#Off-string AU because I'm sick

[smoothbrainstuff]

Offstring AU.. Total Eclipsing Sky gathering a following of off-string iterators who regret it, offering a chance to repent and giving them a home. Getting their trust and devotion, giving them a life they don't want to lose, then using them to attack visit other groups and take receive as many senior statuses as he can get. I'm going to be ill oh my goud. He's going to seize control of as many groups as he can get and their only options are to stay or go off-string and make themselves vulnerable AUUUURGHJJJ

[satorusugurugurl]

Hiii :33 i literally read all ur works in one sitting omg ur amazing pookieee AND IT GOT ME THINKING-

What if reader and the JJK men had their bodies switched due to a curse??? Like- For example- Nanami Kentos body but readers mind/conscious and stuff like ykwim??? (same with readers body) Also i love how u write sukuna its so BEIFNSKFHKDD ARF👹👹 if u could add some smut and crack in it too pls🥹 tyty

(W/ nanamin toji sukuna n geto pls) ☺️☺️😚😚

JJK Men: Body Swap!!

Summary: Body swapping with your boyfriend? What could go wrong? 😃

Pairing: Fushiguro Toji, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna (Sorcerer AU), Geto Suguru, AFAB!Reader

Warnings: smut, a little crack, body swapping, creampies, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 7,174

A/N: Hi Pookie!! hajsjjdjdthank-you so so much! I lo ove too! Modern Sukuna is one of my favorite boys to write for! I love him so much. (even though I know its OOC). Anyways thanks for being so patient with me. this last month has been insanely busy and I'm just now finding my creativity again!

Fushiguro Toji:

It was supposed to be a simple mission to take out a sorcerer. What you both didn’t know was that this sorcerer had a lot of curses to spirits protecting them. So when you both took him out, one of the spirits attacked you. And you weren't sure what happened. One second, you were standing back to back with your boyfriend. The next second, you were lying flat on your back, staring up at the sky.

While your head was spinning and you felt sick to your stomach, that meant you were alive and well, which was a success in your books. Sitting up, you grumbled out a groan as you blinked several spots away.

“Son of a fuckin’ bitch.” You said, but it wasn't you that said it? When your vision finally cleared, your eyes widened as you stared down at yourself. “I’m telling Shiu we need double the pay for that shit.” A string of vulgar words escaped your lips as you watched your body sit up.

“T-Toji?” You asked, finding your voice several octaves lower.

“Yeah, you good?” your head turned towards you, and that’s when your boyfriend finally seemed to notice something was wrong. Toji, I’ve been told you you were never good at hiding your facial reactions, and seeing a pure panic that crossed your features let you know he was right. “Oh, what the fuck?!”

“I-It’s me! I-I just—uhm—what the fuck happened?!”

After thoroughly researching the files you both refused to read, you discovered that this was one of the side effects of one of the curses you had taken out. It allowed the souls of its victims to switch with each other. The technique was only meant to last a few hours to a few days, which was a blessing, but your boyfriend didn’t seem to see it that way.

Although you both insisted that you could handle a few more jobs, Shiu couldn’t stand the way you were smiling sweetly at him with Toji’s face, and your face was glaring daggers at him from the rearview mirror. So he did the only logical thing he could think of. You were taking your asses back home until this side effect wore off.

Which was something you found yourself longing for. Because you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle being in the small confining space of the apartment with your boyfriend who is currently stuck in your body. You were trying to preoccupy your time, attempting to fix dinner with Toji’s sausage fingers, when you could hear your voice and make the most pitiful sounds in the living room.

“My fucking back hurts!” Toji yelled out, stretching his back out.

“Yeah?” you asked, “I told you I wasn’t fucking joking with you. Having breasts can weigh you down sometimes. Why the fuck do you think I ask for a back massage all the time?”

“Because you want my dick.”

“Hardy har asshole, now you know when I ask for a massage and being serious seventy-five percent of the time.”

You tried to focus on cutting onions but found it extremely difficult with the wines emanating from the living room. “Oww, babe, come give me a back massage. Your beautiful tits that I love are causing me immense pain.” Ignore him, you told yourself as you went back to cutting onions. If you just ignored his whining, everything would be okay. “Babe!” Your voice at you from across the apartment. “Baby!” Your fingers tightened around the handle of the knife you were holding, fighting the urge to use your newfound strength not to throw it at yourself. For just a moment, the tiniest millisecond, you thought maybe he had given up on calling you forward, allowing you to go back to cooking until you heard yourself cry out a wine that would make any toddler turn their head towards you.

“Oh my god!” You snapped, tossing the knife into the sink. “What?! What do you want me to do for you, Your Highness?!”

“Rub my back,” Toji grumbled as he shoved your face into the couch. “It hurts, and I know how good I am with my hands.”

With a sigh, you plopped down on the ground behind your body, using your boyfriend's hands to rub circles at the knots always in your back gently. Almost instantly, Toji let out a moan that was porn worthy. You could see him sink further into the couch; your fingers dug into the cushions as you continued to use Toji’s thumbs to rub circles into the sore muscles. Toji continued to whimper, squirming under your touch, pressing your thighs together as you worked your hands lower and lower.

And while it seemed like he was finding some relief in your touch, you found his pants a little too tight for comfort sounds that were resonating from your mouth.

“Fuuuck, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, babe, Fuuck.”

The sound of your moans seems to affect your boyfriend’s body. Allowing you to move on impulse, allowing his body to take the lead. “I bet I can make you feel better.” You whisper against the nape of your neck, relishing how your boyfriend recoiled back.

“Oh yeah~? And how do you plan on making me feel even better?”

Your way was fast and hard, much like the way Toji always gave it to you. You wasted no time, ripping your clothes off of your own body, slamming your lips against the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as his hands reached around, groping your breasts, just the way you liked it. Despite being in different bodies, neither of you were at all clumsy. As soon as you started ripping your clothes off, he told you he was tugging his shirt off his own body, turning to face, allowing you to pin him below you.

The kisses you shared were messy teeth clashing against each other as you both worked at your bottoms. Toji pulled your shorts and your underwear to the side. While you yanked his cock out of his sweats. Even though you were in different bodies, sex wasn’t any different. Toji just needed to feel you against him despite being inside your body, and the same for you.

You spit into your hand, rubbing it over your boyfriend's cock before you press it against your entrance. Never once did you break that kiss, the kiss that was full of raw need as if you both were high on an aphrodisiac when, in reality, you were high off of each other. Toji moaned against your lips as you pushed yourself inside of the tight, wet heat. Your breathing hitched at the strange new sensations washing over both of you.

“Oh my fuck,” you grumbled, pressing your lips against Toji’s. “I-It’s so tight and wet, oh, fuck.”

Toji wanted to laugh to make some crude comment about making sure you didn’t come too fast, but that was hard when he was being split open by his cock. “I-I feel s-so full.” He whispered nearly breathlessly against your lips.

“Does it hurt? Do you need a second?”

“No, I’m okay. Keep going, it feels good.”

Not needing to be told twice, you found yourself pulling out slowly before pushing back inside of your tight, wet walls. You both cried out, your head falling forward while Toji arched his back off the ground. You aren’t sure how long you could last like this. Hell, you weren’t even sure how Toji lasted as long as he did when he was inside of you. The man who was like a crazed sex god going for hours upon hours. While your boyfriend was wondering how the fuck you were able to take his cock like this every other night.

The pace you both set was messy and entirely out of rhythm. But despite not having any rhythm you were used to, it didn’t mean it didn’t feel good. Being able to lose control and lose yourself in the passion and sensations of just feeling good was hot. It was so hot that it had you both biting and sucking and clawing at each other. Your fingers dug into your hips while his nails scratched down your back as you both lost yourselves in the sensation of being with each other in a way you had never experienced before.

Being with each other in such a raw, more personal way allows you both, in a sense, to know how it feels for the other to know what to do, how to kiss, how to touch, and how to move against each other. This might come in handy for future sexual sessions for you. You knew that when you dug his nails into your upper back, your body trembled with pleasure. And Toji realized that when you angle your hips, a sure way to brush over your g-spot and cervix made your walls clench down so hard. He was afraid he was going to squirt all over you. Neither of you had ever expected it to happen, but both of you were excited that it had. Even if it meant neither of you was going to last very long.

“Oph fuck!” Toji cried out in your voice, his back arching. “B-Baby, I feel weird, like I need to pee!” Your boyfriend stared up at his face, which smirked sinisterly down at him.

“Yeah~? You gonna cum on my cock?” You asked, your voice deep and ragged. “Be good and cum for me.” You growled against his neck, smirking as you released your grip on his hip, rubbing circles over the swollen, sensitive clit.

“Ah! Fuck! Oooh fuck yes, gonna cum!”

“Cum for me, Toji~ come on!”

Toji screamed as he came so hard he squirted all over you, his legs shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. As he screamed and squirmed underneath you, you lost yourself in the way your walls tightened around your boyfriend‘s cock. Hugging him, milking him, trying to get him to come inside. Which, fortunately, was far too easy to do. You collapsed forward, fingers digging into your hips so hard you were pretty sure you were going to leave bruises much, much darker than your boyfriend ever left on you. It was just too much, tightening the screaming, the pleasure. There was no way you could’ve stopped yourself.

“C-Cumming! Ooh fuck!”

“Yeah~! Give it to me!”

You thrust fast and hard, pumping your pussy full of your boyfriend's cum. Not stopping until the head of his cock was oversensitive, and you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself up any longer. You grumbled, somehow collapsing onto your side as your boyfriend giggled, curling up against you.

“Fuck, I understand why you don’t like pulling out now.”

Toji, your nails down his chest. “Yeah, it feels really good, doesn’t it?” You hummed, wrapping your boyfriend's arms around your more petite frame, not entirely used to the size difference. “God, I gotta give it to ya’ you take my dick like a fucking champ. Don’t know how you do it.”

You smirked, pressing a quick kiss against his forehead. “I’m lucky enough to have a boyfriend to make sure I’m more than ready for his monster of a cock.” He snickered, pulling back to look at me. “And I know I already failed at foreplay, but I couldn’t help myself when you’re making such pretty sounds. I needed to hear more.”

“Yeah, remember that the next time you bitch that I don’t prep you enough after giving you a massage.”

“Toji, I fully understand what you mean, and it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Good, now— are you ready for round two?”

“Round two? Already?”

Toji swang your body over his hips, rocking gently over your oversensitive cock. “Oh yeah, I thought you were fucking with me, but your sex drive is insatiable; hurry up, I’m ready to go.” Maybe this whole body swap thing did have its downsides.

Nanami Kento:

It took five seconds for Nanami to turn away from the curse you were fighting. The curse shot out a green goop that coated you and Nanami in that span. It took five more seconds for your husband to act, blinking away the goop before jumping back into action. It was only when he went to swing his blunt blade that he realized something was wrong. Instead of swinging his typical weapon, he tossed a talisman paper instead.

In that momentary confusion, you and Kento took out the curse before looking at each other. Imagine his surprise when he didn’t find your pretty face looking up at him but his own, looking down at him. The initial shock turned into panic as he watched a look of pure terror and confusion cross his face.

“My love, it’s all right.” The calm manner of speaking sounded so strange coming out of your mouth. “We have to remain calm.”

“Oh my God, oh my God!” Nanami sighed, running a hand down your face. “What are we gonna do? This is terrible.”

Your husband wasn’t sure if you consider this terrible. Both of you were safe, so that’s all that truly mattered. However, he also found himself strangely intrigued by the predicament. He found yourself then. Seeing the expressions on his face, the cute little corpse you had, like picking at your nails, nipping up your bottom, lip, or weighing, looked strange to him, but it also left him longing to see what other reactions he could drop out from you.

Unaware of your husband’s intentions, you try to remain calm. You continued gently rubbing your hands together as Shoko and Nanami looked over your body he was in.

“Any pain or discomfort?” You watched in horny silence as Nanami moved your shoulder again.

“A little pain in my, well, my wife’s shoulder.”

“Let’s get that taken care of.”

You slipped your top over your head alone, you to see your body. The blue lace bra you wore was on display as Shoko's eyes flowed through her hands over your shoulder. Staring at your skin shouldn’t have any effect on you. It was your body. You had seen yourself naked one million times, but Nanami’s body reacted differently. Its bare skin and breasts had his pants feeling much too tight.

“How’s that?” Shoko asked as she stepped away, watching Nanami rotate your shoulder with a sigh of approval.

“Much better, thank you, Shoko.”

“And you?”

When Shoko turned her attention to you, your hands immediately went to cover your crotch. An action that seem to go unnoticed by your best friend but was clearly noticed by your husband. Nanami hummed cocking an eyebrow in your direction, his eyes focusing on his crotch, seeing how the fabric of his cream-colored suit pants with straining.

You cleared your throat, looking away, “I-I’m fine! Totally fine, just eager to get home and wait this out!” You wanted to get away from her and her praying eyes because how embarrassing would that be for you to be popping a boner in your boyfriend’s body at the sight of your tits?

“Alright, sounds good to me. If you need me, I’m just a call away; go home and rest.”

You have never been more happy to hear the words go home and get some rest in your entire life. You held your boyfriend’s hands in front of his crotch before taking his suit jacket to keep it over the prominent tent in his pants. This was perfect. You would be able to get home without anyone noticing. There, you could take a cold shower and sleep this off.

But your boyfriend had another plan.

Before you both could make it down the hall, Nanami grabbed your wrist, tugging you into one of the spare classrooms. “Kento?” You asked, the unsure tone of your husband’s voice sounded foreign. “What are you—nngh!” Your body jolted forward as he slipped his hand down, rubbing at the throbbing erection straining in his pants.

“Shh, let’s make this quick. I can’t have you walking around with an erection like some teenage boy.”

“W-Wait h-here?! If we get caught, that would be worse! At least I can hide a boner with your jacket!?”

At that moment, your husband was undoing the zipper of his pants, allowing you to see the hunger in your own eyes. It was a look that spoke volumes, and you suddenly realized why your husband had told you several times in the past to control your facial reactions. It was a look you only gave him when you were unbearably horny.

“Oh my god, that’s it. That’s the look you always talk about.”

“Mhm,”

“You’re horny?!”

Instead of answering your question with words, he took your hand and slowly slipped it under the waistband of your pants. There, you could feel the wet slick that you were familiar with. Not skipping a beat, your muscle memory kicked in as your fingers began to trace circles over your clit, knowing just how you like to be touched.

“I saw how hard you were and couldn’t help myself. Your body is screaming you need me. I’m so wet, and I’m throbbing; I need you.”

Hearing those words leave your mouth made you realize how your husband felt when he was in your position. When you talk like that in public, it is hard to control yourself at that moment. You had no clue how Nanami managed to do it because you lost your composure the second he opened his mouth.

You slammed your lips against his as you lifted him, pinning him against the wall, his hands worked at the button of his trousers while you slid your panties to the side. Luckily, both of you were so aroused that there was no need for foreplay. Lips moved against each other as you pressed the head of your husband’s cock against your entrance, pushing inside without a second thought. You couldn’t care less if the door wasn’t locked, and you seriously doubted anyone would enter from the moans resonating from both of you.

All that mattered was fucking each other's brains out. Whether it was a factor from the curse or your undying love for each other, you allow yourselves to lose sight of your control. You needed him just as bad as he needed you. And you gave it to him. It’s hard and fast as he gave it to you after he had been pent up from work all day.

Nanami screamed, head rocking back against the wall as you thrust forward, slamming the head of his cock against your cervix over and over, making sure to go as deep as you possibly could. You wanted him to know how good he always left you feeling after a rough session. Your fingers dug into the fat of your hips as you nipped and sucked at your neck, drawing out more moans from him.

You were giving it, your all fucking your husband as hard as he did; Nanami was gripping onto his biceps, staring into your eyes as he took it all in. Every thrust that led to immense pleasure, every kiss, he took in everything you were doing to him. Because the second he was back in his own body, he would make sure he made you feel as good as you made him feel.

And that was a promise he intended to keep.

“Oh, my fuck—” You cried out softly, feeling your orgasm already approaching you. “You feel too good—”

“Yeah, I know that’s how you make me feel every time. But it’s—nngh! It’s—haaah!”

“Hard to not cum?” You answered for him, feeling your walls tightening around your husband’s cock. “Fuck—oooh fuck.”

“C-Cummi—oh m-my god!”

There was no warning, no further words expressed. All that you managed to do was lose yourselves in your orgasms. Nanami cried out tears, picking your eyes as your walls constricted and convulsed around his cock, drawing out your orgasm. You roared a moan loudly into Nanami’s ear as you came inside, fucking his come further inside of you, doing exactly what he did to you every night.

The classroom felt stuffy and hot and reeked of sex. But neither of you cared as you slowly slid to the ground, holding Nanami flush against your chest. You kissed each other deeply, only breaking apart to take a deep breath as all the air escaped your lungs.

“I didn’t think it was possible—” Nanami whispered in your voice, “but I fell deeper in love with you right now.”

“Ken—I love you so much.”

You never made it home that night. Instead, you went to one of the spare dorms and ravished each other all night. Both of you took notes on how exactly your body reacted to certain touches and kisses because the second you were back in your own bodies, you planned on using this newfound information to spice up your marriage even more.

Ryomen Sukuna (JJK Sorcerer AU):

“I hate this!” Sukuna barked out, pacing the floor back and forth. “Ugh!”

“Calm down.” You said from the couch, rubbing your hands down your face. “You’re acting like it’s the end of the world.”

When Sukuna turned to give you the dirtiest look in the world, you weren’t met with his tattooed face, but your own instead. “Have you stopped to look at what happened? I am in your body.” That was true. Your boyfriend was in your body, and you were currently inhabiting his body.

“So it’s not like you’ve never been inside me.” You waggled your eyebrows at him, only to win it go to hell look in return. “Okay, shit, sorry for joking, but you heard Shoko. The effects of this curse will only last a few hours.”

“A few hours too many.”

You weren’t sure if it was the testosterone right now feeling in your blood or the very common annoyance you had with your arrogant boyfriend at times. But for some ungodly reason, watching him, he back-and-forth with a scale on your face was irritating, ever-loving fuck out of you. He was acting like a brat over something neither of you could control.

It wasn’t even just the whole situation itself. Shit like this happened when you were a sorcerer. You got hit with different curses, injured, and usually were expected to live not that long of a life. You knew there was always a chance you wouldn’t come home from a mission. You both were hit by a curse, and you manage walked away with minor injuries and a mild side effect. That was something he should be happy about. But for some damn reason, this whole situation only made him angrier than usual.

“This is bullshit; if only my reverse technique worked shit like this.”

“Kuna! Seriously, what is your problem?”

He growled at you, which would usually put you back in your place when you’re back talking to him, but it seems that growl wasn’t as effective when it came from your body. Meaning you were pretty much unaffected by his tactic of intimidating you.

“I feel weak, okay?!”

“Weak?” You asked with a scoff. “You’re seriously calling me weak?”

“N-No! Fuck I mean, I don’t feel as strong as I normally do.” The more he tried to defend himself, the deeper the hole he dug. “I don’t have the power or technique I have mastered through the years. Instead, I am unfamiliar with your technique, and all I have to defend myself with are these stupid papers.” He scoffed, digging into one of the pouches attached to your belt and pulling out one of your talisman papers. “I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this fold origami?”

“You could shove it up your ass when you get back in your own body, and I hope you get a papercut when doing so.”

“No, I—you know how I see you.” He sighed, plopping down on the couch next to you. “You’re strong, and you’ve mastered your technique. But I don’t know how to do anything you do. I feel useless, and I’m not saying that you can’t hold your own in a fight you kick ass. I feel weak because I’m unaware of how to use your technique.”

There was a paying of understanding deep inside your chest. You knew what he meant because you felt the same way. There was an immense amount of power coursing through your veins, which could easily be used for evil instead of good. Having such a plethora of cursed energy made you feel as though you were a ticking time bomb, like if you were to sneeze, you would blow up a building.

So, instead of lecturing or giving him even more of a hard time, you draped a tattooed arm over your shoulder, pulling your boyfriend close to your side. “I get it, I guess.” You whispered, tilting your head back and staring up at the ceiling. “Being in your body makes me feel as though I’m destined to destroy things.” Sukuna snickered, turning to look up at you. “But just because I don’t have the same amount of cursed energy doesn’t mean I’m weak. I’m still strong in my ways.”

“Yeah? In what ways?”

“When I’m riding your cock. I feel all-powerful like nothing can stop me. Especially when you’re groaning, grabbing my hips, encouraging me to move faster.”

At that moment, you regretted the words that came from your mouth. Because all you heard was your boyfriend's understanding hum. A hum that led to his hands working at your pants.

“W-whoa, easy there, Kuna. What are you doing?”

“Taking control, to see just how powerful I’ll feel.”

There was no room for protest; once your boyfriend set his mind to something, he made sure to get it done. Even if that means stripping down, straddling your hips, and lowering himself awkwardly on his cock. Watching his wish contort with pleasure left you feeling as though you might be able to take the reins on this. It wasn’t as though your boyfriend would be able to take control, to ride cock like a pro.

But you seem to forget that this was your boyfriend, one of the strongest sorcerers of the modern age, just as strong as Gojo, if not more robust. The man was smart, and despite the facial tattoos and the muscles, he knew how to get shit done.

“Oh fuck!” You cried out as he slammed himself down onto his cock with a satisfied growl. “K-Kuna baby! P-Please slow down!”

His hand clamped firmly over your mouth, silencing your protests. “Shut up, I’m in control.” your voice sounded so dark and sultry, god it was so hot! “Just be good and sit still for me; let me use you.” you couldn’t argue with that, and with the way he slowly lifted himself off his cock, before slamming your body back down onto it, leaving you feeling pussy drunk.

“Fuck!”

You cried out, shaking as Sukuna rode you like there was no fucking tomorrow. “Oh fuck, fuuuuck!”

“Yeah~ I suddenly see why you like to be on top of a lot.” he dug your manicured nails into his shoulders, dragging them down over his chest. “From this position, I can do whatever I want to.” You couldn’t even ask what he planned on doing to you before his hips were rolling in circles and you were seeing stars. “Are You paying attention? This is how I want you to ride my cock from now on.”

“K-Kuna—Kuna!”

“I feel so powerful; seeing that pitiful look on my face should piss me off. But instead, it’s making me wanna draw out more.”

It was a combination of everything that was going on that sent you coming first. It was the way Sukuna was purring in your ear, so how he rolled your hips around his shaft, to the stinging burn left of your nails over his skin. It happens so fast, and your boyfriend's cock twitched inside of your walls as you came first. And it was unusual. Usually, you were the first to finish, but it never happened like this before. Your boyfriend being the first to fill you up rather than you soaking him with your release.

Sukuna wasn’t even upset about it. He swelled with a certain sense of pride at getting you off first and with a body he was unfamiliar with. That left him feeling so satisfied he could feel his ego swelling. Before he could brag over the fact that he was better than you, his head began to pound as his vision blurred. His grip on his own shoulders tightened. Sukuna thought he might black out for a moment before he was blinking the black spots out of his vision. When it cleared, he was no longer towering above you but underneath you.

Much to his relief, he looked up at your beautiful face instead of down at his own.

You barely had a second to process what was going on and how it happened before Sukuna’s strong hands and your hips were holding them tightly. Open your mouth to speak, but before any words had the chance to leave your mouth, your boyfriend was pulling you up the link of his cock before slamming you back down on him. You nearly came again just from that action in itself.

“N-Nngh! K-Kuna w-wa—ahh!”

He holds you up and back back down on his cock again and again and again. “I thought I told you to pay attention while riding you.” His hips thrust up into your dripping wet pussy. “I want you to do exactly what I did. Don’t keep me waiting; show me how strong you are, Kitten.”

Geto Suguru:

“So let me get this straight?” Satoru questioned while sitting across from you and your boyfriend. “You both took out the special-grade curse?”

“Yep.”

“Suguru turned it into a ball and gulped it down as he does.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then everything went black, and you both woke up like this?”

He motioned towards the bodies of his two friends, lifting his blindfold to watch as you knotted your head, which was your boyfriend’s head. Satoru got the story right; it was a simple mission, simple enough for both of you to handle. You could take out the curse with no issues, but when Suguru absorbed it, everything took a turn. Everything went dark, and the next second, you were sitting up in your boyfriend’s body with the most unpleasant taste in your mouth after swallowing the curse.

It was a shock initially, but weird things happened whenever your boyfriend absorbed a curse. That just came with the territory of a curse manipulator. Cursed spirits sometimes had different effects on his body and sometimes the body of those near him. Fortunately, you had been near him on this mission. Geto would have hated to be in Gojo’s body, so this was a win-win scenario.

“Yep, for the time being, we’re stuck like this.”

Gojo sat back in his chair, wincing at the situation, you both found yourselves in. “Shit, sorry about that, guys.” Suguru shook his head, stretching your arms above you.

“Eh, it could have been a lot worse.”

“ that’s true, but are you guys gonna—ya’ know?” Satoru jester to the two of you with his hands. “Use the opportunity to your advantage?”

Suguru and you looked at the white-haired man, blinking in confusion. “Advantage? Satoru, what are you even talking about?” you asked, running your fingers through your boyfriend's black hair.

“You know, I’ll get down and dirty?”

“What?!”

“Satoru~” Your voice purred out as Suegro shook her head. “Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

“Hey, it’s a genuine question. I’m just curious.”

Your boyfriend, who was irritated from the throbbing vein in your forehead. Having sex like this in his body hadn’t crossed your mind. When it initially happened, neither of you had been more concerned with making sure both you and Suguru were okay than about what happened. Besides that, sex wasn’t the only thing on your mind! The thought of doing it like this even occurred to you, and it wouldn’t have even crossed your mind, but thanks to manifest. It was out in the open, sticking out like a sore thumb.

You shifted, trying to listen to your boyfriend bickering back and forth with his best friend. Suddenly, you were aware of the throbbing inside your boyfriend, thankfully baggy pants. And you had the sudden urge to go home because the only thing you bring could focus on was how your boyfriend‘s dick was swelling. The last thing you wanted to do was pop a Boner in front of your mutual friend after he had just suggested hooking up with each other while in the opposite body.

If he found out how you felt, you wouldn't hear the end of his arrogant comments and encouragement.

Yeah, it was best to keep him out of your bedroom life. Especially when you weren’t sure if you wanted to take it that far. There was a burning desire deep in your stomach, one that had you itching to touch your body, to kiss your boyfriend, to succumb to the lust that was burning like a fire deep down inside of you. Was this how Suguru felt around you all the time? Or was it just part of the curse?

“Hey,” you looked up from the bed, watching as Suguru brushed your damp hair. “I think I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight.”

Suguru stopped turning his focus on you. “Why would you do that?” What could you even say? You were hard as a rock and wouldn't be able to control yourself? That you wanted him, but you didn't want to gross him out or make things even weirder?

“Well—I uhm—I—have a bit of a situation.”

“I know. You’re hard; you've been hard since we left campus.”

Your hands almost instinctively died towards the crotch, trying to cover the erection that was still throbbing angrily within the confines of the boxers. “H-How did you know?” Your boyfriend let out a giggle that sounded so strange coming out of your mouth.

“My pants may be baggy, but they aren’t that baggy.”

You felt yourself turn fifty shades of red as you groaned, covering your face in your hands. “Oh my god, you could tell?! Why didn't you say anything?” Another sweet laugh came across the room as you resisted the urge to summon Rainbow Dragon to eat you.

“I didn't want to embarrass you.”

“Yeah, well, I think I'm more embarrassed now. Can I manipulate your curses to eat me? To put me out of this misery?”

“Oh, stop, you're fine. I was only able to notice because I know my body.”

“That doesn't make me feel any better.”

“Well, it should be because you looked so fucking hot. Seeing you fight against those primal urges has your body reacting just as strongly.”

You perked up, watching as Suguru swayed your hips as he slowly approached you. “Is that so?” Suguru nodded, pulling your sleep shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor.

“Even though we're in different bodies, my soul is crying to be near yours.” He slipped your shorts down next, kicking them off to the side.

You slowly ran a hand down your boyfriend's stomach, grabbing his hard cock through his pants. "Fuck guess I got caught. But can you blame me? This is weird." Your hands slowly stoked his hard cock. "But also strangely arousing at the same time."

Seeing your hand stroking his cock had Geto’s eyes widening as he looked over his body before he was overtaken with the sudden urge to shove you down on the bed, immediately straddling his hips. "Don't mind if I do~"

You moaned, blushing up at Geto as he hummed softly. "O-Oh, holy fuck." You said, grabbing his hips. "Fuck is this what I look like to you?" you were in awe of your body. The curves, softness of your skin, and fuck, the fact your pussy was nearly touching his cock. Making it even harder, which seemed impossible.

“Mhm~” Suguru nodded; he rolled your bare hips as he ran his fingers over your hair. "It's really hot, isn't it?"

"Fuck yes, fuck look at my boobs." You said, reaching up and squeezing them. "The way they bounce, it’s so hypnotic."

Your boyfriend giggled, rocking your hips harder before reaching behind him, pulling his own cock from his pants with a moan. "Holy shit.”

"I know it's really hard," You whispered. "I-I holy fucking shit." His cock was so hard Suguru knew it had to be painful.

"I knew I was big, but Fuuck, this put it in a different perspective. Fuck, I'm going to put it inside of your pussy, Princess.” He hummed as he rolled your hips up and down your cock like you had done countless times before.

"Oh, you are?" You asked, licking your lips. "Nah, I don't think so; it’s time I give you a taste of your own medicine.” You growled out while flipping him over onto his side. "I'm going to put it in your pussy." You ground your hips against drenched folds with a snarl.

Suguru gasped, moaning as he felt the head of his cock rubbed against your pussy. Being the one to do it felt much different than being on the receiving end. But it still felt good regardless. He suddenly knew why you begged so pretty; he longed for more than teasing touches. He was about to start praying for more when his whole body seized up as you pressed the head against the tight ring of muscles of the entrance, fighting the need to shove it all in.

“Baby, please—!”

“Oooh, who's a needy slut?”

"Fuck, I am! I want you to fucking destroy me, please.” Suguru moaned, his head slowly rolling back against the pillows.

You smirked, running your tongue over your bottom lip. "Oooh, begging for me already, that’s so cute.” You slammed inside Suguru’s tight pussy. "Fuck—you're so tight~!!"

Suguru gasped before screaming out a moan while you thrust in and out. "F-Fuck yeah!! Just like that, oh god!!~ Princess!!” Hearing such pretty sounds only filled your desire, making you eager to move, to make him feel as good as he did for you.

"Fuck yeah~ what are you always saying? ‘You like me fucking your cunt slut?’”

“Yeah, I see why, fuck you feel so fucking good!!" Suguru cried out, his eyes rolling back. "Fuck! Princess!! Fuck, I'm your slut, god I want your cum so bad!!"

"Cum for me then~!" You commanded, reaching around and rubbing your clit in fast circles just as you knew your body liked it. "Cum all over my cock." Your thrusts were becoming erratic as you felt your balls tighten.

Suguru cried out, his head thrown back as he clenched hard on your cock. "Yesyes-Yes! Fuck, Princess!! Fuckfuckfuck-!!"

You followed immediately behind Suguru; your hips stuttered as you came hard, cum filling your pussy with thick white cum. "O-Oh fuck~!"

"H-Holy shit!!”

"Fuck, oh fuck." You panted roughly, looking down at Suguru, who was still trapped in your body. "That felt s-ao good."

"Holy hell, the cum feels so fucking good—"

“Yeah~ it makes you feel all nice and warm afterward.”

Your boyfriend moaned softly. "You know what feels even better? Fucking you with my cum~ I promise it feels fucking amazing give it a try."

You perked up at that, turning red, but you couldn't just take his word for it. You needed to feel it for yourself. So you slowly started thrusting back inside, moaning loudly.

"Oh god, you're fucking right, feels good.”

“I N-Nngh told you!”

You kissed Suguru eagerly, thrusting faster. Your boyfriend smiled softly, cupping your cheeks in his hands, kissing you deeply as he moaned into your mouth. You kissed back just as eagerly, stroking Suguru’s cheek. Your nails dug into his hips as you moved faster than you could think.

"F-Fuck, can't stop—! God, you feel too fucking good!"

Suguru moaned softly, smiling up at you. "F-Fuck~ I love you too, Princess, so cum in me again!”

You groaned, sucking his neck, leaving a trail of hickeys. "I will." You growled, nipping her earlobe. "I'm gonna keep cumming inside your pussy." your hip bucked, slamming against her cervix as spurts of hot cum filled Suguru, the sensation enough to throw him over the edge with you.

“Y-Yeah! Oooh fuck!” He cried out a moan, clawing at your back as he felt himself cum around your cock when you slammed deep into him. "C-Cumming!! Cumming Princess!!"

You gritted your teeth as you came inside your boyfriend again. That’s how you both were. You were just in sync with each other. Despite the fact, you were in each other’s bodies. You knew how to make the other field good; you wanted to keep going because you weren’t sure how long this side effect would last. But your lack of experience having a dick and poor stamina said otherwise.

"M’ sorry baby, I-I do-don't think I can go anymore. I can’t take it.” You feebly cried out before collapsing on top of your own body, winning a satisfied sigh from Suguru, who was underneath you.

“Honestly, I’m okay with that,” he said as he gulped air. “Fuck you’re probably gonna be sore in the morning. And I don’t wanna hear you complaining about it because this was your own doing.”

Your mind felt fuzzy as you just nodded your head nuzzling your boyfriend‘s face into the crook of your neck because you took in the afterglow and the rash of being near him in such an intimate way. Suguru hummed happily, running his fingers through your hair. He was honestly surprised you were able to go two rounds.

“Sleepy?” he asked softly, only receiving a hum in return. “Ooh—my sweet girl. Lay down for a minute, and let's cuddle before we take a shower.”

“Okay.” you finally could form coherent words as you lay down on your side, cupping your boyfriend's cheek. “Can I—”

“Yes, you can be the little spoon.” You weren’t sure how long the curse's effect would last, but as long as you were with each other, it didn’t matter. All that you cared about was coming home safely with Suguru and sleeping soundly in his arms, which made your dangerous job worth it.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Where the Wild Things Are pop-up event.

i want you to love me like my parrot does, honey

Where the Wild Things Are Pop-Up | Word Count: 3,000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Fade to Black Sex | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Eddie & Gareth | Tags: Modern AU, Flirty Flirting, Mutual Attraction, Getting Together, Animal Shelter Worker Steve Harrington, Exotic Animal Foster Eddie Munson, Annoyed Roommate Gareth Jones

Also on ao3.

Eddie looks down at the phone in his hand, and turns off the running water in the bathroom sink he'd used to muffle his conversation. If you have to hide it, you're doing something wrong. That's what Uncle Wayne always said. 

But, he's doing it anyway.

Heading towards the door, he casually reaches to get his leather jacket. Maybe Gareth won't notice. Maybe he can slink out of here unnotic—

"Where are you going? Where are you going?" 

Fuck. Jimmy Buffett the goddamn parrot is a misses-nothing tattletale.

Gareth turns, looking, "Hey, Jim's right. Where are you going?"

"Just, you know, out."

"Eddie."

"Google, play Master of Puppets," Jimmy Buffett demands, and the bluetooth speaker fires up. Plays the opening riff, and then Jimmy asks all over again. Head bobbing back and forth the entire time. He only wants the intro, over and over. 

"Great," Gareth says, "just great, Ed. This is a fun loop to be in."

"Hey, we got him over the M-A-R-G-A-R-," he pauses, trailing off.

"No, no, keep going," Gareth goads.

"I-T-A-V-I-L-L-E obsession," Eddie finishes. There's no way in hell he's saying that word out loud. "This is an improvement and you know it."

"Unplugging the damn thing, not giving a bird the option of dictating our lives would be an improvement too, and yet."

"Where are you going?" the grooving parrot asks again, Master of Puppets blaring.

"Good question, Jimmy," Gareth concurs. 

"The shelter."

That lights a fire under Gareth's ass, and he's up off the couch. 

"Eddie, no, we don't have room for anything else!" Gareth snaps, waving his hands around the living room that's already full of cages, aquariums and other various habitats.

"But Steve called," Eddie says, and Gareth huffs out a breath of annoyance. 

"Steve's taking advantage," Gareth insists, and Eddie knows that's not true. It's just not easy to find someone qualified to foster all the weird and exotic animals. "Goodie won't even come over here anymore, you know. Wait. Go ahead. Get something else. Alligator? Komodo Dragon? Anaconda?"

Eddie laughs. Goodie hates to be in the same room as the snakes, but if Eddie covers their habits, Goodie can sometimes pretend they aren't there. Sometimes.

"What are you getting this time?" Gareth asks, and then waves his hands around, "No. Wait. Don't tell me. I'll be surprised."

Oh, and surprised he'll be. 

Mainly because Eddie doesn't even know. Steve just called, said he had something Eddie needed to see, and that was all the info Eddie needed.

Eddie snags Gareth around the neck, shaking him around in a rough thank you hug.

"If Jimmy keeps it up longer than thirty minutes, you can unplug the speakers, okay?"

"How generous," Gareth sasses, but crashes back onto the couch, "I'm really fucking sick of this, you asshole."

He'll live. He always does.

But, well. Eddie can't resist. He pokes his head back in the door, and croons, "Strummin' my six string, on my front porch swing."

Jimmy Buffett squawks and flaps his wings.

"Google, play Margaritaville," he demands, Master of Puppets forgotten. If looks could kill, Eddie'd be dead. Gareth throws up his middle fingers, both of them, before sliding his noise-cancelling headphones over his ears. 

Eddie cackles as he closes the door, leaving Gareth in Margaritaville hell.

When Eddie pulls up at the rescue, Steve's out front with a family, rolling around in the lush, green grass as he's introducing a dog that's wagging the shit out of its tail, thrilled to be out of the dog run. 

Fair enough. Eddie'd be thrilled if he was getting that kind of attention from Steve, too. 

Steve gets animals adopted, and it's pretty cool to watch in action. Dogs, Steve can find homes fairly easily. Same with cats. Eddie swears half the time the adopters are turning up just to see Steve. He features heavily on all their social media, and has an amazing track record for facilitating successful adoptions.

He's an animal whisperer, through and through. So, basically catnip to Eddie.

Unfortunately, he's made the shelter very popular, and as a consequence other animals have been dropped off that are far less easy to adopt out.

Those are the critters that dictate calls to Eddie.

At least they aren't being released into the wild, which is a real goddamn problem. If they end up with Steve, they've got a chance.

Steve sees him, and hands the leash of the overly happy pup over to Robin. Eddie gives her a wave, and then shoves his hands in his pockets as Steve approaches, grinning.

"Hey, man. Thanks for coming," Steve says, slinging his arm around Eddie's shoulders, walking him towards the shelter. "It's been a while."

And it has been a few months. There's no rhyme or reason to when they might get something they can't take care of at the shelter. But when they call, Eddie gets to see Steve and nurse his pathetic crush that's been building over the past two years.

Eddie hates that this is the biggest reason he keeps saying yes. Getting to be near Steve, feeling helpful, and yes, all the friendly touches. He definitely doesn't hate those.

Steve lets go to open the door, and leads Eddie through the maze of the place. Past all the run-of-the-mill animals, to the dungeon. At least, that's what Eddie calls it.

In a too small saltwater tank, is an octopus. 

"Oh hell no," Eddie laughs, "you want me to be the jailer for that brilliant escape artist?"

Steve giggles, "Hence the rocks on the lid. This is Houdini. We know what she can do. Apparently, she kept breaking into all the tanks near her, eating the inhabitants, then slinking back into her own tank like nothing had happened. It was a real aquatic mystery, until they set up a camera and caught her in the act."

Eddie grins, and looks at her, watching her flash, changing colors and then back again, "Smart little asshole. You're resourceful, ain't you, honey?" Eddie asks her, watching as she moves through the water.

"You'll take her?" Steve asks, looking hopeful.

"Of course," Eddie answers, "you'll just have to let me get something set up for her. I have a saltwater tank cycled that'll be big enough, which is lucky. I'm sure you don't want to keep her here for three months. But I'll need to do some shuffling, and reinforcing. They're like cats. Liquids that cannot be contained."

Steve laughs. 

"How old is she?" Eddie asks, because they don't live long, as sad as that is. He wants to be prepared. She's definitely not a long term commitment, not like Irv the tortoise, or Jimmy the parrot or Heqet the African clawed frog. Those are decades long commitments, if the right home never comes along. 

Steve isn't sure, which isn't uncommon for the things that they sometimes just find dropped off on their front step.

At least Houdini has some backstory. That's not always a given.

Gareth comes home, still pissy. Margaritaville isn't playing, so that's a plus. Eddie prepared for this, though. Bribes work on Gareth.

"There's booze in the blender," he teases, at least this time out of Jimmy's earshot.

"Okay, I might forgive you. Show me what you've got first. Direwolf? Slimer? Harry from the Hendersons?"

Eddie laughs, "I don't have her yet. It's an octopus."

"Oh. That's not so bad," Gareth says, salting the rim, then pouring himself a margarita that Eddie was heavy handed with the good tequila in as an apology.

"We have to move Pennywise and pals," Eddie admits, and Gareth groans. He hates fish tank business. 

"We can do it," he reassures, "eat a taco. You'll feel better."

Eddie stopped and picked up the tacos they both like, and they sit and eat, splitting the pitcher of margaritas until they're both tipsy.

"I just," Gareth says, "I don't mind the animals. But women don't want to come here."

Eddie can't be mad at him for telling the truth. He knows. Men don't want to come here either.

"Goodie said I could move in with him," Gareth says, and Eddie feels his stomach drop, "for a price."

"You'll kill each other," Eddie says.

"I know," Gareth answers, "I'm not going anywhere. But this house is a real cockblock."

"Tell me about it," Eddie sighs, "I'm not doing any better."

He knows Gareth knows that, too. But these animals don't have anywhere else to go. He doesn't want them destroyed just because their previous owners didn't take good care of them.

"At least you have Steve," Gareth says, poking at him over his crush.

"I wish," Eddie says. 

He wants Steve, but that's a pipe dream. 

Eddie rolls over, blinking. Trying to reorient. He picks up his phone, and peers at the screen. The security camera notification woke him up. David is sitting on the back patio. Waiting.

So, Eddie crawls out of bed. Throws on a t-shirt over his boxers, sliding on shoes. 

Pulling open the sliding glass door, he asks, "Hey, buddy, where you been? It's been a few days, let me get you some food," Eddie tells the plump raccoon and heads back to the kitchen to make peanut butter sandwiches, and fetch fresh water as well as some other snacks. He isn't technically Eddie's, but he can't stand to see any creature go hungry. 

So, fed he'll be. 

Even if he shows up at three in the goddamn morning.

A few days later Eddie calls to let Steve know his saltwater tank is ready that Gareth nearly killed him for trying to set up the first time. Too much chemistry.

"Want me to deliver her?" Steve asks, and Eddie pauses. Steve wants to come to his house? He's never been to his house before. Eddie comes to him. That's the deal. Nobody wants to come here.

"I mean, if you want, but if you don't have time, I can make my roommate come with me to come get her," Eddie offers.

Steve insists, so Eddie starts to tell him his address, before he realizes Steve knows. It's on every application, every foster agreement he's ever signed.

"But you already know that," Eddie laughs.

"I do," Steve answers, "but it's less creepy this way."

Two hours later, Steve's on his doorstep with Houdini. They start the process to get her drip acclimated into the bigger tank.

"Wow. This is," Steve says, and Eddie can see him looking all over the room and the rest of the sentence goes unsaid. It's a lot to take in. Aquariums, cages, habitats all over the place. Steve had to know. He's the one that keeps calling Eddie to pick up these exotic and hard to place animals. 

"Pretty, pretty," Jimmy Buffett coos, dancing in his cage, looking at Steve.

Well, he's not wrong. Just embarrassing Eddie for fun, undoubtedly. Like an unruly five-year-old.

"C'mere, dingus," he mimics, and Steve tosses back his head and laughs. 

"He sounds just like Robin," Steve says, and approaches her cage, "I can believe you remember me. Hi, Jimmy."

"Hi, Jimmy," the bird mimics back, "Get me a beer."

"No beer. Want a full tour?" Eddie offers Steve. Just as well show him all the crazy. 

And he does, guiding Steve room-to-room.

When he sees the large enclosure in the corner of the spare bedroom, he stops, "Holy shit."

It's kinda crazy. Half water, half land, home to the dwarf caiman Steve though was a baby alligator when it was dumped on their step. 

Eddie couldn't house an alligator. He doesn't have the space, or experience. But a dwarf caiman? Totally doable, after a small construction project that Gareth, Jeff and Goodie bitched about the entire time.

Goodie hates her, but she does like to grumble and hiss, especially at him.

"She's a bitch," Eddie says with affection, but he's sure he's stuck with her for the rest of her life. Which is fine. He wants to find nearly everything that turns up here a good fit for a permanent home, elsewhere. That doesn't always work out. 

Most, if not all of them, were pets somebody got in over their head with. It's sad.

Steve doesn't seem scared, or disgusted, like a lot of people. Not even annoyed, like Gareth. Who honestly rolls with it better than most. He's not scared, at least. Eddie knows this funhouse of creatures is why he's single. Like, he can hookup with a guy here and there, but as soon as they get to the point that he needs to bring him home, shit goes south, quick. Nobody wants to sleep in a room with a frog singing, or watch TV with a chatty beach bum parrot.

He can't have everything, he's chosen this, and that's okay. 

Steve is looking in each enclosure, and then he comes up to one of the enclosures in Eddie's bedroom, peering down inside, "Oh, wow. Hi, there, I don't believe I know you."

Eddie grins, looking down into the tortoise enclosure, "That's Irv. He was my grandpa's. My first experience with reptiles. I inherited him when my Uncle Wayne declined the opportunity to raise another beast," Eddie says with all the affection in the world. Wayne raised him. A tortoise, though? Not for him.

Steve laughs, and Eddie smiles at him.

"How old?" Steve asks.

"Forty-ish?" Eddie answers. Older than Eddie, definitely, but he's not a hundred percent for sure. He's just been able to trace photos back that far, at least.

"Amazing," Steve says, and Eddie's even more smitten. Steve doesn't seem grossed out by anything he's been confronted with so far in this house. Eddie shouldn't be surprised. He knows how much time Steve puts in at the shelter, Eddie just assumed he preferred the fuzzy, domesticated pets. Most people do.

Houdini is ready to be released into the bigger tank, and she immediately inks. It's expected. Eddie skims it out of the water, not wanting her to suffocate, and then secures the heavy lid. Flipping the new latches. She's sure pretty. 

Steve meanders back towards the front door, and Eddie is sorry to see him go.

"Stop by again, if you want to visit. I'm sure Jimmy would be thrilled to lay eyes on you," and if on command, Jimmy gives a wolf whistle. They both laugh, "See?"

Then, Steve steps out onto the front porch, seems to change his mind, and steps back inside, "Okay. If I'm off-base, ignore me," Steve says, and Eddie feels the blood rushing to his cheeks.

No way.

"But. Would you maybe want to go out sometime?" Steve asks, and he looks so shy. Steve's never looked shy.

"Yes," Eddie says, taking a step closer, "fuck. Yes. Of course."

And Steve laughs, seemingly relieved. Eddie can't believe this guy wants to go on a date with him, especially after seeing his little shop of horrors. 

"Thank god," Steve says, "I've felt the vibes. I thought? But I didn't want to scare off my best shelter ally if I was wrong."

"You weren't wrong," Eddie reassures, and Steve smiles, big and bright. Eddie wants to lock this down. "Tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night," Steve agrees.

Drinks, dinner and now Steve's standing in Eddie's bedroom shedding his shirt. 

"Pretty, pretty," Eddie says, mimicking the parrot, and Steve giggles.

Then he drops his jeans, and scoots up Eddie's bed.

Eddie just stares. He's gorgeous, and so fucking confident that Eddie's going crazy. He wants him, he needs him, fuck, maybe he loves him.

He damn well wants to find out if this could be something. Something great, maybe.

So, he pulls his own clothes off, and then crawls on top of Steve, pressing him back into the sheets.

After, they lay shoulder-to-shoulder, Heqet singing a mechanical underwater buzzing sound.

"That's soothing," Steve says, and yeah. Eddie's heart is gone.

Steve bolts upright, startled, and Eddie lays a hand on his back, "Sorry. It's okay. I'll be back. Another animal to feed."

But Steve slides out of bed behind him, and Eddie is so goddamn smitten by this man. 

"What is it?" Steve questions.

"David. My big dirty raccoon," Eddie explains, and doles out the snacky snacks he brought out to the patio.

Steve giggles, quoting, "Eww, David."

And Eddie grins. Exactly. Steve gets the reference, and Eddie's fucking enamored with this man that crawled out of his bed in the middle of the night to watch a raccoon wash his finger sandwiches in water.

Steve hugs him from behind, chin on his shoulder, and Eddie's so goddamn happy.

In the morning, Steve helps him feed and tend to all the different animals.

"Gareth's gonna be jealous," Eddie teases, "he can't find a woman to come back here to feed his snake."

Steve snorts, then makes a thinking face, looking over at Eddie, "You know. I actually know someone at the shelter. Dr. Dawlsen."

"Robin?" Eddie asks.

Steve cackles, making Jimmy squawk, "No. She's a lesbian. And not a vet."

"Oh. That all tracks," Eddie says, and Steve just grins.

Gareth comes out of his room, sees Steve, and rolls his eyes. 

"Hey!" Steve demands, and Gareth looks at him. Steve snaps a couple pictures on his phone. 

"What the fuck was that?" Gareth asks.

"Smile. He thinks he might have a lady doctor to set you up with that wouldn't run screaming from our menagerie."

"Vet, not gyno," Steve clarifies. 

"Don't care. Carry on," Gareth says, preening like he's the fancy bird in the room.

Then, Steve's gotta go, "Well, I had fun. Let's do it again. And again."

Hell fucking yes. 

"You're not gonna run for the hills?" Eddie teases, slinging his arms around Steve's neck, pressing their lips together again.

"Not a chance," Steve answers, nuzzling into Eddie's neck, "I like your wild kingdom. Kindness towards animals? Especially these animals? Such a turn on."

When Steve pulls back, Eddie grins, pulling his hair over his mouth. 

"Tonight?" Steve asks.

And Eddie nods. Tonight. Absolutely.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the Where the Wild Things Are prompt!

Notes: Title is a play on the lyrics from the Jimmy Buffett song Like My Dog, and obviously his Margaritaville played a role in the fic itself.

[osaemu]

WHEN YOU'RE SICK: STREAMER!GOJO

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: you have a cold, and he has a bag of sweets—how does your streamer boyfriend comfort you when you're sick? (streamer!au)

contents: fem!reader. fluff. pet names. very self-indulgent bc i'm sick right now and needed this for myself :,) can mostly be read outside of the streamer!au i guess.

“i brought you some sweets!”

you look up drowsily when your boyfriend’s familiar voice pulls you out of your sleep. your eyes slowly adjust to the soft lighting of your room and to the perfect, sharp features of the face inches from yours. “satoru, how are you here—”

he cuts you off by pressing a finger to your lips, and a moment later, satoru slips some sort of candy into your mouth. “‘cause you’re sick, and i’m a good boyfriend. obviously,” he teases, smiling endearingly when your eyes light up from the sugary taste of whatever satoru gave you. “how’d you catch a cold, anyways?”

you sit up a little bit, resting your back against the headboard and your head on satoru’s shoulder. “i’m not actually sure,” you admit, snuggling into the arm that wraps itself around you.  “aw, you’re wearing the hoodie i got you,” you point out, tapping on his chest. it’s a small inside joke between the two of you—the logo on the top left of the hoodie is the one from the streamer inmaki’s channel, a user who has a long-standing reputation for being one of your boyfriend’s haters.

“only because i practically ran out of the house once i got your text,” satoru huffs, rolling his blue eyes good-naturedly. he notices the little smile on your face and the way you cover your mouth in an attempt to hide your laugh, so he pulls out his phone from his pocket and adds, “hey, what was i supposed to do when i get a message like this?”

random girl i guess i like: can u come over :( i’m sick and imy

“why’d you change my contact to ‘random girl i guess i like?’” you gasp dramatically, snatching satoru’s phone away from him. a nervous laugh slips out of your boyfriend’s lips before you turn on him, squinting your eyes at him suspiciously. “if i looked at suguru’s contact, what would i see next?”

“...you don’t wanna know.”

“satoru gojo, answer me or i swear—” you don’t get to finish your threat before a sneeze cuts you off, followed by two more that leave you deflated in satoru’s arms. somehow, your head slides down from his shoulder and ends up on his chest, and a look of concern overtakes satoru’s expression.

“how sick are you?” he asks tentatively, fishing out another candy from his pocket and prodding at your lips with it. you open your mouth and let him feed you, taking a second to relish the sweetness of the sugar-loaded bite before you shrug and sniffle again. “poor thing,” satoru coos, rounding his eyes down at you while you rub your nose to get rid of the subtle itching sensation. 

“i can’t stop sniffling,” you mumble dryly, staring up at satoru pathetically. it’s as if you’re a wet cat that’s been sitting in the rain for hours, and as if he’s the kind old man who takes you in and dries you off. satoru’s slender fingers thread themselves through your dishelved hair, stroking it and twining it around his hand. “s’ been like this for hou— no, days,” you continue, determined to complain for at least the next couple minutes. “and—”

satoru’s hands move from the top of your head to your cheeks, cupping them intensely enough to hold your face still as he leans down and gives you a quick kiss on the lips. you make a small sound in protest, not wanting to get him sick too, but he ignores you and peppers feather-like kisses all over your face. “you’re so cute like this, y’know?” he murmurs, squishing your face in between his hands. “all rumpled and bedhead-y, aww.”

“satoru, you’ll get sick,” you point out, futilely trying to lean away from his lips when he goes back in for a kiss again. “satoru!”

“i don’t care,” he grumbles, swatting away your hand when you try to pull on the strings of his hoodie. “you’re my girlfriend, and if i wanna kiss you, then i will. and i don’t care if i get sick, ‘cause i have a pretty girl to take care of me anyways, don’t i?”

you stop protesting and let him press his lips back to yours again, and even though you sniffle again about three times, satoru’s as devoted to you as ever. “really?”

“yeah. my mom— ow, i mean, you too!” he adds quickly, grinning playfully even when you swat his chest. “i’m joking, i’m joking. have some candy, sweet girl.” before you can say anything, satoru shoves a handful of bright, colorful sweets in your mouth and kisses your nose. “take a nap. i’ll be here when you wake up, i promise.”

somehow, the moment you hear satoru’s murmured reassurances, your eyes grow heavy and you surrender yourself to his grip. “m’kay…” you mumble, closing your eyes and exhaling softly. and maybe it’s your imagination, but you swear you can feel satoru’s suppressed laughter as you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. 

… 

“wait, now what do i do?”

[yuurayuura]

last on the line

👩🏻‍🍳 you hate being a line cook, so why do you find yourself looking forward to the shifts?

PAIRING 🍳🔪🔥 sungchan x fem!reader GENRES & AUS 🍳🔪🔥 line cook au, attempts at humor, yearning, fluff, slight angst, reader is a little hot-headed WORD COUNT 🍳🔪🔥 6.1k WARNINGS 🍳🔪🔥 suggestive, language AUTHOR’S NOTE 🍳🔪🔥 feedback appreciated! this is an old story i polished up. im going feral for sungchan lately woof woof woof

If you wanted a descriptive image of the environment: There's a lot of banging, first of all, that's a good place to start. Something is always banging, clacking, sizzling, burning, beeping, or yelling.

Loud.

"I'm gonna fucking kill myself," you say, and Sungchan's head pops around a corner. "How many?"

You look at the order. "Party of fifteen. I'm serious, I want you to carve my heart out and put it on a plate. Give them that instead. Slice it in fifteen pretty pieces."

He chuckles, and rolls his shoulders, preparing, ducking out of the way of someone passing behind with a hot pan.

Line cook. That is the last occupation you ever imagined you would have, because in every conceivable way, it is a fucking nightmare.

"You know I'm not that good with knives," Sungchan remarks, "but I could make a little soup? Heart...y soup?"

Somehow, that makes it better. You grin at him and he laughs, before running off to save his potatoes in the oven. Party of fifteen, you think, with burning hate, I hope you all die.

Sungchan is good to have around, and though you're reluctant to admit it, he makes you feel less suicidal in the kitchen. When he has a day off, it seems like the shift will never end.

He's nice to everyone, always brightening the room in grim situations, doing quick quips with the other cooks, and comforting the frightened new waiters. Everyone likes him, and keeps commenting on how he should be on the floor charming guests, which makes the tips of his ears flare red.

But no, he sticks to the kitchen, even if it's not his calling. It's a mystery to you.

"Fucking hell," you mumble, dizzy from the heat and the cleaning fumes, looking at the grill. Sparkling, for a few hours at least, before it's inevitably dirty again tomorrow.

"You in for drinks tonight?" Seunghan asks, wiping his face. "I could use one."

"I don't know," you say, hesitant. The best thing would be to go home; it always is.

Yet that rarely happens.

"Come on, Y/n, it's no fun without you," Sungchan grins. "First shot on me!"

Seunghan rolls his eyes fondly. "And now you’re joining us, right?"

"Alright, whatever," you huff, and Sungchan salutes, stalking off to get shots from the bar. Seunghan gives you a look that is easier to ignore when you're this tired.

Some of the waiters have already gathered out by the bar, and outside smoking. The lights are out over the floor, but the string lights around the counter are still on, blurring people out, making everyone somewhat fuzzy around the edges.

You laugh at some waiter's joke when Sungchan arrives with not two, but four shots, and promptly downs one.

"For you," he says, with a silly little bow, making you laugh.

"Two shots? You trying to get me drunk?"

"I would never," he says, blinking those big eyes.

"Do another," you laugh.

"Hey, you're still alive," you chuckle, when Sungchan sits down next to you on the curb out back hours later, swaying a little.

"Of course," he grins, his eyes crescent. "You... guys wouldn't last a minute without me."

"Yeah. But you're off tomorrow though, right?"

"Aw, right."

"Any cool plans?"

"Sleeeeeeeping," he sing-songs, making you laugh again.

"Hey," he says, swaying again. "Cute. Your laugh."

"You're that drunk, huh?" you grin, shaking your head. "That's it, I'm calling an uber for you."

It's a slow night, just a few tables are taken, and one of the waiters calls in sick. You draw straws in the kitchen to see which of you has to cover, and it's just your luck that you choose the shortest one. Fortunately your bestie Jina is in the bar, but unfortunately for you, Wonbin the waiter is also on duty tonight. So there really isn't much to do other than escape the thick tension whenever the two of them get too close.

Thank god for Sungchan, your saving grace, last on the line tonight so he's always the one plating your dishes up.

"Two halibut, one beef rare," he confirms, finishing up the garnish. It's just him and Sohee in the kitchen now, after they sent Eunseok home and you out on the floor. There really was no need for three cooks, and it's clear the two of them are having a good time, listening to Korean hip hop from the nineties on the shitty Bluetooth speaker.

"How is this music relatable to you kids, you weren't even born," you remark, and Sohee gasps.

"Whatever, grandma."

"Hey, at least I was a baby back then," you tease, and Sungchan looks at you, mock offended.

"Relatability isn't about whether or not you were there," he says, like an old sage. "It's about the message... the emotion... the soul..."

"Thanks," you laugh, picking up the plates. "You guys are weird."

After you leave, Sohee rolls his eyes at Sungchan, poking his side to get him to move for the next order. "Dude, you're embarrassing yourself with this."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, grabbing the order from Sohee's hand. "Get chopping, knife boy."

"These people have got to stop ordering mojitos and daiquiris," Jina sighs, carefully placing the drinks on a tray. "The blender is giving me a headache."

"I wish they would just leave already," you agree, knowing that even if they did, you couldn't close up shop. Unfortunately, that doesn't work in a restaurant, but it's a nice thought.

You manage to escape when you see Wonbin approaching the bar for the hundredth time that night, no doubt with another made-up request for napkins or an extra spoon, straw or glass.

Nearing closing time, you hang out in the kitchen door, chatting with Sungchan when you see Wonbin approaching the bar again.

"This is more entertaining than most movies," Sungchan remarks, as you two watch him lean on the counter and Jina gives him an amused look.

"Wish he would just ask her out already," you nod, chewing on a toothpick. "It's been excruciating all night, you know. I wonder where he puts all the extra stuff he asks for that no one needs."

Sungchan laughs, while Sohee clears his throat pointedly behind you, and stops scrubbing down a pan. "You know what they say about stones in glass houses, right?"

Suddenly you both remember you still have cleaning to do.

"Fuck, ow, shit," Sungchan gasps.

It's one of those days where everything goes wrong. The digital order system collapses, leaving you having to write old-school notes. That one isn't crippling; you manage to get a good system going and Shotaro finds a bell in a cupboard that you hang up and hit every time the food is ready. Then the payment system collapses. The power in the kitchen keeps dipping. To top it off, you look at Sungchan in the other end of the kitchen, holding up his bloody hand.

"Who let him touch the knives?" you yell, making your way past the four other cooks on call tonight with haste you didn't know you had left.

"Sorry, I- I just needed an extra filet, I forgot," Seunghan says.

"The meat..." Sungchan says meekly, like that is important right now. You throw the whole cutting board in the trash, meat and all. That's not a priority.

"Seunghan, Sohee, finish up and cut the last damn filet, Anton, Eunseok, do the plating, and chop those potatoes I had started. We're going in the back."

There's little drops of blood on the floor that Seunghan fortunately understands that he has to clean up without you having to snap at him. You grab the first aid kit in one hand and lead Sungchan by the other, back to the break room where there's no one else.

"You know you can't fucking slice for shit, what the fuck are you doing cutting filet," you bite, practically flinging Sungchan down and onto the couch.

He wisely doesn't respond, and watches you rummage through the kit to find gauze and cleaning supplies.

"I can do it myself you know-" he starts, but shuts his mouth after an icy stare.

"I'm fucking doing it so I know it's good enough," you snap, "because apparently this is what happens when you work with children, who can't..."

You trail off and wonder why you're so emotional about this. Sure, it's been a day from hell, and this is just enough to send you over the edge. But even so, even if you can't see yourself from the outside, you know this is an overreaction.

"I'm sorry," Sungchan says, voice barely above a whisper as you wrap his hand in gauze. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

"Don't."

"Why are you so angry? I just tried to help, the orders were piling up and Seunghan was struggling to get everything done, so I thought I should help out. Is that so fucking wrong?"

He gets up and you're so angry, it doesn't make sense but you are, that you consider asking him to go home. Maybe you should be the one to go.

"Thanks," he mumbles, looking confused, hurt, and defeated, raising his bandaged hand.

"I'm angry," you realize, "because you could have seriously hurt yourself."

Sungchan stops on the way out.

"Those knives are really sharp, and you could have cut deep, through muscle. Nerves. If you had cut your tendons, you could have destroyed your hand. Jesus Christ, you could have lost a finger."

"Y/n," Sungchan says, carefully. "I suck, but I'm not gonna cut off my fingers..."

"You do suck," you agree, with a little smile. "Why can't you work on the floor? Seriously. You know you'd be good at it."

"I... don't know," he says. "I like it in the kitchen."

He looks at you with his doe eyes, and you feel yourself soften, shoulders coming down to somewhere resembling their usual height. His hair is that light brown shade you like and shaggy enough that it makes him look soft and pretty.

"No more knives," you warn, pulling yourself out of it. "I mean it."

"No more knives, yes, ma'am," he echoes.

"And the next slow day, I'm sending you to Eunseok for knife school. Got it? You're a hazard."

"Hazard, knife school, got it," he says, nodding sternly to himself, and it makes you smile again.

"I'm sorry, Chanie. Forgive me?"

"Oh, you just love me, nothing to forgive."

So, back to being brazenly confident again, that's good, you think.

There's tension in the kitchen when you get back, but a weight seems to lift when they see no one is angry or bleeding anymore.

You apologize to them for overreacting, and for five whole minutes, there's respectful peace. Until Eunseok decides to speak up.

"So, you two had a little... spat? A... quarrel?"

There's no doubt he intentionally emitted a word - a fact that no one misses. Anton snickers.

"Shut it," you say, biting back a smile.

Usually in a kitchen, even if it's just a regular restaurant like this one, there would be a hierarchy. Maybe if someone had gone to culinary school for more than a single year (Eunseok) there would be, but there isn't. So, naturally, the most experienced one takes charge, at least a little bit, and usually things flow on their own.

You all know each other enough that dividing up tasks is intuitive - like, no knives for Sungchan. Everyone knows this, and he's got the scars to prove it.

"There's really no need for you to be here today," you say, glancing over at Sungchan's still injured hand. It's been professionally wrapped at the hospital, and he's wearing lots of plastic and a glove to protect the food, but still. "You can go home and heal, we can call Sohee in."

"I'm healing fine," he says, stirring the sauce in trained motions, like that simple task is any indication at all of the state of the arm.

It's right before the dinner rush, and as usual, the people on prepping shifts have not prepped enough. Somehow, they always get it wrong, and everyone knows it's not their fault because it varies so much from day to day, but it's still incredibly annoying.

"We're short on potatoes, garlic, stock... Most everything," Eunseok says, grimacing as he reads off the list and looks at the numbers of reservations for the night.

"And pasta," Sungchan adds, elbows deep in the mixer to get the dough out. Eunseok sighs.

"But we have enough fish for three days," you say, stacking filets into neat little piles. "That's something."

Turns out, you didn't even have enough fish. Half of it was put in the freezer, which turns out to be a huge mistake, leaving you having to try and thaw several kilos of halibut and salmon at the last minute.

Then Shotaro, who's hosting tonight, comes through the door to tell you thirty unannounced guests have arrived, just as Anton's huge pot of pasta tips over.

It's not his fault. No one told him that the counter he put the pot on had a bad leg that was meant to be fixed next week, and could in no way support a heavy pot. So now there's pasta and water all over the floor of the kitchen, Anton looks like he's about to cry, and Shotaro slips on a piece of tagliatelle.

"I..." you start, but no more words come out. Instead, you put down the plates you were garnishing, and slide between pieces of pasta on the floor out the door that leads to the backyard.

Sungchan finds you there, behind the loading dock to the warehouse.

You don't want to cry, but there's no getting past it today. So Sungchan sits down next to you and puts an arm carefully around your shoulders.

"I don't want this job," you sniffle, and Sungchan squeezes your shoulder. "I just have to pay my bills."

"I know," he assures, leaning his head on yours.

"I don't even like cooking," you continue, wiping tears on your sleeve. The uniform is dirty now, anyway. "It's one fucking thing after another in there. I'm done."

"Hey," Sungchan says, his voice much calmer than you've felt for ages. "Tomorrow we can quit together, how about that."

He nudges you gently, and you can't help but laugh at the mental image of the two of you marching together to hand in resignations.

"But right now, we need you. You're that load-bearing leg that was missing under the pasta pot. We're falling apart."

"You're funny," you smile. "But I'm not, Eunseok is there. And Seunghan."

"Yeah, but we still need you to tell them to stop bickering, and find some good music to clean up to. You're the only one who knows where the kitchen's phone book is, to call the repair man. And where to find those band aids with the animals on them to make Shotaro smile again. I'll go with you, and we'll get through it together. You know what a great team we are, right?"

You look at him in the low light, beautiful, tired from the shift, and still pulling through. Taking the time to sit out here with you, coax you to come back inside, and insist that you're an important part of the team. Whether that is true or not.

Suddenly you feel like crying again, for different reasons.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," you say, and watch his face light up in a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Chanie."

"Anytime," he says, like he means it.

When you get back inside, Eunseok has already set the team in motion to clean up, and Shotaro is only a little freaked out by the scratch on his forehead. You find the band aids as promised, and help Sungchan calm Anton down, who is in a little bit of a spiral.

In the end, it turns out the thirty guests weren't even eating, they just hung out at the bar. With a little help behind the counter, everything goes smoothly for the rest of the night.

There's not even a question of drinks tonight, it's just Shotaro immediately grabbing beers from the fridge and getting his little writing pad out to keep inventory, before he starts handing them out.

"Yuck," you complain, after a tentative sip of the beer. Sungchan laughs.

"Give it here, I'll steal you something from the bar."

Jina gives you a look, people have been doing that a lot lately, and it's starting to get to you.

"Sungchan, you don't have to-"

He's gone with a flash of that signature grin, your beer in his hand.

"How's that working out?" Jina asks, less than subtly.

"Sohee said something the other day about stones in glass houses," you shrug, and Jina's smile fades somewhat.

"Alright, I'm leaving it."

"Fair game."

It's not like you and Sungchan always stick together. Most times, if Jina's been working, you hang out until she goes home, and then you somehow end up by Sungchan's side or vice versa. It's just a thing that happens, and if Sungchan isn't there, you hang out with Anton, Seunghan or really anyone else on the kitchen staff.

So, you don't really get why it's become this thing that people seem to be noticing, because of course, you're bound to have friends that you like hanging out with more than others, and that you have better chemistry with. Doesn't mean that there's necessarily something more going on.

"This is my own creation," Sungchan says, sitting down next to you with a drink in hand that looks experimental, to put it gently. "It's rum, some other booze, something green, lime, and a dash of something from a small bottle."

"Sounds promising," you say, dryly, accepting the drink.

You take a sip, against your better judgment, cringing at the blend. "This is awful. Thank you."

"Cheers," he grins.

It's a bit unclear how it happens, but you find yourself later that night on Sungchan's couch, looking up at the pictures on his walls.

He lives in a big building, and you've never been there before, only ever heard tales of Sungchan and Shotaro's famous after-parties. They live separately, but the apartments face each other. With the doors open, it's ridiculous how well it works for a late night get together. The crowd naturally splits up into smaller groups, Shotaro has the dance floor, Sungchan has snacks and some movie playing on the TV. People come and go in between, but you find yourself content and sleepy, sinking further into the pillows.

On their own, your eyes find Sunchan across the room. He's talking to someone from the bar, but he's looking at you, so softly it almost seems unfair. When your gazes meet, a smile spreads on his face, like a secret between you. He has the sense to look a little embarrassed about it, as you turn back to the pictures, unable to stop smiling.

You're drunk enough that you can admit how beautiful he looks tonight, all soft in his hoodie and pajama pants, a look you never would have got to see had you not been at his place. It feels strangely intimate, even if there's tons of other people around, it feels like it might actually be just the two of you. The experience of hearing his laugh trill across the room, mixed with the barely audible TV and the music from across the hall, is so comforting, you could fall asleep here and be perfectly happy.

Tomorrow you work late, and it feels like for once you don't have a single worry.

You must have closed your eyes, because distantly you can hear Sungchan's voice, and feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, sleepy," he says, and you crack an eye open to find him next to you on the couch, looking fond and amused, and maybe some other things you're not reading into.

"Mm," you hum, and resist the urge to tuck yourself into his side, see what it feels like to fall asleep on him. It looks very inviting. "You look like a big pillow right now."

Sungchan chuckles, his eyes practically sparkling. "I bet. You want me to call an uber for you?"

You look at him, and it seems like time slows. His hand is in yours—when did it get there? It's just the two of you, nothing else really matters, and you really, really don't want the moment to end.

"Do you want me to go?" you ask, in a voice that feels a little too vulnerable, watching how he swallows. Is he nervous?

"No," he says, after a beat, the tips of his ears red. "Selfishly, I don't."

"Okay," you say, and you both crack a smile, not really knowing what to do with that information.

"You could... I mean, my bed is..." Sungchan scratches his neck, and shakes his head, embarrassed. "I'm starting over. If you want to stay here, I can take the couch."

He's still holding your hand, and it feels so nice, thumb tracing a little pattern.

Any other time, you would have gone home. You certainly wouldn't want to put Sungchan out like this, make him sleep on his own couch. But you're so tired, and comfortable, and tonight the thought of leaving him is unfathomable.

You let him lead you to his bedroom, and the lull of noise from the party gets quieter, until it's just a soft hum far away. Sungchan says something about a charger for your phone, but he looks so good, and you feel so much, it's a bit hard to concentrate.

Finally, you climb under his covers and the whole bed smells like him- it's like being wrapped in Sungchan, except he stands on the side and looks at you with a little smile.

"Goodnight," he says, so quiet and gentle, it's barely above a whisper.

"Chanie," you say, before you can stop yourself. "Can you stay? Just a little while?"

He doesn't even say anything, just smiles, and gets right in on the other side. Wishful thinking makes it seem like he was waiting for you to ask.

His hand finds yours again, and you sigh contently.

"I'm sorry for asking a lot tonight," you mumble, and Sungchan's eyes are so beautiful, shining in the faint light from the window.

"You haven't. Besides, you can ask anything of me," he smiles, squeezing your hand. "Always."

"Two salmon, one Alfredo," Wonbin announces, to Anton's soft "copy that," on the other side of the plating station.

It's been three hours since the shift started, you're all in the zone, working like this is what you've done all your lives. Anton is the starter, Eunseok does meats, you're on sides and condiments and Sungchan does the plating.

There is an undeniable tension between you and Sungchan, it's something unfinished. Gnawing.

When you woke up that morning, you initially thought you had a strange, but good dream—until you looked around and realized it all actually happened. You lied there for a moment, listening to Sungchan's soft snores next to you, and had a small, internal crisis.

Eventually, you had to get home to shower and get dressed before work. You decided it was best to let him know, and not disappear like some stranger in the night. Besides, it's not like anything really happened, it was all platonic-ish, and you could probably play it off as nothing.

That was, until he turned around and looked at you, sleepy-eyed and smiling lazily. He'd lifted an arm to shield his eyes from the light, all tan and beautiful. Eyes blinking at you slowly.

There's only so long you can fool yourself.

You had rushed out of there, assured him everything was fine, but apparently very unconvincingly, because he also texted you on the way home ´are u sure ur fine?? ur good?'

And it was fine, of course.

Wasn't it?

It's quiet in the kitchen, save for the usual sizzling, clanging, and chopping. Anton and Eunseok share a pointed glance that goes unnoticed by you and Sungchan.

You put on some music, but don't really listen. Only focus on reducing the sauce, checking the potatoes and pasta, and keeping time on the four things you have cooking at once.

"Y/n," Anton says, to no reaction. "Y/n?"

"Shit, sorry," you mumble, smiling at him. "What were you saying?"

There's a late delivery of groceries that you need to accept, and help load out back. It's always a welcome break, so they let you do it. While you're gone, the boys have a tête-à-tête.

Sungchan knows they're going to ask, so he busies himself stirring and checking the things you left. Eunseok clears his throat.

"What exactly happened between you two?"

"Yeah," Anton chimes, a worried line appearing on his forehead. "It's normal for her to be quiet, but you never shut up. What's going on?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, which is only half a lie. It's met with unimpressed looks on both ends.

"Did you do something weird?" Eunseok says, and Anton nods like that must be it.

"I didn't do anything!" he exclaims, exasperated. "If... If I did, I don't know exactly what."

A waiter comes by to pick a few dishes up, so they all shut it, and he looks around nervously in the silence before he leaves.

Sungchan explains the situation, how you stayed over, made him get in the bed with you even after he said he could sleep on the couch. He leaves out the part where he held your hand, because he fears it might be what they nail him for. Really, he could drunkenly hold any of his friends' hands at any time (even if he knows this is different).

They look at him like he's a moron, but the reason is unclear to him.

"What?"

"How long are you going to drag this out?" Eunseok groans. "Just tell her. Do something. What are you waiting for?"

He tries to protest, get them to understand that he doesn't know for sure how you feel, and Anton shakes his head in a laugh.

"Everyone knows she likes you. Are you that dense?"

In that moment, the back door swings open, and you find them all turning back to their respective tasks at lightening speed. Sungchan's ears are bright red, Anton looks fondly annoyed, and Eunseok has a mirthful glint in his eyes.

"Hey, Sungchanie, this is about to burn," you say, carefully nudging his shoulder when you pass. It's more than you've talked all night.

"Yes, chef, sorry, chef!" he says, mock-saluting you, and grinning huge when it makes everyone laugh.

After that, things thankfully go back to normal, even if the pink blush on his ears persists.

"No, no, no," you protest, when Eunseok suggests post-shift drinks in the bar. "What are you people made of? We just drank a bunch yesterday."

"Some more than others," he smirks, receiving a half-hearted slap on the arm.

"Either way, no thanks," you say, sticking your tongue out at him. "I can finish up here, you guys are free to go."

Anton and Eunseok look expectedly at Sungchan, who almost feels a little ashamed that he anyway goes "I'll help!" just for being so obvious.

The two of you are left alone, and even if you small talk, the tension is back full force. The counters are clean, so you get to scrubbing the grill, cleaning empty containers, putting up chairs in the break room. It's the last shift of the week, and fortunately the overtime is paid.

The last thing to do is tidy and check the pantry. It's not really a job for two people, it's kind of cramped in there, and you keep knocking your shoulders together.

It feels like words are burning in your throat. You want to say something so badly, want to reach out and pull him in, feel his warmth. Stand so close you have to look up to meet his gaze.

You can't do any of those things though, for fear of making things weird, losing a friend, and messing up the dynamic for the other people you two have to meet on a daily basis.

This really shouldn't be that complicated.

"I'll lock up," you say, and Sungchan looks like he wants to say something too, but can't quite get it out.

Maybe that's for the best.

"Let me walk you home, at least," he says, chewing his lip like he does when there's something on his mind. He stands in the backyard while you input the code for the alarm, and when you turn to face him again, he looks almost forlorn.

You walk in relative silence, Sungchan with his hands in his pockets. In what seems like no time at all, you arrive at the building where you live.

You almost can't bear to look at him, for fear of what you'll see in his eyes. It's a strange dilemma, because it feels like he's trying to be considerate by not saying anything. You can't know for sure, but that's how it seems, and maybe that's why you also can't speak. A pitiful cycle.

Sungchan kicks a pebble on the steps and watches it bounce away from the curb.

"I'll see you Monday?" he says, and the sad twinge in his voice is what finally makes you look into his eyes.

"Yeah," you breathe, watching how the wind moves his hair, brushing the side of his face. You want to reach out and run your fingers through it, imagining how he would lean into it and close his eyes. His hands are still securely in the pockets of his jacket, and you wonder if they long to reach out, like yours do.

He's beautiful, like he always is and always has been, with his brown doe eyes and cheeks pink from the cold.

"See you Monday, Chanie."

He nods, and watches you step inside, biting the corner of his lip as he leaves you to your tormenting thoughts.

The days off are horrible. You keep pacing around your apartment, missing meals, spiraling. Monday comes incredibly slow and painful, so much so that you show up forty-five minutes before the shift starts. Suffice to say you're surprised when you find you aren't even the first one there, seeing Sungchan's scuffed Adidas haphazardly abandoned in front of his locker.

So much for avoiding the inevitable.

To dread going to work is not a new feeling by any means, but to feel that way because you have to face Sungchan is a new low point in your life. That always used to cheer you up, before.

You find him by some mysterious instinct, maybe the same innate magnetism that always has you ending up next to each other. He's got the radio on playing oldies in the kitchen while he stacks boxes in the storage room. You allow yourself two seconds of looking at his broad back before you make yourself known.

"Hi," you say, trying not to startle him.

He turns with big eyes. "Hi? Is the shift starting already?"

"No, no," you assure, sitting down on a nearby crate. "It's still forty minutes away. I'm just early, but not as early as you, I guess. When did you get here?"

Even in the low light, you can see the tips of his ears turn pink.

"Uh, like, an hour ago," he says, sheepish. "I couldn't sleep, anyway."

"Me neither," you confess, smiling even if it's not particularly funny.

He's already got his uniform on, the white fabric making his tan skin look even tanner. His sleeves are rolled up, and his free hand twists anxiously on a loose thread. Neither of you know where to look.

This won't do, you realize; you can't shut up about something for fear of fucking things up and making it weird between you, if that's going to happen anyway - for no good reason. If your friendship has to suffer, it should be for more than this.

"We should talk," you say, and Sungchan looks at you with his deer in the headlights look again.

You meet him halfway, and he looks genuinely scared for something you don't quite know. It makes you smile, because it seems he thinks you're going to tell him you're dying, or something. The smile seems to relax him somewhat.

You mean to say that he means a lot to you, and that's why this is scary, and difficult. It means potentially losing someone you care for deeply, not to mention there's a reason you shouldn't date coworkers, etcetera. But maybe that applies more if you actually like the job, and want to keep it.

Of course, the words won't come.

Sungchan looks at you so intently. There's a hint of a smile on his own lips now, like he can see the gears turning in your head. Suddenly, it's like you're transported back to that night, when you were alone in a crowded room, and all you wanted to was to lean in and feel his lips against yours.

Before you can do much to realize it, you find your body moving. And when Sungchan understands what you're doing, there's no turning back.

You crash together, and Sungchan gasps into your mouth, hands finding your waist to pull you closer. You thread your fingers through the short hair at his nape, and feel your pulse race to impossible heights as you press against the shelves.

He grins at you when you get some distance.

"I can't believe you," he mumbles, hands in yours, ears burning red. "I was sure that would never happen."

"I was too," you admit, almost worried again when you start thinking. But before you can get into it, Sungchan pulls you in for a hug, holding you tight.

"We'll figure it out together, like we always do," he says, sure as anything. "We're a great team, aren't we?"

"The best," you say, into his neck, feeling increasingly emotional. "You're the best."

There's no time to figure much out right there, because the rest of the staff are bound to start clocking in any minute.

For the rest of the day, it's a secret, not that you're excellent at hiding it, but it seems no one really catches on.

Sungchan follows you into the pantry after lunch and steals a heated kiss, and all in all, it's the best day at work you've ever had.

"What's going on?~" Anton sing-songs, leaning against Shotaro's fridge as you mix a drink, some ABBA remix on the speakers in the living room.

"Don't know what you mean, Ton," you smile, slightly guilty, thoughts already drifting to Sungchan and how good he looks tonight.

Anton rolls his eyes. "Your drink is trash. I'll mix it for you."

You watch him redo the drink with surprising finesse, rummaging around Shotaro's fridge more familiarly than you would dare to.

"I'll give it to you if you spill the beans," he smiles, evilly, for someone so sweet.

You laugh. "Enjoy your drink, Anton."

"Fine," he pouts, handing it to you.

"I'll tell you when there's something to tell," you promise.

You're not avoiding Sungchan. On the contrary, you want to be glued to his side like a koala, smell his mouth-watering perfume and kiss his neck. But it's too much too soon, you haven't had a chance to catch up since the shift, and you know everyone's eyes are on you two.

That's why you're keeping your distance, to try and seem more nonchalant than you are. But you still shoot him brilliant smiles when your eyes meet, so he won't get the wrong idea. He seems to get it, and maybe he's thinking the same thing you are.

As the night progresses, and the alcohol content in your blood gets higher, this becomes exceedingly difficult.

Inevitably, you meet in Sungchan's kitchen by accident, and again the tension is astronomical. This time, though, it's not uncertain and anxious, just hot and electric and wonderful.

The lighting is low in there, and unless someone else comes in, no one will see how he pins you against the counter, hands firmly on your hips.

"This is killing me," he admits, pupils blown out, squeezing you like it's something he can't help or control.

You should talk, maybe go on a real date, away from people, to figure out what this is and where it's going. But there's no way to do that right now, and there's no time. The places he's touching you are on fire, you need to feel him, need him closer.

It's not that reckless. You already know each other to a certain extent, you're already friends, there's a foundation to build on.

"Take me to your room," you say, not really meaning for it to sound like a commando, but Sungchan's eyes widen anyway, and maybe you file that information away for later.

"Aye, aye," he smiles, his cheeks red.

[100vern]

the great british fake-off | xmh

you thought the guy in the hawaiian-print shirt who seems physically incapable of being quiet would be the most annoying person here, so imagine your shock when it's xu minghao, who has seemingly decided you're the enemy and keeps sabotaging you. a baking competition for charity might have others on their best behavior, but what's a little sugar without some spice?

❆ pairing: minghao x reader ❆ genre: great british bake-off, holiday au; crack, fluff ❆ wordcount: 5.5k ❆ rating: e for everyone ❆ warnings: some swearing, minghao is a saboteur, idiots abound. ❆ credits: this netflix psd template for the banner. this recipe for the yule log; this recipe for the gingerbread house; and this recipe for the entremet. divider from here. this post for the divider. this was roughly edited by me, so any and all mistakes are my own. ❆ written for: the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories as they're posted. ♡ ❆ author's note: i had this rotting away in my wips since literally 2021, so even though it started as a completely different story, i'm so glad it's finally seeing the light of day even if it's not what i originally intended. (also, i know the banner says 12 contestants but the holiday specials only had a couple, okay. i forgot when i made it and i wasn't going back to fix it.)

The obnoxious one is wearing an aloha-print shirt.

He’s also extremely loud, his raucous, fake laughter filling every corner of the large warehouse you’ve been assigned to for filming. Makes a show of batting his eyelashes, throwing his head back every time someone cracks a joke that’s not even funny, comes up with nonsensical nicknames for the entire crew just to suck up to them.

“John Davies? Mind if I call you Joe?”

Joe doesn’t even make sense as a nickname for John, but John fucking loves it, apparently. Looks at the annoying guy like he just watched him string the stars in the sky.

But it’s the shirt—god, the shirt drives you absolutely crazy. He’s about to go on national television, be a household name, and some ill-fitting, charity shop Hawaiian print shirt is what he woke up and chose to wear. What’s his angle here? Appeal to the public with some sob story about only being able to afford second-hand clothes so that’s why he’s competing? Needs the money to care for a sick relative?

(The expensive watch on his wrist and his limited-drop sneakers tell an entirely different story, but you’re keeping that to yourself for now. No reason to play your hand so early.)

As much as you hate the shirt, you have to admit it suits him. The colors are garish and unsightly, just as obnoxious as he is, and you can’t stare at it too long because you start going cross-eyed. Looking at him feels about the same as stuffing your mouth with a bunch of sour candies: you get that same burn in the back of your jaw, same scrunched-up, grossed-out look on your face; have to squeeze your eyes shut to blink back tears.

You don’t even know his name, but you hate him immediately.

Your eyes scan the other contestants. None of them inspire the same level of animosity within you as the annoying one does; all of them nearly unremarkable. A variety of ages, appearances, backgrounds. You hear one say they’re a retired investment banker. There’s an accountant, a teacher, a fucking aerospace engineer.

And then it’s his turn to introduce himself. He clears his throat, speaks with an easy, practiced confidence. Completely void of nerves. Makes eye contact with everyone in your conversation circle. Gesticulates wildly as he speaks, immediately endears everyone to him.

“I’m Tim,” he says, and you nearly recoil at how honeyed his voice is. “But you can call me Tim. I’m thirty-eight, originally from a small town. Work as a…”

You can barely stand to listen to it anymore, each “Nice to meet you, Tim!” like another punch to the gut. How can’t these people see right through him? How are they falling for his bullshit? You should’ve known. Producers always throw in at least one bomb to up the ratings—a secret millionaire, someone rude and confrontational, a flat-earther. Even if you’re competing in a charity baking competition, of all things, it’s still reality television at the end of the day.

Just because the bunch of you are going to spend the next few days creating confections out of sugar, spice, and everything nice, doesn’t mean you have to be part of that ‘everything.’

Tim thinks he’s got this in the bag. Thinks he’s going to show up and win easily, the rest of you be damned, and even if you are typically a very nice person, you’re also highly competitive. There’ll be no rolling over done by you, and if Tim wants to play dirty—

Game on.

As you introduce yourself, you feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. Probably because you don’t bother with the faux-humility the rest of the contestants have. Polite and charming but firm, just the way your mother had taught you. You’re not boisterous, don’t crack silly jokes to play up to the cameras the way Tim loves to do, and you know he’s scrutinizing you the way you’d done to him, trying to figure out your angle.

Well, joke’s on him—you don’t need one.

And you really, really hope it drives him crazy.

Except maybe the joke is on you, too, because you don’t account for Xu Minghao.

In true reality television fashion, the tent is boiling hot.

As if the universe itself had looked down on all of you and decided what you all needed was a heatwave uncharacteristic of this time of year, just to up the ante. Not even ten minutes in the tent and you’re all fanning yourselves and wafting air up your shirts. Which is great, really, because it isn’t like you need to use ovens or stand over hot burners. It’s not like you aren’t going to be soaking through your clothes with anxiety sweats, either! Sweat dripping off your brow into your eyes won’t matter because you don’t need to use them.

Everything’s going to be fine!

But everything is not fine. Not only has the universe gifted you with sweltering heat, it’s given you the work station directly next to Tim’s. You’ll have to feel his annoying, off-putting aura near you for the entire competition. There’s always the possibility of him bungling it and making an early exit, but you know that’s unlikely. Obnoxious he may be, you also know a strong opponent when you see one, and something tells you you’re going to be stuck with him for the long haul.

Think of the cats, you tell yourself. All of this is for the cats.

It’s not like you never would’ve returned here of your own volition. No, your first go-round with feel-good, competition-based reality television had gone fine. You hadn’t won, of course, because you wouldn’t be here again if you had, but you placed respectably in the top three. Became a fan favorite, too, which was arguably more lucrative than winning. People make a living on social media these days.

So, it’s not the competition itself that has you white-knuckled gripping onto the edge of your station. It’s the man at the one beside you, cracking all these stupid jokes about the weather and how it���s a horrible day for tempering chocolate, so he bets that’s going to be the first challenge!

You suck in a deep breath. Try to remember the breathing exercises from that one yoga class your sister had dragged you to. It had been about the same temperature then, too—well duh, it’s hot yoga, your sister had said, which was news to you, because you never would’ve signed up for something called hot yoga willingly. Still, you endured it, just like you’ll endure this, and a little sweat is not going to get in the way of you delivering a check to all those poor, sad cats without families.

“Psst, hey,” you hear from behind you. When you turn, a man is smirking at you as he finishes tying his apron around his waist—has to wrap the strings around twice, you notice, because only someone hand-picked by the gods themselves would have that shoulder-to-waist ratio.

You don’t really recognize him. Can’t recall his name or where he’s from; can’t remember what he mentioned doing for a living. Probably something artsy, if you had to guess—he definitely has the style and demeanor of a creative, with his trendy shag-mullet and the multicolored, glitter-y snowflakes decorating his nails.

You aren’t sure he introduced himself at all, but the confidence with which he holds himself—easy, like it’d take a national emergency to rattle him even a little—implies he doesn’t really have to. Most of the people here already know him, if you had to guess, and he gives the impression that he’s not fussed with impressing any of them.

If only Tim was so inclined.

You clear your throat, vaguely aware you need to respond. “Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Ah, I don’t think so? We’ve done this before, after all. We should be seasoned veterans by now.”

He smirks. “Should be,” he emphasizes. “Feels different when it’s for charity. Extra serious, you know?”

“Right,” you agree, taking a look around the tent. “Anything for the cats.”

There’s an immediate shift in the atmosphere. What was friendly and carefree is now tense; where a smile and a floral giggle sat on the man’s lips has been replaced with a crooked scowl. And it doesn’t make sense, all you’d done was agree with what he said, but then the producers are yelling something at the front of the tent, cameramen are rushing to their equipment, and a woman appears at your side and starts clipping equipment to your clothes, and there’s no time to question it. On your right, Tim’s laughing and joking around with some crew members like they’re old drinking buddies. It drives you nuts, has annoyance pricking at your skin, flushing your cheeks—

So much so that the woman at your side leans in and asks, “Should I get hair and makeup over here?”

“I—no, it’s fine.”

The unnecessary members of the production team scatter away after a loud countdown. Hair and makeup don’t come to wipe the sweat tracks from your skin. You already know Man Behind You is standing there looking perfect because he’s equally as attractive as he is mysterious. God truly has favorites, and this guy somehow made the top five.

You stare down at the instructions in front of you, confident in your ability to read but not so confident in your ability to make sense of any of it. And it’s your own recipe, which is the worst part. You’d typed this recipe yourself. These are your hand-written notes in the margins. You’ve conceptualized, tweaked, baked, and eaten this recipe more times than you can count, and now all you can do is thousand-yard-stare into the ether.

In the time since you were on the show, you’d somehow forgotten about the chaos. Not unlike that hormone women have that makes them forget about the pain and agony of childbirth, you reckon.

In addition to being one of the most bothersome people in history, Tim apparently doubles as a prophet.

Because it is a terrible day to temper chocolate, and you’ve got a bûche de Noël on the horizon that requires you to do so. You can pivot, maybe make some kind of buttercream, but a basic chocolate buttercream is not going to win you a world-renowned baking competition even if it is Swiss meringue. A child could make that.

You sigh. Push that wave of panic to the back of your mind. In a setting like this, you have approximately ten seconds to come up with a back-up plan and execute it and you wasted your time thinking, so you’re just going to have to temper the stupid chocolate and stick to your original plan. God, you have a headache.

But the show must go on, so you do too.

Step 1: Preheat the oven.

Easy enough. If nothing else, you can preheat an oven.

Step 2: Make the sponge.

Not as easy, but you’ve made so many sponge cakes throughout your life you could probably do it in your sleep. Whisk attachment on the stand mixer. Four eggs. Sugar meticulously weighed and added to the bowl. Sugar and eggs whisked together until the mixture is the color and consistency you’re looking for. Flour, cocoa powder, and salt sifted in. Metal spoon to fold it all together as delicately as possible. You won’t have a sponge cake if you beat all the air out of it, now will you?

“Good enough,” you mutter to yourself, staring down at the bowl.

At least you’d had the foresight to grease and line your baking tray, because the entire entourage arrives at your station just as you’re meant to be pouring the batter into it and sticking it in the oven.

“Ah, we meet again,” the group choruses, genuine smiles peeking through as if you’re old friends separated only by time and distance.

That’s the weird thing about being on television. For as long as you’re able, you exist within a microcosm of daily life. A world exists outside of your bubble, you know, but you don’t see much proof of it. All of your meals are eaten together; all of your conversations are had with one another. You share temporary living quarters and oftentimes too much of yourselves, and you’re thankful the show encourages teamwork and kindness because that’s the kind of thing that can grow sour if you leave it unchecked too long.

And then it just—ends.

Bubble burst, you all go back to your regular lives. You look back on that time fondly, but the friendships are thinned out by time and distance. Eventually it all starts to feel like a dream, except every now and then something breaks through the haze to remind you it actually happened: a stranger recognizing you at the store, a message on social media, the casting team contacting you to ask if you’d be interested in competing in a holiday special for charity.

“We certainly do,” you retort, smile matching everyone else’s.

All things considered, you are happy to be back. Even if the tent is crowded and far too warm, the atmosphere is unmatched, especially when it’s decorated for the holidays.

“What are you working on?”

You explain the general workings of your yule log: chocolate sponge, hazelnut liqueur cream filling, and chocolate icing to top it off. You aren’t sure how you’re going to decorate it yet—you’ll figure it out once you get there, depending on how much time you have—but you guarantee them it’ll look festive and professional.

Satisfied with your plan, they wish you luck and move on to the man behind you. It’s so great to see you again, Minghao, someone says, and you’re grateful they’ve spared you the embarrassment of having to ask for his name. It still doesn’t ring a bell, and you can’t recall what season he’d been on for the life of you, but he speaks with a patience and a gentleness that is so unlike Tim that you nearly drop to the floor in thanks.

But as the commotion of the tent reminds you, you don’t have time to waste thinking about Minghao. You’ve only been given an hour for your signature, and you’re going to need all sixty of those minutes if you have any hopes of presenting a finished product.

It doesn’t register at first.

It doesn’t register at second or third, either.

In fact, you’re sure you’re hallucinating when you open the oven door to pop the sponge inside and you aren’t hit with a blast of hot air. Room temperature. Perhaps a bit on the cooler side, if you’re being honest.

And that can’t be, because you know you preheat your oven. It was the first thing you did, because it’s always the first thing you do. It’s just… automatic, like opening your mouth to eat or washing between your toes in the shower. Instinctual. Not something that needs to even be considered, because it’s always the first thing you do.

No, this cannot be. Forgetting to preheat the oven is a rookie mistake and you’re not a rookie.

…Could it be?

Perhaps you were so caught up in the lights and buzz, the thrill of returning to the tent, that it had slipped your mind? Perhaps you’d pressed the wrong buttons and turned the wrong dials? While it’s not likely you’d somehow bumped into the oven and turned it off, nothing is impossible, so… maybe?

“Shit,” you hiss through your teeth. The producers are not going to be happy about your swearing. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Everything okay up there?” Minghao asks from behind you. When you turn, he’s got a flour-dusted towel thrown over his shoulder as he nurses a cup of tea, and his composure in the face of your hysteria has your head spinning.

Your mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Minghao is drinking tea without a care in the world and your oven isn’t even halfway to the temperature you need. “I—yes? No? I don’t know. I could’ve sworn I preheated the oven, but—”

“Don’t panic,” he offers, his top lip catching on the rim of his mug. “You got this. Work on something else while you wait.”

Something else. Right, you can work on something else. Both the filling and the frosting still have to be made, and quick mental math tells you there should just be enough time to get everything done if you’re efficient. Of course, that’s a big if, but that’s why you’d chosen a yule log, after all: sponge cake doesn’t need that long to bake, and anything can happen (and go wrong) in this tent.

So, you get to work on something else. Measure out a sheet of parchment paper, dust it with cocoa powder, and set it to the side. Decide to get to work on the frosting, because if one thing has already gone wrong, you don’t trust the universe to let you temper chocolate correctly.

The chocolate is halfway melted when the oven dings. A small harrumph of victory and you’re finally good to go, setting a timer for twelve minutes. Minghao offers you a discreet thumbs-up, fingers covered in something sticky you assume is marzipan.

Time flies after that. You get both the frosting and your filling made, and it’s only through divine intervention that your sponge cake comes out perfectly and with enough time to score and cool. When you dare a look around the room, everyone seems to be in a similar position as you: frazzled and covered in powdered sugar, making frantic trips to and from the refrigerators, chucking seized-up caramel into the trash and starting over for the third time with a pained expression.

A holiday special—it was supposed to be more laid-back, more for the vibes and festivity than actual competition, but it looks to you like everyone’s taking it just as seriously as your first go-rounds.

“Fifteen minutes!” someone calls, and your competitors fade out of focus. You’ve got a yule log to ice and fondant to roll out.

You make it by the skin of your teeth.

It isn’t perfect, of course, as few things on this show ever are, but it’s more than acceptable. It looks great and tastes even better which is all you can hope for. Much to your dismay, Tim also gets top marks, but it’s Minghao that shocks you all. His stollen wreath earns him a handshake and a lot of clandestine, private glares, but he’d been kind to you earlier, helped untangle that knot of pandemonium, so you return the thumbs-up he’d given you earlier with a smile that feels akin to getting away with murder.

Something is wrong.

On its own, this is not necessarily surprising. Gingerbread, tasked with bearing the weight of an entire house, can be fickle. On any other day you wouldn’t blame it if it wanted to rebel and go sideways, but the thing is—you’ve made gingerbread before. Tons of times. Another thing you could probably make in your sleep if you absolutely had to. So it doesn’t make sense when you look down in your mixing bowl and it just… doesn’t look right.

You tell yourself it’ll get better when you knead it. Maybe the color just looks off because it’s underworked, and a few good punches will set it straight.

But it doesn’t. The dough sits at your station like a sad, formless lump, giving you no indication it intends to become anything at all. Which is, admittedly, a problem. Your technical challenge is to build a gingerbread house—one complete with little windows and golden-toned nightlights, a scalloped roof dusted with powdered sugar to look like fresh snow, a working door!—and you’re far from an engineer, but you don’t think you can have a gingerbread house without gingerbread.

You sneak a peek at Tim’s station, where he’s well into measuring an immaculate-looking dough with a ruler. The contestant in front of you is in a similar place, too, so it’s with an oh fuck I’m doomed sigh that you turn around and hope to find a comrade in Minghao again.

“Hey,” you whisper, trying not to draw attention to yourself. “Does this look right to you?” You jerk a thumb in the direction of your dough-lump. Minghao, bless him, looks around you and tries his best to hide his grimace.

He does not succeed.

“Um. Well, no.”

You sigh. Place one flour-dusted hand on your waist and pinch the bridge of your nose with the other. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. I’ve made gingerbread a million times.”

“Looks pale,” he offers. Of course, this is the exact moment he dumps his own dough—his beautiful dough, flawless chestnut brown—onto his station to knead it. “Was the sugar right?”

A strangled, disbelieving laugh escapes you. Was the sugar right—of course the sugar was right! Dark muscovado sugar. Everyone knows that's what you use for gingerbread, so of course the sugar was right because no one, both in their right mind and at this stage of competition, would use anything else.

Before you can respond, Minghao’s pointing at your jar of sugar. Your jar of pale, producer-supplied sugar, which even a blind person could tell does not resemble dark muscovado sugar.

A million thoughts race through your head at once, but it boils down to instinct, you think. Your brain had seen flour, butter, and sugar and went into baking mode, not stopping to take in the color of anything. Maybe a smarter, more perceptive person would put two and two together and get sabotage, but you don’t have enough time to play detective.

“Here, here,” Minghao says, hurriedly handing over his (correct) sugar. “It’ll be close, but you should have just enough time to redo the dough.”

You’re going to throw up.

In the end, a chunk of chocolate buttons is missing from the roof and the piping around the edges is far from your neatest work, but it’s passable. You already lamented your loss during the signature bake, because anything less than perfection was not going to win you much of anything, and you’re now 0-for-2 on showstopping, unbelievable, awe-inspiring confections.

Just like the devil, your fall from grace will be studied.

Overthinking isn’t going to get you anywhere, but you can’t help it.

You collapse sideways into a chair, immediately face-planting into the catering table. Everyone else buzzes around you—animated conversations that have your head spinning, words that jumble together and start to sound like nothing at all—but you’re a million miles away. One mistake is out of character for you, but two? It’s unheard of. Something you would’ve said was impossible if it didn’t happen to you just a few hours ago.

This is something you need to file away for later so you can think about it just as you’re about to fall asleep, horror and embarrassment there to keep you company when it keeps you awake until the wee hours of the morning.

A chill runs down your spine.

“Hi. Do you mind?” You startle. Bang your knee on the underside of the table. “Sorry,” Minghao apologizes, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. You shake your head. Gesture to the empty seat across from you as if to say it’s all yours. “I brought you some tea,” he continues, setting it in front of you. “I find it’s easier than coffee when you don’t know how someone takes theirs. Less chance of getting it wrong.”

You smile. Wrap your hands around the Styrofoam cup and delight in the warmth. “Thank you. This was very kind of you.”

“Seemed like you had a rough day.”

Groaning, you try to wave away his words. “Please don’t speak of it.” Minghao jokingly salutes you before miming his lips sealed. “Anyway. Let’s talk about something that is not reality television or baking or a reality baking competition.”

So, you do. Most of the talking comes from you, to be fair, but Minghao is a good listener: nods along, chimes in when appropriate, keeps the spit in his mouth where it belongs. You talk about your hometown and what made you apply for the show the first time. He tells you about growing up in Haicheng and all the things he grew up baking with his mother. You swap stories from your respective seasons; Minghao shares anecdotes with a straight face that have you clutching at your stomach.

Hours pass this way, and you end the night feeling like you’ve made an honest-to-god friend.

Xu Minghao ends the night feeling the guilt weigh him down like an albatross.

In retrospect, it is probably a bad idea to make another sponge, but no one can accuse you of learning from your mistakes.

“It’ll be a patterned joconde sponge with two mousse layers—chocolate and raspberry—and a raspberry jelly. Then I’m going to attempt to top it with chocolate and raspberry decorations.” The judges blink. Are you sure that’s a good idea? you know they want to ask, but this is a holiday competition for charity, so they’re trying not to be pessimists. “Anything is possible through holiday cheer,” you tack on, hoping your smile doesn’t look crazed.

They nod. “Right, right,” they say in unison. “Well, good luck!”

And then they’re off.

Determined to nail this, you triple-check your oven, which is preheating to a crisp 400 degrees; you double-check all your ingredients and confirm they’re correct; when you can spare the time, you watch your refrigerator like a hawk, making sure no one tries to sneak their own work in there and displace yours when you aren’t looking, but everyone’s engrossed in their respective showstoppers.

Tim’s planning a shadow box of sorts, with blown-sugar baubles and isomalt fire. Someone else is stressing over their three-tiered cake, asking the presenter if they think they’ve taken on too much. From what you can piece together, Minghao is making a three-dimensional house, also made from cake that he imported special pistachios for.

“Special pistachios?”

“Mm, from Iran. They have a better color.”

“Iranian pistachios! Can you believe it!”

But you don’t have time to worry about Minghao and his special Iranian pistachios. You have so much to do and not enough time to complete it. Your paste is in the freezer and the sponge is in the oven, but you’ve still got two mousses to make, a jelly to infuse, and little chocolate trees to create—and all of this wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t pointless, but you don’t want to disappoint the cats by half-assing it. They deserve your whole ass, and your whole ass is what they’re going to get.

The result is stunning—not necessarily in stature, but rather craftsmanship and effort. This is what you’re capable of. This is why you came back to the tent. For all your complaining and wanting to put your head through a concrete wall, there’s nothing like seeing the judges ooh and ahh when you present your work to them. There’s nothing like the ego boost of someone taking a bite and watching their eyes light up. There’s nothing like carrying your cake back to your station feeling proud of yourself.

“Great job,” Minghao says, a genuine smile stretched across his face. He also exceeds expectations, of course. Must be those special pistachios, you think, but your congratulations are also sincere.

Production makes a spectacle of judging, much like they always do.

The set is decorated to look like a winter wonderland, even though you’re still in the midst of autumn: a giant Christmas tree in the center decked to the nines with garland and baubles; warm, golden bulbs strung from every awning they could find; all the participants bundled up tight in festive sweaters and scarves all the way to your chins, cheeks and tips of noses dusted with red-pink blush to mimic the cold that’s nowhere to be found. Fake snow falls from the sky, and it doesn’t feel real, but it does feel magical.

One of the hosts catches you by the elbow, asks who you think is going to win. “Oh, I’d have to say Minghao,” you answer, because you’d rather die than give Tim the satisfaction. “His showstopper was incredible, but he was really great the whole competition.”

In the end, however, neither of them wins—it’s Jeon Wonwoo, three-tiered cake guy, who comes out of nowhere to claim first place. He’s bashful as he accepts his prize and says he’s going to donate the prize money to an organization that provides underprivileged kids with video game equipment. No one has a whole lot to say about that.

Once most of the hubbub dies down (and you give Tim a half-assed you did great, so sorry you didn’t win), you find Minghao near the refreshments table. He’s frowning around another mug of tea. “Alright?” you ask, helping yourself to some cider.

“For some reason, I’m no longer feeling very festive,” he replies, which is a very funny thing to say while wearing a hat with a little pom-pom on the top.

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. Sidle in a little closer and knock his shoulder with your own. “Ah, I know how you feel, but you really did do great. You were my pick to win, for what it’s worth.”

“Please don’t tell me that. It only makes me feel worse for losing.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Would’ve been nice to donate some money to the cats, but shit, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve sworn some dark force was sabotaging me. Like, come on—forgetting to preheat the oven? Using the wrong sugar? Not even a kid would’ve made those mistakes.”

Two things happen in rapid succession: beside you, Minghao goes very, very stiff, and you realize you had been sabotaged. And not by some dark, evil force, either. You were sabotaged by the very man standing beside you—the man you shared thumbs-up with and thought was your friend. The man whose cake you complimented and picked to win. The man who is now standing ramrod straight, as tense as a corpse, and the thought of sabotaging someone in a charity baking competition is so ridiculous and unbelievable that you just—

You just laugh.

At first, it’s a bark of stunned laughter. Then, the more it sinks in how absurd, how nonsensical all of this is, you can’t stop. Tears are rolling down your cheeks. You gasp for breath as your stomach begins to ache. People are staring, including Minghao, who sort of can’t believe what he’s seeing, but none of it does anything to deter you.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, “I can’t believe it was you—”

Minghao groans. “In my defense, it was for the cats!”

This was not the answer you were expecting. It makes you laugh harder. “What do you mean it was for the cats?”

He swallows. Removes the mitten from one hand to run it through his hair as if that one tic was enough to distract you from everything that’s happened in the last sixty seconds. (It is.) “Listen, you told me you were going to donate the money to a cat charity if you won and I just—so was I, was the thing. I was also going to donate the money to a cat charity if I won—”

“Okay, but which one, though?”

“The Cat’s Paw-jamas.” Much to Minghao’s horror, this sets you off again. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Minghao,” you try to choke out, but you can barely breathe around the cramp in your stomach. “Minghao, that’s the charity I was going to donate to. Oh my god, you sabotaged me and I was going to donate to—to the same fucking place. Jesus Christ, this is some Gift of the Magi shit.”

Your saboteur, who has gone deathly pale, is quiet for a very long time. Every now and then he’ll open his mouth like he’s going to say something before it snaps shut again. When he does manage to speak, what comes out are mangled apologies that sound like gibberish, and you wave all of them away. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“I—I really don’t think it should be?”

“Minghao, it’s fine, trust me, this was just for fun—”

“No, I really insist.”

You sigh, good-natured and exasperated. Something about the fake snow has you feeling romantic and a little bold, so you turn, grab him by the lapels of his coat. “Please tell me if I’m misreading this, but if you insist, maybe you can start by taking me to dinner…?”

This was clearly not what MInghao was expecting you to say. Dazed, he recovers quickly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a half-smirk. “Dinner, hm?” You nod. “I think I can manage that.”

You smile. “Great. How do you feel about cat cafes?”

[mystiffox]

— the apple's falling from the tree

from Cross: The Star Sans by @overflowofcrows

star!cross makes me incredibly ill with the tragic found family vibes ... (lays on the floor)

also song inspo was Driver's Seat by Madds Buckley

also have some doodles too (slight spoilers on the fic's lore below! to explain some of my thoughts on clothes n stuff)

does Cross have a star necklace in the fic? no, probably not. did i show off about my thoughts on a star necklace to Simple anyway? yes, yes i did. anyway idc where u think the necklace is from (whether its a gift from dream or a remold of his broken heart necklace, who knows atp) now ONTO THE GANG (+ Error and Fresh)

to preface this: im mostly assuming for most of the lore beyond the crumbs given to me. so, i'd imagine that when the fight ended with the gang losing, Dream and Ink immediately jailed them up. they both seem keen on keeping the gang alive, so they probably would've tried to help them with anything to make sure of it- that is, if any of the gang would even accept it in the first place.

i'm making a small guess that if there were any wounds, they used what they had to take care of it, aka ripping out parts of their own clothing to use as makeshift bandages. dream might've gave them some supplies (out of pity.. or something) but whether that was not enough or not used, i won't know

even if it was enough, there's still the factor of inevitable outburst/breakdowns from any of the prisoners. i'd imagine it'd be so hard to calm any of them down because the gang were too used to being close together that using touch became the usual grounding method— so putting a barrier between them makes it infintely harder for everyone.

i think Nightmare doesn't use his jacket anymore. it probably feels like shit/too itchy and ragged to wear and reminds him of a past he wishes he could forget. (he must feel so helpless seeing all his boys suffer after taking care of them for so long... like a lost father trying his best and seeing how much he's failing at the same time.. man.)

Dust is almost always wrapped in a blanket, the hoodie completely zipped up as if he was trying to hide in it, keeping himself as small as possible (knowing his own breakdowns are the biggest And loudest)

Horror is probably yanked back to the memories of when he was back in his home au, quietly starving and losing all the progress he had with the gang.. trying to press himself against the barriers in hopes that maybe he can feel the others on the other side of it.. (one of his outbursts would be why he ripped off the sleeves of his jacket id assume)

Killer too.. unable to get to anyone and just. with his soul going haywire sometimes, having no available output that he's forced to ride it out on his own And in front of everyone.. yeah, you get the gist for those three

Error's a mess of threads- picks at his clothes and sews em back up, just to have a reason to move his hands. he's not too worried i'd say- it's a little reminiscent of the antivoid, and he's experienced insanity already (not to say it doesn't tug at his own soul-strings to see it happen to everyone else)

Fresh might be the "cleanest" out of everyone, with barely any visible tears, but i have a good feeling his body language is different. maybe the cap is now worn correctly. maybe he took off his jacket. he's tense. his guard is up. because a parasite would never want to be locked up in one place, right?

god.

God.

they make me so sick (message is mine btw)

[jerzwriter]

It's Valentine's Day, and Edenbrook Hospital is filled with balloons, chocolates, repressed feelings, and crossed signals. How will it all work out? (Part 1 of 2)

Book: Open Heart (Book 1) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Featuring: OH Gang Rating: Teen Words: 2,120 Summary: Ethan was never a fan of Valentine's Day, but this year, the day can't end soon enough. But when a chat at the nurse's station leads to disinformation and denial, is there any way the day can improve? Or will things get even worse? (Part 1 of 2)

A/N: This is an AU and not pat of my Ethan/Kaycee headcanon. Participating in @choicesficwriterscreations Valentine's Day Event - "Grumpy character ends up with a blind date on Valentine's Day" and @februarychoiceschallenge2025 - Envy

The fourth-floor nurse’s station looked like a battlefield - a battlefield that had been ambushed by an army of pink and red decorations - but a battlefield nonetheless. Heart-shaped balloons bobbed near the ceiling, their strings haphazardly taped to the counter in a desperate attempt to keep them from floating down the hall. Candy bowls were overflowing with foil-wrapped chocolates, and in the center of it all was an exquisite tray of cupcakes, courtesy of Dr. Sienna Trinh, who had a bright career as a baker ahead if she decided medicine wasn’t her thing. The atmosphere was bright and festive, almost obnoxiously so. And Ethan Ramsey wanted to burn it all to the ground.

If he didn’t need the chart in Nurse Maureen’s hands, he wouldn’t have come within ten feet of the spectacle. But unfortunately, he did. With a resigned sigh, he headed toward the nurse’s station, barely masking his irritation as he gestured gruffly for the chart.

Maureen, either oblivious or deliberately ignoring him, remained immersed in conversation. Around him, the nurses and staff continued their chatter, unconcerned with his rapidly dwindling patience.

“I just love Valentine’s Day!” Nurse Sarah gushed. “The flowers, the candy, the little love notes—I wish we could do this every day!”

“Nope. Overrated,” Jackie countered, flipping through a patient file. “It’s just capitalism preying on the emotionally weak – and it looks like I'm surrounded by that demographic right now.”

“Hey!” Bryce snapped as he bit into one of Sienna's cupcakes. “Not everyone who loves Valentine’s Day is emotionally weak—some of us are just happy to be alive... even if we are tragically single.”

Kaycee, who had been quietly listening, smirked at the banter but kept her gaze fixed on her laptop, anything to avoid making eye contact with Ethan who looked like he was one second away from exploding. She could feel the disapproval radiating from him like a dark cloud and the only saving grace was he hadn’t noticed her – until now.

“Kayce,” Sarah beamed. “What are your plans? I’m sure you have half of Boston lining up to be your Valentine.”

Kaycee hesitated, looking like a dear caught in the headlights as she attempted to come up with a response. Her only plans involved old pajamas, a bottle of cheap wine, her couch, and a lineup of comfort-watch romcoms. But the thought of admitting that—especially in front of him, after everything that had passed between them—made her sick.

“Oh, yeah, actually,” she said, feigning confidence. “I’ve got a... thing tonight.”

“A thing?” Bryce chimed in, eyebrow raised. “You have a thing you didn’t tell moi? I’m wounded, Kaycee.”

“Don’t be,” she smiled, waving him off. “It was a last-minute thing. You know, just… a date.”

The words escaped her before she could stop them, and she regretted them at once.

She wasn’t even sure why she said it—maybe it was because Ethan had been avoiding her since they returned from the conference in Miami, and the sting of rejection was still too fresh. Or, maybe it was because she wasn't about to let him believe she was just sitting around, waiting for him to change his mind.

She finally allowed herself to glance in Ethan’s direction, and their eyes met. His expression remained unreadable, but she didn’t miss the subtle clench of his jaw.

“Really?” Jackie snorted. “A date on Valentine’s Day? Screw Scapel Jockey, why didn’t you tell me? I thought being your roommate would give me some privileges! So spill... who is the lucky dude or dudette?"

Kaycee froze in place. She hadn’t planned on follow-up questions. But now, all eyes were on her, and she was floundering until Bryce swooped in for the save.

Sliding an arm around her waist, he flashed a mega-watt smile. “All right, game time is over. Obviously, it’s me.”

"YOU!" Sienna gasped. “Wait! When did this happen?”

Kaycee glanced up nervously, “It’s just a friendly date,” she insisted, though the blush settling on her cheeks had Ethan doubting her claims.

“Right, friendly,” Sarah said with a knowing wink. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

Without missing a beat, she shifted her attention to Ethan. “And what about you, Dr. Ramsey? Big plans tonight?”

“Hard pass.” He scoffed.

“Oh, come on,” Sarah teased, nudging her long-time colleague. “You must have something lined up!”

Ethan barely looked up. “I do. A plan to avoid all plans.”

Maureen smiled knowingly. “I see you still love Valentine's Day, don't you, Dr. Ramsey?”

Ethan crossed his arms, annoyance etched on his face. “Let’s get one thing straight—I find all holidays frivolous. But one built on forced romance, outrageously overpriced flowers, and mass-produced greeting cards dripping with nonsense no sane person would ever say?” He shook his head. “Frankly, it’s pathetic.”

Kaycee swallowed, diverting her eyes. She wasn’t sure why his words stung so badly, but they did. He wasn’t talking about her specifically, but something about the way he said it – the harsh tone completely dismissing the very concept of love and romance, left her feeling a bit... crushed.

She wasn’t naive - she knew Ethan carried more baggage than he let on, and his walls were built high and reinforced with steel. Still, every now and then when his gaze lingered a second too long or when his hardened exterior softened just a bit, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, a part of him wanted to believe in something, too. But tonight, reality delivred her a harsh reminder.

Forcing a smile, she pushed away from the counter. “Enough Valentine’s Day talk. I have rounds to do, and they aren’t going to take care of themselves.”

“That’s the first sensible thing anyone’s said,” Ethan muttered. He didn’t turn to look at her as she walked away. And, God, how she wished he had.

~~~~~

Later that night, Ethan sat perched on his usual barstool at Donahue’s, scowling into his Scotch. A rogue red crepe streamer fell from the ceiling, landing directly in his drink as if the universe itself was mocking him.

He exhaled sharply, fishing it out with a flick of his fingers. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “This day is a goddamn nightmare.”

From behind the bar, Reggie, who had witnessed the entire ordeal, slid a fresh glass in front of him. “You know,” he said dryly, “for a doctor, you have a very loose grasp of what qualifies as a nightmare.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, a half-smile on his lips. "Well, nightmare is a relative term."

He’d fully intended to spend the night at home, and that's where he wanted to be. But somehow, those plans unraveled in record time. One moment, he was happily rejecting the schmaltzy holiday and the next, he was being bamboozled into a blind date—courtesy of his so-called friend and mentor, Naveen.

He should have seen it coming. The warning signs had been there when Naveen pulled him aside after rounds, his eyes twinkling with fatherly amusement.

“My dear boy,” he’d said in that kind, infuriating tone of his. “I happen to know a very lovely woman who—”

“No.”

“—she’s intelligent, accomplished, and would love to meet—”

“Absolutely not,” Ethan insisted. Yet, here he was.

Naveen had a way of convincing Ethan to do things he had no desire to do. And somehow, against all logic and his better judgment, he’d found himself agreeing to meet some woman here tonight.

He took another sip of Scotch, regretting every decision that had brought him to this point. The only thing worse than waiting for a date he had no desire to be on? Knowing that the only person he wished he could spend the night with was on a date, too - but it wasn't with him.

~~~~~

Kaycee pulled her coat around herself as she hurried down the busy sidewalk, the frigid February air biting against her skin. She hadn’t planned on going out tonight, and she'd still be snuggling solo on her couch if Bryce hadn’t called.

“Come on, MacClennan,” he coaxed, his voice dripping with his usual charm. “Why would you want to spend the night home alone when you could be out with me? Me, Kaycee, me!”

“Bryce,” she smiled, glancing into her mostly empty fridge in search of snacks. “It’s enticing, but...”

“But?”

“But I’ve been looking forward to some quality couch time all day. Besides, you know I'm avoiding any place that remotely reminds me that it's February 14th.”

“Then meet me at Donahue’s!” He insisted. “What could be more anti-Valentine’s Day than that? No romance, all sleep-deprived workaholics drowning away their loneliness.”

“Great,” she said sarcastically. “That sounds like so much fun.”

“It will be fun if we’re there. Come on, Kaycee,” he said, his voice softening. “It may not be some dream date, but it’s better than sitting in your apartment thinking about him.”

That stopped her in her tracks. Bryce knew exactly what he was doing, and damn it, he was right.

If she stayed home, she’d be alone with her thoughts. And no matter how much she told herself she didn’t care about Valentine’s Day - or about him - deep down, she knew the truth. She did miss Ethan. And while a bottle of Yellow Tail Moscato and a pile of chocolate chip cookies could push away the pain for a short time, she knew she was just one Julia Roberts flick away from being buried under a mountain of Kleenex.

“Fine,” she sighed. And that’s how she found herself walking to Donahue’s right now. It could be worse, she thought, reaching for the door. At least she could have a little fun on what was supposed to be the most romantic day of the year.

~~~~~

Ethan’s patience was wearing thin. Lauren was already fifteen minutes late, and if he believed in the divine, he would have taken it as a sign that he should cut his losses and head home. Then his phone buzzed.

“I just parked!” Lauren's text read. “I’ll be there in just a moment!”

“Fine,” he grumbled out loud.

He should have been looking forward to this. At another time, he probably would have. Lauren was perfect on paper - a renowned Harvard professor whose work he respected, intelligent enough to make for a stimulating conversation, and, according to Naveen, a catch. He’d looked her up—tall, beautiful, with wavy chestnut hair and kind blue eyes.

But this wasn’t another time, and right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Ethan exhaled slowly, trying and failing to convince himself this was a good idea. Every instinct screamed at him to leave, but he remained anchored to his chair. He reached for his drink just as the door swung open, a rush of cold air cutting through the bar.

He turned toward it - and his chest tightened.

It wasn’t Lauren.

It was Kaycee.

For a split second, Ethan thought he was imagining things. But no—she was there. She wasn’t dressed for some romantic, candlelit dinner. She was in jeans, boots, and a soft pink cable-knit sweater, her blonde glowing under the bar lights. She looked comfortable, familiar... her... and she took his breath away.

He didn’t think. He didn’t take time to weigh the pros and cons of why stepping closer was a bad idea. Tonight, something in him just moved. His feet hitting the ground before his brain had a chance to catch up. He had every intention of greeting her—what he'd say, he had no idea, but he knew he had to be near her.

He was about to say hello when Bryce appeared from out of the crowd. Grinning from ear to ear, he swooped Kaycee into his arms and spun her off her feet in a playful hug. Ethan couldn't miss the way her face lit up - bright, unrestrained laughter - he hadn’t seen her like that for longer than he cared to admit.

He froze mid-step, something inside him twisting when he heard...

“Ethan?” A soft voice called out. “Ethan? Is that you?”

Lauren smiled at him, completely unaware of the storm raging behind his eyes. “It must be you,” she smiled warmly. There aren't any other handsome, six-foot-five men in here.”

Ethan blinked, forcing himself back into the moment. He finally turned to Lauren, who was even more beautiful in person - exactly the kind of woman who should hold his attention. But over her shoulder, his eyes were focused on someone else.

Kaycee tossed her head back with a laugh, a quick flicker of movement that turned her head in Ethan's direction. Then, their eyes met.

To be continued...

Part two here.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[anonymous-dentist]

A Very Pepito Segment from the Merpepito AU

-

Pepito does Pepito's job.

Pepito cleans the deck. Pepito cuts vegetables. Pepito ties knots.

Pepito eats breakfast. Pepito eats lunch. Pepito eats dinner.

Pepito names Pepito's friend. Pepito's friend is named Gato because that's the only Sky Animal that Pepito knows.

Pepito's friend cries a lot. Pepito doesn't, though! Pepito holds Gato and lets Gato cry into Pepito's shirt. Pepito doesn't cry, though.

Pepito is a Pirate. And Pirates don't cry.

When Pepito was first adopted by Apa Roier, Apa Roier was the only parent there. He didn't even mean to find Pepito, he said, and he should have let someone else find him. Apa Roier already had (has?) a son. He didn't need a Pepito, too.

Pepito understands Apa Roier now more than ever. After all, Pepito is a Bad Pepito. Who wants a Bad Pepito in their house?

...Pepito does his job.

Miss Mouse asked if Pepito wanted to help her with her magic, but Pepito almost said no; Pepito wanted to keep hiding with Gato in his bed. But then Pepito saw Captain Celbi on the deck, and Pepito had agreed.

So now Pepito is with Miss Mouse making water... out of water.

"It's pretty easy, actually," Miss Mouse explains.

She swishes about the cabin with a skip in her step. She's humming under her breath and through her words, which is probably magic. Her hair sparkles like thin strings of sea glass, and her skirt is twice as sparkly.

Miss Mouse, apparently, is Magic. She's like the Sea Witch but better and also not a witch. (I'm a demon!, she always says, whatever that is.)

Every day, Miss Mouse gets a biiiiiiiiig bucket of water from the Ocean, and she makes someone carry it to her cabin (she gets her own, just like Captain Celbi, because her Magic can kind of stink sometimes) so she can turn it into Sky Water.

Ocean water is bad. Pepito can't touch it, and neither can Apa Roier, and nobody on the ship can drink it without getting super sick. But Sky Water is like the water that comes when the Sky breaks. It's safe for Pepitos and Apa Roiers, and it's safe to drink.

Pepito sits on a stool with Gato held tight in Pepito's arms. Both Pepito and Gato have gotten a little white coat to wear to keep them safe from the Magic, and they're both wearing little goggles like Captain Celbi's to keep their eyes safe. Pepito's goggles don't fit super well over Pepito's glasses, but that's fine. Pepito can't complain (literally.)

"All you have to do," Miss Mouse says as she digs through a cabinet, "is trick the water into sneezing."

Pepito tilts Pepito's head with a small, confused frown. What? Water can't sneeze.

"Saltwater has some stuff in it that us land dwellers can't drink," Miss Mouse continues. "So I need to get that stuff out. Technically, it's some chemical expulsion shit, but everyone says that it looks like the water is sneezing. So."

She turns back around to face the cauldron of Ocean Water. She isn't wearing a white coat or goggles, but it's her Magic. She's probably immune to it, lucky!

She has a bottle of stuff in her hand. It looks like pepper. Is it pepper? The water has to sneeze, right?

Honestly, Pepito doesn't know why Miss Mouse asked for Pepito's help. She's been doing everything by herself so far.

(She almost reminds Pepito of Ama Rivers, in a weird way. They both shout the same way when they're surprised, and that's enough to make Miss Mouse trustworthy.)

Miss Mouse takes the lid off of the jar. She hands the lid to Pepito, who holds it carefully away from Gato to keep any of its Magic from getting on him.

Grinning sharply, Miss Mouse looks at both Pepito and Gato. (Her eyes are so pink!! She's so cool...)

"Watch this," she says.

And then she throws a pinch of the Stuff into the cauldron, and the water sneezes. A huge white cloud comes out of the water and spreads throughout the room. It gets into Pepito's mouth and tastes a bit like salt.

Pepito covers Gato's mouth. Just in case.

Miss Mouse cackles so loudly that there's quickly a knock at the door.

"Mouse? You alright in there?" Captain Celbi calls.

Pepito flinches and looks down at the floor.

Miss Mouse shouts, "I'm fine! Don't worry about me!"

There's a pause, and then Captain Celbi asks, "...Is Pepito okay?"

(Pepito is a Bad Pepito. Pepito almost drowned Captain Celbi's son. Pepito is a Bad Pepito.)

"We're fine!" Miss Mouse insists. "If you want to help, go get us some cups so we can test this stuff!"

Pepito doesn't look up from the floor. Gato is crying in Pepito's arms.

Not Pepito, though.

Pepito jumps when a hand touches his shoulder.

Miss Mouse jumps, too, as Pepito jumps. She raises her hands and asks, "Whoah! Sorry! Did the sneeze freak you out that bad?"

Pepito shakes his head. It was kind of cool, actually.

Letting out a breath, Miss Mouse slumps her shoulders in relief.

"Thank goodness," she sighs. "I think your dads would've killed me if I scared you."

Apa Roier doesn't really care about Pepito getting scared. He says that it's part of growing up. Scary things happen, and you have to learn how to deal with them.

But how would Apa Mariana and Apa Carre and Apa Quackity know if the sneezing scared Pepito? They're miles away!

Miss Mouse looks at Pepito.

Miss Mouse looks at Pepito hard.

And then Miss Mouse leans against the cauldron, arms crossing casually. She keeps looking at Pepito, a soft look on her face.

"I was there when he bought that bear, you know," she says, nodding at Gato. "He was so excited, he kept asking Roier if you'd like it and stuff. It was super sweet!"

Both Gato and Pepito look at her with a frown.

"When Richarlyson was younger, Cellbit would get him stuff all the time," she continues, looking to the side and at the door. "Like, I say 'younger', but he's only, like, two years older than you. He just thinks he's older. So he stopped asking for stuff, and Cellbit stopped giving it to him."

She looks back at Pepito, a tiny little smile on her face. "Do you want to learn a magic trick? It'll really surprise him when he gets back here in a few minutes."

Hesitantly, Pepito nods, and Miss Mouse's smile grows.

-

Captain Celbi opens the cabin's door with three cups stacked in his hands. Said three cups all fall to the floor as soon as the Magic hits, though.

Miss Mouse giggles as Captain Celbi just starts sneezing. He's swearing, and he's sneezing, and he's shouting, and he's sneezing, and he's sneezing.

Pepito, holding the Magic Feather, almost smiles before remembering that, right. Captain Celbi. His boss.

So Pepito does his job.

Pepito drops the feather and runs to get some tissues from Miss Mouse's cabinet. He rushes the tissues to Captain Celbi, who takes them and presses them to his nose with a sharp glare pointed right at Miss Mouse.

Miss Mouse, of course, is unbothered.

"Is this a mutiny?" Captain Celbi growls.

Miss Mouse shrugs. "I dunno. Are you still the captain, or did Bagi take over?"

"Of course I'm still the captain. It's my ship!"

"Then it's a mutiny. Come here, Pepito, we need to mutiny harder."

Miss Mouse ignores the sneezing Captain Celbi's protests as she turns back to her cauldron and starts stirring it.

Pepito doesn't join her, though. He can't mutiny! That's illegal!

Grumbling, Captain Celbi takes a seat on the floor so he doesn't fall over with his sneezing. He looks a bit better now that he has the tissues, but he still looks... angry.

Of course he's angry. Pepito is there.

Pepito hurries to get Gato off of the stool he left Gato on.

And then he runs back to Captain Celbi and holds Gato out, looking straight down at the floor.

"Pepito?" Captain Celbi asks, voice all weird and nasally. "What's wrong?"

Why is he pretending? He's smart! Apa Roier says that he's the smartest!

It's easy: Pepito is a Bad Pepito, and so he doesn't deserve his friend anymore. Richarlyson was right about Pepito all along, so he deserves a friend.

Pepito just shakes Gato around a little. He can't say anything, so he doesn't.

Miss Mouse, from the cauldron, hisses, "He's sad! Look at him!"

Pepito- Gato is about to cry again. But Pepito doesn't know why, he wasn't this emotional at the Reef! (But it's really hard to cry when you already live in the water.)

After a moment, Captain Celbi sighs, "Oh, Pepito. Come here and listen to me."

He reaches out, and Pepito's eyes squeeze shut in anticipation.

But then Pepito is pulled into a hug, tugged a few steps closer until Captain Celbi has him on his lap.

A large hand finds itself on the back of Pepito's head.

"I'm sorry about Richarlyson," Captain Celbi quietly says. "I'm sorry if he scared you."

Pepito freezes.

Captain Celbi continues, "He's... I know that you've been avoiding me and Roier for the past couple of days, but you don't need to feel bad. You did what you felt you had to do to protect your friend, right?"

Hesitantly, Pepito nods.

Captain Celbi nods as well. "Then it's alright. I mean, it's not okay, but you're punishing yourself harder than I did."

When Pepito had calmed down that day, Captain Celbi told Pepito very firmly that Pepito wasn't allowed candy until the next time they docked. It's been almost a week since then, and it's been horrible.

"Sometimes," Captain Celbi says, "when you want to protect someone you love, you do bad things. And that's okay. We're pirates, Pepito, we all do bad things sometimes. But as long as you do more good things than bad, then it'll all be okay."

(There is blood under Pepito's nails. Pepito hasn't been able to sleep in months. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to again.)

"Keep your friend," Captain Celbi tells Pepito. "Teach him how to be a good person. You might be a pirate now, but I know you can do it."

...Gato hugs Captain Celbi back.

So does Pepito, after a moment, and he feels like he's drowning. His Inside Gills are all heavy and his chest hurts and he can't breathe.

Captain Celbi sneezes.

And Pepito laughs.

-

("I hate him," Richarlyson says. Plain and simple.

Roier hands him another dish to wash.

"Uh-huh," he says. "Keep working."

And Richarlyson does.)

[mmufanatic]

Headcanons for au where Daisy, Hazel, Alexander, George and Amina have a detective agency together:

-there was some discussion about whether George and Alexander would be allowed in

(Read: Daisy was like 'obviously I need you Watson and Amina is allowed in if course but them? They are our rivals. ' Hazel had to point out that Alexander is the one who can do all the computer stuff and that the rest of them can't even remember where the on button is)

- George organises all the files in chronological, alphabetical and rainbow order. No one can touch them. No one.

- like seriously if George is off sick and they need a file it's just like 'oh well we'll just have to solve the case without it, I'm not incurring his wrath'

- Daisy's desk is a mess but its an organised mess. Alexander's desk isn't recognisable as a desk.

- He once lost a piece of evidence vital to convicting a murderer and had to tear the incident room apart. (He found it dw).Amina is the only one who knows about this and she was sworn to secrecy because he'd never live it down.

- although now she does try to keep him away from anything important

'Alex, could you keep hold of this for me-'

'Oh I'm going over there anyway I'll take it!'

- Nothing on his desk is safe. He is liable to get coffee/ noodles/ blood on important documents (think Donna Noble in Wild Blue Yonder)

-Daisy has a cupboard to herself full of disguises (wigs, hats, glasses- everything)

- she can change outfits up to 5 times a day.

- she INSISTS on having a murder board with string (which George colour codes of course)

'It isn't a waste of space Hazel! It's an excellent visual cue and also its aesthetic!'

(She only really wants it for the aesthetic)

-Hazel keeps the place running but is also the most unhinged

-will calmly walk in after being held at gunpoint for 4 hours and be like 'anyone want a coffee?'

- everyone treats the agency like a crime scene on April Fools Day bc of Amina. Nothing is safe.

- Alexander always gets tricked by her anyway bc he's so naive. Hazel despairs.

[aachria]

Okay so this is extremely irrelevant, like you don’t even have to respond. But I got my bf completely hooked on this fic and he loves it so much. We literally have a sleepover every Sunday, stay up for the update and take turns reading the latest chapter aloud like a bedtime story.

His friend called me the other day, full on geeking out over the sick as fuck upgrades on Ed’s guns. Turns out my bf talked about it so much his mates decided to read it. I used to be terrified of them (they’re all around 6 foot, muscley ash, footy players) until they invited me to a hangout to chill and talk about SSSBMTY, they even had a wall of theories, busted out some red string and everything.

I didn’t even know they watched one piece, I’m pretty sure some of them had never even heard of it before this.

So congratulations, you have successfully infiltrated a group of popular college boys from Australia.

Genuinely I’m so thankful for you and your writing. Idgaf how stupid it sounds but I’ve made friends and my relationship is genuinely better off because of it.

Bae idk how you do this but if you ever get sad just remember there’s a bunch of big ass NRL players on the other side of the world who idolise you.

Srsly you’ve converted them all, one dude just emailed me his fucking ZOSAN COFFEE SHOP AU to proofread. Keep in mind this is an extremely straight, one piece dude bro. I have to teach him about paragraph breaks but it’s very sweet.

Sorry this is so long lmao.

Ok first that's fucking adorable couple activities and I am jealous beyond belief. More than that I'm fucking ELATED you have people to bond with over this fic, words fail to describe how damn happy it makes me to hear about the people who read my work connecting with each other irl. Whether it's you chucklefucks somehow managing to find each other in the wild or infecting people with SSSBMTY like a virus, I just fucking adore you.

I am my own target audience when I write so the fact this fuckin' thing is so far reaching BOGGLES MY MIND. I would give nearly ANYTHING to see this red string theory wall you have no IDEA—

The shot of straight crack to my god complex knowing a bunch of tall buff NRL players think I'm cool is immeasurable and insane. I have a confidence high that will last until I'm dead. I don't know if I'll be recovering from this one, emotionally.

TELL HIM TO DROP THE ZOSAN COFFE SHOP AU WITH PARAGRAPH BREAKS AND MY LIFE IS YOURS—

[somepsychopomp]

give it up for chapter threeeee

Here's a small portion of chapter 3 for my Monster!Athena AU thx

I'm very tired rn so pls enjoy

word count: 1.7k

Three days. 

Odysseus had been trapped inside this cave for three days and three nights. He spent every waking moment longing for his real parents, his sister, his dogs, real food, and his bed. 

His tongue healed after Athena bit him and she put her blessing to good work by rousing Odysseus before the dawn of his second day of captivity to feed him again. He wanted nothing more than to flee from her, but their nest was the size of his bedroom at home and Athena had him trapped in a cage of pillows and soft blankets. She assured him that he would not become sick again, though it offered him little comfort. 

The headless boar, to his surprise, had not a single fly on its torn skin or maggot beneath it. The meat was clean as Athena picked away at it, perhaps her doing as a goddess. Odysseus still had a difficult time eating and doubted he’d ever grow accustomed to the taste and texture or raw flesh. The meat took a great deal of time to chew until he could swallow; Athena noticed this of course, and took to tenderizing eat bit of flesh by mashing it in her sharp beak before passing it to him.

Each bite was faintly warm, bloody, and made Odysseus want to retch. Nevertheless, he ate. He had no choice. 

During the day, a set of heavy wool curtains sealed themselves over the cave entrance to keep the obtrusive sunlight out. Athena took to her more womanly form again, though the knees of her long, feathered legs bent backward and it was unnerving to see a human-shaped face with silver eyes and a gray beak. She took up command at a massive loom set to the side of the cavern, picking up her wooden shuttle wrapped tight in weft yarn, dyed in a shade of red so luminous that Odysseus thought it could’ve been a string of rubies. He spent hours huddled in the nest, doing nothing but watching her work for he was too afraid to disobey her. 

After a long bout of squirming some hours later, Odysseus finally worked up the nerve to call out to Athena.

“P-please…”

Her hands continued to weave the sight of her half-finished smoldering, bloodied battlefield as Athena’s head twisted all the way around like an owl’s. She blinked at him. “Yes, child?”

Odysseus’ lips quivered with his unspoken need. Athena tilted her head, her hands slowing to a stop. 

“Oh, I see. I should have supposed that was something you would require.” 

An unused section of the massive cavern grew a circular pit lined with white pebbles, a pool for bathing. A smaller hole emerged next to it, leading into the depths of the mountain. Odysseus was swift to hover over the hole to pass water. 

He was not sure if it was the sight or sound of it or whether Athena simply thought his disheveled hair and blood-stained clothes were no longer suitable, because she was upon him as soon as he was finished, using her talons to cut away his clothes as he stood petrified in fear. The empty pool filled with water letting off small wisps of steam; Athena took him into her arms and lowered him into it as if he weighed nothing. 

Nooks formed in the wall of the cave, full of soaps and scented oils, and to Odysseus’ humiliation, he was washed by Athena’s hand as if he were nothing more than an infant. Which, in a goddess’ eyes, perhaps he was. He was also certain she nicked him more than once with those claws of hers, but every time he tried to glimpse at his injuries, he could find none. 

Athena dressed him in a fresh chiton dyed in dazzlings shades of gold and silver, fastened by a girdle of equally stunning measure, as if she took metal ore and spun it into thread. He was not permitted shoes, however. 

And that was how he spent his days and nights. Being dressed, fed, bathed, and watched by Athena as she slowly whittled down the boar. Thus far, he supposed the blessing she placed upon him had to be working. He never threw up or was sick again, no matter how badly he would’ve liked to vomit up the meat she fed him. Odysseus ate some flesh from its ribs and side, and his new mother was kind enough to rip open the beast’s belly to rifle through its guts for the precious organ meat. She fed him a good chunk out of its liver, shoving the meal down his throat tiny, lacerated bit by bit. 

Odysseus did not like the feeling of her beak in his mouth. 

He also thought that owls were supposed to be more active at night, but Athena refused to leave him for any length of time. She wore away the hours by giving him oral lessons in history and the art of war, whistling lullabies for him at night, plucking some of her own feathers to bolster his new bed, and kept giving Odysseus nightmares of a red battlefield that left him shaking and sweat-soaked come morning. 

Sometimes she was an owl. Sometimes was a monstrous woman. Always, she was a bit of both. 

When the food finally ran out and not even the boar’s skeleton remained for Athena ate it, she took the form of a massive owl once more and stretched her wings. 

“I must gather more nourishment for us. I will return come morning.” 

She gave him one last preening, moving very slowly to avoid ripping open his scalp again, before approaching the only exit. With her body facing the world beyond, Athena’s head turned all the way around to examine him one last time. 

“Behave, my Odysseus. Amuse yourself but remember you are forbidden from fledging. Do you understand?”

His lips trembled as he said, “Yes, Mama.” 

Athena’s feathers puffed up in satisfaction. She stood at the very edge of the cave entrance, spread her wings, and was gone. It was only about an hour after sunset, which left the entire night at his disposal. Odysseus prayed she would find something like a bull or a horse and not a person. 

He waited a while longer to see if this was some sort of test on his obedience. When it seemed Athena was truly gone for the time being, he threw the blankets off himself and hurried to gather his things. Athena was watchful and clever, but even she fell asleep on occasion. Last night, Odysseus slipped from under her belly and used his hands to pull a few strips of the most viable meat from the boar’s mangled corpse. He seared them over the hearth, not knowing if his dietary blessing would continue after he left the cavern. He wrapped the strips of meat in a spare blanket and tucked it away in a chest full of new clothes for him to grow into. Athena never found it. 

Working as quickly as possible now, Odysseus took the bundle and used a length of yarn from one of Athena’s stashes of crafting resources to secure his food supply to his back. Among the cave’s furnishings, there were also racks of weaponry for Odysseus to eventually train with. He armed himself with a dagger, something light but potentially useful. He had nothing to carry water with, so he forwent that precious resource in exchange for drinking deeply from the cave’s fountain before he left. 

Odysseus didn’t know if Athena blessed his eyes to allow him to see by moonlight or he’d just grown accustomed to the dark after being forbidden from seeing the sun for three days, but he examined the sight of the mountain below him without difficulty. It wasn’t a sheer drop as he originally thought, though the slope was not a gentle one. It was steep and rocky, but if Odysseus went slow and was careful, he could pick his way down to flatter terrain beyond the high mountains. From there, he just had to find a farmhouse, hunter, or anyone able to help him get home. 

Which was all easier said than done, especially when Odysseus was clinging to the side of the mountain, the wind whipping at his hair as he slowly, painstakingly descended. Before long, his palms and the bottom of his feet were bleeding from the rough, stony terrain. Still, he persisted. It must have taken him most of the night to get from the rocky mountain peak to the more forested regions below. He was trembling from head to foot from exertion, his mouth dry as sand as his stomach growled. Odysseus hid himself under a shady tree and devoured most of his rations without hesitation, leaving himself with only some scraps and a blanket to protect himself should he still be in the woods come the next nightfall. 

“Home, home...” he kept whispering to himself, reminding himself of why he kept walking even when he wanted to surrender, lay himself down, and sleep. 

Odysseus picked his way through the trees and undergrowth, eyes constantly flickering toward the sky. After another hour of walking and bleeding, he could not longer stand it and had to stop. Odysseus used his dagger to rip apart his blanket and made an attempt to fasten the scraps around his feet to offer even a little protection and to slow his bleeding. He didn’t even think about it, but it was possible Athena would spot his trial of blood and use it to track him, too. Meanwhile the horizon gradually transformed from dark blue to blinding shades of red and gold as the sun came up. 

Odysseus watched the sky dance with colors, the clouds steeped in shades of pink, and sighed with bliss as the first ray of sunlight hit his face. He didn’t see Athena overhead, but he could guess when she returned home based on the way the trees also shook from a fierce gale and flocks of birds fled in terror. 

He was certain he didn’t have much time anymore. 

[p0rk-guts]

waitt but what's different about your ocified velvette... i like her a little but find myself wanting more substance from her in canon tbh

TEEHEE WHAT A GOOD QUESTION I TOTALLY DIDN'T SET PPL UP TO ASK ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay sew me and @ajistorpid were talking and they inspired a good chunk of my ideas so you can blame them for feeding my sick delusions.

Read more just like last time bc I talk too much sorry but there's art in there too oooo you should look u should read my ramblings

As far as I know, Velvette has no canon age at death, cause of death, or death date so based on what we know we just crafted our own headcanons. AJ proposed she might've had parents who ran one of those family vlog channels with her as the face of it, becoming a child influencer under her parents' control. I was thinking she could've been a child model- yk like. dance moms or something. Idk I don't remember what was happening on that show— anyways. Yea

Either way she grew up constantly controled and perfection was her standard. All of her outside thoughts and feelings and interests and opinions were constantly dismissed in favor of what made her more marketable. She never did get that popular in life tho, and her mentors always shamed and blamed her for it.

Idk if this is canon or not, but the idea of the sinners designs reflecting their vices or things they regreted or hated in life is an untapped gold mine to me so that could explain where Velvette's supposed doll and clown themes come from. Became a toy dressed up and paraded around for the entertainment of others + joke never taken seriously. She'd hate that

(As for how that ties into my redesign…. me and AJ were thinking she could be a vampire doll, but I'm not sure IDK I wanna sketch that out and see what it's giving)

In hell she easilly fell back into this warped facsimile of her old life bc it was all she knew. "she feels some form of pseudo control and enjoyment because she has no one pulling her strings now" (<-AJ) SHE'S running things!!! Who's the puppet now!!!!!!

Then THAT had me thinking too because now that I think about it. Why Is she the backbone of the V's?? She's like. An undergrad student in my mind at the MOST and Vox and Val are two men pushing 40 I'm sure. I think a big part of it is the fact that those two are almost complete and utter buffoons who let their emotions cloud their actions constantly, Valentino most obviously but even tho Vox seems more composed like when he's talking Val down from his outburst and when he was talking to the press, we can still see he's a total mess—especially where Alastor is concerned. He lost it so bad during their duet HE SHORTED PENTAGRAM CITY'S POWER.

Now out of all the V's we've seen the least of Velvette (I'd call it what it is but yall gon get real mad at me), The most we really got out of her character was the overlord meeting (and despite her huge ego and unruly behavior she did end up speaking facts), so maybe she Is just as unstable as them in canon but canon is SHIT and this isn't about canon anymore. In my mind she's very much in charge of the back end of their work. Vox is obviously the head of the operation—or at least he seems like it to me—what with the tech company having his name and with him answering the interviews, but I think that's all he is. The figure head. Velvette is the brain behind it all. When Vox proposes new buisness endeavors off the cuff she's the one who goes back and makes sure they're getting handled properly because he doesn't really dig into the backend of how things happen. Vox goes to most of the conferences or whatever (Vel's too busy running her shows and serving cunt after all) but Vel follows up on what was learned.

(also yeah all that makes this very much an au of an au bc it'd take a lot of radical changes for the two of them to be friends I think. It's fun to imagine anyway)

Quoting AJ here bc I'm bad at paraphrasing and they said it well:

"And if we're going to make her sympathetic, (obviously not excusing her enabling a rapist) Val and Vox are grown ass men and she never got to experience the world outside a camera

Velvette is easily malleable with no real relationships!! Some victims tend to gravitate towards people who are similar to their abusers the only exception is that she feels like she has control this time"

THIS this. THIS! Okay uhh vague personal experience w/ abuse cw ig. skip this paragraph if you don't wanna hear it. But It kinda reminds me of my relationship with my parents- NOT THAT I SEE THEM AS TWO DADS AND A DAUGHTER I DO NOT BELIEVE IN THAT NOTION IN A POST PILOT WORLD If future content proves me wrong it proves me wrong but at this moment they're all equals in my mind (…and I hc them as poly BUT WE'LL GET THERE) but In my situation it's like. I hate my parents for the abuse they've caused me, my mom more than my dad bc she's satan incarnate, but there are still things I like about my dad and. Tolerate. About my mother. We still can talk cordialy and spend time together, have fun together even, and I show affection to them, but deep down I know I wanna cut my mom off later and maybe my dad too depending. Additionally my mom is completely Incompatent and pulls none of her weight so despite it all I've been forced to pick up the slack and become half the brains of this family. I do chores she should take care of. Handle money. Make important decisions about our health and safety she doesn't care about.

AAAny ways. This is so my version of Velvette. No I'm not projecting (I am). She pulls a big chunk of the weight around there (some of it being carried by Vox and virtually none by Val). She's very close with the two of them but isn't a fan of everything they do (Cares more for Vox than Val in my mind). Speaking of, she definitely isn't some saint now, she still makes the love potions and is Impassive to both Val and Vox's behavior, but part of that Is her just seeing it as part of the business. Shady practices and exploitation are par for the course in any business to her. She never truly grew out of the harmful mindsets ingrained into her by whoever her enabling caretakers were in life and they're still apparent in hell. (Maybe she even experienced some of the darker sides of exploitation in life but was groomed into thinking it was okay contributing to why she doesn't see Valentino's actions as heinous. Idk. thinking on it)

Circling back to my poly V's idea. Idk it just seems plausible to me. Vox and Val already have their whole thing going on, they all live together, and they all have nicknames for each other (Vox calling her my dear, Val calling her baby doll, Vel calling Vox darling). Ik that could just be their personalities and the pet names don't have to mean anything more but this is MY au and my word is gospel hope this helps. It just makes sense

I could go on and ON about the toxic insanity of the Poly V's in my mind— particularly between Vox and Valentino— but this is NOT their post so maybe next time. As for Velvette, I get the vibe that she'd be intimate with both of them and enjoy it but she's never the one to initiate anything. Sometimes they're all like this 🤞🏾 and others the boys are a complete turn off to her (main example being the difference in her attitude towards Vox in episode 3 vs episode 8). Her tolerance of them flips on a dime depending on how they're acting. She also prefers to be a casually entertained observer to VoxVal more often then not (ex. end of episode 8 imo)

Boys aside. My Velvette is still a social media influencer and she's all about advertising. advertising products (like the love potion), clothing looks, technology... Heck even herself. "You're nobody if you don't wear this or use this or look like this ^ - ^". Projecting on her even further by making her have a love/hate relationship with her profession aka the modeling aspect of it: she's always had a genuine love for fashion and dressing up but the internal pressure for perfection she's placed on herself makes it hard for her. She's very hard on her models and designers bc of this

Couldn't think of a segway for this but also WHAT HAPPENED TO VELVETTE WANTING TO FIGHT THE ANGELS??? The "full assault plan" against the angels??? And then when the fight actually came they were all just lounging around watching it go down like it was afternoon tv????? This isn't even a "we'll get to it in season 2" thing did they honest to god forget? Did that line not mean anything??

Well I didn't forget and it's pissed me off since my first rewatch of that meeting scene. Don't think we don't know how the V's got the angel head, but In my head Velvette was the one who initially proposed the idea for an assault against heaven and her insatiable need to feel respected and feared only spurred this plan on, incredible risk be damned.

It also felt weird to me that Velvette just. Let it go when Carmilla said the meeting was over. Just. "Oh ok! Plan cancelled no more attacking heaven ^ - ^ I'm gonna go scroll for the rest of the show!" Hu h. My au-ified Velvette would definitely fight her on it— if she thought killing angels would change the game and Carmilla held the secrets behind it she would pry! Blow up at her about it until she wasn't getting results and bitterly storming off with as much composure as she could muster. Not wanting to team up with Carmilla but find some way to use her for all she was worth and get her way in the end, use the power and resources the V's had to actually make a plan. Would it have worked without the Morningstars? Eh. Either way I'm sure she could delude herself into thinking they were the most powerful people in hell. Ugh I don't wanna make an au rewrite of the show and I that was never my plan so idk where that'd go but. Yea

ANYWAYS anyways. wow you made it to the end somehow! Here's your treat :3

Context u didn't ask for: Some days Velvette overwhelms herself with her own impossible expectations. Nothing she creates or puts out is good enough. She gets extra anxious about her following; nothing's happened to them, but what if they see the miniscule flaw in her latest clothing that she sees? What if she's no longer perfect? (Even worse in the vamp Velvette redesign of her bc she literally feeds off their attention and admiration)

She'll snap at everyone and disapprove of every look and then hole herself away somewhere where she crashes and is just. So. Tired. But she'll be out of it the next day, ready to keep the conveyor rolling.

[marveltrumpshate]

April 2025 MTH fills

The best way to see all the fills that have been shared with us is our monthly roundups tag or our #MTH-fills channel on our Discord, but you can also view them through the following methods:

Our Tumblr tags: 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024

Our AO3 collection (only has works posted to AO3; see "subcollections" for specific auction years)

Completed works tag list

To find specific content, use our completed works tag lists above which includes instructions on how to search for a particular character, gen or romantic relationship, universe, and fanwork type. 

SOLO CHARACTERS

Bucky Barnes

tipsy kitty - Podfic of "Fruits," a Harry Potter/MCU fusion fic where Bucky and Draco bond over their love for plums and apples, respectively for EvilDime

Natasha Romanov

@artgroves - Pastel painting of MCU Nat inspired by the Captain America quote, "A flag is a piece of cloth," and styled after the 1943 American wartime "We can do it" poster by J. Howard Miller for @maia-saura (also on AO3) (MTH 2023)

Tony Stark

@bulkyphrase - Set of wooden alphabet blocks inspired by the Iron Man movies for @sofreakinmanyfandoms

Naivelittleprincess/@sunnysideprincess - Art of MCU Tony lounging on a bed in a silk bathrobe with the candles lit behind him and a rose in front of him for @starkparade

GEN/PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS

Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson

@somesortofitalianroast - "Of meet uglys, scavenger hunts, and Christmas in Evergreen" (AU fic where Bucky, a senior sales associate for Hydra, goes to Evergreen, Vermont, for business and meets Steve and Sam) for @kalika999

@spagbol99 - "Home Sweet Home" (post-TFATWS Bucky & Sam fic where Sam crashes at Bucky's place in Brooklyn because his work as Cap makes it hard for him to go home) for @oper1895 (MTH 2023)

Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers

@tessabennet - "All the Colours" (spin-offs, missing scenes, and alternative views on the events in the MCU Bucky/Steve series, "What I'm Looking For") for @hipsterdiva

Dum-E & FRIDAY & Karen & U & Vision

ReformedTsunderePodfics (ReformedTsundere)/@film-in-my-soul - Podfic of "Tony Stark's Meddling Kids," an MCU Bucky/Steve/Tony fic where Tony's bots and A.I.s play matchmaker for @aquatigermice

Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers

somesortofitalianroast - "Of meet uglys, scavenger hunts, and Christmas in Evergreen" (AU fic where Bucky, a senior sales associate for Hydra, goes to Evergreen, Vermont, for business and meets Steve and Sam) for kalika999

Loki & Mobius

@kcscribbler - "Lost in a Dream" (Loki & Mobius post-Loki S2E1 hurt/comfort fic) for @an-asgardian

SHIPS

Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

ReformedTsunderePodfics (ReformedTsundere)/film-in-my-soul - Podfic of "In Sickness," an A/B/O Bucky/Steve/Tony AU fic where Bucky and Steve take care of a sick Tony for aquatigermice - Podfic of "Tony Stark's Meddling Kids," an MCU Bucky/Steve/Tony fic where Tony's bots and A.I.s play matchmaker for aquatigermice - Podfic of "You Have My Sword As Well As My Heart," a medieval secret relationship knight Bucky/knight Steve/king Tony AU fic for aquatigermice

Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark

@maukree - "Operational Integrity" (616 Cap Bucky/Director of SHIELD Tony mutual pining fic) for @massivespacewren

raggedyred/@raggedyhive - "Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne / And teach the woods and waters to lament" (What If..? 1602 Bucky/Tony fic where Tony invites himself to a heist and a murder being planned and his complicated relationship to Bucky comes to the surface) for @massivespacewren

James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Steve Rogers

Rufferto/@rufferto9 - MCU art of Rhodey standing in front of a shelf with Steve's and his belongings and Steve and Rhodey lounging in bed for @tehroserose

Loki/Tony Stark

Black Feather Fiction/@black-feather-fiction - "The Spinner's Night Song" (MCU Loki/Tony fic where Loki visits Tony because he wants to fix the time loom) for @seventinel, @trickstersfolly, @starkparade, and Sat16

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Cluegirl - "Harbor Lights" (the second installment of "Salvage Rights," an A/B/O Regency AU fic where Steve and Tony enter into an arranged marriage after a false bonding with a scheming Sunset leaves Tony's mind and heart in tatters) for @chibisquirt (MTH 2019) (finished in March 2025)

Naivelittleprincess/sunnysideprincess - Art of Endgame Steve looking terrified as he catches a surprised Tony looking at Steve's compass which has Tony's picture in it for @whinysteve

SteveTony Weekly/@stevetonyweekly - 616 and MCU Steve/Tony "team bonding/team as family" fic rec list for @a10wea

[shotmrmiller]

So I was reading your Price color soulmate au and...

What if...

His wife is ALSO your soulmate?

Or what if it's a True Triangle thing with your soulmate being Price but Price's soulmate being Price's wife but her soulmate is YOU?!

Or what if neither of them are soulmates but both just gave up on finding their soulmate either because they both haven't found it or Price haven't found his and his wife's soulmate died?

nah too easy. i like a real gut wrenching angsty story esp when things just don't go your way cuz now we gotta continue trucking on. feels satisfying in a way like his wife not being an unbearable bitch either? just a woman who married your fated but it's not like anyone can see the red string that ties you and your her husband together.

makes it ache real nice and bittersweet endings are so good for my soul but i'm just extremely biased to hurt/no comfort

i have an ending in mind that just kinda shows how it all wraps up and yknow as they say: misery loves company.

(tknow what would be sick tho? having that splash of color soulmate au but with that 141 betrayal thing and one of they guys admits that you're their responsibility (to get info out of cuz soulmates) and at the first crack of bone, the color goes out anyway. ooooo a heartbreak so intense the connection is cut off forcibly. HOW TO REGAIN THAT BACK once the truth comes to light, i wonder?)

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Long Fic Titles (8+ Words) (6) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five

5 times Dani wants to say “I love you” to Fi, and 1 time she actually does (ao3) - noxhsw

Summary: 5+1 themed sappy 2009 scenemo Dan and Phil yuri. Because why not.

a cat's not just for phantober. this is forever (ao3) - purpurussy

Summary: Fluffy oneshot based on the "cat" prompt for phantober!

ain't gotta tell me (it's just in my nature) (ao3) - lesbaurinkos (pluginbaby)

Summary: It’s really, really fucking nice, looking in the mirror and seeing something that feels right for the first time since uni, probably. Since the stint when she’d chopped her hair off her first year just to get scared and grow it back out, brushed it off on YouTube as a tomboy phase and run back away from the thing that she thinks she’s always sort of known. The thing that’s prickled under her skin every time she’s put on a dress for an event, makeup for a video, and pretended it’s who she is.

She’s been sick of pretending for a long time now.

(or: fi gets The Chop™)

and you're back again, only different than before (ao3) - dancingroses

Summary: dan used to disappear at odd hours without his phone, leaving phil to sit around anxiously waiting for him to come home. things have been better since wad. when dan takes a morning to himself to process the reality of the terrible influence tour, phil is forced to confront just how much this little habit of dan's used to affect him.

As The World Caves In (it’s you that I lie with) (ao3) - amzingmati

Summary: Doomed au inspired by the song As The World Caves In.

A short au for the phanniversary :)

I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil have a death pact. Or so Phil thinks, sending out a tweet after they finish going over their wills with a lawyer.

i had sworn to myself i'm content with loneliness (‘cause none of it was ever worth the risk) (ao3) - misbhvdan

Summary: Soft guitar strings are playing from the shitty laptop speaker. Dani recognises the song immediately. She’s been listening to it on her iPod daily for over a month, thinking of Fiona every time like the lovesick puppy she is.

There’s no voiceover in the video, just the girl cutting her own hair into Fiona’s desired haircut with a frankly ridiculous music choice in the background.

Who puts a fucking love song in the background of a hair tutorial?

- Dani gives Fiona a haircut.

if you weren't mine (i'd be jealous of your love) (ao3) - phook

Summary: dan and phil reminisce.

everything’s still romantic after fifteen years.

in your high heel boots and your painted-on jeans (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: After a fight, Dan drowns his sorrows in bourbon.

Perfect like a picture, even when they look through the grains (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil having a cozy night in with red wine, taking photos for a holiday card and taking videos for each other.

please i've been on my knees (change the prophecy) (ao3) - theend1snear

Summary: Phil thought that the universe must have been playing some kind of trick on him, because why couldn't he love Dan back?

Stand clear of the closing doors (The next stop is: 28th Street) (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil are in New York on tour and agreed to meet a friend across the city, so having taken lots of trains around the world like the grown adults they are, they get on the subway. Except when the conductor calls out the next stop at 28th Street, they realize they've made a big mistake.

The altar is my hips, even if it's a false god (we'd still worship this love) (ao3) - philsslit

Summary: As she watches Dani dance around in that incredibly short skirt she is filled with a mixture of love and lust. She can't take her eyes off of her.

or

dan and phil are lesbians. featuring sister daniel. and strap. that's it that's the fic.

the chill of his breath, the work of his hands (ao3) - Celeste (artificialmac)

Summary: “You can’t die before me,” he rushes out, wincing internally as the words leave his lips.

Or: Dan gets in his head after filming with the Sims 4 Life and Death pack.

the world is my oyster and i’m the only girl (ao3) - cutekai

Summary: it all starts with a piece of fabric

What if we kissed in the backrooms door (ao3) - The_local_trash_bag

Summary: Dan and Phil are lost in the backrooms. They don’t know when they’ll get out but at least they have each other to keep them sane.

what would you do (if they never found us out) (ao3) - weuspronouns

Summary: It's Vidcon 2015 and Phil checks out after two drinks. Despite it going against their every rule, a tipsy Dan decides to visit his hotel room anyway.

when people that said it was raining all the time (i see sunshine cause i know that you are mine) (ao3) - Atlantis_51

Summary: Phil waits in the cold. He waits until his fingers ache from the breeze that rushes through them. He waits until the crowd dwindles down and he’s left all alone standing alongside the train tracks. He waits until the call aboard the last train rumbles through the high walls of Manchester Train Station. He even waits a little longer, just in case.

// Dan doesn't show up at the train station on that fateful Oct 19th, 2009.

when the train came it was so big and powerful (ao3) - r1caner

Summary: It is 2009, and things are going to change. Dan thinks so, anyway.

a dnp fic for the 15th 19th of october.

When you see me, will you say I've changed? (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan has an identity crisis while touring We’re All Doomed and spontaneously moves to New York City to feel like he’s doing something good and productive with his life, running a bodega in Crown Heights alongside his new companion, a chaotic orange cat named Clint.

It’s a story about New York, and the quirks of owning a stray orange cat.

It’s also a story about trust and community, and handling the dissonance between the people and places we call home.

When you're in the mirror, you're just looking at me (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: A morning, in a hotel during the tour. Dan thinks about tours past and present.

-

brat and it's the same but it's about dnp so it's not

you can drive me down to florida and fuck me for days (ao3) - cutekai

Summary: codependency unlike no other

you should’ve raised a baby girl (i should’ve been a better son) (ao3) - thislifedoesnotexist

Summary: Fiona has had a best friend, and she’s had a crush, and Dan is both and neither and something new and transcendent altogether.

(2009 and it’s the same but they’re transfem so it’s not)