#i mean only some parts of it bc some parts are Less light hearted ! but like idk learning experience

[elytrafemme]

actually I’ll go ahead and explain this because I have a deep seeded paranoia that I’m not actually a system etc etc we all have heard it by now and I think it’s probably good if I both explain why I’m doing this and also see if other systems do this

basically right because of the way that things work my system shares the same consciousness (or mental space) with one another. not all systems do that but for the life that this body has lived having amnesia walls between us would have probably not helped protect us from much of anything, but we do have some memory shit happening that’s kind of unrelated to this post. the point though is that i think because of this shared consciousness it actually makes it harder for some of the alters in this system to really remember things about themselves - which i realize now doesn’t make much sense how i’m explaining it and i’m not confusing myself. maybe i explained this out of order hang on put a pin in this point.

so with all of the alters in this system (including non introjects and also including me to an extent) we have a lot of things that are kind of blocked out of our memory . sometimes for protective reasons (ex we have an alter whose entire life and identity is basically blocked out which is. really stressful physically and mentally but also there’s a reason for that.) but also sometimes we just. don’t really remember things great. so an example of this is that everyone has a vague gist of when they were born or how old they may be, but they don’t really remember exact dates.

so the way that we figure out birthdays for them (which really is mostly a fun thing but also the more details that we figure out about everyone’s identity the more peace that alter feels) is that we gather the general idea of when they THINK they were born (specific things they can remember, this usually translates towards time of day -- Dahlia remembers being born extremely early in the morning bc it caused mayhem, for example) and then I use an astrology site and just. Guess at things basically. 

it’s easier with fictives because I know where they’re born - like Klavier is obviously German and has memories from Munich so we go with that - and then we feel out the month and approx time and the year . and then from there we go through and change the days and times in order to get an astrology chart that like matches how they feel about themself

the astrology is honestly less rigid and more just a way for us to work from somewhere rather than spending weeks guessing at every possible date and time combo. it’s also in part that I believe in astrology so that ties into it but like it’s mostly a working spot. we just wait until we get the affirmative yes which tbf I got more from Dahlia than Klav so maybe I did smth wrong

anyway I hope that makes sense. its just the best way to do stuff lol

[okkotsuus]

mi hermosa (sae i.) !

features: sae i.

contents: suggestive. sae is kinda ooc. reader is a model. hickies/neck kissing. sae feels you up kinda. gender-neautral reader. filming. sae is himself. vivid descriptions. insinuation at the end. 4.2k words.

notes: self-indulgent. my very very bad spanish. partial google translate bc i forgot most of my lessons. i just think not being able to understand what someone's saying but knowing what it means by how they say it is really hot. telenovelas are making me delulu. i luv sae.

heavily inspired by this edit from my queen koca ( @daiseukiis )

as you study your reflection in the glimmering surface of the bathroom mirror, you can't help but feel your own chest puff in pride. like a bird after hours of preening, even you were forced to acknowledge that you looked stunning at this moment.

maybe it was what felt like the endless hours you were forced to sit still while the makeup artists touched up every single pore and freckle on your face, or maybe it was just how they were able to bring out the untouchable features that were already there. either way, you felt as if you were on top of the world at this moment. you felt untouchable, unattainable.

the ringing of the bell signaling the end of the crew's lunch break drew you back into reality as you messed with the flyaway that had begun to escape what felt like a helmet of hairspray.

your shoes clicked against the tiled floor as you hurried on set. when you made it there, you saw the crew scrambling around as they finished the last props and lighting adjustments. they called every cue in a practice run and tested cgi with extras before taking the first shot.

you smoothed the clothes that hugged just right over your body. the material under your fingers felt expensive, smooth and soft. they were luxury for the brand that you were shooting and commercials for. along with other high dollar items, all to impose the idea of regality.

it was a perfume and cologne commercial. so it was guaranteed to be eccentric.

truth be told, you didn't even know what the shoot had in mind. you weren't part of the original cast, as you were still an up-and-coming model. but you were the only model who would agree to shoot on such a short notice.

your co-star, whom you had yet to even see, apparently had some sort of falling out with the person who was supposed to be in your spot. the crew had quietly pulled you to the side and told you that the moment he laid eyes on them, he immediately demanded for someone else, or he would quit. it made you so very anxious for him to see you, much less to co-star with him.

the thrumming of your heart pounded in your ears as your eyes flit to every corner of the room, trying to guess who you were going to be on screen with. if it went well, you would be able to get some connections out of this, right?

maybe a bit too optimistic for a guy who just looked at a model much more famous than you and threw a hissy-fit...

you saw the director approaching and quickly you attempt to compose yourself, not wanting your nervous sweat to make the mua's hard work run. you put on a wobbly smile as he greets you.

"y/n, great to see you, sorry again for the short notice! so, as you were told, today we are shooting a luxury l'eau de parfum commercial." you nod along, watching as he tells a personal assistant to go get a 'mr. itoshi.' you have no clue who that is, but he seems important given the way the pa broke into a cold perspiration at his name. maybe it was your tyrant of a co-star?

the director continues his rundown of the shoot, going over the details that normally would have been told before you would have signed the contract. "so, today you will be in very close proximity with your co-star. intimate touching, scantily clothed, innuendos, is that okay?"

you hesitate for a moment, since you were new: you had never done anything like this before. truth be told, you were feeling a little shy. until you saw him.

those half-lidded uncaring eyes of turquoise that had your heart racing from more than just the anxiety of it all. his hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his tight-fitting, black, suit pants. his white button-up is tucked in and only half buttoned, leaving a tempting portion of his toned chest teasingly exposed. a silver chain drums against his collarbones with every step he takes, darkened-blush hair ruffling with movement. god, he is stunning. just the sight of him had you nodding absent-mindedly to everything the director was saying. you didn't care about your doubts, as long as you were doing the intimate touching and scantily clothed-ness with him (for the commercial of course, nothing else...). you don't care how embarrassing it is.

he came to a stop an arms-length away from you, staring down at you under his nose. you can’t help but anxiously fidget; the confidence from earlier disappearing as you suddenly felt like the side character who’s screen time just ended, your presence completely being devoured by the main character that just entered the room under his scrutinizing gaze.

he huffs, clearing his throat before turning away from you. you wince, ready to be dismissed and humiliated, yet it never came.

"acceptable."

with that, he was gone. you were left gawking. all that pride you had lost was restored in an instant. he didn't instantly hate you? it was somehow the biggest ego boost you had been given in a long time.

the crew member who you had somehow become friends with starts squealing and bouncing up and down while you raise a shaky hand to feel the heat burning at your cheeks. is this real?

the final run of all the technical components finished and you went to join mr. itoshi on the set. unlike him, you weren’t aware of what was going on each scene, hence why the producer had to stage things more carefully. they weren't annoyed at all, instead thankful that she could find someone so last minute, even if it meant the shoot taking longer. it just wasn't worth the pay cut it would have taken to recast.

as the lights dim slightly, you turn your attention to the producer: sitting in her chair with the script.

"first of all, big thanks to y/n for making it on such short notice—” scattered claps from around the room all in your favor, “without them, we could never shoot this commercial! okay so, the first scene is going to be sae and y/n just sort of holding each other. it's intimate and coy, going to help us lead up to the bigger things going on later in the shoot. break a leg everyone!"

you felt your cheeks lightly warm at the description of the scene, clearing your throat before turning to sae, who was adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and his open collar. you copy his professionalism and smooth out the wrinkles on your own luxury clothing items.

he takes a step closer to you and plants one hand on your hip, his fingers slightly digging into the plush of your skin as his other arm winds around your back loosely. sae’s breath fans over your face as he gently huffs through his nose. lashes fluttering as those aquamarine hues zero in on you, with his plush, pink lips parting slightly.

all of it is head-spinning, mind-boggling, he is so captivating. but you force yourself to remember this is a job. so you rest one of your hands over his muscular bicep, the other fisting the collar of his half undone shirt. your head tilts to the side to allow yourself to inch closer to him. the world goes silent and the two of you just stare at each other.

it was a moment frozen in time, both of your lashes flutter as you maintain that heavy stare. breath fanning in the small yet far too large gap between the two of you. your back is subtly arching as you press yourself further into him.

"cut!"

yes, all for the shoot, of course...nothing else, no other reason.

sae steps back from you, your arms stay up for a moment before falling limply to your side. you clear your throat and turn to the producer, desperately hoping that it didn't need another take, you weren't sure if your heart could take it.

"amazing job, that was a flawless take! y/n, you should really consider becoming an actor, the chemistry you created with sae was palpable. great work, take five while we get ready for the next scene, you two!"

you breathlessly thank her and scramble offstage, returning to hair and makeup to see if anything needed to be retouched. while the artist was touching up your lips and powdering your nose, you couldn't get sae's touch out of your mind. it lingered on your skin like a brand, hot and heavy.

your next costume was to change into a button-up just like the one sae was wearing, it was left even more unbuttoned. you were given a pair of white safety shorts to wear under it, a very obvious illusionary tactic of being pantless. you couldn't help but feel shy.

it was call time so you returned to the set, eyes locking on sae who abandoned the white shirt he was in and instead just wearing those fitted, black pants. he still had the necklace on; on that tempting delicacy of a body he has. you force yourself to focus on that. lest your vision slip to his sculpted torso, again.

when your eyes meet his after he catches you desperately trying not to stare, he had this cocky light to him. this time he isn’t looking down at you, more like looking through his lashes. it’s entrancing. he makes you want to curl up in a ball and disappear. he makes your stomach twist and heart race.

the producer came in and sat down, delivering the brief of the scene. "okay, so this scene is pretty tame as well, just the costume change makes it more risque. so basically sae is standing in the bathroom and y/n comes up behind him as rests their chin on his shoulder. with how things are going, it should likely be done in one take. break a leg!"

sae stood at the counter, hands on the counter and he leaned down and leered into the mirror at his own reflection. his eyes lidded as he licked his lips and tugged on his bottom one with his teeth.

you took a deep breath and approached him when the clapperboard slammed shut. your steps are soft as you pad against the faux tile, rising to your tippy-toes to hook your chin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. your arms wrap around him and rested atop his hands on the counter. smelling something almost intoxicating you sniffed at his neck, it was a cologne: hints of musk and teak-wood. it was the kind of scent that had your eyes rolling back into your head, which you were able to refrain from, luckily.

your touch lingered as they announced the end of the scene, dragging your fingers lightly against his skin. his eyes caught you as he raised a questioning brow, leaning back against the bathroom counter. your eyes traced every rise and fall of his abs before you turned and left in a flustered huff, not noticing the quirk of his lips in the slightest smirk.

as you snuck away, regretting it immediately, he caught you. slightly off to the side and away from peering eyes, sae itoshi looms over you with that intense stare you figured was just for the cameras. his lips rested against the shell of your ear as he breathed out a whisper. "ten cuidado, cosita hermosa...*"

you can’t help the shiver that runs up your spine as a whine is pulled out from your chest. you desperately hope he hasn’t heard it, but he very clearly did when that smug look came in view. his hands gripped your hips as he said one last thing before departing. "no empieces cosas que no puedas terminar.**" again, he was gone.

you felt your back meet the wall behind you as you covered your mouth, trying to stabilize your racing heart. you have not a single clue what he said, but you just couldn't help but feel the effects of its trance regardless.

it took a long time for you to drag yourself back to hair and makeup, they had to powder your entire face pretty much. your now ruffled hair took a little fixing due to that…moment. luckily, you didn't need a costume change. all costumes did was spray something, likely the perfume you're advertising, onto the insides of your wrists and neck.

you spaced out during the producers instructions, leaning against the counter-top. your attention being forced back onto the shoot when all of the sudden sae is caging you against the counter. one hand pinned yours atop the porcelain where it had rested, the other gripping your wrist and brought it to his face, where he pressed a searing kiss to it.

he sniffed at it and a cheshire grin split his face, "y'know this one's my favorite baby. makes me want you..." he groans the ending, leaning closer and pressing his lips to your neck. you couldn't remember if this was a scripted line or not, but you couldn't bring yourself to care; you'd savor it the same either way.

you lean your head back and rest your unrestrained hand on the back of his head, fingers threading in light mahogany tresses. he kisses up the column of your neck, nose digging against the exact places where the stylists had sprayed the perfume. you can’t help the whimper that slips from your lips at the subtle nips he makes at your skin. they're light enough not to turn red and leave marks that makeup would have to cover, but you can feel them. you can feel every drag of his tongue and every mold of his lips against your searing skin.

his head lifted from his torturous kisses as his eyes bore into yours, you feel so small under his gaze, like you were pressed under his thumb. he leans in and your eyes squeeze shut as his lips ghost over yours. your grip on his hair tightens as your back arched to press your chest against his.

everything just felt so real.

maybe that's why the producer yelled another enthusiastic "cut!" it you jumping and startled. your eyes met sae's taunting gaze as he pulls away, leaving you limp and boneless against the counter as you reeled from all that.

"wonderful work guys, we're making up for all the time we had lost with sae's... fit—” to which he rolled his eyes, remembering that event and sae’s glaring hues, “keep it up! gosh this is wonderful acting, i really need this kind of stuff from my cast on the film we're shooting tomorrow... next one is the last scene we'll need you two together on set for."

your heart aches a little at that, but at the same time it has you puffing a sigh of relief. you couldn't handle this any longer, he was just so... so? intense, alluring, intoxicating? nothing seemed right, these words were all too mild to encompass what sae itoshi was.

your hands reached up to cup your cheeks, feeling their burning intensity on your palms. you shook your head and mentally give yourself a pep talk before going over to get your final touch-ups and clothing adjustments.

your shirt was pulled down to expose your shoulders, the open buttons drawled down to just above your stomach. hair and make-up left you alone, saying that it would be better for them to be slightly messed up anyways. that made you slightly realize what this scene was going to be showing.

you can’t help but feel hot under the collar, or well; lack of a collar, now. you couldn't look sae in the eyes when you saw the set: a bed with slightly ruffled white sheets. what you were able to notice was that he had lost the belt on his pants, which were now unbuttoned and unzipped. they sag down lower on his hips, revealing the line of muscles that ended when the branded band of his boxers peeked out just below a slight trail of hair on his lower stomach.

you gulp, eyes finding every single thing you could fixate on except sae. the changing lights, the rush yet control of the crew as they all got ready for the camera to roll, the producer talking. oh wait the producer is talking.

"—or this scene, we're going to have both of you on the bed. sae will be on top of y/n, face in their neck. y/n will have their legs slightly around him, and i trust you to know where your hands need to go. oh, and you're going to be looking into a camera above you. you both have been doing so well, i've never had a shoot with two actors who have never met, much less ones who have gone this well. let's finish it up people!"

you sort of just stood there, stunned. you’re pulled over to the bed by sae, who has that slight wolfish grin playing on his lips. he puts his hands on your shoulders, leaning into be closer to your face. to the outside eye, it looked like he was giving a co-star a pep talk, how sweet.

but you knew different, you saw the grin and narrowing of his turquoise eyes, the way his fingers dig into your skin. you knew this was anything but a friendly chat. "wouldn't it be such a shame if they all found out that you weren't acting, that you were really just this desperate for me, hermosa?***" his breath was hot and his voice rasped, it was so addicting, you couldn't help the shudder that wracked up your spine as you dumbly nodded.

sae looks you over, head to toe, one last time before pulling away as his expression returns to neutral. you let out a shaky sigh and sat back on the bed, scooting to be further in the center. you sit there for a moment before laying down.

you can’t help the nervous feeling in your stomach that swirls as sae slowly stalks towards you; he was the predator locking on to his prey. there was a hunger in his eyes that was just too intense.

languidly, he crawls along the bed to you. he stops, hovering over you and looking at you with that same unruly need. he leans ever so closer, close enough to feel his breath fanning over your lips.

his eyes study you, taking in every single reaction you make. you feel his analytical gaze run over every curve and dip of your body, soaking you in and engraving it into his mind. his hands plant themselves on your hips, effectively pinning them to the mattress as he puts some of his weight on them. he slots one of his knees between your own, which you had so pathetically clamped shut.

you lift the leg that wasn't between his up to loosely rest over his lower back, hooking and keeping him there. you brought one of your hands to splay over the wide span of his back, between his shoulder blades. the other was placed at the nape of his neck, fisting and grabbing at the strands of hair that fell a little longer than the rest. his head was pulled down to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breath puffing over spots that had you shuddering in place.

"ayyy... mi hermosa es una gran 'actriz', ¿no?****" his words were hot against the side of your neck, feathering over your skin. you couldn't help the twisting and curling of your stomach at his words, which you didn't understand a lick of. it was just the way he rasped and twined every syllable that had you quivering under his voice, under his touch, under him.

you heard the snap of the clapperboard, but it was all muted. everything sounded faint. your senses were too focused on the calculated squeezes that sae gave on the width of your hips, roiling and kneading flesh under deft, lithe fingers. you too were focusing on the open-mouthed kisses he was trailing along the junction of your neck and shoulder, the column of your throat, your jawline. every drag of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, it had you shaking like a leaf in the wind.

the expression you sent to the camera hanging above you was nowhere near acting. it was the kind of raw desire that actors wished they could emanate. you tug at his hair, trying to pull him a little further back; to spare yourself from this torment. he only lets a rumble escape his chest, nipping along your heated skin, which had become slightly sheened from an ever-so-thin layer of sweat.

the way your back arches off the plush mattress, leg that wasn't wound around him kicking pitifully at the sheets, it was downright sinful. it made you feel pathetic, falling so pliably into the hands of a man you haven't even known for three hours. so desperately begging him for more with unspoken mannerisms and looks. it was like public humiliation; the way he had you under his control to the very point of your toes curling against the pure white sheets that crumpled around you.

you stare at yourself in the reflective lens of the camera that stares down at you, forever capturing this moment; before it is broadcasted to millions, if not billions of people. it caught every facet, every single little tick until you had exploded. it caught your widened eyes, which screw themselves shut. it caught your hands gripping and pulling at locks of blush hair. it caught your agape mouth, lips glossy with your own spit; and it caught you sinking your teeth into the pillowy flesh of your bottom lip to silence yourself. it caught every ministration sae subjected you to, and every little receptive reaction you gave him in return.

that red blinking light in it died, but you couldn't bring yourself to tap out. drunk on the feeling you pulled him closer, stretching to hook your chin over his shoulder: burying yourself in his scent, in him.

"...ut! guys, that's cut!" gods, it was so hard to snap yourself back to reality. your eyes flicker over to the producer, who was staring so closely at the two of you. in a hushed whisper you shook sae, telling him to get off of you. to which he answered, "don't care, let 'em watch."

you pushed him up with your palms butting against the front of his shoulders, ignoring the pointed glare he gives you. "well i do, so off." with that, you slipped away from him. you sat against the front of the stage, waiting for feedback. the air of the fans made the spit on your neck from sae's searing kisses feel cold, sending a shiver racking up your spine.

the man stands behind you, shadow looming over and consuming your own. your shoulders rounded as you huddled in on yourself from his all-consuming presence, trying to hide the fluttery feeling in your stomach.

"great work, that'll be all we need you two together for, and all we'll need y/n for. thank you for the great work!" the crew clapped and you felt a smile stretch your cheeks. even if it wasn't all acting, you couldn't help the pride that swelled in your chest at their praise.

you gather up your things, not seeing sae again. bidding farewell to everyone: the producer, the director, and every crew member who worked specifically with you, not hearing a word from sae. as you walk out of the door, you saw a familiar figure leaning against the metal-sheeted wall, sae.

turquoise eyes glanced over at you, not nearly as cold as they were the first time they had. if anything, the hues that cast an ever so dark spell on you and your beating heart. he raises himself from the wall, walking towards your figure. hands in the pockets of a pair of grey sweatpants, a black compression shirt stretching over his broad chest. fuck, what was he doing to you?

his hand tucks a strand of hair away from your face, fingers sliding from where he had left it behind your ear along your jaw. he holds your chin between his fingertips, gentle but steadily raising your head to look up to his eyes. his other hand starts to creep under the hem of your shirt, drawing circles so faint they give you goosebumps along the soft flesh of your tummy.

"what'd ya say we pick up where we left off back at my place, mi hermosa?*****"

* = "be careful, pretty thing..."

** = "don't start things you can't finish."

*** = "...beautiful?"

**** = "ayyy... my beautiful is a great 'actor', no?"

***** = "... my love"

okkotsuus 23

[analogwriting]

Childhood Crush

Chapter 23: Gold

Killer x gn!reader word count: 3.7k a/n: here it is, folks. the last chapter. it's been an absolutely wild ride and thank you all for joining me in this shit show. no, i didn't make it smutty bc i like to try and keep things gender neutral for all parties to enjoy (doesn't mean i might make two different version of a smutty epilogue tho but that would be down the line) Smutilogue (afab, amab)

After your heart slowed down a bit and you could think clearly, you went to move but Killer tightened his grip on you slightly. You stayed where you were, placing your hands over his. “Killer?” you asked in a soft voice. When did he get up? How long has he been awake? How come you didn’t hear him?

“Just…just a minute. Please.” His voice was gruff from not using it, cracking about halfway through his request. You nodded, letting him hang on to you for as long as he needed. You thought of the night in the kitchen when he held onto you as he cried. You couldn’t tell if he was crying now, but he was definitely a little off. Well, he did almost die, so you needed to let him have his moment.

“Here…let me…” You turned around in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. He buried his face in your shoulder and held you as you did the same to him. His breathing seemed steady enough, but his heart was racing. 

After a few minutes, you could feel his legs begin to shake. “Let’s get you into a chair.” You pulled from him, grabbing a chair for him to sit. “You shouldn’t be standing anyway,” you scolded gently. He sat in the chair, panting softly. He was already wearing himself out, it seemed.

“Why did you get up? You’re in no position to be walking around yet.” You walked over, grabbing a glass of water from the small hand sink before heading back to hand it to him. 

“I…” He took the water with a small thanks, but just looked into the cup as he thought about his words. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were real,” he mumbled, sipping his water. You felt heat rise to your cheeks at his words and you refrained from making any other kind of face.

“Well, of course I’m real, Killi. Who the hell else would be able to bring you back from death’s door, hm?” you mused, turning to grab your clipboard. Killer laughed, the fruit amplifying the sound and making it bounce off the walls. You knew that it probably signaled the other’s that he was awake. It was only a matter of time that your brother was here, then.

“I suppose that’s true. Even if some other doctor found us, the question would be not only would they be able to but would they be willing to.” 

You turned to look at him, laughing. “That’s also true.” The Kid Pirates weren’t exactly liked by many. Your brother had a shit attitude, making him easily disliked by others. Honestly, the lot of you were like that. The only people you could really stand were each other. Maybe that was because you’d been around each other for so long. You were all just a bunch of unwanted misfits that found a home in each other. Of course people wouldn’t like the likes of you.

You began to do basic check up procedures, making sure everything was in working order. You changed out some bandages, removing others. His fingers frequently brushed whatever part of you was closest to him as if he wanted to hold onto you but since you were working, he couldn’t.

 “You are healing well, but like I told Eustass, your muscles atrophied while laying in bed.” You looked up from your note-taking. “So, light exercise. I’ll probably just have you do a lap around the ship later to get accustomed to walking around again.”

You reached out, holding his bangs back as you used a small light to check his eyes. “I’ll have to also mix up some medicine later - it’ll help speed up the healing process,” you mumbled, more or less, to yourself. You went to pull away but found that Killer had your hand now.

You blinked, turning to look at him. He pressed a kiss to your palm and your face ignited. What in the world was going on? He was being very touchy and, while you honestly were over the moon, you were a little concerned. 

“Kil-”

“Did I hear what I think I heard?” Your brother’s voice boomed from down the hallway. You rolled your eyes, grumbling. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to show up, honestly. “Let me go make sure he’s not doing anything stupid,” you mumbled, pulling away from Killer. He squeezed your hand softly before finally letting you go. 

Yeah, you two definitely needed to have a conversation when you had a moment.

You walked out of the room, seeing your brother slowly descending the stairs. You folded your arms, leaning against the wall with a smug smile on your face. “It’s okay, tungsten. Take your time,” you mused, watching him. 

That earned you the nastiest glare you’ve seen to date. “You are so lucky I am not at full capacity or your ass would be grass.”

A laugh erupted from you and you walked over as he reached the bottom of the stairs. You knew they probably took a lot out of him. He slung his arm around you, leaning into you a considerable amount. “So, he’s awake?” Eustass looked at you. You nodded at him. “He’s awake and fine. Just-”

“Take it easy. Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes.

When the two of you walked into the room that Killer was in, he stood up, meeting your brother half way as they embraced each other. You started hearing the herd of footsteps as the rest of the crew started running down the hallway.

“Incoming,” you mused, stepping out of the way as everyone tumbled in. 

“Care- oh, forget it,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes. You’ll just have to deal with whatever aftermath they’ll end up being. You let them all have their moment, slipping out to go and start preparing some dinner.

--

You decided that since Killer was finally awake, you’d make his favorite this time. After washing your hands, you started the process of making the dough for the pasta. You had a transponder snail playing music quietly in the background as you hummed along with it. 

Once again, you felt the strong arms of a certain someone wrap around you. You didn’t tense up this time, just letting it happen as you kept kneading the dough. “Are you making what I think you’re making?” he asked into your neck.

“Figured I’d make your favorite since you’re finally awake.” He just grunted in response before falling silent for a moment.

“Y/n?”

“Yes?” 

“There’s something I need to tell you.” You felt your heart almost stop. For the most part, you had a feeling that you knew exactly what he was going to say. After all, he pretty much hadn’t stopped touching you since he woke up. Not to mention the silent confirmation from the festival.

You went to turn around but he kept you in place. “No, no. Don’t turn around. I’ll lose what little confidence I mustered to say this.” 

You stopped, nodding. You were quiet, letting him find his words.

“When I was…dying,” he paused and you winced at his word choice. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean that you liked hearing it. “My life flashed before my eyes. Something that I realized during that time was that every memory and every moment that passed through was you. I know we all grew up together, so it makes sense that you would be a part of them but you were the sole focus of them.” You felt your face heating up, wanting to know what he was getting at. “You’re my life, y/n.”

“There were so many times I wanted to tell you, but never had the confidence. After we found you alive in Wano, I wanted to tell you, but never really got the chance. Especially after you announced that you were staying. I-” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to seem like I was trying to manipulate you into staying. That, and everything with the SMILE fruit, I just didn’t have the confidence anymore. I told myself that I’d tell you whenever you returned.”

His grip tightened on you a bit more, but you didn’t say anything. He wasn’t crushing you, but you could feel his yearning, and everything else that wasn’t being said, through his touch. 

“I regretted not telling you everything from the beginning. Y/n, I-” His words caught in his throat and you were deadly still, waiting for him to just say it already.

“From the moment I first saw you when you barged into the captain’s room that day…” He swallowed hard. You were glad you were turned around right now because your face was on fire. For that long? 

“From the moment I saw you in the captain’s room, you swept me off my feet. The way you took care of all of us without batting an eye. The sacrifices you made to take care of those you cared about. The way you kept saving our asses again and again. You never once complained or talked about how unfair it was. You were so strong in so many ways. You are so strong in so many ways.” You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as he spoke. Your whole body was on fire right now. 

“There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t figure out how to say it but…” He buried his face into your neck a little more as his grip grew more firm as if he was afraid you’d disappear at the drop of a hat. You knew he wasn’t the best at expressing his thoughts and feelings, so you were surprised he’d said this much. 

“I love you, y/n. I always have. From the moment I met you. And it only grew stronger over the years. I never once stopped thinking about you. You were always on my mind. Even in what I thought were my last moments, you were all I could think about.” Your breathing caught in your throat.

He let out a long sigh, finally loosening his grip on you. You were standing there for a moment, letting his words sink in. It was in that moment that you realized you were crying yourself. Mind spinning, heart racing - you might just pass out at this point. You must’ve been quiet longer than you thought because Killer spoke up. “Y/n?”

You turned around, looking up at him. There was surprise in his eyes soon replaced with panic. He took your face in his hands, wiping away your tears. “I-I’m sorry. Was that too much? Did I-” You gently placed your hand over his mouth to get him to stop apologizing for a moment. It was your turn to try and find your words.

“No, no.” Your words were a bit strained with all the emotion that was currently coursing through your body. “I’m just…happy.” You let out a small laugh, sniffling. You looked up at him, smiling widely. “Seems we’ve both been in the same boat. Ever since I saw you in Eustass’ room that day, you swept me off my feet.” Your heart was pounding and you wished it would just fucking settle down because you felt sick.

“I just always assumed that you viewed me as an older sibling just like the rest of them. You were my brother’s best friend, I was sure there was some kind of rule against that? Bro code or whatever.” That earned a laugh from Killer. Still haunting, but you knew you’d be able to fix that soon enough.

“It’s been the same for me, Killer. I’ve been so in love with you for so long. I figured it was always one sided. I honestly thought it was just a childhood crush, but it only grew as the years went on. Hearing you say those words is honestly a dream come true.” You put your hands over his before pulling him down so you could place a kiss on his cheek. 

Due to the SMILE fruit permanently pasting that smile on his face, it made kissing an impossibility. But, you could wait. He didn’t know, but you did. It was only a matter of time.

“I…honestly didn’t think you could love a monster like me after what happened in Wano. I figured you’d be repulsed at the sight of me,” he said, looking at you. “But, you never once looked terrified of me. Nor disgusted. Not even when I was Kamazo.”

You reached up, placing a hand on his cheek and shaking your head. “I could never think of you as a monster. SMILE fruit or not, you’re the same man I’ve always loved. I don’t care what you look like. You could’ve grown a second head or a third arm and I’d still love you.” You smiled up at him, his face warming up.

“Well, it’s about damn fucking time.” Your brother’s voice rang through the kitchen and the two of you jumped, looking over and seeing him with the rest of the crew. There were some misty eyes, some smug grins, and some sniffles. “Heat, Wire, you both owe me 200 berries,” Eustass said, looking back at them and they groaned. There was some murmuring amongst everyone. Did everyone have a fucking betting pool about the two of you?

“No one knows them better than I do.” A shit eating grin spread across his face.

Once your initial shock was over, you finally found your voice. “EUSTASS WHAT THE HELL?” You were fuming. “How long have you fucking been there?” This was an invasion of privacy! Your brother just crossed his arms over his chest, that smug grin not leaving his features. “Long enough.” He shrugged and you felt your eye twitch.

You started after him but Killer grabbed your arm. “Careful, doctor. He’s still healing.” Your jaw dropped and you glared at him. “I will kick your ass too. I’m a doctor. I can kick your ass and patch you up like nothing happened. Don’t fucking tempt me.” You shot a look at your brother and the rest of the crew and they scattered. Though, Eustass, Heat, and Wire stayed. They didn’t fear you in the slightest.

Something dawned on you. “Hold the fuckin’ transponder snail.” You turned your attention to the trio in the doorway. “How long have you known?” You put your hands on your hips, glaring at them.

Eustass shrugged. “Since we were teens.” Your mind nearly exploded. That long? “How come no one fucking said anything?”

The three of them shrugged. “Not our place,” Wire said. You sighed. That was true. It wasn’t their place to say anything. 

“Not that we didn’t try to get Killer to confess. Man’s stubborn as shit,” Heat piped up. You slowly turned, looking at Killer who rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I was just afraid to lose you as a friend. I couldn’t live with myself if you ended up hating me for saying something.” Fuck, how the hell was he so sweet with a name like Killer? You never could figure that out. “You’re also so intimidatingly out of my league,” he mumbled and your eyes widened. 

“You thought what?” Your voice came out as a high pitched squeak as those words left his mouth. Your face was once again on fire. The trio in the doorway burst into laughter and you shot them a glare but it only made them laugh more.

You let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Irritating as always. You felt Killer wrap his arms around you from behind and you relaxed a little.

“Just don’t get too loud when you two start boning,” Eustass said with a shit eating grin. 

Your entire body went white hot and your eyes widened. “EUSTASS!” You tried to run at him, but Killer kept you in place as the trio cackled and ran off, away from your wrath.

--

For the next week, Killer was practically glued to your hip. Whatever you were doing, he was right there helping you in whatever way he could. Both him and your brother were much better now. Your brother was back to barking orders and working in a makeshift workshop. You knew that if you didn’t have one on this ship, it wasn’t going to be well for anyone. It’s how your brother calmed down, after all.

Today, you decided it was time. Killer was healing well and he seemed to be back at full capacity, so you knew it would be safe to administer the antidote. Your brother was also constantly harassing you about it. “He’s just fine. You’re stalling.” You just shot him a glare every time and he returned the favor. Finally, you were giving in. 

You were rummaging around in the drawers of your desk for a moment before you found what you were looking for. You stood up, Killer suddenly standing over you. “What are you looking for?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, nearly taking a tumble before Killer caught you and pulled you to him. “For fucking fuck’s sake. You’re going to end up giving me a heart attack, Killi,” you mumbled, straightening yourself out.

He laughed, the noise ringing off the walls and you looked up at him. His helmet was currently being rebuilt by Eustass as his was destroyed in the altercation with Shanks, so he’d been without it all week. He stopped, noticing your expression. Concern shown in his eyes. “What’s wrong, y/n?” 

“You remember how you called me out for not telling the truth about why I stayed in Wano?” The air suddenly shifted to a more serious tone.

He nodded, watching as you moved to face him. “Well, you were right. As you typically are when you call me out. I was working on something.” You held up a small vial. 

“What is it?”

“Take it.”

He blinked, looking at you. “I don’t understand.”

“Take the vial and drink it.”

He took the vial slowly, looking between you and the small object. “Is it going to taste like that medicine you gave me last week? I thought I was all good?” His eyes narrowed and you laughed. You shook your head. “No, I already told you. I made that taste like ass because that was my way of getting back at you for almost dying. This doesn’t taste anything like that.”

He looked at you for a long moment before popping it open and throwing it back. He handed it back to you, looking at you expectantly. For a moment, your heart stopped. Why wasn’t it working? Was there a time frame you didn’t know? Was this one a dud?

Then you saw it. His smile unfurling at the edges and his features slowly relaxing. His eyes widened and complete shock took over his face. His face. Not just his eyes. “Wh-”

“That’s why I stayed in Wano, Killer,” you said softly. 

He stared at you with his shocked expression and for a moment, you were worried you’d broken the poor man. “Ki-” 

His hands were suddenly cupping your face as he pulled you into the most passionate kiss you’d ever experienced. Well, it was the only kiss you’d ever experienced, but either way you were over the moon. You let out a surprised noise, but wasted no time in wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening it. He lifted you up, placing you on the desk as you wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer. 

You felt him smile against you. Actually smile his own, genuine smile and you couldn’t help but mirror him. His hands traveled down to your hips, gripping you firmly causing you to whine against his mouth and your hands, that were currently wrapped up in his hair, tugged on his hair roughly causing him to let out a growl against you. Your heart started racing with excitement.

After a few moments of kissing and groping at each other, he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours as he panted softly. You were doing the same, looking deep into his eyes with a breathless laugh. 

“I’ve been waiting to do that forever,” he said, looking at you. “Dreamt about it.”

You quirked an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh? And what else did you dream about?” you cooed, one of your hands playing with his goatee as you looked at him. You watched as his face grew more and more red by the second.

“Holy fucking shit, lock the fucking door next time!” Eustass’ voice interrupted the both of you and the two of you looked over. The both of you looked at each other before erupting into a fit of laughter and you couldn’t help but stare at Killer in awe as you finally heard his laugh again. It wasn’t haunted and distorted by the SMILE fruit anymore. It was one hundred percent Killer and you couldn’t be more in love with it - with him.

Eustass’ face lit up. “Wait. Did you finally do it, Bigs?”

You looked over at him, nodding as you unwrapped your legs from Killer and let him go.

Killer looked between the two of you. “So you knew this whole time, captain?” 

Eustass nodded. “Your secret wasn’t the only one I was keeping. Which, I’m glad it’s all out. That shit is the worst.” He rolled his eyes and you laughed. 

“I’m honestly surprised you were able to keep any secret at all,” you mused. 

He looked at you with a droll expression. “Whatever. Well, I’ll let you get back to shagging, just clean up whatever mess you make and don’t be too loud. I don’t really wanna hear my older sibling getting railed.” He turned to head out of the room.

You felt your face grow white hot. “EUSTASS!”

[catiuskaa]

Floral Troubles: Tales of love.

It’s been hard dealing with your recent love life with how busy the flower shop has been since the wedding season started, over two weeks ago. It was just you, the ribbons and greenery, until he hugged you from behind, left 20 bucks on the table and in an affectionate tone, asked: “How do I say I love you in flower?”

and because of all the support you showed, yes, my loves, flower Binnie is back for more >:)

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reblogs and the votes! I never expected 'Yeah, flowers follow' to blow up like it did, and I'm really happy that you guys read it and enjoyed it as much as I did when writing it!

This can be read as a stand-alone, although I hope you guy's like this one as much as its 'first part', which I'll link here.

basically bc I mentioned to @tangerminie that there was a possibility that I'd do a part two (just bc she reblogged and said "Changbin, you can just go fetch more flowers", and she was right, Changbin's not the idiot, I am, LOL) and well, I committed 💪

word count: 4k. [☆☆❁☆☆]

It was after lunchtime when the bell rang inside the shop again, making you groan slightly towards yourself. Your feet hurt from standing up, knowing that your mother needed the only stool available —because God forbid she lets you take a chair from your apartment, which was just upstairs—.

You wished for hours to pass faster or for better shoes.

"One second, please!" You let out, quickly wiping your mouth with your sleeve just in case, wrapping up the white roses you needed for a booking made two weeks ago. Busy designing and planning the different flower arrangements with a soon-to-be bride, you had little to no free time, days passing by inside the little flower workshop behind the beaded curtains. And, sadly for your poor heart, that also had meant less time for a special someone, who was also busy composing, rapping, and most importantly, looking handsome for his fans.

Rushing to the counter, you bowed and smiled, eyes closing and dimples showing, hoping your encounter didn't involve one of those mean customers that think the Sun spins around them.

"Sorry, what can I-?"

"Hey, pretty."

You opened your eyes at max speed, seeing him giggle, his captivating almond-shaped eyes welcoming you with energy and enthusiasm. His hand travelled closer to your face, tucking some rebel hairs that had gotten out of the messy bun you had.

Looking around, you smiled widely at the empty sight, the different flowers and plants being the only witness of how you skipped on top of the counter, pulling the so-called "dark idol" into your embrace.

"Binnie," you mentioned, barely in a whisper, your tensed body quickly sinking on him, the light scent of cologne surrounding you feeling like a breath of fresh air.

You cupped his face between your hands, thumbs stroking the rapper's cheeks.

"You saw my text, right? I'm sorry... I know you only get this week off before not having much free time. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to our date, and I know being sorry doesn't really make up for it, but-"

He gave you a small peck, interrupting you.

"It does, silly. I know you have stuff to do, don't sweat," he smiled, and you snuggled closer to him. "You know I love this, but if your mom sees you on top of the counter, she'll kill me."

"I'll be your knight in shining armour, my prince. Thou shan't be afraid no more," you mentioned in a solemn yet somewhat mocking tone. Changbin chuckled loudly.

"I missed you, flower girl."

You got down from the counter, blushing.

"I missed you too, world star." You blew a kiss at him. "Stay with me?"

He nodded, staring intensely into your eyes, which made you smile. "So? You stormed in here just to flirt with the store's employees?" You covered your mouth with one hand, acting deeply offended. "You know, my manager will hear about this."

He played your game, turning upset in the blink of an eye. "How dare you? I just came here looking for yellow pansies."

You tried keeping up the act but couldn't hold back a smile, the idea that he had memorized parts of the book you gave him being funny in your head, blush still on your face. You took only one flower from its place and handed it to him in a huff.

"It means 'thinking of you.'" he nodded, proudly remembering the flower's meaning.

"Oh. Who's that for?" You asked, giving him a playful side-eye.

His smile lightened the colourful space. "You, of course."

"Ugh, I'm going to get diabetes. Hi, sweetie." Your mom entered with a cheeky smile, greeting the buff man only, making Changbin and you snort, still giving each other puckish looks.

"Hello, ma'am."

"Ah, you make me feel old! Just call me Deiji."

You quickly put the flower back in place and opened the small door to let Changbin access behind the counter.

"You can give the boy the stool I was using. I'll go upstairs and rest for a bit. It's time for my TV drama," your mom explained, ignoring how your eyebrows shot up, leaving the room with a big smile.

You waited until you heard steps above your heads, Seo looking at you with an amused expression. "She's been saying all day that the stool was hers until the day that she'd die. Unbelievable!"

"She loves me more," he teased, spinning side to side on the seat like a small child.

You laughed. "That's because you're adopted. She stole you from Chan Hyung."

The jokes continued, a funny atmosphere settling in the flower-crowded building, mixing with the low-toned music you played in the background.

"Hey, sweetie, come in here," your mom told Changbin, appearing through the curtains from the workshop. "We don't want people coming in here for the visuals rather than for the flowers," she joked half-heartedly, with the only intention of taking care of the idol, allowing him to rest without worrying about any gossip that could be spread.

He cackled, thanking the woman, quickly taking the stool and stepping inside the workshop. As he entered, he was immediately greeted by an atmosphere of creative energy and controlled chaos. Unlike the pristine and organized front area, the workshop was a less spacious room filled with several metal tables, each displaying an array of tools, materials, and unfinished floral designs. Vases, containers, and plastic baskets were scattered across the surfaces, some filled with water, others holding half-arranged bouquets.

The floor surrounding the workbench, situated in the centre of the room, was covered with scraps of greenery, petals, and snippets of ribbon, evidence of the ongoing creative process. The surface above was also cluttered with tools of the trade. Pairs of floral shears, wire cutters, and various types of scissors Changbin wouldn't know how to differentiate, each worn and marked from countless uses.

He took a deep breath, the air perfumed with a fragrant scent of blooms, mingling with the earthy aroma of greenery and the faint hint of floral foam that, funnily enough, resembled yours perfectly.

It was just like you, he thought, the workshop possessing a vibrant energy and a sense of untamed, natural beauty, both characterized by their creative essence and a certain level of organized mess.

He loved it.

The bell above the main door rang again, and he couldn't help to stare back at you through the beaded curtains.

Maybe it was only to him, but your presence exuded an aura of sincerity and radiance that was impossible to ignore. He had only seen that kind of beauty in movies, the ones he saw to get inspiration for his lyrics. With an ethereal glow surrounding you, to Changbin, you were like a magnetic charm that drew people in —the people being him—.

He had never been so into someone before. There had been flings here and there, but none of those had reached this level of intensity. His eyes didn't leave your figure, his heartbeat echoing in his ears as he saw you greet some clients.

Your lips, delicately curved and inviting, held a gentle smile to the people you were paying attention to. They were adorned with a subtle touch of colour. The sudden need to peck them, imagining the cute face you'd make afterwards, became more intense.

He admired your confident yet effortless stance as you moved through the store, looking for the bouquet the client had asked for.

"Oh!"

Changbin snapped out of his daydreaming, facing Deiji.

"So you're serious about her," she concluded with a sly smile.

Seo found himself unable to hold back a goofy smile as he scratched the back of his neck. She giggled, the smile on her features making her look younger.

"Come, sweetie." She invited Changbin upstairs, grinning happily. "I can't let my future son-in-law get cold in the workshop!"

As he ascended a small flight of stairs, he was greeted by a quaint entryway leading to the apartment's main living area. The open floor plan created a sense of spaciousness, allowing the living room, dining area, and kitchen to seamlessly blend together.

Above the bustling flower shop, the small apartment had a cosy and charming ambience that invited anyone to sit and relax. Despite its modest size, it was easy to see your touch in the small decorations that crowded the building.

"It's quite messy, but let's pretend otherwise," your mother said, dismissing it with a flick of the wrist. Changbin laughed, feeling at home.

His eyes locked with another staircase, even smaller, that had books and pots on the side that wasn't facing the wall.

"Her room is in the attic, if you want to wait there," Deiji mentioned slyly.

He had to hold back his curiosity, fidgeting with his rings.

"Can I?" Seo questioned sheepishly.

"Of course! I'll get her there soon, don't you worry!"

She softly rushed the buff man upstairs. Changbin couldn’t help but smile, seeing a wooden sign with several flowers painted. It was so obvious it was your room, you could feel it, and the sentiment intensified once he entered.

With its sloping ceilings and exposed wooden beams, it had a rustic charm that added character and warmth. Soft, natural light came through a dormer window, casting a gentle glow upon the space, which made the furniture inside seem magical.

Against one wall, a somewhat messy, wooden, old-looking piano took centre stage, its unpolished surface and stickers adding to the atmosphere the soft glow of fairy lights delicately draped around it created. The instrument served as a focal point of the room, where it was noticeable you spent hours, judging by how used it looked and how several music sheets filled with compositions adorned a nearby music stand and walls.

The attic's nooks and crannies were transformed into storage areas for various instruments and books. A violin rested upon a stand, ready to be played. An acoustic guitar leaned against a wall, waiting for the touch of skilled fingers. A collection of books, whether flower-related or not, were carefully arranged on a vintage bookshelf, adding a touch of your own personality to it. Close to it, there was a small desk that stood by the window, offering a dedicated space for writing and composing music, in between the range of options. It was adorned with notebooks filled with scribbled lyrics, a laptop for digital composition, and a collection of pens and pencils.

Changbin couldn’t help but lie on the bed as soon as he saw it, looking at the walls of the attic, which were adorned with posters of iconic musicians and whatnot, reflecting your appreciation for the art form. He was excited to see known artists on the walls, happy that you two had common interests. Strings of fairy lights were delicately strung across the ceiling, casting a warm and magical ambience, reminiscent of an intimate concert venue. He hoped one day you’d play something for him, or that you two could play together.

With your flowery scent surrounding him, feeling like he had reached a feeling beyond contentment, Changbin realised how tired he felt all of a sudden, and slowly drifted to sleep.

[☆☆❁☆☆]

You hummed along with the music that kept playing, sketching possible designs for the wedding centrepieces the bride had asked for. Your mother came from upstairs and tsked when she noticed you yawning, quickly turning off the CD player.

"You young people need to sleep more. Go up to your room, I can finish these myself."

"But Mom, it's barely 8 pm, I can just-"

"Fiddlesticks. You'll fall asleep as soon as you touch your bed. Unnegotiable."

You groaned as you stood up, leaving the metal stool for Deiji. You stretched your back, your muscles sore.

"Hey, did you see Changbin leave?" you mentioned, trying to hide a childish sadness in your tone.

You didn't see your mother grin for a second, then quickly put on her round glasses, continuing your design.

"No, I didn't."

You pouted. You knew it was a bit selfish from your side. You understood that he wasn’t going to waste his free week wandering in a flower shop, but there was a small part of your mind that secretly hoped that he'd stay with you until you finished. Your mom cooed, looking at you from above her glasses.

"Moooommm," you whined teasingly. "Gimme a break."

"Whatever. You teenagers live in your own dreams." She mocked, and you couldn't help but chuckle.

"You sound much older when you talk like that."

She laughed. "Just remember, I'll leave in a few hours for the flower convention with Yeongsuk. I'll come back in two days."

"Is she coming to pick you up or do you need me awake?" You inquired, taking your brown apron and hanging it on the wall closest to the stairs.

"Good night, kid."

You snickered, going upstairs slowly. You quickly took your phone and went into your messages. You pouted again, seeing that he hadn't even left a text. Tapping into his contact, you started writing an apology.

'world star ✿ฺ' hey, 'm sorry about today. I'll make it up to you.

But just when you pressed send, you were surprised to hear a notification sound coming from behind your room, the door left ajar.

You stepped in cautiously, your heart skipping a beat when you saw him snoring lowly on your bed. Your insides churned, smiling cutely. You tsked to yourself, knowing that your mom was the one behind this.

You changed into your pyjamas in the bathroom, laughing silently at the sight of the tough-looking man still sleeping cutely when you came back. You took an oversized T-shirt and some sweatpants that were too big for you, but you hadn't had the opportunity to return them yet. You approached him carefully.

"Binne?" You shook him softly.

He slowly opened his eyes.

"Wh-what?"

"You fell asleep, silly. Here, take this. You can get changed in the bathroom downstairs. It's the first door closest to the stairs."

You giggled at the marks that he had gotten from the blankets.

He came back, and you laughed at the sight of him with your clothes on. How could someone look so cute?

"Shouldn't we tell Deiji I'm staying the night?" he asked softly, getting back inside the bed, under the covers.

You snuggled closer to him, taking his arm and settling it on your waist.

"Nah. She'll leave in like two hours, anyway."

You both got lost in each other's eyes.

"You smell nice," you said, fighting to stay awake.

He couldn't help but move his hand towards the blanket, covering you a bit more.

"And you are really pretty when you're half asleep."

"Hey, you're also half asleep." You blabbered, almost unintelligible. You poked the tip of his nose. "Cute," you laughed before falling asleep. He nuzzled in your neck, hearing your calm breathing as a lullaby.

[☆☆❁☆☆]

Changbin woke up, his legs tangled with yours, still close to him, between his arms. Your breathing, calm and rhythmic, also made him relax, enjoying the sight of your body surrendering to the embrace of slumber. Soft moonlight still filtered on the room, casting a gentle glow through the windows, fighting against the Sun, which was starting to wake up too.

He smiled when he notices you do the same, a faint smile lingering at the corner of your lips.

Your room, illuminated by the soft moonbeams, looked different to him. The posters of musicians on the walls seemed to come alive in the pale light, as if whispering melodies that guided your dreams. He wondered what you were dreaming when your embrace around him tightened. He kissed your forehead, brushing stray hairs from your face, which slowly woke you up.

"Hey, pretty."

Instead of answering, you giggled, quickly getting on top of him, your legs resting on his sides, your nose brushing against his.

"Hi there, world star." You lie down, getting comfortable still on top of him. His hands travelled to your hips, caressing them, trailing shapes with the tip of his fingers.

"What time is it?" you whispered, your breath tickling his neck.

He took the first phone he could from the nightstand, trying with only one hand, refusing to let you move from on top of him.

"It's too early."

You giggled. "But what time?"

"Me time."

"Wha-? AH-"

His grip on you tightened, and he pinned you down this time, planting soft kisses all over your face. You laughed uncontrollably, one, because he's a loveable dork, and two, because it tickled, but you weren't going to say in case he'd use it against you.

"You're built like a brick!" You cackled, unable to push him off you.

"You love my strong arms, don't lie." He joked, flexing. Seo relaxed, trying not to crush you with his weight.

"I'm hungry, lung crusher."

"That's my line, you savage stealer."

"Get off and I'll make you coffee."

You both went downstairs, filling the place with giggles and light jokes.

"Hey, I'm actually sorry for yesterday. We only slept, and you could've done something better with the boys after getting the week off."

His voice was soft, words rolling off his tongue. “I prefer to be with you, the others can wait,” he said, eyes locked on yours. He wasn't going to say that he didn't care about sleeping with you —and by that he meant actual sleeping— because he loved waking up by your side, hiding his reason behind a lovestruck smile.

Suddenly, your head was spinning, at a loss for words. You couldn't quite place what was happening to you, why you were suddenly so reactive to every detail. It was a weird feeling that tickled in your chest, but you let yourself fall into it, the feeling of being loved and loving so new and daring that you couldn't get enough of it.

He sat on the stools as you took a mug for him, pouring 99% milk before microwaving it, then adding 1% coffee.

"As dark as your soul, mister."

"Very funny," he didn't laugh, not until he dunked the tip of his fingers into his drink, noticing that it was only lukewarm before splashing it on you with a flick.

He just stared at you with the same goofy smile that was on your face, while you cut some strawberries into smaller pieces, putting them into a yoghurt. He swallowed dry when he noticed you biting your lip in a sign of concentration.

"Whaddya looking at?" You said, in a somewhat sing-song voice. He just smiled, and you snickered, seeing him poking his cheek with his tongue. "Cat got your tongue?"

He laughed. "Just looking at you, hot stuff."

Your eyes opened wide, failing to hide a blush on your features that made Changbin cackle.

"Shut up, meanie," you snorted, watching him stand up, moving until he was behind you, pulling you into a back hug.

"I mean it."

You stared at him from above your shoulder, looking up and down.

"You're not too bad yourself."

[☆☆❁☆☆]

It was practically 6am after you both finished the impromptu make-out session. He stared at your lips, red and swollen.

"Don't smile like that, you cheeky bitch. Yours look exactly the same." You hit him softly on his chest, snorting, tenderly pecking him. “I need to do some arrangements, come with me? I’ll take you somewhere nice when the rest of the world is awake.”

He chuckled, letting you guide him, loving how your small hand fitted in his, fingers linking almost automatically. He took the stool as you combined the different types of greenery, playing some music on your phone.

He was going through his after noticing he had several texts from Chan, wondering if he should reply now, knowing how damn early it could be for someone who slept so little but decided to text anyways.

'red angry bird' not kidnapped yet, dw

Your heart did fuzzy things inside you, looking above your shoulder to the man behind you, spinning on the stool with his tiptoes, his messy bed hair and how your clothes looked on him making you soft.

You looked at your phone, noticing the next song on the queue and you smiled, turning around to approach him. He’s still on his phone.

“Hey, world star.” You kissed his forehead to get his attention. He freezes, his heart fluttering. “I think you know this one.”

He looked at you, losing himself in your features until he heard you singing. It was 'because', the song he sang with Felix, and you were just singing his part cause Lix’s voice was too deep for you to reach. He slowly joined your singing. Your voice, like a delicate yet powerful instrument, effortlessly blended with his, intertwining together in a melody that reverberated through the walls of the colourful flower shop. With each lyric, your voice carried the story he wrote, and he couldn't describe the feeling of happiness he achieved, knowing that you liked it too.

You kept working and singing, not noticing how he left the room. he came back with his black leather jacket in his hand, tenderly putting it on your shoulders. He took his wallet from the jacket's pocket, grabbing 20 bucks from the inside.

"Binnie, what-?"

He settled it on the table in front of you, and also carefully settled the book you gave him.

You stared at the title, "the language of flowers", curious.

His hand hugged you from behind, leaning down right next to your ear, and in an affectionate tone, he asked.

"How can I say I love you in flower?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You turned around to face him, seeing that he was hiding his other hand.

He showed you a small red chrysanthemum.

Due to the lack of an answer, his face turned worried.

"Please tell me I got it right."

You kissed him, giggling.

"I love you too, world star."

[☆☆❁☆☆]

~Kats, who now has high levels of sugar in her blood because of how fluff this was and has also lost her Duolingo strike bc she got distracted writing lol

[galedekarios]

how close you are (two hearts beating a perfect rhythm)

ever since i first played through the test of love with gale, i couldn't stop thinking about what if he had to answer questions of his own. so this is that, completely self-indulgent. 🖤

~*~

"What is the drow’s favourite colour?"

Someone less inclined towards forgiveness, towards acceptance, than Gale would say red. Altonaufein knows he had spilled enough blood in his past for it to be an answer to the dryad’s question–and one he would accept. 

Yet the thought of it alone brings memories with it. Unwelcome. Unkind. 

(There is blood everywhere. I’m lost in it. I breathe blood, not air–)

Mal’ai. Calm.

With a shake of his head and a deep breath, Altonaufein’s eyes, blood red themselves, dart to Gale’s. The wizard’s patient gaze meets his before warm brown eyes widen. Perhaps the drow has given himself away with this glance alone.

“Brown,” Gale says and the answer is so uncharacteristically short for the man that it speaks of his surprise, the right answer coming to him in a moment of realisation. 

~*~

“Where does the worst of his scars linger?”

Gale knows intimately what lies hidden under the heavy chain mail and gambeson, protected further by a simple linen undershirt: A web of raised scars on the drow’s back, a testament of his sisters’ unimaginable cruelty. He had run his hands over each lash mark, touch light as a feather, perhaps to offset the violence that had caused them. 

Still, Gale knows all too well that some hurts run far deeper.

“He fears what happened: What he doesn't remember and what he does remember.”

He will not say more, not even here, in the privacy of this illusion around them, and the way Altonaufein’s eyes–not the colour of blood, not to Gale, but priceless rubies–glow softly with the affection the cleric feels at the man's thoughtfulness. And the dryad has her answer.

~*~

“When does Altonaufein feel safest?”

Once–not so long ago–the answer might have been nowhere. Later then, with his two scimitars in hand would have been true. 

Now, both would be a lie. 

He had felt it first as Karl held him close, knowing just who he was and what he had done.

Kulg Llarzoran Ithrana d'qu'ellar Hlarahel.

Jaluk.

Auflaque.

Dirt elf.

Alton.

The broadness of the man had felt like a haven instead of a threat in a way perhaps only one of the Ilmatari could. 

He had felt it again as he had been cradled in the Weave, Gale knowing his every thought and every desire, every part of himself that was dark and ugly, light and beautiful.

“Being known and accepted for who he is, that is… true safety to him.”

~*~

Drawn together by the bond between them, a push and pull both have followed, Gale realises just how close they are to each other when a calloused hand brushes against his cheek. 

“Ussta ssussun.” 

He knows only a handful of words in Drowic, most of them from late nights and some early mornings at the Yawning Portal, though he has made it his mission to learn more–still, even so, Gale knows this endearment well:

My light.

-------

drowic translation:

-ma'lai = idiot -kulg ("male offspring in the house", lit. meaning "dirt") llarzoran ("three" bc he's the third-born) ithrana (name of his mother) qualla hlarahel ("of house hlarahel") -jaluk = male -auflaque = dog -ussta ssussun = my light

[ladytauria]

i read this fic (you want more and you want it fast - runespoor) some time ago and, uh

it would not leave my head <3

eventually i had to write down all the thoughts it gave me & then i cleaned those up into something resembling a not-fic. & then it was just a matter of, ah. convincing myself to share~

anyway!

warnings: unrequited bru/jay

edits: fixed some formatting issues, removed some brackets, and a sentence i had meant to fix before posting, lol

a hunger that grows, and grows

Jason’s feelings for Bruce are… complicated, to say the least. Mentor. Oldest/longest crush. Betrayal. Anger. Grief. Nothing easy or simple to deal with, and so Jason just… doesn’t. He does his own thing up until Bruce gets involved, has knockdown drag-out fights with him that leave him more frustrated than anything, and then usually heads to a bar, working his frustrations out with tall, dark haired, light eyed men before getting up the next day to start the cycle all over again.

It works. Or he does a good enough job pretending it does, anyway.

And then Bruce dies. (“Dies.”)

His usual methods of coping don’t work. He needs something more to scratch the itch; fill up the strange hollowness inside of him. And somehow… he ends up settling on Tim.

Half the reason the pretender is so fucking annoying is all the ways he reminds Jason of Bruce—both the parts he finds attractive and those he finds aggravating. (There’s a lot of overlap between the two, but Jason doesn’t like to think about that.)

So he tracks down Tim.

Jason’s feelings for Bruce are… complicated, to say the least. Mentor. Oldest/longest crush. Betrayal. Anger. Grief. Nothing easy or simple to deal with, and so Jason just… doesn’t. He does his own thing up until Bruce gets involved, has knockdown drag-out fights with him that leave him more frustrated than anything, and then usually heads to a bar, working his frustrations out with tall, dark haired, light eyed men before getting up the next day to start the cycle all over again.

It works. Or he does a good enough job pretending it does, anyway.

And then Bruce dies. (“Dies.”)

His usual methods of coping don’t work. He needs something more to scratch the itch; fill up the strange hollowness inside of him. And somehow… he ends up settling on Tim.

Half the reason the pretender is so fucking annoying is all the ways he reminds Jason of Bruce—both the parts he finds attractive and those he finds aggravating. (There’s a lot of overlap between the two, but Jason doesn’t like to think about that.)

So he tracks down Tim.

It actually takes a hot second—Tim is right on the edge of dropping off radar, which should probably concern Jason a little. But—honestly, whatever Tim is up to is someone else’s problem. He’s booked a ticket overseas, set to leave sometime around when patrol would usually end. Which means Jason has to move quick.

He’s not about to go asking for something for nothing, and since he’s looking to use Tim as a stand-in for Bruce, it only seems fair to offer him a similar opportunity. So. When he comes knocking at Tim’s door, he does it dressed as Nightwing. [Personally picturing the discowing suit bc of the deep vee, but, go with your heart.]

Tim lets him in; the annoyance on his face and in his voice bleeding very quickly into confusion as he processes what Jason is wearing.

Jason’s brand of flirting is a little taunting, a little aggressive, and utterly unsubtle. Tim—short circuits. It’s not necessarily that he isn’t used to being flirted with, or that he doesn’t know how to flirt back. It’s just… This is Jason. He’s had a crush on him since he was still Robin, and… Maybe all the violence and bitterness between them should have changed that, but it didn’t. If anything, it only made him burn hotter. So having all of that directed at him, especially right now? It’s a lot.

But Tim’s made a career out of thinking on his feet, and it’s not long before he reboots. It takes even less time for him to break the situation down.

He knows about Jason’s thing for Bruce. Knows Bruce didn’t reciprocate, or even really notice. Knows about Jason’s habits of seeking out Bruce lookalikes to fuck, especially after a big fight. And—well. Jason’s made enough derogatory remarks about Tim’s similarities to Bruce over the years. It’s not hard to figure out that this time, Tim is the one being used as proxy.

It hurts.

A lot.

But Tim also recognizes an opportunity when he sees one. If this is the only way he can have him… so be it. “I’ve got a plane to catch in the morning,” he warns, even as he slips into his best imitation of Bruce.

“Still got all night,” Jason says, flippant tone belied by the hunger in his eyes.

It’s a night they make very good use of.

Jason doesn’t even stir when Tim slips out before dawn—figuring, this is it. He got his on night, and now it’ll never happen again. He doesn’t end up having to try hard not to think on it; too busy just trying to keep his head above water.

Jason wakes alone and satisfied. And maybe… a little bereft, somewhere deep, deep down and unacknowledged. He lets himself bask for a bit, and then it’s back to business as usual.

The itch builds back up again. Normally, if his path hadn’t crossed with Bruce’s naturally, this is when he’d go looking for reasons to pick a fight. He thinks, idly, about reaching out to Tim again. Maybe even looks him up, just to see what he’s doing, only to learn he’s nowhere to be found. Jason tells himself that’s not concerning at all, and anyway, he wouldn’t want to make a habit of fucking the pretender. Tim’s too crafty for that.

Things go back to something resembling normal.

Of course, then Tim does finally show back up again, and brings with him a shitload of chaos…

…and, eventually, Bruce.

It’s— Jason doesn’t know how to feel about it. Things are—different. Bruce has a new Robin. Tim’s struck out on his own, claiming his own territory in Gotham. Jason doesn’t need to show up for family dinners to see the tension there. Even Jason’s relationship with him is different. They circle each other, almost awkwardly. There’s this… almost-want of a reconciliation; a tentative truce building between them.

Until it blows up in their faces, of course.

Jason leaves the fight angry and frustrated and seething—but also hot under the collar. Before, he would just find a bar and look for someone who could almost, in the right lighting (or lack of), pass for Bruce—or who looked like they could fuck Jason hard enough he wouldn’t care.

But…

Well. It hadn’t been enough when Bruce had first “died,” and ever since his night with Tim… He’s not sure it ever will be again. So he finds himself on Tim’s doorstep again—possibly in the same outfit? Or maybe a different era costume? Or something totally different. He figures, well. Last time Tim had him out of the suit pretty quick, so he must’ve been into it.

Tim’s surprised—but again, doesn’t turn Jason down. He does tell him to ditch the costume next time. Nightwing doesn’t do it for him.

Again, Jason leaves satisfied.

After that, it keeps happening. Jason abandons the costume idea entirely; just shows up at Tim’s door in or climbs through his window. Sometimes he brings food, usually he doesn’t. They fuck. Sometimes they even stay together until its time to get up, becoming—almost friendly, in those small windows of time.

The time between visits starts to decrease, until Jason isn’t really seeking him out because Bruce pissed him off anymore. Tim is still putting on a Bruce-esque persona, though. He’s also never the one to initiate, which Jason notes idly but isn’t concerned about… yet.

And then one day, when Jason seeks him out, Tim is… tired. He’s fighting with Bruce. He’s still got the primary role in the company. He’s pretending to be injured. He’s not on good terms with Dick (though they’re mending). Damian hasn’t tried to kill him in a few weeks but there’s still animosity. Things with Steph are… weird. Strained. Awkward. He’s glad she’s back. He’s angry at her for lying. She’s pissed he’s not talking about his disappearance, and the thing with Pru, and. You know. Everything. The Titans are back but he’s not leaning on them like he used to. He’s still managing everything that happened with the League, the missing spleen, and now Boomerang… 

He’s tired.

He wants.

His persona cracks, and a little more Tim shines through. Jason… likes it. He doesn’t know what’s different; he’s really only encountered fake-Bruce Tim and Red Robin Tim. Everything else has been glancing. Brief.

But by the next time they meet, Tim’s rebuilt his defenses, and… it’s the same as before. Except now, the formerly mind-blowing sex is— Still good, but. There’s something lacking, a missing mysterious thing that Jason has no idea how to ask for. It’s… frustrating. The itch comes back, more fierce than before.

He ends up talking to someone—probably Dick, but maybe Steph, or Babs. He doesn’t mean to turn the subject to Tim, isn’t even intending to ask about him, but. The others have noticed Tim & Jason’s new… closeness, if not the reason for it. Whoever it is he talks to happens to mention that Tim used to really look up to him—idolize him, even. Probably in the context of a warning, but not necessarily.

A few things click into place. He keeps his distance from Tim for a bit; turning thing over in his head. Certain misinterpretations are cleared up, but… Jason also has new questions. Questions he doesn’t intend to just ask outright—he knows Tim wouldn’t answer him. Or, if he did, it wouldn’t be true.

So he decides to do something a little—reckless. Or, maybe not reckless, so much as embarrassing. Painstakingly, he assembles an accurate (well, mostly) Robin costume. The same one he wore, during his tenure. He barely manages to swallow his embarrassment enough to assemble it, let alone put it on, and covers quickly with a long coat.

The trip to the Nest is agony. He finds himself flushing every time he’s reminded of it. And when he gets there— He hasn’t knocked on the door in ages, but this time… He can’t do anything but, and waits anxiously for Tim to show up.

Tim lets him in, eyeing the coat with strong suspicion.

When the door is shut, Tim takes in his appearance with an impressively neutral expression, considering Jason is sure he looks ridiculous, wearing a long overcoat despite the mild weather and his face, ears, and neck blotchy with embarrassment. “I thought we agreed no more costumes,” Tim says, finally. Jason swallows hard. His face grows hotter. He resists the urge to tug at his collar; instead undoing the buttons of his coat with trembling fingers. “I— We did. But…” He takes a breath. He’s too off-kilter to make his words sound seductive, but he continues anyway—“I think you’ll make an exception for this one.” And then, before he can lose his nerve, he shrugs out of the overcoat. The Robin costume—sans cape, and pixie boots. And gloves. But he was wearing the red tunic, and the scaly green panties. And they are panties, unlike the original. But he’d thought a two piece might be more… practical. It’s the closest thing he’s worn to the original suit in… years. Since the Tower, and that had been far less faithful. He feels… ridiculous. Overgrown. Out of place. But… There’s still a little bit of magic, too. He keeps his eyes on Tim despite his nerves. Watches the almost imperceptible way his eyes widen. The way his hands still. The way all of him stills so completely Jason worries, for a moment, that he isn’t even breathing. It stretches long enough Jason feels himself starting still; ice creeping through his veins. This was a bad idea. He fucked up. At best—Tim laughs at him. At worst… At worst he’s dismissed, derided, humiliated, and never to make things right, or see if they can’t, maybe, be something more. Then there’s a short, sharp intake of breath—and Tim moves, so suddenly Jason might wonder about latent speedster genes, if he wasn’t otherwise occupied. Tim kisses him feverishly, licking into Jason’s mouth like he’s starved. One hand tangles in his curls; the other wanders. Over his chest, teasing his nipples through the tunic before tracing the Robin emblem. (Jason isn’t going to examine the way that makes him shiver.) Then down over his rib cage, his stomach. Teasing the hem of the panties before palming him through them. Squeezing, as Jason gasps into his mouth; rocking his hips forward. Tim smiles, smug and satisfied. “Feel good, does it, Robin?” The name— the tone— His moan is torn from his chest, so hard it’s almost painful. He whimpers, after, the heat spreading down his chest. His whole body prickles, skin tight and sensitive. Fuck.

They don’t even make it to the bedroom. Tim, well. He tries, but god, he cannot keep the Bruce-persona going, and Jason watches the mask fall in real time. It’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

Later, when they’ve both finished at least once, they lay next to each other, and Tim asks quietly, “What gave me away?” The question is so mild, so innocuous. He could be talking about his thing for the Robin costume, or any number of things. But Jason knows. So he tells him, “Nothing I would have noticed for a long time.” Because it’s true. He prides himself on being observant, but.. he wasn’t looking for it. Didn’t know to, and never would have expected it, from Tim of all people. He feels… guilty. “Dick brought up some stuff, though, and… Well. All the things I’d missed were… obvious.”

Then Jason admits that he’s enjoyed the times they’ve gotten to hang out, and the longer this has been going on, the more he’s been disappointed when they don’t get to. And… the times that Tim has been more himself, less Bruce… they’ve always been his favorite.

He doesn’t want to jump into something before he’s ready, rush it, and end up hurting Tim when it doesn’t work out but— He thinks, if they go slow, that they could have something. If Tim is willing to give him that chance, to know him.

And, well. What does Tim have to lose? His heart is already on the line. So he says yes.

(It happens, bit by bit, so slowly he doesn’t even notice, until, one day, Jason looks at Tim and— He can’t. He can’t picture anyone else at his side, can’t imagine wanting anyone else. He’s happy, here, with Tim, and so, utterly in love.)

-> AO3 <-

[cephalotyrant]

Hiiiiiiiiii so. Azurido bodyswap.

Think about it; these two housewardens who constantly seem to be bickering, and then one day during a joint alchemy class they accidentally swap bodies...

Azul trying to run heartslabyul and hastily memorizing all the queens' rules; speaking of i had a sudden thought do you think azul would learn the rules for riddle after they start dating so he can easily come over to heartslabyul and follow all the rules teehee anyways back on topic Azul is mentioned to have less magic capacity so im imagining him being like "okay yeah this kid's currently on a murderous rampage buuuut do I REALLY need off with your head rn why can't i just assert my dominance with words or some shit works with floyd" (i'l never forget that time azul made floyd kneel as punishment... sad moment)

And then Riddle... bless his heart he's too much of a reasonable honest person for octavinelle's bs he's like "stop scamming students" and they're like "um ACKSHUALLY you see the free market and blah blah blah-" Riddle can't behead them anymore because azul doesn't have that power (loser) so he's just like -_- waiting for them to stop talking please oh please what he wouldn't do for them to shut the fuck up-

also weird thought riddle out of instinct trying to cast owyh and then accidentally activating the true form of it's a deal and just... knocking a bunch of guys out cold. and his glasses. he hates them bc they keep getting foggy.

speaking of glasses azul keeps trying to push them up except they dont exist fuckin L hah hah everybody point and laugh

and riddle's high heels... azul falls over (point and laugh part 2)

anyways getting a bit more serious I do feel like azul and riddle do have more similarities in leadership style (like how azul's canonically very irritable with octavinelle students and ortho mentions it's actually quite rare to see him in a good mood just like riddle) so... poor heartslabyul guys aren't catching a break just yet. Except instead of being collared it's just like "shut the fuck up travis this is why you're poor" "3.8 gpa santocruz??? I think you mean 1.8 because those tabloids could only be written by a FUCKING IDIOT" (i'm joking PLEASE DONT KILL ME I MERELY JEST besides we all know azul probably tries to seem uber classy so he wouldn't swear)

meanwhile octavinelle students have never seen such rage... even more scarily... HONESTY AND STRAIGHTFORWARDNESS (an octavinelle student's worst nightmare)

Anyways Riddle and tweel interactions here are just so funny if this is before floyd realizes the truth because it's like

"Lemme squeeze you, goldfishie!"

"Riddle" has NO REACTION. ICE COLD.

And then "Azul" waltzes in and is like "Floyd why how could you do this that is highly improper!!!!!!!"

Ofc "Riddle's" like "so i owe you now" bc azul wants riddle in his debt lmaooo

Azul keeps trying to find riddle's weakness... but it goes wrong...

Short scene:

Azul gazed into the mirror of Heartslabyul's bathroom, looking at every new detail at this new face of his. Riddle's face. He was looking for weaknesses. Yes, weaknesses, as dastardly as it seemed.

Like - how those soft, sun-kissed cheeks were likely sensitive to light, and how those gorgeous little heart-shaped tufts of hair often added to Riddle's poutiness, and-

Wait, why was Riddle's face growing redder in the mirror all of a sudden?

Womp womp azul you're gay for him

Anyways they turn back and it all gets found out blah blah... Azul saying the most down-bad shit when he thinks no one can hear like "riddle-san looks even prettier from up close" jade and floyd overhear his little mumble he never leaves it down...

and riddle... is hyperfixating over azul's moles. he knew about the one on his chin but there's MORE??? On The neck? The COLLARBONE??? He never undressed (neither did azul bc they were swapped for a pretty short time so it was pretty easy not to as just... yk a respect/consent thing) but while adjusting his tie and stuff he noticed. He is now freaking out over it to Trey. Why does he care??? When can he sign up to kiss them??? More on seven.

OOOOOOAAAAAGHHHHHH BARK BARK BARK BARK GRRR MOEWWW HISSS CRASH BOOM MY LEG!!!

Memorizing the rules would be a DAUNTING ass task bro. But Azul is up to it and I bet he memorized them just for fun at one point so he could find all the loopholes (and rub them in riddles face) funnily enough, Heartslabyul is confuse because it seems like Riddle has gotten... sharper? Some clock him immediately as wrong (ADTC)-- Riddle often stands stiffly and probably has a resting bitch face, let's be real. but now the way he stands is almost looser, more fluid, his body more expressive, flexing his hands. In his attempt to follow the rules, Azul IMMEDIATELY calls out someone using a loophole. But for today, he'll let it slide-- but I better not catch you doing that again, else there will be consequences. (He means Jade and Floyd it was on instinct) Even the way he SPEAKS is different, and why is he talking about himself so much? Don't get started on the moment Azul is mentioned-- why is he suddenly avoiding speaking any bad about Azul Ashengrotto? They were at each other's throats just this morning!

He feels weirdly frail. Not only does he lack his octo-stength, he has to look up at absoloutely everyone! And these heels are ridiculous! Of course, he's heard all about Riddle boasting that the dorm uniform being a replica of the first housewarden of Heartslabyul, but he could have omitted SOME details. The way everyone straightens their back when they hear the clacking of his heels, though... that's quite nice. It's hard not to powertrip.

I'm not going to get into it I'm not going to get into it I'm not-- FUCK. He can't help but be envious of the complete lack of fat on Riddle's body, the way his uniform cinched his waist just right. Perhaps there were some benefits of being so small... And there's a constant dull ache in his dominant hand. Seriously, for someone raised for a future in medicine, he doesn't appear to be taking care of himself very well! Maybe he'll snoop about the room for a diary, finding a drawer full of letters from a very particular woman-- and leave the investigation there. Funnily enough, it fills him with the urge to write his own letter to his own mother... he hasn't spoken to her in a while.

At least the bed is fantastic? Let's just hope Trey doesn't walk in while he's giggling and wrapping himself up burrito-style into the blankets.

Azul (Riddle) back at Octavinelle seems like he's one moment away from a STROKE. So much so that every few moments red rings swirl in his eyes-- his last straw being the fourth pencil he breaks in a row. Since when has Azul been this strong!? Does his dishonest nature extend to taking steroids?? He's going to have a VERY long talk with him later! His glasses keep getting smudged and sliding down his nose, and Azul's layered clothing was so ridiculously heavy-- being of average height is kind of nice, though.

Jade and Floyd clock him as NOT AZUL right away I fear... though it is a little funny to watch Azul's body throw a tantrum and stomp his feet. They freak out, however, when Riddle realizes he has the strength to preperly defend himself... not good. If he can't behead them, he can go physical. Really, he's not fit at all to run Mostro or do deals atp... but Jade and Floyd think it'd be funny if he fucked some up. He's rather impressed by how such a busy establishment runs so smoothly, and the employees, namely, the waiters, are rather polite. They stand straight and speak clearly... Azul’s done quite well.

THE MOLES ARGH...

—

Finally. A respite from the endless things that needed his attention– as the housewarden of Heartslabyul, he was used to tending issues left and right, but this experience, being trapped in Azul’s body, had stretched his patience thin. Azul, truly, had his fingers in far too many pies.

Discarding anything the Octavinelle housewarden wore on the regular would have been improper, though it certainly didn’t prevent him from complaining about it. The layers of the dorm uniform were oppressive, to put it lightly– even his cape, for how it dragged across the ground, wasn’t nearly as heavy. The cummerbund was too tight to be considered remotely comfortable. He abandons it on the chair in front of the vanity.

He tugs on silky purple fabric to undo the bowtie, the thing having gone crooked, most likely from when he undid the suspenders or pulled off the jacket. It’s always satisfying to allow one’s neck to breathe at the end of the day–

Eh?

Right there, not too far from under the collar, is a culmination of small dark spots. Three, in fact. And just when he peels back the collar to get a better look at them, there’s another one, right there, on his collarbone!

Experimentally, he runs a finger over them. They’re just spots of pigment… so why do they make his breath hitch and his face warm so?

The door beside the vanity swings open without warning, causing him to jump and squeeze the collar shut in alarm, crumpling the, no doubt, expensive fabric. He curses, seeing one of two tall eel mermen at the door.

“Are you accustomed to coming in unannounced?”

Jade smiles, half concealing it with a hand. “Oh my. Look at you, you already sound so much like our dearly departed Azul.”

“D– dearly departed!? He’s in my body, not deceased!”

[firein-thesky]

For the spooky drabble game: vamp getou. I saved a kinktober post bc I saw that you’ll write a similar fic but now I can’t find that post so I lost my hope that I can ever read that fic 😭😭

anon you are not wrong!! i am in a lil spooky collab with willow’s server!! i will be writing vampire!getou x newly turned vampire!reader!! it is on the docket!! keep an eye out for it and all the other lovely collab fics!!

but for you, a little taste of just vampire getou!! hope you enjoy!!

vampire!getou

cw: blood, vampire feeding

***

“Does it hurt?” You whisper into the darkness.

A hand, cool as the sea, as the wind, as the winter, touches your jaw. Shies away from it and then back, dances along the curve of your neck. Your collar bones. Goosebumps erupt over your skin.

“Would you like to find out?” He murmurs.

“I’m scared,” you answer. “I-I don’t know.”

His grin is a sickle curve, the crescent moon and all its wisdom and mischief.

“There’s no reason to be scared, little lamb.”

But the way he says it only frightens you more. You shy away from him, inching backwards, “Suguru—“

He doesn’t move.

“Would you like to see them?” He asks, “would it frighten you less?”

“I don’t know—“

“So much you don’t know.” He sighs, “come, and discover for yourself.”

And now he kneels, graceful and pliant at your feet. He touches your waist with a broad hand, curls his hand around the bend of your body to urge you toward him, inch by inch.

You take baby steps, until he is just below you, arm curling loosely around your thigh. He gazes up at you, moon dark, nightshade eyes so heavy and gentle.

Tempting. You know you’ll fall into them if you let yourself. You swallow.

And then, slowly, he opens his mouth for you. Parts his lips.

Teeth, sharp and curved like a serpents, jut from his upper row of teeth—it’s his incisors. Sharp. Gleaming with saliva.

You gasp. You almost rear back like a spooked animal, but he holds you steady.

He hums a little, only to say, “easy, easy—nothing to be scared of, darling.”

But his voice sends warning bells clanging in some dark, primordial part of you.

“Look,” he murmurs and he guides your hand to his cheek.

Your heart skips and stutters, you wonder if he can hear it gush and pump, you wonder if he can smell your fear.

Then, slowly, he parts his lips again and opens his mouth to reveal his fangs.

You dare not move.

They’re gleaming and so sharp—and now you notice the bottoms one, too. Not as sharp or long, but a little jagged and mean looking, blunter.

Carefully, he guides your hand.

For a moment, you fight it, but then he presses more and his will is far greater than your own—

Your thumb touches his bottom lip.

He holds perfectly still for you.

You study him carefully, study the details, the vicious curves of his teeth. Your breath slowly evens. He remains frozen for you.

A lull settles over you slowly, fear beginning to quiet and settle. He hasn’t hurt you yet, has he? And he could’ve—he could’ve.

He angles his mouth for you, a better show. His teeth flash in the low light.

You shuffle a little closer. You see just the slightest quirk of the edge of his open mouth. Pleased.

They’re so—beautiful, almost. Pearly. Remarkable.

Your thumb grows bold—slowly, ever so slowly, you move it to one of his upper fangs. As gently as ever, you follow the smooth curve of it—

And then it happens so fast, you don’t even register it—

Not until he’s wrapped his arm around you, sinking his fangs hard and deep into your exposed, inner wrist. Right along the vein. Pain floods you, panic squeezing at your mind, your chest.

You shout, you think, in surprise or pain. You try to squirm but he tightens like a snake, constricts around your waist until it hurts. He bears his jaws down like a serpents, wrenches them shut so tightly that this time, you are sure you scream.

His eyes snap up to your face, horrified and struggling, and all you see in them now is a wild hunger.

Depthless longing. Greed.

He smiles—you can feel it against the curve of your wrist, slick with your own blood. With his mouth.

Your lashes flutter and the world slips into darkness.

***

i hope you enjoyed this anon!!!

send me a monster and a character and i’ll write a drabble!

[thefreakandthehair]

Perspective flip for meeting you was coming home!!! I still absolutely adore that fic, Lex 🥰 take your pick of scenes bc I love them all

ahhh Jen!! I'm so glad that you still love this fic, it was so so so much fun to write for our exchange! 💕 I'm so sorry this took almost a week but I almost Midnight Sun-ed this entire fic and had to reign it in lmao. here's the beginning of Meeting You Was Coming Home from Eddie's perspective!

February 14, 2022

Eddie Munson has always loathed Valentine’s Day.  

A skeptic by nature, cynic by choice, and pessimist by way of personal experience, he’s never been one for the red and pink hearts, the teddy bears, the chocolates and flowers. He’s only ever had one Valentine: Greg Portia in the seventh grade. Greg got a handmade card and gimp bracelet he’d made with painstaking care, while Eddie got a silver skull ring from a gumball machine and a hug in the abandoned, poorly trafficked stairwell. A week later though, Eddie found the gimp bracelet left in his locker with a break-up note, ending a relationship Eddie hadn’t even registered as a relationship until it was over. Greg never hugged him again. 

It’s not something that Eddie thinks about often, but he does think about the pattern that’s emerged since: short-lived relationships that are over before they even really start, so Valentine’s Day just doesn’t mean anything to him. As far as Eddie’s concerned, Cupid is just another myth weaponized by Hallmark to make a quick buck and he’ll have no part of it, thank you very much.

In fact, the only reason he’s subjecting himself to the horror of the bar's annual Valentine’s Day Emo Night is to avoid witnessing Gareth and Chrissy’s rather excessive displays of affection. Watching Gareth stare aimlessly at the aisles upon aisles of kitschy cards with red envelopes in their local Walmart had been more than enough. 

And if he’s honest with himself, maybe he also left for the night to avoid the green monster that curls up in his chest when he’s reminded that love is out there, and it just hasn’t chosen him. But he’s not looking for honesty tonight, just a distraction and a drink or two, so he claims a hightop for himself in the corner of the bar and people-watches. 

It’s poor planning on his part, all but a few couples looking either entirely enamored or happily tipsy, and he’s just about to cut his losses and summon an Uber when he sees a man walking towards him. Bathed in the lights that swirl and strobe around the bar, he looks damn near ethereal, a heralding of some kind of… well, Eddie didn’t pay much attention to his Uncle when he talked about the Bible but he’s sure there’s something in there that could’ve described The Man better than his own feeble words could. 

A red tee-shirt hugs The Man’s chest in all the best ways, ways that leave little to Eddie’s imagination besides what he’d like to do should the offending shirt disappear, and a black and red plaid fleece hangs over his shoulders. Black jeans cuffed at the ankle and white sneakers cap off the ensemble, and Eddie’s too intrigued by the smile that’s somehow both confident and shy when they make brief eye contact to care that he clearly is very into Valentine’s Day. So understandably, he’s a bit stung when The Man bypasses his table in favor of the bathroom. 

Shit, Eddie thinks, sinking back against his chair, not realizing that he’d literally leaned forward to stare like an idiot. He turns back to his phone and scrolls back to Uber. Somehow, in the minute that’s passed since closing the app, all of the prices shoot up and he groans to himself. Insult to injury, Eddie thinks.

The song changes to something less pop-punk and more punk-punk, so he bobs his head up and down as he considers how terrible walking back to his apartment would be. Or maybe there’s another bar nearby? A diner? Maybe I can convince someone to give me a free omelet if I look sad enough– 

Eddie’s thought process is cut off by the sound of a chair scraping against the concrete floor, and The Man slowly comes back into focus as he saddles up beside him. 

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re sitting over here alone, and that just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

unusual fic-specific asks for authors!

[columbocorners]

What are your thoughts on Otro after listening to the the episode?

Everyone thinks he is the worst (he is a terrible psychologist, I’ll admit to that) but he very obviously has unresolved childhood trauma that is making him act up.

The latest episode broke my heart, poor Noone “you promised” but we all knew this was going to happen, it was inevitable.

honestly, the chapter five episode had me literally verbally making commentary because I was SO into what the people were doing with that, also just in general props to itsjustjord given he wrote the chapter five episode which is so fucking cool and really shows on some level who in the community of theorists in little nightmares have a lot of credibilities that the people who are promised with making the franchise what it has so much faith in its community to provide them the chance to look into writing it. as a whole, I think otto is a very misguided, genuinely good person who kept going on and doing things that progressively sabotaged whatever collaboration and chances he had of trying to do better. and he is redeemable in my eyes, but it's like, he's too caught up in the way his own trauma and what happened with cece ( cici ) and this world to try and understand and on some level, that slowly reeled its nasty little head more into his work than the idea of actually helping noone. It's so sad because to me, I really think otto acted kind of fatherly to noone, like he genuinely cares for her, as much as he's grown to be so inherently selfish about wanting to find out things about cece ( cici ) and it's like. it's the little things that get me because to me, it could've potentially been so different if he had adult patients but given he works with children and we DON'T KNOW how the other coworkers act, but they probably are a lot less forgiving or even empathic to their patients (referring them by numbers and etc. ) it's like. he is very much a bad counselor, but he definitely does so in ways that just make me go ' he got attached ' and you definitely can see why we don't have a lot of inherent knowledge on what the copy is like, how long noone was staying there, and it's only after finding out about how bad noone's nightmares was that otto went ahead and made it a point of going because before he went, " oh her case isn't that bad, others are worse off " to " I want to oversee this all the way through " and it tells you, as much as it is for personal gain, there is a concern there too. he does try comforting her and doing all of these things to try and just make her stay a little more welcoming because some things should be procedural and a lot more professional but it's like, I think the thing that always got him was him admitting he had no answers to give about her dreams, and reassuring her she wasn't sick or that anything was wrong with her. as well as the moment where he took her to see the reunion room, at the end of the day, even I feel like people forget otto also gifted her that flower in chapter five as a means to try and let her know he was sorry for his actions last chapter, and I just think in general, otto is a bad counselor, but equally as bad with communication and expressing some things and I feel like it comes with the added notion that he wants to have noone actually see him in a good light, so he can help her and solve what his own problems are and what is going on with him but no matter how he strung it, he fucked up. and that is on him, of course I do think some things the two as a whole could've done better but noone went through a lot and she is legit just a child, and otto needs to try and make it up in a better way than simple gifts etc. ESPECIALLY WITH THAT ENDING BUT LIKE .. part two incoming bc I wrote too much btw

[frickfrackchickenstack]

sigma with 👻📓😶 for the ask game!

ahh ty!!

👻: I have a lighter one and more painful one, depending on ur current angst level!

light: i imagine sigma as afraid of the dark! not necessarily the dark, more the illusions and hallucinations that eyes can play when you're not fully rested. he sees smth in the corner of his eye, panics, and sees in the light that it was a plushie or smth. i also hc that he has something called visual snow (which is common in ppl w migraines and/or people with autism iirc), which specifically is a bit blocky and the dots resemble peoples memories to him than actual snow or static.

not so light: honestly? his own sense of identity. this lad has been on autopilot since he gained consciousness three years ago - he gave himself the name of sigma (sum, and in linguistics references the symbols that form an alphabet), but we don't really get too too much of an explanation for it - sigma doesn't even seem to know of it, himself. basically, i think there's an unconscious part of sigma that yearns to keep being in alert/panic mode, bc the thing he desires so desperately is (not only smth he has to make for himself but also) his greatest fear and vulnerability. he wants his existence to be cut and dry, to have purpose - but to be fulfilled, he will have to fully uncover his own sense of identity. basically this bitch traumatized and i think will crumble if left to his own devices in a chill place <3

📓: i like to think that sigma eventually takes up sewing and making their own clothes! with the kind of styles he seems to gravitate towards, along with the assumption that if he joins the ada his salary wont be that high, id like to imagine he starts creating stuff for himself to wear! it may be messy and flashy, but it helps him explore what makes him happy. he values people who have goals and drive, and i think him having a hobby that directly involves creation in some form would be perfect for him.

😶: a few for you

i think sigma doesnt drink, he exclusively goes for mocktails and hot chocolate. something incredibly sweet that makes most people stare at him in confusion at his choices

sigma dreams, but has no recollection of whatever he was dreaming about - just the lingering air of tiredness in his body and longing in his heart

he wears genuinely the most jaw dropping fashion at all times - he is a man that desires a level of attention, as if to say "look at me! i mean something!" even as he gets settled into daily life and becomes more comfortable with routine, i think he would always lean to shiny and flashy

until he was brought back to yokohama (eventuallyyyy i hope), he had the worst shower care stuff. sure, the products at the casino were nice, but i bet before that fyodor gave sigma an 18 in 1 and that was that; this would be rectified the moment sigma somehow tells anyone of his shower routine.

speakign of fyodor! i think sigma was incredibly sheltered by fyodor - on purpose, to treat him less of a full person and more as a tool. sigma has to learn not only basic stuff about daily life, like taxes, but also social situations. dear god, this bitch doesn't know how to PeopleTM

sigma isnt too religious, but ironically i could see him being into some level of spiritualism in a different vein from fyodors Christianity; fyodor believes what he cant control is already working in his favor, and sigma more focuses on what he can control.

i have many many more but! u can always request more :3

[martianmoon]

Sam and Max: It Feels Like I’ve Forgotten Something

HEY GANG are we ready for round two?!!

this is a continuation of my last piece featuring my version of the boys!! except less hurt, more comfort this time :) i really wanted to try writing from max’s perspective since i find it harder and bc i think we get a lot of this series from sam’s pov, so it was nice to push myself!!

premise: “sam has a nightmare about the events of 305, max is there to listen and comfort in his own way”. this was partially inspired by @bitterartregret‘s art which you can find here! it hit me right where it hurts and i love the idea of them soothing each other after 305, so i just had to put my own spin on it :)

rated T for Trauma LOL

🐶❤️🐰

Max is jolted awake by the sound of screaming.

At first he isn’t sure if it’s his own - it wouldn’t be the first time, given the last few weeks - but his throat doesn’t feel raw, and he isn’t sweating, which means--

Sam!

He’s hopped from the top bunk and into Sam’s in seconds, trying to squash his fear long enough to shake the man awake. “Sam, Sam! Wake up, Sam, it’s okay, it’s okay! I’m here, you’re okay!”

“Max,” he gasps, and in the sliver of yellow light cutting through their curtains, Max gets a glimpse that makes his heart sink. Sam’s fur is matted, eyes unfocused and heavy from what must have been a night of restless sleep. When he finally rouses, the man squints at him, then slumps into his arms with a haggard sigh.

Max catches his weight, ignoring the pang in his chest. “Hey... hey, ya big fussypants. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Who, me? Nah, I was already--y’know, I was--”

“I’m sorry, Max,” Sam croaks, and he sounds so defeated that Max wants to rip something apart.

With some effort he eases Sam back down, pulling the covers up and over and pointedly ignoring the look the other man shoots--just in case it’s something he can’t--can’t--unwrap right now.

It must be obvious, even in the dark. Before he can think of anything to say, Sam reaches out for him.

“...would you mind--would you stay?”

Max bites his own cheek, hard. His voice still comes out an octave higher than he’d like. “Stay? With... with you? Here?”

Sam nods, unreadable. “I think--I think I need it.”

It kicks a predatory part of him into overdrive: the urge to hurt, to destroy whatever’s making Sam so obviously miserable. He knows it’s pointless - Sam’s nightmares aren’t something he can just sink his teeth into and tear to bits - but that white-hot instinct to protect runs as deep as his blood, and bubbles just as close to the surface at the tone in Sam’s voice.

“S-sure,” he says as evenly as he can, slipping in beside him. There isn’t much space, in the single bunk, but the gap between them still feels as wide as a chasm.

Sam chuffs, a fond thing. “You can come closer, y’know.”

Closer... like it’s nothing, like they do this every night. A twist in Max’s gut says Maybe him and his Max did.

I’m his Max now, jackass, he glowers. It helps when he feels Sam relax, just a little, as he shifts towards him.

They’re silent, for a while. Max busies himself by listening to Sam’s breathing--not only to make sure he isn’t falling into another bad dream, but also to calm his own nerves. Behind closed eyes, he imagines what someone else might think of them--not quite cuddling but near enough that it’s obvious they’re more than friends... perhaps still getting to know each other, or maybe this is their first time sharing a bed--

It stings, unexpectedly. He sighs.

“...Max? You still awake?”

“Yeah.” His eyes flutter open to find Sam watching him, and he blinks. “S-still awake. You okay?”

Sam shakes his head. “Not really. That one really shook me up.”

“...you wanna talk about it?”

He watches Sam weigh the idea for a long moment. He looks so serious, and it suits him, but Max knows that look: one that promises this could go either way - and he would never push, but after weeks of feeling through the uncertain space between each other, of awkward silences and missteps... he isn’t sure he can take much more pretending.

“...yeah. Yeah, I--I think I do.”

Relief SNAPS like a wire spring inside him, and he stiffens, sure that Sam must feel it. Don’t say anything, just don’t--don’t mention it. He forces himself to relax. “O-okay, okay, you--uh, you just go ahead. I’m all ears.”

Sam’s soft snicker makes him grin, in spite of everything - still got it. Max thinks there might have been a joke there, before, a quip along the lines of ‘you sure are, little buddy’, but for now Sam’s gentle amusement is enough, more than enough.

“God, where do I start...” The man blows a hard breath over Max’s cheek. “Guess I can’t expect you t’listen to all the gory details...”

“Are you kidding?” Max snorts. “After everything, now you’re gonna worry about, what, my delicate sensibilities?”

“Shut up, Max, you weren’t caught up in the middle of it all, before!”

“Sam,” he scoots closer without thinking, cupping the wolfhound’s cheek. “I can take it. Just--trust me.” He feels the man swallow, a faint rise-and-fall beneath his palm, and it takes everything in him not to bite down there. Instead, he gives him a gentle nudge. “C’mon - what happened?”

There’s another long pause, and Sam sighs again. “You... you were there. Not--y’know, not you you, but--”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Max knows who he means, tries to ignore the spike of jealousy that hits at the thought; this isn’t about him, it’s about Sam, and he’d said he could take it. With a soft huff, he asks, as mildly as he can, “Somethin’ bad happen to--him?”

It doesn’t quite land the way he hoped - Sam’s lips purse disapprovingly, eyes falling closed.

Panic. “W-wait, Sam, please, I--”

“Yeah. Yeah, he--there was fire, and everything was dark... I couldn’t even really see him, it was all covered in--in ash, and blood. Felt like I was choking on it. Then a great ugly pit opened up and just--swallowed everything. Him.” A pause. "Me."

Max stares, an uncomfortable feeling pooling in his gut. “I--I’m... I’m sorry, Sam.”

He hates how small his voice sounds. Fury, molten and dark, grabs him by the throat and burns, and suddenly it’s all he can feel, that liquid hate. Hate for how the feeling of ‘other’ still hangs over them, for what it does to Sam on nights like this. Why’d you have to go and die, huh? He seethes. Why’d you have to--just look at him! He can barely function without you, and I’m stuck here in the middle when he oughta be mine and I can’t--I can’t fix it--

“Max.”

“Auagh!” Max nearly springs out of bed, held down by the weight of Sam’s arm falling over his hip and the look that comes with it.

He swallows. “Er, I--my bad, I was--”

“Just... hold still for a sec, would ya?”

It’s not really a question, but feels... important. Their eyes meet over the pillow, and Sam doesn’t blink, so neither does he. Gently, so gently he almost swears he imagines it, Sam’s thumb moves over his heart and just... rests there. It’s firm, and warm, and Max doesn’t count the minutes they stay like this... but when Sam finally moves, it’s to stroke there, once, before settling back at his hip.

Red-faced, Max shivers. “Uh--”

Sam smiles, slow. “Just needed to feel it.”

‘It’--Max’s heart. His heart. The implication makes him dizzy for a moment. Not yours... mine. He wriggles closer, voice soft. “I keep tellin' you, Sam... I’m right here.”

This - the need for reassurance, the concern over his safety - is familiar to him. Patience isn’t one of his stronger suits, but Max will always oblige, in moments like this... even if he’d never admit it out loud. It makes him feel... toasty, something he’s grown to associate only with Sam, and even if they are from entirely different worlds, universes apart, the joy of knowing how alike they are, how much he still cares... Max can’t describe it. He thumbs over Sam’s cheek, his jaw, eyes half-lidded even as his heart races.

Could be a heart-attack, he muses, derailed suddenly by a kiss pressed against his forehead. Startled, he grabs a pillow and hits Sam square in the face with a WHUMP.

“Max! What’re you--what was that?!”

“I don’t know, you surprised me!”

“You--jeez.” Sam rolls onto his back, laughing, and Max feels his face heat. “You crack me up, little pal.”

It takes him a second to parse why the words hit so hard, flopping down to hide his face when he does. It’s really... him. It’s really you, Sam...

“Quit thinkin’ so hard, I can smell burnt toast.”

“That’s just your old age, smart-ass.”

“We’re the same age, Max.”

“Yeah, well--” He rolls onto his side to see Sam beaming at him, fumbling through a sudden swoop in his belly. “You--I--ugh.” Nothing, and Max has never felt so good about it. He grins back, sinking into the pillow. “Hey--betcha you’ll get wrinkles before me.”

“Oh, sure. But you’re gonna go hairless, first.”

It’s playful, and stupid, fills his chest with butterflies. Max rolls onto his side, grumbling happily--then freezes when he feels Sam spoon up behind him, breath warm on the nape of his neck.

“S-Sam?”

“Mm...?”

A heartbeat’s pause. He smiles. Closes his eyes. “...nothin’. Night.”

Sam’s own smile is right there, in his fur. “G’night, pinhead.”

[firstelevens]

hi zainab!!

taylor swift prompt #15 + sambucky? (bc lord knows i've thought about writing a you belong with me inspired sambucky fic too many times)

15. a smile that could light up this whole town

Reading the room is one of Sam’s greatest skills as a teacher. It’s turned around any number of bad days, resolved countless conflicts, and prevented dozens of failed tests or quizzes.

It’s instinctive enough that when he dismisses his Honors American Literature class right as the bell rings, he’s not remotely surprised when the best student in his class joins the cluster of students around his desk, asking about test corrections and extra credit.

Once he’s sent the rest of them off with the answers they’re looking for, Sam turns to Cindy Moon, who’s fidgeting with the cuffs of her sweater and won’t quite look at him.

“Mr. Wilson, do you think you could write me a pass to stay here during study hall?” she asks, her voice shaking a little. “I know we don’t have anything in the works for philanthropy club, but maybe I could do some planning? Or some research, or something?”

Part of Sam wants to say no, because he had very specific plans for his end-of-the-school-day planning period, and having a student in the room will mean that he has to be in vigilant teacher mode for the next hour and a half instead.

The other part of Sam has not missed the fact that Cindy used to constantly be surrounded by a group of her fellow cheerleaders and an ever-present boyfriend—a senior from the football team, Sam thinks, but not one he’s ever taught—and now she’s always on her own, sitting at the opposite end of the classroom to the group she was inseparable from just two weeks ago.

It has to be worse today of all days: between singing candy grams and carnation deliveries and heart shaped helium balloons everywhere, Valentine’s Day has hit Excelsior Academy hard. He can’t blame her for wanting to escape.

Sam is already reaching for the stack of blank passes before he speaks. “I could use some help organizing the classroom library, if you’re up for it? I had freshmen searching for books to write their reviews on, and they basically destroyed it.”

Cindy agrees, her voice still tremulous, and runs the pass down the hall to Rhodey in the physics lab. She comes back in as Sam is erasing the board, slinging her backpack onto a desk before moving towards the bookshelves that line the back wall of the classroom. 

Sam’s class library is his pride and joy, nearly two hundred books that he painstakingly chose and catalogued over the years. The freshmen were enthusiastic in searching for books, but less so in putting them back. Sam had taught them the last period of the day yesterday, and there had been an English department meeting—useless, but then most meetings were, under John Walker’s tenure as department head—so he only had time to throw them onto the shelf and rush over to the other side of the school.

Clearly, Cindy is aware of this on some level, because when he looks back at her, she’s got the first shelf’s worth of books separated across five different desks, one for each genre. He’s about to thank her for taking this so seriously when there’s a knock on the doorframe.

Standing just outside the classroom is Bucky, a handful of students peering around him.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?” asks Sam, capping his dry erase marker and waving the group into the room.

“They finally got someone in to fix the leak in the AC vent,” says Bucky, “but it means the room is unusable for the rest of the day. Can the yearbook kids and I camp out in here?”

“Of course,” says Sam. He turns to the kids. “I recommend the desks by the bulletin board, if you need to plug in laptops.”

Peter and Ned and Kamala head over to the desks nearest the outlets. MJ and Miles come in carrying a large posterboard, and behind them, America is carrying a stack of shoeboxes.

“Is it okay if we push some desks together?” asks Miles. “We’ll put them back before we leave.”

His question is underscored by the sound of both girls shifting desks and chairs behind him to make a larger work surface, and Miles winces. Sam laughs a little and tells him that it’s fine, and the three of them open up the boxes and start placing paper cutouts on the poster board.

“Testing layouts,” says America, when she sees him looking. “Sometimes it helps to do it physically instead of onscreen.”

“Mr. Barnes suggested it,” explains Miles, just in time for Bucky to reappear in the doorway.

“I’m only taking credit if it works,” Bucky says, turning sideways so he can get through the door with the two overstuffed tote bags over one shoulder and a backpack over the other.

“You see that?’ Sam asks, crossing the classroom to take one of the bags. “You haven’t even started and he’s already abandoning ship. Some captain, huh?”

“I’m a navigator at best,” says Bucky. “MJ’s captain; she’s the one at the top of the masthead.”

Across the room, Peter grins at MJ and gives her a little salute. Sam catches a smile crossing her face before she bites it back.

“Mr. Barnes is a pretty good navigator, though. He brought us cookies today.”

“Oh, shit,” Bucky says, and the kids seem unfazed the mild expletive. “Where’d I put the cookies?”

Sam looks into the bag that he’s holding and pulls out two boxes of pink frosted sugar cookies, complete with sprinkles and little candy hearts pressed into each one.

“Valentine’s themed and everything,” he says, grinning at Bucky. “Mr. Barnes, who knew you felt so strongly about the holiday?”

“He doesn’t,” says Ned. “Or, well, he does, but the other way.”

“Oh?’ asks Sam, as Bucky sets the box of cookies on an empty desk and sets a box of tissues beside them, his back to Sam. “And what way is that?”

“He said it was a consumerist holiday that doesn’t have anything to do with the history of all the different Saints Valentine. And then he taught us about Captain Cook attempting to kidnap people and getting killed for it.” Kamala finally looks up from her laptop. “That part was really interesting, actually.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says drily, opening the second box of cookies. “And I don’t want to see you all making a mess of Mr. Wilson’s room with these cookies, okay? We’re guests here and we’re going to clean up after ourselves.”

The yearbook kids murmur in assent. Sam glances over at Cindy, who’s still quietly sorting the bookshelves. He’s about to tell her to join them when Bucky beats him to it.

“Cindy, you’re welcome to have some, too,” he says. “And if you want any help organizing, you can absolutely conscript Ned and Peter and Kamala, because Michelle didn’t even give them an assignment for today, so I know they’re not actually working on anything for the yearbook right now.”

She hesitates for a moment, then sets down the stack of books and walks to Sam’s desk to use the hand sanitizer. “I like those flowers, Mr. Wilson,” she says, gesturing to the arrangement that had been waiting on Sam’s desk when he got in this morning. “They’re really pretty.”

Sam can’t help but smile when he looks over at the flowers. “Thanks, Cindy,” he says. Then, to the rest of the classroom: “I think Valentine’s Day is nice. We could all use a reminder to tell the people we care about that we’re thinking of them, even if that reminder is the day that a guy died for being kind to people.”

“There’s nothing wrong with celebrating Valentine’s Day,” says Bucky. “I just thought it was worth the reminder that our cultural traditions aren’t universal.”

“And also that colonizers getting taken out is a net gain, as far as the universe is concerned,” adds MJ, and Bucky’s lips twitch with a bitten-back smile.

“That, I can agree with,” says Sam. “So am I allowed to have one of these not-actually-for-Valentine’s-Day Valentine’s Day cookies?”

Before he can even step towards the box, Bucky is holding one out to him. Sam takes it with a smile and settles back in at his desk, scooting over to make room for Bucky to join him if he wants.

He does, after a moment, pulling over one of the chairs that MJ and America moved.

“Thanks for letting us hang out in here,” he says, pulling out a stack of tests to grade. “If you’d said no, I don’t know who would have let us in.”

“You mean you don’t know who would have let you get a bunch of teenagers hopped up on sugar in their classroom,” says Sam, holding out a red pen. He nods over to where the kids are now sitting on top of the desks, work abandoned in favor of comparing the messages on their conversation hearts. Cindy, he notes with some relief, has joined them.

Bucky takes the pen and waves his free hand. “Minor detail at best. And you got something out of it, too, didn’t you?”

Sam looks back down at the cookie in his hand and shrugs. “I mean, I’d have preferred homemade,” he says, trying not to grin, “but I guess this works.”

Laughing, Bucky elbows him gently and turns back to grading.

— —

That evening, when Sam’s doorbell rings, he answers it and leans against the doorway, blocking the entrance.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “I thought Valentine’s Day was a consumerist holiday with no historical merit.”

“Peter and Michelle saw us together at that Italian place last weekend!” says Bucky. “I had to throw them off the scent!”

“Uh-huh,” says Sam, arms crossed and unmoving.

“Did you like the flowers, at least?”

Sam glances over at the vase that he brought home from school, now sitting on the mantelpiece. “Maybe.”

“I love you?”

“Is that a question now?”

Bucky huffs. “I brought you wine from that one tiny vineyard you love, and I have The Princess Bride and The Shop Around the Corner, and there’s no one I’d rather spend the day with, and I love you, Sammy. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

For a moment, Sam considers him. Then, he steps aside and waves Bucky in, shaking his head at the triumphant grin that spreads across his face.

“Fine, but only because I want to know what wine you picked,” he says, and immediately disproves it by leaving the bottle on the credenza and hauling Bucky in for a kiss.

[fbfh]

light up the dark [XII] - Leo Valdez x reader

wc: 6.1k

genre: smut, angst, mutual pining, mutual angst, soulmate au????

warnings: emotional constipation, smut, angry sex, Leo being stupid hot, moderate manhandling, fingering, making out, teasing, Leo calls reader a whore /affectionate, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, less aftercare than usual, reader is starting to open up, a LOT of self loathing from Leo, miscommunication (but not stupid miscommunication yk), confrontation, a surprise at the end

summary: after waiting out the worst of the confrontation with Calypso, you find yourself unable to resist Leo's embrace, and Leo finds himself unable to stay away from you, in spite of how hard both of you try. You both desperately try with everything you've got to reach the other person. You don't know if it's going to work, but you have to try. In a moment of desperation, you realize something important

song recs: break my 0wn heart - atlas, can't stay away - im5 ft. bella thorne, warmth - bastille, music to watch boys to - lana del rey, melt my heart to stone - adele, tell her you love her - echosmith

a/n: OH BOY. break out your tissues bc I really went for it this time. hope you're wrecked emotionally bc I am. also my rodrick x hyperfeminine reader hcs are blowing up rn so I'm gonna do a part 2 at some point.

tags: @yesv01 @magcon7280 @avashaye @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @yelenabel0vaswife @almostjollypizza @fictionalcomforts  @lizziebitch33  @girlfriendwhoseawitch @dustyinkpages @cowboylikekelsey @legramilis @youkissedareaderinthedark @mrscarolscaramoucheplease @cosmiq-cloud @anything-forourmoony @perseajohnson @chasingpj @mystic-writings   @fictionalcomforts  @lizziebitch33 @dreamerball @if-only-i-was-fictional @youkissedareaderinthedark @girlfriendwhoseawitch @mrscarolscaramoucheplease @anything-forourmoony @afidiofobia@chasingpj @girlfriendwhoseawitch @dustyinkpages @cowboylikekelsey @youkissedareaderinthedark @magcon7280

You barely finished your conversation with Nico before Calypso really started going crazy. You’re not sure exactly what happened, no one is, but things escalated and she got really belligerent. She started yelling about how horrible you are, calling you a whore and a homewrecker. If Nico hadn’t grabbed your arm and shadow traveled you to your room, Calypso would have been able to barge into the kitchen to confront you. There’s no doubt that could have ended any way other than horribly ugly. 

“Stay here.” Nico says when you realize you’re in your room instead of the kitchen, with a note of decisiveness that makes you know he means it. Before you can agree, he’s already gone. You wait near the door, listening for voices, trying to make out what they’re saying. It feels like forever before you finally hear everyone making their way upstairs, slowly getting ready for bed. It’s even longer until the house is finally quiet. Eventually you can’t hear anymore hushed conversations, the water stops running through the pipes into the bathroom, and the light from the cracks in the door aren’t spilling onto the floorboards anymore. 

Eventually, when everyone else has long since gone to sleep, you don’t have an excuse not to anymore. You lay down in your bed, trying to make it warm. You do your best to ignore everything racing around your mind even more than usual, try to quiet the events that transpired tonight from playing on a continuous loop in your mind. You lay there with your eyes closed, trying to find anything else to think of besides everything that’s on your mind. You try so hard to sleep without Leo that night. 

In spite of your best efforts, and how late you went to bed, you only manage to get a few hours before you’re wide awake. You stare at the ceiling, every part of you begging to be with him, craving him like an addict. You really are trying your best to make it through the night without him, but… You sigh, not knowing how much longer you can do this. You roll over, seriously considering sneaking in to see him. You weigh your options, thinking about how much better you’d feel, how excited he always is when you appear in his doorway. 

But you know if you go to him now, it will seem like you do only want him as a hookup, you actually are just using him for his body. You don’t want him to think that, you’re not sure why but you just don’t. Nico’s words from the kitchen echo in your mind as you let out a shuddering, frustrated sigh. You press your hands into your face. Maybe if you hadn’t been telling him that you’re only using him for his body since you first fucked him, he wouldn’t think that. You roll over, wishing that little voice in your head would shut up.

You know it’s right, but you don’t want to hear it. Not right now. You know that you’ve had a justification for everything for everything you’ve been saying this whole time; you’re only using him for sex and you don’t care about feelings, that the reason you should keep it a secret is so it would be less drama for him, you always spend the night with him because his bed is more comfortable than yours. You believed all that at first, but now, you’re starting to think that maybe those justifications were just that - justifications for getting to be with him. 

Now you’re alone again in your big cold bed, with sheets that still aren’t broken in because you never fucking sleep here. You never sleep in your own bed, because you don’t want to. You want to sleep in Leo’s bed with him, where it’s warm and there’s someone to hold you tight and kiss you on the cheeks and forehead. You want to sleep with your breath mixing with someone else’s, with your limbs tangled up and your chests slowly rising and falling together. 

Of course you want that, of course you want to be held in a big ball of warmth, you don’t know who wouldn’t want that. You ache for him, and it makes your room feel even colder and more empty. Between how late everyone went to bed and how much time you spent deliberating on whether or not you should even try to sneak in and see him, it’s way later than usual. So by the time you finally make your way down the hall and creep into his room, he’s fast asleep. 

Earlier while you were lying awake, staring at your ceiling and agonizing over the events of the past few hours, Leo was down the hall doing the exact same thing. Calypso’s words invade his every thought, and he keeps comparing what she said to everything you’ve done. He knows he's overthought this to death, but it’s relentless. 

He struggles to trust his instincts, to stop doubting himself. Could he have horribly misread everything? Can Calypso see something obvious that he can't? He's never pretended to be objective when it comes to you, but maybe that's not as good of a thing as he thought. He continues beating this dead horse until he eventually passes out. 

He comes to suddenly, unsure of what time it is. He squeezes his eyes shut in frustration that he can’t even sleep through the night after such a wild day like today. More than a little of that upset and frustration is because it’s so much later than usual, and there’s still been no sign of you. He hasn’t seen you since you said you’re not friends, and that horrible self doubt is making him start to think you were serious. A moment later, before his mind can really latch onto that sentence and the way you said it to prove to himself that you were joking (you were joking, right?)  the door to his room opens gently and slowly. Your silhouette appears, familiar and alluring, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest. 

His voice alone is like an oasis, so you do. You go to him without any hesitation. Before you can say anything, he pulls you into his lap firmly and starts kissing you. Every touch from him soothes your frazzled nerves, and you’re so relieved again and again that he keeps letting you in. He grabs your face, pushing his tongue into your mouth, which you gladly accept. He leans into you, and you grab onto his shoulders to stay balanced. 

Your timing couldn’t be more impeccable. He really did think he missed you, or maybe that you wouldn’t come at all tonight. But here you are again, wanting him, searching for his embrace, once again finding solace at his doorstep. Part of him wants to be strong, doesn’t want to fold for you so quickly every single time. But gods, he can’t resist you. He can’t say no to you, the sight of you hovering in his door, waiting for him to wrap you up in his arms, to kiss you dizzy and make you smile. He wants it, too - to be the one that makes you smile. He really just can’t resist you, not even after the exhausting night you both endured. After a moment, he sits up and rolls his eyes, sighing exaggeratedly.

“C’mere.” 

There’s something there tonight, a tinge more dominance to him than usual. It makes you quiver under his touch, even more than you normally would. The way he holds you, the way he pushes his tongue further past your lips makes you really glad you’re on his lap, or you’d definitely be having some trouble standing up.  Leave it to Leo to literally make you weak at the knees after the most stressful day ever. 

He flips you over suddenly, you blink and your back is on his mattress and his hair is falling in your face. Your stomach flips and heat pools between your legs at his every move, every gesture, but especially that one. You pull away enough to say something in your signature snarky, quippy tone, but he doesn’t let you finish. 

“Shut up.” 

His tongue is in your mouth again. There’s still an element of playfulness to his voice, there always is, but you know he means business tonight. You can’t lie, you’re not used to him giving you orders, but you’re not… mad at it. Not at all. He grabs the back of your thighs and pulls you further down the bed so he can climb on top of you properly. Your eyes widen at the gesture, heat and butterflies erupting through you at his touch. At the same time, he pulls your legs further apart to settle himself between them. He continues kissing you in that way that makes you dizzy, shoving one hand between your legs to touch you, start playing with you a little. 

He scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you out for him as arousal drips down your folds. You’re already turned on enough that his skilled fingers make loud sticky wet noises within moments of working their way inside you. He knows exactly what he’s doing, too, hooking his fingers just right against that spot while he flicks his tongue deeper into your mouth. His fingers are so long, effortlessly reaching deeper inside you than you could ever hope to. He really wants to make you squirm tonight, so he grinds the heel of his hand against your clit. It’s just enough to wind you up, tease you without really giving you what you want. 

He focuses his attention on that spot inside you that makes you shudder, and once he feels you start to tighten up, right when you start to get close, he pulls his fingers out. The loss of contact is only for a moment or two, but it’s enough for you to whine into his mouth. He bites your lip in response, and you freeze, flustered at the sensation of his teeth on your skin. He’s really not taking any shit tonight. You had pulled a condom out of thin air a few moments ago, and he grabs it where it lays next to you, forgotten at the feeling of his fingers pushing inside you.

He grabs his cock, squeezing it in his hand and stroking himself a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes his tongue further into your mouth as he bullies his cock into your cunt, reveling in the sensation of your tight, gummy walls giving way to accommodate how hung he is. The tip of his cock bumps against your cervix again and again as he begins fucking you at a brutal pace. Between everything he’s doing and everything he did leading up to this, how close he got you, you already feel like you’re going to cum again. His kisses make you dizzy, and the pace he’s going at is enough to already make your head spin. He’s being rough with you tonight. 

His hands slide into yours and move them above your head, before he secures your wrists in place with one hand. His thrusts have a sharper edge to them, and when his other hand comes down to squeeze the back of your thigh, his grip is firmer than it has been before. You’re already tightening around him, and between the feeling of his body pressing into yours and his cock rubbing hard and fast against every delicious, sensitive spot, it’s only a few more seconds before that coil tightening and building inside you bursts. 

“Already?” He asks with a teasing smirk, lips brushing against yours as he speaks, “Maybe you are a little whore…” He chuckles, before connecting your lips again. There’s a playfulness to his words, and the fact that you know he doesn’t really mean it, that he still respects you as much as he always has, makes what he’s saying even hotter. You moan into his mouth as he keeps bucking his hips into yours. It’s like he’s competing with himself to see how deep inside you he can get, and whatever he’s doing now is winning. 

You can tell he’s pissed off about something - presumably whatever happened between him and his friends and Calypso that you still don’t know the details of - and if fucking you like this gets it out of his system, you’re more than happy to help him. He pounds into you, tantalizing your every nerve with his touch. His hands are all over you, moving from restraining yours to hold your face, squeeze your waist and hips, run up and down your thighs, envelop you in a bear hug that makes you feel even closer to him than you knew to be possible. He fucks the breath out of your lungs, fucks the thoughts out of your head, and you love every minute of it. You crave more. 

By the time the only coherent thought you can manage is Leo, Leo, Leo, a little part of you in the back of your mind realizes that he’s taking control. And you’re letting him. You should be terrified, you should be running for the hills. But you don’t. Somehow, in all your fear, all the walls you’ve built around you, Leo has found a hidden back door you didn’t even know was there. He’s entering slowly, and you’re letting him. For reasons beyond you, you don’t mind letting him hold you, letting him see you vulnerable like this. 

You’re surprised that you’re not scared and terrified to death of letting him do this to you, make you feel like this, but it feels so good. Not just the sex, but the way he looks at you, the way he touches you gently even when he’s obliterating your tight cunt, the way there’s always a sweetness and softness and care to his voice, even when he’s calling you a whore. There’s no situation, not even during rough, angry sex, that he hasn’t been sweeter to you than you knew a person could be. You used to cringe at the idea of aftercare, much less cuddling and snuggling and spending the night, but… maybe there’s a reason you only go back to your own bed at sunrise. 

Even if you could think clearly, you still would have lost track of how many times he’s made you cum long before now. You’ve spent the last… gods know how long with his hands pushing down on your stomach, slipping his fingers into your mouth for you to suck on while he tells you all his dirty thoughts about you. When he’s not muttering and growling things that make you lightheaded to hear, his mouth is everywhere. On your neck, your tits, leaving more hickeys than usual in its wake. He pins your arms above your head again, this time intertwining your fingers with his as he moans, guttural and shameless, into your skin. 

You’ve never seen him angry like this, never seen him pissed off and ready to fuck you hard. It’s surprising, and if you’re being honest, it has you much more turned on than you’d like to admit. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been, just from the way he grabs your face to make you look at him, the way he’ll say something right into your ear that sends chills down your spine and punctuate it with a bite. He fucks you fast and rough, but it still feels more tender than it has with anyone you’ve been with before now. 

Even like this, even when he’s fucking all of his frustrations out into you, he’s still gazing into your eyes, sighing against your skin and holding your hand. It’s still so loving. That underlying tenderness he has towards you that never wavers makes everything he does, every sensation feel even stronger, and you can’t get enough of it. He’s fucking you completely dumb, you don’t think you could form a coherent sentence if you tried right now. 

But what really makes your stomach twist, what really makes your face get hot and makes arousal gush between your legs, dripping down through your sensitive folds, is that he can fuck you like an absolute whore and still be so sweet to you. Not just afterwards when he’s gotten what he wanted, but at the same time. You’ve never met anyone who can do both. 

By the time you've both cum more times than you can count and he's reduced your cunt to a dripping, quivering, twitching mess, it's so late that you’ve passed the gray area between late night and early morning. You look out the window at the sky beginning to lighten in the anticipation of sunrise. Yeah, it's officially early. Leo stands up and stretches, and you can't help but admire his slender waist and stomach as he does. You wish you could get that on camera, watch his pretty muscles glint in the early morning sunrise beginning to illuminate the sky in slow motion. 

You watch him, lying on your stomach, chest pressed against his soft, warm sheets that smell like him. You managed to tug your pajamas back on, a little pair of velvety shorts and matching top in a deep dark red. They’re soft against his bed.  He turns away, and when you see his back, muscular and slender - just like the rest of him. There’s something so hypnotic about boys, their chests and waists and shoulders, the slope of their back where their spine meets their hips. Leo is no exception to this, if anything he perfectly exemplifies everything you love about boys. Your heart is pounding at his every move, and you feel like you could watch him forever.

He takes his time grabbing a black pair of boxers to shimmy into, and you watch him close, admiring him the whole time. Something is nagging at you, making you feel antsy, but you’re too distracted by Leo to pay it any mind. You wait, wondering how soon he’ll take you in his arms and kiss you and cuddle you. It’s not until now, when you have to wait for his touch, that you realize how much you need it. Human contact, sure, but mostly his touch. You want him to hold you in his warm radiator-like embrace. You want his lips on your nose and cheeks, peppering your skin with little kisses. 

It’s not until moments like this that you realize how little touch you actually receive, much less how much you’re actually starting to want it. You never wanted it before now. You never cared about this stuff until him, until you felt the way he touched you, felt the way he looked at you. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, a small part of you can’t deny that you’ve been craving that ever since the first time, craving it so deeply you’d go to lengths you don’t normally go to. Like instigating some of it. 

Your stomach flips at the thought. It’s a risk, a huge risk that you would normally laugh at even considering. But now, when it’s for Leo… Maybe now might be a good time to try and instigate things with him, break the cycle you’re in. Just a little. Maybe you should show him that you kind of like being around him too. That he’s not the only one here that’s… in love. Butterflies swarm through your system and your eyes fall to his sheets. You could. You could try. You trace the thread that forms the seam at the edge, trying to collect yourself. It would be easy. 

You just have to channel that same comfortable, easygoing energy he has with you, the kind that makes him so easy to get along with and love. It’s that light playfulness that makes anyone want to throw their arms around him, shout from the rooftops how he makes you feel. You remember a scene from an old soapy tv show Hazel was watching the other day, what one of the characters said when the love interests finally got together. Yes! Yes, yes, yes! I want to be with you now and always! That’s what the feeling is like, you think. You take a shaky breath. 

But maybe he can’t fix people. Maybe he can’t help someone become a better person by loving them and being patient with them. Maybe was wrong about Calypso, and he’s wrong about you, and he’s just been making a fool of himself this whole time. Maybe he was wrong and Calypso was right; you’re manipulating him and everyone secretly hates him and he’s annoying and unloveable. He can admit that he’s all of those things, but for fuck’s sake, he should still have his dignity. 

“Going so soon…?” It sounds just like something he’d say - in fact, it is something he said to you when you tried to sneak off one night. But coming from you it sounds more unsure than playful. He glances over at your voice.

One look at you, and he’s close to folding. He wants so badly to throw himself in your arms. He wants to pull you close to him and give you all the love that you’re so clearly craving. He aches for it. You look so sweet like this, and for fuck’s sake, you’re trying. Your effort doesn’t go unnoticed, it never does by him. But something holds him back. After the unmitigated disastrous mess he just went through with Calypso, the one thing repeating in his mind like a skipping record is that he doesn’t want to be stuck in endless cycles. He was in a horrible cycle with Calypso. Every time they’d go through the same thing, he would keep expecting it to change, to be different this time, but it never was. He kept giving her chance after chance, hoping it would fix something, that he could just be a better boyfriend and it would fix everything. 

Can he really be so pathetic that he’ll let himself get used by whatever scary, intimidating, incredibly hot girl looks his way just because he believes you’re softer inside than you let on? He sighs sharply. He doesn’t know who he’s kidding, acting like he’s going to suddenly start sticking up for himself like this. He knows it’s just a matter of time before he comes back to you, he’s sure everyone does. He’s not slick, he’s not subtle. When you said at the beginning of all this that you’re just using him for his body and he told you he’s okay with that, he meant it. He’ll take what he can get when it comes to you. As pathetic as it sounds, he knows you both know it’s true. 

“What,” you start with a half joking tone to mask the nerves in your voice, “you’re not gonna stay and cuddle?” You wait for his response, and wonder if it’s obvious how much you crave his touch, the warmth that’s so unique to him.

He really has to muster up every ounce of willpower he has not to kiss you and cuddle you, not to fuck you absolutely stupid again just to see you smile for him, see you at ease in his arms. It’s so much harder than he thought it would be not to press kisses across your cheeks and get you to giggle so sweetly for him like he always does. He deserves to at least pretend to have some dignity. The typhoon of horrible feelings and self doubt wins, and he turns back around, beginning to get dressed instead. The tables are turned, and now you’re the one craving his touch, hoping he’ll come back to bed while you watch him get ready. He lets your question hang unanswered in the air for a few moments.

“I have a project I gotta work on…” he says breezily, not meeting your eye. He refuses to believe what Calypso was so sure of, he’s not whipped for you. She made her points very clear, including the fact that you can’t possibly care about him at all, even as a hookup. 

He’s still unable to escape every harsh, vile word exchanged between him and Calypso - granted most of them were from the latter. She was insistent that you would be fucking someone else if there was anyone more convenient for you. He doesn’t know how much of what she said is true, but he knows he doesn’t want it to be. He wants you to care about him, of course he wants you to care about him. He wants you to want him, the way he wants you. 

Obviously he wants you to think of him, to crave his touch, to love the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles and the sun illuminates his soft curls, just like how he loves the dimples in your back and the way your expression always softens when you think no one is looking. All he wants is for you to be soothed by him, comforted and reassured by his presence, just like how he’s enamored and entranced by yours. You’re… enchanting. You’re so goddamn enchanting with every little thing you do, and for fuck’s sake, all he wants is at least a little reciprocation. 

He wants reciprocity, you want to keep things casual. Or at least, he thinks so. He doesn’t know. He has no idea what you want and he has no idea how to figure it out. He’s tried all the mental gymnastics he has to do with Calypso until he’s completely exhausted himself, and it’s lead nowhere, which means the only thing he can do is assess you, what you’re saying and doing. He pays such close attention to you, nothing gets past him. He notices all of it, your body language, your words, the way you participate even when you pretend it’s reluctant and care about what his friends think. 

It would be so easy for you to ruin everything, for you to talk shit and decimate every attempt to make things nice. He knows, because that’s what Calypso does. But you don’t. You watch mushy romcoms and screwball comedies, you dry dishes and make coffee for Annabeth when you make some for yourself. You tell Hazel when the tag of her shirt is sticking up and help Percy put away groceries. You act like you want to be part of everything.That nagging little voice in the back of his mind gets louder, insisting if you really wanted to be a part of everything that you would be. So you must want to keep things casual, and he must be the one trying to make something out of nothing. 

He would be fine to keep it casual, he really would. But gods, you make it so hard not to fall in love with you. Especially when you act all sweet and coy, when you lay in his bed and look at him bashfully, like you want him, when you act so… girlfriend. Any other day he would have taken that as a sign that he was right about you, that you actually like him and want to be with him. But not this time, not after the… conversation he endured with Calypso last night. Now he looks at you, your actions and motivations from other angles that aren’t there, trying to figure out how you could be doing this to mess with him or manipulate him, what you could be getting out of this. Or worse, that you know how badly he wants you, and you’re just messing with him, yanking his chain. The worst fucking part is that he’d let you. 

All of this culminates into a dry laugh. 

“I didn’t take you for the cuddling type.” 

The last thing he wants is to smother you, or force a relationship on you. It’s just like he told Hazel at the grocery store, he doesn’t want to pressure you into something you’re not ready for. More importantly, he doesn’t want you to be with him if you don’t want to be. Clearly she doesn’t want to be. The voice narrating that particular thought is Calypso’s not his, but the words sting nonetheless. Maybe you should just keep it as friends with benefits, but as you stated just a matter of hours ago, you’re not even really friends. A hookup, he supposes, a booty call. Sneaky link. Whatever words there are to describe the least commitment or emotional intimacy you can have in a… whatever this is. 

You sit up on the bed, facing him. You don’t want it to be obvious, the way your stomach sinks at his words. He’s all you want, and you have no way to convey that to him. 

A flare of excitement washes over you, but he’s too busy scouring your expression for any trace of insincerity to notice. 

“So… what type am I?” You ask lightly, biting your lip. He pauses, knowing you’re asking if you’d be a good girlfriend. You try to keep your tone playful, enough to bring him back from whatever dark place he’s heading toward, just like he’s done for you more times than he knows. But you can’t read his inner monologue. You have no way of knowing it’s Calypso’s voice in his head, dragging him away from you, telling him this is proof that you’re just messing with him, yanking his chain for fun. It’s too much, and the last 24 hours full of bullshit finally have him at a breaking point. He wheels around and marches right over to you, crouching down to your eye level and holding you by the shoulders, making you really look at him.

“Why are you being like this?” He demands. Shock is evident on your face as he continues, finally beginning to get what’s long overdue off his chest. Even like this, even as frustrated and sick of having his feelings toyed with as he is, his touch is still familiar and comforting as a hand-me-down hoodie from a loved one. “Look, I like you a lot-” 

“You know I like you a lot, I’ve made that crystal fucking clear, so I know you know.” He leans in closer to you, desperate to get through to you, “And I know that you act cold, and mean, and detached from everyone and everything, but I don’t believe you’re really like that!”

The sincerity of his voice and the tears brimming in his eyes cut through you like a hot knife. You’re suddenly glad he’s holding onto you so tightly. 

“I know that deep down you’re sweet, and you have feelings that you’ve been trying to hide this whole time! I think you want the same thing everyone else wants - to be loved. I didn’t buy this bullshit act from the second I saw you!” He’s pleading you with everything he’s got for you to really hear him, to listen. “Am I wrong?” He implores, fat tears finally spilling down his cheeks. 

He’s begging you to tell him he’s not. Tears prickle in the corners of your eyes. You just have to say one word. Just tell him he’s been right about you this whole time, confirm his hopes and confess to everything and throw yourself in his arms. One word, and he’s yours. 

Your throat is so tight you can’t get it out. 

His grip on your shoulders loosens, and he leans back, pulling away just enough for you to notice. When he speaks, his voice wavers.

“But you clearly aren’t interested in anything besides just hooking up.” He lets go. He swipes away his tear stained cheeks before his arms fall to his side. “So let’s call it what it is. It will make this a lot easier for both of us, cause in case you didn’t notice, I actually like you a lot. And it’s really hard not to cross a line when you act all cute and…” he gestures vaguely to you now, gripping his pillow and looking up at him with glistening eyes before dropping your gaze, unable to hold his. 

He’s a strange, conflicting combination of detached and fired up over you. He wants you to tell him he’s wrong. For the love of gods, please tell him he’s wrong. Tell him you actually do like him, maybe you even more than like him. You just need to say it and put all the self doubt, and bullshit from Calypso to rest once and for all. His words repeat in your mind, ringing clear like a bell. He likes you. Oh god, he likes you. He actually likes you that much, and seeing him in this state because of you is killing you. You can do it, you can say it back. 

You can feel yourself about to spill your guts, teetering on the precipice of confessing everything to him. You want to say it, you want to tell him that you like him, you might even love him. You have no idea what that even means, but you can’t think of any other words to explain how you feel about him. For a moment, you wonder if it would be so bad. How scary could it really be to look him in the eyes and tell him the truth. You’re considering, you’re about to do it. The impulse is almost about to win, but your throat stays just as tightened up as it has been. 

Every kind, honest word you were about to say to him dies in your mouth, leaving as a strangled sigh. Why can’t you say it? Your brow furrows as fear creeps in. You don’t want to lose him. You can’t lose him. Preemptive guilt starts seeping through you as your mind only finds one option, over and over, no matter how many times it speed runs searching for a way to fix this, and only finding one. Maybe it is selfish. Maybe Calypso is right, and you’re an evil, manipulative bitch that’s keeping Leo all for yourself, but you don’t care. You know one thing right now; you can’t lose him.

“Don’t try to cute your way out of this.” He says incredulously, removing your hand from his hair. You freeze, blanching at the unexpected reaction. He’s not bending. He’s not affected by you at all. This doesn’t make sense. You just turned up your sex appeal so high that he should be cumming in his pants right now. Before you can be any more confused than you are, Nico’s words suddenly resurface in your memory. 

You never wanted to do this to him, you promised yourself you never would, but you don’t have a choice. You blink away your tears and ramp up your sex appeal as high as it can possibly go, feeling the dizzying rush of power as you do. You reach out with it, grabbing him in a chokehold of seduction, and crawl across the bed to kneel in front of him, chest to chest. You let out a soft giggle that will make his knees literally buckle, and send all the blood straight from his brain to his dick, just like you want.

“Hey…” you say, soft as summer sunshine, and run your hands over his chest. You twirl his soft curls between your fingers, knowing he’ll be putty in your hands by the time you finish your sentence. “Let’s just get along-” 

The only person a child of Eros’s sex appeal doesn’t work on is their soulmate.

Your heart starts pounding even harder, blood rushing through your head as you panic. Your mind is racing, unable to keep up with the implications of what just happened. You don’t have time to even try and process this before your flight response wins. You’re tugging on a jacket and shoes, flying out the door before you even realize you got up. You run. You don’t know where to, all you know is that the longer this sinks in, the more you freak out over it. And that spot on your back hurts worse than it ever has. 

[tutuandscoot]

I haven’t seen Moulin Rouge so I don’t know the storyline/characters well. How do you interpret Scott in the Roxanne portion? I’m asking about the Olympics version specifically, not the original version. Some people say he’s Christian the whole way through the program but that confuses me? In the Roxanne doc T says she’s “like his puppet” and that’s how I think of it. I think the first half of the program the focus is T’s character and S is more of a threatening figure/force/energy/idk rather than a character. Like he’s this “puppet master” figure and he’s playing off of her. Then somewhere around the Carmen rotational lift he slides into the character of Christian. But I could be way off. How would you best explain his part?

So I have talked about my take on this quite a few times but ofc I’m happy to explain again!

I only watched MR for the first time about 6 months ago and I saw the stage show about 1 year ago. VM’s moulin rouge was always amazing to me though I did find myself kinda making up my own story as a I watched it, now having seen the movie it makes so much more sense and the way I had mostly interpreted the program holds up.

(I’ll give a super brief synopsis first) In the movie Satine works at.. essentially a brothel that moonlights as a theatre company (set in the late 1800’s in Paris), the theatre (named The Moulin Rouge) is desperately bankrupt and may close down, leaving all the performers essentially homeless and forced out to work on the streets (you should know what I mean by that) Satine is the star of the show but nonetheless of it fails she will be helpless and left for dead too. Christian is an aspiring writer from London who shows up in Paris, gets taken to the MR and immediately falls in love with Satine. On this night, the man who runs the theatre has an investor there to watch and potentially fund the theatre, Satine is employed to seduce (F’ck him) to keep the theatre running.

Etc etc etc.. she meets Christian and they fall in love but the have to keep it secret bc she is still wooing the investor.

In the movie (not to spoil too much) but the scene where Roxanne is sung, Satine must ‘go through’ with letting the investor (he’s called the ‘duke’) r*pe her. It cuts between that scene and Christian fearful and heart broken at what Satine is going through, when really he and her could just run off together and never live this life again.

So, I have mostly always interpreted the first half of their program (so the part set to Roxanne) as Scott not actually playing any one character- not Christian but also not the duke. I view it as him playing a manifestation of the life Satine has lived, having to seduce these men and be abused just to stay alive, be this sparking light in this long running theatre production that everyone loves but in reality she is a terrified slave. She has never been allowed to love for the sake of love- she loves for money.

So there is choreography of him grabbing her and stalking her and getting in her face. There were more violent pieces of chore in the original version like in the circle step sequence where he’s just straight up choking her. It’s super upsetting makes your heart ache for T and the character she is playing (bc they are both such beautiful actors it feels so honest),

Sorry, we’re talking about the olys version.

So yes, I interpret it the exact same way as you. Between GPF and Nationals they softened his character a bit to make it more about T’s character- not ‘softened’ like as in their precious loving hugs, but made him less of a domineering presence and instead more of shadow/threat lurking behind her and controlling her every move- he’s controlling her like a puppet- she has no will of her own in the environment she’s trapped in, must perform (both on stage and in the bedroom) upon command. (The movie is not that dark graphically- only in context/undertone and VM definitely psychologically lean into those dark undertones in their program while not performing the most R rated chore possible).

In the olys version I feel his (lack of) character starts to shed from him as they finish the circle step sequence and he stars playing more into Christian’s character and the lyrics and singing get more desperate and it’s very reminiscent of the scene in the movie where he’s so desperate to help her (see my breakdown essay on the rotational lift I explain this part).

When they talk about the jealously in S’s acting I dont interpret so much as the jealousy of Christian but more of the duke being jealous that Satine doesn’t actually love him, even though he doesn’t actually care about that- he just wants attention and his d*ck handled and probs enjoys abusing women bc he can.

It is a bit confusing and I think to understand even the surface level nuances they were feeling and portraying takes multiple watches. It can also I think be interpreted different ways which is fine.

It never made sense to me, even without seeing the movie, that he would be playing the character of Christian the whole way through- I don’t see how she could fall in love with a man who has spent that whole time manipulating her/ abusing her/ playing with her heart.

But then if you did want to interpret it as that.. and just forget about the connection to the story of MR, it could be seen as a bit of a broad comment on the idea of Stockholm Syndrome.. or even a comment on domestic abuse in its self. I’m certainly not inclined to interpret the whole program like this, more so I feel they are themes that could be pulled from it depending on how you looks at- that’s the great think about art.

It does make me think a bit- going with a program like this that is based on a well known movie, well known music and very of the musical theatre genre.. it was a very risky direction to go in such an important season of competition bc while Moulin Rouge is well known, it’s more those two words that are well known- some associate it with the actual MR in Paris, some the movie, some the touring musical (I associate it with my first ever competition dance group where we did ‘Diamonds’), and so if you don’t know the story of the movie… like it’s pretty clear the general structure of the story and that they fall in love and she dies at the end, but the nuances no and then if you have seen the movie, how do you then interpret their characters??

That’s what’s hard and has always bothered me about figure skating- like when people use music from ballets- say for eg Swan Lake and they are dressed as either a white or a black swan but use random pieces of music from throughout the ballet. Swan lake is a 4 act ballet and odile (the black swan) doesn’t turn up till the 3rd act, but some skaters will come out dressed as a black swan but will be using music from the white swan pdd- which is a completely different part of the story and is a different character all together. It really bothers me. If they were to just use white swan (so act 2or 4) and dress as a white swan and they interpreted a specific part from the 3 hour ballet- that would make more sense to me.

What VM did I think now having seen different version of the MR story; they very start with the stat. lift is like a prologue- an introduction/sets the scene. Then moves through kinda what happens behind the scenes at the MR, not the flashy costumes and dancers- that’s where they really interpret the darker themes of the story. The end of Roxanne really encapsulates this pivotal scene in the movie, then Come What May is just all about them and celebrating their love (both in the story and VM..). The death scene in the Olympics version is a bit quick- I really liked the time they took and the emotion poor out of them in that chore earlier in the season, but the final lift in the olys is so iconic and you know exactly what it means- what has happened to her. I really love how they centred the story around T’s character and had her go through and portray all these emotions, while not it anyway was S a background player - it could not have been done with anyone else but those two. The story in this case works in a skating program format because they do manage to tell a story arc that respects the source material- without skipping over parts/ too many music changes.. it’s just extremely well designed and executed piece of art.

It was so incredibly brave of them to go this way bc it was truly something different not just for them but in the direction ice dance was going and has since gone- it really was (I think) the last true ‘showstopping’ program by far on par with and imo more iconic than Bolero and even their Mahler.. but it could’ve done so wrong in the hands of any other ID team, team of assisting coaches, choreographers. If they weren’t the best athletes their sport had ever seen with the skating elements executed near perfectly, then if they weren’t such beautiful actors and dancers with chemistry so hot it melts the ice… the judges may not have got it and it would’ve flipped- only in VM could this program not just flop, but be as iconic as the movie it’s based on (baz essentially said so) .

[enihk-writes]

i read your comment reply to the "x reader needs to be completely ambiguous" post and i have to say, i agree with your whole statement.

i am a poc fanfic writer myself and i think it is weirdly entitled when someone demands inclusion in that way? the majority of fanfic nowadays gives correct tags (i.e. f!reader or specific title!reader) and is inclusive enough (not using light/dark when talking of colours of skin/eyes/hair, not specificying on body type just saying that are shorter/taller than certain characters)

so I don't really understand OP's whole... rant. and about the whole personality and bg story? most long fics require some adequate backstory for their protagonist a.k.a the reader, so they need a backstory to be somewhat interesting right?

and did you read their PS 2? I have to say that writing ambiguous readers are easier (not easy, just less difficult) on short stories like drabbles or headcanons or one shots. but long fics? it is borderline impossible unless you want to have a boring 2-dimensional protagonist with the personality of a potato.

not to mention writers who write the untagged oc! reader stories are probably young. like 14 15 young. writers at that age are just writing for themselves and probably are new to the whole "writing for fandom" sphere.

idk anymore, I just wanna say I agree with your statement even if I'm afraid to reveal myself bc I'm scared of getting cancelled lmfaooo

i just saw their ps 2 and i personally think they're doubling down on a point just because someone else might not agree with them... ive been writing fanfiction since i was 13,,, im like 22 now, and i feel like what people in fandom nowadays (fuck i sound like a boomer urggghhh) forget that x readers were created as a form of self-insert. you as a reader just happen to have the "privilege" to also read this piece of fanfiction that someone else created to satisfy their own fantasies and thought that "hey i think someone like me out there might enjoy this too!!!"

i wouldn't say their rant is entitled, i guess they're not wrong but also,,, it's icky,, just that something in that rant is icky to me,,, ive seen this same argument over and over again in the past few years and many people have pointed out really good points (i.e. lack of poc rep) which is why i think it's great to highlight and boost poc!reader fanfics so that other poc writers know that they are appreciated in that fandom space!!! which brings me to the part in their rant where they talk about writing about ambiguous readers.

is it easy? to an extent, yes.

in my mind when i write fanfics, they are all faceless, shapeless entities,, but there is only so much i can do with this character that i cannot imagine. what happens when i want to explore certain topics that i might relate to? i can't expect my readers to understand what it's like being a first-generation immigrant in a first-world city, whose home country is now going through a civil war? but does that mean i'm going to not post what i write as an x reader? no! i'm going to post it so that you as a reader can see what goes on in my head, how i see the world and hopefully, that reader can appreciate the work i have put out that i wrote with my heart.

that's my side of the story. and honestly someone not liking a fic because it doesn't relate to them is the most self-centred take i have seen and it used to be a valid argument but now,,,, it's morphing into plain old "what about me?" and they end the conversation at that,,, like why should writers care about you? if you're not the target audience for these fics,, move on!!!

if you are, great! good for you!

if you want to see something specific, open that fucking word document and write!!!! im so tired of seeing people complain and complain without doing anything to change things themselves like okay boss babes let's stop with the lip service and do something with the abilities you have!!! it's going to be the shittest writing ever the first few times but by your 10th or 20th fanfic you are getting somewhere, you are writing the literature you want to see in fandom spaces and who knows,,, you could find your own audience that loves your niche!!!

maybe it's just the way ive been raised but the amount of self-centred individualistic sentiment that has been going on in recent years is so!!!!!! it makes me want to fucking scream!!!! write it yourself!!! do it yourself!!!! im not obliged to write anybody's preferences other than my own!!!!