathe. You'll find that time becomes less of a factor in how things progress this season. What may seem like a week-long ordeal could take only a day for you to resolve. Interview offers may come in fast and hot, which will only be noticeable if you're actually granting yourself the chance to stop and listen to these offers instead of pushing for a certain result. Justice wants you to balance your ambitious nature with a desire to take it easy and enjoy the good life. You'll be given the ability to do both this season. Accept the amount of progress you've already made, as you've likely done much more than you think. You'll increase your luck by accepting your current situation while having faith that your goals will still be there when you're ready to climb upwards again.

Pile 3 - Clover Patch 🍀

Cleanse, Red Clover - Center and Ground, 31. Release, 27 - Divine Light; XIV Temperance, 10 of Swords, Knight of Cups, 9 of Cups, 5 of Wands

"The light that you are seeking is already within you. Follow those things that bring peace to your soul."

Pile 3, wowie! You got the Red Clover next to Clover Patch! Notice how the flowers are wrapped around the heart. Some of you may have been battling a bad case of the winter blues, and this spring will give you a noticeable pep in your step. I recommend asking your doctor about Seasonal Affective Disorder if you suspect this is a regular issue every winter, although this is not guaranteeing you do have it. But I'm getting the feeling that you'll have the chance to heal your heart and regain a lot of lost energy and motivation either way. This spring will give you luck through giving you opportunities to find peace, joy, and contentment. You're stepping into light so you may bask in it. This fortune will bring about an internal change for you. (I'm hearing you'll somehow be luckier if you literally spend more time out in the sun!)

For some of you who are more religiously inclined, you may experience a deepened or renewed connection with your divine source this spring. Whether you pray to deities, ancestors, spirit guides, or your higher self, your connection will be empowered. If not as religious, you'll still feel more attached to the world around you and better aligned with your sense of life's purpose. You'll be feeling less "me against the world" and more "hey, the world's not perfect, but at least I've found my own footing." Temperance balances narcissus, of self love, and the iris, divine love. 10 of Swords shows that surrendering the past and allowing things to simply be will help you feel an refreshing and blissful period this spring.

I see a harp in Divine Light. It's less about moving forward and more about having the peace to dance in the now. Iris comes in many colors. This surge of spiritual awareness may come through in your artistic pursuits. Spring may help you creatively flow with ideas. Although Red Clover wants you to get you moving, it's also important with the 5 of Wands to ground these ideas by approaching them one at a time, little by little. Not everyone can do a productivity 180°, from making nothing to making 10 drawings a day. You'll have time this Spring to make art less of a chore and more of a joy. Art is a way to express ourselves, and you must have a lot to express after the winter you've been through.

Spring will give you a chance to play some catch-up, clearing away the things that drained your energy before. With peace of mind, it'll be easier to see what should stay and what should be left behind. Sometimes knowing what we don't want is as necessary as knowing what we do want. Major distractions are cleansed away in favor of working on what you've wanted to do for a while. If any of you struggle with artist or writer's block, I'm feeling relief here as chapters and sketches are drafted out freely as they come. If you're looking to renovate your living space, you'll have more ease in going through old things, replacing curtains, and dusting shelves to make more room. Your luck begins with inner peace, which radiates over time into expressing it through the world around you, reflecting your sense of spiritual connection. Art, home renovation, and even gardening are just a few of many examples for how you might creatively expand.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

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