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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

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📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3620

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

6. Somethin' with Bananas

Steve

Steve wakes up to Bucky spooning him, pressing his morning wood against his ass. He hums with his eyes still closed, enjoying the feeling. “Mmm, g’morning.”

Hands slide onto his hips. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

Steve smiles. “Sunshine” is one of Bucky’s favorite pet names for him. Steve is rather fond of it too, after so many years together. His husband has a knack for making him feel special like that. “What’re you doin', Buck?” he warns softly, still smiling because he likes the feeling of being explored, even if they can't take this far right now because of—

“She left for work a while ago,” Bucky murmurs, the answer to a question that Steve hasn’t asked. Alone time doesn’t happen as much as it used to, these days. "Left a bunch of baking stuff out on the counter. There's a note threatening us with mortal peril if we eat any of her bananas."

"Hmm." Steve yawns deeply and wiggles his butt back against his husband's noticeable hardon. "Whas'she makin'?"

"Dunno. Somethin' with bananas." Bucky’s hand slides to the juncture of Steve’s legs. He palms the half hard line of his cock from over his briefs, massaging the bulge as it grows. Steve moans a little and tips his head back to Bucky’s shoulder, a wordless request for kisses. Bucky starts lavishing his neck with attention while his hand continues its slow work.

Steve loves moments like this. Early morning, the sun barely out and the world quiet, the bedroom air still and thick from sleep; easy, instinctual fucking; simple and not complicated, just the two of them loving on each other. He inhales a little sharper when Bucky finally slides his hand under the waistband of his underwear. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“Mmhm.” Bucky kisses his neck. “This what you wanted, Honey?” His hand is wrapped flush around Steve now, skin on skin. He strokes once up and down and gives a squeeze, starts up a slow, tight rhythm.

“Oh.” Steve bites his lip, eyes closed as he just feels what Bucky’s doing to him. “Mm. Mmhm. S’real good.” He shivers when Bucky’s thumb swipes at his cockhead, spreading the wetness around and pressing firm against his slit. “Fuck …”

“Always were a leaker,” Bucky says lowly. “You get so wet, Honey.”

“Buck,” Steve whines. He loves Bucky’s talk in bed but he’s never been able to handle it. It turns him into a pitiful mess, every time.

Bucky

Bucky just chuckles, knowing the effect he has on him. He’s Dominant. Winding Steve around his little finger comes naturally to him, and Steve can’t say he doesn’t like it. “You were making pretty sounds in your sleep,” Bucky says, murmuring the words in between kisses on Steve’s neck. “Moaning and moving your hips a little.” He demonstrates, pushing his own hips up against Steve’s ass. Steve makes an embarrassed, whimpery sort of noise that goes straight to Bucky’s cock, and he shushes him. “Shh, no. It was hot, Stevie. You were feeling real good in your sleep, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

“What were you dreaming about?” Bucky presses his thigh forward, between Steve’s legs, crowding him that much closer. “Hm?”

“Her,” Steve says breathily. “I … h-her.”

“Mary?” Bucky grins against the skin of his neck. “Having dirty dreams about our girl, huh?”

Steve moans—whether at Bucky calling her ‘their girl’, or at the way his other hand is now reaching down to cup Steve’s sac, isn’t clear. Bucky gives a gentle squeeze and tug, then rolls the weight of his testicles in his palm. Steve, who’s always been keen on having his balls played with, moans louder and nods against the pillow. “Didn’t mean to,” he says, as if he needs to defend his character.

Bucky grins like a shark and nips his earlobe. “Course not. You just couldn’t help it, could you? She’s always there, moaning around bites of cream filled pastries, showing off her ass in those leggings—”

Steve groans.

“—Giving us attitude every day like she wants a spanking, but dropping so sweet by the end’a the night.” He can see pink spreading around to the back of Steve’s neck and shoulders now. His Stevie colors so easily. Bucky licks delicately along the shell of his ear and whispers, “Tell me. Tell me what you did to her in the dream.” Steve moans and doesn’t answer for a long while, maybe too distracted by Bucky’s hand that’s still stroking him slowly. Bucky stills, opens his hand and presses Steve’s cock up against his stomach. “Steve,” he warns. “Tell me.”

“... Wasn’t me,” Steve mumbles, embarrassed. “It was you. You were touching her, fucking her.”

Bucky’s guts tighten in arousal. “Oh?” he breathes. “You like thinkin’ about that? Like thinking about me laying her out? Her spreading her legs for me right here on this bed?” Steve groans and nods, whining impatiently and humping forward for more. Bucky chuckles and takes him in hand again, squeezing his shaft and fondling his balls. They’re tighter now, drawn up closer to his body as he gets more worked up. “So?” Bucky needles, when he still hasn’t gotten an answer. “Is that what you want?”

“Bucky, nngh, Yes, alright?”

“Mmhm.” He chuckles softly and nuzzles Steve’s neck, enjoying his husband’s flustered state. “But you know, I think I’d like to watch you.” He can just picture it: Steve’s muscled, strong body moving over her soft curves, his big hands holding her open gently—because everything Steve does is gentle—while he makes her cum on his cock. “Yeah. You like that idea, Big guy? Me too. I wanna watch this big fat dick—” he squeezes his fist on Steve— “plowing her sloppy, making her cum so good she even cries a little bit.” Steve whines again, and Bucky hums in agreement. “Mmhm. It’d be so hot, Stevie.”

Steve squirms against him in distress. “I, I’ve never … With girls I mean. I’m not … I’ve never …” he peters off, and Bucky’s got no idea what he’s saying.

“What?” He frowns and ruts his erection against the cleft of Steve’s ass for a little relief. “What’re you talking about, Baby? You’ve been with women before. College?”

Steve shakes his head against the pillow. “No, I mean I … I don’t know what to do. To make ‘em feel good. I’m … not good at it.”

Bucky actually stops what he’s doing. Steve grunts at the lack of touch, but Bucky just hushes him and pulls on his shoulder, urging him to turn over. “Hey. C’mere. Look at me.” Steve’s face is indeed colored pink when he turns to lie facing Bucky. His eyes flick up briefly, but dart away again, shy. Bucky’s heart squeezes. “Oh, Honey,” he says, bringing a hand up to cup Steve’s jaw. “Who told you that?” He thinks of murdering whatever coed bitch might’ve made Steve feel self-conscious.

Steve looks mortified. “Nobody did. Just … I could tell. The times I was with ‘em. I couldn’t make them, you know, cum.” He looks so ashamed as he admits it, and Bucky wants to grab him and kiss all over his entire face.

“Aw, Steve,” he coos. “Is that it? You’re nervous about being with a woman again? Not confident?”

Steve nods. He tucks himself against Bucky’s body and presses his face in his neck, hiding there. “Women are hard,” he mumbles. “I like ‘em, but it’s not easy.”

Bucky chuckles a little. “Yeah, that’s for sure. But it’s not that bad, baby. You just gotta know a few basics. Gotta take it real slow and feel them out, find out what makes her feel good. Every girl’s different. That’s the beauty in it.”

Steve grunts and ruts up against him, their cocks knocking together between their bellies. “Tell me?” he asks, eager and sweet. “Please, Buck? Tell me how.”

Bucky feels like half the blood leaves his brain, his dick throbbing anew. “Fuck,” he breathes, crazy turned on at the idea. “You want me to teach you, Stevie? Teach you how to get her crying? Dripping wet? How to touch her so good you make her cum?”

Steve shivers and nods, grinding his forehead into Bucky’s shoulder in embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah I want you to. Want you to teach me.”

Bucky pulls Steve’s head up to make him look at him. His face is pinched—embarrassed but wanting. Bucky curses. “Fuck. Yeah, yeah baby I’ll teach you how. C’mere.” He moves up the bed, pulling Steve’s meaty shoulders to get him to follow, directing him to sit in his lap, back to chest as Bucky props them up against the headboard. He spreads his legs wide to accommodate Steve’s bulk, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “My little overachiever,” he murmurs. “Such a Boy Scout, always wanting to be the best you can be.”

Steve huffs. “Don’t think they gave out merits for eating pussy,” he quips, uncharacteristically lewd.

Bucky barks out a laugh in delight. “Well pay attention, Sweetheart. You’re about to earn that badge.” Steve shudders against him, but he’s leaning back against Bucky, slumped just a little lower in his lap. He’s ready to listen, and Bucky’s fucking hot at the chance to tell. “First thing you gotta know,” he says, speaking delicately and smoothing his hands over Steve’s sides. “Is forget what you’ve seen in porn. They make that shit for us, not them. It’s all fake. No better way to make a girl miserable than to go pounding into her or whatever else.”

Steve makes a questioning noise, and God bless him, Bucky knows instantly that this is news to the big dummy. “But …” he hedges.

“No buts, Honey.” Bucky kisses his ear. “You gotta be so gentle. Always start soft, always go slow. Start that way and pay attention to her reactions.” He skims his fingertips up Steve’s ribs, tickling lightly over to his pecs and back down, making him gasp. “Yeah,” Bucky hums, “Just like that. She might be quiet at first, girls don’t moan all loud right off the bat. They don’t get worked up as fast as we do. They take time.”

Steve nods, panting a little as he listens to him. “W-what then?” he asks.

“Listen to her breathing, the sounds she makes. She’ll start breathing heavier when you’ve got her feeling good, start making little sounds without even realizing she’s doin’ it.” Steve looses a tiny whimper and Bucky grins. “Yeah, just like that.” He reaches down and finds Steve’s cock again, and god it’s sexy how wet his fella can get. He strokes him a few times, just languidly, letting the precum guide the slide of his fist. Not hurrying. Showing Steve what he means when he says ‘slow’.

“Oh,” Steve breathes, sounding gone for it.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “And then when she starts moving her hips?” He presses his crotch into the small of Steve’s back. “Just rubbing herself against you or humping up in the air a little? Oh yeah, that’s when she’s into it.” He brings one hand up to cradle Steve’s pec. “Girls are more sensitive here than we are,” he tells him. He’s looking over Steve’s shoulder now, eyeing up what he’s doing. He flicks his thumb over the nipple—so freaking small and petal pink where Bucky’s are darker. And he’s so responsive, the nipple pebbling up with hardly any effort on Bucky’s part. “Mmhm,” Bucky hums approvingly. “You want to try different things. You can just hold ‘em …” he uses both hands and cups the meat of Steve’s chest, giving a proprietary squeeze. Steve moans and Bucky smiles. “Yeah. But not too hard. Treat her tits like they’re something delicate, somethin’ special.” He makes the motion to Steve’s pecs like he would do to lightly bounce a woman’s breasts in his palms. “And Mary, she’s got smaller tits. A nice, healthy handful, just like you.”

Steve whines and squirms impatiently in his lap. Bucky glances down to check, and sees Steve’s cock; abandoned on his stomach, dark, and leaking. It’s so heavy and thick, the foreskin drawn halfway down the head, showcasing the shiny pink tip of him. Bucky curses softly. Fuck, but he wants to wring an orgasm out of that cock like ten minutes ago. But he forces himself to stay the course.

“When you use your mouth on her nipples,” he whispers, voice soft like velvet in Steve’s ear, “You can lick. Or nibble a little.” He mimics each option with a stroke and then a pinch of his fingers on Steve’s nipples, flicking out with his tongue to get the shell of Steve’s ear. “But I’ll tell you what: most of ‘em like it best when you suck.” He uses all five fingertips drawn together to pull gently at the peaks of Steve’s chest, and Steve makes a hurt, wanting sound. “Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Suck her nipples. Then fit as much of her in your mouth as you can and suck that too.” He takes pity on Steve and reaches back down for his cock. Steve cries out, and Bucky gentles him. “Shh sh sh. Remember: slow.”

Steve groans, his tight hips flexing and pushing his cock up into the curl of Bucky’s fist. “Buck, please.”

“It’s not about you,” Bucky chides. “You’re a man. You get to cum so easy and all the time. You gotta help her get there, give her what she deserves.”

Steve sobs a little, so worked up from all the teasing, but he falls back into Bucky, relaxing against his chest and laying himself open for Bucky to continue. Pride and adoration for his man well up in Bucky at the show of submission. “Good,” he praises, giving an extra indulgent twist on the next upstroke. Steve’s foreskin moves with the motions, making soft, wet noises with all the precum he’s leaking. Bucky hums appreciatively. “Yeah, lookit that.” He draws his hand all the way up, tight, and then dips his thumb into the folds, rubbing into that wetness, against the sensitive head. “If you’re doing it right, touching her enough, she’ll be wet by now,” he says. “But you still shouldn’t go for her pussy yet. Not yet.”

“What … what else?” Steve asks muzzily, like he can’t think of anything else to do that doesn’t involve his dick getting jerked off or sticking it in a hypothetical pussy.

“Tease her,” Bucky says. “Run your hands all over her body, all over her soft skin.”

Steve sighs happily. “I like how soft they are. Smooth.”

Hearing Steve talk about what he likes about women makes Bucky’s dick throb, and he grinds it against Steve’s lower back for some relief. “Mmhm,” he agrees, moving his hands up and down the skin of Steve’s ribcage, his belly, grabbing on at his hips and giving a proprietary jostle. “Dig your fingers into her, gentle but insistent. Let her feel how much you love her body.”

“Now?” Steve asks.

“Not yet,” Bucky whispers.

“Fuck. Bucky.”

“Tease her,” he insists, ignoring Steve’s pleading. He slides his hands down Steve’s thighs and inwards, pulling them apart. Steve moans and spreads them wide. “Exactly,” Bucky says. “You want to touch her here. Run your hands all over, so close to where she wants it. Remember, if you’ve been doing this right, she’ll be wet by now.” He goes back and strokes the wetness along Steve’s shaft. “Sink down between her legs and kiss her thighs—you’ll smell it.”

“Oh my god.”

Bucky smiles, in love with his husband for how easily he comes apart under his care. He traces down to the base of Steve’s cock, making a vee with two fingers and rubbing the skin on either side. “Put pressure on her mound, really close but not touching where she wants it. Not yet.” His other hand slides down and delicately traces the seam of Steve’s sac. “Tease her, trace her folds. Get a little bit of that wetness and rub it around to make her even more sensitive. And then …” He blows gently on Steve’s ear. Steve moans. “Just like that. You want to wait. Don’t give her your mouth until she’s whining and shovin’ up at you for it.”

“Nngh,”

Bucky chuckles and circles the wet pad of his finger over one testicle and then the other. He nudges at Steve’s taut sac and whispers in his ear. “Push her lips apart.”

Steve is breathing hard through his nose, tense, his dick bobbing rock hard and angry in the air. Bucky has mercy on him and reaches for it, and Steve chokes out a sob of relief at only the slightest touch.

Bucky kisses his temple soothingly. “Shh. Here. Riiight here.” He holds the head between his thumb and fingers and starts jacking just the tip of him, foreskin tugging and gliding in that way that he knows feels amazing for Steve. “Right above her sweet spot, see? You rub on her like this, up and down, back and forth. Work the hood over her clit juuust like this.”

Steve makes a debased groan at the echo of what Bucky’s saying, and how he’s working Steve’s foreskin over the head of his dick. “Fuck, fuck,” he hisses.

“Yeah, you’re close. She’s soaked by now. You think it’s time to give her more?”

“Bucky. Yes, yes, please.” His hips are straining upwards but he lets his head loll back on Bucky’s shoulder, open for what he’ll do next. “Please,” he begs.

“Now this is important, baby, so pay attention,” Bucky says. “Some women like a mouth on ‘em down there, some don’t. Some do, but they have a hang up over how they think they look or taste or something.” Steve makes a sad noise at that, matching Bucky’s opinion that: yeah, women shouldn’t worry so much. Pussy is just generally fucking awesome. “Tell her how much you love it,” he says. “The taste of her, the shape of her lips. Make her feel pretty and wanted.” He’s fondling Steve’s balls anew as he says this, rubbing and rolling them, then cupping his whole palm over them and dipping behind to dig fingertips into his taint. “Come on, Stevie,” he goads, “Let me hear it. Tell me what you’d say.”

It takes Steve a few tries before he can pull enough of his brain out of his dick to rasp, “S’fucking gorgeous p-pussy. So … so wet. Can I lick it Honey, huh? Please lemme lick it. Wanna taste that sweet cunt.”

Bucky gasps, shocked and delighted at Steve’s dirty talk. “Oh, Stevie,” he groans. “Baby. Fuck, yes. I didn’t know you had it in you.” He wraps his hand fully around Steve’s cock and starts jerking him off fast, fast enough that it’s obvious he’s finally aiming to make Steve cum, and Steve chokes on a relieved heave of breath.

"Yes! Oh, thank you!”

Bucky attacks Steve’s neck with his mouth, biting and smearing spit and scraping his teeth over the wet skin. He growls as he watches his fist working furiously over Steve's red, hard dick. “Suck her clit while you fuck her on your fingers,” he rasps. “Tell her she’s a good girl, tell her to ride your face, grind down on your hand. Make sure she knows she’s allowed to let go.”

Steve cries out, guttural and loud like he always gets when his pleasure is cresting. “Bucky, Buck. Honey, oh. F-fuck, m’close.”

“Mmhm. Thaat’s it, Princess,” he says, pitching his voice just so and using that name so that Steve knows. Knows he’s talking to her.

Steve whines, his whole body tight and straining into Bucky’s grip.

“Curl your fucking fingers in her,” Bucky growls. “She’s close. Don’t slow down. Don’t even speed up. She likes what you’re doing now, so don’t you dare fucking change a thing.”

“Bucky!”

“That’s it, Princess, just like that. You’re almost there.”

“Fuck, fuck … ssshit …”

“Ride Daddy’s hand, fuck back on it. Good girl.”

Steve jerks and shouts, cock pulsing in telltale contractions, before searing ropes of come shoot up his stomach and all over Bucky’s hand. “Oh, oh, oh!” He grunts through it with gorgeous sounds, and Bucky’s so in love with the sight of it that he’s not roleplaying anymore when he purrs, “Fucking beautiful, Sweetheart.”

Steve slumps when it’s over, still panting from the pleasure. Bucky eases off, sets his wet and slowly softening dick gently against his stomach. He moves them, guiding Steve to turn over and lie out on his front. He shoves Steve’s legs together and straddles them, swipes his hand that’s covered in Steve’s release into the tight space between his thighs, wetting him up. He growls viciously, pent up and rock hard and ready to fucking cum. He ruts into the wet clench of Steve’s thick thighs, fucking him like he’s got a loose, easy cunt. “Fuck, baby,” he grits, close within a matter of minutes. He chases his orgasm and collapses onto Steve’s broad back when it hits, grinding in hard one last time and shouting loud and guttural with how goddamn good it feels. “Fuck! Ughn, f-ffuuck.”

He comes down heaving, panting against Steve’s skin. Steve is strong enough that he can roll out from under his weight, and he pulls Bucky into his arms and draws his head onto his chest. Bucky goes gratefully, happy to have Steve’s firm pecs as a pillow. “God, honey,” he breathes, wrung out. Steve makes a noise of agreement. They just lie there together, sweaty and spent, catching their breath for a long time.

“... Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“… You’re a good teacher.”

Bucky laughs and crawls up to kiss Steve on the mouth. “Yeah,” he says when they part. “But that wasn’t even the main event.” Steve looks confused for a second, before Bucky slyly clarifies: “You still gotta fuck her. And you know you want to make her cum at least twice.”

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spaceistheplaceart · 6 months

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Body Swap - The Exorcism Part Two

wanted to do a bit more but ough i am TIRED... this took a lot out of me lmao but i hope y'all enjoy! lmk what u think in the tags/replies/asks :)

masterpost

(Please Reblog! Leave a comment in the tags! They make me very happy :)

SUMMARIZED ID: Reigen and Mob are shown the client's living room, it is in disarray. Reigen begins investigating the room, but begins to feel the presence of spirits... They keep a sharp eye out, as something moves about the room quickly.

FULL ID UNDER CUT

START ID:

(This is a body swap, so I'll be referring to the characters as who they actually are but keep in mind that Reigen is in Mob's body and vice versa.)

Mob watches Dimple fly leave, then goes inside Hiroto's house by shutting the door.

Cut to inside, Hiroto is opening a door for Mob and Reigen. Reigen has his hands on his hips. The client says, "This is where it's been happening." The room inside is moderately sized with a triple pane window on the far left wall. There is a fireplace, a couch, a ripped up armchair, two carpets- both rumpled and one torn, a doggy bed, a toy train, some balls, a tipped over coffee table, some askew and fallen paintings, some shelving units, and a chest of drawers on the right hand wall that has upon it multiple knick knacks. A drawer is missing from it and laying on the floor. There is a book with some pages torn out as well. All in all, it's a room that has seen some damage.

Hiroto lifts a nearby painting, showing three long scratches that were seen previously in the comic as a flashback. "See?" He says, looking at Mob. Mob looks at the scratches, somewhat narrowing his eyes. "Hmm..."

Reigen steps in, leaned over with his hand on his chin, looking at the scratches. Hiroto looks down at him, a little surprised. Reigen asks, "Hmm... have you noticed any strange smells?" "Smells?" The client repeats.

"Yes, like something rotting or damp. Spirits can sometimes carry over scents from their bodies, and that helps us determine which kind of ghost it is." Reigen says, gesturing with one hand while pointing upwards with the other. Hiroto shrugs, smile askew. "No, I haven't smelled anything strange..." He turns to Mob. "What do you think?"

Mob stands in the middle of the room, looking up. "Hmmm. I... don't feel anything." His speech bubble is overlapped by Reigen's, "AHAHA!!!" Reigen laughs, moving to Mob's side and resting one hand on Mob's arm, smiling wide and nervous as he explains to Hiroto: "They must be so weak that my Master is having a hard time picking up on them, but I can sense something in this room... ah, I can sense weaker spirits-- you know. I take care of them for my Master."

Mob gives Reigen a deadpan look. "Is that all you do?" Reigen's smile dims and he sweats.

"Al... right. Well, I'll leave you two to it... I've got to run to the store for a bit..." Hiroto crosses his arms. "And those ghosts better be gone when I get back."

Reigen waves a hand dismissively, using his customer service smile. "Don't worry, Mr. Hiroto, we'll have your spirit problem taken care of in no time!"

Hiroto begins to shut the door. He smiles nervously. "Sure thing..." He leaves.

After a moment, Mob looks down at Reigen, who is now crouching and looking at the scratches. He joins him on the floor.

Reigen says, "Hm... This guy could have a mouse problem. Or termites, possibly... hopefully not."

"I don't think mice could tip over chairs, Master."

"True, but the dogs could chase the mice and knockk over the chairs...." Reigen holds up a finger, his eyes are shut as he lectures Mob. "Always rule out the probable, Mob! Then, you can start looking for the less probable." Mob looks unimpressed.

Reigen stands up, hand in his pocket. "You do have a point, Mob. Although I hate to admit it... This could be a real hauntiiii-IIING!" His speech transitions into a yelp as his back straightens and eyes go wide. The background of the panel is dark with white wisps darting across it. Reigen crosses his arms and glares off to the side, his hair floating up due to his psychic abilities. He shudders. "Do you think the client would notice if we turned his A/C up? It's freezing in here!"

"I'm not cold." Mob responds.

Reigen grits his teeth and narrows his eyes, still tense. He's shivering. "Huh? It's freezing! Are you anemic or... something? Sensitive to cold?"

"No, I think the cold is probably the spirits."

Reigen flinches, then looks off to the side, smiling nervously. "Oh! Yes! Yes. The spirits! I recognize it now. Uh... you don't feel anything, do you?"

"Nope."

"Great." He puts his hand to his chin in thought. "What do you see, then? Anything?"

"Master, I don't have powers right now, remember?"

Reigen stares at Mob, his hair floating up due to his powers again. The background is dark and shadow-y, with the colouring of Reigen being all white. He's pale.

The next panel is of a similar style, dark and silent as they both look at eachother.

Mob angles his head down, looking at Reigen through his bangs and sweating slightly. "... Because we've switches bodies, I only have your powers right now... not mine?" The panel colour is lighter, and Reigen's hair calms slightly.

"Right." Reigen says, sighing and turning away from Mob, arms crossed. The panel is nearly white again, like normal. Mob is looking to the side, too, eyes downturned with a sweat drop on his cheek.

A view of a model train set, turned over. The carpet is rumpled and there is a painting sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Reigen speaks, "I definitely feel something in this room... but I don't see it. Keep a sharp eye out, just in case. Even if you're having trouble with my powers, I'm sure you can still pull something off."

Mob and Reigen stand back to back, glancing around the room. Then something 'wooshes', represented by a panel with a dark gray background and white lines flowing across it with the text 'woosh' on it.

Reigen startles, turning to look at the far side of the room. There is nothing of note there. He sees only the window, the couch, and the chair.

END ID.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #comic #reigen arataka #mp100 body swap #op art #shigeo kageyama

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primojade · 1 year

Text

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎.

“ I could tell you I love you without saying I love you. ”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | Different and unique, albeit a bit unconventional and funny, ways they show you they love you without exactly saying affectionate words.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐖 | gn!reader x albedo, zhongli, wanderer, venti, cyno and tighnari (separate); fluff, crack on some, stuck on confined space (tighnari); established relationship; if you spot the meme, very good have a nice day 😂

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | Look, I'm not very good at writing fluff because angst is what I do best xD this is just what I could do now so forgive me if the fluff is inadequate lol. Also, this is part of the Fluffvember event hosted by @maehemthemisfit <3 I enjoy writing this so I hope you can also enjoy reading~

masterlist | fluffvember masterpost

It was an established law in the house that the chores should be equally separated at all times. For example, you would wash the dishes in the morning, then the Wanderer would take his turn in the evening. An equal work for everyone living under the same room, and he agreed, albeit begrudgingly at first.

Though such was the case in washing the dishes, you would always see him loitering near you in the morning when you were washing the dishes, crossing his arms while leaning on the doorframe with a frown, under the guise of personally seeing you doing chores because he feared you would break the plates when he was not looking. Likewise, it becomes a habit for you to also sit by the counter to wait for him to finish his chore in the evenings before retiring to bed together.

You would, happily, daresay it become a routine, even.

When you were being particularly affectionate that night, you would just hug him from behind silently, your head resting on his back and your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, no matter how many times he complained loudly and sneered at you for being so clingy. (He said that grumpily but he made no move to remove you anyway, so you guessed that he didn't actually mind the affection.)

“Hmp. Come, hold my hand." His tone sounds so bossy and demanding, though you were not surprised. It's just the way he was, you could even say it was amusing at times.

You wrinkled your nose, peering over his shoulders to see him holding the sponge on his right hand and a plate on the other. “...But you were washing the dishes?"

The Wanderer rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Did I stutter? I could multitask.”

That evening, your shit-eating grin couldn't be any wider to the point he told you irritatedly to wipe that off or you'll sleep on the sofa tonight.

For someone who had lived for so long, Zhongli surely had a knack for poetry at times. Sometimes, it was a random burst of inspiration from overlooking the Liyue Harbour plains, at times it was about a history long forgotten, many times it was, well, about you.

“I love you dearly."

You couldn't help your stomach doing flips and your heart was somersaulting in happiness. And you want to return to him all the love and affection he freely gave you, even with simple words.

Although Zhongli seems to have a small dislike of you saying the word of affirmation back to him.

“I love—"

"I advise you not to finish that sentence." He firmly said, his gloved finger gently tapped at the bottom of your lip to cut you off. Your muscles almost weakened at the intensity of his fiery eyes boring into you.

Seriously speaking, if anyone could perfectly pull off the dom-boyfriend thing, it would surely be a man with the charisma of a god.

"What? Why?"

A small pause.

Then his eyes softened as his large hands cupped the corner of your cheeks, tracing your cheekbones with light feathered touches that left you sighing pleasantly. “...Because it felt you were merely agreeing with me.”

Albedo's curiosity is one of his charms, that's an undeniable fact. His capacity for boundless discoveries knows no bounds, so you couldn't exactly find in yourself to be surprised when he asked you such a…scandalous and funny question.

“Do you mind making out with me?" His tone never changed, the same calm, a bit indifferent, but with enough warmth that he reserved only for you. "Fret not, it's for the sake of science.”

"What." You deadpanned, not understanding where his sudden line of thought comes from.

Of course, you don't mind. But its funny how it's very Albedo-like to ask something like making out right now just for the sake of science when he had many chances to do so behind…closed doors before.

He seemed to have read your thoughts because a serene smile crossed his lips as he put down all his paperworks and approached you. “I merely had to collect many samples before I could draw a definite conclusion. This study is, if you want to know, based on my unpublished research that consists of you and me alone, by the way.”

Albedo said it all in a matter-of-fact tone that you couldn't help but to laugh at its incredulity, his arms snaking around you in a warm hug that could dispel the frigid cold in Dragonspine. “We could. But I have to finish this first.” You gestured to the papers on the table.

The alchemist didn't miss the playful twinkle in your eyes as he gently plucked the papers away and cupped your cheeks so you were looking straight at his seafoam eyes, smirking smugly. “If that's your attempt to decline, I deserve to have the right to decline your declination."

“Corporate can't ask me what's the difference between you and the world.”

It's been a stressful week for you, and all you've wanted is to curl next to your lover, with his arms wrapped warmly around and rest your head on his chest. There was nothing more domestically pleasing than having Cyno's talented fingers smoothing your hair while also massaging your scalp. It's a very therapeutic way of spending time together, especially since he has such a busy schedule during the day.

These simple moments you could cherish forever.

Though you couldn't say the same when he, of all times, chooses to break the comforting silence between you two with one of his seemingly dry jokes again.

Still, you were a faithful lover to him. So, as a faithful lover that you are, you indulged in his daily dose of humour.

You nuzzled your face to the crook of his neck, grinning to yourself when you notice a slight goosebump on his skin. “Why not?”

Cyno deeply breathed. "Because for me, they're literally the same.”

It took you a few seconds to realise what 'joke' he was talking about. By then, you could feel your heart leaping from your throat, and your satisfied grin slowly morphed into a flustered expression.

He gave a small, triumphant snort, but you were too engrossed to the fact that he just told you that 'you were his world and his world is you', to really care for anything but him anymore.

Tighnari is a man of many talents, a great leader who strives for the success and perseverance of others while also never failing to seek knowledge to whichever that piqued his interest. His scholar and Forest Watcher side is highly admirable, but that couldn't be the same to his…questionable sides.

“—I can't believe we're stuck in the same closet together.” You said in disbelief, both of your hands propped on Tighnari's sides to keep yourself grounded and crashing into him completely.

Although you knew he wouldn't mind, you refuse to give him another teasing material from you. He would surely use your flustered state with this forced proximity just to get a rise from you and then embarrassingly retell it later just for shit and giggles. (He does this especially when you are particularly stubborn about doing something that would compromise your safety.)

You didn't even realise how both of you got inside the same closet together. Because the only thing you could think of right now is how he—

“Truly unfortunate,” there was a barely concealed mirth hidden in the recesses of his usually stern voice. Unbeknownst to your appalled self, the key to the closet sits comfortably in his pockets.

For only during this time could he spend his time together with you, without anyone to disturb you both. He could hold you in his arms without any prying eyes, stare at your face without a single hint of shame, and gleefully hear the thundering beats of your heart.

Tighnari knew Collei would open the closet soon, as he told her beforehand. But for now, a man could enjoy his alone time with his beloved, right? Enjoying the hidden moment as if there's only him and you in this world.

You knew Venti could be a little ball of menace sometimes (read: all the times), but he's very open to his affections and the way he expresses his love is a bit unconventional and too much for others, suggesting something unbelievable and funny, but you knew its because he's always thinking of you.

You loved that he's attentive of your moods, that he knew when you need a good laugh, or a shoulder to cry and vent on, or merely times that you need a song to calm your raging heart. He never failed to read you like an open book, questioning you what you want, and giving you all the freedom and love you could hoped to have.

Venti is a good lover.

Still, he's a little menace.

For example, there was a time that you stubbornly refused to let go of your fourth commission for that day, and you were undeniably exhausted and stressed from fighting left and right. As a good lover that he proclaimed he is, Venti playfully snatched the commission paper from your hands and ran away with it, laughing gloatingly at how you could never catch up to him.

It seriously took you almost almost five minutes and cursing and following him around to catch up to his surprisingly long strides. You hit the back of his head and scolded him for doing this again (you knew this was his way of making you take a break so you didn't have any heart to be truly angry).

“Dear me, you could punch me in the face and I would still want you.”

“Shut up, Venti.” You tried to keep the glower to tell him off, but the way he heartily laughed and invited you to fly in the sky, just the two of you this time…

Once again, the commission is forgotten.

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added in my future works!): @samarill , @maehemthemisfit , @chocogi

#genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #zhongli x reader #cyno x reader #tighnari x reader #venti x reader #albedo x reader #genshin albedo #genshin scaramouche #genshin zhongli #genshin venti #genshin cyno #genshin tighnari #jaded moments—!#gender neutral reader #genshin fluff #twilight theatre #fluffvember 2022

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thefreakandthehair · 7 months

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@eddiemonth prompt, oct 24th: Drama | His Kiss the Riot - Anaïs Mitchell | Magnetic a/n: steddie, pining, mutual crushes, forced proximity, the universal theater kid horror of having to hug your crush on stage [click here for the AMAZING corresponding artwork by @artbean!] read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

Community theater isn’t a far leap for Eddie Munson.

With high school finally far behind him, he’s free to fill his time how he pleases. There aren’t many things about those four cinder block walls that he’d say he misses, but the drama of Hellfire Club makes the short list. So no, it’s not a far leap for Eddie Munson to join the local Hawkins Community Theater.

It is, however, a moon-landing sized leap to find Steve Harrington in the small auditorium when he shows up for Grease tryouts. Sure, Grease is a little kitsch, maybe a bit too on the nose for his first local community production, but that’s all forgotten when he ends up scoring the role of Kenickie and has to rehearse opposite of Steve’s Zuko.

Because of course Steve gets cast as Danny Zuko.

The monsters he’d dreamed up for Hellfire Club were intimidating, but nothing is more horrifying than having to hug the guy who’d been the leading man in most of his wet dreams throughout– and admittedly, even after– high school.

Day after day, take after take, Eddie as Kenickie asks Steve as Zuko to be his second at Thunder Road, they hug, and then pull away to fix their hair and strut off screen for the set change. Eddie can’t speak for Steve, but the flush to his cheeks and awkward hair combing is not acting.

Rehearsal has absolutely nothing on opening night, that first time Eddie finds himself shoved into a too-tight space behind the curtain with Steve. In their haste to get out of the way, Eddie stumbles and catches himself against a wall, turning to find Steve nose-to-nose, braced on one forearm against the same wall to the left of Eddie’s head.

Eddie swallows, harsh and thick, and releases a shaky exhale. “You good, man?”

Steve grins and nods. “Little tight back here, huh?”

“Terrible conditions for the leading man, I have to say.” Eddie whispers.

“Eh,” Steve starts. “I don’t think they’re that bad.”

Eddie’s sure that he’s hallucinated the way Steve’s eyes flicker down to his lips and back up. Wayne always says that Eddie has a knack for seeing what he wants to see, after all.

“That’s your cue,” Steve moves and jerks his head to the stage. “See you back out there, Kenickie.” The motherfucker winks and Eddie’s head spins, his lines jumbled and his steps just a bit off.

Hawkins Community Theater’s production of Grease is a two week commitment, six shows in total, and each one gets better and better. Eddie grows more and more confident with his performance during Greased Lightning, landing his marks with ease and actively avoiding the decidedly inappropriate thoughts about Steve kneeling in front of him on the hood of the car. His chemistry with Rizzo, played by none other than Nancy Wheeler, turns into an honest to God friendship that takes them both by surprise. Hell, he’s even gotten dinner with the cast a few times.

It’s all going smoothly, except that Eddie’s sure he’s going to die before the end of this run. Night after night, Eddie finds himself shoved up against Steve Harrington who must have some sort of bet running to see if he can get Eddie to fold. If so, he’s definitely winning.

In the show’s final weekend, he ends up crammed between a wall and Steve behind the curtain and really, he’s just a man. How much of this can he be expected to take without his head exploding? Or his–

“Nice job out there, Munson. Had me convinced you were actually like, flustered or whatever.” Steve whispers, his lips too close to Eddie’s skin.

He might have imagined it, but he’s fairly certain they actually grazed the reddening tip of his ear. “Oh, are we dropping out of character now? I thought that was strictly forbidden, Zuko.”

Steve shakes his head and leans in closer, intentionally. It has to be intentional this time, right? “It’s our final show, I think we can just be Harrington and Munson now. Or, maybe just Steve and Eddie?”

Steve and Eddie, Steve and Eddie, SteveandEddie.

Eddie's head buzzes, swimming in the combinations of their names. They sound good together, and he can’t be misreading this, not when Steve leans closer still, his eyes glowing with the stage light creeping behind the curtain. Their lips nearly touch when Steve speaks again, close enough for Eddie to feel

“That’s your cue. I’m gonna miss being stuck back here with you, so let me know after the show.”

Eddie nearly chokes and purses his lips. “Are you doing this on purpose to throw me off, Harrington?”

“Just can’t stay away. Munson.” Steve winks again and leans back, making space for Eddie to sneak around him to take his place for the audience.

Eddie warms beneath the bright lights of the stage, but they have nothing on the scintillating radiance of Steve’s eyes on him backstage.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie month #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #eddie month prompts

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pennylanewrites · 1 year

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sur le fil [levi ackerman x f!reader]

chapter 1: la vie en rose

moving to paris, you get to meet a set of interesting neighbours; one talkative, bubbly, exciting and kind. one reserved, serious and tortured. the first will be your guide through life in paris; the latter, you soon find out is your colleague.

a/n: reader, hange, moblit and petra are 24-25 years old. erwin and levi are both 28 in this fic. erwin gets introduced soon so dw heheh

masterpost | next

packing up your whole life and moving to paris was sort of on a whim. you really only realized it when you were on the plane, and you could spot the eiffel tower, the arc de triomphe, the notre dame. oh, you were going to have so much fun.

it wasn't hard to find your new home -after taking a taxi and two buses from the airport. you had booked a room from an old lady living in a haussmannian building. three rooms were already occupied, and a kitchen, common room, library and terrace were included in the low price of 250€ per month. you assumed that the old lady simply wanted company; it wasn't easy to find something that cheap, right in the heart of paris.

"madame dubois, so nice to meet you!" you greeted the lady rushing out of the building with a handshake, but she opted for a hug and a kiss on each cheek instead. how european.

"call me paulette, darling, please." paulette was pushing 70, tall, slim and stylish. she held a slim cigarette between fingers decorated with gold rings; she wore a long linen shirt over matching pants and ballerina shoes. very french, you thought, as you followed her inside.

as you stepped inside, you were greeted by high ceilings, ornate moldings, and large windows that allow an abundance of natural light to fill the rooms. the kitchen, located at the heart of the house, had marble countertops, state-of-the-art appliances, and custom-made sage-coloured cabinets. you could tell you would have a lot of fun in this kitchen. as you left the room, you noticed a wide selection of teas, a whole countertop in fact, dedicated to them. adjacent to the kitchen was the common room, knick-knacks and books filling every surface and empty corner. The baby-blue coloured room was adorned with plush beige and off-white furniture, intricate chandeliers, and a majestic fireplace, creating a cozy and sophisticated atmosphere. the library, opposite to the living room, housed an extensive collection of books, with floor-to-ceiling shelves that exuded an air of intellectual refinement. a cozy reading nook by the window invited you to spend many afternoons with a cup of coffee and your nose in a book.

"your room is on the first floor, along with two more. then there’s mine and one more on the third, and of course the terrace, that you’re free to use whenever.” you were admiring the paintings on the walls as paulette guided you to the first floor and to the second door on the left. you wondered who the other two rooms were occupied from, but you guessed you would find out soon.

paulette unlocked the white door and handed you the key. you entered into a mainly beige and lavender-coloured room, small but efficient; the boxes you had packed were sitting in front of the bed, arriving just before you. a double bed with two nightstands stood in the middle, a large wooden dresser on the side, with intricate golden details. two wicker sitting chairs by the window and an empty desk and small bookcase. paulette was showing you the bathroom, but you were too busy admiring the notre dame from your dusty window. despite it being half-burnt, it remained beautiful.

“my room is on the top floor to the right. anything you want, i’m just a knock away.”

“thank you. you said something about other people leaving here?”

“oh, yes! moblit lives on the third floor, he’s a nice and quiet guy. zoe lives right across from you, she’s a little feisty, i guess.”

“and next door?”

you swore paulette’s face dropped when you asked.

“oh, that would be levi, my nephew. he’s a bit…reserved.” was all paulette said about your mysterious neighbour before leaving you to unpack.

you fell on the bouncy mattress and let out a content sigh. the ceiling above you had a cracked lavender and lilac tapestry with golden swirls. the walls matched it perfectly, and the curtains, though faded, were a beige to match the wood of the furniture.

why unpack now? the sun was setting and a deep purple hue played on your stretched legs. you grabbed your purse and headed for the terrace, but your journey was cut short by a loud screech.

“levi, give me my key!”

“i don’t have your key, you lost it, you idiot.” the manly voice came from next door, you noticed. you decided to step out carefully.

a tall woman turned to look at you through round glasses.

“bonsoir! we didn’t know you were coming tonight!”

“hi! zoe, right? i’m y/n.” you took a few steps back when the brunette attacked you with a warm, tight hug.

“pleasure! are you heading for the terrace? that’s the first thing i did when i came here too.”

“seems like a cozy place for a cigarette.”

“you read my mind.” she turned to your other neighbour’s door again. “levi, sors de ta chambre!” come out of your room, your high school french classes came to your rescue.

as you waited for the mysterious neighbour, you inspected zoe. her rich, chocolate-brown hair cascading down her shoulders, framed her face and round golden glasses. she wore a flowing, forest green and brown maxi dress with intricate patterns that catch the eye. completing her ensemble, she adorned herself with eclectic accessories. a collection of beaded bracelets adorned her wrists, each one telling a story of its own. around her neck hung two pendants, a round blue evil eye, and a wooden symbol of piece. her ears were filled with gold studs and the picture ended with pink delicate feather-shaped earrings, whispering a hint of whimsy.

“hange, i just came home. what could you possibly-”

“we have a new neighbour, levi. remember?” zoe motioned at you with her head and a smile, obviously not caring that she was interrupting the man’s personal time.

“okay?”

wow. rude.

“so, you should come to the terrace for a smoke. maintenant.” now.

you expected the man to slam the door in her face, but he stepped back in to grab his jacket, and came back out.

levi stood at average height, with sleek black hair reaching his nape, a fresh undercut showing underneath and a few strands shaping his face and accentuating his piercing gray eyes. he was wearing a fitted maroon t-shirt and dark gray jeans, the look finishing with all black vans and the black leather jacket in his hand. you noticed a tattoo hiding under the sleeve of his shirt. interesting.

“hi, i’m y/n. it's so nice to-”

“levi. pleasure.”

“for fuck’s sake.”

“what? i said pleasure.”

"okay,sure. go make us some tea. y/n, how do you drink yours?" you looked between the pair. why did it feel like they were about to judge whatever you said next?

"oh, i don't really like..." you trailed off because levi had only rolled his eyes at you before storming down the stairs, mumbling in french. you followed zoe to the top floor. a pair of white french doors opened to a spacious terrace, with a set of wicker couches, cozy floor pillows and a tarp-covered bar. all kinds of flowers filled the corners and a vegetable garden took up most of the space on the left.

"you'll have to forgive levi. he's a bit..."

"uptight?" zoe snorted at your comment, and you had a feeling she agreed.

"passionate about tea. he's going to bring you a cup anyway. levi has a recipe for every kind of person, and he's certain he can make everyone like it."

you took out a pack of marlboro golds and offered one to zoe. she politely declined, opening a leather pocket of tobacco to roll her own cigarette.

"so, what brings you to paris?"

i had to run away from everything and everyone in my life.

"oh, it was just time for a change. i had enough money saved up, so i thought why not?" zoe lied down on the couch opposite you and nodded in acknowledgement. "what about you? have you lived here long?"

"levi and i were born and raised in lyon. we moved here around seven years ago, for college."

"what did you study?"

architecture.

"the plan was liberal arts, but i changed to architecture my second year."

bingo.

"i never finished college. i was a history and archaeology major, but it never really...spoke to me, you know?" you put the cigarette out on the clay ashtray on the table, "so, i attended a few barista and bartending seminars, and i actually fell in love with it."

"you don't say...have you got a job yet? i'm pretty sure the café down the street is looking for someone." you could faintly see the shop zoe was talking about in the distance.

"oh, i already found something nearby. i'm starting tomorrow."

"thats brilliant, i'll have to-oh, levi, you're here!" levi stepped out to the terrace, skillfully holding up a tray with three cups. he placed an intricate one in front of you; it was a midnight purple, square mug with engraved golden stars and constellations all over. you held the steaming mug and smiled gratefully at levi. you could smell raspberry, apple and-

"tell her what it is!" zoe jumped up and down excitedly, spilling some of the hot liquid on her dress and phone. "putain." she exclaimed and wiped her phone screen on the couch pillow.

"it's black tea with raspberry syrup, apple, lemon and rhubarb."

"excellent choice of a cup too." zoe poked his side with her elbow. "what's mine, shortie?"

"it's piss." you snorted into your cup, blowing some of the liquid on your lap. you hissed and wiped it away quickly, looking up at the bickering pair.

you brought the cup to your lips, tasting it carefully. you almost winced; it was the sourest tea imaginable, and if not for the syrup, it would be bitter too. you had to admit, you got used to it after a couple of sips, and you liked it enough to keep drinking.

"did levi magically change your opinion on tea?"

"this is really nice," you looked up at levi. his gray eyes didn't leave yours as he took a sip of his own tea, "but i'm a coffee person. sorry." you smiled softly.

"if you like bean water, sure." he scoffed.

"as opposed to leaf water?" you retorted.

why the fuck is he holding the cup like that? show-off.

zoe looked between the two of you, grinning. the comfortable silence was cut short by two message notifications. you and levi took your phones out at the same time.

-you have been added to Le Café Belle Époque’s group chat

-unknown number has been added to Le Café Belle Époque’s group chat

you and levi slowly looked up at each other.

“you’re the new barista?” he scoffed.

“you…work there too?” you looked at the members of the group chat. indeed, a picture of levi sat by an unsaved number on your phone. zoe peeked over levi’s shoulder to look at his texts.

"aha! this is very exciting, n'est-ce pas?"

you had seven different words in mind to describe this, and exciting was not one of them.

waking up in your new bed, in your little room in the heart of paris, felt like waking up in a disney movie. birds were chirping outside of your window, and a few stray sunrays hit the wooden floor. with a stretch of your arms and a yawn, you looked around at the sea of boxes and suitcases. you really needed to unpack.

after searching for your summer clothes, you finally opted for a pair of white jean shorts, a flowy muted-olive shirt with thin straps and your favorite brown sandals, that strapped around your feet and ankles. you brushed your teeth and hair, and placed mascara on your eyelashes carefully. a warm-toned lipstick finished your look, and you started your voyage to the kitchen with a box in your hands.

damn you paris, with your steep staircases, you tried looking over the box to watch your step, but it was impossible.

"woah, let me help with that." you were met with a pair of dark brown eyes behind rectange glasses.

"thanks." you accepted the offer and walked behind the strange man.

"where are we heading?"

"kitchen."

the man finally set the box down on the round kitchen table, slapping the top of it.

"moblit berner. it's nice to meet you, y/n."

"how did you...?" you shook his hand with furrowed brows. moblit was wearing a well-pressed, tailored navy blue suit, a light blue dress shirt underneath and leather oxfords.

"zoe told me all about you last night. i apologize for the late introduction, but i came home after midnight." he watched as you took a polished red, vintage looking espresso machine out, placing it on the counter right by the outlet. "retro. does, uh, does levi know about the new addition to the kitchen?" moblit laughed awkwardly. you unrolled the cups you had wrapped in paper in your box and gave them a quick rinse, before setting them on top of the machine.

"i couldn't care less. paulette told me i can keep this here." you shrugged and filled the water tank. "want some coffee?"

"yes, please. the only drinks in this house all these years have been tea and alcohol." you pressed ground-up espresso in the group, and waited for the machine to warm up.

"what kind of coffee?"

"surprise me. i like it sweet, with a lot of milk. there's some almond milk in the fridge, so please use that." moblit sat down and lit a cigarette. you inspected levi's selection of syrups, powders and leaves.

"you don't think he'll mind, do you?" you held up a bottle of lavender syrup.

"it will be our little secret. better safe than sorry." you nodded and poured the syrup in the milk, frothing it while the espresso poured into a cup.

"so, where do you work, moblit?"

"i'm a reporter for libération, a news-"

"left-leaning newspaper, i know. i loved that piece on macron, the one comparing the marches to the french revolution?" you placed the cup in front of moblit, who accepted with a grateful smile.

"i wrote that one."

"of course! i thought your name sounded familiar." you chuckled and turned to make your own iced coffee.

"will we be seeing you at the café tonight?"

“i don’t know if i’m working a full shift yet. i’m only going to meet the managers and get an idea of the bar.”

“well, you’ve met one of them already.”

“levi’s a manager?” you rolled your eyes and sipped on your coffee.

“assistant. but he basically runs the place, he’s in charge of the menu, prices, schedule…” moblit grinned. “except for the new hires.”

“guess that’s why he was so surprised yesterday.”

“surprised is an understatement.”

“huh? wait, what did he say?” your eyebrow perked up. moblit just shook his head and got up to leave.

“thanks for the coffee, y/n. see you tonight!” defeated, you sat back on your chair. you slid it closer to the window and opened it wide. a warm breeze hit your face, and you smiled contently.

the rest of your day was spent unpacking, finding a space for every one of your knick-knacks and clutter. you managed to fit all of your books on the three shelves, finishing the image with some fairy lights hanging over them. most of your clothes fit in the dresser, but the rest were left in the suitcase. you really needed to buy some storage boxes soon.

it was now 2:30 in the afternoon, and after taking a warm shower, you desperately needed to eat. you sat on your bed, a towel wrapped around your hair, and pulled your phone out to search for a place to eat.

knock knock.

“come in.” you yelled out and looked behind your phone. zoe came in, looking around your room. she looked different; a tight bun sat at the bottom of her head and a classy white pantsuit hugged her body, before flaring down her calves.

“wow, nicely done. it took me two years to unpack when i got here…hey, what time do you leave for work?”

“i have to be there at six.”

“great! want to grab a bite with me? i’ll even throw in a little tour of our neighbourhood if you make me some coffee later.”

“deal.”

zoe brought you to a small, family owned restaurant cornering a main street. you watched as people walked, playing a guessing game of who was coming back from work, who was late for lunch, who had just had a fight with their partner. people-watching was a favourite of yours. it made you remember you weren’t alone in the world, that other people too had issues and feelings.

“do you eat meat, y/n? they make killer steaks here.”

“oh, i love a good steak.”

“excellent! how about i order for you?”

“yes, please.”

the waiter came to the table soon after, leaving a complimentary basket of warm bread and a butter spread.

“we’ll have two of your bavette à l’échalote, a portion of fries for the table and…two glasses of malbec please.” zoe handed the menu to the waiter and quickly attacked the bread.

“this is my favourite restaurant. it has been in the renard family for almost a century, and their recipes are practically unchanged. now, if you kindly look up, you will see my office on the top floor. i have a kicking view of the notre dame, which is…five minutes from here.” she pointed down the main road. you listened as she explained the secrets of the neighbourhood, the quirky owner of the office building, the drama between the two restaurants opposite each other.

you were so hungry when the dishes finally arrived in front of you, but you let hange do a demonstration of the dish.

“so, skirt steak. they cut it up in pieces so you can pour the sauce between them,” she spooned the golden, buttery sauce over your steak, “and i like to add it to the roasted vegetables too.” she poured the rest of it over the vegetables on the side. “and the rest you use to dip your fries!” she said excitedly, leaving the dip bowl next to the warm salted fries.

“bon appétit.” you raised the glass of red wine, clinking it with zoe’s.

after the delightful lunch, you leaned back on your chair, full and ready to go. you and zoe smoked two cigarettes each over one more glass of wine, before leaving for the café.

“are you nervous?”

“not really, i’ve done this too many times.”

“i would be. levi hates training new people.”

“good thing i don’t need training then.” you giggled and entered the café. a warm smell of cinnamon hit you, and the jazz music created a warm atmosphere around vintage furniture, a sleek dark blue bar with a marble top and the alcohol selection of your dreams.

“you’re late.” levi appeared behind the counter, startling you. you checked the clock on your phone.

“i’m 15 minutes early.”

“that’s still 5 minutes late.” he crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at you. “are you coming in here or what?”

you sighed and walked around the counter. the first thing you did was wash your hands thoroughly. levi appreciated that, but only gave a nod of approval as he walked you through the bar.

“you will be on evening shift for the time being, so here’s the old drinks menu. you’re free to change everything, except for the classic cocktails.”

“great! the last bar i was working, i experimented with tea-based cocktails, so i would like to add that. am i okay to stay after closing and use the bar for practice?”

“tea-based!” zoe exclaimed. you had almost forgotten she was there.

“tea-based.” levi repeated and you had a feeling he would explode then and there.

“ha! his eye is twitching! good one, y/n.”

“anyway, i’m adding that. i also want to make some additions to the coffee menu.” you looked over to the tea corner. “can i use the powders and syrups?”

“you’re going to add flowers and fruit in coffee?”

“is there a problem?” you didn’t even turn around to look at levi. instead, you took a pen and paper and noted down changes for the coffee menu.

“anyway. you can check the prices here, since it’s still the start. the waitresses will help you with anything else, so…”

“so?”

“show me what you got, rookie.” levi leaned back on the counter, with a challenging grin. rookie my ass, who does this guy think he is?

“ooh, ooh! make me an iced coffee, and use like, all the syrups you can.” zoe slammed her hand on the counter.

“you got it.” you prepared two shots of espresso. while that was pouring, you took a shaker, pouring coconut milk, a tablespoon of elderflower syrup and one of vanilla syrup over ice. you shook it around masterfully, making a show for zoe and levi. when the espresso was done, you mixed in a teaspoon of sugar. taking a tall glass, you filled it to the middle with ice and added the milk mixture. you poured the espresso over it, mixing it with a tall spoon carefully.

“whipped cream?” you asked and levi pointed at the fridge under the sink. you spotted a bowl of edible flowers and grabbed it as well. you placed a coaster in front of hange and the glass, spooning some of the handmade cream on top. you took the pinching tool and added three small flowers over the cream.

“et voilà!”

zoe clapped excitedly, accepting the long straw you handed her. she took a big sip, closing her eyes in delight.

“y/n, this is the best thing that has ever been in my mouth.” she wiggled around on the stool.

“i feel offended.” moblit appeared out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around zoe and leaving a kiss on her temple.

huh, i guess they’re dating, you thought.

the café wasn’t really busy, so you spent the next hour making different coffees and teas, for levi to ensure you know what you’re doing. zoe had insisted to drink all of them, so you wouldn’t have to throw them away.

“hange, you’ll spend a week in the toilet if you drink all of those.” levi tried taking the cups away, but zoe guarded them in front of her.

“the toilet happens to be my happy place. maybe i want to stay there for a week.” she made sure to drink a sip from all of them, just to spite levi.

“if you cleaned once in a while, it would be a safe place too.” you chuckled at levi’s remark.

a wave of customers rushed in, and the waiters sent order after order. it was a hectic hour and a half, but by nine o’clock, you had time to clean up the machine and your counter.

“okay, welcome to the team, i guess.” levi shoved a golden name tag and a black half-apron in your arms.

“wow, warm welcome.”

“watch it.” levi grabbed his stuff and walked around the bar. he turned to zoe. “i have to pick petra up from work, do you guys want to do something later?”

“just come back here! we can all try the new cocktail menu.” hange pushed him to the door before he could decline and came back to the bar.

“can i take these away now?” you pointed at the sea of cups and glasses in front of her.

“please do. i feel like i’m going to explode.”

“you really like to get on his nerves, don’t you?” you laughed as she nodded furiously.

“zoe has to make levi have a nervous breakdown at least once a week.” moblit commented. after everything was cleaned, you could finally calm down and work on the cocktail menu. you spotted a small blackboard sitting behind the fridge. you grabbed it and the packet of chalks and handed it to moblit.

“you look like you have nice handwriting. please write these names down for me.”

“what’s in it for me?”

“pick one and i’ll make it for you. on the house.” you grinned as moblit wrote the menu down. zoe made sure to include a few doodles of flowers and a smiley face before setting it on top of the bar, where everyone could spot it.

it was midnight when you had to cut zoe off alcohol and levi walked in, hand in hand with a petite brunette. the girl had a sleek bob with short bangs, and wore a silk pink dress that hugged her waist and thighs. an oversized brown leather jacket, a pink leather crossbody bag and brown combat boots finished the look. her makeup was the perfect mix of edgy and sweet, with a smoky eye, red cheeks and a nude lipstick. the girl greeted zoe with a hug, wincing when the strong smell of gin hit her.

“control your woman, moblit.” she joked and kissed both his cheeks before sitting down. levi took her jacket along with his and handed them to you to place behind the counter. “so, you’re y/n. a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. i’m petra.��

“pleasure.” you smiled as you served two drinks on the sidebar.

“see, she looks just fine.” levi rolled his eyes at the girl. “levi was under the impression that you would crack under the pressure and run off.”

“levi should know that i have been doing this for four years. i’m not that easy to crack.” you placed two coasters and two glasses of water in front of them.

“what are you having?”

“i want…to try one of those famous cocktails.” she pointed at the blackboard.

“famous?” you furrowed your brows.

“oh, levi talked my ear off for hours about them. you’ll have to forgive him. his old age won’t let him accept change and evolution.” she kissed his cheek after the comment, but he only sighed. “anyway, i’ll have the earl grey martini. amour?” she turned to levi, who barely looked at her.

“whiskey sour.”

“one chamomile whiskey sour coming up!”

“i said, whiskey sour.” zoe, moblit and petra were stuck looking between the two of you. you guessed levi wasn’t known for his temper. but, oh, you wanted to crack him so bad. it was so satisfying seeing his neck and ears turn red with annoyance.

“i heard you.” you hummed as you made the brunette’s cocktail in a dainty martini glass.

“so, make that.”

“but i already steeped the chamomile. it would be a waste of perfect tea.” you pouted as you poured the tea over ice. you flipped a short glass over and placed it on the bartop. a strainer on top, you poured the contents in, sliding it to the ravenette.

“just try it, cheri.”

levi brought the glass to his lips in the same stupid way he held onto that cup of tea yesterday. his gray piercing eyes never left yours, and you grinned when his expression fell. he liked it. the fucker liked it, because he took another, full sip, before sliding the glass back to you.

"i asked for a whiskey sour.” this was revenge because you didn’t like his stupid tea. you mumbled something he couldn’t hear over the music, as you made a new cocktail for him.

despite levi's eyes burning holes in you for what felt like hours, the night was going well. you got to know petra and moblit better, work was flowing nicely and a full jar of tips sat on the counter. guess people liked the new, not grumpy, bartender.

taglist: @belovedackerman @bibemiiu @thisisketchy @ch-4-s-3 @kingfleury

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i23kazu · 1 year

Text

05 : I DON'T THINK I CAN DO THIS ANYMORE

MADE TO BE MINE : A SCARA X READER SMAU 🎥

there is a swirling pit of nauseating, vomit-inducing self control that settles in your stomach as you piece together the least fake smile you can muster — at least, after what ei had announced with such quiet, barely-contained excitement and a soft smile on her face.

you wanted to throw up.

scaramouche, your mentor? kuni, your mentor?

you’d rather die.

you suspected that ei had no idea the history the two of you brought, that contributed to the tension of the table, and any of the reasons why you were so skittish around her son. kun- scaramouche, you caught yourself, was probably also not the reason for this pairing. he looked just as disgruntled as you.

yae clinked her glass against ei’s, and you looked up from your text with heizou. everybody else was laughing, cheering; there felt like a thinly veiled mask of sympathy from the men, however.

i mean, who in their right mind would place their ex with themselves — willingly, too?

i don’t think this is going to go well, i’m just setting myself up for failure.

come on. you had to at least try.

if i continue with this, will it destroy any career that i have? will my face of disappointment, of hurt over our relationship, be too obvious? will i fail miss ei and miss yae? will i disappoint scara?

but why, why did his opinion matter so much to you? you hated him, you despised him; after the sourness that your relationship ended with. you wanted nothing to do with him.

“(y/n), are you alright?” heizou whispered, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand in an attempt to console you. you swallowed back the contempt.

“i’m fine.” you couldn’t look heizou in the eye. the streamer had a knack for discerning whether you were being truthful or not, and you couldn’t handle the embarrassment of yae and ei knowing that you hated their decision.

“no you’re not.”

“heizou, i’m fine.” the last word came out bitingly harsh, and you bit back a hiss. heizou recoiled, bringing his hand back onto his lap and crossing his legs. a flash of hurt briefly appeared on his face, disappearing as quickly as it came. i’m sorry, zou.

you smoothed your hair back and tried to focus on what yae was saying.. but the thought of spending time with scaramouche clouded your mind.

maybe i should quit before this gets worse for both of us.

synopsis !

with all the drama that happened ( that he caused ) and all the things you lost ( that he lost ), you promised yourself that you'd leave everything in the past... so why is the famous youtuber with two million subscribers, music major and ex lover kuni, suddenly back in your life? why is he now back, intruding into your long-anticipated campaign with RAIDENTERTAINMENT? and why is yae telling you that he’ll be doing it with you?

notes & facts !

timestamps don't matter here

yes, yn is genuinely considering leaving

scara's priv account name provides a tiny bit of context

cameos !

@naraven

taglist !

@zuyoo @soleillunne @xiaosonlybeloved @achlysis @gekkow @lxkeeeee @ilyuu @miko1ly @mondaymelon @snobwaffles @juulica @raingoesboomboom @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @coquettemaiden @sakiimeo @kyouzki @supernova25 @ynverse @thenightsflower @darthvada @danhenglovebot @nnasv @sammybeefangirls @reikofruitloops

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reblogs appreciated, especially those with tags and comments! if you liked this, feel free to leave a follow ✨

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jaketsparrow · 8 months

Text

Tending Part 4!

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f! Reader

Word Count: 9.7K

A/N: That last chapter was… a lot. A little change of pace this time :) I’m so very sorry this took so long, but I was captivated with one of my other 8 million hobbies.

A special shout out to @gvfpal for being an amazing person and helping me with this chapter! 🫶

MINORS DNI

MENTIONS OF/ TW: Soft Jake (I’m sorry), fluffy stuff, fingering (F! Receiving), swearing, sexually explicit content, teasing/edging, *some* angst :)

MASTERPOST

It's hard to tell when the morning comes. The blackout curtains in the room offer no indication of the time. Your naked body still rests between the maroon sheets; cozied between the layers. You turned yourself away from him during the night; he chose a better spooning position that almost made you jump on him. He was so close, pressing himself into you with slow thrusts. If only his boxer briefs hadn’t been there…

You turn yourself to face Jake… Except… Like always- he’s not there. A sigh escapes your disappointed lips.

Why is he always gone?

You wish just one time you could wake up next to him and surprise him with your own sort of morning treat. You wish you could feel more than just the nights with him. Would that be asking for too much intimacy? Too much too soon?

Maybe for him, but for you it was all you wanted. Sexual intimacy can be enough, but knowing someone like Jake, he was always going to leave you wanting more. This was a fun game to him, knowing you’d get worked up and upset by his absence. He was right of course, but you wish for once you’d have all the cards.

After last night you finally thought you had turned into something worth his time. But in reality, Jake wouldn’t change that quickly, he just needed to do enough for you to forgive him. You fell for it and would continue to. He was your addiction, and you would continue being strung out for his attention.

Jake’s house was the perfect blend of clean but disorganized. You imagined this space is exactly how the inside of his brain looked. Every surface was clean, but stacks of information and knick-knacks pile on bookshelves, and musical paraphernalia was placed everywhere. It was not messy, but actually strategic and logically arranged artifacts.

The house opens directly into the mellow-vibed living room. The area is occupied by a luxurious and worn brown leather couch and an orange cloth armchair. The floor has been covered in a dusty blue rug that sat underneath the wooden coffee table, which was covered in sheet music. The opposite wall had a modestly sized TV and next to it a large stereo system. Speakers litter the floor around a turntable, and vinyls sit in a crate directly next to it. The walls house several different vintage posters; some movies, and some travel. All with muted color palettes of earth tones.

There were no overhead lights in use, but rather a few soft lamps that provided an ambient glow to the space. A perfect cozy retreat… An artist’s cave.

Nothing in the room matched each other, but it all fit seamlessly. Like an amalgamation of collected objects that he just had to have in his life. It was like he ran into an antique store and had to grab everything in sight as quick as he could.

Jake ushered you further into the room, gently nudging you with his hand on your hip. Your eyes continue to wander the space, taking in every inch, trying to absorb every moment. This brief glimpse into Jake’s life is rare, and you spare no time trying to analyze it all.

For the past week, you tried not to think about Jake. It was hard to imagine him not in your life, even though he had only been a presence for a short time.

That’s the thing about obsessions, you rely on them to be there constantly. You can obsess over a band, you can also obsess over a favorite TV show or a celebrity, and the best part about it- they’re always there. You can always find them. With Jake, he was an obsession that could never really be yours. You would have to chase down any information out of him. It was practically an interrogation with him, playing good cop bad cop to try and fish anything personal out.

He was your new addiction. It was sad to say that you could become addicted to someone like him, but it was easy to miss him. Every moment you wish would have lasted a little longer, every time you woke up hoping he was there with you, every shift you hoped he would be there. He was the strongest drug you’ve ever tried. You relied on his praise, on him noticing you. It was maybe unhealthy, but the need you had for him felt justified.

Everything felt worth it in that moment. Being allowed into his home was like stepping into a new form of intimacy. The dark and mysterious Jake wasn’t as mysterious as he used to be. He was opening his world to you. It was like walking out of a dark room and into day glow. It felt like finally finding that stupid puzzle piece you searched hours for, that you finally found and could place.

Today sitting in the field was the most romantic moment of your life, even if you were dragged there against your will. It made the possibility of you two seem real. You didn’t want to feel hopeful just yet, but the companionship you felt today did nothing but warm you.

You decide it would probably be best to say something instead of being in your usual silent shock, “Wow… Jake, this is a… really nice space…”

He squeezes your hip and blushes at your compliment.

“Thanks, uh… like yours, my personality kinda just took over.” He abandons your side and walks over to the turntable in the corner of the room. He leans down to the box of vinyls; sifting through a few before turning back to you. He tucks the hair that falls in front of his eyes, “What do you like to listen to?”

“Um… Anything really,” You take a few steps further into the living room to try and get a better look at his collection. Pushing forward slightly, tucking your hands behind you to distract them from awkwardly moving about. You don’t recognize much of the music in the case; of course, he wouldn’t be the kind to collect anything too popular. It looks like a collection of old blues, rock, and well really the classics.

Jake finally settles on what looks like a blues album and pulls the record from its sleeve. The jacket is old and tattered, well used most likely or second hand. He slowly lowers it to the turntable and starts it on a low volume. The crackles of the vinyl start and the first song echoes softly across the decorated walls. He takes a step back and rests his hands on his hips, admiring his choice.

Jake has this look of pure accomplishment, like he just couldn’t stand how proud he was. It was honestly adorable. A huge smirk is creeping over him and his eyes are excited and wide.

He stares at the spinning music for a moment, before turning his gaze back to you. You feel so awkward standing there in his home. Before, he had only been in your space, a comfortable option. But now you werre in his home, taking possibly the biggest step you two had taken yet.

It still feels out of place for you to be somewhere with him other than the bar. The past couple of months that was the only place you were even able to see him. There were no outside events between you two, no mutual friends to visit, no one went out for drinks after work because you had already been drinking. Before that first night, Jake was like an enigma, only appearing behind the bar when called.

That one night together changed everything. You saw the full range of Jake’s emotions in just a short time, and you saw your full range of feelings for Jake. There was no denying that you’ve already suffered the worst of your relationship already, and just hoped for more moments like this. Discovering and unearthing the man you knew he could be.

“Do you recognize it yet?” He asks.

“What? The song?”

“Yeah!” He grabs your hand and brings you closer to the record player. He squats down and turns up the volume with a slight crank. He points to his ear, “Listen…”

You lean down to get a better look at the sleeve and hear the rhythm better. The melody does sound familiar, but you can’t place where you heard it. You tap your fingers over your thigh, trying to feel the beat. The artist nor album rings any bells, but you can’t place why you remember the song…

Until it hits you.

“Oh! Your band!” You exclaim, “This is the song you guys opened with at the bar!”

He smiles at your realization. He can finally trust that you have good ears. Jake lifts himself from his low position and grabs your hands to bring you up with him. He reaches for your waist and pulls you in.

“Yeah…” He gazes at your eyes and smirks at you, “This is one of our favorites.”

He has a different feeling than usual, his aura is warm and comforting. All the rough edges that you thought about this past week were smoothing out in front of your eyes. Its like he’s sculpting a new version of his personality for only you to see.

You reach your hands out to wrap them around his neck, draping yourself over him. He returns the favor by reaching up the back of your shirt, caressing you closer against his body.

These were the things you had missed most. Feeling special to him. His touch was warm… Gentle. He wanted you to feel cared for in that moment. He couldn’t bear to keep any verbal apologies going, but these soft gestures were enough to make you whole. It was like he was tending to your wounds.

You felt like you finally were allowed to have some control over what happened between you. He wanted you. At least that’s what he said…

The flattery of knowing that he chose you over Mariella did something. You knew Mariella would have been anyone else’s first choice. She was a beautiful woman but lacked something compared to you. You try not to compare yourself to her, because right now, there was no need to.

“Dance with me?” You ask.

Jake laughs softly and shakes his head, “No, no. I don’t dance.”

“C’mon!” You plead, you’re so giddy to get him to cave, “It's the least you can do to make this week up for me,”

He throws his head back, laughing again.

You reach your hands further back to hold his head in your hands; gently running your fingers through his scalp. His hair is soft between you, freshly washed, silky even. He purrs softly at your petting. He also craved this softness, but he would deny it.

He lowers his head back down to look at you, smirking. His big brown eyes completely melt you every time you get to look this closely at them. It’s like that night in the bar all over again, back to a sense of normalcy. Joking and playing with each other, trying your best to awkwardly flirt.

Jake is so handsome tonight, you think to yourself. When is he ever not though? He was quite possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, with intrusive tendencies that make your heart go wild, which might not be the best. There is no such thing as perfection, you remind yourself. He was going to try his best, and you would try yours to be patient with him.

“Maybe another time,” He answers, “Just listen to the music.”

You giggle at him and move your hands back down around his shoulders. They’re strong and sure. He’s at the perfect height that you don’t have to lift yourself too high to rest on him. You lay your head in the center of his chest, molding yourself to his body. You can hear his heartbeat gently beating. Oh, thank god, you had worried maybe he didn’t have one.

“I don’t listen with my ears,” You whisper

You use what little force you carry and gently sway him between your arms. Rocking your hips back and forth. He tries his hardest to fight your movements, but you can tell he wants to give in. Soon, he subdues his fighting, and leans into the swing. Shuffling his feet tightly; lightly stepping around yours.

You try your best to be sultry and coy, “I like to feel the music and do what it tells me,”

He lets out a faint chuckle and gives in further to your swaying. You rock back and forth across the floor, each step moving you further into the room. You try to help him lead the way, but ultimately take control of the movements.

He lets you take control in this moment; finally letting you show him how to be gentle. He rests the edge of his jaw against the top of your head, nuzzling into your mane. You wished maybe you had time to shower before he picked you up, but you’re sure the dry shampoo you use smells just fine.

Being close to him like this is pure bliss. Butterflies stir in your stomach, each one fluttering with the excitement of this new start. Each spot where you meet each other sparks with the heat of passion. It was like a scene from a movie, how silly.

Like the couple who just moved into their first apartment, and theres absolutely nothing set up yet except their record player that they unpacked first. The man walks over to the record player and puts on ‘their song’ and the woman can’t help but blush. He reaches his arm out to her, inviting her to be with him. She raises herself off the floor and swoops into his arms. The two of them moving about the empty apartment floors, unwinding after the long moving day. The stress of it all meant nothing to them though, because all they needed was already unpacked… Each other.

You wanted that with Jake. A familiarity. Your song. Which you suppose could be this song. You imagine your future together, wishful thinking. Life would be filled with movie moments, and you hoped he would be the star in each one.

You look over to the nightstand and see a glass of water sitting on a coaster. The fresh condensation drips down the side of the glass.

Did he put this out for you? He actually had a caring thought before he left and brought you a glass of water…?

You gather yourself up to reach for the glass and take a few cautious sips. The cold drink slides down your dry, rather exhausted throat. It quenches your thirst and instantly pulls you into an awake state.

Instead of his striking body lying next to you, there sits a lump. You lift your head slightly off the pillow to examine the objects to your side. It's a pile of folded clothes- your folded clothes. Not all of them though, just your sweatpants, your thong, and… a new item?

You reach over to the new t-shirt and pull it out from under the sweatpants. It's a white cotton shirt, soft and well-worn. You bring it to your face and inhale the fabric’s scent… It's Jake’s shirt. No doubt his gift is an apology for ripping yours last night. He would never apologize with his words over such behavior, but the gesture is still as nice.

You pull the sheets off of your body and begin to dress yourself on the mattress, starting with your gifted shirt. You want every second to smell like Jake, especially when he’s not there with you. Next the sweatpants, until you’re finally in your completely lazy outfit again; this time with an extra piece to your ensemble.

You slide your legs off of the mattress and touch your feet down to the cold wood floor. That truly is the most sobering part of getting up. You hesitate fully getting out of bed and choose to admire the room just a little longer. Last night presented no opportunities to survey the room. There was nowhere to look but him.

Jake’s room truly is as mysterious as he is. Dark, closed off, and has an air of calm and refreshing easement. There’s a vintage, timeless touch to his design. You wouldn’t expect him to put this much effort into his home, but it's clear that he carries a sense of pride in his spaces.

The room is quite vast, but caves in with the decor. The tall mahogany bedroom set is clunky in the space but fits well with the vibe. Under the bed sits a beautiful black rug with subtle detailing carved into the yarn. The nightstands are ornate; detailed with wood carvings along the edges. The corner of the room has another orange chair, different than the living rooms, it’s more cozy and comforting. A bookshelf sits next to it, with autobiographies of artists, historical pieces, and of course, classics.

There are a few different light sources in the room, but no overhead lights; he must have a distaste for them. The lamps are covered in cloth shades, adding a dull glow to the room. You wonder what it would look like if it were brightly lit and could see every detail around you.

There’s no TV in his room. Clearly, he hasn’t yet given in fully to modernity. You imagine his nights here alone, playing guitar, sitting in this room. Moving about the house like a shrouded figure of moodiness, taking in the space step by step. You imagine him lying in bed, staring at the objects that stack on each surface. There is nowhere for your eyes to rest; every little knick-knack is an object worth wondering about and admiring. These objects fill up his space, where a person has not.

You snap out of your snooping stare and make your way out of the bed.

Figuring Jake has left the house, you try your best to tidy up after yourself. You pull the sheets back into their rightful place, bringing each layer up into a tight spread. The bed has been erased of both of you, of your acts, of your…

“Look what you did pretty girl,” He whispers in your ear.

Ugh.

You creep towards the bedroom door, remembering the rest of your items wait for you in the living room. Your phone and shoes were simply an afterthought last night.

Jake takes his hand and reaches up to the back of your neck, gently wrapping his fingers up into the base of your scalp. His touch relaxes you; it heals you. After the anger and pain of this past week, you knew you needed some release. The tension that had built up from all the uncertainty was vanishing.

His other hand slides and relaxes across your back, embracing you. It’s hard not to notice the bulge growing between the two of you. You’re so tight against him, feeling him press himself into you, almost needing to be sure that you know of its presence.

The song tapers to the end and a new one begins. You nudge your head up, and Jake lifts to meet you. The contours of your noses barely touch each other. The desire sits heavily between you; your breath is the only thing separating you from him.

He brings his hands down to sit across the band of your sweatpants. It’s fucking devious how horny he can get you in a matter of moments. Feeling him with you, knowing all is forgiven, leaves little room for hesitation. You reach your lips up to meet his, but he pulls away from you.

Devastated, you pull back to look up into his eyes, “Jake, I need you.”

“Not here.” He whispers.

“Yes, here.” You beg back to him. Reaching your hands to hold his face, pawing at him to let you continue.

He runs his hands down over your ass, palming his hands on you. They move past your curves and reach underneath your thighs. In one swift lift, you find your legs around his hips, enclosed against his torso.

You bring your head to his ear, gently kissing the brim of his pierced lobes. He takes a few small steps towards the hallway, having to pace himself through heavy whining breaths.

“I said not here…” He repeats.

You continue to tease him, peppering his neck and profile with soft pecks. The warmth in your core is starting to take you over. A frenzy of lust cradles between the two of you. The soft pressure of the spreading hold he has you in makes you wish you weren’t separated by your clothes.

“I’ve been thinking about all the things you’re going to do to me,” you whisper.

He continues down the hallway, choosing to ignore your statement, wanting to follow through with his mission. You are completely unaware of where in his house you are being brought to. Most likely, his bedroom; it was going to be the ultimate insight into Jake’s mind.

Your nuzzled state into his neck left you limited vision to stare at your surroundings, but you were more concerned with the man holding you than the objects in his house.

Your moaning had become louder too, sounding like a starved animal, ready for a feast you’ve been waiting a week for.

“I need you,” You purr into his ear.

“Don’t worry pretty girl, I’ll give you everything you need.”

He backs himself to the door of the bedroom and leans to open it.

The room has a soft glow, although there isn’t much light present in the room. There are a few fixtures emitting an orange light, just enough brightness to outline the shape of the room.

“I want you in here,” He says.

He shuffles the both of you slowly over to the bed, bringing his knee to the edge of the mattress and slowly lowering you down into the center. Your head just barely rests on the pillow, and the comforter around you consumes your boundaries. Jake’s body hovers over you, his hair falling on the sides of his face, shrouding him slightly. His knee still rests between your legs, splitting yourself around him. The way he looks at you at this moment isn’t full of the usual fire and lust, it’s more caring; almost loving…

“Jake…” You mutter through hushed lips.

He sweeps your hair away from your cheek and leaves his hand there for a moment. You both have a habit of lingering.

“Tonight,” He leans in close, kissing the edge of your jaw, “I want to show you how special you are. Give you everything you deserve.”

“I want to be the only girl you remember,” You snap.

Some strange form of lingering jealousy that you almost regret. Here he is trying to make up for the behavior, showing you kindness, and yet you still let the bratty personality wash over you. You can’t help it. Being in his presence makes you this way. You’re trained to respond to him the way he’s wanted it previously. As much as he may deny it, he loves it when you fight back.

He lets out a disappointed ‘tsk’ in your ear, and backs himself from your face. “I need you to be a good girl for me tonight… My good girl.” He cups the side of your cheek and looks down on you in a stern and endearing manner. Those words ring through you ‘my good girl’. You were his, finally. Even if there were no official relationship titles, you were his. His plaything, his girl, the one he chose. You weren’t expecting such sweet words to be the kind of thing to turn you on this much, but you find yourself writhing underneath him.

“I can be good.”

“I know you can, sunshine.”

You swing the door open and stroll into the hallway, taking your time to walk through. Seeing Jake’s home in the daylight is a completely different vibe than the night. The whole house is brighter, letting in diffused light from the shades.

The artwork in this hallway is different than the living room. It’s not even artwork really, it's concert posters. You stop to admire the biggest one hanging by the bedroom door. It's a gig poster with his band written in small letters under some other local bands. The colorful squiggles and designs resemble a 70’s music poster. There are streaks of orange, purple, and yellow cascading underneath the lettering. It's nicer than the usual band posters you see posted up at the bar. It’s bright, eye-catching, and honestly pretty.

How cute, you think to yourself. It's nice to see he’s proud of his band.

You turn to head back down the hallway towards the living room, but pause when you hear whispers. Voices speaking on the other side of the wall in the living room. You can make out Jake’s voice, but there’s another male voice with his. The two sound comfortable talking together, like old friends… Maybe he has a roommate that he didn’t tell you about?

Well, that would be awkward considering how loud you both had been last night.

You stand there stuck at the edge of the hallway, unsure of whether or not to take a step further and introduce yourself into the situation. Did he want you to stay back, hidden away? Was this a private moment amongst men? An after-hook-up catch-up?

Let’s be honest, men don’t do that like this.

The confusing limbo of the moment pushes you to just take a step, and try to creep past as silently as possible. Maybe you can get Jake’s attention. You take your first step, successfully staying quiet, but the second step screws you. As soon as your foot presses into the hardwood, a loud creek echoes below you.

“Is someone here?” The unfamiliar voice asks.

Shit.

He leans back down into you and enters your mouth. His tongue lapping over yours. Both of you are too concerned to stop for air, kissing each other over and over; trying to make up for the time that was lost. Tasting each other ferociously, like you were trying to practically inhale each other.

Without hesitation, a hand is reaching up to your breast. You’d completely forgotten that you weren’t wearing a bra when you left the house earlier. Granted, you hadn’t really worn a bra in days.

“I have been looking at these all fucking night,” Jake mutters through breaking breaths. He pulls away from your entanglement and lays his tongue across your jaw, licking up to the crest of your ear, “Such a fucking naughty girl leaving like this. You wanted to tease me, huh?”

You let out a guilty sigh, taking accountability for your teasing.

His hands run over your already sensitive nipples, toying with them between his fingers. Rolling the buds over the pads of his fingers.

Being here in his control again is invigorating. Just thinking about being so close to him again sends shivers of lust through your needing body.

He releases you from his tease and reaches up underneath your shirt to the collar. He yanks forward, pulling you close to him. The sound of cloth ripping alarms you both, breaking the intimacy for a moment.

The collar had stretched and snapped from his tight grasp, a tear present where stitches used to be. A look of apology flashes over Jake’s eyes. The moment is entirely unsettling to him, but for you, it just made you hornier. Knowing how strong he is… He actually ripped your clothes off of your body.

You laugh, allowing him to be rid of any true guilt, and lift the shirt over your head.

“It had to come off anyways,” You throw the shirt to the end of the bed, not breaking your eye contact with Jake, “Plus, it was kind of hot.”

“Maybe you need some new shirts,” He jokes.

He places one hand around the crook of your neck, and the other at the soft point on your waist. You collide back into each other, pretending that the accident didn’t even happen. It’s unlike Jake to be so stunned by something like that; you’d think maybe he’d even done it before- on purpose.

You reach your hands under his shirt, lightly caressing his back. It feels so soft, smooth… Comforting. You’re not sure if he’s ever let you be this cuddly with him, and it might never happen again, so you try your best to make the most of it. Reaching up over every inch of his body, trying to feel every muscle, every warm inch of his skin.

Your hands move to the front of him, nudging at his shirt.

“So, should I rip yours now?” You ask, teasing him.

“You better shut up before I have to make you,” He says through a smirk.

He balances his legs beside yours and leans back to take off his shirt. You can’t help but blush to see him undress in front of you. He is truly the perfect specimen- the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. His skin is golden in this light, god-like even. He has these soft formed muscles, not incredibly chiseled, but enough padding to know that there’s a real strength to him.

He perches back over you, inches away from your face. There is truly nothing keeping you from tearing back into him. His face seems gentler than ever before, caring and intimate. It’s incredibly hard to not want to step into your usual games, but feeling this new side of him is even more enticing. Instead of a feverish lust growing over you, it’s a soft blooming need to be close to him.

His brown eyes are deep and beautiful. His hair falls perfectly past his face, draping down in soft tangled curtains around him. And his lips… Look more inviting than they ever have to you.

He slopes down to your jaw and places caressing kisses along your skin, moving down to your neck. Each kiss is placed with more intent than the last, and then each one getting sloppier as it moves down your chest, around your breasts, and to your stomach. A growling excited moan comes from within him when he reaches your pant line.

Jake tugs his fingers on the elastic waistband, teasing you in the worst way possible.

All you’ve thought about since you’d first seen him today is how he looks going down on you. The sweat that perspires on his forehead, the grunting moans that he can’t hold back, his tight grab around your thighs. It’s what you need.

“I’ve missed this,” He tugs again slowly on the waistband, pulling it down just enough for him to see how wet you’ve already gotten in your thong, “Looks like you have too naughty girl.”

“Jake please,” You beg, “You know how bad I need you.”

He stops his pulling, and looks up to you, with a devious look plastered across his face.

“Why don’t you tell me how bad you need me?”

You rock your head back and whine to him, upset that he still can’t resist being a tease. You drop your eyes back down to look at him, staring intently.

“Jake… All I can fucking think about is you tasting me.” He continues to pull your pants off of you, “I keep thinking of that first night together. How special you made me feel…”

Your pants finally are strewn aside.

“Yeah?” He eggs on.

“It was honestly the best I’ve felt in a long time. No man has ever-”

The pad of his thumb is teasing your warming clit. Jake is resting by your knees, head propped up by his opposite hand, watching you feverishly try to beg.

“Go on.”

“No man has ever…” You look down to him, watching him slowly slip your thong down over your thighs, “Ever made me feel like that…” You lift your legs slightly to help him take them fully off of you, “And I need that again.”

With your thong to the side, he’s allowed the full sight of your needy cunt. You’re practically dripping before him. Just thinking of him devouring you is causing your body to fill with lust and desire.

“I want to try something with you,” He states. Your body instantly tenses up. You sit up and look at him, puzzled. “Don’t worry, nothing bad… I just think it will help.”

He crawls up to meet you and sits you up. You prop yourself up, completely in awe of how he couldn’t have picked a worse time to stop the momentum. You were so close to being attached to him again, but he has to keep you waiting.

“C’mere,” He says, wiggling himself behind you. He yanks at your hips and pulls them back to meet his. You feel something else pressing into your lower back, practically twitching with excitement. You try not to put your full weight back into him to protect him.

He snuggles his arms under you, running his hands around your body, still careful to avoid the areas you need him most. Soft whining moans escape your lips, you can’t hold them back at all; your body is aching having to wait.

“Can you show me how you play with yourself again?” He asks.

You lean your head back into his collarbone and look up to him. A serious yet cunning smile is already waiting for you.

“Jake, I thought you were going to take care of me?”

“I am sunshine. Just do what I ask… Please.”

The last part seemed painful for him. It was unlike Jake to use manners in the bedroom, but because of his politeness, you obey.

You reach down to your deprived clit, and start to swirl the pads of your fingers over yourself. Feeling some sort of touch, even if it was your own, made it clear to you that it wouldn’t take very long to get you anywhere. You try to be easy on yourself, not allowing yourself to get too far without feeling him.

Your back arches away from him and desperate moans break free.

“Please Jake, sir… Please.”

“You don’t have to call me that tonight sunshine. You’re my good girl tonight.”

He truly must not know how much the praise is killing you, or he does, in which case he is truly vile.

His hands still move unhurried around your torso. Each pass of him over you is breaking you down, pushing you further to a release in your own hands. Kissing and licking are happening on your neck, a nice distraction to what you’re feeling below.

“Jake…” You moan.

Your body is heaving from your touch. Feeling the soft skin run over your fingers, shooting waves of excitement down your legs. Your breath begins to hitch and you can feel the building begin.

Before you realize what is happening, Jake’s fingers enter you. He rests his chin on your shoulder to watch the mess you’re making. His fingers move in unison, gently running over your sensitive spot. It doesn’t take much movement for him to almost completely push you over the edge.

“Do you know why I wanted to do this?” He asks. You shake your head, unable to talk in fear that it may exert too much energy. “I can see all of you from here, I can feel your body get closer, I can feel your pulse against me, I can hear every little moan…”His voice is beginning to fade. Your core grows tighter in preparation for the orgasm you’ve been waiting for. You can feel his cock growing against your back- each moan that you gush causes a jump within him.

“C’mon good girl, are you going to come for me?”

You moan loudly this time, hoping that no one else in this house- well maybe even the neighborhood, can hear the pornographic noises coming from you.

Your cunt is practically red hot, feeling the pressure of him touching you, nudging you to finish for him. You can feel the wave forming within you, growing stronger and stronger with each stroke of your hands. This build was like nothing before, it was intense, almost too much for your body. You feel the overstimulation crawling through you.

Soft distressed gasps echo in the room, but Jake doesn’t let up on his movements. His fingers are practically going right through you. It’s too much, you try to slow yourself, to hold his hand in an attempt to slow it all down.

“Keep going.” He commands.

You try to keep moving your hands, but the bracing movements are pushing your body into an unknown state. Jake takes his free hand and takes over for you, completely shrouding your frame with his arms.

You can’t help but just watch him artfully manipulate you. He knows what you like- what you need. He pushes his wrist into your lower stomach, holding you down in between him. The rush is sweeping you. Hearing him- feeling him, you couldn’t hold on any longer.

“Come for me, baby.”

It all happens faster than you can even process. A rush of euphoria washes over you, each muscle contracting from the ecstasy. A loud blissful wail accompanies the feelings. Your whole body tenses, wanting to crumple itself, but Jake removes himself from you and holds you back, trying to relax you. Your legs shake, your core tightens. You spill out on to the sheets, feeling each wave of the orgasm pulse out of you.

You crash back onto Jake, turning your head into his chest. You rest your eyes and nuzzle into him. He pets the hair out of your face and squeezes you gently between his arms.

“Look what you did pretty girl,” He whispers in your ear.

You open your eyes with apprehension, unsure of what you could have possibly done.

The comforter is completely soaked beneath you. There is more of you there than there has ever been. You jump up and stare at Jake, completely embarrassed.

“I-I I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Are you seriously apologizing for that?” He says with an excited grin, “Do you realize that is the best outcome of this?”

You look up to him with your doe-eyes, still feeling unsure of how that even happened.

“I’ve never…”

He takes your chin into his hand, “That’s because I’m the only one that can make you feel this special sunshine.”

There’s no hiding your presence now. You look down at your lazily dressed body and try your best to lift your boobs up in the shirt. Walking around with no bra when it was just Jake would’ve been fine, but around an unknown man… probably best to try and seem somewhat modest. One quick shove upwards, and you move down the stairs. Each step lets out a pained creak in the floorboards.

You peek around the corner, like a timid child, and see Jake sitting on the sofa. Across from him is a curly-haired man with his back to you.

Jake seems cautious to invite you into the room but nods to allow you into the conversation. You take a step forward into the living room, letting your presence be known by the guest.

The other man turns around to face you, and instant confusion sets in. The man is eerily similar to Jake, other than the hair. It sits in a wide curly mohawk, barely dancing down the front of his head. He has a different glow than Jake, it’s brighter- more welcoming. Their faces have similar qualities, features, and even mannerisms. Maybe their brothers…

The suspected relative leans back into his shoulder to get a better look at you, staring at you harder than you are at him. His mouth slowly starts to open, admiring your confused and revealing stature.

You pull your arms up and cross them in front of your chest, trying to hide your breasts behind your forearms. The staring was flattering, but also… a lot. I guess you know how it feels now…

“Jakey…” He plays, not removing his eyes from yours, “Whose this?”

Well, Jake hasn’t been telling him about your sex life together, so that’s one positive. Or is it? Why didn’t Jake say anything? Why wouldn’t he tell his guest that he has someone else here? He could have turned him away and told him to come back later, but he didn’t.

You take a step forward to introduce yourself, “I’m-”

“She’s a friend, Josh…” Jake cuts you off and runs over to your side. He rests his hand flat on your lower back and nudges you to sit back on the couch with him. You sit on the cushion next to where he sat and remain stiffened, trying to avoid eye contact with Josh. He still has yet to break his gaze at you, except now, Jake is included in this amusing sight. The stunned gaze resembles one of someone watching a boxing match; watching the tension thrown back and forth between the two of you.

Jake lowers himself onto the couch and turns to match your eyes, “A very good friend.”

Josh raises his hands in defense, “Oh, oh, you don’t need to give me much more than that. I get it,” He giggles, “Just hard to believe such a nice-looking little lady would have interest in you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You and Jake echo together. You both glance a confused look at each other. What was this weird defensive synchronization that was happening? Why would it be abnormal for you to be with Jake?… Maybe Josh knew the other woman Jake had pursued.

“Oh now now,” Josh adjusts himself more comfortably into the seat, almost perching himself on the edge. He gestures at you, “It was not supposed to offend you, but my twin has never been known for being a solid gentleman,” He leans further in and covers the side of his mouth that faces Jake, “He’s too rough and tough for that-”

“Josh-” You can see the anger mounting inside Jake. He’s already giving in to the stereotype Josh has put out. He doesn’t see it, but you can clear as day.

“Me, on the other hand, I am quite the gentleman,” He laughs, “if I do say so myself-”

“Josh!” Jake snaps.

Twin rivalry. The worst kind of sibling rivalry. It felt like being right back in your living room on holidays, watching your family bicker back and forth at each other. Knowing how to dig into everyone’s worst insecurities. Like an old married couple who’s known each other for far too long, knows every good and bad thing about each other, finding the perfect ways to jab in their soft spots.

Josh giggles at himself. It's blatant that pissing Jake off is a favorite pastime of his. I guess you share something in common, but at least Jake gets to take out his frustration on you in a far more… exciting way. You try to cut the tension and ease Jake.

“Well,” You reach over to place your hand on Jake’s thigh, trying to soothe him with a touch. He gingerly reaches back to place his hand over yours, “He’s working on the gentleman part, but I think he makes a great lover.”

Both of the twins turn to look at you, shocked looks expressed on their faces. Jake’s gentle touch on your hand becomes a grasp, crushing your knuckles between his fingers. You flash a remorseful grin at Jake, who isn’t having it. Josh cuts his giggling with a clearing cough and sits himself up properly in the chair.

“Well, that’s…” Josh covers his mouth with his hand, pondering the words he just heard, “That’s just great.”

Jake has still yet to break his glare at you, clearly being funny in that moment wasn’t the kind of soothing words he needed. It was your bratty side coming out again, embarrassing him in front of his brother. You’d be sure to pay for that later.

“So you guys are brothers?” You ask, trying once again to break the tension less bluntly. Jake loosens his grip on you, letting his fingers heavily weigh over the top of your hand.

“Well, to be particular, twins, bandmates… Sometimes roommates.” Jake grumbles.

“Well, we’ll always be womb-mates!” Josh jokes.

It was interesting to see Jake be put up against someone so close to him.

Josh is quite the opposite of his twin, very outspoken, and chaotic. It's almost like they split their personalities at a young age, neither one of them level human beings. One energetic and spunky, and the other moody and brooding. You imagine them as children, were they both once spunky and energetic, but took different roads, different paths, somewhere down the line? Imagining Jake with a childlike heart was melting you.

“So you’re the funny one, huh?” You joke back at Josh sarcastically.

“Precisely dear! You have to at least have some personality if you are the lead singer.” Josh raises his hand in a preachy theatrical matter, trying to play up each word he says.

“You don’t remember him from the set?” Jake asks.

He’s trying to belittle Josh and make him seem inferior. And he is. You don’t remember him. Shit. Watching Jake play caused a weird form of tunnel vision. Well, watching him and drinking those exceptionally strong whiskey sours. You try to find the right words to say, trying not to offend Josh and also trying not to reveal that you were staring at his brother’s dick all night.

“I’m sorry,” You say, “I don’t- not that you weren’t rememberable! But my focus was… elsewhere.”

Jake smirks. He liked catching you off guard at that moment, a slight torment for your quick remarks.

“Ah, don’t fret,” Josh muses, “You should come to our next gig! I’ll sing especially for you,”

“Hey…” Jake warns.

You turn to look at Jake, snapping a glaring look. Why shouldn’t you? Why would he try to quiet Josh’s invitation? The brat in you is filling up, taking over your mind. There would be no playing around or trying to hide from Jake. If he wanted you, he could at least act like it.

“You know what? I’d love that!” You exclaim, “When is it?!”

Josh starts to catch onto your tone and joins in, “Next week! At this bar a few towns over, but it's got a really great vibe and a dance floor!”

You perk yourself up and place your hand over your heart, resembling a shocked Southern belle.

“Oh! A dance floor?” Your tone is trying to be mocking to upset Jake, but it is nice to feel invited by his brother, “Too bad Jake doesn’t dance…”

You pout your lip out and turn to Jake. He won’t even look at you now. His eyes are locked on Josh; who is living in Jake’s discomfort. The anger is creeping through him, starting to fume. Josh and you both are piling it on, pushing him past where he’s comfortable.

To be fair, this is an extremely awkward situation. His twin is here, having a normal conversation with him, and you show up here, his… his lover? His… Not girlfriend. That’s very clear. Why not be fun and break the tension? Jake could have easily told his brother that now wasn’t a good time, or he could’ve tried to warn you. But he didn't.

You’re sure this was not how he expected the morning to go.

Josh leans forward and drops his head in fake dissapointment, “It’s really too bad for him…” He perks back up to engage with you, “Guess I'll have to save a dance for you when our set is over.” He winks and smiles at you, with a wild resemblance to Jake.

“Why thank you,” You reach your hand out and wave it at him, “You’re such a gentleman for offering.”

By this point, you both are fully aware of the game you’re playing. It's the ‘who can push Jake the furthest game’, and you’re both winning.

“Alright, alright,” Jake sneers through gritted teeth, “Josh, why don’t we plan the set tomorrow, okay?”

A furrow has appeared across Jake’s brow. He’s embarrassed, but too prideful to admit it. He’s being shown up by his twin, no doubt his previous rival in endeavors like this. You both are cutting into him, trying to make him vulnerable, but he won’t budge.

“Aww Jakey,” Josh whines, pouting at him, “We weren’t trying to hurt your feelings, little brother,”

You try to hold back laughter, but a small choking giggle escapes from within you.

“And, that’s enough of you today,” Jake snaps.

He stands up from the couch and paces over to the door, gesturing at it, ushering Josh to go. A disappointed and frustrated look is painted across his face. Instead of standing up for himself, he’d rather cut the whole conversation short.

“Jake…” you scold. You don’t mean to sound so demanding, but he is taking the jokes too seriously.

“No, no, It’s quite alright,” Josh stands from his seat and walks over to you, grabbing your hand from your lap, “It was a pleasure darling.” He lowers his head to place a soft kiss across the top of your hand.

You meet eyes as he releases his lips. He has that same devious smirk as Jake. You know he means no harm, and by no means does he want to pursue you- he just wants to get under Jake’s skin. Still, the gesture leaves you blushing.

You both linger there for a moment, trading secretive glances, knowing what turmoil you’re creating inside Jake. Before Josh can even release his hand from yours, he’s pulled away by Jake, yanking at him from the back of his shirt.

“C’mon,” Jake pulls, “You’ll have plenty of time to woo her at the show…”

Josh is giggling at himself, knowing that he’s leaving a mess for you to deal with. The realization of this situation is settling in your stomach now, knowing that once that door shuts out Josh, the angst will continue within these walls.

Bad behavior has consequences.

“I’ll see you!” Josh yelps before being shoved out into the daylight.

“You must be pretty tired after that, huh?” Jake asks.

You hate to admit how tired you were, but it was true. You wanted to keep going, to feel more, but you were completely overstimulated and feared what might happen if you were to continue.

It was already a long day full of emotion, some turmoil, and newness. Despite spending most of the past week in bed, resting, you still felt exhausted.

You drop your head, disappointed, “I’m sorry, I can-”

“You don’t have to do anything. It’s been a long day. Get in bed.”

You oblige, sneaking yourself under the sheets. He’d already taken the comforter off and assured you further that what you did was completely normal, and incredibly sexy in his opinion. A new blanket was strewn over the bed, and you were snuggling into the mattress.

Jake unhooks his belt beside you and takes off his jeans, getting himself comfortable. He lifts his side of the sheets and slides in beside you.

Both of you were face to face, just blushing at each other. He places his hand on your cheek and rubs his thumb back and forth over it. The most gentle and kind gesture.

“Just so you know,” He says, “No woman has ever felt as good as you… No woman has ever been as beautiful as you.”

You turn your head to meet his palm and place a kiss in the center of it.

He runs his hand to the back of your head and nudges at it to move closer to him. You scootch yourself into him, resting your head in his chest; bringing your legs up to sit around his.

Despite already seeing so much of him- having the best sex of your life with him- this was the most intimate moment you had shared.

This moment was everything. This night was everything. It was proof that Jake could try. That a future with him was a very real possibility. That you truly meant more to him than just sex. He could trust you enough to be comfortable with him. You never wanted this time together to end. Just laying here together in bed.

Jake slams the door behind Josh and immediately turns to you. He looks utterly ruined. Far past embarrassed, actually quite upset.

“Really?” He asks.

“What?” You snap back, settling yourself further on the couch. You cross your arms, trying to come across as nonchalant; as if nothing bad had happened. You truly believe nothing that bad has happened.

Jake matches you and crosses his arms, “Do not what me. Why would you act like that?”

“Hmm,” You mockingly ponder, “I don’t know, maybe it’s because I was surprise attacked into meeting your brother?”

Jake loosens his arms and walks back to the couch, positioning himself in front of you. Putting you in his perfect line of fire.

“Yeah, well he wasn’t supposed to be here. I would assume that you might behave if you came down.”

You purse your lips, trying to remain calm in this moment. Behave? Really. What were you? A twelve-year-old? You’re a woman who was put in a situation you weren’t expecting and was trying to get along with his brother. Setting good impressions for the family is supposed to be a good thing. At least you know that you and Josh would get along swimmingly but at the expense of Jake’s sensitive feelings.

“I was just trying to be funny. You’re just jealous of him.”

Jake chuckles softly, not believing the words you just uttered, “Oh I’m jealous? You seem to forget you didn’t talk to me because-”

“Jake that’s different-”

“Oh so you can be jealous, but I can’t get a little bothered by you flirting with my brother?” His tone is changing. The frustration is evident in his voice, the hypocrisy is getting to him. And he’s right, you have been jealous. You have had a hard time sharing Jake or even thinking about him with anyone else, or doing anything else.

But this is different.

Jake slept with someone who was a friend and tried to hide the information from you. You on the other hand were jokingly playing around with his brother. Maybe it was a revenge tactic… Maybe you were flirting, but it felt good to make Jake just as uncomfortable as you once felt. The toxicity between you is what sparks all the good things. The back and forth, the teasing, and the accusations, all lead to physical apologies.

“This is all completely different and you know it… If I’m being truthful, you haven’t always put me in the most comfortable situations Jake.”

That last part was cold but honest. You promised yourself you would be honest with him.

You can tell you struck a chord with him. The anger is still within him, and you thought telling him the truth would maybe help loosen its hold on him. But of course, it didn’t

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He scoffs.

He may have anger inside him, but there is a much stronger force of annoyance pushing through you. For him to ask that question is equivalent to a slap in the face. Does he seriously not know what you mean? Mariella, confronting you at work, showing up to your apartment and dragging you out into the middle of a field, inviting his brother into the house knowing you were just upstairs sleeping…

All he does is push you into an uncomfortable place, but the moment you start to play around and make a few jokes, that’s completely unacceptable?

“Jake, you know what I mean. I want this to work out, but you have to consider how I feel sometimes too… I think that’s pretty reasonable.”

He scoffs again, crossing his arms in dismay. Your attempts at pleading are useless, mostly because he already knows what he wants you to say. He will always get his way. “You think I don’t care how you feel?”

“Oh, my god.” You throw your hands up in the air. Defeated. “Can you not be so defensive over everything I say? Can you have a little fun sometimes?”

“You think I don’t care, you think I can’t have fun…” Jake leans down towards you and pulls your face up to meet his. He stares deeply into you, his gaze burning. The arguing always gets the both of you going, it’s like a foreplay of sorts. It would be wrong to deny either of you the release you both crave. Neither of you are truly mad, but it's a game you play. You’re ready to let him take you, let yourself forgive him with his touch.

He runs his calloused fingers across the edge of your jaw. The burning exasperation lingers inside of you, but slowly erases with each second his skin is on yours. His thumb extends down to your neck, carrying his fingers to wrap around your neck. He squeezes you in his hand, careful to not let his displeasure translate to physicality, “Why don’t I show you how much I fucking care?”

“Yes sir,” You reply. Immediately, you assume your role. The softer Jake that was present with you last night has subsided, he needed to be himself again, and you needed to take your place as the submissive.

Your heart is beating in your chest, excited to be in this roleplay with Jake again. You feel the heat rushing down your between your legs, ready for more with him.

“Pants off, now.”

Taglist: @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @gvfpal @lipstickitty @anythingforjtk @giraffehippy @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @gretavansara @sanguinebats @awkwardlyamazing2000 @pinkandsleepy1934 @bajabule69

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta van smut #greta van fleet smut #gvf smut #jake kiskza x reader #gvf fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic

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empydoc · 1 month

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SOUL EATER AU david & angel

check out the masterpost here!

welcome to a redacted soul eater au post! here, i try and discover what it'd be like if you merged the soul eater world and mechanics within the redactedverse. this is the first post in the series of posts i'll make regarding the individual characters and their listeners! we've got david & angel on the menu. enjoy!

༺♰༻

david — soul type: weapon weapon type: fireman axe compatible with: angel (currently), asher (previously)

david, like most werewolves, is a weapon. werewolves are known for their knack at shifting, and so going from one form to another- no matter if it's a wolf form, weapon form, or human form, comes easy to them. he's currently wielded by his meister and partner, angel.

because david is the alpha of the shaw pack, his soul and wavelength are stronger than a lot of other werewolves. if wielded by someone who isn't compatible with him, one might find that his weapon is heavier than it looks.

david suits a fireman axe, i think! he's pretty lightweight for angel to carry, but others will struggle, which works with their dynamic. when in combat, david tends to (lovingly) critique angel's choices.

༺♰༻

angel — soul type: meister strongest meister ability: soul resonance - a technique where special attacks are made when resonating with their weapon's soul. compatible with: david (currently)

angel, like a lot of unempowered folk, is a meister. unempowered people are known to typically be meisters due to their lack of core and strengethened soul. they currently wield their weapon and partner, david.

because angel has such a strong bond with david, even though he is an alpha they're able to wield him rather easily. in the beginning, when their wavelengths often shifted, there were times that came easier and times that were incredibly difficult.

i like to think that with most listeners, i'll be pretty vague with fightning styles and how they go about things, purely because it should be up to you how they are (like erik does it!). however, i do find that a fireman axe fits for angel as a meister purely because it's a common, but underestimated, weapon.

lite backstory: for every post i make for the characters, i'll add some au backstory to really fill in some details you may be curious about!

back when david and asher were closer than could be, the two were considered weapon and meister partners. this lasted a while, but not long enough to be official, because after dealing with his grief, david's wavelength ended up losing place with asher. there was a moment when asher tried to wield david, and they simply couldn't do it. because of this, david insisted asher wasn't the problem in general, but simply with himself, because he couldn't get past what he'd been through. asher respectfully understood and didn't take it personally.

currently, asher is pretty happy that david and angel are compatible partners. he, with babe, is also happy he's found someone to wield once more. makes you wonder if asher would be able to wield david again ...

and that's david & angel ! thought they'd be fitting to start out with. if you have any questions send me an ask! check out the masterpost for information regarding species/empowerment differences and everything else.

#redacted soul eater au #redacted au #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted verse #redacted angel #redacted david #redacted asher #📼.txt

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angellayercake · 1 year

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Banchetto: Aperitivo

Papa Emeritus III x Reader

AO3 | Masterpost

You always preferred to use your hands. Baking required the use of all your senses but the best way to get the perfect dough was to touch. Feel the ingredients combining and merging, changing state. The movement was as important as the measurements and you could close your eyes and know if the bake was going to rise as you intended.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘I do not need a babysitter!’ He objects, petulantly turning away from his brothers to look out the window. You watch them glance at each other in exasperation but tune out their continued argument wishing they had thought to stage their intervention before you had arrived.

Instead you look at him. It had been little over a month since he had been unceremoniously removed from the Ghost project. The day he had returned to the Abbey the shouts could be heard ringing through the halls. Senior members of the Clergy had been hurrying back and forth trying to keep the siblings in the dark but the tension had permeated through the whole building even as the news spread. No one had seen him since that first week whether because he had been hiding himself or because he had been locked away by his father and brothers but looking at him now you could understand why.

The first thing you had noticed was his hair falling lank and greasy against his face. His paint was hastily applied, smudged, patchy and uneven and doing nothing to obscure the gaunt look of his face. What you could see of his skin looked grey and dull and you could make out the hollows of his cheeks and sunken eyes. He looked almost skeletal in his usual suit, creased and stained as it now was. He had always been slight but this was an extreme change and you could understand his brothers concern. He was clearly not eating. The shirt and jacket billowed out as he paced across his reception area in agitation as they continued talking.

That answered one question for you at least. Which was why your presence was requested. Your cooking skills had garnered you attention from very shortly after your arrival and although day to day you assisted with the typical group meals there were times when your more advanced skills were needed and apparently this was one of them. Finally it seemed they were finished as three pairs of mismatched eyes turned to you.

‘So it is settled then Sorella, as of tomorrow you will be relieved of your kitchen duties so you can cook personally for my brother.’ Primo states drawing you out of your thoughts and back to the present. You nod in agreement sparing one last look at Terzo who was frowning at you with an otherwise unreadable expression before you were dismissed.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

There was a knack to rough chopping nuts, pressure but not too hard, movement but not too fast. The last thing you needed was almonds flying across the room. You slide them into a bowl efficiently using the back of the knife with one hand and toss them in seasoning with the other.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You arrive the next morning early with his breakfast already prepared. The first task today was to inventory his kitchen so you could acquire what was needed to fulfil this new role that you had been given. Keeping this in mind you had brought some pastries and fresh fruit from the Abbey kitchens hoping that would suffice for today. Entering his quarters you find the rooms dark and quiet as you pass through quickly to the kitchenette.

If the previous day had not been so fraught you would have asked to see it then but it didn’t matter now. You locate the plates during your search and clean them of the dust of neglect so you could lay out what you had brought with you. You considered how much preparation was necessary not wanting to make him feel patronised by you cutting up bite size pieces but you decided to go for the presentation not wanting to just hand him a plate of unpeeled fruit and cold pastries. You find a knife and make quick work of slicing and peeling until the plate contained a rainbow of fruits arranged around the croissants.

Checking your watch you decide the time is reasonable enough that you should take his breakfast to him. As you approach his room you listen carefully for any sign of life but there is nothing and then as you knock still nothing. You listen and listen, glancing at your watch again. It really wasn’t early but perhaps he did not want to be disturbed but then you remember the stern talk Secondo had given you yesterday and you knock once more.

‘Che cosa?’ he shouts and you wince at his tone.

‘I have your breakfast Papa.’ You don’t want to open the door until you have his permission, it felt a step too far even for this odd situation you found yourself in. There was movement within and you are taken aback when the door is abruptly pulled open but even more by his state of undress. His face had told a clear story of his state the previous day and what you could see of his body only reinforced it.

He was skin and bone, painfully thin, ribcage visible and now you truly understood his brothers concern. This was not a man who was looking after himself, as though his will to live had been ripped from him as he had been ripped from the stage. When you hear him clear his throat pointedly you realise how rude you are being and instead offer him the plate with a nervous smile. Which he did not return, only looking down at the food with the same unreadable expression but he takes it from you not saying another word as he closes the door in your face.

When you return with his lunch you find the plate of fruit outside the door, untouched by anything but flies.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You break your own rule as you gradually add to the mixing bowl but you don’t want to interrupt the delicate chemical reaction happening as the dough rises. Some things are better completed hands off you thought as the almond pieces break down further and salt and pepper crystals distribute throughout.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

By the end of the first week you begin to panic. He had barely taken a bite from anything you had prepared for him. Sometimes he would reject it in person, pushing aside the plates you presented him, leaving them to sit ignored while he sat staring into space. More often you found them abandoned around his quarters meaning the first part of your day consisted of tracking down these dishes and disposing of them before racking your brains for something else to try.

You were fighting back tears as you entered the kitchen the following week having failed again to entice him to eat anything other than a few bites. In your mind you were already anticipating the conversation you would have to have with Primo and Secondo. You were failing, had failed and you weren’t sure if there was anything else you could do. The dishes were dumped in the sink and you stand for a moment breathing deeply in an attempt to collect yourself. You had tried asking him what he wanted, asking others what he liked but nothing had worked.

Making quick work of the cleaning you resolve to go and speak to them now. They would be disappointed in you, you were sure but there was no use delaying the inevitable. Drying your hands as you turn a small book placed in the centre of the dining table gives you pause. The cover was worn, the fabric covering fraying at the corners and the once colourful pattern faded by time and food stains.

You lift the cover slowly, the spine creaking in complaint and trace your finger across the greying handwriting inside. The swirling script fills every page in a format you find familiar. These are recipes, page after page of them. The titles are Italian but the ingredients and instructions had been painstakingly translated by a different hand. The ink looked fresher and you wondered if this is what he had been doing for the last week. On the last page there was a note that broke the pattern of the preceding recipes that had not been translated.

Per il mio piccolo Renzo.

Questi sono i nostri preferiti

e spero che ogni volta che li mangi

ti ricordi quanto ti amo.

Mamma x

You try not to speculate on the message as he clearly hadn’t translated it for a reason but you knew enough Italian to get the gist and it is as you are tracing your finger over the elegant script that he enters the kitchen startling you from your thoughts.

‘Ah bene, you found it already.’ You flick back through the pages as he comes to stand next to you not wanting to get caught prying.

‘Yes, these are recipes Papa.’ He looks better rested today but that's about all you can say. He looks ill you think but you try not to dwell. ‘Would you like me to make you these going forward?’ That has to be the only reason he would give you something so personal.

‘Si, you have lasted longer than I expected Sorella and if you insist on obeying my fratelli idioti then you should make these.’ Turning to him you are about to ask which he would like you to start with but he is already gone leaving you with something you suspect is more precious then you can fully comprehend.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Floured fingers and even pieces twisted, turned and intertwined. You have ensured the flavour and now you must create the texture. Though repetitive you find your rhythm and fill tray after tray.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘Preforito di Renzo’ was the title of the recipe you decided to try first. You were unsure of exactly who Renzo was supposed to be but whoever they were they gave this recipe a ringing endorsement and it seemed simple enough to complete by the afternoon. However you would need to stop by the main kitchen to acquire some of the ingredients. The trip there was uneventful but the pantry was already occupied when you arrived.

‘Ah Sorella, how are you today?’ Secondo greeted you sounding as cheerful as his gruff demeanour allowed.

‘I’m very well thank you Papa,’ you replied, actually meaning it for the first time since you had started your new role.

‘And Terzo? How is he?’ Something had changed for you when he had given you the notebook and you were loath to break his trust now which surprised you. So you started collecting up your ingredients, shooting Secondo a smile and buying yourself some time to think of a vague enough answer that would still be believable.

‘He seemed in good spirits this morning Papa. He even requested I make something for him.’ Positive but neutral enough you hoped but he still looked at you in surprise.

‘Is that so?’ He seemed to be deep in thought as he continued. ‘The reports I had heard said… well no matter it is good if he is asking you for food I suppose.’ You’re not shocked that he had been keeping tabs on you

‘I think so Papa,’ you say in an attempt to reassure him and as you follow your train of thought you think it must be good. At least showing a willingness from him you had not yet seen thus far.

‘Yes of course and what has he asked you to make Sorella?’ A safe enough question to answer you thought as he hadn’t actually asked for anything specific had he?

‘Well he gave me a choice of recipes he had written down. I decided to make the pepper taralli.’ Something changed in his expression as you finished but you couldn’t decipher what it was only hoping you hadn’t said the wrong thing.

‘Interesting, very interesting.’ He wandered towards the door still lost in thought only remembering to say goodbye when he reached the door. You shook off the strange encounter eager for once, to return to Terzo’s quarters.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Golden crisp and they are finished one by one added to the metal racks near the open window. The cool breeze pulls away the rising steam helping them cool quickly and evenly and carrying the sweet savoury smell further into his rooms.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You could hear him coming before you had finished transferring them to the cooling racks and you couldn’t help but smile. Finally you have done something right, you just hoped that they would live up to his expectations. He comes bounding into the room soon enough the most animated you had seen him since you had taken on this role.

‘Does my nose deceive me Sorella or have you been making taralli?’ He was eagerly trying to lean around where you were standing in front of the racks and you giggled. Mostly due to his antics but a part of you felt flustered at his proximity. He didn’t look much better then the first meeting but he did seem in better spirits. His clean fresh scent washed over you as the soft material of his jumper brushed against your arm as he reached. His hair while still not in his usual slicked style looked clean and soft and you had to resist the urge to tuck the lock that had fallen forward behind his ear. Thankfully you were spared any more impulses to touch him as he had acquired his prize and had retreated across the kitchen already devouring one, another grasped in his other hand.

‘Careful Papa! They are still hot from the oven,’ you chided him but he turned to you with a grin on his face. Even covered in crumbs he was handsome enough to take your breath away.

‘But Sorella, this is the best time to have them, si?’ After popping the final piece in his mouth he starts cleaning his fingers, sucking one at a time into his mouth, moaning obscenely as he picked up the last traces of flavour. You are transfixed by his display so you barely notice when his eyes flick open and catch you watching. He draws the last finger out of his mouth so slowly, catching on his bottom lip and you have to swallow as you suppress the thought of his finger elsewhere. You meet his eyes and feel the blush blooming on your face.

He saunters closer to you never taking his eyes from yours and you can’t breathe in anticipation of what he is going to do. He stops just in front of you and you feel yourself leaning ever so slightly forward as if he had his own gravitational pull. Then in the blink of an eye he has snatched another three and is halfway across the room.

‘That will be all today Sorella, grazie.’ And then he is gone but you can hear him whistling on his way. You collect yourself as quickly as you can, not wanting to dawdle when you had been so clearly dismissed.

#papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #the band ghost fic #terzo #papa emeritus iii #my writing #banchetto

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veronicaphoenix · 1 month

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Chapter tags & trigger warnings: nightmares, implied ptsd, angst, fluff, comfort, Noah being the perfect boyfriend best friend | Word count: 2.1k | Cross posted on AO3 | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

"Sometimes, it amazed me how easy it was to make her happy, how simple life had to be to get her to genuinely smile."

Lia’s hands were dirty with wet soil.

The day before, at the grocery store, she had picked up gloves and a few gardening tools. Today, she was planting the seeds she had picked up and that she had added to the pile of items I had to carry in my arms. When I had complained again, Lia had just shrugged her shoulders and pointed out that I had long arms, so I’d have to deal with it. I just rolled my eyes.

That early morning, she did wear the gloves when she started working in the back garden of the house, but soon abandoned them because she said they dulled her sense of touch, preventing her from feeling the soil, the plants, or the petals of the flowers.

I stayed close by, engaged in a conversation with her for a while. I was curious about her gardening choices, observing her focused efforts as she worked in different areas of the garden. It was refreshing to see her absorbed in the task, providing a temporary respite from the worries that plagued her day and night, especially at night.

After pouring us each a glass of orange juice and having a little argument with Lia because she asked me to bring her a beer can instead, I settled into one of the hammocks on the porch, sunglasses and headphones on.

As usual, time seemed to slip away whenever I lay there, under the sun. I was granted a rare moment of peace for the first time in weeks.

Lia continued her gardening nearby, moving from one end of the garden to the other with dedication. Despite my music, I caught snippers of her conversation with the flowers, which brought a smile to my face. It was such a tranquil morning, marred only by the lingering shadow of Lia’s past with Mitch.

When a sudden black cloud obscured the sun, I removed my sunglasses and headphones, standing up to assess the changing weather.

Lia sat cross-legged in the center of the garden, crafting a flower crown, triggering memories of that day in her mother’s house, when I was fifteen and she was fourteen. I recalled that day, when we were just teenagers and I had had to explain to her why I had decided to drop out of school. With her sad eyes looking straight into mine, I suggested she could move in with me and Mike when she turned eighteen. I had stayed the night with her, and we had woken up together. A slight blush kept up my cheeks as I remembered what had transpired that morning between us.

Trying to shake off the memory, I called out to her.

“Hey, princess.”

Lia’s head snapped up, a smile playing on her lips as she seemed to be recalling the same memory, the moment I placed the daisy crown on her head more than a decade ago.

“How does it look?” she inquired, motioning towards the flowers she had planted in clusters around the garden.

“I might just hire you as my private gardener,” I quipped, though the garden truly seemed rejuvenated, as if life had just brought by a sudden miracle.

I found it ironic how Lia, navigating through her own struggles, had this knack for bringing life and light to her surroundings, including me.

“I must tell you, my services are quite expensive,” she teased, rising and brushing soil from her knees.

“I’d pay with my soul,” I replied, eliciting a tender smile from her. The sunlight illuminated her face, lending her a healthier glow as the bruises on her skin seemed to be fading. I hoped her heart would heal as her body did.

When it came to my split lip, it still hurt, but it was also getting better.

“I’m serious. It looks amazing,” I told her, surveying her handiwork. “How’s the crown coming along?” I asked, nodding towards the floral creation in her hands.

“Hmm,” Lia’s smile flattered momentarily as she focused on the string of flowers. “I’ve lost practice,” she admitted. I could feel the sadness in her voice.

“Need a hand?” I offered.

Lia raised an eyebrow skeptically. “You’re not exactly skilled at making flower crowns, Noah.”

Raising my hands, feigning offense, I replied, “All right, Flower Queen. I was just trying to be helpful.”

“I wasn’t teasing you,” she clarified. “It’s just a fact.”

“I know…” It was true. I had no freaking clue as to how to make a flower crown, not even after so many years of having a flower enthusiast as my best friend. “So, what’s on the agenda today? What do you feel like doing? Do you want to go to the Botanical Gardens?” I suggested. “We could spend some time walking around, grab a hot chocolate from the café, and maybe pick up a few more plants.”

“Aren’t you tired of flowers?” Lia questioned, probably concerned about me.

“Who could ever tire of flowers?” I exclaimed, swinging my leg over the hammock to stand. I collected our drinks, ready to return them to the kitchen. “Flowers are fucking pretty. I could never get enough, even if I’m hopeless at making crowns.”

“You’re just saying that to keep me happy,” Lia countered. She couldn’t hide the tiny smile peeking from her lips, though.

“I’d say anything to keep you happy, but no, I actually mean those words. Flowers rock. Now go take a quick shower, and let’s go to the Botanical Gardens. I’ll see if Jesse wants to join us.”

The botanical garden adventure turned out to be a more delightful experience than I expected. A new section had recently opened, and Lia’s excitement bubbled over as we explored it thoroughly. She was so fascinated by the new multitude of plants that she left Jesse and me trailing behind her, lost in our chatter about work and music.

When she ventured further ahead, Jesse lowered his voice and asked me about her well-being. I hesitated before responding because the truth was that I wasn’t sure. At times she looked… okay. Other times, I would hear her or catch her crying. I had no clue if a pain like the one she carried could ever disappear; if a wound like that could ever be mended.

During our time there, I noticed Lia occasionally drifting into moments of distraction, her smile fading as troubling thoughts crept in. Sensing her vulnerability, I made a point to stay close, wrapping an arm around her shoulder whenever I sensed her faltering. Redirecting her attention, I guided her to the next exhibit, peppering her with random questions about the flora, to which she surprisingly had all the answers. Lia's depth of knowledge was captivating, and I wasn't the only one to notice. Jesse, too, was struck by Lia's genuine passion for nature and flowers. It was heartwarming to witness how she retained that childhood love amidst her life's challenges.

Standing outside the cafeteria, positioned on the elevated area overseeing the gardens, I waited for Jesse to return from the restrooms and for Lia to pick up her hot chocolate from the counter inside the café. As I glanced at the sky, latte in hand, I felt grateful for the brightness of the day. Suddenly, Lia’s arms wrapped around me from behind, squeezing me tightly as her head nestled against my back. Some coffee spilled from my cup, and a bit of chocolate dripped from the one she held in her left hand.

“Lia, Christ,” I exclaimed, turning around to face her, taken aback by the sudden unexpected affection. With a sheepish grin, she released her hold, cheeks flushed.

“Sorry, that was… awkward,” Lia mumbled, her apology hanging in the air.

“No, not at all,” I reassured her, reaching out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It was rather lovely,” I added, a warm smile gracing my lips. “You feeling alright?”

Her response came accompanied by a slight shake of the hot chocolate cup in her hand. “Now I am, yes,” Lia replied, her smile returning.

Sometimes, it amazed me how easy it was to make her happy, how simple life had to be to get her to genuinely smile.

Before long, Jesse joined us, his hand ruffling through his hair as he adjusted his glasses. “You’re all set?” he asked, casting a glance at the drinks we held.

“Yep,” we replied in unison.

“Great. My mom’s birthday is coming up. I thought I’d browse the shop for some plants before we leave,” Jesse announced. “Maybe Lia can give me some advice?”

“Sure,” she agreed readily.

“She’ll do that gladly,” I mumbled. “She’s going to give herself some advice, too.”

“And pick out a few more plants for the garden,” she added, a playful grin dancing on her face as she strolled alongside us.

Sure enough, Lia ended up selecting a couple of pots of pelargonium, gardenias, and some bamboo sticks, envisioning how they would complement the minimalist aesthetic of my room. As Lia and Jesse explored the shop, leaving me behind to wonder why the fuck some plants were so weird, they discussed which flowers would be best suited for Jesse's mom. Lia shared her expertise on which blooms would last longest indoors and explained the symbolic meanings behind each flower and color. Jesse listened attentively, deciding. He finally selected a thoughtful assortment of white and orange plants that he hoped his mom would like.

Later that day, back in the comfort of the house, the three of us settled in to tackle some work. Jesse attended to his band obligations, handling a few phone calls and online meetings while Lia and I retreated to the studio.

The gentle sound of pencils scratching on paper and crayons on textured surfaces served as a comforting backdrop to the tunes I was playing on one of my guitars. Having Lia nearby, even in her quiet presence, felt good; I definitely preferred her close where I could sense her mood rather than distant and out of reach. I didn’t want to find her locked in the bathroom crying her eyes out and feeling guilty for what had happened to her.

It hadn’t been her fault, and while I didn’t mind reminding her of that as many times as necessary, I didn’t want her to dwell on those thoughts alone. I believed it was healthier for her to externalize her feelings and emotions through lyrics or drawings.

Midafternoon, I took a brief break to make coffee and grab a snack, taking the time to check the messages on my phone —a few from Jolly, another bunch from other friends and work— and give Matt a call.

Lia joined me in the kitchen just as I was in the midst of the conversation, gesturing for me to pass her the phone when I was finished. In the meantime, she retrieved a beer from the fridge.

When she spoke with Matt —and I entertained myself chewing on chocolate-chip cookies—, her tone seemed overly cheerful, which was odd. Somehow, she decided it would be a good idea for all of us to meet on Saturday night, grab some pizzas, and spend some time together as we used to do. With Jolly’s return scheduled for Friday, Lia asked for my approval. I could only shrug and reply with a casual “yeah”. If it meant she could relax and enjoy the company of our friends, then I was fully supportive.

As the day melted into evening, the house overflowed with tranquility. The strumming of the guitar filled the air, punctuated by the occasional recording breaks to capture snippets of sound for an on-going musical project. Meanwhile, Lia was deeply engrossed in her creative zone, sitting on the sofa facing the desk where I was sat at. She was working with a pen and a worn-out notebook in hand, sketching designs and penning songs’ lyrics with a focus that made her bit her lip. Every once in a while she would lift her head and make a comment about the sounds coming out from the speakers, complimenting the music I was creating. There was something so undeniably comforting about being in this creative bubble together, just doing our thing and enjoying each other’s company.

We vibed off each other’s energy effortlessly. It was like we were in sync, riding the same wavelength of inspiration. It felt like home.

At quarter to seven, Lia rose from the sofa, stretching her arms and humming, and placed a few sheets of paper on the desk beside the keyboard.

“There. Take a look. They’re not my best work, but I think they might work for a t-shirt design," she casually said, enthusiasm lacking her tone.

The sheets were filled with new drawings —roses, daggers, demons—, potential additions to our merchandise lineup.

Before I could respond, she left the studio, mentioning something about grabbing another beer and preparing dinner.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic

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gallifreyinstituteforlearning · 2 months

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When the Doctor left Rose with Tentoo, his part-human, part-Time Lord clone created from his own hand, he knew he was leaving her in good... well, hands.

Tentoo had quickly demonstrated a remarkable knack for domestic engineering. Leaky taps, creaky hinges, and even the ancient vacuum cleaner that had been gathering dust in the cupboard since 1994—none stood a chance against his magic touch. It turned into an ongoing joke between them: each time a new item malfunctioned, Rose would say, 'Must be time for the HAND-yman!'

One dusky evening, with Tentoo immersed in the guts of the washing machine, Rose leaned on the doorframe, watching him. 'Y'know,' she mused, 'I always wondered what it would be like to properly live with the Doctor. Never thought it'd involve a lot of appliance repair.'

Without missing a beat, Tentoo looked up, a grin spreading across his face. 'Ah, but you see, the inefficiency of human manufacturing is pretty staggering. It's practically a miracle the Pyramids haven't crumbled to dust.'

Rose playfully narrowed her eyes at him. 'Okay, now I know you're made from his right hand,' she quipped, 'because you're a complete and total wanker.'

The last Doctor Who Jokes and Incorrect Quotes for Monday by GIL

Monday jokes to get repped by 🔥Trending.

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》📫Got a question / submission? 》😆Jokes |🫀Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts 》📚Complete list of Q+A 》📜Masterpost If you like what GIL does, please consider buying a coffee or tipping below to help make future projects, including complete biology and language guides.

#doctor who #dr who #gallifrey #GIL #gallifrey institute for learning #GIL jokes #TOTW: Haven't we met before #whoniverse

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yourneighborhoodneighbor · 11 months

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super cool ghost ice mega slide

(masterpost to my fics while ao3 is down) AO3

fic under the cut

Having another superpowered person as part of Batclan was great, even if he wasn't technically a meta (I'm dead, Duke, that's more of a medical condition-). Having a portable snow maker year round was even better.

Duke had taken to Danny pretty quickly after the younger teen had been picked up off the street, hurt and borderline delirious, surprisingly not by Bruce, but by Jason. Once he had been cognizant enough to realize in which city he was, and in whose cave, he had had a pretty major freak out, believing himself in danger through a mix of the idea that Batman hated metas and whatever had hurt him so badly in the first place.

After Duke had managed to get out of his stupor at seeing whatever it was the kid had become (and seriously, he had seen some pretty unusual things because of his meta abilities, but a 4k HD 1080p 4D experience of a real life eldritch being was not one of them) he had promptly kicked everyone out of the room in the med area (except for Alfred, whom he very politely asked vacate the room) to try and calm the kid down.

After revealing his own meta status, assuring the glowing kid that Batman didn't actually hate metas, he just wanted to protect his city from mind-controlled superpowered people, and that he was safe from whoever had hurt him, the kid had finally calmed down enough to return to a more human-like appearance.

From then it was really no surprise to anyone that the new kid (who could transform into an actual human, and really? Black hair and blue eyes again?) got promptly adopted and revealed information that got an entire branch of the government taken down by the blazing wings of fury of the entire Batclan (even Damian had quickly become attached to the newest kid once his katana was gushed about with the accuracy and fervor of someone who knows how to wield the weapon).

What had been unexpected was the kid having a connection to the Lazarus Pits (which were apparently something called ectoplasm) and being able to help Jason get rid of what turned out to be a huge amount of toxic gunk from himself, leaving him with only the good gunk (Duke tried not to think too much about it), which made the too dead-but-not-really boys bond quickly.

On top of all that the kid was also an engineering and astronomy nerd (as well as had a knack for math and physics), which appealed him to Tim greatly, and he made puns like would die (again) if he didn't, which appealed him to Dick, and, he preferred communicating with means other than spoken words (usually inhuman sounds and growls), which he bonded over with Cass, and he was actually good a baking, which appealed him to Alfred, and he was also already a vigilante, which appealed him to everyone else-

The point being, everyone loved Danny, including Duke himself, so it was a bit hard to get some to spend with him by himself, which was why Duke was going to make the most of this day.

He wasn't actually alone with the young half-ghost, Cass was also left at home while all the others went about some business or another out of the manor, but Duke knew hanging out with both Danny and Cass was often double the fun since underneath the chill facades both of them were actually feral little shits, so that wasn't an issue.

That brought him back to his first point: having a brother who could make no-melt snow on command was the best!

So now here they were, the three of them standing side by side on top of the tallest point of the manor, facing a slope so steep it was almost 90º degrees at first and then bent and curved all over the yard in ways Duke just knew wouldn't pass a safety inspection, those tiny cheap plastic sleds in hand (“for the full experience,” Danny said, even though they certainly had the money to buy other sleds). Duke was regretting some of his choices, looking down, but now he was committed, no way was he quitting, Danny and Cass would tag team on teasing him for the rest of time.

“Ready?” Danny asked, a too wide smile on his face and eyes open with the kind of crazed excitement only someone who was already dead could have.

Cass answered by putting her sled on the ground and sitting on it, position ready and her face mirroring Danny's.

Duke stood corrected, only people who were already dead, and Cass.

He really was going to regret this, wasn't he. Well, too late to back out now. This is what he got for hanging out with the two most unhinged people in the family, he supposed (and that was saying something, considering the kind of family Duke had).

“Sure, yeah, what's a little sled race down a death slope of doom?” the meta answered with more confidence than he felt. He was the Signal! He could do this! Besides, Cass and Danny wouldn't actually let him break his neck and die, right? Right.

Cass patted his shoulder sympathetically (as if-) as he sat down. Here went nothing.

“Remember, whoever makes it down in the least amount of time wins an ice cream! And no powers! You're up first, Duke!” Danny exclaimed as he pushed Duke forward.

Duke had barely any time to process the fact that he was already in a semi-free fall before he was already approaching the tunnels that made up the bottom half of the “super cool ghost ice mega slide” (patent pending). He remembered he did, in fact, need to breath, filling his lungs to the top and letting the air out in a scream.

The meta boy could do nothing but keep screaming as he reached speeds he was pretty sure went against the laws of physics, making loop-de-loops and turns so steep he thought he was going to slam against the side instead of turning a few times.

After what felt like an eternity but also too little time to have actually completed the Slide of Doom (more accurate name, in Dukes opinion), he finally made it to the end, promptly getting bowled over by a gleeful Cass and cackling Danny, who he hadn't even noticed were right behind him.

“Mmfffhblggggheroff-” Duke grunted, turning over and subsequently throwing off the other two into the surrounding snow. Danny accepted his fate, while Cass sat up and grinned at him.

“And?! Wasn't that fun?!” Cass signed excitedly. Duke was about to say it was terrifying, but cut himself short when he noticed he was smiling.

Huh. That actually had been fun. It had been really, really fun.

“We should do that again,” he breathed out. “We should do that again, but all together! More weight means more speed! We can see how far off the finish we end up!”

He was excited now, he was PUMPED! He grabbed Danny around the waist, carrying him like a sack of potatoes and and running up the ice steps (sibling with ice powers for the win-) back to the roof, Cass behind him with the sleds.

He ignored the ghost boy's protests about being able to walk (“and fly!”), eager to enact his new plan.

Once up there, he dumped his brother and accepted a sled from his sister, sitting down on it.

“Cass, sit on my lap! Danny goes on top because he's a lightweight!” he told the others, receiving a token protest from Danny, who got further teased about his half weight by Cass.

Once they were all settled, Duke got really to start them off by pushing with his legs when Danny yelled out.

“Wait!”

Cass and Duke looked up at him with questioning glances. In response, the boy got up, touched the slide and… Oh-hoho, this was gonna be good.

“There, it's extra smooth and slippery now. We're in for some Cool Running!” Danny said, settling back on top of the pile, grin matching his two siblings'.

“Alright, let's break some legs” Duke muttered, pushing forward with his feet.

And damn-

If Duke thought he was going fast before, they were racing the Flashes now!

All three siblings let out manic laughter, whopping and screaming as they held on to each other for dear life, the forces of the turns threatening to pull them apart.

As they neared the finish, Duke saw a shadow, barely having time to process before he was blinded by the flash of a camera.

They kept going a bit after the finish, the speed they came with not letting them stop, eventually colliding with a pile of snow and finally flying in different directions.

Duke couldn't stop laughing where he had landed, full of adrenaline and absolute mirth. A little ways away, he could hear both his siblings in the same predicament.

After a managing to get himself under control and trying to get his breathing back to normal, he sat up, freezing when he saw the amused audience they suddenly had.

“Umm, guys?” he called out to the other two.

“What?” Danny asked, sitting up as well and freezing as he saw what Duke had seen.

Cass was the last to rise, looking at their audience with as innocent a face as she could manage while clearly a culprit to their exploits.

Bruce simply raised an amused eyebrow, Alfred at his side looking perfectly regal while innocently holding a camera in his hands.

“I see you were having fun on your day off,” he stated, lips threatening to curl into a grin.

The three sibling looked at each other, before Cass reached over and simply offered one of the tiny plastic sleds to the man.

All of them were locked in a staring contest for the next few seconds, before Bruce's face finally broke into a grin and he grabbed the sled.

“Thought you wouldn't ask!” he said, turning and running up the steps, yelling back at them for being slow pokes.

The siblings all grinned at each other before running after the man.

Yeah, having access to unlimited snow was great, but getting to spend time with his family in it? Even better. bonus unrelated snow LBM drawing

#dpxdc #batpham #fanfiction #my fics #yourneighborhoodneighbor

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wundrousarts · 10 months

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Various Wundersmith thoughts and things I've noticed after rereading the book for yet another time:

This one is significantly longer and a little bit more random than my recent Nevermoor reread, but who cares 🤷 the more the merrier!

There are things both serious (theories, thematic parallels, etc.) and silly (jokes, personal reactions). This time around I discovered the annotations feature in Apple Books and had a lot of fun with that, so I'll try to include the bits I highlighted when necessary. Enjoy!

— I don't mean to have a shippingbrain, but it feels impossible to view Jupiter and Israfel as anything but exes/folks that had a Thing in the beginning, omg.

—— Israfel throwing the "old friend" back at Jove..... my note for this one was "#gay"

— I like the interest Mog has in Bohemia, and I'm interested based on that one Silverborn snippet for her to return (and eventually explore other parts of the city as well)

— Jupiter referring to the junkies as "they're not patrons of the fine arts" feels like a nice little set up for the Museum later on. Thought of and admired as an art piece, but the rich folks at the auction don't actually care about the work put into it.

— Do you think the folks at Wunsoc that organize the little show that welcomes 919 are a little peeved that the Fireblossom's being reignited means that they can't perch creepily in them anymore lol.

— I wonder if the Wunsoc Oath has a pre- or post- Massacre origin

“The nature of Miss Crow’s unusual –" she paused, seeming to catch herself before calling it a ‘knack’ – "situation.” (Ch2)

—— Elder Quinn hesitates to refer to Mog's power as a knack, so I wonder if that's just a general thing of Wundersmithery being different, or if knacks are a post-Massacre categorization

— I love how this book really starts to solidify the theme of family in Nevermoor... Wunsoc, her Unit, the Deucalion, Wundersmiths, the Crows, her mother..... AAAHHHH!!! I can't wait to see where it all goes.

— A "note sealed with silver wax" from "the Celes-" ..... YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!!! 😁😁😁

—— Likely about Cassiel but even that and beyond could tie into a lot of other Silverborn Theories..... Noelle..... The Silver District....... I will keep this all in mind

—— Also, updating my SIlverborn Masterpost posthaste ✍️✍️✍️

— It likely doesn't matter and will never be explained, but I wonder if the room between student's houses and their hometrain station is part of the Gossamer, and like a thin place between worlds

— Miss Cheery's first outfit is so y2k I need to draw her. It makes sense because she's like 20 in this book.

— The Wunsoc circle diagram has always interested me since I first read it. I wonder if the size of the circles ever means anything??

—— Could it relate to the probability (?) of the knacks? Mundane is the most common to occur, Arcane more specialized, and then Wundersmiths are very, very rare

—— Something I often forget is that folks in Wunsoc that weren't Wundersmiths have always existed. Were there more than 9 of them in each year? Were there always 9 non-Wundersmiths? Did the trials always exist? What was the relationship between non-Wundersmiths and Wundersmiths like?

—— On that note, did C&D only become the Wunsoc motto / purpose post-Massacre? Or did they do that before as well? If the motives of Wunsoc have changed over the years, has what they look for in students changed as well?

“Everybody at Wunsoc has a job to get on with – every junior and senior scholar, every graduate, every teacher, every patron, every Elder and every Master.” (Ch5)

— I am still forever curious about what Masters are, and why they are on the same level or possibly even slightly higher than Elders

—— Are they previous Elders? Are they people who excel in their craft? I'd like to say there could be a connection to Wundrous Apprenticeships but 1. those seemed like a natural given, 2. likely aren't really around anymore, and 3. I'm not really sure why they would have so much authority if so.

—— I like to headcanon that senior scholars do internships/apprenticeships

— Something that makes me laugh is that I will famously agonize over something, in this case the Wunsoc academic school year, only to discover upon a reread that it is explicitly stated how it works. lol.

— Brilliance Amadeo and her predecessors are referred to as "First-Line Wundersmiths." This likely relates to the chambers in the Liminal Hall in Sub-Nine that we see in Hollowpox.

—— Knowing Jess, I bet that either Mog or Squall are part of the Ninth Line

“Your kind are … all … dead," continued Professor Onstald. "And if they’re … not –" he blinked his watery eyes at her and took a long, rasping breath – "they should be.” (Ch6)

“My duty is not … to save you … from yourself. It is to show you … that you are … beyond saving. All of your … kind … are beyond …” (Ch6)

“If you were half the Wundersmith you ought to be by now, it wouldn’t be possible for me to tap into your power like this. (Ch24)

— I've had a theory post on the progression of Wundersmiths in society towards the Massacre in the works for awhile that I've postponed until after my Hollowpox reread, but:

—— What if it was a group effort?

——— There's a part in one of the books that's like, "Squall led his fellow Wundersmiths in a coup, and then turned on them" and as much as Wunsoc likes to spin and fabricate things, I think that this could also be true. What caused Squall to turn? That's a mystery we'll have to unravel later...

———— This book is heavy on Squall controlling and manipulating folks, both literally with Wunder but also mentally with words, so could be interesting if that played a part in the revolt

— Regardless, something spooked Onstald enough to turn from admiring and studying Wundersmiths and their ways to hating them, and I'll forever be interested in what happened.

—— I think there could be some slight truth in him viewing all Wundersmiths as bad, because some stuff, like Mathilde's Morbid Museum (lol), could indicate some darker inclinations by folks other than Squall

— Maybe I'm an idiot for not realizing this before, but I don't think it was Jupiter that got Mog/919 into the Maps class.

“I have dedicated my life to taming this monstrous city, and I love her with every fiber of my being.” (Ch8)

“Goodness. You’ve only been here a year? And yet you and Nevermoor seem to go hand in glove. It’s almost like this place was made just for you.” (Ch8)

—— So Squallish. I wonder if anything he said was coached.

—— Do you think this is how he got him on his side? Did they bond over both being obsessed with Nevermoor?

— I think a lot of Mildmay's problems would have been fixed if he had simply been more proactive about networking instead of turning to a life of crime. I mean, he's only 19, just out of school! Way to quit early, dude.

One bite brought on the specific sensation of bittersweet late-summer nostalgia … which sent Francis straight back to the test kitchen, as he’d actually been aiming for the carefree abandon of a mid-summer music festival. (Ch9)

— I wonder how much of Francis's knack/what he cooks/cooks with has a Wundrous origin. I'm also often reminded of the Smoking Parlor.

—— I like to relate it to my Communication "Art" but alternatively... does remind me of Israfel's voice. Curious about how Celestials and Wunder interact.

—— Alice Frankenreiter of 915 is mentioned as a shapeshifter..... how Masquerade-esque. Another point for the "knacks being related to Arts" theory?

——— I also have to point out how funny to me the "Franken-" is with the knack. lol. (makes me think about Frankenstein)

— There is a "noise like a thousand tinkling bells" when the Ghastly Market is revealed. This noise also shows up in the other two books during the Christmas Eve battle. In a world where magic by Wundersmiths heavily involves singing in order to use Wunder, I like the further comparisons of magic and sound. Will keep an eye out for more during Hollowpox.

—— We see this as well with this line:

Her fear and revulsion and rage swelled inside her like a symphony (Ch16)

which I just annotated as "music/art comparison. slay."

——— On that note, I feel like the connection between Wundersmiths/Divinities and the Celestials being explored more could be interesting, as both of their powers involve singing. I'm curious how/if their magic overlaps.

— The fact that the Loyalty Trial was from the Elders and thus they were the ones who asked Cadence to humiliate Baz will never not be funny

— Chapter 18 mentions a "Polaris Hill." Named after Griselda Polaris?

— Have to say: Between being excited about a killer flytrap and teaching 919 swears, an underrated Mahir trait is that he is actually very silly.

— If you've ever seen me call the Gossamer-Spun Garden the "Wundergarden", please know that the Murdergarden is 100% why lol

— I hope hope HOPE!!! we get some proper definitions someday for the Wundrous Act Classifications. Like Spectacle, Phenomenon, Singularity, etc... I hope we get to learn what they each are someday!!!

“To do just what a Wundersmith does," One corner of Squall’s mouth twisted into a quarter-smile.” ... "To grant your fondest wish. To give you the thing you want more than anything else.” (Ch19)

— I feel like this line is often overlooked and is an underrated hint at what a Wundersmith's role in society was like

— I'm a bit of a pessimist (SORRY) about the movie adaptation, and once thing about this book is that I'm mourning that it'll probably never get adapted.

—— I think that the idea of Nevermoor as a movie musical works so much better with Wundersmith because there's so much more magic and music and singing in this one, with both Israfel and the first Nocturne lessons. I could see it the integration of the non-diegetic (?) songs that the characters sing and the themes of the movie/books work better with this book than the first one just because of that.

—— Also the theatricality of characters such as Squall and Mildmay is off the charts in this book! I'd even throw Dearborn and Murgatroyd in there as well. I think they could make for more interesting characters in a movie musical than the general supporting cast of the first book.

—— I'd say that perhaps they could mix and mash stuff from both books 1 and 2 into a single movie, but I don't know if they have rights past the first book.

Squall cocked his head to one side, a deep frown etched into his forehead. ... Squall took a step towards her. He looked like he was remembering something. (Ch19)

— I wonder why he recognizes the song!

—— Curious if anyone else has their own theories on this they want to share. I brought this up in the discord a few months ago and have yet to make a proper post but here's my idea:

——— Squall's song and Mog's song are very similar in a few ways, so perhaps one of the songs was influenced by / is “descended from” so to say from the other, or they have a common ancestor.

——— Could explain why Little Crowling is familiar to Mog and Morningtide’s Child is familiar to Squall

... into the cold embrace of a capricious and unknowable city. (Ch19)

— This is like, baby's first comparison, but I do enjoy how this refers not only to Nevermoor but also Squall just a moment earlier. They are sooooo linked. I wonder if there's other moments like this in the book that I've missed.

— The Jemmity Park stuff is interesting to think about because I think Odbuoy is the youngest Wundersmith present at the time of the Massacre.

—— The idea of him being the youngest I feel then fits with him making the park only work for children, as that seems appropriately mischievous.

——— Because of my (outdated tbh) Eventide theories, I had a silly theory he was 7 when he made the park, but when you think about that more, it falls apart. A little funny to think about though, ngl.

— Anyone else think that the Elders should have told Jupiter about Sub-Nine in case he wanted a part in that? I feel like as a patron and adoptive father figure of a Wundersmith, he might want some access to Wundersmith history and culture. His excursions to the park and Cascade Falls really prove an interest and he could be helpful to the group.

— Morrigan compares Squall's Séance Synchronicity to Coven 13 in the Fright Trial... are these magics connected at all, or will we learn more about the different magics in the world at some point?

Squall held his hands out – palms downward, twisted into claws – and made his fingers dance like a puppeteer twitching strings. (Ch24)

— I find it so funny how the Puppeteering (also known as Marionette) parallels– the statue in the Elder's hall, the stunt with the Charlton Five on the platform, and this scene– were so obvious, and yet it took a solid 2 years after Wundersmith's release (right before Hollowpox was out!) for somebody to bring it up for the first time. And now everyone accepts it as basically canon lol!

— Wonder if the Wundrous Arts sign got changed to Wretched Arts before or after Squall's exile, in order for him to know about it. I have some theories on the timeline of all that that I'll share at a later date.

— I often forget and I think it's often overlooked that the Magnificub growing was Squall's doing, not just Mog's.

—— Wonder if he was stalking her that night as normal OR detected her intention and swooped in OR was there already due to the auction

— The way that Squall bows dramatically to tease Mog and then Mildmay does the same a chapter later is so funny.

“There are far greater monsters –" his eyes flashed – "and far greater dangers. Miss Crow, we have a shared enemy you could never imagine. If the Wundrous Society doesn’t take you off the leash, if you aren’t given the freedom to grow, to become the Wundersmith I need you to be … then terrible things are coming down the line. For both of us.” (Ch24)

— War in Arc 3 pleaseeee

—— It's interesting because it seems that Nevermoor/Free State has been relatively peaceful ever since restructuring… but the Wintersea Republic has had the same amount of time to build up! And now they’re looking to take the last slice of the pie…..

“There. That feeling. That fire in your heart, that spark of anger and fear. Focus on it. Feel it. The flickering, burning anger inside – THAT is Inferno.” (Ch24)

— What if each of the Arts are bolstered by an emotion? Doesn't seem so but 🤷 could be a fun AU idea perhaps

— A lot of the description of Inferno in this book– a flame or firework in Morrigan's chest– reminds me so much of Howls Moving Castle (2004) that it's on my eternal to-do list to draw.

— Between Mog's lessons in this book and Goldberry's circular breathing, I think it's interesting how much of Inferno relates to breath

—— "Breath of life" ?

—— Could relate back to music/singing, which is needed to summon Wunder

—— Do any of the other Arts (excluding Nocturne and Inferno) have any connections to breath that we know of? Or even are just aligned with a specific part of the body? If anyone has any thoughts on this, please do share!

— Anyone else like to think about the Hunt of Smoke and Shadow and the way the Hollowpox hunted? No? Just me? Okay

—— I think that Wundersmiths definitely probably have specialties– and these are based on natural affinities, NOT lineage– and Mog's is likely Inferno whereas Squall's is likely Veil

He took a deep bow, still laughing. (Ch25)

— My note for this line and the whole scene was simply, "🖕 WORST 19 YEAR OLD EVER" lol

“You saved my life tonight. I find myself in your debt." He watched her for a moment, pressing his mouth into a line. Morrigan could tell he wanted to say something more, but wasn’t sure if he should … or perhaps he couldn’t quite find the right words. Israfel breathed a deep sigh. "You’d do well not to mention that to the folks at Wunsoc. I shouldn’t be in your debt.” (Ch27)

— What does this all meannnnn

— Interesting how Jupiter mentions that he thinks Cassiel's disappearance is unconnected to all the Ghastly Market stuff

—— I've mentioned before (maybe not on here, sorry) that the timing could perhaps line up in order for Cassiel to be the Celestial that Noelle's knack is stolen from, if we want to go with that theory

— Mog saying that Squall said something funny, as in weird, yet Jupiter's first response is to ask if he said something "funny haha" is so funny to me. Why is that his first response.

— Folks have mentioned it before, but I'd love some more bonding between Mog and Lam based on the fact that they're both from the Republic

— Elder Quinn refers to Mog as "our Wundersmith" as in like, just another brother and sister in Wunsoc, but it could be interesting if that wording is ever brought up again to try to use Mog, or make her do something no one else can because of her powers, like in the days of old

And finally (about 3k words later):

— Lam is referred to as "the smallest of all of them" in terms of 919. Not to me! While I wholeheartedly believe she is certainly short, she's not the shortest for me. #ShortMogSupremacy.

#nevermoor #nevermoor reread #nevermoor theory #wundersmith #this is 3k words including the quotes so ummmm sorry lol. buckle in I guess!#if anyone has any thoughts after reading this or any theories of their own that they want to discuss: my inbox is always open!#I am insane about this series and you should be too <3 #incapable of ever writing anything that isn't exceedingly long and rambling though. and for that I am sorry.#I also feel like my reading(s) of the book(s) is often prob unintentionally biased bc it's filtered thru my own theories and headcanons #so I always love hearing what other folks have to say. esp bc sometimes folks will say stuff that have me realize that I'm wrong lol!

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pirate-deathmatch · 1 year

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Round 2 Starboard: Captain Flint (Black Sails) vs Jack Rackham (Black Sails)

Flint's an excellent strategist with years of fighting experience, some half-repressed but very potent rage, and a real knack for terrorizing colonial towns. Jack Rackham is okay with a sword, will tell you to your face that your memoir sucks, and mostly relies on his wits-- which are sometimes ill-valued-- but to be underestimated, it's an incredibly gift.

[the pirates MAY use any special skills or equipment they possess. They may NOT call on any friends or creatures to assist them. For the sake of this tournament, all pirates CAN be killed and cannot come back to life during the fight. Remember: this isn't about favorites, this is about fighting power. Deathmatch masterpost Here.]

#james flint #captain flint #black sails #jack rackham #toby stephens #toby schmitz #it's the battle of the Tobys #pirate deathmatch #fight

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esta-elavaris · 10 months

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Fallen Through Time

Part Five [3,132 words]

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Also now on AO3 (restricted to registered users only thanks to AI mining, sorry!) and FF.net.

Notes re: dubious historical authenticity at the end.

Masterpost - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - *Part Five* [you’re here!]

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @missfronkensteen @dancerinthestorm @teawithshakespeare

Port Royal was gorgeous. It was something Theo had passively acknowledged when she'd watched the movies, but she'd never really stopped to properly notice it. There was always something else going on - like Jack's arrival…or Jack being shot at…or Jack stealing a ship. He had a knack for stealing the show just as happily as he did ships, she'd give him that. But he was nowhere to be seen now, and she was left basking in the beauty of the world she'd been catapulted into without warning.

Very aware of how easy it would be to get turned around if she ventured beyond the main thoroughfares - and with no wish to get lost (because, duty or no, the only way Norrington could currently hate her more would be if he had to have his men launch a search party for her) - she stuck to the main road. Following it lazily down the hill on which the Governor's mansion was situated upon, she passed a number of large stately houses, or smoothed dirt paths leading to them, likely belonging to the senior-most of the men and good ladies residing here. Those houses and paths dotted around eventually gave way to little other than foliage.

For that stretch of the walk, she was alone with her thoughts - save for the odd passing carriage, from which the passengers inside all but hung out of the window to try and catch a glimpse of her. Word of her presence here had undoubtedly spread, and the town was so small that everybody knew everybody. Plus, she was a tall redhead swanning about - for lack of less apt phrasing - in Elizabeth's clothing. It left little doubt as to who she was.

She smelled the town before she saw it, and while it was one thing to hear that towns would not have smelled great as a passing comment in historical documentaries, it was another thing entirely to experience it. Not only was it a glaring reminder of the sort of hygiene standards (or lack thereof) held by the time, along with the lack of modern plumbing, but with the addition of the smells drifting from the butcher, the fishmonger, and even the blacksmith, it did threaten to overwhelm her. It really harmed her hard-won self-perception of not being some sort of swooning delicate flower, but she tried to chalk it up to her ordeal.

Despite her hearty protests to Elizabeth that she would be fine on this little solo expedition - which were born not only out of a desire for solitude, but out of a determination not to be the sort of guest who was permanently under foot - she had to admit, once the smells hit and the heat grew worse as midday beckoned, that she might've bitten off more than she could chew. Sweat had begun to bead steadily down her neck, and there wasn't much of a breeze so that it might cool her, and she was very aware of her pulse pounding in her skull. Without the heart to turn right away and begin walking back up the hill to make the trek back to the mansion, she turned instead for the docks and sought the refreshing air she might find there.

That was all she needed – a sit down, and some peace to think things through. She'd be right as rain after that.

***

James Norrington was caught in the midst of an annoying week. Not a bad one - after all, none of his men had died over the last few days, and nobody was aiming cannons at his head, so as far as his frame of reference was concerned, all was reasonably well. No, it was just irksome. And it did not appear to be lessening when the primary source of his vexation drifted into his peripheral vision.

At first, for a slight moment, he'd mistaken her for Elizabeth Swann. She was certainly dressed like the Governor's daughter, in a white gown that he'd once noted was very becoming on its rightful owner, her hair bundled atop her head in much the same manner Elizabeth's often was, and what must have been one of Elizabeth's hats propped atop her head. But there was no mistaking the crimson hair…nor the foolishness of her actions.

James sighed, turning his gaze back down to the papers in his hand…although he did not read them.

"Lieutenant Groves."

"Yes, sir?"

"Go and inform Miss Byrne that unless she wishes to fall into the sea a second time, she must vacate that section of the docks as swiftly as possible."

"...Miss Byrne, sir? Governor Swann's guest?"

"The very one," James nodded in her direction, and Groves quickly followed his line of sight before nodding and stepping away.

Only once he'd given him long enough to vacate the ship they'd been getting back up to scratch did James look up from the papers he'd been pretending to busy himself with. He did so reluctantly - half expecting Miss Byrne to be looking right back at him, some scheme ticking behind her eyes. But she was not. In fact, she looked rather pale even despite the tan her burns had faded into, her face drained of most of its colour as one hand clung to the post beside her, her eyes shut and her chest rising and falling in quick succession as she tried to regain her composure.

Even the most talented actress could not blanch at will. They could, however, use pre-existing ailments to their advantage. But to what end? He was fairly certain she did not know he was observing her. Something too closely related to guilt flitted through his chest as he considered the matter - the dilemma - of Theodora Byrne for the thousandth time since meeting her. Their first meeting had not gone particularly well, and although Governor Swann had met him that night to plead her case (and assure him that she had been horrified when their cultural miscommunication, as Weatherby called it, was explained to her), and James was inclined to believe that. She'd have nothing to gain from purposely offending them.

Unfortunately, that was more or less the only part of anything to do with her that he was inclined to believe.

Watching with more interest than he'd own to, he saw as Groves approached the weakened section of the dock with great care, testing the boards beneath his shoes before he stepped forth. It appeared to take a few calls before Miss Byrne came to her senses and noticed him at all. Turning, she blinked at Groves as he remained a few feet safely back, gesturing towards himself as he seemed to explain that she needed to move away. No doubt a touch more gently than James would have done so himself. That might've had something to do with why James had sent him in his stead. But it also gave him much more ample opportunity to observe than he would have if he was involved. From here, he didn't have to concern himself with whether his own façade would coax hers into locking up all while he tried to monitor her and work out what exactly it was she was up to.

She certainly seemed earnest enough as she apologised profusely to Groves – who smiled and joked away her embarrassment with artful ease…and mixed results. For though she offered a smile in return, her discomfort was betrayed in how she twisted her hands in her skirts and ducked her head as Groves continued to speak. None of it rang false to James' eye, even if he tried to make it so - which, truly, he wasn't in the habit of doing. While he saw no profit in deluding himself with heedless optimism, he also saw little benefit in finding foes where none existed. Treating a misfortunate woman who needed his help like she was a criminal, all while she dwelled in the very midst of her woes, would be just as unforgiveable as failing to see ill intent if it was there.

And yet none of that helped him unpuzzle why something about…about her simply rang false to his instincts. Yes, there was the possibility that it was nothing sinister – she'd hardly be the first woman to come to Port Royal with a secret or two – but she would be the first to do so and find herself living with the Swanns. That made all of the difference. They were good people, the very best. He had no desire to see them being taken advantage of due to that fact.

So deep in thought had he been that he found himself staring back like an idiot when Miss Byrne finally sensed his gaze on her, turning her head and pinning him beneath the weight of her sharp blue-grey eyes. His comfort at being caught unguarded was that she seemed as startled to find herself on the other end of his gaze as he did hers, her eyes widening as she faltered, and then haltingly lifted a hand in a reluctant imitation of a wave.

There was little chance of him returning it. But seeing that he'd been caught observing – and that, annoyingly, Groves seemed to be in little hurry to leave their new arrival, James sighed and turned away from the rail of the ship.

***

Theo watched with disappointment, but not a great deal of surprise, when Norrington responded to her wave by not responding to her wave at all. Not even a nod was given in response, and she watch as he sighed and turned away, walking out of sight.

"I wasn't…I was…"

God, getting used to speaking in a time-appropriate manner was doing nothing to help her not sound like a bumbling idiot. Of course, what also did not help was the fact that every time Groves spoke to her, he did so with the voice of one of her favourite video game characters – one her Inquisitor had married an unspeakable number of times in Dragon Age: Inquisition – which just added a fresh, new layer to the surreal nature of being surrounded by people who should not actually exist. No offence to them. Although she supposed around here, she was the one who shouldn't actually exist, so it was all just a matter of perspective, really. Norrington seemed to be firmly settling into that opinion, at least.

After a shocking number of false starts, and a great deal of patience from Groves, she finally collected herself and achieved the glowing feat of a full sentence.

"I was feeling out of sorts, and I thought I'd sit down and…look at the ships…"

Maybe ship-spotting had caught on in the days before trainspotting was a possibility.

"Look at the ships?" he echoed with a bemused smile "Have you family in the Navy?"

"No, no – it's just an, erm, academic interest. Although not that academic considering I don't know that much."

The smile remained on Groves' face, and she was growing increasingly relieved to find that Elizabeth wasn't the only person in Port Royal to find her weirdness endearing. Not least because she still wasn't feeling entirely right, and she might need him to catch her if she passed out.

"Well, if you've any questions I'll be happy to answer them. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I'm an expert, but I do know a thing or two about ships."

"An occupational hazard, I'd guess," she said – and he chuckled and agreed. "Don't you have to get back to your captain?"

"I was sent to remove you from the dock, and to ascertain that you were well. Forgive me, but you're still worryingly pale, so I believe my job is not yet done."

He was hardly wrong. While she was feeling better than she had, she still didn't fancy her chances at successfully completing the walk back to the Governor's mansion just yet.

"What makes the Interceptor so fast? One of the fastest in the Caribbean, right?"

"The fastest," Groves corrected proudly.

Well, he could debate Jack on that matter later. Disagreeing would only make her sound like a pirate – and Groves continued before she could do so, anyway.

"She's a brig, so she's smaller and more manoeuvrable, along with having less weight to be hauled by the sails."

"I suppose you don't need the sort of guns a man-of-war packs when you're on them before they can sneeze. Or when Captain Norrington's at the helm."

Groves chuckled, "The Captain has earned his reputation, to be sure."

"I did have another question, but I think it's going to sound daft," as daft as sitting on a structurally questionable dock in front of a whole shipload of men, she supposed. "The…the bottom bit of the ship. The panels…"

"The keel?" he guessed with that same amused smile.

"Probably," she shrugged, "It looks a bit different to the others – it's inspired by Viking longships, isn't it? Is that how it gets the speed?"

His eyebrows shot up towards his wig.

"Yes, I believe so. Very good! They did revolutionise shipbuilding, and so you'd be hard-pressed to find a ship today that doesn't benefit from their methods in some way or another, but the Interceptor…she leans a bit more into that than, say, the Dauntless."

"Heathens they might have been, but there were not entirely useless."

The unmistakeable voice of Captain James Norrington joined the fray, and the nice moment she'd been enjoying of feeling like a normal person having a normal chat was shattered in an instant. Theo felt the smile on her face become a touch more strained as she turned to greet him.

"Well, even a broken clock's right twice a day, right? Hello, Captain Norrington."

"Miss Byrne. You appear much improved."

"Give me another week and I'll be able to work out for myself why this was the one completely empty dock in the port," her smile gained a sheepish quality "I'm sorry."

"It's no matter."

"Yeah- yes, well, while I'm apologising – I misspoke last time we met."

Norrington cleared his throat, "Governor Swann offered your explanation and apology both last we spoke. Do not trouble yourself with it, madam."

"I know, but it's my apology to give and so I should be the one to give it. I didn't realise what I was implying at the time, and that wasn't what I meant by it. I'm sorry. Genuinely."

"It's no matter," he repeated, "Put it from your mind, Miss Byrne."

Well. It wasn't exactly the warm and rosy acceptance she'd been hoping for. Although warm and rosy were not things she'd come to expect from Norrington in their short acquaintance, either, so she didn't feel much of a sense of loss.

"How is it that you come to know so much about ships?"

Every the straightforward one, he asked her the question bluntly before an awkward silence could even think to settle over them. Groves, at least, appeared relieved for it – it was obvious he hadn't known quite what to do with himself as she'd made her apologies to his captain.

"From a book."

Or a TV series on Amazon Prime. Same thing, really. Kind of. In a metaphorical way.

"A book? A book that you read?"

"Only when smacking it against my forehead didn't get me anywhere."

Groves covered up a laugh with a cough, but Norrington seemed far too concerned with her scandalous book-reading to send so much as a withering glare in the direction of his lieutenant. It was almost enough to stop her from noticing the way one corner of his lips just slightly twitched upwards. One of these days she'd manage to get a smile out of him. She'd settle for a smirk.

"What was the name of this book?" he levelled the question her way like it was a challenge.

Oh god, did he think she was lying about what she read now? Sure, technically she was, but this was getting a touch ridiculous.

"It…was a series of tales and legends about Ragnar Lothbrok. I forget the author. The account of how he first found the Lindisfarne monastery is fascinating, though."

Hopefully he'd realise that if this was part of her dastardly plan to earn herself a false reputation as a Viking historian in Port Royal, she'd have made up the name of an author…but she'd thrown in an errant detail just for good measure.

"I shall have to read it," he said flatly.

God, if he ever did catch her out in some sort of scheme, he'd be bloody thrilled – because so far, he'd been blatantly pissed off every time he realised she wasn't up to something.

"Right. Well. It was nice to meet you, Lieutenant Groves," she said, smoothing her skirts and preparing to make an exit.

It was becoming clear that Norrington was reluctant to leave her here – lest she go plummeting through the dock through sheer force of stupidity.

"And you, Miss Byrne," Groves, at least, offered her a smile.

"And I'm glad I got a chance to offer you my apologies in person, Captain Norrington. Thank you for hearing me out."

His brow furrowed a little at that – she'd spoken with her eyes meeting his, hoping to show him just how sincere she was. Judging by how he faltered, he saw it. The furrow in his brow lessened, and then he finally offered her a nod and a 'have a pleasant day, Miss Byrne' that didn't even sound like a thinly veiled 'piss off'.

They remained on the dock behind her when she took her leave, and Norrington must've underestimated the scope of her hearing, for once he thought she was out of earshot, he asked Groves quietly.

"Tell me, Lieutenant, what do you make of Miss Byrne?"

"Miss Byrne, sir?"

"Yes."

"I…I suppose I found her rather charming."

The silence that evoked wad nothing short of deafening.

Notes: The ship trivia here is 90% invention based tenuous fact. If it's accurate, that's a stroke of pure luck, but it's probably not. Just a mild disclaimer. Leaning into the 'fantasy' aspect of historical fantasy here lolol.

#catch the wind #ctw #james/theodora #james and theodora #fallen through time esta-elavaris #ftt #james norrington/oc #james norrington x oc #pirates of the caribbean fanfic #pirates of the caribbean fanfiction #james norrington fanfiction #james norrington fanfic

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