#Next in line is Square. he's funny

[maruflix]

CAVE CANEM #oneshot #squidgame #thefrontman

Cave canem. Beware of dogs. In the ruthless games, there are countless hounds looking for prey. Oh Young-Il promises to be your shield, your shepherd, your guardian angel— but you soon find out that it’s often the unassuming ones who are the most dangerous.

feat. the frontman / hwang in-ho / oh young-il　　⎯⎯　wc. 2.5k

cw: female reader, yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, manipulation, squid game spoilers, i’ll use all of his names & nicknames here so don’t get confused, i do not condone yanderes irl, no beta we die like all 455 players in season 1

I.

It’s funny how tragedy brings people together.

It has only been twenty two hours since you entered the twisted battle royale with 45.6 billion won dangled on top of you, but you’ve found companionship in fellow participants: Player 456 Seong Gi-hun, Player 388 Kang Dae-ho, Player 390 Park Jung-bae, and Player 001.

Oh, Player 001.

“How are your wounds?”

You look up to see Player 001 — or, as he introduced himself to you, Oh Young-il. His eyes gleam in worry as he takes in your appearance: hair disheveled, knee bruised, sleeves rolled up to reveal the scratches littering your hands.

You’re just glad you didn’t get killed during the Red Light, Green Light stampede.

“This is nothing,” you assured him with a genuine smile, “thank you for helping me.”

Young-il pauses. Then, as if remembering something, he reaches into his pockets and hands you a small carton of milk. “Here. You must be dehydrated.” He watches as you gratefully take it, instantly drinking the contents, “Don’t worry about the next game. We’ll get through it together.”

Tears are brimming in your eyes at the kind man’s encouragement. You let him take your hand and nod at him, smiling. “Thank you, Young-il-ssi.”

Young-il gives you one last smile before climbing back down to rejoin the rest of the group. His movements alerts Jung-bae, who mindlessly throws a glance his way.

Jung-bae instantly pauses. He knew from the start that Player 001 is not a simple man, but the expression on Young-il’s face is nothing short of terrifying, like a tiger eyeing its’ prey. He follows Young-il’s line of sight and finds you, curled on one of the beds.

A chill runs down his spine.

II.

You don’t know how you got through the Six-Legged Pentathlon, but you did.

Chosen as the one to play ddakji — it’s not like you sucked at it, but you were scared you would be a burden to your teammates — your hands couldn’t stop trembling.

The squares of ddakji felt like rocks in your hand, your shoulders heavy by the fear of dragging everyone down. Their encouragement and cheers merely heightened your anxiety.

That was, until a hand gently clasps your own. “Don’t think too much about it. You said you won more times than the ddakji guy, didn’t you?” Young-il’s eyes twinkle, his shoulders lax, as if he’s not currently playing for his life, “Well, you won’t receive slaps if you fail, so go wild.” It’s amazing how he manages to silence all your fears.

You flipped the ddakji on your first try.

III.

In-ho knew it from the start, but the reality of it still disgusts him. Humans are selfish creatures, blinded by greed, driven by instincts.

He sighs, looking at the results of the vote— 139 for ‘O’ and 116 for ‘X’. One hundred and thirty nine people marching to their own deaths like brainless maggots.

He sneaks a glance your way and sees that you’re shuddering. His heart drops to the pits of his stomach. Slipping away from Gi-hun, he makes his way to you. He keeps on surprising himself: joining Player 456 in the games, cheering with the others during the pentathlon, and now comforting you?

But In-ho is not one to ruminate over his actions too much. He knows what he wants, he gets what he wants, and right now all he wants is to hold you in his arms.

“Young-il,” your eyes instantly land on his and he wonders how it will feel to hear you call him by his real name, “I’m scared. I’m so scared, I don’t want to die!”

He’s beside you the next second, catching you before you can fall to the ground, strong arms wrapped securely on your waist. In-ho falters for a fraction of a second, but his hand quickly shoots up to caress your hair.

Receiving the kindest act for the first time in many years, you can’t help but to cry in his warm embrace, letting out all your frustration and fear. His touches are so tender, so serene, and being enveloped in his tall figure makes you feel protected.

In-ho calms your sobs with gentle shushes, rubbing circles on your back. He was unsure then, but his heart is determined now— he wants you, he’s got to have you, and there’s nothing under the seven heavens that will stop him.

He shudders at the thought of having you all to himself. In-ho can barely control himself right now, when you fit so good in his arms, your skin brushing against his. What would it feel like? To have you next to him every second of every day? He’d shower you with all of him— all his riches, all his affection, all his time.

First, the two of you will have to exit the game safely.

His grip on you tightens as he lifts his gaze from your trembling figure to the several pink guards stationed near the door. In the distance, they straighten their posture in alarm.

Even among the many faces of the players, they can locate their boss in a heartbeat — the Front Man is still the Front Man, even if he’s amusing himself by playing dress up. The way he carries himself is so telling, they have no idea how the players are none the wiser to the wolf hiding amongst the sheep.

... And right now, their superior’s glare speaks volumes about what he’s conveying.

A warning.

IV.

‘One more game,’ they said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ they said.

The rotating stage under your feet is spinning at a controlled pace, yet you feel like you’re going to throw up. The light feels blinding, the gasps from the participants making your head spin even more.

Amidst all the chaos, Young-il’s hand clasping yours serves as an anchor.

“You okay?” His voice is as gentle as ever, unworried.

Even Gi-hun, the former winner of the games, is not exempt to the anxiety and apprehension that shadows the rest of them, but Young-il has never showed any signs of stress— like he has a safety net... or like he’s very sure of his own abilities.

You nod, grateful that he’s allowed you to stick by him like glue all this time. He squeezes your hand in encouragement, smiling.

“Two.” The woman’s voice announces cheerily. In an instant, the crowd erupts in disarray.

Young-il looks around. “Stick close to me,” he murmurs before pulling you with him towards one of the rooms. Not wanting to be a burden to him, you quickly fall in line, matching his steps. His back is very comforting as he cleverly navigates the chaotic hall, avoiding the other players.

Just when the two of you reached the door, a player appears, crashing into the two of you and sending you tumbling away from Young-il. Your world spins as you struggle to pick yourself up, searching for him.

Thankfully, you locate him almost immediately. A few steps away from the door, Young-il is strangling your attacker. “Get in! I’ll be right behind you!”

Fueled by adrenaline, you nod frantically, moving to enter the room. But there’s already another person inside.

True to his word, Young-il quickly scrambles to the room, slamming the door behind him. He immediately takes note of the anomaly, his expression dark.

“I-I was here first!” The stranger sputtered, shuffling away from Young-il.

There are loud bangs coming from the other side of the door and you quickly hold onto the lock, tears now falling from your eyes. “Sorry!” You yell, ”Sorry!”

“Five. Four. Three.” The countdown continues mercilessly.

You look back, “The other guy—!” but your words are caught in your throat.

Young-il has the man in a chokehold. For a moment you had no idea why he’s handling the guy so aggressively when it’s obvious that he’s more scared of the two of you than the two of you are of him.

“Two.”

“Young-il!”

“One.”

CRACK!

You scream. The man slips from Young-il’s hold, limp.

Lifeless.

Young-il’s gaze meets yours. There’s an emotion you can’t quite place on them, but it’s quickly replaced by that of horror. “I-I had to do it.” Tears start to brim on the corner of his eyes, his hands visibly shaking, “I had to-” he desperately crawls away from the dead man as he covers his face in terror, “I’m a monster, I-”

Crying, you kneel next to him, pulling him into an embrace, “No, you’re not,” assuring him in between sobs, “it’s this game, it’s the game’s doing, it’s not your fault!”

Breath haggard, In-ho rubs your head comfortingly. You didn’t even realize that he has long since stopped crying. He covers your ears, knowing by now that the sound of gunshots horrifies you, and glances at the body of the man he just killed.

You watched him kill one guy and you get this rattled? He sighs quietly.

For you, he would kill a thousand more.

V, PART ONE.

“Hey girl,” a voice booms from behind you, catching you by surprise.

You let go of your hand that’s holding Young-il’s, turning your head to address the stranger.

“Saw you from afar and I can’t believe I didn’t talk to you sooner.” The purple haired man wastes no time getting into your space, running a hand through his hair. “D’ya know who I am? Because I wanna know who you are.”

You stiffen up. Of course you know him. Who didn’t? The number one ambassador of the ‘O’ team, aka the people who wish to continue the games, the outspoken menace, Thanos.

Thanos catches sight of something behind you and wavers before looking back at you. “A-anyway. I’ll see you around. Team’s always open, baby!” He exclaims, but it’s obvious that he’s trying to hide his nervousness.

You look back to see Young-il smiling at you. “Wonder what that’s about.”

The people here freaks you out. You sigh. “I know, right?”

In-ho hums, his finger treading along the sharp edges of the fork.

V, PART TWO.

The bathroom is a mess— team ‘O’ and team ‘X’, warring against each other, fueled by the actions of a junkie who’s high out of his mind.

In the middle of it all, Hwang In-ho calmly makes his way to a purple haired man who is slumped on the ground, yelling at his friend.

“Get him, get that sucker! He tried to kill me, man!”

A dark shadow looms over Thanos, and he looks up in terror, recognizing In-ho immediately. “W-what are you-?”

In-ho eyes him coldly before swinging down.

The cold gleam of a fork is the last thing Thanos sees before it penetrates his neck.

VI.

The fire of revolution burns bright behind all of you. Your hands may tremble, but your rifle is secure in your arms. All those first person shooter games are finally coming in handy as you manage to actually shoot down several guards.

“You okay?!” Young-il questions in panic, “You’re doing a good job! It’s gonna get more dangerous afterwards, but I can’t leave you behind!”

You nod, reassuring him, following him up the stairs with two other men in tow. Right now, you are brother-in-arms, comrades, fighting for your freedom.

Young-il halts, sensing the presence of a guard, before speaking into the comm, “Gi-hun-ssi, we found it.” he holds out an arm in front of you like a shield, “Start attacking and draw their attention. Then we’ll hit them from behind.”

Your knees tremble in fear and anticipation. Somehow, with Young-il on your side, you feel like this ragtag team of freedom fighters can actually succeed.

“Okay, got it!” Gi-hun’s invigorated reply came from the other side.

Young-il pockets the comm, nodding to the two men. They nod back in response and move forward. He quickly moves in front of you, signaling you to stay behind him.

Just when you thought about how reliable he is, two sharp gunshots resonates in the air.

Is it over?

You peek from behind Young-il’s back only to be met by the horrific sight of Player 015 and Player 047 sprawled on the ground, choking on their own blood.

Young-il’s rifle is still pointed at the two of them, his eyes cold.

Who is this person? You scramble to get away from him, alarm bells ringing in your head. Did he miss his shot? Did I see wrong? Is there a guard in front of him?

“Young-il-ssi, what’s going on?” came Gi-hun’s distressed voice from the comm, “Are you shooting?”

You watch in horror as Young-il calmly reloads his rifle before squatting down and glancing your way. “Gi-hun-ssi, I’m sorry.” Like a seasoned actor, the unscathed Young-il puts on a strained voice, “It’s all over. They got us too.”

Gi-hun’s voice is blurred as you fall to your knees, finally coming into terms with the betrayal of the person you’ve come to trust the most.

Young-il momentarily looks away from you to shoot the two men one more time. Cold, unfeeling, his fingers steady like he’s done this countless times before.

This is not the Young-il you know.

When it’s all over, several pink guards march up to him, a coat and a black mask in tow. Young-il (?) lifts a hand up to stop them, turning to finally address you.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, your fingers desperately trying to locate the trigger on your rifle, but the man in front of you is much quicker. He yanks the rifle from your trembling hands, unloading the bullets and kicking the weapon away as you back away to the wall, shivering in fear.

He sighs, taking the coat from one of the guards before kneeling down to your height. “I won’t hurt you. You know that, right?”

Confused, you can only gape at him. “W-who are you..?”

“Hwang In-ho. My real name.” he offers, tenderly wiping a tear from your cheek, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lie to you. I’ll explain everything, if you’ll just give me a chance..?”

In one swift motion, he wraps his coat around your shoulders. You look at his eyes, as tender and unchanging as ever— then it dawns on you: he has always been this way.

“Mr. Front Man, sir, everything is ready.”

You let In-ho pull you to your feet, his touch as comforting as ever as the two of you pass by countless guards. They make way for the two of you, the hierarchy crystal clear when not one of them dare to step out of line.

You’ve been such a fool. All the signs were there, the reason why Player 001 carries himself with such grace as if he’s untouchable. How the guards say things about ‘not tolerating actions that will disrupt the votes’ and yet kept quiet when it’s Player 001’s turn to speak his mind. The way they would shuffle away from him slightly whenever he walks—

In-ho turns to look at you, his eyes kind, “Do you trust me?”

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to say no.

note: i know i appeared on the dash absolutely losing it over the recruiter/the salesman/ddakji guy (he’ll get his own fic after this don’t worry) but i took one look at this man with his hair down and i fell into a SPIRAL. this is totally a passion project. front man ftw 🙆‍♀️

[trying-harder-then-u]

Johnny's Daddy

Johnny has been my friend since forever, and while we grew apart in High school, we would always make sure to comfort each other through all the tough times. He helped me with my breakup, and I helped him when he lost his job.

Johnny was always on the smaller side; Puberty Hit never really got to him, and while he never got the muscles he wanted, he eventually became quite happy with his body and my numerous numerous offers to wing man him and help him get a girl were always turned down.

Earlier today, my phone pinged while I was at work. Johnny had messaged me:

"Hey man, could you come to my place after work?"

"Sure? What do you need?"

"I'll explain when you get here."

Me and Johnny had always been open and clear without ever really needing to talk outside of texts, so I thought this must be something big if he wanted to talk about it at his place, so after work finished up, I got in my car and drove to his apartment in the city. After a good 50 minutes of driving through the winding roads, I finally arrived.

As I opened the door, he came and hugged me. "How was the drive?" "Nothing special, just some traffic jams and that stuff," I responded. For the first few hours, we just hung out talking about life and playing games before I finally asked why he wanted me here: "Well, I wanted to tell you I was gay." he blushed as he said it, "Damn man, thanks for telling me; I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me, do you want to go to a gay bar or  something?"He shook his head at my question: "You don't understand; I've been trying to get a boyfriend for awhile now, but it never works out, and I wanted to ask you if...." "I'm sorry, man," I interjected. "I love you like a brother, but I don't feel the same way about you." "Okay, sorry, I hope we can still be friends," Both of us laughed awkwardly at the incident, but decided to hang out some more. At about 6, we were both getting hungry, so he ordered a pizza, and he got up to grab us a drink. I heard what sounded like pills rattling in the kitchen before he returned with some beers, caps removed. "Thanks, man," I said as he handed me one. Taking a sip, I thought it tasted funny, but I just shrugged it off as the pizzas had just arrived and i was starving.

As we ate and played video games, it became latter and latter, and the beers piled up, each tasting stranger, then the last. At some point, my mind started to became fuzzy. "Ugh, I don't feel good," i said. "You don't look good either. Maybe you should just sleep here for the  night."Johnny commented, Too tired to argue, I ended up on his couch and fell asleep quickly as he went back to the room. "You'll be fine; I bet you feel like a new man tomorrow morning," he called as he closed the door.

That night, as I shuddered in my sleep, my body began to change, moving around as my stature grew, stretching from 5 feet 8 to 6,2. My flab melted away as my skin tightened around new abs that began to push out one by one, and calves became strengthened along with arm muscles. My round face gained structure as a square jaw and clear skin gave my face a new, more attractive look. But it wasn't just my body changing; my dreams began to shift; thoughts that I used to have about women became directed towards Johnny; as I dreamed of dominating and using him, the apartments that we each had eventually became one, just as my place had his boyfriend cemented, and soon I was picturing him submitting to me every night. As these dreams peaked, I felt my dick pulse, lines of cum shooting out as my rock-hard cock lengthened, growing longer and longer inside my underwear from it's normal 4 inches to a monstrous 9, and my boxers turning to briefs as they were soaked in my semen. The transformation was over, and my new place in the world was confirmed.

The next morning, Johnny smirked as he walked in to be greeted by me staring at him in nothing but my briefs. "I have a job for you, boy; I need some services," I commanded, His dick jumped up, and his body shuddered as he moved towards me. All memories of my past life disappeared as he wrapped his lips around my dick; all that mattered was teaching my boyfriend his place.

[bleedingoptimism]

You Are Mine part 1

When Eddie decided to come out he thought it’d be funny to do so with a music video, so he wrote a song and presented it to the band. The boys loved it and the song was declared the first one of their next album, the third one.

And then it was time to shoot the video.

They hire their personal friend and favorite director, Argyle. Just Argyle, like Cher.

Between him and Argyle they come up with a cool script. The band is going to act in it, they just need two extras, so they hold auditions for a couple in their twenties.

On the day of the auditions, Argyle tells them the interviews are mostly for show, the band can pick whoever they feel the most comfortable with, and the boys tell Eddie he should pick since it’s his song.

The five of them sit at a long table like it’s fucking American Idol or something and just stare at the couples waiting in line through a one-side glass mirror whispering among themselves and watching amused as the couples start getting progressively nervous.

There’s a couple that immediately grabs Eddie's attention when he does a pass-over, a pretty tall dirty blonde and a brunette with big soft-looking hair. 

The guy is absolutely gorgeous, with big kind eyes, a straight cute nose, a square jaw, big shoulders, a small waist, and tan skin that seems to be covered in beauty marks.

He just strikes Eddie as someone that would make Michelangelo cry with his inability to capture his perfection.

‘Oh, that’s good. I should write that.’ He thinks.

He and the girl are talking in hush tones and Eddie watches as she fixes his hair while he jabbers nervously and then, evidently says something that makes her angry because she pokes him in the ribs. The guy giggles cutely and loudly enough to carry over to their room and then blushes furiously when heads turn toward them, hiding behind his friend. The woman in question snorts and chuckles as he chastises her.

Eddie stands up, crouches behind Argyle’s chair, and tells him, “I want that one.”

“What?” he answers, so Eddie points at the couple, “I want him.”

Argyle looks at them considering and clicks his tongue and Eddie insists, “Please Argy, please, I love him, I want him, I want that one, pleaseee”

“Eddie, we need to at least consider the rest of them. This is my job we are talking about here. Please, take it seriously” Argyle says in a calm voice and Eddie deflates,

“Dude...I’m sorry I-”

“Nah man, I’m kidding!” Argyle cuts him off, “Couple number four! Please step forward!” he yells into a mike.

The blonde and the brunette look at each other and walk in nervously as Eddie goes back to his seat at the end of the table and Argyle does a small flourishing move with his hand inviting them to introduce themselves.

“Hi! My name is Robin, and this is Steve, pleased to meet you!” The girl says smiling kindly at them. She nudges Steve on the side and he does a little finger wave at them.

Eddie has to bite his lip not to smile too much because they are really fucking cute. 

Argyle returns the wave enthusiastically, because nothing ever faces him, and looks at the list he has in his hands, “Any experience acting Robin and Steve?”

Robin says yes, something about drama club in high school and Steve just shrugs which amused Eddie to no end, and frankly makes him really curious, for all intent and purposes, Steve doesn’t seem to be interested in the job.

“How did you find out about this job?” Jeff asks them, and Gareth nods like he was just about to ask the same thing.

“A friend of ours told us about it?” Robin answers “He’s a photographer but I don't want to drop names, especially in case we embarrass ourselves,” she says jokingly and looks relieved when she gets a couple of chuckles from Argyle and the band.

“And you were interested because…?” Frank inquires.

Robin starts saying some carefully prepared speech about learning experiences but is interrupted by Steve saying, “We needed the money”

“Oh my god! Shut up!” Robin suddenly turns to him completely red in the face.

“What? You told me to be myself!” Steve tells her frowning. 

“This is exactly why I always talk in interviews”

“What does that mean?” 

“You suck at this Steve! Just as much as you suck at-”

Gareth clears his throat loudly making them stop and look at him sheepishly, “So tell us, do you know the band? Are you fans?”

Eddie takes a moment to look at his bandmates and to his relief they all look as amused as he feels, especially Argyle. The couple of newbies is clearly a mess but in an endearing kind of way.

“Well…” Robin starts but doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“Never heard of it,” Steve says looking apologetic. 

“Wait, Really?” Robin asks him, once more ignoring the director and the band, “They are like, Mike’s favorite band, man! You never heard of Corroded Coffin?”

“Oh well,” Steve shrugs, “I mostly tune out when Mike is talking so…”

Robin snorts and is about to reply but Argyle raises his hand and they both look at him, flinching a little when they realize they had started talking among themselves again.

“Ok.” Argyle tells them clapping once, “Unfortunately for me, I love your energy my dudes, but I’m going to get serious for a second here: I need you two to be professional ok? We have a budget and a schedule and only three days to shoot and I can’t hire you and find out in the middle of the shoot that you are not okay with making out with someone-”

Robin visibly takes a step back and Steve snorts, “Yeah no, I’m not making out with my sister.”

Eddie, who was wondering what kind of relationship they had, does a little happy dance in his head at that.

“No, I meant one of the members of the band” Argyle answers amused.

Robin takes another step back and actually looks a little disgusted and Eddie tries not to find it offensive, “Me?” she asks unsure.

“No,” Frank answers and points at Steve, “Him.”

Surprisingly, they both relax at that, “Oh!” They exclaim in unison and it’s kind of creepy but again, in an endearing kind of way.

And then Steve looks at them one by one, he’s unmistakably and unashamedly checking them all out and Eddie swears his eyes linger on him the most before he smirks and says, “I’m okay with that”

Eddie immediately pushes the contract laying on the table toward Frank, who pushes it to Gareth, who pushes it to Jeff, who pushes it to Argyle and gives him a pen.

Argyle laughs loudly and shakes the sheet of paper, “Well shit, I guess you are hired.”

“We are?!”

He stands up and shakes their hands, hands them the contract and another paper, “This is the script, not that it has any dialogue but just in case you have any questions.” 

They push their heads together and read the script at the same time.

The story is about the band being on tour. Robin and Steve would play as their roadies and the video is supposed to show them in concert, traveling, working, and hanging out. The whole video hints that Eddie is sneaking out with one of them and it ends with the band plus Robin opening a curtain on the tour bus to find Eddie and Steve making out.

The song is called You Are Mine.

When they are done reading, Steve smiles and says “Cute”

And Robin asks, “So which one of you is Eddie?”

Eddie lifts his hand lazily and winks at them.

And Steve, still holding the script, lifts it enough to cover his face but Eddie can still see the tip of his ears as they turn bright red.

‘Oh, he’s gonna eat him alive.’

to be continued

part 1: is this

part 2: ♫ 

part 3: ♫

part 4: ♫

☕ cafecito?

[cottonlemonade]

Hello! I hope you’re having a good day/night can I order off menu B. I would like a cherry juice with a matcha roll please! Sitting next to either Oikawa or Iwaizumi please ^-^

Secret Admirer

word count: 1086 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: Iwaizumi x chubby!Reader (feat. Oikawa)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: fluffy, secret admirer with crush Iwaizumi, as manager

You paused when you unzipped your bag and after a moment’s confusion looked around. The last few stragglers of the team just left, laughing and talking, racing each other to the showers. Turning back to your bag you fished out the two folded pieces of paper that lay on top of your books. One was a simple sheet of gridded paper, seemingly torn from a notepad. One side was a little crumpled like it had been ripped rather hurriedly. The other one was neatly folded into a square, the four corners each adorned with a little heart in red ink.

You unfolded the first, plain looking paper and read. With each line your eyes grew wider and you felt your heart pounding all the way up in your throat. A love letter! No, a love note - as it was rather short. At first you thought someone must have made a mistake - this was most likely supposed to be for someone else - but it said your name at the very top. It described how the author of the note had been in love with you since you gave Kyotani a piece of your mind for not working well with the rest of the team and causing injuries with his recklessness (upon which the wing spiker had mumbled an apology and bowed half-heartedly to the other players).

It ended with a simple declaration of calling you “cool and pretty” and then apparently, whoever it was, didn’t think it necessary to sign a name. Still giddy from the first, you opened the second letter. Now this one was… a bit more out there. You frowned as you read. It was undoubtedly written by a boy judging by the handwriting but the hearts and cute little doodles along the page confused you. Maybe it was a first year? But this one also had your name at the top and even written on the back so there was no doubt that it found the right recipient. However, it felt a lot more like a joke which made you doubt the authenticity of the first letter. What if some first years thought it would be funny to tease the chubby manager with thoughts about not just one but two secret admirers?

Your mood darkened and with a sigh you crumpled up both the notes and tossed them into the trash on your way out.

The next day you tried to push the whole thing out of your mind. Chatting with your friends over lunch you told them about the notes and they agreed that it sounded like a dumb joke and you did the right thing by throwing them out.

In a free period, the third years went to the gym for cleaning duty. Hanamaki and Matsukawa made a competition out of mopping the floor while Iwaizumi and Oikawa took out the trash after cleaning the volleyballs.

Iwaizumi furrowed his brow as he lifted the wastepaper basket at the door to pour its contents into a large trash bag . He spotted a bit of paper with hearts and your name in the middle of them. Covertly, he picked it out between the rest of crumpled balls and, making sure his friends were far enough away not to see, turned his back to them to smooth out the note. He recognized the handwriting immediately and gagged at the letter. This sounded like it was written by a middle schooler at best! And what was with all those hearts and was that supposed to be a teddy bear drawing?

Iwaizumi glanced back into the basket, panic rising in his chest and sure enough, another note on familiar paper was also crumpled on top.

“Hey!! Shittykawa!”

“Don’t call me that, Iwa-chan!”, Oikawa whined but jogged over to his friend, “What did I do now?”

Iwaizumi boiled with anger as he lifted the cringey letter up to the setter���s eyes.

“Oh no, she threw it out? I really worked on that.”, he pouted.

“Why- why are you writing love letters to her in the first place!? You don’t like her like that!”

Oikawa gave him a superior smile, the kind he whipped out during games when he knew he was three steps ahead of the other team.

“I was helping you, Iwa-chan. You said you don’t know how to confess and you scoffed at my confession letter idea. But I know you wouldn’t want to wait until graduation, so”, he took the letter from his hands, “I decided to write one for you. - It’s a shame she didn’t like it. But then, one can’t help their taste. Evidently, since she picked you over me. - Ow! Iwa-chan, that hurt!” The captain rubbed his arm where Iwaizumi had punched him.

“I did write her letter.”, Iwaizumi pressed out from behind clenched teeth.

“… oh. And how did that go?”

The ace held up the second disregarded paper.

“Hm. She didn’t like either of them? Weird.”

“No, you idiot! She probably thought someone played a prank on her.”

The following squabble was interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat.

“Everything alright?”

Iwaizumi let go of Oikawa and bowed to you immediately.

“Sorry, y/n-kun. We just-“

He stopped when he followed your line of sight and noticed how you stared at the two notes still clutched tightly in their hands.

The two boys waited for your reaction and were surprised when you laughed nervously.

“Oh no, you guys saw those? Can you believe what the first years do for a laugh?”

Oikawa frowned and put a hand on his hip, “You really think first years could produce this kind of quality poetry?”, he waved the heart adorned letter in the air, then thought for a moment, adding in a mutter, “I mean, okay, maybe Iwa-chan’s wasn’t really- Ow! Stop kicking me!”

Iwaizumi glared at him to be quiet then turned back to you. Your embarrassed expression turned to confusion then to incredulity.

“What do you mean… “Iwa-chan’s”?”, you asked slowly.

Oikawa made a gesture like a waiter directing a guest to their table, pushing Iwaizumi forward with the other hand.

The ace stumbled for a second, then caught himself at the bottom of the few entry steps to the gym. He was close enough now that you saw the dark pink of his ears as he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.

“Was it really that bad?”, he mumbled and when he finally looked at you found you beaming up at him.

a/n: special thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for supplying me with the perfect ending! And thank you for the request ^^ I hope you enjoyed it! If anyone has seen Ouran High School Host Club, for Oikawa’s attempt to help Iwa I had the letter in mind Kyoya and the twins wrote in Haruhi’s name in episode two xD

[fandoms--fluff]

Baby Bradshaw

Flufftober, October 19th

Sister reader x Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: You’re Bradley’s little sister whose 14 and he doesn’t exactly know about the mischief you (cause) get into until he gets called back to Top Gun as one of the candidates. Maverick hasn't seen you since you were six because of the whole pulling Bradley's papers thing. (You've been living with Ice). So, a lot has defiantly changed. Your callsign is Marvel.

A/N: I know the time lining doesn’t exactly add up, but I came up with this idea at 2am. Deal with it I think it’s cute (and hectic). Please, I know it's shitty but just bear with me for it.

Warnings: Swearing, Underage drinking (only a little), (underage) flying combat - it’s just a fanfic and I can create the rules so.....deal with it!

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

“Can I leave now?” You complained.

“For the last time, NO” Warlock answered while going through a stack of papers. 

You walk over to the front of his desk, where he’s standing. “Oh, come on, you’re the one who always says that I should be in the farthest room from where you are. Just between you and me, I’m pretty sure that this is because there’s something going on downstairs that you don’t want me to know about.”

“MARVEL!” He yells, fed up with you.

“WARLOCK!” You imitate him and his stance. 

“You know what? Yeah, your right I don’t think I can actually handle any more of well......you today. You can leave” He exasperated while doing a hand gesture when he said ‘you’.

Immediately you grab your phone from the tiny square table in there and sped out the door, deciding to go check out what’s happening downstairs since your brother was saying something about having to go there again today. He’s been complaining about someone - his callsign is bagman you're pretty sure - to you for the past week but won’t tell you why, so you’re deciding to investigate what's going on because, well you’ve got nothing better to do. Well, you should probably get all the science homework you have done but that's a later problem with bullying one of the navy research persons into "helping" you.

You've also asked Ice multiple times but he's found ways to distract you so you'd forget about it until the next day. (Yes, he has written a whole handbook of how to deal with your shit - you don't know of course)

While you're walking down the hall you've come into eyesight of Cyclone who was about to go into a room.

'Shit' you thought to yourself.

"What are you doing down here Marvel?" Cyclone, paused right before turning the doorknob.

"Well, my plan worked with annoying Warlock into letting me leave his office and now I'm going to figure out what you guys are failing at hiding from me just down the hall" you said pointing to a wide door into one of the hanger/classroom things as if it's a normal occurrence.

Which it kinda is...

"That's funny cause I don't remember allowing you to go anywhere near there" He crossed his arms.

"Well unlike everyone else I don't give a crap what you want or think I should do or just orders in general" You smirked and resumed your walking.

“Marvel! Stop!” He yelled.

Right as he yelled you started to sprint as fast as you could (which is FAST).

“MARVEL! GET BACK HERE. NO! DON’T YOU DARE GO IN THERE!” He started to chase after you.

The dagger squad and Maverick turned their heads to the noise coming from the hallway until the door burst open. You ran over to the other side of the room, quickly before Cyclone could get to you. 

By the time Cyclone ran in you already ducked underneath an old wooden desk nobody has probably used in years considering the amount of dust it held.

Everyone looked from where you hid, over to Cyclone who’s clearly pissed. 

“Marvel!” Cyclone called out, ignoring everyone’s confused faces.

You kept quiet, not making even a small amount of sound. Your legs are tucked up against your chest, tightly while you lean your chin on your left knee.

“Okay if no one else is going to say it, I am. Who the hell is Marvel? Is the little girl who ran in Marvel?” Hangman spoke out loud, earning an elbow to the ribs from Phoenix. 

Cyclone looked over to everyone and sighed before yelling out, “Y/N BRADSHAW!” 

At that you rolled your eyes and crawled out from under the desk, walking over. 

“You know I really hate it when you call me by my full name” You glared at him, paying no mind to everyone who’s watching with shocked faces. Bradley's face though was filled with more so disappointment. 

“You know what I give up, I don’t have the energy to fight with you today” Cyclone said, walking towards the doors. 

“Well, that’s disappointing, I’ve got nothing better to do and it’s entertainment for me” He walked out giving you the bird. 

“Wow! How real nice of you!” you said sarcastically before turning over to everyone.

You walked a bit closer to Hangman, giving him a death glare.

“Oh yeah, call me ‘little girl’ again, I’ll kick your shins until they’re raw and bleeding” You threatened him. 

His reaction is a mixture of shock and against his wishes, fright. Before you could laugh at him, Rooster started walking towards you with an eyebrow raised. 

“Okay, in my defense what do you expect me to do? Stay in my room and happily do fucking homework all day?!” You stated to him. 

You looked over at Maverick who was walking towards you and enveloped you into a tight hug.

"I missed you kiddo."

[partycatty]

are you open to doing hcs or a fic with johnny (mk11 or mk1 variant idc lmao) and reader with dacryphilia? i just know the sex is so good he can make a mf cry. 😭😭

stares at this anon with incredibly wide eyes

mk11 & mk1 johnny cage > dacryphilia

warnings: nsfw, overstim, johnny being a dickhead, author struggles to write dominant johnny bc they know deep down he's a pathetic little bitch boy

notes: oh my god i am . i am so excited. i love this so much i've been holding onto this for .... days . ilysm i'm writing for ALL THREE. lh ymg OGLDJRKSKWJD

masterlist <3

♡

dilf >

• by FAR the most dominant of the three. he's been around. he knows how to please a woman and he'll make that abundantly obvious when you're reaching your fifth orgasm of the night and he's still pumping into you.

• while he's the most dominant, he's a soft dom! he absolutely worships his love like a goddess and will put her pleasure before his. but he's gonna have his fun while he does!

• johnny loves to please you with every inch of his body. facesitting, fingerfucking, thigh riding, cockwarming, humping his boot, eating you out, he will get you all fucked out one way or another. there's a lot of ground to cover on his huge body, and he devotes every square inch to your pleasure.

• he'll mix his praises in with degrading when he's really into it. he blabbers on and on and he gets closer, the degrading taking over when he's about to cum.

• johnny, on really good days, won't be done fucking you until your mascara drips down your cheeks. he's mastered the art of lasting during sex, so he will be hard for quite some time. and even if he goes soft, he'll just stop and eat you out until the erection returns.

• "such a pretty girl... my needy whore... oh fuck, baby, you're killin' me here..." he loves to just say things into your skin. he'll bite your shoulder or bury his face in your folds and still have something to say. a ball gag wouldn't even stop this man from yappin'.

• "just one more, love, i know you can do it for me," he groans into your ear as he plows his fingers into you again. by now, they're nearly pruned from how much he's been fingerfucking you. his other hand is wrapped around your waist while you sit on his lap. when you reach the next orgasm, he gently caresses your thighs. "there we go, good girl. that wasn't so bad, now was it?"

• when you reach the point of mentally breaking, tears prick at your eyes and fall down your cheeks and you pathetically squirm in his grasp. you don't even know how many times you've came, but this man has somehow found a way to make it happen so many times all you can do is sob.

• in his younger days, that wouldn't even be close to implying a finish line for his torture. but now, with age, he knows better. he sees you cry and stops being as rough. he knows it'd just stop feeling good and start hurting or go entirely numb. johnny would still squeeze in one more orgasm though, just for good measure. just to prove that he can.

• aftercare KING. you just lay there like a little soggy sock and this handsome devil will wipe you clean and pepper kisses across your body, telling you how well you did for him.

• "sorry to make you cry, sugar, i just couldn't help it. you looked too damn pretty," he'll mumble into your neck. "every time you cum for me, i just wanna watch it again and again..."

• your coworkers keep asking if you're okay the following morning from how puffy your eyes are and how sore you claim to be from... training.

♡

younger >

let me just say first that it is so unbelievably funny that he is looking at himself on imdb in that gif

• he's so mean. SO MEAN!

• degrader to the max. bro is the definition of a cruel and unusual punishment.

• and yeah the jacket stays on during sex.

• "you like being a filthy whore for a movie star? you gonna take it like a good slut? yeah you are," he'll yap and yap while he downright uses your body. he doesn't rub your clit to make you feel good, he rubs it so you spasm around his dick more. he wants to feel how much you crave his cock, his touch. it's all about him, baby!

• more than anything, he just loves to fuck you in every position imaginable. he wants to be buried in whoever fell victim to his charms, dammit!

• mirrors. send tweet.

• no fr, this guy loves having mirrors in every place he could picture himself having sex in. he'll pull your hair and force you to look at your reflection.

• "no, no, no, baby, don't look at you. look at me. look who's fucking you nice 'n good," he wraps his hand on the front of your neck to make you watch him rail you.

• at this point, his dick is painted with your orgasmic fluids and he's still not done. you're so fucked out you can't even think straight. your body has gone entirely limb and you're just in a hazy bliss. you've finished so many times your entire body is trembling and jerking around, and your cute moans and whines have just turned into gasps but the skin on skin slapping is incessant.

• "you gonna cry?" he asks menacingly, holding your face with one hand. "yeah you are. good fuckin' dick, isn't it?"

• you lazily nod as the gasps turn into sobs. you're just so full of pleasure and pain that you don't know what emotion to feel anymore.

• "pathetic girl, can't handle this much boom?" he chuckles breathlessly, approaching his own high. "just stay like that, baby, i'm close. tell me how bad you need me."

• that doesn't even sound possible in your current state. he may be talking, but all you hear is distant sounds as tears streak down your face.

♡

new era >

• this johnny is like a mix of the former two, but with his own little quirks! i believe this man is a switch through and through with a heavy preference for submission. but, yknow, that being said, sometimes a man just needs to fuck his girl's brains out and watch the tears flow!

• he's a man that's desperate for reassurance and this carries through during sex. he's not insecure, he just loves inflating his own ego.

• "you like that? you like how i fuck you?" he asks with deep whines in between. "tell me how much you love this, baby, please — aah —"

• he'll wipe your tears but secretly pray they keep flowing. it gets him off so good to see how much he affects you.

• also, ngl, i feel like he loves to be overstimulated too. a long ass day of shooting, he comes home and literally wants to get edged and overwhelmed for hours just to release all that pent up energy. he's a crier too <3

• 🚨 🚨 IPAD BABY 🚨 🚨

• he looooves to record you guys have sex, and if he even hears the slightest sniffle from you, the phone shoots to his hand like telekinesis. he's gotta capture every time he fucks you crazy, it's his favorite little memento to hold onto.

• "you look so pretty when you cry," he purrs out, stroking your hair as you choke on his dick. "could never get tired of this sight." he'll play with your hair but also use your throat as his own personal fleshlight. angle or debil.

• if anything, he loves to ruin pretty things. he'll feel accomplished when your lipstick is a mere memory, your clothes are missing buttons and your mascara is now painted down your cheeks. his favorite part of sex is cleaning you up, and his second favorite is ruining you to begin with.

• johnny would honestly love to keep going after you start crying, but he literally can't. he cums the second you're overstimulated because the sight alone gets him there so damn fast. as soon as the waterworks pool in your eyes, he's already getting sloppy with his thrusts and his groans turn into whines.

• he'll kiss your eyelids after sex, the heat of his body providing comfort after the rounds upon rounds of ruthless orgasms. he'd probably also lick your cheek to rid of the tears because it's funny.

[autisticlancemcclain]

My Dearest La

Dear La

Lance,

I really hate it when you’re right.

I know you are smiling as you read this. I can see it so clearly in my head. You are rolling your eyes now, probably, in fact you are probably even straining yourself. But I bet you are still smiling.

…

I miss you.

You told me leaving was stupid. Well, we screamed about it. I don’t like that I left angry. I should have waited so we could have been — well, I don’t know. I just don’t like that I left without saying goodbye properly. I don’t like that I didn’t get to kiss the smush between your eyebrows that you get when you’re mad

The bottom line is that I’m sorry. And I can’t do anything about it now because what’s done is done but. I wish I did. I’m sorry this message is so dorky. I can’t help how I feel about you. I promise I’ll be more — suave, or whatever, in my next one. There’s this Blade I hang out with sometimes, Sedrit, she is awkwardly funny like you. She has promised to give me some pointers because she’s as nosy as you are and read over my shoulder all the other times I tried to write this letter. I don’t trust her judgement but I’d walk into a wall on purpose in front of Pidge’s cameras if I could guarantee it’d make you laugh I think we could always use a smile. I’m ending this letter now because I’m embarrassed and if I write one more line I’ll lose my nerve.

Love,

Warm regards,

Sincerely,

Love,

Keith

———

“Sir? Sir! Hold on! Sir!”

The Balmeran turns, looking back at him curiously. He leans heavily on his cane, back hunched but chin set squarely.

“Yes, Blade?”

Keith jogs all the way over to him, stopping a respectful distance away. He reaches up to deactivate his mask, which he is not supposed to do, but the mask is fucking creepy, okay, it makes people uneasy so clearly that even Keith can see it, so fuck Kolivan’s lectures. He’s vindicated by the visible relaxing of the Balmeran’s shoulders.

“I need — a favour,” Keith says haltingly. His own shoulders begin to hunch. “If you don’t mind.”

The Balmeran’s stiff brows lift in surprise. He looks deliberately down at his newly-bandaged leg, then back up at Keith. Keith flushes.

“A… favour.”

All the pockets on Keith’s uniform are square-shaped and small. Deep, but not very long. Anything he puts in there gets squished. Except for the long, thin pocket-thing hidden against the outside of his thigh.

The letter has been stuffed carefully in there for two weeks. It’s a miracle it hasn’t been destroyed. The top left corner of it has gotten frayed, because Keith keeps catching himself rubbing it with the pad of his thumb.

“I know you’ve been through so much,” Keith says quietly. “I’m sorry even to ask.”

The Balmeran’s stance is still carefully guarded, practiced —

“As have you.”

— but his eyes are soft and knowing.

Keith lets out a long, heavy breath. He slides the letter gently out of its spot, turning it over in his hands; inspecting the familiar creases, ink stains. It’s a rough, recycled envelope. Made out of old briefing notes, by the looks of it, thick black lines of censorship streaking across the pale yellow surface. An ugly thing, really.

“I need to get this to the Red Paladin of Voltron,” he says, forcing himself to hand the thing over. “I don’t — I can’t send it through the Empire delivery service, for obvious reasons. And Voltron’s location is always encrypted. I —” He stops, mouth clamping shut, because suddenly the words have become impossible to force out through the lump in his throat. He hasn’t talked to the team in weeks. He has no way of contacting them without putting them — or himself — in danger. There will be absolutely no way for Lance to send him a letter back, even if he wants to. The whole thing seems, abruptly, a painful kind of hopeless.

And yet.

“I will pass it along,” promises the Balmeran, voice flooded with kind understanding. He wraps his hands around Keith’s, squeezing once, before gently prying the letter out of his clenched fingers. “I don’t know how long it will take, but I have a someone who works in Emerg-med. She travels frequently, and should be able to take it farther than I can.”

“Thank you,” Keith chokes out, blinking rapidly.

The Balmeran smiles. “Keep strong, child.”

———

“Granddaughter,” greets the old man warmly. The young woman turns at his voice, laughing in delight when she sees him and enveloping him carefully in an embrace.

“Grandfather! You’re well!”

“I’m alive,” he corrects, teasingly.

She takes the jest in stride. “You are alive, and so you are well. I am so happy to see you.” There is genuine love in her voice. She holds tightly to his arm. “Are you staying in care long?”

He shakes his head. “No, dear. I dropped by only to see you. And,” he digs around in his pocket, carefully extracting a letter, placing it in her waiting hands, “to ask a favour.”

“A letter?”

“For the Red Paladin, from the Black.”

“I see.” She frowns thoughtfully, turning the paper over in her hands. “Last I heard, they were rebuilding on Ilso. I am going only as far as Igrendia, to visit my cousin.”

“Pass it along then,” he suggests.

She promises she will.

———

A young girl, to her cousin: “Imeld! Can you pass something along for me?”

A cousin, to her lover: “If you could drop it off at the supply camp when you stop by.”

A lover, to his father: “A friend of mine works in that fuel stop. Let him know I sent you?”

A father, to a friend of a friend: “Only a couple stops left, I reckon.”

A friend of a friend, to a friend of a friend, to a friend of a friend: “It’s almost there.

———

A friend of a friend of a friend, to a Paladin:

“I think this is yours. It’s travelled a while.”

———

A smile aches at the apples of Lance’s cheeks. Salt drips onto his tongue, and he swallows, breath shuddering.

“You — dorky asshole,” he whispers, and tucks the envelope in the secret pocket on the thigh of his undersuit.

———

Lance,

I have no idea if my last letter got to you. I hope it did, if not, here’s the rundown: you were right, I regret leaving, and I miss you.

Anyways.

Today I was on a mission in a planet that was just a huge wildflower field. Just — hundreds of hundreds of flowers, every colour you can imagine and then some. It smelled like you. I cried.

Do you remember when we snuck out of that negotiation — thing? Whatever it was? And you poked me hard in the arm and loudly complained about how much of a bummer I was being. And you dared me to roll down the hill with you. And when I was laughing at the bottom of the hill because you had just so much grass in your hair you crawled over me and kissed me like you’d been waiting to do it.

I remember how we kissed until my lips bruised after. And then we just lay there, until I got fidgety, and then you pulled us both up and walked around picking flowers and sticking them in my hair and snickering. This was the flower. Doesn’t it look like the one you brought back?

I thought of you a lot today. It hurt a little bit. A lot bit. I missed you until it ached.

I hope I see you in the flowers again soon.

I love you more than the stars

Love, and lots of it,

Keith

———

“Hey, Sedrit.”

His voice is as hushed as he can make it. He doesn’t want to wake the others. But she won’t be asleep — she never sleeps before big missions. She says it’s because the adrenaline keeps her alert, puffing up her chest. But Keith knows that she prays because she is afraid that she will die.

She doesn’t answer, so he kicks the bottom of the mattress above him. He hears a huff, and then seconds later, a curtain of hair flops over the side of the top bunk, and her wide, pupil-less eyes blink into focus.

“What do you want, shithead.”

He smiles at her guiltily. “A favour?”

“Ugh.”

But she looks at him in begrudging acceptance.

“I need you to — drop something off, when you go to El-dan. Ask another Blade there if they could pass on a letter.”

She must read his tone, because the annoyance vanishes from her expression. She reaches over and flicks him in the nose.

“Yeah, lovebird. I can pass on your letter.”

———

“Hey, man, could you send this along the next off-world?”

“What for?”

“For true love. Or because I asked you to.”

———

“I don’t know what it is. It’s classified. But it needs to get to the Red Paladin.”

———

“I heard it’s news of an ambush!”

“Well, it can’t be news now. It’s weeks old at least.”

“Yes, well, drop it off anyways. It’s Voltron business, you know.”

———

Lance’s door slide opens.

“I have ��� correspondence,” says Allura, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I was informed of a possible ambush? Perhaps we should read the letter together.”

Prepared remark about greetings and knocking and why they were invented flee Lance’s tongue, and his controller clatters to the ground in his haste to meet her.

“Lemme see,” he demands, snatching the letter straight from her hands. Her protests fall on deaf ears.

You were right, I regret leaving, I miss you.

He grins.

“What is that?”

“No ambush,” he says breathlessly, floating back over to his bed. He traces the shape of every letter, the blots of smudged ink. The scratch of the words is just as important as the content of the letter, Lance has found. He’s long since memorized the first letter, but he still finds himself drawing it out of his pocket, unfolding it with a shaky sort of reverence, studying every slanted T and looped L, closing his eyes and letting the impression of the ink burn into his eyelids. The cadence of the words have become song, hummed over and over and over again in his head.

This time, there’s a drawing. It does indeed look similar to the one hanging, dried, at the head of his bed. He presses the tip of his thumb into the center of it, breathing hard, rapidly blinking away the tears so they don’t drop and ruin the paper.

“I remember,” he manages, half-choked. “I remember, I remember.”

When he looks up again, hours have passed, and Allura has long since left, closing the door quietly behind her.

———

Lance, my love,

I know we do not talk about the observation deck.

It is your sacred place, I think. When you sit in the middle of the floor and look up at the glowing stars and the planets cast shadows on your face and make your eyes shine gold as sunlight the only way to describe you is holy. The first time I ever saw you like that it made my stomach hurt. When I think about it now I miss you so much the ache spreads all the way to my teeth.

When I was a kid I read about how grief makes you hurt but time makes you forget. I read about how men begin to forget the shape of their late wives’ smile. Or the slope of her nose. I read about how children begin to forget the slant of their fathers’ shoulder. How mothers forget the way their babies curled their fist.

Missing you hurts like unravelling. You’re all I think about. I will never forget the fit of your hand in mine as long as I remember how to speak. And I will know the ridges of your teeth so long as I can taste. I will know the length of your back as long as I can walk. I will remember the curve of your lips as long as I can blink. I will know the way you glowed in floating blue starlight until my brain shuts down and my organs fail me.

Patroclus said I will know him in death and at the end of the world.

I will know you every waking second of my life, and I will make myself remember for every nanosecond in between.

Nothing will compare to holding you in my arms again.

Keith

———

Sedrit has officially been declared missing in action. A new soldier has taken her bunk.

Keith’s stomach hurts all the time, now.

“Just — one time,” Keith begs.

“You have way more training than that job requires,” says Kolivan.

“I know. I just —” He realises, suddenly, that even if he had an argument he does not have the strength to make it. The letter creases in his clenched hands. “Please.”

For a long moment the Blade leader does not speak. Keith meets his searching gaze, but his eyes are blank, unfocused. Exhaustion pulls at his features. His hood droops on his shoulders.

“In an out, Keith,” Kolivan relents finally. “A supply mission should take less than four vargas. I want you back here then and not a tick later, so you understand?”

Keith could cry in relief, but Kolivan looks stiff enough already. Should Keith express an emotion in front of him he might be forced into a total system reset, and his programming might not be prepared for that.

“Thank you,” he says instead, and rushes off before he can change his mind.

Matt is leading the supply run. This letter might land right in Lance’s hands.

———

“I’ll get it to him, Keith.”

“Thank you, Matt. I owe you.”

“Take care of yourself, man. They all miss you.”

“…I miss them too.”

———

Matt hands him the letter without a word. No one else says anything, either, when he clenched it tightly between his thumb and forefinger and walks right out of the bridge. Not even Shiro, whose gaze Lance can feel bore a hole into the back of his head.

You’re all I think about, writes Keith’s neat cursive, and Lance presses the paper to his chest and cries.

———

My Lance,

I hate it here.

I miss you.

———

Alarm bells shriek through the headquarters. Keith has become numb to them, at this point.

He slides the letter in between the pages of an intelli-file and hopes.

———

CLASSIFIED

FOR VOLTRON’S EYES ONLY

BIOMETRICS REQUIRED

WILL SELF DESTRUCT

———

There is a letter waiting on his bed when Lance gets back from his mission on Efid-d. He has not slept in three days. His vision is blurry.

He falls asleep with the paper open in his hands, mirroring the curve of Keith’s body.

———

My love,

Naxzela. Soon. I think Kolivan knows there’s something wrong. I’m gonna I might I think I can stay, for a bit. Hopefully.

Well, I will see you again. Damn it all. I don’t care about the world I don’t care about the Empire I don’t care about anything, anymore, I just want to come home —

Naxzela.

It will be weeks until I see you face to face on this mission but already everything seems less bleak. I will admit some of the anger has crept in. I feel awful. I’m trying to remember what you said, in the very beginning, before you kissed me in the flowers. When you held my hands in the purple light and said we make a good team.

I know you say you don’t remember it, you goober. You do. You get embarrassed when I bring it up, that’s how I know. You always get embarrassed when you’re caught being vulnerable.

I loved you then, you know. I didn’t know it then but I did. I thought about your hand in mine for weeks. You have always been so central to me.

Soon, sweetheart. Soon I can hold you again.

Naxzela.

———

He doesn’t bother sending this one along. He tucks it in the secret pocket on the side of his pants, and with every passing day it grows heavier and the weight on his chest grows lighter.

———

When the shield closes over the planet and Keith says, it’s been an honour serving with you all, the scream starts at the bottom of Lance’s feet. It comes up to his knees when he sees the pod speeding towards it, up to his chest when Shiro barks at him to stay in formation. It catches in his throat as he wrenches Red away.

It echoes through space when the pod hits the shield in a shower of blue sparks and grey smoke, and Prince Lotor defects to their side one nanosecond too late.

———

The beep of the healing pod synchs with Lance’s heartbeat. It can’t quite drown out the screech echoing in Lance’s head; that keeps going, and going, and going.

Soon, sweetheart.

He sobs into the half-burned paper.

———

“You better keep your promise, you dorky asshole.”

———

Healing pods have always smelt, inexplicably, of burnt hair.

He hears the slide of the glass door opening, then the whoosh of air as he pitches forward before his arms are awake enough to stop him. Luckily, he falls right into bony arms, and the smell of flowers and sunshine quickly envelops him.

“You motherfucker,” says a voice, heavy with tears, and Keith smiles.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he croaks.

His Lance sobs. The hands on the sides of his arms slide slowly down to his wrists, gripping tightly. Keith forces his eyes open, blinking away the bleariness. Lance has his own eyes squeezed shut, like he’s too afraid to look, head bowed.

Well, that simply won’t do.

“Lance, baby, look at me.”

“You motherfucker,” Lance repeats, and finally he does look up but he’s glaring angrier than Keith has ever seen him. Keith grins wider. “You motherfucker, you damn near lied to me.”

Slowly, half convinced he’ll move to fast and wake up on his bunk, alone, he reaches up and cups Lance’s cheeks. He swipes his thumbs carefully over wet cheekbones, exhaling shakily, revelling in the feel of Lance’s skin under his, finally, finally, finally.

“I’m home, Lance,” he whispers. Tears spring from his own eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m home.”

“Stay,” Lance begs, like he should have months and months ago, like he meant to, like he wanted to.

“There’s no other option,” Keith promises, and as he leans in and presses their lips together, finally, tasting the salt and licking the ridge of his teeth and swallowing every shuddering breath, he vows to never send a letter again.

He’ll tell Lance all he needs to hear himself.

———

all art by @mothmanavenue

concept from this post

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

The thing about Gaylors is that it isn't like a bunch of people connected with a song about longing and secrecy or something, and thought "this relates to my experience as a queer person, I wonder if she's felt something similar. Maybe she's bi or something." (She isn't, she has made it very clear, but I could see listening to a song as a young, queer teenager and wondering.) Or even listening to a song like Betty and interpreting it as queer, which my 62 het mother did. No, for Gaylor, Taylor Swift is a lesbian, she's never been romantically or sexually attracted to a man. She's been married to Karlie Kloss since 2016. The kids Karlie Kloss supposedly has with Josh Kushner are fake (then they insert an antisemitic comment about Josh Kushner). All the men Taylor has 'dated' are fake beards who she hates (no word on why she pretended to date a man she hated for 6 years when she could have presumably picked a guy she like. And shout out to Calvin Harris for being so mad when they broke up he broke his car and went on a tirad on twitter but didn't out her. Queer Ally there.) And if you count the buttons on her coat you'd know that she is trying to tell us that. It isn't unlike how instead of looking at her new relationship and going "They are cute, I hope they are having a good time," people are going "they are soulmates, he's her 13th boyfriend [i've heard of] and so its fate. They are going to get married and have children within the next year. If they break up, I'll die." Or people watching a music video saying "there are 5 blue squares, that means 1989 TV is coming next, because its blue and the fifth album" when it also just...had 1989 TV as text on a sign at the end of the video. I know people are weird about celebrities. I am occasionally weird about celebrities. I have watched interviews where famous people seem funny and charming and though "I really hope they are actually as nice as they seem on TV." But that line between the mild parasocial relationships many celebrities invite because of their brand and the "this persons mine" mentality is not ok.

okay I've been sitting on this one for a long time because I thought sharing it seemed like kind of mean but. as long as we're delving the depths of gaylor conspiracy hell I want you all to see this 158 slide presentation "proving" Taylor was planning to come out when Lover was released, discovered by my dear friend @dykeschemicalromance via tiktok. it is, and I do not say this lightly, one of the most unsettling depictions of conspiracy thought in action I've ever seen

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

sugar cookies - bakugou katsuki

—/—

There is nothing gentle about him.

Not the way he’s holding the bowl, and certainly not the way he’s just thrown the dough onto your countertop.

He’s standing in the middle of your kitchen. Standing in the middle of your house. Surrounded by dough and cookie cutters and flour and somehow his mouth is still set into this funny little grim line. Like there’s a battle plan in Katsuki’s head and he’s suddenly hit a snag.

“Stop starin’.”

“I’m not.”

He just looks at you, unimpressed and you’re so so fond of that square of tile where he stands. Your cheeks warm. You’ve found that there is nothing so undoing as being laid bare under his finger.

“Yeah, you are.” He starts again. But that funny little grim line has gone wobbly. Has gone soft at the edges. “Always starin’. Eyes’ll dry out and roll outta your head.”

“Would you still love me if I had no eyes?”

He doesn’t deign that comment with a response. Just rolls those pretty red eyes and sets the bowl down on the counter. Then he’s beckoning you closer, his hand catching the small of your back as you near. He follows you to the sink. He turns the water on. He pushes up your sleeves when you forget to.

Always so helpless, he mutters, but Katsuki isn’t looking at you. He’s focused on folding up your sleeves neatly, warm hands catching around your elbow.

“Not helpless - just, uh, forgetful?”

“Forgetful. Yeah, definitely.” The words bite, but the kiss he leaves on your cheek doesn’t.

He’s your favorite like this - warm and soft and gooey from the outside in. Baking makes him this way. House chores make him this way. Sometimes grocery shopping will make him this way.

You think it has something to do with the domesticity. But you’d never tell him that.

Now, Katsuki turns the sink off for you, quickly trapping your hands between a towel. Broad fingers sweep over your smaller ones, wiping away moisture with the cloth.

“What’s the next part?” You ask softly. “You gonna roll out the dough for me too?”

He glares. Ruffles the towel over your hands. “I don’t know, you plannin’ to fuck up my expertly prepared dough?”

“I would never.”

And your smile, your sincerity, must be too much for him then, because he jolts. Leaves the towel hanging across your hands and gently pushes your face to the left. Till your not meeting his eyes anymore.

“Say another word and I’ll make the cookies spicy.” He threatens. “‘m serious about it this time.”

And he does look serious - to his credit. But then he’s splitting the dough, dropping one half in the bowl and another on the counter. He takes the roller in his hands and then, even he abandons the threat in his gaze. He just looks too cute with his little roller in his little apron. Way too cute to be scary and mean.

“If you give me shit for askin’ this I’ll go right back to bein’ mean,” He starts, funny little smile stretched across his face. “But if ya had to choose…..”

He stops then. Looks sheepish. And you can just feel the sweetness of his next remark in the air. You salivate for it, sugar craving screaming in your veins full force.

“If I had to choose what, Katsuki?”

He looks away. “If you had to choose which color frosting - what would ya pick?”

“Oh? You’re letting me pick, Mr. Expert Baker?”

“Hey! I just fuckin’ said if you gave me shit for it I’d-“

“Orange.” You say, cupping his cheek with flour-covered fingertips. “My favorite.”

And he smiles something wicked then. Drops the dough and the roller and takes your waist in two large hands. His mouth is on yours and there’s not another thought given to the dough. It lies abandoned while he takes his time. Kisses you like he’s determined to win and there’s no other battle worth fighting.

Maybe you were the snag in his earlier battle plan. The reason for that grim little determined line. Either way, you’re not complaining. You love his way of fighting.

He pulls away.

Out of breath and red in the face and brilliant. He’s got flour on his cheek. Flour in the imprint of your fingers and you love him so much your teeth rattle with it.

[aliesbienish]

Love at first swipe

Benedict Bridgerton x fem reader. Modern Au.

Warnings: Cheesy AF. Innuendos.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Cute smile. Check.

Kind eyes. Check.

Well written profile with no misogynistic undertones. Double check.

This guy must be to good to be true. Definitely a bot. Or married and cheating on his poor wife. Plus what girl hasn’t been screwed over by a ‘Ben’, maybe he’ll be yours.

Still against better judgement you swiped right on Mr. cute smile, and then called it a day. Closing tinder and setting down your phone, reluctantly getting up to make yourself dinner. Honestly having a partner to share the cooking load was just as appealing as the romance at this point.

Basic spaghetti made and glass of wine in hand you plopped back onto the couch to continue your next rerun of pride and prejudice, the tv show of course. At least you could always day dream of life with Mr Darcy, and if he was always looking like he just emerged from the lake then so be it.

Grabbing your phone to enter into some simultaneous mindless scrolling you saw a notification from Tinder pop up. Oh boy a new match. Maybe you needed more wine.

Of course you couldn’t help being intrigued, so you opened it up to see a new message from the definite robot himself.

Ben: Good evening [y/n], to what do I owe this pleasure?

You: Bit early to determine I’ll be a pleasure isn’t it?

I’m actually only here because I am convinced you are a bot and honestly chatting with a bot is almost guaranteed to be more exciting than chatting with a man.

Ben: I’m nothing if not optimistic. I promise I am not a bot. And before you say it; I know that it’s exactly what a bot would say but it’s also exactly what a human would say.

You: Touché. Alright Ben, prove it.

Ben: Do you interrogate all your matches or am I special?

You: You’re special. But don’t get sappy about it, I’m just suspicious that your profile doesn’t have a photo of you fishing or in front of a car.

Through many years of observation I’ve hypothesised that each human man must show one or the other.

Ben: And have you hypothesised why that may be?

You: It’s almost certainly something to do with their hunting and gathering skills. That or compensation.

Ben: And how was this concluded?

You: Well fishing is obviously a modern (and frankly boring) man’s hunting and gathering.Least amount of work and blood involved. These men want to prove they can provide, but will likely never actually do the real hunting and gathering ie. Grocery shopping.

Ben: Science seems sound. And cars?

You: Well that’s obvious. The bigger and shinier the car the smaller the 🍆.

Ben: I quite agree…but that might be because I own a mud covered beetle.

You: Haven’t you heard it’s best to keep expectations low?

Ben: And risk losing out? No thank you.

You: If you’re real, which the jury is still out, I’m sure that’s not an issue.

Ben: Still? I’m flattered. And while it may not be an issue let’s say why would I settle for bronze when I can have gold?

FYI that’s me saying I think you’re gold

You: thanks for the clarification. You’re really into calling this early aren’t you? 10 minutes and you’re obsessed.

Ben: It’s actually been about thirty minutes if you count when I first came across your profile and haven’t stopped thinking about you since.

You: That is either incredibly honest or an amazing line.

Ben: Oh it’s both. But first and only time I’ll use it, cross my heart.

You: So what next?

Ben: Coffee, tomorrow hopefully if that’s not too soon?

You: Tomorrows great. Meet in the city? Say Leicester Square at 11am?

Ben: Done. I look forward to it.

You: You’d better be real or I’ll hurt you.

You were standing in the square outside of the cinema, your agreed meeting place. Despite the anxiety in you wanting to call the date off you’d made it. It was likely a good thing you only had 24 hours or so to think about it. Ben had been funny and endearing and so damn sure he wanted to meet you. He seemed so lovely that it defied belief, but you were willing to suspend reality.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and you spun around to come face to face with Ben. In the flesh, as handsome or in fact even more so than his profile photos.

You meet his eyes and suddenly you felt lost in them.

“Hi,” You muttered, a goofy smile plastering your face. “I’m [y/n]”.

“Hi back. My real names Benedict. But Ben is fine. Long story. It’s lovely to meet you properly.”

“Thank god we’re both real,” you laughed.

“To be honest I never had any doubt. When you know you know.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Maybe I’m just trying to manifest my own luck on the dating apps 🤷🏻‍♀️

[luvvictoria]

Through Fire and Void

+ pairings. suguru geto x f!reader/satoru gojo x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, cheating, betrayal, dark romance themes, love triangle (more like a square), secrets and lies, eventual smut

+ status. on-going

+ official playlist. by victo

+ materialist ; prev. part ; next part + a/n. Reblog with your favourite line ! It would help me very much to grow my account !! Thank you in advance

The days blurred together in a haze of routine and unresolved tension, each one indistinguishable from the last. For [Name], the mornings were the worst — waking up felt like an uphill battle she had already lost before opening her eyes. The gnawing emptiness in her chest would greet her like an unwelcome visitor, settling heavily as if it had every right to be there. She would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, her body weighted by an invisible force that whispered to her that something was wrong, even if she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

But life didn’t stop for feelings she couldn’t explain. So, she did what she always did: got up, plastered on a smile, and went through the motions of her day. It was easier to pretend than to face the gnawing questions in her mind. That was what Suguru loved about her, after all — her ability to hold it all together, even when everything inside her felt like it was shattering into a thousand pieces. She was dependable, predictable, someone he didn’t have to worry about.

The mornings stretched into afternoons, where her routine felt like a carefully choreographed dance, each step hiding the chaos beneath. She would laugh at jokes she didn’t find funny, nod along to conversations she wasn’t really listening to, and avoid lingering too long in moments of silence where her thoughts might catch up to her. And when she saw Suguru, she made sure to keep her doubts buried deep, masking them behind the perfect image of the girl she thought he wanted her to be.

Today, though, was different.

The cracks were starting to show. It was in the way her hands trembled slightly as she buttoned her shirt, in the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when she greeted her classmates. It was in the way she avoided looking too closely at Suguru’s face when he kissed her on the cheek that morning, afraid that she might see something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror caught her off guard. She paused, staring at the person looking back at her. Was this who she really was now? Someone who spent every waking moment second-guessing herself, walking on eggshells, and pretending everything was fine when nothing felt fine at all? Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She splashed cold water on her face, the chill shocking her back to reality, and forced herself to straighten up.

The world wouldn’t wait for her to fall apart. It never did.

The school hallways buzzed with chatter and bursts of laughter, a chaotic symphony of teenage life that felt at odds with the storm brewing inside [Name]. She moved through the throng like a ghost, her books clutched tightly to her chest as if they could shield her from the noise, the questions, the uncertainty. Her gaze stayed glued to the floor, avoiding the curious stares of those around her.

The doubts and suspicions that had taken root in her mind felt like live wires, sparking and threatening to ignite if she let herself think too long. How many times had his phone buzzed while they were together? How many times had he turned away with an excuse, his smile disarming but his eyes unreadable? She shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts.

“[Name]!”

The voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, and she stopped in her tracks, turning toward its source. Utahime was weaving through the crowd, her expression warm and filled with concern.

Utahime. The one person who had always been there, her steady presence like a lighthouse in a storm. Her friend’s kind smile cut through the noise in [Name]’s head, grounding her.

“Hey,” [Name] greeted, her lips curving into a smile she hoped looked convincing.

Utahime tilted her head, her eyes scanning [Name]’s face with the precision of someone who knew her too well. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all. Did something happen?”

The question hit harder than it should have. [Name]’s grip on her books tightened, her nails pressing into the covers. She wanted to tell Utahime everything. She wanted to spill the truth about Suguru’s distance, about the constant buzzing of his phone, about the way he sometimes looked at her like she wasn’t even there. But the words stuck in her throat.

“No, I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice a little too bright. “Just tired.”

Utahime’s frown deepened, but she didn’t press. “Well, let me know if you need anything, okay?”

She slipped an arm around [Name]’s shoulders, and the simple gesture felt like a lifeline. “Want to grab lunch later? Just us? We can skip the cafeteria and go somewhere quieter.”

The offer warmed something in [Name], and for the first time that morning, her smile felt almost real. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Utahime grinned, giving her a light squeeze. “Good. You need a break, and I could use some girl talk. See you then.”

As Utahime walked away, her presence lingered like the last rays of sunlight before a storm. For a brief moment, [Name] felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that no matter how chaotic things got, she didn’t have to face it alone. But as she turned to head to her next class, the weight of her thoughts settled back onto her shoulders, heavier than before.

In the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Suguru, his tall frame leaning casually against a locker as he laughed with Shoko. The sight sent a pang through her chest, but she looked away before either of them could notice her. She bit her lip and quickened her pace, the doubt coiling tighter in her stomach.

She told herself she would confront him soon — just not today. Not yet.

Across campus, Satoru Gojo leaned against a wall, his signature grin plastered on his face as he chatted with Yo Haibara. The two of them were like magnets for trouble, their energy infectious and a little chaotic.

“So, did you hear about the party at Mei Mei’s place this weekend?” Yo asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Of course I did,” Satoru replied, adjusting his sunglasses. “Think I’d miss out on a chance to outshine everyone?” Yo laughed, but his amusement faltered when he noticed Satoru’s gaze shift. Following his line of sight, he spotted Suguru walking across the courtyard, his phone pressed to his ear.

“He’s been busy lately,” Yo commented, his tone casual but curious. Satoru’s grin dimmed, just slightly. “Yeah. Busy.” Suguru’s conversation ended, and he slipped his phone into his pocket before joining them. “What are you two scheming now?” he asked, his tone light.

“Planning to crash Mei Mei’s party in style,” Satoru replied, his usual charm masking the edge in his voice. “What about you? Finally done with all those ‘errands’ you’ve been running?”

Suguru’s smile was as polished as ever. “Some of us have responsibilities, Satoru. Not all of us can coast through life on good looks and charm.”

“Speak for yourself,” Satoru shot back, though his laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The air between them shifted subtly, a tension invisible to anyone passing by but palpable to those who knew them well. Satoru’s grin lingered, a shield against the questions simmering beneath the surface. Yo, ever the peacemaker, raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, sensing the unspoken undercurrent between his two friends.

Suguru’s polished smile didn’t waver, though there was a flicker in his eyes — a brief shadow that Satoru caught but chose not to comment on. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, his posture as casual as ever, but his sharp gaze never left Suguru.

“Responsibilities, huh?” Satoru drawled, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “Funny how those seem to come with a lot of phone calls lately. Anyone important?” Suguru chuckled, his tone easy but calculated. “Just people I have to keep happy. You know how it is.”

“Do I?” Satoru shot back, the words light but laced with an edge. His grin widened, but his tone softened, almost too casual. “You’re not spreading yourself too thin, are you? Gotta make sure you have time for the people who really matter.” Suguru’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the shift barely noticeable. “I always do,” he replied, the smoothness of his voice betraying nothing.

Yo glanced between them, sensing the growing friction but unsure of its source. He cleared his throat, forcing a smile. “Okay, okay, let’s not get too serious here. It’s a party, not a debate club. So, Suguru, are you coming, or are you gonna leave me and Satoru to fend off Mei Mei’s sarcastic jabs by ourselves?” Suguru’s smile returned, this time with an air of detachment. “I’ll see if I can make it. No promises.”

“Translation: ‘I’m bailing,’” Satoru quipped, throwing an arm around Yo’s shoulders. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Haibara. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure we’re the stars of the night.” Yo laughed, the tension easing slightly, but Satoru’s grip on his shoulder was tighter than usual, his focus still on Suguru. “Don’t stay too busy, Suguru. You might miss something important.” Suguru didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he met Satoru’s gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said finally, his tone neutral.

With that, Suguru turned and walked away, his pace unhurried but purposeful. Satoru watched him go, his usual carefree demeanor slipping for just a moment as he ran a hand through his white hair.

“You two okay?” Yo asked hesitantly.

Satoru shrugged, the grin back on his face like a mask. “Yeah, we’re fine. Suguru’s just... complicated.”

Yo didn’t push further, but the unease lingered as they made their way across campus. Satoru’s thoughts, however, remained on Suguru. He’d known his friend long enough to recognize when something was off, and lately, everything about Suguru felt like a puzzle with pieces missing.

As they reached their next class, Satoru made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him. Secrets had a way of unraveling, and Satoru wasn’t about to let Suguru’s unravel without warning.

Later that afternoon, [Name] found herself in the quiet sanctuary of the library, sitting across from Nanami Kento. The rows of books around them provided a sense of stillness, the hum of hushed whispers and the occasional turning of pages creating a calming background. It wasn’t the first time she had sought solace in Nanami’s company. The studious, dependable boy had a way of grounding her, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions she’d been wrestling with lately.

“Are you okay?” Nanami’s voice cut through the silence, soft yet direct. He didn’t look up from his notebook, his pen moving methodically across the page, but there was a weight to his words that made her pause.

She hesitated, her pencil hovering over the math problem she had been pretending to work on. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she finally muttered, her tone defensive but laced with fatigue.

Nanami stopped writing and set his pen down carefully, his gaze meeting hers. His hazel eyes were steady, unfaltering, and filled with a concern that was impossible to ignore. “Because you’re not hiding it as well as you think,” he said simply. There was no judgment in his voice, just an observation that landed uncomfortably close to the truth.

Her shoulders sagged under the weight of his words. She sighed, dropping her pencil onto the table and leaning back in her chair. “I don’t know, Nanami. I just feel… off. Like something’s wrong, but I can’t figure out what it is.”

Nanami didn’t respond right away, giving her the space to gather her thoughts. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Sometimes,” he said after a moment, “it’s okay to not have all the answers. You’re human. Feeling lost doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”

She stared at him, the unexpected kindness in his words catching her off guard. “But what if it’s not just me? What if it’s… other things? People?” She trailed off, the confession hanging in the air between them like a fragile thread.

Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but there was a slight shift in his posture, a silent acknowledgment that he understood more than she was saying. “If something — or someone — is making you feel this way, you don’t have to face it alone. You should talk to someone about it. Someone you trust.”

His words lingered in her mind, each one heavy with unspoken meaning. She wanted to tell him everything — the doubts gnawing at her, the way Suguru’s behavior didn’t add up, the emptiness she couldn’t seem to shake. But the thought of saying it out loud felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, the drop too terrifying to face.

Instead, she forced a smile. “Thank you, Nanami. I’ll think about it.”

He studied her for a moment longer, as if weighing whether to push further, but finally nodded. “Anytime.” Picking up his pen again, he returned to his work, his movements precise and deliberate.

[Name] tried to focus on her own homework, but the numbers and equations blurred together on the page. Nanami’s words echoed in her mind, intertwining with her own swirling thoughts.

When their study session ended, Nanami packed his books neatly into his bag. Before he left, he paused, his hand resting on the strap of his bag. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” he said softly, his tone so genuine it made her chest ache. Nanami hugged her before finally tossing his bag over his shoulder.

She nodded, watching him walk away with his usual calm, measured stride. As the library fell silent again, she sat back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. The weight of her secrets felt heavier than ever, pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket.

For the briefest moment, she considered taking Nanami up on his offer. But the thought of unraveling everything, of exposing the cracks she had worked so hard to hide, of the fear of judgment, of the fear of someone expossing everything to the whole university, was too daunting.

Instead, she stayed there, alone with her thoughts and the overwhelming quiet of the library.

As evening fell, [Name] sat alone in her dimly lit room, the faint glow of her phone screen illuminating her face. The silence pressed heavily around her, broken only by the occasional muffled sound from outside — a dog barking, a car passing by. She stared blankly at the wall, her thoughts racing but directionless, like a storm churning in her mind with no end in sight.

Her desk was cluttered with unfinished assignments and crumpled notes, remnants of tasks she’d started but couldn’t bring herself to finish. Even the simple act of picking up a pen felt like dragging herself through quicksand. Her bed was unmade, the sheets tangled from restless nights spent tossing and turning.

She’d told Utahime she wasn’t feeling well and skipped their lunch earlier that day. She hated lying to her, but the thought of forcing a smile and pretending everything was fine felt unbearable in that moment. [Name] didn’t want to face anyone — not when the storm inside her felt like it was on the verge of breaking, spilling out in ways she couldn’t control.

Her phone buzzed in her lap, jolting her from her spiraling thoughts. For a fleeting moment, her heart leapt, a desperate hope swelling within her. Suguru. Maybe he’d finally noticed her absence, finally decided to check in.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Riko Amanai.

Hey, just checking in. Are you okay?

[Name] stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to respond honestly, to tell Riko that she wasn’t okay, that she felt like she was drowning. But the words caught in her throat, the weight of her own thoughts silencing her.

Finally, she typed out a reply, her hands trembling slightly.

Yeah, I'm just tired from all that studdying, that's all. Thanks for asking, sweetheart .

She hesitated before pressing send, her chest tightening with a pang of guilt. Another lie.

Riko’s reply came almost instantly. If you need to talk, I’m here. Always.

The words hit her harder than she expected, and before she could stop herself, tears welled in her eyes. They blurred her vision, spilling over and streaking down her cheeks as she clutched her phone tighter.

But even as the tears fell, she didn’t respond. What could she say? That she felt like a shadow of herself, hollowed out by the weight of her doubts and fears? That she spent most nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what was wrong with her?

The thoughts swirled relentlessly, dragging her deeper into the void. She wiped at her face hastily, as if erasing the evidence of her unraveling would somehow make it less real.

No one had noticed — not Suguru, not Shoko her best friend, not even her teachers who saw her every day. She’d perfected the art of smiling, of nodding along, of being what everyone expected her to be. A people pleaser.

Her phone buzzed again, pulling her back. It was another message from Riko.

Seriously, anytime. I’m here.

The sincerity in Riko’s words broke something in her, and she let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she typed out a response she would never send.

I’m not okay. I’m falling apart, piece by piece, and I don’t know how to stop it. It feels like I’m screaming into a void, but no one hears me. I’m surrounded by people who care, but it doesn’t matter — It's like I'm losing myself and I don't know why, it's like I can't be helped, I’m still drowning in this endless emptiness. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, and I can’t remember the last time I genuinely felt like myself. It’s like I’m fading away, and the worst part is, no one even notices and it fucking hurts. No one sees me slipping, not even the people I thought knew me best. I don’t even know if I’m worth saving anymore.

She stared at the unsent message, the words staring back at her like a confession she wasn’t ready to make. With a sigh, she deleted it and placed her phone face down on the bed.

Instead, she curled up in the corner of her room, her knees pulled tightly to her chest as the silence closed in once more. The storm inside her raged on, unseen and unheard by anyone else.

s the night deepened, the invisible threads connecting them all tightened, pulling each of them closer to the breaking point. Secrets layered upon lies, creating a suffocating web that clung to them, unseen but impossible to ignore. It was the kind of weight that settled in the back of their minds, growing heavier with each passing moment, yet they pretended it wasn’t there.

For Suguru, every lie he told was like a brick added to the fragile façade he had built. He wasn’t blind to the cracks forming, but he couldn’t stop. The thrill of deception had become its own addiction, feeding a part of him he didn’t dare acknowledge. Each time he looked at [Name], her adoring eyes searching his for truths he’d buried, he felt a fleeting pang of guilt. But it was fleeting, drowned out by the whispers of temptation that beckoned him back to Shoko.

For [Name], the web wasn’t invisible — it was suffocating. She could feel its strands tightening around her, constricting her every breath, yet she convinced herself it wasn’t real. Her mind was a battleground, torn between the image of Suguru she cherished and the shadows of doubt she couldn’t shake. She replayed their moments together like a broken record, searching for clues she didn’t want to find. Every laugh, every touch, every lingering kiss, every night spent together, — was it real? Or was it all part of a lie she was too afraid to confront?

Satoru carried the weight of knowing too much. The truth sat heavy on his chest, a burden he hadn’t asked for but couldn’t let go of. He watched Suguru navigate his double life with the precision of a skilled manipulator, and it churned something bitter in him. He’d warned Suguru once — told him that secrets like these had a way of unraveling, tearing apart everything in their path. But Suguru had laughed it off, confident in his ability to keep the pieces together. And so Satoru stayed silent, his loyalty to his oldest friend locking him into a role he hated.

Even Yo, so often dismissed as the carefree troublemaker, felt the pull of the web. His own secrets weighed heavy on him — the pills in his pocket, the deals that left a sour taste in his mouth. He told himself it was just temporary, that he’d walk away when the time was right. But the longer he stayed, the more tangled he became, the more the lines blurred between who he was and who he was becoming.

And then there was Shoko, the catalyst no one talked about. She wore her indifference like armor, but beneath it was something colder, sharper — a satisfaction in knowing the role she played. She wasn’t blind to the pain she caused, but she told herself it wasn’t her responsibility. Suguru had made his choices, and [Name] was too naïve to see the truth. It wasn’t her job to fix anything, even tho [name] saw her as a best friend, Shoko couldn't care less about her.

As the night stretched on, each of them felt the web pulling tighter, the strands digging into their skin. None of them could see the full picture, but all of them felt its weight. The lies they told themselves were the hardest to escape, echoing in their minds like a relentless tide: This is fine. I can handle this. Nothing’s going to fall apart. It will get better.

But deep down, they all knew better. The web wasn’t just trapping them — it was unraveling, one thread at a time. And when it finally gave way, none of them would emerge unscathed.

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[ms-spkhd]

been dabbling in omegaverse lately, so congrats, you get an excerpt of one of my WIPs

(tw for period-typical homophobic and ableist language)

Funny. Eddie could have sworn that the padlock on his locker door had been completely intact when he last checked before first period biology. 

Well, he’d hoped, since he changed the little bastard three times since the school year started–some barbarous, degenerate dickheads thought ransacking his locker and painting freak across the walls would really warm the cockles of their sad, commiserable little hearts. But those hopes, puny at most, seem to be dashed the moment he dragged his feet back from his final class of the day and found his locker, visibly padlock-less. Fuck.

Eddie stares vacantly at the door.

Well, it’s not actually funny. The joke never is, anyway, but what’s really funny is that Eddie has absolutely no clue if this whole thing is a joke or not. There’s evidence of funny business, of course, but the door isn’t tagged with fag or spazz or that ever-prevalent freak. He turns his head from left to right, surveying his surroundings, but nobody’s huddled together and snickering behind their hands like he’s the punchline of a school-wide inside joke. The hallway is relatively empty, save for plucky junior Gareth who’s hurrying towards him with his backpack slung around his shoulder and–funnily enough–Harrington, who quickly averts his gaze when Eddie’s eyes fly past him. 

Eddie huffs. So much for a damn Alpha, huh? Can’t even make eye contact with the freak of five years worth of weeks.

“Eddie!” Gareth greets enthusiastically, skidding to a stop next to Eddie, “What’s up, man?”

“Somebody fucked with my locker,” Eddie says blankly and points to the door. “The lock’s gone.”

“Shit, that’s not good.”

“I concur,” Eddie mutters bitterly. “Should I open it?”

Gareth straightens and takes a defensive step away from the locker. “No way,” he insists. “Knowing those guys, they’d put live frogs in your locker.”

‘Those guys’ is too broad of a statement–it could be anybody, considering their steadfast placement at the rock bottom of Hawkins High’s metaphorical feudal system. Now that he thinks about it, with Harrington leaning faux-casually against the lockers and occasionally scratching at his nose, it ought to be the work of the basketball team; no doubt Billy or Jason at the forefront of it all.

There’s a faint stench of anticipation whirling around the air. Dread, Eddie realizes. It smells like…like freshly ground pepper and the dewy forest behind his trailer. Like dead leaves and suburban rot.

“I don’t hear any croaking,” Eddie says, resolving to approach the situation with some natural caution. He swallows a great big breath and opens his locker.

The good news is that there’s no frogs.

The bad news? What he finds instead is fucking confusing.

All four walls are spotless, apart from the tally-marks he scratched into the left wall with a nickel for every detention he’d score, and there isn’t a single textbook, notebook, or balled up wad of graphing paper out of place. But, smack dab in the middle of his locker, nestled between the half-eaten tuna sandwich he’d forgot about last Thursday and a dog-eared copy of Brave New World, is a ziploc baggie of chocolate chip cookies, a black velvet pouch, and a piece of lined paper folded into a neat square.

“Any animal bits?” Gareth asks.

“Worse,” Eddie confirms.

To start, the gifts and the free food aren’t usually a thing. In fact, they’re never a thing because Eddie’s not a hot item in the high school market. He’s nowhere near lukewarm, practically Antarctic, at that. He’s no Ubermensch Alpha, weighed heavy with the stink of fresh blood and ash, nor is he a simpering and sweet-blooded Omega. He’s a Beta, like the other 80% of the high school population. There’s no reverence in the way he’s treated–he isn’t worshipped for his ‘powerful masculinity’ like they would an Alpha, and they definitely wouldn’t idolize or protect him for his honest to goodness high fertility rates.

Eddie is just Eddie. No one would even think to look at him twice if he didn’t decide to scrap his normalcy for the ‘devil-worshipping freak’ shtick. Jocks with inferiority complexes loved him for that. They loved the big red target he painted on his back, how it made them feel powerful, like big tall Alphas that howled into the moon and shifted the tides. But he’s not weak–he knows he’s not weak. He yells and claws and makes a scene; lets them know he has just as much power as them.

But that’s beside the point. No one is kind enough to sneak nice shit into Swirlie-boy Munson’s locker without ransacking it.

Eddie fishes out the pouch from between the cookies and note and examines it carefully, as one does with a bomb or vial of rat poison. As he loosens its tie, the sickly smell of apprehension spikes with his heart rate. 

What he finds only compounds his confusion. 

“It’s a D20,” Eddie tells Gareth, feeling light-headed. Gareth squints at him, his face scrunched like his brain hasn’t caught up with the information yet, which Eddie thinks is fair enough.

The dice is a yellow like sunshine, like a dandelion pinched between his fingers when he was small. It’s beautifully shiny, polished enough for Eddie to nearly see his reflection on its surface. There’s not even a single stain of a fingerprint on it. God, it must be brand new. It’s beautiful.

“Holy shit,” Gareth says, dazed.

“There’s no way,” Eddie breathes out, because the universe couldn’t possibly be this kind to him. There’s gotta be a catch–what if it exploded? What if it’s blackmail? Oh, God, the note.

Eddie fumbles with the pouch and tosses it into Gareth’s hands, who holds it gently in both palms as if he’s nursing an injured mourning dove. Like a bat soaring out of hell with its ass ablaze, Eddie snatches the note out of his locker and almost rips it to shreds in his haste to unfold it.

Dear Eddie,

I know I’m not the best with words, but I need you to know how much I feel towards you. I feel like we’re both on different sides of the track, a real Romeo and Juliet type situation, if you ask me–you’re King of the underdogs. You fight for your friends and the little ones you keep under your wing, and you have no idea how much I admire you for that. I guess you’d call me King of the school, but I hate that title. It’s got a lot of baggage I don’t handle too well, and, well, I’ve never been brave about it. I watch you and I see braveness personified, and I know I never fought for you like you fought for the guys in your corner.

Not just that, you’re beautiful too. Every time you look at me I feel like I shot a three-pointer at the championship game. It feels like a winning move. Those eyes you have, they’re like stars. And, God, your scent is so good. Like ginger and cinnamon behind all that tobacco, I wish I could smell it forever.

I know I’m not the type of guy you’d go for, or the type of guy you even tolerate, but I hope you’ll give me a chance.

Yours, 

S.H.

(Ps. Sorry about the lock, I accidentally broke it trying to jimmy it open like an idiot. I’ll pay for it if you want me to.)

(Pps. Look behind you.)

The first thing Eddie registers is the overwhelming scent of peppercorn swirled together with rain-soaked oakwood. “Time and place?”

Eddie’s eyes widen before he whirls around and almost brains Steve fucking Harrington with the white-knuckled fist clenching his letter. Harrington dodges his swing swiftly, catching Eddie’s hand in his, and smiles expectantly.

Holy shit, holy shit.

Gareth is braced against the locker beside Eddie’s, eyebrows high into his hairline and mouth aghast like a suffocating walleye. His eyes dart back and forth between Eddie and Harrington like the latter is going to swing back and stuff both of them into a locker.

Eddie swallows, feeling ill and cotton-mouthed. He wrestles his hand out of Harrington’s grip, hard enough to almost slam his knuckles back into Harrington’s pretty face again, and shoves the note into his front pocket with a huff. He shoots a glance over at Gareth and gestures at him to find Jeff or Phil with a flick of his head.

Gareth, typical of his dutiful nature, flips Harrington off with both hands and scampers off, sneakers squeaking distantly against the linoleum flooring.

Once Gareth rears the corner, Eddie sets his jaw and squares his shoulders. “My bench behind the school,” he says rigidly. He’s going to set this right. “Now.”

Harrington’s eyebrows scrunch curiously. “What?”

Eddie grabs the lapels of Harrington’s Members Only jacket and yanks him forward with all the force he can. “I said now.”

[baa-whatever]

I was tired of the square head style there so I changed it up a bit.

Sunblock:"I am mentally preparing myself for the next few days with you..."

GOD. I'm not over that line. It wasn't in that episode but I still think it's kinda funny.

So he's still bitter towards Moon. Moon's got a crush on him but he's not feeling the same since he keeps beating him up or encouraging others to do it constantly.

Sun's villain arc when? Sun's villain arc when???

[kiiwiigii]

Abandoned

Demetri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Going to Italy over spring break was not what you had in mind, but Bella said she needed you. Until she didn't anymore, leaving you in the hands of a handsome vampire, who happens to be your mate.

Warnings:

Angst

Bella and the Cullens suck. (Ha ha. I'm so funny.)

Word Count: 1500+

Requested?: Yes!

heya thanks for answering my earlier ask about requests! Could I please request a demetri x reader angsty with fluff where they meet in new moon as reader tags along with bella to help and demtri is drawn to her cause theyre mates and volturi agree to let bella go and be turned later if the reader stays and reader is hurt that edward, bella and even alice agree to it so quickly so she feels abandoned and demetri works to earn her trust and comforts her about it at a later date? (If its too much or you end up tweaking it thats okay!!) <3

A/N: What kind of Volturi fic writer would I didn't do this trope? And for once it's not Alec-centric. I love it! Also, this is gonna be a two-parter.

I hated flying with a burning passion. But Bella insisted that I go with her for emotional support. I almost snapped at her to take Jacob instead. Emotional support animals were free after all. She just needed the paperwork.

Unfortunately, I don't think a big-ass werewolf-slash-shapeshifter would go over well if they were to accidentally transform. Bella was lucky that I even had a passport. In the end, it was Alice who convinced me, definitely playing the loyalty card pretty heavily. If only I had known that loyalty was not extended to me.

Italy was beautiful, but between the sweet relief of landing, Alice stealing a car, and getting caught up in the whirlwind that was the St. Marcus festival, I had barely any time to take it all in. The city was awash with hundreds of people, their red cloaks swirling about as they danced and celebrated.

Bella was diving out the car, screaming Edward's name. I dove into the crowds to follow her, making my way through the throngs of red cloaks to find her. It didn't take long before I was hopelessly lost. What had Alice said? Edward was going to reveal himself. What exactly would happen if he did? That was one thing I had never managed to get out of Bella.

Would he just… spontaneously combust?

No. That made no sense, he never would have come to the Volturi for death if that happened.

But where was the best place to do it?

I looked around desperately before my eyes landed on the clock tower in the center of the square. There. That was the prefect place. I pushed through the crowds, yelling Bella's name at the top of my lungs.

Demetri

"BELLA!"

He turned at the sound, and his dead heart seemed to beat for just a moment. Her voice sounded like heaven. Demetri scanned the square, eyes searching, desperate with hope that maybe, just maybe, she might be who he thought she was.

"Bella!'

It was closer this time, and through a break in the crowds he saw her. Time seemed to slow down as he took in the sight of her. She was by the clock tower, her chest rising and falling with the effort to breathe, as if she had just run a long distance. And given the beads of sweat along her brow and the trickles that dripped down her tantalizing neck, she had.

She was stunning. Beautiful. And more than everything that he had ever hoped for.

The other girl in front of him, Bella, turned around in both alarm and relief.

"Bella," Edward said softly. "Relax. He won't harm her."

"Demetri?" Felix asked, voice heavy with confusion.

"Stay with our… guests, Felix."

Demetri was next to the girl in the blink of an eye, stepping into her line of sight a moment later. She jerked back in alarm before making eye contact with him. And it happened. His whole world seemed to turn upside down. He grinned. She was his.

"Hello, principessa." He lifted her warm hands to his cold lips, enjoying the subtle taste of her skin. "I am Demetri. I will escort you to your friends. If you will follow me."

She raised a disbelieving brow at him, taking him in before landing on his eyes. She gulped a little and nodded her head. He held out his arm for her to take, and after a moments hesitation, she did so.

Upon arriving at the alleyway in which the others stood, his mate let go and hugged Bella tightly.

"You're alright." She breathed, her perfect voice hushed.

"I'm alright, Y/N."

"Good to have you back." It was Jane. "Aro has been wondering what has been taking so long. Let us continue."

He put a hand on his mates back, urging her forward silently.

Demetri found that he no longer cared what would happen with Cullen and his human, not so long as his mate stayed.

I was a moron.

Despite the seriously fucked up and dangerous situation that Bella had somehow pulled me into, I couldn’t help but blush as I felt this stranger's hand on my lower back.

'Demetri. His name is Demetri, Y/N.'

The gesture felt oddly warm and comforting. He felt oddly warm and comforting.

And I liked it. But also I didn't like it. He was making me feel all funny and I honestly didn't know what to do about it.

I glanced back at him, only to find him already looking at me, something akin to wonder in his eyes. He gave me a small smile and I turned back around, blushing harder. I liked that smile. A lot. I shook my head, following behind Edward and Bella, doing my best to not trip.

I had bigger things to worry about. Such as getting out of this situation alive. Alice had neglected to tell me much of anything, and I had only caught snippets of her conversation with Bella on the plane. All I knew was that the Volturi laid down the law, and they were not to be fucked with. I suddenly wished I had paid more attention instead of worrying about the death trap that was called a plane.

I grabbed Alice's hand, my anxiety spiking. She gave my hand a small squeeze, sending me another smile. But something was off. She wouldn't look me in the eye. In fact I couldn't recall her looking me in the eye since we had boarded the plane to Italy. And outside of his initial surprise to see me, neither had Edward. I frowned at the sudden realization, slowing down a moment and pulling my hand from hers. Demetri slowed down as well, gently pressing on my back for me to continue, but I stayed rooted in the spot.

"What are you hiding?" My voice cracked. "What did you see?"

Alice looked back at me, surprised.

"Now is not the time, Y/N." Demetri's lips brushed against my ear.

I really liked the way he said my name.

"Indeed." Jane turned around, her face blank.

Demetri tensed, angling himself so that I was out of Jane's eyesight.

"Do not worry, Demetri. I have no intent to harm your mate... As long as she keeps up."

She was so blasé about the whole thing that it took a minute for me to register what she said. Mate? I had a mate? Mates were a thing?

Demetri hissed at her and everyone edged away from the two of them, looking at Demetri as if he were a dead man. Jane just smiled.

"Let us continue. Demetri, do keep your human in line."

I wondered if my brain had just stopped working at that point because I would have normally said something back, but I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything. Demetri turned back around, looking at me as one would a spooked animal. And I was pretty close to a spooked animal. I was starting to hyperventilate, and I definitely wanted to run, but I couldn't get my legs to work.

"Y/N." He reached out, clasping both of my arms lightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out this way, but we really must keep going."

I nodded, numb. Alice knew. How long had she known? And Edward hadn't bothered to say a damn thing to me either. Why? They couldn't bother to prepare me for this? I have a fucking mate. That's not something you can just shove under the rug. And Jane. Fucking Jane-

Demetri's hand slid into my own, the coolness of his skin breaking me out of my haze just enough to keep moving forward. I could feel myself beginning to shut down and disassociate, auto-pilot taking over. I could feel his thumb rubbing circles softly on the palm of my hand and decided to focus on that instead.

Jane pushed the heavy double doors in front of us open.

My brain refused to shut off, memories of the last 24 hours replaying repeatedly in my head.

Bella had been released under two conditions:

She was to be turned within the year.

I was to stay here, to be with my mate.

I didn't have a choice, not that it really mattered, because I would have given myself up in a heartbeat for Bella. But they had taken the deal with barely a thought. Even Bella. That's when I realized that she knew. She had known the whole time. And Alice. I kept thinking about how she had worked so hard to convince me to come. To be Bella's emotional support. I wasn't there to be her emotional support. I was there to be traded, like some dog. And it hurt.

I had lost everything.

My friends. My home. My family.

I would never see my mother again. My father had passed a little over a year ago to cancer, so my mother and I were already in the practice of mourning. But my mom, not only had she lost my dad, but now she would think I was dead too. How would she cope?

How was I going to cope? How could I ever trust anyone again? Bella and the Cullens had taken advantage of me. Of my love. My loyalty.

I wouldn't let it happen again. Never.

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[misty--nights]

So I'm watching the show yet again (usually I struggle watching shows, I don't know how I've managed to watch it twice already and still want to watch it a third time), and here are some things that I've noticed in episode 1, after the read more because it got longer than expected.

Charles calls himself the brawn and the protector of the two, but it's Edwin who goes all serious and says "I would not let that happen" when Charles asks what they'd do if Death came for them. I'm sure/concerned that he'd try to fight her if she ever came to take them...

Edwin knits!! When they are wearing their disgusses to get the demon out of Crystal he knitts while Charles reads the newspaper. Granted, you can only see him doing for a short moment, so I don't know if he's doing it properly, but I like to think he is. I have many thoughts about this, but it would take over the whole post. I'm still willing to make a whole post for it if anyone is interested but yeah. Bottom line is, Edwin can knitt!

The tone of voice that Crystal uses when she first wakes up in the Agency and in her walk with Charles is really different to the tone she uses the rest of the season. In hindsight, it's pretty obvious that is her mean girl tone, but still, I just think it's a nice detail.

Edwin takes Crystal's coffee cup when she takes the mail? We've just stablished he's not going to drink it, so is he just being petty? Is he going to throw it away or hide it just to be a nuisance? Is he investigating what she got? This boy, I swear...

I know people have pointed out all the Clue boards in the closet, but there's also a ouija board there? Hilarious. Maybe some ghosts prefer communicating with that instead of speaking? Or Charles got it because he thought it was funny and then never got rid of it?

I like that the thing that convinces Edwin to take the Becky Aspen case is Charles asking if he's going to let a little girl die. But more importantly, the title card right after that says "three flights". I've had this question for a bit, but what do they do during those flights? Do the boys spend those just standing in the hallway next to Crystal's seat? Do they sit in the cockpit? Do they hide in the bathroom until someone comes to use it? Do they hope for empty seats they can use? I don't know, every possible version of their trip is so funny to me. I know ghosts don't get tired like alive people, but the idea of them just standing awkwardly off to the side for more than 10 hours is hilarious.

No big detail here, I just love Crystal's purple coat thing she wears in this episode. Never really noticed that it has like flowers embroidered at the bottom, and the color of the whole thing is so nice.

"Maybe he's our fucking demon now." Crystal I love you, that is one of the funniest lines in the episode. I also really like that she gets to be angry and scared. Even if later Jenny talks her down from the worst it, it's not her anger that she points out, it's the fact that people are just like that and how the boys act is nothing personal. Her anger is not directly attacked (except by Edwin, but that's just him being petty), because she gets to be angry about all that's happening to her.

The flashback to Edwin's life at St. Hilarion's changes the video aspect (is that the proper term for that? It makes the screen square like in older films is what I mean.) Also he card for that flasback specifies "Edwardian England" even while having the date at the bottom. I don't know, it made me chuckle that they felt the need to clarify the era even while having the date there. They don't put "modern day England" for Crystal's flashback.

With the way the cat reacted to the sardine, I'm willing to bet he would have told Edwin everything without the binding spell if Edwin had a few more fish for him.

When they're talking behind the shop and Crystal says she gets angry, Charles looks down and takes a bit to respond. I think this is the first time he relates to her. The first time he can call that pull twards her something more than mere attraction. He has this very vulnerable look when she says it and then immediately shows her his parents and tells her something he's never told anyone before? This boy saw his anger in someone else and thought maybe it's fine for him to be angry too.

Is it a trick of the light in the scene where she meets Niko, or does Crystal have a septum piercing?

"If you're sticking around, you gotta let us in." Charles, I love you, but you are the last person who should be saying this. Specially after that sad look he gets when Crystal says it must be hard not being able to talk or hug his parents. You just agreed to what she said, as if that were the truth of why you check on them, what do you mean "you gotta let us in"? (I do get that they haven't known each other for long so he's not going to open up about all his trauma, but precisely because of that, it's wild for him to expect her to do it.)

I never noticed Charles quickly returning the mirror to normal when Edwin comes. I'd noticed the audio cue for the mirror changing back, but I never noticed Charles moving to do it and he looks so panicked about it.

Considering how Edwin is about touch, the fact that he lets Crystal take his hand when she tells the that the case matters is huge.

Why are they planning down at the shop when they have Crystal's room all to themselves? Besides the ambiance, of course. I think Jenny's reaction is completely justified.

Esther leaves her turntable on when she goes to the post office. Is it for Monty? The atmosphere? Did she just forget?

Not a new discovery, just a reminder of something I really like. There's this very specific editing thing (like the quick cuts between the instruments and then the opened lock, I don't know what to call it) that they do pretty much every time Charles picks a lock / opens a door, and it makes me very happy each time. The sound they use for it is perfection.

Edwin's attention to detail is insane. The fact that he can recall one cupboard is further forward than it was in the plans is really impressive.

Charles sounds so done when he throws the magic backpack. "Put her in the bag-of-tricks backpack." Man, I can hear the eye roll in that sentence. Good to know Edwin isn't the only bitchy one in this relationship.

And that's it for episode 1. I think I might do this for the others as well as I watch them. It was really fun to do, and it forces me to pay attention to the details, so I think it's worthwhile.

[haikyu-mp4]

Little big dreams

word count; 1645 – f!reader

You’re not sure when you started noticing Tenma Udai, but you made it his problem from then on. It wasn’t because of volleyball, you barely went to any of those games.

To the volleyball team, he was the little giant, their reliable ace. To you, he was just Tenma – a good-looking kid who rewatched his games in class and tried to hide it from the teacher.

The teacher had no idea what trouble she was causing when she paired you with Tenma for classroom duty. It introduced you to his prickly nature, which you learned you enjoyed challenging.

“Hey, Lil Biggie!” you greeted him every morning, making him lift the broom as if to hit you while you laughed loudly and ran away.

“It’s Little Giant!”

After that week had passed, your head kept turning his way, and you asked some friends if the volleyball team had anything particularly draining on their schedule lately. The reason? Tenma looked like he had been through hell and back, the bags under his eyes growing darker each day.

And it concerned you. Annoyingly enough.

One evening, your club ended early and you made your way to the gym, sneaking around the corner to catch a glimpse of their practice game. To your surprise, Tenma walked out before you even got to the door, angrily marching over to the lockers and smacking his forehead against them. It made you freeze, stuck watching him as he breathed heavily and the sweat ran down his neck.

“Tenma,” you called, walking over slowly and resting a hand softly on his shoulder. It was one of the few times you said his name without any funny addition to make it a nickname, and it was just enough to make him tilt his head to where his gaze met yours.

Your lips formed a line as you eyed him, not sure what to say. You had no idea what could have made him so stressed, unaware of the pressure of being an ace.

He regained his calm and nodded as if you had a silent conversation by just staring at each other. Grabbing your hand, he pulled it off his shoulder and squeezed it gratefully before returning to practice.

You didn’t see much of him outside the classroom anymore, and your friends started teasing you for seeming to have a soft spot. A crush? Pfft, stupid.

Then one morning, a piece of paper was folded up on your desk and you frowned, looking around before picking it up. Everyone else was already rushing to their seats as the teacher walked inside, and you had to hide it behind your notebook to open in secret.

It was a drawing of you, within a square resembling a manga panel, and you tilted your head in curiosity. You had to admit it was a pretty drawing, and the two little hearts drawn over your head made your ears feel warm.

Who was it from?

You looked at Tenma wide-eyed as his eyes were locked on his shoes with a frown. “You want me to tutor you?”

“What great hearing you have,” he mumbled.

“Oy, don’t get an attitude with me now. You haven’t talked to me in a while, I’m surprised.”

“I can’t go to training camp if I don’t pass the next exams.” You hummed in understanding.

“Putting too much time into the club, are we Lil’ Big?”

“Teacher said you’re the only one with an open spot so late in the year, idiot.”

“She’s right.” You got up and hiked your bag up on your shoulder. “Got time now?”

“An hour until practice.” He followed you as you exited the classroom, intending to find a spot by the library.

“Excellent.”

Tenma was by no means a difficult student. You sat down with him and looked at some previous exams to see which topics he struggled with the most, and it seemed like he might have been too tired or distracted for a couple of lessons, probably also forgoing homework some days.

So you set a plan to do a quick version of each lesson he had slept through, and then have him do the tasks for that topic with your guidance until he could do them on his own. You two would sit together pretty much every day until his practice started. Some days he would even bring you a drink from the vending machine, and you were reminded why you liked being around him.

You stretched your arms upwards, glancing over at his paper to see his pencil had moved from the question to some blank space in the corner. Silently, you leaned closer, looking over his shoulder as he drew what looked like zombies on a volleyball court. “I didn’t know you were so good at drawing.”

He jumped, elbow accidentally bumping into your rib, making him abruptly scoot away while you clutched the impact point. “Shit, why would you scare me like that?”

“You muppet, I gave you a compliment,” you groaned, pulling the paper towards you and flipping to the previous page, where he had also fit in a couple of drawings. “Are the topics getting easier for you?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “You’re a good teacher or whatever.”

You held up a finger heart that made him cringe. “You’re such a sweetheart.” And the blush on his cheeks was visible from a mile away.

You kept spending those same hours together, but instead of studying, you started spending more time just hanging out. A fun game of him drawing whatever crazy prompts you came up with started, and it made you laugh every time.

As he walked to the bathroom one time, you pursed your lips and picked up his book, flipping to the back pages where you had noticed he drew while you were in class sometimes. Not that you stare at him in class or anything.

You found the hidden drawings, only to realise you were staring at yourself. He had drawn you repeatedly on these pages, from reading with your friends to laughing at his drawings. Your cheeks felt especially warm as you noticed the doodle of you in a jersey with his number on it, holding two thumbs up in encouragement.

Does Tenma… like you?

A door opened in the distance and you smacked the book closed, only to realise it was someone else. Phew, need some time to cool down.

You ran over to Tenma after the game, the rush of the moment making you pull him into a tight hug as you cheered. “I have no idea how this game works but I think you did so well!”

His arms held around you too, swaying you a bit as you didn’t let go right away. “I got blocked a lot, but the team pulled through in the end.” Some guys from the team watched the interaction, which he noticed over your shoulder. Tenma hesitated before kissing your temple and pulling away from the hug.

You looked at each other, smiling and somehow having another one of those silent conversations before the other players pulled him along to celebrate.

“I don’t want to play volleyball professionally.”

“Thought you loved volleyball,” you answered, but you weren’t surprised by his resolution at all.

“It’s fun. It’s fine…”

“What would you like to do instead?” Tenma hummed under his breath in thought.

“I like drawing. Writing stories. Making people feel something. Making you laugh.”

“Ever considered writing a manga?” you asked, looking over to where he was looking at internships related to drawing.

“That’s a distant dream, probably. Would you read it?” he asked back, turning to you.

“Only if you make the women super cool.”

You sighed dramatically as you walked into your apartment, hoping Tenma could hear it from wherever he was. What a hard day at work it had been, but you knew you couldn’t rest yet. “Udai?”

“In here!” he called, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot and smiling at you. “Can you do my hair?”

You shrugged your blazer off and threw it over a chair in the living room before walking over to him and taking the brush. Running it through his long hair, you noticed how high his shoulders were. “Nervous?”

“Not at all.” You laughed, picking up a hair tie and looking in the mirror to adjust the front of his hair before tying it up.

His eyes met yours with a soft look and lips pressed together in a line. “Akaashi will be there too,” you noted, moving your hands from his hair to his shoulders to massage them.

“Right, and he brought Bokuto as his plus one.” He suddenly went wide-eyed and turned around to you. “Speaking of plus ones, why haven’t you started getting ready?” he practically squealed, carefully pushing you towards the door and the rest of the way to the bedroom, while you laughed your lungs out at his antics.

“It’ll be fine! I just need to freshen up and change. All your new nerd fans will only be watching you anyways,” you said, pecking his lips before you walked to the closet to change.

You proudly held his arm at the event, helping him relax and connect with the readers as he introduced the world to his first manga.

Halfway through the event, he walked up on stage, holding a copy of the book in one hand as he adjusted a strand of hair from his face to behind his ear with the other. “First of all, I want to thank the woman who stuck with me through my high school emo phase, my busy intern phase and my troubled writer phase. To my gorgeous wife, y/n, who never for a second let me down and always makes me feel like I can breathe, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

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