#cause its quite inconvenient

[depresseddepot]

.

[toytulini]

god that "morning people are an oppressive class" post annoys me in some way i cant. quite. ugh

[felidthing]

absolutely wild that a doctor who had spoken to me about three times and possibly gathered information from other people who'd known me about a week could write down the he thought i had BPD and when i asked if there was some way for them to figure out/point me in the direction of whether i might havd adhd or autism or something they said "oh we dont do any assessments sorry"

[713-4th-ward-g]

.

[3liza]

I agree that the pushback against White Woman Paranoia About Men is warranted but

I also see a lot of posts by men and people who situationally may never experience this, about how being wary of men as a class is delusional due to the actual crime statistics being basically negligible compared to, for example, being hit by a car or getting into a car accident. and what this kind of post doesn't acknowledge is that there are lot of ways to have an exceptionally bad experience caused by strange men in public that have nothing to do with anything that is classified as criminal, bodily harm, and specifically any behavior that would actually be worthwhile to report, making it unknown to the statistics. the guy who followed me for two blocks one night and then brushed by my back and said "don't fall" very pointedly as I was standing on a freeway overpass wasn't doing anything illegal and certainly nothing any cop would do anything about if I "reported" it (lmao) but yeah that is an unpleasant experience I remember vividly and would like to avoid in future. one example of many, obviously, I'm not making a whole post about a single experience

it is absolutely the case that the only rapes and most of the physical assaults I've experienced have been from men known to me socially or intimately, but until I got a large dog, going outside was about 60% likely to involve being harassed. which is a lot more than I have been hit by cars (zero times)

being harassed is extremely unpleasant regardless of its likelihood to progress to physical assault. sometimes it can be so unpleasant it affects our daily lives, and a single incident of harassment can impact a person's mental health. the expectation of ongoing harassment does this moreso, it creates a continual expectation of being pursued, questioned, and then having to deal with someone getting angry at you when you don't accede to their demands. in any context this is unpleasant. people who do not experience sexual harassment in their daily lives may be able to empathize with this experience if they were ever bullied as children. people chasing you around, calling you names, creating unpleasant confrontations for no reason, and then the next day you have to get up and go do it again. people change schools, quit jobs and move out of shared living situations to avoid this kind of stress, it's reasonable to develop an aversion to it. it's reasonable to develop reactivity and hypervigilance as well. verbal and social harassment without any physical assault is more than enough to cause a trauma response.

it's also just inconvenient. even if you are not menaced or belittled or traumatized by an episode of harassment, having to Manage a Harassment Situation in the grocery store or post office when you're just trying to get an errand done is a massive waste of time. a lot of women have to plan for extra time during errands or travel to account for getting out of situations like that.

a LOT of the paranoia about men from women that you can read everywhere in the culture is based not in a fear of getting physically harmed or killed, but simply avoiding more harassment.

I think a lot of women have defaulted to explaining this desire to avoid men and avoid being alone with men, or explaining their suspicion of men, as fear of physical harm, because that's the only way people who don't get harassed are able to take it seriously. but it's completely reasonable to want to avoid being annoyed, bothered, harassed, questioned, inconvenienced, interrupted, or to have someone just be rude to you, completely apart from the actual percentage likelihood that they are a serial killer. even the act of telling these men politely that you can't talk right now, aren't interested, have to go, have a boyfriend, whatever, is annoying and often escalates into a confrontation or to the man being angry at you or insulting you. we can agree that getting into a verbal argument for no reason on the street is a negative experience. it can be annoying and unsettling without being a threat to life and limb. and no this isn't a "i have bad social skills and can't handle normal human interactions" thing, it's not a social interaction required by common decency or manners or basic function, it's someone putting you into a bad situation for no reason and then getting mad at you when you decline to entertain them. the harassers are the ones being rude. it is a violation of the social contract to catcall someone. it's just annoying and I want to avoid it. most women want to avoid it, and behave accordingly.

no terfs on this post. everything I just said about being bothered by strangers applies double (at least) to the experiences of most trans women

women aren't the only people who get harassed by strangers either, but it is overwhelmingly an issue experienced by women, and people who are perceived as feminine or as women.

it's also not just men who do the harassing, but again, it is overwhelmingly men who are doing it.

some women experience no harassment or very little of this harassment and won't identify with this post. that's true and real, but doesn't make it not true that a very very large percentage of women, maybe even most women, have experienced this. no experience is universal

[edenavari]

On the Matter of Mirrors

Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else. 

‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed. 

But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right? 

“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps. 

They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.

All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him. 

“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.

He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger. 

“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts. 

“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”

“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again. 

“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”

Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”

It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope. 

Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic. 

Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested. 

His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss. 

He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life. 

The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief. 

Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”

A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute. 

“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge. 

Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own. 

“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly serious. 

“You should forget all about Nancy.”

Steve frowns too. “That so?”

“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”

“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats. 

“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget. 

When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.

Give us a kudos, if ye dare x

[calmcoldevening]

Pov: You knew slashers, when you was a child (Slashers x fem!reader)

I'm back! Well, it os a lazy post from my drafts, until I end my new idea <3

TW: no

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

P.S.: English is not my native language, so lot of these words was translated by simple translator, sorry for misspells and e.t.c.

Enjoy this!

Thomas Hewitt

The transition to a new school has always been a great stress for a child, especially in the middle of the school year.

You and your parents often moved from city to city. Maybe it was their work, or maybe they just wanted to show you as many different places as possible so that your childhood would remain really memorable — you didn't know. But the constant moving was followed by a change of schools and kindergartens. On the one hand, you liked it — new acquaintances, interests and a lot of positive emotions, after all, you were a cheerful and active child — but it also brought its inconveniences — you didn't have "best" friends, you had no more than a couple of months to communicate with each of them, and multiple the change of the team has made you a real chameleon in society.

You were ten years old when you and your parents moved to Texas. The age when most classes have already been divided into peculiar interest groups, which are quite difficult for a new person to join. That's why your mom decided to bake cookies that you could distribute to new classmates. Who doesn't like homemade cakes? You actively participated in the cooking process. A little more practice, and you could learn these cookies on your own. As soon as the treat was ready — several pieces were successfully taken away by your father — your mother beautifully put it in a colored box, now tied with a ribbon. The inscription "Welcome" was painted on the lid in gold paint.

It was very hot in this area of Texas. Therefore, on your first day of school, you decided to limit yourself to a beautiful white T-shirt with some simple pattern and black shorts. The first impression is the most important, right? Your mom took you to school by car. At the reception desk, your mom introduced you and found out the number of the right office. After kissing you goodbye on the cheek, she left you to your own luck. Although you were already used to it, a nervous feeling of anticipation bubbled somewhere in your chest; your palms were sweating.

After a good seven minutes, you were standing in front of the right class, 212, clutching a box of cookies to your chest. Adjusting the strap of the gray backpack, you exhaled anyway.

Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, introduced you in the office. A lovely woman with curly locks hanging down on both sides of her face and freckled cheeks. Her soft figure, dressed in a white blouse and a black pencil skirt, caused a surge of strength and confidence in you. The woman lightly put her arm around your shoulders, so motherly, and asked you to tell about yourself.

"My name is Y/N Y/L," your voice trembled slightly while your gaze ran over the children sitting in the classroom, "I'm ten. I like animals and beading... Mm, my parents and I move around a lot, so I don't think I'll stay here for more than two months. I hope we'll become friends."

You ended your performance with a sincere warm smile. Mrs. Sullivan asked you to take an empty seat. Your choice fell on the farthest place by the window; a guy was sitting behind it, hunched over and staring at the street. Was he weird? No, rather unusual. He had long black hair, so unusual for a boy; his gaze was lowered somewhere on the dusty road near the school, so you couldn't see his eyes. Sitting down next to him, you quickly took out a notebook and pencil from your backpack.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed startled by your voice. He looked at you uncertainly, and you saw a face wrapped in bandages. Sad cornflower blue eyes peeked out from under the white cloth.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper, holding out your hand to the boy, "And what's your name?"

There was no response. Disappointed, you lowered your hand, now paying attention to the teacher's explanation. The woman was writing down her words on the blackboard, and you quickly began copying them into your notebook, clutching a pencil until it crackled.

There was something about this boy that attracted you. It doesn't matter if it was his shyness or isolation — you decided that you definitely want to make friends with him.

At recess, you approached a group of girls. They were dressed up like girls from fashion magazines that you often saw in kiosks by the road.

"Hi," — you said with a light smile.

"Well, hello," said one of the girls, popping a bubble of gum.

"I want to ask. M, that boy," you pointed to the long—haired boy, "What's his name? I asked, and he ignored me."

"Haha, he won't answer you. That's our little Tommy," another girl hissed sarcastically, giggling, "Thomas Hewitt is weird. Very strange. I heard that his father is his brother!"

"And he's also a terrible freak!"

You awkwardly put your hand in your hair. Thomas didn't look as disgusting as the girls described him. It's all rumors. And what to take from these children, they probably didn't even try to talk to Hewitt!

You didn't talk to this company anymore. After waiting for lunch, when all the children went out to the garden at the school, you again approached the boy. He didn't budge. It seems he hasn't even written anything since you sat down next to him.

"Hey, hello?" you waved your palm in front of the guy's face, "Thomas, right?"

This time the boy paid attention to you. There was no emotion visible under the thick layer of bandages, but you were sure that he arched an eyebrow questioningly. He's wondering how you know his name?

"You were sitting alone, so I came over. Your name is Thomas, right?" you repeated the question, finally the boy nodded, "That's wonderful! I'm Y/N, let's get acquainted."

Smiling happily, you hand the guy an open box of cookies. Golden crust with chocolate chips. You had no desire to share such a delicious thing with such terrible and tactless people. And Tommy. Tommy was different. He was timid and calm, unable to cause harm.

"Help yourself," you babble, sitting down next to Hewitt, "I made them myself! Not without my mommy's help, of course..."

You blush slightly and see Thomas's eyes narrow. He smiled! He seems to be starting to like your company.

"Can I call you Tommy?"

• Thomas has become noticeably happier since you met him. The boy began to spend more time outside the house, in your company (Luda was very surprised by this, because usually after school Tommy always came home and sat in his room).

• For your birthday, Thomas himself sewed a soft toy for you, a fox, as he found out later, this is one of your favorite animals. The toy was sewn from different, but matching pieces of fabric, a little sloppy, but quite skillfully. It made you smile. You threw your arms around Hewitt for joy.

• Once you praise him, Tommy immediately blushes a lot. It's good that it's not visible under the layer of bandages. From the moment you became friends, Thomas's self-esteem has risen a little.

• When you first offered to help Thomas change the bandages, he strongly refused. The boy just couldn't let you see his face. But when he finally gave up, Hewitt was pleasantly surprised that you didn't scream and run away. You didn't call Tommy a freak or a monster, but only sympathetically stroked his scarred cheeks.

• Over time, you began to understand Thomas without words, absolutely. You found the right answers in his movements, grunting, awkward head turning or excessive gesticulation. Even Luda was a little amazed at your nonverbal communication, but the woman was glad that her son finally found a real friend.

• Tommy often showed you his drawings. It was like the scribble of a five-year-old child, but you were always happy to accept the leaves and hang them over your bed. Basically, Thomas drew his family: angry Charlie in the corner of the paper, Monty sitting next to him in a chair, a little further away, Luda was cooking, and in the center of the drawing you and Thomas holding hands and smiling.

• It was the first time you begged your parents to stay in this city longer. Fortunately, they agreed after seeing your enthusiasm for the "strange boy".

Brahms Heelshire

• Your parents and the Healers kept in touch for a while, you can say your families were very close. You first met Brahms on his fifth birthday. He was a very well-mannered but private boy, so Mrs. Heelshire was only too happy to introduce you.

• At first, your communication did not work out. Brahms was a rude child in places, took away your toys and teased you.

• His true attitude towards you showed up when you didn't come to his house, although you were visiting the Heelshire family every Monday and Wednesday. He was seriously worried. All morning Brahms sat in his room by the window and looked at the road going through the forest, waiting for your little body in your favorite blue dress to appear from behind the trees. But you were never there. It turned out that you were just sick. That day Brahms went to your house and did not leave your bed, squeezing your hot palm.

• Your parents worked most of the time, so they were not against your games with Heelshire Jr. You stayed in their house more and more often, sometimes even overnight, and you and Brahms made noise all night, forcing his mother to swear. But still, the woman was glad that at least Brahms was behaving quite comfortably and boldly with someone.

• You were only a couple of months younger than Brahms, but you thought it was a good reason to tease you.

• The boy allowed you to enter his room without knocking, consider it a worthwhile privilege, because Heelshire does not let everyone into his personal space.

• When you were sad, Brahms brought you bouquets of flowers hastily made with his own hands. That's why his palms were green most of the time.

• Brahms makes wonderful sandwiches. He often makes them when the two of you are having a "picnic" in the garden. Although in fact he agrees to it only to admire you.

• Heelshire loves sweets very much. Very. His mom doesn't allow the boy a lot of sweets and cakes, so you secretly bring them to him from home. The boy is insanely happy.

• Brahms loves kissing. This habit, or rather the need, appeared in him because you praised the boy in this way. Has he finally cleaned the room? A kiss. Did he break his mom's precious vase during the catch-up today? A kiss! So now he can demand them for any reason. He especially likes it when you kiss him before going to bed, and Brahms falls asleep hugging you.

• You're his best friend. That's why Brahms trusts you with all his secrets. You are the only one to whom he has told about the strange and frightening thoughts that sometimes sound in his head.

"Good night," Mrs. Heelshire said, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

You smile and blow her a kiss, covering your mouth with your palm. When the woman's footsteps recede, you exhale with relief, plopping down on the pillow with force. Squinting your eyes, you wrinkle your nose, trying to blow away the stuck strands of hair from your face. Brahms giggles and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

The room is cool. The window is slightly ajar, letting in a light autumn wind. The curtains are swaying from side to side, taking chaotic frightening shadows.

You get under the covers up to your nose. Brahms follows your example, pressing his whole body against you, and you stroke his head.

"If I ever do something very, very bad, will you stay with me?" Heelshire whispers, looking up at you.

You look into his sad emerald eyes and laugh. He likes to put pressure on your pity, because he knows that at such moments you see him as a tiny abandoned kitten.

"I don't think you'd do anything so bad, Brahms."

"But if I do. What if everyone turns away from me. Even mom and dad. Will you stay with me?"

You pressed your lips together, frowning. Brahms had never asked such strange questions before. And how can a child who is only eight years old think about something like that after a while. Looking down at the ceiling, you turned your head, looking into Brahms' eyes.

"Yes. I'll stay."

"Honestly?" Heelshire asks incredulously.

"Honestly."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise you, silly boy!" you abruptly cover his face with a blanket, holding the edges on both sides of his head.

The boy was kicking, trying to get out from under your weight, while you tried not to laugh. Taking pity on his futile attempts, you took off the blankets, admiring Brahms' flushed face. Heelshire was breathing heavily, and his cheeks and nose were burning like Chinese lanterns that your parents launched on your birthday.

"I won. Again," you grin.

Brahms is silent. You sigh and lie down again, turning your back to Heelshire. Your eyes are shining with joy, and your lips continue to curve in a smug grin. You know that Brahms will not dare to do something to you in return. He always let you get away with such antics. Absolutely always.

When you are ready to fall asleep, through the chatter in your head you hear a plaintive whisper. Having opened your leaden eyelids, you groan with displeasure.

"Kiss me," Brahms whines, and you get up on your elbows, chuckling softly.

"Okay," you kiss Heelshire on the lips, "Good night, Brahms."

• "Now I've won," Brahms croaks, pressing you against the wall and spreading his hands on both sides of your head. Just like a child. Except now he's not the victim here, but you. Although was he ever a victim in your games? Rather, he always played the role of a presenter, you just didn't notice it, as if you were looking through your fingers. And who would have thought that that innocent little boy would ever stand in front of you, towering over your body by a good two heads, and grinning with eyes shining in anticipation through the black slits of the mask.

Sinclairs

Christmas is the most mysterious and magical holiday of the year; the day when the whole family gathers at one big table to properly celebrate this moment together; the day when you receive a lot of gifts from all kinds of relatives, which you sometimes did not realize; the day when all wishes come true.

You clumsily shuffled along the road, shaking your back every now and then to adjust the heavy backpack. Things inside rattled a lot, and you tried to straighten your back faster to avoid crumpled packages.

Christmas was your favorite holiday. And although your parents have been working constantly lately, you were glad that you could spend this family holiday with your friends.

You met not so long ago, only about four months ago, when you first moved here. Ambrose turned out to be a very nice and cozy city with friendly and caring people. Mrs. Sinclair, Trudy, and your mom became friends right away— their interests converged on art. That's when I met her sons, the woman suggested that you make friends with them because of their similar age. And it turned out to be a very good idea. The boys quickly became addicted to you.

Once again adjusting the canvas straps of the backpack, you quickly climb the steps requested by the snow and knock on the sand-colored door several times. On the other side, there is a fussy shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling.

"Hello," you say, smiling, when the door swings open in front of you, revealing a view of the timid Vincent.

The guy nods to you and opens the door wider, motioning you to enter. You kiss Sinclair on the cheek of the mask. Brushing off your feet at the threshold, you quickly take off your shoes and leave your backpack at the shoe shelf. Music from an old radio is coming from the kitchen, some station unknown to you is playing old songs from the seventies. As soon as you entered the room, Vincent stood at the stove again, frying something in a frying pan. Whenever Trudy was busy making figures and arranging a museum that she someday wanted to open, it was Vincent who did the cooking and other household duties. Bo was stubborn and didn't want to do "women's" work, and Lester was still too young for such a large-scale activity. The latter was now sitting at the table and skillfully sliced an apple with a hunting knife into neat pieces.

"Morning, Lester," passing by the boy, you leave a small kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Sinclair winces contentedly, flapping his big copper eyes.

You sit down next to the boy and imperceptibly take a piece of apple from under his nose, throwing it into his mouth contentedly. There were already several plates and cutlery on the table. Vincent loved order, so he prepared everything in advance.

"Where's Bo?" you ask, rocking slightly in your chair, for which you get a menacing look from Vincent.

"Mom asked him to help at the museum," Lester replied, "He should be back soon."

You notice how Vincent turns off the stove and turns his whole body in your direction. The guy takes a notebook lying on the table and quickly scribbles something.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," you say shortly, when Vincent closes the notebook and puts it back, "Honestly."

Sinclair puts the hot omelette on plates and pushes you a bowl of oatmeal cookies. You happily take one piece. Vincent sits down across from Lester and lifts the mask just enough to see his mouth. You frown, noticing the edge of his deep scar.

"Hey everyone," it was heard from the threshold, when the front door slammed shut with force, "Oh, honey, and you're here," Bo walks past you, lightly touching your shoulder in greeting, and sits down next to Vincent.

During brunch, you watch Lester and Bo actively negotiate. When their plates are empty, you decide to step in.

"Since everyone is here," you babble happily, clapping your hands to attract the attention of the guys, "I want to give you gifts a little earlier than planned, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Bo abruptly pushed away from the table, "I'm all for it, babe."

Bo winked at you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. Vincent signed something, and you looked at Lester. Your sign language was not yet good enough to understand most of the phrases, you barely remembered the words of politeness. That's why you've always relied on little Lester at times like this.

"He said: "Why are you doing this so early?"", Lester explained, innocently blinking his eyes.

"What's the difference," Bo frowned, "Sooner or later — the main thing is that she gave."

You didn't comment on the elder Sinclair's words, but just got up from the table and went to your backpack resting in the hallway. When you came back, the brothers were already sitting in a kind of semicircle on the floor. Bo sprawled impressively closer to the sofa and grinned in anticipation; Lester, in his usual manner, sat cross-legged; while Vincent tucked his knees to his chest.

You sat down between the twins and put the backpack next to you, unzipping it. You said "Close your eyes" and, as soon as the boys fulfilled your request, you began to take out colorful boxes. All packages had the same color, different sizes. Alternately, you put the gifts in front of them and allowed them to watch. Lester giggled when he saw that his box was the biggest.

"Merry Christmas," you drawled, spreading your arms out to the sides.

The very first gift was opened by Lester. The boy happily tore open the package, scattering the paper around him, and screamed when he saw the cherished surprise. A big stuffed fawn. He had a soft beige body and neat brown horns sticking out in different directions. The muzzle was cheerful, with a big nose and shiny button eyes.

"I knitted it especially for you," you babble, smiling, when Lester looks up at you with an enthusiastic look.

"Thank you!" the boy throws himself on your neck with lightning speed, squeezing your body until the bones crunch; you stroke his back.

Bo was a little surprised when he saw a set of tools under the wrapper. He loved tinkering and was well versed in mechanics; the fact that you remembered about this hobby touched the guy a little; his lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well, thanks, babe," Bo grins, patting your hair.

You're pouting a little. All the time spent in the morning combing this tangled nest has gone to waste. You are dissatisfied with blowing off a few strands that caught your eye.

The last person to open his gift was Vincent. The boy very tenderly unwrapped the package, not trying to tear it, as if stretching and savoring this moment. You watched the deft but careful movements of his fingers with burning impatience. Finally, Sinclair took off all the paper, removing it from the side, and looked down at what he saw. A large set with colored pencils. Exactly the one that the boy looked at with undisguised envy in the window of an art store about a month ago. Did you remember that? With slightly trembling hands, Vincent takes the box and turns it in his hands. There were several more drawing pads under it.

Vincent looks at you, and you see the trembling gaze of his azure eyes in the slits of the mask. Such unbelievers, but at the same time grateful. You crawl up to the boy and hug him tightly, nuzzling his neck. Vincent lets out a ragged sigh.

"Merry Christmas to you, boys," you congratulate them once again, seeing the boys' satisfied smiles.

"So why did you decide to give it to us so early?" Lester asked, clutching the toy to his chest.

"Oh, that," you awkwardly fix your hair, "Well, my parents decided to leave. To another state. We'll leave tonight. So I thought I could have some fun with you now."

There was an oppressive silence in the room. You were afraid to look up, but you could feel the disappointment on the boys' faces. Your heart was painfully squeezed in your chest, from which you gritted your teeth with a creak.

"Will you come back?" Bo broke the silence.

"I don't know. Dad was offered a job in another state. Mom just said I wouldn't be able to see you."

You looked at each of the boys in turn. Vincent's head drooped, Bo's brows furrowed, and Lester's lips tightened into a crooked thread. The elder Sinclair sighed heavily.

"We'll be waiting. All together," he looked at you from under his brows, "Just try not to come back to us."

• Vincent loves sweets; but, often, Bo takes most of the goodies. That's why you put an envelope with several edible bracelets in one of the donated notebooks. Bo will probably consider them girly and will not take them away from his brother.

• You have been knitting a fawn for Lester for about five days; the boy is very happy with your gift. Your relationship is like a brother and a scary sister. He is always ready to rely on you; Sinclair is glad that he has such a caring person, unlike the same brothers (in particular Bo).

• Trudy adores you. You could say that in these few months she began to perceive you as her own daughter. You even know where the spare keys to the back door of the house are.

• Bo always tries to impress you as a self-sufficient high school student. He saw his father's old magazines with tackles, seduction and other materials not for children, so he decided to train on you. He didn't notice how he fell in love.

• Vincent is a good cook.

• Most of Vinnie's drawings in the new notebooks are you. He will paint your portraits for many years after your leaving.

[mochinomnoms]

Hello I saw your event and got interested! I was wondering if you could do #24 with Idia (romantic, fluff, and suggestive if possible) with fem!reader?

idia shroud x f!reader [tags] – romantic, fluff, suggestive [wc} – 3, 241 prompt 24: “I'm so happy that you confessed first.” “Why?” “If I had to dig out another hydrangea petal from my teeth, I was gonna lose it.” notes - the only way to write idia is kind pathetic like a wet cat. i love pathetic men a floral inconvenience

According to legend, a Japanese emperor gave blue hydrangeas to the girl he loved, to apologize for neglecting her and to show how much he really cared for her. Their petal shape resembles a beating heart. 

Idia thinks that he was cursed in a past life for doing something awful. Maybe he kidnapped someone’s kid and tried to kill them. Maybe he tried to overthrow the gods and take over himself, but failed miserably. Or maybe, worst of all: broke someone’s limited-edition, vintage Tokyo Mew Mew Ichigo figurine. 

He sure as the underworld that he did something, why else would he be puking up hanahaki flowers like some cringey Canon x Reader fanfic? 

“Big Bro! You really should go to the school infirmary, the petals and stems can cause irritation and damage to the trachea and nasopharynx if not treated properly!”

Ortho was currently hovering over him, fretting like a mother hen over her chick. How ironic, Idia thought as he picked at the petals still in his teeth, it was for the little brother to be caring for the elder. 

“Why do that when I can just have the school delivery bots bring me medicine. Then I won’t have to interact with anyone, I’d literally DIE if anyone saw me like this…”

Especially if the Prefect saw him. The image of her sweet face, and beaming smile…like a scene from a shoujo manga, flooded his mind. He could practically hear her voice, full of concern, asking, “Are you okay, Idia?”

Idia fell into a sneezing fit, petals flying from his mouth and nose as his sneezes continued, one after the other, until he was also thrown into a hoarse, wet-sounding cough. 

“Big Bro! That’s it, you’re going to the nurse!” Ortho, despite being quite small, grabbed Idia by the back of his striped pajama shirt, much like one grabs a wet cat by the scruff of its neck. 

“UUuuuuuuuuuughghuguguguhidonwannaaaaaaaaAAAAAHHHh!” Idia cried out in a whiney, high-pitched tone. 

His brother, perhaps taking pity on his brother, took the shortcut to the infirmary, cutting directly pass the buildings and fields as Idia’s arms and legs loosely flew like cooked spaghetti noodles. Flying through the window that Nurse Goethel often kept open for fresh air, Ortho plopped Idia into a spare bed, who collapsed like a ragdoll into the thin mattress. 

“I’ll go check you in with the Nurse, I’ll be right back, please make yourself comfortable Idia!”

Idia gave a muffled grumble as a response, shoving his face further into the hard surface of the bed with a sense of dread. He could hear Ortho speak with Goethel at her desk. 

Well, he thought, at least she won’t see me looking all gross and lovesick like some normie—

“Idia, oh my god, are you sick?” 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

A shrill, ear-splitting shriek left his mouth as the flames of his hair blew up into a blazing hot pink. Idia bolted him, a sharp pain hitting the top of his head as he heard you yelp. As he rubbed the pained spot, Idia noticed that you too were rubbing your chin. Oh Sevens, he hit your chin with his big, stupid head. 

“Ooowwwww, damn Idia, you hit hard…” you hissed, though you gave him a sweet smile in reassurance. 

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have scared you…though why are you covered in flowers?”

Idia froze, debating on whether or not he should open his mouth and potentially say something damning, or just stay quiet and hope you’d just get weirded out and leave. 

“Because he’s an idiot who didn’t come to immediately see me at the first petal cough!” 

The nurse came up to Idia with a disapproving glare, handing you a clipboard and pen before slipping on a clean pair of gloves. 

“Prefect, please check the boxes for every symptom I find. I believe I know what it is, but we need to check all our bases.” 

Idia peeked at you from the corner of his eye as you smiled at him, waving your fingers as the nurse whispered a spell to turn her magic pen into a makeshift flashlight. 

“Now, open up and say ‘ah’ so I can see what those flowers are doing to you.” 

Following her instructions, Idia tried his best to be a cooperative and willing patient, if just to get out of here faster. Unfortunately, your presence only seemed to make it harder to do so, as hydrangea flowers bloomed from the pores of his skin, focusing particularly around his hands and neck. 

The nurse, he’s sure, could also see the magic sparkles forming as a new bouquet formed through his throat and shot up his mouth. She tsked, leaning back to allow Idia to hack out the now decent sized hydrangea bouquet. They were a vibrant blue, much like his hair. 

“Ah, go, go on and let it out.” The nurse waved a hand at Ortho. “Dear, please fetch your brother a cup of the tea I have brewing at my desk. Prefect? Please note that the patient has no evidence of root growth in his throat.”

“Root growth!? Is my brother going to be okay?” Ortho worriedly rushed over, the tea spilling over the rim of the foam cup. “Is it a curse or disease? Is my brother growing a plant in his lungs!?”

“Ortho, you scanned me earlier this week, remember?” Idia hoarsely replied, taking the tea to gingerly sip at it. “Nothing in ‘em, or my stomach ‘cept ramen noods.”

“A WEEK?!” The three of you flinched at the shrill gasp of Goethel, who was glaring daggers at Idia. “Mr. Shroud, you’ve been sick with an unknown flora disease and you didn’t even bother to let the staff know? What if you were contagious!!”

Idia shrank into himself as he whispered, “It’s not like I leave my room…” 

“Bateria or the pollen could’ve gotten into the air vents and infected the rest of your dorm, ugh.” The nurse sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before addressing you. “Miss Y/N, if you mark down the lack of root growth, fever, and magical origin of the flowers, what do you get?”

He watched as you flipped through the clipboard, smile slightly faltering as you read one of the papers. You cleared your face briefly, before smiling politely back at the nurse and Idia.

“Based on everything, it seems that Idia most likely has the flower sickness, also known as the love sickness, petal fever, or, most commonly, hanahaki.”

Idia cringed at the cold, monotone sound of your voice. Now he’d done it. You knew, somehow you knew that he had the biggest, fattest, most twitterpated-full crush on you. No, crush was understated. He had dreams of you, the cringiest, domestic fantasy-based shit where he’d imagine you, waking up in bed with him back at the Island of Woe. You had given him a sleepy smile as you curled into side, naked. With a smile and a kiss to his lips, dream you turned over to hover over him, trailing small kisses and love bites down his body, further and further as you whispered to him, over and over, “I love you, Idia—”

A queasy, dizzying feeling fell over Idia as a particularly painful croup caused him to double over and vomit last night's dinner alongside blue, heart-shaped petals. 

“Idia!”

“Big Brother!”

“Shroud—Prefect, hold his hair back! Ortho, grab the trashcan, I’ll go get some cleaning supplies and new sheets.”

Nurse Goethel barked orders to the other two, who quickly jumped into action. Idia could feel a shiver as he felt your hands softly grasp his flaming hair, fingers grazing his cheek as you tucked his bangs behind his ears. He could barely make out your coos, no doubt comforting him. You must be disgusted seeing him like this, having to care for a sopping wet cat of a man. Ortho was holding the trash can, right on time for Idia to hurl some more flowers and stomach acid. 

“Oh, Idia…you poor thing.” You whispered into his ear, unintentionally causing his body to warm up and a chill go down his spine to settle in his abdomen. He was very aware that if he turned his head to look at you, he’d get a faceful of your chest like some harem isekai protag, the thought making him warm further and his tips pink again. 

“I didn’t realize you were feeling this bad, Idia…” Ortho murmured, guilt in his voice. “I should’ve brought you sooner…”

“N-no…” Idia gravelly replied, wiping his mouth clean. “It’s not your fault Ortho, don’t beat yourself over it.”

Ortho still looked guilty, but nodded in affirmation, glancing at briefly at the Prefect. His gaze flitted between the two, and Idia could briefly see Ortho’s eyes go blank, as they did when searching through his knowledge database.

“Miss Prefect!” Ortho chirped, voice now perky much to Idia’s concern. “May I ask for a spare infirmary shirt for my brother? He must be very uncomfortable in his soiled one!”

Idia was now firmly and acutely aware of your hands still on him, thumb rubbing soothingly into his temple. 

“Oh, of course Ortho.” You moved away, hands hovering for just a moment, as you replied, “They’re in the storage, I’ll be right back!”

Idia watched as you walked away into the infirmary storage. Ortho did as well, waiting until you were out of earshot to excitedly whisper, “Idia! I know it’ll be an easy fix!”

“Huh?” Idia rose an eyebrow at his brother, confusion setting in.

“It’s a love sickness, and you love the Prefect—Idia stop looking at me like that—so if you confess to them, the flowers will go away!”

Idia was still giving Ortho a horrified look, as he continued. 

“Based on the timing of your reactions in correlation with close proximity within the Prefect, along with your increased heart rate at their touch, speech, and glances, and the fact that the Prefect stated on December 15th at 11:18:53 pm that she likes hydrangeas, she is the cause of the sickness. Right?”

“Ortho!’ Idia hissed, grabbing at his brother to shut him up despite Ortho not technically having a mouth. 

“Quiet down, this isn’t some otome game where I can cheat and look online for the right responses. Did you see how she reacted earlier when she found out it was hanahaki, how disappointed she looked? There’s no way Y/N—I mean the Prefect, didn’t connect the dots. 

“But, Big Brother!” Ortho whined, “Based on her heart rate and increased body temperature—”

“No is no, Ortho! It’s not going to be such an easy fix, I’ll just get rejected!”

“Technically speaking—” Idia and Ortho both jumped at the nurse’s voice, who was coming back from storage with clean linens. The Prefect followed with a new shirt.

“—you don’t need your beloved to accept your feelings, just confess them. Though it’s quite rare that it’s not reciprocated.”

The nurse motioned for Idia to get up as the Prefect handed him the shirt. She began taking the sheets off as the nurse addressed the two brothers. 

“Mr. Shroud, if you are insisting on keeping this sickness intact for fear of rejection, then I will have to ask Professor Crewel for some more potent ingredients for your prescription. Little Shroud?”

“Oh, yes Nurse Goethel?” 

“I could use your assistance, please come with me, Miss Y/N will tend to your brother,” She had a smug tone and smirk as she said this, motioning for Ortho to follow. “Mr. Shroud, please have no worry, she makes an excellent student nurse!” 

Idia let out a defeated, low, whiney groan as he moped over behind one of the privacy screens. You remained quiet as you collected the dirty sheets. He could hear Goethel’s footsteps and Ortho’s fans fade away as they left further and further down the hall. Idia yanked his shirt off, slipping the clean one over his head, noting it was a tad bit too small. He grumbled in annoyance as he pulled the shirt down to cover his stomach. 

“Idia?”

“Eeep!” Idia yelped, your voice coming from right behind the screen. “Y-yes?”

“Are you done changing? I can take your shirt to the hamper.”

He hummed in response, peeking his hand from behind the screen with the shirt in hand. As you took the shirt and walked away, Idia slowly moved to look at you. Once he was sure your eyes were firmly ahead (and briefly taking a look at your ass), he launched himself back into bed, the smell of clean linen filling his nose. 

Idia sighed, a faux exhaustion settling into his bones as he sunk into the bed. He tensed as he felt you sit on the edge to this right. 

“Idia?” you hummed as he closed his eyes to focus on the darkness behind them, instead of you worried expression. 

He hummed in response. 

“Nurse Goethel said that the remedy is actually quick and easy, right?”

He hummed again.  

“You’ll just keep coughing hydrangeas until you do something, right?”

“...Yea.” Idia replied in a monotone voice. 

You sighed, a bit in frustration he thinks. “So?”

“...So?”

“Why don’t you?” You stretched out the last vowel with a questioning sound.

“Why don’t I?” Idia mimicked you. 

"Why don't you just confess?"

“Wha?” He yelped, looking at you like you’d grown heads like a hydra. “W-what do y-you mean, confess!? Are you crazy?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “It would help, wouldn’t it? And Nurse Goethel said it’s rare for it to not be reciprocated, so what do you have to lose?”

“First of all, what’s left of my dignity. Second, I’m not some ML in a romance manhwa. And, third!” Idia straightened up to look you in the eyes, a burst of confidence filling his veins in pure frustration and annoyance. “There’s no way that anyone would be interested in some loser like me, so what’s the point—”

“But I like you!”

Silence fell between you two as the realization of your words settled into both your minds. You, with a growing blush and look of embarrassment, and Idia gaping at you like a fish out of water.”

“Huh.”

“I said,” You murmured, twiddling with the ends of your hair. “That I like you. A lot. I think you’re really fun to be around, you’re even though you're shy and kinda geeky, you’re really passionate about the stuff you like. Idia.”

Your hand reached for his, hesitantly like you were afraid you’d burn him. As you laced your fingers together, Idia felt a lump form in his throat. He kept silent though, watching as you smiled shyly. 

“You’re sweet to your brother, and I notice, to me sometimes too. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you coming out to class more often so we could hang? I missed you this week…it was really lonely without you, even with all my friends.”

Still holding his hand, you leaned in closer to his face, looking at him earnestly. Was this real? Did he unlock a secret route with you without noticing? Why did you keep looking at his lips? OMG WAS THIS REAL—

“Idia,” You snapped him out of his thoughts as the distance between you two kept closing. “If the person you like doesn’t return your feelings, then they didn’t deserve you in the first place. I’ll be there to support you, even if you don’t like me the same way, I’ll always care for you as your friend—”

“But it is you.” Idia blurted out. Whether it was due to a mysterious burst of energy or just a slip of the tongue, he didn’t know. 

“W-what! Idia, you don’t have to try and make me feel—” you tried to stutter an excuse, cheeks pink like the fiery tips of his hair. 

“It’s you! I got this cause of you, cause I knew—I thought,” Idia started to ramble, getting up to grab you by the shoulders and shake. “I thought that you couldn’t like some weirdo like me. Are you telling me I could’ve snatched an SSR level kiss scene with you at any time??!!”

It was your turn to be shocked, a bewildered look in your eyes and Idia rapidly spoke, taking little breaths between sentences.

“Do you know what you do to me?? The thoughts, the dreams I have about you? I see you and get all hot and bothered and you’re telling me that I didn’t have to be some maidenless normie this entire time? I could’ve been lockin’ lips and getting my dick we—”

A sharp shriek leaving Idia’s mouth was muffled as you shoved your lips into his, effectively shutting up his rant. He whimpered as you swiped your tongue along his lips, deepening the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Idia, perhaps in the throes of passion, or not wanting to miss out on this once in a lifetime pull, reciprocated, albeit with a nervous hesitation. 

You seemed to approve, pressing your chest against his as your mouth moved against his, tongues dancing and moans being shared between half taken breaths. His hands hovered over you until you let go of his neck to guide his hands and place them over your hips. An arousing moan left your lips as your hands gently pushed his chest. 

Idia’s world slightly shifted as he fell back first into the bed, your hair creating a curtain as you separated from him. A line of shiny spit followed you, breaking as he gasped for breath while you leaned back down to press kisses against his neck, flowering the disappearing hydrangeas. 

He yelped as your teeth scraped a particularly sensitive spot, opening his mouth to blurt out, “I'm so happy that you confessed first.” 

You let out a breathless giggle, turning your head and resting your chin on his neck to look up at him with, he swears on the Star Rouge sequel, hearts in your eyes. “Why?” 

“If I had to dig out another hydrangea petal from my teeth, I was gonna lose it.” Idia chuckled, “I’m sorry you have to deal with such a coward like me.”

“Idia.” You firmly responded, “Don’t. I like you as you are. We’re both young, we have time to grow. I’ll grow with you, if you’ll have me?

Looking down at you, practically on top of him, Idia opened his mouth to tease your softness, and suddenly froze. The mortifying, though wonderful he had to admit, scene was dawning on him as his entire body heated up and turned red. 

“Uuuuuwwwwwahaaahahahahaha—you’reontopofmethere’sagirlontopofmeisthisanewlevelinyourouteIdidn’tprepareforthis—mmmfph!”

You effectively shut him up with another kiss to his lips, smiling as Idia was shocked into silence with a dopy, wobbly smile forming on his lips.

“Relax, Idia, I’ll take the lead on all the romance stuff until you get the hang of it. For now you can be my player two!”

Idia snorted, smirking at you as he teased, “That’s such a cringey thing to say~”

“You say things like that all the time!” 

The two of you shared a soft laugh, unaware of the audience of two at the door watching. Ortho recorded the memory for the wedding he was already planning in his head, while the nurse muttered to herself about wasting time gathering ingredients for a prescription potion she no longer needed. Despite this, she smiled, happy that her little words of encouragement to the Prefect earlier worked. 

[itsonlydana]

where snow falls and conversation strikes | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

Your train gets caught in a snowstorm and when the first class gets moved into the normal compartments, a beautiful man asks to sit with you

warnings/tags: modern(ish)!AU, First Meetings, Fluff

wordcount: 3,7k

an: wrote this mostly on the train on my way to work every morning so it took a while and suddenly its 25° c and not 0°c anymore... oops? and lets ignore that my layout for fics is not even close to uniformly

+ masterlist + rules + read the fic on ao3 +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The view outside the train window was white in its purest form. The mush of white flakes went from gently landing on the glass to completely covering it, obscuring everything behind an opaque wall. 

A few hours ago it had been a wonderful sight of frost-tipped mountains, sloping meadows, and high-risen forests that made the long journey not only bearable but quite enjoyable. The hours had flown by just like the landscape, yet – as the newspapers had predicted it would happen – the gray clouds coming in from the seaside had caught up with the train weaving through the country and now, ever so slowly, it lost its speed. 

It couldn't have been long to the city. The last stop had been a while ago and if it weren't for the clouds hanging so low, coloring the sky ashen and the snow that just wouldn't stop falling, you could have probably seen the first small villages that dotted the outside of the city.

The train slowing down had been inevitable, you had known as much when you had boarded earlier this morning, though you had hoped to arrive at the destination fast enough that you would have outrun this weather.

Back in the city, back home, the weather would have been a small inconvenience but nothing that would hold you back.

The old speakers crackled just as you adjusted your seat, bringing forth another storm though this one ravaged through the inside: 

"We're mighty sorry 'bout this bother, but we kindly ask for yer patience. We've been movin' at a snail's pace 'cause of this darn weather, and now we're told we gotta face this blasted snowstorm 'fore we can carry on."

Even through the walls of your compartment, you heard the groaning and moaning of the other passengers. 

It wasn't surprising, the decision to travel onward would be foolish – everyone on this train knew – but the times you did travel like this you found that people seemed to bond over these expressions of annoyance toward something no one could be blamed for. The annoyed grunts that were passed along the rows with an eye roll made up for hours of silence daring the others to interrupt their own peaceful silence.

Your sigh fogged up the window, and you let your head fall back against the cushions, fixating your gaze on the white haze outside when the scruffy voice continued speaking after clearing his throat: 

"As it's damn impossible to know how long this weather's gonna last or whether it'll get worse, we kindly ask our first-class guests in the rear carriages to come through to the front. Heating there could be gone any minute. Make room for 'em. You'll of course be helped with your luggage."

Knowing that there is not much else to do than to sit back and wait, you picked up the book you had been reading, a collection of short stories by your favorite author that you knew by heart yet the familiar words provided comfort and you were quickly far away in those lands described.

Before you could finish the story you had left on though, a noise startled you and pulled you right back. The door of your compartment slid open by a tall man peeping his head in. 

"Good evening, forgive the intrusion, but might I trouble you for a moment? I was told I could find a seat here. Would that be alright?" The man raised his shoulder to stop the bag he was carrying from sliding down, it wouldn't do what he wanted and slipped to his elbow.

He was beautiful, despite the distressed look on his face that was covered by his long blonde hair falling into it as he glared at the bag; on its way down his arm, it had taken the coat he had hung over it with it so that it dangled close to the carpet floor of the train. 

You stared at him long enough that he arched a thick dark eyebrow and you flinched. 

"Oh, yes.. yes of course!" You prayed that your cheeks weren't as red as you feared they might be as you nodded.

There was enough space inside the compartment, your suitcase was pushed under your seat and the bench across from you had been free, but you felt the need to look like you would make room for him.

Since there was nothing in the way, really, all you did was pull the bag next to you closer and kick away a piece of lint that stuck to the carpet. 

"Thank you," the man slipped inside, coat, bag, and another suitcase dangling from his long arms.

You tried to look busy and lifted your book high up to your face while he stowed his suitcase away, a sleek dark blue leather one that unlike yours had no stickers on it or clothes sticking out. Then he entangled the coat from the bag to hang it on the door before he turned and stared at you. 

"Can… can I help you?" you asked when he remained silently scrutinizing you.

His eyes were an icy hue of blue and you would have compared them to the snowy weather outside, cold and unmoving, if there weren't the slightest hints of nervousness in them. 

"I don't want to inconvenience you any further but" – he swallowed and lifted a hand to brush some hair away, revealing the faintest of blushes on his high cheekbones– "I fear that I can't stomach traveling backward very well. Would you mind switching places or I could sit beside-"

"It's fine!" you interrupted him. Just him standing there seemed to affect the man quite a bit, he was swaying even though there was no movement, and what harm would it cause you to switch places?

You quickly gathered your back, closing the book with your thumb in between to mark the page you had left on and smiled at him as you sat down on the other side. "It's no problem at all, I have no preferences where I like to sit."

The upholstery was chilly under you and your legs groaned as you moved them for those few steps for the first time in hours instead of just folding them over each other

The man sat down, mumbling a soft "Thank you". His legs were long enough to brush against yours before he angled them toward the window, his slender hands resting on his lap. 

Silence fell just like the snow, with the man growing as still as a statue, his eyes hefted outside the window, and you finding a comfortable position to get back to your book.

Despite your best efforts to concentrate on the poetry, your mind couldn't stop straying to the man.

He must be one of the first-class-traveler, you would have noticed him on your short walks through the train whenever you got bored or had grown restless. 

His hair stood out, worn long enough to brush past his shoulders and over the cream-knitted sweater he wore, and then there were his eyebrows, the only dark spot of color in a face that could have been cut out of marble. He certainly looked expensive. He made the impression of a man who owned his own – equally perfect – bust.

He suddenly turned his head, not by much but he caught you looking at him nonetheless. Like a deer in headlights, your mouth simply fell open in a forgotten lie to excuse yourself for staring.

Thankfully he didn't comment on it, instead, his rosé lips curved into a smile.

"I'm Thranduil, by the way. I think I should tell you so that you have a name to complain about the stranger who not only stormed into your compartment but took your seat as well" He held out his hand. 

You took it after a relieved breath. His fingers were cold, his grip firm.  "Nice to meet you Thranduil," you introduced yourself and noted how his fingers flitted over your racing pulse point at your wrist, "Don't worry, I'd be a fool to moan about having a conversation partner, you've done nothing but turn this boring journey interesting"

"Ah, but you haven't realized how awful I am at small talk. I make a dreadful conversationalist," he admitted with a laugh and let go of your hand.

"We could simply skip that part then," you offered boldly and finally closed your book in your lap. "Tell me, what stop did you get on?"

He arched an eyebrow at you and rested his elbows on the table between you, placing his chin on the intertwined fingers. "What? You want to know where I came from and not were I'm going?" 

You shook your head, "No, I'll see where you have to get off, this is much more interesting."

Thranduil looked at you for a moment, his eyes taking you in like he wanted to figure you out. Then he huffed, giving in. "I got on right at the first stop," –you smiled, encouraging him to continue talking, which he did, his lips twitching to a smirk– "I stayed in Laketown with a friend over the holidays, but I didn't want to impose on him any longer."

"So you brought this weather with you?" You grinned.

"Oh, one hundred percent," he said, sounding so serious that you nearly giggled, "I had so much fun shoveling snow every morning for ten days that I simply wanted to continue at home." Thranduil tipped his head to the side, examining you once again. "And you?"

"God no, I don't get to pick up any tools while I'm on vacation," you said, knowing full well that's not what the question was about.

"No?" 

"No," you sighed, "Try being the youngest at the family reunion. I'm glad my parents let me shower and dress myself. Gosh, I think they would've cried if I even thought about helping with the snow."

Amusement lit up his face, lifting all his sharp features. "Tell that to my friend's little one. She's a fierce thing; knocking at my door at sunrise all dressed up and threatening me with her shovel that I better be outside before she had to come again."

"Oh my! Say, whatever was she threatening to do instead?"

Thranduil chuckled and shook his head, "I didn't stay long enough in bed to find out." 

A knock sounded from the door, interrupting the conversation as an older woman opened your compartment. "Hiya, loves. May I offer you some tea? Dreadful weather outside and with the heating back there gone completely, we don't want ya to catch a cold," she said.

"Ye–"

"We'll take two cups," Thranduil's directive voice overshadowed yours, there was an authority in it that even you wouldn't want to cross. He was already pulling a fancy black wallet out of his pockets, which produced a fresh note that gave no room to argue or chip in. "Keep the change," he said while the train service employee shuffled inside and placed a tablet on the table between you.

"Thank you, Sir Oropherion!" She beamed at him and slipped the note through the buttons of her blouse, "You're always too kind!" Then she turned to you and lowered her voice in a faux-whisper: "He's just as handsome as he's single. But you didn't hear that from ol' me." 

Thranduil scoffed, though you could see a faint blush on his cheeks. "You are a horrible gossip, Hilda! Go bother some of the other passengers or they'll freeze to death."

A little bit louder and glaring toward Thranduil, she added: "A shame his attitude is like the weather; he could use a sweetheart like you.

With a last wink, she turned and left you to stare after her, wondering what just happened.

"Impossible, that woman." 

Thranduil's low rumble pulled you back to him, leaving that poor – now again shut – door alone before your eyes drilled a hole through the wood in search of an explanation.  

The man across from you didn't offer you one either, instead, he was reaching for one of the silver spoons that the woman, Hilda, had given to you as well as a cup filled with milk and a small tower of cookies. 

Somehow you had the feeling this wasn't what the other customers would get but rather a gesture of whatever fondness the woman pledged to the blonde, who used the tiny tongs to drop two cubes of sugar into his cup.

"So," you said and cleared your throat. Thranduil looked up, nearly killing you on the spot with the daggers in his eyes daring you to speak on the matter. Of course, who would you be if you shied away because of that? "She seemed lovely. A friend of yours?"

"No. No, she's not," Thranduil said. He pushed the other cub toward you, encouraging you to take from the all-paid-for beverage. 

You wrapped both hands around it, marveling how beautifully and frail the cup looked and felt, and after taking a small sip, you smiled benevolently and waited for Thranduil to continue. 

He rolled his eyes, admitting defeat in his thickheadedness of remaining aloof. "I travel this route to Laketown quite a lot. Once a month, sometimes two or three times, or whenever my schedule allows me to actually. That woman made it her personal mission to get on my last nerve; chatting to me and leaving me sweets and tea without me asking for it. After a while, I could at least get her to accept my money for it. She's keen on finding me my soulmate so I no longer travel this much alone."

"Aw, but that's cute," you said and drank another sip of the hot tea. You didn't know what burned more, the tea or Thranduil's hardened eyes, "What? She looks out for you; the journey is long and she just doesn't want to be lonely." 

"Whyever you feel the need to defend her is unfathomable," he scoffed as if you taking Hilda's side was the most outrageous thing he'd ever heard, "You don't even know if her accusations are true– if I'm lonely. Maybe I like traveling alone!" Thranduil placed the cup back onto the tray with such an energetic movement, that it clinked. His lips twitched.

"That…" you started and nodded toward the cup, "was far too defensive. Why, Thranduil, it's no shame to admit to something, especially not to a stranger." His expression was still unreadable though the sharp line of his jaw protruded even more like he was biting down on his teeth. You made sure to keep your tone lighthearted: "Dare I say this is even the perfect chance to get it off your chest? Who knows if we will see each other again. Time to spill all your deep, dark and dirty secrets."

He fixated you with his cold blue eyes. Your words had left an impression on him, that much was clear and you would even go so far to say he was considering them. 

Thranduil made a sound close to a "Humpf!" and you smiled and nodded, pushing him evidently over the edge for he rolled his eyes, clasped his hands together and leaned back into the cushions.

"Very well," he sighed though clicked his tongue as he saw your satisfied smirk, "You are right, traveling alone can–" lifting one finger, he punctuated the word "get a bit lonely. Not to say it's like that every time but I find that this conversation, despite the uncalled-for nosiness on behalf of my private life, makes it a lot more enjoyable than the hours I spent in the first class."

"Aww," you waved off in false modesty, "that's such a sweet way of saying I basically rescued you from a death of boredom."

"Bit of an overstatement"

"Okay, first-class, no need to knock my ego down like that." 

"Anyone ever tells you how cheeky you are?"

You smiled brightly, "All the poor, single, and handsome men I chat up on these travels."

Thranduil laughed out and shook his head more for himself than anything else. He extended his hand towards his cup once more, coinciding with the moment you brought your tea to your lips.

As your gazes met over the rising steam of porcelain, the black tea seemed to carry a subtle sweetness reminiscent of the shared smile between you, if only for a fleeting moment.

Or maybe it was the sugar, combined with the subtle loneliness that was your own travel companion nowadays, a constant bitterness coating your tongue. 

No matter what, another sip of tea flushed it down. 

"Now," Thranduil cleared his throat and dabbed the sleeve of his sweater at the corner of his mouth where a small drop of tea rested next to a shy smile. The tea disappeared – the smile stayed. "Do you want to tell me where you are going?" 

The answer was simple, you just had to tell him the name of your station, but you hesitated. 

This felt too good to be true, and maybe, if you disappeared without giving him any real information, there wouldn't be the urge to keep your eyes open when you arrived home, hoping he would be looking for that mystery woman he met on the train. 

Before the moment passed for far too long to be deemed anything but awkward, the train jolted. First, there was this one tug, then another one, and then, right when you looked up at Thranduil and understanding passed across his face like a ghost, appearing and disappearing right again, the wheels set in motion.

"Seems like we're off again," Thranduil said quietly, turning his face to the window.

He cleared his throat and you watched him swallow, not breaking away from the fuzziness outside that mirrored what you felt in your stomach right now. He was beautiful, even with that sadness settling heavy on his shoulders.

Why you couldn't just offer a piece of yourself now that he has given you some of him, that you didn't understand yourself because this trip had been the loveliest in a long time, the conversation quick and easy and nothing like the pestering questions about your romantic life that your brothers and your mother had poured over you, and while yes, you just met him, there was a connection between you. 

More than strangers on a train.

And you wanted it, so so much.

To have someone by your side wherever you go. 

"Thranduil–" you spoke so suddenly you not only startled Thranduil; the sound of your own voice frightened you as well.

"Yes?"

"This thing working again? Ah yes, now yer can hear me 'gain. Darn line cut off for a moment there. Next stop, Mirkwood Central Station, arriving in 'bout five minutes. We apologize for the delay 'n hope y'all get to your destination safely. To all those leavin' us: Remember to grab all your things before ya go. Hope to see y'all again real soon." 

The rest of the sentence died on your lips as you listened to the announcement. How they managed to be on time when you needed another delay, another moment to sort out your thoughts was an unwanted miracle.

Right when you wanted to panic and quickly pack up the book you hadn't opened up again, Thranduil got to it first.

"Five… five minutes?" he gasped and jumped out of his seat, knocking his long legs into the table resulting in you both reaching for the rattling cups trying to stop them from crashing down, hands brushing just enough for you to nearly smash the pot of sugar away as well.

"Wait. This is your stop?" 

Thranduil nodded, already throwing his coat on. "Yes, oh it's such a shame! I had hoped we had more time to finish our tea." He threw a sad glance at the half-empty cups; although the switch to look at you spoke of a far greater regret than simply leaving two cups of tea behind.

A laugh burst out of you, taking both of you by such surprise that you wondered if it had come off as discouraging or far worse: like you were making fun of him.

You hastened to explain: "This is my stop as well!" – the wide smile that shot to his eyes turned into a smirk – "This is me, Mirkwood Central. So if you want–" you interrupted yourself by standing up and grabbing your jacket, "we could get a tea later?"

"Yes!" Thranduil said quickly, "Yes, I would love to. Do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?" 

You copied his smile. "The rest of the evening? Bit eager, aren't we?" You were teasing, mostly, because that seemed to affect that glimmer of playfulness in Thranduil's eyes that made them look like molten silver, but you couldn't deny that you wouldn't have canceled all your plans if you'd had any to begin with, to stay in Thranduil's company. 

"I will gladly take every bit of time you can offer me," Thranduil said, "Any man would be this eager to get to know you."

You were still blushing when you stepped into the narrow corridor of the train, the tight space and crowding of passengers waiting to exit as well making it impossible to stand anywhere else but close together, Thranduils taller body a warm presence in your back and whenever you swayed his large hand found your shoulder to steady you and his amused chuckling reverberated in your stomach.

The train finally made its way into the bustling train station, the smoke of other trains clouding up the window and excitement like only arriving at a special destination could evoke in one filled the air inside the train, the hushed talking growing as other passengers saw relatives or friends or lovers waving to them, children pressing their faces against the glass or tried to run past you with their parents following close behind.

One particular stormy child knocked you straight into Thranduil as the doors opened and cold air greeted you while your face lightened up with a blush. 

"I hope I won't lose you," you said, jokingly but the air was stolen right out of your lungs as Thranduils gloved hand grabbed yours.

"Don't worry," he said and helped you step onto the metal platform, watching carefully as you hopped onto the platform. He looked beautiful in the evening lights of Mirkwood Station, white snowflakes landing gently on his long lashes. "I won't let that happen!"

©itsonlydana 2024

[transmutationisms]

this is probably shaped by my limited frame of reference, but im really fascinated by witnessing the real-time development of adhd as a diagnosis. people attribute so many symptoms to it now or maybe they always did? i was wondering if you have any thoughts on what is the use of adhd specifically as a category within psychiatry. I'm esl so sorry for any confusing wording

no you're right imo; diagnostic categories are always somewhat in flux ofc but ADHD is one that has seen a particularly pronounced shift in the last couple decades. obviously this is multifactorial but my observation goes something along these lines:

'hyperactivity' has been dx'd in children since about the 1950s (also when Ritalin hit the market) but the ADHD dx doesn't really take off until the 90s (also when Adderall, a 2nd-gen reformulation of the 'obesity' drug Obetrol, hit the market). so, it's not all that surprising that 20 years later you see increased patient awareness of the diagnosis, increased popular interest in it, and shifting / expanding ideas of what it means and what ADHD 'is'. it's a relatively young dx.

part of the reason it's young is because it's basically a 'biopsychiatric' dx, meaning it diagnoses certain behaviours as being a 'brain problem' rather than having social causes or context. in practice this is complicated because psychs do use pharmacological approaches in conjunction with psychodynamic ones all the time; nevertheless, the central promise of DSM ADHD and its pharmaceutical treatments has consistently been that the ADHD subject has a physiological, neurological disorder / dysfunction / aberration, and that the drug treatments on the market fix it. that none of this is actually empirically supported is conceptually inconvenient and entrenched by the research process.

the biopsychiatric narrative is worth paying attention to because the context here is one in which it has become commonly accepted that behavioural 'disorders' and affective distress of various kinds can be, basically, either of pure biological origin, or else Your Fault. in the case of childhood hyperactivity, Your Fault historically also included Your Mother's Fault; part of the reason many mothers embraced Ritalin in the 50s and 60s was because the proffered pharmaceutical narrative explicitly challenged the idea that these mothers had done something 'wrong' to result in their (mostly) sons exhibiting disruptive and hyperactive behaviour.

this dichotomy of biology vs personal failing is very overtly present in quite a bit of discourse around ADHD today. if it's my brain being 'wrong' or different, then it's not something I've done wrong but a disease with a simple chemical fix. in this context I don't think it's surprising at all that a lot of popular and patient conceptions of ADHD have seen a considerable widening over the past few decades. often people like to blame this on pharmaceutical companies, and it's true that industry benefits from these discourses and frequently invests in them (eg, via instruments like ADDitude mag). however, that's a pretty simplistic explanation on its own and doesn't really account for the ways in which patients and potential patients also find this diagnostic category personally useful, for reasons ranging from identity-formation to the desire to access prescription amphetamines. ADHD increasingly shows up as a biologised explanation for behaviours ranging from 'eating too many sweets' to 'postural sway' and so on. you can see in such examples how invoking the idea of an aberrant ADHD brain is both reassuring to people who have been made to feel ashamed of certain behaviours, and provides a sense of shared identity and community with others.

all of this is to say: I don't find it surprising at all when I see a relative broadening of notions of ADHD, almost always expressed in biological terms (the 'ADHD brain' operates differently, 'seeks dopamine', causes this or that). ADHD is in some ways a particularly blatant distillation of this general trend in popular psychiatric discourses, for reasons relating to expectations about childhood and child behaviour, and the historical and present relationship between the ADHD label and the regulation of amphetamines. but much of what's happening with ADHD in terms of popular discourses about it can also be seen with many, many other psychiatric diagnoses, to varying extents and in various ways.

my experience writing about ADHD on this website leads me to close by explicitly stating the following: I do not think any ADHD behaviours / symptoms are people's 'fault' or an individual failing; I do not think using drugs for any reason is morally bad or needs to be justified; the fact that I do not think ADHD is a 'brain disease' does not mean I think people are 'making it up' or exaggerating wrt any difficulties they experience personally, professionally, emotionally, &c.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine the red hair pirates helping you with your depression

Unfortunately, it's that time of year when seasonal depression, and regular depression team up and beat my ass. So new content will come slower than usual, and I'm sorry about that, but appreciate your patience and understanding.

Shanks: *enters your room* are you gonna get up anytime soon.

You: *in a cocoon of blankets* I don't want to.

Shanks: *stares at you for a minute* are you okay?

You: no

Shanks: should I get Hongo?

You: there's nothing he can do for me.

Shanks: *thinks back to Roger's illness* ... What sort of illness do you have exactly?

You: depression,

Shanks: oh... Well staying in bed isn't going to help

You: I don't have the energy to get out of bed

Shanks: then let me do it for you, *scoops up your cocoon and carries you outside* sun light ought to do you a lotta good.

Hongo: what's going on?

Shank: they're depressed.

Hongo: oh, I have just the thing for that *goes into his office*

Benn: hmm, I suffered from depression as a young man.

You: back in the Stone Age?

Benn: *playfully rolls his eyes* yes, back in the Stone Age. My life kind of fell apart because I couldn't care for myself. I could not wash my clothes, or bath, or brush my teeth.

Shanks: that explains the state of their room then.

Benn: elaborate

Shanks: their laundry bin was overflowing, trash on the floor, and the whole room was dark and smelt bad.

Benn: ... Cleaning it would probably help them recover.

Shanks: would you go evaluate the room and see what needs to be done.

Benn: we're probably gonna have to clean it top to bottom, I will go get some volunteers.

Hongo: *comes back* no I need you to eat these supplements, and this mushroom.

Benn: how come they get to have some of your hallucinogens.

Hongo: multiple studies have shown they're very effective at treating depression long term and because they're mine, and I get to decide who to give them to.

Shanks: *pulls open your cocoon, and hands you a cup of water.*

While you are tripping

The crew: * cleans your room, does your laundry, and puts said laundry away*

Hongo: I think the main cause is seasonal depression, they were fine a month ago when the light was at its fullest.

Shanks: hmm, would installing another window in their room help?

Hongo: probably.

Shanks: okay, while the shipwright does that, (y/n) can stay in my room.

Benn: you just wanna fuck them.

Shanks: A few orgasms would probably do them some good. Plus I can help them better if they're close to me.

Hongo: he's right, but you need to make sure you're not taking advantage of them.

Lucky Roux: we also need to make sure they're eating, I noticed a while ago that they're only having one meal a day.

You: eating is inconvenient, and having a corporeal body is like being stuck with a pet you don't want.

Shanks: *pulls your head into his lap and strokes your hair and shushes you* sh sh sh, I know darling, I know.

Hongo: we should also make sure they exercise more, in fact we all should.

Benn: we can take up daily training practice.

Shanks: totally

You: I dun wanna

Benn: well I expect you to at least try it out for a week, if it doesn't help then you can quit.

You: really?

Benn: no

You: aww

Benn: we'll find a nice activity you like, or don't mind.

You: ugh fine

Shanks: thank you

You: ... You have pretty eyes, kinda like storm clouds

Shanks: we should get you high more often.

You: do we have any music snails?

Shanks: *pulls out his collection of Uta's music* Yes we do.

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[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 17 - Green

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

With the royal family enjoying a private dinner, there's no feast or dance to fill your evening. So, you take a long bath before picking up your book, and though there are only two chapters left, you don’t read them.  

Instead, you spend a regrettable amount of time staring from the window and you’d hate to be the one to admit it, even if you only admitted it to yourself. But maybe, just maybe, there was a small, almost non-existent, part of your mind which was disappointed that you wouldn’t see Aemond tonight. 

A week ago you would have been thrilled, but the quiet of your room seemed more desolate than peaceful, and even without his company, he still crept into your thoughts- whether you wanted him there or not.  

The trouble was, if you didn’t find Aemond so infuriating, you might have found him quite endearing and that hardly suited your low opinion of the one eye dragon.  

A better word would be annoying and that cheered you up before you climbed into bed, thinking sleep would be easier than loneliness. But you thought of Aemond there too, in your dreams, in the morning, and again at breakfast. 

You were finishing your slice of bread, and cursing yourself for allowing his arrogant stride to strut right across the forefront of your mind, when the maids arrived with three heavy leather trunks. 

You hadn’t forgotten that you would be leaving tomorrow, and you knew the maids would need time to pack, you just didn’t realise how it would make you feel.  

The long days of summer had seemed endless when you’d first arrived in the Red Keep, and now there was only one, its existence seeming to slip away so quickly you could hardly catch your breath.  

How could a day you’d longed for arrive so unexpectedly? So disagreeably?  

In no time at all you would be home and this world of court and dragons would be nothing more than a memory, and a good one at that.  

With this in mind, you stand quickly, hurrying from room to room, to gather all the books you’d borrowed from the crown library, before finding your mother who’s standing on the balcony with your father. Yet again, she’s pleading with him for more days, an argument which has happened routinely this last week, and like always, his mind is made up. 

“I should see that these are returned,” you say, holding out your stack of books, your voice small amongst the chaos which has erupted with the arrival of the trunks.  

Nobody looks at you, they don’t care about books, or have even the vaguest idea that returning them might walk you right into the path of Aemond Targaryen. But you know it. Alicent had said so herself. If you were ever looking for her son, you could find him in the library. Not that you were looking. 

No... you reasoned, as you slipped away, leaving the maids to pack and your parents to bicker, it wasn’t that you were looking. It was that it would be such a shame if you didn’t get to see those glorious, vaulted ceilings once more. 

And ... even if you had no time to actually read another book, you could certainly enjoy browsing the selection.  

That was it, you thought, feeling pleased enough with your excuses.  

Wanting to see the library had absolutely nothing to do with the dragon who prowled between her stacks. Aemond wasn't the reason to go, he was the consequence, an inconvenience even.   

But when you arrived at the library, none of your reasons mattered at all, because he wasn’t there, or anywhere along the way. And you didn’t browse the rows, you abandoned the books on the low table by the fire, barely glancing at those beautiful vaulted ceilings before turning to leave. 

You probably shouldn’t have felt so disappointed to avoid another meeting with a man you claimed to hate, but you were, and your disappointment compounded with the sudden realisation that you might never even see the royal family again. 

Afterall, it was nearly lunchtime and there had been no messages from Helaena to join her for tea, nor any invites for an evening in the hall. You couldn’t blame them; their family were here and family took precedent but it wasn’t just that.  

The corridors were much emptier than they'd been on previous days and so terribly quiet. It was as though there had been some shift in the mood which usually gathered in all corners of the Red Keep. Where there had been laughter, there was silence, where there had been life, there was dust. 

It unnerved you, a chill suddenly pricking down your spine as you began to hurry on swifter steps, regretting having left your room in the first place, and terribly startled when footsteps began to clatter loudly behind you. 

Heart in your throat, you glance back, relieved to see Belis Trant and not some imagined evil.  

“I was just on my way to visit Maris,” she says breathlessly, her cheeks flush. “I have the most dreadful gossip.” 

You were not usually interested in gossip, but her wording had your curiosity sufficiently peaked. “Dreadful?” you pry and she seems pleased to have a captive audience.  

“When you returned from the picnic, the royal family were all summoned by the King to discuss the order of succession or some such thing and...” she glances around, ensuring you are alone, “Prince Daemon killed Ser Vaemond Velaryon.”   

You stop and stare at her, too stunned to actually say anything.  

“He cut off his head,” she adds, as though it wasn’t bad enough to simply kill a man. 

You gasp now, your hand pressing to your neck while a new, sickly feeling twists in the pit of your stomach.  

“Apparently ,” Belis’ voice lowers to a sound which is barely a whisper, “he called the two princes... bastards .”  

It's the same word Aemond had used in the stable, and you find it just as shocking the second time you hear it. Perhaps even more shocking coming from her.  

“You should not be repeating such things,” you whisper, pushing yourself to keep walking and not wanting to discuss it any further. But that didn’t stop you thinking about it. 

You’d never met Ser Vaemond but you’d seen his killer only yesterday.  

How long had it been between that moment in the yard and the one where his sword was cutting through flesh and bone to end a man's life? Minutes? Hours?  

What disturbed you more than anything, was just how much he’d reminded you of Aemond, and Aemond had killed Lord Glover in much the same way. You'd seemed to forget all about that this morning when you’d been walking to the library with a stack of books and a hopeful heart.  

Now you were glad to think that your belongings were being packed away so you could leave this place. And you needed to stop thinking of Aemond Targaryen as though he was an ordinary man. He was a dragon and dragons were neither sweet nor endearing. They were predators, killers , and he was just as ruthless as his uncle.  

When you finally make it back to your chambers with Belis in tow, the maids have gone, the trunks suspiciously empty, and your mother is waiting with a parchment unfurled in her hand. 

“This arrived from the Queen,” she says, holding it out for you to read the words swirled in dark green ink.  

For the feast.  

Alicent  

You frown, confused , and your mother gestures to your room, “it's in there.” 

“What is?” you say, not sure you actually want to know the answer, or why your mother is looking at you differently than she had before. She’d been ignoring you all morning, now she was staring.  

“I’ve convinced your father to extend our stay by at least three more days,” she says, ignoring your question as she nudges you towards your chambers. 

You see what the parchment was referring to the moment you enter the room. A dress, hanging on the open door of your armoire. Rich emerald green silk with long bell sleeves and a gold embroidered trim.  

“It's too much,” you whisper, not really to your mother or anyone at all, just as fact. It's not just the cost of such a dress, it's the colour, the style. The meaning.  Hightower's wear this exact shade of green. Not Baratheon’s or Targaryen’s.  

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Queen,” your mother says, as though she’s only just realised it and perhaps, she has. Her attention was mostly reserved for Cassandra when it came to court and courting, and unlike Maris, you were usually glad to be overlooked.  

“We are...” you think of the word which best describes your relationship with the queen and there is only one, though you’re not sure you trust it, “ friends .”  

“Good. Perhaps she will ask you to stay as one of her ladies in waiting? That would be a wonderful opportunity for a girl in your position and one we should not take lightly.” 

‘Your position’, what she means is a third daughter, without the prospect of inheritance or land. You turn to face her, alarmed by the suggestion even if you know she’s right, even if you know Alicent has already suggested it. “I should rather go home with you.” 

“Nonsense,” she smiles broadly, petting your cheek with so much pride, “If you are favoured by the Queen then perhaps Lord Lannister might resume some interest in your hand.” 

You pull away from her touch, “I do not wish to marry Tyland Lannister.” 

“And I do not wish to return home with three unmarried daughters. Heaven knows Lord Karstark has wasted Cassandra’s time all summer, and Maris has gained no interest from anyone but Belis Trant, so you will have to do.” 

You're surprised by the desperation on her face, you hadn’t seen it before today and that was certainly the privilege of a third daughter.  

“Since we have some additional time,” she says, her tone more soothing as she pets your cheek once again, “I shall invite Lord Lannister for tea.” 

You don’t say anything. You’re afraid of disappointing her, and glad she seems to have no suspicion that Aemond Targaryen might be more interested in tea than all the Lords and Ladies in Kings Landing put together.  

Perhaps it was only a matter of time, but you would worry about it tomorrow. Tonight, you were to wear Hightower green, and that was worry enough on its own. 

You wanted to hate the dress when the time came for you to put it on, but it was too exquisite for that. The fabric was as light as a feather, the skirt fanning out dramatically every time you moved. And though you didn’t think it as pretty as the sapphire gown, it was certainly more revealing. A dress made to catch the eye. 

“The colour suits you well,” your mother beams when she sees you, her hands fluffing through your hair before smoothing down your shoulders. 

“You do not think it too much?” 

“Nonsense! And it was a gift from the queen herself!” she exclaims, and you suppose propriety held no sway over royalty when it came to pretty dresses.  

Still, you try one last time to pull the bodice so it sits more modestly on your chest, knowing it will soon slip back into shape, leaving the curve of your breast on display.  

Then it’s time to leave, and you try to hold back, so you can at least bring up the rear of the Baratheon charge but, in a dress gifted by the queen, you’re far too important to enter any room from the shadows.  

Instead, your mother pulls you into the forefront, parading you out in front of your father and sisters, so you’re clear for everyone to, "see and admire”. 

Though you’re not sure its admiration which blows the faint hush of whispers across the hall. The dress is so very green, and you’re fighting the urge to wrap your arms around your chest. 

“Lord Lannister,” your mother calls, in a cheery voice, and Tyland turns, bowing his head before drawing closer.  

“We have decided to stay in Kings Landing for a few more days and would be delighted if you would join us for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tea?” his entire face brightens before his eyes slip warily over your face.. 

You don’t want to say anything to encourage his affection but your mothers hand tightens sharply around your arm, seeming to squeeze the words right out of your mouth.  

“If you would be so kind,” you say, trying to keep your tone even, but thinking you sound more petulant than polite. 

“I’d be delighted,” Tyland smiles eagerly, and your mother seems pleased as she cranes her neck towards the far corner of the room before letting your arm free. 

“I must speak with Lady Redwyne,” she decides, abandoning you in Tyland’s company, and if he suspects she has ulterior motives, he takes only pleasure in them.  

He moves closer, taking up all the space where others might try to join your conversation, before his hand raises to summon a server, who brings you both a cup of wine. 

“You look very well this evening, Lady Baratheon. Your dress is...” his gaze sinks languidly into the deep v of your gown, the rest of his sentence seeming to lose itself somewhere along the soft trail of your skin.  

“A gift from the queen,” you offer, clutching yourself with one arm as though you are cold, though your cheeks feel hot. 

“Ah?” A small cough clears his throat as he meets your stare, “she has offered you a position as her lady in waiting?” 

"She...” you think about lying, but tell the truth, “may have mentioned it.” Twice .

Tyland nods approvingly, his eyes carefully darting down your dress again, “then perhaps you will remain in Kings Landing indefinitely?”

You don’t answer, you take a sip of your wine, wishing someone would come and rescue you from any further conversation. But you’re not so fortunate, and Tyland talks at length on matters which hold little interest to your ear, before a fanfare blasts around the room and all the guests are herded, like cattle, to their respective tables.  

The royal family enter the room all at once, together but separate. Smiling but tense. A sea of black and red with the exception of two who wear green. Alicent in her usual damask and Aemond in a green leather doublet which you have never seen before today. 

Was it another gift from the queen? Did the detail work embossed in his belt match the golden stitching around your sleeves? You're afraid to know, and suddenly feel more visible, though hardly anyone is looking at you now. 

They’re all staring at the high table and with good reason. These past weeks you’ve grown accustomed to seeing only Alicent, Aemond and Helaena. So its startling to see the others. The scene so much more imposing than before.  

Alicent and Rhaenyra in the centre, Aegon, Helaena and Otto on the right. Then all the princes on the left. Daemon next to his wife, and Aemond seated between his two dark-haired nephews.  

Jacaerys and Lucerys. Jace and Luke. The bastards.  

You let the thought escape across your mind without any real chance of catching it. But when they were all sitting there like that, the Targaryen hair so white and bright, it was hard to ignore the accusation.  

Still, it was not for you to accuse or even think. But you could look, and your attention was drawn to Aemond far more than you would like, and with far more interest than he really deserved, and not just because he didn't seem to notice you at all. 

He only brooded; his lips pressed into a hard line while his nephews chatted merrily over his shoulder. He appeared, in a word, miserable, but so were you. 

Sat between your father, who spent the entire time talking to the lord beside him and Maris, who was pushing the food around her plate with angry little jabs.  

Conversation had been so absent that you’d almost wished you’d been seated with Tyland who was watching you from across the room. His attention making you more uneasy than the green of your dress.  

You weren’t even hungry and had given up on picking at your food some time ago, yet the courses kept coming. More meat and cheese, more cakes and pastries, and so much wine you could drown in it.  

The show of excess and indulgence was enough to make anyone sick, and with all the people crowded into the room, the air was thick and hot.  

“May I be excused?” you say, tapping your father on the shoulder before fanning yourself for effect but, as usual, he wasn’t listening. 

“Yes, yes,” he says absentmindedly, batting you away with a flourish of his hand, his attention hardly bothering to leave his conversation, and you certainly don’t complain. 

You stand, ignoring the roll of Maris’ eyes as you clamber over the bench, intent on sneaking towards the rose garden, your steps hidden in time with a server carrying a large tray of crabs.  

Your escape, however, is soon thwarted when that same server is called to attend a table in the centre of the room, leaving you exposed, unmissable .  

You panic, steps stuttering just as you meet with Aemond’s stare, his eye narrowed on your face as though he’s been tracking your movements from the moment you’d left the bench. Maybe even before then.  

“Lady Baratheon,” his voice carries easily over the hum of the crowd, and his words are less of a greeting and more of a summons, his eye eating up every inch of your gown as you move towards him. 

“Your grace,” you curtsy, trying to ignore the heat which has returned to your cheeks or the way you seem to feel a hundred pairs of eyes on your skin.  

He leans over the table, as though it might afford some privacy but there are just as many ears as there are eyes. “I trust you are not running away?” 

You were, but you weren’t about to admit it. Instead, you hold his stare, your heart quietly thundering before the silence is broken by the sound of laughter. Not yours or Aemond’s but Jace and Luke’s.  

You look at them in turn, their smiles so wide and unreserved. So unlike their uncle.  

“Why would you wish to run away?” Jace says, and he isn’t mocking you, he’s intrigued, friendly , and you feel terrible for allowing yourself to regard him as anything but a Prince.  

Returning his warm smile, you’re just about to answer him, when Aemond straightens in his chair, his jaw tight, and his words clipped.  

“Perhaps my lady has grown tired of the company in the hall this evening?” 

Jace forces a small laugh, his face still friendly and his eyes almost sympathetic as they catch yours once more. But Luke is less forgiving at the implication in Aemond’s words. His smirk turns impish, allowing little regard for Aemond’s mood.  

“It is no surprise you have been bored at court, my Lady. My brother and I arrived only yesterday. Perhaps you will dance with me this evening and I shall give you your first taste of amusement?” 

You glance quickly to Aemond, catching the moment his expression turns to ice. And Luke doesn’t want to dance with you, not really, he wants to annoy his uncle, and though part of you relishes the thought, another part, a strange twisting knot in your chest, feels as though you’d be betraying him.  

Still, betrayal or not, Luke is a prince and the son of a future queen, so you bow your head, “it would be an honour, your grace.” 

“ See Uncle,” Luke says with a broad grin, while Jace at least tries to hide his amusement, “if you had better manners, perhaps you would not repel the ladies of court from the room.” 

Fresh fury burns in Aemond’s eye, and further down the table, you notice Daemon is watching too. His own expression bright and sharp, his own smirk fixed firmly into place. 

He enjoys this, you realise. The discourse, the friction. Perhaps it is always this way when they are together. Dragon against dragon. Nephew against uncle. Son against son.  

You don’t like it any more than you like fighting with Maris, and your words spring free before you’ve really considered them.  

“Forgive me your grace,” you say, looking at Luke, “but I have found Prince Aemond to be the most gracious host, and he is considered... by some ...” the certainty in your voice loses all steam, where were you going with this? Did Aemond really require any compliments to boost his ridiculous ego? Yet it was too late to stop now, they were all waiting for you to finish what you had already started.  

“To be the most... wonderful dancing partner.”  

Seven hells!  

You wanted to kick yourself the moment the words left your tongue and, though it was hardly the greatest compliment ever spoken, this was Aemond, and he was the most repugnant man in the world.  

You hardly dare to look at him, imagining his expression might be some awful gloating smile. But when you force yourself to find his face, it contains only surprise, perhaps even gratitude, and you somehow hate him all over again.  

Dipping into another curtsy, you turn to leave, thinking it safer to run away than stay for another moment and risk saying something even more ridiculous. Like how you’ve not stopped thinking about him since yesterday and wish it was him coming to tea instead of Tyland Lannister. Now that would be a grave admission. 

Still, you're not sure you take a single breath on your way out of the hall, and the air outside comes as a great relief. So mercifully cool and pleasant, you want to drown in it as you disappear down the paths. Venturing only where the glow of lanterns lights your way and stopping at the edge of the pond.  

Even in the dark, you can see the bright streaks of golden fish as they dart between the lily pads and you think of the book sitting quietly beneath them, its pages ruined beyond repair.  

“I imagined you would have got much further than this,” Aemond’s voice startles you as he comes to stand by your side.  

“I’m not running; I’m skulking in the shadows,” you say, meeting his eye, and he snorts out a small huff of laughter before you return your attention to the pond, thinking it would be sensible if you walked back towards the hall. Yet doing nothing to make it happen. 

Instead, you feel every hair on the back of your neck stand on end as he moves closer, his elbow nudging playfully into your arm, “I am curious to know what manner of person finds me to be the most wonderful dancer? ” 

You huff, annoyed by your own words and certain that kicking Aemond would be a far better remedy for your embarrassment than kicking yourself. “Even I must concede, that at least one person may not find you completely detestable.”  

He leans even closer, his tone trying to be serious, “if that is true, you must be quick to seek this person out and set them to rights." 

You snort, looking at him again, “anyone who spends enough time in your company, will set themselves to rights.” 

Aemond bites back his smile, and his gaze is so warm you feel it right in the middle of your chest just as the scrape of a hundred chairs drifts from the hall, redirecting your attention.  

“The dances will be starting soon,” he says, and you sigh. Exhausted by the prospect of polite conversation and stolen glances falling down the front of your gown.  

“Perhaps you should head inside and find Luke ,” he adds, sounding his nephews name with an emphasis on the K. 

You look back at him; to see the way he’s staring into the pond, his hands bound tightly behind his back and his stance far too straight to be comfortable. 

Was he jealous? Of course, it wasn’t long ago that he’d threatened half of court to stop them from dancing with you. Now you’d promised to dance with a boy he seemed to hate above all others. But he wasn’t making any more threats, he was only scowling, and you almost wanted to laugh at his reserve.  

“I’d rather stay here,” you confess, noticing the very slight but very sharp breath which sucks in through his nose. 

“When you have promised my nephew a dance?” he presses, his voice so tight you could snap it in two. 

“I'm quite certain he will survive without it.”  

Aemond looks at you, his Adams apple dipping hard into his throat. 

“And I think I have endured enough dances with Targaryen Princes to last me a life time, don’t you?” 

He turns back to the pond, his jaw tensing but not out of anger. You can see the smile which threatens his lips, and he clings to it so stubbornly you have the faint urge to tip him right into the water. 

“My nephew was at least right about one thing,” he admits, his hands no longer tightly bound behind his back, “I have failed to give you a real taste of amusement.”  

“That’s not true,” you insist with a teasing smile, “your company might be entirely repugnant but it is never boring.” 

“Careful Lady Baratheon, with so many compliments, I might think you are trying to flatter me.” 

“If I am ever accused of flattering you, then you should know that I have gone completely insane.” 

“Then my lady is more well suited to being a Targaryen than she might imagine,” he quips, offering you his hand, “ now , would you like some real amusement or not?” 

You can’t help but wonder if he’s suggesting something which will ruin your reputation entirely, yet that doesn’t frighten you enough to run away. Instead, you ask, “what exactly do you consider to be ‘real’ amusement?” 

Aemond shrugs, giving nothing away except the devilish glint in his eye, “you ask too many questions.” 

You give him a pointed look, “I believe I am asking one question.” 

“Then answer mine first, do you want amusement? Yes or no?” 

You almost laugh, but the sound is too breathy, made of disbelief rather than mirth. Did he really think you were just going to take his hand and let him do as he pleased?  

Yet, at the same time, your hand somehow seems to find its way into his, and with your brain unable to keep up to your racing heart, the word rolling so carelessly from your tongue is “ yes .”  

Yes to amusement. 

Yes to adventure. 

Yes to Aemond. If he wanted so desperately to entertain you, then who were you to say no?  

~~~

Thank you for reading!

[doveypink]

the fire and the flames (that’s you) [megumi fushiguro]

summary: a cold morning leaves you needy for warmth. word count: 2.2k warnings: not sfw (minors dni), gn!reader (vague anatomy), college-aged characters, established relationship, fluff and smut, unprotected sex. a/n: this is set shortly after stay a while, but can be read on its own! title comes from the song prescription by remi wolf <3

Megumi’s room is freezing when you wake up.

Despite resting your head on his chest with your boyfriend’s arms wrapped securely around you, you can’t help shivering. You internally curse Jujutsu Tech for building dorms with terrible insulation; it’s like they want to kill off all their sorcerers. With a groan, you try to get closer to Megumi to steal his warmth. Your leg is thrown over him, and your thigh brushes against something hard. Your boyfriend makes a noise in the back of his throat, rousing awake in an instant. A silence befalls you both. Your jaw drops.

Oh.

“Megumi… are you—?”

He cuts you off, groaning. “It’s cold, I can’t help it.”

You stare, unmoving, as a thought enters your head.

Megumi’s cheeks are tinged red, and he looks at you through tired, half-lidded eyes. “Don’t,” he says simply, a warning. He knows you too well.

“Don’t what?” You try to say innocently, but the rising grin on your face is severely unconvincing.

The messy-haired boy grimaces like he’s in pain, trying to shift away from you, but it only makes the situation beneath his sweatpants worse. “Get off,” he whines, gently pressing a hand against your waist.

“Let me help.” Your voice is soft despite the grin on your lips.

Megumi gives you a disapproving look, his lips parted in protest, but you start up again before he can speak.

“Come on, babe. We’re here, we’re alone… When are we going to have another chance? I’m only here for another week, Gumi.”

Your boyfriend stares at you, his features softening. You do have a point; you’re only visiting for the few short weeks that are winter break, and after that, the date of your next visit could be anyone’s guess. He’ll be busy exorcizing curses (“Sexily,” you would add), and you will return to college. It was hard enough just trying to get clearance from Principal Yaga and the higher-ups for you to visit Megumi here, and he already knows it’ll be hell trying to go visit you. Sorcerers are always short-staffed; the boy is lucky that he’s even had some time off this winter.

With a small sigh, Megumi tugs you closer, pulling you on top of him. “Come ‘ere,” he mumbles, finally giving in.

You’re all too happy to follow his lead, leaning down to kiss him. He puts his hands on the back of your thighs, sliding them in place on either side of his waist. While your lips are locked together, you gently grind your hips against his. Megumi grunts into your mouth, and you smile. You can already feel a small wet patch on the front of his joggers. He rubs up and down your thighs, soft and unhurried. You break the kiss to breathe, noting how he involuntarily tries to chase you, not quite ready to separate. A faint laugh passes over your tongue.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper against his parted lips.

The boy’s face flushes, and one of his hands moves up to press against your cheek. His thumb traces the outline of your face, stopping to rest at your chin. He has a saccharine gaze, his long eyelashes fluttering as you circle your hips. The motion causes little puffs of air to escape him, a quiet but visible indication of his pleasure. It always surprises you how tender he is in these moments, given that he spends the better half of his days blank faced or scowling in annoyance at minor inconveniences.

You whine, flustered by his benevolence. Megumi laughs — really, it’s just a short huff through his nose — and he lifts you off of him just enough for you to kick off your shorts. You feel the cold air prick your skin and grunt at the provocation. Your lover’s sweatpants are shoved down to his thighs, and you wear a look of devilish satisfaction at the sight of him. You hover above him, fingers wrapping around his shaft to spread the precum dribbling from the tip.

Megumi hisses, blunt nails digging into your knee. Any other day you would tease him, dragging it out until you’re both tangled and messy under the sheets, but you’ve gone too long without your boyfriend. Something twists in the pit of your stomach, and you know that if he’s not inside you soon, you might actually lose your mind. So you raise your hips, lining him up with your entrance before easing down inch-by-inch.

He slides in easily, both of you already wet enough just from grinding against each other. Megumi twitches, his breath hitching as you sink lower. You’re tight, and your walls have to stretch to take the full length of him; it really has been too long.

The moment he bottoms out inside you, Megumi makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Not a second later, something warm floods inside you. His shaft twitches against your walls, emptying himself without so much as a warning. Your boyfriend’s face turns bright red, and he clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle a moan.

You don’t move. He’s still inside you, spurting warmth into your body as you stare at him in disbelief. “Gumi… Did you just—?”

“Shut up,” he says quickly.

You have a shit-eating grin on your face. “You did! You came so fast—”

“Shut up,” he groans, covering his face with both hands.

With a horribly unflattering cackle, you lean down to remove his hands, kissing his red cheeks. “Aw, baby, did you miss me that much?”

He’s glaring at you, trying to turn his face away. “Stop, this is god damn embarrassing.”

“No, it was cute—”

“It’s humiliating—”

“It’s hot,” you say sincerely, still grinning. “I’m flattered, honestly.”

Megumi stares at you, seriously wishing that he could throw himself under the sheets and die. After a pause, he mumbles, “I wanted the first time back with you to be… good.”

Your features soften, trying your best not to tease him anymore. He really is sweet to you, and it would probably be too mean to provoke him any further. You kiss him, gentle and chaste. “We have a whole week, babe. It’s not the end of the world. And, you know, we could just try again now.” You wiggle your hips as if to prove your point.

Your boyfriend tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. He hesitates, seemingly unsure of how to respond. “…Really?”

“Yes, baby. I missed you,” you soothe. Your hips start to roll against his again, and he hardens like he’s been brought back to life. “I was lonely without you.”

“…Okay,” he agrees quietly. Suddenly, his hands grip your waist a little harder than before, pulling you closer. His eyes are full of want, holding you firmly as if you would ever want to leave. “Let’s make up for it, then.”

You instantly feel heat pooling in your stomach. You lean forward, mewling as he holds you flush against his body. A hard clench around his shaft has you balling your fists into the sheets beneath him. Your head drops onto his shoulder, squirming in his grasp.

Megumi kisses the top of your head, soothing your lust-fueled actions. His breaths are ragged as you clench around him, and he holds you tighter. “I missed this,” he says into your hair. “Missed feeling you.”

He’s gentle despite the filthiness of the situation, and it drives you a little insane. You roll against him harder, your hips sliding onto him with ease thanks to the cum he so kindly spilled inside you prior. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, muffling your whines of pleasure.

Megumi, always so quiet, is desperately trying to hold back his own sounds. He replaces moans for soft grunts and shallow breaths that warm your skin. His nose is buried in the top of your head, dizzied as he breathes in your scent. He starts to thrust upwards, meeting your hips with a gentle slap of skin against skin. His length slides out halfway, then pushes all the way in at a steady, mind-numbing pace that has you holding your breath.

Your boyfriend grabs at your thighs, caressing the skin as he pumps into you a little faster. “I need you,” he groans, his voice breaking as he speaks. He doesn’t like to talk much during sex, but when he does, it sounds absolutely beautiful; especially right now, with his desperate little groans and suppressed whimpers.

You match his thrusts, breathing out slowly. “I’m yours, Gumi. I’m all yours.” The sheets beneath your hands are wrinkled from how tight you grip them. With a hard clench around his shaft, you grunt, trying to hold yourself together. “I love you, I missed you so much,” you whine.

Megumi pulls you down for a kiss, breathlessly pressing your lips together. When he parts from you, he slides a hand to the back of your neck, keeping you close so he can look into your eyes. The eye contact makes you flush, your whole body warm with desire. He exerts enough self-control to slow down, keeping you steady as he fills you. Your eyes grow heavy lidded as he admires you, and your hands move to grip the front of his shirt instead.

Megumi cups your face, a look of gentle concern on his handsome face. “Are you okay?” the boy asks quietly.

You laugh, your hands flat against his chest. “Do you really have to ask that?” As if in response, you squeeze down on him again. Something about his constant attentiveness is thrilling to you, even in moments of passion.

“Of course I do,” he says easily, a light chuckle blowing past his lips. He leans you towards him for another kiss, releasing a low moan in the process. The boy can already feel himself getting close. “Do you want me to pull out?” he whispers, rubbing your thigh.

“Fuck no,” you hiss, denying the notion fast enough that it makes him laugh again. Your walls pulse around his shaft, drawing him further in. “Just… stay right there,” you plead.

Megumi kisses you again, deeper this time, before parting with a small grin. “Okay,” he murmurs before thrusting upwards again at a faster pace.

Your voice is a low warble as he takes you deeper. One of his hands holds the back of your head to keep you in a kiss, while his other hand grips your waist. Your moans are muffled against his mouth, and you both become a little lightheaded from the messy embrace.

Megumi groans against your mouth, and you shiver, squeezing your thighs around his hips. “That’s it,” he encourages you, pushing you further into him. “Just like that.”

The familiarity of your incoming high draws in, and your thighs tense with anticipation. He’s slotted inside you like he belongs there; you whimper pathetically at the thought, burying your face against his neck. “I’m close, baby, please,” you beg, but you’re not sure what exactly you’re begging for.

Megumi’s chest vibrates with a low growl into your ear, making you clench down on his shaft. “Cum for me,” he says, shaking as he nears his own release. He stops bothering to hold back his sounds of pleasure, and a throaty moan from him causes you to sway your hips a little harder.

“Fuck,” you sigh, feeling him push harder against your hips. You’re teetering on the edge of your release, clamping down on him with your mouth gaping open as you pant.

Megumi grits his teeth, and he can’t take it anymore with the way your walls tighten around his length. He grunts, snapping his hips up harshly to empty himself inside of you. Large hands hold you in place as he grinds against you, not stopping until he knows you’ve finished.

With the warmth that fills you, it isn’t long until you cum. You feel yourself tip over the edge, clenching down on his still-twitching shaft and coating him in your own release. Grossly wet noises fill the room as you weakly bounce on his length, letting it all out as the collective high washes over you.

Megumi releases a long breath, holding you tight until you’ve both calmed down. Slowly, he helps you pick yourself up off of his length. He slips out of you, and you leak with cum. The sight makes his cheeks warm; you lay next to him, letting the liquid form a pool of glossy white beneath your legs. Your boyfriend leans over to kiss you, his hand cradling the back of your head.

“Good?” he asks, tracing his hand from your neck down to your back.

“Good,” you echo. When you shiver, he sits up to pull the blanket up, warming you both. The sheets tickle your skin, and you press your chest against Megumi’s to get cozy. Your hands snake under your boyfriend’s shirt, and he jolts in surprise.

“Your hands are freezing,” he utters, brows knit together in concern.

A snort of laughter escapes your throat. “That’s okay. You’ll warm me up.”

“Not that I have a choice,” he mumbles. “Don’t you want to shower?”

With an exhausted groan, you say, “In a minute. Too tired to move.”

Megumi hums in acceptance, securing you against him. When your eyes droop and your breathing slows, he doesn’t bother trying to move. He watches you in quiet admiration, feeling inclined to go back to sleep himself. He presses his lips against your forehead and begins to close his eyes, lured in by your peaceful expression.

Megumi was never a fan of the cold weather before, but now? He doesn’t think it’s so bad.

[kindasleepywriter]

The way to a droid's heart (Cal Kestis x BountyHunter!Reader)

Based on this wonderful request. Always open to hearing more ideas!

Summary: Cal demonstrates what happens to those who mess with you. Warnings: Implied and explicit threats, that's about it Word count: 2.9k

In all the years you’d known him, you’d never understood how Cal Kestis was still alive. When you had met him 6 years ago, you’d been just as idealistic and adventure-seeking as he was. The years that followed, however, had changed you and shaped you for survival. Dreams didn’t get you very far, not in the galaxy like this one.

You’d quickly lost hope of ever becoming a fighter pilot when you’d realized the few rebel cells were dropping like flies, all at the Empire’s hand. One lone pilot wouldn’t make a difference out there, you’d concluded, and from that moment you’d just tried not to end up as space rubble like your parents. You’d ended up as a bounty hunter instead, a damned-good one, and you took what joy you could while chasing bounties all over space.

Cal, on the other hand, never seemed to lose his ambition of defeating the Empire. Not that he’d ever told you that’s what he was doing, of course, but only a space slug could’ve been so blind as to not see it. He wasn’t exactly being subtle, making no effort to conceal the weapon at his side and giving his real name to anyone who might have asked. His ever-growing collection of scars didn’t portray him as a man who sat around waiting for change, either.

Perhaps you’d ask about them, one day.

--

You watched from the far end of a bar you’d never tried learning the name of, as a stoned-faced Pantoran you didn’t recognize spoke with Cal. You couldn’t quite hear their conversation but, with the way BD-1 had whizzed in boredom for a good 10 minutes before scurrying off to scan whatever he could find, you could deduce they weren’t exactly talking about their latest game of holo-chess.

You turned back to your drink, flipping up your hood and shaking your head softly at the man’s persistence. On the move, as always.

You were starting to come to terms with the fact that your contact wouldn’t be showing up. You’d already sighed watching your watch more times than you could count, annoyed at the inconvenience of flying so far into the outer rim for nothing. It had been a pain negotiating your meeting too, the contact insisting on you being alone with no weapons. You’d eventually faked giving in, choosing to keep your rifle and pistol on board your currently broken down S40K and instead hiding vibro-blades inside your boots.

The ship was already on its last legs when you got it, the only reason why you’d been able to pay, but the years had caught up with it in the last two months. You spent almost all of your money on maintaining it in the air, and you were running out of funds fast.  The anticipated need to buy another cheap but more reliable hunk of metal was what had caused you to pick up another bounty only a few days after your last.

Normally, you liked to spread out jobs over a few weeks to enjoy the credits you made, but the sputtering of your engines when you’d crash landed into this city’s landing dock had made clear you couldn’t afford the luxury this time.

You were nearing the bottom of your drink, trying to plan a way off this planet without mounting any more personal debts to anyone, when you felt a small nudge at your right foot. You looked down, expecting to see some rodent or pest trying to eat through your sole, but were instead met with a little red and white hyperactive droid.

You scanned the room quickly to make sure no one was looking, and stretched a hand in his direction so he could haul himself up onto the cushioned booth. He didn’t hesitate to scramble up your arm, emitting a few whizzes and beeps of thanks on the way.

“Hey, beedee,” you greeted him flatly. “Thought I finally managed to evade your scans this time; guess I was wrong.”

A low whistle and a trill.

“I know, I know, you see everything. It’s hard to forget when you always choose to remind me at least twenty times every time you find me.”

He emitted a series of approving noises, and you rolled your eyes at his cockiness. Where he’d gotten that attitude wasn’t a great mystery. He jumped on one foot, nudging at your coat’s pockets with the other, his eyes going in and out of focus audibly as he searched for god-knows-what.

You tsked. “Will you stop that!” you chided and swatted him away like you would a cat. “Yes, I brought you something from my last job, stop assaulting me for a minute and let me find the damn thing. And you better not tell your dad, I’m not letting him think I’m a softie just because I keep entertaining your crow tendencies.”

Suddenly the picture of good manners, the droid sat and wiggled his legs as he sent you a sweet melody. Manipulative little shit, you thought affectionately. He was annoying as could be, but the little guy was cute.

You fished out a shiny piece of silver metal from your breast pocket. You had made sure not to lose the small leaf-shaped brooch, the perfect gift for BD-1. Your last bounty had necessitated infiltrating an Imperial event, and you’d found the piece while snooping through an officer’s desk. You’d never been so happy to have preemptively messed with the camera feeds.

The droid whistled in excitement and bathed your hand in a green light. You tried and failed to fight the smile that braced your lips as you watched him dance around your palm. He scanned the object from every angle he could find.

Too focused on his reaction, you failed to notice the individual looking over your shoulder until his shadow dimmed the wall you were facing. Too late to react properly, you shut your hand as quick as you could and turned to look at the man. Kin Fobam. Another bounty hunter, a Pau’an, one that always found a new way to piss you off. Today would apparently be no exception. BD beeped in annoyance at your movement before noticing you had company.

“Well, well. It would seem our little bounty hunter has a penchant for jewels after all.” the man sneered at you.

You rolled your eyes and did your best not to flinch at the lack of personal space, his two-meter height trapping you without much breathing room. You could smell the alcohol he had consumed, but you didn’t need it to know he was intoxicated. At this time of night, he always was. You were already almost pressed to the wall of your booth with only enough space to keep BD behind you, so you stood your ground and straightened up as best you could. You kept the droid in place as he spat angry threats at Kin, unwilling to let him make the situation worse.

“Kin, don’t you know women love shiny things?” you mocked with an arched brow, “Maybe if you’d known that earlier, that lovely Iridonian wouldn’t have spat at you again for your advances last week. How’s your attempt at courting her going, by the way?”

You subtly held the metal pin in pinched fingers behind your back as his white face somehow turned even paler in anger, desperately hoping BD-1 would understand what you were trying to tell him. You almost sighed in relief when you felt him swiftly slide it out of your hands into his stim container.

Kin moved even closer to you, forcing you to lean over BD in a desperate attempt to gain some personal space. Your free hand instinctively reached for your hip but only found the weathered leather of your empty holster. Shit, you’d left your guns on the ship! You didn’t have the space to reach for your blades either, so you had no choice but to do it the old way.

You tensed, ready to headbutt the towering Pau’an out of your space, but you stilled when you felt cold metal brush against your skin in the small gap where your shirt and pants met. A blaster. Fuck. This is why you never left without a firearm.

“I wonder, if that piece of metal is worth so much to someone like you,” he growled, “then maybe you’d accept payment in other forms… as thanks for sparing your life today, hm?”

You cringed at the implication of his words but took a steadying breath. You’d insulted this guy in more ways than you could count over the years and you knew he could pull that trigger without a second thought, but you’d fought bounties that were bigger, angrier, and certainly more skilled. He wasn’t the first to try and extort sexual favors from you, nor would he be the last.

Your brain spun in circles, trying to come up with a plan that didn’t involve blaster fire passing through your right kidney and BD-1 in one fell swoop. You didn’t have to think for long, though.

Before you could make a move, a blinding orange light flashed between you and Kin, floating just underneath his chin. You could feel the heat from where you were, could imagine the pain its power wielded. The way the man’s white flesh turned pink at its proximity didn’t go unnoticed.

“How about I gift her with the loss of your life as an apology for letting her endure your dirty ass, Kin?” a smooth voice drawled, the speaker invisible to you with your still-focusing eyes, but you didn’t need to see him to know who it was. As if the lightsaber wasn’t already enough to identify him, but you’d know that voice anywhere too. You weren’t the only one, if the cheering beeps you heard behind you were any indications.

A smirk braced your features as the Pau’an gritted his sharp teeth, hesitating a second before raising his hands in a defeated manner. He demonstratively holstered his pistol to make sure his head wasn’t cut off at the movement and he slowly stepped back a few feet away. The lightsaber didn’t stray a single millimeter from him. His brows pinched in anger, and he looked expectantly towards you. “It was just a little bit of fun, right?” he said as he hissed in pain. “Nothing to get upset about.”

You chuckled at the attempt. “I don’t know, I’m thinking your head on a platter sounds pretty great right about now. Maybe I can find someone out here who’d enjoy some barbecued Pau’an. What do you think, Cal?”

Your heart skipped a beat when your gaze met amused grey eyes over Kin’s hunched shoulders. He winked at you, and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip.

“I’m pretty sure that violates too many health codes,” he said, “you know, quality standards and such.”

BD whistled in agreement, scampering up onto your back and nudging the side of your head when you got up to lean against the side of your table.

“Too bad,” you sighed, crossing your arms, “maybe it could’ve bought me some new earrings.”

Cal laughed loudly, warmth spreading through your chest at the lovely sound before he closed a hand on the sweaty neck before him and brought his blade even closer to his chin. “The next time you even come within 20 feet of her,” he stated casually, loudly enough for the entire bar to hear and turn the heads of the few who weren’t already watching, “you won’t live long enough to say ‘womp rat’. Are we clear?”

Well, if your heart hadn’t been beating fast before, it sure was now. Never had a threat sounded so attractive before. You diverted your gaze. Get a grip, you reprimanded yourself.

BD-1 only encouraged him, a crackling sound buzzing entirely too close to your ear for your liking. When did he get a taser? You didn’t even want to know what he used it for, finding trouble with his new gadgets was a special talent of his.

Kin, now wide eyed, muttered an affirmative and a long line of fearful apologies, eager to escape the Jedi. Cal flicked off his saber and forcefully shoved him away. The Pau’an bolted out the door of the bar, running for his life, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his fear. BD reprimanded Cal for acting so late, beeps and squeals echoing through the room after the patrons returned to their usual business, but the red-haired man was only focused on you. Your skin heated at the attention.

“I could’ve dealt with him myself.”

He gave you a wide smile and stepped closer, no Pau’an separating you anymore. “Oh, I know. Wasn’t this much more fun though?”

The corner of your lips twitched, and you shrugged, softly shaking your head at his ever-lasting upbeat attitude. You uncrossed your arms, placing them behind you on the rusty table to comfortably lean back. “Still could’ve knocked him out faster without alerting every possible person of a Jedi’s presence here.”

“Give me a break,” he said almost sheepishly, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his neck, “is a guy not allowed to show off to a pretty girl every once in a while?”

Your breath hitched on a single breath, caught off-guard. Sure, the two of you joked around all the time, but he’d never gone so far as to straight up flirt with you. You tried not to react, probably failing miserably at doing so.

“Smooth.”

He threw his head back in laughter, his reddened freckled cheeks showing more embarrassment that he let on. “I try.”

“Next time,” you said, striding past him, “if you really want to show off, perhaps you shouldn’t wait until there’s a blaster pointed at me before making your move.”  You had no idea how you kept your voice steady, and you couldn’t help but hear the rare softness of it. You were thankful that he couldn’t see how wide of a smile you currently wore.

He jogged to catch up, keeping pace with you as you headed for the docking bay. “I’ll keep that in mind” he chuckled.

You glanced back at the bar over your shoulder, and BD started emitting alarm noises from your other side, indignant at still being ignored. You patted his head, quieting him for a moment. “Where did your informant go?” you asked Cal. “Wouldn’t want to hinder your next side quest.”

“That was anything but a quest,” he said, “Just a boring old trade. Wouldn’t be so boring if you were there, though.”

A loud whistle of approval sounded above your shoulder.

“Hey, calm it, up there!” you exclaimed, using another opportunity to escape from answering. “I’ve only got two eardrums, let’s not break one of them.”

BD whistled again at a lower volume, followed by a barely audible series of sounds.

“Yeah, weak organics my ass,” you muttered. “We’ll talk about how great being a droid is the next time you bend your antennas and come running to me.”

Cal’s soft laugh caught your attention once more. He was watching you both with such a fond smile... Your heart squeezed at how soft he looked, for once not rushing towards something and instead enjoying the moment.

As you neared your ship, small tendrils of smoke still escaping the upper vents, he looked at his watch when it suddenly started beeping, and he made a face. “I’d love to hear the rest of your arguing, but we have to go. A revolution doesn’t fund itself.” he said. He looked up at the droid sitting on your shoulders. “Yes, beedee, that means you. Hop on.”

Cal held out an arm, BD begrudgingly taking his usual spot on his shoulders, spitting menacing sparks at the jedi along the way. The latter looked towards you with a flicker of hope as he stepped backwards towards the back of the hangar where the Mantis stood. “Can I convince you to join me this time? Still got an extra bunk if you want.”

“I don’t think you want me and beedee on the same ship 24/7, Cal. Anyways, I’ve told you before, I can’t just discard my old one.”

He stared at your smoking Hawk-Class before he turned to you unimpressed. “That thing can’t even fly.”

“It can! I just need to fix the cooling mechanism and-”

“And the hull, the reactors, the hyperdrive, the-” he continued, amused at your stubbornness.

“Okay, okay,” you scoffed, “you’ve made your point. Might as well drop it here, I guess. I could hitch a ride, if you’re heading towards the inner rim, but I’ve got approximately nothing to give in payment for the fuel.”

BD startled you with a burst of binary, so fast you couldn’t hear him. Cal looked at you sharply.

“You’ve been giftinghim things?” he exclaimed.

“You utter snitch, beedee!”

The droid whistled at you disapprovingly and loudly shot the brooch from his stim compartment right into Cal’s hands.

“I can’t believe you,” you continued, “the one thing I told you-”

You fell right back into your argument with the droid.

Cal tilted his head back in loud laughter and threw an arm around your shoulders as you whisper-yelled at BD-1, leading you towards the Mantis. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

Getting side-tracked by BD1? In my supposedly Cal-centered fic? It's more likely than you think.

This was pre-realtionship like my last Cal fic because tbh i have trouble setting up the change from friends to lovers without writing a whole novel, but I have some ideas roaming around my head I'd like to write. We'll see how that turns out!

Tell me what you think, and check out my masterlist!

[dreamermonica]

BLUE LOCK BOYS + ROMANCE TROPES

—includes isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser (sorry if this asshole's part is freakishly longer than the other boys' parts. favoritism exists in this blog, unfortunately.)

—fem pronouns are used, swearing cause it's me, major crack, fluff, messy attempt at humor, teenage pining and such, god help me t.t

ISAGI YOICHI is definitely childhood friend material. sworn friends ever since diapers, promises of being together till the very end, marriage proposals at the tender age of 6—all that type of cheesy stuff that would get you squealing and have your little feet kicking in the air out of giddiness. but as time goes on with him being set on football and you doing your own thing, the promise gradually gets left behind in your heads, slowly getting buried underneath all the pressure of being an adolescent. the once childish promise only resurfaces during an unexpected reunion—with both of you having achieved your dream careers. will your puppy love rise once more from the depths of your memories and perhaps turn into something...more serious? hah. what are you talking about? this old friend of yours should take you out for a proper dinner first, atleast.

BACHIRA MEGURU with the ugly duckling trope. no friends, seen as an outcast, too eccentric for his other classmates to comprehend—and there's you—the popular and extroverted individual loved and befriended by many others. you as the campus crush, who found an interest in the lonely bowl cut boy. though your curiosity is piqued at first, you were quite reluctant in actually befriending him. with rumors of him being a weirdo—most people often shy'd away from the idea of letting him inside their radars. but you aren't going to let that stop you from—wait, he's actually super sweet? and kind too? surprisingly a huge sweetheart? what kind of plot twist is this?! though the monster he speaks of kind of scares you, you're still terribly attracted like a fly to a light by his strong will to become the best striker in the foreign dimension of soccer. in the end he's just doing what he loves, a good-hearted boy who simply got misunderstood for his obsession with football—oh? why is your heart suddenly picking up its pace?

ITOSHI RIN with...*drum rolls*...quiet kid at the back of your class. 😐 not that surprising is it. anyways, this emo kid is obsessed with soccer, yet still able to keep up with his studies just fine. though he's mostly neutral with everybody, you sometimes fear the he might be plotting all your deaths with that unconventional stare of his that looks like he's constantly displeased. but you eventually come to a conclusion that that isn't the case. you both take the same bus home everyday, and you can confidently confirm that he really just looks like that. the stare only softens when he brings out his phone and starts playing granny or something. not to be a creepy stalker or anything—your field of view just always inconveniently contains him and the contents on his phone! he appears to have a knack for the genre of horror. games, movies, even tutorials. (this lil' cheat—) but of course, for this headcannon to work my way imma have to embarrass you in front of him for chemistry and relationship development purposes :p. so once upon a time, where you're tired as hell after some shit going down in school, you fail to remember your usual spot and slump down onto an open seat beside itoshi rin—who was on his phone paying you zero mind whatsoever, playing a horror game that you recognized to be some popular roblox game. you don't know if it's the tiredness that took over you, or the sole fact that seeing rin play so goddamn horrible on the game got on your nerves up to the point you couldn't hold in your thoughts anymore and outright told him what you'd come to regret in just a few moments—“what the hell, dude. you're terrible. you're supposed to get the key and then—” about to reach for the phone out of sheer frustration, you suddenly pause, realizing what you've just done. oh no. your eyes flicker to his expression and holy crap. rin itoshi is giving you the biggest, bombastic, judgemental, dehumanizing side eye you've ever seen in your life. actually, scratch that—he's full on staring at you like you've just directed 57 slurs at him. you feel like you've shrunk into a mere insect with how intense his stare is, mentally slowly melting into a puddle of shame as you stand up and profusely bow while spewing out pitiful apologies. after a few moments, you hear him heave a deep sigh, you slowly crane your neck up to look at him expectantly—only to find him and his absurdly gorgeous face challengingly raising a brow at you, “then what do you suppose i should do, miss i'm-so-good-at-the-game? please continue.” rin roblox kid confirmed.

ITOSHI SAE as the regular who has caught your eye trope. i really wanted to use childhood friends on this guy with the amount of angst it'd produce but isagi already got the trope so...'eye candy regular at the local coffee shop you work part-time at' trope it is. a bit specific but yeah you get what i mean :). it's hard not to notice this man whenever he comes in with that unfortunately charming blank face of his—so charming that in fact some girls from other nearby schools actually gather to seat themselves and wait for his appearance, shoot their shot with the guy and get immediately shut down with just one cold sweep of his indifferent stare. being pretty sure does have its downsides. you can still feel the shivers from when he full-on glared at a girl who was getting a bit too persistent. you've never really interacted with him aside from taking his regular order, but there's still the underlying fear that he'd cuss you out and embarrass you in front of teenage girls should you get his order wrong so now you have a note plastered onto the wall that always has his regular order tip up to the notch—with a highlighted nickname, “duckbutt james” since you never caught his name. but oh fuck, he sees it one uneventful day and raises a brow at you, nonchalantly and coolly saying that his name is “itoshi sae”. god. is this the part where you roll over and die in shame? why did you even think it was a good idea to put the note in point-blank range?! it's the same as basically shoving it in his face! you think you might pass out—but then suddenly—he smiles. he smiles. what. but it immediately disappears as fast as it came so now you're questioning if you're hallucinating or not. he takes his usual order and heads out once more, but as your head clears itself from the multiple stages of grief you experienced in one singular moment—you think of his name in wonder, finding it terribly familiar. itoshi sae. itoshi sae. itoshi...SAE?! WAIT—

MICHAEL KAISER is definitely enemies to lovers material, change my mind. a football hotshot who has to begrudgingly graduate first before officially signing a contract with the famous german world-wide football team—bastard münchen. at this point in life, he's basically already successful, so he literally just ignores and passes up all opportunities to actually study anything that isn't related to football. he's not a troublemaker perse, but you're convinced the entire faculty staff hates him due to the amount of unnecessary work his laziness spews out, but they would still have to pass him regardless of his lax attitude towards his studies due to the sole fact that the entirety of germany has their eyes on this genius of a prodigy. it was relatively obvious that failing him and delaying his awaited pro-debut would do no good for the name of the school, so he's now spared from the chains of corrupted education. despite being in the same class as him, kaiser was someone you've barely talked to—you both only interacted a grand total of two times. one was regarding a class project, and the other was that time you walked in on him getting confessed to for the what, thousandth time? needless to say, you're both barely acquainted, so being friends was out of the question. besides, it's not like you want to befriend him anyway (y/n moment)—you were both complete opposites. you were a study freak, and he was an infamous prodigy who had a passion for kicking a ball—he's the emperor who lived in a completely different world from your mundane life as a mere commoner in his story.

*rubs hands together* now it's time to get even more delusional, folks. it's just supposed to be a normal day but oh nooo, you're now both forced to fully acknowledge each other's presence after a teacher falsely accuses both of you and sends you to detention—highly biased should you add. it's one of those low teachers that act passive aggressively with his early success. it's bound to get people jealous, but shouldn't you be proud as a teacher? whatever. all that you know is that you're now both stuck in detention and you're blaming him now. you know very well you're both completely innocent so for what exactly are you blaming him? absolutely nothing. you're just bored and michael kaiser was your only source of entertainment in this bland and empty classroom. jabs are thrown around from across the room as you are unable to initiate conversation without you throwing an insult everytime he attempts to flirt with you. you asked him to be quiet? babe, he's going to do the exact opposite. you asked him to shut the fuck up? he'll say the typical 'make me'. your sanity is all but squeezed out of your entire being by the time your detention is over, finally being dismissed for the day until he stops you from actually leaving the room by holding your shoulder in place and asks for your number with a playful wink. you want to slap him, maybe kick his shins, roundhouse him in the face and run away but with the knowledge that you'll both still be meeting in your class the next day is a bitter reminder that you should atleast try to remain civil with this young and growing superstar if you want to survive the school year. albeit begrudgingly—you punch down your numbers into his phone (you put a random number in at first but he quickly confirms it to be false when your phone doesn't receive the message he sent just in-case. tsk.) and immediately leave the premises after he cracks a joke about seeing him tomorrow night for dinner.

unbeknownst to you, he was the one who put the anonymous tip in the school's online forum that falsely landed both of you in detention—all just to get some alone time with you and grab your number without attracting too much unnecessary attention because oh my lord he's genuinely interested in someone who isn't a part of his football kingdom?? wowowowowow

sae reawakened my duckbutt (sasuke) phase ong (also reader doesn't know what the world-class midfielder sae looks like, only his name so that's why she was shocked)

[mingtinys]

lee sangyeon's (almost) villain origin story

pairing : lee sangyeon x gn!reader

fluff , humor , slice of life , university!au

warnings : language , one suggestive scene

word count : 2.4 k

requested ? no

a/n : this is just pure self-indulgent sangyeon brain rot ,,, you've been warned ( aka. the epitome of "i write what i want to read and then toss it into the void" )

Lee Sangyeon is a patient man. He babysits his young nephews, tutors underclassmen on weekends, and keeps his ten gremlins wonderful friends out of trouble. But his sanity is slipping. Granted, being president of the TBZ fraternity is hard work, but it's starting to feel more like running a daycare.

Though, with all its chaos over the years, rarely has he felt the need to wring anyone's neck out over a few minor inconveniences. Lately, however... well, his fingers start to twitch at the sight of his housemates.

And it's exactly that familiar feeling that begins to tingle at his fingertips when the infuriating voice of Kim Sunwoo follows the slamming of the frat house door. It startles Sangyeon from his dozed state and you as well. Flinching so hard your fingers that were previously twirling a lock of his hair pull painfully at his scalp. "Shit– oh! Sorry, babe." You hiss, petting his hair back down once you realize.

Sangyeon lifts his head from your lap solely to glare at the obtuse boy. His hands and arms adorned with multiple paper grocery bags and beer cases. "A little help would be nice," he jabs, mid-struggle to pile them onto the kitchen island before his strength gives out.

"A little peace and quiet would be nice." Sangyeon cuts, rolling back over to face the television. He stirs, stretching out his tired muscles before sinking back into the couch and your warmth. Desperately chasing the cozy feeling he'd been robbed of too soon.

"Is all that for the party tonight?" You ask Sunwoo. An innocent question for the sake of being polite that the boy somehow takes as an invitation.

"Almost all of it, Changmin is grabbing a few more bottles from the liquor store– is that Love Island?" He points, creeping up behind the sofa.

Whatever merciful God is listening. Please. No. Sangyeon begs.

"Yeah, it's the most recent–"

"I love Love Island– scoot!"

Sangyeon pulls his knees up just in time as Sunwoo jumps the couch, swinging his legs dangerously close to the glass coffee table, causing Sangyeon's fingers to twitch once more.

"Don't you have other things to be doing?" Sangyeon's voice is low in a silent warning. One Sunwoo purposely remains blissfully ignorant to.

"You know I personally like the British version better." He rambles on. Your boyfriend shoots you a pleading look. Whether he's begging you to do something or finding the strength to keep his cool, you aren't sure.

You give a pitiful shrug in return. Sangyeon just sighs, dropping his head to your shoulder. Perhaps the living room wasn't the best place for alone time.

Surely, he couldn't be bothered in his room. He even added a "do not disturb" sign for good measure. Sure, Juyeon's music was a tad loud and he could hear tidbits of the show playing downstairs, but he could tune that out. Just a few more sentences and he'd be done with his paper and finally free to spend time with you.

"How much longer?" you ask, peaking over to where Sangyeon sits hunched over his laptop on his bed.

"Maybe like five minutes." He doesn't bother looking up from the word document. "I just need to figure out the phrasing on this, it's been driving me mad."

"You've been figuring it out four nearly two hours," you step over to the end of Sangyeon's bed. "Maybe you need to take a break and come back with fresh eyes."

He stubbornly shakes his head, running his fingers through his already messy locks. "I need to get it over with." At this point, you're standing right over him. Yet still, it's like you're not even there. Though you must admit, the focused scowl on his face is quite adorable.

"Sangyeon."

Nothing. Not even as you tilt down to his level does he pause his typing.

"Sangyeon." You call a little sweeter this time.

Again, nothing.

Having finally waited long enough, you tip his chin back with a single finger. He looks slightly miffed at first, but then his eyes land on your wardrobe. "Is that my shirt?" He whispers. Jaw slack as his eyes not so subtly roam every inch of the fabric, admiring how it hangs from your figure.

"It is." Matter of fact, it's not just his shirt, but a pair of his boxers as well. A detail that short-circuits his brain for a solid five seconds. It feels like he's been knocked in the chest, unable to say anything. His eyes flit from your outfit, to your lips, and back down.

"Sangyeon?" You purr.

"Yeah?"

"Click save."

You've never seen him move so fast. Throwing his laptop with such force it nearly flies off the bed. Sangyeon effortlessly pulls you over to straddle his lap, grinning so hard it makes you giggle.

"When did you even change into these?" His hands rest at your waist under the thin cotton tee, letting his pinky dip into the waistband of your, really his, boxers.

"I got bored and raided your closet while you had your nose buried in Microsoft Word." Your hands clasp behind his neck. "You don't mind, right?"

"Definitely not." Sangyeon's fingers dig into your skin as he sloppily attaches his lips to your own. He's greedy, like a prisoner starved for water on a hot summer day, but that doesn't seem to bother you.

"I'm gonna need this back though, you know?" He teases against your lips, pulling at the hem of the cotton covering your torso.

"You'll have to offer something in exchange."

"Now that," Sangyeon's eyes light up, "I can do–"

The door to his room flies open with a force so great Sangyeon half expects the Hulk to be standing in his door frame. The resounding bang of it ricocheting off the wall accidentally making Sangyeon dig his fingers a little too deep into your skin. It earns a yelp from you and you're shuffling off his lap in an attempt to escape his iron grip.

"Hyung–!" Eric exclaims, but takes a pause in his panicked state to greet you. "Oh, hi Y/N!"  

"Hi, Eric," you wave awkwardly.

Sangyeon is scrambling to cover you with his comforter as fast as possible. Not that you're wearing anything particularly revealing, but it's still nothing Eric needs to see. Not that it matters, Eric doesn't seem too concerned with you or the state you and your boyfriend were previously in.

"Hyung, I need your help!"

This is Sangyeon's absolute last resort.

Does he necessarily want to spend his only free period of the day with you in a noisy, crowded, cafe? No. He'd much rather be in his room with you curled up in his arms, completely and utterly alone. But so long as he lives with ten men who have never known the concept of privacy, he'll have to settle.

At least you seem happy with the lunch date he planned. Animatedly talking on and on about how you've been wanting to try this cafe. And if you're happy, then Sangyeon is happy. He'd count today as a success even if all he does is admire the beautiful pair of eyes across from him while you ramble.

"—Everything just looks so good, I don't know if I should go for a coffee or a fruity tea."

"Get both if you want." He offers, but you scrunch your nose up.

"That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"Then why don't you get a coffee, I'll get a tea, and whichever you like better you can have." A smile breaks out on your face at that idea.

"See, this is why I love you."

Yeah, Sangyeon thinks, this was a success.

Well. Almost.

"Sangyeon? Y/N?" Comes an unfortunately familiar voice. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Oh, you've got to be fucking joking," Sangyeon pinches the bridge of his nose as Kevin Moon and his impeccable timing make an appearance.

"We're on a date." He cuts, hoping the boy will get the hint to leave. But of course, he doesn't. Instead, Kevin pulls up an empty chair and plops down at the end.

"Have you guys been here before? It's my first time and I can't figure out if I want a coffee or a tea."

Sangyeon gives up. They win. The ten little demons infesting his home win.

"Jail can't be that bad, right?" He ponders aloud as the two of you lay sprawled out on his bed. Even you've begun to notice your boyfriend's slow descent into insanity. And while you do feel bad, it is a little comical. "What's a few murder charges... or ten."

You listen to him rant, his head in your lap and arms encircling your hips. You continue to brush your fingers through his hair, hoping the action will induce some sort of calming effect.

He props his chin up on your stomach to look at you pouty lips and puppy eyes. "It's so unfair," he whines like a toddler.

"I think you'll live," you chuckle.

"I literally won't."

Like clockwork, there's a knock on his door. Sangyeon groans, exasperated. "Ohh my God, seriously?" He faceplants into your stomach. "You deal with them. If I do it I'm leaving in handcuffs."

"Come in," you call.

Haknyeon peaks in, frowning when he sees Sangyeon's state. "What's wrong with him?" He points.

"Everything."

"Nothing," you both answer. "He's just being dramatic. What did you need, Haknyeon?"

"Uh, well I was wondering if you could help me with a dilemma?" He asks shyly, tip-toeing the rest of the way in.

"What's the dilemma?"

He pulls two shirts from behind his back. "So, I finally asked out that girl in my class—"

"Aw, Hak, congrats!" You coo.

"—Thanks," he beams. "We're supposed to meet for coffee in an hour. Which shirt should I wear?"

"Whichever gets you out of my room the fastest," Sangyeon grumbles, voice muffled.

"Shush!" You slap the back of his head in warning. "I think blue would go well with your eyes, Hak." You smile and Haknyeon lights up.

"Okay, perfect! That's the one Younghoon and Jacob picked as well. Thanks, Y/N, thanks Hyung!" The boy is already turning on his heels as he calls out his thanks. Sangyeon lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave as the door slams shut.

"Be nice to him, he's excited," you chastise. "He's been ogling over that girl for months. This is a big deal for him."

Sangyeon sighs, propping his head back up. "I know it is, who do you think helped him pick out and iron his pants this morning?"

"They really look up to you, you know? That's why they're always bothering you for stuff."

Your warm palm comes to rest against his cheek. It's frustrating for him, always feeling responsible for everyone around him, you know this. And while his willingness to take on that challenge is something you've always admired, you do fear him getting burnt out.

Sangyeon frowns. "I know, I just wish I could have a few moments to be selfish. Is this how parents feel?"

You laugh at his remark. "I think even parents get more of a break than you do."

"Told you we should've used protection." He grins with his gummy smile at his own joke. Making you playfully flick his forehead.

"Getting all of us out of the house at once is a big ask, Y/N." Jacob grimaces as takes a sip of his of his cold brew.

What was originally supposed to be an intense study session for your upcoming physics test quickly turned into you debriefing Jacob on Sangyeon's declining sanity. Which you're eighty percent sure Jacob only entertained as an excuse to procrastinate. Because it's been two hours and neither of you has so much as opened a single textbook despite his multitude of complaints about being unprepared.

"I know, but you're their vice president, isn't there something you can do? You could organize a charity event or something." You pout. "I'm suffering too here!"

"Even if I could find a way to convince ten—" he holds up both hands with fingers spread for emphasis. "—ten, that's one-zero, men to all clear out, I don't want to be the one babysitting them."

"You'd have Chanhee there to help."

"The odds of getting Chanhee to do anything outside of his job description are about as good as me passing this test." Jacob snorts, and all hopes of getting TBZ's treasurer involved are squashed then and there.

Jacob is your only hope, so you're going to have to lay it on thick.

"Come on, Jacob, please. Sangyeon really needs the break."

"Don't give me that look." He jabs a finger at you.

"Please, Jacob."

"No."

You sink back into your seat, letting out a long and dramatic sigh. Attempting to look as pitiful as possible. And judging by the way Jacob's leg won't stop anxiously bouncing beneath the table, it's working.

"Don't do that," Jacob whines.

Silence.

"Okay, fine, I'll figure it out." He throws his hands up in surrender. "Just quit pouting and help me study."

"Thank you, Jacob," You perk up. "You're the best!"

"Yeah, yeah."

The excited call you get from Sangyeon telling you to come over immediately comes sooner than expected. You're not usually one to question miracles, but you are curious as to how Jacob managed to drag everyone out of the house on a Tuesday night.

"Where is everyone?" You ask as Sangyeon tugs you through the front door.

"Don't know. Don't care." He smiles brightly. "What I do know, is I'm not touching a single textbook, laptop, or phone."

You aren't sure when the last time you saw your boyfriend this happy was.

Sangyeon plops down onto the couch, pulling you into his lap as he does so. "It's gonna be just me, you, some take-out, this couch, and the last season of Love Island Australia."

You snort. "You say that, but I'm betting twenty on you being knocked out by the end of the first episode."

"That's actually the plan," he grins smugly before pulling a blanket over his legs and letting his head fall into your lap. He's not even facing the screen. You're starting to think he just invited you over to be his personal pillow.

But you let him, because it's well deserved.