#Like I really poured my heart into this one!

[sturniqlo]

Motherly Instincts- M.S

summary: mom!y/n has trouble putting the baby back to sleep, dad!matt sees that's she's getting overwhelmed and near the edge of breaking down. BLURB

cw: slight cursing, ANGST; crying, being overwhelmed, postpartum depression, FLUFF; soft kisses, reassurance, comforting

an: i tried my best to not use a name for the baby but i kept getting confused when i used the baby and y/n in a sentence so i chose a random name | lowercase intended | a continuation(?) to spilled water

masterlist | mia masterlist | join my taglist

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"got the baby back to sleep?" matt asked and opened his arms back up for y/n to crawl into him. "mhm." she hums, and snugs herself into his arms. he wraps his arm around her shoulder and she leans her head on his chest. y/n's eyes keep going back and forth between the movie playing on the television in front of them and the baby monitor that sits on the coffee table.

"hey, she's okay, i promise you. i'm sure she's fast asleep by now." he whispers and places a kiss on her forehead. "i know, but what if her swaddles comes undone. or what if it's too tight?" she bites the inside of her cheek, worrying.

matt frowns slightly, for the past couple of weeks, y/n hasn't really been herself. she's more quiet, she gets irritated quickly, she only interacts with the baby when it's necessary "i just- she's so fragile, you know?" is her excuse.

in reality, everything is right. y/n has been trying so hard to create a bond with her baby girl. she's tried so hard but, there's something inside of her- almost like a voice- telling her that she isn't fit to be a mother, that her baby doesn't like her. she sees how matt and his brothers have a bond with her own baby, who she grew for nine months. it gets to her.

y/n always has to excuse herself and cry in the bathroom when she sees her baby crack a smile with someone who isn't her, or when mia isn't fussy when someone is carrying her. there has been multiple occasions where mia doesn't let y/n carry her and she squirms in her arms but, when she's given to matt, she isn't fussy anymore. it breaks y/n's heart.

2:36am

the clock on y/ns nightstand reads. the speakers of the baby monitor begin to fill the room with the wails of baby mia. she mutes the monitor so matt won't wake up. swinging her legs over the bed, she puts her slippers on and walks to the door to leave the room. entering the nursery, the cries only get louder. she goes to the crib and sees that her pacifier had fallen next to her small head.

"hi, baby. mommy's here." she whispers, she carefully picks her up in her arms and grabs the pacifier and tries to put it back in her mouth. mia takes it and y/n sighs in relief. she cradles her for a couple more seconds until she sees the babys face churn in discomfort, the pacifier coming out of her mouth and hitting the floor, cries fill the room again.

"oh no, let's get this cleaned up." she tries to stay calm and squats down to pick up the pacifier. before she heads down she places mia down on the changing table and undos the swaddle. "do you need a diaper change, is that it?" her shaky hands unclip the onesie and starts to take off the diaper.

cleaning her up and changing her into a new diaper, her cries don't stop. y/n feels a lump start to form in her throat and she blinks her tears away. "are you hungry, baby? let's get you a bottle." she puts her back in her arms and grabs the pacifier so she can clean it while she's downstairs.

y/n runs one of her frozen breast milk pouches under warm water and proceeds to pour it into a bottle once it's warm and melted, however with a crying baby in her left arm, and a shaky right hand, the bottle falls on its side and the pouch of milk slips from her grip. "shit." she curses and a tear slips down her face. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry." she tells the crying baby in her arm. grabbing a different frozen pouch she manages to pour all of it into the small bottle.

putting the nipple of the bottle into the babys mouth, she refuses and her cries get louder. y/n tries not more time and mia takes it for a couple of seconds and repeats what she previously did with the pacifier. y/n places the bottle down next to the spilled milk and cleans the pacifier before heading back up into the nursery.

she moves side to side patting the baby lightly on the bottom, trying to soothe her to sleep. "i- i don't know what you want." she whispers, looking down at the baby's blue eyes that resembles matt's so much. however, these pair of eyes are sad and leaking tears.

in their shared room, matt flips over and tries to put an arm around y/n. he feels the spot empty and cold, waking up and sitting up he begins to come conscious of his surroundings and hears the cries of his baby. his bare feet meet the cold wooden floor and he heads out the room into the nursery where he sees y/n wiping tears from her eyes and hears the wails of the baby.

"babe, what's going on?" his raspy voice says. y/n looks up and sees matt standing there. "she's- i don't- she won't stop crying, i don't know what she wants. i've- i've tried everything, she won't stop, matt." his heart aches at her quivering voice. "it's okay, let me have her." matt walks closer to his two girls and y/n hands mia to him.

once the baby is in matt's arms, her cries stop. this makes y/n's eyes well up even more. "hey, why don't you go to our room, i'll be there in a sec, okay?" he grabs her jaw and kisses her forehead. "o- okay." she nods. as bad as it sounds, matt wished that she hadn't stopped crying right away in his arms. he saw the way y/n's eyes welled up again. he wished it would've taken him some time to get the baby to calm down.

y/n remembers of the mess downstairs and heads down to the kitchen. wiping both the milk and her tears, she hears matt coming down the stairs and she turns around. "hey, is she- is she asleep?" she says, trying her best to smile. "yeah, here, i'll clean this up." matt grabs the napkins from her and he cleans it up. "is it okay if i go back up?" y/n asks.

"of course, i'll be right up." matt turns around and nods at her. matt waits a couple of minutes before going back upstairs so y/n can have a moment to herself.

"you okay?" matt says as he closes the third bedroom door. y/n places the baby monitor back down on her nightstand after unmuting it and turns around to matt's voice. "am i a good mom?" she blurts out and sits on the edge of the bed. "what? of course you are. you're the best. why do you ask?" he goes to sit next to her. "i feel like i'm not. i mean, mia doesn't even like me. she doesn't let me hold her whenever i just want to. i cant even put her to sleep when she wakes up. i- you put her straight to sleep by just carrying her, i can't do that." she cries into matt.

"y/n, baby, you're the best mom ever." matt says and she shakes her head. "matt, you're not listening to me, i can't- i'm- i'm not good enough. i don't have motherly instincts. i'm- i'm the worst."

matt shakes his head and gently grabs her face in his hands. "baby, believe me when i say this. you are the best mommy for mia. did you change her diaper just now?" he asks and she nods. "did you make her a bottle?" she nods. "did you give her, her pacifier?" she nods again. "did you go to her when you heard her crying?" she nods. "see, you do have motherly instincts, my love. nobody told you what to do, you just did it." he smiles at her. "please, believe me, babe."

"and, it's okay if we can't figure it out right away. we're first time parents, of course it's going to be hard. we're learning." her cries have now turned into sniffles. matt wipes away the last of her tears and kisses her nose, making her giggle lightly.

"feelin' better?" matt murmurs against her hair. they had moved from sitting on the edge of the bed to matt cuddling her, kissing her hair from time to time. "much better. thank you, babe. i- i think i have postpartum depression." she whispers the last part. "oh." he says. "i want to get help, i don't want to feel like this anymore. i want to enjoy these moment with her. she's not going to be this little for so long." she looks up at him.

"you get all the help you need. i'll be with you every step of the way, alright? me and mia will be right next to you." she smiles at his words and he presses a soft kiss to his lips. "thank you." there's a beat of silence until matt speaks. "please don't ever say that she won't be this little for so long. one moment she needs us to change her diaper and next thing you know, i'm walking her down the aisle." y/n gasps. "okay, let's not go that far. she's not even two months old yet."

"you're right."

[bywons]

YOU KEEP ME WARM ｡｡ stealing their hoodie

𝖫𝖠𝖢𝒪𝖭𝖨𝖢───when you are warmer & cuter in his hoodie

𝑜𝑓 ܃ enhypen x f!r O886 𝑤𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 headcannons bf!enha fluff ── 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 kissing, skinship ｡｡｡ ／ ( 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 ) ｡

૮ ♡◞ ◟ ა this one was so cute to write. a shorter hc, but i really hope you will like it, mwah baby, have a good day ^^ 💌

reb𝑙ogs& ˊᗜˋ 𝑓eedbacks

LEE HEESEUNG gasps as soon as he enters the living room to witness his red hoodie being stolen by his dearest lover, you. he approaches your dozing figure, catching you off guard ad he wraps his arms around you all too sudden, pulling you into a series of kisses on your lips. “caught you red handed, you really thought you could get away with stealing my hoodie?” he murmurs, his voice full of affection. you blink up at him, startled but quickly melting into his embrace. he leans back just enough to meet your eyes, still smiling, “you look way too good in my clothes,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, “i might just let you keep it.”

PARK JONGSEONG his heart swells with warmth as he watches you, your figure bundled up in his oversized hoodie, the sleeves slightly covering your hands. the winter fair buzzes with life around you, but all he can focus on is how adorable you look, probably so warm in his clothes. “are you comfortable?” he asks, slowly rubbing the small of your back in a soothing manner, guiding you through the crowd. “always, with you,” you smile, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek which he quickly returns back to your forehead. giggling, he says, “i'm forever glad you're warm enough in my hoodie.”

SIM JAEYUN jake’s eyes light up as soon as he spots you across the street, wearing his favorite black hoodie. his grin widens as he jogs up to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “you really know how to make anything look ten times cuter,” he teases, resting his chin on your shoulder. you giggle, leaning into his embrace as the two of you continue walking down the city street, hand in hand. “is it comfy?” Jake asks, giving your hand a little squeeze. “super comfy,” you reply, glancing at him with a playful smile. “i might never give it back.” jake chuckles softly, stopping in his tracks to press a quick kiss to your temple. “that's fine by me,” he murmurs, his voice warm with affection. “but don’t blame me if I steal it back when you’re not looking.” his eyes twinkle with mischief as you both continue your stroll.

PARK SUNGHOON freezes at the mesmerizing sight in the kitchen. his blue hoodie, loosely hugging your busy frame, making black coffee on the marble counter. you don't notice him at first, but when you do your heart skips a beat, as sunghoon slips his strong arms around around waist from the back, resting his chin on your shoulder. “hey, that’s mine,” sunghoon sighs, trying to keep his voice steady, though the soft blush on his cheeks betrays him. you turn, smiling, “you’re right, but i think it looks better on me.” he finally gives in to your antics, and giggled in response, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. “i can't lie, you look better in this.”

KIM SUNOO lets out an excited squeal the moment he sees you step out of your room wearing his pink hoodie. “oh my gosh, look at you!” he exclaims, rushing over to wrap you in a hug. you giggle, surprised by his reaction. “you’re the one who left it lying around,” you tease, but sunoo is too busy admiring how cute you look. “you’re literally the most adorable thing ever,” he says, his eyes shining with affection. he twirls you around, his smile never faltering. “you’re keeping that,” he says, not even giving you a chance to argue. he presses a kiss to your forehead, then adds with a playful grin, “we can even match next time.”

YANG JUNGWON spots you sitting by the window, wrapped in his gray hoodie, watching the rain pour down outside. he leans against the doorframe for a moment, just taking in how peaceful you look, the hoodie a bit too big on you but somehow perfect at the same time. “you look cozy,” jungwon sings, breaking the silence as he walks over. you turn, smiling as he sits down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “i am, don't wanna take it off,” you reply, pulling the hoodie tighter around yourself. jungwon chuckles softly, reaching over to pull the hood over your head. “you’re adorable,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. you sigh, resting your head on his shoulder as the rain continues to fall. “guess this hoodie’s mine now,” you tease, and jungwon just grins, wrapping an arm around you. “only if i get to share it with you.”

NISHIMURA RIKI walks into the game room to find you sitting in front of the TV, wearing his favorite hoodie. his eyes widens in surprise before a mischievous smile creeps onto his face. “hey, that’s my hoodie!” he says, dramatically pointing at you. you look over your shoulder, smirking, “not anymore.” riki laughs, walking over and sitting beside you. “well, you look way cooler in it than i ever did,” he admits, leaning back and resting his arm around your shoulders. you grin, leaning into him as you focus on the game. “it’s super comfy,” you say. he nods, pulling you closer. “i'm not even mad. but you owe me a game,” he teases, kissing the top of your head.

© bywons, 2024. do not copy / translate / upload on any other platform without my permission.

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[moonlight-canavalia]

Sentimentality

It’s been a while since I’ve written and posted anything so here it is. I swear Sylus has not left my mind since I started playing.

Anyways here’s a little Sylus reassurance when you’re having doubts!

Warning: kisses, light teasing, uh implied cunnilingus that’s about to start at the end

If you prefer AO3 here!

Divider by cafekitsune

There had been a somewhat heavy feeling in your chest that you’ve been ignoring. You’re not sure where that weight is coming from or better yet— that insecurity . Does he really want you for the long run? It seems like it, and though mischievous with his words, he is very forward with his words and action. 

“Sylus, if something happened to me, what would you do?” You ask sprawled out on his bed while he’s getting ready for his meeting. In your mind it sounded like a simple enough question. Honest curiosity laces your tone. His hands suddenly stop, shirt only halfway done. Sylus’s face scrunches up in disgust at the thought of it. Before turning to face you, he makes sure to relax his facial features. “Are you planning to go away, kitten? Any mission worrying you?” disguising his worry in an almost casual tone “want me to tag along? You know I’ll go with you. Just ask, sweetie.”You're still looking up at the ceiling. Arms resting by your side lost in thought. “Hhhmm, just asking. I guess.”Sylus has moved to the foot of the bed, grabbing you by your ankles – pulling you towards him. Surprised by his actions you let out a startled yelp. He’s not sure what’s going on through your head, and he’s not sure how to ask you. While he might be brass, always getting straight to the point there’s something a little off about you today. Your smile isn’t quite reaching your eyes, not as talkative, lost in your own little world. So, he wants to make sure you truly understand and believe his words over all else. 

Dropping your legs at the edge of the bed so he’s able to stand between them he slowly bends down. Caging your body under his to stop you from getting away. His piercing gaze unsettles you for a second, leaving you frozen in place. In a flash his crimson eyes soften, filling with such a warmth that makes you feel like a soothing balm has been poured over the cracks in your heart. “I’d set the entire world on fire and spend the rest of eternity searching for any trace of you in those ashes.”  — He speaks in earnest, deep voice sounding hoarse. Words spoken slowly and low, as if he’s telling the secrets of the universe.  Secrets meant to be kept between you and the four walls of this room. Cupping your cheek with one hand while shifting his body weight on the other to not lose eye contact with you; he adds “Nothing, no one will ever take you away from me. Not the heavens or me getting lost in the nine circles of hell can rip me away from you. I will always search for you and I will always find you.”Lost for words all you manage out is a shaky breath. all as a response. If there’s one thing Sylus is, it is honest. This is something you know, but the profoundness of his words stun you. You feel like your brain is malfunctioning, not being able to come up with words. Eyes wide and watery, you can hear the rush of your blood in your ears. Your heart beats wildly like a trapped bird wanting to escape its enclosure.“I don’t enjoy these questions, sweetie. Especially coming from your pretty mouth” Placing both of his hands on either side of your head, he gently leans in for a kiss, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over your lips. Giving you a quick peck, then you feel his lips brushing the shell of your ear “You’re mine and you’re not going anywhere”.Wrapping your arms around his neck you gently tug him towards you, so more of his body weight is on you. Just wanting to feel him close, enjoying the warmth of his body on yours.  There are many things you’d like to say, numerous emotions and feelings you’d like to voice. But it all gets tied at the back of your throat. With a lack of words to summarize it all a simple “thank you” escapes your trembling lips. 

Those words mean a lot to Sylus, it’s something he rarely hears. And with the way it fell from your mouth so willingly, no ulterior motives behind it only raw emotions dripping in sincerity; now leaves him lost for words. He hopes you know how much he adores you, how much you mean to him, how you’re the best thing to come into his life. How he’ll always defy fate and search for you. When the time comes he’ll sit you down and recount your past together. Not now though. For now he’ll just enjoy having you with him once again . 

Resting his forehead against yours for a few seconds he decides on staying in tonight. The meeting can be rescheduled, anything can wait when it comes to you. “Let’s just stay here tonight, Sweetie” he murmurs.

“I wasn’t aware I was even invited to accompany you in the first place.” you retort. A small chuckle rumbles in his chest. A sound you can’t get enough of. 

“You would think at this point in time you don’t need an invitation. You’re always free to come with me if you desire” Sylus says, like it should be the most obvious thing to you. 

Rolling your eyes playfully at him you quip “Well personally I prefer to be told that you’d like me there.”  

“I always want you with me. Are you not aware of that?” the silver haired male asks, looking quizzically at you. “Oh.” “Yeah, oh, sweetheart.” he taunted, with the corner of his lips upturning in that dangerous smirk of his. “You’d be wise to remember that in the foreseeable future.”Intertwining his fingers with yours, he pins your hand over your head. Softly he squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. A tender reminder, that both of you are here, together right now. In your mind, you know you both are tied together. There’s a pull that can’t be destroyed between the two of you, you can't make sense of it. It feels like you both have known eachother for lifetimes. Little did you know that's exactly what's happening.  Sylus has crossed galaxies, timelines, time and time again to find you. The bending of time or the fact that he's destined to lose you and find you again again is nothing. You are his love, the person his heart belongs to, he'll turn himself into a monster if it means seeing you once again.  Rising from on top of you he kneels on the floor. Once again snaking his big arms around the back of your knees and pulling your core towards his mouth. This is where I belong. Beneath you, you can do anything to me and I’d be grateful, you can command me to do anything and I’ll do it without a second thought. Ask and you shall receive.” He says while kissing your thighs.

[cevansbrat0007]

Forget-Me-Not

Summary: Ari forgets to do something important before leaving out the door...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Fluff, Implied Smut, Kisses, Chocolate Covered Strawberries, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You’re currently standing at the stove, slowly stirring a pot of freshly melted chocolate. For some reason, you’d awoken this morning with a craving for chocolate dipped strawberries. So, instead of paying an arm and a leg to buy them from some fancy shop, you’d simply decided to make your own. 

Humming under your breath, you’re surprised when you hear your front door open and shut. A quick glance at the clock suggests that it’s much too early for Ari to home for good just yet. More likely he’d probably forgotten something. 

Turning off the heat, you move to pour it into a bowl. Next up was your favorite part – turning your favorite fruit into a delicious confection. You run your finger along the spoon, wincing as the still-too-hot treat burns your skin.

But you don’t care. Not when it tastes so good. So good, that you can’t help the satisfied moan that escapes your throat. 

“Is it really that good, sweetheart?” 

“Mm.” You purr before helping yourself to another taste, this time using your tongue now that things have cooled a little more. “It really is.” 

Grinning, you take a moment to get a good look at your man. He’d been a man on a mission this morning, rushing out the door before you were barely awake and alert. And while you weren’t quite sure what business it was that had him moving so quickly, you were pretty certain that he’d tell you at dinner.

“You in the mood to share?” Ari rasps as he leans against the wall, looking exceptionally sexy in his dark blue Levi’s and black henley. You find yourself slightly disappointed that he’s not rocking one of his signature flannels. 

Mostly because you liked to steal them. But to be fair, your sweet Beast also never seemed to complain when he caught you wearing one. He mostly just sighed and grumbled about his diminishing wardrobe. 

Which was fine by you, considering the fact that he was the sole reason your entire panty drawer had been reduced to next to nothing. Those flannels were owed to you by right! 

“Just what are you doin’ back so early?” You ask, holding the spoon out to him. “I didn’t expect to see you until dinner.”

“Forgot to do somethin’.” He rasps as he moves towards you, his long, powerful legs bridging the distance between your bodies in mere seconds. “Somethin’ important.”

“Oh?” Guess you were right. The man had been moving so fast this morning that he’d likely left behind an important file or notepad. “I don’t recall seeing anything on the table, but–”

“That ain’t what I forgot, little Bird.”

Now he’s standing in front of you, his work boots almost brushing your bare toes. You’re caught off guard when Ari moves to tenderly cup his cheek, his roughened palm warming your delicate skin. 

“What…what did you forget?” Confused, you move to offer him the spoon in your hand, only to be surprised when he declines. You watch as his normally brilliant blue eyes darken as they stray to your waiting mouth. Your heart speeds up when his head descends, making his intentions all the more clear.

“Something much, much sweeter.”  

Squealing in surprise, you can’t help when your eyes flutter closed as his sinful lips capture your own. The kiss starts off soft and sweet, that is, until you feel Ari’s free hand make its way down your lower back so that he can grab a handful of your ass, pulling you closer to his big body.

You feel his tongue sweep against your bottom lip, encouraging you to open. To respond in the way you so desperately know he wants. Rising on your toes, you eagerly grant him access, wanting him to know that you were feeling just as hungry and wanting as he felt for you.

Feeling emboldened, Ari lifts you off your feet, prompting you to wrap your legs around his trim waist. Your fingers find their way into his hair, lightly tugging at his already tousled locks. Meanwhile both of his impatient hands busy themselves with kneading and squeezing your curves as he rocks his hips against yours, letting you feel the weight of his already impressive erection.

It makes you want him here. Now. So you can't help but feel disappointed when he slowly eases away, leaving you wet and needy.

“Fuck." He promises now that he's finally allows you up for air. "Promise I won’t forget to do that again.”

“Uh huh.” You breathe, your legs wobbling slightly the moment he releases his hold, lightly setting you down. It doesn’t help when he leans in once again to gently brush his lips against your temple. And his satisfied grin has you giggling as your head falls to rest against his broad chest. 

“Tell me what I interrupted here, baby.”

“I was making chocolate covered strawberries.” Nuzzling your nose against the fabric of his shirt, you continue. “I woke up with a taste for them, so…” You offer up a small shrug. “I decided to make some.”

“Well, that’s funny. On account of I woke up with a taste for you.” You feel his big palm come to rest on your head, stroking a path along your silky curls. “And these are about to make the proceedings even better.” 

You can’t help but feel a little dizzy when he pulls away. His teasing words were filling you with all kinds of spicy ideas.

“I’ve gotta run.” Ari tells you. “I only came back to rectify my mistake. But I want you to save some of these for tonight…” He glances down at your now cold bowl of chocolate. “Because I have plans to enjoy my little Bird for dessert before I even think about dinner.”

Reaching around you, he snags a ripe berry and lifts it to your mouth. His eyes never leave yours as he watches you bite down on the plump fruit, its juice lightly dripping down your chin. Groaning low in his throat, Ari leans in once more, lapping up the sweet trail with his tongue. 

“And Bird?” He calls as he turns to walk away, confidently striding towards the front door.

“Y-yeah?” Dear God, this man was going to be the death of you.

“No panties, alright? I don’t want anything between me and my strawberry delight.”

Fucking Beast.

END

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Favorite Season 6 fics

So these used to be called "Fic recs for my BFF", but unfortunately I was unable to sway her to buddie, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ these are just for me now (and you guys too I guess 😅)

Season 6

🔥Curl Up in My Heart and Let Me Keep You by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Animal Transformation | 10K | Teen): When an orange tabby cat starts hanging around the Diaz house, Eddie doesn't think anything of it. The little guy's cute and cuddly, and seems to always know when Eddie's having a bad time. Weird how the cat's never around when Buck is, though.

🔥let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-Coma AU | 54K | Explicit): “It’s just that—I died,” Buck continues, voice unsteady enough that Eddie wonders if this is the first time he’s acknowledged that out loud. “I died, and there’s so much more. There’s so much more I want to do, things I don’t even know I want to do yet, and I almost had the chance to have and live them taken away. I don’t want to die and regret missing out on everything else, Eddie.” “So let’s make a list,” Eddie says. “Let’s do them.” or, a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realise—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along

🔥like a dog with a bird at your door by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-S6, Getting Together | 51K | Explicit): The kid with blood pouring down his shins is not so far from the dog lonely enough that he thinks breaking his housetraining is worth it for the ten minutes of berating that come with it, the ten minutes of undivided, if reluctant, attention. Buck thinks, sometimes, that at least he wasn’t the kind of puppy that gets put in a sack and drowned at birth. He wasn’t always unwanted. And he isn’t anymore. or, evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home

🔥Something Dumb to Do by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Post-S6, Getting Together | 8K | Explicit): "Too bad we can't just date each other." Eddie laughs. "What?" "No, I'm serious!" Buck sets his beer down, the better to gesture with both hands, face lighting up, and Eddie just—he really loves the guy, okay. Ridiculous as he is. "It would be so much easier! You wouldn't have to introduce a new person to Chris—he already likes me anyway—and you could tell Pepa so she'll stop setting you up on dates that don't go anywhere—" "And what would you get out of this?" Eddie asks, grinning. — Or: Buck and Eddie try something out together. (Part 1 of homeward bound)

🔥find a way to you (if it kills me) by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (Post S6E13: Mixed Feelings, Pining | 19K | Mature): It’s something about the way Eddie phrases it. Something about the combination of his words and the way he’s staring down at the floor, and the flush in his cheeks and the way he’s fidgeting. Buck thinks, abruptly, he’s going to ask me on a date. “Well I - wanted to tell you first, and I need someone to watch Chris, anyways - I know he’s getting old enough now he doesn’t like feeling like he’s got a babysitter, so I was hoping - sorry. Not the point. Uh. I have a date on Saturday.” Just as abruptly as his own hopes had come soaring up above the cloud cover of his own unawareness - they go crashing back down to the floor - to the basement, and into the mud. “A date?” Buck rasps out. — the one where eddie decides to start dating again, buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief

🔥Being Eddie by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Time Travel, Post-S6, Getting Together | 80K | Teen): When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica.

🔥 Evan Buckley & The Coma-Verse of Madness by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Coma AU, Multiverse | 58K | Teen): After being struck by lightning on a call, Buck experiences a plethora of alternate realities showing him different directions his life could have taken. Fighting hard to get home, Buck learns what, or who, is important to him in every lifetime.

🔥 Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6 | 62K | Mature): The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

🔥 where all of the people dancing and clapping would greet me with such warmth by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (Season 6, Magical Realism | 15K | Mature): In the fall, Buck begins to disappear. (or: Buck can see that people become transparent when they're about to die) (Part 2 of All I Am, All That I Am)

🔥 Ace of Hearts��by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Post-S6, Getting Together | 9K | Teen): "I've been wondering…" Maddie pauses, watches Buck make a face like he's bracing to be smacked. "What happened with Eddie? You two were dancing around it for so long, and then… what, it just didn't work out? Was the date really that bad?" She's expecting another wince, or even for him to duck out of the conversation entirely, but instead Buck is staring at her like she's grown a second head. "Maddie. I've never been on a date with Eddie." Or: the poker game was a date. It takes Buck a while to catch on, though.

🔥 situations, circumstances, miscommunications ( i just may like some explanations ) by heartbeatdiaz / @lonelychicago (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 4K | Teen): "You didn't know?" Eddie asks, calmer but not less confused. He frowns. "How could you not know?" "You never said anything?" Buck tilts his head to the side. "We were dating?” “I guess not,” Eddie sighs. His heart is beating a little faster, an unpleasant buzz beneath his skin as he all but chokes on a feeling he can’t quite name— it could be hurt or disappointment or maybe a mix of both. In that moment, he knows three things very clearly. 1. Buck is going to be the death of him. 2. He is in love with the most dense, most oblivious man on planet Earth. 3. He is too gay and, honestly, too old for this shit.

🔥listen to you breathing (is where I wanna be) by Yavilee/ @theladyyavilee (Presumed Dead | 41K | Teen): The thing is – and Eddie should have known this, has been taught this cruel lesson over and over and over again – the thing is most of the time the worst day of your life will start like just any other day. A million small moments, so familiar and mundane you almost don’t even notice them slipping by - until you would give anything to go back and get just one more. (You can’t.) — Or the one where Buck is presumed dead after a building collapse and Eddie has to live through the reminder that tomorrow isn't promised to anyone

🔥Eddie Diaz vs The Feelings by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Season 6, Sexuality Crisis, Demisexual Eddie | 62K | Explicit): Eddie dives into the mysteries of attraction, romantic love, and asexuality because there's a good chance he's fallen in love with his best friend. AKA demisexual!Eddie figures out he’s demi and finds the happily ever after he’s been longing for

🔥tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S6, Time Loop | 43K | Mature): "Think I can get a hug from my best man on my wedding day?" he asks, quietly hopeful in a way that makes Eddie want to tear off his skin. "Sure," Chris replies with a shrug, turning to throw Eddie a cheeky grin. "Dad, Buck needs a hug." Two things happen at once then: Eddie has to plaster on a smile authentic enough to convince the one person on this planet that knows him inside out—except he doesn't really have to fake his smile, not at first, because of number two—he sees groom-Buck for the first time. And groom-Buck is every bit as beautiful as Eddie might have imagined him over the years. For a moment, Eddie falls into the greatest betrayal his brain has ever laid out for him, imagining that he might have got to see Buck like this for the first time from the other end of the aisle— (OR: eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia)

🔥 Muscle Memory by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6, Amnesia AU | 40K | Teen): After a disappointment in his personal life, Buck wakes up one morning to find everyone he loves has forgotten him completely. No memories. No recognition. Almost like he was never really there.

🔥 but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Post-S6, Time Loop | 28K Mature): He puts his laptop away after a bit, and paces the length of his apartment as he tries to take stock of the situation at hand. One: The date is March 22nd, 2024. Two: It has been March 22nd for 3 days now. Three: Buck is trapped in some kind of time loop that is forcing him to relive this day. Four: Eddie is, apparently, in love with him. And. And. Five: Buck doesn’t feel the same way.

🔥 a blaze in the dark by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Post-S6, Eddie Coming Out | 117K | Explicit): Set post-Season 6, where Buck has inadvertently sacrificed his friendship with Eddie in order to focus on his new relationship with Natalia, and is shocked when Eddie comes out to the team and subsequently reveals that he is dating a guy.

AUs

🔥Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars ("Blip" AU, Post-S4E13: Suspicion | 27K | Teen | Warning: MCD): In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

🔥 Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Canon Divergent - Supernatural Elements, Ghost Buck | 67K | Explicit): When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

🔥like when the sun came out by spaceprincessem/ @spaceprincessem (Canon Divergent, Ghosts | 39K | Mature): He completely pulls the charger from the wall as he fumbles to put in his passcode. He doesn’t know who to call first. Everyone is busy, carrying on with their lives and Buck is stuck here in the loft with the terrifying ghost of his childhood like an omen. Out of the corner of his eye he catches the Crooked Smiled Man now standing in the dark entrance way to his bathroom. He swallows around the taste of blood in his mouth, hands shaking, useless as his list of contacts blur beneath the burn of tears. Eddie Eddie Eddie. He doesn’t know where the feeling comes from, but it’s sudden and sharp and excruciating. Eddie is the first name at the top of his list, his most recent calls and texts, and he doesn’t hesitate to hit the call button. [or buck can see ghosts au]

🔥All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 107K | Explicit): Eddie wants to stay away from his family’s legacy and give his son a normal life. Buck’s desperate to find a way to get over the love he lost. Fate has other plans for both of them.

🔥 Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 50K | Explicit): Once, Eddie chose to save a newly turned against his better judgment. Five hundred years ago, Buck was saved by a rescuer he thought was a hallucination. Now they're together again and about to find out just how far either of them will go to try and deny what they are to each other.

🔥 let it pour out of your soul series by Rianne/ @rianneeyre (Magical Realism AU, Witch Eddie | 3 works | 71K | Complete):

collectively unconsciously composed (S4E6: Jinx | 46K | Explicit): Or: in which the author re-watched Buck Begins and Jinx and thought: what if this was gayer and had actual magic?

that systematic drug (PWP | 5K | Explicit): Eddie’s mouth goes dry when he opens the door and sees Buck. He’s clean-shaven and with his hair carefully styled back, smiling at Eddie sweetly and a little teasingly. Buck is wearing his dark jeans and his light blue v-neck polo shirt, the one that’s tight enough that it shows off the bulge of his biceps and the definition of his pecs and abs. Eddie knows this shirt. Buck's favourite, because he knows he looks good in it.

something binding us together (Established Buddie | 20K | Teen): Or: Eddie plans a long-avoided visit to his parents, discovers some things about his magic, and begins to build his family a home in LA's witching community.

[elixirfromthestars]

Kiss It All Better

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Your boyfriend Peter hasn't contacted you in days, but one stormy night in a dark alley would change that.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning(s): none really / fluff / sprinkles of angst / if you squint you could maybe see some hurt + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: Another bingo request down!! I promise I am doing my best to get through these. As always I appreciate everyone's patience and support!! ❤️ Thank you for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤️❤️

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

A flash of white light illuminates the narrow alleyway you are walking through. A loud rumble follows, practically shaking the concrete beneath your feet. The storm would start any second now and you would most likely get caught in it if you didn’t make it home soon. Your pace quickens as you begin to make haste. 

Getting caught in the rain would only worsen your mood. 

Your footsteps echo and bounce off the alley walls. The wet concrete smell mingles with something sour making your nose scrunch up. You hold the strap of your bag tight against your chest, a small comfort in the night. The dark clouds in the sky hide the moon from your view, causing only a few street lights to vaguely cascade their glow onto your path. The shadows cling to the brick walls around you making your surroundings more ominous than they really were. 

This was a bad idea. You know this—anyone would know this—it was common sense. You shouldn’t be walking down a New York alleyway alone at midnight. However, you had little to no choice with no cabs in sight and no rideshare vehicles available. You’d have to make the journey on foot if you wanted to make it home before the storm worsened. 

Your apartment was only a few blocks away from your job, and you already had an established route you took back and forth. It was a longer route—more scenic—and on nicer days you enjoyed strolling along it accompanied by your favorite tunes. However, on nights like this when the sky decides to descend a tempest upon the earth—you prefer to take a risk with this shortcut.

A few droplets falling on your head turn into streaks and then a pour—catching you off guard. You didn’t think the ferocity of the water would pick up so quickly. You hurried over to take refuge underneath the slight coverage of the fire escapes lining the brick wall to your right. The cold metal frame above did little to shield you as droplets fell from it onto your head. Nevertheless, this would have to do until you could determine your next move. 

You could run the rest of the way home and hope you didn’t slip in the rain—or you could give the rain a few minutes to die down and then run—the idea of waiting brought an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You dreaded having to be out here longer than you needed to be. 

Would it really be safer to run though?

As much as you didn’t want to wait you decided it would be better than falling face-first into a grimy puddle. You shifted on your feet, the soles of your shoes squeaking against the pavement, your body shivering as the water soaked through your thin jacket. Each second seemingly stretches out endlessly as you watch the rain crash and splatter against the ground. 

You took out your phone to check the weather app. Your hand resting perpendicular to your forehead as a makeshift shield to protect your phone from the rain. Droplets still fell on your phone anyway and with the way the water clung to your hair and eyelashes—your vision was more than obstructed. 

So much so that you didn’t notice when a shadow loomed over you. 

“Hey beautiful,” a voice directly next to your left spoke, startling you. A gasp left your lips as fast as your heart sped up. You jump back from the source of the voice, creating as much distance as you can without slipping into the full force of the storm. You turn to see who it belongs to, your phone tightly gripped in your hand. 

When your eyes met the white ones on the red mask, your body immediately relaxed from its frozen state. A breath of relief escaping you that sounded more like a choked laugh. 

“Baby, I swear I didn’t mean to scare you!” Peter sounded apologetic while laughing all the same at your reaction. He was hanging upside down by a thick string of web when he lowered down to be at eye level with you. Small streams of water cascade down his superhero suit, pooling at your feet. 

You scoff still a little shaken, “You thought sneaking up on me wasn’t going to scare me?” You put your phone back in the pocket of your jacket, hand on your hip as you try to follow your boyfriend’s logic.

You can’t see Peter’s face, but you know him well enough to know the awkward boyish grin he must be dawning under that mask. “Well…I didn’t think it would scare you that much…” his tone was sheepish and yet just as you assumed, you could see the outline of his smile through the mask.

You look at him shaking your head, playfully rolling your eyes. Whatever annoyance you felt melted away at his presence. Your heart now beating at its normal rhythm. However, his presence also reminded you of his absence this week. Peter hadn’t contacted you in days, and while you were doing your best to be understanding, it still hurt. 

“Nice of you to drop by. Haven’t spoken to you in like,” you count the days on your hand to emphasize the number,“five days. Seems you forgot all about me,” you cross your arms, a resentful look overtaking your features.  

Peter scratches the back of his neck, stumbling over his words. He almost loses balance, his left hand quickly returning to where it was before, holding onto the web with both hands. You frown, unsure as to why he needs both hands to keep steady. Worry overcomes you when the thought of him being in a fight before he caught you here crosses your mind. 

“About that. . . I’m really sorry, Y/n. I promise I didn’t mean to disappear like that without warning. The city’s been hectic all week! Criminals are popping up left and right and I’ve been tracking down this mobster ring—it’s been too much to handle. I couldn’t keep up. And I–” he stops himself to get a good look at you, “I’ve missed you so much,” Peter finishes off his remorseful rambling with a sincere statement. 

He has missed you. More than you’ll ever know. He’s barely eaten, slept, or cared for himself. Neglecting his own needs to make sure the city was safe. Because to him as long as the city was safe so were you—and that meant the world to him. Yet, in keeping his attention on the city he lost sight of where he wanted to be the most—with you. 

The sentiment was mutual. While the city needed Spiderman, you needed Peter. 

Even though he does his best to hide it, you pick up the tiredness in his voice. The way even upside down you can see how his shoulders sag, his overall posture droopy. You notice the way he slowly sways where he hangs, not making much effort to stay in place. You assume he’s done little to take care of himself these past few days. That combined with potentially getting into some sort of tussle moments before arriving—it’s no wonder he struggled earlier to keep his balance with one arm. 

Your gaze softens, stepping closer to him, the rain long forgotten. “ I get it, Peter. I do. I’ve missed you too. You know I’ll never hold being Spiderman against you, but you need to talk to me. Keep me in the loop. Let me know you're okay. I was upset you hadn’t contacted me, but more than anything I was worried. I was afraid something had happened to you,” you say your voice laced with concern. In his absence, you constantly checked news channels to make sure no one had reported Spiderman getting severely injured or worse. 

You avoided all week thinking about the worst-case scenarios.  

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I promise never to do it again. I know I have to get better at communicating. I just don’t like worrying you. All week I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was on my way to your place when I saw you here in the rain. You really shouldn’t be walking alone at this hour,” Peter’s tone goes from repentant to firm by the end. Hating the thought of you putting yourself in a risky situation. 

You gave him a look as if to say now is not the time to be scolding me. He sighs, reluctantly conceding in hopes of bringing this conversation up at a later time. Right now he wants to do anything to make it up to you. Anything that could sweeten up his apology. 

“I know I messed up, but I think I know something that could make this all better,” he says an idea popping into his head. 

“What?”

“How about a kiss?”

You laugh softly at his suggestion, not being able to stay mad at him for long.“I think that could help. Although, I’ve never kissed someone while they were upside down before,” you mention with amusement. Tilting your head to look at him sideways. You wonder how he’s able to stay like that for so long without getting dizzy.

“Well now’s your chance, baby. I’ll need a little help with the mask though,” he says as you close the distance between you. You happily oblige his request, lowering the mask off of his face. A fond smile appears on your face when your eyes meet his brown ones. The warmth and color inviting you in like a hot cup of coffee—a solace you sought in the cold rain. They pull you in until your lips meet his, your hands holding his face gently.

You both melt into the kiss. Rain droplets joining in, but neither of you mind. In this moment it's solely you two and the feelings for one another catching up after days of longing. How either of you could have gone so long without this—without each other—neither of you knew. 

Maybe five days isn’t long for others, but because Peter risks his life on a daily basis, every moment spent with him means the world to you. 

You pull away to catch your breath, “I think that definitely helped,” you say softly. Peter beams at you, swinging his body so that in a swift motion he’s gone from his upside-down position to upright—standing before you. He reaches out and pulls you into a tight embrace. Holding you close and planting a tender kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I love you so much. I promise to fully make it up to you,” he says in a loving tone. You shake your head lightly, “Peter, having you here is enough. You really don’t have to–” he doesn’t let you finish. “Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. Let’s get you home and into some dry clothes. I’m staying with you tonight. I want to hold you all night and in the morning I’ll make you breakfast in bed,” he proposes in soft whispers as his forehead rests against yours. 

“You know I can’t say no to that.”

“Good. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer anyway.” 

Your laughter mixes with his own at his playful tone. He holds you more securely against him as he prepares to take you both back to your apartment. You weren’t keen on swinging across the sky like he was—especially in this weather—but knowing you would soon be cuddled under warm covers with him would make it all worth it. 

You would weather any storm for him, as he would for you—always.

[cuubism]

last year I saw this 1989 Dreamling art by @webonchin, became extremely obsessed with it, pondered and mulled over it for much time, and now ten whole months later I have a fic

--

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, 1989 Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Meeting, Musician Dream of the Endless, Stockbroker Hob Gadling, Love at First Sight, Getting Together, New York City, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Queer Themes, Disillusionment, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Depression, tfw you meet someone who makes you want to change up your whole life Summary:

Despite Hob's success on Wall Street, life is starting to feel meaningless. Limitless sex, drugs, and money should be endlessly entertaining but instead he's bored, he feels empty, like something's missing.

Something, maybe, like the beautiful, tragic musician he meets at a party, who opens more than one new door in Hob's life--and reawakens the buried longing in his heart.

--

Hob lies on the couch of the crowded apartment he’s found himself in for the evening, head tipped back over the arm. Pounding music thumps distantly around him. Dim lights. Warm bodies moving in blurs. He ignores it all. Picks up his vodka soda from the coffee table and takes a swig. Half of it runs over the side of his mouth instead of into it.

He’s… bored. What’s wrong with him that he’s bored surrounded by as much drugs, sex, and general debauchery as he could possibly want?

But he is. All that climbing for so long and now… he doesn’t know where he is. Why he’s doing any of it. The climb, the growth, was fun for a while. Chasing hunger, chasing more, that was fun. But now he has all of it. Supposedly.

He sighs. Pours the rest of his drink inelegantly into his mouth. If he wants another one he’s going to have to get up. He doesn’t really feel like getting up. He feels like merging himself with the couch instead.

The party spins on around him, as it always does. Not everyone’s feeling as burnt out on sex, drugs, and debauchery as Hob is.

He could go track down some coke, he thinks hazily. Someone here’ll have some. Maybe it would kick his energy back up.

He just feels kind of tired at the thought.

It says something bad about the point he’s reached in life that even cocaine isn’t doing it for him anymore.

“This is very dull,” says a low voice, and a man slumps down beside him, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. He tilts his head back, looking up at Hob. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah,” Hob says, and then does a double take as he catches a proper look at the man.

Christ but he’s gorgeous. Nothing like the men Hob would normally see at a thing like this—nothing like Hob himself—with their fashionable suits, slick hair, slicker smiles. This man is lithe and sprawling, like a wild predator, stark black and white lines, spiky hair, dark makeup, studs flowing down his ears like raindrops. Clever eyes. Long fingers clutching a cocktail that he doesn’t seem particularly interested in.

Hob is instantly fucked.

“I was promised good drugs and better sex and I’m bored on both counts,” the man continues. He takes a sip of his drink, and grimaces.

“That why you’ve come over here?” Hob asks. “Because I looked equally bored?”

“Exactly.” He offers the drink to Hob. “You should try this.”

Hob takes it. It’s… very blue. “What the hell is this?”

“There was a girl working the bar… very drunk. She said she would make me her ‘special potion.’”

That sounds… questionable. Hob takes a sip, and chokes. “Christ.”

“I witnessed her pour in vodka, Prosecco, and tequila. Blue Curaçao—for color, of course. And maraschino cherries.” He plucks one out of the glass by the stem—there are about seven of them total—and eats it.

“What the fuck.” The stuff’s revolting. Hob takes another sip. “That’s alcohol poisoning in a glass.”

“It’s been one of the better parts of the night,” the man says.

Hob returns the glass, and the man tosses more of the drink back, his throat working. Hob’s just drunk enough to not attempt to stop staring like a creep. He wants to ask him if he wants to get out of here, or even just to steal away into one of the many spare bedrooms—it wouldn’t be out of place at a party like this, hell, Hob could drag him into his lap on the fucking couch, everyone’s far too drunk to care—but propositioning this creature for a mere hookup feels like wearing an Italian suit to mud wrestle. What a waste of a perfectly-made thing.

How did something like this wind up at this party?

“Who’d you come in with?” he asks, as the man plucks another cherry from the glass and delicately bites it off the stem.

“Someone who gave me a rather mediocre blowjob after a show,” he says. “I suppose I thought I would find better here, but I was mistaken.”

“Fifty-fifty shot on that, I’d say,” Hob says. Based on personal experience. Sometimes mediocre is good enough. Sometimes sex, regardless of quality, is good enough. For a while it has been. He’s not so sure anymore.

“I dislike betting,” says the man. Then stretches up a limp hand to shake Hob’s. “If we are to commiserate, perhaps names are in order. I am Morpheus.”

Morpheus. What kind of name. Though he had said at a show. A performer of some kind? “Hob,” says Hob, shaking his hand despite the awkward angle.

“Greetings,” says Morpheus solemnly. “You are the first man I’ve met tonight who has not tried to impress me with inanities. I am indebted to you.”

Hob tips his head back against the arm of the couch again with a sigh. “Too tired for bullshit. What’ve people been saying to you, then?”

“I have been taught much,” Morpheus says seriously. “Thrice I have been ‘educated’ on the great promise of ‘mortgage-backed securities.’ The reactions to my disinterest ranged from offense to outright concern for my sanity.”

“I think they were just trying to get in your pants,” Hob tells him.

Morpheus frowns. “The finance lecture was not helping their case. In fact, with each passing minute, I became more aggressively repelled.”

Hob laughs. “You’re on Wall Street, baby,” he says. It comes out kind of slurred. “Only thing more important than the size of a man’s dick is the size of his portfolio.”

Morpheus hums in consideration. “Neither of those has a direct correlation to talent.”

“Try telling them that,” Hob says.

Morpheus sits up straighter against the couch, leaning his head on his arm to study Hob. “I suppose I should ask about yours.”

“You’re too pretty for me to be tacky like that,” Hob says honestly. Maybe he’s a bit more drunk than he thought.

“Am I?” Morpheus seems pleased.

“So pretty.”

“Hmm.” Morpheus rests his cheek on the couch cushion. The tips of his hair brush Hob’s hip. His eyes are so liquid in this light. Hob wonders if he’s hallucinating his existence.

He reaches out, mesmerized, to touch Morpheus’s hair. Morpheus doesn’t stop him. He lets Hob pet him, eyes falling shut. His hair is tacky on the ends with hair spray, but soft underneath.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Hob says, and Morpheus hums. “All those self-important stockbrokers trying to impress you with their convoluted financial instruments… they just want to hide that it’s all really a scam.”

“Is it now?” says Morpheus. “I was under the assumption it was legal.”

“Something can be a scam and technically legal. Oh, it’s all very clever. But it’s just building money on top of money with nothing real to support it. Kick out the base of the tower and it’ll all go into free fall.” He makes a whistling, falling sound, and Morpheus smirks.

“And I suppose you are better than all this.”

Hob chuckles. “Oh, no. I’m a money-grubbing little vermin, too. Just letting you in on the game. How it’s not so serious.”

“Hmm. I am a musician,” says Morpheus. As Hob figured, then. “I’m afraid it’s as serious as death.”

“Hence the all-black ensemble and the makeup,” Hob says.

“Indeed.”

Hob wants to hear Morpheus play. Or sing, or whatever it is he does. He bets he’d be exquisite. Divine. Hob can imagine those lips pressed to a microphone. Or those long fingers on guitar strings.

“Do you want something more interesting than alcohol?” says Morpheus.

“Why, you still bored?”

“Less and less so.” He pulls from his pocket a small bag of pills and hands it to Hob.

“You brought your own drugs to a party where you were promised drugs?”

“Promises cannot be counted on,” says Morpheus seriously.

“What is it?” Hob asks, then decides he doesn’t care, and takes a pill, chasing it with the watery last drops of his drink, which is a terrible idea, but then, he’s full of them.

“Ketamine,” says Morpheus. Oh, great, Hob thinks. Morpheus takes it back from him and takes a pill himself. “It occasionally makes me feel less like I am going to hurl myself from the balcony.”

He doesn’t seem to be joking. “Good for something, then,” Hob says. “Why do you want to jump off the balcony?” He still has his hand in Morpheus’s hair. He honestly can’t believe he hasn’t propositioned him yet. That’s not like him. These parties are usually only good for quick, casual sex. He even thinks Morpheus would probably agree, and yet.

“The state of things,” says Morpheus. He has such a deep, solemn voice. Hob wants to touch his mouth, or throat maybe. Okay, this is already not going so well. “And the state of my heart.”

Hob pets his hair again. Morpheus leans into the touch. “Writing songs about yearning and angst and stuff isn’t fixing it?” He can well enough guess what Morpheus’s music is probably like.

“No,” says Morpheus. He seems to really think about it. “I think it is making things worse. Perhaps I will try manipulating the financial markets instead. Is that giving you existential fulfillment?”

“There’s only so much money you can make before it starts feeling stupid,” Hob says. Maybe he should just throw all his cash out the window and go live in the woods or something. Carve figurines out of fallen trees. Probably do more good for the world, not that that’s ever been a focus of his. “Maybe it was always stupid.”

“No solution has been found for us yet, then,” says Morpheus. “Would you care to go outside? I find that if you are high enough, the city lights look like stars.”

“You’re not going to jump off the balcony, are you?” Hob asks, suspicious.

“This is not the right locale for my dramatic end.”

Somehow, Hob actually believes him. Morpheus wouldn’t truly kill himself unless it could have the right effect.

Hob levers himself up from the couch. Oh Jesus, now the room is spinning. The pounding music is starting to feel louder, starting to thud through him. Feels good, though. Everything being bright and hazy.

He helps Morpheus to his feet. Leads him, hand in hand, out to the balcony. They lean against the stone wall, looking down at the street, dizzyingly far below, cars poking along like lines of luminescent ants, distant horns crying. Then up, out at the collision of skyscrapers.

Morpheus was right. The lights are spinning and twinkling, just like stars. It reminds Hob of the first time he’d come to New York, when he was looking for adventure, and to get a little rich—or a lot rich—and everything had seemed like it was glowing and buzzing and flying.

The air is clearer up here than down on street level, and Morpheus tips his head up, breathing it in. His throat is so long, his shoulders and collarbone so angular. He looks like he’s been starving. But the stud in his ear at least looks from afar like a real ruby. Intentional, then, to be skin and bones.

“I think I am tired,” he admits, still looking up at the sky. “Do you know that… all I had ever wanted was for someone to like my music. And now I have that and it has not fixed anything.”

Hob takes his arm and pulls him close. He’s feeling very touchy-feely now, which could be the drugs but could also just be Morpheus. He’s so pretty and he looks so sad, and his sadness is beautiful and all the more terrible for that.

“I could kiss it better,” he offers. It’s still not a real proposition. Hob’d just kiss his hand if that’s what he wanted. Or the sharp bone of his sternum under those hanging necklaces. Or kneel at his feet and kiss his thigh—

Christ. Hob’ll be lucky if he survives the night, at this rate.

Morpheus looks at him, eyebrow raised. But Hob must look serious about it, because he says, “Okay.”

So Hob leans in and kisses his cheek. And Morpheus smiles, a bright, truly happy smile, just for a moment.

“Do you wish to dance?” he says. “I do not usually, but I feel I may fall over if I move from this wall without something to hold onto.”

Yeah, the floor is kind of moving. And Hob will certainly not turn down having Morpheus in his arms. “You wanna dance to this shit?”

They’re playing some godawful thumping grating song over the speakers now, and Hob doesn’t think either of them is up to the kind of bouncing thrashing dance that would call for.

“I will sing something different in your ear,” Morpheus says.

So Hob draws him in, wraps his arms around his waist. Morpheus plasters himself to Hob’s body, mouth to the shell of Hob’s ear. He starts humming a low, melancholic song. Hob shivers at the brush of his voice.

They sway together with very little coordination. Eventually Morpheus starts singing, though Hob’s brain isn’t capable at the moment of taking in many of the lyrics. It’s something about longing, and losing things in a terrible fire. Hob presumes it’s one of his songs. Morpheus’s voice is gorgeous, low and hypnotic, and Hob closes his eyes as it rumbles straight through him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs eventually, filled with a sudden tragic pain about it. “Please don’t throw yourself off the balcony.”

Morpheus chuckles. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Never,” Hob says vehemently, and clutches his warm body close. He might cry about it. Fucking drugs. “We should go get food. You’re so fucking bony I think might you die of an overdose if we don’t sop it up. You had that wretched drink, too. Christ.”

“You are worried for me?” says Morpheus, sounding touched.

“Incredibly. Come on.” Hob finally pulls away from him, with chagrin, and takes his hand. “This party’s shit. I’ll take you to get pizza.”

“Pizza,” Morpheus repeats, with a tiny smile. It’s gorgeous on his face. “Very well.”

--

One dollar pizza is one of New York’s greatest inventions, in Hob’s opinion. They find some hole-in-the-wall place barely a block from the apartment building, and stand outside the door, eating incredibly greasy pizza off of paper plates, and it’s fucking heaven. It might be the best pizza Hob’s ever had in his life—granted he’s still very high.

Morpheus is scarfing his down like all pizza on earth is about to be chucked into space. Poor bony thing. Hob just wants to feed him up until he stops looking like a skeletal waif that’s about to drop dead at a cold breeze.

And wants to fuck him, too. Yeah, that’s still there, even with Morpheus licking grease off his fingertips. It’s actually getting worse because of that.

“Told you,” Hob says. “Needed some bread to soak up the fifteen shots in that drink.”

“I think I may throw up,” Morpheus says, with the careful articulation of someone who very well might. “But I am enjoying it nonetheless.”

“Let me know and I’ll find you a bin,” Hob says. He’s had worse nights than puking on the street corner.

“Now I owe you sexual favors in return for this generous meal,” says Morpheus, folding the empty paper plate with surprising precision, considering his enduring level of intoxication, and sliding it into a nearby trash bin.

It says something about Hob’s own level of intoxication that he barely responds to this statement. “Oh, yeah, the whole four dollars of it. What does that get me?”

Morpheus scrunches his nose in thought. “Two kisses,” he decides.

“We’ll save it for after you’ve decided if you’re going to throw up.”

Morpheus giggles. He’s so cute.

Hob tosses his own plate, and takes Morpheus by the arm. “Come on. You can come back with me. I don’t live that far.”

“Ah, now the proposition,” says Morpheus, but doesn’t sound unhappy about it.

“The ‘make sure my new friend doesn’t get hit by a cab effort’, more like, but sure.” He feels kind of responsible for Morpheus now. If Morpheus actually threw himself off a balcony Hob would never forgive himself.

“Friend,” repeats Morpheus, sounding pleased.

“See, isn’t this better?” Hob says.

“Better?”

“You got to eat pizza and didn’t even puke yet, isn’t that better than killing yourself?”

Morpheus huffs. “Quite a dichotomy. If you recall you too stated that you felt your efforts becoming meaningless.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna jump out a window about it.”

“Fortitude,” Morpheus says, and it sounds mocking but Hob doesn’t really mind. Maybe it is fortitude, he doesn’t know. Maybe to Morpheus fortitude is gullibility, continuing to play the game when it’s long lost its spark and its reward. Hob likes the game, though.

“What will you do about it, then?” Morpheus asks.

“Dunno.” It’s the first time Hob’s really thought about it. Up until now, it’s been about chasing. Always wanting more. But now— now he’s basically at the top. Where he wanted to be. And... there’s really nothing there at all. “Leave New York, maybe.”

The words surprise him, even as he says them. Midtown is so bright, even at four a.m. It’s something Hob once loved about the area. About the city. But now he’s staring into Morpheus’s darkness. Into the ink stain of his hair against the glowing storefront lights, the sway of his body, graceful even while swimming in dissociation. And everything feels different.

“To go where?” says Morpheus.

“Back to London, maybe.” He has enough money to go anywhere. And yet, it’s hard to feel a particular point to anywhere. Where’d his sense of adventure go? His ambition? Somewhere it all slipped, in the glut of the present.

“I grew up in London,” Morpheus says. “It is too personal there, now.”

So he’s chasing something too. Or running away.

“Tokyo, then,” Hob says, as if Morpheus coming with him is a key part of the decision. “Is’at the furthest city from New York? Gotta be close.”

“It’s Perth,” says Morpheus.

“You’ve looked it up?”

Morpheus nods solemnly. “And from London: Wellington.”

“It’s settled, then,” says Hob.

“I am coming with you?” says Morpheus.

“Course.” Hob’s not going across the world by himself. Not anymore. He bumps his shoulder with Morpheus’s, squeezes his arm where they’re leaning together. “You’re coming with me.”

“We should go further, then,” says Morpheus.

“Antarctica?”

“Mars.”

Hob finds himself giggling, mirth rising in him like champagne bubbles. Morpheus giggles, too. It’s truly a ridiculous sound in his deep voice.

“They don’t have cool jackets on Mars,” Hob says, poking at Morpheus’s studded blazer.

“Ah.” Morpheus frowns. “Maybe not, then.”

That only makes Hob laugh louder, leaning on Morpheus’s arm, and Morpheus sighs, irritated to be made fun of, but doesn’t push him away.

“Come on, I’m here,” Hob says, steering Morpheus into his apartment building as it comes up. They make their way across the lobby and to the elevator bank, only a little unsteady, and then slump against the wall once the elevator doors close.

“I think I am very sleepy,” Morpheus says, tipping his head back against the mirrored wall as they go up, up, up the insanely tall skyscraper Hob’s for some reason chosen to live in.

“You think you are?”

Morpheus squints at the infinite tunnel being created by the opposing mirrors on the walls. It’s dizzying, more so now, when they aren’t exactly sober. He shudders and closes his eyes. “I would have to be connected to my physical form to know for sure.”

Yeah, Hob’s feeling that too. The walls are kind of tipping in at him, which is particularly uncomfortable when they’re mirrored. “I’ll put you to bed, sweetie.” He still really, really wants to bed him, more specifically, but he might also be about to fall over. He’ll rue the missed opportunity in the morning, but it can’t be helped.

“Sweetie,” Morpheus echoes, with vague distaste, and tips his head against Hob’s shoulder.

The doors slide open, and they stumble out into the hall. Hob somehow manages to get his keys in the door and get them inside without dropping Morpheus, who’s now using him to support almost his entire weight, and then gets them into the bedroom.

What follows is a dreamlike whirlwind of undressing, where the floor keeps tipping under him, where he tries to hold Morpheus up as he slips out of his boots and his bloody complicated jacket, his skintight jeans and even tighter shirt, helps take each ring off his slim fingers to leave carefully on the nightstand, and the pendants too, and gives him a t-shirt to sleep in, and Morpheus says, “Wait— I must—” and flees to Hob’s adjoining bathroom to strip off his makeup with some makeup wipes scavenged from Hob’s cabinet, undoubtedly left behind by a prior hookup. The silly thing talks about killing himself but still puts effort into skincare. Hob just shakes his head, then regrets it as it makes the room spin.

He strips down to boxers and undershirt and climbs into bed, because he is actually about to fall over, and soon enough Morpheus stumbles back out and collapses into the sheets beside him. For a moment they just gaze at each other in the dark. Hob means to do something, to kiss him, maybe, claim one of the ones that was promised. But exhaustion claims him first. 

[ahhnini]

let you break my heart again - rafe cameron x reader

your relationship with rafe is nothing more than a twisted fantasy

warnings - fake dating, rafe breaks reader’s heart, fluff, angst, degradation (not in a kinky way), not proofread!

a/n - based off a dream I had of rafe, kind of in a writing slump so pls send in reqs! <3

when rafe cameron came knocking at your doorstep at two in the morning, face angry, you were more than confused. you two have never been that close, however, the forced proximity of figure eight led you two to form an acquaintance with another. when you had asked him what was going on, he barged into your house, gripping onto the sides of your shoulders like you were gonna fly away. he looked up at you, eyes red. then, you heard him say words that you didn’t think he’d ever utter to you, “I need you to be my girlfriend.”

so that’s how you ended up here, laughing with the camerons’ on their yacht, sailing the sea. it’s been a month since you’ve agreed to be rafe’s “girlfriend” and everyone on the island bought it. they’ve never known that much about you anyways, so when he started parading you around, everyone began to gossip how rafe cameron charmed the mystery girl of kildare island.

you felt a kiss on your cheek as you pour yourself another drink. “you doin’ okay?” rafe asks as he begins to pour himself a whiskey shot. you nod your head, looking up at him while he downs his drink, “good,” he wipes his lips, walking away to talk to his father. you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. this was harder than you thought, especially when you feel butterflies in your stomach every time he shows an ounce of affection to you.

you made a promise to yourself that this was definitely a no strings attached situation. he would get you around the island, introducing you to valuable connections, while his reputation would change to be a better one. it was a win-win. you didn’t really think about the other factors, like the fact that you’ve had a secret crush on the infamous kook prince since you were twelve.

you really shouldn’t be feeding into your delusions like this; it’s unhealthy. that’s what you keep telling yourself, but each time you see him, you can’t help but have a smidge of optimism, that he actually likes you, wants you.

your heart breaks in the serene island of guadalupe, tears streaming down your face as rafe yells at you in the costal house bedroom. “why would I ever like you, y/n! the only reason why we’re doing this is for my reputation, for my dad to trust me again, for me to show my family that i’ve changed! you don’t mean anything to me, stop thinking i’m actually in love with you, because i’m not! I don’t even think I’d wanna be friends with you,” he huffs, cornering you to a wall. he lifts your chin, observing your tear stricken face, “cry all you want, but that’s not gonna help me change the way I feel.” he backs off, turning around to enter the bathroom, “i’m gonna take a shower, clean yourself off, make yourself presentable. we have dinner in two hours.”

you sip on your latte, waiting for rafe to get back home. you sat like a wife who’s husband spent too much time in the office. except he wasn’t your husband, he was just…a guy. you hear the front door shut, immediately shuffling to greet him. “hey, what are you doin’ here?” he slurred, breath reeking of alcohol. “uh—wanted to make sure you got home safe, that’s all!” you fidgeted with your hands. he let out a soft hum, “you can spend the night if you want to, y/n, i’m going to topper’s,” you look up at him, meeting his dilated pupils, “wha—huh? you’re gonna drive to topper’s?” rafe rolls his eyes, nodding, “yeah, I am—” “no! I can’t let you do that, let me drive you, c’mon—” he sighs, giving in, and you thank the alcohol has made him less stubborn, “fine.”

you pulled up to topper’s house, the porch light on and inviting. you speak up after the silent drive there, “um—are you sure you want to spend the night at topper’s? we can always go back if you want” he shakes his head, turning towards you. “no, i’m sick of your shit, y/n. always treatin’ me like I can’t take care of myself. guess what,” he points at himself, “I can take care of my own shit, okay? I don’t need you,” he rushes out of the car, stumbling up the porch stairs, disappearing behind the house door.

you stay there for a couple of moments, sniffling. during the drive back to the camerons’—yes, you were staying the night, you needed to take care of rafe for when he was hungover—you reflected on your relationship with him. how one day he’d treat you like you were his queen, the next he’d treat you like you were dirt. you can’t stop your feelings, no matter how hard you tried to repress them, they always end up coming out. you know you don’t deserve this. you deserve someone who actually loves you, not someone who’s using you. but…rafe…you can’t imagine being with someone who’s not him. that night, you lay down on his bed, fantasizing the perfect life with rafe, waiting for him to come back tomorrow morning.

you swallow, telling yourself you’d be fine being with him, being in this arrangement. even if he’ll never love you back, you’d let him break your heart over and over again.

taglist - @nemesyaaa @julie123456897 @mfdoomdickrider @grxnde-dwt

[paddockletters]

chihiro | trent alexander-arnold

request:Can you please write something for Trent inspired by chihiro something angst when Trent becomes distant toward the reader (gf or wife ) and less attentive . But she still gives him all of her but soon realizes that it breaks her, and it breaks her more because he hasn't realized pairing: trent alexander-arnold x reader summary: You find yourself in a heart-wrenching struggle as Trent pulls away, leaving you to question your worth. Despite your devotion, his distance shatters your spirit. As you confront the painful truth, a life-changing decision awaits, forcing you to choose between love and self-preservation. warnings: angst, gaslighting author's note: i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you liked it, ... Well, as I always say... english is not my first language so sorry me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

I’ve been feeling it for a while now—the distance, the way Trent pulls away without even realizing it. At first, I thought it was just me being too sensitive, that maybe I was expecting too much. But as the days went on, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. He was no longer the person who used to look at me like I was his entire world. Now, it felt like I was just... there.

I remember the early days, the way he used to hold me so tight, like he was afraid I’d disappear. I’d catch him staring at me with that boyish smile of his, and he’d say, "What? Can’t I look at my girl?" I’d laugh and tell him he was ridiculous, but I loved it. I loved the way he made me feel seen, loved, important. That version of Trent feels like a distant memory now.

Now? Now he barely looks at me.

The other night, I tried to talk to him—really talk. I had been holding it in for too long, trying to give him space, hoping he’d notice on his own that something was wrong. But he didn’t. So, I brought it up, carefully, not wanting to start a fight.

"Trent," I said, sitting on the couch while he scrolled through his phone, "I feel like we’re not… us anymore."

He glanced up, brow furrowing for a moment before looking back at his screen. "What do you mean?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just… I miss you. I miss how we used to be. Lately, it feels like you’re a million miles away, even when you’re sitting right next to me."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I’ve been busy. You know that."

"I know, but…" I hesitated. "It’s more than that, Trent. I feel like I’m losing you, and I don’t know how to fix it."

His response was so simple, so dismissive. "You’re overthinking it."

Overthinking it. That’s what he said. And maybe I was, but it didn’t change the fact that I felt like I was pouring everything I had into this relationship while he was barely giving me scraps in return.

I gave him a small, sad smile, hoping it would break through his detachment. "I’m not trying to push you away, I just want… I just want us to be close again."

Trent shifted uncomfortably, clearly not in the mood for a deep conversation. "We’re fine. I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of this."

The silence that followed his words was suffocating. I remember how my chest tightened, and I had to fight back the tears threatening to spill over. Why couldn’t he see it? Why couldn’t he see that I was breaking right in front of him?

There was a time he would come home, exhausted from training, and still find the energy to cuddle up with me on the couch, kissing my forehead, telling me about his day. I remember one evening after a tough match, he had pulled me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me, and whispered, "You’re the best part of my day, you know that?"

But those days feel like they belong to a different lifetime now.

Another night, I cooked his favorite meal, hoping it would spark something between us—bring him back to me. He came home late, as usual, tired and distracted. He barely glanced at the dinner I’d spent hours preparing.

"Thanks," he muttered, barely looking at the table. He grabbed a plate and sat down, eyes glued to the TV, like I wasn’t even there.

I sat across from him, pushing my food around my plate, trying to find the courage to say something, but the words died in my throat. It wasn’t just that he was distant; it was like I had become invisible to him.

When did it get this bad? I wondered, feeling a heaviness in my chest. The love I had for him was still there, burning painfully bright, but it was slowly killing me to keep holding on when he wasn’t holding on to me.

And then came the night it all fell apart.

I couldn’t sleep. I had spent hours lying next to him, staring at the ceiling, my heart aching with the weight of everything left unsaid. I needed to say something, to make him understand, but I didn’t know how.

I slipped out of bed and went to the living room, sitting in the dark, hugging my knees to my chest. I must have been there for a while because, at some point, Trent came out, rubbing his eyes.

"Why are you out here?" His voice was groggy, but there was no concern in it. Just exhaustion.

I looked up at him, tears already spilling down my cheeks. "I can’t do this anymore, Trent."

He frowned, confused. "Do what?"

"This." I gestured between us. "Us. Whatever this has become. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. I’m breaking, Trent, and you don’t even see it."

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "What do you want me to say? I’m doing the best I can."

"But your best isn’t enough anymore," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I’ve given you everything—my love, my time, my heart—and I’m still left feeling like I’m not enough. Like I’m the only one fighting for us."

He sat down across from me, sighing heavily. "I don’t know what you want from me."

"I want you to care," I said, my voice breaking. "I want you to look at me the way you used to. I want to feel like I matter to you again."

There was a long silence. I stared at him, hoping—praying—that he would say something, anything, to make me feel like I hadn’t lost him completely. But all he did was look away, rubbing his face in frustration.

And that was it. That was the moment I knew. He didn’t have it in him anymore, and I couldn’t keep pouring my love into someone who wasn’t willing to do the same.

"I love you," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "But I can’t keep hurting like this."

He looked at me, his eyes finally softening, but it was too late. "I don’t want to lose you."

I smiled sadly through my tears. "You already have."

That night, after Trent and I sat in silence, I knew it wasn’t just a phase. It wasn’t going to change overnight or even at all. The weight of it all was too much, and I didn’t know how to carry it anymore. My hands were shaking as I reached for my phone, scrolling through my contacts. I needed to talk to someone—someone who might understand.

My thumb hovered over my best friend's name, Jess. I hadn’t told her much about what had been going on, mainly because I didn’t want to admit how bad things were. But now, it was like the dam had broken, and I needed to get it all out.

I hit call.

She picked up after a couple of rings, her voice groggy. "Hey, what’s up? It’s late, everything okay?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to steady my voice. "Not really."

Her tone shifted instantly, becoming more alert. "What happened? Is it Trent?"

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. "Yeah. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, Jess. It’s like I don’t exist to him. I love him so much, but I feel like I’m losing myself in the process of holding on to him."

There was a pause on the other end. Jess wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, but she also wasn’t the type to push unless I was ready.

"Has he said anything about how he feels? Have you guys talked?" she asked cautiously.

"We tried. Well, I tried. It’s like he doesn’t even see the problem. He keeps saying I’m overthinking it, that I’m making a big deal out of nothing. But it’s not nothing, Jess. It’s killing me."

There was another silence, and then she let out a deep sigh. "Babe, you deserve someone who sees you, who cares enough to put in the effort. I know you love him, but if he’s not giving you anything to hold on to, what are you supposed to do?"

I leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "I don’t know. I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I want to believe things will get better, but he’s so... distant. Like he’s already gone, and I’m the only one holding on."

Jess’s voice softened. "Have you thought about what would happen if you walked away?"

My breath caught in my throat. I had thought about it—many times. But actually doing it? The idea felt like ripping my own heart out. "Yeah. I’ve thought about it. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough to let him go."

“You are. You’re stronger than you think,” she said firmly. “But don’t make any decisions until you’re sure. Give it some time, see if he changes. But if he doesn’t... you deserve better, and you know that.”

The next day, I found myself dialing a number I hadn’t used in a while—Trent’s mom. She and I had always gotten along, and part of me wondered if she could help, if maybe she’d seen this side of him before.

"Hello?" Her warm, familiar voice answered, and for a moment, I felt a little less alone.

"Hey, it’s me," I said quietly.

"Oh, sweetheart, it’s so good to hear from you! How are you?"

I hesitated, my voice catching in my throat. "Not great, to be honest."

She paused, clearly sensing the heaviness in my tone. "Is everything okay with you and Trent?"

I let out a shaky breath, the tears I’d been holding back finally spilling over. "I don’t know. I feel like I’ve lost him. He’s been so distant, and I don’t know how to reach him. I don’t know what to do anymore."

She was silent for a moment, and then she sighed. "I’m so sorry, love. I’ve noticed he’s been a bit off lately, but I didn’t want to interfere. You know how he is—sometimes he gets so wrapped up in his own world that he doesn’t realize how it affects the people around him."

"Yeah," I whispered, wiping my eyes. "But I feel like I’m breaking, and he doesn’t even see it."

“Have you told him this? Really told him?” she asked gently.

"I tried. I told him how I felt, but he just brushes it off, like I’m overreacting."

There was a long pause before she spoke again, her voice soft. "I know he loves you. He may not show it the way you need right now, but I know he does. But if he’s not making you feel loved, if he’s not making you feel like you matter, you have to think about what’s best for you. You can’t keep giving and giving until there’s nothing left of yourself."

Her words hit me like a punch to the chest because they were the truth I hadn’t wanted to face. I couldn’t keep pouring everything I had into Trent if he wasn’t willing to meet me halfway.

"I don’t know what to do," I admitted, my voice breaking. "I don’t want to lose him, but I can’t keep living like this."

"No one can tell you what to do, love. Only you know what’s right for you. But whatever you decide, you deserve to be happy. Don’t settle for less than that."

That night, after talking to Trent’s mom, I lay in bed next to him, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on my chest. The silence between us was louder than ever, and for the first time, I wondered if this was how it was always going to be. If I was going to spend the rest of my life feeling like a ghost in my own relationship.

I thought back to the last time we’d had a real conversation—weeks ago, maybe more. I had asked for space, told him I needed some time to clear my head, to figure things out for myself. I had been so overwhelmed by everything then, but I thought that maybe stepping away, even for a little while, would make me feel better.

"I need to be alone for a bit," I had said quietly, standing in the doorway of our bedroom, my hand still gripping the edge of the doorframe.

He’d looked at me, his face unreadable, but nodded. "Take your time."

It had been a relief at first. I had gone for a long walk, let my thoughts run wild as I tried to make sense of what had been happening between us. I’d told myself that once I came back, we could figure things out, rebuild what had been crumbling.

But when I returned that night, the house had felt different. Colder. Like something essential had disappeared. And Trent… he wasn’t there in the way I needed him to be. Physically, yes, he was there. But emotionally, mentally? It was like he had already checked out. I had walked back into the same room, into the same life, but somehow, I was the one who felt lost.

Now, as I lay beside him, I could still feel that same emptiness between us. I rolled over, my back to him, blinking back tears as I whispered, "I miss you."

He didn’t respond. I don’t even think he heard me.

And that’s when I knew—I had taken a break, hoping to come back to something familiar, something that we could still fix. But instead, I had returned to someone who was already gone.

Weeks passed after that night. The silence between us only grew, consuming every corner of our relationship. I kept hoping—foolishly—that maybe something would change, that Trent would look at me the way he used to, or that he would finally notice the cracks that had been widening for months. But nothing came. No words, no apologies, no acknowledgment of the distance that had turned us from lovers into strangers.

One morning, I woke up and knew. It was like the weight of everything had finally sunk deep enough for me to let go. I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep waiting for him to realize how much this was breaking me. So, I packed my things in silence. The room felt eerily calm, like it knew what was coming before I did.

Trent was at training, and for the first time, I was glad he wasn’t there. I didn’t have the strength to explain myself again, to beg for him to see me, to see us—the version of us that once existed. I left him a note on the bed, my hand trembling as I wrote the words that had been festering inside me for weeks.

"I can’t do this anymore. I gave you everything I had, but somewhere along the way, you stopped giving me anything back. I love you, Trent, but I love myself too much to keep breaking for someone who doesn’t even realize I’m shattered. Take care of yourself. Goodbye."

I walked out the door, my chest tight with pain, but for the first time in months, there was also a small sense of relief. I hadn’t felt this light in ages, even if it was paired with heartbreak. The hardest part was over. I was leaving.

"I guess this is it," I had said, my voice barely a whisper.

Now, weeks later, I sat in my new apartment, staring out the window as the city buzzed below. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe. The space around me was mine, filled with my own choices, my own life. But the ache in my chest was still there, lingering like a bruise that hadn’t quite healed.

It took time—too much time—but I finally realized something that had been staring me in the face all along. I had been waiting for him to notice me, to care enough to fight for us, but Trent had already made his choice. He’d been gone long before I ever walked out that door.

And now, after everything, I was the one who was finally gone. And for the first time in weeks, I realized… I wasn’t going to come back.

Then, one evening, while scrolling through my phone, I saw a text from a number I almost didn’t recognize anymore. It was Trent.

"I didn’t realize until now. You were gone, and I didn’t even notice. I’m sorry… for everything."

I stared at the message for a long time, feeling the tears pool in my eyes, but I didn’t reply. Because now, it was too late.

He had finally realized. But I was already gone.

[lumpywhump]

Whump idea I had.

Organ theft but Whumpee is awake for it. Bonus if they are afraid of needles or medical procedures

Tw: blood

"one two three all eyes on me! Okay kids," whumper clapped. "For our lab we got Subject 188236. Everyone say "hi Subject 188236!"

"...hi subject 188326..." whumper was the most insufferable professor on campus.

muffled cries called from the steel table. Whumpee squinted at the harsh lights, so they could see the people around them. Students in white lab coats and goggles watched them from every corner of their field of vision.

"Today you get no instructions. You'll tell me what to do, and I'll be your arms. We are harvesting it's heart." Whumper looked around, "Student A, how do we start?

"Like are we assuming everything is set up for us to just start cutting?"

whumper nodded.

"Then you need to make a 6-8 inch incision on the chest wall,"

"Perfect,"

Whumpee whimpered as whumper pressed their scalpel to whumpee's chest.

"Based off this subjects size, Student B, how big of an incision should I make?"

"Uhh, I wanna say somewhere between seven and eight?"

"Okay then, I'll go right in the middle,"

whumpee cried out as the teacher slowly ripped open their chest, blood collecting around the cut. Their breath quickened, but relief poured through them as whumper withdrew their tool.

"Oh no! Looks like our subject is panicking, I can't accurately open their chest like this. What do we do now?"

"Have someone nearby calm them down?" Student A answered.

"Student D, your turn,"

"The best way to calm them down is with assurance and distractions. May I?"

"All yours,"

Whumpee felt someone touch their head. They flinched, their chest throbbing worse with the motion.

"hey, it's okay, you're doing well so far, but it's going to hurt more if you don't calm down,"

All whumpee really heard was hurt more. Their eyes watered, stinging their dry eyes.

Student D retreated away, knowing they made things worse.

"it's okay, we all make mistakes. Student E? Wanna give it a shot?"

A hand covered Whumpee's eyes. They reached to pull the hand away, scared by the sudden darkness, but their hands were still restrained. Another hand began to massage their temples. And man, this was probably the nicest thing someone has done in a while. The newer people tended to be kinder. Whumpee couldn't help but relax, in fact, they almost fell asleep.

"good job," whumper whispered, making sure not to disturb whumpee. "Keep going,"

Whumpee whined as Whumper finished the cut, but they relaxed again when Student E begins trailing their nails along whumpee's buzzed scalp.

"what's next?"

"ethh ate," whumpee mumbled with the gag tied around their head.

"what was that?" Whumper asked. Whumpee moved their jaw, referencing the gag.

"Now," whumper returned to their normal speaking volume. "You really shouldn't ever do this, because sometimes subjects are prone to biting or saying things that they really shouldn't, but 188236 tends to be good. When you all work in this industry, you'll learn when it is and isn't okay to do this."

Whumpee felt hands grab the gag and pull it down.

"what did you say?"

"Next you open the breast plate, then the ribs, disconnect the heart from the arteries, blah blah blah. Please, I'm tired, just please get this over with." Their tears wetted Student E's hand. the hands released whumpee's head.

"Whumper... I don't think I can do this,"

Whumper sighed. "And this is my fault. This is another reason we don't normally remove the gag...... why don't we stop for today? We can do this again next class." Whumper smiled at their students.

Once whumper was left alone with whumpee, they turned to them. "Looks like you get off easy today huh?"

whumpee didn't respond.

"Let's wrap your chest so you don't get blood everywhere,"

[fushizhuo]

Synopsis: You're the youngest member of SKZ and the younger brother of Bang Chan. However, you're sick. And your parents sent you to the US to get treatment. But, they couldn't treat your disease. No matter how hard they tried. So as a final goodbye, you sang a song for your hyungs and your fans.

Genre — Angst.

Warnings — Death

Pairing — M! Reader x SKZ (platonic)

AN note — Transferring my wattpad works over to Tumblr, I made this when I was 12 don't judge 🤞🏻

WC — 4.8k

The arena hums with quiet anticipation, the energy heavy with sadness. Stray Kids are on stage, but the usual vibrant atmosphere is missing. Eight members stand in a row, their faces somber. The space next to them is empty—the place where you always stood.

Chan steps forward, his hands gripping the microphone tightly, his voice trembling as he addresses the crowd. “STAYs, tonight is… different,” he starts, his eyes flicking back to the members, all barely holding back their emotions. “Our member, y/n, couldn’t be with us tonight. But he left us something. A message for all of you.”

The crowd stirs, sensing the gravity of the moment. Then, the massive screen behind the group flickers on, and there you are, sitting in a chair, pale but smiling gently at the camera. You look weaker than ever, but you’re trying to be strong, for them, for the fans.

“Hello, STAYs,” you begin, your voice soft, yet steady. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there tonight with my brothers. The truth is… I’m sick. Really sick.”

The arena falls into a deafening silence. Even though rumors had been swirling for weeks, hearing you confirm it feels like a punch to the gut for everyone present.

“I’ve been fighting this for a while,” you continue, a sad smile tugging at your lips, “but it’s gotten worse. And… I don’t think I’m going to survive this.”

The weight of your words sinks deep into the hearts of the fans, many of whom have already started to cry. The members on stage are barely holding it together. Felix wipes at his eyes, his face twisted in sorrow, tears falling down uncontrollably with I.N comforting him, while Hyunjin clenches his fists, his shoulders trembling.

You pause for a moment, as if gathering the strength to go on. “I’m sorry I couldn’t sing live with you tonight. But I wanted to say goodbye properly, the only way I know how—through a song. This is my final song, and I want to dedicate it to all of you.”

The camera zooms in slightly as you take a deep breath. “STAYs, thank you. You made me braver than I’ve ever been. Every moment on stage, every song, every smile—I did it because of you.”

You look down for a second, composing yourself, before looking back up at the camera, your eyes brimming with tears. “To my hyungs, thank you for taking care of me. You’re my family, and you’ll always be my home.”

With that, you reach for your guitar and start strumming the familiar opening chords of Castle on the Hill. The stadium quiets, listening intently, as your voice fills the arena.

"When I was six years old, I broke my leg,

I was running from my brother and his friends."

The soft, nostalgic melody washes over the crowd, each note filled with bittersweet memories. The camera flashes between you, playing your final song, and old clips of Stray Kids—the early days when you were all just starting out, moments in the dorms, behind-the-scenes laughter.

"And I miss the way

You make me feel,

And it’s real."

Your voice trembles slightly, but you keep going, pouring everything you have left into this performance. The members on stage are frozen in place, their eyes locked on the screen as you sing about the good times, about the innocence of youth, and about home.

"When we watched the sunset

Over the castle on the hill…"

The song continues, each lyric hitting harder than the last, and the fans can barely contain their sobs. You sing not just for them, but for your hyungs too, for the family you’re leaving behind.

"One friend left to sell clothes,

One works down by the coast,

One had two kids but lives alone,

One’s brother overdosed,

One’s already on his second wife,

One’s just barely getting by."

As you sing these lines, the camera flashes again to moments from the members’ lives—Chan struggling as a leader, Lee Know dancing through exhaustion, Han and Changbin composing until the early morning, Seungmin’s late-night vocal practices, Hyunjin’s quiet moments of self-reflection, Felix’s smile breaking even through the toughest days.

"But these people raised me,

And I can't wait to go home."

Your voice catches on the word home, and it’s clear that you’re thinking of the members—your brothers who stood by you through it all. The camera shows clips of all eight of you together, laughing, crying, working, living.

"And I'm on my way,

I still remember these old country lanes,

When we did not know the answers."

The music swells, and the arena is filled with your voice, with memories, with everything you’ve been through together. The fans, the members, everyone is united in the sadness of your goodbye.

"And I miss the way

You make me feel,

And it’s real,

When we watched the sunset over the castle on the hill,

Over the castle on the hill,

Over the castle on the hill."

As the final chorus fades, the screen cuts back to you. Your guitar falls silent, and you look into the camera one last time, tears filling your eyes but a soft smile still on your lips.

“Thank you, STAYs. You made me feel alive. You made me brave. I love you all so much.”

Your final words are barely above a whisper. “I’ll be home soon.”

The screen goes dark. For a few moments, the arena is completely still. No one moves. No one speaks. It’s as though the world itself is holding its breath, not wanting to acknowledge what just happened.

Then, the sobs start—quiet at first, then louder, until the entire stadium is filled with the sound of heartbreak. The members on stage are in tears, clutching onto each other for support. Chan tries to speak, but no words come out. He steps forward, wiping his face, and finally manages to say, “Thank you, y/n. We love you.”

The concert ends not with an encore, not with cheers, but with the weight of your goodbye hanging in the air. STAYs leave the arena with heavy hearts, each one carrying a piece of you with them, your voice still echoing in their minds, the final notes of Castle on the Hill playing over and over.

You never made it back. But in that final moment, you felt at home.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

rewrite the ending in every lifetime・l.f

—From the moment Felix saw you drawing your dreams in the sand, he knew you were a daughter of the seas, with frozen fingers and feelings like the tide. So when the waves rush overhead, he will place his soul upon your tongue so your hollow heart can finally feel the warmth of the sun.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・felix x mommy issues!reader 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・angst, smut, a collection of moments the two of you have ever wanted to say I love you, his vow to find your soul in every lifetime, elutions to supernatural connections of humans hearts 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・8.1k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・The reader had mommy issues that are heavily described, manipulation, verbal abuse, references to physical abuse but it really isn't described, love bombing, alcoholism, references to blades and knives, sweet PIV sex, an ungodly amount of crying, panic attacks, there are some potentially disturbing descriptions in this honestly, uhh pregnancy and proposals (its really cute I promise) 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ・If you want to see the preview for this story look here 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ・Family Line by Conan Gray, If the World Was Ending by Jp Saxe and Julia Michaels, The Night We Met by Lord Huron, Cover Me by Our Beloved Stray Kids, Evergreen by Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners.

𝐚/𝐧・I have poured my heart and soul into this fic; I hope it heals you how it healed me.

i. It is the wounds we hide from the light that beg most to be seen.

Age 12.

Scene one.

The sand feels like stardust as you glide your hands across the sky, your frozen fingers tracing the edge of an anguished cry.

lair.

You write in scribbled chicken scratch,

lair.

lair.

lair.

You wipe it all away.

The ruthless afternoon sun glares off the playset before you, stabbing through your eyelids. You actually have to squint to make out any of the children shrieking and playing on the variety of scattered sets; a few push and shove each other on the slides, while the quiet, more reserved ones sit silently on the swings. Some were climbing on the monkey bars, others spinning on the merry-go-round, and then there was you, 12-and-a-half, drawing their sorrows in the sandbox.

You don't even know why you come here anymore. It almost makes you chuckle, imagining how others must see you—too old, too tall, too out of place to be sitting in a snot-infested box that smelled like the remnants of many, many nasty toddlers.

Though, as silly as it seemed, you needed an escape, an outlet to channel all this burning rage. You wanted to flip the world inside out, turn it around and upside down; shake it, shake it, shake it untill humans finally had some common sense. I mean, really, how could they not see it? How could anybody not see it?

The worst part of it is you don’t even have a reason to be mad. You hadn’t argued, you hadn’t fought, she hadn’t hit you, hadn’t taken away your stuff. No, that isn’t why you were mad.

You were mad because she's a liar.

A big, fat, ugly, fucking liar.

Her love only ever pools at the tip of a knife, the glint of all your hopes and dreams; It shimmers and shines in the overhead lights, in the cloud of the crowd’s ceaseless cheers. See it, look everyone, I'm great. Her hands cover their eyes. Look, world, she's trying. Do you see it? She's trying. She's trying, you're crying, and the world only ever applauds.

You sigh, smacking your hands on your thighs. You were inches away from combusting—Your emotions, like unreleased electricity, coalescing in the pit of your gut, one wrong spark away from exploding.

Why couldn't anybody see it?

An earsplitting screech of pure bliss pierces your eardrums as you snap your neck up. It wasn’t really hard to pinpoint the noise, figuring every few beats it would happen again. The sound was home to a little girl with blond braided hair and a smile that rivaled the sun, but it wasn’t her that caught your attention the most—It was the boy behind her, gently pushing her on the swings. Your heart skips in your chest; he was beautiful, the unique type of pretty, the kind that’s utterly humane. He had sprays of freckles and cheeks that permanently crinkled in a grin.

Who was he?

Perhaps it was Cupid’s feathered wings that tickled the boy’s chin up, because as soon as your gaze lifts, he inadvertently steps into a patch of light—his amber irises seeming to be encrested with honeyed seaglass, a phenomenon only created by the restless tumbling of a thousand folded seas; and even with an ocean of blinding afternoon sun, his eyes still found you.

Well, now that you really think about it, you were staring at him first, so it really isn’t as magical as your brain makes it up to be. But still—

You feel your lips part, your stomach flipping upside down. You would have usually been embarrassed, caught staring at such a beautiful boy, but you were floored, utterly flummoxed. Cupid drew his stringed bow, and with a flick of a finger, your heart was ensnared.

Subconsciously, you slip your hand into your front pocket, your thumb running over the smooth surface of a million different frosted bottles.

You found comfort in the concept—how easily humans discarded their broken trash, and in the excruciating process of being shattered, crushed, destroyed, the sea smoothed out their jagged edges. It was not their gruesome end; no, it was their birth.

Their birth into something so captivating so unique—

You were seaglass.

You wanted to be seaglass.

You were way too young to be thinking about the phenomenon of the ocean and the wisdoms of the world.

He was nothing less than breathtaking as his nose crinkled, the corners of his eyes disappearing into crescent moon-shaped slits. He was staring at you the same way one would look at an adorable puppy that just fell straight on its ass.

Oh, well, here comes the embarrassment. It hits you like a semi-truck, reality slamming into you harder than the tonnage before. There you were, sticky in sweat-caked sand, shifting through dirt and grime like a grody toddler, and there he was, innocently playing with what is probably his kid sister, looking perfect and beautiful and impossibly unsweaty.

Like, actually, how is he not sweating? It’s at least a million degrees out here. He catches your eyes again, his grin slowly forming into some (mysterious) mix between curious and mischievous. He eases the swing to a stop. The little girl grumbles in protest before he leans down into her ear, whispering something that makes her smile and nod, innocently toddling off into the abyss of grass and giggles.

You wonder why he stopped playing with her—that is until he starts walking over to you.

You had never, in all your 12 years of existence, heard a voice so naturally inviting—like the tender lullaby of whispering rain.

"Hi, my name's Felix. What's yours?"

Your lips formed around the letters—the way they fit so perfectly in your mouth.

In every lifetime, you turned the words on your tongue like a promise forgotten in the stars.

In every lifetime I will find you.

With jarring familiarity, you take his extended hand, blushing profusely when he asks if he can take a seat, you almost tweak a muscle nodding with such enthusiasm.

And in every lifetime, I will make you mine.

ii. I could find your soul in the sky because yours is the only one that smells like home.

Age 16.

Scene two.

"You look like shit," Felix teases, a pencil lodged firmly between his teeth; he was obnoxiously chipper for a Monday morning in math class.

You roll your eyes, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the classroom with a heavy-handed flick.

"Fuck off and die," you smile, slumping into your seat.

Felix lets out a forceful laugh, shocked by your abrupt hostility. His mouth stays agape far into the droning silence, his brain scrambles into damage control when you lack an immediate explanation.

“Come on now, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” He showcased his obnoxiously large smile with the bottoms of his palms in a gesture that said, Look at me. His goofy antics would usually make you at least grin, but today you were the very epitome of exhausted, swimming in a vat of thickening cement. You just wanted to melt into the comfort of your fluffy sheets—

The room erupts in a cacophony of screaming voices and roaring laughter.

Why must humans be so loud?

You groan, scooting your chair so close to Felix your bodies are practically smooshed together. If it bothered him, he didn't show it—or maybe you were too tired to notice. Either way, you drop your head onto the dip of his shoulder, his heat wrapping around you like a threadbare blanket—just enough warmth to dull the bite of a chill, but never enough to melt the ice.

"Somebody's tired," he coos with a hint of concern, slipping an arm over your shoulders. You nod, mumbling something along the lines of "tired" and "understatement." Your eyelids flutter shut to the sound of his heartbeat, and even under the bright fluorescent lights, everything starts to dim.

That is until your teacher shakes you awake, rudely plunging you back into the land of the living. You blink a few times, Felix's face a blur. You clear your throat. Your teacher was a short lady with a smile like a snob and her hair styled in a bob. She was loud and callous, with the temper of an obnoxious lapdog. You dig your palms into your eyes until your vision is painted in Picasso.

"We have a test today, L/N. I would sit up if I were you," she says, tossing two packets onto the desk, she flicks her eyes between the two of you, before pursing her lips like a woman clutching her pearls.

Of course.

Of fucking, fuckudy, fucking, course.

Of all the days.

Most of your night was encased in a bubble of beer, the stench of anguish, and the echo of wet cries. Your mother insisted on proving her godliness until the sun came up, for she, the untouchable essence of perfection, could never be wrong.

You nodded in and out of consciousness, only ebbing along the edge of the ocean before the tide pulled away.

You just wanted to sleep.

"Hey, wake up," Felix says, softly nudging you awake. His touch is feather-light, but it feels like the stab of a thousand sharpened pencils, the way your annoyance flares up.

"No," you croak, the lights like little lanterns reflecting off the surface of your tears. He hesitates for a moment, his tender hand leaving your skin for just enough time to make you crave it more.

"You have to wake up, or you're going to fail the test." He mumbles, gently lacing his fingers through your hair.

"I don't care anymore." You were traipsing on a tightrope with a body made of glass. You slip, you fall, you risk it all to tumble into his embrace. You felt it in your bones, the way he smelled like home, and you'd give anything to have it back.

Just once.

"Please," you whisper. It grates in his ears like gravel, your watery lashes cracking his heart in two.

You wanted to go home.

He pauses, narrowing his eyes in indecision before biting his lip and turning to scan Mrs. Womperbottom. You sit impatiently, bouncing your legs up and down. He flicks his stare to you, all your eye bags and smudged makeup, with that, his gaze softens, face melting into a small smile.

"Okay." He concedes, taking your body into his hands, carefully nuzzling your head to sit snug on the curve of his chest. You were so glad to sit in the back, especially as the world fades to black.

"I expected far more from you, young man."

It had been a few days since you fell asleep in Felix's arms, opting to turn in a blank packet rather than fight the urge to skydive without a parachute. Your brows furrow as your teacher frowns in disappointment. Felix, whose cheeks turn red as his eyes grow wide—equal parts panic and regret—seems to know exactly what's going on.

She flips the packet around. His fingers wrap around the paper, never turning it to see the depth of the damage. Only when he hastily unzips his bag, do you notice in the frenzy of movement—

A thick red F at the front.

Your jaw goes slack, lips gaping ever so slightly. He doesn’t meet your gaze, even when the room erupts in a deafening ring, chairs screeching as people scamper out. Your eyes blur like the lens of an old camera, faulty with the ages of time.

Carefully, you turn your page.

A

Your mouth is filled with sand.

You never did the test.

You flick through the edges of oblivion.

Every answer.

Every circle.

He did your test for you.

It was the sheer selflessness of his act that threw you for a loop—how a man who could have the whole world at the tip of his fingers could also be so impossibly kind.

That was a feat you believed no human was capable of, cynicism long engraved into your DNA. Your own blood was indebted to your mother, so how could a man with no inherent obligation to you, show such devotion?

"In the scars of sea glass, you will find your answer," the stars whispered.

"He loves you," the universe says.

"Do not doubt his intentions," time tells. "His soul has already found you in every lifetime."

iii. There are so many things in the world that must first collapse before it is born; why do we not believe humans are the same way?

Three months ago.

Scene Three.

Playing: The Night We Met.

"I love you, you know that, right, baby?" your mother slurs, her words tangled in a cloud of stale beer. She called you in a fit of drunken giggles, professing her undying ardor, wedged between passive pleas to come pick her up.

Something deep inside you screams as her arm wraps around your waist, the voice you fought to hide, it sounds and pounds at the walls of your ribs.

Not again, please.

You had spent so much of your life tangled in her web of lies, pulling at every poisoned thread.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, how many different ways can I make my daughter fall?

“I love you so, so much,” she cocoons your cheeks in comforting hands, and almost for a minute, you fall into the fuzz, into the black and blurry buzz of the mix between right and wrong.

She does not love you.

She loves your reflection and how it so greatly mirrors hers.

You were an extension of herself, the one she holds, the one she molds, her fingerprints sticking in the sand.

Brick by brick, she builds you up.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, how many different ways can I make my daughter fall?

She loves you, she says.

But she is in love with a mirror, the shattered glass of a battered reflection, the one that can never improve.

For she is too great in her empty state; she has nothing to prove.

You will never change a woman made of stone.

You will only ever break your bones.

So you drop the remote

with an echoing plop

and let all her love leak out.

You don’t really love me, do you?

Just pretend one more time.

Just one more time.

You drag her stumbling figure up a grueling flight of stairs. She giggles and hiccups when one of her feet catches on the edge of a step.

Her eyes are clouded as you lower her onto the bed. She caresses your cheek with silky fingers.

You relapse.

Rewind.

“Come lay with me, baby.”

You don’t cry, don’t die as the tip of her knife digs into the skin of your thigh.

You collapse into the warmth of her covered arms, shrouded with the lies of alcohol.

Brick by brick.

You nuzzle your head deeper into her neck.

She builds you up.

Just one more time.

She curls her hands around your heart.

I love you.

Your mother was too in love with herself to find room in her heart to love you.

Your tears taste like sorrow when they seep onto your tongue, cascading down your shuddering lips like the bullets of rain that whip across your face, dripping into your sodden shirt. Your heart was burdened by paradox, the overwhelming tonnage of utter desolation; you sink your fingers into your chest as if breaking the surface of snow, searching for any sign of humanity.

Perhaps it was fate's gentle hand that guided you from stumbling through your mother's desolate driveway to softly rapping your knuckles on Lee Felix's front door, cause the moment your weary feet touched his familiar steps, something stirred deep within. In a multiverse of infinite universes, it felt as though every timeline suddenly collided, merging to form this pivotal moment in your history—the story of you and him. The mere thought made you question its legitimacy, until the door creaked open, and suddenly, everything you'd almost forgotten came rushing back.

It was the disheveled state of his hair that you notice first—tousled atop his head like a misty halo; his eyes were heavy-lidded, foggy with frosted sea glass. You choke back a sob; the sunlit streetlights really do him wonders.

The moment you step into his line of sight, he can sense something is wrong. You're soaked to the bone, though the rain is barely coming down; your eyes glazed with a grief so acute it resonates in his very core.

He reaches a hand out—

"Y/N, what happened?"

You unravel; your knees giving out, all the energy spent on keeping yourself upright diffuses into an agonizing sob. Your hands find purchase on his steady shoulders as you threaten to collapse straight into the wet patio floor.

The universe had split apart, the sky falling down. You were crumbling, caught in between thick chunks of earth; you couldn’t breathe—

you gasp

The weight of a quivering world crashes into your chest, an earthquake erupting at the base of your spine. You were the daughter of destruction, bleeding with the wrath of humanity's woe.

Wordlessly, Felix chases your agony down, drawing you gently into his embrace. You had rehearsed your excuses all the way here, but when his arms wrap around your waist, the lies soak straight back into your throat.

Settled atop folded thighs, his free hand moves; lacing his fingers around the nape of your neck. His lips like life, pressing into the cold, dead skin of your outer shell; he grazes the apple of your cheek, the slope of your nose, the flat of your forehead, the tremble in your hand; and at last, with hooded eyes, his gaze finds your mouth. You are an amalgamation of quivering limbs, your bones like leaves; he locks his strength around the base of your spine, palms steading you from the outside in.

And yet, you lament, how desperately you wanted his lips to form around your flesh with the irrevocable promise of always, but you know the ramifications of such a thing; you were the embodiment of devastation, born with a blade in your hand, you would only ever hurt him. He did not deserve that. So instead of chasing your dreams, you chase the solitude of his skin, firm against your cheek.

"I'm here." He is—through it all. Through every violent hiccup and every hushed sob, Felix stays with you, fierce hands anchoring you back into reality. Finally, after lifetimes locked in this position, you find the strength to plead, "Do you think we could go somewhere?"

I would go anywhere with you, is what he wants to say.

“Of course,” is what he does.

A muted smile tugs at the corners of your cheeks, and with every labored rise of your chest, he fights the urge to hook his hand underneath your jaw, sucking all your pain into his lips. He doesn't. Instead, he lifts you up and follows his feet wherever your soul wants to take him.

He hooks his ardency on the sun as it starts to sink low. The world is dipped in darkness, perforated by the warmth of a cratered moon. Déjà vu follows you down the dark, dirt-paved road, marked by children's footsteps. Your heavy steps stop, mouth forming around the shape of a suffocated gasp. The trees rustle in the breeze, the wind slapping against the metal of a misty memory.

You had never, in all your 12 years of existence, heard a voice so naturally inviting—like the tender lullaby of pattering rain.

"Hi, my name's Felix. What's yours?"

Your lips formed around the letters—the way they fit so perfectly in your mouth.

In every lifetime, you turned the words on your tongue like a promise forgotten in the stars.

He remembered.

He really remembered.

Felix could never forget.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Come on!" he calls out, breaking into a backward jog, his smile beckoning you closer to the swings.

And with a swipe of his hand, you have already left your afflictions on the imprint of your shoes. Cold rubber hits you first, your thighs bouncing into the seat. His fingers latch around the frame of your waist, thrusting you into the air.

You laugh with the resonance of lost youth.

Time slips from your fingers like dust, forgotten in the way you had drifted from the swings to the slides, only to circle back again. It wasn’t until your skin had brushed every corner of the park that you found yourself lying on the damp earth, sinking deeper into the solace of Felix’s chest. His heart hums like the rhythm of a song so intimate, you could recite the whole melody from just the first note.

Stars blink overhead, still—sparkling, spread across the sky like golden thread sewn into rippling silk. You first settle into comfortable silence, both equally at peace, but the heavy burden of unspoken questions leaks into the calm air; forcing you to speak.

Softly, weakly, you tell him about your fears, about how much you hate her, how much you hate loving her, and how much you want to rip out every helix of her DNA.

Felix doesn't respond for a long time after this, inhaling your confessions with all the deference you deserve. Your heart slams into the slats of your ribs, shaky breaths forced into the balmy summer breeze. There was something so potently terrifying about voicing your issues, especially after masking them for so long; your pain splintered across the ground like the most fucked-up stained glass—as though Felix could sense your building anxiety, he kisses the crown of your head, murmuring into your hair:

"Even the moon hides parts of herself from the sun."

At that moment, with overwhelming certitude, you knew—even littered with secrets and scars, his rays would kiss whatever side you wished to show.

"In every lifetime," you plead through tear-stained lashes.

Maybe in another universe, you could be easy to love.

“In every lifetime.” Aged fingers run the length of your soul, tracing the vow 'I do.' In every lifetime, he would find you—broken or whole, with the sky falling, the sea sinking, the world tumbling down.

"Stay with me," you whisper to the wind as the stars start to dim.

"Always." He will find you in every lifetime and love every mangled piece.

The ocean.

You are wrapped in its cool embrace. The shore hums with soft lullabies as the wind whips across the water. Amorphous mist floats along the top of the sand, shrouding it in a dreamlike shade. Your fingers are formless as they dip into the darkness. Something sparkles. You lift your gaze.

Sea glass.

It’s basked in warm moonlight, buried in a fissure of the earth. You collapse onto the ground, your knees quivering as frantic fingers dig into the land.

Your hands are cold, holding something so old. You flip the smooth stone.

I love you.

You run your thumb over the inscription.

I love you.

It is only through the tumbling of a thousand folded seas that sea glass can even come to be, and maybe, that is how your soul found me.

You wake up in a bed that isn't your own with the warmth of the sea and the smell of home.

I love you.

iv. Just once, let him rewrite the story; just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

Present day.

Scene four.

Playing: Cover Me.

The screen flickers off.

The velvet curtains close.

The world fades to black.

The End

Your ribs crack open, heavy sobs echoing through the gaps of your unfolded bones. Your hands make purchase around your shredded soul, the warm liquid of your sorrows trickling through your splayed fingers like the shadow's phantom finger tracing the lines of your melancholy, dusting over the hill of your cheeks. 

One more time.

Just one more time.

You rewind the tape-

The velvet curtains stutter open.

The screen flashes white.

Just one more time.

How many times could you watch the same movie before you realized the ending would never change?

You rewind the tape-

How many times could you lick her love off the edge of a knife before you realize the blade will never dull?

You slide the tip across your tongue-

Just one more time.

Please.

Just pretend to love me one more time.

"For once, can you admit that you're wrong?" you snap, attempting to steady your rising voice. 

You've been arguing with your mother for centuries, breath grating across your throat like grains of sand. It took every shred of mental stability not to bash your head into the wall.

"I did what I had to do to teach you discipline; you were unruly-"

"I was nine!" you shout, a weak, wounded cry. "Nine!"

How could she not see that?

"I did it because I loved you."

Where did the argument even begin? You search the past 30 minutes, all the way from the start, sitting on the couch with Felix, The Princess Bride playing in the background. Your ringing phone cuts through the movie. He tells you to answer it. You do. What happened after that? Your head is foggy with hurt, time forced into an everlasting circle of the same issues.

"Maybe you should reevaluate your definition of love."

"Maybe you should have just been a better daughter."

The signal of an ended call rings through your ears as the world fades to black.

The velvet curtains close.

The screen flickers off.

The movie sputters to a stop.

The End

You are far too entranced with the stillness of your spine to hear the door creak open, Felix’s hesitant footsteps carefully creep closer. It is only when he mumbles a soft, saturnine "sweetheart" that you finally feel something-

"How did it go?" Felix believed the strings of your souls were so intertwined, the two of you experienced emotions the way an instrument feels the thrum of a cord; but as your heart pumps with an intangible amount of anguish, maybe even for you, some feelings were simply too subjective to share.

Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, your hand chases his touch, a million different uncompleted sentences dissipating as soon as your skin connects; your fingers beg, hold me, even as your mouth shutters shut, dusty rivulets cascading across your cheeks.

You were empty.

so, so, very empty-

Felix's hands lock underneath the bend of your knees, steady arms curling around the small of your back, and in a gentle flow of movements, he cradles you against his chest.

You rewind the tape.

Just one more time.

"Please," you have lived so much of your life caught in a perpetual state of emptiness, for once, you wanted to remember what your body was like before your mother bore you with the heavy burden of broken wings.

"Touch me," shaky fingers cling to him, pleading with so much of your soul none is left to protest. He gasps into your neck, his face scrawled with worry, the etch of a thousand different fears drawn into the deep lines of his forehead.

Just once

Let him rewind the film

Just once

You will never have to watch the same ending again.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Though his words are unsure, his actions tell a different story; tender hands massage the tops of your thighs, reluctantly begging you to open up, to unfold your deformed ribs, where he will fill your hollow bones with the type of love you have only ever yearned for.

"I need you."

You need him more than you need your heart to beat, your lungs to breathe; you need him more than you need the birds, the bees, the ground, the trees—

Your frantic fingers smooth around the base of his neck, further blurring the line of friendship; and in one sharp movement, he takes a sledgehammer to any hope of going back. Your lips collided with the zeal of years lost to silent longing, a kiss that unfurled all time and space, bursting with the passion of hearts starving for connection.

He would not hurt you-

Please, collapse into him,  just once-

Let him prove that you will never have to fall again-

This could ruin everything, and yet he lays you upon the silken sheets with such soulful kindness your glassy eyes threaten to break; his heart thrums with the vow of I'll make you fly. His hand dips into the band of your shorts, pleasure peeking out from the shadows of your mind, only ever bobbing its head long enough to fill your skin with a minute tingling sensation—like running your hands under hot water after a long day in the snow, but it was not enough.

"Felix, I need you," His eyes widen slightly, features stricken with a sudden tightness, a burdened tonnage; you were handing him your heart with the hope his hands weren't made of blades, and the idea of the utter trust you have put in him to do that makes his stomach flip.

Just once—

He will prove it all to you.

"As you wish," Not even 20 minutes ago you were sitting on the couch watching the greatest love story ever told, and now, here you are living it. How did you get so lucky? It's unfathomable how attentive he manages to be, his nose nudging the slope of your neck before laying a peck on your collarbone. His mouth never leaves your flesh even as he slowly strips off layer after layer of fabric.

"I want to see all of you" Now it was your turn, taking his time removing your clothes. His fingers slide across your skin with a delicate intimacy, a tender reverence; his lips tracing the lines of your seams until your very atoms are etched with his name.

I hate her

I love you

I love you

I love you

He coupled every leak of anger with a river of love, kissing your limbs until all your body could remember was the pureness of his ardor.

"Are you ready?" he whispers, lining himself with your entrance, all he needs is a word to finally sink himself in. Your eyes are glossy, gazing up at him with such an unadulterated passion, a pure amount of pain—this will tear you apart, and he promises with every fiber of his being, he will put you back together.

"Yes." You have lived most of your life with the heavy burden of a body’s broken wings, and it isn't until Felix’s crafted hands finally crease your ribs that you realize origami can only emerge when you fold it up, the way a bird can only fly when it falls.

You are an amalgamation; so much of your soul is lost in his lips you don't know where he begins and you end, but when a rush of pleasure tingles up your spine, you don't care.

The world is tangled somewhere on the edge of in-between space and time, melding together into a mushy, gushy substance that slips through your fingers as they lace in his raven locks. You pour all your pain into the slit of his lips, where he sucks in every drop, leaving no room for your protests.

Your head is empty, airy, only tethered to the earth by one dangerous thought:

I love you. You did. You have; in every timeline; in every universe; in every lifetime; you have loved him, and you knew with all your heart, he felt the same.

“I love you.” The words slip off your tongue, dripping into his mouth like melting snow. You had fallen in love with existence itself—a boy with a soul made of sun and eyes like sea glass. A man whose strings reached across every plane of time to find you. His fingers still, a soft burst of air puffing into your cheeks.

For minutes, hours, Felix can only stare, his strangled breaths wafting over your chin. You gulp, at least five differently worded apologies tangling themselves on your tongue. He doesn’t let you speak. Instead, he brings his hands to either side of your face, resting his forehead against your own; on your lips, not fear, but instead, words.

"Say it again," he urges, kisses split by the warmth of a starlit smile.

"I love you, Lee Felix." you share the galaxy in between your lips.

His arms slip around your waist, drawing you impossibly closer; there are no limits, no constraints when he captures your shuddering gasp. He has waited years to hear those words, so with a breathy rasp, he begs, "Tell me you love me, tell me until you are sick of it."

"I love you," you repeat, beginning to laugh. "I love you. I love you, fuck, Felix, there has never been a time where I haven't loved you."

The passion that surged in the twists of your heartbeats began to be too much to bear; his hips ruthlessly rutting into yours, you cry out, chasing the edge of a daydream. So close, so close, so—you can only hear the crash of your soul shattering before his ginger fingers sew you back together.

You both slam down into the earth at the same time, holding each other's tired bodies as the ground swallows you up.

His arms lock around your head, quivering as he struggles to hold himself up, droplets of tears land on your cheeks as they drip down the slope of his nose. He was so perfect-

so, so, very perfect.

Your mouth raises to kiss a tear clinging to the tip of his nose. He chokes, squeezing his eyes shut. You both are thrumming with tension, overflowing with emotion; before you can even blink, he is pulling you to his chest, naked and sticky, he holds you closer than you have ever been.

"I love you." He cups your trembling cheeks, throat tightening around the earnestness in his tone. You can run from the stars; you can hide from the bay, but his love will find you just as the sun finds the day.

v. She is only in your DNA.

Five months later.

Scene five.

Playing: If the world was ending.

Anxiety is like a cup that never falls, the tease of water sloshing at the rim. It comes in inclines—the clench in your chest, the flip in your stomach, the tremble in your spine. The world begins to quake, the table tips, the water shifts, but none of it ever pours out.

That was how you felt right now, a bright pink river rushing underneath your feet, sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss.

No matter how many times you squeezed your eyes and wished it all away, reality still managed to smack you in the face.

Positive

Your numb hand goes limp, the plastic pregnancy test tumbling to the tiles with a deafening crack. Cold porcelain seeps into your skin as you drop your tear-stained cheeks between your knees, all your deepest, darkest fears suddenly snapping into view.

"Just wait until you have kids." Sometimes, it is the most overpowering emotions you can feel most clearly.

Determination.

"One day, when I grow up, I'll meet the perfect guy, and get married, and have tons of babies—and I will do it all without ever becoming you." She scoffs, rolling her shoulders as if she had already unraveled the scrolls of your soul, and engraved on the paper was your life, traveled down a perfectly mirrored path.

"I said the same thing when I was your age, but then I had the kids, and everything changed. You aren't going to be able to do it."

You were only 13 then, and yet, with unwavering resolve, you declared, "Watch me."

How were you going to tell him? Was your first thought.

How could you manage to be a mother? Was your next.

You dug your hands into your chest, wishing to tear your seams. In her womb, she had stitched you up, and now you spent every waking moment trying to unravel the threads.

You wanted to vomit—vomit until your blood ran dry, until it curdled around your muscles, trembling over the cold toilet seat.

"Watch me," you had said.

"Watch me fall apart" is what you had meant.

So she does, through the blurred layers of your reflection, her eyes staring back. Why did you have to bear such an eerie resemblance to her? The power she held over you was suffocating, for even in thought, she found ways to claw at your lungs.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, how many different ways can I make my daughter fall?

It's been hours.

Many, many hours before Felix finds you huddled beside the toilet bowl. Your dead eyes stare—just stare. Not blinking. Not moving. Not twitching an inch. His reaction is almost instant; he drops to his knees, jerking you towards himself. He grips your pale cheeks, begging you to look at him—just once. Blink. Flinch. Move something. Finally, finally, like little butterfly wings, your eyelids flutter to life. Before you can even speak, he's yanking your head onto his chest, his heart pounding vehemently inside the thin fabric of his cotton T-shirt.

Though every cell in your body screams at you to stay, you withdraw. Your gaze is laden when it lands on him, and for a moment, he is taken aback—that is, until you slip a slim white object into his palms.

Silence.

That is what precedes your actions. He stuffs your heart into a meat grinder, and with every excruciating minute that passes, it feels like he cranks it up one level higher. He reads the result over and over, breaking it down to syllables, letters—backwards, forwards, flipped upside down. Part of him didn't believe it—not that he didn't want to believe it, but simply because he couldn't. It felt impossible, improbable, really. His tongue twisted into knots between his teeth, rendering him utterly speechless. So instead, with trembling fingers, he grasps your wet jaw and pours all his thoughts into the line of your lips.

It came out a little something like: I love you

The whiplash is dizzying, like stepping into pounding rain and spinning; spinning, spinning, spinning until it feels like you'll twirl right off the earth. How could you believe that he’d reject you? It was so colossally stupid you almost want to smack yourself in the face—not that Felix would let you, of course.

You gasp at the same moment he sniffles, your synchrony causing him to chuckle, the sound thick with tears. He lays his forehead on yours, a disbelieving smile cracking across his cheeks.

"I'm going to be a dad," he utters, already envisioning all the adventures ahead. Hell, he was practically braiding his baby girl's hair right now. He seems to catch up with this reality because, with a sudden jerk, he has locked his hands underneath your armpits, hauling you into the air. You squeal, clutching his shoulders so tightly your nails dig in; it doesn't faze him—not when his head is tilted back, his smile like the edge of an everlasting sunrise. In that moment, as the bathroom swirls, you know, it was only with him your baby could view their reflection through the shattered glass of a broken cycle; and that is an accomplishment worth celebrating. At last, you begin to laugh.

Once you have begun, you don’t stop—not even when he gently sets you down, giggling as you sway, foggy and disoriented, his hands firmly steadying you by the shoulders. When you find enough balance to walk, you clasp urgent fingers around his wrist, drawing him to the bed. He happily follows. Calves hitting the frame, you fall backward, bouncing onto the mattress. With a dimpled grin, he crawls over your waist, littering kisses all over your face, leaving wet, slobbery marks. Laughter spills out of you uncontrollably, groaning when he licks up your cheek.

"Ewww, Lix, that was gross!" you giggle, wrinkling your nose in faux disgust. All of a sudden, as the overhead lights catch the bands of your eyes, it feels as though his breath has been ripped straight from his lungs—a stunning epiphany dawning on him.

He could reach across every timeline in an infinite multiverse of parallel realities, and yet, he still wouldn’t find a version of himself as in love with you as he is right now.

So, he does something crazy.

"I wanted to wait for the right time to do this," he utters, his face tight with masked emotion. "And I promise, one day I'll buy you something flashier." Your brows furrow, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, about as confused as you are nervous—especially when he slides down the bed, halting to leave a kiss atop the fabric of your covered belly. His nose bumps your stomach when he peers up at you through tear-stained lashes. "But for now, I wanted to ask for your heart with something meaningful—something that means forever."

Every atom buzzes with anticipation when he dips to one knee, digging a finger into his pocket. Finally, he fishes a small velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands fly to your face, shielding a choked sob. "Will you marry me, Y/N L/N? Will you let me love you in every lifetime?" He flips open the lid, and as if you were dipping into the well of time, nestled in the silky cushions was amber sea glass—your amber sea glass. For years, it burned a hole in your pocket, anchoring you to the ground, to earth. Then you met him, and suddenly, you didn’t seem to need it anymore. You evolved, and in time, your little sliver of the sea got lost among the waves of life. You don't ask him where he found it; frankly, you don’t care. You don’t really care about anything except him.

Without a shred of doubt, you exclaim, "Yes! Yes, Felix! Of course, I’ll marry you!" You don't even let him hand you the necklace before you collide with his chest. He grunts as your full body weight slams into him, but he doesn’t mind it—not when you’re busy kissing words onto his freckles, mumbling over and over, "I love you. I love you. I love you." He is so enthralled with the moment that he almost forgets.

"There’s more," he breathes, extracting the box from between your smooshed stomachs—not really sure how it got there, but nevertheless settled atop his folded thighs, he uncurls your fist, sliding the pendant into your palm.

Your hands are cold, holding something so old. You flip the smooth stone.

Time was such a volatile thing; how easily it is broken—for with a simple flick of the wrist, you are caught outside of all existence.

Your lips part, his sucking in your shuddering gasp. Right then, right there, all that existed was the two of you, his hands trailing up your shoulders, the cold snap of gold clasping around your neck. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again. Your fingers tug at the weight around your neck, almost in awe that you still had it on—that any of this was real.

In every lifetime.

You run your thumb over the inscriptions, golden letters scrawled on the surface of a star. He had plucked his promise straight from the sky. For now, far past his grave, your love will live on, tumbling deep beneath the waves, until his soul finds it and pledges you his heart all over again.

If you liked this please consider telling me i worked really hard on this Thank you! also little side note if I find time I might add an installment because there was supposed to be one more scene before the pregnancy but I got too overwhelmed but that scene gave more of a closing to the readers relationship with her mom sooo maybe more soon lol

[puttersmile]

Crittertember Day 16: Sleeping

Yes have some more Puppylove! And a oneshot to go with it!

When the skies darkened Dogday had a sinking feeling it was too late to leave.  He’d lost track of time and without warning a sudden  thunderstorm rolled in. The thunder rumbled, making Dogday tense up and his tail sag. He had always tried to hide his fear of storms, even though his friends knew. 

Bobby didn’t like it much either, but as the storm intensified and it became clear that Dogday couldn’t leave, she nervously suggested,

 “Why don’t you, uh, stay the night? We could… keep each other company?” Bobby saw the rain pouring in sheets outside her window. “ Like maybe we could–”

“S-sleep together? Like… in the bed? Under the covers? The same bed? The both of us?” Dogday stammered, trying to play dumb to mask his own nervousness. 

Bobby blushed but nodded.. “Yes, in the same bed. We’ll be more comfortable that way, and it’s not like I want to face this storm alone.”

Dogday gulped. “I mean, I can always take the couch…”

Bobby shook her head quickly. “No, really. I’d feel better if you were with me. It’s already late enough as it is.”

Dogday couldn’t help but laugh, albeit shyly. “Well, when you put it that way… Okay, I’m in. But fair warning, I might need to hold onto something if the thunder gets too loud.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Well, as long as that ‘something’ happens to be me, I think we’ll be just fine.”

She lead him to her room, the storm outside seemed to boom only half as hard as Dogday’s heartbeat. Yet it also made the space feel cozier despite the crackling tension in the air. They settled into bed, a timid excitement bubbling up as they cuddled close. 

Dogday was hyper-aware of her warmth, the scent of her fur, and the steady rhythm of her breathing. It felt right, yet the newness of it all made his pulse race.

Another boom of thunder rolled through, and Dogday instinctively pulled her closer. 

“You weren’t kidding about needing to hold onto something, huh?” Bobby teased.

Dogday smiled sheepishly. “Guess not.” He glanced around, “You know, this is pretty scandalous. What will our friends think?”

Bobby grinned, playing along. “They’ll probably be jealous they’re not getting a warm hug from someone as awesome as me.”

Dogday snickered as he eased his side into one of Bobby’s oversized pillows. “You’re probably right.”

At that moment, Bobby leaned in and began peppering his face and neck with soft kisses, each one sending a thrill through her dog friend, his tail thumping against the blankets wildly. Enraptured by her affection, he managed to joke, 

“H-hey, Bobs! You know, I’m starting to think you wanted the storm to get me into this kind of position!”

Bobby pulled back just enough to smirk at him, her eyes gleaming. “That’s a strong possibility, but I’ll admit nothing.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, the storm outside no longer feeling like a threat but more like a backdrop to this moment.

Bobby broke the silence with a soft voice, “You know, I’ve imagined this… falling asleep with you. It’s nice, even if I didn’t picture the thunder.”

Dogday’s heart swelled, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Me too. And I don’t care about the thunder as long as you’re here.”

Bobby giggled. “It can’t hurt you as long as I’m around.”

Dogday yawned. “My hero.”

Bobby smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the blankets wrapped around them. “Well, in that case, I guess we’ll have to make this a regular thing.”

Dogday chuckled, the sound soft and comforting as he started drifting into sleep. Finally his tail rested.

“I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

AN: I doggedly continue making Crittertember art. They should be under the blankets but I drew them first and didn't want to erase half their body lol.

[maxwell-grant]

The Penguin: Episode 1 Breakdown

Thank you Lauren LeFranc, Mike Marino, Colin Farrell and Matt Reeves, we owe you the world for this, good God. It's finally here everyone and I've decided I'm gonna give each episode it's own post/breakdown of thoughts, because hahaha holy shit you guys this is beyond what I even dreamed of, and we're gonna be covering this for a while I think. I've worked out enough madness about this out of my system by talking with friends and I can't seem to be able to work on anything else till I get this done, so let's do it.

Bottom line: This isn't even just a must-watch if you like the Penguin or if you like The Batman, this is something I'd recommend to just about anyone in a heartbeat, something I can point to when people ask "why do you like The Penguin so much" and, instead of the elaborate nerd ramble that usually turns them off, I can just tell them to watch this. A friend of mine (who already loves Batman and digs the Penguin quite a bit) even told me as much, that he's starting to get why I love the character so much, and truly, is there a better feeling than this? Well, there is, and it's watching the show. Let's dig into this first episode:

Right upfront I'm gonna say that this doesn't really seem to be the Sopranos rip-off that people have been calling it before release, although there are definitely Sopranos comparisons to make here. I've spent the past months finally watching The Sopranos in order to get the comparison and definitely want to talk about those comparisons after I finish it (and this show ends). This thing aims to stand on it's own legs as a crime show and it's smashing out of the gate with an extremely promising first episode.

So this just casually opens with the reveal that all along, there was a second rich Gotham the whole time that was completely unaffected by everything we saw in the movie, already throwing a great twist on the events of that movie, and further reinforcing how fucking full of shit The Riddler was. All we saw Batman and the others deal with in the movie was just affecting the poorer parts of the city. All Eddie did was drown rats, and make life worse for the people already in the bottom, while never even getting close to targeting the systemic rot that ruined his life. He retains ideological worshippers in subways obsessed with the corruption of the city without doing anything to actually improve it, and because of him, the streets of Gotham are waterlogged shitholes while the rich Falcone suburbs are doing just fine, peachy even.

I said a while back that, in spite of having about 6 scenes/10 minutes of Penguin runtime, The Batman managed to squeeze impeccably controlled Penguin Trademark Scenes, and this show opens with the last one they didn't get to then: Penguin killing someone for making fun of him. In the movie, he tries doing that with Falcone and is beaten to the punch, so here he gets to actually do it to disastrous consequences.

Fucking adore that the inciting incident of the show is based on the fallout of Oswald killing someone for making fun of him. He pours his heart about the dream he lives his life for, his new boss makes fun of him for being an embarassment to their profession and then he does the most typical Penguin thing by killing him for it and laughing afterwards. And then he realizes how badly he fucked up, and then we get a fucking perfect titledrop with his musical theme, the exact moment we finish The Batman and enter The Penguin.

God it is so fucking cool how the make-up/lighting, the scar across his face, makes it look like he's got a genuine beak from certain angles, how they're able to achieve that effect without giving him a more literal beak for a nose. Everytime they talk about the character, Reeves and Farrell always emphasize how integral the make-up was to them figuring out what to do with Oz, how little they knew what to make of his six scenes until Marino created their monster and suddenly everything fell into place. Mike Marino fully deserves co-credit for the creation of Oz.

Pretty amusing that Victor, as designed to be Penguin's Robin, has exactly the same origin as Jason Todd, a poor street kid trying to steal the hubcaps off the Penguinmobile (I'm sure this bodes very well for his odds at survival), as is the way in which Oz goes on about his recruitment. He press-gangs this kid at gunpoint to help him bury a body arguing with himself and eventually the kid why shouldn't he just kill him to be safe, while trying to impress the kid with his car and air freshener and later that bullshit about "What, you think I hire any schmuck off the street?". From the tile drop onwards, he's doing everything on the fly while also spinning long-term plans set in motion as soon as he's on screen, he's taking this kid in out of sympathy and because he enjoys a power dynamic over someone weaker than him and because he very much needs someone to help him get stuff done. I'm extremely interested in exploring Penguin having a mentorship dynamic and I'm beyond curious as to what happens with Victor from this point onwards, but that poor kid is in for a terrible fucking time.

Found it very funny how much he half-asses the murder threat to Victor. Like it's his first time actually doing it and he's trying to be serious, but not too scary because he's already seeing himself in the poor kid with a stutter and wants the kid to think he's also a cool guy like he wants everyone to think he's a cool guy. I also think having Victor as the POV helps to sell moments like these, because it's still terrifying to him. Even as we follow their stories, these power players of Gotham are still big scary monsters to people caught in the dregs and Victor helps to reinforce that.

I enjoy Oz being friends with sex workers and drag queens off the street as much as I enjoy Oz being depicted as the kind of guy who deludes himself into thinking the prostitute he's with actually likes him, Lauren and Farrell launched into a bit about in on the podcast and I'm curious to see what's going on with him and Eve here.

Lots of perfect funny little character moments across the whole thing. Oz insulted by the idea of taking extra pickles off a poor kid's dirty mouth, but with zero hesitation whatsoever for picking jewelry off his boss' corpse. Dude is governed by principles even as he actively has to break them to survive.

"Technically it's plum." "He is the - or was the - new kingpin", "He's got nurse-like qualities." The show is not overtly trying to get you to find Penguin likeable as much as it wants you to find him engaging - making you think he's likeable is Colin Farrell's job and he's masterful at it, definitely a lot more matured within the character compared to the movie.

If there's anything in particular I'm thankful for regarding Gotham (well okay Gotham led directly to Telltale Penguin which was the basis for this one, so really I do have a lot more to be thankful with Gotham), it's the decision to give him a legit waddle via the broken foot, but the way they incorporate it here with the club foot does so much for him, so much as a modern day reinvention of The Penguin. Adds so much to why he's never been a serious candidate for mob leadership, why he kinda had to spend all his time in the Lounge, why he actually needs someone to help him run affairs, why he has such a gaping ego wound and is so murderously angry at people making fun of him / calling him a goddamn penguin, adds so much validation and so much darkness and nuance to Oswald's overwhelming anger and bitterness over how the world treats him (and so much power should he opt to reclaim it, in turn). It's the kind of thing that frankly feels like it should have always been part of the character, like what all the previous versions were itching closer to or trying to get at. Of course this is a guy gets called a penguin and he hates it badly enough to murder people over it, of course.

This gets to really highlight how differently Oz acts depending on who he's with. Traditionally, one of my favorite things about The Penguin, and one of the things that puts him above the other villains, is that, due to his position, he has to interact with a lot more people than the other Bat-villains. He has to manage a lot more relationships and dynamics, he has to play peacekeeper and puppetmaster. he's the only one in the United Underworld who's regularly interacting with and recruiting other villains to do business with. He's the guy who you pin stuff on like the Gangland Guardians, Team Penguin, doing betting pools with the Rogues taking cover in his Lounge while Joker War is happening, having to rig games to keep good standing with Maxie Zeus and Frenchy Blake in Batman Audio Adventures, and so on. So I greatly enjoy this beat here of him talking about how makes himself smaller before the Falcones, and that moment of him adjusting his outfit and practicing expressions in the mirror before meeting with them. How he contorts himself is present in all of his relationships, and retroactively adds to the way he carries himself in The Batman.

It seems that Oz is functionally regarded as the Paulie Walnuts of the Falcones: useful muscle, loyal for the most part and amusing to keep around, but largely an unstable self-serving dumb asskisser kept where he belongs, a liability if not kept on a short leash. I think the show does a good job of highlighting all the reasons why Oz has never been seriously regarded as a viable option for a boss, even putting aside his disability. He is a fundamentally embarassing person for these serious respectable criminals to be around and of course, the joke is ultimately on them..

Of course, there is only two people in the show who actually know what he's capable of, Francis Cobb and Sofia Falcone, said to be the central relationships defining the show moving forward. Both of them also a defining commonality with Oswald, being people who are looked down on and dehumanized, and characters who are underestimated until it's time to bear their fangs.

Extremely invested in where they're going with Sofia Falcone, Cristine Milioti's been killing it, and will in fact not stop killing it. What a perfect villain for Penguin they've set up with her, someone who has his Kryptonite: she does not underestimate him. Although we know in advance that Oz is going to live and be in the next movie, the question here isn't even so much who's going to win the gang war, and rather how much damage these two freaks will do to the city until Batman gets back. In many ways, Sofia represents the shape of things to come just as much as he does.

She is this embodiment of both the pristine unfathomable wealth and privilege and power that he both detests and strives for, as well as this brutal new breed of madness and violence attacking the streets that he has to survive against and make deals with (and is himself very much a part of, however he denies it). She is Falcone's legacy in every way that matters, both a Kingpin of Gotham whose existence creates the oppressive conditions under which a Batman or a Riddler are created, as well as the Arkham Rogue, the larger-than-life sadist with a tragic origin and a signature torture-murder method and an embarassing name for the papers.

Even the fact that she is The Hangman, and Carmine was defined around his penchant for brutally strangling women - regardless of whether or not she did the crimes that got her in Arkham, she's become this larger-than-life themed expression of a violent obsession in a way that sets her up as every bit the Batman villain that The Penguin is. The two champions of the two Gothams, duking it out in this new world The Batman and The Riddler made, The Penguin vs The Hangman.

I am so glad Lauren LeFranc made the call for binning Alberto in the first five minutes so the rest of the show can focus on Sofia and make a real character out of her in a way nobody's ever really done before, every step of the way so far LeFranc has been perfectly on the ball about where to take these characters and their conflict. And speaking of those,

I feel very confident in saying that this is the first time anyone's ever really had something worth doing with Oswald's mother as a character in her own right and not just a source of anguish for Penguin (Gotham was almost onto something with Gertrude, but not nearly enough). When it comes to Penguin origin stories, my favorite's always been the Pre-Crisis one, where he's poor and bullied but happy with his mom and birds until she dies and the government seizes everything he has, which doesn't necessarily involve her much. But here? Francine Cobb is a real character in what little time we get to know her, and what a character she is. We quickly understand the role she's playing in Oz's life, not just as his mom and person he loves and strives to protect, but the person who's sculpting him into the man he's going to become.

She is vulnerable and she does need meds and she's not quite all there, and Penguin's need to care for her is visible in other actions of his. But then they turn it around by showing how strong and demanding she is, how she is fiercely ambitious and pushing him to be something he would otherwise not be, how much she loves him and sees greatness in him. She knows he's a people pleaser, she knows how to push his buttons, and she wants him to be more, so of course he's going to be more, because he lives to please his mom.

Related to this is this absolute bullseye of a summation of The Penguin, that Lauren LeFranc delivered in the podcast: "Perhaps his greatest fear is that love is transactional. And that yet, everything he does, every decision he makes, is as if that's true. As if "love is transactional" is a truth he abides by". Oswald's conception of power is being loved and revered like Rex Calabrese, and the love he wants most in all the world is the one from his mother. So in turn this, and all extensions of it, drive him to greater and darker lengths.

He doesn't have that ambition quite down yet, it's his mom that does. She who's pushing him to take over the city and not just be a guy scraping by for survival. He's smart and ambitious and extremely good at slipping out of trouble, but she's pushing him to be the guy who will be taking the city by the horns because that's what he has to be for their sake. Her legacy to her son is nurturing him having that dog in him that will make him the supervillain who picks fights with Vengeance. She is the force that's turning Oswald into The Goddamn Penguin and I can't wait to see how she's developed.

Of course he reprimands Victor in that scene for lacking ambition, who do you think he gets it from?

Really love what they've done with Sal Maroni in here so far. I like adaptations that take these throwaway Batman backstory gangsters and make something out of them, in this case, with Clancy Brown lending his power and voice and reputation as The Grand Boss of Villainy to play the last Respectable Gangster of Gotham, this intimidating principled old tiger who's inversely proportional to how much of a petty and scummy piece of shit Carmine Falcone was. Extremely a guy I'd want to see playing a hand in the creation of Two-Face. Just as crucial is the fact that he is the one who gets the most effortlessly outplayed by Oz here, because this is The Penguin Show: no room for traditional or respectable gangsters anymore, their purpose is to be crapped all over by our wacko birdman.

There's a lot about this that re-contextualizes his behavior in The Batman and the one I'm gonna point out is: even though he can't be sure his plan didn't completely go to shit, he is still keeping his wits and not being terribly scared about being beaten up and tortured and staring down the scariest Falcone with a gun shoved in his throat. But he craps his pants at the sight of the Batmobile. He gets pain, he gets indignity, but he doesn't get Vengeance, what kind of sick freak would come up with the stuff that guy does. A gun in his mouth and Falcone torture is just Tuesday, but a car that wants to eat his soul is some psycho shit he's just not ready to deal with.

It is the delicious tasty fucking irony that Oswald thinks Vengeance is this weird freak who doesn't play or bend to any rules and is here to fuck up everything, just like the madman who flooded the city, and thinks of himself in turn as a justifiable guy standing for the respectable old-fashioned empathetic way of doing things, instead of the exact same thing that Riddler and Batman are. Only Sofia gets what he really is, the same thing as her, and that's why she is the arch-enemy / the biggest thing he's gotta defeat in life for now.

God, how fucking PERFECT it is that he gets caught and tortured because he, after stabbing out a man's eye and causing him to get run over by a schoolbus, stops to wave at the kids in that schoolbus while covered in blood. Just the Rex Calabrese of it all, the self-image, this guy who's both a mean nasty son of a bitch and also a real bleeding heart softie and in ways that ruin his life and allow him to slip and wriggle his way out of shit he has no right to, as demonstrated by the finale.

Thinking about Sofia chastizing Oz saying he thinks she is a toy to play with, while rattling off the ways in which she owns him and everything he has, all the ridiculous little accessories her daddy let him play him, and he in turn is a ridiculous little accessory for the family she is twisting until it breaks. Perfect fucking villain for him. Can't wait to see how badly these two are gonna burn Gotham.

I knew deep in my heart that all I wanted out of a Penguin show, the thing that I simply needed to have in it, was Penguin pulling a heist set-up in advance, and it fucking delivered. He doesn't even complain at Victor for being late, because if anything, getting captured and tortured while the car crashed was even better for him. No, he complains at Victor for not being sufficiently gruesome with the body. See, unlike other cowardly anti-hero reinventions of Bat-villains, the show never wants you to forget that Oz is a weird freak and a disgusting piece of shit, even if he is a very likeable and even aspirational one. Only by the most random stroke of fate it wasn't Victor that he fed to the wolves at that moment, that he sees himself in the kid isn't exactly ensuring that he's gonna make out of this in one piece.

Mr. Vengeance gets Nirvana, and Mr. Boniface gets Dolly Parton, perfect credits.

In conclusion: Out of everything they could have done following the thunderous success of The Batman and it's ensuing influence over the DCU, out of all the offers Reeves must have gotten to helm their new universe after delivering a megahit reinvention of their breadwinner blockbuster character, Matt Reeves went "Nah, I listened to my crew, and what we really want to do is 8 hours of television about the waddling freak who's in my movie for 10 minutes", and he and his crew deserve the world for that. I dreamed as a kid of getting to make a big Penguin story or show, a wild impossible idea that would never actually happen, and now it's here and it's better than anything I'd ever imagined.

I'm fit to burst with joy and riding a high of no longer having to hunt for scraps and washing away decades of put-downs for the character and enjoying a Penguin renaissance like one I never imagined happening. I am extremely not an unbiased reviewer here, this show rules and I've waited for it since I was a kid and it's here, drink it the fuck in cause it's only the beginning.

[sol-kha-ne-lubri-if]

ros' reaction to mc having a hickey on their neck only to find out it's a mosquito bite later on?

Dear God you've been in inbox purgatory for a long while I'm so sorry, anyways, I'm gonna assume this is where they're crushing on you (not in a relationship) rather than the opposite lmao

AMBROSE ~

They've never been one to allow their siblings to deter them from doing whatever they please, so whyever would they stop now?

Especially when he has such a valid cause to it.

You see, it was your fault— that's what he was telling himself anyway. You just had to arrive in the dining hall with such a— such a blasphemous mark on your neck, proud for all to see, this should count as a slight against Baeurae! Fae knew you got around, that's not what was pissing them off about this whole thing...

It's the fact that you didn't approach them first of all.

Ambrose thought of himself as someone within your circle you could rely on, you know? Someone you— someone who could tell you which creatures were worth your time! You're an absolute beauty, everyone could be made aware of that just by looking at you! So why— why have you not told him a thing of what happened to lay such a— such an offensive thing on your skin?! What messy work it was as well, and how come there was only one? He really knew whoever had done it was a true loser then. If it were him, he would have pulled you in and not let you go until he could taste your—

"Mooooorning, you~" Ambrose hears Dottie chirp and he sits upright with his smile plastered upon his lips as though that was enough to prove to himself that he was perfectly fine with this— all of this. "Someone slept well, I denounce~!"

"If only!" you bemoan as you collapse into the chair and scratch at the mark on your neck. It's here that Ambrose sees just how upset you seemed to be, the way your body tenses so severely, the way your brow knits together, and you bury your nails into your own skin before Ambrose reaches out, making sure fae's hand was seen by you, and he carefully pulls your hand away before you scratch too deep. "My roommate— that dumbass— forgot to lock our godforsaken window the night before and a flupoflim wound up having gotten offensed by whatever dream they may have sensed of me and bit me right in the goddamn neck! I swear, I'm going to..."

"A flupoflim..." Ambrose repeats quietly to himself, biting his tongue to keep his smile from widening even further as he relaxes his hold on you far more, intertwining your fingers and slowly guiding you into his chest, his gloved thumb rubbing circles over the back of your palm as their cheek presses to your hair while you continue rambling about the pest in your room.

A small laugh shakes his chest, his eyes relaxing, half-listening to the way his sister plots with you on how to fume the flupoflims from the academy as he slowly raises your joint hands and drags his fingertips down from your palm to carefully brush against your pulsepoint.

"What a kerfuffle for my poor darling ditzy." Ambrose drawls, bring your wrist close to his face so he could press his lips to it, feeling the way your artificial heart beat inside. "Might I suggest a word of my own as remedy?"

Dottie ~

Dottie walks through the halls with her posse a few steps behind her, an idle smile on her expression as their voices carry through the grand halls, even though she had them step away from her so she could enjoy the peace and quiet to clear her thoughts. In moments as this, she would typically walk with you and your impecc-uliar companion. However, she doesn't know how much she can stand walking within your vicinity without wishing to slice at your neck and watch your good pour out like a fountain.

Maybe if she did that, the abomination on your neck would go away.

It was such a messy fucking job as well, it weren't even even, and you clearly didn't have that good a night if you were walking around with just one on your neck. If it were her, she would have mauled you for all to see! She would have tore at your neck until you'd have to be fixed up with stitches!

But no, apparently you decided you weren't good enough for her and you decided to go for some lowlife who clearly couldn't appreciate your beauty in the way she does—!

"—uite annoying, yeah." she's pulled out of her thoughts when she suddenly hears your voice around the corner, and she pauses, raising a brow as she hears your voice carried through the hall. "Maybe if you hadn't left the damn window open, I wouldn't be walking around with the bite of a flupoflim on my perfect skin! Do you even know just how itchy this fucking—!"

"It's a fly bite, calm down!"

"Of course YOU would be saying that, you're not the one who had gotten bitten by the damn thing— oh, Dottie?"

She had appeared around the corner with her books tucked below her chest and her hair gently blowing in nonexistent wind, before she strolls up to you with the air of majesty you came to know of (and expect) from her presence alone.

"There you are~ I was thinking of relaxing in the bathhouse whilst I set my books aside!" she chirps, stepping up to you and sliding a hand around your waist, pulling you close to her while she brushes her lips against your earlobe.

"Your friend is free to join us as well, if they so please~ In any case, I hear you have a flupoflim problem?"

She smoothly turns you and your companion around, allowing for said flupoflims to swoop in from the windows by her command to clean after the bodies their mistress had left behind, as well as all the ichorous organs that littered the floor.

She'd rather you not see such a distasteful sight~

Loriette Kei ~

"You've something there, I see." their face openly snarls at the sight of the offending mark on your neck, amidst the many other ones you allowed him to leave on you since it was his turn that day.

"I've a little something everywhere, if you couldn't tell." you respond dryly, feeling around your neck. He always mauled you, practically, as if he was trying to prove a point to his older sister and cousins. "You're not exactly the gentlest lover."

"Oh I can be gentle as a feather, you realize?" his strings envelop his body as his form shifts rapidly into a smaller one he was able to hop onto your shoulders with. "You don't give me many a reason to be gentle, is all. You're so... difficult sometimes, and by that, I mean any which time. Whatever you do or see that I may never think to be," their tail brushes against the bottom of your chin before they hop off your shoulder to sit on your lap, shifting back into his doll form to lean forward and pin you against the bed, a bit of their inky-black seeping through the cracks and running down his skin. "Is somehow always something you so readily use against me."

"I'm just looking out for whatever I deem to decree." you respond, your head resting back against the soft sheets of your dorm bed. You didn't often like sleeping in a bed that wasn't your own, after all, your bed was definitely the comfiest in the academy, and you were sure of that. "Now would you please tell me?"

"This," Loriette keeps himself hovered over your body while his strings reach forth to slowly wrap around your neck, the ends tickling against the mark he had seen earlier before they disappear, and his face is streaked with more of the void he kept inside himself.

"Oh, ugh. That." you roll your eyes and tilt your head to the window that allows you to look over sonder at the many bodies below your dorm. "My dormmate, Stesmi pray for them, didn't close the window before sleeping the night before, a flupoflim came and—"

Loriette Kei interrupted you by bursting out laughing, and rolling off and onto your bed, covering his face in one hand while his tail swished to and fro. A flupoflim... he had gotten jealous over one of those nasty little buggers.

"Hey, hey... forgive me, dearly, I weren't laughing at you per say, truly." he was quick to pull you close when he saw you were about to leave the bed, still chuckling over your pouty expression before burying his face into your neck.

"My... what am I to do with you, dear Alice?"

Lorelei Kei ~

"Oh that's a nasty piece of work, I see..."

She was the first person you thought to go to regarding your bite. Your companion had forgotten to close the window all the way last night before falling asleep and a flupoflim had entered and bit you since it... apparently didn't like your dream or something of that sort? Whatever, honestly. You wanted it gone, it was itching like a motherfucker.

"Right? I can hardly even remember what I were fucking dreaming about! I swear, the one time I decide to indulge myself and this is what happens!" you complain, moving your hair out of the way to allow her to get a better look at the bite you had received for daring to dream.

It wasn't even fucking worth it either, the dream wasn't even worth noting enough to remember.

"I've a salve if you wish to apply that. I'm terribly sorry for the flupoflims, I know I've squashed a good few against my neck for such a transgression before." she offers with a small frown, pulling a small bottle from her dress pocket before she tips it turvy against her fingers and a small bit drips out.

"You're an absolute darling, Lorelei Kei. Honestly, I'd adore for you to do this for me, thank you kindly..." you sigh, shivering when you feel her fingers massaging the bite on your neck. "You made this yourself then?"

"Mm... yes, yes I did." she responds, feeling her lips curl up a little as she carefully sits down before you, and she makes sure the salve is spread evenly along the bite. "It's a simple mixture, really. My noveur told me the importance of not relying all on my strings to heal... though that was more so because the way my strings heal is a bit grotesque. Not that I care."

"Why did you create a salve if you don't care then?"

She doesn't respond for a moment, lifting her hand once the salve was applied and blowing gentle air to the area to help it dry a little better, making you gulp.

"Because you might think my healing ways are grotesque."

Nadia ~

"You can't ignore me forever." you tell her firmly, watching as she continues to work at her desk, writing a letter to her kingdom's form of government in her room.

"Nadia, this is childish."

"No it isn't." she says simply, standing up from her desk and grabbing a bowl of fruits she hadn't yet touched before she tosses it in front of you, the spinning bowl filling her dorm with an unpleasant sound as it, miraculously, doesn't begin multiplying by the dozens or growing bigger. Then again, that was also likely because she was wearing her gloves.

"Yes it is— you're even responding like a child." you tell her with a small frown, tilting the bowl towards you to look at its contents before settling on a berry that had nearly fallen out. "Had I committed a slight against you once more? Add onto mine list of many that you refuse to tell me? Look, I'm well aware that my beauty's been known for rendering others speechless, but—"

"I am the one acting childish. I would like to keep acting childish."

Oh, you didn't expect her to just outright admit it. You watch as she sits down about a cushion away from you. "What are you—"

"That mark on your neck," he mentions, nodding her head towards you, making you lift a hand up to what you knew she was talking about. "It's... disgusting. I don't want to look at it. I want to be upset as I refuse to look at it. You are making me upset."

"Nadia, this is a mere—"

"I know what it is," they interrupt you, biting their tongue before sighing as he looks away. "But... please, just don't say anything, or I may die of mortification. I'm usually much better at controlling my own emotions. But that... that thing on your neck— I know what it is, rationally, but even knowing this, just the sight of it, the implication of what it could be, I'm sick of it."

You stare at her a moment, your lips quirking up as you realize why she isn't looking at you. She isn't actually mad... what she really is makes you pop the berry in your mouth, giving you an excuse to shut up.

"... Please, get rid of it...?"

"... I will, so long as you help me."

Noré ~

What on earth had been getting into her these days...

She found herself at your beck and call much more earnestly than they first believed themself to be, first of all. This wasn't anything new, they had done this with anyone and everyone that had passed by them that hallway.

What was getting to him now was that... thing, thing on your neck. It was terribly ugly. It didn't suit you. He would know what suits you and what doesn't, he's completely memorized the sort of style you adore so dearly.

He found himself glued to your side, hanging onto your every word as you speak, your hand repeatedly reaching up to rub at the spot he was eyeing and everytime you did, she felt the pit in her stomach grow wider and wider until it felt as though it would swallow her whole.

"Must you be so enamoured with whatever it is that has you recalling as you rub that?" it slips out of their mouth before they can even think to keep it inside. "You realize that I'm in your company, yes? How terribly rude of you to treat a ruler this way, I ought to try you for—"

"Treason?" you finish, shaking your head. You didn't believe him. Of course you didn't, they never gave you any reason to believe in his words, ever. "Alright, Mocking Turtle. Riddle me this—"

"I'm no hatter, but go on and riddle me what." he responds blandly, hands clenched around her own wrists behind their own back. "Riddle me how?"

"Lethargic eyes and weary bones, they try to rest yet nature would oppose," you reach up to rub the area again. "A draft to fill, the moon to shine, whatever could float decides offense to a dream of mine. Whatever does it do?"

"... Indeed, whatever does it do?"

"It bites you." you respond with a small groan. "Fucking windows and dormmates and... ugh, it's absolutely killing me."

"Oh, no, I don't believe it so." Noré responds from beside you. "For if it were truly killing you, you'd be but flesh and bone."

"You jest, but it truly feels as though the ichor were being—" you cut yourself off as you look to them again, the way they smile feels a bit more relaxed than before. "And what's suddenly got you in such a good mood?"

He blinks at your words, his eyes no longer smiling, though his lips stretch upwards a bit more. "Indeed, whatever does?" they hum, keeping step with you and linking your arms together, tugging you closer to their side as they do.

"Whatever, I suppose you've riddled me true."

[googledetective]

my thoughts on the new episode as always, as I am currently losing my shit lol. I know a lot of people dislike me after last ep when I spoke up about my thoughts, but this time I'm ready to be more mature about it.

1. I love the Hu argue uhhh thingy! I forgot what it's called ngl! I love her and Nico's new sprites too, they were really all amazing and conveyed so much emotion!

And then Hu said this 💀

genuinely insane analogy to make here. I'm sorry, but that was actually insanely uncalled for imo.

2. I think everyone forgot Hu's custom weapon is wire, (if you realized and predicted this, huge props to you), and I did not expect Nico to try and frame Hu for murder like that. NicoHu divorce arc when??? Just kidding, but they're much more cruel then I originally thought. I completely understand trauma from not being accepted as the person you are which was likely in the form of bullying/abuse, but I was genuinely surprised that they really try and murdered Ace just because they didn't like him and they didn't want to go through that again. Very interesting. I also feel very bad for Hu, because she's poured her heart into trying to protect Nico, and even though her methods are EXTREMELY flawed, it must hurt to know someone you really tried to help would try to frame you for murder. This makes me wonder if Nico felt Hu was a threat to their sense of self like Ace was, if they were going to try and pin a murder on her. I'm glad Charles and J told Hu to shut up though, because she was becoming unreasonable. I really hope things turn out the best for her though, because it's clear she's coming from a place of kindness, even if her kindness is mostly self-serving.

3. As much as I don't really like the guy, I'm very glad to have seen Ace pop off. Everyone has treated him like shit, and even if he's treated everyone like shit back, he did not deserve to be almost murdered and then for people to just not care. I really hope Ace ends up making a friend if he isn't the killer, because he really deserves someone to care about him the way mostly everyone in the cast already has someone.

4. They both make very good points here. I think Ace deserves an apology, but a real one.

5. "of course I regret doing it, I'm not Levi" - Nico

THATS ACTUALLY INSANE- but that may be my favorite line of the ep. I'm glad Nico regrets the crime though, because I was scared for awhile they didn't and there might be another incident of the same thing again. This makes me think they won't try and kill again, but it's drdt so you never know, and I think they're a definite threat if they get provoked to that point so easily.

6. I feel so bad for Rose, but let me say, dare I say, I think Whit asking if Rose is okay might've been the sweetest thing Ive ever seen. A lot of people tend to forget that Whit is actually very compassionate, so I'm glad to see that part of him shine through again. Rose is so human, and I think she may be the most realistic character I've ever seen portrayed in a fangan. A lot of characters are able to just get back up after a murder, but she's stuck, and I think I would be the same way. Unfortunately there's zero mental health professionals (obviously, cause they all need to be in a ward) in drdt, but I hope that she maybe can come to cope in a healthier way with what's going on around her, because she doesn't deserve this mess. I didn't actually realize before that the cast had put her on a bit of a pedestal due to her amazing memory, but it makes sense. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I hope that Rose comes to peace with the turpentine and the tape thing because it really isn't her fault and that she can get help for her trauma due to Min and Xander, and Teruko's almost death. No matter how much people expect her to memorize a crime scene, she's human, and we all take things at much different paces.

7.

Hey David, didn't Whit teach us that trauma is a serious thing? You know I've been defending this guy a bit because of how he helped Eden and how I think he's trying to do what's right, but NEVERMIND. Because what the actual fuck is wrong with him to say something as messed up as these two statements. Rose and Arturo do not owe you anything, and they deserve to heal healthy, and at their own pace.

8. Teruko defending Rose was not in my ch2 trial bingo card, but oh my god, that really is sweet. I think Teruko really has started to change from talking with Rose.

I'm running out of images so I can't include her monologue, but it genuinely makes me happy she's starting to get some sort of character development. She really deserves it, and Charles really deserved being so fucking right about being social, lol. Also Teruko thanking Rose with that genuine smile on her face- brought me to tears. I hope they become friends :)

9. Ace and Eden, huh? To be honest, I'm completely torn and I can't see it being either one of them, but then again, I can't see it being anyone. I know so many people are complaining about not having a culprit reveal this ep, but I'm fine. I could wait another year and a half for the reveal. Actually, I don't think we need one at all. Maybe the true drdt is the friends we made along the way. Maybe it's better to choose delusion that nobody could've done it than it to have been Ace or Eden. Maybe, I killed Arei.

(I'm not that smart so I don't think I should be making killer theories, lol. I think it's safe to say I should stick to memes.)

10.

LMAOOOO. She right though.

11. "It pains me to come to Ace's defense" - David

another laughable moment, but a win for the Acevid shippers, I guess. I don't think David was lying though, and it was my suspicion all along that he had seen the body before anyone. I'm not very smart so I'm a bit confused as to whether later they're saying David actually did see her body (which is weird bc he'd have an alibi), or if he thinks someone else might've seen it and wanted to include that as a possibility.

12.

Teruko handled this whole situation super well, I was very impressed with her. Obviously you can't rule Eden out as the killer and Teruko explained that, but she was so compassionate and understanding about it that it made me cry. I never thought I'd say this, but here's a Teruko W. As for Eden pleading... I wish I could say more and I'm sure I'll be able to later, but it's just so likely she could be the culprit that I can't take anything she says at face value rn, and I was having trouble empathizing with her. Of course that's just my take, and I have already chatted with others who felt the whole scene was just a heartwarming experience, and that makes me really happy. This being said, the fact Teruko immediately turned to Ace as her main suspect TOOK ME OUT. I feel so bad for him he has literally done nothing but be suspicious to warrant this, while Eden is at the same level of suspicion. I really like that Teruko is playing favorites now, because Eden's been so good to her all this time.

13. I forgot to include David trying to get Teruko to not trust others!!! Shit!!!

Is that seriously how he plans to end the kg.. I can kinda see what he's going for bc so far the trope is in most danganronpa that you need to trust others to live and be fulfilled (not saying drdt is gonna follow that trope though). Hm.

Bro is actually down horrendous for Teruko though 😭

tierlist after watching this ep (kill me now)