#I just want to collect things in one place

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP Fanfic: Family bonding.

The Waynes, for all of their proclamation of being some of the best detectives in the world, missed the signs that one of their own was dating. Usually, that wouldn't have been so shocking, except that the person who dating made a point to tell the group he was dating.

He also somehow always stayed friends with his exes. Which was a superpower of its own, if they are honest, because not a single one of them was bitter about the relationship ending with Dick.

Another thing unusual about Dick having a lover was that he never brought them around or was seen in public with them. If anything, it felt like Dick was trying to keep the relationship a secret.

Which went against everything he cared about when dating someone.

That's why Bruce fully believed that the secret was being enforced by his partner. So it was up to the Waynes to find out who this mysterious lover was and evaluate if they were good enough for Dick.

So on a Friday night, when Dick was allegedly tutoring underprivileged kids but was actually meeting up with his lover, the Waynes piled into a shabby-looking minivan and followed.

It was cramped. It was dented, and it had tinted windows. Most importantly, the minivan belonged to John Constantine, who hadn't used it in over twenty years after learning to portal from one place to another.

Dick would never realize it was them.

"I think this is a terrible idea," Jason grunts from the back seat. He crosses his arms, refusing to pick up the binoculars Tim had passed around earlier. "Dick is a fully grown man. He knows how to properly talk to his partner about what he wants in a relationship."

"Shut up, virgin," Damian hisses from the passenger seat. He won the right to sit there after breaking Steph's skin with his teeth. Bruce had allowed them to brawl for a few minutes until Damian emerged victorious. He also let her use his phone to schedule a rabies shot, keeping eye contact with Damian in the rearview mirror. "Just because you never had a girlfriend-"

"-or a boyfriend. You fail to seducing both." Cass cut in from around her binoculars. She fist-bumped Tim as Jason threw her an offended look.

"Thank you, Cassandra. Ultimately, you have no experience and thus can not comment on what to do in relationships." Damian concluded.

"Neither do you!"

"Yes, but I am a child." Damian waves his hand in Jason's general direction. "It's expected of me to not have any romantic experience. You, on the other hand, are a loser."

"Unless you are Asexual or Aromantic," Bruce pipes in, leaning a little against the steering wheel, attempting to get a better view of the apartment building that Dick had walked into. He wasn't going up to any of the actual units; he remained in the lobby. "Then you are the are not a loser. But rather the closest thing to godhood."

"B, we know gods."

"That's why I said closest."

Thankfully, the lobby had huge windows. Dick was speaking to the receptionist, leaning on the counter with a little smile, and the man was grinning back.

However, Dick hasn't touched his hair even once. This was not the secret lover. This was a fool falling for Dick's charms, probably someone involved with a crime.

Ugh, so dull.

Jason crossed his arms stubbornly "I can get a date. I'm just busy."

"Doing what? Reading romance novels?" Steph laughs. Jason opens his mouth to yell at her, but the receptionist hands Dick a golden key that the eldest Wayne pockets. He strides out of the apartment complex, hands in his pocket and whistling joyfully.

The Wayns put away their binoculars, and Bruce carefully peels out of their parking spot. They keep a nice distance away from Dick as he scrolls around the stores, stopping every once in a while to admire a display before he sits on a bench, hand still inside the pocket with the key.

A person wearing a trench coat and thick sunglasses approaches the bench, sitting on the far end of it and not looking in Dick's direction. The van collectively gasps.

Despite the disguise, they can tell just who it is.

"Tatior," Jason hisses between clenched teeth as Duke slides a sealed brown package across the bench towards Dick. In return, the eldest places the key on the bench, back top, and strives away from the bench. Duke waits a few minutes before he stands, walking in the opposite direction of Dick, hand sliding out to grab the key nearly undetectable.

"Why does Duke need an apartment key? And one that was snuck to him," Tim asks, watching the two siblings walk away from each other as though they were strangers. "What's he up to?"

" We only have time for one family mystery today," Bruce answers, turning the wheel to the left and continuing to follow Dick. "I have dinner plans with Selina later."

Duke pulls out a red wig and slides off his coat. Underneath is a punk rock outfit, complete with spikes, the coat he throws into the trash and clicks his boots. Four-inch heels pop out from his shoes, and Duke struts out of sight.

Tim leans against the windows, face and palms against the glass, eyes wide. "Wait. Wait. I have so many questions. B, turn around!"

"Dinner plans, Tim!"

"But B!"

Damian points. "Look! Richard is twirling his hair! The harlot draws near."

Steph laughs, patting Tim's back, who is straining hard to open the door. Thankfully, Bruce was quick enough to press the child lock. "I love the way you talk, Dames. It's like a period piece villain escaped the TV."

"Thank you, Brown. I enjoy your existence as well." Damian smiles, pressing the binoculars against his face. "Oh."

Bruce's grip on the wheel tightens. He had chosen to stay really far behind Dick once the man had walked into a narrow street, making it harder to blend into the traffic. "What is Damian?"

"You will not like it, Father," Damian says lowly. Behind him, Steph and Tim also reach for their spying gear. Jason and Cass were grimacing from the back seat, one taking pictures and the other working on getting the listening device's antenna out the crack of the window to aim at Dick.

Bruce's knuckles turn white as he steeled his resolve. "Go on. I can take it. What do you see?"

"It's Danny Fenton." Tim, Steph, and Damian all say at the same time. "The person he is dating in secret is Danny Fenton."

Bruce felt his heart stop. "The man who makes bread in the shape of hero logos?"

"Yeah. Otherwise known as "The Happy Baker," Steph says gravely. "The only Gothamite who is unreasonably happy without drugs or Joker venom."

"I once saw him making up songs while setting out a display of animal-shaped bread. He rhymed Gotham with awesome." Tim practically spits. "I should have known. All those animals were circus-themed. The elephants were incredibly tasty."

"You bought some!?"

"Excuse me for being hungry B!"

Damian slaps Bruce's arm aggressively. "Father! Father! Richard is getting on one knee."

"WHAT?!"

Jason pressed one hand over his headphones and attempted to listen closer before his eyes widened. "Wait! It's not a real marriage. Dick's investigating a possible trafficking ring, who been using Gotham baking supplies as a cover. He wants Danny to help him infiltrate the front by pretending to be baking husbands!"

"He just asked him to get married," Jason reported, much to the horror of the general van. Cass' camera starts clicking aggressively, either to capture the moment or have something to hang over Dick's head and force him to call off his marriage.

It's hard to tell with her perfectly impassive expression.

"Oh, thank the gods." Bruce breathes, only to have Steph ruin the moment.

"They're frenching right now."

"Oh, come on!"

"This is fun," Cass says over Bruce, swearing under his breath. "We should spy on each other as a group more often."

"Can we find out what Duke is up to next? The heels will haunt me until I know everything." Tim pipes up.

Damian, Tim, and Steph do not lower their binoculars even though they are close enough that they become a nuisance rather than helpful. He hasn't seen them so engaged in a family outing in a long time. "Yeah, we can spy on Duke next."

There is a moment of silence as Bruce considers the request before he merges lanes. In doing so, they drive by the kissing couple, too caught up in each other to notice the people staring at them through spying gear.

"You're the best adoptive dad ever!" Tim cheers as the rest of the kids let out whoops. Fenton's ears twitch, breaking the kiss with Dick to look right at them over their eldest shoulder.

Bruce slams a foot on the pedal the second Cass starts yelling, "Go go go! He saw us!". They peel away, screaming while Dick throws them a finger, and Fenton laughs silently.

The happy little freak.

[janeyseymour]

A Case of You

Summary: You and a certain redhead are deeply, and undeniably in love- although the two of you don't realize it. Cue Barbara and someone unexpected to fix that for you on Fourth of July.

WC: ~5.4k

(lemme know if you wanna hear my rendition of the song mentioned in this fic :))

It’s an odd situation that you’ve found yourself in. You’ve been living in Philadelphia for a while now. You somehow manage to scrounge up enough money after years of odd jobs, a few investments, and your day job of teaching at Abbott Elementary to finally be able to afford a house. It’s a beautiful little house- one that you’ve been able to turn into something of a quaint little cottage core house. Your backyard is filled with flowers and emulates what some might say is a house in the movies.

And because you finally have a house that you’re proud of, you invite your folks to the city of brotherly love for Fourth of July. There’s no place like the founding city of the country to be in for the day. From the red and blue dyed beers, to the fireworks that burst over the museum of art (and you’ll have a beautiful view of the display room your house), your new city is one of the best places to be.

Once your coworkers find out that you’ll have the view that they’ve always wanted, it’s decided that you’re going to be hosting the holiday not only for your family, but for your work family as well. So, it might be a little crowded, but… it’ll be fun. That’s what you tell yourself. It’ll be fine.

So here you are, on July 3rd, frantically cleaning your house. Not that it’s messy by any means, but you want to impress. Your house is cozy, and you want to give off the effect that it’s well lived in (and it is) while maintaining the sense that you’re clean and proud of the place that you inhabit. It’s not all that hard. There are pictures dressing the walls, beautiful paintings that you’ve done, little knick knacks that you’ve collected over the years. It all feels homey.

But still, you’re making sure that it’s presentable enough that you won’t get ridiculed and lectured by your mother and your coworkers won’t make fun of your home.

That is, until your cell phone rings. Expecting it to be your mother, letting you know that she and your father have landed, you answer the phone, “Hey Mom.”

“Not your mom,” a voice that you’ve been missing comes through the phone.

Your brow furrows as you pause your scrubbing the toilet as you glance at your phone. “Melissa?”

“Yeah, hun. Just callin’ to see if you needed any help with the party tomorrow,” the redhead tells you. “Any cleaning or want me to bring anything or something?”

You bite your lip. You wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but the person that you’re trying to impress besides your mother is Melissa- the woman that you’ve been hopelessly in love with since you started working at Abbott. “Uhm… I’m just cleaning the last few things now,” you tell her honestly. “But I really do appreciate the-”

“What’s ‘the last few things’? Because you’ve told me that you only have a few things to get done before you head home from work, and then I find out that you stayed at the school so long Mr. J handed you his keys to lock up the building for the night.”

You have to let out a laugh at that memory. You sigh softly as you decide to tell her the truth. “I still have to finish cleaning up the living room and the kitchen. But it really isn’t all that-”

“Jeet?” At your silence, the redhead continues. “I’m bringing over drinks and dinner and helping you clean. I’ll be over in an hour.”

“Melissa,” you try to protest.

She’s quick to cut your argument off though. “I’ll see you in an hour, hopefully less than that.” 

And then you hear the phone line disconnect, and you quietly groan to yourself as you look at your appearance. You’re in your cleaning clothes that are covered with bleach stains, your hair is tied up messily, and makeup hasn’t been applied since probably the last day of school. You look a mess. With a sigh, you head for your bedroom to at least put on your face- you want to look at least somewhat presentable.

The redheaded second grade teacher is knocking at your door less than an hour later.

“Hey,” you smile softly as you open the door. She’s standing there with a case of beer and a bag of what you can only assume is dinner. And somehow, even in just shorts and a tee shirt, she looks as incredible as ever. You find yourself blushing.

“Are you gonna let me in, or should we just have dinner outside?” Melissa quips.

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “No, no, come in. P-Please don’t mind the mess.”

“You’re cleaning, I’m ready to clean,” the woman laughs. “It’s all good. Let’s eat though first, yeah?”

Dinner is nice. The two of you chat about what you’ve been up to since school let out for the summer and potential plans for trips that either of you are looking to take. 

“I just don’t have all that many friends in the area,” you admit shyly. “So, most of my trips are solo.”

“You do have friends in the area,” Melissa refutes. “You got the Abbott group. You got me.” She nudges you with her elbow.

“I do,” you sigh softly. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”

“A lot of people are bothers to me,” the redhead laughs. Then she turns serious. “You ain’t one of ‘em.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “How kind of you to say.”

“If you ain’t doin’ nothin’, I spend a lot of time down at the shore in July,” Melissa offers casually.

You can’t help but smile. “That- that’d be nice, yeah.”

“Well,” your coworker sighs as she sets down her fork and begins to clean up. “This house won’t clean itself. So what do you want me to help you with?”

“You helped enough by making sure I ate dinner,” you tell her with earnest. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m helping, so just tell me what to do, or I’ll start snooping around for cleaning supplies anyway.”

The two of you clean the kitchen and the living room as music floats through your house from your record player.

“You got quite the selection,” Melissa tells you as she dusts the case that holds all of your music. “It ain’t half bad.”

You blush. Your music taste is all over the place.

“Mind if I pick an album to listen to next?”

“Of course not,” you call from the next room over. “Pick whatever.”

You expect her to pick a rock band, so when Joni Mitchell’s hauntingly beautiful voice begins to dance in the air, you’re a bit shocked.

Still, you let the music take over your heart and your soul, and when “A Case of You” starts, you can’t stop yourself from singing along softly. As you sing the words to yourself, you realize that you would drink a case of Melissa and still be on your feet. There’s something about her that is so intoxicating and yet always leaves you on your feet. 

Apparently though, your voice travels more than you were aware of. In the living room, Melissa can hear your gentle melody. Her cleaning pauses as she silently makes her way to where she can hear your voice better.

You’re standing there scrubbing the sink as you quietly echo Joni Mitchell’s vocals. It isn’t until the song is over that you hear a different voice.

“You sing real good,” the redhead compliments quietly.

Instinctively, you jump. You weren’t expecting her to hear you. And then your face flushes as you turn to face her. “I- uh…” You can’t get much out than that. You fumble for words for a few seconds before you just barely whisper out an apology.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Melissa smiles. “I think I like your version more.”

Your jaw practically drops at those words. “Oh, I- uh, thank you. But nobody can sing it like Joni.”

“I think you did it,” the redhead tells you, and you can tell in her voice that she truly means it. “I saw the guitar in your living room too. You play?”

You shrug. “Kind of.” You don’t want to admit that you’ve been playing for quite some time and oversell yourself- better to underestimate than over.

“Well, after we’re finished cleaning, I think I should get to hear it.”

You blush. “Maybe.”

By the time the two of you have the house straightened up to your liking, it’s quite late. If you’re being honest too, with the amount of alcohol that the two of you have consumed tonight, you aren’t necessarily comfortable with sending Melissa on her way.

“So, I believe you owe me a song,” your colleague teases you as she opens up another beer and settles on your couch.

“I was hoping you’d forget,” you laugh as you sit next to her.

“I’d never forget that voice,” the redhead smiles innocently. “C’mon, just one song?”

With a heavy sigh and a dramatic eye roll, you reach for the guitar that you keep in the corner of the room. You tune it up quickly, chuckling when you see the impressed look that Melissa wears on her face when you don’t actually need a tuner.

You strum the guitar a few times to ensure that it’s tuned to your liking before beginning to play.

Of course, you play your own rendition of “A Case of You” to prove to Melissa that you simply can’t do the song justice the way that Joni Mitchell does. Your approach doesn’t work. By the time you’re finished fingerpicking the last few notes, green eyes are wide and in shock.

“What?” you ask weakly. “I told you I only kind of play.”

“That’s a lot more than ‘kind of’,” the second grade teacher says. “You should be teaching Music, not fourth grade.”

You shake your head. “If I had to do it for a living, I’d hate it. But as a hobby, I do love it.”

“Play another for me,” Melissa requests as she leans back and takes another sip of her drink.

Somehow, the two of you end up going through another two drinks as you give the redhead her own personalized concert. Those sparkling green eyes stay mesmerized with your charming voice as you tell her the stories behind why you learned a few select songs, how you wrote a few, and the way that your melodies are nothing but soothing.

“You should be out in LA writing music,” Melissa tells you. “You’re… incredible.”

Your already red and warm cheeks from the alcohol only become more flushed at her kind words. You can only set the instrument down in response.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” you chuckle as you sip your beverage.

The redhead sighs softly. “I guess I should head out for the night.”

“Stay,” you tell her quickly- probably a bit too quickly. “You’ve had more than enough to drink, it’s late, and I don’t want you out there driving.”

The smirk that tugs at Melissa’s lips, along with that mischievous glint in her eyes gets you to look at her curiously.

“Somehow I knew that when I brought drinks over that would be your response, so I packed a bag,” the redhead reveals. “Let me just go grab my stuff from my car."

You can’t help but throw back your head with laughter. “Of course you thought that.”

“Was I wrong?” your coworker teases.

The two of you end up sharing a bed that night, and when your alarm goes off the next morning, despite the fact that it’s July, you find yourself cold. You turn over, only to discover that the redhead isn’t next to you.

But you can hear soft humming coming from downstairs, along with the record player. She’s downstairs. And then once you’ve woken up a bit more, you can smell the coffee and breakfast being made. You make your way downstairs and can’t stop yourself from practically drinking in the sight of Melissa Schemmenti cooking you breakfast.

She must hear your footsteps, because she turns on her heel and smiles at you. “Hope you don’t mind that I made breakfast.”

“I’ll never pass up a Schemmenti meal,” you tease. “You know that.”

It’s only a few minutes before the two of you are sitting at the kitchen table with plates in front of you.

“You know you cuddle in your sleep?” Melissa asks.

You turn a violent shade of red. “S-sorry.”

She shrugs. “Don’t be. It was nice.”

Your heart flutters. You never thought that the rough and tough Melissa Schemmenti would be one for cuddling, but here she is.

Breakfast is nice and warm, and you can’t help the blush in your cheeks as the two of you clean in a comfortable silence. More than once, the two of you accidentally brush hands together or her hand finds the small of your back to guide you out of her way.

The both of you get ready for this party, and by the time you’re making your way down the steps to change the record, your doorbell is ringing.

It’s your parents- of course they show up first. It’s not that you aren’t happy to see them, but you wish the house was a bit more full so that you wouldn’t get the third degree as soon as you see your mother.

“Is it Barb?” Melissa’s voice floats down the steps before she comes into sight. When she turns the corner, she sees your parents still standing on the front step. “Oh.”

“Who are you?” your mother eyes your coworker warily.

“Melissa,” the redhead states. “Just a coworker of Y/N’s.”

Your mother hums quietly before inviting herself in. Her eyes glance around your place with a slight frown. “This isn’t much.”

“It isn’t,” you mumble. “But I very much like where I live and how I live.”

“When you said you could afford to buy a house, I was expecting more.”

“Jane, lay off,” your father cuts in. “Y/N, your house is very… you. I like it.”

You’re not quite sure what to say to that. So you simply smile at your father as a silent ‘thank you’ and direct the conversation elsewhere, praying that your coworkers show soon. “Did you want anything to drink? I have wine in the fridge, or I just have to set out the ice for the coo- shoot.”

“What is it?” Melissa asks, brows furrowed with concern.

“I forgot to buy ice yesterday.”

“Oh,” the redhead rolls her eyes as her arm wraps around your waist. “I can just run to the corner store real quick and grab some.”

Your eyes soften significantly as Melissa Schemmenti saves the day. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, hun.” She grabs her purse from the kitchen table and heads out with a soft hum, only to pop back in. “You need anything else? Or… do you guys want anything?” she directs that last part at your parents.

All three of you shake your heads, so she smiles that Philly smile of hers and heads out.  You momentarily forget that your parents are present, and you can’t help the shy smile and blush that creeps into your cheeks as you watch her figure leave.

“Your little friend is very pretty,” your mother states once the door is shut.

You turn to her sharply. “Oh?”

“She’s very pretty,” your mom says again.

“Oh, good. I thought it was just me,” you mutter.

“No,” your father cuts in this time. “It’s a fact. You should probably get a move on if you want to do something about that. A girl that pretty won’t be single for long.”

“I was planning on pining from afar for anywhere from two to ten years and seeing where that got me. Probably nowhere, but I won’t know until I try,” you quip cheekily. “

"Your mother and I both saw the way she looks at you- she definitely has a thing for you too,” your father tells you. “Just… think on it. Yeah?”

You roll your eyes dramatically, and sigh. “Just… don’t go doing your meddling, please?”

“I won’t,” your dad raises his hands in mock surrender. Your mother, on the other hand though, stays quietly.

Melissa makes her way into the house again not twenty minutes later, a smile dancing on her lips. “The ice is in the cooler, along with the drinks.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her warmly. You then note that she has three drinks in her hand: a beer for her and your father, and a seltzer for you. She passes them out silently before cracking hers open and taking a sip.

She then leans in and wraps an arm around your waist again before mumbling into your ear, “If my mother said that to me about a house this beautiful, I would’ve lit the trash can on fire.”

The giggle that erupts from your soul is hard to contain. Thankfully, you don’t have a chance to say anything else because your doorbell rings. And when the two of you go to open the door, you’re more than pleased to see the entirety of the Abbott clan. Anything to get your mother’s attention off of you.

As it turns out, your mother and Barbara seem to get along swimmingly. What surprises you is how much your mother likes Janine and Ava as well. Your father quite enjoys Mr. Johnson’s tales, is able to talk sports with Gregory, and even falls for Jacob’s awkward charm. And Melissa is able to meander through your backyard with you as you ensure that nothing gets too out of hand.

When you’re chatting with your father and Mr. Johnson, your mother glances over at you. Melissa has an arm slung around your shoulder, and you don’t seem to mind it one bit.

“Tell me,” your mother implores Barbara. “Melissa.”

“What about her, dear?”

“Her and my daughter.”

“Oh,” the kindergarten teacher chuckles as she sips on her wine. “Those two have been pining for each other for years. If you ask me, it’s just a matter of time before they finally pull their heads out of their asses and get together.”

Your mother sighs a breath of relief. “I’m glad I’m not the only one to notice.”

“Oh, you aren’t, Jane,” Barb laughs. “Don’t tell either of them, but we have a bet on how long it’ll take them to finally start dating. I said by the end of July. Everyone else still thinks they’ll be dancing around it come the beginning of the school year.”

“While I don’t approve of a lot of the choices my daughter has made,” your mother sighs. “Including moving away from us, I do want her to be happy. Do you think she’ll be happy with Melissa?”

“That daughter of yours is never happier than when she’s with Melissa,” Barbara states simply. “And just so you’re aware: your daughter has done a whole lot of good while she’s been out here with us. We are very proud of her, and you should be too. I know she sometimes feels that she isn’t good enough for you.”

Your mother bites her lip, a bit ashamed at how she knows she’s made you feel- both today and in the past. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll mend that.”

“As you should.”

“But for now… my husband promised he wouldn’t meddle in her love life, but I made no such promise. Should we win that bet for you?”

The kindergarten teacher is clearly intrigued as she raises a brow. “And how do you propose we would do that?”

Their plan, as it turns out, is not the most intricate. It’s to simply get the two of you hammered while your mother quietly feeds you comments about how you’re already practically in a relationship with the redhead. Meanwhile, Barbara will plant that same seed in Melissa’s head before daring her to just make a move- Melissa is never one to turn down a dare while intoxicated; that’s how she ended up doing cartwheels on South Street one night after a particularly wild night at Oscar’s.

“You know she spent the night last night?” Barbara asks your mother. “Came over to help clean and ended up just staying.”

Your mother’s perfectly sculpted brow lifts. “I just assumed she was the first one here.”

“Nope,” your mother smirks. “I was supposed to pick her up so all of us Abbott people could come together.”

“Interesting… if you’ll excuse me, I believe I have some snooping to do.” With that, your mother rises from her seat and enters your house. Immediately, her eyes turn to the steps where your room and main bathroom are. She ascends up the steps. Melissa’s things, at least that’s what she assumes, are still scattered around in the bathroom. And… bingo: two toothbrushes. Then her eyes wander into the bedroom. Your mother knows that you don’t typically make the bed, but she is surprised to see that both sides of the bed are disheveled- bodies had clearly been on both sides.

Meanwhile, outside, Barbara makes her way over to you and Melissa.

“Where’d my mom go?” you ask.

“Bathroom,” Barb tells you gently. Her eyes don’t miss the fact that the redhead’s arm is still around you. “You two seem to be having a nice time.”

Green eyes glare at her work best friend, but you just smile and lean into Melissa. That glare washes right off of her face.

“It’s nice,” you smile. God, that smile of yours has the second grade teacher wrapped around your finger. “I’m almost done my drink though.”

That’s all the kindergarten teacher needs to hear to begin her side of the plan. “Let me get you both drinks.”

“Oh, I can get them for us,” Melissa tells your coworker. Her hand slips away from your back, and it’s odd that you feel the slightest bit cold without her holding you.

The kindergarten teacher watches the way that your eyes linger on Melissa’s figure. And when she’s bringing back the drinks, you simply attach yourself to her hip again.

“Cheers,” Barb smiles as she lifts her glass in the air. The three of you clink, and then drink. She makes a mental note to pace herself while raising her glass in your direction often. Melissa and you never turn down a toasted drink. 

When Barbara sees your mother make her way back out, she moseys over. “What did you find?”

“Those two are so in a relationship, even if they aren’t admitting it. They shared a bed and everything!”

“Well, I’ve already initiated them getting drunk,” Barb informs your mom.

“Perfect,” your mother grins. Her eyes glance in the direction that you and your coworker are in. “Those two are idiots if they don’t think they’re in love. Well, time to go start.”

When you see your mother walking in your direction, you simply tap your can with Melissa’s before downing a good portion of it. The redhead follows your actions, although her eyes do widen when she sees how much and how quickly you’re drinking.

“My dear,” your mother starts. “Can I have a word with you?”

With a soft sigh, you nod and allow her to pull you in another direction. 

“What, Mom?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” your mother instructs strictly. Then she softens significantly, and you feel like you’re a young child again. She used to look at you with so much love. “I just… wanted to apologize.”

“For?” you raise a brow.

“The things I’ve said about your career choices and the likes,” your mother sighs sheepishly. “I- I am very proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You frankly aren’t sure what you’re supposed to say to that, so you just give a sad smile. “Thank you for saying that, Mom.”

“I know that you probably don’t believe me, but I am very proud of you. You’re shaping the future generations, and you’ve been able to make it out here on your own. You seem to have a lovely work life, and… you’re a hell of a lot happier here than you were back home.”

“I am,” you admit. “I love it here, Ma.”

“That’s all I could ever want in this life for you- happiness,” your mom smiles as she squeezes your hand. “My sunshine deserves sunshine.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“I think I know how you could be happier though.”

“I’m not moving back-”

“I’m not asking you to move back home,” your mother rolls her eyes. “I’m asking you to pull your head out of your ass and get with that little friend of yours already.”

“I thought I told you and Dad not to meddle in my life love,” you smirk.

Your mother replicates your facial expression- one of mischief. “I never agreed to that, dear. But I mean, come on. It’s quite clear to me that you have feelings for her.”

“So what if I do?”

“It’s also quite obvious to me that she reciprocates those feelings for you,” your mother states. “I mean, the two of you act as though you’re already together as it is.”

“We do not,” you blush.

“She stayed at your house last night, the two of you shared a bed, her toothbrush is right next to yours in the holder.”

“Friends stay over at each other’s houses sometimes,” you counter.

“She’s been hanging off of you all day,” your mother points out. “She calls you hun.”

“She calls every one ‘hun’.”

“Her eyes never leave you, and your eyes never leave her. Just admit that you’re in love with her. And she’s in love with you.”

“She is not,” you roll your eyes.

“All I’m saying is: the two of you act like you’re in a relationship already. Just… think about your happiness for your ol’ Ma. I do want grandkids at some point, you know.”

Barbara grabs her work wife by the arm. “Cheers!”

The redhead only throws back her head to laugh before taking a long swig.

“So when are you gonna just tell that girl that you’re in love with her?” the kindergarten teacher probes.

“Never,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “I plan on pining from afar for… forever. There ain’t no way someone like that would ever want me.”

“I see the way she looks at you, Melissa,” Barbara reminds her friend. “She loves you, and the two of you act like you’re in a relationship as it is.”

“No we don’t.” The pointed look from her coworker has the redhead blushing. “Okay, maybe we do. But there’s a difference between acting like it, and actually being in a relationship.”

“I think you should go for it,” Barb says. “Tonight.”

“What?” Green eyes go wide.

“Why not? Nothing is more romantic than fireworks. And, the two of you are drunk, and if it doesn’t feel right you can always blame it on the booze.”

The second grade teacher bites her lip. “I don’t know.”

“Just… think about it.”

No sooner is the redhead back at your side, holding you by the hip again. And while she seems like everything is wonderful and there is nothing but pleasant thoughts going on in her head, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Her mind is swirling with what it would be like to kiss you, to be in a relationship with you.

Maybe, Melissa thinks to herself. 

Well, that maybe turns into an Absolutely I will, when Barbara dares her a few hours later to do something about the mutual pining that is going on between the two of you.

“I dare you to kiss her while the fireworks are going on,” the kindergarten teacher smirks, pretty intoxicated herself. 

“I will,” the redhead chuckles, never one to turn down a dare.

By the time the fireworks start going off, everyone is either on a blanket that they had brought or in a chair that lived at your house. Of course, you’re the last to search a seat due to your expert hosting skills, and you find yourself coming up with nothing.

“Come here,” Melissa rolls her eyes. As if you would find anywhere else to be but near the redhead. You stand beside her, ready to take in the spectacle that is about to light up the sky. And in a daring move, the second grade teacher easily tugs you into her lap. She her arms around your midsection and rests her chin on your back.

Your mother nudges Barbara with her elbow, grinning from ear to ear. “You think it’s gonna happen?”

“I dared Melissa to,” the kindergarten teacher mutters back. “So, yeah.” 

“Perfect.”

As the first fireworks go off, you can feel the excitement practically radiating off of Melissa. It’s adorable when you turn and see how awestruck she is by the lights in the sky. Your coworkers are entirely entranced by the display, and when it’s clear that the finale is about to take place, you expect to see those green eyes focused on the dark night above you. But instead, the redhead is looking directly at you.

“Lis,” you chuckle, and you try to turn her head so she can look up at the last of the fireworks. She doesn’t seem to care about the spectacle. No, her eyes are trained on you. “You’re gonna miss the finale.”

“I don’t care,” the redhead breathes.

“But they’re beautiful,” you whisper.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Melissa tells you quietly. And then her lips meet yours. And… the fireworks in the sky are no comparison to the fireworks in your heart.

Everyone that had gathered at your house is mesmerized by the display in the sky- all except your mother and Barbara. Silently, they high five before turning their eyes back to the finale of the fireworks.

Once the fireworks are over, it isn’t long before your friends and family begin to file out of your house.

“Don’t think that we aren’t talking about that kiss that I saw,” your mother whispers to you as she hugs you goodbye. Immediately, your cheeks flush red. But you can’t say anything, because she’s off of you, and giving Melissa a hug goodbye.

Barbara, on the other hand, doesn’t give any inclination that she knows what had taken place just a few short minutes ago. She heads out with a hug and a kiss to your cheek, thanking you for your wonderful hospitality.

And then you and the redhead are alone. And before you know it, her lips are back on yours.

Fast forward to the end of Summer, and Melissa has been your girlfriend since the Fourth. It’s been a wonderful summer spent down at the beach with her, and all too soon you’re walking back into the halls of Abbott.

Barbara doesn’t say anything when she sees the two of you walk in together or the way that Melissa instinctively prepares your morning beverage for you. No. She chooses to wait until the last of your Abbott family has made their way into the staff lounge.

“So,” the kindergarten teacher claps her hands together with a bright grin on her face. “Where’s my money?”

“Your money?” your girlfriend raises a brow.

“My money,” Barbara states with a smile.

“For what?” Jacob asks.

“The bet.”

“No one won,” Ava rolls her eyes. “Not yet at least. I still got my bet going.”

“That’s where you would be wrong,” the kindergarten teacher reveals. “Y/N and Melissa got together on Fourth of July.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “What?”

“You heard what I said, baby.”

“H-how?”

“While everyone else was watching the fireworks, I saw what I needed to see. So, just confirm it so I can win my three-hundred dollars.”

“Three hundred dollars?” Melissa asks incredulously. At her best friend’s nod, the redhead just continues to flounder for words.

“I ain’t payin’ until one of them confirms.”

You sheepishly smile as you raise the two of your hands from under the table, intertwined.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits @schmentisgf

[blond3ang3l]

🍰 Stalker eren! And his pretty best friend 🍰

Dark content!- stalking, very perverted Ren, reader being recorded without knowing

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰

Eren loved you truly more than you could ever imagine. He always had feelings for you. How could he not? You were the cutest ditzy person he had ever met. But that was the kind of thing he needed to keep him grounded. Someone so bubbly that brought joy to his very angry life.

He hadn't meant to start being obsessed with you honestly! He didn't even know how it happened, he just found himself constantly staring at you whenever you two hung out. And staring turned to touching. Touching turned to constantly watching all of your social media. That was the least concerning thing though.

Unbeknownst to you your "best friend" just so happened to love breaking into your room. He always tried to leave things the way they were, just wanting to be there because it smelled so much of you but he couldn't help himself! His hands always found their way to your drawer or dirty clothes. Taking the first pair of underwear he could find. He would bring them to his face as he took in the smell. He was practically rock hard just off of that alone. His long hair fell over his face as he peeled his sweatpants down as well as his boxers freeing his heavy dick. A hiss left his lips as he wrapped the underwear around his tip, collecting all the precum that already started to leak.

The only thing that filled the room was the sound of his grunts and the whispers of your name. Your underwear practically soaked with how much his dick was leaking. His mind painted a picture of you, pretending it was your pretty hand wrapped around his dick instead of his own. A pathetic almost whimper fell from him at the thought. His hips bucked into his hand harshly, eyes rolling back as he finally came. It wasn't the first time he done this, definitely wouldn't be the last either.

You had noticed some of your stuff missing and confined in him that you were a little scared. And what did Ren do? Well get you a gift of course! He wanted his best friend to always be happy. The cutest white bunny plushie was what he got you. Ren couldn't help himself though. He hadn't told you but the plushie had his favorite way to stalk you yet. A little camera inside. Whenever he came over he placed it right so it'd face your bed. Catching every single moment you spent on there. When you'd sleep, when you'd wake up, and more importantly whenever you'd fuck yourself dumb.

Eren was just getting home from doing yet another tattoo when he decided to check the cameras and to his surprise he had perfect timing. He watched as you pushed back on to the pink dildo you had "jokingly" bought when you two hung out last time and went into Spencer's. Tears falling down your cheeks as you felt an ache of need. It wasn't the same as if someone else was fucking you. No one's hands touching you or whispering dirty words in your ear, giving you praises for how you were riding the you. Eren could think of many at that moment. He was mesmerized by what he was seeing.

The way your hands ran up your body as if you were trying to mimic what you wanted someone to do to you. Groping your chest, slapping your ass, wrapping your hand around your throat, he wanted to do all of the shit you were doing to yourself. Watching your ass bounce, seeing you grip on to your sheets for support, the way you threw your head back whenever you felt the toy graze that one spot that no man ever seemed to hit. Maybe eren would have to change some shit around next time he slept over...

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰

This was way different than what I planned. Should this be a series?

@merakidoll for you girly!

[makuyi13]

Lucy, X-Men is because of me? Wow...

Batman TAS, Wednesday, Heartstopper (I don't have Netflix)

All my socks look the same

I have smoothie trauma. My mum, convinced that me and brother were slow eater sat anything but smoothies, fed us blended monstrosities for five years in elementary school. I can no longer drink 99.99% of smoothies, but the 0.01% I can drink are pretty good.

It depends on the occasion and my gender.

Soft-boiled with salt.

Anything close by that fits between pages. Or a dog-ear.

Black, because I own many, many of the free black T-shirt that my youth ensemble gives out every year. After that, blue.

I used to collect Japanese erasers. I still have them.

I'm very bad at smelling anything but peanuts (allergic). I like the sound of the ocean.

I love it when they give us a bunch of book quotes to pick from.

I wear glasses half the time.

He never says he'll do something if he doesn't want to do it. Only if he wants to. And if he wants to, he'll do it if it kills him. This is my favourite thing about him, but also my least favourite.

Pencil

Home for me isn't as much a place as it is a person, a feeling, an action, a food, a moment, a situation. It's when I'm by people I love and I can feel okay with myself being with them for once and we're just vibing.

I have a good few houseplants. None have names.

I have an oversized beige hoodie that says "Lothlórien: Home of Lembas Bread" with the Leaf of Lórien on it. It's really comfy, and I got it printed in Vietnam. I've had it for several years now.

Some rings

I wouldn't want to have watched anything from history. Sorry.

Harry Potter

Geometry

I love those classical sculptures of women. I just love them.

Iced

It's either another '80s song or some really sad song about betrayal and stuff.

I don't know.

I have my ears pierced once. I would like a second piercing right next to it. As for tattoos, none, thanks. The most I'll go is a temporary finger tattoo.

I can't cook for shit but I can bake muffins. And earl grey lavender cookies with lemon glaze.

No. They're all on my violin case.

Yes.

Yes. I don't remember what my favourite set was.

It's organised in some areas. On the left we have all the jeans, pants, and in drawers, underwear and socks. In the center, it's a free-for-all. On the right, we have shirts and a few sweaters and hoodies. We are Asian, so shoes go by the door, not in the closet.

"Please Don't Say You Love Me" by Gabrielle Aplin

Blue. A cosmic blue, probably.

Headphones.

Yes.

His name is Peter, and he is a tan dog with dark brown ears.

I'm decent at the what-is-it-called-the-little-soccer-guys-in-a-box?

I don't care.

Hello? Everything I watch and listen to is alien to my friends.

My friend vented to me.

Citrus.

Maple.

Yes. I don't have a favourite.

On

I hand people the exact amount of money. Occasionally, I don't, and I just shove it back in my wallet.

It fluctuates from being the most beautiful handwriting and being horrendous.

Nothing that comes to mind.

Yes, unless I'm in the middle of something.

They're all the same.

Pretend it's not raining.

Dark, silent, in my bed, kind of cool, but not hot; two blankets, specifically one thin, one thick. The thin one under the thick one.

ASK ME ABOUT ANY OF THIS

50 Questions Just Because

What are three shows in your watchlist that you’ve been meaning to get to?

Describe your favorite pair of socks

Do you like smoothies?

What do you wear when you have to dress nicely?

How do you like your eggs?

What do you use to keep your place when you’re reading a book?

What color dominates your closet?

Do you collect anything? If so, what?

What sounds or scents calm you down?

What’s your favorite kind of uquiz question? (Lyric, color, aesthetic, etc)

Do you wear glasses or contacts?

What’s something about your best friend that you love?

Do you prefer to write in pen or pencil?

What are some places where you feel most at home?

Do you have any houseplants? Do any of them have names?

Describe your favorite hoodie. How long have you had it? What makes it unique?

What’s the last thing you ordered online?

What’s one historical event that you would have liked to have witnessed?

What’s your favorite Halloween costume from when you were a kid?

What kind of math are you best at?

What’s your favorite period in art history, your favorite famous work and/or your favorite style of art? If you don’t know any that’s ok!

Iced or hot drinks?

Which songs do you like to sing in the shower?

Are you a good driver?

Do you have any piercings or tattoos? Are there any that you want?

Can you cook or bake? If so, what are some of your specialties?

Do you have any keychains on your home or car keys? Describe them!

Can you swim very well? Do you like swimming?

Did you play with Legos as a kid? What was your favorite set?

Is your closet organized? If so, how?

What’s the last music video you watched?

If you could dye your hair any color, regardless of how you think it would look, what color would you choose?

Headphones or earbuds?

Can you read analog clocks?

Describe your favorite stuffed animal, either now or from when you were a kid.

What’s an arcade or table game (air hockey, ping pong, etc) that you’re really good at?

Do you mind if others are in the kitchen when you’re cooking or baking?

What’s one show you watch or musician you listen to that your friends know nothing about?

What was the best part of your day today?

What’s your favorite kind of tree?

What scent is your deodorant?

Do you have any games on your phone? If so, which one(s) is/are your favorite?

Do you shower with the lights on or off?

What do you do with spare change?

Do you have good handwriting?

What’s the last thing a friend recommended to you that you looked into and actually liked?

Do you like to go on walks?

Do you have a favorite plate or bowl?

What’s your favorite thing to do when it’s raining?

Describe your perfect sleeping conditions

[luvfae]

INFINITY LOOP

summary: you’re in a toxic relationship with thanos but you can’t get enough.

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: toxic relationship, mention of cheating, swearing, smut, p in v, absolutely no foreplay or aftercare involved, unprotected sex (wrap it, don’t be a dummy), choking

The door slammed shut with the force of a collapsing star. Again.

You didn’t flinch. You were used to it by now—the way Thanos had a flair for dramatic exits. You stared at the dent his last punch had left in the drywall. Add it to the collection.

Five minutes. That’s how long it usually took.

You lit a cigarette. The ritual helped. Inhale. Exhale. Pretend you weren’t waiting to hear his footsteps stomping back up the stairs like some vengeful god who’d just realized he left his phone behind.

Seven minutes.

Okay, maybe he was serious this time.

The thing with Thanos was—he was always serious. Until he wasn’t. His promises shattered faster than the cheap glass ashtrays you kept buying because he’d break them during your arguments. And you’d break his heart right back, not that either of you had one worth saving.

Your phone buzzed. Incoming call: Thanos.

You smirked, didn’t answer. Let him sweat. Three more missed calls, and then:

“Open the door.”

No apology. Not even a please.

You opened the door anyway.

There he was—stormy eyes, bruised knuckles, breath heavy like he’d been running. Maybe from whoever he’d been with before he came crawling back to you. Again. His jaw clenched, like he had something to say, like this time would be different.

It wasn’t.

You grabbed him by the collar, pulling him inside. His lips crashed against yours like you were the last planet left to conquer. His hands roamed like they forgot all the reasons he was supposed to hate you, tracing old scars—some emotional, some not. You bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. He liked that.

“I fucking hate you,” Thanos growled, his breath hot against your lips.

You smirked, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pushing him hard until his back hit the wall with a satisfying thud. “Yeah, right,” you whispered, eyes dark with defiance. “You fucking love me.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he might say something—something real. But words were never your language. Violence was. Lust was. The sharp edges of affection carved into bruises and bite marks.

Thanos grabbed you like he was trying to prove something, hands rough, unforgiving. He spun you around, shoving you down onto the couch, tugging at your pants with a growl that rumbled from deep in his chest. No patience. No pretense. Just desperation.

Good. You liked it desperate.

His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you in place as he drove into you without warning. The sharp stretch stole a gasp from your throat, head falling back against the cushions, eyes fluttering shut.

But Thanos wasn’t about to let you escape into the pleasure. No, he wanted you here, wanted you present—wanted to see every flicker of satisfaction and spite warring on your face. His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to cut off air, just enough to remind you who was in control.

“You’re such a fucking bitch,” he hissed, his other hand slipping between your thighs, fingers ruthless against your clit.

You laughed, breathless, the sound sharp and bitter. “Shut up,” you spat, hips bucking into his touch. “Make me come and shut the fuck up.”

His eyes darkened, something savage flickering behind them. “Whore,” he snarled, thrusting harder, each movement punctuated by the venom in his voice.

“Cheater,” you shot back, nails raking down his forearm, leaving angry red trails in your wake.

His hips stuttered for a second—just a second—because you both knew it was true. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. This was how you punished each other, how you forgave each other, all in the same breathless, broken rhythm.

“Like you can talk,” he muttered, his pace brutal now, like he was trying to erase every memory of someone else’s hands on your skin. His face hovered close to yours, breath ragged. “Ain’t no pussy as good as this one, though.”

Your smile was feral, a wicked curl of lips that tasted like victory. “No dick compares to yours,” you whispered, voice trembling with the edge of an orgasm. “But you always fuck me better after I’ve been with someone else.”

That hurt him.

His hand clamped over your mouth, silencing your smug words, and his hips snapped forward with reckless abandon. You moaned against his palm, the sound muffled but desperate, your climax hitting you like a freight train—sharp, all-consuming, leaving you breathless and trembling.

The way your body clenched around him dragged him over the edge, a guttural curse spilling from his lips as he came, hips jerking, breath hot against your temple.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the sound of your ragged breaths tangled together in the stale air.

Then he pulled out, standing up without a word, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he walked out that door again.

Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

Later, tangled in sheets that still smelled like his cologne and someone else’s perfume, he lit one of your cigarettes.

“You’re toxic,” he muttered, exhaling smoke toward the cracked ceiling.

You laughed, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shiver. “Takes one to know one.”

By morning, he’d be gone again. Maybe with someone new. Maybe with the same regret he always carried but never unpacked. You’d break up, block his number, swear this was the last time.

Until next week.

Until the next fight.

Until the next call.

The infinity loop. Your favorite kind of hell.

[thesportsprgirl]

Truly, F1 social media (including Reddit) was an absolutely miserable place to be a Lando fan in 2024. Anything positive you said about him, overrun with nastiness, whether on Twitter, TikTok, Reddit, even podcast and YouTube comments just went way over the line. People sought out his fans' tweets and TikToks just to be absolutely vile in response to them just being fans. He was driven off of Twitter and massively reduced content on IG, YouTube and TikTok. And even Threads, which he seemed to have fun with for a bit, took a turn when people outside of his fanbase realized he was using it and decided to go pile on him there too.

I hear a lot of "oh it's bad for every driver" and sure, it is, but some drivers get it from one fan base or maybe two. Lando and his fans were getting it from a good six, minimum. And it wasn't just the hate directed at him, which was bad enough. It then went to his family and friends, and even just nonstop attacks on random fans who just wanted to post positive stuff about him and interact with other fans. Even that was ruined and as someone whose masters thesis was on the challenges for athletes in balancing reputation, promotion, brand, and privacy concerns (all specific to social media), I wish I'd been collecting references earlier because I would have a LOT to say from a more academic/professional perspective on how certain things were probably a bit more coordinated than they seemed.

[hitlikehammers]

strongly worded letter 💌

or: Eddie Munson’s long, weird road out of (the) hell(-side down) ☠️ and into love💗

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-S4, steve’s one-man search-and-rescue for eddie’s not-dead body, falling in love, fluff in surprising places, eddie’s chaotic internal monologue, alphabet magnets🧲 for the win ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day four: "I had not intended to love him. [...] He made me love him without looking at me." —Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

To the external, uninitiated observer, Eddie is well aware his take on all of this will 100% appear both unhinged and as least vaguely self-destructive, bordering on suicidal.

But here’s the thing: if Eddie had been truly suicidal, the million times he could have just stood and let the mobs take him—bigots or mutant bats or a lichy-ballsac that made people float—he wouldn’t have even bothered fighting. Maybe he was questionably attached to self-preservation, but actively wanting to pack it in? Even the thought of sparing his poor uncle his bullshit—finally—hadn’t been a sweet enough deal. Nope: Eddie is selfishly attached to the whole living thing.

Which is why he is begging for it to be understood, in no uncertain terms:

He’d rather know for sure that he was dead in the endless, silent grey hellscape he’s been left in, than wandering in this half-formless, half-collapsing nothing-burger version of the town he grudgingly called home, unsure where he stands on the mortality-scale either way.

—

Here’s the deal.

Vents? Foolishly overlooked.

Epic concert? Rocked, no notes.

Bat-chow? Do no recommend.

Henderson sobbing? Recommend even less.

Being tagged as a corpse? Perfectly fine if that’s what you are; dead weight in an apocalypse simply cannot be justified.

The issue is when you’re tagged as a corpse, and you…aren’t one.

So you’re left behind.

Which brings Eddie to:

Meeting what they’ve been calling a demogorgon this whole time but that resembles no such thing, those goddamn lying liars: not fucking cool.

Having…enough demobat saliva or venom or poison or whatever, probably, where the misleading-as-fuck demogorgon sniffs at you like a dog with her puppies instead of eating you with those fucking petal teeth?

Neutral. Probably wouldn’t order it again.

Getting licked all over by said Petal Teeth, all lioness-grooming-its-young style? Disgusting.

Disgusting.

Figuring out demogorgon saliva has some kinda magical mystical healing properties and you’re basically just covered in fairly-smooth scar tissue now that looks months old rather than hours, and plus you got a bath out of it so most of the dried blood’s gone too?

Fine, okay, he’d leave a tip for service.

But now Eddie is as alive as he can think to test being—and he’s been running all the monster-category tests and he doesn’t pass for vampire, zombie, or any various other undead creatures, he’s hungry but mostly for like, Chicken McNuggets, and—

Stuck. He’s stuck here.

And he thinks they must have won, the Party that is, because nothing’s really happening except…things are falling apart, like rotting in slow motion.

Which is a concern. But. Cool, if it means they did in fact make the motherfucker pay.

But that also means nobody has any reason to be strolling back in to fight demons anymore, and come across his not-so-dead ass. Plus also, the place is probably going to keep crumbling—if a master of a realm is axed, the realm doesn’t typically survive. Mordor fell apparent when Barad-dûr came down. And he…

He did agree to go into Mordor.

Well, fuck him.

—

He mostly wanders around and pokes at random shit, collects some books, ignores the fact that the reality he’s looting is on borrowed time.

He doesn’t know if it’s healthier to deal with that part head on or keep pretending it’s not there, but he honestly could not give a fuck.

Because it’s just him. Save the demogorgon who gave him a tongue bath, he’s seen nothing living. Sometimes there’s a stray screech but it’s too distant to even guess where he’d find whatever made it, stumble upon whatever caused it. There’s not even a breeze to move the decaying trees.

There is nothing.

And it’s starting to drive him fucking insane. He might lose it before the reality caves in on him, actually, just for the sheer…void of it all.

He’s on the edge of that—losing it entirely—when he hears it, sees it.

Who the fuck took that magazine, it’s like three years old, only kept it for the tips on…

And then an echo, like a projection in the air, and it’s fleeting and its faint but where that voice what pretty unmistakable already, the coif of chestnut and the peek of a polo collar, and the seizing in Eddie pulse for both together—it’s almost more undeniable.

That’s fucking Harrington.

—

The vision is, seconds. At most.

But it shifts Eddie’s priorities entirely.

He starts the day—he’s guessing it’s the start of the day, it’s always fucking grey here but he’s just going off of when he’s hungry so—but he looks for cereal in one of these decrepit houses and eats it out of the box as he tries to get his bearings.

Tries also to remember all the weird shit the kids used to say before Eddie knew they were making any of it up.

Context clues give him that this is Hawkins. 1983 or thereabouts—makes sense for the magazine.

But what makes more sense, and is more helpful: Steve had bitched the magazine was moved.

And Eddie’s definitely the one who had it in his hand when he heard said bitching.

So there’s still some connection. Hope’s not totally lost.

Mostly, maybe. But not totally.

—

He decides to go back to Harrington’s and just wait until he goes there to sleep so he can tail him, have some sense of how he can try and make contact from his own side, let someone know he’s still here.

It takes forever; Eddie wonders just how different time runs, here, save that when he finally hears something, the vision is clearer in the air, ghostly but more complete.

And Steve looks fucking wrecked.

Like he hasn’t slept in days, like he’s about to fucking cry, like he—

He’s still the most beautiful guy Eddie’s seen in person, if this counts as in-person, but like—that was never not-true.

“Rob, I don’t know! I just, I just feel like—“

“I will handcuff you to your bed.”

Eddie tries to feel excited that whatever’s happening is strong enough that two voices come through, that Robin’s here, she’s safe too—

But he’s more invested in what’s causing the shouting.

”I know how to pick a fucking lock, Jesus,” and Eddie doesn’t not think about the lock he’s worn more than once around Steve at his belt, nope, he does not—

”The gates are closed, Steve. It’s over.”

Well. Fuck.

There goes the hope thing.

”Not all of them. Not totally.”

Or maybe not.

”Steve, I will hunt you down, I will dog your steps, I will follow you every single moment if you think I am leaving big you even consider going back to—”

“I love you, Robs, but you still can’t drive. Think you’ll beat me on your Schwinn?”

“I will slash your tires.”

“Sorry, birdie, got AAA to save me.”

And that’s all Eddie gets, but…

It almost feels like he’s got one single snowball’s chance in hell, here. Still. Just one, true, but.

If he’s learned anything the last few days, it’s that Steve Harrington’s maybe the most reliable snowball he could ask for.

His chest is all tingly about it, even—fucking traitor.

—

Eddie doesn’t even really have to follow where Steve goes next. In that he knows exactly where it is, just not why the fuck Steve wants to be there.

Especially since even the lack of evidence in ‘83’s version of the trailer still makes him look up at the ceiling and feel like he’s gonna puke.

”Oh sure Mister Munson sir, I just want to borrow your dead nephew’s cassettes, that are definitely in the trailer the fed have locked down to be sent to Area 51 or wherever, just in case he’s not entirelydead in another dimension, and he can hear me because I’m definitely not losing my fucking mind, and definitely not because being called ‘Big Boy’ didn’t fuck with my head more than mutant bats ever did…”

Steve’s frankly endearing muttering, and that last bit especially, distract Eddie enough from the fact that Steve is actively rummaging through his room.

Through his room, Jesus, Eddie moves because he even clocks that lunging at Steve here won’t do shit there to stop the questionable literature Steve’s already sifting through.

At least Steve can’t see him blush across planes of existence. Hopefully.

“Oh,” and Steve sounds shocked, but then looks…gutted?

”One more for the ‘you suck’ column,” and Eddie decides right then that he fucking does not approve of that tone, at all; ”not like I had a chance, definitely not his type…”

“But my type’s the paladin who protects everyone and needs a faithful bard to tend his wound and keep his bed!” Eddie blurts out into the nothing on his side of the divide.

“My type’s been you since fucking junior year!”

Because Junior-Eddie was admittedly much more lust-driven. Let that be said.

Now-Eddie’s equally if not more invested in the heart of a man.

And Steve Harrington, even remotely thinking that he isn’t Eddie’s type?

Maybe Eddie really is dead. And this is hell.

—

”Why do I need them?”

Eddie’s got a new box of cereal—Kix, could definitely be better—and has now trailed Steve to what looks like…the edge of town, which, who lives there…

”Nah, kid, nothing bad. Just want to see something. Promise.”

One of the kids. Maybe this is where the Byerses are, now, if they were right and they’d been on their way back? Because Eddie knows where the rest of them live, and this ain’t it.

Theresa are footsteps in one direction, and Steve wanders in the other, where Eddie sees a girl with a buzz cut he doesn’t know, but who stares Steve down in a way that…Eddie can kinda guess.

They’d all alluded to the super powered kiddo more than once.

”Can you look? Like, just to see if he’s—”

Eddie’s neck turns fast when he turns back in to the conversation, less for the words and more for how timid, how cowed Steve sounds and he…

Eddie just wants, more than anything really, to be able to reach out and touch. To comfort. To do…

Something.

”…would not feel him even if he was there. The connection is gone. The Upside Down is dead.”

And Steve deflates, and Eddie…Eddie remembers the lights didn’t they have to be emotionally unstable, kinda, to make the lights flicker, to let someone know they’re there, and Eddie’s definitely there because—

Not fucking all of it, not yet, Eddie wants to scream; or maybe yes all of it but I’m still fucking here.

Also: that man is 100% my type and I want a fucking shot, I want my snowball’s chance in hell, I want to bite him and call him sweetheart like I mean it and I want, I want, I want—

Also that.

Steve leaves with some…fucking magnets.

And the lights didn’t do jack shit.

—

Eddie spends most of that night playing with magnets.

Well, not at first.

First, he tries yelling, sobbing, focusing like a Force-user, really anything he could think of to get Steve’s lights to flicker. No such luck.

So then Eddie makes a side quest, after having dutifully made certain not to leave Steve’s side for…however many days.

He pops to Melvald’s because of anyone’s got kiddie alphabet magnets, it’s gotta be them.

And score. Definitely not the worst thing Eddie’s stolen. Plus this place is on the way out. Not really relevant, here, if he cared.

Which he fervently does not.

And proves by grabbing two fifths of tequila on the way out. Hah.

He finds Steve passed out on top of his comforter, plaid monstrosity that it is, and he tries very hard to brush his hair back—nothing.

And then Eddie…somehow that’s the straw that breaks the pack-mule’s back. Something in him just fucking snaps.

Because he distinctly remembers this whole fiasco being tied to the labs owned by the fucking Department of Energy, right?

And they can’t even keep the electrical connection between dimensions working?

That’s…that’s unacceptable.

He’s gonna…he’s gonna file a fucking complaint. He’s gonna show up at a picket line. He’s gonna write a strongly worded letter. He’s…

Actually, he’s got all night if the way Steve’s sprawled says anything for how long he’s gonna stay conked out. And he’s also got these handy alphabet magnets.

Letter it is.

—

”What the fuck?”

d3ar 3nergy d3pt he4d i ju5+ wan+ed to te11 th15 guy i w4n+ t0 b1+3 him but n00 y0u c4nt e73n d0 +h4t i h8 u

Eddie trips over some empty bottles, the answer of how they got there pounding in his head real quick—oh, hey, hangovers do transcend dimensions, seems suspicious—but yeah, okay, he does remember getting creative with the abundance of math magnets in the poorly-labeled alphabet pack last night, misleading to lead on letters by default on the packaging. He does recall being very convinced a sideways ‘7’ was a passable ‘V’. But.

He’s not looking at his side of things. He’s looking at Steve’s.

And so is Steve.

And then Steve—who Eddie wants to bite but also kiss and maybe just hold in his arms chest to chest to feel his warmth because when his control broke last night it conveniently knocked him upside the head with the clear realization of that fact that Steve Harrington?

Is doing all this shit for him. On the hope of a maybe.

And Steve Harrington had been disappointed not to have found his lookalike in Eddie’s porn rags.

And Eddie wrote a letter to the fucking DoE in magnets about it, and Steve can see it, stuck to his fridge in 1986 as clear as Eddie slapped it there in 1983.

”…Eddie?”

Steve’s voice is so small and so fearful to be wrong. His chest is heaving, he’s scared.

Eddie scrambles for the magnets left on the floor and smacks them violently to the refrigerator door in record time, prays to everything he doesn’t believe in that Steve can feel his relief spelled out in the bulky primary colors:

h3y 61g b0y v3

And goddamnit, when Steve falls to the floor with his jaw dropped loose, Eddie is 100% sold:

A ‘V’ turned on its side absolutely makes the bottom half of a heart for the three to butt-up to.

—

“Got these to play so if you were there, and couldhear me, you could find your way, if,” and Steve, Steve has been talking to Eddie since they both woke up and found those magnets, even if they haven’t been able to replicate anything, not the letter nor the faulty lighting trick Eddie’d complains about on the fridge in the first place: it could just be a fluke. Steve has no reason to believe Eddie’s alive, that Eddie did that, that Steve didn’t sleepwalk into sleep-spelling, that Eddie even alive in some form would be following his every move.

Of course he is, but. Steve can’t know.

It’s all on faith. For Eddie.

And fuck is Eddie’s heart doesn’t go playing ping pong with his ribs for how much it hits him, how wide and warm it swells in his chest like hope, only second to affection, to want, to—

“Vecna’s not gone, but he’s like, one step from it. I don’t know he can get you but,” Steve taps to the Walkman, to the headphone he gets on just one ear so he can hear and also so someone else—so Eddie—can hear Megadeath as Steve bustles around his house, packing a duffle that reminds Eddie of when they were peeping to storm the castle—

That’s what Steve’s doing. That, that’s what Steve is doing right now.

“I just,” Steve heaves a deep breath, hands on his hips before one pinches between his eyes; “I felt like you were still there, I can’t explain it,” and Eddie’s shaken to his core right now in the best possible way so when he blurts out in a croon:

“Power of loooove, Stevie!”

He can’t be blamed for that. He can’t. He’s…

This man is going down into hell, has not grantee of what Eddie knows in it being largely innocuous, now, save…undead Vecna lurking somewhere, so weak he’s not even noticed.

“But we know music works though, so.”

Steve’s still narrating his plan; Eddie is just staring. Wants to…wants so fucking bad to touch.

“We have to wait for night, for me to get down there. They’re shitty with security on the graveyard shift.” Then Steve’s smirking, and fuck, he’s so pretty.

”Plus Robin sleeps like the dead, she won’t have a chance to notice what I’m doing even on the off chance word got out.”

And the fact that Steve is willing to defy his own platonic soulmate for Eddie—barely knows him in terms of days and hours but at least, if it’s the same as Eddie’s realising more and more that he feels, and unshakable too: it’s like his soul knows Steve, and that cannot care a lick for how time runs, it’s bigger than that.

There’s too much of a sense of potential, a crackling possibility just being in his proximity, even with the distance of other goddamn dimensions—there’s too much swirling in Eddie already for it to mean nothing.

Plus, like: flip the script. Steve is risking everything on a whim, for him.

It cannot be nothing.

“I’m hoping you’re where we left you, which,” and Steve’s voice catches, he pauses, looks around like he’s hoping Eddie might pop into the visible spectrum, so he can see and know, but then he just looks up at the ceiling like—oh, fuck, like it’ll make sure no tears fall out and:

“I can’t fucking tell you how sorry—“ Steve starts to say be Eddie can’t bear watching like this, strides over in an instant and grabs Steve’s hand.

And Steve stills.

And Eddie can feel his pulse in his wrist.

“Is that you?” Steve barely breathes, stares now at his arm where…Eddie can only see the kind of glimmering overlap that means two things are happening in the same place on different planes, he’s grown used to that. But.

If Steve can feel him, if there are moments here that are probably limited where Eddie can prove some little tiny bit that he’s here and he’s listen and he’s with Steve—

He pulls Steve’s hand and drags him into the kind of full body hug he’s been aching for for…fuck.

Too fucking long.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs out, and Eddie can’t help himself. He runs hands through Steve’s hair, and holy fuck: Steve leans in.

Steve feels it enough to lean in.

“It feels like I’ve been falling for a ghost, man.”

Steve says it on a whisper, like he’s still not sold entirely, or else maybe afraid to break a spell. Eddie gets that second part.

“But I guess it kinda started before that, so maybe it’s not as fucking crazy,” Steve laughs a little wet with it and…Eddie has to, because what if he never gets another chance, and hell—if he does, how can he deprive them both the chance to know whatever the sensation will be, like this?

Eddie’s not up to risk never knowing what a cross-dimensional lip lock feels like, okay?

So he doesn’t.

“Please don’t be a ghost,” Steve breathes out and fuck, Eddie can’t taste it but he can feel the way the air moves and it’s, it is; ”I think if you are, I’ll live the rest of my life trying to make it work anyway, I,” and Steve doesn’t get to finish because Eddie pushes in again, and Steve’s as good as his reputation and then some, on wholly separate planes of being.

Eddie cannot fucking wait to feel it flesh to flesh.

“I fall fast, man, but this is kinda insane,” Steve pants, arms out awkward with any indication where to hold. He’s adorable.

He’s delectable.

“But you did say you wanted to bite me, assuming you were talking about me,” Steve smirks but then his eyes go wide:

“Oh, shit, are you a vampire?”

And Eddie has no idea how long he’s been down here alone, surrounding by the silence and the darkness and just the projection level overlay of Steve when he’s lucky, but Jesus H. Christ—

“Is that you laughing?” Steve chokes on his own kinda-giggle as he braces against an unseen and unseeable force barrelling into him: of course it’s Eddie.

Of course he’s fucking cackling.

Because however long it’s been, he definitely hasn’t laughed at any point at all in that span of time—and fuck if he didn’t need it.

—

Steve slips down the last burbling gate not without effort, not without lava-hot road rash no doubt fucking with his already not-yet-healed stomach.

When he’s tackled, thrown straight to the ground, weight pinning him to the ground that’s more dry, more deadened than Steve remembers from just days ago: when his back hits the ground—none of it matters.

“It was me laughing.”

And then Eddie’s mouth is on his—it’s the echo he was afraid he’d imagined that morning, just like the hand on his wrist, just like the laughter wrapped around him.

“You’re an even better kisser in person, holy shit, even your fucking glowing reputation shortchanged you.”

And Steve’s kinda breathless, not just for getting smooshed to the dirt; but then Eddie’s kissing him again, and breathing seems really kind low on Steve’s list of giving a shit.

“You are so my type it’s not even funny,” Eddie says, before diving back into kiss with a bruising kind of force, an unmistakable kind of intent; “I think my type has fully migrated to include kinda just you.”

And Steve’s heartbeat kinda stutters at that because…that’s new.

No one’s ever…well.

It’s just new.

“You weren’t wrong to leave me behind, you don’t ever have to apologize,” and then he’s kissing along Steve’s jaw, and it’s Steve’s laughter now, the tickle of dirty curls dragging at his stubble; “you got out, you’re safe, you’re here,” and Eddie sounds almost overcome with feeling, with relief, and then in the end, bubbling with joy. And somehow Steve can tell it’s not because Steve’s here to save him, bring him home.

It’s just because Steve’s here and that, that is—

Steve’s heartbeat’s just gonna do that tripping thing for the foreseeable future he thinks, at this point. Probably.

“I was trying to convince myself otherwise, because I didn’t think there could ever be a shot in hell but I was falling before it all fell apart, too,” Eddie says in a rush, leaning again to kiss the corners of Steve’s lips, like talking is just an inconvenient interruption to better ways of using his mouth and given how goddamn much Eddie Munson’s always talked, that fucking says something:

“And ever since, it’s felt like I was falling in love through a movie screen,” and he cups Steve’s face to angle it just so as he breathes, those eyes endless and glistening; “could see but never reach, until,” and then he’s kissing him straight on the lips again, a full-frontal assault, tongue seeking teeth, looking for the depths of his goddamn soul of something.

Steve isn’t even embarrassed for how he arches up, how he fucking moans. No one could ever feel this and do anything less.

Like: fucking impossible.

“I liked your letter to the editor,” Steve gasps when Eddie breaks apart and concedes to needing air, presses kisses up and down Steve’s throat while he regroups.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie’s face pops back up—dirt smears and ruddy and in need of a shower but on the whole in way better shape than Steve last remembers having to walk away from, and fuck, fuck—he’s never walking away from it again; “can we send that to the Post? No edits, I want my numbers intact, let them try to figure it out like Zodiac.”

Steve snorts, because god he really is half in love with this nerd, and he’s not a ghost, he’s sold and his chest is heaving into Steve’s and he’s grinning wills and he’s here and they’re here and this is realand—

He yells when the sting clamps through his much-less-extensive uniform of his Members Only jacket despite the weather—it’s freezing, but like, the gates were just cracks, he had to move like a ninja!

Just not a bite-proof ninja, apparently.

“You know, I should have expected that,” Steve deadpans, but his smile gives him away as Eddie pulls his mouth back from the stretch of Steve’s neck that runs to his shoulder, where honestly Steve thinks Eddie punctured the coat in the process. Fucking feral gremlin.

Steve really wants to keep him. Like, indefinitely.

“You really, really should have,” Eddie agrees, beaming like the sun when there’s only dark around them, making it all feel so warm in the chill.

“Honestly should have expect nothing less,” Eddie’s smile curls a little dangerous as he leans in again, apparently satisfied with having caught his breath enough as he mouths wet against Steve’s lips:

“Big boy.”

And then, again: he pounces.

♥️

also on ao3💫

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divider credit here

[softlypaintedseafoam]

🍓ー thank you for your patronage at the strawberry witch’s bakery! here’s your order!

requested by: a lovely anon 🍓 -> law + strawberry tart (making up after a fight)

It's 2am when you drag yourself out of the sleeping quarters and Law is already in the kitchen. A small ache of discomfort forms in your chest, the two of you watching one another warily.

Your mouth opens, lips dry and stiff, but not one sound comes. Not a single word. With a grimace, your mouth closes again. It isn't until Law raises it that you notice the coffee pot nestled in his hands, "want a cup?" In spite of the question, his voice is strained and his brown eyes seem black.

It's bait, hesitant as it may be, it's bait.

Knowing this fact, it's difficult to make yourself ignore it and turn around promptly. Maybe it's how his eyebags seem more prominent in the Polar Tang's lighting and how his hair is messy at all sides. Law's isn't one who tosses and turns in his sleep. No, he sleeps much like a log once he's surrendered himself to sleep. A quick breath escapes you before you step forward, gently nudging Law away from the cupboards.

"2am isn't the right time for making coffee," you murmur, reaching for your collection of chamomile tea. "Doctors are the worst patients; you never listen to your own advice."

There's a pout in his voice when he replies, "I'm not sick, so there's no advice I'm breaking right now."

Your response is a subdued snort of disbelief. "Regardless, you won't get to sleep with coffee. We don't even have decaf." Another bold-faced lie that Law doesn't have the desire to press. The crew never buys anything decaffeinated coffee beans; it'd be a nightmare if Bepo and Shachi got their hands on anything but. "So put that thing down. Let the real kitchen master do their thing here."

With your orders, it's as if you're roles have switched and you're the captain of the Heart Pirates. Law steers clear of your way, far enough you won't bump into one another, but close enough. You don't feel the desire to snip at him because of it, not even as you awkwardly wait by the stovetop watching the kettle.

Close enough to feel one another's presence, but not so close you're pressing against one another either. Like there's an invisible line preventing the two of you from fully indulging in one another's touch. It's an uncomfortable feeling that not even a warming pot water can fix.

You're a couple that seldom has arguments. Regardless of how many battles you conquer, however, you'll never get used to this energy. You'll never get used to the feeling of not knowing how to function properly in this odd period after a fight's taken place. You wish your mind would stop going over the 'I could have done this differently's. You didn't do those things differently and no amount of reflection will take you back to that moment in time before things escalated.

A sigh escapes your mouth. There's no time like the present, at least. "Law-"

"I'm sorry," the dark-haired man says before you're able to truly start. You look to your left, eyebrows knit and lips pursed. "You were trying to help. I was being stubborn."

"I shouldn't have called you bullheaded and insensitive," you reply, your voice feeling too loud for the quiet of the kitchen. Even if Law can be stubborn, you know better than anyone Law is sensitive. There's too much care of his in that tall body of his than he knows what to do with. "I just worry sometimes that… you might go overboard. Like when you were dealing with Joker."

Separating himself from the crew to deal with the Warlord on his own was gut-wrenching on its own. Now with Wano on the horizon and an Emperor of the Sea along with it, your anxieties only feel heighten. "I just want you to rely on us more. We all do. No more trying to make yourself the only casualty; just trust that we'll be able to rise to the challenge once it's here. Please."

You're not sure what thoughts are swimming in the doctor's mind, watching carefully how his face contorts with your every word. Law cares. Too much at times. "I'm not asking you to change overnight," you start again, brushing the back of your hand against his. "But some baby steps would be nice, don't you think?"

His smile is tired but it can't hide itself, "baby steps are doable."

[saebyeokbliss]

ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU— PART XII.

synopsis: on a cold january day, you were worrying about the reason your girlfriend wasn’t texting back. when she finally does and asks to meet at your apartment, you’re met with heartbreak as she ends your relationship. no explanation. two years later, you run into her at a cafe with someone new. what are you to do?

warnings: violence, death, use of weapons, mild language

pairing: sae-byeok x fem!reader

The address from the photo led Sae-byeok to a run-down warehouse on the outskirts of the city, a place she knew all too well. It was where Deok-su and his gang used to operate when she was still part of their crew. The building hadn’t changed much—graffiti plastered the rusted metal walls, and the faint smell of oil and mildew lingered in the air. Memories she’d buried long ago clawed their way to the surface as she approached, but she shoved them down.

This wasn’t about her past. This was about you.

The faint sound of laughter echoed from inside as she pushed the heavy door open, her footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. A dim, flickering light illuminated the space, and in the center of the room was Deok-su. He lounged in a chair, his legs spread wide, the same smug grin plastered across his face as always. Behind him, you were tied to another chair, your head slumped forward, your hair hiding your face. The sight of you—bruised, bloodied, and so still—made Sae-byeok’s chest tighten with rage.

“Well, well,” Deok-su drawled, spreading his arms as he stood. “If it isn’t Kang Sae-byeok. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Sae-byeok’s jaw tightened, her eyes flicking briefly to you before settling back on him. “Let her go.”

Deok-su laughed, the sound low and grating. “Now, where’s the fun in that? You think you can just walk in here and start giving orders? You must’ve forgotten how things work around here.”

“I remember,” Sae-byeok said coldly, taking another step forward. “You want your money. That’s all this is about, right?”

He smirked, tilting his head as if considering her words. “You’ve always been sharp. That’s what I liked about you. Shame you turned out to be such a traitorous little bitch.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, but she forced herself to stay calm. “How much?”

“Ten million won,” he said without hesitation, his grin widening. “You remember that job you bailed on? That’s how much it cost me. And now, I’m just here to collect what’s mine.”

Sae-byeok’s expression didn’t waver, though her mind was racing. Ten million won. That was a massive sum, but she’d prepared for this. She’d brought everything she had, emptied every account she’d managed to scrape together, even if it left her with nothing.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a thick envelope, tossing it onto the ground in front of him. “Take it and let her go.”

Deok-su raised an eyebrow, stepping forward to pick up the envelope. He thumbed through the bills, his grin faltering slightly as he counted. “Huh. I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he muttered, slipping the money into his jacket. “Guess you’re still good for something after all.”

“Now let her go,” Sae-byeok demanded, her voice low and sharp.

Deok-su waved a hand lazily, and one of the men standing nearby moved to untie you. You slumped forward when the ropes loosened, and Sae-byeok was at your side in an instant, catching you before you hit the ground.

“Hey,” she said softly, her hands shaking slightly as she cupped your face. “Are you okay?”

You blinked up at her, your eyes glassy and unfocused, but the relief on your face when you recognized her was unmistakable. “S-Sae…” you mumbled, your voice hoarse.

She nodded, gently brushing your hair out of your face. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

But before she could help you to your feet, a low chuckle from Deok-su made her freeze.

“You think this is over?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “You think you can just walk out of here with her and everything’s fine?”

Sae-byeok turned to glare at him, her body tense. “I gave you what you wanted. We’re done.”

“Oh, no, Kang,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re far from done.”

The sound of footsteps echoed around the warehouse as more of Deok-su’s men emerged from the shadows, surrounding you and Sae-byeok. There were at least six of them, their faces twisted with malice as they closed in.

Sae-byeok stood slowly, positioning herself between you and the approaching men. She pulled her pocketknife from her jacket, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“You really want to do this?” she asked, her voice icy.

Deok-su smirked. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this.”

The first man lunged at her, but Sae-byeok was faster. She sidestepped his attack, slashing his arm with the knife before shoving him to the ground. Another came at her from the side, but she spun, driving her elbow into his face with a sickening crack.

“Stay down,” she barked, her voice cold and commanding.

Behind her, you managed to free your hands from the loosened ropes, your body trembling as you scrambled to your feet. Another man rushed toward Sae-byeok, but you grabbed a nearby metal pipe and swung it with all your strength, hitting him in the side. He crumpled to the ground with a groan, and you stared at the pipe in your hands, your chest heaving.

“Nice hit,” Sae-byeok muttered, glancing back at you briefly before turning her attention to the remaining men.

The fight was chaotic and brutal. Sae-byeok moved like a predator, her movements precise and calculated as she took down one man after another. You held your own as best you could, using the pipe to fend off anyone who got too close.

Finally, only Deok-su was left.

Deok-su grinned, pulling out a knife of his own as he stepped forward. “You’ve got some fight in you,” he said. “I’ll give you that. But you’re not walking out of here alive.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sae-byeok said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

He lunged at her, his movements fast and brutal, but she was faster. She dodged his attack, slashing at his side with her knife. He grunted in pain but didn’t stop, swinging his blade wildly as he tried to overpower her.

The fight was messy, both of them landing blows as they grappled and fought. Blood dripped from a cut on Sae-byeok’s arm, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She ducked under one of his swings, driving her knee into his stomach before shoving him back.

“You always thought you were better than us,” Deok-su snarled, clutching his side as he glared at her. “But you’re just as dirty as the rest of us.”

“No,” Sae-byeok said, her voice cold. “I’m better because I don’t need people like you.”

With that, she surged forward, her knife plunging into his chest. His eyes widened in shock, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he staggered back. She twisted the blade, her expression hard and unrelenting as she watched the life drain from his eyes.

He collapsed to the ground, his knife clattering beside him. For a moment, the warehouse was silent, the remaining gang members frozen in place as they stared at their fallen leader.

Then, one by one, they turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows.

Sae-byeok stood there for a moment, her chest heaving as she stared at Deok-su’s lifeless body. The weight of what she’d done settled over her, but instead of guilt, she felt… peace. Finally, he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

“Sae,” your voice broke through her thoughts, shaky and weak. She turned to see you leaning against the wall, the metal pipe still clutched in your hands.

She crossed the room in a few quick strides, pulling you into her arms. “It’s over,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. “You’re safe now.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your body trembling as the weight of everything crashed down on you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed her.

The ride back to your apartment was quiet, the silence between you and Sae-byeok thick with unspoken words. She hadn’t let go of you since the warehouse—not when she helped you into the car, not when she wrapped her jacket around your trembling shoulders, and not when she guided you up the stairs to your apartment. Her grip was firm, steady, like she was afraid you might collapse or disappear if she let go.

When you reached your door, you fumbled with the keys, your hands still trembling from the ordeal. Sae-byeok took them from you gently, unlocking the door herself before pushing it open. She didn’t ask if she could come in; she just followed you inside, closing the door behind her.

“Sit down,” she said quietly, nodding toward the couch.

You hesitated, your body stiff with exhaustion and lingering fear, but the look in her eyes left no room for argument. You sat down, sinking into the cushions as she disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, she returned with a damp cloth and a small first aid kit she must have found in one of your drawers.

“Let me see,” she said, kneeling in front of you and reaching for your arm.

You flinched slightly at her touch, the events of the night still fresh in your mind. But when you looked at her—at the way her brow furrowed in concentration, at the gentleness in her hands as she dabbed at the dried blood on your face—you let your guard down. You let her clean the cuts on your cheek and bandage the scrapes on your arms, her silence somehow more comforting than words ever could have been.

When she was done, she sat back on her heels, her eyes scanning your face as if to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. You stared at her for a long moment, the question that had been nagging at you since the warehouse finally spilling out.

“Why was Deok-su after you?” you asked, your voice quiet but firm.

Sae-byeok froze, her expression hardening slightly as she looked away. For a moment, you thought she wasn’t going to answer. But then she sighed, sitting back against the coffee table and running a hand through her hair.

“He wanted money,” she said finally, her voice low. “Ten million won. I owed him from… before.”

“Before what?” you pressed, leaning forward slightly. “Sae-byeok, what did you do?”

She hesitated, her jaw tightening as she stared at the floor. “When I first came to Korea, I fell in with the wrong people. Deok-su’s crew. They… helped me make ends meet. But it came with a price. I owed them for jobs I couldn’t finish, for money I couldn’t pay back. When I finally left, I thought I was free. But people like him—they don’t forget.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you felt a knot form in your stomach. “Is that why you left me?” you asked quietly, your voice trembling. “Because of him?”

“It was part of it,” she admitted, her eyes meeting yours for the first time. “But it wasn’t the whole reason.”

“Then what was the rest of it?” you demanded, your voice rising slightly despite yourself. “Why did you leave, Sae-byeok? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

She looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time, you saw a crack in the armor she always wore so carefully. Her eyes softened, her shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of her secrets had finally become too much to bear.

“The games,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s where I met Ji-yeong and Gi-hun. I… I had to try. I needed the money for Cheol, to get him out of the orphanage, to get us to safety. But there was no guarantee I’d make it out alive. And if I didn’t… I didn’t want you to mourn me. I didn’t want you to carry that.”

You stared at her, your mind reeling. You’d heard whispers about the games—rumors of something underground, violent, and deadly—but you’d never imagined Sae-byeok could have been a part of something like that.

“And the money you gave me?” you asked, your voice shaking. “The money that saved my life—was that from the games too?”

She nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “It was all I had left.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head, anger and disbelief bubbling to the surface. “You should have told me,” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “You should have told me everything from the beginning, Sae-byeok. I could have helped you. We could have figured it out together. But instead, you just… left.”

“I couldn’t,” she said, her voice sharp and pained. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you’re right,” you interrupted, your voice rising. “I don’t understand. Because you never gave me the chance to.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, you felt her grab your face and pull you toward her. Her lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was desperate, raw, and utterly consuming. It wasn’t gentle or tentative—it was the kind of kiss that carried everything she couldn’t say, every apology, every regret, every unspoken feeling she’d buried over the years.

For a moment, you were too stunned to react. But then you felt yourself melt into her, your hands gripping the front of her jacket as if you were afraid she might disappear again. The anger and frustration you’d felt just moments ago seemed to dissolve, replaced by something softer, something you’d thought you’d lost the day she walked out of your life.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. Her hands lingered on your face for a moment before she pulled back entirely, her expression unreadable once again.

“Sae-byeok—”

“I should go,” she said quietly, cutting you off. She stood, grabbing her jacket and heading for the door before you could stop her.

“Sae, wait—”

But she didn’t. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, closing it behind her without another word.

You sat there in stunned silence, your mind racing as you tried to process everything that had just happened. The kiss, her confession, the way she’d looked at you like she was breaking apart. And then the way she’d left, like she always did.

Like she didn’t know how to stay.

taglist: @monroesturnns@everly-summers-solace@holyshtimgay@knfthxv@delfinadolphin@madebysae@jetaimeeeee@m0rtifiedg0th@katieschry1@erika-mon2-blog@tcvazq

[marlynnofmany]

Aiming the Machismo

I’m on the tall end of our ship’s lineup. Not the biggest by any means, but with half the crew short enough to elbow in the head accidentally, and the others only that tall when they stand on tentacle-tip, it’s easy to think of myself as one of the big ones.

Sometimes we make deliveries to people who enforce that impression. Today was not one of those times.

“Move aside,” said the deepest voice, echoing from the opaque helmet of a Smasher in an armored suit. “Official business goes first.” His companion was just as hulking, with shoulders that looked like they wrestled buffalo for fun and hands that could crush a coconut.

I was glad he wasn’t talking to me.

“Official, huh?” demanded an Armorlite, sticking his dinosaurian face in close to bare teeth at the helmet. His voice sounded normal by comparison. “We’re official too, and we were here first. Get in line.” He was backed up by a half dozen similarly beefy individuals — a surprising collection, really: big Frillians and a couple extremely jacked humans. They made a wall of sneers worthy of any gym bro turf war.

The Smashers weren’t impressed. But at least they weren’t taking out any weapons. “Rule violators who are wanted in several systems have been spotted nearby. We’re here to capture them for the greater good. Move aside.”

The Armorlite laughed in his face, saying that they were bounty hunters too, and they weren’t about to let anyone get ship fuel before they did. The air was full of jeers and testosterone, or the alien equivalent. Some of the macho individuals were female. It made no difference.

It was unfortunate, though, since this mess was between us and the front counter, where a single put-upon Heatseeker stood behind a sign about repairs. I saw why none of the bounty hunters had gotten their fuel yet; apparently the dispensing nozzle for midsize ships was broken.

Good news. That’s what we were here to deliver, among other things.

I looked past the hoversled full of heavy machinery at the two most muscle-bound members of our crew, whose body language was currently more timid than usual. I guess they knew their place in the macho pecking order. Blip was glancing from one face to another as if trying to predict a winner, while Blop stood at attention and stared into the middle distance. All of their many frills were slicked back as if trying not to draw attention.

Well, I was a slender breakable twig compared to everybody except the little Heatseeker, and none of that was my problem. “Guys,” I said. “Let’s yell ‘delivery’ on three.”

They both looked at me instead of the nonsense. Blip nodded, standing taller and relaxing her frills into a more normal position. Blop took a deep breath that it sounded like he needed.

“One, two, three. DELIVERY!”

The argument stopped, and multiple dangerous faces turned in our direction.

I tugged the hoversled forward and spoke into the brief silence. “Repairs, so everybody can get their fuel faster!”

What do you know, the sea of biceps and teeth parted to let us through. With Blip and Blop pushing from behind even though the sled didn’t need it, I led the way past everybody taller than me to where the green-scaled Heatseeker waited.

“Thank you,” he said in relief. “That nozzle broke right after our regular supply ship left. Do you have time to stop by our sister colony on the fourth planet? We ordered extra of one of those other parts, and it sounds like they need it.”

“I think we can manage that,” I said with a glance at Blip and Blop. “Let me just check with the captain. Are the same rates okay?” Behind me, the arguing was getting loud again.

The Heatseeker agreed readily over the noise, and called somebody else up to the front to confirm everything. Instead of shouting into my phone or trying to get past all the competing pectorals twice more, I sent texts and invoices to whoever was in the cockpit.

Surprisingly enough, the boisterous voices moved their debate outside while we worked. By the time we got the delivery unloaded except for the part going to the sister colony, the room was quiet. I was glad for that, though worried about what we’d find when we left.

I asked the Heatseeker at the counter, “Have those bounty hunters been here before?”

He shook his scaly head. “No. I hope they finish their business soon and move on.”

I agreed. We said our goodbyes, then the twins and I maneuvered the nearly-empty hoversled back to the door. The only thing left on it was a bundle of cables for some sort of electronics. Thoroughly packaged to keep out dust, and tied down in case of unexpected jostles to the sled. I hoped there wouldn’t be any of those on the way to the ship. With a glance at Blip and Blop, I moved forward to open the door.

Cheers, grunts, and thuds greeted me. After one cautious step out onto the rural spaceport, I saw how the meatheads had decided to resolve their differences. It wasn’t by fighting. It also wasn’t a dance-off, which I’d seen once before. No, they were taking turns picking up empty fuel tanks and seeing how far they could throw them. It was very far.

“Let’s take the long way around,” I suggested.

“No kidding,” Blip agreed, pushing the sled faster. “Before they decide to throw us.”

I stepped quickly. “That’s an option to them?”

“Probably.”

Blop said, “I hope the sister colony is quieter.”

“Me too,” I agreed as we hurried to our ship with roars of triumph filling the air.

Surprisingly enough, the three of us got to see that sister colony ourselves shortly after. Usually our crew trades off in who hands over the deliveries, so it should have been Paint and Mur doing this second dropoff, but this was an unplanned one and they were busy helping deep clean the medical bay. So I went again with the Blip and Blop, and we got to appreciate a similar reception area with no slabs of beef causing trouble.

“This is a lovely place,” I told the Heatseeker with deep blue scales at the desk. Windows lined every wall here, giving us a view of rolling hills where cloud shadows drifted over bushy trees and equally bushy sheeplike things. The scent of spicy flowers wafted through.

“It is,” she replied, looking tired. “The aromatic moss on the trees is particularly beautiful.”

The other Heatseeker checking over the cables said, “Too bad the locals weren't making up their monster stories. If those were actually fake, I’d be a lot happier.”

“What monster stories?” I asked. Blip and Blop got more alert behind me.

At the same time, the first Heatseeker asked, “They’re not? Are we sure?”

The guy with lighter blue scales straightened up. “We’re sure. Another set of their livestock got killed last night, and more personal accounts of missing people have turned up now that we’re actually looking into it.” He gave me a glance. “We don’t know what kind of monster we’re talking about, but I have theories.”

I looked out the windows again. The scenery didn’t seem quite as welcoming now. “Is there a local predator eating people?”

The receptionist hurried to clarify, “Nothing gets eaten. The people always turn up again, and the animals are damaged but not taken away.”

Blip asked, “Have you put up security cameras?”

“Yes, that’s what this cable is for. We’re putting up more, and making sure they’re connected to a proper power supply.”

“But did the first ones see anything?” Blip insisted.

“Not the culprits,” said the darker Heatseeker. “We need to aim higher, I think. And adjust for light fluctuations. Whoever is doing this brings spotlights to upset the cameras. Or else it’s some sort of natural bioluminescence on a grand scale.”

The pale guy shook his head. “It’s definitely somebody in a ship. Creatures on foot wouldn’t be able to make those patterns in the plants, at least not that quickly.”

I whipped my head around. “Crop circles?”

“They are circular, yes.”

“So people are being taken,” I repeated. “Abducted, then returned, while livestock is getting mutilated and there are circles in their crops?”

“That’s about the size of it.” The guy gave me a sharp look. “You’ve seen this before?”

“Not personally,” I said with a frown. “But my planet sure has.”

“Oh!” said Blop. “It’s those little gray guys, right? I’ve heard about them. No morals at all.”

“Yes, them.” I felt my frown turning into a proper scowl. “They harassed my planet for generations, and never answered for it. They only left when we made contact with the broader galaxy. The frill-tearing mud eggs.” I made sure to insult them in both Frillian and Heatseeker terminology, to make sure we were all on the same page.

The darker Heatseeker looked appropriately scandalized. “That would fit with the way only the locals have seen them here. They must be avoiding us.”

“But maybe they’re about to leave soon, right?” asked the paler one. “Since they only like uncontacted prey who can’t report them?”

“Probably,” I said. I turned back to tap a finger on the payment tablet. “Let’s finish up quickly. I know just who to tell about this, and these little gray bastards are exactly the kind of rule-breaker they’ll outdo each other trying to catch.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[ribbonedreverie]

He Won’t Say I Love You

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Osamu Dazai – “Don’t Die Before Me”

Dazai doesn’t say “I love you.”

Dazai’s way of loving is contradictory, elusive, and impossible to pin down. His words are always laced with meaning, but never in the way you’d expect—because he does not speak plainly, not about things that matter. Love is a game to most, but to him, it is a ghost—something he has studied, something he understands deeply, yet something that has always evaded him.

That’s why he won’t say he loves you.

Because love, in its purest form, has never been kind to him. He knows love from the pages of books, from the way poets drown themselves in it, from the way people call it devotion but mean self-destruction. And Dazai is a master of self-destruction.

So instead, he turns love into something abstract. Something for you to decipher, something for you to chase, if you’re willing.

He flirts without effort, spins sweet words with a poet’s cadence, smiles like he’s already figured you out. But if you pay attention, you’ll notice the gaps—the empty spaces between his words, the careful distance he keeps no matter how close he leans. The way he offers everything and nothing at the same time.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll hear it in the way he remembers things he shouldn’t—the way your voice sounds when you’re tired, the exact time the streetlights in your neighborhood flicker on. You’ll see it in the way he steals your pen but always returns it, tucked next to a note written in his elegant, half-mocking script.

You’ll feel it in the way his fingers brush against your wrist just long enough to make you wonder if it was intentional.

You’ll notice it in the way he never lies to you. Not because he is kind, not because he trusts you, but because if you saw through him, if you recognized what he really is, he wonders if you would stay anyway.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you do leave, if you choose to walk away, he will not chase you. He will not beg, will not plead. He will laugh it off, throw some teasing remark over his shoulder, and turn the page as if you were just another fleeting story in his collection.

But late at night, when the city is quiet and the ghosts press in too closely, he will still pour two cups of tea.

“Don’t die before me.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Chuuya Nakahara – “You already know, don’t you?”

He won’t say he loves you.

Not because he doesn’t want to—he does, more than he’d ever admit—but because love, real love, isn’t something spoken. It’s something you prove.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he proves it in the way he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk, shielding you from passing cars. In the way he places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, steady, present. In the way he always remembers your favorite drink and orders it without asking, as if knowing your preferences is as natural to him as breathing.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he loves like a storm—fierce, untamed, all-consuming. But around you, that fire softens into something warm, something safe.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will roll his eyes when you forget your scarf but wrap his around you without a second thought. He will complain about your reckless habits but pull you into his arms the second you stumble. He will grumble that you’re a handful, that you make his life harder, but his hands will never let you go.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he loves with his entire being. He will hold you like you’re something precious, something irreplaceable, like he’s terrified that one wrong move will shatter the moment. He will kiss you like it’s a promise, like he’s memorizing the way you fit against him in case fate decides to be cruel.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you are hurt—if you so much as wince in pain, if you ever cry in front of him— he will carry the weight of it himself. He will fight with his teeth bared, his fists clenched, his body a shield between you and the world. Because no one gets to hurt what’s his.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will never ask you to stay. Not because he doesn’t want you to—but because he wants you to choose him, freely, without hesitation. He doesn’t need declarations, doesn’t need grand confessions—he just needs to know that when he reaches for you, you will be there.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when he stands beside you in a room, offering his hand with a smirk that softens only for you, it’s there in the way he holds you.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when he sleeps better with you tucked beside him, when his hand finds yours even in dreamless nights, when he fights like hell to keep you safe, it’s there in the way he chooses you. Every time.

“You already know, don’t you?”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Ryunosuke Akutagawa – “Don’t die before I can protect you properly.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Not because he doesn’t feel it, but because love is foreign to him, something distant and unreachable, like the stars above the slums he grew up in. It is something delicate, something soft, something he was never meant to hold in his own hands.

He won’t say he loves you.

Because love, to him, has always been synonymous with loss. Everything he has ever cared for has been taken, ripped from his grasp before he even had a chance to understand it. So why would this be any different?

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll feel it in the way he teaches you how to fight, how he watches your every movement, memorizing the rhythm of your steps as if preparing to shield you before you even fall. You’ll see it in the way Rashomon hovers near you, shifting subtly, positioning itself between you and danger like an unspoken vow.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when you speak, he listens—truly listens, in a way he never does with anyone else. He absorbs your words like they are gospel, lets them settle deep in his chest, turns them over in his mind long after you’re gone.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you are hurt—if someone dares to lay a hand on you, if you ever bleed because of another, his rage will be instant, merciless. Not because he is angry, but because the sight of you in pain is unbearable in a way he doesn’t have the language to explain.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will stand beside you in silence, his presence unwavering, his eyes dark with something unspoken. He will never call you strong, but he will only ever respect those who are, and you are the only one he allows close.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever left, he would never stop looking for you. He would never say your name out loud, but it would echo in his mind like an unfinished sentence, like a prayer whispered too late.

“Don’t die before I can protect you properly.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Fyodor Dostoevsky – “You amuse me.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Because love, to him, is a human weakness. A flaw. A crack in the foundation of something that should be unshakable. Love clouds judgment, warps perspective, turns the brilliant into fools—and Fyodor Dostoevsky is no fool.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you are an exception. A variable he did not account for. A contradiction he cannot solve. And that interests him.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will watch you—not with longing, not with sentimentality, but with the gaze of a man who is used to understanding everything, and yet, somehow, does not understand you. He studies you the way he studies a chessboard, as if you are a piece that does not belong, a move he did not anticipate.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will never lie to you. Not because he is kind, not because he respects you, but because there is no need to deceive something he already considers his.

He won’t say he loves you.

But his touch, when it comes, is deliberate. He brushes his fingers against yours as he hands you a teacup, lingers just long enough for the contact to mean something—but not long enough for you to be sure. He never calls you by your name when he can call you something softer, something more intimate, something that makes it feel like you are special, even when you know you shouldn’t be.

He won’t say he loves you.

But his affection is in the silences, in the spaces between words, in the moments when he allows you to stand close when he would never tolerate another. He lets you speak your mind, even when he already knows what you will say. He allows you to question him, because he enjoys watching you try to unravel something that cannot be unraveled.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he lets you live. And that, more than anything, should terrify you.

“You amuse me.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Sigma – “Tell me I’m real.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. He is a man who did not exist until recently, a being with no past, no childhood, no proof that he belongs in this world at all.

He won’t say he loves you.

Because to love means to claim something as your own, and he is still unsure if he is allowed to claim anything. He does not know what he is, where he came from, or what fate has planned for him—but he knows you.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll feel it in the way he always makes sure your favorite things are stocked in the casino, even if you never ask. In the way his hands hesitate before pulling away, as if he wants to hold on just a little longer but fears what it might mean.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you are the only thing that makes him feel real. The only proof he has that he exists as something more than a placeholder in a story someone else wrote.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he will memorize your schedule, not out of control, but out of a quiet longing to be part of your world. He will watch you from the corner of his eye, wondering if he can be someone worth staying for.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when you leave a room, he waits an extra second before breathing again, as if your presence alone steadies him.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever tried to leave for good, he would not beg you to stay. Not because he doesn’t want to—but because he fears that if you go, he will forget what it felt like to be wanted at all.

“Tell me I’m real.”

That’s what he really means.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Nikolai Gogol – “You’re the only one who makes me stay.”

He won’t say he loves you.

Because love is a chain, and chains were meant to be broken. Love is something that binds, tethers, shackles—and he has spent his whole life cutting himself free.

He won’t say he loves you.

But he lingers longer than he should, just close enough for you to wonder if he means to stay. He calls you his little trick, his favorite act, his most entertaining performance—but the way he watches you when you aren’t looking? That’s not an act.

He won’t say he loves you.

But you’ll feel it in the way his chaos never quite touches you. In the way his games are never at your expense, the way he teases but never cuts too deep, the way he pretends to be fickle but always, always finds his way back to you.

He won’t say he loves you.

But when he speaks of freedom—his one obsession, the thing that drives him, the only thing he has ever truly wanted—you notice he never includes you in the things he wants to leave behind.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever tried to run, he would let you. He would laugh, twirl his cane, bow like a gentleman as if bidding farewell to a fleeting amusement. But if you watched closely—if you really knew him—you would notice the hesitation, the half-second of stillness, as if something inside of him had just unraveled.

He won’t say he loves you.

But if you ever truly disappeared, he would burn the world down looking for you, laughing all the while, like it was all just another game.

“You’re the only one who makes me stay.”

That’s what he really means.

[vxtanne31]

As the Night Crawls

Takes place during the seven years of Silco’s control of the Undercity.

Wrote this because I wanted to see more of Sevika with someone who matched her energy.

First time writing so be nice please : One shot Sevika/Reader

Sevika/you (OC nickname is Cannon)

(Muscle mommy/ Dom fem energy reader)

Warnings: 18+, Oral (r!receiving,Sev receiving), fingering, tribbing, (switches) F/F men and minors DNI

*two years prior*

Zaun, what a shit show, but a shit show which was your home. With most of your family dead or hooked on the latest drug, you weren’t about to sink in that hole with them. A bag slung over your shoulder, you entered the noisy halls of a club you knew Silco owned.

You had an appointment with him. He saw you take down a man twice your size outside the Last Drop and gave you his card.

“Tomorrow, 9pm sharp.”’

You took it without delay, knowing that to work for him might be a dangerous game, but it would pay well.

And now you were here, this place used to be a more cozy bar until Silco started running these streets. Shimmer, the purple powerful drug found everywhere, was his biggest source of income.

You walked into the loud club and headed up the stairs Silco directed you to do yesterday. He was looking for some extra muscle and you weren’t gonna leave without that job.

You walked up, knocking at the door.

“Come in,” you heard a voice say.

You opened it and looked around Silco’s office, neatly done but not ornate.

He swiveled in his chair to face you, “right on time. Good.”

You stepped in, shutting the door behind you. You said nothing, knowing your smart mouth could get you into trouble. Best to let Silco do the talking. Men like him preferred it anyway.

“I saw your work yesterday. You seem to know your way around a fight. Could use someone like you. Have any other skills I would find…useful?” Silco gave you a once over before looking back at the papers on his desk.

You set your bag on the floor. “I am a pretty good negotiator. Used to bargain some good deals for my father who was a mechanic. I am pretty handy as well.”

Silco thrummed his long fingers against his wooden desk. “How old are you girl?”

You wanted to quip back at him for calling you ‘girl’, but decided against it. “Twenty-Nine Sir.”

“You work well with others?” Silco picked up a piece of paper on his desk and looked over it.

“Depends who the ‘others’ are I suppose. I usually get along with almost anyone. Not here to make any waves. Just do my job.” You folded your hands behind your back, hoping you didn’t say too much.

“Family? They living?” Silco still didn’t bother to look at you.

“Either dead or disappeared. Just me to rely on, no one else.”

“Where do you live?” Silco’s eyes continued to scan the paper.

“My dad’s old shop. But it’s kind of rundown. One of the men who you were with yesterday told me to pack a bag.”

Silco finally met your eyes. “I own a few apartment buildings. I like those who work with me to live close, in case there are any late night… disturbances that need handling.”

There was another knock on the door. “Enter,” Silco flicked the paper back on the desk.

In walked a woman who you hadn’t seen before. Tall as hell, imposing, with piercing silver eyes and a tightly packed muscled frame that you knew could cause some real damage.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Sevika’s gaze drifted over to you, brow raised in a quizzical nature. She had seen you around before, tough little thing you were. Maybe not so little but at least three to four inches shorter than Sevika.

“Sevika, meet your new partner.” Silco motioned his hand to you.

You could tell by the long drawn out silence that Sevika did not like this news.

“Why do I need a partner? I’m doing fine on my own.” Sevika’s eyes narrowed, taking a swig of whatever bottle was in her hand.

“Because I have money out on the streets and I need more muscle to collect. Show her the ropes, it’s not up for discussion Sevika.”

Sevika’s lip curled as she strode up to you, finally getting a good look. You’re dressed mostly in black, your tight leather pants that showed off your thick thighs, you didn’t have much of an hour glass but had some strong abdominals and well muscled arms.

“Name, doll face?” Sevika licked the top row of her teeth as she bent to look down at you. She smelled of cigar smoke. By the way she stood over you, you could tell she was trying to intimidate.

“Y/N…but my actual nickname is Cannon” you matched her energy, your eyes studying her from head to toe. She wore a red cloak over her left side, a cropped vest that showed off her impressive lower abdomen, and metaltoe boots.

Sevika smirked, slightly impressed that you didn’t waver under her scrutiny. “Doll face suits you better.”

You matched her smirk and took a step closer, getting into Sevika’s personal space. “And what nickname should I give you? Sweet cheeks, pretty eyes, big mama? Take your pick.”

This made Sevika’s lips part in surprise. No one ever had the gall to speak to her so casually.

Before she could respond, Silco cleared his throat. “I expect you two to get along. Sevika, she will be living in the west building a floor below you. Show her to her place.”

Silco threw Sevika a set of keys which she caught easily in the air. “Come with me, don’t fall behind.” Sevika turned on her heals and walked out Silco’s office.

Sevika led you a few narrow streets down and up the stairs to a small apartment on the third floor. You stood behind her as she fumbled with the keys in the door and pushed it open. 345, your apartment number. “This is yours, already furnished.”

You stepped in as Sevika held the door open for you, studying the place. Not too bad, furniture definitely old but manageable. Everything you could need and hopefully with a decent salary you could make some improvements.

While you meandered around your new place, Sevika stewed in her thoughts. How dare Silco suggest she need help. She was doing just fine on her own. Wasn’t she? Hadn’t she given Silco everything? Sleepless nights on missions, broken bones, friends lost, what more could she do?

Sevika was too lost in her darkness to notice you had turned your attention back to her. “Ya know, it’s not my intention to step on any toes. I just need a job, gotta be able to feed myself and all.”

Sevika blinked to jog herself of her own thoughts and your set of keys on the kitchen counter. “Silco better be right about you. Can’t have someone slowing me down out there.” Sevika then moved her exposed hand to the doorknob and looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s late, I’ll be at your door at 8am. Be fucking ready.”

Without letting you get a word in, she slams the door behind her, the walls shaking at the force. “Well you’re gonna be an absolute fucking dream to work with,” You grumble and walked over to the bedroom.

You grumbled at the size of the full bed. First thing you were going to do with a paycheck was buy a queen sized bed and mattress. You hated small beds and liked stretching out. Couldn’t imagine someone as big as Sevika even having this bed.

That woman was going to be a handful to work with.

You threw yourself on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. You smiled to yourself, thinking about how Sevika would be a hard one to crack. You enjoyed the difficult ones. You wanted to peel back her layers. Living in Zaun made you hard, and molded you into a jaded, tough person. You knew that better than anyone.

“This will be fun”

*two years later*

You leaned back a chair, your relaxed demeanor now common in the Last Drop as you watched Sevika play cards with her regulars. An arm was bent over the back of the chair as the other held the glass of brown liquor you nursed.

“Rotten luck boys,” Sevika smirked and threw down her cards. The smoke curled from her mouth as she took a drag of her cigarillo and exhaled.

Damn that bitch was good at gambling. You smirked at the men’s groans as Sevika gathered the chips on the table.

After years of chipping away at Sevika’s resolve, she seemed to have least grown to respect you. You’ve proved to be a smart, cunning and strong partner, ensuring you have her back when it comes to the hard jobs Silco puts you two in.

You still haven’t figured out what to do with your attraction to her. Call it narcissism but you admire the qualities you two had in common. You valued someone who handled her own, and whose presence brought fear and respect.

Sure, you and her discussed your flavors of the month, conquests of women. Most of them were feminine and pliant, easily submitting to you. There was always something missing for you. You knew deep down Sevika was that missing piece. The worst thought though was to ruin the friendship you had formed.

(Sevika’s POV)

Damn you were hot. The way you confidently leaned back in your chair, your impressively toned arms on display. Your hair was half up like hers, a little longer past your shoulders, short pieces of your curtain bangs falling in your face. You only had taken two sips of the drink she bought you.

You weren’t much of a drinker but you did sometimes steal a puff or two of her cigarillo. Sevika’s stomach would flip when you took it from her mouth to inhale the slightly sweet tasting Tobacco. No one in their right mind would ever dare to do such a thing, but you, you constantly pushed your boundaries with her, tested her.

Sevika felt a magnetic pull, she could spot you in a crowd, knew where you were at all times. It had taken years for you to chip away at her walls, to peel back her layers and earn her trust. She wasn’t one to divulge her secrets, or share her thoughts, but you forced her to talk. You knew every slight shift in her demeanor. She sometimes hated that you knew her so well, but it was oddly comforting.

You were a loyal friend to her, keeping a watchful eye around the room while Sevika played cards. You could have been flirting with the woman who was eyeing you from her place at the bar, but there you were, sitting next to her.

“You ever think about playing?” Sevika shuffled the cards before her, mechanical hand quite dexterous as she sent some of them flying to each player.

Your emerald eyes shifted from your glass to meet her’s, the devilish smirk plastered on your pretty lips. “Nah I like watching you win though, you’re usually so generous with me when it comes to drinks.”

“Don’t think you’ve paid for a drink in almost two years.” Sevika scoffed as she took her cigarette case out of her pocket to put another one in her metal mouthpiece.

Before she could find her lighter, you picked it up and flicked it open, leaning forward with your forearm resting on the table. “I’m just here to give you a light.”

Sevika leaned forward and inhaled, the end of the cigarillo catching light. “I can do it myself smart ass. Besides I see a pretty patron over there eyeing you.” Sevika motioned her head over to the bar.

You lazily rolled your head to where Sevika’s attention was. Sevika didn’t necessarily like you turning your attention to other women, but knew it was only ever just sex with them. You had mentioned time and time again how the job prevented you from making real connections. It would be too dangerous for your partner to have you as a girlfriend. You didn’t want the weakness.

If only you knew that you were Sevika’s weakness.

(Your POV)

You looked over to the pretty little thing in the tight purple dress. “Oh Veronica? She’s always a good time.”

She was up for anything, downright in love with the way your tongue moved across the soft flesh of her core. Most of the women you went after had enjoyed your skill, the way you could make their limbs turn to jello. You were a giving lover and they always came back for more.

Sevika’s pale grey eyes studied you. You never knew what she was thinking when she looked at you like that. Was it judgement? Jealousy? Was she jealous of you for having Veronica or was she jealous of Veronica for having you? You were not sure. You dared not hope for the latter. You wouldn’t speak of your attraction until she spoke first, lest you ruin your friendship.

“How long are you gonna string her along Cannon?” Sevika took a drag of her cigarillo and handed it to you.

You shrugged and took the cigarillo from Sevika, inhaling, letting the smoke exhale from your nose. “She knows I’m not looking for anything serious. She just wants a bit of fun, like me.”

“Yeah well, never works out well for you. They always get attached. Then I have to hear them whaling and throwing shit around when you tell them to leave.” Sevika watched the smoke billow from your mouth. Your apartment was directly under her’s and the walls were thin.

You chuckled, “yeah guess they can’t resist falling for me when I put my tongue to good use,” you hand the cigarillo back, resting both elbows on the table.

Sevika rolled her eyes and shook her head, “I’m sure you tell them what they want to hear.”

You pursed your lips, and nodded. “I guess I’m not entirely…innocent.”

Sevika was silent for a moment, studying your pretty face. She threw her cards on the table and yawned. “Alright I’m bored, everyone fuck off.”

You knew by ‘everyone,’ she didn’t mean you. Her men grumbled and collected whatever money Sevika didn’t take from them.

When everyone had vacated you and Sevika sat in silence. You knew she wanted to talk about something she didn’t want her men to hear. You waited for Sevika to speak first.

(Sevika pov)

Sevika’s heart thundered in her chest, making her feel like she was about to vomit. She wanted to tell you how she felt. She promised herself she’d do it tonight, before she had to watch you take another woman to your bed.

But how could she? You were the only one who ever stood toe to toe with her, who challenged her and wasn’t afraid. Sevika was also not accustomed to these feelings. You had broken down the emotional walls she spent her whole life building.

It was a good five minutes of just sitting there in silence. You preoccupied yourself with looking around the bar for a while until the silence got weird.

“You gonna say what you need to say or is this awkward silence just foreplay?” You quipped.

Your voice startled Sevika, the sarcastic tone irritating her already frazzled nerves. It was more than enough of a reason for her to swallow her feelings back down.

“You’re an annoying pain in the ass, you know that? I’m going home.” Sevika stood up hastily, the chair almost falling to the floor from the force.

You scoffed at her abrasiveness and folded your arms, leaning back. “What did I do?!”

Sevika opened her cigarette case and threw a cigarillo on your lap. “Since I know you’d ask me. Maybe one day you can buy some of your own. See you tomorrow.” With that Sevika stormed off, shoving those who didn’t get out of her way.

Sevika stewed as she made her way home. Why couldn’t you just shut up for once and let her talk? Why couldn’t you just read her mind? Why did she have to spell it out for you?

Sevika knew she wasn’t being fair but she wouldn’t apologize for what she said. You pissed her off with your cavalier attitude when she was trying to be serious.

(Your pov)

“What the fuck was that…” you seethed in your chair. Why did Sevika have to be such a fucking bitch?

One second she was your closest friend and the next she was cruel and spiteful. But what was she going to say to you?

You took the cigarillo from your lap and lit it, realizing Sevika had forgotten her lighter. You took a second to calm down and think about what had just occurred. As you were deep in thought, Veronica sauntered over and leaned over the table, her ample breasts on display in her dress.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while Cannon.” She cooed, sliding a fruity drink towards you.

You clench your jaw in annoyance at the interruption, then realization hit you. Sevika was trying to tell you something, probably serious or personal and you interrupted her. You made a stupid joke when she was trying to be real with you.

“Fuck,” you said out loud and got up, taking an inhale of the cigarillo before snuffing it out. “Gotta go,” you didn’t bother to look up at Veronica as you made your way out the door.

You knew that trying to talk to Sevika right now would be a poor choice. It was best to let her calm down.

You walked over to a little market and purchased a big box of cigarillos, enough to last at least a month and more fuel for the lighter.

You filled Sevika’s lighter and then asked the man at the counter for a pen and paper.

A few minutes later you walked up to Sevika’s door and placed the things on front of it. You pounded on the door three times and left back to your place.

The note read “sorry for being a dick-Cannon”

The next day Sevika didn’t acknowledge the things you left at her door, she doesn’t mention what happened, she only continues acting cold.

…………………….

Two weeks had gone by and Sevika acted like you were just her coworker. She didn’t even bother gambling after work as soon as she was done for the day. It was hurtful, you missed your friend, you didn’t know what you did wrong.

You both stood in Silco’s office, waiting for him to give the task for the day.

“I’m sending you both to the far side of Zaun to negotiate this deal for me. Get there tonight and check into the hotel. You’ll meet with the men tomorrow. I need this to go well. We need these supplies to be at a reasonable cost. Cannon, do what I pay you for, Sevika I need you to back her up.”

Sevika glanced over to you briefly and nodded, showing herself out. You followed her, walking quickly to catch up.

“Sev can you talk to me? I don’t get why you’re actin’ like this.”

Sevika’s jaw shifted in annoyance. “Don’t know what you’re talkin about. Go grab a bag and meet me at the front of the bar.

You narrowed your eyes, and without a second thought of the repercussions, grabbed Sevika’s shoulder. Sevika stopped walking immediately, almost frozen. Her sudden stillness would have had anyone preparing for a blow to their extremities. You knew Sevika wouldn’t hit you.

You decided to drop your cocky attitude for a second and let her know how much her coldness was effecting you.

“Sev, you’ve been my friend for years now. Just tell me how to fix it.” Your voice was filled with the sincere pleading and sorrow you wanted to convey.

Sevika didn’t turn around but looked at where your hand touched her. “It’s not you, I just gotta figure some shit out. Just drop it.”

You let Sevika walk out of your grasp and watch her disappear into the crowded streets of Zaun.

(Sevika’s pov)

Sevika cursed herself as she walked away from you, refusing to look back at your crushed expression.

She was trying to distance herself from you to avoid her feelings. If she ignored you enough, perhaps she could trick herself into thinking she no longer wanted you.

It was getting harder and harder for her to do so. She missed you, missed your laugh, missed your friendship. She was alone again, alone with her sadness, alone with her anger and frustration. But what was the alternative? To watch you eventually connect with another woman and fall in love? For you to give someone else the affection she so desperately craved? Maybe at some point she could return as your friend. She had to rid herself of the feelings first.

(Hours later. Your POV)

You and Sevika checked into the hotel room Silco’s assistant booked for you. Not a separate room but a room with two full beds which you managed with a little smooth talking to upgraded to two queens. No way in hell were you sleeping on a tiny little bed.

You knew Sevika wanted to argue about sharing a room. You didn’t give her time to argue, nor were you going to let her avoid your presence like that. It was childish and frankly, you didn’t deserve the silent treatment shit she was putting you through. All the years you have been working with Sevika, you knew that you were the more emotionally mature one. Maybe you were more reckless, sure, but you knew how to express how you were feeling without resorting to ignoring people.

When you got to the room, you were surprised that it wasn’t a complete shithole. It was near a port outside the seediest part of the under city, almost towards topside.

You threw your bag on the bed closest to the door, letting Sevika take the window bed. You felt gross from the travel, sticky from the sweat of the summer heat. You took off your half cloak, similar to Sevika’s, and hung it up on the closet.

Sevika threw herself on her own bed, the mattress squeaking in protest at the sudden weight. She let one leg hang off the bed as she lit a cigarillo.

“Wanna go and grab a drink?” You suggested, trying to break the awkward silence.

“I’m good here,” Sevika quipped, not even looking at you.

‘Fine be a child.’ You thought to yourself. You started removing the buckles of your vest, revealing a cropped tank underneath. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

You threw the tank over your head and walked onto the bathroom, your naked back to Sevika. You shut the door and turned the water on, the nice shower steaming up the room.

(Sevika POV)

Sevika felt as though she might crack a molar with how hard she clench her jaw. Fuck, how did ignoring you only make her want you more? This was not her. She was Silco’s right hand, the most feared woman in Zaun. Cocky, arrogant, sure of herself, not some simpering woman who fell apart from the mere sight of your naked back.

Sevika took a long drag of her cigarillo, the smoke on an empty stomach churning her insides. She snuffed it out on the ashtray and sat up on the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress with her flesh hand till her knuckles turned white.

She was losing her cool, she wanted the upper hand. She imagined herself undressing, opening the bathroom door and pinning you against the shower wall. She could have you falling apart with her skilled fingers in just a few minutes. Sevika could wipe that cocky look off your face with one swipe of her tongue.

“No,fuck..” she shook her head of those salacious thoughts, her heart thundering as though she had decided to act on her impulse. Sevika stood up, walking to the mini fridge and swung it open, glass clinking. There were tiny bottle of liquor lined up on the inner door.

Fuck it, Silco was rich and he owed her for all the years she’d saved his ass from danger.

Sevika took two of the tiny bottles of the same liquor, snapped the seal and poured it into one of the complementary glasses. She stared at the glass before swigging the amber liquid down in one go.@

Gods she was acting like such an idiot. All for some woman who finally made her feel something, finally took the time to break down the many walls she had put up.

But what if you didn’t feel the same? Or what if you both started this and it ended horribly? You would have to work together after that. What if she didn’t know how to actually be with someone? What if you didn’t know either?

Her anxiety won out again as she dove back into the fridge to retrieve more tiny liquor bottles.

“Not gonna save any for me?”

Sevika froze, she was too preoccupied with self loathing to notice you had opened the door, steam billowing from the bathroom, heating up the room.

She turned to look at you. white towel you had folded at your waist, the other smaller towel you were using to dry your hair. Her grey eyes wandered up to see your bare chest. Though not big, your breasts stood upright, a metal bar piercing each nipple.

You noticed her gaze and looked down at your own chest. “Oh yeah, got them done a couple months ago. Saw them on another girl and thought they looked hot.”

Sevika blinked, her face stoic once more. She needed to get the fuck out of the room before she did something stupid.

“Help yourself to what’s left in the fridge. I’m heading out, don’t wait up.” Sevika moved past you, deliberately moving her body away to not touch you as she got to the door.

(Your POV)

You turned to watch her practically run for the exit, the door slamming behind her making you flinch and the room shake.

You blinked, your mouth agape and in utter shock at Sevika’s attitude. It’s not like she hasn’t seen your chest before. You weren’t shy when it came to partial nudity, often changing in front of her in the locker room of the small gym or using a steam room.

You started putting the pieces together. There was something up with Sevika, and had something to do with you. The only change in her behavior was her demeanor towards you.

But what could you have possibly done to warrant such coldness? You tried and tried to apologize but she never wanted to discuss it.

You looked up to Sevika in so many ways, to the point where you may have forgotten she was just a woman too. Maybe she was going through something. Something she was embarrassed to speak about.

Instead of laying there with your mind racing, you got up and got dressed, heading down to the small hotel bar. You knew Sevika wouldn’t have gone far.

You saw Sevika, sitting in a corner shuffling her cards to play a solitary game, her dexterous metal hand throwing the cards before her.

“Do you ever take a hint?” Sevika grumbled, not looking from her cards and taking a swig of her drink.

You pulled out a seat in front of her and sat down. “Enough of this crap Sev. What is up your ass?”

Sevika let out what was between a scoff and a laugh, picking up a cigarillo and lighting it. “You’ve got some fuckin nerve.” She inhaled and let out a long breath of smoke from her nose “can never fucking drop it, can you?”

“Not when someone who I called a friend, just starts ignoring me out of the blue. Like what could I have possibly done to make you so upset?”

Sevika went back to playing with her cards. “Told you, it isn’t about you.”

“Bullshit,” you folded your arms and leaned back in the chair.

Sevika’s grey eyes finally locked on yours. “You think the only problems I have involve you? Don’t be full of yourself.” She knocked some ash from her cigarillo and pushed the box to offer you one. You take one, not because you particularly want one right now, but because it’s the kindest gesture she’s given you in two weeks.

“No I don’t think your world revolves around me. But I know for a fuckin fact that this,” you motion to her and her pouty demeanor, “very much has to do with me. So out with it. What are you hiding?”

Sevika’s eyebrow rose, “what exactly are you looking for? For me to tell you I’m in a shitty mood and need some time away from your big mouth?”

It was your turn to scoff. “I know you’re always kind of bitch Sevika, but this is pretty bitchy, even for you.”

Sevika stared at her glass, gripping it so tight she thought she might break it. You could see her eyes searching the table, as if she was trying to come up with a response.

You decided it was time to take a dive. Something that could end well or with you getting punched.

You looked under the table from your relaxed position and saw Sevika sitting in her usual stance, legs open.

“You seem… tightly wound.” You lifted your leg and put the pad of your boot on the edge chair between her legs.

(Sevika POV)

Sevika felt her face burn, as though someone spiked the heat in the room. You were hitting on her. This was it, she could either dive in or continue on her path leading to nowhere.

Fuck it

Sevika leaned back and looked down at your foot, the sheer boldness making her pussy clench.

“Are you offering to…unwind me?” Sevika took her flesh hand and placed it on top of your metal toe boot.

You shrug nonchalantly, “if it will stop you from biting my head off.” You ran your tongue over your bottom lip and flicked your darkened eyes back down to her grip on your foot. “To be honest, I’ve always had a thing for you. You’re hot, even when you’re being an asshole.”

Sevika felt emboldened by your words. She responded by scooting closer to your boot, the sole pressing into apex of her thighs. “You like to talk.”

“You can always sit on my face and shut me up?” You suggested, pressing your sole harder against her.

Sevika sucked in a sharp breath at the pressure. She could feel herself growing wet.

“Upstairs, now,” Sevika said through gritted teeth.

(Your POV)

The stair climb to the hotel room was agonizing. You walked behind her, feeling yourself get more end more excited. You had been waiting two years for this. Ever since your eyes locked on hers.

When you got to the room, Sevika turned the key and opened the door for you. As soon as you were both inside, she shoved you against the wall.

Sevika hovered over your lips, the anticipation killing you.

You finally had enough and gripped her by the back of the head, hand on her half ponytail, pulling her in for a deep kiss.

You both groaned in satisfaction, bodies melting, the kiss was something you had both been dreaming about for so long. Sevika slipped her knee between your legs, pressing against the heat of your core.

Both of your hands flew to one another’s clothes, almost ripping fabric to shed each other of the barriers to bare skin.

You pushed Sevika’s vest off her body, the clothes falling to the floor with a heavy thud. Sevika was less patient. She took her metal finger and sliced the front of your cropped tank. Your eyes narrowed.

“You owe me another one,” you hissed as a cold metal hand moved under your breast. “If you rip a nipple ring off with your bionic-ah” Sevika moved her flesh hand to kneed the other breast.

“I’ll be careful.” Sevika murmured, her lips pressing against the sensitive parts of your neck.

Your hands wandered over to Sevika’s belt, unbuttoning the fly. Before you could finish, Sevika took both your hands and pinned them over your head. She then continued to kiss and bite at your neck, leaving marks.

“Don’t have to act all dominant.” You moved with her as Sevika rutted her hips against your knee, craving the friction against her pulsing clit.

Sevika relented and loosened the hold of your arms, letting them go so you can travel back down to her pants. You slowly unzipped her fly, opening up the front to reach your hand down into the waistband of her black underwear.

Your fingers found Sevika’s pussy, eliciting a groan from both of you. She was soaked. Your index and middle finger slipped inside her with no resistance. You pumped your fingers in and out. Sevika braced both hands on the wall on either side of your head. “Fuck,” was all Sevika could grit out, her head bowing down from the pleasure.

You backed her away from the wall, removing your hand from her. Sevika wanted to whine at the loss of contact. She didn’t have much time to process before you placed a hand on her chest and pushed her onto your bed. Sevika landed backwards on the soft mattress. She propped herself on her elbows to gaze up at you.

You stood before Sevika, not breaking eye contact as you toed your boots off and leaned down to take care of her boots as well.

Sevika helped you pull her foot out of each shoe, hating how slow you were moving.

You finally crawled on top of Sevika, like a predator over prey. You molded your body to her’s, a knee between her legs and leaned down to kiss her uneven lips. You didn’t want to just fuck Sevika, you wanted to show her intimacy, something you knew she wasn’t comfortable taking from anyone else.

Your instincts seemed to be spot on as she responded in kind, her flesh hand threading fingers through your soft hair. Her metal hand moved to your hip, encouraging you to grind against her. Sevika mimicked your move and bend her knee to supply you with the same friction.

The position was intimate, not rushed, finally enjoying the moment you both didn’t know would have ever been a reality.

You pulled her under tank up over her ample chest, squeezing her larger breasts and testing their weight. They were much bigger than yours. Your lips traveled down past her neck to take one nipple into your mouth.

Sevika rolled her hips, your mouth making her core ache. This felt good to her but it wasn’t enough.She gripped you by the back of your hair and pulled making you release her nipple with a ‘pop.’

Sevika wanted, no, needed, to taste you. She easily flipped you on the bed and sat up to peel your tight black pants and underwear off in one motion. You sat up to grab Sevika but she placed a large hand on the center of your chest and pushed back down.

“Stop fucking moving and let me do what I want,” Sevika rolled her eyes and got off the bed, kneeling by the edge.

“So bossy as usual,” you scoffed, sitting up and resting your weight against your elbows.

Sevika shook her head in annoyance and grabbed you by your calves, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed. She stared at your sex, neatly trimmed and wet for her. You were beautiful, sexy, strong-

“You just gonna stare at it orrrrr?”

…and absolute a pain in her ass. Sevika gave you the stare that always meant ‘shut up’ and leaned down to throw your legs over her shoulders. Her large right hand splayed your lower abdomen kept your hips down as she swiped a tongue over your folds. Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her skull at your taste.

You licked your lips and gripped the sheets at the first swipe over your swollen clit. You inhaled a sharp breath as she dipped her tongue into your center. “Fucking hell,” you murmured.

Sevika feasted upon you as if she was starved, her mouth trailing up to suck expertly at your clit. Sevika was experienced, she knew just how to use her mouth to make you arch and writhe. She moved her flesh hand holding you down and used it to insert to large fingers into you, pumping in time with her tongue.

You sat up and looked down at her on her knees, she had to adjust her large body, her knees farther back so she could get her head positioning right. Luckily her mechanical hand was able to take all her weight leaning on the bed. This position left you to admire her chiseled back, moving and flexing as she pumped her fingers.

“Fuck that’s it’s Sev,” you gripped her by the half ponytail on the back of her head, keeping her mouth locked on you.

Sevika, encouraged by your words, moved faster, the noises coming from her mouth on you were absolutely pornographic. Her fingers sped in and out of you, fucking you with the sucking of your clit.

Your body then tensed up, muscles tightening around her fingers, as you came with a groan of her name. There was no sweeter sound to her ears.

She continued moving her tongue, making you squirm and pull away from her face. “Holy shit woman give me a second,” you panted as you backed your hips off the edge of the bed.

Sevika sat up, wiping her face with her forearm to glower at you. “Who said I was done?”

“My clit for one thing, give me a second to breathe.” You flopped down on the bed.

Sevika ignored your snark and ran her hands over the softness of your thighs, her eyes hungrily drinking in your naked form.

She wanted to devour you all night.

You sat back up and pulled Sevika in for a kiss, your tongue running over her bottom lip. Sevika eagerly responded, both mechanical and flesh hand cradling your face.

When you parted, a string of saliva connected you both. “Stand up Sev,” you whispered.

Sevika wanted to refuse you. She wanted to spend all night with her mouth on your sex. She reluctantly stood from her kneeling position, coming to full height before you.

You stood along with Sevika and gently pushed her against the far wall. She looked down at you, her face almost unreadable. She was fighting for any amount of control over her emotions.

You kept your eyes locked on her’s as you knelt before her, gripping her already opened pants and pulling them down. Sevika lifted one foot at a time to help you.

You broke eye contact to trail down to Sevika’s exposed sex. You were met with a dark patch of curly hair, her slit glistening with arousal. “You’re fucking perfect,” you admired as you reached back up and gripped her hips, moving your knees closer to find a good angle.

Sevika moved her flesh hand over to your mouth, running her thumb over your bottom lip. “Let’s see why those other bitches fight over you.”

Was that jealousy? You would have to unpack that later, right now you had a job to do. You had rarely been able to take a woman in this position since most women you were with were shorter.

When Sevika removed her thumb you wasted no time latching your mouth to her. Sevika bowed forward from the onslaught of your tongue. “Shit,” she gritted and stood to full height again, gripping the back of your head.

Sevika tasted amazing. The scent of her arousal flooded your senses as you moved your tongue from her entrance to suck her swelled clit.

“Ah, ah!” Sevika couldn’t form words. She looked down at you, your beautiful eyes staring up to watch her face contort in pleasure. She didn’t want to admit it out loud but fuck you were good at this.

You took two of your fingers and inserted them into her, curling them up. Sevika’s grip tightened on your hair, the pull on your scalp painful. You continued to suck at her clit, realizing it’s what Sevika responded to the most.

Sevika threw her head back, colliding against the drywall with a ‘thunk.’ Her knees threatened to buckle as her climax built. “Don’t stop,” she commanded, trying best to keep her voice from shaking.

You pressed your tongue to her clit and aggressively shook your head. Sevika’s mouth was agape, moving her head back down so she could look at you. “I’m gonna-oh fuck!”

You felt Sevika’s climax as her walls tightened around your fingers, she pinned

your head to her, her hips thrusting to your mouth as you sucked .

Sevika’s whole body shuddered, vision going blurry from the wave of pleasure. She let her hand fall from your hair as she panted against the wall.

You released your mouth from her sex, sitting back on your haunches to look up at her. Your mouth and chin glistened as you studied Sevika’s face. “Now you see why they fight over me?”

The corner of Sevika’s lip twitched in a sneer, she gripped you by the back of the neck and tugged on your hair, making you stand to avoid further pain. “They will have to fight over someone else from now on,” she hissed.

Before you could respond, Sevika crashed her mouth to yours, tasting herself as her tongue ran over your bottom lip.

Sevika backed you up back to the bed, both of you falling onto it. She hovered over you, eyes wandering over your pert breasts. “I love these by the way. Suit you.” She dipped down and flattened her tongue over your pierced nipple.

You sucked in a sharp breath. “Good, because getting them done hurt like shit.”

This made Sevika smirk and flash her eyes up to yours. “Too bad I didn’t bring my strap.”

You narrowed your eyes and shook your head. “Not really my thing.”

Sevika quirked her head and teased your nipple between her thumb and forefinger. “Ever try it? You might like it.”

You propped up on your elbows. “Can I fuck you with it then?”

Sevika pursed her lips in thought, not the response she was hoping for. “I’ll think about it.”

You shrugged, “only fair Sev. You ever try it? You might like it.” You threw her words back at her.

Sevika sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re hot. Such a pain in my ass.” She then sat up, settling herself into a position where she was in between your legs, holding on one of your thighs as she met her pussy with yours. Sevika started to set a pace, rotating her hips back and forth.

You relaxed on the bed and moved your hips in time with hers. “You think I’m hot Sev? How long have you thought so?”

Pieces of hair fell in front of Sevika’s face as she enjoyed the feeling of her clit meeting yours. “Ever since I saw you in Silco’s office two years ago. I thought you were fuckin’ beautiful.” Sevika’s jaw clenched as a swivel of your hips gave her clit the angle she needed.

“Oh really? Seemed like you wanted to throw me out the window first time you met me. Thought you hated me-ah!” You threw your head back as a wave of pleasure hit you.

“I kinda did, you have a mouth on you. You don’t know when to back off. Stubborn bitch.” Sevika moved her hips faster.

“Seems liked my mouth just fine few minutes ago.” you reached up and gripped Sevika’s left breast. She slapped your hand away and leaned forward to cover your mouth with her palm.

“No more talking,” Sevika growled and rutted her hips faster, her movements getting sloppy as she got closer to the edge.

You glared at her, you were done being told to shut up. You pushed her hand away from your face and gripped the back of her head, using your strength to flip Sevika onto her back, switching places.

You wanted to laugh at the shocked look plastering Sevika’s face. “You,” reaching out to harshly grab her breast, “don’t get to tell me to shut up.” You moved your hips at the same speed Sevika began at.

(Sevika POV)

Sevika stared up at you, enjoying the view. Watching you take control was incredibly hot, your hair now undone, cascading over your lovely face. Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you gripped her thick thigh for support.

“Fucking hell girl,” Sevika rasped as she held your hand to her breast, mechanical hand at your hip.

Sevika was trying to hold her orgasm for you but was losing the battle. It felt too good, too safe, uninhibited.

(Your POV)

The feeling of her metal hand on your skin was sexy. One wrong move and it could pierce you. “You close Sev? You gonna cum? You like being handled don’t you?”

Sevika whined, her eyes glued to where your pussies met, watching as they rubbed and ground against each other.

You loved the noises coming from the big tough woman below you. She was giving you the control so held so dear. You were close but you refused to finish before her.

“I wanna see you cum Sev. Cum for me baby,” you moved your hips faster, trying to push Sevika to the finish line.

Your dirty words worked, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she cried out your name, both hands gripping your hips now to keep you in the desired place.

Your beginnings of an orgasm died when she made you stop, but you let Sevika take her pleasure out on you. You watched her come undone underneath you.

It took a minute or two for Sevika to come to. The orgasm was just as intense as the first. Her legs went slack as she caught her breath.

You looked down at Sevika, peaceful, serene and eyes closed. The room smelled of sex, clothes everywhere, the bed tilted from the box spring. You were too busy looking around you did not notice she had opened her eyes.

Sevika pulled you, as if you weighed nothing, to hover over her face. She wasted no time and latched her full lips over your clit, both human and mechanical hand holding your hips to prevent you from moving.

You had no intention of moving, bringing a hand down to grip Sevika’s hair. “So fucking good at this.” You moaned and gasped, hips rocking against her tongue.

Sevika moved her hands from your hips to your ass and flipped you to your back, her mouth still locked on you. She inserted to of her fingers into you, thrusting up to meet with her tongue.

You orgasm hit you like a train, your cries loud enough to be heard in the hallways. Sevika held you down, her mouth riding you through. When your body started to twitch away from her, she moved her mouth from your puss and rested her cheek on your inner thigh.

Both of you stayed silent for a second, your minds clearing from the passion you just shared.

Sevika sat up, placing a last kiss upon your sex before she moved to lay down next to you on the crumpled sheets.

You both said nothing, waiting for the other to speak.

You finally opened your mouth to say something but Sevika beat you to it. “I don’t want you seeing Veronica anymore.”

“Who?”

[chris-prank]

Hello

I really like your Atlas and your Jacce

Can you tell me how they would react/take care of Reader if they woke up/showed up for service one day and Reader was sick and unable to play?

Hi to you fellow yandere enjoyers! 😆 I hope my answer was worth the wait!

The only thing I could think about for “service” was like servicing for spicy time? I’m really sorry if that’s not what you meant! (Sometimes my english is no englishing)

CW: Suggestive content and dubious consent

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Jacce crawled under the covers, ready to put his mouth to good use. But as he was pulling on the rim of your underwear, his action was put on halt by a hoarse voice muffled by the piece of fabric over him. Then a light shined onto his face, making his eyes squint. Once his sight adjusted and you came into view, the man could clearly see the sickly color of your skin.

“I got sick overnight…” A well placed cough followed suit, proving your point.

Jacce gave you an apologetic frown, “I can still do it i-if you want! I don’t care about getting sick if it’s your germs.” As he said it he pressed a chaste kiss against your inner thighs and kept up eye contact.

You grimaced at his words and pushed his head away from between your legs. The man whined at the sudden physical rejection, giving you puppy eyes. How could he say something so cute yet disgusting at the same time?!

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that! Plus I’m not in the mood anymore.” You huffed.

“S-sorry!”

And so, for the rest of the day, you were doted on by your lover, from breakfast in bed to going out to buy all the medicines you needed. Despite your warnings earlier, it still didn’t stop Jacce from stealing you quick kisses every now and then.

Who could have guessed that he got sick three days later.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Atlas’s had everything prepared to a tee. Rose petals leading to your bedroom, a cute revealing outfit on his back, candles to set the mood, etc. Sure you didn’t ask for all of that, but he wanted to make it a memorable night for you. He was showing the extent of his love for you after all. Human courtship was supposed to be this extra… right?

Before the sound of a fist knocking at the door could be heard, the android was already set in position, his sensors having heard your footsteps already from an inhuman distance. He had knelt down, his pale hands resting on each of his exposed thighs. He could feel a slight glitch of anticipation pass through his vision as the door creaked open. Atlas readied himself for your surprise and excited reaction.

As you saw the display before you, you were indeed surprised at first, but it followed suit with a face full of guilt.

“Oh Atlas… ”

Your partner rose up in an instant, grabbing your wrist and bringing his other hand to your forehead. In truth, he didn’t have to do all that, since he had a functionality that allowed him to know the living organism’s body temperature. He still did it every time anyway because it made him feel closer to you. He swore that this morning your metabolism seemed fine and yet. He felt as if he should have been more efficient to prevent your health from ending up in this state. Human afflictions were such an unpredictable thing and he hated it.

“Don’t mind the setup, I’ll take down everything.” He swiftly said.

As he backed away, Atlas could feel a warm overheating feeling all over his face and chest, but paid it no mind, surely it was just a reaction from his program to the sudden change of objective. He blew out all the candles laying around and collected them in the process. The heat seemed to spread across his cheeks as he glanced down at his skimpy clothes only to be met with your gaze once he lifted his head up.

“I’ll go change if I make you uncomfort—“

You grinned before he could finish.

“It’s not because I’m sick that I can’t enjoy a beautiful view. Come and relax with me, you can always clean up later, pretty boy.”

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I really hope this was what you were expecting!

[fernsnailz]

FEB 2025 SHOP INFORMATION/FAQ

i've been getting a lot of questions about the next plans for my shop recently, so i'm gonna go ahead and answer a lot of them here as to update everyone. yay

edit: putting this shit under a readmore. shoulda done that in the first place lmfao 💀💥

WHEN IS YOUR SHOP REOPENING? i don't know the exact date, but i'm gonna try to reopen late February or early March. no promises though, 2025 has been kinda hard on me so far and i might have to push it back.

WILL YOU BE SELLING PHYSICAL COPIES OF BORN TO FAIL? yeah. they'll be on pre-order again. i'll have some b-grades available at a discount too.

ARE YOUR OTHER KEYCHAINS/STANDEES/PREVIOUS THINGS YOU HAD IN YOUR SHOP RETURNING? yes, i haven't retired anything. however, some things will be on pre-order again and other items may be pretty low stock. the band standees in particular are REALLY low, i think i only have one team dark one left.

WILL YOU BE SHIPPING TO MORE COUNTRIES BESIDES JUST THE US AND CANADA? no. i'm really sorry, i know this is something a lot of people want but i cannot expand shipping to more countries right now. i keep shipping limited to the US and Canada to keep the scale of my shop manageable, because my shop is technically a side gig i do on top of freelance storyboard work. additionally, i quite literally cannot offer international shipping to most countries through bigcartel (the service where i host my shop) without having to jump through a million hoops to collect and remit a number of different taxes + tariffs and comply with every country's requirements for international commerce.

the EU and UK are particularly difficult to ship to right now due to the EU's new GPSR (general product safety regulations) and the UK's VAT (value added tax) (which i would be responsible for collecting and remitting since i run an e-commerce site located out of the UK). the short explanation is that even though these are the two main locations people request i expand shipping to, i literally cannot feasibly ship to the EU or UK through my current shop without facing huge legal and tax obligations.

the best way for me to expand international shipping would be to sell stuff through a different shop hosting service that either does the complicated stuff for the seller or places tariff and tax responsibilities on the buyer, but please know that i honestly just do not have the ability or time to do that right now. i'm really sorry again, but i'm not going to be offering shipping to more countries right now.

ARE YOU GONNA HAVE NEW ITEMS? yes. i already have a few things i designed for my last convention that i have yet to sell on my shop, like some bluey and mouthwashing charms.

there's also a bunch of new robot related things i really want to design (transformers stuff, nge things, misc. other robot stuff), but i haven't finished them. this is the main reason why my shop isn't opening for at least another few weeks - i haven't had time to design my self-indulgent robot merch lol

HEY IS THE TARIFF WAR THAT THE US IS WAGING ON CANADA MEXICO AND CHINA GONNA AFFECT YOUR SHOP? yeahhhhhh probably. for those who don't know: i am based in the US, and our stupid idiot shit for brains country recently placed some absolutely insane tariffs on imports from Canada, Mexico, and China. this led to all three of those countries implementing their own tariffs on US imports and a "trade battle" breaking out.

the short rundown is that the US' tariffs on Canada and Mexico were put on hold for 30 days, but if this battle continues after that then it will affect anyone in Canada who orders from me. i'll likely still be able to offer shipping to Canada, but if the tariff battle continues then Canadian customers at my shop will be responsible for paying any tariffs Canada imposes on US goods. and since the 10% tariff the US placed on China is still in effect, i might have to raise the prices of my keychains and standees a little bit since that's where i get those from.

ARE YOU GONNA BE TABLING AT ANOTHER CONVENTION ANYTIME SOON? the next convention i have lined up is Animazement (Raleigh NC) in May! i'll be tabling in the artist alley there. hopefully i'll be tabling at a few other events later in 2025, but we'll have to wait and see.

that's all for now! if i get more shop related questions beyond this, i'll probably add them to this post.

[capcollector]

we could make this place beautiful

thinking about when bunny finally gets a day off, but she has no idea what to do with it. like prewar she was constantly working, after she woke up she had her whole journey getting shaun back, after all that she focused her energy into building up sanctuary and assisting the minutemen and railroad with establishing more community, driving out the brotherhood presence, in-between all that always going on supply runs and random quests……and she wouldn’t have it any other way. every minute was worth it. she loves being busy, and in some ways it is partially so she can just keep her mind off other things, but she genuinely just loves doing stuff. she gets stir crazy easily.

but there comes a point several months after the BoS is gone where there is just. relative quiet. there’s a collective sigh of relief, and she’s so thankful for it, but she’s not sure what to do now. she fills her time w a lot of smaller projects, like patching up parts in buildings and repainting some things, setting up/fixing furniture. she’s still a few weeks away from her due date atp so it’s not like she has a newborn to fill up her time just yet either. and eventually deacon sits her down and tells her to take a day for herself, for her own sake. she’s tired, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. you’ve done more than enough. rest. so whether she likes it or not, she’s faced w the first day off she’s had in over 200 years. and it drives her up a fucking wall. deacon tells her to just relax but she’s like. a little worried she forgot how. she almost feels bad for taking a day, like there’s so much she could be doing. but she promises him she’ll take the day off.

i think she spends a majority of the day w shaun. it’s not like she doesn’t spend time w him normally—he often tags along when she’s working on small projects in sanctuary—but today it’s just all about the two of them. eventually duncan and maccready tag along for a bit bc shaun and duncan like playing together, and bunny and mac always enjoy spending time together. just chatting while watching their kids play. the day goes on, the sun begins to set. mac has to go for his lookout shift at the red rocket, duncan and shaun decide to go inside and read some comics, and bunny is left alone.

and i think that’s when it hits her. she’s watching the sun set across the water, across the skyline of concord. the sky’s a pale blue, oranges and pinks bouncing off the clouds. the air is cool and crisp and it’s a beautiful evening…and she just starts crying. her grief finally catches up to her. it’s in this moment she understands she will never see her mother, her old friends, nora ever again. they won’t be able to meet her children, or laugh at their old inside jokes, or share a drink ever again. bunny wouldn’t change a day of what she’s been through; it was worth it to get here. it was worth it to make this place what it is now. but what she wouldn’t give for just one more day. one more day to say goodbye and hold them close, one more day to let the people from her past know they’re what made her into who she is now. one more day to say i love you, thank you for everything.

[nordickies]

do you have any headcanons about ladonia?

(I can make a list to make it easier?):

- favorite food made by Sweden

- his favorite uncle (and why)

- favorite activity that's not screen time

- what's his dynamic with Sealand like?

Thank you, anon. That will be helpful <3 I'm sure there'd be more but these are the ones that first came to mind

I'm still debating his human name but something popular in Sweden in the 1990s would probably be fitting

Physically I like depicting him as 4-5 years old, he's practically a baby in immortal years after all

Ladonia's favorite food is meatballs with mashed potatoes—a staple among Swedish children. But he doesn't say no to makaroner or bolognese

His favorite uncle is Denmark, partly due to his nearby presence but also his fun, easygoing personality. He gets along with children

He loves building and constructing with blocks and Lego

While he's not particularly active or sporty, he enjoys climbing - especially since the art installations (Nimis) hidden in the woods near his place are open for the public to explore

Ladonia also enjoys drawing and creating art. I could see him being a bit theatrical, too

Playing board games with him is a bit disappointing because he doesn't really comprehend the concepts of rules. Sometimes he even makes up his own on the spot whenever he gets bored

When he's focused on his devices or projects, he can go completely nonverbal

He has a habit of sitting in the strangest positions—ones that look terribly uncomfortable but somehow feel perfectly natural to him

He's very curious but a quick learner - but rather than asking questions, he tries to understand and find answers himself. But sometimes this means his understanding of concepts is just plain wrong and others have to correct him (or Sealand makes fun of him)

Ladonia hates to not be included. He wants to do whatever Sealand is doing, even if it's too advanced for him

He has a little treehouse in the nearby woods—though "house" might be a generous term. It’s more of a wobbly platform wedged into an old tree

As a 90s kid, Pokémon is important to him. He has a collection of Pokémon cards but he has never played the actual game by the rules

He and Sealand bicker like most siblings do, but despite their strong personalities and willpower, they share a close and loving bond. They argue a lot, usually over silly things like who gets the specific drinking cup or whose turn it is to pick a TV show. Despite the bickering, they can go from fighting to laughing in minutes, like nothing ever happened

Ladonia and Sealand have weird inside jokes and made-up words that no one else understands

Much to Sweden's disappointment, Ladonia would probably speak Skånska to some degree