#(I Long Sigh As I Mute So Many Posts)

[snowballseal]

hihi! i was curious if you would be willing to do a drabble inspired by the sleepy affection with sylus piece, but with out good dr zayne? i feel like sleepy cuddles with him would be so comforting... regardless, thank you sm for sharing your writing!! every piece you've posted has always brought a smile to my face (kicking my feet all happily too) even for characters i'm not as interested in :)

Sleepy Affection ~ Zayne

Summary: It's winter, and there's nothing like cuddling with your sleepy doctor after you've both had a long day (or a long few days in Zayne's case).

Word Count: 1014

Note: I'm honestly so whipped for this man. Like, I'm so soft for him. And he's so soft for reader. This man would turn into a cuddly cat when he's tired, kinda like the misty invasion card (*eyes emoji*)

Hope you enjoy! Thank you for the request! And thank you for your really kind words. I'm glad my writing can make people happy.

---

Winters in Linkon are your favorite.

There’s something about the snow, the crisp chill in the air, the smell of peppermint drifting from the coffee shops. Every store is draped in twinkle lights and each street rings with the song of bells as people come and go. The kids seem somehow more feral and delightful, running through the parks in their brightly colored scarves, building snowmen wherever they can. Being a hunter, you’re drawn into more than a few snowball fights by groups of eager children who want to see your “fighting skills”.

But your favorite part about winters are the sleepy evenings. It’s the feeling of getting home after a long day, a deep chill in your bones alongside the exhaustion, ready to curl up in your blankets with a cup of hot cocoa and a movie. There’s nothing else like it.

And what makes it even better?

When your boyfriend joins you after his even longer shift.

Your apartment is quiet except for the playful soundtrack of ‘Elf’ humming in the background. You snuggle deeper into the couch, eyes glued to the window beside you, watching the thick snowflakes dance with the wind. They look like little ballerinas to your tired eyes, pirouetting round and round and round. Hypnotizingly graceful.

The front door opens with a muted click.

Lazily, you tear your gaze away from the window. You do your best to glance over the back of the couch, your cheek pressing into the cushion, too comfortable to move, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

Your heart flutters at the sight in front of you though. Zayne stands in the foyer, pulling off his many layers of warm clothes with a startling lack of grace. Snow clings to his dark hair and coat, falling to the ground with each of his sluggish movements. The doctor looks tired. His eyes meet yours, dark and warm, hooded just like your own.

You lift the edge of your blankets. A silent invitation.

Zayne trudges across the living room, his steps uncharacteristically heavy. He takes off his glasses and leaves them on the table behind the couch. You smother a giggle when he practically collapses against you. It’s like having a large cat curl around you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck with a long, content sigh.

Resting your cheek against his hair, you tuck your blankets around his shoulders, murmuring a soft, “Hey, baby.”

The doctor lets out a low rumble in response, drawing you impossibly closer. You inhale sharply when he slips his hands under your sweater, his freezing cold fingers desperately seeking out the warmth of your skin. You shiver as they trace delicately along your waist, slotting in the tight space between you and the couch.

“Your fingers are freezing,” you whine, jarred from your sleepy state.

Of course you don’t actually mind, though. Not with Zayne. Not when he nuzzles so cutely into your neck, murmuring the most unapologetic apology you’ve ever heard, his voice low and raspy with exhaustion. A fuzzy kind of fondness washes over you.

“Long day?”

Zayne sighs, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your throat, “I’ve slept only three hours in the past two days.”

Poor thing.

You feel a stab of pity for him. That might be the only drawback of winter, you suppose. Akso Hospital is always infinitely busier with this kind of weather. The snow always brings more accidents and Zayne always volunteers to work extra shifts when the need is dire, no matter the cost to his health. It’s something you love, but also something that worries you.

Brows furrowing, you card your fingers through his hair tenderly in hopes of helping him relax. It’s still a little damp from the snow. Zayne shivers when your nails trace over his scalp. Another shaky sigh escapes him when your hand dips under his collar to massage his nape. He practically melts under your touch, his weight pressing you deeper into the couch.

You’re not sure where the movie is now. The cup of hot cocoa on the side table is likely cold. But it’s hard to care. All you can focus on is Zayne. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The faint smell of jasmine hidden under the lingering scent of the hospital. The comforting weight of his body on top of yours.

Eyes fluttering shut, you nuzzle your face into his hair, hands going still around his shoulders. The two of you stay like that for what feels like hours, drifting in and out of sleep as the snow dances outside. It all feels so distant, your blankets hiding you from the cold, from the rest of the world. 

It’s just the two of you.

The two of you, in your shared apartment, always coming home to one another. Just like this.

Your heart warms at the thought. Nudging his forehead gently, you draw Zayne back just enough to see his face. He looks back at you with those hooded eyes, hazel depths brimming with a reverent affection. Biting back a smile, you lean down to kiss him. It’s a tender thing, a mere brush of your lips against his, featherlight and full of devotion. It leaves the both of  you aching yet content as you draw away.

“I love you,” you whisper, nose brushing his sweetly.

“I love you as well, my dear,” he hums, a flicker of a tired smile gracing his lips.

You can’t resist pressing another kiss to them, your own smile breaking through, “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.”

Without an ounce of resistance, Zayne settles back against you, his head resting on your chest. The soft thrum of your heartbeat lulls him to sleep, the exhaustion finally catching up and pulling him under. You listen as his breathing evens out, deep and slow.

And while you mean to stay up, you can’t resist the warmth, the comfort of having him there with you.

Vaguely, you hear the credit song playing as you drift off into sleep.

---

I have such a thing for calling stoic men 'baby', I feel like it's so soft and cute and he'd honestly probably melt for it. Idk, maybe just me, please don't come for me in the comments.

[hamiltonaf]

Oh my god I’m so excited to see your requests are open I wanted to request something for the lovely Daniel ricciardo being more handsy with reader while on the paddock and him getting interviewed about it later since the fans have been posting pictures of their intimate moments and him kind of joking in a “how could I not?” Type of way? Thank you

PDA | Daniel Ricciardo

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Female Reader

Word Count: 907

Warnings: None

A/N: Hello loves ! Firstly, apologies for the delay in writing requests as I had a lot going on. If you’ve sent in a request, I’m working on it, just bear with me :) Hope you babes enjoy. Thanks anon for requesting .xx

The Monza GP was a special race weekend for Daniel, besides his home race. With his Italian roots, it’s his second home so indirectly another home race.

This special race weekend had inspired him I guess you could say for our relationship to be full on public. For the many months we’ve been together, I’ve made my few appearances in the paddock and sometimes alongside Daniel but rarely. I quite enjoy our relationship being private, but I guess if he’s happier with us being public then so be it.

Besides the rare ‘papped’ pictures of us together - which left some people to question on numerous occasions if we’re still together - we don’t even have posts of each other on our socials. It’s always the private but not secret kind of story posts…I guess that all ends now.

I only managed to arrive in Monza on race day, no pressure. Note the sarcasm. As soon as we jumped out of the car, I suddenly felt sick at the thought of all eyes on us.

Daniel noticed I zoned out, he then snapped his fingers in front of me, “Babe are you okay ?” He asked concerned. “Yeah I’m okay” I forced a smile. He grabbed a hold of my hand and I guess he noticed the clamminess. “Are you sure you’re okay ?” He furrowed his brows. “You look nervous” he added. “I’m not gonna lie…I am” I admitted with a sigh.

“Nervous about what love ?” He asked concerned. “I’m not used to attention in public” I said as I looked everywhere but him. He then grabbed a hold of my face to look at him, “Just relax. I’m with you every step of the way… I just want to show you off to the world without hiding it anymore. I want to love you publicly and not hide it anymore - not gonna lie, it’s also kind of getting hard for me to resist touching you” he smirked.

After laughing along with him, it helped a lot with easing my nerves. Thank god for sunglasses as well. As long as I had them on, the nerves didn’t exist. We walked in the paddock hand in hand, nothing major.

Up until it was time for Daniel to leave the garage, he surprised me by engulfing me in a hug and leaving a kiss on my cheek. “Good luck babe and be safe” I said softly to him before he left. I failed to realise that being a new wag means being watched at all times.

I don’t know what had gotten over me, a boost of confidence and a moment of being proud for Daniel’s great race finish had me returning the favour of engulfing Daniel in a hug and leaving a kiss on his cheek. He then lifted me up and spun me around. In that moment it felt like we were the only ones in that garage and everyone else was muted.

Before we knew it, he had to quickly leave to attend to post-race interviews. I waited patiently in his drivers room and decided to waste some time on my socials. As I was scrolling, a video was already uploaded of one of Daniel’s interviews. Out of curiosity I decided to play it.

“So Daniel, incredible result in the Alpha Tauri today ! Brilliant drive, where did that come from or perhaps should I say who helped with that ?” Natalie teased. He immediately started blushing and looked away, it was so cute to watch. “Welllll” he trailed. “Oh come on, tell us how (Y/N) motivated you today. You guys make a lovely couple and I have to ask since everyone can’t stop talking about how cute you both are, you can’t seem to leave her can you ?” Natalie joked.

“How can I not, have you guys seen her ? She just makes me so happy and she’s one of my biggest cheerleaders. I’m a really lucky guy and I just wanted her to be apart of my special weekend. Today’s result was all so I could see that reaction from her” he smiled proudly. “You mean this one ?” Natalie asked as she then showed him the array of pictures that were taken of us today. “Paddock favourite already. Well, thank you for your time and hopefully we’ll see you both at the next race weekend. Cheers !” Natalie said lastly. “Of course ! Cheers guys” Daniel said lastly before the interview ended. “Handsome guy” he said from behind me.

“Oh my god ! Dan you scared me” I said as I placed a hand on my chest. “Sorry love, let’s get going” he said as he held his hand out for me to hold. With our fingers entwined, we walked through the paddock to the car. Fans and photographers around had taken pictures, I didn’t mind since I was comfortable at this point.

Once we got into the car, I broke the silence “You really did a hard launch today” I smiled. “That wasn’t a hard launch for me” he pouted. “What was missing ?” I furrowed my brows. “This” he said as he cupped my cheeks and pulled me in for a sweet kiss. So much for thinking we were alone, I quickly broke away when I heard screaming from fangirls. “Well, that really was a hard launch” I said as I felt the heat flush my cheeks.

[nina-ya]

Oh my gosh Nina I LOVE your content!!! It's so detailed and lovely without being too wordy and long it's just amazing oh gosh~

If you don't have too many asks and if it's okay, can I ask for a scenario where it's post-war arc and reader is at his bedside holding his hand while he's recovering just waiting for him to finally wake up. And while he's laying there reader realizes that they love him more than a friend/captain. So when he wakes up they're crying on him and they admit how scared they were to lose him.

Even if you don't write it, thank you so much for all of the content you give us!! You should consider opening/sharing a Ko-fi, I would love to give back as a true thank you!!

Have a blessed night ❤

Waiting for Luffy to Wake Up

Pairing: Luffy x Reader CW: Marineford spoilers if you squint. None overall. WC: 1.2k A/N: AAAAA????? Im going to actually sob at your complement it means a lot to me and truly thank you for reading my silly little writings i'm glad if i can bring joy to even one person. I do have a ko-fi! you can find it here!

You’ve grown accustomed to the smell of heavy antiseptic that inhabited the room. The blinding LED lights had been dimmed, as they usually were when night fell, leaving the room shroud in darkness. The only sources of light were the faint glow seeping in from under the door and the dull gleam of the machines that surrounded his bed. Oh, those machines. The machines that whir and beep through all hours of the day to keep him alive. The heart monitor is one of the machines that you are grateful for, though it was a double-edged sword. It's a reminder that his heart still beats, but the constant beep...beep....beep is a sound that you have grown to dread the longer that you hear it– wishing so desperately that you could hear the sound of his laughter instead of this constant reminder that he has gone through something absolutely terrible.

You couldn’t tell how long you had been in that room by Luffy's side. You knew that at least some days had passed since the surgery, but exactly how long was unknown to you as time seemed to blur the longer you waited to see him open his eyes. The creaking and groaning of the submarine, the chatter that could be heard from the other side of the door, the voices of the people who come in and out of the room, all have seemed to just be muted to you. Your mind could not make room for anything else other than the man in front of you. 

You felt a lump form in your throat at the sight of him. How could someone so full of life, so unyielding, be lying here so still? Every move he made all seemed so effortless, it seemed that nothing could bring him down. But now, seeing him like this, you just realized how fragile he could be, and it scared you.

You took hold of his hand, gripping it tight, as if by holding on, you could will him back to consciousness. You could see the rising and falling of his chest to indicate his breathing. You could see the line on the heart monitor rise and fall with each beat of his heart. Yet, you could not help yourself but to distrust the machines lean in, placing your head against his chest and listening for yourself to hear the faint sound of the badump… badump… badump… of his heart to make sure that there is still life in there. 

You sighed in relief hearing that beautiful sound, and yet, other, worrying thoughts occupied you. What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he never opens his eyes again? What if you can never see that smile of his again? Your mind suddenly raced with the things you wish you had said, all the moments you had taken for granted. You leaned back, lifting your head from Luffy’s chest, but your grip on his hand remained tight.

The thoughts began spiraling, bringing forward past memories.  You recalled the first time you met, how he greeted you with that infectious grin, the kind that made you believe that anything was possible. You knew he was special from that moment. You knew that you had to keep him close. And somewhere along the way, without you even realizing it, you knew that you thought of him more than and you just couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Now, as you sat beside him, the weight of him pressed heavily on your heart. Fear and guilt. The two emotions filled your heart. Fear for what the future might hold, for the possibility of losing him forever. Guilt, for not realizing sooner, for not being able to protect him.

You didn’t even realize you were shaking. Your fingers trembled against his, and tears blurred your vision as you fought to contain your emotions. With a shuddering breath, you dropped your head and watched as the tears dropped to the surface below you. You whispered words of encouragement, of hope, of love, though whether they were meant for him your yourself, you couldn’t be sure. “Luffy… please,” you croaked out, your voice cracking with sorrow. “You have to wake up. The crew needs you… I need you…”

You squeezed his hand tighter, lifting your head, allowing the tears to flow down your cheeks as you looked at him. His face was peaceful despite what he went through. And just for a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a possible future with him if he were to wake up. A future where you could be honest with yourself and with him and could finally tell him how you felt. 

You couldn’t hold back the tears. Your body shook with sobs that left you gasping for breath. You knew that you couldn’t live in a world without him, and the mere thought of it hurt like nothing else. 

In your dazed state, you felt his hand twitch. At first, you dismissed it as wishful thinking, but then you heard a shift in his breathing. Your sobs stopped abruptly as you stared at him with baited breath, wondering if it was just your mind playing a sick and cruel trick. But then you saw it– his chest rose sharply as he gasped for breath, his eyes fluttering open. It was real. 

“Lu…Luffy?” You asked, your voice barely audible. You could not dare believe your eyes. He turned his head towards you, the motion strained and clearly weakened by the toll his body had endured, but the motion was enough to send you flying into his arms. You hugged him as tightly as you could, despite the wires and machines in the way. “Oh my gosh! Y-you’re okay!” you exclaimed between sobs. “Don’t ever do that to me again! Fuck… you had me so scared,” you cried, slumping over him.

Luffy groaned in pain under the weight of your embrace, and you quickly backed off, apologizing for any discomfort you may have caused. “Sorry, sorry,” you stammered, reaching out to touch his face gently. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just…” You traced his face, tears still spilling from your own. “You scared me…”

He looked like he wanted to say something. He struggled, reaching to take off the oxygen mask that was over his mouth. His chest heaved as he took in the air without the help of the mask, something clearly on his mind. Not even discomfort seemed to be at the forefront of his emotions. His voice was raspy and faint, and his words were disjointed as he tried speaking. “Ace?” was all he could ask, confusion evident in his eyes. Your heart sank. You knew that question too well– it was a name that would soon carry a heavy burden for him.

Your confession to Luffy could wait. All those feelings you had just realized can be kept to yourself. Right now, he had more important matters to deal with, a grief that would require your complete and utter support. It wasn’t about you, it was about being there for him during this point in his life. So, you held back those words of love that were on the tip of your tongue. Those can wait. Right now, he just needed you to be there for him more than anything.

[pia55tri]

Carcar prompt!!

Carlos follows Oscar back on Insta randomly and Oscar is very ??? about it hehe

thank you for sending in a prompt 🫶

Oscar gets so many notifications on his public socials that he’s muted them all. That isn’t to say that he isn’t immediately informed when anything happens, because he is.

This time, it’s a message from his social media manager, who doesn’t really manage his posts, but does keep an eye out on them for the team. It goes, Just a few comments from some drivers on your latest post. And Carlos followed you back.

And Oscar’s immediate instinct is to ask, Carlos who?

Is it Carlos Alcaraz? That would be cool, but unlikely.

Even just as unlikely is Carlos Sainz Jr. following him back. But that’s just what happens.

Oscar stares at his followers list for a long moment. He isn’t on bad terms with Carlos, per se. But they’re not on — on great terms either. They just.

They talk. A lot. Carlos talks a lot, in general, and Oscar is exactly the type to goad him, so when they end up in the same vicinity — which is often, nowadays, given that they’re both living in Monaco and bumping into each other at the gym, or the padel court, or even Lando’s favourite haunts around the city — they end up talking for longer than Oscar anticipates.

And they take the same private jets. Same planes, if they’re flying commercial. They have the same friends on the grid. They go to the same gym.

It just happens. Oscar never expected it to, but it does. And somehow all those coincidences and those conversations snowball into texting on the regular and sending each other ridiculous posts from the internet and sports news clips and short messages about their very separate days. And.

Anyway. Throughout it all, Carlos never followed Oscar back on instagram. It was funny, at first (and still is, really), because Carlos would leave comments on his posts like a terrible stalker. For the first few weeks of their sort-of-friendship, Oscar doesn’t think that Carlos even knew he hadn’t been following Oscar back. But it’s since been a little joke between them.

(And imagine that, an inside joke between Oscar and Carlos Sainz Jr. Oscar was a child and spectator at one of Carlos’s rookie races. Little Oscar would have laughed in disbelief. Rookie Oscar would have also laughed in disbelief, in, albeit, a mildly different manner.)

So, now. Oscar is up at an unreasonable time, lounging in his underwear, in the middle of his messy room, and staring at the carlossainz55 in his followers list.

What the fuck.

He needs a sympathetic ear.

🏎🏎

“Okay?” Logan is not at all sympathetic. “And, uh, how does that make you feel?”

“I’m. Normal about it.”

“If you were normal about it, you wouldn’t have called me about it at,” a rustle and a sigh, “three in the morning about it. Mate, I have a meeting in, like, four hours.”

“Logan, please.”

“Call Fred or something.”

“No!” Oscar immediately protests. “And no calling Lando either. They’ll just tell me to— to smooch him or something.”

Another pause. “Well, mate, I don’t know what to tell you, but I personally think that if you’re thinking about ‘smooching’ someone at three in the morning, then you should probably do that.”

Oscar groans. “Fuck you, too.”

“Cheers,” Logan says brightly, then hangs up on him.

Oscar groans again.

🏎🏎

He finally gives in to his little lizard hindbrain and pulls up his messages with Carlos.

So you’re finally signing up to seeing me on your timeline regularly?

He stares at his screen with some shock at his own audacity. What is he—

A buzz. And a reply from Carlos.

Much easier than me going to look for your account every time I want to see you, yes?

Oscar stares some more.

Carefully, he places his phone screen-down on his bed. Looks up at the ceiling.

He can feel his heart in his throat.

Well.

Well.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Someone Like You

Pairing: Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) x f!reader Warnings: Mild angst, handjob, smut. Word count: ~1.4k

Summary: The Halcyon is hosting its Christmas Eve party for its guests, and her and Billy are both feeling the pressure of being rushed off their feet. They find a moment of respite alone together.

Author's note: A part two of my first Smuffmas entry. Day eleven of the Smuffmas prompts - "a fancy party and praising". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

It has been twelve days since her and Billy had decorated the staff sitting room. Twelve long, miserable days since she had last felt his lips upon hers and the way he’d rutted against her, not that she’s counting. They have scarcely had a chance to see each other in the lead up to Christmas. Beyond shy smiles and blushes exchanged in passing, they’ve had no other interaction. But that’s not for lack of wanting to or trying. The mistletoe she’d rescued has remained in her apron pocket, primed for an opportune moment.

December is always the busiest time of year for the hotel. People want to celebrate in style, and so they check in to the Halcyon to be waited on hand and foot. She’s not sure what it is about Christmas that drives people to make the most outlandish demands of the staff, but it has stolen away her festive cheer. She is exhausted.

It’s Christmas Eve and the day has been spent preparing for the annual party they host for the guests who will be staying with them on the big day itself. On top of turning down rooms, and helping the kitchen staff to prepare food, she’s now expected to serve drinks at the party itself.

The staff who are married with children have been given Christmas off to spend with their families, so The Halcyon is operating on a skeleton crew of the young and the single, her and Billy are unlucky enough to find themselves among them.

She weaves her way through the bar, abuzz with the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses. Every surface seems to glitter with decorations, amplified by the muted lighting of the lamps that adorn the centre of each table.

Nodding and smiling politely each time a guest relieves her of a saucer of champagne that rests on the heavy tray she carries around the room, she breathes a withering sigh once it’s finally empty. Her feet ache with how many passes she’s made around the crowded space, yet there’s no time to rest. She has to collect the empties and take them back to the kitchen to be washed, so that they can be refilled anew by the bar staff. It seems never ending.

Doing a quick scan of the bar, she can see that Kate and Feldman are circling the room with drinks and canapés, so she’ll be fine to leave for a little while to wash up some glasses. The food prep has already been done, so the kitchen is empty, save for the staff going in to refresh plates and glassware. 

The empties rattle precariously against each other on her tray as she walks carefully back to the kitchen, her burden suddenly seeming not quite so great as she spots Billy doing exactly the same thing. He’s clad in his usual bellboy uniform, though is without his cap, a means to help him blend in with the rest of the serving staff.

He pushes his tray onto the draining board next to the sink, and a glass wobbles, toppling off and shattering loudly against the hard linoleum of the kitchen floor.

“Ah– shit!” He grumbles, kneeling to pick up the pieces.

She quickly deposits her own tray onto the food prep table and kneels to help him.

“It’s okay, Billy, it’s just a glass,” she reassures him, picking up some of the larger shards and depositing them into the bin beneath the sink.

“I know, I know,” he replies with a sigh, “but I can’t seem to get anything right today.”

“How do you mean?” She asks, righting herself and brushing her hands on her skirt as he reaches for a dustpan and brush to sweep up the rest of the mess.

“Spilled champagne all down a lady’s frock just now, broke a glass,” his brow furrows as he brushes the broken pieces into the pan and empties it into the bin. “Brought the wrong luggage to the wrong room earlier too.”

She watches as he stands again, chucking the dustpan and brush to one side, and she offers him a sympathetic smile. “It’s our busiest time of year, everyone makes mistakes. I forgot to fold the toilet paper into a point in the Royal Suite earlier, and Mrs. Garland gave me a right earful.”

He tugs awkwardly at the bottom of his bellboy uniform, his mouth turned downwards, as is his gaze. “Yeah…but…I’m gonna be drafted next year. If I can’t get this job right, how am I gonna manage to defend our country? I’m useless.”

Her brows pinch together in concern, stepping forward to gently cup Billy’s cheek. It’s soft and warm against her palm, growing warmer still beneath her touch. “Oi, don’t talk like that. You’re doing a fine job. And you’re so brave, I know I’ll feel safer having you protecting us all.”

His blue eyes flit up to meet hers, wide and filled with uncertainty. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Billy, I think you’re wonderful.”

He huffs a soft chuckle, turning pink as he pulls away slightly, lips pressed into a tight smile. “I dunno about that…”

“Well, I do,” she reaches into her apron pocket, pulling out the mistletoe she’s kept stashed there since their first kiss. “See? I’ve been saving this in the hopes we’d use it again.”

Billy visibly softens, shoulders pulling away from his ears, and he steps towards her, hands gripping her waist as he presses his lips to hers. It’s a slow, soft, lingering kiss that they hold for a few moments, before he reluctantly breaks away. It sets her pulse racing and she wraps both her arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Anyone could walk in,” he whispers, his eyes searching her face uncertainly.

“They won’t though. They’re all busy.”

She kisses him again, and this time they are both more eager as he backs her up against the sink. She smiles into it, the mistletoe she’d been holding absentmindedly falling from her fingers and onto the floor behind them.

His excitement grows more apparent as he presses against her, and she drops an arm down between them to palm at him through his grey trousers.

He groans, pressing his forehead against hers. “We shouldn’t…”

“But you want to?”

“God…yes…yes!”

His voice is a strained whisper, causing excitement to flutter hotly in her lower belly. She uses both hands to unbuckle his belt, before unzipping his trousers and snaking her fingers into his underwear to wrap around his hardened length.

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. Though she’d felt it as he’d ground against her the first time they’d kissed, it’s another thing entirely to have her hand on it. Billy is impressively well endowed.

“So big,” she coos, her thumb swiping over the wetness that’s gathered at the tip.

His head falls against her shoulder with a gasp, and his grip on her waist tightens as she slowly strokes her hand up and down, dragging the foreskin along with it, feeling every ridge and vein.

“So good for me, Billy, you’re so good.”

She speeds up her movements and his head tilts back slightly, eyes screwed shut and lips parted, as he breathes raggedly. “Oh god…please…”

Smirking, she leans in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Have you ever been with a woman, Billy?”

“N–no,” he pants, hips canting to chase the movement of her hand.

“Do you think about it when you touch yourself?”

“Yeah…I…I think about you.”

She clenches around nothing at the confession, biting her lip, twisting her wrist slightly as she pumps at his cock.

“Is that what you want?”

He whines slightly, nodding and pulling her closer, a strand of his gelled hair falling forward against his forehead. “Mmmm…I want you.”

“Such a good boy,” she purrs. “Perhaps if you ask nicely then that’s what you’ll get for Christmas.”

She feels his stomach muscles tense, a grunt escaping him as he pulsates in her palm, coating her knuckles in hot, sticky spend.

Withdrawing her hand, she licks it from her fingers, the taste slightly salty, and hums in satisfaction.

He stares at her, chest heaving and eyes wide, transfixed by the sight.

“Are you real?” He asks breathlessly.

She giggles, brushing his stray strand of hair back into place. “If you do a good job for the rest of this evening, perhaps I’ll let you find out.”

[bookworm551]

Take the Edge Off | Part 2 | Focus

Things are tense between you and Miguel, and it all comes to a head when you try working a mission together.

A/N: this is technically a part 2, but it stands on its own pretty well. I might just keep going with these posts bc I can’t get him out of my head

Warnings: p in v, fingering, biting (ykwim), MINORS and my roommate DNI

Word count: 4.4k

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

With all the time you spent in Miguel's dimension, sometimes, you forgot that you had your own. You loved spending time amongst the Spider-Society, so many of different people who were like you in all the important ways. It was a nice environment, but it was also nice to be home every once in a while.

You'd been home for about 10 days now. You had never gone so long without being called in for a mission, and while it was nice to take a break from capturing anomalies, it also made you a little nervous. You came back the day after Miguel had visited you and left you a new gizmo...

...among other things.

Now, it had been nearly a week and a half, and there had been complete radio silence from Earth-928. You were starting to think that your little encounter with Miguel was to blame. Maybe he wanted you out now.

You had gone out to your favorite spot in the city to clear your mind. Just as you were preparing to swing back home, a beeping noise captured your attention from your wrist. Your heart leapt as you raised your arm in front of you, and Lyla's glowing, yellow form appeared from your watch. "Hey there," she greeted casually. "Boss wants you to run backup on an anomaly on Earth-287."

You smiled faintly as the code appeared on your device. "Sounds good," you replied, standing to your feet and walking onto the side of the building so that you were staring straight down at the street hundreds of feet below. "I'll be right there."

You activated the code, and a dimensional portal opened up in front of you further down the building. Taking a breath, you let go of your grip on the building and allowed gravity to pull you down into the portal. The shift in gravity was exhilarating as you emerged from the portal into Earth-287.

Emerging from the portal, everything was dull. The sun had set a while ago here, but even if it had been out, the colors would still be strangely muted. The building that you stood atop of overlooked a large city with strange gray, yellow, and green lights. This was a weird dimension.

Standing together, Pavitr and one of the many Peter Parkers was there. Upon seeing you emerge from the portal, Pav perked up. "You're here!" He said in an excited voice as you approached. You smiled under your mask and replied with the same energy, "I am!"

Glancing around, you noticed the lack of a certain presence you had expected to be there. "Is it just you guys here?" You asked casually. Before they could answer you, a cold voice behind you said, "What are you doing here?"

You whipped around and found Miguel's figure looming over you. Though his face was concealed behind his mask, you could tell by his rigid stature and unwelcoming tone that he was not very happy to see you. This was not really the greeting you'd hoped to receive from him.

"Lyla sent me," you told him defensively. "She said you wanted me to run backup with you." The eyes of his mask squinted down at you menacingly. "I didn't send for you," he said in an level tone. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and stared up at him stubbornly. "Then why am I here?" You demanded to know.

"Actually, you did mention calling for an extra member," Pav reminded him cheerfully. You looked back at Miguel with triumphant posture. "And here I am," you said. Miguel didn't seem amused, and he stared down at you for moment before sighing in resignation.

"Fine," he muttered reluctantly before turning away from you to look at his watch. "We have a Goblin anomaly somewhere in the vicinity. This is a routine bag and tag, but we need to cover our bases and sweep the area separately. Whoever finds him first needs to call it in for the rest of us. Am I understood?" His gaze seemed to be fixed on you, and you felt like his last question was directed at you.

You cocked your head a little at him before replying in a smooth voice, "Yes, sir." Miguel didn't reply nor did he give you any sort of reaction, but you could feel his eyes on you as you walked toward the edge of the building. "I call the north side," you stated before casually falling off the side and swinging away.

Leaving them behind, you were gliding between the buildings, looking for any signs of the anomaly or any traces of environmental glitching he may have left. You swung through the strangely-colored city until you landed on the top of a building to observe the cityscape below. You crouched low on the edge of the building, scanning carefully for any signs of the anomaly.

After a few minutes, you were about to get up and swing away before the sound of feet landing behind you stopped you. You whipped around and shot a web reactively. Miguel sidestepped your web, his head tilted in an unimpressed posture.

"I told you, I called north," you said with a huff of annoyance. "I have reason to believe the anomaly is somewhere in this direction," he told you vaguely. You put a hand on your hip. "Okay, well, this is my direction. I'll let you know if he shows up," you stated stubbornly.

"Hey, this is my mission," he argued. "I can go where I want." You rolled your eyes under your mask. "Whatever," you muttered. "Just don't get in my way."

He chose not to respond to your comment. An uncomfortable silence settled over you, and you didn't know whether to leave it or to try to alleviate it. Miguel made the choice for you. "Where have you been?" He asked finally. It was an attempt at a normal conversation, at relieving some of the tension that was wedged between the two of you.

You shrugged and replied nonchalantly, "Home. I figured you'd call if you needed me, and you did."

"Need is a strong word," he muttered. You scoffed softly. Miguel never wanted to seem like he relied on anyone. "Well, in that case, I can just go home. The newest episode of my favorite show comes out tonight." Despite his face being hidden behind his mask, you could tell that Miguel was unamused. "Let's just focus on finding this anomaly," he grumbled, turning his face away from you back to the streets below. 

"I'm focused," you told him casually. "Are you focused?" "I could probably focus if you could shut your mouth," he snapped. "Maybe I would if you asked nicely for once," you shot back, a smile pulling at your lips behind your mask. "Ever heard of saying please? Or maybe...por favor?"

His head turned slowly to look at you, and it was impossible for you to tell what he was thinking. "No?" You said. "Okay, then I'll do as I please."

He sighed in exasperation but didn't say anything. Just as the silence felt overbearing, a large crash captured your attention. "Sounds like our guy," you said before somersaulting over the edge of the building and swinging toward the sound. Miguel was right behind you as you both headed for the noise together.

There in the streets was your guy. Goblin was recognizable across any dimension, and this was no different, but looking at this short figure below, you almost wanted to laugh. He was thin, and his figure was stooped, and he didn't have a glider like you were used to seeing. This would be a cinch.

The anomaly spotted you before you could reach him, and he crouched with a sneer and called out, "Spider-Man!" Then, seeing your figure next to Miguel, he added, "...and company?"

"I'm Spider-Woman!" You clarified cheerfully as you shot your web at him. "Nice to meet you!" The little goblin rolled out of the way before your web was able to catch him.

"Where am I?" He demanded to know. Behind your mask, you rolled your eyes. "Always the same questions," you muttered. "'Where am I?' 'Who are you?' 'What is this place?' When are you guys gonna switch it up and ask how I'm doing?"

"Can you stop talking and focus?" Miguel snapped as he tried webbing the anomaly to no avail. You sighed. Banter was your thing. In fact, it was almost every Spider-Person's thing except for Miguel. It was definitely not his thing.

"You'll have to forgive my colleague here!" You called out to Goblin as you twisted in the air to avoid one of the bombs launched at you by him. "He's a little crankier than usual. I'm not sure why."

"You want to know why?" Miguel called out to you in irritation, webbing a bomb and throwing it back at the villain below. "It's because you're getting on my last nerve!" You sighed in exasperation. "I'm pretty sure you've only got one nerve, and someone's almost always on it," you grumbled.

You both managed to knock the anomaly into a dim warehouse. Together, you webbed his arms to the wall he was cornered into. He was looking around frantically for an escape. "Listen, bud, this isn't personal," you told him. "We just need to make sure you go home." You felt pretty confident about this whole mission, definitely one of the easy ones.

Goblin stopped struggling to free his hand and looked at you with a crazed smile, and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the sight. "Workplace relationships can be tricky," he stated. "I think you two should try resolving some of this tension."

Before you could reply, the anomaly kicked his leg, and a small, metallic sphere came rolling out of the sole of his boot. You barely had time to say "Uh oh," before the explosion knocked you and Miguel backwards. As you were recovering from the impact, the Goblin actually took flight, breaking free of the web bindings.

"What the hell?" You exclaimed. This Goblin didn't use a glider like you were used to, he had some weird type of rocket boots. He flew up and smashed his way out of the warehouse window and out to the sky with a loud cackle.

"He's getting away!" Miguel shouted as if you weren't already aware of the fact. You both slung yourselves up to the window and outside the building, but the Goblin was much faster than you both, and before you could catch up, he was out of sight.

Miguel punched the wall next to you and snarled in frustration. After taking a few breaths, he lowered his arm and stood completely still except for his deep, even breathing. His back was toward you, and you could tell that he was holding back a tidal wave of fury. Well, you might as well break the dam.

"You're awfully quiet," you stated reluctantly. "Anything you want to get off of your chest?"

Miguel whipped around and looked over you menacingly. "You let him get away!" He shouted at you.

"Me?!" You asked incredulously, ripping your mask off of your face. "How was that my fault?" His suit receded from his face as well, displaying his frustrated expression. "You were supposed to catch him! It's a very simple expectation," he told you angrily.

You scoffed. "Well, excuse me for not knowing this Goblin had flying boots instead of a glider," you said. "It's just as much your fault as it is mine."

Miguel wasn't happy with that statement. He took a step closer to you and crossed his arms over his chest. "It is your fault," Miguel snapped at you. "And now he's gone again." You stepped toward him defiantly and crossed your arms to mirror him. "Maybe if you weren't breathing down my neck, I could've gotten him," you retorted.

"That's your excuse?" He asked in an exasperated tone. "Yeah, it is," you replied sharply. "What's yours?"

"You're distracting me."

"I'm distracting you?"

"Yes."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," he said in a low voice as he took another step towards you so that his face was inches from your own, "you are distracting me. You never should have come on this mission." Your heartbeat sped up a little at how close he was now, and you couldn't help but look at his lips as he spoke.

"Well, too bad," you told him stubbornly. "I'm here, and you've got to deal with it. So, instead of fighting about it, why don't you get off my ass and help me catch this guy?"

"You don't get to tell me what to do," he argued. "I'll stay on your ass if I want to." You raised an eyebrow at his comment and had to suppress a snicker. Miguel realized as soon as the words left his mouth how they sounded, and he closed his eyes in a mix of exasperation and embarrassment. "Just focus on finding the Goblin anomaly," he grumbled.

"Oh, so you don't want to stay on my ass anymore?" You clarified with a smirk. He scowled down at you and snarled, "Do you ever just shut up?" You weren't deterred by his temper. Instead, you batted your eyelids up at him and gave him an overly-sweet smile. "Only if you ask nicely, remember?"

Miguel finally had enough of you. He shoved you back against the wall, making you gasp in surprise, and placed a hand on your throat. "I'm done being nice with you," he growled before crashing his lips down on yours with every ounce of his frustration.

You kissed him back with as much aggression, your tongues exploring each other's mouths impatiently. His hand slid down from your neck to grope your breasts over your suit. You sighed loudly as his hands roamed across your body, and when he pressed his knee between your legs, you couldn't stop the moan that emerged from your throat.

"What about the others?" You gasped. "What if they find us and—," Miguel cut you off with another open-mouthed kiss. "I don't give a fuck," he murmured against your lips. "They can watch for all I care."

You took a shuddering breath as he pulled at the neck of your suit. It had been designed for easy removal when you needed a quick change back in your world, but now, Miguel was using it to his advantage to pull it down over your shoulders. You didn't resist him disrobing you. You hadn't expected this at all, but with the frustration you both caused each other, you shouldn't have been so surprised.

You pulled your arms out of your suit as he peeled the fabric off of your torso. Miguel didn't have the patience left in him to properly undress you. Your suit was at your knees before he abandoned any further effort of taking it off. "Fucking full-body suits," he muttered in annoyance as he pressed heated kisses to your exposed neck.

You huffed an amused breath while you kicked off your boots and the remainder of your suit. His lips left a trail of sloppy kisses from your collarbone, up your neck, until they finally found your mouth. His tongue forced its way between your lips, and you couldn't help but moan at his overpowering touch. You barely even felt rough surface of the wall against your back as Miguel pushed his body against yours.

He was so tall that it seemed like his figure was devouring yours. To remedy the height different, Miguel's large hands hoisted you up by your thighs close to his own height and pushed you up against the wall roughly. You grunted at the force of his body shoving you against the brick, but you didn't care, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. You had both hands gripping his head, pulling his mouth to yours eagerly, tongues practically down each others throats.

Miguel's hands were gripping tightly at your thighs before he reached up and pulled down on your underwear. He wasn't holding you up anymore, relying instead on your ability to stick to the wall to keep you upright. Now that he didn't have to support you, his hands were free to do what he liked.

Your breathing quickened as his fingers teased the outside of your hot entrance. He traced over your clit, causing you to groan and throw your head back against the brick. "Is this what it takes to get you to shut up?" He growled in your ear. You wanted to say something snappy back to him, but right as you opened your mouth, he pushed two of his fingers into you, and you were unable to do anything but let out a gasping moan.

Your fingers ran through his hair, gripping it tightly as he continued pumping his fingers in and out of you. "Not such a smart ass now, huh?" He observed smugly. You wanted desperately to prove him wrong and shoot him a smart retort, but the pace he was setting with his fingers rendered you speechless.

You leaned your head against his as you took shaky breaths to regain some semblance of thought. "What h-happened to focus on the— on the mission?" You managed to ask through panting breaths. His fingers were curling inside you, making it difficult to speak properly.

"I told you," he whispered in a low voice, his lips tickling your ear. "You're distracting me. How am I supposed to focus when you're here with me?" He placed a wet kiss on your neck, and you sighed at the sensation.

"All I can think about is how good you feel around me," he murmured against your skin, "and all the pretty sounds you make." His fingers continued fucking you while his thumb started moving in circles around your clit, forcing a loud moan from your mouth.

"Even your scent," he continued. "I could smell you the minute you arrived. It's been driving me fucking crazy." Your legs were starting to shake as you felt yourself growing closer. Miguel could sense it too, no doubt, from your staggering gasps and the tightened grip you had on his hair.

"And now, you're letting me touch you like this in the middle of a mission," he said. "How do you expect me to focus on anything when you're here?" His voice sounded frustrated, angry almost, and that frustration was evident in the way his pace increased.

You were gasping his name over and over again, unable to say or do anything else. He was touching you in all the right places in all the right ways. The resentment you had felt for him before had completely transformed into lust, and as he continued moving his fingers in and out of you, you knew you weren't going to last much longer.

Miguel ran his tongue up the side of your neck before whispering into your ear, "Look at you. Are you gonna cum on my fingers while we're on a mission?"

As if to answer his question, your whole body began shaking, and you let out a trembling moan out as your orgasm overtook you. Something resembling a laugh came from Miguel's lips as he felt your body clenching around him, and he was pulled in closer by your gripping arms. Your breathing came in shallow gasps as your body trembled with his touch.

After a moment, his hand slowed down until he pulled out of you completely. Dazed, you blinked your eyes open to look at him. His eyes were red with lust, and he brought his hand up and sucked his soaking fingers without looking away from you. Your body was still twitching from your high, and the sight in front of you made you moan softly.

"I'm not done yet," he murmured as he gripped your jaw in his hand. You were still recovering from the intensity of your orgasm, and your head was limp in his hands. He noticed and moved your face back and forth to test your submission. "Dios mío, you're a mess," he noted with a smirk. "Are you gonna let me fuck you like this?"

Still trying to recover your breath, you were barely able to give him a faint nod of your head. "That's right," he said softly, placing another kiss on your neck, but you were barely registered it as you felt something hard at your soaking entrance. Miguel had retracted his suit just at his waist, and it seemed that this time, he hadn't even bothered with wearing anything underneath.

"Must be convenient having a nanotech suit," you commented under your breath. "It's not nanotech," he corrected. "It's much cooler than that." You rolled your eyes. Even during sex, he had to be right. "Whatever," you replied. "You don't have to nerd ou—"

You cut yourself off with a sharp gasp as Miguel pushed himself into you without warning. You tugged at his hair reactively as the stretch of your pussy made you whine. "Just shut the fuck up," he muttered into your ear.

He gave you a second to adjust before he started moving his hips against yours. You head fell back against the wall as he thrust in and out of you desperately. He had no regard for how the rough brick was scraping against your skin. He was now engaged entirely in his own pleasure, using you to channel all his frustration into satisfaction. You didn't mind one bit.

His pace was relentless. His head was pressed against your temple, and his panting breaths tickled your ear. You still had a tight grip on his hair as he fucked you mercilessly while your other hand held onto his shoulder in desperation.

Miguel's hands were digging into your thighs as soft grunts formed in his throat. "I've been craving you all week," he told you with a gruff voice, interrupting the repetitive sound of his hips slapping against your cunt. "The way you feel, how you take me so well, it's all I can think about."

You whimpered in his ear as he continued rolling his hips against yours at a savage pace. You were getting high off of his words, and all you could do to encourage him was moan. "I've been...thinking about you, too," you whispered to him, the overwhelming sensation of him railing into you causing you to pause every few words. "Late at night...when I'm all alone. I think about h-how good you feel...inside me. It makes me so hot."

Miguel growled in response, your words obviously having an effect over him. His lips met yours in a hungry kiss, and he actually let out a soft moan of his own. He let go of one of your legs to bring his hand up to the wall to support himself, and you heard the brick next to your head crack as his fingers clawed at the stone.

He pulled away from your lips and brought his mouth down to kiss your neck. His movements were growing more desperate and sloppy, and you knew he was getting closer to finishing. After a second, he raised his head up from your neck to rest against your own.

"Do you trust me?" He whispered in your ear.

What kind of a question was that? He had you pinned to the wall, fucking you mercilessly in another dimension in the middle of a mission. You certainly didn't not trust him.

Still, at his relentless pace, you found it difficult to speak properly, so you nodded your reply. "I want to hear you say it," he grunted. You were breathing hard as you tried formulating words. "I do," you gasped. "I-I do trust you."

That seemed to satisfy Miguel. His hips moved faster and harder into yours, and without further warning, he sank his teeth into the base of your neck. You cried out in alarm as you felt the tips of his fangs pierce your neck. You hadn't expected him to do that, but you couldn't deny that the pain made the pleasure even sweeter.

For Miguel, having his teeth in your skin made him go wild. It was like a primal reaction, and whatever self-control he'd had evaporated. He began pounding into you, using your neck almost like an anchor while he thrust into you over and over again.

Your eyes became unfocused as a knot formed in your stomach from the overwhelming sensation of Miguel's cock and teeth inside of you. "Don't stop," you begged with a gasp. "Don't stop, I'm gonna—"

You couldn't even finish your sentence before another powerful orgasm took over your body. A loud cry emerged from your throat as your thighs tightened around his waist, and your whole body began shaking. You gripped Miguel's back and hair desperately as his movements became erratic.

Just as it was becoming too much for you, Miguel's body tensed, and he let out a long, rare moan against your neck as his hips grew still and he came inside you. He took a couple seconds to recover his breath before he released the grip of his jaw on your neck. You let out a small whimper at the feeling of his teeth being removed from your skin. In response, Miguel ran his tongue over the two new sets of puncture marks you now had.

"Was that alright?" He asked with surprising softness, referring to his bite. You nodded honestly and replied, "I thought it would hurt more than that." He licked over it again as he pulled out of you, earning a quiet sigh from you. "Believe me, it could have," he said in a low voice.

You turned your head to look at him, meeting his eyes with your own, and you couldn't help the faint smile that pulled at your lips. You tilted your face up and kissed him. It wasn't the ravenous kisses from earlier, it was soft and slow, a token of appreciation.

"You're not allowed to come on missions with me anymore," Miguel mumbled against your lips. "Do you understand?"

You chuckled softly at his statement. Truthfully, you'd forgotten you were even on a mission. You opened your eyes to look at him before you whispered, "Yes, sir."

His jaw twitched, and he ran his thumb over your lips in admiration. "We need to get going," he told you after a pause. You looked up at him with a sly smile. "Think you can focus now?" You asked. His eyes flashed up from your lips to your eyes, and a faint trace of a smile formed at his mouth.

"I wouldn't count on it."

[thenotsofantasticlifestory]

AFAB!Reader x Eustass Kid

Word Count: 3.7K

A/N: Finally the smut part back from this post. Pegging Kid, fem!dom, sub!Kid, Overstimulation, Facesitting, if you peg Kid you automatically get a higher bounty than him lol

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was about four drinks in when Kid decided he’d had enough. 

Here he was, sitting amongst the crew in an after-battle party at some poor tavern they’d taken over for the night, and plenty were already deep into their cups. He was sitting next to Killer who was quick to notice Kid’s continuous staring in your direction, a faint blush on his cheeks as he downed another mug of ale. Kid wanted you. More explicitly he wanted you to fuck him the way you had a few nights ago tackling him into submission as he lost himself on your fake cock. Despite far too many people being around, Kid felt the need for it burning deep in his gut. The sound of a mug slamming onto the table caught his attention as he turned to Killer.

“Your staring is getting a bit creepy Kid,” he said. 

Kid scowled, tearing his eyes off you and refilling his mug, “None of your business…”

Killer’s eyes went from you, drinking merrily with another few of the crew members, to Kid, looking like a blushing wet sop of a man and Killer had to know what could’ve brought his captain to this level. 

“What exactly did they do to make you so whipped all of the sudden?”

Kid took another drink, his eyes surveyed around him to make sure he and his friend wouldn’t be overheard as the alcohol was making him honest. Once satisfied no one could eavesdrop he mumbled something out to Killer.

“What?” Killer replied.

“I said-” Kid’s hand ran through his hair, fighting to cover the red that flushed to the tips of his ears, “I let Y/N peg me…”

Killer merely sat back with a sigh, “Oh, is that it?”

Kid snapped up, staring incredulously at his friend trying to decipher the expression behind his mask.

“What do you mean ‘is that it?’” 

Killer shrugged, “Honestly, I’m surprised it took you this long to try it,” he took a sip through his straw facing Kid, “It’s great huh?”

Kid gaped for a moment before he found his voice, “...You mean you-?”

Even through the mask Kid could see the look his friend was giving him, he knew him too well.

“Of course, I mean why not, plus it feels amazing,” he said. 

Kid eyed him as he continued to drink through the straw before Kid took his own drink to his lips, draining the mug and setting it resolutely on the table. He rose and made his way over to you. It didn’t matter that you were mid conversation, once Kid plucked you from where you were sitting and threw you over his shoulder, the others knew better than to interfere.  He stayed mute to your protestations as he carried you outside the bar, setting you back on the ground before him, hands on your shoulders.

“Do you have your stuff?” he asked.

“What? What stuff?”

Kid ran a hand through his hair, “You know…the stuff that you used on me a few nights ago…?” Kid hoped he could make his point without explicitly saying it. He was still too worried about some drunk crew member listening in. Fortunately, you caught on quickly.

“Oh, that stuff,” the grin that stretched your lips already was sending a flush down his neck, “It’s in my room on the ship…why?” you added coyly.

Kid huffed, “Don’t make me say it…”

You leaned into him now, pressing lightly into his chest as a finger trailed down the solid mass of muscle, “Use your words Kid, you have to tell me what you want.”

Kid bit back the whimper that threatened to spill out, biting at his lip, eyes darting for any unknowing listeners.

“I want…you to fuck me…”

“Fuck you where Kid?”

His eyes closed, fighting the words but knowing exactly what you wanted to hear and that you wouldn’t cave until he said it.

“Fuck me…in my ass…”

He knew he had done good when he was rewarded with your lips pressing against his, a hand curled into his red locks as he moved against our mouth for a while, soft smacking sounds outside the rambunctious bar. When you broke apart Kid could already feel himself starting to harden. Your eyes caught an inn across the way and you motioned toward it.

“Go get us a room, I’ll get what we need and meet you there,” you gave him a brief peck before running back toward the ship. 

++++++++++++++

“Fuck are you going to fuck me or what?” 

Kid lay on the bed, completely nude, mechanical arm slouched off to the side while you gave loving attention to his cock, taking your time licking and sucking as your fingers danced along his hard length. 

“Patience Kid,” you nipped delicately at his shaft resulting in a hissed curse, “let me enjoy myself for a bit here.”

Kid’s head fell back onto the mattress with a huff, “You’re being a tease…”

You laughed, sending a long slow lick to the vein on the underside of his shaft, enjoying the way he twitched under the ministration, “so you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

This clearly struck a nerve as Kid shot you a look, “I can take it just fine! Problem is that you’re not giving it yet!”

You pulled back up to a seated position and Kid’s eyes darted down to the thick cock strapped to your body. It wasn’t even fair to look this hot with a fake cock standing from you and Kid felt himself lick his lips. Something hit him on the chest and he looked down to see the small bottle of lube you’d tossed to him. 

“Alright Kid, you want it so bad you’ll have to show me.”

Kid paused, “What?”

You settled yourself comfortably, a loose hand fisting the silicon cock in a tempting manner, “Prep yourself, your fingers are bigger than mine anyway,” a smile tugged at your lips.

Kid had the decency to blush, fumbling for something to say before you leaned forward, taking the bottle and emptying some of the contents onto his fingers, spreading the slick around the thick digits. 

“You’ve fingered me plenty of times, you’ll figure it out,” even as you started to guide his hand between his own legs, Kid felt any resistance draining away despite the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. Damn you, who knew you were so sneaky? Working him up just enough to the point of no return where you knew he couldn’t say no even if he tried. You pushed one of his fingers against his entrance and Kid inhaled sharply, feeling your hand leave his as you sat back, a dark smile on your face.

“Give me a good show, Eustass.”

Kid huffed, shooting daggers at you with his glare before falling back onto the bed. Fine, you wanted a show? He could play along, just as long as he got what he was so desperately craving in the end. 

The pad of his finger traced his entrance, spreading the slick there as Kid contemplated the feeling. He’d never done this to himself before and using his own fingers had him a bit more hesitant, they were bigger after all. 

“Well?” you prompted.

Kid slipped a finger inside, biting back the little gasp that wanted to leave his lips, he didn’t want you to have the satisfaction just yet if he could help it. The first thing he noticed was how hot and tight he felt on the inside and a shudder ran through him, before pumping the finger experimentally. From this angle he knew if he wanted to get a better feel he’d have to spread his legs wider but feeling your eyes watching his every move had him feeling stubborn and frankly a little bratty. He continued to pump inside himself, the unfamiliar feeling slowly melting into pleasure as he felt his body betray him, legs widening of their own accord and he didn’t miss the hum of approval you gave in response. 

“Add another finger Kid, you’ll need it,” you said.

A breathy curse did escape this time, imagining the lengthy girth that was waiting to stretch him out and he slipped another finger in, wincing just for a moment before resuming that steady pumping. He gave an experimental scissor of his fingers and bit his lip, still not wanting to show you how turned on he was already, but the breath was coming in harder through his nostrils. He pumped in deep, relishing the tight feeling of flesh around his fingers and realized he needed more lube. 

You seemed to anticipate this, taking the bottle from the side and settling between Kid’s legs.

“Let me.”

You squeezed a generous amount onto him and Kid could feel the coolness hit his entrance still stretched around his fingers and shivered. He gave a few more thrusts, collecting the slick and using it to aid in slipping a third finger in he hoped you hadn’t noticed but the grin on your face quickly told him you had and he flushed at his own eagerness. 

“Doing such a good job Kid,” the slick squelching sound of his own fingers was loud to his ears as you drank in the sight, “how does it feel?”

Kid took a shaky inhale, working to keep his voice steady, “Feels good…”

He felt your fingers slowly stroking his hard cock and a moan bubbled out of his throat at the stimulation. 

“But you want more don’t you?” 

Kid wanted so badly to whine but he nodded his head instead, hoping that would be enough to appease you. He didn’t know how much more teasing he could handle and he felt as you removed his hand from inside him, your own fingers tracing along his sensitive inner thighs and he felt goosebumps erupt over his skin.

“What do you want Kid?”

He groaned, “You…”

“Kid,” your voice took a slight edge, pushing him to explain further and Kid felt the heat that rushed his face before he finally choked out.

“I want your cock…”

He heard the slick spread of lube across the phallus and shivered.

“Good boy,” you said, finally lining up with his entrance.

The first push in had him gasping, the fat head of the cock slipping easily inside as he felt that burning stretch that spread heat from the base of his spine. His still slick hand tangled into the sheets as he felt you work your way inside him, every gentle thrust deeper in sent fire through his body. He felt when you bottomed out, hips flush against his as you spread his legs wider to better nudge yourself inside him. This was what he had been missing, this feeling of being so stretched and filled and he swore he could feel the cock all the way up to his throat with how deep you were seated into him.

“Fuck you take it so well Kid,” you breathed out.

Kid gave a hard exhale, hips nudging against your encouraging you to move already and he bit his lip as he felt you pull nearly all the way out. Once you snapped your hips back into his, a groan ripped from his throat. You pulled out again, almost lazily before thrusting back in hard and kept a slow hard pace of fucking into him. Kid could feel the moans that spilled out of his throat with each thrust, eyes closing to lose himself in the pleasure of it. You leaned forward and he felt you take his chin in your hand.

“Eyes on me, Kid,” punctuating this with a hard thrust inside him.

Kid felt himself flush but obeyed, keeping his eyes locked to yours and when the next moan came spilling from his lips he was suddenly all too aware of your intense gaze on him.

“Fuck, harder,” he breathed, trying to turn his head away, the eye contact too much in his vulnerable state but you gripped his jaw hard, forcing him back and Kid felt his eyes crack open of their own accord.

“Good boy,” you said.

You sped up the pace, fucking into him earnestly now and Kid was breathing hard, head falling back and you let him stare up into the ceiling as you gained better purchase to push his legs farther back. He felt his hips strain against the angle but the way the cock was tightly hugged inside him had tears pricking his eyes. You hit just the right angle and Kid’s hand slapped at the sheet.

“Fuck! Right there!” he gasped.

You gave a low breathy chuckle, adjusting your hips before driving forward again and sending stars into Kid’s vision, relishing in the strangled moan he gave.

“Hold your leg back for me Kid.”

With just one arm, he managed to wrap it around his thigh, keeping a leg back, but it was enough you could hold his other leg while still draping yourself forward onto him with your free arm. Kid felt his hips be pushed further back, the cock grinding and pressing against that sweet spot deep inside him while you adjusted yourself. You saw the way he was squirming, hips lightly jutting to press back against you, to pull you in even deeper while you were already flush against him.

“So eager Kid,” you cooed.

He tried to growl but only a breathy whine escapes him, surprised when your free hand suddenly found purchase in his red locks and pulled hard. With his head pulled back, you left harsh little nips against the thick column of his throat, feeling his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. Your lips found his and he responds eagerly, mouth open and wanting between the heated pants that puff from him.

“Such a good boy,” you pulled back to let him breathe, seeing the way his lipstick was already smearing, “you like being filled and fucked like this?”

Another shot to his prostrate rips a filthy moan from Kid as he manages to breathe out a weak but emphatic, “Yes.”

Kid was blind to the smirk that painted your own lips, too lost in the haze of his own pleasure as your hips pounded into him, relentlessly torturing that bundle of nerves deep inside him and soon enough he could feel the hot coil in the pit of his stomach building quick. He opened his mouth to give some kind of warning but found your tongue tangling with his as you devoured the words. Another hard thrust inside him and the coil snapped, a series of breathy moans bubbling against your lips as he felt himself cum. You paused only for a second, Kid’s sudden release without his cock having even been touched caught you off guard, but you soon snapped back into action, burying your cock deep inside him and letting him ride out the orgasm. Once he collapsed bonelessly into the mattress you stilled inside him, allowing him to briefly catch his breath as you gave a peck to his cheek.

“Holy fuck…” is all Kid can manage out.

Still reeling from the effects of his orgasm, Kid doesn’t notice you settling back, keeping an iron grip on his thighs until you thrust harshly into him again. His head snapped back in a silent gasp, body still oversensitive and before he can think of what to say, you’re fucking into him at a relentless pace.

Moans and sobs spilled freely from him as you pressed him harder into the mattress, hips snapping into his already abused hole. His free hand grips the sheets before quickly moving to clutch at his face, eyes snapping shut as tears prick at the corners.

“Fuck-fuck! W-wait it’s too much…!” he felt his voice crack on the last word, before dissolving back into unintelligible whimpers as you pummel into his prostate. His body felt like it was burning, every nerve was still singed from his last orgasm and the pleasure is nearly to the point of pain from his overloaded senses. Still, he doesn’t want you to stop.

“Come on Kid,” you huffed from the exertion but not once slowing down, a bead of sweat trickling from your brow, “I know you’ve got one more for me.”

Kid managed to pry his fingers away from his eyes, feeling the intense heat on his face and saw his cock was already hard again, slapping against his stomach from the force of each thrust, smearing the mess of cum still on his abs. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take as he feels the beginning coil in the pit of his stomach start to tighten again. Then you wrapped your hand around his cock and started pumping in harsh jerks.

Kid wasn’t sure if he screamed but he can feel his vocal cords fray as sounds spill forth against the onslaught of pleasure. Finally feeling the delicious squeeze as you fist his cock in time with every powerful thrust has him spiraling quicker than he would have imagined. You saw the way his body began to tighten, focusing on the sensitive head of his cock with tight, hard strokes.

“That’s it Kid, now cum for me.”

The sultry pitch of your commanding voice, combined with the harsh treatment of his prostate and cock has him cumming even harder the second time. Thick ropey spurts of semen shot forward, further painting his stomach and chest as Kid gives a strangled sob, hand clutching at his face as he feels his head swim in a delirious lightness. You milked him roughly, teasing wave after wave of spend dribbling down your hand and covering his stomach. Kid was wheezing, taking air in big gulps as you finally feel him soften and release him. You worked the thick phallus gently out of Kid, who keens at the loss, before discarding it off to the side. Kid may have been spent but you weren’t letting him off the hook until you came at least once.

You crawled over his body before virtually sitting on his face.

“You know what to do.”

Kid was still dazed, his eyes hazy, but he complied obediently, hand coming forward to steady your waist as he brought his large tongue forward to delve into your wet folds. Groaning at the excess of slick, Kid doesn’t waste time burying his face into your cunt. Your hand gripped his hair, motioning him deeper into you as you rocked your hips against his face, Kid moaning at the action. The room was loud with lewd squelching sounds as Kid buried his tongue into you, grinding against your pelvis, the bridge of his crooked nose rubbing against your clit. He ate you out like a man starved, hand gripping at your waist with what little energy he has left. You could hear the muffled little moans of pleasure from beneath you as you allow your head to tilt back in bliss.

“Doing so good Kid, just a little more,” you rocked against him, nearly suffocating him but he’s undeterred, pulling your further down on top of him just to taste more of you. You’ve never seen him so ravenous, and as he works his ample tongue inside you, you can feel your orgasm coming up fast.

You cursed, feeling your body tighten as you hit your high, thrusting Kid’s face deeper into your cunt, but he takes it in stride, feeling you clench and drip around him as he works you through your orgasm. Once you rode it out, the tingling in your body starting to fade, you pulled off of Kid with a wet sound before flopping onto the side to take him in.

He looked positively ruined, chest still heaving and covered with his spend while his lipstick was smeared with your own slick that dribbled down his chin. You smiled down at him, Kid’s eyes, still hazy but starting to regain some semblance of focus, found yours and a grin pulled at his lips. You gave a kiss to his sweaty forehead before rising to find a towel to clean him off with.

+++++++++++++++++++++

The next morning, as they checked out Kid couldn’t help but notice the way the frenzied innkeeper kept darting glances at him, eyes wide. Maybe she recognized him from the wanted posters? The thought of it made him smirk with pride.

“Was everything- uhm- satisfactory?” The innkeeper asked. 

“Yes, very much so,” you replied, unphased by the curious glances the woman kept shooting towards Kid. 

The woman chewed her lip before speaking again, “I-I only ask because…well…some of the staff were worried something might have happened…”

That caught both of your attentions as the two of you fix her with a questioning look.

“Well, your- um…” she motioned a hand toward Kid indicating him, “he was, well, quite loud…the groaning and screams, we were just worried maybe he was hurt or worse…”

Your eyes widened and it took everything you had to bite back the smirk that wanted to split your face, especially on seeing the way Kid flushed down to his neck in a horrified stupor. Before you could respond, Kid slapped some money, more than enough to cover the cost of the night but he doesn’t seem to notice, quickly on the table before grasping you by the shoulders and hurrying you both out the door. Once in the street, Kid takes a steadying breath before he turned toward the docks.

“Let’s get back to the ship,” he started marching off but even from behind you can see his ears burning. You caught up quickly to him, a shit eating grin on your face as you stared expectantly into his flushed face. Kid refused to meet your eyes, lips pouting as he keeps his gaze forward but he can feel the satisfaction coming off you in waves.

“Next time I’ll just have to gag you, won’t I?” you said.

Kid nearly tripped over, shooting a scowl as you laugh at him good naturedly, but he has to admit, the idea of it appeals to him.

[golden-afternoon]

Okay. This one isn't even smut but somehow I'm more nervous to post this than the other ones I have. This is a surprise gift for someone hehe, they'll know it's for them when they see it. (p.s. I'm so sorry Diluc lovers, I am not confident in writing him. Hope it's decent ish skdjdksjd)

Warnings - gn!reader, no editing just straight to paper but no real warnings here! It's nothing but fluffy stuff!

How long had it been since he had woken to the sound of birdsong instead of laying his head down to rest to it?

Opening his eyes slowly, he almost immediately had to close them again to brace against the soft morning light streaming through the open curtains of his window. He raised his arm on instinct, pressing his forearm against his eyes to shield him from the brightness with a quiet sigh. Though, his muscles tensed almost immediately as a noise came from beside him, nearly echoing the noise he had just made.

He whipped his head to his left, his eyes suddenly wide and alert as the adrenaline served to wake him faster than any cup of coffee could ever dream to. But the moment his eyes settled on your sleeping form beside him, he could feel every ounce of tension in him leave as quickly as it came.

Diluc remained still, watching as you took every breath. In. Out. In. Out. Like the tides the draw in and recede from the shore. It was a calming sight, a reassuring one. The dawn’s warm light had reached your face, drawing muted shapes in the shadows of your features, highlighting your natural softness in a way he can’t say he’s certain he’s seen before. With slow, careful movements, he shifted to lie on his side, his hand now free to reach out to you. Gently, he brushed his calloused fingers across your forehead to push the loose bits of hair there from your face, allowing him a better look at your sleeping visage. An unnamed ache stirred deep in his chest as he found the words to describe what you looked like in that moment— at peace.

He wasn’t used to this yet. Having you so close, coming to know the appeal of a slow morning… It was all still new. He wasn’t sure if he ever would get used to it; part of him wasn’t sure if he should get used to it. After all, there was so much darkness still in this world, so many other things he needed to be on top of and worry over. And yet… Here in his bed that he has now come to share with you, he can’t help but want to be a little selfish.

Moving closer, he wrapped his arm around you, gently shifting your head so your cheek was resting on his other arm, curled close to his chest. He paused as you stirred, but was pleased to see that you seemed a bit too drowsy to mind. Without a word, he pressed a small kiss to the top of your head, letting his fingers idly brush through your hair. He supposed it would be alright to indulge himself, just this once.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

I might be wrong, but it's implied that dragons are an extinct species in the SDV universe. So like, what if the Farmer found a petrified dragon egg, or even a whole clutch, and somehow managed to hatch it/them Game of Thrones style? They've done some insane stuff both in canon, and in SVE and RSV so it's not hard to imagine they'd do the truly impossible like reviving not only an extinct species, but a magic species at that. Rambling aside, onto the question: how would the SVE mages (including Morgan) and adventurer's, and Mr. Aguar from RSV react to the farmer's feat of bringing dragons back to life?

(P.s, maybe add Mr. Qi as well bc I imagine he'd be VERY interested in this event)

You're 100% right

And it's interesting: I've long wondered why there was no mention of dragons anywhere in the notes or in the library, when there are skeletons and teeth of these very same dragons lying around in the Calico Desert and Ginger Island? And can serpents be considered descendants of these dragons?

Lance's mention of his teacher with the title "Dragon Master" also gives us the right to believe for the existence of dragons in the SDV world (although I used to think it was just such a cool title for his teacher. Or a reference to Lance's Pokémon trainer in general).

But enough rambling! Thanks for your ask and enjoy some short stories ☺️🫰

Warning: this post is long...

_________________________________________

Marlon & Gil:

Marlon sipped his tea quietly in his Guildhall on a cold winter morning, to the crackle of a blazing fireplace and the soft snores of his friend, Gil. The one-eyed adventurer was enjoying a rare moment in his life - a quiet morning, with no worries about stocking up on provisions and elixirs, no worry about monsters...

But apparently the Yoba itself decided that Marlon had had enough of the peaceful time and presented him with a Farmer riding a dragon. The flying reptile with purple scales, beautiful as amethysts, along with its rider managed to smash through the old Adventurer's Guild roof, but thankfully no one was hurt.

If Marlon had only known Farmer for a few months, he would have been in mute shock at what he had seen. Now that the youth was a full member of the Guild for the second year, Marlon only sighed tiredly and went to the undestroyed room to get his tools. Dragons? Yes, he was interested in that. But questions later, first they need to fix the hole in the roof because it's cold winter outside, you know.

The Farmer will help, of course, as they are the direct cause of the collapsed ceiling. And the Gil will join in when he stops hiding his chuckle behind his snoring. He's been awake for a while now, and he can hardly contain his laughter (and his pride in Farmer) while pretending to be asleep.

_________________________________________

Isaac:

If the quote "I don't get paid enough for this shit" were a person, Isaac would be the complete personification of that phrase.

Anyone would be shocked, amazed and delighted by the most beautiful and noble creatures that had extinct so long ago that many people no longer believed they existed and had come to regard them as a fairy tale and a legend. Anyone, but not Isaac. Because the moment the master of the dangerous reptiles appeared before Isaac's eyes - he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

Let no one dare tell him that 'Farmer is special' or 'Farmer knows what to do'. No, they don't know what they're doing! A bloody immature upstart who coddles a dangerous dragons like a puppies! That even now the curious reptiles are slowly moving towards Isaac to sniff and study him, a man they don't know. And how does HE know what the hell is going on in their heads?! Maybe they see him as just another snack, for Yoba's sake!

He won't be tempted to trade his own safety and the safety of other people for prickly curiosity. He will not, like the others, reach for the huge toothy maw, nor is he going to scratch the head of the purring (dragons can purr?) creature. Isaac goes to report the Farmer and the dragons to the Order of Pythagoras, and he doesn't care that he'll be disliked by many for such an act. It will take a long time before Isaac finally trusts the Farmer and their pets, but that will be a while yet. For now, the scarred adventurer will do what he thinks is right.

_________________________________________

Lance:

After a long training in swordsmanship and magic spells, young Lance always waited with joy for his teacher to call him for a short break. After all, it was during the break that they would both go to the tavern, eating dinner, where his teacher would praise him for his success in the last training session, and most importantly, tell him another fascinating legend about monsters and creature. Even though his mentor was a "Dragon Master", they haven't met any dragons themself. Their great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, however, had seen the beautiful flying reptile once with his own eyes.

Oh, how Lance wanted to be the man who would see a dragon, how he wanted to believe they still existed!

It was just a childhood dream that Lance had long since grown out of. But life had given him an unexpected surprise.....

He slowly touched the dragon's snout, gently running his fingers over the warm scarlet scales. Taking his time, careful not to bring his fingers too close to the razor-sharp fangs. Lance almost couldn't tear his gaze away from the big amber eyes that watched him intently. Slowly turning his head towards the Farmer, the pink-haired adventurer saw a sign of approval that he could continue. Giving his friend a grateful nod, Lance turned his gaze back to the dragon. Who would have thought that gallant adventurer would have the opportunity not only to see this marvellous creature, but also to learn from Farmer how miraculously they were able to do the impossible.

It'll go down in Lance's memoirs for sure.

_________________________________________

Jadu:

Due to insomnia, hard work with manuscripts and scrolls, and an unhealthy obsession with coffee, Jadu looked like the walking dead these days. Add to that the fact that the young wizard was as stubborn as an ass: no matter how much Lance tried to gently help his friend, no matter how much Isaac tried to force him into bed, and no matter how hard the others tried - to no avail. Jadu's goal was to finish the job - and he'd done it, and sleep was of secondary importance to him.

Naturally, this disregard for his sleep regime was not without consequences, and so Jadu, about to teleport back from the Stardew Valley to the Castle Village, didn't even realise how the world swam before his eyes and his body went limp. But before poor wizard lost consciousness, he felt that someone had grabbed him and would not let him fall. Half an hour later, Jadu realised that he was not lying on the cold ground, but in the warm embrace of someone... with scales? And wings? And claws on its paws?

Is he still asleep?

But as it turned out, he emerged from the realm of reverie and listened half-asleep to Farmer's restless speech. The sensation of inhuman skin and the word "dragon" made Jadu jump up as if scalded by boiling water and quickly get to his feet.

A dragon?! A real one?! Where from and how? Farmer, please explain! You raised it? Where? And what kind of dragon?! He'd studied the legends, but he'd never thought he'd meet a large reptile himself. And what do they eat, and how do they conjure? He need to know? Sleep? What sleep, he doesn't need that right now!

It took a lot of effort for the farmer to at least get Jadu back to a sitting position. It is not clear whether the noble reptile understood their words, but the creature's gaze was shrewd and full of wisdom. And amusement from this funny scene.

_________________________________________

Morgan:

Morgan follows the familiar hidden path again, behind a flowering tree with a swing, where there is a hole in the farm's fence. Trying not to make any loud noise, Magnus' young apprentice walks through the tall grass, holding back a playful chuckle.

Even though the Farmer had long ago told them that they would always be welcome at the farm and would be treated to ripe fruit from the greenhouse, Morgan still chose to visit in this way, adding intrigue and fun to their dull routine of studying the history of the Republic and the bestiary.

The young talent once again wanted to go into the chicken coop, where there was a void chicken that the Farmer had allowed them to feed and even give her name (Morgan had named her Coal). But when Morgan looked into the coop, instead of the usual joyful clucking, they felt a smoky breath coming from a toothy mouth that definitely did not belong to a hen. In the dark wooden room, Morgan couldn't see who it was, so all they could do was run out of the coop screaming in terror and crying.

Luckily, the Farmer, who had arrived quickly, had time to calm the child and explain that a dragon lived here for the time being.

Morgan at the mention of the mythical creature completely forgot about everything in the world. A moment later, the Farmer was bombarded with questions and requests to see dragon again. The farmer allowed (taking Morgan's word that they would keep it a secret). Wow, dragons are even cooler that void chicken! Sorry, Coal...

_________________________________________

Alesia:

Crazy... This was just a crazy idea. Maybe Alesia still had the option to refuse and get off the green dragon's back? Before she could say anything, however, Farmer gave the takeoff command to his winged friend, and they and Alesia, riding the dragon, began to separate from the ground higher and higher. The sniper was out of breath, and her mind was unable to comprehend what was happening. A farmer, a dragon - a living dragon! - and flying on top of a large reptile. How had all this happened for literally half an hour?

Alesia never thought she would agree to ride a dragon without a second thought. She felt a little ashamed, for she had been so quick to give in to temptation and curiosity, forgetting all about safety. But that view... Definitely worth it.

Finally when they landed and Alesia felt the solid ground beneath her feet, she had to temper her excitement and have a serious talk with Farmer. About the dragon, mages and adventurers should know. No, no arguments. It is better to let the senior adventures be warned, for it could happen that seeing Farmer on a dragon could mistake them for an enemy or potential threat. This is for the safety of both the humans and the Farmer with the reptile. The girl sees that this beautiful creature is significantly intelligent and wishes no harm to anyone. Therefore, she will feel safer if Farmer, as a responsible adult, makes the right decision.

But until they notified the Order and the others, Alesia would be interested to hear how the Farmer was able to not only raise the dragon themself, but also hide their existence from the others for so long. And, if the Farmer and the dragon itself are okay with it, to repeat another flight. Because that's was fun.

_________________________________________

Magnus Rasmodius:

The Farmer couldn't have been happier when, after months of caring for the dragon eggs, they saw the first crack of the shell and a cute little scaly face emerge. One little flying lizard was followed by two more, and now the trio are chirping and flying merrily around their parent, already begging for attention and food.

What Farmer didn't know was that as the dragonlings hatched, a strong magical flow would come out of the eggs, which Magnus Rasmodius definitely felt.

Shocked at the unknown strong source of magic, the purple-haired wizard dropped everything he was doing and teleported to the Farmer's house. The magic that had broken through his barrier? But the barrier was still intact! Then what? An anomaly? A strong corrupting spirit? Ancient magic? And his apprentice is right at the epicentre! But while Magnus was filling his head with horrific scenes and preparing to recite the spell, teleporting straight into the living room of the Farmer's house, all his battle fervour deflated. And before Magnus's gaze was an unharmed Farmer, with three little dragons sitting on top of them, eating peach slices with gusto.

On the one hand, Magnus has an irresistible urge to smack himself on the forehead for having conjured up such scary scenes, when as an experienced magician he should always keep his composure. On the other hand, he really wants to scold the Farmer for another wild thing. His gut tells him that he has a very long report to write to the Ministry of Magic. He also needs a bottle of strong wine to get drunk and pass out after all this madness. Poor wizard is too tired to marvel at the very fact that dragons have been reborn. Maybe later...

_________________________________________

Camilla:

My oh my... And how come the Farmer didn't tell her, Camilla, about this wonderful pet that breathes fire and can fly in the sky? She's their best friend, isn't she? And friends always share secrets with each other.... How did the Farmer manage to raise such a marvellous beauty? Really? Hmm, interesting.

Some might rightly resent that the head witch of Castle Village treats a dangerous mythical creature like a cute poodle. Even the dragon owner themself might be surprised that she doesn't show the reaction that people usually have at the sight of a big and scary dragon.

But even it look like Camilla in her favourite way is not serious about everything, it is not true at all. Quite the opposite, she will always put her duty to protect the people of the Village above all else. But she is confident in her abilities, so just in case the Farmer's scaly friend wants to make a little mischief in her domain, she will make sure that the creature never wants to appear on the Continent of Galdora ever again. But enough of that!

Camilla will become a more frequent visitor to the Stardew Valley, because the witch certainly won't miss the opportunity to study such an interesting specimen. Camilla also has some of the rarest pets, and the witch would like to get a dragon as well. Ah, what a cutie!

_________________________________________

Dr. Aguar:

For a fortnight now, Aguar couldn't figure out why his body was tingling with magic like an annoying itch. For a fortnight he had been walking around irritated, unable to understand the source of this itch that was driving him crazy and preventing him from working in peace. It was only at the bus stop that Aguar realised that the closer he got to the farm, the stronger the tingling became. There's clearly something the strange Farmer is doing here.... Magnus had already mentioned that the youth had a magical gift, just like Aguar himself. But the former mage knows nothing much about the Farmer: not their motives, nothing. So Aguar wanted to find out what the Farmer does, and whether it has anything to do with this unbearable itch.

Before Dr. Aguar could even reach the porch of the Farmer's house, something blue flew out of the door at full speed, but he couldn't see it because of its speed. The Farmer ran out after it, calling to someone and waving their arms.

The thing stopped abruptly in mid-air and returned to the Farmer, wrapping their body around Farmer's right hand and growling merrily. The Farmer, barely out of breath, held their breath as they realised they had guests and that they could see the dragon. Aguar, on the other hand, crossed his arms and waited patiently for the Farmer to start the conversation themself.

So that's what it was...

A dragon, yes? And a dragon of the water element, Aguar's own element. Indeed, this little reptile was too young to control magic on its own. And the incessant flow of the same element's magic influenced the flow of the scientist's magic. Very interesting. That's what really caught Aguar's attention. He's really going to want to study the dragon. Oh, spirits, Farmer, there's no need to look at him as a bloodthirsty monster! He won't harm this little one.

_________________________________________

Mr. Qi:

"Congratulations to you, Farmer. Once again you managed to exceed my expectations when your tending to the eggs I left behind succeeded. I didn't doubt the success one bit, of course not. I hope you enjoy your new pets, they are truly wonderful. Also, I'll put it on a note, they are fruit-eaters, so treat your dragons to fresh fruit often. Especially melon, these dragons love it. I already know that, hehe. Good luck to you, child. I'll keep watching your progress. And always remember, the key to success is within you."

The Farmer would probably have been surprised by a letter from Mr. Qi..... But alas, the little flying reptiles accidentally burned the paper before the Farmer could open anything.

[hanibalistic]

WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 12.0k+

warning | car crash / not edited since the first time i posted this story

note | bye-bye baby, i love you baby. more than that body pillow drabble at least.​

parts | one, two, three

After the doctor bandaged your hands and did some checkup on you to make sure you had sustained no more damage from the fall, you were glad to hear that they would take up the responsibility to call Minho’s parents instead.

You could not find the energy to talk to anyone about anything—perhaps you would give Yuna an earful about what happened, but she was gone by the time you got picked up by others around the scene. Tears kept falling down your face when you were getting treated, and the doctor in charge stopped asking you if she was hurting you anymore. It was obvious that your concern lay on someone else.

How did this happen? You always thought you would be so agile and smart during emergencies. The cold water of truth once again splashed down on you, reminding you that just because you think you’d be cool doesn’t mean you would be when your thoughts turn into reality. This isn’t the law of attraction, you can’t manifest the car away and you sure as well can’t manifest peace.

You sighed, your lashes wet and your under-eye pained from all the rubbing. It had to happen this way, didn’t it? The car crash was, unfortunately, essential in your drama. If it wasn’t the kidnapping, it if wasn’t the psychotic mother, if it wasn’t even the love triangle, then it would be the goddamn car crash. And as usual, it was infuriating and you wished it hadn’t happened.

It wasn’t that you minded the car crash (you would like to not see it as a plot device so often, though). You just hoped it hadn’t been Minho who got hit because he cared enough to save you from it. And now you were left here, sitting in the hospital lobby and being haunted by all the gut-wrenching components of a drama car crash.

Broken hands, broken legs, brain dead, blindness, mute, deaf, paralyzed, coma, a sudden discovery of cancer, a sudden discovery of related bloodlines, a sudden discovery of a terminal illness. You squealed under your breath as you went down the list, approaching the most common trait of them all—amnesia.

Sure, dramas usually have this rule where all you needed to endure was one to two months of hardships where Minho would revert to hating your guts, and then he would either fall in love with you again or you would give him the magical kiss of memory revival and he would suddenly remember your past together.

But those are often so unpredictable! You have watched hundreds of dramas that spin down several different lanes, and all of them have left you heartbroken one way or another. And by now you have learned how much different it would be for you to have to experience such events by yourself! If you could cry so hard because of what those pixelated people are going through, how would you begin to cope with experiencing it yourself?

A sob forced itself up to your throat, your chest sustained the pain of holding it in for too long it felt like you swallowed too many things at once, it felt like you were suffocating. You were afraid. So far, you have skated through every event with a very humorous coping mechanism, one that never does any long-term help. But this was different, this could last forever.

No, this wasn’t supposed to be the forever you experience. You two have just begun, you two were just starting to love each other loudly and happily. You haven’t had enough yet, you wanted more time! The gate to Heaven shouldn’t be allowed to close itself at people’s faces!

“Hello? Excuse me?”

You looked up at the doctor standing in front of you and immediately stood up, wiping your eyes on cue even though you had passed the point of crying and ceasing the chaos in your head. “Yes! How–how is Minho?”

“Good. He only got a few fractured ribs, a bad concussion, and a badly scraped forehead. He didn’t suffer any damage to his internal organs and there are no signs of internal bleeding,” the doctor explained. “He just needs to rest for now, but I estimate that he will wake up sooner than expected. You can wait in his room if you want to.”

You heard everything she said crystal clear. You even went so far as to repeat it in your head. Fractured ribs and concussion, ouchie but at least there wasn’t any internal damage that always sounded so life-threatening. This should be great news, but why did it sound so suspicious to you?

“Really? You are sure, doctor?” you asked, “He didn’t like…lost his eyesight or paralyzed or… I don’t know, cancer? Amnesia?”

“This is a car crash, I don’t think it will cause him cancer,” she replied calmly. If she was annoyed at your stupid questions, she was trained well not to show it on her face. “And no, we did all the scans. There is nothing else, I assure you.”

“But I swear I saw blood back then, what does that mean?”

“He scraped his forehead when he fell. We did sutures on the wound, which is going to leave him a scar but we can try to minimize it as best as we can,” she said.

Huh, bummer. Maybe I should order another car crash.

Yeah, now wasn’t the time. My apologies.

You thanked the doctor quickly then, wanting to do nothing more than to see him. But before you could leave, she held you back and shifted through her pocket for something she intended to give you.

"The paramedic stopped me and told me to give this back to Mr.Lee when you guys went in, but I assume it is yours?” she said as she pulled out a dark blue velvet box and handed it to you.

It was a ring box, with your ring stored securely in it. You felt a rush of tears piling at your eyes again but you held them down and nodded. “Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s still for me.”

“Pretty sure it will. He wouldn’t buy you a ring if he didn’t care enough to jump in front of a car for you.” She shrugged. “His room is right around the corner, you can ask the nurses around.”

You bid her goodbye then, watching her rush away as her pager beeped. Then you returned your attention to the ring. You took it out of the box and slipped it on, admiring the way it still fits perfectly around your finger. You became his and you would always be from now on; wearing the ring is an act of taking a physical vow. Clasping the box shut, you put it in your pocket carefully before heading to where the doctor pointed you.

This was painstakingly familiar, Minho thought as he opened his eyes once again to welcome the flood of nausea and ugly ceiling lights. He hasn’t been in the hospital for a long time but he could tell he was in one from the saturated smell of alcohol and the overall sickly atmosphere. Shutting his eyes immediately after waking up, he groaned hoarsely as he recalled what events led up to this moment and realized he would have to be bedridden once more.

What a shame, you would have to take care of him again—hey, hold on a second! Where were you?

Minho snapped his eyes open, panic overwhelming the revolting weight laid atop of his body and brain. He did push you out of the way, right? He remembered he did, but he couldn’t be sure if you both were lucky enough to not have a second careless driver grace the crossroad. Or what if you bumped your head too hard on the ground and got a bad concussion? Or what if he didn’t push you far away enough for the car not to hit you?

He turned his head over to the door, wanting to call for a nurse and ask them millions of unprepared questions, but he stopped in his tracks abruptly when his gaze shivered downwards and he found you sleeping with your head on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t even registered the feeling of his hand being held by yours, the pulse oximeter and the IV on his left arm had taken away most of his sense of touch.

Calming down, Minho relaxed against the pillows and exhaled in relief. He would much rather have you here and sleeping in an uncomfortable position than laying on a bed with a heart monitor beeping next to your bed. Lowering his head so he could look at you, he softened at the way your cheek was squeezed against your forearm and the fading redness visible under your once tearful eyes. Oh, how he longed to reach out and touch you right now, the desire was immeasurable.

His mellow eyes trailed over to your hand, the one laying on the side of his legs, and he frowned slightly at the heavy white gauze wrapped around your lower palm. Getting a scrape when he pushed you away like that is likely inevitable; it got the job done, thankfully, he hoped it didn’t hurt you too much. He was promoted to move his hand when he saw yours, the one you had your own pinned down on the bed softly, and it was then when he felt the roughness of the gauze rubbing against his skin as well.

With a grimace, he looked over to where your hands were stacked on top of each other, and he held his breath when he finally noticed the shining diamond sitting prettily on your finger.

You put the ring back on.

The box must have flown out of his pocket when he got hit. He had been taking it with him everywhere recently just in case the perfect timing to give it back to you turns out to be a place where he couldn’t have access to it immediately. Besides, holding the box in his hand had always reminded him of you, and he liked being reminded of you from time to time throughout the day.

It made him feel less jittery, less annoyed at the general things, and it got him excited to return home at the end of the day.

Minho couldn’t think about anything else at the moment; all that flooded his mind was how much more fulfilling it was to see the ring on your finger rather than in the box, how things should have been this way all along, and what it all meant now that you’ve worn it back.

Forgiveness for his aloofness in the past, a firm acceptance of this marriage, and that he has become someone who can be loved by you.

His shaky eyes were filled with droplets, creating a glassy sight in his already glittery eyes. Feeling you stir on your spot, he slowly moved his head up so he could watch you wake from your slumber. Your grogginess went away as soon as you met eyes with him, and instead of an excited squeal or a surprised gasp, the only thing that glossed over you was an immense relief.

Looking at you, Minho breathed out a quiet laugh, one that even you couldn’t hear. He felt your hand around him still, but your grip more secure now. In an attempt to chase the tears away from your eyes, he joked, “Stop frowning. Your face is gonna get stuck.”

“I’m glad you still remember that,” you laughed, lightly shoving his leg as your voice echoed the room. He gave you a knowing hum as if telling you it would be impossible for him to ever forget the unfunny jokes you liked to tell around the house so much, they were practically engraved in his mind.

Sitting up straighter now, your entire demeanor became gentler. Your senses less alert, your mouth quirked into a permanent smirk, and your fluffy gaze paying a constant focus on Minho. 

“You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” you asked slowly, propping yourself up on your intertwined hands and smiling brightly up at him.

“No,” he replied.

“Who am I?”

“You are [Name]. You have bad humor, you forced pizza down my throat once, and you made me like soap opera,” he said, finding his voice back as more words gradually left his lips. And then he paused for a moment, a dramatic moment where he eyed you lovingly, watching as your brows raised in anticipation. “And I think I might be your husband.”

A joyous sob came in the form of giggle and Minho whined at the strands of tears that danced down your cheeks. He reached out to you, wanting to wipe your tears away for you, but you stopped him and told him not to move. Instead, you got up from the chair and scooted closer to the edge of the bed so you two could be closer at face level.

You slipped your arm under this head and the other reached to cup his jaw. You kissed his forehead, once and twice, then you pulled away just enough for you to look at him fully. Ah, you were so filled to the brim with affection for him; it was so new to you but so real the same time that you were not afraid of diving headfirst into it.

“I think you are my husband,” you whispered with a small nod.

He smiled. “Thank you for having me again.”

You gave him a smile before leaning down to kiss him again. This time you didn’t stop at his forehead. Your soft lips trailed down his eyes, his nose, his cupid’s bow, and before you could kiss him on the lips as you had always wished, you pulled away with a puff of nervous breath. You stared into his eyes, feeling the same longing in the way his hand found your wrist and he held onto you.

What are you waiting for? For permission? For him to get better? Go on, kiss him.

You two will be fine, you won’t hurt each other.

Pressing your lips against his tentatively, you felt a rush of adrenaline racing around your lungs. It made you feel hypersensitive, like a supernatural who could hear and see and feel beyond the human spectrum—the forced nudge of your noses, the beating in your ears, the softness of his lips, your quickened breathes, his soft locks flowing between your fingers, his grip on your wrists tightening to keep you with him.

It was all so overwhelming, the intimacy and the desperation. The emotions came in tiny waves, similar to the way the ocean feels when you stepped your feet on the shore. It drowns you out, it lets you breathe, it drowns you out again. You kiss, you breathe, and you kiss him again. No matter how many times the cycle continues, no matter how many times the seawater brushes past your skin, you get surprised by it and you keep yearning for more.

Your heart was hanging by a thread, any minute now it would leave your chest and land itself straight into Minho’s palms.

Hesitantly pulling away, you kept your mouths close enough for him to still feel you against his lips. He leaned in a little, breathing out a whine that made you realize your heart was already in his hands long ago. Swallowing down a breath, you whispered, “Do you remember, that I love you?”

He nodded, his lashes fluttering as he glanced down at your lips again and back up at your eyes, “I will now.”

Minho’s heart was yours too, long ago, and you’ve learned that.

You jolted awake in the middle of the night. Heavy breaths left your lips as you sat up against the arm of the couch. Your heart was beating quickly like you had just run a mile around the track field.

It was nothing like the way you used to be yanked out of sleep. It wasn’t like your head hitting against your desk in a boring lecture, or when you brutally died in a bad dream. This one was different. You were not falling asleep and you weren’t dreaming. It was different in a way that all you saw during your ‘consciousness’ was blackness, paired with a familiar voice you never thought you would hear again.

“Mom?” you whispered as you quickly scanned your surroundings, looking for the sight of your mother.

But you were still in the hospital room. You were sitting on the couch located at the corner of the room, with your phone and leftover takeaway food resting on top of the small table before you. The moon has gone up and the sky has turned darker than night, you glanced over and found Minho sleeping on the bed as he should.

You were back in where you were supposed to be, but your mother’s voice felt genuinely real during your supposed dream. Sitting up straighter and putting your feet down on the ground, you ran your hands through your hair to force yourself into concentration. Why did you jolt awake at your mother’s voice? There should be no reason for you to find her a threat unless you felt like you were being pulled out of this world.

Like you were falling, like you were falling out of this place, like you were leaving this world and back to reality.

“Oh god,” you gasped as you snapped your head up, your eyes wide.

Great, you were finally piecing the puzzle together, [Name]. I’m glad. 

You have exhausted your one near-death experience when you almost got hit by a car yesterday. If Minho hadn’t pushed you to the side and you got hit then things would have been different; you’d be hit by the car, got sent to a hospital to get fixed, and nothing would have happened. Alas, Minho did push you out of the way, and now you have reached the limit, which was only one. If you remember clearly, the way you arrived to this world was by waking, so when you return home, you would find yourself waking up as well. 

Except this time, you would be alone, and Minho never existed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeated under your breath, biting your nails in an attempt to ease out the spiraling anxiety permanent in your head. It was all hitting you too quickly—the near-death theory, the memories you have of your real life, or the lack thereof, feeling like you were being pulled out of your own body, going back to reality, leaving Minho here.

I reckon this would be better for you, actually. The anxiety keeps you awake, and the pacing around keeps you active and forces your eyes open. It would be sooner or later, though, when you find yourself dozing off due to the inability to stay awake any longer. That’s when things get bad for you because as soon as you fall asleep, you will wake up in a whole different place. A familiar place, but different, nonetheless. 

Oh, but how could this be? You have just worn the ring, you two have just kissed for the first time. You couldn’t fathom the idea of being separated from Minho and you didn’t want to leave him yet! You never want to leave him ever! There was still so much for you two to do! You needed more time. You both needed more time!

“[Name]?”

“Huh–oh, hey, Minho.” You moved over to him with a smile. “Did I wake you?”

He could see the panic in your eyes and he frowned. “Are you okay? You look tired. Maybe you should get some sleep–”

“Oh, I–” Your bottom lips quivered.

How long would you be able to hide it before he finds out? How long could you stay awake and act normal for? How would you be able to explain why you always look so exhausted? Minho should know the truth, he deserved to know that you have been hiding something important from him the whole time. Besides, it would be such a shame if you leave him unprepared for your departure. He’s the one who has to remember, after all. 

“I’m not leaving!”

Oh, yell at me, why don’t you?

“Hey,” Minho grabbed a hold of your hand, his brows furrowed up at you, “what is going on?”

You stayed still to pull yourself together for a few seconds, breathing slowly, and then you looked back at him. “I have something to tell you.”

He could sense the solemnity in your voice and it terrified him. You had shown him a large range of your emotions before, from playful to angry to loving, but he has never seen you look so helpless. Tugging at your hand, he kissed your knuckles softly and nodded. “What is it?”

And you told him everything, struggling to make your story coherent despite only having the absolute truth escaping your lips. You told him from the very moment when you found yourself waking up next to him, and then when you were still figuring out what to do with ‘your’ past broken relationship, to adapting quickly and blending into this world. Everything up until this point, when you were so close to forgetting where you came from only to have reality force itself back into your head again.

It was taking Minho a long time to comprehend all the information thrown at him. When it seemed like he was finally done, he moved his eyes over to you and he tilted his head with a sigh. “That is a very deliberate joke.”

Right, you should have anticipated a reaction like that. It would be too easy if he brought it immediately. You pulled a face. “It’s not a joke, Minho.”

“Oh, so you are trying to tell me you aren’t from this universe and you aren’t even who you are before you came here?” he said, confusion evident on his tired face and his voice rising as he went on. “You are basically suggesting parallel universes exist?”

“No–I mean, yeah? It could be true?” You shrugged, and then you shook your head. “The point is–I can feel myself leaving this place and I am pretty sure as soon as I fall asleep, my time will be up. I just felt like I should tell you because you deserve to know.”

Despite how serious you sounded throughout your entire explanation, he just couldn’t bring himself to take you seriously. It was too absurd, the whole concept of waking up in another place. Sure, you did suddenly change overnight and you did feel much different than you did before, and there had been certain very subtle hints that could back your point up, but it was not enough for Minho to believe in what you just told him.

“You should go to sleep, [Name]. You’ve been really tired,” he said again, trying to persuade you into going back to bed.

Disappointment flashed before your eyes. Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you looked away, unsure what else you could do to convince him. The only thing you were sure about was that you absolutely could not fall asleep, no matter how tired you were. You planned to hang on for as long as you could, and hopefully, Minho would come around and believe you by then.

“I am just gonna go take a walk and come back,” you said, smiling faintly. “You should go back to sleep though.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “You can sleep with me on the bed if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

“You know I can’t,“ you said. Leaning down to kiss his forehead, you moved away from the bed slowly. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up with breakfast tomorrow morning.”

You closed the door, leaving him alone in the darkroom. Minho pouted, he was thinking too much to be able to just fall asleep now. The fact that he couldn’t just sleep sort of gave him a sense that he was leaning towards believing it and he was just in the stage of denial. If he really thought it was a joke then he should have no problem brushing it off, right?

He leaned back against the pillow, his fingers grasping at the air and his head filled.

Would you really leave? Just like that? More importantly, would he be able to tell if you left?

"Did you sleep?”

“They did not,” Changbin replied casually as he slammed a plastic bag on top of the table. Leaning down and proceeding to take out the takeaway food, he handed you a small box of food and looked up at Minho again. “They were up the whole night.”

“Did you seriously stay up the whole night?” Minho asked, brows furrowed at the unexpected visit by Changbin. He wanted to ask why he decided to tag along with you, but he figured it was much more important to know what happened with you last night.

“I did,” you sighed, shoving the chicken into your mouth and moaning at its delicious taste.

After realizing it would be almost impossible for you to stay awake on your own, which was such bullshit because you swore you used to have the ability to pull all-nighters like it was nothing, you ended up calling your last resort—Seo Changbin. Feeling bad that you had to wake him up in the middle of the night, you gave him the same explanation you gave Minho, and like your husband, he was extremely reluctant to accept it.

But you weren’t sleeping at all. And while Changbin had the suspicion that you were just taking this 'joke’ a little too far, he decided to humor you for the night and stayed up with you. And you spent the night over at his home, doing anything and everything to keep yourselves from falling asleep.

“Didn’t they tell you about the story?” Changbin asked, popping open a can of soda and looking at Minho as he drank. “I still don’t believe it but they were so hell-bent on not sleeping, I might just let them have it.”

“What–Changbin, I thought you believed me!” you whined, punching his behind and shoving him to the side.

“If I come over and tell you I’m not actually me and I came from another dimension, would you have believed me?” Changbin retorted, rubbing the spilled drink off his chin.

“I don’t have to because first of all, I met you for the first time at the shopping mall and I know nothing about you,” you pointed out. “Second of all, I am going through it right now. I am telling you, if I fall asleep, you will never see me again.”

“You don’t have proof that you aren’t you, [Name],” Minho chimed in, sighing in defeat as he slumped back against the bed.

Changbin pointed at you with wide eyes then, nodding in agreement. Sitting up from the couch, you turned your head to find Minho grimacing at you, and you heave a sigh. Proof. Where the hell would you find the proof to explain that you are who you are? Identity isn’t a tangible thing, no amount of paperwork can shape it for you.

“Look, I am telling the truth, alright? Or at least I am saying what I know,” you said as you grabbed a box and headed over to the bed. You handed the food to Minho, who refrained from throwing a mini tantrum the way he did before due to Changbin’s presence. Sitting down on the chair you had also pulled over, you sighed. “Who knows? Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t want to take the risk and sleep.”

You looked at Minho, your brows raising slowly to display a vulnerably honest expression. No malice was hidden behind your eyes, your gaze only directed at him. “I don’t want to leave you, Minho.”

His munching halted. He could feel a hint of unease at the bottom of his stomach, possibly due to what you said and the soft way you said it. As if you were afraid, cautious. Lowering his hand, he inhaled, kind of wishing his inner voice would kick him in the head and give him a little nudge to the right path.

But really, what more was there left to say, Minho? [Name] has said all they could.

“You are not going leave me,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “Not consciously, no.”

Minho pursed his lips. Think carefully; for him to convince himself of what you said, he has to nitpick the past and the present, like separating different colored peas with chopsticks.

Starting from the day you met him, you said you have no idea what his name is and you woke up in his bed even though he had this terrible rule of not sleeping together. That was one. Then you forgot about the marriage; you were surprised by the ring on your hand so much that you even asked him for the price. That was two. You went into his closet, even when you were banned from touching certain things that were his. That was three. These were all rules to be broken, but the old you never had the guts to do that. It didn’t make sense for the courage to suddenly appear.

Asking for a divorce and acting like you didn’t know it was arranged, forgetting that your parents were dead, completely unbothered by Yuna’s presence, suddenly knowing how to cook up a whole meal, eating lots of greasy food, profoundly cursing, being playful enough to give him nicknames and make bad jokes.

Aside from that, he could physically tell, now that he thought about it with a clearer head. You were less timid and much louder. Sure, you have your moments of tenderness, but overall you felt much more energized and much happier than before. It was a difference in your presence—you didn’t use to light up the room when you walk into one, but now all Minho could see was you whenever you come into his line of sight. And that was before he fell so in love with you.

The pieces were adding up to an unbelievable story. 

Minho looked up at Changbin, his gaze hardened. “Can you leave us alone for a moment?”

You widened your eyes at his troubled look, then you turned around and urged your best friend away as well, promising to find him later when your private talk ends. Changbin rolled his eyes and unwillingly left, and then it was finally just you and him.

Minho started without waiting. “Let me recap everything. You came here not knowing who I am or what this place is?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “does this mean you believe me now?”

“Wait–why didn’t you tell me before then?” he asked.

“I thought I would leave soon and return to where I came from. I didn’t expect to stay so long,” you said. “Also, drama taught me it is better to keep my identity hidden.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “So, you suspect that the way for you to go back is through a near-death experience?”

“And falling asleep later,” you hummed. “This one I learned out of instinct, but I’m sure it’s happened before on some show.”

Minho scoffed, “You can’t trust dramas all the time. They’re made up.”

“Yeah, but this feels too much like one for me to ignore it! I mean, look at this!” You pointed at him, smiling bitterly. “Look at you! I would have never been able to snatch a guy like you if I was back in my world. I was a huge loner. All I did was work and have fleeting crushes.”

He watched as you lowered your arm, your smile dimming significantly. “Honestly, I don’t even know if you love me or who used to be me.” You shrugged, not looking at him. “I am a new person to you now, right?”

Minho licked his lower lip. That problem has never crossed his mind before since it was so obvious that he loved you. His affection was never there, it wasn’t affection for you before. But then he started developing feelings of his own for you, steaming from a threatening turn where he might lose the care and obedience he was used to receiving. He just used to like being loved by 'you’, now he liked loving you; he liked the mutual feelings you two shared.

If all were true, then there was a whole world behind you he’s never known. You previous life, your friends, your fleeting crushes.

“Come here,” he said, patting the spot next to him.

You stood up from the chair and carefully climbed onto the spot next to him. You back hit against the side rail, preventing you from falling off, while Minho pushed his hand against your waist to keep you close to him. You leaned your head against his shoulder, a sigh leaving your lips quietly.

“You know, I thought you were funny, back when you first came here,” he said. “A little infuriating, yes, but amusing nonetheless.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” you commented, giggling when he cleared his throat and nudged the top of your head with his jaw.

“You could have totally snatched me up even if we are not in this setting,” he said. “You aren’t like other people. You treat me differently.”

Ah, and the iconic line finally decided to make its appearance. I was hoping it’d at least happen once for you to hear it because you would only be able to hear it from Minho’s mouth.

“What do you mean different? I treat you the same way everyone treats you!” you said, suppressing a chuckle. You weren’t sure if that line had boosted your ego but it sure did make you feel quite special, as cliché as it was, but honestly? As a society, we should all establish that clichés don’t matter.

“No, you were so casual and honest. I think you are the only person who has given me nicknames aside from my old friends back in high school.” He nodded with a shaky laugh. He patted your waist in a beckoning motion, seeming excited. “And you’re even more different than others now because you are the only person I love, in that special kind of way.”

“What are you, five? Special kind of way–that’s lame!” you exclaimed, laughter escaping in between. When you quieted down, you pressed yourself closer to him and looked up.

He only glanced down when he felt your lips at the side of his jaw. And he kissed you then, leaning his head down eagerly to capture your lips. You were careful with moving around, your hand going up to stop at the nape of his neck, rubbing comfortingly as your mouths danced with each other sensually.

This could never be enough. Minho wanted more than this, he thought as he tugged you closer to him, feeling your chest against his side. This could never be enough. He wanted to do more than kissing you in a hospital bed. He wanted to kiss you under the moon, to kiss you at home, to kiss you during a spontaneous snack run at midnight. He wanted to eat junk food and get emotional about fictional characters with you; he wanted to see you read books while he worked on the side.

Minho wants you with him, always.

You pulled away, gasping a little at how teary his eyes had suddenly become. You didn’t need to ask why. You could already tell. “Do you believe me now?”

“I can’t. I don’t want to.” Minho let out a shaky breath. “If I do then I will have to accept the fact that you might leave me soon.”

A sobbing noise spiked from the back of your throat as you reached up to peck his lips. “I will try my best to stay awake for as long as I can, Minho.”

He nodded, even though the fact alone broke him, the fact that you two have to settle for 'as long as you can.’

You jolted awake again, this time in Minho’s workroom with a new book held loose in your hands.

You kept the lights on for the sake of having an awake atmosphere even though you knew very well that would do nothing to help your exhaustion. Looking up from the couch, you found it hard to just squint at the clock hanging above your head, but you saw that it was long past midnight already.

You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch as you kicked your legs in frustration. You were officially three days in, all three days you went without a lick of sleep. And you put in lots and lots of effort to accomplish that, such as eating, doing yoga, shopping, scrolling the internet, and indulging yourself in many new shows filled with more than seven seasons of emotions.

It was painful. Your body felt heavy and your eye bags were probably getting bigger as you went on. Your mind was slow, you zone out too much and you kept dozing off. The only thing keeping you from falling into slumber was the sickening feeling of you astral projecting out of this place.

You didn’t want to cry though. Not only would it make you feel even more exhausted, but it would also make you feel weak, and you didn’t want to feel pathetic that way if you were doing this so you could stay with the love of your life.

Huffing out a groan, you got off the couch and left the room. You were much more familiar with the house by now, you could practically walk anywhere with your eyes closed as long as you knew where you started. You walked down the hallway and stopped abruptly before a pair of doors.

Minho’s closet was as you remembered it was. Black and white, very minimalistic, with clothing racks lining up against the wall. One thing has changed, though, he has opened up a space for clothes you got him from time to time. The ones you thought he would look good in and he occasionally wears around in the house when he didn’t need to be in formal attire.

You flipped through the clothes, remembering where each one of them came from with a smile. It was quite funny as well, to see how the clothes gradually grew to be more accurate in his size with the more you brought.

Pulling a sweater off the rack, you admired the soft material by kneading it between your fingers, then you hugged it close to your chest. You brought the fabric close to your face, inhaling the warm scent you’ve gotten used to smelling on your own clothes as well.

You never tried to look into what detergent the housekeeper used to wash your clothes, but you always thought it had an artificial smell of some type of flower you have never smelt the actual scent of before. It stopped mattering now that you have gotten so accustomed to the smell. It just has the scent of a home, and home is Minho for you.

You inhaled deeply and exhaled out to control your quickened breathing. A sob threatened to break out but you muffled it with his sweater, clinging onto it like it was your life-line.

It has been so difficult for you. Staying awake beyond your limit and trying to smile with everyone else; you couldn’t even tell Minho how you felt when he asked if you were okay because a part of you dreaded that he’d let you go. You felt alone, worrying and fearing for the day you would leave this place.

Standing in his closet and having his scent so close to you pushed you past the breaking point. All you knew was that you wanted to stay with Minho, and knowing how sleep would be inevitable made you cry.

The past three days have only been about that. You couldn’t afford to think about anything else.

You stood there alone and sobbed for as long as your body allowed. When you were done, you dropped the sweater on the rack and took off your own just so you would wear it.

It felt warm, big and warm, just like Minho.

You felt another sob bubbling up.

Minho could tell you have been crying when you arrived to visit him for the night.

It has become increasingly difficult for him not to notice how worn out you were, not to mention having to neglect it and pretend as if nothing was happening. Although you were the one who was so determined to keep yourself in this place, and of course, he too wanted you to stay here, he couldn’t help the gruesome guilt that rips through his veins whenever he sees that defeated state of yours.

You were dozing off on the couch again. He could somehow feel it whenever you’ve got your eyes closed, it was like a tingly sense that shoots down his spine. Even then, he always looks over to check if you are, and you were this time, your chin squished against the base of your palm with your elbow propped up against the armrest of the couch. You were dozing and waking, an indefinite cycle that would only stop until you reach the point of insanity, he supposed.

When this first happened, when he first saw you with your eyes closed and unresponsive, he used to have this knot in his stomach that would tighten harshly in a way that makes him hallucinate pain. The fear used to make him want to throw up, it used to make his face go red and his fist curl until the nails dig deep into his skin. It feigns an anxiety attack for him, and God knows how to properly handle those.

“[Name]!” he repeatedly called for you, feeling the knot inside of him release its chokehold slowly the longer he has to call for you. But you woke up eventually, your body falling to the side and the sudden impact yanking you out to sleepiness.

You looked around and heaved a sigh, whether it was a relieved one was uncertain to everyone, including you. Turning over to look at Minho, you tilted your head and asked, “Hey, what’s up?”

Your posture was terrible, like usual but much worse now that your shoulders were hunched all over and your neck cranked in longing to take a decent break. Your body was fidgety, a habit you picked up to keep yourself active in movement so you wouldn’t fall asleep. The dark circles under your eyes were starting to get more visible than the smile Minho had always paid more attention, and there was no light in your eyes, just a pit of shadowy doom.

Maybe you were trying your best, but you couldn’t look at him like you love him anymore; your eyes physically could not manifest the affection you felt.

This was his fault. Maybe it wasn’t, you certainly would never blame him for this, but Minho still felt like he was the one putting you through all of this. And he hated seeing you so out of place because you haven’t slept in days, and for what? To get a few more days with him? Honest to God, your mind was barely with him these days anyway.

Minho pursed his lips into a thin line, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. And he shook his head. “You should go to sleep. This is killing you.”

You were quick to turn down his suggestion. “No.”

“Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to,” you said. “I don’t want to go.”

“Well, you are going to have to go either way so why not make that earlier?” he asked, raising his voice, causing your defenses to build up quickly.

You stood up from your seat, your eyes wide in a glare for the first time in days. “What is your problem, Minho? Do you want me to leave so bad?”

“I don’t–“ he breathed out a sigh, closing his eyes to keep his temper low now that yours have been shorter than usual. “I don’t want you to leave. If I get to choose, I will always choose to have you stay here with me, but look at yourself!”

You raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re tired, you are so tired. You have been crying, you eat slow, your temper is short, you barely react to anything anybody says. Even the nurse who came in to check up on me this afternoon asked if you are okay because you don’t look okay!” he exclaimed. Then, sucking in a breath as if gargling his words, he exhaled through a soft huff before he whispered, “I love you, [Name], so much. But not like this. Not when you are so miserable because of me.”

If his existence is causing you pain then he’d rather not have it. As selfish as he wanted to be, he would choose to let you go.

Your arms dropped to your side and you rolled your eyes up. You have told him the same thing before. God, you felt like one of those female leads who cry every single episode, it was so enraging. Everything you have sought to not become, you’ve become it.

Minho moved to the side on his bed, leaving you a spot, and he called out, “Come here.”

You looked back down at him, your sight blurred at the thought of what he meant to do. You were going to walk over, he would wrap you in his arms, and you would fall asleep to his warmth. He would still be here but you would be somewhere else. It would be quick, it would happen before you even know it.

“Come here, please?” he asked again, softly. “Let me hold you.”

You rubbed your eyes and moved over slowly. He helped you as you climbed onto the bed, snuggling up next to his side with your head laid on his shoulder and his arms securely around your torso. He squeezed your arm and breathed out a joking giggle, mentioning something about you getting chubbier and earning a hit on the chest in return.

His fingers shifted through your hair when you looked up at him, and he smiled down at you like nothing was going wrong. Eyeing his lips once, you didn’t hesitate to reach up for a long, loving kiss, one where your tears were mixed with the taste of his mouth.

When you pulled away, you said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he said, shaking his head. “This is actually pretty funny. I am the one who got injured but here we are, crying over you leaving instead.”

You laughed silently, bringing him closer to you. Minho has steady breathing but his heart beat quickly. It rattled against your ears, reminding you that he was as nervous as you were about losing each other. Your senses were shutting down slowly, ready to go into rest when you finally gain the sleep your body has been screaming at you to get.

“I’m sleepy, Minho,” you muttered, adjusting your head.

“I know. You can sleep, it’s okay,” Minho hummed. “You can go. I’m gonna be fine.”

You licked your lower lip, the dryness giving you a sticky sensation. “Love them as much as you love me, alright?”

He couldn’t do that. But he wouldn’t tell you, he wanted you to go without any troubles lingering in your head. He wanted you to leave happily, or as happy as you could be.

Kissing your forehead, he felt your breathing ease up. His hand rubbed your back soothingly as he asked, “Will you remember that I love you?”

You didn’t answer.

Minho stirred uncomfortably in the single hospital bed. As his sense slowly returned to him, he tightened his grip on you, keeping you from falling off. It was nighttime outside, and he supposed a nurse dropped by and turned the lights off when he saw you both sleeping. He could barely remember what happened before he was knocked out.

You shifted slightly by him, head nuzzling against his chest before looking up to find the owner of the body you were cuddling.

“[Name]?” Minho called.

The person jolted from their place. Feet landing coldly on the floor, they fixed their hair and took a wide step away from the bed. “Minho! I’m sorry!” 

His heart dropped. There was his answer: he could tell.

Same face. Same body. Same voice. 

Not you.

Your eyes snapped open and you groaned at the pain oozing at your side. What the hell happened? You could see that you were back in your room, which was weird because the last time you checked, you were on your way to work. You remembered waking up late and rushing out of your apartment, and then everything simply went blank from there.

“Oh, you’re awake! I thought you died or something!”

You sat up on your bed and furrowed your brows at your brown-haired friend. Rubbing your eyes, you yawned and scanned your room, taking in its unfamiliarity with intense suspicion before you turned back to your smiley friend and asked, “Did you move my shit?”

“I just got here like five minutes ago after your mom called me,” he deadpanned. “I was cooking you chicken porridge! She said you blacked out and slept for three days straight, you sleepyhead!”

“Three days–Chan what?” You got off your bed and headed over to your desk where your phone was. You weren’t sure why you needed to check the time, it held no significance to how you were in deep trouble with your boss for ditching work for three days. “Why did no one wake me?”

He handed you a glass of water first, seeing how frantic you appeared right after waking up in the middle of the day. You received it—snatched it—and quickly gulped down the liquid, feeling a sense of relief rush through you when the water hit your throat.

“We tried but you were knocked out cold.” He shrugged. “If you are worried about work, don’t. I talked to our manager for you already. I even exaggerated the part where you almost got in a car crash and died so you needed time to recover from it.”

The water spilled from the glass when you choked in shock. Your brows furrowed harshly as you pulled the glass away, causing more water to flow out of the cup, and you yelled at Chan, “What? I almost got in a car crash?”

He gave you a slow laugh, more concerned than annoyed that you’ve made a mess and yelled at him in the past five seconds. “You almost got hit by a car the other day when you left for work. You were looking at your phone and not paying attention. I had to pull you away from the road! Did you forget all of that?”

You placed the glass of water down on your desk, rubbing your mouth with your forearm harshly. As you brought your hand closer to your mouth, a painful scratch eliciting a yelp from you. Moving your hand away from your face, your eyes trailed up your arm and they widened when you saw the diamond ring located on your fourth finger. You cursed out loud, gaining Chan’s attention, and when his eyes moved towards what you were looking, he too mirrored your confused look.

“What is this!” you asked, looking at him.

“What is what–woah! Did you drunk buy this?” he asked, moving closer to examine the ring on your hand. “You need to return it. You’re crazy. You can’t afford this!”

“I know I can’t afford this,” you exclaimed, glaring at him in defeat. “But I swear I don’t remember ever buying this! Did you see me wearing this when I almost got hit by a car?”

Chan paused for a moment to think. He hadn’t really noticed back then, he was too busy trying to keep your phone-obsessed ass from dying. But if you didn’t have it back then, there should be no way for you to have it now. You have been bedridden, you could not have possibly gotten drunk within the last couple of days, and you would never buy a ring like that when you were sober.

“Did you steal it from someone?” he suggested, feeling the wrath of your impatience as he stepped away from you in precaution. “Oh but you couldn’t–“ 

“No! I don’t know where this ring came from, Chan,” you exclaimed, showing him your hands and grimacing at how perfectly it fit around your finger. “Also, can’t you humor the idea that maybe someone proposed to me?”

“Someone with the money to buy that ring? Uh, no,” he said honestly, putting his hands on his hips in a comical way.

Brushing him off, you slumped back onto your bed with your arm covering your eye. “Whatever. I’ll find out where I got it from somehow.”

“Or you can sell it,” Chan suggested.

You chuckled at the thought. Imagine the amount of money you could get from selling that ring. You did not know about diamonds but you could tell when one looks expensive. Bringing your hand up above your face, you shifted your hand to observe the ring more carefully. A weird sense of comfort rushed through you, making you relax further into your mattress. Coming after the comfort was a very bad sense of nostalgia, one that makes your heart ache for something you couldn’t remember.

“Actually, maybe I’ll keep it,” you muttered, eyes hazy the more you stared at the ring. “I think I want to keep it.”

“Okay.” Chan shrugged at the side. Moving over to your desk, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Are you gonna be okay? I need to go back to work. Lunch is over for me already.”

“Thank you,” you hummed from the bed, nodding. “I’ll come back to work as soon as I can.” 

“Before you get fired, at least.” He eyed you carefully. You laid motionless on your bed, completely out of it. He nudged your feet with his own to catch your attention. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I am fine, Chan.” You rolled your eyes. “Stop nagging.”

He scoffed, but ultimately his voice was soft when he spoke, “I just want to make sure you are okay, alright?”

The nostalgia hit like a rush this time and you held down a flinch. For some reason, Chan didn’t sound so much like him when he said that, but you couldn’t tell whose voice that was. When you turned your head to look at him, your gaze shifted in rapid sequences, like frames changing on a television screen. Chan’s silhouette shifted in blurry motion into a man of slightly smaller but more visibly muscular stature. You felt your body jolt in recognition. 

Recognition? Pause. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Let me rewind it. 

Chan scoffed, but ultimately his voice was soft when he spoke, “I just want to make sure you are okay.”

You sniffed away a potential sneeze, hearing Chan’s giggle from your ridiculous expression. Throwing your head back against your bed, you waved your hand at him. “Just go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said. “Call me if you need anything.”

You hummed loudly in response, not bothering to look up at him. When you heard the front door lock, you groaned out a frustrated sigh and turned to your side. It has been a weird couple of minutes; you almost got in a car crash but you forgot, you slept for three days and you had no idea, you got a diamond ring on your hand which you have no recollection of ever getting. 

You brought your hand up and frowned. The ring was heavy on your hand and it would most likely disrupt your sleep. But there was something else—the nostalgia that was lapping at your chest one wave after another. A feeling beyond your imagination, resting against your heart carefully yet it rattles you like nothing ever has.

“Where did you come from?” you whispered to the diamond ring sitting perfectly on your finger. 

You decided not to take it off.

Never in a million years did Minho think he’d end up relying on Changbin, but he has no other option due to knowing a shared secret. 

“How are you feeling?” Changbin asked after he plopped down on the study room couch. 

Scatters of paperwork piled on the table were deliberately placed messily to distract Minho from his worries. If his eyes were occupied, his mind may be too. Turning the chair, he eyed Changbin nonchalantly by the desk. “My spouse left me.”

“Not good. Noted!” Changbin exclaimed with a single clap of his hands. He ended up awkwardly rubbing them as they laid themselves on his thighs. 

Silence emerged, much like every other time they’ve hung out together. If he could call it anything different, Changbin would consider these moments more mandatory emotional check-ups than hanging out with good friends. Not only was Minho not a good friend, not even with such a golden opportunity, but Minho was never in the mood for anything anymore. In some ways, he has reverted to his grumpy personality, only this time he knew how to be nice about it. He learned it from you. 

“Do you think they’ll ever come back?” 

Changbin looked up from his fiddling thumbs. Minho’s thousand-yard stare burnt holes through the ceiling, but Changbin wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the particular question he voiced. He’s done his fair share of deep-diving about parallel universes and whatnot. Understanding the theories was one thing; accepting that it has been carried out was another.

It still felt impossible. Changbin was holding onto the fact that you have never jumped anywhere, and it was a figment of your imagination that you somehow could portray excellently. 

A character change only takes a good performer or someone fully convinced they’re somebody else. 

The light glimmered as if to add glamour to the rigid atmosphere. Changbin let his neck rest on the back of the couch, and he shrugged. “If they do, you’ll be the first person they look for.”

Light returned to Minho’s eyes. He dreamt about that day. He wondered how it would go. Perhaps seamlessly as the day you first arrived. There won’t be chances of him missing your presence; not only would you make yourself seen, but he was more than sure he would know. A radar within himself would begin blaring sirens—he would just know if you were around again. And it would be a typical day. You would be at home, and he would return home. You would have dinner, you would go to bed together. 

It would finally be a normal day when you come back. 

For now, the glimmer in his eyes fades.

Weeks have passed with the same weight on your shoulders. You have come around to learn how to ignore it. You have learned to distract yourself from it. You work, hang out with people, and entertain yourself with the media. But even then, the grave mistake you made to not take that promise ring off your finger kept reminding you of the shaking sentiment that often shines at the end of the day.

You have looked through different online shops to find out where you could have gotten the ring from. It was a long stretch. You knew it would take ages to find the actual shop, but the promise of long-term confusion somehow assured you that you would have an excuse to keep it with you longer.

It has been weeks, though, and your hope was thinning. You could not find any matches, even after you personally headed over to the shops and asked the staff to take a closer look. You even went so far as to search for the lesser-known brands that would still make rings with diamonds as sparkly and extravagant as the one you got. Nothing, it was like the ring was custom-made, and that made you feel worse about having it.

It must have been really important to the owner, you reckon. It should not be in your hands.

“I feel bad for keeping it,” you spoke to the phone, where Chan sighed on the other side, most likely from irritation. The ring was all you talked about these weeks, aside from occasional work problems and drunken confessions you weren’t afraid to make to him.

“Then sell it.”

“But I don’t want to sell it.”

“Then what do you want to do? I keep giving you suggestions, and you keep shooting me down,” he complained with a helpless whine.

“I want you to tell me what to do!” you exclaimed.

“I say sell it,” he said.

“I don’t want to sell it.”

“I’m hanging up. I can’t take this abuse anymore,” Chan threatened with a yell of frustration. You could imagine him leaning against his chair and pushing it away from his desk, his eyes squinted into moon-shaped smiles, and his nose scrunched up in defeat.

“It’s just… this stupid ring is giving me weird vibes!” You stopped before the road and glanced down at the ring. “I feel sad but also happy when I look at it! Like some sort of deja vu!”

“It’s deja vu. Everyone feels like once in a while,” he said. “Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is.”

You frowned. Chan was no help at all. From your peripheral vision, you could see that people had started to cross the street, so you followed suit quickly, intending to not block the road and be yelled at by some caffeine-deprived stranger who hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep yet.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road thoroughly, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears.

A stranger reached their hand out to grab a fistful of your shirt so they could yank you back to safety. The pull was strong and panicky, like back when you were younger, how your mother would smack you after you did something wrong, but much harder than that. Your gaze wobbled when your head hit a slight whiplash at the force, the sky welcoming your view. Tears unnaturally welled in your eyes as your hands waited for the impact of the ground. 

“No,” you whispered, the blur of a car crash disappearing from your memories. “Minho–“

I will be scratching that off. Let me rewind. 

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street, as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road thoroughly, you could only take one step before the sight of incoming cars made you freeze. 

A stranger reached their hand out to—

Uh, I'm also scratching that off. This is wrong. Nothing happens to you.

How did you manage to get yourself stuck in a near-death situation twice in a row? What is this? Is it some kind of manifestation theory? It's made up.

Let me rewind.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You jumped out of the way with a scream, missing the car by a few inches. It scraped past you, causing your body to fall back. Instead of catching yourself in the slow fall, you let your body flail about in the air as more cars slowly closed the distance between themselves and you. Pedestrians standing on the road couldn’t do anything out of sheer intimidation, born from the cars speeding toward you. You looked toward where the honking came from.

Alright, clearly, you are unknowingly in a disagreement with me. I have seen this in prior experiments. Something that involves the biological lack of freedom when your body moves toward what you truly desire? I have seen that before.

You will not hinder this experiment because of it. I am rewinding further.

“It’s deja vu. Everyone feels like once in a while. Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is,” Chan said. “Look, you’ve been thinking about this too much. How about we go get a drink tonight? 

“I don’t know, Chan,” you muttered with a sigh. “I’ve been feeling really depressed lately.”

“I’m surprised you don’t think I can tell,” he said. “How about this–I’ll buy some drinks, and we’ll hang out at yours. Beats heading outside, right?”

You closed your eyes. That could work. One of the biggest reasons the outside was so unappealing was that you had to step into it. Even now, with the sun shining on your head, you’re quickening your pace to go home.

If Chan was willing to go through the trouble of paying for drinks and hauling them to your apartment, you’ve got no complaints. It might also be an excellent way to forget about this whole deja vu situation.

“Deal,” you confirmed with a soft smile. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”

Chan giggled from the other side, but he didn’t say anything. 

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

The sequence repeats itself. I swore I scratched that off the document.

You snapped your head up from looking at the ground. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you—stop! I

can’t keep doing this. It’s your muscle memory, isn’t it? That damn biological manifestation theory is real.

Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road entirely, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears—you are suicidal. You are suicidal over a man your mind cannot begin to make out the silhouette of.

It's pathetic. Stop wasting my time.

You could see the cars coming, but your feet wouldn’t move. Your eyes stared through the danger into a beacon laid far away, the illusion of a man’s face you should have forgotten, and I know for a fact that you weren't supposed to acknowledge you have forgotten someone.

His name echoed silently through your mind, but his warmth remained on your body, in the shape of your arms and the weight on your finger. 

I insult you. I say you cannot remember his silhouette, and the next second, your spite draws a fraction of him in your mind. Or perhaps it wasn't spite but rather love? Is this the lesson you are teaching me? That love and spite are identical? That love stands beyond the mind and the body as its own concept?

You didn't choose to remember, yet you do. Returning to your true home was instinctive, and I’m afraid it is time for me to admit that I have no power to stop you.

Love goes beyond even me. Suppose that's a good lesson to learn.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street, as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears. Scared, your knees gave away, and you fell backward.

The screams of others and the urgent car honks were blocked out from your ears. You turned your head to the side and saw a truck running down the road towards you. This one would kill you, you would close your eyes, and you would leave this place. Your lips quirked uncontrollably. 

You would go back to him.

The mesh curtains stayed the same, useless against the sun but pretty with it. The bedsheet was as you felt it the first time, soft and silky yet thick and warm, the ones that make you sleep like you were in a goddamn coma. And Minho was the same as you last remembered seeing him—fluttery lashes, soft brown locks, and naturally pouty lips.

You remembered. 

You pursed your lips into a tight smile to keep a laughing sob from bubbling up your throat. Staring at him, you realize he made you feel the same as you last remembered, and immeasurable affection pulled at your fingertips, longing for a touch of his gentle skin and to feel him close to you. And you did, unapologetically, caressed his face with the back of your fingers.

Perhaps it was a deliberate plan to wake him up, but you wouldn’t admit that to yourself.

Minho stirred in his sleep at the touch. His brows furrowed before he opened his eyes, and when he saw you, his frown only deepened. You (or, well, ‘you’) have never tried to attempt this before, nor has he ever asked for love from them. His mind was occupied by somebody else, someone he thought would never come back to him ever again. Feeling this, having his cheek tenderly stroked in the morning, was surprising and weird.

“Hey, Minho,” you whispered, pinching his cheek slightly.

A shiver so strong it felt like a lightning zap ran down his body. His eyes widened slowly in recognition. He would know. He would just know. Through looking at you, through the feeling of your skin, through the way you space out your words, through the way you control your tone, through the way his ears react to your voice, through everything. He would know. He would be the first to know. 

His eyes moved across your features. You looked the same as he had always seen you, before and after you left. But there was one defining difference he could make: the ring on your hand wasn’t there before. You had taken it with you after you left this place, and now it’s back. 

“[Name],” he croaked out, his hand reaching out to touch your shoulder, gripping it gently.

“I’m home.” You nodded with a smile. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you I’ll be late.”

The tears flow freely down his cheeks. It has been extremely difficult for him to revert to his usual lifestyle and pretend to be in love again. He had tried to bring himself to like ‘you,’ but it was useless. They simply felt different despite looking the same as you. 

He had missed your stupid jokes, the way you could come back home with bags of clothes he rarely has the chance to wear, and the food you cook. The little recurring moments he loved with you, he replayed them every night in the room and didn’t dare to allow himself to forget you.

You took the initiative and moved closer to him. Your palm was flat against his cheek now, and after you lovingly nudged the tip of your noses together, you leaned in to give him a long-awaited kiss. He melted against you, against your lips and your hand, with desperation in each curve of his mouth. He felt like he couldn’t let go. He knew he couldn’t let you go this time, never again.

Reluctantly pulling away, your dazed eyes stared right back into his. You touched his face again, smiling. Minho cupped your hand in his, pressing his forehead against yours with a light whisper, “Do you remember who I am?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Who am I?”

The sun shone from outside, casting a ray of warmth at an empty ring box located at the corner of the desk.

“You are Lee Minho,” you said, giving his lips a peck. “You are my husband.”

And you remembered that he told you he loves you, just as you love him.  

[soraviie]

jealous over a friend.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader  ━ navigation

━ about: angst, a teeny tiny bit of humour ━  pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: Please, like, reblog and leave a comment, they inspire the writing to continue :)

━ linked to: "he's a friend of a friend" and "crushing on a friend"

NAMJOON: The smile is present but the eyes scream murder and once he puts a hand on your shoulder, you stiffen. Not because he makes you uncomfortable, well, perhaps just a little, after all the poisoned aura is streaming from him in pungent waves. Be that as it may, you stiffen more so because of the implications behind the seemingly minuscule gesture. Why do it at all? One time? Sure. But this was not a rare occurrence anymore. Still, you don't discuss it. Both of you observe this rather intricate though entirely mute ritual - he acts like your lover but isn't and neither of you ever dare to bring it up. At most, there are fifteen stifled minutes where both of you stand awkwardly in each other’s presence. Afterwards, it's discarded and you go back to being Namjoon and ______________. Whatever that means.

And frankly you're sick of it.

You shrug his hand off your shoulder and loudly proclaim that no, you're not ready to leave yet. Instantly his eyes narrow and if feasible there'd be smoke coming from his nostrils.

"We arrived together."

"Does that mean we leave together as well?"

The person you've scarcely flirted with has already long disappeared into the depths of yet another one of Namjoon's cement post-modern art exhibitions despite you both not noticing. This isn't about them. It's about Namjoon and _____________ and what does that mean.

Huffing a breath of barely contained ire, he continues, trying to sound softer.

"It's safer if we stick together."

It's late afternoon as you trail down an abandoned side street. The golden sun is slowly sinking below the horizon and though the air is warm it's unperturbed by conversation. You listened to him in the end. Why do you always listen to him?

Your depressed sigh doesn't go unnoticed. Namjoon’s head quirks in your direction, you can see so from the corner of the eye.

"They weren't the right one for you," he mutters, almost like an afterthought.

"Then who is? You never like anyone I do," you snap back. He opens his mouth as though ready to say the definitive answer but somewhere in the seconds before his gaze lifts off the cobbled ground to stare at your face only to return back to the ground, the reply is lost.

"I don't know," his fists come up to curl by his side. "Just...someone else."

YOONGI: The yearly get away among dearly beloved and wonderful friends, Sae's words not yours, was not going how you'd planned it. First of all, it was once again Yoongi, the Special Presidential Envoy Min Yoongi, who volunteered to drive your directionally insane ass to the storybook cabin deep in Gangwon province. As if sensing that the last two times meeting each other face to face was not enough of an embarrassing ordeal, he just had to be so chivalrous and offer to pick you up. And sure the last time wasn't...that bad but he was after all Min Yoongi. No matter how many times he'd inexplicably texted you over the course of this bizarre year, it didn't change the fundamental fact - he was Min Yoongi and you were you.

Maybe he'd realised that as well because as it stood he appeared on the very brink of hurling. Lips turned downward and gaze set numbly on the floor, he sits in the far edge of the patio and looks positively disgusted. The change of moods is so jarring, you can't hear a word what Drew is saying. You like Drew, perhaps once upon a time a bit too much, but currently you find yourself wishing they'd just shut it.

"He looks sick," they point out quietly, briefly making eyes at Yoongi. "Does he have a stomach flu?"

"I don't know," you honestly shrug. "We were talking some thirty minutes ago and everything was fine."

"Maybe you should go ask him?"

Your eyes widen and much like Edvard Munch painting you gape at Drew, jaw growing slack.

"Me?" you parrot, scandalised. "Why me?!"

"Because he talks to you the most?" Drew answers, equally befuddled.

You turn towards Yoongi, accidentally clutching the glass so tightly it makes an audible squeak and feeling the weight of your stare, he meets it head on. Then he swivels away.

"He probably hates me," you lament. "I get it. I went on a long ramble about hues of green colour on the way over here. Hatred is understandable."

"Hmm, does he?" Drew hums cryptically. "I rather think it's me he dislikes."

"You?" you query with a furrowed brow. "What have you done?"

"I'm talking to you, am I not?"

"I don't get it," you mutter after a moment of consideration.

Once Drew leaves for the night, to your surprise, Yoongi stops by and offers to drive you back, even to the airport once the vacation is over. And while technically you were supposed to hitch with Sae and the rest, your mouth is faster than the brain and you blur a breathy agreement.

Curiously, he doesn't appear disgusted in the slightest, in fact, Yoongi gives you a diffident smile, softly ghosting his fingers across your palm to tug you onto one of the many plush seats laying around on the patio. You're tired, says he, he'd noticed.

JIN: "What...was that?" you question curiously at Jin's retreating back. He blinks at you, feigning utter innocence but the displeased scrunch of his nose tells you a very different story. One might even say a polar opposite.

"What was what?" he mimics your confusion with frustrating level of acted ignorance. "Did you think anything weird was going on? 'Cause I didn't. All is cool."

Jin who previously had to get bubbled off a bottle of champagne to even say sorry to you had just guided you out of the room, hand around waist and all, after bidding a polite yet cutting to a faceless stranger: "thank you for the flattery, they're however taken. Try again never".

Yes, safe to say, it was a bit weird.

The longer the weight of your undivided stare settles upon his shoulders, the more he crumbles.

"He was making you uncomfortable, wasn't he?" he whines, affronted if the pout was any indication.

"Well, yeah, but I doubt you could see it across the mile long hallway," you smile at him, curiosity eating you whole. The action was...uncharacteristic for Jin. Though lately he'd been acting quite weird. Like he was holding some big and grave secret that he could hardly contain within himself.

"Well, I did," he scorns, kissing his teeth in annoyance. "Now buy me a drink."

"Buy you a drink?" you echo disbelievingly. "It's my birthday!"

"And we're celebrating the collective good," Jin throws you a wayward glare over his broad shoulder. "You and me. We need nothing more."

You're rather inclined to agree though you don't voice it out loud. Jin had this weird habit of going beetroot read whenever you said something too sweet.

HOSEOK: "You're hanging out with Hoseok? You?" the level of surprise in Nall's voice is almost insulting so you react to it as such. Giving her your driest glare, you flick a strand of hair away from the eyes.

"Yes, me. I don't see what you're fussing so much about."

"Oh come on!" she protests. "I had to swear in blood-"

"It was cranberry jam."

"-that I won't even bring him up in conversation and now you're friends?!"

"Yeah well," you retort off-handedly over the shoulder. "He accidentally met me on the street and we ate together and now we're...friendly. He's cool," the last part you keep largely to yourself. "Do you like this shirt?"

"The shirt is sick!" Was the first thing out of Hoseok's mouth, once you spot the tuft of his dyed hair from a distance. You bid a quiet thank you, forcing a stiff smile upon your lips. Okay, so perhaps you weren't as easy going with him as you projected to Naal but he really was cool. In the relatively span of time you actually talked to him in a friendly manner, you saw the invisible albeit sturdy wall between both of you thinning and although Hoseok noticed it as well he never pushed you to break it. You went at your own pace and he was glad to tag by.

The conversations flows easy, it's not particularly deep but it's fine for now. He relies on the advice he feels comfortable asking for and you divulge little worries that have piled along the way. It's all good for now.

"Any special plans for the weekend?" The festival is coming up," he remarks in between bites of crispy glazed chicken. It's good, he had shared a piece.

"Oh, I'm going on a date."

The movement of Hoseok's hand stops and you lift your head to see what caused the change.

"Really?" he inquires politely, somewhat disinterested. "With whom?"

"Don't know yet," you shrug. "Nall set me up with one of her dancing partners. What about the festival? You're going to that one."

Hoseok gifts a smile that feels a bit too stiff for your liking but you shrug it off. Not like you knew him all that well.

"No," he says suspiciously light. "Reconsidered."

JIMIN: "What am I only supposed to talk to you?!"

"Yes! No one else! Just me!"

You draw a shuddering sigh of tightly congealed wrath, glaring Jimin down with all the world's disdain.

"Fuck you."

Oh, how you wished that it would be the triumphant march of victory that you'd walk home with but, alas, it's more of a sad, tired shuffle where the only thing you see is the soulless city concrete and the only thing you feel is the ever surmounting mound of self-disgust.

Jimin's bright, you're dim, he's warm, you're cold. Different people worked out only in theory, in reality they walked their respective opposite ways. Had they not, would magnets not push each other away?

You don't think you're making sense anymore so you shake your head and numbly walk through the quiet doors of your home. With Jimin having spent all his free time here, seeing the dark shroud the hallway is almost disconcerting though once it was an all too familiar of a sight.

To recall that once upon a time he couldn't even properly glimpse at you. That he'd been nothing more than the yet antoher stranger Malia wanted to give the world to. The tone with which he'd spoken with you then had been reserved and polite. Where had that gone to? And why didn't you stop loving him no matter how hard you wanted to? Getting over Jimin in the unspoken suffocating empty space of your imagination was hard enough, why did he have to be so-!

A knock on the door.

Who else.

"You have a key," you open the door and grumble without a fail but he shrugs, hands deep in pockets and that guilty, though tad sharp expression mars his face.

"I wanted you to let me in."

"Are you going to say sorry?"

"No," his eyes darken, plush lips speaking words that drip down like honey but burn all the same. "I'm not sharing you with some sleazy asshole."

The thing about Jimin as you had learned was that there were great many parts of him, entangled and overlapping each other not unlike a twisted knot of wires. He could simultaneously be soft and fierce about the same thing like the way he is now - gazing at you determined from the other side of the open door.

"You're always so jealous," you roll your eyes, pretending that there isn't a part of you that giggles like a schoolchild over his hunger for your attention.

"Yes, I am," spitefully, he agrees, lifting one eyebrow. "What are you going to do about it?"

You stand mutely, slowly realizing that there couldn't be a march of victory to begin with as you never could have won. Like a spider made of well-meaning intentions and genuine care, he twists you around his ringed fingers. And you're so screwed.

"We're still friends, right?" he asks, prideful at first glance but you know how vulnerable his heart is underneath the glimmering, hardened armor of his that's neither a mask or a facade. His strength is not an illusion but a part of him. A part of him you love, though you'd rather die on the spot than let your mind wander on scenarios of possibilities.

At last, you give in, tired but sated in a way. You're still friends and he's here, you don't need anything else.

"Of course, we are," you sigh, stepping out the way and happily, Jimin slides in the slippers he'd lugged all the way from his house. "Though you infuriate me like fucking no one else."

You turn to glide into the kitchen, quickly finding that the greedy, beloved spider of yours has wrapped his hands around you, nosing pacifyingly at the back of your neck.

TAEHYUNG: "Just call him."

The sound of Jae's exasperated tone pulls you away from the dutiful task of staring numbly at the phone.

"Didn't you plead the fifth?" you snide. But this is Jae and he cannot be so easily offended.

"I did, I did," sagely, he nods along. "Being caught up in this emotionally constipated friends to lovers shtick between my two besties is bad for the skin."

"We're not-" heatedly, you begin but it is quickly interrupted by a stern:

"Don't fool yourself."

You leave the room, phone still in hand.

Taehyung's confession hadn't been at all surprising - you were not stupid, however it did not make it any easier to accept. He was after all Kim Taehyung and the evolution of your relationship with him from that awkward first car ride was boggling enough, to transform into lovers was just...too much.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I'm an adult," he glared at you across the candle lit table. "Don't rob me of my agency. I know what I feel."

You wet your lips, struggling and failing to come up with something both pointed and profound.

"Listen," he began anew, softer, maybe even tired in a way. "I'm not forcing you to love me back. I'm not out here demanding your affection."

You lift an eyebrow at him and instantly he concedes.

"Well, maybe a little but you know what I mean," he admitted with the very corners of the lips curling into a dry smile. "I'm not going to dictate how you should feel but in return I ask that you don't either. I promise I won't bother your peace of mind, just let me love you and if you ever decide to reciprocate, I'll be here waiting."

Before the full weight of his confession had the time to make you utterly breathless, grimly, almost like an afterthought, he added:

"Though I won't pretend to be happy when you're with someone else. I'm sorry I just can't."

You have to give him that, he'd been up front about it hence why you can't really blame him. The unexpected re-emergence of your ex looking for a reconciliation had left Taehyung mute and sullen as he quickly hopped on a plane and left for overseas. Being a stubborn person yourself you dug your heels in, proclaiming that you won't entertain his tantrums but..

But you missed him.

When at last you broke down and called well into the night, he picked up immediately as though waiting all this time. You ignored the way your heart trembled at the thought of it.

Instead of a greeting there's a forlorn "I missed you" spoken in an absolute sync. You chuckle mirthlessly and so does he yet silence follows suit.

"You left," you accuse meekly. Vulnerable.

"I did," Taehyung hums, sounding tired of all things. "I couldn't stand seeing you get together with them again. I wish...I could be better for you."

"You're plenty of good," heatedly, you argue.

"Am I?" he echoes thoughtfully and you find yourself wishing you could gage what his expression was like. "I'm jealous and petty, and childish. You know that."

"So? No one's faultless."

I'm certainly not, you think to yourself. Had you been, you'd probably tell him that lately you've been liking him some different way than what you think friends should be. It's something, you don't know what it is.

"Are you going to get back together?" he asks tersely and, despite him not being able to see it, you shake your head.

"No," because of you.

And despite you not being able to see it, somewhere in the gilded hotel room that's as luxurious as it is lonely, Taehyung closes his eyes, pressing the phone to his ear, pining, yearning, wanting so much he wants to cry. Because of you. But he'll wait. Is it what he should do? Perhaps not but no one is after all faultless.

JUNGKOOK: "No."

"But-!"

"As your best friend-"

"You're not."

He casts a heavy glare over the rim of the glass.

"As your best friend," he reiterates strongly so there's no misinterpretation from your end. "You should just dump them."

"I cannot just do it over a text!"

"Sure, you can," Jungkook shrugs carelessly. "Undoubtedly it's an asshole move but the bitch deserves it."

"Jungkook!"

"What?!" he whines with the whole of his body, a familiar grimace of frown marring his features. Ever since you got together with your partner, he was nothing short of a storm cloud, glaring and raining on all the parade's happening around. "They stood you up - how many times? How many times you fought and they ignored you? How many times they threw a fuss about us going somewhere together?!" he scoffs harshly. "How possessive."

"Ever so self-aware, Koo," you roll your eyes, prompting him to examine you with earnest confusion.

"What do you mean? I happen to be extremely self-aware!"

"And jealous and possessive not to mention overly protect-"

"This is not shit on me day," he flicks your forehead, interrupting the long laundry list you've had simmering on the backburner for months now. The most annoying thing about Jungkook, and you don't tell him this, was that he managed to make those qualities a point of problem you closed your eyes upon.

"Well, of course, that's on Wednesday," rubbing the sore spot, you gruff, watching him down a sizeable chicken drumstick with no problem whatsoever. The already dour expression grows worse, forehead creasing into rows upon rows of deeply etched wrinkles. You smile to yourself. You knew he would like this place.

"Why did you never like them?" you question curiously after a moment of relative peace in which you'd been prodding disinterestedly at the chocolate mousse. "You're both quite alike actually."

"Yeah, but I actually lo-" he stops in midsentence, eyes stretching wide and for the lack of better term he does look like a deer caught in headlights - staring, absolutely frightened in front of him and not daring to move.

"Anyway, break up with them," he suddenly continues coolly as though nothing ever happened. "Write it in the sky if needed, I'll sponsor the event."

"You're so heinous," you mutter though he is right and the break up text clanging around your skull like a broken teleprompter has been nagging you enough. You'll break up. You want to do so.

"I don't share," he chews on the chicken, frowning full force. "What's mine is mine."

© soraviie, 2023

[switchundercover]

Tickletober Day 2: Accidental

A/N: HELLO TUMBLR TK COMMUNITY!! This is my first fic I'm posting on here, with tickletober giving me the motivation I needed to do so!! I've always been lurking in the community ever since I joined it, but I finally thought that it was time to put myself out there! I'm currently OBSESSED with ATSV, so I did a thing with Hobie and Miles bc I love how they interact in the movie! Anyways, I won't bore you with a super long authors note that most people probably won't read, so I hope you enjoy the fic!

Tw: swearing, mention of blood/bleeding out, tickles

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Hobie slumped onto the couch of his living room, clutching his waist in pain. He had been sent out on a mission, and had got beaten up.. pretty badly to say the least. Despite the insistence that he was fine and 'I've survived worse, I'll be alright', it didn't stop Miles Morales from checking in on him to examine and.. try to heal his wounds.

"Mate.. I'm fine, really." Hobie said, wincing as Miles examined the wound.

"Hobie, you're literally bleeding out." Miles replied, a hint of sass in his voice. Hobie just shrugged, surprising Miles with how nonchalant he was, but he did inhale sharply between his teeth as Miles wrapped up the wound in gauze. Hobie let out a shaky sigh, turning his head away from Miles. Hobie didn't like it when his friends took care of him like this, feeling like he could take care of himself due to being the oldest in the group. He felt it was childish of him to ask his younger friends for help, when he knew that they had to deal with the same, if not worse, pain.

Hobie's body flashed a few colours, the colour around his waist being relatively normal so Miles could see and tend to the wound better. The rest of his body was a muted gray, small bits of a blood red colour appearing on his body like paint splatters whenever Hobie would wince from the pain, the colours eventually fizzling back out into the gray. To anyone who didn't know Hobie, it was an oddly pretty spectacle (despite it being at Hobie's expense), but to those closest to him, it was relatively normal, so it didn't distract Miles from the task at hand; which was making sure Hobie didn't bleed out and die.

After the bulk of the treatment was finished, Hobie melted into his couch, feeling a bit more relaxed after the more painful part of the process was dealt with. Now, Miles was just examining his torso, making sure there were no other major wounds. The feeling was relatively calming, feeling like a sort of massage. Miles' fingers were quick to examine Hobie's torso, now examining his ribs to see if any of the bones had cracked. What Miles didn't expect was the sharp intake of breath that came from the punk, the spot that Miles touched flashing to a more neon shade of yellow for a brief moment before returning back to normal.

"O-oh, sorry- did I hurt you..?" Miles asked, a bit of shame in his tone. Miles looked at Hobie with a worried expression, afraid he might've caused more damage.

The usually cool and collected Hobie stammered for a moment before shaking his head, making up an excuse from the top of his head. "Nah, you're fine mate. Just wasn't really expecting it 's all." Hobie replied, that yellow colour on his ribs returning as if it was disagreeing with what Hobie said.

Miles noticed the flash of yellow, not exactly knowing what it meant. He knew that if Hobie's body was blue, it meant he was sad, pink meant platonic love (his body would be a brighter red if he was around someone he loved romantically), and many, many other different colours and meanings that Miles had memorized due to knowing Hobie for a good while. This yellow was new, something that Miles had never seen before. Miles thought he might've been reading to much into this, so he just gave Hobie a small hum in response and continued his examination.

Hobie's body stiffened slightly as Miles went back to examining his ribs, feeling an unbearably ticklish feeling every single time Miles' fingers would lightly press against the bones, checking for any painful reaction. The yellow colour only being on Hobie's ribs definitely eluded to.. something, Miles wasn't sure, but the colour made Miles somewhat worried. Miles withdrew his hands, a small frown on his face as he looked at his friend with concern.

"Hobie, if it hurts you need to tell me. I don't wanna make it worse." Miles fretted, his tone being concerned and a bit scared for his friend. Hobie felt a little bad that his stifled ticklish reactions made Miles worried, but.. it was still extremely embarrassing to him, so Hobie shook his head, dismissing Miles' worries.

"I'm fine. Don't worry 'bout it. You worry to much bruv." Hobie chuckled, his teeth clicking against his tongue piercing out of slight nervousness. Miles raised an eyebrow, inching his hand closer to Hobie's ribs, but not touching them just yet. Hobie's reaction immediately became apparent, the punk flinching away from Miles' hand, and the yellow colour on his body spreading slightly. Miles was confused. If it didn't hurt, what was the issue? Miles thought of himself in Hobie's situation for a moment, being injured and having a friend of his checking for injuries. He thought of somebody's hand pressing against his ribs, slightly pressing against the bone to see if they were hurt. Miles' eyes immediately widened at the realization, a small smirk appearing on his face.

"Oi, what're you bein' all smug about?" Hobie questioned, his body stiffening slightly as he pointed an accusing finger at Miles. Hobie figured that Miles had found out why he was reacting in the way that he did, and as a result of this, a small bit of red crept up onto his face, and the yellow along his ribs spread and became a bit brighter.

Miles couldn't stop himself from giggling, finding the situation incredibly amusing. "Oh, it's nothing.." Miles quickly darted a hand to Hobie's ribs before pulling it away just as fast, grinning as Hobie's body jumped away from it and an essence of a screech escaped his lips.

"Y-you wouldn't do.. that to me! I'm injured man, you'll kill me!" Hobie argued, narrowing his eyes as he found it a bit harder to keep his cool.

"Relax! I'll be gentle!" Miles said, his giggles getting louder as his hand made contact with Hobie's torso. Miles smirked at the way Hobie's body tensed up, and the slightest hint of a squeak made it's way past Hobie's closed lips. Miles slowly, and I mean slowly dragged his fingers along Hobie's ribs, the punk inhaling sharply as a result.

"Miles! Fuck- stop that!" Hobie yelped, the tiniest giggle slipping through his gritted teeth. Hobie's pleas were only met with a huge grin from Miles, who immediately capitalized off of that small giggle by pressing his fingers against Hobie's ribs and vibrating his fingers rapidly. In Miles' eyes, this was gentle, as he knew Hobie had a hell of a lot of resistance when it came to touch. Wether it be pain, or in this case, tickles.

"MAHAHAHAILES-! STAHAHAHAHAHAP- NAHAHAHAHAHAHA FAHAHAHAHACK-!" Hobie screeched, his attempt to squeal out a plea immediately replaced with more bouts of loud laughter when Miles decided it would be a good idea to use a small amount of his venom power to shock Hobie, the unbearably ticklish feeling traveling across Hobie's entire torso. Miles giggled and let up, allowing Hobie to actually breath. Miles snuck an extra pinch to his ribs, grinning at the small yelp that came out of the punk.

"Alright, I'm done. Don't want you getting hurt.. more than you already are.. you good?" Miles asked, Hobie responding with a shaky thumbs up. "Y-yeah.. 'm fine mate.. holy shihihit." Hobie chuckled, the tingly feeling from the venom still present. Throughout the entire ordeal, Hobie's body changed colour completely, going from gray with those hints of yellow (which Miles was now suspecting ment Hobie was embarrassed about something), to a full blown pink, with occasional flashes of the familiar yellow colour here and there.

Miles chuckled and stood up, going to the kitchen to get Hobie some water. Miles quickly returned, offering the water to Hobie, who drank it so fast you'd be convinced there was nothing in the cup in the first place.

"Thanks Miles.. you know, for tendin' to my injuries and whatever. 'S nice of you." Hobie said, sighing as he let out one final giggle. Miles smiled, loving the fact that he left a positive impact on Hobie's well-being. "Well, I feel like it's kind of.. in my nature to care about the people I love, so you're welcome." Miles replied, his smile growing a bit wider.

"Hey, you wanna watch a movie?" Miles suddenly asked, looking at Hobie.

"Sure, what're you thinkin' of?"

And so Hobie and Miles lazily draped their bodies over Hobie's semi-comfortable couch, watching a movie on some probably illegal website. Hobie couldn't shake the small smile that was on his face, the knowing that Miles, and all of his friends for that matter, would be there for him making him feel all warm inside. Miles caught a quick glimpse of Hobie, seeing that the pink colour on Hobie's body got a bit brighter.

And personally, Miles wouldn't have it any other way.

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 14: Telling

artoirel gives aymeric some undesirable advice. aymeric & artoirel, background aymeric x wol mentions. set during/post-heavensward patches. written for ffxivwrite2024. rated: teen 1600 words ao3 link

Song and laughter fill the air, and yet Aymeric cannot shift the heavy weight in his heart.

He lingers on the upper floor balcony overlooking the grand ballroom, watching the festivities play out below. House Durendaire has made every effort to impress tonight. Every corner of the manor has been bedecked with impressive topiaries and sculptures, and the faded walls are hung with banners. Floral garlands wrap around the pillars and decorate the entryways, adding a vibrancy to the hall that is reminiscent of spring and everlasting youth. Even a nod to Jannequinard’s astrologians makes an appearance with celestial ornaments interspersed between the crystal chandeliers. The most talented Eorzean musicians and bards were hired to entertain, and even a celebrated portraitist sits in the corner, capturing the events with swift strokes of his brush.

Too much, perhaps, to celebrate the marriage of a third cousin. But this is the first High House wedding since the end of the war, and there is more to celebrate here than simple matrimony.

Aymeric sighs and folds his hands together, leaning them against the balustrade. Below, Aureia cuts a striking appearance, her scarlet dress immediately recognizable amongst the sea of muted darks preferred by the older generations and the gentle pastels favoured by the young. She had been presented with a number of different gowns, including one of Borel blue, but she was keen to select something that spoke to her and not the sensible option. Silver sparkles at her throat and from her ears, and small ornaments scattered through her midnight hair, glistening in the ballroom lights like stars. She loiters on the edge of the dance floor, happy to watch, keen to keep her distance, and anything but a wallflower. Though she has declined every invitation to dance, the highborn youth flock to her regardless, hoping that one of them may get lucky.

There was a time when she may have snapped and them and stalked away, but now she accepts the curious looks and eager admirers with a smile and a nod and polite conversation. The confidence she exudes is magnetic. She has always had it, along with a certain wry charm, but now she has found her place in Ishgardian society—a saviour, a warrior, an outsider who walks the line between lowborn and high—it is even stronger. Few can bring themselves to look away from her.

He cannot blame them. He can’t look away himself.

“Skulking about in the shadows, are we? I never thought I’d see the day Ishgard’s most eligible bachelor would distance himself from the finest social event of the season.”

His lips twitch, holding back a reserved smile. “Skulking is hardly the word I would use,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “And I have not been an eligible bachelor for some time.”

Artoirel laughs, merry from the bliss of wine, and crosses the balcony to join him. “A jest, my friend,” he replies smoothly. “For as long as I have known you, you have never been one to skulk. Out of character for a man who makes public speaking a part of his daily life—or one so hellsbent on reform. And as for eligible bachelor, well…”

“That would be you, good sir, not I. How many ladies have caught your eye this evening?”

“None, for I’m afraid they are all to enchanted by your beloved below to pay much attention to me.”

He pauses, setting his wine down on a nearby table, and leans his back against the balustrade. “Aymeric,” he says slowly, lowering his voice. “Have you asked her to dance?”

“No.”

“Will you?”

Aymeric pauses. Below, Aureia smiles and laughs, touching the arm of a Manseauguel youth affectionately. Despite her refusal to participate in the dancing, she is already attracting a few glares from the surrounding matriarchs and matrons. Victoirelle, the Durendaire bride, sails past in the arms of her new wife, pink-cheeked and giddy, oblivious to all else. At least she is content. Her mother, however, is glaring daggers at Aureia and her accidental entourage.

His brow furrows. He can already feel the oncoming headache when he receives a complaint tomorrow that the Warrior of Light outshone the bride on purpose. Many of the older lords and ladies are not fond of her and what she has come to represent. Foreigner aside, seeing a half-Elezen celebrated in high society has been taken as a personal affront by some. Hilda Ware they can swallow, so long as she remains her gruff and coarse self, firmly on the outskirts and removed from societal events. But Aureia Malathar is a force to be reckoned with, and one that has forced them to confront a number of uncomfortable truths.

“You should ask her to dance, Aymeric,” Artoirel continues. “It would be the proper thing.”

“It may surprise you to learn this, but I have more on my mind than propriety.”

“My friend, how many months now has she been your paramour? Courtship has a natural conclusion; stave it off for too long and your intentions become suspect. Do what you will with your own propriety, but at the very least, respect hers.”

Aymeric stills, gnawing discomfort growing in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he draws his gaze away from Aureia and raises his head, looking Artoirel in the eye. “We’re not speaking about dancing, are we, my friend?”

“No. I suppose we’re not.”

He exhales a long breath. “Then would you kindly speak plainly?” he says coolly. “I spend my days untangling the distinction between the said and unsaid, I would rather not do so among those I trust. Though I suppose whatever point it is you wish to make, you required two full glasses of wine to steel yourself before raising it with me.”

His heart pangs with fleeting guilt the moment the words leave his mouth. He should not needle Artoirel this way—especially not when drink is involved—but this conversation has quickly turned suffocating. He likes to think himself a patient man, but even patient men have their limits.

His only wish is that it was not happening here and now.

“Then I will be plain,” Artoirel says, equally cool. “Why have you not asked her to marry you?”

“I do not see why that is of any importance. My private life is my own.”

“Your private life is the concern of all Ishgard, as it is for all the lords of the High Houses. Until the matter of heirs and governance no longer depends on noble birth, this is the way of it.”

Aymeric’s mouth curves with distaste. “We are only burdened by the way of it if we choose it,” he says darkly. “Perhaps I should pass a decree unravelling these traditions. No more heirs, no more Houses.”

Artoirel pauses. “Come now. I know you do not mean that.”

“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I don’t.” Aymeric casts an eye out across the ballroom. There is no sign of a scarlet dress. “Regardless of whether I speak in jest or not, the sentiment remains the same. I will not ask Aureia to marry me simply because a handful of viscounts and barons are discomforted by the idea that she is my lover.”

“It is not she who makes them discomforted—”

“Please, Artoirel, I’m well aware of the snide remarks and gossip made behind closed doors—”

“They are discomforted by you.” He meets Aymeric’s eyes and folds his arms across his chest, his jaw set. There is no trace of his earlier intoxication. “You know what you have come to represent. The weight your name carries, for high and lowborn both. If the worst comes to pass, what then? Do you wish the legacy you have so painstakingly built tarnished because you chose to spite tradition?”

Aymeric stills, the words twisting in his gut like a knife. “I would appreciate if you did not refer to such matters as the worst that comes to past, Artoirel,” he says quietly.

He glances away. “It is a matter that must be considered.”

“Bastard or not, any child of mine would be loved.”

“If that is what you truly believe, then ask her to marry you.”

“Are you recommending or are you telling?”

“Neither. Counselling.”

“Words that could have been spoken by your father.”

“He is wise.” Artoirel pauses, and for a moment a faded, distant look passes across his face. “And, as you know, he has personal insights into such matters—”

Aymeric grimaces. “He was adulterous. His infidelity is not comparable to Aureia and myself.”

“Even so, you would do well to listen to him. He means well, and he cares for both you and Mistress Malathar greatly.”

I know. And yet somehow that makes it all the worse. No matter how well-intentioned he is, Count Edmont is not omniscient. Would his advice change if he knew the truth? That he has asked Aureia to marry him on more than one occasion, and she has declined each time? That no matter how much she loves him, this is the one thing on which she will not change her mind.

No matter how much she loves him, marriage is not for her.

“I will listen to your father when he chooses to speak to me himself, Artoirel,” Aymeric says firmly, pushing away from the balustrade. “And not when he chooses to send you as a messenger to leverage our friendship as a bargaining tool.”

It is not like him to leave a conversation abruptly—but admittedly he has not been feeling much like himself of late.

[barcaavengers]

Illicit Affairs || Neymar Jr. || Pt. 1

Note: I'm baaaack! With another Neymar imagine series! This one is going to have a little bit of everything so I hope you all enjoy it and let me know your feedback! It starts off slow since its like a mini introduction but it should pick up after that. Also, requesting permission to change my name to Bruna since this man only dates girls with that name. 😅

Warnings: None for now.

Disclaimer: Gif not mine. Credit to owner.

“Cover me!” Neymar screams into his headset at you.

“Where the hell are you going!? There is people there, I barely have bullets!”

“Let’s goooo” Neymar is laughing and you laugh with him. 

You have met Neymar quite a few months ago now. You were friend of one of his best friends and you two met through him and Call of Duty games. It was a time where they needed a fourth person for the squad and your best friend mentioned you, making the clarification that, of course, you were a girl. Not many guys liked to play with girls, and less one that could kick their ass in video games, but the guys were pretty fun and welcomed you into their squad. That’s when you got to play with Neymar Jr. himself and you were over the moon, because honestly who wouldn’t? Yes, you followed him in social media way before, and never actually met him, it was all through your headset and it was enough for you guys to have a connection. Well, a love hate relationship. Sometimes you criticized the weapons he used, he would criticize your tactics during the game, but you two would get along just fine and you loved it. He was funny, he would scream and curse in most games and for some reason that would always make your day. It was the highlight of your day truth to be told, you would look forward to it. 

“I told you not to go! I was recharging!” You laugh.

“Fine, fine” he chuckles as he goes back to the game’s lobby. “What happened?” “Bruna is here. I gotta go before she starts complaining that I have been playing all day” you can almost hear the roll of his eyes through his words. “Oooh, you busted” you tease. “Yeah, whatever” he chuckles. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time tomorrow if you feel like listening to me.”

“Ha! Never. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’ll text you.” 

You disconnect your headset and turn off the console and you sigh. Tomorrow couldn’t get here soon enough. 

“So I will be taking some small vacations, and I told Y/B/F to join. Thought maybe it would be a good idea to meet up? Need to know who is being so bossy with me through headsets” he teases and you find yourself smiling. 

“Sounds fun, I’m in!” You grin. “I can finally talk with Bruna and tell her how annoying you are and that you spend many hours playing.”

“She is not coming” you can sense the change in his tone. 

“Everything alright?” 

One thing you have been since meeting Neymar, besides his biggest rival, is his confidant. You could hear how sometimes Bruna would call him out on playing all day, or him asking her freely to join him in something and her saying no because she had bigger plans, or how he would refuse to go out with her friends because he wanted to go out with his, and there was always a slight tension. You would prefer for him to mute it, and you even told him once, but he says he forgets about it since most of the times it happens when you guys are playing an important match. 

The invitation had you slightly nervous, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. In a way, you were thrilled from finally meeting Neymar, face to face. The other part was nervous, he would like your posts and send you heart eyes whenever you posted photos of yourself, and he would tell you how good you looked. You would always take it in a friendly way, and didn’t pay much attention to it or saw it as something more than a compliment, but sometimes you wondered how you’d react around him. So many days playing together over the past months have made you get fonder of him, he was like a long distance best friend and you liked that relationship. Never looking forward to moving past that. 

“We can talk later about that” he says and you hear someone calling his name from the other end. “I have to go, but I’ll send you the information, okay partner?”

“Sounds good to me!” And with that you disconnect once again. 

“So you are the pain in my ass that doesn’t cover” Neymar greets you as he hugs you, you were now at your best friend’s place. 

“So you are the one that doesn’t listen” you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking of how nervous you were. Your heart was trying to beat its way out of your chest, and you hoped he wasn’t able to feel it as he hugged you. 

“Alright, settle you two. I’ll go get some drinks because I thought you’d be staying at a fancy hotel and we’d get hotel rooms” your friend teases and you laugh at him. 

“Thanks, bro” Neymar says, looking after your friend as the door shuts down. “Did you bring the extra controller?”

You pull your controller out of your bag, holding it with a grin. “Ready to get your ass kicked?” He laughs and opens his own bag to get his controller out, walking over to turn on the console and pulling two chairs in front of the tv for you guys to play. 

“You can’t be serious” you say with a roll of your eyes. “This is like a stress reliever for you. She can’t just tell you to stop playing.”

“I know” his tone was annoyed. “Bruna…I love her and all but lately we are not on the same page. We haven’t been in a while. You have heard some of it” he pauses. “She is not the same, she is just there when there is something big or when she wants to show me off to her friends. I mean, I’m not giving myself an ego boost or anything, but I feel she asks me out for her things because I am popular and, I know she is too, but it's just…It doesn’t feel right anymore, you know?” He frowns. 

“That always happens. Difference of interests. I’m sure you can work things out. Breaking up like that just because of misunderstandings doesn’t sound like a way to go. Just talk to her about how you feel, if she truly cares for you and your feelings I’m sure she’d understand” you pat his arm and he smiles. 

“You know, I’ve always liked talking to you, Y/N” your cheeks blush at his words. “You are always so positive, funny, and know exactly what to say. Sometimes we think alike.”

“Except for the game.”

“Your fault. If it would’ve been for me we would’ve already won these past five matches” he teases and shoves you playfully. “No, but I mean what I said” he gives you that smile. 

“Oh get a room with your compliments, Junior” you shove him back. “I really like playing with you too, even if you annoy me like hell” you smile back. 

“Can I tell you something? And you won’t find it weird?” Oh, definitely not weird, but your heart felt like it would burst from your chest in any minute now. “Since I started to follow you on instagram I thought you were beautiful.” Your cheeks felt way too hot and you thanked that you guys were playing in a dark room where the only light was the tv. Should you really be thankful for being with Neymar in a dark room while he was telling you how pretty you were while you were nervous and with this one urge tickling your thoughts?

“So if it weren’t for that, you would’ve thought I was just a nerd with glasses behind the game?”

“You are a nerd with glasses though” he reaches to shake your glasses. Okay, touche.

“Whatever” you roll your eyes playfully and press the start option in the game as you reach to take a sip from your bottle of water. “Where the hell is this guy with our drinks anyway?” You turn to look at the door as you drink. 

“Y/N, can I kiss you?” You have to hold back to not spit the water you were drinking, and because of that you started to cough uncontrollably. “Hey, no. Don’t die on me. I need you to revive me during the game” he is patting your back as you try to regain yourself. 

“I’m fine” you cough and gulp at least three times as you recover. “What did you just ask?”

“If I could kis-”

“Oh I heard you loud and clear, mister” you say nodding your head. 

“So?”

“So?”

“You are acting out because you are having problems with her.”

“Or maybe it is what I have wanted since I saw your pictures and since I walked through that door” and when you look at him, of course his eyes were eyeing you up and down and staring at your lips. 

“Neymar…”

“Come on, no one has to know…We can spin the bottle and whoever it lands on has to kiss the other” he is being playful now to redeem himself. How cute. 

“Just the two of us?”

“Just the two of us.”

“Doesn’t sound like a fair thing” you smirk and he chuckles, leaning closer. 

“Not hearing a no…” Oh God he is so close. You can smell the peppermint from the gum he was probably chewing on his way to your friend’s place. He was hypnotizing. His hazel eyes gazing at you, his tongue running along his lower lip almost tasting you already on them, and you found yourself doing the same. 

“Just one” you give in. Damn, you are surprised you lasted this much. 

He smiles like a little kid, biting his lower lip before leaning forward. His lips pressed against yours in the most innocent way possible, and they did have a hint of the peppermint taste. You try to regulate your breathing because you were sure he could sense how nervous you were and you didn’t want him to boost his ego more, but how could you resist? Your lips part and he takes the initiative to deepen the kiss, and you melt right into it. His hand goes to the side of your neck, fingertips resting on the back of it as he held you in place. The one kiss was lasting longer than you expected, lips moving slowly as he savored the moment, and so did you. 

“Mmm…” you hear him groan and you pull away slowly. “That was…”

“Yuup…Not just one kiss…”

“Kinda was. I didn’t stop-” you glare at him and he just gives you a cheeky grin. “Did you…like it?” Out of all the things you could hear Neymar Jr. ask, you never expected for it to be him asking you if you enjoyed kissing him. 

“Kinda obvious since I didn’t pull away” you admit shamelessly and you instantly regret it, because that’s when you realized you may have had a crush on this one far deeper than him just being your first football crush. He didn’t need to know that though. 

“Would need some proof” he reaches for your hand, fingertips grazing your skin causing goosebumps to stand out as he gets a hold of your controller and bends slightly to the side to put it down along with his. 

“Seriously?”

He is so unbelievably close…and that smile, those eyes…You have never seen someone so perfect up close. And you find yourself leaning in again, this time you are the one to tease him running your tongue along his lips. It felt…right, in a way. It felt like you have been secretly waiting for this moment your whole life but you just truly realized you had suppressed the feelings for so long and now they were being freed. Terrible timing. Or was it? Maybe all of this was happening for a reason. Him being away from Bruna, him staying at your friend’s place, said friend taking forever with the drinks. Maybe…just maybe…

“Sorry, I got stuck in traffic” you hear as the door starts to open and you both breakaway from each other and quickly start shoving on each other.

“I told you to wait for me!”

“I told you there were two teams there!”

“You were sniping them!”

“....I guess it is a bad timing? I got the drinks though” your friend says and raises the six packs of beer and you two turn to look at him. 

“Finally. I’m thirsty” Neymar says and looks at you, sending a wink your way and you are sure your cheeks have never turned a brighter shade of pink. 

“Well then come and pour something up” your friend says.

Neymar looks at you, a cheeky smirk upon his lips as he stands up. “Thank God you arrived. I could barely stand her by myself” he says as he walks away. 

“Like if you were so easy to handle” you say and laugh, following the guy.

The rest of the night goes that way. Games and Neymar looking at you every now and then, being charming as only he knew how to be, as subtle as he could because, let’s be honest, the guy couldn’t stop looking at you in any chance he got and you were surprised your friend hasn’t made a comment about it. You get to know that he will be staying at a place he rented, so he was leaving and not actually staying. 

It was late at night and you were already at your apartment getting ready for bed when you got the message. 

Neymar: Can we see each other tomorrow?

Neymar: That kiss was….wow. 

Neymar: I’m starting to think it was a bad idea.

You have to blink a couple of times to understand what was going on. Was he….was Neymar flirting with you? You didn’t know how to react. In a way, he is with Bruna, right? He was complaining about her, but what relationship doesn’t complain about the other and has their rough patches? On the other hand, he seemed so serious when he said he didn’t like the way he was being treated in the relationship and how things didn’t feel the same way. Yes, you told him to fix things, to talk with Bruna, but he said he had already tried and that things only changed for a few weeks or months before they were back to square one. 

Not sure if it were your feelings and the kiss getting in the way of your thoughts, but maybe he should get a break. If he doesn’t like where he is at, then it is time for him to move on. If he had given it all and saw no changes, why stay with a person that it's just there, but not exactly there? 

Y/N: You finally realize your ideas are bad ideas?

Y/N: What did you have in mind? I work tomorrow. 

How could something feel so right and so wrong at the same time?

Neymar: I can pick you up. I just got a rental. I don’t want to bother Y/B/F to drive me around, and I didn't feel like driving three hours with my own. 

Y/N: Alright...I’ll send you the address and what time to pick me up. 

Too many ways that this could end up, and something told you that it was going to hurt the most. 

Neymar: See you tomorrow, princess. 

[kaija-rayne-author]

Hugest of sighs.

I really hate it when I can feel a special interest dying.

It's like watching something you've loved and put your everything into for however long get smaller and smaller in the distance. Until it disappears in a puff of smoke.

I can feel it happening with Dragon Age.

It's actually managed to hang on for a long time, so I guess I should just... wish it a fond farewell and let it go.

I was going to write a less acid filled version of my editorial critique/review about the gameplay preview to send to the devs, but why?

I don't get the kind of interaction I need on posts like my Dragon Age posts to help me keep the special interest alive.

The devs aren't going to listen to some internet rando like me if I did waste my time writing it. Not even if I'm actually a professional editor and this is in fact my job that I'm pretty good at.

They don't even toss me a heart on responses to their posts. And they probably wouldn't read it even if it did happen to make it through all the stuff they probably get on their feeds, anyway. Valuable professional editorial critique or not.

Before I stepped way back from social media I could easily get thousands of @ in a day. I know what they must be dealing with.

I have other things I should really be spending my time on.

Sadly, my special interest in Dragon Age has been on life-support since I saw the gameplay preview.

My DA gaming group has gone from a couple hundred people, most of whom weren't active, to waaaaay more people than I'm comfortable being social with. (I have since muted most of it and withdrawn from anything I'm just... not interested in anymore.)

I honestly feel the new look for Solas killed Solas for me. (Given I'm solavellan that's saying one hell of a lot.) For a bit there, I was hoping he'd grow on me. But apparently, I haven't been inoculated with that particular style of virulent mould yet. So it hasn't happened. Every time I saw a picture I just... cared a little less.

Where once I had the fires of a volcano inside my heart for this franchise, nothing but ash in a breeze remains.

It's always possible that something could happen to reignite my passion for it. It's happened a few times before for faded special interests. It could also be my depression talking and I'll feel completely different tomorrow. That's happened too. (So far hasn't happened in the threeish days since I wrote this. It's probably not the depression.)

But... After seeing that gameplay preview, and listening to the Q&A, and reading the Game Informer post... it may just be time to call Time of Death. As someone who loved the first three, and who absolutely marinated myself in the lore, I frankly feel betrayed. (I mean... Varric with a beard? Really? There were story significant reasons he did not, in fact, wear a beard, did they forget that? Like they forgot his bloody hair colour?)

So long, Dragon Age. It was fun while it lasted.

I truly do hope people enjoy the blathering posts I did about it when passion filled me.

I hope people truly do enjoy the new game. There's too little joy in this world and I hope with all my heart it gives you as much joy as you can handle. I'm just a little sad it won't for me. I'll always have the first three, which I do legitimately love to pieces.

I'm not even crying or upset. I just... don't care anymore.

From a professional standpoint, that's always a danger when you change a piece of media too much. There has to be a certain amount of continuity to it so it feels the same. Without that?

You lose obsessed people like me.

You lose the older gamers who loved what Dragon Age was.

And absolutely, yes, fiction does need to change. It's an integral part of the whole thing. If it doesn't change, if it doesn't adapt, it dies just as quickly as if it changes too much. I like to see change in media. It's needed in so many ways. Change can be hard to adapt to, of course. Or in some cases impossible. Shrugs.

There's a professional balance to these things. It wouldn't surprise me if I have a bit of savantism when it comes to editing and writing. I just seem to deeply understand how it all works in ways others rarely see. Looking at a novel or a game or a show from an editorial perspective is very much like looking at a 4d puzzle for me. I can instinctively see what works and what doesn't.

It's just that, in my honest professional opinion, they tried to change way too much to appeal to a different set of gamers than those of us who are a little older and have loved the feel of the first three games.

It's not the change itself I object to. I'm definitely not one of those people who thinks that DAO was the best DA ever. I've loved them all for different reasons. But they all still felt like Dragon Age. Even DA2, which a lot of people hate, still felt like a fantasy RPGish adventure. (I enjoyed it for what it was. I'd've liked to see what it could've been with more time, but for what it was, they did a great job and it was an enjoyable game).

DA4? From what we've seen so far, it doesn't even remotely feel like a fantasy RPGish adventure game. It feels like a cheap star wars/FFXIV/Fortnite knockoff designed for a much different type of gamer. (Which was actually confirmed by Epler in the Q&A. They did, in fact, design it more for younger players than those of us who have been waiting for it for however long.) Professionally, I believe that was a mistake that may cost them.

The darkspawn alone are a bloody travesty. WTAF are those things? And yes, I've seen the 'lore excuse' that it's the red lyrium making them look like bad halloween deco. I'd buy it if they were kinda spiky and had red lyrium growths and stuff like the red lyrium infected creatures in DAI. But it's like they forgot their own canon.

I dunno. It really just doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure that no matter how beautiful the backgrounds and some of the art they've just... lost me.

I guess I write these kinds of posts so others in the same boat as me know they aren't alone.

You aren't imagining it. While change is in fact good and necessary to a certain extent, they've changed it so much trying to appeal to a different market that it really doesn't feel even remotely like Dragon Age anymore.

[melancholic-hues]

the hectic way of things (take a break)

posted on AO3

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - boothill/robin ; robin & sunday ; boothill & robin ; boothill & robin

tags - written before version 2.2 ; alternate universe ; second chapter is written after 2.2

word count - 2208/10056 words

chapters - 2/2

-

Sunday tosses the trash out and places the tray on the existing stack of them, brushes his gloves off any stray crumbs, and walks back to their table. Robin and Boothill, strangely, aren’t talking.

He sits down, brows creased and suspicious in his eyes. “Is there something wrong?”

Robin looks uncharacteristically nervous. “Nothing of the sort. Uhm.” Her hands are clasped together. “Brother. Can we go on Hanu’s Great Escape together?”

His first instinct is to turn it down.

He should’ve.

He doesn’t go on roller coasters, they’re too childish for him, as someone who’s supposed to be running this place.

But the day has worn down his stubbornness and disdain for such immature attractions, and Robin looks too hopeful — she’s obviously been pondering over this for a long time, judging from her expression — for him to turn down the offer.

“Please?” Robin tries.

Sunday sighs, shoulders dropping. “I suppose just this once is fine.”

His sister’s reaction is worth going on every ride here for. Xipe’s puzzle pieces, has he not been indulging her all her wants for this long? Wait, nevermind. He hasn’t. Right. Work has caught up to him, buried him completely and ate up every bit of his free time. He’d always assumed she had other people, notably Boothill (Sunday still dislikes him), but neglected to actually spend time with his sister.

Time has strained their relationship far too thin. He’ll do this for her, to make up for yet another one of his many…

Robin gets up, pulling Boothill along. “Really?”

Sunday smiles. “Of course. I haven’t spent much leisure time with you for far too long.”

If that makes Robin upset, she shows no indication of it. “Great! The attraction is on the other side of the park, if that’s okay?” Nevertheless, Boothill grabs her purse and his hat, and they start walking.

Sunday stands, hands behind his back, and follows along.

***

“That is the ride…?” he asks after what must have been at least twenty minutes of walking. Everything in Penacony is luxury and grandeur (just look at their portion sizes and highways), and he doesn’t expect to get through this entire park in under ten minutes at all. It’s the best of the best in the entire universe.

“Yup!” Robin confirms, standing at its gates. There is a giant arch overhead that reads, ‘Hanu’s Great Escape,’ in muted bubble letters. Finding the entrance to this ride is notoriously difficult. After a few minutes of failure, they finally found it. Robin had looked very embarrassed when they finally arrived at the entrance.

The ride is one of the most famous coasters in Penacony alone, and the so-called ‘second best’ in this theme park. The first is obviously the Watchmaker (he can’t decide whether the names are corny or genius), the one that shoots straight up and back down again. Other rides aside, ‘Hanu’s Great Escape’ is one of the longest thrill rides at the park, standing at two minutes and five seconds. It’s a wooden coaster, for a change, but built with state-of-the-art technology. Wooden coasters aren’t something you see in every amusement park here in Penacony anymore.

“Ah.” Sunday swallows, nodding along and a pleasant expression on his face. Doesn’t Robin think this is too… thriller of a ride to go on immediately after having lunch? Well, he certainly does. He understands taking Boothill on, since the Ranger has mechanical insides and all, but them? Two Halovians with actual nervous systems and a brain that processes nausea and such feelings? He hasn’t been to an amusement park in ages. He’s inexperienced with going on rides.

Robin gives him a suspicious look. “My dear brother… you’re not… scared, are you?”

Boothill snorts from behind them. All the Aeons above, Sunday is still going to strangle him.

Just to spite (and preserve his status as the leader of Penacony), Sunday clears his throat, his posture uptight and regal. “That’s a silly question. I’ve seen, and been through, way worse than simple roller coasters like this.”

“Well, what are you hesitating for?” Robin sweetly asks. “Boothill?”

The cyborg shakes his head. “Naw. You two can go.”

Robin nods and gives her purse to Boothill, who hoops it over his shoulder. The sparkly baby-blue-and-pink purse is quite the sight on the cyborg’s more red-and-black colors. His sister heads inside the flash pass gate. Sunday follows after her, weaving through the maze of metal railings and turns. The normal line is… extremely long. People buzz with chatter, patiently waiting in these lines. Some of them shoot him and Robin looks upon seeing them skip the wait.

Sunday shakes off the stares as easy as cake. They finally step up the platform of the ride, handing their flash passes over to the gatekeeper to scan. The gatekeeper lets them in.

“Okay, we have two choices.” Robin holds up her left hand in a peace sign. With her other index finger, she taps her left index finger. “One: the first row and experience the visual intensity. Or — ” she taps her middle finger — “we go in the back to feel the physical intensity. This is scientifically proven, by the way. There is no middle choice.”

“You can choose,” he offers.

Robin levels him with a stare. “Back or front?”

He looks at the coaster, full of its twists and turns and loops and drops, and manages, “the back.” He is not going to look near-death in the eye. The intensity differences can’t be that drastic; he won’t even know the difference. Confirmation bias and other psychological effects aside.

“Okay!” They head toward the end lane with the least amount of people. They just have to wait around three more turns. It’s not that long, but not exactly speedy either. He wonders how long some of these non-flash pass holders have been standing in line for. Thirty minutes? Perhaps even longer? Most likely.

“You were very happy today, sister,” he notes when Robin bounces on her heels.

“I am!” Robin grins. “It’s been so long since you stepped out of the mansion, and it’s been so long since I’ve been able to have fun like this. I would love to do this more often, but I love my fans too much to entirely give up on them,” Robin smiles. She’s right; it has been some time since they’ve both stepped away from the public’s eye.

Does he yearn for when they were younger, when he and Robin could sneak away to play together? Sunday would not like his childhood body back, but he certainly does miss those carefree days. Now, that kind of wish is just silly and impossible to return to for the Dreammaster’s children like him. Robin has leniency since she is an interstellar superstar. He does not. He is running this place.

“I agree. You should take care of yourself more,” Sunday softly chides. “I don’t want you overworking yourself.” Robin comes first, before all his other priorities. The Family and the Dreammaster still haven’t forgiven him for placing his own sister first over Penacony’s Charmony Festival.

“You too. Out of the two of us, I think you should rest more. Staying up all night will take a toll on you, no matter how tough you project yourself to be. You’re not just a leader, brother.” His sister turns away from him and shifts a few steps forward in the line as the next cart comes. “You’re a person too.”

Sunday is silent, then. Robin rarely openly discusses that. What prompted her to do so this time? Perhaps it’s the atmosphere of this place.

“Perhaps,” Sunday simply responds with. It is the best he can do.

He is not just ‘a person.’ Both of them are, in theory, people. But they carry responsibilities and wield abilities that do not conform to average standards. Today is as average as people like them can get. Sunday tries not to dwell on his sister’s words.

The cart comes and goes, and before you know it, it’s their turn. Robin steps into the platform and sits down, pulling the harness over her and locking it in place with ease. Sunday does the same. The remaining two seats adjacent to theirs are empty; the next group contains three people, so they’re waiting for the next coaster.

“Is this safe?” he whispers to Robin.

“We’re gonna be fine,” she reassures. “This was tested a hundred times over. We are not the exception to the scientifically-proven facts.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Sunday, one more word about this ride and I think you might be scared of this,” Robin teases.

He shuts up.

The ride starts, and the cart moves. He closes his eyes, presses the back of his head firmly to the headrest of the seat, and prays to Xipe for the best.

The cart goes uphill, onto an incline, and his body tilts back with it. “Sister, is everything fine with you over there?”

“Yes, brother, yes yes yes,” she deadpans. “Here, hold my hand.” Robin reaches out and pries his right hand off the handlebars on the harness, taking his gloved hands in hers. “There. You’re safe.” Her voice is soothing and calm, washing over him and calming his nerves — the effects of Harmony.

Sunday can’t help but think how it used to be him who would do that.

The cart reaches the top of the hill, clawing its way forward agonizingly slow.

He squeezes her hand, his hold dead tight.

“You’re definitely scared,” Robin laughs.

“Am I hurting you?” Sunday asks, moving to pull his hand away.

“No, you’re not.” Robin squeezes back.

The cart stops, inching over the drop. There are a few laughs, screams.

Sunday recites a few prayers in his head, and the cart drops.

Everything starts all at once, from the screams to the cart clanging against the rails to the ringing in his ears. He is pretty sure he is screaming. Robin is laughing, holding their intertwined hands up in the air. His left hand is clutched on the metal handlebar. You can’t even pry it off if you want to. His heart is beating in double time, blood rushing in his ears.

The wind slaps his face, ruffling his hood and blowing through his hair, as they twist and turn in the tracks. His body shoots dangerously close to the ground, then he is propelled upwards again.

Then – Robin’s laughing rings above all the screaming. It’s clear and defiant, pulling his attention away from his less-than-favorable (PLEASE GET HIM OUT) predicament right now. Through the wind, Sunday turns to look at his sister, her smile wide and carefree like a songbird soaring in the sky, elusive to anyone who tried to capture her.

He is so startled at this, seeing Robin rid of the chains of the Dreammaster’s children and the stage, and mesmerized at the same time. He shuts his eyes, the wind crashing into him over and over again.

The ride slows, and Robin’s laughter gradually fades away. She wipes away the tears that gathered at her eyes from the wind and brushes through her wig.

He turns back front and lets out a breath, shoulders dropping and eyes wide. He thinks that if he lifts his hand, it will shake uncontrollably. The cart lets out a huff, for lack of a better word, and the harnesses lift. Robin drops his hand as she gets up.

The two minutes had passed by like nothing.

He gets up, hands clenched in fists, and follows Robin and the crowd out the exit gates. The exit is on the other side of the attraction, and Boothill is nowhere to be seen.

“How was it?” Robin reaches up and fixes his hood for him.

Sunday blinks.

He can’t help it.

He laughs, a hand slightly covering his mouth. “That was amazing,” he smiles, something pure and genuine and he hasn’t done that in a long time, his eyes crinkling.

Robin is in awe. At something.

“Hm?” Sunday’s stupid smile isn’t going away. It feels like the coaster has blown off some of the weight on his shoulders. What is this feeling?

His sister shakes herself out of her trance. “Nothing. You look happy.”

“As do you.”

“Princess!” Boothill lifts a hand, and Robin grins, jogging toward him. Sunday doesn’t let the cyborg’s presence wipe the silly look off his face, closely trailing behind Robin. When Boothill sees Sunday, his eyes narrow and whispers something to Robin. In front of Sunday’s face. Oh well.

“I’ll tell you about the coaster later. Can we go on the Watchmaker now? Please?” Robin looks at Boothill, eyes shining with glee.

“One coaster was enough for me,” Sunday admits. “Hanu’s Great Escape was fun, but I’d rather not go on that as my second time riding a coaster. You can go with Boothill.”

“I understand!” Robin’s face, this time, does not show any disappointment. The adrenaline from the coaster has died down in him, but it is still up and kicking in Robin, it seems. “Boothill.”

“Fine by me,” the cowboy shrugs. “You comin’, darlin’?”

Robin slips her hand in Boothill’s. “Let’s go.”

Sunday tucks his hands in his pockets, drops the tension from his shoulders, and goes along.