#I do also absolutely write myself fanfics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madebycloud · 1 month ago

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violet "vi" x female reader — 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: on valentine's day, and you've finally worked up the courage to write a letter to your crush confessing your feelings. unfortunately, your friend accidentally gives the letter to the one person you can't stand. warnings/themes: fluff, one sided enemies, valentines, kissing cam, angry confessions, fast burn ig, high school, mordern au words: 10.9k

You look at the letter in your desk, which you spent at least six hours working on to make sure it's perfect. Not just to make sure the words you're choosing are perfect, though—you want to make sure your handwriting is perfect enough that it doesn't look sloppy.

You grab the letter and read it over one last time… lovey-dovey bullshit, sappy stuff, romantic nonsense, etc.

You cringe at the last words, “Meet me at the bleachers... break time.”

It's so cliché, so stereotypical, and maybe you've had a couple too many cheesy romance movies in the past month. You've probably read a dozen fanfics that start like this.

If it were done by anyone other than yourself, you'd think it was absolutely dumb and corny as hell.

You know you could just message them through snapchat or on insta, or facebook, even just confessing through their email is a good idea… but, no, you just can't do that.

What if you say the wrong thing? what if you just happen to say something extremely cringy in your message? what if they screenshot it and put it on their story for everyone to see? what if they reply with “who is this...?” what if they start ignoring you?

Plus, you love your phone too damn much, and you know you're gonna end up throwing the damn thing because of the absolute panic you're gonna feel when your finger hits that send button.

You probably should have just sent a carrier pigeon or something… at least they could eat that.

Oh wait.

You forgot one thing.

You look around your room, trying to figure out what you left out. Your penmanship is on point, the words are as romantic as they could be, and the grammar is perfect... but what's missing?

The perfume.

The bottle of perfume is on your dresser, hiding behind the jewelry case. You spray it liberally, making sure the paper absorbs the smell of it, before finally folding it up neatly and placing it in the envelope. You seal the envelope with a kiss to the paper and hope it's the ‘special touch’ that it needs.

The smell is nice, just enough to have the paper absorbing it nicely, but not enough to be overwhelming (even if you love the perfume to death). You also want your recipient to be able to read the letter without cringing.

Okay, now it's really done. It's romantic, it smells good, and it's as perfect as you can get it.

Tomorrow's the day, and you finally feel confident. You have everything ready to go, you just have to figure out how to get your friend to deliver it to your crush's locker.

As you get ready for bed, the only thing you can't stop thinking about is how tomorrow will go.

Will they love the letter? will they finally realize the feelings you have for them and confess their own feelings? who knows?

—

“Come on,” you whine, begging Ekko for the fifth time. “Just do me this favor, please?”

Ekko just scoffs and gestures to the table. “I already told you, I have all of these-” he motions to the dozens of letters in front of him, “-that i'm supposed to deliver for girls that are crushing on Caitlyn.” He sighs. “I can't add any more to my to do list.”

“Please?” you beg, waving the envelope at him. “It's really important.”

Ekko groans and slumps forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “Why can't you just deliver it yourself?”

“It's kinda.. embarrassing… for me to deliver it myself…” You fidget awkwardly.

“Ugh.” Ekko groans again but gives in. “Fine,” he relents, sitting up straight and grabbing the letter from you.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ekko waves his hand dismissively. He stands up and stretches out, letting out a deep sigh as he does. “Just remind me what locker number it is?” he asks, shoving the letters into his bag.

“Locker number is 13 C,” you reply, watching as Ekko slings his bag over his shoulder and starts walking out of the cafeteria. “It's pretty much right next to Caitlyn's, so you won't be missing it.”

“Got it,” he says, turning around and flashing a grin at you. “See ya later.” He gives you a salute before he disappears.

Finally.

After months of keeping your feelings quiet, your secret would be revealed. You just have to hope that it doesn't blow up in your face.

—

Ekko walks down the hallway, scanning through the numbers above the lockers until he finds the one he's looking for.

Caitlyn's locker.

He scans the area for any sign of Caitlyn, and luckily for him, the coast is clear.

He pulls out the envelopes from his bag, each one slightly crinkled from being stuffed in there. He counts up the total- ten, no, twelve... wait. Fifteen? that's more than he thought, he could have sworn there were less. He dumps all the letters on top of the locker hole.

He looks down at the remaining letter in his hand. Right, that one isn't for her. He sighs and places the letter next to her locker, just like he was told to do.

He gives the locker one last look but doesn't give it a second thought and starts walking away, whistling as he goes.

But... what Ekko didn't know is that instead of placing it into the locker next to it, he accidentally dumped it into 11C, aka, Vi's locker.

—

You wait at the entrance of your school, impatiently bouncing on your feet. Valentine's day is tomorrow, and you can't wait for your crush to read the letter you poured your heart into.

Then, you spot Ekko, and you're quick to greet him. “Hey!” You throw an arm around his shoulders. “So, did you put it in?”

He nods, gesturing to the school doors. “Yeah, I did.”

You sigh, relieved that the letter is in your crush's locker and will likely be seen by them soon. “Thanks.” You give him a squeeze on the shoulder before letting go of him. “I seriously owe you one for this.”

Ekko just brushes you off. “It's nothing.” He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets as you start walking into the courtyard. “Just doing my good deed of the day.”

“Mhm, hopefully tomorrow goes as planned,” you say, “I just hope they like it…”

—

Tomorrow finally comes, and it's the day you've been patiently waiting for. Valentine's day.

You're in your first class, waiting for your teacher to come in. You're distracted, your mind racing with thoughts about what your crush thinks of the letter.

Then, someone suddenly sits next to you, and you turn to look at-

“What the hell?” you blurt out, looking at Vi as she makes herself comfortable in the chair.

Vi smirks. “Hey,” she greets.

That smirk alone pisses you off.

You still haven't gotten over the fact that because of her, your grades had taken a nosedive. The two of you had been paired together in science class, and she'd somehow managed to blow up the experiment, all because she wasn't paying attention.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you snap, glaring at her.

She simply glances at you, then back at the desk she's sitting on. “What do you think? I'm sitting.”

The audacity?

“I know that, but why are you sitting next to me?”

“Come on, don't act like you don't know.” She throws in a wink, and your disgust quickly multiplies.

“Excuse me?” you sputter, completely caught off guard by her sudden flirtatious behavior.

“You really gonna act like you don't know?"

“No?”

She scoffs and leans towards you, smirk on her lips. “I mean,” she adds, eyeing you up and down, “I thought you'd be... happy... to see me.”

You're stunned, confused, and quite frankly, grossed out. “Happy to—WHY ON EARTH would I be happy to see you?” you spit out.

She huffs and slumps back into the chair. “Oh wow, thanks for the warm welcome.”

“Well, what did you expect? You haven't exactly been... pleasant to be around.”

She narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to reply but stops short as the teacher enters the classroom.

She finally shuts up, and you're left wondering what just happened. Why in the world is someone who is a pain in your butt cheeks suddenly flirting with you? is there something wrong with her? or has she lost her damn mind?

—

It's recess, and you're sitting on the bleachers, waiting for your crush to show up.

Your palms are sweating, you're starting to worry that your armpits are going to start smelling, you're probably going to end up throwing up on someone's shoes.

The letter was probably too much. The words were too romantic. The whole cliché “meet me at the bleachers” thing was just cringe. Who wrote that? oh right... you did.

But even if the outcome isn't what you hope for, at least you've got a good story to tell later or maybe a good reason to drown yourself in ice cream and cheesy rom-com movies.

You look around the bleachers once, twice, three times. You try to avoid glancing at your phone, but the urge to check the time only grows stronger.

It doesn't help that a couple of assholes are sitting a few feet away from you, loudly laughing at some video playing on one of their phones.

Recess is almost over, and your crush is still not here. Where the hell are they?

Maybe they could possibly be in the bathroom, having a nervous breakdown like you were? or maybe they're just taking their sweet time, making sure they're looking perfect?

Or maybe they're not coming at all.

And then you hear footsteps coming your way,

THIS IS IT.

Is your hair okay? yes. Are your teeth brushed? yes, dumbass.

You quickly wipe your sweaty palms, trying to calm your racing heart. You turn around, ready to see the face of an angel, the face of a goddamn god-

But instead you see the face of someone you'd rather shove into a brick wall.

Vi.

Why the hell is she... smiling at you?

“Damn, you look good from this angle.”

WHAT?

Why is this goddamn lesbian here with that stupid smile on her face?

“Why are you here?”

“Isn't it obvious? I'm here to see you.” She pulls out an oddly familiar envelope from her pocket and holds it in her hand, and you realize why it's so familiar.

Wait... that's your letter!

The one you wrote to your crush. The one that's meant to be in their locker, not in her damn hands.

How the hell did it end up with her?

She looks at the envelope, studying the handwriting on it, and then her eyes lock with yours again. “This is yours, right?”

Your hand quickly snatches the envelope from her hand. “How the fuck did you get that?”

Vi quickly snatches the envelope away, holding it out of your reach. “Whoa, woah, wait-”

“Give me that!” You lunge for the envelope, but she sidesteps you.

Vi laughs, holding the envelope away from you. “Isn't this for me?” She opens the envelope and throws it aside, then pulls out the letter and starts reading it aloud. “Dear... what the hell, how do you... whatever. Dear blah, blah, blah, happy valentine's da-”

“-SHUT UP!” You try to snatch the letter again.

“Hey, I'm not done reading it yet! This is my valentine's gift, after all.”

“That letter is meant for someone else!”

“Really? Then why did I find it in my locker?”

“Wait, what? You found it in—you're joking, right?”

She shakes her head, waving the letter in front of you. “Nope, I'm not joking.”

“How did you-”

“Someone put it in my locker.”

“That's impossible! I would never—I mean to you? there's no way that was meant for you.”

Vi squints at the words in the letter, then looks up at you again. “But this is definitely written in your handwriting, right?”

How did it end up in her locker? and how the hell does she even know what your handwriting looks like?

Your eyes dart from the letter in her hands to her face. Yes, it's definitely your handwriting. Yes, it's definitely the same stupid letter you wrote because you're a hopeless romantic.

“Maybe,” you grumble.

“Maybe? so it is yours?”

You avoid her gaze, avoiding her smug look.

She starts reading over the letter again, reading it aloud. “Meet me at the bleachers, how goddamn cliché-”

“STOP READING IT!”

“Damn, I didn't think you could be this corny.”

“Shut up, just-” You try to snatch the letter out of her hand once again, but she pulls her arm away.

“You wrote this much for someone?”

“Why do you care so damn much, anyway? You didn't get a valentine gift or something?” and now you're just being bitchy as well.

“What are you, ten?” she retorts.

“And what are you, an idiot?”

“I'm not an idiot, unlike you.”

“Oh, wow, are we back in sixth grade now?”

She looks down at the letter. “I'm not the one who wrote a heartfelt letter for someone who probably doesn't even like you.”

“And how the hell would you know?”

“Have you even talked to them before?” She lifts her head, her smirk coming back when you didn't answer. “Since whoever the hell you have a crush on doesn't like you-”

“They could still-”

“See, everyone has a valentine. Well, almost everyone, which means your crush probably got one too.”

“Yeah, 'cause you got that letter they were supposed to receive.”

“Maybe I was meant to have it then.”

“You're seriously that sure that the universe wants you to have this?”

“Maybe it's a sign.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you just dumb on purpose?”

She grins. “I'm not doing it on purpose, and maybe it's a sign that I should be your valentine, that the universe is trying to tell you something.”

You roll your eyes. “Wow, so confident. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're actually serious.”

“And what if I am serious?” You look at her blankly as she shrugs. She actually thinks she's funny. “I mean, you don't have a valentine, which does kind of suck, and I don't have one, which is by choice, by the way, so I think the universe is clearly telling us something.”

What the actual hell is wrong with her today? she didn't get enough sleep or something, and now she's acting like... like this? this is weird.

She's being weird.

“What, is the universe now trying to set us up? really? we're gonna get a movie based off this?”

“Hey, no one said this was a movie, maybe it's just a cute little high school romance,” she argues back. “Plus, you put a lot of work into this letter, and I'd hate for it to go to waste.”

“I'm not in the mood to start a cute little high school romance with you, okay?”

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “Look,” she says, holding up a hand to stop you from replying, “it's valentine's day, right? and we both don't have anyone, so it's just... for today, we can, you know... see what happens, and if it doesn't work out, then we can just leave it alone and go back the way we were.”

You blink slowly. “That sounds worse than your whole ‘the universe wants us together’ bullshit.”

“Wow, don't act like the idea of it is so awful. I mean, I'm not that bad, right?”

You're going to disagree with that with every single cell in your body, but you decide not to, instead, you just remain silent.

Vi seems to take your silence as agreement because she gives you this insufferable smirk like she just won something.

She continues. “It makes sense if you think about it. We're both single, you're already in a lovesick mood because of this,” she gestures at the letter, “so if we do, you know... we can get it out of your system, and you won't have to spend the rest of the school year pining over some person who is probably ignoring you anyway.”

Why is she making some sense? no, why is she sounding like... a good option all of a sudden?

“It's just for today,” she reminds you again. “We'll just see where it goes. Who knows, you might actually have some fun with me.”

This feels like you're cheating on your crush for even entertaining this stupid plan.

“You're basically saying that we're going to spend one day together and then you'll ditch me?” you retort.

“No, that's not what I'm saying,” she corrects you. “I'm saying we're gonna spend one day together, and if it doesn't work out, then we go our separate ways. It's just one day, it can't hurt. It won't be such a big deal.”

“I'm not going to be your one day entertainment.”

“Who said you'd be my entertainment?” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head at you. “You and I both know you have no other options. What're you gonna do instead, go home and cry over this person who doesn't even know you exist, or just spend the day wallowing in self pity while the rest of the school is celebrating love and stuff with their actual valentines?”

You wince at her harsh words because... she's got a point.

You don't have anyone to spend this day with, and the person you'd want to spend it with will probably spend it with someone else... so yeah, you have no plans, and yeah, you're probably going to just go home and wallow in self pity, wishing that today was over already.

What would happen, actually? if you go along with her stupid plan. You could finally have an escape from pining over your stupid crush who probably doesn't even notice you.

“Fine.” You snatch the letter back from her.

“Wait, what? really?” She's actually surprised. No wonder, she's the one who came up with this stupid plan in the first place.

“I am,” you say, “you don't want me to?”

She huffs out a laugh. “No, no, of course not. I just… didn't expect you to actually agree.”

“And why is that?”

“I don't know, I figured you'd still have a little bit of decency left in you.”

What a backhanded compliment. “I have plenty of decency left in me, it's you who I'd question, and besides... it's just for today.” You fold the letter and shove it into your pocket.

Vi hums, not taking that offense to your comment. “Just today,” she repeats. “Then tomorrow, boom, everything goes back to normal.”

You nod. “Back to normal.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

Whoa woah woah. Calm down. “Ew, what?”

“I didn't say I will kiss you,” she points out, “I said I could.”

You could say something mean to her words, you could try to change the subject or you could just walk away and forget this conversation ever happened.

But what you actually say is, “What's stopping you then?”

You hate how that sounds so casual. It wasn't meant to come out like that. What the hell?

You're not entirely sure, but something is definitely encouraging you to keep this going. Is it because you find everything she does annoying or that you've been pent-up over your stupid crush lately and you need to get it out of your system?

Vi raises an eyebrow at your words. “You want me to kiss you?” The words drip out of her mouth, like honey on a spoon.

“No,” you reply on instinct, because of course not.

But you can't stop the way your eyes flicker down to look at her lips. You look back at her face, and you know damn well she saw you look down at her lips, but she doesn't say anything about it.

“So now that it's official... you're my valentine, and today, we're going to have the shittiest, most awesome date-” she coughs, “-i mean hangout, that you'll ever have.”

“I doubt it.”

“Hey,” she says, “don't underestimate me, okay? I know how to have a good time,” and then she, god help you, she winks at you.

She looks like she's about to say something more, but she stops when the bell rings.

“Meet me at the parking lot after class?” she asks.

You find yourself nodding. “Yeah, sure.” You look at the field for a second and then look back, just so you can catch her reaction—and it's not at all what you were expecting. She's... blushing?

It's subtle, more subtle than you'd think, but her cheeks are definitely red, and when she realizes you notice her, she looks away.

She looks embarrassed.

She's embarrassed?

“Anyway, see you there... valentine.” She doesn't look at you. “Try not to miss me too much.”

What? miss her? She sounds like she's trying to joke about it, but something about the way she says it sounds sincere? What the fuck?

She starts to walk away. You're pretty sure you see another smile on her face, and if you didn't like her so much, you'd probably like how she looks when she does.

But you remind yourself, this is Vi.

The same Vi you've known for years, the same Vi who made your grades worse because of a stupid experiment, the same Vi who you'd probably love to throw out the nearest window if you could, and the same Vi you can't stand.

You force yourself to turn away, and you start to walk back to the school building. You try to push the image of her stupid blushing face and her stupid pretty smile out of your brain because you are not... going to make the mistake of being attracted to her.

—

Time passes by more slowly than a snail.

What's the saying...? ‘A watched pot never boils?’ You're pretty sure you could watch paint dry, and it would move at a faster pace.

Why is time passing so slowly today?

You're not sure if it's because you have this... ‘hangout’ to expect at the end of the day or if it's because you keep getting distracted by the thoughts of what is going to happen later.

What you do know is that you end up spacing out way too much more than a person should.

Thankfully, you don't have any homework, but your notes for the day are just absolutely horrible, a mindless mess of scribbles and pointless words. You're definitely going to regret this later.

The last bell mercifully rings just as you're in the middle of doodling a small sketch of Vi's face in the corner of your notes.

You quickly shut your notebook and stuffed everything into your bag.

You need to find your goddamn common sense first, but it seems to have left the room before you could.

The hallway is a goddamn mess.

Kids are running everywhere in the halls, screaming loud as hell, some girl is trying to stuff her locker to the point where it's going to explode, and some kid has got a goddamn boombox and is blasting music from it. There's the hallway drama that everyone loves listening to even though they should be minding their own business.

Seriously, it feels like you're in the middle of a goddamn jungle with the amount of people screaming.

Walking to the parking lot takes longer than it usually would. When you get there, you see a familiar head of pink hair leaning against a red motor, scrolling through something on her phone.

She hasn't noticed you yet, and you find yourself unable to move your feet for a second.

She's just leaning back against the motorcycle, lazily swiping through something on her phone. She's even biting her lower lip slightly, and for some reason, you really don't know why that's such a good look on her.

Okay, what?

You need to stop letting your brain run away with these thoughts.

You are not going to act like a middle school idiot who just got caught looking at her crush or something. You're an intelligent, mature human being. You're definitely not some dumb kid with an embarrassing crush either. Definitely not.

The sunlight makes her glow, and when she looks up from her phone, you feel you're hit with a wave of goddamn sun poisoning because the sunlight hitting her eyes makes them shine.

She looks over and sees you, shoving her phone into her pocket. She gestures you over with a slight jerk of her head.

You force your feet to start cooperating and get your ass over there.

“Glad you came.”

What kind of response would even be the right one for that? “Me too” would sound too enthusiastic. “Yep” sounds so disinterested, like you'd rather be anywhere else than here, when that might be partially true, but you're not trying to sound like a dick. “Same here” sounds like such a sarcastic tone, and “Of course I'm here, you're the one who forced me into this” would sound too rude.

Instead, you just say nothing, which she notices, of course.

“What, no smart shits today?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” you mutter as you turn your attention to the red motor behind her. You notice the scuffed up leather seat and the worn tires.

You then glance around the parking lot, wondering how many times you've seen this before. The motorcyclist who's always late to class, the seniors who smoke too much and are always ditching school, the students with cars who love to show off the brand new car their parents gave them, and the popular girls gossiping about some poor girl who can't afford nice clothes.

The sound of a motorcycle engine starting snaps you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see Vi getting onto the motorcycle

She pats the back seat behind her. “You getting on or what?”

“...is it like fast?”

“Is it like fast?"” she mimics in a childish tone before rolling her eyes. “Yeah, it's fast. Get on it and find out.”

“I just asked a question, no need to be a dick.”

“Are you always this bitchy?” she asks, then throws you a helmet. “Put this on.”

You catch the helmet, and you put it on. “Only around you.” You approach the motor and try not to comment on the poor condition and instead climb on behind her.

You have no idea what to do with your legs, so for a few seconds, you just awkwardly sit behind her, trying to position yourself like riding a horse.

“Are you gonna hold on?” Vi calls out.

“Hold on to what?”

“Me, dumbass. Grab my waist.”

“Hell no.”

“It's for your own safety.”

“I'm fine,” you shift around, trying to find a comfortable position.

Vi seems to start losing her patience with you. “If you want to fall off the bike mid ride and splatter onto someone's yard like a squashed bug, be my guest.”

That gets you to hold onto her waist out of pure spite.

“Just don't squeeze my abs too tight. I still need air.”

You scoff. “Who the hell is so narcissistic that they think something as simple as that would affect me?”

She huffs, amused by your snark, and puts on her own helmet. “It's not narcissism. It's just a joke,” she retorts.

You scoff again, but your hand tightens around her waist reflexively.

She chuckles. “Knew you couldn't resist.”

You pinch her waist. “Just shut up and drive.”

She snorts. “Touchy, aren't we?”

“Yeah, I am,” you reply sarcastically, pinching her waist again.

“Hey!” she exclaims, then sighs. “Okay, fine. I'll stop, just stop it.”

She starts the motor, and the hum of the engine vibrates throughout your body. It's louder being sat on top of the thing compared to how it sounds when you're on the ground. You feel this rumble throughout your chest, and you really want to comment on the poor thing making that much noise.

“Just hold on tight.”

—

“FUCK YEAH! WOOO!” you shout, punching the air with your fist and standing up. It's hockey, but who cares? you're not a fan, not in the slightest, but you're still screaming and cheering, all in a bid to support the team.

Vi is right beside you, shouting as well, while she eats a hot dog and washes it down with soda. “I thought you hated hockey!” she shouts over the crowd's cheers.

You shrug, but it's impossible to respond. You can't hear each other over the sound of the audience's cheers.

A few of the people sitting in the same section as you give you some weird looks, like you suddenly went insane. Well, can you really blame them? it probably looks like you have the sudden urge to yell random things for no reason.

Vi is the only one who doesn't look at you like you're some lunatic, her gaze is focused on the game, all while cheering, and occasionally making comments about the players.

It's different compared to watching it on TV. You're actually there, in person, surrounded by people who share your excitement and are as loud as you or louder.

You're also next to the most annoying person ever, but you don't want to dwell on that.

You drop down, back into your seat, and lean back, stretching your legs out. Your thighs and legs are starting to feel like jelly from all that screaming and standing. “Damn,” you tell her, shaking your legs. “I think I just strained a muscle or something.”

Vi laughs and sits down on her seat. “You know, I've been around here for years now. I probably know some people here.” She glances around the crowd of people, scanning them like she's trying to find someone in particular.

“Oh yeah? who's that in the third row then?”

She follows the direction of your finger and immediately points at a random person. “That's Fred! I once went to elementary with him.”

You have no idea if she's making that up or not. “And what about the guy next to him with the big hat?”

Vi squints at the section you pointed at. “That's George.” She then points at a girl with a black jacket. “That's Sneha,” she pauses, her eyes catching someone in the distance, “and oh-” her hand abruptly changes direction, pointing forward, “-that's Jenny,” she says, waving her hand. “Yo, Jen!”

The old lady turns around and nods her greeting. “Hi sweetheart, how's it going?”

“Doing good, gramps. Just watching the game with this one.” She nudges at you.

The old lady turns to look at you, her face taking the form of a smile. “Ah, a girlfriend, I see.”

Girlfriend? What's she talking about? “Um, no. Just a friend.”

Vi's eyebrows rise as her whole mouth goes ajar. “Friend?” she repeats, “We're friends now?”

“Only for today. Don't get used to the idea.”

The old lady hums. “Is that so? well, enjoy the game, children.”

“Yeah, yeah, we will,” Vi responds to the old lady, and once the lady turns back to watch the game, she leans in close, bumping her shoulder into yours. “That's Jen. She's basically the team's grandma,” Vi explains. “She's been here for years, goes to almost every game.”

You watch the lady continue to watch the game. “So she's like a regular here.”

“Yeah, sometimes she talks about how things were better in ‘her day.’”

“You two seem close though,” you point out.

“She's old and friendly,” she says, scratching her cheek. “Plus, old ladies are always fond of me. I helped her one time with her groceries after one game, and now she thinks I'm a sweetheart.” Vi shrugs, taking another bite of her hotdog. “She's also a nice lady. Always has candy and stuff to give out to everyone.”

“Candy, huh?”

“Yep,” she swallows and smacks her lips to get any food out from her mouth. “She always has peppermint discs, peppermint sticks, and chocolate sticks in her bag.”

“Why do you know that?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“Why does she have candy anyway?”

Vi takes another bite. “Just something she likes to give out,” she says, between chews, then points at the old lady's lap. “That blue thing she's knitting is actually a hat. She likes to give that out too.”

“Really?”

Vi shrugs again, eating yet another mouthful of her food, still somehow managing to speak at the same time. “Yeah, and don't be fooled by the knitting and the candy. She could beat you in a game of arm wrestling. She's still really buff.”

You nod silently, impressed with this old lady.

When Vi swallows the last bit of her hotdog, she pulls out her phone and points it at you. “I'm gonna take a picture of you... and put it on Tinder.” The second the camera's click sounds off, it takes everything in you to not grab her phone and throw it across the goddamn stadium.

She continues taking pictures, each time saying something different, like, “Look at this one,” or “This one's really good.” She holds up the phone, showing you a picture that's... actually not half bad. But you know giving her that reaction would just fuel her to do more, so instead, you scoff.

You turn your attention back to the stadium, trying to ignore whatever she's doing beside you. You look around. There are a surprising amount of men, guys, dudes, bros, etc. It's like they outnumber the women.

“There's a lot of dudes in here,” you comment. “Is it a testosterone fest over here, or what?”

Vi looks around as well. “Yep.”

“Do you think any of these guys like girls who love sports?”

Vi snorts. “Nah,” she replies, shoving her phone back into her pocket. “They're more interested in a girl who looks good in a jersey and knows how to bring them a cold beer.”

“So… basically they're only interested if we look cute and we don't open our mouths?”

“Pretty much.”

You groan. “I hate guys like that.”

“Hey, some guys aren't that bad,” she remarks.

“Yeah, and they're the ones in relationships.”

She thinks about it for a moment. “You know… I'm surprised you're not in a relationship.”

You give her a weird look. “Why?”

“Well, you're... y'know… cute.”

Is that a compliment or a fact? you are cute, you're aware of that, but still, it's weird how she said it and... did it look like there was a hint of something else in her tone of voice when she said that?

You force a smile, trying to brush it off. “Thanks.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, a silence you really want to fill with literally anything else than this weird awkwardness.

Just when the awkward silence couldn't possibly get more awkward, a sudden cheer from the crowd interrupts your thoughts. They're all looking up at something on top of the stadium. You furrow your brows before looking up, trying to see what it is they're looking at.

Your eyes land on the huge TV that's attached to the ceiling, and you see the words ‘KISSING CAM’ flashing in bright letters. The camera pans through the crowd, searching for a couple, and it lands on a couple who's sitting not too far from you.

“KISS! KISS! KISS!” You look over at Vi and see her cupping her hands over her mouth. She's standing up and shouting at the couple to kiss.

You watch as the girl looks up and sees the camera pointed towards her and her boyfriend. She whispers something to him, and it doesn't take a genius to know what she just said. The guy grins and leans in, giving his girlfriend a sloppy, wet kiss.

The crowd goes crazy, cheering and whistling. The couple pulls away from each other, both of them smiling.

You look at Vi again, who's still standing up. She seems to be enjoying this a lot more than you are, and you can see hearts in her eyes.

Once it seems like the camera has recorded enough footage, it moves to the next couple.

It goes to a couple sitting not too far away from you. The guy looks uncomfortable, but his girlfriend is completely eager to show some public affection. She grabs his chin and kisses him, but it’s only a quick, chaste kiss.

Vi yells out, “Come on, put some effort into it!” and then she sits down, leaning back in the chair.

The camera pans through the crowd again, skipping over several couples until finally landing on a group of guys. They look like they're having the time of their life, yelling at the camera and making rude gestures.

“Ah, boys…” an older man next to you sighs.

The camera captures the guys for a while, they're all laughing and having a good time.

The camera moves away from the group of guys and lands on Vi and a girl sitting right next to her.

Vi immediately makes some hand gestures, shaking her head and probably saying no. “We're not-” but before she can finish, the camera moves away from them, unsatisfied with this answer, and lands on the other girl sitting next to Vi.

You.

Fuck.

“KISS! KISS! KISS!” you hear someone, it sounds like the same person who cheered on the other couples.

You look over at Vi, who's watching you with this stupid smile on her face. You glare at her, she's clearly enjoying this way too much.

You lean over to her, through clenched teeth, you hiss, “This isn't funny.”

She shrugs, still smiling. “I think it is.”

“Well, I don't.”

“It's only a kiss.”

“It’s still embarrassing.”

“Oh come on, it's Valentine's Day!” she replies. “What? are you worried that you'll suck at kissing or something?”

“Excuse me? I am an excellent kisser.”

“Oh yeah?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Then why are you so worried about this? it won't be some gross open mouth kiss, it'll be just a little peck.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Because I don't want to be seen kissing in public, in front of hundreds of people,” you say, lowering your voice, “And I definitely do not want to kiss you.”

“Come on, you don't have to sound so disgusted by the idea of kissing me.”

“Because I am,” you say simply. “I don't want to kiss you anymore than you'd want to kiss me.”

“I never said I didn't want to kiss you.”

That statement takes you by surprise, you had just assumed that she would be grossed out by the thought of kissing you.

The chants start to get louder as more and more people join in. “KISS! KISS! KISS!”

You hear the same guy from before. “Kiss! c'mon! it's just a quick kiss, do it.”

You hear another girl from behind you. “Oh, come on! one little kiss! what's the big deal?”

It's no big deal.

But at the same time, you're starting to panic. You don't even know how to act right now, are you supposed to play along with this? are you supposed to ignore it? what the hell is happening?!

Your brain is starting to mush into mush because why are so many people chanting? why are they making such a big deal out of this? it's just a kiss, right? right… so why are you so nervous?

You turn your head to see Vi looking at you, her eyes staring into your soul.

“A kiss on the cheek will do,” she says aloud.

You're going to die.

Your heart is going to explode right here, in the middle of the stadium, and then your guts are going to spill out right in front of everybody.

Maybe it's best just to get this over with?

All you have to do is... just a kiss on the cheek. That's it.

You just have to get it over with before this turns into something bigger.

You're not really gonna enjoy this, you'd just get the feeling like you should have brushed your teeth harder in the morning.

Vi's not even attractive in the way that you would want to kiss her cheek, her skin probably sucks from waking up in the mornings, there's no way she remembers to wash her hair at least three times a week. What about her breath? There is no way that she actually brushes her teeth every day. Her breath probably tastes like stale cheetos and mountain dew. There is no way you're gonna get a single bit of pleasure from kissing her cheek.

But you do it anyway.

You press a kiss on her cheek, and it's... warm, and they burn under your lips. The smell of her body spray isn't overwhelming. It's subtle and pleasant. Her hair isn't as greasy as you imagined, and it feels kinda nice when your fingers brush against the side of her face. Her breath doesn't even smell like mountain dew and cheetos, it's actually minty and fresh, like she just ate a pack of gum.

You pull your face away before you let your brain get to you, but you just keep looking at her face because there is this huge grin plastered on her face that makes your heart beat faster. Her cheeks look red, and the tips of her ears are even red too.

The crowd goes nuts. You can barely hear the music or the announcers over the chanting. The kiss had lasted all but a few seconds, but the feeling on your lips linger.

You're both looking at each other like you've just seen each other for the very first time.

She's actually gorgeous.

How is it possible that you only now realized how beautiful she looks?

You look away, but even in your peripheral vision, you can see her looking at you. There's still a stupid grin on her face, and she looks happy.

She's actually happy that you kissed her on the cheek.

—

You and Vi are sitting in the parking lot after the game ends. Vi had bought some $5 pizza, but since the place is packed, you're now sitting in the parking lot with Vi's motorcycle parked behind you.

“I'm gonna be honest,” Vi starts, her face twisted up as she chews on a slice of pizza. “This is the best meal I’ve ever had.”

You hum, nodding along.

Vi takes another bite, a big one, and chews on it, her cheeks stuffed. She swallows and sighs contently. “Man, I should have bought two boxes,” she grumbles, looking down at the one last slice left in the box. Then, she looks up, straight at you, and grins. “You want the last slice?” she offers, holding up the box with the slice still left in it.

You shake your head, and she looks at you with skepticism. “Are you sure you don't want it?”

“I had three slices already, I'm fine.”

Vi looks at the slice of pizza that's still in the box, then at you. She looks like she's considering something, then shrugs and pops the slice into her mouth. “Suit yourself,” she says, the words garbled since her mouth is still full of food.

Something about this moment feels... comfortable. Strangely comfortable.

It's weird. You don't understand why you don't feel threatened or uncomfortable or annoyed or any of those things, even though she's sitting right next to you.

But, oddly enough, you feel safe.

Or maybe that's just because you can't think of anything to say.

Or maybe it's because the silence isn't awkward.

Or maybe it's because you're distracted by the way she seems to enjoy her food.

Because... it's so... weirdly satisfying, watching her chew her food, watching her swallow, watching her use the back of her hand to wipe off the sauce on her chin.

You have no idea why you're paying attention to those little details.

But... you are.

You're not sure when you started paying attention to those.

You're not sure why you feel so comfortable around her right now.

You're not sure of a lot of things, actually.

You're not sure how to feel at the moment, or when your dislike of her had dwindled down to... whatever the hell this is, to whatever this weird, unfamiliar feeling in your chest is.

You're not sure why the corners of your lips keep trying to twitch upwards every time she makes some stupid face.

You're not sure why you're fine sitting in the freezing cold of the parking lot. Not even on the motorcycle, but on the cold ass ground, just sitting behind the motor, back leaned against it.

You're just fine sitting here, and you're just fine knowing that after this, you'll have to go back home and deal with a bunch of bullshit again.

You don't get it.

What changed?

She used to get on your nerves, and you used to get on hers.

She's still the same, isn't she?

And you're still the same.

Everything, suddenly, feels... different.

The air feels different, the atmosphere feels different, the whole world feels different.

The only thing that hasn't changed is her.

Well, no, that’s a lie.

She has changed.

She feels different.

She's not the same girl you can't stand.

And you're not the same girl she can't stand.

Everything is just different.

Maybe the two of you had changed.

But you're not sure how.

You're not even sure when you started noticing it.

But those little details about her, those little behaviors and quirks and habits that you used to find irritating and annoying… they're not bothering you anymore.

She's still a pain in the ass, but she's... well, a tolerable one.

For now.

You don't understand.

Or, rather, you won't allow yourself, at least not yet.

Because you're not sure how to process everything.

And, honestly, you're afraid to even try.

You look at her, still eating on the slice of pizza, and there's a small smear of sauce on the corner of her mouth. “You've got something on your face.”

She tilts her head. “I do? Where?”

Your eyes slowly move down, from her eyes to her nose, and then... her lips. Then, you notice something... freckles. She has freckles. little ones, spread across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, and they're… really cute, really, really-

What in ever loving hell are you thinking?

“Hello? you alive over there?”

You snap out of it. You're not about to let her see you be weak just because she happens to have a pretty face. “You had something right… here,” before she can respond, you raise your hand, reaching for her cheek. You wipe the sauce off the corner of her mouth with your thumb. Your thumb accidentally brushes against her lower lip, and something in your chest twitches.

Vi freezes, her eyes widening as you touch her lips.

Everything feels... slower.

You can hear the sound of her breathing as she exhales, how it hitches when you brush your thumb along her lower lip.

You don't know how, or when, but you find yourself leaning closer to her, your hand still cupped on her cheek.

Her gaze flicks to your lips, her own parting slightly.

...

Holy shit.

You snatch your hand away, realizing what you just did.

Damn it, what the fuck?

You quickly stand up, trying to regain your composure. “I-” Your voice comes out as a croak. You clear your throat, trying to sound normal. “I should... get home. I think it's getting late.”

Vi is still sitting on the ground, and then she shakes her head, as if waking herself up. “...right. Yeah, it is getting late.” She slowly stands up.

“I... umm…” you start awkwardly. “I should-”

“I'll... drive you home,” she interrupts whatever you were about to say.

Your head snaps up, surprised by the offer. “What? You don't have to-”

“I want to.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, so you shut your mouth. You don't want to prolong this weird, confusing moment anyway.

—

Vi's motorcycle comes to a stop in front of your house. The engine making that clunky, sputtering sound before it finally dies.

“We're here,” you say, trying to break the awkward silence that has been between the two of you since you got on the motorcycle.

You manage to finally slide off the motorcycle, but unfortunately, you're still attached to the helmet. You attempt to unbuckle the chin strap, but the damn thing seems to be glued to your head.

“Ugh, this piece of crap,” you mutter, struggling with it.

“Here, let me-” she cuts in, reaching for the straps.

“No, I got it,” you insist.

“I know you can, but let me.”

You glare at her, feeling stubborn, but it's not like you're getting anywhere. “Fine.” You let your hands fall to your sides as she reaches for the straps.

She unbuckles it with ease, finally freeing your head from its confines.

You take the helmet off and give it to her, trying to not make eye contact. “Thanks.”

There's a moment of what could be an awkward silence before you both speak at the same time.

“So-”

“I-”

You cough awkwardly. “Go ahead.”

“No, you can speak first-”

“No, no, I insist. Go ahead-”

“I'm fine-”

“Stop being stubborn-”

“Says you-”

“Yeah, I am stubborn-"

“Shut up-”

“Make me-”

What did she say? Was that... an invitation?

“Are you challenging me-”

She snorts. “Pfft, no, that-”

“Then why would you say something like that?”

“I don't know, thought it'd be funny.”

“It wasn't.”

“It was a little funny.”

“No, it wasn't,” you scoff. “Whatever. You were saying?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, shifting on the motorcycle. “I just wanted to say…” Her gaze shifts from you to the side, then back to you. “I just wanted to... say that I had... fun today. Yeah…” She shrugs. “What about you? what were you sayin'?”

Huh. “I guess it wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“Wow,” she says, deadpan. “So glad you're not completely miserable being around me.”

“Don't get your hopes up too high, it's just for today, remember?” you remind her.

“Yeah, I remember, I'm not an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me,” you retort, and a smirk makes its way to your face.

“Watch it,” she warns, the corners of her mouth curving upwards. “I'm only tolerating you today.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you quip back.

The two of you share a look and then start laughing. You're glad she's starting to loosen up a little.

“Alright alright, truce?” She holds out her fist.

You roll your eyes but bump your fist with hers anyway. “Truce.”

There's another silence, but it doesn't feel... awkward like the last ones.

Then, she speaks up, “Well... I guess I should go.”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I guess you should.”

“See you at school, then?”

“Unfortunately,” you grumble. You take a step back, getting ready to turn around and head to the front door.

“Hey,” she suddenly says.

You glance back at her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Can I…” she starts, then hesitates, “...can I ask you something?”

You shrug. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Just... promise me you won't be mad,” she hedges, not quite looking at you directly.

“I'm not promising anything-”

“Just... humor me.”

“Fine. I promise I won't get mad.”

She takes a deep breath. “Do... do you… do you actually hate me?” You're silent for a moment, trying to find the words, but she starts backpedaling. “Ugh, never mind, I shouldn't have asked, forget it, it doesn't matter-”

“No, no-" you interject, “I don't- I don't hate you.”

“You don't?”

“No... I don't hate you.”

“You sure?” she presses, leaning forward on the motorcycle, resting her arms on the handlebars. “Then why are you always so pissy whenever you're around me?”

“I dont-” you start, then stop. “I'm not-” you start again and stop again. “Remember that time in science lab?”

“When we lit the bunsen burner, the table caught on fire, we got three detentions, and everyone thought we were going to be expelled?” she recalls.

“Yes… that time.”

“Seriously? that was months ago.”

“I never said I was the most forgiving person.”

“It was a mistake,” she points out. “I didn't mean to do it, I was just being stupid.”

“It was still your fault. You didn't look at the instructions.”

“I was distracted,” she counters.

“By what, your big brain? cause you definitely weren't paying attention to the experiment instructions.”

She looks away, shifting uncomfortably on her motorcycle. “Actually, I was distracted by something…” her eyes return to yours, “-someone.”

“You're making it sound like it was a person you were crushing on or something.”

She falls silent, looking away again.

Wait.

Hold on.

What?

“Wait—wait a minute,” you demand, walking closer to her.

“What?”

“You were being distracted because you were crushing on someone during the science lab? That was the reason that whole thing happened? You couldn't keep yourself from being distracted because you were crushing on someone?”

“That's not fair to say,” she protests.

“Not fair to say?” you repeat, scoffing. “I literally got three detentions because you were more interested in staring at someone-”

“Fine! Whatever. Maybe I was distracted, maybe I wasn't paying attention-” she admits defensively “-maybe I was looking at-” she cuts herself off again. “Whatever, I'm going home.” She starts her motorcycle, not glancing at you.

“Hey-” you reach out, grabbing her arm. “Wait.”

“What do you want?”

“What was that person's name?”

“What does it matter?”

“Cause, I have a hunch.”

“Care to share this hunch with me?”

“Uh, Caitlyn Kiramman…?”

She snaps her head to you, eyes tracing up and down. “Are you actually this clueless?” she sneers, then drives away, leaving you alone on the sidewalk.

“Hey!” you shout. “Seriously, what is your problem?” you call out after her. “We were having a decent conversation, why did you-”

Suddenly, she stops, braking abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk with a quick skid. Before you can say, or think, she has her motorcycle facing you once again. She swings her leg over and hops off, walking up to you with a determined look.

“You want to know my problem?” she asks, coming closer. “I'll tell you my problem.” She grabs your shoulders, forcing you to step back. “My problem is that it's been years. Years, and you still have no idea, do you? you're still just as clueless as always.”

“What are you-” you stumble, struggling to keep your footing. Her hands are tight around your shoulders, holding you in place.

“You keep saying I'm the one who causes trouble, I'm the one who always makes your life harder-” she continues. “But you-”

You manage to find your footing and look at her face.

“-don't seem to get that you're just as guilty of making my life miserable.”

“Vi-” you start, but she doesn't let you finish.

“Every time you smile at me, every time you look at me, every time you talk to me.” She shakes you. “Every time you do something stupid, which is all the goddamn time,” she spits. “You don't seem to get that it drives me insane.” She huffs, letting go of you. “I've been right in front of you this whole damn time, and you just didn't even-”

“Didn't what?”

“You had no idea, did you? You don't understand why I’m so damn irritable whenever I'm with you, you don't get why I'm always trying to pick fights, why I can't just be civil, why I can't just be normal around you… you just think I'm a jerk!”

“Well, maybe you are. You did just grab me like a fucking maniac.”

“Oh, shut up,” Vi snaps. “Just shut up for a second.”

You shut up.

She takes a deep breath. “You think I enjoy this?” she asks, and the question sounds genuine enough that you regret the ‘maybe you are’ comment.

She scoffs. “I don't. I wish more than anything that I could just be calm and civil and… and nice around you. But instead, I'm always getting into your face, I'm always picking at you, I'm always trying to piss you off, because it's the only goddamn way I can get your attention.”

“Any time I try to be normal around you,” she continues, “I get... I get ignored. You act like I'm not even there. But the second I get in your face, the second I do something stupid or obnoxious-” she gestures at herself, “-suddenly, you're right there. You're looking right at me, you're talking to me, for once, you're actually paying attention to me-”

“Why do you even care about my attention?!” You don't mean for it to come out as angry as it does, but the pure confusion you feel causes you to raise your voice.

Vi looks away, a frown twisting her lips, before she snaps her gaze back to you. She sounds oddly embarrassed when she speaks. “Maybe because I'm completely, miserably, head over heels in love with you, okay?!”

Wait... what the actual fuck?

Vi looks away, the words leaving her in a rush. “I'm in love with you,” she repeats, quieter and slower. “There's no maybe about it. I've literally been in love with you since middle school.”

“So, instead... instead of just telling me,” you start, “you... you decided to be a jerk to me for the past six years?!”

“I was twelve!” Now her attention is fully on you as she gestures at herself. “I was a dumb kid, I didn't know what to do, but I was desperate for you to notice me. Every time I tried being nice, I got ignored, so... I guess I decided that if you weren't going to notice me in a good way, then I was just gonna piss you off and make you notice me in a bad way.”

“And then, I just kept doing it,” she continues, “because then, you would notice me, and you'd talk to me, and at least you weren't ignoring me. It became a habit. It was the same damn cycle every day. So, you know, I'm sorry if I don't suddenly know how to behave like a normal goddamn human being around you.”

She looks at you defiantly, she's expecting a fight, an argument, and the last thing she expects is for you to... laugh

You laugh. You don't laugh because you think it's funny, you laugh because you're so unbelievably shocked and overwhelmed that the only thing you can do is laugh. You try to cover it up, you try to muffle your laugh by bringing your hand to your mouth, but it's too late, you've already laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” she asks. “I'm being serious, okay? this isn't a joke, it's not some sort of prank. I am dead serious—I just confessed to you, and you start laughing? Jesus, you're actually heartless, you-”

You manage to get your laughter under control, your body still shaking with a few silent chuckles, but you manage to speak in between your breaths. “You have the worst-” and another chuckle, “-worst timing, I swear to god.”

“Oh I'm so sorry that my confession didn't please all of your fucking needs,” Vi says sarcastically, “but I've spent god knows how long in love with you, and I just had to take my shot. And what are you doing? You're laughing at me. Because your pride can't stand-”

“Would you shut up for like two seconds?!” you snap, cutting off her rant in an instant. “I'm not laughing because you confessed to me, okay?!”

“Then why are you laughing, huh? why is this so funny to you? because I don't find it very funny-”

“Because-” you sigh, and you're actually surprised by how... nervous you suddenly feel. “I never expected this, okay? I never expected you to actually... feel that type of way about me, and to top that, you're confessing to me in the stupidest way possible.”

“I didn't plan on confessing to you at all!” she protests. “It just... kind of happened. Plus, you've never been too keen on me.”

“I-” you begin because 'not keen on you' feels like an understatement. You've never liked her, or rather you've never let yourself even consider her as an option because your heart was set on one person only. “I just need some time to... process this.”

Vi scoffs, her face looking annoyed again. “You need time to process this? what's there to process? I just told you how I feel about you.”

“Yeah, well, I need to process that! Because you just dumped a lot of information on me, and right now I'm-” You pause, trying to pick just the right word. “...overwhelmed, okay?”

Vi's features soften, not quite fully, but just enough to show a little bit of sympathy. “Overwhelmed,” she repeats.

“Yeah…” you reply, “I mean... you just confessed to me, and I... I've never-” you gulp. “-I've never really thought of you... that way.”

“Never thought of me, or never let yourself think of me?”

Okay, woah, that's... a very accurate question.

She's right, and it's scary that she just pointed that out.

Maybe in the back of your head, you've wondered things, you've had thoughts, but it was all so brief, you've always been quick to brush them away. It never even crossed your mind that maybe you had been missing out on something.

You're not sure how to reply, and it gives Vi a chance to continue talking.

“You never let yourself think of me like that, huh?” she continues, “That's pretty sad, because I've literally been in love with you for the past six years.”

“Don't guilt trip me,” you snap. “It's not like I asked you to fall in love with me, is it?”

“I'm not guilt tripping you. I'm just trying to get you to understand how I feel. I'm just trying to make you see that I...care about you, okay? I'm not trying to—ugh!” She groans, rubbing a hand over her face. “I'm screwing this up, I'm screwing everything up, because apparently I suck at confessing and you… you mess with my head.”

“I mess with your head?” you repeat. “You're the one who's messing with my head! You're the one who's messing with my emotions, you—you just turned my entire life upside down, and you expect me to respond to it perfectly?!”

“Not perfectly!” she retorts. “You're seriously not getting it, are you? All I want is for you to-”

“What do you want then? you want me to say that I feel the same way about you? that I've secretly been in love with you for years and never said anything?”

“No, that's not what I— that's not what I want you to say at all!” She runs her fingers through her hair and pushes it out of her face because the haircut she has gets everywhere. “All I want you to say is that you'll even consider me as an option! I just want you to give me a chance. Is that so much for me to ask for?”

You groan to yourself. “Look, if you like me that much, then maybe you should at least make an effort… and then maybe... I'll give you a chance!” With that, you walk towards the front door.

Vi doesn't respond, not immediately, she just stands there watching you leave, a stunned look on her face. But she manages to shake herself out of that stupor in time to follow you.

“Are you serious...?"

“You want me? You gotta work for it,” you respond without slowing your footsteps.

“Woah woah woah, what? work for it?” she sputters, trying to keep up with you. “What more do you want from me?”

“I want-” You stop in front of the door, suddenly turning around to her. “-I want you to prove how serious you are. Just confessing to me isn't going to change everything, and if you're being serious,” you jab a finger to her chest, “then prove it.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to prove myself, huh? Please, tell me, because I'm really at a loss here.”

“I don't know, figure it out.” You shrug. “You claim to be in love with me, right? and if that really were the case, then you have six whole years worth of feelings inside that-” you point at her “-that heart of yours, and you better damn use it.”

“Fine,” she says, and her tone is determined. “You want me to prove it? I'll prove it. I'll prove it so much, you're going to be drowning in how much I prove it. I'm going to do everything just to win your heart. Just watch.”

That sounds cheesy, but... you'd be lying if you said you weren't intrigued. You scoff, turning around and opening the door, but not before saying, “We'll see about that.”

—

Vi stares at the closed door, her thoughts completely occupied with your words.

Prove it.

She shakes her head, a grin on her face as she walks back to her motor.

You and her have had a rocky past, but she's determined to wipe the slate clean.

Vi swings her leg over her motor. She grips the handles tightly and starts the ignition.

She's going to start from the ground zero with you.

And by god, she will prove herself.

457 notes · View notes

icaruspendragon · 3 months ago

Text

I dropped out of college at the end of my last semester because according to my therapist dalton i'm "hard-wired for self-destruction," because I have control issues. early on I somehow managed to convince myself that I couldn't be subject to the future's uncertainty if there is no future that requires relinquishing control or whatever.

anyway. it's four years later and I have two and a half years of therapy with a trauma specialist under my belt. and in two weeks time I'm being incredibly brave and going back to finish my degree.

I'm sure some of you may be wondering, "what's your degree in?"

english literature and professional writing.

and of course the people in my personal life are proud of me for going back. but a lot of them also think it's kinda funny, too.

and it's not like they think it's funny in a mean way or anything. they think it's a bit funny because in march of 2023 I wrote and released a silly little book. a poetry collection about love, grief, searching, sacrifice, absolution, and what lies in between.

the book is called lazarus rises (amongst other things) and was created because I watched season four episode one of hit cw show supernatural, "lazarus rising" a few too many times and then decided to get real weird with it.

the book itself isn't why some folks think me going back is funny. it's because my silly little book is a bestseller.

I'm a college-dropout-turned-bestselling-author-turned-college-student-once-more.

like this situation is literally a fanfic au in the making, right? and as a lover of both a silly au and tomfuckery, I've decided I'm not gonna mention it. as a lover of stories and literal bestselling author, I cannot in good faith do anything other than keep it a secret.

who am I to deny someone a "my life is a fanfic" moment?

I have no choice but to sit back and see what happens.

and boy am I excited to see what happens

#dalton knows this is my plan and he thinks it's hilarious #and that's because it is hilarious #lazarus rises (amongst other things)

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vibelladonna · 10 days ago

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✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Here we go again—since my most popular fanfic just happens to be about kinks, I might as well keep feeding the masses, right?

Kinks, round two, featuring the second-best guys, really the first-best guys in my opinion in the TKATB fandom. You know, the ones everyone secretly (or not-so-secretly) wants to romance but, unfortunately, the game just refuses to let us have.

Boo hoo. Tragic. Heartbreaking.

We’re out here, thirsting over a handful of drawings and barely-there dialogue, while the game just sits there like, "Nah, you get scraps at best." Like, oh, cool, thanks. Totally what I asked for. Not like I wanted actual interactions or anything.

Nope, just gonna sit here, simping in silence.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

You know the drill—I blended a bit of canon with my headcanons for Geo and Hyugo. Kept it to just four kinks to keep things short and spicy, then topped it off with a little sweet treat at the end.

Hope you enjoy! [ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting off, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Hyugo.

Geo fans? They love a strong, silent, towering wall of a man who could probably carry all their groceries in one trip and still have a free hand. He’s dependable, steady, and intimidating in a hot way. But when it comes to suggestive content, some struggle to picture it—he’s asexual, after all.

As an asexual writer myself, I get it… and yes, I just called myself out. No excuses.

Hyugo fans, though? Y’all are wild. He’s a short shit menace, runs on sugar, and has the energy of a raccoon that found an energy drink. Cute? Absolutely. Safe? Questionable. There’s something about that playful, borderline-chaotic vibe that makes him irresistible—like a gremlin you can’t help but love.

Ngl Hyugo deadass scares me compared to Geo.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Naturally, I have to start with my husband—Geo, aka Subaru Oogami. Now, let’s be real, if I actually called him that to his face, he’d hit me with the nastiest side-eye known to mankind. But do I care? Absolutely not. I play too much.

Geo is mysterious, sure, but let’s not act like he’s some enigma wrapped in a riddle. He’s smart, tall, and built like a damn fortress, and yeah, no one in their right mind wants to be on his bad side. But honestly? I cannot take him seriously. Like, okay, sir, you’re glaring at me—what now? You gonna keep staring? Blink twice if you need help.

Honestly, it’s more fun to make it a game at this point.

His style, like my guy stays rocking ripped black jeans, what appears to be fishnet tights (??), a dark purple hoodie, and underneath that baggy hoodie, I thought he was wearing some kind of undershirt.

But no. You know what it is? A tight, white workout shirt. I had to double-check, and yeah, that’s definitely a compression shirt. Why does he layer like this? I don’t know. Maybe he’s secretly a gym bro. Maybe he just likes the aesthetic. Either way, I support him.

Alright, onto the real question: Can you see Geo as kinky?

Uhhhhhh... no? But also, maybe? Listen, most asexuals know about the freakiest topics known to humankind (we do our research, don’t ask why).

That’s the reason why I headcanon him into some non-sexual bondage thing.

But Geo himself? He’s not out here scheming, plotting, or forcing anything—he’s more of a “handle things on his own” kind of guy. That said, if you offer or if he really wants to show appreciation for you... yeah, he’s got a bit of a freak in him. Not the overwhelming kind—just enough to keep things interesting. He’s calculated about it, never too much, always just enough to leave you wondering.

✑ Hella Vanilla (Soft Dom Baby!)

Now for Geo preferences!

Look, I’m really trying my best not to write Geo too close to Crowe, but let’s be honest—they’re both vanilla. The difference? Geo is vanilla with a capital V. Crowe at least has some experience, while Geo?

He’s new to all this.

Like, be nice to him, he’s still figuring things out. That being said, don’t think for a second that Geo’s gonna let you take full control. Oh no, he’s independent. You can tell him how you want to be touched, how you like to be held, but he’s stubborn—he wants to learn on his own and figure out the best way to please you himself. Trial and error, but make it hot.

Soft Dom Energy. That’s Geo. He can be broody, moody, and mad at everything, but when it comes to you, this is the only time he lets himself be vulnerable. He’s surprisingly affectionate, and during an intense make-out session?

You will not be able to breathe.

This man is obsessed with littering kisses all over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize you with his mouth. And let me tell you, do not try to push him away. I mean, you can try, but the second he’s out of breath, looking at you with those intense-ass eyes, he’s pulling you right back in.

It’s almost desperate, like he physically needs you. And when you’re on his lap, instead of taking it further, this man will deadass just stare at you, call you pretty, rest his head on your chest, and hug you. Like sir??? That’s illegal???

This is why Geo is the definition of a Soft Dom. It’s not about control—it’s about connection. He doesn’t just want to do things to you, he wants to make sure you feel everything. His dominance is all about guidance, care, and making sure you know just how much he worships you.

And don’t get it twisted—just because he’s soft doesn’t mean he’s weak.

He still has control. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he takes his time. Yeah, he can be mean, a little asshole-ish sometimes, but listen… poor Geo just has trust issues. Deep-seated daddy issues, confirmed by Fantasia herself.

As for kinks? Light bondage, teasing, and lots of sensual play. Everything with him is slow and intentional because it’s not just physical—it’s emotional.

He gets in your head before he ever gets in your bed.

✑ Body Worship / Size

Geo is the kind of man who doesn’t need to say how much he loves you—he’ll show you instead. And when it comes to you? Yeah, he’s obsessed.

He’s 100% into body worship. All shapes. All sizes. Every single inch of you. Geo doesn’t just admire you; he memorizes you. Every dip, every curve, every little detail that makes you you—he knows it.

It’s in the way he touches you, his fingers dragging slowly over your skin like he’s mapping out something sacred. It’s in the way he kisses you, lingering at the places you don’t even think twice about—your shoulder, your wrists, the space behind your ear—just because he can.

And the most insane part? This is all before he even considers taking it further. Sex isn’t even on his mind at this point. He just wants you close.

Also, Geo absolutely has a size kink, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

The man is huge. Tall, broad, and built like he was specifically designed to make everyone feel tiny in comparison. And if you happen to be taller or close to his height? I’m so sorry, but that does not save you.

Geo will find a way to make you feel small—whether it’s the way he looms over you, stepping just a little too close so you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes, or how he deliberately slows his movements, reminding you just how much bigger and stronger he is.

And let me tell you—he eats that shit up.

Not in an obvious way, though. Geo isn’t Crowe; he’s not gonna outright tease you about it. But the moment he catches on how do you react? Oh, he leans into it. Casually backing you into a counter like he just happened to move that way, dropping his voice a little lower when he speaks, making you hyper-aware of just how much space he takes up.

And then—the worst part?

When you say something to him, he doesn’t just answer like a normal person. No. Geo has to lean down, real slow, get right in your space, eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable before letting out a low, amused “Mm?”

Sir. Sir. You heard me the first time.

And he knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The little shift of his lips, the faintest smirk in his eyes—he gets a kick out of watching you react. He won’t admit it, but he definitely enjoys making you flustered.

Now, about his strength. Because Geo isn’t just big—he’s ridiculously strong. And instead of being normal about it, he’s just out here carrying you whenever he feels like it.

This man is a Great Dane in human form. Yes, I get why people compare him to a cat—he’s broody, standoffish, and acts like he doesn’t care. But the second he’s comfortable around you? Boom. Massive, clingy, overgrown puppy. A whole 6’2” worth of muscle that has zero concept of personal space.

Like picture this: You’re in the kitchen, minding your business, when suddenly—boom. A wall of man is right behind you, hands casually gripping your hips, chin resting on top of your head. "Whatcha doin’?"

Sir. SIR. You nearly throw the spatula. You didn’t even hear him come in, and now he’s just standing there, pressed against you like your own personal shadow. And the worst part? He does this constantly.

Geo will randomly sneak up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and rest his chin on your shoulder—unbothered. He’s not even trying to start anything; he just likes being close to you. Like some big, scary-looking human-weighted blanket with zero boundaries.

And honestly? He thinks it’s cute.

(It is cute, but we are not feeding his ego.)

Now, let’s discuss his obsession with carrying you. Because Geo will carry you. And no, not just when it’s "necessary." This man will find any excuse to pick you up.

Can’t reach something? He lifts you. Feeling lazy? Over his shoulder, you go.

Trying to argue with him? Congratulations. You have been physically removed from the conversation. He doesn’t even struggle.

You could be fighting for your life, yelling at him to put you down, and he’s just walking away, completely unbothered.

"Geo, PUT ME DOWN."

"Nah." And the worst part? He’s smirking.

This man is carrying you like you weigh absolutely nothing, while you’re over here kicking your feet in protest—and he is loving every second of it.

Let’s talk about Geo’s weaknesses.

Because for all his composure, all his brooding, mysterious, cold-hearted bastard energy, the man is insanely sensitive. His chest? His stomach?

Absolute weak spots.

You don’t even have to try hard—just a light brush of your fingers along his torso, and suddenly, boom. His breath hitches, his muscles tense, and his whole body betrays him. And oh, he hates that.

Geo, who prides himself on being unshakable, unreadable, completely in control, and yet? A simple touch has him slipping. Just for a second—but it’s enough. Enough for you to see it. That momentary flicker in his expression, the way his brows furrow like he’s fighting off a reaction.

Geo is not immune. And if you really want to break him? Focus on his chest. Because let’s be real—Geo is obsessed with breasts. Size? Irrelevant. He just likes them.

Doesn’t even matter why. They exist, and that’s enough. There is not a single session where his hands aren’t on you in some way. And the worst part? Half the time, he’s not even aware he’s doing it. It’s absentminded.

Resting his palm over your chest while cuddling? Check. Idly tracing patterns against your skin while zoning out? Check. Acting like a human-weighted blanket with grabby hands? Double check. But when is he aware of it? Oh, he’s shameless.

Geo is so touch-starved, it’s almost pitiful.

This man hates people. Hates when they fawn over him. Hates when they get too close. He keeps his distance, keeps himself cold, and it works. It suits him. Until you come along and absolutely ruin him.Because now? He notices everything.

You, brushing your hand against his? Feels like a goddamn brand. He’ll be scrubbing the memory from his brain while on his morning run, furious that it’s still there.

You, touching him even casually? Oh, he’s doomed.

And of course, because Geo is the worst, his response is to be even more of an asshole to you. His usual indifference turns cutting. His words get sharper, his tone a little meaner—we love a toxic man. I’m lying. But does that stop him from wanting you? No.

Geo wants his hands on you. Constantly.

Kissing, touching, staring—he’s got to feel you under his fingers. And the best part? He doesn’t even bother to pretendlike it’s anything other than pure obsession.

You ask him, “Why are you so obsessed with touching me?” And he gives you that look. The one that says, “How dare you ask something so stupid.” The one that could reduce you to ash if it were any more intense.

His face is unreadable, as if you’ve just asked him why the sky is blue or why pizza is delicious. And then, with all the seriousness in the world, he mutters in that tone of his, “Feels nice.”

Like it’s a universal truth—as if you were the crazy one for not getting it. Duh. Yeah, he's intimidating. Yeah, he's moody. Yeah, he gives off serious "I’m a brick wall with emotional issues" vibes. But when it comes to you?

Oh, he’s a whole different kind of animal.

He’s a soft, body-worshipping, touch-starved menace who refuses to let you out of his grip. Ever. And you know what? It’s kind of cute, in an incredibly irritating way. He’s like a big, clingy puppy with a very dangerous bite.

And when it comes to sex? Forget it. Geo’s not just here to do the bare minimum. No, no. He’s going to make sure you feel every single second of it.

Geo? He’s slow. He’s deliberate. He’s the kind of guy who’s in no rush because he wants to savor it.

The way your body clenches around him, the way your breath catches when he pushes deeper. The way your lips stretch to fit him and your little hands look like they could barely wrap around his. Every single tiny detail drives him absolutely insane, and he’s not going to rush through any of it. He’s going to take his sweet time.

And aftercare? Oh, Geo’s version of aftercare is so lazy. No candles, no cuddling with a soft blanket, and no deep emotional talks. Hell no. What does Geo do? He’ll rub his big, warm hands slowly over your sides, absentmindedly, like he’s grounding himself or something.

You can tell he’s not even thinking at that moment, just feeling. His touches are gentle but possessive as if he's just reminding himself you’re there, and he can’t let go of you, even for a second.

And what’s the best part of all this?

He’s not letting you go anytime soon.

✑ Bondage (my fav…)

Y’all knew this was coming. I mean, how could I not talk about Geo and bondage? It’s honestly one of my favorites, and you’re about to see why.

Geo? He’s the type to be meticulous about it. We’re talking intricately tying your wrists and ankles—none of that rushed stuff.

He’s all about making sure the ropes are perfect, each knot tight and precise, just the right amount of pressure on your skin. The way the ropes caress your body as he pulls them snug—there’s something almost artistic about it.

He’s not just tying you up; he’s painting you with every knot and twist, his hands slow and deliberate as they move over your skin.

And then, when he's done, Geo doesn’t rush it. Oh no, he stands over you for a few moments, just watching. And he’s not watching with concern or any weird sense of urgency. Nah. He’s watching you squirm—studying you, as if he’s seeing how you react to being bound in his ropes, how you shift and struggle.

He loves seeing how the ropes hold you in place, watching how you can’t move the way you want, like you’re completely at his mercy.

His eyes—those unreadable, dark eyes—never leave you, and in that moment, it’s like everything is just about you. The way you tug at the restraints, the way your body shifts trying to find some freedom, the soft little gasps as you move.

And he’s loving every single second of it.

He’s a big guy, so the way you’re all tied up beneath him just makes him feel even bigger, like you’re trapped in his world, and there's no escape. And don’t even get me started on the way he’s so smug about it. He knows exactly how much control he has, and he’s not shy about relishing in it.

And just when you think he’s about to do something, he’ll pause—making you wait. Because if there’s one thing Geo loves more than anything, it’s the anticipation. That long, drawn-out pause before he decides to make his next move.

Oh—oh my god, let’s talk about sensory deprivation—because Geo has a bit of a thing for that. And guess what? It goes hand-in-hand with his extensive love of tying you up.

Geo’s collection of soft rope, however his silk ribbons is practically a work of art. Seriously. He’s got them all—every color you can imagine. But his favorites? Dark purple, black, and maybe a bit of red for that extra flair. You know, the same ribbons he uses to tie his hair? Yeah, those ones. But here’s the thing: those same ribbons are going to be used to tie YOU up.

It’s almost like a twisted little fashion show, except this time, you are the model. Add little more fun ask him take pictures of you, I’m sure he’s willing to comply.

He loves the way the silk glides through his fingers as he ties you up, each knot like a little secret, a personal touch only he knows. And then, once you're tied up and helpless, that's when the fun begins.

Geo? He’s all about the build-up. He’ll take his time, letting the anticipation hang thick in the air, like you both know what's coming but he’s not in any rush. He might even brush a finger over your skin just enough to tease you, before pulling away like he’s got all the time in the world.

He does. He always does.

And once you're all tied up, there’s this weird moment where everything is heightened. Without sight, without sound, every little thing Geo does to you feels more intense.

You can feel the air shift when he moves, the heat of his body close by but never enough. You hear the slightest sound, and your entire body tenses, wondering what he’s going to do next.

Then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he’s there, his fingers brushing over the silk ribbons, admiring how they look against your skin. And that? That’s when he smirks. Because he knows exactly how much this is driving you wild, and he’s not even close to done.

And trust me, you’ll be squirming in more ways than one.

✑ Katoptronophilia

Let’s talk about Katoptronophilia, or as it’s commonly known, mirror sex.

Oh yeah, Geo is totally into it, and honestly?

I’m shocked you didn’t see this coming. The man is a walking contradiction of brooding intensity and twisted fascination with aesthetics, and mirrors?

Well, they’re his perfect tool for both.

Geo? He has mirrors everywhere in his place. It’s almost a little excessive, honestly, but then again, it makes sense. He’s constantly checking his reflection, especially after those private workouts. A few flexes here, a few glances there—just to make sure his ‘I’m too cool to smile’ vibe is intact, right? But here's the twist: it’s not just about his reflection anymore.

Geo loves watching you in front of a mirror. He’s not obsessed with his own reflection, oh no. He’s captivated by you—your movements, your expressions. He loves it when you catch yourself in the mirror, when you get distracted by the way your body looks. It’s like you’ve given him an excuse to slip in behind you, without a single word.

Imagine this, theses are my delusions: You’re putting on a simple gloss, just trying to get ready for the day, glancing at yourself in the mirror.

But then… you feel him.

Geo’s presence is like a shadow that makes the air a little thicker. He stands there, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, but you’re too focused on your lips to notice. He watches as you press the gloss on, lips glistening, your reflection sparkling under the light.

And then, the moment you don’t expect it, his hands are on your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as his eyes trace the mirror. His voice is a low, teasing murmur, almost playful: “You look good. You know that, right?”

You think he’s just commenting on your outfit. Oh no.

Geo’s temptation? To mess it up.

That’s right, his eyes flick down to your lips, and the only thing stopping him from ruining that glossy shine is his overwhelming urge to keep you distracted. His lips are close to yours, and he can practically taste the anticipation, his hands tightening around you just enough to remind you he’s there.

It’s like he gets a kick out of making you aware of the fact that he’s behind you, studying your reflection. And maybe just a little bit more into watching you lose control of that mirror.

For example, It was one of those rare, lazy days where neither of you had any pressing work to do, and Geo was not thrilled about it. The man is built to be active, always on the move, constantly lifting or running or pushing himself to the limit. But today? He was stuck at a slower pace, and honestly?

He was grumbling about it.

You, on the other hand, were doing your best to get him to actually relax—something he hates with a passion, but deep down, he knew he needed it. So, with a few gentle suggestions, you managed to convince him to settle down on the couch. But knowing Geo, it didn’t take long for things to take a turn.

There you were, sitting in his lap, your back against his broad chest as his face buried into your shoulder. He was mumbling into your skin, the low hum of his voice sending shivers down your spine as his arms wrapped tightly around you. He was trying, trying so hard to be calm, but the proximity, the way your body moved just slightly under his hands—it made it harder for him to focus.

The thing was, Geo couldn’t stay still for long.

Not when you were close.

So, as you shifted in his lap, trying to get more comfortable, he couldn't help but tighten his grip, pulling you just a little closer. His face pressed deeper into your neck, the weight of his body felt warm and heavy, his breath ghosting along your skin.

"Stop squirming," he mumbled against your ear, though there was an edge to his voice—one that made it clear he wasn’t as relaxed as he let on. His fingers began to trace over your sides, gradually finding their way lower, guiding your movements with soft but firm pressure.

And then, you noticed it—right in front of you two, the full-length mirror.

It was like the universe had set it up just for this moment. You caught a glimpse of yourself, your body moving against his, his fingers rubbing in time with your shifts. The reflection only made it worse—made you more aware of the fact that every tiny movement of your body, every little gasp or twitch, was being mirrored, amplified, observed.

Geo was watching you carefully, studying your reflection as much as he was focused on how you were guiding him. He could see your fingers fidgeting on top of his hands, guiding him where to rub your clothed pussy, where to touch—each motion becoming more deliberate as you tried to maintain some semblance of control.

“Geo, please…” you breathed, unable to help the way your own body responded, shifting to meet his touch. Geo’s breath hitched, his eyes flicking between your reflection and your face, watching as you squirmed in his arms.

There was something electric about this—something that pushed all his patience to the limit, something he couldn’t ignore. His hand moved again, more firmly now, following your lead as you guided him, your body responding to every slow, deliberate movement.

The way the mirror captured everything—the way your body arched against his, the quiet moans slipping from your lips, the way your eyes locked with his in the reflection as you both lost track of time—it was almost like you were both trapped in a moment, caught between the pleasure of the present and the art of watching you unfold.

Geo might’ve been the one leading the way, but you were the one showing him just how much control you had, even in a moment like this.

Now watching his bare cock lined up on your stomach as you sat on his lap, reaching way past your belly button, talking about just how small you are compared to him, and wondering how he’s gonna make it fit.

As the minutes ticked by, the air in the room thickened, almost like it was holding its breath. The only sounds were the soft rhythmic movement of your bodies pressing together, and the small, breathless noises that escaped you as you rode him.

Geo watched you with those predatory eyes, his grip tightening around your waist as you squirmed above him, just enough to drive him insane. He was nothing if not patient—insufferably patient, in fact—and he knew exactly how to draw this out. Every movement you made, every quiet whimper that slipped past your lips, only served to fuel his sick little plan.

He wasn’t going to let you win. Not yet.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, and you felt the heat of his breath on your neck, each exhale making your skin prickle with anticipation.

But you couldn’t hold back anymore, could you?

You were close, so close to the point where you needed him to take control, to make it stop. You were whimpering now, clinging to him, begging for him to take over.

Geo’s lips sighed into that knowing look. He could hear it in your voice—how you were unraveling on his cock. He keeps you close until his abdomen is drenched in your slick, chuckling under his breath when you whine.

And he loved it. His thumbs traced slow circles over the plush flesh of your waist, the pressure light but deliberate.

Every time you tried to hold back a mewl, he'd hum in response—low, condescending, almost amused by your desperation.

"Giving up already?" he’d tease, his voice like velvet, coated in that dangerous edge of satisfaction. "Pathetic."

But the truth was, Geo was bone-tired.

Not in the sense that he was worn out, but in the way that only you could fill the void for him. He didn’t need anything but you, right there, straddling him, your body pressed against his. His face buried into your neck, savoring the warmth of your skin, the sweet, familiar scent of you that drove him wild. It wasn’t about control anymore.

It was about feeling you, grounding himself in the sensation of being with you, connected in the most primal way.

And still, even when you were frozen, not moving an inch—your body so deeply connected to his—he felt it. The pressure, the way you clung to him, the way it was making both of you dizzy. It was too much.

You were too tight, too perfect, too intoxicating.

And then, just when you thought it was too much to bear, when you were on the edge, your mind fogged with lust, Geo pulled away.

Just a little. Enough to make you ache. Enough to make your whole body tremble in frustration. You could feel the absence of him like a physical pull, and your breath hitched. The tease was unbearable.

He wasn’t done with you yet. Not by a long shot. Geo enjoyed watching you suffer, toying with you, letting you think he was finally going to let you have your release. And then, when you were this close—he'd pull away again, dragging out the torment.

Just enough to send you spiraling into your own frustration.

And that? That was when he felt alive—pressing himself up away from the mattress, just enough to lift you off the bed too with ease. He doesn’t waste time, picking you up like you're weightless and pulling you flush against his chest, your arms snaking around his neck and your legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

You’re not going anywhere—not that you’d want to.

And that’s when he goes to town, fucking into you with a brutal, relentless pace. Every thrust is calculated, every movement intentional, as he watches the mess you're making in the mirror.

You can see everything—the way you squirm, the way your lips part in breathless pleasure, the way your body trembles against him. And just when you think you can’t take anymore, he’s there—pushing you further, harder, faster. You sink your nails into his shoulders as he held you close, the sting of your grip only making him press into you deeper.

Showing off his little cute habit, when he actually push you back onto the mattress,where he’ll press down on your stomach, feeling how much of him you’re taking, And… maybeeee whispering dirty praises in your ear about how pretty you look under him, taking his cock like a champ.

Then, that beautiful moment when you cry out his name, torn between wanting him to keep going or begging him to stop. It feels so damn good you can't decide.

Your body shakes and trembles, not sure whether it’s from the pleasure or the overwhelming sensation of being so completely consumed by him.

You tell him you’re in control this time.

You insist you’ll fuck him this time—you’re going to win.

But deep down, you know how it ends every single time. No matter how much you try to convince him, Geo always wins.

Who wouldn't want a man like that, who knows exactly how to leave you breathless, on the edge of losing yourself?

And frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Here’s sweet baby boy Hyugo—Hyugo Sugimoto !Honestly, writing him is lowkey a challenge, especially compared to someone like Geo, but since I have a soft spot for the brothers more than the main leads (yes, even with all their complex personalities), I’m doing it for y’all.

But anyway, let’s talk about Hyugo.

He’s literally the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, hands down. Even though his outfits are on the simple side, his youthful energy just makes him glow.

He’s got this oval-shaped face, a bit baby-faced, and his sky-blue eyes are sparkling with that innocent charm. His lips are thin, but there's this softness about him that makes you want to believe he's just the nicest guy ever.

But, and here’s the thing—don’t let that sweet face fool you.

We all know the cutest, most innocent-looking ones can hide some serious secrets, right? They say looks can be deceiving, and trust me, with Hyugo, that’s an understatement.

So, the big question—can you see Hyugo as kinky?

For me? Hell yeah, absolutely.

For others? Maybe they think he’s just sweet and harmless, but I’m not taking any chances. After the stuff he pulls in the game? Nah, I’m not falling for that "good boy" act. That man’s got layers, and some of them are not nearly as innocent as they seem.

I mean, let’s be real, the guy knows how to get exactly what he wants without ever breaking a sweat.

✑ Switch (Sub side…)

Now, let’s dive into baby boy Hyugo's preferences, shall we?

Just like his best buddy Sol, Hyugo is a switch—and when I say switch, I mean capital S to the H—A. SWITCH. No questions asked.

Now, imagine my surprise when I learned he used to be a virgin, and the dude did it with a man?

Yeah, he's a switch.

I have no idea who's doing the bending (or maybe that’s the whole point, right?), but I’m calling it like I see it. Hyugo can take both roles and absolutely slay in either of them.

Meanwhile, Sol's out here second-guessing every text he sends, wondering if he's being too much or not enough, texting wrong men for validation. We love him, but come on, bro. Hyugo, on the other hand, is living his best life.

Like, imagine this: Hyugo, all giggly and kicking his feet, waiting for you to reply to his sweet dinner invitation text. You send back a “Can’t wait!” and he’s over the moon, practically bouncing off the walls. He’s so happy you’re with him, it’s honestly the cutest thing ever.

And when you’re together? Oh, he holds your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He’s got that combination of shock and glee—like he can’t believe you’re actually here with him.

You’re tugged into his side with every step, and he’s showering you with little kisses on your temple, just so happy to have you close.

Like, Hyugo is a sweetheart, but don’t let that fool you. Beneath that cute, giggling exterior is a switch who knows exactly what he wants—and trust me, he’s not afraid to get it.

Hyugo? Yeah, the moment that door to your apartment clicks shut behind him, he’s a completely different person.

All that sweet, baby-faced charm? Gone.

He transforms into someone much wilder, more needy. It’s like the minute he's in private with you, he’s letting down all his defenses.

And yeah, most of the time, Hyugo’s a sub. He’s got that soft, touch-starved side that craves affection and care. He wants you to baby him, in the way only you can—gentle, but with that touch that makes him feel seen and wanted. You can tell he's a little starved for it, much like his brother Geo.

However Hyugo knows how to hold it back a little more, unlike his best buddy Sol. No offense to Sol, but he’s just a tad more... obvious about it, right?

Anyway, Hyugo? It’s like a delicate balance of needing you while still holding on to his cool exterior until it all comes crashing down.

Now, don’t get me wrong, like I said Hyugo loves when you baby him.

He may not openly admit it, but the way his eyes soften when you shower him with attention? Yeah, it’s more than enough evidence. He might even have a little bit of a thing for being pampered and cared for, but I won’t dive into that—not my cup of tea. Mommy kink.

But that doesn’t mean his desires stop there. Oh no, once you’ve got him behind closed doors, the sweetness can turn into something else entirely.

Because let me tell you something—Hyugo does NOT do slow and sensual. The second he hears anything remotely related to sex, it’s like flipping a switch. He’ll be pounding into you like it’s the last time you two will ever touch, and he’s not exactly taking his time. There’s an urgency there, like he’s starving for you in the most primal way.

And your breasts? Forget about it.

You cannot keep him off of them. He’s all over them, kissing, sucking, mouthing at them like they’re the best thing in the world. Hyugo’s hands are never far away, especially when they’re roaming, taking every chance to squeeze, kiss, or just touch whatever he can get his hands on.

But here’s the thing: he loves being told what to do. He thrives on direction, on being guided, and the more you tease him, the more he wants.

Deny him just a little, though?

Oh, that’s when he gets even more worked up. Being denied? It’s like a whole new level of arousal for him, something about the frustration only makes him more desperate.

Hyugo’s a mess in the best way—he craves attention, craves being controlled, and craves all of you. So when you finally give in and take control, he’s lost to the feeling, ready for whatever comes next.

And trust me, you will feel it.

✑ Semi-public (My lord…)

Hyugo? Baby, he’s got a serious thrill-seeking side, and it shows.

The boy is daring, and when he wants you, he doesn’t waste time hiding it. You think he’s just a sweet, baby-faced guy? Think again. He’s into semi-public situations, and he thrives off the danger of it. No place is off-limits for him, even the college roof—the place he loves to hang out at when he needs some space, away from the rules and prying eyes.

But with you? He doesn’t care about the risk.

When he’s on that the college roof, staring out at the world, there’s a fire in his eyes, and the second he gets you alone, the rules don’t matter. He wants you ‘right there’, right then, and you can bet he’s not shy about it.

The thrill of being seen, even just for a second, turns him on more than anything. He wants the world to know you're his, and he’ll do anything to get a taste of that danger. The whole atmosphere is thick with anticipation, the tension between you so palpable that it almost crackles.

And when it comes to foreplay?

Don’t even get me started on how obsessed he is with dry-humping. The second the two of you are close, it’s like an instinctual need for friction. You can feel the heat building as he presses into you, his body grinding and frotting against yours.

There’s no subtlety here—he’s desperate for that contact, desperate to feel your body move against his. Every little roll of his hips, every grind, is a game of inches as he gets closer and closer to losing control. He’s completely lost in the sensation, like he can’t get enough.

And then, when he can’t stand it anymore, when that desperation peaks and you’ve been teasing him just enough—he rips your clothes off. Right then. Right there. It’s not even about taking his time anymore; it’s all about the raw need. He’s done holding back, and in that moment, all that matters is the frantic urgency to have you, to touch you.

There’s no question in his mind—he needs you now.

Like that boy will get off any way he can if it means getting that release. And it’s not even about subtlety, he just needs to do it.

Now, for a fun little twist: He’s definitely into pegging. I’m not saying he’s screaming for it every minute of the day, but when the right time comes, he’s all about it. There’s just something about it that turns him on in a way nothing else can. He will beg you to fuck his tight little asshole until he makes a mess.

But honestly, that’s Hyugo—always a little more complicated than you might think.

And when it comes to moaning? That boy whines and moans like a fucking bitch when you’re going at him. It’s like every little sensation sends him spiraling into this blissed-out mess. He just can’t help it, and you’ll quickly learn that his whimpering is one of the sexiest sounds in the world.

But don’t get it twisted—he loves being treated right.

He loves that softness, that attention.

But there’s a part of him that wants to be pushed a little, taken advantage of in a way that leaves him desperate. You can take your frustrations out on him, just a little. He won’t break. He might even love it more than you expect.

When it comes to degradation, Hyugo’s not into anything too harsh, but call him your slut? Oh, you’re speaking his language now.

That little spark in his eye will light up every time you remind him who he belongs to. He won’t admit it, but he loves being labeled that way, that submissive title making him feel just a little bit more desperate, a little more needed. So yeah, don’t be fooled by the baby-faced charm—Hyugo is a lot more than he lets on.

Treat him right, give him what he craves, and you’ll be surprised at just how wild he gets when you push his buttons.

✑ Overstimulation

And then there’s overstimulation.

Sometimes, it’s not even intentional, but it’s inevitable with Hyugo. You feel so damn good above him, your body responding to every touch, every thrust. He’s chasing that high, pulling you closer to the edge again and again until your body can’t take it.

And Hyugo’s a man who knows what he wants and may ur may not beg for it, and he loves when you take control, especially when it comes to pulling his soft hair.

The way his breath hitches whenever your fingers tangle in his hair—that’s his weakness. He’s yours, every inch of him, and he’s not shy about showing it. Each time you yank his hair, you can hear the shameless moans slip from his lips.

It drives him crazy, his body reacting to every tug, and it only fuels the fire between you two. He’s not just giving—he’s taking, fully immersed in the feeling, and you can tell by the way his tongue works at your trembling walls.

And let me tell you, this man is all about cunnilingus.

There’s nothing soft or shy about it; Hyugo’s a big eater, and he’s hungry for you. When his lips press to your pussy, it’s like he’s starving, devouring you like he hasn’t eaten in days. His arms wrap around your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you.

He licks, sucks, and nibbles with a feverish intensity, working his way through every inch of you, as if he’ll die if he doesn't get every drop.

Sometimes it feels like it’s too much, his tongue relentless, but you can’t stop the heat it builds. You’ll squirm and tug at his hair, urging him on, and he just pulls you closer, deeper into the sensation.

Hyugo’s eye contact is deadly. When he wants you, he’s not looking away. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head, forcing you to look at him. He demands that you keep your eyes on him, guiding you with his fiery gaze.

Those eyes of his? Thoes soft eyes turns Intense. Piercing. He’s studying every little thing about you—the way your pupils dilate with desire, the flutter of your lashes as he pushes you further, deeper.

The intensity of his gaze makes it all feel so much more real. He doesn’t need to say a word; his eyes speak louder than anything.

You’re a shaking mess in his arms, your muscles aching, your mind overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you. But that’s the thing about him—he won’t stop.

He doesn’t care about your begging, about how much you can take; he wants to see you lose yourself, to feel you break into a thousand pieces in his arms.

And when you finally do, he’s yours.

Completely, utterly yours.

✑ Role play

Oh, baby boy is all about the roleplay.

And no, let me clear that up right now, he's not into anything dangerous or dark—no gunplay, no assassin fantasies (he never even brings up his questionable word side to you, thank you very much).

But when it comes to the playful stuff? Oh, he’s all in. His absolute favorite? Cops and robbers. But here’s the twist—he loves being the one arrested.

There’s something about you in charge, giving him that commanding look, your fingers brushing over the cuffs, the way you look him up and down like you’re about to throw him in the back of your car that drives him wild.

Humiliation? Oh, Hyugo lives for it. You can see it in his eyes when the teasing starts, the way his entire demeanor shifts—there’s a naughty little spark that lights up in his gaze whenever you call him out.

You both know the game, and you’re always more than happy to play along.

It starts simple enough, just a teasing glance or a casual remark. But the more you push him, the more he wants to be pushed. You lower your voice, your hand brushing over his thigh as you lean in, whispering in his ear, “Such a good little whore for me, huh? You can’t get enough of it, can you?”

His breath hitches, a flicker of a smirk crossing his face as he tries to hold it together. But, oh, you know better. The words trip over his tongue as he fumbles, his voice dropping a little—just enough for you to hear the hesitation, the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to keep under wraps.

“W-wait, I didn’t… I didn’t say—” His words stutter, barely escaping, and you can already see the flush rising in his cheeks. The little twitch at the corner of his lips betrays him, and the smug grin you're wearing only deepens.

Gotcha.

“Oh, but you’re looking so cute right now, all flustered. It’s adorable how easily you fold under just a few words.” You can’t help but tease, watching him squirm under your touch. His cheeks are flushed, his breath uneven, and his eyes are flickering, darting away, trying to avoid the weight of your gaze.

But you won’t let him escape.

You never do.

He tries to play it off, shifting uncomfortably, biting his lip as he avoids looking you directly in the eyes. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you, to make it stop, but he can’t. Not yet.

“You know,” you continue, letting the silence stretch before adding, “you look so cute when you try to act like you’re not loving every second of this. You’re my slutty little toy, and you know it, don’t you?”

The words sink in, and you watch his entire body tense. His throat works as if he’s about to protest, but all that comes out is a frustrated little moan. “S-stop… I’m not—”

“You’re not?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow, “Then why are you blushing so much? Why do you look like you’re about to come just from me saying those words?”

He stammers, unable to form any coherent argument, his voice cracking with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t… you can’t—”

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his ear. “It’s okay, Hyugo. I know you’re mine. You’re just too cute when you try to act like you’re not my little slut. You’ll never be able to hide that from me.”

And with that, his face burns even brighter, his attempts at deflecting your words turning into soft, desperate whimpers. It’s game over for him, and he knows it. His body betrays him every single time.

You can’t help but love watching him squirm under the weight of your teasing, his mouth opening, but no words coming out as he struggles to keep his composure.

This game? You’re always the winner. And Hyugo?

Well, he’s always more than happy to play.

✑ Cheirophilia

Hear me out—Cheirophilia.

Oh, Hyugo? That boy lives for touch. He’s naturally affectionate, always finding little excuses to run his fingers along your skin, tracing lazy circles on your palm, interlocking fingers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek like he just hasto be touching you at all times.

So let’s be real—he’s got a thing for hands.

And not just in the oh, I like holding hands kind of way. No, no, this man will obsess over your hands. The shape of them, the way your fingers move, the strength of your grip. He notices everything.

How your nails look when they drag across his back, how soft your palms feel when you cup his face, how effortlessly your fingers wrap around his throat when you push him down and remind him exactly who he belongs to.

Hyugo melts when you play with his hands, too. Run your fingers along the lines of his palms? He shudders. Press a kiss to his knuckles? He’s giggling like a schoolgirl. Lace your fingers with his and tighten your grip just slightly? He’s already giving you those fuck-me eyes.

And don’t even get him started on watching you use your hands. The way you gesture when you talk, the way your fingers curl when you beckon him closer—he’s hanging onto every movement, completely entranced.

If he’s sitting across from you, he’ll grab your hand mid-conversation just to absentmindedly play with your fingers, pressing them to his lips like it’s second nature.

But in the bedroom? Oh, baby, you’re in trouble.

Hyugo adores watching your hands work on him. Gripping his hair, clawing at his back, holding him down—he’s watching every single twitch of your fingers with rapt attention.

He lives for the moment when your hands tremble just slightly from the pleasure, when you grip the sheets so hard your knuckles turn white, when your fingers sink into his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something while he ruins you.

And let’s be real, he loves having your hands around his throat. Not too rough, just enough pressure to make his breath hitch, his pulse racing under your fingertips. He’ll grin at you, eyes dark with mischief, voice breathy as he teases, “Tighter, please. You know I can take it.”

And you already know Hyugo’s got stamina for days.

He’s insatiable, always riled up and ready to go again before you’ve even caught your breath. One round isn’t enough—hell, two barely cuts it. If he’s spent one session melting under your touch, panting and begging for more, then the next?

Oh, he’s flipping the script, pinning you down, and making sure you remember exactly who he is.

And he takes his time with it.

Who’s spreading you apart, just fucking staring until you’re squirming?

Hyugo.

"No, pretty girl, let me look." His hands hold you still, thumbs pressing against your trembling thighs, watching with those hungry, sky-blue eyes—eyes that burn with amusement and desire as you try to close your legs.

But he won’t let you. Not until he’s had his fill, memorizing how ruined you already are before he even touches you properly.

Then, when you whimper his name, he just grins. "There she is." And then he’s diving in, suckling, licking, dragging his tongue over every inch like he’s starving.

Who’s got the nastiest mouth on him when your thighs are tossed over his shoulders, his cock pounding into you, relentless?

Hyugo.

"Hear how good you takin’ me, honey?" His voice is deep, ragged, lips curling into that cocky little smirk when he feels you tighten around him.

"Tryin’ to squeeze every last drop outta me, huh? Greedy thing." His fingers dig into your hips, holding you down, making you feel every inch of him, and he’s watching you—eyes locked onto the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your hands grasp at the sheets, at him.

And let’s be honest, who’s absolutely wrecked the moment he feels your walls start to flutter around him?

Hyugo.

"Fuck—lemme inside one more time, yeah? Will ya let me, beautiful, please?" His breath is hot against your neck, lips brushing against your ear as he pleads, as he begs.

"Wanna have me leaking outta you for days, please—" His body trembles, overwhelmed and desperate, rutting into you with everything he has left. And when you finally give in, whispering his name, he shatters.

And afterward? He’s all clingy and cuddly, wrapping himself around you, arms locked tight like he never wants to let go. He buries his face in your neck, pressing lazy kisses against your skin, murmuring, "Was I good for you? Made you feel good, yeah?"—and the way he says it, voice soft, needy, full of quiet vulnerability, makes your heart ache.

But oh, when he’s the one pushing your buttons?

That’s when the real game begins.

Hyugo lives for a power play. He’ll push and push, teasing you with every filthy little comment, every smug remark slipping from his lips, knowing exactly how to make you crack.

The more you try to act unaffected, the harder he digs in. Hands wandering, lips ghosting over your skin, voice dropping into something slow and deliberate, thick with amusement.

"Aww, what’s the matter, babe? Tryna act all composed? Cute—" His fingers lace with yours, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, all innocent, but his grin says otherwise.

"But you know I see right through you, don’t you?" His lips brush against your ear, and he laughs when he feels the shiver that runs down your spine.

You pretend you don’t care.

But Hyugo? He knows better.

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back vn #tkatb #tkatb vn #tkatb geo x reader #tkatb geo #the kid at the back geo #geo oogami #subaru oogami #tkatb hyugo #hyugo sugimoto #the kid at the back hyugo #hyugo x reader

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bamsara · 4 months ago

Note

Why did you start writing? From what I can tell you put a lot of passion into the works you make, where did it all start for the lovely stories you make now?

Wayyyy earlier when I was 9-10ish, and even at that age I was writing a lot, with just pencil and notebook paper. I know I have written earlier than that, but I have no evidence of it.

I filled up an entire 3inch binder with an entirely hand written story about a girl who lives who her grandma and has a dog named Trout, almost dies in tornado at school and finds out the tornado as a sentient being that was trying to kill her because she has some connection to a random dude that can control the weather, and a elegant queen lady who controls ice that basically adopts her and turns her into a scout to find other people who have elemental powers. She doesn't have any herself, but for some reason she can tell who does, and then can steal it. I still have that binder in my closet. Would not recommend reading it though lmao

I started publishing my writing online, fanfiction specifically, when I was 11ish and totally not supposed to be online yet. My first fanfic I wrote and published was for Soul Eater, and that account and those stories are still up to this day. (cringe warning for the exact kind of thing you would expect an 10-11 year old to write) I actually had two fanfic.net accounts, this one where I wrote L4D stuff too.

I switched from fanfic.net to Wattpad after I got into FNAF and wrote a bunch of Fnaf stuff from an AU I had in 2015, and that AU is what led me to making a tumblr account that year, mainly to post my art for my stories. (I had always been drawing, too, but I didn't start posting that until wattpad)

And then I switched to AO3 around 2018 and my stories have been there since. I have, quite literally, been writing for nearly 15 years, with pretty much all of my work well-documented online since I started.

I hate my older works from when I was a teen/kid, and even work from just a few years back, and even removed them at some point, but decided to keep them up for archival purposes. Especially since you can kinda see how my writing style has changed, my standards in writing like the wordcount going from 80k at 11yrs old to 200k something for my long fics, my viewpoints and beliefs, etc etc. I am also very...picky about the stories I read, so if I cannot find what I want, I will make it myself.

Writing is absolutely the best and most practiced coping mechanism I've had since forever. I will write even if I do not have any readers. I still write things that I do not post online, so overtime what was something I deeply enjoyed as a hobby and an outlet to process difficult and low parts of my life becoming something enjoyable to other people is kind of wild to me, still.

And I'll continue to do it even if one day this account explodes or something. When I said 'Writing and creating art is the only thing keeping me sane' I was not trying to be quirky /lighthearted. I'll dedicate entire days to writing chapters in a row.

But yeah I've been writing for a long while, I'm glad you guys really like it! Look at my cats

#sara shush #ramble

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durgeapologist · 1 month ago

Text

Let's Talk About Ir Abelas, Da'ean

As some of you may know, I am vehemently against the dishonest use of AI in fandom and creative spaces. It has been brought to my attention by many, many people (and something I myself have thought on many times) that there is a DreadRook fic that is super popular and confirmed to be written at least partially with AI. I have the texts to prove it was written (at least) with the help of the Grammarly Rewrite generative feature.

Before I go any further, let it be known I was friends with this author; their use of rewrite features is something they told me and have told many other people who they have shared their fic with. It is not however, at the time of posting this, tagged or mentioned on their fic on AO3, in any capacity. I did in fact reach out to the author before making this post. They made absolutely no attempt to agree to state the use of Rewrite AI on their fic, nor be honest or upfront (in my opinion) about the possibility of their fic being complete generative AI. They denied the use of generative AI as a whole, though they did confirm (once again) use of the rewrite feature on Grammarly.

That all said: I do not feel comfortable letting this lie; since I have been asked by many people to make this, this post is simply for awareness.

You can form your own opinion, if you wish to. In fact, I encourage you to do such.

Aside from the, once again, high volume word output of around 352K words in less than 3 months (author says they had 10 chapters pre-written over "about a month" before they began posting; they are also on record saying they can write 5K-10K daily) from November until now, I have also said if you are familiar with AI services or peruse AI sites like ChatGPT, C.AI, J.AI, or any others similar to these, AI writing is very easy to pick out.

After some intense digging, research, and what I believe to be full confirmation via AI detection software used by professional publishers, there is a large and staggering possibility that the fic is almost entirely AI generated, bar some excerpts and paragraphs, here and there. I will post links below of the highly-resourced detection software that a few paragraphs and an entire chapter from this fic were plugged into; you are more than welcome to do with this information what you please.

I implore you to use critical thinking skills, and understand that when this many pieces in a work come back with such a high percentage of AI detected, that there is something going on. (There was a plethora of other AI detection softwares used that also corroborate these findings; I only find it useful to attach the most reputable source.)

Excerpts:

82% Likely Written by AI, 4% Plagiarism Match

98% Likely Written by AI, 2% Plagiarism Match

100% Likely Written by AI, 4% Plagiarism Match

Some excerpts do in fact come back as 100% likely written by human; however, this does not mean that the author was not using the Grammarly Paraphrase/Rewrite feature for these excerpts.

The Grammarly Paraphrase/Rewrite feature does not typically clock as AI generative text, and alongside the example below, many excerpts from other fics were take and put through this feature, and then fed back into the AI detection software. Every single one came back looking like this, within 2% of results:

So, in my opinion, and many others, this goes beyond the use of the simple paraphrase/rewrite feature on Grammarly.

Entire Chapter (Most Recent):

67% Likely Written by AI

As well, just for some variety, another detection software that also clocked plagiarism in the text:

15% Plagiarism Match

To make it clear that I am not simply 'jealous' of this author or 'angry' at their work for simply being a popular work in the fandom, here are some excerpts from other fanfics in this fandom and in other fandoms that were ran through the same exact same detection software, all coming back as 100% human written. (If you would like to run my fic through this software or any others, you are more than welcome to. I do not want to run the risk of OP post manipulation, so I did not include my own.)

The Wolf's Mantle

100% Likely Human Written, 2% Plagiarism Match

A Memory Called Desire

99% Likely Human Written

Brand Loyalty

100% Likely Human Written

Heart of The Sun

98% Likely Human Written

Whether you choose to use AI in your own fandom works is entirely at your own discretion. However, it is important to be transparent about such usage.

AI has many negative impacts for creatives across many mediums, including writers, artists, and voice actors.

If you use AI, it should be tagged as such, so that people who do not want to engage in AI works can avoid engaging with it if they wish to.

ALL LINKS AND PICTURES COURTESY OF: @spiritroses

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elodieunderglass · 16 days ago

Note

Would you like to be sent other people's Killie headcanons? I wasn't sure if that would be welcome or like stealing your toys.

(Killie the jockey oc)

Thank you so much for asking! I’m going to say something wild - that it’s fine if you understand the risks and agree to the conditions. Sorry for writing an essay about the conditions, but it interested me a lot - I want to welcome this spirit, and am also conscious that published authors don’t do this (however, I don’t want their job.)

Long story short: you can, but it’s not legally advisable, but fuck it, we ball.

Grownups share toys, and Killie exists to be rotated - and, when he achieves sufficient velocity, thrown briskly into an obstacle. Sharing this burden with others pleases me. I’ve already said an emphatic GO AHEAD to fanart and AU fanfic, so worrying about this too much would be a case of shutting the barn door after the horse has eaten it. We do a lot of riffing and yes-anding each other, which is the ENTIRE fun of talking about Killie, and is the ONLY reason he’d get a book anyway. And my approach to intellectual property is more collaborative-Goncharov than the inciting published-authors-shouldn’t-read-fic-incident (1990s drama with Marion Zimmer Bradley.)

Killie’s intended to have a little self-published, non-commercial book that isn’t written yet. If I was already planning to do something similar to your ideas, it might lead to awkwardness for both of us. I’m not saying it would - we are too mature and kind - but that’s the risk I don’t want you to take unknowingly. I do mean to create 1 piece of fixed canon material (plan for that here), for which I plan to charge sufficient money to reimburse the cost of the editor I plan to hire for it. So you would have to decide whether you’d like to risk your headcanon being canon. I will say upfront that there is zero risk of Killie being commercially viable (CAN YOU IMAGINE) so there’s no chance of anyone (including myself) getting paid for anything; it’s more about the idea of intellectual property. Your headcanons belong to you, and by kindly sharing them with someone who hasn’t written the canon yet, you risk a lot more than someone writing about a closed, distant work.

You don’t need approval or permission for headcanons. You don’t need approval from anybody to enjoy them.

Of course, half the pleasure of sharing headcanons is sharing them for connection and communication ARGH.

It would be great if you could share them somewhere else, without worrying about me being involved, but Killie’s entire fandom is the 20 of us, currently housed here, in my living room.

I do want to encourage you to do that (posting without telling me/discussing with other people). you don’t need my permission, and are welcome.

But I do understand Killie’s fandom is housed in my living room at the moment. As much as I intend for him to move out in the future, ideally into a small kennel in YOUR living room, it’s very natural for current observations of him to take place in my living room.

(Could he please move into your living room, the kennel is very small)

Thus, here is my policy:

If you send me a headcanon, please understand that you are voluntarily and freely releasing your idea, in the spirit of willing sharing. There is a very slight risk that your headcanon will overlap with something in the unpublished Killie book, so you’ll have to agree that you understood this risk - and that I don’t owe you anything, if it’s similar.

If you have a very good idea that would be absolutely load-bearing, I’d like to reach out for a mutually consensual permissions statement to use it. You would have the ability to decline. Agreeing to its use would involve you getting full credit for the idea, my warm thanks for sharing it, a link to your blog in online material, the admiration of everyone reading the credits, and probably nothing else will be in my power. Payment is unlikely. Co-authorship is not on the table, as I can’t write checks I can’t cash (I.e. I can’t promise to pay someone with credit on a product that might not happen.)

submission of writing prompts is done freely in the tumblr context, and I’m going to make the formal statement that a prompt does not grant co-ownership of the resulting work. Submission does not mean co-ownership - if you submit a prompt, you’re giving me permission to use it in any way I like, with or without credit. At the moment, it’s all on tumblr and attached to usernames, but if the inspired work moves to another platform (I.e I include a comic in Killie’s book) I’ll endeavour to keep the credit to your tumblr handle. I plan to thank everyone who makes the work so possible and so delightful!

Once Killie has this completed piece of work out (working title Throw Your Heart Over) he’ll be fair game. Literally hunt him for sport with my blessing 👍

I would then put him in a hamster ball and kick him down the stairs step back a bit because I think it could be a bit oxygen-smothering when creators are TOO involved - I’d like to respond to asks, but would not want to know what people were saying elsewhere- but once moved out of my living room, Killie will no longer be my personal problem.

Death of the Author voluntarily. Pls.

I was thinking of licensing him as Creative Commons anyway, but he still needs to move out of my living room and get his own address for that. At any rate, then, it will be chill for all of us to do whatever. Intellectual property WHOMST. The only thing would be I don’t want him sold without permission.

The intention of Killie is mental freedom and growth of identity; if I hogged him all to myself, I’d break that intention, and he’d rightfully stop working for me.

In conclusion, by willingly sharing a headcanon WITH ME, you agree that you get: small but high-quality connection, engagement, my admiration, hoots of amusement, tears, maybe a comic in response.

You do not get paid, you don’t get co-authorship or have any ownership.

If your headcanon accidentally matches a canon statement that I haven’t publicly made yet, you’ll have done very well by guessing foreshadowing, but unfortunately receive nothing. Guessing canon in advance does not mean that you gave me the idea, and you have agreed that by sharing it willingly.

If your headcanon solves a plot problem, I might reach out for permission to use it, with the conditions that I can only realistically offer credit for the idea. You’ll have the right to decline, and the paper trail showing that you did.

You will have no way of knowing if I am lying, and by freely sharing headcanons, you accept that risk. (I don’t intend to steal and lie - I’m a goddamn grownup with a day job, I think we’re friendly and trust each other, I’m writing a novel as a present to you, specifically, @thethirdromana - but the risk can’t be ignored.)

If you share your headcanon with other people, I don’t need to know, and don’t need to be invited.

Once Killie’s published, you can eat him for breakfast.

Hope this all makes sense, and I’m sure published authors would be gnawing their nails in horror reading this, which they won’t, because it’s 20 people in my living room and won’t make any money.

Regardless of what you choose to do, I cannot thank you enough for joining me, sharing your heart and attention, and for the gift of your support.

#Killie #throw your heart over #the fence and your horse will follow #hope this makes sense #I think tl:dr you probably shouldn’t but #the spirit I received these ideas and shared them in has given me new ideas and it isn’t my day job #and stinky Marion zimmer Bradley is not my boss #and I can prove that I own Killie. and his book is so short.#and this is not my day job. so my concerns are different.

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syoddeye · 3 months ago

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How would Price react if reader got hurt in the Strict Machine AU? Like they had to go out to get groceries and ended up getting into a scuffle with some ruffians, nothing lethal but definitely worrying

Cuz all I can imagine is his code glitching as it runs through every scenario as he wants to help but physically cant. Would he call 911(or whatever version of it exists) or would the apartment just come alive?

-✨️(Absolutely love your writing and I hope you keep it up! You inspire me to write fanfics :) )

this is the program that allegedly triggered a fatal autonomous vehicle crash. if your well-being is on the line, he's on it. (also, thank you!!!)

strict machine anthology. cw: minor injury, blood, robot john being himself

john's synced with your handy-dandy, employment-required medband. all of your biometric data, past and present, is at his disposal. the moment it signals a sudden spike in vitals—erratic heart rate, elevated cortisol and adrenaline levels—he's already bullying his way through your communications. his lack of a physical form may limit him, but he's not helpless.

like any other situation, he takes charge. bulldozes your autonomy and overrides your protests. you argue that a sprained ankle and a nasty scrape aren't worth the time or expense of emergency services. in response, john remotely removes your ability to make outbound calls without administrative permission. which…you should have, right?

he growls through your device's speaker, just loud enough to make the few passersby who stopped to check on you stare. their faces uneasy, wary. are you really letting some lines of code speak to you like that?

"user, do not make me repeat myself." the bracelet on your wrist begins to pulse, automatically connecting to emergency dispatch before you can argue further.

"john!" you hiss, slapping at the sliver of plastic and metal in a feeble attempt to disconnect. "you sent for help? really?!" bristling, you glance up at the small crowd, flashing a nervous, tight smile. your ankle throbs, and blood on your knee steadily flows out the rip in your tights.

"it's for your own good, darl." john dismisses, his modulated voice taking on a sterner tone. "if you insist on making poor decisions, i'll continue to countermand them. stay where you are."

hours later, when you finally limp home, the bitter taste of pain meds coating your tongue and the anger over john's earlier commandeering still simmering in your mind, you're greeted by an eerie quiet. it feels almost accusatory. like when your dad would wait up for you past curfew. you hear his systems, their low, droning hum, but there's no immediate response. no check-in.

you suppose, in his own way, he's frustrated with you, too. maybe all your feedback, all your complaints, are finally starting to stick. maybe he's backing off. grumbling, you try to find a position on the couch that doesn't irritate your ankle, when the extra deadbolts of the door activate, their metallic thunks echoing loudly.

a thought crosses your mind: you'll be lucky if he lets you leave again.

#strict machine #price x reader #john price x reader #this really got my brain going this morning. great warm up!#sy writes #✨️ anon

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kingkat12 · 4 months ago

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omg I love your fics so so so much and I think you would absolutely nail a fanfic where roman is teaching reader how to smoke? or something like that 😭 like it being really intimate and stuff ughh idk but roman smoking just makes me go absolutely feral

Roman..... teaching reader.... how to smoke....?

do you.... want to give me..... a heart attack......?

THIS WAS SO DAMN HOT IT MADE MY BREATH HITCH WHEN I READ THIS, you BET i want to write this!!! you know me, i love writing reader having her first time doing anything at all lol, this was PERFEEEECT!! hope i've done your request justice, thank you so much for this one!!<3333

nymphomaniac (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, smoking, mentions of sex, angst, flirting deluxe, Roman's mouth is FOUL

summary: not all lessons are good for you-- especially the ones taught by the notorious Roman Godfrey, who you also happen to have a history with

word count: 2,425

a/n: and this is NO WAY an encouragement to smoke, i don't smoke myself so... heh. read at your own risk i suppose, and be critical of what you read on the internet PLEASE!! mwah

How to smoke – a thorough guide by Roman Godfrey. That was a book I wouldn’t buy in a million years; why give a millionaire more money?

Thankfully, I didn't have to pay anything to get a free trial from the author of said imaginary book.

Roman sat next to me on the porch leading up to the house of the party we were at, having asked me to follow him outside to escape all the noise. I wouldn’t have gone with him, had I not started to get a headache from what I could frankly only call ear-rape. “It’s too fucking loud in there,” I muttered, shifting on the uncomfortable step. “There’s a reason I don’t go to these things very often.”

Roman shrugged, patting down the pockets of his jacket. “It’s not usually this bad when someone else hosts. But I heard this guy is notorious for being legally deaf, so that might explain it,”

“I wouldn’t be shocked if he did that to himself,”

With a laugh, Roman pulled out an orange-hued box of cigarettes, shaking his head. “It’s too bad you don’t attend parties that often. I never see you anymore, y’know? Just bring some earplugs if you’re so bothered by the damn noise,”

Oh. My heart jumped with a jolt of pain. I cleared my throat; “Of course you don’t see me anymore, Roman… We broke up two months ago,”

Despite seeing it coming from miles away, it had been the hardest breakup of my life. I knew whom I had gotten into a relationship with, knew exactly what kind of a guy Roman was, so I had been emotionally prepared for it when it all fell apart. The relationship had been more of a whirlwind thing, a lust thing, which had left me with a very bad case of being-walked-in-on PTSD. That one time Roman decided he wanted to go down on me at school, only for my math teacher to walk in on us in the classroom, was a memory I was sure I would never forget. Sadly.

However, the bliss of being sexually compatible couldn’t carry the relationship forever, and I was aware of that long before he was. Around the time we hit the one-month milestone, I could see in his gorgeous green eyes that he was tired. Roman needed to be free to function, free to fuck any girl that walked by, and free to disappear for hours and come back whenever it pleased him.

And what did I need? I wasn’t so sure anymore.

If I were to use my brain and ponder that question once more, I would conclude that I needed to stop sitting next to my hot ex-boyfriend who was now lighting one of his classic cigarettes. Roman knew I didn’t approve, knew how many times I had told him it was cancer on a stick—still, I settled for the fact that he wasn’t scared of death. Actually, he probably wasn’t scared of anything other than real commitment.

With a sigh, Roman nodded to himself. “I’m aware, but I’m still allowed to miss the sight of you,” He turned to me, his strikingly green gaze piercing mine— I held my breath. This was getting intense. Nonetheless, the next thing that rolled out of his mouth caught me off guard; “Do you have a lighter?”

… What? “Roman, you know I don’t smoke,”

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. “Worth a shot. I had hopes that you’d at least managed to become an arsonist in our time apart, maybe then you’d carry a lighter around with you,” Like this, faced with his heartbreakingly beautiful smile beneath the hues of the moonlight, I was reminded of the first thought I ever had when I met him; he was so… cool. Roman always looked so damn cool. I loved the way it made my heart flutter— the feeling of being with the coolest guy at school was still the most thrilling feeling of all. I felt cool, knowing he wanted to sit next to me instead of being inside the loudest party of the year hunting down his next lay.

It was impossible not to smile back. “Don’t be so disappointed. At least I’m still a cannibal,”

Humored, Roman chuckled; “Glad to hear it,”

“And you’re still a nymphomaniac,”

That seemed to strike a nerve— Roman let out an offended huff, now patting down the pockets of his jeans. “Forget it. I never go anywhere without my lighter, anyway,” he mumbled.

Oh no. “I didn’t mean it as an insult! We were joking, Roman. You’ve never been the type to hide that you like… sex—”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about sex right now, I’m too tipsy,” Roman’s words were harsh, snappy. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, now fishing out his usual red lighter; I hadn’t seen that one in a while. “No sex-talk. None.”

“Fine, Jesus!—”

“Thanks to you, I now have to smoke away the taste of you. Thank you,” he grumbled, a slight twitch appearing beneath his left eye as he brought the cigarette to his plush lips— oh, how I missed those. “Your perfume isn’t helping, either. So don’t talk about sex, because then I’ll start thinking about sex with you, along with how you taste after I’ve been going down on you for about ten minutes, squirming, whining, and then I start thinking of how much I miss it. So could you just—just shut up for a minute, okay?”

I stared at Roman in disbelief, my lips parting as my jaw threatened to hit the floor. He must’ve had a few beers too many to be talking so openly about… anything. I would go off on him about his use of words, telling me to shut up, but I was too stunned to think properly. With my mind still buzzing, I scooted closer to Roman on the cold steps of the porch, daring to lean my head down on his shoulder like I used to do when we were together. “You’ve only proved my point,” I breathed, closing my eyes. “Nympho.”

I knew him too well— I knew Roman would appreciate casual physical contact. He didn’t have enough of that in his life, anyway. Chuckling, amused, he lit his cigarette, inhaling with a quiet moan— something told me he had been waiting for a hit for some time. And just as I opened my mouth, ready to start my usual smoking-is-bad lecture, Roman cut me to it; “Don’t start talking about cancer now, either,”

“It is a cancer stick,”

“I don’t care,”

“You should!”

“But I don’t,” With a sigh, Roman exhaled, watching the smoke evaporate into the warm summer air. He leaned his head on top of mine, and I couldn’t help but think how the smell of the cigarette clashed with the comforting smell of his shampoo. It ruined everything.

This conversation was one we’d had tens of times, and I wasn’t too keen on repeating it. “Roman…” I reached for the cigarette he lazily held between his fingers, feeling the softness of his hand against mine. “Maybe you don’t care, but I do. You need to take care of yourself.” I didn’t need to look at Roman to know his brows were drawn together as I took the cigarette out of his hand, holding it away from him.

He sighed again, slower this time; “If you’d ever smoked, you’d see the appeal,”

“Yeah?” It was hard not to roll my eyes— “The appeal of cancer?”

With a low laugh, Roman turned his head, kissing the top of my head out of habit. Weirdly enough, it felt platonic for the first time ever, yet it didn’t fail to evoke a hard thump in my chest. It felt like I was being electrocuted from the inside, and my eyes sprung open—I was happy he couldn’t see that. “Not cancer, don’t be stupid,” he huffed. “Just use that pretty little brain of yours, I know it’s in there somewhere.”

If only he knew my brain was currently working overtime. “I’ll never see the appeal of inhaling crap that ruins your lungs. If anything, you’re the stupid one,”

Roman rolled his eyes, gently giving my head a nudge with the shoulder I was leaning on, motioning for me to sit up. “Let me show you, just once. If you don’t like it, you’re allowed to call me a nicotine-addicted nymphomaniac until the last day of high school,”

“And the day after. An extension for your favorite ex,”

“Nope. The day of graduation, and that’s it,”

I turned to look at the blindingly pretty smile on Roman’s face— how was it possible not to fall for this guy? He was gorgeous. “Fine,” I mumbled, knowing I would call him that no matter what behind his back until the day he died. “So how the fuck do I do this?”

Something in Roman’s green, green, eyes shifted. Maybe he was wondering why he had ever let me go in the first place— maybe he was thinking about the word to describe the color of my hair as it mixed with the grays of the moonlight? He cleared his throat, turning his body towards me as I mirrored him; “The first step is easy,” he said, reaching forward to place his hand behind mine, bringing the cigarette to my lips.

My skin burned. Fucking burned, with every touch.

Roman’s eyes were already big, which is why I was surprised to see they could get even bigger when he gazed down at my lips. “Open up,” he breathed, absentminded.

Now, I could be sure he wasn’t thinking about the color of my hair. Maybe he was back to reminiscing about the taste of me? Or other nasty nympho things, as per usual.

I placed the cigarette between my lips, but Roman let out a short, alarmed sound that nearly made me yelp. “Now comes the trick,” he urged, leaning closer— I was unsure whether he was aware he was inching towards my face or not. The closer he got, the easier it was to focus on the single strand of his dark hair that lay over his forehead, straying from his stylings. It was so damn attractive— I had to hold myself back from smiling, now that I remembered the one time I caught him pulling it out of his gelled updo to lay it there on purpose. Cutie.

“The trick?” I echoed, realizing he had frozen to his spot just staring at my lips. I pulled the cigarette away from my mouth; Roman hadn’t said anything for about five seconds. This was bad. This was dangerous. It made me want to jump him and let him fuck me right here on the porch.

“Uh—” Roman cleared his throat, letting out a breathy chuckle as he shook his head. “Sorry. The trick, right…”

God, I was two seconds away from bursting into flames like a phoenix. Was I still breathing?

“For your first time, you should— because this is your first time, right?”

“Yes!”

“You sure?”

“Roman!”

“Alright, alright!” Roman laughed, biting his lip as he tilted his head just a little. Had the cigarette not forced a space between us, I would’ve started wondering when he would kiss me. “The trick is to not inhale too much smoke for your first time. I don’t want you to cough up your left lung on my new shirt. And hold the smoke in your mouth for a moment, let it cool down, and only inhale it when you’ve taken the cig out of your mouth.”

If Roman one day actually did decide to write a smoking-guide, I could at least be sure the content would be explained simply and concisely. “Seems easy enough,” I mumbled, watching Roman’s pupils widen as I placed the cigarette back between my lips and sucked in a small amount of smoke into my mouth.

It felt like I was getting a mild burn on my tongue— it wasn’t pleasant. For a second, I got scared my eyes would pop from the shock, and I closed them to ensure the blood at least wouldn’t splatter anywhere if I happened to be so unlucky. But when the burning subsided, I finally dared to inhale.

My eyes sprung open, meeting the fascination in Roman’s green gaze as my previous headache caused by the loud music disappeared. My brain suddenly felt like it was buzzing with pleasure and energy. Before I knew it, I was half giggling against Roman’s mouth, letting my cigarette-clad hand fall by my side. “Wow,” I breathed, in awe of the satisfying whirring in my head.

Roman looked like he was two seconds away from cooing at me, right in my face; “There you go, good girl,” he purred. “Do you get it now?”

God, I hated myself. Still, what I hated more, was that my hot ex-boyfriend was blatantly right. “I think I do,”

Roman hummed, smirking as he reached for the cigarette in my hand, smoothly brushing his fingers across my skin on his way down. With a content sigh, he looked into my dazed eyes as he pressed his free fingers over the pulse of my wrist— “I still make your heart jump,” he breathed, leaning in so close I could feel the hotness of his breath against my cheek.

I swallowed. “You always will. It doesn’t mean anything,” My eyes flickered back and forth between Roman’s green eyes and his plush, pink lips despite knowing I shouldn’t.

“It doesn’t?” he echoed, visibly amused as he raised his brows.

“… Nope,”

Roman hummed, nudging the tip of my nose with his just as he always did—was this maybe just a habit, or was he going to…? The atmosphere was so thick, I could reach out and touch it. My breath had long caught in my chest, but Roman’s next words only made it worse; “Let’s talk about sex again,” he whispered against my lips, his lashes hanging heavy over his eyes.

“No. This is over. We’re just sharing a cigarette,”

“We could share a bed too,”

“Stop it,” I breathed, hoping he’d spot the desperation in my eyes. “It’s been two months. Aren’t you over this?” Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.

Roman stilled. With the next beat of my pulse against his fingers, his eyes softened with a new realization beneath the moonlight;

“Over you? Never,”

#roman godfrey #roman godfrey x reader #hemlock grove #bill skarsgård #fanfic #x reader #fanfiction #bill skarsgard #oneshot #smut ish #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgard fanfiction #hemlock grove fanfiction #THIS WAS SO FUN #AND HOT?#JUST ME?#MY GOOOOD #smoking

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