#not proofread dont judge

[lostinlovingrevery]

Just a thought and no offense but I think Logan just wants to be in love and feel loved in return.

(This isnt proofread and came out as rambling so have fun trying to read it and decipher it! 😅)

So WE ALL know that Logan can be flirty, and that he may have had a period where he was a bit of a manwhore (*cough* 70s Logan *cough*)

I feel like that period though, and any other flings, one night stands, etc whatever was less out of lust and more of a desperation to feel SOME kind of human connection bc the mans so lonely and has been treated like a soldier, a weapon for so long that hes desperate for human connection, even if it makes him end up feeling depraved afterwards. Post-nut clarity wakes him up next to some girl he met at a bar, and guilt sinks its teeth into him because he doesnt even know her name, much less actually LIKE her. The man was born in the 1800s, he may have grown with time but you cannot tell me theres not some inkling of being a gentleman- and wanting to find someone you truly love, hidden in there somewhere. I think overtime he may fall into this routine, believing he needed to be a walking sex magnet, gruff, cocky, whatever have you because hes convinced its the only way he can have a connection with someone, even if its for a few passionate moments under bedsheets, and an awkward "that was nice. Bye"

It only fuels his self hatred, convincing him that he really his just an animal, looking to get his sick desires out, eat, fuck, sleep, survive.

When we see him in the X movies, as a cage fighter he is brutal and rough and he doesnt seem to have a caring bone in his body yet he still manages to find himself caring about this young girl who stowawayed in his trailer, and does help her, even if he acts like this version of logan he created. Someone who doesnt care. But he cares. A lot.

Its not until he meets YOU, that he starts to wonder if he got it all wrong. Kind, beautiful, smart YOU.

I fully believe that logan just wants a partner. One night stands, flings, what have you, were just him lying to himself, desperate to feel something other than hate. After he lost his memories, and he began just wandering, the concept of love was lost on him. And lust wasnt there anymore either. He was approached by women, perfectly fine, pretty women, all the time during his time cage fighting, bars, etc. He turned them all away- completely opposite of logan 30-40 years ago (my timing probs not right on xmen lol) who was convinced the only way he was living was if he had ass next to him every night he went to sleep because he was lonely. This version of logan, lost, angry, wanted nothing to do with people. Some of it the repressed feelings coming out from his past that he doesnt even remember. He was convinced then that he had to be alone. Becoming a lone wolf that bared his teeth at anyone who tried to pet it. Secretly though, deep down although he wouldnt admit it, there was that deep desire, that he always felt in his 200 years, that he just wanted to find his mate. He'd call soulmates bullshit if you asked him, but the moment he meets you, hed know that it was real, and that maybe god cursed (gifted) him the ability of healing and practical immortality just so he could find you. And hed do it over and over again, the pain and suffering and loneliness, if it meant you would be the endgoal.

Logan is a pack animal. He needed a family, to protect, and cherish. When he meets and ends up at the x-men, his demeanor and attitude changes quickly to something similar to a dog that snaps at you when you pet it only for it to whine and whimper "im sorry, please dont hate me, i just dont know how to accept love.". Hes still wary, because hed never KNOWN a family before. Put aside his memory loss, the closest things he had to a family was a creep of a brother, and a woman who said she loved him under false pretenses (i still dont like you kayla even if you say it was real). He barely knew his parents, and even then that was a lie because his father wasnt even his biological father. Yeah, Logans life was pretty damn lonely, so its no wonder the man is cautious of anybody and anything.

The moment you come into his life though, that bitterness, anger, and meaningless flirting goes right out the window. Hes serious about you. Hes usually cautious, nervous around people but he meets you and its almost like he threw all those imaginary rules he has for himself out of the window.

Look at how he was with Jean in the movies. He barely knew the woman, they barely shared ANY lines in the movie yet he was almost completely devoted (dont get me started on that storyline). Trust didnt come easy to the wolverine. And Kayla- their relationship just shows how much he wants love and to be loved. I never seen origins but a lot of gifsets and read the synopsis of the plot, but i think he had a feeling with Kayla he couldnt trust (remember how he says hell never go against his gut again?) But he so badly just wanted that connection he ignored all the warning signs and did everything to build a life with this woman who not only tricked him, but put him through unimaginable pain both physically and mentally. (Look I REALLY dont like kayla but i do feel bad for her because stryker did have her sister captive). I know stryker is the evil mastermind here, but god imagine trying to find love with someone, only for it all to be a farce, even if they claimed they did love you the entire time- the intentions from the very beginning was far from love.

Oh but when he is in love with you. From the moment he met you, it wasnt love at first sight exactly, more like a feeling that you were it. Hes all about you. He sticks around, under the pretense that he just needed to make some money first, doing some missions for charles, keep an eye on rogue. He cant admit its because he wants to stay close to you. Hes like a feral cat taking shelter in your shed. Stays away at first, cautious of your spspspsp, but curious nonetheless. Completely ignores the first bowl of food you put down for it- or so you thought because when you came back it was completely devoured. It takes weeks of food and spspsps before it finally warms up to you, but after that first contact with your hand and its head- good luck ever getting rid of it. Not that youd want to 😊

Logan becomes a shadow to you, once you become something akin to friends. (Its really more than that but no ones addressed it). He teases you and flirts with you, and its something you think he does with everyone, until Ororo tells you that he only does it to you. Sometimes he just sits in your company, other times hes curious about what youre working on, not wanting to start the convo, but does things like leering over your shoulder (which he may or may not be doing just to he close to you and get a good whiff of the smell of your hair). He stresses when you go on missions without him. He slowly opens up about his past to you when he begins to get his memories back. Trusting only you (and maybe charles) with the truth ablut the man he used to be, and still is.

When your feelings finally do come out in the open though, however it happens, that first kiss, the first time you make love, etc etc. Logans a different man. I mean, hes still that cocky, grumpy person we all know and love. But he carried himself differently. Hes confident and wiser, hes comfortable, and hes happy. He found a home, his pack. And maybe after countless conversations about his past, the things hes done, and the comforting words and understandings you give him, he starts to learn that he isnt so bad, because if you love him, YOU, the most wonderful person hes ever known in 200 years, love him despite all of his violence and hatred and slight whoreish tendecies back in the 70s...then he must be alright.

He doesnt need to worry about his past anymore, when hes got you, right there with him, promising a loving future together.

[mapofsouthdakota]

Plated V

The knives are sharp. The heat’s real. Love has no place here—so why does it keep showing up?

Synopsis: In a heat-soaked kitchen where pressure simmers and perfection is law, you stand shoulder to shoulder with a team of brilliant misfits—each carrying their own scars, secrets, and fire.

From Caleb’s controlled intensity to Sylus’s velvet power plays, Rafayel’s chaotic beauty, Zayne’s surgical focus, and Xavier’s quiet steadiness, every shift cuts deeper than the last.

This is a story of tension, taste, and slow-burn hearts—where trust is plated, feelings are forbidden, and love might just be the most dangerous ingredient.

Details: 7500ish words. The Bear AU. Non MC! reader. 18+ harem drama. Whole crew is present but this is my homage to Zayne and his importance to the reader. Expect flirting, hurt, passion and umh yea no spoilers but expect intimate, smuttt, explicit, notinoti content (I loved writing this icl). Oh, there’s mention of blood so trigger warning I guess. You are warned.

Chapters: ramble, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

Tags: @gavin3469 @animegamerfox @beaconsxd

Counting scars | Chapter five

The street’s quiet when you step out of Plated. That strange hour between night and morning—when the city’s holding its breath and nothing feels real. Not even the ache in your spine or the champagne still whispering on your tongue.

Leaning against the brick façade like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Drenched in sweat, air still catching in his lungs. His shirt clings to him—thin cotton and skin, every line of his body carved in sharp relief. Shorts. Running shoes. AirPods in.

He’s always run. Since culinary school. A ritual. A way to stay sharp.

But not like this.

Not at four in the morning.

Caleb only runs this early when something’s unraveling. When the silence gets too loud and sleep won’t come. You saw it back then—those mornings he’d show up to class wired and wordless, eyes distant, hands steady only in the kitchen. You know the pattern. You knew it then.

And you know it now.

He’s burning again.

And this time, you’re not sure if you want to be the one to put the fire out.

Slowly, he lifts his head when he sees you. His eyes soften—surprised, hopeful, something flickering in the glow of the streetlight. He pulls one earbud out as you approach, the other still in—like he hadn’t expected the encounter to land here. Like he’d planned to keep running until he found you.

And maybe that was the plan.

He always had ways of checking where you were. Even back then. This—this is just another one of those quiet check-ins dressed up like coincidence.

“You were here,” he says, like it caught him off guard.

You meet his gaze, flat. “I work here. Unlike you, if the rumors are true.”

That makes him pause. Just for a second. His mouth opens—then shuts. No defense. No explanation. You don’t say what’s pulsing under your skin, what wants to snap out loud.

Coward.

But you don’t need to say it. You think he already knows.

Violet eyes search yours, quiet for a moment. The early morning air curls between you, cool against your skin, thick with everything that hasn’t been said.

You fold your arms, tilt your head slightly. “How did you know I’d be here?”

Caleb exhales through his nose—sharp but not cold. “I didn’t.” He pauses. “Had a hunch.”

You raise a brow. “That all?”

His mouth tugs into the faintest smile. Not smug. Not smug yet. “You think I don’t keep tabs on you?”

You say nothing. Just stare.

A step closes the space between you, shoes soft against the pavement. “I used to be better at reading you,” Caleb says. “Back in school, I could tell by the way you held your knife if you were about to cry or throw it.”

You scoff, just barely. “Not a flattering comparison.”

Caleb’s smile fades, not completely, but it softens at the edges. “I’ve missed you, Hotshot.”

The words land quiet. Honest. Uncomplicated.

He means them. And he’s not trying to twist them into something more.

Eyes drop to the crack in the concrete between you. “You left,” you say, voice steadier than you expect. “You didn’t even look back.”

“I couldn’t,” he says. “Because I knew if I did, I’d stay. And I was already halfway gone.”

That lands harder. His eyes lift to your mouth—just for a second, to the faint bruise he hadn’t noticed until now.

And something in his expression shifts. Again.

Another step, slow and careful. “Did I do that?” The words come quiet. Tense.

You blink. “What?”

“In the storage room,” he says, voice low—uncertain. His hand lifts halfway, hesitates, then points with quiet precision to your lips. “Did I—?” His gaze doesn’t leave your mouth, like the bruise is speaking louder than you ever could.

“No.” Your answer is quick, firm. “It wasn’t you.”

A pause. His jaw tightens. And then you see it—jealousy, sharp and quick. And something deeper beneath it. Guilt, maybe. Regret. His hand drops, only to rise again—camouflaged in motion—as he runs it through his damp hair like that was all it meant to do.

“I figured,” he mutters. “But it doesn’t make it easier.”

“Does it matter?” you ask, sharper than you meant to.

Like a wire pulled too tight, he tenses. Then: “I want to tell you everything. I will. But the plan isn’t done yet. It’s close. And when it’s ready… I want you in it. If you still want to be.”

You cross your arms. “You left.”

“I never wanted to be your boss,” he says, voice rough now. “Not once. You walked into that kitchen and I didn’t know what the hell to do with myself. I couldn’t be near you and not want more.”

“And running from Sylus was the solution?”

He scoffs. “Sylus doesn’t let people burn. He just watches them light themselves up and decides if they’re strong enough to survive it.”

You step in then. “You’re not being fair. He gave me space. He trusted me to take the line just hours ago.”

Caleb nods slowly. “Yeah. Because you can. Because you were always going to. That’s why I had to go.”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t have the energy to explain how tired you are of chasing his timing. Of holding everything in while he decides when he’s ready. Of waiting for a future you’re not even sure he sees clearly.

He senses it. All of it.

“Can I…?” he starts. But the words don’t come.

Not yet. So instead, you look at him—sweaty, raw, achingly beautiful—and all you can think is:

You always leave me breathless.

… And never tell me where to put it.

He leans in—cautious like he’s unsure whether he still has the right—but his arms wrap around you with the same warmth they always had. Familiar. Steady. And that’s all it takes.

The dam breaks.

“I held the fucking line today, Caleb.” It comes out like a breath you’ve been holding too long. A confession. A reckoning. “That’s why I was here late. That’s why I look like this.”

His hands still on your back.

Just enough distance opens between you so your eyes can meet, your voice trembling on the edge of truth. “I burned, Caleb. I felt it. That thing you do—pushing through, putting yourself second. I get it now. It’s not strength. It’s… it’s survival. And it fucking hurts.”

His mouth parts, a protest on the edge—but it never comes. Just a flicker of something raw in his expression, a crack where certainty used to be. “I don’t want that for you,” he says quietly. “Not the way it happened to me.”

You laugh, bitter and breathless, tears spilling hot across your cheeks. “Then why’d you put me here? Why’d you walk out on all of us? On me? You knew what would happen.”

He flinches. A small, involuntary twitch in his jaw. “I thought—”

“No,” you cut in. “You ran, Caleb. You always run. And we’re the ones left picking up the pieces.”

Silence crashes between you. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t defend himself.

Just stands there. In his sweat-soaked shirt. Violet eyes wide. Still panting from his run.

And somehow, still trying to find the right words.

But the thing is—you’re not sure there are any.

Your car pulls up to the curb with a soft brake squeal.

You reach for the handle.

He speaks fast. “Wait—”

But you’ve already opened the door.

“Don’t,” you say, climbing in. “Not if you’re just going to lie to me again.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re not telling me everything. That’s the same thing.” You slam the door before he can finish whatever excuse was forming in his mouth.

Inside the car, your breath comes shallow. You’re shaking. Infuriated.

Again. Always again with him. Always the closed-off glances, the cryptic promises, the later and not yet and someday.

The second you’re in the cab, the tears come out again hot. Furious. Not fragile. Not soft. You swipe at them with the heel of your hand, sharp and quick, like they’ve betrayed you.

Like he has. Again.

Your phone lights up.

CALEB: Please. Just… pick up.

You’re shaking. Not with heartbreak—but with something sharper. Something old and red and jagged.

He keeps calling.

You pick up.

“What,” you snap, voice cracked raw with salt and flame.

There’s a pause on the line. His breath stutters.

“I can’t tell you yet,” he says. “But it’ll be good. I swear. It’ll be worth it.”

You almost laugh. It’s hollow. Cold.

“You’ve said that before.”

“I know,” he breathes. “And I’m sorry. I am. I don’t blame you for anything. I swear I don’t. I just—”

A beat.

“Please have patience with me.”

You don’t even bother replying.

You hang up.

Hard.

The screen goes dark, and your hand drops uselessly to your lap. Your other curls into a fist, knuckles white, like it’s the only thing keeping you from slamming it against the glass. You press your forehead there instead, letting the cold bleed into your skin, hoping it’ll numb something.

The city rushes past—blurring into golds and reds and violet neon. Too fast. Too bright. Too much.

And in your chest?

Rage. Not grief.

You’re done crying over him.

From now on, he gets fire.

When the car stops at your corner, you just stand there. Watching the sky shift from midnight blue to a pale, bruised lavender. That strange, in-between hour when the world hasn’t decided if it’s morning or still night. The streetlights flicker like they’re second-guessing themselves. The air holds the chill of something unfinished.

The bar next to your building is open. Dim. Soft music bleeding out through the brick like a sigh too tired to whisper. Inside, shadows move slow. The kind of place where last calls blur into first regrets.

You glance sideways.

You don’t hesitate.

You march.

Shoulders squared, jaw tight, fury still humming in your veins. You shove open the bar door like it insulted your ancestors. The bell above it rattles, scared for its life. Someone glances up—you don’t care.

You beeline to the bar. No preamble.

“Vodka. No ice.” Your voice could cut granite.

The bartender nods, silent.

You plant your elbows on the counter like you’re staking claim. Like this barstool is your war throne. You down the vodka in one go—barely flinch—then slam the glass down like a challenge to the gods.

“Double it,” you say, voice sharp. “And keep ‘em coming.”

The bartender raises a brow, but nods.

You don’t look up. Not until the second drink is halfway to your lips and a voice rasps nearby.

“You always order like you’re declaring war.”

You turn.

Zayne.

Hunched at the far end of the bar, half-drunk and half-asleep. His black hair is a little mussed, like he’s run his fingers through it too many times. Silver-framed glasses sit slightly lower on his nose, catching the low light, hazel-green eyes beneath them tired but unmistakably tracking you.

His button-down is wrinkled at the seams, sleeves rolled once. The soft lighting catches the scattered scars across his forearms—clean, pale reminders of past services, accidents, discipline.

In front of him: three empty cocktail glasses.

Tropical.

Fruity.

Bright little umbrellas skewed like battle flags.

And one more drink still in hand—something with a ridiculous name like Flaming Lovechild, a sugared rim, probably passion fruit or guava-based. Definitely pink. Definitely strong.

You blink.

Of course.

Culinary school comes rushing back—Zayne meticulously avoiding beer or shots or anything remotely bitter. But he’d knock back a dessert wine like it was a love letter and demolish a mango daiquiri.

Tonight, apparently, was one of those nights.

He glances at the drinks, then at you. “I had a day.”

You walk over. No words at first. Just a gentle pat between his shoulder blades—right at the base of his neck, where the tension always coils.

He stiffens.

Instinct.

Then turns.

And the second his eyes find yours—he exhales. Shoulders slumping. Like you just pulled him out of the walk-in freezer with your bare hands.

“Hey,” you say quietly, sliding onto the stool beside him.

And for a moment, just one thread of stillness in the chaos, your anger at Caleb dulls—muted by the calm Zayne wraps around you without even trying. Something about him—his presence, his scent like cold metal softened by pale florals—settles you. Not all the way. But enough.

He gives you a crooked half-smile, tired around the edges. “Didn’t expect company.”

“You okay?”

Zayne snorts softly and glances at the drink in his hand. “Define ‘okay.’” His voice isn’t sharp—it’s dull around the edges. Numb.

“Lost the kitchen. Watched you step in and do it better.” A pause. He lifts the drink, doesn’t sip. Just turns it slowly in his hand, watching the sugar rim sparkle. “Didn’t even crash and burn. Just… slipped.”

His jaw tightens. “You saved it. Of course you did. Because that’s what you do.”

You blink. “Zayne—”

He cuts in, soft but firm. “You don’t need to say anything, Ace. You were incredible. I mean that.”

The bar hums low around you. Somewhere behind the counter, a blender whirs and dies. The sound barely reaches either of you.

“You remember school?” he murmurs. “You and Caleb always arguing about the texture of foam. About whether butter should hit the pan before or after the heat.”

You smile faintly. “We were insufferable.”

“You were both brilliant,” he says. “In your own ways. I knew it even then.” A beat. “I listened. Every word. Even when I was pretending not to.”

Beside you, the weight shifts—quiet and internal. The way he’s turning his own failure over in his hands like a pebble he doesn’t know how to let go of.

“I’m not jealous,” he says, voice a little tighter. “Just… disappointed. In me.”

And you can’t blame him for bringing up Caleb. It was part of the story. Part of yours. Part of his. Still—his name feels like flint striking against your ribs, lighting the anger again in slow sparks.

Zayne watches you with that same stillness he’s always had—like nothing shakes him unless he lets it. But tonight, your fury is a ripple even he can’t ignore. The edge in your breath. The tension in your jaw. The way your hand curls around your glass like it’s the only thing keeping you from exploding.

He leans back just slightly, eyes scanning you. Then, evenly, almost too softly:

“So what’s going on with you?”

Not accusing. Not pushing.

Just Zayne. Level. Curious. Waiting for the truth like he already half-knows it.

“I just saw him,” you reply. No buildup. “Outside Plated. At four in the goddamn morning.”

Zayne’s brow lifts slightly. “Let me guess. A speech?”

You bark a bitter laugh, pressing the heel of your palm to your temple. “A fucking monologue. Said he’s got a plan. Said he still wants me. Said it’s not done yet.”

The glass moves first—slow circles traced in condensation, quiet and rhythmic. He doesn’t interrupt.

Your voice fractures. “I’m done, Zayne. I’m done with the promises and the waiting and the being good enough for later.”

“You were always hot when you were pissed,” Zayne says, voice low, words just a touch slower than usual—tipsy, but composed.

You blink, caught off guard. “That’s your takeaway?”

He smirks—barely. A shift in one corner of his mouth, glasses catching the light. “I said what I said.” And then, quieter, more sober: “But you didn’t deserve that. You never did.” A pause. His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then lifts again. “And he never deserved you.”

The moment hushes again, like it knows better than to intrude. Your chest rises and falls, heat lingering behind your eyes.

Zayne watches you a second longer, then reaches slowly for his drink, as if debating something. He doesn’t sip it. Just says, “I’ve still got water. If you want it. Or… whatever else you need.”

You don’t respond. Not at first. The knot in your chest is made of pride and fury and sympathy you don’t know where to put.

And then—without warning—he leans in.

The kiss is soft. Warm. Not desperate.

Just honest.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. Breath warm. Still.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Just—needed to know what that felt like. Before it’s… impossible.”

You exhale.

Not because it’s an answer.

But because you don’t have one yet.

Your heart’s still catching up.

“… impossible?” you echo, voice soft, uncertain.

Zayne’s eyes don’t flinch away, but the glass shifts slightly in his hand. He huffs a small, humorless breath.

“You’re going to be my boss. Soon.” He says it like fact, not fear. “And Caleb…” His voice trails, but you know what he means. What he’s circling. “I could never say things like he did. Never knew how to tell you what you needed to hear when you needed it. Not like him. And I never will.”

You stare at him. Then shake your head, slow.

“No,” you murmur. “I didn’t need speeches.”

Fingers stretch across the space and settle over his hand, grounding without a word.

You look at him, biting back the way your throat aches. “I needed someone to hand me a glass of water when Caleb left me half-undressed and crying in the walk-in back in school. I needed someone who just… stayed.”

He looks like you’ve just carved something open inside him.

And you lean in. Soft. Just a kiss on his cheek.

But he turns—instinct or hope, you don’t know—and the motion lines up.

Mouth to mouth.

He kisses you again.

And you let him.

It tastes like alcohol and regret and something quieter underneath. Something older. It’s not the kind of kiss that demands. It just… lands.

You pull back first, breath catching in your throat, cheeks hot. “This is—” You clear your throat. “—maybe not the worst idea we’ve ever had. But maybe not when I’m fuming and you’re half-drunk.”

Zayne laughs softly, low and dry. “Then that narrows the window.” He glances at his glass. “Alcohol helps. Just takes the edge off all the things I don’t say. Or do.”

You don’t answer right away.

But your hand doesn’t move from where it’s resting on his arm.

“I have an idea,” you murmur.

He watches you like he’s waiting for a punchline. Like he’s already preparing to shrug it off.

But you hold steady. “If you’re willing to test it out.”

Zayne doesn’t answer right away. He glances at his drink. Then at you. Then down at where your hand wraps around his forearm. Finally—quietly—he says, “Feels a little like school again. When things got too loud, and we’d find some quiet… however we could.”

His eyes flick to yours. Not a question. Not a push. Just memory, left open-ended.

You nod—once. Slow.

That nap in Sylus’ lap taught you more than you’d care to admit about the kind of quiet your body actually needs.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Maybe we still need that.”

Zayne huffs out a laugh. Then sighs. “Alright. Okay. But I swear, if this turns into some weird therapy session about our knife grip styles—”

“It won’t,” you say, already sliding off the stool. “I’m saving that lecture for next time.”

——————————————————————————

The sun’s just starting to scrape the edge of the sky by the time you unlock your door. He follows you in like he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed. A little reluctant. A little worn out.

But he doesn’t leave.

You kick off your shoes. Hand him a glass of water. “Couch or bed?”

He doesn’t answer, just takes the glass and watches you peel off your outer layers and disappear into the bathroom. A few moments later, you emerge in a loose cami and shorts, brushing your teeth. He’s still standing there like he doesn’t know where to put his hands.

You offer him a new toothbrush. Already unwrapped. Already prepped.

He blinks at it, then laughs. “That was fast.”

“I plan ahead,” you mumble around the toothpaste foam. “For emotionally damaged chefs who drink too many daiquiris and need somewhere to crash.”

That earns you a small smirk as he takes the brush, and joins you at the sink. There’s something absurdly normal about it—standing side by side, foam-mouthed and sleep-drenched.

“Raf’s going to be… dramatic about this,” he says, tone dry. “Shock of the century.”

You rinse. “About the toothbrush?”

“No. About us actually getting sleep for once.”

You snort. “Raf’s probably already designing a dessert called Maslow’s Crumbling Pyramid and planning to burn it in the oven for drama.”

Laughter slips between you—quiet, tired, and stitched with years of unsaid things. A breath later, a pair of clean joggers is in your hand, extended toward him. “Your call.”

Zayne holds them like they’re dangerous. “You want me to just… sleep here?”

“I want to sleep. You’re welcome to join. But if it weirds you out, I can—”

He cuts you off. “It doesn’t weird me out.” A pause. “It’s just… new.”

You nod. “Same.”

He lingers for a moment longer.

You’re already under the covers. You keep your eyes shut, feigning sleep, but you hear it all:

The soft slide of buttons opening. The metallic click of his belt. The gentle sound of his glasses being set down on your nightstand. The creak of the floor as he hesitates.

And then…

A gentle tug on your sheets.

You open your eyes.

Hazel-green blink back at you—half-hidden beneath the comforter, his mouth barely visible, the faintest of smiles playing at the edges.

“Don’t get used to it,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the blanket. “I’m not this soft.”

You smile, slow. “You’re literally under my comforter.”

Nothing comes from him at first—only a subtle shift beneath the sheets, the hush of fabric folding closer around you both. His warmth edges nearer, skin grazing skin in a way that doesn’t press or ask. It simply settles. Allows.

And then, with a low murmur, he says, “You don’t get to decide everything, you know.”

Before you can ask what he means, he tugs you in gently—an arm sliding around your waist, the other curling beneath his head. You settle against him, not quite facing each other, but close enough that you can feel the even rhythm of his breath. His skin is warm. Real. Scarred.

Your hand moves without thinking, tracing the lines along his forearm with light fingers. You pause.

“Can I ask…?” you whisper.

Zayne shifts slightly, the corner of his mouth curving like he’s caught between amusement and uncertainty. “Is this a trick?”

You smile, soft. “No.”

A slow exhale escapes through his nose. Then, quieter: “Kitchen accident. That one’s from service in Rome. This… from prep in a place I left in winter. Bad tempers. Worse knives.” His voice stays calm, like he’s like reciting the forecast.

You keep tracing.

He lets you.

There are more scars than you expected. Not alarming. Just… lived in. Thirty, maybe more. Faint lines. One deeper at the wrist. A jagged one over his index finger. A burn near the elbow. He names them gently, if you ask.

“That one?” Zayne mutters, your finger gliding over the curved seam along his forearm. “Glass rack. School kitchens. You were there.”

You pause, breath hitching just slightly. The rush of stainless steel, the clatter of dishes, the sharp sound of shattering glass. You’d turned just in time to see him slice clean through skin—too fast, too quiet. He’d bitten down on his lip, not even wincing as blood welled up.

“You didn’t even flinch,” you murmur.

A soft huff leaves him. “I flinched inside.”

You hum in amusement. “No surprise there.”

His lips twitch. “Harsh.”

Your fingertip finds another—a small notch.

“Oven rack,” he adds, almost sheepish. “Hotter than I thought.”

You pause. “You always think you’re colder than you are.”

Zayne chuckles under his breath. “Poetic.”

There’s a silence again, but not empty. Soft. Close. Safe. And then—quietly, without moving—he asks:

“That bruise on your lip. And your thigh.”

You still, just for a breath. His voice is low, not accusatory. Just… needing to know.

“I saw them when you got into bed,” he adds, like it’s the first real thing he’s allowed himself to admit all night. “The cami didn’t exactly hide much.”

You rest your hand against his chest, but don’t pull away. “I’m not hurt.”

Zayne exhales slowly, almost like he’s bracing himself. “So… you slept with someone. Before you came to find me.”

You don’t flinch. You’ve known him too long for that. “Xavier,” you say, evenly. “After the Raf party.”

He doesn’t move, but his expression flickers—surprise, maybe. Thoughtfulness.

Then, a low, wry hum. “Good choice.”

You let out a short laugh. “Really?”

“Could’ve been worse.” His voice is soft but sure. “I’ve seen him in service. He knows what he’s doing.”

You grin against his shoulder. “I’m not sure that translates.”

Zayne lifts a brow. “Doesn’t hurt.”

A pause. Then, under his breath: “Kinda regret leaving early now. Didn’t realize that was on the table.”

You roll your eyes. “It wasn’t.”

“Oh?” he hums.

“It was an offer. Xav made it. And somehow… it felt right. Still does.”

His fingers lift, thumb brushing just beneath your mouth. You can feel his gaze on you—steady, curious. Careful.

Then, with a tilt of his head, he narrows his eyes just slightly.

“Does Caleb know?” he asks.

You blink. The question lands softer than you expect, but it still presses.

You sigh, shifting your head against the pillow. “Kind of.”

“That doesn’t sound like a yes,” he murmurs, voice flat—but not cold. Just precise.

Fingers drift to a scar near his elbow, tracing its edge like stalling through motion. The silence stretches, heavy but patient—waiting for honesty while his breath stays steady.

“I don’t want to talk about him right now,” you say softly. “Not here.”

He doesn’t push. But his brow lifts, just slightly. “You used to be better at honesty,” he says. “Culinary school—you were brutal.”

You laugh once, dry. “I also used to cry in the walk-in.”

“Only when Caleb left you there.”

The words hang in the air between you—too honest, too late. You swallow. “When we talked. Outside Plated.”

There’s a slight tick in his jaw.

“I was mad,” you add. “Still am. He’s… not working at Plated anymore. He’s got a plan, but he won’t tell me what it is. He keeps saying ‘trust me’ like that’s something I can just hand over again.”

You pause. Then, quieter: “I think I’ve been waiting for him for so long I forgot I could stop.”

A pause settles. Then comes a quiet breath through his nose. “He’s always been like that.”

You tilt your head slightly, watching him. “Like what?”

“Secretive. Self-righteous. Bad at timing.” His voice is dry, but not cruel. “He made everything a performance. And he expected you to be the audience.”

You blink. Something in your chest tightens.

“You deserved better than someone who needed to keep you waiting to feel important,” Zayne adds, voice low. “You still do.”

You don’t respond—not with words.

Instead, you lean forward again, resting your forehead against his. Your hand finds his again, fingertips brushing scars like stories written in silence.

Like nothing’s changed.

Because nothing has.

Not really.

It’s like counting stars. Or sheep.

And somewhere between the third scar on his forearm and the small, half-healed one near his thumb, your breathing starts to slow. His, too. Your index finger rests in the shallow dip of one old mark. His eyes are half-lidded now, the faintest shimmer of hazel catching the dawn light through your curtain.

He closes them with a soft sigh.

Silence folds over you both like a second blanket. Safe.

And just before sleep edges in, you whisper:

“Thanks for staying.”

His voice is quiet against the pillow:

“Thanks for letting me.”

——————————————————————————

You wake up warm.

Not just from the blanket, or the light spilling through the window in that way it only does when you’ve overslept on purpose—but from the body still curled loosely behind you. One arm slung heavy across your waist. Breath steady against your shoulder.

Zayne doesn’t stir until you shift a little, stretching your toes against the end of the sheets. His grip tightens once, then relaxes. Like his body remembers you’re there before his mind does.

And when he opens his eyes—hazy, unguarded, softened by sleep—he doesn’t flinch.

He just watches you calmly.

“You didn’t run,” he says, voice rough with morning.

You smile, curling back into him. “Neither did you.”

A quiet huff of breath—almost a laugh. Then his nose brushes your temple, and for a second, neither of you moves. The world outside can wait. But eventually, you groan and roll onto your back. “We should get up.”

Burying his face in the pillow beside you, he lets out a low, defeated sound. “That sounds fake.”

You grin. “Want a shower?”

Zayne blinks. Slow. “A what?”

You lean over him, chin resting on your hand. “Shower. Together. You know… like everything else we’ve done since you entered my apartment.”

That earns a small, surprised laugh from him, shoulders shaking beneath the sheets.

You continue, grinning. “You’re a cold-shower-in-the-morning type, right?”

His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing just a little—mock glare, amused and something else beneath it. “You’re thinking too much.”

You hum. “Is it true?”

Zayne doesn’t answer at first. Then: “Maybe.”

“Perfect,” you say, already sliding off the bed. “We’ll balance each other out. I like my water scalding.”

You expect hesitation. A quip. Maybe even a flat no.

Instead, he sits up—bare chest catching the soft light—and looks at you for a long beat. And then, simply, like it costs him nothing:

“Okay.”

It’s not casual. It’s not coy. It’s just… acceptance.

You hold out your hand and he takes it. Because maybe you’re still figuring everything out. Still untangling timelines and tempers and tangled sheets. But this?

This morning?

You’ll do it together.

——————————————————————————

The tile glows soft in the noonday light filtering through the frosted window, painting both your bodies in warmth that has nothing to do with the water. You turn the dial, testing it with your hand, the spray just shy of scalding.

Zayne stands behind you—bare now, his underwear discarded on the bathroom counter, his hair messy from sleep. You glance at him in the mirror and catch him watching you.

Not hungrily.

Not impatiently.

Like he’s memorizing this version of you. Sunlit. Bare-shouldered.

You reach back without looking and find his wrist, guiding him in with you.

The first burst of heat makes you both flinch and laugh. He mutters something under his breath about you trying to boil him alive, and you smirk, bumping your hips into his as he steps fully beneath the spray.

And then there’s nothing but water.

Water and breath.

And hands.

Zayne’s fingers skim your waist. His lips find the crook of your neck, the line just beneath your jaw, soft at first—then deeper. More certain. Like he’s not guessing anymore.

Your body moves to meet him. Presses closer, slick skin to slick skin. You grip his shoulders and push him gently back against the tile. The water pours between you, over you, around you—but the heat now lives in your ribs.

He exhales shakily, his hands tightening just below your hips. “You’re not mad anymore.”

Fingertips trail up his chest to his face, brushing through the damp edges of his bangs. “Mhm. And you’re not drunk anymore.”

He meets your eyes.

“Exactly,” he says, like it’s the last puzzle piece sliding into place. He huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh, almost not. “Then this,” he says, voice even, “is starting to feel like a very good setup.”

“I’d say the stage is perfect,” you whisper.

He doesn’t respond—not in words.

Just in the way he kisses you next.

And you give it.

In full.

Mouth open. Tongue slow. Your fingers rake back through his hair, and he groans into you, one palm bracing the wall, the other guiding your leg up around his waist.

His hips press forward, the heat of him undeniable even through the wash of water. The ache of restraint hums beneath every motion. Steam coils between you as his voice breaks the hush. “You never said what kind of shower this was.”

Your mouth brushes the edge of his jaw, “What, you thought I couldn’t be inventive when it counts?”

A low moan escapes before he can swallow it down, rough and frayed at the edges. “You said something about scalding…” A shaky breath. “Didn’t think you meant this kind of burn.”

Every motion is slow enough to let the tension bloom between you. Every brush of fingers over ribs or thigh like punctuation to a story you’ve both been rewriting since the bar. His hands wander, slipping in and around your thighs with a purpose that’s careful—but far from innocent. A moan slips from your lips, pulled helplessly right from your core. Then, without warning, his teeth graze your throat. “I’m impressed, you know. How creative you’ve gotten.”

You blink at him, heart thudding. “Really?”

“Mm. In this,” he whispers, like the word means more than it says. His mouth brushes just below your ear. “In you. But you always were—even back in school. Always building something beautiful out of chaos.”

Fingers glide beneath his jaw, coaxing his gaze until your eyes lock. “And… maybe I’ve… emerged into something new lately.”

His gaze holds. Lingers. Then softens, just slightly, just for you.

“That’s fine by me,” he murmurs, like he means every word. “I like what you’ve become.”

And then his mouth finds yours again. Scarred arms lift you against the cool tile with ease, one hand steady beneath your thigh, the other braced beside your shoulder—steadying you like it’s second nature.

You gasp softly as your back meets the wall, not from surprise, but from how perfectly he moves. Like this is service. Like this is the kitchen. Like you’re a dish too delicate to drop but too hot not to handle.

Water spills over your skin, streaming down to gather at the small of your back. Zayne’s breath finds your jaw, his nose skimming the curve of your cheek. A low hum rumbles from him—half amusement, half something deeper. “This is perfect, Ace.”

You meet his eyes—hazel-green, steady, beautiful.

And then you feel it.

The way he fits against you. The slow, inevitable press of him finally claiming the space between you.

Your breath catches, but you don’t look away.

Hands slide down your back, fingers curling like they’ve always belonged against your spine. He moves like muscle memory—like he’s practiced this rhythm beside you through countless services, shoulder to shoulder in heat and pressure, knowing exactly where to hold so nothing falls apart.

“It’s almost unfair,” he mutters. “How perfect you feel.” He moans it like it’s a problem, like it’s been lodged in his chest. And when he moves again, it’s with care. Each motion intentional, like he wants you to feel every inch of it—

Of him.

Together, it’s a rhythm that needs no instruction. Years of closeness folded into one slow, aching tempo.

You let the daylight pour down around you. You let yourself feel what you’ve earned—this warmth, this closeness, this rare kind of calm that only Zayne seems to bring out in you.

And through it all, his voice—low, grounded.

“Perfect.”

And when you finally rest your forehead to his, letting the spray wash over you, you whisper, “Closed day. Best start yet.”

Zayne chuckles, lips trailing one last kiss along your collarbone.

“Definitely in my top five,” he murmurs.

“Top five?”

“You haven’t finished the list yet.”

You smile into his mouth.

And the water keeps running.

——————————————————————————

You hum as you brush custard onto brioche slices. Muscles ache in the best way—like you’ve been gently wrung out and now filled with something better. Softer. Surer.

The noon light slides in golden and slow across your counter, catching on the sway of Zayne’s body as he leans over the stove. He’s wearing an oversized tee you tossed him without thinking—one you barely remember owning, but it fits him a little too well, soft cotton draping over his shoulders like it belongs there. Boxers, sleep-creased and riding low on his hips, complete the picture. He’s barefoot, spatula in hand, turning French toast like it’s a ritual.

Sliding behind him, you nudge his thigh with your knee.

Then poke his ass.

He stiffens—not startled, just affronted. Barely turns his head, voice low.

“Touch my ass in my kitchen again and I’ll write you up.”

You snort. “Your kitchen?”

“I live here now. I make the rules.”

You lean in to whisper against his shoulder blade. “You’re wearing my tee, chef.”

He doesn’t dignify it with a reply, just adjusts the heat under the pan like it’s beneath him to respond—until, without looking up, he adds, “You still like it slightly burned?”

You blink. “What?”

“The toast,” he says simply. “That’s how you liked it back in school. Crunchy edges. Caramelized, not golden. The opposite of Caleb’s whole ‘low-temp perfection’ phase.”

You pause, lips quirking. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I still do.”

Without turning fully, a glance flicks over his shoulder—eyes sharp.

“You gonna tell anyone?”

You shrug. “Wouldn’t mind. But… should we?”

Zayne exhales through his nose. “Depends. You’ve already had your moment with Xavier.”

You narrow your eyes. “That was different.”

“Was it?”

You lift your coffee. “Yeah. Xav was—” You hesitate, searching for the word. “—a release.”

Zayne doesn’t respond at first. Just flips the toast, perfectly timed. “And I wasn’t?”

The distance closes as you lean a hip against the counter. “You were gentle.”

That earns a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Pity.”

“No,” you say softly. “Not a pity. A gift.”

He goes quiet again, but you don’t miss the shift in his shoulders. The way his body exhales, like that meant something.

Still, your mind’s a mess—swimming with layered memories. Xavier’s mouth. Zayne’s scars. Caleb’s violet stare like an unfinished line of poetry. And then… god. Raf.

The threat of a kiss never cashed. And his voice saying Copenhagen. Your heart thumps like a warning. Or a dare.

You take another sip of coffee and mutter to yourself, “I have to get a grip.”

Zayne hears. Glances over. “Or don’t.”

He says it like a fact, not a suggestion. Like the idea of you spiraling isn’t something that scares him—but something he’s already accounted for.

The toast lands on the plate with unnecessary precision—nudged into place like a final draft. “Look, if spiraling from now on always ends like this…” Zayne shrugs one shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Not exactly gonna discourage it.”

A laugh escapes you—sharp, fond, warm—as you start refilling your cups. He looks over at you again, this time with a steadier gaze.

“But,” he adds, voice low, more serious now, “you’re not gonna spiral over me.”

You stop mid-pour, coffee sloshing slightly in the mug. “No?”

He shakes his head once. “No. Not happening.”

“Confident.”

“Honest,” he corrects. “I’ve done my spiraling. Years ago. Silently. At the fry station.”

You snort. “I knew it.”

Zayne just smirks. “You should be messy, Ace. Dramatic. Brilliant. But not broken. Never broken.”

And then, in one quiet motion, he guides you to the stools by the kitchen counter. You both sit, toast between you, his hand finding yours, his knee brushing against yours like punctuation. No big declarations. Just that quiet, cold warmth that is uniquely his. And you realize—

He means every word.

The smell of caramelized sugar and cinnamon rolls into the space. Your coffee’s perfectly brewed—dark, strong, sweet. You lean over your plate, fork in one hand, mug in the other.

You raise your brows. “You gonna boss me around while I eat, too?”

“Only if you start spiraling about it.”

And then both your phones buzz.

SYLUS to Brigade: Closed day is no longer closed. Private VIP reservation. Full buyout. 50 guests. 16 courses. Wine pairings. Prep starts in 2. Be here in 30. I’m out sourcing produce. Don’t make me repeat myself.

You and Zayne both choke.

You grab napkins. Wipe coffee from your nose.

Zayne exhales slowly, dragging his hand down his face. “Should’ve known.”

“At least we showered.”

He grunts. “Good thing I’ve got a new place to crash. This was almost peaceful.”

You clink your coffee mugs together in mock salute.

Then down the rest of it and start dressing like the world’s already on fire.

Because with Sylus?

It always is.

——————————————————————————

You and Zayne step through the back entrance together, side by side—neither too close, nor too far. The hush of the empty restaurant wraps around you like a held breath. No noise. No fire yet. Just anticipation waiting in the still air.

He holds the door for you without speaking, and you nod once, grateful. Both of you wear your jackets, knives tucked and aprons folded under your arms, but something in your step is looser. Lighter. The echo of the shower still hums in your bones—warmth in your shoulders, in your thighs, in the quiet space behind your sternum where Zayne’s voice still rests from when he whispered ‘perfect’.

And then you see him.

Already in place.

Wearing his chef’s jacket—black, double-breasted, sleeves rolled just so. The fabric clings to his frame like it was tailored by a goddamn ghost, trim and structured, collar sharp enough to command silence.

You’ve seen him in so many shades of elegance. Velvet. Silk. That tailored blazer slung over his shoulder like armor. But this—this is different.

This is Sylus in his domain.

And it fits.

Of course it does. Black has always suited him. Like it remembers how to wrap around his fire. He doesn’t look up right away, but you feel him noticing. Then: “I hope you got some rest,” he says smoothly, eyes flicking to Zayne—and then, unhurriedly, to you. “I see you found it… efficiently.”

A beat passes, then he adds with a knowing edge, “Change of plans. You’re not in inventory today.”

He tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth threatening a smile. “I could use a sharp hand in the kitchen. And clearly, you’re in fine shape to deliver.” A pause. “Guess you do take direction well… when properly motivated.”

Your jaw tightens. Not in shame. Just awareness. But there’s no judgment in his tone. Only wry amusement, softened by something older. A strange kind of understanding. You don’t answer him directly. Just meet his gaze and nod once.

Zayne disappears into the locker room without a word.

And then the quiet breaks.

The front door swings open, and you hear Raf before you see him.

“Sixteen courses?” he gasps, already mid-rant. “Sixteen? That’s— That’s criminal. We’re going to be sued by someone’s digestive tract, I just know it.”

Xavier trails in behind him, casual as ever, sipping from a takeaway cup. “I told you not to count.”

Raf spins. “You knew. You knew and you let me sleep.”

Xavier just smiles, serene and unbothered. “You needed it.”

The door hasn’t even shut behind him before Raf’s eyes land on you—and the way his lips part is nothing short of theatrical.

“Well, well, well,” he sings, stalking closer, arms already open. “Look who’s glowing like she bathed in sea salt and sin.”

You don’t get a word in before he plants a kiss on your cheek, the kind that leaves shimmer in its wake—even if he’s not wearing glitter today. His eyes narrow, mock-inspecting. “Is that satisfaction or hydration, Flame? Or both?”

Xavier steps in behind him, takeaway cup balanced between his fingers. He eyes you once—just once—but it lands deep. A subtle flicker down your body, then back to your eyes. No words. Just the way his shoulder brushes yours as he passes. Just the soft murmur, low and meant for only you:

“I’m here, chef.”

Raf huffs dramatically, already pulling off his rings and setting them beside his prep station like he’s preparing for battle. “Of course he’s here,” he mutters, nodding vaguely at Xavier. “He’s not the one expected to produce three perfectly harmonized desserts with just enough sweetness to charm a critic but not so much it offends the palates of the wine-obsessed elite.”

He throws a pointed look toward Sylus. “Tell me, dear tyrant—do we at least still have that fancy ice wine from the cellar? Or did the VIPs drink it dry during their last orgy of culinary expectations?”

Then, as if he’s already accepted his fate, Raf sighs and rolls up his sleeves with flair. “God forbid the pastry chef be allowed a day off from existential dread.”

Sylus doesn’t so much as glance up from his clipboard. “Chef pâtissier,” he says, voice like silk just beginning to tear, “if your desserts come with as much restraint as your mouth, we’ll have a riot on our hands.”

A pause. Then, without lifting his gaze:

“Create. Don’t complain.”

That’s all. No raised voice. No follow-up. Just command, sharpened to a whisper. But then Sylus’s voice slices through the air like a blade through softened butter.

“I didn’t plan to cook again,” he says, expression unreadable, posture as calm as ever. “But fate has a flair for irony—and apparently, so do our guests.”

He holds up the clipboard slightly, as if weighing it. “The sum they offered was… persuasive.” His mouth curves faintly. “Enough to stock the finest produce, wines, and knives for the next month.”

A beat. His gaze sharpens.

“But don’t let the money fool you. This isn’t about them. This is about us. About whether we crack—or show them what a kitchen should look like.”

Then Sylus steps forward, casual and deadly. “This will be the exception. And I expect nothing less than excellence.”

Red eyes sweep the room. He looks at each of you—Zayne now stepping from the back, Xavier finding his corner, Raf leaning dramatically against a prep table, still grumbling.

But they land on you last.

“I like my kitchen a certain way.” A pause. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Like Sylus’ nose shape, of course I came up with my own headcanon for Zayne’s scars. I had so much fun writing this, and honestly, I was on the fence about including the real intimate stuff with Zayne—but thirst and creativity won in the end. I’ve always wanted to write a proper, classy smut scene for him—where he’s not drunk and we kinda tricked him… but he totally knew anyway lol. (Insert Hagrid’s “shouldn’t have said that” meme here) So—how are we feeling about VIP night? I can’t wait to write Sylus as head chef. Something tells me this service is going to be very different from Caleb’s, hehe. The track is peak for the readers feelings at. btw. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[nebrasska-alasska]

The Secrets in our Quills Chapter 23

Listen, I don't normally post individual chapter links, nor do I want to make it a habit, but I know some of you have been waiting an extra week for this so here you go! Straight from the source (me haha)!

The Secrets In Our Quills - Chapter 23 - Nebrasska - Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Plus an emoji to portray how I'm feeling right now after writing half of this 12k chapter in one sitting with no food, bathroom, or water breaks after a long day of hiking LMFAO #lockedin

[tinygalaxykid]

Ok so what if they WERE fucking the whole time? Kepler and Jacobi are such insane, emotionally mutilated individuals that their hypothetical sexual dynamic is endlessly interesting.

It is never for jacobi's pleasure-- it can't be. However, Kepler's defining feature is a denial of all his individual desires, so it can't be for his pleasure EITHER. That means they're having fucked up powerplay sex where the central excuse is Keplers "conditioning" of jacobi. Emotional manipulation, pain desensitization, torture resistance, obedience, etc. Kepler doesn't touch jacobi without it being a carefully calculated decision. Ever. It's another lever in punishment & reward.

Deep down, Kepler loves Jacobi. He uses sex to approximate violence to approximate intimacy. It's the excuse he has to be close to him, he jusy can't process that. Now, this does not mean that Kepler is a dom. A dom would indicate a focus on his or jacobi's pleasure. Kepler is his commanding officer. His Major/Colonel. Even if it's fun, it must remain impersonal. It must remain expendable: for the mission or as a punishment. It's not quiet trysts or secret affairs on the road. It is what everything else is to Kepler: a way to kill time while accomplishing one of his many ulterior motives. He'll remind jacobi of that if he needs to.

Meanwhile, Jacobi isn't dense. He knows Warren well enough to know what this is... but God isn't he just happy to have his hands on him? He can't have real relationships anymore. It's not compatible with SI-5. It's not compatible with loving Kepler. He'll take what he can get without ever knowing where he truly stands.

It doesn't help that Jacobi responds deeply to praise. Kepler doesn't do this with anyone else. Jacobi is special. Any physical touch, affirmation, and sign of care is enough for him to throw any remaining inhibitions out the window. So, he let's it happen to himself every time.

The sex thing was never particularly frequent but it became completely impossible during the hepheastus mission. It was too much of a security risk with Hera always listening. So their physical relationship just... rotted away. I think there was probably a moment after One Of Them where Jacobi realizes it had already happened for the last time before either of them knew it. I think it breaks his heart because he spent so much love and devotion bowing down to a directionless fool. I think Kepler finally realizes exactly what is slipping through his finger when Pryce and Cutter board the ship. He is forced to reckon with how much he's always wanted Jacobi.

Anyways this post is dedicated to that author who wrote that fic where jacobi had to balance a glass of whiskey on his back while getting his back blown out. I owe you my life.

Some miscellaneous takes below the cut:

They never fucked harder than after jacobi blew up that hospital. 1000%. Kepler knew exactly one way to reward that absolutely deprived, monstrous behavior and it was rearranging Jacobi's guts until he had 0 morals left in his body.

They started fucking before No Complaints. I think it helps explain why jacobi was so petty but also touched by the fireworks. The stakeout prank wasn't just a hook up or a quickie. It meant something. It was more than he thought he was going to get out of kepler. It was almost a date.

Kepler's entire sexual body language is molded around avoiding intimacy. He doesn't look at jacobi's face when they have sex. He always hits it from the back. He will only come AFTER jacobi comes because it is too vulnerable to do when jacobi is coherent. If he feels like he can't avoid the intimacy, he'll straight up leave after jacobi comes.

I also think Kepler pointedly did not initiate sex after the fireworks and jacobi took it very personally.

Jacobi broke up with Klein because he was cheating on him with Kepler.

Alana doesn't know because she doesn't want to.

Kepler is super emotionally repressed but he's not always angry or mean. He's just as funny, nonchalant, and quippy as usual sometimes. It's often more effective at deflecting the emotional situation that being silent is.

Jacobi is a glutton for punishment and always wants to get hit in the face but kepler won't leave marks above his collarbone. He's broken multiple bones having sex with Kepler.

[generalgoldfishldrm]

Lucanis x gn! Grey warden!reader

*mild spoilers for the ending of DATV. I haven't personally finished the game and I'm sorry but I'm not spoiling the ending for myself (Do not spoil it for me.) just to write out my need for angst. What little I do know is because of TikTok not censoring spoilers. So enjoy this mix of my own interpretation of the ending.*

Also this was inspired by the song “repeat until Death” by Novo Amor. And no I haven't reviewed/proofread my writing. Its 01:00. We die like men and accept criticism later.

Lucanis couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. Between the restricted view though Spite's fingers Lucanis could only fight off the stinging feeling in his eyes as despair washed over him like a tidal wave.

Spite, almost as if he felt the shift in the fade, had leapt to cover Lucanis's eyes almost in an attempt to save him from the sight in front of him that remained just out of his reach. Both knowing they were too far to reach Rook in time to stop the scene unfolding.

Rook. The person who had guided their band of eclectic personalities through countless fights and had now defeated two eleven gods; was disappearing in front of him. The person who had reached into the darkest parts of the Ossuary was now being dragged into a place even Spite couldn't fully understand but knew was untouchable.

Rook who had previously stood alone facing Solas, bleeding and exhausted, was viscously dragging the squirming fallen god Solas with them into the bright green tear in the veil. All with Solas snarling protests at having been outsmarted by the previously disgraced Grey warden while rapidly disappearing from view along with Rook into the Fade. Rook, feeling his gaze, threw one last terrified glance at Lucanis; watching helplessly below, before vanishing entirely.

Then in an almost indignant flash of green light both Solas and Rook were gone leaving only silence in their wake. Lucanis, who had finally escaped the protective grasp of Spite, could only scramble to where Rook had last been standing. He rapidly began looking around the area, mentally screaming at Spite to look for weak spots in the fade, while desperately feeling around the area himself for any hidden paths so they could chase after the lost pair.

The voices of the other party members who were calling for him and trying to ask about Rook were all muffled noises in the background as he continued his frantic searching. He could feel himself getting worked up like his entire world was crashing around him. Everything was tight and he could barely breathe much less listen to Spite screaming in frustration around him while echoing his own thoughts on the situation.

Yet it was in this echo chamber of panic, fear, shame and guilt that he found a small piece of Rook's gear on the ground. The small shiny glint gives him a false sense of hope of finding Rook simply hidden behind a fallen rock. However the small metal pendant of the Grey Warden's Griffin engraved with a crow tangled together offered him no release.

It had a small spattering of blood on the design and the chain lay broken on the ground without any sign of Rook nearby. The previous flicker of Hope was rapidly extinguished as quickly as it had come.

With the world closing in around his shoulders and reality began setting in; Lucanis could only collapse to his knees as he hyperventilated. He just kept repeating to himself how he hadn't even told Rook that he loved them. How much they meant to him. How he hadn't allowed Rook to say either.

Now gasping and clutching his chest with one hand while the other wrapped itself around the pendant left on the ground. The piece of metal; having rapidly cooled after losing its signature place around Rook's neck, was just a cruel reminder that in this moment he was alone. Again.

It was this realization that sent Lucanis curling around the pendant while crashing against the ground. The dull throb of hitting his head as he fell into his new position was nothing compared to the burning in his throat as he screeched for Rook as he sobbed. Lucanis's chest heaving with every racking sob that Spite now mirrored while curling protectively around him.

It was here that the two lost themselves in their newfound emptiness. The world around them drained of its color and warmth as if without their Rook: none of it could exist. They had lost them. They had lost Rook.

While in his curled position, clutching to Rook's pendant like a lifeline, Lucanis couldn't breathe anymore and slipped into his own darkness as the other companions finally caught up. His last glimpse of his surroundings was their worried faces as the world went dark around him.

------

He doesn't know how much time had passed since he was last conscious. Part of him doesn't care. The only thing his body has the energy to do is sit slumped in his bed staring at the coffee someone had left on the table.

Even Spite couldn't bring himself to try any crazy stunts or drag the two out from the pantry in the lighthouse they called home. It was all He had in them just to keep his spiritual feathers cocooned around their figure.

It felt like if they stayed there, curled in the silence, that Rook would just saunter through their door like they used to. They would have a fresh cup of coffee for Lucanis and a joke on their lips about how silly the pair looked before they weaseled their way into his bed for an afternoon nap.

But that never came.

Even as Days turned into Weeks and weeks passed in a blur. The other companions would attempt to get Lucanis to move or eat between the blurry haze that had taken over his life since losing Rook. But it wasn't until Viago and Theia visited his chambers after his appearance had grown haggard did time slowly start settling into its proper pace.

Viago and Theia slowly coaxed Lucanis away from his room and back into civilization. Back to his family and the crows who waited for his return. It took time and several deliberate steps but they eventually got him to a relatively functional place again.

There were still days where he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed but it was through Spite's encouragement to continue to hunt for clues and ways to reach Rook that he would eventually force himself into action.

Which is where Lucanis and Spite preferred to stay. Active. Distracted. Like if they threw themselves into whatever new contract or lost themselves in the endless expanses of the crossroads looking for Rook that they could expedite their return to normalcy. Like they hadn't lost a part of themselves.

However, it wasnt until the very beginning of winter as the first snowflakes began to fall in scattered patterns that something changed. While Lucanis and Spite were standing on the frozen lighthouse steps after having finished their latest contract, soaking in the chill. They didn't even realize it could snow at the lighthouse but continued to gaze across the space absentmindedly.

Then, quietly behind them they heard a sound. A small staggering step behind them that felt more like a whisper on the wind than reality. Like an echoing reminder of their Rook. Passing it off initially as the Fade in the Area playing tricks or attempting to comfort the bound pair with memory remnants of the past like it had done in the past.

It was only when a familiar breath hitched behind them did Lucanis and Spite stiffen with realization. Slowly turning from the darkened skies and falling snow; Lucanis saw them. Rook. Weakened and a little thinner than they remember. They stood with tears in their eyes while hungrily raking in the form in front of them.

Lucanis, still frozen by the sight, scanned his eyes over every inch of Rook. Looking at every new scar and the strangely ragged clothing that hung loosely from every inch of Rook's form. He couldn't help second guess himself. Glancing at Spite to see if he was seeing this too. To confirm if they were just as affected by this moment or ultimately experiencing one of the Fade's conjured memories again. To see if this was just a mirage of the familiar but strange form in front of them from an earlier time after a previous battle.

However, Spite couldn't barely bring himself to glance back at him as he had the same starstruck look that Lucanis suspected was mirrored on his own face. It was only then could bring himself to look back. He wants to step forward but he's too scared any movement would make this vision disappear like every one before. Spite, sharing this sentiment, calming but quite says “this one. Is. Different.”

The moment was then broken when the figure of Rook took a shaky breath and whispers an uncertain “Lucanis?”

“Rook!?! ROOK?” Both Spite and Lucanis respond as they jolt forward with any precaution and speculation thrown to the wind. Spite and Lucanis all but flying across the space that was once in between the pair tackling Rook into a tight hold. Lucanis's eyes fly across Rook's form looking for any new scrapes, wounds, or scars while desperately trying to hold back the tears that stung at his eyes.

Merde he just wanted to soak you in but also never let you go in fear that if he stops touching you that he'd lose you again mere seconds after getting you back. Spite is similarly crowding your form doing his own inspections but excitedly crowing “It's Rook. Our. Rook. Rook is Home!.”

Neither cared in the moment why or how you were standing before them after being gone for so long. They just care that you're Home. And more importantly, in their arms. So excited in fact that Lucanis's can't help but look at you with his impossibly expressive brown eyes and blurts out: “I love you.”

He immediately continues to ramble “God, I love you. I can't breathe without you. I can't seem to not need to need you. I should have said it before - should have let you say it but I j-”

You cut him off by kissing him. Pulling him closer while holding onto his cheeks and lightly threading your fingers through his beard as you do everything to be as close to him as possible. He immediately reciprocates and wraps his arms around you pulling you close to him.

Its overwhelming and entirely not enough at the same time. Lucanis is still consumed with you, your presence, and the swirling storm of emotions that rage inside his thoughts but is brought back as you begin to pull back. Its only to take a second to try to catch your breath but neither Spite or Lucanis felt like they could breathe without you for those few seconds.

They whine at your brief absence which is rewarded with several quick but soft kisses from you. You can't help but push back slightly to better drink in the appearance of the man before you. The circles under his eyes are darker than ever. He seems aged but tired. Like the weeks apart had aged him beyond the year of torture at the hands of the venatori.

There was also the hesitation, a flash of hurt that you pulled back, and concern as you paused to examine him. Lucanis, trying to hide behind the situation whispers: “I bet it don't show, but I can't seem to let myself leave you.” To which you chuckle and respond “Love you're a part of me now, and while I wasn't able to say it before; I love you too Lucanis Dellamorte”

[myfeetrcolddd]

Drunken States

He sways on his feet, his eyes glazed and shining with something I couldn't understand, something he had never looked at me with before.

Theodore Nott was not a man of many words, because where words failed him or when he simply saw no point in talking he used his eyes, albeit to glare at the person trying to talk to him, but still. Often times though, his eyes said more than his words could, and I was one of the few people who could understand him.

We had a connection unlike any other. As if we could read each others minds, not needing words to tell the other how one was feeling, but Theo always made it so that he spoke with me, talked everything out. And I appreciated that.

So, if we had an understanding for one another so deep, why couldn't I understand what he was telling me through his eyes. This look so foreign, almost desperate, that took over the beautiful dark green of his eyes. I hate how I don't know what his eyes are trying to say, as far as I could see his eyes were practically yelling at me, begging me to understand so that Theo did not have to speak out loud.

But I didn't understand, and I hate it.

Before I could ask him what he was doing here, how he got into the tower and up to the girls dormitories, he spoke. "Y/N" he whispered, sounding desperate and weak. He took a step closer on wobblily feet. "I- talk to me." he took another step closer and everything clicked.

He was drunk. I could smell it on his breath, the strong scent of fire whisky.

"You're drunk, Theo" I state, but it seems as though he barely notices my words.

"No- we- I- talk to me. P-please?" He stumbled over his words, barely able to string together a sentence.

I shook my head, "We can talk when you're sober."

"Pl-" He started to say before doubling over and clutching his stomach. My eyes widened and I rushed him into my dorm and into my bathroom, as he started to puke his guts out into my toilet I walked over to my sink, getting an extra toothbrush out for him.

When he finished puking I gave him a moment to collect himself before helping him stand up. "You have to brush your teeth." I say, handing him the toothbrush with the toothpaste already on it.

Theo said nothing as he took it out of my hands, keeping his head down looking somber. "You can sleep here for the night." I tell him and all he does is nod in acknowledgement.

I can sleep in Jenny, my roommates bed. She's sleeping over in her boyfriends dorm anyway. It's times like these that I'm it's just her and I in here.

Once he's done with his teeth I help him over to my bed. Wrapping my arm around his waist and putting one of his arms around my shoulder I heave him over to my bed, laying him down and getting him under my covers.

His eyes are droopy, practically closed and he still looks at me, barely able to focus. Slowly one of his hands raise, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. "I've always liked your hair." He mumbles, almost lovingly, but I can't tell whether it was to me or to him.

I take a deep breath, reminding myself he's drunk and doesn't really mean these things. Gently I wrap my hand around his wrist and guide it down to lay beside his head. "Go to sleep Theo, we can talk in the morning." I say quietly, before turning and starting to walk away, only for him to grab my wrist.

"Where are you going?" His voice is raspy and quiet and barely above a whisper.

"I'm going to brush my teeth, I'll be right back." I reassure him, and even then he only reluctantly lets go of my wrist

As I brush my teeth my thoughts run wild.

Why did he come here?

Why was he drunk?

What was so important that he needed to talk about it at this time in the night?

Did he really mean what he said about my hair?

I shake my head, getting ride of all thoughts and spit into the sink before walking back into my dorm. Only to slap a hand over my eyes and "Theo!" I shriek, keeping my eyes shut firmly under my hand. Why the hell was he undressing!

Right when I walked out of the bathroom stood Theo, his back towards me, his shirt off and his pants pooled around his ankles, leaving him only in a pair of black boxers.

"What are you doing!"

"Getting ready for bed." He mumbled, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I roll my eyes under their lids and bring my hand down to cross over my chest.

"Well- get under the sheets so I can open my eyes." I demand and I hear the sheets shuffling around before he speaks again.

"You can open your eyes now." And I do, very slowly, and see him tucked comfortably under my sheets, the blanket pulled up to his neck as he laid on his back.

I sigh and shake my head to myself and make my way to Jenny's bed, getting under the covers before going over to shut off the lamp, "Goodnight Theo." I say quietly, though I'm quite sure he's already asleep.

"Goodnight Y/N" His voice is drowsy, that voice a person uses when they're barely awake.

I'm nearly asleep when something pokes my shoulder, I grumble and shrug it off, only for it to poke again, this time I turn around, putting my back to whatever's poking for me, but then it pokes me once more. I groan and sit up a bit glaring into the darkness. "What!" I scowl, only for it to drop when I see Theos face, dimly lit by the moonlight.

He sits crouched beside the bed, looking up at me with wide, puppy-like, eyes. "What are you doing Theo?" I ask, more softly.

"Can I sleep with you?" He whispers, and my initial response is to tell him no, but he looks so sad, like a lost little puppy, and knowing Theo he wouldn't take no for an answer and would bother me fore the rest of the night.

I sigh and lift the sheets, nodding my head and scooching over. He smiles at me before climbing in beside me.

We lay shoulder to shoulder and it's not long before either of us fall asleep

(✿◕‿◕✿)

A small smile is on my face as I wake up from what must be one of the best sleeps I've ever had, and I giggle slightly at the sensation on my neck, like someone has their lips on my neck and is kissing- I open my eyes immediately, and am instantly met with the sight of a bare back, with my arms wrapped around said back.

My eyes trail up the back and to the head nestled in the crook of my neck. Where a boy with a messy head of hair is is lightly kissing and sucking on my neck.

Who- Theo.

"Theo!" I whisper yell at him and he only hums, so I starts to shake him, "Theo wake up!" He groans and his body shifts over mine and then I feel it. Godric, why the hell is he hard!

Slowly he raises his head, the he puts himself in the plank position and hovers above me. It takes second for him to realize what's going on and when he does he smile to himself. "Morning." He mumbles, his voice raspy and low and entirely too hot.

His eyes meander away from my face and he looks at what must be my neck and collarbone area. His eyes widen slightly and his smile widens slightly.

Worriedly I look down to my neck and collarbone only to see trails of hickies lining them. "What did you do to me!" I look at him and he tries to hid his smirk and fails.

"I was a sleep. I swear." He sit's up, straddling me, the blankets falling away and I'm reminded of the fact he's only in boxers, and that he has a massive fucking hard on.

"Yeah right! You are such a perv." I glare at him, sliding my legs from under him and bringing them to my chest.

"Baby, it's called morning wood, I can't help it." What is wrong with him! And why did he call me baby? More importantly why is he being so goddamned attractive right now!

I scoff, "Yeah right." And turn my head.

Then I remember what he said last night, and how desperate he was to talk to me. "Well. You're sober now. Talk."

"I-" He looks away, a blush coating his cheeks, and I frown in confusion. Not once have I ever seen Theo blush, between the two of us it's normally me blushing, and normally because of him.

His jaw clenches as he finds the right words to say, and I stay silent, giving him the time to sort through his thoughts. I mean, we could spend all day here since it's the weekend.

"Y/N." He turns to me, his face suddenly serious, "I'm in love with you." His face was completely straight, and after a moment of silence I laugh awkwardly.

"W-what are you talking about?" I smile awkwardly, "I love you too, I guess."

"I'm serious. And I'm sorry it took me so long for me to tell you- and I'm also sorry that I had to get drunk to tell you." He stares down at me.

No way this is happening. I've spent years repressing my feelings for this boy, hell I even think I was just about to get over him, then he comes and pulls this shit. "Theo, I-" I can't finish my sentence when tears start to swell up in my eyes.

Theo notices it and panic washes over his features. Quickly he leans closer and starts to wipe my tears, "No. No, no, don't cry, Baby. Please don't cry." He says as he cradles my head in his hands.

"I-I- Fuck you!" I end up saying, and he stares at me for a bit and starts to laugh.

I stand up and start to pace around the room, ignoring the fact that I was only in my underwear and a large tee shirt. "I can't believe you're doing this to me!" I huff and he chuckles.

"Doing what?" I turn to him and glare and start to walk to him.

"Telling me that you love me!" I exclaim and he hums in response, "I mean I was just about to get over you! Do you know how many years I spent pining over you? How much it heart to watch you go around with different girls knowing I would never be able to be one of them!" I stare down at him and stand in front of him.

"Think."

"What?"

"You said you knew you would never be one of those girls, I'm correcting you."

"You can't be serious." I scoff, then he tugs me towards him, his hands on my waist as he holds me between his legs.

"Deadly. Wanna know how I know?" I nod, "Because I wanted those girls to be you, but I was too much of a coward to do anything about my feelings."

"But... You always dated blondes."

"Baby." He looks up at me through his lashes, "I only went for girls like that because I was trying to distract myself from you."

"That's so mean." I look away from him, trying to avoid the fact that he might actually have feelings for me, "And unfair to those girls."

"I know. Which is why our relationships never lasted more than a week max." He grips my chin and turns my head to look at him, "Look at me Baby," He says and I force a frown, he grins. "I love you." He enunciates.

"I hate you." I glare which only makes him grin wider. Theos arms encircle around my waist, drawing me towards him.

"Mhm, well I happen to think you love me." He pulls me so close to the point where I end up straddling him.

"Then you are a dimwit." I mumble, and his lips come back to my neck, kissing my neck, hell I think he's even licking it. I reluctantly let out a shaky breath and feel him grin against my skin.

Grabbing him by his hair I forcefully pull him away, "Fuck you." I mutter before bringing his face to me, kissing him with so much force I think my lips will be bruised after this.

His lips are soft against mine, and they move at the same fervent pace, as if he can't get enough of this kiss. And I feel the same way, but I need to breathe so I pull away, but he chases my lips, so I place my hand on his chest to keep him a good distance as I try and catch my breath.

"Salazar, you are just-" He whispers and before I can process it, he has me under him on the bed. "Has anyone ever told you how sweet you taste?" He murmurs.

"Yeah." I grin and he lets out a low growl, "They say that same thing about both of my lips." And for a second I think I've said to much, but then it clicks for him.

His eyes go dark and this time I can read them, lust. So much fucking lust.

"I think I might have to fact check that." He says and starts kissing down my body.

"Theo-" I stop him and he growls again, so I grab his hair and lift it up so he's looking at me, "Theo, this isn't my bed."

He glares at me before throwing me over his shoulder and then dropping me onto my own bed. "I love you so much." He whispers against my lips before kissing me harshly. "And the things I'm going to do to you will leave you shaking for days, Baby."

[poprockspillage]

ok heres the post about it

kaz:

post-tpp kaz sees how much ocelot enables big boss and completely disregards his own self respect for him and it makes her so fucking mad. of course a lot of this is tinted by jealousy and anger from the breakup but also it is because she spent the last. nine years. falling in love with ocelot and thinking that she finally found someone who will stay with her forever and care for her the way she needs. she thinks that ocelot should grow a spine and leave big boss like she did, and i think every time they see each other post-tpp she doesn't let him hear the end of it. she is just really hostile and bitter and very blunt about it, partly hoping she can break through but partly just because shes mad and hurting about it.

ocelot:

ocelot was witness to most of kaz's doom spiral and feels bad that he couldnt* do anything about it. he really does love kaz and wishes more than almost anything that they could be happy together but has known and accepted from the beginning that they would have to part ways eventually. he wants kaz to come back even though he knows it would be bad for her because i dont think he fully accepts until they break up that he really fell in love with her. he wants her back but he also wants her to stay away because he knows that big boss is never going to change, but maybe kaz can get away from it all. **

*couldn't stay loyal to big boss and his larger plans and do something about it

**which makes it all the more painful when. yaknow. thinks about mgs1 forever.

[weirdcat1213]

The sad realization I post more here (and get somewhat more traction here) because I don't give a shit about grammar tbh but on my profesional account I have to be mindful of it and THAT BITCH who commented "a lot not alot" with a facepalm emoji DID NOT HELP

[smeckledorfed-by-association]

Love, Liars, and the Hearts They Break

Synopsis: Cole is a writer. He ends up becoming the center of a huge problem, for him that is. He's about to make it a bigger problem for many people. Btw, there's eventually gay stuff. Like, seriously. So, enjoy that. I definitely will.

Chapter 1: Behind a Smile

The sun shines through the blinds of a room filled with paper and stories. Cole Mercer sits at his desk typing away at his computer, trying but failing to produce something great. Every word gnaws on his mind like a parasite. He can’t focus but can’t bear to drag himself away from the computer. Each thought snags on his fingertips, just out of reach. The room’s door opening is what forces him to sit up and turn around.

“Darling, you can’t spend your entire day hunched over your computer. We have an interview with Erin Taylors! She wants to publish this book you're working on. You have to get ready.” Angela D’Malow-Mercer, his wife, exclaims as she rushes to pull him from his chair.

Cole laughs, casually following Angela. “Angie, love, if I don’t continue writing, there won’t be a book to publish.”

Angela ignores his retort and pushes him into the bathroom. “Get ready! Your clothes are already in there and you better comb your hair. Not a single hair should be out of place since this is very important.” Cole smirks, leaning against the door, “Yes, your majesty…” He bows and quickly shuts the door before she says anything. He can hear her complaining behind the door and starts to get ready.

~~~

When Cole and Angela arrive at the building in which Erin Taylors operates, they are greeted by a small crowd of fans ranging from teens who know Angela from when she was a model to people of all ages who enjoy Cole's novels. Angela was unfazed by the number of people but Cole was slightly flustered, having been used to avoiding social events hadn't helped.

Eventually, after a few autographs and photos, they make it inside the building. Cole sighs, relieved to be away from various shouts and questions. This relief, however, is short lived when he is escorted to a room obviously designed for makeup. He gets "prepared for the camera" and is sent out to wait for his que, which wasn't discussed until that very moment.

Erin Taylors appears and begins speaking about the latest book she has taken interest in. With a few puns and audience laughter, she calls for him. "And now, readers alike, we have with us today the latest rising author. He's written one novel yet has many short stories. May I welcome…. Cole Mercer!"

After she shouts his name, he walks out, the audience applauding him. He awkwardly waves as he goes and takes his spot on the love seat beside her desk.

"It is wonderful to have you on my show today, Cole," Erin exclaims as she turns to him, "I'm glad I am the one to interview you about your new novel which is still in the works. What took you so long to come on my show?" She asks, the smile on her face turning into a questioning one.

Cole clears his throat nervously before saying the first thing on his mind. "'The pen is the tongue of the mind.' Miguel de Cervantes said that. If my pen won't work, my tongue doesn't either. Therefore, it's hard to get me to do interviews." Cole anxiously waits for everyone's reactions and is happy and very relieved when they applaud.

Erin laughs also. "Well, that's definitely a reason. But, I wonder how your wife feels if your tongue doesn't work…" Cole looked at her, unsure of why she would say that. He decides to trip her up. "Well, Erin, my tongue may not always work but my hands are very capable of keeping her happy…" Cole chuckles when people gasp and laugh, "... because I bring home money from my stories. What inappropriate minds you all have…"

Everyone enjoys this and soon, Erin decides it's time to know about Cole's novel. "Now, Cole, we know that your new novel is a secret and all but could you spill a bit about it? Just to keep us anticipating?"

Cole, finally getting a feel of what to do, complies. "It's about a man who races against an uncertain amount of time to save his life from people who are plotting his death. He has to secretly stop them while they keep an eye on him."

Erin gasps, seemingly interested. "That sounds amazing! So intriguing… What is it called? If I may ask…"

"It's called "Behind Closed Doors."

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

A/n: I haven't written anything in a while. I actually wrote this a while back and I decided to post it here. I'll just use this account to post my original stuff. Please like and reblog if you enjoy it.

[sleepincrow]

18+ smut ehe. everything's consensual. not proofread.

im sure its well known that choso kamo looks intimidating, menacing — terrifying even.

nobody looks at him wrong, scared that one breath his way will send them to an early grave. its just instict to the public to not to mess with him.

and yet, you couldnt disagree more.

you never truly understood why everyone was so afraid of him. were people really judging how he looks at first glance? the nerve!

no, you knew him as the sweetest man in the world. you thought he was so cute, waiting for you outside your office with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and takeout for your dinner like the bundle of joy he was.

he hid himself underneath that scarf you got him. whether you made it yourself or bought it for him, he almost never took it off, especially when the colder seasons drew nearer.

and when youre with him, all those nasty icky people never comes close. its perfect, really. you sometimes use it to your advantage whenever you dont want to be bothered by anyone.

your friends even jokingly congratulated you for the free scary dog privilege. awesome!

everyone thinks you two are so unbelievably cute, such polar opposites! your tall, dark and intimidating boyfriend smiles when you hold his big, pale, scarred hand in your smaller, more fragile-looking one.

obviously, he's gotta be so gentle and sweet to you in bed, accommodate his length into your unbelievably tight cunt. its practically an unspoken rule of morality, right?

they could have never been more wrong.

nobody knows the way you ruthlessly roll and bounce your hips against him, engulfing his thick cock into the warmth of you clenching walls while you swallow all his whines and cries with a shove of your tongue while you plummet him into the grasps of utter overstimulation.

hes trying so hard to get out of his cuffs, tugging and squirming, wanting to just touch you because — well, how could he not?

all choso wants to do is please you. he'll gladly get down on his knees and eat you out until the morning rises or you pass out, so why dont you let him? he's your good boy isn't he?

youre such a tease about it too.

tie him up, press a bullet vibrator against his cock on any setting. his swollen tip leaking everywhere, leaving his balls and thighs all drenched from how long youve edged him with a pretty pink bow tied on his hard dick with nothing to do but buck his hips and pretend that he's getting the friction that he so desperately needs. he cant.

he's crying, pleading for you to just let him cum. big fat tears roll down his cheeks as he rambles about how good he was to you. you have this man absolutely whipped, quite literally wrapped around your finger.

but it's all so worth it for both of you, cause when he finally cums under your command, he just feels so good. his toes curl and his back arches so prettily, but his face contorting into one of pure unadulterated pleasure has got to be one of the best sights to ever grace your eyes while your ears are blessed with the most heavenly sounds of choked moans and sobs mixed with thank yous said in a chant.

so you find it quite amusing that everyone is so heavily convinced that choso could bend you in half whenever he wants, knowing there's a whole folder of pictures and videos you took of him in every position you bent him into in your phone.

he has that killer glare that does not hold up the very moment you two are alone — but fret not, he will absolutely kill for you.

in the end, that's just his unwavering love for you. you make him feel entirely human — that it's completely okay to be vulnerable and seen as a faithful and loving companion. you adore each other, and that's all he needs.

[lovetei]

PLEASUE GYARU READER WHOSE LIKE A LITTLE SHY Y'KNOW BUT WEARS THIS BOLD FASHION AND MAKEUP ?? WITH THE DEMON BROTHERS AND MAYBE DIAVOLO IF YOU WANT ?? I DONT MIND

I am so fucking tired

GYARU CHOU KAWAII

This is short, I'm sorry :((

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The characters reaction to a GYARU!MC whose sense of fashion is bold but their personality says otherwise

Warnings: Grammar errors, spelling errors, no proofreading, readers gender is not specified, gyaru is a japanese subculture and fashion style characterized by an over-the-top westernized feminine look and “frivolous” behavior like partying at clubs

Versions: Demon brothers, Side Characters

Links: Masterlist

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

LUCIFER

"At first, I assumed they would be similar to Asmo considering their sense of fashion. Loud, party animals and high pitch voice. But then, they dropped her lip gloss and started quivering so much. They looked at us as if we're gonna eat them alive..."

He wasn't surprised by your fashion sense, let's be honest. Asmodeus probably dressed like that in the past.

And he's seen similar styles back then when he had to visit Tokyo

Though, your personality is the one that shocked him.

Once you get close, he'll even pay for your thrift store shopping spree and nail appointment

MAMMON

"The duality is insane. Theg got pink nails, glitter eyeliner, and just apologized to the table for bumping into it."

Let's be honest, leopard prints would look SO hot on him

So he probably dressed similarly to you before on some modeling gig, but maybe less intense

But these type of fashion is pretty common in Devildom, don't worry!

So he's so worried that... You're... So... Shy?

MC, you're wearing six-inch high heels that can probably kill someone, have some confidence!

LEVIATHAN

"They looks like a final boss but then theg stutters like a low quality NPC... When they arrived, I thought they will bully me when in fact, they're scared that I will bully them."

You both bumped intro each other one time

And then you bowed to apologize

The he bowed too

Then you looked up to look at each other.

You thought he looked mean, and he thought you looked mean

So you two bowed deeper

SATAN

"We met in class. They're wearing fishnets and a short skirt then asked me if they can sit in the back "so no one will notice them." I just sighed. Then, one time, they handed me a neon pink glittery pen to borrow then bowed like we're doing a tea ceremony."

At first he thought you're so shiny.

And polite...

Like a polite disco ball.

Though, he admires you fashion sense and personality

He wished he can compliment you but he's afraid you'll combust

ASMODEUS

"Girl, I saw their eyeliner and I know that took an hour and a breakdown. And their lashes is so long, it's so long it waves before they does. I commend them, it really takes a lot of guts to wear platform heels and still be nervous ordering in the cafeteria."

You're his discontinued dream

Oh please, wearing leopard prints, high platform heels, neon pink, and THICK eyeliner is his dream

But lucifer said it's too expensive to continue as an everyday fashion...

BEELZEBUB

"I saw them call a vending machine "Mister robot" while paying for a can of soda... Sure... Then I helped them open the can because they're having a hard due to their long nails and they said thank you so many times..."

He gets protective of you because you're so shy

He's always behind you so he looks like a bodyguard/jock bf of a mean bully vibed human

He's the type to eat chips on your bed while you take an hour to prepare for school

BELPHEGOR

"They're so bling bling I could see them through my eyelids. And her hails, oh those nails, they're always clacking on something like they're typing Morse code or something. Though, we vibe."

He always get flashbanged

Since you speak so low, he would always think he's dreaming of your voice when you're in fact trying to ask him something

He's probably emo back then so... No judge here.

[angeastrd]

okay drabble.. not proofread.. also unfinished..

caitlyn kiramman x exhibition kink. shes a freak i believe

I mean, its not like it was her fault. You were basically asking for it, the way you were so hell-bent on working her up during the "stupid" banquet - though, your words may have held truth, she could agree that it was perhaps a little meaningless. But you were on the arm of a Kiramman, you really should have known better than to tease your already wound-up girlfriend. She was mean on a good day, and now? Now you were in for it. 

However, you had found great pleasure in deciding to rile her up; she knew how close one had to be to properly be able to see everything, and believe her, she had seen everything. The not-so-subtle touches, the 'accidental' way you would brush against her; she had had enough of it. she had also had enough of the little bartender making heart-eyes at you, or more accurately, your ass. 

So, she does what any sensible woman would do. She coaxes you into the bathroom with the allusion of fixing her hair, and before you can even huff that her hair looks fine, you're bent over the bathroom sink, forced to watch yourself as her hands tug your dress up with a sharp yank, your panties gone in a similar fashion with a muffled mutter of "fuckin' brat," as her teeth rest on her bottom lip - a rare occurrence; only something that happened when she was extremely worked up, or pissed off. 

judging by the absolute tent in her pants, its probably both.

"You are so uncouth. you act like you've never been to a banquet - fuck - purposely teasing me. like some barbarian, can you be civil?" she reprimands, all while she drags her hands against the shaft of her cock, before pushing her (now pulsing) cock into you. "Fuck, you're wet. No wonder you were needy," she croaks, as you tighten around her, and its like you're doing it on purpose

“Dont you dare get quiet on me now,” she snarls, hips slapping against the curve of your ass. “Let them hear you, darling. Let them hear how I make you feel.”

“Fuck - ngh - Cait- feels so good- ‘m close," you mewl out, not being able to focus on much - given the circumstances - other than trying to stay quiet. She tuts at that.

“Already close, darling? You must’ve been more worked up than I thought- hm, I’m feeling nice. Beg”

[kryinthenight]

Kip Max 

Why are you getting so worked up over a beached whale? It happens all the time during this part of the year. We know what to do.

uhh that's not a whale..

Looking back at that time, it was obvious that something was off by the way its lifeless body hung against the sand. As the water washed towards the carcass, it created a slight movement to it. It made it almost feel… alive… 

We had been working on the fishing docks since I could even remember. My dad worked at the lighthouse as my grandpa hauled in huge fishing orders of sea bass off boats. This meant that I had basically grown up surrounded by the stench of rotten fish and sea salt hair making my already curly bush of locks more of a pain for my mom to deal with when I got home. Max was one of the other kids I met whose families calling resided in the depth of the ocean. This made a natural bond form between us as the years went on considering the close proximity and lack of relatability to other kids more inland. 

After years of being my dad and grandpas “little helper” and maxs savior during his misadventures in the sea, we both settled into jobs that followed in our familial footsteps. I had taken up a job in the light house, just as my father, while Max became whatever job he could get his hands on near the coast. This week's “scuba diving instructor extraordinaire”, or so he says. 

This morning started as any other. After my long night shift, I would make my morning coffee and scale the first half of the beach for any washed up trash or forgotten items. The sunrise that illuminated across the ocean coupled with the sound of the salty water washing the sand away was a sight that never escaped me over the years. This along with the first sips of my morning coffee with the grit of the sand beneath my feet became a routine that would hold me together in the worst of times. 

As I made my way down the stairs I was greeted with hurried footsteps towards the door I was nearing. I could feel the sticky sea salt breeze burst in as the door almost flew off its hinges, with an excited max standing in the frame. 

GOOODDDD MORNING K CUP, HOW'S IT HANGING

Max.. Do you even have an inside voice? 

Nope! Didnt develop, might be malformed. SPEAKINGGGG OF MALFORMED

He looked side to side frantically and almost whispered as he narrowed his eyes towards me. 

Diddya see the carcass washed up? Pretty big one. You should come check it out with me. 

Another whale??? That's the 3rd one this week?!

Yepppp i mean you know how it is during storm season. Always washing everything out, in. causes all kinds of weird things to come in. 

Alright let's go. 

I followed him out the door as he skipped along in his barely zipped up scuba suit. It was particularly nasty out the night before. The dark clouds were the first thing I noticed as we headed out. As the wind began to blow, it was clear that the hurricane from the east blowback had not finished yet. 

Max was not kidding when he said there was another whale… although…. 

As we proceeded to get closer to the body, we both noticed something was.. Off. besides the obvious damage on the outside. It was clear that something wasn't…right with it. 

Was it sick?

I don't know. But either way we need to call this in you know. Maybe get it exclaimed by the marine biologist before we toss it back out for fish food. 

Max stepped closer to examine it. 

Hey, be careful we don't know what it has-

Max instantly jumped back, almost falling into the water behind him. I thought he was giving me a hard time for being paranoid so I tried to call him out. 

Why are you getting so worked up over a beached whale? It happens all the time during this part of the year. We know what to do. Let just call it in and-

uhh that's not a whale..

I headed over towards max after he had spoken those words. I felt the seriousness as his gazed retained fixated on the back half of the body. That was when I finally saw it. 

It's… a creature

I couldn't contain the sudden panic in my voice as I saw movement come from the inside of the beast. A head poked out over the side as the limbs of the creature buried inside the opening further. It was scared of us. 

We need to get it out and back in the water. 

Max??

He shot me a serious look as he used his gloves to open the fin and the wound in the carcass to get a better look at it. 

It almost looked like a cross between an octopus and a squid. Like a new form of hybrid between the two with some very big almost animated eyes as it kept hold of our gaze. It looked like a baby. I knew Max noted the same things I had but still he had sighed and began to show a softer face. 

Hey little guy. We aren't going to hurt you, okay? I promise. You can trust me okay... I just want to get you home. 

As its eyes glazed frantically between us both it eventually reached one of its arms out to grab on to max's hand. And slowly made its way into his arms.

That's it, little guy. I'll help you back in okay. How'd you get this far in land anyways? Hitch the wrong ride or something?

Its eyes stared up at me as i watched it fall into max with comfort. 

We won't hurt you; I promise. Well just set you back in, okay?

It seemed to understand our nature and blinked in confirmation. I reached my hand out the little guy and his head caressed into my hand. 

He's.. soft. 

See I told yah it wasn't just a wha-

Waves began to crash violently against the shore as the sky darked once again. Rain poured as lightly followed. It looked as if a hurricane was forming right before us. 

Barely standing from the whipping wind, Max and I covered the creature and went to run towards the shelter so that we could protect ourselves and our new friend. Without hesitation we began to book it towards the lighthouse but before we could get our feet firmly into the sand, we felt it slipping and pulling us in closer to the sea. This caused us to remain planted in the ground towards the ocean. 

We screamed out for help as we felt as if this was the end of us. That was until we saw something from a dome outside of the water. 

It looked as if a large gray matter formed outside of the water and began rising towards the surface. As it quickly rose, a face began to form outside of the water. A creature of unfathomable size rose from the water as its limbs dangled below it. Its large yellow eyes glared at us as its full body was still submerged in the water. It looked similar to the creature we had in our arms but as its size was so expanded, it touched the water and sky. It pulled us in closer as it stared directly at us. 

Max and I both looked down quickly and saw an almost smile across the face of the creature we held. We quickly realized the situation. 

This was its mother. 

We both walked closer to the tide and submerged ourselves in the water as we let the creature go towards its home as the other watched. 

Go on home little fella. 

When we had released the creature, for a moment nothing had moved. Time felt like it had stopped amongst us as we watched with our breaths held, hoping this was the answer to our freedom. 

When we couldn't see the swimming of the smaller one anymore, the eyes of the godlike apparatus stared deeply within us as the winds picked up once more and it submerged itself in the water once more. 

We were safe. 

As we made our way back to shore we both collapsed in exhaustion and disbelief. Unspeaking and unknowing of what just happened. 

After a while Max finally broke the smile with a laugh. 

So…. scuba lessons are officially canceled for today… and probably forever. 

Yeah, I'm going home to turn in. 

We both shook our heads and laughed. 

This would be a day, neither of us could forget. 

TODAY'S WRITING PROMPT:

"Why are you getting so worked up over a beached whale? It happens all the time during this part of the year. We know what to do."

"Uh... it's not a whale."

24.01.15

[marvelstan0905]

"Trust me, you're not heavy"

Boyfriend!Kenji Sato X FEM!Chubby/Plus Size! Reader

TW : insecurities regarding weight/fluff/wholesome/stammering/picking up/angst/slightly new relationship/comparison/lewd joke at the end/not proofread yet/ mixed POV

-Hi. This is for comfort. Mostly for me,because I am on the thicker side and these are thoughts that have coursed through my mind. If you will be triggered please don't go beyond the line. I am a Female/AFAB so it will be with she/her pronouns! I'm still gonna write other scenarios with GN readers in mind! Thank you for the love and support😘

©all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

Today was a relaxing day. A chill day from all the chaos that both me and Kenji had been going through. We were relaxing together at Kenji's house. My legs laid on his lap as I sat across from him on the couch. We were watching a movie occasionally being on our phones. Kenji put down his phone and looked at me thoughtfully.

"Hey baby?" Kenji started hesitantly as he took my hand and gently put my phone down. I hummed and smiled giving him my attention. "Can I ask why you don't let me pick you up or sit in my lap?"

I froze. I expected the question but I didn't really expect the question so soon ant so abruptly. I looked away from Kenji, clearing my throat.

"W-What do you mean, baby?" I cleared my throat and withdraw my legs from his lap hugging my knees. Kenji's eyes softened in concern as he observed your tense and almost, hiding body language.

"Well..baby we've been dating for quite a while yet you've never sat in my lap or let me pick you up. If I try to pick you up, you squirm away and stiffen up...did I do something to make you uncomfortable?" Kenji spoke sincerely as he gently took ahold of my hand, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. His beautiful mauve turquoise eyes held concern and guilt. I felt bad.

"N-No. Of course its not you, baby. It's me, really. I..I dont even know where to start really" I breathed with a nervous laughter. I played with his soft but calloused hands. Kenji felt relieved but it still didn't exactly explain why. He wouldn't pressure his girl to talk about it but they had great communication.

"Well you know,you can tell me anything. I'd never judge you. You're the perfect specimen to me" Kenji added with conviction and genuineness. I blushed and shook my head.

"I know that, my love. You'd never judge me. It's just..I'm not exactly small, you know? I don't weigh like 40kgs and stuff like that. Plus I've never really been lifted up or put my whole weight on someone, if that makes sense? Like for trustfall exercises at school, I never got a turn or piggy back rides. Stuff like that..I know it's stupid" I rambled whiles touching my head. I tugged on my sweater sleeves. Kenji's eyes softened and hardened at the same time, he was was quite upset people treated you that way. "Even if someone did volunteer they'd be huffing and puffing or straning. So I'd prefer if you didn't get a hernia or something like that picking me up"

"Welk to start baby, fuxk those people who treated you like that. I'd like their names and Instagram handles..Number 2. It doesn't matter that you don't weigh 40kgs or whatever. That's actually unhealthy but anyways. I don't care if you're not small. Just means there's more to touch and feel on" Kenji smirked whiles groping my pudgy love handles. I giggled and pushed his hands away causing him to chuckle.

"Babe. It's not stupid at all. Trust me, I won't get a hernia or huff or puff, okay? I'm an athlete, I play a sport which requires a great deal of strength. I probably lift weights heavier than you. Even if you weighed 6000lbs I'd glad pick you up and put you in my lap and arms"Kenji assured me whiles he pulled me closer and held my hands.

"I know it's scary but please trust me. I think you're the most beautiful girl ever. With all cute abundance as well. It means I get a marshmallow and extra softness to cuddle, okay?" Kenji smiled and stood up pulling us both to our feet. He pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around my waist. "Can we try it? I promise I won't drop you or strain? I'm not fragile, my love. I won't break if I pick you up. Come on your dating the Ken Sato. Believe when I say you're not heavy at all"

Kenji was convincing but I was still anxious. I really didn't want to be embarrassing or scarred for life...again. I didn't want to witness my boyfriend struggle under my weight but then again, he was right. He did lift weights far heavier than me. His half alien self did have that extra strength and power. I looked up at him and Kenji gave me the puppy eyes and the pout. I groaned and sighed, he really did look like a kicked puppy. "Please princess of mine, please. Trust me?"

"Finnnne. I'm being serious, baby. I'm trusting you. J-Just a minute, okay?" I stammered anxiously. Kenji's smiled brightened up and without a second of hesitation, his large hands wrapped around my thick thighs and picked me up without a struggle or hassle. My instant reaction was to push him away and stiffened up, but I took a deep breath. Kenji wrapped my legs around his waist. His hands laid comfortably under my thighs. I looked at him expecting a tomato face or something but he seemed..fine. Genuinely content and happy as he rocked from side to side slowly.

" Look at that..I'm not huffing or puffing. Neither am I crumbling. See ,baby trust me. You're as light as a paperclip to me. I can toss you around like a ragdoll if I wanted" Kenji shrugged with a triumphant smirk as his hands climbed up and onto my rear. I flushed and breathed a sigh of relief. It was still a lot to get used to but I really liked this. It was nice."Feels good, huh? Plus you're all nice and close to me. I get to kiss you more too"

Kenji spoke softly whiles his lips peppered kisses all over my face. Small flustered giggles left my lips as I leaned into his affection.

"Guess I was too anxious. Thank you, baby. Means alot that you're patient like this. The reassurance means alot as well" I say softly whiles nuzzling my cheek against his cheek. Kenji hummed in satisfaction as well nuzzling against me as well.

"This is nothing, baby. I just wanted you close and for you to be more comfortable in your own skin. I love you so much. All of you. In and out, okay? In fact, I'd like to add to all that chubbiness. Just make you eat even more" Kenji murmured whiles kissing my cheek continously. I giggled and shook my head. We stood like this for a few minutes in a comfortable silence as we exchanged kisses and nuzzles. It was so nice and intimate. The once nervous and anxious air from before seemed to have dissipated as we cuddled in content.

"You know this means I can eat you out in the air now" Kenji murmured with his cheek restint against my head. I clicked my tongue, with a flustered gasp and gently pinched his chest. "Ow! What? Wishful thinking..you know? A little manhandling..come on you know you want to?"

"Kenji Sato!"

"Okay..Okay..I'm sorry..maybe we can try the butterfly position now-"

Thwack

"Ow!O-Okay. Okay. I'm sorry, babygirl. We can talk later hmm?"

[itsss4t4n]

How long is Forever? - Harry Hook x daughter of alice in wonderland

Headcanons but the longer version of this post:

a/n: this is based more on tim burtons aiw adaptation as it is the only one that i know, and i might have misremembered some of the story/ characters so i apologize if its inaccurate to wonderland or its characters in any way. I got way to invested in creating the character and story and almost forgot that that wasnt the point. At some point i think the character just completely changes and i low key hate it. Im really bad at writing headcannons instead of full fledged fics.

Trigger warnings: fighting, she /her pronouns used, slight angst toward the end but happy ending, not proofread

-being alices daughter you are considered kind of weird by the aks, (think luna lovegood), you are kind of dreamy and constantly in your own thoughts but you still have a very strong own opinion on everything. You say what you think even if others might not like that. 

-You also have a very different sense of style than most girls in auradon. You played alot with different colours and textures always looking slightly crazy (you took inspiration from your godfather, the mad hatter). Your blonde hair was cut to a short messy bob with short bangs, and always changing coloured streaks throughout.

-you dont have the same view of good and bad as most others , and you dont think the vks should be judged by what their parents did and immediately try to befriend them and continuesly defend them

-when mal runs away to the isle you insist on joining the other vks and ben, as you do well in new and different invironments and later because you are an incredible sword fighter, your mother having thought you all she knows, just in case you ever needed to fight a jabberwookie type beast yourself.

-Due to your personal style not being very auradon, you didnt really have to disguise as much as ben when going to the isle. 

-On the isle you felt surprisingly comfortable, as you liked the weird and almost liminal athmosphere that it had 

-the first time you met harry was right after bens kidnapping, when harry came to tell you all about it.

-Harry has this theatrical almost a little eccentric way of talking and moving, which intruiged you pretty quickly. Of course , You didnt like or trust him, he did just kidnap one of your best friends, but you were intruiged non the less.

"And who is this little lassy?"

You told him your name with a glint of interest and mischif in your eyes. "Daughter of Alice in Wonderland."

"How interesting."

"I was just thinking the same thing. Whats your Name?"

"Harry Hook." He introduced himself with adramatic bow, before making fun of jay and barking at carlos.

- The other three had watched the interaction in confusion and wonder. They knew you were a little odd but seeming this confortable with harry after knowing what he did to ben?

"What was that?!" 

"What?" 

"Dont be nice to hook! He just kidnapped your best friend!"

"yea.. But he is quite interesting." And as an afterthougt: "and kind of pretty dont you think?"

"NO! Concentrate please. He is the enemie alright?!"

"Yea whatever, lets go tell mal about this shit."

-You go with Mal and evie to see dizzy, and instantly get along.

-Later while Mal and Uma are talking (singing), you cant help your eyes from glancing over at harry every few seconds. He did look good, with his red coat, the old silver jook on his left hand, and the messy black eyeshadow around his striking blue eyes.

"He is really beutiful dont you think?" That question was mostly directed towards evie who just shot you a dissapproving look. "I'm just saying. purely aesthetically."

-You simply shrugged and watched the situation continue to unfold, swordhand on the hilt of your sword at your side. When the fight breaks out you stand against harry. For better of for forse.

"Hello Pretty boy." You raise you swordand get into a defensive position.

"Wonderland girl."

-You kept making little comments about his looks and his sword fighting which he of course returned in his own flirty way. You quite enjoyed going back and forth like that. Witty comments, smirks and flirty smiles, and fighting more for show at this point instead of actually trying to beat each other. Trying to make this surprisingly pleasant moment last as long as possible.

-until you heard an urgend shout of your name from Mal.

"Sorry in advance." In a quick movement you snatched harrys hook and threw it down into the water. Before a shoked Harry can jump after it you catch his arm and talk to him in a slightly hushed voice.

"I really hope this wasnt our last meeting pretty boy." Before running off with the others.

-You dont see each other again until Audrey turns evil, but you do still think about harry. Is it stupid considering you met like twice and he was you enemy? Yea. Did you care? not really. He was georgeous, funny, good with a sword. Your dream guy. Except for the fact that he was supposedly your enemy. but then again when had you ever cared about that kinda stuff.

-His black lined blue piercing eyes were burned into your brain.

-In the six months until you saw him again you had become mal and bens unofficial bodyguard, spening most of your time with them or with evie, your sword has taken permanent residence at your side, only taking it of to sleep or shower and even then it was always in grabbing distance. Mals paranoia about uma had actually started to get to you.

-You are at evies house when audrey shows up and spells mal. You join them in going back to the isle to retrieve hades ember.

-When your bikes get stolen you cant help but smile at the sight. Yea its shitty but he is still beautiful.

"Pretty boy!"

He drawls you name in his scottish accent and you mentally swoon.

"Thats my bike!"

"Oh yea? Come and get it back then." Before driving of.

-You run after them (except mal and celia ofc),and at one point you split upbecause the boys on the bikes did so. You follow harry and when the others are out of sight he slows to a stop. You catch up to him with a grin.

"Nice to see you again Hook. I was hoping we would meet again."

"I was too Lassie."

-The next 10-ish minutes are filled with flirty banter and tales of what happened in the last six months. It felt like you've known each other for years (as clichee as that sounds). 

-You almost forgot why you were there until you heard jay shouting your name.

"Where are you, Mal got the thing come on."

You quickly turn to Harry again.

"Go! Before they see you and make it a whole thing."

"What bout your bike?"

"Keep it pretty boy, i doubt the others got theirs back so it would be weird if i did."

With a last sly grin harry leans towards you "I will see you again very soon." 

Before you could question what 'very soon' meant, he had already driven of. 

Just in time because Jay and the others turned the corner behind you.

"There you are! What are you doing? come on!"

"Sorry. Was chasing after the bike." You Give them a small smile before walking past them. "You coming?"

-To say you were surprised when harry and gil jumped through the barries after them would be an understatement.

"Pretty boy?!"

"'ello Darling. we're just coming for a wee visit" 

-You tried , just like evie, to get the two groups to work together. Harry mostly walked next to you or Uma. At some point you hung back so he culd walk in between you and doesnt have to kep switching. He caught up with uma but still kept the constant flirts towards you up.

-Everyone was really confused on why you two seemed so good and almost comfortable around each other, not to mention the flirting. Evie was the only one who knew of your little crush so she send you a few knowing smirks.

-During the knight fight you and harry fought as a team. Incedibly well might i say. 

-You were somewhat enthusiastic about evies icebreaker idea, enjoying the idea that the two groups could finally work together.

"Harry great accent."

"Shes right. It is a good accent."

-The flirting just wouldnt stop, comments thrown at each other, bumping shoulders while walking, even brushing your hands against each others on occasion. You had joined the boys in looking for ben.

"To make sure jay and harry dont kill each other."

-Gil doing the icebreaker and bonding with jay. 

meanwhile you and harry in the background:

"We should do that icebreaker pretty boy."

"oh yea?"

"Yea. You've got really pretty eyes."

"And you are really good with a sword lass." His hook just slightly gracing your cheek before something in gil and jays conversation sparks his interest.

-When finding ben you had immediately pushed harry behind you and unsheathed your sword out of instinct. Jay has to pull both of you out of bens way because both of you got distrcated by how close you were standing to each other. After making sure ben was alright you made sure harry was too.

(instead of flirting with jane he flirts with you)

"Well well well, thank you for trying to protect me there darling." The hook was under you chin this time.

"No problem pretty boy." You smirk back.

Ben had his little freak out. Jay and carlos had one too for slightly different reasons.

"when did this happen? you and hook?"

You just shrugged and started walking off.

The boys just looked at eachother thouroghly confused.

-After everyone reuniting and you secretely updating evie on the harry situation you all made your way to fairy cottage. When you found chad you had to half hide in harrys shoulder to hide your laughter because god was it good to see chad taken down a few pecks like that.

-Then Mal dropped the bomb. Closing the barrier forever. You couldnt believe it. You were always a firm believer in the vk programm. And you had honestly hoped that even if harry etc were send back, they would get out someday, or you might go visit them. You considered them freinds at that point. But now that wasnt possible.  You tried to comfort harry and uma in some way but it was to no avail.

"Im so sorry you guys... I didnt know." You had tears in your eyes yourself.

"Dont worry about it Darling. Its nae your fault." Placing his hand, his actual hand, on your cheek for a second, to wipe away the tear that had fallen. Before he walked of with uma.

"Harry....."

Mal was shocked to see your tears at the fact that harry was leaving. she had absolutely no idea this was a thing. It wasnt really. you didnt have enough time for it to actually become a thing. You watched harry and uma leave before evie walked up to you to hug you. 

She talked to mal but you didnt want to listen.

suddenly there was a bright light before it went dark for a bit. When you came to again, Mal was gone. It didnt take you guys long to piece together what must have happened. so you went to find mal.

-You and harry were both incredibly relieved to see that the other was okay. *cue big hug and an almost kiss that turned into a kind of awkward cheek kiss before another hug * 

-Harry announcing that he is actually going back to the isle felt like another punch in the gut. Again that sounds dumb considereing how little you actually knew each other but you didnt care. 

-Harry and you talked before he left. He gave you one of his rings "so you wont forget me darling". So you give him one of yours "then dont you forget me either". *cue more crying and hugs, between all of you *

-Mal announcing that the barrier will be taken down during the engagement party was the best thing that couldve happened to you at that point.

"Looks like you get a chance with your pretty boy after all." Evie.

Uma to harry on the isle: "Now you can get your pretty girl, pretty boy." While bumbing his shoulder.

As soon as you could spot eachother on the bridge you ran into each others arms.

-Kith

-like a lot of em

-Your friends from both sides were incredibly happy for both of you.

[cress-meadowforge]

The reading progressed, and Cress was thankful for it, to move on from what they'd already reviewed. She laughed when Marble did, shoulders easing. And Cress reminded herself that she had not hidden any of this from Slate. Not the amusing, apparent pieces, nor the shameful, sharp ones. Nothing he was learning about her was new. As for Marble, well -- Cress would tell she was observant too. There would be no hiding, no performing. She accepted this; didn't even bother trying to maintain her mask.

"I'm trying to sift through it," Cress said, as though Marble might understand. "I was taught one thing about the world, but--" She looked at Slate, worried that she'd broken one of his recommendations; that she was delving into subject matter not meant for here. "It's something else entirely. Much more complex than the illusion. More painful, but more rewarding. Real." Slate used that word a lot. Ask it from her often. Reminded her when she was straying from it, tucking herself away. Some days were harder than others to muddle through. On those days, Cress struggled to parse out and differentiate. "Slate's patient with me," Cress said, spurring a genuine look of surprise from Marble. She laughed, the crow's feet in the corners of her eyes beautifully, joyfully deep.

"There's much you two can learn from each other," Marble replied, so certain, so knowing. "We grow the most through the greatest dissonance." Cress wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she felt proud to sit beside him. "And, I would venture a guess that you both find the other very interesting. Very exciting." The blush deepened, and Cress shifted in her seat, nervous like two teenagers who'd been caught.

"Let's discuss what you should do," Marble suggested, to their shared relief. But when she flipped the card, all three of them paused. Another shared card, this time, upright -- the same as Slate. "The Tower," Marble considered, interpreting its altered meaning in this position. "Another warning, this one for you to heed," she addressed Cress. "It's foretelling unexpected events. You may be falling in love," but had she fallen already? "Or need to relocate. It's an upheaval of your world. A painful and necessary overthrow of your current life in its entirety." Cress' stomach sank, lead low in her belly. Her hand in Slates was cold and limp. "This will not be a smooth or expected change, dear. It's going to come quite abruptly. Explosively."

And, without any reason to believe this, except perhaps the perpetual fear that made its nest in every victor's mind, Cress' first thought was I'm not going back into an arena. Not now. Not this time. It was a silly thought, really. There were enough volunteers in One to spare her that. But the Capitol had influenced Reapings before. They did with victors -- their property -- as they pleased. Cress felt panicked, trapped. She swallowed thickly, glued to her seat. "How is that what I should do? What do I...do with that?"

Marble inhaled, nodding. A fair question, given the information they were working from. "You change. You survive."

It did little to assuage the deluded fear of a re-reaping, of a forced return to that place and time. But Cress bit back further questions. She wanted the final card. The outcome. What happened once she survived?

"The Two of Wands," Marble tapped it, another repeat from Slate's reading. Cress wanted to inquire if that was significant. How often was there so much overlap? Just different positioning? "Some crises are on the horizon, which isn't surprising given your impending Tower moment. These will bring up themes of rivalry, desire, sadness, and regrets." All of Cress' favorite things. Marble went quiet for a moment, and Cress wondered if that was it. If the reading had finished. But then she looked at Slate, stretching the silence, considering him with great weight. Her expression was searching, as though trying to make sense of her own read. "Radical changes are coming from your hard work, and these will be positive, but--" Marble met Cress' gaze, and she swore there was a sadness there. Something grievous and deep. "Beware, it will come at a high cost. The departure of a loved one will mark your change as complete."

Cress couldn't breathe. She thought of Slate. Of Callisto and Cyrene. Fleur and Myron. Miller, and Cat, and Link, and --

"A departure?" she asked. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know. It doesn't say."

"Is that a death? A loss? Is someone leaving?"

"I don't know, Cress. It could be any of that, I suppose. An exit of some kind. That's all it says."

"Oh."

Cress sucked in air, feeling as though she'd fallen flat, had the wind knocked right out. "Thank you," she managed, releasing the gem back onto the table, deep pink and white marks left on her palm where she'd squeezed. "Marble, would you happen to have anything helpful?"

"What do you mean?"

"A stone, perhaps. They're quite revered in One. I'm not sure if it's the same for you, but we--" she gestured to the Azurite. "We believe deeply in their energy."

Marble thought for a moment, nodding slowly, moving to sift through a collection of oddities and curios. Eventually, she offered two matching stones. An odd blue-brown, mixed with green, the shape a long, rod-like blade. "Kyanite," Cress inquired, again to Marble's pleasure. If there weren't other corners of the Hob to explore, Cress could have tucked away here with Marble and discussed such things endlessly. "Why?"

"It's associated with The Tower card, and will help you both in those experiences," Marble explained. "It's also a very powerful stone. Said to encourage telepathy when used with another person." Cress laughed, knowing Slate would never buy into the idea. But Marble smiled warmly, as though knowing this about him too, offering them out regardless. "If nothing else, they are a good reminder that you aren't alone, even in dark, trying moments. You will both make it through."

Slate watched, listened, taking it all in, glad to have the spotlight away from him. There had been parts of his reading that had felt ominous, strange, heavy -- he wanted to write it off, and yet he himself had introduced Marble, telling Cress that she was the real deal. What was coming?

Cress, he could see, was nervous, too, and that made him feel somehow better about his own nerves. If someone like Cress, so confident and assured, could feel nervous in the face of this, then it wasn't so strange for him.

A transition is making you feel unprotected. His eyes flashed to Cress. Did she feel unprotected, unsafe, did she feel he'd abandoned her for Eleven, the cause? He tried to find the answers in her face but was unable to; he wanted to stop, to ask Marble to explain further, but he knew the ridiculousness of that notion. To ask someone else to explain Cress to him -- it would be like cheating, it would be unfair. She was his puzzle to solve.

Her expression for the third card wasn't difficult to read. She was embarrassed, ashamed. He knew why -- she had wealth and prosperity and they did influence her and how she thought of things; and this was a sticking point between the two of them, always had been. At first he had written her off because of who she was. Privileged, rich, from a Capitol-loving District; a Career, a Victor. But over time, he had peeled those labels off of her and seen something more real. It wasn't that these were untrue, but rather, they were not full stories. He squeezed her hand in the hopes of offering some comfort, glanced to Marble and nodded, a silent request for her to move along, to say something else.

And so Marble did. "This is who you are," she said with certainty, a grounding tone in her voice, and flipped the next card. The Page of Swords. "You're curious, but you're also discrete. You pay attention to everything; those who are smart know this. Those who are not smart... well, they should beware." She laughed a bit, enjoying getting to know Cress, getting to know her as someone who Slate was holding hands with. What a topsy-turvy-fucking-world. She took joy in it, but she also took it seriously, and so she carried on: "You're observant, good with conversation — you're agile, can move from one thing to the next with no trouble. Cunning, patient." She flipped the next card: The Moon, upside-down. "But despite this — your intelligence, your agility — you are still shrouded by obsessions, concerns, hallucinations, perhaps even illusions." This wasn't hard for Marble to imagine. The world of the Capitol was nothing but these things. She hoped young Slate did not get too caught up in them, and that Cress was able to pull herself from them. She cleared her throat. "It can be difficult to know what path is correct, your true path, because of everything around you. The conflicts in worldviews; the lies that people tell."

This, too, felt ominous, and yet Slate felt sure that what the Page of Swords indicated was more than enough for the Moon. Cress was intelligent, agile, clever, observant. She knew what were lies and what was truth.