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enviedear · 1 year ago

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is it real ⟶ anakin skywalker

description ⌙ it's easier to hate him than it is to be honest in how much you care for him, but anakin makes a mission of making hating him near impossible. pairing ⌙ anakin x fem!reader warnings ⌙ saber graze, tending to a wound, a petty argument, a little angst. word count ⌙ 2.8k

— request | masterlist

totally inspired by this masterpiece of a song that i can't get out of my head. it's so ani coded i had to indulge.

"there's a med-pack by the table." anakin's voice is soft, enough so to distract slightly from the searing pain emitting from the saber graze at your ribs.

"can you, fuck, help?" you barely make it to his bed before your knees give.

at your falter he rushes to you, eyes wide, "c'mere, let me see."

you don't fight him when he rips your tunics off, exposing the large gash at your ribcage. you take in a breath at the sight of it. far larger and worse than you had previously thought.

"obi-wan was right," he grabs for the med-pack before kneeling down to you, "you have to stop trying to fight all on your own."

you want to roll your eyes, you want to smack him upside the head. for as long as you've known the boy, he's had an annoying tendency of fretting over you, acting as though you were delicate.

when you were younger, it was easier for you to accept such behavior. but as the two of you grew, it became far harder to ignore the way his kindness caused your mind to drift toward something utterly wrong. friendship had since turned into acquaintanceship.

it was so much easier this way.

"says you, skywalker." your voice is gritty, watching his mechanic hand begin to clean the wound.

he ignores your irritation, "maybe if you'd let me help you—"

you interrupt him, eyes narrowed, "i'm letting you help right now, aren't i?"

his hand stills for a second before continuing its work, "you know what i mean."

you're not sure you do. in truth, there could be a million things he could mean. you rarely lean on your fellow jedi, especially not anakin. not when being around him makes your heart race faster than a speeder.

you try to avoid him as much as possible. you'd rather eat at a crowded table than with him at his empty one, rather fight a group of enemies alone than beside him, rather keep your thoughts locked away in your own head than divulge them to him.

for as great and divinely chosen as he was in others' eyes, he was a lingering distraction for you. his gaze is etched into your mind, and you find it frightening how much you draw up the vision.

if you're the means, he will always be your end.

"it's not that bad, i've seen you take worse." you try to steady your voice as you speak.

his non-dominant hand finds its way to your bent knee, sending a shock throughout your body, "doesn't mean you have to." you waver slightly at his words, zoning in on the way his lips quirk up at the sentiment.

rolling your eyes, you grab for the bandages and gauze, "i can do the rest myself."

he draws away from you but you can feel him watching you. you can tell he wants to say more— wants to press you further.

you try to ignore the way his presence affects you as you wrap your wound. it's easier that way, to brush him off. maker forbid you ever gave him the notion that you feel the way you do.

if he knew— he'd be on you like ants to honey, all-consuming. anakin was devotional, it was a flaw you enjoyed pointing out to him. you'd mock him for it, calling it the opposite of the jedi way. because it's easier to pick fun at the attribute than to imagine the way it would feel to be at the receiving end of such a trait.

it'd be sacred, surely.

you finish dressing the saber graze and hold tight to the fresh application before grabbing your tunics. it's a painful struggle to put them back on, and you wince at the stretch you have to do to pull them back over your head.

anakin, now leaning against his door, watches you in condemnation, "it wouldn't hurt so much if you just let me help you, y/n."

you make your way toward him, "i'm fine. now, can you let me leave."

he glowers at you, "no."

"what do you mean, no?" your eyes slim.

"i want you to be honest for once," he clenches his jaw before continuing, "i mean, i’m trying to help you, and you act like a brat. what's your problem?"

you stare at him, feeling frustration bubbling up inside you. he is so adept at getting under your skin and making you feel things that are far better left unexplored.

"my problem?" you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "my problem is that i'm sick and tired of being treated like a child by everyone around here. including you."

anakin's eyes widen in surprise for just a moment before they darken with anger, "i treat you like an equal, you know that." he spits out through gritted teeth.

"you don't!" you exclaim, the dam finally breaking inside of you. "you act like i can't handle anything on my own."

"that's because half the time it seems like-"

"like what?" you interrupt him, taking a step closer despite yourself.

"like…like maybe sometimes," his voice softens as he speaks now—almost pleadingly, "you could use some help."

you take one hand and shove him against the door, fingers digging into his robes, "i don't need your help. i don't need anything from you," you watch him sneer down at you, "and if you want honesty, then the truth is that i'd be far better off without you trailing around me all the time."

he gives an unamused laugh, "you know what i think?"

you don't dignify him with an answer prompting him to go on, "i think you shut down because you're scared," he grabs hold of your wrist, pulling you even closer to him, "i can sense it, you know. every time i see you all that radiates is fear. you're not even strong enough to hide it. what are you so damn afraid of, y/n?”

you pull away from him and shoot daggers before shoving him out of your path and exiting his room.

you rush to your own room, heart thudding in your chest. you attempt to stop yourself from thinking any further on what had just happened. sitting on the edge of your bed, you take deep breaths before burying you face in your hands. he was right—you were scared; scared of opening up and admitting how deeply you've grown to care for him.

he was beautiful, tragically so. and off limits in ways that made your chest feel heavy. you've tried to forget the way he makes you feel for years now. you've tried to tell yourself that what you feel isn't real. it can't be, not when you've sworn an oath against such notions.

yet, he remains a pertinent figure living in the back of your mind. a fantasy you indulge solely in the safety of seclusion.

the evening drags along slowly, and you take note his absence at dinner. his usual seat left empty, causing you to worry for him. it's futile to try and stop the obvious impact he has over you, especially after the fight.

he has a way of sowing himself indelibly to you.

though he remains so obvious in his fruitless kinship for you— you do the contrary. you keep your worries to yourself, and in the times you've been anything other than unemotional to him, you've reacted before thinking more than you care to admit.

you were mean, and even if he'd never know, it did hurt you to act in such a way. especially when all you really want is to see those blue eyes looking down on you with a loving gaze.

you push your food around on your plate, lost in thought, only to have a warm hand on your shoulder.

looking up, you find obi-wan, eyebrows drawn together is deliberation.

you try and push your thoughts away, masking your fears, "yes, master?"

he removes his previous look, replacing it with a soft smile, "y/n, i wanted to make sure you were okay. you took quite a blow today."

you have trouble meeting his eyes, "i'm fine master, just a small cut."

he lets his hand drop, "of course. i hope to see you for meditation tomorrow morning. it just may be of service."

he's gone before you can reply, leaving you alone with your unwanted dinner and thoughts.

hours pass by without you noticing them go. you attempt to train but your practice moves fall short. until, finally, it's late enough that even one of yoda's animated lessons couldn't keep someone from seeking sleep.

you make your way back to your room as fatigue sets in. your senses full of the one thing that refuses to ease its grip over you— anakin.

the exchange with him earlier continues to replay on a loop inside your mind, making it nearly impossible to drift off peacefully. you toss and turn for what feels like hours, restlessly upset.

abruptly, loud knocks echo through your room, interrupting your silent brooding whilst stirring the half slumber you’d found yourself in.

you can sense the familiar force signature, and you know it's anakin pounding away at your door. his energy seems off, less guarded and more haphazard. the feeling of it has you tensing.

nervous, you get out of bed and make your way to the door, still feeling hints of your previous anger and anxiety. you swing it open to find him standing on the other side, breathing heavily as if he had been running.

"what do you want?" you ask, trying your best to keep your voice level.

"i'm sorry," he says simply, not meeting your eyes.

you're taken aback by his apology, not expecting it, "for what?" you ask, confused.

"for the way i've been treating you," he says with a sigh. "i've been so focused on keeping you safe that i haven't been treating you like the equal that you are. and for what i said earlier… i didn't mean it. i just wanted to get a rise out of you."

you stare at him for a moment, trying to process his words. anakin has never been one to apologize easily, and you can sense that this is challenging for him.

slowly, you start to soften towards him, "come in." you say finally, and step aside to let him into your room.

he steps in and closes the door behind him, turning to face you. "i know we fight more often than we get along," he says tentatively. "but i don't want to lose you completely. i miss you. we used to be so... different."

you feel a lump in your throat at his words. despite everything that had happened with him, you know deep down that you don’t want to lose him either. but something is still stopping you from stating your full truth.

"well things are different now," you admit quietly. "we're different."

anakin looks at you, his eyes searching your face for meaning while his mouth forms a thin line. "why?" he asks finally.

you try to find the words but all that comes out is an half-baked excuse, "because that's just what happens, anakin."

"it doesn’t have to…" anakin presses gently and takes a step closer towards you. the heat from him fills up the room making it difficult to think straight let alone answer him honestly. you look away trying to avoid eye contact. with each second that passes by, your denial seems more insufferable.

he seems to notice this and steps even closer so now only inches are between the two of you before asking, "is it because…" his voice catches as he leans in “is it because you can tell how much i care for you. how easily you've become more to me. i tried so hard to hide, y/n, but i can’t anymore.”

you're taken aback by how easily the words leave anakin's lips despite not being able to ever even think of being as honest as him.

but at his admission, something cracks inside of you, allowing you to gain confidence, “no, i never knew you felt—” you falter at the way he's looking you down, face full of anticipation, "i never knew you felt that way. i thought it was only me."

anakin steps even closer, his breath hot against your skin. "never, i've always felt like this," he confesses, his voice low and gravelly. "from the moment i met you. maker, you've had me around your finger for years, i couldn't help but fall for you."

you feel your heart race as his words wash over you, mingled with the warmth of his body so close to yours. you can't deny the attraction that you've always felt— the electricity that seemed to spark whenever your eyes met, the way your skin tingled whenever he brushed past you.

"don't say that, ani," you whisper, feeling a rush, "this isn’t right, it could mean the worst for us, you know that."

anakin takes another step towards you, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek gently. "don't be scared, i’m not," he whispers, his eyes locked on yours. "i'm here for you. whatever happens, you know that."

time seems to still as you lean into his touch, getting lost in the heat of the moment despite yourself. you can feel his words through the softness of his touch.

and then suddenly his lips are on your own— fiercely and passionately. all of your warning thoughts fly out of your head as you surrender into him.

in that moment, there is nothing else but the two of you - lost in each other's embrace and finally free to show all the attachment that's been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

but then as quickly as it came, anakin pulls away and apologizes for the sudden kiss, visibly embarrassed by his impulsivity.

he takes a step back from you in an attempt to put some distance between you while he runs a hand through his hair nervously.

"sorry," he says softly, looking anywhere but your eyes, filled with surprise and confusion.

"i shouldn't have done that." he pauses before continuing in something barely more than a whisper this time, “i just… i'm sorry."

you stand there, still in shock from the sudden kiss but unable to deny the fluttering feeling in your heart. you want to tell him that it's okay, that you feel the same way, but you can't find the words.

anakin seems to read your thoughts, his eyes locking onto yours as he steps back once again. "i know this is a lot to take in," he says, his voice gentle and reassuring. "but i just needed you to know how i feel."

you nod, finally finding your voice. "i…i don't know what to say," you admit, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

for so long you’ve dreaded the idea of anakin knowing how you felt. you’ve been so afraid of rejection, that you’ve never considered the possibility of the inverse happening.

anakin reaches out, taking your hand, sending shivers down your spine with his touch, “you don't have to say anything," he says softly. "just know that i care about you…more than anything."

the two of you stand there for a second longer, lost in each other's eyes and the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

finally, anakin breaks the silence. "i should go," he says reluctantly. "we can talk more about this later if you want…but only if you're ready."

you nod once more, still unsure of what to say or do. as anakin turns to leave, you find yourself calling out to him.

"ani…wait."

he turns back towards you, a hopeful look in his eyes.

"i care about you too, i'm not afraid of it anymore. i just want you." you whisper, feeling a weight lifted off of your shoulders.

anakin looks at you, a mix of shock and pure elation written on his face. he doesn't say anything, he just walks back towards you, taking your face in his hands before pressing his lips onto yours once again.

this time the kiss is even more intense than before, all of the the passion and desire that you've both kept buried for all these years flaring out. your hands make their way to his chest to you pull him closer to you.

anakin deepens the kiss as he wraps his arms around you, tugging you into an embrace that will no doubt carve itself into your very soul. you can feel the beat of his heart against you, matching the pace of your own rapid heartbeats.

when he finally pulls away, gasping for air, you can't stop the smile spreading on your face.

"i've always wanted this," anakin whispers softly, his forehead resting against yours. "i just didn't know how to tell you."

"i'm glad you did," you reply softly, running your fingers through his hair. "i didn't know how to say either."

the two of you stand there for a few moments longer before anakin finally pulls away. "i should go," he says reluctantly. "i'll see you tomorrow?"

you nod, feeling content and happy for the first time in a long time. as anakin leaves your room, you lay down on your bed with a smile on your face— grateful to be the aspect of his devotion.

#anakin skywalker angst #anakin x reader #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin angst #anakin x y/n #anakin x you #anakin x reader angst #anakin skywalker x reader angst #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin and reader #anakin skywalker #star wars anakin

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butmakeitgayblog · 2 months ago

Note

Jumping in on the CI appreciation. The dynamic is just so fun and deceptively beautiful as messed up as they are. You are a great writer and have a unique way of captivating a reader. Kudos and much success however you choose to pursue your talent! Speaking of… have you written or plan on writing that blowout fight scene (post hospital release) where Lexa draws the proverbial line so to say?

CI fight 😈

///////////////////////

This is the stupidest you've ever felt in your life.

Which is saying a lot, considering the sheer amount of reckless and dumb shit you have done.

But this absolutely takes the cake you decide as your hired nurse wheels you into your lounge room, the sheets already turned back on your couch-turned-makeshift bed and the mountain of your wife's borrowed pillows that are already fluffed to within an inch of their goddamn life.

Your hip kills every time you try to stand on it and your back feels like it'd gone one too many rounds with a baseball bat, and thanks to the four fractured bones in your wrist, you can't even deal with it on your own with the use of a crutch or cane. So instead, you hang on to this fucking stranger and woddle over like a toddler, sweating through all three herculean steps it takes until you can sink down into the godsend that is your new recovery zone.

You wave her off with your good arm once she gets you settled. Tell her you're fine and to stop fucking hovering because you didn't even really need a nurse to move in with you to begin with.

But your wife had insisted and left no room for argument, and well... You're not very good at telling her no when she's upset.

So here the hell you are.

Your grousing is hushed by the sweeter notes of your wife's voice when she comes trailing in behind you with that familiar sharp clicking of her heels.

She apologizes for your lack of manners and tells RN Whats-her-name she can go get settled in the guest room that she'd already showed her - you suppose she must have gotten the grand tour at some point while you were still laid up in the hospital.

Ass out in a gown and perpetually high as a kite.

Not your finest point in life.

Not the lowest either.

At least the drugs made it a good time...

Your temple throbs when your 'guest' excuses herself and snaps the doors shut behind her, making you groan and reach to rub at the bandage taped to the side of your head.

Fingers quicker than yours catch you before you can do any damage.

"Don't," Lexa warns you in a whisper more gently than you had expected, considering she's had to remind you three times already today.

You murmur your sorries and pout because it hurts, but can't help but breathe lighter when she slips into the space between your legs.

Rather than settling in your lap as you'd foolishly hoped for, she perches on the edge of the coffee table instead. She smells so good and her gorgeous face is so serene when she gets comfortable and looks at you dead in the eye.

But then she folds her fingers together and she leans her elbows on her knees, and you already know you're in for some kind of ass chewing.

Fantastic.

She levels you with that 'wife look' she gets. The one that tells you that she means business.

Nobody warned you about that when you'd agreed to this whole 'marriage' thing.

"So," she breathes, only pausing to lick her kissable lips, "Welcome home, Darling."

You snort a laugh through your nose that still hurts where it's swollen but the good drugs kinda help you not care. "Thanks for having me, babe. Nice place you got here," you say in sarcasm-dipped words.

She merely hums and gives you a narrow-eyed grin that feels sexy and distinctly lethal.

"Yes. I've missed you in it. I've missed having you here. With me."

That softens you. Lulls you into a false sense of security.

"I missed you too, baby."

"Good. Then," she says in a quick breath that sounds not unlike ripping off a bandaid. "I wanted you to know that I've taken the liberty of finding a buyer. Well, a few of them, really. All predictably salivating over the collection. But I supposed it'd be appropriate that we talk about the logistics of this before moving forward. I'm open to deferring to your expertise in this field when it came to numbers because, frankly, I'm more than willing to just give the fucking things away. So, we should talk about this."

You smile, because you're an idiot, and you think it's hilarious that she's talking to you like one of her clients. But you also smile because you're a little high off your medicine, and she's really just so pretty, and because not one word of that made any sense.

"What's... 'this'? What're you— Talk about the logistics of what?"

"Selling your cars," she answers with an easy nod, like it absolutely should've been obvious.

The silence that rings through the apartment feels loud in your ears... before you burst out laughing right in her face.

"What?" you choke out and chuckle, because you must've heard that wrong. "What are you talking about?"

"Just what I said, my love." She reaches out boops the tip of your nose with a patronizingly scrunched smile. "You know I don't like repeating myself."

"That's cute, Lexa," you titter and swipe at the hand that's already so far out of reach.

"Oh I'm not kidding, Clarke."

"Okay. And I'm not selling my cars."

"No, actually, you are."

You scoff and use the shoulder that isn't currently trussed up in a sling to push you hair off your neck so you can see her better. Or... something.

Because all you really see is the calm of her smile. Those eyes that are sharp. Hollow. Unyielding. And if you'd looked beyond the swell of anger that suddenly bursts through your chest, you might've seen the whispered-smoke of terror that hid in their depths.

But you do not.

Instead you focus all of your righteous indignation and stubbornness that burns white hot. You give a derisive laugh, and shake your head, and level her with a cold stare of your own.

Making sure she hears your every word, loud and clear.

"No. The fuck. I am not."

It almost feels like victory when her smile falls away.

"Clarke," she says with a deathly click to your name, "I want those deathtraps gone."

"Lexa—"

"I don't care."

"Lexa—"

"Stop saying my name, because whatever comes after it, I promise you, I do not care."

"Well I don't really fucking care either," you spit just to get a rise out of her, "because I'm not doing it, and I don't give shit what you say, Alexandria."

Her jaw ticks to the side as her eyes flash with hellfire.

She hates that name and you know it but right now you just want her to be every bit as angry as you are.

"Okay," she says so quiet you barely hear her over the hammering of your heart as she pushes on her knees to stand up and hovers over you for a moment.

And you think it's a victory because it feels like a victory...

Until it does not.

Because she just nods.

And keeps nodding.

Just this slow up and down of her head, her eyes empty and her face cold, but not in the way that you fell in love with.

This only fills your chest with dread.

So it's a shock when she straddles your hips, planting one knee on each side and sinks down to sit in your lap. Her weight is comforting after your stay in the hospital, if not a little painful in the way it twinges your fucked up leg. But you don't even let yourself flinch because God you've missed this. You've missed her, and her scent, and the way she practically drapes herself over you.

Your good arm wraps around her waist and digs fingertips into the soft dip of her spine, pulling her flush against you. You soak up the flutter of her lashes at the feel of your breasts pressing against hers; the way she fidgets not to grind down like her body's muscle memory is obviously screaming at her to do.

Instead she stares at you through those dark hooded eyes, now so beautifully filled with emotions that make your heart pound out a more pleasant rhythm than before.

"I love you, Clarke," she says. Whispers.

And your breath catches in your chest.

Same as it does each time she says those words, so fleeting and so rare as they are that they pierce straight through the mushiest parts of your heart. Because you know she loves you. You know it in every single thing she does. But there's just... It's just... Nothing will ever rival these moments when she lets them slip out, so unguarded and vulnerable with you.

And really... that should've been a warning.

"And I love you, pretty girl," you whisper right back instead, grinning as she preens under the praise, so lost in her beautiful face you don't even remember there exists a world beyond her.

You watch her throat dip in a thick swallow, her hands smoothing up the length of your neck. She cups your cheeks as her eyes trace every line of your face... as if she were committing this moment to memory.

She shakes her head. Sadly.

"I adore you," she says again, softer still and with more conviction. "Everything. I adore everything about you, Clarke. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in my entire life. And I'm always going to love you, no matter what."

When she kisses you then, in that moment, it's possibly the softest, purest thing you have ever known. She kisses you like it's the only thing she needs in this world and you hope she knows it's the same for you. Because her lips pillow and give under every caress of your lips, and her tongue slipping against yours feels like the only home you've ever known. It's one kiss among thousands you've shared. But you know you'll think of this one for years to come, and honestly if fighting gets you loving like this then you should really make a mental note to call her by her birth name more often...

She breaks the kiss with a sigh, and a shuddering breath against your lips.

"I love you. So, so much... I just want you to always remember that."

You barely have time to blink out of your haze when she extracts herself from your arms and your lap and your lips, and stands up on shakey legs.

She lets out a deep breath and smooths her hands along the front herself, rigidly primping herself free of any creases you might've left.

Her chin rises in that regal arch as she looks down at you and nods once again.

"I'll have our lawyer draw up the divorce papers in the morning."

Your hand snaps out when she turns to leave and catches her shirt cuff before you even have time to think, gritting your teeth to try and bite back the sudden shock of pain that slices up your arm and explodes through your shoulder.

"Wait, what the fuck did you just say?" you practically yelp.

Her icy glare drops to the hand that holds her, jaw flexing as she watches how bad you tremble.

"Let go of me."

"Uh, no—"

"If you don't," she cuts in, enunciating with lethal precision, "I'll have to rip my arm away, and that will hurt you more, and I don't want that. Now stop acting like a child, and let go of me."

You grit your teeth and fist her cuff harder through the cold sweat of pain. "I guess you'll have to hurt me then, because I'm not letting go until you repeat what the hell you just said."

"You heard me perfectly well, my love."

"No, I don't think I did."

"Then you'll figure it out tomorrow, won't you."

You let out a strangled sound and collapse back on the couch - both from the pain and the sheer terror ripping through you. "Lexa, what is this? What are you playing at? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not playing at anything, I'm telling you that I'm not doing this with you ever again, Clarke," she says in her crisp business voice. "The hospitals. The sitting at your bedside. The wondering if you're ever going to be able to paint again. Watching you limp around for weeks, just to turn around and do it again. I'm done."

You roll your eyes at her dramatics. "Oh my god, are serious? It was just an accident—"

"One that could've killed you."

"It wasn't even my fault."

"That's not the point," she nearly growls, all fire and fangs. "This is your third accident in four fucking years. I can't keep doing this."

"And what exactly is 'this'?"

"Waiting around to lose you!"

Your ears ring at the volume of her shout.

You swallow as she takes a moment collect herself.

Feel the lump grow in your throat as she mindlessly fiddles with the diamond on her finger.

You know it's a habit that calms her when she's feeling particularly out of control. A tick she picked up and never seemed to kick somewhere around the third year you were married.

"I trusted you," she starts again, sounding calmer. Less shaken, but still frayed at the edges. "I told how I feel about you. I told you I wouldn't— Couldn't... survive without you."

"So your solution is to divorce me now?" you scoff. "Tell me, how does that makes sense?"

"Because I have loved exactly two people in my life, Clarke... And this way? At least I won't have to bury one of them."

It's like a bucket of goddamn ice water has just been upturned over your head.

You can't help but stare at her, dumbfounded.

Because you are... so fucking stupid.

Your heart twists and it pounds and for a split second you wonder if you're having a heart attack, or if maybe this is what they mean when they talk about broken heart syndrome. Because nothing has ever hurt this bad. Nothing has ever devastated you as much this tidal wave of guilt. Nothing has ever scared you; made you feel this kind of shame so deep in your bones.

And when she drops her hands like she's given up and turns toward the door, you almost feel like you're going to throw up with the way your stomach clenches in a fresh wave of terrified dread. You want nothing more than to pop up and run over to her and explain and just fix this, but your hip and your leg and you just—You just...

You did this.

You did all of this.

"Okay," you damn near yell, sounding distinctly like a wounded animal to your own ears.

She pulls to a stop and snaps back around, "Okay, what?"

"I said... okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll fucking get rid of them," you bite right back again, desperate and annoyed and shaking so badly it's making your shoulder ache.

She stares at you, placid and unmoved.

"All of them?"

You grit your jaw and blow a breath out. "All of them... The dangerous ones at least."

She clicks her tongue and starts to turn away when you yell—

"You have to compromise with me here!"

She wheels back around with thunder in her eyes and a snarl already twisting her lips.

You know you have never needed to talk faster in your life.

"The ones that aren't street legal, they're gone, okay? Nothing that is actually dangerous stays. But I'm not getting rid of the ones that are perfectly safe, and, Lexa, I'm not getting rid of my grandfather's car. It's the only thing I have from my fucked up family that means anything to me, and it's mine, and it's not fair of you to even consider making me get rid of it."

"You hate that fucking thing—"

"I don't hate it, I love that car! That car changed my life! That car got me you."

You watch the rage bleed out of her as she slumps at the shoulders.

She runs a hand through the controlled chaos of her hair.

"That car did not get you me, Clarke," she strains out in a sigh, sounding tired and beautifully frail. "We're married because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I fell in love with you. Because I'm in love with you."

It makes your heart squeeze tight all over again.

"Maybe, but you wanted that car before you ever wanted me—"

"That is not true," she cuts you off in a hush of a whisper.

She stares at you with eyes clouded with devastation and hurt, and for the life of you, you don't know how to fix it.

You never seem to know how to...

The air between you feels frozen for a long moment before she seems to make up her mind about something all at once.

She shakes her head as she crosses the room in quick, elegant strides and drops to her knees right in front of you.

"Listen to me," she says, and tenderly - so tenderly - takes your least injured hand and folds it into her own. "There are so many things I regret about my life. But making that bet, and losing it, are not included. Half of the reason I ever even wanted that car to begin with was because of how attracted to you I was whenever I saw you in it."

Your scoff is loud enough to give your concussion addled brain another headache. "You are such a liar, Lexa."

Your belly swoops when she flits that damn eyebrow up in challenge.

"While I appreciate your assessment of my moral virtues," she practically purrs, "on this, darling, you happen to be wrong... All that windswept blonde hair? The way you looked like you owned everyone and everything in those shaders that you'd so carelessly slip down before pulling away?"

You wonder if you even still have those sunglasses as she bites her lip and lets her eyes run the length of you.

You'll have to check the next time you can walk properly.

Maybe have them make a reappearance at your next brunch date.

Just for old time's sake.

The hand holding yours squeezes gently.

"You were so damn cocky. The way you'd throw that thing in park and hop out. You'd just toss your keys at the doorman like you didn't care about anything. I hated it so much," she laughs with a rueful grin that slips into something entirely more fond. "And yet I could never seem to make myself stop staring at you, darling."

Even after all these years of marriage, the thought of younger her having wanted younger you...

You shift at the throb that weakly pulses between your thighs.

"So... You made the bet because... you thought I was sexy in my car?"

"I made the bet because I thought you were entirely too full of yourself," she corrects, "which I still believe. But I wanted the car because I'd envisioned getting fucked in it more times than I could count."

God you love it when she gets vulgar.

She reaches up and brushes a curl away from your forehead.

"It just took me a little while longer to realize that the person I had been imagining fucking me was - annoyingly - very much you."

You know your smile is kind of dopey right now rather than the teasing slope that you're aiming for, but later when you look back on this moment, you'll definitely blame it on the drugs.

"So our marriage is based off you wanting me to top you in my grandfather's car?"

Her faces pulls up in distaste. "No. It's based off the fact that you are—"

She pauses and exhales something from deep in her chest, her eyes closing under the weight of whatever it is she's feeling as she finally trembles out,

"That you are everything to me."

You really really really kind of hate that you're injured in that moment, because when she opens her eyes they glisten with a lovely wet sheen. And you just want nothing more than to scoop her up and hold her in your arms. Because it's where she belongs. It's where she's always been meant to be...

"You're everything to me too, baby," you say because she is and she should know it, and you really need to remember to say it more often. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lexa, I didn't— I didn't mean to..."

She nods when you can't find the words and kisses the bruised ridge of your knuckles.

Rests her forehead there for a moment as though in prayer.

When she looks at you again she's already pulled herself back together.

That's part of why you love her so much.

Always unbreakable.

Except... when it comes to you.

You have no idea what to do with that knowledge, but you know you'd give up anything just to keep it.

And you love her so much that it makes you smile. It makes you smile, because you just want to see her smile at you again. Always.

"Hey," you say, tossing in a lazy wink because you know she hates it. "You totally had a crush on me."

She rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"You had a cuh-ruuuuush on me."

"Clarke. I am married to you—"

"Still," you snort. "Loser."

Her sigh of resignation is so weary it fills your heart close to bursting with how much love you have for this woman.

Because she doesn't fight you on that. Just leans her forehead against yours and nods, kissing your lips soft enough to not make the cut on them bleed again. Her nose brushes against yours in a sweet moment of aching tenderness, and when she pulls back to look at you beneath the fall of her lashes, the whole world is once again nothing but her.

"We'll go through each one together," she says somewhere between a question and a statement.

You nod in agreement, just to be safe.

"Anything remotely questionable, goes."

You heave a sigh but dutifully nod again.

"That means anything without the right mirrors, or proper turning signals. Engines that might blow up for no reason. Anything that was recalled decades ago. Anything with brakes that have a habit of failing... Anything that doesn't have fucking seat belts."

As her list grows you mentally tick off a good two-thirds of your collection.

You glance at her lips and remember how they feel against yours first thing in the morning, and simply nod again.

"Fine. But also? You can't just start threatening divorce every time you want me to do something, you know," you murmur still, because while you're compromising here... you really feel the need to remind her that she's not domesticating you or anything.

She doesn't seem remotely affected by your pout when she just shrugs and grins and leans forward.

You feel distinctly like a puppy on a leash when she pecks a placating kiss to your lips.

And then another to the tip of your nose.

"We'll see."

#anon #cruel intentions au #clexa #CI snippet #also thank you for such kind words 🥺#I'm so sorry for the long wait but I am writing slowly but surely on every project #it'd just... been a crazy year *deep sigh*#but i have things coming #so thank you for being so lovely anon #these kind messages to help to not feel quite so... idk #you get it

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epiicaricacy-arts · 3 months ago

Text

without the sour the sweet wouldn’t taste

why are you as a man eating another man’s ear after you failed to make him eat his ex girlfriend. 🤨🏳️‍🌈⁉️

im allowed a bit of toxic yaoi. as a treat

process discussion utc ⬇️

for those familiar with my work you’ll know that i like trying a lot of new styles and experimenting in order to achieve a certain vibe. usually those are heavy painterly styles such as the sunday art inspired by Yuming Li, which is what i’m familiar and comfortable with, both traditionally and digitally

what im NOT familiar with is watercolour. i’ve never had a good time with it 🥲 i just cant seem to wrap my head around the process since its requires me to work backwards (light to dark vs dark to light)

for this piece i just couldn’t imagine myself rendering it in my usual style. i needed to do something new so that i’d stay invested enough in the piece considering that it has two people, meaning double the work. for some reason i thought it’d be fun to do double the work with a style i am completely uncomfortable with but oh well!! i managed to do it 🤷‍♀️ i was specifically looking at the works of Ko Byung Jun, an artist i’ve seen all over my pinterest feed

while i didn’t end up really following the style super closely i still learned quite a lot just by looking at it while i drew. i tried my best to stick to watercolour brushes and an ink pen but as i was nearing the end i needed to make some alterations that i wasn’t bothered to try fixing with the watercolour brushes so i just went over it with my digital ones 🫡 i did my best that’s what matters!!!

i had to repaint rody a few times cause i just couldn’t get it right and the colours never ended up matching vincent. i painted them separately and i think i got possessed while painting vincent cause it happened in like. 40 minutes. and i couldn’t get it to happen again 😔 it didn’t really matter cause i ended up going ham with the curves tool as always but you know 🤷‍♀️

here’s the image without all the effects:

i find lately it’s been more and more common for me to be sketching several iterations of a concept for days, even weeks before i land on something i like. i have an entire separate canvas that i’ve spent 5 hours just doing thumbnails trying to figure out how i wanted to pose these two in a way that would showcase the characteristics that mattered in the story of this piece.

that’s my process for coming up with drawings: i find inspiration somewhere, i figure out the key concepts/characteristics/symbols etc i want highlighted, and i work around those. sometimes i have a composition in mind or just a general vibe i want to portray. for this one i wanted to make sure the towel, rody’s injured finger and vincent’s face could all be clearly seen, while also portraying the fight scene and the vibe i get from the reference song. almost all of my work revolves around a specific lyric from the song which drives the story of the piece. here i interpreted the line “without the sour the sweet wouldn’t taste” as a connection to all the little actions vince takes with rody that can be seen as “sweet.” drying rody’s hair, bandaging rody’s cut. i then asked myself how i could take those actions and make them “sour” or show them in a different light, in which vince is biting the finger he bandaged and pulling rody closer, preventing his escape with the towel he used to dry his hair. what im trying to communicate in this illustration is the idea of “if it weren’t for how i’m treating you now, you wouldn’t understand how kind i was to you then” in an attempt to illustrate the complexities of the way vincent acts towards rody.

i’m truly in love with the story telling of this game. it’s hard to really say anything about how the characters acted during the story because it’s so complex in how it’s done. it’s very hard to summarize their relationship because there’s so much about it i can’t explain without just quoting the game directly. i think it’s such a beautiful portrayal of obsession and just being fucking weird about someone. i wanted to ensure the elements i mentioned in the above paragraph because i didn’t want to be portraying vincent as solely a villain and rody as a victim. i wanted the storytelling of this one illustration to live up to my impression of this beautiful game and i hope i did it justice.

thank you for reading this if you’ve made it this far. i love rambling on all my art posts cause i think it’s so valuable for artists to expand on their work outside of the result alone. i hope what im saying is at most helpful to someone and at the very least a good read. i’m probably gonna take a bit of an art break after this since it took a lot out of me, plus im on the last days of my trip. thank you again for reading!

here’s my dog

#my art #fanart #dead plate #dead plate vincent #dead plate rody #dead plate fanart #dead plate game #vincent charbonneau #rody lamoree #digital art #artists on tumblr #digital illustration

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oops-all-concrete · 11 months ago

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Okay, BG3 fandom, I have had sweet thoughts and would like to share them; Companions reacting to Tavs hiding an injury until they couldn't keep it to themselves anymore/the companions put together that they're hurting. (Companions aren't romanced, but GETTING there)

Tooth rotting fluff in a text wall under the cut, enjoy

Lae'zel -

Lae'zel is annoyed, but in the "Don't fight me when I'm trying to love you without saying it" kind of way. She'll say "This isn't battle strategic, there is no advantage this offers us" but the whole camp knows what she means while she aggressively dresses your wound and tells you to stop whining. If Tav wakes up in the middle of the night to find her guarding their tent like a loyal dog, they didn't see anything as far as she cares.

Shadowheart -

Similarly to Lae'zel, Shadowheart is a little annoyed, but Shadowheart can admit she's worried. "You should have told me. I'd have taken care of this immediately" She tells Tav, healing the wound with a small prayer. She makes them promise to say something in the future, even if only for her sake. "This journey has been treacherous. I'd like the one good thing that's come of it to survive with me"

Wyll -

"Promise me you're not going to make a habit of that" He insists, dressing your wounds with a tense expression. "I'd like you to flourish at my side. And I can't be certain you're doing that when you hide things like this." He admits, apparent worry in his voice, gentle movements, a warning for every touch. He's a hard man to feel uncomfortable around. Tav can practically feel the care radiating off him with every patient smile.

Karlach -

She gives Tav the least flack for keeping it to yourself. "Woah soldier, let's take a break and look at that, yeah?" She suggests, keeping the worry out of her voice quite well. She knows they're hiding it for a reason and tries not to make them feel worse for failing to hide it. She just tries to make Tav as comfortable as possible so they might feel at ease enough to tell her next time.

Gale -

The man basically mothers Tav through the healing process. Insists they're off their feet, won't budge on Tav resting and cleans their wounds and changes bandages around the clock. "As much peril as we are in every day, I'd like if you kept even the smaller injuries out in the open." He explains one night. "As small as any harm seems when compared to impending ilithid doom, it's still harm. Much more, it's harm we can fix. Harm I'd like to fix. Ah- assuming you'll let me"

Astarion -

Sounds inconvenienced, will not sit still while you're unwell. He'll hang around and poke fun but won't let them get up for anything. "I mean, how have you even managed that" he says, handing Tav fresh water. "I know you're clumsy, but surely you could have avoided that" he chuckles, handing you another book to draw in/read. "I'll remember this next time you say you have an idea" He rolls his eyes cutting up food and feeding them personally. Anyone asks? "Well, I can't just let them suffer can I? They'll never shut up"

Bonus! (Our older folks)

Halsin -

"That looks painful...you needn't be in pain you know, I can carry you quite easily" He offers. If Tav truly doesn't want help, he can't/won't make them, but he will hover and puppy-dog-eyes at them until they cave. The man will let Tav use him for warmth in the night while they recover and carry them to the pond to bathe as well. Really, Tav could ask anything of him, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

Jaheira -

"I don't even send Harpers out in that condition if I can help it. You'll sit and relax, yes?" She says. Not asks, because she's not asking. "I mean, what if this got infected, or started swelling? Would you just wait for death like a bird falling out of the sky?" She rolls her eyes playfully. She doesn't hesitate to ask for help on Tavs behalf either. "If they'd judge you for being hurt, they're not worthy allies...if they'd judge you for suffering in silence however, that makes them good friends"

Minsc -

"Boo says this should take care of your battle scars. You'll take it yes? When a hamster gives advice, it's bad luck not to take it" he smiles handing Tav whatever potion variant needed. He's overall jovial about it, casual and moves on quickly. Wether that's out of courtesy for Tavs pride or simply because he's a kind man with a hollow head, nobody can truly say.

Hope you enjoyed <3 (and Happy Holidays)

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adaptacy · 1 year ago

Text

Johnny Slaughter Alphabet

Read drabbles for some letters on my AO3 site! There are also more Johnny fanfics on there.

Content Warning: (MDNI), blood, dubious consent, selfish lover, everything else that comes alongside seggs with a cannibal

┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐

A - Aftercare

While Johnny should have some form of southern hospitality to contribute to his aftercare, he’s also not the sweetest man. Like, he’s not against cuddles, but he’s not going to be all romantic and bathe his s/o and stuff. He exerts a lot of energy during sex so he doesn’t have much leftover when he’s done. But hey, being held in those massive arms is plenty enough to satisfy his s/o. Also, if he badly damaged them, like sliced them a little too deep or drew a bit too much blood, depending on the severity, he’d bandage them up afterwards.

~~~

B - Body Part

Both out of the bedroom (literally consuming others) and in the bedroom, the thigh is his favorite part of the body. He’s gonna be biting it, it’s his favorite spot to draw blood at, and it’s perfectly placed so that if he’s giving his partner oral, it’s right in reach. It’s also pretty easy to assume that his partner’s favorite body part is his arms. Have you SEEN them?? Like…. WOOF. They’re fun to hold onto, be held down by, be carried in, cuddle against, etc. A close second would be his butt, because that man is packing in the front and the back.

~~~

C - Cum

Obviously, Johnny loves few things more than finishing inside of his s/o. He also isn’t the biggest fan of condoms. Not because he thinks they take away from the pleasure, it’s actually a bit more twisted. He feels like they take away from his control. He wants to claim his s/o in as many ways as possible, and marking them outside and in is a fantastic way to do that. If his AMAB s/o is finishing, he wants it right back on their body. That way, he can lick it off right alongside cleaning up any remaining drops of blood from whatever bites or pinches he may have dealt out. And if there aren’t any, he’ll be sure to bite as he’s ‘cleaning’ his s/o off.

~~~

D - Dirty Talk

Favorite pet name by far is Darlin’, and I will not hear any disagreements or criticism. It is both southern and can be used condescendingly. What is Johnny if not southern and condescending? A cannibal, that’s what. And that’s why his second favorite nickname is ‘sweetpea’. Oh my god he is degrading his s/o. All the way. Like to a point where his s/o isn’t sure if he’s just caught up in the moment or actually trying to scare them. It is degrading all the way. -“Just can’t handle it, eh? Damn pet ain’t had it right yet.” -“It don’t hurt that bad. You just know I like seein’ you cry," followed by a cruel chuckle as he increases the aggression in his thrusts. (Spoiler alert: it does hurt that bad.) Threats, too, because he is the closest thing that the family has to a traditional serial killer. If he actually, thoroughly loves his s/o, he wouldn’t threaten to genuinely kill & eat them, cause… well, his s/o would know that he may not be joking. But still, other threats. - “I ain’t gonna cut you too deep. ‘Least, not deep enough to end ya.” - “I wanna see you bleed, Darlin’. Wanna taste you. Might hurt,” with a snicker after his words. (If he’s screwing a victim, yeah he’s gonna at least mention killing them afterwards.) As for his s/o… he loves hearing them beg. For their lives, for him, for more, anything goes so long as they’re begging. Bonus points if his s/o can barely manage a full sentence without it being interrupted by a sob or some other noise of desperation.

~~~

E - Experience

Okay this one is up to criticism and feedback but not for the reason you might think. He DEFINITELY has experience. That’s not the part that I need feedback on. Listen, in the game, there are multiple voice lines from Cook talking about how Johnny keeps bringing back girls and whatnot for the family to eat. ….Do y’all think he screws them before they’re killed? Like… cause, you would think that the family would be happy about Johnny bringing back dinner but they seem kinda pissed about it. What if they’re mad that he’s screwin' their food… LMAO ANYWAYS! Yeah, he has plenty of experience. He knows what he’s doing, otherwise he would not be very good at it. He doesn’t really care about his s/o’s pleasure most of the time, unless he’s very committed to them. If he’s committed to them, it’s a different story. Thankfully, because he does it a lot, he’s picked up on a few ways to make his partner enjoy it that don’t require much extra effort from him. It’s more so just like a nice side effect cause, if he didn’t have experience, he would not put in extra effort to make his partner enjoy it too.

~~~

F - Favorite Position

You know I have to bring his arms into this. I think I’d be committing a war crime if I didn’t. Full nelson. He has no trouble holding his partner up on his lap, restraining them with his arms as he puts an alarming amount of energy into driving them mad. His favorite perks of the position are: - He can see what’s happening below him and, even if he is behind his partner, he can still see their face fine. - Easy access to the neck. He might not completely cannibalize his s/o, but he will taste their blood one way or another. Rough bites on the neck are perfect for that. - His partner squirming doesn’t make a difference because of how tightly he can hold them in place.

~~~

G - Generosity

9 times– No, 99 times out of 100 he doesn’t care about his partner's pleasure. Chances are they ain’t living for long after the encounter. But on that one off chance, on the one chance that he takes a particular liking to someone enough to not want to end and eat them immediately, he might care a little bit. He’s not going to make it obvious, he’s not going to mention it, but if you compare the interactions, it’s easy to see. Most of the time it’s more of a ‘You’re cute, lets get it on real quick before I take you home to be eaten by my family’, whereas with that one person, he will spend as long as he can endure making them his. Keyword; as long as he can endure. Oh, you came four times already and you’ve lost your voice from screaming his name? Yeah, well he’s only finished once, and he’s aiming for his lucky number 3. Buckle up, partner. You’re in for a ride. That being said, he will actually be less aggressive in his threats, and he won’t inflict any life-threatening or potentially dangerous injuries. Just small nicks, bruises, and bites that draw minimal blood. He’ll make sure they’re satisfied by the end of it, though he won’t make that obvious. If he’s done before them, and doesn’t feel like he can do anymore, he’d give his s/o oral under the rouse of ‘wanting to taste them’. He definitely does want to taste them, but it’s also his silly little way of making sure all parties are satisfied by the end.

~~~

H - Hair

He’s not super hairy, but the hair that is there is quite dark, making it look like there’s more than what’s really there. He has a small happy trail, and his hair forms a small triangle at the base of his length. His legs are semi-hairy, and his arms are surprisingly smooth. Maybe it’s the muscles.

~~~

I - Intimacy

You already know how little intimacy there is in most of his pre-dinner interactions, so I’m gonna jump right into his s/o. For him, intimacy comes in the form of not inflicting deadly wounds. Tasting his s/o, whether via their blood or just giving them oral, is also a form of intimacy. Especially if that blood is from his bites. Love bites are his specialty, even if they are extremely hard bites, they still contain some form of love.

~~~

J - Jack Off

He only jacks off when he absolutely can NOT get pleasure otherwise. If he’s not in a relationship, that’s very rare, since you know this man gets more chicks than a poultry farm. In the off-chance that he does have an s/o, he’d have to be waiting for like 14-20 days before he finally gives up and just takes care of himself. He’d probably be getting off out of anger that his s/o either isn’t around to take care of the issue, or that they’re not able to, for whatever other reason. He’d be pissed that he has to do it himself, and he’d fantasize about all the ways he’d get back at them for making him wait. Yeah… if you left him long enough for him to feel the need to jack off, expect all of his pent up feelings to come in the form of a meticulously planned punishment next time you meet. His bites are a little harder, his thrusts a little deeper, his overall pace a little faster, and his words way harsher.

~~~

K - Kinks

He has plenty, I’m not even sure where to start. Honestly I should’ve done an alphabet for this. Maybe in the future. The biggest one is definitely his obsession with blood. He’s a cannibal. It’s one of two ways for him to taste a partner that doesn’t require him killing them. It’s either making his s/o bleed or giving them oral, and he’d prefer to do both. He also has a deep-rooted brat tamer inside of him. I mean, he hunts down attempted escapee victims, he’s practically made for putting people in their place. Especially his s/o. But god does he love to see them fight back first. After all, he can’t tame/break someone who’s already submitting.

~~~

L - Location

He’ll do it pretty much anywhere. He really doesn’t care. He won’t do it in front of his family, but he’ll do it around them. As in, his bedroom in the house or the backyard of the house where there’s a risk of them interrupting, but he will not outright do it in a place that his family frequents, like the living room or something. Any other public places, with strangers, he couldn’t care less about being interrupted. He’s a thrill hunter, and that doesn’t change when the clothes come off. He also would never voice this, but he highkey would love to do it in the basement. He may be selfish and all that stuff, but he knows that being surrounded by death and bones is a major turn-off for most. Still, seeing his partner helpless in such a dreadful place? Oh, brother. You know he’d be on top of that. On top of them.

~~~

M - Motivation

Power. Power 100%. He is obsessed with it. He is addicted to it. He gets off on knowing that he’s making sure someone else knows that he is above them in more ways than one. That is amplified if he gets to see his partner cry and beg, only adding to his narcissism.

~~~

N - No

There’s not a lot of things he wouldn’t do. One of those things is involve his family in any way. That is an absolute no. The family may be inbred, but Johnny does not need to resort to his family to get dates or attention. It’s also an important note to call out the difference between screwing someone he’s going to take out, and screwing someone he has taken out. To him, once life has left a victim, they are nothing more than food. He wouldn’t screw a pork sandwich, and he’s not going to do it with a dead body. Also, three ways are probably not in his interest. If his s/o even thinks about wanting to be shared between Johnny and another guy, that other guy’s head is suddenly defrosting in his sink. Same goes for girls, but he might entertain the idea for a while longer.

~~~

O - Oral

Surprisingly, despite how selfish he is in bed, he loves giving oral. (Side note, it’s not my thing personally, but he would absolutely not be turned away from eating an s/o out even if they’re on their period. I find it hard to believe that he’s okay with cannibalism and drinking the blood of his partner, but can’t handle period blood. Just a h/c.) As stated earlier, the only way he can taste someone without killing them is either via small portions of their blood, or eating them out. So those are his two favorite activities. As for receiving head, he loves it. And he is ABSOLUTELY a head pusher. That man does not care if you are choking, you’re gonna make him feel good because that’s what’s important.

~~~

P - Pace

He’s not necessarily fast, but oh boy is he rough. We all know how obsessed with his muscles we are. That man can deal some DAMAGE in the bedroom. No knives or teeth needed. He doesn’t have to work very hard to completely obliterate his partner, he has more than enough strength. So, even if he isn’t the fastest moving in the world, his roughness plenty makes up for it. That’s not to say he’s slow; he still keeps up a fine pace, frankly he could dial back on it a little bit, but he’s far from a woodpecker.

~~~

Q - Quickie

Yup. Absolutely loves them. That’s the only kind of interaction he has with to-be victims, and even with an s/o, he adores quickies. He doesn’t need very much time to break his partner, even if they are trying to be bratty. If he has the time and is really feeling it, he likes dedicating an entire night to punishment as well, but quickies are way more common than those.

~~~

R - Risk

With his libido as high as it is, Johnny is down for pretty much anything. If his s/o has an idea for something new to try, and it means he gets to screw them in order to try it, he’s game. He’d be a lot less willing to try things out that would include him having less power or taking a more submissive role, but he might make exceptions. Chances are though, he’s taking the power back pretty quickly.

~~~

S - Stamina

Listen, his endurance might be shitty in game, and while he gets pretty tired after [I'm running out of metaphors, i hate tumblr restrictions] because of how much effort he puts into it, this man can go at it for a relatively long time. He takes a little longer to finish than most, but it’s still a relatively average time. That being said, he can usually go for 2, maybe 3 on a good day, rounds before he’s tuckered out.

~~~

T - Toys

This man’s best friend is his knife, and that doesn’t change during sex. While it’s not technically a bedroom toy, he certainly treats it as such. Otherwise, he doesn’t personally own/buy toys, but if his s/o has one that they want to be used, he’ll do it. He’ll make them regret ever wanting to try it, cause he will exploit it as much as possible, but he’ll get good usage out of it.

~~~

U - Unfairness

He likes to tease his s/o, Johnny adores degrading as I’ve mentioned plenty enough, and that definitely counts as teasing. But he doesn’t just tease– With how often he’s down to, the teasing is usually followed up on with some form of relief. He’s also just really unfair during it as well- He doesn’t care if his s/o is crying from overstimulation (actually, he enjoys it), he doesn’t care that they’ve been begging for him to go a little easier, he doesn’t care that they’re going to be hurting for days to come after, he’s just living his life as he wants, and screwing his little heart out.

~~~

V - Volume

He talks a good amount, he loves degrading his partner and making sure they know their place throughout the entire activity. As for other noises, it’s a whole lot of grunts because he is an overachiever who’s aiming to be at least a little sore the next day. Nothing compared to the body aches that he’s pushing onto his partner, but he gets a good workout from it, so expect grunts of effort. He doesn’t moan very often, and when he does, he tries to hide it with a chuckle. Why he doesn’t like to moan, or be heard moaning, there’s no telling. Probably an ego thing.

~~~

W - Wild Card

This doesn’t just go for [tumblr no-no], it’s a thing all the time, but– Johnny has of course grown up around very southern people, as his family members all have a thick texan accent, and he’s never been outside of texas. Still, ever since he was a teenager, he wanted to be different, and so he started trying to sound less southern. He was in his rebel phase (when is he not?), and it actually stuck for a while. It was still very obvious that he was southern, but he went out of his way to fully pronunciate words. It actually stuck with him, though he stopped putting in so much effort eventually. He’s still far less southern-sounding than the rest of his family, but here’s the funny part. Whenever he gets particularly emotional (angry, frustrated, etc) his southern accent amplifies. He starts cutting the g’s off of certain words, sounds like he’s saying ‘fer’ or ‘yer’, etc. The same thing happens when he's making his partner regret that attitude of theirs, and whenever he gets really into it, the accent becomes really obvious and it’s both amusing and sort of adorable.

~~~

X - X-Ray

It is LITERALLY his knife. It’s a little over 7 inches, it’s got a slight upwards curve, I’m serious when I say that the package is the same shape as his knife. Like. You cannot tell me otherwise. It just makes so much sense. He’s also ripped, but we all knew that.

~~~

Y - Yearning

His libido is almost as big as his ego. Almost. It’s real close. He doesn’t require it, but he is always down for a good time. As stated in the jack-off entry, he can go up to two weeks-ish without it, but he likes to do it weekly at the minimum. He won’t be needy or clingy about it– If he’s craving it, he’s going to tell his s/o how it is, and if they refuse, he’ll get mad but he’ll be patient. Definitely going to go harder on them the next time they accept though, in order to make up for the rejection.

~~~

Z - Zzz

The over-effort he slams into his partner ultimately results in him falling asleep pretty quickly afterwards. He does his best to wait until his s/o is asleep first, and then he’ll go to sleep. He’s a pretty light sleeper though; it’s a trait he’s picked up from constantly having to be wary of victims trying to escape during the night.

#god im so in love with him #isnt he dreamy???#johnny tcm #tcm game #johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre #adapting to johnny slaughter

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wooahaes · 2 years ago

Text

when i grow up

pairing: non-idol!seungkwan x gn!reader

genre: mostly fluff. childhood friends to lovers. very minor angst.

word count: 12.3k~

warnings: a minor fight between seungkwan + reader over reader’s shitty boyfriend (stated to not be mindful of their boundaries + just a shitty dude). some mentions of injuries. mentions of seungkwan being taunted as a tiny kid. food mentions. ask to tag! also minor proofreading tbh

daisy’s notes: fun fact this was going to end in a wedding originally! maybe i’ll write a short sequel at some point, but im happy with this as it is.

Boo Seungkwan, age four, was... Maybe a little bit of a crybaby.

At least, that was what the other kids called him--or they used to, until his mom came into the school to talk to his teacher with a tight-lipped anger at the way her son was being treated. Sometimes the other kids would taunt him for being so soft, for crying easily on his first day of school because he missed his mom. He was social enough nowadays, getting along with pretty much everyone else with ease. Sure, there was a tiny group who would still poke fun at him on the playground when he was a little too misty-eyed, but for the most part he was left alone. Still... It was mean, and Seungkwan couldn’t exactly understand where all of that came from.

Boo Seungkwan, age four, also knew you. You lived up the street from him, you were in his class, and you had a matching lunchbox and backpack set: dark blue with brightly colored dinosaurs covering the thing. Your backpack also had this little Totoro plush that hung from it, because he always was a little jealous because he wanted one, too. He knew you because he knew your laugh from across the room, always a little awkwardly loud, but he wanted to know what you were laughing at. He knew your drawings, always so colorful as could be when you proudly showed them off. He knew you and the way you skip home ahead of him some days, and he knew the way you could still be quiet at school (save for your laugh), but that you’d always yell happily when you saw your dad waiting for you... And a little less loudly when it was your step-mom, but only because she would gently shush you and remind you to be mindful of your neighbors. Then she would pull you into her arms and ask about your day at school. Seungkwan only knew because your house was before his, so he would always hear her talk to you as she slowly walked up the path to your home, hand holding yours.

(You’d always shyly wave at him, too, when he stopped for a moment to look at you, because Boo-Seungkwan-age-four already felt a sense of fondness toward you.)

So when he tripped on his way home one day, skinning his knee, he was surprised. Not that you were there at all, but... The fact you stopped, turning back to him with this curious look on your face before coming back to him.

“Are you okay?”

He was crying again, sobbing even. Crybaby rang in his head as he furiously shook his head, trying to come up with the words to say. To tell you no, that he was okay, but to still ask for his mom because she would make everything better...

You just stood before him, head tilting before looking down to where he was clutching his knee. And then you gasped, setting your lunchbox down next to him before pulling your dark blue dino backpack off of your back. “It’s okay! I can help!” You were beaming brightly, “Mama is a doctor!”

He thought that meant you would go get her, especially because your house was closer. Instead, you unzipped the little front compartment of your backpack, pulling out this tiny makeshift first aid kit that your step-mom must have put together. You kneeled down, opening it with this serious look on your face as you tried to remember the basic steps you had insisted on your step-mom teaching you, always so independent.

(Truly, there were only three: wet wipe to clean it, bandage to protect it until an adult could look at it properly, and a kiss to make it all better.)

So Seungkwan, now sitting off to the side with you, watched as you very carefully opened this little packet. “It hurts a little,” you said, opening up the wipe. You held out your other hand, “but holding mama’s hand helps me.”

Face still wet from his tears, Seungkwan roughly wiped at his cheeks with one sleeve before taking your hand. He held it tightly as you carefully wiped his knee. It stung, but holding your hand... helped, in a weird way.

With everything carefully cleaned, Seungkwan could finally see how tiny the gash really was. He almost felt embarrassed for being such a crybaby over it, but you didn’t call him that. You let go of his hand, looking deadly serious as you examined his knee further before turning to your tiny first aid kit. “Do you want the dinosaurs or the bears?”

Seungkwan just stared at you, completely confused.

“Hurry!” You said. “Dinos or bears?!”

He mumbled that he wanted the bears, whatever that meant, but he could see the disappointment in your eyes. “But the dinos are okay, too..”

Only for you to smile a moment later, giggling. “It’s okay,” you said, putting down one of two bandages into the box. “I like bears, too.”

Immediately, that set you off rambling about how your dad bought you this HUGE teddy bear for your room after you moved here to be with your step-mom. It was bigger than YOU which meant it was REALLY BIG and you loved it to death. Your tiny hands were careful in smoothing the teddy bear bandage over his knee, and then he watched as you leaned forward to plant a tiny kiss against it.

You turned back to him with a serious expression, “You HAVE to kiss it, or it won’t get better.”

Seungkwan wasn’t sure if that was true (his parents kissed his boo-boos better, sure, but maybe it was true since you sounded so confident in it), but all he knew was that he wasn’t crying anymore.

With his knee taken care of, you put away the kit into your bag and stood up. You held out your hand, and helped him up, not letting go. Despite the way you struggled with the first part of his name (which wasn’t a first for him--he noticed that a few other kids struggled with it a little), you proudly called him Kwannie and said you would walk him home. He wiped his face again with his sweater sleeve, and let you happily lead the way, talking about your favorite dinosaurs from the big book that your dad bought for you. And he felt happy when you looked at your dad, waiting for you to come home, that you needed to walk Seungkwan to his mom because he got hurt.

Your dad had kind-of laughed before he ruffled your hair, saying he’d be right there waiting for you. Seungkwan almost pouted and told you that he would be okay, but you turned back to him with shimmering eyes, still holding his tiny hand in your own.

Upon coming to his mom and introducing himself, you had turned serious again. “Kwannie got hurt on the way home,” you said, pointing at his knee, “but I helped. Please make sure he takes care of it because--” A pause to breathe, “--because he’s my friend now and I don’t want him to get hurt anymore.”

(Seungkwan, later in life, looked back on that moment happily. His mom still recounted the story with a laugh, so full of love for the tiny child who acted as if they knew how to treat a patient, yet still so polite with her. She’d always cite that as the moment she knew the two of you would be friends.)

Seungkwan, with one hand holding his mom’s, waved at you as you promised to sit with him tomorrow at school before turning tail and running back to your dad. He watched as your dad scooped you up into his arms, carrying you back inside your home as you happily shrieked.

Seungkwan, at age four, lacked the words to know for sure that he loved you. He didn’t know what it fully meant, or how deep his feelings for you would go, but he knew the happy feeling you gave him was the same happiness he felt when he was with his family or his other friends.

Love is happiness, Seungkwan, age four, decided. Love makes you feel happy.

Seungkwan, age eight, was old enough to walk to your house entirely on his own. So were you, which was why Seungkwan was waiting outside his home, head resting in his hands,sitting on his front porch. While his mom would have him do his homework before dinner (his dad liked to sit with him and help him), your dad would always have you do part of it as soon as you came home. He didn’t fully get it, to be honest, but you said something about how your dad liked helping you for part of it, while your step-mom would sit with you for the rest. You always claimed that you didn’t really need it, but Seungkwan wasn’t sure whether to believe you or not. After all, his parents were happy to help him when he needed it. There was nothing wrong with needing help.

But today was Friday, and Friday meant you got to have a sleepover at Seungkwan’s house. He spent all day figuring out how to make the best blanket fort and his parents promised pancakes tomorrow morning. He was giddy with excitement, growing more and more impatient as he waited for you. The new episode of your favorite show came on tonight, too, and he wanted to watch it with you instead of just talking to you about it on Monday or whenever you came over to play next. Plus! His parents said they might take both of you to the pool tomorrow! It was because his sisters wanted to go, but he was okay with that. It still meant that he would get to go swimming with you because it’s unbelievably hot outside.

The only reason he was waiting outside today was because both of his sisters teased him, and he was still mad about it. They said something about how he liked you, and Seungkwan couldn’t fathom what else they meant by it. Of course he liked you! You were his friend--his best friend. But they had laughed at him (strike number one), only to say it was obvious (strike number two) that Seungkwan like liked you (strike number three). Which was gross because you were his best friend! Like-liking you meant he wanted to do things like holding hands with you, which he already did because you were best friends, and... He wasn’t sure. Kissing? Yuck.

But Seungkwan saw you coming down the sidewalk, holding onto the straps of your backpack proudly, and all of that anger melted away like ice cream on the sidewalk. Ooh. That’s an idea... Maybe he’ll ask his mom for ice cream later. He was sure if he stood up that he would be able to see your dad watching you from down the street, making sure you got there safely. But he was too excited. He hopped up, rushing over to you and taking your hand, complaining about how he was about to die of boredom while waiting for you. You merely giggled, letting him drag you into his house. He called out to his mom that you were there, and she barely had the chance to warmly greet you before Seungkwan was already dragging you upstairs to see his cool new lamp that his parents bought him. Plus all of his toys were upstairs--the teddy bears and the action figures and the instruments and everything else--so where else would the two of you go? Outside again? It was too hot for that.

Seungkwan pointed at the large lamp sitting on his dresser. “I’ll show you it later. It’s better when it’s dark.”

You’d accepted his reasoning at face value, trusting him completely before turning your attention to the instruments in his room. His mom had bought him this little toy keyboard for his birthday that year, and you had pushed him to sing because you always loved hearing him sing. It devolved into more noise than music, but the two of you were happy.

Until his sisters told you both to keep it down because they had homework (gross--Seungkwan didn’t want to have that much homework ever). Which meant the two of you decided to brave the heat for the next few hours, because Seungkwan had pouted and said that the two of you would just go somewhere else. There was plenty to do outside anyway, and the two of you could come back in whenever you wanted. His mom called you back in eventually, asking for the two of you to help her and Seungkwan’s dad with making dinner. It was a subtle way to redirect you and Seungkwan’s endless energy somewhere else, but you were always happy to be helping.

Time always seemed to fly faster when Seungkwan was with you. After dinner, the two of you were sitting together to watch the new episode of your show together, his parents sitting in for a little longer. Eventually it was time for your blanket fort, which meant Seungkwan’s dad would help the two of you get everything set up before he and Seungkwan’s mom retired for the night. She had gone around to make sure all the doors were locked, and had gently pulled you aside to remind you where their room was (right down the hall) and that you or Seungkwan could come get them for anything if they needed it.

The last time the two of you had a sleepover, you had grown scared in the middle of the night and ended up going home when you were inconsolable. Seungkwan had felt bad watching your step-mom walk you home, but his mom was reassuring: some people simply got nervous when they were away from their parents for too long. It wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t yours. Everyone was different. But this time you told her you were determined to stay the full night. Seungkwan wanted you to, as well, but he wouldn’t be mean or anything if you couldn’t.

With a movie coming to an end a little while later, Seungkwan perked up. “Oh!” He climbed out from underneath your blanket fort, bouncing with excitement for a moment, “Wait here!”

Seungkwan rushed up to his room, carefully pulling the lamp from its place. He came back downstairs, making sure to take slower steps than before in order to keep from dropping it. It was this battery operated lamp with a remote and a built-in timer, so the two of you could leave it on for a while since it’d go off by itself. He set it down in front of you, walking away to turn off all of the lamps and to draw the curtains shut even tighter. He came back to you, the only light in the room being from the television screen with its rolling credits, and sat down. He clicked it on a few times, and then the room was lit up with little stars everywhere.

You went wide-eyed and gasped, filled with pure excitement with the sight (and Seungkwan found himself smiling, overjoyed that he had made you happy). “It’s beautiful...”

This is love, too, Seungkwan thought to himself. Love was more than just feeling happiness around someone. It was sharing it, too. His face was illuminated by the lamp’s stars, and so was yours as the lights slowly rotated around the room. Love is sharing happiness.

Somehow, in all the shuffle, Seungkwan looked up and noticed that your favorite bear (the one he gave you, he proudly thought) was stuck underneath the coffee table. It must have been pushed over there while the two of you were having snacks, since you’d carefully cleared the area.

“Your bear...” He pointed out, hugging the dinosaur you’d given him for his fifth birthday close to his chest.

“Oh!” You crawled over, stretching out your arm to grab it and pull it close to you.

Only to pop up too quickly, bumping the top of your head on the bottom of the table, having slightly underestimated how much space you needed to safely get back. You gasped in pain, crawling back out fully and turning back to him with teary eyes.

“It’s okay!” He said quickly, gently talking to you to help calm you back down. The same way his mom would talk to him when he did the same. The same way you did, too, four years ago. He looked, fingers threading through your hair as he tried to see if there was a bruise--thankful he found none. He leaned forward, gently kissing the top of your head before he sat back down in front of you.

“It helps, right?” He said, recalling your very professional advice from all the time ago. Although maybe Seungkwan was starting to realize that it wasn’t magic...

But you just stared at him for a moment, before you burst into giggles. He puffed his cheeks out in response, a little miffed that you were laughing at him.

Only to regret it a second later. “I’m glad you’re my best friend, Kwannie,” you said. Another second later and you gasped, reaching over for your backpack. “I drew a picture for us!”

“For us...?” He watched curiously as you rooted around in your backpack, shoving things aside before you pulled out a folded-up piece of paper.

You nodded, slowly opening it up and smoothing it out. “Adults live together, right?”

You had drawn a nice little house with a rainbow above it. The two of you, clearly labeled just in case someone didn’t get it, stood in the middle in front of it, with drawn-on smiles as you held hands. Around you were smaller figures that Seungkwan figured out based on the number of people had to be both your family and his. There was also this little thing on the ground that looked kind-of like a cat... or maybe it was a dog. He couldn’t figure out which.

“So when we get bigger,” you continued, “we’ll all live together in one biiig house.” Your eyes were twinkling, far prettier than the ones from his cool lamp. “And we’ll get a pet. I started to draw a kitty, but then I remembered that you like dogs, so...”

He took the paper from you to study closer. “We can have both,” he said, studying it closely. He could see where the triangle ears had been made into more puppy-like ones. “And they’ll be best friends...” And then he sniffled, emotions already betraying him as he was overwhelmed with this pure joy for you.

Boo Seungkwan, age eight, thought that he loved you almost as much as he loved his family. You were his best friend, and he knew this at that moment.

This is what love is, right? Sharing happiness. At least, that was what he thought it was as he later fell asleep next to you, his pastel blue dinosaur tucked into his arms while the projector covered both of you and the room around you with stars. Your picture was tucked away nearby, and Seungkwan dreamed that night of a rainbow over a big house where all of the people he loved most were all together.

Seungkwan, age twelve, finally started to feel like an adult. That was why he liked to walk to your house after his after-school study sessions: because he didn’t get to see you anymore. His parents enrolled him in a boys school, which you continued on to attend a co-ed school in the area. He’d been a little bitter about it to begin with, but he was old enough to know that he could see you pretty much whenever he wanted to. He had a flip phone, he could call you whenever he wanted (except he had to be mindful of how many minutes he had, so he’d just call you on his home phone instead) to ask if he could come over. So coming over to your house was how Seungkwan chose to see you when everything else was over. He played basketball, too, so it kind-of meant it ate into his time with you... but he still made friends that way.

(But he still would proudly say that you were his best friend, which meant he liked you the most.)

The two of you did homework together most days. You would get home before he did from your soccer practice (although you always said whether you were any good at it was up to debate; but Seungkwan said he would be the loudest person in the stands for you at any and every game he could make), so he would just go straight to your house. He knocked, you would let him in, and the two of you would spread out your homework at your dining table and talk about whatever while you worked.

“There’s this new guy in my class...”

Seungkwan felt his heart sink a little. “Huh?”

“I dunno...” You were smiling a little, balancing your pen between your fingers. “He’s cute.”

But I’m cuter, right? Seungkwan pushed back on that thought hard. No need to play the jealous best friend. “And?”

“And what?”

“Is he just cute?”

You had hummed for a moment, thinking over the question. “I don’t know... He answered a question for me when I was struggling with it. And then, I dunno... He just kinda smiled at me.”

Seungkwan had never hated the fact he didn’t go to school with you more than he did now. “Does he go to your games?”

You looked up with this knowing smile, reading him so easily. With a teasing glimmer in your eyes, you rested your head in one hand, “Oh... Kwannie, are you jealous?”

“No!” He huffed, pouting at your words. “I just... He...” He didn’t know what to say. He was a little jealous. He missed being around you so much.

Instead of pushing him further, you just laughed. “It’s okay,” you said, foot bumping against his calf. “No one’s going to replace you. You’re still my favorite person.”

Until you find someone else, a tiny voice in the back of his head told him. He just kind of frowned, going quiet.

And then you frowned, too. “Seungkwan...”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m not jealous you have other friends.” Not other guy friends that you call cute, but... “I just miss being around you.”

“I know, but... I don’t like him more than I like you,” you said. “You’re always going to be my number one favorite person...” You kind-of smiled, “Just like how I’m your number two favorite.”

He looked up, brows drawing together. “Two...?”

“Isn’t your mom number one?”

He nodded. Right, but... “If we’re just talking about friends,” he shifted in his chair a little, “then you’re my number one favorite, too.”

The statement earned a shy smile from you in response, immediately making you change the subject back to the math homework that the two of you were supposed to be working on. Seungkwan liked that cute smile, though, even if he had to turn away from it to look at math. He liked doing homework with you, too. You’d help him with his English homework, he’d help you with history...

It worked. The two of you just fit together.

A few hours later, his mom called him on that little flip phone (Seungkwan still wanted one with a screen, but his parents said maybe when he was older--he didn’t need a distraction. But he could barely even text you or any of his friends on it. At least you had one of those phones with the slider keyboard thing) to come back home, and he groaned after he hung up the call. He wasn’t done talking to you, but you just reminded him that you could call him on the home phone after his parents have gone to bed. He promised he would just use his cell phone--he had the minutes, he just preferred saving them--and then reminded you of his upcoming basketball game. You already promised to be there with a poster for him with whatever he wanted on it.

Seungkwan walked home slowly, savoring a few minutes of alone time before he came back in. He set his bag down on the couch with the plan to move it later, already hearing his mom greet him and immediately give him instructions. There was already a cutting board and a knife waiting for him with a few vegetables sitting atop it. So he washed his hands, and then got to work with helping her as she rattled off dinner plans casually.

At one point, he stopped, conflicted in his feelings. He thought he knew, but... “Mom?” She hummed in acknowledgement, a sign for him to continue. “What is love like?”

His mom stopped what she was doing, turning to him with a certain tenderness in her eyes as she watched him for a moment. His sisters had boyfriends before (although that, in Seungkwan’s mind, was always different because it was gross to see them hold hands or kiss because ew, gross, he doesn’t want to see them do that). He’d seen his parents love each other, too, throughout his life in the quiet way that parents seemed to: carrying burdens together, helping one another with the hard things of being an adult... Yet it seemed his mother had just realized how big he’d grown. When did he get this old to start asking such big questions like that?

“Love is...” She paused, clearly thinking her words over carefully. “Love is hard to define.”

Seungkwan pouted. That didn’t help.

She could see that, and in response smiled to herself with this light chuckle. “Love is a lot of things, Seungkwan. Love can be when you see someone and feel a need to care deeply for them--as much as you care about yourself.”

“And?”

His mom continued with preparing dinner, gesturing quickly for Seungkwan to keep working as well. “You want the best for them. Sometimes it means putting aside your own feelings in order to help them.”

“And?”

His mom looked up again, setting down her own knife. “Seungkwan... You’ll know it when you feel it.”

Love is a feeling. Seungkwan could accept that one a little more, as obscure as it sounded.

And he knew that night as he started to drift off while talking to you on the phone that the warm feeling in his chest, curled up there like a kitten finding its home, was love.

Seungkwan, age fifteen, was your high school classmate again. Gone were the awkward middle school years.. Except the stupid bouts of jealousy whenever you talked to him about boys that you thought were cute. He was your best friend, you were allowed to like other people, but the feelings he harbored for you felt complicated and he always pouted over it later when he was alone. This wasn’t fair to you. Why couldn’t his feelings just be fair?

Except this time was worse. This time one of those guys asked you out. Not that Seungkwan would have stopped him: he didn’t think you liked him the same way he liked you. His mom told him that love meant sometimes putting someone else’s feelings above your own. That was why he was lying on your bed, waiting for you to come back upstairs with your snacks, listening to the CD that the two of you made together. You had begged for him to come help you figure out what to wear on your date with some guy who used to play soccer with you (it was some whole friend thing in the park, not officially as a team). Seungkwan, as much as it killed him, was happy to help you. That was what friends were for, right? You’d do the same for him.

He could hear the sound of your footsteps approaching and perked up, watching as you pushed your bedroom door open with your shoulder. “Okay. So...”

You made your way over, passing him a bottle of water before carefully setting down the two bowls of snacks you’d scrounged up. You then walked over to the MP3 player speakers, turning them down to avoid a distraction. Seungkwan just waited as you opened up your closet doors, lips pressing together thoughtfully.

“His dad is going to drop us off at an amusement park,” you started sifting through clothes, “and then I think we’re going to see a movie afterward, too.”

(Seungkwan, although he was very good at hiding it, started to stew a little in his own feelings. A movie? What if Yuchan kissed you? Then he’ll die because what if you and Yuchan were perfect together and you forgot all about Seungkwan?)

“So... I was thinking... Maybe something comfortable?”

“Like jeans?”

You glanced back at him over your shoulder before shrugging. “I dunno. I looked it up and there aren’t any water rides, but what if it’s too hot for jeans?”

“Then wear shorts,” Seungkwan almost wanted to roll his eyes, instead opting to busy himself with grabbing the bowl of chips. “I’ll check the weather.”

While you continued to fret over things, Seungkwan pulled up the weather on his phone to check. It didn’t seem like it’d be too hot, so jeans (or whatever pants you wanted) seemed like a fine option to him. But then you turned to him, clutching a pretty yellow and black striped shirt, and frowned.

“Seungkwan, what if he wants to kiss me?”

His heart skipped a beat at the question, and Seungkwan hoped that he looked nonchalant as he glanced at you before shoving a chip into his mouth. “If you want to kiss him, then kiss him.” Please sound normal. Please don’t give me away--

“But what if I’m bad at it? I’ve never kissed anyone before...”

Seungkwan looked up, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He could see the gears turning in your head. In the same moment he said “No,” you were already speaking up with a “Seungkwan, can you kiss me?”

His word sank in, and you pouted. “Why not? You’re my best friend. It won’t be weird if it’s you.”

Seungkwan felt the blood rushing to his face. “Because it’d be my first kiss, too.”

“So you don’t want me to be your first kiss, either?” You huffed, “Well, what if you’re bad at it?”

He opened his mouth to counter you, only to stop as the words escaped him. Seungkwan, age fifteen, thought you had a point. But Seungkwan, age fifteen, did not want to concede so easily. “So you think I’ll be bad at it?”

You let out a loud groan, head falling back. “If we’re each other’s first kiss, then it won’t be a big deal when we do it for real. If you really don’t want to kiss me, I’ll shut up, but I trust you more than--”

Seungkwan sighed, setting aside the snacks as he hopped up. He came over to you, only to realize he came... far too close. Closer than he meant to, but you still shut up and stared at him. “Just... Lean in and do it, right?”

That was what they did on TV. In movies. In books.

A moment later, you nodded. “Are you sure?”

And then Seungkwan nodded, confidence dwindling by the second. “I’m sure. Are you...?”

He was. If he sucked, then you’d tell him. He trusted you, too, after all. Seungkwan leaned in tentatively, uncertain in his movements... only for his forehead to smack straight into your own. The two of you immediately leaned back with a wince, your hand flying to your forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut. Years ago, you would have laughed at him and kissed his forehead to make it better. Now you would always just get embarrassed whenever he brought it up, reminding him that you were four and that he did it, too, before learning that kisses weren’t a valid form of medicine.

Surprisingly, though, he did hear you laugh a moment later. “Just... stay still, then,” you said.

He opened his eyes, and you reached up, gently holding his face in place before angling your own.

And then you kissed him. Seungkwan, age fifteen, did not want these few seconds to end. It was awkward, and your nose bumped against his when you went in for the kiss, but you didn’t shy away like he did when your foreheads smacked. Your lips were softer than he thought they’d be (and he was overthinking, positive that his were chapped because he lost his lip balm weeks ago and kept forgetting to get a new stick). But he kissed you back, uncertain in the motion, just to do it. To say that he kissed you, too. That it wasn’t one sided.

A few seconds later, and it was over. Neither of you knew what to say. He backed off, heart racing in his ears as he watched you.

“His favorite color is yellow,” you said after a moment, holding up the shirt you’d thrown onto your bed at some point. “So I thought--”

“Yellow suits you,” he said, hoping that you wouldn’t notice the hopelessly fond look on his face. He stepped back again, sitting back down on your bed. “Pair it with the black jeans. Don’t take a jacket. If you get cold, he should give it to you.”

“But what if he’s not wearing one?”

A fair point, but... “He will,” Seungkwan said. If he’s serious about wooing you, he’ll wear one just so he can give it to you.

Seungkwan, at that moment, thought that he loved you. And he loved you enough that he would let you go happily, your happiness becoming most important to him. Even if that decision choked him up, he would do it to see that happy smile on your face any day.

(You called him when you got home the night-of, saying that Yuchan did give you his jacket and that he almost kissed you when he walked you to your door. Seungkwan merely said he was happy for you, ignoring the ache in his chest as he curled up tight in his bed.)

Love, Seungkwan decided, was complicated.

Seungkwan, age nineteen, felt... complicated about a lot now.

You ended up dating Yuchan for two years, only for things to change as life became more hectic. School got harder, Yuchan became more dedicated to soccer and getting a scholarship with it, you busied yourself with trying to get into a good school. So was Seungkwan, actually. Weirdly enough, he didn’t realize how intertwined that process would be for the two of you. He wanted to do something with law school in the future (there was a reason he was on the debate team and good at it, and it was only partially because of his stubbornness), and you were either going pre-med for a career in nursing or maybe paleontology instead. You hadn’t decided yet, but as long as the school had a strong STEM program, you would be happy.

(Seungkwan joked that he should have known: those were two of your interests when you met. Dinosaurs and patching up your best friend who had his clumsy moments same as anyone else.)

And so the two of you ended up in the same school by happenstance. Seungkwan was one of the youngest in his year (the fact that you were a little older than him was always something you used to tease him), and on move-in day he was staring at his roommate, one Kim Mingyu. He was pretty damn chatty, which was okay, and he usually invited over the other two guys who live in their same suite. Seokmin was pretty nice, too, and he usually kept Seungkwan in conversations whenever he started to feel a little out of place. Minghao, a foreign student who came to study here because of the solid journalism program, was quieter--but that wasn’t a problem in the slightest.

What WAS a problem was the way you told Seungkwan that you had someone you wanted to introduce him to a few months into the school year. And when you showed up to the coffee shop the two of you had found within the first week, you were holding the hand of this stupidly hot dude who looked like a dick because he had his headphones hanging around his neck and wearing a beanie when it was definitely not cold enough for a beanie.

(Seungkwan, truthfully, was looking for reasons to hate him. But then you smiled at the guy after the two of you ordered, squeezed his hand, and guided him over to where Seungkwan was sitting, and he felt... guilty for doing so. Stupid hot boyfriend who makes you happy...)

“This is my best friend, Seungkwan,” you said to him, and Seungkwan took pride in the fact you introduced him first. “Seungkwan,” you smiled at him brightly, “this is Vernon! He’s technically an early graduate--something about his homeschooling program, he can tell you the details--but he’s in our year.”

Vernon gave him a polite smile and “sup,” before going on to say that he’d heard a lot about Seungkwan, actually. Another little thing for Seungkwan to take pride in. “They were telling me about how the two of you go way back. That’s actually why we haven’t met until now.”

Seungkwan looked at you in confusion. He knew that you’d started seeing someone a few weeks ago, but... You purposefully didn’t tell him who? Or anything about the guy?

“You’ve known me since we were four,” you said with a pout. “You would have told him so many stories about me. You did the same thing with that girl in high school!”

He did... For the exact same reason. While you did know the girl already, you had agreed to stay back until Seungkwan was ready to formally introduce you to her. That relationship didn’t last long to be fair, but he was terrified of all the blackmail you had over him. You, like him, had pictures, too.

“Plus... I dunno, I wanted to figure out where we stood,” you looked at Vernon with this soft smile on your face. Seungkwan thought he could see the love in your eyes, too.

Seungkwan cleared his throat. “I’m still going to tell him stories. He should know these things about you,” he said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “like your emo phase in middle school--”

Immediately, you whined. “Nooo! I know you have pictures!”

“And I’ll use them.”

Vernon, to Seungkwan’s surprise because of the cool-guy aura he seemed to carry, actually chuckled in response. “I think we’ve all got embarrassing stuff. It’s fine,” he said, and then spoke quieter to you, “It’s cute.”

And that ended up shutting you up with this really cute smile that Seungkwan had always found cute. “Anyway...” You turned back to Seungkwan with this look of concern for a moment. Yet the second you went to open your mouth, your name ended up being called out by the barista, leading you to quickly excuse yourself.

Seungkwan knew you’d take a few minutes to get your coffee to where you liked it. So he turned to Vernon right as the guy was about to strike up polite conversation, “I’m still their best friend, just so you know.”

Immediately, Vernon gave him this weird look, brows drawing together. “Sorry... What?”

“Just because we haven’t met until now doesn’t mean they like you more than me,” he said, crossing his arms. I come first, he wanted to say. I’ve known them since we were four. Remember that.

“Woah, dude, I didn’t say anything--” He paused for a moment, glancing over to where you were fiddling with sugar packets. “They’re cute. They’ve been talking about you a lot lately. If you’re upset they didn’t introduce me sooner, it’s just because they were worried you're gonna hate me.”

... You cared about his opinion that much? Seungkwan mentally smacked himself--of course you did. The two of you valued each other like that. “Oh.”

“Nah, man, I’m not gonna step on your friendship or anything,” Vernon leaned back in his chair. “I know you two are close. But they’re still my date, though....” Vernon was... way chiller than Seungkwan thought he’d be. He was sure most guys would have been offended. “But if you wanna be friends, I’m down. You seem cool. They said you sing?”

Seungkwan’s face was burning from embarrassment now, especially for trying to be petty and establish some stupid sense of dominance over him. “Yeah,” he said, feeling so small now. “I love singing.”

Vernon smiled a little, nodding along, “I’ve got a friend who’s been trying to get me to go to karaoke. Maybe all four of us could go sometime?”

... Admittedly, it was almost cute how Vernon just kind-of configured you into these plans. Probably because he knew that you, too, loved karaoke. You and Seungkwan had spent way too many hours growing up lying about doing homework when you were actually at a noraebang.

“I’d like that, actually.”

When you finally came back, it was to Vernon bringing up movies that he loved and Seungkwan engaging him in that conversation happily. And he could see the way you smiled at the way they were getting along. He got along with Yuchan just fine: so he could get along with Vernon, too. Besides... Vernon actually seemed pretty cool. Maybe in another life, they would already be best friends.

Seungkwan parted ways from the two of you as you said you’d be walking Vernon back to his dorm (meaning that you’d likely call Seungkwan later to talk), and he found himself hurrying back to his own. Mingyu was sitting at his desk, studying his notes from class with earbuds in, giving Seungkwan a welcome reprieve from being social for a few minutes. He found his own homework, breaking into a history textbook to start working there for the next few hours.

Later that night, you had called him while he was studying. Seungkwan could see you standing outside when he picked up, watching the way you happily waved one arm wildly at him to get him to come down. So he pocketed his keys, slipped into his shoes, and called back to Mingyu that he’d be back in a few minutes. He expected you to maybe tease him over the stupid shit he pulled with Vernon (he felt like Vernon would have let it slip, even though he didn’t seem offended), but instead you hugged him tight.

“I hope you know I love you a lot,” you said, “and I’ve wanted you to meet him since we started dating, but...”

Those bitter feelings slipped through Seungkwan’s fingers, melting away as he hugged you back. “You were scared he’d find something to dislike about you,” he sighed. “It’s okay. I like him.”

You stepped back, smiling brightly. “Really?”

“He’s nice. He obviously likes you,” he said with a shrug. “So he passes my test. But if he ever hurts you, I’ll fight him.”

You knew he would. It wasn’t the first time Seungkwan had said it, after all. “Just don’t steal him from me, Kwannie,” you patted him on the chest. “I almost thought I was your third wheel for a minute, y’know.”

... So maybe Seungkwan did get along great with Vernon. More than he really liked to admit. Fuck, Vernon was kind of perfect, wasn’t he? He was respectful toward him even after he tried to be all “myeh myeh I’m their best friend so you come second” like a child, and he fully understood that both of them were important people in your life...

“Thank you for not embarrassing me, y’know,” you said. “I mean, you still have videos from the time we tried to go rollerskating...”

(To be fair: so did you. Both of you quit because you were bad at it and got tired of falling, and spent the rest of your time in the arcade portion instead, being bad at games together.)

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Seungkwan said. “Not this soon, at least. Maybe if he sticks around...”

It earned a laugh from you. That was how your relationship with Yuchan had been, too: there was a point where neither of you thought the embarrassing stuff would mess with your relationship too much. “I know,” you said. “I guess I just got in my own head. I really like him, y’know?”

He could tell. You looked at him the way Seungkwan was sure he looked at you--even though you never noticed. He bantered with you a little more, saying that Vernon would regret inviting both of you to karaoke when those plans came around, and made his way back inside. With a sigh, he flopped onto his bed, the noise enough to drag Mingyu out of his studies.

He chuckled. “I think it’s a little obvious how you feel.”

Seungkwan grasped, immediately reaching for the nearest soft thing to lob at him. And... It was that pastel blue dino plushie that he’d had since he was five. He used to hide it until Mingyu found it by accident while Seungkwan had been gathering his laundry. When he said it was a gift from you, Mingyu understood and said it was sweet how he held onto it so long. Which meant that Seungkwan would sometimes leave that dino plushie out when the others weren’t around. It comforted him to see it whenever he was getting stressed. Other times, the little guy lived in the top of his closet for safekeeping. Hell, Seungkwan had accidentally ripped the little guy’s leg and Mingyu had been the one who patched it up.

At no response from Seungkwan, Mingyu finally turned around, only to see Seungkwan staring at the dino plushie in his hands. “Why don’t you just tell them how you feel?”

“They’re dating some guy named Vernon now.” He ran his thumb along the stitching on the side. “I don’t think they love me back.”

Mingyu frowned, looking up to the clock on the wall, and then back to Seungkwan. “It’s not too late. Let’s go out,” he hopped up, shutting his books. “I’ll see if Seokmin and Hao are free, too.”

Seungkwan could feel that familiar ache in his chest--the same one he felt when you called him, giddy about your date with Yuchan--but softer than it had been before. You were happy. What more could he want?

This, too, was love. As long as you were happy, he could move on.

(And maybe he’ll like the girl Mingyu later offered to set him up with, swearing that he’d love her...)

Seungkwan was twenty-two when he had another major fight with you.

The first time the two of you fought, you’d been kids. He barely remembered what it was about, but it resulted in him not talking to you for a week (which was like a thousand years in little-kid time) until you finally showed up to his door. You sobbed and said you missed him so bad, and apologized a thousand times until he started crying because he missed you, too. The second time had been in middle school over something stupid and immature, and he remembered that the two of you fought bad enough that you stormed off until he bribed you to talk to him again via ice cream and a serious conversation (thank you to his mom, actually: she was the one who talked sense into him first). The third was in high school because you had hated his girlfriend at the time. He hadn’t let you speak, and told you to get out of his house, only to come back together again later that night--halfway between your houses. The two of you apologized to one another: him because he heard from a few hours later that you had fought with his girlfriend in the halls for talking horribly about him behind his back, and you because you should have told him the truth right away.

And now... Things were different. The two of you now lived together in a crummy apartment that felt too small for the two of you. You were studying to become a nurse after you graduated, and Seungkwan was following his plans to set himself up for law school. He’d managed to luck out with getting an internship at this law firm in the city before he was even in law school, Yoon & Hong Law Group. The two of you had gone out to celebrate with Vernon and Chan back when he got the call. When he went in for his first day, Jeonghan had told him it was because of his application that they let him in. They liked his drive, and they remembered being in his position not too long ago. He and Joshua weren’t the original Yoon and Hong (that was his dad and Joshua’s mom, who still headed the firm), but they’d take over the firm one day and they hoped that Seungkwan would still be part of that future. Where Seungkwan had been accepted, you were still waiting on replies from nursing schools.

While you and Vernon had only dated for about a year before that spark fizzled away (which was something Seungkwan couldn’t wrap his head around: how did it take a year for that to happen? Then again, a year stopped feeling so long after you became an adult...), the two of you were still friends. Somewhere along the way, Seungkwan started to consider Vernon as one of his closest friends, too--not number one, because that would always be you, but still pretty damn up there.

He remembered when the two of you broke up. He knew that both of you were talking about things seriously, because you loved each other, just not enough. Vernon had apparently asked if that meant you wanted to break up. You had said you still loved him, he said he still loved you, and then you both had to really examine whether you two loved each other romantically or just as close friends. Although it took a break to cope with your own feelings after mutually agreeing you’d be better off as friends, Seungkwan was glad that the two of you came back together... even if he still remembered the way you broke down crying when you came home to him that day. You’d sobbed into his shoulder that you still loved him, but you couldn’t love Vernon the way he deserved to be loved.

And Seungkwan, ever the dutiful best friend, held you through that storm until it had calmed. Then it was time for him to take care of you: to order dinner and put on movies and forget about your assignments together for a few hours. He’d even gone out to get the dessert you liked, only splitting it evenly with you when you firmly insisted. You’d rested your head on his shoulder and told him that the feeling sucked. He understood. He just let you cuddle him as much as you needed to.

Vernon later called him to ask how you were doing. When Seungkwan, having stepped onto the balcony to take the call, looked back at your sleeping back, he felt relieved. Vernon had been honest with him: the two of you needed time to get over the breakup. Seungkwan confessed he didn’t want to lose either of you as friends, and neither did Vernon. Neither did you. A few months later, things were getting back to normal again. You and Vernon had physically been close, but that was because you were always like Seungkwan: physically affectionate with any and every person you cared about. It was a little awkward in the beginning, sure, but Vernon happily returned your hugs soon enough and everything became normal.

Seungkwan, on the other hand, had also dated a few people. The girl that Mingyu set him up with didn’t last long. The others... were also short-lived relationships. The longest one he had over the past few years lasted almost half a year, but he’d ended it after having enough of feeling like garbage. It hadn't been toxic or abusive, but the initially playful jabs at his chubby cheeks or his body toward the end of the relationship had been enough for him. He valued himself too highly to put up with that bullshit.

Also, you’d been getting pissed: the last time they said that shit to him, you finally snapped (admittedly while drunk) that your Boo was cute and his ass was great and that they could fuck off if they weren’t going to appreciate him for who he was. They had gotten offended, and Seungkwan gladly chose you over them... even if the comment about his ass finally hit him hours later after he’d helped you to bed, and it stuck with him to this day

To be honest, Seungkwan thought his feelings for you would have gone away by now. The two of you had known each other for almost two decades. He knew he’d always love you... but like this? Where he looked at you and sometimes daydreamed of what could be if he’d stop playing a coward and told you how he felt? It was different. As much as Seungkwan wanted to tell you, he wasn’t going to jeopardize his friendship for it. Things were good.

... Until he went and opened his stupid fucking mouth and told you that he hated your boyfriend. He said outright that your boyfriend was a shit person who didn’t deserve you. He saw the way he spoke about you, the vulgar way he acted, and the way you’d swatted his hands away too many damn times because you didn’t want to be touched that way in that moment. This last time, Seungkwan had snapped at him for trying to bother you in your own home. You didn’t stand up to either of them, and your boyfriend left the apartment pissed off, which in turn made you pissed at Seungkwan.

“I just don’t see why you can’t be fucking nice to him!” You had snapped, fists balled tight at your sides. “You liked Yuchan,you liked Vernon--what’s so different about Donghae?! Why can’t you just be happy for me?!”

That had struck a nerve. “I am happy for you!” He snapped. “I’ve always been happy for you! But Donghae doesn’t respect you, and I’m not going to stand here when you deserve better!”

“If it bothered me, I’d tell him to stop--”

“You have! I’ve seen you tell him to stop--but he doesn’t respect you, so he doesn’t listen! You shouldn’t date some idiot who doesn’t respect you--”

Things had grown louder from there until you finally had enough. You were pissed off, and you barked back something about needing space before stomping out of the apartment. That had been a little over half an hour ago, and with a messy apron folded beside him, he was sitting on the couch, replaying the conversation over and over. He called Vernon, who came over with Chan, within the next fifteen minutes.

“Ah. Dude, you kinda fucked up,” was what Vernon said once he heard the full story.

“I dunno,” Chan frowned from his spot in the cozy armchair that you had picked out so long ago for the apartment. Most of the time Chan and Seungkwan would bicker over the smallest thing, but it was clear how much he cared about him from how serious he took things like this. “Donghae is an asshole. I’m just surprised he didn’t say it sooner.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t have said it, I’m just saying he shouldn’t have said it like that.”

Seungkwan was sitting on the couch. There was a cake, hastily made from a box mix, cooling in the freezer to get it done faster. I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer about your dick boyfriend probably wouldn’t fit on a cake. His phone rang, and it was his mom (the only time he’d ever be disappointed to hear from her, Seungkwan was certain). He excused himself to step out on the balcony, embracing the cold air to clear his head as he picked up. It started with her asking how he was doing, and he ended up crying before confessing he had another big fight with you. The first one in years, since the two of you didn’t fight often. Tiny arguments, sure, but that was different. He hadn’t heard from you in maybe an hour now, and he was worried.

His mom listened to his concerns, and told him what his friends had told him: that his heart was in the right place (especially since Seungkwan told her that he thought you weren’t being treated well), but that he just needed to communicate it better. Calling your boyfriend an asshole to his face was probably the worst way to go about it.

“It’s just complicated,” Seungkwan confessed, wiping hard at his face.

“Love always is,” was what his mom said. “You’ll learn that when you grow up.”

He let out a sigh before pouting. “I’m already grown up...”

His mother’s warm chuckle calmed him further. “You’ll understand that later, too. You should make sure that they’re safe.”

So Seungkwan did: he texted you to ask if you were. You didn’t respond, not that he expected you to reply immediately. You needed time to cool off. He followed up the text to tell you that if he didn’t hear from you within the next two hours, he was going to go out looking, and then pocketed his phone.

He had a cake to ice, after all, even if it might end up looking bad. Vernon and Chan had followed him into the kitchen where he frosted the cooled cake with white icing, mixing up pink and preparing a piping bag.

Chan had been the one to question it: “So... What’s the cake for?”

“Apology cake,” Vernon whispered. “For not saying stuff right. He’s done it once before.”

(It had been over an hour since you were gone. Seungkwan was going to finish this damn cake to distract himself.)

He’d managed to get a decent-ish looking border done, starting on the words when he heard the chime of the door. All he had done was an I’m So when he heard your footsteps, far lighter than the last time he’d heard them.

“Oh. Hey.”

“You good?” Vernon asked.

He could hear the rustle of a plastic bag in your hands. “Mmm... Maybe. I dunno.”

Seungkwan said nothing as he finished Sorry on the cake. That would do for now.

“Seungkwan?” He could hear you growing closer to him. “Um...” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see you look to Vernon and Chan. “God... They probably already know, so I’ll just say it. I’m sorry.”

He looked up. “Huh?”

“I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” The bag in your hand rustled further in your grip. “I mean... You were right. He was a dick, and... I dunno, I left, and then he called me, and he kept saying all this stupid shit about how you never respected me, and... I just told him I was done.”

Seungkwan stared at you. “You broke up with him?”

“I mean... I probably should have when he stopped listening to me, but--” Then you looked at the cake. “Seungkwan, what are you--”

He stepped aside, letting you see the writing. “I’m sorry I got angry,” he said. “And I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. I think... We both got upset really fast.”

Which was true. Both of you had been stressed lately with everything else going on. That didn’t help with what happened today.

“Oh my god.”

“I know it looks bad--”

You shook your head, opening the bag to pull out a pint of cookies and cream ice cream. “I got you apology ice cream,” you had lightly laughed, only to remember the other two in the room with you. “Ah, fuck--I should have known you would have called them over... I should have bought more--”

“We still have vanilla,” Seungkwan said, “They’ll be fine.”

And despite their playful complaints, both were fine with that when you brought out the carton from the freezer. The four of you had your cake and your ice cream as a nice little indulgence after a stressful night. Seungkwan sent them off with the extra cake because neither of you wanted it. He quietly cleaned up, bringing the other dishes over to where you’d started to quietly clean them in the sink.

“I really mean it,” Seungkwan said. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I’m sorry.”

You frowned at him. “Seungkwan...” You reached past him, grabbing the dish towel to dry your hands on. Then you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him tight. “I know. We’re better friends than this, though... I shouldn’t have assumed you were being a dick when you’ve always been looking out for me. I mean... You care about me more than a lot of people, y’know?”

“You do the same,” he said, hugging you back. He always liked the way you felt so warm in his arms. Like everything would be okay if he just had you there. “I know I’m loved... But I don’t doubt it or get in my head when it’s you.”

It felt like a confession. You pulled away from him after a moment, hands now lingering on his upper arm as you stared at him for a moment. He almost saw something on your face, but you turned away before he could try to figure out what it was. You went back to doing the dishes, and Seungkwan wordlessly stepped in to help you with them.

Seungkwan thought to himself, in that moment, that he was doomed to always love you no matter who he saw. That the person he was looking for in every single person would always be you. But... if it meant the two of you stayed connected so deeply like this, even when you were angry at one another, then he would be okay with it.

Even when you fought, he would always love you. Maybe that, too, was part of love, as complicated as it was to admit that.

Seungkwan was twenty-four when things were... beyond stressful. Between law school being hard and nursing school draining you most days, Seungkwan felt like he barely saw you despite living together. If nothing else, he barely saw you happy most days. Neither of you really went out with anyone unless they were friends, careers taking priority over any kind of romantic relationship. But that was okay: the two of you had talked about that kind of thing over a rare dinner together. You didn’t want to bring anyone new into your life when everything was so busy, and he was too stressed to really let go with someone that wasn’t already close to him. The two of you were working hard, and all you could really do was support the other through it all. Sometimes it took the form of movie nights when he came disgruntled and unable to read another word of his text book or old cases, and he liked to think he was better at giving massages after long hours of you being in the hospital for things. God knew you should see a professional, but you were trying to save up and keep money in your account for rent and food and other necessities right now. When you were an actual nurse, maybe then you’d start occasionally seeing a professional.

It also came with the two of you venting to one another. He’d heard about the people that you worked with. About Dr. Choi, who was strict but seemed to have a soft spot for you because you brought him a latte once when he looked particularly exhausted. Seungkwan actually met another nurse you worked with--Jeon Wonwoo--when he went up to the hospital one night because you forgot your umbrella... Only for Wonwoo to have been leaving at the same time, offering both of you a ride back to your apartment. Seungkwan, despite knowing just how stressed your job made you, liked how happy you were with it. He thought it was definitely good for you, and you always loved to talk about how you were helping people--even as a student. There were shitty patients who disrespected you (and your fellow medical professionals), but your drive was in your desire to make other people happier.

It was Saturday now, a rare day where you came home hours ago from working. He’d moved his headphones off when you came in, only for you to wave him off saying that you’d talk after you got a little rest. He readjusted them, and went back to studying hard. He was tired, though, and he could feel his eyelids growing heavier. He had research he had to do earlier, and now he was catching up in reading for one of his classes... Two years and he still wasn’t done, but at least he wasn’t in it alone. He had you.

His headphones must have gotten knocked askew when he fell asleep over his books, because the knock at the door had been enough to wake him up. He pulled his headphones off, getting up to stretch on his walk over. He opened the door, only to find a package waiting outside that was addressed to you. Seungkwan brought it inside, making a mental note to refill his water bottle in a minute, about to call out for you when you rushed in.

“Don’t open it!”

He wasn’t going to, but he nearly dropped the damn thing at how loud you suddenly were. You took the box from him quickly, hugging it tight to you with one arm as you fished around in a drawer for the box cutter. Seungkwan realized that he had apparently blocked everything you’d been doing out for the past hour (or maybe he was just that deeply asleep for a bit), because there were suddenly way more blankets in there than the two of you usually kept... and you had stolen one of the chairs from the dining table, pushed the coffee table forward...

“What are you doing?”

You’d already sat down on the floor, opening up the box. He hadn’t seen you this lively since that late night study group around midterms, and that was because of all the caffeine in your system. You’d been beyond burnt out since then, working on countless assignments and going to work. Today had just been a rare Saturday where both of you were home, just giving you time to study and rest before next week kicked your asses once more.

“Can you bring the batteries?” You called out over your shoulder. “Triple-A. I need four.”

That didn’t answer his question, but Seungkwan did as you asked. Before he could see what was in the box, you stopped him, hand extended for the batteries.

“Go back to studying,” you ordered. “I’ll get you when everything’s ready.”

He didn’t move. He just furrowed his brow in confusion, wanting to question you further, only for you to huff in aggravation.

“Just trust me. Tonight’s... special.”

Seungkwan did as you said, including moving his chair to where his back was to you entirely. He could hear you moving around the apartment behind him, eventually answering the door again to get takeout (and immediately his stomach rumbled when he caught the scent of fried chicken from his favorite place). He almost asked if he was forgetting something important, but you just held up a hand.

“I’m almost done,” you told him with this cute smile on your face that was enough to make him agree to wait. “Okay? I’m almost done.”

It was cute how excited you were. It almost worried him, to be honest... It wasn’t his birthday. It wasn’t yours. Was he forgetting something big? Sure, it had almost been twenty years since the two of you became friends, but that friend-iversary wasn’t for another few weeks. The two of you already had plans for it, too: you were going to go to an amusement park and just pretend you didn’t have a thousand other things going on for a day.

When you finally came back to him, you had carefully pushed his assignment into the page he was reading before shutting his book for him. He couldn’t say no to you when he saw how happy you were. It was fine, too: technically he was a little ahead in his classes. He just wanted to give himself the best chances to succeed.

“Close your eyes.”

And he did, letting you slowly guide him from his chair. He couldn’t fight the smile on his face as your hands took his. With each slow step, he couldn’t help but wonder what you had in mind. At one point, you stopped, gently stepping around him to push him down onto his knees and then back--instructing him to just sit there for a moment.

“I just need a minute... So keep your eyes closed, okay? It’s a surprise.”

He listened, knees hugged to his chest right now as he listened to you move around the apartment. Something soft--one of those blankets, probably--gently thwacked him in the face at one point before it was immediately pulled away (and he almost giggled at the sound of your quiet swearing under your breath). He could hear the click of something plastic opening, and then the sound of you fumbling with those batteries, more plastic buttons being pressed...

“Okay. You can open your eyes now.”

He did, and the room was illuminated in stars. There was dinner on the table--his favorite dakgangjeong, an order for you, and various sides spread out--and the two of you were now sitting underneath a blanket fort that you must have fixed after you sat him down. You slid a little closer to him, taking his hands in your own.

“What are you--”

“Seungkwan,” you said firmly. “It’s been almost two decades since we became friends... but I remember we did this back when we were eight. And--I dunno. I guess I got sentimental. I know you’ve been stressed lately, too, and... I dunno, I just... It’s stupid, but I wanted to relive the first time I slept over at your house. And then I saw this thing,” you nodded toward the projector, “when I was browsing through random shit online, and then I got this stupid idea, and I thought it might just be a sign to go through with it...”

Seungkwan had never wanted to kiss you more than he did at that moment. Instead, he just choked up, tears brimming because of... all of it. All that was missing was the silly little drawing of the two of you and your families and your weird cat-dog-thing. But the dinner, the stars, the blanket fort...

“I love you.”

The words were out before he could even process it, and he realized what he just said. He grew more embarrassed, about to take them back. To say that he didn’t mean it like that, to try and save your friendship before he could destroy it with feelings that he thought were only one sided.

But he didn’t. He could see the way you looked at him. The way your eyes flickered down to his lips for a moment. Like magnetism, you drifted forward, about to kiss him when your forehead bumped against his again.

And he laughed. “Here,” he said. “Stay still.”

Seungkwan gently held your face so that he could angle his own, kissing you gently.

Seungkwan, at twenty-four, knew that he loved you. With every single beat of his heart, he loved you. You kissed him back, and he finally saw that you, at some point along the way, fell for him, too. The two of you weren’t two four year olds on the way home from school, where you took care of him and made sure he was okay. You weren’t eight year olds under a blanket fort, dreaming of living under the same roof with everyone you held dear to you, or fifteen year olds having their first kiss together because they were both too scared to have it with someone else because of the silly notion that they should know how to kiss before they did it. He was twenty four, and after a lifetime of questioning it, he thought he finally understood what love was.

You pulled away after a moment, eyes twinkling. He preferred the stars in them to the stars from that silly lamp. “I love you, too.”

And then you kissed him again, and everything felt right.

Love, he had learned, was a lot of things. The act of being happy with another person, of seeing their joy and treasuring it close to your heart. Of wanting them to be happy no matter what. To enjoy being around a person, and to yearn for their presence when they were gone for too long. Love was a feeling.

The act of accepting differences for what they are, of fighting but coming together because you cared about each other more. To put aside oneself in order to let someone find their happiness elsewhere. To surprise the other with something that might seem silly to other people, but meant the world to you. Love was an action, too.

But love? Love, he decided at that moment, is you.

And it was him, too.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune

#wooahaes.fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan fluff #boo seungkwan fluff #seungkwan x you #boo seungkwan x reader #boo seungkwan x you

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yanderefarm · 1 month ago

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Damn, I love your OCs A LOT! They are so creative and interesting, I love how each one is different from the other in its own yandere way.

I really enjoy your stories, especially the Silvan ones, and I always feel like drawing your characters, and I finally did it!

I made two versions of Silvan, I tried to take the clothes you had designed for him before. I don't know if this is how you imagined him, but I did it with a lot of love!

Keep writing your stories, they're a lot of fun. And keep drawing, you're evolving with each new drawing!

Sorry for any mistakes, Portuguese is my first language.

i literally started crying when i saw this you're so sweet. i love love love the little detail of the bandage on his face and you can see the fang marks peeking over his ribbon and the bandages on his arms.

YOU EVEN MADE MY SHITTY DRESS DESIGN LOOK SO PRETTY ON HIM HE LOOKS LIKE HES A MAGICAL GIRL ABOUT TO MESS U UP JSKSNDKS

you are so sweet and i love you i am crying. thank you so so much for loving my silly little guys enough to draw them!! thank you for the drawings!! and thank you for the kind words 💖!! i really appreciate all of it im so so grateful

and i know silvan is so grateful to receive your attention! he loves you 💚

#replies #going on the fridge #for sure on the fridge im so #im literally crying i can't believe this

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randomshenaniganery · 2 months ago

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Mairon to Finrod (info dump time)

I am going to draw Oleander when im not busy but I did want to show why it took me three days to finish up everything

Me diving into the outfit design and slso Finrod's opinion on the boys its in the bottom tho skksks

ALSO ALSO if u make vespersonas i will be friends pls let us lore dump together

real name: ??? I haven't picked one akskkaskskaskas

Age: 29 (they pretend they're older as Vigil)

Height: 5'7 cm

Gender: enby

Sexuality: Asexual biromantic

Weight: 73 kg

Traits: Street smart, scrappy, observant, liar liar pants on fire

Skills: Swimming, sewing, sword fighting (shield user), puzzle solving, running,

Weaknesses: when they don't want to do something they'll be stubborn about it, can't jump very high,

Backstory timeline:

Has had Fractum Anima for at least 2 months now (same as all Vespers)

In the surface their job was being part of a group of private guards, they mainly escorted people or goods

Ran away from home due to domestic abuse at the age of 12 before joining the guard for training

Worked there for 17 yrs before they got diagnosed and went under

Met Cirrus they were like okay weird but whatever if there's a lunar ichor alternative we gotta try that, saw Cirrus punishing that dude went nope try again later, they did try again later and got the Cirrus grew bored of you route with Ark

Set the pleasure den on fire by using the lotions and oils that were left in the room. Fun fact if you dry lotion on fabric it's VERY flammable and since they don't have synthetic fibers in this game, plus considering what kind of ingredients they'd be using for lubrication, lotions and oil; it's really easy to set things on fire.

After running away and grabbing a new face, they broke into their old room and left their medallion before returning as 'Finrod'

met Oleander while avoiding the guards because they were feeling antsy

became Vigil and is balancing new work, how do I kill Cirrus thoughts and I might need to steal lunar ichor when it pops up in the market.

Habits & hobbies:

Whenever Finrod gets too overwhelmed they use pain to calm their mind, to them pain is clarity. So, sometimes when Finrod stews on bad memories they'll end up harming themselves in some way to force themselves to calm down

Really, really quiet when it comes to pain, crying or having a crisis, high pain tolerance basically which is good because of their flare ups

Sometimes Finrod doesn't really laugh even though something is funny so they learned to fake laugh as a way to show they find something funny

Whenever something is really funny to them they have the habit of covering their mouth

When they're unsure, nervous or feeling awkward they'll scratch their nose

Doesn't have a tell when they're lying cause they do it so much

Finrod has the habit of bringing everything they think they need with them at all times (matchsticks/lighter/strike-a-light/flint, knife, scissors, needle and thread, bandages, map, a magnifying glass, paper and ink) this is because of having to live on the go for their job. scouting behavior etc.

When Finrod is happy/relaxed/calm they'll start humming or singing this applies to games, when they have their plan all finished and they're confident they'll start singing to themselves

In a fight Finrod will throw themselves at people like a battering ram if needed, not that they're big but that they're good at knowing how to use their momentum and weight.

Likes massaging/caressing/tracing their friends' hands as a way to soothe themselves

Can finish dressing up and arranging all their things in under 4 minutes (habit from being a private guard on the go)

Name stuff:

Chose Mairon for their first half because I thought it would be appropriate since this is their first go at the mountain. Finrod is their second go because of how Finrod died and the betrayal stuff that happened to him.

Outfit Design:

Mairon's Clothes

Wanted it to come off as simple and formal more reminiscent of their time as a private guard. The most color you'll get from them is their belt and matching cuffs. Very neat appearance more npc looking since they want to blend in. They use the standard black mask in the game as well.

Finrod's Clothes

I gave it more color because Finrod had to ditch their old clothes due to the fire, it's a mix of things they grabbed or bought after the fire. They kept their belt and cuff because it's sentimental and also just useful to them. Although they wear more colors It's mostly dark shades so that they don't stand out in shadows. A lot of their body is bandaged and when they met Oleander half their face was bandaged under the mask too.

Opinions on the boys:

REaLLy wants Cirrus dead doesn't care if they get hurt in the process

Slowly growing an obsession over Oleander but they're very good at hiding it, their banter helps calm them down

Likes to mess with Kier otherwise neutral but i think storywise they haven't met

Francesco reminds them of a friend from the surface they bump into each other time to time

#obscura vn #obscura vesper #vespersona #i ramble a lot #do you know how long i was researching if oils and lotions that would be found in a pleasure den is flammable #I was checking everything #anyway back in ye olden days they used sperm oil as lubrication before and you use that to light lamps which is good for fire that is hard #to put out #also cotton is very flammable and so is silk and i paid attention to everything in the game when vesper took in the room i saw that and wen #yes fire #everything #mwahhahahahahha fuck all these people they would die if I was really there #cirrus #oleander my love ;-; chapter 2 i wait patiently and also rabidly #i need new content im scouring the tags everyday #my art #my oc #original character #obscura vespersona

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atechnobladeapologist · 8 months ago

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Paralels between Emerald duo and Codebreakers (canons and headcanons).

First of all they are my favorites character, I cannot even put in words how much I like them, my brain is gonna rot.

Personally I dont like to see the relationship that Phil have with them as something pathernal, but more as something close to the idea of the Moiral quadrant that we had on homestuck.

For you who saved your ass and stayed farrr away from this webcomic (just joking dont take that part too serious), Moirail basicly are besties that has a strings and specials bond, Moirail it’s that person who you feel safe to open up and talk about problems and feelings. That’s it if I dont mistaken me, omg my memorie is so poor, but look if Im wrong this is still the concept that Im looking for okay :c

Based on it, we should normalize kiss your best- COF COF, I mean, normalize writing an open love letter to your best friend in a pretty platonic way (Im not being ironic).

In short, they are best friends, bros, buddys.

Yeh I talk too much, too much, lesgo then.

The totem thing. I like to think Philza is pretty concerned with the boys, because Techno and Elotes are almost two ambulant suicidals just because of the totens, yet Phil is just like omggg sit down and stay quiet just for two entire minutes. I imagine Phil have constantly to bandage and sew up their wounds, SPECIALLY with Etoiles, that French Beast thing and his way of looking at thing intensifies this a lot.

I have a really strong headcanon that in both codebreakers and emerald duo Techno and Etoiles have a very strong relationship with Mumza because of the times they almost died (a pretty fun relationship btw, I bet she gives advices and philosophizes about life with them), at the point they know her even BEFORE know Philza or as long as they know him, and all this often without Philza even knowing, and when he descovers he goes like: WHAT?!

Even though Philza doesnt look physically as strong as them (I like to think he is, for real) the two still admire the man as if he were a super cool older friend, and besides none of them show it to Phil or tell him, they both are like: LOOK that cool guy is MY FRIEND, how cool, isnt it?

Headcanon, the warriors already cried in front him.

I know that Techno is pretty concerned about his reputation in a certain way but I really like to pass this to Etoiles too, Imagine a moment where they are showing friendly affection for eachother with a hug or something, and out of nowhere they break up and Etoiles says, “man, I’m enjoying this but it hurts my reputation”, even when theres NO ONE close to see it, they’re just so out of touch they have ashamed of it, in the most fluffy way you can imagine that, it’s pretty funny imagine beasts, unshakable warriors that just cant deal with a hug of their best friend.

Techno hear voices, Etoiles get the paranoid <3

They have wavy and curly hair and sometimes Phil helps them to finish their hair, for techno he usually braid his all hair and for Etoiles he do a tiny terere on the side. Philza encourage both to take more care of their hair because he likes the curls and waves.

Techno and Etoiles have completly unexpected hobbies, I like to think that tech know how to sew and he have a whole sketchbook just for crosquis and Etoiles constantly draw and makes small wood sculptures, cute things because he usually gives to Pomme. We can invert this too btw, I think it matchs with both!

Despite Phil’s warnings they simply refuse to have a healthy sleep schedule.

If it was necessary they would sacrifice themselfs for keep the oldman safe.

I didn’t talk much about Phil :c but I was trying to do something more focused on Tecchnoblade and Etoiles in the relationship with him ya know? Maybe another time I’ll do something for our blondie girlie pop.

I truly like how those duos are simillary with eachother even when one of them are different people. Btw codebreakers should be more contrast on the fandom hihi.

Just to remember English is not my mother language so sorry for the poor words choose.

#codebreakers #q!etoiles #technoblade #emerald duo #q!philza #c!techno #c!philza #philza minecraft #etoiles

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superstar-nan · 4 months ago

Text

Fight Tooth and Nail

Night 5 (At Freddy's)

Summary: This is the end.

Words: 5,826

Fun stuff: Toxic relationships, grief, description of dead bodies, violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms, vague mention of child murder, and angst.

Happy 10 Years!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love FNAF!!!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoy this finale!!!!!!!

First ♡ Prev ♡ Next

───── (\ /) ─────

You woke up to thunder gently rolling you to consciousness. Heavy clouds darkened Michael’s home to sleepy grays and soft shadows. There wasn’t any rain yet, but you bet there would be by the time you left for Fazbear’s Fright.

You looked at your phone and your eyes burned at its brightness, but you squinted and suffered through it anyway. You slept longer than you wanted. You turned off your phone and rested your head back with a heavy sigh. Rest begged for you, but you couldn’t go back to bed.

When you rolled over, your foot hit something soft.

“Hey.”

You peered down the couch. Michael was on the other end of the couch, awkwardly positioned in a way that clearly avoided touching you but was still attempting (and failing) rest. You couldn’t tell if he slept a wink. Why didn’t he just go sleep in his room if he didn’t want to touch you? “Morning.”

He pushed your leg off of him, “It’s evening.”

What a delightful man. You rubbed your eyes and yawned, stretching your arms behind you and arching your back. Void eyes trailed your chest and neck as you relaxed “Did you finish the drawings?” You said, with your eyes closed.

“Yes,”

“Good...” You said, half-heartedly and uncommitted to getting up to look at them.

“...I should rebandage that.”

The soft smile on your face washed away as your eyes opened. Your fingertips grazed the bite and you didn’t even have to look to know Michael was watching you very carefully. You hoped the darkness was enough to obscure your expression. “Show me how to use the cameras first.”

Michael set his corroded jaw. Your deflection couldn’t even fool yourself. Michael stood up and left behind the couch. You leaned your head back and exhaled, this time strained and shaking. Michael returned with pages in his hands.

Michael explained the cameras in his low, shredded british accent. Not only did he tell you how to use the panel, but he taught you exactly how to find Springtrap on the cameras. He circled his usual hiding places and gave you a list of Springtrap’s tells—whether they marked him staying or moving and where. Michael explained to you his strategies for keeping his dad in one place and how likely each strategy was to work. It was a lot to follow. You knew Michael engrossed himself with keeping Springtrap away from the office, but you had no idea exactly how much work it was until now. You followed him as best you could, and Michael made sure to slow down when you tried pretending you knew what he was talking about.

You offered to put together a few of your “toys”, just to make things easier on you and Michael, but he refused. There wasn’t enough time anyway, and you knew that, but you wanted to do something to help him in return. There was nothing you could do, and that thought ate at you.

You expected Michael to bring up bandaging your shoulder again. He didn’t. You didn’t know why, but you suspected he didn’t mention it on purpose.

In the last hour before midnight, you helped Michael drag large, red gasoline vessels to your car. He must have gone to the store while you were asleep. Slow raindrops fell on your nose and cheek. When you looked up, rain started to drop in a cascade. You didn’t have the energy to avoid getting soaked.

You decided not to bring your axe. You didn’t want the temptation to leave the office unless it was absolutely necessary. It was strange and uncomfortable going to Fazbear’s without your axe or toys. It felt like picking a fight with a bear unarmed.

Michael took your keys and got into the driver's seat without a word, and you sat in the passenger's seat in suit.

It was surreal. This was the end of Fazbear’s Fright: where this madness and mystery all began, and you wouldn’t even be the one to end it like you thought you would. Honestly, it shouldn’t have been you to begin with. You knew that from the moment Michael (albeit vaguely) told you the story of Freddy’s. This wasn’t your story, it was his. You were an intruder, absorbed in your own tragic narrative that just so happened to be aligned with his. You were grateful it aligned with his, because you wouldn’t have been alive if it wasn’t.

You looked over at Michael as he drove through impossible rain and thunder. He was an unlikely friend in all this. Your heart softened seeing dull passing lights graze over his silhouette. You don’t know if you would tell him, but you had needed him. Yes, in the way that you would be dead if it weren’t for him—but more than that. He was there. He was there right when you were alone and breaking and your closest friend was gone, but he was there. He was rude, blunt, emotionally distant, and a corpse, but he was there. He wasn’t especially comforting and he tried his best to get rid of you, but that didn’t matter. He was there.

You leaned your forehead against the window, rain beating on the car’s roof. You weren’t prepared physically, mentally, or emotionally for this night. No matter how much you willed time to stop, Michael still pulled into the parking lot of Fazbear’s Fright. Your car’s headlights and the attraction’s sign barely made a dent in the darkness the rain cast on the attraction.

Michael turned off the car. “Are you ready?” He asked in the darkness.

The sound of the rain was deafening in the darkness, “No.”

Before he could say anything else, you got out of the car. You were soaked immediately. You and Michael ran for the attraction’s grimy doors. You thought of the first time you came to Fazbear’s Fright, how bad you thought the smell was. You looked at Michael. You knew he would hate to know he smelled worse than even his rotting father.

Your heart hammered against your chest when you entered the office. You didn’t know if you would be any good on the cameras. You pulled out your small stack of folded drawings and swallowed, looking at the screen.

“You’ll do fine,” He said, though whether that was to assure you or him, you didn’t know.

Michael was soaked, like you. Water dripped from his dark, artificial hair, layers of dark circles hung heavy under his void eyes, and his body—rotting and gaunt as it was—looked too heavy for his bones to carry. You were suddenly struck with the idea that you might not see him again—whether he died or you—and that feeling settled into your stomach with a sad acceptance.

You took his hand, “Be safe, Michael. And...” You swallowed, “Thank you. For everything.”

It sounded like a goodbye. Maybe it was a goodbye. If these were your last shared words, you hoped they conveyed how much he helped you.

Michael’s mask slipped, and you saw a myriad of emotions cross his face: his torn lips parted in sorrow, his brow twisted in loneliness, his hollowed eyes bearing into you with longing, his abraded cheeks warm with byzantium affection, and... there something else you couldn’t discern. Another emotion that came from him, one you wracked your mind to understand but couldn’t.

“I...” He swallowed. Something resolute washed over him and he leaned toward you. You blinked, confused by his sudden closeness. You barely had a chance to think by the time his lips were a breath away from yours.

And then, he froze, his hollow eyes went wide in their inky blackness. You tilted your head slightly. You could’ve stared into his eyes for hours and you still would’ve been mesmerized by them. As if pulled away from your lips by an unseen force, Michael leaned to the side and kissed your cheek. His lips were scratchy and spongy at the same time, leaving a strange lingering feeling behind.

Michael pulled away from you, his void eyes downcast. He readjusted his grip of the tank of gasoline in his hand and left the room without another word.

Was he... about to kiss you? No, you were imagining things. The bittersweet feeling of the night must’ve gotten to you.

You laid out your pages so you could more readily pick out Springtrap from the cameras. Midnight passed, and you knew he would already be on the move. You swapped through the cameras, your fingers shaking over the buttons. Your eyes quickly scanned over the fuzzy TV static, periodically flicking to the pages Michael drew for help, and then you changed cams. You don’t know how Michael did it with such ease, you would need at least ten nights of practice before you’d be confident enough to do this.

There. A hand barely in frame and obscured by static. Your heart thrummed with the thrill of finding him and the fear of losing him just as quickly. Static consumed the screen and, in a panic, you smacked it. Somehow that worked, and the TV-snow started to clear lightly, but the hand was gone. Your eyes went wide as you slammed down on the audio button.

You held your breath. Nothing more happened. You pressed the audio again, insistent and your nerves fried. When he didn’t show up again, you cursed under your breath. You swapped through the cameras, but static eclipsed your screen.

You picked up the control panel and tapped the audio first. Now that you were manning both the cameras and the control panel, you realized Michael wanted to keep you in the office with him not just because it was safer, but because it was so much easier with two people working the panels. Once the audio was done, you tapped the cameras and let it reboot while you rechecked the screen.

Static cleared slowly, and you swapped through the cameras again. You swore you checked every camera and compared it to every picture, and you could not see him anywhere. Your heart started to ram against your chest when you saw Michael through the camera. He was pouring gasoline, every so often checking behind him. You had to help him, you had to keep Springtrap away from him, but you didn’t know what to do.

You started randomly playing the audio anywhere that Michael wasn’t. He had to be somewhere and he’d follow at least one of those...

RED-FLASHING-BLARING-RED-FLASHING-BLARING

Your hands fumbled with the control panel in your panic, almost dropping it. You tapped reboot all and hissed under your breath. You hadn’t meant to tap the longest option, but now that you did, you repeatedly pressed it as if that would make it reboot any faster. Red faded in and out of your vision and you wiped the sweat from your forehead. Even as the ventilation was done rebooting, it still took time before the alarms stopped.

You weren’t very good at this. You wondered if Michael heard that. You wondered if Springtrap heard that.

You quickly swapped through the cameras trying to find Springtrap, but it was too easy this time. Purposefully easy.

He was standing in the hallway with plastic stars dangling from the ceiling. His silhouette was encased in shadow, the lights of the arcades flashing colorfully behind him. You saw bunny ears heavily shift to one side as he mechanically tilted his head.

Your heart beated faster and your face warmed. You wondered if Springtrap knew you were controlling the cameras. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out your sporadic audio spamming wasn’t Michael.

Springtrap started to move, and he wasn’t hiding it. It was clear he was walking to the office. You could let him. You didn’t have to lure him away. He would be distracted, and Michael would have more than enough time and space to burn the building down.

You swallowed, and it was heavy in your throat.

You pressed the audio and Springtrap froze. You bit your lower lip. You could keep him distracted with the audio. That was better. Your hatred and desire burned at you to let him come to you, but your common sense wasn’t completely lost. You only hoped your ability to work the cameras wasn’t lost either...

Silver pinpricks stared into the camera with violent, shaking anger. His fingertips twitched mechanically as he burned his gaze into the camera. An electric thrill traveled up your spine at his rage. He wanted you to let him come, and it delighted you that you didn’t. And then, like putting on a mask, Springtrap’s fingers stilled and his silver eyes cooled to ice. He took one step back, then two, and then he was in shadow. You couldn’t see him.

You hurriedly pressed the audio, but nothing played. It needed to be rebooted again. You didn’t realize how short the window of time was between audio lures. It took way too long to reboot, and by the time you returned to the cameras, you had no idea where Springtrap was.

You stilled to silence. There was movement in the vents. You swallowed. You swapped through the ventilation cameras, but if he was in the vents, he was now gone.

How quickly your motivation shifted from trying to keep Springtrap away from Michael to trying to keep Springtrap away from you.

You rebooted the ventilation even though it didn’t need it. You couldn’t risk drawing him closer with the alarms going off. You started to play the audio anywhere away from you, and you had to stop yourself from playing the audio where Michael was.

You were panicking. This wasn’t good.

You rebooted everything once the audio needed it just in case. Then, you saw something flash past your peripheral.

You looked up, but he wasn’t there. You knew better. Your breath quickened.

You repeatedly pressed the audio button on CAM 2 despite it not finishing rebooting. Even when the camera went blank with static, you kept pressing it. It was only once the ventilation error came up in the corner of the screen that you stopped for the control panel.

You rebooted the ventilation first. You couldn’t let the alarm go off. You didn’t need to reboot the cameras, you just needed to focus on getting him away from you.

You put down your control panel, and a pair of rotten rabbit ears quickly moved from behind the door frame. Your breath hitched. You slammed your hand down on the audio button. A fake child’s laughter played.

When you looked up, he was in front of you. You almost collapsed in relief when you realized he was behind the glass. His finger circled the heart he scratched into the window nights prior.

You snatched the cameras and pressed the audio to CAM 2 again, but by the time you looked up, he was gone.

He was playing with you. Maybe it was playing with you. It didn’t matter. You felt like you were going to throw up. Your head buzzed with adrenalin and your heart was beating faster than a hummingbird. You rushed to reset the audio.

You put it down with a shaky exhale. You had to get a hold of your nerves.

Click.

You stumbled out of the office chair. Seven feet tall, looming at the door frame was Springtrap. The ghastly yellow-green light from the office painted his grotesque features in vivid detail. Rotting guts spilled from his metal skeleton, barely held by the soiled fabric of his costume. His jaw was sealed tight in that permanent, unsettling grin, and you could see your own blood from previous nights that stained his teeth. Instead of revolting you like it should’ve, your face warmed. What was wrong with you?

Your fear knew enough to grip hold of you. Your head snapped to the vent. You might be able to escape if you threw the chair at him and lunged the vent, if you were lucky. But...

Your head turned back to Springtrap, his body still at the door.

...Why wasn’t he attacking you? Mauling you to tiny pieces? Did he want to chase you?

Your hands carefully held the back of the office chair, just in case you might need to swing it at Springtrap. Silver eyes watched your hands hungrily, and you were struck with the desire to be holding him instead of the chair; fingers splayed over his chest, dipping lightly into red, swollen and rotting organs. You quickly pushed that thought away.

“You won,” You said, and Springtrap’s silver eyes lidded, his mouth unhinging from its tight grin and pressurized air being released from his metal jaw, as if the very words gave him pleasure. You didn’t like pleasing him. “So why am I not dead?”

In a motion so quick it startled you, Springtrap ripped something from his chest. It made a noise that was wet and squelching. Your body’s visceral reaction was to wretch, but you forced yourself still.

The item in Springtrap’s hand was dripping with spoiled bodily fluid as he held it out for you. You looked at silver eyes that held your gaze robotically. Your body screamed at you to throw the chair and run, your mind begged you to escape this monster, but your heart...

Your heart knew exactly what he was holding without having to take it.

You took slow small steps, tentative toward Springtrap. His patience was mechanical in nature, the type of patience an animatronic would have to show when waiting for a hug from a timid child. Your hands were shaking as you took the soiled object from his large, open palm.

It was your best friend's earpods. You bit your tongue, grasping it tightly in your hand. You couldn’t let yourself realize what this meant. You couldn’t think about this. Not now. Not now.

“Why do you have this,” You said and you were shaking, but you knew why. You knew there was only one reason why. And if you admitted it, you would burst into tears, and you couldn’t do that when he was close enough to kill you.

Springtrap leaned toward you, his body bending slightly forward and his broken rabbit ears leaning to one side. His rotting hand was still outstretched, and his silver eyes matched yours with such a driven intensity, you found yourself unable to turn away. And then, he did something that turned your stomach.

He beckoned you. He beckoned you exactly how Michael showed you; how he beckoned the children he killed. You wanted to throw up, you wanted to scream, you wanted to push him away, but—even more than all of that—you wanted to take his hand. How could you not? Even if he hadn’t given you the clue you were missing to your best friend, Springtrap dripped with an inviting, albeit twisted, charm you couldn’t deny. You could see exactly how easy it was for him to lure children—how he could entice them with promises of surprises and gifts and games and secrets. You could see exactly why they’d fall for his trap, just like you would, and that made you ill. How terrible, how absolutely vile, and the only thing that eased your nausea was that his once deceptive and charming mask was now twisted in a mockery of charisma. It was as repulsive outside as he was inside, and now it was permanently drilled into his face so that he could never lure another innocent victim to their demise again.

Except for you, who would take the hand of a monster willingly if it meant finding your friend.

You glanced at the cameras. It wasn’t on Michael, and yet you still felt the guilt of betraying his desperate request. He wanted you safe, but you were useless on the cameras and you’d be a much better distraction for Springtrap in person.

When you turned back to Springtrap, a shiver of delight traveled your spine. You saw deep and rabid rage shaking from him. His eyes went cold and robotic just as quickly at your attention. You wondered if he thought we were looking for Michael to save you. Springtrap’s ability to disguise his emotions eerily resembled Michael’s, and that thought was almost enough to distract you from the pleasure his jealousy brought you.

You took Springtrap’s hand, and you swore his grin widened with a sinister triumph. His hand was cold and ragged, like an overused sponge, as it engulfed yours. His grip was unbreakable—just like his grip on your throat in the hall, or his grip on your hand against the vent, or his grip on your waist when you almost kissed him—you wouldn’t be able to pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t want to.

He turned from you, your hand still in his, and he began to march. You had seen his trudge many times, especially while watching Spring Bonnie chase the delusion of a child, but it was different walking with him. The way he moved was a strange mixture of organic and mechanical. His ears and fingers twitched with robotic malfunction and his legs were carried by heavy metal programming, but each step felt too purposeful and too fluid for mechanical processes. His gate was unnaturally human and was punctuated with an unusually practiced tenseness, as if every movement he made was painful but he anticipated the pain.

You hoped every step was pain. You hoped every time he stalked you through the halls, every time he was forced to march toward your toys, every time he raised his claws against you—he felt the metal rods pull against his tendons and tear into his flesh. That thought fed you.

You looked at the claw gripping your hand. Without thinking, you adjusted your grip, interlocking your fingers with his.

Springtrap stopped. His head turned toward you with an aching metal creak. You wouldn’t return his intense silver gaze; you couldn’t bring yourself to. You didn’t know why you interlocked your fingers with his. Maybe it was the thought of him in pain that gave you enough bliss, maybe it was the uncertainty of where he was taking you that frightened you, maybe you just wanted to hold his hand. Regardless of what it was, you were holding his hand and you weren’t letting go.

Even after stillness and silence, you refused to look at Springtrap, so he turned back forward and resumed his trudging. Metal and rotten claws dug sharply into your hand as he squeezed your grip, but you didn’t mind the pain. In fact, you preferred it. It was only once you felt the pain that you realized this was the same hand he interlocked with yours in the vent.

Finally, Springtrap stopped. You squinted in the darkness. You were in the room you first saw him, away from the main areas and barely monitored by the cameras. There was something in the darkness, angled away and out of view of the camera. You could make out vague shapes: a table and chairs set, party hats on every placemat, a gift box at the end of the table, and-

No. No no no. It can’t be- They can’t be-

You tried to pull away from Springtrap, but his grip on yours tightened. He threw you forward, and your palms slammed into the chair at the end of the table.

Your eyes met your best friend’s corpse at the other end of the table.

“No...” Your voice was barely a whisper.

No! They couldn’t have- They were supposed to live! You were supposed to find them! You-! You-!

You felt sick. You couldn’t look at them. There was so much dried blood. You couldn’t be here. You needed out. You needed to get out. You needed to get out.

You turned to run, but Springtrap grabbed you and turned you back around. You tried to resist him, digging your nails into his arms, but it did nothing. He forced your face forward, making you look at the corpse of your friend. Thick tears fell from your cheeks, coating his palm.

“Stop-” You cried, “Stop!”

How could he? How could you? You failed them. They called you and you failed them. If you had been there, if you had listened-

Everything was blurring. You couldn’t be there. You couldn’t stare at this mockery Springtrap made for you. You had to do anything—anything to get away.

“Please let me go!” You begged, sobbing into the claw forcing your face forward. “Please!”

Springtrap let you go, and you ran. You were dizzy. You were nauseous. You didn’t know where you were going, and it didn’t matter. You collapsed into the arcade machine—the same one you hid behind your first night there—and you sobbed.

They were gone. You knew they were gone, deep down you knew, but it hurt. It hurt so much. You shouldn’t have given yourself false hope. You shouldn’t have returned. You should’ve listened to Michael. It hurt. It felt like your flesh was ripped out of you. You couldn’t get the image of their corpse out of your mind. They were gone. They were gone they were gone they were gone they were gone they were-

You were forcefully turned around, your back slamming against the arcade screen. It should’ve hurt, but you were numb to it. Springtrap lifted your chin with a single claw. You didn’t want him to touch you. You didn’t want to play anymore. You didn’t want to hate him or want him or feel him or whatever. Your best friend was dead. Your best friend was dead.

You cried as your head dropped. He would probably kill you now. Just like them. It didn’t matter. You just wanted this to be over. You didn’t want to be here anymore. It didn’t matter.

Michael was still in the building. He needed you to distract Springtrap.

You didn’t care about killing Springtrap anymore. Any fiery hatred you had for him was drowned by your grief. But for Michael... You could distract him, for Michael.

You took Springtrap’s face in your hands and kissed him.

The kiss was cold and lifeless. Without your hatred to intoxicate you, kissing him was exactly what you imagined: kissing an moldy old puppet. You hadn’t noticed in your grief-induced trance, but Springtrap’s hands were around your throat. He was going to choke the life out of you. Maybe that would’ve been a better distraction than this. Your tears painted his muzzle as you pressed your body against his, your lips pushing against his blunt teeth and tattered fabric mouth.

Something starved snapped inside of Springtrap. He grabbed your waist and re-slammed you against the arcade cabinet. Your head hit the screen with enough force to see stars. Springtrap was moving against you, grasping at your sides, pressing against your face—he was shaking, his movements were erratic and clumsy. It was as if he needed to feel you, and when you couldn’t move fast enough, he’d slam you against the arcade cabinet again.

You couldn’t keep up with him. You were in the haze of your own crushing sorrow. You could barely feel him bite you when you didn’t move fast enough. You didn’t care that when you kissed him your own blood coated your lips. You just wanted this to be over. You wanted everything to be over. But you kept moving, routinely, for Michael.

Claws dug into your hips, dragging through skin and beading thick droplets of blood. You started to feel warm. It had nothing to do with what Springtrap was doing to you. You were numb emotionally, but physically you started to feel warm.

The temperature in the room was rising.

Springtrap didn’t notice. He was too engulfed in touching you. You would’ve reveled in that if you were still filled with hate, you thought detachedly. But you didn’t revel. You couldn’t. You could only feel your chest caving in, to the point that you couldn’t move against him anymore. You had to passively take everything he did to you, because any energy you had to return it was gone.

This Springtrap did notice. He slammed you against the arcade cabinet again, as if he could force life back into you. He was furious, livid, and thrashing. Silver eyes shook with rage and he dug his claws deeper in an attempt to pull a reaction out of you. You couldn’t react. You wondered if he would grow tired of trying to burn life into you and would just kill you. At least then it would’ve been over.

The room was getting hotter.

Then something surprised you, even in your grief-ridden state. Silver eyes that burned into you with violent anger were subdued with mechanical programming. Claws that dug into you pulled away from your lacerated flesh. Rabbit ears moved up robotically.

You blinked heavy and thick tears from your eyes as you looked up. It wasn’t Springtrap, it was Spring Bonnie looking at you. You don’t know why it was here. There was no noise to lure it away or no game to entice it. But something triggered in Spring Bonnie’s distinctly inhumane eyes: a cause and effect behavior that characterized programming. You knew it, because you had seen it every time Springtrap was forced to march away from you.

There were mechanical clicks in the rabbit animatronic as you looked down. Its voicebox fizzled to broken life, impossible to understand. Instead of stopping, like Springtrap had done when he tried to use his broken voicebox, Spring Bonnie didn’t.

Once it finished its incomprehensible sentence, it placed a hand over yours. You furrowed your brow. This wasn’t the faux, mocking comfort that you were used to with Springtrap. This wasn’t even genuine emotion. This was the systematic code of a program that went unused for too long. You realized it must’ve been written software for comforting a crying child; a statement of assurance and a gentle physical gesture. How strange, that Spring Bonnie was capable of executing that code after so many decades of disrepair.

If you had been any more present, the whiplash going from Springtrap’s violent kissing to being comforted by Spring Bonnie would’ve been enough to make you vomit.

You had hated Spring Bonnie with William in the past, but was that fair? If anything, Spring Bonnie had tempered William; making him go toward the sounds of children and playing games with you that kept you alive. Spring Bonnie had never been your enemy, just the face of him. It almost felt as though Spring Bonnie, while only a machine and casing, was yet another one of William’s victims. Its cheery features and bright visage were forced to commit terrible acts on the children it was supposed to delight. Though, of all of William’s victims, you supposed Spring Bonnie got the best revenge, even better than yours.

The room was no longer just hot, it was bright. Fire creeped into the room as a whisper at first, but now demanded your attention. Sweat dripped from your face, a strangely real sensation in your dissociated state.

Spring Bonnie still continued not to move, robotic eyes staring intently through you. You wondered if it asked you a question when trying to use its broken voicebox, and wouldn’t move until you answered it. Its hand was on yours, but it was gentle enough that you could shake it off. You didn’t shake it off.

Fire started to rage around you in a furious surge. The heat licked your skin like a broiling oven. You looked down. This was the end. This was your end. Your tears turned to steam when they hit the floor. There was a small relief that it was over, and some broken part of you was glad you were able to help, but... you were so sad. Your closest friend was gone, and now you would be too. It was fitting, but it hurt.

It hurt so much.

Spring Bonnie’s fingers twitched. He was coming back. A large pipe collapsed next to you both, the embers dancing like red fireflies between you two. The heat choked you, smothered you, and filled your lungs, blood, and bones. And soon, it would consume you. Both of you.

“I thought it would end this way,” You said to Spring Bonnie, and your voice was hoarse. You didn’t know if it could hear you over the raging fire. You didn’t know if it could even comprehend the depth of your words. But it felt nice to have someone there at your end. Someone that wasn’t the monster who killed your best friend.

In the haze of the flame and the pain, you heard your name being called. You slowly turned your head. Your vision was obscured by heat forging ripples in the hot air. Then, something slid across the floor and bumped your foot. It was your axe. You thought you left it at home. You looked up.

Through the fumes, there was Michael. He looked... so sad. His sullen eyes, deep as the void, were shaking with desperation. He needed you to live, you remembered. He needed you to live.

You hated seeing him sad.

You pulled away from Spring Bonnie—or Springtrap, you weren’t sure with the metal malfunctioning and twitching in the broil—and picked up the axe. It burned the skin of your palms holding it, but the pain was numb to you. You knew it was Springtrap when he grabbed your arm, violent and jerking.

You had been willing to die. You were ready to die. This deep into your despair, you wanted to die. But... for Michael, you’d be willing to live.

You swung the axe down with every last bit of strength you had.

CRACK!

Springtrap’s arm severed from his twitching body and collapsed to the floor. You didn’t waste a moment. You sprinted through the flames, leaping over the burning pipe and ducking under the embers.

Relief washed over Michael’s face and it was the only thing you could focus on. If you focused on anything else, you would fall and burn.

You grabbed his hand as you ran, dragging him into a sprint. Fazbear’s Fright crashed around you in brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows. The fire burned away the past five nights and you were outrunning it with Michael. Tears dripped down your face, but you hadn’t felt so free.

You two stumbled out of the building and into the parking lot and pouring rain. You collapsed into a coughing fit, not realizing how much the smoke suffocated you. The rain cooled your skin in a way that burned. Michael took a few steps back, and you saw the firelight reflected in his void eyes. You turned around.

Fazbear’s Fright was in flames. With Springtrap still inside. It was done. It was beautiful.

You looked at your wristwatch and you wailed.

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imashoe69420 · 2 years ago

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Rise baby! How you doin beautiful person?? Hope good and happy!

Could you (if you want of course) write about the Rise boys reacting to reader (female or neutral,your choise) who show up in the lair with their marks in her body? Like,she painted to look like the Leo red strips and the yellow ones or donnie squares. In Rapha's case probably would be some little spikes draw or sum.

This sounds like so much fun!! I’ll try my best :)

Rise!Bros X Reader Headcannons

Prompt: You draw their markings on yourself to see how they’d react.

Pronouns: Feminine but not mentioned

Relationships: Ambiguous

Requests are open!

================================

Leo

• He had been training when you entered the lair with his iconic red stripes drawn on your face and a sweater with his yellow markings to compliment.

• At first, he couldn’t find the words to express his flattery. He babbled a few “how”s and “why”s before chuckling awkwardly.

• “Do you like them?” You teased him.

• “‘Do I like them?’” The turtle wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off your feet, spinning you around. “I love them! I mean, if this is what I look like, I look amazing.”

• You two took several pictures together and he wouldn’t stop boasting to his brothers about how good you both looked.

• “Looks like you aren’t my only twin, Dee.” Leo offers his brother a sly smile.

• Donnie grimaced. “That would make us triplets, Leo.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raph

• Raph had been helping you bandage yourself up after a mission when you’d gotten the idea to wrap a spare red cloth about your elbows like he did while the turtle was getting more alcohol wipes.

• When he saw you, he was instantly flattered.

• “Aw, look at you. It’s like a mini-me.” He snicked.

• You flexed the way he often would. “Smashin’ like a boss!” You imitated his boisterous tone.

• He laughed again as he ruffled your hair and returned to tending to your wounds.

• Raph had expected you to take the bandannas off once he’d fixed you up, but you kept them on for the rest of the day.

• Every time you walked into the same room he was in, he would chuckle and you’d flex at him over and over until the red clad turtle begged you to stop in fear that he’d die from flattery and embarrassment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Donnie

• It was hard to catch the purple clad turtle away from his lab. And since no one was allowed in Donnie’s lab when he was working, you often didn’t see him.

• Eventually, you caught him in the kitchen making a cup of coffee. You quickly took action and drew his iconic symmetrical markings on your shoulders and thighs.

• When he saw you, he choked on his coffee, sputtering for a couple seconds.

• “Why… did you do that?” He raised an eyebrow after gathering himself.

• You shrugged. “I think they look nice.”

• Donnie’s face remained stoic, but he couldn’t hide the blush showing from underneath his mask.

• “Touching. But there can only be one Donatello.” He urged you to follow him. “Come, come. I’ll help you wash it off.”

• In the lab, Donnie pretends to forget about the markings, quickly busing himself with one of his inventions.

• You’d catch him periodically looking over his shoulder or gazing above his goggles at you.

• He helped you clean the markings off a few hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mikey

• Mikey had been skateboarding in the lair when you suddenly appeared before him with his orange spots drawn on your shoulders and upper thighs.

• Although he crashed soon after seeing you, he was thrilled.

• “No way! You look amazing!” He exclaimed. “I-I mean, I look the same—er, we both look amazing!”

• The two of you took so many pictures together that you ran out of storage on your phone.

#fanfic #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt fluff #rottmnt leo #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt raph #rottmnt reader insert #x reader #rise donnie x reader #rise leo #rise leo x reader #rise raph #rise raph x reader #rise mikey x reader #rottmnt oneshot #rottmnt headcanons

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randomperson0k · 9 months ago

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the evil thoughts got me fucked up and shit

OH forgot to mention: top 2 images are the final 'redesign', 2 images below are concept sketches i made for the 'redesigns'

tgs jekyll and hyde but they got evaporated by my evil headcanon beam and stitched back together by somebody who has no experience with using a needle and thread to the point where theyre more just like a seperate character

im sorry for my sins

PLEASE HEAR ME OUT BEFORE BITING A CHUNK OUT OF MY ARM. if anybody wants to read about my evil headcanon world all the stuff is below. wasnt really exaggerating when i said i ripped their character apart and stitched them back together though.

i do have a google doc full of everything i headcanon for tgs but some of that is embarrassing as hell so im just slapping the important stuff here

most of these 'headcanons' are here more because they make me happy than to actually make any sense. as a warning.

smokes fat blunt puffs it in your face anyways uh trans henry jekyll yeah (gets shot) ty person from the j&h community i was messaging that dragged me to the dark side and introduced me to the world of embracing my j&h trans headcanons. a true angel.

i really like more book inspired takes on j&h than the musical ones soo uhh.. yeah theyre the same person fully no j&h arguing thing. im soooorrrrryyy its just my preference for adaptations and i find it a lot more fun to play with story wise. also some other reasons but i wont get into those

polyamorous and bisexual (bi because... obvious reasons. poly because of that one couple they meet up with in the comic every now and then. my favourite ... ship (i think thats the right term?) in the comic. i love them.)

gas mask because it looks cool + chemical shenanigans ("oh but those didnt exist" shh. shhhhh.")

speaking of chemicals! they are much more into science. mostly does science-y stuff when theyre hyde though. they like to break into lodgers rooms and contribute to experiments.

facial hair. thats it. no further reasoning will be given

tried making jekyll in the concept redesign of him look older. failed SO bad im sorry i know its horrible.

hyde has pointy ears + pointer teeth (and green tongue because potion goop) + slit pupils because i am incapable of designing a human hyde. i have no idea why but i just cant.

earrings because 1: i have a bad habit of giving designs earrings and 2: i remember seeing a few headcanons of j&h with earrings and they were so tasty to look at so i had to do my own

bandage scarf thing from the beta tgs hyde design + newer tgs design that only shows up in the mind... world.... thing.

added the uhhh goggles from the old design too.

red and green hat because i couldnt decide if i wanted hyde to have the red hat from the old design of tgs hyde or the green hat from the current design. ripped it in half and chose both. great decision making i know

chunks of brown hair in hydes because why not. also red ring around one eye as like a weird variant of half heterchomia.

hyde has weird patches of green colored skin idk it just looked cool when i was fiddling with colors so i kept it

hyde has red scales in certain spots of the design. no further explanation

gave hyde black gloves to contrast jekylls white gloves + cmon. hyde probably touches the most gross revolting shit with the places they go to. they deserve some gloves.

changed their body type a litttttle bit just a smudge

i was going to give jekyll a cravat around the neck (a really bad designing habit of mine is to give characters cravats. not my fault they look so cool) both as a fancy thing + to hide lack of a adams apple buuttt the design felt way too clumped so im scrapping that. ignore the cravat in the drawing. grrr bARKBAKRABK

actually does sparkle visually/not just as a non-existent visual effect and people can actually see it. lanyon always swats them away because the sparkles get in his face.

hyde is more shorter than shown in the comic, more like book hydes height. like a foot or more shorter than jekyll. jekyll stays around the same height though. hydes probably the shortest one in the society.

permanent eyebags. does not sleep but cmon we all already knew that

hyde has a strong scottish accent instead of the other accent he fakes in the comic that i always forget the name of

has a cane like the og book. its a sword cane.... yeah i have a addiction, im sorry. (like half my own personal characters have sword canes)

i suck so bad at drawing shoes so hydes shoes look like ass but theyre supposed to be big boots since this guy probably walks through yucky mucky areas and stuff

i would totally write some oneshots or something like that of these guys going on adventures doing experiments and stuff yknow . (stuff like lodgers content and interactions, lanyon and hyde interactions because i enjoy secret identity and person said secret identity personal knows outside of their secret identity interactions, that one couple i talked about before interactions with jekyll/hyde and just in general random oneshots that make no sense) if i actually had any literacy skill

anyways im done my ramble. now you guys can shoot me

#the glass scientists #but like #i ruined it #sorry guys i sneezed on tgs j&h theyre trans and neurodivergent now #embracing my cringe #tgs hyde #tgs jekyll #but extremely torn apart #not literally torn apart i mean figuaritytuibjvbvkvj #posting this knowing its gonna get me on atleast 7 different peoples hitlists #ok im gonna go snore mimimi now #my tgs headcanon world

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hailcelestia · 1 year ago

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Hi I'm not sure if you'll get this request but if it's okay can I please ask for a yandere killua with a quiet darling that wears Jirai Kai fashion because of their abandonment issue's /mental health issues and because it's cute

It kind of makes me think of it as a coping mechanism

🖤 Thank you for the request! I apologize for the inactivity.

Finally got a break from school. I love Jirai Kei, so this was pretty fun.

🖤

I made his side of the post blue to contrast with you because I thought it was cute

While he is perceptive, I don’t think he would notice something so constant about you being an expression of your mental health.

Unless he saw the you incorporating the more injury-like aspects such as bandages (if excessive), or fake blood, he wouldn’t question it in the slightest. He knows better than to mistake it for real blood, but the bandages might catch his attention, mostly if they were new or looked dirtied.

He doesn’t suspect much of your self-expression until he sees something that could indicate or directly display your specific issues. Questionable drawings, a journal, or maybe a stuffed animal mimicking injuries you’ve had before.

Of he doesn’t go out of his way to search your room, but if he does end up finding something, that’s what would make him start second-guessing your overall behavior. You’ve always been like this, sure, but he started to question if your silence was caused by a lack of self-expression that you found elsewhere. That leads him to thoughts telling him he must’ve done something wrong for you to not mention your issues. This is the first time he will ever take your quiet demeanor personally.

If you’re a more open or direct person, you would easily give him the honest answer. However, that might make him even more suspicious, as he wouldn’t go out of his way to confront you about something that wasn’t really your fault.

He’d start blaming himself for any lack of communication on your part, he’d start to overanalyze what he previously perceived as just your regular behavior in his state of self-doubt.

Eventually he’d also start suspecting other people around you, even if they weren’t the cause of your issues. What if they were making it worse? Though even during spiral of paranoia, he’d prioritize being kind to you, whether or not he’s there for you is most important.

He will not make his issues yours, you might never know he was worried about you. That is, if his behavior didn’t already change by this point. You’d notice normal household items that could be used as sharp objects either stored neatly where you couldn’t see them or missing altogether. He’d hold onto you more frequently, and for once he’d actually be concerned if you saw something that could influence you.

He wouldn’t stop your self-expression of any kind, despite his tendencies, he does believe in your freedom. This is yours and he won’t ruin it. He’d just be even more involved in your life.

He loves you very much, please don’t forget that. ⚡️

#hxh x reader #yandere hxh headcannons #yandere hxh x reader #yandere hxh #yandere killua #yandere killua x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #yandere zoldyck #yandere hxh x reader imagines

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beefromanoff · 8 months ago

Text

Project Mockingbird Ch. 15

summary: the tension...is palpable. but maybe a breakthrough?

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: TWO IN ONE WEEK! I love seeing everyone's responses to this story! it's so fun to write, and it's definitely heating up. let me know what you think!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

_______________________________________

The sterile air of the training room hummed with a tension that felt almost palpable. Bucky stood, arms crossed, in front of a giant digital screen displaying a complex urban environment. Charlotte, her focus intense, studied the map that sprawled before her. It had only been two days since the attack on the compound, and though she’d been released to sleep in her own bed the first night, she wasn’t cleared for combat training until her broken ribs had healed and the stitches had been removed from her leg. She’d opted to return to lessons with Bucky almost immediately, despite their spat in the medical wing. Her desire to avoid being alone with her thoughts was stronger than her desire to avoid him.

He wore his normal daily attire: tactical pants and combat boots, a snug black shirt hugging his chest. Charlotte wore almost identical garb, with loose cargo pants the most comfortable to wear over the bandaging on her leg.

"Okay," Bucky began, his voice steady, "you have your objective. Hostage situation, downtown area, high civilian presence. Minimal casualties, maximum stealth. Your move."

Charlotte paused for a moment before pointing to a section of the map, tracing a potential entry route. "Rooftop entry here. We can use the neighboring building as a vantage point."

Bucky shook his head. "Too exposed. Snipers could easily pin you down. Next."

She bit her lip, her frustration growing, then suggested, "What about a distraction? Create a diversion on the opposite block to draw them out."

"And risk civilian casualties? Not an option. Think, Charlotte."

She took a deep breath, regrouping, before offering another handful of potential ways to diffuse the situation. With each suggestion shot down, Charlotte's strategies grew more audacious, her patience thinning. As her ideas got sloppier, Bucky’s feedback got more critical.

“You do that and you might as well just surrender now. They’d see you coming a mile away and have all their forces ready to ambush you. Are you prepared to send your whole team into a blatant trap? You’re not even thinking this through.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

Finally, she snapped. "What do you want from me, Bucky? To pull some genius plan out of thin air? You're not giving me anything to work with!"

Bucky, unyielding, leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. "I want you to think. Real situations won't give you 'anything to work with' either. You need to adapt, improvise, and most importantly, keep those hostages and your team safe."

Charlotte's eyes blazed. "You think I don't know that? You're acting like I'm some rookie who's never faced a real threat!"

“Last time I checked, you are a rookie. When was the last mission you came on?” Bucky's tone hardened. "I'm trying to prepare you for situations where there might not be a clear right answer. You think I don't see your potential? I do. But potential's not enough when the lives of people you care about are on the line. You need to be strategic, not just brave. If you run into an escalated situation with nothing but ‘kick ass’ in your arsenal, you’re going to get yourself killed."

The air between them crackled with tension as Charlotte threw her hands in the air. "Oh, so now you're the world’s leading expert on nonviolent negotiations? Last time I checked, only one of us has ‘World’s Deadliest’ on our resume and it isn’t me.” She didn’t shy away, getting even closer to his face. “Tell me how much strategy came into play then, Soldat."

The words hung heavy, a low blow that cut incredibly deep. Bucky's face tightened, a flicker of old pain in his eyes as he set his jaw. If looks could kill, she had a feeling she’d have already taken her last breath. Instead of the verbal lashing she expected, he took a slow breath before stepping back.

"That's not fair, Charlotte, and you know it," he replied, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through the tension.

Charlotte, her chest heaving with a mix of anger and regret, met his gaze. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.

"I—" She began, then stopped. What was she doing? This was Bucky, who'd risked everything, who'd been through hell and back. And here she was, using his past against him. "I'm sorry," she said, the words feeling inadequate. "That was out of line."

But Bucky's demeanor had already shifted. He looked at her, his gaze piercing, and for a moment, Charlotte thought she saw a flicker of something more—anger, betrayal, perhaps even hurt. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, shuttered behind the steel walls he was so adept at erecting.

"Yeah," Bucky finally said, his voice cold and distant. "It was."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked briskly away. The sound of his boots against the floor echoed in the large room, each step thundering through her. Charlotte watched him go, her heart sinking. She wanted to call out, to apologize again, to explain that her words had come from a place of frustration and fear, not malice. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled up with her pride and the lingering sting of their argument.

As the door slid shut behind him, leaving her alone in the silence of the training room, a mix of emotions roiled within her. Guilt for having crossed a line, anger at Bucky for being so impossibly difficult to work with, and beneath it all, a gnawing fear that she had just irreparably damaged whatever fragile connection they had been building.

She sank down onto a nearby bench, her injured leg protesting the sudden movement. The physical pain was nothing compared to the turmoil swirling inside her. She had wanted to prove herself, to show Bucky—and maybe, more importantly, herself—that she was capable, that she wasn't the weak link. Instead, she had let her temper get the best of her, lashing out in the worst possible way. The worst part? She really was trying. All of her suggestions, at least the early ones, were instinctive. Had she been in the heat of a mission, thinking on the spot, she would have acted on them. Acted on them and gotten people killed, as Bucky was so keen on reminding her. Goddamn him, this was difficult for her. She didn’t come from a military background before her capture by HYDRA, and she didn’t have years with Earth’s Mightiest Heroes honing her skills. She knew how to fight, how to survive, as she’d proven time and time again. Yet, all he seemed to be able to see was where she fell short. Brute strength and violence had gotten him through some of the worst horrors known to man, and here he was, telling her that wouldn’t be enough. Well, it would have to be. That was all she had.

The room felt oppressively large now, the echoes of their argument bouncing off the walls, a reminder of how quickly things had spiraled out of control, as they always seemed to do. Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

______

The night air was crisp, and the lake below was a reflection of the starlit sky as Charlotte stood alone on the balcony, wrapped in her thoughts and an oversized sweatshirt. The events of the day had left her raw, her emotions a tangle of frustration, guilt, and an indefinable ache that seemed to pulse with the night. She’d avoided the common room until she knew Bucky would be in training with the SHIELD agents, then shut herself in her room until after dinner, leaving only to get herself the plate of food she knew Natasha had left in the fridge for her. After another failed attempt to sleep, she’d awoken in a cold sweat and found her way out to the balcony.

Behind her, the sliding door whispered open, and she stiffened, half-expecting another attack. But when she whirled around, already setting her feet in a defensive posture, it was to find Bucky standing there with two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. The panic must have shown on her face because he raised the mugs candidly, showing the peace offering.

"Vanilla, extra cream," he said, extending one of the cups towards her. The gesture was so unexpected, so gentle after their harsh words earlier, that Charlotte found herself momentarily lost for words. She couldn’t remember ever telling him how she took her coffee, and yet here it was, smelling perfectly sweet and familiar.

She took the cup, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers. "Bucky, I—I need to apologize. For earlier. I was so out of line," she started, but Bucky shook his head, cutting her off.

"No," he said firmly, "I pushed you too hard. I haven't been fair to you, haven't given you the credit you deserve." He leaned on the balcony railing, his gaze distant, reflective. "You saved the compound, Charlotte. While we were off chasing ghosts, you...you showed you have what it takes. In the heat of the moment, you did what you had to, and you saved lives." He tilted his head to meet her eyes. “You risked your own. I just…don’t want you to have to do that again.”

Charlotte's facade crumbled, her carefully constructed walls falling away as tears welled in her eyes. "What's wrong?" Bucky asked, brows furrowing in concern.

"I just... I didn't feel prepared," she admitted, her voice trembling with emotion. "I was terrified the whole time, and I had no idea what I was doing. Everyone keeps calling me a hero, and I don’t…I’m not one.”

Bucky's head tilted as he took a step closer, his gaze searching hers. "You did great out there, Charlotte. You saved this whole place, and the lives of everyone in it."

Charlotte shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as the tears spilled over. "Did I? Or was it just dumb luck?"

Bucky reached out, gently cupping her cheek and wiping away her tears with his thumb. "Hey, don't say that. You were incredible. You held your own against HYDRA."

“I was scared shitless. I kept thinking how it was my fault. My fault they came here in the first place, and it would be my fault that the compound fell while you were gone. The whole time, I was just…making it up as I went.” She laughed coldly again, looking up to blink back tears. “Everyone keeps acting like I did something amazing, when we both know I only survived because of you. You’re the only one who sees through me, sees that I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing and I hate it. I wish you weren’t right, but you have been. Every single goddamn time.” She angrily wiped her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

Watching her, sensing she wasn’t done, Bucky’s hand rested reassuringly on her shoulder.

Charlotte looked down into her mug, seeing her reflection warped on the surface of the liquid. "I felt terrified," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Confused, lost. It all felt so... unnatural. I was second-guessing every decision, worried I was making the wrong move." She stared blankly ahead, eyes unseeing as her gaze looked somewhere past the lake. "I took it as a sign that I'd never make a good Avenger."

Bucky leaned back down over the railing, frowning at her. "Do you think you're the only one who feels that way? Even after hundreds of missions, there are times I'm still scared, still doubting." He paused, searching her face. "That fear, that uncertainty, it doesn't make you weak. It makes you human. And it's what makes you think, makes you evaluate and choose the best path forward, even when it's hard. It doesn’t mean you’re not cut out for this…it just means you actually give a shit about what you’re doing."

Charlotte met his gaze, and in that moment, a connection forged in the heat of conflict and cooled in the calm of understanding passed between them. The swift forgiveness of her incredibly cruel words. The raw, brutal honesty. The peace offering. The lack of judgment as she broke down in front of him. "I guess we're just trying to do our best, huh?" she said, a tentative, watery smile touching her lips.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, his voice soft but steady. "We're all just trying to do our best.”

Charlotte stared ahead, taking a slow sip of her coffee. Bucky studied her for a moment, his gaze searching. "Why are you up so late, Char?" he asked quietly.

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat for a moment before she spoke. "Nightmares," she admitted quietly. "I’ve always had them, but they've been worse since... since the attack. I see all the other outcomes, if I’d failed. Tonight I dreamt that they got me, took me back there. That’s the worst one. Sometimes I have to get outside, under the stars and fresh air, just to remind myself that I'm free."

Bucky's expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. "I know what you mean," he said, his voice low. "I still get them too. I imagine that I wake up from cryo, and this was all a dream, that I was never free. That’s my worst one.”

Their eyes met, a rare moment when both of their walls had come down. Their looks mirrored each other, vulnerable and bare, waiting for the other to make one wrong move and get shut back out. Neither of them spoke. Even speaking the contents of her nightmares aloud had made Charlotte’s hands tremble, and she took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the warm ceramic of her coffee cup. Breaking their gaze, she looked back out into the expansive night sky.

"Are you...scared? Now that they’re back?" she asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky didn't hesitate. "Shitless.”

Charlotte reached out, her hand finding his on the railing. She expected him to pull away, to retreat into himself as he so often did. But to her surprise, he didn't. Instead, he tightened his grip, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand.

They sat in silence as the night stretched on around them, finding solace in each other's presence. They had no answers, no reprieve in sleep, not even peace in their home, but they had a hand to hold onto, anchoring them in their fear. And with it, they found a flicker of hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

________

The Avengers' kitchen was a hive of activity, with pots clanging, eggs frying, and the aroma of breakfast filling the air. The team members moved about with practiced ease, each contributing to the morning chaos in their own way.

Sam, wielding a spatula like a pro, called out to Natasha, who was expertly flipping pancakes on the griddle. "Hey, Nat, you sure you didn't miss your calling as a short-order cook?" he teased, earning a laugh from the others.

“Maybe in the next life,” She winked, flipping another perfect pancake.

Steve couldn't resist chiming in from his post by the toaster. "I don't know, Sam. I think I’ve got her beat," he quipped, waving his burnt toast in the air. Charlotte wrinkled her nose as she walked past it, the bitter smell assaulting her.

“Good morning sunshine,” Sam called before resuming his whistling, clearly in a great mood. Charlotte wondered if he’d just gotten back from Calla’s apartment, and when they’d stop splitting their time now that the secret of their relationship was out. She made a note to ask her friend later.

Bucky, already stationed by the coffee pot, flashed a grin as Charlotte waltzed up. "Coffee?" he offered, holding out a mug with a knowing look.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Second coffee in less than twelve hours?”

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. "Don’t get used to it," he deadpanned.

“Don’t be such a good barista.” She teased, sipping from her mug before hopping onto the counter beside him.

Their exchange didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the team, who exchanged knowing glances and playful nudges as they observed the interaction.

Sam couldn't resist a quip. "Well, would you look at that? Bucky's finally learned how to share," he teased.

Natasha smirked, shooting Bucky a pointed look. "I guess miracles really do happen.”

Always ready to diffuse a situation, Steve called. "Hey, Charlotte, I meant to tell you," he began, catching her eye. "Tony and Pepper are coming back to the compound later this afternoon. Pepper wants to meet with you.”

Charlotte's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Why?" she asked.

Steve nodded, his expression reassuring. "Yep. She wants to talk about hosting a press conference. They think it's time to let the world know who you are.” He gave a reassuring smile. “Don’t be nervous, you’ll do great. We’ve all done them. Even Bucky.” He elbowed his friend as he sidled past, plopping down at the head of the table.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, still looking hesitant. “If you say so.”

“At least you'll look better on TV than Sam," Bucky said dryly, giving her a sidelong look.

Sam bristled at the jab, shooting Bucky a mock glare. "Hey, watch it, Barnes. I'll have you know I've got a face for the big screen," he retorted.

“Is that what they’ve been telling you?” He raised an eyebrow, dodging a swat from Sam’s spatula. Giggling, Charlotte felt slightly more at ease as her friends fell into chaos around her.

_________

Smoothing her shirt, Charlotte approached the sleek conference room with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. She wasn't sure what to expect from this meeting with Pepper Potts, Tony Stark's famed and formidable right-hand woman. Did she do something wrong? Was she in trouble? The thoughts raced through her mind as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Ms. Rossi, thank you for coming. Please, have a seat," Pepper greeted warmly, gesturing to a chair across from her. She was beautiful, looking equal parts polished and genuine.

Charlotte forced a smile and took a seat, trying to hide her unease. "My friends call me Charlotte, or at least, everyone here does.”

Pepper chuckled. "Alright, Charlotte. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you."

“Likewise.” She raised an eyebrow. “Although I’ll warn you, I’m not overly keen on the idea of a press conference…if that’s what this is about.”

Pepper chuckled again. "It is, but just know there’s no pressure. This is my professional recommendation, if you desire to be a more public part of the team. We’ve had quite a few incidents of public scrutiny over the past several years, and we’ve found that it makes everyone’s lives much easier if we stay ahead of it. And since you’re new here…"

Charlotte leaned back in her chair, adopting a more casual posture. "Then we should get ahead of it before the public can find something to scrutinize."

Pepper smiled. "Exactly."

“Well, let’s hear the game plan, then. You’re the expert.”

Pepper clasped her hands together on the table atop a stack of notes. "Well, with everything that's been happening lately, there's been quite a bit of interest in you."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "Me? What’s been happening lately?”

Pepper laughed softly. "Modesty, I see. But yes, your journey has captivated a lot of attention. You were all over the news with your stint in gymnastics, and then you even made a splash as a big fish in Las Vegas, all before disappearing. The internet is very difficult to slip anything past, and it didn’t take long for them to put things together. People love a mystery."

Charlotte tilted her head warily. "That’s one thing to call me."

Pepper smiled. "Indeed. But, we have an opportunity to share your story with the world. On your terms, the way you want it to be told. As much or as little as you’d like to give, anything would help prevent people from writing the narrative for you. Show them who you are before they can tell you."

Charlotte's skepticism showed on her face. "Ah, the old charm offensive, huh?"

Pepper nodded. "Something like that. It's a chance for people to get to know the real Charlotte, not just the headlines they’ll inevitably see if you join the Avengers Initiative."

“Who says I’m joining the Avengers?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m very good at my job.” Pepper winked. “And don't worry, you won't be alone. The team and I will be there to support you every step of the way. We’ll prepare you beforehand, be right there to step in if you get uncomfortable or don’t know how to answer something. You have my word.”

Charlotte gave a half smile. "Alright, I'll do it. But if I say something wildly inappropriate or incriminating, I can’t be held responsible.”

Pepper laughed. "Have you met Tony? I don’t think we’ve ever had a press conference without something wildly inappropriate or incriminating. You’ll do just fine.”

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