#I have no intention of giving up painting my nails

[seagull-scribbles]

I’m touched starved and dysphoric and making it your problem 💕

[billcyp-her]

Witch things to add in your room, poor person edition

Fuck it Most of witchcraft people tell you to buy shit. So here's some stuff u can do for free

grab some sticks from the ground, bind them together in a shape you like, add intent (usually protection), hang it up

make a flower crown, add protection intent, dry it out, hang it up. protection spell and real ward. regularly recharge intent.

dry plants, set warding intent, hang them up.

crushed eggshells on your window sill to prevent bad energy.

wear a bandana or veil somewhere on your body, sometimes i use mine as belts, to protect from bad vibes.

paint your nails in the color meaning you want. mine are pink for self attraction rn

when you light up a candle always ask if theres a spirit or entity there, pyromancy skills can be learned through google, tumblr, and tiktok.

Regularly clean and rearrange your altar if you can't practice everyday, this keeos the space clean and shows entities around that even if ur not active, you're still a witch

A cup of water can be an offering to anyone, imagine being an entity and you can't have water at all for centuries??

If you have glasses, draw a sigil on them while you clean them (i usually wash mine with soap and water to make it extra clean ((and dry with paper towels)))

Give your wall art jobs. Sure they can be decorative, or they can be extra eyes to watch you while you sleep to make sure no one messes with you. (Ive had so much wall art fall in the middle of the night and turns out smth was trying to get in my room...)

If you have black-out/thick curtains, let the sun in!!! I keep them tied during the day so i can use natural light and ease up my electricity bill

Change ur bedsheets semi regularly, it doesn't need to be every week, but keep in mind bedbugs and other entities can get trapped there... or even try to get there to make your sleep unrestful.

If your room is a bio-hazard, at least make pathways so you can walk without injuring yourself.

Thats all i have for now <3 blessed be and fuck capitalism

[ragingbookdragon]

I Do My Hair Toss, Paint My Nails

Bayverse Transformers x Reader Blurbs

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I fucking wrote TF fanfiction omg. Enjoy! -Thorne

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

Ironhide:

It’s only the fourth glance she takes out the window that has her nail tech snorting. “Are you worried someone is going to steal your boyfriend’s truck?”

She startles at his words, barely missing the drill bit going into her skin around her nail as she replies, “Huh?”

“You keep looking at the truck,” he says. “It’s your boyfriend’s, isn’t it?”

Her cheeks begin to warm as she swipes a fifth glance at the black GMC. “What makes you say it’s my boyfriend’s? It could be mine.”

“Please. You work in private security. And I know you drive a pink Porsche.” He takes his own look at the truck. “It’s a nice one. It is your boyfriend’s, right?”

“Something like that,” she replies as he dips the brush into the acrylic and begins to lay it over her nails.

He snorts again. “Okay, Miss Mysterious, keep it secret.”

She gives a smile as he continues to work on her nails and she admires them when they’re done, a sleek black stiletto. “Thank you, Ray.”

Giving a mock bow, he replies, “I do my best. Now off with you.”

Waving, she steps outside and nears the driver’s side of the truck, only to be caught off by a sports car slowing to a stop beside her.

“Hey baby,” the man greets, practically hanging outside of the window. “Where you headed?”

She blinks, offering a deadened stare and grips the door handle. “Nowhere you are. Have a nice day.”

“Now don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he replies with a smirk and starts to get out, but he stops when the truck rumbles with a violent noise. “What the fuck?”

“Easy, Ironhide,” she murmurs, and opens the driver’s door. “Have a lovely day.” Shutting and locking the door, she’s thankful that Ironhide’s windows are tinted and watches as the car pulls away in a hurry.

“You okay?” Ironhide asks. “I can always blast their tailpipe in.”

She laughs. “Thank you, but I think they got the message.”

“Hmm, I disagree, but I’ll take your word for it,” his voice hums through his speakers as he pulls off onto the street. “What did you do in there? You were gone for an hour and a half.”

“Oh, I got my nails painted!” she chirps and flashes her hands down. “See, I painted them black like your paint.”

This time, Ironhide rumbles but it’s with a subtle pride as he compliments, “As beautiful as my weapons, love.”

“Thank you,” she smiles and leans forward, pressing her lips to the center of the steering wheel. “How about we take a drive out of the city?”

“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” he replies and turns off to the main highway pointing out of the city.

***

Rachet:

“I do not understand the process of painting your nails,” Rachet comments as he watches her gently apply a mustard yellow to her nails.

“Which part don’t you understand, big guy?” she replies, not looking up, focusing intently.

“Perhaps it is more so I don’t understand why.”

“Why?”

He nods and gets closer, staring at her hands. “Why are you painting them?”

She looks up at him. “Why me specifically or why do humans paint nails?”

Rachet takes a moment to ponder her question. “Both.”

Sticking her hand under the small gel light, she answers, “Most people paint their nails as a form of self-expression. Others do so as it’s fashionable. Some just do manicures and pedicures to stay groomed. Think of it like you and the others maintaining your own bodies and staying in good condition.” She starts on the other hand when the first is cured. “Some cultures have historic context with painting nails or the length of nails and it’s symbolic to their people.”

“And what of you?” he asks.

“I guess mine is more so expression and maintenance. I work a lot so I can’t always have my nails maintained the way I want, y’know painted and with length. But I always try to keep them clean and nice looking.” She smiles as she paints a red line through them. “Sometimes I’m lucky enough that I get to paint them pretty.”

At that, Rachet tips his head a bit to see. “I’m no human but I do not think red and yellow are technically considered ‘pretty.’”

She gives him a fond look and pokes his nose with her cured pointer. “Really? Because I painted them to look like a similar Autobot I know. Or did you forget you’re red and yellow?”

He coughs slightly and looks away. “Well, now that you mention such a thing.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re flustered, Rachet.”

“Nonsense,” he retorts as he stands up straight, and she has to crane her neck to see him. “Autobots don’t get flustered.”

“I think you’re leaking oil, big guy,” she teases, and he turns hurriedly, patting himself down.

“What! Where!”

“I’m joking,” she says with a grin. “Still set on not being embarrassed?”

***

Bumblebee:

She sits at the station next to Bumblebee as he fumbles with the metal Rubik’s cube she had made for him. “What color should I paint my nails, Bee?” she asks, opening the case, and she really shouldn’t be painting her nails at work, but considering most of the higher ups are in meetings and the facility is a ghost town, she doesn’t have much to do.

Bumblebee looks down, optics zooming in on each color she lifts up for him to see.

“I’ve got blue…red…black…ooo, what about green?” she offers a deep evergreen up and he scowls and shakes his head. “No?”

He sticks a finger into the case and carefully digs around until he pulls out a tiny tube and hands it to her.

“This one?” she asks and looks at the bottle. “Sunrise Yellow,” she says and looks at him. “It matches you.”

This time he gives her a smile of pride and hands her the black bottle as well, gesturing to her middle and ring fingers.

“You want these ones painted black and the others yellow?”

“Yeah baby!” the line from a comedy movie comes over his voice and she snorts.

“Okay, Bee,” she answers and opens the bottles. “Nails that look like you coming up.” she watches as he grins to himself and dances slightly. “You keep it up, Bee, and everyone is going to know you like me.” She pauses and looks at her hands with a deadpan stare. “Actually, they’re going to think I like you.”

He bends down and gets face to face with her. “You do like me.” The words are easy enough to decipher in his rumbles and she looks away.

“Get outta heeya,” she mocks with warm cheeks, and he laughs at her. “Hey, you better stop laughing at me, or do you not remember how you practically tripped over yourself when I wore a dress the other day and you weren’t paying attention. Ran right into the high-beam and maintenance is still working on fixing it.”

At that, his battle visors come down and he hides his face as embarrassed rumbles escape him; she takes the opportunity to slide up onto his leg and sit with a smile as she paints her nails.

***

Optimus:

She greets the soldiers around her with a smile as she enters the facility and wanders back to her desk to set her things down. It’s only a few moments before Lennox finds his way to her desk and simply stands in front of it until she looks up. “Good morning, Will.”

“You’re late,” he retorts and crosses his arms over his chest. “We had training this morning. And you missed it.”

“And I think you forget I was transferred to private security.” She smiles amusedly. “I don’t work for the military anymore.”

He rolls his eyes. “Jesus, you get out and you turn into a completely different person.”

“I am not. Excuse me for enjoying not waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to go running.” She turns on her computer and sorts some paperwork on her desk. “I had an appointment if it appeases your annoyance, your royal eminence.”

“Oh, it’s not me that needs to be appeased. It’s a certain Autobot that was worried about your lateness,” he teases as she feels her cheeks heat up.

She gives him a surprised but pleasant look. “Optimus was worried about me?”

She knows she’s said too much when Lennox’s face splits into a smirk and he gloats, “I fuckin’ knew it was Optimus. Epps thought it was Sideswipe.” His grins grows as she throws her pen at him and he saunters off with, “Guys owe me fifty.”

A few minutes pass as the embarrassment begins to fade when a noise startles her and she lets out a groan and gripes, “William, go awa—Optimus!” she hides her files on her desk as if it will take away the fluster she feels. “I—I didn’t know you were there.”

The Autobot leader bends down to get level with her. “You weren’t at training this morning,” he notes, and she can’t help how her neck disappears into her shoulders.

“I was busy…I had an appointment.”

“Oh?” He blinks, blue optics watching her carefully. “Was it a medical appointment? Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” she replies. “I went to go get my nails done.”

He blinks again, this time almost confused as he asks, “Your…nails?”

She shows her hands, and he lowers his, gently taking both of hers in one; they only rest on one finger as he examines them. “In human culture, men and women paint their finger and toenails different colors. It’s called manicure and pedicure. I have acrylic nails. Made from acrylic glass and hardened with a liquid monomer. It creates a hardened surface that can be drilled and painted. Like mine.”

Optimus looks them over before he murmurs almost uncharacteristically quiet, “They are painted like my paint.”

Her cheeks warm and she looks away. “I…know we can’t exactly be open…people wouldn’t understand but…I just thought it would be a romantic gesture I guess.”

“I am honored,” he says with a smile. “They are painted beautifully…like you.”

“Optimus,” she replies with a warm smile. “Thank you.”

[love-bitesx]

HI MIAAA just have... Hobie brainrot... About little details in every day life like 😭😭 him nonchalantly pulling u by the waist so he's on the side of the street facing the road, him towering you in the bus or underground, blocking you from the big mass of bodies or any possible creeps (had my share when bus is too crowded 😭), or giving you the window seat because ita your favorite and that way he can block u from the aisle and protect u like with the street thing 🥹🥹 letting you fall asleep in his shoulder or hugging his arm. Sitting always in the chair facing the door when u go to a cafe or a pub, so he can watch out for any possible threats that could come in and be ready for them, so u can rest assured and enjoy ur time. Letting you play with his rings when you're bored or anxious, holding you tight when you hide a bit behind him if you're too shy when he first introduces you to his friends, his hand giving u a reassuring squeeze. !!! EXCHANGING BATTLE JACKETS <<333333 maybe yours fits him a little shorter but its so cute... Such a bonding act.... Making patches or diy badges for each other's jackets too!!! Painting each other nails and kissing the knuckles for every nail painted 😭❤️❤️ i could go on and on. I LOVE HIM!!!!

VIVI I SCREECHED INTO MY MATTRESS WHEN I READ THIS OH MY LORD ABOVE

i’d like to elaborate, if you don’t mind—

his brain was so wired to protect you that half the things he did weren’t even consciously (cupping his hand around corner of tables or cupboards so you don’t hurt yourself/hit your head, steering you to the other side of the pavement, away from the road, etc.). of course, you knew having spider-man as a boyfriend, you’d be safer than most, but when the mask comes off and it’s just your hobie, dark eyes lidded, watching you through his lashes as he towers you at the packed bus stop, cuffed arm pressed above your head, you knew nothing bad could ever touch you.

something about him mindlessly towering you on the tube just. wow. it’d be packed, rush hour hitting and he swore he could’ve just swung you both to your location, but you refused. swinging made you nauseous, and the tube wasn’t all that bad. if you chose to sit down, his ringed hand would be glued to your thigh, not to be a flirt, but to ease your anxiety, know that you’re safe and that he was there. if it’s too busy, he’d let you play with each steel band, secretly calmed by the sensation.

standing up, however, he’d hold onto the railing on the roof, free hand on your hip to bring you flush against him, grip tightening at every bump and screech of the crooked underground carriages. you know it isn’t his intention to tease you, but the way his body moved around yours at every turn, his cologne and natural scent inescapable with how close he held you, and the incredibly nonchalant intimacy of it all. something about the smirk that sat on his pierced lips, however, made you believe that his intentions aren’t always mindless. anytime you questioned him about it, he’d brush off your accusations, simply saying;

“too many creeps around ‘ere, darlin’. gotta keep you safe.”

he trusts you with every part of him and more, but his trust for other people was non-existent at best. so, at the pub, he always liked to be able to feel you (within reason (or without, actually, he wasn’t fussy)). whether it’s simply your knees pressed together, or you playing with his hands from across the table, arm snaked around your waist or shoulders as you sat next to him. he’d like to keep you away from the door, sandwiched between himself and his mates.

although he insists his intentions are strictly safety-related, he’d be lying through his teeth if he said that the visible rush of blood to your cheeks and falter in your voice as his hand slides across the skin of your thigh under the table, wasn’t an added bonus. the smug prick.

he’d share everything with you, if it’s possible. clothes? yours. no question. jewellery? yours. badges, patches, safety pins with beaded designs? yours within a heartbeat. hell, you even had a collection of guitar picks on your bedroom dresser that he’d been dying to give you after special shows. you had no use for it, but the giddy smile he wore on his face as he kissed it between his lips and offered it to you, who are you to refuse that?

speaking of gifts; if he wasn’t the one and only spider-man (well, of his dimension) then his criminal record would be miles long, purely because of the sheer amount of stuff he steals for you. he’s like a cat. anytime he leaves you for the day, he’ll crawl back through your window with pockets full of tiny trinkets he’d robbed throughout the day. anything he sees that even remotely makes him think of you and he’s slyly sneaking it into his back pocket – and trust me, it’s a lot.

all in all, he’d go to insane lengths to keep you safe, and if he’s able to keep a smile on your face – and a blush on your cheeks – whilst he does it? then he’s a very happy man. loves you more than he could ever say, and hopes these little measures let you know that.

i’m violently in love with this man, i actually need to be sedated

[oepionie]

— "INTO THE RABBIT-HOLE" THE CROWNED PRINCESS OF RAMSHACKLE. riddle rosehearts

💭ramshackle princess series masterlist | 💬ao3 link

SYNOPSIS: A dispute with Riddle prompts the prefect to flee into the forest where she falls into a rabbit hole and finds herself in a mad fantastical realm of her imagination. Here, she meets her friends who are acting somewhat strangely… odd. They all treat her as royalty and whisk her away to a castle where her husband, the Red Queen, eagerly awaits her return.

How curious.

⊹ [ cw ] — hurt/comfort, falling from heights, arguments, lashing out, fighting, allusions to executions and stabbing, mentions of a knife, mentions of smoking, mild blood, riddle lashes out on you◞

⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFF, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, FEM! READER | deuce punches you, che'nya is a little shit, trey with bunny ears, ace and deuce as the tweedle dumbasses, affectionate riddle, cater as hot knave◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 9K+

ACT I: BLOOD RED MESS

​"It was just sitting on top of the old boxes in the attic!" You exclaimed, fumbling with the tiara buried deep in your bag. Trey watched as you took it out, holding it up for him to see. It was of a silver color, embezzled and richly decorated with diamonds. The tiara had a fan shaped diadem, nine throngs, and a small blue heart-shaped jewel as its centerpiece. It was an ornament befitting royalty. Not really something you'd find in Ramshackle's run-down attic.

"That does look expensive. What do you plan on doing with it?" Trey asked, pushing his glasses up. Both of you were taking a walk through the grounds of Heartslabyul, basking in the sunshine. "That could sell for quite a lot of money."

"Tempting, but I was planning on giving it to Crowley." You muttered, turning the tiara in your hands and admiring the way it glimmered in the sunlight.

All of a sudden, in the corner of your eye, a small green blur dashed into the rosebushes, scurrying deep into the green brambles. Gasping, you pointed to it. "Oh! Trey, did you see that?"

"See what...?" Trey blinked. You rushed forward, parting the branches and peering through the shrub. A green rabbit in a waistcoat dashed through the bushes, a ticking clock perched onto his hip. "A bunny rabbit!"

"A rabbit-? O-Oi! Prefect?!" Trey ran after you as you rushed through the bushes, intent on chasing the bunny. Branches and rose thorns scratched and tore at your uniform, but you paid no mind to it. The rabbit took a sharp turn right, and you followed in hot pursuit. As you rounded the corner, you crashed into a large stack of paint buckets. The canisters all toppled to the ground, breaking open and tainting the green grass red.

Likewise, you also fell into the red puddle. The paint pooled around you, seeping into your clothes and hair. You groaned, pushing yourself away from the wreckage. "Just my lucky day."

While you were busy glaring down at the offending red pigment bleeding onto your pristine white blouse, Trey had rushed to your side. The third-year seemed to be nervous as he wiped your face down with his sleeve. "Prefect, quick, fix yourself up before—"

"What is the meaning of this?!" Riddle exclaimed, the clattering click of his heels signaling his arrival as he stomped towards you.

Uh oh.

"O-Oh! Riddle, I—" You stammered, scrambling up. "Love, I was just trying to—"

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?!" Riddle yelled, pulling you away from Trey and seizing your arm—all with a frown etched onto his face. You whimpered at his tight hold, his blunt nails digging deep into your skin. "What were you thinking?! Why were you running through the gardens like some buffoon?!"

"I-I...I was chasing...a rabbit." You peered at him through shaky wet lashes, cheeks burning up in embarrassment. Your sweetheart stared at you in incredulity before a snarky laugh left his lips.

"A rabbit." Riddle seethed, dragging a hand down his face. His pointed glare cut through you as he gestured towards the mess of red. "All that for a rabbit?!"

"I'll have you know that batch of paint is a special import from the Queendom of Roses. We've been waiting for its arrival for months and now you've ruined it with your tomfoolery!" The redhead's chest heaved as he finished his outburst. His skin had turned crimson, and a vein had ticked on his temple. Riddle grabbed a battered bucket beside you, making you avert your gaze towards him.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" He said. Your mouth dropped open, but you found yourself unable to say anything. The longer you kept silent, the more he felt his anger simmer. Riddle's face twisted into a vicious scowl before he threw the bucket full-force at a nearby tree. The resounding bang made you jump, fear gripping your heart.

"I said—" Riddle paused, his tongue screeching to a halt once he saw thick blobs of tears sliding down your face. Silence soon followed. Quickly, his demeanor changed as he finally realized the cruelty and weight of his words.

Muttering obscenities under his breath, Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose. He's done it again, he let his anger get the better of him.

Mistaking his guilt for anger, you cowered before him, watery eyes glued to the ground as you sputtered out sloppy apologies. "I'm s-sorry, Riddle...I'm really sorry."

"No, I—" The redhead let go of your arm, causing you to fall back and crumble to the floor. He scrambled to kneel down beside you, hands hovering over your waist. "Rose, I didn't mean to—"

"I-I have to go." Everyone stared at you with sympathy as you rushed out of the garden, frantically wiping away at the tears on your cheeks. Riddle tried to go after you, but Trey blocked his path. The third-year shook his head, pushing the dormleader back. "Give her some space."

"You can apologize later." Trey sighed. He folded his arms over his chest, looking as if he was about to lecture Riddle. But the look of guilt on his childhood friend's face already told him all he needed to know.

ACT II: JUST LIKE ALICE

Sobs racked through your chest as you rushed through the woods. You didn't know where you were going, you just knew was that you needed to get away. Riddle's words still beat and tore at your poor heart.

So stricken with embarrassment from earlier, you didn't notice an overgrown branch sticking out of the dirt and you tripped, slipping into an agape rabbit hole. You fell through the dirt tunnel; Screaming your lungs out, spinning around wildly in the air, and panicking while tears sprung out of your eyes. Though you soon realized, as minutes passed that you were still falling. The hole seemed to be unending.

"By the great sevens-?!" You soon stopped spinning wildly and instead started floating down. From soaring book shelves, a musty wrinkled bed, a vintage lamp and a broken down piano—The hole around you was filled with all sorts of trinkets and junk.

It took a good 10 minutes before you finally dropped to the ground. Oddly enough, your fall didn't hurt one bit. In fact, it was rather...plush?

Looking down, you found yourself seated on a tremendous pile of pillows. Each pillow was distinct, mainly covered with red and black patchwork—you could only assume it was handmade. There was some sort of symbolism stitched onto it as well, resembling either a heart or playing cards. 

"What in the...Twisted Wonderland?" You gasped, standing up.

Whilst on top of the pillowy mountain, you took the chance to survey the surrounding room. It was a great hallway lined with many doors of all shapes and sizes. The area was fairly big, modeled after Heartslabyul's dorms with its wine-red walls, checkered floors, and peculiar heart-themed architecture.

Was this some sort of secret hideout?

"How curious..." Sliding down the hill of pillows, you decide to survey the hallway. Amongst the doors, you find a small one that's hardly the size of your foot. It was unique from the rest, colored purple and framed by a golden archway instead of the common silver one that others had.

Speculative, you wrapped your fingers around the minuscule handle and turned the door open. You bent down to peek through and catch sight of a beautiful, lush garden. 

A group of flowers danced around in the wind, almost as if they were beckoning you to take a closer look. For some odd reason, it fascinated you. In a trance, you turned back to the room with a new goal in mind. Surely there must be something in here that could take you in?

A banquet table sitting in the far corner caught your eye. It was filled to the brim with fresh pastries and drinks, strange considering no one was here. Though a bit creeped out, you took a gander at the feast lay out before you. Despite the table being so long, there was only one chair present and in front of it was an envelope.

"Curiouser and curiouser." You mutter.

Tearing the top open with your nail, you plucked out the contents of the envelope and caught sight of your name marked in elegant cursive on a lustrous golden card.

"A letter...?" You muttered. What you found was an invitation to a party. "Addressed to me?"

"The Red Queen's Unbirthday party...?" You mumbled, eyes skimming over the text until one line attracted your attention. "—Where His Majesty's Rose shall put on the Nine-Throng Tiara?"

A Tiara? With Nine-Throngs? 

Blinking, you turned back to the stack of pillows. The very tiara you found in your attic was sitting at the top, glimmering under the lights of the hall. Uh...when exactly did that get here?

You squinted your eyes at the line again. "Where she shall put on the Nine-Throng Tiara..."

"Put on the Nine-Throng Tiara?" Pocketing the invitation, you trudged back to the very top of the pillows and took the jewel headdress in your hands. You could only assume that its appearance here right now was the result of magic.

...So it wouldn't be far off to say that it had magical powers, huh? 

Taking a deep breath, you raised it above your head. "Well then, here goes nothing."

After gently setting it atop your head, you soon found a mystical glow engulfing your body. Gasping, you watched as your school uniform shifted and altered into a dress.

The dress was of a sky blue, a long train at its back, pleats along its front; It was decked with lavish lace, delicate embroidery and sewn in with diamonds.

The dress was knee-length and its big bouffant-styled skirt bounced when you walked. For accessories, you had opera-length white gloves and matching white stockings on.

Running your hand up your neck, you noticed how it had a high white lace collar which oddly complimented the black bow tied snug around your waist. The sneakers you had previously worn shifted themselves into dark mary janes, which felt like clouds with every step you took.

"O...kay? A dress-up was not what I was expecting." Sighing, you bunched up the train of your skirt in your hands and rushed back to the banquet table. This time, you took a look at the food and found a champagne bottle labeled "DRINK ME". 

Silently debating if this was a good idea, after a while, you decide to just go for it. Popping the bottle open, you take a quick swig and immediately get hit with a wave of nausea. Gagging, you place the bitter drink down on the table. 

"H-Huh!?" You gasp as the room around you grew bigger and bigger or rather—as you grew smaller and smaller. 

"Oof!" You plopped down onto the floor, the banquet table now towering over you. The drink had managed to shrink you to the right size and it seems that your clothes adjusted accordingly. Clapping your hands, you happily made your way to the golden door and turned the handle. 

Only to find that it was locked.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Furrowing your brows, you continued to furiously fumble with the doorknob. 

"It wasn't locked earlier!" You whined, kicking at the door. Huffing, you turned back once more to the table. A small golden key was seen on top, one that you must have missed earlier. 

Well, it was far too high up for you to reach now that was for sure. While marching up to the key, you spot a cookie marked “EAT ME” hidden behind one of the nearby table legs. 

"Might as well." You shrug, grabbing the cookie. After brushing it off, you move in to take a bite. "This can't possibly get any worst."

"Huh...? W-Woah!" You shriek, looking down at your feet which seemed to be so far off. Just then your head struck against the roof of the hall. "Uff!"

This time, it seems that the cookie caused you to grow to an inordinately large height.

"That hurt..." You grumbled, rubbing the top of your head. At once, you took up the tiny golden key and hurried off to take the champagne bottle, downing the liquid and shrinking back down. With a pep in your step, you rushed towards the door.

"Alright, Wonderland." You pushed the key into the keyhole, turning until you heard a click. 

"What do you have in store for me?"

Stepping into the door, you found yourself in the peculiar garden. 

It was a whimsical wonderland of it's own. The sky was painted in reds and pinks, and the flowers were ones that you've never seen nor heard of before. The only ones familiar to you were the rosebushes which surrounded the area, enclosed around the garden like towering barricades as little butterflies kissed its roses, fluttering about the flora.

"Oi!" Jumping, you whipped your head around to find a familiar pair of ginger and blueberry heads peeking out from a tree. "Who're you?"

Gasping, both of your hands clasped over your mouth. 

"Ace?! Deuce?!" The first-years jumped at your shrill shriek, nervously exchanging glances when their names flew out of your mouth. Both of them stepped away from their hiding spot, cautiously walking towards you. 

"How do y'know my name?" Ace asked. You were about to answer his question, but got distracted once you noticed the ridiculous outfits they were dressed in. Both of them had identical vivid yellow blouses with thick white lapels. Said blouses were paired with high-waisted red slacks and big blue bow-ties.

Snorting, you covered your mouth to conceal your giggles. "W-What's with the goofy fit?" 

"Eh? This is what we wear every day?" Deuce halted, looking down on his outfit. Ace shook his head, slapping his friend by the back of his head. "N-Never-mind that, listen, we have no idea who you are but—"

"Huh...?" You blinked dementedly. "What do you mean you have no idea who I am...? I'm Y/N!"

Both of them stared blankly at each other, then at you. Simultaneously, they bluntly replied. "Who?" 

"Y/N!"

Ace folded his arms across his puffed up chest. "Never heard of 'er."

"Guys, seriously-"

"That dress looks expensive." Deuce noted, "Are you some duchess from out of the kingdom?"

"No! I'm-" You struggled.

"Deuce, I don't know about you...but I think she might be a bit cuckoo in the head." Ace whispered, deliberately backing away from you. "Let's walk away slowly..."

"Alright! Enough with the jokes!" You lashed out. Gathering your skirt in your hands, you frantically rushed towards the two. "Listen to me! I'm-"

"Your majesty!" Popping out of a corner, Trey appeared by your side and scrambled to clumsily curtsy before you. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and square. Stupefied, you stumbled back and gawked at him. "Y-Your majesty?"

It was only then did you notice the two fluffy green bunny ears sitting atop his head. He fumbled with an antique pocket watch, taking a quick glance at the clock before hastily stuffing it into his pocket. Trey wore a plaid red petticoat, dark maroon slacks, and a deep lavender bowtie.

"I apologize for these two." He awkwardly chuckled, kicking at the two boys' knees and forcing them into kneeling positions. Nearly toppling over from the force of Trey's kick, both Ace and Deuce hurriedly crouched down before you.

"We apologize, your highness. We didn't realize it was you..." Deuce trailed off, face spiraling into a ghostly pasty white. "Y-You're not going to cut our heads off, are you?"

"Why—in the everlasting fuck—would I do that?!" You swore, scraping your fingers through your hair and tugging at the strands which made your tiara turn askew. "I don't even know what's going on!"

"Neither do I." All of a sudden, a floating grin appeared in the middle of nowhere, manifesting itself out of thin air. Then, a head and body slowly appeared in a cloud of lavender mist. A purple-haired cat-beastman appeared before you, tail swishing around gracefully as he smoked a long hookah.

The cat looked at you for some time in silence, his face obscured by the thick purple mist he was smoking. At last, he took the hookah out of his mouth, and addressed Trey in a languid voice. "My~ You guys are really giving our rose a headache!"

The smoke cleared to reveal a familiar face grinning at you.

"Che'nya?! You're here too?!" You gasped.

"Yes~ Hello, there. Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka at your service," He bows.

"I have to say! It's great to see you here, your highness!" Che'nya chortled, floating up into the air and spinning around playfully. "Your husband turned the entire kingdom upside down looking for you."

Jolting, you pressed your palm flat to your chest in shock. "M-My husband?!"

"Yesss~" Che'nya drawled, floating around without a care in the world. "Your queen has gone mad ever since you've gone, your highness."

"My queen?!" Is your bewildered response.

"Yes, your majesty. Erm...the 'queen' is a he." Trey confirmed. "Queen Rosehearts has been in a state of panic since you've disappeared weeks ago."

Nodding along, Che'nya gestures to the bright red ring on your hand. You gape at the jewel, eyes ripped wide open. Where did that come from? What is with you and random jewelry popping out of nowhere? No, most importantly—you were married to Riddle?!

You tilt your head up, meeting everyone's eyes in a panicked state.

"This is a dream," Slowly backing away, you cradled your head in your hands. The gravity of the situation you were in was finally sinking in.

As you guessed, this was an extremely lucid and well-crafted dream. It had to be a dream. What other reason was there?

Most likely, you were in the forest right now, having fallen unconscious after tripping over that branch. Yes, truly, you must have hit your head somewhere.

In a daze, you gestured to the world around you. "Yes. Yes, this is a dream."

With that logic in mind, you were safely held inside the comforting quarters of your own head. 

"You!" You bellow and point a rigid finger at Deuce. The poor boy tensed up, fear striking him like thunder as you moved towards his incapacitated frame. Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you pulled him towards you and spat out an order,

"Punch me." 

Instantaneously, his horror-stricken expression melts into one of confusion. You want him to do what now?

"Erm.." Deuce furrows his brows, closes his eyes and clutches his chin, pondering. 

Surely, it was against the law to punch the Queen's Rose? If Riddle got the slightest whiff of what he's done, he's a dead man. Then again, disobeying direct orders from royalty was also a crime, was it not? 

He was torn.

Deuce sighs, moistening his lips as he meets your frenzied gaze. Ah, well...either way, this was a lose-lose situation for him.

"A-As you wish." Raising his arm, he smashed a rough fist against your cheek. The blow caused your head to violently whip back as you stumbled to the ground. 

Minutes pass and yet, to your chagrin, apart from the growing bruise on your cheek, nothing has changed. You blink incessantly, brows drawn tight together. 

"That's odd. Punching usually does the trick." You murmur, concurrently confused and dizzy. Trey helped you up and considered your condition with reckoning eyes. "Your majesty, have you hit your head somewhere? Or maybe you're sick? You're acting...odd."

"Oh, well—First off, I fell down a rabbit hole. Then there were pillows, tiny doors—and-and other things I can't even make sense of!" You gestured grandly around, acting out the various things you've experienced but Trey doesn't seem to appreciate your ramblings, continuing to stare at you like you were a madman. 

You huff and scoured the vast open gardens as if you could find the culprit who had created this insane world. "This is all so insane, weird, a-and—and mad!”

"Oh, your highness, everyone here is mad. Especially you~!" Che'nya cackled, throwing his head back in amusement. He floated towards you, wrapping his lithe tail around your waist. "Ah, but while I do enjoy the little show you're putting on. We really have to get you back to the castle. Can't really have our kingdom's rose wandering around the forest with memory loss, hm?"

In a snap of his fingers, a map appeared before you.

"This, your highness, is the Red Castle. That's where you reside." Che'nya tapped his fingertip against the very center where an illustration of a castle was shown. It was quite nicely done, nearly to the point of obsessive architectural intricacy.

"Trey, I trust you'll take them there?" Che'nya purrs, head tilting to the side, knuckles pushing up against his cheek.

"Of course. I'll make sure you return home safe, your majesty." Trey responded, one of his bunny ears swiveling. 

Once again, he checked his watch, anxiety gripping him as a trickle of sweat dripped down onto the glass frame. After a while, he pocketed it and reached his hand out to you. "We must leave now. I'm already running late for the unbirthday party. The opening ceremony starts in 3 hours..."

'Curious and curiouser...This is not so bad a dream,' you thought as you intertwined your fingers with his. 'Perhaps I should stay a while.'

ACT III: A WATCHFUL EYE

"Hey! Bunny—We really had to go this way?" Ace groaned, holding onto the train of your skirt as to not sully it on the dirt ground.

"It's the quickest way to the castle. You know we can't waste any more time." Trey pressed, directing your group deeper into the woods. 

"Yeah, yeah! You told me that earlier. I just don't get why I gotta follow? That cat-guy dipped the moment we stepped a foot into this place." Ace pouted, kicking a nearby pebble away.

"Oh, is that so? Well then, feel free to go back." Trey scorned, taking the train of your dress away from Ace's hands and grasping it in his own. "It's not like I'm forcing you to come along. Surely that would make you happier?"

"Fine by me!" The ginger scoffed, crossing his arms and proceeding to go the other way.

Rolling his eyes, Trey pressed a hand by your back and continued guiding you through the forest. Only for you to come to a halt, digging your heels to the ground. "Wait."

"Your majesty?" The bunny noticed how your eyes flickered to Ace's retreating form briefly, concern swimming around your bright orbs. 

"Will he be alright? I'm not so sure he even remembers where we came from..." You sighed. "We can't really leave him behind. Especially in this forest, of all places."

Trey stays silent, a warm smile spreading across his cheeks. Ah, so the tales were true. Tales of the Queen's Rose and their never-ending compassion. Hearsay's of how they pardon offenders sent to the dungeon cells or to the pillory of a guillotine.

"Don't worry, your majesty," Trey chuckled. "He'll be crawling after us in a few minutes."

Shaking your head, you grimaced. "If you say so."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"That damn bunny. Makin' me go into this creepy place." Ace seethed through gritted teeth, stomping back from where he came from. "Like hell I'm wasting my time helping that crazy missy."

As he trudged through the dirt pathway, a branch cracked in the far distance and he froze. Fear gripped him in it's grasp as a cool chill seeped into his bones, creeping all the way up to his spine. 

Ahm...was it just him, or was the sky darker now?

Gulping, Ace's eyes darted around the forest. The wind howled and screeched, the tall decaying branches of rotting trees reached out to him like talons, and the gloomy shadows in the distance morphed into twisted, deformed faces.

Yeah, no. He was out.

"O-Oi! Guys, on second thought, a hike is just what I need!" Ace disputes, struggling for breath as he chased after you. "Guys?!"

As Ace skittered after you, he was completely oblivious to the ominous gaze pinned to his back. 

Obscured behind a cluster of trees, a raven, perched atop a log, looked straight at your group with a lidded stare—unblinking and as still as a statue.

Once you were all out of it's sight, the raven spread it's wings and took off into the sky. It soared through the woodlands, fleetly gliding around the large trees of a forest and wide grassy plains before reaching the Queen's domain.

Grey mist and thin fog cut through the streets of the kingdom while a looming feeling of dread permeated through the air. The past few weeks of searching have not been merciful to the people, it seems. Everyone has felt the full effect of the rose's disappearance.

Once the bird reached the territory of the Red Castle, it swoops and dips down to a balcony. The Knave of Knights stood by his desk in his bedroom, reading over letters and declarations from the Queen. Just a few beheadings to schedule here and there, nothing too difficult.

The loud flap of wings drew his attention away from the desk. A leering smirk stretches across his face as he stands and leisurely strolls over to the bird.

"Birdie~ Back so soon? Have you found them?" He purrs, cocking his head. The leather pads of his glove stroke lightly at the crow's head as it squawks a response. "Hmm~? The queen's favorite trio of lunatics is taking her here?"

Chucking, the Knave clasped his hands around his sallet—lazily pulling his helmet off and allowing his ginger hair to cascade down his shoulders. The iron of his cuirassier plate armor glinted under the glare of the sun, refined and battle-scarred though peculiarly lavishly decorated. It seemed to serve more as a fashion statement than actual protection.

"Well then~ Let's go pay Queen Red a visit, lil' Cay-Cay." Cater muses, scratching the side of his cheek.

"Hopefully that rabbit can handle it. It's going to be MY head on the pillory if she doesn't return home safe."

ACT IV: STRAWBERRY JAM

"SOMEONE HAS TAKEN THREE OF MY TARTS!"

The doors to the throne-room thrash open, smashing hard against the walls. Servants and soldiers alike startled, groveling in fear as they forced their gaze towards the entryway. In all his full glory, the Red Queen appears, adorned in his usual white dress suit. 

His face was tinted in a deep bloody red, pupils dilated into mere pin-pricks, and thin lips stretched out into a snarl. The wisps of his lashes cast a bold shadow across his plump cheekbones, the brush of scarlet eyeshadow above his eyes intensifying his scornful gaze.

Card soldiers frantically scramble to line up by the pathway as Riddle prowls around the room, his signature cape tossed over his left shoulder, dragging along the floor as he went. Snarling, he points his golden scepter to a soldier standing by the end of the line. "Was it you?!"

"N-No my queen..." 

"You?!" Riddle bellows, swiveling his scepter to point to one of your handmaids this time. Whimpering, she shook like a leaf in her shoes, wringing a washcloth tight in her hands. "I-It w-was not me, my queen."

A sudden movement, on the fringes of his peripheral vision, caught his attention. Turning around, his gaze was drawn to a chef standing near the door. The boy appeared to be no more than fifteen years old. Riddle assumed he was a mere apprentice.

The chef popped his fingers in his mouth, seemingly humming at it's taste. How...odd.

Squinting his eyes, Riddle strides towards the apprentice. He approached the boy, pushing him back until his back was flush against the window's tinted glass panes.

"And how about you...?" Riddle seethes, leaning down close to the chef's face. A wobbly grin presents itself on the boy's lips as he stutters out a greeting. 

"Tsk." Tutting, Riddle places his scepter below the apprentice's chin, flicking the boy's gaze up. His crimson eye darts to the side of the chef's lips where a smidge of jam could be faintly seen. 

"Miscreant." Riddle snarls, dragging the boy forward by his apron. Falling forward, the subject scrapes his skin against the floor—a look of horror seeping onto his face as he kneels before his queen. 

"OFF WITH HIS HEAD." Riddle screams, slamming the bottom of his scepter onto the ground which discharged a burst of magic. A collar manifested itself around the chef's neck, so heavy that it weighed his entire upper body down—making him fall.

Panicking, he writhed around on the ground but could not muster enough strength to bring his head up due to the sheer weight of the restraints.

"No! Please!" Indifferent to the pleads of his victim, Riddle scoffs and struts towards his throne, heels noisily clicking against the marble. Moving swiftly, a pair of soldiers grabbed the offender by his arms, dragging him out of the room. As the screaming crook was taken out, the doors shut close with a resounding bang.

"My apologies for the disturbance." Sighing, Riddle reclines against his throne, cape draped across his shoulder and cascading down to his lap. Grumbling, he pushes his hair back—half-lidded gaze piercing through the crowd before him.

"All of you return to your previous duties." He orders. Though hesitant, gradually, the servants resumed to their previous tasks around the castle, toiling silently as to avoid further aggravating the Red Queen. 

Riddle sighs and sinks onto his throne, rubbing at the scorch in his eyes. The warm beaming light of the sun cascaded down his flushed face as he reflected over his previous actions

Was he too harsh with his punishment? After all, you've always resented the way he dealt with delinquents so...intently.

Riddle sighs, tilting his head back. Perhaps he should have—

A frown etched itself deep onto his cheeks. 

No. That chef deserved every bit of punishment sent his way. It was a general and well-known rule in the castle that no one must consume the tarts baked in preparation for an unbirthday party. Only a fool would forget it. 

"It was justified," He huffs. "I am clearly in the right," Riddle consoles himself. 

Behind the draping crimson curtains of the throne room, a tall figure steps out—adorned in a full suit of armor. The Red Queen glances at the stranger, immediately recognizing the tangerine strands peeking out through the openings of his helmet.

"Knave." Riddle murmurs, addressing Cater with a simple glare. Unfazed, Cater bows with a cheery grin before striding over to the queen's side. Plopping himself onto the arm of the chair, Cater leans down to wrap an arm around Riddle. "Hiya~!"

"That was certainly the performance of a lifetime earlier. It was theatre worthy!" The Knave snickers, eyes sweeping across the room, rejoicing at the horrified looks the servants send him. 

'How dare a mere knave like him act so friendly with the red queen?!' He could already hear their hushed whispers. 'Was he mad?'

'Mayhaps.' Cater chuckles, eyes turning dark.

"Anyhow~! Boy, do I have some good news for you." Cater laughs, mood switching over like a light switch. He pulls off his helmet, fanning his face with his hands. "Man, it's so hot in here. Like—Who installed the ventilation?"

Riddle clicks his tongue, pushing the knave away. "I am in no mood for your shenanigans. Come back some other time."

"Ugh, if you say so." Cater sighs, slipping off the throne and turning his back to the queen. "I guess you don't want to hear about how my little pet found your rose. Toodles!"

"What?" Riddle snaps, pulling Cater back by his arm. "Repeat that at once."

Cater smiles. 

He turns to Riddle with a cold dead look in his eyes. "Ara~? Didn't you say you weren't in the mood? Don't worry. I'll come back later. For now, I'll be on my merry way~"

"Do not test me, knave." Riddle seethes, hands coiling tight around his scepter. Cater hummed, waiting a second or so before responding. 

"Little Cay-Cay found her with the bunny and the tweedle duo. They were trekking through the forest." He rasps, toying with the half painted rose brooch on Riddle's suit pocket. "I think that little baker bunny of yours is escorting her here."

"Find them." Riddle growls, baring his teeth. Cater blinked languidly, confusion written all over his features. "Why would I do that? Like I said, they're already bringing her here—"

"I said find them!" The red queen snaps, slamming his fist down onto the arm of his throne. Cater stares at him with a passive expression, unmoving and watching Riddle's every movement carefully.

Well, this certainly ruined his plans. What a travesty.

"As you wish..." He kneels, slipping his helmet back onto his head. "...your majesty." 

ACT V: THE KNAVE

Despite the initial creepiness, it was quite nice to take a walk in the forest. 

Owls hooted and birds chirped in the darkness as golden-orange leaves fluttered in the wind. The soft cool breeze occasionally reached out to caress your cheeks. Nature was at pure harmony with each other here, melting into a single combined melody that provided your group with peaceful ambience.

"The gates are just up ahead. It'll lead us directly to the castle grounds." Trey divulged, tilting his head towards a distant outline of a castle. 

You took a deep breath and took in the crisp woodland air, letting it fill your lungs before exhaling it out. The anticipation of what was to come made your hands clammer as a wave of nervousness washed over you.

"Hi~! Oh, Miss Majesty!" The clippety-clop of hooves made its way towards you. Seated on a gigantic beauty of a black stallion, a rider halted before you. 

"Oh! U-Um..." Gasping, you gathered your skirt and stumbled back. Tilting your head up, you gazed up at the stranger, "Ah...are you some kind of royal guard?"

The mysterious armor-clad rider laughs, shaking his head. "Hmm...close to that! Actually, I'm a knave!" 

"The name is Cater Diamond. At your service." Cater bowed. His horse too mimicked his actions as it bent a knee and curtseyed before you. Giggling, you raised a hand to gently pet at the stallion's mane. It seemed to revel in the gesture as it relaxed and huffed in satisfaction.  

"Ah. Cater, I-I didn't expect to see you here." Trey fiddled with his glasses, a ruminative look on his face. The chef kept himself guarded, stepping a few feet away. Cater side-eyed him, smiling ominously. "Hiyaa~ Trey! Nice to see you and your little tweedle boys."

Deuce and Ace frowned, glaring at the smug aristocrat. Folding his arms over his chest, Trey sighed. "Yeah...nice to see you." 

"Mhm~ Now!" Cater clapped his hands. "While I really do appreciate you bringing our Miss Majesty back to the kingdom...I do believe there's an unbirthday party coming up? Well, it would be best if you commoners—Ah, excuse me—participants went ahead and started preparing."

All three had the same smoldering frown branded onto their faces. They were clearly irked at the not-so-subtle dig Cater sent their way. It’s becoming a bit of a ritual: every time the knave would meet any of them there was always some snarky comment sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"I dunno' if you're blind or anythin', but we're kinda busy." Ace scoffed, tilting his head over to you. "She still has to get into that castle." 

"Ah, about that! Don't worry~ I'll take things over and bring the rose to the castle." Cater grins at you, patting down his horse. "Miss Majesty, wouldn't you prefer riding a great stallion instead of...how horrifying...walking?"

"Oh, I really don't mind walking. I think I'll just—"

"Great!" Before you could finish your sentence, Cater leans down and wraps a firm steady arm around your bottom. You flinch, pushing your hands against his shoulders. "H-Hey!"

"Easy now, Miss Majesty." He hoists you up onto his horse, securely placing you atop the saddle. The train of your dress was now bunched up by your hips as you sat sideways on the stallion. 

"You're so relentless." You huff, smacking Cater's iron clad chest. Only to end up regretting it when your palm started to throb from the impact. Hissing, you drew your hand back.

What a surprise. Who knew hitting someone decked in full armor wasn't a good idea?

“It would be unrefined for me to leave her with someone—someone like you!” Trey bristles, dashing over to pull you off the horse but Cater was quick to shove him away.

“Oh, please, bunny. I insist,” Cater replies firmly. “You're a busy man, Trey. I—of all people—know the importance of keeping a well-ordered schedule and you know fully well how Queen Rosehearts hates being off schedule."

Trey stays silent, keeping his gaze glued to his feet.

Grinning wryly, Cater starts guiding his horse in the direction of the castle. "Well, then~ Toodles! We'll see you three at the party."

With a whip of his reins, both of you were off.

In haste, you turned your head around, bidding adieu to the trio as they waved back.

ACT VI: MAD PARTY

The journey to the castle was fairly long, yet you found yourself enjoying the sights and bustle of the city blurring past you while the people greeted you with robust gaiety and mirth.

When the clouds parted to reveal the sun, you noticed that your eyes stung as you peered up at the strangely pink sky. It wasn't the intense brightness of the sky; rather, it had a shade that brought back memories of late afternoons spent in Heartslabyul, petting pink flamingos while lying on the grass with Riddle's head on your lap.

Following unbirthday celebrations, it was routine for you two to relax while just enjoying each other's company.

Ah, that's right...the unbirthday party. In fact, now that you think about it, there was an unbirthday planned in your "reality" as well. It was the day after today, and the entire dorm was overrun with work.

A painful sting crept up your heart as you remembered the events that transpired earlier. Oh, you must have ruined Riddle's preparations...no wonder he was so livid.

The horse slowed to a stop as you reached the entryway of the castle. It was in essence of a Victorian design. With its mosaic of red cobblestone and brick, it stood there—tall and bold, as though conjured from a child's fairytale.

Cater slipped off his horse and held out a hand for you to take. "Shall we? Ah, but, you do know that your presence is mandatory at an unbirthday party?"

"Yes, I do. We shall." You smile and take his hand as he carries you off the horse, setting you down onto the ground. The knave led you to the back of the castle, where a garden—or, more accurately, a yard—was at.

A big rose-tree at the entryway drew your attention. The roses growing on it were white, but there were two gardeners at it, busily painting them red.

"How curious..." You mutter. "It's just like back in Heartslabyul..."

"Pardon? What was that, your majesty?" Cater questioned, a brow raised. You shook your head, faking a cough. "Ah—Erm—Nevermind that it was just a slip of tongue."

"Oh. Alright..." He regarded you with a skeptical look. "Well then. I'll leave you to it. I have to go fetch Queen Rosehearts."

"Do enjoy the party." With a final bow, Cater strode away, leaving you alone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The party was bustling and filled with patricians dressed in colorful, silky lavish garbs and glimmering jewels. The majority of the men and women were dressed considerably more extravagantly than you. It was a charming small extravaganza that everyone seemed to enjoy.

They were all huddled around by a grand large banquet table, but you weren't interested in that at all.

Among the guests, you recognized Trey. He appeared to be speaking to a card soldier in a hasty, anxious manner, smiling at everything the soldier said and passing you by unnoticed. The bunny was clearly preoccupied; you decided to leave him be this time.

You turned back to the gardeners painting the rosebushes. What a very curious thing...and you went nearer to watch them.

Just as you came up to them, one of them nearly splashed you with a dash of paint. You pulled your skirt out of the way, narrowly missing a drop of red. "Oh, my!"

"Oi! Look out, Deuce! Don’t go splashing paint over like that!" You peered up at the gardeners, noticing two familiar faces.

Ace and Deuce were engaged in a heated argument, flinging their brushes and buckets around.

“I couldn’t help it! You jogged my elbow!" Deuce snarled, throwing his brush at Ace. Screeching, the ginger dodged it. "Oh yeah! That’s right, Deuce! Always lay the blame on others!”

Deuce flung down his paintbucket, and had just begun to roll his sleeves up "Say that again—” when his eye chanced to fall upon you. As you stood watching them, he checked himself suddenly. Ace looked round also, and both of them quickly bowed low. "Your majesty!"

"You know. You ought to stop fighting if you want to get this done," you mused. "Queen Rosehearts is coming, boys. Make sure to get that done or it's—"

You swiped your finger across your neck, hinting at what was to happen if the two didn't straighten up. "Off with your head."

The tweedle duo visibly tensed up. "Yes, your majesty!" They shouted, rushing back to paint the unblemished white roses. At this moment, Trey, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called out: “The Queen is here!"

The people gathered by the entryway, and you looked round, eager to see your Queen. Murmurs and whispers spread through the crowd as the procession started.

First came a crowd of card soldiers, decked in military uniforms that were reminiscent of Heartslabyul's dorm uniforms. Then followed the Knave of Hearts, Cater was seated atop his horse, head stuck up high in the air. As he waltzed by, you could hear the murmurs and giggles of young women and men around you. Smiling, you shook your head as he winked at a flustered servantboy. 'What a charmer...'

Last of all, the trumpets blared an ear-piercing blow as the highlight of this grand procession came.

"His Imperial Majesty, His grace, His excellency, His Royal Majesty...The Red Queen, Riddle Rosehearts!"

The people round you bowed down yet you were rather doubtful whether you ought to lie down like them or approach the procession. So you stood still where you were, and waited. When the procession came by you, they all halted.

A moment of pure silence envelops the scene. Everyone in the garden gawked at you, placing you in a spotlight. A bashful smile came upon your face as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Hi..?"

"Rose." Riddle muttered, shock radiating from his entire being. The scepter he'd been carrying was discarded on the floor carelessly as he surged towards you, dragging you into his arms. Gasping, you eagerly sank into his embrace as the surrounding crowd erupted in cheers. Riddle drew back and pressed his lips heatedly against yours, making you feel faint.

My, the Riddle in this world was certainly much more forward than the one in yours.

"Oh, my dear." Riddle swoons, raising your hands and pressing his lips against your knuckles. "Dearest, I've been worried sick. I thought you'd gone forever."

Heart melting, you whispered, "Well, I'm here now.", and traced the side of his face.

Riddle leaned against your touch; He tucked his arm affectionately into yours and pulled you in to join the procession.

As you soon noticed, you were walking by Trey, who was peeping anxiously at a paper.

"Hello, Trey" You greeted. "—where’s Che'nya?"

“Hush!” He said in a low, hurried tone. He looked anxiously over at Riddle who was preoccupied with adjusting the large bow to your dress. Trey leaned over, putting his mouth close to your ear as he whispered "Che'nya is under sentence of execution."

“What for?” You hushed, eyes wide as a plate. Trey opened his mouth to speak but before he could—you were pulled off into the croquet grounds by Riddle.

"What a lovely day for croquet. Don't you think, rose?" Riddle smiled, pressing his lips against your knuckles once more. He pulled you forward, chest flush against yours as his hands rest against your hips. Stammering, your cheeks burned up at his bold affections. "O-Oh! Yes! Very much! Though I don't know if I have the energy for a game right now."

"Alright then. Feel free to rest a while." Riddle seats you down a round table filled with pastries. Riddle discards his cape, revealing the handsome the 3-piece suit he had underneath.

The queen plucks a rose from a nearby bush and nips away its thorns. He presses a fleeting kiss against your lips whilst threading the rose into your hair. "Stay here, dearest. I'll be back."

ACT VII: OFF WITH HIS HEAD

Well...the croquet game wasn't going so well. The players all played at once without waiting for turns, overeager to get Riddle's attention. They quarreled all the while and ran around scrambling for the hedgehogs and flamingos.

It was complete anarchy.

The very thing Riddle hated.

In a very short time the Queen was in a furious passion, and went shouting “Off with his head!” or “Off with her head!” roughly once every minute. You become overwhelmed in the midst of this mayhem and fled to the safety of the banquet table. There weren't many individuals present. Only a few people lingered and loitered around.

Pouring yourself tea, a hand suddenly wraps around yours as purple mists surrounds you. A second later, a grin appears. "Hello, your majesty."

"Che'nya!" Now fully visible, the cat stops smoking his hookah and blows smoke in your face. "We meet again."

Coughing, you swat the smoke away. "Ufh— Y-Yes! How are you?! I heard you were sentenced to be executed!"

"Oh yes," Che'nya yawned, resting his head atop the banquet table. "I escaped the guards. Queen Rosehearts didn't like it when I took his crown."

"You took his crown?!" You screamed out a little laugh and Che'nya grinned madly. "Yes~ Oh, you should've seen his face when he realized it was missing! It was like a strawberry about to explode! Ah—but you seem quite down. What is the matter?"

“It's the croquette game,” You began, in rather a complaining tone, “Everyone is quarrelling so dreadfully and Riddle's temper has exploded again.”

“Hmmm. Tell me, how do you tolerate the Queen?” said the Cat in a low voice. "Seeing that you're married to him and all, silly girl."

“Well, tolerate is a mean word. He's not all that bad,” You soothed, fiddling with the rose in your hair: "I think you’d take a fancy to him if you could only see just how caring he is."

"People will always look at their lovers with a love-tinted gaze." Che'nya purrs, leaning his head atop yours. "Prime example being you, silly girl~"

"How dare you speak to her that way."

Just then you noticed that Riddle was close behind you, listening. Jolting, you moved away from the cat and accidentally dropped your tea cup. The piece of china clattered to the ground, spilling its contents all over the green grass. Paying no mind to the mess, the queen pulled you towards him, protectively shielding you from the cat.

"I remember you. You're the thief. Tell me, how did you manage to worm your way in here?" Riddle pointedly snaps. "I'll have you know this breaks a rule in the—"

“A cat may look at a king,” interrupts Che'nya, smoking his hookah. "That is the only rule I've bothered to remember and I’ve read that in some rulebook, but I don’t remember which one. There's so many dreadful rules. How do you manage to memorize it all? Ah—apologies—I forget that you have such a big head."

With every passing comment from the cat, Riddle's fury simmered and grew anew. The cat looked up at the royal with a wide grin.

"You are brilliant and astute," he slurred, while Riddle neither acknowledged nor protested the remark. "Yet you are a tyrant and that rose of yours is a willing little sheep."

A deafening silence soon followed. The shock locked Riddle's bones together; a coldness seeping into his bones, making his skin feel akin to ice as his chest filled with hostility and ire. You felt a muscle underneath your throat tighten, but you gave both men a quick nervous smile and nudged Riddle to the side. "O-Oh darling, let's go somewhere else. Maybe you'd like to sit down? I-It's so hot and—"

"Sheep? A sheep you say?" Riddle barks, his hands clenched into fists—trembling at his sides. You wanted to calm him, but did not have the opportunity to do so as his voice cut through the thick tension in the air.

"Why it would be the very height of your arrogance to presume." Riddle seethes, pointing his scepter at the cat. The queen's eyes glowed an immense red, magical energy swirling around him. "As punishment for your crimes...it's off with your head. I'm going to tear your head off with my bare hands if I have to."

"You can try~" Che'nya grinned.

The Cheshire cat lunged towards Riddle, tossing the queen's scepter away. It all moved so quickly that your eye could barely follow the sudden shift of repressed anger to outright violence.

They had gone down to the grass together, knocking the banquet table over, spilling the pastries and tea to the ground. Riddle sagged him by the shoulders, fist smashing against the cat's face. Che'nya's lip had split, and drops of blood fell onto the lawn like the strawberry jam of smashed tarts. 

In the midst of the fight, a glimmering object in Che'nya's hands caught your eye. You saw him grab a stray knife, pastel blue frosting still spread on it, and the sight of it shocked you into action.

"NO!"

ACT VIII: THROUGH THE WINDOW

"NO!" You scream, half of fright and half of anger, and kicked your legs around. Startling yourself awake in a fit, you found yourself lying on top of a clinic bed, limbs soaked in sweat—the smell of alcohol and anti-septics sobering you up. "Wh-What?"

All of a sudden, warm hands cupped your damp cheeks. You met Riddle's worried gaze as he wiped your tears away. The dorm leader slipped into the chair next to your bed, pushing you to lie down. "It's just a nightmare, dearest."

Your gaze flitted around the room, stopping once you saw something shimmering on your bedside table. The tiara was discarded to your side; Its once luminous blue gem was now gone, leaving an empty space in its wake. Looking down, you found yourself in your paint-stained uniform, skin feeling awfully crusty from the dry paint.

'It was just a dream...?' you ponder.

"What's the matter? Please tell me what's wrong." Riddle fussed over your disheveled appearance. Your face perspired with sweat and your hair was a tumble about your shoulders; He combed it with his fingers, careful to not pull at any tangles and knots. "Rose? Dearest? Are you alright?"

No, you wanted to say. It was hard to breathe, and there was a thick, unpleasant feeling weighing down your heart. It made your head spin. Riddle ran a hand up and down your back as you took a deep, shaky breath, trying to reorient yourself. Despite the apprehension in your chest, you gave a single nod to your worried lover. "Yes. I'm just shaken up."

"Love.."

"Everythings fine." You force out. Though, you’re really saying it to yourself. You can't stop the aching in your chest and you surely can't silence the echo of his ruthless words replaying in your mind.

"Oh, dearest." Riddle murmured, his heart breaking.

The redhead slips in bed with you, dragging you in the comfort and safety of his arms. He sighs in relief when you don't push him away, instead scooting over to press against him. The smell of his cologne invades your senses, grounding you as he rests his head against yours. "I am so sorry. I have been too hard on you."

"When Ace found you passed out in the forest, I was beside myself with anguish...." Guilt washed over his face. The dorm leader had no use for pride, not now when you were in this condition. He hopes that his apology, meager though it has been, will be enough.

"Had-Had I known you were sick, I wouldn't have been so—I deeply apologize. I should not have let my anger get the best of me. I was a fool to get so heated over something as simple as spilled paint. I hadn't even checked if you were alright." Riddle mutters.

"I'm sorry too. Though, I'm just glad it's over." You breathed out, resting against his chest. Then you regarded him with a pointed stare. "Humph. You have to make it up to me, though."

"Of course. Thank you, rose." Riddle hesitates for a moment and then, brazenly, leans forward and gives you a quick peck on the lips.

“Oh! How bold~” You tease with a wry grin, giggling madly like a Victorian lady who just held hands with her lover for the very first time. Riddle flushes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Shaking his head, he composes himself, coughing into the sleeve of his shirt. "Am I not allowed to show you affection?"

"Oh no, I adore it." Chuckling, you reached out your hand, and Riddle eagerly took it. He pressed his lips against your forehead as you stared out the window in front of you.

While the sun sank, the sky was tinged with bleeding reds and violets. You spent the next several minutes wondering whether what you'd just witnessed was truly a 'dream' when you saw a strange appearance in the air. That baffled you at first, but after observing it for a minute or two, you realized it was a sharp toothed-grin.

Sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off was Che'nya. When he smoked his hookah and blew smoke about himself, a purple magical mist encircled him. The Cheshire cat grinned at you with a split lip before fading away.

How curious.

—TAGLIST:

꒰ ♡🧷: this is a series! to be tagged, comment here. if you want to be tagged for ALL of my works, comment here

@keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisonioushearts @kawaiipotatoghost @ramvuda @sweeneyblue1 @the-lost-anime-dad@kyraxiyn @mayaaaeo  @tbhyknow  @eeveelutiontrainerr  @jelsah27 @as-the-moon-blooms  @bonleyweeb @ch0c0shortiie @unspokenlly

[samodivaa]

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 1)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Part 2⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 3 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Warnings - heavy angst, betrayal, smut, non consensual, dom!Soldat. rough!Soldat Words - 2000

Bucky was already waiting on the couch, tormented by the decision he has made – to confront her. Y/n enters their shared apartment, carelessly smiling at him. She seemed so generous about her love – a constant presence and support since the fight on the airport years ago. Grace and patience and consideration is what she made him master once again, these little qualities are in his control, thanks to her kind soul. Y/n helped him forgive himself and he chose to return love and compassion, chose to fight his past. Wakanda was their secret - beautiful and peaceful. Her heart was born open and although his hands were empty at the time, he filled them with the soft fire made from the two ember eyes. The dreamy mind is full, overflows with tender memories… When she enters a room, it blazes with red, pink, roses, but behind her blossomed spirit stood a façade he was not aware of. The floral presence is poisoned, spreading into him. And just like the deadly nightshade, she is indeed is a poisonous flower.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks coldly, taking a sip of his bottle before putting it back on the table. A stressed dove, mournfully looking at her as he gets up. "How long?" he asks again. „Bucky, what is the matter with you?“ There won’t be a chance of escape, he steps closer, towering over her as some sort of a warning. He just came back to life, laying under the warmth of it and is already being burned by the person who he trusted the most. Abstained for far too long, he needs to hear her says it – he needs the truth to devour his life. "Can I ask what happened to your neck?" pointing to her neck, his tone is still neutral, but his eyes are exhausted by the phantom following his mind the past days. Love makes knots, now it is brutally tearing them apart. He ran from the darkness of his nightmares for so long, only to find himself in a situation darker still. „I don’t know“ she is wearing a turtleneck shirt, she hates those – inside she is crumbling as much as her lies. “You don’t know?” his tone strays to the realms of anger – it consumes him, fear ensnares her until her back hits the wall behind, Bucky not withdrawing from her face even for a moment “Who was it?“

"No one, Bucky" she manages to retain her posture, not giving him the satisfaction of telling the truth. The blade of her words hit a nerve. "You’re terrible at lying" He crosses his hands, nails digging into his arms. Silence looms for a while before he nods, his dearest love painting his misery and his eyes ache with the weight of the unspoken truth. “So no explanation, got it" „I don’t know how I got them…“ Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly, trying to shackle his intention of breaking something. "So you have no idea what happened to your neck? Are you making fun of me or do you have brain damage“ his tone finally rises as he takes the collar of her shirt between his metal fingers, pulling it down rashly to reveal the bite marks. The image wraps around his throat as a wreath of spikes. “Who did that to your neck, because I am sure that it was not me“ „Jesus Bucky, why are you so angry, I didn’t do anything. We literally spend most-“ He laughs devilishly, still holding her by the colar. “Just so many bad things happening in my life. Nothing important, nothing new, just one thing after another, you know?” There is no such thing as life for him , it's just catastrophe. Unmoored and alone, his eyes become full of tears. The only still part is his body. He gives her one more chance to say something, to explain herself in any way, but the silence is pain chiselled forever into his chest, it hurts more than words. "Don’t be angry, please…let me go…“ "Don’t be angry…don’t be angry" he whispers as a lullaby, staring into her teary eyes. His eyebrows furrowed at her audacity to even cry. "We shared a life and you to cheated on me" His favorite beauty and terror on myriad levels keep her silence. He decides to let go of her collar, his fingers clenching to fists as their drop weightlessly to the sides of his body. "You expect me to believe this…? Really, y/n?” he says , his expression is still angry, but it appears softer "If you didn’t want to tell me because you‘re afraid, it‘s fine. Just be honest and tell me that, why are you still lying? That hurts me more than you think." „I am not…“ He stands there unmoving, staring at her and it seems like he‘s still processing this realty of her not having any concern towards him. Her mind is resting whilst his is grieving, wondering and reasoning. He can’t gain control of his dreadful spirit, he is the shell he was back at Wakanda. A tear runs down from the wet, dreamful eyes, landing on his cheek as he looks down, trying to hide it from her. Bucky takes a step away from her and rubs his eyes. His hands are shaking and it‘s obvious that he doesn’t want to cry in front of her. Their love is his apparition, a figment of his imagination. He observe her for a moment, he is dying in that house, buried underneath the floor of their shared past and she just watches it unfold. Bucky finally shakes his head in disbelief. "So you‘re telling me you have no idea where that bruise came from?" a weak laugh escapes his lips, choking back a sob. „You’re lying, I know it“ he says in a calm voice, but there was a quiet threat hidden beneath it. „I don’t want to leave, Bucky“ "And I don‘t want to get cheated on" he counters with an angry scream as his pain is infinite at this point. All kind of thoughts stirring inside of him. „I won’t say it wasn’t meant to be, because it was. We were. Only for a short while, maybe. But we were.“ It makes him tremble to remember their daily life, but now he is unsure which pain is worse: the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will. „I can’t tell you...I can’t...I will leave“ she whispers, having found a comfort in hiding. "Fine, leave then!” Bucky snarls, before he spins around as his heavy footsteps resonate through the quiet room, but he stops himself to look at her for the last time – the end of the line.

Bucky watches her leave, already nostalgic for his love. He doesn’t say a word, not even bothering to close the door as he stands in the doorstep, watching her go. Y/n notices him staring from the darkness of the doorway as she makes her way into the world. Bucky’s inner self is shutting down more and more, as though to protect himself, but it became inaccessible even to himself. Over the next couple of days, Bucky shuts himself completely in his lonely home. He only leaves the apartment to buy alcohol and some food. His days are spent either drinking or sleeping, and when he‘s awake and sober, he just sits on the couch blankly, staring at the wall. He is composed of nothing, but illness – a phantom built out of pain. The days turn to weeks. With his heart broken, he despises life. Rising from a grave with each morning, wallowing in his sadness and alcohol. („What went wrong...Did I do something wrong?”) he wonders for weeks repeatedly, tears again rolling down his cheeks. „What did I do to deserve this“ he screams, slamming his metal fist into the wall, there is nothing but a stain in his heart, it grew – infecting the whole heart. He slowly slides down, sitting on the ground as he buries his head into his arms and starts to cry.

- Two days before she left - „Bucky, baby…I don’t wanna do anything tonight, let’s just sleep“ he was getting harder and harder, pressing into her back to let her know. He whispers in her ear, but the voice is huskier than usual and filled with seduction „Цветок...“ (Flower) Bucky’s control is slipping once again and y/n gups at the realization. The metal grip tightens on her hip, drawing her even closer to his clothed cock. Fingers pass through the fabric of the nightdress, pulling it upwards to reveal her butt cheeks. His warm hand, spilled under her body proceeding to lightly trace his fingers over her nipple. She knows to her remove the panties by herself, not wanting to anger the Soldier from the very beginning as it happened last time. He groans, closing his eyes to savor the scent of her hair. Vibranium fingers digs his into her soft skin, leaving prints of evidence. „No, don’t…please…he will see“ she desperately tries to voice her concern, knowing there is no way of fighting him in this state. „Пусть он увидит…“ (let him see) His breath fanned the skin of her neck, sending chills to the bone.

He dragged his length through her wetness, pushing in fully leaving y/n with no time to adjust. Tears roll down her beautiful face, why this keeps on happening? The warm touches of his human arm move to from her nipple to her stomach „Я хочу ребенка...да.“ (I want a baby…yes) She takes a deep breath, sometimes regret settles in for not telling Bucky that the Winter Soldier was very present and real. He never seems to remember, they operate as different people. She whimpers at the cold touch to her clit, he was flicking it, making her body shake. His hand returns to her hip, grabbing it harshly as he starts thrusting deeply. His pace becomes erratic, being closer to his orgasm. Soldat forcefully holds her in place so he can fill her with hot cum. Her reality hurts so much. She wants to get away, but when she had tried before – resulted in him being close to sadistic. His fingers trail to her hair, removing it from her neck and he sinks his teeth. Goosebumps trickle up there, from fear, from pain as he slowly turns her head towards him – there is no sight of Bucky.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

It's All About Intention

Solomon x GN! reader

Summary: You ask Solomon's opinion on what color you should paint your nails, and learn something new along the way.

AN: This is dedicated to @nnnneeev for being such sweet friend to me. Love you!! 💜 Anyways, hope everyone enjoys! Mwah!

Warnings: None

The soft pads of socked feet march through Cocytus Hall in search of something – or someone. The ever perceptive sorcerer who lounges in the common room grins to himself, lazily licking the tip of his finger to help turn the page of the tome he’s reading. He knows you too well, and by the sound of your footsteps, you’ve got something on your mind.

“Hey, Solomon,” you say as you pass through the threshold, “I need your opinion on something.”

Just as he thought.

He marks his page before closing the book, focusing his attention on you as approach with a little box in your hands. He recognizes it as he’s seen that box in your room, yet the contents within are eluding him.

“I’d be happy to assist you in any way I can,” he says with a genuine smile. “What’s on your mind, my dear?”

You sit next to him on the couch with the box in your lap. With a soft sigh, you begin to explain your dilemma. “I can’t decide on what color to paint my nails...”

You peel the flap of the box back, opening it, as Solomon leans over and peeks inside to see many different bottles of nail polish in the ultimate ROYGBIV categorization. A soft whistle blows past his lips; he’s impressed by how pleasing it is to look at. He knew you painted your nails often, but it dawns on him just how many bottles you own. You’re like him with books, except for you, it’s nail polish.

“I’ve never realized you had quite the collection. I think you might give Asmo a run for his money.” he says with a chuckle.

Your eyebrows raise, obviously not believing that statement. With a quick shake of your head and a chuckle, you reply. “Oh, no. I don’t think anyone could beat him with his many shelves of high-end nail polish.”

Solomon hums. “You’re right,” he strokes his chin in thought, “you’re about two hundred bottles off.”

That earns him a light smack on the arm as you both laugh.

“Shut up.”

“If I shut up then I can’t give you my opinion, sweet apprentice of mine.” He’s got that shit-eating grin again, never missing an opportunity to tease you. It’s his favorite past-time.

You huff out in faux annoyance, even going so far as to roll your eyes. You’re lucky he finds you so cute when you do that, he thinks. Otherwise, he might’ve been offended.

“Fine, fine. Just tell me what you think.” You scoot the box further down, now resting it on your knee so he’s drawn to its focus once more.

Solomon’s eyes flick over each color with intensity. He’s really giving this some thought. “Well, is there anything you want to come out of this?”

Silence settles between you, and for a second he thinks you didn’t hear him. That is, until he glances up to see you with the most dumbfounded expression as you stare right back at him.

“Uh, yeah? My nails to be painted?”

It seems he wasn’t clear with his wording. Though he does get a hearty laugh out of your response. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean...do you have something you want to manifest?”

Your expression stays the same, the only change is a few hard and confused blinks. “What does this have to do with painting my nails?”

“Well, everything really. Painting your nails using a certain color can attract that which you seek. I’ve taught you that using different colored candles in spells can aid in what you bring in, right? So, the same thing applies here.”

Solomon can see the wheels turning in your head now. He thinks this is a good lesson to be taught – that magic requires innovation and that magic is in everything.

“Really?” you ask.

“Really. So, if you wanted to strengthen your intuition, you might use a shade of blue. If you wanted to boost your creativity, you could use yellow,” he pauses before a grin curls on his lips again, “and you could use pink to attract love.” His eyebrows wiggle in a suggestive way, making you laugh a little.

“Okay, okay. I think I get it. Though I didn’t realize that I could incorporate magic into painting my nails.” He watches you look over your precious box with a certain glint in your eyes. He loves that look, that giddy sparkle when you learn something new. You’re too precious for your own good.

“My adorable apprentice, magic is in everything. All you have to do is show up with intention.”

“Intention,” you nod as you remember him saying that during one of your first lessons. “It’s all about intention, yes, I remember.”

Solomon chuckles. “Good.” He digs into the box, pulling out a little bottle filled with a deep indigo. “How about painting them indigo...to remind yourself you are capable of anything you put your mind to, especially within the realm of magic. You are more than capable of becoming a wonderful sorcerer someday.”

To your surprise, he leans over and places a soft kiss on your cheek before adding, “I am so proud of you.”

His eyes soften as he watches your cheeks heat up with one word coming to mind; precious.

“So, is there any chance I could get you to paint my nails while you’re at it?”

You clear your throat as you try to choke the fluster down. “Sure, but it’ll cost you.” you grin as you tease him back.

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Mammon, he’s rubbing off on you in the worst way.” Solomon rolls his eyes, chuckling again.

“I’m kidding!” you snicker. “Anyways, what color were you thinking for yourself?”

He pretends to think as he eyes a certain color in the box. “Hm, how about pink? I have something I want more of…” he wiggles his brows again, smirking widely, “your love.”

[flwrstqr]

— PAINTING DAY

₊˚⊹ notes ~ bf!heeseung x gf!reader ⋆⭒ synopsis: you have many favorite moments with heeseung but your favorite is especially when you paint your boyfriend's nails for fun ⊹ ࣪ warnings: petnames, lots of kisses, nail painting ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 word count: 500 ꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆˚ genre: fluff | AN: my writing for the polaroid love event !! | LIBRARY FOR MORE...

YOU FIND YOURSELF LOST IN THE mesmerizing world of nail art, where every stroke of polish is like a tiny masterpiece. It started innocently enough, just painting here and there with different colors, but now, it's become an addiction.

Your latest victim? Your boyfriend, Heeseung.

"Come on, Heeseung, just this once!" you plead, waving a particularly vibrant shade of blue nail polish in his direction.

Heeseung laughs, shaking his head at your persistence. "You know I'm terrible at sitting still for this, baby."

You pout, "I'll do anything for you!"

"Anything?," he asks, a small smile playing on his lips. You gave a quick nod, hoping he would agree.

"Then 10 kisses, 1 kiss for each nail you paint." Heeseung grinned.

Your eyes widened at his deal, "Fine, deal! But you better not leave me like last time." Heeseung nodded as he settled down as you placed all your nail polish and started painting his nails.

You grin mischievously, already thinking of what to paint. As you carefully select the perfect shade, you can feel Heeseung's eyes on you, his gaze warm and fond. It fills you with a fluttery sensation that dances in your chest.

You begin to paint his nails, your touch gentle. Heeseung watches you intently, his expression softening with each stroke of the brush. His fingers twitch slightly, but he remains perfectly still, allowing you to paint smoothly.

When you finally finish, you step back to admire your handiwork. Heeseung's nails are a work of art, a masterpiece of color and design. He stares down at them in awe, his lips quirking up into a soft smile.

"They turned out not that bad," you grinned, admiring them.

"Now, where's my 10 kisses?" Heeseung asked, raising his eyebrow with a playful glint in his eyes. You laughed softly as his sentence to then lean in and leaving a soft kiss on his lips.

Within minutes, you were lost in a playful exchange of kisses, each one a sweet reward for your efforts. Heeseung's lips were soft against yours, his touch sending shivers down your spine. With each kiss, the world seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you wrapped up in your own little bubble of affection.

Eventually, you pull away, both of you breathless and grinning like fools. "Okay, okay," you tease, "enough with the kisses. We need to admire your fabulous nails some more!"

Heeseung chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Alright, alright."

"Thank you for letting me paint your nails, pretty boy," you say softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Heeseung reaches out, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Anytime, my love. It's moments like these that I cherish the most."

You lean in, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace enveloping you.

Together, you sit in comfortable silence. It's a simple moment, but it's yours, and that's all that matters.

Eventually, Heeseung breaks the silence, his voice soft and full of warmth. "You know," he says, his gaze meeting yours, "I think I might just have to let you paint my nails more often."

You grin, the excitement bubbling up inside you once again. "Really? You mean it?"

Heeseung nods, his smile wide and genuine. "Of course. As long as I get my ten kisses every time."

You laugh, the sound echoing through the room like music. "Deal," you say, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "You've got yourself a deal." And as you sit there, hand in hand with the person you love.

[niceboyeds]

little black dress (e.m.)

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: Eddie is completely oblivious that you've been crushing on him, getting mad when you dress up for a party but has no idea it’s for him.

contains: 18+ minors DNI drinking, language, angst, fluff, eddie being a dick, smut: oral (m&f receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV, semi-public sex, please let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.5K

a/n: inspired by the lyrics “i don’t want you like a best friend, only bought this dress so you could take it off” from Dress by Taylor Swift. this is different than my other Eddie posts and i’m kinda nervy about it so i hope you like it xx

nav

~~~~~~

Steve Harrington’s birthday bash was going to be the party of the year, everyone already knew it. and to say you we’re excited would be an understatement.

“are you picking me up tonight, Ed?” you ask your best friend, sitting across from him from the restaurant table.

“for...?”

“the party for Steve? the one Robin’s been planning for over a month...”

“right! yeah i’ll pick you up at 9.”

“perfect.” you throw a fry at him and laugh as it gets caught in his hair before tossing a $10 bill on the table to cover the bill. “see ya later.”

you rush home, giddy with excitement knowing you have the perfect outfit planned for tonight. you've been aching for your best friend to notice your feelings, but he seems to be oblivious. if this little black dress doesn't get his attention, you're out of ideas.

you forced Nancy and Robin to go shopping with you for hours the weekend prior to this party, searching for the perfect thing to wear. of course the girls know exactly why your wanted to buy a new dress, Nancy was the one who pointed out your feelings to begin with. you never even realized it yourself, but once she said something you couldn't stop thinking about it.

since then, everything he does seems to give you butterflies. the constant nicknames like sweetie and pretty girl. always checking in on you, making sure you ate or got enough sleep. how could you not fall for him?

you spend the evening dolling yourself up. even painting your nails a new shade of red to match your lipstick. feeling hot as fuck and confident, if Eddie didn’t want you surely someone else would.

but that’s not what you wanted. you wanted him.

9 o’clock rolls around and you hear a familiar horn in your driveway. you look in the mirror one last time, taking a deep breath before smiling at how good you look.

slipping on your shoes, you open the door and walk confidently to the van. but your confidence slowly sinks away as soon as you open the door to the vehicle.

“what are you wearing?” he asks, looking you up and down with a strange look on his face before you sit in the passenger seat.

“a dress? why is something wrong with it?”

“just not something I expected from you I guess.”

what the fuck does that mean?

“oh.” you look out the window, avoiding any possible eye contact with him. the girls swore he was going to love the dress and now you’re stuck thinking it was all a big mistake.

you’re quiet the rest of the drive, but he doesn’t seem to notice. you hop out of the van quickly when you arrive, closing the door and adjusting the dress that has ridden up your thighs when you sat down.

“ready to party?” Eddie asks, catching up to you at the door.

“yeah.” you just don’t have the desire to attempt to flirt with him at the moment, clearly he doesn’t want you.

“you goin’ home with someone tonight or do you want a ride later?” he asks as soon as he sees the crowded party, knowing you’d surely be separated from him.

“what?” why the hell would he think you’d go home with someone other than him?

“well you know, you’re dressed like you want to go slut around or something.”

“okay, i’m going to pretend you didn’t just fucking say that to me. asshole.” you walk away from him, mumbling the last word. as if you weren’t embarrassed enough that he didn’t like seeing you in the dress, now he thinks your intentions were to get laid tonight?

well… maybe they were. but you wanted him to fuck you. not some random drunk person at the party.

“Y/N!! you made it!” Robin waves you down from the kitchen, holding out a red cup to you and you smile at the familiar exchange.

“you look hot!” Nancy praises and you feel your confidence growing again. “how’d he like it?”

“he didn’t. said I look like I want to slut around.”

“what the fuck?? no, you look sexy as hell and it’s honestly his loss!” Robin continues you hype you up, making you smile.

“it’s whatever. I guess I was wrong to think he might actually like me back.”

“aw babe… don’t be sad! c’mon, let’s go dance with the birthday boy!!”

and you do without hesitation, refilling your cup before taking one of Nancy’s hands in yours as she leads you into the living room. the couches all pushed to the side of the room to make a makeshift dance floor.

“happy birthday Stevie!!” you call out to him, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

“thanks! you look nice!” he shouts over the music after giving you a kiss on the top of your head, something you’ve grown accustomed to. he’s like a brother to you, someone who always tries to protect you like he does with literally everyone else.

you continue dancing with your friends, but you can’t help but look around for Eddie. you spot him across the room, almost glaring in your direction but his eyes never meet yours. instead they’re locked on Steve, who’s holding your hand and twirling you around.

“i’m gonna go get another drink.” you lean into Robin’s ear to inform her, she nods, and you weave through the crowd to the kitchen. a familiar presence lurking behind you causes you to turn around.

“hey Eds.” you sigh, still annoyed with him but not wanting to be. how was he supposed to know your feelings if you never bothered to tell him? “having fun?”

“I guess. wish you’d come hang out with me but you’re grumpy.”

“i’m not grumpy. you were just being a dick.” you defend yourself, getting worked up once again. he rolls his eyes and it takes everything in you to walk away without causing a scene. “whatever Eddie. come find me when you’re finished with whatever this is.”

you go back to the group, taking a drink from your cup before dancing somewhat provocatively with the girls again. Steve shows up with shots and passes them around, making all of you cheers before pouring them into your mouths.

tipsy and now unfazed by Eddie’s reaction to your dress you begin dancing and singing with Steve, putting his hands on your hips as the two of you move to the popular song from the mix Robin made specially for him.

you turn your head to look in Eddie’s direction, seeing him immediately looking away from you and at this point you’re over his moping and want him to come dance with you. you never could stay mad at him for long. you wander over to him and hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers as if to say, “you better take my hand boy”.

but he doesn’t, and it pisses you off even more. you refuse to put up with his attitude any longer, not when you’ve been pining for him for so long. forcing his hand into yours and pulling him into a random bedroom, you lock the door behind you.

“okay what is going on??”

“nothing.” he mumbles, and you call him out on his lie.

“bullshit! what the fuck is your problem?”

“my problem? what, so i’m just supposed to sit and watch you flirt and dance with Harrington all night long in that fucking dress?!”

“Eddie, I bought this dress for you.”

“what?” his face softens and then he looks at you with instant regret. “oh my god. and I called you a slut. i’m so sorry I didn’t mean it at all and—” everything clicked right there.

“were… were you jealous?”

he’s silent. and your answer is right in front of you. had it been there all along and you were just too busy stuffing down your feelings to see it?

the confidence you had before the party comes back to you, feeling almost happy that you made him jealous.

“so here’s what we can do, Eds. we can pretend this isn’t happening right now and go back to the party… or you can take this dress off of me. your choice.”

he doesn’t hesitate, pushing his lips against yours with a force you didn’t expect.

“you have no idea how long i’ve been wanting to do that.” he says, looking at you as if to see if you still want this.

“ditto, baby.” you immediately reach for the button on his jeans, but your eager fingers cannot seem to get it undone and you groan with frustration.

“aw do you need help, sweet thing?”

“if you don’t shut up and just take your fucking pants off Eddie I swear—”

he cuts you off with another kiss, “always so mean to me.”

“you love it.” you tease, palming at his growing bulge through the jeans he still hasn’t taken off.

he hurries to take his pants off, finally, stumbling when they get down to his ankles and he kicks them off somewhere in the room along with his shirt.

you look over him, practically drooling when he walks closer to you. “you gonna help me?” you ask, reaching for your zipper and he smirks.

“what if I want you to keep the dress on?”

“this dress cost me a whole paycheck. you are going to take it off carefully and not make a mess on it.”

“yes ma’am.” he grins ear to ear, smashing his lips onto yours again while reaching his hands behind your back and pulling the zipper down. as the dress pools around your feet, he takes a step back to admire you, mumbling a “beautiful” before lifting you up and tossing you on the bed.

he’s quick to join you, laying on top of you and you grind yourself up on his boxer covered bulge, earning a groan from his lips. the sounds he’s making turning you on even more. he begins dragging kisses down your body from your lips to my stomach. he stops just at your panty line, you sit up slightly waiting to see his next move. he continues leaving little pecks, right over where you’re soaking through your panties, making you squirm.

“Eddie.” you groan, making eye contact with him.

“what do you want? tell me.”

“please touch me.” you whine, so desperate.

“touch you where?” he teases more, making you groan again. “here?” he asks, kissing the inside of your thigh. you whine, making him move on. “or here?” he kisses the fabric, right over your sensitive bud, receiving a moan in reply.

“hey! i don’t think your attitude tonight allows for you to be such a tease.” he chuckles at your words, yanking your panties down to leave you completely naked. a needy mess underneath his touch. his fingers part your folds, the cold metal of his rings making you clench around nothing.

“completely soaked… did I do this to you?” he smiles, running his fingers through the sensitive area. his fingers play with your clit, making you moan loudly, not caring if the entire party can hear you over the booming music. he plays with it between his fingers for a moment, before removing them and replacing it with his mouth.

“oh god, Eds! yes!” you cry, feeling him sucking you, swirling his tongue and gently bringing one finger into your hole. he continues, adding in a second finger after a moment. you continue to be vocal, making him pump his fingers faster. you whimper in pleasure, grinding against him to get more. “baby i’m so close!” you yell out, making him suck harder and you let go, finishing all over his thick fingers.

“good girl.” he whispers, licking you one more time before removing his fingers from you.

panting, you bring yourself to your knees and reach your hands over to remove his boxers, pulling them down and smirking at how hard you made him. he begins to lay back onto the mattress as you look up and make eye contact, licking just the tip, making him moan.

“please.” you smile knowing he’s just as needy as you. you lick from the base to the tip before taking in as much of him as you can without gagging. bringing your hand up to stroke the rest as you move your head around him.

“holy fuck- just like that baby.” his hand finds its way into your hair and he takes a handful of it, strong but not forceful. you continue, sometimes removing him completely to lick the tip before taking him in again.

you remove your mouth to suck just the tip and stroke his whole length with your hand, but he pulls away before he can finish. you look up confused.

“don’t wanna cum like this baby, wanna cum inside you.” you gasp at his words, feeling yourself dripping down your thighs again.

you move down to lay your head on a pillow as he follows, laying on top of your body and kissing your swollen lips. he makes his way to your neck and you can’t help but moan loudly as he sucks on the sweet spot behind your ear.

“please Eds, need you in me.” you whine, and he finally begins to slip inside, your walls clenching as he does. he brings his lips to yours once again, kissing you though his thrust.

“fuck baby, so tight.” he moans into your ear, “not gonna last long.” but he continues, making you feel better than anyone else you’ve ever been with.

you cry out as he pushes into you harder, his thumb finding your little bud again. “cum Eds, please baby. cum for me.” and he does, sputtering his full load into you, bringing you closer to your own release again.

“holy shit Eddie! i’m- i’m so close.” you bring your hands to his back, scratching and no doubt leaving long red marks all the way down.

“c’mon pretty girl.” he pushes you, rubbing your clit faster and you feel the familiar knot in your stomach right before you finish again, crying his name as loud as possible. he pulls himself out, still rubbing your swollen bud slowly until you push his hand off of you.

“so…” he whispers after a moment, lying beside you on the mattress.

“so…” you repeat, trying to catch your breath.

“did you mean it? you really bought that dress for me?”

“couldn’t think of anything else that would get your attention.” you smile, rolling over to face him.

“hun, I have been trying to get your attention since I met you.”

“you’ve got to be joking.” you laugh, smacking his arm playfully.

“I guess we were both worried about ruining our friendship, huh?”

“I don’t want to be your best friend anymore, Eds.” you kiss him one more time before he can say anything else. you stand up and slip your dress back on, moving your hair over to one side and motioning for him to zip you up.

“wh- where are you going?”

“we are going home. and tomorrow you’re taking me to breakfast.”

“oh yeah? what are we doing at home?” he smirks, and you laugh in response.

“I guess we’ll decide when we get there, won’t we?”

[externalmemorycomic]

Image description: a five page comic with messy writing and messy line drawings coloured with gouache. Each page has four panels and each panel has a caption and an image. Page one Caption: Mouse and Ruth go for drives a lot. Image: a red car drives down a country road. Caption: to stores and beaches and the dump where you can find cool things. Image: a white mouse looks up at a wall with doll’s heads nailed to it, labeled “wall of dolls”. Caption: I almost never join. Ruth asks, “isn’t My going stir crazy?” Image: a deer is driving a car, and the mouse sits on a pile of pillows on the passenger’s seat. Caption: but I’m so used to this I forget there’s anything to go crazy about Image: an orange cat lies in bed.

Page two Caption: When we lived in Malmö there were weeks I didn’t leave the apartment Image: the cat peeks out a window, looking at a pigeon that’s pooping on the window ledge. Caption: months I didn’t see anyone besides Mouse. I just couldn’t manage the stairs Image: the cat looks down an exaggerated, maze-like staircase. Caption: Mouse wasn’t much better off. I took up indoor “gardening” so we wouldn’t miss nature too much. Of course I often couldn’t water the plants. It felt bitter and symbolic when they died Image: the cat is in a different bed, looking at a house plant on a side table that’s beginning to wilt. Caption: here there’s no stairs and I have plants and bees right outside my window Image: the cat is in the first bed, drawing a comic. There’s a flower, a butterfly and a bee outside the window behind it.

Page three Caption: people tend to get frustrated with my acceptance Image: the cat takes down a half finished painting from an easel. Caption: even after we’ve talked a lot about my illness, they think I should plan ahead as if a cure is right around the corner Image: a rabbit is standing beside a table covered in unfinished canvases, looking at  one of them. The cat stands behind them, looking nervous. Caption: often it’s the same people who respond to tragedies you CAN fix by saying “life’s not fair” Image: the cat is rescuing bugs from drowning in a water barrel and the rabbit looks over its shoulder, looking annoyed. Caption: but when I let go of what I can’t have, they see it as defeat. Image: the cat is curled up and hiding in bed while the rabbit stands over them, frowning, holding the unfinished painting and waving two paintbrushes.

Page four Caption: I understand the impulse to say “maybe some day”. When it’s kindly meant, I value the intention. Image: The rabbit has its arm around the cat’s shoulder and waves towards a thought bubble. In the thought bubble the cat is floating and happy at the end of a rainbow with pink clouds, flowers and a smiling sky in the background. Caption: but few things are more dangerous to my soul than “maybe some day” Image: the cat huddles on the ground and hides its face. Right above the cat, as if pushing down, is a bigger thought bubble with images of the cat looking happy - dancing, being held, proudly painting, holding a baby. Caption: There is no greater wisdom in life than: fix what you can and accept what you can’t. Image: the thought bubble is breaking up and shrinking. The cat is sitting up, smiling at a dandelion beside it. Caption: some times, giving up isn’t just the only way to survive but to thrive, and leave room for joy. Image: The half finished canvases are burning on the ground and the cat walks away without looking back.

Page five Caption: today I’m sad because I’m in pain and I miss moving and doing Image: the cat is crying in bed. Caption: but when I thank God for giving me this life filled with blessings, it’s from the heart. Image: the cat wipes away some tears and looks a little happier. Caption: I am happy more often than not. I mostly cry from gratitude. There is no contradiction Image: the cat closes its eyes and is surrounded by a pink glow and red cartoon hearts. Caption: life will ask me to let go of much bigger things and maybe I can come with to the dump next time Image: the cat looks at the wall of dolls and says: “cool!” End ID. Here's some disability thoughts I had during my latest flare (hence the wobblier-than-usual lines and messy writing). I hope it makes sense even if I was pretty confused when I made it! I have POTS and ME/CFS, as well as ADHD and being autistic. Accepting the reality of being bed/housebound and hard-of-thinking often is going to be a life long effort but I'm getting there. Happy disability pride month!!! Reblogs are much appreciated! (if you wanna help me live and stuff and make more art and comics I have a Patreon. I post comic pages there on average once a day for the 3€ tier as well as other fun things! Link in my pinned post)

[natimiles]

Always (Levi x reader)

Summary: Levi was accustomed to solitude, grappling with his fears alone. Not anymore.

Words: 798

Tags: hurt/comfort; Levi looking down at himself; cuddling; a little fluffy; newly dating; no pronouns specified for reader.

Notes: I just wanted to cuddle my sea serpent demon 🥹🤲🏻🤍

His room is always quiet when he’s sleeping, with only the aquarium buzzing in the background. His blue lights are always illuminating the floating jellyfish, giving them a haunting look. His bathtub is always full of blankets, comfortable enough for him and his Ruri pillow. His things are always smelling like the ocean, a scent that soothes and comforts him. And he is always alone there.

However, things are different this morning. 

His nostrils catch a scent that isn’t the usual, but somehow does an even better job of keeping him calm. Stirring, he feels something holding him firmly. Frowning, he peeks one eye open and notices it’s definitely not his Ruri pillow he’s clutching. Blinking the sleep away, he looks down and catches sight of you.

He’s lying on his back, holding you while you’re almost on top of him, embracing him tightly. His tail is even wrapped around one of your legs. What the—

Memories suddenly flood his brain.

Oh.

Right.

You slept in his room with him, calming his anxiety and helping him… Again. He sighs, remembering the sorry excuse of a demon he was the night before. He rubs his hand over his face, both ashamed and sleepy, and tries to move.

“You won’t leave me here,” your soft voice rings around the bathtub. So low, but somehow so powerful.

“A-ah!” He jolts, accidentally holding you closer in his surprise. “Y-you’re awake!”

“Good morning,” you chuckle, lifting your head to lean your chin on his chest and look at his flustered face.

“Morning,” he mumbles.

You’re still intently looking at him, and he’s already embarrassed enough. He tries to bring his hand to his face, so he can hide as he always does, but you intercept it and lace your fingers together. He pouts and tries to avert your gaze by looking at his ceiling and the jellyfishes hanging there.

However, you won’t accept it. You shimmy your body up, bringing your face to the same level as his and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. He blushes harder and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whisper. You bring your hands, still intertwined together, to your lips, placing a soft kiss there too. “You have no reason to hide. And don’t think poorly of yourself.”

Levi wants to disagree. He wants to argue and say he has lots of reasons to hide, that he doesn’t deserve you, that you should go and leave him alone already. You should stop wasting your time with a pathetic demon like him.

But then you use your linked hands to nudge his chin and make him look at you, and everything he’s always thought about himself slowly subsides.

You have such a loving expression on your face.

Your lips wear that beautiful smile he loves, one that reaches your eyes and makes them squint softly. Your cheek is marked from sleep; he can see the line his pajama shirt left on it — but it doesn’t look painful, and he could say you look even more beautiful.

You bring your linked hands to your lips again, and he sees your perfect nails, matching his own, painted in his colors by yourself when you did both his and yours last night in an attempt to distract him from the self-deprecating thoughts.

“I-I’ll try not to…” he mutters under his breath. You give him a look, and he fumbles with his words in the next second. “I-I… w-won’t… I won’t.”

“Good,” you smile. “I won’t let anyone look down on my lovely boyfriend, and that includes you.” You poke his chest teasingly.

“Alright,” he sighs, and he’s sure even his sigh sounds smitten right now.

Leaning down, you kiss his lips softly. 

He emits a startled hum, widening his eyes. “W-w-warn me first!”

“I love you, Levi,” you whisper, and he swears he sees hearts in your eyes. “I’m gonna kiss you again.”

“I c-changed my mind, it’s worse when you warn me,” he stumbles on his words.

That makes you laugh heartily, and he doesn’t have much time to stare in awe at you because you’re kissing him again in the next second.

His room was always quiet when he was sleeping, now he has your steady breaths to listen to. His blue lights were always illuminating the floating jellyfishes, now they reflect into your beautiful, bright eyes. His bathtub was always full of blankets, comfortable enough for him and his Ruri pillow, now it has you and your warmth. His things were always smelling like the ocean, now they’re impregnated with your smell, one that works wonders to keep him grounded.

He was always alone there.

He isn’t anymore, and never will be again.

He will always have you now.

Taglist: @sh0jun @chevcore @judejazza

Masterlists

[kentosbabes]

More bf-gojo? I loved the perfect combination of fluff and smut bits. ★

your wish is my command!!! hope you enjoy :33

Bf-Gojo who loves when you surprise him at work bringing him some lunch and just keeping him company till the end of his shift. Sometimes if you had baked batches of cupcakes or cookies you would bring all of them sharing them with people all around his building, Gojo just admires how kind and considerate you are as you offer your freshly baked goods to his employees. He would sometimes leave things at home and calling you acting all stressed just so you come and join him helping to relive his stresses in more ways then one.

Bf-Gojo who now joins you when you have an 'everything day'. He's sitting on the counter as you carefully paint on the face mask onto him, your brows furrowing with concentration. It gives him another excuse to stare and admire you for longer. He is also surprisingly good at painting your nails so you let him paint yours as you gossip to him about the drama in your office and friend group and as much as he hates to admit he gets so involved and even begins to share his own gossip.

Bf-Gojo who enjoys exploring the city with you going in and out of art galleries and museums. His hand in yours as you talk him through the art on the walls explaining in detail the backstory behind each one. If it was anyone else he would simply tune them out but with you he listens intently taking in every detail. He adores how smart you are and praising you the whole time your in the gallery. 'Your such a good girl you know that right' he would whisper in your ear the grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as you exit the building.

Bf-Gojo who gets more cocky knowing your the most perfect girl and knowing your all his just boosts his ego so much. 'Oh your so smart, the way you talked about those paintings got me so riled up' he'd say kissing down your neck as you bounce up and down on his dick, 'Your so perfect and you all mine. isnt that right darling?'. only able to whimper in response Gojo smirks at your fucked out state. His hand grabbing onto yours and placing it on your lower stomach so you can both feel how deep he is inside of you.

Bf-Gojo who babies you when your sick. He's pulling out all of the stops running you hot baths, cooking you soup and watching shit tv with you never leaving your side until you feel better. Gojo defiantly calls Nanami for help asking him for the best remedies and how to get you feeling better asap.

Bf-Gojo who secretly loves when you praise him, even just when you say how proud you are of him once he's completed an important presentation or saying how good he is when he helps out with making dinner. Your words going straight down to his dick till he cant take it anymore and having his way with you. 'f-fuck toru your s-so so good to me' your praises only making him harder and he knows its going to be a longg night.

Bf-Gojo who does anything and everything to make sure your okay. Your heels are hurting to much? he will carry you home so you dont have to walk any further. Your having a hard day at work? he will be there picking you up and helping you unwind in a steamy shower.

Bf-Gojo who cant wait to meet your parents, although he's nervous he knows how much they mean to you so being able to meet them only furthers his desire to wife you up a soon as he can.

Bf-Gojo who teases you about the way you like your coffee, 'I love you but thats coffee not tea doll why you adding so much sugar and cream' he would say as he sits sipping his black coffee. He laughs at how defensive you get calling him the weird one as your cheeks begin to redden at his teasing.

Bf-Gojo who wants to just spend everyday with you cuddled into him as he draws patterns up and down your back, and when you get up to grab a drink your ass pocks out from underneath his top and he can just sit against the headboard hands behind his head admiring his perfect girl.

part 1 here

masterlist

[wyn-n-tonic]

That's a Real Fucking Legacy: Legacy

Pairing: Joel x f!reader/former Tommy x f!reader Word Count: 2.6k+ Warnings: Talk of pregnancy, childbirth, child loss, grief, alcohol, drugs. Author's Note: I'm sorry.

Writing Blog: @wyn-writing. Sign up for my taglist HERE.

Empty.

The shelves of his belongings, sparse as they may be; the maps that hung tacked to the wall; the knife taped beneath the table; the life of his laughter drained from the walls.

And the guitar.

Of course the guitar was gone.

“I'm sorry,” his note read. “I had to go. I had to know if it was possible for us to have a safer, happier life outside of here. I’ll be back for you, I love you.” 

Nothing else, just gone in the night leaving nothing else but a note and a broken heart.

It always ends bloody—day after day, year after year.

But this didn’t end at all, it just never came back.

It left two things in its wake—you and a brother.

A brother who couldn’t look you in the eye after reading the tear stained note that mentioned him nowhere in it.

It didn’t say he’d come back for Joel.

It didn’t say he wanted better for Joel and it fed into Joel’s belief that he was no longer good enough for good things or good intentions. 

Somewhere along the line, you picked up on that feeling for yourself. It was easier to tell yourself that Tommy had forgotten about you and the promise he made in his letter. It was easier to assume that he no longer loved you because the only alternative was that he was no longer living.

Not Joel, though.

That callus nature ticked off Tommy’s life like a box in his goddamn head. Compartmentalized it away as one less person that made him vulnerable—weak. It was the illusion of strength that drove you to him; to showing up at his apartment with some poorly constructed moonshine and an ache you hadn’t felt satisfied since the night before everything changed.

You told him how Tommy had fucked you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, knowing it was the last time, and that motherfucker didn’t even have the balls to say goodbye.

“I never meant fuck all to him, did I?” You had asked.

Shattered glass wasn’t the response you were looking for but it’s certainly the one you got, expletives crawling out of his mouth as he knelt down to pick up the shards. 

Only that and the silence that followed as he disposed of the crystalized remnants and paced the small room.

“My brother loved you,” he finally said. “You were the best goddamn thing my brother had going for him—he said you were the best thing he had ever done. His love for you is how I know he’s fucking dead, sweetheart, so you need to stop sitting here convincing yourself that what you had was fake—some fucked up way to protect yourself—and start grieving like the goddamn widow you are.”

That grief stood to meet his and both of you fell into bed shortly after.

It made sense, he’d promised you. You weren’t doing anything wrong.

You got the next best thing to Tommy Miller.

He got to protect the most important thing to Tommy Miller. 

It’s what he would’ve wanted.

But now he looks like he’s going to throw up.

The sex got more frequent, the small laughter and the stolen touches.

For a while, you’d kept separate dwellings—him sleeping alone, you sleeping with a ghost.

Then the apartment was ransacked one day while you were out, you came home to Firefly spray paint on the doors and half the floor boards torn up.

Joel barely let you out of his fucking sight after that.

He also fucked you blind most nights, giving over small glimpses of the man he used to be—the man he still wishes he was.

There’s half a glimpse of that now followed by fear followed by a set jaw and a mask he wears when it’s not just you beside him.

“Are you sure?” He asks, hands worrying into the edge of a book over and over again.

You shrug, “who can really be sure of anything these days? Especially this early on but… I don’t know.” Looking down at your nails, you start to pick at the bloodied skin already ravaged by your anxieties. “I’m fairly certain though,” you tell him. “Don’t feel obligated to anything.” 

“Shut up,” he snaps. He is harsh when he wants to be but he’s never been so with you. “Don’t sit there and tell me you’ve got my baby inside of you and then tell me not to feel obligated. You are the only person I feel that for anymore.” 

The chair kicks back and falls behind him when he stands, clattering down in a way that shakes you. You’re used to the loudness of his voice, the attack dog style way he turns on anybody who looks at you sideways.

"I'm sorry,” he says after a few beats from the other side of the room. He’s staring down the window but you’re not sure his eyes are anywhere, really. Not sure he’s here either.

You know where he goes on the nights he doesn’t exhaust himself enough between your legs after a long day. Hell, he goes there even then. Because no amount of sex or drugs or alcohol is going to scrub that memory out.

Tommy told you about that night; the subsequent nights and the years that followed where Joel turned into somebody completely different. Joel, who used to be goofy and happy, even if he was stressed. 

But he’s not that man anymore and, even if you catch the glimpses of him in fleeting moments, he never will be again.

“I'm sorry,” you tell him. Because it’s all you can say. You’d been as careful as you could. You’d drank the tea. You did the best you could.

He doesn’t turn until you stand, following the noise of your body with his good ear to bore his brown gaze into you. “Where are you going?” 

You shrug, “I think you need some time and uh”—you rub at your eye—“I heard a rumor a while ago about somebody who can help take care of it so—“

“So just like that”—he snaps his fingers for emphasis—“you’re gonna take it all away? Never happened, huh?”

“You don’t want this,” you tell him. You say it plainly like a fact because it is.

His features twist up, eyes squinting as he pulls back like you've slapped him. “It's not that I don’t want this,” he says, accent coming out thick. “It's that I don’t want this for you”—he starts counting on his fingers, taking steps toward the fallen chair and the door you stand at now—“I don’t want this life for you; I don’t want this life for that baby; I don’t want me for that baby, sweetheart. Don’t you understand? That should be my brother’s, you should be my brother’s—“

“Yeah, well he fucking left me, Joel!” The way you heighten your voice shoots pain right up into your head, the headache you’ve been nursing from nerves all day growing worse as your fists clench and unclench. “He fucking left you, he left us! This should be his baby, but it’s not, Joel. It doesn’t have to be yours either.” 

“Sweetheart,” his voice is so soft now. Another glimpse. He walks towards you slowly, hands out as if trying to pacify a wild animal. “Can we talk about this before you just go off and—“ 

But you’re already halfway out the door before he can finish the thought, letting it slam shut behind you on the man you never should’ve told.

——————

It’s always bloody—this life we’re forced to live now.

Starts in blood, ends in blood.

In the moment you hemorrhaged from childbirth, all you could think of was Tommy and how you hoped his end was the fast kind of blood and not the kind you were experiencing. 

It was the first time you saw Joel cry, stood back and shaking with clenched fists. In the end, it was how stern his voice got that brought you back from the blackened edges of your vision. 

That’s how he spoke to you, to the baby. Soft voices, yes. But stern, too. Like every statement was a warning shot not to leave him like the rest. 

Life in the QZ wasn’t exactly a good one but it was enough; safe enough. Joel took the risks he needed to, to get you and the baby what you needed. 

That was her name for the longest time, just Baby.

Baby, who fit in the palm of her father’s hand.

Baby, who made him laugh like he hadn’t in years.

Baby, who made his smile reach his eyes again.

Baby, who was told stories of how much like her big sister Sarah she already was with all her sass and all her charisma.

He was obsessed with her tiny hands, her little toes and the way she cooed up at him with big, dark eyes. 

He was obsessed with her little face, the curve of her lips and the way she latched on to feed.

“You're gonna hate me for saying this,” he started when he walked in the room one day, her tiny body nestled in the crook of his arm like a football. “But I think she kind of looks like Tommy.” 

You did hate him for that but he wasn’t wrong. It was some sick cosmic joke; the baby that should be his; the baby made out of grief for him.

Three weeks later, her papers were officially filed with FEDRA under the name Thomasin Miller; never imagining that, one year later, you’d be walking down the street to see her namesake stepping out of your old building like a bad dream.

Or the best dream.

If that’s where he went first, finding that the entire thing is cleared out, then he’d be going to Joel’s next. 

Unless he stuck with not ever wanting to see his brother’s goddamn face again.

You split left before he saw you, turned the corner and took the other way to Joel’s; to Thomi—home.

Fighting with your keys to get into the lock, the door pulled open and your muttering stopped as Joel stood easily at six feet with baby girl tucked up on his chest fast asleep. From the looks of it, he was too.

He barely came around to the pregnancy, trying hard to school his emotions through every milestone afraid that it was going to drop just like everything else. He carried that fear through the birth, told you that he was so afraid you were going, too. So afraid that you were leaving him with a baby to fend for so he could start this sick cycle of his life over again.

Except this time he wouldn’t even have Tommy and he knew the only outcome of that was him leaving the baby or her leaving him.

He said he wouldn’t have survived.

That’s the only way you know Joel Miller loved you—his version of it anyway.

Obligated.

“What's wrong?” He asks, worry covering every part of his face as his large hand covers yours. “What happened?”

“Tommy.” It’s all you can choke out.

He goes to hand you the baby, says she’s right here. Says she’s okay and asks again what happened. Asks if there was a baby on the trucks today.

“No,” you shake your head. “No, Joel, Tommy’s here.” 

He tells you you’re crazy, that it can’t be. Says the heat of the day and the smell of the infected dead must’ve gotten to you. That wasn’t even your job today; he stopped letting it be your job a long ass time ago. He didn’t want you seeing Thomi in every snuffed out life the way he saw Sarah.

“Listen to me, Joel!” Your yelling wakes the baby but only half a cry comes out before she realizes she’s in her daddy’s arms. “Tommy was coming out of our old building, he is here and I wasn’t there and you know where he’s gonna go next.” 

After two hours with no knock on the door, Joel starts to examine you; your eyes; your head; your neck. Any sign of trauma at all that can explain away the ghosts you saw in plain sight.

And then it comes. Just a couple of knocks at the door. Joel’s eyes rake down your face as all the color drains from it and crosses to the front door. “Who is it?”

“It's me,” a muffled voice on the other side comes through. “I-it’s Tommy.”

Joel opens the door enough to fit his broad body into it, one arm raised to lean against the deteriorating wood jamb. “Thought you were dead.”

“Why would you—“ 

“Maybe because you fucked off with a promise to come back and didn’t.”

“I—“ He stutters looking for the words. “I sent letters.”

From here, you can see Joel’s eyes squint and his face twist in near disgust. “We don’t exactly have a goddamn postal service, shitbird.” 

“Yeah, I fucking know that,” Tommy quips back and you can imagine just the face he’s making too. “I fucking radio’d, every fucking week, and I got nothing back. I just want to know she’s okay.”

You watch from the hallway, one arm hugged around your body for warmth. It’s not even cold.

“She’s—" He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how to fucking answer that. I hope she’s fine now but I’m worried that knowing you're around might slide that progress back.”

“Progress?”

“Yeah, Tommy, she fucking grieved for you for a long ass time. That was after she waited for you until I told her to accept that you weren’t coming back.”

“But I radio’d…” 

“We didn’t get a goddamn radio from you, Tommy!” 

Thomasin screams at the sound of her father’s raised voice, howling out every thing she’s got in her tiny lungs as you move to pick her up.

Tommy’s asking what the fuck that is and you can see Joel’s fists clenching, tightening the grip he has on the door. He looks back at you, back at his daughter and his face betrays the parts of his heart that are breaking as Tommy asks whose goddamn baby is crying in his apartment.

“Mine,” Joel responds. 

Then he shuts down, jaw setting and unsetting as Tommy asks question after question. 

Where’d you get a baby?

What’s going on?

Why can’t I find her?

You know where she is, tell me where she is.

Joel can’t answer any of them, can’t make eye contact with his brother anymore but he doesn’t move from the door. He wants to, you can tell. He wants to shut it, go back to this morning when you and he and the baby were all still sound asleep in the early light of day.

“Can I just come in, Joel?” He finally asks. “Can we just talk about this? You can tell me where she is, I’ll set it right with her, I meant to come back for her a lot sooner.”

“Yeah,” Joel breathes out, “you really fucked up on that one.” 

He looks to you then, a silent question in his eyes.

Are you ready for this?

No. You aren’t. Three hours ago, you didn’t know this man was still breathing and the only solace you could hope for was that he was truly dead and not some fucking monster with a mushroom growing out of his gorgeous head.

Sitting, finally, with Thomasin in your aching arms to cover your aching heart, you nod and Joel lets the door open wider until Tommy's eyes are on you; your daughter.

“I'm sorry, Tommy,” Joel says. “I’m really fucking sorry.” 

[kazutora-kurokawa]

AOT: Armin Relationship Headcanons

♡ SFW & NSFW, fem reader, fluff because it's Armin and he's a sweetheart, mentions of other aot ships, set in a no titan au ♡

note: some quick Armin headcanons while I avoid writing stuff I had planned to write lol, also tagging @arlerts-angel because Armin is her man fr

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

SFW

💫 You two cuddle up and read books together

💫 Eren and Mikasa were wary of you at first because they didn't know your intentions with Armin, but they soon realized that you really love and care about Armin so they try to befriend you

💫 Trips to the beach w/ Eren & Mikasa

💫 Double dates w/ Historia and Ymir

💫 Movie nights with all his friends (have fun cleaning up their mess the day after lmao)

💫 Armin always wakes up with the messiest hair known to man

💫 You bought him a collection of books for his birthday and he almost cried

💫 He always gives you the best advice

💫 Loves listening to you talk, whether it's about your day, things you're interested in at the moment, or something random

💫 He's great at cooking and cleaning (a whole housewife fr)

💫 Let's you paint his nails and practice your makeup skills on him

💫 Encourages you to drop the toxic people in your life (ironic since he's best friends with Eren lol)

💫 Comforts you when you're on your period (the type of boyfriend to buy you a heating pad and cuddle you all day)

💫 Worships the ground you walk on 🛐

NSFW

💫 Eating you out is his favorite way to pass time

💫 He's literally obsessed with the way you taste

💫 Likes when you squeeze his head between your thighs

💫 Doesn't like to overstimulate you (but will if you ask him to)

💫 A sucker for a tight dress or skirt, he's definitely destroyed some of your clothes before

💫 Undercover pervert, likes stealing your clothes and using them to jerk off with

💫 He'd be absolutely vanilla during sex, for sure has a major praise kink tho (he's a slut for validation)

💫 Likes being praised and praising you

💫 "Look at my pretty baby, taking me like a good girl."

💫 Doesn't have a favorite position, but loves being able to see the fucked out look on your face

💫 King of aftercare 👑

💫 Runs you a bath and grabs you snacks and drinks for when you get out (he's such husband material)

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 6: Pepperdine

Note: Okay...this one is long as hell, so sorry in advance! Thank you for all of the love, notes, comments, rebloggs! They are really inspiring and it's great to interact with you all. Some people have made me aware of things that I can do to make this easier to find, so I will sit down and apply those changes later today. I hope you all enjoy this one, and alsooo my best friend just started reading this story so if you're reading this hey boo! Thank you all for reading and reminder...all of the characters are pieces of shit in their own way...as it is in the movie. Alright! Enjoy <3

Warnings: Cheating (back to sorta), mild sexual content (MDNI!!!!!), some strong language, mention of injury.

Taglist: @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

She feels like she’s going insane. For what it’s worth, Heaven did not get a single ounce of sleep after she did what she did. Her lip curls as she looks down at Art, his arm tossed over her lap, his large hand spread over her bare thigh, the heat of it a reminder of her…predicament. 

I love you.

She winces as she envisions the moment again, hears Art’s voice and pictures Patricks face, Tashi’s face if they knew, jesus. Heaven bites at her thumb nail nervously, staring off at the mostly bare wall in Art’s dark room. “Fuck.” she mumbles to herself, picturing Art kissing her, touching her, on top of her, between her legs- “Fuck” 

Art’s hand tightens on her leg and she shifts her gaze down to him. He’s in the same position that they’d laid in when they’d gone to bed. His eyes are closed, she can see his lashes against his cheek. It’s annoying and unfair, men always have the best eyelashes. Art’s are a brown color, not quite dark brown or black, not quite blonde. She likes looking at his eyelashes, but she does wish that she could see his eyes.

It would distract her. From the tightness in her chest that had her wrenching his thin twin XL blanket off of them both because she was pretty sure the fabric was trying to smother her, earning a groan from Art as she slipped from under his grasp and sat up with her back against the cool painted cement walls of his dorms. 

Heaven takes a deep breath trying to get rid of the squeezing feeling in her chest without waking the blond man half draped over her lap. Clenching her teeth she rolls her eyes upward  to look at the ceiling as she wills her thoughts to slow the fuck down. 

I love you. 

She didn’t say anything. He said he loved her and she said nothing. Jesus, she is just like Tashi. As much as she loves her, the thought is scary. But what’s even scarier is that she almost wasn’t. She almost wasn’t Tashi. When Art looked at her and said what he said her mouth fell open, and she almost said the thing. She almost…she almost said what he said.

I love you.

“Fuck you.” she whispers, gaze dropping back down to the man below her. A careful manicured hand sweeps over the pale skin on his cheek, sliding along his jaw before a traveling finger smoothes over his nose. She giggles breathlessly as his nose wrinkles and his arm tightens around her legs. Heaven smoothes back the messy blond hair that had fallen on Art’s forehead as he slept, smiling to herself as he hums in his sleep, leaning into her hand.

I love you.

Heaven’s brows furrow as she suddenly feels very naked and very self conscious. She yanks her hand away from him, careful not to disrupt his sleep as she tries to lift his arm off of her. She barely has both feet on the cold, white dorm room floors before the arm is around her waist.

“Where’re you goin’?”

His voice is raspier in the morning. Heaven feels herself melting at the feel of a thumb smoothing over her stomach, rubbing circles over the baggy shirt she’d borrowed from him. Stolen? She has absolutely no intention of giving it back. 

She almost gets back into bed. It would be so easy. Sliding into his arms, feeling him burrow his face in her neck, kissing her as she’s lulled back to sleep. Just one leg up, and then the other. It could be good. It could be great.

But then her eye catches on a framed picture on his desk. It’s one she’d known he’d have, but didn’t think he’d have so readily on display. Patrick was very open with discussing his affection for Art. He has no problem kissing his friend on the cheek or forehead. Talking about how they’ve pushed their beds together since their second year of being roommates, always opting to sleep next to one another in their one, big ‘super bed’ as he’d called it. 

Art was subtle. He might share some food or toss an arm over Patrick’s shoulder. Turning red and furrowing his eyebrows when Patricks would lean into any insinuation about the two of them. But he loves his friend. It’s clear, it's obvious. And Tashi’s a homewrecker for messing with them.

And so am I. Heaven eyes the picture of Art and Patrick. Bright smiles on their faces, kissing their trophies while cheersing each other. This is too much. It’s all too much. Between Patrick and Tashi and now these feelings for Art…Art’s feelings for her- Heaven needs out. 

This toxic jumble is not her idea of fun. 

Her decision made, Heaven takes one more deep breath. She steels herself, and decides she’s doing what’s best. Snatching her bag and jeans off of the floor where she’d let Art tug them off the night before she rushes out of the dimly lit room as the sun starts to rise through the cheap, white shutter blinds. And she only lets herself look back once.

Thirty minutes. Art lays in his bed with his eyes squeezed shut hoping he dreamt it. He was praying to himself that he felt the cold morning air on his chest because he was having some kind of bad dream, not because Heaven had snuck out of his bed without saying goodbye all to probably go running back to Tashi and go back to pretending there wasn’t anything between them. The longer his eyes were closed, the longer he could pretend he still felt her soft fingers ghosting across his face. He could pretend that she was his.

He had to be fair, he asked her to pretend for the night, he never said anything about the next morning. 

Sighing deeply, he opens his eyes, staring up at his ceiling he frowns, forced to be faced with reality and the hand he’s been dealt. All he had really accomplished was planting seeds of confusion in the girl’s head, they were far from the point where she was ready to leave her relationship for him. She still has feelings for Tashi, and what’s worse, Patrick. 

Art loves his friend, he really does, but he knows him very well. He’s watched the guy go through puberty, learn that he’s got a sleazy type of swagger a lot of girls find attractive. He’d been there for Patrick’s first date with Lana Powel and his second the same week with Angie Cooper. Art had watched Patrick run through women like water, down to his last girlfriend who he had just started dating when he met Tashi and Heaven. Poor girl couldn’t compete with the hot Princess of Tennis and the sexy Ballerina two for one special being dangled in Patrick’s face and was therefore left high and dry with a simple breakup text. It’s not working. You were great.

Yeah. Forgive him if he doesn’t exactly think his friend is all that deserving of the masterpieces that are Heaven Whitlock and Tashi Duncan. 

And Art doesn’t pretend he’s a saint. Like Patrick has said, he does…well for himself in the women department and has since he hit a cute little growth spurt back in the 8th grade. But he has the common decency to make his feelings for the girls he would see clear. If they were his girlfriend, they knew it, he would treat them like a girlfriend. If they were a fling, he would acknowledge that they were just having fun. It ends with him getting a lot less drinks tossed in his face than his friend does.

See, Art is smart. He knows how to compartmentalize. Random girls who throw themselves at him after tennis matches go in one category, nice girls he meets in class go in another. 

Heaven and Tashi are in a league of their own.

Tashi is awe inspiring. Beautiful, talented, smart. Scary.

Heaven was scary in a different way. Scary like, the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Scary like he was desperate to do anything and everything to make her happy, including play along in this little push and pull game she’d tossed them into. Scary in a way that despite the fact that she creeped out of his bed at the crack of dawn, cowering away from the feelings he has with her tail between her legs, he still pushes his nose into the pillow she’d laid her head on the night before, trying to take in the last of her scent before it fades into the morning air. 

Dragging his way out of bed and away from what he has left of Heaven, he makes his way to the bathroom and forces himself to face the day.

Match point. Tashi thinks to herself, whistling out the extra hair in her lungs as she regulates her breathing, bouncing from foot to foot as she finishes out her final scrimmage against her teammate before her match with Pepperdine.

Her brain is nearly empty, the only thing swirling within her thoughts is following the ball, the only sound in her ears is her own breathing and the sound of her opponent’s sneakers scraping against the court. There’s no one in the world other than her and the girl across the net. 

With a final swing she sends the ball sailing over the net, down the line where the girl is just not quick enough to reach and with that Tashi had one. It was over. Tashi always gets this brief, melancholy feeling when she finishes a match, or even something as small as a scrimmage. The high she gets from playing simmers down into a dullness that makes her miss the version of herself she was just moments before, when the match was still going. 

That numb thrumb of disappointment under her skin usually dies out as she reminds herself that there will be more. More game to play. More time on the court. More of a tennis player she can be. 

What can she say? Tennis makes her feel greedy. It was never enough. The only thing that ever brought her a similar high was being with Heaven. And while she meant being with Heaven, she also just meant…being with Heaven.

The two of them have been together in every capacity that matters. Friends, best friends, friends with benefits, girlfriends, exes, partners. The only title she would never give Heaven is her rival. They have too much history for that.

Tashi feels the sensation of a toe pushing insistently at her side, digging into her ribs as she tries to focus on the sound of Aaliyah singing in her ears. “Stop it.” She says lowly.

“‘M’trying to show you something, just look for a second-” her little brother Ellis whines, tugging at his seatbelt to get more wiggle room, nudging the girl again with a snicker when she swats his foot away. “Tashi, play with me-”

“Jesus, can I have one fucking second-”

“Tashi Sierra Duncan!” 

The voice is sharp and unforgiving. Her mother’s tone leaves no room for nonsense as she whips around to stare her down, her father’s own gaze in the rearview mirror. Ellis is suddenly quiet, wide eyes watery as he looks at her from his seat causing a pang of guilt to form in her chest. 

Great. Now she’s the bad guy. 

Big bad Tashi. Taking her parent’s attention away from her siblings, needing to travel for tennis, being too tired to play all the damn time. Between struggling in school, watching her five younger siblings and helping her parents pay the bills with what she won at challengers and bigger competitions, somehow, she forgot to force herself to have the personality of a disney princess. 

Sue her, she wants to focus before her match. God forbid she wants to be at her best when there’s a fucking Nike rep watching her, a detail about today that her father had only mentioned 500 times, mentioning what a great fucking opportunity it was. 

Maybe she was the bitch who couldn’t take the time to glance over at her 8 year-old brother’s gameboy as he won the same game over and over again. But she was also the bitch who was working her ass off so that he could get new games. So that her sister would be able to afford the cute clothes by the time she started high school. So that her mom could stop working the job she fucking hated. 

When everyone forgot that, she didn't know. What she does know is Cleo demanded that she let her do yoga with her this morning, and Carter fucking had to practice his recorder at the exact time she started meditating. And now she’s sitting in this hot ass car, with no air conditioning, stacked with her parents and siblings, looking at her like she's the monster for wanting to do her pregame ritual.

But they’d all be smiling at her when she won.

Just 20 more minutes. 20 more minutes until she could have some peace. 20 more before the world will disappear, and all there will be is tennis.

“Apologize to your brother, please.” 

But for now she’s still here.

“I’m sorry, El. Didn’t mean it.” She sighs, brushing the back of her hand over the little boy’s wet cheek. “Mom, I need to start working my heart rate, I’m gonna take a lap.” 

“Okay, honey, just wait for us to sign in.” 

“Kay.” Tashi pushes the door open to the car, ignoring the whines of her youngest sister to go with her as slams the door to the minivan shut. There are crowds of people already gathering. Other competitors and their families. Coaches. Hers should be around here somewhere. 

Normally she’d scope the competition. Her presence tends to put the other girls on edge, so she often chooses to warm up in front of them, letting them know what the fuck is on the other side of the net before they even hit the court. But today, all she could think about is all that’s on the line. Her head swirls with thoughts of how winning today could change a lot of things for her and the people she loves. 

All she wants is to get rid of those thoughts. She wants to be one track minded. She wants to get on the court and have a good fucking time without worrying about what’s going on in the stands. 

“Hey, I heard Tashi Duncan’s here, should we all just like, quit tennis and kill ourselves?” 

A smile forms on Tashi’s face as she turns away from the van, finding Heaven standing behind her holding a piece of poster board. “Hey, there, Serena. I got here a little early. You’ve got bitches quaking already.” 

The taller girl basically hops forward, tossing her arms around Heaven, Tashi giggles as the girl stumbles back a little in an attempt to catch her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I think my best friend plays in some of these things. I came to cheer her on.” Heaven squeezes her back before stepping away, holding out the poster for Tashi to see. “You’re crumpling the poster I made you.”

“There’s,” Tashi laughs again, placing her hands on her hips. “A lot of curse words on that.”

“I’m passionate.” 

“The poster makes you look like a fan girl, Hev.” She jokes, looping her arm with Heaven’s, guiding her toward the tennis club’s center and away from her parents' car. The headache that had started forming moments ago begins to fade as she and Heaven step side to side as they make their way to where the fences surrounding the courts are, ignoring the nervous looks from the girls they pass. “I’m usually a little more subtle when I come to see you twirl.”

“Twirl, you bitch.” Heaven scoffs. “Well, you don’t like flowers-”

“Who said I don’t like flowers?”

“Um, you, when Dylan Cho bought you some and I watched you regift them to your elderly neighbor after you said, quote, ‘I don’t fucking like flowers’ end quote.” 

Tashi stops walking, standing in the little grassy area next to the fence she rolls her, “Fine, correction, I don’t like flowers from Dylan Cho.” 

“And from Heaven Whitlock?” the shorter girl flirts, rocking on her feet. 

“Dunno, get me some and find out I guess.”

“You’re annoying.” Heaven huffs. Her eyes narrow as Tashi plops down into the grass, ignoring the blades poking at her bare legs and sitting criss-crossed, taking in a deep breath. “You okay?”

“Yup, I’m fine.” Tashi sighs, eyes slipping closed.

“Oh, okay.”  A beat passes. “It’s just you don’t seem okay. So, what’s up?”

“Just got a lot riding on today. And, I didn’t get through my regimen, so I feel fucking,” she waves her hands around as she tries to find the words. “Like just…too much. I’m thrown off. I hate when shit is too much right before I have something to do. Like, I like doing this, but I didn’t get to do what I need to and now i feel like-”

“What, you’ll lose?” Tashi’s eyes shoot open at that. Heaven had crouched down to her level, head tilted as she genuinely looked at her like she’s confused.  “Since when do you do that?” 

“What? Lose?” Tashi asks, staring into the deep brown eyes of her best friend.

“No, stop betting on yourself. You’re a tennis player, right? That’s what you are.” 

“W-yeah-”

“Okay, so you’ll win. Because you’re a tennis player and because you’re the best. Because you have to. Because its what you do.” Heaven gently pushes Tashi’s cheek with the knuckle of her pointer finger. “And because I don’t move my dance practices for people who don’t fucking win.”

“No pressure.”

“You’ll be fine.” Heaven shrugs. Tashi laughs, dropping her head forward. It almost alarms her how similar she and her best friend are in times like this. Heaven is genuinely her other half. She’s the only person who can demand that she show results and get away with it. Tashi respects her, she’s strong and yet understanding. She’s a perfectionist, and expects excellence, but she can meet her own expectations. With her, Tashi doesn’t feel like she has to run everything, she doesn’t have to carry her weight along with her own. She’s her equal. 

She may have grown up in a different kind of home, being an only child and not very close to either of her biological parents. She might be rich and spoiled. But she has what Tashi has. She knows it. The drive, the tunnel vision, the lust for her craft. 

Tashi remembers the first time she’d seen Heaven dance. The girl had shown up to the gym they used to hang out at, held her hand out to Tashi, and demanded she come watch her dance in one of the empty rooms. She’d said she’d watched Tashi play and it was only fair that she knew she was the best at something too. Tashi couldn’t have known what she was about to experience. The heart pounding, throat tightening feeling of watching someone change your life with every movement. Heaven’s eyes had been closed. It was like Heaven might as well have been alone. Everything had fallen away, including Tashi. It moved the young tennis player.

That was years ago, and now they were 16 and inseparable. They practice together, go on double dates, workout, and spend time with each other’s families. Mostly, they were themselves, not having to apologize to each torah about their passions. They were best friends. 

Which is why Tashi is shocked when she feels Heaven’s hand cup her cheek, her face moving impossibly close to hers, yet, their lips not touching, her eyes searching. “You’ll also win, because you’re Tashi.”

Blinking slowly, Tashi’s eyes flick between Heaven’s eyes and lips, her own parting slightly as she inches just a little bit closer, yet still refusing to be the one to close the distance. “What’re you doing? Trying to motivate me?”

“You need me to motivate you?”

“I’m always motivated.”

“Okay.” Heaven’s smile brushes Tashi’s mirrored one for a moment, causing both girls to shiver. “Then it’s not motivation.” She stands abruptly, swiping the grass that stuck to her legs with the morning dew away. “It’s just something to think about.” With that, Heaven turns on her heel, jokingly waving her slightly explicit, very encouraging sign in the air before calling over her shoulder. “Destroy that bitch. And then, I’ll take you out for ice cream.”

Before Tashi takes the final serve she sees Art coming through the fence. He sends her a soft smile and a wave before he moves along the edges of the court to avoid getting in their way. 

She hadn’t gotten to see a lot of him recently. Between classes, tennis and trying not to blow her brain out listening to Patrick bitch about tour, she hasn’t had time for much else. Yesterday she had four missed calls and no texts from Heaven when she’d gotten back from the courts. She offers him a smile back before serving the ball over the net.

When the match is done, Tashi watches on as her teammate pretends to whisper as she talks shit about her, taking a swig out of her water bottle before pushing it into her bag.

“Hey, you look good out there.”

Tashi looks up from her bag to see Art standing before her. He’d definitely gotten more defined in his time at Stanford. His muscles are more cut, his shirts a little tighter. And he seemed to have a little more swagger about him, his head a little cocked back as he addressed her, an easy smile on his face. And his win record was fucking great right now. It makes her think that maybe her assessment when she met him was right. He’s fucking good. Just terrified of his own best friend. Being out from Patrick’s shadow clearly agrees with him. “Thanks, stranger, it’s good to see you.”

“Oh, that’s my fault? I’m the campus celebrity that gets caught up signing her fans’ t-shirts on her way to class?” he jokes.

Tashi raises one shoulder noncommittally, sweeping her bag onto the other. “I hear the girls talking.”

“All talk, I swear.” He says, eyes widening. There’s the sheepish boy whose ears turn red at the drop of a hat.

“Hey, man, get your dick wet, I don’t care.” Tashi laughs, nudging Art before slipping past him. 

“Wait-” He calls from behind her, stepping into her path again. “Let’s catch up, we can get lunch at the dining hall.”

Tashi quirks an eyebrow, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. “On you?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Good, I’m out of points.

“So, thanks for lunch, it’s nice to see you.” Tashi smiles, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “What’s up?”

Art shifts in his seat. He doesn’t know what he’d been thinking. He’d gone to the courts to hit the ball a little but for some reason, as soon as he saw Tashi, he found himself inviting her to lunch. If anything, he should probably be avoiding her out of guilt or something. And he does…feel guilty. He’s buying her lunch as if the fact that he’s getting her a mediocre campus lunch makes up for the fact that he’d spent the night with his face between her girlfriend’s legs. 

It makes him wonder though. The fact that Tashi wasn’t tossing her gatorade into his face meant that Heaven probably didn’t tell her what happened. Maybe she plans to keep it a secret, and expects him to do the same. Maybe she freaked out and drove all the way back to UCLA, something he prayed didn’t happen because he was sort’ve banking on at least seeing her again later today. He knew he’d be forced to keep his distance, Patrick is coming at some point today and he knows if Heaven was still here, she wouldn’t give him the time of day in front of both of them.

Or maybe she did tell her. Maybe she told her that he’d said he loved her and Heaven and Tashi had a good laugh about it. Maybe Heaven promised that it hadn’t meant anything, and she was never going to let him near her like that again. 

The thought makes Art irritable. 

His mouth ticks downward as he sits back against the back of his plastic chair. “It’s nothing, I just wanted to catch up.”

“Mm, okay, well, Patrick and Heaven are supposed to be coming down later for the Pepperdine match, we should all get dinner or something.” 

That makes him freeze. So she doesn’t even know she was here. 

“If you want.”

Tashi’s fork hits her plate causing a plink sound to ring out in the air between them. “Okay, Art, this is fucking stupid.”

“What’s stupid? What’re you talking about?”

“Like you ask me to this lunch and then you’re being all weird-”

“I wanted to catch up with you, it’s not weird.”

She huffs, resting her elbows roughly on the table. “Just fucking say it. Spit it out.” 

He shouldn’t. Art’s not an idiot, he knows he shouldn’t. He should shut the fuck up. Or make something up. This line of conversation would lead to nothing but trouble and he should know better. He does know better. So, he’s not gonna say it. He’s gonna keep his mouth shut-

“I’m just surprised you guys are all still together, that’s all.”

If looks could kill, Art Donaldson would be dead and fucking buried. The icy stare that Tashi fixes him with has him slumping in exasperation with himself. He just couldn’t fucking help himself. Tashi’s brows furrow as her eyes move across his face almost rapidly, studying him. “Why?”

“I don’t…I’m just surprised. I just, like Patrick’s never-”

“Is he fucking other girls on tour or something? Like is this your way of trying to tell me?” 

“No, I don’t know, we don’t talk about that-”

“Bullshit.” Tashi rolls her eyes. “So what? There’s someone else? Or you feel like…like they’re fucking each other behind my back?”

“No, I don’t think Heaven is fucking Patrick behind your back.” Art scoffs jealously. This is where he fucked up. He shouldn’t have said her name. He knows he can’t say it normally, there’s always something behind it. Even Art can hear it. He adjusts his hat nervously as Tashi sits forward even more.

“I get it. You like her. That’s fine. She shows you attention. Fucking great. I bet it feels good. But Heaven isn’t going anywhere. Not without me. I know that, you know that. I’m gonna give you some advice because I’m actually a good friend. I know I sound like a bitch. I know it feels like I’m the mean one. But I’m actually showing you some grace. You don’t have what it takes to be with Heaven-”

“And Patrick does? He has what it takes to be with you two?”

“I do.” she asserts, scooting her chair out. “You might just be the worst friend in the world.”

The words cause a pang of pain that makes Art hang his head, eyes slipping closed. “Maybe.”

“Definitely.” Tashi scowls, grabbing her keys to leave.

“He’s not in love with you. Either of you.” He calls, squeezing his eyes shut, picking at his nails under the table, but keeping an even expression as Tashi rounds on the table again.

“What makes you think I want someone to be in love with me? Did I say I wanted someone to be in love with me?”

“No.”

“Okay.” she turns to exit again, stopping just short as Art’s word vomit fucks him over one more time.

“But Heaven does.” He says, scratching at his hair and dragging his eyes up to meet Tashi’s. “And she deserves it. You both do.”

Tashi snorts, meanly, crossing her arms over her chest, her large gray t-shirt wrinkles under how tightly she wraps her arms around herself. Her curls shake with her head as she looks down at him in disbelief. “You think because she gives you a crumb of pussy you know her better than me now? Don’t try to play me for her Art. I don’t lose.”

With that, Art watches as Tashi storms out of the cafeteria, her half eaten lunch sitting in front of the empty seat across from him and for the first time, he acknowledges that Patrick might not be the only opponent in his bracket.

“So, have you-uh, you been seeing anybody?” Art shoves his change in his pocket before balancing the two churros he’d bought in his hands, making his way back over to Patrick.

“What’re you talking about?” Patrick shifts on his stool, hooking his foot into the base of Art’s and tugging the chair closer as his friend plops down. “I’m taken. I think that Tashi and Heaven are making an honest man out of me.”

“Right.” Art laughs. 

“What, you don’t believe me? I really like them, man. They’re both good for me in different ways. I didn’t realize how good it could be having girlfriends.”

“Girlfriends? Is that what you are to each other?”

“Yes, actually, that’s exactly what we are.” Patrick chuckles, taking a bite of his churro, “What did they say something?”

“No, not really,” Art shrugs, leaning against the counter. “I just had lunch with Tashi earlier, like we talk sometimes, and it just doesn’t seem like she’s taking it as something serious, you know?”

“Is that right?”

“I dunno man, it just gave that vibe. And like, Heaven, what do you two really have in common?”

“What? Aside from being hot for each other you mean?” Patrick smirks, flicking Art’s hat. 

The muscle in Art’s jaw jumps at that as he involuntarily grits his teeth at the vision of Patrick being with Heaven, touching her, knowing her in the way he does, or worse, knowing her better. “I can’t help but think she might want something more than that and I know that’s not really your style is all. Just don’t want you to get hurt.” He mumbles, staring out of the large window in front of them.

Patrick scoffs and nods to himself before pushing out of his seat, leaning over Art, wrapping his arm around his shoulders as he presses his forehead to his. “You little fucking snake. I’d be doing the exact same thing, I’m almost proud of you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Sure.” Patrick says smugly, popping the rest of his churro into his mouth before snatching Art’s, taking a bite and holding it out for the blond to do the same. “Planting seeds of doubt, smart.”

“I would never do anything to sabotage your relationship, I’m just looking out for you.” Art says breezily, brushing sugar from Patrick’s lips.

“Hm, sure,” Patrick gets a text, slipping his phone out of his pocket, he grins at his phone, smile going even wider when he sees Art trying to nonchalantly peek at the device from his seat. “Hev’s here. You know this just makes it hotter for me right? Knowing you’re here, pining for them. Scheming and shit.”

“Fuck you, m’not scheming, I’m very happy that you managed to scam your way into two girlfriends, Patrick.”

“This is good. It’s nice to see you all lit up about something, I miss that. Even if it is my girlfriends.” The two men stop for a beat and think about the situation they’re in and suddenly they find themselves laughing. It’s crazy. They’ve only ever liked the same girl once before in their lives, and they were kids then. It is absolutely insane now that they both have feelings for not one but two girls. Maybe normal friends would be able to share. They’d each pick a girl and that would be it. But something about this situation was different. Beyond the fact that both of them thought both of the girls were too amazing to pass up, there's an added layer in the conflict, because they both had a fear they didn’t want to address. 

Each girls’ feelings for them are conditional. There is no Tashi Duncan without Heaven Whitlock. There is no Heaven Whitlock without Tashi Duncan. Where one goes the other follows. That’s why none of their boyfriends and girlfriends ever worked out. They tried to divide them. But the grip the two women had on each other was too strong. Even if they could come to an agreement, if Patrick and Art decided they preferred one girl to the other, it wouldn’t matter. The two of them will always choose each other, and would always expect everyone else to fall in line.

It’s a sobering thought for both of them as they sit in the empty cafeteria, silence falling between them. Patrick feels his mind drift somewhere it seemed to be going a lot lately. He wonders if he and Art have the kind of relationship Tashi and Heaven do. Obviously they don’t fuck each other, though he’s pretty sure he’s made it clear before he’s down to hookup. But the loyalty. 

They’re best friends. Fire and Ice. It’s not lost on him that despite the fact that his friend clearly has some strong feelings for his girlfriends, they’re still friends. He still checks in on him. They’re still happy to see each other. Art still feels like Art. And Patrick’s grateful for it. So he can overlook some of the snarky comments, the glares over his shoulder, the questioning of their relationship. As long as things ultimately stayed the same between him and Art, Patrick would be fine. He pats his friend on the shoulder, getting up from the stool, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Walk me over.”

“You look pretty.”

“You look pretty too.” Tashi hums, leaning over and kissing Heaven deeply. When the two girls pull apart Tashi pushes her hands under Heaven’s large red t-shirt, running her hands along the skin of her stomach. Her brow arches as she looks down at the girl. “Art give you this shirt?”

“Tashi-”

“I know it didn’t mean anything.” Tashi says lowly, glancing over at the bathroom door, careful not to let Patrick hear the conversation. “He’s pressed though, so, what do you like him or something? Like are you over Patrick?”

It didn’t not mean anything.  “It’s fine, I…just couldn’t get you on the phone and Patrick was busy, so…it, I was just having a bad day.” Heaven breathes, bringing Tashi’s hand to her lips and kissing her palm. “Sorry.”

“Fair is fair, I’ve hooked up with both of them, now you have too.” Tashi shrugs. As much as her face is fixed in an uncaring expression, Heaven can tell she’s bothered by the fact that Heaven had been messing with Art. She’d never even addressed that she’d gone to visit Patrick without her again. Heaven wants to talk to her about these feelings she has. She wants to tell her that these guys are different from the others for her, and she thinks they are for Tashi too. The knob turns on the bathroom door and Patrick comes out, pulling his shirt over his head.

But now is not the time.

“Starting without me?” Patrick jokes, leaning down and kissing Tashi’s knee as he wraps a hand around Heaven’s ankle, causing her to squeal as he tugs her down closer to him. “Missed you.” He murmurs against Tashi’s skin before pulling away to capture Heaven’s lips. “Both of you.”

“Yeah?” Tashi smiles, sitting up and planting her hand on Patrick’s chest, pushing him down onto the mattress. He sits back, staring at the two women sitting on their knees in front of him. Tashi climbs into his lap leaning over and kissing Heaven one more time before she sinks down beside Patrick, kissing along his jaw. 

Patrick reaches over and tugs at Heaven’s shirt, unable to get it off from beside her so she sits up, pulling the shirt off and tossing it. His eyes trail after the fabric as his face takes on a confused expression. “That’s Art’s shirt?”

Heaven sits up, wide-eyed as she exchanges a look with Tashi. “Uh, yeah, he gave it to me earlier.”

“Earlier. Right,” he shifts his gaze to Tashi, letting her guide his face back to hers. “When were you guys gonna tell me about him?”

“He’s your best friend. I figured you knew.” Tashi hums against the skin on his cheek as Heaven kisses his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” he mumbles against Heaven’s lips, pulling  back and watching as Heaven assists Tashi in getting her shirt off. “I’m the one who won the match. What do I need to be jealous of Art for?”

“Well,” Heaven kisses Patrick’s neck, murmuring her words against his jaw. “He’s smart, and handsome-” her hand slips down in the space between Tashi’s legs and Patricks, she relishes in the gasps they both release. 

“And really fucking good at tennis.” Tashi cuts in.

“He’s always been very good.” Patrick grunts, burying his fingers at the base of the loose braid in Tashi’s hair. 

“But he’s gotten better since he got here. I mean he’s really fucking good.”

Heaven’s brows furrow as she hears Tashi’s whispers. Was this really the time to be talking about Art? Hell, since when did Tashi have such a good fucking glowing review of him? Literally minutes ago she was dismissively saying that she knew hooking up with him would mean nothing. If she was trying to make Patrick jealous she should know the mission was already accomplished. As soon as they started talking about Art, he started kissing them a little rougher, gripping them a little tighter. “He’s never beaten me. We’re not still playing for your numbers. I won.” Patrick laughs. 

“He’s been working hard.” Heaven blurts. Both her boyfriend and girlfriend look at her as she crosses his arms. “It’s just like, are we gonna hold that shit over him forever, he’s our friend.”

Tashi purses her lips, looking between the two of them. “See? This is your problem. You always think the match is over before it is. It’s why you’ve still got that serve.”

“Jesus, Tashi-”

“Are we talking about tennis right now?” Patrick asks, eyebrows raised.

“I’m always talking about tennis.” She huffs, sitting up straight, still perched on his lap. Heaven rolls her eyes, knowing exactly where this is going. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she snatches Art’s shirt off of the floor and storms into the bathroom.

Patrick gestures toward the bathroom exasperatedly. “Could we not?” 

Tashi tilts her head from one side to the other, cracking her neck before chirping out a short, “Sure.” Climbing off of him she grabs a fresh t-shirt from her drawer and pulling it over her head. “Don’t know what else there is for us to talk about-”

“Maybe we should talk about the fact that she’s wearing Art’s shirt and neither of us knew when she got here.” Patrick follows the two girls off of the bed, standing in the middle of the floor between the bathroom door and where Tashi was rolling out her yoga mat.

“Heaven’s attracted to winners.” Tashi squats deeply on her yoga mat, not bothering to even look at Patrick out of the corner of her eyes. “So am I.”

“So what are you trying to say?”

“Art’s been winning, that’s all.” She says passively, standing into a tree pose.

“And so she’s cheating on us because Art’s getting better at tennis?”

Tashi fixes Patrick with a sharp look. “She’s not cheating on me. But if you want to confront her, go ahead, be my guest.”

“Yeah, fine I will.” Patrick takes two long strides and bangs at the bathroom door. “Hev. Can you come out here?” The door creaks open and the girl is fully dressed, still wearing Art’s shirt and a pair of shorts. “You’re dressed.”

“Yeah, imma head out, see you guys at the match.”

“Patrick wants to talk to you about Art.” Tashi says, moving into her lunges. 

“Now’s not the time, Tashi has a match.” Heaven shrugs, grabbing Tashi’s water bottle and taking a drink.

“And you don’t think it’s important to talk about this now?” 

“I tried to talk to you.” She sighs, “But I’m not gonna throw her off right before the match.”

“So this is still about tennis? Are you fucking serious?” He looks at the blank stares that both girls offer him and throws his arms out. “This is fucking crazy. So, you’re messing with Art because I lost a couple matches on tour?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heaven frowns, crossing her arms. 

“I’m saying I don’t need a fake fan for a girlfriend who's gonna mess with a different guy every time I go through a rough patch.”

“A rough patch?” Heaven scoffs. “Patrick, I’m having a rough patch. A rough patch is a bad day at practice, not your shitty win-loss record. Look, I’m sorry about the fucking shirt, okay? I’m sorry I went to see him, I’m sorry for this stupid fucking conversation, so take this-” She wrenches Art’s shirt over her head, and tosses it on the bed, grabbing one of Tashi’s instead. She looks at the girl with a scowl on her face. “You did this on purpose. I’ll see you guys at the match.”

Patrick watches in disbelief as Heaven has the audacity to be the one storming out and turns back to a still stretching Tashi. “I don’t need a coach for a girlfriend either.”

“Seems like you do.” She sighs, stretching her back. “Look, what is it you think you need from me, Patrick? Like really? There are plenty of girls who’d like to be your little girlfriend, cheerleader, whatever. You’re cute, you’re rich, you’ve got a big dick, go be with them. I get it, you’re living the dream, having two fucking girls but, Heaven and I actually expect results, so, I dunno. It’s kinda embarrassing, if you suck.”

“I suck now? I’m sorry not all of us are running around playing against Suzy Country Club, calling ourselves the Duncanator.” 

“Fuck you.”

“I don’t see you harassing Heaven about skipping rehearsal to come see me.”

“Heaven’s a fucking professional. Doesn’t embarrass me.” Tashi scratches her ear as she sits on the floor. “Do you know how much of a fucking waste of time it is for us take turns sitting through listening to you bitch about how you’re being cheated out on tour?”

“Sorry for inconveniencing you.”

“You are actually.”

Patrick crouches next to her, face close to hers as she faces forward with a blank look. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’m beneath you two, I’m not desperate for you to like me, I’m not Art. I’m your boyfriend, not a member of your fan club.”

He stands and Tashi quickly follows, scowling at him as she stands almost nose to nose. “You’re not a member of my fan club?”

Patrick stands his ground, staring down at her. “I’m your peer.”

Tashi scoffs, laughing humorously. “Look, I’m just warning you, if you lose her, it’ll be your fault. And I’ll go with her.” Patrick curls his lip, sneering at that. He knew that. He knows that. But to hear her say it. Like its a given. The verbal confirmation that he’s valued less has his blood boiling. “I don’t have time for this, I’ll just see you at the match.”

“You don’t get to just dismiss me.” Patrick huffs, grabbing the shirt Tashi had shed and pulling it over his own head. “I don’t need this shit.”

The pieces of Tashi’s hair that had fallen out of her braid blow into her face as the door slams shut, and all she can do is try to regulate her breathing as she thinks that she somehow lost another point because there were too many balls in play.

Heaven’s leg jumps as she sits in the bleachers at the school match. She watches students climb into the stands, decked out in ‘Duncanator’ attire. She’s fucked everything up. With Tashi. She’s pissed. She knows she is. Her even voice and blank stare is something Heaven knows well. And now she’s digging shit up with Patrick. 

She knows it’s her fault. No matter how sad she was she knows she had no business hanging out with Art. Not while he…feels the way he feels about her. Not while she feels the way she does. She clearly can’t handle even being his friend. One minute she’s just running into him, or alone with him by happenstance, or just calling to chat. The next he’s looking at her the way he does and her mind is foggy. 

She needs to do better. Patrick and Tashi deserve better. Art deserves better than half of her. So she’s going to keep her distance. 

In her peripheral view she sees blond hair moving up the stands towards her and immediately curses whatever god decided to make a joke of her today. She can feel Art’s intense gaze burn into her skin as he moves to sit in the seat next to her, pausing briefly, choosing to put one empty seat between them. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He says softly, eyes on her as she faces forward determinedly.

“You aren’t.”

“You won’t look at me.” His voice cracks on the last word and on the side opposite of him, Heaven grips the bottom of the bleachers, willing herself not to face him. “It’s because of what I said.”

Yes. “No.”

“Yes.” Art breathes. “I know I fucked it up. But I just…care about you. A lot.” 

“I care about you too.” Heaven sighs. “But-”

“What would it take?” He blurts, shifting completely in his seat to face her. “I’m just…he won and that’s fine but it was a stupid fucking game, so, what do I need a rematch or something, because I’ll win this time. Heaven, I’d win this time.”

“Art, we can’t talk about this okay? Patrick’s-”

“Not coming. He isn’t coming.” The blond man shrugs, sitting back in his seat, still watching the girl beside him. “I came, Heaven.” 

“It’s complicated. I shouldn’t have gone out with you in the first place. I’m fucking up. Even now, sitting here, I’m fucking up. You’re confusing me, a-and distracting me. It’s not like that with them, and I’m…I can’t come running to you crying with my problems every time I’m upset. It’s not fair to you-”

“I want you to come to me.”

“It’s not fair to them. And…I’m gonna stop, Art. We’re going to stop.”

Before Art can say anything the crowd starts cheering loudly, everyone jumping to their feet apart from him and Heaven. He just stares at her. It’s as if he could blink and she’d be gone. He feels her pulling away, and it’s causing him to panic. He nervously picks at his fingers, chest rising and falling rapidly as he sifts through his brain, anything he could do or say, just for a glance, he just needs her eyes. Just for a little bit. Just one more time. He didn’t know what to do. What to convince her. He could be so much better for her. He would do anything. He could be anything, if she’d just look at him. He’d show her he could earn her attention. Her love. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice the match started. Art watches Heavens pupils focus on one side of the court. He knows who’s over there. He knows who’s getting the attention he’s begging for. But she has his. Even like this, breaking his heart, she’s beautiful. The sad look on her face hardly affected her beautiful features. Her unbreaking focus makes her look otherworldly to him. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he might’ve been able to appreciate her passion, even if it wasn’t directed at him. 

A pained wail finally pulls Art’s attention away from Heaven. 

Studies say that the color of pain is red.

Studies are fucking right. Red is all Tashi fucking sees when her body decides to betray her and her knee absolutely snaps in half. The entire rest of her is numb as her knee screams and she feels her dreams start slipping away. It’s not fair.

Hurting this bad is not fair. That’s what really has her screaming out into the air. Several sets of eyes locked on her as she writhes on the court. The crowd had the fucking audacity to gasp when she went down. Oh you’re shocked? Me fucking too.

Quick footsteps make their way to her and she hears a man’s voice as she feels her head being lifted from on top of her racket and onto someone’s lap. “Tashi, Tashi-”

“Get that fucking camera out of her face, now! Fucking idiot!” There are two more steps and the sound of something sliding on the ground next to her. Suddenly, she feels a soft hand on her jaw. “T, you gotta breathe, babe, you have to breathe or you’ll pass out.” 

The softness of Heaven’s voice makes her cry even harder as she tries to lean her head toward her. “You shouldn’t move, Tashi.” 

Art. He’s here. Of course he is…Heaven’s here. But, still, as he smooths his hands over her hair, she thinks, he’s here. Despite what she’d said to him, he came. He’s here, after she yelled at him, holding her, lifting her gently to carry her to the infirmary. And Patrick was nowhere to be found. When she finally opens her eyes, she turns her head to focus her wet eyes on Heaven who was holding her hand over Art’s shoulder. Through her tear soaked lashes she can see the way Heaven was looking at him. And suddenly, she realized that she was too late in what she warned Patrick of. He’d already lost her. He was a sinking ship. Losing Heaven, fighting with her right before a match, not showing up. He’s unstable, unable to follow the course Tashi was charting. And she refuses to go down with him.

“Tashi, Tashi listen-”

“Out! Patrick out!”

“Just listen to me, Heaven talk to her-”

“Don’t fucking talk to her.” Tashi yells from the medical examination bed they had her wrapped leg hoisted up on. She points to the door again with venom. “Out!”

“Patrick-” Heaven starts, biting her nails from her seat next to Tashi, holding her hand with the other, Tashi whips her head to look at her, a teardrop escaping from her eye causes the girl to go quiet, sweeping her thumb across her girlfriend’s cheek. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, just listen-”

“Patrick get the fuck out!”

The outburst even startles Heaven. She turns her head to see Art standing from his seat, breathing heavily, fists clenched. Patrick’s face absolutely drops as he takes one slow step backward before turning and leaving the room entirely. 

As soon as he leaves Tashi’s head falls back against the pillow, bottom lip shaking as he stares up at the ceiling. She attempts to disguise a sob as a sharp breath and Heaven hops down from the examination bed, ignoring Art’s soft call of her name and Tashi’s wide eyed look.

“Hey!” Heaven rushes out into the hallway, eyes burning from sterile white lights and drying tears. “Hey! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

“Look, your girlfriend and boyfriend told me to go so-”

“So…so you’re just gonna leave? Fucking loser” She huffs, shaking her head at Patrick. Her lip curls as she sees him standing there in Tashi’s shirt. He’s breathing heavily, eyes narrowed at her disapproval. “Gimme her fuckin’ shirt back.”

Patrick scoffs, wrenching the fabric over his head, tossing it roughly at Heaven’s feet. “Here, give it to Art. Guess it’s his turn with you now-”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” she whisper-yells, not flinching at all as Patrick walks up on her, his nose nearly touching hers.

“I know you’re fucking him.” He says, a mean, rueful smirk on his face. “We know you’re fucking him.”

Heaven swallows hard. Clenching her teeth and looking back toward the door, praying that Art and Tashi weren’t hearing this conversation. Her voice betrays her as her heart drums against her chest. “You don’t know anything.”

“She’s done with me, so, so are you. That’s how this works, right?” He challenges, not moving an inch as she turns back to him. “You’re her bitch.”

“I’m her bitch?” Heaven laughs humorously, tossing her head back, looking up at the ceiling. “You’re a fucking fan.”

“I’m a fan? Yeah, no, sweetheart, wrong boyfriend-”

“No, you’re a fucking fan, Patrick. It’s how you met Tashi, it’s how you met me, it’s why you’re about to cry like a little bitch because Art yelled at you, God for-fucking-bid-”

“Is that all?”

“No. And you’re a bum. You’re talented but it’s a fucking waste, why don’t you go out there and win something, instead of watching everyone else achieve shit and scoffing like a pretentious prick. And then you won’t waste all your time shitting on people for actually working for something.”

The brown haired man sucks on his teeth, nodding along. “My turn yet?” Heaven just places her hands on her hips as the man moves closer. “You know what, Hev, maybe you’re right. Maybe that shit is true. But you’re looking in a mirror, baby. You’re just like me. You might go to your fancy school and you’re a hell of a dancer but at the end of the day you learned to like tennis for her. You came here for her. You like me, you like Art, but you’re so fucking scared of her being unhappy that you can’t move. Everytime we fight it’s over her. Do you even know what you want?”

Heaven sniffs, looking off to the side as Patrick smoothes back some of the hair from her ponytail fell into her face, his palm slightly soothing the headache that had formed the moment Tashi hit the ground. “I didn’t tell you to leave, Patrick.” 

“Alright, so come with me.”

“What?”

Patrick leans on the wall staring at her, daring her. “Come with me.” He watches as Heaven wraps her arms around herself, brows furrowing, and scoffs at her again. “We both know you’re going back in that room.” 

“Yeah.” she nods. “I am. And you’re fucking pathetic if you don’t come with me.” 

“And do what?”

Heaven’s hand fists in the baggy shirt, propelling her up slightly so they could be more face-to-face. The disgusted look on her face is evident as she stares him down, pretty feature’s dancing with rage. “You broke her, you fix her.” 

Patrick’s face softens as he looks at Heaven. There’s emotion behind the anger, the fear. There’s desperation. She’s desperate for a solution, desperate to help Tashi, one way or another. Right now, it's clear nothing else mattered in Heaven’s eyes. It's clear that she blames him.

He brings his hand down to the raw, bleeding skin of Heaven’s knee, cupping the back of it. “That looks bad-”

Heaven knocks his hand away, lip quivering as she pleads with him through brown eyes. “Are you gonna fix it?” All it takes is a look. And then she’s shoving away from him, storming her way back to the room, sending him one last scowl of disappointment before slamming the door behind her. “Fucking pussy.”

“What the fuck did you chase him for?” Tashi calls harshly from the padding. “Heaven.”

Heaven just silently limps in, trying hard to mask the pain in her own knee. It’s nothing like Tashi’s. It’s not even worth dealing with. Not when Tashi is in pain like that. She simply sits on the edge of the pad, careful to sit on the side that Tashi’s isn’t injured on. Her eyes slip closed as she leans up, pressing her forehead to hers. “S’okay. M’gonna fix it.” she promises. “This doesn’t…it’s not over. We’re gonna fucking fix it.”

Art’s jaw sets as he looks away. It felt like he was intruding on a moment between the two women. He hears Tashi’s faint sniffles mixing with whatever Heaven was quietly whispering in her ear. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He was worried for Tashi. Heartbroken for her. Laying in the bed, with an injury like that…he just doesn’t know. 

But all he could focus on is that damn drop of blood traveling from Heaven’s leg and splattering on the cold, white floor. The pink flesh showing from where she’d skinned herself, for her. She won’t just look at him. 

As he watches Heaven tend to the injured girl, Tashi’s words from the day before echo in his mind. But that damn drop of blood. He can't help himself. So he stays.

When the pain drugs finally force Tashi to sleep, Art’s had enough. 

Heaven was just…sitting there, watching Tashi sleep, running her hands over her hair with one hand, holding her hand with the other. He watches as she runs her thumb over Tashi’s forehead, staring blankly and biting her lip.

He takes a deep breath before whispering. “Hey, let me wrap that for you.”

“Wrap what?”

Does she really not feel it? She has to. The adrenaline had to have worn off, and she was limping when she came in. That scrape had to hurt like a bitch. 

“Your…your leg, Hev, let me wrap it.” Art says softly, pushing off of the chair and walking around to the side of the bed she’s sitting on. “It looks like it hurts.”

Heaven doesn’t look up from Tashi as she quietly shakes her head no, opting to continue combing her fingers in Tashi’s now loose hair. 

“Baby, c’mon-”

“I said no.” Heaven snaps, whipping her head to look at him briefly before turning back to Tashi. “Don’t call me that.”

Don’t try to play me for her. I don’t lose.

Art steadies himself before stepping closer, wordlessly holding his hand out to Heaven. He knows what he’s hoping for. He wants her to take it. But he also knows what he expects. 

So he’s shocked when he feels a soft hand in his. 

She’s still sitting. Still holding Tashi’s hand with her other one, but she took his. He has to do the rest. He knows that. Her eyes tell him that’s the only step she’ll take today. It’s been a rough one. For both of them. 

So he pulls, and she stands, and he scoops her up. Hands holding the backs of her thighs as he lifts her, eyes locked on hers as she flinches, once, as her hand pulls from Tashi’s grasp. Art sits Heaven on the infirmary counter and digs around in drawers until he finds alcohol wipes, gauze and band-aids. 

He makes work of her injury slowly, taking his time as he crouches in front of her. Art cleans the torn skin with the alcohol wipe, blowing cool air on it to soothe the sting, looking up at her through his lashes as he cleans her. He holds her thigh as he adds the gauze and band-aid, relishing in the feeling of her eyes on him. Only him. 

Finally, when he’s done, he stops her from hopping down and retreating back to Tashi’s side, bringing the injured knee to his lips and placing long, deep kisses to it, all while giving her his eyes. He watches as different emotions flash across her face as he murmurs sweet nothings and prayers into her knee, allowing herself to be soothed for a moment.

Before long she’s swallowing back her own tears that draw him up to her, determined to catch them on his finger and chasing them with his lips along her cheeks and jaw. He gently pushes her hair back before bringing his lips to her ear, holding her close. “I know, baby, I know.”

“I-” her voice cracks and Art feels her drop her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“What can I do? How can I make it better?”

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and curling into him completely. “I wish it was my fucking leg. Instead…instead of hers.”

“Don’t say that.” He breathes. “Heaven-”

He stops. He was going to say something else. She says something else, her words mumbled against his skin. But Art misses it. 

Because all he can focus on is Tashi’s staring from the bed as he sees the reflection in the mirror.

[streaminn]

There’s something about the fact that personal boundaries exist to separate people from those who’d impede on one’s personal bubble, and yet for Wednesday Addams, because her boundaries are always clear, other’s feel bold enough to constantly cross them. Boring boys continue to ignore her clear intentions to be alone; trying new pathetic pickup lines that range from pedestrian to unintelligible. Fellow students interrupt her silent studies in the library to spark up a mundane conversation that go nowhere. Even some of the teachers try to rope the goth into some inane extra curricular with the promise of fun, even though she’s already participating in the required activities that she actually wants to do (fencing and bee keeping is enough). While Wednesday isn’t exactly yearning for the whole school to fear her (at least not too much) a healthy amount would be nice if it meant she’d have some peace and quiet without another person breaking the silence.

There’s an obvious exception though, personified in her bubbly roommate. Enid Sinclair has mastered the ability to somehow weave her way through Wednesday’s boundaries so effortlessly that it’s like a dance. The wolf so clearly wanted to wrap the raven in her arms since the moment they met, and yet she respected Wednesday’s wishes, only crossing the line after the two of them helped save the school. The goth even hugged back, and though she’ll never admit it, she wished the hug lasted longer. This isn’t even touching upon all the countless times that Wednesday has convieniently forgotten her aversion to touch when it comes her roommate. To be fair, Enid wouldn’t linger for long, and it was usually either Wednesday’s arms or shoulders, but the raven has harmed people for less, so there’s no denying that the wolf was special (though denial is a fickle thing anyways, especially according to a certain vampire).

Unfortunately, Wednesday was currently in a situation that didn’t involve her “only exception” as she found herself at the receiving end of a new student’s attempts at flirtation.

“Look, all I’m saying is that my ability to heal rivals everyone here,” says boring lizard boy whose name Wednesday didn’t even bother to hear. “I can even regrow limbs!”

Wednesday doesn’t even waste her energy rolling her brown eyes at this nobody, instead opting to just ask, “Why don’t you regrow them somewhere else, preferably far away from me.”

“Oh come on Addams, I know you’re into weird shit. You’re telling me you don’t have a single morbid thought about my abilities? ‘Cause let’s just say the healing helps with certain endurance based activities.”

“I hold no thoughts of you, for if I did, I’d risk lowering my IQ. Now leave.”

“Damn, can’t the savior of Nevermore throw this dog a bone? Not even a smile?”

His slimy fingers began to reach for one of the goth’s braids, but he soon found two of his fingers caught between a pair of scissors.

“Do not touch me, less we learn the extent of your abilities.”

The boy threw up his hands with a dopey grin. “Whatever you say Addams.”

Fed up with the social interaction, Wednesday began to make her way back to her shared dorm. Enid should be there, probably already painting Thing’s nails. Regrettably, this brief moment of thinking distracted Wednesday long enough to not notice the sleazy reptile once again reaching towards her. This time, he grabs her wrist, specifically the one holding the scissors.

It’s short lived however, because right as the raven was about to give this boy a sneak peak of Hell itself, she feels something splash against her face, followed by the shrieks of the idiot who dared touch her. Wednesday lifts her arm to see his freshly amputated hand still attached to her wrist. She touches her face and finds that some of his blood has indeed gotten on her. She finally looks to the source of the violence, finding her angry roommate with blood still dripping from her multicolored claws. The sight causes something to stir in Wednesday, not unlike the way she felt after hugging her bloody roommate for the first time.

“Don’t ever touch her,” growls Enid. “Don’t even look at her, or your eyes will be next.”

The lizard boy nods his head as if his life depended on it, before sheepishly asking, “Can I at least have my hand back?”

“Oh for sure!” With a smile on her face, Enid removed the hand from Wednesday’s wrist, and with a casual strength that only a werewolf could muster, threw it across school grounds so far it couldn’t be seen from where they were standing. “Go get it. Come on Wednesday, it’s almost your writing time.”

With a level of irony for the currently handless boy, Enid grabs Wednesday’s hand as she drags her away from the scene. All he can do is bleed and watch them disappear into the school.

As they walk the halls, Enid talks a mile a minute, with her actions now dawning on her. “I really just cut his hand off. Like, SLASH, off! It was like instinct, I wasn’t even thinking. I just saw him touch you, and I know you don’t like to be touched.”

“Enid.”

“Like I know you can fight your own battles, but part of being best friends is that you don’t have to do it alone anymore!”

“Enid.”

“I’m probably going to get into trouble aren’t I? I mean, he heals right? It’ll grow back, everything is fine. Plus, it was kind of self defense, or is it not ‘cause I was coming to your defense?”

“Enid.”

“Sorry, yes Wednesday?”

“While I agree that I could’ve handled it myself, your actions are appreciated, especially due to how vividly violent it was.”

The validation causes Enid to blush. “Aww, thanks Wednesday, anything for you.” The blonde smiles a big toothy grin, to which the goth replies with a small smile only meant for Enid. The two continue to their dorm, with a peculiar sight for anyone that dared to look in their direction: they were still holding hands.

Enid, realizing that her favorite sweater is covered in blood: awh man!! Now it's never going to wash out

Wednesday, already tugging her towards their dorm: I can help with that