#and we found ourselves in a loop

[jils-things]

im so obsessed w the monitoring song from deco*27 i cant explain why

[oncelerfucker]

There's a lot of radical feminist thought brewing in trans circles on this forsaken website and none of you are inoculated against it because radfems have been infiltrating queer spaces here for over the last decade and now you don't know how to recognize radfem thought without overt transphobia.

You think feminism is when women create a feedback loop to justify acting within their fear and trauma responses (which is literally the line of thought that founded radical feminism btw) instead of viewing it as a political movement with several different schools of thought and several connections to and solidarity with other liberation movements.

Take 10 minutes to read There Is No Hierarchy Of Oppression by Audre Lorde [ here ] and truly think about what solidarity in action actually looks like. I'm begging you.

"I simply do not believe that one aspect of myself can possibly profit from the oppression of any other part of my identity. I know that my people cannot possibly profit from the oppression of any other group which seeks the right to peaceful existence. Rather, we diminish ourselves by denying to others what we have shed blood to obtain for our children. And those children need to learn that they do not have to become like each other in order to work together for a future they will all share." - Audre Lorde

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 2

-…. ….- ..—- .—— / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. . -.. / -.. . .- -..

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: Very light sexual content, allergic reaction bad enough to need medical intervention, panic, dissociation

Johnny lay in the nest, warmed by Kyle who had shifted to fill the chill that John left when he had gone to answer the door. Simon lazily trails his nose over Johnny’s scent gland, drawing a light whimper from his throat.

Kyle leans in and presses their lips together, coaxing as his hand begins to trace muscles. Johnny settles a hand on Simon’s thigh, running his fingers through the hair he found there. They were off duty for another two weeks and taking full advantage of Simon’s oncoming rut. He would only be deeply affected for 48 hours but the men always pooled their leave times to give them an extra week off.

This being the third year of them taking a few weeks off for each of their ruts/heats the rest of the large team knew and adjusted for the absence of their leader and core team. Kate kept track of everyone on their specific jobs.

Simon started to harden up behind Johnny. Hands drifting over his body had Johnny closing his eyes and leaning into his lovers. The teeth at his nipple surprised him to the point of recoiling. Simon had the misfortune of resting at the edge of the bed. He hit the floor with a thump. Kyle and Johnny shared a look before they both started to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So funny,” Simon stood, rubbing his butt that had taken the brunt of the fall.

The men on the bed smirked as they now watched Simon stand a bit more at attention under their eyes. Before they can get Simon back into the nest John steps into the bedroom, shutting the door hard behind him.

They watch as John strips off his robe and strides into the shared closet. Kyle can only open his mouth before John is answering the yet-unspoken question.

“We need to get dressed. Kate brought us a wife.”

That had all of them moving. What the hell did he mean?

Scrambling into the closet each of them grabs the necessary clothes before shifting to standing around the nest so everyone has the elbow room they need to dress.

“John, what do you mean Kate brought us a wife?” Kyle asks after his head emerges from his turtleneck.

“Kate brought us a beta woman. She would like us to stop being so reckless on jobs. Thinks that having someone to come home to will keep us from killing ourselves on jobs.” John sits to put his socks on, threading a socked foot into his pants before standing and doing them up.

“So what’s the plan then Captain?” Simon questions as he feeds his belt through the loops of his pants. “Obviously we don’t need a beta.”

“A wife wouldn’t be terrible though,” Johnny pointed out as he tucked his thin layer into his pants and grabbed his own jumper. A bonnie to hold and smile at them when they stumble in through the door? That sounded amazing to him.

“The plan is Johnny and Kyle will be taking her to town for some clothes and a bed. Kate insists she gets a bed and a space to retreat to. Simon, I want you to see what you can sniff out from her clothes. Maybe check what Kate has been up to lately.” John pauses, shirt tucked into his armpits as he prepares to lift it over his head. “Something about her smells…wrong. You have a more sensitive nose than I do, I need your opinion on her. I’ll start working on cleaning out the room behind the kitchen.”

“What are Kyle and I watching for then John?” Johnny runs a hand over his hair, deciding that he wouldn’t need to do much about it since he would be putting on a beanie shortly.

“Anything we can glean from her. She didn’t say much after Kate left. Watched me until I came upstairs, lot of thoughts behind those eyes though. You’ll see what I mean.” John opened the door that led to the stairs.

They all trailed after him. John had been right. Something smelled off about you. Almost broken? It reminded Johnny of the time Simon said his sauce had “broke” and the fats and water and flavors no longer sat well together.

You are standing at the front window, staring out over the vast stretch of forest they owned all around the property. They had chosen this spot deliberately five years ago when they were buying land to build their home on. It backed up to a national forest and they would never have to worry about neighbors.

Johnny approaches you around the couch. You pull back slightly from the window and notice the fog your breath left on the glass. A finger is lifted, leaving a frowny face in its wake. When you turn to look at him Johnny sees what John meant about your eyes.

You don’t leak scents of displeasure or fear like anyone else would in this situation; no, the feelings bubble in your eyes instead. Your stress sat in your shoulders and the slight bend in your knees, not in your scent gland.

“‘ello, you can call me Johnny. We’re going to town to get you supplies for your room.” He smiles gently at you. You only narrow your eyes in response. “Where did Kate put your coat?”

You look from eye to eye three times before answering. “Kate didn’t get me a coat. Only had cash and she said I needed clothes more.”

Johnny liked Kate. He had never wanted to slap her more than in this moment though. Nodding once he lifted a hip to rest on the couch as he folded his arms. You wince as his anger is communicated through the air. Simon complained that his anger tasted of burning rubber.

“I have a coat you can borrow until we get you one in town. Would that be okay?” He probes gently.

The narrowing of your eyes is exactly what he expected. You were going to take a long time to trust them.

“How about we get the truck started and then you only need to wear it between the house and the car?” Johnny offered.

“Fine.” You cross your arms and cast your gaze back to the snow beyond the window.

Twisting Johnny catches Kyle’s eye as he lurks in the kitchen.

“Grab my coats would you?” He tilts his head to their new wife as if Kyle hadn’t heard the conversation echo due to the acoustics of the home.

Kyle grabs both coats from the closet near the front door and drops a kiss on Johnny’s lips before leaving to start the truck. John catches him with a kiss and a whisper. Johnny offers both coat options to you and watches with a smile as you grab the coat that smells less strongly of him.

By unspoken agreement Kyle and Johnny let you learn about them through the conversations they have during the drive. It takes nearly an hour despite the roads being clear and dry. The tourists creeping their way up the mountain roads always slowed things down. Kyle dropped you and Johnny off to head further into town to pick up a bed frame and a mattress.

Johnny watches you as you drift from store to store. They lived close to a ski resort and had several stores that sold everything from socks to pants and coats. You picked soft clothes, muted colors, and several of the same socks and underwear. He only saw your face light up once. You were softly stroking a garishly bright shawl as you held it up to the mirror. When you saw Johnny lift his brows at you in said mirror you put it back and moved on. He made note of its position in the store before following you.

When Kyle came back Johnny filled the back seat with the various bags.

“‘bout time for lunch, any preference?” Kyle asks you.

You shake your head looking much warmer in real winter boots and a long coat. Johnny had insisted at the last store visited that you needed a hat and a scarf as well. Hands shoved into your pockets you are covered as Simon is on jobs, nose tucked against the cold.

It is decided that a new Thai spot would be the answer. Johnny pulls the keys from Kyle’s hand and a kiss.

“I’ll be right there,” he murmured against his cheek before turning and disappearing around a corner.

When he slides into the booth next to you the food is hot and ready on the table.

“Didn’t know what you would like so I got a platter for the table,” Kyle hands you a bundle, a napkin wrapped around a fork, and a spoon.

Conversation flows, Kyle and Johnny are careful to leave space for you to add your thoughts on matters like what they should have for dinner or if they should roast marshmallows in the fire tonight. You pick at your food and watch them watch you. When Johnny and Kyle have eaten their fill and boxed up the remaining food they settle the bill and you follow them into the grocery store next door to the restaurant.

Kyle, ever practical, heads up the pharmacy first. You and Johnny follow.

He tosses a box of condoms to Johnny who catches it with ease, even with his off-hand.

“Do we need any of these?”

This is cause for you to break your silence.

“You won’t need those for me.” You are cut off with a cough, fist to your face.

“These aren’t for you, but why wouldn’t you need them?” Johnny glances over at you, brow cocked.

Your hand has moved, cupping your throat as you cough into your other elbow. A light sweat has started across your face and the coughs are getting harsher. When wheezing starts and your body begins to crunch in on itself Johnny takes off for a different section of the pharmacy.

Hollering at the pharmacist behind the counter he points your direction, “I need an epipen!”

The pharmacist tosses it to him over the counter and low shelves between them as she darts for the door. Johnny doesn’t wait, racing back to you. He couldn’t hear much over the racing of his heart. They hadn’t even had a wife for six hours and she was dying on them!

Kyle has you laid out on the floor as you gasp for air. Sliding in next to you as if he were stealing a base Johnny removes the EpiPen from its travel case, uncaps and presses his thumb down to the top, and slams home the needle into your outer thigh.

He starts counting to thirty, the pharmacist appearing at his side before he reaches ten. By fifteen you are gulping down air as tears steak into your hair.

“There is a clinic two buildings down from here.” She glances over you as she dials something on her phone. Fingers reach for your neck as she takes your pulse.

Kyle gently takes the hand batting at the pharmacist, placing a light kiss on the knuckles. You are sobbing now, heaving breaths and tears streaming down your temples.

“Hi, this is Dr. Kumar, the pharmacist down the street. I have a beta woman incoming with her partners for an allergic reaction. We have administered an EpiPen on site but since I am not an MD I am sending her to you to confirm she is okay.” Dr. Kumar pointed to Kyle with two fingers, then to you, and hooked at thumb toward the front door.

“We gotcha bonnie, we will keep you safe.” He murmured the mindless words of comfort at you, unable to keep from attempting to soothe you as your fear punched into his nose. Interesting, that.

Johnny pulled the pen from your leg, needle already retracted, and passed it off to Dr. Kumar as he helped sit you up. Breaths are coming easier already, your skin is clammy and your eyes wild. You hold onto Johnny’s hand like the last life raft from the Titanic. Kyle shifts his hands under your thighs, standing to the gasps of several old women. Johnny caught sight of them fanning themselves as they pushed through the crowd that had formed.

Dr. Kumar, still on the phone, directed people out of the way with a sharp word and saw them off at the door, face worried. Johnny nodded to her once as he kept pace with Kyle. Thank the gods that John ensured they all stayed in top form.

Your words are getting clearer the closer they get to the clinic.

“Please don’t let them touch me. Don’t leave me alone. Please. Please. Please.”

“We won’t leave you alone,” Kyle shifted one arm to hold you, rubbing your back with the other. “Just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am going to call John, can you handle this until I get off the phone?” Johnny winces at the tight grip you have on his hand. “Lass, Kyle will kill anyone who tries to hurt you.”

They pause outside the clinic where Johnny works his fingers free of yours. The look of panic on your face will haunt him until he dies.

Kyle chokes slightly as you clamp down on his neck with your arms. The clinic staff opened the door for him, ushering him straight to the back room. Johnny dials John’s number from memory rather than searching for it. Cars drift past him as he waits He picks up on the third ring.

“How is it going with our new wife, Johnny?” He grunts as if moving something heavy.

“Poorly. We nearly lost her in the pharmacy.”

“Well did you find her?” John huffs, slightly out of breath.

“Na John, she had an allergic reaction to something from lunch. Had to stab her in the leg with an EpiPen. Kyle is in the clinic with her right now.” Johnny crushed a small ball of ice and snow beneath his boot on the sidewalk.

“The fuck happened Johnny?” The sounds from the phone tell him that Simon is now listening too.

“Don’t know John, had lunch at the new Thai restaurant, went to the pharmacy and she started to cough and then couldn’t breathe. Kyle got her to lie down and I got meds from the pharmacist. Kyle is in the clinic with her now. I’ve never seen someone so panicked to go to the doc,” Johnny shoves his other hand in a pocket, focusing on crushing another ball of ice.

“Hold on, I am calling Kate,” John warns. The line goes silent.

Johnny looks into the clinic, seeing nothing beyond the simple decor and the receptionist behind the tall counter.

“Kate, our new wife had an allergic reaction at lunch. Is there anything else she should know about her?” John questions with barely contained rage.

A sigh is the only response at first.

“I don’t know John. I haven’t found all of her records yet.”

“What the fuck do you mean you haven’t found her records yet Kate? Where did you find her?”

“John, all I have on her is from the two weeks before the FBI raided. There is a lot I can’t tell you but what I can say on this unsecured line is you should do some research on arachnids.”

She drops off the line with a click. Scowling at the distance Johnny bites back the urge to start yelling at Kate. More riddles and questions.

“Get her home, Simon and I will clear out the peanuts from the house,” John sighs into his ear.

“Why peanuts? It could have been anything in the meal.” Johnny watches as a group of skiers, colorful as tropical birds, walk across the street on the opposite side.

“Could have been, but a swipe of peanut butter on her hand when she gets back will confirm. It’s a really common allergy and we won’t have time to take her for an allergy test until after Simon’s rut.”

Johnny nods to himself and then verbalizes his agreement before ending the call. The receptionist leads him straight back when he steps through the door.

You sit on the bed, eyes wide and light gone from them, quietly singing Edelweiss. Kyle stands with arms folded and back stiff. His work face is on. Something had happened.

“You are more than you appear, wife,” Johnny took your hand as he settled into a chair conveniently next to the bed. You stay distant until halfway through the drive home.

A/N: I did not mean for it to go this way... I keep fighting with myself to let everyone live to the end of the story....

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

[secretsofafangirll]

video star

summary: the time when Olivia appeared in a blind, deaf, mute baking video with the triplets and Matt couldn't keep his hands to himself.

warnings: touchiness in front of people/on camera, suggestive language, suggestive content, use of pet names.

a/n: the song doesn't have any significance, it just plays in o.c.'s headphones.

"Hey guys, welcome back to another Wednesday video," Nick blurted at the camera posed several feet in front of them, "Today we're doing another Deaf, Blind, Mute Baking Challenge."

"However," Chris butted in, sticking a mocking finger in the air, "We have a special guest for today's video," He drawled out and looked off to the side where I was standing. Matt was still leaning back against the counter and smiled at me.

"Come on out, sweetheart." Matt beckoned me over with a flick of his fingers and a nod of his head. I jumped into frame and smiled at the camera.

"Hi guys!" I waved enthusiastically and placed my hands on the counter in front of me.

"For those of you who don't know, Olivia is our best friend in the whole world and Matt's girlfriend. If you didn't know that, you've obviously never watched a video because she's in all of our vlogs and we never shut up about her." Nick summed up the basics for the viewers at home.

I've been friends with the triplets since my freshman year of high school. Chris and I instantly clicked one day in Math when our more extroverted personalities found their ways to one another. He introduced me to his two triplet brothers at lunch that same day, and the rest was history. We became inseparable and spent every second of every day together since. Things became interesting with Matt and me as we got older and grew into ourselves but we officially started dating after we graduated high school. We were always scared to announce our relationship to his fans because they can be volatile to their female friends, but once we did and they accepted that we loved each other, we've been so open and comfortable expressing that love physically on camera.

"So, how this is gonna work is..we're gonna draw out of a hat and three people are gonna be either blind, deaf, or mute and one person won't be able to use their hands. Let's hope that person isn't Olivia, because she's the only one of us that really can bake, like at all," Chris addressed the room and the camera.

"Dude, if I get fucking handcuffed, this is gonna be awful," I raised my brows and turned to Chris.

"Have a little faith, kid," Chris bumped my hip with his. I heard the car keys rattle on Matt's belt loop as he pressed himself away from the counter and came up behind me to wrap his arms around my neck. My hands subconsciously reached up to grip his muscular forearms.

"Alright, well, let's get the fuck on with it," Matt spoke.

"Okay, relax. We've been rolling for two fucking minutes." Nick stuck an accusatory hand up at Matt.

Nick reached around the counter for the hat and we all drew a card.

"Matt, you say yours first," Nick assigned.

"Mute," Matt chuckled, "Too easy."

"Deaf," I read aloud, "Yay! I just get to listen to music." I ran over to the couch and grabbed my headphones, working to connect them to my phone and find a playlist.

"Noo!," Chris whined, "Handcuffed."

"Loser", Nick teased.

"Which means that I am blind." Nick concluded, "Olivia wanted to bake something from scratch but that's a bit too hard for us, so we just got boxed brownies with, like, an extra cookie thing that we have to do too."

As Nick started to read off the contents of the box, I placed the headphones over my ears and pressed "shuffle" on Spotify. The first song to grace my ears was "B.Y.O.B" by System of a Down. A loud, scream-y nu-metal jam to deafen my sensitive ears. If I listened to anything too quiet, I'd be able to hear them. I watched as Matt tied the blindfold onto Nick and then Chris tied the bandana onto Matt. Matt then locked the handcuffs onto Chris' wrists behind his back.

I watched as the three of them tried to talk to each other, myself trying to read their lips and body language. I knew Matt well enough to know he was frustrated and Chris well enough to know he was giving Nick directions.

Quickly, when they started to struggle too much, they called me over. However, my eyes were closed as I mouthed the words to the song and I couldn't hear them.

"Everybody's going to the party have a real good time," I sang with Serj and wagged my finger to the Ooh.

What made me open my eyes was Matt pushing a hand against my lower back to guide me to the counter. The sudden jolt and touch startled me and I lurched forward, almost falling into the hard counter top face first. Matt's hand quickly shot and gripped my waist, pulling me back into him.

"Oh my God!" I yelped, my hands shooting out in front of myself to stop me before he did. He spun me around in his hands and I placed my extended hands on his chest, "Thank you!" I yelled, unaware of my volume. He just pressed a finger to my lips to tell me to be quieter. I whispered a faint apology in return.

I looked over to Chris who was probably spewing some bullshit at us about how cheesy we are, seeing as how his left cheek flexed up slightly in annoyance. Matt ushered me over to the counter where they handed me the box to try and fix what they already messed up. I took one look at the batter and knew they added too much oil.

"Okay," I started, "I think you guys just put too much oil, but it's not hard to fix. I just need a dehydrator like flour or cornstarch to dry out the oil." I turned around to grab the flour from the cabinets that I stock for them, because if I didn't they'd either starve or waste all of their money on eating out.

Due to my shorter stature, I had to stand on my tip toes and stretch the life out of my arms to reach the flour. Matt came up behind me and placed a hand on my side to tell me to relax and he reached up and grabbed it for me. I thanked him before turning around and continuing to mix the brownies, Matt's front just brushed my back the whole time as he watched over my shoulder, his hand resting gently on my hip.

Once I was done with the brownies, I needed to grab a bowl for the cookie part. I wasn't planning on making it, since it's supposed to be a challenge, but I still grabbed the equipment needed. I bent down in front of Matt to grab a smaller bowl from the cabinet below the island. When I leaned over, I didn't realize two things; one, how close I was to Matt and what he wouldn't be able to resist doing when he noticed the position we were in, two, how it would look on camera.

Both of Matt's hands found my hips when I unexpectedly stuck my ass into the air right in front of his dick and he subconsciously pressed himself a tiny bit further into me. Soon, his hand left my hip and it braced itself on the counter above my head so that I wouldn't hit the counter when I got back up.

"Okay, so you guys need to do this, because this is supposed to be your guys' challenge." I started clearly over the sound of Evanescence’s "Going Under”. I sang the words under my breath as I turned away to let them do what they needed to do. I hopped up onto the counter behind them and enjoyed my music as I watched them yell at each other.

At least I thought they were yelling at each other...

Turns out they were yelling at me to preheat the oven that I was sitting next to. I watched as Matt stepped closer to me. He placed his hands on my thighs and nodded to the oven dials. I quickly understood and turned the dial to 350 degrees. Matt's eyes darted all across my face and down my body that was only clothed in shorts and a tank top due to the intense Los Angeles heat. I knew exactly what look he was giving me and it was killing him that he couldn't kiss me.

"Later," I mouthed to him and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. He dropped his head to my shoulder and I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulder to squeeze him into me.

Soon after, the brownies had made it out of the oven safely and we were all stripped of our sense-depriving shackles. I was kind of disappointed to be done with the music, but I missed hearing my favorite boys talk.

"Okay, the brownies are done and they look fine," Nick began to the camera, "But we did fuck them up a little bit, so hopefully Olivia's fix was okay."

"Bro, she's literally a professional chef at this point, I'm sure they're still gonna be great," Chris said matter-of-factly. Nick began to cut the brownies, which they should've baked on parchment paper, and got a piece for all of us. He slid it in front of me and we all tried a bite. They still tasted great and they looked like boxes.

"Obviously, if it were up to me, we wouldn't have boxed anything, but for a boxed brownie mix," Matt came up and hugged me from behind and my hands fell to his that wrapped around me, "I would give this is a solid 8 out of 10." I said giving a thumbs up with the camera.

When they had all given their notes and feedback, they said goodbye to the camera and turned it off.

"You guys need to practice a little something called self-control, you horny fucks," Said Nick as he shook his head and took down the filming equipment. 

"Shut the fuck up, Nick," Matt spat as he pulled me closer, "Hi, my girl. D'you have fun?" He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

I pulled back slightly and leaned up to kiss his lips, "Mhm. I always have fun filming with you guys." I smiled up at his stunning face.

"What'd you listen to?" He asked, pulling away from the hug to reach over and grab a cup from the cabinet, but keeping a hand on my waist. I turned to watch him as he got what he needed.

"I listened to System of a Down and Evanescence. I wish that, like, Nirvana or something came on though." I sighed and looked down for a moment before focusing my attention back on him.

"S'nice. I need to branch out, broaden my musical horizons," He said as he filled his cup with water from the fridge.

"And your kitchen horizons, because, my God, you guys suck at baking." I teased exasperatedely.

"Hey, watch yourself," He tutted, "They suck at baking, I, on the other hand, can whip up a good dessert."

"Alright, mister, I bought already-been-smoked salmon and tried to cook it anyway, Sturniolo." I accused, rolling my eyes jokingly.

"Oh, yeah? You want to play it that way?" He smiled smugly and slowly stepped toward me, setting his water down on the kitchen island.

I backed away in response and put my hands up in defense, "I'm not playing anything. M'just sayin' it how it is. S'not my fault your egos too big."

"You little-," He cut himself off and reached for me. A high-pitched yelp escaped my mouth as I dodged his hand and I backed away from him before running to his bedroom. I might be more agile than him, but his legs are much longer than mine. He caught up to me as I was trying to slam his door shut, and he stopped the door before I could close it. He swooped in quickly, picked me up, and tossed me onto the bed, kicking the door shut somewhere in between.

"Matt!" I giggled, as I sat up, bracing my hands behind me. He crawled onto the bed in front of me and shoved my chest back down.

"Those brownies might have been good," He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss right below my ear, "But I know you're gonna taste even better," He whispered into my ear and began to trail a path of open-mouthed kisses down my neck...

//

author's note: alright...how'd we like it? I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, but I wanted to put something out. I liked the concept but I'm unsure of how it turned out. let me know what you guys think.

all the love, she <3

[kitkat13001]

✦ — 3. centerstage

⋆.˚✮ prev ⟡ m. list ⟡ next ✮ 2.6k words

-> hitoshi shinsou x pro-hero!reader

✮ the longer you work with hitoshi, the more you notice things are starting to change. you’ve always been self-assured, but this team-up is really throwing you for a loop. ✮ tracklist: 505 - arctic monkeys, tek it - cafuné, wait a minute! - willow, deja vu - olivia rodrigo, fire - tv girl, closer - chainsmokers + halsey

you’re still not quite sure how to feel about this whole working-with-hitoshi thing. you’ve been pondering his apology ever since he voiced it, something uncomfortable stirring inside you from the entire ordeal. 

you’d considered returning it (since you’re definitely not absolved of blame in the matter), but you haven’t found a good time. it feels half-assed in any case, so you’ve just been trying to play it cool. 

luckily work has kept you both busy enough, what with the mission having progressed more than you’d been expecting. it’s been a good buffer to have something to focus on other than each other. 

it’s actually been kind of…nice. there’s still that lingering weirdness of the monumental history between you, but you’re slowly falling back into old habits. 

conversation comes a little easier during long patrols, occasionally stopping out for coffee during late nights of report filing, less venom behind quips exchanged during combat. you try not to let the nostalgia of it all overtake you — though that’s easier said than done.

“hey!”

your head snaps up, given no time to react as a bolt of energy hurdles right for you. you yelp as your body is yanked out of the way just in time, debris raining down behind you as the charge hits the wall you were just standing in front of. shinsou’s capture scarf is wrapped securely around your waist, him standing a few feet away with a pinched-brow expression. you shoot him a sheepish smile before readying yourself for the next strike, jumping back into the fray with hitoshi at your side. 

you two make quick work of the villain and it’s not long before she’s seething, wrapped up in hitoshi’s capture weapon. you’ve been trying to pick off stragglers from the syndicate in the hopes of extracting more information, but it’s been rather unsuccessful. still, a villain off the streets is a win you’ll take for now. 

you dust yourself off, flashing a sly look at shinsou. 

“can i compliment you this time or are you going to chew off my head again?”

“no, go ahead and sing my praises,” he replies with the hint of a wry grin. 

“ha!” you snort. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you’re quiet for a few seconds before giving a little laugh. “we should compete in the asshole olympics.”

“oh, we’d win gold.”

“mm, maybe silver. maybe. give ourselves some grace, save the gold for real pieces of work like them,” you reply with a hum, nodding at the villain sitting on the curb before you. he gives another little half-smile, chuckling to himself. 

it doesn’t take long for law enforcement to arrive and take the villain away, leaving you and shinsou with a quick thanks. 

“you going to get all dolled up for the cameras?” hitoshi asks as you’re walking back towards the agency. he’s talking about a press conference that edgeshot has arranged, both for exposure and to calm the public. you haven’t come out with the information about the bust being moved up, but you and shinsou have been approved to give a vague statement in order to quell the public’s curiosity (and gas yourselves up). 

“nah, i like the fresh-out-of-battle look,” you reply. “i think dirt and blood suit me.”

he snorts at that. “definitely.”

“how ‘bout you?”

“oh yeah, i’m about to head to hair and makeup right now,” hitoshi replies sarcastically. he grunts when you shove him lightly. 

“shut up! i meant, like, are you going to be fine in front of the press?”

he shrugs. “i’m not afraid of the cameras, i just don’t like them. not much of a choice here, though, but it’s whatever. you’re probably going to do most of the talking anyhow.”

“oh, am i?” 

he gives you a look. “aren’t you?”

“tch. yeah, yeah.”

once you get back to the agency, you both split to file your reports and get ready for the press conference later. 

you decide to remain in your hero suit, only giving yourself some minor touch-ups. best not to look like you’re trying too hard, especially when you know hitoshi would never let you hear the end of it. 

you’re actually on your way down when hitoshi drops down beside you, hanging from his capture weapon for a second before he drops to his feet. 

you’d be startled if he hadn’t done this a million times before, back when you were partners. 

instead, you fix him with a deadpan look. 

“you’re such a spider-man wannabe.”

he wrinkles his nose, though its near-imperceptible under his mask. “the comic book guy?”

“don’t act like you don’t know who spider-man is, hitoshi.”

“i’m not a thing like him,” he insists, matching your pace as you two walk to the conference room. 

“you’re right,” you reply coyly, “you’re batman because you’re emo.”

“you’re such a geek.”

you can hear the buzzing of reporters even from down the hall. you sneak a glance at hitoshi, but if he’s nervous it doesn’t show. he looks aloof as always — hands in his pockets, permanently hooded eyes, slouchy shoulders. your brows pinch just a little, squaring your shoulders and striding into the room with purpose. 

the reaction is immediate. you’re nowhere near top-five (or even top-ten) status, but your work with the lurkers has made you quite recognizable. the reporters squawk about, calling your hero name and waving microphones around. cameras flash in your face from all around the room, but you don’t pose for them this time. 

you head straight to the podium, trying to exude confidence. you can’t quite tell if hitoshi’s presence by your side is a source of comfort or nerves. 

the reporters quiet down when you tap the mic, introducing yourself and hitoshi. 

“good evening. i’m glad to be here with nighthide to assure you all of the safety of our community regarding the syndicate under investigation. we’ll be giving a statement and taking a few questions tonight.”

hitoshi steps forward beside you, reading the prepared script off a card in his hand. he projects a certain nonchalance, but there’s no mistaking the confidence behind his demeanor. 

you had told him before that he hadn’t changed, but that’s not true. he’s grown, clearly in more ways than one. you’re so caught up in him that you nearly miss your cue until hitoshi steps back to allow you to resume your place. 

the clamor starts back up as journalists and reporters push forward to get to you. 

a sharp-looking woman in the front thrusts her microphone in your face, waving over the video camera. 

“this is quite the fresh team-up,” she remarks, gesturing to you and hitoshi. “may i ask — what exactly is your relationship to nighthide?”

you’re used to leading, invasive questions during interviews. reporters love fishing for drama and personal anecdotes. you’re normally good about redirecting or deflecting, but this one has caught you slightly off-guard. they never start off the bat with something this direct, and there’s something off about her accusatory tone. 

“i— we’re coworkers?” you wince internally at the nerves apparently in your voice.

she presses on. “but you were in the same class at u.a. were you not?”

“yes, we have records that indicate you were both ranked in the top 10 of your graduating class!” chimes in another.  

“well, yeah, but—” you don’t even get to finish your sentence before another anchor interjects. 

“another one of our reporters dug up these photos—”

“is it true that you two were romantically involved?”

you sputter, cheeks burning as you burst out with a “no!”

“did you have plans to start an agency together after graduation?”

“we have records of you two teaming up in your early career—”

“—photos of you both in kyoto during the mass evacuations—”

“do you plan on pursuing this—”

“—awfully close for ‘coworkers’ to—”

your face is hot from embarrassment and the bright lights. the camera flashes have turned from irritating to unbearable. you can’t even get a word in between them. the assault doesn’t cease, and now they’re pouncing on shinsou too. 

“is there a reason you’re choosing to emerge from the shadows now?”

“yes, and does your choice of partner have anything to do with that?”

“is this all a publicity stunt or are there other factors of your personal history at play here?”

“i—” hitoshi’s violet eyes flicker to you for just a moment and it sends a bolt of panic through your body. you don’t give yourself the chance to name whatever emotion is swirling in his deep gaze, breaking away from the suffocation and shoving past your security detail to get out. 

you hurry down the hall and out the back, practically gasping for air as you burst out the door. 

the evening breeze cools the sweat that’s beaded on your forehead and nape, and you shakily take a seat on the steps. you glance back to ward off the paranoia, but no one’s followed you yet. 

you don’t know how long you sit there, stewing in anxiety and guilt, humiliation and frustration. your head whips up like a threatened deer when the door opens, but your shoulders relax a little when you see that it’s hitoshi, and that he’s alone. 

he takes a quiet seat beside you. you expect him to say something, but he remains silent.

“not gonna offer me a smoke?” you ask when the silence stretches uncomfortably, a half-hearted attempt at a joke. 

he glances at you with soft eyes and the ghost of a smile. “nah, ‘m tryna quit. apparently it’s bad for you or something.”

you give a shaky laugh. it’s another long moment before you speak again, voice small. 

“sorry for ditching you back there.”

it’s bad enough that you turned tail, but leaving hitoshi to fend for himself against those reporters? your gut shrivels with shame. 

“‘s okay. i drove ‘em off well enough,” he replies easily. 

“i don’t normally freak out during interviews,” you admit, rubbing your arms self-consciously. 

“i know.”

you turn to look at him. “you…know?”

hitoshi chuckles dryly, kicking a pebble away lightly. “you’ve got quite the glowing record, rookie. i’m sure they’ll forgive you.”

he speaks with such familiarity that your stomach does a little somersault. “you watch my interviews?” you muse, trying not to sound hopeful. 

hitoshi shrugs. “when they’re on.”

your face pulls into a little smile. “you watch my interviews.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs, pulling his scarf up around his face like a defense. “‘m not a stalker. aizawa keeps up with all your careers and i’ve seen a couple telecasts, alright?”

you hold your gaze, beaming. “you watch my interviews.”

he makes a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “don’t read too much into it, okay? what i’m trying to say is that you’re gonna be fine. they won’t hold it against you — and if they do, i’ll make such a scene that you’ll look golden again. good as new.” he finishes with a huff of finality and you laugh. 

you’re close enough now that your shoulders are touching and it’s taking everything in you not to rest your head against him like you’d done so many times before. 

you didn’t realize just how much you missed him, not until now. 

you sit quietly for some time longer, but the question leaves your lips before you can talk yourself out of it. 

“can i ask you something stupid?”

hitoshi glances at you swiftly before looking back down at the pavement. “shoot.”

“were you… “ you’re not even fully sure you want to know, but it’s been eating at you for so long that you figure you might as well ask. “are you mad at me? for everything?”

he gives a long sigh after some deliberation, and then he’s quiet for a long moment after that. you think he’s not going to reply, and you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, but then he speaks.

“i was,” he admits quietly, “for a long time. hurt, i guess, more than anything. but it was all such a long time ago and we’re both different people now and…” he shrugs, helpless. “i don’t know, i guess it feels stupid to hold on to such old feelings when there’s more important shit to be done, yknow?”

hitoshi sneaks a quick glance at you, searching for something in your molten eyes. you hold his gaze even after he’s looked away, something stirring in your stomach that you can’t quite place. 

“can i ask you something even more stupid?”

he exhales a little huff, an almost-chuckle. “knock yourself out.”

you feel stupid saying it out loud, but you don’t think you can’t possibly humiliate yourself any more now. 

“…can we try being friends again?”

to your surprise, his lips quirk into a tiny half-smile. he snorts softly, knocking his hand against yours. “sure. ‘f you’ll stop being a brat about it.”

your brows pinch in a scowl, which only widens his smile. 

“i’m not a brat!” you insist, jabbing at his shoulder. 

“i’m not a brat!” he echoes back, parroting your voice with his modulator. 

“i hate when you do that!” you huff. the way you’re smiling doesn’t sell the statement. 

“ah, you like it.”

you two stay out back for a while longer, not wanting to break the fragile bubble of respite. as the sun begins to drop, you both agree to head back and face what’s sure to be a mountain of consequence inside. you almost shiver at the thought of facing kamihara after the scene you’d made. 

you try not to dwell on the feeling of hitoshi’s hand in yours when he helps you to your feet, or the way his touch lingers even after he’s let go. 

you’re rounding the side of the agency where most of the press has dispersed, though none of the stragglers are brave enough to approach (which you’re glad for). 

there’s someone else standing over by doors, though — a figure who becomes increasingly familiar as you approach. 

you stop in your tracks, dumbstruck. she catches sight of you and hitoshi, lighting up as she hurries over. 

“is that eri aizawa?” you cry in exaggerated disbelief. even though you’re playing around, seeing her scamper over to you sends a pang of bittersweet nostalgia through your stomach. she looks so grown up compared to the last time you saw her, but you still see the timid little girl you remember from your days at u.a. 

“oh my god, you’re so big!” you marvel, throwing your arms around her before you can help yourself. she giggles when you lift her with the force of your hug, giving her a playful spin before you set her back down. “last time i saw you, you were about yea high!” 

you wave your hand at waist length and eri’s cheeks turn a bashful shade of pink. “well, it has been a while…congratulations on your mission, though! i was super happy when ‘toshi told me you guys would be working together again!”

you turn to hitoshi, who you’d just about forgotten was there, but his face is pretty much unreadable. 

“yeah, it’s been…” you trail off when eri’s head turns back when her friends call out, a group of junior high kids lingering back behind you.

she hoists her bag back up with an apologetic smile. “sorry, i should get going. you two have hero work and i’ve got a test tomorrow.” she makes a yikes face and you laugh fondly. 

“better get moving then, little lady. good luck on your test.”

“thanks! it really has been too long, though.” she frowns like she’s thinking before she lights up with renewed joy. “you should come by for dinner again! i miss when you would always come around. i could even get dad to make your favorite.”

your stomach sinks, just the tiniest bit, but you can’t say ‘no’ to her giant smile and big scarlet eyes. so you muster up a big smile, squeezing her shoulders fondly. “dinner sounds great.”

“perfect! it’s a date then.” 

eri beams up at you, and you try very, very hard not to look at hitoshi. 

dividers by @/saradika-graphics, header by kitty with pics from pinterest!

taglist: @deadhands69 @frvv @cccandynecklaces @tokeposts @lover-no-lover61 @getvaccinated @accidentpronedork @crushmeeren @p4rkcha3w0n @cyberesc @bloomstream @eloshifts @bythevay @cc1306 @nobodybutnnoorr (ask/comment if you’d like to be added!)

🫵 this one’s for toke n sydney!! had fun w/ this one!! (even if it was a pain to finish LMAO) next chapter might be a little shorter, but things really pick up from there. hope everyone’s enjoying it so far, i def am!! <33

[ejsuperstar]

I've only been playing this game for a year, but im just... So tired. I love this game, it's one of my favourites. I even candle run nearly every day. But its all just... So much.

Between events, basegame spirits, Travelling spirits, the season, travelling spirits, WHOOPS ANOTHER DAYS EVENT, dont even dare think about basegame spirits, heart trades, friend emotes travelling spirit days event the season the

I feel like im drowning in obligations. I love this game... So much. But even at the level im playing it its just so much

I cant even complain because i get told to go to the feedback channel but i'm 99% sure it goes directly into a metaphorical paper shredder.

Greetings Adventurers 👋

Samantha here, though some of you may know me as Ktjn one of the designers who focuses on Sky's economy!

I want to talk about some bugs we discovered that took place during the first few weeks of Season of Nesting, and the steps we're taking to address them.

Four items from the stone furniture set were introduced incorrectly:

🔹️Single stone bed from week 1

🔹️Tall stone dresser from week 2

🔹️Pillow decor from week 3

🔹️Folded cloth decor from week 4

The purchase menu mistakenly indicated that players could place two beds and one dresser—but the edit mode correctly reflected the ability to place two dressers and one bed.

We then found that the pillow and folded cloth prices were incorrect. They were priced in Hearts when they should have been priced in Candles. This is fixed now, but players who unlocked those items at the incorrect price will receive a complete currency refund due to this error.

We also considered those who might have been discouraged by the incorrect Heart prices the first time these appeared. For folks who wanted to consider adding these items to their furniture lineup, we’ll have the pillow and folded cloth return with the regularly scheduled Nesting Shop rotation for two weeks: July 8th through 21st PDT.

I'd also like to personally apologize for the amount of time it has taken to find these bugs and bring them to your attention. We wanted to thoroughly and thoughtfully discuss our options that would make right for our mistake, but responsibility for the delay rests on me. 🙇‍♂️

Season of Nesting introduced the largest collection of items since Sky's launch nearly five years ago, and it's been exciting to see all the creative ways you've used the stone furniture set in your Nests and Shared Spaces. I also want to thank everyone who has taken the time to send bug reports during the Season. Many bugs (like the ones with these four items) we discover ourselves, but the bug reports you send help us capture issues that only appear at large scale—they're instrumental to shaping Sky. 🐛

As always, words cannot fully express my gratitude for the trust and patience you have given us. Thank you! 🫶

[afireintheflame]

Wedding Inspired Fics!

This started off as all the LaDs guys go with you to a wedding expo, but as I continued, they evolved, so now it's just weddings/wedding like in general. I also realize that Sylus and Zayne have similar beats but I think the endings are still lovely.

No Warnings all fluff

Pairings: Sylus x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Caleb x Reader, Xavier x Reader, and Rafayel x Reader. (Reader is AFAB)

Xavier and Reader are still in the early stages in their relationship

Sylus

“Sy, what’s this invitation?” you asked sweetly.

Sylus was lounging on the sofa, a book resting across his chest when he noticed the pastel pink envelope in your hands.

“Bring it here, Kitten.” He lifted his hand lazily toward the invite.

You crossed the room and handed it over. He unfolded it with a raised brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Ah… looks like a vendor invitation to the Linkon Wedding Expo.” His voice carried that usual thread of amusement.

“You should accept it!” you said, practically bouncing. “Linkon’s Wedding Expo is amazing! I’ve been dreaming of going ever since I was a kid.”

Sylus lowered the invitation, studying you with that slow, knowing smirk.

“Well, Miss Hunter,” he drawled, “as long as we can take some time at the Expo for ourselves, I guess I’ll accept.”

Your eyes lit up, a grin spreading across your face.

“Really?”

He let the invitation rest on his broad chest and reached out to hook a lazy finger around your belt loop, tugging you closer.

“Really. I sell the fruit, you drag me through all the glitter and white lace. Fair deal.”

You pretended to think it over, tapping your chin.

“Deal. But only if you promise to try cake samples with me.”

He snorted softly.

“Kitten, you’d sell my soul for free cake samples.”

Of all the fronts Sylus maintained, this one still caught you off guard. Somehow, the notorious leader of Onychinus always found time to sell fruit to local businesses—and apparently, the Wedding Expo wanted a piece of it.

The day of the Expo was alive with energy, the massive hall buzzing with wedding photographers, honeymoon planners, venue representatives, dress designers, florists, and a hundred other vendors all vying for attention.

Your eyes sparkled as you tried to drink in all the splendor at once. The swirl of pastel banners, the scent of fresh flowers, the delicate lace of designer gowns on mannequins—it was a dream you’d held onto since childhood, now fully alive around you.

Meanwhile, Sylus finished setting up his fruit booth, directing a few hired sales staff with calm authority. Crates of glossy apples and bright citrus were artfully arranged under a stylish white canopy bearing the Onychinus trading name—just one of his many respectable “fronts.”

He turned from the booth to find you gawking at a nearby display of towering wedding cakes, eyes wide with wonder.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Well, Kitten,” he drawled, hands intertwined with yours “ready to go explore your wonderland?”

You didn’t waste a moment once he agreed. Fingers curled tight around his palms, you dragged Sylus away from the fruit booth and straight into the bustling heart of the Expo.

Everywhere you looked, there was something new and dazzling: towering wedding cakes, lush floral arches, sparkling jewelry displays, racks of delicate gowns swaying on mannequins.

Sylus followed without complaint, an entertained smile never leaving his face. Watching you light up at every turn seemed to be the best part of his day.

He let you lead him to cake-tasting tables—where he dutifully sampled every flavor, pretending to be a connoisseur and murmuring fake critiques that made you snort with laughter.

Then you spotted it:

A booth draped in dramatic red and black banners, with dark roses and gothic accents that immediately caught your eye.

But what really grabbed your attention was the cookie display. Rows of elaborate designs—skulls, roses, ornate calligraphy...

And there, sitting perfectly among them, was a cookie shaped exactly like Mesphito. Silver-detailed beak, black icing for wings, tiny dark candy eyes.

You gasped, grabbing Sylus’s sleeve.

“Sy! Look! It’s Mephie!”

Sylus stepped closer, squinting at the cookie before breaking into a slow, genuine smile.

“Well, look at that” he purred, voice rich with amusement. “They even got the beak right.”

You grinned up at him. “Should we get one? Or a whole box?”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, then turned to the vendor.

“We’ll take a dozen,” he said smoothly. “Wrapped nice, if you can.”

The vendor lit up, already moving to package them carefully.

You blinked. “A dozen?”

Sylus shrugged, smirking. “Well, if I only brought gifts for Mephisto, Luke and Kieran would throw a fit. I'm just being fair.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying not to smile.

“Mhm. Right. This has nothing to do with the fact you think the cookie version of Mephie is adorable?”

He didn’t answer—just gave you a slow, amused look like he’d let you believe whatever you wanted.

The vendor handed him the wrapped box, tied neatly with a dark ribbon.

Sylus took it with one hand, the other brushing against your lower back as he steered you gently toward the next booth.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” he said lightly. “I’m still the terrifying leader of Onychinus, not some guy who collects novelty bird cookies.”

You beamed up at him.

“Sure, Sy. Whatever you say.”

The bustle of the Expo seemed to fade a little as you wandered down one of the quieter aisles, the hum of voices replaced by soft music and the rustle of silk and lace.

Sylus carried the box of cookies under one arm, his other hand on the small of your back. Even relaxed, he cut an imposing figure, lean and deliberate in his movements. His short silver hair caught the overhead lights in cool flashes, and his red eyes, always sharp, scanned the crowd with measured calm.

You were still giggling about the Mesphito cookies when a voice called out brightly:

“Oh! Excuse me—you two!”

You both turned. A wedding dress designer stood at her booth, framed by shimmering drapes and mannequins in white and champagne. Her tape measure hung around her neck like a badge of office, a tablet clutched in one hand.

Her eyes widened with excitement as she looked you both over.

“What a stunning couple! Would you consider modeling my new collection? Just for a few photos for our catalog and socials. You’re exactly the look I want.”

Your breath caught.

“Oh—um—”

Your gaze darted up to Sylus immediately.

He was watching the designer with cool detachment, crimson eyes flicking over her booth, the camera equipment, the hovering assistants. He didn’t move, didn’t speak for a moment—just let the silence settle heavy enough to make her swallow nervously.

Then he dropped his gaze to you.

Your eyes met. He searched your face, reading the hesitation there, the quiet hope.

He tipped his head faintly, that familiar, lazy smirk softening into something private.

“Well, Kitten?” His deep voice teasing, the barest amusement curling at the edges. “You want to play dress-up?”

You bit your lip, shifting a little closer to him.

“It’s your call, Sy. I know you don’t exactly love cameras. And you’re here on business…”

He snorted quietly.

“Business is covered. Booth’s stocked, staff’s paid.” His red eyes glowed with amusement. “And cameras don’t bite.”

Your heart skipped.

“So… you’re okay with it?”

He tilted his head just enough to catch the designer in his peripheral vision, voice dropping low.

“If you want it, you have it. I’ll stand there in a tux and glare like a pro.”

You couldn’t stop the bright, relieved grin.

You turned to the designer with a shy, excited nod.

“We’d love to.”

The designer clapped her hands in delight when you agreed.

“Perfect! Thank you so much—you’ll both look incredible!”

Almost immediately, an assistant appeared at Sylus’s elbow.

“Sir, right this way—we’ll get your measurements.”

Sylus shot you a sidelong glance, with a dramatic eye roll.

You tried to hide your laugh behind your hand.

He shook his head faintly but let himself be led off, silver hair catching the light as he moved with unhurried grace.

“Behave,” he called over his shoulder, voice low and amused.

You stuck your tongue out at him before turning back to the designer.

She was already rifling through her sketches, eyes shining with focused excitement.

“Now, for you, my dear—we want something unforgettable.”

You blushed at the attention, but she waved off your embarrassment with brisk, cheerful professionalism.

“You have such lovely coloring—we need something to highlight that glow.”

She held up gowns one by one, humming, frowning, considering. Silky satins, yards of tulle, elaborate beadwork.

“No, no… this one. This is the one.”

She pulled a white floor-length gown from its protective cover.

The bodice was cut in a graceful sweetheart neckline that managed to look both elegant and daring. Delicate crystal feathers cascaded down from the waist, catching the light in icy sparks that made you gasp.

“I love it,” you whispered.

She grinned broadly.

“I thought so. And for the veil—this.”

She produced a long veil edged in rose-patterned lace, the embroidery so fine it looked almost alive.

You ran your fingers over it reverently.

“It’s beautiful.”

She nodded in approval.

“Perfect. And the bouquet…” She gestured to a prepared arrangement of lush red and white roses, bound with a satin ribbon.

Your breath caught at the sight.

“It’s stunning.”

She winked.

“Classic romance. Let’s get you into it.”

Meanwhile, Sylus was enduring the tailor’s fussing with a stoic expression.

The tape measure snapped around his shoulders and waist, the tailor muttering numbers under his breath.

Sylus stood perfectly still, eyes half-lidded, silver hair slightly tousled from you tugging him around the Expo.

“Can you breathe in, sir?”

“No.”

“Ah. Very well.”

Sylus was finished first.

The tailor stepped back with a satisfied hum, brushing invisible lint from his shoulder.

“There,” the man declared, voice proud. “Perfect fit. Go take a look, sir.”

Sylus arched a brow, pushing off the little platform with grace. He turned toward the full-length mirror, hands slipping into his trouser pockets.

His gaze traveled over the reflection slowly, appraising.

The suit was bespoke, tailored within an inch of perfection in matte black. Subtle red silk lining peeked from the inner jacket, matched by a blood-red pocket square. But it was the lapels that stole the show: black crystal feathers cascading in elegant, darkly shimmering detail—just enough flair to suggest danger and beauty in equal measure.

Pinned to his breast was the boutonniere, a cluster of red and white roses that mirrored the bridal bouquet.

He tilted his head a fraction, red eyes narrowing thoughtfully at the design, then let out a quiet, genuine huff of amusement.

“Not bad.”

A smile tugged at his mouth, unhurried and a little indulgent.

For a second, he just stood there, taking himself in.

Leader of Onychinus or not, he could appreciate fine tailoring—and he couldn’t deny he looked good.

He reached up to adjust the boutonniere, fingers deft but gentle on the petals.

Then his gaze flicked to the dressing area curtain where you were still being fussed over.

The smile softened just a little more.

“Don’t take too long, Kitten,” he murmured under his breath.

You stepped out from behind the curtain, the soft rustle of your gown the only sound breaking the quiet buzz of the Expo around you.

There, by a makeshift altar draped in ivory and crimson fabric, stood Sylus—tall, commanding, and impossibly elegant in his suit.

Your breath caught. A warm blush spread from your cheeks, climbing all the way to your ears.

For a moment, you thought the world itself had narrowed down to just the two of you.

Sylus’s ruby eyes lifted slowly, locking onto yours.

Everything else—the bustling crowd, the cameras, the distant chatter—faded into nothing.

His gaze held you like a silent promise, fierce and unyielding.

Then, ever so slightly, that rare, soft smile curved his lips.

It was a look that said you belong here—with me.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you took a tentative step forward, every nerve alive with anticipation.

Sylus stood rigid by the makeshift altar, every inch the poised, commanding figure he was known to be. But the moment you stepped onto the aisle, everything about him softened.

His red eyes locked onto you, wide and unblinking, as if you were the most enchanting being he had ever laid eyes on.

Each step you took was a graceful rhythm in his gaze, like a spell weaving itself around him.

You were stunning—more than just beautiful. Radiant, alive, utterly captivating.

The crystal feathers on your gown caught the light with every move, sparkling like stars in the dim glow of the Expo’s ambient lighting.

Sylus’s breath hitched slightly, a rare break in his usual calm.

His jaw tightened just enough to hide the emotion threatening to show.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured under his breath, voice rough with something close to reverence.

The photographer stepped forward, camera in hand, eyes bright with enthusiasm.

“Alright, you two—just do what feels natural. We’ll give you some direction along the way, but really, we want to capture your natural beauty. No stiff poses, no forced smiles.”

She smiled warmly, her gaze flicking between you and Sylus.

“Just be yourselves. Let the moment speak.”

Sylus’s red eyes lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, then he shifted slightly, loosening the tension in his shoulders.

He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod—his way of saying we’ve got this.

You took a deep breath, feeling some of your nerves ease away.

The atmosphere softened, the hum of the Expo fading into the background as the two of you began to move together, naturally—like you belonged there, side by side.

Sylus stepped forward first, his tall frame moving with effortless grace.

Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee before you, the black and red suit contrasting sharply with the soft white of your gown.

His red eyes lifted to meet yours, intense and steady.

He took your hand gently, raising your knuckles to his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The photographer’s shutter clicked softly, capturing the reverence and warmth in that quiet gesture.

Next, the scene shifted—Sylus and you stood face to face, the makeshift altar draped behind you.

It looked as if you were about to exchange vows.

His hand found yours, fingers intertwining effortlessly.

Your eyes locked, breaths mingling in the charged silence.

Finally, the photographer signaled the last shot.

Sylus leaned in, lips brushing softly against yours—a kiss both tender and full of promise.

The moment held, timeless and perfect, as the camera immortalized the beginning of something new.

“WOW—you both look fantastic! I’ll get these photos to you as soon as they’re edited.” The photographer was practically glowing, beaming at you both.

“I’ll give you a moment to get changed, and then we can go over the raw images!”

As soon as she slipped back behind the curtain, the space fell quiet.

You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

Your heart was pounding, your fingers still curled around the bouquet.

Sylus hadn’t moved.

He just stood there in that striking black and red suit, the boutonniere still perfect on his lapel, watching you with eyes so full of love and awe you couldn’t bear it.

You tried to look away, cheeks hot.

But his hand came up gently, fingers catching your chin and guiding your gaze back to his.

You swallowed hard, breath hitching.

“I was wrong, you know.”

His voice was low, rough at the edges with something real and vulnerable.

Your own came out in a whisper.

“What were you wrong about?”

He searched your face for a long moment before answering, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to marry.”

The words weren’t lost on you.

They landed deep, warm and heavy in your chest.

Your breath trembled as you closed your eyes, trying to hold back the emotion welling up inside.

Sylus didn’t let the silence stretch.

He leaned in slowly, deliberately, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss so tender it stole the air from your lungs.

It wasn’t for the camera anymore.

It was just for you.

When you finally parted, you rested your forehead against his, breathing him in.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

You helped each other out of the formal outfits, exchanging small smiles and quiet laughs at the elaborate clasps and pins.

He handed you your clothes with a teasing, “Careful now, don’t trip on that train,” before smoothing down his silver hair in the mirror.

Once changed, you headed back out to the booth area where the photographer met you, positively buzzing.

“You two made my job so easy,” she gushed, scrolling through the raw shots.

You picked your favorites with ease—those soft, stolen glances, his hand at your waist, that kiss at the altar backdrop.

Sylus only huffed when you insisted on including the one of him kissing your knuckles on one knee, but he didn’t argue.

He even signed the release form with amused grace.

Later, once business was squared away and the Expo lights faded behind you, you rode back together to the Onychinus base.

The second the car doors shut and the world went quiet again, you felt a shift in him.

His arm slid around you possessively.

When you got out at the base entrance, he didn’t even give you a chance to straighten up before hooking one arm under your knees, the other behind your back.

“Sy—!”

He only smirked, those red eyes glowing under the security lights.

“Hold on, Kitten.”

And he bridal-carried you over the threshold of the base like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your laughter echoed in the hall, your arms tight around his neck as you buried your face against his shoulder.

Sylus’s smile was quiet and real as he murmured low enough for only you to hear:

“Gotta practice for the real thing someday, don’t I?”

______________________________________________________________

Zayne

When it came to you and Zayne, it seemed like the two of you were never going to beat the “act like a married couple” allegations. Today, you decided—why not lean into the joke a little?

You quietly snuck into Zayne’s home office and placed a delicate-looking invitation on his desk, hoping he’d spot it after he came home from the hospital tonight. Zayne was the definition of burning the candle at both ends when it came to work, but when it came to you, he’d drop anything he could to spend time together.

Zayne’s key rattled in the door well past midnight, followed by the familiar click of the lock and the muffled sound of him dropping his bag in the foyer. You listened as his footsteps padded toward his office, waiting.

Sure enough, you heard the chair scrape back and a quiet, curious “Huh.”

A moment later he appeared in the bedroom doorway, his black hair tousled, sleeves rolled up, his white coat draped over one arm. He held the baby blue envelope between his fingers, the silver wax seal already cracked.

“Care to explain this?” he asked, voice low but amused.

You lowered your book just enough to see him fully. “Oh. You found it.”

He lifted it slightly, eyebrows raised. “An invitation to... the Linkon Wedding Expo?” He flipped it open slowly for dramatic effect, reading aloud with his cool calm tone. “‘Congratulations on signing up for complimentary wedding portraits.’”

You fought a grin. “They had a deal.”

He blinked. “A wedding portrait deal.”

You shrugged, setting the book aside. “We keep getting accused of acting like a married couple anyway. I thought—why not lean in a little?”

He chuckled, but his expression softened. “You signed us up for fake wedding photos.”

“Well, they’re real photos,” you corrected. “Just not... you know. Legally binding.”

Zayne let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. He crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge, looking at you with that warm, exhausted fondness he saved just for you.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the cracked seal.

You met his gaze evenly, smile gentler now. “Not that I’d mind it for real. Someday. But we said we’d wait.”

His hazel eyes softened even more. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your temple.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “We’ll wait. But I’m not missing this. I want those pictures with you.”

The day of the Expo came, and you could hardly sleep the night before. Nerves and anticipation twisted in your stomach as you lay awake, imagining everything from stiff, awkward posing to you and Zayne accidentally convincing the whole city you’d eloped.

By morning, you were a mess of excitement and worry. You spent over an hour fussing with your hair and makeup in the mirror—curling, pinning, brushing out the curls, starting over, trying again.

Finally, with a frustrated groan, you threw your hands up.

That’s when his voice cut through the noisy swirl of your thoughts.

“I’ve never seen you so excited before.”

You turned to find Zayne leaning against the bathroom doorway, freshly showered but still rumpled from sleep, hair damp and falling into his eyes. He was watching you with that soft, amused look that made your heart ache in the best way.

You huffed. “Excited? Try ‘having a meltdown.’”

He smirked. “Could have fooled me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him in the mirror. “This is serious, Zayne. If we’re going to look like a married couple for these photos, I need to look the part.”

He pushed off the doorframe and came up behind you, resting warm hands on your shoulders.

“You already do,” he said simply.

The ease at which he said You already do settled the unease in your heart like ginger tea on a cold morning. You took a slow, steadying breath, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Your shoulders relaxed under his hands.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

He smiled, thumbs brushing gentle circles against your arms. “Anytime.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stood there, breathing the same quiet bathroom air. The tension you’d been carrying all morning seemed silly now.

You turned slightly, enough to face him. “Will you help me with my hair? I can’t get it to stay how I want.”

He blinked, then grinned. “You want me to help?”

You gave him an exasperated look. “You’re a surgeon, Zayne. Don’t tell me you can’t handle bobby pins.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Fair point. Okay, sit.”

You obeyed, perching on the little stool as he carefully gathered sections of your hair. His fingers were deft but gentle, his concentration so serious you had to bite back a smile.

“See?” you teased. “Natural husband material.”

He didn’t even look embarrassed. He just murmured, “I try,” before kissing the crown of your hair.

He worked slowly, carefully, fingers surprisingly gentle as he twisted and tucked strands into place. The style was a simple loose braid, pulled over one shoulder, with soft curls left free to frame your face and cascade from your temples.

You watched him in the mirror, struck by how focused he looked, brow slightly furrowed in concentration.

“Look at you,” you said softly. “Professional husband stylist.”

He huffed a laugh under his breath. “Don’t get used to it.”

But he didn’t stop until he was satisfied, fussing over the braid with surgeon-like precision. When he was finally done, he ran his hands lightly over your shoulders, leaning down so his chin nearly rested on top of your head.

“There,” he said quietly. “Beautiful.”

Your chest felt tight in the best way. You swallowed, trying not to let your voice crack.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

He just pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there.

“Anytime,” he said again.

The Linkon Convention Center buzzed with energy—booths draped in white chiffon, florists showing off elaborate centerpieces, sample cakes lined up like works of art. Couples strolled arm in arm, hands full of brochures and free champagne.

You squeezed Zayne’s hand as you wove through the crowd.

“Still think this was a ridiculous idea?” you asked, glancing at him.

He smirked. “Absolutely. But I’m in.”

You laughed, heart a little lighter, and finally spotted the sign for your appointment: Bridal Bliss Wedding Portraits.

Inside the booth, a smiling photographer greeted you. She was a cheerful woman with dark curls pinned up and a clipboard tucked under her arm.

“Hi! You must be Zayne and [Your Name]. You’re right on time!”

Zayne offered a polite, if slightly wary, smile. “That’s us.”

“Wonderful!” She flipped to your page on her list. “Okay, quick rundown—this session is complimentary, but you’ll get a digital album and the option to order prints. The fun part is that our signature service is a Surprise Reveal.”

You blinked. “Surprise reveal?”

She beamed. “Yes! Each of you will pick out the other’s outfit from our wardrobe racks. You won’t see each other until you’re both dressed and ready to walk down our little faux aisle. Makes for a great photo op.”

You felt your mouth open slightly. “Wait. So he chooses my wedding dress?”

Zayne turned to look at you, eyebrows lifted in mock-innocence. “And you choose my suit.”

The photographer nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. It’s fun! Couples love it—it’s all about trust and seeing each other’s reaction.”

You shot Zayne a dubious look. “You’re going to put me in something ridiculous, aren’t you?”

He leaned closer with a slow grin. “Guess you’ll have to hope I have good taste.”

Your stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves and excitement.

“Alright,” you said, trying to sound braver than you felt. “Game on.”

The photographer laughed and clapped her hands. “That’s the spirit! Let’s get you to the racks. No peeking once you’re dressed, okay?”

You gave Zayne one last playful glare before heading to opposite sides of the booth.

Picking the other’s outfit was harder than you thought.

Zayne’s style was clean and elegant—tailored lines, crisp shirts, always professional. But there was something softer under it, too. The way he wore sweaters at home with the sleeves pushed up, the gentle hush of his voice when he was tired, the warmth in his laugh when it was just the two of you.

You stood in front of the wardrobe rack like it was an armory before battle.

What screams Zayne?

You rifled through options—overly formal black tuxes, trendy slim-cut pastels, traditional ivory jackets. None of them felt right. You wanted something that was him, not a costume.

Your fingers paused on a soft gray three-piece suit. The fabric was subtle but expensive, the vest neatly tailored, the lining a pale sky blue. Classy, understated, but with that quiet, surprising detail on the inside—like Zayne himself.

You pulled it out, imagining him in it, a serious face betraying a shy little smile when he caught you looking.

Yeah. That was it.

You handed it over to the attendant with a firm nod.

“This one,” you said. “He’ll look perfect.”

She beamed at you. “Great choice! He’s going to love it.”

You tried to swallow the flutter in your chest. I hope so, you thought.

Zayne’s POV

Zayne stood with his arms loosely crossed, surveying the rack of bridal gowns like it was some alien landscape he had to chart and survive.

The attendant was watching him, politely waiting.

“Take your time,” she said helpfully.

He huffed under his breath. Yeah. No pressure.

Most of the dresses were big, dramatic confections—layers of lace and tulle like fancy cakes on display. Beautiful, sure, but not you.

You, who rolled your eyes at his terrible dry humor but always ended up laughing anyway. Who didn’t complain about his late hospital shifts, just waited up with tea and a blanket. Who snuck out with him at 2 a.m. for donuts and hot chocolate like it was a secret mission.

Frilly princess wasn’t you. Overdressed cupcake wasn’t you.

Then he saw it.

Simple. Elegant. A slender silhouette with delicate straps and a soft drape of chiffon that moved like water. The bodice was embroidered with delicate floral lace—tiny jasmines stitched so subtly you wouldn’t notice them unless you were looking closely.

Jasmines.

The flower that meant more to him than he ever admitted out loud.

They reminded him of home—not the building or the city, but the feeling of it. The quiet kind of comfort he didn’t realize he’d been missing until you gave it back to him.

Now, jasmines reminded him of the way you made tea just a little too sweet, the smell of your shampoo on his pillows, the way you always left a light on when he worked late. You were home now.

He stared at the dress a moment longer, heartbeat slow but heavy in his chest.

This was the one. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It didn’t need to be. Like you, it spoke in quiet details—the kind that stayed with him long after you left a room.

He cleared his throat. “This one.”

The attendant beamed. “Lovely choice. She’s going to look breathtaking.”

He let out a breath, soft and certain.

“Yeah,” he said. “She already does.”

The little mock chapel the photographer had set up was charming in a cheesy, Expo way—white aisle runner, rented arch draped in silk flowers, battery-powered candles flickering along the floor.

You waited behind a divider with the attendant fussing over your hair one last time. The dress was lighter than you expected, moving like air when you turned. The jasmine lace felt like a secret just for you and Zayne.

Your hands trembled a little as you adjusted the skirt.

“Ready?” the attendant asked, smiling gently.

You took a breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

She peeked around the divider and gave a nod. “Okay—he’s waiting.”

You stepped out slowly, heart hammering.

Zayne was at the end of the short aisle, turned away at first in the photographer’s direction. He wore the pale gray three-piece suit you’d picked for him, the blue lining just visible at the open edge of the vest. He looked devastatingly good.

“Okay, groom,” the photographer called. “Turn around.”

Zayne turned.

For a second, he didn’t move at all. His eyes swept over you from head to toe, catching on the jasmine details you knew he’d notice. His breath visibly left him.

You laughed shakily. “Say something, Zayne.”

His mouth worked once before a quiet, hoarse sound slipped out.

“God.” He ran a hand through his hair, completely forgetting the photographer. “You’re... you’re beautiful.”

You blushed, fingers clutching the bouquet they’d handed you. “You clean up nice too.”

He snorted, then sobered as you closed the distance. When you reached him, he took your free hand in both of his.

“You really picked this for me?” you asked softly, glancing at his suit.

He squeezed your fingers. “Only wanted what felt like you’d picked it yourself.”

You hesitated, emotions threatening to spill over.

“And the jasmines?” you whispered.

His jaw flexed. He looked like he might actually get choked up, which for Zayne was practically a public breakdown.

“They remind me of home,” he said quietly. “And you’re... you’re that. For me.”

You blinked rapidly to keep your vision clear for the photographer’s sake.

“I hate you,” you whispered with a wet laugh. “Now I’m going to cry.”

He smiled, leaning in so his forehead rested against yours.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then the pictures will be honest.”

The photoshoot went by in a blur of camera flashes and quiet instructions. Turn this way, hold hands, laugh, look at each other.

You heard the bustle of the Expo beyond the curtains—vendors calling out deals, other couples laughing at cake samples—but in your little rented chapel it felt like the world was hushed.

It was just you and Zayne in that space between the words.

He helped steady you when the photographer asked you to stand on tiptoe for a kiss on his cheek. He brushed your hair behind your ear when it threatened to slip loose. He mumbled dumb jokes under his breath that had you biting your lip to stop from giggling too hard.

But the last photo was the one you’d remember.

“All right,” the photographer said gently. “Final shot. Let’s get a first-dance pose—like you’re the new Mr. and Mrs.”

You both froze for half a second. Then you glanced at Zayne.

He didn’t say anything, just gave you that soft, tired, fond look that always made your chest ache. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted one hand to your waist and took your other in his.

You let your free arm wind around his neck, fingers brushing the short hair at his nape.

“Ready?” he murmured, voice so low only you could hear it.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

The photographer’s voice was a distant, gentle prompt: “Perfect. Just sway. Look at each other.”

So you did.

You moved in a slow, careful circle on the white aisle runner, eyes locked on Zayne’s. The Expo chatter faded. The lights, the props, the lens clicking—they all fell away.

It was quiet.

Just the press of his palm at your back. His thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles. His breath mingling with yours as he leaned in, forehead resting against yours.

Zayne chuckled, voice low and warm. “Are you ready?”

You smiled, blinking slowly at him. “Ready for what?”

Without any hesitation, he shifted his grip.

And dipped you.

You let out a surprised little yelp, hands flying to his shoulders to keep your balance as the world tilted. His hazel eyes danced with mischief, the corners crinkling with barely contained laughter.

“Zayne—!”

But before you could scold him, he kissed you.

Deep. Sure. Full of the kind of passion he usually tried to hide behind dry wit and tired smiles. His hand pressed firmly at your back, holding you secure while your fingers clutched his jacket.

You barely heard the final click of the photographer’s camera.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, you realized the entire Expo might have seen you.

Zayne didn’t look remotely apologetic. He just smirked at you, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Now that’s one for the album,” he murmured.

“That last shot had so much passion!” The photographer was practically bouncing in place, eyes shining with delight. “Seriously—that’s the money shot. I’ll give you both a moment to change so we can go through the raw images for your album!”

She scurried out of the little faux chapel, already pulling out her phone to show off to her coworkers.

But neither of you moved.

Zayne’s hand was still warm against your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin. His hazel eyes never wavered, locked on yours like there was no one else in the world.

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry at how close he was.

“I could get used to this,” he whispered, voice husky and quiet, meant for you alone. His thumb caressed your cheekbone tenderly. “You are so beautiful, my love.”

That did it.

After holding it in all morning, you finally let the tears slip free—grateful, at least, that the makeup artist had used waterproof mascara.

Your voice cracked as you breathed, “I love you, Zayne.”

He smiled softly, the kind of smile he saved just for you, and wiped the tears from your cheeks with careful strokes of his thumb.

“I love you too,” he murmured.

He leaned in, kissing you again—but this time it was slow, gentle, reverent. Like he was savoring every second.

And for that quiet moment in the middle of a wedding expo, you both forgot it was all for show.

Once you both changed out of your mock-wedding outfits, the illusion faded a little—but the warmth lingered.

You slipped your hand into Zayne’s as you walked back to the booth where the photographer had already loaded the raw images onto a sleek tablet. She waved you over excitedly.

“I know it was just for fun, but you two have something real,” she said, grinning. “I could feel it. These turned out beautifully.”

You and Zayne sat side by side as she scrolled through the images.

There you were mid-laugh, one hand on his chest. Him helping adjust the train of your dress with the most absurdly focused expression. A quiet moment of your foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

And then—

The final photo.

The dip. Your dress flowing like water, your hand clutching his collar. Zayne holding you effortlessly, lips pressed to yours, every line of your bodies pulled together like gravity.

You felt him inhale softly beside you.

“That one,” you both said at the same time.

The photographer blinked, then laughed. “Thought so. Want it in the digital album, or...?”

Zayne glanced at you. You nodded before he could even finish the thought.

“Canvas print,” he said. “Large. For the apartment.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t argue.

“Bedroom wall?” you asked.

He smirked. “Living room.”

You laughed, nudging him. “So people ask questions?”

He met your gaze with something soft and sure. “So people know who matters most to me.”

The photographer smiled quietly, already uploading the order.

The canvas arrived quicker than either of you expected.

It was massive—bigger than you imagined when you clicked “order,” the colors rich and true. That final dip-and-kiss shot looked even more cinematic in print.

You both stood in the living room, staring up at it where it hung above the couch.

Zayne tilted his head, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“It’s big,” he said.

You snorted. “Profound observation, Doctor.”

He smirked, bumping your shoulder with his. “I like it.”

You glanced at him, heart doing that soft, traitorous squeeze. “Me too.”

You didn’t even have time to get settled before Zayne’s tablet pinged with the familiar ringtone.

He sighed theatrically. “Guess who.”

You laughed and dropped onto the couch as he answered the video call.

His parents’ faces filled the screen, cheerful and a little grainy.

“Zayne! There you are!” his mother beamed. “We were about to call you twice in a row. How was work?”

“Busy,” he said easily, leaning back in the chair.

But his mom’s eyes narrowed slightly as she squinted at the wall behind him.

“Wait. What’s that on your wall?”

Zayne followed her gaze and let out an unbothered “Ah.”

His father leaned in. “Is that... you? In a wedding tux? And—wait, is that [Your Name]?  Did you two elope and not tell us!?”

Zayne didn’t even blink.

Instead, he twisted slightly in his chair and called over his shoulder:

“Hey, sweetheart? They want to know about the picture. You’re better at explaining.”

You spluttered. “Zayne—!”

But he just smirked, handing you the tablet with all the grace of a man tossing a grenade.

On screen, his parents were watching you expectantly.

You cleared your throat, trying not to look like you were dying inside.

“Uh. Hi. So—it’s not actually a wedding photo. It’s from a wedding expo thing. They did free couple portraits. We signed up as a joke because people always say we act married, so...”

Zayne’s mother blinked. Then a slow, delighted grin spread over her face.

“Oh my goodness,” she practically squealed. “You two are adorable.”

Zayne’s dad just laughed, shaking his head. “Knew it was only a matter of time.”

You turned the tablet enough to glare at Zayne, who was very clearly trying not to laugh.

He mouthed good job and gave you a thumbs-up.

You sighed, but you couldn’t help smiling too.

The call finally ended with Zayne’s mom blowing kisses at the screen and his dad promising to “save the real congratulations for the actual wedding.”

You set the tablet down with a relieved sigh, sinking deeper into the couch cushions.

Zayne was still watching you, eyes warm, a faint smile pulling at his mouth.

“What?” you asked, fighting a shy grin.

He shook his head a little. “Nothing. Just...you.”

You rolled your eyes, but it didn’t quite stick. “Smooth.”

He chuckled and shifted over, closing the small space between you. His arm slid behind you, pulling you gently against his side. You let your head rest on his shoulder, listening to his steady heartbeat.

Your eyes drifted up to the huge photo on the wall. The one where you were dipped back, dress flowing, kissing like it was the easiest thing in the world to promise forever.

Zayne followed your gaze, and for a moment neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, he said, “I can’t wait to do the real thing. Soon.”

Your heart gave a painful, happy squeeze.

You turned your face just enough to press a kiss to his jaw, voice thick with feeling.

“Me neither.”

He tightened his arm around you, holding you close as the apartment went quiet except for your breathing.

Outside, the city hummed on, but in your little living room—under the glow of the wedding expo canvas—you were already home.

______________________________________________________________

Caleb

Caleb had always known that a wedding was your dream—the big white dress, soft classical music, your friends and family watching as you walked down the aisle. But now, that dream feels so far away. Your work as a Hunter kept you constantly busy, with long nights and unpredictable missions. Caleb could relate; being a Colonel meant his own schedule was relentless. And lately, getting away from Skyheaven seemed more difficult than ever. Even so, Caleb wasn’t going to let the chance slip by to give you even the smallest taste of your dream.

Caleb was going to call in a few favors. Sometimes being a Colonel had its perks, and now that he was finally going on leave, he made it clear to high command: he was not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary. Everything else was to be handled by Liam while he was away. Today, Caleb planned to surprise you with something special—something he hoped would give you a chance to live out your dream, even if just for a little while.

You stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered after a long mission. Dressed in your favorite lounge clothes, you hummed to yourself, feeling the tension of the day finally ease. Your phone buzzed on the table. You picked it up and read Caleb’s message:

Hey Pips, a little birdy told me there’s a festival going on.

You smiled, thumbs tapping back quickly.

Oh yeah? I haven’t checked the news in a while.

Almost immediately, another message arrived.

Thought we could check it out. Get dressed up. Take a look at what’s on display.

On display? you sent back, brow raised in amused confusion.

Trust me, came his last reply, punctuated by a winking emoji.

You felt a flutter of anticipation in your chest. Caleb was up to something—something he clearly didn’t want you to overthink yet.

You bit your lip, staring at his last message before typing again.

What should I wear?

A moment later, the dots appeared.

Something nice. Comfortable, but pretty. You’ll see.

You frowned at the vague instructions but couldn’t help smiling. Caleb never gave much away when he was planning something.

That’s not helpful, Colonel.

It’s a surprise, Pips. Trust me.

You sighed, rolling your eyes affectionately.

You tossed your phone onto the bed with an exasperated grin and opened your closet. Your fingers trailed over hangers until they paused on the powder-blue dress. It was knee-length with delicate white clouds dusting the hem, a whimsical piece you didn’t get to wear often.

You held it up, tilting your head. Comfortable, but pretty, he’d said. This felt just right. You slipped it on, smoothing the fabric over your hips, and gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror. The color brought out the brightness in your eyes, and the soft cotton felt easy enough to move in.

You grabbed your favorite sandals, brushed your hair, and applied a touch of lip balm. Not too formal, but special enough that your heart beat a little faster at the thought of seeing Caleb’s reaction.

You picked up your phone one more time.

Ready.

Not even a moment later, there was a knock at your apartment door.

You blinked, surprised—he was already here? Your pulse skipped as you crossed the room, heart fluttering with curiosity.

When you opened the door, there he was. Caleb stood tall in a dark button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, collar slightly undone, his uniform swapped for something softer, more human. He held a small bouquet of white flowers—simple, wild, and impossibly thoughtful.

His gaze swept over you, lingering just a second longer at the hem of your dress. A slow smile tugged at his lips.

“Clouds,” he murmured, clearly pleased. “You look beautiful.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks under his gaze and cleared your throat, trying not to grin too wide.

“So… what’s the occasion? It’s not every day you plan a surprise getaway,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Caleb’s smile softened, eyes warming as he handed you the little bouquet.

“Thought you deserved something special,” he said. “A change of pace. A little… preview of a dream you shouldn’t have to give up on.”

Your fingers tightened around the stems, heart squeezing at his words.

“Let me put these in a vase first, then we can head out,” you said, turning away.

But Caleb was already one step ahead of you. With a flick of his fingers, his evol nudged a vase from the shelf, filled it with water at the sink, and sent it gliding through the air to you.

“Well?” he drawled, a knowing smirk on his handsome face. “Ready to go, Pipsqueak?”

You laughed, catching the floating vase and arranging the flowers on your coffee table.

“Yes,” you declared grandly, sweeping into a dramatic bow as you extended your hand. “Now off to your flying chariot!”

Caleb arched a brow, but his grin widened. He dropped into an exaggerated bow of his own, voice deepening in mock formality.

“Of course, m’lady,” he intoned, dead serious despite the twinkle in his eyes. “Your chariot awaits.”

You snickered at how seriously he was playing along, but let him take your hand. He even gestured with a flourish toward the door as if announcing you to an invisible crowd.

“Please, try not to faint at the sheer luxury,” he added, violet eyes dancing with mischief.

You giggled helplessly, letting him escort you outside to his sleek personal aircraft. He helped you climb in, still hamming it up with a ridiculously courtly bow. Settling into the seat, you shot him a teasing grin.

“Truly, the height of opulence,” you said, fluttering your lashes.

He shut the hatch behind you with a snap. “Only the best for you,” he replied solemnly, before breaking into a laugh and settling into the pilot’s seat beside you.

You buckled in, shooting him a sidelong glance as the engines hummed to life.

“So,” you drawled, arching a brow at him, “are you going to give me more of a hint than just a dream?”

Caleb’s mouth twitched into a smirk as he adjusted the controls.

“It would ruin the surprise if I told you, Pips,” he said firmly, though there was warmth in his voice. “But I promise—it’s worth it.”

You huffed but didn’t press further, settling back in your seat as the aircraft lifted off. The city lights of Linkon shrank below you, replaced by a sprawling view of clouds painted gold by the setting sun.

It wasn’t long before Caleb guided the craft toward one of the Fleet Guard Stations on the outskirts. It had once been strictly military, but these days it was stabilized enough that civilians used the grounds too. You noticed bright lights and fluttering banners even before you landed.

As you disembarked, the scent of fresh flowers drifted on the wind. Stalls lined the walkways, draped in delicate lace and garlands. Couples meandered between them, hands intertwined, laughter mingling with soft music. Everywhere you looked, there were little romantic touches—flower crowns for sale, candles flickering in glass lanterns, musicians playing gentle love songs.

It felt like a wedding market. Like a festival built entirely for people in love.

You turned slowly, taking it all in, the weight of it catching in your chest.

Caleb stepped up beside you, watching your expression with careful eyes.

You turned in a slow circle, eyes wide as you took in the lace-draped stalls, the soft glow of lanterns, the scent of fresh flowers everywhere. Music drifted in the air, gentle and romantic.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, voice hushed with wonder.

Caleb watched you closely, his expression softening. “Do you like it, Pips?”

You met his gaze, unable to hold back your grin. “I love it!”

Relief and pride flickered across his face. He reached out, brushing your knuckles with his thumb as he held your hand.

“Good,” he murmured. “I wanted you to have something that could be just for us. Even if it’s not… everything. It’s something.”

Your heart squeezed at that. You gave his hand a squeeze in return, and together you started wandering down the rows of decorated stalls.

Vendors called out softly, offering floral crowns, hand-tied bouquets, delicate calligraphy place cards, and candle centerpieces. The two of you paused at one table in particular, where small velvet boxes were lined up in neat rows. Inside, couple rings of every style glimmered under the stall’s fairy lights.

Vendors called out softly, offering floral crowns, hand-tied bouquets, delicate calligraphy place cards, and candle centerpieces. The two of you paused at one table in particular, where small velvet boxes were lined up in neat rows. Inside, couple rings of every style glimmered under the stall’s fairy lights.

You ran your fingers over one display, eyes catching on a simple set of silver bands, each engraved with a delicate pattern of paper cranes folding gracefully around the ring.

Caleb’s gaze followed yours, one eyebrow lifting just slightly in question.

Caleb stepped forward, clearing his throat politely.

“Excuse me,” he said to the vendor, a kindly older woman with gentle eyes. “Could you tell me what the paper cranes on these rings symbolize?”

The vendor smiled warmly, her fingers lightly tracing the delicate engravings.

“Of course,” she replied softly. “In our tradition, paper cranes represent hope, peace, and long-lasting happiness. They’re often folded to wish for good fortune and the fulfillment of dreams—especially in matters of the heart.”

Caleb glanced back at you, his expression thoughtful.

“It seems fitting,” he said quietly. “Especially for those who dream of a future together.”

You felt your cheeks flush, a soft warmth spreading through you as you nodded, eyes meeting Caleb’s.

Without hesitation, Caleb reached into his pocket and handed the vendor a credit chip.

The woman’s smile deepened as she carefully wrapped the rings in a velvet pouch.

“Now,” she said, her voice gentle but certain, “with these rings, your fates are bound to one another.”

You glanced down at the delicate bands, the paper cranes seeming to shimmer in the soft light.

Caleb’s hand found yours again, fingers curling around yours with quiet promise.

As you wandered further through the festival, the stalls grew even more enchanting. One vendor caught your attention—a dressmaker whose gowns shimmered softly under the flickering candlelight.

Rows of elegant dresses hung delicately, catching the light with every subtle movement. You paused, eyes drawn to one in particular: a cream-colored gown that sparkled as if woven with diamonds. Its fabric seemed to glow gently, reflecting the warm light like a dream.

You reached out to touch the delicate material, your breath catching at its beauty.

Caleb watched you quietly as you took in the shimmering cream-colored dress, the way your eyes softened and your breath hitched just slightly.

After a moment, he stepped closer and asked softly, “Do you want to try it on?”

His voice held no pressure—just a quiet invitation, a wish to see you feel that dream, even if only for a little while.

You looked up at him, heart fluttering, and nodded.

You turned to the dressmaker with a gentle smile. “May I try this on?” you asked, brushing a fingertip over the delicate fabric. “I promise I won’t tear the silk.”

The dressmaker’s eyes twinkled with warmth as he nodded. “Of course, dear. It’s meant to be worn and cherished.”

He led you to a small dressing room behind the stall. You slipped out of your powder-blue dress and carefully stepped into the cream-colored gown. The fabric felt light and soft, shimmering against your skin as you moved.

Just as you were about to step fully out, the dressmaker appeared again, holding a delicate veil woven with fine lace.

He draped it gently over your head, adjusting it with care. “Now you’re ready,” he said softly, a hint of pride in his voice.

You took a deep breath and stepped out, feeling the weight and magic of the moment settle over you.

Caleb was stopped in his tracks the moment you stepped out. His breath caught, eyes widening as he took you in.

You had always been beautiful, of course, but somehow this dress made you even more stunning—ethereal, like you’d stepped out of a dream. The cream fabric shimmered softly around you, and the delicate veil framed your face with an almost otherworldly glow.

For a long moment, he simply stared, as if trying to memorize every detail. Then, his lips curved into a slow, heartfelt smile.

“It’s like this dress was made for you,” Caleb said softly, a rare blush coloring his cheeks.

Seeing the flush on his face made your own heat rise, and you felt a shy smile tug at your lips. “Thank you,” you murmured, heart fluttering.

The dressmaker, standing nearby with a gentle smile, nodded approvingly. “You would make the most stunning bride one day,” he said warmly.

Caleb glanced at you, his eyes full of quiet hope, and you felt a flicker of something tender stir between you both.

You smiled softly at the dressmaker, your fingers gently tracing the edge of the veil.

“I always dreamed of a big, fantasy wedding when I was a kid,” you admitted quietly. “The grand gowns, the music, the whole fairy tale.”

The dressmaker nodded knowingly, his eyes kind.

“But as I got older,” you continued, “I realized what I really want is something more intimate—something real and meaningful.”

You met his gaze, hope flickering in your eyes. “I hope someday I get to live that dream.”

He smiled gently. “Dreams like that are never out of reach. Sometimes they just take a different shape than we expect.”

Caleb stepped closer, his hand finding yours, warm and steady.

You turned back to the dressmaker with a grateful smile. “Thank you for letting me try this on.”

He bowed his head slightly, a gentle smile on his face. “It was my pleasure. If you do get married someday, please visit my shop again. This dress will be waiting for you.”

You nodded, a soft hope blooming in your chest as you slipped out of the cream-colored gown and back into your powder-blue dress.

Caleb stood nearby, watching quietly, his fingers still gently intertwined with yours.

As the festival began to wind down, you noticed small groups of couples gathering near the edge of the open plaza. Each pair held delicate paper lanterns, softly glowing in the growing dusk.

Curious, you turned to Caleb. “What’s with the lanterns?”

He smiled softly. “They’re part of the tradition here. Each lantern carries a couple’s wish—hope and dreams sent up into the sky. It’s said that Deepspace will hold onto those wishes forever, keeping them safe as everlasting promises.”

He glanced at you, eyes shining with gentle invitation. “Want to join them?”

You nodded, your heart fluttering with a mix of hope and wonder.

You took one of the lanterns from the vendor, the soft paper warm under your fingertips. Kneeling beside a little stand, you pulled out a small marker and began decorating it with careful strokes—a tiny plane soaring across one side, delicate paper cranes folding along the other.

Caleb watched you with a fond smile.

Satisfied, you turned to him, eyes bright. “I have an idea. Let’s both write a wish on it—but for each other. Before we send it off.”

Caleb blinked, surprised, but then his expression softened, that familiar warmth filling his gaze.

“Alright,” he murmured, accepting the marker from you. He looked down at the lantern, then back at you. “But remember… if we’re writing them, it’s our job to make those wishes come true.”

You felt your chest tighten at that promise, heart beating faster as you both leaned in over the softly glowing lantern, ready to share your hopes for one another.

Caleb was quiet as he wrote, his handwriting neat and steady. When he pulled back, you leaned in to read the message written in the curve of the paper crane:

“I wish we have more days like this… and to never leave each other’s side.”

Your breath caught. It wasn’t elaborate, but it didn’t need to be. It was everything.

Caleb looked at you then, eyes full of quiet sincerity. “No matter what happens… I want that more than anything.”

You felt your throat tighten as you read his words. Carefully, you took the marker from his hand and leaned over the lantern, thinking for a moment before writing in slow, thoughtful strokes:

“I wish you’ll always know how much you’re loved, no matter where we are.”

You set the marker down and met his gaze, cheeks warm, voice soft. “That’s my wish for you.”

Caleb’s eyes softened, something unspoken passing between you as he reached for your hand, fingers wrapping around yours with gentle certainty.

Together, you both stood at the edge of the plaza, lantern in hand. Caleb lit the small flame inside, and the warm glow spread across the paper, illuminating your shared wishes.

You exchanged one last look before gently releasing it into the cool night air. The lantern rose slowly, joining dozens of others that floated upward, bobbing and swaying like tiny stars.

You watched it drift higher and higher, your heart tight with hope. But when you turned slightly, you realized Caleb wasn’t watching the lantern at all.

His eyes were on you. Steady. Intense. Full of something you didn’t dare name out loud.

When you caught him staring, he didn’t look away. Instead, he closed the last small distance between you and kissed you—slow, certain, and impossibly gentle.

For that moment, nothing else existed but the soft music in the distance, the glow of candlelight, and the promise that your wishes might really come true.

And as the lanterns disappeared into the endless sky, you held onto him, knowing that no matter what came next, you’d always have this moment.

_____________________________________________________________

Xavier 

Xavier was never one for big ceremonies; the idea of a grand wedding seemed so foreign to him. Yet when you talked about how you were helping one of your coworkers to help plan their wedding he watched as your eyes lit up. You talked about how they had picked the colors for the wedding, the cake, the food, and the venue. The venue seemed to make you the most excited as you said it could change the entire feeling of a wedding!

He didn’t interrupt you once, just watched with that quiet intensity of his. The kind that always made you feel both seen and a little shy. When you finally paused for breath, cheeks warm from talking so quickly, he tilted his head.

“So...you like all that?” he asked, voice low, almost careful.

“All what?” you teased, smiling.

“The planning. The colors. The...ambiance,” he added, as if testing the word.

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah! It’s not just a party. It’s telling a story with everything you choose.”

He went quiet again, eyes thoughtful. For a moment you worried you’d bored him to death. Then he surprised you by murmuring, almost to himself:

“Guess I’d want to get that right. If it were you.”

Your breath caught. You weren’t sure if he meant to say it out loud, but he didn’t take it back. Just looked at you, steady as always, as though waiting to see what you’d say next.

A deep blush spread across your cheeks, but Xavier just smiled, not looking even the slightest bit embarrassed of what he just admitted.

“Oh um… I was going to ask if you wanted to be my plus one for the wedding?” you asked, trying to change the subject before you got lost in Xavier's blue eyes. 

Xavier’s smile widened a fraction, his eyes glinting with amusement. He clearly noticed your attempt to deflect, but he let you have it—for now.

“A plus one,” he echoed slowly, pretending to think. “Is that like...an official title?”

You laughed despite your embarrassment, swatting at his arm lightly. “It means you’d come with me, eat fancy food, judge the dancing, make sure I don’t trip over my dress.”

He leaned in just enough that you felt your heart stumble. “Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

“Xavier,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands for a second.

He chuckled softly and tugged your hands away, his fingers warm around yours. “Yes. I’ll be your plus one.”

You blinked, and he lifted your joined hands a little as if sealing the promise.

“Good,” you managed, voice small.

He just kept smiling that infuriating, gentle smile. “And don’t worry. I’ll catch you if you trip.”

“Not if I catch you first.” You gave his shoulder a gentle push, trying to hide the fluster in your voice with a playful grin.

Xavier barely rocked back, raising an eyebrow at you like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. His smile deepened, slow and lazy, the kind that always made your stomach flip.

“Oh?” he drawled, his voice low and warm. “Is that a challenge?”

You crossed your arms, fighting the heat in your cheeks. “Maybe it is.”

He stepped just a little closer, his height casting the smallest shadow over you. He didn’t touch you, but the space between you felt electric.

“Then I guess I’d better stay close,” he murmured. “Can’t let you get the drop on me.”

You swallowed, your bravado wavering under the weight of his gaze. But you didn’t look away.

“Good,” you whispered back. “I’d want you close anyway.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then he laughed softly, the sound like warm velvet, and he reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“Then it’s settled,” he said. “I’ll be your plus one. And your safety net.”

Trying to ease your mind, you throw yourself into planning your friend's wedding. Being in the bridal party meant you didn’t have much time to talk to Xavier about what you would wear or what he would wear. 

You were busy with dress fittings, calming group chat drama, and helping the bride-to-be decide how the table arrangements should look. Xavier would pick you up after long evenings with the girls. Always asking “Did you have a good time?” You would giggle and talk about all the wedding gossip, nothing crazy, just the usual planning nit picks.

Xavier loved watching you talk. His sapphire eyes were locked in no matter how sleepy he got the excitement on your face made it worth it. Finally Xavier was able to catch you in the apartment. You were helping make some table decorations, cursing the inventor of glue dots, when he sat next to you on the couch.

“These things are evil you know,” muttering to yourself, peeling the glue dot off your fingers for the umpteenth time in the last hour.

Xavier watched you with that quiet intensity of his, the corners of his mouth curving just slightly.

“Do you want some help?” he asked gently

“Maybe…” you say pouting at the stack of decorations on your coffee table. 

He chuckled, but it was warm, not mocking. He shifted closer on the couch until your knees brushed. Then, without warning, his hands came up to cup your face.

Your breath caught.

His thumbs smoothed over your cheeks, brushing away glue and frustration alike. “You’ve been at this for hours,” he murmured, searching your eyes. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

You tried to scowl but it fell apart when his fingers grazed your jaw. “Someone has to do it.”

You swallowed hard. The smell of him—faint cologne, warm skin—filled your nose.

“I’m supposed to be helping my friend,” you whispered, but the words came out shakier than you intended.

“You are,” he breathed. “You’re also allowed to let someone help you.”

Your heart fluttered painfully at the sincerity in his eyes.

You took a deep breath, not realizing how tense you’d become. “Alright let me show you how to put them together first.” You nuzzled into his touch, his hands felt warm and soft to the touch.

Xavier’s face warmed at the sight, you’d finally relaxed.

He pressed the softest kiss to your forehead before pulling back just enough to see your face.

“Good,” he said quietly.

You both fell into working, hands bumping occasionally, his big fingers hilariously clumsy with the glue dots. He cursed once under his breath, making you laugh.

When you finally paused to admire your combined handiwork, he glanced at you sidelong.

“So,” he said slowly. “You still haven’t told me.”

You blinked. “Told you what?”

He huffed a tiny laugh. “What I’m supposed to wear to this wedding.”

You bit your lip, cheeks heating. “Oh. Right. I...um...”

He turned fully to you, fingers brushing against yours. “Tell me.”

“The bridal party is wearing dusty blue and rose.” You say before quickly adding “But you don’t have to match me, you can wear whatever formal clothes you have.” 

Xavier’s brows lifted just a fraction as he absorbed that. “Dusty blue and rose,” he repeated, testing the words carefully like he was committing them to memory.

You felt your face heat, and you rushed on before you lost your nerve. “But you really don’t have to match me. Honestly, it’s fine. Just wear whatever you already have. A suit is a suit.”

He didn’t let go of your hand. His thumb traced slow, thoughtful circles over your skin.

“Is that what you want?” he asked softly.

You blinked. “What?”

He tipped his head slightly, eyes locked on yours in that steady, unflinching way that always made you feel like there was nowhere to hide. “Do you want me to match you?”

Your throat went tight.

You bit your lip, unable to meet his gaze. “It would look nice. I mean...if you want to.”

He was silent for a moment. Then you felt his hand shift, warm fingers tipping your chin up so you had to look at him.

His voice was low and unshakable. “If you want me in dusty blue and rose, that’s what I’ll wear.”

You swallowed hard. “Xavier—”

“I want them to know I’m with you,” he added quietly. “That you chose me to be there. That I belong next to you.”

Your heart stuttered painfully at that, a traitorous little tear pricking at the corner of your eye.

He saw it instantly. His thumb brushed it away before it could fall.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured.

“I’m not,” you protested, voice cracking.

He huffed a quiet laugh, but his eyes were so soft it made you want to sob. “You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to ask me to do this for you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay. I want you to match me.”

He smiled. “Good.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, letting your eyes flutter closed as his nose brushed yours gently.

“Dusty blue and rose,” he repeated, voice low and promising. “For you.”

Your hands twisted in his hoodie, pulling him closer without thinking.

His next kiss was slow, warm, and full of promise. Like he was telling you without words that there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

____________________________________

With all the days of prep finally done, it was time for the ceremony. The venue buzzed with last-minute adjustments—flowers being fluffed, chairs straightened, music rehearsed one more time. You were half-living on adrenaline and the collective energy of the bridal party.

You smoothed the skirt of your dusty blue dress for the tenth time, fingers fidgeting with the rose-colored sash at your waist. Every time you tried to calm down, your mind circled right back to one thing.

Xavier.

You’d given him the color swatches weeks ago, rattling off your anxieties about him showing up in something completely off-theme. He’d only smiled that infuriatingly calm smile and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll match.”

But you hadn’t seen what he chose. You hadn’t had time. Between fittings and floral mockups and cake tastings and the endless group chats, there hadn’t been a spare moment to check.

What if he forgot? What if he shows up in black, or worse, that old tactical suit?

Your heart thumped so hard you had to close your eyes and breathe.

“Stop fidgeting,” one of the other bridesmaids whispered, linking her arm with yours. “You look beautiful. The bride will kill you if you cry before her.”

You let out a wet laugh, blinking back heat in your eyes.

I hope he’s here.

You didn’t see him before the ceremony started. You were whisked off to line up, the music swelling, the hush falling over the gathered guests. Your heart pounded in time with the march.

You walked down the aisle slowly, past beaming friends and family, past the riot of roses and eucalyptus draping the chairs. You tried to keep your steps measured, your smile steady.

And then you saw him.

Standing at the edge of the crowd. Waiting. Watching only you.

He was in a perfectly tailored suit, the jacket a deep, elegant charcoal that made him look devastatingly sharp. But it was the accents that made your breath catch.

A pocket square of dusty blue and rose. A tie that blended both shades in a subtle, tasteful pattern. Even the boutonniere at his lapel—carefully pinned—matched the bridal party flowers exactly.

He had listened.

Your chest ached with it.

Xavier’s sapphire eyes were locked on you the whole time you walked past. He didn’t grin or make a scene. But his mouth curved, slow and certain, when your eyes met.

And in that tiny smile was every promise he’d made: Don’t worry. I’ll match. I’m with you.

When you finally reached the altar, your fingers trembled around your bouquet.

But you felt him watching.

And somehow, you were okay.

After the ceremony, you’d barely had a moment to breathe. Photos with the entire bridal party, posed laughter, the couple beaming in every shot. Your face hurts from smiling. Your feet ached in your pretty shoes.

But now you were finally free.

The reception hall glowed with candlelight and flowers in all the colors you’d obsessed over for weeks. Music played softly while people found their seats. You slipped away from the cluster of bridesmaids, eyes scanning the crowd until you found him.

Xavier.

He was standing near the bar, talking politely to one of the bride’s cousins. But as soon as he saw you, he stopped mid-sentence. His gaze locked onto yours.

You felt your heart trip over itself.

He looked incredible. Really seeing him properly for the first time tonight made your breath catch. His short platinum hair was perfectly combed, the sharp lines of his suit jacket hugging his broad shoulders just right. The dusty blue and rose accents matched you perfectly.

You’d worried he wouldn’t remember. That he’d shrug it off. But he hadn’t.

He’d done this. For you.

Your chest tightened painfully with love.

He excused himself from the bar and crossed the room toward you without hesitation, ignoring the bustle and noise.

“Hey,” he murmured when he reached you, voice low so only you could hear.

“Hey,” you breathed back, taking him in shamelessly.

His eyes glinted with amusement as he let you look. “Approval rating?”

You let out a choked laugh, blinking fast. “Off the charts.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, grounding you.

“You look beautiful,” he added, eyes lingering on your dress before snapping right back to your face. “Perfect.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“Xavier,” you whispered, voice thick with too many feelings. “You really did match.”

His expression softened in that devastating way it always did when you were vulnerable.

“I said I would,” he reminded you gently. “I wanted them all to know.”

You frowned, confused. “Know what?”

He took your hand properly now, linking his fingers with yours and lifting them just enough that you had to look at them.

“That I’m with you,” he said simply.

Your vision blurred instantly.

He smiled at you, thumb brushing soothing circles over your knuckles. “Don’t cry yet,” he teased, voice a husky whisper. “We still have dinner and dancing to survive.”

You let out a watery laugh, leaning in to press your forehead to his chest.

He let you. Wrapped one strong arm around your back and held you close in the middle of the bustling reception hall.

And for a moment, you didn’t care who saw.

Because you really, truly loved him.

Dinner melted into a blur of warm candlelight, clinking glasses, and soft laughter. You’d both had a few drinks—just enough to loosen the knots in your chest, to make the world glow a little softer around the edges.

You weren’t keeping count anymore. Neither was he.

Xavier sat close at the table, knees brushing yours under the linen. Every time you shifted, his hand found yours. His thumb tracing over your skin like he needed the contact just to be sure you were real.

You watched him talk with the other guests, that rare, relaxed smile on his face. His voice was low, polite, but when he turned to you, his eyes softened in a way that made you ache.

When the music swelled for the first slow dance of the night, he didn’t even ask. He just stood, offering you his hand.

“Dance with me.”

Your laugh came out breathy, the wine sparkling in your veins. “I might fall over.”

“I’ll catch you,” he promised simply.

Your heart fluttered.

You let him lead you onto the floor. The world blurred in a haze of golden lights, music, and the hush of voices, but his hand on your back was solid. Steady.

You rested your head against his chest. Felt the deep rise and fall of his breathing. His scent—warm, clean, a trace of his cologne—wrapped around you.

“See?” he murmured against your hair. “Not so hard.”

You laughed softly, the sound muffled against him. “Only because you’re good at it.”

“I told you I would be,” he teased.

You tilted your face up to look at him. He was a little flushed too, eyes shining in the low light, mouth curved in that private smile he saved just for you.

The drinks made you bold. The music made you honest.

“Xavier.”

He stilled a little, blinking down at you. “Hm?”

Your heart thudded painfully.

“I—” you faltered, breath catching.

He ducked his head a little, bringing his forehead to yours. “Tell me,” he whispered.

The words tumbled out, warm and unsteady but clear.

“I love you.”

You felt him exhale, like he’d been holding his breath forever. His hand at your waist tightened.

He didn’t speak right away. Just pressed his mouth to your temple, lingering there until your eyes stung.

“Say it again,” he murmured, voice wrecked and low.

Your fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket.

“I love you,” you repeated, the words shaking with the force of everything you felt.

This time he pulled back enough to look at you properly. His eyes were burning.

And then he kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Unhurried. The room spun gently around you but he held you steady, both hands framing your face.

When he pulled back, your lips parted on a breathless laugh that felt like a sob.

“I love you too,” he whispered hoarsely. “More than anything.”

You let out a broken sound and buried your face in his chest, arms wrapping around him.

He laughed softly, a little unsteady himself, pressing kisses to your hair.

“Look at us,” you mumbled into his suit. “Drunk and sappy.”

He huffed a quiet laugh against your ear. “Yeah. Best I’ve ever felt.”

And even when the song ended, he didn’t let you go.

He didn’t let you fall.

You both danced through the night, the music a hazy blur that seemed to slow time itself. You finished off a few more drinks, letting the last of your shyness dissolve into laughter and loose-limbed spins on the floor.

By the time the lights came up and the band packed away their instruments, you were barefoot—heels dangling from your fingers, hair coming undone, cheeks flushed with wine and joy.

You said your goodbyes to the bride and groom, hugging them fiercely, mumbling half-coherent congratulations. Xavier hovered at your side the whole time, steadying you with a warm palm at your back.

When you finally wobbled away from the venue, he snorted softly at your sway and gently took the shoes from your hand.

“Hey!” you protested, giggling. “Those are mine.”

“Not tonight,” he said mildly, stuffing them under his arm while he scrolled for a ride on his phone. “Tonight you don’t carry anything.”

You blinked at him, eyes shining.

“’Cept you,” you slurred happily, leaning into him.

He smirked, shaking his head as he wrapped an arm around you and held you close until the taxi pulled up.

The ride home was a blur of city lights flashing through fogged windows, your head resting on his shoulder. You giggled over nothing. He smiled at everything. His fingers tangled with yours and didn’t let go once.

When you whispered, “I love you,” he turned and kissed your hair, his breath warm against your scalp.

“Love you too,” he mumbled.

The world felt impossibly safe.

By the time you made it up to your apartment door, your shoes were forgotten under his arm, your hair a mess. He fumbled with the keys you dropped twice before finally opening the door for you.

You turned to thank him with another giggle—but he caught your wrist gently, stopping you in the threshold.

You blinked at him, confusion battling with the wine in your head.

“Xavier?”

He looked at you, eyes so clear despite the flush on his cheeks, voice low and impossibly earnest.

“I meant it,” he said roughly. “About loving you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I know,” you whispered.

But he shook his head, stepping closer until your backs pressed against the open door.

“No,” he insisted. “I really meant it. I don’t just love you, I want...I want all of it. I want you. Every day. Your mess, your glue dots, your dumb jokes. Your good days, your bad days.”

Your mouth parted.

He swallowed hard. “If you’ll let me. I want to be...yours.”

For a second the world spun the way only it does when you’re tipsy and overwhelmed. Then you felt your heart slam against your ribs so hard it hurt.

Your voice shook.

“Yeah?” you breathed. “You want all that?”

His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling how fast it raced.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Especially the part where you let me catch you.”

You let out a choked laugh that turned into a sob.

And then you threw your arms around his neck, dropping your damned shoes entirely as you pulled him inside.

He let the door fall closed behind you, wrapping you up in his arms so tight you thought you might burst from how much you loved him.

And the city outside went on without you, but inside was just the two of you—warm and tipsy and breathless, holding on like neither of you would ever let go.

______________________________________________________________

Rafayel 

 “Rafayel, have you thought about getting married?” You weren’t sure why you had asked the question, but watching him watch the sunset just felt so surreal. 

“I think weddings are beautiful displays of love but my own wedding I haven’t really thought about it.” His eyes seemed to dim just slightly. 

You tried to not let the answer bother you. Dating Rafayel had its fair share of challenges, he was aloof, dramatic,a procrastinator, and the worst of all was how poorly he watched his own health. 

You rested your head lightly against his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. “I didn’t mean to corner you,” you said softly. The breeze played with the ends of his violet hair. “I just… wonder about the future sometimes.”

Rafayel looks at you "I used to think I would never get married. But my feelings about that have changed since I met you."

Your heart skipped. You lifted your head to look at him fully, catching the faintest smile tugging at his lips even as his eyes stayed serious.

“Changed how?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled slowly, as if weighing every word. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it. But for the first time, I want to try. If it’s with you.”

“I want to try too. I want to know how you celebrate weddings in Lemuria.” 

A flicker of surprise crossed his face at your question, then a faraway look settled in his eyes. He turned back toward the sunset, the light painting his features in molten gold.

“In Lemuria… weddings weren’t just for the couple,” he said slowly. “They were for the entire community. Everyone came. Everyone brought something—food, music, stories. The vows were said at the Temple of the Sea God watching the sunset where the sky turned the ocean pink.”

He paused, swallowing hard. “It was less about a promise between two people and more about promising you wouldn’t leave each other alone in the world.” 

He glanced at you, softer now. “I always thought that part was the most beautiful.”

You let the silence stretch between you, filled only by the hush of wind and the distant sound of waves crashing far below.

“That sounds beautiful,” you murmured. “The Temple of the Sea God... I wish I could’ve seen it.”

Rafayel smiled faintly, the kind that never quite reached his eyes. “You’d love it. When the sunset touched the sea, everything was bathed in pink.”

You turned to him then, your hand brushing his. “Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, his voice low. “But most days…” He looked at you again, his expression gentle. “Most days feel like home anyway.”

You felt the wind stir as something subtle changed in the air around him. Rafayel didn’t look away, but his eyes shone with fire.

“Then let’s make it real,” he said, voice low but sure.

You watched, breath caught in your throat, as he lifted his free hand. Light gathered at his palm, swirling in soft, bioluminescent ribbons. A shape began to take form—a tiny, delicate fish the color of the deep sea. Its scales shimmered with shifting hues of blue, and it flicked its tail once before settling into perfect stillness, like a figurine of living glass.

He held it out to you carefully, reverently.

“In Lemuria, the Sea God’s blessing was given with a living symbol. A promise that moved and breathed,” he explained, voice hushed. “I don’t have the Temple. Or the sunset on the sea. But I can give you this.”

You felt tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. Your fingers trembled slightly as you accepted the glowing fish, warm and pulsing with his power.

“With this promise,” Rafayel whispered, his gaze never leaving yours, “we will never leave one another alone in this world.”

You held the tiny creature close between you, feeling its soft glow. And you whispered back, voice shaking but sure:

“Never alone. I promise.”

He smiled then—truly smiled—and leaned in to kiss you, sealing the vow in the hush of the wind and the last light of the setting sun.

Rafayel’s kiss faded into the cool breeze, but he didn’t let go of your hand. The little blue fish hovered between your palms, its glow dimming to a gentle pulse, like a lantern meant only for the two of you.

He let out a slow breath, forehead resting against yours one last time before he straightened. “Come on,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “Let’s go home.”

You nodded, pressing closer to his side as you both turned toward the narrow path down the dunes. The sand was cool under your feet, the sound of the tide rolling in was calming. Rafayel slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in.

The fish floated between you, casting its soft blue glow over the tide. Every so often, Rafayel squeezed your shoulder gently, and you leaned into him in reply.

Ahead, his home came into view—his art studio nestled on the sands. Through the large windows you could see the warm glow of lamps and the clutter of canvases and sketches inside. The porch was scattered with driftwood sculptures and paint-stained stools, testaments to nights he’d spent creating by the sea.

As you reached the porch steps, he slowed, giving you a tired but genuine smile. “Thank you,” he said softly, voice nearly lost beneath the crashing waves.

You wrapped your arm tighter around his waist. “Always,” you replied, meaning it with every part of you.

Together, you climbed the steps and slipped inside. The wind shut out behind you, but the sound of the sea stayed—muffled but constant, like a promise that even here, in this studio filled with color and light, you would never leave each other alone in the world.

______________________________________________________________

Also, I realized Rafayels is the shortest in this, but this time, the other guys really get their time to shine. Raf gets so much love in my fics and he's not even my main LI

[queenofhalloween94]

Master List: OotP Ch. List

Summary: The guys scent Y/n and Y/n lets go of some of her walls.

Warnings: Intimate scenting

Ch 9 Scenting

The heat had passed. You woke tangled in bodies and fabric, the low hum of scent still clinging to the air. Everything was quiet now—your nerves, your pulse, the ache that had driven you wild for days. Only warmth remained.

Minho’s hoodie was beneath your cheek. Jeongin’s arm was draped across your waist. Felix’s breath tickled your neck. Somewhere near your feet, Changbin snored gently, a hand still clutching your calf.

You didn’t move right away.

You just breathed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t burning. You weren’t running.

You were home.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Chan was out of the cuddle puddle when you woke. You found him leaning over the stove, making eggs and checking the rice that was in the cooker like it was the most normal thing in the world. His hair was a mess. His scent was stronger than ever—bonfire and bergamot, protective and grounding.

“Morning,” you said softly.

He turned. Smiled. “Hey. How do you feel?”

You leaned against the counter beside him. “The ache has lessened.”

“Good,” he said, reaching for a bowl. “You need to eat and hydrate. Kinda wrung it out of you last night.” He winks and mimes wiping his mouth off

You turn red and smack him on the shoulder. Once you remember to breathe and talk again .  “I want to talk to everyone. Can you get them to meet me in the living room?” You turn and head for the living room going over what you want to say.

They all gathered in the nest room—still hazy with sleep, still heavy with scent and safety. You stood at the edge of it, hands tucked into your sleeves.

“I want to ask something,” you began.

They watched you, silent. Waiting.

“I don’t want to be marked because of the heat. I want to be claimed because I chose you. Each of you.”

Minho’s eyes softened.

Han sat up straighter.

“When the tour’s over,” you continued, “and you’re home—when we can do it right—I want you to make it official . One by one. All of you. None of this only the pack leader claims. I….um love each of you.”

Felix’s breath caught.

Hyunjin blinked fast, like tears were rising.

“I want to belong to you, All the way. But when we’re ready. When we’re ourselves. ”

They were quiet for a long time.

Then Chan nodded once. “We’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Before they left, you gave them something small—but binding. One by one, they leaned in. And one by one, you let them scent your throat—where the bond mark would go. No teeth. Just scent. Just promise.

Felix lingered the longest. Hyunjin kissed your wrist before pulling back. Minho whispered, “Mine.”

Han trembled when he pulled away.

You touched the side of his face. “I’ll be yours. Just hurry back.”

He nodded. “I already feel like you are.”

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

The ride to the airport was bittersweet. You wore Seungmin’s hoodie and carried Felix’s bbokari in your bag. Han sent you a link with a playlist he made for your drive home with a sheepish smile. “For when you miss my stupid voice.”

“I’ll loop it until it drives me crazy.”

“That’s the point.”

Jeongin hugged you twice. Changbin whispered something filthy in your ear that made you punch his shoulder while blushing. You could only half translate it but the way he was smirking at your red face was enough to know it was bad.

Hyunjin left a soft scarf knotted around your neck. “Scent it every night.”

Minho kissed your temple and buckled your seatbelt like he couldn’t trust the world to protect you unless he personally did it.

Chan lingered last. “You’re ours,” he said quietly. “We’ll come back ready to prove it.” They went through the private door to catch their plane.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Your phone rang just after lunch.

You answered with a cautious “Hello?”

“Hi,” said the familiar voice of the visa officer. “I’m calling to inform you that your application for a pack visa has been approved.”

You froze. “It’s official?” you whispered.

“Yes. Full partnership authorization. Travel clearance included.”

Tears filled your eyes before you even hung up. You went to the group chat so fast.

:Den Racha:

🍎 You: My visa was approved. It’s happening.

🐺 Chan: You’re coming home. 🐿️ Han: I’m actually crying 💪 Changbin: get ready to be claimed ☀️ Felix: pack complete 🐺❤️ 🐈 Minho:  finally 🌸 Hyunjin: Grab Luna and come now! 🧁 Jeongin:  When do you land?? 🐶 Seungmin:  better start learning how to cook for 9

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

That Night

You curled into bed wearing Chan’s old shirt. You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, the last message from him still glowing on the screen:

🐺 Chan: One more week. Then you’re ours. For good.

**Thank you for reading!!**

[darkroom-fanzine]

[And the curtain opens...!]

[Image Description: a black and white banner gif showing Siffrin from In Stars And Time as he wanders through the third floor of the House. He is posed in the center of the image, faced to his left (viewer's right) as if moving in that direction. Behind him are four trailing repetitions of his image, each one losing opacity as they get further away, with a final fifth one having its values inverted, appearing instead as Mal Du Pays. Floating around them are six polaroid photographs, the first covering up the right half of Siffrin's face, showing instead a values inversion of it within its borders, their expression blank. Beyond that in order from closest to Siffrin to farthest away, the polaroids show Mirabelle, Isabeau, Odile, Bonnie, and one that is indistinguishable, all members of the party with their faces distorted out, while the last one is distorted beyond a potential for recognition. On the other side of Siffrin, to his left, is a flash-like burst evocative of a camera flash or a star (much like Loop's head), partially hidden over by Siffrin's shadow. Around the brick walls in the background and partially growing over the bottom left of the foreground can be seen the King's hair, and in the bottom right is text reading: "Darkroom | an ISAT Fanzine". The entire thing has been animated to look as if the lines around Siffrin, their shadows, and all the distortions over the polaroids are boiling, while light shines off from around the flash/star. End ID.]

[Hello, stardust~! How can I help you on this wonderful new loop?]

Welcome, everyone! This is the blog for the upcoming project, "Darkroom: an ISAT Fanzine". We are excited to finally announce our beginnings, and hope you will stick around to see what it is we have to offer!

Firstly, let us introduce ourselves. The mod team for this fanzine comprises of myself (@actingwithportals), as well as @voidedtea, @publiccmenace, @astrangeavenue, @sundimus, and @plasticteabag. Between the six of us, we have experience as leads, co-leads, moderators, and contributors on four individual fanzine projects, and are all excited to begin work on something new!

Now, let's get to the fun part, shall we?

[Darkroom: Negative Space, Long Exposure, Afterimage.]

The theming for this fanzine centers around the idea of distortions, how they obscure what we see and perceive, and how they can bring to light an entirely new perspective hidden behind the more easily comprehensible. In Stars And Time shows us throughout Siffrin's loops how the order of a carefully curated script can bring about a chaotic mental state, and how the chaotic breaking down of these self-imposed walls can bring about the order of accepting vulnerability.

Change is often destruction, and in the midst of that destruction can be found something beautiful, something to live for. This is the idea we hope to present through this fanzine.

[Fanzine Content.]

The Darkroom Fanzine will be a multi-media culmination of fanworks created by fans, for fans, and available for free download on Itch.io. Creations can vary anywhere from art, to writing, to music, to essays, to crafts, to whatever you can think of that you would like to see included in this project!

The only restrictions we will be enforcing is content that lies outside of the existing rating for the game, meaning no 18+ subject material.

However new you are to your Craft—whether it be writing, art, edits, collages, or anything beyond—your skills are welcomed here. From beginners to professionals, all are encouraged to apply! Once we hit an internally agreed upper limit of participants, we will lock the sign-up form should that limit be reached before the end date of the sign-ups occurs.

[Interest Checks.]

To kick this off, we are opening an interest check form to gauge interest for this project. The form will remain open from January 23rd through February 22nd, upon which the following day (February 23rd) the sign-up form will go live.

[Curtain Call.]

Thank you all for taking the time to read this far, and if you have any further questions/inquiries/concerns about this project, our askbox is open! Relatedly, you can also shoot us an email at darkroom.fanzine@gmail.com.

INTEREST CHECK FORM HERE.

[See you under the Favor Tree soon, stardust~ ✨]

[jibunbosh]

Mesmerizer is a satire of TikTok, YouTube Shorts, and the rest of the modern short-form vertical video format

A brief thematic analysis.

I'm sure there are countless people already interpreting the imagery and details in this wonderful song & MV, like here and here, so I won't spend too much time retreading that ground. Miku and Teto are dancing. Miku gets hypnotized. Teto signals for help, but gets hypnotized at the end as well.

That part is obvious enough, but that's still pretty surface-level. What is this seemingly hyperspatial horror scenario supposed to mean to us?

While checking to see if anyone before me's already come to the same conclusions as I did and if I should bother not writing this text post at all (lol), I came across udin's great analysis video. She comes to the conclusion that the song tackles themes of disillusionment with reality and the ways we indulge in escapism to relieve ourselves of the pains of the world.

I agree with that reading! From practically the very beginning, we have Miku call to us - the viewer - to push away our true feelings. Teto comes in to peddle a solution, inviting us to surrender and empty our minds - in her words, "pretending to know nothing."

You, the viewer, are a critical character in this masquerade. For nearly the entire video, Miku and Teto's eyes are unfailingly trained on you. Or, well... perhaps they can't actually see you, but they can see a camera, or whatever other aperture the point of view is supposed to be from. And they know they're being watched. (Who else would Teto be sending distress signals to?)

Let's put a pin on that for later.

udin notes very early on that Miku and Teto are, conspicuously, kept in vertical frames - very similar to the video formats of TikTok (and Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts, and whatever other clones of the format exist.) You know, just like the animator Caststation's Rabbit Hole fan MV that went viral some months ago.

Hey wouldn't it be crazy if the song's producer, 32ki, released Mesmerizer shorts too haha. Wouldn't that be crazy.

Wow, wild.

These short-term vertical videos are captivating & alluring. If you're reading this, it's more likely than not that you've also found yourself caught up in them at least once, scrolling through the infinite algorithmic slurry and forgetting about the real-life issues you have at hand. Would you say, then, that you felt hypnotized? Mesmerized, even?

And so these two invite us to join their world and focus on the... uh... rectangle.

Their dances are repetitive, following the same loop. Their outfits are distinct, but their choreography isn't. They're copying the same formula, repeating it ad nauseam to the best of their ability.

They're doing a fucking TikTok dance.

Back to the pin I told you about earlier, with Miku and Teto looking at a camera.

Miku sways with the camera, eyes looking directly at it like a swinging pocket watch. She's been looking at it the entire time, after all. We've been seeing her via our screen this entire time, but, again, she doesn't necessarily see us. She's beholden to the camera, which she dances for day after day, caught up in its spell. She's hypnotized by it. Eventually, she breaks.

Teto, on the other hand, resists. For a while, anyway.

Despite her being the one jumping to us with the "solution" at the beginning of the MV, there's very quickly good reason to question how much agency she has in this. She dances for the camera as well, but she doesn't want to. She's signalling for help. She wants out.

Many content creators (as much as I personally loathe the non-specificity and soullessness of the term) have struggled with the adaptation to the short-form video format, and the preference the algorithm has had for these captivating, bite-sized videos. They're catchy, and easily drive up metrics. Practically anyone who's publishing their work via video format online needs to learn to adapt or fall behind, even if that means whittling their content down to fit the frame, the time, and people's shortening attention spans. Sometimes, that means compromising on specificity and completeness... or, in other words, the true representation of a full work.

The song's writer, 32ki, has been releasing songs on YouTube for several years. Their first YouTube Short, however, was posted only a year ago: a short, whittled-down segment of their previous song, CIRCUS PANIC!!!, hoping for it to win the ProsekaNEXT song contest. It was their first song to achieve widespread popularity and hit a million views.

The shorts, however, aren't the "true" versions of the song. The full song just won't fit.

We're being mesmerized as consumers of this endless stream of content, rather than appreciators of music and art. However, that relationship isn't completely symmetrical across the plane that is the 4th wall. Miku and Teto are trapped not by their attention spans, but by a compulsion to project their "truthful acting" and peddle that window into a colorful, problem-free world.

We, as the collective audience, need not dwell on any one thing for too long - we need only swipe, and move on to the next video. However, Miku and Teto are trapped behind the screen for eternity, day after day.

They're the only characters we get to see, of course. There's no evil 3rd voice synth character that's plotting to keep them trapped in there. We can't put a face to whatever force is hypnotizing them and trapping them behind the screen. It's faceless - like the inscrutable algorithms of YouTube recommendations or the TikTok For You page, or the impersonal corporations that develop & maintain those aforementioned apps. Miku and Teto's likenesses, on the other hand, are being exploited and extracted from for their entertainment value, being strung along by that metaphorical hypnotizing force like puppets on a string.

Many people, represented by Miku, enjoy their success on such platforms. It's freeing and liberating to throw oneself wholeheartedly into such an endeavor, of course! Others, represented by Teto, harbor their doubts of the emotional veracity of such a medium, but know they have little choice lest they face destruction... perhaps not literally as a person, but as an idea.

Wouldn't it be easier just to let oneself be swept away by it and give in?

[thenaughtynorth]

Marital Bliss, part II (18+)

Damian Priest and his new wife consummate their marriage in Puerto Rico — part II (part I)

Damian Priest x female reader (1st person)

Warnings: Smut, penetration, dirty talk, Spanish (lol)

Word count: 1,100

———

The look my husband was giving me was absolutely sinful. Like a hungry, wild wolf ready to fucking devour a poor, helpless, wounded fawn.

He was taking his damn time, dragging, pushing, teasing me with his long fingers. Big, veiny hands expertly going to work on me, as he entered a third digit.

“Fuck, papí,” I hissed, biting my lower lip at the mere sight of his hands and the large veins in his forearm.

Damian in his all-black suit, with his dark, starving eyes stood in contrast to my all-white silk, lace-clad body and doe-like eyes. Night and day. Yin and yang. Soulmates.

“You’re taking my fingers so well,” Damian praised me, “what a good girl you are, Mrs. Priest.”

He caressed my face and jaw with the hand that wasn’t soaked with my arousal. His gentle touch — an act of love — in contrast to the absolutely filthy mess he was making of me with his skillful hand.

His thumb pressed passed the border of my lips, encouraging me to passionately suck on it. Anything for my husband, I thought to myself as I sloppily liked and sucked his thumb, feeling the cold metal of his ring on my lips.

His other thumb found my clit, as he playfully circled it. The mere intimacy, of having all of his fingers occupied with me, made my climax hit me like a brick wall. I incoherently mumbled his name along a string of curse words, as he skillfully guided me through my orgasm.

Now I was more than ready to take all of him.

Damian rose to his feet slowly, stalking me with his eyes, taking in the sight of me in my afterglow, panting, lips parted— still in my wedding dress.

He tentatively peeled the shirt off of his broad chest, making sure to put on a show for me. A show he knew was one of my preferred ones.

“Leave the chain on,” I demanded, stopping him in his actions, before he could remove it.

“Not the most appropriate time to start being religious, mi amor,” he laughed, “you just came all over my hand.”

I rolled my eyes at his remark, “I want to pull on it as you ruin me.”

The expression of his face changed and he licked his lips, “you look like an angel, but you talk como el diablo.”

In one swift motion, he pulled his belt out of all of the loops. “I should probably punish you for that,” he teased, slapping the belt in the palm of his hand. That would be saved for another time— an unspoken agreement. He knew damn well not to cover me in bruises, right before our honeymoon.

We both rid ourselves of the rest of our clothing, not wanting to further a mess on the expensive garments.

He towered over me, kissing me tenderly, as he lined the impressive head of his dick with my entrance, and way too slowly started to enter me.

I eagerly bucked my hips against his, trying to impale myself further on him. He wouldn’t have it — he decided the tempo and rhythm, making it evident as he grabbed a hold of the sides of my throat firmly.

“Relax baby. I’m in control here. I set the pace. You just take it like a good wife.”

I nodded, biting my lip. His voice was always smooth like butter, and his words went straight to my pussy.

He slid in another inch and we groaned in perfect unison.

“Mami, you’re so tight, it’s insane,” he breathlessly mumbled, giving a small squeeze to my neck.

Inch by inch he stretched me, until he was bottoming out, the tip of his dick surely greeting all of my internal organs —as per usual.

The stinging of my delicate walls, paired with the lightheadedness of his squeezing — it was erotic, pornographic, and enough to make a few tears drop from my eyes.

He picked up a delicious speed, pressing my body deep into the mattress under him. He had set the absolute perfect pace now. It was rhythmical, hard hitting, and just enough to make it start to tingle in my belly again. Like a kettle on the verge of boiling point. Like a champagne bottle ready to pop.

My eyes rolled into the back of my head, but Damian wasn’t having any of that. He released the grip around my neck, to give me a gentle slap on the cheek.

“Mírame,” he demanded roughly. I was a fool to think I could even take my eyes off of him for a second. It was ritualistic almost, the eye contact. And it was electric.

I reached up to grab the cross, that was amazingly dangling from his neck, as foretold. I yanked it, bringing him closer, so I could capture his lips.

Small, genuine moans, from the both of us, mixed with the wet sounds of our bodies becoming one, and the sound of the headboard violently hitting the wall.

It was impossible to tell where he ended and where I began, as all of our limbs were tangled and wet with sweat.

He had me folded like a fucking pretzel.

“You take it so fucking well, mi esposa,” he mumbled against my lips. He loved praising me — almost as much as I loved being praised.

“I’m close, Damian, so fucking close,” I admitted in a moaning mess.

“Come for me, baby. Come for your husband.”

And that did it — it was enough to push me over the edge, as I came hard on his pulsing dick, coating both of us in my essence.

His continuous pounding made me slightly overstimulated, but I could tell he was nearing his release too. He was sloppier and his breathing was more uneven and rugged.

I harshly grabbed his chain, twisting it around in my hand, and simultaneously choking him slightly with it.

That sent him head first into his orgasm. Rough hands on my waist, as he intended to ride out all of the available pleasure.

Profanities escaped his perfect lips. I could tell he was seeing stars by the way his fingers were digging into my flesh. As if he were using me to keep him grounded.

Damian collapsed onto me, with his enlarged dick still inside of me, still stretching my soon to be sore pussy. With any luck, I’d still be able to ride the waterskis and Damian’s face the next day.

Something about being in PR — especially San Juan — always made the two of us really insatiable. Getting married here? No brainer.

“I can’t believe we’re married”, he whispered in between soft kisses to your lips.

Neither of us had ever been happier. That was until round two, of course…

[vampishnes]

Sanguine Hunger: Caring About Ourselves

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five, Chapter six, Chapter seven, Chapter eight, Chapter nine, Chapter ten. Pairings: Bob x FemThunderbolts!ExAvenger!Reader, Platonic!Thunderbolts & Fem!Reader Summary: Waking up in the medbay Tags: No use of ‘Y/N’. Female reader. Slow burn! Found family, 'slice of life', Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Medical Trauma, Blood & Injury, References to Past Trauma, Loss of Bodily Autonomy. Word count: 3.1k

You stirred before your eyes opened. You hardly registered the subtle weight of a blanket tucked around your body and the uncomfortable stinging at the inner edge of your arm.

The lights above you were dimmed to a low hue, probably on account of whoever dragged you in knowing the last thing you’d want to see was bright hospital lights. Your lashes fluttered open slowly; your vision adjusted in broken pieces: a blood bag suspended beside your head, the unmistakable silhouette of Bob in the corner.

His head slumped over to the side, arms crossed loosely over his chest in a way that said he’d been waiting for hours. There was a small pile-up of books on the floor beside him; how long had he been here?

Questions spun in your head, but all you heard was the primal scream to rip out the needle. Now. Common sense dissolved beneath the urge as your hand frantically clawed at your inner elbow, nails dug into the tape that secured the needle. The moment the adhesive gave, you yanked.

A hot jolt of pain surged, and blood welled instantly — you forced the blood back in before it could threaten to spill over the white hospital sheets. Your breath hitched as you tried to will the blood to clot with your powers, but you were too weak, barely able to coax even the smallest scab into forming.

Your throat rasped with every breath. Slipping your legs off the side of the bed, they didn’t feel like yours; sluggish and aching with every move. That didn’t stop you as you shoved off the mattress, bare feet hitting the cold floor like you could outwalk the bitter memories gnawing at the corners of your mind.

Your knees buckled on impact. Bob caught you before you could hit the ground, arms looped around your waist with your back flush against his front. “You’re not strong enough yet,” he said, voice low. “You need rest.”

“I can’t stay here, Bob. I can’t.” You instinctively curled away from him, arms scrambling for the bed to brace yourself. His hands lingered for a moment at your waist before slowly withdrawing; he lowered himself into the chair beside the bed.

You gritted your teeth, jaw clenched as your arms shook from the effort of holding yourself up. Your fingers pressed cold against the rough mattress. “What happened?” you asked. “How long was I out?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. He stared down at his hands, his thumb brushing over a crease in his jeans. “Three days,” he said finally. “You’ve been in a coma for three days.”

You blinked, staring at the floor as if it could somehow make sense of the lost time. “Three days?” you repeated. “I was only… I thought—”

“You hardly made it into the Quinjet,” Bob cut in. “Your vitals were crashing, your powers were… all over the place. You were burning through blood faster than we could get it in you.”

Three days where your body had been a battlefield without your mind present to witness it. Three more days stolen, tacked onto the seventy-year coma you'd already endured. Your body convulsed in a sudden, involuntary shiver.

“I hate hospitals.” You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes for the first time. His eyes were rimmed in red, not from crying, no. Bob didn’t wear his grief so obviously, but from nights spent in a chair with no sleep and too much silence.

Bob leaned forward, slowly lifting a water bottle from the bedside stand. “Sip?” He offered gently. You hesitated, then nodded. He twisted the cap open and offered it to you, waiting patiently as you brought it to your lips. The water was lukewarm but soothing, washing the bitterness from your throat. You only managed a few gulps before your arms started shaking again. He took the bottle wordlessly, setting it down as if this was all perfectly normal.

“Have you even left?”

“I didn’t want you waking up alone.”

The words you needed to say felt out of reach. Thank you. I'm sorry. Anything that didn’t feel like blood in your mouth. Instead, the confession that came out was, “I kept dreaming I was back there, and suddenly I woke up, and I'm in another lab. I can’t stay here.”

Bob’s brows twitched, but he didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. You both knew what “there” meant: the cold marble, the needles, the white coats, the scalpels slicing every vein in your body.

“I couldn’t move,” you continued, voice thin. “Like my body wasn’t mine. Like I was just… feeling it happen all over again.”

Bob reached forward, his hand curling around yours where it lay limp on the bed. It wasn’t a squeeze, just a presence. A tether. “You’re not there,” he said. “I have you.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him. But rage clawed its way up your throat — the thought of being forced into a coma, of losing even more time, was unbearable. You knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, least of all Bob’s, but that didn’t stop you from pulling your hand away from his gentle touch and running your fingers through your hair. Needing something to do with the tension humming under your skin.

A knock came shortly after, two short raps against the metal frame of the door before it creaked open. Bob straightened but didn’t rise. You turned your head toward the sound, heart kicking hard in your chest.

Yelena poked her head in first. “We are ok to come in, yes?” she said, already halfway inside before waiting for permission. “You are looking remarkably less dead than earlier.” She sat beside you, eyeing you up and down. A small sound escaped you, not quite a laugh. Still, Yelena’s mouth tilted into a satisfied smirk.

Alexei, vibrating with barely contained anticipation, produced a large black garment bag from behind his back. “We bring gift!” You tilted your head, genuinely bewildered. With a sharp tug, he ripped the zip down. The bag’s front panel fell away, revealing your tactical gear. Albeit, a slightly different version of it. “Your old one was destroyed!”

You closed your eyes and the memory surged: flames devouring the Kevlar fabric, stitch by agonizing stitch. Almost instinctively, your fingers drifted behind you, tracing the skin of your back. Only smoothness met your touch. No scars. The coma had erased even that.

A headache pulsed behind your eyes as you forced your gaze forward. Your gear was nearly identical to pre-incident, except for the bold 'New Avengers' emblem now embroidered on the side.

“Were you just waiting for me to die so you could make me officially part of the team?”

Ava’s voice cut from behind Bob’s shoulder. “You’ve been official for eighteen months.” She stood rigid, arms locked tight across her chest. The sterile, medical air seemed to press on her just as heavily as it did on you.

“Don’t remind me,” you muttered, offering Alexei a weary nod of thanks as he set the gear aside. “Someone kill me again.”

Yelena rolled her eyes beside you and tapped your thigh twice before standing up; her eyes fluttered to the hanging needle and the gash in your arm. “I have a strange feeling you’re not going to stay here once we leave.”

“Correct,” you responded.

John cut in, exasperated. “The doctor ordered bed rest. A week, minimum. You just woke up.”

“I can recover in my own room,” you countered, meeting his gaze head-on despite the persistent throb in your head.

“You needed help sitting up ten minutes ago,” Bob murmured, his voice unexpectedly joining the fray. Your head snapped toward him, a jolt of confusion tightening your chest. Now he chimed in?

“Fine,” you bit out. “Bob can stay with me. In my actual room.” Exhaustion made your head feel stuffed with cotton. “He can babysit. Make sure I don't crack my head open or whatever bullshit you all think I'm gonna do.”

Bob’s head snapped toward you. Yelena stared, her expression raw with genuine shock. Around the room, you could almost hear the suppressed jokes straining behind clenched teeth. Ava had raised her eyebrows sky-high, looking faintly amused.

Only Bucky remained motionless. He’d been a brooding silhouette against the door frame since the start, arms locked across his chest. His gaze was heavy and unyielding beneath fiercely knitted brows as he pinned you with a judgmental look.

Bob pushed himself up with a groan, stretching the stiffness from his limbs. “I’m going to shower then,” he announced, scrubbing a hand over his face. His gaze flickered over the group before settling on you. “I can help you upstairs when I'm done?”

“I've got her, Bob. Take a break,” Bucky said, stepping away from the door frame where he’d been leaning.

One by one, the others began to move out the door as well. Yelena gave a small nod, folding her arms tighter, the smirk fading into something softer. Alexei hoisted the garment bag over his shoulder; John lingered a moment longer, shooting a look at Bucky before turning to you. “Rest is non-negotiable. You hear me?”

You gave a tired nod. He was right, of course. But following orders, even sensible ones, had never exactly been your strong suit.

As the others footsteps faded, leaving only you and Bucky in the sterile quiet, the air thickened with everything he’d held back. Bucky crossed the small distance; the chair sighed softly as he took his place beside you.

“How are you?” His voice was low, rough gravel scraping against the quiet.

You stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights blurring in your vision. “Like shit, and if I spend one more minute trapped in this fucking room, I swear I’ll crawl out that window.” The words tasted bitter. “A coma? Really, Bucky? My body heals. It always has.”

He didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened. “You were dying. There wasn’t time for consent forms or debates. Your organs were shutting down.”

“And the only reason those doctors knew how to save me,” you shot back, turning your head to pin him with a sharp look, “was because you told them. You knew. You knew what it meant to me – to lose control like that. After everything. Again.”

“The choice wasn’t easy.”

“Well, isn’t that fucking rich?” A brittle, humourless laugh escaped you. “At least you got a choice.”

That finally broke something in him. He leaned forward, his metal hand clenching on his knee. His gaze, when it met yours, was stripped bare.

“You think I could stand it? Watching you die? I tried, God, I tried to turn away. Tried to tell myself it was what you’d want, that I should respect it. But I couldn’t.” His voice fractured. “I couldn’t stand the look on Bob’s face when they held him back – the sound he made when you stopped taking the blood. I couldn’t… I can’t lose you. Not after Wakanda. Not after Siberia. Not after every damn time you dragged me back from the edge. I had a chance. Just one chance to save you. How could I walk away from that?”

“You could’ve walked away,” you said, voice tight with accusation, “I wish you did.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, a flicker of regret in his eyes. “I wish I could say I’m sorry,” he admitted, voice low. “But I’m not. This team wouldn’t survive without you. Hell, I don’t even know what I’d do without you. And Jesus… Bob.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Bob would be fine without me.”

He shot you a look, half exasperated, half amused. “You must be an idiot or lying to yourself. You don’t think I see you two always together? The poor kid wouldn’t leave this room unless I promised to stay in his place.”

“We’re not together,” you muttered, eyes flickering away.

Bucky leaned closer, his voice softening. “Do you want to be?”

Your breath caught. “I—I don’t…” 

You trailed off, eyes flickering away. Your fingers twitched, brushing against the edge of the bed, then curling into a loose fist. For a moment, your mind raced through every stolen glance, every quiet moment with Bob, the way your pulse quickened, the warmth that lingered long after he’d left the room. You bit your lip, swallowing the denial curling in your throat, unable to meet Bucky's steady gaze.

“Look, don’t be stupid like we were. Just tell him. He cares about you, even if you don’t see him the same way.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I never said that.”

“Enough with your relationship problems,” Bucky grumbled, standing and offering a hand. “Let’s get you to your room.”

You smirked despite yourself, “You sure you’re going to be able to help me up, gramps?”

“You do remember you’re only eight years younger than me, right?”

You stared at his hand hesitantly for a moment, not because you didn’t trust him but because you didn’t trust your legs. But you slid your fingers into his anyway. His grip was solid, the callouses on his palm felt familiar. He helped you ease to your feet with careful patience, his metal arm sliding under your waist.

It anchored you physically, but your thoughts drifted helplessly back to the encompassing warmth of Bob’s hold, the surprising gentleness of his hands. Bucky’s blunt question resurfaced, churning in the silence between steps: Do you want to be?

The ache in your limbs flared, sharp and immediate, but you gritted your teeth and nodded. One foot in front of the other. Your bare feet were ice against the cool tile, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of the too-thin hospital gown and the sharp draft that cut through the halls.

You made it to the elevator just as your knees threatened to fold again. Bucky reached forward and hit the call button. The doors opened with a mechanical ding, and he guided you in.

You glanced up at the mirrored panel above the buttons and caught your reflection: exhausted. “You’d think three days of sleep I’d look a little less terrible.”

The elevator hummed to life, and you leaned against the cool metal railing, letting it carry your weight, while Bucky watched you from the corner of his eye. The elevator dinged, your floor.

Bucky reached out again, hand gentle as he helped you through the hallway. The lights here were warmer, dim gold rather than sterile white. You hated how grateful you were for it. Your door slid open as you approached, and the familiar scent of your own space hit you.

Hobbling towards the end of the bed, you lowered yourself down with a wince. “Pyjamas,” you managed, the word clipped. Bucky crossed to the wardrobe in two strides, flung it open, and rifled through the contents. He emerged moments later, tossing a worn pair of shorts and an oversized top onto the mattress beside you.

“I'll leave you to it,” he said, already at the door. “Doubt Bob will be long.” His hand paused on the frame. “Call if you need me. And don't forget what I said.” The door clicked shut behind him.

Gritting your teeth, you pushed yourself upright again, the simple motion sending fresh waves of dull ache through your core and back. Every muscle protested. Getting the gown off was its own humiliating ordeal. Your fingers fumbled with the ties, clumsy and weak.

Finally free of your previous clothes, you reached for the shorts. Lifting your legs felt like moving through tar. You braced one hand heavily on the mattress, knuckles white, as you awkwardly manoeuvred one foot, then the other, through the leg holes. Pulling them up over your hips required a risky lean and a surge of effort that left you panting. Leaning back against the mattress, your eyes closed against a brief wave of dizziness.

Bob’s arms holding you… the warmth… the softness…

Shoving the thought down, you grabbed the oversized top. Slipping it over your head was easier, the soft, familiar cotton swallowing you whole.

Outside the door, muffled footsteps sounded in the hallway. Your breath hitched. Bob. A flutter of something entirely new – nervousness? Anticipation? Dread? — joined the exhaustion churning in your gut. The quiet room suddenly felt charged again, waiting.

“It’s open.”

The door slid open and Bob stood in the doorway, freshly showered. His damp hair was darker, pushed back from his forehead, and he wore clean, soft-looking grey sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt that stretched slightly across his shoulders.

He stepped inside, the door hissing shut behind him. His gaze swept the room, taking in the familiar clutter, the dimmer lighting you preferred, the view out the window at the city lights below, before finally landing on you. He hovered near the door for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “Made it up okay?”

“Yeah. Bucky's a pretty good crutch,” you replied, managing a weak shrug that hurt more than it should. He took a tentative step further into the room, stopping near the foot of the bed. His eyes darted to the empty space beside you, then back to your face.

He looked strangely uncertain, maybe even a little lost. The Bob who’d held you steady in the warehouse, whose voice had trembled with emotion. Bucky’s words echoed: He cares about you.

“Bob,” you started, your voice catching. You quickly cleared your throat before continuing. “About… about me asking you to stay…” He held up a hand, stopping you.

“You don't need to explain. Or apologize.” He met your eyes directly, the blue seeming clearer in the warm light of your room. “I get it. The medbay… it’s suffocating. Especially after…” He trailed off, not needing to name the nightmares. “If being here helps, then I'm here. Babysitting duty accepted.”

He finally moved closer to you, settling himself down on the empty space beside you instead of the chair further off.

“I slept for three days, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired.”

“I know the feeling,” Bob murmured. “Sleep, if you can. I'll be right here.”

The warmth you’d remembered from his hold in the medbay seemed to emanate from him now, a quiet, steady heat. The nervous flutter settled, replaced by a different kind of ache, a longing for that warmth, for the safety it promised.

Bucky’s question wasn't just churning; it was pounding against the walls of your heart. Do you want to be? Looking at him, the lines of worry etched around his eyes, the quiet strength in his posture even as weariness pulled at him, the sheer, unwavering presence of him… the answer, terrifying and undeniable, rose within you.

Yes.

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[alebrijediscordico]

Prism's palette - chapter 1: lines on the sand

[Part 1]

You breathe in. And out.

You keep your head steady. Your body slowly swings.

Isa left just a few minutes ago for some more of that really tasty drink you two were having. Is a warm evening, the sun above the horizon. You hear in the distance the people you love. And you lay there in the woven, multishaded hammock, trying to not sink in the fear building up in you. And look up to the stars starting to come out.

Breathe in...

If you close your eye it almost feels like…

Breathe out.

Like a little boat adrift to sea.

You try to focus on that thought instead of what you're holding. Or any feeling clawing deep inside you. At least for a moment.

Or that panic might get the better part of you.

You think about what to do.

...And you think about how Mira had been reading some books to you about how to take care of one's mind. Slow down a wild heart. Some were her own findings, from before you all meet, the ones she never got around to read until then, others were Odile's and Isa's leaned books from a library near to where you all were staying at the time.

"And with… everything that happened just at the very end, i got thinking—wishfully thinking maybe, these would've come in very handy a few times..."

She rests her head on yours, you feel the light pressure. You don't flinch this time to her touch. It feels... nice. Truly, every drop of affection you've been slowly asking for and receiving has been making you not only less jumpy, but it feels like is filling up the empty spaces that you've had in your chest since the very beginning.

You closed your eye, still listening, fighting off sleep.

"But. Maybe… it wouldn't have been that easy, isn't it? Or maybe it would've been? I still... wonder about that. But we… we can get better at taking care of ourselves from now on, together.

I did once read... is better a tiny bit later than never, at the end of the day."

Some of the books weren't… really made by professionals—you came to find morning after morning in your new little routine with her—but about and by people's own experiences. It was a pick and choose thing, between advice, stories to reflect on, and a mix of them; something that felt less serious than the direct, more professional books with all their specific words and medical treatments. Those were more usual with your reads with Isa. It was less pressure on you, but it was still some amount of pressure to start and keep you going.

So that was your current go-to thought to keep your head in place.

That clear image of the water under your little boat—like a mirror reflecting the universe over you, tricking your terrified mind into feeling like that was where you found yourself floating in: Among stars, in the universe, it's endless void holding the tiny shiny dots up.

Far away from where you needed to be.

Far away from where you wanted to be.

And into a lonely night.

It was… really, a bad memory, filled with such grief you could almost taste it, way too close to how it had been… on the loops; the initial shock and fear, all mixing in the pit of your gut, causing this painful vertigo (then burning, then the tug in your stomach-).

(Breathe in. Breathe out.)

But at the same time it was… oddly grounding. It was what led you to Isa, Mira, Bonbon and Odile… to your family. And before getting to land, paralyzed by the great unknown, you still remember being almost cradled by the waves to shore…

So from certainly upsetting you once in the past, the core of your nightmares before the House, to now being a reminder of this love that you found and found you, the similar rocking motion was keeping your head in place. An anchor between past and present.

For now.

…It's hard to sit down when your whole body lightly shakes. Is it fear? Dread? Panic fully building up in you again? Or… oddly enough…

Anticipation?

A… new or foreign part of you was almost expecting this.

Out of precaution you no longer Wish for things to be true; you instead try to go get them if you find a way to do so. It feels overly cautious as it feels right.

So you almost really, really want for things to stay calm and not...

To only have to dread your new title as one of the saviors, and only worry about what you'll eat tomorrow and about the remaining sadnesses as Vaugarde cleans itself from them. But…

It seems your future... was about to lead you somewhere else...

[punksyeet]

- Just Because ❥

Plot: After being apart for over two weeks, Roman takes his lady on a date to make up for lost time.

Warning: Lots of fluff & heavy romance!

A/N: another massive thank you to whoever requested this one. if you know me, you know that i’m an absolute sucker for romance, so i wrote this with my heart. i hope you enjoy! 🌹💗

—————————————————————————————————

“I missed you so much sweetheart,” Joe says in between kisses to my temple.

I smile, my head laid against his chest, and look up at him. “I missed you more, love.”

He pulls away smiling, a gorgeous shimmer in his eyes. “Impossible.”

I chuckle and cup his face, tucking away a thin strand of hair that came loose from his bun.

Joe just got home from a work trip - more specifically, a PLE in Saudi Arabia.

Normally I’d attend big events with him, but this trip was over two weeks long, so I stayed back to watch after our children and such.

However, once they found out he was coming home today, Joe’s parents offered to take the kids so that we’d have some time to ourselves.

“Just don’t come pick them up with any more grandbabies,” his mom teased us with a wink.

While his time on the road isn’t easy for either of us, seeing him again is so worth the wait every single time. <3

That same shimmer in his eyes turn into mischief, and I can tell that an idea comes to him.

“What are you up to, Mr. Anoa’i?” I ask, narrowing my eyes with a smirk.

He chuckles and wraps his arms around my waist.

“Well Mrs. Anoa’i,” he teases, earning a giggle from me. “How would you like to check out that new fancy restaurant downtown?”

I smile, wrapping my arms around his neck. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just because,” he replies, shrugging. “I missed you a little extra this trip. And I love spoiling you, baby. You deserve every bit of it.”

I giggle, shaking my head. “My hubby, you’re something else.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he teases, a playful smirk plastered on his face. “Now, go get all dolled up for me sweet thing.”

Just then, the perfect outfit comes to mind.

“No coming upstairs until I’m ready,” I order, holding up my pinky. “Promise?”

Knowing how much I love dressing up, - not only for him, but in general - he chuckles and loops his smallest finger with mine before we kiss our hands. “I promise, beautiful.”

Satisfied, I kiss the corner of his mouth before running upstairs.

Once I step into our closet, my eyes automatically land on the dress: a black leather bodycon that hugs me in all the right places.

I bought this dress about a week ago, meaning Joe has never seen me in it, so I’m beyond excited to get his reaction.

I decide to freshen up with an everything shower, using all Victoria’s Secret Bare Vanilla scented products.

Once finished, I come back into the bedroom and start getting dressed: a pretty red lingerie set, the dress of course, some diamond jewelry that Joe got me for Valentine’s Day, my favorite black heels, and one of my many LV bags.

Afterwards, I head back into the bathroom to do some final touches.

I decide to just blow-dry my hair and throw on some very natural makeup aside from a red lip, allowing my natural curls and skin to breathe.

As I’m fluffing out my hair, I hear a knock at the door.

“Sweetheart?” Joe calls from the other side. “I left my watch on the counter. Can I come in?”

I take a deep breath and do some final checks in the mirror. “Yeah I’m all ready.”

“Thanks ba…” his voice trails off when the door opens and he sees me, stood in the mirror.

I turn to face him, gently biting my lip, as his eyes scan my entire body.

“Baby doll you look incredible,” he compliments, walking over and lifting my hand above my head, spinning me.

“Thank you love,” I reply, blushing like a maniac. “You look amazing yourself.”

“I better,” he coos, wrapping his arms around me and caressing my ass through the leather. “With a sexy lady like you on my arm.”

“Stop,” I mutter, blushing and looking down.

Chuckling, he gently lifts my head up by my chin. “Don’t act all shy now, girl. You knew exactly what you were doing with this dress.”

Instead of answering, I adjust his already-perfectly-placed red tie.

He smirks and takes my hand, pressing the top to his lips. “You all ready to go, love? Our reservations are in half an hour.”

I nod, intertwining our fingers. “All ready.”

He flashes me a gorgeous smile before stepping aside and letting me out of our bedroom first. “After you, beautiful.”

I smile and lead us downstairs. 

—————————————————————————————————

“Take care of her for me,” Joe teases the valet guy, nodding towards his black SUV and handing him a generous tip.

The man chuckles before taking the money. “Will do, sir. Thank you.”

Joe responds with a smile and quick nod, before placing a hand on my lower back and leading us inside the restaurant.

“Welcome in,” the woman at the host stand greets us, with a wide smile.

“Hi there,” he replies sweetly, rubbing soft circles onto my skin. “Reservation for Joe?”

The lady taps away at her iPad before nodding and looking back up at us. “Perfect. Right this way.”

She leads us up a flight of stairs and onto a rooftop, which is completely empty.

“Here we are,” she says, once we reach our table. “The private bar and chef are just around the corner of the building, so you have some extra privacy.”

Joe gives her a satisfied nod. “Amazing, thank you.”

She nods back with a smile. “My pleasure. You two enjoy.”

As she walks away, Joe pulls out a chair for me.

“Joe,” I begin, looking around. “You rented out the rooftop? And a private bar and chef? Just for a casual date? This is crazy.”

He chuckles and kisses my cheek. “Darling, I told you earlier. I love spoiling you.”

“I know but…” he cuts me off before I can rebuttal any further.

“Enough,” he demands, cupping my face. “I barely see you as it is with how hectic my job can be. Let me spoil you while I have the opportunity to.”

I let out a sigh, accepting defeat, and sit down. “Alright. Thank you.”

He lets out a hum of approval before pecking my lips and sitting across from me.

Throughout the dinner, we share some small and romantic talk, stolen kisses, and just all around enjoy each other’s company.

As I take a final sip from my wine glass, soft music from an outdoor jazz bar across the street starts playing at full volume.

I look over the balcony and smile, watching the band play and couples slow dance together.

All of a sudden, I hear Joe clear his throat, causing me to look up.

He’s stood by my chair, holding out his hand.

“May I have this dance, miss?” he offers, a gorgeous smile on his face.

I giggle softly, taking his hand and standing up. “Of course you may, sir.”

His chuckles and pulls me in, his arms around my waist and mine around his neck.

We start swaying to the soft beat.

“This is so romantic,” I coo, looking into his deep brown eyes, running my fingers through his soft curls.

He smiles, nodding in agreement. “It is.”

We lean in and share a sweet kiss, touching foreheads as we pull away.

“Thank you for tonight,” I speak up again, my voice just above a whisper.

He pulls away and strokes my face with his knuckle, looking down at me and smiling. “Anything for my favorite girl.”

I smile and lean in once again, pressing my lips to his in a passionate kiss.

He immediately kisses back, stroking my back in the process.

Once we pull apart, I lay my head on his chest, inhaling my favorite cologne.

He presses a kiss to my hair and holds me close.

—————————————————————————————————

When we finally get home, I immediately plop down on the sofa with a heavy sigh.

Joe shuts the door and walks over, chuckling. “You alright, sweetheart?”

I let out a soft chuckle myself. “Between this food coma and all that dancing, I might be dying.”

He smiles, shaking his head and taking a seat next to me. “Here, angel. Let me help you.”

I give him a tired but grateful smile as he gently lifts my legs, lays them across his lap, and starts removing my heels.

Once they’re off, he strokes and applies feather-like kisses to my legs.

“Baby you’re a lifesaver,” I coo dreamily, my head sinking into the sofa cushion.

He chuckles and, instead of responding, gently lifts me up bridal style.

“Where are we going?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He kisses my temple. “To get you into a hot bath. It’ll help the soreness go away and help you relax.”

I lay my head against his chest. “Mmm, honey that sounds amazing.”

“Good,” he replies, setting me down onto the sink when we finally make it upstairs. “Because it’ll feel amazing too.”

He gives me a quick kiss before turning to the tub and prepping some hot water and lavender scented soap.

I watch on as he heads into the bedroom to grab some tiny candles and lines them up against the porcelain as well.

“Joe,” I call out quietly. “You don’t need to do all this, love.”

He turns back around and cups my face, smiling softly. “I want to, baby doll. For you.”

I stick out my bottom lip and he chuckles before pecking it.

“Now,” he continues, reaching back to tie up my hair. “Let’s get you into the tub, hm?”

I nod and slide off the sink.

“How is it?” he asks, holding my hand and helping me lower my body into the water. “Need anything changed?”

I shake my head and sigh dreamily, my eyes fluttering closed. “It’s perfect, Joe. You’re perfect. Thank you.”

He chuckles before leaning down and applying a kiss to my temple. “The pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.”

I give him a soft smile and brush our noses together.

After a couple moments of comfortable silence, he breaks it.

“Now relax my love,” he coos, giving my cheek one last stroke. “I’ll be in to check on you soon.”

I nod and sink further into the water, allowing the heat and lavender to take over.

** Roman’s POV **

After about 15 minutes since I left Gianna in the bathroom pass, I decide to check on her.

“Sweetheart?” I call out, knocking at the door. “You alright in there?”

When I don’t get an answer, I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“Gi? Baby?” I ask, knocking again.

Once again, no answer.

What is she doing in there? Is she okay?

I open the door slightly and peek my head in, brought with quite the sight: my wife fast asleep in the bath, light snores pouring out of her parted lips.

I cover my mouth to prevent laughing too loudly, walk over, and sit on the edge of the tub.

“Sweetheart?” I call just above a whisper, stroking her hair. “Honey, we gotta get you out of here.

Her eyes slowly open and she looks around, then at me, confused as ever.

“W-what happened?” she asks, her voice still groggy and raspy from being on cloud nine literal seconds ago.

I chuckle, tucking a couple strands of loose hair behind her ear. “You fell asleep in the bath.”

“Oh,” she replies, sitting up. “I’m sorry. I guess it was more perfect than I thought.”

“Darling don’t be sorry,” I reassure, smiling and helping her up. “Careful, now.”

She steps out and I help her into her favorite fluffy robe.

“Mmm,” she hums in approval, laying her head against my chest. “Thank you, love.”

I smile and kiss her soft curls. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Let’s get you in bed, hm?”

She nods and we head back into the bedroom to do just that.

Once her head hits the pillow, she’s off to dreamland once again.

Watching on, I smile and apply a light kiss to her lips. “Sleep well, my queen.”

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The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 1 - Cool Girl Is Game

Introduction / Next Part

I never thought I’d be the type of girl to join a sorority, but here I was, standing in the middle of Delta Nu’s impossibly pink common room, surrounded by girls who looked like they belonged on a Vogue cover. Mariel and I had just moved into our new room at UPenn, fresh-faced freshmen, and after weeks of plotting, we had somehow made it into the most sought-after house on campus.

“Can you believe we are here?” Mariel asked, plopping onto her bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Can you believe how long it’s gonna take me to defrost my fake smile?” I shot back.

To get in, I had to fake it till I made it. I wasn’t their first choice—not even close. Delta Nu girls had a certain effortless glow, and I was… well, I was a computer science major who spent most of time trying not to collapse. But with just the right amount of preppy outfits, carefully curated small talk, and a convincingly chirpy “Oh my god, totally” at rush events, I had squeezed my way in.

Before we could even start unpacking, Missy Houghton, our sorority president, breezed in with her perfect blowout and clipboard in hand.

“Ladies, welcome to Delta Nu! Just a quick reminder of your very busy Initiation Week schedule,” she said, handing us a printed itinerary. “Tonight, we have the Ceremony & Oath, Tuesday is Welcome to Pilates, Wednesday is New Me Conference, Thursday is our Fundraiser, and of course, Friday is our Newbie Initiation Tradition—which is a total surprise, so don’t even try asking.” She winked before twirling out of the room.

Mariel and I exchanged a look. What did we get ourselves into?

After taking a short walk from the house, we went our separate ways—Mariel to her graphic design classes, and me to my Introduction to Computer Programming lecture.

The moment I walked in, I knew this class was a walk in the park. The professor started going over variables and loops, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Then, just to make it really fun, he handed out a pop quiz on basic programming concepts.

I finished mine in record time, turned it in, and went back to doodling in my iPad. A few minutes later, I caught the professor glancing at my paper, then back at his computer. After class, he called me over.

“Miss (Y/L/N), right?” He adjusted his glasses, scanning my student file. “You’re this year’s full scholarship?”

I nodded.

“Hmm. Well, judging by this quiz, this class might be too easy for you. Have you considered taking a level test to skip ahead?”

It wasn’t a bad idea.

Following his instructions, I went to Student Service’s to request a level test—and, as expected, I placed two levels above. That meant I’d be in classes with sophomores now.

That night, as Mariel and I debriefed in our dorm about our day, she threw a pillow at me.

“You just got here, and you’re already skipping classes? How do you do it?!” she groaned.

I caught the pillow and tossed it back. “I didn’t do anything. I bet everyone was gushing over your art skills today.”

“Shut up, Miss Genius.” she interjected my explanation.

TUESDAY - 7 AM

The following morning, I walked into my new classroom with a printed letter from the department in hand. The professor beamed as I handed it over.

“And here she is,” he said dramatically, turning to the class. “Our newest addition! Not only is she here on a full scholarship, but she’s also skipped two levels, meaning she’s already putting you all under pressure!”

I gave a small, awkward wave. The room was silent.

Then it hit me.

I was the only girl in the room.

Great.

I sighed, found an empty seat, and tried to ignore the stares. It wasn’t my first time being in a male-dominated space, and it wouldn’t be my last. I tuned them out and focused on the lecture.

Or at least I tried.

After class, as I packed up my stuff, three guys walked over. One of them looked… familiar.

“Hey,” the curly-haired one said, tilting his head. “This might sound bad, but where do I know you from?”

I turned fully to face him. Thick eyebrows. Curls. That annoying but weirdly cute smile.

Memories flooded back.

I smirked. “Wow. You really do have a terrible memory, Jonas Brother.”

His friends lost it. One practically doubled over laughing.

“Ohhh,” one of them wheezed. “Dude, she got you.”

Luigi blinked, then finally connected the dots. “Oh shit. Nationals.”

“Took you long enough.”

His friends were still cracking up. One of them clapped him on the back. “Dude, you always know the hotter girls.”

I rolled my eyes.

“So what, you’re in this class now?” another one asked. “Why haven’t we seen you before?”

“Freshman,” I said, shouldering my bag.

Luigi was still looking at me, amusement playing at the corners of his lips. “So, you just happened to land in a level 3 class, huh?”

“Tragic, really,” I deadpanned.

“Seriously, though,” another chimed in. “You should come to one of our frat parties. Now that you’re officially in our class, you are one of us.”

I barely held back an eye roll. Of course they were in a frat.

“Cool,” I said vaguely, already looking at my phone. “Noted.”

Then I noticed the time.

“Crap. I gotta go,” I muttered, swinging my bag over my shoulder.

“Where to?” Luigi asked.

I sighed. “Pilates.”

One of the guys perked up and whistled. “Nice.”

I cringed.

I turned to leave, but as I walked away, I heard Luigi’s voice behind me.

“See ya around.”

Without looking back, I just raised a hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Okay,” I called over my shoulder.

WELCOME TO PILATES

The air in the studio was thick with the scent of lavender-scented disinfectant and the soft hum of an upbeat playlist. Mariel and I sat on our mats, stretching, surrounded by a dozen other Delta Nu girls. Apparently, as bonding activity we had to sign up for at least one group fitness class.

Honestly? The politics of this house were exhausting. But if faking enthusiasm for Pilates was the price I had to pay to stay in Delta Nu, so be it.

Mariel groaned as we attempted another core-strength move. “This is a requirement? What kind of sorority is this?”

“The type that values toned abs over GPAs,” I muttered, wobbling slightly.

She snorted. “At least you’re suffering with me.”

We both struggled to hold our position when I casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, guess who’s in my new class?”

Mariel barely glanced at me, too focused on not collapsing. “Unless it’s the ghost of Steve Jobs here to give you a job at Apple, I don’t care.”

I smirked. “Luigi”

She blinked. “Mario?”

I chuckled quietly, my arms shaking from exertion. “The Jonas Brother.”

Mariel’s eyes went wide. She lost balance completely, flopping onto her mat. “OMG, this is destiny,” she whisper-screamed.

I shot her a look. “What?”

“Be honest,” she accused, regaining her composure. “Did you move from Cali to be close to him?”

I rolled my eyes. “Callatee.. you know why I chose UPenn over UCLA. And you came with me, remember?” (Shut up)

She laughed. “I’m kidding.” Then she tilted her head. “Wait… what’s his actual name again?”

I paused. “Luigi… I don’t know his last name.”

From my right, another girl—blonde, toned, and effortlessly balanced in the Pilates pose I had given up on—leaned in slightly and whispered, “Sorry, are you talking about Luigi Mangione?”

I turned to her. “Not sure.”

“Curly hair? Italian? STEM guy?”

Mariel and I exchanged a look. “Yeah,” I said.

She grinned knowingly. “Ohhh.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

She giggled, lowering herself gracefully into the next pose. “Just don’t let Missy stop you. She’s been trying for a year.”

I nearly dropped my balance again. “Stop me? From what?”

Mariel and the girl—who I now realized was named Kaylee—both gave me the same amused look.

I blinked. “What?”

Kaylee just shook her head, still smirking. “Nothing.”

Mariel’s smirk was even worse.

Between boys and core training, I wasn’t sure which task I sucked at more.

WEDNESDAY - NEW ME

Blah blah blah

THURSDAY- FUNDRAISER BOOTH

Pink. So much pink.

I glanced around at the Delta Nu booth, which looked like a sorority version of Mean Girls—pink banners, white ribbons, pastel decorations. It was all very on brand, and all very not me.

The only thing remotely acceptable in my wardrobe was a pair of white shorts and a band tee. Missy was not pleased.

“Don’t you have anything pink that is actually cute?” she asked, looking at me like I’d personally insulted her ancestors.

Mariel, clapped a hand on my shoulder. “She can borrow something of mine!”

I shot her a look. “Girl, where is my ass gonna fit in your clothes?”

She grinned. “Don’t insult your Latina hips.”

I laughed, but it didn’t change the fact that I was still stuck in a Blondie tee while everyone else looked like they’d walked out of a Tampon commercial. Whatever. It wasn’t like I’d chosen this sorority for the aesthetic.

We finally made it to the booth, where Missy explained the actual reason we were here—raising money for charity.

Noble. Love that.

Then came the catch.

Next month, Delta Nu was hosting a fashion show, and each of us had to raise money. The girl who raised the most money would win the ability to keep her own outfit from a designer catalog. Meanwhile, the rest of us? Our outfits would be chosen for us by our highest donor.

I blinked. “What the hell?” I muttered under my breath.

Did I accidentally join a brothel?

Mariel choked on a laugh next to me.

Students stopped by our booth throughout the afternoon, reading about the charity and looking at the fashion show details. Most were supportive. Some donated out of actual generosity. Others… not so much.

Cue Gym Bro.

This dude—overly tan, protein shake in hand, and all biceps—strolled up and made a significant donation. Not for charity, of course. No, he had one goal.

“To see her in lingerie,” he said with a smirk, nodding in my direction.

If looks could kill, Gym Bro wouldn’t just be dead—he’d be erased from history.

Before I could tell him exactly where he could shove his donation, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Well, well, not only is she smart, but she’s into the crazy life.”

I turned to see frat bros approaching the booth, all smug grins and easy confidence. Damien, was the one who spoke, looking at me like I’d just confirmed a long-standing theory about my secret double life.

“Surprise,” I deadpanned. “Delta Nu.”

Luigi smirked. “I should’ve predicted it from the Barbie Dreamhouse.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That Barbie Dreamhouse kicked your ass.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Now you’re coming for my reputation?”

Before the tension could build further, Mariel cut in.

“Damn, Jonas Brother, you got tall.”

Luigi glanced at her, clearly recognizing her face but not placing the name.

He snapped his fingers. “St. Trinity. Right?”

Bingo.

His friends took the opportunity to introduce themselves, wanting to get ahead of the game. Gross.

They asked about the charity, and we explained.

Of course, their intrigue had nothing to do with charity and everything to do with the fashion show. Free sorority girls on a runway? Predictable.

I sighed. “You’re late. Jerk-face over there already donated a lot to see me in lingerie.”

The guys gushed among themselves, clearly entertained.

Damien grinned. “Damn, we can’t surpass that.”

“You could’ve saved me,” I said dramatically.

“Too late now.”

“At least I can mentally prepare.”

Before they could continue their antics, Missy appeared out of nowhere, her signature flirty smile locked in on Luigi.

“Hey stranger” she greeted, voice a little too smooth.

He responded politely, but I could tell he wasn’t particularly invested.

“What brings you here?” she asked, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, just saying hi,” he said, nodding at me.

Missy’s eyes narrowed slightly as she turned to me. “Ohhh, you guys know each other?”

I shrugged. “Old foes. And we have the same coding class.”

Missy blinked. “Right. So, are you coming to the show?”

He hesitated. “I think I have lab hours.”

Missy pouted slightly but played it cool. “No prob, we can talk later.”

Mariel and I barely held in our laughter.

Missy got called away, leaving the rest of us in her wake. The moment she was gone, Mariel and I mocked her voice in unison.

“So nice to see you,” we mimicked, fluttering our eyelashes.

The guys chuckled, clearly enjoying the show.

But then, Luigi checked his phone. “We should head back to our booth.”

As they started walking away, he turned back, smirking at me.

“I guess next class, we’ll see who’s the better coder.”

I smirked right back.

Yeah, you better run.

FRIDAY - INITIATION

By the time sun sets, I was already regretting my life choices.

Mariel and I sat cross-legged on our beds, nerves sitting like lead in our stomachs. We were under strict orders to come straight back to the sorority house after classes, no questions asked.

At 6:50 p.m., the call came.

“Newbies, to the living room!”

Mariel shot me a wide-eyed look. “This is it. We’re either going to become legends or complete social pariahs.”

“Maybe both,” I muttered, standing and smoothing down my jeans.

We shuffled into the living room where the superior sisters, Missy, and the house mother were lined up in matching black caped robes, holding envelopes like they were about to announce a Hunger Games death match.

Missy’s smile was almost predatory. “Welcome to your Initiation.”

A nervous murmur rippled through the room.

Missy stepped forward. “This is a scavenger hunt. You will each have five hours to complete a series of tasks. Some will be… challenging.”

That should’ve been the first red flag.

She continued, “For proof, you’ll need to take pictures and submit them before midnight. Fail to complete the list, and you risk losing your spot at Delta Nu.”

The room collectively stiffened.

“The prize?” Missy’s smile sharpened. “You stay and earn the respect of your sisters.”

I didn’t care about the “respect” part. I did care about my scholarship. I needed to stay in Delta Nu to keep it.

She handed out envelopes. “Good luck, girls.”

I opened mine and scanned the list.

Some were easy. Others? Not so much:

• Collect a pair of boxers from a frat president and have him sign it

“What the hell?” I whispered to Mariel.

“I’m not touching any guy’s used underwear,” she hissed.

“Me neither,” I said. But we both knew that wasn’t true. I had to complete this.

When the timer started, we all scattered.

I powered through the easy ones first:

✅ Apply a full face of makeup to a campus statue? Done.

✅ Selfie with a Professor? Easy.

✅ Steal a traffic cone? On my arm.

Then I hit the wall: the boxer situation.

I sat on a campus bench, scrolling through my phone, looking up the frat presidents. Maybe this was my end. Not knowing how to seduce a guy out of his panties.

And there it was.

Luigi Mangione - Phi Kappa Psi.

Of course he was president. Because the universe hated me.

I opened Instagram to look him up. Luckily for me his profile was public and his latest story showed he was at the school gym.

“Great,” I muttered. “Guess I’m about to enter my villain era.”

I took a breath and ran to the gym, showing my student ID to the desk clerk, who barely glanced up before waving me through. Apparently, they were used to sorority girls losing their minds during initiation week.

I spotted him almost immediately, walking toward the showers with a towel over his shoulder.

I froze. My heart pounded.

I could leave. I could figure something else out.

But the timer was ticking.

Nope. I’m doing this.

I marched toward the men’s locker room. A couple of guys gave me side-eyes as I walked in.

“Sorry! Emergency!” I said, which only made it more suspicious.

My heart was practically pounding out of my chest as I stopped outside the shower stall. I knocked on the wall.

“Kinda busy, man,” Luigi’s voice called. “There are other showers.”

I took a deep breath. “Oh, I know that.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“…hi?”

Luigi’s head peeked out from the stall, water dripping from his curls. He blinked. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

I turned my face toward the wall, covering my eyes. “I know this looks like the setup for a cheap porno, but I swear it’s not what it looks like.”

He smirked. “It looks pretty compromising.”

“Trust me, it’ll get worse.” I sighed. “I need a favor.”

He rinsed his face and wiped his hands down his chest.

“Let me get the shampoo out of my eyes, and then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.” I stood there, face still covered.

A minute later, the shower stopped. A damp hand brushed my shoulder.

“You can look now.”

I peeked through my fingers and saw him standing there in a towel, hair dripping. Men’s Health prepared me for moments like this.

“Initiations have gotten cheeky,” he joked.

“I need your underwear,” I blurted.

He raised his brows. “Come again?”

I forced myself to explain the task. He listened, expression somewhere between amused and shocked.

When I finished, he shook his head. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“You realize you’re asking me to walk home commando, right?”

I shrugged. “I’ll be disgusted if that’s your only clean pair.”

He laughed and pulled a pair of blue boxers from his gym bag. “You got a Sharpie?”

I pulled one from my pocket. “Here.”

He grinned and signed them. “So you need a picture, too?”

“Yep.”

He handed me the boxers. “Let’s get this over with.”

I held the boxers up in one hand, stood next to him, and snapped a photo. He smiled—a relaxed, easy smile.

“Be nice to them,” he teased.

“Thanks,” I said, tucking the boxers into my bag.

I bolted out of the locker room, the list and my bag on one hand and the traffic cone on the other, heart hammering in my chest.

I was halfway across campus when I heard someone shout my name.

“(Y/N) wait!”

I turned

Luigi—now dressed—was jogging toward me.

“What else is on your list?”

I showed him the list.

He frowned. “These are easy.”

“Not when you’re under pressure.” I interjected.

“Let me help you.”

“You’re not supposed to help.”

“I don’t see a rule against it.” He smirked. “C’mon.”

I didn’t argue.

We made quick work of the rest:

✅ Try on the campus mascot costume? It stinks.

✅ Steal a UPenn banner? Done.

✅ Buy a random guy a drink at the closest bar? Luigi handled that part.

We talked as we walked between tasks. He told me about his frat initiation—doors locked, food and alcohol flowing, and seniors throwing impossible tasks at them.

“Deadly,” he joked.

“You survived.”

“Barely.” He grinned.

By the time we finished, I had enough minutes to spare.

Luigi walked me back to the sorority house.

“Well, I guess this means you’re officially Delta Nu,” he said, stopping at the steps.

“Yeah.”

“See you in class?”

I smiled. “Unless I skip to recover from this trauma.”

He laughed. “You’ll survive.”

I ran inside, dumped my evidence on the table, and collapsed onto the couch.

Missy’s eyes narrowed. “You got everything?”

“Everything,” I confirmed.

Her gaze shifted from Luigi’s face on the picture to his signature. Her smile tightened.

“So?”

Missy’s smile sharpened. “Alright.”

I just rolled my eyes.

I was safe. That’s all that mattered.

@nosebeers

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

I’m not American and most of my knowledge is from movies and some research. Sorry if it sounds inaccurate to real greek life. But hey it’s fiction .

[goodlucktai]

hold the world to its best (3/?)

rottmnt word count: 2k pairing: raph & OC, raph & donnie title borrowed from light by sleeping at last part of the archer au

(prev) (next)

x

The closest Gio comes to fussing is when he thinks Splinter is going to put him down. His fist tightens in the front of Splinter’s robe and his eyes get shiny and his lower lip starts to pucker. Raph can tell a baby brother that’s about to cry from a mile away and similarly Donnie goes stock-still under Raph’s arm and makes an alarmed noise in his throat, like someone witnessing the improper handling procedures of a live explosive. 

But Splinter is only resituating his hold to sit them both on the sofa, where Gio is parked comfortably in his father’s lap, and no tears are shed. The baby’s or anybody else’s. 

“I trust you have been taking pictures,” Splinter says in a tone that suggests he will seriously consider disowning all of them if otherwise. 

“Father, am I a joke to you?” Donnie asks flatly. “SHELLDON has already texted all of you the link to a shared photo album which syncs automatically at the top of the hour.”

“SHELLDON is the only trustworthy person in this house,” Splinter tells Gio, ignoring Donnie’s offended squawking. “Your silly brothers haven’t even found you something warm to wear! And look at your little arms, you are practically just skin and bones! They haven’t fed you either, I take it? Pah. Clearly we must do everything ourselves around here.”

“Dad,” Mikey whines, “we were gonna do all of that! We just got home!” 

“Are you seriously holding a grudge because we missed your calls?” Leo asks incredulously. “You left me on read for two days once.”

“There are five of you and not one of you picked up the phone. Ridiculous.” 

Gio is staring up at Splinter’s face. Some of the words going back and forth over his head are clearly too big for him to follow, and he’s missing vital context to fill in all the gaps, but Splinter’s voice is still that one exclusive to very little turtles. His normal register, just lower and calmer, easily shifting from soothing to playful without much tonal change. And Gio is absorbing it like a reptile basking in the sun. Like he’s never heard anything like it before.

Raph wants to convince himself that there are plenty of reasons for Gio to never have been spoken to lovingly at this age. He can’t think of a single one, but there must be. 

April can’t stay for much longer, because she has a nine o’clock class in the morning that she can’t skip and she told her mom she’d be home for dinner. But she promises to return tomorrow with Gio-sized clothes come hell or high water. 

“Just as soon as I figure out how to tell my mom I need baby stuff without her jumping to the worst possible conclusion,” April says, sounding hunted. She crouches in front of the sofa and adds, “Can I get a big hug for the road from my favorite polka dot?”

“Regular cuddlebug,” Leo remarks quietly, observing as Gio readily loops his skinny arms around April’s neck. He even rubs their cheeks together, marveling at the softness of her skin against his textured scales. April looks seconds away from scooping him up and running out the door with him. 

“He hugs us all the time,” Raph replies, knowing as he says it that it’s not the same. 

It would surprise a stranger to get a glimpse of the Gio that lives behind that resting murder face and closed-off body language, but Raph knows firsthand how affectionate his big brother is. 

He lets little siblings stuff their hands in his coat pockets when it’s cold outside, and fall asleep on his shoulder halfway through a movie they insisted on watching, and crowd noisily into his personal space to claim his attention. And he does it as if it would never have occurred to him not to do it.

He’s never asked any of them for a hug, though. Now that he’s thinking about it, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Raph can’t remember a single time that Gio asked anyone for anything at all. 

Raph wishes for about the millionth time in his life that he could peel back the screen behind Leo’s eyes and catch a preview of the puzzle his brain is rapidly assembling piece by inscrutable piece into some bigger picture. 

When April has finally wrestled with her cuteness aggression and won, giving Gio a final squeeze that would have been lung-crushing for a human person but only feels snug and affectionate to anyone with the built-in body armor of a turtle shell, she walks backwards towards the turnstiles blowing dramatic goodbye kisses to everyone else and Mikey steps up to bat.

“Time for the most crucial conversation of the day,” he says importantly. “Of our lives even,” he stresses, which Raph thinks might be pushing it. “What’s your favorite food in the whole world, Georgie?”

Gio is still waving goodbye to April with the hand holding the ladybug keychain, because the other is gripping tight to Splinter’s sleeve. It takes him a second to realize Mikey is talking to him, and a second after that for him to realize everyone is looking at him, anticipating his answer. He pulls both hands in tight to his middle again, even letting go of Splinter to do it, and doesn’t say anything at all. 

“Kind of a big question, Miguelito,” Leo swoops in before the gap in the conversation can grow any larger than it will take a little hop to cross. “You have ten different favorite foods for each day of the week.”

“Oh, that’s fair,” Mikey allows. “And Donald wouldn’t be able to list ten foods he liked if someone put a gun to his head.”

“I have a refined palate,” says their brother who once famously refused to eat anything other than butter pasta for two and a half weeks in a row when he was thirteen. “Clemmys guttata are omnivorous, and opportunistic feeders. They eat whatever they can find underwater. Not to say our George wouldn’t love peanut butter toast and Lucky Charms as much as the next preschooler, but something tells me Michael wants options with a little more pizzazz.” And even though he has gone on record more than once in recent memory to state in no uncertain terms that he would sooner walk backwards into hell than eat any dish involving shellfish, Donnie goes on, “Don’t we have shrimp in the fridge?”

Mikey brightens, struck with inspiration. “I can work with that!” 

He springs for the kitchen at full speed, hooking his arm through Leo’s on his way past and yanking his immediate older brother along with him—tribute selected for the mealtime assist. 

Raph can hear them bickering playfully from here, and if he looks he’ll see that Leo is already tying on his favorite apron, folding it over the way he must have learned from all those hours following Hueso around the back of house at Run of the Mill. And Mikey will untie his and retie it the way Leo does it, like clockwork. Neither of them will stop talking even once until dinner is made, their unending, overlapping chatter the closest Raph has ever come to understanding those ASMR videos April and Donnie send back and forth in the group chat.  

Similarly, Splinter’s ear twitches back toward the kitchen every so often, tuning in. And Donnie’s nervous energy is finally petering out. The battle shell disengages with a hiss of hydraulics, making Gio’s eyes get big and alarmed when it stands up on spiderlegs and walks in the direction of its charging dock in the lab. 

“I bet yours doesn’t do that, huh?” Raph teases. Gio shakes his head no rapidly, and Raph feels fondness pop in his chest like a firecracker. “Don’t worry, mine doesn’t either. Donnie’s one of a kind.”

“Thank you, Raph, but we can discuss my blanket superiority later,” Donnie says, earning a thwap on the knee from the tip of Splinter’s tail. With the heavy armor off his back, Donnie sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa comfortably, bracing his hands on his knees. “You understand English, but papa’s Japanese didn’t seem to land. Do you know sign?” He lifts his hands to sign along with the question, slow and deliberate. 

“Dang, Raph didn’t even think of that,” Raph admits. 

Gio watches Donnie’s hands repeat the question once. Uncomprehending, but very interested in whatever he’s doing. 

“That’s okay,” Donnie says easily, and settles in to teach the way he once taught April. “Let’s start with the alphabet. This will be easy for you. I don’t make a habit of telling them this, lest it go to their heads, but all of my siblings share a fraction of my genius. Cut from the same cloth and all. We are a family of very smart cookies. And you,” Donnie tells him, “are a very, very smart cookie.”

“He’s a snickerdoodle!” the eavesdroppers in the kitchen bellow in tandem. 

“You’re a snickerdoodle,” Donnie says solemnly. Splinter snorts, but otherwise doesn’t interrupt. 

Raph worries for the first few minutes that the finger-spelling might be too advanced, and he doesn’t want Gio to get discouraged. How old are kids when they learn to spell, anyway? But Gio picks it up quickly, the shapes he makes with his fingers becoming less clumsy the longer Donnie walks him through his ABCs. Splinter always used to say he was surprised by how quickly the turtles tore through their learning material when they were little, and Gio is as much Draxum’s bizarre lab experiment as the rest of them are. Maybe that’s what Donnie meant in the first place. 

Donnie hums something as he finger-spells H-E-L-L-O G-I-O, a tune that pings in the back of Raph’s mind as familiar and makes Leo giggle from over in the kitchen. Donnie smiles without even glancing that way, because the two of them have an inside joke for every other word they say, and it’s always kind of a special prize to make clever Leo laugh without meaning to. 

“You’re alright but I’m here, darling, to enjoy the party,” Donnie shoulder-shimmies as he sings what Raph recognizes now as an electro-pop song that always features on Donnie’s heavy rotation playlist when it’s his turn to pick the music in the car. 

“Don’t get too excited ‘cause that’s all you get from me, hey!” Leo pitches in loud enough that his voice carries over. 

“Yeah, I think you’re cute, but really you should know,” Donnie continues, signing along to the words for his riveted audience, “I just came to say hello.”

Gio mirrors the ‘hello’ sign, a B handshape held to his forehead and then pushed away, and when Donnie makes a show of applauding this major accomplishment, he makes Gio giggle, too.

It’s the first sound he’s made since they met this version of him, and it makes all activity grind to an abrupt halt in the kitchen, Mikey freezing comically in the middle of a taste-test. Leo looks as stunned as Raph feels. Splinter catches his breath, and Donnie flaps his hands like he has to shake out the pure joy he’s experiencing in this instant or else explode with it. 

“I told you guys I was the funniest,” Donnie whispers. 

Gio giggles again, clearly a fan of Donatello. He’s hanging off Donnie’s every word, an expression on his face that Raph is utterly familiar with—a little turtle amazed by every single thing bigger turtles do. Gio glances over at Raph, still smiling, checking to see that Raph is smiling, too. 

Raph’s cheeks hurt with how hard he’s grinning, as a matter of fact. 

“How’s that song go again, Dee?” he says. 

“I’m so glad you asked,” Donnie replies, and pairs his phone to the Bluetooth speakers. 

When the music starts and Raph scoops Gio up into his arms, Gio shrieks with high-pitched, bubbly laughter, sweeter than any snickerdoodle cookie. Raph spins around, dancing them over to the kitchen, where Donnie has already dragged his twin into an absurd rendition of the waltz that Mikey is sandwiched in the middle of. Splinter parks himself on a stool at the island and watches over them with gooey eyes. 

The garlic bread in the oven ends up burning around the edges before anyone thinks to save it, but Mikey carves away the bitter ends and gives the best piece to Gio. The shrimp alfredo is a success—Donnie’s plain alfredo received with ridiculous gratitude—and Gio eats until he’s nodding off at the table. 

“We’ll skip bathtime tonight, I think,” Splinter murmurs, wiping Gio’s face and hands with a washcloth instead. 

“Can we have a sleepover in the living room?” Mikey begs. “Please please please? We’ll be so careful, and he’ll love the string lights!”

“Only if you do not keep him awake with your shenanigans,” Splinter says sternly. “And only if Gray wants to go.”

“What do you say, Georgie? Sleepover?” Mikey says, crouching by Splinter’s chair to be face-to-face with the little guy in question. “We can turtle pile, and Donnie can bring the star projector out! His intro to astronomy TED Talk will put you right to sleep.”

“Offended scoff,” Donnie interjects. “I’ll have you know that presentation is peer-reviewed.”

“Believe me, Tello, we do know,” Leo says in the voice of a younger brother who has heard this argument enough times to recite it word for word. 

Gio nods yes with his fist, one of the simple signs he’s learned this evening, but it’s Raph he puts his arms out to, and Raph whose shoulder he pillows his tiny head on with a quiet sleepy turtle sound that shoots like an arrow straight into Raph’s core. 

He has no idea what Gio’s life looked like at this age. He thinks maybe it wasn’t anything like Raph’s childhood—maybe it was actually not very good at all. Someone taught Gio not to speak up, to watch everything closely and keep his hands to himself. Kids are sensitive to the moods around them, but it’s odd how Gio monitors expressions and tones like he’s measuring them against something in his head. It’s strange how careful he is. 

Raph thinks of growing up with his brothers, getting into trouble and shouting matches and scuffles, making a mess of the kitchen and flooding the bathroom and breaking dishes and TV remotes out of clumsiness or carelessness. They would shuffle shamefacedly when they got scolded, and sometimes tear up and sometimes throw a tantrum, but they never, ever looked at Splinter with any fear.

Gio, Raph thinks, grew up a different way. Wherever he was. Whoever he was with. They didn’t love him right. 

Feeling a hundred things all at once, each of them more prickly and upsetting than the last, Raph tucks Gio into the blanket Leo tossed over them before settling down and feeling the weight of his little brothers settling on and around him. It soothes the ache in his heart, and when Gio makes one final, sleepy click, it’s echoed on all sides by unthinking clicks and chirps, and by the rumble that starts up in Raph’s chest and rolls over the rest of them.