#I love how the only times I tag shit as suggestive is when I’m either complaining abt this or shit lico has said

[greenlanterns-light]

It’s so tough out here with an f/o with a basically canon breast milk fetish. I am so sorry for this post

[ladybyakuya]

| SIDE EFFECTS + SAKUSA KIYOOMI.

+cw. — fem!reader, established relationship, ( domestic ) fluff, love & comfort, slight angst, mature language, atsumu being atsumu, mention of hinata and bokuto. beta-read by my beloved ray.

+wc. — 1.2k 

+syn.—  Sakusa has gotten used to you pretty quick ever since he started living with you but now that he has known the bliss, he does not want to go back to living alone.

+notes. — this is for flufftober ‘fond moments’ collab event for a prompt: quality time hosted by @spookuna. mdni cuz im eighteen plus blog.| redirect to blog navigation. & tagging @tetzoro for poking my pineal glad with a question that became a inspo for this <3

For almost a month, Kiyoomi has had an odd extension of routine that starts after his matches. It starts with going straight home ( to you ), and eating the dishes you made for him which was suggested by a dietitian of course! and then wait at least one hour before hitting the shower, and that too, a cold one since right after he is done drying himself he jumps into bed just to hold you amongst his chest like a hot bag; this . . .this particular moment is what he has been looking forward to for months and now it has finally become a part of his life, and if things do not go south then it might just last for the rest of his life. Just barely thinking of it gets him wide awake. If life was a sleepless dream, then he would not mind sleeping forever at the end of it with you.

Today, however, everything turned upside down. He came home a little late, just a little; ate silently without talking much. Generally, he turns into a yapper right when he sees you. He has so much to talk about yet even with all that bubbling enthusiasm he still does not forget to ask, “Babe, how was your day?”, “Aw, babe that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”, “What? Need me to scare the manager? Because I can.” he says while flexing his muscles wearing nothing but a towel around his torso but you know he won’t do that since he has the confidence that you can handle anything all by yourself. After all, you scared the shit out of Miya when you first met him and he will not accept but, indeed, Miya is not easily scared, especially by girls. However, this evening his responses were full of— “umm.” and “umhm” — nods and sneaking glances. The Kiyoomi that is reserved for the world has come home to you today. 

And that one-hour gap, between his dinner and shower, which is generally filled with listening to you as you roam around the house and work and he follows you like a puppy is filled with frequent calls, messages, and screen time today. It sure makes you worry if not disappointed or angry. It has been a month since you two started living together, so this one hour has always been filled with making this small apartment a place that you both could call “home.” Things were slowly falling into place, turning this place into a home. You were happy, and Kiyoomi? He was the happiest man in the world. 

However, crest-fallen.

Sakusa came out of the bathroom freshly showered when you were folding his clothes. Now that he can see your back properly without any thoughts lingering in his mind you look tired, sad, and perhaps. . . a little annoyed. Maybe it is not a good time to tell you the news after all but what else he can do, he does not have much time left either. He tip-toes his way towards you, slowly.

“C’mon out with it, omi. What’s up?” You say and turn towards him with a bunch of his clothes in your hand only to face a half-naked Sakusa, a pink towel wrapped around his torso, his hands in the air branching out in a form of embrace. You chuckle as you walk off to his closet but his stance remains intact just his head following you; 

his jaw drops as he enquires with utmost curiosity, “How do you always know?” which earns him just an endearing glance from you. You keep the stack of his clothes on the shelf, one by one as he finally says what has been bothering him. “I have to move out. . .to Osaka.” You had to pause before keeping the last t-shirt on the stack of clothes. Your hand is still on the edge of the closet wooden frame since you know the moment you close it— is the moment you have to face such a warped reality where you would be alone in this newly bought apartment, with no omi to wait for, cook for, or take care of. . . 

As if he could read your thoughts he mumbles sharply. “Babe, turn around.” He must be still in that pink towel. The air conditioner is on but it seems that he does not mind the cold today. You slowly turn around closing the cupboard with your hands at the back biting your lower lip in anticipation thinking if Kiyoomi had to tell you about moving out to you, then he must have tried all the possibilities of either staying here with you or taking you with him yet none of them must have worked because if it had, you two would not be standing so apart like two curtains drawn apart. 

“Oh dear God,” Kiyoomi groans as he clutches your wrist pulling you into himself. He makes you sit on the edge of the bed while he sits on the floor, legs folded keeping his head on your lap as he draws lazy patterns on the side of your thighs with both hands, simultaneously. “I never thought I’d fall in love even though I’ve planned it in my notebook ever since I was a kid.” He turns his head up, “Now that my love is here I want to keep it, safe, forever.” The water from his hair has left spots on your long tee. You run your nails through his scalp and he lets out a low even groan saying, “So, I took a week off to spend time with you and of course to get the packing done.” He has to rake his eyes open since the exhaustion blended with being sleepy along with your tender touch is too tempting not to give in.

“What?” You ask, surprised. “You did it for me?”

“Yeah. ‘course. Why wouldn’t I?”

A black pup tip-toes its way into the room and both of you watch it walk till it halts right at your feet wagging its tail, tongue hanging out of its mouth. Both of you look at each other, and then a familiar voice turns up, “We’re here love birds.” Sakusa rolls his eyes before turning around and grabbing your bathrobe to wrap himself up probably because now his senses are back enough to let him know how chill the temperature of the room is. You put your palms over your cheeks, it has become warm again, as you look at the pup. 

Just when you crouched down to pat the pup, Atsumu, Hinata, and Bokuto followed into your shared bedroom. 

“So, what’re you gonna name him?” Miya asks with a big grin plastering on his face.

“Kiyo!”

“Heyyyyy.” Naturally, Sakusa protests. Bokuto and Hinata share a look holding back their laughter. 

“Well, I call you Omi when I need something from you, or when I’m angry with you and I call you Mr. sakusa when we—you struggle to put your thoughts out in words so Atsumu interjects. 

“ —fuck.” He is still grinning. What’s he so happy about?

“Yeah. that.” you point at him while keeping your eyes still on Kiyoomi. “So, I don’t see a problem calling him Kiyo.”

[theyluvkarolina]

౨ৎ GOODBYE MY BRITISH SWEETHEART ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ Loving Lando is like how the Earth circles the sun. In absolute awe and admiration. But the Earth is slowly destroying itself in the presence of this star. The rays of this sun are burning away at this Earth’s ozone layer, maybe even going as far into this Earth’s core.

PAIRING ౨ৎ Lando Norris x Fem!Driver!Reader

FACE CLAIM ౨ৎ Amna Al Qubaisi

WARNINGS ౨ৎ fighting, misogyny (not by the grid or lando), reader is self conscious

A/N ౨ৎ God. Whenever I hear this song and think about Lando, all i think about is him and Luisiha. :( Again, I made this not in a SMAU format i’m used to. I decided to make the reader replace Daniel for the fic (I STILL LOVE HIM I PROMISE 😭😭)I hope you still like it! Tbh, I feel like I didn't do this request justice. If I have a chance some point in time, I might rewrite it.

1K EVENT MASTERLIST

1.3K words!

Twitter

INSTAGRAM

f1 ✔︎

♡ liked by mclaren, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and others

f1 Lando wins it in Miami, winning his first race! Congratulations! 👏

tagged ; landonorris

3,219 comments

username1 LANNNDOOOO

username2 lando has finally landed 🥹

username3 HE FINALLY DID IT!!

carlosainz55 ✔︎ congratulations cabrón! Welcome to the winners side 😉

→ landonorris ✔︎ glad to finally be part of the club 👊

maxverstappen1 ✔︎ lando nowins no more 👏

→ landonorris ✔︎ haha funny 😒

georgerussel63 ✔︎ congrats mate!!

username5 has anyone noticed that y/n hasen’t liked or commented? :(

→ username6 ik!! usually she is always the first or second person to do both whenever he gets podium…

username7 no because did anyone see how y/n was staring at Lando with his trophy??

→ username8 I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE. → username9 she looked at him like he was ripping her heart out 🙁 → username10 I mean, y/n has been in f1 for what, 2 more years than him and still no win. I know it's just eating her up inside. → username11 I hope she gets her win soon and shuts up the misogynists. → username12 it sucks that the team did a absolute shit strategy when the safety car stopped her and made lando gain her stop.. but I’m still happy for him!!

y/n_l/n ✔︎

♡ liked by visacashapprb, yukitsunoda, sophiafloersch and others

y/n_l/n Miami ? Done ✅

tagged ; visacashapprb

2,350 comments

username13 she didn’t even post her podium photo :(

→ username14 if i were her i wouldn’t either.

username15 can she idk, be happy for lando?

→ username16 no way you are suggesting this girl be happy after she lost her chance to overtake lando because of the safety car, taking away what may be the second woman to win a f1 race next to Desiré Wilson, after years of misogyny, and men telling her she doesn’t have a place in motorport along with other women. → username17 god how i love you @ username16. SOMONE ACTUALLY USES THEIR BRAIN

visacashapprb ✔︎ wonderful work as per usual!

→ username18 for someone who has been in f1 for 8 years? hell no. → username19 someone is jelly → username20 they aren’t jealous they are just stating a fact 😂 → username21 the fact that they are saying how she should be winning stuff after 8 years? → username22 obviously. since she came she hasn’t won anything → username23 lance stroll, kevin magnussen, and nico hulkenburg are calling buddy and they are saying your misogyny is showing. 💀 → username24 LMAOOAOA YOU GO @ username23

TWITTER

In Person

Saying that the end of the race was a disappointment was an understatement. For the past eight years, it only felt like the world was out to get you.

The constant criticism, misogyny, the occasional car failures, Lance Stroll's grotesque driving skills, and now, Lando winning his first Grand Prix but with the cost of you losing your position due to a shitty strategy mistake. It's frustrating, to say the least.

Being in love with Lando has its ups and downs. And as of right now? A hard low. As his partner, you want to kiss him all over his sunkissed face, going over each birthmark with tenderness. Congratulate him. Tell him how proud you are of him for finally achieving what he has been aiming for years. Ruffle those chestnut curls that you love dearly as you both stand on the podium, covered in sticky champagne as the fizzy liquid cascades over you, creating a tingling sensation on your skin you both embrace, the rainbows of confetti dancing in the air to the ground, trophy in his hands.

Yet, as a driver, you despise him. That haunting smile that glances over now and then, that sterling silver trophy dazzling in the light, blinding you as if it were the shining teeth of someone laughingly mocking you. God, how you hated it.

After closing the door to the driver's room, you swiftly remove the carbon fiber helmet, peeling off the balaclava that clings to my face, leaving my hair matted against my skin. With a surge of frustration, you glance angrily at the helmet before flinging the helmet to the ground, the sound reverberating through the room. Your breathing quivers as you gaze at the floor before ultimately��slumping against the wall adjacent to the door, back against it. Running a hand through your damp hair, you rub my temple, feeling the weight of the day's events.

How did you get to this point? 

“Where in the world have you been, you muppet? You just up and left after the national anthems.” Lando's voice broke you out of your trance as he stood by the door, remembering you didn't lock the door. "I didn't even get to spray the champagne on you like usual." He adds with a frown.

"Not now, Lando." You stated looking down at your hands as you picked the skin around your nails to cope. His face still held a frown, yet he raised a brow at your tone.

"Not now?" He repeats, almost confused by your comment. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

"I said not now, Lando," You repeat, my voice growing more insistent. "I just need some space right now."

Lando's expression softens as he takes a step closer, concern evident in his eyes. "Hey, come on. You can talk to me. I know today didn't go as planned, but we can work through this together." 

My frustration boils over, and I finally look up to meet his gaze. "You don't get it, do you? This could have been my chance. My chance to finally prove that I belong here. Actually- no, not me, but every woman. That we won't be not some- some girls here for some representation to make F1 seem better but to show that we belong here! That we are as good as men! And that shitty strategy screwed me over, and now it seems like I am a shit driver..." You snap in exasperation.

“I never tried to say that I understand.” Lando glared. His expression hardens, and he takes a step back, hurt evident in his eyes. "You know that's not true. You're an incredibly talented driver, and one bad race doesn't define you."

You scoff, feeling the weight of his words but unable to fully accept them. "Easy for you to say. This ‘one bad race’ has been multiple races. You've had your moment of glory today. You got the lavish celebration you’ve been wanting.“

You scoff, feeling the weight of his words but unable to fully accept them. "Easy for you to say. This ‘one bad race’ has been multiple races. You've had your moment of glory today. You got the lavish celebration you’ve been wanting.“

Lando shakes his head, his frustration creeping into his voice. "This isn't about me. It's about us! I want you to succeed just as much as I want to succeed. We’re a team, even if we are on other racing teams. But pushing me away and shutting me out won't solve anything. What’s with all this?“

“Don’t you get it, Lando?! You’re perfect now! You have fans who love you, you have a secure seat, and you have a win now Lando! All you need is a championship! You don’t have people telling you that you don’t belong here because you have talent. You have people who support you even when your team makes a stupid mistake and they still defend you! The second I do something wrong, even when it's team orders, I'm belittled and told to go back to do my "role" as a housewife! God, I can't even get time to be with my boyfriend or friends before getting screamed at by middle-aged men that I'm a 'grid fucker' and that I had sex to get to where I am!"

Lando’s face falls at your words, a mix of offense and hurt flashing in his eyes. “You think I don’t understand pressure? I get it, alright? I get that it’s different for you, and it’s unfair. But pushing everyone away, pushing me away, isn’t the answer.”

You stand up, your body tense with the weight of your frustration and sadness. “I’m not pushing you away, Lando. I’m trying to cope with the fact that no matter what I do, it’s never enough. And seeing you succeed, seeing everyone praise you, it just… it just makes it harder.”

Lando steps closer, his voice softer now. “I want to help you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in. We’re supposed to be in this together. Isn’t that what we promised each other?”

You look at him, your heart aching at the sight of his earnest expression. “It’s not that simple. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not. And I can’t stand beside you, smiling, when I feel like I’m drowning.”

He reaches out to touch your arm, but you pull away. “Please, don’t. I need to find my way through this, Lando. And I can’t do that if I’m constantly comparing myself to you.”

Lando’s eyes widen with realization. “You’re breaking up with me.”

A lump forms in your throat, tears welling up. “Don't put it like that..” I start. Lando tries to talk but I beat him to it. "I'm... not necessarily breaking up with you. It's more of a... "Goodbye"."

"That's technically still breaking up with me," Lando mutters, a tiny, barely noticeable smile cracking through onto his lips at the light attempt at a joke to ease the growing tension. I let out a tearful giggle.

Lando’s smile crumples into a frown and he takes a shaky breath. “I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You aren't losing me... I love you too,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “But right now, love isn’t enough. I need to stand on my own two feet, without always feeling like I’m in your shadow.”

He looks away, blinking rapidly, trying to hide the growing tears in his greenish-blue eyes. “This isn’t how I wanted today to end. I wanted today to be happy. For us both.”

“Neither did I,” you say softly, placing a hand on his cheek, moving his head to look at you while you skim your fingers over his birthmarks. “But sometimes, things don’t go as planned.”

There’s a long, painful silence between you, filled with all the things left unsaid. Finally, Lando nods, his eyes shining with unshed tears, leaning over to press a tender kiss onto your forehead. 

“Goodbye, then,” Lando whispers. 

In response, you bend forward, placing your lips against his own, kissing him softly, both our lips brushing lightly as if savoring the moment for what may be the last time experiencing such a feeling.

“Goodbye.” You replied, voice narrowly above a whisper.

𝐀/𝐍 2 : Ending tbh is kinda cringey but oh well it felt right in the moment 😫

[steddieas-shegoes]

homework

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'let's talk about that'

rated t | 990 words | no cw | tags: therapy, gareth pov, personal growth, self-discovery

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Gareth hates therapy.

Okay, hate might be a strong word.

He dislikes it strongly and wishes he could just write in a journal or something.

“Let’s talk about that some more,” the therapist, Jessica, smiled encouragingly.

“Talk about what?” He genuinely has no clue what she wants to hear more about.

“Your need for validation from your bandmates.”

Oh. That.

He wouldn’t really call it a need. He just doesn’t ever do anything that they’d dislike him doing. Even if it would make him happy.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You mentioned that sometimes you have ideas for songs, but you know one of them won’t like it, so you don’t suggest it. Why don’t you give it a try even if they don’t like it?” She clarified.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Because Jeff and Eddie basically run the band. They come up with most of the shit we do, I just add the drums,” he explained. “It’s worked that way this long, why disrupt the flow?”

“Do they tell you not to give your opinion?”

“Of course not. They always ask what I think.”

“And you choose to not give them honesty.”

“I…”

He didn’t realize that’s what was happening. And he hates that it took a therapist to figure it out.

“I’m not lying to them!” He rushed to say.

“Maybe not. But you’re not being completely truthful, either. Do you think they’d be upset if they knew that you were holding back to maintain the peace?”

Gareth hates therapy.

If Steve hadn’t insisted they all go twice a month, he wouldn’t even be here. If Sam hadn’t backed Steve up, a knowing smirk on his face when Gareth and Frankie argued they didn’t need therapy, he would be sitting on his couch or behind his drums.

“I guess there’s a chance they would be a little upset,” he finally admitted. “But not nearly as upset as if I disagreed with them and we argued.”

“How do you know a disagreement would lead to an argument?”

“Because all disagreements lead to arguments. Arguments lead to fights and silence and cold shoulders. Cold shoulders lead to people not wanting to be around each other anymore.”

Damn, Jessica was fucking good at her job. He didn’t even mean to say all that.

He didn’t even know he felt all that.

“Is this a pattern you’ve experienced before?” She set her notepad aside, all attention on him.

“I guess, yeah. My parents. My older brother and my dad. My grandparents and my mom. My first best friend.” He shrugged. “Just easier to go along with things. It’s not like I’m not happy.”

“Settling and being happy are two different things.”

“I am happy. Really.”

He is. He’s never been happier, actually. He gets to do the coolest job in the world with his best friends, he has a boyfriend he loves more than anything, and he gets to drink his favorite coffee every morning. Life is great.

“Do you think that happiness stems from the peace you’ve forced yourself to accept or from being content in your life?” Jessica leaned forward.

“Do you do this with everyone? Is this magic?” He asked, suddenly having the overwhelming urge to cry or run or both.

She laughed. “No, it’s not magic. It’s just understanding my people. You don’t give me much to work with, but sometimes something sticks out and I can run with it.”

“Seems like magic.” He sighs. There’s no way out of this conversation. “What am I supposed to do? Cause problems until no one wants me in the band anymore?”

“No. Do you want actual advice or do you wanna try to figure it out yourself?” She leaned back in her chair. “I’m pretty sure you won’t like my advice.”

“I don’t like most of what you say.”

“Fair enough.” She smiles. “I think you should try being honest next time there’s something you have a different opinion on. No one is going to hate you or want you out of the band. They value your opinion or they wouldn’t have you there to begin with.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Not necessarily. It’s only as hard as you make it.” She makes a note in the planner next to her. “I’m expecting you to give me at least one example of doing this by our next session.”

“Homework? I’m busy enough!” Gareth didn’t want this to get in the way of tour prep. They were starting rehearsals next week and had a few last minute adjustments to make on their album before the tour started.

“And it’s the perfect time to speak up,” she raised a brow, daring him to continue arguing. When he didn’t, she spoke again. “I’m not expecting you to do it all overnight. Just once.”

“Fine.”

****

The first rehearsal was a shit show. It always is, but everyone’s nerves were shot today after barely sleeping and a flight delay keeping two of the tech managers unavailable for an extra few hours.

Frankie snapped on him earlier, but he walked away. That wasn’t the time to follow Jessica’s advice.

Eddie stormed from the room a few minutes ago, said he needed a break to call Steve. He’d been arguing with his guitar tech over which of his five guitars to use for a song.

Gareth started to speak up to give his opinion, but Eddie was already too frustrated.

See, Jessica? This is why you should stay quiet.

But Eddie came back a few minutes later and asked Gareth what he thought.

“The one you use for Blue Night is probably what you should use for Invade. Sounds are similar enough for those songs,” he said without thinking.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Eddie agreed, knocking his shoulder against Gareth’s. “Thanks, man.”

“Dunno why he listens to you and not me,” the guitar tech grumbled.

Gareth smiled.

Okay, Jessica. Maybe you were right this time.

[mydarlingclaudia]

ENTER THE SURVIVAL HORROR…

OCTOBER FIC PLANS 𓉸

some fics I will be posting in October will contain dark content or will be dead dove (given I’ve never really written for either subject so this is new territory for me) but two of the fics I’m going to write are based on or inspired by horror movies and I’ll be writing both Chris and Leon!

also post dates and descriptions may change a tiny bit (though not likely!!) because I have actually only finished one of these fics, but if I do change anything I'll reblog this post!!

coming soon ⟢

taste no evil inspired by… THE VVITCH (10/30/24) -> Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

it's just you and your husband out in the woods. oh, and whatever is living among the trees. you think it's some beastly animal, Leon knows it's witches. but he can't tell you that, you'd freak out, insist on moving closer to town or even further away from where you already lived. Leon can keep you safe, he knows he can, why must you be so paranoid all the time? it doesn't help his case when your animals start being picked off and you start seeing things more clearly. it only ends badly for the both of you.

established relationship, tiny bit of fluff, gore, animal death, I make shit up about witches, cannibalism, major character death, au, fem!reader, re4r!Leon

how much blood would you shed to survive? based on… SAW (10/18/24) -> Chris Redfield x fem!reader

cheating doesn't make you a bad person, it's not like you were even married to the guy, Chris didn't even try to stop you from hitting on him, anyway. maybe getting romantically involved with your coworker wasn't the best decision you've made, but why should anyone else care? you don't let your relationship with him get in the way of your work, all you really do is help each other try to track down the murderer running through Raccoon City, how were you supposed to know said murderer would be your boss? and how were you supposed to know that you'd wake up in one of these traps one morning with Chris getting there surprisingly fast to help you escape?

established relationship, gore, mentions of infidelity, au, fem!reader, re5!Chris

she’s demonic and bloody, but she holds me tight inspired by… IN MY ROOM (10/10/24) -> Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

a college kid with a social life that's almost non-existent figures the dead girl that comes to his room every night is his girlfriend, some say that's a bad thing, he says it's everything he could wish for. who cares, anyway? it's not hurting anyone! well, not yet, at least. there's an endless list of things he'd do for you, you don't even have to ask. but why won't you come back after he takes care of a problem that would have torn you away from him? you love him, right?

not-really established relationship (idk how to explain it), a bit suggestive, Leon is kinda gross, necrophilia, gore, au, fem!reader, re2r!Leon

mouthful of love (10/2/24) -> Chris Redfield x fem!reader

mission gone wrong, the rest of your team had already been killed, so when you end up dying in that same mission it only makes things worse. but Chris can’t just leave you, right? no, that would be cruel, but he can’t really drag around a dead body with him either. who’s gonna know if he took a few bites out of you just to keep you with him? the place had already been crawling with monsters, it wouldn’t be a totally crazy thing to find on a corpse.

established relationship, major character death, gore, cannibalism, fem!reader, anywhere post re1 Chris

I will be using dark content and dead dove for tags so you’ll be able to filter out these fics. I don’t really expect anyone to give a shit about this but for those of you who do wanna read these thank you and happy halloween <3 I might also be posting extras if I find the time and feel like it, those are also probably going to be more cutesy fall fics sooooo

[brisquad-unit-4402]

technical guide and example scenario to kissing with a tongue piercing

this started as a shitpost style warmup/hc and then spiraled into a fic which spiraled into a style experiment. p much everything is deliberate except for the lowercase because i don’t believe in capitalization on my phone. now here’s a pretentious makeout scene where neither reader nor claude get the big 4k 120fps big picture at all

tags: gender neutral reader, pre-relationship, requited unrequited pining, oral fixation, making out, implied sexual/suggestive content, yeah i guess claude comes across as a sub here idk i didn’t really consider those dynamics much for this fic but if that means something to you then power to you

⚠ claude and reader jokingly call each other whores

⚠ implied piercing kink, hand/mouth play

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

reader: what’s it like to make out with a tongue piercing

claude: huh

good?? question??? he isn’t a prude but he doesn’t kiss and tell either. that shit stays locked up. he’s a private person no matter how much he likes the one asking questions. unfortunately

claude: why do you ask?

but he does like the person asking the questions. regret courses through him the second he says it aloud.

reader: just curious

reader: it’s just a stud so sometimes i forget you have one but when you’re kissing it’s hard to not notice isn’t it

claude: it could be

reader: can you stick your tongue out?

claude: [he does so]

regret! regret! regret! it’s turned to a flood washing over his thoughts. he chides himself. why are you so obedient, claude, why are you so eager to please, and for the love of god quit thinking like that before you get any ideas!

great. now there’s a nasty little thing called hope twisting through his brain and making it feel emptier than usual.

reader: i guess you’d have to be pretty into it to feel it

claude: [closes his mouth.] i guess

reader: so what’s it like?

reader: kissing, i mean

claude: that’s just your lips so it’s whatever

reader: no, dummy, i mean with tongue

claude: it’s just making out

claude: even i forget it’s there

reader: there’s no difference at all?

claude: woah woah woah woah i didn’t say that

reader: so you do notice it?

claude: well i don't but other people do

reader: is it good?

claude: i hope

claude: i mean

claude: well i don't think it's bad and no one's told me it's bad and i'm not bad [he thinks]

claude: so it's probably good. but i wouldn't know

reader: i should have guessed

claude: [a little.] yeah

claude: i mean

claude: yeah

he feels like he went outside in only boxers and got roped into an all-day affair. admitting things is already too much exposure. there’s so much he wants to say but it’ll take up all the space, ruin the mood. true feelings tend to come out clumsy according to claude.

the shred of hope lingers.

claude: i guess

claude: it’s smooth?

claude: because it’s so small?

claude: and the metal is just like that?

reader: [understanding, theorization]

claude: if it was a hoop it would be different

claude: but it’s not

claude: [unelegantly.] so it’s not

reader: i’m going to ask something stupid

claude: [gets a grip.] hey, i’m stupid

reader: no you aren’t

reader: i wonder what it feels like

claude: is this the question

reader: now it is

reader: can i try?

claude: getting a tongue piercing?

reader: no, kissing you

claude: [a brief sound]

claude: me?

reader: yeah

reader: i want to know how it feels

reader: i won’t be weird i promise

reader: and if not that’s cool

reader: i shouldn’t have brought it up i don’t want to make you feel weird or anything

reader: but i’m

reader: really curious

this is a bad time for his mouth to go dry. claude presses his lips together, only to pry them apart after remembering your request. he needs a swift bonk to the head. cold shower. 50,000 years of solitude. fuck he needs to stop thinking about this.

or keep thinking about this. it’s the best chance he’s got. it hurts his heart thinking about it. it’s indulgence. he can’t let himself pretend but he can’t let go of it either

claude: how are we doing this

reader: i guess we could try kissing first

claude: like frenching or

reader: lips first?

claude: oh right right

aaaaaaaaaa.

he feels giddy and heartbroken. and anxious. and it’s over before he really figured it out

claude: wait

why are lips so malleable? why do the tiniest presses make him feel so? so? giddy-heartbroken-anxious-dirty. this is out of order. friends don’t kiss friends with tension like this. but they are now.

reader: we forgot about the piercing

claude: right

reader: i guess that was a warmup. ha-ha

claude: yeah

claude: here goes nothing

reader: you’re such a dork—

he knows. he could always use the reminder. not now though. instead he refamiliarizes himself with lip on lip, slightly ajar, then rising. a gap between for hot breath to escape. the air grazes the slope of his cheek.

reader: mmh—

anxiety and dirtiness outweigh the other two, and the latter more than the former. he’s kissed before. reader has too. it doesn’t have to mean anything. it doesn’t have to mean anything. he repeats the thought but the message gets lost along the way.

claude: —.

reader nips so claude opens more. predictably so. and traitorously fervent. doesn’t mean nothing. his heart begs for some honesty but he can’t speak, mouth’s a little busy at the moment, not a great time to talk about feelings and whatever. he’d like to but, you know, clumsy words

clumsy tongues

the one over the bite, he means; warmth follows the lick at the tip of your tongue and down his throat and straight to his belly

claude:

you make yourself right at home. the breath is interrupted before it grazes his cheek because your hands rest there instead. claude follows your movements, shadowing as you explore, marking the depths before lulling at the entrance

reader: stay still

claude:

reader:

dammit, obedience, like a subservient dog. trembling like one while reader reenters. he nearly forgot the whole reason they were doing this until it prodded at the soft tip of his tongue.

claude: []

he’d nearly ignored the instruction. he tries not to think of it as a command, not while you trail up his tongue. little swirls that set him at ease and on fire. down onto the central. the answer at the top of the stud.

do NOT hit teeth, claude clawmark. do not hit teeth. he knows how it’s done but it’s so over if he messes up with you. fuck, this is wrong. you can’t be this hot and claude is so going to hell after this.

the metal preserves body heat but it tends to feel cooler to unfamiliar tongues. it’s important to be gentle with this. he licks low and languid, beginning a rhythm. simple circles. shouldn’t be difficult for you to predict the bead. god. what is his life

his laps are simple enough to pick up on. you lay your tongue on his in different positions to feel the stud. at this point claude’s done trying to analyze. his notes are minimal: sometimes you’re flat on his and that’s a strange feeling. the tip seems to have no effect on you, but it hits the space usually glossed over because of the metal so that’s exciting. when you press the sensitive side to the stud, you twitch back, and claude’s urge to chase rears its head.

reader: .

the challenge is taken. and now that the rhythm’s established claude speeds up. the sensation helps filter out the thought that this is an error. not on your part, of course, you’re just curious. that’s exactly why he should have denied: this is never going to happen again and he’s never going to admit how tragic that is.

but you nudge the piercing more, and the pressure makes his heart lurch.

he tilts your chin to his in a moment of surrender.

you play him like a damn instrument. his throat is full of lava boiling over with your touch, each hungrier than the last. the shivers just give you more openings to eat him up

claude: [needs to breathe.] hold on

reader: nngh?

claude: gotta

claude: gotta breathe

claude: christ,

claude: you’re shameless

reader: [between kisses at the corner of claude’s mouth.] yeah, i’m the whore here,

reader: said the guy with a tongue piercing

claude: hey since when are tongue piercings a whore thing

reader: since you kissed me like one

he’d been extremely polite, what the hell. at least, polite compared to what he really wants. still. you’re the one kissing me even when we aren’t using tongue, he thinks. the emotion behind it is unrecognizable.

yet you hum with muffled laughter as you kiss him. for not the first time it registers that he likes making you smile, even at his expense

he likes you but that’s never been a revelation.

and he quite likes how this feels when he tells his conscience to shut the hell up already. he takes your hand

reader: [with curiosity. you'd call it unrecognizable too]

thoughtlessly he holds it to his lips

claude: this is what it feels like when you touch it

the piercing, indeed, feels smooth on your fingertips as it rolls by the pads. his tongue lingers not far behind. those fingers twitch at the blend of tongue and lip; one of them sweetly curls at the stud. it’s always been easy to forget that the piercing is there but especially now as the plush of his lips closes. open-mouthed kisses become closed, leaving the true motions of his tongue—and the piercing, and the finger coiled beside it—they're obscured.

reader: [does it matter?]

reader: [Do the stage directions matter?]

claude: [looks up]

he quite likes the sight too

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[maeumdemiel]

yearning

tags: aftercare, implied sex/suggestive (? tagged just in case), fwb-to-lovers, mutual pining, fluff

summary: the two of you are tired and, at long last, an all-knowing yearning gives way for peace.

word count: 2.5k

author’s notes: (bass boosted) i am yearning !!!!!! god i just love the idea of ruined first kisses and then making them up

can’t believe this is my first post after MONTHS of announcing myself cuz wow so much happened since september. this was gonna be just a tad bit longer but it’s just a mess of thoughts lolol

Miguel O’Hara has high-cut cheekbones and wispy eyelashes and insists on holding you close after you both finish. He claims that it stabilizes his breathing quicker so he can then tend to you, whom he unknowingly loves enough to forget what waits for him beyond your bed. A meticulous, waiting gaze watches you; blissfully lost, you open your eyes to the kiss on your forehead. It’s a relief that follows and is always ready for you. Your hands need something to ground to.

There are strong arms, a firm chest, and everything warm. Miguel pulls the blanket up where his hands don’t reach.

“You okay?”

You nod, breathless, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “Yeah, I— I’m good.”

You were exhausted. Miguel doesn’t half-ass anything— never has and never will— and you were no exception. As insatiable as he can be, he makes a point of his gratitude. Those feverish kisses everywhere will stay with you. His hands, relentless but forgiving, sought for more tonight.

“Tired?” He sounds more composed now.

You can’t help but scoff. “No shit, Miguel. I’m worn out.”

A begrudging quip makes him chuckle. It’s low and throaty, reverberating where you hear it beautifully. His hands, one on your head and the other on the small of your back bring you a smidge closer. You’re fine like this: tangled in skin and sheets and kissing wherever your lips can reach. Miguel knows this because you’re quiet and receptive. Bashful excitement buzzes in his chest, knowing you’d never pull away from this.

For him, you’d undress down to the nerves. Hand him shears to cut away the bone that protects your heart to watch how it reacts to his exploratory touch. You reel from the memory of his kisses down your sternum every time he goes lower.

“Good.” His laugh is breathy. “I aim to please.”

You laugh with him, playfully shoving his shoulder as he brings his head to rest atop yours, cradling you like a wounded animal.

“Real funny, Mig. But I know I’m not the only one who’s tired.”

Now you sound more composed. This proximity gives you a view of his clean collarbones. Hardly do either of you spend these intimate moments without marking each other; you want to ignore the pull of your lips into a smile when you see his skin glowing. Instead, you thumb the contour of his collarbone.

He sighs, and you melt. “No doubt, hermosa. You’re a lot of work, y’know.”

“As if you’re not.”

His sturdy arm keeps your head up, finding his eyes in that heartbeat. It's the afterglow and balmy light that softens the angles of his face. He looks kind even if he feels perpetually tired. Rest looks sweet on him; it’s a gorgeous distraction. When your eyes flutter, Miguel wrestles that knee-jerk reaction to kiss you.

He hums. He’s white-knuckling that yearning. “I don’t think I’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

“Not if the multiverse has anything to say about that.” You huff.

Miguel comes to you with too much on his mind, heavy shoulders, and weary eyes. It didn’t take long to learn the kind of person he is in your bed— and soon enough, you happily welcomed him with any sign of his fading resistance. Soon enough, you provided more than just your bed for comfort. He fought against it at first, gently swatting away your hands when they would graze the ache and tiredness in his limbs. Whether he stopped resisting that relief or you were too stubborn for him, lovingly, he gave up.

“You’re all work and no play. Well—” You gaze down, beaming when you see how close both of you are. “Some play. I stand corrected.”

“Qué te puedo decir? I’m a busy man. You’re one to talk, though.” He leans in and you feel his grin against your cheek. “You sure know how to make me work for it.”

[What can I tell you?]

Embarrassed until you hear the tinge of exhaustion and satisfaction in his voice, you grin back. “I need my fun too, Mig.”

He looks down at you, but the vision before you occupies your attention. The sculpture of his muscle and how light bends across it— ruthlessly beautiful. Your hand finds his heart and you watch how he takes a deep breath beneath your palm. He spreads his lungs on the bed, watching you hesitate less than he does.

Something that you want to bring your lips to. Something that should remain a temptation. It’s a dream before you.

“What, sweetheart?”

Miguel enjoys catching you staring at him. You’ve appreciated him graciously when he gives back in bed, but he caught on whenever you took the lead. He didn’t know he had a dream in your shape until he left one night, vividly recalling the praises, looks, and kisses you engraved into him. Easily, he could have lasted a while on his own just with the thought of you, but he craves how you look at him.

Faintly, you grin and whisper, “Nothing. You look pretty.”

It catches him off-guard, surprisingly. His hand squeezes the one you have on his chest. When your eyes meet again, you take in the breath he let go of. Miguel searches your face for something to tell him you want more.

“No sé que hay en esta cabezita para decirme algo así.” Miguel doesn’t hold back his amusement, even less so when you have that faraway look in your eyes.

[I’m not sure what’s in this little head to tell me something like that.]

“M’just saying.” You add, not wanting to break into giggles at his face.

Miguel shakes his head, closing his eyes and kissing your forehead. His arms cage you, bringing you to him as he lays on his back. Resting on his chest, a soft spot inside you, a bruise of some sort, aches when you see how at peace Miguel is. Your head lies in your crossed arms to watch him.

***

(You’re sitting on the bed, grabbing bunches of sheets to keep warm. The back of your hand rubs your eyes while you spare a glance at Miguel’s back. Broad, hunched over, sighing. You’re mesmerized— as if he hadn’t just made you see stars every time you close your eyes.

Miguel always chases your gaze whenever he talks you through it; he loves eye contact, knowing you’re as desperate as he is. A carnal yearning you both seem to exchange, but it was nothing like the way his lips just missed yours just after you both came. You almost went into shock when that potential kiss met the corner of your mouth.

“Miguel,” He looks over his shoulder at you. “I’m fine. More than fine, you know, but for real— I’m okay.”

“I know.” Miguel breathes and looks away. “I was just worried for a second.”

He’d been having a rough week, and his visit was overdue. Eagerly, you encourage him to let it all go with you. However, that kiss— or, more appropriately, the helpless effort that ended in his lips smearing grunted praises against your cheek— was born from something that had been there long before rough weeks and missed priority calls. In the moment it happened, you were tempting him: lips plush and parted, hands cradling his face, folded beneath him, pliable and taking him sweetly. After he missed your mouth, it snapped for him, and he nearly lost control of his driving thrusts.

The truth drives him mad, seen now as he feared almost hurting you from his desire. Nothing new but pent-up frustration— regardless, I’m sorry, baby.

Your hand reaches for his back, palming his shoulder when he jumps at your touch. “Don’t apologize, Mig. You’ve never done anything I couldn’t take.”

Miguel takes your hand and kisses it, lacing his fingers with yours. He looks back at you and wonders what he’s done right in a world of mistakes, rushed judgment, and unfinished ambitions. That tired smile of yours shucks off all that burden.

“If you say so.” He leans over to kiss your temple.

You don’t even need to tug him over— he’s already got his hands on you when you reach for his other shoulder. He looks at you all over, but for you, nothing misses your trained eye. The gentle bob of his throat, the twitch of his lips, the way his posture falls when you take his hand into both of yours. He can do so much with those hands, and you know that very well; Miguel gives, gives, and gives, not knowing where he starts and when to stop. But you’re different.

As weightless as you make him feel, his slumped shoulders still make him look tense. Your voice comes out impossibly soft when you utter the following words: “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

And his guard lets down.

“Took some of your advice, and I’ve been fixing a lot of machinery because I figured it’d be a relief to fix it myself— you know, because I built everything. But that meant all the technicians went overboard with their questions, asking me why I didn't do this or why I did that.”

You wince as you trace his palm and each finger. An innocent effort to take his mind off things, only to be overwhelmed by the technicians.

“Peter B always has his baby at every meeting. I’m in the middle of briefing everyone, and suddenly, you hear him talking to her in a baby voice.” He groans, recalling Peter’s sickly sweet voice.

You giggle, imagining Miguel getting upstaged by a baby’s cooing. It’s not the first time he’s complained about that; it doesn’t take much for him to explain himself, as you’ve been an ear to many of the same problems more than once.

Miguel sighs, but it slips by you. He gets distracted watching you fixate on his talons. A few seconds of silence makes you look at him, blinking when Miguel stares back.

“And?” You say. Miguel looks down again.

He shakes his head as he watches his talons poke through. Not much else is on his mind except you. Just you.

“Nothing else. I’m just enjoying this too much right now.” He chuckles.)

***

It’s funny how quickly Miguel forgets that there’s a world outside your home, let alone the multiverse. Every time he recalls this particular night, it feels like a dream, curled in the sheets of your bed, the quiet staccato of rain hitting the window, watching you drift into sleep under the warmth of your hand resting atop his heartbeat.

The first time he stayed the night.

From the start, he never left immediately. Inconsiderate, he stated matter-of-factly. Then it became, I’m supposed to just leave you after we did that? And more recently, in that deliciously exhausted voice, Make some room for me, sweetheart.

Miguel has not done many things right, and he thinks it’s been a while since he’s done something for his own good. He looks at you in his peripherals, lying on your stomach beside him and messing with his hand, and you look— no one can be this beautiful. Is this too good to be true?— soft. Young. Peaceful.

He’s seen you do the same ritual with his hand during aftercare. Flattening his hand against yours, the other nestling it below, fingertips walking across knuckles, drawing circles and forgotten patterns on his palm, thumbing the calloused spots and scrutinizing the lines. Oh, during that part especially.

When your eyes sharpen, concentrating on this process, it reminds him of a palm reader. Sometimes, you talk him through your day or some nonsense that’s also been on your mind when you do this. Yet, Miguel feels nervy under the intensity of your gaze; his heart is dangerously close to punching through his chest, floored when the right poke causes his talons to show. Imperceptibly, he grins when they retract and rise with every jab.

“Can I kiss you?”

Now and always, nonplussed and wide-eyed in the cozy light of your bedroom, you’re precious to him. So wonderful that it makes whatever words would have followed mangle in his throat, makes his heart ache. You look at his claws thoughtfully, slowly lowering your brows and melting when he clasps his hand with yours.

You stare at his lips for a moment. “You want to kiss me again.”

So you haven’t forgotten about that miserable attempt. Miguel huffs, feeling his ego throb when he remembers that blunder. He’s a sore loser with the smile of a winner.

“Yeah, kiss you again.” He says again like he’s mocking you a little.

Maybe it’s because you didn’t expect him to ask, cringing with a giggle when you remember that kiss. This is perhaps Miguel tightrope walking on a confession, but there’s a safety net below, and when he falls, it’s clumsy but with no risk. A free fall of sorts. He knows this isn’t the best way to ask— the romantic and mushy way— but that’s okay. More than okay, actually, as he grins at the flicker of something impossible playing out in your eyes.

He turns on his side, leveling a finger at your lips, prodding at the edges. “Can I try again?”

You’d love it if he did. Quietly, you speak, “Okay.”

And then it happens too quickly. It’s not fair— the rumble of his chuckle meeting your mouth startles you, unprepared for a fleeting second until you swallow the surge of your stomach and kiss Miguel back.

It’s not any better for him either; his heart goes at a rabbit’s pace, running in circles and thrashing in his ribcage. Burning at the back of his neck, he fears he’ll singe your hand holding him there. He’s touched you before (in every sense of the word), but he restrains all teeth and nails against that soft sound you make.

Miguel is back to that night again— rain pattering outside, some forgotten playlist crooning amid sheets and pillows, watching you: a dream. He adores you, like observing something magical and unknown beneath a glass dome, reverent and precious. Then, his breath staggers when you part his lips with the tip of your tongue.

Your back meets the cold sheets when he hovers over you, arching into him, forcing the lines of your body to converge and connect with his. Any closer, and you’d be able to crawl into his skin. This all-consuming want that blazes everything in its path needs no kindling in the hearth of your bed. He catches on quickly, hand hooking on the small of your back, implacable and firm. When your fingers card through the tousled mess of his hair, giving it a tentative pull, Miguel groans and murmurs some honeyed nonsense against the base of your throat. It comes out runny and from the same rumbling laugh that caught you off-guard at the start of this.

Miguel is certain he’ll die here. He’s breathless seeing the wet pink of your mouth, then stuttering when you smile. You give him no other response than that smile, along with a laugh that makes his heart soar and stomach dive. All he can do is bring that smile to his, over and over and over again.

i’d love to take any requests/asks! thank you for reading <3

[adamurray1988]

Adam Murray Ask Blog!

🌒🍎- “You’ve reached the Bythorne Paranormal Society, How may I help you?” -🍎🌘

(Ran by @thequasarwinds go check it out I post funky AU shit)

(Sprites made by @thepowerofyes ! And are either adjusted/edited by me and my twin @seasonalmoss! (Go check out there TMC ask blogs too! @thatcherdavis92mcpd and @sarahheathcliff-evelinmiller90 )

I’m certain there’s a lot of other Adam ask blogs- but I was tempted, and really wanted to share my take on him! Perhaps in the future when this gets more popular I’ll make this a sort of duel blog? Serving as both an ask blog for Adam within canon (generally) and Adam within my AU “Estrangement of Conduct”. Ofc with separate tags

RULES

-Flirting is okay! But please please no NSFW

-A minor’s running this account so keep that in mind

-HC’s ofc will be applied

-Use common sense: be respectful and don’t be rude

-Have fun! I’m a rather chill person

-PLEASE NOTE: I’ll be trying to stay pretty in character so my answers may be a bit cold, dismissive, aloof, and a bit rude at times

-ALSO PLEASE NOTE: I will sometimes reply with a drawing (or more)- however I do not know how to draw humans to well (My pfp is about the best I got) so Adam will be catified! I hope that doesn’t bother ya to much!

BLOG/AU TIMELINE + INFO

Takes place after Jonah’s “death” (in tandem with another ask blog @jonahmarshall77) but before he found out he was an alternate. I know canonically there was only ‘bout a few days in between these, let’s just say it’s more spread out here.

Adam was raised in the foster care system (suggested by the fact he still has his bio parents last name)

Debating whether or not he met Thatcher in this stretched out timeline (He just needs to be with his dad 😔)

I’ll add more in the future if I see it’s needed!

REGARDING THE VISUALS: We (me and my twin) Hc that Adam’s eyes change slightly depending on how he’s feeling + acting. Usually defined wether or not he’s acting more human or alternate (chart below)

TAGS

#adam murray answers and #adam murray asks will be in respond posts! (I hope those tags work- I’m still rather new to how Tumblr works)

and ofc anything out of character will be tagged #ooc or #out of character

CLAIMED ANONS

‼️, 🧷, 🫁, 🔪

🌘🍎- “I never said that . . It’s messing with my words. . . I don’t know what’s going on; it’s not me, it’s the computer I swear, I’m not stupid alright?” 🍎🌘

[autistic-katara]

said this in the tags of a previous post from like 5 minutes ago but does anyone have any angsty / hurt/comforty zukka fic ideas they cba to write/want me to write? (bcz there are seriously not enough of those like how the fuck have i read like all of them on ao3 that interest me??? anyways conditions(?) for what i write under the cut)

i don’t like aus much so pls don’t include any (just a personal preference // canon divergence is one idm as much but don’t love)

when it comes to hurt/comfort it doesn’t have to be them comforting eachother (me personally i love those “hakoda finds out accidentally and zuko freaks the fuck out bcz fire nation homophobia but sokka’s just insanely embarrassed and hakoda’s a rlly good dad abt it” fics, also love the idea of iroh talking to zuko abt stuff or other members of the gaang finding out+talking abt it)

would prefer if it either included a focus on either queer stuff/coming out or outing/homophobia discussions/etc or mental illness shit (eg. zukos extreme daddy issues or shit like sh/suicide bcz fuck you i like what i like)

piggy backing off that i have no idea how to write mcd so pls don’t suggest it

am cool with making it zukki/suzukka instead of just zukka

the ship itself doesn’t have to be main focus of the fic i just want them in there

idm at all writing stuff that implies/references sex and i don’t really mind including actual sexual content but i’ve never written smut before and don’t wanna write smthn rn thats nsfw-focused so if u include that in ur prompt just be aware i might have to skip and imply the scene or i might not write it bcz yay writers block (it’s connected i promise-)

VERY happy to make either of them autistic and will probably write zuko like that anyway

PLEASE if u have an idea but think it’s cringe or weird or whatever just send it (on anon if u want) and if u have an idea but are not sure if it fits just send it with a disclaimer, i’d rather have a lot of bad ideas like what happens everytime i ask for bsd ideas than nothing bcz the eldritch horrors have maybe allowed me to write for the first time in ages and i rlly wanna put a fic out

please don’t be super vague i’m too autistic for that 😭

plz send the requests as asks, not a reblog or comment (just so i have them all in the same place)

sorry this was kinda long and idk if anyone’ll respond to this but yeah there’s srsly not enough of this kinda fic in this fandom (and i’m not even gonna mention how i wrote my kyoshi fic in april and it’s STILL the only fic like that abt her so what the fuck)

oh also yeah my ao3 is Raines_Adopted_Son

[ilguna]

hii! idk if you do this stuff but do you have tips on how to start build an acc? like mutuals followers just general stuff. i'm kinda stuck lmao.

ahhh this one is a hard one to do. if im being honest, i’ve had this account for a while, at least since 2017 😬 buutttt i took a look at your account, im liking the vibes.

when it comes to fanfiction and building an account, usually you have to start writing and posting. i would suggest looking at some of your favorite writers, especially on tumblr if it’s gonna be your main domain and see how they layout their post and try to do something similar.

i’m going to use my acc as an example but there’s many other ways you can go about this.

when i’m looking for fanfiction, i like to see the title of the fic and the person that im looking for specifically. i do it as the title of the fic, some people have it in the body of the text posts.

next i try to summarize it to let people know what it’s going to be about. when i look for fanfic, i have something in mind that i want. i always put warnings because it’s the easiest thing to do/keep track of. sometimes fics can get heavy.

i put a word count in case someone doesn’t want to get caught up in a long fic and they’re just looking for something short and sweet.

and notes is where i put anything important. for that fic, it was the fact that it was based on the taylor swift song. if you’re ever writing based off a certain episode of a show, i would put: spoiler: season x, episode x. or s2ep3. something in that general format.

next comes your fanfiction. people will either love it or hate it. and that’s totally fine. you can put your heart and soul into something and they don’t have to like it. you’re just putting your works out on the market, if they wanna read they will!! if they wanna come back, they’ll follow!!

and tagging is probably the most important way to get traction, in my opinion. i have curated this tagging system over a couple years. it seems to work pretty well. the only rule that i NEVER break is that i DO NOT tag fandoms or characters that are not the main interest of the fic 🙅‍♀️

for example, if the fanfic is about finnick, there is no way that i’m tagging a side character like katniss just for existing inside of it. it clogs up the katniss tags.

anywayyy, that’s my unsolicited advice for writing in general. you just gotta write and post. people will find it in the tags. will you get a bunch of likes/reblogs overnight? not at first. but as long as your works are consistently good, people will follow and come back.

followers on tumblr are not a huge deal. most of the time, people are finding your fics through the search function. they’ll like and move on. if your writing sticks out, that’s when they search your account.

i do not base my entire account around followers either. people will follow and then won’t interact for a loooonggggg time. or ever again. there’s nothing you can really do about it. it’s nice to see a high number but it’s not the end of the world

AND when it comes to mutuals? i don’t really have a lot of advice. i got a lot of my mutuals from the colby brock fandom (shout out to them) back when it was like 15 of us and we were running the whole fanfiction game lol. we still follow each other, but hardly interact.

and it’s kinda the same for some of my other mutuals 🤷‍♀️ i love them all. i think about them sometimes. if we talk to each other, that’s great. if not, i’m not gonna get all uptight about it. life gets in the way and we lose interest in shit.

mutuals are nice if you’re boosting each other’s fics. or to talk to about the latest news with the fandom. yknow. they’re just an internet friend.

i hope this helps? this is just the basic stuff too. when it comes to layout and colors and making your profile look all aesthetic-y, you figure it out over time. i’ll be here if you have any questions 😊

—

edit: also, make sure you turn on anonymous questions!! people usually like to request fics on anon!!

[queer-and-nerdy]

as a blue ridge rock festival 2023 survivor i’m imagining l&co going to a rock/metal festival and it’s CARNAGE right (this is based on my experience with festivals in the u.s. i’ve never been to any in europe LMAO) also obligatory @wellgoslowly tag <3

the three of them go for all 4 days with on-site camping but they decide to share a single tent because “it’ll be cheaper and we already live together so how bad can it be?” BAD VERY BAD. fortunately, the weather was good but lucy forgot to take into account how much she and george snack when they get stressed. her and george take turns driving to and from the festival (lockwood is a registered passenger princess i love him but also don't trust him behind the wheel), but lucy is the one to park in the campground as george made several domestic and international terror threats if he had to pull into "that shitshow of a lot, are you mad?? who's idea was this, anyways? not mine, that's for sure. park the damn car without killing us, please and thank you." their three sleeping bags barely fit the floor of the tent, so the first night they spend practically curled up together. george, unable to handle the sheer amount of LocklyleTM, decides to sleep in the car for the rest of the weekend. lucy and lockwood try to sleep in an inconspicuous/non-awkward way, but somehow find themselves tangled up in each other's arms. neither of them comment on this, but they also don't separate right away (they make me sick). they all wear matching noise-muffling headphones that lucy made for them (lucy's hearing is already somewhat impaired and she takes care of her body; george bitches about his hearing being fine despite staying close enough to be able to touch the stage for every set he attends and complaining about a "weird ringing noise" constantly; lockwood never takes his off, even sleeping with them on - lucy drew little hearts on his). the three of them also spent the week leading up to the festivals making kandi bracelets to hand out, which earns them some friends they keep for years.

lockwood (the masochist that he is) has the time of his life all weekend. he’s thriving on the loud music and shitty overpriced food. he desperately wants to mosh but doesn’t realize that you don’t really have to ask to join, and his first few attempts just result in him either acting as a wall or getting pushed out of the way entirely. once he finally pushes his way into a decent-sized pit, he instantly gets sucker punched and george has to take him to the first aid tent (they give him a small bottle of water and tell him to “take it easy”). he doesn't sing along for any sets he attends, instead enjoying hearing the combination of the band and the audience. he stays on the festival grounds from first set to last, and when he returns to the campsite he spends several more hours chatting with their neighbors. he loves discovering new bands and genres despite how picky he is and gets along great with the people he stands around (except the person that kept talking shit about metallica). music is a great escape for him and helps him pass the time in his everyday life. it acts as a grounding force in his life, and something about the heavy bass provided by the live music gives him a sense of reality. despite his increasing lack of sleep each night he somehow is more energized each day. this baffles lucy and george, who are running on the fumes of fumes. hypothetically his positive attitude would make him an ideal tentmate, except for the unfortunate fact that not only are the showers largely inaccessible but he gets it into his head that “there aren’t showers in the wild; therefore, i don’t need to take any.” lucy and george set him straight the second night with some not so thinly veiled threats.

lucy is the one to suggest the festival as a “much needed vacation.” she is also the first to regret actually following through on it. she spends the hottest parts of the day in the shade of their campsite, usually only showing up for the headliners at the end of the night as well as some smaller bands she researched ahead of time. although george teases her for "hiding," she ends up being the only one to make it out without any medical issues or injuries. she makes sure to pack the right amount of food for the three of them as well as budgeting for festival food but she would rather die than pay $13 for a slice of pizza. she designates herself as the merch martyr, standing in line for two hours to get the three of them anything and everything they could afford (one shirt each and a magnet for their kitchen). however much she complains, though, she fully enjoys herself the whole time. she allows herself the freedom to relax in what would otherwise be a stressful environment for her, and she makes a few good friends. like lockwood, music is an escape for her, but instead of giving her a sense of reality, she finds it gives her an outlet to be someone she usually isn't. in a large crowd, with no one's eyes on her and any internal thoughts muffled by the loud music, she can let go and lose herself to the experience. she doesn't mosh but instead stands to the side and observes the moshers and crowd surfers. she becomes so wrapped up in the performances that, despite knowing all of the songs, often doesn't sing along.

george, like myself, has a myriad of health conditions, so the fact that he survived the entire weekend is surprising enough. lucy enlists lockwood's help to hold a gun to george's head to force him to take his binder off periodically. he hasn't had a drop of water in months and certainly isn't planning on starting now, which frustrates lucy to no end. the only compromise he makes is purchasing a case of gatorade, which he chugs half of and promptly vomits up all within the first day. he isn't a huge fan of moshing but he gets dragged into a few energetic ones and finds himself having fun. although he, like lucy, researched and planned ahead on who he wanted to see, he prefers to spend most of the day wandering around the grounds and sitting in on groups he didn't know if he has the time. for the groups he plans for, however, he's a bit of a scary fan. he knows all the lyrics, the band members' names, details of their careers, etc. he knows the setlist ahead of time even though he could sing each all of their songs perfectly from memory and excitedly tells the people around him what song was coming next. he starts arguments with a few people on the subgenres of metal, but also manages to get a cute guy's contact info after crossing each other's paths at a few different sets. to him, music is the only way he feels understood. he often doesn't know how to verbally explain his feelings, and there's something about music that he finds accesses deep within him. he passes out three times during the first day (lucy was there for the third one and exploded when he told her about the other two) but manages to only pass out one more time over the rest of the weekend.

skull is forced to stay home by himself despite insisting on being taken along [he will remember this]. the magnet lucy gets, however, satisfies him.

[dedenneblogs]

Grover X Beckendorf Headcanons:

- Grover hangs around Beckendorf. a lot. the satyr takes exuse he can get to tag along with percy when he’s hanging out with Charles and only does so to eat all the scrap metal they leave behind, which comes in mass when it comes to Beckendorf; he was a perfectionist in his younger years, so there we always failed prototypes for Grover to chew on. It annoyed Charles at first, but after a while and getting to know the goat boy better he actually liked Grover’s company (he even thought it was kind of cute whenever his new friend would snatch and scrap metals that came flying over his way - wait that’s kind of gay- (POSSIBLE FANFIC IDEA???)

- Charles always tries his best to send iris messages to percy when his friend is on quests. percy unfortunately doesn’t note them because they’re usually just hour long conversations between a percy at 3:00 am who’s unable to sleep and a Beckendorf awake in the afternoon (cause of time zones) talking about girls, video games, etc. one time he was caught by Chiron late at night but the iris message quickly dissolved into Chiron stealing Charle’s call to talk with Percy.

- Silena was one of the first people to really recognize Charle’s discarded work (other than Percy and sometimes Grover whenever he wouldn’t eat his scrap, Silena was just more persistent and interested in his projects). the funny thing is that most of the time she confused his inventions for other things. example: Beckendorf makes a homemade lunchbox that folds for extra storage on the inside (actually one of Grover’s favorites that Charles finalized later in his years and gifted it to Beckendor)? Silena: “Ooooo! Is that a makeup kit?” Really, they were more friends than lovers. Silena had feelings for Clarrise, and Beckendorf was starting to realize a lot about himself when it came to Grover. But wouldn’t it be fun? It’d be easier. It’s what was expected of them anyways. (WOW! i’m on a role with this doomed yaoi!)

- Charles looks like he benchpresses, but in reality? he’s…(shudders) a GA(Y)MER…

- Charles loves to play the drums. as a full homemade set he can fold and carry from his home and camp. also has steel drums ONLY for camp (Ms. B doesn’t like the sounds it makes, it gets annoying after awhile). Him and Grover have duets.

- Before Grover went out on his quest after book 1, Charles gifted him a cup that had “The Best Satyr Ever” written on it (gay???1!1?1!)

- Tyson could see how gay Charles was for Grover. he has a voice radar AND gaydar which is unfortunate for Beckendorf. one time almost outed him to the entire camp when he said something along the lines of “you homo for goat boy?” In his heart he’d rather Charles be homo for anyone BUT goat boy, but he’s accepting (can’t spell cyclops without W).

- in an alternative (better) universe, Charles is along for the ride in the Sea of Monsters! but it sad lemme explain to myself: basically like Clarrise is given her own quest but Chiron and Dionysus don’t trust her, but more importantly her father, so have Charles, Silena, and maybe a few other campers go out to keep and eye on her. Clarrise catches on and tries to kill them probably distracting her from another event and shit goes down the drain. but like in the end everyone makes up and these characters actually get screentime! yay! victory! (also probably carry’s Grover like a princess. it awakened something in the both of them

- Grover is crazy good at just dance. Charles made another wii and everyone suggested him to download new games. “Can you install Super Mario Bros Wii?” Percy pleaded. “Does this stupid console have Halo?” Clarrise interrogated. “Oh, I just love Just Dance, it’s just great, BLAHAHAHA!” Grover humored. Just Dance was on Charle’s second homemade wii in a matter of minutes, and in stayed in his cabin so that when they could, him and Grover could just be together as two (either way Charlie isn’t the best at Just Dancd, Grover is too good but Beckendorf doesn’t mind watching him).

- When Grover called Beckendorf Charles for the first time, he didn’t correct him. A few minutes later another camper called him Charlie and he corrected them.

[ptergwen]

Congrats again! How about a little fic with Nathan drake? Maybe something along the lines of them flirting all the time with a little suggestiveness? 👀👀

7k sleepover 🦋  |  ask box  |  taglist  | main masterlist

w/c: 543

warnings: explicit language, suggestive

a/n: thank you lovely i hope you enjoy! also sorry i’m slow on the requests y’all i’m getting a lot of them so pls be patient <3

you and nathan got caught in the rain while heading back to your hotel. you were out exploring with him and sully, but sully came back a while ago. since he officially turned in for the night, nate invited you up to his hotel room to hang out and dry off.

the two of you squish in your shoes the whole way there. you kick off your scuffed sneakers once you get to nate’s room, and him his boots. you try wringing out your clothes that are heavy with water, leaving the floor a sopping mess. nathan springs to action and grabs you a towel from the bathroom.

“here, you’re soaking wet.”

“how’d you know?”

nathan chuckles and wraps the towel around your shoulders.

“i have that effect on people. lemme get you a change of clothes.”

he squeezes your shoulders. you smile at him, pulling on either end of the towel to tighten it around you. you take a seat on one of the beds. nate peels his wet shirt off his body, then starts to root through his things. he comes over to the bed with your clothes; a t-shirt and sweats.

“these okay?”

you shamelessly stare at nathan’s abs. he hands you the clothes.

“yeah, thanks.”

“don’t mention it.”

nate flops onto the other bed, laying on the pillows with his hands behind his head. his head is tilted up towards the ceiling, abs flexing with the deep breaths he takes. it’s hard for you to think straight when he’s half naked in front of you.

“aren’t you forgetting something?”

“hm?”

“a shirt.”

“thought you’d prefer me without one.”

“oh, nate. i love your confidence.”

“you were just checking me out, y/n.”

you purse your lips, a smile threatening to break though.

“was i that obvious?”

nathan pats the bed.

“come over here.”

you put down your change of clothes and join nathan on his bed. you’re still engulfed in your towel, running your hands up and down your arms in an attempt to get warm. nate looks over at you.

“you wanna get under the blankets?”

“but i’m all wet.”

“i could take care of that.”

your raise a stern brow.

“seriously, y/n/n. get under. you must be freezing.”

“only if you get under with me.”

nate untucks the covers on his side and goes under them. he looks at you expectantly. you shed your towel and slip into the bed with him to be met with warmth, from nate and the blankets. nate moves closer to you.

“you know why sully bailed on us earlier?”

“‘cause he can’t keep up.”

“that’s one reason.”

“there’s another?”

nathan’s eyes lock with yours.

“i asked him to.”

you grin.

“you did? why?”

“wanted to spend some time alone with you.”

“and sully agreed?”

“gladly. he’s sick of us. if i hadn’t asked, he probably would’ve ditched us himself.”

you cozy into nate’s side, chin resting on his shoulder.

“remind me why we keep him around again.”

nathan loops one of his strong arms around your middle.

“his money, and his connections.”

“shit, you’re right. by the way, where do you wanna go next time?”

nate’s fingers caress your side, lips forming a smirk.

“got a few places i’d like to explore.”

tags: @hollandsangel @parkerctrl @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @magicalxdaydream @tayyx @peterficrecs @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @niktwazny303 @marvelgurl

[howaboutcastiel]

That One Angsty Fic (Moon Boys)

Summary: It doesn’t always make sense, but some days are just bad ones. Sometimes you’re your own worst enemy, and it takes losing a battle with yourself to see that. Marc, Steven, and Jake are able to see it, even if you can’t at first. 

Author’s Note: This fic was originally supposed to end differently. Writing it was therapeutic for me, and the ending was also supposed to be, but revelations in therapy and changes in medications have made things different. Just… it exists. 

Content Warning: ⚠️ Mental illness, sensory overload, anxiety and panic attacks, self harm ideation, self harm (cutting), suicidal language/suggestiveness, kinda graphic depiction. Other stuff I don’t know how to tag, just generally take caution. Hopeful ending. 

Word Count 7.3k

Sometimes rabbit holes are hard to climb out of.

Sitting at your desk alone, waiting for your boys to come home, it was easy to dig yourself deeper. The cars on the street below you were too loud. The overhead lights were too bright and the draft from the windows was far too strong. The inclination to sink into your own thoughts was hard to resist, especially since you didn’t realize you were doing it.

Today really fucking sucks. I feel like I can’t do anything. I can’t eat right, I can’t sleep right, and I certainly can’t do my schoolwork correctly. I’m overdue on returning a library book and I haven’t scheduled that very important meeting with my advising professor. Everything is working out and my life is going dandy right now, but holy fucking shit do I feel like a massive failure.

They always say to reach out for help. The professionals say “you have people who love you, they want you to come to them.” God if that isn’t further from the truth. Sure, my mom told me she was proud of me yesterday, even after I told her I can’t graduate with honors like I planned to do. Sure, my friends tell me all the time that I’m funny and smart, but they’re just being nice to me. They don’t like making fun of people. Maybe my grandma cried the other day over the phone because I’m the only grandchild who calls to ask how she’s doing, but I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do.

I’m the bare minimum. I feel like I'm at the bottom of the barrel. I’ll never live up to my potential or to the expectations of the people that I love.

I don’t even think that I’m enough for Steven anymore.

If I’m not enough for him, then I really have nothing at all, don’t I? There’s no question either, if I’m too much of a fuck up for him, I’m certainly not good enough for Marc or even Jake. Hell, the way I’m performing right now, Jake Lockley probably wouldn’t even give me the time of day.

Rabbit holes are hard to climb out of, especially when you’re alone.

There wasn’t anything in particular that made today worse than any of the others. By some metrics, in fact, it was a very good day. You had gotten an A on your midterm exam. You’d found a twenty-dollar bill inside of your coat pocket. Hell, someone had even left your favorite dessert in the break room, and you’d gotten to eat a serving of it between class and work. It should have been a good day, but it just wasn’t.

That’s the thing that people don’t understand about being ill. It’s just that: an illness. It doesn’t matter how much you eat healthy, or how much you exercise. It doesn’t matter how much meditation you do or how much you write in your diary or how much you pray to God—sometimes a day is just going to suck. It’s not rational, or even understandable, but that’s the truth of the matter. Sometimes sick people just… feel sick.

Steven understood that. So did Marc, and so did Jake. If there was anything in this world that they did understand, it’s that sometimes a person can be their own worst enemy. They understood that it wasn’t your fault, and they understood that some days were harder than others. The compassion that you couldn’t have for yourself? Well, they somehow always managed to have it.

You were convinced, though, that they wouldn’t have it today.

This has to be the final straw for them, doesn’t it? They’re going to come home and the dishes won’t be done, the laundry will still be dirty, and there won’t even be dinner on the table for them to eat. I’m going to have to tell them I don’t have a reason for it. I didn’t get it done only because I’m lazy and the lights were too bright. They’re going to laugh at me. They’re going to hate me.

Steven Grant is going to hate me.

I think maybe that’s what I deserve. He's so much more than me, isn’t he? They all are. They’ve been through so much, and yet they’re so strong and so wise. Steven is so kind. But look at me. I’m not… any of those things, am I? I’m all the wrong things. Too big, too awkward, too stupid. I’m not enough for him. I’m not enough for any of them, and I think maybe today they’re going to realize that. I don’t know if I can handle that.

It was half-past seven now. Steven would be coming home from his shift any moment. Or someone would. Whoever was fronting tonight didn’t really matter. It was all going to end the same way, you were convinced. You moved from the desk, tired of the weight on your back, and curled yourself up on the floor of the study. It wasn’t exactly a screaming and crying kind of panic, but it was still panic.

Why can’t I just do more? Why can’t I get up and get all of these chores done, right here and right now? Nothing’s stopping me. I know exactly what to do, I’ve done all of this a million times or more. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Why can’t I just get up and do it?

It wasn’t just that, though. How much easier it would have been if it was, but it wasn’t.

Why can’t I do anything right? I can’t even be sad right. Why can’t I cry? Maybe they would understand if I was crying. God, what if they yell at me? I don’t know what to do if they yell at me. Please don’t yell at me. Just get up and do the damn chores. Just do something. Do something.

They’re going to yell at me.

This is all so pathetic. I’m being dramatic, but I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I feel like I’m ready to explode or implode or just wither away. I feel like I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I can’t stop it, though, and it makes me feel like I’m insane. I feel like I’m out of control. I want to feel in control. I want to be in control.

I want to be in control. How do I take back control?

You heard the familiar footsteps coming down the hall, instinctively curling in on yourself a little bit more. You had memorized the sound and usually it brought you a warm and welcoming feeling. Today, though, it only made your pounding heart sink deeper into your chest. You braced yourself resignedly for the yelling and anger, or at the very least for the disappointment. Honestly, you didn’t know which one of them was worse.

It was Marc Spector who walked through the front door of the apartment. Admittedly, you couldn’t tell that he was at the front just by his body language, but luckily the boys were used to announcing themselves as they came through the door. It made things easier, and they knew that it comforted you.

“Hey, baby,” he started, the keys clinking in his hands as the door latched shut behind him. He was the only one who called you that. “I didn’t mean to be so late, but we got distracted on the walk home. Why’re you sitting in the dark? Are you here?”

You didn’t have the energy to answer him. Well, you had the energy, but you didn’t have the confidence. That, and you couldn’t really find your voice under all of the panic. Your tongue was too heavy in your mouth, and you were nauseous. You feared if you opened your mouth, it wouldn’t be words that came spilling out. Marc ventured further inside and finally spotted you, hugging your knees in the space between the desk and the wardrobe. He tilted his head and widened his eyes in concern, and you could feel the heat on your face.

“You okay?” He furrowed his brows when you didn’t answer him. You could only look up at him, breathing slowly around the lump in your throat, and you wanted to bury your head right back into your knees when you saw the look on his face. Of course he was going to be concerned, and you were going to have to tell him he had no reason to be. It didn’t make sense for it to be so difficult, though. Why couldn’t you just make yourself speak up? It was the simplest thing.

“Did something happen?” His voice was low and little, and you managed to shake your head at his question. Some other feeling was fighting the paralysis now that he was here, but it wasn’t a good feeling. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes. “No? Well, are you hurt?”

Again, you shook your head. It was technically true, right? You weren’t hurt. You couldn’t really even pinpoint what was wrong with you. He pressed his lips into a thin line, surveying your body for any signs of damage. He found none, so Marc brought his hand up to touch your arm and you instinctively cowered away. You felt guilty as soon as you did it, but you couldn’t bear the thought of the pressure on your skin.

“I don’t know how to help, baby.”

That was what made the tears start to slowly stream. You didn’t feel the need to sob or choke, just to press your nose between your knees and hide your face from him as it contorted into a crying mess. For him to understand, you knew that you had to say something. It was just so hard to get anything out.

“I didn’t do the dishes,” you mumbled. Your admittance confused him and he moved to sit down across from you. You fought back a sob that tried to erupt from your throat. Hearing it out loud, you could understand how your words didn’t quite clear things up for him. “I didn’t do the laundry, either, and I haven’t made dinner.”

“Okay?” He almost laughed, but he could see anguish that you were in, so he stifled it. Marc waited for you to explain yourself further. It became clear you were having trouble with that, so he began to think meticulously through his answer.

“I’m sorry.” A sob broke around your words, but they were still unmistakable. His face twisted again into confusion and something that looked like offense. You hoped it wasn’t that.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked. That was a hard question for you to answer.

“I should have done it by now. I should have finished it all. You should be able to come home to a clean apartment and a warm meal, and I said that I would do it. I should have done it.”

The self-inflicted misogyny aside, he was shocked by your statement. Marc understood the mindset of having to please your housemates. When he was a child, skipping his chores meant more than just a few words of disappointment from his mom. But this wasn’t that. Marc had never, never yelled at you before, and he certainly didn’t expect you to do all of his housework for him. You were partners. You shared the responsibility.

“Honey, they’re just chores,” he tried to explain. He couldn’t imagine exactly where you were coming from, but he’d talked you down from enough panic attacks to at least know where he should start. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal, and we can order take-out for dinner.”

You felt stupid. He wasn’t even mad, and you’d made such a big deal out of all of it. Of course he wasn’t going to yell at you. Marc would never yell at you. None of them would. You should feel relieved now, right? But you didn’t feel relieved. You just felt stupid.

“You with me?” He peered into your eyes with nothing but genuine softness. You couldn’t resist that look, not even in the state you were in. So, you pretended for him.

You nodded.

“Good. Come on, let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Marc took your hands into his and helped you to your feet. Your limbs were stiff from sitting like that, and your chest was heavy from all of the worry. He gently led you over to the couch, coaxing you to sit down and pulling a throw blanket from the shelf under the coffee table. You shuddered as he opened it and tossed it over you. He noticed that you were shaking.

“I’m gonna order dinner, okay? You need to eat something.” Marc moved to pull his phone out of his coat pocket. You didn’t really feel hungry, more nausea than anything filling your gut right now. “I think that you’ll feel better after that.”

You put on a brave, numb face for the rest of the evening. Well, for the next little while, at least. Marc ordered one of your favorite meals for dinner, making sure to buy so much that you would have leftovers. He wasn’t too great of a cook himself, so he was used to ordering out after a long or busy day. When the food finally came, you nibbled at it just enough to prove to him that you were trying. It tasted pretty good, but you couldn’t be sure you would keep it down, and the thought of swallowing just made you shudder some more.

After a while, Marc had decided that you looked calm enough. He let Steven take control of the body once he finished his meal, the tiring day having weighed on him, too. He made sure to warn his alter to keep tabs on you, noting how you seemed to be having a particularly rough day. Steven had no problem with that, as he was more than happy to give you his attention no matter the circumstances.

He didn’t exactly know what he was getting himself into.

When dinner was done and you’d convinced Steven that you really couldn’t eat any more, he packaged the rest of your food in heat-safe boxes. He also did the dishes, which he meant as a gesture of affection. Steven didn’t realize that his simple act of service would send you farther down the spiral.

Now you felt guilty. Not only had you failed to do the housework you’d promised you would, but now he was picking up your slack. To you, that was just unacceptable. I’m so much more trouble than I’m worth, you thought. Maybe they were just dishes, but they felt like so much more than that to you. They were a symbol of your failure, a symbol of all of the good things that he was and the bad things that you were, and why you could never be deserving of him.

The familiar urge started to bubble in your chest. You knew you should have said something the minute you felt it, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to, not in the middle of the spiral that you’d already begun. It always started as a spike of energy, an ironically paralyzing energy, and a buzzing in your skin. From there, it would grow and evolve and mutate into something else. It was an urge to self-destruct, to punish yourself and gain control. It didn’t make any sense, not in the slightest, and it surely didn’t make sense now, but such was the nature of being ill.

It didn’t have to make sense. It just had to be.

You felt the heat draining from your body as you watched him pass the plates from the sink to the drying rack. The shivering was only beginning, and you knew already that nothing would help you get warm. Not a blanket, not a hug, not a piping hot cup of tea. This was the kind of chill that ran further than skin-deep. The sensation grew outward from your chest. It made you want to press your palms into your eyes and scratch at your skin until it was raw. A lump was starting to thicken in your throat, your saliva becoming too thick to swallow.

I can’t believe I’m letting them baby me like this. I should be taking care of him, not the other way around. They must be so tired of coddling me like this. I wonder if they think I’m too sensitive. They must think that. I am too sensitive. It’s a matter of time before they get enough of it and kick me to the curb. It must be. I just wish I could stop. I have to stop.

Steven was turned away from you, intently focused on the task at hand. He didn’t notice how you had gone pale. He had a chore to complete. He wasn’t one to leave a dish half-washed, so he had to meticulously scrub each plate until he was sure it was clean.

He’s even better than me at this. What else do I have to offer him?

You pulled yourself up from your seat at the table, making sure to drag the legs of the chair against the wood just enough to alert him to the movement. You shuffled over to the couch as he finished up at the sink. When you clicked the power button on the TV remote, it flashed on to reveal some old sitcom you weren’t interested in seeing. It would look normal, though, when Steven dried his hands and emerged from the kitchen to join you. He would think that you were okay, and that was a good thing. You didn’t want him to think that you weren’t okay.

“Can I join?” Steven meekly asked as you scuffled to one side of the couch to make room for him. He was wearing a soft expression that made you feel like he saw you as fragile. He looked away from you as he sat down. “I think I might stay up a bit tonight. I want to read this new book I got about Neferefre.”

“What is that?” You prompted him, knowing you were opening the conversation to a classic Steven Grant infodump. If you looked interested and you got him to start talking, he wouldn’t even notice how much of a mess you’d been today—and how much of a mess you were now.

Steven began his little spiel. The man he spoke of was apparently one of the pharaohs of Egypt, a prince who ascended to the throne and died young. You watched his face light up as he told you about the man. It wasn’t uncommon of him to lose himself entirely in his little stories about ancient Egyptian history. He would speak for hours if you let him, which was a relief, because you certainly didn’t know how to fill any gaps of silence. Steven’s eyes widened and glistened as he went on, touting knowledge to you that would impress even the most prestigious academics of the subject. 

His smile was such a pure and innocent thing. Steven was proud of himself, as he very well should have been, and he was happy that someone was here for him to share his knowledge with. It put into perspective for you just how much you didn’t compare. He was a living, breathing encyclopedia. A life-long researcher who would pour his heart and soul into the subjects he loved. In contrast, you were just going through the motions. You had reached your last semester of your undergrad, but you had no passion at all for your major anymore. Maybe you would get some fancy latin honor at your graduation, but you were by no means a good student, and you sure as hell weren’t an expert on the subject. 

Why can’t I just stop myself from spiraling? Why can’t I just be someone that he deserves?

It was getting to the point where you were afraid that the feeling in your chest was going to start boiling over. Your skin was on fire and you were covered in a thin layer of icy sweat that did nothing to calm you. You wanted to curl into a ball and rip out your hair. You wanted to rock yourself back and forth with your head between your knees, and you wanted most of all to take yourself apart piece by delicate piece. 

The urge was almost overwhelming. You had managed to hide this part of yourself from them for your entire relationship up to this point. Marc had his suspicions about your behavior in the past and Steven had noticed your sensitivity and lapses in communication, but neither of them had ever been there with you when you had an episode of self harm. You’d been in recovery when you first started dating them, and you’d only broken your clean streaks on occasions where they weren’t around. They didn’t really know what to look for and they didn’t know how close to the edge you really were. 

You were very, very close to it. 

Steven blinked at you confusedly. He’d asked you a question, apparently, and you’d failed to hear it over the pounding thud of your heartbeat inside of your ears. There was no denying that you’d spaced out while talking to him, no pretending your mind wasn’t clearly somewhere far away from here. He raised his eyebrows at you as you widen your gaze and pressed your lips together, pulling yourself back to him. 

“Sorry, I just have had a long day, love,” you tried to deflect his unyielding inclination to peer into you. Steven Grant was a caregiver, an innate protector of those who were mentally vulnerable, and you certainly fit that category right now, but you would be damned if you let him baby you. Or, god forbid, worry about you. “I wanted to hear about your Pharoah guy, but I think I’m too tired to take it all in.”

You hoped he would ignore the fact that, despite your words, you seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy. The last thing you’d ever want to do was make Steven worry. You hoped to God that he couldn’t see the panic rising within you, stirring up the familiar frenzy in your limbs and enticing you to have a rendezvous with your razor in the bathroom. 

He scooped you into his arms, pressing around you with a calming strength that almost touched the chill underneath your skin. Your body was half-limp as Steven encased you in a sturdy hug. He nuzzled his face into your neck and he breathed you in with an exhausted sigh. 

“It’s alright. I’ll talk about him later.” Steven hummed into your skin, no doubt just as tired as Marc had been. “I’m sorry about your long day. It’s okay now, though. You can just relax with me.”

Guilty. Stupid. 

“Okay. Thank you, baby.” You swallowed hard and dipped your head into his chest. Steven’s grip around you was strong, but casual. To him, as far as you could tell, you appeared to be doing just fine. A little tired, a little shaky, but overall just fine. That was a good thing, right? You were glad to not be worrying him. But some primal part of you was screaming to tell him you needed his help. You suppressed that part—it was bound to make things worse for you both. 

There was silence for a little while. The television droned on, drawing small, breathy laughs from Steven and smiles from you in response to his laughs. The beating of his heart against your ear served to chip slowly away at your unease, dampening the pounding in your head. The pressure in your chest released bit by bit. The unspeakable urge fizzled out from your hands just a little. You finally were starting to feel like you could breathe normally, when a stray thought drew Steven away from the telly. 

“When you did laundry today,” the words shot hot iron spikes through your ribcage. You froze in place, “did you happen to see my green button-up? The one with the stripes. I was going to wear it tomorrow to the museum holiday party, but I couldn’t find it when I looked this morning.”

How could you respond to him? You’d have to tell him it wouldn’t be clean in time for the party. You hadn’t washed it. You had not even touched the laundry today, in fact. You’d come home from work a few hours ago and plopped right down at your desk, wasting the evening away instead of doing the chores that you’d promised. 

“I’m sorry,” you began. His lips turned downward into a puzzled grimace. “The laundry isn’t done. I don’t know if your shirt is in there, but if it is, it’s not clean. You won’t be able to wear it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” His face remained as puzzled as it was, now tinged with disappointment as well. You couldn’t live with his disapproval, no matter how much your body and mind seemed incapable of performing correctly. 

“But I can go wash it right now! It will be ready by morning if I start a load—”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it, darling. It’s late, and it’s just a shirt. I can wear something else to the party. God knows Donna won’t appreciate the effort I put into my outfit anyway.” He bore an uneven smile and grazed the back of your neck with his hand, pushing your head back down to rest on his chest. 

The coil around your heart re-tightened. 

You laid in his arms as long as you could manage to sit still. Soon enough, the shaking of your bones and the pounding in your chest was so strong that it would be noticeable if you continued to sit in his grasp. So, with a shy cough and a fake, lopsided smile, you excused yourself to the bathroom. 

Stupid. 

Stupid. Stupid! Stupid! You couldn’t believe the way you were behaving. Why couldn’t you just be normal for one single day? Why did you have to worry your boys, why did you have to be so miserable, and why did your heart still threaten to beat right out of your chest even though Steven had held you in his arms and told you everything was okay? Stupid. So fucking stupid and pathetic and whiny and stupid. 

You could feel the ice trickling down your spine, sinking into the curves of your ribs and clenching your muscles tense. The heat of your anger—at yourself and at the world, but mostly at yourself—did nothing to warm the deep chill in your bones. 

Be fucking useful for once. 

The sound of the electricity was too loud, the light coming under the door too bright. You banged your open palms against your head, curling them into fists and pounding harder when the noise only grew more irritating. Your breathing was rapid and empty, silent tears streamed down your face. Your knuckles drummed against your skull forcefully, over and over and over again, until the action was automatic and numb. 

Stop being a burden. Stop being stupid. Steven has been through more shit than you ever will have gone through. You’re a useless fucking partner to him. Stop wasting space. 

The dull knocking against your head wasn’t nearly enough. The seething inside your bones demanded something more. Something urgent and strong. You grew tired of the motion and lowered your hands, leaning into the dizzying soreness at the sides of your scalp. Your heart began to calm, unbeknownst to the agony in the rest of your body. 

Stop wasting space. 

You clutched the vanity. Your now-raw knuckles were white and the room was spinning. Maybe if you’d eaten more, you’d feel the need to throw up. 

Stop taking up space. 

The way that your hand rose to the medicine cabinet made you feel like an observer inside your own skin. For a passing, ever-so tiny moment, you wondered if this was what Jake felt. What Marc felt. Was this what Steven Grant felt when he wasn’t in control?

No, surely not. This was you taking control. 

You weren’t one to show yourself mercy. Even in something like this, where mercy was a severely relative term. The thoughtful thing to have done would have been to grab your razor from the shelf, or taken one of Steven’s replacement razors from the pack beside the mouthwash. A sharp, unyielding weapon for a clean, quick punishment. You didn’t want to cut yourself open, though. That would be too generous, too easy. 

You didn’t want something smooth, something to leave  pretty and even stripes in delicate skin, like guiding lines on an empty notebook sheet. No, you didn’t want to cut yourself deep. This was visceral, personal. You wanted to rip yourself apart. 

From the top shelf, you grabbed the old and rusty scissors that you had left in the bathroom for your spur-of-the-moment haircuts and for cutting tags off of new clothes. They were dull and awkward and hardly able to cut warm butter at this point, which is exactly what you were going for. 

Stop. Being. Stupid. 

You didn’t know if it made you feel better or made you feel worse, but it made you feel. Digging the blade into your skin, jabbing the open edge into your thigh after pulling parallel strokes on your forearms, it made you feel more in-control than you had all day. It was intoxicating. It was all-consuming. Before you knew it, you had fallen into a trance of sorts and the repetition was only halted by the realization that you had to breathe eventually. 

A sharp breath in. Pain. A slow, shaky exhale. Stupid. A stifled cough, a desperate sucking in of air. Useless. A wheezing huff, like a deflating balloon. 

Tired. 

The blade slipped away from your hand and clattered unenthusiastically onto the floor. There wasn’t nearly as much blood as there could have been. Your teeth chattered, and now, despite having barely grazed dinner, you feared that you might up-chuck. A low groan tumbled out of your lungs as you crouched over the toilet bowl, thick red streams trickling down to the creases of your skin. You heaved once, then twice, then the vague remnants of your dinner were out of your stomach and the pressure against your chest forced a cry from your lips. 

You sighed, flushed, and slumped into a weak puddle on the tile. There was a knock at the door. 

“Darling?”

No. No. No no no nononono. What did I do? Your mind was racing and your heart had re-started its blunt assault on the inside of your ribs, but your limbs were like jello. Your tongue was like sand. He can’t see me like this! 

“You sound like you’re sick. Was it the dinner, love? Let me hold your hair back, at least.”

He can’t see me like this. I can’t do that to him. But you couldn’t move, either. You could barely keep your eyes open. You tried to yell at him to go away, but your lungs were too heavy to muster more than a hoarse whisper. That was if you could even get your lips to part. 

Guilty. 

You could hear Steven’s breath rattle on the other side of the door. “You’re worrying me. I’m going to open the door now, yeah? Don’t mean to pry, of course, but sure as I don’t, you’ll have hit your head on the sink or something and be out cold—”

He’d turned the knob on the bathroom door—the stupid old thing never did lock correctly, you’d been meaning to get that fixed—and pushed his way inside, only to stop dead in his tracks the moment he saw you. 

Your pale and shaking hands clenched your knees, blood lazily tricking into your elbow’s crease and tapping the floor in a steady drip. It wasn’t nearly an amount of blood loss to be worried about, but that didn’t matter to him. There was blood dripping onto the floor, and it was coming from you. Steven’s color drained from his face as he watched the forming puddle for a moment. He didn’t move, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, and his hand still lingering on the doorknob. After a few seconds, he gathered a shaky breath and broke his gaze away. 

“What happened?” 

His voice was whining, panicky. You could see sweat beading on his forehead as he knelt across from you. He trailed his hand up your arm, looking for the incisions that were causing the flow. His fingers were careful not to touch the long, parallel slits that ran up toward your wrists. You heard a breathless whimper leave his lips as he pulled your arms up, revealing the jagged, shallow puncture wounds in your thighs that looked just as bad. 

“Darling, what happened?” He was more urgent now, his voice louder and demanding. “Are you hearing me?”

He grabbed the nearest towel from the shelf under the sink, wrapping it around the wrist closest to him and pressing the other one underneath. Steven’s breathing was shallow and his eyes danced rapidly between your forearms, your thighs, and your face. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your eyes focused on him. It was all that you could do to keep them open at all. He continued pleading with you, but his voice was distant in your head. 

Tired. 

“What have you done?” You didn’t know if his intention was for you to answer. “Why did you—what did you do to yourself? I don’t understand. I don’t… I don’t…” 

His breath was quickening. You tried to pull your head together, to ignore the pounding in your skull and force your eyes to work. Weakly, you wiggled your fingers. If they could move, perhaps the rest of you could as well. Your tongue was as heavy as lead in your mouth, but you forced it up anyway. The wheezing breath you drew caught his attention immediately. 

“I’m sorry.” The tears that had welled in his eyes began spilling over, painting his cheeks as he tried desperately to blink them out of the way. Steven wrung a towel under the sink as you drew another gasp. “You weren’t supposed to see.”

“Why?” He scoffed and you shook your head. The dull thump in your head was winning out. Words were failing you. Apparently they were failing him to, as he couldn’t muster much more than “I don’t understand.”

You had done this enough to know it would take a few minutes for the bleeding to stop. Nothing was deep enough for stitches, though the divots on your legs would threaten to scar for sure. Steven grew more distressed, though, as the seconds ticked forward and the wounds refused to wipe clean. Firm and steady pressure seemed to be too slow a solution and panic was painted plainly on his face. 

You felt the need to explain to him. You had to make him understand. 

“I had to do it.” He held his breath as you began to speak. Steven looked terrified. “I deserve this. It feels… right. I had to. I had to.”

“No, you didn’t,” he insisted. “You don’t deserve this. Why would you deserve this? Is it because of the laundry? You can’t have done this because of a load of clothes…”

“Not the laundry,” You breathed, interjecting. “It’s everything. I’m not good enough. I can’t do anything right. I’m a waste of space. I have to stop taking up space. Your space.”

“You're not.” He uttered immediately. Steven seemed to be choking on his next words. He stared at the blood soaking through your bandages. “You’re not… you’re…”

He pressed his eyes shut and your voice was loud in your head as you let your own heavy eyelids flutter closed. He’s finally getting it, isn’t he? I’m no good for him. This is the final straw. 

More trouble than I’m worth. 

Stop wasting space. 

You resigned yourself to the damage you’d done to him. The three of them were better off without you here. You’d leave them alone now. They’d kick you out and you’d move back in with your mother. At least she was used to being disappointed by you. You could handle her disdain, but not theirs. 

So fucking tired. 

“You’re not a waste of space.” His voice broke you away from the deep crevice in your mind that you’d sank into. “Mi Tesoro, how could you ever think that about yourself? You are plenty good enough.”

Jake unwrapped the wounds that Steven had dressed so haphazardly. If medical training was a contest between the three of them, Steven was certainly in line for the bronze, while Jake could perform surgery with kitchen utensils if prompted to. They had finally stopped bleeding, but the cuts needed a layer of antibiotics if they had any chance of healing right. Especially considering the rust on that gross pair of scissors.

“I scared him.” You didn’t need to elaborate. The absolute mess that you’d made of yourself had thrown Steven into a panic, sending him so far back in the headspace that Jake Lockley was forced to come out to take the reins. 

“Yes, you did. But he’ll be alright.” Jake’s voice was steady and smooth, and he was finished with your bandages before you even realized it. “You’ll be alright, too. Just try not to mess with these.”

“You’re never going to look at me the same. Any of you.”

“Maybe that’s true,” he admitted, “but that doesn’t matter. You can’t scare us away that easily.”

He lifted you by your shoulders, helping you stand against the bathroom wall. The floor was riddled with blood and towels and bandages, and your shirt and pants were far from clean. Jake was careful not to put pressure on your wounds as he supported your weight. You started toward the living room. 

“I would guess that you’ve done this before.” He guided you step by step to the couch. You say gently against the cushion, curling back into a ball as your eyelids gave up altogether on staying open. “But not since I’ve met you. Why did you start this again tonight?”

“I deserved it,” you repeated. There was no other way to explain it, or rather, no explanation you had the energy for. “I needed it.”

“We’re going to talk about this later.” He knew that you didn’t have the energy for a conversation right now. That didn’t mean that he’d save his ultimatum, though. Just because you couldn’t talk didn’t mean he couldn’t. He placed a blanket over you, leaving for a few moments to grab some water and painkillers. Plus, a package of crackers that he would force you to nibble on later. 

“You didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it. There’s nothing you could ever do to make you worthy of something like that. I can’t speak for the other two, but I’ve never met someone so loving, so wonderful. Eres la mejor persona que he conocido. There’s nothing you’d ever do to make you deserve that.”

Silent tears slipped down your face as he continued, and his voice wavered as he spoke. You assumed, though your eyes wouldn’t open, that we was fighting tears as well. 

“You really scared us, but we’re not angry at you. We’re not scared of you. We just can’t bear to see you hurt yourself. You know that you can’t be in pain without us hurting, too. We’re scared because we don’t know how to help. You have to tell us what’s wrong, so we can make sure you don’t hurt anymore.”

“But I need to.” I need to hurt. How else am I going to stay in control?

“No, chica, you don’t.” The cushion shifted underneath you, indicating that he’d sat down beside you. “You need help. Not this. Nothing good comes from this. We don’t want to see you like this. Not ever again.”

How else am I supposed to stay in control?

“Please promise me you’ll talk to me about this, alright? I want to hear all of it. I want to know why this is happening.”

“I don’t want to bother you.” Sleep was weighing on you by now. Thoughts drifted out of your lips without restraint, but they threatened to cease altogether as your limbs grew heavy. 

“You won’t bother me. This bothers me. Nothing that you could say would bother me. I want to hear about everything. Every thought that leads to this, you say it to me first.”

There was a pause that almost let you drift off completely. 

“That goes for the others as well. We all want you to talk to us. No matter when, no matter where. Okay?”

I can’t put this burden on them—

“Promise me!”

You pried your eyes open one last time. Jake’s gaze was pleading and tears were streaming down his face. He looked plenty burdened already. He was right. Nothing could be worse than this. You couldn’t ever hurt them more than this. And now that the urge had come and passed, the dull ache in your arms and the stinging in your thighs was a sore reminder of how little it was worth it. Not to mention the pain in your head. 

“I promise.”

Sometimes, when you say something out loud, you realize how ridiculous it sounds. It helps to keep you in check, and it keeps you from being your own worst enemy. If nothing else, it gives you perspective and keeps you from forgetting your voice. And before you ask, no. I’m not okay, but I am in therapy and on medication. Take it or leave it.

p.s. I started this fic obviously in a bad mood, and then I wrote most of it when I was no longer in a bad mood. For that reason, it may be gibberish. Don’t think of the reader as yourself. That’s probably unhealthy. Thank you to my beta readers, @moonmoonboys and @rmoonstoner

[primofate]

Genshin x fem!reader [Volleyball Team AU - Inspired by Haikyuu!] He introduces S/O to the team

Before you read this, might be a good idea to read the introduction first. To give you the whole low-down of the team and their dynamicsssss.

Other works in the Volleyball Team AU Series: Click Here

Scenario: You and him have been dating for a while now. Why does the team not know and what’s their reaction in finding out/when he introduces you?

Warnings: AU if that’s not your thing then don’t read, not proofread...as usual.

#1 Zhongli (Captain/Wing Spiker/Ace)

You’ve been dating for nearly 5 months at this point. Beforehand the two of you were close friends. So the team kind of already knew you guys were close, but you’d never met the team properly.

It’s not that he was HIDING your relationship, its that he didn’t want to pressure you into meeting his team. They could really be an overwhelming bunch of high schoolers sometimes.

As it happens he walks to the gym hand in hand with you one day, his other hand on his duffel sports bag, thinking that he’d be the earliest one there as always. 

But when he slides the gym doors open his WHOLE TEAM greets him “CAPTAIN!” and then there’s an awkward silence that descends as they all catch him with his hand intertwined with yours.

KAEYA AND TARTAGLIA LOSES IT. “C-Captain, you had a girlfriend and didn’t tell us?!” “You finally made a move on her?!” “S’about time!”

Needless to say they both get knocked on the head by Zhongli’s fist. 

Zhongli sighs and turns to you apologetically but you say that you don’t mind meeting them. He perks up and claps his hands to ask his team to line up.

They do so diligently. Kaeya, Tartaglia and Thoma are giddy while looking at you. Xiao and Kazuha have their mouth slightly agape as if you’re some kind of rare species. Diluc and Albedo stare you down. 

You introduce yourself as Zhongli’s gilrfriend and as you do so Tartaglia’s eyes dart towards Zhongli who has a slightly shy expression on his face. 

“Oh, oh question time!” Thoma raises his hand “Does the captain secretly eat sweets behind our back?” You haven’t even answered when Kaeya asks “Does the captain ever glare at you (he mimics Zhongli’s face) and say 10 Push ups NOW!” Surprisingly Diluc raises his hand too “...Is the captain strict with you too?”

Zhongli gets irked the more questions are asked and he finally steps in with an ominous presence. “10 laps around the gym...NOW!” 

He apologizes to you again but you reassure him it’s totally fine and they all seem like such fun. 

#2 Diluc (Vice Captain/Wing Spiker/Defense Specialist)

The vice captain is a very secretive guy.

Not even his brother knew.

It’s not that he was ashamed of you, he just liked his privacy and you already knew that. 

But there was this one time where he forgot his textbooks under his desk and you had to go and give it to him while he was at practice.

Shyly looking into the door the first one that spots you is Albedo.

“...Do you need something?” you tense up at Albedo’s question and shakily hand him the textbooks.

“U-Uhm... D-Diluc’s...”

Albedo tilts his head and turns to shout at the team. “Someone’s looking for the vice captain,”

Everyone stops what they’re doing and snaps there head towards you.

Diluc jogs over, sweat still fresh on his forehead. Without thinking he takes the books from you, small smile on his face and thanks you.

The rest of his team freezes up all thinking: “Hold on, is he...SMILING?”

You’re oblivious to them staring and give him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving. When Diluc turns back his team is glaring daggers at him, he stares back at them. Doesn’t say anything, and continues practice.

No one is brave enough to ask him about it.

Tartaglia whispers to Kaeya “You didn’t know about it either huh?”

#3 Kaeya (Middle Blocker)

This MF would talk about you whenever he had the chance.

Y/N this, Y/N that, Y/N is so cute. 

Frankly the team is kinda tired of it. 

But when you finally visit one of their practices the team levels their gaze at you and think “Oh shit, he wasn’t lying, she is actually cute,”

Sees his teammates expression and brags even more. “I know what y’all are thinking. You’re thinking, OH! She’s actually really cute! Hm?”

Slings an arm around you shamelessly with a grin. “Back off boys, I’ll block all your attempts,”

Diluc is the one that walks up to you and you blink at him. Kaeya blinks at him, confused as well.

Diluc suddenly bows, “I feel sorry for you but please take care of him,”

The rest of the team either bursts out laughing or snickers behind their hand.

Their vice captain is low key savage

#4 Albedo (Setter)

The team finds out about you cause when they finish practice they find you waiting outside the gym.

Kazuha asks politely while the others look on “Are you lost?”

You straighten up and stutter a little, “Ah, uh, no, I’m...” You’re at a loss for words. 

Then Albedo suddenly appears from the gym doors and sees you. “Ah, were you waiting long? Sorry,”

Thoma tilts his head in question. “Albedo...Your sister?”

Albedo at this point was standing next to you already. “...No, my girlfriend,” like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Everyone is stunned into statues.

“H-How did you get one before me?” Tartaglia looks as if his soul had been sucked out of his body.

“Next time you can just come inside and wait inside the gym, it’s dark out here,” their responsible captain suggests and you’re amazed at his kindness and bow at him with a thank you.

Albedo doesn’t see what’s the big deal and just grabs your hand and starts walking away.

#5 Tartaglia (Middle Blocker/Wing Spiker)

The team already knew since the first date. It’s because he.would.not.shut.up.about.it

That particular day at practice his spikes were a tad bit stronger than usual.

“Oi... you’re getting too excited...” Xiao mumbles at him. Tartaglia just grins and scratches the back of his head. “Aaaahhhh... I can’t help it, I’m so nervous for my date with Y/N!”

A few more dates later he starts showing off his phone wallpaper to the others. It’s a picture of you and him.

Kaeya tries to piss him off by saying, “Huh, we’ve never actually seen her in person. Maybe it’s photoshopped,” The others snicker.

Is so pissed, asks you to come immediately.

You thought it was an emergency so you come into the gym with a worried look on your face only to be hugged tight into his chest. “See? See? She’s totally real and totally cute!”

Albedo crosses his arms and blinks, then looks at Kaeya “...You totally baited him, he’s such a simpleton.”

Kaeya responds with a smirk “Right?”

#6 Kazuha (Decoy/Middle Blocker/Wing Spiker)

The most formal out of all of them and even tells them seriously that he had an announcement to make.

Next day he comes into practice with you in tow.

Properly introduces you as his girlfriend. 

Everyone is wide-eyed at how official it feels. Then you suddenly take out a big container of fruits and tell everyone it’s for them (The captain doesn’t allow sweets, he thinks it’ll fatten them up or some crap.)

EVERYONE IS BLESSED BY YOUR PRESENCE and Kazuha is just enjoying you getting along with them.

Kaeya and Tartaglia try to whisper and bribe you into making cookies for them. 

Albedo and Xiao stares at Kazuha thinking ‘If someone like you can get a girlfriend, we can get one too, right?’

You offer to come back next time with more fruits and some secret cookies.

#7 Xiao (Libero)

Tried to keep it a secret because he knows his team will make a fuss about it.

The team finds out when his phone suddenly starts ringing in the middle of practice and he asks for a timeout to pick it up.

“Mm... Yeah... I’ll pick you up when I finish,” Everyone starts nudging each other when they hear him talk to you in an unusually calm and soft tone. So different from when he plays volleyball and gets angry at them.

By this point everyone tries to keep quiet and enlarge their ears to eavesdrop.

“Idiot... I won’t be late. I promised to take you out didn’t I?” 

Hearing their tsundere libero say something so sweet makes everyone combust.

When he turns back everyone is staring at him with smirks on their faces. “Hey, why not just ask her to come here?” Kaeya sneakily suggests.

Xiao blushes “A-As if I’d let her near you bumbling fools!”

He was worried it would scare you away, actually.

#8 Tohma (Pinch Server/Middle Blocker)

Literally no one is surprised he has a girlfriend.

It would be MORE of a surprise if he DIDN’T have one.

But they find out cause he left his phone out on the bench one day and there’d been a text message while Xiao was conveniently sitting on the bench.

“...Tohma, someone me--” Xiao looks at the screen where the message ‘I love you!’ is clearly written.

Xiao is so curious but is not gunna admit it so he nudges Kaeya or Tartaglia who might be sitting next to him and secretly motions over to the phone.

They read it and ask in a real loud voice “Oi Tohma! Who’s Y/N? They said I love you!” 

Tohma laughs nervously and since it’s already out he might as well introduce you. 

“This is my princess,” he says when you enter the gym to walk home with him that afternoon. You bow and introduce yourself and everyone looks at you thinking... “Ah, they look like the perfect domestic couple,”

Low-key everyone is jealous of how you dote on him.

Hello Hello! Technically this could be counted as fluff, but I understand that not everyone is fond of AUs, so, if you don’t mind being tagged to something like this, please fill in the survey again (I’ve added AU as an option, just click that one if you’ve signed up for the others before!)

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[faerynova]

Eret takes his hand,

fandom: Dream SMP length: 2.6k rating: T (for swearing) relationships: Foolish & Eret tags: fluff, flashbacks, dancing

>>READ ON AO3<<

hi hi @eternalduos ! this is your gift for the @mcytblrholidayexchange. i hope you like it!

~

Eret wishes they could enjoy parties more than they do right now, but the thing is, all the ones they attend nowadays are stuffy political events that are either completely mind numbing or have enough drama to give Eret a days-long migraine. They’ve definitely lost a lot of the love they had for parties before taking the throne.

Though, certain things are making them more enjoyable again, they admit to themself as they see Foolish approach through the crowd of nobles. He stands a head taller above everyone else, still getting startled looks even though he’s now a regular presence in the castle.

He bows so low it’s mocking. “My Lord, may I have this dance?”

“Lord?” Eret feigns offense, hand to their chest. “I’ll have you know, I’m King.”

Something flashes across Foolish’s face, and though they still haven’t been able to pinpoint the exact emotions, it’s the same split-second reaction he always gives when they don’t remember something. They don’t have time to wonder what it was they could have forgotten with that exchange before he smiles and rolls his eyes at them. “Fine then, Your Majesty, may I have this dance?”

They smile. “You may.”

Eret takes his hand,

(Eret takes his hand, having to reach up to keep his arm at the right level while Foolish’s hangs down. “You’re too tall,” they grumble. They’re hardly trying to be quiet on purpose, but they feel drowned out even when the music and dancing is far away from where they stand on the fringes of the town square.

“You’re the one still growing,” Foolish retaliates. “But I don’t think it matters, does it?”

“I’m a reasonable height for my age. You’re just a giant. Why do they make you guys so big anyway?”

Foolish just shrugs.

They roll their eyes, though they know Foolish can’t see it through their sheer blindfold. “Well we’re supposed to hold hands like this.” They shake the hand still clasped to Foolish’s. “And hold each other’s shoulders with the other.” They reach up, but can only get to Foolish’s bicep. It’s so not fair.

“I can just hold both your hands,” he suggests, doing exactly that.

“But that’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Well, there’s not much else we can do here.” Foolish tilts his head at them and a sly grin creeps across his face. “What is it mortals tell their children? You need to drink milk or you won’t grow tall?”

“I’m not a child—!” Eret cuts off as their voice jumps an octave.

“Oh, my bad!” Foolish clears his throat dramatically. “Please, O Dark Lord of Chaos and Destruction and Squeaky Voices, I beg of you to forgive this humble totem for speaking out of—OW!”

Eret kicks Foolish’s shin a second time for good measure before grumbling “I never should have taught you sarcasm.”

“You didn’t teach me jack shit, you little brat!” Foolish laughs and grabs both their hands again, firmer this time, but they could yank away if they really wanted to. “Come on, do you wanna dance or not?”

Eret doesn’t pout. They don’t. “…Yes.”)

~

(Eret takes his hand, narrowly avoiding slipping the last rung of the ladder. Foolish hauls him up the rest of the way to the safety of the roof.

“You good?” Foolish asks as Eret brushes bits of dirt off his pant leg.

“Fine. My shoes just don’t have as much grip as I thought.”

“Aha! I told you they’d be a pain! See where cute shoes get you?”

“Well usually, I wouldn’t be scaling buildings in them. This was your idea.”

“And you should have taken your shoes off for it.”

Eret doesn’t bother responding to him, just taps his sunglasses to vanish them into his inventory so he can look up at the stars properly. It’s been a while since he’s really gotten to look up and appreciate the night sky, what with the persistent clouds and on-and-off rain the past few months. The anxiety of someone seeing his eyes is still there, it always is, but the nighttime and whole roof thing mitigates it somewhat.

Eret doesn’t have the same luxury Foolish does; even the most secluded of backwater villages know exactly what their blank eyes mean, so he’s not safe to take off his sunglasses except when they’re completely alone like this. Meanwhile, only a handful of people have recognized Foolish as a totem while they’ve been traveling, with far less extreme reactions. No one in this town seems to have any knowledge of totems, so they check off his solid red eyes as divine or some other flavor of magic and respectfully keep their distance. 

“Oh hey, they’re playing music now!” Foolish exclaims. The sounds from the tavern below are muted, carried through windows left open to savor the pleasant weather before the rain inevitably comes back, but still loud enough to hear the melody over the rowdy patrons.

“Damn. Just as we left, too.”

“Do you wanna go back down?”

“Nah. More room up here.” Eret smiles and offers his hand. “May I?”

Foolish grins back, taking his hand and sliding into the lead position. “You absolutely may.”)

~

(Eret takes his hand, tugging him down to sit with her on the grass, still damp from the morning dew. The sunrise has long passed, but they wouldn’t have been able to see it through the trees regardless. Eret thinks this is more beautiful anyway, watching the light filter through the leaves and fog in thick stripes for hours instead of the split-second sunrise.

“We’re not going back, are we,” Foolish sighs.

“No.” People don’t take kindly when they catch on to what Eret is. This city had been no different. Thankfully, between their two inventories, they managed to save the most important of their belongings when they fled the proverbial torches and pitchforks.

Though, she’s sure they’ll burn their house down at some point even though they’re long gone. The way Eret affects her surroundings after living in a space long enough, it will remain “haunted” for quite some time.

Foolish hums and drops his head on Eret’s shoulder. “How long till you think they forget about us?”

“Depends. I think all first-hand witnesses will have to be dead, at least.” A beetle crawls over her shoe. She carefully picks it up and watches it skitter over her fingers. “But I don’t think I want to come back even after that.”

She drops the beetle on Foolish’s face, who gives her an exasperated look before flicking it back into the grass. “That doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“Your face looked lonely.”

“Your face looks stupid.”

“Ouch. My pride. How will I ever recover,” Eret says in the most monotone and unimpressed voice she can muster. “Scoot.” She nudges him off of her and lays down. The grass is long enough to brush her cheeks. Foolish’s familiar weight settles on her again as he lays down across her stomach.

Eret supposes that they’ll be going back to their ramshackle base. It’s been, what, six or seven years? It’ll be a bitch to clean up. No doubt there’s bugs everywhere. But once again she’s glad they have a place to go back to when needed, no matter how dingy. They definitely need the time alone to recuperate after... all that.

Maybe they should just leave it behind altogether. At least for a little while.

“We should build a house.”

“We’ve got a house,” Foolish points out. “Kind of.”

“A real house. I’m tired of living in cities and traveling.” Eret sweeps her hand out, gesturing to the still-waking-up forest. “Someplace like this. Far enough away that people won’t notice things are too off about us. Close enough to visit, though. Get supplies and things.”

The gears turn in his head so loudly that Eret can practically hear them. “We could probably build something pretty big if it’s out here…”

She knows what he’s asking. It’s kind of funny that even after all this time he still stumbles and has trouble with wanting things, and consequently asking for what he wants in a straightforward way. But all in all, the fact that he’s capable of wanting things at all shows incredible progress. When Eret first met him, he couldn’t even conceptualize the idea of it. Totems aren’t usually capable of wanting, after all.

And she knows all too clearly that on top of that, Foolish probably feels embarrassed about wanting this particular thing.

“It can be kind of like a temple,” she offers, because she knows he won’t say it. “It would just be for us, after all. It can look however we want.”

She can’t see Foolish, but she can hear his most certainly sheepish smile in his words. “Not much of a temple without worshipers.”

“You’ll get them soon. I know you will.”

His voice grows softer, almost a whisper. “Maybe you will too.”)

~

(Eret takes his hand, stepping through the door of their brand-new, permanent home.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, closing their eyes as instructed. Foolish fiddles with slipping something cold over their hand and settling it on their wrist.

“Okay, you can open them.”

They do so. The cold something is a gold bracelet—a simple but elegant solid band that only breaks to wrap around little smooth gems that Eret thinks might be quartz, but they don’t know enough about crystals to really tell.

“Happy hundred and ninety-si—ssseeeventh birthday?” Foolish cringes.

“Ninety fourth,” they correct him with a chuckle, but their eyes are glued to the shimmering gold on their wrist. “This is gorgeous.”

“You think so?”

“I love it. Where did you get this?”

Eret looks up to see Foolish’s beaming smile. “I made it!”

“You made this? When—how?”

“You remember Jenith? The guy in town who—"

“The one with the cats, yes.”

“Yeah! So, he does jewelry and stuff, and I asked if he could teach me!”

Eret listens intently while Foolish rambles about how, exactly, he made the bracelet—techniques and materials and tools and what parts he found easy or difficult. They don’t entirely follow everything Foolish says, but they’re happy to nod along. Eret just keeps staring at the bracelet.

They aren’t sure why they’re so surprised. It’s not like Foolish has never made anything before, but this feels different than building their home. It’s not that their home isn’t beautiful, but Foolish making something beautiful simply for the sake of being beautiful… and all for them—they don't know how to put that into proper words. Foolish was never built to create. Eret is so proud of him.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, assuming the lead position while Foolish falls into step next to her in time with the rhythm.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, prying it away from his face. “You’re going to smudge your eyeliner if you keep doing that.”

“It feels weird,” Foolish complains. “How do you wear this all the time?”

Eret dabs her brush in the bowl again and continues applying the lapis-blue paste onto Foolish’s eyelids. “You get used to the feeling. It becomes background noise, just like clothes.”

“Sounds fake.”

“I promise. Besides, this is definitely worth it, yes?” Eret picks up the mirror and faces it towards him.

Foolish examines himself. “Oh, huh. I look great, actually.”)

~

(Eret takes his hand, then yelps as Foolish yanks him to his feet.

“Come on, you can’t mope about it forever!” Foolish chides him.

“I’m not moping.”

“Sure you are. Moping and pouty. Just like when you were a little kid.”

“Foolish—”

“O Dark Lord of Pouty Faces—”

Eret snorts and shoves his face away. “Foolish—”

Foolish is relentless, ruffling Eret’s hair and knocking his sunglasses off. “Dark Lord of Overthinking and Being Dumb—!”

Eret finally gets the upper hand, reaching around his shoulders and grabbing Foolish’s collar from behind to yank his shirt up and over his head, then shoving him to the floor.

Eret huffs and dusts off his hands. “Anything else?”

“Dark Lord of Kicking My Ass. Ow.”

Eret gives a petty little hmph! in triumph.

...Right before Foolish sweeps his leg and lays Eret flat out on the floor with him.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping Foolish’s metallic skin. “How bad is it?”

“Not that deep.” He squeezes Eret’s hand back. His voice is as steady as ever. “The bleeding has already pretty much stopped.”

Eret sucks in a sharp breath as Foolish prods the wound on his side. “Hurts like a bitch for it to be not that deep,” he groans.

“We’ve got a lot of regen. Hopefully it’ll heal up pretty quick after this.” Foolish slips his hand out of Eret’s vice grip so he can fetch said regen to pour on the new bandages.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, letting Foolish spin her into a low dip. Then, he promptly lets go so she falls ass first on the sand. She throws a fistful of said sand in his face when he laughs at her, though she can’t help but laugh too.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, and she rests her head against his chest as they begin to sway to the music.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, making sure to)

~

(Eret takes his hand, although he)

~

(Eret takes his hand, and)

~

(Eret takes his hand,)

`

(Eret takes his hand,)

~

(Eret takes his hand,)

and the disjointed memories leave as quickly as they came, making their heart clench and their lungs stutter.

“Eret?”

They remember how to breathe a moment later than they would like, feeling lightheaded trying to catch their breath. “Sorry, sorry. I’m fine. Just another—more memories, rather.”

“Oookay, let’s get you out of here before you fall over.” Foolish pulls them aside, his grip on their arm strong and ready to support them if they stumble. Eret doesn’t stumble (at least they’re mostly sure they don’t), but the reassuring touch is always welcome.

He leads them a short while down the hall and into a servant’s passage that leads to an office. Eret would say it’s overkill, but their reactions to old memories aren’t always the most pleasant. They wave him off when he tries to help them sit down on a chair, but he still hovers close by.

“How are you doing? Gonna pass out?”

“We…” Eret shakes their head, trying to clear their thoughts. “We’ve danced together quite a bit, haven’t we.”

“Yep. We’ve talked about it before,” he reminds them.

“We learned together,” they murmur distantly.

Foolish snaps his fingers in their face. “Okay, okay, roll it back to the present. Do you feel like you’re gonna pass out?” He asks again.

Eret huffs a laugh. “No.”

“Okay. Dizzy or anything?”

“I think I’m alright now.”

“Nice.” Foolish nods, finally satisfied. “Okay now we can download. You wanna talk about it? Questions?”

Eret has to think about it a moment. It was a lot, it’s definitely going to take a while to process, but nothing jumps out at them that they can’t figure out the context for on their own. “Probably later.”

“Alright, later.” Foolish smiles, his skin wrinkling at the edges of his eyes. They never did that before, back when he really was solid gold and didn’t only look it.

The sound of a drum starting up all the way back in the banquet hall makes both of them startle. “Hm. This office really ought to be better soundproofed.” Eret turns to Foolish, ready to ask him his opinion on how to do so, but finds him squinting at the door like it has the secrets to the universe. “Foolish?”

He turns to them with that bright, toothy grin that they’ll never get tired of. “Do you still want that dance?”

They smile. “Of course.”

Eret takes his hand,