#but i feel bad posting as it is so... just a tiny tiny snippet

[heyimkana]

for my fellow jinwoo girlie @princeizuku

[valdevia]

Very funny that tumblr is having discourse about whether my art is misinformation or not, after I've been posting it all over the internet for years without any controversy. So let's talk about it!

I know people arguing are a vocal minority, but I'm not going to dismiss anyone's concerns. It's an actually interesting topic that I really consider, and it touches some important issues in society. So here's my (rambly) two cents.

My art is meant to misdirect, in some way. Photomanipulation and the tone I typically use are meant to briefly confuse the person reading it into thinking they're hearing a real story, at least for a few seconds.

The Intended Experience™

In this sense, I feel like my art can be misinformation! And it's not only people who don't think critically about things like "how come I never heard about mermaids being real before?".

So, no disrespect to anyone that fell for one of my pieces! My work plays with reality, so if you fell for it for more than a minute, it just means my tone and style worked a little too well for you! And there are legitimate reasons to be confused when you see something online, too. For example, there are people who can have trouble telling real and fictional things apart. When you post something that goes out to a million people, you'll get one million different reactions.

That's why I always take care to make it really clear, outside the main piece and snippet of text, that my art is no more than fiction. There are tags, the tone of my account, even my profile picture is meant to reinforce this. I also have a website which, in part, is meant to capture the clicks of people to wonder if my stuff is real and google it, so they can find a real source that's clearly an art website. You can try googling "mycelium infection 1806" or "pupillosarcoma" to see how my website tends to appear first.

If I get this comment I know I've done something believable!

But let's say, for the sake of argument, that my art wholly constitutes misinformation. What we need to understand is that misinformation is not the same as disinformation. Misinformation is just incorrect information. It's your grandma seeing a little bit of a found footage movie on TV and thinking it really happened. She might be spooked, but nobody is harmed. Disinformation is false information that's purposefully crafted and spread in order to cause harm, division, or further a political view.

Now I ask you: what real world harm does my art create? The worst that can happen is that a tiny percentage of those that see it get a little scared thinking a weird bug is real, or that mushrooms really grow on faces, or that scientists have released millions of trilobites into the oceans. Is that really that bad?

Anyway, that's my take on the topic! I'm obviously biased, but this being my style, I do put a lot of thought into it and I'm always open to people's opinions! (Just don't scream at random people on the replies or you'll get blocked!)

[chadobi]

Okay, I’ve recently been in the mood to write something about 2012 Leo, so I hope you enjoy it! I’d also like to apologize for the number of tags in my previous posts, etc. I’m still learning how Tumblr works, so thank you for pointing it out, and I hope it’s all good now! Either way, happy reading!

“Letters Never Sent”

TMNT 2012 Leonardo x Reader

You never meant to find the box.

Really, you didn’t. You had just come by the lair to return Donnie’s tablet and maybe hang around long enough to catch Leo before patrol. It wasn’t like you planned to snoop. But when Donnie told you Leo was already out and that your missing notebook wasn’t in the lab, you figured—just maybe—it had ended up in Leo’s room.

The notebook was important. It had your training notes in it, doodles, even a few snippets of poetry you’d never admit to writing out loud. But mostly, it had Leo’s handwriting in the margins—small corrections, comments, thoughts from your shared training sessions. That made it special.

His room was tidy, of course. Not obsessively clean, but well-kept in that disciplined way that just was Leo. Sword racks on the walls. A few cracked comics under his bed. A blue blanket thrown over a floor cushion that doubled as a reading spot. The air smelled like old books, tea, and faintly of whatever incense Master Splinter had lit earlier that evening.

You were just about to give up when your hand brushed something behind a stack of old comic volumes on the shelf. A cardboard box—plain and unassuming—worn around the corners, like it had been opened and closed more times than it should have. You shifted it toward the light, blinking at the neat label stuck to the top:

To Y/N — letters never sent

Your chest constricted.

There was something achingly intimate about it, like finding someone’s diary with your name on the first page.

You hesitated.

Then you sat down on the edge of his bed and opened the box.

Inside were layers of folded paper—some crisp, some worn thin like they’d been read over and over. Napkins, corners of pizza boxes, torn notebook pages. One had a coffee ring stain on it. Another was sealed with blue painter’s tape. At the very bottom, there was a tiny origami turtle with your name carefully inked on its shell in looping, delicate script.

You stared. Then slowly, reverently, picked up the first letter and unfolded it.

Dear Y/N,

Mikey made a dumb joke again tonight—said Donnie should get a PhD in “Mutant Mayhem Management.”

Everyone laughed.

You laughed too.

I don’t think you noticed, but when you laugh, your nose scrunches slightly. Not in a bad way. In a way that makes it impossible to look away.

I laughed too, but not at the joke.

I was laughing because you were laughing. Because your happiness makes me feel like maybe the world’s not so broken.

— Leo

You swallowed hard.

This wasn’t just a silly crush. These weren’t random musings. These were confessions—tiny glimpses of thoughts he’d never shared, pieces of a quiet heart too cautious to speak them aloud.

Your fingers moved to the next one without even thinking.

Y/N,

We were on the roof last night. Do you remember? The wind was colder than usual. You asked if I was okay. I said I was fine.

I lied.

I’m not okay. I’m scared. I’ve fought mutants, robots, aliens… but this is scarier.

Because I think I’m falling for you, and I don’t know how to say it.

I’ve always been the leader. The protector. The strategist.

But around you… I just want to be Leo.

— Leonardo

You felt something warm and sharp and real press against your ribs. A ache, but not a painful one. You could almost hear his voice in the words—stiff, deliberate, like he had to wrestle each letter down on paper.

The next few letters spilled out more of the same: thoughts, memories, little daydreams. He noticed everything about you, from the way your hands moved when you spoke passionately, to how you always stood a little closer to him when the city felt unsafe. He wrote about the first time he saw you cry. About how he wished he knew what to say when you did. About how he practiced telling you how he felt but never got past “hey” before chickening out.

Some of them were funny. One was an apology for nearly knocking you over during sparring. One was a list of reasons why he wasn’t going to give you a letter, followed by a reason that simply said:

“Because you deserve someone better than me.”

That one made your throat tighten the most.

You didn’t hear the door open.

“Y/N?”

You froze.

Leonardo stood in the doorway—gear still on from patrol, blades strapped to his shell, blue mask untied and trailing behind his neck. His eyes went from you, to the box, and then to the open letters scattered across his bed like his heart had been spilled out in paper form.

His entire face went pale.

“I—” he stammered, voice cracking. “What are you doing?”

You looked up, eyes wide, caught in a mix of guilt and heartbreak. “I didn’t mean to. I was just looking for my notebook. Then I saw my name.”

Leo stepped forward slightly, then stopped like the floor might break beneath him. “You weren’t supposed to read those.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of one of the letters.

“Leo… these are beautiful.”

His mouth opened. Then closed. He looked away, jaw clenched.

“I was gonna throw them out,” he mumbled. “They were stupid.”

“They’re not.” You stood slowly, holding one of the letters like it might fall apart. “They’re… honest. They’re you. Why would you hide this from me?”

He gave a weak, humorless laugh. “Because I’m not good at this. I’m not like Mikey, or Raph, who can just… say things. I’m quiet. I freeze up. I overthink. I thought maybe if I wrote it down, I could get it out of my system.”

You stepped closer. “And did you?”

He looked at you. Really looked. And for the first time, his voice softened into something fragile.

“No. It just made me love you more.”

The world fell still.

Your chest rose with a trembling breath. Then you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out something small—creased, folded, worn with time.

A note.

You placed it in his hand. “Then you should probably read this.”

Leo unfolded the paper carefully, fingers trembling.

I think I love the way he carries the world like it’s nothing.

I think I love the way he speaks like silence is holy.

I think I love him.

But I’m scared he’ll never feel the same.

His hands dropped to his sides, eyes never leaving yours.

“You wrote this?”

You nodded.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Then slowly—awkwardly, cautiously—he reached for your hand. His was calloused, rough from years of training, but warm and steady.

“You mean it?” he asked softly.

“I do.”

His voice cracked again. “Then I’m really going to kiss you.”

You blinked. “Okay.”

It wasn’t perfect. Your noses bumped a little. His hand hesitated at your waist, unsure if it belonged there. But when his lips touched yours—soft, gentle, reverent—it was everything you’d imagined in the lines of those letters and more.

When he pulled back, his cheeks were scarlet. “That wasn’t too weird, was it?”

You smiled and rested your forehead against his. “No. It was you.”

_____________

Later that night, the box remained on his bed—still open, no longer a secret.

You lay together under his blanket, side-by-side, fingers intertwined as you read every letter together. He buried his face in your shoulder each time you teased him, and you kissed the tips of his fingers each time he got flustered.

Some letters made you laugh. Some made you cry. All of them made you love him more.

Eventually, you held the final one in your lap, the tiniest origami turtle of them all.

“What was this one for?” you asked, lifting it gently.

Leo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “That was going to be the one I gave you… if I ever got brave enough.”

You smiled.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you whispered, leaning in.

“Why?”

“Because now I get to hear it from you.”

And he did. In whispers. In kisses. In quiet, unspoken promises sealed not with ink, but with arms around each other, breathing the same soft rhythm into the night.

[artchvies]

⭐️ tiny snippet of an abo au i’ll be posting later for oscar’s birthday!! was meant to go up right after china but… procrastination won

“You’re being weird,” Oscar says.

Lando’s almost inside his driver room when he hears it.

It’s just the two of them now, in the secluded corner where their rooms sit, tucked away from everything else.

“You’re—fuck, you’re the one who’s weird,” Lando says, too fast.

Oscar just looks at him. That way he does. Blank and thoughtful.

“I’m going to shower in my room before the flight,” he says eventually. “Still sticky.”

“I—yeah. Same.” Lando winces. His hands do an awkward little gesture. “I’ll—uh. See you.”

Oscar hums. Doesn’t say anything else. Just slips inside and shuts the door behind him.

Lando stands outside his own room for a beat too long. Then stumbles in, wet and itchy and out of breath—and doesn’t even move to the shower.

He stands there in the middle of the room, eyes closed, and thinks about Oscar. Naked. In the shower. Water sliding down his chest. The moles on his skin. His hips. His mouth. That scent curling thick in the steam, heavy and honeyed and sweet.

“Fucking perv,” Lando mutters. Pathetic. He’s absolutely down bad.

And hard. Really hard. Just from the idea of it.

Minutes later, Lando’s standing outside Oscar’s room like a fucking idiot. Hand raised mid-air, heart going a mile a minute. Still damp. Still in his race suit. Still half-hard, like a teenager.

He tells himself he’s not here because of the scent. That he’s not responding to the ghost of slick in the air, to the phantom of Oscar’s mouth around that fucking bottle.

He knocks.

The door opens. And—fuck.

Oscar’s hair is still damp, curling soft at the ends. Cheeks flushed. Race suit still peeled down and tied low at his waist, waistband dipping low on his hips. His scent patch is barely hanging on now, the gland underneath it flushed, skin dewy. He didn’t shower.

Oscar doesn’t smile. Don't say hi. Just tilts his head a bit and looks at him.

“You alright?” he asks, quiet.

Lando blinks. “Yeah. I—I just thought maybe—” he stutters, then laughs, rough and embarrassed. “Fuck. Never mind. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

He turns. Starts to go. He means to go. But then—

“Lando.”

It’s soft. Almost like a question. Lando freezes.

Oscar’s voice follows, lower, hesitant. “Do you ever get… keyed up? After races like this? After a win?”

“What do you mean?” Lando’s voice is tight, raw.

“Tried to take the edge off just now,” Oscar murmurs. “Didn’t work.”

Lando stills. Feels his pulse trip. “Tried how?”

Oscar’s quiet for a second too long. Then: “You know how.”

Lando turns, finally. Full body. Slow, like anything faster would break the spell.

Oscar’s leaning against the door now, bare throat exposed, cheeks warm. That scent is curling under the patch—rich and sweet, low-burning. Lando breathes it in and feels it hook deep.

“I shouldn’t’ve said anything,” Oscar says quickly, starting to shift back. “Just—forget it.”

But Lando’s already closing the distance. One step. Two. Drawn in like gravity’s gone crooked.

“You said it to me,” Lando whispers. “You could’ve had anyone. Anyone.”

Oscar blinks. “I didn’t want anyone.”

Lando swallows. It sticks in his throat. “Then what do you want?”

There’s a pause. Long. Weighted.

Then, so quiet it barely counts as sound: “You. I think.”

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto's First Kiss Chapter 9 Update

Okay so Shoto's First Kiss Chapter 9 is almosttttt done! I've just about finished writing it out but it's gonna need hella edits, so expect it to drop next weekend or Valentine's day weekend? Thanks for your patience here all! It will be a 40-50 page chapter. There's a lot to cover!!!

Posting a snippet of Chapter 9 below as a holdover - the plot is ofc subject to change! But want you to enjoy a lil dramaaaa while you wait! :)

“Well…” Toru says nervously into the phone.

“What?” Hitoshi says blankly, turning to you for an explanation about your friend’s uneasiness with that piece of the plan.

“So. Um. Mineta didn’t volunteer to be our distraction out of the kindness of his heart.” You say awkwardly as Hitoshi’s tired eyes bore into your own. “We promised him that he’d get to kiss me in exchange for his services as bait for Mr. Vlad.”

“Damn. Offering sexual favors in exchange for services rendered? You guys are way more hardcore than I thought.” Hitoshi actually looks impressed. “So hopefully Mineta didn’t say anything about that fun little bargain to Mr. King after he got caught. Sexual Quid Pro Quo is definitely grounds for some kind of legal action or punishment.”

The blood in your veins goes cold. Shit.

“But it was his idea!” Mina shrieks through the phone’s tiny speakers. You wince at the sound. You feel shaky like you might start crying again.

“Yeah but you all agreed to it. And Mineta held up his end of the bargain. This could be really bad if the school found out about it.”

Neito mouths something angrily on the screen and the corner of Hitoshi’s mouth quirks upwards fondly.

“Neito…you’re on mute, babe.” He says in that gravely voice of his.

Monoma quickly unmutes himself and repeats what he was saying:

“But it’s only a kiss! It’s not like we promised Y/N would sleep with him or anything!” He says, gesturing wildly. His face is a bit pink in response to Hitoshi’s using such an unexpected term of endearment.

“It doesn’t matter…you still made a trade of a physical favor for a service. I don’t know what kind of punishment they’d slap you with, but this sort of thing would definitely rub the UA administration the wrong way if they found out about it. Let’s just hope Mineta didn’t say anything too incriminating. I can stop by his dorm and ask him before I got to bed, if you’d like.” Hitoshi smirks. “I think he’s afraid of me, so I’d probably be the best person to do it.”

“Could you, please?” You say in a strained voice. Hitoshi looks over and sees how pale you’ve gone, he awkwardly pats your shoulder in what he must think is a reassuring way.

“Yeah, for sure. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” He retracts his hand from your shoulder and gives you a thumbs up.

“Alright. I think we’ve mostly got our story straight. Don’t mention the alcohol. Don’t mention me needing to kiss Mineta. Don’t mention Hatsume. Don’t mention Spin The Bottle. Say we wanted to throw a game night to promote unity and bonding between Classes A and B. We good?” You quickly recap, counting off your fingers as you make each statement. “Dang, that’s a lot to keep track of.”

Everyone nods to confirm that they’re aligned (Toru doesn’t say anything to indicate that she’s not aligned, so you assume she’s invisibly nodding).

A message appears at the top of your phone screen from Shoto, a tiny preview of his text reads out in a bubble:

Shoto: You doing alright?

You quickly move to swipe the bubble away, hyperaware that Hitoshi can see any message that flashes across your screen. You quickly remind yourself that it’s not weird for your classmates to check up on you -  you’re one of the party ringmasters, after all! And the message Shoto had sent was completely innocent, so…

Another message from Shoto scrolls across the screen as Toru rattles off a list of questions for Hitoshi to ask Mineta. You try to swipe the message away but you accidentally pull up the text screen over your friend’s FaceTime faces.

Shoto: This sounds awful to say, but getting to sneak away with you to the janitor’s closet almost makes getting caught worth it.  

You swipe desperately to get the text screen to disappear and after a moment succeed. Toru is still speaking, saying something about Hatsume’s drones. You throw a terrified glance at Hitoshi’s direction. He’s looking at you, violet eyes wide with shock. His eyebrows are comically far up his forehead.

Oh yeah, he definitely just got a glance at Shoto’s text.

Oh God. Now he knows.

“Alright, Hagakure.” Hitoshi quickly turns back to the screen and nods in agreement at whatever your friend is saying. His facial expression instantly falls back to neutral –his eyebrows relaxing and his eyes narrowing back to their usual lazy squint. You stare straight ahead and try to keep all of your blood from rushing to your face. You feel hot all over but in a bad way. You don’t know Hitoshi super well, but you know he’s a good person. He wouldn’t spill your biggest secret to the world, right?

Hitoshi seemingly ignores you as he continues talking into the FaceTime. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Alright, I’ll ask him all of that. I think we’re all on the same page – get a good night’s sleep everyone.”

Good nights are exchanged, and one by one your friends drop off the call. Hitoshi clicks off your phone so that the screen goes back. He slowly turns to you, his expression still uncharacteristically surprised.

His voice is as even and measured as ever when he says:

“Holy shit, Y/N. How long have you been fucking Shoto Todoroki?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HAHAHAHAA Okay so yeah that's part of Chapter 9! I'll keep plugging away and hopefully will have it your way soon! For now, here's the rest of the series to catch up on <3

Shoto's First Kiss Series so far:

Part 1: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

Part 2: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 2

Part 3: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 3

Part 4: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 4

Part 5: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 5

Part 6: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 6

Part 7: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 7

Part 8: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 8

XOXO,

Red Riot Unbreakable Heart ❤️

P.S. Here's the link to my 🔥Master List! 🔥 I just posted a new story feat. a super hot and mushy Touya Todoroki if you're into that sort of thing: Touya Todoroki: Sexy Uber Driver!? | Touya x Reader AU Imagine 🌶 💕

[stupidlittlespirit]

glad you’re feeling better!

would you be comfortable sharing a sneak peek of the next chapter 👀

if not I totally understand please prioritize your well being!

Listen, I don't have a chapter sneak peak for you BUT..... because I'm making you all wait so long for this next chapter and I feel bad, I'm gonna give you a small snack.

This is an unpublished thingy that I posted on a little discord server that I'm in and people liked it there so I figured you might enjoy it here. It is just a very short warm-up drabble that I did ages ago and never used again. It's a bit messy and stuff, but whatever. It's set during MtB but it isn't really anything to do with the series. Just a little snippet of life within it:

I Got It Bad (and that ain't good) Rating: NSFW (only slightly) Type: Drabble Tags: Kissing, implied sexual stuff. Very, very tiny inference to muses but meant in no certain way. No pronouns/body described. Word count: 1233

When he's feeling contemplative, Ford likes to play the piano.

He is, like so many other things he turns his attention to, wonderful at it. 

Ford likes jazz. He pretends he's a classical purist but you've found the record sleeves on the shelves near his desk, you’ve done a little snooping, and you know they rarely correspond to the vinyl inside. They're just for show. He plays it mainly in the evenings when he's treating himself to a glass of scotch; he'll listen to a particular artist (this week it's been an awful lot of Duke Ellington) and then recreate it on his own instrument. 

He'll start small. Just a slow, leisurely tinkling of the ivories as he finds his rhythm, and then he'll settle into his groove and flex yet another of his many skills as you listen from another room while you tidy up.

If you're especially lucky, he'll ask you to join him and give him feedback on it. 

He doesn't care about the feedback, of course, because he knows he's good and so does everyone else, and you're sure he's just using it as an opportunity to show off but you never mind. 

He has, in typical Ford fashion, always refuted your accusation: “I assure you, I certainly am not,” he'd said one evening with a knowing smile, as you'd watched from your seat beside him. “I merely know that you like jazz and I play because you listen,” and you'd felt such an intensely affectionate warmth bloom in your chest that you'd dropped the point immediately.

(And when he had added on a quiet: “Plus, I like the way you look at me when I do it,” and you'd made him hit a bum note when you’d leant up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then, well, who can blame you?) 

Your favourite thing to do, beyond simply enjoying the melodies, is to watch his hands and fingers as he works. 

He'd been a little apprehensive at first, once he had noticed, but you had been quick to reassure him that your interest was appreciative, if perhaps salacious, and not even close to judgemental. 

“Would you be uncomfortable if I took a video?” You ask one dark winter's evening, leaning against the piano’s top while you observe him. “Just for myself, I mean.” 

“Whatever for?” Ford responds without missing a beat of his metronome. 

He's going away soon. He and Stan set sail in two days time and it’s a long trip this time, which means for four months, four long, agonising months, you’ll be without him. It’s almost too much to bear and your heart feels like lead at the thought. 

“Because I’m going to miss you and I’d like to have something to remind me of you when I feel like shit,” you say. 

The corner of Ford’s mouth curls upward a fraction and he spares you a thinly veiled, heated glance, his cheeks turning pink. “I thought our plan was to give you plenty of reminders the night before….?” 

Your stomach flutters. 

“I’d like more than bruises, if you wouldn’t mind,” you say, biting down on a smile. 

Ford laughs under his breath and after a moment, says: “And it’s just for you? The video?” 

“Of course,” you reassure him. “I don’t have to, I just…. Your hands are my favourite part of you and I think about them, often.” 

Too often, some might say. 

Ford laughs again, a little louder this time. “Not my dashing good looks?” he teases. “Or my dazzling personality? You wound me, my dear.” 

You grin. “All of the above,” you say with a shrug. “But especially your hands.” 

“Is that so?” Ford says, taking one hand from the keys to pat the empty space beside him. “And what, pray tell, do you think about them?” 

You go where he asks, taking up a seat at his side obediently. “Lots of things.” 

“Such as….?” 

He’s fishing for compliments, you both know it, but does sound genuinely curious, too. 

“I think they’re the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen,” you say, giving him exactly what he wants. “And I think about how they fit in mine. I think about how they feel, how your thumb rubs over my knuckles when we hold hands and how your little finger does the same on the sides, you know, just because you can do that….”

“Anything else?” Ford asks, voice warm. 

You smile, eyes transfixed on the way his fingers tick across the ivory. “And…. I like to think about how you hold my thighs when you have your head between them. The way you hold onto my hips. How your fingers taste when you put them in my mouth.” 

Ford makes a soft sound, somewhere between a contented sigh and an aroused groan, and his hands falter momentarily before he restarts his playing. 

“Is that so?” he says, hoarse. 

“Mm,” you hum absentmindedly. Your head is full of those same thoughts right now, your mind’s eye blurred with the memories of Ford’s fingers climbing underneath your jeans and inching past your underwear. Of touching you so intimately that you have to press your thighs together slightly to sate the longing. 

Ford catches it. 

“You’re thinking about it right now,” he mutters, and his tone holds no question.

He’s stopped playing. His hands are frozen over the keys. 

“Aren’t you?” you answer, eyes still on them. 

Ford exhales slowly through his nose, shaky,  restrained. “I’m always thinking of you,” he says simply. 

You tear your eyes away to look up at him, only to find that his gaze is already on you. 

Ford’s eyes are molten, half-lidded and hot, and they flick down to your mouth and back up to your own. 

“You’re terrible,” he says, in such a way that it’s obvious he means it in the most complimentary context possible. “A terrible, terrible influence on an old man like me.” 

A smirk creeps onto your face. It’s always satisfying to see the effect you have on him. “I can leave, if you’d like me to. I have plenty to do and I-!” 

Ford pushes the stool back with one leg, your combined weights little more than a minor  inconvenience to him, and he hauls you into his lap before you can even finish the thought. 

You laugh, loud and bright, and fling your arms around his neck to hold on tightly to him and avoid sending you both to the floor in a heap. “Or not,” you concede. 

“Never,” agrees Ford, and then he’s kissing you. 

It’s slow and tender and white hot as always. 

You can feel his arousal press between your legs and it’s enough to make you smile against his mouth. 

“What a dirty old man you’ve become,” you say dramatically, nudging your nose against his. 

“I'm only what my muse makes of me,” Ford says raggedly. “And you are an awfully seductive force, you know….” 

“So I've been told,” you smile, one hand wandering below to palm him gently through his slacks. 

Ford groans, low and deep, and tilts his head back. “I'll make a deal with you,” he says quietly. “I swore off them a long time ago but just for you, just this once: if you keep doing that, I'll let you take footage of any fucking thing you like….” 

You grin. 

“Deal.” 

[hereis50buckskillme]

First years + Reader as things me and my friends have said aka sleepover shenanigans

I have a strong feeling Epel is unhinged and comfortable to say the most absurd things with the first years 🧍‍♀️and this is my first actual post..

Everyone is in the common room, sitting on the floor

Epel: In the future, gender reveals are gonna be like, “Balls or jaws?”

Ace: Oh, I’m so doing that!

Jack: What did you do, fuck an Orphan?!

Reader: And what if I did? What are they gonna do? Tell their parents?

Deuce: Bro I swear to the Sevens, the next time a fly buzzes in my ear I’m going to scream in its ear.

(After he screams at the fly and the rest of the first years are trying their best not to laugh, ace failing tremendously)

Deuce: mm a midnight snack 😋🤤 ima use the tiny little fork and plate from a Barbie house to slurp him up😌

(Ace teaching Sebek to use bad slang)

Sebek: Shut the front door😡, shut the back door🤨? OPEN THE BACKDOOR😨!!

Epel: you can open my backdoor😏

Epel: Cock with an L: CLOCK!⏰

(This is a strong head cannon I have with Jack btw, he’s traumatized by it)

Jack: A fate worse than death……A BOWL CUT😰

Ace: I may be stupid…..but at least I notice the A in diamond 😌🫢

(The first years wandering ramshackle, going through random rooms)

Epel: it smells like Granny coochie in this bitch Ngl

Reader falling to their knees wheezing: HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT SMELLS LIKE!?

Sebek incredibly mortified: YOU LIKE THE ELDERLY!?

Ace plotting a devious scheme during PE

Reader: 😡CONTROL.😡YOUR.😡ASS.😡OR.😡I.😡WILL 😡

Epel taking to Jack about Vils diabolical routine he made for him: I am bout to switch to Prefects dorm

Jack: No,you’re stuck with the potato cutter😒

OK THERE, THAT’S JUST A SNIPPET, TELL ME WHAT YOU GUYS THINK 😭

[leashybebes]

mildly-late motivation monday

tagged by a few people recently - @trombonechurchill, @rcmclachlan, @apollabarnes, thanks gang

this is a longer-than-usual snippet from cherry blossoms/summer project picking up from the snippet in this post and for non-discworld pals - confusing in an intriguing way, or just straight up annoying?

because it's longer than usual i'm tagging above the read-more for...two or more sentences tuesday (i am bad at this) for @setmeatopthepyre, @ambernotember and @liminalmemories21

"What is it?" Buck asks, bringing the cylinder closer to his face. The symbols almost seem like they're moving, trying to get around to the other side of the cylinder every time he almost manages to focus on one.

"That's…a little hard to explain," Jamie says. "I call it the Pro-2. Second generation procrastinator."

"Uh…"

"Procrastinators are - you know spools on a sewing machine?"

"I mean…broadly," Buck says. 

"Well, imagine the thread is time. That's a procrastinator. They wind time back and forth, help the monks keep history on course."

"That's…" Buck can't really say crazy after he's just walked through the streets of Los Angeles frozen in time, but…it's pretty fucking crazy.

"That's our job," Jamie says. "It's what we do. Well, not me personally. The drivers run the hall of procrastinators at home. In the monastery. I work - worked with Qu, the Master of Devices. He said - he used to say I had a knack for things like this. Not - not time as such, but the Devices we use to manage it."

"You - you change history?" Buck asks, thinking of losses big and small throughout his own life, throughout all of history.

"We mend it," Jamie corrects him. "Humans do things all the time that shouldn't be done. Shouldn't be possible yet. They make time, they waste time, they break it in a hundred little ways every single day. It's our job to mend it."

Buck's not sure he's ever going to understand any of this, but there's something there he can cling onto. 

"And he's not supposed to be dead."

"Well…" Jamie says, with a shrug.

"I'm not asking you," Buck says, tightening his hold on the Pro-2. "I'm telling you. There is no way that he is supposed to be dead. Now tell me how this helps."

Jamie looks at him for long enough that Buck starts to feel uncomfortable. To his eyes, Jamie's a kid, only a handful of years older than Christopher, but something about the intensity of his stare as he studies Buck's face is unsettling.

"What?" he asks.

"You reminded me of someone," Jamie says. "Not someone I met, but someone we helped. I heard Qu talking about him with - with someone. And they said, there was no universe, anywhere, where this man would give in on this, because if he did, he wouldn't be him anymore."

"Oh," Buck says, and he has to look away. "Yeah. Okay. Jamie, please. How does it work?"

Jamie points to the base of the Pro-2, where a tiny button is almost hidden, it sits so flush with the rest of the device. "Push that when I tell you to. A little needle will prick your finger. And then - well. So I said a procrastinator winds time back and forth around you? The Pro-2 winds you back and forth around time."

Holy fucking time travel, Buck thinks, and for the first time since they arrived on the scene and he saw the mangled mess of Tommy's truck, he feels like maybe the world isn't ending after all.

[mediumgayitalian]

wip wednesday poll time

hi. how are you. i hope youre well. it is time at the moment to choose one of five wips for me to update tomorrow. will i 100% listen to democracy? we shall see. is there i chance i leave it to the last minute and get too tired to write anything but a 100 ways? you betcha. but regardless: the poll will immediately succeed this message. then, i will link previous iterations of each wip AND a small snippet of what i currently have for the update. i will work on and post this TOMORROW. read snippets before u vote. mwah. love u.

modern courting: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Annabeth hip-checks her brother gently, stepping out onto the porch and sliding the door shut behind her. She yawns behind her hand.

"What's up, dude?"

Nico blinks at her. "I forget you spent much of your life in California."

Annabeth flushes. "I'll go back inside."

"No no no no, I'm sorry, I need your help so bad."

As if Nico had said hey I have a blank cheque here with your name on it, Annabeth perks up. All sleepiness evaporates from her gray eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I'm -- stupid, Annabeth. I have reached the bitter end of processing power in my brain. It's lonely down here. I've got, like, a lonely cracker and some pocket lint. I'm bereft."

"You lost me at the second sentence."

"I just mean --" Nico draws in a breath, pressing his knuckle to his nose -- "I don't...know things."

Annabeth stares at him. 

"...Uh-huh."

"Like. Things of the...heart. Mind. You know, feelings."

"Nico, is this about -- look." She presses her hands together, inhaling. "I'm no matchmaker, man. I support your plan wholeheartedly and am rooting for you but I landed my boyfriend by insulting him upon first meeting him. I just -- I got nothing, okay. Human behavior is the antithesis to logic. Every emotion makes me cry forever. Flirting? I don't know her. I threaten and wink and it works for me. I'm --"

"Percy says he thinks it's a self-esteem problem," Nico blurts. Annabeth falters. "He thinks he -- hates himself."

"...Oh." She sags against the door, sighing. "Oh, um. Yeah. He does."

Yeah. He does.

Nico stands there, struck dumb.

"And -- Percy," he manages eventually. "Hates himself."

Annabeth nods. "Yes."

pomegranate au: 1 2 *NSFW **this snippet is subject to change bc i hate it

They reach the bathhouse quickly. It is a grander building, and as they approach Will quiets, commentary fading back into his quiet humming. Nico blinks, and realizes he misses it. He swallows back the urge to ask him a leading question and follows him instead through the open doorways.

The bathhouse is hot, wet and humid. Braziers burn lowly in between a circlet of forty or more sitz baths, each made of polished stone, each with a stair for an attendant and a plethora of soaps to choose from. In the widened pupil of the tholos is the piscina, steam curling gently from its blue waters, stones warmed and resting gently on the mosaicked base. The tiny colored tiles paint scenes of the Olympians greatest battles; their defeat of the raging Cronus, the subjugation of sneaking Prometheus. Easily accessible in spanning shelves lie bars and bottles of soaps and incense, of perfume and dried flower petals. The entire house smells of sweet oil and clean water.

Will waits at the rows of hooks near the entrance, basket at his feet, eyes trained to Nico expectantly. Nico realizes he is waiting for Nico's direction: hip baths, or communal. Bathing together, or being bathed. Nico swallows, lifting off his robe. Quickly, eyes still steady, Will removes his podea, standing loose and tall in the nude. Nico fumbles with the neck of his tunic, getting it caught on the mess of his hair, and Will laughs, softly, reaching over to his burning face to ease him out of it.

"Early morning, my Lord," he excuses, biting back a smile. "The most robust of gods are not quite coordinated until the sun crests high on its horizon."

Nico does not answer so he does not crack on his words. He turns, instead, and walks, shoulders tense and reddened, to the piscina, pausing at the stone ledge.

Will walks, feet padding, a beat after him.

volleyball: 1

Over the years Will has noticed a lot of his friends develop the idea that he secretly hates the infirmary.

He does not.

Sure, there are bad memories. There are times when he steps on a floorboard that he doesn't usually, and the creak of the wood sounds exactly the same as when he stumbled onto it, time ago, blood on his hand, dead body on his gurney. Or when the wind blows the curling hyacinth in the windows right to him, on busy mornings, and suddenly he hears his older sister's laughter, long gone, swirling among the petals. Or, worst, he sorts through the old filing cabinets, and there is a file he's missed from years past, covered in handwriting that is so familiar it aches.

Of course there is grief.

There is grief everywhere.

He cannot escape it in his cabin, or in the cabin he claims most nights; he cannot escape it in the softened brush of his guitar; he cannot escape it in the campfire, in loud, rowdy mealtimes, in the height of Thalia's pine. He cannot escape it in his tiny room back home where the Texas heat swells and the electric fan never stops humming. He cannot escape it in his dreams, in the idioms he uses he copied from his brothers, his friends. What Will's friends do not understand is that camp is his home. Camp is his home, and his home has long since been haunted, and the ghosts that live alongside him wave to him every morning.

Will waves back, smiling softly.

5+1: 1

"I need you to switch your archery block with me and not tell Will," Nico says, ignoring the insult. "No further questions allowed."

"No questions will be an extra seven dollars."

"What? No way!"

"One dollar per question, Tony Stark." She scowls. "Curse our society for making rich characters cool. I'm trying to insult you."

Nico really considers telling her to stuff it. One dollar per question is a ridiculous rate and he refuses to pay on principle.

However.

There is no way he is getting the forty dollars he has already given to her back, so.

"Your bloodline will be cursed a generation per bill," mutters Nico darkly, counting out the bills. He is in fact short, and has to reach through the shadows to the loose panel under Cecil's bed and borrow a few quarters.

"Yeah, yeah. Alright." She squares her shoulders, staring up at him. She has a way of appearing as if she is six feet tall, when in fact she is four-foot-three. "I will do this for you. But note: I don't need that archery practice." She plants her feet on the ground, tilts her chin up, and stares. Nico realizes abruptly that this is not playfulness on her end, this is not the character she plays when they have these such interactions -- her face is darkly serious, mouth drawn into a thin line. "I think it's funny what you're doing, di Angelo. But my brother is sensitive. This better not be a joke."

Nico's eyes widen. "It's not. I -- swear, Kayla, I'd never do that."

She nods. "Good."

She makes a show of slinging her bow, stalking across the common with the sun glinting off her arrows. Nico is under no such delusions that it is unintentional. He watches her gather her siblings, rushing them away between the stables and strawberry fields before Will notices.

road trip au: 1 2 3 4

It is not quite dark, when they cross the Tennessee border, but the sign is squarely behind them and deep, dark orange, glinting blindingly off the blue road sides. Regardless, Will doesn't falter; he does not slow down and squint at every exit sign or murmur to himself as he counts the miles. This is unusual, because Nico has seen him squint to verify the street signs on the road he lives on.

Nico watches him, quietly.

Will pretends he doesn't.

They are in and out of Chattanooga. The mountains, too, are only flashes -- beautiful, staggering flashes, but Will winds through them with ease, and does not pause. Nico notes the bored holes every few feet and traces the jagged cliff faces with his eyes, memorizing the way the setting sun turns the stone to ruby.

He flinches every time there is a sharp turn, or a hole in the road. Every twitch of Will's shoulders has him gripping onto the holy shit handle, and if Will so much as removes one hand to scratch his nose Nico stops breathing. They are never doing this again.

But it is nice, this one time. To watch the world whir by outside the rolled-down windows.

[httpiastri]

okay so i started writing on a boyfriend!paul blurb for after the race today, but then i deleted it and wrote this instead: a short snippet of a future chapter of the "the way i loved you" fic 😋 pretty short but it's all i can produce rn lol. will likely have some changes when i post the actual chapter. aiming to post the first things from the fic soon !!! hope u enjoy 😚

series masterlist

paul is beaming when you see him stroll back to the paddock after his media duties. his cap is perched on top of his head – the right cap, finally – and his fingers are still tightly wrapped around the neck of his champagne bottle. when he notices you leaning against the doorframe leading into the f2 hospitality, his smile grows even bigger.

you meet him halfway, arms wrapping around his shoulders easily, just like they have so many times before. one of his arms drapes around your waist and he holds you close, a hum vibrating from his chest. "congrats, paul," you tell him. "that was amazing. you were amazing."

"thank you," he says before pausing. then, he lets out a chuckle. "to be honest, i wasn't sure if you would care."

you frown at him when you pull slightly away from him, just enough to look into his eyes. is that what he really thought? that you wouldn't care about his driving? "oh, please. you still mean a lot to me, okay?" your hand moves down to his upper arm, giving it a soft squeeze. "i still consider you to be one of my closest friends."

friends. the word stings like a knife in his heart. it's been months since you broke up, and yet, it still feels like a raw wound.

paul forces a smile. he understands that despite how painful it is, there's something good in it. there's still a place for him in your heart, even if he's forced to share it with someone else.

he pulls you in again, and the hug is even tighter now than before. it's a comforting feeling; you're both at peace, with a good weekend behind you, in the arms of someone so close to you. after everything you've gone through together, but especially everything he has gone through these last few months with the mercedes academy and so on, you're finally through to the other side. "it all worked out in the end, huh?" you ask after a few moments of silence.

"i guess it did." you part from each other to leave that oh-so-familiar gap between you yet again. "will you be celebrating with us tonight? i think pepe had something planned. you know how he is."

you snort. "yeah, i do know. maybe i will." you shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms over your chest as your eyes dart to the ground. "but, um... i'll have to check with..."

you don't even say his name – you don't have to. ollie didn't just have a bad race today; the entire weekend has been so far from everyone's expectations. and if you know him correctly, he will not be in the mood for celebrations tonight.

paul just nods slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line. "right."

the silence that follows is so awkward you can't help but chew on your bottom lip, a tiny sigh escaping through your mouth. he must be hating this, you think – today is supposed to be only a good day for him, he shouldn't have his ex's new relationship pushed up in his face.

"well, i have a debrief to get to," you make up, flashing him a quick smile. "congrats again, paul."

"thank you." he gives you another nod, before turning away and making his way towards the paddock. "pepe will text you!"

and just like that, he's off, and your mind wanders to the thought of actually going out to celebrate. ollie will definitely not join you, though you're not sure why you don't want to go without him. is it because you'd rather stay and comfort him?

or is it because you're scared of what you'll do, or feel, when you're alone with paul for the first time since you broke up?

[jackabbot]

Do you also have the feeling a lot of great people stopped posting and especially writing? Or have they all blocked me? The tags are full but mostly with newer fans who don't seem to have actually watched the show (no offense, although..) and the writers circle seems tiny

well, dear anon, i will be very real with you, it mostly comes down to season 7 and specifically Tommy's reintroduction, the whole bucktommy of it all, or even more specifically the infighting it started.

911 was never really the 911 fandom; it was the buddie fandom with a few blurps of other (canon) ships sprinkled in there, only to get lost due to lack of interest/bad behaviour. (believe me, people were really shitty before all this too)

but now we have two main ships.

which would be okay if people could understand the difference between reality and fiction and could just pay attention to the stuff they like and not get violent and for whatever reason bigoted towards real fans over disliking a character or ship.

i talked endlessly about how all the criticism of Tommy's character basically comes down to "i don't vibe with it, so no one else should either" so i won't go into that, but unfortunately what you saw and still see on the dash is only half of the story.

lots of people ended up unfollowing and blocking people they used to talk to on the daily over this fictional ship, which... you know, if that's all it took i wouldn't necessarily call those "friendships", but it definitely changed how people interact with fan creations.

doing wip games was always about two things; to exchange exposure and to motivate each other and ourselves to write.

those pre-existing tag-chains are mostly broken now and i know that a lot of writers don't want to expose themselves to "the other side" by sharing wips and get demotivated by people being rude, so they keep writing without sharing snippets.

and some people lost the motivation/inspiration to write for the fandom altogether.

it sucks and yeah, people who didn't watch the show aside from scenes of their faves should not be monopolising the tags — as far as i'm concerned they aren't part of the fandom at all. (if you can't even be bothered to watch the source material, why are you even here, genuinely.)

anyway, this got long, but the point is that you're right in your observation and it doesn't just go for writing.

interaction on edits and gifsets and the like have drastically fallen, because so many people have blocked each other, every post has to go through a bazillion blind spots to get to at least 3 more people's dash; because one person will reblog it and then they will be blocked by 5 others who would love to see your content but the people they still follow don't follow anyone that'd reblog your stuff and so on.

TLDR: this fandom is fucked and it's sad, but it is what it is i guess.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

As a new writer, is it normal to want to know readers cried while reading something I cried about while writing? 'Cause, I just posted a fic last night that I cried sooo many times during writing (mostly out of cute aggression lol. little eddieworm is just so tiny! 😭), and now just getting 'likes' and 'kudos' don't feel like enough?? Which, I also feel bad about now lol, 'cause they should feel like enough! So, I guess I was just wondering if that feeling gets easier the more I write and publish?

Phew, this is a hard one.

First things first, you should never ever feel bad for wanting people to interact with your works. I remember a poll going around recently that was like “Would you rather have 100 kudos and no likes or comments, 100 likes and no comments or kudos, or 10 comments with no kudos or likes?” - and guess what won by a wide margin?

That being said, the feeling of screaming into a void is something that a lot of writers on here, even the “popular” and “successful” ones, struggle with. Yes, it can be frustrating opening tumblr or ao3 and seeing likes, kudos and reblogs, but no comments.

Because, ultimately, this is why we share our works, right? We may write for ourselves, but we share our stories because we want to connect with others. And this is especially true for those stories that are somehow ‘close’ to us - the ones that made us feel things while writing, the ones that we worked particularly long or hard on, the ones that we are proud of. And getting no feedback on those, or negative feedback even? That always stings, even with “more experience”.

Now that I've brought the mood down, here's what you can do about it:

Find your crowd!

Part of this WILL come with time as your stories find the people they are meant for. Apart from that, joining discord and actively chatting with ppl on servers really was a game changer for me. Participating in daily writing challenges like "sentence of the day", sharing snippets, that kind of stuff. (I'm mainly on smaller servers these days bc of ✨️overwhelm✨️, but in the beginning, the larger ones really helped me find my people.)

Taking part in challenges like @steddiemicrofic , @steddieholidaydrabbles or @steddiebingo also helps if you want to build a community here on tumblr.

Today I know that, even if nobody else likes my stuff, I'll always have my besties in my corner, and that helps immensely with the insecurities. 💗✨️

[therealsasori]

To talks and being honest, and oh good coffee Pt.3 (a hidekane fic)

(I am finally back on my bullshit. This took way longer than I had intented but I wantef it to be as good as possible and I think I am pretty happy with it. Enjoy!)

Snippet: Acting more on autopilot than really thinking about his actions, which wasn't unusal for Kaneki in retrospect- the half ghoul retracted his hands from his friends in favor of fisting them tightly in Hides shirt and pulling the human up and up towards him.

The kitchen felt cold and sterile, only bathed in the low glow of the small table light that had been switched on. Then again you could assume a ghouls kitchen to be sterile, not a lot of cooking going on there.

Hide was tired. Cycling across the city past 1 am to meet up with his crying best friend, he had been trying to avoid for the past week, had not been in his bingo cards.

To top it off he hadn't been doing a whole bunch of sleeping for the last 7 days in general. It was definetly catching up with him.

More than a little awkward and a whole lot of uncomfortable, thats how Hide was feeling sitting in the ghoul kings kitchen. Kaneki was currently taking a quick shower, the blonde had thought this would give him some time to think things over - as it stands the waiting was just down right terrible. Prolonging his torture.

Hide had listened to the shower running, heard it being turned off and only a few minutes later another person entered the darkend room. Kaneki had looked, for lack of a better term, rough when Hide had gotten here. Now his pale friend looked a lot more clean but still just as miserable.

Sighing Hide turned to face his childhood friend, he had known that they eventually would have to talk about this. He just didn't want to.

"How are you feeling? Any better?" The human part of the duo decided to break the silence. He felt sorry for the white haired boy - Kaneki seemed so small and fragile. Any other time Hide might have thought of it as funny.

Said 'boy' groaned and shook his head, hiding his face behind his hands.

"Not really. Hide... I am so sorry for making you come here in the middle of the night thinking something bad happened to me, when I was just - just upset."

It was quiet for a moment, Kaneki peeked trough a small gap between his fingers and said in a soft, tiny thing of a voice.

"I- i would however like for you to stay. I really missed you."

Hide was conflicted. On one hand he had also missed his friend, more than he could ever put into words, he also felt sorry for Kaneki in this situation. The last thing he had ever wanted is to cause the half ghoul suffering or pain. But.. Hide didn't want to have this conversation. He was scared as all hell. Dreaded it. This conversations he had been avoiding for a week. The conversation he was sure would tear him apart.

But he will do it. Has to. So he stays.

Two cups of steaming coffee later they were both seated across from each other, at the small kitchen table Kaneki owned. Neither quit sure how to go about this. It was frustrating. Hide wanted to pull his hair out and maybe some of Kens, for dramatic effect.

"Ok, this sucks balls,dude. Worst sleepover ever."

Hide had always had a way with words. Very eloquent.

It had its desired effect though. Which was making the other part of this conversation laugh and cutting trough the thick tention.

"It really really does." Kaneki chuckled and gave the blonde a soft, shy smile. He seemed more at ease.

And Hide was a goner. An absolute fool. He would do anything for the half ghoul just to see him smile like that. Shit, he'd rip out his heart and serve it on a silver platter if Kaneki so much as asked him to.

But he also knew this had to be a serious conversation. Dealing with true emotions and vulnerabilities and he was no big fan of those. Hide didn't like putting his real feelings and thoughts out there. It made him easy to attack and he always avoided that. But this time he had to.

"Alright. Kaneki I think we both know- we have to talk. Like seriously talk. About... what happened between- eeeh - us...?" The human closed his eyes and shook his head, throwing his hands up.

"Let me start of by saying - I am so incredibly sorry. I should not have done that, at all. I understand if you feel uncomfortable about it and I want to make it clear that something like that will never happen again. Seriously not cool of me dude."

Never happen again? Feeling sorry about it? Kaneki was perplexed that his first reaction to Hides words was- disappointment? He was certainly not feeling satisfied with that answer but couldn't quit pinpoint why.

The half ghoul cocked an eyebrow at his companion, looking rather unimpressed by said mans speech. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Hide for a long moment. Yes, the only reason the brown eyed man was here is because Kaneki called him while crying - however, Kaneki felt a lot calmer than he expected. He was and had been confused about his emotiones and thoughts for the last 7 days and this was his chance to get to the bottom of them. He needed this conversation and he was determined to take it to the finish line. Deciding to brush over his friends words for now, and shaking off his conflicting feelings, he decided to go with:

"You've been avoiding me."

The words seemed a lot less accusatory and more so, plain sad. Kaneki couldn't hide the pain in his voice, the same pain he saw in the humans eyes.

"I know. I am sorry about that too. Wasn't the most adult way of handling the situation, I'll admit. I just didn't know how to face you. I -" The blonde was clearly struggling, words getting caught in his throat and twisting on his tongue. Kaneki knew he needed to be patient. Hide had never been one to talk much about his feelings, trying to shield Ken from anything that could possibly upset him. So the half ghoul gave his friend his best encouraging smile he could muster and waited.

Pinching his nose, eyes closed Hide took a deep breath.

"I was ... scared. Shit. I still am."

Kaneki nodded, trying to understand Hides feelings. Taking in the words. He had to ask, even if he already knew, he had to hear it.

"Scared of what?"

Hide, who had intently been studying the pattern of the wooden table, snapped his head up. The sudden movement making the ghoul king flinch. Incredulous, big brown eyes were staring at him. Something about the way Hide was staring at him made him want to sink into the ground, take back the question and just move on. But he couldn't back down now. He needed this. Needed Hide to tell him everything.

The blonde was tense, jaw clenched he averted his eyes. They sat in silence again for what could have been minutes or hours, Ken didn't know. His best friend finally nodded slowly as if he made a decision in his mind.

"I am not good at this sort of thing, Ken. Talking about feelings has always scared me to be honest, maybe because I never learned how to as a child...but no getting out of this one I suppose." he shook his head and chuckled, a sad one. It made Kanekis heart hurt.

"To answer your question - I was scared, no wait, I am scared that I ruined everything. Because I was selfish. Because in a stupid moment of weakness I might have ruined my relationship with the most important person in my life. I am scared that you'll look at me differently now, that you hate me even. That you are possibly uncomfortable around me, when all I ever wanted was to make you feel safe and cared for, loved. I hate to think I've ruined that for you." Hide took a big gulp of air, feeling like his lungs were going to collapse on him. Every fiber of his being was on fire, he felt hot and cold and all together like an absolute mess.

"Hide -" Kaneki started to speak but Hide couldn't let him. Not yet. Shaking his head vehemently he cut the half ghoul off.

"Please let me finish Ken. You know how people say that home doesn't have to be a place? That it can also be another person? I always wanted to be that for you. I am sorry if I ruined this for you. That was never my intention. Advancing on you like that was never my intention. I had been totally planing on and content with keeping this all inside and just being by your side. That's all I ever wanted. But, as I have put this out there... there is no point in denying it anymore. I love you. So much. And no not like a best friend should, not like a brother should. I am in love with you. I had never planned on telling you this. I don't want to interfere with your relationship with your wife. Honestly all I ever wanted for you was to be happy. And if thats not with me, so be it. Sucks for me, I guess. But you are so much more important than me. You deserve happiness Ken. I'll always cheer for you from the sidelines. Thats a promise." Speaking so fast made Hides head spin, his mouth felt like the desert, his heart was hammering against his ribcage but his shoulders felt oddly lighter.

He had done it. He had confessed to his best friend. Looking at Kaneki finally Hide couldn't help but smile. He loved the half ghoul so much and now said half ghoul knew, no matter what that was a fact. And Kaneki deserved to know how loved he was. Always.

Kanekis heart was doing summer saults, stomach in a knot. This was plenty to take in. He felt tears well up in his eyes. Hide was in love with him. Kanekis vision got blurry, focused and got blurry again. He had to blink away tears.

"How long?" The half ghoul sounded alot more breathless than he intented. His throat closing in on him, overwhelmed by emotions.

Hide, as usual, understood him perfectly fine, even if Kaneki couldn't phrase a complete sentence. The blonde laughed airily.

"How long have I been in love with you? Honestly, forever maybe. I can't really pin point it- maybe since we were around 12ish. Thats when I clearly remember being aware of it. But maybe even earlier. Seriously, dude, hearing you talk about all the ladies you liked over the years really sucked. I am glad you found the right one tho- hey, man, why are you crying? Don't cry please, Neki. Shit."

Kaneki was a mess. Again. A slobbering, snotty, crying mess. Hide was by his side in seconds, hovering around him like a satellite. Not sure how much physical closeness Kaneki would allow him. It made Kaneki wail. Grabbing blindly for Hide he caught him by one hand and the collar of his red shirt. Kaneki pulled him close, buring his face in the crook of Hides neck.

"I- i'm so sorry!"

"Nah, man you're fine. Really."

"B-but weren't you h-hurting? Wh-why didn't y-you say.."

Using his free hand Hide took the risk and started to stroke it trough Kanekis hair, that used to always calm the crying boy down.

"Yeah, but it's alright, Neki. It's fine and nothing you should worry about. And well - I was scared to loose you, silly. You're my favourite person in the whole world after all."

After a few more minutes of sobbing and head petting, the mighty one eyed king seemed to have calmed down. Kaneki lifted his head of off Hides shoulder, hands still firmly grabbing the humans shirt, keeping him in place.

Glassy, puffy grey eyes were studying Hides face intently. The blonde gave a lopsided grin and wiggled his eyebrows. Acting like a dumb clown usually did the trick of getting out of too tense moments.

It only earned the human a shake of the head though.

"You're incredible. I- feel so stupid. How could I have never noticed? I only ever saw my problems and-.... Hide! I could never hate you! NEVER, you hear me? You are home to me. You always were. I- i don't deserve you. You're way to good for me. You could have anyone you want. W-why me?"

The blonde couldn't help but gently wipe away the tear rolling down Kanekis cheek. Hide smiled at his friend, eyes warm and sad.

"Because I just love you. I don't need a reason. But if you so desperatly need one-" Hide knelt down in front of the chair the half ghoul was perched on and took both of Kanekis hands into his.

"You're the most amazing and complex person I have ever met, Neki. You're so smart, witty, funny and gentle. You're loving, you try to see the good in everyone, you're forgiving. And you are so so incredibly strong. I love how your brow creases when you read a interesting passage of a book. I love how passionate you get when you talk about and totally nerd out about something you like. I love how groggy you are in the mornings. I love how eloquent you are with your words and how you always go out of your way to help others. I love the sound of your voice. I love the crinkles by your eyes when you laugh. I love when you smile at me. I love your eyes so much because they hold so many emotions. You are just beautiful. Everything." For a moment Hide was looking down at their hands, watching his thumbs stroke gentle circles on the paler skin.

"I know you think you are hard to love Kaneki. You aren't. Not to me. Never."

Kaneki was stunned. Eyes wide and breath coming hard. Never in his life had anyone used words like these to describe him. How Hide always knew exactly what to say was a mystery he could never figure out. Hides touch was burning holes into his icy hands. Kaneki couldn't stop his heart from beating so fast it almost hurt, bruising his chest with its force. He couldn't look away either, transfixed by the warm chocolate ones holding so much love.

The ghoul kings head was a mess. Too many thoughts to sift trough, to even make sense off. They were circling and coming so fast that most of them got interrupted by the next. One was persistent though, a mantra in the back of his head almost. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

He had been mulling over that kiss for the past week, couldn't even make it out of bed because Hide refused to go out of his way for once to aknowledge him and take care of him. Because Hide for once took time for himself to nurture his own wounds. And yet, Kaneki had made him come to him in the middle of the night. Wanted him to come to him. Made Hide practically spill his guts and lay it all out in the open. Kaneki needed to give Hide an answer. A conclusion. Something. Anything.

Acting more on autopilot than really thinking about his actions, which wasn't unusal for Kaneki in retrospect- the half ghoul retracted his hands from his friends in favor of fisting them tightly in Hides shirt and pulling the human up and up towards him.

Hide gasped, as his body was maneuvered by strength he couldn't imagine. He felt momentarily disorientated by the ghouls reaction. His heart had already been jumping out of his chest as he had spilled it all. Hide stretched out his arms in reflex, stabilizing himself by gripping the back of the chair his friend was sitting on. As all movement ceased Hide stared down at Kanekis pale hands. Said hands were shaking by the force they were gripping his shirt with, as if Ken was scared he would dissapear if he let go. The blonde lifted his gaze from the hands and ended up with Kanekis face only inches, barely even- he could feel the half ghouls breath on his face, away from his.

Everything stopped- his breathing, his heart, the world spinning, everything.

Kaneki had honestly no idea what he was doing. This close he could study Hides face- from the warm brown eyes and the long dark lashes framing them, the strands of blonde hair hanging slightly in Hides face since the human has been letting his hair grow, the spotting of freckles across his cheeks and between those thick brows. Hides tan skin, that looked so soft and Kaneki had always thought Hides skin color was so much prettier than his. In general his friends overall coloring had always been something Kaneki admired - Hide was all incompassing warmth, from his hair to his skin to those beautiful eyes. Hide was beautiful. Letting his grey eyes drift over his friends freckled nose and down to those soft pink lips. He could observe faint scaring but all the procedures the human had gone trough and modern technology had accomplished restoring Hides face almost completely. Kanekis eyes snapped back to those lips in an instant. Said lips had opened slightly and Kaneki could make out a slight tremble.

"You're really pretty, do you know that?" The half ghoul murmerd. Delighted he took in his humans stuttered breath and the lovely blush spreading across those delicate cheeks. The blonde numbly shook his head, no. Amused Kaneki smiled, removing one of his hands from Hides shirt, using it to gently trace the blondes jawline in fascination.

"I gotta be honest, I - i have never even considered this, you. I had no idea Hide, really. It never occured to me-"

Swallowing loudly the human shook his head again, "it's fine, Ken. I understand completely- you don't swing that way and that-"

Tightening the grip on the blondes jaw slightly and earning a adorable gasp, the ghoul king tskd.

"You don't get to decide that. I might actually very much swing that way. Also it's rude to interrupt someone while they're speaking. Now, what I had wanted to say was - it makes total sense. If I think about so many things in our past now, it makes perfect sense. Thank you, for everything really."

Hide went slightly slack jawed. He couldn't help but think that this was him witnessing more the demeanor of the one eyed king than bookworm Kaneki. It probably gave Ken confidence to speak more freely without shying away. Hide didn't dislike the whole situation, he actually liked it very much. He had to gain back his composure and control himself. Wait, what?

"Y- you MIGHT SWING THAT WAY? KANEKIII WHAT THE HELL-  What are you saying?! Do not play with me right now" The human had decided grabbing his friends shoulders and shaking him, while decidedly not controling himself was the best option.

Said friend, laughed an airy melodic and beautiful laugh, wrapping his hands around Hides wrist to stop the shaking.

"God, Hide don't yell at me! So loud. And stop shaking me, please." The grey eyed gave him a soft smile as the shaking came to a halt.

"And you heard what I said, Hide. I might swing that way, actually. I just had never considered it before." The half ghoul shrugged.

Hide was gaping at his friend. Opening and closing his mouth multiple times, the clever blonde tried to find the words. Swallowing the hope stupidly blossoming in his chest.

"Neki.. you gotta understand what you're implying here. You're practically saying you could possibly be into men- That's insane. Why would you think that? I mean why - don't say that stuff to me, if you don't mean it. And I am sure you don't actually mean it right now."

Kaneki decided to stop Hides rambling and to ease that inner turmoil, so clear by his furrowed brows and that desperation in his eyes. Resting their foreheads against each other Kaneki took a deep breath. Glanzing at Hides lips and back up at those warm eyes, the half ghoul offered a shy smile and whispered gently.

"Then tell me why I've been thinking about kissing you this whole time. And if I am being honest with myself for the last 7 days."

Every ounce of self control Hide had, left the building the exact moment Kaneki had whispered those words. Letting all the air in his lungs rush out Hide closed the little sacred space that had been left betweem their faces. It was a timid, gentle kiss. More a soft brush of lips than anything else. Too scared to cross another boundary Hide stopped himself from deepening the touch. It was all Hide had ever wanted but over to soon. About to pull away he tried to bask in the moment that had only lasted a few seconds.

A hand slid into the hair at the back of Hides head, a caress of his jaw line with a thumb and Hide was pulled back in. Lips colliding alot firmer than before and Hides head was spinning. A soft noise escaping his throat and his hands cupped soft cheeks. The kiss was still only lip on lip contact, nothing crazy but it lasted longer and still made Hide forget how to breath.

They pulled apart and he was staring into light grey eyes and realization struck. Hide pulled away like he had been burned, stumbling and falling onto the ground, landing on his butt with a pained oof. The half ghoul gasped and jumped up immediatly wanting to reach for the blonde.

"Oh god, Hide. Are you alright?" Concern was clearly laced into Kanekis words. Hide waved his concern away with his hand. Brown panicked eyes met grey worried once.

"Shit, what the hell. You're married! Oh no, Touka is gonna have my head. I am so dead. Shity fuckery fuck." Hide whined trough his hands, which he had decided to hide his face in.

And Kaneki, just laughed. Incredulous Hide glanced at the laughing form of his best friend trough his fingers. Kaneki was laughing so hard he was holding his stomach and needed to wipe some tears from his eyes. Hide just stared at the display in utter disbelief.

After seemingly having finished his laugh attack the ghoul king regarded Hide with a wide grin. In a speed way out of range for a human to react to, Kaneki had crawled over the floor and advanced onto Hide. Crawling onto his lap and looking rather triumphant the half ghoul giggled. Kaneki seemed to make up his mind and leaned down to nuzzle his nose against Hides.

"Relax, Touka knows. You're all I've been talking about for a week, of course she wanted to know what happened. She was surprisingly understanding. Told me I needed to figure this shit out, and that you are way to good for me. And whatever we come up with she's fine with it and supporting it. She's honestly so cool, I have no idea how I pulled her." He laughed, having set up again and looking down at Hide.

"But then again I seem to have a talent for pulling the most amazing people in the world it seems."

The half ghoul leaned down towards Hides face again, licking his lips. Hide followed the movement transfixed.

"Hide, can I kiss you again?" Ken asked breathily.

Hides heart was hammering against his chest, he swallowed, nodded.

And so Ken did. It was still rather timid. Exploring, curious touches of lips. Sliding against each other and gentle hands. Hide thought he was going to explode, even more so when Kaneki let out a soft satisfied noise. Pulling apart, they stayed close for a moment, breathing the same air. Kaneki set up again, chest heaving and flushed face.

"Dude, you're so hot." Hide blurted, mouth again faster than his brain. He slapped a hand over his mouth watching Kanekis blush deepen and his eyes going wide, breath speeding up even more.

Kaneki bit his lip, taking a breath with closed eyes. When he opens them again he looks calmer and more collected.

"Hide, I- i don't know exactly what this means. I just know I really don't want you to leave, ever. I want you close, all the time. I was so scared of losing you, it almost killed me. And- and I want to kiss you many more times. Over and over. You mean the world to me, Hide. I need you to believe me. I want to try this with you. I really do."

Kaneki looked so determined and serious, Hide thought it was down right adorable. It also made his heart stutter and his stomach fill with warmth, but that was besides the point.

"Look at me, kissing a married man. I never knew I was such a Player." Hide chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows.

Kaneki laughed, smacking Hides chest.

"Shut up." Ken groaned.

[belethlegwen]

Hey girl heeey, it's me again! I'm still raving over the tiny/shrunk Melanie in Vogunti! Do you, mayhaps, have a scenario or a little snippet of tiny and/or shrunk Melanie with Henry? A little crumb, perhaps?

I love this ask!

I loved this ask so much that I was like "aw hell yeah, I can make a googadok and scribble out some ideas/maybe a quick little scene".

......

Anyway here's 15 pages of what would've been the start of The Stranding But Shit Happened And They Swapped, please enjoy <3

Also posting it here below the cut for the Tumblr folk who don't wanna head to AO3:

“Just hang on.”

Henry wasn’t sure who he was saying it to anymore.

His voice was hoarse and he hacked loudly into the rainy salt-spray that came up over the bow, his boots gripping the textured floor beneath him as he gripped tightly to the wheel.

“Just hang on.”

When his empty hand slipped on it, he could feel how cold the steel was wherever he hadn’t been holding. The other hand released from the wheel, hauling hard on the rope that was wrapped tightly around his palm and wrist as another gust came to try and take them off track once more.

They were nearly there.

They had cleared the black stones.

They had made it past the point.

They were nearly there.

He could see the trees on the hills, bowing and bending with the gusts of wind that would’ve likely torn any other sloop’s sails from the mast and rigging. If he could keep them from catching one more bad gust-- if he could ride this next wave with the tide--

“Hang on!”

He turned the ship at the last, pointing her straight in toward the shore that the waves were throwing him at as he hauled on the sail rope for that one, final, desperate moment.

She practically flew, weightlessness nearly overcoming him as they left the crest and hopped toward the next wave, her keel clearing the hump of any dropoff there if he was lucky. 

Another gust rushed at them sideways, this one threatening to undo all of his hard work.

He let the rope fly free, the wind whipping it with such a noise as he had never heard before, and he felt blood rush back through his palm to his cold, numb fingers.

 That hand fell over his chest, while the other gripped the wheel to help him brace for the impact as the Swift Landslide’s belly landed on the sand and beach rocks, sliding and scraping with the surf up the beach.

His knees had hit the deck, one leg splayed toward the port side to brace against what little this vessel’s helm offered as a foothold, merely a strange recess that had so very recently seemed so very, very different. In the profane, vulgar stillness the vessel had come to in defiance of the gusting, churning winds, the pounding sheets of rain, and the rolling of the sea, Henry tried to slow his ragged, hacking breathing while it drowned out nearly every other sound even as the water lapped loudly against the propped and tilted bottom of the boat.

“...Keel’s gone,” he called through panting gasps, loudly enough to carry through the storm to--

“Fuck,” he swore much more quietly, his hand lifting away from the breast of his coat as he scrambled to his feet, splashing in the water that had collected on deck. He fought his way inside. The strangely-folding hinged door to the now cramped, almost suffocating cabin was barely still attached.

“Fuck, please--” he breathed in panic, struggling to close the door behind him in effort to shut out the storm, standing at an angle on the stepped ladder between the bench and the tiny galley. “Please, are-- are you alright? Please, can you-- can you say something? Anything?”

He pulled the coat gently open as he finally got himself onto the floor proper, staring down at the top of the inner pocket, his mind already firing through a thousand or more worst-case-scenarios. He couldn’t tell if he was still shaking too much, or if his eyes could truly make out anything in the dark.

A breath rushed out of him deeper than the one he was sure he had taken as muffled noises managed to reach his ears, followed by what was clearly coughing. The fabric moved, though it seemed so wrong in its way.

She was alive. That alone put so many of his barely-formed fears to rest.

…She was alive. That alone ignited so many new fears and confusions.

“I-- I need to get you out of there,” he muttered, his tongue and lips seeming to move of their own accord and stutter his words like he meant to say so, so much more. Water dripped from his brow, splashing into a growing puddle collecting on the floor as rain and more of the sea trickled in under the door and over the steps behind him. “I-- there’s wat-- it doesn’t matter,” he mumbled to himself, his heart pounding as he struggled to figure out the next step, her sounds still incomprehensible.

The boat rocked under him as a particularly large wave crashed around and under it; not enough to dislodge, but enough to have him bump his head on one of the overhead devices that had seemed miles away the last he had bothered to take any stock of them. Mindlessly his hand kept coming to press against the outside of his coat, knowing without truly acknowledging that there was panicked movement inside it. If he would stop to think about it, Henry would either tell himself he was trying to offer comfort and reassurance, or he would realise that it clearly had the opposite effect and would stop. As it stood now, however, he could not stop to think about it, so he moved himself to sit on the lowest-tilted bench, positioning himself next to the ridiculously small counter.

He couldn’t get lost in the thoughts of the size of things right now; at least things outside of her.

Another noise he couldn’t make out was followed by obvious coughs as he opened his coat once again, the man muttering apologies and directions-- mostly to himself-- as fingers reached to the pocket’s top seam and opened it.

“Wait!”

It was a shrill scream, and the first understandable word she had used since this nightmare began, but as quickly as the man stopped at the sound of it, her next explosive wave of coughs spurred him into thoughtless action again, and those fingers-- still with the cold of the storm clinging throughout them-- fumbled her screaming, flailing form out of the damp fabric.

Everything about this felt so wrong to him. A desire to clutch and hold to stop her frightened attempt to escape him was nearly overbearing all of his better senses, simply due to the adrenaline-filled instincts that coursed through him with the thundering of his heart still.

All the while as he tried to wrap both hands around her, his stomach lurched and mind stabbed at him with the memories of his own terrors; of his own hatred for what he was doing to her. These were fresh wounds of fear, even, that he now was inflicting on her with no excuse other than that itself: Fear. 

He was frightened.

Though as he released her onto the slanted counter, hands staying to try and create a wall so she wouldn’t throw herself over an edge in her panic, he realised he was not nearly as frightened as her.

Melanie’s throat was raw and still she screamed. It was a compulsion, it was instinct. Involuntary, along with the scrambling and flailing. She hadn’t gotten her bearings since she could remember the wave knocking her onto the cushioned bench while she had attempted to reach for Henry. That was when everything turned into… this.

Gravity wheeled and sent her head spinning again as she struggled uselessly against what she refused to admit were fingers; what she refused to let herself believe was the oppressive strength of her being pulled and pushed into a palm, her legs and feet dangling and kicking until they too were wrapped and squeezed and restrained in that bizarre, pulsating way she had been struggling to process the entire time she was in that damp, tight dark.

She had thought for a brief time in that terrifying lightless sack that being able to breathe fresh air again might save her from feeling so sick and disoriented as the world around her had moved and spun and jumped and lurched and swung and compressed and…

Being out in the open air of-- she couldn’t bring herself to even try to grasp it-- proved that thought so very wrong. All it managed to give her was more air to scream with as she felt herself swinging through the air once more.

Everything was so loud.

Her feet collided with a hard, solid surface finally and all at once the constriction around her body released, leaving her free to do what she wanted. Which was, apparently, to scramble away from the moving shadows that were all around her while a cacophony of horrible noise was momentarily drowned out by an excessively loud, deeper sound.

“Melanie.”

Her hands leapt to slap against her ears and she slipped on whatever surface she had been placed on. “Wait, wait--” the voice continued, resonating through her chest even while it seemed to get quieter and quieter as she tried to gasp for air.

It was no use. Her screaming ceased, only because she couldn’t fight her lurching stomach any longer.

“Breathe, please… just breathe,” his voice came again, so strange and so different it would have been completely unfamiliar were it not for the tone; the rhythm. “I’ll speak quieter, you speak louder, and we’ll get through this.”

Despite her shaking she attempted to move herself into sitting up, or at least kneeling, a hand reaching for anything to brace herself with but staggering back into just holding herself off of the ground on all fours, shuffling herself further away from her own sick as she spluttered out coughs.

The owner of that rumbling voice went back to what must count as mumbling, even at that volume, muttering out worries and pleas and everything else before his voice raised with revelation.

“Ah, here--”

The shadows that had been moving all around and above her throughout this nightmare so far were suddenly no longer shadows, a loud clunking noise announcing the arrival of light just a couple of brief seconds before it flickered into the gargantuan space all around her.

Melanie finally looked up.

And up.

And up.

Then back down, her body curling in tightly against itself as if that would protect her somehow from this reality. This dream. This insanity.

“It’s me, it’s me!”

It may have been an attempt at reassurance, but it just made her cover her ears again. It was what happened next that finally offered her something of substance; something that could help her finally catch her breath.

As she cowered on what she could less and less deny was the counter of the galley, the presence of his hand had barely enough time to make her shiver before it was pressed fully against her back, his fingers curled and creating a canopy over her head that dimmed the light. Instantly, it felt so much better; instantly she was in a smaller space that wasn’t restrictive or terrifying. Instantly she was feeling honest, genuine comfort.

“There, there,” he tried to whisper, his voice like gusts of wind pushing against a sheltering wall in a storm, the comparison so easy to make as the ship rocked again with a wave and another, actual howl of wind. “It’s… you’re fine, breathe.”

Breathing was a struggle, but no longer impossible even as she quivered. There was no way for her to know how long it took her to stop shaking, only that by the time she had realised she had, Henry still clearly had not. With a deep, nearly gasping breath, she reached a hand above her head to rest on one of the fingers that was creating her shelter as the lights beyond it flickered again with the pounding sound of rain against the ship.

Melanie’s mind was ablaze with everything the sensation of his finger meant in this moment. Everything about it; the texture, the faint warmth still growing through the chill that lingered, the feeling of the muscles beneath shifting as it twitched and reacted to her own touch. His thumb dropped, sagging almost as it rested across her arm and her side, and she moved to touch the back of it instead, her hand shakily rubbing back and forth in some attempt to ground herself more.

“What happened?” She croaked out, eyes closed and flinching against the sounds of the nightmarish hurricane outside.

The sounds that obviously made it so he couldn’t hear her.

She cleared her throat with a few short coughs before trying again, shouting as loud as she was able to convince herself to, against every instinct she had trained over the last two years. “What happened?”

He let out a noise of surprise, stammering in a percussive way; a way that made her ribcage feel like it was resonating along with his words and utterings. “I… I don’t know, I can’t-- it just happened.”

His whispering was like the wind, but so much less threatening, so much less terrifying.

When she opened her eyes to finally look beyond what little safety she had, it took a moment to recognize exactly what she was seeing. His glistening-wet coat and wrinkled damp shirt shifted with his gigantic breaths, dark tendrils of dripping hair messily splattered or dangling across the fronts of both.

“...I was worried you’d say that,” she gathered the energy to shout to him, trying to make sense of just this little window of the massive new world around her. A world that was so familiar, not that long ago. A world that was supposed to be like home.

Her hand splayed and tensed against the back of his massive thumb as if to hold him down, her precious man-made lean-to tipping back as the view from her haven shifted dramatically before her. The startling blue-green shine of his eye absorbed all of her focus as she jumped back in her lying position, his hand tipping back down over her in response. “Sorry,” he muttered, raising his head back up so she could only see his chin and the coarse hairs that framed his mouth. “Am I really that frightening?”

“Yes!”

He sputtered out a surprised laugh that caused her to wince again, and he hushed himself as best as he was able. “I-- I was just trying to be funny,” he explained. “I’m also trying to see if you’re alright.”

“I’m not alright,” she said, loudly but less than shouting as she tried to hold back more coughs. “I-- this is--”

The words stopped. She couldn’t force out any that would make sense of any of this, so whatever had made it out simply hung there until the man around and in front and over her all at once heaved a sigh. “You still didn’t have to be so blunt,” he said under his breath after a moment, and the shock of that being his response in the face of everything else caught her with such force that she laughed as well.

“It’s true,” she called. “Why would you ask if you--”

“I don’t recall being that horrified by seeing you the first time like… this.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t! I--”

“No!” she shouted in this bizarre, distracting argument, trying to make sure she was loud enough for him to hear over his own oppressively loud voice. “You were panicked! You ran and hid behind a-- a towel, for God’s sake, you--”

“That was because I was naked,” he stated, his face shifting again in her little window to try and see her again. “Which, I’ll point out, you’re lucky enough not to be, so. I think I deserve a bit more credit.”

“Credit for what?” she shouted again, the absurdity of the conversation helping her let go of the terror of the situtation.

“For being kind, for one thing,” he replied, that giant mouth flashing into his cocky, lop-sided grin of a smirk before sliding out of her view and those eyes coming back into it. “And incredibly brave for another.”

“You drew a sword on me,” she said, her voice much more sheepish in that massive, unavoidable gaze, his gargantuan face turning to point an ear more toward her.

“You certainly just seemed like you’d have done the same,” he teased again. “You’re just lacking the opportunity.”

“I still have my dagger,” she called after checking her belt for it. There was an awkward pause, quieting them both amongst the calamity of the storm still pounding on the ship all around them. “I suppose I won’t be needing that anymore.”

“Keep it,” he said, those eyes lifting out of her view again as a non-smirking mouth reappeared. “But… yes, I imagine we won’t need the performance any longer. At least not from you.”

“...Oh god,” she breathed, another couple of coughs leaving her. Finally, she felt brave enough to try and sit up, her hands moving to try and guide his massive one away from her. Her eyes lingered on the texture of his fingers, the wrinkles and scars on his hands she had never seen before. Even as she blinked away the light as his hand moved away from her, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him in full. Not yet. “Do you-- are you the right…? For here, I mean, are we-- did we make it?”

His hand left the counter and she was alone there, trying not to look at him as his gigantic movements near her caused her to shiver from the size of them alone. “We’re somewhere I know, I’m sure,” he said in a mix of whistling, wind-like whispers and deep resonating words, creating such a strange emphasis while he spoke. “We passed barrier stones, so we must be on the shore of Vogunti, or perhaps if we’re too far south, Hostenia, but… I won’t know for sure if it’s anything I recognize until daybreak, at the least.”

Melanie took a peek only enough to see that Henry was fixing his wet hair, and distracted herself by trying to do something with her own just using her fingers. For the amount she had been in the wind and rain before all of this happened, on top of whatever happened when she had been confined to the dark and damp of his coat, it was useless and frankly painful to try and tame it right now.

“...I don’t know if I’m right or not,” he added with an exhausted-sounding laugh that made her flinch much less this time. “That will… that will also have to wait until daybreak.”

“How long will that be?” She asked, though his soft ‘hm?’ and the oppressively massive gesture of him leaning just slightly closer to listen better caused her to repeat it louder.

“I’ve not the faintest idea. At least five hours, I’d imagine? It was near nine when we hit the storm, if I remember correctly.”

His hands finished their work with his incredibly long hair, but instead of returning to her they dropped to his lap, somewhere beyond the little wall the counter had at the back by the bench seating. He was turned to face the other side of the boat now, the rise and fall of his chest more prominent as her eyes became braver and braver, taking in the massive sight of him piecemeal. 

“Keel’s gone,” he said after a moment in the quiet.

“I heard earlier,” she said, gathering herself to stand, trying to watch her footing as the wind sent what felt like small quakes through the whole boat.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out in shame, rubbing at his face and causing her to stagger back with the movement of even his most distant arm. “I-- am I quiet enough? Are you hurt? Did I-- when I grabbed you, was it--”

“Henry,” she said, staring at his familiar and strangely unfamiliar face, trying to make sense of the angle and the size and the detail versus the image she had had of him before. “It’s fine, I-- I’m not hurt, I don’t think, I--”

“You don’t think?” he asked, and his head turned to stare at her, both of them this time balking as their gazes met. “Melanie, if I hurt you--”

“You didn’t, I’m sure you didn’t,” she stammered out loudly, fighting the tightness in her chest that threatened to choke her words out. “I just-- it was a lot. It’s a lot. I’m still… this is still new.”

The mountain of a man continued to look at her, and she realised his pupils were moving, jittery and quick. He was looking at all of her, so quickly; so easily. Her arms wrapped around herself and she fidgeted, eyes dropping to his clothes again.

“I shouldn’t have,” he uttered again on an exhale that seemed like it could fill the whole room. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. The grabbing, the pocket, I-- but I didn’t have any other choice, I just--”

“It’s ok!” she called, stepping back and forth as she shook her head. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you’d left me in here, I don’t-- I don’t wanna think about it.”

Her eyes moved back up and up again to his face, meeting his startlingly giant gaze once more. “The pocket probably wasn’t so bad,” the insignificant woman on the counter admitted with an uncomfortable shrug. “It was just… fast, and dark. And wet-- it was… it was wet. That didn’t help.”

“Oh shit,” he swore, turning his attention down to the coat. “I-- did it soak through? I thought if you were inside it wouldn’t.”

“No, I don’t think any came from outside. I think it was just already damp from… everything else.”

“Well, the weath--”

Another crashing wave bumped the bottom of the vessel again, and the counter was nearly a springboard to her as it rocked aggressively upwards at a slant. Her arms had barely spread out to help her balance when a wall of a hand came sweeping toward her, a startled noise catching itself in her throat.

“Sorry, sorry!” he was babbling in his full voice again, the panic strong and clear. The ship finished landing back on its beached angle as the water outside receded, and she took deep breaths to slow her heart as she leaned against his fingers with her arms splayed over the tops of holding them close to her, relieved that he hadn’t closed them this time.

“Thanks,” she said, getting her balance and footing firmly again but finding herself reluctant to let his hand go.

He was just as reluctant to move it away.

“...As I was saying,” he continued with a chuckle that seemed to echo through his throat with a gritty texture to its sound, “the weather is shit.”

Melanie laughed, and whether he could hear it over the sound of another pounding of wind and rain above their heads, they both found themselves relaxing. A quiet, far more comfortable than the last, stretched between them and she found herself captivated by all of the details that were invisible to her for the last two years, now completely shocking to her in their size and texture both.

Meanwhile, Henry felt like the churning waves outside.

“...I don’t know what to do,” the man attached to the hand she was touching in long, slow sweeps of her fingers and palm said.

“Did you lose the sail?” the woman he watched move in such small and delicate ways asked, while he tried to imagine himself in her hands now.

His finger curled hesitantly inward to meet her touch. “I meant with you.”

Tiny hands grabbed his finger and rubbed the pad and the nail at the same time, exploring the textures of both. She didn’t reply. She didn’t even look at him. He spoke again.

“We should try to sleep.”

Her shoulders may have raised at that, and it upset him thoroughly that he couldn’t tell. His head tipped and turned, trying to find some kind of angle where he could see her expression without it being so obvious that he was staring.

“...Is the boat going to be safe?” 

“Would you like me to go drop anchor?” He asked, unable to help himself. The sour look she shot at his cocky grin was luckily an expression that didn’t often contain much subtlety. She turned her attention back to examining his hand, and he turned his attention back to watching her as he gave the question more serious thought. “The surge seems to be receding. The waves aren’t reaching as far, and not nearly as often as they were; we may still get a few rockings like this, but it won’t be enough to dislodge us.”

He looked to the floor and the water around his toes. “...If the rain keeps pushing in through that door, we may have something to contend with in the morning. I highly doubt it will get to the point of overtaking the cushions, but…”

“Where am I going to sleep?”

Clearly, she didn’t much care about the water.

Henry finally took a moment to really absorb his surroundings, fighting the strange overbearing sensation of claustrophobia as he continuously clocked where the ceiling was. He had never felt so cramped aboard the Massingill, or any of his other vessels, had he?

Everything was so… small now. Everything was like a toy to him, and his head ached as he looked at once familiar things and tried to grasp now that he could actually grasp them in a single hand if he wanted to. The sink faucet. The dislodged GPS. The cans of food and bottles of spices tipped sideways on their railed shelves.

The stairs and walkways they had built for him.

Before he could no longer fight the urge to bury his face in his hands and trying to hold his skull together around all of this insanity, his eyes fell on another item that otherwise would’ve sent him spiraling.

“The hammock?” he suggested weakly, and she turned to try and locate it near the forepoint behind him, past the sliding doors that had slipped ajar in their wrecking. Her mouth moved, that much he could see, but whatever swear it had been was too quiet for him to hear. “No?”

“I can’t,” she called louder, her voice so vastly different to the one he knew the best. “Not tonight-- not with the boat like this.” He had heard her almost like this, previously, when he had snuck away with her without her knowing; when she had no idea he was nearby, and didn’t feel the need to accommodate him like she would every time they spoke together.

He nodded, glancing around again for some kind of solution. “I suppose you’ll still want the bed, then,” he said lightly, that smirk tugging up one side of his lips.

“It’s my bed,” she called back, coughing a bit from the strain.

“You don’t need all of it,” he teased, lifting an eyebrow and cocking his head toward the higher end of the cabin. “Why not a quarter berth? You can have the whole thing-- the one without the extra lifejackets on it, even!”

“No!” she shouted, though he could hear her laughing in spite of herself. “I still want the forepoint, I just don’t want the hammock.”

“Fine,” he said, tossing his hands up like this was any other joking argument they were having in her kitchen while she cooked, or while they spent time sprawled beneath a tree in the backyard of her home. She staggered back from the motion, his eyes being drawn back to her doll-sized form again and he lowered them carefully with a wash of shame. It wasn’t enough to completely destroy what levity they had managed to find, however, as he added: “Will it be big enough for you?”

Melanie attempted to run her fingers through her hair again and he closed his eyes against the wave of memory of how her hair used to feel to his hands, thick silken threads sliding between his fingers. Now he could probably pinch the whole of her hair between two fingers. “...There’s room for one more,” she called to him, pulling him back to this wild dream.

“It’s not a hammock,” she added, arms hugging around themselves again as she started to take small steps on the counter.

“I know,” he said, sighing. He was finding it harder and harder to look away from her. “Are you-- would it be alright?”

“Of course it’s alright,” she sighed right back, shrugging. “It was never a problem, we just--”

“I don’t want to hurt you, like this.”

Henry had cut off her answer because it wasn’t what he had meant to ask her. He knew. He knew he had always been welcome. He knew that wasn’t the reason it had stopped. That wasn’t what he was asking about now.

She had tensed more into herself, somehow shrinking further. How had she ever dealt with this? How had she made it seem so natural and easy? All he wanted to do was comfort her, but he couldn’t simply wrap his arms around her fingers like he used to.

“You won’t,” she said in a voice he barely caught, repeating it louder and with a false confidence he could notice. “...Do you want the left side or the right side?”

“I’ll take your side so you can be close to the hammock, for when you come to your senses.” 

The giant man smiled at her, and the small woman smiled back, a strange pain just barely hidden behind both. The moment lingered, passing on to the point of having to take the next step. He waited for her to say it; it was the last thing he wanted to suggest.

“It doesn’t sound like it’s getting any nicer out there,” she said, looking up at the ceiling to listen to the next wave of pounding rain against it. He watched her knees seem to buckle as she did, her gaze promptly dropping back down, the woman steadying herself on the counter. “...Think you can get us to the bed?”

“What do you mean by that?” Henry’s brow furrowed over a skeptical, smirking expression. “I got us here, didn’t I?”

“Without a keel,” she stressed, smirking back, though even at their distance-- at her size-- he could see the exhaustion on her features now.

Henry lifted his hands up, bringing them slowly to the edge of the counter just past the little wall at the back of it, nearest him, one flat and the other tilted. Whatever bravado she had attempted to have for the joke evaporated instantly like a drop of water on a hot iron. He would wait; he didn’t want to grab her again.

“I-- Henry I don’t… I don’t think…”

“It’ll be fine, you can sit if you--”

It was, in truth, a much smaller knock of a wave than the boat had suffered previously since he had landed her on the beach, but it was still enough to have her stumble and yelp. His hand had moved instinctively, nearly knocking into her as she seemed to roll against it and throw her arms over the top.

“Please,” she begged after the vessel had settled on its rocky bed again. “Can you… like you did for the pocket. Just… just take it slow.”

“But--”

“Please, Henry,” she said louder, not able to look up at him, and clutching his hand even tighter to her body.

It felt wrong. It felt so wrong to do it. It had been something he would have hated had she done it to him, and instead she was asking for it again.

His fingers closed around her, thumb and forefinger under her arms as she finally relented her grasp on him, as small as it was. His mouth opened to stammer out excuses, more argument-- perhaps she was just lacking confidence. Perhaps he could make her feel better, feel safer. Perhaps he could make her do this any other way.

She was so delicate. So fragile.

How had she done this? Any of this?

How had he, when he was in her position?

It had been so natural when they had done it even just hours ago. It had been natural for nearly years. Now they were negotiating back and forth with words and movements like one wrong move could set off a keg of powder. He twisted his hand, she shifted to correct him. “Am I squeezing too much?” “No.” “Now?” “No. Keep your fingers where I put them.”

Finally they were both as happy as they would be with how he was holding her, and he wondered if his heart being in his throat had any effect on the pulse that was thundering back against her ribcage. He hadn’t thought of this-- any of this-- the first time. He had simply grabbed her small, squirming body, an mere fistful of a person, and dropped her into his pocket while his mind had directed him to seventy other, ‘more important’ things.

He didn’t notice until he started to lift her that her eyes were closed, and closed tight. Had they been closed this whole time?

Melanie’s chest stretched and pressed against the flesh of his hand in rapid rhythm, her arms and hands gripping desperately over the back of his thumb and clinging to a fingernail. He heard her make a sound-- some kind of yelp of whimper and stopped his movement as her legs dangled and tensed and fidgeted out past his smallest finger, the whole of her waist and hips and the tops of her thighs in his horrendously diffident grip.

“Don’t stop!”

Henry blinked at the sound of her near bark of a command, her terror literally sensational to him in every aspect. He swept her further up, another less loud and less sudden shout of “not so fast!” giving him the kind of helpful direction he needed. Then… he was holding her.

Her entire self was in his hand. Tense, but not panicking or flailing as she had before, and tipped just slightly back into his palm with her eyes closed tightly; every muscle taught as they could be around him.

Of all the times he had humoured the thoughts of swapping positions with her, not once had he imagined this. Not once had he even wondered what this could be like or feel like from this perspective. For all the faults he was quick to pinpoint and address and correct as he was able, never was there a thought of being in these shoes.

His other hand had moved without thought to support her legs, his thumb almost mindlessly running over the tops of her thighs and knees in an attempt to get her to relax and unbend them. Her chest expanded with a gasp he didn’t hear at his touch, and she tensed even more at first before relenting.

Still, her eyes would not open.

He didn’t want them to. 

Not yet. Not while he was unable to stop staring at her in a way which he knew he had been subject to so many times over the last two years. Gawked at. Inspected. Henry had hated the feeling of it then, and likely still would now, regardless of how much he suddenly felt himself empathizing with them all.

“I’ll take it slow,” he whispered, his thumb caressing softly over her shins for lack of anything better to do while he still held her steady with his other hand.

Melanie nodded, her arms flexing so strongly against him for her size, in spite of all of the frailty she looked like she should possess.

His eyes hardly left her even as he made his way to their once massive berth, only relenting his delicate hold of her legs enough to maneuver the sliding door and close it behind them. Stooping lower over the mattress and its tangle of blankets and sheets, the pillows nowhere near where they typically were, he did his best to gently position her into sitting on the side that was nearest his ridiculous, shamefully small hammock where it swung with the latest tiny bump of a wave. Fingers opened and slid away, her hands trying to hold him until the last second when she seemed to settle herself properly on the cushiontop.

“Thank you.”

It was probably her second attempt at saying it, and still it had nearly not made it to him.

“Get yourself situated,” he said to her. The directions of a Captain. The soft voice of a friend. “I’ll make the last checks, hang my coat, and then I’ll be in.”

Those tiny dots he knew were supposed to be hazel opened and took their time to look up at him, bouncing across the features of his face and between his own two eyes. She nodded, her tiny hand clutching at the blanket beneath her like it was a life preserver.

Henry smiled, a finger tapping the mattress through the blankets in lieu of letting himself say anything further. Then, he took a deep breath, and stood himself back up.

…Promptly knocking his head into the ceiling.

At least she laughed at that.

[plor-bindery]

Bound: In My Room by wolfpants

Final installment in my mini-series of “fic I bound and sent to wolf”: In My Room by @wolfpants

I never really gave much thought to the idea of Dron as a pairing, but then wolf went and dropped a little WIP snippet of this on their Tumblr and I was like hoshit this has awakened something in me. And when the full fic was posted, I was completely sold.

Wolf's Ron is so wonderfully flawed and charming and everything we understand canon!Ron (book canon, anyway) to be. He's both insecure and cocky, awkward and appealing, judgemental and fair-minded. Ron in this fic is also 100% an Eighteen Year Old Human, i.e. very sure that he is making Good Choices while he is actually mostly making a series of Bad Choices.

And Draco is such a perfect foil to all of this: postwar Draco, who is a mess of self-doubt and old bigoted reflexes and fragile newborn-wobbly attempts to change, to be better.

(And I won't get into the background Drarry energy, but good god. Harry just fucking HOVERS in this fic. He's still SOMETHING to Draco, and A WHOLE LOT to Ron, even as both of them are doing something that decidedly breaks with both those historical relationships.)

Anyway, wolf's soundtrack to this fic is all 70s, and I have a warm fuzzy feeling for a Ron who's rooted in his parental nostalgia, who grew up with hand-me-down music tastes and groovy avocado blankets and plastic Muggle artefacts. When I spotted the paper that became this book's endpapers, everything came into focus for this bind.

More below the cut.

Materials: This is a quarto letter bind on cream 24 lb paper, using a fucking delightful shade of green wooqu bookcloth. But the real star is the endpaper choice, which I picked up at a Paper Source in DC in August. (We don't have this in Canada, I was very very happy.) It's got some subtle gold foiling on it, but the pattern and palette is so very 70s. (I'm a Xennial myself, so this print feels like everything that was just a shade out of fashion when I was a small Plor.)

Endbands are machine made.

The cover art is HTV and it went on fairly well? Ish?

Process: The typeset was quick for this short fic, which is a single chapter. I backfilled the final half-empty signature with the lyrics from wolf's playlist for the fic. (This is probably borderline in terms of transformative works and copyright but uhhhh too late.)

The book was a fairly straightforward case bind. I've been using the Bradel-style case construction for most of my case binds, where you use a strip of cardstock to build the spine/hinges on, and then trim the fore edges down on the boards. This can sometimes show up as slightly creased grooves in the hinges if you're not super careful with the bone folder, but I still prefer it to the guesswork of measuring and then building a whole case, covering it, and realizing it's the wrong size.

When I bound my own copy of this fic (after the copy for wolf! which is not how I usually roll, but the first copy was good???) I did take the plunge and build the case in this more traditional way, and it went perfectly. I'm still scared to try it again. Book board is expensive?

The HTV is the most layered I've ever done, and it was SO FUN to build the tiny record player out of layers of vinyl. When I did a test cut of the art, I was filled with the glee of Tiny Dollhouse Feelings. The chess board on the back with its various symbology was just fun. And the spine features an extremely unsubtle nod to the pairing and dynamic with the yellow/blond chess pawn and the orange/ginger knight.

And this concludes my tour of the works I bound for wolf! I'm now nearly finished another little gift parcel for another amazing author, sooo in 2-3 months' time, I should have another round of gift binds to share. (Most of that is shipping time because oceans.) Stay tuned!

[inadaydream99]

Kiss Me, Kiss Me

Mix of established relationship and friends to lovers, very fluffy

A/N - it’s basically just mini snippets of scenarios about kissing each of the members, because why not! It’s been a while since I last posted!

Disclaimer: this is for entertainment purposes only and does not represent any of the members in real life!

S.coups

“Hey!” Seungcheol shouts after you, following the trail of your elated laughter. He can’t believe you’ve just rejected his attempt to kiss you. The betrayal.

It’s not until you’re cornered, sandwiched between the wall and your boyfriend that you begin to quieten down.

“Not so funny now, is it?” You watch as Seungcheol smirks down at you, mesmerised by the way his tongue slowly swipes across his bottom lip. You gulp, shaking your head no.

“Then I think you should explain why you wouldn’t kiss me just then.”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, only releasing it when your boyfriends hand gently cups under your chin and uses his thumb to untuck your lip.

“I’m sorry?” You try to appease him with a pleading smile, gasping when he dips his head into the sensitive skin where your jaw meets your neck and chuckles. You really shouldn’t have rejected one of his kisses.

Jeonghan

“You kissed Joshua!” Jeonghan’s voice reverberates off the walls, making you wince. “When?”

“It was years ago and it meant nothing.” You try to keep your voice soft, encouraging your friend to match your volume.

You understand his reaction, the confession seeming to have come out of nowhere. If you count nowhere as playing a lighthearted game of sharing secrets with your best friend.

You watch Jeonghan for a few silent seconds as he seems to take in your answer and swirl it around his mind.

“So,” a coy look overtakes his expression, “would you kiss me?”

“Absolutely not!” You answer a little too quickly for your friends liking, earning an overly dramatic gasp in offence.

“Why!” He whines.

“Because…” you trail off, wondering how the best way to go about this should be, not just for Jeonghan, but for your own sanity too.

It’s not like you’re repulsed by him, not even close. It’s more that you’ve always felt a certain way about Jeonghan. He’s pretty much your dream man and you’ve thought about what it would be like to kiss him more times than you’d like to admit. But there’s no way you can tell him that.

“(Y/N), seriously?” You blink back into focus, realising that you’d definitely kept him waiting too long for an answer. “You’d happily kiss Joshua but not me?”

You roll your eyes upon hearing him go into his dramatically sassy defence. You know there’s not really anything you can say that will make him quit nagging you about it for an eternity. So you decide to show him instead, cutting him off mid-rant by pressing your lips to his.

Joshua

Was he getting a kick out of this? One hundred percent.

Sometimes it feels like your relationship with Joshua is just him trying to annoy you beyond belief and then giving you cuddles until you forgive him. But right now, you’re so beyond done with his smothering that he can shove his offer of make up cuddles in the trash.

“Baby, just one teeny tiny little kiss… please…”

“But I’m trying to focus.” You refuse to look at your boyfriend. It’s the best you can do to get your point across when he’s already holding you hostage in a back hug.

“Just one verrrrrryyyy small one?” He tries to lean around to catch a glimpse of your face.

“Dude no!” Your voice sounds way louder than you intend and guilt immediately overwhelms you when you feel your boyfriend finally quiet down and detach from you.

The silence that follows is painful and the loss of your boyfriend sized hot water bottle makes you shiver from the cold. You regret letting your bad mood get the better of you…

“Joshi, I’m sorry…” you sigh, perching on the edge of the sofa where you boyfriend has retreated too.

He looks at you, maintaining eye contact for a moment before opening his arms and wordlessly inviting you in for a hug. You let out the breath you’d been holding in relief, snuggling into his embrace and burying your face into his chest.

“And a kiss?” You shyly lift your head to peek at his reaction, unable to stop the giggle that erupts as he simply puckers his lips.

Jun

“You better stop that right now, I’m serious.” Jun deadpans you, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist to stop you from putting any more space between you.

A bets a bet and you undeniably lost. So while your boyfriend has been trying to make you pay up for the last few minutes, you’ve been trying to stall.

The forfeit for the looser isn’t even bad. All you have to do is admit that Jun is better than you and then kiss him. But you’ve decided that you want him to beg you for it first.

“Hi serious.” You smirk, coyly looking up at him through your lashes. “You know, you look like a grumpy version of my boyfriend.”

You have to physically bite down on your bottom lip to stop your laughter when Jun rolls his eyes at your childish joke.

“Well maybe that’s because you’re acting like a sore looser?” The sarcasm drips off his words so condescendingly and you couldn’t be more pleased with yourself at successfully riling him up so easily.

“Or you’re a sore winner!” You squeak as you manage to wrangle your wrist free from his grasp and sprint away, giggling like a child when you look over your shoulder to find him chasing after you.

“(Y/N)! You better get back here and kiss me!”

Hoshi

“You do realise I’m still mad at you, right?” You raise a brow at your friend and his failing attempt to get you to forgive him.

“But I said I was sorry like a hundred times!” Soonyoung exasperatedly throws his hands in the air.

“But sorry doesn’t make the bite mark on my arm just magically disappear.” You counteract. “Do you realise how much teasing I’ve had to endure from everyone because of it?” Soonyoung shakes his head “no” in response. You’re just thankful that no one has clocked onto the fact that is was Soonyoung who gave you the mark.

You admit, you love everything about your best friend. His loudness, his sometimes child-like ways of annoying you, even his never ending amounts of energy. Everything except his persistent tiger agenda when he takes it too far; just like when he accidentally bit your arm last week trying to prove he was a real tiger.

“Trust me, Mingyu has been bugging me non-stop trying to find out who did it.” You cringe.

“What if I kiss it better?” Your eyebrows raise in shock. But Soonyoung seems serious about his offer.

“That’s not really going to do much though…” you shyly hesitate.

“Well, how about this?”

Soongyoung smashes his lips into yours just as you open your mouth to ask him what he means and you’re instantly hooked. Maybe a kiss really does make it better…

Wonwoo

Heavy panting and heated breaths fill the otherwise quiet room. You’d only pulled apart from Wonwoo just a second ago and yet you already miss the velvety soft feeling of his lips against yours and as your gaze trails up from his lips you find his eyes waiting for you. His expression is unreadable, but calm, and it somehow makes you feel comforted and nervous at the same time.

“You’re so desperate.” His sudden smile and his low chuckle as he shakes his head catch you off guard. All these months secretly getting closer and you’re still unable to read him.

“Says the one who pounced on me when he arrived.” You mutter, but you know Wonwoo heard you loud and clear. He wouldn’t be smirking at you like that if he hadn’t.

“Says the one who’s drooling over me right now.” He cocks a brow at you. Check and mate. He knows you too well.

“Oh,” you scoff, “and you’re not just as whipped?” You fold your arms defensively across your chest. They’re only there for a few seconds before Wonwoo has taken a step closer to you and you watch as his hands reach out to unfold your arms, guiding your palms to press flush against the soft cotton t-shirt that covers his toned chest.

“Maybe I am,” Wonwoo begins, leaning down as you feel one hand fall to your waist. “Maybe I’m not…” he finishes coyly, his other hand cupping your cheek before he smashes his lips back onto yours.

Woozi

Why you’re in a bad mood is beyond Jihoon. But there you are, sat up in bed, with the grumpiest face as you scroll through your phone.

“So, are we gonna talk about what’s annoyed you?” Your boyfriend tries to start a casual conversation as he climbs into bed beside you. You can feel him watching you, waiting for an answer. You scoff.

“Seriously?” You sassily side-eye him. How could he not know?! You roll your eyes when you notice the perplexed expression on his face, realising you’re going to have to spell it out for him. “We had reservations at that new place down town and you forgot.”

You watch as Jihoon’s eyes grow wide, a small “oh” falling past his lips as the realisation dawns on him. And now your grumpiness and how you dodged his kiss when he arrived home earlier make a lot of sense…

“Babe, I’m so sorry.” He begins. “I have no excuse for forgetting, but work has been so busy lately and we just got some lyrics sent back with like a billion changes needed and I-”

Before he has time to continue rambling, you press your lips against his, shutting him up. Relief washes over both of you as you fall into sync. It’s clear your boyfriend didn’t stand you up on purpose, and you feel guilty for shutting him out for it.

“It’s ok.” You whisper, pulling apart breathlessly to let him know all is forgiven. “Just don’t stop kissing me.” You manage before your lips smash back into his.

Dk

“Have you ever thought what it would be like if we kissed?”

Seokmin pouts upon witnessing the bubbles of laughter that immediately tumble past your lips. But despite his serious expression, you can see the difficulty your friend has trying to keep his smile from braking out across his face. He wanted this to be a serious conversation, not melting at the way your eyes gleam in happiness while you make light of his words.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh.” Seokmin manages to keep his voice calm and controlled, unlike the way his heart races in his chest.

“I promised I wouldn’t laugh at you. Which I’m not.” He sighs at your rebuttal. “You just made me nervous…”

“I made you nervous?” His eyes go wide. Although it’s more surprising to you how he had clearly not considered that voicing his thoughts about you kissing each other wouldn’t possibly catch you off guard.

“Obviously.” you tease, “It’s not everyday your best friend randomly tells you they want to kiss you.”

“I asked if you’ve ever thought about it.” Seokmin rolls his eyes, trying his best to suppress the way his stomach summersaults at your blatantly flirty teasing.

“So you’re saying you don’t want to kiss me then?” You pester back within half a second.

“Of course I do!” Seokmin confesses frustratedly, not realising what he’s said out loud until he hears your next challenge to him.

“Well, do it then.”

Mingyu

He’d been alone all day. Waiting. And so that’s why you find him sulking. Your plan from the morning had really backfired on you. And by the evening, no longer were you the one avoiding his kisses and affection. Oh how the tables have turned. Now you can’t seem to get your boyfriend to so much as look at you (unless you count his salty glares to your turned back). So you’d avoided his good morning kiss and his second attempt after brushing his teeth… and his third attempt as you put on your shoes to head to work… so what? It’s not like you’d ripped his heart out of his chest like a violent animal.

Except, that’s exactly what it felt like to your giant boyfriend.

“How’s your day been baby?” Your attempt to start a nice conversation falls on deaf ears. “Gyu?” You wave your small hand in his face, trying to get his expression to change from his child-like sulk.

“Oh, so it’s different when you want my attention.” He mutters so quietly you almost miss his words. Almost. You sigh as you plop down next to him on your shared bed.

“I was only teasing you this morning Gyu.” You explain, watching the way he side-eyes you and catching the hurt that pours out of them. “I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Mingyu feels guilty when your voice grows quieter, his resolve growing thin as he finally caves in and looks at you properly. And he can’t stand the picture of you before him. He can feel his heart fracturing from the way you stare down at your lap. You look so fragile like that.

“Baby.” Your breath hitches as your chin is tilted up by your boyfriend’s hand, your faces way closer than you’d expected them to be. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the entire world. And there’s no need for anymore words to be spoken before your lips collide and you melt into him completely.

The 8

“Did you just hear something?” Your body is frozen, trying not to move a muscle or make any noise as you listen. There’s always something eerie about being in the practice rooms after hours.

“(Y/N), relax.” Minghao cups your cheek. “Everyone went home hours ago.” You nod your head, telling yourself that Minghao’s right, you’re just being paranoid about getting caught.

It’s not like it would be a bad thing for people to find out that you and Minghao had been secretly seeing each other for the past month. It’s just, you’re not sure either of you are ready for all the inevitable questions his friends would ask about your relationship. You’ve not even had that discussion with him about that yet.

“You’re right.” You exhale. “Where were we?” You can’t help how your heart skips a beat as you watch the slow smirk stretch across his lips. “Oh yeah…” you minutely giggle as Minghao dips his head down to brush his lips against yours. Everything else instantly fizzes away and all the tension in your body melts.

But then you definitely hear something from a distance the resembles a door slamming and you jolt away from Minghao with wide, fearful eyes.

“Ok,” he sighs, “I’ll go check who that was.”

Minghao is barely able to take a step after turning around to face the door before you’ve grabbed onto his wrist with one of your hands.

“I’m not letting you go alone.” You state, threading your fingers through his. He smiles down at you affectionally before pulling you towards the door, ready to investigate - and possibly get caught - together.

Seungkwan

“Was that really necessary?” You try - and fail - to hide the amusement from your boyfriends silly antics. Yes, Seungkwan really did just smack your backside with his damp towel as he walked past you.

“Absolutely!” He grins, chucking said damp towel into the laundry basket by the door before making his way back towards you and enveloping you in a back hug.

You’re stood in front of the mirror, applying the final touches of makeup to your face, while you try to ignore the way Seungkwan watches from over your shoulder. It’s difficult to not get distracted by him when he looks like that and he knows your weakness for him when he’s fresh out of the shower, wet hair and little droplets of water glimmering on his skin.

“Maybe we should bail on the guys tonight and stay here?” You shake your head at the way Seungkwan wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Kwan, you’re not gonna seduce me into ditching Mingyu’s birthday dinner.” You keep your tone firm, adamant on remaining focused; you’re not going to be teased by everyone the whole night for being late. That is until Seungkwan pinches your sides and you let out a yelp. Thank goodness you hadn’t begun applying any mascara yet; half a second later however…

“Ok, that’s it.” You turn to face your mischievous boyfriend, waving the mascara wand around in your hand. “No kisses for the whole night!”

Despite you’re attempts at scolding Seungkwan, he’s not even slightly threatened. Instead he simply raises a judging brow before picking you up by your waist and holding you in his arms, planting kisses all over your face while you feebly attempt to fight his hold. He continues until you’re both a laughing mess, tears of laughter spilling down your cheeks and getting ready long forgotten. Yeah, you’re definitely going to be late now.

Vernon

“Kiss me, baby.”

His lips are ghosting yours. But despite his endeavours to make you cave, you’re not quite ready to give in just yet.

Why won’t you kiss Vernon? Well that’s an easy question to answer.

You been hanging out since the morning and everything had been so normal, just like every other time you’ve hung out together. Just two best friends enjoying each others company. Until Vernon had told you about how the guys had been teasing him about your “friendship”.

You’d initially laughed it off and the topic would have been dropped if you hadn’t felt the need to make the jokey comment about how you could never see Vernon in that way, let alone take him seriously if he tried to kiss you…

You were surprised to say the least, when he’d taken a little offence to your words. Usually so laidback, it was like the thought of you not being able to see him in that way had flicked a switch within him and suddenly he was determined to change your mind. So for the whole day, Vernon has been trying his absolute best to get himself out of the friend zone.

“Just tell me to stop and I will.” You feel Vernon whisper into your lips and you have to resist every impulse you have to let your eyes flutter shut, even though there’s no use in really trying at this point.

Vernon gives you a few second to respond, to show him any sign that you don’t want him to continue. And when he finds none, you feel his lips stretch into a smile before, finally, connecting with yours softly.

Dino

You swear, the next time you see Seungkwan you’re gonna murder him. Why did he have to get all in your head about how clingy you are? And why did you let it affect you to the point where, when you bought it up to your boyfriend Chan, you felt so insecure when he didn’t immediately disagree? Of course, Chan didn’t agree with Seungkwan’s teasing statement either… but he still hesitated!

Meanwhile, your boyfriend thinks he might also murder Seungkwan when he next sees him too. Because it’s his fault that you refuse to show him affection in case you’re being too clingy. Poor Seungkwan. And poor, affection deprived Chan.

“Babe, one cuddle doesn’t make you a clingy person.” Chan tries to reason with you as you both prepare for bed together. He just misses your affection, considering you barely show him any when he’s with the guys. Which is practically all the time!

“Well that’s what you get for agreeing that I’m clingy.” You state matter of factly as you slip under the covers of your duvet.

“But I didn’t agree.” Chan tries to reason, following suit and snuggling under the covers. “How about a kiss? You have to kiss your boyfriend, it’s law.” You snicker at his silly reasoning.

“Oh really?” You raise a brow at him. “Would I go to jail if I don’t?”

“Yes.” Chan laughs along with you.

“I guess I have no choice then…” you half shrug, both of you smiling like idiots in love as you close the space between your faces until there’s nothing left.