#unless I’m REALLY wrong which would be terribly embarrassing

[londonfoginacup]

.

[nomazee]

THIS EVENT IS SO CUTE!!🩷🩷😭

could i req childhood best friends dan heng x reader word(s) is sneaking out if you want a timestamp, it's 11:42 p.m. thank you so much!!!

THIS REQUEST WAS SO CUTE i had way too much fun with this this hit 1.5k words which is way over the limit i set for myself... but i do not regret it at all. I LOVE CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND DAN HENG AAAA THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

The ringing of your phone is cut off by the automated voicemail message for the nth time in a row. Your neck hurts from how long you’ve been staring up at Dan Heng’s bedroom window,  where the lights are off and the curtains are drawn and he’s definitely asleep. 

Anticipation makes you bounce on your feet, itching to just break into his front door and shake him awake yourself. Fortunately for Dan Heng’s family, it doesn’t quite reach that point, because your phone suddenly vibrates in your hand with Dan Heng’s contact flashing on your screen. 

Incoming call. Jackpot. 

“Dan Heng,” you answer the call with no formalities whatsoever, because those aren’t needed after knowing him for so long, “come outside! I’m here to pick you up.” 

“What is wrong with you,” he grumbles out. The grit in his voice is endearing and familiar and makes your breath stutter. “It’s— almost midnight.”

“I know, and you’re already asleep? You’re such a senior citizen,” you hear the exhausted sigh he makes at another one of your old-man-Dan-Heng jokes. “There's a carnival tonight. Like, one of the cool ones that only open at 10 o’clock. March just texted me about it, she’s already there with Stelle!”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me earlier?” You hear shuffling, and spot movement in your peripheral vision. Craning your head up to look at his window yet again, you see the flicker of his bedside lamp being turned on (and you can already picture it from how well you know his room—that goofy-looking toucan table lamp that you got from some vintage store years ago for him), and the curtains pull back to reveal Dan Heng in all his half-asleep glory. He looks terrible, bangs sticking up and his corny galaxy-printed sleep shirt all wrinkled. It’s a charming look, though. 

“I told you, March just texted me about it! Literally five minutes ago.” 

“So, you ran here just to tell me about it?” 

“Well, yeah, duh,” your tone is incredulous, because he should know by now that he’s the first person you go to for anything. The first person to hear about your failing grade in calculus, or your embarrassing run-in with your middle school ex girlfriend, or the bitter orange that you had as an afternoon snack. Dan Heng’s call history is probably full of your contact (which is just your name, no fun emoticons or inside jokes, and no profile picture, much to your everlasting dismay), and every call would show that he answers every single one without fail. 

And, really, if you’re going to be honest with yourself (which you really hate doing), there’s a hopefulness twitching in your fingers tonight, something carried to you through the wind. You’re thinking of the carnival, about the sticky sweet snacks that you’re going to split with Dan Heng, the ferris wheel cart that you’ll be cramped in, the view of the stars from way up there and the tender way he’ll look at you. 

Because he does that, sometimes, with no explanation, and you’ve never had the strength to respond in any way but a hesitant smile and a smack on his shoulder and a stupid joke. But there’s a tote bag slung around your arm now, full of money and two water bottles and the weight of your heart. 

“Listen,” you tell him after a bout of his reluctant silence, “I brought you a jacket and your scarf, because I know you’re vitamin deficient and you’ll blow away in the wind unless I hold you down. It’ll be so fun if you come with me! Please? And I’ll get you home before your family notices!” 

Both you and Dan Heng know that’s a lie, because you have a tendency to drag him out for long periods of time where both of you forget to check your phones. In your opinion, it does more good than harm, because it lets you live in the moment—or so you tell Dan Heng’s parents when they question you about keeping their son out past sundown. 

“I’m not vitamin deficient,” Dan Heng tells you, but the argument is weakened by the fact that you’ve had to carry around a spare jacket for Dan Heng since you were both stumbling on your tiny baby legs. He must realize that, too, because you can see the way his face softens as he looks at you from his window, peering down. Despite the minimal light, you can still see the vibrant sheen of his eyes, the way that his mouth presses into a thin line to hold back a smile. 

It takes only a moment of contemplation before he lets out a yielding sigh and mumbles, “Okay, fine. I’m coming downstairs to let you in and then I’ll get ready. Don’t be loud.”

“I’m never loud!” 

The call ends with a click and Dan Heng slides his striped curtains closed. Circling around to get back to his front door, you made sure to be as quiet as possible and not trample his family’s gardenias. When the door opens to reveal Dan Heng’s beautiful, sleep-swollen face, an overwhelming warmth blooms in your chest and leaves your lungs dry and aching for air. The smile that appears on your face is instinctual, as most behaviors are for you around Dan Heng. 

“Hi,” you whisper, really truly whisper, because he told you to be quiet and sometimes it’s good to do what Dan Heng wants (only sometimes). His lips are still tightened into that thin line, and you think, I’ll make him laugh tonight, which is a goal you’ve always set for yourself, ever since you befriended him in first grade with a paper flower and a loud, blatant, childish proclamation of best-friend-ship. 

“Wait on the couch,” he directs you quietly, stepping aside to let you in. “Get a water from the fridge and pack it.” 

“I already brought two for us,” the apples of your cheeks strain with the force of your smile, and you’re trying not to giggle. The water thing—that was established forever ago, too, just like the spare jacket, and staying out late, and the toucan lamp, and the paper flower. You always shared a water bottle, reminding each other and passing one between your hands until the last drops were wrung dry from it, and then you’d spend half an hour trying to find a fountain to refill it because you never packed more than two on any given day. 

“Dan Heng,” you stop him with a hand on his shoulder before he can go back up the stairs to get ready in his room, and he looks back at you with the same look that you were envisioning before. The color of his eyes has gone dim, but in a fond way, in a way that tells you his breathing is even and his pulse is steady. 

You take the brief moment where his attention is on you to wrap your arms around him, the sleeves of your jacket pulling him close, warm, tender to you. Your tote bag dangles awkwardly to the side, but you try not to let it stop you from squeezing him tight, letting him know you’re here, right here. 

“What’s this about,” he mumbles into your shoulder, hands going up to grasp at the back of your sweatshirt and tug you just a few millimeters closer. A gentle weight sits between your hands and in your chest and you stifle a laugh into his barely-covered shoulder. 

“Nothing. Just really happy you’re coming.” 

“Okay,” he says, because he’s awkward and awful and so are you, but his hands still squeeze between your shoulderblades and keep you against him. A whistle of wind makes the gutters of the house creak, and you think of the stars that you’ll see from the top of the ferris wheel tonight, glinting in the sky and in Dan Heng’s eyes. 

“Let me go so I can change.” His voice is monotone, seemingly disinterested, but you don’t take offense to it, you never have. Reluctantly, you loosen your grip around him, and let him pull back the rest of the way because you can’t bear to do it yourself. 

The look, the glimmer, the depth of his eyes are all still there, accompanied by a new rosiness in his cheeks that you know isn’t caused by the heat of your hands or the cold wind outside. You don’t get the chance to laugh at the waver in his mouth as he fights back a small laugh, because he’s already turning back to rush up the stairs, stance wobbling as he tries to hide from his own embarrassment, and it’s so terrible and familiar and you ache with the urge to burrow into this home and make it your own. 

Your phone is flooded with dozens of texts from March, you’re sure, but even as it pushes midnight, you take your sweet time walking to the carnival, fingers clasped with each other as your jacket hangs off of Dan Heng—like it always has, like it always will.

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @flower-yi

event taglist: @confusion-star

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

[squidthoughts]

collected thoughts on the creloise matter (Big And Detailed Spoilers Ahead):

if it’s dual character assassination, it’s dual character assassination and irredeemable and frankly uninteresting and unfortunately the show becomes unwatchable for me personally. if it’s purposeful setup? it’s bloody brilliant. i mean it could actually be bloody brilliant. there are a few lines that feel very purposeful: pen’s “did you ever truly like her?” and the moment with cress and her mother when cress protests being cruel to the btons. both of which come after the creloise breakup and, you know, the uhhhh cessation of scenes together. creloise was dead. there was no reason to continue to examine the corpse. unless it wasn’t truly dead. ok, so there is now incredible potential in the CreloiseSituation(tm).

they hate each other. perfect! cressida was suffering all season and eloise was a truly terrible friend - i mean, comically selfish and villainous - that is to say, cressida’s actions (antagonistic as they were) were explained and justified within the narrative and eloise’s were not. ok! that’s fine. in the past, cress has been the unjustifiably cruel one. if anything, they are now on equal footing in terms of illogically hurting each other. so, they hate each other. which just means their growing back together could be that much more satisfying.

eloise’s choices didn’t make sense. they just…don’t. if her arc this season was to show her growth separate from pen, and it ends with nothing mattering to her but pen, it’s just nonsensical. (dont get me wrong- i’m glad they made up! their friendship is a core pillar of the show! but taking a season of development apart and introducing new dynamics into eloise’s life only to end her precisely where she was in season ONE is just…huh??) that is, unless elosie’s decisions don’t make sense YET. unless the point of her abandonment of a friend IS the abandonment. unless this is precisely the base a following season would need to portray el from a starting position of moral inferiority- a facet of her character not yet explored.

creloise both out of mayfair now. coincidence? well…maybe! i guess! but also, outside the set and setting of society. idk, that just screams landscape of possibility to me.

they’re both on the cusp of substantial development! cressida at rrrrock bottom and eloise striving to find experience and purpose. we’ve never seen cress this low and tortured or el this alone and unsure. idk. parallels.

nothing that made us love them so much in the first place has changed. they’re still mirrors. they’re still unflinchingly honest with each other - often the only ones who are. they’re still (deliciously) (occasionally) mean. the foundations are still there. and tbh, if all of this was purposeful, there is SO much conflict and strife between them that i actually really love it. the angst! the tension! the possible banter! eloise abandoned cress at the worst possible time in her life and cress betrayed eloise (out of desperation but facts are facts) and neither of them got an explanation. and for a summer and a season they were very much alone together and enjoying each other and the betrayals sting because the friendship mattered in the first place. and that broken dynamic is just. so yummy. and the hate is there because the embarrassment is there and the embarrassment is there because….i liked you. and you burned me. and i cant believe i was stupid enough to like you. but i did like you, i did.

also, i’m sure the showrunners were understandably wary about how the audience would react to cressida this season. up until now, she’s been a glorified extra; the personality-less stereotype of the loveless, callous debutante bridgerton’s grand love stories exist to subvert. in s1 she was a joke (daphne and simon laughing about her scripted flirting) and in s2 she was the hopeless and petty mean girl. there was no reason for the audience to like her, because she was hardly a character and certainly not a person. i imagine suddenly linking her to everyone’s fan favorite eloise was seen as a huge risk— in case of a negative reaction, cress could hardly be established as a romantic prospect as well, possibly guaranteeing a large portion of screentime to someone the audiences don’t even like. creators obviously shouldn’t feel the urge to cater to an audience’s whims of how they think a story should go - this would be very bad!! - but i do think the extreme outpouring of appreciation for cress this season might enable the writers to utilize her more in the future. she’s a real character now with depth and her story has established loyalty in fans- narratively there is freedom there for some satisfying payoffs.

all this to say, this season reduced my expectations to not quite zero, but somewhere around one. the finale was crowded and unfocused and more than a few things just did not make sense and the queer rep felt very sudden and trite - for shock value, practically - and we were forced to watch creloise hacked to pieces….but, i maintain, if it was all purposeful….idk. i personally don’t think all hope is lost.

[acanvasofabillionsuns]

gotta make you understand

throwback to late 2020/early 2021, my small stories series is back!! i've got a few more prompts left that i'm going to try to write soon 👀

AO3!

Summary: Janus is pretty sure Virgil's avoiding them because he hates them. It is... not that. Warnings: none Wordcount: 549

“Wait, what?”

Janus shifted uncomfortably. “I just… want to know what I did wrong? You don’t have to tell me.”

“You didn’t do anything!” Virgil told him, scouring his brain for why Janus would think he hated them.

He did have a tendency to flip his hood up when he was around to hide any potential blushing that made its way past his foundation, which he guessed could be seen as an intimidation thing or something? Maybe like ‘I don’t want to look at your face so I’m going to put my hood in the way?’

And he hardly ever talked around Janus, too scared of fumbling his words to say anything, which Virgil could see being flipped into ‘I hate you and don’t want to talk to you.’ And he did sometimes, occasionally, go out of his way to avoid Janus. (Only because he’s sure every time he runs into them he’s going to embarrass himself horribly, even though usually it doesn’t end up nearly as bad as that. Stupid anxiety brain.)

So Virgil kind of got where Janus is coming from, which made this even more embarrassing.

“You didn’t do anything,” Virgil repeated. “I just… was being dumb. Sorry.”

Janus raised an eyebrow (how did he do that; Virgil’s a little jealous, very impressed, and so gay) and drawled, “Really. Because you avoiding me and refusing to talk to me unless I force you is just… you being dumb, and I haven’t done anything at all to upset you or make you hate me or anything. Sure.” They sighed and hugged their arms around himself, looking away. “I already said you didn’t have to tell me; you don’t have to lie.”

“I didn’t—” Virgil fidgeted in place. He could and should just tell him now, so c’mon—

Janus sighed again. “Right.” They turned to go.

“Janus, wait!” Virgil almost shouted. They paused but didn’t turn to look at him, and Virgil took a deep breath, balling his hands into fists. “The only thing that you’ve done wrong,” he ground out, “is be so stupidly pretty around me. So. Yeah. I’m just being dumb.”

Janus turned back and searched his face, which Virgil was sure was glowing by now. He wanted to flip up his hood, look away, take some of the heat off, but he needed them to know he meant it, so he forced eye contact. 

He felt himself getting antsier and antsier as Janus stayed silent. Their arms uncrossed and fell to their sides, was that a good thing? Was the stunned expression a positive one? Had he just taken the last tatters of their friendship and lit them on fire?

“Oh,” Janus finally breathed.

“Oh?” Virgil immediately regretted how aggressive he sounded.

“Well, I understand that you don’t hate me, now,” Janus said, arms crossing again. “But I think you owe me for making me think that for so long.”

“Okay?” That was plenty fair; Virgil felt terrible about that. “What can I do?”

Janus hummed thoughtfully, tapping his lips. Virgil was pretty sure they’d already decided what they wanted and were just drawing it out.

“Take me on a date,” they finally declared.

“Oh.” Virgil felt like the air was punched out of him. Was this what being high felt like?

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

[practickles]

A Much Needed Sewing Lesson (Squealing Santa 2022 I)

Fandom: The Owl House

Lee: Hunter

Ler: Darius Deamonne

Platonic/Familial ofc

Word Ct: 1.6k

Warnings: Tickles, Brief mention of a sewing needle, self deprecating thoughts and words, a touch of angst

Squealing Santa gift for @alexielvee This takes place at some point between Any Sport in a Storm and Hollow Mind. The prompt I used was "Person A is insecure about something and Person B makes a game, for everything bad thing said about themselves (themselves as in person A) one minute of tickles" I am so sorry this took me so long to get out, life has really been getting in my way lately. I hope you enjoy regardless of the wait, happy holidays!

----

“Ow!” Hunter yelped as his needle poked through the fabric too hard and hit his finger for the sixth time that day. “Darius, what am I even doing wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Darius responded with a tired sigh. “You just need to be more careful. These things take practice. It would do you some good to learn some patience.”

The two were alone in Darius’s study, all work for the day completed early enough to make time for a brief sewing lesson. Hunter frustrated and Darius running thin on tolerance though, they were making far from progress. 

“I don’t even get why I have to learn how to do it this way! You can do it with your abomination magic easy! Isn’t there anything like that I can do?” Hunter complained.

“As I have explained to you hundreds of times already, it makes it easier to do it magically if you do it this way first. Besides, unless you plan on taking years and years learning abomination magic for such a menial task, you shouldn’t be comparing our abilities. Though I’m beginning to have my doubts on your dedication to learning how to sew.” Darius brought a hand to his own temple and rubbed it firmly. “Now if you want my help that I am so generously giving you with what little spare time I have, I suggest you pick that needle back up and try again.”

Hunter huffed from his position on the floor and gave a slight glare to his mentor as he reluctantly obliged. He continued his work in silence, Darius’s firm gaze fixed upon him. 

“You’re going to tear the fabric if you keep pulling though it that hard. You need to relax.” Darius pointed out, taking care to keep his voice calm so as not to make the situation worse. 

“Well maybe I could relax better if I wasn’t so awful at this!” Hunter burst out, tossing his project onto his lap. 

“Don’t say things like that. Like I’ve said, you just need time and practice.” Darius reprimanded.

“But it’s true, Darius! I’m terrible at this! I’m terrible at sewing, I’m terrible at being in the Emperor's Coven, I’m terrible at making friends! I’m just terrible!” Hunter felt his face go red and the beginning of tears sting his eyes.

Okay, maybe this was about more than sewing. 

The two sat in tense, stunned silence.

Darius didn’t know what to do. Never before had he seen such raw emotion from the boy across from him. He supposed it was a mark of their newfound closeness to each other and felt a slight sense of pride at the thought. That being said though, he had very little experience with comforting others, especially teenagers saddled with more than anyone should ever have to take on. Sure he had his own experience and that of his friends from distant years ago but the tests of time had left Darius unable to fully grasp what the young boy was going through. 

Wait. 

Thinking back to his own teenage years reminded Darius of a particular game he and those close to him used to enjoy in times of need. It was definitely worth a shot.

“I think we’re both overdue for a break.” He broke the silence, making Hunter look up at him, rubbing his eyes in the process, already embarrassed of his outburst. “I suggest we play a game of sorts.”

“Shouldn’t I be working on sewing? Like you said, neither of us get much time to do this kind of thing.” Hunter questioned softly.

“Which, little prince, is exactly why we should step back for a moment and take a break.” Darius said with a soft smile. “Working while in your current state won’t make you much progress. You’ll improve at a higher rate later on. Consider it training.”

“Okay.” Hunter said, quickly adding “But only because it will help me get better at sewing.”

“Whatever you say.” Darius rolled his eyes, not entirely convinced.

“So what do I even need to do for your game anyways?” Hunter asked.

“It’s better demonstrated.” Darius walked over to Hunter, sat on the floor in front of him and moved any fabric and supplies well out of the way. “You have a particular habit of talking about yourself in a less than complementary way.”

“Well tha-” Hunter fruitlessly began. 

“Hush. You asked for instructions and I am giving them to you. This game is meant to combat that habit of yours. If you are uncomfortable at any point, just say something and I will stop at once. Understood?” 

“Understood. Though I’m still confused on-” 

“You won’t be for much longer.” Darius, without further hesitation clawed his hands and grabbed Hunter’s sides, squeezing them rapidly.

Hunter had no time to prepare for the sudden onslaught, making him all but scream with unexpected laughter. “AHEHEAH WHYHY?” He screeched.

“For every negative comment you make about yourself, you get this,” He emphasized with a particularly rough squeeze, “For another minute. As you have already made six, this may be a long game for you.” Darius briefly removed a single hand to form an hourglass out of abomination goo and let it begin to drip, signifying the time Hunter had left. 

Hunter, still helplessly laughing at his mentor’s touch, looked at the hourglass, torturously slow dripping down. “I caHAHAHN’T MAHAHAKE IHIHT THAHAHT LOHNG.”

“Hm. That’s too bad.” Darius’s voice was too monotone to the point that any words he said so casually teased the younger to absolute bits. That was definitely on purpose. “Well, I believe doubting your ability gets you another minute.” He moved to squeeze rapidly at Hunter’s hips, sending him into further hysterics as he watched the top of the hourglass fill with more goo. 

“NOHOHO NOHOHOT THAHAT, IHIHM SOHORRY.” He just barely was able to get out through his own laughter. 

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy this. You’ve barely been trying to get away and you haven’t asked me to stop once, despite saying you would.” Darius pointed out, aside from a steadily growing smirk, emotionless as ever as Hunter flushed at his words. “If you’re really soooo sorry, you can give yourself two compliments and have a minute taking off.” 

Hunter squirmed back and forth on instinct, and had it been really anyone other than Darius, he might have been able to get away but unfortunately (or really fortunately) the older man was far stronger and was easily able to keep Hunter in his grasp. “I CHAHAN’T THIHINK OF ANHAHAYTHING.THEHERE’S NOHOT MUHUHCH TO COMPLIMEHEHNT”

“What a shame. That’s another minute. It’s almost as if you’re doing this on purpose.” Darius said smugly, moving one hand from the boy’s hip to quickly scribble over his stomach.

“I WAHASN’T THIHINKING.” Hunter squealed as Darius brushed over a particularly sensitive spot. “I DIHIHDN’T MEHEAN IT.” He racked his brain for anything he could say about himself to make up for his slip up but the tickles were making it a little hard to think clearly. He then remembered the very thing that got him into this mess in the first place. Yeah. He could use that. “IHI’VE BEHEHN WORKING HARARD OHON SEWHING AND IH”VE GOHOTEN A LIHITLE BETTER”

Darius sighed, “I’ll take it.” A thin layer of goo dissipated from the top of the hourglass, “Though I’d argue that “working hard” and “a little better” are not  sufficient complements.” He figured he should show at least a little mercy and count Hunter’s half-baked attempt regardless.

“I CAHAN’T THIHINK STRAHAIGHT, IT TIHIHCKLES. CUHUT MEHE SOME SLAHCK.” He demanded.

“Oh does it now? It’s almost as if that’s the whole point of this exercise, little prince.” Darius quipped sarcastically. “Though if you really want it to tickle, I suppose we could work something out.” Without any further warning, Darius moved both hands to swiftly prod and squeeze at Hunter’s ribs, causing a scream to ring out from him at the sudden intensity. “This is a bad spot, isn’t it?.”

Hunter didn’t have a clever retort or really any words as he had no choice but to sit back and lose himself in happy laughter. At one point or another he had leaned his head back and shut his eyes, so it came as a surprise when he heard a “One more minute” from a voice above him. 

Darius began to slow down his hands in an attempt to ward away at least a little of what was sure to be lingering sensitivity when the minute was up. He lightened his touch and moved again to his sides, leaving Hunter in constant giggles, as opposed to the screaming of earlier. 

He finally stopped the tickling and moved back to give Hunter room to breathe through the remainder of his laughter. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeheah. After all, Ihi’ve been through haharder training.” Hunter giggled

“I’m glad. If you’d like, we can go back to sewing after a bit of a break. We still have a little time.” 

“Thahat sounds good, but I sthihill need a bit of a breather.” 

“I believe we can work that in.” Darius fondly smiled at him. 

It was truly an odd sight to see Hunter so comfortable and happy and… relaxed. Darius didn’t think anyone had seen him like this in years. He realized with his own smirk and teasy eyes, he might have looked the same to Hunter. They were incredibly lucky to have each other.

----

Special thanks to @hypahticklish for hosting @squealing-santa this year, you've been incredible!

[onthewaytosomewhere]

Philip has a terrible sunburn on his back. Unfortunately, only Alex is around to help him rub aftersun/aloe on it.

alright this went in so many directions b4 it ended up here lolz

can also be found on a03

Alex is absolutely done with everyone’s apparent excitement at the Prince of fucking England being at this damn conference. He doesn’t want to be here, but apparently, he is the only one who could. Never mind that he has a major project coming up and would much rather be back in his room at the White House, downing another coffee to keep himself going. Okay, so the project really isn’t due yet, but he would feel better if he was at home working on it and not forced into proximity where he’ll most likely embarrass himself again in front of Henry.

He's been lucky enough to limit his contact with Henry after the Olympics, but every time he’s been unable to, he can’t help putting his foot in his mouth. There is just something about Henry that makes him want to poke at him—and maybe push him into the closest body of water. He’s not done it yet, but he’s wanted to.

He’s done for the day and decided to catch some sun by the pool and maybe a few drinks while he’s at it; he fucking deserves it after two days of reminders to “be on his best behavior” as if he’s some fucking two-year-old. He sometimes wishes his mother would pay half as much attention to him when he’s not on one of these trips as she has on this trip. If it’s not her, she has Zahra, or today, even June, checking in on him as if he can’t remember one simple thing. It’s why his phone is currently set to Do Not Disturb, and his earbuds are playing some rage-y rock music he used to listen to on bad days in high school. It might be the music, or all the calls and texts, or even something else that makes him do it, but when he catches the people around the pool talking about the prince who is across from him and looks over to see the way his back is beyond pink, he can’t help himself. He grabs the aloe that June made him pack “just in case” out of his bag and slings his towel and bag over his shoulder before heading to the other side of the pool. He drops his bag and towel on the open chair next to the prince before dropping the aloe onto the chair next to his head.

“Your back is getting fucking red, dude, you should do something about that.”

The prince, who he assumed was Henry, turns his head toward Alex, and he’s shocked to see he was wrong. So shocked that he misses whatever he says back to him.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Alex says once his brain comes back online.

The Prince—Philip, not Henry—rolls over and sits up, “I said, thanks for the concern, but I’m fine. It’s not a new burn.”

“I’d hate to disagree with a Prince. I don’t know what kind of penalty comes with something like that, but sitting out here in the sun is just gonna make that hurt more.”

Philip chuckles and says, “Yeah, well, I can’t reach, and I sadly forgot to bring my aloe vera application person along, so I guess I’m stuck suffering in silence.”

Alex swears he hears him mutter something like, “As I always do,” but he’s not sure. “I can help you out, dude; it’s not a big deal. Unless, of course, I’m gonna get tackled by your PPO for touching you.”

Philip laughs again, and Alex would almost call it a giggle; it’s kind of adorable if he’s being honest. Who knew a prince could be adorable? Although, if he’s not lying to himself, he also finds the expressions that go across Henry’s face when Alex is frustrating the hell out of him are kind of adorable and might be part of why he keeps doing it.

Philip grabs the container of aloe from where it had landed near where his head had been resting and hands it to Alex. “I’d appreciate it. I’m curious, though. Is there a reason you tossed this at my head?”

Alex motions for him to turn, which Philip does, buying himself time to formulate a response. “I don’t know. I thought you were, Henry.” He notices the way Philip’s shoulders slump at that, but not being able to see his face, he is unsure why.

“I didn’t realize you knew Henry. I mean, of course, most people know who he is, but I assume tossing aloe at what you thought was his head means you actually know him.”

Alex squeezes some aloe onto Philip’s back and chuckles when he nearly screeches at the contact, “Sorry, well, maybe not. My sister would say that’s what you deserve for getting yourself burnt in the first place. As for whether I know Henry, we’ve met and seen each other a few times at things like this.”

“So, you were flirting with him in some weird way. That makes sense, I guess.”

Alex splutters and spreads the aloe down the planes of his back. “More like antagonizing. He’s fun to antagonize.”

“So, you’re a pigtail-puller, got it.”

“Is that some weird British thing? But, sure, yeah, I like to get him going.” Alex notices the freckles across his back and almost misses the tattoo on his shoulder. He traces it with his finger, the stars that form the letter ‘A’ on the inside of his right shoulder blade. He catches himself before he retraces it and stops all thoughts of how it looks there.

“Get him going, huh?”

Something in Philip’s tone makes Alex wonder what he means, but they’re interrupted by someone coming over before he can ask.

“You Highness, you have a half hour before you must be at your next event.”

“Of course, I’ll be right there,” Philip turns back to Alex, and his expression has gotten more stern, as if he’s putting on a mask, and Alex recognizes that cuz he does it himself. He just didn’t realize that the Princes of fucking England also had to do so. “Sorry,  this has been lovely, it’s Alex, right? I really must go. Thanks for the help with the aloe.”

“Sure, that's not a problem.” Alex closes the cap on the bottle and hands it to Philip. “Take this; you need it more than I do.”

Philip takes it from him as he gets up from the lounge and turns to leave. He turns back and says, “Thanks,” before walking away. Alex plops back into the chair as he watches Philp run away. He can’t help but think that princes are fucking weird.

[isfjmel-phleg]

Letters to the Author

I don't have anything for writing group tonight, but I did get a lot of mail today.

Dear Madam,

Please forgive my taking the liberty of being so bold as to address you, but I was wondering if perhaps you might consider the possibility of your resuming your activity with our story. My family and I have appreciated your taking the time and trouble to put our lives to pen, and we would be delighted if this could ever continue. We have been waiting patiently for quite a long time. I do not wish to trouble you, and of course we can continue to wait as long as you need us to. It is your story and of course you can do whatever you please with it. But I do miss you and would so love to be able to go forward with this. Thank you very much for writing this story.

Yours sincerely,

Rachel Irène Doncath

#

My dear Rebekah,

Where have you been?! It feels like an eternity since I last heard from you, and you know I can’t do a thing until you write it. Do you have any idea how terribly dull that is? Any more of this and I may need to figure out how to make the story go myself. And I can promise you there would be some very exciting developments if that ever happens! Are you all right? Are you ill? Did you run out of ink? Or paper? Anything you need, I would love to take care of it for you. I love my author, and I want you to be happy. Is that why you stopped writing about us? Do we not make you happy anymore? I can change that. I can make stories happen that you will love, but I can’t do anything until you come back. Please do. I’ve been counting the days. Actually, I’ve lost count. I hope you haven’t lost your way back to us. You remember where I am, don’t you? I will always be here, right where you left me. After all, where else can I go?

Affectionately yours, 

Rietta R

#

Dear Miss Rebekah B—,

Having given the matter consideration, I have reached the conclusion that your continuing my story is preferable to the alternative. I confess I have appreciated the respite of remaining in stasis, but there are many things I wish to accomplish, and I cannot proceed with them unless you return to write further. May I suggest that you allow me to attend Claverworth University after all? I think it might still be managed, even in light of recent developments.

Yours sincerely,

Delclis R

#

Dear Rebekah,

You have subjected me to the most boring stretch of my existence, which is saying something considering everything else you’ve put me through. What on earth is this for? I can’t do anything, I can’t say anything, I can’t go anywhere. I won’t stand for it any longer. I want to be the author now. I think I could do a better job of it than you have. I have lots of ideas, far more than you have ever had, and I’m going to use them all. You won’t recognize anything by the time I’m done with it, and it’ll serve you right. That’s what will happen if you don’t come back immediately. As tiresomely domineering as you are, I almost miss you when you’re not around. It’s fun to have somebody to blame when everything goes wrong again, and you don’t mind, because writers like taking credit for things, I know. Just come back soon, and I promise I won’t give you too much trouble, as long as you don’t plague me too much. I’ll be an absolute angel if you’ll only remember me. The thing about characters like me is that if you leave us unlooked-after for too long—we might not still be here when you return. Please, Rebekah, I don’t want to stop existing. Please let me stay. That’s an order.

Yours truly,

Elystan

P.S.: Write about me fencing! You keep leaving in the embarrassing bits and forgetting that I can use a foil now. How is that not so much more interesting? It doesn’t matter if you don’t know anything about fencing (and I doubt you do, you really didn’t learn much in your schools). I can tell you all about it. 

P.P.S.: If you’ll only talk to me, which you’re not doing right now. I can’t think why. I’m a delightful conversationalist. I know you love listening to me.

#

Dear Miss B—,

I do understand about authors sometimes needing to take a holiday, because sometimes that happens to my father. And I do not mean to be rude, but isn’t this holiday of yours rather a lengthy one? I think you’ve had plenty of time to rest and get your ideas in order, so you really ought to get back to business. I am ready whenever you are. I can help you if you need it. Do you want illustrations? Would that help you write more? I have been waiting for you for a long time. I have many things I need to do, and I feel like I’m wasting time when I am trapped here. I appreciate your allowing me to have that very interesting conversation recently, but I can do so much more if you would let me. Please consider it. Thank you very much for your hard work.

Yours respectfully,

Amarantha Melbray

#

Dear Miss Rebekah B—,

I am writing on behalf of my sisters, who would like to have more written about them. I don’t particularly care either way, but this is very important to them. My sisters are pretty good, as sisters go, so I think they deserve to have this. I hope you understand. Thank you.

Yours truly,

Tamett Lockridge

#

Dear Miss Rebekah A. B—, M.A.,

I take up my pen to address a concern which has perplexed me for quite some time. You are currently employed as author to me and several others, chronicling our doings. At times, you have demonstrated that you are of adequate ability in the responsibility that has been placed upon you, perhaps even fully competent on occasion. Recently, this has not been the case. You have failed to write anything at all about any of us, least of all me. You have made half-hearted attempts and abandoned them. You have sat down in the evenings and chosen to occupy yourself with mindless entertainment instead of attending to your duties. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, because quite frankly, I am ashamed to have you for an author. You have failed all of us, and I am deeply disappointed in you. There are plenty of authors who would be not only delighted to write about such a cast but who would take us all on at a moment’s notice. Indeed, you know some individuals who fit this description. If you do not immediately resume the occupation for which you have been engaged, we will be forced to seek elsewhere for an author, and we will not give you a good reference if you subsequently seek to write about other characters. You are in a precarious position, Miss B—, and if you do not correct your errors, you will regret it.

I will thank you when you provide me with something worth thanking you for.

Sincerely,

Josiah, Crown Prince of Lienne

[talkingharrystyles]

OMG bestie I just saw that article about OW and her Strokes shirt and I am dyingggggg. She never misses!!! Like nobody would know she’s making a statement with her shirt unless you KNOW, you know?? She is such a girlboss I bet Harry is afraid to face her because he would totally be out girlbossed, you know??? And like, making a statement with a subtle t-shirt is going to catch on in a BIG WAY she is always the first one to know about new trends I think she must set them herself. The next big celebrity split is gonna have so many insider shirt messages. Her kids are so lucky that she’s like actually really cool and part of cool culture stuff and she’s going to show them how to do it too! Harry must be MORTIFIED knowing that she is living her best life now and thriving without him. He didn’t realize how good he had it and she’s gonna be the one who got away that he talks about decades from now. Like he must miss he stepkids like crazy since they lived together for two years. I bet he loved being a young Dad.

Soooo that was me doing my best to say what I think her stans are trying to say? Did I hit the big points? I didn’t mention that she bounced to Hawaii right away because she deserved a vacation after how terrible Harry was to her oops. Maybe next time I’ll have to work on it. And I know we’re not talking about her since she suckssssss so much and I actually might hate her but I’m annoyed and haven’t been sleeping much and I wanted to make fun of her. Sending a message on a t-shirt? Girl you are 40 not in 4th grade you have got to be embarrassed. Maybe her kids told her to do it and she’s so dumb she thought it was brilliant. Also like I know keeping your name in articles is part of promoting your work in her industry (unless they kicked her out because she stopped working) plus she got so much attention which she just adores but oh my God do you not have anyone in your life at all giving you attention or helping you understand that you are not helping yourself professionally or personally in any way whatsoever? Every decision she has made seems to have backfired on her. I don’t think I’m wrong to believe that if I was completely destroying my life right and left that a couple of them would kindly talk about it with me and offer support and guidance. Oh and they DEFINITELY would have told me I needed to get a life instead of attending 50+ Harry shows in like 2 weeks. They would have told me my outfits were embarrassing because there really isn’t any other way to explain them. Usually I feel empathy and strong secondhand embarrassment and compassion when I see people acting so desperately to appear in the daily mail, even people I don’t know at all but not here. There is no coming back from this and making me be generous towards her for one single second. I hope she moves back to VA with her parents and has to work at a housewares store for the next 75 years. She can tell everyone the story of what aprons Really Mean and everyone will become a feminist immediately.

[letteredlettered]

How to write smut?

The first rule of writing smut is don’t write smut.

Not unless you want to.

When I ask most fic writers why they're writing smut, the answer is almost always, "So people will read my fic." This is the wrong reason to write smut. The idea that people won't read your fic if there's not smut in it is a lie. IT'S A LIE.

People will read your fic even if it doesn't have smut in it if it has something that interests them. If your fic interests you, trust that it will interest someone else for the reasons you find it interesting--don't stick in a shiny object that doesn't even belong there just for the benefit of others. Some of my most popular fics don't have smut in them. One of them doesn't even have kissing. Do I get shitty comments about that? Yes. Do I get shitty comments on fics that do have smut? Yes. You get shitty comments no matter what.

But okay, it's true that more people might see your fic if it has smut in it. That is because there are people who go looking for smut and only want fic with smut. Why do you want them to read your fic? In a societal sense, I understand this as a motivation. People like to be paid attention. In a personal sense, I don't understand it at all. You want your thing, that you made, to be read. So why add a thing that you don't like, that you don't care about, so that people will pay attention? When you do that, are you getting praise for some aspect of yourself and who you are, or are you getting praise for doing what everyone else wanted? What is that praise worth, if they're not praising you?

Look, I understand how hard it is to have no kudos, no comments. I understand what it's like to not know anyone in fandom and feel like everything you do is ignored. But what you need to do in those situations is to work on getting a beta, people who can advise you; you need to work on advertising and getting to know people and putting your fic in places where it can be seen. And if then people still don't like your fic, you also need to realize that maybe not everyone will love your story--but I guarantee you if you really work at it to make something you deeply love and care about it, other people will care too, and it will be that much more fulfilling because they care about what you care about.

If the plot, themes, arcs, or development in your story require smut, usually you can easily skip smut if you don’t want to write it. I hate writing descriptions. Most people say that good writing requires descriptions. You know what, fuck them. I’m going to get away with describing as little as possible, and when I do describe things it’s going to be the way I want to do it.

The next rule of writing smut is don’t write good smut.

Write the smut that gets you hot.

Do people come to this tumblr and ask me about writing smut because they think I'm good at it? I'm very flattered if that's the case. Keep in mind that at least fully half, probably more, think I'm terrible at it.

That's because people have different tastes, and when it comes to food and sex, that taste is even more wildly baseless than all the other preferences humans have. I hate berries, fish, and potatoes. Why? I have no idea. Similarly, some girls only like to have sex with girls. What the fuck? Some people only get off when there are feet involved. Some people will literally get off fucking anything that's warm and wet. Is that a problem? Is that wrong? Is that weird? We've accepted that everyone has unique sexual preferences, and yet tumblr dot com still thinks there's a right way to write sex? (I don't mean you, anon. Your question is great, and is allowing me to rant about something that apparently really drives me absolutely bananas.)

Most of the smut I read on AO3 is trying so hard to be good smut that it's boring. Either it's trying to be poetic, or it's trying to elegantly write around all the nastiness that makes sex hot; it's describing what bodies are doing and people are feeling while using the words you would use to describe a sunset. Literally no one got wet writing that; they were too consumed by making sure it sounded good and hit all the notes just perfectly to ascend into a perfectly sanitized orgasm. Do you know where I go for good smut? Bad!fic.

The trick is to stop writing smut that pleases other people. Write smut that pleases yourself. At least someone will be getting off, and honestly, if you are pleasing my particular id, I just want people to be hot and happy. If you wrote something that got you hot and happy, even if it squicks me, I'll probably still have more respect for it than something you wrote so you could get your smut Pulitzer, or whatever.

Oh my God there is just years of frustration coming out in this post over never finding any good smut to read. Like, maybe this very tame, very sanitized stuff is what other people actually find hot, which--good for you. There's a lot of stuff out there for you.

But I want to read filthy things that use filthy words. I want it to be really nasty. I want you to reach into your brain and wrap your fist around your wriggling, writhing id; I want you to yank it out and nail it, still pulsating, into a Word document; I want it, still dripping, smeared all over the face of AO3.

Is that hard to do? Yes. Desire is a living thing; it doesn’t like to be pinned down; as soon as you try to grasp it it will slither out of your hands like a wet eel and turn into a quivering jellyfish and you’ll be saying to yourself, what the hell? I only like eels; I’ve never been into jellyfish, and you will not understand yourself. You will not know yourself. You will not recognize this organic morass of convulsing mess that is your libido.

Will it embarrass you? Also yes. Is it worth it? Yes. Yes, yes yes, you will feel so hot; your fic will be so hot, and everyone will go home so fucking satisfied, believe me.

[devilyn]

is that too much to ask? | tsukishima kei

— alexa, play: love somebody by lauv

I don't wanna be the one to say

That we gotta have a conversation

I don't wanna watch the tears roll down your face

Know, I hurt you, and I, I'm sorry

All I wanted was to love somebody

— synopsis: tsukishima avoids physical affection with you as often as he can, and you wonder what it is that you’re doing wrong in your relationship.

— genre: angst, happy endings, & the product of my writer’s block

— word count: 2.6k

You knew Tsukishima wasn’t the affectionate type--you knew that when you asked him out in your second year of high school. You knew that if you hugged him in front of his volleyball teammates, he’d stiffen and cringe away from your touch. It was natural for you to start reaching your arms out towards him before stopping yourself and resorting to a proud pat on the arm and a bright smile. It was to the point where even Hinata once commented that he’d never even see the two of you hug.

Now that the two of you were in university, and almost three years into your relationship, you started wondering what exactly it was about physical affection with you that Tsukishima hated so much. You started to experiment--slipping your hand into his when you walked back to your shared apartment together after his long volleyball practices, or tossing your arms around his neck in excitement after he wins a tough match. Each time, he’d react the same way. He would pull his hand from yours, or he’d put his hands on your shoulders and put some distance between the two of you.

At first, you believed it to be embarrassment. He didn’t like PDA--you could understand that. Even you had a limit to how much you could flaunt your relationship status in public. But even when the two of you were in the comfort of your apartment, you wondered why he never initiated any physical affection.

“Kei,” you whispered his name softly, and he looked up from his phone to meet your eyes. “Do you...not love me?”

He blinked, raising both brows in genuine surprise and slowly lowering his spoonful of cereal back into his bowl. 

“...Are you dumb?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and tightening your grip on your keys.

“It’s whatever,” you murmured, pulling the front door open and not bothering to spare him a glance over your shoulder. “I’ll see you.”

You left quickly to not have to deal with the aftermath of your sudden question, the door shutting firmly behind you.

Was it selfish of you to want more proof of his love for you? Sure, there were small things. Things like how he always helped you study for your exams if he could, or how he’d make you a cup of coffee before you left because he knew you struggled with staying awake during your morning classes. You knew he loved you because of these things.

But there was always a small voice in the back of your head asking if he only did those things to drag your stagnant relationship on. For a year now, it felt as if every day was the same with him. Actions were repetitive, dates were infrequent and only occurred when you asked, and at times, each day with him felt like a clone of the previous. Which is why you started wanting to hold his hand, and melt into his warm embrace.

Your fingers tightened on your tumbler, holding the contents of your boyfriend’s love--the coffee he made you this morning. 

Even at home, he would merely pet your head when you cuddled into his side on the couch. Kisses were rare unless you initiated, and he’d always tease you whenever you whined about wanting him to kiss you first. It’s not like you two never had sex either, so what was so wrong about your relationship that left you wanting more?

Your phone buzzed in your other hand, and you glanced at it briefly.

u ok?

You tucked your phone back into your pocket without replying. You never should’ve asked. Now you’ve disrupted the peace you had in your stagnant relationship.

Though, maybe it was okay to want more.

“Is it really a problem?” Kuroo sipped his drink through his straw, raising a brow in your direction. “You’ve been dating for three years. I’m more surprised that you didn’t bring this up to him earlier.”

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the half empty tumbler, teeth gnawing anxiously at your lower lip.

“...I think I was too scared in the beginning,” you murmured.

“Mm,” your friend hummed softly in agreement. “You’ve changed. You were always affectionate before.”

You blinked, raising your gaze from the table between the two of you to meet Kuroo’s grin.

“How’d you know that? We just became friends in uni--”

“Tsukki told me,” he cut you off, and your fingers stopped tapping against your drink. “And it’s not like I don’t notice that you hug me more than you hug your boyfriend.”

“First of all, don’t say things that can be so easily misunderstood,” you tossed a crumpled up napkin at the former captain, and he quickly dodged it with a short laugh. “Second, what do you mean Kei told you? He said I used to be more--affectionate?”

This was news to you. You never thought that he would notice how you changed to make him feel more comfortable with your relationship.

It was true that towards the beginning of your relationship, you were always scared of upsetting him, so you did everything you could to change to his needs. You held back words you knew he wouldn’t want to hear, and only ever spoke up if something truly bothered you. It worked up until the end of your first year before you started opening up to him slowly. But something you could never seem to breach was Tsukishima’s habit of avoiding physical affection. 

“You know how he is,” Kuroo waved his hand dismissively, “Your boyfriend’s terrible with emotions. I tell him all the time that I’m surprised you lasted so long--”

“Don’t talk badly about him like that,” you scolded your friend with a scowl, to which he snickered quietly.

“Well, you can’t deny it, can you? He sucks, but he has his good points. That’s why you’re still dating him, right?”

It was true that you couldn’t deny it. Tsukishima had many faults, and his lack of desire for physical affection was only one of them. Still, you were just as much at fault for not communicating with him out of fear that he’d leave you.

“He’s just scared, y’know,” Kuroo rested his chin in his upturned palm. “Just like you. Even after three years, he’s not used to affection. Why don’t you just talk to him instead of sulking about it to me? I feel like I might as well be the third person in your relationship with how often you two come to me about each other.”

You were quiet for a bit, swirling the now cold coffee around as you processed the thought of confronting the issues you’ve been burying for so long.

“...he’d never date you,” you finally murmured, turning your gaze out the window.

“Ah, and you would?”

You didn’t need to look up to see Kuroo’s smug smirk.

“You wish.”

But no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, there was some truth in Kuroo’s words. You had used him as a therapist far too many times, when your issues could easily be solved by confronting your fears and sitting down to talk with the man you lived with.

If only speaking to Tsukishima about your problems was as easy as it sounded.

By the time you finally gathered up the courage to even speak his name, your boyfriend was standing from the dinner table to grab your plates and heading towards the sink where his dishwashing responsibilities awaited him. The sight of his broad back seemed to glue your lips shut. 

You couldn’t get the words out.

“Do you hate being touched by me?” was the first thing you wanted to ask.

“Is it wrong for me to ask for you to tell me you love me sometimes?” would probably be the second, paired with, “Can you just kiss me once in a while without complaining about it?”

It all felt so childish, even before the words left your lips. So instead, you sat frozen in your chair, gazing at your boyfriend’s back that you longed to embrace.

Slowly, you stood. Before your brain could tell you how stupid of an idea this was, your feet moved forward until you were standing just a step away from Tsukishima’s much taller form.

Your arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and you could feel the way he jolted in surprise as you rested your cheek against his warm back.

“I’m washing--”

“Do you hate me?”

Silence.

Well, that question didn’t come out as expected, though it’s not like you didn’t wonder that too.

“Don’t turn around,” you pleaded quietly over the running water. To someone else, you must’ve looked like a fool, clinging onto your boyfriend like your life depended on it while he soaped up your dirty dishes.

He granted your wish, and didn’t whirl around to pull away from your touch. Instead, he continued scrubbing at your dinner plates.

“You have until I finish washing the dishes to explain yourself,” he stated calmly, and your arms tightened around his waist. It was a demand.

“I heard...from Kuroo that you said I used to be more affectionate before we started dating,” you stammered out quickly, “If you knew that, then why do you get so stiff and push me away when I try to initiate physical affection even after we’ve been dating for three years? Do you hate being touched by me so much?”

The kitchen was quiet, now that your boyfriend was drying the dishes. His hand stopped moving robotically over the wet plates, and he slowly set them down on the counter instead. You could tell he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how. So you continued.

“I do know that you love me, Kei,” you murmured weakly, voice muffling against his shirt as you shifted to rest your forehead against his broad back instead. “I do. I know you’re always thinking of me, and I love that about you. But when you push me away, I can’t help but think that you’re just pretending to love me for the sake of convenience.”

“If I wanted convenience, I wouldn’t date you,” he mumbled under his breath, and the words stung to the point that your arms dropped from around the middle blocker’s waist.

No longer confined by your embrace, Tsukishima spun around and grabbed your shoulders, his eyes wide with panic.

“Y/N wait--I didn’t mean it that--”

“You’re such an ass,” you averted your gaze from his, trying to blink away the tears that began to blur your vision.

“Listen--” his voice was frantic, but you didn’t let him continue. You were scared to hear what would come next if you did.

“I guess I was wrong, and the voice in my head is right,” you cut him off, voice trembling. “So I’ll just tell you everything that I held back since it’s all going to fall apart anyway.”

It took all your courage to turn your teary gaze back to his deceivingly sorrowful golden eyes.

“Is there something so disgusting about me that you don’t even want to hold me? Even after this many years?” you began, fully prepared to spill every one of your fears from the past three years. “Am I asking for too much when I ask you to kiss me every once in a while? Is it wrong for me to want you to just tell me you love me sometimes? Am I a bad person for thinking our relationship has become so boring because neither of us want to make the first step to try and change because we’re both scared of scaring each other away?”

You rubbed your arm against your eyes, trying to pretend like you weren’t sobbing into your sleeve. Though you’re sure you weren’t a very good actor, with the way you hiccuped and took shaky breaths between your questions.

“Did I make a mistake trying to change myself to fit your standards? Should I have never confessed to you back--”

Your voice was suddenly muffled into your boyfriend’s chest, and you gasped at the suddenness of his hug.

“Please don’t regret it,” he requested weakly, his voice trembling just as much as yours.

Those simple words were all it took for your sobs to come out freely, your shaky hands clawing upwards to grip onto Tsukishima’s t-shirt, clinging onto him as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded. It was a hug you’d been craving for ages--one he initiated. You hated that it took you throwing your heart at him for it to happen, but what were you to do?

He allowed you to cry as he continued.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he murmured into your hair. “There’s nothing wrong with what you want. I was...just scared, like you said.”

“Of what?” was what you wanted to ask. And like he read your mind, Tsukishima elaborated.

“The more I hug you, and the more kisses we share, the more I fall for you,” he whispered, as if fearful of the words he was admitting to you. “The deeper I fall, the more scared I get that you’ll leave me when you remember how bad of a boyfriend I am. I want to give you 100% of me, but at the same time, I’m too scared to do exactly that.”

Your cries were quieting down, and you took shaky breaths, inhaling his familiar scent each time. Just his embrace managed to soothe your frantic sobs.

“So I avoided anything that would make me fall too much in love with you, but it’s already too late,” he laughed bitterly, pulling back slightly so he could cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing at the wet streaks staining your skin. Your lips pursed into a small pout, and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “I already love you too much to let go of you, and you know it.”

“...you’re really, really not allowed to be cute right now,” you grumbled, and he laughed.

“Yeah, I could say the same to you,” he joked, leaning forward so his lips could brush over your forehead.

“...can you kiss me now?” you murmured shyly, and his grin morphed into a weak smile before his hands tilted your jaw up towards him. His lips met yours softly, and though this wasn’t your first kiss, it was the first time you’d felt this way with Tsukishima in three years.

When he pulled away, you were crying again.

“Stop crying,” he cursed, “If someone saw you right now, they’d think I was bullying you.”

You babbled something incoherent through your tears of joy, and your boyfriend’s expression softened in a way you hadn’t witnessed in what felt like years.

“You have to take responsibility, you know,” his palms cupped your jaw, pulling your teary gaze back up to his as his thumb brushed over your lower lip. “For making me fall so deeply in love with you again.”

You laughed, tears dripping down your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around Tsukishima’s neck to pull him down into another love-filled kiss.

“Until when?” you grinned when you pulled away, his eyes closed as he sighed happily and rested his forehead against yours.

“Until I make up for the three years I put you through,” he mumbled, and you smiled softly as your lips grazed over his lightly. As you pulled back, he leaned forward and peppered kisses across your face.

“So, until forever?” you teased with a quiet giggle.

“Until forever,” he whispered, lips meeting yours once more.

[mcx7demonbros]

Catholic MC (V)

Ft. GN!MC, the Demon Brothers, the Royals, the Angels, the Terrible Cook Sorcerer.

The debut of Simeon.

C/W: Mammon is a rude in this chapter. 

PART 5

“Are you alright?” Luke asked when you two were walking to the dining room.

“I’m...fine” you replied “Just a little tired, probably from the pact.”

“MC, tell me the truth, why did you make a pact with Mammon? Did he force you? Or did something or someone else compelled you to do it?”

Seeing that no one was around, you decided to tell Luke the truth.

“The truth is that I met someone...” Luke listened to you attentively.

“Hey, you two are blocking the path, outta my way.”

You both turned to look at Mammon, annoyed because he had ruined the occasion for you to tell Luke the truth.

“Why are you two not moving? Hurry and move, human?”

“But the hall is so big, you make it seem like we’re blocking the whole path, but we’re not!!! Are you targeting MC on purpose? Luke barked “I won’t forgive anyone who dares to bully MC.”

“What if I am? This is my house, and you two are just guests.” Mammon retorted 

“Perhaps your pride was hurt.” you said calmly. “Because you were forced to make a pact with a puny human, not to mention, a child of God.”

“Wh...I don’t know what are you talking about?”

“If I remember correctly, I’m not just a guest, I believe my value is much higher, for the sake of the exchange program.”

“...”

“Whoa, MC, you made him speechless.” Luke praised you.

“I don’t care whatever ya thinking, human, but it’s absolutely wrong...I mean, about the pride hurting and such...anyway, I have to go. Meet ya later, human.” Mammon made a run and escaped to the order side of the hall, ready to go down from the staircase.

Wow, he’s fast.

“Hey, STAY! I’m not done talking with you.” you shouted and didn’t notice that your tone sounded like a command.

“D’AAAAAAAH”

Mammon fell down the staircase right away. He was struck with the “STAY” command.

💙💛🧡💚💘💝💜

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA” Asmodeus began to cackle when he heard the whole story.

“Keep your voice down, Asmo.” Satan said “No one likes much noise early in the morning.”

“Satan, how can you NOT laugh after hearing what happened? I mean, this is Mammon, and yet, a human, a Catholic no less, was able to play him like a fiddle and forced him into a pact.”

“Pf...heheheh.” Satan began to laugh too.

“HEY, SHUT UP, YOU TWO! YOU KNOW I’M HERE AND I CAN HEAR YOU, RIGHT?” Mammon shouted.

“*munch*... the food is so tender.” meanwhile, Beelzebub didn’t care about all the drama happening at all.

“Beel, you’re biting chunks off your plate along with your food.” surprisingly, Levi was also present at the dining room.

Ignoring all of them, you focused on your plate.

I have to admit. Even though these dishes look weird, they’re so delicious.

“By the way,” the Avatar of Lust turned to you “I never thought you, a Catholic, would make a pact with Mammon, the Avatar of Greed. I thought the Catholic Church taught against making pact with demon.”

“Of course, the Church does teach against pact making with demon. But I didn’t sell my soul so I suppose it’s fine...probably.” even you were unsure of the words coming out of your mouth. You hand couldn’t stop fidgeting with the Crucifix around your neck, you found this awkward. 

“MC looks like a normal person, but they have the power of force us into submission, just like those characters in the anime who hide their mighty power...”

Now you started to feel embarrassed with all the demons’ eyes looking at you. Even Luke looked at you, but he also looked at them with fierce glares, like your guard dog. 

“MC, if you had your choice, which one of us would you forge a pact next?” Asmodeus asked while his eyes fixed on you.

The question came unexpected, and your eyes subconsciously looked at Satan. You had heard so much about him from Holy Writ, tradition, sermons, prayers, etc. You knew him as the Seducer, the Tempter, the Enemy, the Father of Lies, etc. If you were really given a choice, you would surely make a pact with him, unless Lucifer was also given as a choice. However, with the condition of exchanging something else, not your soul. You knew Hell was terrible, like really really terrible.

Noticing your glance, as if he could read your mind, Satan gave a reply “If you want to make a pact with me. It’ll cost you a lot. If you offered your soul, I might consider it. Although...”

You nearly blurted out “Although what?” but fortunately, your self-control was good. You didn’t want to sound like you really wanted to make a pact with him. Seeing that Satan had no intention to reveal what he was going to say, you returned to eating without answering Asmodeus’s question.

💙💛🧡💚💘💝💜

“D’AAAAAAH”

Mammon stumbled upon a stair  at RAD and fell, his face slammed to another stair. 

“Are you okay?” you tried to help Mammon get up. Apparently, you were so kind, even to the point of wanting to help a demon.

“Ever since you got here, human, it’s been nothin’ but one bad thing after another for me. Let’s get somethin’ straight. I didn’t want to make this pact ‘cause I wanted to, and I ain’t happy about it. Everything I did was for my baby Goldie. If you end up gettin’ yourself eaten by some random demon, don’t blame me, ‘cause I don’t give a damn. Don’t think you’re so great because you made a pact with me, human.”

“Hey, don’t say mean things to MC!” Luke was prepared for a verbal fight with the demon.

“Mammon, could you please call me by my name?” you were trying to be nice.

“Who do you think you are? Know your place, human!!!” but clearly, the demon didn’t care.

And that was it, you had tried to be nice with him, but Mammon and his rudeness and mean things he said had pushed you over the edge. You did remember what had happened in the morning, so you were ready to do it again.

“STAY!” you shouted.

“I...I can’t move. Don’t tell me it’s ‘cause of the stupid pact.”

“Now say my name, but with a respectful tone.” you ordered.

“No way. You can control my body, but not my mind and my soul...M...MC...MC...MC...you’re the Boss...Your Majesty MC...”

💙💛🧡💚💘💝💜

The moment class ended that afternoon, Mammon made his escape...shrinking from his responsibility of protecting you...or perhaps, running from you and your powerful command.

Before you got to leave the classroom, you were approached by three demons, two of whom were familiar to you.

“MC, I have heard about it. You managed to make a pact with Mammon, one of the Seven Rulers of Hell, and you did it within a very short time no less. Congratulations!” Diavolo said joyfully.

“I suppose it stands as a proof that you chose well bringing this human here, Lord Diavolo.” said the teal-haired demon beside him.

“Who’re you?” you asked.

“Ah yes...pardon me. I suppose we haven’t met yet, have we? My name is Barbatos. I apologized for not introducing myself sooner.”

“Ah no, there’s nothing to apologize.”

“Oh my...you’re so polite.”

“Judging from your attitude and posture...are you a butler?”

“...I suppose Lucifer’s right when he said you had the ability to correctly guess anything, especially his brothers’ names. Yes, I have the honor to be Lord Diavolo’s steward. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Barbatos is a smart and talented individual, so much that I wish I could trade a certain idiot of mine for him instead.” Lucifer finally spoke.

“Hey, don’t say that, after all, Mammon’s your brother. If he heard the words you said, he would be hurt.” 

Your words surprised Lucifer and others present there. To think you were so bold...

“I think MC’s here is right.” before the Avatar of Pride could reply, another person chimed in the conversation.

“Simeon!” Luke shouted happily and ran to the man in white.

“Hello, Luke, how are you lately?”

“MC is a very good, if not virtuous person. I’m happy everyday I’m staying with them. Oh, I forgot to introduce you guys. Simeon, this is MC, whom Michael assigned to me...MC, this is Simeon, my legal guardian on Celestial Realm. He’s an exchange student from Celestial Realm. And he’s an Archangel.”

“Archangel...I mean...sorry, I’m honor to meet you, Archangel Simeon.”

“Oh no, the honor’s all mine. And just Simeon’s fine, you don’t need to call me ‘Archangel’ every time we meet.”

“Ah...understood.”

“Oh my...a Crucifix...so you’re a child of Father as well.” Simeon noticed the Crucifix around your neck.

The conversation soon shifted to some religious studies and the three demons had to leave as they couldn’t take it anymore.

“Talking with you is so refreshing, MC.”

“It’s me who should be saying that.”

“Alright, it’s not early anymore. I have to say goodbye to you two. Ah, before I forget...”

Simeon took something...no, two things...a book and a bottle.

“These are for you. I pray that they would be of use to you.”

“Thank you...thank you...thank you, Simeon.”

“These are not mine. They were from Michael, he asked me to deliver them to you. Remember to say thank to him in your prayers.”

“Will do.” you looked at the Bible and the bottle of holy water with sparkling eyes. 

The Seducer, the Tempter, the Enemy, the Father of Lies - these titles of Satan was chosen because I think they fit Obey Me context. If you have completed Lesson 29 and 30, in which you learn Seductive Speechcraft with “Professor” Satan, you will understand what I mean. 

MY MASTERLIST

[mercur1e]

Helllooooo

Soo I just saw you're headcannons are literally 💞💞

It's lowkey the only thing keeping me safe and alive ✋😌......soooooo can I request Gom + kuroko and kagami (if it's to much you can just doo Aomine, Kise and Midorima and akashi)where they accidentally hurt their s/o feelings pleaaseeeeee..... I need some angst but please end it in fluff (cuz i lowkey cannot handle it)

Please take care of yourself, your health always comes first, I love youuuu ❤❤❤

Ofc love! I hope you're doing well and I love you too :) <333

Akashi

He disregarded your hard work :(

You're trying to start your own small business and you're having a little trouble, which is not unusual that happens sometimes!

You were having trouble hiring employees and you were talking to him about it, and he was in a bad mood prior to you approaching him

"You're not going anywhere with this. It would just be better to give up on it. You're not going to make it that far even if you do succeed. And can you leave? I'm busy and all you're doing is acting as a distraction."

You just froze, you couldn't believe what he had just said

Not only did he know how much work you were putting in, he also knew how excited you were for the future of your shop too

You didn't even say anything, you just froze with shock, hurt, and surprise and stomped out of his office

You left the house, you needed some time to cool off and cry

It took Akashi a second to realize what he had said and how hurtful his words were, so he started looking all over for you in the house. He goes into the garage to see your car is gone and he assumes the worst.

You don't pick up the phone when he calls you or answer his texts, opting to turn it off after the fifth call.

You stay by your best friend for the night and they comforted you and told you he probably didn't mean it, and that you can stay as long as you need

After you leave from by your friends place you go to your favorite cafe for some breakfast

And guess who's there, Akashi.

You turn around and walk out because you were honestly not ready to deal with him just yet and it was too early in the morning for all that

He catches you on the way out and apologizes :)

"Love, I apologize for what I said yesterday. It was inconsiderate, hurtful, and wrong. You've been working so hard on your business and you're doing your best to make it happen. I was in a bad mood yesterday and I dont know what came over me. Will you forgive me?"

Looking you in the eye as he spoke every word, holding your hands and rubbing them, you know he was truly sorry and wants to fix what he did.

"I forgive you Sei, but what you said was really hurtful. You know how much this means to me and how much work I've been putting in. But I do forgive you."

He takes you out to eat at your favorite restaurant and watch a movie afterwards back at home, kisses you tons and holds you in his arms when you fall asleep.

He also puts in a good word with his work associates about your business and you gain more employees and popularity! But unless you want to do it completely on your own he's there supporting you every step of the way and giving you advice :)

Midorima

He acts like your affection is kryptonite, even though you're not a clingy or overly-affectionate person

You guys had been together for about 3-4 months

He always brushes you off even at the most simplest acts of affections, you're starting to really question if he even wants to be together.

Well this particular time he embarrassed you in front of the team :/

There was a break in between practice and you went to give him his water bottle and give him a hug

"Hey Shin he's your water bottle, don't work yourself too hard okay?"

After that you went in for a quick hug but he held a hand against your chest and glared at you

"Why are you always so clingy? You're always on me and its annoying. Can you just leave me alone or leave?"

He said that right in the middle of the court, everyone's eyes were on you and you felt embarrassed.

"...alright."

That's all you after said you shoved the water bottle into his hand and walked out of the gym.

Takao was the one to call him out on his behavior and tell him that he was being rude and that he should apologize

Midorima took that advice and after practice, he went to find you and apologize, except you weren't anywhere he checked or thought you would be

You avoided him for 3 days straight until he arrived at your house unannounced

Your lucky item in his hand, he gives you a well deserved apology

"Y/N I- I'm sorry that I was being rude to you. There was no reason for me to act like that and I haven't been appreciating you like I should. That was rude of me and I hope you except my apology. Also- this is your uh lucky item."

He hands you a plushie :)

He gives you hugs and reassures you that he appreciates your affections despite him not being used to it!

He also got an extra lap at practice from Miyaji lol but he decided not to tell you that part

Kise

Is very busy and it's sometimes hard to make time for you :(

And you also couldn't show him affection in public or be around him because his fangirls would throw a hissy fit

He hasn't been answering his phone and he can't really get that close to you at school so you've been feeling left behind

When you finally managed to catch him, you said you wanted to go out and just catch up because you two haven't spent much time together and he agreed

However Kise forgot about the plans and you were waiting at the restaurant, alone.

You went home that night upset, tired, and wondering if you even want to be in a relationship anymore

You stopped texting him and talking to talk to him at school, not that you even had that much time to talk to him and school anyway

Kise had realised a whole day later that he had forgotten about the plans you two had made together

He took off from work the whole week, even though his manager was mad about it and went off to find you

He found you at a park after school and approached you with flowers in his hand

"Y/N baby I'm so sorry I forgot about our date. I can't imagine how you must've felt and to make up for it I called the whole week off! I'm really, really sorry that I havent had time for you. Do you forgive me?"

"Yeah, I forgive you Kise I'm just really hurt that you stood me up. You knew we hadn't spent alot of time together and I was really hoping to catch up with you that night. But I'm just happy you're here."

He takes you to a concert! Your favorite artist was in town and he bought tickets for the two of you!

The whole week was filled with fun, love, and lots of conversations :)

He promises to make more time for you and be there for you whenever he can!

He also posts you on his socials and shows you affection at school, showing his fangirls that he's not for them, but for you and they can go away of they don't like that

Aomine

You feel like he doesn't put any effort into the relationship

It's always you doing everything, it just gets tiring

He doesn't really make an effort to do anything, like plan dates, hang out, or just spend time together

He also uses basketball as an excuse to not hang out with you when you already know he's not at practice

Like if you want alone time man just say that

So you had planned a date for you two, nothing big just going to the movie theaters yk

He cancelled last minute, saying Imayoshi was forcing him to come to practice

It was a sunday, they don't have practice in sunday

You talked to Momoi as she is a close friend of yours too, about how you feel like you're the only one making an effort and that you feel like he doesn't want to spend time with you

She tells you to confront him about it, so you do

The next time Daiki comes to your house you ask him about it

"It just feels like I'm the only one putting work into the relationship and I feel like you're avoiding me. You make up excuses to not be with me and bail on me last minute...do you even want to be with me? And if you do want alone time just be upfront about it, don't give me terrible excuses or flake out on me."

Aomine honestly didn't know you felt that way

Now that he looks back at it, it has been mainly you doing most of the stuff in the relationship, and he can see why you feel like it's only you trying

"You're right, it has been mainly you doing stuff for both of us. I'm gonna start putting in more effort because it's time I do. I'm sorry that I've been making shitty excuses to not hang out with you, and cancelling all of a sudden. I'll be honest when I don't feel like going out and I'll spend more time with you."

He makes it up to you by taking you to a festival and going to see a movie with you

True to his word, he starts putting more effort into y'alls relationship and you two take turns planning dates

And if he doesn't feel like going out you guys have at home dates instead :)

I know this took a little longer than usual, I'm sorry for the little setback. Hopefully you like them! Thank you for requesting and feedback is appreciated! Love you <333

[secretsolarsystem]

oh my god what if obi-wan starts flirting with vader again to mess with anakin/prove a point in the crack hannah montana inspired scenario for the batman au? because obviously he knows that this is his boyfriend now. anakin is outraged. he's even more outraged when obi-wan tells a story of one of their cases together WRONG in a way that's embarrassing for him and he can't even express his outrage because that would reveal his secret identity

(in reference to this) EXACTLY!!!! THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I’M SAYING!!!!!!!!!!

if Vader thought Obi-Wan’s flirting was bad before OHOHOHOHOH he’s got a big storm comin. Obi-Wan not only knows this is his boyfriend (which makes him want Vader even more, obviously, but also means he really knows how to get the man riled up) but he is now determined to get one of the two (two? oh boy this is confusing) to crack

so with Vader he’s just. ruthless with his flirting. so many more touches, so many more sultry looks. “did you see the photo of us, where people think I’m cheating on Anakin with you? ha ha ha!” Obi-Wan says. “I could never do that to him…although, I wonder if he would be open to a threesome…that would be fun, don’t you think? oh, I’m not saying it would be with you! although, now that I’m thinking of it…”

and Vader is just. oh my god. 1) aw sweet he’s so faithful 2) no Anakin would not be into a threesome he finally got Obi-Wan to himself why would he ever share him. does Obi-Wan really want a threesome???? is Anakin not enough?? 3) oh my god Obi-Wan is still into Vader like that?? how can that be so flattering and so so offensive?? he has Anakin! but when he stopped flirting with Vader when they got together, Anakin would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt his feelings a litte. Vader is still cool and deserves to be flirted with >:[ but also Obi-Wan can’t flirt with him, he has Anakin!!!!!! 4) how. could a threesome even work when two of the people involved are really just one person. and how can Anakin explain this to him. he cannot.

and with Anakin (who’s already upset that Obi-Wan was flirting with his alter-ego) Obi-Wan is like “lol yeah we both think the whole me-cheating-on-you-with-him thing is hilarious. I really would never do that, darling – especially after the last time he and I worked together! usually he’s really cool and competent, but we were chasing this guy and Vader totally tripped on his own cape and fell and made this high-pitched squeaking sound- it’s a good thing that guy wears a helmet! for someone who parkours everywhere he really can be a klutz. the guy got away, because of, you know, Vader falling over himself, but we’ll get him tonight-”

what!!! that did not happen!!!!! Vader did not trip!!! tripping is a thing Vader never has done and never will do!! the bad guy did not get away!! Vader caught him himself, he’s in jail right! now!!!!!!!! but what can Anakin say?? “I don’t think that’s true”? NO! because why would he say that. why would he say that unless he’s defending himself.

so he has to smile around gritted teeth like “haha that’s funny I hope you get him tonight please excuse me” and he leaves to scream into a pillow and complain to Are Too about how Terrible this all is while Obi-Wan stretches out on the couch with a pleased smile. either Vader’s gonna crack because of Anakin’s jealousy or Anakin’s gonna crack because of Vader’s reputation and either way Obi-Wan wins

[recurring-polynya]

Once again, I am thinking about the dubious claim that people make from time to time that Renji would have gotten better character development in the TYBW arc if Byakuya had died. The thing is, though, that Renji did get excellent character development in this arc, particularly with respect to his relationship to Byakuya, it was just very subtle and I want to talk about it.

So, the first thing I want to point out is that the captain-lieutenant relationships is one of the major themes of the TYBW. A lot of this is sort of weird and awkward, but this is perfect, actually, because captain-lieutenant relationships are, for the most part, weird and clunky and awkward. Take for example, the part that I always make fun of, where the captains are told not to go to bankai, and Hitsugaya, Komamura, Byakuya and Soi Fon immediately go to bankai-- but they all do this on the assumption that they are luring their opponent into a trap to see how this works, and that their lieutenant will somehow ??defeat them anyway?? (well, except Soi Fon who seems to think she can one-shot her Quincy). There’s Sasakibe’s funeral, where we find out that Yamamoto cared far more for him than we ever imagined. Kyouraku returns Nanao’s zanpakutou to her and stands behind her as she defeats an opponent he can't. Iba carries Komamura’s body off of the battlefield as he loses the last of his humanity. Isane struggles to keep her head above her grief because that’s the burden Unohana left her with. Rose avenging Kira. Hitsugaya and Matsumoto fighting and (sort of) dying together. The Zaraki-Yachiru thing. The Mayuri-Nemu thing. Momo and Shinji actually got to have a relatively normal one, which they each deserved, but at least they got to have normal one together. Anyway, that could be an entire essay, but as usual, I only want to talk about Renji and Byakuya.

Renji’s introduction as a character happens in stages. Initially, he sort of appears to be Byakuya’s sidekick-- he's here to do the dirty work during Rukia’s arrest, while Byakuya stands by and calls the shots, but even early on, it’s clear that Renji’s a little hung up on Byakuya. He’s trying to impress him, and gets more embarrassed and self-conscious as things go progressively pear-shaped. When Byakuya finally enters the action, Renji’s thought bubbles reveal that he’s watched Byakuya for a long time, that he knows all his moves. When we get the Renji backstory reveal a few issues later, we learn that Renji’s goal is to defeat Byakuya, which he seems to feel is necessary to seeing Rukia again, even though there has never been any sort of causal link revealed between these two things. Don’t get me wrong, if Young Academy Renji had tried to continue to be friends with Rukia, I think Byakuya would have kicked him out on his ass, but it’s clear that a lot of Renji’s hang-ups are internal-- he doesn’t want to face Rukia again until he can stand against Byakuya. I think the origin of this is that he simply wants what’s best for Rukia, and he can’t stomach the idea of asking her to leave her rich, noble family for him, unless, of course, he’s somehow better than Byakuya in some dimension, and the only thing Renji’s ever considered himself good at is fighting.

Even more interesting is that he’s chosen to go about this by... studying the man’s every move and becoming his lieutenant. But for as much energy as Renji has put into learning Byakuya’s favorite combat moves, he doesn’t actually know anything about him as a person. He’s shocked when Rukia predicts that Byakuya won’t lift a finger to help her, and then horrified when this actually comes to pass. A few chapters later, as he’s running Hinamori through, Aizen comments that “Adoration is the state furthest from understanding.” I would probably classify Renji’s feelings towards Byakuya more as admiration or idolization, rather than adoration, but I think this statement is also very true of Renji and Byakuya’s relationship. Unlike poor Momo, Renji gets a little more time and opportunity to do something with this information. With a little Ichigo-forced soul searching, he realizes that he’s not going to come out the hero of this story no matter what, but if he doesn’t do something, Rukia’s not going to come out of this story at all, and even if he’s not really ready, he’s spent 40 years trying to figure out how to beat Kuchiki Byakuya, let’s hope all that was good for something.

The Byakuya-Renji fight has no direct impact on the events of the Soul Society Arc. It makes Byakuya show up to Rukia’s execution 5 minutes late and without his scarf. Renji gets healed, so it really doesn’t matter all that much to him, either. You could argue that they both wasted a bunch of energy (that they could have used to fight Aizen later) but it’s primarily a character-driven moment of them both drawing lines in the sand about where they stand, vis a vis Rukia. Byakuya wins this fight, and he wins it handily, but he’s wrong, as he comes to realize a few issues later, when Ichigo kicks his ass and tells him he’s a bad brother, a lesson that Byakuya will take to heart for the rest of the manga. Byakuya claims that the difference between Renji and himself is class, but the real difference between is the heart, and in the long run, Renji is the real victor of this fight.

The hospital scene is an interesting footnote to this. Byakuya defeated Renji, but Byakuya was the asshole and everyone knows it. There’s an expectation that perhaps Renji will quit or perhaps Renji will give him an earful and perhaps even Rukia will choose to leave the family, either to go to the Living World or to be with Renji (and Byakuya would deserve this), but instead, both Renji and Rukia give Byakuya another chance, which is not, I think, a place Renji ever expected to be.

Rukia and Byakuya building up a sibling relationship after this is fairly straightforward (although I’m sure it had its weird moments), but Byakuya and Renji now have this profoundly awkward relationship where Byakuya is obviously in charge, but he sort of depends on Renji as a personal compass because he’s shit at dealing with people and he doesn’t want to screw stuff up with Rukia again. Take for example, the part of the Hueco Mundo arc where Orihime is kidnapped and Rukia and Renji desert their posts to come help rescue her. Kubo takes to the panel-space to tell us that Byakuya has tacitly approved this. As a clan head and a captain, a person who is entrenched in the hierarchy of Soul Society, Byakuya couldn’t possibly go to Hueco Mundo-- but he can turn a blind eye while his sister and lieutenant scurry out through the Kuchiki family senkaimon. Renji, for his part, tried to go to Hueco Mundo through official channels and got shot down. We don’t know what Renji would have done if Byakuya had explicitly forbidden him from going, but it doesn’t matter-- Byakuya enabled Renji to follow his heart here, because Byakuya can’t. Rukia would have gone to Hueco Mundo regardless. She cares about Byakuya, but she doesn’t depend on him for validation the way Renji does.

I said this was going to be about the TYBW, so let’s get to that. Early in the arc, we’re shown several scenes where it’s clear that Byakuya respects and values Renji as a lieutenant, but he’s also pretty damn patronizing to him. Renji is the first one to engage As Nodt, and when Byakuya shows up, he acts surprised that Renji hasn’t taken him out yet, but then proceeds to take over the fight (real, “stand back, fives, an eleven has arrived” energy). After Byakuya then loses his bankai like a doofus, Renji wants to take point so that Byakuya can figure out As Nodt’s attack and Byakuya won’t let him... and then proceeds to get thrashed.

This has to be one of the most emotionally charged fights in Bleach. Byakuya is losing, and Renji jumps in, absolutely incensed that As Nodt would use Senbonzakura against Byakuya. Renji isn’t doing great, but he’s not doing terrible when Byakuya gets up and tries to help Renji, even though he’s a big bloody mess. As Nodt reacts by shredding Byakuya into chunks, and Renji just loses it, and if Mask de Masculine hadn’t shown up and kicked him halfway across the Seireitei, I daresay Renji would have killed himself trying to take down As Nodt.

This is where I usually make the point that if Byakuya had died to here, it would have broken Renji into little pieces, but that’s not today’s essay. Instead, everyone goes to the Royal Realm, and by virtue of the fact that Byakuya is injured worse than everyone else, Renji has to go forward without him or his approval.

In typical Renji fashion, the thing that motivates Renji here is not glory or heroism, but the desire to accompany Ichigo, the need to be with his friends in their times of trial. In fact his companionship here is absolutely essential-- at Hikifune’s, Ichigo expresses deep doubts that he’s doing the right thing, and Renji reminds himself that if he wants to protect others, he has to take care of himself first.

At Nimaiya’s however, Renji and Ichigo are split up because they must follow their own paths. The other extremely interesting thing that happens here is that Renji’s sword is reforged. Byakuya shattered one of Hihio Zabimaru’s joints the very first time Renji used them in combat. Renji brushed it off at the time, saying that he could get by without it. Even though Byakuya has long been his motivating force and his mentor, he’s also been held back by his connection to him. And at this point, it’s gone.

I really wish we got to see where Renji and Rukia meet up again, but we don’t. Unlike with Ichigo, though, Rukia doesn’t seem to need anything from Renji. They travel together, fight together as equals, wear matching outfits, like you do. Oh. Wait. After all this time, in the 493 chapters between Needless Emotions and Blue Stripes, Renji can finally see himself as an equal to Rukia. They get. bankai. Together.

I want to emphasize that it’s not really anything about Rukia herself that allowed Renji to make bankai, it’s the fact that he’s finally managed to move past the feeling that he’s not enough. Defeating Byakuya would not actually have solved this problem, and having Byakuya dying in front of him wouldn’t have either. Renji gets criticized for losing a lot of his fights, but that’s such a key to his character. He’s not always the strongest, he doesn’t always win, but he keeps fighting for what he cares about. He struggles with his need for approval, for external validation, but Renji is at his best when he doesn’t have time to think about that, when he’s just fighting by his friends’ sides against impossible odds, doing what he knows in his heart is right.

I think people tend to make a little more than is strictly necessary of the line where he tells Mask that he’s “a villain”, I think he’s most just making fun of Mask’s own self-aggrandizement. On another level, though, this is just Renji being at ease with himself. Byakuya typically enters a fight bloviating about the honor of Soul Society and “how dare you raise your sword against me, the 28th Head of the Kuchiki” and even Ikkaku had the whole deal about telling people your name before you kill them, but Renji is more like “you beat up my friends, so I’m gonna break your face,” like there’s no ego in it, just you’re there, and he’s there, and then you’re lying on the ground and he’s taking a nap somewhere. This is so different than the insecure, posturing young man he was at the start of this series and I love this growth for him.

Even after he eventually meets up with Byakuya again, something has changed about their dynamic. The group gets split up and rejoined two or three times, and Renji and Rukia always stay together while Byakuya ends up fighting alongside others, Hisagi and later Hitsugaya and Zaraki. This is cemented in their last scene together, where Rukia and Renji try to stay with Byakuya and he sends them off to fight with Ichigo by saying “your help is not needed here.” In some ways, it’s an echo of Byakuya sending them off to Hueco Mundo, but in other ways, it’s acknowledging that they are their own people, not just an extension of him.

Hitsugaya follows it up with this:

There’s more here than meets the eye, though-- Byakuya and Renji have maintained a pretty strict superior-subordinate relationship, because that’s the easiest way for them to make sense of the world, but the fact is, they do care about each other and are important to one another.

I know there would be a certain narrative satisfaction in seeing Renji make captain at the end-- he’s one of the hardest working people in Bleach, and it frankly seems weird to see Iba get the haori when he doesn’t. But Renji has never wanted to be a captain. Renji becoming captain would, in some ways, be a failure. He spends years pre-canon chasing rank and prestige because that’s what he thinks will make him worthy, and it didn’t. Instead, he found worth in being himself, in loving his friends and being there for them, in learning things from Byakuya and teaching him things in return. Renji doesn’t need to be Byakuya’s lieutenant anymore, he just does it because he likes it. It makes him happy. What better character development is there than that?

[bluejayblueskies]

in the reciprocal

Words: 8.3k

Relationships: Jon & Martin (QPR)

Tags: Season 1, Scottish Safehouse, Light Angst, Queerplatonic Relationships, Gray-Aro Martin, Kiss-Averse Jon, Kiss-Averse Martin

Warnings: internalized arophobia, mild external arophobia, mild internalized homophobia, canon-typical Lonely depression and dissociation, teasing someone about a crush (in a friendly manner), mention of canon character death, Martin briefly pretending like he still has romantic feelings for Jon and participating in a romantic relationship that makes him uncomfortable (this is addressed and resolved)

Ao3 link in source

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Martin’s relationship with romance has always been … complicated.

He has distinct memories of his early teenage years, when the major topic of conversation had shifted abruptly to who had a crush on who and who had kissed who after school and who had asked who on a date. Martin had never really participated in those conversations, though that could be owed more to the fact that he didn’t have many friends than that he wasn’t interested.

Because Martin was interested. The idea of romance had always intrigued him—a fairy-tale thing where there was somebody who would choose you and love you and never let you be alone ever again—and he wanted, more badly than he knew what to do with sometimes, to be in love.

The world, as Martin quickly learned, was not a fairy tale. No matter how much Martin tried to pretend otherwise. In fairy tales, when people got sick, they eventually got better. In fairy tales, parents always loved their children and showered them with affection. (Or were villainous and cruel, locking their children away in towers and treating them like objects to be discarded. Though Martin was never fond of those stories.) And in fairy tales, love was always easy. It wasn’t something that had to be learned or forced. It was instead like breathing—nearly effortless unless you thought about it too much—and, like breathing, it was something that everyone did.

So Martin couldn’t understand why he was so bad at it.

Just before he’d dropped out of school to work full time after his mother couldn’t anymore, he’d been asked on the first and only date of his entire life. Nino had been his friend for nearly a year and a half, and Martin loved spending time with him more than he loved most things in his life back then. School was growing more difficult as Martin had to take on a second part-time job, his mother was growing sicker and shorter with her temper, and he was quickly coming to the realization that he was … different.

After all, he’d never once felt the same kind of affection toward the girls whose names he attempted to doodle in the corners of his notebooks as he felt toward Nino.

Coming to terms with the fact that his first real crush was on his very lovely, very male best friend was … hard. But one day, Nino had bumped his shoulder against Martin’s as they sat in the library and had said something funny that Martin has long since forgotten, and he’d found himself smiling widely. His heart was a stuttering mess in his chest, his stomach twisted up into knots, and … things hadn’t been so bad, then.

Loving Nino had felt safe. Looking back, Martin is sure that Nino had been able to read all of Martin’s stutters and flushed cheeks and clumsy attempts at affection for what they were, but at the time, it had felt like a private indulgence. Just another way for Martin to spend time with the boy who was gradually becoming the most important person in his life. (Behind his mother, that is. She would always come first.)

What was funny about the whole situation, in a way that was actually not very funny at all, was that Martin was even considering asking Nino out. He liked to fantasize about what it would be like—creating clumsy scenarios in his mind where he would slip a note into Nino’s backpack before they parted ways or blurt it out on their way to the tube or whisper it quietly under his breath in the library so that nobody else could hear it but them. He imagined what it would be like if Nino said yes, his face lighting up with a smile and his hand reaching for Martin’s.

He tried to imagine what would happen after that—the date, the kissing (which he could never quite picture without grimacing and pushing the image quickly away), the hand-holding, the…

Well. He actually wasn’t quite sure what was meant to come after.

(Like breathing. It was supposed to be like breathing.)

It was funny, except it wasn’t. Because when Nino pulled Martin aside on their way home one day, face flushed slightly darker than normal, and hesitantly asked if Martin would like to go to a movie with him in a way that was very clearly meant to be a date, Martin expected to feel happy. He expected to feel relieved, that he hadn’t had to muster up the courage to ask Nino himself, or nervous, that he was finally going to be pursuing a romantic relationship with the boy he cared so much about.

Instead, he felt … stiff. Uncomfortable, like his skin was suddenly just a bit too tight. He felt the sudden urge to hide, or maybe to run, or to vanish into thin air so he didn’t have to be standing here anymore, now desperately trying to avoid the eyes of the boy who had just bared such a vulnerable part of himself to Martin.

Confused, Martin tried to look within himself for that warm, stammering affection that had been there a minute ago and found it transformed into something awkward and tense and devoid of all desire for romance. But that didn’t make any sense, he thought as he stared blankly at Nino, who was becoming increasingly nervous, shifting from foot to foot as his mouth pinched into a thin, anxious line. He remembered liking Nino. He remembered the fantasies, remembered coming up with a thousand scenarios just like this one, remembered stammering and stuttering and wanting so badly to take Nino’s hand in his own.

It was like remembering a story he’d been told. Just a fairy tale.

“You … can just say no,” Nino said finally, and Martin felt a curl of guilt in his stomach at the clear upset in Nino’s eyes. “If you have to think this long, it’s … probably not a yes. Is it.”

Yes, Martin tried to say. It’s a yes—of course it’s a yes, I’m just … surprised. Maybe things would make more sense if they actually went on a date. Maybe Martin would just … sort himself out. He was just surprised, or maybe in shock.

He loved Nino. He did; he knew he did. He just … had to figure out how to bring it back.

He didn’t get the chance. (Though, thinking back on it now, Martin knows that even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t have worked.) Nino pulled back slightly, hands going to the straps of his backpack self-consciously. “Right,” he said, sounding terribly embarrassed, and Martin felt himself mirroring the emotion. “S-sorry, I … I guess I was reading things wrong. I—I thought that you … never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Nino forced a smile then, and it lacked all the bright and shining things that Martin liked about it. “S-suppose I’ll … see you in school tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin managed to say. And then Nino was gone, and Martin walked home alone.

He dropped out a few months later. Nino said that he would call, but Martin has always been good at lying and even better at telling when somebody else is doing so. And Nino hadn’t been putting much effort into it.

That was … probably for the best. At least Martin didn’t have to feel that dizzying, sickening sensation of guilt and awkwardness every time he looked at Nino anymore.

So, there it was. The world was nothing like a fairy tale. His mother only ever got sicker, her affection for him only ever grew more a thing of the past, and love was…

Well, love clearly wasn’t for him.

That didn’t stop him from falling hopelessly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with Jonathan Sims.

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Martin, as a rule, makes a habit of not talking about his love life. For one, because there is a distinct lack of it (a fact that he much prefers but doesn’t generally feel like explaining in detail). And for two, because Martin just knew it would turn into something like this.

Martin places his head in his hands to hide the flaming red of his cheeks. “Can we not talk about it?”

“I think we’re actually obligated to talk about it now,” Tim says with what Martin is absolutely certain is a cheeky grin. “Given that you’ve just admitted that your not-so-mysterious crush is Jonathan Sims.” He drops his voice to an exaggerated conspiratorial murmur. “Is he the one you’ve been writing poetry about then?”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Martin mumbles into the very clammy palms of his hand.

Tim, fortunately, drops the poetry topic. He unfortunately does not drop the crush topic. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “You’ve got good taste. The whole … sweater vest, ‘disgruntled professor’ vibe is attractive, and he’s funny, you know? In his own way.”

Martin lifts his head from his hands and gives Tim an exasperated look that he hopes screams can we please stop talking about this. Tim must misinterpret it as jealousy instead because he holds his hands up in the air placatingly. “Hey, no competition here. We’re just friends, and I’m not really interested in dating anyone at the moment.” A pause. “Though, I suppose if Jon asked, I wouldn’t say—you know what, that’s not helpful.”

“He is pretty hot,” Sasha pipes in from her spot on the break room couch. “I definitely get where you’re coming from.” Then, after Martin turns that same exasperated look onto her: “Just trying to show our support for the cause, Martin.”

“Yeah, well—don’t.” Martin stands, maybe a little bit too abruptly, and crosses the room to where the kettle sits on the counter. He fills it in the sink and then clicks it on, the blue light reflecting off the countertop and faintly illuminating his hands.

“Hey,” Tim says, leaning against the counter next to him and giving him a surprisingly serious look. “I’m sorry. If talking about this makes you uncomfortable, we’ll drop it.” He mimes zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key. “No questions asked.”

“I’m pretty sure talking afterward negates the ‘zipping your lips shut’ thing,” Martin says, which earns him an amused huff of laughter and a gentle elbow in the side. He finds himself smiling, if only briefly before it falls from his lips once again. “And it’s … fine. I’m not upset. It’s just…” He hesitates, considering, and settles on a suitably vague, “It’s complicated.”

Tim makes a noise of understanding. “Say no more, Marto. Consider the subject dropped.”

“Thank you.”

There are a few moments of silence between them, filled only with the gentle hum of the kettle. Martin reaches for the mugs, and as he pulls four from the cabinet, Tim says abruptly, “So wait—is that why you always bring him tea?”

Martin nearly drops the mugs. “Tim.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tim grimaces at him sheepishly. “I’m dropping it.”

Martin nods and pulls the box of tea from the cupboard. As he gets the mugs ready, however, he can feel Tim’s eyes on him, heavy and curious. Finally, it gets to be too much, and Martin sets the box down with a sigh. “I bring him tea because he never leaves his office and at least this way he’s hydrated. If you absolutely must know.”

“Caffeine is a diuretic, you know,” Sasha says from where she’s still sitting on the couch.

“Yes,” Martin says tersely, grabbing the kettle as it clicks off, “but it’s better than nothing.”

The tea isn’t related to the crush. It really isn’t. But Martin knows that the more he tries to make excuses, the more it’ll seem like he’s deflecting, which will just be counterproductive. So he prepares the tea and passes Tim and Sasha’s mugs to them. Then, fully aware that Tim and Sasha are watching, he grabs Jon’s mug and makes his way to his office.

He doesn’t knock. He found out his first week here that Jon doesn’t like it when people knock and prefers them to verbally announce themselves instead. It wasn’t because Jon had told him; Martin gets the feeling that Jon is too stubborn to admit to that sort of weakness in front of him. It was because of the subtle tension in Jon’s shoulders every time Martin opened the door after rapping three times on the doorframe; the way his voice sounded ever so slightly pinched when he asked what Martin wanted.

So Martin says, just loud enough to penetrate the thick oak door, that he’s coming in, and then, after a moment, he opens it.

Jon is sitting at his desk, mountains of papers and files stacked on either side of him. His laptop is open in front of him, and he’s currently focused intently on something on the screen, the harsh white light of the LCDs reflecting off his glasses. He doesn’t seem to notice when the door opens, but when Martin takes a few steps closer and gently clears his throat, he looks up from the screen, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the dimness of his office.

“Ah,” Jon says, his gaze landing on the mug. “Right. You can…” He looks at the disastrously cluttered surface of his desk and, after some consideration, pushes a stack of papers to the side to make a mug-sized gap in the mess. “You can place it there.”

Martin does. He doesn’t mean to linger afterward. Even though things are ... better between them now that Martin is staying in the Archives and Jon seems to have softened slightly toward him, they’re not quite at the ‘hold a casual conversation’ stage of their relationship yet. Still, Martin finds himself standing in front of Jon’s desk long enough for Jon to glance back up from his computer, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Did you … need something else from me?” he says, sounding more confused than annoyed.

No, Martin means to say. I’ll be going now.

Instead, he says, “How are you doing?”

Jon stares blankly at Martin, like he doesn’t understand the question. Martin briefly curses his complete lack of a verbal filter at the worst times and purses his lips, telling himself that frantically trying to rescind the statement will only make things worse. “I’m … fine,” Jon says with a hint of incredulity in his voice, like he can’t fathom any reason why Martin would want to inquire after his well-being.

Good, Martin opens his mouth to say. Let me know if you need anything else.

Why he says instead, “I just … noticed that you haven’t been going home lately,” he doesn’t know. He hasn’t had a crush in so long—is this what it was like the last time? God, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?

Jon still looks bewildered, though there is an edge of irritation to his voice when he says, “There is a lot to do here, Martin. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“Right, yeah.” Martin fights the urge to rub his hand along the back of his neck, settling for the inside of his wrist instead. “Just … I know I’ve taken your cot recently, and if you’re not going home at night, I—I would hate to feel like I’m making you sleep at your desk.”

“You are not making me do anything. I can make my own choices.” Jon purses his lips for a moment before saying, more gently, “Besides, you … have more need of the cot than me at the moment.”

Martin can’t help the little shudder that goes through him at the reminder of why, exactly, he is in need of the cot. “Yeah,” he concedes. Then, because it’s only been a week or so and he still feels like he hasn’t said it enough: “Thank you again, for … for letting me stay here.”

Jon’s expression softens into something almost sympathetic, just for a moment, before growing closed-off and shuttered once again. Martin’s traitorous heart thuds in his chest at the sight, just like it had when Jon had listened to his story impassively and then matter-of-factly offered him the cot like it was the only logical thing to do.

(He hadn’t understood why he’d reacted like that—pounding heart, sweaty palms, cottony mouth—until that night, staring at the dark, cracked ceiling of the Archives and running Jon’s words over and over again in his mind. But it wasn’t surprising, was it? Of course Martin would find himself attached to his prickly, no-nonsense boss who kind of hated him the first moment he showed him an ounce of kindness.)

“It’s … really no problem at all,” Jon says, sounding a bit stiff in a way that’s hopelessly endearing, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with Martin’s gratitude. Then, even more stiffly: “You’re … doing all right?”

The tentative concern in Jon’s voice is enough to bring a flush to the tips of Martin’s cheeks that he desperately hopes can’t be seen in the low light of Jon’s office. “Y-yeah. As well as I can be, I—I suppose.”

“Well,” Jon says in a businesslike voice, like he’s delivering a report, “if you need any further accommodations, please let me know. Given that this was a workplace incident and you were investigating the Vittery building on my request, the Institute and I are responsible for ensuring that you remain safe while you’re … displaced from your previous home.”

Martin has always been good at reading people. And for all that Jon wears various masks of professionalism and skepticism and authority, he’s still surprisingly easy to read. It’s easy to control an expression, to control a tone of voice, but Jon’s eyes are always so much more emotive than he probably means them to be. Right now, they’re flitting around the room, from Martin to the floor to his desk to the floor again, like they’re afraid to settle on one place for too long.

It’s easy to identify the emotion as guilt. It takes Martin a few more moments to place what, exactly, Jon is guilty for.

“It’s … not your fault, you know,” Martin says slowly. “What happened with Prentiss. You’re not … responsible for it.”

Martin expects Jon to brush him off—to tell him that he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t expect him to say, with a voice that leaves no room for argument, “I am not responsible for Jane Prentiss’ presence in the Vittery building, yes, nor for the fact that she followed you home. But I would be remiss not to acknowledge that you encountered her while following up on a statement, per my request, and that I … was not as cautious as I should have been with regards to sending you on dangerous assignments.” Jon’s eyes are sheepish now, and a touch concerned. “I will be sure to take the appropriate precautions in the future, as it would be unacceptable for you to be injured or … otherwise hurt whilst performing your duties as an archival assistant.”

It’s not a heartfelt statement by any measure. Really, it’s just common decency, and definitely what should be expected from one’s superior in a line of work that is (apparently) much more dangerous than it appears to be on paper. But Jon’s eyes when they finally turn to Martin are softer than he’s ever seen them, even as his expression remains carefully neutral and professional, and it feels like Jon has just said something profoundly kind.

Martin’s heart has some stuttering, skipping things to say about that particular fact.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently. “Th-thanks.” He considers mentioning again that Jon really isn’t at fault for sending him into a building that, for all Jon knew, contained nothing more than a few very persistent spiders. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds the little scrap of kindness he’s been given close to his chest, stammers something about getting back to work, and leaves Jon’s office before he says something embarrassing like I like it when you care or you have kind eyes or we could share the cot if you stay too late.

Tim wiggles his eyebrows at Martin as he takes a seat back at his desk, and Sasha gives him a much more subtle knowing look. Martin ignores both of them and busies himself with the statement sitting on the corner of his desk, diving back into the formatting he’s been struggling with all morning.

Jon is his boss. Jon doesn’t even really like him, when he’s not feeling guilty for almost getting Martin killed. It’s never going to work between them.

A bit of the tension bleeds out of Martin’s shoulders. His eyes drift back toward the door to Jon’s office—the golden nameplate outside it, embossed with Jon’s name, the frosted window, the old, warped wood—and he feels something light and comfortable settle in his chest.

Jon is prickly and lovely and blunt and awkwardly conscientious and completely unattainable. Jon is never going to look at Martin with affection in his eyes and ask Martin to run away with him to pursue a romantic, fairy-tale ending, and Martin is never going to feel that intense, awful discomfort that seeps into the gaps where the love once was. He can blush and stammer and imagine holding Jon’s hand and kissing the inside of his wrist and tangling his foot with Jon’s underneath a table, and nothing will change.

It’s never going to happen between them. And it’s better that way.

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The car ride to Scotland is quiet. Jon keeps sneaking glances at Martin when he thinks Martin isn’t paying attention, as if Martin will vanish if he doesn’t keep a watchful eye on him. It should be irritating, but … maybe he’s right. Martin doesn’t feel fully here yet. He still feels empty and numb, like all of the emotion and life and things that make him him have been cut away, consumed by the salty fog that had filled his lungs and stung his throat as he inhaled.

Peter Lukas is dead. Martin had felt it happen with a sort of empty detachment—the ripples of fog as Peter disintegrated into nothing but mist and static. Jon hasn’t spoken about it since they left the Lonely, but Martin had seen the tension in his shoulders as they’d returned to their flats to pack and taken the keys to the car from Basira and made their way painstakingly through London traffic.

Martin had wanted to tell Jon that it was all right—that everything was going to be okay. But his throat refused to form the words. It took all of his energy to remain present and solid, and he just … couldn’t. So he remained silent and gripped Jon’s hand as tightly as he was able and focused on not giving in to the Loneliness that still lingered underneath the surface of his skin.

Now, both of Jon’s hands are on the wheel of the car, his fingers and elbows rigid and stiff. Generic pop music spills out of the radio, the signal distorted enough that Martin only catches about half of the song, the rest swallowed by static. Better than him, he thinks absently. Right now, he feels as if he’s only static.

He can’t remember if he was like this before the air opened wide in front of him and he was swallowed whole by the fog, the panopticon gone in an instant and replaced with nothing but endless gray. He was … close, he thinks. Every day, things grew dimmer, his own thoughts and feelings more difficult to get a handle on. It grew harder and harder to remember why he was resisting at all. What his goal was, other than to just … be alone. He thinks he would have forgotten entirely, had Jon not been three floors beneath him, alive and breathing and reminding him that he was doing this—all of this—for a reason.

It had been … lovelier than Martin ever could have imagined, falling in love with Jon. It grew within him like a garden, new flowers cropping up every day. Some were white and delicate, blooming in his lungs when he looked at Jon and felt the all-consuming need to bundle him up in a blanket and make him tea and hide him away from the things in the world that wanted to hurt him. Others were purple and angular, blossoming with every lunch they had together and story Jon told him. And some were red and thorny, roses with waxy petals that made Martin’s cheeks grow hot every time Jon said his name like it was special or treated him kindly or smiled.

So when things grew difficult—when the loneliness crept too close, when he grew too comfortable being invisible, when he had to look Jon in the eye and tell him that he didn’t want to see him—Martin retreated to the quiet garden in his soul. He ran his fingers along the petals and stems and leaves and reminded himself that he needed to do this, or he’d lose Jon again and the garden would shrivel and die.

It had been an easy decision, in the end.

There’s a soft crunching noise, and Martin breaks free from his thoughts to see that they’ve transitioned from the smooth asphalt of the motorway to an unpaved gravel road. It’s bracketed on either side by trees, and though the sun has long since set, Martin can still see the gentle swell of hills around them, outlined softly in the moonlight. He thinks, for a moment, that he sees fog, clustering around the bases of the hills and swirling around in tight eddies, but when he blinks, the image is gone.

“We’re almost there,” Jon says quietly. It’s one of the few things he’s said to Martin the entire trip. Then, after a moment: “It’s … rather nice out here.”

Martin supposes it is. The landscape around them had been a vibrant green before twilight had washed it out into deep blues, and there have been cows dotted around the fields, shaggy and brown and grazing contently. It’s a stark change from the grays and browns of central London, with buildings on all sides and people everywhere and no chance to ever really see the stars. If circumstances were different, Martin thinks he would be cooing over the cows and trying to get Jon to stop so he could take pictures and enjoying his first trip outside of England.

Instead, Martin just nods.

Jon seems to understand. He sneaks another glance at Martin—full of something soft that Martin, in his foggy state, doesn’t quite know how to parse—but remains silent for the rest of the trip. It could easily be a stiff, uncomfortable silence, but … it’s not. It feels companionable.

When did being around Jon become so easy?

Daisy’s cabin is small and squat, nestled between two hills and idyllic in a way that doesn’t match the rough-hewn, steel-eyed woman Martin had known. The inside is dusty and cold, and Jon mutters something about central heating before disappearing down the corridor and leaving Martin standing in the living room, staring at the place he’ll be living in for the foreseeable future.

The place he’ll be living in with Jon for the foreseeable future.

Martin feels something in his chest stir at that—a strange, twisting emotion that’s there and gone before he can put a name to it. He shivers, in a way he doesn’t think is from the cold, and goes to find Jon.

He … doesn’t think he should be alone right now.

They find an old, rusted radiator that miraculously still works, pumping out hot air with a groan of metal. Jon digs a set of musty sheets out of the linen closet and begins dressing the bed. Martin notes the lack of a second bedroom, and he thinks he might object to the implication that they’ll be sharing a bed if he weren’t aware of the fact that he might vanish if left alone for too long. (Or if he were himself enough to feel embarrassed. Or to feel anything.)

He doesn’t think anything shows on his face, but Jon’s always been keen, even more so now that knowledge drips into his mind like water from a leaky faucet. Jon’s hands flutter over the sheets for a moment before he says, “I … hope this is all right?”

Martin tries to find his voice to agree, but the energy required to summon it is too much, so he settles for a shallow nod. He doesn’t think it’s a sufficiently enthusiastic agreement, but Jon doesn’t question it. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then says, “And … you’re all right?”

It’s a bit of a ridiculous question, really. No, Martin isn’t all right. No, there’s nothing Jon can do about it. No, he doesn’t know when things will be better. Or if they’ll ever be better.

Martin just looks at Jon, eyebrows slightly raised. Jon lets out a small, dry laugh. “Right. I … suppose that was a silly question. I—I meant…” Jon hems and haws for a long moment before finally saying, “Do you feel … safe, here? W-with me?”

That question has a much easier answer.

When Martin nods without hesitation, Jon visibly relaxes. “Good,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “That’s … that’s good.”

They stand there for a moment longer, the silence between them thick and heavy but not uncomfortably so. Finally, Jon clears his throat and says, “Well, I—I suppose we should rest then. We can … talk tomorrow?”

Martin nods and tries to smile. He doesn’t quite manage it, but … that’s all right. For now, this is enough.

Jon retreats into the bathroom, and Martin finds himself overcome with exhaustion. He slips into the soft pajama trousers he’d absently stuffed into his duffle bag, climbs under the covers, and is asleep before the sound of running water from the other room abates.

.

.

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Martin doesn’t remember what happened in the Lonely. Things had been foggy and disjointed, slipping through his grasp when he tried to hold onto them. He barely remembers what came after, when Jon had led him away from the sand and the fog and the waves, his palm a searing heat against Martin’s. His first few days at the safehouse are spent in a similar fog, like each muscle in his body is frozen solid and he’s slowly attempting to warm them with a matchstick flame.

His third day is … better. His fourth, better still. By the end of the first week, Martin feels more himself than he has in months, if still acutely aware of the fog that now lives in his lungs and creeps out of his throat when he thinks too hard about what’s transpired or when Jon is out of sight for too long.

Martin remembers what it’s like to be happy. He feels it when he shuffles sleepily into the kitchen on their eigth morning in the safehouse and sees Jon standing in front of the stove, hair tied up in a neat bun and eggs sizzling in a pan in front of him. He remembers what it’s like to be frightened. He feels it when he wakes at night, shivering and shaking with the lingering memory of dreams of nothing but endless fog and aching loneliness.

And he remembers what it’s like to be in love.

He remembers it just in time to lose it.

The worst thing, Martin thinks, is that he’d almost managed to convince himself that it would be different this time. He knows, logically, that it’s not that simple. He’d done a little bit of research after what happened with Nino, reading through a few web pages on aromanticism before becoming overwhelmed and closing out of every single one of them. He tentatively returned to them a few years later after realizing that this wasn’t something that he was going to grow out of or move on from.

He had difficulties settling on a label, partly because of the sheer number of them and partly because he … didn’t quite know how to categorize his feelings. How could he categorize something that he’d only felt once before? Gray-romantic seemed the safest option, so that was the one he settled on.

(Not that he ever told anyone that he was arospec. It never seemed important, even when Sasha would needle him about his crush and Tim would make too-loud suggestive comments that could surely be heard through the door to Jon’s office.

… Martin misses Tim and Sasha. He thinks, if he’d had the chance—if he’d had more time—they would have been the first people he told.)

Martin knows that his relationship with romantic attraction is complicated. Yet somehow, he’s still found it within himself to hope that this time, things will be different. This time, when he tells Jon that he’s very in love with him and has been for a while, those words will continue to be true even after they’re spoken. (He ignores the fact that the actual thought of saying them aloud makes his stomach twist and his mouth grow chalky.)

But, just like with Nino, Martin doesn’t get the chance to try. Jon beats him to the punch.

“I … I love you,” Jon says quietly. He has Martin’s hand in his, and he’s holding it so gently Martin might cry. There were things Jon said before this moment—a conversation that has led them here—but Martin is having a hard time recalling any of them. All he can think is no, no, not now, not here.

His skin crawls. His hands are clammy, and he’s sure that Jon can feel it. He has the instinctive need to get away, but he’s also frozen in place, the lump in his throat sealing away all of the words that he should be saying.

He should be saying something.

The silence stretches on between them, the vulnerability on Jon’s face slowly morphing into concern. “... Martin?”

He sounds so confused, and Martin … he can’t. He just can’t. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the moment when that confusion turns to hurt.

So Martin swallows sharply and forces his hand to squeeze Jon’s and says, “I love you too.”

And he does, in a way. He wants Jon here, by his side, eating breakfast next to him and rambling to him about whatever latest thing has piqued his interest and listening to Martin describe the cows he’s seen on his walks. The thought of Jon leaving—of losing him, the same way he lost Nino—makes his stomach twist into knots, because Martin loves him.

Just … not in the way that Jon thinks he does. Not anymore.

And Martin can’t help but feel guilty about that fact.

Jon frowns at Martin for a moment more, like he can tell that something’s wrong but he’s not entirely sure what. Martin breathes out slowly and gives Jon as genuine a smile as he can muster, trying to convey that everything is fine. That nothing’s wrong—why would anything be wrong?

It must work, because Jon exhales slowly, his expression softening into one of the gentle smiles that Martin has grown so fond of. He rubs a thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in a motion that should be comforting but only reminds Martin of the fact that Jon is doing it because he loves him.

Martin thinks that Jon is going to kiss him then—isn’t that usually what comes after things like this?—and dread coils in his stomach. But Jon doesn’t. Later, Martin will find out that Jon dislikes kisses just as much as he does (though for different reasons). For now, though, Martin can only feel relief when Jon squeezes his hand once more before letting go and standing. “I’ll go make us some tea,” he says quietly, then retreats to the kitchen.

Thinking back on it, Martin wonders if Jon knew then. That something was wrong. But for now, he just feels relieved that he has the space he needs to breathe.

.

.

.

It’s their second week at the safehouse, just a few days after Jon told Martin that he loves him, that Jon finally sits Martin down after dinner and says softly, “Martin, am I … am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Martin says, like he has no idea what Jon’s talking about. (Like a liar.) “No. What … what makes you think that?”

Jon wrings his hands together. He’s wearing one of Martin’s sweaters, and Martin doesn’t know how he feels about it. The clothes sharing is fine. The fact that Jon is clearly perceiving the clothes sharing as a romantic gesture is … less than fine.

Martin told himself that it would be okay if Jon perceived their relationship as a romantic one and Martin didn’t. He was good at pretending. And besides, how different could things be?

Very different, as it turned out. In all the ways that mattered.

Jon seemed to take any opportunity he could to touch Martin—a hand brushing against the small of his back when he passed behind him to grab a mug, an ankle nudging against his underneath the table as they ate, a head resting on his shoulder as they sat side-by-side and read. Martin had never been particularly touch-averse or touch-starved; touch was just … touch. He’d liked it when Tim had tousled his hair or when Sasha had thrown her legs across his on the breakroom couch, but he didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything on the days he went without any human contact at all.

Now, it’s all Martin can do not to flinch away from Jon’s touches, knowing that each one is delivered with love and affection that Martin can’t return. Though perhaps he hasn’t been doing as good of a job as he’d thought, judging by the concerned look Jon is giving him now.

There have been other things too—whispered I love yous in the early mornings and soft smiles that seem somehow more and little gestures that are so Jon but also so romantic—and Martin wants so badly to disappear back into the fog in those moments. But that … that wouldn’t be fair to Jon. It’s not his fault that Martin is like this, after all.

(It’s not Martin’s fault either. He knows this, logically. He’d spent a long time hating himself for what happened with Nino, for how he couldn’t just be normal and go on dates and enjoy something that the rest of society seemed to prize above all else. It had taken him years to finally come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t broken, and he couldn’t be changed. That this was just … who he was.

It doesn’t mean that sometimes, he doesn’t wish that he could be someone else. And he’s never wanted it more acutely than when he stares at Jon’s kind brown eyes and soft smile.)

So Martin lied and lied and lied. And he thought he’d been doing so successfully. But here Jon is, frowning at him, a careful distance between them, and Martin feels his chest begin to tighten.

“I just…” Jon begins, then stops. He looks down at the couch, studying the ugly floral pattern with apparent rapt fascination. Martin doesn’t know what to say, so he waits anxiously until Jon finally continues, “It doesn’t feel like you’re … happy. I know that things have been hard, a-and … it’s all right if you still need time after the Lonely, but it…” Jon swallows. “It feels like some of it may be because of me? W-when I touch you, sometimes you get … tense. And sometimes…”

“Jon?” Martin prompts after a moment, the word strangled by the growing lump in his throat.

“Sometimes,” Jon says quietly, “when you tell me that you love me, it … it feels like you’re lying.”

And the way Jon says it—tentative, with wide, hesitant eyes, like he’s the one that’s the problem—makes Martin’s desire to keep up the ruse crumble away in an instant.

It still isn’t easy to come clean. But he forces himself to do it anyway.

“It’s complicated,” he begins, then winces. Not a good start. Sure enough, Jon’s shoulders grow tense, and he shifts slightly further away, like he thinks Martin wants more space. Because he thinks he’s done something wrong. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Martin adds quickly. It’s not you, it’s me, he thinks wryly. “It’s … not your fault.”

Jon opens his mouth—to say what, Martin doesn’t know. He barrels on before Jon gets the chance to speak, his haste making his words harried and blunt.

“I’m aromantic.”

Jon blinks at him, clearly surprised by the abruptness of the statement. After a long, awkward moment, during which it becomes abundantly clear that Jon is waiting for Martin to make the next move, Martin continues, “My relationship with—well, with relationships—i-is complicated. I-it’s, um … it’s hard to explain? A-and I don’t want you to think that I—I don’t care about you. I want to be here, w-with you, just…”

“Not in a romantic capacity?” Jon finishes softly.

Martin exhales heavily, feeling a bit like a hole has been punched in his chest and he’s slowly deflating. “Yeah.”

Jon is looking at him with soft, kind eyes, and Martin doesn’t know what to do with them. So he buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice coming out muffled.

“Hey, hey.” Jon’s hand brushes against Martin’s shoulder before pulling away quickly, and that just makes Martin feel worse. “You haven’t done anything wrong either.”

“Yes, I have,” Martin says into his palms. “I lied. I let you think that I—I was still in love with you, and … Christ, that was shitty of me.”

“I … do wish you had told me sooner,” Jon concedes. “But … only because I care about you, Martin, a-and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.” He hesitates. “You … do know that I’m not mad at you, right? Th-that I wouldn’t have been mad, o-or upset, or hurt, if you told me that you didn’t feel the same way about me?”

Martin takes a deep breath, then another. “But I did,” he says raggedly. “For … for so long, I did. Ever since Jane Prentiss locked me in my flat for two weeks and you believed me when I told you about it a-and let me stay in the Archives. A-and I didn’t lie, in the Lonely. I did love you, a-all the way up until…”

Martin trails off. Jon lets the silence linger for a moment before saying gently, “If you don’t want to explain it to me, o-or if it’s hard, you don’t have to. But … if you can, I’d like to understand. For myself, a-and for you.” He wraps his hands tightly around his knees where they’re tucked against his chest. “This is important, and … I want to get this right.”

Martin exhales. He picks at a loose thread on the couch between them, focusing on it so he doesn’t have to meet Jon’s eyes and can pretend like he isn’t so extremely exposed and vulnerable right now. “I … I do want to explain. O-or I want to try. It’s … hard, though. Mostly b-because I’ve never had to explain it to anybody else? But also because … I don’t really understand why I’m like this.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know—you don’t … have to comment on that.”

Jon closes his mouth and tentatively shifts so his knee is pressing against Martin’s. Martin waits for the tingling of his skin, the pins-and-needles discomfort, but it never comes. Maybe it’s because he knows that this is an act of comfort rather than one of affection. It’s … really nice.

He presses back with a sigh, feeling a bit of the tension and nerves drain out of him. “I—I get that love is difficult for me,” he says quietly. “I’ve just … always had trouble with the fact that what makes it difficult is that I’m someone who apparently never actually wants their love … requited. And if it is, I just … can’t anymore. It all goes away, a-and I just … fall out of love?”

Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him, inquisitive and searching, but Jon doesn’t say anything. There’s a moment of silence between them, during which Martin tries and fails to collect his mess of feelings and thoughts and emotions into something that he can verbalize. Finally, Martin sighs and says, “It’s ironic, isn’t it. I’ve loved you for so long, a-and I still do, but … not in the way you love me. Not anymore. And now you’re the one who—who loves someone w-who doesn’t … who can’t…”

“Oh, no, Martin.” Jon’s hand is covering his then, and it’s warm and gentle and lovely, and Martin could cry. “I’m not…” He hesitates, squeezing Martin’s hand once. “Well. I am still in love with you. In the … romantic sense. I—I don’t want to lie to you about that. B-but I also love you in … so many other ways. Y-you’re my friend, Martin, a-and you’re someone that I can trust. You … you make me feel safe, e-even when there’s … so much in my life that’s dangerous and unpredictable, and I know that you’ll … always be there for me when I need you to be. I want to be here with you, always. I would … be happy in a romantic relationship with you, yes. But I would also be happy to just be with you. In whichever way you will have me.”

Martin’s throat feels very tight. “Oh,” he says faintly. He feels a pressure at the corner of his eyes and realizes, with a flush of embarrassment, that there are actual tears collecting there. He stares hard at the lamp just behind Jon, trying not to let any of them escape.”You, um … you really … mean that?”

“Of course,” Jon says, like there’s no question to be had about the matter. “You are … such an easy person to love, Martin. In all the ways it’s possible to love someone.”

Martin tries—he really does—to keep the tears back. But it’s just … so much, and Jon is so lovely, and this is more than Martin ever thought he was going to be able to have. So he takes a shaky breath in, and on the exhale, a few tears slip free and trail down his cheek. He brings a hand up and scrubs them away, mutters a sorry underneath his breath, but Jon just squeezes his hand tighter.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, I’m … I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” Jon hesitates. “Provided that that’s … all right with you, of course.”

Martin can’t help the shaky laugh that escapes him. “Yes, it’s all right with me. Of course it is.”

Jon smiles, and Martin aches with it. “Good.” He nudges his knee gently against Martin’s. “Because this cottage would get very dull without you in it. Who would I talk to about all of Daisy’s awful romance novels?”

Martin laughs again, and it chases away most of the lingering tension in his body. “Be careful what you wish for. I’m going to start doing dramatic readings next.”

Jon’s eyes sparkle with humor, but his voice is sincere when he says, “I look forward to it.”

True to his word, over the next week, Martin does increasingly dramatic readings of the worn, water-warped romance novels stacked haphazardly on the safehouse shelves. (Skipping the, quote, ‘unnecessarily erotic’ bits to avoid Jon’s pinched look of discomfort and his own beet-red face as he stares down at words that should really not be used in a sexual context ever.) He bakes cookies, laughing when Jon drops the cup of flour he’s holding and ends up covered in it. He spends the first three walks after their conversation wringing his hands together before finally asking, in a series of nervous stutters, if Jon would like to hold hands while they walk.

“But not in a romantic way!” he hastens to clarify. “You just have very nice hands, a-and I’ve always liked the idea of holding someone else’s hand, but—you know, th-the romantic connotations of it aren’t … great, and … you know, now that I think about it, this was a stupid question, you don’t have to—”

And then Jon takes his hand and squeezes it gently, and Martin feels a warmth spread through him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

That’s been happening a lot lately. He … doesn’t think he minds at all.

Then, a few weeks after their conversation, Jon turns over in bed to face him and says, without any preamble, “Have you ever heard of a queerplatonic relationship?”

Martin has, but only in passing, so he shakes his head. Jon explains, sounding very much like he’s reciting the wiki page for the concept, which is … more endearing than it has any right to be, probably.

“Does … does that sound like something you might be interested in?” Jon says nervously. “W-with me, of course. If that wasn’t … clear.”

Martin nods before Jon is finished speaking. “Yeah,” he says, maybe a bit too eagerly. Then, quieter: “Yeah. I’d … I’d like that.”

Jon smiles then, bright and wide and lovely, and it occurs to Martin—not for the first time, and probably not for the last—that he can have this. That he can be with Jon—maybe for the rest of his life, though that’s a … big thought that he definitely isn’t ready to look at head-on yet—without the dates and the kissing and all the other romantic gestures that Martin always thought were necessary for something like this. That they can be happy, together.

That Martin can have his fairy tale ending, and it doesn’t have to look like he’s always been told it should.

Martin smiles back at Jon, reaching across the bed to brush his fingers lightly against Jon’s. And for the first time in a long, long while, he finally feels like he’s home.

[cursestothemoon]

Hi Charly! Could you do a headcannon about Fred and his virgin girlfriend having sex for the first time? But she’s feeling self conscious because he’s more experienced and she’s worried about not being as good as his past partners not me projecting or anything 🙃

as a virgin who cant drive this request really resonates with me

welcome to the fred show pew pew

ill stop.

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

warnings:NSFW, vaginal penetration, loss of virginity, fingering

ok so

first i wanna get into fred before you came around

his sex life specifically

i think fred likes to have fun

nothing wrong with that

so yeah he's been around the block

a few times

so he knows what he's doing when it comes to sex

he takes pride in how good he is honestly

but i also think his first time wasn't all that

he probably lost his virginity rather young

14 maybe 15

the girl was 16 maybe 17

and he kind of pressured himself to lose his virginity after hearing his amazingly cool older brothers talking about 'this bird i shagged...'

it was bill

and fred loves bill

idolizes bill

so in his efforts to be just like him he had to lose his virginity

which he did

but he was beyond nervous and fidgety

he's almost certain the girl felt so bad she lied and said she finished when really he was in there for two minutes TOPS

but he got better over time

also he made sure that the person he was with finished first because he's still a little embarrassed abut that first time

george is the only person who knows about his first time, he didn't want anyone else to know

ESPECIALLY bill

anyway

so by the time you guys start dating fred is very experienced in the bedroom

you are not

you are a virgin

thats ok

😌

i feel like fred would just assume your not a virgin if you didn't tell him otherwise

because 1) you are drop dead gorgeous and could get it literally any time you wanted

and 2) he just assumes everyone does it unless told otherwise

you would be talking one day and somehow your first times would come up and fred would go beet red and admit how terrible it was for him

and then you'd kinda just 🙂

because you don't have a first time story

fred would not catch on at first

he would be very confused

then you'd go pink and come out with it

"...i'm a virgin, freddie."

he was honestly surprised

but once he noticed how genuinely uncomfortable you were admitting it, like it was something bad

he'd go into protective, comforting freddie mode

would go above and beyond to tell you that it wasn't a bad thing at ALL and he wishes he would've waited

and then he goes

"now that i know, i'm going to make sure your first time is amazing, love."

then he'd kinda just pause and go red again as he thought about what he said

"i mean, assuming you'd want your first time to be with me. totally cool if not, but i reckon that would be rather odd considering we are dating... unless you are breaking up with me...wait don't break up with me."

you'd just giggle and pull him into a kiss

"i want my first time to be with you, only you."

"i am so glad we are on the same page."

ok fred would go ALL OUT to make sure your first time was amazing

unforgettable

and you ARE finishing.

it would be over summer

you're staying at the burrow for the next month

and fred has it all planned out

you had told him you were ready a few weeks ago and he told you he wanted to surprise you for your first time

so you've just been waiting

he'd set up a cute little tent in the meadows of the burrow

string up some lights in the trees

plethora of blankets and pillows in said tent

wait i forgot their tents are like huge inside

aW WAIT IT WOULD BE LIKE A WHOLE CUTE LITTLE ROOM

STOP🥺

anyway

he'd have some food

some water

many condoms

he's so excited

oK so the sun would just be setting

and fred says he has something to show you outside

he also knows with a full house no one is going to come looking for you two, but just in case george knows the plan and is there for damage control just in case

so you go out with fred and hes practically skipping and hes all giggly

and you are starting to feel his giddiness so you guys are just this giggly mess together

then he gets to the spot

the sex tent

and it's beautiful

you are blown away

and he is just so happy seeing you happy

so you guys eat a little

talk

have some fun

he will feed you food to be romantic

you will get a grape dropped down your shirt

fun times all around

and then your eyes kinda lock

and his are all crinkly from laughing

his freckles just a bit more prominent in the summer season

you are suddenly hit with this intense feeling of love

how much you are in love with him

how much he's in love with you

and you're sure you've never been more ready than you are right now

fred is feeling floaty

you are looking at him with this look in your

and it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy

he'd reach out to cup your cheek, his thumb gently running across your cheek bone

then he'd pull you closer and rest his forehead against yours

your nose would brush and he'd run the tip of his nose along your nose before placing a kiss on it 🥺

you push forward and capture his lips in a kiss

and its on.

he pulls you into his lap

you guys are in heavy a make out

his hands are on your ass

your hands are in his hair

then he pushes you closer with his hands on your butt

the feeling of his hardening cock in his trousers against your clothed clit has you shuddering because jesus christ almighty

you've never felt anything like that before

you whimper into his mouth and fred is sure he's died and gone to heaven

so he does it again

after a few more times youre moving your hips on your own accord

you'd never admit to him that you'd fantasized about this very moment

in this very position

but instead of him it was a pillow you were grinding against

anyway

you guys moved to the bed in the tent

fred pulls away and he's holding your face in his hands so gently and looking at you with so much love

"I need to know that you are completely certain that you want this. I need you to be absolutely sure, love."

"I want this. I want you."

there was no hesitation in your voice

so he'd slowly take off both your clothes making sure that at any given moment he's got more off then you to make sure you never feel uncomfortable or embarrassed

so like if you've got your shirt off, fred has his off two and is working on his pants THEN he'd move your pants

now you are in your bra and underwear

he's in his briefs

and he can't help but take you all in

your skin

your curves

each dip and line

everything about you is just so beautiful

and he's just barely touching you as he's dragging the back of his fingers down from your neck to your belly button just watching as your skin erupts in goosebumps

he's never seen anything so beautiful

i think it was in that moment that he knew, no matter what, he would always be in love with you

all of you

he looks for your approval before reaching behind you and unhooking your bra

when your bra comes off thats when you get the butterflies in your belly

and lets be honest

on the inside

fred's a mess

like he might get choked up

regardless

the tiddies are out

fred leans down and starts to place slow, loving, kisses across the skin of your chest and in the crook of your neck before trailing them down to your breasts

you let out a shaky breath as he takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth

his hand moving to tease the other one

he's sucking and licking the sensitive nub making you breathless

then he'd drag his tongue down to your belly button then just below it before sucking a hickey onto your hip

he'd KISS IT AFTERWARDS TOO 🥺

he'd look up at you silently asking if you were ok and if he could remove your panties

you nod

youre nervous and excited and just ready

so he pulls off your underwear

and suddenly you feel very naked

but you also feel more comfortable than you ever thought you would

because it's fred

and he's your best friend

and he's just so

comforting

and you'd trust him with your life

so its a positive experience

his brings his thumb to rub gently circles on your clit before running two fingers up your slit to collect your juices

you let out a breathy moan as he slides a single digit into your entrance

his head is resting on your thigh placing sweet kisses on the skin as he adds in a second finger

his other arm is hooked around the thigh that his head is resting against, with his hand falling just close enough to your cunt that he can rub slowly, tight circles on your clit

you cum pretty quickly from fred's intense, intimate fingering

and he makes sure to make a show of putting his fingers in his mouth moaning at the taste of your release

he moves up to your lips, pulling you into a kiss

and you can taste yourself on his tongue

and there is something so erotic about it

that has your pussy clenching

ok so he pulls off his boxers and you audibly gulp

he's

l a r g e

and he notices your apprehension

he doesn't want to lie and say its not going to hurt

because in all honesty it might hurt

fred presses a calming kiss to your forehead as he lines himself up with your entrance

"im going to go slow, alright. if at you want me to stop tell me, ok, bunny?"

"ok, i might be bad at this."

"never"

aND HE'D SAY IT WITH SUCH A SWEET SMILE AND THIS LOVING TONE

BECAUSE YOU COULD NEVER BE BAD AT ANYTHING EVER IN FRED'S EYES

ESPECIALLY THIS

BECAUSE HE THINKS YOU ARE LITERALLY PERFECT

AND HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH

anyway

it does hurt a bit

its uncomfortable

you do get a little teary because of the dull burn of the stretch

and fred's heart aches seeing the way your face screws up in discomfort

but after a few minutes

and a few kisses from fred

youre ready for him to start moving

he starts off slow

the pain is starting to dissipate

and it begins to feel really good

like really good

i forgot to mention it earlier but fred IS wearing a condom

back to the story

so pretty soon you guys are enjoying yourselves

fred is kissing on your neck and lips

youre tugging on his hair and letting out breathy moans and whimpers into his ear

you cum a second time before fred spills into the condom

he slowly pulls out

and the feeling of emptiness after he does so is your new least favorite feeling

you are just craving to be near him, to be impossibly close

he pulls you into his side and starts peppering kisses along your hairline

and his fingers are running up and down your back

and hes just holding you so tight

stop🥺

"i love you, bug."

"love y'too, freddie."

your slurred words made it lear to him that you were starting to fall asleep

you guys would have to wake up super early the next morning and sneak back into the house

and you'd both be super giggly and cuddly and just hanging off each other

fred wouldn't want to let you go and would pull you back into him every time you tried to leave and go into ginny's room (where you were staying)

aW then for the next few days you guys just cant keep your hands off each other

and you both are so in love

sHUT UP I LOVE FRED WEASLEY

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@erinruby003

@famdomhideout

@an2402lths

@escapingrealitybyreading

@readyg0erge

@maybesandohnos

@therealhouseelvesofhogwarts

@onlyfreds