#ON THE BRIGHT SIDE I LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE

[aventurineswife]

hii! im not sure if youve made smth like this already and i missed it but may i request blade and any character(s) of your choosing with a reader being sent to the ER? they can be there or be away when reader is sent there, whichever works best for you :)

i hope that makes sense 😭 my brain is super slow and the er is so cold im gonna turn into a popsicle i swear- hope you have a good day/night and remember to drink some water! 💫🪷

Fractured Fate

Summary: After being gravely injured in battle, you are rushed to the medical bay, where Blade remains by your side. As the doctors work to save you, Blade reveals a side of himself that is rarely seen—concern, and perhaps something deeper. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Blade acknowledges the weight of his own loneliness and the reason he can't let you die.

Tags: Blade x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Vulnerability, Fractured Souls, Healing, Loyalty, Angst, Redemption, Imperfect Love.

Warnings: Graphic Injury Description, Mild Blood, References To Past Trauma, Angst, Emotional Intensity, Vulnerability.

The battlefield was a blur of flashing lights, the sound of blades clashing, and the rush of adrenaline as you fought side by side with Blade. His movements were fluid, almost too fast to follow as his broken sword carved through enemies with eerie precision. His eyes burned with a focused intensity, but there was something else lurking behind them—an emptiness that seemed to echo his fractured soul.

You could feel it in the air. The tension. The sense that Blade was pushing himself further than he had before, as if trying to reach something just beyond his grasp. You glanced at him briefly as you struck down an opponent, but before you could say anything, you heard the unmistakable sound of a blade cutting through flesh—your own.

The pain was instant. A sharp, searing ache in your side. You stumbled, trying to maintain your balance, but the world around you spun. Blood began to stain your clothes, and you struggled to stay conscious.

Blade’s gaze snapped to you in an instant. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a rare vulnerability flickering in them. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Stay with me,” he ordered in a voice that brooked no argument, his tone low and intense. He grabbed your arm with an iron grip, steadying you as you staggered.

“I’ll be fine,” you managed to murmur, but your vision was growing blurry. You could feel the darkness creeping in from the edges, and it took everything you had to keep your eyes open.

“Do not lie to me,” Blade said, his voice sharp. Without a second thought, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you away from the fight. His body felt colder than usual, and you leaned against him, unable to do much else.

The world shifted, and before long, you were in the medical bay. Blade remained by your side, watching as the medical staff worked quickly to stabilize you. The lights overhead felt too bright, and the beeping of the machines grated on your nerves. You tried to fight the darkness threatening to pull you under, but your body refused to obey.

In the midst of it all, Blade stood silent, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, didn’t even blink, as the doctors patched you up. But you could sense the undercurrent of something—concern, maybe even something deeper. It was a crack in the shell he’d so carefully constructed around himself.

Hours passed, and eventually, the noise died down. You awoke in a sterile, white room, the smell of antiseptic hanging in the air. You tried to sit up, but the pain in your side reminded you that moving too quickly wasn’t an option.

“Don’t,” Blade’s voice was soft, almost soothing, but with a sharp edge. He stood at the side of your bed, his arms crossed and his usual stoic demeanor in place. But there was something in the way he watched you—a trace of something more than the cold indifference he typically exuded.

“Blade...” You whispered, your throat dry. He said nothing, merely stepped closer, his red eyes never leaving you.

“Why didn’t you—” you began to ask, but he interrupted, his gaze flickering with an emotion that you couldn’t quite place.

“Because I won’t let you die. Not yet.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the weight of his words. His promise lingered in the air, as fragile and as strong as the blade he carried.

"You could've left me there, but..." you trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

"You're not the only one who is broken," Blade said, his voice quieter now. His gaze softened, just for a moment. "If you die... I will be forced to keep walking this endless path. Alone."

You stared at him, processing his words. For all his detached, cold demeanor, Blade's loyalty to his own twisted purpose had always been unmistakable. Yet, in this rare moment, you saw that perhaps, just maybe, there was something else. Something that made his fractured heart beat, even if it was for a fleeting moment.

You reached out, placing your hand over his. His fingers twitched at the touch but didn't pull away.

"Thank you," you murmured, unsure if you were thanking him for saving you, or for staying with you when he so easily could have left.

Blade didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood there, his broken sword at his side, a symbol of everything he’d sacrificed.

“I’ve seen enough death,” he said quietly, his voice hardening once more. “I won’t lose you.”

You nodded slowly, unsure of what the future held, but for now, you knew one thing for certain—Blade’s fractured path had found something to hold onto, even if it was only you. And perhaps, for the first time in a long while, Blade had found a reason to keep fighting, a reason to stay.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Where You Belong

Fem!Reader When you move into a house with 8 men for six months, one seems to be do everything he can to make you stay. <pt3 pt4 pt5>

♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡

You felt the heat of his breath against your skin, the sensation grounding you in a moment that felt almost too vivid to be real. His hands, warm and steady and calloused, cradled your face with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

The closeness was suffocating in the best way- the way his lips brushed yours, hesitant but deliberate, made you forget about everything else. The way he made you feel was undeniable. It was safe and exhilarating all at once.

The way he touched you felt reverent- like every movement, every graze of his fingertips along your jawline, was a confession. His thumb lingered on the edge of your lower lip, and your breath hitched as he leaned in closer. The world around you faded further into obscurity, leaving only the press of his body against yours and the overwhelming heat between you.

When his lips claimed yours again, it was deeper this time- slow, exploratory, and unhurried, his teeth grazing into your bottom lip gently and leisurely, as if he was savoring every second. Your fingers found their way into his hair, tangling in the damp strands as you pulled him impossibly closer. There was no rush, no urgency, just a steady, all-consuming connection that left you breathless and yearning. His other hand trailed down your side, grounding you, sending a jolt through your veins.

His voice, low and gravelly, murmured your name like a secret meant only for you. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you clung to him, afraid that if you let go, the moment would shatter. The haze around you made it all the more tantalizing, and you wanted to say his name, but it was stuck in your throat. Refusing to crawl its way past the same lips interlocked with his. Then just as it started to form-

BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP-

You were in your room, tangled in your sheets, the early morning light peeking through the curtains. Your alarm was beeping and you felt dizzy.

What was that dream?

Your chest rose and fell as you tried to catch your breath. It was just a dream, you reminded yourself, though the phantom sensation of whoever you were kissing's touch lingered, trailing goosebumps along your skin.

Pressing a hand to your flushed cheek, you tried to shake the vividness of it from your mind. It was so real… too real. But who was it?

It wasn't my ex...deep down I know...but who else...

The thought followed you as you stumbled out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen, still trying to piece together the fragments of the dream. You barely had time to orient yourself before you were bombarded.

“Y/N! Morning!” Jisung practically tackled you with a hug, his bright grin melting away the remnants of your sleepy haze.

“Ji, I just woke up,” you groaned, though you couldn’t suppress the small laugh bubbling up as he clung to you like an overexcited puppy, and you leaned in, his embrace becoming something you had quickly gotten familiar with the past month.

“Doesn’t matter! Morning hugs are mandatory!” he declared, finally letting you go. "We made you breakfast since its your late day."

You couldn't help but smile as you sat down at the kitchen island next to Jeongin who for some odd reason looked guilty.��

You rose and eyebrown and sniffed the air. 

"Jeongin..."

He didn't answer.

"Innie." 

Still no answer.

You sighed. 

"Yah, Oppa." 

The fox eye boy turned to you. "Yes."

"Did you use my shampoo again?"

"Why would you think that?" He asked with a serious face.

"Because it smells like green apples."

"Are you sure you aren't smelling the apple slices on your plate? You eat them so much you could become a green apple."

You stood up to sniff his hair. Not noticing the onslaught of eyes on you.

"Yah, is our baby bread finally making moves?" Chris teased but before he could answer you smacked Jeongin's arm.

"You dingbat! You smell like green apples- that shampoo set cost me fifty dollars! It's hair care repair!" You exclaimed emphasizing each word with a smack.

"Ah! I said I didn't- is that anyway to speak to your elder- AH HYUNG SHE'S CHOKEHOLDING ME-"

You didn't notice as a pair of quiet eyes zoned in on your interaction with the youngest man, as you interacted with anyone in the house.

They’d all welcomed you like family, with the exception of some awkward moments, but soon it just felt like a household of siblings, you being the baby and the girl. And moments like this did nothing but prove that dynamic.

But the adjustment wasn’t without its bumps. On both sides. Some bumps hidden, some more prominent.

Like balancing your own job while trying to navigate their chaotic schedules had left you stretched thin.

Still, moments like these made it worth it.

Felix’s pancakes, Jisung’s endless jokes, the way Hyunjin would teach you to paint on your off time like he was Bob Ross, the way Seungmin would tease you in his quiet, sharp-witted way, and Chris and Changbin treated you as if you were their sister- even the still tense moments you had with Minho it all felt like home in a way you hadn’t expected.

Even if you wish the moments with the latter would become eased. 

You overall enjoyed eveerything, from the busy mornings, to the late nights hearing the boys in their makeshift studio, even if it meant you got a few less hours of sleep. 

Overall it made you feel like you were getting your life back on track, to be fully on your feet in the next five months. 

But things had been going too well for too long, and that afternoon your world began to crumble before it could even truly begin to mend.

The conversation from your boss had been curt, impersonal:

"We’ve decided to move in a different direction. Effective by the end of today, your position has been terminated."

You rreplayed it over and over, hoping you’d misunderstood, but the words didn’t change.

The job you’d fought so hard to keep, the stability you’d clung to, was gone in an instant. 

Just like you had lost everything with your boyfriend in an instant, this was like a moment of Deja Vu. Yet somehow the feeling felt even worse than it had when your relationship of years went down the drain.

By the time you got back to the apartment, head filled with negative thoughts as you walked home from the bus stop in drizzling rain, tears were streaming down your face. You’d tried to hold it together, but the weight of it all was too much.

You stood at the doorstep of the front porch, letting it out, not wanting anyone to see you like this. You started to wipe your face, reaching for your key.

You didn’t even realize someone was there until you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning, you saw Chan, his expression soft with concern.

“Hey, what happened?” he asked gently, crouching slightly to meet your eyes, and setting his umbrella on the porch.

You shook your head, trying to wipe your tears away. But he reached his arms out pulling you into them.

"Its okay. You'll be okay."

The dam broke then, and you poured out everything. How you lost your job today and how it was making you feel. How it made you worried and how you were regretting everything. How you’d been feeling overwhelmed, and now burdened; how you weren’t sure what to do next. Chan listened intently, his presence solid and unwavering as he rubbed your back.

When you finally finished, he gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve got you,” he said firmly. “Actually, I was going to bring this up soon anyway, but now’s as good a time as any. We could really use someone to help manage our schedules and handle some of the day-to-day stuff. If you’re interested, the job’s yours. No hesitation.”

You blinked at him, the offer catching you completely off guard. “I...”

“Don't even think about saying no. Matter of fact...you start tonight."

"Chris..."

"You’re already part of the family, Y/N-ah. This just makes it official,” he said with a grin, petting your head real quick. 

You began to cry again and he pulled you back into his arms until you heard a voice from behind.

"Hyung-ah..." You turned to see Minho and Jisung looking at Chan. They'd visibly just come back from shopping, green apples and your favorite protein powder that Changbin had used up sticking out from the bag Minho was holding. 

Chris smiled and went to go help with the bags and you looked at Minho, something unrecognizable flashing through his eyes. Jisung quickly ran up to you, asking about some anime you two were planning on binging later, drawing your attention away from him.

************************************************************************

Later that evening, after dinner, you found yourself sitting at the dining table, looking through a stack of potential venues for the next show the guys were planning. Chan had explained all that you needed to do for now and you were focused on doing your best to not disappoint.

The evening had settled into a calm silence after everyone ate and the boys had scattered around, some relaxing in the living room, others scrolling through their phones. It was easier to focus with the quiet; papers spread out in front of you.

The gig locations were a bit overwhelming, and despite your best efforts to focus, you felt a twinge of uncertainty. But you didn't feel uncertain enough to ask any questions just yet.

Minho approached you quietly, like a cat, his footsteps soft as he stood behind you. His gaze lingered on the papers for a moment, and then he pointed to one with a quick, no-nonsense motion.

He leaned over you and you tensed slightly.

“This one,” he said, his voice low. “It’s small. Good acoustics.”

You looked at the location he indicated, nodding slowly. It made sense now that you thought about it. More of an intimate environment, better for fan interaction. You wanted to ask if there was anything else to take into consideration, but before you could, Minho was already stepping away.

Without another word, he moved towards the kitchen. The sound of dishes clinking softly filled the space as he started cleaning up. It was a simple, quiet moment, but it felt...oddly intimate. You watching him do something so simple. You shook your head and turned back on your work, but your attention kept drifting towards him against your will.

Minho moved around the kitchen with ease, his broad shoulders and strong arms flexing as he scrubbed plates. The way he concentrated, the quiet focus in his actions, made you momentarily forget everything else. He was chewing on a piece of gum as he worked to tidy up, and the movement caught you eye more than anything.

Focus Y/N. You lucked out with this you need to focus...

Then, a soft sound caught your attention, snapping you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see him setting a plate in front of you. On it, a series of apple slices, carefully cut into small, delicate rabbit shapes.

The green apples shimmered under the dim light, their crisp freshness promising a much-needed break.

“You seemed anxious at dinner,” Minho said, his voice almost absent, as though he hadn’t meant to break the silence at all. He turned back toward the kitchen, not looking at you.

You stared at the apples for a moment, feeling the quiet stillness of the room pressing in on you. You picked up a slice, biting into it, the tang of the green apple sharp and sweet.

As you chewed, your eyes lingered on Minho. He was still in the kitchen, but now he was moving with a certain rhythm- something soothing in the way he worked, purpose with every movement. The clink of the dishes, the hum of his focused energy, filled the space between you. Now did it not only feel oddly intimate but oddly comforting.

But at the same time, you noticed the tension in his posture, the subtle furrow of his brow as he wiped down the counter. He seemed lost in thought. There was something in his expression, a flicker of discomfort that you couldn’t quite place.

In the silence, you found yourself wondering what was going on in his mind. What was he thinking?

Minho’s hands paused on the counter for a second, his gaze drifting out the window, his brow still furrowed. You couldn’t read him, but there was something unmistakable in the way he seemed conflicted.

His mind was racing, and he knew it. He couldn’t quite place the odd feeling swirling inside of him.

Part of him was glad you were here, sharing space with him and the others. You were friendly, easygoing, and yet, there was something about you that got under his skin and irked him.

Was he jealous that you were becoming so close to the guys?

Was that it?

Or maybe it was just the awkwardness that had lingered from the first time he’d met you? He wasn’t sure.

But then, something shifted. It was a thought so fleeting, so strange, that it stopped him in his tracks.

When he had seen the apples at the store, he’d thought of you.

And for some reason, that thought unsettled him more than anything else.

“Maybe I’m just being a dick,” he muttered to himself, the words slipping out quietly. He was still scrubbing the countertop, but his mind was somewhere else, tangled in a mess of feelings he couldn’t untangle.

He was distant around you, so much so you seemed to be a little wary around him. But he was only distant because of this odd feeling. He had never been around girls all that much. Moving in with the guys at a rather early age. And he had much rather be in solitude than interact with others.

“Maybe I'm just not used to being around girls,” he thought, but it didn’t sit right. He knew that wasn’t entirely true. It couldn’t that simple.

And then the feeling hit him again- the odd tension, the confusion.

He wanted you around, he realized. He liked having you in the house, even though it irked him.

Maybe it was just the mess of new dynamics.

Maybe it was jealousy because it seemed to spike whenever you were hanging out with one of the guys. They had been his friends first.

So that was the most plausible solution, wasn't it?

Or maybe it was something else. He just couldn’t pinpoint it.

All he knew was there was something about you. Something that made him think about you when he sliced saw green apples, of all things.

Something that made him want to cut those apples into little rabbits, because he had seen you barely touch your plate.

Minho took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. There was no denying that whatever it was, he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Not now, not with the way you were sitting there, quietly eating the apples he’d prepared for you, as you scribbled something down, quietly bouncing one of your legs.

Is she always that anxious?

He let out a quiet exhale and turned back to the sink.

“I’m definitely overthinking this,” he muttered under his breath.

But...he wasn't exactly opposed to the thought of you being in his head.

♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡

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[ylangelegy]

a birthday drabble for @totomoshi 🤎🥨☕ sara, my love, i wish for you everything good and sweet! xo

five-star (seungcheol x reader) ┆ word count: 686.

Your go-to coffee order is on the edge of your usual table. 

Wryly, you pick up the paper cup to inspect it. There’s nothing to indicate who the drink might be from.

A part of you wants to not look a gift horse in the mouth. A free drink is a free drink, after all. You’ve frequented this café enough to qualify as a regular, so any of the other frequent patrons are prime suspects. 

When you turn to the barista to ask, he’s already shaking his head. 

“No clue,” he says. 

“You make the drinks,” you respond accusingly. 

He flashes you a dimpled smile but offers nothing more. “I can at least assure you there’s no poison in it,” he says, drawing a light huff from you. 

“I’d give you a one-star rating if it did.”

“Oh, how ever will I live.” 

The bell over the entrance dings. Your good-natured bickering is cut short. When you take a sip, it’s just as he said. No poison, and exactly how you like it. 

This becomes a thing. At least twice a week, your drink is already waiting for you. Sometimes, it comes with a croissant. A chocolate chip cookie. A slice of cake, even. 

You let this drag on for about three months before deciding enough is enough. 

“I know it’s you, you know.” 

He looks up at you, one eyebrow arched upward. 

“Me?” he asks innocently. 

There’s no one else around. You had timed this, waited for the last of the customers to filter out before striking. 

“I know it’s you,” you repeat, gesturing vaguely. 

He gives a noncommittal hum in response. He’s already wrapping up for the day, folding his apron and packing away his name tag. 

Seungcheol, it says. 

“And yet you only decided to bring it up now?” he teases. 

You raise your shoulders in a shrug. There’s a small smile tugging at your face— the confirmation of his identity, sweeter than any of the pastries you’ve been gifted so far. 

“I liked getting free stuff,” you answer cheekily. 

Seungcheol’s eyes turn into crescents as he laughs. He’s obviously amused at your feigned ignorance. Perhaps even endeared by it. You can tell in the way he leans across the counter, trying to get a little closer to you; the way the corners of his lips tilt upward as he speaks. 

“And I like you,” he finally, finally confesses. “In case that hasn’t been made clear yet.” 

Something akin to a snort of laughter slides past your lips. “Could’ve told me earlier.” 

“I thought you liked the free stuff.” 

“Yeah, well, I would’ve liked a date much more.” 

And, oh, the way his smile breaks, then. It lights up his whole face. 

“Are you only saying that because I make good coffee?” he asks as he packs away his things, seemingly readying to leave with you. 

You realize that you wouldn’t mind.

“The coffee could be better—” you’re saying, but Seungcheol’s smile drops into a pout. 

“Yah!”

“Let me finish!” You clear your throat. “But the barista’s kind of cute.” 

Seungcheol’s lip is still jut out, though it twitches ever so slightly. When the two of you step out of his café, he hurriedly locks up before glancing down at you. 

“What’s it going to take to get a five-star rating from you?” His tone is half-joking, but you have some idea that he’s not referring only to his café. 

The two of you fall into step. Seungcheol’s shoulder brushes against yours, like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out to hold your hand.

“Let’s start with that date,” you say, trying to maintain some semblance of coolness as Seungcheol seems to lead you to your destination for the night. “And then we can talk about your rating.” 

You’re playing it coy, playing it safe, but it’s hard to act nonchalant when Seungcheol is practically vibrating with excitement at your side. 

He grins down at you, all bright and warm and fond, and to hell with it. You smile back at him.

(He swears it’s better than any five-star rating in the world.) 

[wandering-pirate]

When the moon fades, the stars guide

Part 1

Part two of "How does a moon lose its shine?"

Summary: When the chaos went down, what led up to it? And what will happen next in the dark, metal casements of the Tulpar?

Pairing: Father figure! Swansea x reader

a/n: ask and you shall receive~ thanks for y'all's patience!!

Trigger warning: Depictions of sexual abuse and violence. There are no explicit scenes of the rape itself but the trauma and experience of y/n is very much described. Please take care of yourselves while reading <3<3

Day of Departure

The Tulpar’s engines hummed steadily, a sound you came to think of as the freighter’s heartbeat. Three years on this ship, and it started to feel like a second skin at this point. But still, every haul gives you that faint, familiar buzz of excitement, like the thrill of stepping into something bigger than yourself. Responsibility.

You leaned against the inventory console, triple-checking your clipboard. Rows of numbers and codes blurred together, but the satisfaction of seeing everything in order made the strain worth it.

"So, you’re the famous Y/N," a voice chirped behind you.

You turned to find Daisuke, the new mechanic intern that Curly told the crew about. He looked barely out of his teens, his uniform covered with a bright yellow hawaian-patterned shirt that he somehow managed to smuggle and had a grin a little too wide. Newbie's buzz, you thought.

"And you’re the new grease monkey," you teased, extending a hand.

"Mechanic-in-training," he corrected, shaking your hand with exaggerated seriousness. "Big difference."

Swansea scoffed from the other side of the utility room, tinkering away with a coolant valve. "Big talk for a kid who just learned what a carburetor is."

"I thought it was a coffee maker for cars," Daisuke mumbled to you, pouting.

Biting back a laugh, you shot Swansea a grin that practically dared him to roll his eyes. He didn’t disappoint.

Jimmy entered the room, clipboard in hand. His presence had always been grounding, his confidence infectious. He nodded at you as he passed. "Inventory’s in good hands, as usual."

"As if you’d trust anyone else," you replied, your tone light but your chest warming at the compliment. He smirked, tapping the clipboard.

The ship’s intercom crackled to life. "Alright, folks," Curly’s voice boomed. "Buckle up, we're launching at five."

Your hand froze on the console. No matter how many times you’d done this, the Tulpar's jump during the launch always lit something in you. The co-pilot once commented how you're like a puppy with a treat dangling in front of you.

As a kid, you’d been obsessed with the idea of outer space. Not in a “memorizing star charts” kind of way, but in a way where you just admired them every night that you gazed at the night sky.

Whenever you see pictures of galaxies, stars, or any heavenly body, it was like looking at something familiar, something that made sense to you. The outer space wasn’t just an escape; it was home.

Anya appeared at your side, her medical bag slung over one shoulder. She flashed a small smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Let me guess," she said, her voice relaxed. "Gonna watch the Earth fade away again, huh?"

"Every. Damn. Time." You nudged her playfully, earning a laugh.

"Swansea's really rubbing on you with those words."

When the Tulpar lurched, you gripped the edge of the console, your gaze already flicking toward the viewport. For a moment, the universe stretched out in every direction, infinite and vast. You couldn’t help the grin on your face.

Out here, it all felt right. The stars, the ship, the crew… they all came together in a way that felt as natural as breathing. For now, at least, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

One Month After the Crash

When you thought things were about to get better the night you broke down, helpless, at the lounge... you were desperately wrong. Somehow, the man who betrayed you, the monster you treated as a friend, a mentor—hell, even family—claimed Curly's title and is set loose.

And now? You were cowering at the corner of the utility room, covering your ears as the voices outside grew louder with every passing minute. Funny how one voice made you gag and the other made you feel secure.

“Come on, Swansea. I told you, I’m not gonna hurt Y/N, alrig—”

“If you’ve got a death wish,” Swansea’s voice, low and bristling, cut through the tension. “Keep yappin’.”

It had been a month. A month of watching your back. A month of slipping between rooms, dodging Jimmy’s shadow, a sick game you were forced to play with him. But it was also a month of being under the mechanic’s wing, always having him or Daisuke by your side when checking inventories, because almost facing your deaths just days ago wasn’t enough reason to stop your job. Or being in the locked medbay with Anya when both your guards were busy.

“Look, I just wanna make things right,” Jimmy said, his tone too smooth, too practiced. “Curly’s out of commission, and now, as captain, it’s my job to take responsibility for what I’ve done.”

For a second, your stomach twisted at the pause. Would Swansea actually believe him? Could he? You strained to hear the older man’s reply, then there it was.

It started weak, the soft wheezing sounds went through the metal wall. It grew louder, rougher, until it was a full-blown, bitter laugh that rattled the air. Guilt filled your chest—why would you even ever doubt him after all he's done?

"What a fuckin' joke. Know what? If yer that desperate to play captain, wanna tell me how the ol' Tulpar really crashed?"

Silence. Not even a breath from Jimmy. Then, heavy, angry stomps faded down the hall.

For a solid ten minutes, you stayed frozen, your pulse loud in your ears. The air in the utility room felt thick, clinging to your skin. Then the door hissed open.

“That roach’s got some nerve,” Swansea muttered, stepping inside. His face was carved with exhaustion, but his sharp eyes softened when he met yours. He offered a tired smile, and you returned it, grateful.

"You shouldn’t be out here," Swansea grumbled, his eyes scanning the corridor as he steered you back toward the medbay.

"I’m fine." You tried evading him, but given his bouncer-like body, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Sure, and I’m the swan princess from that pink doll kid's show."

The Tulpar floated through infinite space, a shell of its former self. It wasn’t one of those massive freighters like the newer ones Pony Express had, but a running old freighter is infinitely better than a broken old freighter. Supplies were low, tensions were high, and the Tulpar's once-familiar corridors felt more like a prison than home.

When the asteroid hit, or so Jimmy claimed, Curly had supposedly saved everyone by making a split-second turn to minimize the impact. It was a story that gave the crew a shred of hope, something to hold on to.

But cracks already started to form in Jimmy’s tale. The damage didn’t match the trajectory of any known asteroid paths. The ship’s logs were corrupted, erasing any evidence of what really happened.

It wasn't farfetched to believe that Jimmy didn't stay put at his quarters when the crash happened.

Swansea has his suspicions. So did you. But neither of you said it out loud. The truth was a dangerous thing aboard the Tulpar now, fragile and very explosive, just waiting for the right moment to destroy whatever was left.

"Kid," Swansea’s voice broke through your thoughts. You hummed, "Don’t go doin’ that thing where you stare off into space like a lost puppy."

You managed a weak smile. "Can’t help it. Space is kinda my thing."

He snorted, but his eye-roll was absent. He didn’t let you go until he was sure you were back in the medbay, under Anya’s watchful eye and the door's lock.

2 Months before the Crash

Jimmy’s compliments had always felt harmless. You were used to his jokes, his easy smiles, and the way he called you "kid". It was comforting, in a way - until recently.

"Nice shirt," he said one day, leaning casually against the inventory shelves as you logged spare parts into the system.

You glanced down at your standard-issue disgustingly yellow t-shirt, streaked with dust and grease from helping Swansea earlier. "Uh, thanks? Didn’t know grease-stained chic was trending."

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You pull it off, though."

You gave him a half-smile, feeling like the co-pilot has something more to say than he's letting on. His tone felt... heavier. You chalked it up to overthinking and turned back to your work. Jimmy was your friend, someone you’d always trusted.

But somehow, the comments became more frequent, more pointed. A hand on your shoulder lingered too long. Always looking at you when he laughs.

The next time it happened, you were helping the mechanic in the engine room. You crouched next to him, handing over tools as he muttered under his breath about "cheap replacement parts." The rhythmic clank of the wrench echoed in the space while Daisuke watched because the last time he helped replace something, he had to receive 3 stitches from Anya.

"Careful not to scratch the paint off," you teased, smirking.

Swansea snorted, rolling his eyes. "Look who's talkin', Ms. 'I-can-make-any room-look-like-a-fukin' junkyard' with all the shit you leave laying around."

"Ha! Boss' got you there Y/N!" You poked your tongue out at the intern.

Swansea gave you a sideways glance, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wanna talk about paint? Maybe start by remembering where you put all yer inventory sheets before I have to staple ‘em to yer forehead."

You laughed, wiping your hands on your coveralls, when Jimmy walked in. His gaze lingered too long as he leaned against the doorway.

"Got the inventory finished?" he asked, his voice casual.

"Mostly," you said. "Swansea needed a hand, so I figured I’d multitask."

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed briefly, just a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. His smile returned, too quick to feel natural. "You’re a real team player, kid."

Swansea grunted in agreement, not looking up. "She’s handy, I’ll give her that. Saved me a headache with these damn filters."

"Hey! I'm here, to--"

"Tell me what happened to yer forehead with just a screwdriver, boy." That seemed to silence Daisuke up.

Jimmy’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, though he quickly masked it with a chuckle. "Better not let her show you up, old man."

"Not a chance," Swansea shot back, oblivious to the tension.

But you felt it. The way Jimmy’s smile didn’t match his eyes, the way his presence filled the room like static. Something about it was off. You wanted to brush it aside, but the feeling lingered.

Later, in the lounge, Curly tossed you a cup of coffee. "Heard you’ve been pulling double duty with the inventory and the utility. You gunning for my job or what?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Dream bigger, Curly. I’m aiming for Swansea’s."

Curly laughed, but his attention shifted behind you for a moment. You glanced over your shoulder to see Jimmy standing in the doorway again, watching. His posture was casual, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the counter.

When you turned back, Curly raised an eyebrow. "Jimmy’s been hovering a lot lately. You notice that?"

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "He’s probably just bored."

But deep down, you weren’t so sure. You sipped your coffee, forcing a laugh. "One more compliment from him? I’m charging him rent."

Curly chuckled, but his smile faded slightly as he glanced at Jimmy again. "You should tell him that. See what he says."

You smiled weakly, staring into your coffee as the unease settled in your chest.

One Month Before the Crash

Jimmy’s words echoed in your ears, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice trembling, his breath uneven. "But I can’t stop thinking about you."

You remembered the way his hands shook, how his eyes flitted between you and the walls, never meeting yours. He looked like he wanted to convince himself as much as you. But it wasn’t the shaking or his words that lingered in your mind, it was the suffocating fear, the way the air in the room thickened, pressing down on your chest until you couldn’t breathe.

You fought back, kicked, punched, scratched, used everything in your disposal, but it wasn't enough.

In that moment, the world felt unrecognizable. The Jimmy you looked up to, trusted, and even laughed with, was gone. Or maybe he had never been real.

And you felt something within you... break.

You didn’t cry. Not then. The betrayal was too sharp, cutting through your chest like shards of glass. You couldn’t feel anything but the raw, jagged edges of shock and pain. It was never-ending, it was unforgiving.

Later, when it was over and the room was silent again, you sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the dull metal wall. The memories replayed in your head, over and over, a loop you couldn’t escape.

"Why didn’t I stop him?"

"Why didn’t I fight harder?"

"Why didn’t I say something?"

The questions bit you, each one sinking its sharp fangs deeper into your guilt, into your body, mind, and soul.

Jimmy’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts. You remembered how he sat across from you, his voice low and soft, as though he were the one wounded.

"I didn’t mean for it to go like this," he’d said, his tone almost pleading. "You don’t have to hate me, you know? I care about you. I just… I just couldn’t hold it in anymore."

Each word sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. The confusion was unbearable. Was he sorry? Or was this another lie? Another betrayal? It didn’t matter. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him or yourself anymore.

And from that night on, everything you loved about your life on the ship, the crew, the stars outside your window, even your own reflection, felt like it died.

You went through the days like a ghost. Your laughter was gone, replaced by silence. Meals went untouched. The inventory, your pride and responsibility, piled up unchecked.

The crew noticed. How Swansea’s gruff teasing didn’t make you laugh anymore. How Daisuke’s bad jokes only entered your ear and exited the other. And every time Jimmy walked into the room, your body froze, your skin crawling as though his gaze alone could trap you again.

Anya, however, never pried. She saw through the silence, the robotic movements, the emptiness in your eyes.

One evening, she's nursing you. You sat on the cot, staring at the floor, your hands limp in your lap. You passed out from hunger earlier and Dasiuke had to carry you to the medbay, sweating and frantically assuring himself more than anyone through panicked mumbles.

She approached quietly, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand. "Y/N," she said softly, placing the tray beside you.

You didn’t respond.

Anya pulled up a chair and sat down across from you, her gaze steady. "You have to eat."

"I’m not hungry," you murmured, your voice flat.

She didn’t push. Instead, she reached out, her hand resting gently on your arm. Her warmth cut through the cold numbness you’d wrapped yourself in.

"You know, it’s okay to feel like this," she said quietly. Her tone wasn’t pitying, just kind. "But you don’t have to do it alone."

You didn’t react. You couldn’t. Her words were like waves breaking against a stone, unable to reach its core.

Anya stayed with you anyway. She talked softly, about nothing in particular, old stories, small jokes, telling you how Daisuke stole Swansea's snacks and having to say I'm sorry for a hundred times as punishment. She didn’t expect you to respond. She was simply there, filling the silence with her presence.

Even when you retreated deeper into yourself, Anya never gave up. She left food by your workstation, tidied your quarters when you weren’t looking, and covered for you when Curly asked too many questions.

One night, as Anya walked you back to your quarters, she stopped just outside your door. Her voice, usually gentle, held a weight you hadn’t heard before.

"Y/N," she began carefully, "I’ve been where you are."

Your steps faltered. The numbness you carried didn’t lift, but her words sent a faint ripple through the sea of numbess. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, your hand tightening on the doorknob.

"I know what Jimmy did to you," she continued softly.

The air in the hallway felt suddenly heavy. Anya hesitated, then added, "It happened to me too. Weeks ago."

The words were like a thunderclap in your mind, sharp and deafening. You turned to her, your eyes wide with disbelief.

"You knew?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, raw and cracking. Anya went through the same thing yet here she is, stronger than you, caring for you. Your stomach churned in guilt. "You—why didn’t you tell anyone? Tell me?"

Anya’s expression didn’t falter, but her shoulders tensed as though she’d been bracing for this. "I told Curly," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. "But… nothing changed."

Nothing changed.

The words hit like a sledgehammer, shattering the fragile threads of hope you’d been clinging to. Your chest tightened as anger and despair fought for control.

"You told him," you whispered, the words trembling with a pain that reached far deeper than you’d let anyone see.

Anya didn’t look away. She didn’t try to explain or justify it. "I thought it would help," she said, her tone even. "I thought it would stop."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and hollow. "And now it’s my turn, right? Cap kept quiet and hoped it wouldn’t happen again?"

"Y/N--"

"Now what, Anya?" You snapped, your voice rising despite the lump in your throat. "What was the point of telling him if it didn’t change anything? He was supposed to be the captain, he was supposed to protect his crew. And no it didn’t stop tha--"

Your words broke off as your breath hitched. The weight of it all, Jimmy’s betrayal, Curly’s silence, Anya’s quiet endurance, crashed down on you like a tidal wave.

Anya reached out, her hand brushing against your arm, but you pulled away.

"I can’t—" you choked out, shaking your head as tears blurred your vision. "Sorry Anya, can I be alone for a moment? Please, don't look for me."

The hallway felt too small, the air too thick. You stumbled back, your legs moving on instinct as you fled toward the lounge, where the empty silence swallowed you whole.

This was where it all unravelled like a predator ripping meats of its prey piece by agonizing piece.

The knife in your trembling hand, the memories replaying in your mind, the feeling of the world collapsing around you, all of it led back to this moment. To the truth you could no longer ignore.

The one person you thought could protect you knows - and he did nothing.

Two Months After the Crash

The cargo bay was dimly lit, the faint hum of the ship's remaining systems filling the silence.

Jimmy had been relentless over the past week, pestering Swansea to let him talk to you about the cargo. Why? Well unlike any other facilities of the freighter that's unlocked by codes visible through the Captain's flashlight, the cargo bay can only be unlocked by a code held by two crewmembers - the captain and inventory officer. Obviously, with Curly laying helpless in the medbay, Jimmy only had one person left to disturb. And the man grabbed the opportunity to talk to you again.

Exhausted, that’s what you were. Tired of Jimmy's persistence, of how he kept shifting from casual then cutting sharper the next. And all these bugging went straight to Swansea. As much as you didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction, you knew there was no way around it - you gave in, but not for Jimmy. You did it for the mechanic.

“Are you sure about this?” Swansea asked earlier, his voice low but heavy. The lines on his face deepened as he watched you wrestle with the decision.

You nodded, though your stomach twisted at the thought. “Jimmy’s not going to stop bugging you about it, and you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll deal with him.”

The mechanic grumbled something under his breath, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have to deal with him at all.”

“I know,” you’d said softly. “But he’s not going to stop. And… I’ll have you and Daisuke with me. It’ll be fine.”

Swansea did not looked convinced, but he eventually relented, only after you promised he could stay nearby, just in case.

Now, standing in front of the cargo bay's doors with Jimmy pacing in front of you, you were keenly aware of Swansea’s presence by the door. A silent guard, his watchful eyes never leaving the co-pilot. Daisuke was at your side, arms crossed and radiating quiet protectiveness, like a little brother who didn’t care how big a fight he might have to pick if it meant keeping you safe.

Jimmy, oblivious or indifferent to the tension, took a step forward, his movements quick but not careless. “Y/N, I know you’ve been keeping tabs on the cargo. But it’s been two months. We need to know what’s in there. It could help us—”

“It won’t,” you interrupted, your voice steady but firm. “I’ve told you before, Jimmy. It’s nothing important. We'll just waste our time."

Jimmy’s jaw tightened. “Leave that up to me to decide whether what's in there is important or not."

Swansea cursed under his breath and your lips pressed in a thin line, but the man's gaze didn’t waver.

Daisuke took a step forward. “She’s not wrong. Y/N wouldn’t hide anything if it could help. She knows what she’s doing, Jimmy.”

Jimmy scoffed. “I’m just saying—if there’s even a chance, we should check. We’re running out of options here.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Fine,” you said, exasperated. “You want to see it so badly? Go ahead. Open it. But when you'll find out I’m right, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Daisuke frowned but didn’t say anything, glancing at you like he wanted to intervene but knew better than to push. Instead, he stepped closer to your side, his quiet presence grounding you.

Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he’d won some kind of victory. “Thanks, the code?” he muttered, moving toward the cargo bay doors. Swansea was already there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked on Jimmy.

“She said yes,” Jimmy said defensively as he approached, but Swansea didn’t move.

“She shouldn’t have to,” Swansea muttered under his breath, stepping aside only when you gave him a small nod.

"4517" The pad beeped with each number you tell him. The entrance hissed open, like a dragon waking up from its deep slumber.

The cargo bay was dim, the rows of hundreds of boxes towered over all of you. You followed Jimmy inside, Daisuke sticking close to you while Swansea lingered by the door.

The co-pilot walked straight to the nearest box, his movements quick and eager. “Let’s see what’s so ‘unimportant,’” he muttered.

As the box was pried open, the sharp, clinical smell hit instantly.

Mouthwash.

Jimmy froze, staring down at the neatly packed bottles as if they might suddenly transform into something else. Daisuke peered over his shoulder, his eyebrows raising. “Huh. Well, that’s… useful,” he said.

Jimmy’s face burned as he looked back at you. “This is it? You’re telling me this is all we’ve been hauling?”

“I told you. Nothing important. But you couldn’t take my word for it, could you? You know what's funny, Jimmy?" You balled your hands on your sides, "I should be the one not trusting you, after what you've done."

Jimmy stood there, eyes narrowing and jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he was gearing up to argue. But it was all so painfully obvious, the desperation in his stance. He wanted to paint himself as the victim, again, to make excuses, again, as if he wasn’t already a pathetic excuse for a man.

You glanced at the box, the sight of the neatly labeled bottles almost comical in its absurdity, mocking the co-pilot. Then your eyes landed at him, his confidence snapping under the weight of his proud insistence.

“Satisfied now?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a knife. Without waiting for an answer, you turned your back. “This is your answer, Jimmy...”

For the first time since the crash, you felt something crack open inside you, not fear, not guilt, but anger. Controlled, righteous anger.

"We don’t survive by hunches or waiting for some fucking miracle," you spat. "We survive because people are actually out here making sure the Tulpar doesn’t fall apart."

Your eyes met Swansea's, then to the ground.

"Everyone pitches in, does what needs to be done, no matter how much of a death trap the job is. But if you’re too busy playing pretend captain while the rest of us are holding it all together, maybe it’s better that you step back and let the people who actually know how to keep this mess running do their thing."

You didn't wait for a response, not even tried to gauge his emotion. You left the cargo bay, going into the only place that gave you comfort, utility room.

Swansea appeared in the doorway. Before he could speak, before you could even gather your thoughts, you found yourself moving toward him. The words caught in your throat, but your legs carried you anyway, and in one swift motion, you collided with him in a tight hug. The kind you hadn’t realized you needed until the warmth of his body pressed against you.

“Thanks for everything," You paused, and before you could stop it, the words slipped out. "...dad."

For a moment, everything went still. The hum of the damaged Tulpar only filling the air, and for one fleeting second, you feared you said too much. That you crossed a line, said something you didn’t have the right to say.

But then, without a word, his arms wrapped around you, solid and sure, holding you like he was never going to let go. The tension in your chest slowly released and a stray tear rolled down your cheek.

“Always, kid.” His voice was low, thick with meaning, and at that moment, it held everything you needed to hear.

[oh-sturg]

TADC is about suicide and here’s why

TW : Suicide

CW : Spoilers

Okay so. First of all, this might be a cold take. Someone else might’ve done this already or come up with this theory, I haven’t watched any videos EXCEPT for the actual show. So maybe I’m late to this

Additionally, we’re only on episode 4 of season 1 I could be COMPLETELY wrong on this. I might be looking too deep, so give me a grain of salt

The circus itself is giving very. Place after death vibes. Not purgatory, or heaven, or hell. But just… somewhere people go after they die. Yes I know in the first episode Pomni says she can’t get this stupid headset off so hey, maybe she’s still alive?? I DONT KNOW FOR SURE but maybe the headset is giving her a glimpse into the afterlife?

That, or it’s some kind of therapy program

IGNORING THAT

All of the main cast act like stereotypes of suicide victims, maybe it’s just me

Jax is an asshole, that much is obvious. We haven’t been given many inclinations into whether or not he has a softer side, but he seems to be compensating for something. It could be insecurity

Gangle is assumed to have been a shift manager at either a fast food restaurant or some other similar chain job, and it’s implied she wanted artist only to be told her dreams were unrealistic. Something that some people don’t know about people who are suicidal is that they can become extremely happy before going through with it, which we see with Gangle in episode 4 before she’s hit by a truck. Now the truck thing could be an accident, but she literally leans into the road. She looks surprised to see the truck, and maybe she was unaware of her surroundings at the time, but it could be that she also was surprised to go through the same experience again. She literally says that she snapped under the pressure of the job and responsibility. Could be headcanon. There’s also the whole masking emotions thing which is quite literal in its presentation

Ragatha is obviously toxicly positive. She tries to make things better and look on the bright side of things. She’s courteous and compassionate, but there’s no way she can be like that constantly. It’s just not humanly possible. Gangle says in episode 4 it’s hard to tell when she’s being genuine after you spend a lot of time with her, so perhaps it’s a coping method? Or a habit? In the pilot episode/episode 1, she literally tells Pomni she understands if she leaves her behind while she’s in pain. Maybe I’m misremembering, but she values others over herself. After a certain point that becomes exhausting. You can’t do it anymore

Zooble clearly goes through body dysmorphia as seen in episode 3. They don’t like their body, no matter how many times they can change it. This could also be a gender dysphoria thing, but we don’t see a lot of their relationship with their gender other than their pronouns being non-binary

Kinger is one I struggle with a little bit. We know he had a relationship with Queenie, and now she’s gone, but we don’t know if that relationship started in the circus or before either of them were brought into it. What we do know for sure is that he’s paranoid. In his first appearance the cast literally speculates that he will be the one to abstract next, with abstraction being the product of heavy dissociation. Sure, he’s not all paranoia and fear, but he’s wary. He’s a kind soul who broke under everything

Caine’s influence in all this is that he’s someone who isn’t depressed or suicidal. He’s the person who tries to fix those people, but goes about it in the wrong way. He’s trying to take their mind off of what makes them suicidal by shifting their attention. When they try to open up to him, he doesn’t understand their issues because he just isn’t suicidal like they are/were. Like Ragatha, he’s toxicly positive and tries to change the topic when things like that come up. Think of someone who doesn’t want you to show symptoms of mental illness around them because they “don’t like it” or “are offput” by it

That’s really all I’ve got on this. Again, I could be wrong or I might be totally late to the party but I can’t get this out of my head so

[stormyoceans]

MONICA'S INCREDIBLY BIASED TOP 5 GL SHOWS OF 2024

1. the loyal pin. a period piece QL with a (believable) happy ending and a fairytale-like quality to it that was able to charm me from the very first episode. while the pace of the story can definitely be slow at times, i was personally just too absorbed in the world that this show created to mind it. the display of traditions, customs, and food from thai culture, along with the beautiful cinematography and the colorful cast of characters, all helped to achieve this fully immersive experience, giving the perfect frame for anin and pin’s romance. becky as anin was also a revelation.

2. ayaka-chan wa hiroko-senpai ni koishiteru. I ADORE THIS LITTLE SHOW WITH ALL MY HEART AND SOUL. i admit that, as a bisexual woman myself, i found the bisexual erasure pretty maddening at first, however i am willing to forgive it in the face of how bright, lively, sweet, and at the same time deep and full of emotion this series is. it’s an age difference office romance that actually addresses the generational gap between the leads by exploring how society’s view on queerness changed throughout the years, and it does so by being funny, delicate, and unapologetically lesbian.

3. reverse 4 you. this is where my bias comes through, because while this show is far from perfect, i have the biggest soft spot for it. in general i tend to really enjoy stories that feature any kind of time related powers, but compared to others the true strength of this series is the familial bond between wa and vi, which shines as much (if not more) than the romantic relationship between wa and four. i do feel like the story needed at least one more episode to wrap up the loose ends more neatly, as some things kinda left me baffled and pretty confused, but my love for this little family of three makes me willing to overlook everything else.

4. pluto. if my meter of judgement to make this list had only consisted in chemistry and performance, then this show would have definitely landed in the first three spots, as namtan and film are incredible in it (the bridge scene in episode 11 is one of the most memorable of the year for me), however some of the plot points don’t sit quite right with me, and the execution of others was a bit lacking, so i unfortunately had to detract a few points. still, i enjoyed the show a lot: it presented a unique story in an interesting way, there was never a dull moment, and not once i skipped the intro because the OST is just amazing.

5. the secret of us. this show being so low in the list doesn't sit quite right with me, but at the same time it doesn't have the originality or the effectiveness in storytelling that other ones have. what it has, however, are ling and orm showcasing fantastic chemistry and very natural acting, which elevated a plot that im not usually particularly fond of (exes meeting again years later) and gave a lot of personality to their characters. the happy ending also feels earned, and some of the side characters are very memorable.

+ honorable mention (because once again, im a cheater)

23.5. i wanted to do a quick shout-out to this show because i feel like the fandom tends to give it a way harsher judgement than it deserves. while the second half did have a few things that bothered me, i still find this show a very accurate representation of teenage emotions, and the way it depicts young queer love healed the part of me that didn't have this kind of series growing up. all in all, it brought me a lot of comfort, and im incredibly grateful for that.

[pitufitaispunk]

Velvet Ring

Chapter Six: Te Seguiré

Pairing: Riff x Latina!Reader (West Side Story 2021)

Velvet Ring Masterlist

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

June 11, 1957

I wake up the next morning at 7 o'clock with a blistering headache as the sun streams through lace curtains, beaming obnoxiously bright on my face. I sigh softly as I sit up slowly, my thoughts echoing with the words of last night.

"I was thinking we could go to that diner on Bakers Street together this Saturday. Would you like to?"

"Claro que sí. I'd love to go."

I still can't believe I agreed to that date. I don't like Manuel in that way, it's not fair to him. It's not fair to me. But then again, who else would I date? Manuel is a sweet, hardworking boy. And he's Puerto Rican, which is all that matters to Nardo and Anita. It should be all that matters to me. But then my mind drifts to thoughts of Riff, his hands on my thighs, his lips grazing mine...

I groan softly and turn over onto my stomach, burying my face in my pillow. I really need to stop thinking about him. It's not right, but whenever I see him, every bit of sensibility in my body fades away.

I climb out of bed, sliding my slippers on before shuffling out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. Nardo, who was peeling the shell off of some hard boiled eggs he'd made for himself, grins at me, "Buenos días, pollita. You, uh, excited for your date with Manuel today?" He asks as he plates his eggs in a bowl and sits at the dining table.

I give him a tight lipped smile, taking a seat next to him, "Sí, sí, I'm just..."

He quirks a brow at me in concern as I trail off, "Just what?"

I see the slight worry in his eyes and quickly force a smile, "I'm just not sure what I should wear."

He chuckles, "No te preocupes, hermanita. I'm sure Anita can help you pick something."

I nod, smiling softly, "Tienes razón."

Nardo tilts his head curiously at me, "¿Qué te pasa, eh? You seem... distracted. You were like that last night too." He asks before popping a whole egg into his mouth.

I shrug, my face scrunched in slight disgust at his eating habits, "Estoy bien, lo prometo. Solo que no estoy tan segura si esto con Manuel es una buena idea..."

Bernardo's brows furrow in confusion, "Why wouldn't it be a good idea? You like him, don't you?"

I sigh, "Sí, pero-"

Nardo quickly cuts me off again, waving his free hand wildly, "Sí, pero nada. You like him, he likes you, it's perfect."

I nod, my expression solemn, "You're right, sorry."

He pops another egg into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully before speaking again, "¿Tienes trabajo hoy?"

I shake my head, "Today's my day off. Why? Do you need me to do something?"

He nods, quickly wolfing down another egg, "Mhm, necesito que vayas a Doc's y me traigas gasa, se me acabó. I'll leave you some money." He then looks up at me seriously, "Y/N, por favor, ask someone to go with you, ok? I don't want any of the Jets messing with you."

I laugh nervously, my mind flooding with Riff's face, his voice, his hands...

I quickly stand from the table as I feel my cheeks heating up, "No, we wouldn't want that, I'll ask Braulio or someone to go with me. ¡Me voy a bañar!" I ramble as I quickly rush into the bathroom before Nardo can notice my flushed cheeks. I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and scoff at my pathetic, flustered state, "Eres una tonta, Y/N."

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

After my shower, I head back towards my room, noticing that both Nardo and Anita had left for work. I close the door and click my tongue as I sit down on my bed, my thoughts still with Riff. I grab my hairbrush off my nightstand and begin combing through my wet locks, gently working out any tangles. I couldn't stop myself from remembering Riff's tender touch and how much it confused me. How much it still confuses me. Could he actually like me? Could I actually like him? Of course, I didn't really mind the way he touched me yesterday, but that doesn't change the fact that everything about this is wrong. It's wrong to feel anything but hatred for him... isn't it?

I sigh in turmoil before standing from my bed and walking over to the small clothing rack in the corner of my room to browse my dresses and skirts. I decide on a simple blue dress and zip it on before grabbing my flats from underneath my bed. As I look at myself in the mirror, I smile softly, admiring myself before putting on some light makeup. You never know who you could run into. I grab my purse off the top of my dresser and walk towards my bedroom door to leave, not before sneaking one last look at myself in the mirror. I purse my lips softly before heading out, grabbing the money Nardo had left for me on the kitchen counter.

As I walk out into the hallway, I greet our neighbors with a polite smile before quickly leaving the apartment to head to Doc's. I ultimately decide against asking someone to accompany me as I walk down the street. Contrary to what my brother believes, I can handle myself.

I soon reach Doc's and walk in, the bell above the front door jingling lightly.

Miraculously, the store is empty, not even Valentina was anywhere in sight. I make my way over to one row of shelves and grab a roll of gauze before making my way to the counter, "¿Valentina, estás aquí?" I call out.

Dingly-dee.

I turn my head at the sound of the little bell, my eyes widening as I'm met with three Jets, Riff and two others. Riff's eyes widen as well as soon as they meet mine, but he quickly plays it cool as he winks at me then strolls over to the opposite side of the store. The other two Jets leer at me as they trail after Riff, bone chilling grins on their faces, "I didn't think Bernardo would ever let you go out without a chaperone, señorita." The lankier Jet of the three comments.

"Balkan, cool it." Riff says calmly as the three of them sit themselves on the neatly lined stools.

"She's a spic, it's alright." Big Deal— the tall, muscular one— comments, "They like that kind of talk, don't you, sweetheart?" He sneers.

I roll my eyes, keeping my back turned to them.

"Come on, knock it off. She didn't do nothin' to any of us." Riff huffs. "Let's just grab some beers and head to the docks."

"Nah, I'm having too much fun chatting with the little PR princess..." Balkan quips, Big Deal chuckles along with him.

Just as I'm about to put back the gauze and leave, Valentina trudges in from the store's basement. She steps behind the counter and smiles at me, immediately putting me at ease, "Hola, Y/N, ¿cómo estás?"

I let out a sigh of relief and return her smile, "Bien, bien, Valentina, ¿y usted?"

"Yo también estoy bien, gracias mija." She takes the gauze from me gently, "Bernardo sent you for this?"

"Sí." I nod, "He ran out and you know he's always coming home with new cuts and bruises."

I sneak a peak as I hear the Jets chortle from behind me, my eyes immediately finding Riff's. Feeling myself blush, I turn my gaze back to Valentina, "Mm, and how is Anita doing lately?" She asks, making small talk as we usually do.

I smile meekly, wanting to leave as soon as possible, "Anita está bien. How much?"

"15 cents." She replies, eyeing the Jets suspiciously.

I fish a few coins out of my purse and hand them to her, "Gracias, Valentina."

She nods, handing me the gauze with a smile, "Por supuesto. Say hi to Bernardo and Anita for me, ok?" I nod and quickly head out of Doc's before the Jets can follow me.

My heart stops as I hear the door to Doc's swing open behind me. I pick up the pace, practically running away, before a strong hand places itself gently on my shoulder.

I yelp in surprise, spinning around and instinctively swinging a punch at the culprit. My eyes widen, registering Riff's face as he quickly dodges my punch, "Woah! You've got a killer right hook there, girly girl. Wouldn't have expected that from you." He chuckles, his cheeks slightly flushed.

I quickly pull Riff by the collar of his shirt and into the alley beside Doc's to avoid having anyone see us, "Are you crazy?! You can't just follow after me like that!"

He looks down at me with a lopsided grin, "Why not, doll?"

"You know why not." I huff, crossing my arms in distaste.

He kicks at a small pebble on the ground, his expression almost timid, "Well, I just wanted to talk to ya. I just told the guys I was headed to the docks by myself... unless you wanna come with me?"

I quirk a brow at him, "The docks? What is that?"

He shrugs, grinning softly, "You know, like a boat dock. They're all worn down, though... But, I just wanted to see you again. Last night, was-"

"Riff, we can't." I interrupt him, "This is crazy! Talking to me is just asking for my brother to kill you." I huff, making Riff laugh.

"Will you go to the docks with me or not? You can say no, you know? I'm a big boy, I can handle it." He leans down slightly, his face level with mine, making my knees weak. "Whaddya say, doll?"

I purse my lips in uncertainty as I consider his offer. My head was screaming, telling me to say no, telling me to slap him and hurry home... but there was also a part of me that felt curious, a part of me that was drawn to Riff and all of his charms, "Alright, fine. I'll go, but only for a little while and then I have to get home."

He smiles softly, quirking his head towards the alley's exit, "Follow me. But from a distance, ok?"

My brows pinch in confusion, "Why?"

He chuckles, "Well, I thought you were the paranoid one? If we're walking together, it would possibly turn heads." He clarifies.

"Oh..." I say softly, nodding slowly, "Yes, you're right. That's smart."

Riff smirks, "Well, what can I say? I'm more than just a pretty face." I laugh softly, making Riff beam, "So, you can smile?"

I roll my eyes, my smile growing slightly, "Just start walking before I change my mind."

Riff laughs, his smile gleaming, "As you wish."

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

[waterlilyspad]

Breaking our Solitude (Chapter 3)

your honor I think I want to appeal.

Summary: After a miracle Jayce returns to life in a dead world, it's now up to Viktor and Jayce to start over, hopefully for the better.

(Fluff, smooching, longing, no violence or gore, longing good god the longing it never ends, jayvik au, post season 2)

As Viktor kissed Jayce slowly and for a desperately for what felt like forever, he suddenly felt those stone lips kiss him back. His eyes flew open meeting Jayce's eyes. To his shock those sad stoic eyes were now closed in bliss. Viktor yelped, pulling himself back instantly in a gasp as Jayce leaned forward, Stone cracked and ascents of gold and flesh began to peek through, his body shook and shifted as he became more organic. The moss and flowers moved with him as he began to fall. “Oh my God!” Viktor screamed letting go of Jayce’s hands expecting to catch him before he hit the floor only for Jayce to suddenly freeze in midair. Viktor felt himself gasping for air, he looked at the hunched over Jayce strands of dark hair mixed with roots and leaves shrouded his face. “No… I don’t understand what.” Viktor said carefully leaning forward brushing the locks of hair and foliage from his face, a pair of golden eyes peered up at Viktor in silence. “Jayce? Can you hear me?” He asked softly as those eyes stayed fixed on him; Jayce took a moment before mouthing the word “yes” without a change in his expression.

Viktor wasn’t sure what to do, but soon the idea of what to do about Jayce paled as sunlight hit his face. His eyes widened as he looked at the sun rise. “No no, we’re out of time.” He said in despair as Jayce just stared at him silently, Viktor pressed his hands to Jayce allowing his body to lean against him before helping him lie down on the floor. “Stay here, I’ll be right back I promise, wait for me Jayce and please forgive me.” He said desperately as Jayce just stared at him without reaction, watching as Viktor disappeared from his sight in an instant.

Off in the expanse of space Viktor appeared, a tiny spot of nothing began to grow endlessly chewing its way at the area around it. Viktor took a moment before figuring out what to do, his form grew larger than the hole and soon he towered over it his hands coming up and clasping the thing, he looked back at the planet and spoke, “Please wait for me Jayce.” before the webs of the arcane overtook him, in a second Viktor and the black hole disappeared from the sky. Down below a vibrant array of colors and stars soon faded from the sky as Jayce laid on his back, eyes twitching and moving for the first time in forever as he watched the black hole disappear through curtains of cosmic fingers high above, “Wait for me.” Viktor’s voice spoke in his head like a memory. He felt something but it didn’t really register, slipping back to his emotionless slurry of thought he was relegated to wordlessly mouth out, “Viktor.” Rather than what he really wanted to feel or say like, "come back", or "please don’t go." After a few seconds of nothing he realized he could twitch his lips and move them, he scrunched his nose and lifted his eyebrows a few times, however everything else of him refused to move. It seemed that without Viktor’s touch he was back to square one. But as opposed to before this wasn’t as bad, importantly as he’d begin to realize, he could feel again. He felt the grass brush against his body and moss tickle his side, he felt air move through his nostrils and opened his mouth to yawn out loud. It felt so satisfying but soon that satisfaction slid to a daunting reality of uncomfortableness.

The day stretched on, and the sun rose to its peak, he winced and blinked as the sun beat down on him. “Bright.” He mouthed as the sun hit him, soon he began to feel hot.  Water, he needed water but what did water even feel like? And why did he need it? How was he failing to remember? Such key sensations that should’ve registered since he was born were now like static in his head. It was like being a toddler again when it came to sensations. I guess in a way I’m glad I can’t move, he thought to himself, I’d probably hurt myself by accident doing something stupid...hurt what was that like? He thought as he attempted to think, even with the advent of having two of his fingers snap off like dry wood, it didn’t seem to faze him hell it didn’t feel like anything at all. Pain, he wasn’t ecstatic about feeling pain again, distant memories of Jayce and Viktor’s fight just barely echoed, he remembered the panic that ran through his head at the time, those titanium-like fingers gripping his throat, what did that feel like again? He came up with an idea and breathed in before holding his breath, maybe he could recall by doing this. A few seconds went by then 10, then a minute, soon 10 minutes, then 20…then an hour, holy crap, how does that make sense. He could perform the simple act of breathing, yet he didn’t need to; it was pointless. That automatic command to breathe without thinking was embedded into him, he was human after all. But come to think of it, he thought, am I even human anymore?

[rosewoodcafe]

You're Losing Me

I can't focus so here is this little one-shot story.

After years of being with Sebastian, he has only descended further into the Dark Arts, driving away Ominis and Anne, leaving only you. It's becoming too much to handle as he is still desperately searching for a cure.

Sebastian x Reader

[This is based off of You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift]

[I plan to do more stories like this because it was incredibly fun]

I sat in our home in Feldcroft. He had been gone for hours, saying he was at work but I knew better than that. I knew he wasn't cheating, Sebastian was a better man then that, but it still felt incredibly empty without him here.

My body was hollow, a feeling I had started to get used too, which frightened me tremendously. I blew out the candle that lit our dining room table, taking the two untouched plates of food to the kitchen sink. Everything felt empty, my motions, my thoughts, everything I did, I was so alone in this world.

The door to our cottage opened as I was walking to our bedroom, his silent approach being the only thing to halt me. Without a word he planted a small kiss on the top of my head, walking to the other room where his office was and shutting the door behind him.

I washed up, cleaning my body in the warm water. Eventually making my way to our bed, the one we used to be curled together in every night, laughing like little kids. I curled up the same way I used too, holding onto the shreds of happiness in this hopeless home.

Ominis warned me of this, that his obsession of the dark arts would overtake everything else he cares about. He warned that the murder of his uncle would only be the beginning, that sending him away would be the only option. I refused, telling him that Sebastian was a good man, that he could change. Ominis, for Anne, and my sake, didn't turn Sebastian in. Sebastian was grateful, but Ominis was right, the obsession didn't stop.

I felt the tears roll down my face as I pressed it into the pillow. The weight dropped on the other side of the bed, not even a touch to signal he was there, but I knew it was Sebastian.

The morning came and with it the usual hollow feeling. I pulled myself from bed, heading to the kitchen.

"I love you." Sebastian said sleepily. His hair was a wreck, but he looked happy upon seeing me too.

"I love you too." I said back, barely above a whisper.

He didn't say anything else, just looking at me happily. The sun shined through the window, casting a glow across his bare upper half, he was beyond handsome.

I walked out into the kitchen, making myself some tea.

I wished I had someone, anyone, who understood what I was going through. To understand who Sebastian has become. The only ones who would have long since contacted me, opting to keep out of his way.

I remember how he was when I met him, how full of life he was. How excited I was. Everything felt perfect, he was happy, we were finding a cure. It was some fantastical dream, but instead of staying bright and beautiful, its changed, becoming dull and gray from wear.

Out the window I saw our neighbors, recently engaged, gardening under the sun. Sebastian had told me we would get married, with a wonderful wedding that I would love. He promised that before we were twenty he would as me. We were nearing twenty four, and I can't understand why. The cure was his excuse at first, that Anne needed help, but Anne has long since died. Anne has been dead for years, leaving Ominis to grieve alone as Sebastian refuses to accept her death. I felt as if I am a ghost, haunting his home until he gets rid of me.

His arms wrapped around me. Sebastian's face in the crook of my neck.

"You look lovely dear." He whispered.

"Thank you." I replied blankly.

Sebastian went about the kitchen, preparing himself food as I stood there unmoved.

"I will be out at work for awhile." He eventually said.

"Ok." Is all I could muster.

"Don't wait up, I probably won't be home for awhile."

"Okay."

When he left I felt nothing. I paced our home, recounting the memories we made here early after we left Hogwarts. The happiness that lifted this home has long since gone, but it filled my mind daily.

I laid in our bed, letting myself weep for myself, all the moments and memories. I needed to do something, I needed to get out. He tried so hard before to keep me, and he had, for years I stayed by his side. But I couldn't help but think that he was losing me from the moment he cast the torture curse on me. The pain from that was miniscule compared to the years of heartbreak I had experienced. I am getting tired, tired of always bringing myself to my feet, tired of trying to feel okay when I feel like dying.

I needed top get out.

Parchment was in the desk of his study, along with quills. I would write to Ominis, tell him that he was right, that Sebastian had gone too deep, that he had gone to a place I could not follow anymore. I barged into his office, tears flooding my eyes as I scrawled the letter. 

Dear Ominis,

I write to you not as a way to update you on Sebastian, but to let you know that it has ended. I have given up hope for him. For years I have been trying, trying to get him to move forward, to stop indulging in the dark arts. But you were right, he has only gone deeper into madness. I don't know what to do, I am lost and broken beyond repair. 

I hope when this letter finds you that you prepared for the wickedness Sebastian may unleash. He may accuse you of manipulating me, by telling me to leave, know that you did not, and that this decision was one I made entirely on my own. I hope to forgive Sebastian one day, to have a love with him that I wished so badly for, but for now I must leave. I will surely die by my own hand if I stay.

In a few hours I will arrive at your home, where I hope you will not turn me away. I have lost everything, and will only need a moment to get my bearings together before being out on my own. You are the only other one to understand my predicament Ominis.

Your dove

I folded the parchment and walked over to the owl, tying the parchment on and opening the window, sending the owl out. It would be an hour until the note has arrived at Ominis's home, and a few hours after that before Sebastian came home. I ran back to our room preparing myself to leave.

Washing up and putting on traveling clothes was the easiest part, packing the things that meant most to me was harder. Memories of Sebastian and I's past flooded my thoughts, endless streams of tears leaving my eyes. I couldn't handle this, handle how I let it get this bad, why didn't I leave when it started to go downhill?

Why did I hold so much hope for him to change?

I couldn't answer.

My heart felt dead and cold. Every crevice of my body devoid of color, a void of nothing behind the masquerade of a person. 

I sat at our kitchen table. One last time.

He opened the door some hours later. Sebastian didn't notice my trunk, and he barely noticed me at all.

"You're up still?" He asked, a bit of shock seeping into his blank tone.

"I am."

"Why?"

I took a breath. 

This would probably be the last time I see him. 

He would hate me.

"I'm leaving." I said standing up and walking to my trunk.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" He asked, the blank tone leaving and only a panic replacing it. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving us Sebastian." I took a breath, trying to keep my voice calm. "I'm leaving you."

His face dropped. 

"No darling, you can't please I cant lose you-" He cried out.

"You already have Sebastian!" I yelled out, my calm composure leaving and the same tears I had tried to hide fell.

"No I haven't! You're all I have left! Please everyone else has left you can't leave too!" He pleaded. He dropped to my knees, holding the bottom of my skirt.

"I can't stay Sebastian."

"Why? Please give me a reason?"

"You couldn't even tell that I was dying as you kept meddling in the Dark Arts." I said angrily. "I feel like I have lost everyone and everything because of your choices, I am lost and angry. I have been waiting and waiting for you to just say that you want me, that you want us to move on, that you want a family. I just wanted you to want me!"

"I do! Darling I do want you, more than anything."

"It's too late Sebastian. I've made up my mind, and I can't keep wasting away what little youth I have left begging you to change." I felt hot tears stream from my face.

"Please, I need you." He begged.

"You'll be okay." I reached for the doorhandle, looking back one more time. Sebastian was on his knees, tears welled in his eyes. "Perhaps one day, we can be together again."

"I'll always find you." He said. "I'll become better for you."

"You haven't. That's the problem." I spoke, opening the door and taking in the air from outside. This would be the last time I stepped into this house, the last time I spoke to him. "I love you Sebastian."

"I love you too..."

With that I shut the door, pulling my trunk and myself to the Floo station in Feldcroft. I let the tears stream as I heard a guttural scream come from our- no, his home. I had to keep going, I had to keep moving. I pulled my floo powder out, taking a large handful.

"Gaunt Manor!" I said clearly.

I felt my heart begin to beat again, the pain beginning to ease at the new beginning I was given.

[2nd2ndalto]

nothing's gonna stop me but divine intervention

Chapter 3

(chapter 2 here)

__

Nico moves to his bed, drops down onto his back.

“Sorry to hear that,” Will says.

How did you touch yourself?, is what he wonders, against all his better judgement. The image paints itself in his mind, a pretty flush over Nico’s pale skin, his breath unsteady. Did he get straight down to business, or did he work up to it slowly, feather-light touches over his chest, his thighs, before wrapping a hand around his dick? Did he close his eyes, or watch the motion of his hand? Did he think of someone? Picture someone else’s hand jerking him off, or maybe dropping to their knees in front of him?

Will bites back a moan, veering away from this train of thought with herculean effort.

“I can’t decide if I want to turn on the TV or not,” Nico’s saying, sounding strained. “Everything feels so loud.”

“Yeah,” Will croaks. “I think it’s – it must be a side effect. It feels that way for me, too.”

Nico’s never done well with overstimulation. Though he’s gotten better at dealing with it in adulthood, Will knows to keep an eye on him when things get too loud or too crowded.

“I’ll turn off the lights,” Will says, getting up. It’s not bright in here by any stretch – he knows that rationally. But if it all feels like too much to him, it’s almost definitely worse for Nico.

Stiffly, he makes his way to one night stand, then the other, clicking off the lamps. “Okay?”

“Gods. Yeah.” Nico sounds exhausted. He’s laid out on his bed with an arm thrown over his eyes. He shifts it a little once the lights are off. “Thanks, Will.”

It’s its own kind of torture, knowing Nico’s in physical distress and not being able to fix it. It’s been Will’s role nearly his entire life, after all, and a core part of his relationship with Nico, at least in the beginning. The thing they were built from.

Tentative, Will sits on the edge of Nico’s bed. “I wish I could help,” he says, well aware that there’s really only one thing that would help. And Nico’s already said he doesn’t want it.

“Maybe – could you hold my hand again?”

Nico sounds almost tearful, and Will feels a rush of sympathy, all-encompassing. “I know maybe it won’t work for long, but it felt really good for a few minutes there and – if – if it doesn’t work, then –”

“Of course I can hold your hand, nerd,” Will interrupts, gruff. “Move over.”

Nico does, and Will lays next to him. The second Nico’s hand slides into his, they both sigh in relief. It’s just as good as before. Better, maybe, because it feels as if all the other sensations have gotten more intolerable in the meantime.

“That’s so fucking good,” Nico breathes.

Will lets out a giggle. From Nico’s fervent tone, Will might have been doing something far more sensual than simply holding his hand.

Nico laughs. “Well, it is.”

“Yeah.” Will smiles at the ceiling, relaxing a little more. Everything else aside – this stupid situation, his endless unrequited crush on his best friend – being with Nico is fun. Nico’s company makes Will feel better, lighter. More like all his favourite parts of himself.

There’s a long moment of quiet. Will focuses on Nico’s breath, tries to match his own to it. It’s slower now, calmer. And the too-loud sounds of the room, the light filtering through the curtains and under the door – it all takes a backseat to this: the two of them, together. Their breath and their heat, and Nico’s blessedly familiar presence running in a steady current under it all.

“Do you think it would help to get really fucking drunk?” Nico says suddenly, and Will bursts out laughing.

Nico turns, grinning. Warm and fond and easy. Gods, he’s beautiful.

“I’m gonna try,” Nico says, getting up.

Will’s not prepared for the physical contact to break this time. He feels it like a sharp pang in his chest when Nico’s touch disappears, and he gasps. Nico grimaces like it’s hurting him, too, but he says, “just give me a second.”

Nico crosses the room, crouching in front of the minibar. He makes a noise of displeasure. “Fuck, do they ever stock these things?” He comes up a second later brandishing two tiny bottles of liquor.

“Not enough to get really fucking drunk, unfortunately,” Nico says, handing one bottle to Will. “Maybe it’ll take the edge off though.”

It can’t hurt. Hopefully. Will props himself up on his elbows, squinting at the bottle in the near-dark. “What is it?”

Nico makes a face. “Not sure. Something green.”

“Awesome,” Will sighs. He unscrews the cap. “Cheers.”

They bump the little plastic bottles together and down them. Nico coughs, and Will pulls a face. But before he can complain about the taste – melon, maybe? – or the burning sensation shooting down his esophagus, Nico’s already taken his hand again, and suddenly everything is just better.

Nico sighs, settling back onto the bed. Will does the same.

“You think that helped?” Nico asked after a long moment.

“Not sure. Maybe?” Things feel a little duller, maybe. But it could just be wishful thinking. “Do you think it helped?”

Nico makes a face. “Maybe.”

“You could call the front desk?” Will suggests. “See if they’ll restock the minibar?”

“I guess I could, but I’m not answering the door with a huge fucking magical boner.”

Will snorts extremely unattractively and then laughs, hard. Nico’s shaking with soft laughter beside him, and when Will glances over, Nico looks awfully pleased with himself for invoking this reaction in Will.

“Huge, hey?” Will quirks an eyebrow, then glances down. Not that he can see much.

“Hey,” Nico laughs, rolling towards Will to press a hand over his eyes. “Don’t look at it.”

Will giggles, shoving at Nico’s hand. It comes to rest gently on Will’s head, where Nico makes a tentative stroke through Will’s curls… and then lingers. They’re even closer now, and they gaze at each other for a long moment, warm and buzzing. Gods it would so easy to just shift forward and –

Nico swallows, rolling onto his back again.

Will breathes deep, fixing his gaze on the ceiling.

“Do you – it’s –” Nico says, and then falls silent.

“Hmm?”

“Could we – would it be weird to have – more physical contact? Like –”

“No, of course not,” Will says immediately, because he’s been silently yearning for the same. The hand-holding feels ridiculously, stupidly good, and the liquor might have helped a little, but in the last few minutes Will’s brain has been one-tracking more, more, more. And it’s been what, maybe two hours now? Maybe, if they ration themselves… maybe they can get through this without ruining their friendship.

“What were you thinking?” Will asks. What he really wants is to take everything off, wrap around Nico like a blanket, turn him into something resembling a Nico burrito. But that’s most likely not what Nico had in mind.

“Maybe shirts off?” Nico says, hesitant.

“Yeah, good idea,” Will agrees, beginning to tear his off almost before Nico’s done speaking. Nico lets out a laugh, maybe a bit nervous, but he does the same. They shuffle into the middle of the bed until they’re side by side again. They link hands and Will wiggles in further, so Nico’s arm is crossed over his, shoulders pressed together.

Gods, it feels good.

This is essentially just medical. Right? Will can be sensible about this. Pragmatic.

Nico lets out a soft sound of contentment, and they’re both quiet, basking in the reprieve. It’s warm everywhere they’re pressed together, and Will wants to sink into the feeling, not come up for hours. He’s touched Nico before, of course – mostly in the context of healing, but sometimes just for comfort, for closeness. The pollen seems to make every touch so much better though, so much deeper. Like they’ve ceased being two separate people.

And gods, Nico smells so fucking good. Will wants to bury his face in Nico’s still-damp hair, nuzzle into his chest and the hollow of his throat –

“This is one of the stupidest things we’ve ever done,” Nico says suddenly.

Will feels the words like a gut-punch. Nico must realize it too, because he turns, his expression soft and apologetic.

“Not – not touching,” Nico says. “Not this.” He squeezes Will’s hand. “Just – like, seriously. A magical aphrodisiac that wants us to mate? It’s like something out of terrible sci-fi.”

“Hey, Star Trek’s not that bad,” Will protests.

Nico giggles. He squeezes Will’s hand again, hooks his ankle over Will’s. “What did they do? In the Star Trek episode?”

“Um.” Will shuffles even closer, because his body wants him to. Nico clearly doesn’t mind, sighing and melting into it, turning his nose to Will’s bare shoulder.

“I think the whole crew ends up being affected, except Kirk. Spock can express love for the first time. And then they figure out they can counteract the effects of the pollen with negative emotions.”

“Huh,” Nico says, thoughtful. “Do you wanna try that? Be a dick to me and see if it helps?”

Will snorts. “No.”

“Okay, good. Cause I might cry.”

Will laughs and Nico does too, their bodies shaking against each other. Warm, warm, warm.

“Hey, roll over,” Nico suggests after a moment. His voice is low, soft like flannel. Like all the best parts of darkness.

Will would do whatever that voice told him to, any time. He rolls to his stomach, folding an arm under his head.

Nico snuggles in again, laying an arm over Will’s back, pressing his face into Will’s shoulder. And then he starts rubbing Will’s back, slow and soothing.

Will makes an embarrassing noise that could, objectively speaking, probably be classified as a whine. He feels his face flush even more. But Nico just chuckles, soft, not stopping the motion of his hand.

“Good?” Nico asks.

“Yeah,” Will says weakly. He closes his eyes, sinking into sensation. Trying very hard not to start grinding into the mattress. He reminds himself of how appalled Nico looked earlier, when Will accidentally touched himself. That helps quell the urge for the moment. But it’s still the most erotic platonic back rub he’s ever experienced.

“You used to do this at Camp,” Will mumbles into his arm. He’s feeling so beautifully fuzzy, floaty, Nico’s touch making him feel far drunker than the little bottle of liquor did.

It hadn’t been uncommon, at Camp, for campers to dart across the green in the dark, risking death by harpy to seek comfort and company from friends when sleep wouldn’t come. Their last few months at Camp, Will had finally given in to the long-held desire to climb into Nico’s bed occasionally. And Nico would sigh, mumble something incoherent, and rub Will’s back until they both drifted off again.

“Yeah,” Nico murmurs. “Is it weird to do it now?”

“No.”

It’s good. So good that Will’s sure he’s going to fall asleep with Nico’s hand warm on his back, the same way he used to. The way he’s been dreaming of for the four years that they’ve lived apart, honestly. But just like before, they seem to reach a point where the touch just isn’t quite enough. It starts as the tiniest itch, easy to ignore. But then it grows and morphs into something demanding and unpleasant.

Will tries to ignore it as long as he can, but after a while he realizes he’s clenching his teeth, clenching everything. The motion of Nico’s hand becomes jerkier, less soothing, until finally Nico’s fingers contract, nails pressing into the meat of Will’s shoulder, a sharp, precise pain that brings a strangled sound from Will’s throat.

“Fuck, sorry,” Nico gasps, pulling back. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Will fights to steady his breathing, fights against the loudly perseverative thought that he wants more of exactly that, now. Nico’s nails digging into his skin, Nico’s legs wrapped around his waist, Nico’s teeth –

“Those – those are some very effective spores,” Nico manages. “Top quality. If you were in the market for that sort of thing.”

Will doesn’t even think he can form words right now. And if he could, he doesn’t think it would be advisable for Nico to hear them. So he just makes kind of a high-pitched, pathetic whine. It makes Nico breathe out a laugh, anyway.

“Here,” Nico says. He doesn’t move away, thank gods, but he shuffles around until his back is to Will. “Roll onto your side and –”

Will doesn’t wait for the end of the sentence, scrambling to get closer, burrowing in, face pressed to the back of Nico’s neck, arm tight around his waist. So much skin pressed together – every inch of Will’s arm against Nico’s side, his stomach. Every inch of Will’s chest to Nico’s back. Will carefully keeps his dick away from Nico’s ass, just. They both moan in relief, sagging against each other.

“I – I actually meant for us to be back to back –” Nico begins, hoarse.

“Oh, shit –”

“No no no,” Nico says quickly, a vice grip on Will’s arm when he tries to pull away. “This is – this is perfect. Please don’t move.”

“Oh thank gods,” Will breathes. “I don’t think I can.”

Their breath begins to slow again, everything settling, blurring. Will’s face is smushed into Nico’s neck, breathing him in, strands of Nico’s damp hair tickling his forehead. He can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else, ever.

And it’s perfect.

For maybe ten minutes or so.

And then it’s so much worse. Because before, Nico was just holding Will’s hand. Or rubbing his back. Platonic, at least ostensibly. But their position now is far more intimate, and Will feels himself tensing more and more, every muscle strung taut, and before long he’s fighting with any and all remaining willpower against closing the last few inches between them and grinding into his friend’s ass.

It’s just friction, his brain tries to convince him. It’s not really a big deal. How is it any different than a back rub, for instance? It doesn’t have to mean anything. A few minutes and it would all be over and –

Nico lets out a sudden sound, frustration or despair or both.

“Will, I don’t – I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he says in a rush. “I – it was – helping. At first. But now –” Nico shifts, almost writhes, not quite coming into contact with where Will so desperately wants him, but close.

Will makes a commiserating noise that might be a whine, or a moan. He can’t even tell anymore. He’s desperate to get closer to Nico, but he also needs to get away from here entirely. The little bits of logical thought left pinging around his fuzzy brain are telling him to break the contact between them completely, but doesn’t even know if he can, now.

Maybe there’s a different way for them to press together. Still just as much contact, but something not so excruciatingly tempting. And maybe then, maybe if they can just get a few moments of relief, maybe then they can think of some solution –

Nico squirms in Will’s grasp, wriggling around until he’s facing Will, face pressed into Will’s chest. They both make absolutely stupid sounds of relief. Will, panting, manages to lock both arms around Nico, presses his face to his friend’s hair, and Nico gets an arm around Will’s waist, fingers clenched in the waistband of Will’s pants – gods, this is feeling less and less platonic by the second, especially when Nico lets out a little whine, shoving one of his knees between Will’s. There’s still no contact with Nico’s huge fucking magical boner, but gods, it’s close. Will’s sure he can feel the heat of it, can imagine exactly what it would feel like pressed against his thigh.

The way he would grind against it, the noises that would choke from Nico’s throat. The way Nico would cling to him…

The heat is unbelievable, everywhere. Nico is so warm, his breath coming so fast. It’s intoxicating.

It’s intolerable.

“I wouldn’t – it would be – I’d understand. If you wanted to go out and… find someone. To help you… deal with this,” Nico says. He’s breathless, tripping over words, and gods, his mouth is moving right against Will’s bare chest, hot breath on Will’s skin. “It’s pretty fucking unbearable, and –”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Will croaks.

“Because it’s me. And you,” Nico says. He sounds like he’s all the way at the end of his rope.

“And you don’t think of me that way,” Will says, not quite managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice as a healthy dose of hurt slips in amidst the arousal and the discomfort. “And that’s – fine,” Will continues, trying to backtrack. “I get that. But I’m not gonna go find someone else.”

There’s a long pause, their quick breath the only sound in the room.

Nico swallows. “I – I don’t,” he stammers, face still pressed to Will’s chest. “It’s not that I don’t. Think of you that way.”

__

Notes:

1. WHO COULD HAVE SEEN THIS COMING!! WHAT A PLOT TWIST!! 2. I have never seen the Star Trek episode. 3. My extremely non-fandom bestie asked what sex pollen was and I had to explain it to her D: 4. I meant for this to be a much shorter one-shot. Then it grew and grew and I still thought it should be much shorter. But then I remembered I can write whatever I want. 5. This fic references one of my other fics (There Is Rest and There's You) in which all the demigod kids tend to end up in each others' beds because nightmares/trauma, etc. 6. Thanks as always to my lovely beta, @rosyredlipstick!

[quarrybee]

I didn’t know the MLB movie was a musical so when marinette started singing I started to scream

[hootyhoowoo]

A little 15 min doodle but first post of the year has to be Bingqiu!

[mumblesplash]

man i’ve had pretty serious art block before in the past but it was always more a lack of inspiration/irl stuff draining all my energy, currently Not having art block but getting hit by my first bout EVER of feeling like i just straight up can’t make anything that’s good enough and oh my god how do people deal with this

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

grrrr wanna work on the sugu fic but need to keep playing penacony until i’m done … TAT

[dreadpirateella]

not feeling very silly and fun rn

whoever took away my whimsical and optimistic outlook on life can you please give it back now? I miss it a lot

[nepsah]

yeah ok fuck it im gonna upload this bad boyyyyy anyway

its still a WIP but it gets the point across for my brain while i'm tryna make sure people are going in directions and traveling distances that actually make sense lmao

(made with wonderdraft, with mostly vanilla assets but the fields are from readyartz on cartographyassets)