#so im searching for my own inspiration and trying to get in touch with my own creativity

[lightvixxen]

Hyper aware-

Eddie munson x afab!reader.

Summary: when you get overstimulated Eddie knows just how to handle it.

Wc: 1k

Warnings: none! Pure fluff! Reader is ND but its not specified. Reader used she/her but its only used like once. Reader also has a tendency to hit people if touched without warning while overstimulated so thats mentioned, weed mentions, kinda established relationship? Its not mentioned until the end really.

A/n: so this is actually based on true events that happened to me in one of my classes lol, obviously without the help of Eddie and it turning out very differently i got inspiration to write this because im still extremely overstimulated and this helps for some reader lol.

Tagging: @niceboyeds

Eddie knew something was wrong the second you walked into class. Your posture was rigid, your hands fidgeting with your necklace and you looked around the room searching for him.

When you finally spotted him you rushed over to his side, putting your backpack down and moving so you were closer to him.

“Hey, you okay? What’s wrong? What happened?“ he questioned you in a hushed but worried tone.

“I became hyper aware of everything in my last class- the electricity, the pencils moving, the textbooks being flipped, even the fabric on my fucking hoodie and now im really overstimulated” everything fell out of your mouth at what felt like 20 miles per hour.

Eddie gave you a sympathetic look, nodding in understanding.

“Where’s your walkman? Don’t you usually use it to keep this from happening?” He was genuinely curious, that thing practically never left you, carrying it around at all times just to feel safe and prevent this exact moment from happening.

“Don’t have it, I lost it and have absolute no idea where it is.” You run a hand through your hair, you were becoming more on edge by the second, the sounds of your classmates talking becoming more like nails on a chalkboard then actual voices.

“Do you wanna use mine? Our tastes are pretty similar and I’m pretty sure I still have-“ Eddie shut up the second he saw you physically recoil at the thought of using something that wasn’t yours.

”Okay, Do you wanna stay here, try to tough it out or do you wanna go back to my van and I can take you back to the trailer?” Eddie phrased it like a question but you knew the actual meaning behind the options. Do you want to wait until the tears start rolling or prevent it?

You shook your head “I can tough it out, i spent an hour like this already whats a few more?”

Both of you knew you wouldn’t be able to, this class specifically always made you overstimulated on a good day, already being overwhelmed and stimulated was a recipe for disaster. Yet you were too stubborn to admit your own limits.

Eddie rolled his eyes, hands already on his keys, he knew it was only a matter of time until you broke.

—

You we’re about fifteen minutes into the class when you started to become more restless, hands running through your hair, leg bouncing up and down, hands fidgeting with anything they could.

The teachers voice was practically nauseating, you could feel tears start to prick at your eyes, but you willed them back.

Eddie looked over to where you were sitting, a sympathetic expression painting his face.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He whispers to you, reaching out before stopping himself, you hadn’t given him the okay and he really didn’t feel like getting you sent to the principals because you reacted and socked him in the face.

You went to nod- then shook your head quickly, tears finally breaching your waterline and rolling down your face. You quickly wiped them away, but that was enough for Eddie.

“Alright, lets go, you need to calm down.” He decided for you, knowing you would be stubborn and try to push yourself. “Can I touch you? Or is that too much right now?” He checks in with you, he has this exact procedure down as if it was an evacuation drill.

“Just grab my hoodie…skin to skin is too much” Eddie nods in understanding, grabbing a fistfull of the fabric surrounding your arms. He stood the both of you up, and as the teacher for this class opened their mouth to speak Eddie cut her off.

“Excuse us, she’s overstimulated and really need to leave” and with that Eddie ushers you out of the classroom and towards the parking lot.

Tears rolled down your face faster than you could stop them, the only tell tale sign you were crying as Eddie pulled you down the school’s hallway was the occasional sniffle.

Once you reached Eddie’s van he unlocked the car and pulled the backdoors open. You quickly hopped in, pulling at the fabric of your hoodie as you did, Once you were sat and situated Eddie followed you in.

The back was cozy, a space Eddie designed to help calm you down in situations like these. He had managed to save up enough to put a mattress in the back with a bunch of pillows, blankets and stuffed animals.

“You want the other jacket I have in here, sweetheart? I know you hate that one in episodes.” You nod, finally pulling the hoodie off your head and throwing it somewhere to the side.

Eddie handed you his hoodie that he kept in the van for you, watching as you pulled it over your head and letting the familiar and comforting scent of Eddie surround your senses. He smiled as soon as he saw you visibly relax.

Eddie moves so he’s able to turn the van on without leaving you, he reaches for his cassettes before remembering why you were there and turning to you slightly.

“Music or no music?”

“Music…but on a low sound” Eddie nods, entering a random one into the player and turning the volume down enough it won’t make your problem worse.

“You starting to feel better?” You hum and lean your head on his shoulder, before flinching away and glaring at his clothing choice.

Leather and denim, your worst enemy.

Eddie chuckles, quickly discarding his jackets and throwing them in the same direction of your original hoodie.

“Sorry sweet thing, forgot you hate those textures.” You smile appreciatively, leaning on him once again.

You and Eddie stay like that for a few minutes before you’ve calmed down enough to recollect your thoughts.

“Thank you, eds.” You mumble, feeling your eyes droop suddenly, events like these draining you, feeling mentally and physically exhausted.

“For what?” He cautiously wraps a arm around you, when you don’t react he relaxes and pulls you into his chest.

“For putting up with me, when i'm overstimulated or have anxiety attacks.” Eddie made an ‘ah’ noise, you were always the apologetic type, even when you didn’t mean to be.

“I’m your boyfriend and best friend sweetheart, kinda my job.” He smiles, kissing your head.

“I know! But you could’ve left by now! Or driven me back to the trailer before going back to class!” Eddie rolled his eyes, you had friends and exes that have done that, leaving you to your own devices which in the end made things worse.

“Yeah no, this is way more fun.” You scoff and slap his chest.

“Is not!” Eddie barks out a laugh at your reaction.

“Yeah your right, it sucks, but I rather be comforting you then listen to some old lady talk about grammar and punctuation.” You giggle, and snuggle up into his chest, you were practically on his lap by now, but neither of you minded.

“You ready to go home, take a nap and then smoke so this doesn’t happen again later?“ overstimulated episodes for you usually lasted longer than anxiety, sometimes lasting for days.

“You gonna have to carry me in, gonna fall asleep back here”

“You know I’m perfectly fine with that.”

[bettsfic]

betts i want to get back into writing but i find my ideas so stupid and unoriginal and i think I've lost touch with what im trying to say or what i naturally used to gravitate towards before trying to make myself more palatable to others

it sounds like you've hit a writing ceiling, anon.

i think when you get better at something, progress doesn't happen at a slow, even pace. you work at one level for a long time and then suddenly you're ready to level up, and it can happen so fast that it's disorienting. sometimes there's not even a reason for it. your brain is just, "bored now, let's gooooo," like a kid tugging your arm desperate to get out of there.

but there's kind of an awkward elevator period too, where you're on your way to the next level but not on the floor of the previous one. it's a very frustrating space to be, because all you can do is wait for the doors to open, and you never know how long it's going to take.

it sounds like if you're coming back to writing from a long time away, you're visiting the floor you were on the last time you wrote, when you really belong on the next. you're bringing a new lens to old work. so you've gotta find the elevator or a stairwell or a jetpack or whatever to get you to the next floor.

ultimately what i think is stupid and unoriginal might be life-changing for someone else. and what i think is important and profound, someone else might find trite and meaningless. i try to make myself actually shape those two people in my mind. maybe some 21 year old fanperson who has no idea if they'll ever make it as a writer will read my stuff and go, "if she can do this, i can do this." (to which i say, yes you can!) and maybe a well-meaning 60 year old man will read my stuff and go, "the hell even is this? what am i reading?" both perspectives are equally valid, because once my work is being read it is no longer about me. it's about the reader who is bringing their entire life to each of my sentences, and reading it for their own personal benefit. your work will never benefit everyone, but it will benefit a few, and you can focus on writing to the eager younger person who needs to hear what you have to say, and not the middle aged man who has to get his daughter to reboot his phone. that man has tom clancy to read. but that eager younger person has you.

what sucks about being on the elevator is that it's made of glass and you're looking down on the floor you just came from. you're seeing the work of your past self from the audience of your present self. and all you can do is wave goodbye to that last floor and look up to the next one. sometimes that takes some searching. for me, it often takes simple patience and a chosen mindset that i need to be paying close attention to the things the world is trying to tell me, because those are the things that will get me off this stupid elevator.

and while you're waiting for that, if you still want to be generating words, focus on mechanics, craft techniques, really nitty gritty tedious stuff that's hard to focus on when you're in a high inspiration state. do research. read as much as you possibly can and set down anything that doesn't keep your attention. try creative stuff that isn't writing, like poetry or drawing. if you do all that stuff with the knowledge that you're about to set off into something new, every single crumb of it will inform your future work. it's like getting the nursery ready for a baby. i know i say "there's no writing wasted" a lot but it goes beyond that--there's nothing wasted. every single thing you encounter has the opportunity to offer inspiration that might help you get to that next floor.

so if you're looking for something to try, my advice is just to listen. don't form thoughts or opinions of your work while you're in the elevator. play and discover and experiment. focus on process, not product. really sit in the physical act of writing. sit in your sentences. pay close attention to everything that isn't the floor you were just on.

and if you're not looking for something to try, know that i can definitely relate to the struggle, and i hope your elevator ride is swift.

[that-bipolar-mood]

hey, my therapist thinks i might be bipolar and I’m really scared. it makes sense but it’s not something that I had thought about

I don’t know what to do what if I am bipolar??? im so worried that my friends will see me in a different way and I can’t loose them, I need them there all I have. I don’t know anyone that is bipolar and I have no support groups for bipolar disorder near me the closest one is almost 4 hours away. are people really going to see me so differently? Is being bipolar as bad as it sounds? Would meditation help or make it worse? I know nothing and I’m so worried about what’s going to happen. I know nothing about being bipolar. I’m sorry for the rambling I don’t know what to do, I’m just looking for help here.

-Axel

Hey there, sorry for my rambling, and thanks for stopping by.

Basically, I can assure you that all of us who were diagnosed went through something like this.

It's a long process, not gonna lie, but a good way to start is researching this condition. If you like books, fiction, or nonfiction (though I suggest non-fiction first), a quick google search will give you plenty of suggestions. My fav being Kay Redfield Jamieson, p.h.d. There are also movies, some more realistic than others. Probably among the top three is "Touched with Fire".

Anyway, once you get the basics and perhaps come to the conclusion that your therapist was right, you step on the path towards recovery and acceptance. (Not talking about full recovery since bipolar is a chronic condition)

1. You are still you

I know how deeply profoundly sucky the point of view becomes. You might see life through lenses of this illness, even yourself, your interests, and so on. But the cliché is true: your illness doesn't define you.

2. Acceptance isn't linear

Maybe unconventional, but I found that worrying and thinking about bipolar 24/7 made it worse. Some days I'll feel normal, some days I'll curse the day I was born. I'll mourn the losses I suffered from this illness, but I also will remember that there are is light.

3. This illness is dangerous

So many of us underestimated the consequences( of particularly mania). Depression is well known nowadays, but mania is often romanticised, glorified, and brushed aside. Meds, if prescribed, are your weapon.

4. What happened sucks, but...

Reexamine your life, goals, ambitions, needs, and wants. Even though I refused to accept the diagnosis at first, I still forced the evaluation. Because I felt my life was ruined, I, for the first time, realized what was truly important to strive for. Plus, I got rid of many universal bad habits. But it's okay to take time. Please take time, self care and love are priorities.

5. Let others be

This is probably the hardest part. Some people never tell they are bipolar. But having Carrie Fisher for an inspiration made me stop hiding. Either way, some will leave, and some will stay. It's not your job to educate them, to force their narrow views wide, to in any way lose your energy over their ignorance. BUT. Others will actually try to understand. Your friends, I dare say, will want to help, be there, because you are you, and this is just an illness. Be patient and kind with those. Family is trickier, but in the end, they love you. Remember, when someone leaves, it's their loss. However, in the 21st century, people tend to be more open-minded. I never received a negative comment from my peers. When I "came out," people were kind and gentle, even though I expected them to start throwing stuff at me, literally.

I am certain that you will find your own way of dealing with this load. You will grow and evolve, like a beautiful flower, and this will seem easier, with each step down the road. You can find many successful and happy people with this condition. I personally cannot live without mediation, yoga, my dog, my wonderful friends, and yearly Skam rewatches. These keep me grounded, even when I punch my pillow in frustration, because goddamn universe why me.

Finding your way is therapeutic. the internet offers great advice, people gave great lectures, and you can even find podcasts, specifically about bipolar disorder. But in the end, it's just an illness, yes, a giant part of you, but also the unimportant part. Your thoughts, emotions, interests, desires, and more - this is you - and more. and more. infinite. a whole universe. perfect. While bipolar is merely a dot. And if you two are ever in opposition, my bet will always be on you.

If this is remotely close to an answer, I am glad. If not, my dms are open. Or if I can help in any way, don't hesitate to let me know. With Love,

x

[just-a-carrot]

Helloooo!!! I was looking for inspo for my own visual novel a little while back, it's set in a ballroom so eventually the keywords lead me to discovering save the last dance (and itch.io in general im a total noob to this lmao) i dont know what it was but it just like took a vice grip around me INSTANTLYY.

So I downloaded the main game today and I am actually silently cursing you because I got nothing done all day I was just like transfixed. The artstyle grew on me alot, and oh godd the character designs... God I love the designs, espcially Genzhou's. There's just so much love (even in every gruesome death scene lol) put into this it's almost difficult not to get obssesed...

Also sidenote I found it kind of encouraging almost to see that you're (self-proclaimed) older, I found that really inspirational lol. There's something that just makes me want to create and actually sit down and learn when I play your games. I guess I've always had this feeling of having all the time in the world but recently I've been feeling almost like it's too late to learn new skills (which is kind if ridicolius since I'm like smack dab in the middle of gen z). Regardless I guess your work made me realize the artistry in visual novels, I could keep going but I tend to ramble lol

ahhhhhhhh this is so sweet!! i got very weepy reading this, especially as i'm already feeling quite soft today as it was a bit of an anxious one... 😭💕

that's fascinating that you found StLD first searching for ballroom stuff!! i am always curious how people first find out about any of my games. i'm happy you enjoyed it, especially enough to go play the main game sob. i'm incredibly touched

and i'm even more touched that you've been enjoying the main game so much 😭💕💕💕 especially all the kind words about the art!! i've grown more confident in my art more recently but especially in the beginning stages of the game i was incredibly self-conscious and worried about it because it was rather odd-looking and didn't match any other typical VN styles. so that's really sweet of you to say. this game certainly has had a lot of love put into it (and blood, sweat, tears, my entire life... etc.). it is very much a big passion project and my eyes were perhaps too big when i got started, but because it dug itself so deep into my psyche and i also made some good decisions like releasing in parts, etc., i've been able to keep working on it until the end despite it taking me like 2.5+ years so far. i'm not even sure i can put into words what this game and chars have done for me and my life and the many journeys and discoveries i've made along the way

dkjfalsdkf yes... i am a millenial, i will say that much. though i don't often feel like one. except for the fact that i often have no idea what people are talking about or referencing and tend to be awkward and confused most of the time LOL this is also why my characters are all older, as well. i sometimes feel a bit strange since i feel much older than many of the others in the VN dev sphere (well, perhaps in age only, not really in mental maturity maybe LKDJAFLKDS). if this can give inspiration to others that are also a bit older though, then i am glad 🤣 i have spent much of my life going from thing to thing and never really knowing exactly what i want to do. case in point my current job has nothing to do with my master's degree. though the one constant has always been creation of some kind, whether it's drawing or writing (and now with games, doing both of those on top of scripting and coding and a bajillion other things lol). i don't think you should ever feel "too old" to do something. or to get started doing something. or to feel like you "haven't done enough" etc. i say this so strongly because i also try to reassure myself sometimes perhaps LOL it's also ok if you don't know what you want to do so you're just trying out different ideas that you're passionate about. so many of us just wanna find something that makes us feel fulfilled and passionate, that makes our hearts ache, that fills us with joy and motivation. so if you can find something that does that for you, no matter how old you are, grab it and don't ever let go lkdajfalskd

at any rate, i'm glad i could also help you discover more about VNs in general. i hope it will be helpful as you work on your own games!!! 💕

[candiid-caniine]

hellooo, just wanted to say this blog inspired me to get more in touch with my denial side, so perhaps I'll work towards getting to know someone irl whom I can stay good and denied for <3

awwwweee im so glad!

Ahhh...i've been on this blog over a year now. i have to admit, when i started it, it was entirely for selfish reasons lol. i wanted to be stupid and pathetic in front of an audience, find hot people to dom me in my dms, and generally uh,, make myself worse.

i got all that. (mostly; i am still perpetually in search of hot doms so drop me a line if you're interested lol) but i got something else too. i was really surprised when the first influx of comments came in from other subs or sub-curious people who were trying denial for the first time because of me, wanted to know how certain things worked, etc.

i won't say i'm a mega-expert. i still learn new things about bdsm and my own tastes every day, it feels like. but getting to share in so many people's journeys and learning experiences and experiments is a part of this blog i wasn't prepared for, but have come to treasure so deeply.

all this to say: thank you. thank all you guys who reach out with questions or confessions; especially to those of you who feel new to sex, bdsm, or denial in general--i know there's often a lot of nervousness associated with asking questions or looking for advice on such intimate topics, and i'm just very humbled and proud that you feel my blog is a safe space to talk about these things!

all the love.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

GIRLIE I LOVE YOUR WORK ESPECIALLY THE ONES ON AO3!!! IM TRYNAA BE LIKE YOU BESTIE, PLEASE CAN I HAVE SOME WRITING TIPS/111!!!!???

(btw i really love man-sized, just finished it a couple days ago and AAAAAAAAA ITS SO GOOD I SWEAR!!!! LIKE MARRY ME PLEASE?!!?!)

Oh my goodness. You must be what they call a pookie 😘❤️ (I will marry you or adopt you, there's no middle ground.)

Thank you so much, you're making me blush!

I'm probably not the best person to give advice because I don't really know what's going on with my writing… It's a godawful mess. But I'll try!

So, writing tips under the cut ->

1. This might be boring and said a 100 times before, but... Show, don't tell! Obviously, I break this rule all the time when I go inside my character's head and explain how they feel and not just what they see, smell, hear, and touch. But if you're writing angst or fluff like I am, I'd say you must go inside the skin to dig into the character. (Also, f* the rules 😇)

2. If you don't know where to start, start with the dialogue. Even if it's just 4-10 sentences per scene. Then you can fill the gaps with some action, emotion/sensation and worldbuilding. But dialogue is actually the heart of your story and it creates some of the best tension; treat it with respect! Also: less is more with dialogue. Not always... but usually is.

3. Write from your own experience. We all have something to draw from, even if it's something as simple as how it feels to skinny dip in a cold lake. Or a hot bathtub. How does it feel to wake up from a nightmare or kiss someone you love? Like, truly feel? Don't tone it down!

4. If you want to sound more poetic, use metaphors and symbols and mythology. If you want to sound original, use history and culture and simply anything you have up your sleeve. All the "useless" knowledge: bring it on baby! When used sparingly, these can add to the depth of your storytelling.

5. Sculpt the paragraphs, then focus on the sentences, then hone single words. Whip out a goddamn dictionary. Search synonyms online (Thesaurus etc). Work with the words until they sound right for the story you wish to tell. Choose words that are most "alive" in your story's context, words that inspire feeling and stir emotion.

6. Read your story out loud or at least inside your head. That way you'll notice the errors and can fix the flow and rhythm of the story. Everyone loves a well-paced story! Sometimes just moving a sentence to a different paragraph or deleting it entirely can resolve an issue.

7. If you write a long fic, establish a core problem in the first chapter and remember to solve it before the story ends. For example in Man-sized, I presented an issue of trust. It was heavily inspired by my own lack of trust in men and the fear of getting played. Again, don't be afraid to draw from your own experience!

8. Music can help set the mood and bring out your creative flow. I have numerous playlists for writing or create a new one for the particular story in mind. If I want to write some heavyweight yearning, I'll blast some heavyweight yearning songs while I write. I don't know if this works for everybody; some people might need silence and space for creating.

9. The most important tip: WRITE FOR YOURSELF. Write the difficult, the overwhelming, the taboo. Write the most self-indulgent, shmexy scene ever! Or the fluffiest meet-cute that puts a smile on your face.

And if you're one of those writers who are not happy with their writing... write some more. Play with it, just don't give a shit. Let the inner demons give you courage and inspiration. Write about how shitty it feels to feel inadequate. You might find you just wrote some good poetry on suffering.

It's always better to write from love and joy instead of fear and shame – besides, life is too damn short to feel ashamed! Live a little and enjoy what you do, let writing be your escape. It's supposed to be a shelter where you can flee to when life is dull and hard and unfair. If other people's writing inspires you to write, then read. If other people's writing puts you down, save yourself some heartache and don't engage: just mind your own business and do your own thing.

Hope you found some of these tips helpful 💕 Much love 🩷💋 and happy, reckless writing!

[yengyangyo]

berry | k.s.w

pairings: kim sunwoo x female reader

genre: college au, friends to lovers

summary: you are in denial that you have a crush on your own friend, kim sunwoo until he made you confess your feelings.

word count: 1.9k

note: i wrote this on sunwoo's birthday. its quite late to post it cs i kept on postponing it sksksk but yea this was inspired by sunwoo's berry. enjoy reading! xo

-

you had sunwoo on your mind for days that you are lacking of sleep. it doesnt sit quite right for you to have this 'romantic' feelings for your bestfriend. meanwhile, sunwoo is not helping you to clear up your mind at all. he's just always there beside you no matter what.

he'd wait at the bus stop just to go to class together with you in the morning even when you're running late. lunch time together is a must unless one of you had other plans. both of you are just stuck together anywhere you go.

so for once, you thought it'd be a good plan to avoid him today. you woke up early that morning to get to class and you texted sunwoo that you had a discussion with your groupmates. this went on for a few days, you were making excuses everyday but sunwoo believed you.

until he couldnt take it anymore.

you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket and you saw sunwoo on the caller id. you were hesitating to pick it up until you felt someone grabbing your wrist from the back, turning you around.

"found ya!"

sunwoo appeared in front of you with the brightest smile. you couldn't help but to feel happy and welcomed by him that you started smiling unknowingly. you get back to your senses seconds later and avoided his eyes.

sunwoo knew something was wrong when he saw your expression fell. he glanced at your phone that kept ringing. he ended the call and your phone went off too.

"why arent you answering my calls? are you still busy?"

you couldnt stand seeing sunwoo looking all gloomy and upset. you felt bad for ignoring him so you tried making up excuses again.

"oh yea i was about to pick it up. sorry,"

sunwoo pouted and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. he's using his favourite perfume again today, you noticed. that scent happened to be your fav of him too. you felt weak and wanting to crawl into a hole or something.

"im craving chicken today. how about chicken and beer for dinner tonight?"

sunwoo turned his head at you, waiting for an answer. you looked up at him and his face was only inches away from you. you looked away, flustered. he had always been this way but only now you noticed how you felt about him which made it more awkward to be this close to him.

"i dont know, sunwoo. i'll have to check with my groupmates," you said, pretending to check your phone for your nonexistent messages.

"its friday come on. i havent hang out with you for days already," sunwoo whined and that made you laugh.

"alright but i get to choose where to eat,"

-

you chose the chicken restaurant near your neighbourhood where you both are regular customers there. the place was crowded with youngsters like the both of you, drunken with beer and chicken.

you were also getting tipsy from drinking. the first 30 minutes of the dinner went normal. asking how each other had been doing with the college life.

sunwoo sighed and rested his chin on his right palm. his eyes falters on you, searching for something. you looked away, feeling a bit burdened and transparent, because sunwoo knew you werent acting yourself these days.

"hey," he called you but you didnt answer and still avoiding the eye contact.

"hey look at me,"

you were startled at the warmth on both of your cheeks. sunwoo was cupping your cheeks to make you look at him straight in the eyes. you didnt know if this warmth was from his hand or from you blushing.

"what's wrong?" he asked. now his hand moved to yours, holding it tight. "you're avoiding me these days. do you think i didnt notice?"

silence fell between you two, just staring at each other. the guilt creeping up inside you and you didn't know where to start.

its the smallest gesture from him that create butterflies in your stomach.

that one time he opened the water bottle for you when he saw you struggling and saying that you're such a baby. his laughter filled the room when you frowned at the remark. you know how much he loves annoying you and in the end he always made you laugh too.

on rainy days, he'd always share the umbrella with you and keeping you close to him so you wouldnt get drenched. sometimes he'd gently rub your arm so you wouldn't get too cold.

sometimes he'd call you names like how boyfriend and girlfriend do, jokingly. though, you somewhat enjoyed it and played along. pretending to cringe but actually was flattered by him.

at this moment, your hand in his, eyes boring into each other, you just want to scream at him how much you love him.

you smiled in defeat and pulled back your hand.

"there were just so many thoughts going on my mind lately, sunwoo. im so sorry,"

he didn't question you any further and he nodded his head.

"whatever it is youre thinking, i just want you to know i'm always here for you,"

you smiled, this time sincerely at him.

"you always are sunwoo. i appreciate that,"

he smirked, "after all, i am the best that you got,"

you rolled your eyes and gave him your disgusted face.

"so are you gonna tell me what's bugging you?"

"i think i like someone. he's just always running round in my mind these days,"

you didnt know where the courage came from to blurt out that out of your mouth. sunwoo who was halfway shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth, stopped. he put it down and looked at you, doubting himself if he heard that right.

"i couldnt stop thinking about him. that pretty much explains that i like him right? or is it just my mind playing games with me?"

you swore you saw his face fell for a second but he went back to the usual sunwoo after that.

"does he know about your feelings?"

you shrugged, "nah. im still trying to find out what i really feel about him. should i tell him?"

sunwoo didnt say anything and chugged down his beer until its empty.

"yea why not," he answered simply. "he must be really lucky to have you,"

you laughed, "i havent done anything yet. there's a possibility that he'd reject me too anyway,"

its funny how you talk about this like its some stranger to sunwoo when you are talking about him. you felt light hearted a bit after letting that out.

"who'd reject you?" sunwoo said while playing with that piece of chicken, not looking at you anymore. "you're pretty and fun,"

you raised an eyebrow, wondering if you heard that right. he was still poking the chicken with his fork, eyes hazy and lips pouting.

"so you're not gonna tell me who is this guy you have a crush on?"

"you'll find out soon,"

-

sunwoo offered to walk you home though you kindly told him he didn't have to. he insisted and now you are walking beside him. he was suddenly quiet after the conversation you had with him.

"is that why you're avoiding me? because you have a crush on this guy?"

he asked, hands in his pockets, eyes looking forward. you looked at him, feeling a bit weirded out by his cold tone.

"no... okay maybe? i dont know. i just needed some time to myself,"

sunwoo fell quiet again for the rest of the walk home. when you reached the front gate of your house, you looked back at sunwoo. he looked like he was upset. you walked up to him and pat his side.

"hey thanks for walking me home. i'll tell you everything when i'm ready okay?"

sunwoo didnt say anything and you turned around to get out of that awkward moment.

"no i'll tell you everything right now okay? hear me out,"

you stopped in your tracks and facing him in confusion. he was pacing around, his hands are restless in his pockets.

"before you confess to him i guess i have to make a move on you first," sunwoo said, this time he raised his voice. "this is why people are saying we should always tell what we feel before we regret it and i dont want to regret it but i think im too late,"

you are worried at him. he looked like he was about to break down right in front of you. you wanted to comfort him but you didnt get what he's trying to say.

"sunwoo, i dont understand. what is it?"

sunwoo stopped pacing around and stopped directly in front of you. you swore you saw his eyes tearing up and you wanted to cry too. you thought, the alcohol has made both of you emotional.

"i like you,"

you both felt like the world is weighing down. it was as if the time has stopped for you two. you were staring at each other in disbelief.

"i know you like someone else and i shouldve told you sooner. i kept on putting back my feelings behind," sunwoo halted, gasping for air. "im too late now but i have to tell you this,"

"sunwoo-"

"i dont care who he is. but i want you to know that you deserve of love. you kept on telling yourself you dont deserve anyone. you know how badly i want to tell you that im here? i want to love you," sunwoo was practically shouting at this point. he sighed, "shit im already am in love with you,"

at those words, your tears came streaming down like crazy. you've never seen him cry but tonight he looked beautiful even when he's crying. you lurched forward and wrapped your arms around him. he buried his face in your neck and you felt his warm tears on your skin.

"im sorry. i just wanted to let that out after keeping it for so long. this is the worst timing huh?" he murmured under his breath.

you shook your head and laughed. you let go of the hug first and cupped his face in your hands. teary eyes staring at each other.

"sunwoo its you,"

"what?"

"i love you too,"

you closed the distance between the two of you, kissing him for the first time. that caught him off guard but then smiled in the kiss. it was sloppy but sunwoo is for sure leading you well at this. you both craved for this for a long time already. you were still crying of relief and touched by his confession.

"you should've told me before i start crying like an idiot," sunwoo looked down at you, smiling with his swollen eyes.

you laughed at him and you snuggled more into his embrace not wanting to let go too soon. you realized how much you miss him after those dreading days of ignoring him. he rested his chin on your head while gently patting you.

"im sorry ive been ignoring and denying my feelings for you,"

"its okay. thank god we actually like each other though," you both laughed at the same time and you havent felt this happy and giddy before.

"so i can actually call you my baby now?" sunwoo asked smirking at you playfully, knowing how much you hated it before.

"that's still cringy but sure, babe,"

[sentimintz]

and the habits of dead (and dying, or buried) things.

(a c!wilbur inspired poem.)

once i sat besides man who raised me, father, hand to pull my sprout up and toward the sun, (and to shove blade betwixt ribs and into beating, blood, traitorous heart), and i asked him what he thought love to be

he said to be kind. to be sweet. to sit besides them no matter what, even if storms brew or words hurt or the distance stretches. to care infinitely, he says.

the moment was carried away on winds of past and youth and not yet hurting familial bonds and not yet ruined lives (soon.)

so i say to myself, im not sure what i think love is, in the end.

i have loved but it feels tainted upon looking in dirty lens, dirty fingers, bloody hands, retrospection.

i have loved but each a different shape that bends and grows like shadows, that differs in opacity (sun setting, sun rising, hearts breaking.)

to love is to care and give and take and forgive and forget but never forget the important parts, to cliff note joy and warmth and trust i think. trust without exchange, adoration and warmth without demand.

the definition of love is what i searched for even in the back of my tattered broken shaky hand made patch mind, stepping over broken glass into the cobweb corners and childish wonders of what this and that and the third really truly are, what it all means (that is: everything.)

a little note scribbled through tears of “love: a study?” there is nothing to follow. empty question empty man empty hands, no answer disregarded until we reach times like this when everything is too quiet and i dont quite have enough things to hurt myself over

i think the clarity comes suddenly, and thickly, hard to breathe and cloying in your throat, storm cloud hangs heavy and makes thoughts foggy and i think

“when did you get that big” as you stand in front of me and eclipse the setting sun.

the night (mare) is somehow the quietest and loudest its ever been as dead heartbeat pounds in my ears and you admit to things i never had the strength to do, my herculean little hero, my undermined precious stone,

(i found you in riverbeds among common rocks and you were so shiny in the nearly unnoticeable way but i have mastered just how to turn my wrist or head and see you shine, see you glimmer, my shooting star)

“when did you get that brave” as you look the unsavory parts (things) right in the eye and you look me (the thing) right in the eye and i know i fucked (past, current, fuck), up, know mistakes create spillage that soak into the good parts all blood blood life blood red and irremovable, irreparable, irrevocably changed.

i am the tightrope walker and death lies below like a snapping starving dog at my heals jumping to drag me down by the thin column of throat but you are at the other end of tightrope with hands outstretched (please don’t look down, please never look down and only to me.) and willing to touch me despite it all, despite everything. despite me.

i both treasure and loathe you but mostly i love you because you are love.

pained, dirty, imperfect, fragile yet worn, kind in every face of every monster yet hard when you shouldn’t be, when you needn’t be. care when you shouldn’t and fearful when you shouldn’t. confusing and confused.

darling, starlight, brother, every sparkling word i keep in my mind and not my mouth because you’d balk. (less funny more hurt more hurt.)

id say thank you but then you’d ask for what and im not quite sure what i’d say anymore. (stop saving me. you can’t keep trying to resuscitate dead things. save your hero complex necromancy for your own self.)

id say im sorry but then you’d say i shouldn’t be despite everyone involved knowing it to be a falsehood.

instead i will only love you like this. i will mime you in your entirety as we dance on bloody sands and trip over mistakes and scabbed over past, and dead things only mostly dead now, and we will point out shooting stars (stop asking why i keep looking at you.), let’s go now. let’s go

(i pick up the note that asks about things i hadn’t understood and i tuck it into memories of you and me and us and then, and now, and soon and i know it will be enough because you’ve always been enough and then some. too much, but just enough. just you.

just us.

you’re a good kid.)

[lantsovsupremacist]

nikolai lantsov: august

@wafflesandschemingfaces requested a piece inspired by august, and i am more than happy to push the august agenda. THIS TOOK WAY TOO LONG IM SO SORRY!!! i hope it’s okay that i worked this in as a part two of “mirrorball.”

happy AUGUST babes! this was originally going to end angsty but i was feeling generous so enjoy the happier ending :)))

he tasted like salt, which had been a rarity at home. with the prices spiking in the cities, the smaller markets in the countryside could not supply even the simplest spice. having reignited the placated desire, you were greedy for more of him.

over the last seven months, you took advantage of nearly every opportunity the volkvony offered. you strengthened your abilities at sea with the careful instruction of the two other tidemakers onboard. tamar’s twin brother, toyla, guided your interest in grisha literature and history.

certain adjustments proved more difficult than others. you were no stranger to early work or rising in a shared room. however, despite the bright flush from the use of your powers, your muscles ached under the strain of the new practice. you found your training to be an unfamiliar yet cherished consistency.

you struggled with feelings of inferiority at first. the other female tidemaker, yelena, was a stowaway from the little palace. disregarding her heavy contempt for the school there, her experience helped you immensely.

peter was also a comfort in his own way. another self-taught grisha himself, it only pained you to hear of his family’s acceptance and attempts to teach him. your family might not have thrown you to the fjerdans but they offered little to help you control the power.

time could not move backwards to prevent your wounds but it could move forward to heal them.

now, perched on the deck beside yelena, you were calmer and more confident than ever before. you watched sturmhond out of the corner of you eye, turning your head in the wind to guide a piece of hair back out of your face. his white shirt billowed in the wind, sleeves rolled up and hands in the air to help dictate one of his famous stories.

“you look at him as if he hung the stars in the sky himself,” yelena snorted, elegantly drawing up a rather powerful wave to hasten your journey south, “trust me, he’ll take the hint and never let it go.”

but for you, perhaps he had. a new constellation, at least. three stars shined brighter than before for you, now visible to the naked eye. freedom, purpose, and opportunity. his gracious offer extended to beyond the imaginable.

“i could never have dreamed of this,” you replied earnestly, lightly bumping into her hip with your own.

“kerch does not have blondes, no?” she teased, exaggerating her already thick ravkan accent.

you blushed, nonetheless, “you’re going to get us off task, yelena.”

she rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the sea with a grunt. you did not miss the small smile that barely touched her face after, however. you would have missed it if she had not adjusted your arm, lifting it higher to create a higher crest.

in truth, you did not mind. you enjoyed observing. from your station at one side of the hull, you had a suitable view of the surrounding activity on the deck. storytelling only happened to be one of the aforementioned pursuits by the crew.

—

the first time was an accident. you nearly ran into him one morning during your second week onboard. the sun had filtered through the cracks in your room, beckoning your rise. you chased the sunbeams up the staircase adjacent to the door and soaked in the warmth they graciously provided.

the sunrise was magnificent. too distracted by the beauty painted in front of you in the sky, your elbow caught the captain’s. your eyes immediately went wide, an apology poised on your tongue. growing up with seven siblings, you were accustomed to making yourself smaller to allot room for the others. what other habits would you lose during your time aboard the volkvony?

“that’s quite alright,” sturmhond replied, eyes twinkling at the pale pink flush of your cheeks, “i suppose the sunrise caught my attention, as well,” he turned his head back, “though, that might not be all that did.”

as the tempo of your heart approached a crescendo, you nodded with a nervous smile. your eldest sister’s experiences with boys were all you had to go off of. your parents were together, yes, but as you aged, you realized that the nature of their union simply secured stability for the both of them. love had been an after thought and a forgotten one at that.

“want to watch it with me?” his eyes were brighter than the sun, more vibrant than the various hues splattered across the sky.

sounding just as much of a child as did he, you responded, “i would love to.”

he waited for no counter, immediately taking your hand in his to nearly drag you up the stairs. his hand was surprisingly warm despite the slight chill in the morning air. your brain fought the feeling of his touch at first, recognizing the pressure of his fingers now intertwined with yours but refusing to reciprocate the gesture.

by the time the sun reached a pinnacle in the sky, shining it seemed for just the two of you, you had given him your hand and your heart.

you let him memorize your story, pausing when he could not remember the order of your siblings. you repeated it until he could. the mornings were filled with whispers and soft touches. you thought he was helping you write a new story—one where maybe, you could have your perspective at the forefront.

—

the pressure of his his knee shamelessly pressing into yours dominated your thoughts. you decided that it would be more disconcerting to slide away from him but each passing moment added fuel to the fire of his warmth. you did not know what to think about the way he made you feel.

“i’m not who you think i am,” the privateer spoke, deadly calm. his tone did not waver, nor did the contact his eyes maintained with the horizon.

you wanted to tease the boy beside you but one look at the frown overtaking his face gave you pause. you felt increasingly uncomfortable, which you never did with him, not even when he first introduced himself. it was all wrong.

“i’m not sure what you mean,” you whispered hesitantly, trailing your fingers in the dust of the deck before they grew too numb to control.

his jaw clenched. his eyes bore into the sea. you only heard the sound of his breath—strangled and uneven.

“sturmhond,” you tried, watching as the wind ruffled his tawny and unkept hair.

“no,” he strained, “nikolai.”

an unusual name but a beautiful name, you decided.

“i-i don’t understand,” you fought to get the words out—battling with breaths instead of bombs, syllables instead of swords.

you wanted to push it all aside for naive hope, content with your pocket of fool’s gold.

“do you remember when we sailed to the outskirts of ravka?” he questioned you, gaining control of the previous shake in his voice.

you hummed in reply, trying to put together the pieces of his puzzle before he realized you had not finished yet.

the blonde looked like he was in pain when he next spoke, “the prince,” he began with his eyes timidly locked on your own, “his name is nikolai.”

contrary to your lack of education, you were clever and thus, able to fill in the blanks for yourself.

“who else knows?” you might have hoped for something more but you were not innocent enough to believe the prince only shared his identity with the girl who had succumbed to his longing stares.

“the twins,” he began with a sigh too heavy for him to carry alone, “yelena. one or two others.”

yelena knew. for some reason, your stomach turned at that. you knew it was misplaced and unnecessary jealously but there it sat all the same, weighing you down like an unmovable stone. a similar pressure pulsed behind your eyes, forcing a collection of tears to your waterline.

he offered an apology with words, but it was his eyes that held the true sincerity, the way his fingers restlessly knotted in his lap, and that even though it was a fight, he had moved aside to give you space. you wanted to believe that everything would be okay despite the change, that it could be, at least.

your heart ached. you never wanted him further away from you. or closer. his body was too familiar now.

nikolai never belonged to you, not really. and even if ravka would inevitably melt his golden heart and carelessly mold it to their benefit, he belonged to the broken country. not to you. never to you—alone.

with that, of course, you could not belong to him, either. a farmer’s daughter who did not complete her primary studies. maybe you did have a claim to grisha power, but you knew enough about ravka to understand that you would be a soldier. you already felt like one, fighting an endless battle between your head and heart. diligence and desire.

“you let me—,” you swallowed thickly, “give myself to you. you made it so easy to be sure.” now, you were no longer as certain in your decisions.

he kicked his feet in the water, unable to carry your gaze lest he lose it much like your heart, “i hoped it could be different.”

you searched for anything to ground yourself in along the horizon, burning your eyes in the sinking sun, “you’ll have to go back, then.”

he nodded, his head bobbing more fitfully than the waves, “yes.”

your did not want to talk any longer because if you did, you were sure that you would cry. you decided that you had, in fact, been foolish. how could you live off of hope alone? your destiny belonged to the fields not the sea.

“okay.”

“okay?” nikolai repeated, voice dancing between disbelief and what might have been anger, unable to remember the next step, “that’s all that’s left?”

“i think so,” you replied airily, turning to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear, “because i understand. i might not want to. well, i certainly don’t want to but—,”

you were cut off and for the blonde boy beside you to do it, you knew he had good reason. he gave you a voice simply by listening, something few had done for you before. your words had been stolen by his lips in the end.

“i might not be able to give you nikolai,” his lips were down turned but now flushed with color, “but i can give you sturmhond. i can give you nik,” he brought your hand to his heart, “that is if you’ll have me?”

you did not belong to prince nikolai of ravka. he could not be a character in your story. but, you could write another chapter. you could change the plot for the better.

you kissed him with as much fervor as he had earlier. he twisted his fingers into your hair, winding a passage to the back of your neck. you curled into the warmth radiating from his side, fisting his shirt before slowly pulling away.

“i can’t believe you’re a prince.”

that earned you a laugh. the laugh you knew you could never live with losing. if you could not have him entirely, you would hold onto anything that could be yours. just yours. for now, the heat of the sun on your faces split wide with grins was enough.

grishaverse taglist: @just-a-human-witha-pen @ilovemarvelanne1 @story-scribbler @subjecta13-thefangirl

[mae-gi-writes]

Jealous | Kevin Moon (The Boyz)

Your mission is to get your boyfriend jealous. What better way to do this by fawning over Stray Kids?

Genre: slight nfsw? Idk its kinda hot? And female reader insert.

A/N: inspired by my convos with @seraplantery and @chaoticdeobi Kevin would be about me thirsting over Chan. Also idk what I wrote im sorry TT > TT

-----

Jealousy had never been in Kevin Moon’s vocabulary. And you were damn certain it would never be.

That doesn’t mean you never try pushing his buttons every time you can, though.

“How can he be so hot?” You mutter to yourself, loud enough that it reaches your boyfriend’s ears. It’s a late lazy Sunday afternoon and you two are taking this time to unwind and relax, mentally preparing for the full week of work ahead. While Kevin is busy doodling across his sketchbook like he normally is, you take this time to catch up on the multiple kpop performances you’d missed earlier this year. 

And boy, have you missed out.

“Oh my god,” your lips go round as your eyes widen as big as saucers, gaze permanently fixed on the screen giving way to eight hot men dominating the stage with their fiery charisma and strong choreography, “Oh my-- holy shit I think I fell pregnant.” 

Kevin’s voice permeates through the hot summer air, “What you watching?” 

“Stray Kids,” you say absentmindedly as your eyes follow one particular member’s every moves. While you had fallen out of touch with the kpop world -- and you blame this on the concept of having a job and actually now going through adult life like anyone should be -- that doesn’t mean that you don’t get your phases, especially with one of your favourite groups you’ve been following since their debut.

“Stray Kids?”

“Yeah, jesus christ Kev-- Chan’s arms are to die for.” 

Admittedly, you wouldn’t have been so vocal about admiring other men if it’s not for your silent experiment of whether Kevin Moon will finally bite at the bait jiggling before his face. He’d be an idiot not to. 

But considering he is never even aware when other men look at you, you doubt that this time is going to be different. So you continue on:

“He’s not even my type of guy you know? I usually go for the tall skinny ones but somehow--he’s just so charismatic onstage. And did I tell you he’s Australian? I mean I’m not fond of Aussie accents but I don’t know I find it really sexy on him--”

“Woah Y/N, look at you. Talking as if you don’t have a boyfriend,” sarcasm drips from Kevin’s alto, causing your head to slowly turn with surprise, an eyebrow arching slowly at the way he seems hunched and rigid over his blank piece of paper, pen held so tightly in his grip it might snap in two.

“Kevin,” you draw out slowly as you try to hide your grin, “is that...jealousy I hear?” 

He scoffs, “I don’t get jealous."

"Sure could've proved me wrong."

Reverting your attention back to the screen just in time to catch a glimpse of Bang Chan's smile, you sighed in bliss, "his abs, though."

There is silence from Kevin's part, causing your lips to tilt into a small smirk of victory as you click on the next video that follows. You know him all too well that you assume he will probably sulk for the next hour that follows, and you're content with that, considering that you're not at fault.

You're too engrossed in your video that you barely realize that a shadow hangs behind your shoulder, before an arm shoots out to close your laptop.

You whip around with a scowl, "hey! What--"

But no sooner are you protesting that you feel Kevin's arms haul you up, turning so quickly you can barely register anything but the soft mattress welcoming your figure as you are plopped onto it, Kevin's frame hovering over yours. His face is all but amused.

Laughter bubbles up your throat, "what the --"

It cuts off into a gasp upon feeling his arms hooking around the back of your thighs to pull you closer, lips mere inches above yours and dark orbs gazing down at you with a thunderous depth. It halts any further comment you are about to make, takes your breath away.

Something warm coils within your stomach.

You are a little breathless when you say, "y-yes?"

"You want me to be jealous?" His lips curl slightly, eyes narrowing down at you while fingers ghost over your thighs, his touch igniting a series of sparks in his wake, "I'll show you jealous."

And then he's kissing you. Hard mouth on yours, intense. Demanding.

That's not the Kevin you know but somehow desire pools through you. He's never been this...aggressive.

He is holding your frame against his, fingers so firm and pressing on the back of your thighs before slowly slipping up to cup your ass. You gasp in response, hands automatically lifting to grab his shoulders only for his to grab them instead and pin them down by your face. His head tilts, lips moving to your rhythm and dominating your tongue the moment you gasp into his mouth.

The softest grunts rumbles up his throat when your hips buck up on instinct. He murmurs against your mouth, "not so chatty now, are we?"

"I--"

And then his mouth is latching onto your jaw, peppering a trail of warm kisses that makes your heart beat twice as hard, your body writhing with the delicious sensation of wanting him. He devours your neck, growling with satisfaction when he urges your fingers down onto the mattress to stop any attempts of escape. That's hot.

You're practically seeing stars at this point, the sounds of his soft suckling evocating a sensation of heat deep within your belly that your legs wrap around his waist on their own accord to pull him closer. And the moment his firm length presses onto your heat, he lets out a moan that has you trembling.

"If I knew how you'd react--" you stop to moan softly as he grinds his hips into yours. Lord, "I would've done it more often."

"What, that's your kink?" His breath ghosts over your skin at your collarbone now. You struggle against him wanting nothing more than to run your hands through his glossy raven locks and to scratch your nails down his back. But his fingers squeeze firmly nibbling at the skin of your shoulder, "you like seeing me jealous?"

"Hm, I won't say the contrary," you breathe out.

Ensuring that one of his hands cage your wrists together, his other slips down to trace your neck, the dip of your breasts, ghosting over your side before trickling down the inner side of your thigh. You take a shaky inhale. Waiting.

He's looking at you now, gauging every reaction that you gift him with like you're a fascination he can't quite make out and the intensity makes you squirm.

Slowly, oh so slowly that it makes your toes curl, Kevin starts a slow, sensual path of kisses down the middle of your chest and air gets stuck in your throat the more you watch him, practically holding back a whimper with every searing touch he imprints upon your skin.

He kisses down your navel, nipping and biting as he does while his heated breaths send waves of heat up your spine. At some point he releases your hands to grasp your waist and they instantly tangle in his hair, emitting a grunt from the said man.

He continues his sensual search using his mouth, hot breath fanning against your skin down the sides of your thighs, landing on final peck to your knee, before rearing back up to hover above your pelvis and finally tilting his face up to yours.

And that makes your breath catch in your throat. For in Kevin's eyes you read the dark desire, the craving he holds for you, the longing.

Your heart jolts to a stop. You swear you stop breathing as your gazes lock.

A beat passes. You swallow hard. Suddenly vulnerable under his hooded stare.

Then, before your brain can scramble for coherence, the raven-haired man leans over. He presses a kiss.

Right on your sex.

A sound between a mewl and a whimper escapes your lips.

You gape at him. He smirks back, thoroughly satisfied.

Slowly, he hoists up until his lips hover yours once more and at this point, you're pretty sure you're dead. What with the speed of your heart rate practically vaulting out of your chest.

"Well," he murmurs while one of his hands keep tracing up and down your side, "I guess I can leave you to ogle at your kpop boys--"

His words are interrupted by you shooting out to grab his t-shirt, pulling him down to kiss him. And oh, does he kiss back like a starved man, grunting and growling as your fingers tangle up in his locks to pull him even closer as your teeth sink upon his bottom lip. He gasps.

You pull away slowly then --merely coming up for air -- and gaze into his dark, bottomless orbs, "the only one I'm gonna ogle tonight is you."

His breath halts for a minute. He stares at you, eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

And then, a crooked grin spreads across his face.

"I like the sound of that."

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

Part I

A lamb in a den of lions, he thought, watching the newcomer as she settled in, ordering whiskey neat. A fool, for sure.

A fool she may be, perhaps, but even fools could be dangerous. Eren had known that the young woman was a Hunter from the moment she entered the bar (everyone else had, too) but something told Eren that she was hardly cut from the same cloth as the average Bane of Creatures. There was something in her movements— a predatory grace in her stride, perhaps, or a stiff, straight posture, with muscles tensed and ready for action— that betrayed her power to him; but for all that, she really was lovely, and the image of a rabbit caught in a patch of bramble came to mind whenever he looked at her.

Sitting in a corner, drinking his B-neg, he watched the woman as she sipped her drink, checking over her shoulder now and then. She was wary— as anyone with good sense would be— but she didn't appear frightened, and Eren's curiosity was piqued. It wasn't every day that someone so bold happened across his path, and it became harder and harder for him to resist the urge to approach her.

Eventually, Eren gave in to his curiosity— he never had been very good at or even particularly fond of restraining himself— and when he came silently up behind her, the newcomer didn't even notice his presence until he murmured a greeting close to her ear.

"Hello, little love," he said, and she startled in her seat. "Are you lost?"

She turned around then, her eyes big and bright in the dim lighting of the bar, but by the time she managed to look at the spot where Eren would have been, he was already seated on the barstool beside her. Eventually, though, her eyes found his, and when their gazes met, Eren was amused to find no fear in her visage.

"Far from it," she told him, turning her body towards him. "I am precisely where I mean to be."

Eren blinked, nonplussed.

"Curious," he said, leaning forward so that she could see the sharpness of his teeth as he spoke. "Do you fancy yourself a wolf among sheep, little Hunter? Did you really not think we would know you for what you are the moment you crossed the threshold of this place?"

Any normal, human ear would have missed the way her heart leapt in her chest, but Eren missed nothing. The fear he had hoped to inspire in her was present after all, but her face never moved from its impenetrable mask— an affectation that was somehow both soft and steely at once.

"That's not what I'm here for," she told him, widening the distance between her knees as she readjusted on the stool. "I'm here to discover the truth."

The truth— what an odd notion!— and yet Eren sensed no lie in her.

"You're a strange one," he told her, but forced himself to relax his posture to appear lazy, almost drunk. "Most Hunters— even ones so pretty as yourself— shoot first and worry about the truth later. What's your name?"

Her nose crinkled. "It's polite to give your own first."

Sharp, he thought, watching her closely. Names have power.

"Eren Jaeger."

"Eren Jaeger," she echoed, then extended her hand. "My name is (Y/N)."

That name sounded familiar to Eren— and though most names did after living a few centuries, this one seemed to hit closer to home. He knew that name, and knew it well…

"What's your surname?"

(Y/N)'s eyes flashed with an emotion that Eren didn't catch.

"Kirschtein," she replied, averting her eyes. "I'm Jean Kirschtein's great-great-great granddaughter."

And damn if Eren didn't want to laugh. Perhaps his nosiness into the posterity of his old acquaintances really was as bad of an idea as Armin always seemed to imply.

"I see," he said, and he truly, truly did. "Then you know who I am— what I am— and what I've done."

More than that, if she truly did know who he was, it was unlikely that she had come without a specific purpose in mind.

(Y/N) nodded, confirming his suspicions. "I was digging around in my family history and— well— I read what my grandfather wrote, and I just— I wanted the truth."

So wide-eyed, so innocent— so alive. Eren could see now her resemblance to Jean; if they were not similar in looks, she had his sharpness, his humanness… and, as he always had Jean, Eren envied her for it.

"If that's the case, then I'm sure you know that you don't get something for nothing," he told her, sipping his drink just to watch the expression on her face as he let the warm blood slide down his throat. "And that dealings with me can be dangerous."

"Jean Kirschtein loved you, Eren Jaeger," she told him fiercely and with such conviction that Eren nearly choked on his drink. "To take such a tone with me, to threaten me, the last living remnant of him, is the most disrespectful thing I've ever heard."

Eren was about to say that he didn't owe her, Jean Kirschtein, or anyone else any sort of respect, but she plowed on, unwilling to let him say his piece.

"You broke his heart a million ways by doing what you did, but— but he was your friend through all of it, no matter what side each of you were on," (Y/N) continued, passion aflame in her eyes. "I can't even imagine what inspired such a love, such a loyalty from him that he would forgive you for the horrors you caused. That's what I'm here to find out— what you have that a man such as him would find you redeemable."

The reproof in her words stung, but Eren was too old to argue. She could never understand what it was like back then.

"I understand more than you think," she snapped, and Eren actually flinched. "I understand that you hurt the woman my grandfather loved immeasurably, and that he forgave you for that even though he never even particularly liked you. I understand that you were ready to sacrifice the world for that selfsame woman, for Jean, and for all the others. I understand that you're a monster who loved and was loved back, but I want to know why."

How? Eren thought, shaken.

How had she known his thoughts? It was as though she had seen straight through to his innermost being.

Without speaking, she answered his question. (Y/N) took a hand and rolled up her left sleeve, presenting to him a scarred marking in the shape of a pentagram.

"My grandfather didn't settle down with just anyone," she told him, holding his gaze. "I come from a line of powerful witches, all of whom possessed strong claircognizance. Paired with my nature as an empath, you can assume I know what you're going to say before you say it."

Eren hummed, trying to appear less perturbed than he was.

"And yet you hunt Creatures for a living; strange, since you're practically one of us yourself."

(Y/N) glowered. "I hunt monsters that prey on my people, not Creatures. No innocent has died by my hand."

The unlike you went unsaid, but that didn't mean that Eren didn't hear it anyway.

"Don't get high-and-mighty with me, girl," he told her roughly. "Knowing is one thing, but experiencing what we experienced is another."

"I'm not here to judge you," she replied. "I told you, I'm here for truth, nothing more."

"And I told you that the truth doesn't come for free," he told her darkly. "You must give me something in return."

(Y/N) set her jaw.

"What would you have of me?"

It was a mean, base request. Eren was wicked for even thinking it, and vile for wanting it— but looking at the great-to-however-many-degrees granddaughter of a good man that he had once known, seeing the vitality that brought a flush to her cheeks and thumping to her heart, he knew he couldn't pass up this golden opportunity.

It had been so long since he'd had a Companion.

"Become my cupbearer for six moons," he told her, crossing his arms. "Starting with tonight, the moon becomes new; let me drink from you until six of these have passed, and along the way, you will learn what you want to know."

(Y/N) eyed him warily.

"Can you assure my physical safety?"

Eren grunted, almost amused. It was a bit late to be worrying about that.

"I think you know that I can."

"And will you let me continue in my duties as a Hunter?" she asked, her eyes searching his own as if she would find the answer to her question there inside the same eyes he'd had since he was nineteen. "Completely uninhibited?"

"That depends. Will you kill Creatures in the discharge of your duties?"

(Y/N) made a face. Eren had forgotten how expressive mortals could be, but he found that being reminded was not altogether unpleasant.

"You know I will," she replied, "But you have my word that any killing won't be unprovoked."

Eren supposed it was as close to a compromise as he could expect.

"As you wish it, so shall it be."

He turned away, signaling to the bartender for another drink, but a lightning-fast hand shot out to grab his wrist.

"Swear it," she demanded. "I need us to be Bound by it."

The meanness in Eren finally won over. He reached forward, grabbing (Y/N) by the neck, and the silver rings on her fingers burned him as she pulled at his hand to try and restore her breath. Eyes from all around the room were on the two of them— had been, since the very beginning— but it was only once the Hunter before him began to look appropriately humbled that he withdrew.

"Do not touch me without my permission," he said, "And I will return the favor."

(Y/N) looked at him then, but there was still no fear in her eyes. Anger, yes, but no fear.

She must be mad, or foolish one, he thought, considering her for a moment. I always have been partial to mad fools in general, but…

Something about her seemed different, and Eren didn't know what to do other than accept what she had to offer. Heavens knew he was getting the better end of the deal anyway.

"Swear it," she repeated, this time more quietly. "Give your word, and I will be your cupbearer."

Eren brought his hand up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. At his will, the nail tip of his forefinger sharpened, hardening into a point; he used it to draw an 'X' onto the skin just over where his heart rested inside his chest, cold and dead. Blood welled into the cut— precious little, compared to that of a human, but still enough to run down his chest in smudges— and it was by that blood that he swore. He spoke the terms of their agreement, then took the blood from his wound with the pad of his finger and marked the same spot over (Y/N)'s own heart.

"Satisfied?" he asked, their faces almost touching, and (Y/N) shivered.

"Yes."

Her warm, living breath fanned over his face with her reply, and Eren took the moment to close his eyes and appreciate the scent and sensation of it.

"You may think you're satisfied," he told her, pulling away, "But you don't know the meaning of the word."

She eyed him warily, but before she could speak, he added, "In six months' time, I'll ask you the same question, and it is then that you will truly know what it is to feel satisfied— satiated in every way."

"As you say."

It was a throwaway comment, nothing more than a dismissal, really; but Eren felt like it was the start of something truly remarkable.

[precious-potter]

Harry Potter (Drarry) fic recs of mine from the last 8 years! Varying maturity levels and themes... message me ur opinions if u have read any of these! + im going to rate them out of 10 for u guys based on how memorable they were and how many emotions they made me feel.

Dear Diary (20427 words) by AWickedMemory Adorable! Post-war fic about a diary shared by Harry and a mysterious person... made me feel feels and has a sweet ending. Teen and up audiences. Rate:6/10 because, while a great fic, it was not very memorable.

Lumos (41476 words) by birdsofshore I wish I had emojis on my computer cuz I would use the blushing emoji rn. This fic is sweet and inappropriate! Harry and Draco share a room in 8th year and one of them doesn't use a silencing charm while erm... pleasuring himself... Characters are written well and if you like a bit of angst then you will like this. Explicit. Rate:7/10 Honestly, I read this a long time ago but from what I remember it was good!

Slithering (27355 words) by astolat Post-war snake fic. Nagini left some little babies behind and Draco raises one, super sweet. I love fics where we acknowledge Harrys parseltongue. Some minor courting vibes from both sides and a reluctant Harry Potter. A touch of accidental servitude and forced proximity makes for some interesting revelations. Explicit. Rate:6/10 I personally don't think the guys were like in character completely but that is not a deal breaker lol.

The Critiquer (24260 words) by dysonrules Again, blushing emoji. This fic has dick gifs so be warned... u will see some dicks. This is funny, and Draco is a cock critique in the newspaper and is so mean to these poor penises... Harry just wants to get good reviews on his dick and takes up a photography class run by Draco himself. Easy read, not too serious. Explicit. 7/10 Lots of dick stuff but I love a in-depth plot so not my favorite. (still great).

Two Weeks (21951 words) by shiftylinguini Cuuuutteeee! Love me a Veela fic. Most are written w/Veela!Draco which I always love but this was a nice switch up w/Veela!Harry. Poor man suffers sexually for a bit. Post-war, friends to lovers, Auror partners. What more could u need... oh yeah, phone sex! Explicit. Rate:7/10 I would rate this higher but I wanted moreeeeee.

Potter's Insatiable Cock (20486 words) by FleetofShippyShips Virgin Harry Potter. Not-so-virgin Draco Malfoy. I've been to a gay club and never been sexually propositioned like this so what's that abt... Draco shows Harry the ropes and its sweeter than it should be for two people who hate each other. Explicit. Rate:5/10 because its mostly porn (which is great, just not always my thing. Still very well written.)

Running on Air (74875 words) by eleventy7 :( r u kidding me.... I just read this and its amazing and sad. I have never read a fic like this before and Its been in my bookmarks since 2016, and I FINALLY read it like yesterday. Its not like heartbreaking sad just existential sad... Draco is missing (like for 3? years) and Harry is the Auror put in charge of the case and he falls in love while searching for him. Zero smut so if u like that u might not like this. Teen and up audience. Rate:9/10 I feel like im trying to save the 10/10 rating but idk this might be it.... plz read.

Like Clockwork (3884 words) by Nympha_Alba Just a short, cute, clock fic. Harry makes clocks like the Weasley clock. Draco wants one. Harry gets inspired while making it. Both are divorced. Literally just short and cute and well written. Teen and up audience. Rate:6/10 cuz its short and sweet.

The Light That is Blinding Me (22852 words) by leontina Gay... Draco owns a queer bookshop, Harry is in search of a queer book. Lots of other things happen but if I told you Id be spoiling it. Well written and a decent length. Explicit. Rate:6/10 because I read this a long time ago and it wasn't that memorable.

Uploaded (12910 words) by leontina YouTube AU. Very cute and British. Harry and Draco share some cute emotional moments as well as make silly YouTube videos together. Short and pretty sweet. Teen and up audience. Rate:6/10 becauseeee I don't love non-magic AUs but this one was adorable.

Like Cinderella, But With Cock (8978 words) by loveglowsinthedark Not your usual soulmates AU. Harry gets cursed with a permanent boner until he sleeps w/his soulmate... feel free to speculate who that could be.... I liked this fic even though it was kind of smutty. I do accept SOME smut lol. Cute ending too. Explicit. Rate:8/10 cuz its cute! and uh nice smut tbh.

Interpreting Draconis (11015 words) by Dacro Deaf!Draco and interpreter!Harry. Only reason I read this was bc I am an ASL major because otherwise it didn't seem thaaaaaat interesting but I was happily surprised. Draco's a business man with lots of things going wrong in his life and Harry is very helpful... I felt this was written well in terms of being respectful to Deaf people and culture but I am not deaf so I can't say that for sure. Mature. Rate:6/10 non-magic AU but also super original.

So Heal Me (9887 words) by Cunninglinguist Unfortunately... I am a slut for all things werewolf and a/b/o.... do not hate me 4 this lol. Harry is bit by a werewolf in the field (post-war, Auror) and Draco is his healer but some uh... werewolfy side effects pop up and change some things. YES there is not much plot and it is basically porn but I make exceptions when it comes to werewolves because I am evil. Explicit. Rate:7/10 I love werewolves. Thats it.

Eclipse (287239 words) by Mijan OKAY so I have not read this fic because it is very long and daunting but I did hear that it is very similar to Running On Air which I love so im recommending this anyways. Draco kidnaps Harry for Voldemort bc Harry put Lucius in jail or smth... somehow things don't go how Draco planned and Harry and Draco must fight together to survive the war. Im excited to read this so its an honorary mention. If it sucks I will repent for recommending it somehow. Teen and up audience. Rate:?/10 idk yet... we'll see!

Thats all my Drarry ones for now... Message me your opinions on these! also fic recs... plz...

[arrowflier]

oh my god your xmen au!! i've just recently thought about them having powers and ian should def be a healer ❤️

it's so good, i'd love for you to continue or like... do another mutant au (same setting but later? im not picky haha)

as always, your writing is truly amazing!

Yeeesss thank you thank you thank you. I've been wanting to so bad but I'm already neglecting all my WIPs so I needed this excuse.

For everyone else, original here. I'm also tagging this for A.U.gust (hosted by the amazing @gallavichthings) because their professions are inspired by prompts 7 and 19.

---

Ian was crouched over a client, hands flat on a wrinkled and twisted back, when Mickey fell through the door.

Ian stiffened, and not just because his gift was working on the man stretched out on the table in front of him. Mickey attempted to straighten himself on the coat rack by the door, but only succeeded in knocking it over, hands slick with blood.

Not his own, by the looks of it, and that was the only reason Ian kept working.

“What’s that racket?” his client croaked, trying to lift his head, but Ian pressed harder and pushed his gift deeper into the man’s muscles, forcing his neck to relax.

Ian winced as his own neck tensed further, but forced his head straight so he could watch as Mickey stumbled through the room before finally collapsing onto a chair. His head was down, but Ian could see faint streaks of red at his hairline, glistening in his dark hair when he ran a shaky hand through it. The spikes on his shoulders, exposed by a tear in his black shirt, lay flat and weak and similarly wet against his pale skin.

Ian swallowed hard, and removed his hands from the body in front of him.

“You’re done,” Ian rasped, waiting for the usual weariness and weakness to fade. He rubbed his eyes with a hand that felt more gnarled than it was, and grimaced. His eyelids felt like sandpaper.

“That’s it?” his client asked. They weren’t one of his usuals, just someone that heard about him from a friend. Ian tried to accept new clients where he could, especially those that found him by word of mouth—there wasn’t much else he could do in the way of advertising without a license or registration for his unorthodox mutation.

“That’s it,” Ian confirmed, and tapped the edge of the table impatiently, waiting for the man to get up and leave. He should be perfectly capable of that sort of movement for at least a few days, if he didn’t do anything too stupid with his newfound physical freedom.

“I heard you offer…other services,” the old man said slyly, twisting to look at Ian as he sat up and swung his legs toward the floor. “For a price, of course,” he added, smiling like he knew something.

Clearly, he did not.

“No anymore,” Ian answered shortly. “And never for patrons of your type.”

“Of my type?” the man repeated, voice now rising with suppressed anger. “And what does that mean, you mutant scum?”

“Means he don’t like wrinkly old man balls no more,” Mickey called out from across the room, and Ian had never been so grateful to hear his rough voice, despite what it was saying.

“It doesn’t,” he assured his client. “I mean, I don’t, but—”

“No need to explain, boy,” his client stated—probably ex-client now, and Ian should really feel worse about watching him leave.

Instead, he held his breath until the door slammed behind that narrow, weak back, and then immediately darted over to throw the bolt.

Room secured, Ian took a moment to breathe, in and out, as the last of the other man’s fatigue finally left him.

“You gonna stand there all night?” Mickey asked, somewhat quieter, behind him. “Or are you gonna come patch me up, doc?”

Ian turned to see Mickey struggling to rise from his seat, and was there in a few long strides to push him down again with a firm hand on his shoulder. Mickey hissed as Ian rubbed his spikes the wrong way, but let himself be secured.

Without thinking about it, Ian stroked his hand down, following those dangerous barbs along the length of Mickey’s bare arm. He wasn’t worried about them; he had seen firsthand the danger they could do, throughout the years, but never had Mickey harmed him.

Well, at least not without reason.

And he had clearly come to Ian for a different reason, this time. It had been a few weeks since they’d seen each other, and in that time Mickey had apparently found someone new to piss off, judging by the blood on his spikes. Someone that didn’t already know all his tricks.

“You have to stop doing this,” Ian said accusingly, gesturing at Mickey in general, and the other man snorted, then winced when it opened a cut on his face.

“Define ‘this’,” he challenged, and Ian shrugged.

“Picking fights, I guess,” he answered. “I know you have that new gig at the bar, security or whatever—”

“Bodyguard, doc, it’s a little more impressive—”

“But you don’t always have to jump straight to violence.”

“Why” Mickey asked, quirking a bleeding eyebrow. “I’m paid to be a badass, Gallagher, and you always fix me up just fine.”

Ian shook his head, eyes scanning for the worst of Mickey’s injuries. Thankfully, they were few—a slowly seeping gash at his hairline, the source of the blood about to drip into his blue eyes; an oddly bent finger; a patch of quills at the base of his neck that looked nearly torn out, like someone had gotten hold before Mickey flexed them.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Ian insisted absently, trailing his fingers from Mickey’s shoulder to his neck, to his face, heedless of the red trail they left on pale skin.

“Please,” Mickey scoffed, bending his head obediently when Ian pushed it back for better light. “The principle is that you like havin’ an excuse to get your hands on me.”

“Could get my hands on you anyway,” Ian mused, digging his fingers roughly into Mickey’s hair as if to prove a point.

Mickey hissed, but smirked through it.

“Oh yeah?” he questioned lightly. “Think I'm that easy, huh?”

“Know you’re that easy,” Ian murmured, leaning in closer than he strictly needed to to finish surveying the damage.

Mickey blinked, eyes only inches away from Ian’s own.

“Get those healin’ hands on me then,” he breathed, and Ian didn’t bother to point out that they already were.

Instead, he moved one hand over the scratch on Mickey’s scalp, one hand to the damaged quills on his neck, and his mouth to Mickey’s bottom lip.

And he reached inside himself for his power, and pushed.

They both gasped, deepening the sudden kiss almost by accident as Ian’s power coursed through them, between them. Mickey’s cuts started to heal even as they opened on Ian’s skin, quills bristling and growing strong again as tiny pinpricks of red showed on Ian’s own neck.

Let go of her, Ian heard in his mind, Mickey’s voice ordering some creep to release the girl he was trying to carry from the club.

I’m just gettin her home, man

Thin fingers reach for Mickey’s jacket, Ian’s jacket, their jacket. Grasp the hem, tug faintly, fall again on a limp arm.

I don’t fuckin’ think so

Pain in his fists, then pain on his back as someone else joins the fight, someone Ian can’t see. Sharp fingernails in his hair, on his neck, gripping, twisting.

A flare. Quills puffing from their sleek layer against warm skin, finding their target. The slippery wet feeling of blood on his shoulders, wetting them down again.

Okay, it’s okay now as frail hands grasp at him again to stand straight. Come on, it’s okay.

Ian’s hands fell from Mickey’s wounds as the last ones finally closed. He ignored the wetness in his eyes, the wetness on Mickey’s face, pretended they were blood and not tears.

“You did good,” he whispered against Mickey’s searching lips. “So good, Mickey.”

“Shut up, doc,” Mickey murmured back. “Give me something different to feel good about.”

So Ian did.

He kissed him again. Bit his lip, licked it clean. Ran a finger over the indentation, felt the bite on his own mouth as he soothed it. He scratched at Mickey’s back, didn’t recall when it was bared, felt hot lines down his own and couldn’t tell if they came from Mickey’s dirty hands or his own neatly trimmed nails.

It was always like this, when it happened. A feedback loop, not knowing where he stopped and Mickey began as they hurt and healed and hurt again. Hurt in good ways rather than bad, ways they had been hurting and helping each other since they were just children in a schoolyard chasing bullies. Ian lost himself in it, lost himself in Mickey’s mouth and eyes and skin and his own touches upon it, a constant blooming sensation deep in the reserves of his power.

He wondered what it felt like for Mickey, but then he didn’t have to. He never had to. He could feel that too: the tug of quills pushed the wrong way, the press of them into skin at both point and base, the prickling sensation when they settled, flared, settled again within sensitive skin and muscle.

But they never stabbed on purpose. They never hurt more than he could take; than they could take. And as he let Mickey stand, let him walk Ian back toward the bedroom on newly strengthened legs, Ian embraced all the feelings it invoked in the both of them.

Tomorrow, Mickey would most likely leave again, possibly even before breakfast. He would go back to his job, the one Ian didn’t like, and work and live and thrive until he needed Ian again.

It would feel worse, that separation, if Ian couldn’t feel the truth in every movement they made against each other in the night.

Mickey didn’t need Ian to fix him up; he never had. He had been doing fine on his own long before they met.

No, Mickey didn’t come to Ian because he liked to pick fights. He picked fights because he liked to come to Ian, and for now, that was enough.

[frogtanii]

hi! noah anon here again, um ahaha, i may have been inspired to write a part 2 to my previous atsumu hurt/comfort drabble, i hope that's okay! ive been living for protective!y/n ever since they fought meiko for suga, so i wanted to sort of portray that!

-

from the way atsumu's breathing had evened out, you assumed he'd finally fallen asleep. exhaustion from the rough night he had taking over as he laid in your bed, wrapped up in your comforting embrace. atsumu's forehead rested in the crook of your neck and his nose pressed up against your collarbone, soft breaths tickling the sensitive skin. his arm laid across your stomach, keeping you close. for the first time since he walked into your room that night, he looked peaceful.

you on the other hand, were pissed; still stewing with rage over the events of the night. the main target of your aggression being none other than miya osamu himself. how could someone be so cold to their own twin?

the more you thought about it, the more restless you got, a pit of frustration growing and twisting uncomfortably in your gut. laying still was starting to prove a difficult task. with all of this frustrated energy you just needed to move — do something, before you went insane. so as carefully as you could, you slipped out from under atsumu, gently pushing a pillow under him for support.

shutting your door as quietly as possible you padded your way into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and an aspirin for atsumu. he'd probably need it for when he woke up, and it was the perfect excuse to get up and move around. however, as you neared the kitchen, you noticed a figure searching through the snack cabinets, grey hairs poking out into your field of vision. of course now of all times you'd run into the object of your current frustration. did you universe hate you or something?

just ignore him, you thought to yourself, no sense in getting into a conflict tonight.

as quietly as possible, you pulled a glass cup from the cabinet and filled it up with water. you had asprin in your room, so there was no need to grab any from the common area. your next objective was to exit the kitchen as quick as possible before your urge to punch osamu in the face increased any more. at this moment, his mere presence was enough to up your anger levels.

however, the second you spun on your heels to leave, osamu was also making his way out of the kitchen, causing the two of you to almost collide. luckily osamu reacted quickly, stepping back and preventing anything from being spilt.

"fucking watch it!" he spit out, expression twisting into one of contempt.

you scoffed at his outburst, ready to hit him with a few choice words, but by the time your lips parted he was already storming out of the kitchen and into the living room. a high pitched voice could be heard when he entered, sending another wave of fury coursing through your veins. "thank you 'samu, you're the best!"

"of course baby," osamu responded, "now let's start our movie."

the noise of some cheesy romance movie soon filled the living room and all surrounding areas, way too loud for this late of an hour in your opinion. it only added to your irritation, and without even thinking you were marching yourself to the living room with conviction, glass of water left behind on the kitchen island.

usually you never sought out trouble, and you weren't too fond of confrontation when it could be avoided. in the beginning of your time in the hyper house, maybe, but as time passed you soon learned nothing you said would change anything. so to save some sanity you resorted to short quips and just plain ignoring your housemates, once your contract was up none of it mattered anymore anyway. but after holding atsumu for an hour while he sobbed, and osamu's entitled attitude, something in you snapped. fuck being the bigger person.

so with your shoulders back and head held high you stormed into the living room, snatching the remote from coffee table to pause the movie playing.

that certainly grabbed their attention.

"the fuck is yer problem?" osamu vetted, standing to square up to you, fists clenched at his side and jaw tense. meiko followed suit, but took her position slightly behind osamu, nimble fingers gripping his bicep.

"my problem? hmm let's see, maybe my problem is the fact that i just held your brother as he cried himself to sleep while you were out here cuddled up on the couch!"

meiko snickered from behind him, and you had to stop yourself from lunging at her. how dare she laugh at his pain?

"'tsumu's fine, he'll get over it. now leave so we can watch our movie." your eyes went wide at osamu's response. did he really not care?

"he's your brother, and you hurt him." the annoyed expression on osamu's face fell slightly at your statement, but he quickly recovered, expression morphing into one that could kill.  "don't act so innocent, you were probably in there twisting his mind with your little lies. you know everything that's happened between us has been your fault? you're the one that turned him against me!" his voice was gradually increasing him volume and malice, you obviously getting under his skin.

"oh please, you're still telling yourself that?" you inched closer to the pair, chin lifting up to meet osamu's steely glare, your attempt at intimidation working only on the small woman behind him.

"'samu, shes scaring me, please make her leave," meiko whimpered. Osamu placed a protective arm around her, pulling her into his side, "don't worry baby, i won't let her near you." you rolled your eyes at meiko, her feigned fear sending your patience over the edge.

"oh shut up, meiko," you snapped, causing her to coward further into osamu.  "hey, don't talk to her like that!" he shot back at you, eyes darkening as he towered over your form, but you refused to back down.

"i'm texting iwaizumi, he can make her leave." meiko began typing furiously on her phone.

you chose to ignore her, prioritizing getting in your final words before iwaizumi could come to their resuce. "you've got your head completely up your ass if you think anyone but yourself is to blame for your broken relationship with 'tsumu!"

"you have no right to—"

"what the hell is going on here?" iwaizumi stormed into the room, large arms crossed over his chest as he placed himself between you and your victims.

"iwa, thank god! me and 'samu were trying to watch a movie when y/n just came in here and started attacking us! it was so scary, please make her leave!"

you scoffed at meiko's fabricated story, but before you could even begin to defend yourself iwa spoke, "y/n, go back to your room before im forced to take action." despite his dagger sharp gaze, you refused to shrink. you were going to get your point in regardless of any threats iwaizumi threw your way. so shooting him a quick and dismissive glare, you turned your attention back to osamu and meiko to get in one final blow.

"look, i don't know what your problem with me is, and frankly i don't care. but leave atsumu the fuck out your sick little games." the venom in your voice was enough to strike real fear into meiko, who was now completely hiding behind osamu for protection. even osamu's intimidating demeanor faltered at your protectiveness over his brother.

iwaizumi was the first to break the tension, "y/n, go—"

"yeah yeah, i got it, im leaving." your cut him short, giving osamu one last glare before exiting the living room, stopping to grab the glass of water from the kitchen before heading back to your room.

in your frustration you'd completely forgotten atsumu was asleep, accidentally shutting your door back with a little too much force. "angel?" atsumu's sleep drenched voice pulled you from your stewing thoughts, and you felt any and all anger melt away when you locked eyes with him.

"where'd you go off to?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes and sitting up. you snatched a bottle of asprin from your night stand and extended it to him along with the glass of water, "figured you'd want this when you woke up."

the corner of his mouth lifted up into a lopsided smile as he accepted your offer, downing a pill and half the water in one go, "yer too good to me, angel."

you offered up a soft smile as you took the glass and pill bottle back from him and set them on your nightstand. you took a seat on your bed next to atsumu, pushing back his disheveled hair back with one hand, prompting him to let out a content hum.

"i'm sorry for waking you," you whispered, letting your hand trail down the side of his face before coming to rest against his jaw, "how are you feeling?"

atsumu leaned into your touch, "much better, thanks to you. but, can we lay down again?"

you nodded, falling back to a laying position with atsumu following suit. however, this time he pulled you into his chest, holding you in his arms. you sunk further into him, finding it much easier to sleep this time as his warmth surrounded you and calmed your nerves.

-

i got a little carried away and this ended up a little longer than i intended, oops, oh well! i hope you like it!

— noah anon

hhhh,,, BESTIE OMFG UR SO SO SO TALENTED WTF???? do u have a blog cs if so sharty drop the @ ahaha (jk only if u feel comfy!!) i just mean WOW WOW WOW WOWIE

[readymades2002]

witch hat spoilers and also its incoherent and i didnt realize while i was writing it that a lot of it is actually addressed in the chapters im reading and i thought i was connecting it on my own like a silly goose but its okay

qifrey and coco's relationship makes me feel unwell!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! qifrey unquestionably cares about her and wants to protect her, but he only allowed her to keep her memory because of her connection to the brimhats! if there was a way to save her mother without forbidden magic and no connection, then i feel pretty certain he would have done it. just like his search ended at the tower of books, he is probably sure hers will, too. taking her into his atelier allows her to keep her connection, and gives her more time. time to see what the brimhats do, but also time to allow her to believe she can fix it without forbidden magic. it serves qifrey's own ends as well as allowing him to believe he's protecting her (like beldarut says). i have no doubt he wants to protect her! he doesn't believe in magic the way she does. many of the trials faced by his atelier so far have been problems that seem insurmountable until they figure out a solution they can carry out! tetia has a whole moment where she proclaims that magic allows you to do what you couldn't do otherwise, and as long as you can practice it, you can find a way to help. and many times you don't have to turn to forbidden magic! coco has seen a lot of things become possible through thought and time. qifrey doesn't believe there's another option but to give up rather than touch that magic, but if the future of witches can believe in another way, then who's to say it's not possible?

coco is getting closer to forbidden magic in the current moment, of course, and there is a lot telling her that she may have no choice but to use it eventually. when orugio dismissed the idea of her becoming a brimhat while watching her work on qifrey's cold pack, i think he missed that it is because she is so thoughtful and kind that she could use forbidden magic. she doesn't have the same upbringing as witches, and she desperately wants her mom back. she has only the best intentions, and she doesn't have that grown knowledge of what is or isn't possible. if her search stops at the tower of books, she will find another solution, whatever magic she has to use to do it.

and of course, under qifrey's care, his desire for revenge on the people who destroyed him, who waited for him to find contentment before trying to destroy it once again, with coco under his wing is what places her so close to forbidden magic!!! he is doing so much to protect magic for her. showing her that there is so much kind magic that exists simply to make people happy was for this reason! but she is going to have to face it eventually all the same, and he is bringing her closer to it because of his own pain. they are walking the same path now. there's no safe way off of it. there never was. with the secret and knowledge of magic hidden, leaving her with no way to know what she was doing, and with forbidden magic being so thoughtfully offered up to her (giving her the phrase "magic is a miracle that can color the world", something that is driving her forward and inspiring her all the time even as it came from the mouth of iguin!!!), how could she have walked away from this?

(if one of the reasons forbidden magic is, well, forbidden, is because you are not meant to interfere with the course of fate, then what does it mean for someone whose fate was enacted on them like this? what does fate mean in a story that begins with the question, "is an athlete born an athlete? an astronaut, an idol, are they born as these things? what about witches?", when a combination of the maintenance of the lie about witches and forces bigger than her choosing her as a vessel for unravelling that lie put her in a position she cannot see but has no way of escaping? what is interfering with fate supposed to mean when forbidden magic is a category entirely invented, and when fate is already being decided by witches, like someone hearing a prophecy foretelling their destruction and bringing it to pass with the very measures they take to prevent it?)

[keelywolfe]

Drabble: Phobia (baon)

Summary:  It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

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Read it Here

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The first time it happened, Edge couldn’t quite describe it. He’d heard of Humans feeling the hairs standing up on the back of their neck, but lacking hair there and, indeed, anywhere at all, it wasn’t precisely that. But it was something similar, a prickling crawling up his spine as if someone was watching him.

If they were, they certainly weren’t getting him at his most impressive. Tilling the soil in his garden beds to prepare for spring planting was sweaty work that involved a lot of kneeling in one place, working at the dirt with a hand spade. The only person likely to find that even remotely interesting was Stretch and he was inside in his lab, working furiously at something that was surely brilliant and possibly destructive, perhaps even both knowing his love.

Still, the sensation lingered, and Edge took a moment for a break, ostensibly to rest his leg but in reality, for reconnaissance. As he sipped his water, Edge surreptitiously checked his surroundings. It was a lovely, warm spring day and the neighborhood was lively with others who were out enjoying the sunshine. Children were laughing and playing nearby, other Monsters were out in their yards working on their own flowerbeds or mowing their lawns.

No one seemed to be paying him any specific attention.

He shrugged inwardly and went back to his garden, making a mental note to head downstairs and try to persuade Stretch out of his lab in an hour or so. By then, his inspiration might still be flowing but his energy would probably be down to the dregs. A nice lunch out in the fresh air would help revive him.

Edge dug back into the soil, but still, that sense of being watched lingered. The sensation was enough to irritate; what he should be doing was planning out the layout of this section for the upcoming planting. Instead, he was distracted by the itching between his shoulder blades, to the point that he didn’t even hear Stretch approaching until he said, cheerfully, “hey, babe, brought you some iced tea—whoops, careful there!”

The trowelful of dirt Edge tossed into the air as he jerked in surprise obediently followed the laws of gravity and came back down on him in a shower, leaving him spitting and sputtering. He turned to give Stretch a look and was met with wide, not-so-innocent sockets and a shameless grin. “sorry about that. little jumpy there, spock, do i need to start sneaking in decaf in the afternoons?”

“Do not go there, some transgressions are unforgiveable.” Edge took the offered glass of tea and took a long swallow, washing away the lingering taste of soil. “I’m not ‘jumpy’. It’s just—” He hesitated, a little embarrassed to explain his sudden bout of paranoia, but if there were anyone he could expose himself to, in all ways, it was Stretch. Finally, he admitted, “It’s strange, but I’ve felt all day as if someone is watching me.”

To his profound relief, Stretch didn’t laugh. He frowned consideringly and much as Edge had, gave the neighborhood a searching look. His inspection was much less discreet, but Edge found he didn’t care. Even his irritation at possibly being watched was fading, lost in a sudden rush of love for this person who didn’t think he was silly or paranoid, who took him at his word and instead of mocking, sought to help. The urge to kiss him filled Edge to the brim and overflowed, and he climbed to his feet, ready to give into temptation when Stretch’s sockets went suddenly wide and a grin spread across his face.

“well, babe, looks like you’re suffering from a case of anatidaephobia,” Stretch announced. He started off towards the backyard fence, clearly intending for Edge to follow him.

Edge did, partly in confusion, mostly curious, with a dash of nettled that he’d missed his chance for a kiss. “What does that mean?”

Stretch leaned overtop of the fence and looked down, laughing softly, “the fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you.”

A glance over the fence showed that a small duckling was standing right on the other side, peering through the slats into the front yard. The moment they saw their new audience, Cheese began quacking eagerly, scrambling up as close as they could to the fence in search of an exit.

“nope, sorry, kiddo, no running off.” Instead of risking a duckling escape by opening the gate, Stretch shortcutted into the backyard and scooped Cheese up, holding him until Edge slipped through. The moment he was close, the duckling began to squirm, loudly quacking, until Stretch handed them to Edge. Their downy feathers were already shedding, their adolescent feathers coming in, giving them a slightly mangy appearance. Edge didn’t mind, letting Cheese settled into the crook of his arm, the small bird snuggling in close as their quacks lowered to a sleepy murmur.

“nice to see your charms affect all kinds of poultry,” Stretch chuckled.

“Honestly, I don’t understand why,” Edge sighed. Even as he spoke, the chickens were making their way from the coop to mill around his feet in hopes of scritches.

Stretch crouched down to offer his services and the chickens willingly accepted him as an alternate pets-giver. “hey, you’re a popular guy, babe. they’ve got im-peck-able taste.”

“I’m being stalked by ducks and you’re making jokes,” Edge shook his head, managing to keep a straight face out of sheer force of will. “I’m calling fowl, you’re a terrible comedi-hen.”

It was worth the awful pun to hear Stretch snickering. “hey, you’re a tough nut to quack, no yolk, and no one ever believes me when I tell ‘em you’re the real wise quacker.” The last word barely made it out before Stretch dissolved into laughter, sprawling back into the grass. Edge watched him fondly, soothing the little duck in his arms when the noise made them stir uneasily. Stretch barely had his breath back when he scrambled to his feet to steal the kiss that Edge intended to pilfer earlier with great enthusiasm. By the time he drew back, he was panting, his cheekbones flushed a charming honey-orange as he said, huskily, “luckily, i’m quackers about you.”

Clever puns were currently beyond Edge, his wits surrendered at the first touch of Stretch’s mouth. All Edge could manage was stark honesty. “I love you, too.”

That soft orange in Stretch’s cheekbones brightened to something closer to the first tinge of sunset in the sky. Beautiful, so beautiful, even when he coughed sheepishly and mumbled, “anyway, i have to get back downstairs. you’re hot, babe, but i got something cooking and literal fire trumps your hunka hunka burning love.”

“Go,” Edge said, reluctantly amused, “before you burn down our house.” A last quick kiss and Stretch did, pausing at the door when Edge called, “Lunch in an hour?”

“an hour,” Stretch echoed and vanished into the house.

Edge took a seat on the patio, shifting the duckling to one arm so that he could give the chickens some of their own scritches. He already knew that an hour from now, time would have escaped his husband and he’d need a rescue from whatever experiment he was working on. That was fine, he owed Stretch in exchange for his earlier one.

“Anatidaephobia,” Edge said aloud. “Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. You,” Edge directed at the duckling, “next time, quack louder and I’ll come. Leave the stalking to my brother.”

The duckling only made a sleepy little chattering sound and snuggled in closer, with no fears at all.

-finis-