#choreographic elements

[wtficedance]

Changes to the Choreo Rhythm Sequence Explained

So the ISU Ice Dance Technical Committee just released a wave of brand new changes to the ChRS. I am currently working on a more descriptive video to get into the nitty gritty of identifying the element, how it's judged, and what in general to look for but this table is a bit of a cheat sheet explaining how the element is being called (by the tech panel) and judged (by the judging panel). Hope this helps explain the significance of these rule changes!

-@wtficedance

[sillyabtmusic]

'Warning' Performance MV

[leahthedreamer]

My hope for next season and leading into the Olympic season is that the ISU somehow revives womens skating cause yes it’s beautiful yes it’s lovely but is it exciting? Ehhhh.

In my personal opinion it’s the discipline that’s stagnated the most post Covid. You can argue that the crown goes to ice dance in that regard but even though the judging is shitty and the ISU insists on ridiculous themes for the rhythm dance we’re still getting quality and creativity through the bouts of corruption.

I just feel like women’s choreography has plateaued, it’s become uninteresting, very little memorable programs. Same elements same ordering same music like it’s becoming a by bland to watch. And my honest wish for the future is to reignite the spark it once had.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

throwback to 2019's 12th annual joe iconis christmas extravaganza being the first time i was aware of the show ft. my interest already piqued via now nonzero familiarity with joe iconis &/or will roland & (almost, b/c of youtube videos) no familiarity with the xmas show in particular Yet but certainly open to it in post-bmc malaise, which it did help plenty with....& i think it was on twitter a clip of This Moment in the mister chestnut's christmas medley sequence that i remember being very struck & delighted by. the combination of the urgently energetic choreography of this classic Chestnut Jenny Macabee stack & the distinctive wailing AAAAA harmonizing speaking to me powerfully & now here we are today, what a treasure

[dark-side-blog3]

Just cried over wanting to sit on a fat cock.. just wanna sink down further on one after begging for just the tip :(((

- Handy Dandy Anon

I wanna say something supportive but like I have no idea what to say back. Get that day bow bow (Chic. chicka. chicka).

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

So what is the canon info that we have on Neige Leblanche? Like from the canon story and the special event like Glorious Masquerade.

Neige is 172 cm tall.

He is a sophomore at Royal Sword Academy, so he is ~17 years old.

Neige is considered “the most likable celebrity in the world”. He is known for “his disarming good looks and approachable nature”.

According to Mira, Neige been called pretty/beautiful more times than Vil has (based on Magicam comments).

Cater says that Neige is a top Magicam influencer.

Vil is often playing Neige’s evil counterpart in various productions. For example, he was given the offer to play the villain in the sequel to Legendary Sword, while Neige was to play the hero.

The rivalry between Vil and Neige appears to be entirely one-sided. Neige seems oblivious to Vil’s hostility and resentment of him, acting very friendly and inviting Vil to join him for singing and dancing.

His fan club name is “Eternal Snow”. Rook is its second ever member.

In Glorious Masquerade, Neige throws himself in front of fire lotuses to save Rook and Epel.

The Seven Dwarves state that they want to win the Harveston Sledathon so that they can share luck with everyone and make the world a happier place. “We know we can't make everyone happy all by ourselves. But if those close to us can be happier, like Neige... Then when other people see his smile, it'll lift their spirits! That's how we want to share it.”

The first time Vil co-starred in a movie with him, Neige would frequently leave. He would do his chores, attend rehersal, then go home and do more chores. He'd practice for the movie in what little spare time he had, and still always managed to cheerily greet Vil.

Neige has lived with the dwarves for years. They have been supporting each other for a long time (since he was child) and do not seem to have any adults in their lives.

Neige has never divulged his personal history to the press.

Rook states that Neige’s smile is that of “someone who’s overcome untold hardships. That’s why so many people are drawn to it.”

He apparently donates most of his pay to charity in order to aid underprivileged children with their futures. This is also something undisclosed to the public, but is known among his most dedicated of fans.

Like Vil, Neige was a child actor.

He won the title of Best Actor at the prestigious annual Diamond Movie Awards. Neige is considered the youngest recipient at 14 years old.

He calls Vil “Vii-kun”.

Rook calls him “Roi de Neiges”.

Rook had trouble expressing his emotions as a child—until the fateful day that he watched the musical King’s Road, which started Neige as the lead. The entire performance and its combined elements brought Rook to tears.

The very first time Rook dressed up to attend a performance was after he transferred to Pomefiore from Savanaclaw. Vil helped him get ready to see a show starting Neige.

Neige is seen in commercials for Red Apple Soda and Félicité Cosmetics’ Precious Protection Foundation in book 5.

Neige says he hasn’t seen Vil since the last movie they filmed together.

Neige is described as having perfectly choreographed walking and talking. His aura is also described as less intense and less glamorous than Vil’s, his smile like “a tiny flower blooming in an open field.” NPCs also call him very “accessible”, “friendly”, and wholesome”.

Neige is happy to hear Vil singing; he compliments Vil’s voice and calls it “absolutely incredible”. He also tells Vil that he looks forward to their VDC/SDC performance and encourages Vil after NRC’s loss.

Vil and Neige’s first production together was a musical drama set in a school. Neige was the star and Vil was their bully.

Neige chooses to perform an arrangement of a popular nursery song from the Shaftlands for VDC/SDC. He says he chose it because he “[wanted] to have a fun time and [to] share it with everybody watching the SDC. [He] figured something familiar would be the way to go [… he] wanted to share some special memories with [his] friends at school. […] if [they] could get the whole world to sing along with [them], it would make for an experience [Neige and the dwarves would] treasure forever.”

He’s been wanting to try apple juice from the Felmier family farm ever since Vil made a post about it on Magicam.

Neige was hypnotized by Jamil to sing for the cultural fair attendees. This served as a useful distraction while Yuu and co. dealt with OB Vil.

He seems to enjoy singing with others, be it the Seven Dwarves, NRC students, or whoever else wishes to join.

Neige recognizes Rook as “R”, a fan who goes to every single one of his meet-and-greets and writes him letters. R also buys each of his photos at fan events and composes poems to share his impressions of each photograph. In fact, Rook brought his Neige photo album with him to Ramshackle for their training camp!

Neige was surprised to find out R was a man, but quickly accepted it and encouraged Rook to please sign with his full name in future letters.

Jamil remarks that Neige handles situations with grace. “He's a leading global celebrity, but he still treats fans warmly and attentively. That's definitely a strength.”

Neige had never seen Vil cry outside of acting until NRC’s loss at VDC/SDC.

A movie adaptation of a children's novel starring Neige (~11 years old at the time) pulled in twenty million madol/thaumarks its first week.

[f1girliefics]

Burning Rubber, Beating Hearts

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: When Charles Leclerc joins Dancing with the Stars: Monaco as a celebrity contestant, he's way out of his element, until his dance partner helps him find his rhythm both on the floor and in his heart.

Charles Leclerc was used to speed, not steps.

He’d mastered the roar of an engine, the pressure of a tight corner, and the glittering chaos of a podium finish.

But here he was, standing in a rehearsal studio in Monte Carlo, staring at the full-length mirror and the perfectly poised dance instructor assigned as his partner for Dancing with the Stars: Monaco Edition.

You.

He recognized you, of course.

You were a professional dancer, graceful, confident, and often dazzling across televised ballroom stages.

He, on the other hand, hadn’t worn anything tighter than a race suit in his life, and the concept of “graceful” didn’t apply to his feet.

“Okay, Charles,” you said, clipboard in hand, hair swept up in a practical ponytail. “Have you ever danced before?”

“Unless awkward wedding dancing counts, no.” He grinned sheepishly.

You laughed, and the sound made something stir in him. “That’s okay. We’ve got time. And I’m very good at making race car drivers look like they know what they’re doing.”

He chuckled, trying not to stare too long. You weren’t just beautiful, you were electric.

The kind of person who moved like the world followed their rhythm.

The first week of practice was… humbling.

He stepped on your toes.

Tripped over invisible air.

Fumbled his frame.

He got frustrated but you were patient. Patient in the way that made him feel like he wasn’t failing, just learning.

“You’re used to speed,” you said one evening, as you helped him perfect a spin. “But dance isn’t about speed, it’s about trust. With your partner. With the music. With yourself.”

He glanced at your hands, still resting lightly on his waist. “That’s hard for me.”

“I understand,” you said quietly. “But you’re not doing this alone.”

Somewhere between the tango rehearsals and the late-night choreography sessions, something began to shift.

He looked forward to seeing you more than the applause of the audience. He found excuses to stay after rehearsal, to talk, to laugh, to sit next to you in the dressing room and listen to your stories about growing up dancing in small studios before making it big.

One night, after a long session, Charles caught your hand as you were leaving.

“You’re the best thing about this experience, you know,” he said softly. “Not the show. Not the dances. Just… being with you.”

Your breath hitched, and for the first time since you met, you didn’t have anything choreographed to say.

You squeezed his hand. “You’re not so bad yourself, Charles.”

When the night of the finale arrived, the entire ballroom glittered with anticipation.

The stars, the judges, the roaring crowd.

Charles, dressed in a deep red suit, stood beside you with nerves he hadn’t felt since his first F1 race.

Their final dance was a waltz.

Romantic, intimate. Just the two of you gliding across the floor as if nothing else existed.

The crowd faded. The cameras disappeared.

All he could see was you.

And when the music stopped, and the audience stood in thunderous applause, Charles didn’t think twice.

He turned to you, heart in his throat, and said, “Dance with me outside this room, too?”

You blinked, breathless from more than just the routine. “What took you so long?”

He laughed and kissed you right there, with all of Monaco watching.

The trophy sat forgotten in his apartment.

But every morning, he danced with you in the kitchen, barefoot, music low, coffee brewing in the background.

Charles Leclerc had won plenty of races in his life.

But nothing compared to winning your heart.

[mivalyn]

🎇 My cunt, his playgrund 🎇

18+, mdni!

Sylus x fem!reader

Cw: oral sex, fingering, sexual obsession

!Requests are open!

Word count: 662

Sylus’s love for eating your cunt isn't just passion; it's a consuming obsession, a primal need that borders on the religious. It’s not simply the taste, the slick heat, the intoxicating scent of your arousal – though he certainly savors each element with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. It's a deeper connection, a visceral understanding of your body, a language spoken only through the frantic dance of his tongue against your most sensitive flesh. He knows your pussy intimately; he knows the exact pressure to apply, the precise rhythm that sends shivers down your spine, the exact spot on your clit that pushes you over the precipice of oblivion.

He begins slowly, a teasing exploration, his tongue tracing the delicate contours of your labia, mapping every curve, every fold of your exquisite, throbbing pussy. His breath ghosts across your skin, sending a wave of heat that ripples through your core. Then the pace picks up, a relentless rhythm that builds and builds, his tongue a hungry, expert instrument working your pussy with a feverish intensity that leaves you breathless. He alternates between gentle licks that tease and firm, deliberate strokes that leave your cunt aching for more. He teases your clit to the very edge of orgasm, only to pull back, leaving you panting and begging for release. The anticipation is a delicious agony, pushing your pleasure to almost unbearable heights.

His tongue delves deeper into your folds, exploring the warmth and slickness within, dancing around your sensitive G-spot with an almost brutal tenderness. His movements are precise, deliberate, a carefully choreographed routine designed to unravel your very being. His breath hitches, his own arousal mirroring yours, the heat of his skin intensifying against yours. He never holds back, never hesitates to explore every inch, every crevice, every sensitive nerve ending of your cunt. The taste of your juices, mingled with his own pre-cum, only fuels his fervor, his tongue working with an almost frantic energy to push you towards the brink of release.

Occasionally, his fingers join the fray, adding another layer of intensity to the already overwhelming sensations. His touch is surprisingly tender yet firm; his fingers expertly working your clit while his tongue continues its relentless assault on your pussy. He might tease your perineum, arousing a different kind of pleasure, before moving back to your clit, creating a symphony of sensations that leaves you weak with pleasure. He’ll often use one finger, tracing circles around your clit, gradually increasing the pressure, pushing you towards the precipice of climax while simultaneously toying with your sensitive G-spot with his tongue, sending waves of pleasure that radiate through your entire body.

Other times, two or even three fingers might join the dance, adding another dimension of intense pleasure to the already overwhelming sensations. The combination of his tongue and fingers is an exquisite torture, a calculated torment designed to push you beyond your limits, leaving you breathless, spent, and utterly consumed by his obsession. He pushes you to the edge of orgasm repeatedly, savoring your moans, your cries, your desperate pleas for release, before pulling back, leaving you hanging, aching, needing more. He knows how much you crave this relentless pleasure, this overwhelming, consuming attention.

It’s a messy, passionate affair, a testament to a love that is both consuming and entirely depraved. His cum mingles with your juices, a thick, glistening mess, a testament to the intensity of his devotion. The taste of your cunt, the feel of his fingers and tongue, the sheer overwhelming intensity of his devotion – it leaves you panting, trembling, begging for more, even as your body aches with the aftershocks of orgasm. You're a mess, a shuddering, panting mess, your pussy slick and swollen, your clit still throbbing. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. This is your ritual, your depravity, your shared obsession – a symphony of pleasure and pain orchestrated by the man who knows your cunt better than you do.

[gothwizardmagic]

god ok also gotta say as a choreographer, whoever did the superbowl choreo was a fucking GENIUS like. it manages to be so effective without ever being flashy or complicated & like. flashy & complicated are great but to do the basics this effectively is PHENOMENAL. the repeated motifs are so striking and so strong and so CLEAR in their meaning its PAINFULLY effective - the contrast of more relaxed dancers just vibin and having a good time at the beginning & end, when its just people being themselves vs. "what america wants" - disquieting, emotionless, rigid lines of soldiers throwing salutes while kendrick & sza are singing on stage in the middle, keeping the people entertained & distracted as the goose-stepping dancers circle like sharks

and thats not to even mention the SCALE - working with such crisp colour lines in such an ENORMOUS group is staggering to even fathom like. making sure all the reds are in the right place at the right time & you dont have someone who was a blue in one section but accidentally wound up in the white group somewhere in the shuffle....... the formations are UNBELIEVABLY complex & span such an enormous space, its mind blowing to think about. over a hundred dancers. over a HUNDRED people to keep track of at all times to make sure they're getting from one place to another in the right way at the right times in the right formations. over a HUNDRED.

the dancers executed FLAWLESSLY too - taking big steps and remaining PERFECTLY in line is incredibly hard & they made it look effortless. the amount of split-second transitions to nail and vibe-shifts to hit.... oh my god. also shot to the camerapeople who were working their asses off on those transitions just as much as kendrick & the dancers were

also thinking of scale like... arena choreography and stage/film choreography are VERY different things. on a stage or in a music video etc. you have ONE front. at most on a big stage the audience might wrap slightly around the sides but generally speaking, you're choreographing for the people or camera in front of you, and they're gonna have a pretty good view of your face the whole time. arenas are MASSIVE, and there are people on ALL SIDES. you can't pick A Front, you have to be entertaining people all around you simultaneously, which means completely rethinking how things are structured. you also can't rely on detail nearly as much, because the audience is Really far away. even if there are screens, you want to make sure that there's something to look at on the stage itself, so the audience doesn't feel like they're just watching a music video. it's still a live show & you want it to feel like one

so theres a balance to strike between giving the individual artist focus & acknowledging that they literally... can't face every direction at once. even if kendrick is facing away, there are always dancers doing something that'll be visually striking at a distance for the audience to enjoy. but at the same time because there ARE cameras, it also has to work for video & HAVE those detailed up-close elements, so the footage doesn't just look like a guy bopping around with people walking past him for the whole time. the most effective example i can think of is in peekaboo - the groups of white-clothed dancers in the X is visually strong from a distance - even if you can't see exactly what's going on, it's an interesting visual, whereas up close you have the strong music video feel of kendrick popping up out of nowhere; of all these different up close groups of dancers giving their full performance directly to one front while that front is rotating from one group to another, as opposed to the multiple surrounding fronts on the main stage. it transitions from an arena show to a music video (and then back when he walks out onto the main stage with that trail of dancers so the visual is most effective from above rather than up close) SO EFFORTLESSLY and makes absolutely brilliant use of the space

this is literally jsut stream of consciousness it could definitely all be phrased better & honestly i could keep talking for a Long time like i didnt even get in depth abt the use of colour in the costuming & the way every costume is slightly unique in the up close shots but when you pan out to the stadium they become lines of clones like. god i could go on!!!! i coudl go on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! its a masterpiece choreographically fr its elegant its communicative its mindbogglingly complex ive watched it five times now trying to absorb as much as i can

[wtficedance]

Hi. Zehnder/sieber's free dance from this week's jgp has been finally uploaded and I was wondering why their choreographic lift appeared as a blank in the protocols. Do you know why it didn't count for their scores? (It was short but it seemed more than 3 second to me). And even if it was invalidated shouldn't it appear with an * on the protocol?

Q #213:

Hi anon,

Great question, this sort of has to do with how differently choreographic elements are called compared to other elements since there is a way to use an element without level to block an element box but there’s only ChSt1 (not ChSt or ChStB). So when there’s a fall early on in something like a lift or spin the element is only judged based on what happens prior to the fall, you can’t get up and resume and have those things count for level. The tech panel puts in “SlLi” for example, F is put in the call box, and then then the GOE boxes are filled with dashes. Because of how similar and how much overlap there can be between choreographic elements, the ISU has developed minimum criteria for an element to be “confirmed” as a specific choreo element. If an element doesn’t meet that threshold, the element box stays empty.

For Zehnder/Sieber I wasn’t able to precisely get my stopwatch out but it looked to be like they were just shy of the 3 seconds that are required to confirm the choreographic lift.

IMO it would be beneficial to clarity to have a non-leveled format so that the element could be called but not awarded GOE, just for greater transparency and easier review of protocols.

Hope this helps!

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed. 

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils. 

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble. 

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way– 

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess. 

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!” 

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start. 

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry. 

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina. 

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses. 

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning. 

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion. 

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement. 

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college. 

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales. 

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–” 

Four. There were four of them. Four mates. 

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far. 

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.” 

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado. 

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other. 

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness. 

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?” 

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.” 

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before. 

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey. 

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?” 

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect. 

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off. 

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view. 

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock. 

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale… 

You are safe. You are safe. You are– 

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks. 

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?” 

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing. 

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.” 

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip. 

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he? 

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown. 

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” 

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you? 

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble. 

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff. 

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth. 

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear. 

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios. 

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates. 

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving. 

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.” 

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view. 

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again. 

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car. 

<< ✿ Previous ✿ << ✽ >> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[cringefailvox]

a very fun worldbuilding quirk that would suit hazbin hotel is if the whole show operated on musical logic but was self-aware about it. there are elements of this already, like vaggie begging charlie not to sing and the sharks exclaiming "they're fucking singing?" after loser baby, but i think it would be even more fun if characters actively acknowledged when they hear strains of music coming in when a song is about to start, where demons who are new to hell have to adjust to the fact that at any moment, they might burst into song without meaning to, or get swept up in a choreographed street performance that someone else set off. people having their own unique leitmotifs that blend with others depending on their relationships or mood, duets springing up between compatible voices on the fly.

alastor's insistence on reprising or crashing other demons' songs being characterized as rude or untrustworthy because what kind of dick steals your own lyrics and sings them better? what kind of demon doesn't have his own tune? vaggie being exempt from the compulsion because she's an angel, but learning to find her voice for charlie's sake so that they can sing together. angel dust only ever singing backup vocals for val bc he's val's property, and then being elated when husk draws him into a duet where their voices have equal strength. the vees bursting into "spontaneous" trios as a marketing ploy. when people sell or lose their souls, their leitmotif becomes subsumed under the melodies of their contractor. alastor only singing his own theme when he's alone; charlie humming her motif constantly, no matter where she is. lucifer forgetting the lyrics to his songs the more depressed he becomes, and rediscovering them again when he reconciles with charlie.

just, hell with an inescapable, compulsory musical culture that everyone is aware of.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

okay so idk what meta is but listen THE DIRECTION ON DEAD BOY DETECTIVES IS FUCKING SUPERB. UNRIVALLED. AND I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT TO THE HELLSITE VOID. SO LISTEN.

transitions. between scenes. it's so easy to cross-fade, or just hard cut, or fade to black and then open the next scene. sometimes, if a piece of media is putting in a bit of effort, you'll see things like water transitioning to sky or maybe a background being continuous while the characters change or vice versa.

but dead boy detectives. the transitions are fucking flawless. and so creative, like everything about this show. creative transitions are difficult to do, and they keep getting it right. whether it's someone holding up a circle and that melds into the next scene where the railing has a circle in it, or the camera moving downwards from the floor in one location to under a table in a different location, or them falling out of mirrors, they take the tiniest of elements and turn them into transitions so fucking deliciously, and everything is so dynamic, both the camera and the scene.

and that makes it so much more impactful when there IS a hard cut. like in episode 5 (where the You Know What occurs with Jenny). the cut from the mascot at the high school scene to the butcher's shop is BRUTALLY hard, with Jenny again slicing into things with her meat cleaver, and it lends an extra air of violence to that meat cleaver--which is such great foreshadowing for what happens later (even the initial establishing shot of the butcher's shop at the start of the episode makes the cleaver in the sign flash red, drawing attention to it).

the direction helps the narrative so much, giving both atmosphere and foreshadowing without needing to fatten the dialogue with it.

and apart from all that just the general camerawork is so creative and helps with the campy feel of the show, with characters being bang in the middle of frames or with the camera holding a lovely shot for longer than a beat like Edwin and Niko cocking their heads to the side it's all such a lovely, choreographed dance between the camera, the actors, the set and the script and NGKKK.

[gyorouis]

── ✦ december.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⋆ synopsis⸝⸝ wrap me all up and take me home with you

꒰ genre⸝⸝ romance, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn pairing⸝⸝ jock!taehyun x afab!reader wc⸝⸝ 1.4k warning⸝⸝ mutual pinning, suggestive theme, they‘re both competitive, my never-ending ETL tyun agena tune in⸝⸝ ariana grande — december ୨ৎ ꒱

“don’t tell me you’re planning to charm the entire room tonight,” beomgyu teased, nudging taehyun as they stepped into the grand ballroom.

the university’s annual winter gala was in full swing, the grand ballroom alive with the soft glow of chandeliers and the hum of conversations layered over upbeat music. students mingled in their best attire, and taehyun, ever the picture of perfection, was in his element. as the captain of the football team and the campus golden boy, he had an image to maintain: polished, composed, and entirely unbothered.

adjusting his tie with a practiced nonchalance, he surveyed the scene. the decorations were immaculate (because, of course, he’d overseen them), and everything was running smoothly. it was the kind of night that should’ve been effortless for him—another event to cement his status as untouchable.

and then, he saw you.

you were standing by the dessert table, laughing with your friends, your eyes bright and your smile infectious. you weren’t just pretty—you were radiant, the kind of radiant that made the air shift. the sight of you knocked the wind out of his carefully crafted cool.

taehyun’s jaw tightened. he wasn’t new to seeing you. as the captain of the cheer dance team, you were his rival in more ways than one. your rivalry was campus legend: the cheer squad versus the football team, each determined to outshine the other at every game and event. but tonight, something about you felt different. you weren’t just his rival anymore—you were a distraction, a complication he hadn’t prepared for.

still, taehyun wasn’t one to back down.

he approached you with the same swagger that made half the campus swoon, his voice dripping with that signature competitive edge. “well, well,” he drawled, “didn’t think you’d show up. thought you’d be too busy choreographing another routine to one-up us.”

you turned to face him, arching an eyebrow, and he swore the room tilted for a second. “and miss a chance to see you strut around like you own the place? never.”

his lips curved into a smirk, the kind that usually had people eating out of his hand. “funny. i was about to say the same thing about you.”

“cute,” you shot back, taking a deliberate sip of your drink. “but don’t flatter yourself, taehyun. not everything’s about you.”

“sure it’s not,” he teased, leaning casually against the table, his eyes never leaving yours. “so, who dragged you here? or did you actually want to come?”

you crossed your arms, the movement drawing his attention in ways he didn’t want to admit. “not that it’s any of your business, but i’m here because i earned it. unlike you, i don’t need a title to prove my worth.”

his grin widened, the playful challenge in your tone sparking something dangerous in him. “ouch,” he said, clutching his chest in mock pain. “you’ve been saving that one, haven’t you?”

“maybe,” you said, the corners of your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

as the night went on, it seemed like fate—or maybe something more deliberate—kept throwing the two of you together.

“you’re following me,” you accused after the third time your paths crossed.

“hardly,” he replied, his expression all mock innocence. “this is my event, remember? you’re just conveniently always in my way.”

“oh, please. i was here first.”

he tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “you were here first? wow. didn’t know they gave awards for that.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out.

later, you found yourself on the balcony, escaping the noise and the heat of the ballroom. the december air was sharp against your skin, but the quiet was worth it.

you weren’t alone for long.

“escaping already?”

you turned to see taehyun leaning against the doorway, his blazer draped over one shoulder. the way the cold moonlight caught on the sharp lines of his face made your breath hitch, though you’d die before admitting it.

“what do you want?” you asked, your voice more tired than hostile.

“nothing,” he said, stepping closer, his footsteps soft against the stone. “just figured you’d be out here. you always seem to need a breather after a big event.”

you frowned, caught off guard. “how do you even know that?”

he shrugged, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “i pay attention.”

his words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

you turned back to the railing, your grip tightening against the cold metal. “so what? you came out here to gloat?”

“no,” he said simply, leaning beside you. his shoulder brushed yours, and the contact sent an uninvited shiver down your spine. “i came out here because... well, it’s not every day i get to see you like this.”

“like what?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“like... stunning,” he admitted, the word barely above a whisper.

your heart skipped, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you. “don’t get used to it.”

“too late,” he said, his tone soft but sure.

the mistletoe was an accident.

you were brushing past him on your way back into the ballroom when someone shouted, “hey, mistletoe alert!”

you froze, as did he, both of you glancing up at the offending sprig of green hanging above your heads.

“seriously?” you muttered, already feeling the heat of the crowd’s eyes on you.

taehyun’s smirk returned, but there was something else in his gaze now, something deeper. “rules are rules,” he said, his voice lower than usual.

“you’re insufferable,” you shot back, though your voice lacked its usual venom.

“and yet, here we are,” he replied, stepping closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

the kiss wasn’t just a kiss. it was heat and tension and something unspoken that neither of you had the courage to name. his lips were soft but firm, and when he pulled back, his eyes lingered on yours, dark and unreadable.

“merry christmas,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

your heart raced, your pulse pounding in your ears. “don’t think this means you’ve won,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

“oh, i know,” he said, his grin returning, though softer now. “but it’s a good start.”

gyo's note: just my never ending enemies to lovers agenda on tyun 🤓 hahahaha i just LOVEEEE tyun on ETL trope sm! and it shows on the stories i wrote for him eheee, anyway if you made it this far, thank you! (,,>﹏<,,) you will be loved, xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[mocchiixxx]

In Every Move, I See You

(Dino x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Supportive Relationship

You always knew your boyfriend was an incredible dancer, but watching him in his element—creating, teaching, and performing—was an entirely different experience. It was mesmerizing, the way he moved so effortlessly, his body speaking a language only he truly understood.

When Dino invited you to watch him record his latest Dino Dancology episode, featuring Seungkwan and his self-choreographed piece to Cheating on You, you had no idea you’d be witnessing something so breathtaking.

Now, sitting in the corner of the practice room, you watched as the music filled the space, your boyfriend’s body responding to every beat with sharp yet fluid movements. There was a rawness in the way he danced—intense, expressive, every step carrying emotion.

Beside him, Seungkwan was doing his best to keep up. He was good—really good—but you could tell he was still working through some of the nuances.

“Hyung, feel the music,” Dino instructed, running a hand through his slightly damp hair. “It’s not just about the steps—it’s about the emotion behind them.”

Seungkwan huffed, hands on his knees. “It’s easy for you to say. You make this look effortless.” He wiped his forehead, turning to you with a dramatic sigh. “How do you survive dating this dance prodigy? I feel like I’m suffering here.”

You laughed, glancing at Dino, who grinned at the compliment. “I just sit back and admire the view,” you teased, sending a playful wink in your boyfriend’s direction.

Dino chuckled, shaking his head before clapping his hands together. “Alright, one more time from the top!”

As the music played again, your eyes were glued to him. His focus was razor-sharp, his movements precise yet overflowing with emotion. You swore you could see the passion in his every motion, the way he lost himself in the rhythm. It was like watching someone fall in love over and over again—except, instead of a person, he was falling for the music.

By the time the final take wrapped up, Seungkwan dramatically collapsed onto the floor. “I’m dead,” he groaned. “I hope people appreciate this because I might not survive another recording.”

Dino laughed, pulling him up. “You did great, hyung.”

Then, he turned to you, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Jagi, you were really quiet. What did you think?”

You got up, walking toward him with a slow smirk. “Oh, I was just absorbing everything. You know, analyzing.” You tapped your chin. “The technique, the footwork, the—” you paused for dramatic effect, “—intensity in your expressions.”

Dino narrowed his eyes. “You’re teasing me.”

You grinned. “Maybe a little. But really, babe, you were amazing.”

His ears turned pink at the praise. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you corrected, stepping closer. “You’re insane when you dance, in the best way. It’s like you were born for this.”

He ducked his head shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hearing that from you means a lot.”

Before you could respond, Seungkwan groaned loudly, waving his hand as he headed for the door. “Okay, I’m leaving before I drown in this disgusting amount of love.”

You and Dino laughed as he disappeared. Then, turning back to each other, your boyfriend reached for your hands. “Thanks for coming today. It made me happy knowing you were here.”

You squeezed his fingers. “I’ll always be here, love. In every move you make, I see you—your heart, your passion, you.”

Dino smiled, pulling you into a quick hug before whispering, “Then I’ll keep dancing, just for you.”

Author's Note:

Exactly on this very day, March 07, 2022, this banger was released, and even now, three years later, Dino’s Danceology featuring Seungkwan still lives rent-free in my head. Can you believe it’s been three years since they posted it?

Look at how they move, the precision, the passion, the storytelling through dance. This performance isn’t just choreography; it’s art. Mesmerizing is an understatement, this is truly a masterpiece.

[livelaughloveluffy]

first love - black leg sanji

a/n: this is totally not another dream scenario that i'm writing into a fic..... sorry to be posting a bit slower, i've just been trying to experiment with and improve my writing and finally felt ready to finish this draft!!

a/n: hopefully this fic was worth the wait!! just a little treat to help you guys prepare for the new year!! also in typical me fashion, this song is just soooo perfect for this fic so here you go.

nothing but fluff here 💗

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you never thought you'd reunite with black leg sanji on this tiny island buried in the corner of the grand line. but you'd recognize that fluffy blonde hair and curly brow from a hundred miles away. your feet moved beneath you before your brain could even register what was happening. and before you knew it, the two of you walked side by side, his hand gently resting of the smalls of your back as he escorted you to the beloved ship of the straw hat pirates.

•♡•

it only made sense for sanji to introduce you to the crew over a meal he prepared. the familiar sight and smell of your childhood crush in his element, assembling dinner with such elegance that his movements could be seen as a choreographed waltz, reminding you exactly who you fell in love with all those years ago.

the table was already set to precision as the crew filed in ready to enjoy the freshly made meal. taking their places to their usual seats, smiling at you as a greeting. you couldn't help but admire the people who had taken care of sanji all this time, letting him pursue his passions, and supporting him along the way.

•♡•

with his mouth full of half-chewed food, luffy mumbles out the question everyone had been wondering "so, how did you and sanji meet anyways? from the baratie?"

with a casual smile and a quick glance to sanji, you began to reply to the captain's question, "it's been so long, i might as well just tell you the truth. sanji's actually the first guy i ever had a crush on."

•♡•

when the two of you finally manage to escape the absolute chaotic freakout of the crew, sanji's nice dinner now growing cold, but not forgotten, as you gazed at the very first boy you'd ever loved. hidden away in the pantry of the kitchen, bodies only half an inch from being pressed together, awkwardly trying to avoid the rapid fire prying questions of the other straw hat pirates.

looking at the cook now, you can't help but be reminded of the version of him you fell in love with as he shyly attempts to look everywhere but at you. his arms cage you in between them as his hands press against the ledge of a shelf to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible.

"you know... it's funny you mentioned that... the whole crush thing.. well not funny but..." even in the dark, you can see the pink flush growing in sanji's cheeks as he struggles to convey his feelings. you watch as the curly-browed blonde takes a moment to calm his nerves. "you're also the first crush i ever had..."

your eyes widen in shock and disbelief. it took you longer than you'd care to admit to remember how to breathe and form sentence just to reply to his confession. all your strength is going towards not dropping to your knees, bringing your voice barely to a whisper you reply "i can't believe you liked me all this time..."

the words spill out of sanji's mouth before his brain has time to catch up. "how could i not? i've been in love with you since we met. you just seemed to glow. everyone else was so dull compared to how brightly you shined. you radiated warmth and kindness, i couldn't help but be drawn to you." you can almost feel the warmth of sanji's blush due to your closeness.

the already-small space between the two of you is almost microscopic as you stepped forward to close the gap. looking up at the beautiful blonde man in front of you, you finally found the courage to tell him everything you wished you said before you parted from the baratie all those years ago.

"sanji.. you know... the first time i saw you, i thought my dream had finally come true. when i was a little kid, my imaginary ideal partner, looked exactly like you. i thought i had wished so hard that i conjured you into reality. i was the princess and you were my prince and it sounds silly now but..."

your rambling now cut short by the sound of sanji's voice, honeyed and slightly gruff, interrupting you with a question. "...can i kiss you?"

you faintly reply "i've only waited 16 years for you to ask.."

and before you know it, sanji's soft lips finally touch yours. his slow and gentle pace was torturous, and soon to be forgotten as your carnal hunger and desire for the blonde turned his kisses ravenous and rough. your whole body seemed to be buzzing at the sensation of his touch. years of lust and adoration only adding fuel to the fire.

hehehe the end...

for now..

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a/n: there will definitely be another installment of this fic, because i'm not nearly cruel enough to leave such a juicy cliffhanger AND make this a oneshot 😌 i had sooooo much fun writing this and i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did!!

a/n: bahaha i'm in peak loser mode tonight, writing one piece fanfic in my new one piece snuggie.... and im loving it *evil laugh*

tags ♡: @twiishaa @3v37773 @irethepotato @peachycat17 @dreamcastgirl99 @sanji-soup @suga-tofu @vamphoria @hamhamhamtaro @kcch-ns @raddelusionaldive @sparkyvibes

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a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!