#note to self: ramble about that fucking song

[sporesgalaxy]

I feel like “they’re only human“ from the death note musical kinda has vladlence vibes

Hi. I went through several stages of answering this ask

1. DEATH NOTE HAS A MUSICAL?

2. DEATH NOTE HAS A MUSICAL...

Catchy tune! Fun stuff! Thank you for sharing!!!!

I could see Vlad assuming he's above everyone else because he's smarter and has superpowers, but Silence doesn't quite look down on people this way! She sees humans as capable of change but often sees them squander the opportunity to change, which she deeply resents. People who are complacent, incurious, and/or stubbornly traditional make her furious. It is ghosts, including herself, that Silence considers incapable of meaningfully changing the "nature" of their character after death, doomed to obsess over the same thing and succumb to the same emotional outbursts ad infinitum. What exactly "nature" means isn't always clear, because Silence is wrong and her belief is founded on self-justification and bias!

So this song is more accurate to how Silence would sneer at Ghostkind...except that she would unhappily admit to being just as doomed as the rest of them.

Vlad is tougher. His parallels with Danny re: abusing ghost powers for petty reasons imply that Vlad also does so out of a sense of personal inadequacy That said, Vlad also seems to have retroactively convinced himself that he was always destined for greatness. So I think he could look down on other people as hopeless idiots. He definitely looks down on ghosts-- he consistently treats them as tools to be used and discarded, imo even moreso than he does to living people. So I'm rambling all this to say I agree with you on Vlad, good point, and once again very fun song! Thanks for sharing it!

3. WAIT A SECOND THE JAPANESE LYRICS SEEM TO BE FUNDAMENTALLY THEMATICALLY DIFFERENT FROM THE ENGLISH ONES THAT'S FUCKED UP!!!

The Japanese version is a song about the inevitability of DEATH, not the inevitability of human fickleness!!! In the Japanese version, the humans are futile because no one ever has enough time in one life to do everything they want!! Why'd they change it so much for the English?! That's crazy! :O

#asks #tunes #silence alexander #dp

[ygodmyy20]

Listening to the frozen 2 soundtrack again (but for the first time since watching mob psycho) and just my brain went OHHHHHH

I....think I have a specific type of character I really like

#I really vibe with a very specific type of character don't I? #also omg Show Yourself the lyrics just ajddkffdsf #especially when thinking about Shigeo.... #also when I first heard show yourself I bawled because I have grappled with self love all my life #burry me here #i'm done for the day #frozen 2 is not a good movie imo but fuck do the songs slapp #also random side note #Teru would cosplay and make his own frozen outfit I bet #the dress and all #not tagging mob psycho here cuz these ramblings are dumb #anyway my feels are off the charts today #I should be working rn....

[noxtivagus]

mafuyu asahina kinnie fr

#🌙.rambles #[ pjsekai. ] #[ pjsk. ] #i can't rmber which was my tag 😭 #not that it matters anyways #sigh i relate to her so much #looking at my notes where i mention mafuyu #this is so sad what the actual fuck #whenever i look at old things i write #i always just. wna give my younger self a hug or smth #:') mafuyu's lines n lyrics in songs are typically the ones i resonate w a lot #this feel so weird rn #i feel the same way as those moments long ago #but it's in this way where i genuinely do know that i'm still 'fine' #but in a rather twisted yet #hmmm. nah. it's 4:40 rn #when i wake up i'll feel better right? #yeah. i will. i have to be #i wld apologize for being so negative as usual on tumblr but #idk. i just really don't care about anything rn

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

hello seth! i don’t think my tumblr works with anon so i’ll just send it like this! i’m a huge fan of your writing and i absolutely adore it. whenever i am in the need for a good story and writing inspiration i go to your blog. so i was hoping if you could write a sally face fic! i haven’t seen too many on here and willing to write for m reader or ftm.

i like the thought of being with sally and just having time with him, soft domestic type stuff. then he starts asking you how you really feel about his face and you smile and take off his mask with permission and kiss him saying he’s beautiful and to not worry. you kiss him and hold him. he then sits up but keeps your lips locked and you begin to explore each other sexually but in a such intimate way you both are crying almost. if you want could be m reader but i would love a ftm reader! can we also have reader be bottom but still be guiding sally and affirming him. i know this is a big ask and you’re always working so hard so please take liberty with this ask! take what you want from it and remove what you don’t like. i just love you’re writing. take your time as well! writing can be draining sometimes and you really need to find that inspiration so i want to make sure you feel no pressure!

have a good day/night/evening!!<3

❝ I'll show you how we're supposed to feel (when we meet at Orion's belt) ❞

SalFisher x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | sub. bot. reader | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5.4 k

warnings: mentions of facial dysphoria, self-deprecating thoughts (Sal), unprotected sex, praise (a lot of it), minor hair pulling, creampies, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like cunt and boypussy are used)

masterlist ;

authors note: thank you so much for your kind words! hearing that you use my writing as writing inspiration made me feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside oh lord 😭 you're too kind! This request was the softest one I've ever worked on, thank you so much for gracing me with the opportunity to write this~

*song on repeat: Orion's Belt by Sabrina Claudio / Baby Girl by SMNM

"Cold, cold, cold," Sal lifts his head from the couch. The sight of you rushing down the wooden stairs in nothing but a towel makes him lift himself to sit. "Fuck! Sal, you should put carpet in here!" Grinning, he leans forward and folds himself in half to stare at you furiously lifting the towel up to wrap around your shoulders instead.

"You hate carpet. B'sides, it'll get that weird moldy smell in here. I told you to get those fuzzy slippers," Gizmo meows in agreement from his corner of the couch. "Traitor!" you exclaim and he simply meows once again, lifting a leg to lick his stomach and Sal reaches over to give his head a good scratch.

"See? Even Gizmo agrees."

"Gizmo has in-built fuzzy socks. He has no say in this," your huffing and puffing simply makes Sal roll his eye, lifting Gizmo up to place the large cat right on his stomach while he props his head onto the armrest of the couch. Gizmo stretches out onto his torso, unbothered by the change in position while he presses his nose into Sal's chest and twists until he's nearly full on his back; the action makes Sal secure the old cat on him. His olive-toned arm loosely wrapped across Gizmo's purring body.

You're still rambling but it's all background noise to Sal. The sight of your bare legs and backside calls for his attention and despite how guilty he feels, he can't help but drag his sight all the way up to your — now — bare shoulders. The towel is now limply draped over the towel rack, and your muscles and bones are moving seamlessly underneath the fabric of your skin.

Everything about you can make him feel like he's going to explode. In a good way, if you can believe it. He sure as hell didn't. Sal remembers the first time he saw you, thinking you looked cool and that it was nice your interests lined with his. Somehow you managed to become more than that.

More always scared Sal. It was greedy and selfish. He wasn't religious but there was a sense of anxiety that came from wanting and needing more than you were given. Some sort of divine guilt was planted within him through passing by churches and reading the signs of worship plastered on billboards. Needing more is frightening, especially from other people.

More time spent with you two. More hours of listening to you speaking. More days spent with you in his home, bare skin and bare soul all for him and only him.

It frightened him!

Because, as self-centered as it sounds, he'd have to give you more. Don't take this the wrong way, he wants to — God, he wants to — but...but...

What if you don't like all that he has?

The fabric of his skin is spoiled. Marred. One of his eyes is artificial, his jaw asymmetrical, bone blown to bits, nose cut off and skin grafts stitched together and spliced.

His heart hammers in his chest, and his breathing is shaky as he squeezes Gizmo. The patch-furred critter mews, twisting once again and crawling up. His weight on Sal's chest is comforting. The pressure across it squeezed down on him, reminding his body that it was real and he was safe.

"In conclusion, I propose we buy a heater! That way we can — "

You're dressed in Sal's pajama pants, hands in the middle of pulling down the oversized band shirt when you notice Sal squeezing his eyes shut.

"Sal? Baby? What's wrong?" You sit by his legs, placing a hand on his knee and pressing your hands on it to ease him back down. "You're okay, baby. You're okay." It's not often Sal gets like this. You've known him ever since he came to Nockfell County; you know he's the type of person to withdraw within himself when his anxieties get the best of him. He's certainly gotten better with time and as your friendship — and eventual relationship — got stronger, the both of you worked on ways to lean on each other when things get tough.

Sal inhales deeply, Gizmo raising with the motion, and exhales. You don't pry more, giving him room to find the words and tether back to you. Gizmo's purrs muffle the silence.

"Sorry, just, the sight of your ass gave me a heart attack, Jesus," the joke is met with a loose grin but Sal knows you better than that. Still. He's grateful you snort at his jesting. Gizmo stands — Sal grimaces as he puts all his weight on his sternum — then walks over to your lap instead. The sight makes him calm down.

The faded grey of the once-black band shirt and his pajama pants do too. It's silly but the sight of you in everything that's his comforts a part of him. You're here. You're in love with him. Your gaze holds nothing but patience and adoration and a tinge of worry.

But you're here, in his clothes, in his room, his cat in your lap, and your hands on his body.

"You feeling better, Sal?" He nods, pushing to sit. "Do you wanna talk about it, baby?" Gizmo gives your chin one more bump before he jumps on the floor and meanders his way to his food bowl. Taking the chance, you inch closer to Sal and he's grateful for it.

You're not scared of the cold prosthetic on his face. The iron bolts that secure the straps to his face and head, the glass eye that shines humourlessly in any situation.

"Do you ever want...more from this? From me?" That line of questioning made your brows furrow and mouth frown. "What do you mean?" You reach for him and Sal reciprocates by holding your hand in his lap.

"I was joking about seducing Mr Smith from the electronics store for a heater," he scoffs at your lame joke but continues. "I don't mean that, I'll get us a heater. Just..."

"You've never seen...all of me." His grip loosens but you don't let it. "So?" he looks at you, his face angled low and the shape of his prosthesis mimics his brow bone. Sal is pinching his face, confused at your indignant tone.

"So?" He whispers. You lift his hand up, inching in closer and placing his knuckles over your clavicle.

"So?"

"Doesn't it freak you out? We've been together for so long and you've never seen my face," he murmurs. Since you're so close, speaking above a whisper would ruin this moment. Sal's heart is racing again though this time the anxiety is laced with his love for yours. It's a confusing emotion but he relishes the way you press your forehead to his, nose bumping with the bump on his prosthesis.

"Do you want me to see your face?" He inhales sharply, glancing away.

"...I do. But..."

"Mm?" you spread his fingers out, guiding them to your neck and the calloused pads of Sal's fingers make gooseflesh spread. The hairs on the back of your neck standing in applause; because that's what he does to you.

He makes your pupils expand, makes your heart race, makes your brain produce dopamine; your body lights up like a goddamn firework when he so much as looks your way. You can be yourself with him without fear because you know you do the same to him.

"...I've only ever let you kiss me when it's dark. The first time we had sex, I couldn't even take off the mask...I just...I'm..."

Your frown deepens when Sal sighs, his shoulders dropping.

"Be honest. Does it bother you?"

He's glad you don't reply immediately. A part of him always worries your love for him overtakes everything else. That, if something ever happens between the two of you and it tears you apart, you'll feel regret once the love is gone. You brush his hair behind his ear, cupping his jaw as you shake your head.

"No. It doesn't. Because it's you, Sal. I love you. Even the parts you aren't ready for me to see." He exhales and his breath escapes through the slits of his mouth. You feel it on your thumb and it makes you grin.

There's a twitch in his eye and your grin falters for a moment before it reappears when he locks eyes with you.

"...Do you want me to see your face, baby?"

His jaw is set. His tongue is made of lead. So Sal simply closes his eyes and gives you a minuscule nod. If it weren't for your hand on his jaw, you probably would've mistaken it for a twitch.

"Can I take off your prosthetic?"

Another nod.

"Are you sure, baby? I won't do it if you're not — "

"I'm sure." He says in one breath. "I'm sure."

A moment of silence was shared and you leaned forward to press your lips in the molding of his. The cool material does not pulse or pump with life but it's your Sal's and you cherish it deeply; he exhales shakily and you grin as your fingers dance through the locks of blue to find the straps that hold the prosthetic in place.

It's secure, it's meant to be, and you can feel the wear and tear of the years in the material. The scratches and indents weaved into every fiber. You unbuckle the lower end first and Sal tightens his hold on you, so you pause and press another kiss to his porcelain cheek.

When he nods, you continue, cupping the mask in one hand to steady it while you undo the upper buckle.

Sal would be statue-like if it weren't for the nervous tremors in his fingers. The mask loosens and its weight drops into your hand. His breath does not come through the slits anymore and you can feel it breeze through the fine hairs on your fingers.

He says nothing and neither do you. Still, you place one more kiss on the forehead of his prosthetic and lower it from view.

Sal has his eyes cast away, but he faces you. There's a large scar across the right side of his mouth, splitting his lips and exposing his teeth. There's a dent on the right side of his lower jaw that leaves his bone structure slightly unbalanced, and the cartilage of his nose is completely missing. The skin has healed, stretching his eye and tugging on the rest. It's pinkish still, never quite settling into the rest of his olive-toned skin, and Sal understands why it's jarring.

It's like peeling back the layers of what makes humans...humans.

The skin. The sight of his face makes people unnerved. Teeth and gums and muscles and the lack of a nose. One side of his face was a plain canvas and the other was a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting of horror.

Your touch on his bare skin shocks him. The pads of your fingers drag across his cheekbones. "Does it hurt?" You ask with your eyes lidded.

"No, no, it...it doesn't." You smile and your thumb rests just under his eyes, sweeping fondly while your palm holds his face preciously within your hand. There's a flush to his skin — it's not unusual with how the prosthetic held over his face nearly 24/7.

There's a feeling of nakedness that comes without the even pressure across his visage but your hands are an amazing substitute.

"You don't have to be nice," he says. "It takes a lot to get used to — "

"I know I can't completely convince you to not think of yourself as 'something to get used to' but you're not. Not to me." Sal's eye water and he wills himself to finally look at you.

There's a pinch to your brows, it makes your eyebrows cast this shadow across your eyes and highlight the colours of your eyes. You're frowning at his self-deprecation, though beyond that he can see you mean well.

"I would gladly sit on your face, Sal."

He scoffs, groaning as he slips away from your hand to toss his head back and flop right onto the couch again. "You're fuckin' impossible, (Y/N)," he mumbled as his hands covered his face. You place the prosthetic down on the makeshift coffee table near the couch and chuckle as you swing one leg over his hips and rest your crotch over his.

"What? I'm being honest here!" Bracing your weight on your elbows, Sal finds the comfort of your body across his similar to Gizmo's. "You're fucking beautiful," he squirms at that and you huff, nuzzling your face into his neck while he peeks from over his fingers.

"You don't have to say that," you huff once again. "I'm not saying that because I have to, I'm saying it because I want to. You're fucking beautiful, me being your boyfriend is just a coincidence."

He feels you shifting and instinctively, his hands rest on your hips and there he is again. You know you shouldn't stare, so you don't, but the shy glances at his face are less than secretive. His eyes are blue, cobalt almost, and his eyebrows are a darker shade of his hair. The shape of his eyes is rounded, with a deep crease and heavy eyelids just like his father's. Lifting your head, you gaze down at him and your hands are once again gingerly ghosting on his skin. This time, they're tracing his collarbones, feeling up the protruding muscle of his neck and halting at his jaw.

"Can I kiss you, baby?" He has a quirk. A lip twitch that he does when he's excited; you've been dating him for years and you're still finding out new things about your boyfriend. It makes your heart race and it only triples in speed when he nods. Hovering, the peak of your lips ghost his. He had always envied how you kiss his prosthetic. It was an extension of himself but he hated how badly he wanted to feel you on him.

They press to his and Sal slips his eyes closed. It's nothing more than a peck. Innocent, chaste. But then he's tightening his grip and pulling you in; tilting his head like he's always seen other people do and you're grinning into it. He knows because he can feel it.

He can feel it.

How your lips spread, the hint of teeth that slide over his bottom ones, and the crinkling of your nose that's brushing over his cheek.

"You taste so good, pretty boy," your words make his ears red. "I'm sure anything is better than kissing porcelain," he replies with a breathless tone, leaning forward again as if unwilling to part from you even if just to talk.

"No, don't disrespect yourself like that. What did we say about making those jokes." "Hah, I'll stop when you do."

Giggling, you're leaning in again. Sal wonders if kissing you is the only reason he's not completely in tears. The first time he'd accidentally showed Larry his face, he'd cried because Larry didn't look away from him. You taste tears on your lips and Sal curses softly as he tucks himself under your jaw, groaning. You shush him comfortingly, threading your fingers through his hair as he takes a few deep inhales.

"I love you." Those words are followed by more tears and you squeeze him again. "I love you, Sal," he nods against your — his — shirt. He can feel the grin you have from the crown of his head.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

Because you did. Sal was the man you wanted to be with until the Earth decided to throw in the towel; it didn't matter how buried your love for each other would be, because when your bones are dug up, or his guitar, or the treasure trove of things you've called yours; in the future, when you whisper to those archeologists: "Do you know?" they'd nod and reply, "We know you loved him."

Sal has never felt love like this. One that felt overwhelming at first, the same way entering a body would be for the first time in your life, but once he embraced the feeling? It was so...fulfilling.

How lucky was he?

Sal pulls away to cup your face and he leans in. You meet him halfway.

The feeling of your breath, your heart thudding against his own chest, the pulse beating under his thumb as he holds your neck — Sal isn't sure if he'd ever get into heaven but he doubts it ever compares to you.

His jaw moves and your lips part as you press closer. Fuck, kissing him felt like drinking in sunlight. There's a freedom that follows it, leaves you floaty and blissful.

"I love you," he replies between the friction, teeth biting down on your lower lip if only to hear if you'd gasp. You do.

"I love you so fuckin' much, (Y/N)." There's a feverish desperation in his words. But it makes your heart swell. There's no doubt in his eye, nothing but the truth and the truth is he'd worship you.

You're kissing again. Eager to show him the explosions he sets off within you. Between desperate lip locking and messy tangles of tongues, his hands move down and up your — his —shirt.

Squeezing your sides as he drags his digits across your skin. It spreads fire across your planes, has your already uneven breath shuddering as he memorizes the shape of your body again.

There's a growing hardness between his legs. You can feel it — twitching below your crotch as he tilts his head and tastes the lust that perspires from your neck.

He's greedy with his mouth. How could he not be? Sal has been wanting to taste you the second he realised how badly he wished you were his.

"Fuck, Sal." You groan, chewing on your lower lip as he experiments with this unmarked territory. His tongue is warm, his teeth brushes over pumping arteries with an air of amusement; when he finds the sweet spot? The spot where your breath hitched as he kissed it?

Sal makes your blood vessels explode. It isn't enough that the hairs on your neck stand in attention because of him, or how your blood rushes to your head when he so much as looks your way. He's determined to show you he can worship you in more ways than one.

You're gripping onto his shirt and your hips grind down. The moan he lets out makes your cunt wetter than before.

"I need you," you tell him as he sinks his teeth in. Just to test it out, to see if you'd like it. You do. His back feels cold as you lift his shirt but he grips at your wrist, panting as he moves his head away so you can see him.

"Can I...Can I keep it on?" He already felt a touch too exposed. You nod, reassuring him with a chaste peck.

"I'm gonna take of my shirt. You've made me all warm," he smiles a bit too smugly. He's handsome that way. When he gets a bit cocky — it's a sure fire way to make your head dizzy with desire.

"My shirt," he mumbles.

But when your bare torso is revealed the sass is pushed away. Sal presses kisses on your chest, teasing your perk buds with his too-warm hands and relishing in the way you toss your head back when he takes one in his mouth.

"Sal, holy fuck." He kneads at your ass, making your hips move back and forth. Rocking your clothed cunt over his boner as he leaves hickeys and bitemarks.

Here is where I plant my love, he thinks as he feels your heart pound against your ribcage, here is proof that he's mine.

Your pants are pulled below your waist and Sal moves back, making you yelp at the loss of balance. One second you're over him and the next, you're both tumbling over the couch.

His hand cradles the back of your head, curling over you as much as he could when you crash. Thankfully, none of you knocked into the coffee table but the adrenaline of the short fall makes the both of you wide-eyed.

"Holy fuck!" You laugh breathlessly. He scans you for any injury but soon follows suit. "You okay?" His hair curtains your face from view as he descends to claim your lips again.

"I'm peachy, baby." Sal grunts as you tug at the waist band of his pants. "Don't stop..." and how could he say no to you when you look up at him like that?

Your hands invade underneath his shirt and Sal moans as you press your fingers lightly into his back, kneading at the tense muscles. "M'not gonna take it off. Just wanna feel you," you assure as you reach his shoulder blades. God, the feeling of your hands on his body made him feel so Holy.

Ironic in the grand scheme of things but it's not like Sal gave a damn.

It's your turn to mark him up. He often already is. But this time your lips latch onto the obvious places. Lifting yourself to sit, Sal is suddenly at your mercy as you lovingly bruise him up with your mouth.

Sal lifts himself off your crotch a bit, panting and moaning at your ministrations, and slips his hand down your pants. Your breath stutters as your boyfriend touches your core.

"Sal," you plead. "I know, baby. I know," Sal frowns when you whine. "What? What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"You're just..." You're breathing heavily as you stare up at him, nails lightly digging into his skin as your dick twitches against his palm.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Sal."

That catches him completely off-guard. He hates how tears immediately burn at his waterline but regret doesn't come when they travel down his cheek. You're kissing him and the self-depriciation doesn't once rise. That snivelling, hissing, voice of doubt remains mute as you hold him.

"So fucking pretty," he slips his finger in as if attempting to distract you with pleasure. It makes you keen but you continue to sing praises for him as he pumps his digits in and out of you.

It's hard to move when you curl your arms over his back, hands peeking from the stretched out collar of his shirt. Forehead once again pressed to his.

"I can't — "

"You're all mine. My pretty boy is all mine." Blood should not rush so quickly to one's head. His chest is dusted in red, his shoulders, his ear, the apples of his cheek —

"You feel so good, Sal."

You allow him to push you back, splaying out onto the floor with your eyes lidded in want as he looked at you.

"...Shit, you're making my brain go all stupid," he grumbles — it sounds more like a whine. You lift your hips as he tugs your pants down and off. Sal gets between your legs and for a moment you think he's about to just slide in — which causes you a bit of concern considering how much meat he's packing between his legs — but then he lays on his stomach and your cock peeks straight up.

"I've watched a few pornos," he says with a grimace, "but — "

"I can guide you, Sal." He's looking up at you with those doe eyes and you chuckle as you brush some of his hair back. "You made me cum from grinding on your goddamn leg before. You've got this, Sex Grandmaster Sal."

"Really don't think mentioning Larry's marijuana induced rambling is setting the mood, babe," your giggle smooths out the furrowed brows he had. "Sorry, sorry."

Your cunt is making his mouth water. Sal presses his thumb on your cock and the sigh you let out eases his worries. His tongue on your dick has you inhaling deeply, slowly, back arching off the floor as he looks up at you.

He's overzealous but fuck does it make you wetter than you've ever been. Licking and sucking on your cock while he teases the opening of your cunt with his fingers. The hints of teeth makes your hips twist but he holds your hips down with muffled groans.

"Fuck, yes. You're doing so good, Sal. S'fuckin' good — holy shit, babe," the way your voice gets all pitchy makes him grin. Your slick on his tongue is making him want more, so he spreads your lips apart and sinks his tongue inside, it makes your grip onto his head, and Sal moans into you at the pinpricks of pain that follow.

Fingers accompanies his tongue and you're clamping your thighs around his head. It forces Sal's face into your cunt and the whole thing has him chuckling against you.

Pinning your thighs apart, Sal licks and swipes at the slick around his mouth and chin, catching his breath as he curses.

"Fucking Christ, does it feel that good?" You whine in retaliation. "You're the one going down on me of course I'm going fuckin' crazy. You get all whiny when I go down on you too — "

He curls a finger inside of you and you cut yourself off with a particularly loud moan. The floorboards above you creak and like a deer lifting its head as a branch snaps in the distance, another follows as whoever was in the living room heard the echoing cries of pleasure.

Sal slips another finger in and you cover your mouth, glaring at his handsome face petulantly. It falters as he stretches you out, thrusting in and out with a steady rhythm that he occasionally breaks to curl his fingers up.

You're groaning and curling your toes, eyelids fluttering and squeezing shut as he jerks you off with his other hand. Loosening his jaw, Sal uses his spit to lube you up further. He had a thing for sloppy sex. You once joked he enjoyed the slick-and-slide of it all and he didn't deny it then and probably won't ever.

"Nuh - no, don't wanna cum yet, I wanna cum with you, baby," he slows his rhythm, staring at you as you lift yourself onto your hands and taste yourself on his lips.

"Want you inside me. Please, Sal, I'm beggin'"

"You don't have to. I've got you." He nods when you hold onto the waist of his pants. Pulling it down to his knees and let his cock spring out into the air. Fuck, it's a pretty dick.

It's fat and heavy. Thicker than longer, the girth always makes your toes curl. It's a darker colour compared to the rest of his skin tone, the mushroom tip a warmer shade that burns when you tease him too much. You motion for the couch and he leans against it, whispering your name as you hover over his cock.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he says as you pump his dick with your fist while you line it up to your cunt. "You're pretty fucking hot yourself, big dick," he struggles not to laugh in your face, shaking his head in 'disapproval' that's short-lived.

You sink down on the tip of his cock and Sal moans out your name, squeezing your hips. You shiver for a moment, willing your insides not to clench so excitedly when you've still got some ways to go.

"Shit, (Y/N). You're so fuckin' tight." You could not agree more. The more you go down on him, the more you're tempted to just squeeze him like a vice. Sal brings your face down to kiss him, very quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of it. It's no wonder teenagers made out in the hallways all the damn time.

Gravity helps you the rest of the way. When he's all the way inside of you, you part your lips, the way your eyebrows slope being felt on Sal's forehead as you clench around him.

"Fuuuuck, Sal" you're whimpering his name, arms wrapped around his neck as you look at him. "You feel so fuckin' good, baby."

He swallows thickly, reaching to push your hair away from your face as he gazes up.

"I love you, so fuckin' much. I love you, Sal," you're determined to make him turn into nothing but mush. He's certain of it. His insides felt like a field of flowers, all blooming at once, even if it didn't sense at all. There's an airy moan that escapes him as you squeeze your inner thighs, your hips move forward and Sal grips you like he's afraid you're just a figment of his imagination.

"I know, baby," he whispers back. "I love you, more than you can imagine."

A dopey grin appears on your face. "You think you can show me how much you love me, handsome?" He smiles and your heart feels like it's going to stop.

"I can do more than show you, pretty boy."

He turns you over on your side, not once pulling out. You hastily grab some couch pillows for the both of you before your descent onto the floor. It's cold but that's all the more reason to hold onto each other.

Once your head is on a pillow and you're on your back again, he drapes over you.

Another kiss. Another mischievous nibble. A sly dance of tongues.

Sal is pulling out, the drag of his dick makes you whimper, and thrusts back home. The action has your nails leaving welts on his back but it just reinvigorates him.

He's splitting you open and filling you up. Every thrust makes you see stars. You're unwilling to let him go if the legs wrapped around his waist are saying anything.

But Sal is growing flustered the more praises you tell him.

"That's it, baby. Fuck this pussy, this pussy's just for you."

"Fuck, you look so good, baby. On top of me, fucking me, shit — !"

"Oh, God, your cock is — yeah, right there! — you're in so deep, Sal -Ah!"

You're so fucking filthy.

He wants to hide his face in your neck but he doesn't wanna take his eyes off you. Eyes trailing where his lips and teeth had been, eyeing the sheen of sweat on you and your messed up hair.

The shower you just took had been in vain, huh?

"Fuh - fuck, I'm close," he warns, bracing himself on his elbows as he hovers above you.

"Yeah? Me — mff! — too. Cum inside, baby. Need to feel you — fuuuuck — dripping outta' me," he chuckles breathlessly at your words.

His hips are stuttering and he can see the way your brows are furrowing, angelic moan after angelic moan being knocked out of you. He gives your cock a rub and the way your back arches off the floor makes him hold his own orgasm back just so he can see you like this as clearly as he can take it in.

"Sal, oh fuck, baby!"

"I've got you, (Y/N)."

He chokes out a groan as he feels you clamping down on him, your cunt gripping onto him like it never wants him to let go. You gasp as he snatches your breath, messily making out with him as the aftershocks of your orgasm are barrelled through thanks to Sal's deep thrusts.

"Shit, shit, shit," you smile as he begins to lose his rhythm. Ignoring how sensitive your boypussy feels as he chases his end. "C'mon, baby, fill me up. Yeah, that's it."

He cums with one final thrust. The warmth of it floods your insides, earning pleasant shivers from you as you moan out his name. He's riding his orgasm out, pushing in and out of you shallowly as he catches his breath above you.

"Jesus, fuck..." You giggle at his words, chest rising and falling in rapid motions as your heart tries to calm down.

"That was, Christ, that was — " "Fucking amazing?"

He nods, falling on top of you as carefully as he can. You embrace him, humming as he kisses your neck while you rub his back. The both of you catch your breath, satisfied expressions etched on your faces.

When Sal moves, your eyes are already closed. He pulls out and you whimper at the loss, ignoring the way he stares at his own jizz dripping out of your cunt in favor of gazing at his face.

"We gotta take a shower all over again," he says, helping you sit up and accepting the hug you give him when you're righted.

"...Wanna do it all over again in the shower?" Your question earns a throaty chuckle. "Thought it was implied in my statement."

Another beat of comfortable silence is shared. Sal sighs, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

"I've got you, Sal."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader #ftm reader #trans reader #sally face x reader #sally face x male reader #sal fisher x reader #sal fisher x male reader

[meo-on-prairie]

Keep it Lowkey

Sukuna x Reader

Prompt: “Be as quiet as you can ‘cause if anyone sees they’ll just blow shit up” - Lowkey by NIKI

Words count: 1.1k

Tags: bodyguard!sukuna x Popstar!reader, fluff, coworkers to lovers (????), just pure indulgence, pure fluff

Rambling: it’s a little fluffy Sukuna fic inspired by “lowkey”-NIKI. Full fantasizing. I’m writing while I still have the time lmao. If i was in this situation, my brain would become mush.

Note to self: get a new bodyguard. You mentally note as you stare at Sukuna, your current bodyguard, in all his glory. You have to fire him. He’s not bad at this job by any means. On the contrary, he’s excellent at his job. With his nearly 7ft build, his… well trained body, and his tattoos, he looks very intimidating. Ever since your team hired him, you have encountered much much less crazy fans, in fact you feel safe enough to post pictures while on vacations instead of having to wait until you’re back at home to post them. But lately, he has been a distraction to your work.

You didn’t pay much attention to Sukuna when your security team first introduced him to you. You were too busy prepping for your performance at a music festival. You just greeted him quickly, thanked him for joining the team, and hurried on stage. Sukuna has been working for you for about 2 years now, and you hate it. You hate it because you’re pinning after your bodyguard. And the smug fucker knows it.

The way he smirks at you when he shields you from the flashing light of cameras. The way his hand casually grazes your back and hip, lingering a little longer than he should but not long enough to be noticeable. The way he leans in a little too close to whisper in your ears about potential danger in a large crowd. This fucker know how his actions make you blushing and knees weak. He knows and he’s teasing you. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Sukuna teases, snapping you out of your train of thoughts.

“Why would I need to take a picture of someone I've been seeing everyday for 2 years? I’m tired of seeing your face.” you reply nonchalantly, redirecting your focus on the notebook in your lap. You’re currently in the artist lounge, alone with Sukuna. The music show won’t start for another 3 hours, but you like to be early. You’re waiting on your makeup artist as you work on writing another song for your album, but it’s looking hopeless ‘cause you have no clue what to write.

“The way you’ve been staring at me says otherwise, Little Star.” Sukuna pressed on with a smirk. 

“Please, do tell, how have I been staring at you?” You said sarcastically. Closing your notebook, you ain’t getting anything done with Sukuna in the same room as you. You get up to pour yourself a glass of wine that the music show provides to its VIP artists. 

“Like you’re mentally undressing me in your head. I’m surprised none of your fans or paparazzi notice it.” He shrugged. Sukuna eyes your form as you pour your wine. You look good enough to devour, he thinks. The sparkly, skimpy outfit leaves little for the imagination.

“Because I’m a professional, Sukuna.” you side-eyes him, sipping on your wine. 

“Oh, so you do undress me with your eyes” Sukuna is full on smirking now. You fucked up. 

As your mind races to find a good response to his remark, you feel a pair of arms snaking around your waist. You look up to see Sukuna towering over you. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This isn’t good, your heart is beating too loud, you feel like even he can hear it. Your mind is turning white. You want to run away right this second. You feel like a mouse being trapped under a tiger’s paw.

“Come on, Little Star. You could’ve been more honest with yourself… With me…” His voice dropped to a low volume, you can feel the rumbling of his chest, he leaned down to whisper into your ear. “Come on now, what do you want?”

His breath fanned your ears and your brain short circuit. This isn’t good. This is down right dangerous. You can feel your self restraint slipping. “Whatever deity above, whoever you are, give me power.”. Clearly whatever deity above is not on your side because you can’t take your eyes off the way his collarbone look at this angle. Now that he’s leaning down to your height, you are finally able to see the way the muscles on his shoulder flex with his arm on your hip. His tone biceps. And oh god, his chest, they look so incredibly⸻

“Come on, Little Star, tell me.”

You feel his lip nibbling on your ear. You’re done for. 

“Y-y-you. I want you.” you are barely able to choke out. There is no turning back now.

“That’s more like it.” Sukuna breathes out right before he presses his lips against yours. 

You melt into him as soon as your lips make contact with his. Your knees finally give out under you, if not for his hands that were on your waist, you would be on the ground. He holds you up and against his body and you wrap your legs around his torso. His hand moves from your waist to your thigh so he can hold you up better. 

Your hand slides from shoulders to his nape to the back of his head, tugging on his hair as you kiss him back. He kisses you like your lips are the sweetest nectar and he’s a starved man.  Hungrily, ferociously, desperately. His hand glides from your thigh to your ass, slipping under your skimpy stage outfit. If Sukuna could have it his way, he would tear the outfit off of you right then and there. But that could wait till after the music show.

You don’t know how long you were kissing him. It felt like time stopped. The world stopped. There is no one else but him, nothing else but his kiss. So this is what you've been denying yourself of for so long. Sukuna was right, you should’ve been more honest. You hate that he's right.

A knock on the door, snap you both out of the haze. Your makeup artist. You forgot that you were waiting for her. In fact, you forgot you were at a music show and is about to go on stage. The thing this man does to you. He’s dangerous. 

“We’ll continue this later. I’ll let you undress me with your hands this time.” He said with a smirk as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears, tinting them red. 

Sukuna leans down to give you a quick peck on your forehead before turning around to open the door for your makeup artist. 

Maybe you don’t need to fire him after all. You’ll have to keep your relationship a secret though, if you want to keep your fan base. It’s not easy being famous. Fortunately, like you said, you’re a professional.

#sukuna #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fanfic #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk #jujutsu sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

[joannasteez]

crying, laughing, loving, lying - australian merlot

pairing: roman reigns x angel (black oc) warning: no warnings. first date fluff. this is an alternate universe work of fiction, so no wrestling will be mentioned. authors note: this will hopefully, be followed by other pieces that show the progression of angel and romans relationship. get ready for hallmark movie realness. music inspo: crying, laughing, loving, lying by labi siffre word count: 3100

some restaurants are made for first dates. for habitual blind daters too skittish to reach beyond that hectic first circle of hell limbo called first base. the 'will it now? won't it finally?', of it all. this ceaseless punishment of lovelessness. and angel thinks that it's all more shitty than bullshit anyways. love is simply an accompaniment and not the whole damn tune. a cappella's are more fascinating anyways. love is more of an accessory. something like bracelets or anklets. a thing to put on that dresses up life a little more prettily. but there is a trouble to it. the labor of coordination far less rewarding than it's worth. and what of the fruitlessness? the defilement and scarcity that rottens the garden. a few ruined by many and now she's at her tenth blind date since the new year, already familiar with the taste of fucking bile.  

"you need someone". 

but she doesn't. because need implies the failure of survival without it and if after every date her stomach churns—with a fear that she refuses to acknowledge—then that wasn't something she wanted anyways. definitely not something she needed. 

but here, amongst white table cloth, she waits. 7:39 pm. slightly too early to be upset because he, whoever he is, isn't late yet. but she wishes very openly that he will be. it'd just be a strike against him. something that eases the guilt of ghosting him when he inevitably asks for another date. and please don't mistake the self assuredness for a too big ego, she just knows these things. it's based all on common occurrence. they bring roses because "all women love roses", dragging their feet in eased and so damn smiley despite being five, ten or even fifteen minutes late and it absolutely grinds her fucking gears. cleanliness is next to godliness but fuck it punctuality is too. he will come with a rose and he will be late and he will ramble about himself and he will stare at her cleavage and then imply that him paying the bill grants access to spreading her open and then the inevitable lump of bile. 

it was a song she'd heard and a dance done a thousand times and her head hurt from the thundering bass and her feet from trying to keep pace with such terrible rhythm. 

angel wants to leave. wants to finally grant herself the relief of no guilt by stepping away before the burden of ridding her tongue of the bile. 

but she can't, because he's here now. sitting down with no rose. 

what the hell? 

and he is beautiful. a huge mountain of a man. herculean with a directness to his eyes that makes it appear as though he is staring through her skin and into deeper, more vulnerable parts. heat scorching fast over nerves and bones till she grows warm and its concerning. because angel has gone on first dates with beautiful men before. sat with them, spoken to and at them, laughed with and at them, dined with them, but for some gut churning reason, this, feels different. the temperature of the atmosphere is warm. the life in his eyes, inviting. 

and for the love of God he doesn't have a rose and it makes angel laugh. small and to herself. 

he sits. confused and amused in that awkward way. where the idea of a joke itself makes you laugh, not privy to hooks, punchlines, sinkers and the like. 

and for the first time in a myriad of failed dates, angel is taken by his voice. a dark symphony. pitch low and smooth. strong and double bass like. 

"can i get in on the joke?"

she wants to shrivel into and like a ball. because it wasn't necessarily funny. it was more so the absurdity of the situation. of course after much complaining and internal deliberation she would be sent someone that would stick her foot in her mouth. at least in regards to the romantic gesture of giving roses.

her throat clears. "sorry, it's just...it's kinda weird. it's nothing". 

he squints and it feels like a hole is tearing through her skin. peeling away till its settling warm into veins.

"if you leave me in suspense i'm gonna make you feel like shit about it". 

"is that a threat?"

"more like a spoiler".

and now the laugh is bright and clear. nothing hidden and inward about it. and he loves the sound. wouldn't mind if he could hear it a few more times tonight. her sarcasm more laden in her words than the surprise of them.

"because you've never practiced that before". 

"in a mirror once or twice, but i got you all giggly so tell me whats funny". 

angel sighs. "you didn't bring a rose and for whatever reason, men show up to first dates with roses", waving her fingers away to express the un-seriousness of her amusement. "it's just a thing". 

"like... the bachelor". 

"yeah", snorting. "sure, like the bachelor". 

his fingers, long and thick and just downright massive, rub into his beard. mulling over her words with a bout of sincerity that she doesn't think she's seen in a while. like some actual consideration, and not a half-assed pulling together of thoughts into words to make conversation for the sake of filling in the silence. 

"never really approached it like that. it seems more like a burden than anything y'know?", his eyes slipping over the bottle of wine you ordered before he showed, before its doing the same to your face. "flowers do the dying thing and then what? just something else to throw away. feels odd". 

"i mean, theres ways to preserve them". because of fucking course she would say this, after making a fuss about always getting flowers. but it was just that weird thing, trying to see the upside in a situation. to heal the downtrodden idealism of it all. "but i agree with you". 

"sounds like you want a rose". 

"i don't. i just-...". she sighs. flustered. "can we start over".

and he smiles. at her awkwardness and her eyes and the crinkle in her brows as she gathers herself. 

"of course". 

eyeing the bottle of wine again, his hand reaches out to you. 

"roman". 

and it fits. encapsulates his everything. name and the air of him reminiscent of old statues built with marble and brow sweating patience. an easy demeanor inherited from stoic warriors of old. fine silk looking hair and a jaw she's sure she can cut against if not for the thickness of his beard. 

she takes his hand and shakes. thumb over his veins and wrapped up in the strength of his palm. 

"angel".

"are you?"

they both smile. teasing eyes and a playful air. 

"sometimes".

he hums short. the song of it uprooted from his chest. hand slipping away from hers but the impression of it leaves a stain on her skin. where his fingers squeezed in the midst of a mere cordial shaking. and his eyes are not shy. taking hers to hold steady and uncompromising. and never has a man held her gaze so well, not since-

"you been here before?"

and it is only the shame of so many dates in such a short amount of time that leaves her tongue dry and her thoughts partial to lying. "uhh", her eyes sweeping over the menu. "no. i haven't". 

"any allergies?"

"used to be pescatarian a while back but i stopped. why?"

"i don't want you to surprise me with a closed airways cause i recced you something with peanut oil". 

"you've been here before?"

"a few times". 

"on dates". more like a statement than a question. 

he's busy looking over the menu, like he's seeing it for the first time. "dates, work stuff, a night out. it's a cool spot. convenient". he takes the wine bottle, opening it to pour. humming in delight as he nose takes to smell. "you've been here before though".

"what?"

angels heart sinking way down till it's falling steady out of her chest cavity and into her stomach. taking something similar to a rolling tumble as it goes and it feels devastatingly awful. being caught in a lie has never been a smooth easy ordeal and the urge to get up and leave runs rife under her skin. prickling in a manner that taunts her till her cheeks grow hot white. she wants to hide and suffer in the silence of her own shame. and he's a complete asshole about it, because he lets her simmer into a scorched heat, struck and wordless as a grin plays through his lips. picking up the wine bottle once more. his fingers wrapping about it easy and familiar. 

"when i said your last name for the reservation, the waiter called you by your first. which means she knows you, because you've been here a few times". his lips smiling. much more amused than worked up by your little white lie. sipping the wine to taste again. "that and the wine. first-timers spend too much on wine. the merlot here is decent enough". 

a forced chuckle toughens up. angel sooting the bridge of her nose with a thumb. un-fucking-believable. "this is fucking embarrassing". 

"it's good wine though. cheap as shit but it's pretty good".

"look", she starts. a deep sigh before she makes the effort to meet him. his brown eyes soft still. void of scrutiny. amusement waning but still nothing of judgement. and the niceties unnerved angel. most men didn't take too kind to lies in such a formally romantic setting. it made for awfully fierce energy that led to a frigidness she hated to maneuver. not that she was a habitual liar, but still, it worried her. "i didn't mean to lie... well... i did but-"

"it's alright. i get it. i used to be the same way".

"a liar?"

"embarrassed". 

and she knew exactly what he meant without him having to say it. because this probably wasn't his first date of the new year either. the wait staff were probably familiar with him too. his familiarity with the taste of the restaurants stock of merlot making perfect sense. he'd probably, once upon a time, given his fair share of roses. the what do you do for work spiel and the sometimes awkward dance of wanting more after the first date and wrongly reading what he thought were obvious suggestions that a woman wanted him physically. and sometimes thats all they wanted, or at least that's what angel thinks, because some of her dates just wanted sex. no strings or some strings and then it got tangled and messy. always too damn messy. but he was over the shame of cycling through to find "the one". angel had yet to get there. 

she clears her throat. thumbs twiddling together. apologetic as she looks to him. "i'm sorry anyways". 

roman's silence is heavy. his eyes slipping over her face. noting the details that exist in their guilt. but still even in this, angel is a beautiful woman. thick lashes and slightly hooded eyes. cheeks high and plump. her lips full and surely kissable. especially when she takes them between her teeth in what he's sure to be her nerves overworking themselves with all his staring and his wordlessness. his smile warm and easy again, turning back to the menu. he's had enough of making her feel like shit anyways, for it dampened the mood far too much and he rather you smile again and for as long as they date lasts. 

"forgiven and forgotten. the real litmus test is how you take your steak". 

"who said i wanted steak". 

"one, you owe me for lying".

she gasps. lips pulling up and her knee knocking softly into his. "you said forgiven and forgotten". 

"and two", he continues, chuckling. "you said you were pescatarian, meaning you gave it up cause you realized that grass ain't green".

"why are you reading me so well right now, this is crazy". 

"wouldn't be good at what i do if i couldn't".

her mouth purses over the wine glass to sip at the sweetness of the merlot, waiting for him to continue. and when he doesn't she finds herself more interested in hearing a man talk than she ever has in all her time of dating. 

"which is?"

"i teach and coach". 

"okay", her eyes play and rolling. "don't leave me in suspense. be more specific". 

and here the fierceness of his features round out to a softness. but surely it cant be those few sips of wine, suddenly freeing up the tight collection of his resolve. the slightest dusting of pink at his cheeks and his mouth smiling smaller. humility bracing him harshly just before her. it was more obvious to her now, he hates talking about himself. 

"sports history and college football", barely meeting her eyes. the menu suddenly becoming so very important to him. his throat clearing as his palm reaches to rub up against the thick hair of his beard. " 'm not a head coach or anything, just for the defensive line but its...", and finally he looks to her again. "it's cool". 

"don't say just like that. it down plays your passion. i like passion". 

the sincerity melting a warmth into him. the air feeling less suffocating for the both of them now as they share a smile. 

and the dinner goes smoother than angel had expected. the food cooked immaculately  and the wine warming her belly. his passionate talks soothing to her ears and his jokes funnier. the knock of his long legs turning into less of an accident and more of a playful teasing. and by the end of their steaks they're both closer than they started, leaning in to hear more of each others voices. his freckles an endearing scatter against his cheeks. the slick lick of his lips as he talks catching her eyes and by the end of her wine glass she comes to the arresting realization that he's doing it on purpose. slowly but surely ingratiating himself through small touches and that hostage holding stare. 

angel, afraid now, feels a disappointment weighing in her. the ending of it all , this little world of quickly built intimacy, nearing quicker than she realized. both of them perusing through the dessert menu. more than slowly to stretch the time.

"you a dessert guy?"

he sets down the menu. her voice bringing him in again. "fuck yeah i'm a dessert guy. they make a bomb ass bread pudding here. best i've had". 

and maybe her eyes are suggestive. and maybe they sharpen to pierce through him a little more fiercely and maybe her knee knocks into his when her lips part to speak. but angel does well about pleading the fifth, even with herself. 

her eyes looking up through her lashes as she flits them from the menu to him. and she can track the trailing of his gaze straight to her plump lips. "you've never had mine". 

"is that an invitation to taste test?"

a shiver breaks over her skin. an undulating warmth at her cheeks. she pushes her menu to the side. 

"y'know pastry emporium? the shop on 4th and everling?"

roman's brows jump in an instant, before they pull together. the sudden realization exciting his nerves.

"thats yours?"

"half of it. i co-own".

"i'm stoppin' by there all the time and i've never seen you". 

and the tiny world they live in has just become slightly smaller. their existences dancing on the edges of one another for who knows how long before this faithful night of teasing smiles and blood sweetening sips of australian wine.

"i don't mesh too well with the front of house stuff". her knee taking a soft slow lean into his. and maybe the styling and placement of the tables and chairs are purposeful. for moments like these. "but i can make an exception". 

"you better". his lips spreading wide and his smile bright. nothing bashful left in his expression as its overtaken by the prospect of seeing you again. "cause you owe me a taste test". 

and for once there is no threat of bile to stain her throat, or even the cringing anticipation thereof. and when they're both finally, hesitantly ready for the bill, he takes the responsibility without words. fitting his card into the leather book. appreciation swimming to settle gently in her belly along with the sweet merlot. he tips well too, and his fingers catch soft against her palm, leading her out of the restaurant and into the balmy night spring air. the urge to stick to him creeping in her skin. but the same seems to exist for him because he stands just before her, eyes circling the city, searching and thinking, before they find her face. a small smile on her lips as she looks to him expectantly. his touch grows firmer, as if he's just come to the end of a pending decision. fully taking her hand as he begins to step. 

"walk with me". but theres no inflection that implies a question. more of a statement that softly wills her into following. 

his hand as warm as his smile and gentle even in its size. he strolls easy too, to help her keep up with the wide steps he takes. 

but even beyond the easy going tenderness of him, angel has never felt such a stillness in her nerves before. the city she's seen a thousand times suddenly appearing brighter and less overwhelming. the usual droning no longer a harsh symphony. the pitch and pace less grating. and maybe it's silly, because he's, despite his teasings and his suggestive eyes and interesting conversation, still a stranger. still a man with a world of a life she knows so little about. filled with hopes and dreams and secrets. but that feeling nags still. nestles deep under her skin as it attempts to force out the hesitancies. 

roman leads her to the front of a flower shop and her eyes play at rolling. 

she tries to pull him away from the entrance. "we spoke about this".

"we did". 

his smiling melting her resolve to mush. so bright and unapologetic in how it spreads. he takes her hand tightly, pulling her into the shop. 

he orders one rose exactly. giving it to her after he's paid for it. 

"why?", she asks. trying to fight the rising heat in her cheeks. 

"because i think deep down, you want it. you just don't want it to feel like an obligation. and this right here is all off the cuff. im sure of that”.

and angel's belly flutters. that cliche appearance of butterfly's. 

tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @gomussy @spritelucozade @venusesworld @thesamoanqueen @empressdede (if i forgot anyone who wants a tag for roman centered fics, my apologies! just remind me for next time)

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x black oc #fluff #first dates #au #hallmark movie realness #something something romance #eventual smut #eventual angst #joannasteez

[milfp1lled]

Hi! Can you do Shiv Roy x fem!reader angst? Leaving it up to you what about

“I always want you when I’m finally fine”

pairing: Shiv Roy x fem!reader

summary: After you confessed that you loved her, Shiv had all but told you not to call her…ever. So you’re thrown off guard when you get a phone call from her at 3 am.

warnings: 18+ sexual themes,angst, toxic relationships, strong language, alcohol use

word count: 5574

notes: obviously this fic is inspired by the song, listened to an entire mitski playlist as I wrote this so do with that info what you will haha.

You were always a worrier.

Constantly fearing and expecting the worst-case scenario, a request for a simple conversation suddenly had you feeling like you were about to get horrific news and a late-night phone call usually had you spiraling.

So that’s why you’re surprised at yourself when your phone starts ringing at God knows what time, and you immediately stretch your arm out with a groan to quickly press decline. Despite not knowing whom the call was coming from, you roll over onto your side with a silent promise to chase it up in the morning.

You’d been practicing doing that recently: ‘protecting your peace’, is what the overly chipper, new-age psychologist whom you’d recently started paying thousands to “fix” you called it.

Then the vibrating starts up again…you’re not happy.

Muttering expletives under your breath you snatch the phone from your bed stand before raising it up to your ear.

You’d been tossing and turning all night and had just managed to fall asleep but of course, someone had to wake you the moment you had dozed off. You say a silent prayer at the fact that you had tomorrow off from work or else you’d be downing cups of coffee all day to have some kind of semblance to a functioning person.

"Uh-huh?" You hum, eyes half-lidded as you already start to nod off again.

"...hey, uh...I'm outside, can let me into your building?"

The voice is slurred and rambling, but you recognise it all the same, suddenly wide awake as you scramble to your feet, phone pulled away from your ear in disbelief to squint at the name on the display:

'Shiv🥕🔝'

Huh.

"What? Siobhan...It’s 3am"

Not to mention you didn't want to see her.

 …You shouldn’t want to see her was probably closer to describing it.

You peer down from one of your windows and sure enough, she is standing there, arms folded across her chest and that bored look on her face, breath catching in your throat at the mere sight of her. You look for any sign of another party near her, eyebrows furrowing at the fact there is no car black car parked outside one of the neighbouring houses.

Where was the car that had dropped her off?

This was anything but the first time you'd been summoned for a classic Shiv Roy booty call. But usually, it came in the form of a "come over?” or an “I miss you” text when you think she was feeling extra mean. You'd drop everything like the pathetically devoted follower you were, opting instead to spend the rest of the night swallowing the feeling of self-loathing as the two of you would fuck each other into oblivion.

You knew the rules: It was always at some 5-star hotel; never at yours or any of her many homes- that was too personal. You were never supposed to linger after. Shiv Roy was straight to the point, and concise, she didn't do pillow talk.

One time she’d seemed particularly stressed out and you'd tried to ask her if she was okay and in turn, were promptly put in your place and shown the door. You didn’t have access to or get to see that part of Shiv (if she even still existed) anymore.

Safe to say you didn’t bother trying to fill the cold, endless silence after that.

To her credit, she would always call you a taxi, or get one of her drivers to drop you off the moment you were done, and you'd sit silently crying in the car on the way home, clasping the broken pieces of your heart in your hands, trying to hold yourself together until Shiv decided she needed you again.

Waiting for her to call, to touch you and make you whole. To make you mean something.

So naturally, of course, you were shocked to see her outside of where you lived again.

You think back to the only other occasion she’d been at your apartment, your birthday a year ago. She’d come to collect you for one of your “meetings” and had surprised you by coming equipped with your favourite vanilla bean cake from Magnolia Bakery. She seemed unusually light…happy (and definitely a little bit drunk) and even sang you an out-of-tune rendition of happy birthday that made your cheeks hurt from smiling. You’d put your favourite record on and asked her to dance with you in your kitchen and she’d rolled her eyes claiming she didn’t listen to music, you’d laughed at how ridiculous that sounded (she was always such a fucking cliché), but she’d danced with you anyway.

She’d touched you and had seen you, really seen you…but the moment was fleeting, the same cold no nonsense Shiv the moment you left for the hotel. Sometimes you think you’d imagined that day.

You’re surprised she even still remembers your address now.

“Please?” she sighs out softly

You could never say no to her.

Well-trained, you obey, buzzing her in with a sigh of resignation.                                                                    What were you doing?

Moments later, Shiv twirls out of your lift into your condo with a giggle and you realised dreadingly that she's wasted. Not even the standard Shiv level of buzzed that you’d seen her at.

She looked frazzled and her hair was slightly askew, and she had one of those almost fake-looking wide smiles on her face.

“Hey Honey”

Were you having a fever dream? Maybe you’d lost it.

"These are killing me!” She groans taking off her heels and tossing them onto the floor of your foyer behind her-making herself right at home besides the fact this was her second time even being in your loft.

Actually Maybe she’d lost it.

You keep your mouth closed, not quite of what to say.

"I was at Ken’s birthday...and it was...a shit show." She explains stumbling into your apartment.

"But, I was dancing you know..." she uncharacteristically giggles, leaning in to whisper to you conspiratorially, despite there only being two of you in the entire loft.

You could smell the tequila on her breath.

You ignore her but she doesn’t seems to notice,

"In the middle of the dancefloor too”.

Shiv ,unprompted, then proceeds to give you a demonstration, not receptive to the fact that there was no music playing. You have to turn away, unable to stop yourself from cracking a small chuckle at her performance. Drunk or not, you didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

"See? Just like how we used to back in our London days...Do you remember the raves and house parties we used to go to?” she exclaims unusually animated. You weren’t us yes to hearing her speak without that usual apathetic Shiv drawl.

You turn to pour yourself a glass of water, anything to keep your hands busy, not even attempting to pick up the bone she just so eagerly threw your way.

Making a forbidden reference to your past and she actually seemed to look back on it fondly? A couple of months ago, before that night, you probably would’ve chased after said bone that’s been thrown your way, practically fawning at her feet.

Was this a trap?

This inkling doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering in your chest though.

"Why are you here Shiv?" You question after a while, eyes narrowing, already knowing you were wasting your time trying to have an effective conversation with someone this drunk.

The heiress smiles sadly before throwing her hands in the air blasély,

"You called me a vampire...they can't be out in the day...can they?"

You try your best not to wince at her words and immediately fail.

"...I went to Kenfest…and not that I was looking or anything, there were so many people…but I noticed you weren't there…”

Sure, you’d received an invite to Kendall’s birthday party. But that wasn’t really your scene anymore.

"I know you Naomi are friends...I thought you’d be there but…but you didn’t go. Why not?” she rambles manically,

“I don’t care or anything, but… Kendall put you on the list s-”

"Is that why you came here at 3am? To lecture me for skipping out on "Kenapalooza?" you interrupt massaging your temples,

She at least has the decency to pretend to look embarrassed.

"I just…I miss you" she stutters, nonchalant as though this was just a standard afternoon, and you were two busy friends who’d just happened to bump into each other.

Missed you.

That dreaded feeling of realisation slowly creeps through your body.

So that’s why she was here.

What this was really about.

Fucking.

Everything was always about fucking with Shiv. Getting fucked over by her family or some other corporate big wig. Fucking you both physically or metaphorically. Fucking with you.

You feel yourself starting to get angry.

“Yeah? I’m not in the mood to be in the same room as you, let alone a quickie so your luck’s all out.”

Shiv balks at the accusation,                                                                                                   “What? Fuck you Y/n, I’m being serious…I mean it.”

You let a laugh in disbelief,

“Oh, you mean it do you Shiv? Fuck me? Fuck you.”

"We don't have that or any kind of relationship with each other anymore...you made that very clear... "

Her jaw sets and she looks away from you, fiery stare instead directed at the pillar in the middle of your living room. You think it had the potential to snap it in half

"Oh, get off your moral high horse-you gave just as good as you got that night... " she laughs, tilting her head to the side even though none of this was really that funny.

Your blood runs cold.

You'd bared your soul to her that night. You told her you loved her, and she’d gotten angry at your confession and had shot down you in classic Roy fashion. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t have time for this. The two of you already had a good thing going but you were weak and now you had ruined it.

She was vicious.

You just weren't good enough. You never would be.

A rat backed into a corner, you’d lashed out at her, desperately hurling insults, and a couple of cruel truths at her to see what stuck. Anything to try and hurt her the way she'd hurt you.

You’d called her a megalomaniac, an emotionally repressed vampire.

"Do you remember? I know I do."

Shiv smiles a twisted grin at the haunted look in your eyes, a deer in the headlights, and smelling blood she zeroes in on your exposed weakness. Anything to get a show of emotion from you.

Sure, Shiv lived up to her name, tongue as sharp as her namesake. But she was a mean drunk and could quickly turn downright fucking cruel after a couple of shots, you knew and had seen that first hand, the fact that she'd been dancing and singing in your kitchen moments ago didn't save you from that.

She licks her lips, a predator ready to sink its teeth into her prey,

"You begged on your knees for me to change my min-"

"Just stop, Shiv. Fuck!" You yell, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and the both of you jump, the latter looking taken aback.

You never yelled. Never.

For just a second there, she looks like the scared, sad little rich girl you’d first befriended at high school and your heart sinks.

Was it worth it?

“I’m sorry.” You murmur placing your head in your hands,

Only 10 minutes into conversation, and you were already cracking under the weight of her words. You really were weak y/n.

You'd known Shiv for years now and were more than familiar with her acerbic tongue but regardless she always knew the right thing to say to push your buttons, even after all this time,

"I don't want to rehash this with you...so just go and be with your fucking husband whom you love so much Siobhan," you mumble, unable to look at her.

This time it’s her turn to wince.

"Fine." Shiv stumbles to her feet again taking an unsteady step towards your door,

“Are you not gonna call your driver to pick you up?” you ask chewing on your bottom lip,

“Why, do you give a fuck now?” she pouts mockingly,

“No, I sent him home for the night…I’m walking…just like I did to get here” Shiv hums matter-of-factly as she attempts to put her shoes back on, failing spectacularly.

She could not be serious.

Your loft was in TRIBECA... Shiv lived on the other side of Manhattan.

You think back to looking for a car that wasn’t there when she’d first arrived at your place.

Okay, so maybe she hadn't taken a car…you knew she wouldn't be caught dead riding the subway...which meant she had in fact walked.

How had she not gotten mugged?    

Daughter of one of the richest men in the world roaming alone in New York?

You couldn’t let her go back out there.

You look over at the redhead and she’s still struggling to do the buckle of her shoes.

It was getting painful to watch.

“Sit down” you sigh, and she shoots you a look,

“No…you don’t want me here.” She replies tersely,

“Just… fucking sit-down Siobhan...please" you sigh, turning around to place a slice of sourdough bread into your sandwich press when she obliges, clumsily sitting herself down at your kitchen island.

If she was going to stick around, you needed her to be soberer than this. 

She drums her fingers on the countertop, those beautiful blue eyes dancing around the room before she begins to spin herself around on the stool she’s sat on, a shit-eating grin spread across her face, your previous exchange of words clearly  already forgotten.

She had to be,at the very least a solid 5 cosmos in.

The sight is jarring in comparison to the full corporate dinner get-up she has on, but you also can’t help but acknowledge it’s the most carefree you’ve seen her look in a while. The redhead usually had that faraway look in her eyes, like she was thinking about 20 different things at once.

She watches you cut her toastie up into squares in silence, and you reach across the table to place the it in front of her.

She raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow at you.

"Eat up." You state simply sliding the plate closer to her,

Shiv peers at the plate in horror, and anyone would be forgiven for thinking that you'd tried to serve her a turd on her plate, before she pushes it away from her like a petulant child, those piercing blue eyes giving you a look that could kill.

She used to love your classic grilled cheeses.

"It's not caviar or a prime cut of wagyu from Le Bernardin but I promise it's not going to kill you." You nudge teasingly, your attempts at negotiation falling on deaf ears as you’re rewarded with a scoff.

Fuck it. You press your lips in a straight line leaning down to be eye level with her, attempting to give her your own take on the classic Shiv Roy death glare.

"I’ll make you something else If you want but if you don’t eat at least something I’m going to kick you out of my apartment and onto your ass Siobhan.”

The heiress blinks a couple of times, nonplussed at being told by you of all people what to do and begrudgingly she eats up, the alcohol clearly making her more compliant than usual.

You let out a discreet breath, glad she didn't call your bluff.                                    

The truth was that you loved Shiv so ardently that even if the circumstances were different, you wouldn’t even dream of doing that.

The last time you'd spoken she'd pretty much gutted you like a fish, letting her in your apartment was literally going against everything your brain and your therapy sessions told you to do, yet here she was.

You’d do anything for her and that was scary.

There was never any logic, or acknowledgment of your boundaries and wants when Shiv was around. That was you; Y/N the people pleaser.

But how could you help it?

Your love for her was so heavy you could feel its weight on your shoulders as you walked, it sat in the back of your mind like a stone, it clouded your lungs as you breathed...and you eventually couldn't take it anymore. You were choking on it.

You'd coughed it all up and Shiv took one look at you, at all that love, and she’d turned her nose up in disgust.  It came down to it and she didn't choose you. You just weren't enough. You never would be.

You used to think about what it would be like to have her here all the time; Shiv in one of your old T-shirts, perched on the countertop cracking one of her sardonic one-liners as you cooked but you scold yourself immediately, waving the thought away with a wave of your hand.

You watch her in silence as she slowly eats, satisfied as you notice her eyes were less bleary, and she was slightly more subdued, her chaotic and abrasive drunkenness seeming to have mellowed out to her just being slightly tipsy. You could relax in the fact that you likely wouldn’t be cleaning her vomit off of your mahogany floors tomorrow morning at the very least.

You rise to your feet, wordlessly turning to head to your room, and she takes the hint and follows you.

It wasn’t like your place had a guest room anyway.

You watch her in silence as she wipes off her makeup then slowly begins to take off her bracelets…then earrings and necklace, pausing when she gets to her watch.

"…It’s been 5 months y/n…were you just...never going to call me again?" She eventually asks hesitantly, voice small.

Oh.

She didn't exactly make it seem like she wanted to hear from you.

What did you say to that?

How were you supposed to lay out a decade and a half of hurt in one sentence?

You shrug, unknowing of the answer yourself.

"We already did it enough as teens and in our 20s, so I just…I didn't feel up to playing 'friends' again with Mrs Roy-Wambsgans..." you stare at your hands so that you don’t have to look at her,

You hear her take in a shuddering breath.

"I'm not trying to be a cunt...but that's the reason why I didn’t. And our last conversation really did a number on me...after we spoke I was just so...."

Shiv nods, swallowing deeply, before turning her back to you, moving her hair to the side.

You take the hint and help her unzip her dress.

"I'm sorry..." she murmurs tears welling in her eyes as she climbs out of it, the soft green fabric falling to the floor, leaving her in her underwear.

"I know..." you breath out in exhaustion, handing her a pair of your satin pajamas.

You were so tired. Tired of hearing sorry. Tired of feeling sorry. Tired of being in love with a woman who didn't want to give you the time of day unless you had something she needed. You were tired of giving. You had nothing more to give.

"Do you remember, the night before my wedding?"

"Please don't do this to me again, Shiv." You beg in anguish,

"What you said..."

"I just said don't."

She opens her mouth again, eyes glistening,

"I begged you not to marry Tom..." you interrupt, hoping hearing the story from your own lips would make it hurt less,

"You said that I could do so much better than him...that he didn't love me as much as you did" continues Shiv

"And maybe that is true... maybe I can do better...maybe he can do better." Shiv's chest shudders and she presses her eyes tightly shut,

"But...most of all you can do better than me."

"you're selfless and compassionate...and I don't know if I can love you in the way that you want the way that you say you lov"-

"But do you?" You croak out, voice breaking,

"Love me, I mean"

Shiv falters,

"Well…what difference does it make..." she sighs dejectedly.

You slowly walk toward her, hand slightly raised like you were approaching a dangerous animal as you look into the shorter woman's eyes.

"Shiv…do you love me?" You whisper again voice catching after each word.

Shiv opens and closes her mouth repeatedly, and you wait for her to say something as she searches for the right words.

…they never come.

She looks at you, that same vague look in her eyes, lifting her hand as though reaching out to touch you but she pauses halfway, opting to put her thumb in between her teeth, biting as though physically retraining herself.

You didn’t really know her anymore, but you still recognised her tells, the puckering of her lips when she was trying to stop herself from saying something, the biting of the tip of her thumb when she was anxious.

You watch taken aback, as her face starts to twist with emotion.

You'd never seen Shiv truly lost for words like that.

She rakes a hand through her hair in exasperation.

"I...fuck" she grunts, retreating from you, as she turns to angrily wipe away a stray tear with the back of her right hand,

"You're good...too good." She sniffs eyes red rimmed,

"I'm....not a good person y/n, I don't want to tarnish you with my...me."

You look at her with a sigh before letting out an empty chuckle, looking upwards as you feel the tears, you'd been holding in start to stream down your cheeks,

Maybe it was too late for that. The damage had already been done.

Shiv suddenly turns around to look at you, eyes hardened with resolve as she quickly stalks across the room, before she straddles your lap, pressing her forehead against yours.

She leans forward, gently leaning in to kiss your tears away in a silent apology and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation, trying to burn the feeling of her touch into your memory.

She places a feverish kiss against your cheek. Then your wrist.

Then another wet kiss against that soft spot below your jaw that she knows drives you crazy and you melt into her as you reward her with a needy moan, goading her on, once again.

You just couldn't help yourself.

"Fuck...Shiv..." you mewl, arms draped around her neck,

"You like that...right?" She whispers, her tone sultry and slow but, but her movements contrastingly hurried.

Why did this feel like a test.

She knew you did.

"only thing sweeter than the sound of those moans you make is how you taste..." she husks,

"We shouldn’t..."

No matter how much you really wanted to.

"Please" she gasps in between trailing kisses down your neck,

"I want to give you everything you deserve...”

“…so much...I really want to try but don't know how."

"You were right about what you said...last time...All I do is take and take and take but it's because I don't know how to give." continues the heiress, voice wobbling.

She was crying.

"Just let me give you this..." she continues in a ragged breath, hand reaching under your top to palm one of your breasts, gently pinching your nipples and you squeeze your tear-filled eyes shut as you can’t help but find yourself arching into her touch.

"Just tell me what you want me to do to you...I just...want to make you feel good" she rasps but it’s off, her voice sounds shaky...desperate,

“This is the only way I know how”.

Sex with Shiv always was always so good, but you always found yourself feeling worse off after. You were greedy. You wanted more. More of Shiv. You wanted all of her-but you'd settle for this, doing anything to have her close.

But the want was eating away at you.

Chipping at you bit by bit until there was nothing.

Sometimes you felt like that'd already happened. Like there was nothing left to you anymore, you were just a black hole and you and your thoughts were just all Shiv.

This was a bad idea.

“I don’t know Shiv…” you sigh suddenly, begrudging pushing her hands away from you, despite the fact that they felt oh-so good on your body.

Shiv pauses, tear stained face frowning at you in confusion, as she tries to figure you out

“O-Okay well…how about…you can just do whatever you want to me?” she suggests frantically, guiding your hands under her shirt, you can feel her trembling slightly beneath your skin,

"Let just leave it.” You sniff,

She jumps out of your lap as though burned.

Sometimes your relationship with Shiv felt like a wound, and she was a vampire; that maybe she couldn’t help it, but the moment she smelt blood she'd feast on you, your affection, your infatuation. She’d always be gone the moment there was nothing more of you to devour. Each time you were left behind, desperately still clinging onto the bloody remains of the love you still had for her despite her shredding them between her teeth.

You'd been periodically drifting in and out of each other’s lives this way for the past 17 years.

First, you were 15, the quiet new girl at Sacred Hearts who'd been plucked out of obscurity to be best friends with Shiv 'the queen' Roy. You remember ducking under the bedsheets at a sleepover with her exchanging kisses and giggling, a private and exciting secret between the two of you…you were her dirty secret, even now it felt like you always would be. Then you were the 20-something London party girls who were joint at the hip: appearing oddly close to others but nothing more than friends who just happened to secretly sleep with each other sometimes.

Then there was whatever this was. 

This Shiv wasn’t really your friend, or even your “lover” anymore, sometimes the term felt too warm to describe what you were doing together. This Shiv was worlds away from the one you once knew; she wore turtlenecks and silk blouses and had a sharp blunt cut bob and the insults to match.

What had happened in the years you’d been away from each other?

Who’d made her this way?

You wanted to hug her. To hold her close to you and huddle under a blanket like you had as kids for as long as she’d let you. You wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to put on the armour anymore, that you were safe, and that she could be vulnerable with you without any ulterior motives.

But now you were asking yourself whether there even was any armour to take off anymore. maybe this was just Shiv now. But then on the occasion there were those odd moments, those slithers of light, where you saw glimpses of the Shiv you once knew again; how she’d often make teasing jokes with that old sparkle in her eyes, the way she giggles, ticklish when your fingers ghost past her waist in bed, the way she’d kiss you sweetly in the moments after…how she looked at you in adoration when you came undone.

You’d realised after that that you loved her anyway. Shiv Roy: jaded rich private school girl, party girl socialite, ruthless Waystar-Royco successor…you loved them all.

But the thing was didn't know if you had it in you to keep on doing this. If your heart could take any more of this.

"So…what, are things just never going to go back to the way they were before then?" Shiv asks evenly, the youngest Roy hunching over herself as she cradles her elbows close to her sides, looking off into the distance-unable to meet your eyes.

Before what? Before she broke your heart? Before you'd kissed for the very first time? Or before you told her you loved her?

You close your eyes a sob wracking through your body, before you shake your head,

"Maybe... we need to cut our losses here...maybe this is wasting our time, and this isn't what either of us needs."

Maybe the problem wasn't other people...but just you and Shiv. The two of you weren't meant to be in each other's lives. No matter how much you loved her it wouldn't be enough.

Shiv was assured, practical, cautious and calculated: almost everything she said  and did had a motive or thought  behind it, even her marriage had logic and purpose and some kind of benefit driving it alongside the fact she loved him.

Shiv worked and strove toward power.

You on the other hand wore your heart on your sleeve when you were upset or emotional you cried openly and unabashedly. You drifted through life trying to find an identity for yourself outside of your rich family…you were always trying to fix things and people that couldn’t or didn’t want to be fixed, trying to worm your way into Shiv’s heart when she didn’t want you to.  

You were a liability.

It was never going to work. She was never going to pick someone like you.

Shiv blanches,

"Okay well...I need you." She grits out tensely, fists tightly balled by her sides. You could see her eyes were watering again.,

She needed you.

 But maybe it wasn’t in the same way you needed her. You wanted her. You wanted her with every fibre of your being.

"I need you." sniffs Shiv, so quiet and wavering you have to strain to hear her, grabbing onto you as though you might disappear,

"But you don't love me" you weep, crumbling at the realisation that she was never going to see you the way you saw her.

Shiv doesn't say anything, but you think that's all you need to hear.

She crawls into your bed, maintaining her silence as she lifts the blanket for you to climb in after her. You slide in beside her, at first back first pressed against hers, but eventually mentally talking yourself into turning to face her.

You inch forward until your noses are touching staring into those expressive steely blue eyes; cold at first glance but always swirling with emotion beneath the surface...she'd become an expert at making sure you could never tell which ones.

You think you’d memorised every inch of her face by now high apple cheeks,those long translucent eyelashes,and the freckles beneath the usual layer of makeup that you never got to see.

She was beautiful and she knew it.

Once when you were kids, you'd stared at her during the entirety of a study group, counting all of the freckles dusted on her face, and when you'd told her afterwards what you were doing she'd rolled her eyes and kissed the thought away from your mind.

You'd do anything to get inside of her mind. To know what she was thinking. Whether you truly ever meant something to her.

"My sweet, Sweet y/n." She whispers, but it a voice in the back of your head tells you it feels mocking, then suddenly you're unable to tell if her voice was dripping with sweetness or condescension.

Sweet, Sweet, stupid Y/N. Willing to risk it all for someone who would never love you back.

She was right in saying you were hers. Your heart did belong to Shiv. But Shiv wasn't yours. She never was, and she never would be.

She cups your face in her hands, thumbs gently stroking your cheeks before she pulls you into a sweet kiss that seems to go on forever and you revel in the feeling of her lips on yours, grasping onto her as though she might disappear until the kiss tastes salty from both of your tears.

It felt like a farewell.

You don't let go of her, wanting to keep the feeling of the soft warmth of her skin against yours, fingertips slowly raking down her arms, starting from her shoulders, taking time to map out each and every beautiful blemish on her skin on the way down. It reminded you that Shiv was in fact still human.

You nick your finger on something sharp and quickly retract your hand hissing as you look down to see the glimmering emerald of a ring sitting on her finger; a reminder of who you really were to Shiv: someone to pass the time with when her husband the man she chose over you, was gone.

She moves her hands out of your reach.

"You just...keep on hurting me" you whisper out dejectedly through your tears.

You felt like you'd never forgive her for coming here and making you experience this all over again. You’d never forgive yourself.

Sure, Shiv was laying in your bed...in your arms but nothing had changed.

She presses her forehead against yours, and you reach a hand up to touch her cheek, to check if she was still there physically, despite the cavern of circumstances separating you from each other, despite the emotional gap she’d intentionally forged between the two of you.

“i know…”

You let out a shaky sigh “I…I don’t know if it’s doing either of us any good to keep seeing each other.”

"I know..." Shiv wobbles out, finally allowing herself to cry freely,

*

You hated her. You loved her. You wished you'd never met her. You didn't quite know how to live your life without her looming presence in it.

With a chaste kiss against your collarbone, she presses her face into the gentle curve of your neck, and you wrap your arms around her to pull her against your chest.

You exhale shudderingly and press your lips to the top of her head, taking a deep breath to inhale the scent of her coconut shampoo one the last time. Eyes snapping closed you mumble a silent mantra into silky strawberry-blonde locks:

Love me, Love me, Love me.

Maybe in another life.

____

You don’t allow yourself to feel surprised as you wake up the next day and Shiv is gone.

This is one occurrence of many that you have been left reeling by the hurricane that was Shiv Roy, but it still hurts just as much as it did the first time as you feel your heart cracking.

#shiv roy x reader #shiv roy #siobhan roy x reader #siobhan roy #succession #wlw fanfic #shiv roy fanfic #shiv roy fanfiction

[rayleigh2837]

backstage access.

scenario : (hobie x fem!reader) you came to a concert by yourself, as lonely as that seems none of your friends like the band that was playing. so you came by your self, and bought backstage passes.

authors note : this is my first time writing on the website:) so i hope you enjoy it and i’m so sorry if i fuck some things up lmao. taking requests as well sense that’s a thing on here?😭🙏 pls bare with me

after a little while you get up near the stage, the concert hasn’t started yet and more people flooded in. a group of teenagers chanting “hobie hobie!” there strong accents canceling out the h in his name. you turned back to the stage. it wasn’t as crowded as you thought it would be when it started. you looked up at his dark brown eyes. he was your favorite out of the band. the drums start playing, the. he strums along. the singer adjusts his mic and yells out.but the whole time ur eyes were on hobie, because who wasn’t staring at him? you were sure he could tell the way ur eyes lit up. and you swore he gave me a few glances. as the 2nd song went on the music builded up, and he stared right at you before having a bit of a “beat drop!!!” moment. after the concert was over , people cheered and threw flowers on stage. which was kinda weird sense u haven’t see people do that- only in shows. then almost half of the stadium left and others made it back stage, except for you. your dumbass got lost and had to ask someone for directions, so you were at the back of the line. great huh? as you got closer you saw more members of the little meet and greet leave sense it was getting late. but hobie didn’t leave, and that’s what sorta mattered. there was just one more person infront of you. and boy was she hot. she had this beautiful long hair with a tight sparkly dress. if hobie ever liked putting labels on stuff he would for sure call the girl infront of you his girlfriend. you thought. she then turned back and smiled at you before walking off.. shit. your dumbass didn’t even know what to say. damn u always fuck things up🤦‍♀️ his beautiful brown eyes looked at you. “oi big steppa!” he exclaimed. he was so energetic no matter how late it was. “ what’s ya name?”

* you sorta froze for a minute. he snapped his fingers infront of your face. you looked hella stupid now. “ i’m sorry- uhm i’m y/n.” he smirked. “ well your a real bonnie are’nt you?” ( no not the fnaf character. it means beautiful 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️) “ how are ya doll? sad some members left before you came ‘round.” his strong accent made you a bit confused. he could tell by the look u have in your eyes. “ oh yeah. i’m fine - i’m a big fan.” real creative… i’m sure he hasn’t heard of that before “a-and i love your hair and your pins!!” you rambled on about him and you thought you were annoying him but when you looked back up from your daze about him he was leaning back, smiling and following along. “say, wad’cha want me to walk ya home? it’s late, ‘m wouldn’t mind to swing ‘round your place to make sure your safe and all.” woah. HOBIE BROWN? making sure YOUR gonna be safe? you looked at your phone. it was 12:32 am. shit! you nodded and you both excited the stadium through a back door. you pointed in the directions your apartment was. you and him got infront of your building before turning around. he handed you one of his pins “just so you don’ forget ‘me.” ..as if you could ever forget him. you could feel your face become red. you grabbed the pin from him. but your dumbass was struggling to put it on. he chuckled at you, he grabbed the collar of your shirt, making you look up at him as he bend down. you noticed you guys were hella close. you could feel his breathing on your neck. you knew you had a fat crush on him but holy-.. he wasn’t looking at you, instead looking at your chest ( and sadly not in THAT way) , he was putting the pin on for you. you thanked him. and walked off. you turned around, then quickly ran back hugging him tightly. he wasn’t much of a hug guy but he took it.

did y’all like that??🤷‍♀️ idk what i should do IF i make a part 2.

#hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #i love hobie brown #across the spiderverse

[rayrayor]

Hey Kat! @mybrainismelted

Here is Drabble challenge 34 , as asked.

“ You work for me. you are my slave “

Please note, GILF ( Ginger I’d Like to F@*k )

Ian was finally home after ten years in the military, two Purple Hearts, and a Medal of Honor. Gnarly chest scars and nightmares about the brothers he could not save. He was not ready to go into EMT work yet but needed routine.

Mandy Milkovich. Bestie and Beard since freshman year. Flew out to Walter Reed and held his hand, making sure he wanted to still live. Now a regular at his and Carl's apartment. Her brothers owned Kings of the Southside Ink and her brother Mickey, the star tattooist, temperamental shit and hot beyond the dirty, angry older brother who would flop on the couch and give him and Mandy crap.

He was also in need of an assistant and receptionist, and somehow Mandy talked Ian into the job. After two weeks, he understood why the position was open. The appointment book was a mess, their insta needed an upgrade, and the complimentary beverage and snack service reminded Ian of the psych hospital.

And then there was his direct boss, Mickey. Surly and sexy, the man had no filter and no boundaries. Hard working for a man you either wanted to strangle or suck off. It was also harder as his phone blew up each day with the requests, demands, and ramblings of the raven-haired thug.

He had just come back from his run when the phone vibrated.

Pocket Jefe: Hey, is the place you get coffee the place with the coffee I like?☹️

GILF: You drink it black; literally, anywhere I go has the coffee you like.

Pocket Jefe: That’s what I pay you for; how the fuck would I know which shop? I never go to any.

GILF: That’s because your ass was banned from like 9 by the shop because of your donut tantrums.

Pocket Jefe: What, you don’t care about donuts?”

GILF : Well, I am always a fan of a glazed hole.😜

Pocket Jefe:🖕🏻

Back at the shop, Mickey was beet red, grabbed his coffee, and fled to his station.

——————————

Ian was enjoying the quiet of Staples, which he knew would not last. His phone lit up with photo of a sleeve of gears  and lilies, Mickey.

Pocket Jefe:🎤 Whips and chains excite me.

GILF: Are you asking or telling me? 

Pocket Jefe: Keep up the Gallagher. Song. What’s the name of the song with those lyrics?

GILF : Ok, again, I cannot read your mind; I need a little more than your professing love of BDSM for me. Which FYI , I am a fan. You a power bottom by chance? Also, it’s Rhiana, S&M.

Pocket Jefe: Jeez, this assistant of mine makes my dick twitch.

Pocket Jefe: Shit, did I send you a text by accident? FYI, not about you.

GLIF: What text, Mick? 

Pocket Jefe: Don’t worry, your pretty head, sweetheart, just get back here, oh, and bring me a big ass snickers. 🍫

Ian smiled and filed the information he had just given away for a later date.

———————————— 

Ian had just settled after a long day of explaining to Iggy that if he did not write down appointments, Ian could not add them. He had ice cream, jacked off to a certain pair of blue eyes, and was about to watch Drag Race. He had just settled in when his phone almost vibrated off the coffee table.

Pocket Jefe: WTF, Gallagher! You asked Colin about ink?

Pocket Jefe: What you don’t trust me, that stings, man. ☹️

Pocket Jefe: I do much better scar coverage.

Pocket Jefe: not being nosy, but saw those when you changed into a skin-tight tee. This is a semi-professional atmosphere Army, not a rub-in tug.

GILF: I never asked you cause last time I mentioned your work, you were your usually grumpy prick self and threatened to stab me with your Taco Bell spork. You were watching me change; I used to charge guys to see that. So you think of yourself as my pimp? 

Pocket Jefe: Fuck you, is what I think. Enough of this touchy-feely bullshit. Enough chitchat; my appointment is running late. Can you go feed Carl Barks and Noodles for me? Oh, and get me some Pringles, a BBQ, and a pack of smokes. You know the code to my loft.👍

GILF: You know I am off, right?”

Pockey Jefe: You get off when I tell you to get off. You work for me. You are my slave. "C'mon, please.“

GILF: Fucking fine, you need me to peel you a grape too?  🤬

Pocket Jefe: I mean, I wouldn’t say no. Seriously, when you get there, just text me and let me know everything is fine. If you want to stay, we can maybe talk about a coverup piece or something.

GILF: Ohhhh, can we have pizza and a sleepover too?

Pocket Jefe: Your pushing it, keep talking back, and your going from slave to sex slave.

Pocket Jefe: Umm, damn autocorrect, sax slave, not sex 🎷

GILF: Whoring me out to Kenny G? 🥹Bummer.

Pocket Jefe: 🖕🏻

Ian grinned. He was about to get either fired or fucked; he hoped for the latter.

————————

Mickey was just cleaning up his station, and his focus was not on his big fat tip from this work.

Ian Gallagher.

He secretly crushed on the gangly redhead when he would hang with Mandy. He knew about Ian’s history as a medic and the almost-life-ending injury that ended his career. But he saved five that day, who, by accounts, should not have survived the firefight. Deep scars were over that broad chest and hard abs. The story made those scars beautiful. He was always flustered around Gallagher, but he thought he hid it well. 

His phone vibrated, he glanced, his mouth went dry, and the warm tingle went to his crotch. Gallagher sent a photo.

Tight Kings tee, a truly Godzilla-size cock trying to break out of blue boxer briefs. A motherfucking collar. And on a silver platter no less, a small whip, a chain, grapes, and a big ass tube of strawberry lube. 

A text 

GILF: Waiting for you to tell me when I can get off; may I peel you a grape in the meantime, sir? 🫦

Mickey grabbed his keys and jogged out to his car, eager to go blow Ian’s sax. 

#gallavich fanfic #gallavich fic #ian and mickey #mickey milkovich #drabble challenge #prompt 34

[pikahlua]

Pika Rambles about the new OP because why not

If there’s anything I’ve learned from season 6 of MHA, it’s that whatever Twitter’s reaction is to something, I’m likely to have the opposite reaction.

I’m not often one to go into my opinions on things in MHA I feel are “good” or “bad.” Sometimes it happens, but just generally I’ve been trained to read and analyze a lot of things without respect to whether or not I like them or agree with their philosophies. I’m usually trying to understand a story more than anything.

But OPs are a different matter.

I have a weird thing for OPs. I’ve watched many over the years, and in some cases even decided whether or not I would watch an anime based on its OPs. (I’ve also...made a lot of AMVs.) OPs are supplementary material that are opportunities for animators to showcase their creativity and their understanding of the story’s themes. For that reason, I’ll happily ramble about my love for MHA OPs 1-4 and 7 anytime (god, especially 7; I’ll never get over the candy apple sakuga).

This time, OP 11, the ramble isn’t a good one. “What? Really? But everyone agrees it’s the shiniest one yet! Is it just that weird Ochako shit they threw in there?” No, stock anon. It’s so much more than that.

I have opinions.

If you like OP 11...you may not want to read my thoughts under the cut.

I’m just gonna complain in list form from here have fun.

1. First, all the good: I like the song. I realize not everyone’s gonna like the song, but I happen to like it. I also like some of the OP, particularly the first bits of it before the title card drops. I think it’s a good use of some of the cover/non-story artwork Horikoshi drew during this arc. Except already saying that, I can’t help but notice a huge missed opportunity. This cover art would’ve made for an EXCELLENT theme in the OP:

It would’ve made up for the egregious lack of All Might too.

2. That title card is awful. Come on. They used to do fun things with the design or colors or something. This is just...weird effects that maybe will cause someone a seizure. It’s certainly not pleasing to the eye.

3. I don’t have a problem with the split screen bit. It’s not great, but it’s not terrible. Except the animation they give Ochako was basically already used in OP 8 so I don’t know what that’s all about.

4. All the Lady Nagant art is super lame sorry why do they repeat the same angle and pose twice? They could have used other camera angles at least, or even do something more with her younger self and angst? This is about as one-note as her actual role in the story (okay maybe it fits then).

5. I don’t need to complain about the weird ship bait that is the Ochako scene in the way everyone else already has done for me. I have a pressing urge to bring up though that Bones once again shows their lack of creativity here, and it feels like they have a vendetta against Ochako too. Where is her action shot? Her sakuga? There are plenty of moments from this arc that could’ve made a much nicer action shot here. Her smile is so weird because this whole arc she’s getting serious for Izuku’s sake and frowns at him a lot and stands up to him essentially. This feels like heroine-ization and it’s awful. Ochako does much more impactful and moving shit this arc than whatever the hell this is.

6. How dare you cheapen the hand-holding symbol of this series do you even know what the fuck is happening in this manga??? [clings to Iida’s leg]

7. The sakuga of Izuku swinging around is okay, probably the best part of the OP--except then we run into the Lady Nagant issue again

8. What the fuck is the weird white corpse from AoT doing here? What? What is that? Hello?

9. It needs to be said: the sakuga of Iida et. al. looks like absolute ass. I’m sick of fandom just salivating for nothing but sakuga while having absolutely no standards. “Action lines? Cool angles? Speedy animation? Yay it’s perfect!” No, seriously, if everyone’s gonna be so critical of the story and animation and pacing all the time, where’s your criticism of the actual sakuga? This shot looks awful and no one is talking about it. Not only do all the characters involved move awkwardly, you can’t even tell who they are. I wish we could have seen better highlights of the characters themselves, their faces even, including Shigaraki’s. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT. THEY’RE FIGHTING SHIGARAKI IN THAT SHOT. DID YOU EVEN NOTICE? YOU PROBABLY THOUGHT IT WAS IZUKU, RIGHT? SEE HOW DUMB THIS IS? IT MAKES NO SENSE FOR THAT TO BE SHIGARAKI EITHER, BUT IT IS. GO PAUSE A FRAME AND CHECK IT OUT. The special effects of their super attacks at the end also look like ass. This was the worst sakuga we’ve seen since the third movie and I am not impressed and I’m mad other people are.

10. Epilepsy colors Izuku is also terrible sakuga he’s so off-model it hurts I can’t stand watching this bit.

11. The Izuku+Tenko sequence is nice and a good show of creativity, and yet Izuku also looks off-model and I can’t stand how this is NOT the right season for this imagery. So that makes this a spoiler, basically? It doesn’t belong here. I like the subtle hint at the OFA star with the sun glare behind Izuku’s offered hand, but still this feels like they have no idea what this arc is about.

12. Exhibit #999999 that it feels like the animators have no idea what’s up with this arc: the ending image of Izuku doing the All Might fist in the air pose. Like, maybe it works if you read it as “he’s able to represent All Might because everyone else is there with him,” but it just doesn’t...feel right. It’s not earned based on the rest of the OP. Why couldn’t we just have them all be around the All Might statue? I don’t know what are you all even thinking when you draw this shit

#where is the consistency #the coherency #the actual themes of the arc #where is everything #ughhhh #anime only friendly #pika has opinions

[kanethegoofster]

The Start Of A Series Of Posts Of Me Rambling About The Plot Of The Fragile Since This Album Is So Good Holy Fuck Oh My God Trent Reznor Please Marry Me.

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR MENTIONS OF: SUICIDE, DRUG USE, SELF-HARM AND OTHER DARK TOPICS.

The Fragile Is Nine Inch Nails' fourth main studio release, being also reffered to as Halo 14, it was released in September 21, 1999. It features the sounds of Industrial Beats, Heavy Rock and even some Ambiental, The Album is a spirital successor to their last studio release "The Downward Spiral" from 1994, one of the things it shares with The Downward Spiral is the fact it's a concept album with a story.

So time for me to make a post on here and ramble about my interpretation of TF's Story and also why I like this album so fucking much...

So yeah uhh... For Context this doesn't consider TF as a sequel to TDS, not a literal one, but rather a spiritual sequel, they share themes and stuff but they have seperate antagonists and stuff, also the NIN wiki is gonna be a main source for this thing. Oh also I reccomend that you listen to both The Downward Spiral and The Fragile, oh also maybe watch an explanation thing for the TDS songs, as I will reference the events of TDS from time to time.

Somewhat Damaged

SD is a song that uses a single motif throughout it's entire duration, a simple four note guitar riff, with the first half of the song written in a 9/4 (or a repeating 3/4) time signature. The Motif starts as a acoustic guitar, and as the song goes on the motif is played by distorted guitars. The song's lyrics are from the perspective of our first character, our protagonist, who shall go unnamed, much like everyone in this story, the title is an understatement, this guy's not somewhat damaged, he's way more.

The first stanza of the song, gives us an idea of how he is doing "So impressed with all you do... Tried so hard to be like you... Flew too high and burnt the wing... Lost my faith in everything" he seems to be talking to someone he wanted to be like, I interpret this song is about drug use, more especifically Heroin, it made our protagonist turn into a more self-destructive version of himself (similar to Mr. Self Destruct from TDS) before the events of the album our protagonist went through a downward spiral, though it isn't THE Downward Spiral the protagonist from TDS goes through, as our protagonist is still alive. (The TDS protagonist shoots himself in the end) Our protagonist is at rock bottom, that's evident as the song goes on. Also the lines "Tried so hard to be like you" and "Flew too high and burnt the wing" will be referenced in later songs.

The second Stanza starts "Lick around divine debris, Taste the wealth of hate in me, Shedding skin, succumb defeat... This machine is obsolete" our protagonist is angry at everything, he feels defeated, I presume the "machine" mentioned in these lyrics are a representation of our protagonist.

Pre-Chorus time: "Made the choice to go away! Drink the fountain of decay, Tear a hole, exquisite red! Fuck the rest and stab it dead!" the protagonist wants to step away from using drugs, he wants to improve himself. "Drank the fountain of decay" referencing the protag using drugs for the first time. "Tear a whole, exquisite red! Fuck the rest and stab it dead!" references shooting up, which is injecting a substance, often drugs such as meth or heroin, with a hypodermic needle, the needle tears a whole into the skin.

SD's Chorus starts with "BROKEN, BRUISED, FORGOTTEN, SORE! TOO FUCKED UP TO CARE ANYMORE!!" pretty obvious, our protagonist doesn't care about the fact he's using drugs, he doesn't care about how he's killing himself by using drugs. "POISONED TO MY ROTTEN CORE!! TOO FUCKED UP TO CARE ANYMORE!!!" he compares himself to a rotten apple, since he's been corrupted by drug use. these lines are repeated a second time.

"In the back, Off the side, And far away... Is a place where I hide, where I stay" keep in mind this "place" this place is mentioned again a few times throughout the songs of the album.

outro starts "Tried to say, tried to ask, I needed to all alone by myself, where were you?" drugs at first kinda made him feel better at first but it slowly worsened his life in the long run. "How could I ever think, it's funny how everything that swore it wouldn't change is different now, Just like you would always say, we'll make it through... THEN MY HEAD, FELL APART AND WHERE WERE YOU?!?" to me this is him trying to blame the drugs for his self destructive behavior, maybe he tried to give up earlier but he couldn't do it.

"HOW COULD I EVER THINK IT'S FUNNY HOW? EVERYTHING YOU SWORE WOULD NEVER CHANGE IS DIFFERENT NOW?!?! LIKE YOU SAID 'YOU AND ME, WE'LL MAKE IT THROUGH' DIDN'T QUITE, FELL APART, WHERE THE FUCK WHERE YOU!?!?!?!" The protagonist is calling himself a fool for using drugs, and becoming addicted to them, he feels betrayed, this might imply he nearly overdosed and died due to drug use. The songs ends with a cresendoing synth based on Trent Reznor's voice, as it slowly fades into the next song with a slow, menacing drone... but uhh since this post took at least half an hour to write I'll think I'll make every song into separate posts, so I'll have to make 25 different posts for each song, I hope I can get the next rambling by tomorrow.

#nine inch nails #somewhat damaged #lyrical analysis #sorta #rambling #I love this fucking album omg #The Fragile #tw drugs

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Good day, I see you write for Eddie now. Could I request headcanons for the boi with a gender-neutral reader who's also a metal head, but their shy demeanor says otherwise? Basically he finds out and is shook

—Warlock Anon (I have risen from the grave after 3000 years, also how you doing?)

Oh hey Warlock!! I see lots of anons rising from the grave. I’ve been doing alright ^^

......

You loved all things metal--it basically modeled you into the person you are now. 

But unfortunately much of society didn’t approve.

So you hid that side of yourself at school, not wanting to stand out too much and get judged. 

You already got teased enough for being shy ([F/N] “the Shy” [L/N] is what they called you), why give them another reason?

The most you’d wear that give away your interests are band bracelets under your sleeves and a studded belt,..though that’s about it. You kept your tattoos hidden well, too.

Though these don’t go unnoticed by Eddie, who so-happened to be your lab partner in science today (ofc nobody wanted to pair with “The Freak” so you got stuck with him, not that you minded it).

You took notes while he’s doing fuck all. But he catches a glimpse of the band logos and skull doodles in the margins of your notebook, along with your bracelets and a tattoo on your wrist as you’re writing.

His jaw drops but you’re too focused to notice that.

You, the sweet and shy [y/n], were secretly a metalhead???? You definitely didn’t give off that impression when he first met you. You’ve been hiding in plain sight all this time.

He wanted to know more about you asap.

After school, he invites you to his trailer to study (which is odd considering you knew he didn’t care about schoolwork at all). 

But the millisecond you walk in, he pulls you inside with a look of shock and whispers “dude, why didn’t you tell me you liked metal??”

You’re flustered that he’s making such a big deal out of it. Though seeing all the posters and his guitar made you realize this was a safe space. You had nothing to hide.

So you happily expressed your interests and show him the songs you liked, along with more of your tattoos and jewelry. 

Eddie’s grinning so much as you ramble, amused that you weren’t this sweet and shy kid he initially thought you were.

“See, [y/n]? Us metalheads gotta stick together! Everyone sees us as weird, scary assholes but you’re living proof that they’re wrong!!” He gestures animatedly.

“Uh, thanks?” You smile shyly, not used to being complimented.

It’s gonna take some time, but Eddie’s gonna help you embrace your true metalhead-self. No matter what it takes.

#clanask #warlock anon #stranger things x reader #st4 x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #headcanons #platonic

[angstics]

can u tell us more abt how u interpret mychem music i really like it your mind is awesome

this made me aww out loud. really sweet. well i watched all quiet on the western front 2022 yesterday, a german ww1 movie about the last yr of war. and it made me think about how closely the crimes against soldiers mirror those against other working class. you’ll kill yourself in situations you dont want to be in in service of a rich motherfucker who wants to use you for their own gain. you cant get out. you’ll die in this place. now that makes me think about how my chem rags on war so vehemently. of course theyre criticizing literal war, especially a band born out of something used to start another. but i cant help reading all war songs as allegories (they even said that the ghost of you video is about relationships more than war criticism).

gun. allegorizes a soldier’s life for a touring musician’s — never gonna have a son (too caught up with your job to have a family), “if we’re old enough to die for your mistakes then lets go” (the RIDICULOUSLY PACKED black parade tour that frank says was so bad he was in self-medicated haze by the end — all set up by their managers), “they’re teaching me to kill who’s teaching me to love” (my chem has described performance as killing the audience. gerard lost his old life, girlfriend, home during black parade. all he knows how to do is performance… who’s teaching him to live his life?) i dont like gun. much but it delivers the same themes of every other cw song in a new way that emphasizes the exploitation they experienced. there’s this quote from the movie i mentioned “what do i know? im just a pair of boots with a rifle.” i think that’s exactly the point of gun. pair of tight pants with a mic.

mama genuinely i didnt even know was about war until a few weeks after listening to it. i thought it was about a gay man facing his mother’s violent homophobia. “we all go to hell” (ive thought this same thing when my mom damns others), “when we go dont blame us” (this ties in with the prev line AND with the reading that bp is about a gay man with AIDS), “baby girl etc” (there’s the common trans reading and there’s also the INVERT reading, where in early modern homosexual research gay men were thought to be women in men’s bodies), “for what youve done theyll find a place to adjust your mind” (conversion), “there’s shit that ive done with this fuck of a gun” (OK this is the line that had me convinced mama was about a gay person. fuck = sex = physical sex = dick = phallic = gun. OK!!! this is about gay sex). as a note on the song as a whole, i ADORE its tone. it isnt fully self-hating, not fully self-accepting. it’s a complicated mix of these black parade themes that is super super fun and super in tune with the complicated life of a queer person. a comic tragedy!

if you have something specific you want to / want me to talk about, let me know! the best interpretations build on each other. thank you for this opportunity to ramble 💗

#i didnt double check the lyrics so they may be a little off 😭 #mcr #mcr music analysis #ask

[dkniade]

Can I just say that I’m glad to see more fans of datsugoku here? LIKE ITS SO SO GOOD AND GOD SO TRAGICC THEY DESERVED BETTER!! Also also your analysis on Oktavia’s cover was FUCKING AMAZING HOLY HELLL/pos

(If anyone’s curious about the song mentioned here, note that the first link’s music video contains flashing lights and rapid motions, and the themes include violence and character death)

Thank you so much!! I really love Datsugoku’s MV for telling such a story in a mere 3 minutes and 47 seconds while combining music/lyrics/visuals together well. I remember how I used to really look up to sidu for her work on Datsugoku, particularly for its lighting and video editing haha. Over the years her artstyle has changed but Datsugoku is one of my favourite “phases” of her art style I’d say

(I think to this day if I’m trying to get someone into Neruke I’d just send them the MV haha)

But as a song it’s just really cool to listen to as well. The riff at the start, that guitar solo in the middle (I wrote a post about my interpretation of the solo’s narrative significance) IT’S SO GOOD. One of the best—or most memorable?—solos Neru has written I think. I like that you can get one interpretation based on the music/lyrics themselves, and another slightly different interpretation based on the MV (since what’s described in the lyrics don’t exactly match what’s happening on-screen even though they’re describing the same event.) This mismatch (?) in how the media forms are staggered (?) is so cool, like when the LYRICS say (using my translation)—

.

Slamming down on the rusted throttle

with all that I’ve got—

so hard that I’d break my bones—

Right now, let’s break through reality

.

—but the ANIMATION shows the moments before, where Kawasemi throws the knife to rip off Kuina’s blindfold, mouthes something in a cocky way, and runs away to start the chase…!

-

(Note that the next link here goes to a post which links to a video with flashing lights and rapid motions.)

AH speaking of a tragic ending that deserved better, back in 2021 I was able to participate in a Neruke 10th anniversary fan medley MV, and did the illustration for Datsugoku! The section chosen was of course the very guitar solo itself so I tried to depict a scene of freedom and happiness in the illustration. Whether the smiling and relaxed Kawasemi is alive in the illustration is up to interpretation, haha…

It’s to match lyrics like—(note that this section of the lyrics kiiind of alludes to metaphoric drugs, and again character death)—

.

“Increasing the altitude without a change in your expression, you laugh”

(“顔色変えず高度上げて君は笑う”)

.

and

.

“As the engine heats up, I don’t care about what’s happening to the plane’s body, so high I was in the blue heavens”

(“エンジンがヒートして　機体がどうしたって気にもしない程に　トリップしてしまう大空は偉大さ”)

.

UE UE UE KAWASEMI YOU BASTARD WITH NO SELF-PRESERVATION (affectionate). Looking at it again, as a loanword from English,トリップして (trip-shite) likely refers to tripping (on drugs)… as in he’s in such a state of ecstasy—in seventh heaven, if you will—it’s like he’s high. ….oh my god hence Oktavia’s line:

.

“Though the engine overheats, the plane begins to dive / I don’t care, it’s right in front of me / The Seventh Heaven finally on the bright side”

-

(Long ramble about Oktavia’s lyrics, Japanese lyrics, English translyrics, melody, and phonology here)

As for my initial reaction Oktavia’s encore cover, thank you!! As I’ve mentioned in the reaction/analysis post I really like how she writes lyrics. Rhythmically, I’ve realized that it’s not just about fitting the Japanese lyrics’ syllables to English words while retaining the meaning, it’s about sonority (relative loudness of a speech sound) and how the sonority of the English lyrics should sound with the melody—and as a poet and occasional (English cover) lyricist who tries to rhyme and keep the rhythm, THAT’S REALLY DIFFICULT. I think… a vocal melody written for a song in Japanese would probably take advantage of how Japanese is mostly consonant-vowel (e.g. Datsugoku can be split up to da-tsu-go-ku, but don’t quote my on the technicalities), but rewrite the lyrics to English without thinking of rhythm and suddenly it’s hard to sing lyrics when they’re all mushed together, be it because the sonority just don’t work, or that there are too many consonants…

For example, it’s easier to sing

.

あの頃僕ら夢を見ていたんだ

(Ano koro bokura yume o miteita nda)

.

than it is to sing, say,

.

“Back then the two of us would dream of better lives than this”

.

even though the syllable count matches (do you know how hard it was to intentionally write a line that’d mess with the syllabic stress in relation to the melody)

SO THAT’S WHY I LOVE OKTAVIA’S LYRIC

.

“Tell me you remember when we’d dream of another life.”

.

The way the consonants at the ends of the words follow the vowels at the beginning of the next word makes it flow SO WELL. It seems she writes the lyrics based more on the melody’s ups-and-downs itself instead of the Japanese syllables, if that makes sense?

Oktavia’s mentioned something similar about rhyming and syllables in Japanese vs English lyrics once

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“it is interesting though that rhyming is so integral to english lyrics but like in other languages (japanese) that sort of culture doesn't exist

my theory is that it's because english has so many different pronunciations to learn rhymes are more appealing 'cause they're rarer? vs japanese where because of the syllable system you can write lyrics that rhyme MUCH easier so it's not as prioritized???? idk”

.

The syllable system in Japanese is different from English so maybe it sounds nice in English when a (relatively) complicated syllabic system suddenly has rhymes where it usually wouldn’t…?

Ahaha, anyway, thank you for the ask! I was able to ramble about Datsugoku’s lyrics and gain more insight on the song even after a year…

#dusk answers #Datsugoku #脱獄 #Neru #Neruke #Neru家 #Vocaloid #ボカロ #Kawasemi #カワセミ #Kuina #クイナ #dusk analysis #dusk translation #song analysis #vocaloid translation #long post #linguistics #phonology #song translation

[meowzfordayz]

talk

Author’s Note: SANEMI !! 😭😍

talk

Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

Word Count: ~1,100

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content

Song Inspo: Talk by Spencer Sutherland

Request Fulfilled: Heyyyy I have another request 🤭

Can you do a one shot with a reader that tends to ramble? Like they start on one subject but their ADHD brain makes them jump from subject to subject and/or when they're talking they tend to trail off, thinking and mumbling to themself? And one night they're out with some fellow hashira, eating dinner when they start to ramble and Sanemi puts his hand over their mouth and tells them to shut up so they stare at each other for a second before the reader takes his hand from their face and kisses it and he gets all flustered and maybe some of the hashira are like *shook* or like "ooooohhhh" and later he finds them and kisses them or something and it can be really cute and fluffy a then maybe becomes kind of spicy (if that's where the muse takes you) I thought of this the other day and thought it was so cute

Thanks in advance! I'm really enjoying your writing and I hope you're taking care of yourself ☺️

~faqs~

Sanemi isn’t entirely sure if his head’s going to explode from: your incomprehensible train of thought; the oddly enticing aroma of chili and garlic spitting off your tongue every time you jump ship from the injured butterfly you found yesterday to the declaration of changing your favorite color for the nth time since he met you to how you forgot to remove your clothes from the drying line before it rained; or the way you glance at him after every tangent, soft glint in your bright pupils seemingly asking him Do you mind? Obanai’s consistent Mhm’s and I see’s could be to blame as well—not to mention Kyojuro’s UMAI’s (uttered quietly so to not interrupt you, but uttered nonetheless)—but the blossoming, churning ache in his chest tells him otherwise. Surely, if anything, what’s going to explode his head is how with every Do you mind?, he finds himself nuzzling a delicate palpitation in the hollow of his throat, shoulders shrugging No in mild contrast to the YES I FUCKING MIND FUCK’S SAKE FUCKING SHUT UP bouncing tirelessly in his head. Perhaps, the pressure of unexpected tenderness pressed flush against expected irritation balance each other? Perfectly?

“Shinazugawa-san, are you going to eat those?”

With a grunt, Sanemi nudges his plate toward Kyojuro, a few dumplings untouched — the realization that sharing = sitting through more UMAI’s registering too late to snatch them back.

“Shinazugawa-san,” you chime in, “Are you unwell?”

I’m fine. Just too focused on your rambling to even eat, apparently.

“I’m fine.”

“What were you saying about your new lanterns?”

It takes all his self control, and then some, to restrain himself from splintering Obanai’s skull the dining table.

“My new lanterns! So like, I explored this pretty little village recently, and there was this shop with these gorgeous lanterns. Like, spend-my-entire-salary-on-them gorgeous. But, get this, I started browsing, someone came out to greet me… and that someone was the artist! Sooooo exciting! I mean, I figured they were handmade because they looked too, tedious, to be mass produced, but to get to meet the artist?! Of course, I immediately embarrassed myself by gushing and gushing about how stunning their work was. I didn’t even remember to introduce myself! I got to shake their hand, and when I was jokingly like, “So what’s the secret to your lanterns?” tHEY TOOK ME TO THE SIDE ROOM WHERE THEY MADE THEM, AND STARTED SHOWING ME THEIR PROCESS! ISN’T THAT SO COOmfrhmp-”

Ignoring Obanai’s raised eyebrow and Kyojuro’s half chewed dumpling visible because his jaw’s dropped, Sanemi fixates on your wide, indignant stare. Heat emanates from the curve of your clenched jaw as his fingertips dig subconsciously—gently—into the plush of your skin, an involuntary tremor creeping within his thumb, marveling at the vitality of your pulse. Well. I should probably run. Fuck. And then you grasp his index finger; slowly, steadily plucking his middle finger, his ring finger, his pinky, his trembling thumb from your burning cheeks; tucking them between the smoothness of your own fingers; decidedly not breaking wrenching them away; unfurling them with a stuttered confidence until they’re calloused and hesitant; until his palm’s spread vulnerably and fully in front of your face. Sanemi wonders if you’re going to make him slap himself, if you’re going to berate him for muffling you mid sentence, if you’ve noticed the excess saliva smeared slightly below your bottom lip, if you’re going to do anything about it. About the blood in his ears jostling every sound wave surrounding him; unfamiliar, fond laughter threatening to escape his castle and ruin your silence; because Fuck am I nervous?!

You kiss the center of his heart line, Kyojuro’s chopsticks clatter onto the floor, Obanai inhales sharply, and Sanemi swears he blacks out for an infinite second.

“You know what works wonders?”

“W-what?”

Water he thinks Water works fucking wonders for fucking adolescent voice cracks.

“Politely saying, Please stop talking.”

But he feels your fingernails catch on his wrist as you unceremoniously release his hand. Hears the rough, eager lilt of your tone. Sees the flicker of disbelief as you reach toward your bottom lip, only to fluidly place your hands flat on the tabletop. Maybe he imagined it?

“Shinazugawa-san!”

Sanemi pauses, toes scuffing the ground with meticulous interest as he listens to your footsteps to draw near.

“I thought you left?” he mutters.

“Join me?” you’re unperturbed, chin jutting out cheerfully.

“Join you?”

“If you’d like, then I’d be happy to show you my lanterns. They’re difficult to appreciate without firsthand experience.”

“You’re hung up on that?” he snorts, evening’s coolness condensing his bemusement, eyes risking the dart upward.

They’re beautiful.

He swallows.

“Not exactly.”

“I’ll politely say, Please stop talking, next time.”

Your nose scrunches, mirth audible as you grin unabashedly, “Wowie, Shinazugawa-san initiating thoughtfulness?”

“Would you prefer I initiate something else?”

Sanemi’s confession hangs in the air between his held breath and your stilled pace, wry smile tugging at your guard as you poke above his hip.

“How about you initiate walking in the right direction?”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m serious too,” you huff, pointing behind yourself, “My estate is that way.”

“It’s cold.”

“Wear a proper shirt.”

“And I want know you.”

“You do,” now you’re puzzled, gesturing vaguely, “I talk a lot, as you so kindly recognized during dinner thank you very much, so if you don’t know me, then that’s on you.”

“I want to kiss you,” he clarifies.

There are first kisses that are literally your first kiss ever. Sometimes they’re sweet, oftentimes rushed, oftentimes messy. There are first bad kisses. Tongue, teeth, painfully unsexy moaning — everything but the kiss. There are first good kisses. Like mastering a recipe, but the ingredients are a wordless list, the steps an intuitive motion. And there are first kisses with Shianzugawa Sanemi.

Tentative. Clumsy. Honest.

Cradled in moonlight as he gives his whole self to you, eyes closing, awareness blurring, heartbeat pounding in his knuckles, his knees, his elbows. A waltz in an empty corridor — a promise under the law of the stars. I’m an idiot Sanemi’s soul shudders, a drifting bubble with pursed lips and an open heart in the moment before you POP his dismay, your mouth reassuring and content as it puts him back together. Tastes like chili and garlic he sighs faintly, warmth seeping from his hands to your spine Feels like home.

#sanemi shinazugawa #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x reader #shinazugawa x reader #wind hashira #one shot #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer