#need u to paint something for me to hang up in my room like genuinely

[bratkook]

like you used to. jjk

“So kill me like you used to...”

part two.

pairing. ex boyfriend!jungkook x reader genre. angst, mentions of smut, toxic exes warnings. very toxic depictions of relationships, hints at infidelity, drunken mistakes, they’re both very toxic for each other and just can’t stay away, brief mentions of smut word count. 2.9k note. this is just a lump of angst that my mind conjured at 1am last night, i just love angst and messy relationships that are destined to fail 😌(its not edited so if u see a typo no u dont)

It always started with a phone call. 

Whether it was from you or him always changed. Sometimes he’d get the call at two in the morning, vision blurry as he brought the phone to his face and saw your name illuminated on the screen, that old goofy selfie you had together still set as your contact photo. He’d hesitate for a moment just to keep you on your toes before pressing accept, already getting up and putting pants on because he knew just what you were calling for. 

Tonight was your turn to be on the receiving end, laying in bed comfortably as you scrolled through random posts to try to help you sleep, the flash of his face fills your phone, it’s a random close up photo of his eyes staring right into the camera, crinkled up in a smile. Even though his name is changed in your contacts, no longer having the cute bunny emoji tacked to the end, you know you’ll still pick up in a heartbeat. And you do. 

The second you press accept you’re met with the familiar sound of his voice, slurred and thick as he speaks so jumbled up you would barely be able to understand him if you didn’t already know what he was saying. It was the same things he always said whenever he got like this, proclamations of love that only cut up your freshly scabbed over wounds, salt rubbing into them when he cries about how he misses you, promises to change. 

They get cut off when the phone is yanked away from his grasp, the second familiar voice belonging to his buddy Yugyeom now speaking into the receiver. “You gotta pick him up Y/N.”

The annoyance is evident in his voice, the babbling of Jungkook still heard in the background along with the dull beat of whatever place they were outside of. 

“He’s not my responsibility Yugyeom.”

He simply sighs into the phone, staring at his mess of a friend before rubbing his jaw, sore and aching from where he had just been socked after attempting to force him into an uber. “Yeah well he won’t let anyone else take him home, he’s drunk as fuck. I’ll send you the location.”

Not waiting for a response he hangs up and sends you a pin of where they’re at, thrusting the phone back into his friend’s hands before getting into that uber and leaving Jungkook alone while he whines against the dirty bar wall, crouching down onto the filthy sidewalk as the car drove off. 

Yugyeom knew you would come to his rescue like you always did, never once saying no and letting Jungkook fend for himself because on the rare occasions where you’d call him drunk and crying he’d do the same. 

Getting into the car still dressed in your pajamas, shoes thrown on without being laced up, hair still messy, it felt like routine now from how often it happened. Jungkook called you sober, text you while in a sane state of mind, but without fail at least once a month he’d get absolutely shit faced and call you, leaving you what he thought were heartfelt voicemails if by some chance you didn’t answer. 

It was the same bar every time, a bar you used to frequent with him, knowing the location and all the small side streets to get you there without needing directions. Doing this felt like such a normal part of your life it almost made you forget that you and Jungkook weren’t together anymore. It’s been a year since you split and you still find yourself thinking if things could be different. 

Would it have been best if you never confessed to each other, never admitted to the small inkling of a crush before it was able to fully blossom? It was hard not to wonder how different life would be now if you had walked away the first time things went south, if he had walked away after the first argument. 

Whenever he called you, pulled you in with those drunken promises it was easy to convince yourself that your relationship was perfect, that it was worth all of the struggles. Your brain morphed each fight, each time you cried alone, twisted it around and molded it to make it easier to consume, easier to believe you were meant to be. 

You thought you were soulmates, and maybe you were, two people destined to be together, meeting at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances. What was meant to be perfect puzzle pieces connected had slowly turned into jagged edges that no longer clicked regardless of how hard you tried to jam them together, foolishly thinking you could spill your love into the gaps to mend the spaces, making the pieces whole once more. 

Love was never enough. 

Love made you stupid, made you blind and gullible, smiling through lies to avoid arguments, going to bed angry until he was hovering over you, coaxing you into forgiveness with soft kisses and gentle touches. It always went this way, regardless of who’s fault it was without fail he’d end up slot between your legs, the only time the puzzle pieces connected perfectly, allowing him to fuck you as if he’d never see you again. Murmurs of love and adoration were passed between panting breaths, sloppy kisses, shared moans to mask the empty promises you made every time.

Staying away from each other was a hard habit to kick, the two of you stuck on an endless game of seesaw, neither of you having the guts to get off and move on. All it took was a simple drunk phone call for you to go his way, the slur of his voice as he cries into the receiver about how much he loved you, missed you, needed you next to him, wanted to try again. It reeled you in so easily, winding you up until you were hauling your sloppy ex boyfriend off the dirty floor and into your small car. 

He remembers none of this, he never did, not fully anyways. Small tidbits of words he said flash in his mind as he comes to, drool on his cheek and neck sore from the unfortunate position he had slept in, groggy and unaware of his surroundings. 

He knew your apartment too well, recognized the green wall he had helped you paint, now holding endless pictures of you and your friends. None of Jungkook anymore. 

All of those photos were gone now, not burned or shredded in some ritual to get over him, simply tucked into a box and shoved so far into your closet you hoped you would forget it. You never did of course, the way the box laid dust free made it clear how often you pulled it out and sorted through the photos whenever you had too much wine, whenever you had off days where you just felt so alone and wished you could go back to the times you had convinced yourself were better. They weren’t, you knew they weren’t once you sobered up and balanced out your emotions.

Jungkook doesn’t feel bothered that not a trace of him remained visible in your home, he knew his presence lingered in the cracks, buried so deep in the crevices of your mind he knew you would always think of him. 

He groans softly as his eyes roam the interior of your home, the throbbing in his temples making him stop and shut his lids, not needing to analyze the place he was at less than two weeks ago when you had called him over. Jungkook briefly wonders if he should sneak his way out, not used to waking up on the couch instead of in your bed right beside you, maybe he had said something last night that crossed the line and landed him on the couch as a punishment. 

As you finally emerge from your room his plan of escape is put to a stop, his eyes gravitating towards your bedroom door, seeing the way you cautiously step out. Having heard Jungkook wake up since you had already been awake for the past hour, your body not allowing you to sleep while knowing he was in the other room, it took a few minutes of courage before you were able to face him. 

Spotting him on your couch shows how much he doesn’t belong, the pinned leather jacket he wore looking so harsh against the light coloring of your furniture, his dark disheveled hair contrasting with the tidy way you organized your apartment. He senses it, the skin crawling sensation that spreads the longer you stare at him, how he felt so out of place somewhere he used to call home at one point. 

“Thank you for picking me up.” He chooses to break the silence, voice raspy, his internal self screaming at him for always doing this. His eyes are sincere, genuinely meaning it, knowing just how messy he got when he had too much to drink, how his friends could never handle him when he crossed the line and began to call for you. 

Like always his words were routine so he expects it when you huff and say, “You need better friends Jungkook.”

“I know.” Because he did, he knew his friends enabled him, riled him up and once he became too much they pushed him onto you, knowing Jungkook’s grip on you was still too strong for you to ever say no. 

“What if I hadn’t picked you up? Would they have left you on the side of the bar to fend for yourself?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, from past experiences he knows very well they would have. His friends had dealt with Jungkook crying over you far too much, their patience fully stamped out, no longer able to tolerate him when he became like this. 

Not even realizing when he begins to smile as he thought of the nights you didn’t pick up, how he had ended up in the most random locations because he refused to go home to a place you weren’t, he snaps out of it when you scoff. “It’s not funny Jungkook, you could have gotten hurt or something.”

There it was, the reason you were upset. Not because he had called you and spewed the same bullshit he always did, no that you could tolerate. You were upset, and worried, that you’d get a following call from someone stating he had injured himself while calling for you. 

“I know.”

You pause to breathe, his short responses not irking you like it should, arms crossed over your chest as you observe your ex boyfriend still sitting on the couch, looking like a scolded child. 

“You can’t call me anymore Jungkook.” How you have the nerve to say that to him is funny, acting as if ten days ago you weren’t the one doing this to him, telling him you missed him, securing your anchor around his foot and dragging him back under with you. 

This is the checklist you needed to go down, a formality of the morning after so he doesn’t mind it. Instead he frowns at the way you continue to say his name, the way it rolls off your tongue makes him wince, missing the way you’d call him Kookie, playful pet names like Bunny, something he swore he hated but secretly loved. Jungkook wished he could hear you say it again, humor you with that damned bunny eared headband he’d wear to hear you laugh, squeal as he posed and dance for whatever silly video you recorded as you shouted out the ridiculous nickname. 

The last time he heard those words spill out of your mouth had been too long ago. 

“I’m sorry.” he admits, he knew he had to stop, couldn’t continue to hold onto the past, knowing how wrong you were for each other but he wasn’t the only one. Those were the same words you told him ten days ago, apologizing with guilty eyes for asking him to come over when you were lonely, needing a familiar body to occupy the space next to you, wanting his hands to soothe you, make you feel whole again just for a night. 

Once the sun came up it was back to normal, the two of you having the repeat conversation you had every time, the exact one you were having now. A formality. Nothing more, just mindless words that you would both agree to just to move along, to make you both feel better, more secure with yourself until the next time the phone rang. 

Your heart twists in your chest as you look at him, the same toxic love you had for him brewing in your heart, spilling over and burning you but you ignore the pain, convince yourself you don’t feel it as you breathe in. That same rope latches around Jungkook’s ankle as you avert your eyes for a brief second before looking back at him with a small sigh. “Do you want breakfast? I know how you get when you have a hangover.”

He smiles for the first time, charming as always, looking up at you through the subtle waves in his hair. “I probably shouldn’t.”

You know this. He definitely shouldn’t because breakfast will turn into words exchanged, civil at first, flirty the next, a coin flipped to decide if a petty argument would begin or if you’d reminisce about the good times. Regardless of the outcome, what always followed ended with you moaning out his name as he rocked into you, those same empty promises spilling through his lips that you swallowed with a kiss. 

A brief moment of bliss, a small dose of the past that only serves to hurt you further but you crave it, loving the small rush that came with arguing, the roughness of his hands as he pushed you around before sliding home, burying his face into your neck as he broke you down all over again. 

Normally you’d try to convince him further, but as your mouth opens to protest you get flashes of the night before, how you had carried Jungkook up your flight of stairs, hearing him ramble about nonsense so slurred together you paid it no mind. You would have had him sleep in your bed beside you like you always did but when you fish his phone out and begin to slide his jacket off it buzzes to life. 

Always being nosey you type in his password, smiling when you realize it was still your old anniversary but when you unlock it and see a flood of messages from a girl named Natalie, calling him babe, asking where he was, the smile falls from your face as you start to snoop. 

It doesn’t take much scrolling through their thread of messages to easily discover she was his girlfriend, blissfully unaware that he was shit faced and calling you, confessing to his love for you while she laid at home and wondered if he was having fun with his friends. She reminded you of yourself, of the way you used to be with him and it left a sour feeling on your tongue. 

“Yeah you probably shouldn’t.” 

He stands up now, following you slowly as you approach the door, heavy boots thumping on the hardwood as he reluctantly steps closer to the exit. He doesn’t want to leave, wants you to try to convince him to stay, not knowing that you knew the dirty secret he was hiding buried in his phone. 

You don’t decide to tell him you know, it was pointless. That was just how Jungkook was wired, so much love to give he had to spread it out, give everyone a fair share of it, choosing to pretend he wasn’t being selfish. It was naive to believe it, to think all the love he held was strictly for you, it was why he was able to pull the hood over your eyes so easily. 

Even when you pull the door open and give him a tightlipped smile he knows you’ll still call him, forget all about Natalie when you’re lonely once more. So when you look him in the eyes and sigh, “Goodbye Jungkook.” He knows it’s not for long, maybe a week or so, maybe less. 

He simply smiles, stuffing his hands into his jeans as he shuffles out, turning to face you as he steps backwards. “See you later Y/N.” And his words sting in a way he doesn’t mean, knowing just how right he was. 

Jungkook would never mind how heavy the anchor you hooked on his ankle was because he knew you would forever be a sucker for him. 

As you shut the door behind you it feels like a small weight starts to hang from your shoulders, the same tug starting from your chest, guiding you into your room until you’re pulling out the cursed box and sorting through those damned photos. With stinging eyes you flip through them for a moment, focusing on all the laughs captured on film, blurry vision moving to your phone beside you, hands already itching to call him again. 

It’s as if he knows, still inside your building, lingering in the lobby to give you a moment and it doesn’t take long. Once his phone starts to vibrate he smiles, staring at the photo of you as you call him like clockwork. With a clear of his throat he answers the phone, barely saying hello before he hears a small sniffle through the speaker. 

“I miss you Kookie.” 

Jungkook lets his eyes shut as he presses the elevator button, loving the feeling of being needed by you, already knowing to head back up because this was routine. 

“I know you do baby, I’ll be right up.”

And just like that you’re once again desperately trying to make those stupid puzzle pieces fit together, hoping that maybe this time love would be enough.

#ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #heartsforbts #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts angst #jeon jungkook #new

[melo-yello]

✨Self-Care Day✨w/ 💥🪨KiriBaku HeadCanons💥🪨

Off Day

💥🪨 You’re hanging upside down on the couch in your shared apartment with a boyfriend on either side of you. Kiri’s hand in yours while Baku’s had one hand on your thigh and the other scrolling on his phone as some cartoon drones on the tv

💥🪨 This is not how you envisioned your first free weekend into the last two weeks going



💥🪨 You sigh loudly before poking out your bottom lip “Suki? Eiji? I’m bored.” you pout dramatically as you throw a hand onto your forehead before you continue “Can we do a self-care day?”

💥🪨 Baku just grunts in affirmation as he stretches before standing. Kiri just smiles “Of course, Pebble. Whatever you want.”

💥🪨 You pop up pecking both guys on the cheek as you bounce off to the kitchen with Kiri’s hand still in yours “Thanks you two are the best!I’ll make tea!!!”

💥🪨 “And don’t you forget it!” Bakugou smiles popping your soft ass as he follows behind most likely to micromanage

💥🪨 You three chat about your week not having much time outside of courses to really talk. Between studying, training, and hero work you guys just didn’t have a lot going of free time.

💥🪨Per usual you and Kiri really carry the conversation Baku only chiming in ever so often to offer up things that he hates

💥🪨 You pop up remembering one of for favorite parts of a good ole fashioned treat yo self day. The cute headbands for you and Kiri to push your hair out of your faces. You return with a pink bunny one, a brown Teddy Bear one, and a plain black headband. Baku takes the black and Kiri takes the bunny.

💥🪨 “How do I look, Peb?” Kiri smirks flexing to show his broad ass built ass frame after putting on his bunny headband. “Ridiculous.” “-ly Hawt!” You laugh correcting Baku

💥🪨 You film in absolute awe as your Manly bf’s pierce Suki’s ear with ease after the off handed joke you made sipping tea. Cue Baku voguing it up with pride and a freshly pierced ear. Bakugou is slightly leaner and a couple inches shorter but just as toned

💥🪨 “Suki, Eiji, you are too manly!” You hype your man up as you post the video to your IG story

💥🪨 It’s your turn now!! Kiri easily pierces your ears with a red stud in your right and an orange in your left. Adding a second set of holes right above your first ones

💥🪨 Next comes high quality and novelty animal face masks Bakugou buys online to compliment his vigorous skin care routine. It rivals half of the YouTube Beauty community’s

💥🪨 Niether of you have any idea of where he buys them or where he hides them for that matter. He stores them away so you guys can’t steal them when he’s not around. Bakugou allows you and Kiri to use his masks on special occasions tho

💥🪨 “Mr. and Mrs. Dumbass.” He smirks handing you a frog and Kiri a tiger. Earning him a playful jab from you and “A Thanks, Babe.” from the red head

💥🪨 You suggest nail 💅🏾 polish next and Kiri is automatically on board. “Oooooo can you make them Red, Babygirl? Because they’d be so manly!” Kiri beams bouncing up and down. Baku will only allow his middle fingers painted. “I want white with bombs or just F U. Whichever is easier for you, Teddy Bear.” Bakugou nods scrunching up his nose from behind his own red panda face mask.

💥🪨 Kirishima’s nails are a simple sparkly red that say 🤍BITE MANLY in white while Bakugou’s middle fingers are white with black bombs with an orange F U on each one respectively

💥🪨 After you peel off your masks, you and Kirishima squeal in nearly perfect sync “Oooooooooooo! Sooooo Soft! Aren’t we hawt, Bakubro! Seeeeeeeeeee!” Both of you placing his hand on your faces

💥🪨Bakugou will just roll his red eyes into the back of his head as you two wrap him in a tight embrace “I’ve told you idiots a thousand times the importance of regular skin care with quality products.” He shrugs nonchalantly even thought he loves when you two are touchie with him. He hates to admit it

💥🪨 As you begin to search you nail kit for your preferred color, Kiri grabs your hand and presses it to his cheek “Can we do yours, Pebble?” He pouts. Bakugou follows suit grabbing your other hand “Pretty please, Teddy?” He whines firmly pressing your hand to his heart.

💥🪨 You buckle so fast it’s not even funny. “Bbbbbbbut...😤😖😞fine.” You concede

💥🪨These two really know how to put on the charm. Especially if Bakugou Kasuki is calling you Teddy instead of Dumbass.

💥🪨 “Great! Y/n, pick out a show to watch before we start.” Baku barks handing you the remote. “Why?” You question snatching it and putting on Criminal Minds. Simply thrilled you were getting to pick (Typically there were mini competitions for such a privilege)

💥🪨 “You’re judging, Bighead. You can’t look til we’re done.” Kiri hums thoughtfully trying to pick a good color combination. Baku already had his colors hidden in his lap before scouting so his hip was against yours sure to obscure your view of your own hand from you.

💥🪨 “Yea, no bias. When I win it’ll because I’m the best! Isn’t that right, Shitty Hair!” The ash blonde smiles cockily at the red head across from him. “In your fucking dreams, Spark plug!” Kiri spits backs just taking all the colors and copying Bakugou’s positioning

💥🪨 “If either of you fuckers, get those polishes on my favorite jeans there’ll be hell to pay.” You warn with a sinister tone to rival even Katsuki’s and the widest smile. The boys shiver at the seriousness behind your smile. Your threat is far from empty

💥🪨 You pretty much figured your nails would probably look terrible with each of your vividly different boyfriends competing with each other. “What do you, dorks, even get for winning?” You muse leaning into Kiri’s broad ass shoulder

💥🪨 “The next date plans and solo cuddles with Teddy Bear for the rest of the night seems fair to me. Huh, Eijirou?” Baku looks up from his work with a self assured grin blowing one of your nails. Vermilion irises float from you to Kiri.

💥🪨 Knowing damn well niether of them could keep you their hands off you. “Deal.” Kiri nods without giving Baku the satisfaction of meeting his gaze.

💥🪨 “Oh and I get shitly painted nails.” You sigh rolling your eyes. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it kinda hawt when they got like this

💥🪨 “There.” Halfway through the 2nd episode Kiri says and finally caps his last polish. Blowing gently across the surface of your nails.

💥🪨 By this time Baku has placed your arm on his lower back and his head in your lap. A firm grip on your wrist so you couldn’t checkout his work until Kiri finished. Your fingers make light circles there despite being held hostage. “Bout time, slow poke.” Baku huffs releasing your arm as you brought both hands side by side.

💥🪨 They had somehow managed to pick colors that didn’t totally clash. Kiri’s hand were mix match rose gold and pink with the teeniest (not to mention even) little white hearts in the middle of each nail.

💥🪨 Baku’s hand was very simple and clean. Black French tips with one red to orange nail with a black X on top as an accent.

💥🪨 You weren’t expecting anything this good. You could barely speak. You hadn’t been this lost for words since they had asked you out. You sniffle a lil bit. Your eyes glass up a little too.

💥🪨 God your partners are so great sometimes. The fact that they genuinely gave a fuck still manages to catch you off guard at times. After so many terrible relationships, effort, in and of itself, is kinda baffling

💥🪨 “Damn Pebs, it’s not that bad if you squint.” Kiri laughs nervously squeezing your shoulders. “Woah there, Teddy Bear, I’ll get the remover.” Baku stands ruffling your curls before you grab his wrist stopping him in his tracks.

💥🪨 “Suki. Eiji. Don’t be mad but I can’t pick! You guys both did really good! Fuck! I couldn’t ask for better lovers. You assholes are so much better than I deserve!” You gush before hiding your face in your hands. A little ashamed you let your boyfriends doing something as simple as your nails make you emotional.

💥🪨 “But Baby you deserve the world.” Kirishima immediately scoops you into a bear hug as he stands spinning you with ease and peppering you in kisses. Kiri places you back down even more gently than picked you up

💥🪨 “Princess, you’re a bad bitch! Don’t you dare forget it!” The shorter ash blonde says unwaveringly lifting your chin so you’d meet his eyes. He softly bops your forehead before kissing it and both cheeks. He pulls you close right as he yanks you up to straddle his waist

💥🪨 “Eijirou, I think our Babygirl needs a reminder of who she is and who she’s with.” His already deep ruby eyes darken lustfully. With no hesitation Kiri is right behind you in seconds

💥🪨 “I know just thing to jog our Pebble’s memory, Katsuki.” He whispers licking the side of your neck just as moves to capture Katsuki’s lips with his own

💥🪨 “Promise?” You moan softly lacing fingers into Kiri’s loose kitchens and trailing a cool hand across Baku’s abdomen stopping only at his joggers waist band

💥🪨 With that the three head to the bed room for some much needed group physical therapy

#kiribaku #bakukiri #kiribaku headcanons #polyamory #kiribaku x reader #self care #self care day #y/n #poly headcanon #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro headcanons #mha kirishima #bakushima #mha bakugou #y/n x bnha #cute #soft bakugou #kirishima x bakugou #black reader #kiribaku x black reader #bakugou katsuki headcanons #fem reader #kiribaku x fem reader #kirishima eijirou

[pure-kirarin]

Slow & Steady [P2] [Sabo x f!reader] (+18)

Genre : Romance - Smut - Bestfriends to lovers General warnings : Alcohol consumption - Dark themes - Swearing - S m u t - possessiveness - Mention of ex-relationships - jealousy

A/N : This is really different from my usual writing style but I am experimenting. Please tell me your thoughts and don’t hesitate to ask to be added to the tag list :) AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/31877203?view_full_work=true

In the last chapter --  «-Enough playing now, you're going to sleep. -B-but ! This wasn't what I asked for....You're really a coward after all...You virgin... » He carried you to his room, putting you on the bed and sitting next to you. «-I'd love to prove you wrong. However, it would be better if you were in a state where you'd be able to recall how good I am. If you want me to fuck you this badly then maybe ask me when you're sober.

Part I - Part II

Part II  -Yeah yeah...Pff..You're no fun Sabo. Things were finally getting interesting ! »

He smiled seeing that you were now calmer. You started to yawn and bury your face in his pillow. He loved to see you getting so comfortable in his room. He really needed a cold shower after your little show.  -Goodnight (Y/N). I'll sleep on the couch. You can get comfortable. -Are you crazyy ? You gonna leave me alone like this ? Let's sleep together~ -Come on (Y/N), you're a big girl. You could sleep alone for one night, would you ? Translation : I don't want to spend the whole night with a semi. And you're dangerously flirty, and I have wanted you for years and now I have to abstain.

-Pleaaaase. You said looking at him with puppy eyes. He rolled his eyes placing a hand in his hair. God.damn.it.

You won again. Like every time. * * *  You opened your eyes hardly next day, feeling something hard against your thigh. You looked at the ceiling

Oh...I am not in my room...Where the fuck am I ?

you turn around only to discover the embodiment of Adonis to your side. A light beam was lighting up Sabo's face. He looked like an angel as his beauty couldn't be that of a human.

Was he always this handsome ?

You didn't know, in fact, you have never had the occasion to wake up in his bed. Wait, in his bed ? This realization came slowly as your head was still foggy from yesterday's consumption.

You looked down, the thing that was pressing against your leg was indeed :

his thing.

You frowned, blushed, pulled away, put a hand on your lips repressing an internal scream, all of this in around three seconds. You then tried to calm down, telling yourself that it was very normal for a man to experience this kind of morning unconviniences, and that Sabo was a man, after all. Even if  you have always seen him as a bestfriend, he was still a man that is capable of physical attraction.

Now that this internal monologue was done with, you felt a bit calmer, but that didn't answer your question. You got out of bed, trying to recall what happened after going in the bar. And it came back. All of it. Without any mercy for your feelings.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Your only wish was to disappear which meant : calling Nami. You headed out of the house, not even having the courage to face your bestfriend.

« Namiiiii -Uh ? What's the matter ? -I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. -Oh yeah ? Tell me about it. -Wait, why do you seem excited ? -O-oh I'm not excited. Come on tell me. What else could you have possibly done ? -I asked Sabo to fuck me. -Wait what ? You could hear Vivi ask Nami about what happened and her answering « She asked Sabo to fuck her ». -Nami ! Don't go on telling everyone about this. I'm on my way. -For starters, Vivi isn't « everyone », she's my girlfriend. And I'm here waiting for you to tell me what happened. -Wait, I'll come at your place. This can't be discussed over the phone. »

You hung up on her. Ten minutes later, you were at her place. Extremely confused. Nami was painting her nails bright red on the bed while Vivi was sitting comfortably on a chair. You let your whole body weight fall on a lounge pug, tourmented.  «-So tell me how you and Sabo ended up fucking. She emphasized the last word in a way that made you almost choke on air.  -We didn't actually. Nami and Vivi both sighed in a synchronized « Ah » of disappointment. -So hmm...I don't remember clearly. I was really drunk-- well that you're aware of and...And Sabo didn't want to leave me alone so we went to his place. Ace was at Thatch's so we were alone. We hugged and he comforted me. Then I started teasing him, and I don't know what I was thinking, but I kissed him, and then I asked him to fuck me. -Wow that escalated quickly. Said Nami as she continued painting her nails.

-Well, I was heartbroken, I needed something, someone, and he was there, and you know Sabo, he's a good guy ! I don't know what's worse, the fact that I asked him to fuck me or the fact that he said no.

-Oh god I'm so so sorry

- Nami please don't make things worse for me.

-No offense, but you're so dense. Sabo has always been into you. Do you want him, or do you not ? I know that going right into a relationship after a breakup is a bad idea. But honestly it's worth giving it a shot. He's a really good guy. Try dating someone nice for once.

-I don't know, he has something unsettling about him. Like « almost too good to be true » you know ? Added Vivi.

-Ohhh~ I see. Honestly, I always thought that he was a bit prude and hella vanilla. I mean, yes, he's my best friend. But he has never talked about girls to me or about sexual stuff. So I just assumed that. I never thought that he'd be packin' like that. You said as you popped a lollipop in your mouth.

-Ah ? Was it really that impressive ? asked Nami, genuinely curious.

-Yeah. On a scale from 0 to doflamingo he's a solid eight point seventy five. (*)

-Oh gosh. I understand why you're so worked up now.

-That's really...precise. Added Vivi, a bit horrified.

(*) [ The dear reader might need this clarification ; Doflamingo was Law's uncle, he sometimes came to pick him up after uni with his luxurious lamborghini. He wore extremely tight pants that left little to the imagination. And he was most known among your clique for having a nine incher. It was a running joke wether to know if Law got his uncle's genes. Needless to say that this joke wasn't to Law's taste. Now back to our adorable Y/N. ]

-So. I really don't know what to do. I am still heartbroken. -And horny. Added the ginger. -Yeah, that too. I'm afraid of ruining our friendship. -Listen dear, said Nami as she was closing the nail polish bottle, if you're not going for it, someone else would. And trust me, that girl Koala is upping her game. She's going to steal him right in front of your eyes, just like this - and she snapped her fingers. -Oh, and then, you can forget about being « best friends ». Said Vivi adding fuel to the fire. -Yeah, once he's gonna start dating, he won't have too much time for you-- and then, that Koala girl, my god, she seems extremely possessive ! -No way, your voice was detached, trying to act is if you weren't worried, Sabo has never dated any girl before.- -Yes but he seems to get along with that girl. And to be honest, she's kinda cute.

-Nami ! Vivi pinched her forearm playfully, pretending to be jealous.

-That hurt ! And don't be jealous, you know that you're my only one~

-Hmm...I prefer that. Vivi laughed. You started caughing reclaiming for their attention.

-Attention please ! We're discussing my dick-appointment here.

-Jesus you're really annoying, (Y/N), just go for it already.

-How much did he pay you to tell me this huh ?

-What ? He didn't pay me ! You're just always getting your heart broken. I'm just trying to be a good friend.

-Say that you are trying to get rid of her~ Jokes Vivi.

-Vivi, don't expose me like this- Nami plays along while laughing.

-I hate you girls ! You say as you throw a pillow on Nami. The ginger starts complaining that you messed her Nail polish, and the whole scene metamorphosed into a pillow fight.

* * *

You spent the whole day with the girls, chit-chatting about boys and girls and playing stupid games. You felt way more comfortable now, less ashamed. However, you were surprised because you didn't get a message from your bestfriend. You wondered wether he was mad at you, it wasn't in his habits.

You decided to message Ace [click for conversation] [ (Y/N) : Heyy amigo is Sabo ok ? Did he tell u smth abt yesterday ? Ace : Ouch, your hurting my feelings, </3 Only talking to me to ask about my brother~ Yea hes okay why tho ? (Y/N) : Ooo kay. He's home ? Ace : He is. Why don't u directly text him ? (Y/N) : Don't tell him I asked. Btw I didn't forget about those 10 bucks you « borrowed » from me. Give it back.] He didn't answer. You sighed and decided to go see Sabo to settle things down. It was the first time that you were embarrassed to see your best friend. You dressed up in a black skirt and t shirt. You didn't usually pay attention to your looks when you went to hang out at Sabo's, but you were really stressed out and what the girls have said about Koala made you scared of losing him. After all, you had some abandonment issues. You had to settle this down once and forever. You arrived at the guy's place, it was an apartment not so far from your own student flat. You knocked on the door and Ace opened : -Ohhh, (Y/N), he whistles, lookin' like a girl today huh ? -What are you implying you dumbass ? Where's Sabo ? -He's in his room with Koala.- -Wait what ? Koala ? What is she doing here ? Ace raised an eyebrow then said amused ; -I don't know, go ask him yourself. -You're useless as usual. -Always so sweet. You on your period or something ? -I didn't forget about my twenty bucks by the way. -I said I'm goin' to pay you back alright ? Now go talk to Sabo. You and Ace were always teasing each other in a brotherly way, but in reality, he really cared for you, it was just your usual way of communication. But it was true that knowing that Koala was in Sabo's room put you in a bad mood. You knocked on the door with a knot in your stomach. Did they start dating ? Was Sabo interested in her ? These ideas were torturing you. But why did you care anyways ? It was none of your business. He could date whoever he wants. You opened the door but there was only Sabo relaxing on his bed, still fully clothed. « - Sabo ?-Oh, (Y/N), what brings you here ? -Why ? Do I need a reason to see my best friend ? He sits on bed looking at you. He doesn't fail to notice your cute outfit, it was different from your usual sweatpants and hoodies, the way it complemented your figure was almost too much for him. Just that sight was driving him insane, but his face didn't betray his emotions, like always, he acted friendly, not an ounce of lust in his dark ebony eyes. You took place next to him. He smelled good, you thought. The same fresh minty smell as last time. Did he always smell this good ? -(Y/N) ?Huh ? Is everything okay ? His voice seemed concerned.He cared for you. And you had those stupid immature and posessive thoughts. Get a grip of yourself, (Y/N), you thought. -Oh yea-- wasn't Koala here ? Ace told me you were with her.

You tried so hard to act like you didn't care, but he knew you like the back of his hand. But still, he played along. -Hmm..Yes. She just left. I was going out as well. He says with a sweet smile, looking at his watch. You couldn't help but make a disappointed face. -But Sabo I wanted to - I'm really sorry (Y/N), let's talk later. He ruffles your hair and you close your eyes as he does so. You felt stressed out. What happened exactly ? You felt intimidated in his presence for the first time. You wanted him to stay and talk this out. It was a bit awkward for you now. You never thought too much. As he was going out of the room you held the fabric of his coat tight in your hand ; -Sabo- -Hum ? Need me to drop you somewhere ? -N-no. You let his sleeve go, realizing what you have just done, I'll stay a bit then go back home. Don't worry about me. -Alright then. See you later ? -Yeah. See ya. ]

You looked at Sabo go away and you followed him shortly after. Meanwhile Ace was sitting on the couch and watching some movies. You went back home and was quite tormented. It wasn't the right time to worry as you had your assignments and studies to deal with. On one hand, you didn't even have the time to think of your ex boyfriend and his cheating but on the other, you felt like you were let down by Sabo. But why ? He didn't do anything. He just found himself a new friend and a potential new girlfriend.

He didn't even talk about her, but why where you so upset by him meeting her ? After all, he had the right to date just like you always did.

A few days have passed and you didn't get the chance to talk to Sabo. Your exams were getting closer and closer and you didn't feel ready.

Usually, Sabo would help you with your assignments but you were too scared to ask. You realized how much you relied on him and how he has been always there for you.

Who were you exactly to him ?

Maybe you took him for granted.

As you were on your bed looking at the ceiling and trying to collect every drop of motivation in your system to study, you heard your phone ring. It was Sabo's ringtone ! ----- Tag list : @vemuabhi @chloe-abbacchio @mwls-garden @soanywaysistartedsimping If you wanna get tagged just ask for it :)

#one piece x reader #one piece imagines #one piece scenario #revolutionary sabo #sabo x reader #sabo x you #sabo #one piece scenarios #one piece sabo #one piece sabo x reader #nami #vivi #doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo #trafalgar law #nami x vivi #portgas ace #ace

[spencersawkward]

omg i’m so glad u have a tumblr!! ur literally my fav mgg fic author ❤️ i’m a hoe for that man can u do sleeping together for the first time with like an age gap or something spicy lmao

hi omg thank you 😊 that literally means the world to me! also thank you for requesting one of my fave things to write haha i love first-time-having-sex-together tropes. happy reading! 

summary: reader is an artist who needs some inspiration, preferably from her new boyfriend.

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, age gap, creampie, a little breeding kink, oral (male receiving), kind of Dom!Matthew vibes, dirty talk, praise kink with a hint of degradation as well (not super prominent). 

word count: 4.4k

relationship: Fem!Reader/Matthew

masterlist

I straighten up and bend backward a bit to relieve the pressure on my spine. my hair is falling out of the knot on my head and I push a stray piece behind my ear, placing the wooden paintbrush between my teeth. aside from the warm, mellifluous tones pouring from the speakers, the apartment is silent.

I've hit a creative wall, it seems. every time I've tried to paint this week, I find myself standing above a stretched canvas with nothing but a frown and crossed arms. even little details feel wrong to add; the empty space is taunting me. it doesn't help that my thoughts have been flooded with memories and fantasies of Matthew. we've been on a couple dates now, sweet outings that leave me fluttery inside. I remember the words he says, the shape of his smile and the curve of his jaw, like they've been been in my mind forever. he's elusive, however, and hasn't initiated anything sexual with me. I think he's afraid of coming on too strong. there's a considerable age gap between us, but I don't care. I want him all the time-- whenever I'm at work, or trying to paint, all I can think of is how good it would feel to have those strong, veined hands on me.

christ.

before I can lose my courage, I text him. if anything can inspire me, it's his presence. likely, he's at work and won't be able to respond or come over, but it's worth a shot.

I'm just sliding my phone into my back pocket when the response comes in. a smile spreads over my face; he'll be over in half an hour. in the meantime, I'll sweep the background with shades that remind me of him: rich, emerald greens, honeyed tones that reminisce of his eyes. he'll pop against any backdrop.

I'm bent furiously over my work when he tells me he's arrived, and my heart thuds in my chest. even after hanging out several times, the butterflies are as alive as ever. they flood my stomach while I buzz him into the building.

"hi." he greets me when I open the door, curls messy. he must have just come from work.

"hi, Matthew." I smile up at him. his gaze travels over my face, my body, taking in my appearance for a moment.

"you look lovely." he says it genuinely, despite the fact that I'm literally wearing a paint t-shirt under a pair of rummaged overalls. I forgot to fix my hair, too.

"thanks." I blush, about to turn away when he bends down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. it's the first time he's said hello that way, and part of me flushes with the knowledge that he's attracted to me right now.

"now," he looks around my apartment as I step back to let him in. "what can I help you with?"

"I have a small favor to ask." I spin the paintbrush between my index and third fingers, reaching out to take his wrist and pull him towards the couch.

"anything," he replies, then sees my setup. "is this your studio?"

"slash living room." I chuckle. Matthew sits on the soft cushions before staring up at me. I don't miss his pupils dilating as they travel over the shape of my body. instead of allowing myself get distracted, I gesture to the wet paint on my canvas. "I need you to model for me."

"like, be your muse?" he beams at the notion, incredibly pleased with himself. I like this about Matthew; although he can be self-deprecating and doesn't take himself too seriously, he appreciates my admiration.

"oh, hush." I giggle. he laughs, reclining on the couch now that he knows why I invited him over.

"how do you want me to pose, Picasso?"

"well, let me re-orient myself." I hold up a hand, grab the abandoned easel, and try to get everything set up. he never takes his eyes off me.

"why were you painting on the floor?" he asks, slightly amused. I jerk my head toward him, narrow my eyes.

"it's my process."

"no judgement." he holds up his hands in surrender. I place the canvas carefully on the easel so that he can't see my work, then gather up my paints, palette, and brushes. there's a moment of pure silence when I frown as I glance between his face and the chasm of space awaiting its representation.

"you look tired." I observe. he lets out a sound that resembles a laugh.

"I am."

"how long did you sleep last night?" I ask as I start painting, focusing on the shape and planes of his face. if I don't get the composition exactly correct, I'll have to throw the whole thing out.

"three hours." he says this like it's normal. my eyebrows shoot up.

"three hours? why?"

"I had to work on lines." he shrugs.

"don't move." I order. he suppresses a grin.

"my sincerest apologies."

"uh huh," I dip my brush into a pale skin shade that I've mixed to match his pigment. "you need to get more sleep."

we continue on like this for a while, making light conversation while I get down the basics of my portrait. I can't handle anything that requires more than a fraction of my attention while doing this, and he seems to appreciate my concentration.

that said, it's beyond difficult to focus when he stares at me like every movement is magical, something he wants to memorize. I feel pliable under his watch, a little bit like a doll. he could bend me every which way, ask me to do anything, and I would give in. and who could blame me?

my thoughts slip into darkened territories, and the hue of my cheeks must do the same, because he gets this mischievous smile on his face that I can't ignore.

"what are you thinking about?" he asks softly.

"hm?" I turn to him. "oh, nothing."

"really?" his brows lift in that intimidating, delightfully entertained way that sets my skin on fire.

"I..." I trail off, wondering if I should give into the chaos in my mind. the thoughts that slash through my psyche whenever I see the width of his shoulders, the fit of his shirt. "I should have asked you to pose nude."

Matthew blushes-- actually blushes-- when I say this, his head dropping momentarily as a grin takes over his features. when he lifts his gaze to mine again, there's a different look in his eyes.

"yeah?"

"mhmm." no taking it back now. "I think that would be too distracting, though."

"how so?" the corner of his mouth tugs up.

"you know why." I avert my attention, only once flitting back to him. his tongue darts out over his lips and he holds contact.

"say it." he dares me. the tone of it, slightly dominant, makes my stomach flip. quietly, I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I have trouble keeping my hands to myself."

we stare at each other, words finding and dying on tongues in the silence.

at this point, my painting has been somewhat abandoned. brushstrokes sit unaccompanied by actual structure, except for the general godly shape of his face, and I'm clenching the utensil between my fingers as if to channel the sexual tension elsewhere.

"is that right?" he notes my absolute stillness and stands up, walking toward me in a relaxed, confident gait. all I can do is look up at him when he stands before me. the top button of his shirt is undone, and I can see the smooth skin beneath, each of the other buttons awaiting my fingertips.

"yes." the word is messy. he runs his index finger over the shell of my ear, bends down, whispers so low that the phrase almost gets lost in the air.

"me too."

he plants a gentle kiss on my jaw, hand reaching tentatively to rest on my waist. I can feel the caution in his actions, the worry he has about pressuring me. I'm cognizant of every breath he takes, especially the hitch when I give into myself and kiss him.

his mouth is warm and soft. the tension twists and knots between our bodies, roiling in the empty space as we resist the energy still. but I don't want to resist. I know that I want this, and he seems to want it just as much.

"Matthew." I pull away, his teeth tugging gently on my bottom lip.

"what is it?" his eyes, dark, search mine. my pulse quickens beneath my skin.

"I want to be with you."

"you are with me." he chuckles lightly, glancing at my features. the full circles of my eyes, the bloom of pink spreading over my cheekbones.

"no," I shake my head. "I mean... I want to be with you."

"you want to have sex?" he asks, clarifying. I nod eagerly, though he frowns a bit. "are you sure?"

"do you not want to?" I try to keep the disappointment out of my face. maybe I misread the situation. the most we've done is make out on his couch and once in an Uber on the way back from our first date. but there's a sweet, burning sensation whenever I see him, something I want to dive into. I want him; I've wanted him since the moment we met.

"of course I want to," he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. relief loosens my chest. "I just don't want you to regret anything."

"I couldn't ever regret this." my eyes travel over his frame, over the little scar beneath his chin. he angles my face up to examine my features. there's a smirk on his face.

"then what are we waiting for?" his hands move to encircle my waist, tugging me to him like I'm something long-awaited, like he needs my weight against his. our lips meet again, my head tilting as we kiss deeply, my fingers twining in his soft hair. I'm standing on my tiptoes as I do it, and one of his hands reaches down to squeeze my ass. he grunts as my pelvis moves against the quickly-forming hard-on in his pants. I can feel it against my stomach as he ruts against me just slightly. I smirk.

"sit on the couch again." I whisper when I pull away. he's holding my face with one hand, staring into my eyes with the kind of dominance that tells me he knows exactly what to do. but I appreciate that he follows my request, pulling my hips toward him as he backs up and sinks onto the cushions. he sits, awaiting my next move. when I sink onto my knees and settle between his legs, he bites hard on his lip. I don't move at first, willing to draw out this beautiful moment when he's watching with undivided attention.

"what are you doing down there, sweetheart?" he feigns innocence when I give him my doe eyes. I run slender fingers over the erection in his pants, his quickened breath an indicator of just how needy he secretly is. I revel in it.

my free hand wraps around his upper thigh, digging my nails in slightly. he's so gorgeous, and the tension of his muscles beneath me is enough to break my resistance. I start to palm him through the fabric, torturing slowly while he runs fingers through my hair and tries not to buck up against my touch. I finally get around to undoing the button on his pants. he waits impatiently. I tug them down his legs, lingering on the waistband of his boxers. when they come down as well, another kind of knot forms in my tummy. he's perfect.

"oh my god." he throws his head back when his dick hits his stomach, the pleasure of releasing it its own sensation.

"hm?" I wonder aloud, wrapping my hand around the base and starting to slowly pump him. he raises his head to look at me.

"you're just... doing so well." he breathes. I grin at how easily I've got him; I was worried about being too shy or him being more experienced, but he's greedy for me. I love the power I have right now.

I surprise him by flattening my tongue against the underside of his cock, dragging it up over the throbbing vein and pausing at the top. I let him stare at me with my mouth hovering over him, the head resting on the tip of my tongue. he moans when I begin to kitten lick the precum that leaks out, grip tightening in my hair as it comes out of the ponytail I made earlier. the veins in his arm clench as I sink slowly onto him. my cheeks hollow. his jaw drops open, dewy skin catching the light, as I start to suck on him.

"fuck..." he trails off. I begin to bob up and down, doing tricks with my tongue and swirling around the head, savoring every single second. his desperate touch, the way he bucks his hips up involuntarily when I try to take him to the hilt, all of it causes me to moan. vibrations draw out sinful noises from him as well, those heavenly sounds that he litters with my name. my hands rest on his thighs at first, then move up to rest on the warm, taut skin of his abdomen. I crave every centimeter of his skin, his contact, especially when I can feel the rushed rise and fall of his panting. I give him full use of my throat, sliding over him and moaning with every tug of my hair. he mutters profanities, praises me, struggles to keep his eyes open just to see me peek up at him from beneath my lashes. his expression tells me he's got plans for me.

"if you don't stop, I'm gonna cum, baby." he groans, smoothly tugging me off of him. there's a slight popping sound and I settle onto my knees, staring up at him. the smile on my face is unmistakable. I love that I can do this to him. I grip his legs and pull myself up into his lap, drawing myself across him just before his erection, glancing down at it. his hands rub over the tops of my thighs, tracing over the curve of my hips and resting on my ass. I start to roll my body down, my lips finding his throat as I suck and bite. my tongue licks over his Adam's apple and he shudders, drawing me closer so that my stomach brushes his cock.

"stop teasing." he starts to undo the straps of my overalls, chuckling a bit to himself as they fall easily. I blush.

"pretty sexy." I joke. Matthew suddenly grabs my chin, holds me in place so that I look him dead in the eyes.

"you're perfect." he smiles admiringly, then toys with the hem of my t-shirt. I reach down, pull it off and toss it somewhere in the room. I'm not wearing a bra, and Matthew slides his hands up my waist, ribcage, pausing just below my tits. when I grab his fingers and place them over me, his dick twitches.

"excited?" I smirk. his fingertips seem to have a mind of their own as they begin to toy with my nipples, the pad of his thumbs teasing me. I sigh, chest pushing out towards him desperately. he holds my body like he's worried I'll crumble, but also in a way that connotes a deep longing. something spilling over.

"can I take you to the bedroom?" he asks me breathlessly, one of his hands leaving my chest to stroke his own cock. the sight makes me groan helplessly while I grip his shoulders and grind against his lap. he picks up the pace for himself. "I can't wait any longer."

I nod eagerly, gasping when he stops touching himself to pull up his pants, hoist me up into his arms, and stand, carrying me with surprising ease down the hallway of my apartment. I point him to the correct room and he laughs when we get inside.

"you're messy." he laughs, although I'm not sure if he means the scattered papers around my bedroom or the whine that issues from my throat as I reach for his clothed dick while I'm pressed to him. it's sitting against my navel and I want to see his undone expressions.

I ignore the playful comment; he lays me down gingerly on the bed, straightening up to gaze at my figure before I push the rest of the overalls down my legs and cast them off. he lets out a giggle as I pout at the work I have to put into getting naked.

"stop laughing..." I blush, smiling. but I'm giggling too. he grazes the inside of my thigh, unable to keep from touching me while I discard my panties.

"I'm sorry." he laughs in a way that shows he isn't sorry at all, but the soft kiss he plants on my lips tells me it's all endearing to him. I wrinkle my nose slightly. for the first time being naked around him, I feel surprisingly comfortable. he watches me with a quiet adoration, like I've spun sugar and gold between my fingers. unable to contain myself anymore, I grab fistfuls of his shirt and undo the rest of the buttons. every second that his skin isn't against mine is a new kind of torture. it comes off easily and then the pants come off, too, until we're just staring at each other.

"do you still wanna do this?" he speaks carefully with me. I don't know where to look-- at his perfect chest, stomach, the purplish bruises already forming across his throat, or his enraptured face. it's almost overwhelming, and the waves of desire crash over me, hindering my words.

"yes," I nod. "yes, yes, yes." the word keeps falling from my lips even as he crawls on top of me, burying his nose into my collarbone and kissing feverishly. one hand supports his arm beside my head while the other reaches down to part my legs. I sigh at the cool air that's interrupted by his dick rubbing over my folds. he starts to grind down, drawing out every second of foreplay while I try to catch my breath. my eyes tilt to the ceiling, fluttering shut. I bask in every sensation. his warmth, his weight, all of it presses down.

"do we need a condom?" he asks softly, his cock throbbing against my center.

"birth control." I shake my head. he nods against my skin, allows me to tangle my fingers in his curls. "I'm clean."

"me too." I reply. he grabs my hip and yanks it towards him, pulling his chest away to straighten while he lines himself up at my entrance. he's concentrating on the place where our bodies meet, eyes full of lust when they peek up at mine.

"tell me if you need me to stop." he says softly.

"okay." I can't think of anything else. every cell of my existence is consumed with thoughts of impatience, and when he slides into me, my thighs tense and my mouth drops open.

"Matthew... oh my god." my voice is more like a mewl, in shock as my walls squeeze around him like they're trying to reject the sudden pressure between my legs. his jaw clenches, sinking into me until he reaches about halfway.

he lets out a surprising groan, leans down to kiss my shoulder as he finds a sweet spot. our chests are pressed together and, judging by the way he wraps an arm around my waist and lifts my torso to his, he likes the feeling.

we stay there a moment, him trying not to hurt me. but then I lift my pelvis up, trying to take more, and he inhales sharply.

"do something," I beg him quietly. "please."

I feel his lips curl into a smile and he pulls his face up to see my expressions. his hips push forward, my body sliding up the bed with the force. he watches my eyes roll back, my ribcage expand, my face overcome by pleasure. his gaze is unrelenting with lips slightly parted as he begins to thrust in and out of me.

I'm already a panting, moaning mess beneath him. he touches his nose to mine, swallowing each other's breaths while he moves.

"is this how you want it, baby?" he smirks, getting lost in his own lust. I nod and he gently turns my face to his. "tell me what you want."

"more." I sigh, hips again raising to meet the thrusts that are growing more forceful each time. my nails drag up his back, the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair and tugging at the ends. he sinks his teeth into my neck lightly and moans. I wrap my legs around his torso.

"such a pretty girl..." he growls in my ear. his grip on the sheets tightens when I clench myself around him, drawing him impossibly closer to my core. I can't help the helpless moans spilling out of me. I'm insatiable right now, scratching at his shoulders until I'm sure I'll leave red marks. he groans lasciviously at the clawing, ramming into me with an unrelenting voracity.

"oh my god," I yelp, back arching as he hits my g-spot. "right there, Matthew." my pleas fall on receptive ears: he holds me tighter to his chest and pounds into me.

"you like getting fucked by older men?" he whispers dirty things in my ear and I nod quickly, hardly able to speak through the ungodly sounds escaping my mouth. I cling to him and he lets me, treating every limb like it belongs to him.

"yes-- fuck, yes." I moan, almost sliding out of his grip from how hard he goes.

"you can take it," he breathes out, fingertips digging into my ribs while he holds me up. he's leaving marks that won't go away for a while, remnants of the full power of his desire. I want more, writhing and using my limited mobility to grind against him. he chuckles darkly over my skin. "look at you."

"Matthew, I'm gonna--" I gasp when he slams into me particularly hard. "I'm gonna cum."

"good." he shudders slightly, that attitude showing again. he reaches his hand up a moment to run through my hair. "cum on me, princess."

my lips part and I try to gulp down air, but it's impossible with the way he's holding my attention. the thing about Matthew is that he's so sweet and gentle that whenever he looks at me like I'm a plaything, it shocks my insides. they turn to jelly, eager to please and quick to satisfy. he switches so easily with me, and he doesn't even need to request my submission. I give it more than willingly.

"fuck me..." I pant out, feeling my pussy start to clench over and over around him. my orgasm fuzzies the edges of my vision, creeping up my spine until it's arched. "oh fuck-- Matthew!" I practically scream while my frame gives out. I'm shuddering, crying out at the absolute euphoria wracking my body.

"scream my name, baby." he groans, his own orgasms approaching quickly. the fluttering of my cunt around him is causing the vein in his forehead to throb. he rocks into me, the headboard knocking into the wall while he nears the edge. "such a good girl for me."

I nod and meet his thrusts with my hips while I ride out my orgasm, inadvertently finding myself wound up again. the pleasure of his fingers when they reach between our bodies to rub my clit causes me to buck into him, whining mercifully while he gets me off again.

"oh--" he sucks in a breath when I squeeze, keeping him here with me. "you feel so good."

he starts to lose control, hips juddering to get as deep as he can get.

"can I fill you up, baby?"

"yes." I reply immediately. he smiles a little, lifting me up more so that he can hold me under my ass while he pounds into me so deeply, I can feel his dick brushing my cervix.

"oh my god," he moans, the sound desperate as I feel him twitch and spill inside of me. he keeps pushing as though to keep his cum within me, panting over my skin. "such a tight little cunt."  

the circles on my clit, combined with the sinful things he continues to say, cause me to whimper and climax all over again. I moan his name, absorbed in the warmth of his seed in my stomach.

"you want more?" he slows his thrusts but pleasures me through my orgasm while I nod helplessly.

"I'll cum in you again tonight." he promises, taking my shaking, weak form as a sign to withdraw. both of us wince at the sensitivity until he lays me back down on the bed so gently, it makes me question if what we just did was real.

neither of us speaks for a moment, trying to regain our composure as he rolls down onto the mattress beside me. I stare up at the ceiling, feeling him drip between my thighs.

"that was..." he turns his head to gauge my reaction. I don't even bother to hide the satisfied grin on my face.

"amazing."

"yeah?" he rolls over onto his side and places one large hand on my stomach. his touch makes me bloom.

"mhmm." I hum. his face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, a beautiful sight that makes me want to kiss him all over again. I didn't know it was possible to feel this way for someone so quickly.

"can I get you anything?" he smiles. I don't say anything at first, only reach out to cup his face in my hands and pull him to me for a chaste peck.

"no, thank you." I rub my nose with his. "I'm gonna take a shower and make something to eat if you want to join me."

"definitely." he examines my features once more as if to assess damage. but there's only pure joy painted across my face. "are you sure I didn't go too hard on you?"

"you can go harder tonight." I tease.

"what about your painting?" he suddenly recalls the project lying in the living room.

"rain check." I shrug. he laughs, wraps an arm around my waist.

"alright, then."

#matthew gray gubler #mgg #criminal minds #smut #mgg smut #one shot #first time #artist #spencer reid

[satoruvt]

for a moment i forget to worry

pairing → xu minghao x reader

word count → 3196

genre → fluff + angst, college au ↳ tags: strangers to friends to lovers </3, college kinda sux, ROOMMATE CHAN MAKES AN APPEARANCE OR TWO, dance major minghao, reader is completely lost but its ok who isnt, lots of cute couple stuff, pov ur entire relationship with minghao. thats it, a sad break up scene, a solid amount of crying

summary → there’s something about minghao. maybe it’s the way he dances, vibrant and youthful, or maybe it’s the way he loves you. based off of hunger by florence + the machine.

warnings → i hint at sex but its pretty vague, i also mention a breakdown type deal (revolving around school/life after school)

a/n → first of all this was NOT supposed to be 3k words i dont know how it happened. second of all i’m only kind of happy with this HAHA i feel like the story itself isnt bad but i wanted it to match the song more ... idk :/ i hope u guys like it regardless !!!

pieces of you masterlist

The first time you see him is by accident.

Really - all you’re doing is trying to find Chan. You’re passing by the practice rooms, looking into them in hope he’ll be there, stopping to gaze at decorations and medals and trophies lined up on the walls. It’s when you approach a room that music plays from that you think you’ve found Chan, but when you gaze in, it’s definitely not him.

You don’t know who it is, but he moves like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

It’s hypnotizing, almost makes you want to drop your things and dance with him. There’s a sense of youth that comes from him and it’s almost overwhelming - but it’s not in energy, necessarily, but rather from the precision of his movements, the technicalities that he seems to both follow and break at the same time. Something vibrant seeps out between the seams of his body, colors you can barely recognize as they splash against anything they can reach. It’s almost tangible. 

You watch him long enough for him to finish his performance (an unknowing one) with the last notes of a song you forgot was even playing. His eyes meet with yours, slow as he completes an eloquent turn, and at the same time, a hand meets your shoulder.

A small wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you turn towards whoever touched you, effectively breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” Chan asks, hair still wet from what you assume was a shower.

“Looking for you,” you tell him, following as he starts to walk towards the exit. “I wanted lunch, and you owe me for that time I took your British literature quiz for you.”

Chan groans but agrees to pay, and you laugh, though the world seems a little paler than it did a few moments ago.

The second time you see him is by chance.

(Maybe.)

You’re waiting for a lecture to start, tapping your fingers against your laptop idly as you watch students trickle in last minute. It’s not a strict course, but it does start at nine in the morning, and most everyone shows up with a coffee.

You look down to brush a stray hair off of your table, and when you look up again, the dancer from before walks through the door, then looks right at you.

You feel a blush heat your face and it’s like he wants to make sure that you know that he knows, because he almost refuses to look away. You break eye contact first (like the last time, you remember for no reason) but still watch as his figure moves up the stairs, past the rows, and you hope he’ll just move past you too…

He doesn’t. He takes the empty seat right next to yours, and you don’t say anything, instead finding the peeling sticker on your laptop incredibly interesting. The professor comes in and decides that today he’ll take extra long to set everything up, apparently, and you want to scream.

“So,” the dancer says, voice quiet. It takes your breath away, the way he sounds. “Mind if I ask why you were watching me the other day?”

You cast a glance at him - not too long, you don’t think you could handle more than five seconds tops - and finally open your laptop so it makes you look busy. “I was waiting for a friend.”

“And?”

The smile in his voice is palpable. You’re already exasperated.

“You…” you start, finally deciding to look at him as some sort of subconscious power move. “You’re a beautiful dancer. It was hard not to watch.”

Beautiful doesn’t even cover half of it, but you figure he already thinks you’re weird for watching him, so you hold back the thoughts of youth and vibrancy and color. The dancer looks at you, almost blank for a moment, before a soft smile draws itself on his face. It makes your heart beat a little faster. He says “thank you” with a gentle tone, sincerely felt.

The class starts, and the two of you don’t speak throughout the next hour and a half. You type out notes on your laptop and you see him write down names of the paintings being shown on the projector, little thoughts and notes written afterwards.

By the end of class, your professor assigns an optional partnered project, and you’re more than prepared to head back to your apartment and start on it yourself. The dancer stops you before you leave, however, asks if you’d like to be his partner.

(And he says it like that, would you like to be my partner, polite and somehow sweet.)

You know your answer. “I don’t even know your name,” you stall, standing from your chair. 

“Minghao,” he tells you. “I’m Minghao, and I’d like for you to be my partner.”

You say yes easily, put your number into his contacts even easier. The sky is blue when you leave the lecture hall, trees dotted with pink and purple flowers, and it is all so bright that you forget it wasn’t this way in the first place.

The third time you see him is for school.

Underneath the excitement of giving Minghao your number, there is the knowledge that it’s for the sake of an assignment. He texts you the day after to ask if you’re free to meet up to work and you tell him sure.

(Sure is what you send back, but he doesn’t have to know that you burst into Chan’s room immediately after, plunging face first into his bed just to scream into his pillows. Chan had sighed, turned around in his desk chair to look at you, then asked what happened. He gave you two minutes to rant and then kicked you out, back to your own room.)

You and Minghao agreed to meet at the library on a day that neither of you had any afternoon classes, and you get there early, spend some time working on other classes. You have somewhere around thirty minutes to freak out to yourself before you see Minghao come in, dressed like he knows what he’s doing to you (which is really just a hoodie and jeans, but you think it’s the cap that really pulls the whole boyfriend look together), smiling when he finds you at a table in the corner.

“How are you?” is the first thing he says when he sits down, and you pull down your laptop screen a little to see him better.

“I’m good,” you say, feeling your heart pound. “What about you?”

Minghao sends you a kind smile. “Really good. Should we get started?”

You lose count of how many times you see him after that.

Meeting up to work on the project soon becomes just meeting up, and after the project’s done and turned in, it happens even more. You hang out and get lunch, send each other texts and stupid videos, take walks around campus together. The weeks pass, summer mellows into fall, then into the early days of winter. You develop a genuine friendship with him, finding comfort in his presence, looking for him wherever you go. 

(Although the crush is still there, potent and patient, stubborn in a way you’ve never experienced before. You wonder if it’s a sign of some sort.)

You’re in one of the practice rooms with him, sitting in the corner. You had a class nearby and he’d wanted to practice a little more, so you told him you’d work on your own stuff while he finished up and then the two of you could grab something to eat.

But you made a small error on your part - the dancing. You’d forgotten the way he moves (you haven’t seen him dance since that first time) and in no time at all you’re letting your screen go dark in front of you and watching him. Honestly, it’s not your fault, you really can’t help it. 

But of course he notices.

Minghao meets your eyes through the mirror and raises his eyebrows at you, and all you can do is look away, desperately try to get your laptop up and running again so at least it seems like you weren’t watching him for too long.

“You’re staring,” he says, long after you’ve looked away.

“Sorry,” you tell him anyways, immediate, quick. 

Then he says, “I never said anything about stopping.”

In a second, you look up from your laptop and up at him. He moves closer, crouches in front of you. His eyes are kind - they’re never not - but you think you see something a little more in them. “Sorry, I think I missed that last part,” you respond, blinking. Minghao smiles like you’re endearing.

“I said I want you to keep looking at me.”

You think you’re barely breathing when he shuts your laptop for you, slides it off of your lap and onto the floor (gently, with care, and it’s a wonder to you how he can focus on that right now). He practically crawls over you, one of his hands eventually reaching the junction of your jaw and neck and holding there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay,” he says, but doesn’t move. You nod as soon as his words reach your brain, eager and quick.

And the next few hours get a little wound up in your head, a little mixed in with the feeling of his body - that moves so youthfully, with so much vibrancy that it reaches everything around you - melting into yours and the sound of him asking you to tell me what you need, honey, and the still-playing slow jam music he was practicing to.

You watch him sleep next to you, hand curled around yours against his pillows, and think that nothing bad could ever touch him.

The two of you… come together, after that.

Neither you nor Minghao use any proper labels, but you both seem to know. No labels are needed, really. You have each other and that’s all there is to it. And everything is really good.

You work together and laugh together like you’ve always known each other. He tries to teach you to dance with him when you’re in the practice room with him, pulls you up by your hands and guides you through your giggles. He was the first person you called when you realized that you had no idea what you were working towards, didn’t have a clue what you actually wanted to do with your life. He gets along well with your friends and you text his because they’re basically yours, now, too.

Winter turns back into spring, slow and easy. Vibrant and youthful. You’re not able to meet Minghao’s parents, but he meets yours (and you’re sure a quick introduction to his mom over a FaceTime call has to count for something). The two of you take advantage of the newfound warmth of the season and try to get out as much as you’re able to, with picnics and city dates and anything you can think of. A drawer in his dresser is reserved for your things, you bought an extra toothbrush for him to use when he stays over.

You watch him dance. It still feels like the first time, like color and breathlessness. You tell him he’s beautiful every time, feel yourself fall a little deeper when he still gets bashful amidst his comedown. You tell him you love him for the first time after he gets done with a performance - a proper one, for a showcase of the dance club he’s in. He says it back.

You think he put all the stars in the sky just for the two of you to gaze at them together.

Things shift the beginning of your junior year.

Minghao tells you about a program he’s applying to, a proper dance academy in New York that could really kickstart his career. Training under some of the best choreographers and performers in the world.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him after he tells you, and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. You’re studying at his apartment tonight.

“It’s just…” he frowns. “It’s so far away, you know?”

Oh. You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in the excitement of him being able to apply at all. A quick sigh leaves your lips, and then you reach for his hand, hold it between both of your own.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, though now that you’re thinking about it, you feel nervousness in the pit of your stomach. “We can work something out, though, when we get that far. We’ll figure it out.”

Minghao nods, a fond look in his eyes. He pulls one of your hands to his lips. “We’ll think about it if I even get accepted,” he says.

It’s bittersweet, but a promise nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes after you get a call from Minghao, there’s a knock on your door. 

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re worried, but, well. Everyone’s experienced the jump of anxiety when they get hit with the “I want to talk to you about something” line. Nonetheless, you stand from the couch to open the door, mentally preparing yourself for any and everything. 

“Hey,” you greet when you see Minghao, opening the door to let him in. His face is unreadable. “Everything okay?”

He walks a few steps into your apartment, waits for you to close the door before turning back around to face you. Then he holds up a piece of paper, the creases from where it was folded still bending. You send him a confused look.

“I got in,” he says, a grin breaking on his face, and you blink, then feel your jaw practically hit the floor. Minghao only nods like he understands, and before you know what you’re doing, you launch yourself at him, holding him close.

“Oh my god, Hao, that’s amazing,” you say into his sweater, then step back to get a proper look at him. Youthful, vibrant. “I’m so proud of you.”

He seems to soften at your words, pulls you back into him again with a gentle kiss to your head. “Thank you for believing in me,” he tells you, tenderness palpable in his voice. All you can do is squeeze him tighter.

Minghao spends a lot of time away from you after that.

You’re not really hurt in any way - even though he got into the academy in New York, he still has to practice. You get it, this is important. He doesn’t text you as often, isn’t able to stop by as much, and you miss him, but you know how much this means for him. But it gets… weird, almost, after a while. Strange, even for him. It feels weird that he’s set to leave at the end of January and it’s December and he’s distant.

Both of you are laying in your bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, when you decide to bring it up. “You’ve been… kinda far away lately,” you start, nudging him with your shoulder gently. “Everything okay?”

His eyes stay on your ceiling, but you feel the way he sighs. “It’s about the program,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And about… you and me.”

Oh. That doesn’t… sound the best. “About, like… what we’re gonna do?”

Minghao nods.

You say, “I wouldn’t mind visiting every so often. It’d be hard, but I’m sure we could find something to work.”

Minghao shakes his head, says, “no.”

You pause, and when you look at him he’s already looking at you. What does he mean by no? Does he want you to move with him? Or does he -

He reaches for your hand and you think oh.

His eyes are a little glassy. You feel the tears come, too.

“Oh,” you say out loud. Minghao squeezes your hand. “So this is… this is it?”

Your room is suddenly cold, and you want to crawl under the covers and stay there. The person in front of you is blurred into something unrecognizable, but you can’t be bothered to blink away your tears.

“I think so, love,” he whispers back to you. “I think it has to be.”

The two of you cry like that for a while. In your bed, loosely intertwined and broken. Even the way Minghao cries carries a kind of vibrancy that’s overwhelming, makes you think of the first time you saw him so long ago, and now -

When you manage to get a better grip on yourself, you ask him if you can still see him off at the airport. He says, “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Then you ask if you can kiss him again. He responds by kissing you first. 

And it’s sad, it tastes like salt and sorrow and you feel like the promises you never got the chance to make are broken. It feels like the most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen, and you know it’s only a branch of Minghao’s color.

He leaves soon after that, pulls on his shoes and his coat and turns around at the door to give you a tired smile. After he’s gone, you drag yourself to Chan’s bedroom, and once he sees the state you’re in, he offers up one side of his bed. Neither of you say anything, but the friendly reassurance of his hand in yours says enough.

You don’t fail to notice that everything seems to be washed out, a blandness you’re not used to.

The last time you see him is at the airport.

It’s a cold day, despite being sunny. The airport offers little warmth, but you figure it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here for long. 

It doesn’t take you very long to find Minghao - you still look for him wherever you go, even if you’re not looking for him. Even then, it’s still so easy for you to find him, to pinpoint that vibrancy, that youth. He’s talking to a few others, you think you met them. Soonyoung and Jun.

Minghao meets your eyes and you freeze, but then he waves you over with a gentle smile. You follow like you think you always will. 

You greet Soonyoung and Jun and the four of you talk, albeit a little awkwardly, even when Soonyoung tries his hardest to lighten the mood. Eventually he has to leave, and Jun follows with a shy goodbye. They both hug Minghao before they go.

You’re not sure what to say, but after a minute, you find words. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you tell him, a little selfishly. 

Minghao says, “you’ll do good. I know you will. I’m not worried about you.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and you think he’ll give you a stiff and sad goodbye, but he steps a little closer to you. Looks at you the way he used to.

“Maybe…” he starts, then pauses. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

Maybe, you think. Maybe.

“I hope so,” you tell him, then watch as he leaves.

#caratwritersclub #kdiner #kpopscape #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagine #seventeen imagine #the8 x reader #the8 imagine #svt the8 x reader #seventeen the8 x reader #svt the8 imagine #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao imagine #svt minghao x reader #seventeen minghao x reader #minghao x reader #minghao imagine #pieces of you

[artmunstudios]

What's 2 similarities & 2 differences U have noticed between Ozpin & Oscar?

Aaahh I was wondering if you were going to ask me! I’ve been seeing you around asking this question and the answers have all been interesting! So I’ll take on a response that people aren’t taking on then, yes? This will be a long post, so if anyone is interested in reading past the first analysis just click the ‘read more’!

Their Origins

Ozpin is at the core based off of two characters. One of those characters, Oscar is also connected to. There are obviously more characters and whatnot they reference, but for the sake of simplicity, I will only be addressing their clear initial inspiration. Ozpin is based off of The Wizard of Oz, also known as Professor Oz primarily in the Oz Book Series; but his full name is Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, which he abbreviated to Ozpin Head. (Thank you @immortal-green-snom for this tidbit!!!) In the book series, after he had left in the air balloon in an attempt to help Dorothy get home, Professor Oz was revealed to have done a lot of slimy and heinous things to keep the throne of the Emerald City, and by extension, the Land of Oz itself. While he does get better in the latter books he reappears in, he was portrayed as being manipulative, a bit pathetic, but extremely intelligent and a master of illusions. I wouldn't be surprised if the writers of RWBY were trying to get that across in Ozpin's traits, but to be quite honest, they kinda failed at making him even a morally grey character, as a lot (not all, he isn't guitless, but again, a lot) of the arguments used in-show, and the FNDM itself, are all about things that were either not in his control, or something that was painted as being his fault/harmful, but was actually the opposite of the situation. The biggest example of this is Raven trying to trick Yang and Weiss into believing Ozpin had forced her and Qrow to become birds/have the ability to do so. In a lot of ways, Ozpin and Professor Oz are actually opposites of one another in terms of personalities, which may have in actuality been the overall intention CRWBY had, but we can only speculate. Professor Oz is extremely selfish, while Ozpin is selfless, even to a point where it actually becomes harmful to others. Professor Oz would have done anything to be in power, while Ozpin has done everything to relinquish himself of a position of power, which I find very interesting. This may be due to him even trying to somehow relinquish the burden the God of Light has placed on Oz as a whole, but is ultimately unable to give up that specific task. Even though, truthfully, he needed to relinquish that particular stronghold all along. Professor Oz is clearly a leader, and despite his negative traits, is actually a very good one. Ozpin...as much as I love him as a character, is not the greatest leader. He is, however, an excellent advisor/second-in-command. Professor Oz is only a mere mortal man pretending to be something more, while Ozpin is something bigger than a mortal man, but is pretending to be nothing but a man. Expanding upon this, they also are desperate to be the opposite of what they are. Professor Oz wants to be what he portrayed himself as, and for Ozpin, it's very much the same situation. There is a lot more I could say, but let's move on to Oscar!

Oscar Pine, like Ozpin, is based off of two characters at the core. Again, it is likely that he represents more than two, but for the sake of simplicity, let's discuss only the two. From the moment I saw Oscar, I knew right away that he was based off of my favorite character from the Oz Book Series...Tip. Tip, short for Tippetarius, was too a farmboy who longed for much more, who knew that there was more out there, despite being notably content in their lifestyle. The only difference was that Tip was a slave to an evil witch, but he escapes her in the second chapter with a companion. He is described as being just like any boy; rugged, mischievous, playful, and a lover of all things fun while still being quite shrewd. Unlike Ozpin and Professor Oz, Tip and Oscar are, in fact, extremely alike. Even down to their colors and appearance. Despite how Tip is colored, he actually has light brown skin (though considering the time period, we all know why this fact was dismissed), and black hair. And his treasured beanie cap was green and orange. His clothes also had a primary color scheme of brown, and were dirty due to the work he had done on the farm. Oscar and Tip have the exact same personalities, which was what affirmed to me that Oscar was meant to be his primary parallel. What got me the most was their sarcasm. Tip is still the most sarcastic and genuinely street-smart protagonists in the Oz Books. Not to say there were no other protags like that, but there was something to be said about how Tip was one of the few protagonists to actually act as a leader in the traveling group. Just like Oscar, Tip is also quite emotional, and they both have a sharp temper that they express not in loud outbursts, but by quips that you know could be quite hurtful if they wanted them to be. However, between the two, Tip is the loudest, should you put them in the same room. However, I suspect that as time goes on, Oscar might start becoming quite vocal when he doesn't like something, as I've noticed that the more he develops, the more he acts like Tip. Their behaviors are similar as well; when something personal is going on between two parties who clearly knew each other before him, both Oscar and Tip have a tendency to hang back and simply let the moment play out. They both start out as being sort of bystanders, just going with the flow while occassionally giving very good advice/strategies, but they start to become more of a leader as time goes on. In fact, leadership seems to be in their blood. There is actually a reason for this.

Ozma of Oz

There is a single thread that connects both Oscar and Ozpin, and that is the second primary character they represent. That character is the infamous Princess/Queen Ozma of Oz. Ozma, in many ways, is a lot like both Ozpin and Oscar; and may be the kind of person they become once the merging is complete. She is shrewd, but gentle. Sarcastic and blunt, but very elegant and fun-loving. They have a particular grace in how they handle their politics, but she admittedly gets into more trouble than rulers of kingdoms should. She is, ultimately, the perfect archetype of a ruler. And had completely reformed The Emerald City to be an environment that is very much like Vale's open-mindedness, with the advanced technology and efficiency of Atlas. Ozma, in the books, was actually revealed to be Tip; or rather, Tip was Ozma. After being transformed into a boy as a baby by a witch under Professor Oz's command, they were whisked away by said witch, and had been working under that witch until they had escaped as a young boy. Many speculate that Ozma was meant to represent the transgender community, and I know many transgenders see Ozma as an icon. Frank Baum was the type of guy that wrote things that were ahead of his time, and seen as very controversial by the few who could actually read the metaphors planned out. It was even implied in the later books that Ozma and Dorothy get married, and there were many illustrations made from the original novel illustrators of Ozma and Dorothy looking like a couple. What's even greater is that despite the change of gender from Tip to Ozma, she still very much contains her boyish traits despite the frills and queenly garb. As stated in one of the last lines in the second Oz Book;

"I hope none of you will care for me less than you did before. I am still the same Tip you know..."

When I realized Oscar was Tip, I knew Ozma was going to be put into the equation. I just,,,, wasn't expecting..... t h a t.

Oscar and Ozpin

Time to actually answer the question I was asked JSDJFDKDFKFK--

Oscar and Ozpin are different in one particular way: Trust. Ozpin trusts nobody. Truthfully, he doesn't even trust himself, I don't think, and that is likely why he didn't have much of a plan these days. He doesn't trust himself to be competent enough to complete the task assigned to him, he doesn't trust humanity to pass, hell, I don't think he even trusts the Gods to be capable of taking care of humanity considering the shit job they did in the past, and how poorly they have handled Ozma and Salem. In simple terms, Ozpin trusts too little. Oscar, on the other hand, trusts...a little too much. There, I said it. And I'm willing to say it again. Oscar trusts too much. Whether or not that will change after the end of V7 and what happened in V8 is left for debate. Oscar seems almost incapable of seeing the downside in some situations, like, for example, confronting a General who has completely gone off the deep end, unarmed and alone. And he trusted a man who needlessly beat the shit out of him for something that nobody, not even Salem, were truly at fault for. And while that trust paid off, unlike how it did in the past, it is a bit of an alarming trait that I genuinely think will simmer down either after all that happened in V8, or it will eventually when that trust truly bites him in the ass.

Another polarization between Oscar and Ozpin: faith. This ties in a little bit with the trust theme, but there is enough to talk about on its own. While Ozpin does believe that humanity is overall good, I think he has lost faith in their capability to work together long enough for there to be any sort of permanent peace. And, admittedly, he isn't wrong to think that. I think you would have to be very foolish if you genuinely think there will ever be a point where humanity will stop fighting amongst themselves; in other words, Ozpin is fully aware that the God of Light's task is genuinely impossible. And honestly? I think the GoL knows it is, too. Oscar has faith as well, but he views the dire circumstance in a different way that may be the key to solve the seemingly unending puzzle of Salem and their task. He gets faith in humanity not through the overall picture, but in the smallest things. Oscar likely believes that it doesn't matter if all of humanity is united, because he too knows that will never happen. But, he is certain that there is a lot more power in the smallest of unions and actions; a racist woman reforming and helping to comfort a faunaus child. A woman who helped a group of people tear down a kingdom realize the fault of their actions, and try to save another kingdom's people. A man who, while being genuinely wise, was so blinded by rage that he could not see past his own nose, change in order to save what little good has sprouted from something so terrible that he helped sow. The little things matter so much more, and unlike Ozpin, he doesn't think that they need to grow any further than that.

So, what makes them similar? Two distinct things. They both are very personal. Even if it is in different forms of expressing, Oscar and Ozpin are quite personal, especially when it comes to their advice. But they also really feel for the person they are talking to. And while Ozpin felt Hazel was too far gone, he felt for him and understood and even agreed with his anger. Their empathy is truly something else; and it is also their weakest point. Not to say that having empathy is bad, but their empathy leads into another trait that they have in common... They let people walk all over them. All. The. Time. To a point where it is actually very frustrating, and it even hinders their development as characters. Ozpin let Ironwood walk all over him, and never spoke in defense for himself. Ozpin let the council walk all over him, and never defended himself. Ozpin allowed for so much of the blame to be placed on his own shoulders, that it is extremely unhealthy, and something I wish the show would address, but have come to accept that it won't. Especially when this trait is reflected in Oscar as well. He blamed himself for failing to convince Ironwood, he allowed for Jaune to verbally and physically attack him, and outright refused to let Jaune apologize. They both brush off their wellbeing so often, that watching Oscar do the same only confirms to me the suspicions I had as to why everyone was genuinely so blind to figure out what was going on in their heads and when they were struggling. Because both Oscar and Ozpin refuse to acknowledge their own struggles and shortcomings.

But, to be frank, that is more of a writing issue than a character reflection, in my personal opinion. And I'll continue to see it that way until the show actively acknowledges that unhealthy behavior.

There ya go! My very very long analysis of Oscar and Ozpin; I hope I brought something unique among the batch of this question!

#rwby ozpin #rwby oscar #rwby ozma #ozma #oscar pine #oscar #ozpin #professor ozpin #rwby #rwby analysis #character analysis #artmun answers

[willgrahymn]

Strangely Estranged

this is my gift to @romansandersprotectionsquad for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange!! I really hope you like it :]

Description: Remus just wants to make his art, but Roman is still distressed by the events of SvS Redux/POF and it's affecting both of their abilities to create. When Remus goes to confront him about it, he gets a little more than he bargained for. Content warnings: Some Remus being Remus-y type lines, blood mentions (again, Remus), a good amount of swearing, and throwing some shade at Janus. Word count: 2747 I’ll rb with the ao3 link :]

- ’Honestly,’ Remus thought, ‘this painting could use more blood.’

He stared at the incomplete project. It was at least the 7th time he started on something today, but no matter what he always came to a pause.

Roman, that motherfucker, he probably had a creative block. Remus didn’t care much about only being half of Creativity, hell, it was fun coming up with the most gory stories he could imagine, but it seemed like whenever Roman hit a block he just had to drag him down with him.

He leaned back against his wall, tossing his paintbrush and catching it again. He stuck the brush in his mouth. Blue paint didn’t taste as good as green, but maybe he was just biased.

Remus glared at the painting. If it had eyes, he was sure they would be staring back, mocking him. Maybe he’d scrap the thing and use it as a target next time he played with his throwing stars.

He ground his foot into the stained carpet. Whether it was paint or blood didn’t matter. Come to think of it, he’d been at a pause for some time now. Roman hadn’t left his room nearly as much either. The only people he’d seen Roman hang out with recently were Virgil, Logan, and (inescapably) Thomas. Then there was Patton and Janus who hardly spent time together before. Now they never left each other's sides. Remus would be a liar if he said it wasn’t somewhat upsetting.

Remus loved drama. He loved watching people fight and be seconds from either murdering each other or making out right then and there. It was exciting to see people so close to their limit. Roman’s drama wasn’t fun though, it was just fucking sad.

He was pretty sure it would stay that way unless he took matters into his own hands. He grabbed his morningstar. He didn’t think he’d actually use it, but if he had to literally knock some sense into his dear brother, then so be it.

Walking down the hall of the mind palace the lighting got brighter. Silently, he wondered how the hell Virgil had managed to live with the other three for so long. With Roman’s obnoxiously loud personality and old villain accusations, he doubted the rogue raccoon could’ve slept the day away like he did when he tried to avoid him.

He stood in front of a tall, white door. It looked like something you’d find in a children’s movie or fairy tale that told the protagonist there was some sort of grand adventure on the other side… 

How boring.

Without bothering to knock, Remus opened the door to his brother's room. Maybe for Janus, he would have knocked. There was hardly anything that could truly shock him anymore with all the fun little fantasies that ran through his head, but Janus’ wrath was something he would save for a day when he needed that extra kick.

Then again, maybe he was wrong to say that he couldn't be shocked. Not when Prince Perfect’s room was such a mess. Not when one of his mirrors had been knocked to the floor. And certainly not when he took in the sight of the other half of Creativity, sitting there at the side of his bed in his black undershirt and dress pants.

Something in Remus’ guts told him there was something wrong here, and this time it wasn’t because he had been impaled or ate something Logan and Janus insisted he shouldn’t have. No, this was something else. Something he hadn’t been allowed to see since the two split up. One brother deciding he needed to be pure as white, and the other allowing himself to be the darkest black imaginable.

He stepped closer. Roman hadn’t made a sound, not yet, but it felt like approaching a lion. A lion that stood for courage yet fell to shattered pieces of what it once was.

And maybe if he hadn’t been feeling real, genuine concern for something other than Thomas’ lack of flare in his art, he would have laughed when his mind went to Scar and Mufasa.

It wasn’t like he cared though. Concern, maybe. But he couldn’t be bothered to care for his brother who he hardly ever spoke to for purposes other than making him uncomfortable with his ideas.

Roman shifted on his bed, still not bothering to look to see who entered. “I already told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

Remus rolled his eyes. Of course his brother would choose to be a little bitch about this.

“First off, you didn’t tell me shit.” He said. Roman sat up, looking at him. A mix of defense and curiosity in his glare. “Second, I’m not the one making your life any harder than I normally would.” His brother scoffed. “Aren’t you though?”

“You’re the one affecting my work!”

Roman huffed, pulling his legs up to his chest and hugging them closely. He liked the pressure. Logan would probably be able to tell him why if he asked. He remembered hearing a conversation between him and Virgil when the darker first showed up. Something about pressure was a stress reliever.

At the same time, Remus crossed his arms, tapping his boots and rubbing his fingers against his sleeves. Whatever response he had been waiting for didn’t come. Maybe he should leave. Pretend whatever this was wasn’t happening and go focus on something else until the other half got his shit together. That would be a lot easier than standing here, the air of the room suffocating him into silence.

Either way, neither brother knew what to say. It would be easy for the pensive prince to turn around, to tell the other not to speak to him and to go back to wherever he came from. At least it should have been.

Remus bit down on his lip not minding the pain. It wouldn’t do any good to try to beat at what was already broken. “I can go find someone else.” It was more of a statement than an offer.

His twin tensed. “Please don’t.”

Remus just nodded. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. Normally he didn’t have to think this hard. He didn’t want to care about his brother and his problems. He knew at least part of the reason behind the other’s mood was because of him because Roman hated him and being compared to him. Yet still, despite being twins he couldn’t help but feel like he had to care for his baby brother.

‘What the fuck am I supposed to do now?’

He was Dark Creativity, the embodiment of intrusive thoughts and other so-called disturbing ideas and imagery. It wasn’t something that ever upset him, and hell it was fun making the other Sides and Thomas uncomfortable. It was fun telling Patton things that would make him shift in his seat and try to change the topic as if nothing had happened. It was fun to create thoughts that would fuel anxiety and haunt the sad little Side who harbored them. It was more than amusing to sit beside Roman, watching as he tried to do his work and ignore his bothersome brother’s constant suggestions that ruined his fairytale fantasies.

If Thomas didn’t want to use all the available ingredients he gave him to create that was fine. He could manage just fine! Really, the repression only made him stronger.

But Roman knew how to make people feel those warm fuzzy feelings that were like caterpillars in your ribs. Something that looking at it now, maybe Remus regretted not trying to pick up on the wholesome little messages that his brother always cared about. At least maybe then he’d have a better idea how to deal with all of these emotions going on. Even Logan would have done better in this situation.

His brother sighed, sitting up and turning to finally face him. He looked worse than expected. No wonder he didn’t want to see anyone else. Remus couldn’t tell what he was feeling, taking in the sight of this mess. Roman’s brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his nails digging into his skin.

“Why are you still here?” He asked.

Remus bit his lip and chose to ignore the question. “I know you’re pissed about Jan being accepted.”

“Yeah duh,” Roman scoffed. He sounded like a dam ready to break. “Excuse me for not being absolutely overjoyed at this… Manipulative Malefactor being accepted by our very own Moralidad.”

The Duke nodded. Sure, you could call him friends with Double D, but he wasn’t going to be like him and lie and deny that Janus certainly had… a way… of getting what he wanted, whether it meant using others as a stepping stone or not.

“I never should have trusted him.” Roman continued. “I mean, I never even liked him. Hell, right after he revealed himself to Thomas I said I hated him… I only went along with what he wanted because he pretended to be someone I’m supposed to be able to trust, and then he used me again by flattering me with fake love and bringing up Thomas’ dreams. And I just– I just keep falling for it because I’m an idiot and I keep fucking everything u—”

He hadn’t noticed Remus approaching him or pulling him into a hug until it happened.

It was tense at first. Roman froze at contact. Slowly, he sunk into his brother's arms, not caring about the way the material scratched against his face. He just wanted to feel safe.

“What’s happening?” He asked.

Remus wasn’t sure he had an answer.

“I think Patton would refer to it as brotherly bonding, but I really don’t know.” Remus laughed lightly.

Eventually, Remus slowly pushed his brother off of him, still holding onto his shoulders and smiling in a way he could only hope came off as sympathetic. On any other occasion, Roman would despise the fact that his brother was just the tiniest bit taller than him, but right now he didn’t care. He wouldn’t tell him it was good for hugs though, he hadn’t lost all of his dignity.

“Listen, Ro-bro, we’re twins. What affects you affects me too. I know it might not change much, and you might still not want to be around me. That’s fine. Just… remember that we’re two Sides in a trenchcoat trying to make up for one, got it?” Roman nodded, rubbing at his eyes and smiling slightly. “I would have expected a darker way of phrasing that from you.”

Remus shook his head. “I may not think much, but I do know enough to understand it’s probably not the best timing for it.”

He smiled, watching as his brother lightened up a bit.

The room was still a mess. They’d have to fix it up later. Not right now though, he didn’t think his brother was ready enough to face his own destruction.

“C’mon, get your outfit on.” “Huh?” “You weren’t planning to stay locked up in here like Rapunzel all day, were you?” “I mean… kind of, yeah?” Remus shook his head. “Not happening,” He said. “We gotta do some dumb shit to make you feel better.” “Ree, I’m fine now, really.”

He ignored him, grabbing Roman’s stupidly bright white shirt off the floor and throwing it at him. Checking around for his sash afterwards.

“You at least gotta put yourself together! I know how you are about your looks– even if mine are better.”

Roman rolled his eyes before pulling his shirt on, grabbing his sash from under his pillow. “I can’t stand you.” They both knew it wasn’t the truth. Not right now at least.

“I’m going to fix… this.” Roman said as he waved his hand in front of his face.

The prince left to his bathroom, grabbing some of his makeup from his desk as he went. Remus flopped onto his brother's bed. This wasn’t exactly where he expected his day to go. It was fine though. Actually, it probably went a lot better than whatever he originally planned. Bitching at Roman could be fun, but he doubted it would have made anything better. Hopefully getting rid of some emotional block would stop the art block too. It sounded like something Logic would approve of.

Remus stared up at the glow in the dark stars that littered his brother’s ceiling. Roman’s room was less loud than usual. More quiet. Like a heartbeat that once echoed so loudly had suddenly stopped, or a fire which finally died out leaving nothing but smoke and ash behind.

He heard it when the faucet turned on, when a hairbrush hit the floor, and when Roman cursed at his eyeliner.

‘His hands must be shaky.’ They’d have to fix that.

Remus got up again, half-assedly making his brother’s bed and tidying up the place. He didn’t know where everything went, so he could only hope he was putting stuff where it shouldn’t have ever been. Even if he was trying to cheer up his brother now didn’t mean he couldn’t work in advance to cause trouble for him later.

When Roman came out he looked as if nothing had happened. Like nobody would be able to look at him and think twice of if he was okay. It was an art in itself to be a raging storm and to settle down to the tranquility of dewdrops on flower petals within a matter of minutes.

When had he learned to do that?

Or maybe it was just that he didn’t spend enough time around the other to know. Maybe if one of the other Sides saw Roman now, they wouldn’t even have to study his movements or expression to know he had been upset. It would be as easy as looking at  him and recognizing the scripted smiles and rehearsed words for what they were. Was he really that bad at being a brother to fall for his own twins’ tricks?

Roman shifted on his feet. “So… What are we doing?”

“Oh!” Remus bounced, the beads on his shirt clicking together. “Well I was thinking about it earlier and since Papa Patton and Daddy Dee are spending so much time together–” “Never call them that ever again.” “You never let me have fun! But fine. You know how those two have been hanging out more.”

“I can’t let you do anything mean to Patton, he’s off limits.”

Remus pouted. “I thought you were mad at him!” “He’s Patton!” Remus glared, and Roman glared back.

Remus sighed. “You’re so lame, but I guess we can just focus on the snake. Oh! And don’t worry, I can take the fault. Besides, I haven’t fucked around with him in a while and have been waiting for a good day to do it.” He grinned. Roman would have considered it evil, but this, this was pure sibling mischief. “I was thinking we could start subtle like moving his shit 2 inches to the left and work our way up from there. I was thinking about leaving my pet rats in his room and letting them go wild, but he is a snake and I don’t trust like that…”

Roman tried to stifle a laugh. Remus tried not to smile. Remus turned away, heading to his room to put his abandoned work away before anything else. Roman, he noticed, hadn’t followed. Slowly, he turned to him. “Are you coming?” “Oh, yeah I just...“ Roman paused, taking a deep breath and smiling softly. A real smile, not the mask he had given before. “Thank you. For doing all this.” Remus’ eyes softened, nodding as he spoke again. “Don’t go getting too soft on me, Ro-bro. I’m still going to attack your side of the Imagination.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” The two brothers stood there, an awkward yet comfortable quiet moment of understanding neither wanted to interrupt. “C’mon,” Remus said, waving his brother along. “We have vengeance in our hearts and glitter in our pockets. Let’s fuck shit up.”

The prince glanced to himself in the mirror. Now wasn’t the time to focus on his shattered world view, or how his brother may not be as horrible as he thought. Now was the time to have fun messing with the one who had messed with him.

He looked to his brother, eyes sparkling. “Let’s do it.”

#Sanders Sides #Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #Creativitwins #platonic creativitwins #aaa #I hope this is good #Virgil's Volumes

[chubb-e-cheese]

okay so I started writing this without like thinking this might potentially be disturbing so like pls feel free to delete if like stories with death + human remains are a no go. last November i got invited over to a neighbors house to have dinner and smoke w her and her husband. they are former oddities dealers, their house is full of like massive taxidermy and antique collections, you walk in and the room is covered floor to ceiling, punctuated by a fireplace with a 4ft buddha head blocking it. There is a human ribcage on display in the corner, and this is where the house tour starts. I don't remember every single thing off the top of my head, but on the mantel Specifically was a taxidermy dolphin penis, various crime scene photos, and a taxidermied fetus with it's head replaced with a baby doll's (apparently the body got passed to them after another oddities dealer just. kept the head. and she said it didn't feel right to leave it headless so she made it one herself, which is like fair I guess.) I take a photo of the baby for posterity, because that's insane, it's the only photo I manage to get the rest of the night. They have a pug named Lola who they trained to play a little toy piano whenever she has to go outside, the dog also chooses what shirts she wants to wear out of their laundry every morning. Lola likes me very much.

Along another wall I notice a displayed preserved hand in some sort of orb (didn't touch, don't know what, looked like glass?) and was like "hey that's really cool how do you even get something like that." Her husband asks if I want to see the hand bucket. What the fuck is the hand bucket. I say yes and don't ask him to elaborate.

We head down a very cramped and shoddy set of stairs to their basement, where the woman passes me some disposable gloves and the husband drags this huge Tupperware tub from under an old desk. in the meantime, she shows the "very illegal" tortoise taxidermy they have. I'm not a snitch, but I feel concerned that she offers that info up so easily to someone she'd met exactly twice ever. We get into *why* they're illegal and then the husband is like OK WE'RE GOOD CHECK THIS OUT and I turn back to him and there is 5 (where is the 6th??) whole severed human hands in that tupperware tub. dope. the horror I should probably feel is replaced by scientific curiosity and the need to pick one up and ask for a high five. they are ELATED and remark that im the first person who didn't ask where they got them. I tell them my mom taught me not to look a bucket hand in the palm. they explain that another buddy of theirs works at a body farm for a med school, and he offered to give these preserved leftovers to the couple. Glad to know they're ethically sourced. I tell them so and we keep talking, I'm holding two at a time by the wrist and start absentmindedly gesticulating with them while I talk, this makes them lose their shit like it's the funniest thing they've ever seen. I get embarrassed and hide my face in the hands. Basement tour ensues, they insist I take home a big ass oil painting from the early 20th century to improve (hell yes). I don't get to take a hand home because I didn't ask.

We go back upstairs sans hands and continue looking at the rest of the tiny house; the kitchen and living are pretty normal, I learn that her husband plays upright bass and has a fish sock collection. their bedroom was fucking insane. you walk in and there is this giant, ornate, obviously extremely expensive carved wooden bedframe WITH A TAXIDERMY CANADIAN GOOSE HANGING OVER THE BED LIKE A BABY MOBILE IN ATTACK POSTURE. above the bed is a large still life oil painting, which she moves to reveal an erotic oil painting of a naked lady underneath. Love that.

The room is divided into two distinctly polar opposite halves - her's on the right and her husband's on the left. His side is like creepily organized and lined head to toe with an extensive record and CD collection. Her side actively has multiple lemon trees growing despite the lack of windows and kind of looked like an explosion, unfinished taxidermy pieces and fabric and books. There is a melting wax model of a person in the corner that smells bad, which they start bickering about a little bit in front of me. I'm honestly just impressed.

The wall by the door, facing the bed houses a glass cabinet with another human skeleton inside - mainly a ribcage that shows extensive damage caused by corsets which was also actually really cool, another giant taxidermy bird perched stop it (I don't remember exactly but I think it was an egret?? had a weird beak). He tells me this bird is also very illegal to own and makes a remark that, if they ever wind up having to move, they're probably just going to burn their whole house down so they don't risk getting caught with all this stuff. I don't remember what I said to that, but quite possibly nothing.

With the house tour complete, we order pizza and smoke and I don't really remember much after that, it was stronger stuff than I'm used to so I kind of just honed in on whatever show they decided to marathon. When it got too late, her husband insisted on driving me home with the painting to make sure I got back safe, even when I assured him I could make the trek home just fine, it was like two blocks at most. I think it was pretty sweet for them to actually worry about that kind of thing in spite of the other "we are totally going to crazy murder you" signals. I might try and visit again now that vaccines are rolling out. Also thank u for reading

I genuinely don’t know what to say. Also how is it the only time you said the word creepy was regarding the husbands organized side of the room lmao

[leviathans-normie]

Hi! I hope you're fine today! Can I request some fluff? I usually do this with my friends at random times, and I wondered, how would the brothers react to MC taking his face in their hands and saying, "you're beautiful, amazing, wonderful and I love you"? (idk if you do Simeon too but only if you can, of course! Thank u so much)

Yo! I hope you're having a great day too! Low-key, that's such a nice thing to do w/your friends :') I really didn't know how to title it though 😅

Also I'm taking requests for all the boys, so don't shy out!

THE BOYS' REACTION TO BEING CALLED AMAZING AT RANDOM

LUCIFER

→Lucifer was assigning MC some work for the exchange programme. You know, just a usual Tuesday at the Devildom.

→MC was sitting at the other side of Lucifer's desk, pretending to be listening to him.

→They would rather be doing something else, but it was important, or so Lucifer said.

→He was unsurprisingly passionate about that project, his eyes gleaming as he went into more details and giving MC ideas.

→That moment, MC decided to cup his face with their hands and stroke Lucifer's cheek.

→Lucifer.exe has stopped working.

→Before he could even collect himself, MC said, "You know, Lucifer, you're really great and amazing and God, I love you."

→Lucifer was shocked the first few seconds. Blinking his eyes in confusion, he let out a hearty chuckle.

→"Thank you, MC." A genuine smile crept on his lips. "You are amazing, too."

→Oh, wow. They didn't expect this to come right back at 'em.

→They hadn't even managed to collect their thoughts when Lucifer said, "And as much as I love this, you still need to know about the project."

→But, after some begging and pouting from MC, Lucifer put the papers aside and sat near MC, half-pulling her into his embrace.

→The project could wait for a bit.

MAMMON

→"MC, LISTEN TO THIS!"

→He had burst into their room as though it was his own at three in the morning just to tell them about his new money-making scheme.

→God knows why Lucifer didn't catch him being awake way past his bedtime, but that was the thing that cost MC their precious sleep.

→And as Mammon talked semi-quietly in the dark about some weird scheme, his eyes seemed to gleam as he was smiling like a goof to MC.

→They had considered kicking him out and yelling at him. Summoning Satan to push him away himself, even.

→However, they couldn't resist how cute he looked and instead, they cupped his cheeks and smiled lazily.

→"Mammon, you're amazing and just so cute and I love you, but-"

→They didn't manage to utter any other word, as Mammon jumped back in surprise and stuttered, "W-WHAT A-A-ARE YOU D-DOING, HUMAN?!"

→”Be quiet, or Lucifer might hear you...!” they whispered-yelled in response. 

→”A-Ah...Yeah...” Mammon took their hand and put them back on his cheek. “Go on... You were sayin’ how a-awesome I was, right?” 

→With a small giggle, MC stroked his cheek as they continued complimenting him. 

→Soon enough, they had fallen in each other’s arms and cuddling on the bed, whispering to each other in hopes that Lucifer wouldn’t hang them from the chandelier in the morning. 

LEVIATHAN

→MC had decided to introduce him to the human game League of Legends. 

→They would be able to play together even when they weren’t in the same room, which was amazing. Lucifer could hardly flame them for something like that. 

→Problem was that Levi was way too into the game. 

→Long story short, MC learnt words they didn’t know before. 

→There was no stopping him either. 

→’Normie’ tactics wouldn’t make him stop, not even in a million years. 

→One day, when they were hanging out as usual and Levi was playing the cursed game, MC decided to stop all that rage the poor boy had developped. 

→Mid-game, just when Levi was on the climax and was cursing more than any other player had ever in their lives, MC took his face and cupped his cheeks. 

→Henry’s father.exe has stopped working. 

→Eh?!.exe has installed.

→”Levi, you’re amazing and I love you, but I swear to God if you don’t sto-”

→”WOAHHHHH!”

→”Me?! Amazing?! M-MC, you can’t j-just say t-that when I-I’m playing!” 

→MC took their arms away, before they were snatched again and put on his face. 

→"I didn’t t-tell you to stop!” Lowering his gaze and his blushing face, he mumbled, “P-Please continue...” 

→Levi might have lost at League of Legends, but he won at cuddles. 

SATAN

→It was a cozy afternoon in Satan’s room, where both him and MC were indulged in their novels. 

→The room was completely silent, aside form the occasional flipping of the pages. 

→But MC got bored. 

→They tossed the book to the side and looked up at the ceiling and then Satan. 

→Doki doki.exe has installed. 

→He looked so peaceful as his eyes scanned the words in the thick book he was holding, MC couldn’t help but feel awe. 

→Without thinking much, they went close to him and cupped his cheeks right when he was reading. 

→No one has ever regretted a decision they’ve made faster than MC. 

→But instead of leaving an apologising when they saw the slight irritation on his face, they said, “I love you, Satan. How can you be so amazing when you’re just reading silently?” 

→If Belphie didn’t manage to kill them before, Satan would go for it. 

→But instead of bursting in a fit of anger, the blond demon closed his book. 

→Flashing a smile, he said, “Thank you, kitten.” 

→MC didn’t know how that happened, but they ended up tangling themselves with him and cuddling on his small sofa, reading their books respectfully in comfortable silence. 

→The only noise was the flipping of the pages and occasional words of affection. 

ASMODEUS

→MC and Asmo where in his room, having their usual self-care session. 

→This week, they were trying out new nail polishes and body creams. 

→Asmo was so excited when he started painting MC’s fingers, talking trash about whoever had pissed him off that day. 

→Even when he was finished, leaving MC’s nails to dry, he kept talking about how foul that demon was. 

→”And he had such a sour attitude for such a little pest. Like, honey, no, take off these crocs first and then we’ll talk-” 

→Before he could finish his statement properly, MC cupped his face, minding their nails. 

→”Asmo, how can you be so graceful when talking trash? It’s amazing.” 

→Without missing a beat, he replied. “Aw, thanks, dear!”

→”I love you so much.”

→”I love me, too.” 

→MC started pouting and whining, before he chuckled and reassured them. 

→”Just kidding~ I love you too. Now take your hands away! The nail polish might get messed up, and that’s a no-no!”

BEELZEBUB

→Beel was casually eating, shoving enormous amounts of food inside his mouth. 

→MC was chilling next to him, occasionally talking to him while they checked their D.D.D.

→Beel eating wasn’t a rare sight for anyone.

→However, they couldn’t help but feel happy seeing him being so happy eating food. 

→The way his eyes gleamed was just so wholesome. 

→Once he was done stuffing his face, they took their hands and put them on his cheeks. 

→”Oh?”

→”Beel, you’re legitimately so amazing and perfect. Ugh, I love you.”

→He smiled a wholesome smile that could melt people’s hearts. 

→”Thank you.” 

→He wrapped his large arms around MC, burrying them in a casual bear hug and spinning them around a bit. 

BELPHEGOR

→Tired boy.exe has been installed. 

→MC was sitting with Belphie on his bed, softly lying in each other’s arms. 

→Which was more like Belphie using MC as a body pillow. 

→Not that they minded. Who would? 

→MC was talking about their day as Belphegor nodded and hummed occasionally. 

→Poor boy was trying so hard not to seem rude just this once. 

→Something that didn’t go unnoticed by MC. 

→When he was this close to dozing off, they gently held his face between their palms. 

→”Thank you for listening, Belphie. You’re so amazing. That’s it. Love you.”

→A small smile grazed his lips. 

→”No problem... Now... can I sleep?”

→They nodded and wrapped their arms around his sleepy frame, before they both fell asleep wrapped up between each other’s arms. 

SIMEON

→MC was hanging out with the angel boyo at the Purgatory Hall. 

→I mean, everyone needs a break from these chaotic demons. 

→Thank God Simeon has MC’s back. 

→God bless. 

→He had made some tea for them to drink. 

→And then he talked a bit about his day at R.A.D., the new stuff he’d learnt and all sorts of things. 

→MC couldn’t help but admire the angel that was sitting in front of her. 

→He looked so graceful. 

→Setting their tea cup down, MC got up and cupped the angel’s cheeks. 

→”Simeon, you’re so beautiful, graceful and just... amazing. I love you so freaking much.”

→Simeon let out a hearty chuckle and smiled. 

→”Thank you, MC.” 

→He got up and gave them a hug. Once he sat down again, he patted the seat next to him, where MC went and sat down, leaning their head on his shoulder. 

#obey me #om swd #obey me swd #one master to rule them all #obey me fluff #headcanons #om headcanons #om lucifer #om asmodeus #om satan #om leviathan #om mammon #om beelzebub #om belphegor #om simeon #fluff

[jelzorz]

57a

It’s not that Callum doesn’t like Ez’s toad. Bait can be cute when he wants to be and his generally grumpy disposition (if toads can be called grumpy at all) is a funny little personality trait that comes off closer to endearing than anything else. Ezran’s had him since he was six, and he was their dad’s before that—secretly, Callum thinks that he can’t be a normal toad because surely normal toads don’t live this long, but no matter—

He doesn’t dislike Bait and that’s the point of it. What’s not so clear to him is why Ezran needs a brand new terrarium for him.

“What’s wrong with the old one?” he asks. They’re pulling into the pet store in a little town just out of state, which is ridiculous on its own because there’s one five minutes from where they live, but Callum understands to certain extent. Once he’d driven out to Caldera just to chase down a specific brand of watercolour paints which is fair, in his opinion—it’s hard to get quality products for a reasonable price—but still. Caldera isn’t out of state.

It took them two hours just to get out here and it’s hot and humid and the air conditioning in Callum’s car failed two and a half years ago, and while Bait’s not with them, he’s probably grumpy enough to make up for it.

Ez rolls his eyes. “It’s ancient,” he says pointedly. “Dad got it second hand and it was ancient then. Bait deserves a better terrarium than that.”

“That still doesn’t explain why we had to come out to Silvergrove,” snaps Callum. He puts the car into park and turns the engine off with a scowl. “There are pet shops in Katolis City, what’s the matter with them?”

“They’re just not as good.” Ezran huffs, climbing out of the car. “The ones here are made with quality materials that are locally and ethically sourced. And we’re supporting small business.”

Callum bristles. “Now you just sound like Dad,” he mutters darkly. It’s not a bad thing. Harrow’s a councilman for a reason, and one of the better ones, too. He can’t dispute that. It’s only fair Ez takes after him. It’s still annoying, though.

The store itself doesn’t look particularly special. It’s got an old-timey sort of feel to it, and the hanging sign is weather worn and in desperate need of a new paint job. Callum squints at it and makes out a bunch of swirling letters that read The Shadow emPawrium: exotic pets and pet supplies before he rolls his eyes and shoulders open the door for Ez. 

It’s pretty cramped. The air conditioning is a welcome change, but it feels like he can’t move in here without risking knocking something over. There are a bunch of fancy birdcages here, and cat trees taller than him over there, and a girl, silver haired and lilac eyed, sitting bored by the register with her phone in one hand and a stocklist in the other. 

Callum feels his mouth go dry. She’s very pretty. Even the practised customer service smile she greets them with makes his heart skip a beat or two. Her name tag reads Rayla, and she sets her phone down as the doors swing shut behind them.

“Hey,” she says, Silvergrove accent obvious even in the single word. “Can I help you with anything or are you guys just happy to browse?”

Callum opens his mouth to answer her, but he feels the words get all jumbled up in his throat before he can even voice them. Ez, though, personable as he is, swoops in before Rayla (hopefully) notices. 

“My toad needs a new terrarium,” he says brightly. “His is pretty old and I reckon it might be time to get him a brand new set up. The Internet said you guys had some really good ones.”

Rayla laughs–a sweet tinkling sound that makes Callum feel all hot and sweaty again in spite of the gentle air-conditioned breeze. “We sure do,” she says. “Just in the back corner over there. Can I help you pick out something specific?”

“Nah,” says Ez, waving her off. “We got it. Callum, come on.”

“What? Oh. Yeah.” Callum offers Rayla an awkward smile and trails after his brother with stiff, heavy legs. If Ezran notices, he doesn’t say anything–he’s happy to start examining terrariums and toad supplies without much preamble. Callum lets him at it and stares around the rest of the shop curiously. Once or twice, he catches himself looking over at Rayla. There’s a very specific moment when he actually meets her eye, and her lips tilt upwards into something a little more genuine before he has the sense to tear his eyes away–

But when he does, Ez is smirking at him with something like a smug looking grin. “See something you like?”

Callum flushes. “Um.”

“You can just go talk to her, you know.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” Ez snorts and jerks his head over at Rayla, knowing smile on his lips.“She’s been looking too.”

“I don’t–wait, really?”

Ezran lets out a huff, obviously amused and obviously done with Callum’s lack of nerve. He turns back to the terrariums, picks out one of the bigger ones, and does the next worst thing: he waves a hand and catches Rayla’s attention. “Excuse me!” he calls. “Hey! Sorry to bother you.”

Rayla glances up at them, sets her phone down once more, and hops off her stool “You’re no bother,” she says amicably, making her way towards them through the narrow aisles with a deft sort of grace that makes Callum want to look at her even more. He has to duck his head to avoid showing the very obvious blush rising in his cheeks, but then Rayla’s standing right next to him and he’s pretty sure there’s no point. “What can I help you with?”

“If I get him a new set up entirely, do you think it’s worth getting Glow Tonic too? It’s supposed to be really good for his skin but I’ve never tried it.”

Rayla hums thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t hurt,” she says. “It might help with the transition, y’know? Toads can be pretty nervous around new things. We don’t have any in stock though. I can order it in for you?”

Ez brightens (more, if that’s even possible), and he nods enthusiastically. “That’d be great! Do you think you could ring us when you get it?”

“Sure can,” chuckles Rayla. “What’s the best number to call you on?”

“Mm.” Ez sneaks a glance at Callum. “I never have my phone on me when it matters. Do you think you can call Callum instead?”

Rayla turns to look at him. Callum almost turtles into his shirt out of embarrassment. Ezran’s gall, honestly–but he offers Rayla a sheepish smile anyway and shrugs. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “It’ll probably be best just to call me. If–if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” says Rayla. She glances at her sneakers with that same little smile that makes Callum’s heart flutter, something pink in her cheeks, and swings her arms with a flattered grin. “Did you pick a terrarium?” she asks Ez after a moment. 

“Oh, right, yeah.” Ez points it out to her and the rest is all business. She retrieves a flatpack one from the back room and heaves it to the counter, Ez pays for it, and then they wrangle it out to the car and set it carefully in the back. 

Callum shuts the boot with a heavy thud and notices that Ezran purposefully makes himself scarce so that it’s just him and Rayla standing together by the back passenger door before, finally, Rayla unlocks her phone and holds it out to him.

“Put your number in that,” she says, lips tilted upwards, blush in her cheeks. “Callum, right?”

“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” Callum only flushes more. His fingers feel sweaty as he taps his number into the screen, but she’s smiling the whole time and he’s almost certain employees aren’t supposed to take customer details with their personal phones, and he knows she knows what Ez was up to, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “You’ll–um–you’ll call me, right?”

“Yep. See you guys next time.” She takes it back and steps back onto the sidewalk as Callum climbs into the car, and she waves, even, as they pull out and Callum makes a U-turn at the roundabout a little way down the road. 

For a while, Ez says nothing. And then he snorts and smirks at Callum. “Still think coming all the way out here was a waste of time?”

Callum has nothing to say to that.

#rayllum #in anticipation #and now back to your regularly scheduled fluff #the shadow empawrium

[artificialqueens]

Are You in Love With a Notion? (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Ellie wakes up in the Lake District with a hangover, an engagement ring, and her best friend in her bed. It’s not quite Vegas, but it’s still a cataclysmic mess.

a/n: this one goes out to the anon that came to my inbox with the concept “diamond chaney but they impulsively get married one night and have to deal with the consequences later”. it was too good to just headcanon for so it’s now a fully-fledged fic. it’s complete and utter silly nonsense and it’s by no means the most groundbreaking writing in the world, but it is FUN! hope u all enjoy and pls enjoy my continued campaign for u all to board the diamond chaney clown bus xo

(do people still use snapchat? fuck knows, but i needed it for plot purposes. if u like u can pretend this is set in 2016.)

***

Ellie wakes up feeling like a bat has shat in her head.

It feels as if her pulse is contained entirely within her cranium given the way it’s throbbing, and every time she blinks it’s as if each of her eyelashes weigh twenty kilogrammes. She momentarily wonders where she is before the heavy cream drapes and the shiny glass-topped bedside table come into focus and she remembers she’s in the hotel room. A’whora had wanted to splash out for her birthday (“you only turn a quarter of a century old once, ladies!”) and no expense was spared since she’d got that promotion a few months back. She’d covered the difference for any of the girls who wouldn’t have been able to afford to go away and Ellie was thankful for her friend’s kindhearted and generous nature. After all, she’s not the kind of girl who would say no to a treat, and she’ll return the favour as soon as her salon takes off.

(And it will take off. She didn’t study business for nothing.)

But the room right now, even with its four-poster bed and the cosy sheets and the four soft pillows, is providing absolutely no respite from the fact that Ellie is hanging out of her arse. Throwing her arm over her eyes as she squeezes them shut, she gives a small, self-indulgent sob of anguish and suffering.

And as she rolls from her side onto her back, she becomes aware of the fact that she’s not alone in the bed.

The dread and fear that grips her heart reminds her of when she went on school camp in Primary 7 and had to jump into one of those freezing cold plunge pools.

She keeps her arm over her eyes for a few more seconds to allow herself to work up the mental stability she needs to face whoever’s at her side. Maybe it’s a dream. Maybe this has all been in her mind and in a moment she’s going to wake up hangover-free with her bed blissfully empty.

Ellie brings her arm down from her eyelids and, without knowing what possesses her (aside from the copious amounts of alcohol that remain in her bloodstream), bites down gently on her arm in lieu of pinching herself.

She can confirm she is still very much awake.

It’s not that a one-night-stand is beyond her; she would even go as far as to say that at one point both she and A’whora were infamous for it back at uni, and she’s admittedly glad that “Dirty Diamond” just isn’t as catchy as “A’whora” and therefore that particular nickname hasn’t stuck with her into adult life like it has for her friend. No, what she’s surprised at herself for is the fact she’s brought someone back at her big age. She hasn’t had a random hookup for a while now, and the fact she can’t remember it is even worse.

She presses the hand that’s under the duvet against her thigh and her heart almost gives out with relief at the fact she can feel clothes. She can’t have gone too far, then. This is okay. This is salvageable. As she runs her fingers over the hem of whatever the fuck she’s wearing, realisation slowly dawns on her that it’s her pink playsuit from the night before.

Ellie genuinely can’t tell if the situation is better because she’s not naked, or worse because she’s still in her clothes from last night.

Her pulse skyrockets again, however, as an arm gently thuds over her waist through the duvet and the person, whoever the hell they even are, snuggles into her side contentedly. Only…it all feels too weirdly familiar for Ellie’s liking. The body beside her, the closeness, even the rise and fall of the breathing is all that of someone she feels like she knows.

Lifting her arm off her eyes and to her forehead, opening them, and finally ripping the plaster off to see who’s by her side, Ellie doesn’t know whether to be relieved or slightly horrified.

A purple velvet jumpsuit with a belt to tie her in at the waist that’s coming undone. Black and purple painted nails. Endless waves of thick lilac hair that are fanned out in tendrils across the white pillowslip. An entire face of perfectly painted makeup that’s still clinging on from the night before.

It’s Lawrence. She’s waking up beside her best friend. This is fine. This is totally normal. They’ve shared a bed countless times before back at uni, and it’s not something Ellie’s ever been adverse to- quite the opposite in fact, she thinks, as her stomach does a flip.

Something still feels off, though.

And then, as Ellie brings her hand down from her forehead and something bumps against it, it hits her- physically and metaphorically- all at once.

The ring Lawrence always wears; her pride and joy, her grandmother’s ring. The one that looks like the heart of the ocean on her finger, a huge blue diamond surrounded by eight small platinum ones. The ring Lawrence guards with her life and would only take off if it was physically tasered off her. The ring that could single-handedly obliterate Lawrence’s entire student debt and probably Ellie’s too if she was feeling generous enough.

The ring- that ring- is currently sitting on the fourth finger of Ellie’s left hand. As if it’s an engagement ring.

“Lawrence,” Ellie says without thinking. Her voice is croaky and too-loud in the silence of the room, but Lawrence still takes a while to stir beside her. She pulls Ellie close with the arm that’s round her, nuzzles her face into her arm. Usually the feeling wouldn’t be an unwelcome one, but just now Ellie’s got bigger problems. She hisses again. “Lawrence, wake up.”

“I’m not shagging you, Ruth Davidson, you wee Tory,” Lawrence’s sleep-coated voice comes from beside her, and Ellie finally draws back, reaches behind her and takes the pillow out from under her head to thump her with.

“For fuck’s sake! Lawrence, wake up! We’re in the shit here!”

As Lawrence finally blinks slowly, Ellie watches her go through the seven stages of grief far more rapidly than she’s just done. She feels like an idiot for the way her heart dips in disappointment when Lawrence shuffles back from her and draws her arm away self-consciously. She mumbles, grumpy and tired. “Ellie, I’m not alive.”

“Yes you are, drama queen.”

“No I’m fucking not. I feel how Prince Philip looks,” she groans in despair, obviously as hungover as Ellie is. She screws her face up and rubs her eyes, in turn smearing her makeup over her cheekbones. “Why am I even here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we shagged,” Ellie says dryly, before holding the back of her hand up to Lawrence’s face. “Main question is, why the hell do I have this?”

Lawrence’s eyes grow wide in recognition before she groans and thumps her head back against the pillow. “How did you even…? Aw, I don’t know, Ellie, I’m too hungover to be mad about it. Just gies it back before you breathe and lose it or some shite.”

“But why is it…you know. Why is it here?” Ellie asks insistently, pressing her hand against her friend’s face in a deliberately annoying way. Lawrence grabs her wrist and forces it away from her face to get a proper look, and Ellie can see the cogs turn in her head before her face blanches at the implication.

Appearing to try and collect herself, Lawrence frowns, batting Ellie’s arm away. “You were probably getting hit on by some reprobate forty year old man in a suit so I’ll have let you pretend to be married to me. You should be honoured, really, it’s the closest you’ll get to perfection.”

“Piss off,” Ellie rolls her eyes as Lawrence gives a sleepy chuckle. She fiddles with the ring on her finger. It’s a little too small, and taking it off is proving difficult. Combined with the underlying stress of something still not being right, though, and it’s not enough to make Ellie’s dread dissipate.

“Can you remember any of last night?” she asks Lawrence, who’s scrabbling around on the bedside table for her phone.

“Nothing. You?”

“Neither,” Ellie rubs her temples with her fingers as if trying to massage the hangover out of her brain. No such luck.

“A’whora will be worse than us, then, won’t she? Because the last thing I remember is her and Tayce necking the prosecco at pres- oh, shit,” Lawrence has successfully retrieved her phone, and as she cuts herself off she’s frowning at it as if it’s committed a crime against her. “She’s calling just now, actually.”

Ellie already knows A’whora will be perfectly fresh and put together even before Lawrence swipes her phone across the screen to accept the facetime call, and so seeing her looking exactly that plus her girlfriend beside her looking the exact same just makes Ellie want to die even more.

A’whora’s smile is smug on her face as she smirks at them through the phone. “How are you two lovebirds doing this morning?”

Her words are like cold water down Ellie’s spine, and from the way Lawrence’s expression has changed too it seems she’s not the only one. She’s wondering what A’whora’s trying to imply with her joke and really, really hoping it’s just an innocent barb with no meaning behind it. Ellie can’t speak, but Lawrence gets there before her anyway. “What?”

“The married couple! The newlyweds! The babas!” Tayce jumps in, way too energetic and excited and making Ellie feel more hungover just looking at her.

Her words, though, aren’t helping her growing need to spew all over the hotel room floor. “What are you talking about?”

A’whora’s jaw drops open, and she barely conceals a laugh. “Oh my God. What do you remember?”

Ellie doesn’t want to give either of them the satisfaction of admitting that the answer’s nothing, but Lawrence is talking before she can get a chance. “Neither of us can remember anything. All I know is that I woke up in bed with this slut and she’s tried to steal my gran’s ring off me to…fuck knows, pretend she’s married to me. She wishes.”

“Lawrence,” Tayce starts, barely audible from giggling. “You two are married. You got married last night.”

What the fuck.

How can they be married? It’s not possible. Ellie tries to think but she can’t conjure up any clear thoughts. She feels the same smack of dread and fear that she felt when she went on that motorcycle rollercoaster at Flamingo Land two summers ago. Lawrence had been by her side then, too, her hand over Ellie’s white-knuckled one and reeling off ridiculous jokes to try and calm her down. She hates rollercoasters, and this one doesn’t seem like it’s going to be over anytime soon.

Lawrence doesn’t seem fazed. “You’re on the wind-up. Els, don’t give them the satisfaction, they’re taking the piss.”

“We’re not!” Tayce gasps, affronted, and A’whora is protesting adamantly too. “There was a wedding party in the bar last night and the pair of you kept moaning about how single you were and how you’d never find love.”

Lawrence narrows her eyes at her through the camera, offended. Ellie is inclined to feel the same.

“And the pair of you eventually decided you were just going to marry each other. Bimini mentioned they’re an ordained minister, so then you both insisted they married the pair of you in the hotel bar.”

“Get so far to fuck,” Lawrence snorts derisively, but it’s still not helping Ellie’s rising, terrified heart rate. “We’re meanty believe this, aye? Why in the fuck would I ever agree to marrying this wee cow, as if I would lower myself!?”

Ouch. Ellie scowls, screws her face up as she tears her eyes away from the screen and looks at Lawrence pointedly. “Thanks babes, love you too.”

“But you know what I mean!” Lawrence sort-of-not-really apologises. “Right, then, I’ll bite. If we got married, how did we get to the registry office? What registry office is open at eleven at night on a Saturday?”

A’whora shrugs all blasé. “There’s one in the hotel, we just went there. Caught it just before it closed, I think.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. She wants to believe it’s a joke, so she attempts to pick a hole in the story. “If we were that drunk, though, they wouldn’t have married us? Surely? I mean it’s not Vegas, A’whora, it’s the fucking Lake District.”

“Oh no, baby, the registrar said they get couples turning up drunk all the time! And obviously myself, A’whora and Bimini were much more sober than you, so we were the responsible adults. Or bridesmaids, I guess. We were that classy level of prosecco tipsy, you pair were on the vodka lemonades by eight last night,” Tayce explains.

As the story unfolds, Ellie feels more and more nauseous. She wants to crawl up into a ball like a dead woodlouse. Surely not. Surely not.

“Wedding dresses,” Lawrence says argumentatively. “We didn’t have wedding dresses. It would’ve been so obvious we were taking the piss.”

“Oh, neither of you would stop going on about how the colour scheme was pink and purple! Matching pink and purple playsuits! Which I see you’re still wearing, you absolute hounds,” Tayce wrinkles her nose in distaste.

Everything seems to be adding up to a ridiculously clear and yet blurry degree, and Ellie can’t in any way cope with the magnitude of the situation. She throws her arms over her face and curls up into the foetal position with a groan of self-pity. Through the duvet, she feels Lawrence whack her.

“Ellie, shut up! It’s so obviously a joke,” she insists, and Ellie can hear the roll of her eyes. A’whora and Tayce are cackling down the phone like two little Wizard of Oz witches and Ellie’s never identified more with Dorothy in her life.

“Well, believe us or don’t believe us, still doesn’t change the fact you got hitched,” A’whora says lightly. “I mean, you’ll have the marriage certificate to prove it. You had it last night, it’ll be in your room somewhere.”

Ellie pops her head out from under the duvet in horror. Her voice comes out as a horrified squeak. “Marriage certificate?”

A’whora shrugs. “Yeah! If you don’t believe us then maybe you’ll believe a piece of paper.”

“The marriage certificate that doesn’t exist. Aye, nae bother,” Lawrence says, still clearly disdainful of the story. “You coming to breakfast or what?”

“Oh, babe! Been there, done that! We got up at seven, showered, dressed, makeup, breakfast, and we’ve been out for a walk. Get on our level,” Tayce flicks her hair. Ellie fleetingly loathes her.

Lawrence rubs her forehead with her free hand, clearly headachey. “Well I’m starving, so I’m not hanging around to be wound up by the fuckin’ lesbian Prank Patrol any longer. Time’s check out?”

“You’ve got til half twelve. I got us a late one, figured we’d all need it.”

As Lawrence promises to see the other two later and hangs up, Ellie can’t speak. She’s still in shock at the potential truth from last night; that they actually got married. To each other. Over the years, Ellie’s invented made-up scenarios in her head that involve various things: telling Lawrence how she feels, kissing Lawrence, Lawrence asking her on a date. None of them have involved marriage. She’s never even thought to think that far ahead, but now it’s a reality it doesn’t seem like the Disney-princess dream she’s always expected it to be.

It actually feels sort of like a nightmare.

A thud from a pillow brings her back to reality. “Ellie!”

Ellie looks at her friend, who’s managed to crawl off the bed and is standing beside it, looking expectantly at her. Ellie blinks in bewilderment, rubs her eyes before she speaks. “What?”

“I’m gonna go shower and get changed and then we can go down to breakfast? I’ll come back and knock in about fifteen minutes?”

Ellie can’t believe she’s so calm. Sitting up in bed and feeling her head sting again, she looks pointedly at Lawrence. “You’re not in any way bothered about the story the girls just told us? The fact we might have got married?”

Lawrence snorts. “Oh, Ellie, please. You’re so gullible I swear to God someone could tell you Davina McCall’s the new Pope and you’d just nod and accept it.”

“But the marriage certificate, though? The ring? Which, by the way, won’t come off,” Ellie tugs on it again, trying not to panic when it doesn’t budge.

“There won’t be a marriage certificate! You said it, it’s the UK, it’s not Vegas. There’s a reason shotgun weddings aren’t a thing here. You honestly think we could just rock up to a registry office and get married?”

Ellie falls silent. She should feel reassured, but she doesn’t.

“I’m away to scrub the first ten layers of alcohol sweat out of my pores, awrite? You better be ready by the time I’m back.”

Lawrence leaves and Ellie is left on her own with her thoughts, which all seem to ricochet off her brain and pummel it to a husk, making her hangover worse. She still searches lazily for the fabled marriage certificate in between showering and getting ready, looking fruitlessly under discarded clothes on the floor and under furniture. Lawrence is right- she knows Lawrence is right- but there’s still a part of Ellie’s mind that’s niggling away with a what if on a loop.

By the time Lawrence knocks on her door again, Ellie is back not knowing what to think. She finds herself frantically babbling to her on the way down to the hotel restaurant in the lift, but her friend won’t entertain it.

“You’re too easy to prank. How can you believe them, it’s obviously a bam up!”

“Well, it could’ve happened! They brought it up before we even said we couldn’t remember anything, right? I mean, why else would you give me your ring? You barely trust me to hold your phone for two seconds to take a picture,” Ellie runs a hand through her hair, which she didn’t wash and is still in its big curls from the night before.

“Aye! Because you dropped it in the road when we went out for Jazz’s birthday!”

“That was two years ago! And I paid for the screen repairs!” Ellie cries in indignation, but the memory still makes her blush. She grows quiet again before her mind takes her back to the apparent events of last night. “The story makes sense.”

“The story does not make sense!” Lawrence sighs, agitated. “What proof do we have? You’re wearing my ring and our pals have told us the plot of a Hangover film? Honestly, hen, if we got married last night I’ll buy you an Uber back to Dundee.”

As they reach the dining room, the pair of them stop dead in the entranceway. Because there in the middle, almost as if it’s framed, is a table for two surrounded by inflatable red heart-shaped balloons, covered in red sparkly confetti, with champagne flutes and roses and polished silverware.

“What time’s my Uber booked for, then?” Ellie deadpans sarcastically. She doesn’t know why she’s making a joke. She isn’t in a joking mood. She’s nothing short of horrified.

“Calm down. That won’t be for us. A’whora said there was a wedding party last night, remember? It’ll be for them,” Lawrence reassures her, but Ellie doesn’t miss the distinct lack of self-assuredness to her voice that had been there before.

A waiter approaches them and asks for their name. Lawrence speaks (because Ellie can’t quite manage), and in return the waiter fixes them with a bright smile.

“Ladies, on behalf of us all at the Old England, we would like to wish you many congratulations and happiness on this most special occasion. Please, follow me,” he reels off before walking in the direction of the over-the-top, Valentine’s Day-style photoshoot set-up that is apparently where they’re having breakfast.

Ellie is going to be sick.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Lawrence whispers all in one breath, before sleepwalking towards their table and sitting down with a tight smile of thanks to the eager waiter. As Ellie sits in the chair opposite, she notices the affectionate smiles from couples at other tables and feels her face flush with hot embarrassment. The waiter disappears with a promise to be back for their order soon, and the pair of them are left sitting in stunned silence.

“Lawrence,” Ellie says first. Her gaze is stuck on the table, shocked and stunned.

“Don’t,” Lawrence replies. When Ellie finally looks at her she’s sitting with her eyes squeezed shut, her face a picture of strained concentration.

“What are you doing? You look constipated.”

“I’m trying to wake up from this abject fucking nightmare,” Lawrence says through gritted teeth.

Even though Lawrence is right- it is a nightmare, it’s a bad, terrible dream- it doesn’t stop the way her words feel ever-so-slightly like a blow to the crush Ellie’s harboured for an embarrassingly long length of time. She can’t think about that, though. There are bigger issues at stake here. Like the fact they’re married.

“Do you believe me now? Why the hell would the hotel do all this if we didn’t get married in their registry office the night before?”

“It’ll be…” Lawrence begins, trying to explain it away then putting her head in her hands when she realises she’s at a loss. “Fuck, I don’t know. We need A’whora or Tayce down here to talk it through with us. Or Bimini. If it’s A’whora and Tayce’s prank then they might not be in on it.”

“They had to go back to London early for a shoot, remember? They’ll have already left,” Ellie reminds Lawrence, and her face falls in dismay.

The waiter returns holding a bottle of champagne and Ellie watches Lawrence turn over her flute with a little aggressive thud and doesn’t say when until the bubbles climb to the very top of the glass. They both order pastries, Ellie’s appetite completely gone and Lawrence’s appearing to be the same.

Ellie narrows her eyes at Lawrence as she watches her glug the bubbles down. “How the hell can you be drinking at a time like this? Are you not hungover?”

“I am hungover, yes. But I need to be drunk to deal with this situation. So I’m hoping this’ll at least take the edge off a bit,” she says dryly. Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Being drunk got us into this situation, it’s not gonna get us out of it,” she sighs helplessly, realising too late that she sounds too much like her Mum. Lawrence responds appropriately; shaking her head at her moodily and staring off into the distance as she keeps sipping from her glass.

Ellie cups her cheeks, thanks the waiter weakly as he puts down a tray of pastries in front of the two of them. She tries to go over the events of last night in her head but draws a blank every time. According to A’whora and Tayce they’ll have been at the bar, decided to get married…Bimini had married them, somehow and somewhere, and they’d gone to the registrar…then they’d presumably got even more drunk and had a dance, and then…

How had Lawrence ended up in her room? Unless they’d…no. They’d both still had their clothes on from the night before.

But that wouldn’t have stopped them making out.

“Oh, God,” Ellie groans, unable to hold in the regret and the constant pain of her headache. Lawrence shoots her a funny look. Ellie’s loath to explain herself. The idea that the first kiss she’s shared with Lawrence has been messy, drunk, and one she can’t even remember is one that makes her feel stupid amounts of disappointed, but she’s not exactly going to share that with her friend.

“Loz, what if we did something last night?”

“What, aside from get married?” Lawrence talks through a mouthful of croissant. Then, as realisation dawns, her chewing stops. “Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence as they both stare at each other.

“Nah,” Lawrence finally shrugs as she resumes eating. “Because we both still had our clothes from last night on when we woke up?”

“Yeah, but we still could’ve kissed,” Ellie pulls a face, the words feeling too awkward and childish as they come out of her mouth. Lawrence seems to hesitate for a second before smirking across the table at her.

“Aye right. As if I’d ever let you near enough to me for that to happen.”

“Rich from the girl who was wrapped around me when I woke up,” Ellie quirks an eyebrow at her, and it’s Lawrence’s turn to fall silent.

Breakfast doesn’t last long. Between their hangovers and the fact that they’re both trying to make sense of the whole crazy situation neither of them can eat much, and they’re dragging themselves back to their rooms before too long. They continue to discuss everything, purely because there’s not much else they can talk about when the prospect of them being married is hanging over their heads like the world’s heaviest cloud. This time, though, it’s Lawrence who’s doing most of the nervous talking.

“I’m sure it’s easily explained away. They probably just got our table confused with the wedding party’s from yesterday. That’ll be what it is. Just some big coincidence. There’s a reasonable explanation to it all. Have you got that fuckin’ ring off your finger yet?!”

“I’m working on it,” Ellie grumbles. The best she’s managed is getting it halfway to her first knuckle before realising it was cutting the blood circulation off even more and she could get it no higher, so she’d immediately pushed it back down again.

She hears herself huff with annoyance. All she wants to do is sleep but they have to somehow deal with this first, and it’s more inconvenient than she’d ever hoped her first marriage (her only marriage) would be. Thinking for a second, she gives a little gasp as she has an idea. “Why don’t we just go down to the registry office and ask?”

Lawrence stops walking, fixes Ellie with a look as if she’s sprouted another head. “Have you lost the bloody place?! You want to go up to the registrar and go, ‘sorry to bother you, but can you please tell us if we’re married or not?’ We’d get sectioned!”

Ellie thinks that, even though it sounds as if it’s the easiest course of action, Lawrence is probably right.

“Besides,” Lawrence continues. “If there’s the possibility that we did rock up three sheets to the wind last night, I don’t particularly wanty show my face there again.”

“Right,” Ellie agrees. She bites her lip as she reaches the door to her room and puts her key card in. Lawrence waits beside her, a mutual understanding that she’s coming in to continue the conversation.

Ellie supposes she’s her wife now, so it makes sense.

“Who could we phone to confirm it, then? The government?”

Lawrence pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Ellie, you did not just ask me if we could phone the gov-”

“Oh my fucking God.”

Ellie cuts Lawrence off without thinking, and upon seeing the inside of the room Lawrence is rendered speechless too. There’s more balloons, ones without weights that cover the ceiling over the bed. The bed itself and the floor surrounding it is covered in rose petals, and on top of the pristinely made duvet there’s a box of chocolates and two bathrobes origami-d into swans.

Lawrence is the first to march into the room. She snatches up a small note that’s sitting on top of the chocolate box, unfolds it and reads aloud. “Congratulations to the happy couple, we wish you both a long and happy marriage. From all the staff at the Old England hotel. Fuck me, this canny be real.”

Ellie lets the door swing shut, walks over to the bed and sits on its edge precariously. An idea occurs to her as she retrieves her phone from her pocket. “Here. Check your phone. Messages, photos. There might be clues.”

She doesn’t look up to see if Lawrence is nodding or not, but she assumes she’s following her suggestion. Ellie is busy with her camera roll (where there’s nothing, and the last photo is a terrible, blurry, unflattering selfie of her and Tayce) when Lawrence gives a hum of recognition.

“I got a snapchat from you at one in the morning.”

Ellie cranes her neck. “What does it say?”

Lawrence, oddly, is keeping the phone out of her view. She’s quiet before she brings the phone back into Ellie’s line of vision, and the picture, whatever it was, is gone. “Just a drunk selfie. Nothing that could give us any clues.”

The pair of them are quiet as Lawrence taps against her phone screen. Ellie reflects. They’ve been in the shit like this together before: when they were eighteen and both their phones died before Lawrence’s Mum could pick them up from T in the Park and they got yelled at the whole way home when she’d eventually found them both, when they’d been stopped by the police because Lawrence had carried a traffic cone through the City Centre and tried to put it on top of the existing one on the Duke of Wellington statue. But this is a whole different level of shit.

Through it all, though, Lawrence has always been there with a joke and a laugh and reassurance for Ellie that things are never as bad as they seem. She always has this panicky way of staying positive, delivering comforting words through a voice that’s shaky with her own anxiety. Ellie always helps her in return when she needs it, has done for years: she’s usually good at staying calm, she’s chatty and can talk Lawrence through anything, and she’ll always reach out to take her hand or be there with a hug and a reminder that as long as Lawrence has got her, she’s never on her own. They’ve always seemed to take turns being each others’ anchors, and their friendship is a weird sort of pendulum of support. Today, however, they’re both blindly stumbling through their own process of coming to terms with this situation, and Ellie supposes neither or them are being much of a help to each other. She wishes she could be more helpful, because she cares about her friend so much.

Too much for it to be explained away as a friendship.  

“What are you looking up?” Ellie asks as Lawrence lies back on the bed with a thud, eyes still glued to her phone. Craning her neck, Ellie can see she’s typed how to get divorced into Google.

“Why are there no ordained divorce lawyers?” Lawrence mutters under her breath. “We can get married in a hotel bar but we can’t get divorced in a hotel room? What kind of fucking bullshit is this?”

Ellie lies back too. It’s not lost on her how close together their heads are. “Why are you trying to get us divorced? We might not even be married. I still think we should phone up the government.”

“Nicola Sturgeon’s got bigger fish to fry, babes, there’s an election in May.”

“Not the government, obviously,” Ellie rolls her eyes, scrolls her own phone absent-mindedly. She’d look something up to try and help but she’s at a loss. “Like…the offices! The records of marriage and stuff. They’ll have a department for this sort of thing, won’t they?”

“Will we even be on the system if our marriage is less than twenty-four hours old?” Lawrence wonders out loud. “And if we got married here, would we be registered in England, then? Aw fuck, so many questions and not a single answer.”

Ellie frowns to herself as she thinks. “What if we do have to get divorced? Will we need a lawyer? I don’t have that kind of money, Lawrie, and neither do you.”

Lawrence hums in worried agreement, and Ellie presses her lips together. It’s weird dealing with all of this when there’s a crush at play. In amongst frantically trying to figure everything out and clarify it all, a tiny part of Ellie wonders…would it really be so bad to be married to Lawrence? There’s not really an excuse for them not to date now. It’s really the perfect way of ruining the friendship she’s been so worried about ruining for the past few years; it’s not awkward to say she has feelings for her literal wife, she supposes. But every time those thoughts rest in her brain for a few seconds, Ellie forces herself to chase them away- because really, hen, are you insane? The sheer scale of the situation isn’t lost on her, she knows they have to figure it out somehow and mop this mess up. But pretending would be nice, and safe, and far, far away from this alcohol-soaked bubble of horror she appears to have woken up in.

It’s out before she knows it, though. “What if we just stayed married? If we are. If we just stayed married until we could afford to get divorced?”

“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” Lawrence drops her phone onto the bed, covering her eyes with her hands in resigned exhaustion.

“No, think about it! There must be loads of benefits to getting married,” Ellie explains, feeling as if she has to justify the ridiculous thought now. “You get, um. I think you get extra money from the government?”

“The tories have never given out extra money. To anyone,” Lawrence glares at her.

(Ellie knows it’s not what she should be taking from this, but it occurs to her that the way Lawrence has done her eyeliner today makes her eyes look really pretty.)

“Oh! Here, it says you get tax breaks if you get married. It would be good to not have to pay council tax for a bit,” Ellie says, looking up from her phone where she’s just googled what are the benefits of getting married UK.

Lawrence pauses beside her. When she speaks, she sounds contemplative. “Well, you’d be taking my last name, because am I fuck taking yours.”

Ellie gives a choked noise of indignation. “Fuck off, I’ve got the best last name out of the two of us! Diamond?”

“It’s the last name of a porn star! I’m not living my daily life like that!”

“So you want me to go by Ellie Chaney? A name that rhymes? Like a character from Balamory?”

“You already dress like a fuckin’ character from a kids’ TV show, it wouldn’t be that far-fetched,” Lawrence starts giggling, and Ellie can only fix her with an unimpressed pout. “Nah, this wouldn’t work, Els. We’re already arguing and it’s only been one day. We couldn’t stay married. Besides, I’ve got fucking standards, you know? I could so do better than you.”

It’s silly, Ellie knows, but the last comment from Lawrence stings more than it should. It’s got nothing to do with the concept of the two of them actually being married, but more the fact that Lawrence has basically just rubbished any hopes that Ellie’s ever had of maybe-someday-oneday them breaking out of their little bubble of friendship and trying to be anything more. She’s always done it; that’s Lawrence’s way, to shit on Ellie, to gently bully her, but Ellie has always known there’s no malice behind it. Except today it all hits differently, it hits a sore spot that she’s too tired of trying to keep hidden.

“Sorry that being married to me is such a disgusting prospect,” Ellie snaps without realising, turning over on the bed and standing up so she doesn’t have to see Lawrence’s reaction to the comment she already regrets.

“When did I say that?” Lawrence fires back, and Ellie can tell she’s confused by her reaction.

“We need to find this fucking marriage certificate,” Ellie ignores her, opening the drawers of the bedside table even though she sort of knows it’s a futile endeavour since she’s already searched.

Lawrence pushes, though, never one to back down from a confrontation.  “Why are you suddenly raging at me, what am I meant to have done?”

“You don’t have to act like you got landed with the booby prize on a game show, Lawrence, I’m still your friend. There’s worse people to be stuck with,” Ellie continues as she crosses the room to look in the drawers of the dressing table, hating the way she sounds like a petulant child but being unable to help the way her words just seem to be coming out.

There’s a silence that hangs in the air like fog, and then Lawrence’s voice comes again. It’s softer, a comforting note to it that makes Ellie’s heart lift cruelly. “Ellie.”

Ellie opens the wardrobe doors, realising too late what a ridiculous place to look it is but committing to the idea anyway. She’s still way too hungover to cope with any of this, and the prospect of an argument with Lawrence, especially over this, isn’t one she’s able to face. Accepting she’s not going to find the certificate, she sighs and walks back over to the bed. As she sits on its edge and keeps her back to her friend she fiddles with the ring on her finger, and it finally, mercifully, slides off.

Lawrence’s voice is stripped of all its aggression and incredulity from before as she speaks again. This time she’s quiet and sincere. “Ellie. What’s this really about?”

Before Ellie can consider the gravity of the question or indeed contemplate how to word an answer, Lawrence’s phone vibrates against the bedcovers. Neither of them speak as she reaches up to grab it, but when A’whora’s name flashes up on screen again they share a look of weary exhaustion, neither of them wanting to face their friend’s smug expression.

A’whora’s smiling cheekily as Lawrence answers the call. “How’re the young lovers doing after their breakfast, then?”

Lawrence’s nostrils flare. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

“So all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, then. Just calling to see if you liked the wedding presents.”

Ellie feels like a crumbling sandcastle as she rolls onto her side next to Lawrence and looks at A’whora through the screen. “What?”

“The decorations at breakfast! The ones in your room! Just thought they’d really add to the atmosphere,” she smirks, unable to keep from laughing.

More confused than ever, Ellie frowns in bewilderment. “But that was from…the hotel did that?”

“No, I did that. I just phoned down and got them to set it up. They still had a bunch of wedding shit left over from that pair that got married last night. It wasn’t cheap, but it was worth it to give the pair of you the romantic equivalent of everyone singing happy birthday to you at a restaurant,” A’whora explains, still giggly.

Ellie and Lawrence are silent as they stare at their friend through the phone. A’whora seems perturbed, then narrows her eyes at them before she speaks again.

“You two didn’t actually…believe you got married, did you? I thought you knew it was a bullshit prank.”

Before she can register Lawrence’s reaction, Ellie’s mouth drops open in shock. She grabs the phone from Lawrence’s hands and yells at A’whora as if she’s in front of her and not in her own room down the corridor. “A’whora! I am going to fucking kill you!”

A’whora’s laugh comes through the phone like a crackly screech, and Ellie doesn’t miss the unimpressed look from Lawrence at having been unable to style out the fact they’d both been duped. Ellie can’t even let that bother her, though, because she’s too busy tripping over herself to retell to A’whora their rollercoaster of a thought process from this morning.

Lawrence shakes her head beside her, loath to admit she’d been fooled too. “I didn’t believe it for a second. She’s talking out her arse.”

Ellie cries out, affronted. “You were telling me I had to take your last name not even five minutes ago!”

A’whora has to wipe tears from her eyes by the time the pair of them have told her the whole story. “Oh my God, guys. This has been the best birthday present of the weekend. I actually think I’m gonna wee myself. Fuck!”

“I can’t believe you told us we got married and we just…believed you!”

“Well, no, you did get married,” A’whora says.

With this revelation, it crosses Ellie’s mind to lock herself in the hotel sauna until she’s cooked through. “What in the name of God-”

As she continues to speak though, A’whora clarifies. “Or at least, you said you both wanted to marry each other. That conversation did take place. Bimini started joking they were an ordained minister. They showed you their provisional drivers’ license and told you it was a minister’s license. You were both so drunk you believed it.”

“Christ in a wheelie bin,” Lawrence groans.

“But you’re not actually married married. It was just pretend. And hey! We had fun. You should do it for real some day,” A’whora cackles.

If she was in the room with her, Ellie would slap her.

They finish the call with the promise to be packed and ready to meet to check out at half twelve, and when Lawrence locks her phone the pair of them laugh softly about the idiots they’d both been. Ellie is glad A’whora phoned. The conversation that had been taking place prior had been about to go down a route she hadn’t wanted it to, and she’s glad there’s no reason for it to be brought up again. She can go back to keeping her crush on her friend a secret, never to be unearthed.

“I should probably go and start getting packed, then,” Lawrence says decisively, getting up from the bed and making to leave. Ellie remembers what she put on the bedside table, and reaches out to pick it up as she tells Lawrence to wait.

As Lawrence turns around, Ellie holds out her grandmother’s ring, feeling a little awkward as she does so. “Here. Since we’re not married anymore. It came off in the end.”

Lawrence looks a little sheepish as she accepts it with a soft thanks. She gives it a little smile, then shoots the same one at Ellie. “Thank fuck for that.”

There isn’t any malice to her words. If Ellie was being hopeful she’d maybe even say there was regret.

Lawrence leaves and she can’t shake the little niggling feeling of sadness that embeds itself under a synapse in her brain.

***

The cold air that comes with the beginning of Autumn is welcome to Ellie as she sits and waits on Tayce to bring the car round. She’s not quite fully recovered from her hangover, but packing, checking out and getting a can of Monster from a vending machine in the lobby has done wonders for her mood. There’s also the fact that she doesn’t have a potential marriage to consider, so that’s good. That’s a relief.

A crunch of gravel behind her makes her turn around, and seeing Lawrence wrapped up in her black hoodie makes Ellie feel mixed emotions. She feels silly for getting so caught up in the whole idea of them having been married, the way she’d panicked and immediately thought it was all real, taking A’whora and Tayce’s comments at face value. She’s embarrassed at how she’d taken it all so seriously, and most of all she’s embarrassed that Lawrence was there for every reaction.

“Hey,” she greets her, already feeling a blush grow on her face. “You recovered?”

“Just about, yeah,” Lawrence laughs softly. She gestures to the mango loco that’s in Ellie’s hand. “Can see you’re clearly feeling loads better.”

Ellie matches her laugh, raises the can up in a solo cheers. As she drops her arm again, she sighs a little.

“Listen, Lawrence, sorry about…this morning. Immediately panicking and getting so worked up and intense with it all. I was just hangy and emotional and I had the fear…you know what it’s like.”

“It’s no problem. Don’t worry,” Lawrence brushes her off. Her expression is troubled though, as if there’s something else she wants to say. The unspoken words are loud and stifling, and then Lawrence finally meets her gaze with a nervous one of her own. “Well, marriage didn’t really work for us. But…d’you think drinks would be better?”

Ellie’s heart is going to give out. She can’t cope with the events of the day at all. She can already feel her pulse speeding up with hope so she frowns at Lawrence slightly, clarifying like a child tugging the string of a balloon to bring it back to earth. “Drinks?”

“Yeah, like,” Lawrence shrugs, looks to the ground bashfully. “For a date. If you want.”

All at once it’s as if her blood has just suddenly exploded in her veins. It feels like Ellie is on some sort of other-worldly come-up as she blinks at her friend, her friend she’s had a crush on since fuck-even-knows-when, and is stunned into silence.

“The snapchat you sent me last night,” Lawrence continues, scrolling her phone and holding the screen out for Ellie to see. “I’ve felt like that too for a while now.”

Ellie is cringing as she reads the white text against the black screen- a screenshot of her message sent to Lawrence at one in the morning, which reads “so glad whe’re marrrued for rwal vc ive reallt luked you for ages and i quitr fancg u a lot acfually x"

“How did you even manage to read what that says,” Ellie screws her face up, failing to address the bigger picture.

Lawrence smiles, a little hint of a twinkle to her eyes that makes Ellie’s heart thump. “I knew what you meant.”

There’s a small pause where Ellie blushes and looks to the ground, handing Lawrence her phone back. Lawrence uses the silence to keep talking.

“I know I like to rip the piss sometimes, and I know I can take it too far. But today all of that was about…verbalising everything I thought you were feeling about me. Trying to reassure you that I wasn’t interested in you because I thought that’s what you wanted. Once I started I just…didn’t stop, I guess. Damage control, you know? I’m sorry, Ellie,” she reels off quietly. She’s not hiding behind any jokes and she’s not making fun of Ellie and she’s not making fun of herself. It’s honest and simple and raw and everything Ellie’s wanted.

She scuffs some gravel with her shoe. “You feel the same, then?”

Lawrence presses her lips together. Ellie can tell she’s nervous. “Yeah. I do.”

“I do? Is that some kind of sick joke?!” Ellie laughs, and as Lawrence joins in she suddenly hesitates. “Wait. This isn’t a joke, is it?”

“Well, I’ve had enough fucking pranks for one day and I’m pretty sure you have too.”

The pair of them share a laugh, and as Tayce’s car appears from round at the hotel car park, Ellie fixes Lawrence with a smile.

“Drinks sound good.”

Tayce and A’whora appear from the car and pop the boot open, and Lawrence and Ellie try and fail to bite back the smiles they’re shooting each other as they carry their suitcases over, a mutual agreement that they’ll talk more about their plans when they don’t have their nosy and shit-stirring friend and her equally nosy and shit-stirring girlfriend with them on their way to drop them off at the train station.

It’s not quite a shotgun wedding, and it’s not quite a marriage in Vegas. But a date and a drink with the friend she’s hidden her feelings from for too many years is a good place to start.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ortega #are you in love with a notion #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #ellie x lawrence #a'whora #tayce #uk2 #lesbian au #marriage #fluff

[heavenly-roman]

Sibling Culture™️

Plot: A series of events in which Roman and Remus enact peak Sibling Culture™️

Warnings: swearing, mild sexual references (aka remus being remus), a lil bit of insecurity and sibling rivalry, sympathetic remus

Pairing(s): creativitwins, mentioned/implied intruality, mentioned/implied roceit

Word Count: 1634

if you liked this, consider buying me a coffee?

Taglist: @emo-disaster @shitpost-sides @gattonero17

(ao3 link!!!)

+++

The incessant knocking on Roman’s door persists, despite Roman calling for whoever it is (Remus, definitely Remus), to come in.

After another forty-five seconds of knocking, of which Roman seriously contemplates jumping out the window, the door swings open. Remus stands there, not making a noise, until Roman groans and looks at him.

His brother is t-posing - Roman genuinely considers closing the door in his face.

“What are you doing?” Roman asks.

“Simple.” Remus responds, keeping his position. “I’m t-posing in your doorway to establish dominance as the better twin.”

“You’re not the better twin.”

Remus makes an offended noise, and Roman watches him carefully. Normally, the younger twin would make some sort of offended or crude gesture. Today, however, he is unmoving. “I am clearly the better twin, as I am currently t-posting and establishing my dominance. Try to keep up, Ro.”

“Is that all you wanted?” Roman sighs.

“Oh, dinner’s ready too,” Remus shrugs and walks away, leaving the door wide open. Bewildered, Roman follows.

+++

H. Duke (9:31pm): roman

H. Duke (9:31pm): roman

H. Duke (9:32pm): roman!!

H. Duke (9:34pm): romAN

H. Duke (9:34pm): ROMAN

   H. Chandler (9:35pm): WHAT DO YOU WANT REMUS

   H. Duke (9:37pm): i lost the game >:D

H. Chandler (9:38pm): i will END YOU

+++

Roman sighs and reluctantly knocks on Remus’ door, calling to him, “Remus, can you help me?”

“Depends,” Remus swings the door open, mischievous smirk gracing his lips. “What do you want, and what can you do for me?”

Holding out his notebook and textbook, Roman explains, “can you check that my answers are right? I can’t be in the musical if I fail math again.”

Remus gives him an expectant look, so he continues, “I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

“A month.”

“Two weeks.”

“Deal,” Remus nods and holds out his hand to shake. Roman shakes it, then hands the books to his brother, who promptly flops down into his desk chair. Roman stands anxiously as Remus compares their homework, hope growing in his stomach when Remus looks up at him with a soft smile and nods.

“They look good, Ro,” he stands, giving the books back to his twin. “You’re getting the hang of it, I’m proud of you.”

“Oh, uh, thank you, Re.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Remus shrugs. “Now get out of my room, I’m playing Minecraft.”

+++

H. Duke (11:37am): hey beefbrain are u going out for lunch?

   H. Chandler (11:38am): yes why?

   H. Duke (11:39am): bring me back a cheeseburger

   H. Chandler (11:41am): why would I do that??? you literally just called me beefbrain???

   H. Duke (11:42am): remember that time I proofread your math homework so you could audition for the wizard of oz?

    H. Chandler (11:43am): ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

H. Chandler (11:43am): extra onion right?

+++

Roman skips up the stairs, shrugging his backpack off as he opens his bedroom door. Flicking on the light, he holds back a scream as he notices Remus lounging on his bed.

“Ah, Roman King, so nice of you to join me.”

“What are you doing in my room, Remus?” Roman rolls his eyes and closes the door. He crosses his arms over his chest as Remus stands.

“Let me paint you a picture, dear brother,” Remus begins dramatically pacing around the room - it’s times like this Roman can truly see the resemblance. “You see, I entered your room in pursuit of one thing, and one thing only -  your white crop top with the skull on it.”

“In the hamper.”

“Thank you. But while looking in your closet, I found something. Any guesses?”

Roman sighs, “Your green army jacket?”

“My green army jacket!” Remus pulls the coat from behind his back and holds it up for the older twin to see. “Anything to say for yourself, thief?”

“Remus, you literally just admitted to coming in here to steal a shirt of mine. I think I’m allowed to borrow a jacket.”

“Nuh uh, I have a right as your younger sibling to steal your clothes.”

“You’re only twenty minutes younger than me?”

“Doesn’t matter, still my birth right.”

“Fine,” Roman slumps down onto his bed. “Take the shirt, and wash it before you give it back?”

“You’re doing my laundry for the next week and a half so i think you’ll be washing it.”

+++

H. Chandler (10:03am): hey

H. Chandler (10:03am): wizard of oz auditions are today at lunch

     H. Duke (10:05am): and? why should I care?

H. Duke (10:06am): wait wait I get it

H. Duke (10:06am): break a leg I guess

    H. Chandler (10:11am): not what I was getting at, but thank you

H. Chandler (10:12am): you should audition

H. Chandler (10:12am): I think you’d make a great wizard

   H. Duke (10:15am): ur hilarious

H. Duke (10:15am): absolutely not

   H. Chandler (10:17am): why not?

   H. Duke (10:17am): I have no talent

H. Duke (10:18am): you’re the one mom and dad are super proud of, remember?

  H. Chandler (10:21am): Remus, shut up. You’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met

H. Chandler (10:22am): you’re related to me, afterall

H. Chandler (10:22am): mom and dad are proud of you too, by the way

      H. Duke (10:25am): fine

  H. Chandler (10:27am): fine????

  H. Duke (10:28am): fine, i’ll audition, but only to get you off my back

   H. Chandler (10:32am): love you too!!!

  H. Duke (10:33am): you’re also buying me lunch

+++

The auditorium door barely closes behind him before Roman is bombarding him with questions.

“How did it go? What did they say? How do you feel? What-”

“Roman.”

“Sorry.

Remus motions for them to walk as he begins speaking, “It went well, I guess. They said I was ‘very promising’, whatever that means.”

“Remus, that’s amazing!” Roman exclaims. He fishes his car keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, sliding into the driver’s seat. “This calls for celebratory milkshakes.”

“We only do that when you get the role, dumbass.”

“But I know that you’re going to!”

“Look, Ro, I-” Remus sighs, turning in the passenger seat to face his brother. “Don’t get my hopes up, okay? The audition… felt good, yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve seen you study really hard for tests and feel good about them and then fail, you know? Feeling good does nothing, and I barely prepared for it.”

The silence in the car was thick, both of them sitting in the truth of Remus’ words, before Roman speaks up again.

“Well,” He says, starting the car. “I guess we really do need those shakes.”

+++

H. Chandler (4:46pm): stop talking to patton, he’s my friend not yours

  H. Duke (5:07pm): sorry what was that? I was busy getting my dick sucked by patton

   H. Chandler (5:08pm): OH MY GOD

H. Chandler (5:08pm): TMI??????????????

  H. Duke (5:10pm): kidding kidding

         H. Chandler (5:11pm): oh thank god

   H. Duke (5:13pm): i was sucking HIS dick

   H. Chandler (5:14pm): REMUS WHAT THE FUCK

     H. Duke (5:17pm): im kidding again

H. Duke (5:17pm): we’re studying, calm down

    H. Chandler (5:18pm): don’t you EVER do that to me again

   H. Duke (5:26pm): yeah whatever

H. Duke (5:26pm): i’ll stop hanging out with patton if you stop hanging out with dee

H. Duke (5:27pm): hE’s mY fRiEnD nOt YoUrS

    H. Chandler (5:31pm): bold of you to assume dee and I are just friends

H. Chandler (5:32pm): but alright, I concede, as long as you never try to tell me about your real or imaginary sex life again

    H. Duke (5:38pm): deal

+++

“They posted the cast list!” Roman jumps up and down in front of his brother. “Should we go check together?”

Remus grimaces, “I think I’m good, you can check it yourself.”

“Remus,” Roman frowns. “A wise man once told me to always receive news first hand, and that’s why he would never check cast lists for me.”

“You already know your news.” Remus picks at the olives in his salad.

“But you don’t know yours!” Roman insists.

“Roman.”

“Remus.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Check it for me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“ Please .”

“Fine.” Remus pushes his chair out and stands. “But only to shut you up.”

“And that’s how you win the game, folks.”

Remus rolls his eyes and pushes past Roman who makes an offended noise and follows him. His steps become smaller as he grows closer to the auditorium door where the cast list is posted. Nervously, he asks, “Check it first?”

Roman nods sympathetically and makes his way to the door. “Do you want me to read it out loud?” He asks.

“Please.”

“Scarecrow: Roman King. Tin Man: Dee Lyre. Cowardly Lion: Patton Hart. The Wizard-”

“Wait,” Remus interrupts. “Let me read this one.”

“By all means.”

Remus takes a deep breath and reads the list, “The Wizard: Remus King.”

Roman cheers, and Remus joins in too. They’re practically screaming by the time they reach the cafeteria again, but no one bothers to stop them.

+++

H. Chandler (1:56pm): so, celebratory milkshakes after school?

       H. Duke (1:59pm): you know it

H. Duke (2:00pm): oh and bring a mayo jar so I can put my shake in it and freak people out

       H. Chandler (2:03pm): absolutely not, plans cancelled

     H. Duke (2:04pm): :(

       H. Chandler (2:08pm): ugh okay fine plans uncancelled but i'm not bringing a mayo jar

       H. Duke (2:09pm): :D

H. Duke (2:09pm): and it’s fine i have my own

     H. Chandler (2:11pm): not even gonna ask

H. Chandler (2:14pm): oh and remus?

    H. Duke (2:15pm): yeah?

    H. Chandler (2:21pm): I lost the game

#creativitwins #tag this as remrom and face my blade #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #roman sanders #implied intruality #implied roceit #are any of u surprised? i couldn't help myself ok #high school au #once again are any of u surprised? u shouldn't be #creativitwins fluff #bennie’s books

[gh0stchoir]

YOYOOYOOOOO SAME NAME GANG!!! Was wondering if you do matchups for bnha, if soooo

Im ftm using they/he pronouns, im into girls and nonbinary people(maybe guys??) and im ace!!!

My star sign is a Sagittarius and my MBTI type is INTP. Personality wise im an anxious ball of nerves and stress, but when im just listening to music or in a car im just sedated, like im just gone. I try to act cool because im covering up the need to have the ground swallow me whole so I dont have to talk to people.

I'm 5'7 and a bit chubby but also stronk, my hair is just a giant brown dandelion, like i can never get it to stick down. I wear rectangle glasses or contacts when im not lazy, and I have a few scars on my face from being a dumbass as well as a shit ton of freckles from all my sunburns(I like to swim), and Im usually wearing a Zelda, Junji Ito, Record shop from home town, or band hoodie with some paint splattered jeans(I do tech crew for plays)

My friends call me the mom friend, and I always bring extra water, gum or tissues. Whatever my friends might need when we are hanging out!!I love marine biology and want to be a marine biologist!!! I play the piano(very shittyly) and the drums(not as shitty)

My favourite books are the Lord of the Rings, my favourite tv show is TWD, my favourite movie is Breakfast Club, my favourite musical is Falsettos, and my favourite game is just any Zelda game. I also play Roller derby and Rugby because im cool like that >:)

Anyways your blog rockkksss,, have a good daaaaay

A/n: I’ve never done a matchup before, but holy hell this was fun!! I hope I did this right!

DEFINITELY MINA I’D SAY!!

She’s a bit rambunctious, so you’d definitely help with making sure she has water or bandaids if she’s doing something extra. She also absolutely loves animals(in my opinion) and is probably really fascinated with the ocean n stuff so tell her some facts and she’s listening for hours!

She’ll probably jam out with you, having the time of y’all’s lives playin music! She’ll definitely be your hype woman for anything whether it for sports, if you’re feeling dysphoric, and if you can’t beat a game! (Dw about her ever beating you in a game, other than Mario kart. She’s scarily good at it.)

She def will ask how the hell you play roller derby n rugby bc holy shit she’s in love with you and is so curious about sports. She’s extremely clumsy so if you teach her, be ready to watch her trip on her own feet and laugh at herself.

Y’all plan designated movie nights every week. I genuinely think she also really likes Breakfast Club, so you two will definitely watch it a lot if y’all are up for it.

Mina will wrap herself around you when you’re visibly anxious or stressed near her. She’ll take you to her dorm room and cuddle you and compliment you for hours. This girl is w h i p p e d for ya! If anyone in her class says one word abt you in any negative way, purposely or not, she’s like a guard dog.

Mina is a fashionista, what can I say. So she will definitely go and buy you lots and lots of Zelda shirts or any band you like! She buys you shirts and hoodies often, always liking you to have a full closet full of clothes.

OH OH OH OH AND FOR PRIDE FESTIVALS!!?? SHES ALL DRESSED UP WITH U AND HAPPILY SHOWING THE WORLD HER BEAUTIFUL PARTNER!! She’s a simp, what can I say🤷

#bnha matchup #mha matchup #mha matchups #bnha matchups

[polandspringz]

Request: something about Glory & Asmo vibing . maybe painting each others nails . ill pay u

I know you already got to read this when I finished it, but here you go!!!

Title: Always at the Right Place, at the Right Time

Summary:

Whenever Poland invited everyone to the Human World, there was never any actual obligation to hang out with her. At least not for Glory. Any adventure were moments reserved for them, the Avatar of Lust and the Avatar of Vainglory.

(This is set in my series involving my MC, “Designing in the Devildom”. AO3 Link will be posted in the notes)

Grass. The smell of flowery perfume, too strong and too tacky. It burned the throat and lungs like sugary cotton candy, but they were both immune to the taste by now. A picnic blanket spread over the land, flowers were crushed beneath their weight. They didn’t care. The sun shone down on a chilly spring day in the human realm. Glory held out his hand, and Asmo held it gently in his own as he applied nail polish across it carefully.

“Don’t mess up,” Glory huffed, “I have a date tonight.”

“Another commitment? And here I thought you cleared your whole day for me!”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Why, darling, others do that for me,” Glory rolled his eyes at that, but it was all in good fun, no actual malice, “But, I won’t mess up. Although knocking your beauty down a peg would make me the prettiest in the three realms, I wouldn’t risk my beautician skills being slanders because I decided to be petty.”

“Good, cause if you mess up my nails I will douse you in acetone.”

The little brush moved across the nails, leaving gooey, light blue color behind. It was like liquid lipstick, squishy and shiny but as it dried it would harden into a perfect coating. The clear bottle of top coat rolled around on the picnic blanket as Asmo shifted, knocking into Glory’s knee. The color would be preserved, but protected underneath a thin layer of plastic and gloss.

“You’ve been different lately,” Glory blurted out. Asmo glanced up with surprise.

“What do you mean? Have I been even more beautiful?”

“No, and that’s just it. What you said earlier,” Glory rolled his free hand in the air as they gestured for something, “I’m used to you saying you’re the prettiest- which is false- but normally you don’t leave room for debate.”

Asmo finished the pinky finger, and then blew a soft puff of air over the whole hand before setting it back down on Glory’s thigh.

Glory didn’t like feelings. The only mushy stuff he cared about was makeup or textured fabrics of designer clothes that he knew would look great and help him show others up. But there was a distant look clouding Asmo’s eyes. He was smiling but his mind was elsewhere. He just sat there for a moment, leaning on his knees after he closed up the blue polish and set it down beside them.

Glory couldn’t help but notice the ugly pact mark that decorated Asmo’s skin, the bright pink ring that tattooed his skin, staining his neck, just visible underneath the collar. It seemed to pulsate when Glory stared at it, taunting him.

It disgusted him. He would die before he ever made a pact with any human.

Glory let out a scoff and sat back, tapping Asmo forcefully on the shoulder to knock him back to reality, “You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep a face like that. If you turn any uglier than you already are, I won’t hang around you anymore.”

Asmo let out a hearty laugh, his whole body radiant in the sunlight. He reached for the clear polish and shook the bottle as he let himself settle down. When he looked towards Glory’s other hand to inspect the nails, his eyes were brighter again, but also all too knowing. 

Glory never needed to say much, Asmo was the best at picking up on the emotions people liked to hide. He could see right through him, but it was still nice of Glory to try and say something to make Asmo feel better. It was all the more genuine when said in his own Glory-way.

**

The balloons bumped into one another and the strings tangled as they were pulled through the wind and down the street. Two sets of shoes clattered and scraped against the sidewalk as the two ran along the tiny shops of downtown.

Asmo spun around, the balloons swinging with him as Glory rushed passed, taking the other demon's hand as they continued running. They hadn’t stolen anything and weren’t being chased, but there was something different about the human world. The air and the way everything was so colorful and bright as light bounced off everything, from puddles to windows of glass. The way life and the scents of the city were carried on the breeze. It was like Devildom but better.

The two of them stepped off the curb to cross the street, Glory’s heel clicking on the edge of the curb as he skipped forward.

He wished he could stay here forever.

**

Flashes of a camera interrupted the darkness of the night. The human realm’s night sky was much darker than Devildom’s artificial one, turning completely black even though it was only nine p.m. Glory lowered the polaroid that Poland had let her borrow, and Asmo scampered to take the developing photo from her. Slowly, the image of Asmo holding pink and blue cotton candy formed itself against the golden ferris wheel lights that spun against the black sky.

It was summer now. Poland had invited them all back to her world to visit a fair. Apparently this was a yearly thing where she used to live. It was a little crowded, a little too noisy and full of snot-nosed kids, but there were rides and there was food and strange human world entertainment. Most of it didn’t appeal to Glory, besides using the place as a backdrop for new Devilgram photos, but Asmo was coming with the rest of the brothers, and Diavolo was giving them a few extra days before they had to go back, and Glory would do anything to get out of the boring Devildom.

Poland must have noticed Glory’s disgust at the farm animals, stalls, and dirt paths when they first entered the fairgrounds, because Poland handed the camera over to her almost immediately. She had packed tons of film, handed a bunch of boxes full of starry, rainbow bordered packs that Glory could use to her heart’s content.

Half of the photos were already used up, littering the inside of the mini backpack Poland had given over to her. Random photos of people screaming on rides, humans running around or sitting under the tents. Seeing kids eat popcorn off the ground was gross, but taking pics as they tripped and ate shit and spilled popcorn all over the ground was fascinating. Before their group had split up, Lucifer had watched as Glory photographed the people in the historical tent, feeling the need to supervise the only demon not hiding her horns with magic in case she caused a ruckus.

“Based on your grades, I never suspected you would be interested in history,” he said smugly.

Glory focused on making sure the photo was tucked safely away and developing properly before shooting Lucifer a glare, flipping him off for good measure. The gasps of the historic actors had Lucifer flailing and shoving her hand down, dragging her away before she could cause anymore problems.

“Luce, wait!” Poland yelled, “You’re going to miss out on the old fashioned ice cream.”

Glory debated shouting out Lucifer’s full name, seeing if that would illicit anymore startled gasps from the old men and women sitting with bonnets by the display. That would make for a good picture too.

“Glory, let me take one of you now!” Asmo said, his fingers crawling around the camera as he tried to gently pry it out of her hands, “Go stand in front of that ride over there! The Himalaya!”

He pointed to a ride that was spinning at an unbelievably fast speed (for humans anyway), but it was flashy and colorful, which meant it would look wonderful blurred together, and there were so many humans waiting in the line, which would mean more people to preserve in her collection (she would have to invest in a scrapbook). She started to skip over, her boots digging into the clay, orange soil as the ride’s music was interrupted by a loud siren-like horn.

“Kolia, you stay back there with Belial!” Asmo waved to the other two members of their group. Kolia was the one suffering the most from the atmosphere of the fair. She only tagged along on the trip because it meant she got to see Poland again, but somehow she had gotten separated and nearly lost until she ran into Belial and the others outside a funnel cake stand.

Asmo hurried to take the photos as fast as the camera would allow, Glory striking a few poses and being tempted to take back the camera to snap the faces of the screaming riders behind her, but Asmo signaled the camera needed to be refilled with film and Glory had the bag so…

They rejoined the rest of their group.

“Where do you want to go now?” Asmo asked. Belial pointed towards the tents where all the vendors were in the middle of the fair grounds.

“I want to buy something. I saw shark tooth jewelry earlier.”

“Oh, and sand art!” Asmo chimed in.

“Do we have enough money? How much did Lucifer give us?” Kolia reached for her wallet.

“Hold on, hold on,” Glory mumbled as she finished snapping the new box of film inside the camera, “There! Good to go! Oh, wait a second-”

She leaned in and reached her arm around all of them, holding the camera up to snap what would become a very blurry selfie of them all.

“Alright, let's go!”

**

It was fall now. Glory sat on a bench surrounded by an expanse of orange colored leaves in the middle of a park. It was almost too picturesque, too cliche. Asmo had run off to get some warm drinks from the coffee shop down the street. It was getting cold again, the human realm had always felt so much colder than Devildom, but maybe that was just because of where Poland lived?

It was their last visit here before winter set in. Poland already had pulled a lot of strings to get the others to tag along on visits throughout the year, especially since she almost never seemed to invite Diavolo along. Glory wasn’t exactly sure what was up with that, maybe the Prince of Hell was just too busy, or maybe there was some sort of feud going on between them. It didn’t matter much to him though.

“I’m back!” Asmo said, walking up with the two, tall cups in either hand, “Sorry it took so long. They don’t have the drink you like here, so I had to improvise to get something similar.”

“That’s fine,” Glory said, plucking the cup from Asmo’s hand with just their finger and thumb on either side of it, “Probably would have tasted gross either way. Human food is bad.”

“Hey, you may have suffered through Solomon’s cooking over at Purgatory Hall, but that doesn’t mean everything from the human realm is bad,” Asmo chided, “Poland isn’t a great cook either, but there are tons of places all over this world with cute desserts and stuff.”

“A shame we won’t get to see them,” Glory sighed, popping the lid open and taking a sip.

Asmo stared at him for a moment before starting to get up, “I actually saw a shop selling some macaroons earlier! Let me go back and get them-”

Glory grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

“Stay,” they mumbled, avoiding eye contact, “We can go get some later.”

Asmo remained frozen for a moment, then slowly sat back down on the bench, “Alright then.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. They watched birds in the empty park peck at the ground, but it was far too hard and cold for their beaks to find anything beneath it. The carpet of leaves was rustled by the wind, a few brown leaves breaking off to dance in a violent circle, their dried and dead edges scratching against the concrete and making a grating rhythm to the ears.

“It’s only going to be until the spring, you know that, right?” Asmo asked, “It’s not a long time for a demon.”

“It’s a long time for me because I can’t come and go as I please.”

“You… like the human world now, don’t you? I thought with how you always were ignoring Poland, you didn’t like coming here.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, I only come here to hang with you. Poland is just… well she’s convenient, she’s just my ticket for a new hangout spot. I just didn’t expect to find other humans so interesting.”

“They are interesting, aren’t they?” Asmo laughed behind his hand, “They’re so funny to tempt-”

“-to trip up-”

“-to trick-”

“-to observe-”

“-and to love,” Asmo finished, a deep sigh escaping him as he leaned back against the bench, watching his breath rise with the steam of the drink, mixing together in the air. Glory watched him confused, and although Asmo was wearing a thick scarf, Glory’s eyes shot to where he knew that marking was over his neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Glory crossed his arms, setting the drink down on the bench, “But I’m just annoyed because I don’t like being restricted. I don’t care what’s going on with Diavolo and your brothers and Poland and everyone else. It’s stupid of them to restrain us from coming to this realm whenever we want.”

“You could always walk through the eight layers if you really wanted to get here-”

“You know I would never do that to myself. Horrible idea.”

“It’s just a thought,” Asmo shut his eyes, “I might traverse it if Lucifer lets me. I’m sure I won’t be the only one rushing back up here. Poland has a fashion show in January. I might come see it.”

Glory didn’t respond. They just sat and stared at the city skyline rising just behind the trees at the edge of the park. Eventually, Asmo leaned his head on Glory’s shoulder, his hands unknotting Glory’s posture as he pulled Glory’s hands in his. He cracked open his eyes just a bit as he brushed his fingers along the old polish, humming when he noticed the chips.

“You should let me do your nails again. Or give you a makeover. We’ll have so much time in the winter to hang out. Nothing will change.”

Glory sighed again, and shut his eyes and let his head bonk against the top of Asmo’s gently.

He was right afterall. Nothing would change.

**

It was winter. Snow was not really a Devildom “thing” but Glory was certain they would be seeing some in the coming days because Diavolo had a knack for using whatever magic he could harness to simulate as much of the human world as he could. Glory had holed themselves up in the bedroom at Purgatory Hall, sitting on the window seat as they watched the moon outside.

Simeon and Solomon were in the courtyard, doing something with Luke. While teasing the young angel did give Glory some entertainment, they really weren’t in the mood right now. They had gone over to the House of Lamentation to hang with Asmo, but realized they had forgotten he had skipped off to the Human World for Poland’s fashion show. Glory had been invited, but had declined because nothing was being made easy through the use of seals, and they had no idea why Asmo would ever want to torture himself taking the footpath there.

So, now they were alone.

Meaning things had changed.

Belial and Kolia were probably downstairs, Kolia holed up in her room no doubt surrounded by books, ugh. But there was no one to compete with or talk aimlessly with. They supposed they could just go outside and steal Simeon aside, the angel was always too polite to decline even if he wasn’t really interested in the things being said, but that sort of genuine disinterest they would sense from him would just continue to make things boring.

They missed Asmo. He hadn’t even painted their nails before they left.

Whatever, they could do it themselves. If only they could find the energy to move.

Glory knew the human world would be unreasonably cold and snowy and blustery right now, and that was no place for demons, but it would be better than the mundane, boring days full of RAD classes that would continue to stretch on for the rest of their eternity. They still didn’t really understand the point of the academy, just knew that if they didn’t attend it Diavolo would probably rear his true nature and execute them for treason or something.

Glory sighed again, something they had been doing a lot since the seasonal depression set in, and got up finally to move back over to their bed. If they were leaving their room that meant getting dressed up, and although they were the Avatar of Vainglory they weren’t feeling the need to fulfill their sin right now. Instead, they flopped over on their bed, face first as they let themselves sink into the blankets, their mind aimlessly drifting through thoughts but never clinging to one.

At some point, they fell asleep.

And were abruptly woken when Asmo crashed into their bedroom from a portal breaking through time and space.

“Asmo, what the fuck?” Glory sat up, rubbing their eyes.

The demon stood up from the floor and brushed himself off, reaching a hand out to Glory immediately as he kept the portal open behind him.

“Hi! Guess I got the teleporting right! Anyway, you need to come with me to the human world, right now.”

“What? I’m not dressed, why?”

“Poland needs another model for her fashion show! It starts in an hour and one of the models broke their ankle. Come on, we have to go!”

Asmo was pulling Glory out of bed, tugging them towards the portal.

“What? Hold on, is this another seal?” They pointed at the portal, “When did you get this?”

“Poland has one for emergencies. Come on!”

Glory was tossed through the portal with Asmo, popping out on the other side. They opened their eyes as the remnants of the seal disintegrated in Asmo’s hand. He shook off the dust before pushing open the door to a backstage area. There were models milling about, people running around holding bundles of fabric and palettes of makeup. Peeking out from behind the curtain, Glory could see flowers covering the walls, real flowers pasted from floor to ceiling all the way through the maze that had been set up for the runway.

Poland rushed by, nearly missing them as she talked into a headset and carried a dress she was still beading. Asmo caught her arm and froze her in her tracks.

“Wonderful! You’re here!” Poland’s face lit up as she shoved the dress to one of the (Glory presumed) assistants, “Let’s get your makeup done right away!”

They both started to guide Glory to one of the vanities, but they dug their heels in and turned around, “Wait, wait, wait. I’m all in for this but, Asmo, how are we getting back to Devildom if the seal broke? I’m not walking all the way back. Do you even know the entrance to how to get back?”

“I don’t have another seal,” Poland said, “That was for emergencies. Guess this just means you’ll have to stay with me until the others can come pick you up?”

“It will take me a few days to get back home on foot,” Asmo laughed, “If you’re insistent about waiting for another portal home, then that would probably give you a good week or so before Diavolo and Lucifer come to drag you back.”

Glory mulled it over for a moment, really not liking the idea of being stuck living with Poland for a few days, but then Poland flagged down someone who was walking by with the rolling rack, picking a hanger off it to show.

“This is what you’ll be wearing, by the way!”

Glory stared in awe as Poland continued, twisting the fabric of the outfit and pulling more accessories off the top of the rack, “...and so you’ll be the beginning and the end of the show, wearing this at the start and then coming back out at the end to transform it by tugging these pieces off. Oh, and then you’ll be the one to walk out with me at the very end because that’s when the designer normally does their walk- uh, is this all okay?”

“Perfect,” Glory grinned, sitting down in the chair, “Asmo, you need to redo my nails while I start the makeup. You owe me after all.”

“Of course!” He chimed, shooing the cosmetologist away as he found a bottle of polish from inside the makeup kit.

“Um, are you really going to be able to do their nails while they’re moving their hands so much?” Poland asked doubtfully.

“Just leave us, love. You interrupting will be the more likely cause of a disaster if anything.”

“Just trust us,” Asmo said, softening the blow.

Poland didn’t mind. She just shrugged and walked off, wheeling the rack away as she went to manage the rest of the show’s set-up. Glory ignored the stares from the models next to them, as there was no way they were hiding their horns tonight. Grabbing a beauty blender and a bottle of foundation, they smiled wickedly in the mirror at their and Asmo’s reflections.

“We’ve got this.”

“We’ve got this.”

And they set to work.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me ocs #obey me masters #obey me mc #writing #my writing #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus #om asmodeus #asmo

[satoruvt]

the color of you - you (7)

thank u for reading. this was an amazing ride. i hope this last chapter is as meaningful to u as it is to me.

pairing → keigo takami x reader

word count → 3249

summary → you’re not really dating, so you can’t really be in love with him... right?

song inspo → kill my time and best years by 5sos and the Tiniest bit of eight by iu x suga!!!

this chapter → y/n’s sad, two cute girls, a text, a talk, kisses, a happy ending for our favorite idiots in love.

warnings → super emotional sex at the end lol

It’s taken a while for you to get to functioning level. A while, you think, because it’s been two weeks and you just now are starting to take note of the dirty dishes in your sink and the pile of laundry in the corner of your room that you haven’t washed yet. Because it’s been two weeks and most nights you lay in your bed and sit there and stare at the wall. Because it’s been two weeks and you still replay what you said, over and over in your head, because it’s been two weeks and you have to will yourself not to cry when you see Keigo on news reports on TV or in the local newspaper.

A while. And you’re still not… okay, yet. It might take a while longer to get there.

The days go by quickly. You spend your time baking, like usual, but it’s lonesome now. It was never lonesome before Keigo - tiring, sure, but it never made you lonely. He never helped you out anyways, he sat on top of your counters and snuck spoonfuls of cake batter and icing like a brat (and pouted when you said no more, like a brat). And when you’re not baking, you’re scrolling mindlessly through social media. Or crying. Or laying in your bed. Or all three, at once, on the worst nights, because this shit sucks.

In retrospect, you have no idea why this hurts so much. Keigo and you, despite legal arrangements, were never really dating. He was never yours to lose. He was a friend, when it came down to labels. Fake boyfriend, if you really wanna be technical. That’s it, though, nothing else - you two are - were - friends.

Still, it hurts. It hurts a lot. It hurts so much sometimes you think you feel it physically; some nights ago you thought about it and almost-felt a bright flash of pain over your heart, like your brain expected it to happen but it didn’t. You cried for a bit after that. Ran yourself a bath at near-three in the morning, soaked emotionlessly in the hot water in the quiet. It didn’t make you feel much better, not really, but it soothed you at least for a short time.

You’re walking to Angel Cakes (the clouds are painted different shades of gray, so you hurry just in case it starts to rain) when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Your music stops - a call, it seems - and when you pull your phone out to see the number you see it’s Keigo’s publicist. You figured it was coming, but - again - it’d been a while, so it still takes you a bit by surprise.

You don’t even get to murmur out a greeting before the guy’s speaking. “Why did you call it off so suddenly?”

You blink, sigh, don’t even bother with a hello anymore. “I just… couldn’t do it,” you answer, and it’s at least kind of true. Vague, but true.

Keigo’s publicist sighs, this time, and you can almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, well, legally, you’ve only got three weeks left to keep this up. You don’t have to talk to him often, but don’t make it obvious something happened. Do you think you can do that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“If it really bothers you, I won’t pressure you. Neither will Hawks. But I hope you stick around for what little time is left.”

The call ends with a gentle “okay” on your end, and then his publicist thanks you and hangs up. By the time you put your phone back into your pocket you’ve arrived at the bakery. You walk through the front, offer a few of your employees a tight-lipped smile, then make your way directly into the kitchen.

The day is so slow and so fast at the same time. It seems to take hours to mix ingredients, but proving dough for three and a half hours seems like fifteen minutes. That’s how it’s been lately - slow and fast and stagnant and flowing all at the same time. You stopped, but the world didn’t, and it makes you dizzy to try and catch up. Somehow it happens, but you feel barely there.

You’re usually just in the kitchen most days - you are the head baker - but all you’re doing is waiting for a few batches of cupcakes to cook, and it’s a busy day, so you decide the front of the house could use some help. You tell one of your employees to go on their break while you take over at the register.

The customers come and go; you write down names, call out orders and hand out pastries and coffees. Two girls walk in at one point - memorable, since one of them has bright pink skin and they’re both wearing UA uniforms, you recognize - and you smile at them when they come up to the counter, but they don’t order anything.

“Can we have a picture?” The pink girl asks, eyes blinking at you. You furrow your brows.

“What? Why?” is your first reaction, and the other girl - who has pink cheeks and a cute bob - speaks.

“You’re Hawks’ girlfriend! We love you,” she says, adding the last part shyly, and both of them look up at you hopefully.

Her words send you into a brief moment of thought - you miss Keigo. You’ve known that you do, it never leaves, it’s always in the back of your mind at the very least, but seeing these girls, knowing they’ve followed yours and Keigo’s relationship, knowing they fully believe you and him are together… it does something to you.

Nonetheless, the gesture is nice, and it makes you smile genuinely for the first time in a while. “Okay,” you agree, chuckling at their delighted giggles. They turn around, the pink girl holds her phone out to catch the three of you in a photo, and you throw up a peace sign and the cutest face you know how to do. As icing on the cake, they both order something to go, too. You call out a thank you for your support as they exit through the doors, grinning back at you.

The thought of Keigo lingers in your mind as your employee from before comes back out and you retreat into the kitchen once more.

-

You need to tell Keigo.

If he doesn’t already know. You need to tell him, because ever since those girls visited the bakery, you can’t stop thinking about it. You need to tell him because regardless of how much easier it is, you hurt him by not just explaining that he didn’t do anything, and there’s only, like, two weeks left until the contract is done, and if he never wants to see you again, he won’t have to.

You need to tell him.

You unlock your phone, finding your messages app and then Keigo’s contact. He’s sent a few texts since the two of you last talked in person (all asking if you’d be willing to sit down and talk) but he hasn’t sent anything in a while. Before you lose the little courage you have, you type out the message and send it.

y/n

can we talk?

Keigo responds almost immediately, and somehow it makes you feel worse about everything.

keigo

Yeah, of course

You tell him to come to the bakery after closing tomorrow, and he says he’ll be there. You put your phone facedown onto your sheets and breathe.

-

The next day isn’t slow and fast. It’s just fucking fast. Fast enough that it seems like only a few hours pass between when you get there and closing, and then you send all of your employees home and you’re wiping down the counters and waiting for Keigo to show up. Because you’re talking to him today. Because you’re going to tell him you love him. Wow.

You’re turning your open sign over so it projects “closed” to the outside world when you see him. He stands outside the doors, watching you watch him, and when you make eye contact with him it’s like a breath of fresh air and pollution all at once. Both of you stay where you’re at, still, until you see him offer a small smile and you don’t feel as tense, not anymore. He opens the door and you move to throw a dirty rag behind the counter.

“Hey,” Keigo says after a moment. He stands in the middle of tables, hands in his pockets, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Hi,” you respond, and God, it’s so awkward. “Um, do you - do you want anything? I could make coffee, or - I have, like, two leftover donuts from today, I know you like them.”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

It’s so awkward. You nod, then gesture to an open booth in the dining area for both of you to sit. Keigo does and you follow, sitting on the opposite side. You get strange deja vu from it. There’s silence for a moment, but then you can’t stop yourself from speaking, opening your mouth a few times to get the right sounds formulated in your head.

“I’m so sorry, Keigo,” you say quietly, meeting his eyes. He looks confused, brows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to - to do this, I never thought I would, I’m just - God, I’m so sorry. I fucked everything up. I did this to us.”

“No, what?” Keigo responds. You fiddle with your fingers on your lap. “This wasn’t just you, what are you talking about?”

Your heart is pounding. You want to look at him, to see him, drink him in because you’re pretty sure it’ll be the last time you’re able to, but tears sting your eyes and you can’t see properly, so you keep your head down. “It was,” you murmur instead, wiping whatever’s slipped out as briefly as you can before looking out the window. The street in front of Angel Cakes is empty. In your peripheral vision you see Keigo tense, lean away from the table between you.

“You have to say it,” he tells you. He knows. He knows, he knows - time moves in slow motion, when you turn your head, when he blinks, the way he sounds when he speaks.

“I love you, Keigo,” you say. It comes out so easily. Too easily. It feels so right to say it, even despite the circumstances.

It’s so quiet. It reminds you of the night of the conference, and you know what’s going to happen. He’ll leave. You know it’s coming, he -

“Really?” Keigo asks, and why is he grinning like that?

“Yeah, I -”

“Holy shit. Holy shit - Y/N, me too. I love you too.”

What?

Keigo laughs like he’s relieved and you can’t move, can’t breathe, all you can do is look at him. He looks so beautiful and you blink yourself out of your trance, licking your lips before you speak again.

“You - too? You feel the same?”

“Yeah. Have for a while.”

A moment passes, but then you furrow your brows - “Why the hell didn’t you say anything? Do you know how much time that could have saved both of us?”

Keigo laughs, and it’s genuine and you know it is because his eyes crinkle at the ends. He shrugs, remnants of a smile still on his lips, when he finally speaks. “I thought you knew, and you didn’t feel the same. I figured that’s why you were acting weird, why you told me to leave after the conference.”

You need to move. You stand up, exit the booth, pace a little before stopping. “No, I…” you pause, running a hand through your hair. “I realized how I felt and thought you didn’t feel the same at all, and I didn’t want to tell you and have it ruin everything, because so much is at stake with your image and the bakery -”

Amidst your ramblings, Keigo had stood up as well, standing in front of you. He shushes you and you let him, looking up at him.

“So what I’m understanding is that we’re both fucking idiots?” He questions, and you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Yeah,” you say, still smiling. “I think so.”

The two of you just stand there for a moment, basking, before the thought hits you: you can kiss him. You could kiss him before, sure, but that was… for his image, for the contract. You can kiss him for you. You can kiss him because you want to.

You barely lean forward, but Keigo seems to get the message. You go slow - you don’t want to scare him away, you don’t want to scare yourself away. You want to remember this forever. But you close your eyes and feel your way through it, sigh when your nose bumps his and then you’re kissing him, for real, for you. And it’s so much better than it ever was before, because you know he loves you, he loves you.

It’s short, but you let yourself sink into it, fall into Keigo like you never let yourself do before. His arms wrap around your waist as yours come around his shoulders and you stay like that for a minute, feeling and breathing and loving, before the two of you break away.

“You’re really good at that, hero,” you say, just like the first time, and Keigo grins. A thought crosses your mind and you take half a step away from him. “So, um, the bakery’s closed, and I was just gonna head home but would - do you - do you want to come with me? To, uh, to my place?”

You’re sure you sound stupid, stuttering and fumbling over your words, but when you meet Keigo’s eyes he looks like he couldn’t be more enthralled by an invitation. So you grab your things and lock up Angel Cakes and the two of you are at your apartment in fifteen minutes flat.

You unlock your door, throw your things down on the couch and turn around to face Keigo, who’s still at the door.

“Be honest,” he starts, “did you bring me here to kill me?”

“Obviously,” you answer quickly, and he laughs and you laugh and it’s so much better than before because he pulls you close again and presses giggly kisses against your lips and you do too. And then giggly kisses turn to kisses, and kisses turn deeper.

They’re deep enough that it’s getting kind of hard to breathe correctly, and when his hands move on you you sigh. He turns his mouth down to kiss at your neck and you swallow, relishing in the feeling of his tongue against your skin, before letting out a hoarse call of “bedroom,” which you feel Keigo grin at.

He stops his assault, though, and lets you lead him to your bed. You gently push him onto it, get him to sit down, then pull away enough to take your shirt off and when it’s off he just stares for a moment. It makes you a bit too aware of the fact that you’re here, with Keigo, and this is very obviously leading somewhere, but then he makes cute grabby hands at you and you giggle as you situate yourself between his legs. 

It takes little time for both of you to strip down completely, never leaving each others’ hold for more than a few seconds. You end up under Keigo as he preps you, curls his fingers into you until you’re mewling and gasping into his open mouth.

“Keigo,” you call, but more to ground yourself. Euphoria shoots from your core to your toes to the top of your head. “Please, I - I need -“

“What do you need, sweetheart?” He’s murmuring, silvertongued and sweet, “I’ll give you anything, just ask.”

A million cheeky responses run through your head but then one of his fingers rubs over your clit and you want to sob. “You. You, Kei, only you, just -“

Keigo groans, pulling his fingers away from you only to mumble a disgruntled “where the hell are the condoms” and when you giggle breathlessly he sends you a playful glare. You reach a blind hand to your bedside table, pull open the drawer with a bang and don’t even bother to shut it after you’ve pulled out a condom. 

He’s quick to put it on (and you pretend you aren’t absolutely mesmerized by his hands as he tears open the package), and once he’s pressed up against your entrance he looks up at you, a lingering question of “you’re sure?” and you nod.

“Love you,” Keigo gasps as he enters you. “God, I love you.”

His words make your heart swell and he pauses, letting you adjust to him before you ease him into a rhythm with a gentle roll of your hips. He feels like honey, warm and slow, taking his time with you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He feels so good and sounds so beautiful and you love him, you love him, you -

Neither of you are rushing, and there’s no need to. You’re already close, your sighs and whimpers rising. You look up at Keigo and sweat shimmers on him like gold, drenched in the lingering blue light of the sunset - he reminds you of the world. Beautiful and true and glowing. You tell him you’re close and your voice is wrecked with emotion and his eyes are bright, bright.

“Thank god, I was never gonna last long,” he says, and you chuckle as best you can, air stripped from your lungs with every drag of him inside of you. “You drive me crazy.”

One of your hands runs down from around his neck, traces up until it rests on his cheekbone. He looks so gorgeous like this - gentle yet exasperated, hair curling wildly around his face and mouth hung open. He leans into your touch and moves his hips faster, and the one hand that isn’t occupied with touching him runs down between both of your bodies until your own fingers reach your clit, tracing circles until you explode.

Your orgasm rips through you slow and sweet like something you’ve seen coming from miles away. As you come down from your high, Keigo’s just reaching his, and you swear to any deity you can that it’s the most beautiful thing you’ll ever see. His wings unfold and spread in a flash of bright red, eyes clenched shut and he moans, letting himself fall further on top of you. He doesn’t let his entire body weight collapse onto you, and you lazily pull your arms around him as he shudders under your touch. 

The two of you lay there like that for some time, simply basking in each other. Eventually Keigo pulls out of you and disposes of the condom, and the second he gets back into bed he’s curling himself into your arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You close your eyes and smile into his hair.

“I love you,” you tell him. “Thank you for letting me love you.”

“You’re welcome,” he responds, and you scoff, but he takes himself out of your neck to look directly at you. “Thank you for giving me a chance to be loved by you,” he says. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

All the colors in your universe appear in him.

#THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!! #THIS CONCLUDES TCOY #ITS A VERY BITTERSWEET FEELING #THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagine #my hero academia imagine #bnha imagine #mha imagine #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks bnha x reader #bnha hawks x reader #x reader #reader insert #imagine #tcoy #the color of you

[ethospathoslogan]

jords would u do 78 “i’m just looking out for you.” w platonic prinxiety 🥺? -blink

blink....... blink.................... thank u

content: platonic prinxiety, hurt/comfort, the self-indulgent fic my brain has been telling me to write every day for the past like two weeks

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

When Virgil trudged around the corner into the Mindscape’s kitchen, headphones on and blasting at a volume that was still too low to drown out his thoughts, his steps momentarily faltered at finding Roman already sitting at the dining table with a cup of something steaming nestled in his hands.

Pausing his music, he slid off his headphones and let them hang around his neck. He arched an eyebrow at Roman. “Coffee at three A.M., huh?” He turned and began rifling through one of the cabinets aimlessly. Honestly, he had just wanted to sit in a room that wasn’t so loud, but if he was just going to get stuck in small talk- “I promise I won’t tell Logan if you won’t tell Patton.”

And he pulled down the coffee container. His heart was already thumping in his chest, it couldn’t get much worse.

Roman laughed softly behind him as Virgil, mostly just trying to do something with his hands, prepared a cup. “So you can’t sleep either?”

Virgil snorted. “This can’t be new information to you, Princey.”

“No, not exactly...”

Maybe it was just the way Roman trailed off, or maybe it was Virgil’s frayed nerves, but he swore he could feel Roman’s eyes burning into his back as he fumbled with the buttons of the coffee machine.

When he looked over his shoulder and found Roman looking back at him with tired eyes over the rim of his cup, he tried to not tense his shoulders too much. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Roman smiled and set his cup down. In the dim glow of the lights, Virgil could see his face flush. “Sorry, Virge.”

Virgil smirked and turned back to his brewing coffee.

After a couple beats of silence, Roman sighed. “But on the subject of our... sleeping habits...”

Virgil frowned and, slowly, turned to face Roman. “Hey Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“That is the weirdest fucking way to begin a sentence.”

Roman, rolling his eyes, waved his hand flippantly. “Well how else am I supposed to begin?”

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know, normally?”

“Well, this isn’t exactly-!” Roman cut himself off and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This conversation wasn’t supposed to start like this.”

Virgil, who was ready to make another quip about Roman’s abysmmal late-night conversation skills, froze. Instead, perhaps pre-defensively, he crossed his arms. “What- what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I need- want to talk to you.”

Virgil’s stomach twisted in a way that was a bit too nauseating. “Whatever I did, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no,” Roman interrupted, shaking his head with a smile. “It’s not something like that, don’t worry.”

“Like that’s easy,” Virgil said, perhaps with a bit too much bite. He flinched when Roman’s smile, even just for a moment, faltered. “I- shit, sorry, I didn’t- I know what you-” He sighed and, tilting his head up towards the ceiling, squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Just- sorry.”

“Virgil, it’s fine,” Roman assured. “Just... I guess that’s what I want to talk about?”

It was the surprise that drove Virgil to open his eyes and look back down at Roman, who flashed him a speeish smile.

“That still doesn’t really take the edge off, Ro.”

Roman sighed and nodded. “So I figured.”

“Well,” Virgil said, swallowing thickly as he looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, “Uh, what’s up?”

“Well,” Roman began slowly, dragging out the word. He unlaced his fingers and, instead, scratched at the wood of the kitchen table. His movements, how carefully he was choosing his next words, it did nothing to soothe the nerves gnawing at Virgil’s mind. “When you are feeling particularly... tense, your thoughts start to... pull from my realm.”

The coffee machine, finishing its brew, beeped. Virgil ignored it, or perhaps his feet just refused to move from their spot.

Instead, he became immediately aware at how dry his mouth was.

“And I’ve... noticed this on occasion,” Roman continued, cautiously eyeing Virgil. “All the sides do it, really. I am Creativity, after all. If you are to create... well, I’ll know. And it can be a bit... distracting for me as well.”

Virgil nodded quickly, in beat with his racing heart.

“And- and I swear I’m not complaining!” Roman put his hands up in slight defense. “I- I’m not trying to bitch at you or- or even make a scene! I’ve just been noticing that... lately, your pull has been a bit more... forceful than normal.” He then sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I didn’t know how to bring it up before tonight but- and, Virgil, I’m just looking out for you-”

“I- I-” Virgil stammered, his eyes darting around to everything but Roman, “I’m fine. Just- same shit, different day, you know?”

When his eyes fell back to Roman, he winced at the sad smile he wore (and Virgil tried not to focus on the dark circles under his eyes, evidence of his own lack of sleep).

“I didn’t know it affected you too,” Virgil finally whispered.

“Virgil, this will be the first and only time I ever say this,” Roman said, keeping the smile on his face, “But forget about me. I’m worried about you.”

Virgil bit his bottom lip and looked down, shuffling his feet again. Finally, he laughed bitterly and said, “Fuck, you’ve really gone soft for me, huh?”

Roman laughed, too. “The price of friendship.”

Virgil let himself smile for a moment before sighing. Looking up, he dragged a hand through his hair and pulled. “I’m... I’m really tired.”

Roman nodded.

“I’m always tired.” More so because he wanted something to do with his hands again, Virgil turned back to the coffee machine and, taking a mug from the drainboard, poured himself a cup. Keeping his back to Roman, he shut his eyes tight and shook his head. “I’m... tired of being tired.”

“How about you come sit?” Roman asked softly.

Virgil, after only a slight hesitation, sighed again and, walking to the table, took the chair across from Roman. Keeping his eyes trained on the mug, he absentmindedly scratched at the design, chipping some of the paint off.

“I... I just can’t stop being tired,” he said.

Roman nodded. “I-” He began, and then cut himself off for a couple more moments. “Honestly, I don’t know if I have any... advice that could help. I—all of us, really—understand, even just a bit, what you feel and go through but, at the end of the day, we don’t know.” Virgil nodded and Roman sighed. “But—and only if you want!—I can be here to listen.”

Virgil couldn’t help but let a light laugh escape. “Listening without monologing,” he joked. “Roman, I’m shocked.”

Roman smiled. “Consider it a gift.”

The smile remained on Virgil’s lips for a few seconds longer before slipping off again. “I can never get my brain to turn off,” he said quietly. “When Thomas is awake, I’m focused on the things that he’s dealing with. All of it. All the time. And when he’s sleeping... I’m left to deal with everything else. The past. The future. Now. It’s...” He sighed and shrugged, “Exhausting.”

Roman nodded.

“And it’s just-” He looked up at the ceiling, breathing deeply “-It’s not just your room, either. I- I don’t mean to. It’s just... my thoughts pull from your room to make things more vivid, and from Logan’s room to make things more accurate, and from Patton’s to make things more weighted, and just... it all becomes this fucked up shitstorm.”

He tugged at the loose threads of his jacket, thinking for a moment. Roman, patiently, waited.

“I think I was just made to take the bad from everyone else because, honestly, I can’t remember the last time I went more than a day without...” And he trailed off, waving to himself. If his eyes were geting a bit blurry, he ignored it.

And when Roman watched him stubbornly rub at his eyes, smearing his eyeshadow only further, he smiled sadly and offered a hand across the table.

Virgil, his throat tightening around the lump in it, reached out with a shaking hand and grabbed Roman’s.

“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes again.

“You don’t have to apologize, Virgil,” Roman said softly.

“It’s stupid,” he said, staring down at the table. “I’m- I’m getting so upset about shit that isn’t even happening.”

“Hey, stop that.” Roman squeezed his hand. “Aren’t you the one who told Patton that whatever he’s feeling isn’t stupid? Or bad?”

Virgil shrugged. “Easier said than done, I guess.”

“Maybe,” Roman said, “But that’s what I’m here for.”

Virgil lifted his eyes to meet Roman’s, and Roman smiled.

“Whatever you’re feeling,” he said, “Is valid. And okay. Not stupid or bad or annoying or anything else that brain of yours is telling you.” 

Virgil’s face heated up but, nonetheless, he smiled. 

“And, listen,” Roman continued, “Even without feeling your... pull, I barely sleep anyway.” He shrugged. “Logan calls it a side effect to my unchecked creativity, but I say that it’s a fun new way to approach writing!” When Virgil let out a laugh, watery but still genuine, Roman beamed. “But what I’m trying to say is... my door is always open. My room can be used to make good things, too, and, if that doesn’t work, there’s always a Disney movie we can put on.”

Virgil sniffed and squeezed Roman’s hand. “Thanks, Roman.”

Roman smiled and shrugged. “It’s what I’m here for.”

Virgil nodded, looking down at the coffee that he never even touched. “And I appreciate it. Really.”

He pulled his hand back and stretched upwards, wincing as his back cracked. “Just,” he continued, “Can you keep this... between us? I don’t want the others to worry.”

Roman nodded. “My lips are sealed!”

Virgil smiled.

After a couple more minutes of comfortable silence, the pair starting to feel the effects of their exhaustion, Virgil yawned and pushed himself back from the table. “Well, might as well get back to my room,” he said. 

He’d be lying if he said that his stomach didn’t sink at the thought of retreating back to his room for another restless night, but-

“Or,” Roman said, interrupting his thoughts, “You could just crash in my room. I have extra... everything. Including face masks!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” As Roman stumbled through a backtrack, Virgil chuckled and put up a hand. “Kidding, Princey. But, I mean, if you really don’t mind...”

“Virgil, you know me,” Roman said. “If I did mind, I would’ve told you to have fun up in your lair of doom and gloom!”

Virgil nodded. “You would say that.”

“But I’m a changed man,” Roman said, beaming. “So now I say that you can crash in my room so that your dungeon does not take its prisoner for the night!”

Virgil rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile. “How poetic.”

“It’s what I do!”

Virgil stood up from the table. “It’s a plan, then.” And, as he began to make his way out of the kitchen, he shot a smirk over his shoulder. “If you snore, though, I’m leaving.”

Virgil laughed at Roman’s offended gasp, and went to collect his things from his room.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #stuff i write #answered #Anonymous