#and he doesn't expect to have any fun and it's like

[eyekoninurarea]

Your Idol

→ daniela avanzini x fem!idol!masc!reader

masterlist | prev | next | cami's live | katz reaction

word count: 9.3k

summary: in which a struggling girl group was suddenly brought into light when their debut came out of nowhere. everyone thought SIREN5 was just hype; a chaotic rookie group with a pretty concept and no substance. even KATSEYE wasn’t expecting much when they were assigned to mentor them before debut. but the moment the music hit, everything changed.

chapter summary: after the livestream nightmare, you find yourself beneath the shimmer of stage lights and feeling the weight of watching eyes, a glance becomes a question, and a breath held too long turns into a silent confession. you perform like your heart isn’t trembling. she watches like she doesn’t feel it too. but want is dangerous, especially when it's quiet, sapphic, and slipping through the cracks of what should be professional. between rehearsed smiles and accidental touches, the girls learn that longing can hide in plain sight. in choreo. in silence. In the echo of your name on her lips. and when the night ends not in applause, but in flashing cameras and trembling hands, you’ll carry her weight anyway. not because she asked. but because she looked at you like maybe, just maybe, she would’ve.

authors note: CHAPTER 4 IS HERE HELLO EVERYONE!! this is quite honestly shitty angst??? maybe i rushed into this too quickly, or this is poorly executed... i'm sorry- if you're confused, so are they. I love you all, and feel free to send me your thoughts after this!!! ps. did I make this chapter 9k words because I didn't want a side story to be the longest thus far? yes. am i unemployed? yes. our university starts at august 19 so im making the most out of my free time while i still don't have a job or school.

The characterization in this fic does not, in any way, reflect that of the real people portrayed in this fic.

tag(s): mostly fluff, suggestive content, nsfw, mdni (pls i beg), idol!reader being a loser trapped in a hot body, masc reader, reader having she/her pronouns, rough transitions, shitty characterization, messy, sex jokes, the author doesn't know how the music industry works, angst, religious themes, sapphic yearning, one sided (?) longing, miscommunication, mild violence, reader doesn't know what daniela wants, daniela also doesn't know what daniela wants,

You didn’t mean for her to see it.

You didn’t mean for anyone to see it, actually.

You didn’t mean to crash Cami’s live.

The livestream was supposed to be Cami’s moment, her chaos, her charm, her way of dragging you into the frame for fun, like she always does. You’d only harmonized absentmindedly, forgetting the camera was still rolling, not noticing Cami had gone silent just as your voice slipped into Daniela’s verse like second nature.

���Élla llegó conmigo y conmigo se va…” Not él, not he—ella. She.

Fuck. 

Fans noticed what you wouldn't let yourself admit: that you sang it like you meant it.

It was the truth you’d been careful to keep quiet, suddenly laid bare in your lower register, crooning her verse like a prayer, when you weren’t even remotely religious. 

The comment section erupted. Edits popped up within minutes, slowed down and sharpened, layered with glitchy hearts and text like “she’s so whipped” and “SYRE’s gay panic is off the charts.” 

You’d turned off your phone that night. You couldn’t bear to look at it. You couldn’t bear to think about the consequences that were bound to follow you now.

It was easy to pretend that meeting her didn’t blur the line between a fan with privileges and something more. It was easy to pretend that the crush you so easily exposed was simple admiration for the older woman. It was easy to play it off as a simple schoolgirl crush. It was supposed to be easy. You were supposed to laugh it off, the way you always do.

The next morning, everything was too quiet. Cami gave you a knowing look over her cereal. Hana didn’t mention it, but you knew she’d seen it too. Sophia chatted you a simple: “I saw your live, I do expect you to call me ate now or I will cry.” And by that, you knew they saw. You knew she saw it. 

You always forget how much the camera sees, how much the internet remembers, how much you give away when she’s involved.

Because Daniela…

God, Daniela.

She walks into a room and it becomes a cathedral. Her laugh stays lodged in your chest for hours after she’s gone, the sound of it reverberating in your soul, so much so that it makes you want to kneel and worship her. Worship her warmth and sharp edges, her softness that’s tucked inside layers of cool confidence. 

You’d memorized every interview, every fancam, every vocal run like it was scripture. So when you finally heard her speak beside you, laugh beside you, it felt like the universe had cheated. How could she be real?

And then, she stayed real.

It didn’t happen all at once.

Feelings never do, not when you’re trying this hard not to have them.

It’s a slow, creeping thing, a slow ache that reminds you of the feeling of anesthesia losing its effect . The kind that settles under your skin during long filming days and late-night voice recordings. The kind that grew heavier after every joint stage rehearsal, every casual voice note shared during late-night vocal check-ins. The kind that tightens around your ribs every time you hear her laugh off-camera, that unfiltered, low, real, screeching laugh of hers that felt like it belonged to a secret version of her, one only you were allowed to see. The kind that grows every time she looks at you like she knows something you don’t.

You tried to be busy, tried to fill the silences with loud dorm antics, dance trends on tiktok that were borderline thirstraps, and chaotic dance practice clips.

The vlog series helped as well. There’s always something to shoot: interviews, behind-the-scenes clips, dance footage. You play your part, chaotic, funny, the "mysterious" one the editors love to frame in shadows and cropped smiles. They didn’t know it was because you were biting back words you weren’t allowed to say.  

But between takes, when the cameras dip low and the crew resets mics, you find yourself searching for her in the reflection of the monitors.

And she’s always looking back. That gaze of hers that always ignites your hunger, your yearning, your longing. Your longing to be the only one she gazes that way. Yet every time, every day, every second you remind yourself of something.

You weren’t allowed to fall in love with someone who told the world she was straight.

So you don’t.

You just think about her. Constantly.

You think about her when she’s around. You think about her when she’s gone. You’ve danced in circles like this for weeks now. Brushed fingers. Shared water bottles. A too-long hug at the end of an afterparty shoot. Nothing concrete. Nothing you could name. 

But you feel it. It was everything you dreamed of.

Daniela started to linger more. Quietly, at first, nothing too dramatic. Dani’s too careful for that. But there were glances. Lingering ones. 

A look across the practice room that lasted too long. A comment during vocal practice: “You have a nice lower register. It suits you.” She didn’t say it like a mentor. She said it as if she’s holding something back. 

Something you couldn’t let yourself imagine, something you couldn’t let yourself feel hope for something that might never exist. 

She tossed the occasional compliment your way with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. And then… longer. You felt as if everything grew more intense. 

In the studio. During practice. Her fingertips light on your elbow, your wrist, your waist, your hips; places that burn after she’s left.

You tell yourself it’s just mentoring. You tell yourself it’s nothing. You tell yourself to stop hoping.

Because hoping hurts worse.

And still, she looks at you like she’s trying to figure you out. Like she’s afraid of what she might find. Like she already knows what she’ll find and she’s terrified.

You don’t talk about it.

Instead, you keep your distance. Smile less around her. Touch her less. Pull away when she’s too close. You stop catching her gaze across the room and start looking down at your shoes. And it hurts. God, it hurts. But you tell yourself it’s kindness.

You want her to be happy. Even if it’s not with you. Even if it never could be. You’ve been her fan for too long to want anything but her happiness.

But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to be hers. Not her fan. Not her junior. Not her mentee. Hers. Alone. Fully.

You just don’t know if you’re allowed to want that.

But she- God, she does things.

Like that night. That one night.

You’d just finished recording a practice run of “Your Idol.” The others had packed up, voices low, energy winding down. She stayed behind. Said she forgot her water bottle. You stayed too, making sure that none of your members left anything. That’s all it was supposed to be.

Until she leaned too close behind you, breath hot against your ear as she reached for something behind you.

“You killed that last note,” she murmured. “It gave me chills.”

You tried to laugh it off. “I was flat.”

“You weren’t.”

And then, she touched your face. Just… her knuckles, barely grazing your jaw as she turned you to look at her. You felt your face burn, you felt your skin react to her touch, you felt your chin lift up slightly as she tilted your head up with a single long nail.

Then her eyes flicked down to your mouth. Just for a second.

Too long.

Nothing happened. But everything did.

Your chest collapsed inward. You couldn’t breathe.

You stepped back. Left the room without saying goodbye. She didn’t stop you.

You haven’t slept properly since that night. Forced to relive that night, among other moments from your filming of the debut diaries, the memories that haunt you as you lay awake on your bed with “Kahit Di Mo Alam” blasting on your speakers, among the other songs that’s under your “trilingual yearning” playlist. 

You don’t know what that moment meant.

You don’t ask.

But every time she smiles at you now, every time her fingertips graze your shoulder and linger just a second too long, you feel it all over again.

You don’t know what she wants. You don’t even know if she knows.

But you know what you feel.

And you know how dangerous it is to keep feeling it.

Because the moment she says your name a certain way, you know you’re gone.

And you’re terrified you never really had the right to feel these things to begin with.

So you did what you knew best, you kept your distance.

You rehearse until your limbs tremble, you stay at the far end of every mentoring session, and when the KATSEYE girls are visiting the studio, you find excuses to vanish into practice rooms or the bathroom. You joke, you smile, you flirt with Manon and Lara when Cami drags you in. But when it’s Daniela’s eyes on you, that sharp, piercing gaze of hers, it’s like you forget how to be alive. 

Because she’s straight. You always remind yourself that.

She said it on a live before you two even met, before your debut even. Before she knew you existed. 

“I’m not gay guys” she said without hesitation but with a small, amused laugh. “Enough with the gay allegations.”

And maybe she is. Maybe you’re stupid for feeling this way. That allegedly haunted you for weeks. Still does. 

So you shut your mouth, lower your gaze, and pretend your heart isn’t sitting in your throat every time her gaze lingers longer than it should. You pretend it’s not a big deal when you pass each other in the hallway and her fingers almost brush yours. You laugh it off when Cami teases you about “your girlfriend,” because no one knows you mean it.

But still, there’s something different in the way she looks at you lately.

Something you don’t trust. Something you can’t believe in.

You don’t let yourself hope.

As days, weeks pass, you become hyper-aware of the performance looming over you, a monstrous thing. The venue is said to be massive, the crowd twice as large as you’ve ever faced. KATSEYE will be in the front row, and you know she’ll be there, front and center. You’re supposed to be excited. But you already feel the room spinning. The mask you wear on stage is heavier now. Heavier because you know she’ll see it fall; even if only for a second.

And for once, you’re terrified of being seen.

You’ve performed before; small stages, campus shows, pop-up gigs in half-empty malls, but tonight? Tonight, your knees feel like they're made of gelatin. It's your first real crowd. Thousands of faces, lights as harsh as expectations, cameras trained on every second like it’s history in the making.

Deep breaths. Count to 10. Release.

You stood in front of the mirror, fingers hovering near your chest as the stylists adjusted the last of the buckles on your custom stage outfit. All-black, tailored, sharp, and far too expensive to be sweating through, but here you were. You looked like you just stepped out of a movie about a charming art thief. Or a hot villain in a heist K-drama. 

Deep breaths. Count to 10. Release.

You assess the situation again. You’re standing in your cramped dressing room, the door labelled “SIREN5” in bold letters, eyeing your reflection. Sharp-cut pants hugging your hips, a sleek dark vest over sheer black sleeves, your hair swept back but purposefully messy; confident, your stylist had said. Commanding. Bold. You stare, then turn to your members.

“I look like a pimp,” you announce flatly.

"I agree. You literally look like our pimp, or rather… hmm… honestly, it looks more or less like you're about to hand us business cards and ask if we want to be famous" Cami said with a snort, tugging on her pastel corset top.

"I feel like one." you muttered, glancing sideways at Hana, Amara, and Rina, all dressed in glittering, soft silhouettes with rhinestones catching the light.

“You look like a God,” Rina retorts immediately, throwing a hairbrush at your bedazzled fur boots. “A hot, slightly unhinged one.”

“You’re gonna make all of the Sailors combust.” Cami snickers, twirling in her own sparkly halter dress.

“Please don’t encourage her,” Hana mutters while adjusting her earpiece, eyes flicking up from her clipboard of stage cues. She’s been awake since 4 AM. Again. She’s too stressed recently.

You pretend to scoff, but the pressure's sitting heavy in your stomach now, pressing and twisting until your throat tightens. 

It was real now.

The crowd waiting outside wasn’t some studio camera. This wasn’t a rehearsal with the same three sleepy choreographers. This was real. Their first massive live audience.

The moment you caught your reflection again, the nausea hit. Hard.

“I’ll be right back” you mutter, pushing past them with forced calm. No one stops you. They all know what’s happening. You  push past crew members and makeup artists, you dodge multiple boxes of stage equipment. You made it to the sink just in time.

The bathroom mirror greets you with too much honesty. Your cheeks are pale, and sweat beads your brow. You brace your hands on the sink. One breath. Another.

Deep breaths. Count to 10. Release.

A few dry heaves later, you were hunched over, wiping your mouth with trembling fingers, your other hand clinging to the porcelain like it’s the only solid thing in the world when the door creaked open.

“Hey,” came a voice, soft, low, steady.

You looked up. Of course it’s Daniela Avanzini. Because nothing else makes this situation better than her seeing you in your most vulnerable state yet.

She stood in the doorway, all perfect curls and calm eyes, her hoodie sleeves pushed up and hands in her pockets, her performance outfit peeking out ever so slightly, her lips held a lollipop between them.

She looked effortless. Like she didn’t even try to look that good and it just happened.

You, on the other hand, look like a deer caught in headlights. Or a deer about to throw up. Or a deer that’s about to be road kill.

You can’t meet her eyes. Not like this.

“I’m okay” you lie.

“You sure?” she asks, stepping in like it’s nothing. Like she always catches junior idols vomiting from nerves.

You nod too fast. “Super okay. Sexy, even. Nothing says charisma like barfing before a performance.”

That earns a soft laugh. “Iconic, honestly.”

She doesn’t leave.

She leans against the sink beside you like it’s normal, like it’s easy. Like your heart isn’t doing Olympic gymnastics in your chest.

There's silence. Comfortable. Agonizing.

“I’m scared” you whisper, too soft to be anyone but yourself.

“I know,” she says. “But you’ve got this.”

You want to believe her. You want to ask her to say it again. You want to pretend her presence doesn’t make your head spin worse than the nerves ever could.

You want to tell her that you’re not just scared of performing. You want to tell her that you’re scared, not of her, but of what’s happening between the two of you. But you settle for the next 6 words instead.

“You always say the right things.” you murmur.

She gives you a half-smile. “Only with you.”

Your breath catches.

Your pulse stutters.

You look away first.

She doesn’t push. She never does.

Instead, she lets the moment settle; heavy, quiet, dense with things neither of you will say. Her fingers don't reach for yours. Her eyes don't drop to your lips. She doesn’t lean in. But God, she doesn’t have to.

Because the way she looks at you, like she’s figuring out a puzzle she’s scared to finish, is almost worse.

So you square your shoulders. Crack a joke that doesn’t quite land. Smile like you’re not unravelling beneath the weight of almosts and maybes. You wear your mask like it was made for you; like you didn’t just spend the night dreaming of a world where you could be hers.

But as she turns to leave, her fingers brush against yours, barely there, just enough to steal the air from your lungs. And in that instant, you feel it again: the illusion of closeness, the echo of something you wish you could name. Something that isn’t yours to want.

You stand still long after the door clicks shut behind her.

Because you know now, things aren’t fine. They haven’t been for a while.

And when the stage lights bleed into your skin and the crowd screams loud enough to drown your pulse, she’ll be there. Front row. Watching. Waiting.

You’ll hit your mark. Drop to your knees, like the choreo demands.

And you’ll look up.

And she’ll already be looking.

And everything you’ve tried so desperately to bury, every shaky breath, every missed beat of your heart when she smiles your way, will rise like smoke and hang between you, impossible to ignore.

Because the truth is, you’ve already fallen. Hard. Quietly.

You’re just pretending it doesn’t hurt.

You let out a soft, bitter laugh at the absurdity of it all. This whole situation feels like something ripped straight out of the digital comics you binge in the dead of night, eyes wide, heart clenching over slow-burn tension and unspoken pining. The kind of trope you’ve always loved: the soft-spoken idol hopelessly in love with her unreachable sun. The magnetic touches. The lingering stares. The space between words that feels louder than anything said aloud.

You just never thought you’d be living it.

And yet here you are. Throat tight. Heart heavier than you’ll ever admit out loud. Because this isn’t fiction. There’s no cut to the next chapter. No narration box explaining her thoughts. No convenient dialogue options or internal monologues. Just this fragile space between you, cluttered with fleeting glances and barely-there touches that feel like everything and nothing at once.

You don’t know what you’re supposed to feel. Hope? Shame? Longing?

All you know is that you’re trapped in a story with no plot; just pages of unresolved tension and no promise of closure. 

And that you absolutely do not have time to spiral in a cramped bathroom you’ve already spent way too long in.

“Shit.” You curse, jolting back into motion as if the air itself is chasing you. Because it is. Time, nerves, the weight of everything you’re not allowed to say.

And the last thing you want is to see the look on Hana’s face when you keep the group waiting.

You brush past her on your way out, fingers grazing hers for half a second too long.

She doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. But the silence crackles like it’s holding something back.

She doesn’t look back. Neither do you. And yet, Daniela can’t move.

As you disappear around the corner, Daniela stares at the closed bathroom door for a moment longer than necessary. She stands there for another beat too long, listening to the silence you left behind. Her heart drums in her chest like it’s a metronome for a song she doesn’t know the lyrics to.

She should go.

Instead, she lingers.

Her hand still tingles from where your fingers barely touched. That shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just adrenaline, pre-show jitters, the kind everyone gets. You’re nervous, she was there, and the rest is just… hormones. Pressure. Whatever.

But even as she tells herself that, her chest doesn’t listen. There’s something stuck there: tight, unfamiliar. And worse than that, there’s a strange ache that she can’t name.

Daniela exhales sharply and finally starts walking. Her heels echo against the hallway tile, the noise grounding her. Mechanical. Rational. Keep moving.

The muffled thrum of bass is already pulsing through the venue walls, the low buzz of pre-show excitement building like static. Every step she takes feels heavier than the last.

She should be focused, mentally taking notes like she always does before a performance, sizing up the stage, observing crowd reactions, gauging lighting and sound. But instead, her thoughts keep circling the same thing:

Your voice, quiet and shaking. The way you wouldn’t meet her eyes. The soft laugh you let out like you were the punchline to your own joke.

She remembers watching Cami’s livestream. It was just a glimpse, just enough. She remembers hearing you sing her part. Not “él.” Ella.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She found herself looping the clip after.

Her stomach twisted. It still does.

There was something in your voice that day. Something real. And maybe she’s a fool, but she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

What does it mean? Why does it stick with her like this? 

She doesn’t do this. She doesn’t feel like this.

She doesn’t get distracted. Not over someone she’s barely even spoken to outside of group settings. Not over a girl who sings her lines like prayers, eyes closed like she’s afraid to be caught.

And yet.

Your voice still rings in her head

“Ella llegó conmigo y conmigo se va.”

Not just harmony. Possession. Intention.

A line Daniela knows by heart, turned intimate in your lower register.

She doesn’t know what to do with that.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. She convinces herself, reminds herself of what you really are to her.

You’re just a junior. A label-mandated mentorship. A pretty face. A pretty voice with uncertain eyes and too many questions. That’s all this is. That’s all it’s supposed to be.

Then why can’t she forget the way your eyes avoided hers in the hallway? Why does she feel like she’s holding her breath every time she’s near you? Why does her hand still feel warm where yours grazed it? Why does she feel like she’s standing at the edge of something she doesn’t have the language for?

She reaches the entrance to the main arena, where light and noise spill out like a tidal wave. Sophia catches her eye from a few rows ahead and waves her down. Megan shifts aside, leaving a seat open like she knew Daniela would take too long.

“You good?” Megan’s voice cuts clean through her spiralling thoughts.

Daniela blinks. Her pulse is still racing. Her thoughts still flicker, like a faulty reel looping in her head: your flushed cheeks, the tremble in your laugh, the brush of your hand against hers like it meant something.

They’re in their seats now. Somehow. The lights have dimmed. The crowd is buzzing louder than ever. She slides into her seat, but her body doesn’t settle. Her mind keeps flickering; your flushed face, the slight tremble in your laugh, the tension humming between you like an open circuit.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” she replies, a little too fast.

Megan side-eyes her but says nothing. Instead, she leans forward, nudging Daniela’s arm and tilting her chin toward the stage.

“They’re up next. You might want to focus now,” Megan says, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “Your favorite group’s up next.”

Daniela blinks. Focuses. Looks up.

And then the screen flickers, dissolving into glitchy oceanic blues. A siren’s wail cuts through the air. The crowd roars.

The stage lights flare to life.

And there you are, front and center, clad in jet black, sharp edges and smoky eyes, the siren persona wrapped around you like a second skin. You were the only one in tailored black, sharp lines, low neckline, silver chains glinting under the lights. Masculine. Seductive. Powerful.

The rest of SIREN5: Amara, Hana, Rina, Cami, are radiant in flowing silhouettes, ruffled cloths mimicking waves and so effortlessly fierce. A beautiful contrast to your darkness. The visual says something. She doesn't know what. Only that she can’t stop staring.

And then you move. You all do.

And it’s like the floor drops.

Everything else falls away.

Because you’re not stuttering now. You’re not fumbling or flushing or laughing nervously. You’re now the vision of lethal confidence. 

And Daniela is absolutely, completely ruined before you even started.

The siren wails slowly dissolves into chants. Latin lyrics layered over swelling strings and low synths. The lights dim even more, the select lights shining down on the five of you which created an ethereal glow. Spotlights strike the stage in clean, harsh beams. The five of you emerge like ghosts, silhouettes hidden in the glow. The formation is new. Different. Sharper. She should’ve expected it; KATSEYE stopped attending rehearsals a week ago. Still, the shift feels like something tectonic. Once the spotlight hits your silhouettes, you’re suddenly hidden, like a shadow. The chants grew louder.

“Pray for me now Pray for me now (Dies irae) Pray for me now (Illa) Pray for me now (Vos solve in) Pray for me now (Favilla) Pray for me now (Maledictus) Pray for me now (Erus) Pray for me now (In flamas) Pray for me now (Eternum)”

[Rough Translation: the day of wrath is when you shall be dissolved into ashes, cursed into eternal flames]

Then Hana’s voice cleaves through the chant: sharp, crystalline, violent in its clarity.

“I'll be your idol”

You burst through the four of them like the moon eclipsing the sun, your lips were now opened as the mic picks up your voice, clear and commanding. Your hands are both on Cami and Amara’s shoulders, their bodies bending as you step through them.

“Keeping you in check,  keeping you obsessed  Play me on repeat,  kkeuteopsi in your head”

[Translation: Endlessly]

Daniela swore she felt her spine stiffen, goosebumps rising like a tide, as you sang the very first lyrics. The crowd roared as you smiled charmingly while singing, your body went through the choreography with predatory ease, snapping to the beat, twisting, drawing all eyes toward you. Daniela’s included. Especially hers.

Your hand lifted to tap a finger to your temple, same as the lyrics and she could swear that your eyes found her own before moving away before the next lyrics leave your sin stained lips. 

Her heart stutters.

She could barely hear the harmonies that Rina was layering onto your voice. Because she could swear that that moment of eye contact made her feel something. She doesn't know what it is; anger, desire, maybe confusion. Something clutches at her chest and won’t let go. She feels warm all over. She shouldn’t feel warm at all. And then you look away like nothing happened.

The next beat hits.

“Anytime it hurts,  play another verse I can be your sanctuary”

Fuck. She’s heard this song before. Too many times. On studio speakers. Through demo snippets, playing over half-finished edits and muffled practice room walls. But not like this.

Not when every word feels like it’s being sung at her. For her.

She never paid attention to what the lyrics were before. Now she suddenly feels the lyrics bury deep into her soul. It was as if the words took on a different meaning now that she forced herself not to cross the line she wasn’t sure was there in the first place. Especially now that she’s guilty of repeating a verse, her own verse, yet in your voice, over and over again until it hurts. Until it burns.

“Know I'm the only one right now I will love you more when it all burns down”

Her eyes flick to Hana: poised, deadly. Her voice, a slow storm, smooth and intimate. She commands the center like it belongs to her, and maybe it does. But it’s fleeting.

“More than power, more than gold”

Rina slinks behind Hana, looping arms around Hana’s neck with ease. Their movements mirror each other, Rina’s hands mimicking a heartbeat against Hana’s chest, then tracing a circle around her head like a halo warped into a crown.

“Yeah, you gave me your heart, now I'm hеre for your soul”

Cami then steals the spotlight as she places herself in front of Hana, her voice was hauntingly seductive and deliciously low. She stretches out her hand, fingers spreading wide before curling inward in a slow, beckoning motion, like a spell cast midair.

Daniela could swear that she heard Megan’s voice crack as she screamed at that part.

“I'm the only one who'll lovе your sins Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin”

And then Daniela’s breath hitched as your voice filled her ears, richer now, dripping with intensity, and Daniela’s stomach dropped. You’re at the center again. Of the stage. Of the sound. Of her attention. Dani found herself thinking, debating if you truly wrote this song before she met you or after, because she has this sinking feeling that it was about her.

“Listen 'cause I'm preachin' to the choir Can I get the mic' a little higher? Gimme your desire I can be the star you rely on”

From her position in the crowd, she could hear the thunder like noise your shoes made when you all jumped at the beginning of the chorus. She can’t help but notice that she didn’t hear a difference in sound; it was as if it were one person who jumped and not five. There was absolutely no delay from the time your feet left the stage to the time it landed again. It’s seamless. Terrifyingly precise. No wobble in the vocals. No stagger in the breath. Daniela stares in disbelief. She can’t help but doubt if you were truly singing in the first place.

“Nae hwanghol-ui chwihae, you can't look away  Don't you know I'm here to save you Now we runnin' wild Yeah, I'm all you need, I'ma be your idol”

[translation: you’re lost in my daze]

Hana’s voice took charge this time, the second part of the chorus giving an evident sign that an interlude was about to come. Her eyes drifted to you. From her perspective, she could see the beads of sweat trickling down your face, yet your lips held a permanent smile even when your vocals only add one layer to the hauntingly beautiful harmonizing you all did in the chorus, which by the way in next to impossible to do while dancing.

The dance break crashes down like a prophecy fulfilled.

“Unh! bichi naneun fame, gyesok oechyeo, I'm your idol Thank you for the pain 'cause it got me going viral Uh, yeah, natji anneun fever, makin' you a believer Nareul wae neon jonjaehaneun aidol”

[translation: Shining with my fame, keep on shouting my name, endless is my fever, I was born for you, only your idol]

Amara’s voice was intense, perhaps slightly cold yet it was fluid and sharp. Daniela could still understand the words clearly despite Amara rapping it. She swore she could hear Lara shouting about a british accent yet she drowned it all out, her eyes were trained to you moving like a never ending machine along with the rest of your group, moving like waves crashing into the hull of a creaking ship. The tell tale signs of pending wreckage.

Then

“Don't let it show, keep it all inside The pain and the shame, keep it outta sight”

Cami.

“Your obsession feeds our connection I sungan give me all your attention”

[translation: So right now]

You.

“You know I'm the only one who'll love your sins Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin”

Hana. 

Then all five of you, unified, harmonized, fused like a single organism

“Listen 'cause I'm preachin' to the choir Can I get the mic a little higher? Gimme your desire I can be the star you rely on (You rely on)”

Daniela’s body is still. Her throat dry. Her heartbeat stutters with each line. Her ears ring with the loud noise of the fans screaming.

“Nae hwanghol-ui chwihae, you can't look away Don't you know I'm here to save you Now we runnin' wild Yeah, I'm all you need, I'ma be your idol”

Hana was singing, she thinks. But everything was beginning to blur, as if she’s being pulled into a trance.

“Be your idol”

It was then that the girls heard it, there was a beat of silence, yet the music was still on going. It was short enough to not be damaging to the performance yet it was long enough to prove that there was absolutely no backtrack used, just an instrumental playing in the background. Nothing was faked. The absence is proof.

And then it happened. The floorwork comes like a strike of lightning. All five of you lower, spines curling like fog, arching sensually, fingers splayed across the floor. Your movements are fluid and visceral, nothing soft about it. It’s devotion and destruction. Your vocals overlapped each other with terrifying ease as you sang the bridge. The bridge is a siren’s call: delicate and violent.

“Living in your mind now Too late 'cause you're mine now I will make you free When you're all part of me”

Then you. You take the final chorus, voice breaking into a raw, unfiltered cry

"(Listen 'cause I'm) Preaching to the choir (Now) Can I get the mic a little higher?"

Daniela’s jaw drop as you belted out that line, her breath hitched as you ad-libbed right then and there, It’s not clean. It’s raw, live, unfiltered. And it’s perfect.

Cami carries the melody:

“Gimme your desire Watch me set your world on fire”

Amara closes in once again:

“Nae hwanghol-ui chwihae, you can't look away (Hey) No one is coming to save you Now we runnin' wild”

Then all of you, the final lines crashing down like thunder:

“You're down on your knees, I'ma be your idol”

Daniela doesn’t breathe.

Because when you kneel, right in front of her, sweat-soaked and shining, lips parted, chest heaving, your eyes meet hers.

And Daniela’s world tilts.

She swears her heart skips, she swears the air leaves her lungs.

You’re kneeling right in front of her like some kind of twisted devotion. Like she’s the altar. The storm. The sin.

And you?

You’re the sacrifice.

You’re the storm.

You’re the sin.

And god help her- 

You look delicious.

She’s still looking at you.

Even with the stage lights stinging your eyes and the bass of the final note still thrumming in your chest, Daniela is still looking at you.

You’re still on your knees, your palm planted against the stage floor, strands of hair clinging to your cheek. You don’t dare move. You’re frozen, breathless, kneeling at center stage like a confession you never meant to make. The crowd roars, thousands of voices crashing like waves, but all you hear is the silence between your pulse and the way her stare makes your skin feel too tight.

Your name must be on her tongue. You can feel it. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

A beat passes.

Then another.

And like a thunderclap, the crowd erupts.

The lights fade just enough to remind you you’re not alone, that you’re not dreaming, that this isn’t some delusional daydream you’ve conjured in a midnight haze. Hana’s hand finds yours first, warm and grounding. Cami’s voice shouts something behind you, probably a curse or a cheer, it’s hard to tell with the adrenaline still screaming through your veins. And finally, the five of you fall into a practiced bow, the same one you rehearsed a thousand times, heads low, hearts high.

It takes everything in you not to glance at her again.

When you rise again, Hana’s already stepping forward, clear-voiced and composed as ever.

“Annyeonghaseyo!” Hana’s voice slices through the air, confident and steady. “SIREN5-imnida! Thank you for welcoming us tonight!”

The cheers grow louder, especially from the Korean fans who recognize their native tongue. A few banners with her name glitter in the crowd.

“¡Buenas noches, mi amores!” Cami winks into the camera with a sultry grin, her voice warm and rolling like a flamenco beat. “Muchísimas gracias por todo el cariño. ¡Los amamos!”

(translation: Good Evening, my loves. Thank you so much for all the love. We love you!)

The Spanish-speaking part of the audience goes wild; flags wave, phones shoot skyward, fans scream her name like they’re chanting a spell.

And then it’s your turn.

You inhale once. Then again. You swallow, chest still trembling. There’s a hush that falls in your heart, just long enough for courage to take its place.

You step forward into the light, lips parting, and in the softest yet clearest tone you can muster, you say:

“Magandang gabi po sa inyong lahat. Ako po si SYRE, at sobrang thankful ako sa mainit ninyong pagtanggap sa amin. Mahal ko po kayo.”

(translation: Good Evening to all of you, My name is SYRE and I am so thankful for the warm welcome you gave us. I love you all.)

Your voice wobbles at the end, but the crowd doesn’t care. You hear your name shrieked from the front row. A few “Mahal din kita!”s are shouted back with so much affection, your eyes sting. And then you laugh because you heard a single screeching voice shout: “TANGINA MO MAHAL NA MAHAL DEN KITAAAAA” You laughed harder when Sophia snaps her head to the origin of the sound with furrowed brows and a flabbergasted look on her face.

You don't have time to recover. Amara slips in beside you like liquid silver, bumping your shoulder affectionately as she steps forward.

“Evening, babes,” she beams, her accent curling warmly around the words. “We’re SIREN5, and we’re absolutely buzzin’ to be here. Hope you’ve been enjoying the show.”

The crowd hollers. Someone yells, “I LOVE YOUR ACCENT!” and Amara chuckles under her breath.

And finally, like a soft, unexpected breeze, Rina steps forward. She’s silent for a second, gaze sweeping the crowd like she’s memorizing it.

“こんばんは,” she says gently. “SIREN5です。応援してくれて本当にありがとうございます。”

(Good evening. We are SIREN5. Thank you so much for supporting us.)

A ripple of polite, emotional cheers spreads across the audience, the kind that speaks volumes without needing to scream.

And just like that, the five of you stand in a line, united, shining, trembling just a little bit under the weight of your dreams finally blooming into reality.

But as the lights shift and the music cues for your exit, you risk one final glance into the crowd.

She’s still watching you.

But this time, there’s something different in her eyes.

And this time, you don’t look away.

Even as you follow your members toward the wings, feet moving on instinct, your head turns, just one more glance, you tell yourself. One more look at her.

You’re still watching her. And she’s still watching you.

Which is probably why you miss the last step.

Your foot catches on the edge of the makeshift metal stairs leading offstage, a barely-there lip of cold aluminium that sends your balance tipping just a fraction too far. You let out a small, startled sound, a breath of panic catching in your throat as your sneaker slips, and suddenly you’re stumbling forward, arms pinwheeling for balance. Your ankle twists sideways, the metal edge of the stair scraping against your boot as you lurch forward and slam straight into Amara’s back.

She nearly faceplants but she catches herself just in time. “Oi! Bloody-Darlin'?! What the hell? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” you gasp, stumbling upright, one hand gripping her shoulder. “I…I just…”

But it’s too late. The damage is done.

Rina, already at the bottom, whips around with wide eyes. “Did you just fall?!”

“Almost fall,” you mutter, face heating.

Hana spins dramatically, her mic turned off but her voice deadly clear. “Did someone forget how stairs work?”

Cami’s grin could power a city. “Oh my god. Is she still looking at Daniela?” she whisper-yells like it’s some secret revelation. “She is! I knew it! You tripped because you were too busy making heart eyes!”

“I wasn’t-!” you start, but you’re drowned out by the explosion of teasing that follows.

“SYRE, please, we’re in public,” Amara groans dramatically. “At least wait until we’re backstage to publicly collapse over your crush.”

“She’s gonna trend as ‘Clumsy Siren,’” Rina giggles. “#FellForHerLiterally.”

“Can’t believe our first major performance and this is what you get remembered for.” Cami gasps between laughs.

You bury your face in your hands as the crowd’s cheers continue behind you. You’re never going to live this down. Never. You can already imagine the fancams, the slowed replays, the edits with sparkles and hearts-

And then, against your better judgment, you peek back.

She’s still there.

Still watching.

And this time, she’s laughing.

Not mockingly. Not cruel. Just soft and stunned, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine amusement.

You stare, completely frozen for a beat too long.

Then Cami slings an arm over your shoulder. “You’re so gone,” she whispers. “It’s actually embarrassing.”

You groan. “Shut up.”

“SYRE,” Hana deadpans, “next time just propose. It’ll hurt less.”

 You try to laugh. Really, you do. But instead, the words slip out quieter than you expect.

“But she’s straight.”

The teasing dies instantly.

Cami’s arm loosens around your shoulders. Amara’s brows furrow, and Hana’s gaze flickers to your face, her expression softening.

You don’t say anything else. You don’t have to. The words hang heavy between you all: awkward, raw, honest in a way that makes you want to disappear into the floor.

Because what do you even do with a moment like that?

When someone looks at you like that. Watches you like they’re trying to find answers you don’t know how to give. When the world pauses just long enough for you to believe, maybe.

And then it keeps going. The lights dim, the crowd screams, the next group gets ready. And you’re left standing at the edge of it, fingers trembling, unsure whether what happened was real, or just a projection of your stupid, lonely heart.

The silence in the dressing room echoes loud in your ears once you’re back. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and for a moment it’s just the five of you, breathing in the high of your first live performance, except you feel like you’re a beat behind everyone else.

No one says anything. No one pushes. But they’re watching you.

You blink hard and paste on a smile, heading toward your makeup station like you're fine. Like you’re not two seconds away from spiraling over a fleeting look and a stupid slip on a stair.

Then-

“OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU!”

Lara’s voice pierces through the room like a siren’s wail, followed by the thunder of the dressing room door slamming open.

You barely manage to turn when the sound of shrieking laughter and stomping boots floods in.

“THAT WAS INSANE!” Manon yells, diving forward like she’s about to tackle someone.

Behind them, Megan and Yoonchae laugh breathlessly, trying to keep up as Sophia glides in like she wasn’t just part of a stampede, all elegance and glowing pride.

And behind her-

Daniela.

You freeze.

Your stomach flips.

She's slower to enter than the others, one hand still holding her phone loosely, curls a little frizzed from the chaos, her sharp gaze immediately scanning the room, landing on you like it always does.

There’s a flicker in her expression. Something unreadable. But she doesn’t look away.

Your heart does something awful in your chest.

Because you're still reeling. Because you’re not ready. Because you’re suddenly very aware that she’s not yours, and maybe never will be.

But then Lara’s voice cuts through the moment again.

“Cami, I swear to GOD, did you just wink at my camera during the bridge?!”

Cami snorts. “I winked at the crowd, thank you very much. The camera just happened to be there.”

And just like that, the chaos is back. The noise floods in. SIREN5 and KATSEYE blend into a whirlwind of laughter, post-show adrenaline, and overlapping voices, pulling you away from the pity spiral and back into the world.

But even as you try to focus on Amara offering Manon a cookie or Megan asking Cami about the choreo, you can feel it.

Her eyes.

Still on you.

You’re packing up.

Still on you.

The adrenaline is fading now, traded for the ache in your legs and the slow unravelling of the high. Rina’s still giggling over something Lara said. Hana’s focused on organizing your discarded mic packs with militant precision. Amara’s curled up on a beanbag someone dragged in from God-knows-where, munching on post-performance fruit like you didn’t all just give your souls onstage.

It’s easy to pretend everything is normal.

Especially with KATSEYE now blended into your space like they’ve always belonged there; Megan talking choreography with Cami, Yoonchae laughing at something Hana said in half-Korean, half-English, and Manon currently trying on one of Amara’s spare boots just to see if it fits.

Daniela lingers near the doorway. She’s chatting with Lara, a lazy smile on her lips, posture relaxed, but every so often you catch her eyes flicking toward you.

And each time, you act like you didn’t notice.

You keep your hands busy; zipping makeup kits shut, folding the custom jackets you and the girls wore for the encore, smoothing the creases out of Amara’s ridiculous feathered gloves. Anything to look preoccupied. Anything to make sure she sees you being fine. Normal. Harmless.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned from your last mistake, it’s that fans notice everything.

And KATSEYE might be here now, laughing with your members, treating you like equals, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the world has forgotten the way you looked at her.

Or the way she looked back.

So you make a decision. Quietly. Just for yourself.

You’ll perform.

Not on stage, not for the cameras.

For her. Around her.

You’ll wear the crush on your sleeve again like it’s a silly, innocent thing. Like you’re just a fan who lucked her way into idolhood. Just a girl with heart eyes for her sunbae. You’ll blush at the right moments, flinch when she’s too close, smile a little too wide when she teases. You’ll act like it’s not real. Like you aren’t completely, fully, terrifyingly in love with her.

Not because you’ve fallen out of it.

God, no.

In fact, pretending just makes it worse.

Because now that you’ve seen how she looks at you; how her eyes soften like she’s seeing something fragile, now you’re falling harder. Faster. And it’s a different kind of scary.

But she’s not yours. She never was. And if she’s straight, like you believe she is, then it doesn’t matter how she looks at you.

You won’t be the reason she’s uncomfortable.

You won’t make her responsible for feelings she never asked for.

So you’ll give her a version of you she can laugh with, lean on, maybe even adore in her own way, as long as it’s safe. As long as it doesn’t ask for anything more.

It’s a performance.

A well-rehearsed one. A survival instinct dressed up as charm.

And you know it’s working because when you toss Daniela a grin; teasing, bright, a little flustered, she blinks like she wasn’t expecting it. Like it lands wrong.

You retreat just fast enough to make it seem like nothing.

But she watches you again.

Different this time.

Like she’s trying to read through the performance.

She doesn’t say anything. Of course she doesn’t. But something about her expression shifts, a slight narrowing of her eyes, a quiet pinch of confusion, a question that never quite makes it to her lips.

You duck your head and pretend not to see it.

If you let yourself look too long, if you let yourself hope even for a second, you know the mask will crack. And you can’t afford that.

So you smile at Cami instead. You nudge Amara and tease her about hogging the snacks. You laugh when Lara tries to make Rina wear glittery sunglasses and you dance around Sophia when she asks for a selfie with everyone.

And when Daniela walks past you again, shoulder grazing yours; soft, fleeting, electric, you don’t flinch. You don’t lean in. You don’t react.

You just keep performing.

You walk out of the dressing room and into the buzz of the hallway where crew members pack up cables, roll out cases, and call out over radios. You just keep walking, even as something inside you splinters a little deeper.

You just have to keep going even as something inside you breaks.

The night had cooled, but your skin was still buzzing from the performance. You walked in a loose group towards the back entrance, the kind only staff and artists know about, laughter echoing between both teams as stylists, managers, and a few security members trailed behind. KATSEYE and SIREN5 together, a rare sight. A little chaotic. A little surreal. You were still high off the adrenaline, your boots thudding softly beside Daniela’s steps. 

You didn’t mean to end up beside her again.

Close enough to breathe the faint sweetness of her perfume. Far enough to pretend you don’t notice.

You think you’re doing fine. You think you're keeping it together.

Then Daniela tilts her head, laughing at something Cami says in their native language, low and warm and easy, and your eyes flick away too fast. Your heart catches like a frayed wire. You flex your fingers at your side, grounding yourself.

Just until the vans. Just hold it in a little longer.

But the moment of peace shattered like glass.

You don’t realize something’s wrong until it’s too late.

The noise comes first, a low buzz, then rising shouts. Screams. The sound of people running. Your head whips up just in time to see a sea of fans and paparazzi breach the perimeter like a tidal wave, spilling into the pathway, their feet thundering against the pavement.

Cameras flash. Voices cry out. Dozens of hands shoot out with phones, pens, posters, and hastily scribbled letters.

For a second, everyone freezes.

Then instinct kicked in.

Some of the girls instinctively smile, quickly falling back into routine, signing whatever’s nearest. Lara autographs a phone case. Sophia gives a nervous wave. Cami throws her head back and laughs when someone hands her a condom packet; signs it anyway with a cheeky wink. Megan tried to help Lara pose with a fan. You found yourself signing someone's phone case, pen slipping slightly in your sweaty grip.

But it was too many. Too fast. Too loud. The bodies are closer. Rougher. The air was tighter. Sharper.

Someone yanked your sleeve. You jerked back. Someone else grabbed Amara’s wrist. Another fan reaches past you to touch Cami’s shoulder. 

And then you hear it.

A small sound, barely audible, but it slices through everything.

Yoonchae let out a soft yelp, you heard it. You felt it. You glance over and see Yoonchae’s wide eyes and trembling hands, frozen in place as the crowd presses in.

Your stomach twists.

She looked like she was about to cry.

Rina reaches for her but the crowd is pushing harder now, too fast, too much.

“Move,” you said calmly, raising a hand. “Please move aside.”

The crowd didn’t budge.

“Let us through.” Amara snapped, tone cold and clipped. Her arm hooked around Rina and Yoonchae, shielding the two youngest as she started forcing a path forward, pulling them toward the vans now parked ahead, lights on and doors thrown open by staff finally catching up.

Your heart spiked, protective instinct kicking in. You looked around. Cami was boxed in on the left, a fan with a camera dangerously close to her face. Daniela was further back, blinking against the flashing lights, looking just as disoriented.

You don’t think. You just act. 

You push through the bodies, voice sharp as a whip now. “Move!”

You weren’t polite.

You push forward, muscle memory kicking in. You reach Cami first, arms slipping under her with ease. She lets out a startled laugh, gripping your shoulder.

“SYRE?!”

“Hold on, tightly.”

You don’t wait for her response. You twist, eyes locking on Daniela.

She doesn’t protest. Just stares, wide-eyed, as you pull her up into your arms. She’s warm. She’s soft. Her perfume wrapped around you, dizzying even in the chaos. She curls into you without hesitation, face pressing into your neck like instinct.

You adjust them both in your grip like they weigh nothing.

You don’t stop moving.

You bulldozed your way through the mob, cradling them both like they were made of glass. Like the world had no right to touch them. Your feet move on autopilot, muscles taut, teeth gritted, ignoring gasps and shouts. Protectiveness crackles through your veins. You don’t care about the pictures being taken. You don’t care how insane this looks.

Not a single hand touches them.

You care about them. You care too damn much. Maybe one more than the other.

The cameras kept flashing. Voices followed. The crowd roared louder as more staff rushed forward, finally forcing people back.

You didn’t stop until the van door was yanked open by a breathless manager. Amara had already shoved Yoonchae and Rina inside. You followed suit, still holding Daniela and Cami until your knees hit the floor of the van and finally, finally, you let go.

The door slammed shut behind you. All the girls already in the van: safe, breathless, and a little shaken.

Silence.

The dim interior buzzed only with your heavy breaths. The girls looked at you; Daniela wide-eyed, Cami half-laughing, still recovering from shock. Your hands were shaking.

Cami breaks it first, brushing sweat-damp hair from her forehead. “Holy shit.” she breathes. Then smirks. “You’re built like a tank.”

You manage a small smile. “You good?”

��Never been better.”

You turn to Daniela.

She blinks at you, eyes still full of stunned disbelief. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Thank you.” Her voice catches slightly on the words. You pretend not to notice.

But something in you still aches.

Because your arms remember the way she felt. Because even now, shaking, breathless, your first instinct is still to look at her, to make sure she’s okay.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Even when you’re running on instinct… It's her.

You lean your head back, trying to calm your pulse. But your mind won’t settle. Not when she’s sitting across from you. Not when her scent still clings to your jacket. Not when your chest still tightens at the thought of losing grip.

You’re in love with her.

Hopelessly. Quietly. Completely.

And you know it’s one-sided.

So you do what you do best.

You perform.

Daniela reaches out, hand brushing yours on instinct.

You pull away too quickly.

Then smile, hiding the sting. “Well. That’s one way to impress the ladies, huh?”

Cami barks a laugh, playful. “Impress? Babe, you bridal-carried us. Both of us. I’m buying you a ring tomorrow, and I’m playing Hermanas de leche at our wedding.”

Laughter erupts. Even Daniela giggles, though her smile flickers, faint, distant.

You see it.

And she sees something too. But neither of you say anything.

You lean your head back against the wall again, eyes fluttering shut.

No laughter this time. Just the hum of tires and the sting of truth. Something bloomed too far, too fast, and now has nowhere to go.

Then-

“OH MY GOD WHO TURNED THE HEAT ON-”

“CAMI’S SWEAT IS TOUCHING ME I’M CALLING THE POLICE-”

Lara’s shriek from the back cuts through the tension like a slapstick dream. Manon shouts something unintelligible. Megan and Sophia are yelling over them, and Yoonchae tries to climb into Amara’s lap to escape the chaos.

You blink, startled, then laugh, really laugh.

Because that’s how it always goes, doesn’t it?

You bury it.

Smile through it.

And keep walking beside her like your heart isn’t breaking just a little more every time.

Ngingiti ka nalang araw-araw, mananatili ka nalang sa tabi nya na tila multo habang tahimik na nagmamakaawang makakuha kahit katiting man lang ng pag-ibig nya. Dahil alam mo sa sarili mo, na mamahalin mo sya sa bawat saglit, kahit di nya alam.

(You resigned yourself to smiling everyday, you'll stay by her side like a ghost that silently begs for even just a little piece of her love. Because you know in yourself that you'll love her in every moment, even if she never knows.)

taglist: @awkwardtoafault, @cheerlanader, @kianthegirlkisser, @teenybean, @skittledemon66, @hydrardz, @hotluvlet, @skriri, @ssamachiii, @iamconfusedrightnow, @pizzachicken, @aelien1, @yjiminswallet

[very-merry-birthday]

🍓 Good Fortunes 🍓

Summary: Dean doesn't believe in palm reading, but he's willing to give it a shot if it means meeting you

Warnings: None (except my very little knowledge of actual palm reading)

A/N: Was gonna be a full fic but idk... so here you go!

~~~

Sam elbowed his brother gently, trying to get him to lighten up. They'd been walking around the fair for hours, the smell of cotton candy and sound of screaming teens put Dean's teeth on edge. He was ready to be done, desperate to leave since he turned up, and only sticking around because his brother promised him they'd be meeting a lead for information. That had yet to pan out, and Dean was sick of it.

"Come on, this is supposed to be fun!"

"Yeah, drunk kids and burgers that cost $20! What's not to love!?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"Well you can't leave me here by myself!"

"Why not? It's your lead anyway! And he hasn't even shown up!"

"Fine- tell you what, you go on one ride and I'll let you go home."

"Nah-ah, no chance-" Dean shook his head, "I'm not throwing up just to prove some point."

"Fine, what about that?" Sam pointed towards a nearby tent, the words Palm Reader written in cursive on the sign outside.

"Do I look like an idiot?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Dean, just go in, it'll be five minutes, and then you can go get drunk back at the motel."

Dean relented, turning on his heel and walking into the tent.

He'd expected an old woman, dressed in some mystic outfit ready to fleece whatever sucker walked in. Instead he found you, relaxing at the small table on your phone, a flowy dress and a smile on your face as you looked up at him.

"You look lost." You said, putting your phone down.

"Maybe a bit- this uh- where I get my future told then?"

"Palm reading ain't quite like that, honey, but I can tell you the story of your life, a bit of what's happened, bit of what's gonna."

"And you believe that?" He quirked his eyebrow at you.

"I believe what I believe, sounds like you don't?"

"What'll it cost me?" He eyed you suspiciously.

"Whatever you think it's worth. See what I can do and you decide the price."

He thought for a moment and nodded. He couldn't deny he was attracted to you- and sure, maybe he didn't believe any of this spirituality crap- but he wasn't gonna pass up the opportunity to get up close to a hot chick.

He sat at the table and you reached for his hand, gently pulling it towards you. You flipped it over, looking at the back of it for a moment, and then turned it flat, studying his palm with your eyes.

"You're a mechanic- no- not a mechanic but you know your way around a car, you're dangerous, more to yourself than to others, and hmm- let me see here- your name's Dean."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face going white, "How-how did you know that?"

You chuckled lightly, "Relax, honey. You've got engine oil around the corners of your nails, which you've clearly tried to scrub off- none of the mechanics I know care enough to keep their hands that clean; your knuckles are absolutely busted, looks like years of bruisin' and split skin healed over one another, so you clearly don't take care of your injuries; and your friend out there wasn't exactly quiet when saying your name."

"Oh so it's all tricks?" He looked up at you again with a smile, confrontation dancing behind his eyes.

"No tricks, sugar, half the job is having to read people as well as palms."

"What the other half?"

You looked back down to his hand, relaxing it back onto your own. You traced over the lines carefully, delicate fingers over rough skin sending tingles up his arm. His hand radiated heat, a welcome change to the usual frosty palms you usually read.

"Okay, so let's take your life line." You followed the line down the center of his palm, your fingers dancing over it carefully.

"What's the verdict, doc, how long've I got?" He chuckled.

You met his laugh, "That's a misconception. It doesn't say when you'll die-" Most people wanted it simple, wanted all the nice things you could say, with an air of fantasy and drama, but you could tell he didn't want that. He wanted authenticity, truth. "-but I can tell you it's weird as hell."

His face broke into a genuine smile, "You can't call my hands weird! That's not fair!"

"Not your hands," you traced the life line again, "just this one, seems to stop and start, all faint and then strong again."

"So what does that mean?"

"You're strong, got a vitality to you that not everyone can boast about- but you've had moments of weakness, or you will do, moments where you're gonna falter. Tell me, sugar, you do a lot of moving around, a lot of travelling about?"

"For work, yeah."

"Maybe you ought to think about settling down one of these days, before that line gets any more confused."

He nodded, taking in your words but half pretending not to. You realized you hit a nerve, and pulled your fingers up to the top of his palm.

"Heart line, your love life-"

"Now this I gotta hear."

"It's faint, you got a lady in your life?"

"You coming onto me, sweetheart?"

You smiled up at him, "Something tells me you don't have much time for love, baby."

He wasn't used to being called baby, but hospitality or otherwise, he liked the way it fell from your lips.

You continued, "You're not too emotional, closed off some would say, but you see here?" You let your fingertips press slightly into his skin, both of you leaning in closer to get a better look, his face now inches from yours, "You've got the capacity for it, a bit of lovin' every now and then."

"I can do more than a bit of loving." His eyes landed on your lips and then back up to you.

You pulled back slightly, keeping your fingers on his palm, a small smile, "Love, not passion. Passion you've got in heaps." You traced the line down again.

"I could've told you that without the palm." he let his tongue dart out to wet his lips, and then looked back down to his hand, wiggling his fingers, "What can you tell me I don't already know?"

You found the line in the middle of his palm, once again letting your fingers dance over it. You spent longer than you needed to, wanting to eek out the feeling of your hands on him. You could tell from the small goosebumps on his arm, hairs starting to stand on end, that he wasn't used to such a soft touch.

"This one tells me about your chance of success... You travel for work?"

"Mhmm." he hummed absentmindedly, half in agreement and half at the feeling of your fingers dancing over him.

"But you don't got much of a career, right? Don't wanna seek out promotions or a salary, shit like that?"

"What tells you that?"

"You've got drive, that's easy to see, clearly defined line, all the way down- that tells me you've got a sense of purpose, you know what you want... But you see how it's fractured-"

"Those are just old scars, darlin'." He smiled softly.

"-Look at the line, not the hand." you traced your finger along it again, emphasizing where it split and rejoined, "That tells me you push yourself, no one else does it for you. Your own boss, I guess? Or at least you're tryin' to be?"

"Does it say if I'll be successful? How much money I'll make?"

"Oh no, you see how it kinda trails off at the end here, money's not looking good for you." You chuckled.

He swallowed hard, creasing his forehead, "Y'kidding?"

"Abundance, however, you see this line-" you moved your fingers over slightly, brushing gently against him, letting him see where you were talking about as you traced it down, "-abundance you've really got goin' for you."

"What's the difference?" He seemed genuinely interested now, eyes off your face and back on his own hand, "Between money and abundance I mean?"

"Money is... well money- cash, dollars in the bank- exactly what it sounds like. Abundance is more complicated, goodness, prosperity- it can be as simple as great food, a conversation with friends..." you looked back up to him, "...a generous lover."

"Oh sweetheart, now you really are coming onto me."

"And what if I am?" You smiled at him, your gaze unbreaking, "That a problem, sugar?"

His thumb twitched instinctively, giving himself away. He smiled back, "No problem at all."

You leant back again, finally seeking out the longest line, right in the middle of his hand. You studied it carefully, taking your time to really understand him. Of course he wasn't wrong, his hands were covered in scars, some looked only a few weeks old, others could have been there since childhood. His hands were tough, small callouses on the sides of his fingers, but also gentle, the pads of his fingertips softer. Even the way he held his hand, so open to your touch, no flinching or shifting, just a willingness to sit and listen.

"This one tells me the most." You traced your fingers over it, your touch getting lighter, leaning back in to get closer to him.

"What's it saying?" He leant in again, his face close to yours once again.

"You're headstrong, you see how defined it is?" You looked up at him, locking with his eyes. You were taken aback slightly, he was looking deep into yours, gorgeous and green and only inches away. You coughed lightly, looking back down to his hand, "That means you're strong willed, which can be good, but something tells me you're a little bit stubborn, am I right?"

His eyes washed across your face and then back to his own hand, nodding slightly, "Can be."

"And you see how it seems to fray? That means you overthink, bet you're overthinking right now-"

The corner of his mouth raised into a small smile, "Might be."

"Maybe you ought to take a night off, turn off that brain for a bit."

"That your official recommendation, doc?"

You laughed lightly, pulling back again, giving his hand another gentle touch and then laying it on the table, freeing him from your grasp, "I'll fill out a prescription."

He flexed his hand, getting used to the feeling of it being his again, and looked back up at you with a smile, "That was fun."

You met his smile, relaxing back into your seat, "I'm glad, you believe it any more now?

"Maybe," he laughed, "or maybe you're just hot and you sound like you know what you're doing."

You laughed again, caught off guard by his honesty.

He reached into his pocket, shifting his body only slightly so he could pull his wallet out, opening it up and looking back at you again, "What'd I owe ya then?"

"Like I said, it's not up to me, you decide."

He looked into his wallet and then back at you, "How about a drink?"

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

♡ ARMADA DATING HCS! BOT edition

i might do blurr, sideswipe and starscream. i love armada stuff. you rarely see any of it. especially a self insert, i have searched far and wide but it has only ever been fruitless. like a thirsty man trying to find water in a desert.

including: Optimus, Hotshot, Jetfire, Red Alert, Scavenger

cross-posted on ao3.

Optimus Prime:

— As leader of the autobots, he clearly has a certain charisma (unlike others) which really makes almost any bot fall for him but again, as a leader, he’s usually too engrossed in his duties to truly be romantic with anyone. The war has made him a little bit bitter. So don’t expect a confession from his side.

— He’s reluctant to get into a romantic relationship with anyone, mostly to protect them. But he craves love. Optimus loves being taken care of for once in his life. But he is not accustomed to it at all, he's been a war commander for his whole life. His reluctance is a result of never having time or the opportunity to be vulnerable with another. He doesn't really know how to.

—Because of this, he doesn't think he would be a good partner. The fact that he's always busy is there but this is the main reason.

— If you do end up together though, he would be more of a listener than a talker. He loves listening to you ramble and rant. If you’re in a tough spot and need to talk it out, Optimus is always there for you. He's more than happy to offer you guidance and advice. Optimus is a very comforting individual.

— He also makes tiny mental notes about what you like and dislike which is impressive considering the mech is almost always busy. Optimus will use this to his advantage in the future and to his full advantage when the war is over.

— On the contrary, it is much harder to get the bot to talk about how he feels. He’s always had to be seen as a supporting figure for the Autobots, someone to lean and depend on, so as a result most of his emotions are suppressed. He's a closed book that will only open slowly with time.

— But he’s really good at showing you just how happy he is in your presence! Happiness comes naturally to the Prime. You make him feel calm and he really likes that. Being able to lean on someone for the first time in a long time feels nice which is why he is initially reluctant to accept your help or support but then gets accustomed to it.

— Optimus rarely gets jealous. He trusts you and knows that you will never hurt him or let him down.

— He’s a surprisingly touch starved individual. He loves holding your servos or having your arms hold him. Of course, it's only really when it's just the two of you. Optimus has a tough leader persona to maintain. And he doesn't want it to crumble.

— You two sometimes just lay down on the grass in some silent field away from base on the rare occasion that Optimus isn’t busy and just try to talk for hours on end, hoping no one will disturb you two and pray that Megatron will have something better to do than his usual schemes.

— The Prime does try to crack a joke or two every now and then but he has dad humour so its not the funniest. However, if you genuinely do laugh from his horrible attempt at humour, a big wide giddy smile will be behind his face-guard. His bad sense of humour will make you laugh. Optimus manages to get a laugh out of you just because of how bad his attempt was.

— Overall, he’s a sweetheart. Optimus is extremely soft for the most part. You're like an old married couple. Just don’t expect him to be able to make a lot of time for you, he’s a busy bot. Optimus does feel guilty about that in a way, like he's not able to give you the attention you deserve... but you two are in a war so he knows its not practical and he shouldn't be feeling this way.

Hot Shot:

— He has zero dating experience. Hot Shot at first is clueless on what to do but he gets by, somehow. He definitely would confess first to you and try to ask you out.

— Hot Shot is a ball of energy so it's very fun to hang out with him. Unlike with most of the others, you guys can actually go on dates. Hot Shot is willing to gamble if it means you guys can get lovey dovey away from base.

— He’s a talker, he’ll always tell you about his day or how Red Alert is up his aft constantly or how Jetfire gets too cocky. Hot Shot could ramble on for hours but he does listen to what you have to say as well... or he tries to. He doesn’t have the best attention span out there.

— The motor mouth is a sucker for your approval and validation. Hot Shot always waits keenly for your input. Your opinion and how you perceive him matters a lot to him.

— Hot Rod isn’t entirely open to flirting. He does try (even if his flirt skills aren’t the best) but then immediately gets flustered when you reciprocate, which makes you laugh and that makes him even more flustered. Its a self-feeding loop of embarrassment for him.

— In fact, kisses have to be initiated by you. Hot Shot freezes up and tries to play it cool but that stupid smile plastered across his face tells you otherwise. He loves cuddling and soaking up your warmth.

— He’s too coy to initiate any touch for the most part so he doesn’t get touchy.

— He constantly needs your support and reassurance when he’s at his lowest. Especially when Optimus ‘died’.

— Hot Shot gets jealous easily too but he doesn’t really do anything about it. He usually just pouts and mumbles to himself how much better he is... internally. He’s an adorable boyfriend.

— “Matching paint-jobs, please?”

— A lot of this stuff is new for him so bear with him for a while. Hot Shot has always been too focused on other things and he has never really been exposed to romance but he’s glad he gets to experience this for the first time with you.

Jetfire:

— Despite his tough exterior, you’re pretty surprised to find that he has a very soft side to him. He will try to act tough and play it cool even while being with you. Jetfire isn't really sure how he managed to get you to ask him out but he's happy it happened because he was planning on doing it himself but had no idea how to.

— Jetfire is the cocky type. He’s a tease and is very playful sometimes but when the behaviour is reciprocated, he goes full on egotistical. He already has a huge ego and you continue to stroke its flames higher. There are times where when you reciprocate, he gets incredibly flustered if he didn’t see it coming. Jetfire goes speechless in such cases.

— Jetfire drops absolutely horrible pick up lines to you. It makes the others gag. He’s good at many things but flirting isn’t one of them. It's downright cheesy attempts. But it makes you laugh from how bad it is so a win is a win.

— You think he’s a cute but he will vehemently deny the cutie patootie allegations for as long as he functions. He does secretly like it though so do continue.

— He gets a little touchy, he always has to be touching you in some way or another. An arm around your shoulders panels, an arm around your hip struts, servos on your hip struts. But he’s usually only like that in private.

— Jetfire is both a passionate talker and a very avid listener. Conversing with him is fun! But he does get carried away with himself after a successful mission and proceed to ramble about himself.

— Since Jetfire is one of the only Autobots that can fly, he takes you up in the sky sometimes to show you just how beautiful Earth looks from up there. You call him a bird and he gets thrown off by it.

— He’s a BIG show off. Jetfire will do anything do impress you, as long as it doesn't inconvenience Prime but sometimes that doesn’t matter to him either. He tries to maintain his tough exterior with you to show that he is the coolest out of every bot on Cybertron.

— Him? Jealous? Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous! Jetfire knows his worth! (he’s dying on the inside. please let him know how much you love him). Truth is, he can be insecure at times. It’s rather easy to rile him up and get a reaction out of him.

— Jetfire LOVES to make you laugh, he’s always got a joke for you. He hears you laugh and it's like a thousand moons exploded in his head, he really can’t explain it but your laugh just makes him feel something he’s never really felt before. He’s your flying part time stand up comedian boyfriend and Second In Command of the whole Autobot Army.

Red Alert:

— He’s way more charismatic than the others, excluding Prime so it's no surprise you like him. But he does question it slightly considering he’s one of the more no-nonsense types of Autobots. You probably would have to confess first to him.

— Red Alert is usually the silent type but he gets slightly more chatty when you’re around. He doesn’t really initiate conversations most of the time.

— But he shows his love in other ways! Red is more of an action type of person. He’ll give you more physical affection than anything else but only in private. Otherwise its gentle reaffirmations.

— Red is a very good listener. He will remember every single word that leaves your derma. If you do spill drama to him, he will ask for updates about it. He’s more into the deeper types of conversations or world happenings than plain humour but you make him laugh so he loves you.

— He gets concerned very quickly and worries for your safety so he’s made sure to teach you basic first aid just in case. Red Alert will scold you if you get sick or have an injury, even if it's just a scratch.

— He does have a way with words, he’s an excellent writer and will leave behind poems and such for you. He may not be the funniest but his sarcastic comments will get a chuckle out of you.

— Sometimes, you assist him when Red Alert works at the med-bay. You’re sort of like his nurse at this point. He finds it cute how eager you are to help him out, he really admires your passion and how willing you are to learn new things.

— Red Alert never really gets jealous either. He’s a bot that knows his worth. A truly confident mech unlike Jetfire.

— You guys watch the best of entertainment that Earth has to offer together at base when y'all get time. Red likes Brooklyn 99 and most cop related shows. You once compared him to Robocop and he didn’t know what to feel about that.

— Overall, he’s a 10/10 boyfriend. He’s serious most of the time but a little laid back when he has to be.

Scavenger:

— Scavenger is very old. He trained Optimus for Primus' sake! So he’s extremely surprised when you tell him you like him. He doesn’t really have a pleasant face to look at either. He isn't insecure about it or anything, he just knows he's not the best looking. He's not a mech who has time for beauty routines when he was busy being a double-agent. It’s something to keep in mind cause he does tend to get a little old fashioned with romance.

— Also he's very experienced with this stuff, he's had a handful of partners here and there. Its not a lot but considering they're in never ending war and relationships are hard to come by, its pretty experienced by Cybertronian standards.

— He’s a grump with a good sense of humour. Hanging out with him can never really get boring. Scavenger is as sarcastic say they come. You can expect a lot of quips and snark from his side.

— His grumpy-ness crumbles when you’re around. Scavenger usually has a small smile or smirk when you’re around.

— Scavenger is a shameless flirt. He doesn’t back down when it comes to reminding you just how attractive he finds you. He drops pick up lines like bombshells but is actually very smooth with it (unlike others). He’s a very flirty type. But that’s mostly in private. He doesn’t like every bot around knowing what he and his love are up to.

— He’s a very good listener. Scav doesn’t really have a lot to talk about. He’s got some good stories though from all his past adventures but you’ll have to catch him in a really good mood for him to tell you that. And he will not be sharing any of his stories as a Decepticon no matter how much you try to pry it out of his vocalizer because it 'top-secret' apaprently.

— Do not expect him to really tell you how he feels though. It takes time for him to open up, similar to Prime.

— Unintentionally very funny. He says things with a very flat delivery which makes him accidentally the funniest mech amongst them all, not to mention how creative he gets with his insults.

— He’s touchy and touch starved, he loves to hold you and he loves feeling your servos on him. Scav is willing to be like this in public too, as long as you’re fine with it. He’s got no shame for the most part.

— Call him handsome, he likes that. He likes to be praised. Scav doesn’t have as big of an ego as some of his fellow soldiers but he loves it when you fawn all over him. One of the main motivations as to why he’s willing to tell you his old stories is the look of awe in your optics as he explains his fierce battles and his adventures.

— He spoils you filthy every chance he gets and he does so very casually. Scavenger has done a lot of exploring, he’s constantly been on missions going to places far far away so he’ll bring something back for you. He’s also got relatively lot of shanix and a few trinket collections. He'll just drop a shiny gem into your lap and walk away.

— You’re into old mechs and you bagged the grumpiest one.

should i write about these dum-dums some day?

[lsunstreakerl]

rads au– interlude: max (and rico, and daniel, and charles) max POV, 1.9k, mentions of sort of open relationships but not technically cheating.

Max rolls over, patting around for his phone before he squints blearily at the screen. Five in the evening, and the blackout curtains have a small sliver on light shining onto the bed.

He's up earlier than he'd meant to be, but that's fine. He'll drop by the gym and see Rico, and then maybe he can grab a smoothie or something for Daniel— he'd been on call for CT the last two days, and had to go in both nights. Max would bet money that he hasn't taken a lunch either time.

Sassy is curled in the bend of his knees, and he spares a few precious minutes stroking down her back, grinning when she butts her head into his palm.

"Keep the bed warm for me?"

She licks at his finger, and he takes it as an affirmative. He has to dig through Daniel's scrubs to find his own, and he debates back and forth as he stares at the weather app before he pulls on one of Rico's quarter zips, bringing the collar up to his nose and inhaling.

Danny's been fucking Charles on the side like he thinks Max wouldn't notice, but Max and Rico are solid. They'll have to have a conversation about it eventually— the relationship is open, but there's an expectation of communication involved, which Daniel is... not providing.

Max is going to bring him something to eat anyways, because he's a bleeding heart. As long as Charles' scrubs don't start showing up in their wash, he's fine.

He almost gags on his mouthwash, briefly entertaining the thought of how mortifying it would be if he aspirated and had to get brought into his own ER, but thankfully he hacks up a wad of spit into the sink, and his life stops flashing before his eyes.

Donut meows mournfully in the doorway, and Max glares at him.

"You fat fuck, I know Rico fed you this morning."

Meow.

------

The gym Rico works at is lively, and Max can hear the friendly jostling and chirping the moment he walks through the door. His hands are tucked in his pockets, Rico's quarter zip loose around his shoulders, and the teenage boy working behind the counter perks up when he walks in. He smirks, hitting a button as the overhead crackles.

"Rico, I've got the missus at the counter for you."

Max's face flattens into a glare, despite the way the nickname curls affectionately in his chest.

"Quit calling me that, they're going to think he's cheating on his wife with me."

Arvid shrugs, smirking.

"You are the wife. Hot nurse type coming in and dropping off kisses before you leave for work... he's a lucky bastard."

Max's eyes roll to the back of his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm not a nurse, Lindblad. For the millionth time. And stop hitting on me."

Arvid blows him a kiss just as Rico rounds the corner, and Max gets the joy of watching his boyfriend smack the back of his head lightly.

"Thin ice, Lindblad."

"Yessir."

Max lets Rico tug him into the break room, grinning at the feeling of strong hands wrapping around his waist, sliding up under his shirt.

"When do you come off night shift?"

Rico's voice is low near his ear, and Max feels the edge of the counter against his lower back, eyes flicking to the doorway to make sure no one is coming in.

"This is my last week."

Rico hums, lips brushing against his throat as Max tilts his head back, mentally rerouting where he'll be grabbing Daniel's food— it will have to be from his second favorite place, because Max is going to spend an extra ten minutes here, just as soon as he gets Rico into the private bathroom—

------

Max has the quarter zip pulled all the way up, because Rico left a hickey— or two, or three— and he doesn't want any eagle eyed teenagers making fun of him today. He's got Daniel's food in a carry out bag, badging into the employee door. He manages to snag Carlos in the hallway, a stroke of luck.

"Hey, do you know if Dan is in main or down in the ER?"

Carlos twists his lips, squinting as he thinks. Max won't be surprised if he doesn't know— it's been a whole day since huddle, and it's unfair to expect the surgery lead to know where CT is at any given moment, but Carlos has always been an anomaly.

"Main, I believe."

Max pats him on the shoulder, turning to walk away, but Carlos snags his wrist, watching him with his big brown eyes— Max has always been weak to them.

"You are— you know about him and Charles, yes? He has talked to you?"

Max's heart flips at the display of care. He and Carlos don't work together often anymore, but they'd been students together, and it's a loyalty that never goes away.

"Yes I know, no he hasn't talked to me. It's a nonissue Sainz, but thank you."

Carlos makes a face, but he pats Max on the head twice, an endearment Max has never managed to make him shake.

"Give the word, and I will make him stand in on three weeks worth of cystectomys."

Max doesn't doubt it, but he's well aware that Daniel is wasted everywhere but CT, and they've only got so many techs who can render. They're trying to train more, but it's slow going.

"It's fine, Carlos. Really."

Maybe if Max didn't also have Rico he'd be more torn up about it, but as it currently stands he's got three hickeys on his neck and a hot gym boyfriend who likes to fuck him through the floor, so he's not exactly losing out on anything here, besides possibly Daniel's filthy dirty talk.

He makes his way through the hospital, passing by diagnostic before he gets to the inpatient and outpatient CT rooms, beelining for room 3. It's Dan's favorite, for some reason.

Daniel is scanning, and he's got Daniil documenting, and Max hates when the two of them work in one room together because it's impossible to figure out who he's talking to.

Daniel perks up when Max walks in, and Daniil darts out to let the patient know we're about to start injecting that contrast, no, you're not peeing yourself, I know it feels that way—

"Maxy! You're early!"

Max lifts the carry out bag.

"Brought you food. I'm in children's overnight, and Rico's coaching some youth group until nine, so you'll either be on your own or you can go to Charles'."

Daniel cringes, opening his mouth, but Max cuts him off.

"Seriously, I do not care, as long as you're not bringing him back to my place. If I see his scrubs in my laundry I'm booting you to the street."

Daniel shuts his mouth. Max had taken him in as a roommate after he'd had to break a contract with his last hospital— bought out by private equity, a change in leadership, and ethics he didn't agree with had left him floundering with a several thousand dollar sign on bonus he had to pay back.

The fucking had been an accident.

Max doesn't care when Daniel sees people on the side, they're not established, not exclusive— it's a different feeling than Rico. Max thinks if he caught Rico in bed with someone else he'd throw up.

Max's issue is that it's Charles. Perfectionist, by the book, got a 98 on his registry Charles. Charles who nearly beat his academic record. Charles who Max has known since they were twelve, who has somehow managed to follow him everywhere, who everybody loves.

Ugh, just thinking about him makes Max's eye twitch. He drops the food onto the counter in the back of the control room, flicking the back of Daniel's head as he walks out.

"Bye Max!"

------

Max checks in with Mark, lets him know he's here for his shift, and starts his long walk to the children's hospital. He's got a post-workout selfie from Rico he's saving for when he needs a mid-shift pick up, and there's a few new books in his bag he's been meaning to read.

He'd never say it out loud, but he hopes it's a quiet night tonight. The night shift isn't his favorite— he hates sleeping alone, and it throws off his circadian rhythm— but it's a nice bit of extra cash. The differential makes it worth it, and he figures maybe he and Rico can do something nice whenever he's finally off nights.

Well, Max's first order of business is going to be taking a day off, and making Rico take a day off, and then he's going to be explicitly clear on how much he appreciates the new calisthenics routine Rico's been on.

------

Max changes into scrubs from the vending machine four hours into his shift after a colicky newborn throws up all over him, and then has to change again when a drunk teenager also gets sick all over his pants and shoes. He boots up the mini C-arm for a reduction on an eight year old from the trampoline park, and then does an ankle and a foot on the eight year old's friend, also from the trampoline park.

Max does not trust trampoline parks.

He gets thirty minutes to eat his dinner and watch part of a football match, sends Rico an update of his mid-shift fashion show, and sends Daniel a middle finger in response to the selfie he receives of Daniel in bed with a very tanned, very smug Charles.

He sends Charles a middle finger out of the blue as well, just to get his message across.

------

Report goes easy— Max is what the others affectionally call neurotic when it comes to keeping his order board clear, so he's only got two NICU babies and an abdomen routine in the PICU still on the board by the time he gives report to Valtteri, exhaustion dragging at his bones. It's seven in the morning, and he just wants to go to bed.

He pulls up one of Daniel's peppy playlists to listen to on the way home, just trying to stay awake long enough to get from the door to the bed. His eyelids are drooping by the time he's fitting the key into the front door, sun peeking over the horizon.

There's a large lump in bed, and Max feels a physical pain at the knowledge that he needs to shower and change before he can crawl under the covers. If he's lucky, Rico will pretend to sleep in, and Max can get a few hours tucked against his chest— real sleep.

He's got another day off, and then he's covering six hours for Checo in the ER again, hopefully without a student. It's nothing against Ollie, beyond a general Charles shaped animosity, but he doesn't get training pay to coach a kid through the reality of death and emergencies.

If Charles wants a padawan, Charles can play therapist.

Max runs through the shortest shower in the history of man, roughly scrubbing his hair dry before pulling on a pair of shorts he's pretty sure belong to Daniel, and he wastes no time getting into bed with Rico, like a heat seeking missile with a singular goal— sleep.

Rico makes a sleepy noise, and Max presses along the warm line of his body, hooking their ankles together and worming his cold fingers into the warmth of Rico's side. It earns him an annoyed grumble as Rico tugs him closer and wraps the duvet tighter, one arm wrapping across him to settle a broad palm on his back, tucking his nose into Max's hair.

"Cold."

Max hides his face expertly in the space between Rico's shoulder and neck, finally feeling the adrenaline starting to seep out of him.

"That's what you're here for."

[michanvalentine]

I’ve talked about my favorite Astarion lines—the saddest ones, the funniest ones. I’ve talked about the ones that make my heart race, and one day I’ll definitely get to the ones that really piss me off. But there are some lines that don’t quite fit into any of those categories… or maybe they touch all of them, just a little. And yet, they’re among the most beautiful and interesting to me.

In this case, I’m referring to the lines that describe not just Astarion’s relationship with Scratch, but more broadly, the way he relates to others in general. We all know that among the camp mascots—Scratch and the owlbear cub—Astarion seems to have a clear preference for the latter… or so it appears.

When Tav/Durge pets the dog for the first time, many of the camp members react positively—Shadowheart, Karlach, Wyll, etc. But not Astarion. And yet, when the owlbear cub has a nightmare and Tav/Durge steps in to comfort it with a gentle touch, that’s when Astarion speaks up with approval.

Of course. It’s easy to pet a joyful, loyal, well-liked dog. It’s much harder to comfort a creature many see as a dangerous monster. Astarion sides with the monsters—or those seen as such—and looks down on everyone else with a hint of contempt. He sees himself as a monster, doesn’t he? And so, for him, Tav/Durge stroking the owlbear cub is further proof that they’re the special one—the one who isn’t afraid, the one who knows how to look beyond... and maybe even see him. For what he is. Or despite what he is. But that’s the thing—Astarion has drawn this line between himself and everyone else (or rather, the world drew it, and he adapted). The monster, and the normal people—the ones who coo over the pretty, tail-wagging dog.

But is that really true?

One of the things I love most about Astarion’s journey is seeing how, in truth, he’s not so different from the others. In fact, if anything, his emotions might be even more boundless. Deeper. Which makes him more vulnerable—more in need of a shell. Or in his case, a façade, to protect himself. To feel safe.

And that’s where his relationship with Scratch becomes so meaningful. Screw the dog—the owlbear cub is his kind. He’ll play fetch with the dog, fine, if he has to… But only because the dog won’t stop bothering him. He just wants it to shut up, and for the record, he is not enjoying himself—make sure that’s on file!

And so begins the whole, hilarious, string of Astarion’s lines while playing with Scratch:

"Dog! Dooooog! Fetch the ball! Fetch the… ah… never mind, I’ll get it."

"The dog's tired after one little game of fetch? Pfui! WEAK! PATHETIC! Barely a good boy at all!"

"First he want to fetch, now he doesn't want to fetch. Tz! Make up your mind dog!"

"Oh, the dog's had enough fun? LAZY MUTT!"

Everything about Astarion suggests just how deeply annoyed he is during the activity with Scratch. Notably, he doesn’t even call him by name—he refers to him as “dog.” Generic. Detached. And not only that, but his tone is often biting and sarcastic. And when Scratch doesn’t meet expectations, he’s quick to insult him—calling him pathetic and lazy. Classic Cazador style, I might add. But oh well.

Despite the subtext, I still find the scene hilarious, because an annoyed Astarion is always entertaining—especially for the things he says. Lol. Credit where it’s due: a big round of applause for Neil, who manages to make even these small and “hidden” interactions stand out, painting the character with striking nuance and complexity.

In fact, if you analyze Astarion’s lines when playing fetch after Scratch dies (yes, he can die—which I absolutely did not know), it becomes very clear that what Astarion says or implies can’t and shouldn’t be taken at face value.

He’s got a reputation to uphold, after all. He can’t go around cuddling a dog like some common, pathetic mortal, right? Like a Wyll or a Gale, for gods’ sake! He’s a monster, he’s the bad one, the strong one, superior to the rest! He has no weaknesses, and that dog is objectively insufferable, right?

And yet… when faced with the loss, the mask cracks. And what Astarion says is heartbreaking—especially because of how Neil captures all of the character’s emotion in his voice.

"Does it have a sad squeak now? Is that even possibile?!"

"I suppose I'll just... pick it up myself?"

"Can't believe the stupid dog isn't here to get the... stupid ball!"

"Good riddance to the dog. Who'd miss that... waggy little tail..."

There’s anger in his voice. There’s pain. There’s his desperate attempt to hold the broken mask together. It almost feels like he can’t even admit it to himself—how strong and real his bond with Scratch actually was. It’s worth noting that even now, he still can’t bring himself to say the dog’s name. But the grief is real. And maybe saying it aloud would be too much—too unbearable.

Which is what makes all these interactions both funny and heartbreaking at once. And at the same time, they make my heart ache—in a good way—because they make it so clear how sensitive, even tender, and deeply human Astarion truly is in his relationships, whether he realizes it or not.

And I think that sums up perfectly how this small, brave, sharp-tongued vampire spawn interacts with the world and those in it—Tav/Durge and the rest of the camp included.

In that sense, he reminds me a little of the stereotypical tsundere in Japanese media—though Astarion is far too layered and complex to fit neatly into any single category. And that’s it—I just wanted to share with you another one of the scenes, interactions, or dialogues (?), that I truly adore from Astarion in the game.

HERE’s the YouTube video with the infamous lines, in case you haven’t seen it yet. Lol.

[mattslilies]

At Home Fix - M.S.

"can you just tell me why?" or... the one where you bring matt home to help him, and to see if he'll talk to you more. warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, physical violence. kissing this time! little bit of sad backstory. word count: 1.04k a/n: okayyy we're getting somewhere with the slow burn! dividers by @bernardsbendystraws! this is a nurse!reader x street fighter!matt fic. this fic may have some inaccuracies, i am not a healthcare worker!!

the pull between you and matt was only growing stronger, although you were making no effort to fight against it. every night you weren't at the hospital, you found yourself hidden in the same corner of a dark alleyway, blending into your surroundings as much as possible as you watched the action.

you hadn't told anyone how much time you'd been spending around him, but you had refused to be the one to take care of his injuries when he went into the hospital anymore. you were putting a subtle amount of professional distance between the two of you, giving the room for something, anything, more. everyone at work had noticed, but were too polite to say anything.

matt's injuries tonight weren't as bad, just a few cuts and scrapes, some spots that would need ice packs and turn into bruises a few days later. you intercepted him after the fight, walking down the path that you two seemed to go down every night now.

you'd get to a place that was more well-lit, you'd look over his injuries, touch them up as best as you could, and then he'd leave. it was routine. both of you acted like it meant nothing more than just someone checking up on him to make sure he didn't get sepsis, but you both went home each night thinking of the feeling of each other's skin.

tonight was different. tonight you had encouraged matt to come back to your place, let you take a closer look with good lights, clean water that didn't come from a bottle, and fresh bandages. he'd agreed, begrudgingly, though you knew he secretly appreciated the invitation.

he had nervously taken a seat on the couch, as though expecting you to tell him to immediately get off of it. comfortable silence had taken over your living room as you gathered the supplies you needed.

you often swiped an extra first aid kit or two from the hospital. you were a clumsy person.

you held his hands in yours, looking over his injuries, and beginning to clean them out.

"can you just tell me why?"

matt looked at you, stunned surprise on his face. you didn't notice, because you were still wrapping up his hands. you never asked him anything personal. you'd taken the hint a long time ago to not push him for any information that he didn't want to share, but you couldn't help it this time.

"what?"

you looked up.

"why do you do it?"

"the fights?"

you nodded.

"yeah. i don't get it. you seem to get yourself hurt for fun. it doesn't make sense to me."

he leaned back a bit, his body slightly more tense than it had been earlier. you weren't stupid enough to assume it was from the pain. it was from the pressure, and not the physical kind.

"it's not for fun."

you cleaned off one of the scrapes on his leg from a particularly bad fall.

"no? then what's it for?"

he shook his head.

"you see how much money they give me."

"i do."

he hummed.

"so you get it."

you shook your head.

"no."

he looked down as you worked, a silence falling over the two of you as he ran over his words in his mind before speaking again.

"it's a stress relief, but it also pays well. it gets me out of my head. it's routine."

you moved on to treat one of the injuries on his leg.

"how long have you been fighting?"

he paused before replying, unsure of how much information he wanted to give you.

"six years."

you paused, doing the math in your head. you looked up from your work, staring at his face. he met your eyes, his head dipping in a subtle nod. a yes to your unspoken question.

"sixteen."

he nodded again.

"what prompts a sixteen year old to go out and start throwing illegal punches for money?"

he shook his head, and you knew that was as far as you were going to get with him.

"that's another story for another night."

you smiled, attempting to diffuse the tension in the air by cracking a joke.

"aw, you're going to come back again? am i that tempting?"

he cracked a smile, but the words that left his lips weren't a joke.

"you are."

you blushed, looking down as you finished, wiping away the dried blood from his skin, before standing up and disposing of all of the dirtied bandages and other miscellaneous items.

this part was familiar. practiced, even.

every time you had helped matt after a fight, he'd given you a quiet but genuine "thank you", and sometimes a "goodnight", and then he would turn on his heel and disappear. it didn't bother you, because you knew you would see him again sooner or later, but this time, tonight, was different.

he looked at you. really looked at you, like he was trying to memorize your soul. you found yourself looking back, the moment broken by him speaking his usual words.

"thank you."

you spoke back your own.

"you're welcome."

you expected him to turn away, to reach for the door, and he did. but then he paused, turning back to look at you again, and before you could react, his hands were on either side of your face, his lips firmly pressed against yours.

stunned, you didn't react instantly. he took this as a rejection, but right as he started to pull away, your arms locked around the back of his neck, kissing him back.

he kissed you like he was starved, his hands caressing your face with a gentleness that contrasted the force of which you were kissing him. he broke it only to take in a deep breath, push a piece of your hair back behind your ear from where he'd rustled it, and speak again.

"goodnight."

you stood there, stunned, but managed to force out a reply.

"goodnight, matt."

as the door closed behind him, the automatic lock firmly clicking into place, you wiped your lips with the back of your hand, staring into space.

you didn't know what had changed, or what this meant for the two of you, but you knew you couldn't wait long to see him again.

[dutchiepoo2]

RDR2 Men & Physical Intimacy Issues

completely unprompted: sexual dysfunction

also completely unprompted, what if it became a series??? this was way more fun than I was expecting... -Jelly

cw: discusses sex stuff. intimacy issues & sexual dysfunction. mostly gender neutral unless specified otherwise.

mentions: alcohol & sex, self-image, unhealthy attitudes surrounding sex.

Characters: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Charles Smith, Dutch Van Der Linde, Javier Escuella

Can't get it up:

Arthur sometimes struggles to get hard, and can get very insecure about it.

For him, it's more a mental block than a physical one. He has a lot of deep-seated insecurities about his appearance and his character, and it sometimes pops up during sex.

He tends to be more of a giver in general, but if he knows he's struggling to get it up that day, he'll try to hide it by hyper-focusing on his partner's pleasure.

It's really not that Arthur doesn't want his partner. He really, really does. His body just doesn't cooperate sometimes. He's a bit older now, too, which doesn't help at all.

Occasionally with AFAB partners, he'll worry about pregnancy. He knows it's always a risk, of course, but some days the worry just sticks and makes getting hard impossible.

John gets crazy whiskey dick. Yes, it's a pretty typical reaction to alcohol, but he gets it bad. Like as soon as he's more than just a tiny bit buzzed, he's struggling.

He thinks it sucks, because who doesn't want a tipsy roll in the hay every once in a while?

If he's only had a couple, he can make it work with a lot of effort. He'll probably need his partner to suck him off first. He definitely doesn't mind that part, but if he's still half soft after all that extra effort, he'll get frustrated and just want to go to sleep.

If John is really drunk, he thinks it's funny. Laughs so much that sex isn't really an option anymore.

Otherwise, when he's sober, John has no trouble at all. If anything, he has the opposite problem...

Finishes prematurely:

Listen. John gets really excited sometimes.

If he's been thinking about it all day, if it's been a while since he's had any, he can get pretty worked up.

John's mind conjures up grand plans for when he finally has the chance with his partner, so much so that he's hot and ready before he even lays hands on them.

John's saving grace is that he's ready for a round two in no time!!!

Javier does nothing half-assed.

Unfortunately, that means he's not willing to pace himself if his partner is having a good time.

It's a double-edged sword. Javier reallllly gets off on when his partner is visibly enjoying themselves, but how are they going to enjoy themselves if he has to take a break? And then he cums and it all has to end??? Not fair.

Fortunately, he is more than ready and willing to switch to using his mouth and hands.

Can't finish:

Charles is incredibly disciplined. I believe that he is so good at compartmentalizing that he separates himself from the current moment sometimes, leading to a mind-body disconnect.

Sometimes, no matter how hard he tries to be in the moment, he just can't. There's always something else looming in his mind, fighting for his attention.

That doesn't mean he doesn't like sex! Charles loves sex, but only when he can commit to and really want it.

Sometimes, he engages in sex purely out of routine or service to his partner. He doesn't think of sex as physical, but wants his partner to have physical pleasure. So, even when he's not mentally or emotionally into it, he's happy to lend a hand. Or dick... Just know he probably won't get off.

I think Charles would be uncomfortable with the idea that he has to orgasm every time he has sex. If he can have fun without the physical release, he's satisfied.

Charles almost never masturbates, because he can't orgasm without having something physical (his partner) to focus on.

Dutch is unwell! We, of course, know this. He tends to think of sex as a power play. Personally, I can't imagine him as anything aside from very dominant.

Sex, to Dutch, is more about what a person can do for him. What he tends to do is draw out his sexual experiences, slowly breaking down his partner to pieces.

However, when he draws it out, he loses physical sensitivity and ends up needing wayyyy more stimulation than expected to orgasm.

Dutch can make his partner work for it more, but at a certain point, he's prone to getting frustrated and giving up.

Arthur, for the same reasons he sometimes struggles to get hard, also struggles to finish. This is less of a prevalent issue, because if he's especially insecure one day, he's significantly less likely to engage in sex with his partner.

If Arthur pushes through the initial hurdles outlined above, they'll pop up again as him being unable to finish.

Other reasons may include: he notices something he's insecure about mid-fuck, he thinks he's going to get caught by others, or he thinks he's hurting his partner.

Otherwise, for purely physical reasons, if Arthur hasn't had restful sleep in a while, he can't reach orgasm.

[dellerose]

so like that tweet like "why was spamtenna written like under the hays code" got me thinking

thinking about the fact that TV shows as a format are inherently both very SFW and repressed and also heteronormative. I don't know if heteronormativity even exists in the deltarune universe but there's certainly at least a meta implication meant to invoke it from a viewer perspective surrounding tenna and we DO know sexual puritanism is a thing in the DR world and that toriel is especially a hardass about it, so tenna by his literal nature in the household he is and by his format is basically forced to repress his sense of love, sexuality and ability to say outrageous things (especially because of the parental locks). we see this change when he's immediately freed from this using swears and showing the music channel in chapter 4.

game shows are ESPECIALLY heteronormative, often with jokes about nagging wives and usually the only leniency of sex mentions is often at the detriment of women, which makes tenna's lack of mention for any of these aspects particularly standout, like a negative space of something where you'd expect to be there but there isn't. instead you get fun flourishes and flamboyant movements and a desperate desire to keep being watched.

I'm saying basically that TV is gay as hell and represses the fuck out of it, and you include the knowledge that being gay was a HUGE career ending accusation that was taken as seriously as death threats throughout the entire 20th century up until the 90s (and extending a bit into the 2000s) and it very much gives the vibe that tenna is supposed to invoke an older gay man coming into the new millennium unaware of how much the world is changing, allowing him to express himself and be himself, instead shoving it down in fear that he will no longer be relevant or watched or loved for it. you throw in that "4am shock therapy" joke and it's BLATANTLY clear yeah, this is an older repressed gay man who lived in a sexually puritan household who is afraid to fully express himself due to abandonment issues. ouch!

and then we got spamton.

despite all of the jokes about haha internalized homophobia spamton, actually, spamton has no shame about his sexuality. he still can't fully express it for a couple reasons, the first being in a game that's mostly SFW and it just wouldn't be relevant, with the bulk of what we got coming from the spamton sweepstakes (business loving businessman) but also, because now in his current form, he's a spam email. an inherently heteronormative format as well.

spam emails are literally a format that falsely feigns attraction and the allure of women for the sake of scamming people, often out of desperation. it's a veneer, an obfuscation of true intent for the sake of getting money. it's especially interesting cause again spamton doesn't hide what he is—into men—and he clearly DOESN'T WANT to be a spam email. it's literally him losing the ability to speak truly as himself and having to supplant it with raunchy and deceptive ads to convey what he wants. which you could argue mirrors societal pressures where even if you're honest with yourself about being queer, you still need to play by society's rules and use the words of greater heteronormative society to get what you want. it's like it's literally injecting itself in his brain despite that not being who he is. and we are supposed to get the sense that spamton is the way he is—rendered unable to speak normally like he wants to—from whatever eldritch force contacted him on the phone. throw this in with him being the key to the weird route with the thornring and it's literally like he's been forced into heteronormativity as an eldritch force (which, again, doesn't seem to exist in the deltarune universe!) and then we as a player in the weird route are literally forcing kris (nonbinary) and noelle (likely a lesbian) into heteronormative roles that make them miserable and destructive to try to defy the very cloth of the reality of deltarune and break the game down to its barest bones.

and then we gotta remember spamton wasn't always like that. if he can be upfront while still speaking in spam injected format, he was probably more upfront and blatant about it back during the big shot era. by his very nature, he could be! he's part of the internet, a new modern age where people can freely communicate without worrying about the censors killing them. he's also an advertisement, which famously even on television could get away with overtly sexual ads that normal programming couldn't, and then you start to realize the deeper implications of spamton offering to bring tenna into the new modern era and teach him the ropes.

it ain't just about technology. spamton literally represented on a metanarrative level, to tenna, someone able to be freely himself in his orientation and who literally haunted the halls of TV world with how he asserted himself. it's something unthinkable to tenna and yet technically allowed since ads can get away with that, right? and then you got spamton offering to teach him technology and how that represents freeing tenna from obsolescence and when you connect the two it's literally like spamton brought out a side of tenna that he deeply repressed and felt shameful about and could bring him up to speed that in the new era he doesn't have to hide it. and when he lost spamton he lost that assurance that he could exist in the modern era. he lost the ability to fully be himself. it's not until the fun gang free him from the dreemurr home that he can start to feel that again. it's literally the embodiment of outrageous, open advertising meeting the repression of cable television. spamton literally loved tenna so much he was going to let him be open and free, on a metatextual level, before being robbed of that ability by the very same eldritch forces that robbed his speech and forced him to speak in the words of others with desires he doesn't want.

yeah he totally fucked that TV

toby fox is a master of subtext cause what the fuck. normally with most writers I'd think this is unintentional and just a convenient coincidence but that's never the case with toby!!! he always loves adding 15 billion layers of subtext!!! what the fuck man. just rip out my heart and stomp on it

[goorgeousz]

hi my pretty baby🤍how's life going?

i had a little idea this morning and thought i'd share it with you, it has some sugar daddy!Hotch , i don't really know if you like writing about that so i apologize if this is awkward.🥲🙏🏻

well, maybe hotch has a really young girlfriend who attends to the university, and one day an unsub attacks in that same university and hotch starts shouting orders more angry, more frustrated than in any other case, although it is not really an established relationship due to the large age difference, that is why it has that sugar daddy - sugar baby dynamic, maybe morgan, emily, or even jj are like, "hotch, you need to calm down" and he's so lost in his anger that he's like, "you really aren't understanding the gravity of this situation" and well, the team really doesn't understand why they feel so bad if they have dealt with worse things, but it's because really beyond the reader, my boy jack and hotch nobody knows about the relationship.

and he's so stressed and so frustrated because they don't really know who the person in danger is and hotch gets to a point where he wonders if she could be his girl.

and you know something like he didn't realize how much he cared and loved her until he felt like he might lose that with her, i love that twist like he just freaks out at the idea of not have her beyond what being her sugar daddy involves, in the end she's okay and the team sees this exchange of hugs and intense kisses, i love intense kisses with hotch lmao they feel really powerful🫠🥹 and she's also so relieved to see him that she sticks to him like gum, and there he is with a beautiful young girl under his arm while he shouts orders here and there😭😭 he makes sure to rub her arm to keep her grounded (once he's sure she's not hurt beyond emotional harm) and you know he kisses her head from time to time to let her know that he is still with her 😭😭♥️♥️

i don't know, right now i'm twenty-three years old and i'll ask Santa for a hotch, i swear.😂🥲

i'm going to say one thing i hate putting my beautiful man in a stressful situation like this but I'm also excited about the part where he just prostrates himself before the girl he loves even if she had to be almost attacked by a madman to do so.😶‍🌫️

anyway like i said, if this makes you uncomfortable, please, please ignore it,it was very specific,i apologize, also hope it makes sense🥲i love what you do here,it's an amazing place to be.✨🫶🏻

i send you all my love and a very tight hug 🫂💌

ps. english is not actually my first language, so i apologize if this is difficult to understand.

hello beautiful!!!! i’m so busy but finally feeling like I’m getting my life back on track 🥹 how about you??

oh i absolutely ate this request up!!! sugar daddy hotch???? reader in danger???? hotch panicking to protect his love????? relief kiss????? oh count me the fuck in.

asking santa for a hotch is so real😭 sometimes i get myself getting depressed bc he’s not real and i will never be with him…. so i write/read fanfiction! lol

it made perfect sense, i was so excited it ended up being longer than i expected (as it always get. so maybe i shouldn’t expect writing shorter fics anymore lmao) but i’m a sucker for backstory! hope you’re okay with that😭

sorry if it was a little more violent than you wanted it to be, i tried to ease it up a bit and focus more on his feelings but oh well you’ll see!!

thank you thank you thank you and thank you 1000x times for your kind words! people like you make this so much easier and fun!!!! and also, thank you for the amazing request!!!!! your brain 😘🤌🏽 chefs kiss

english is also not my first language, so i hope i didn’t make any big mistakes lmao is hard to write technicalities in another language!

sending tons of love and kisses and hugs and a very clingy and protective hotch just for you💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

you can find your request here!

about time | aaron hotchner

[gh0stwitdamost]

RANDOM slashfic HEADCANNON?

More silly AF slashfic content. This is more of a situation headcannon

The slashers are having a diss war with each other and you; taking rounds each time someone quits or cant think of anything else to say.

Their reactions:

Ghost is like hell yeah just wait little devil~ he's going to set your ass on fire. You had this a long time coming. Also he's ready to lay down some inappropriate roasts (of course they are sexual).

Jay is excited to play games, is super excited that you are suggesting first, and is very confused/intrigued by a game that involves insulting each other. It's not mean, right? You reassure it's not. You make a mental note not to make any "your mom" jokes.

Leather is honestly exhausted, but he agrees. He can take a joke, so he will join. He also is eager to go against Mike or Ghost. He is confident actually, thinks he has some good ones to share.

Mike says no at first, but once you explain (and beg a little) he accepts the challenge. Despite your protests that it's not a contest he is already determined to win. "You can't just flat out insult anyone either, it has to have a punch line. It's just joking". You remind him. He grunts "I know what a joke is."

It starts out with Ghost vs MC

He has been waiting to roast your ass and you have been waiting to give him a taste of his own medicine as well but in a fun way that's not malicious. It starts off pretty good, some laughs out of both of you and the others while you tease each other. He takes it up a notch and starts to lay some serious disses. You of course aren't that fazed. It's Ghost of course and you know that at the end of this game it's just all in good fun so you start laying down some of your own but he can't take what he dishes out. Threatens to stab you but kills the mood instead; gets disqualified.

It's you vs Jay next. Surprisingly enough his roasts are pretty good. He starts off very silly and teasing but suddenly switches up on you. You are a bit blind sided by this because you didn't expect him to have some pretty good ones. There's a lot of laughs between everyone, especially you two and it ends when you can't stop giggling and you count yourself out. Jay is happy being the winner and of course apologizes immediately and lets you know he was just playing. You have to reassure him yes you know its all just jokes and no you are not mad at him.

Next its Jay vs Leather.

Leather holds his own pretty well, comes out with some pretty clever jokes that aren't too serious. Jay and him are having a lot of fun and both are laughing at each other. Ghost about dies when Jay dishes out a really funny comeback to Leather's diss. Leather eventually loses, same way you did; wheezing and unable to think of another one. Jay is the winner again! Leather laughs shakes his hand and tells him it was a good game while composing himself again.

Now its just Mike and Jay. Oh boy.

You were worried that Mike would get angry, but he is not. In fact, he remains expressionless and unbothered. He just lets Jay just roast him, diss after diss, after diss. You all 3 (you, leather and ghost) are giggling, except you can't help but feel like Mike's being quiet for a reason. He is still unfazed and not speaking. Can he not think of a joke? You wonder if maybe you should just tell Jay to stop when it finally happens. He holds the hairbrush you all were using as a pretend mic to his lips. Jay teases him with a diss that ends on a question and mike just replies

"Your mom"

Jay's eyes grow wide. He doesn't reply. He has an unreadable expression and you and the others feel so tense. Jay just starts walking off and mumbles something like "fine. you win"

You chew out Mike for taking it too far, Ghost tries not to laugh but is unsuccessful because it was pretty damn funny. Leather just sighs, helps you check on Jay. He is stress baking in the kitchen, and " No. Mike can't have any 😡"

Eventually Mike finds Jay by himself to talk later that evening.

Mike: I'm sorry.....

Jay: 🤨 🫢 ☺️ well.....okay...

Mike: Sorry you're a big baby 😏😎

Jay: 👁️👄👁️ 🤬👹

There's crashing and banging coming from the kitchen. You are startled awake from falling asleep on the couch watching a scary movie with Ghost. He turns his head, and Leather comes out from taking a shower in the bathroom also turning his head in the direction of the noise. You all walk in on Mike and Jay. They both have a hold of each other (with their fists still raised) and both are completely covered in flour, broken eggs, sugar, spices; everything in the pantry is everywhere! On them, the surfaces, the walls, even the window above the sink. You are fuming, Ghost starts laughing again. Leather stifles his laugh with a cough because he sees you upset, and offers to help get things cleaned up.

MC/you: NO! You just got out of the shower! AND STOP LAUGHING GHOST.

Ghost quiets down surprised a little bit. Oh wow, you are heated this time.

You turn to Mike and Jay.

MC/ you: YOU BOTH MADE THIS MESS, YOU ARE CLEANING IT UP. RIGHT NOW!!!

You pause only to sniff the air temporarily

MC/ you: And what is burning??!!!

Jay has a horrified expression at your observation. He turns to the oven, black smoke is trailing out of the door.

Jay: NOOOOO! IT'S RUINED! 😭

You watch them both clean up the kitchen while it also airs out, just to make sure they behave. Mike is embarrassed and annoyed you are making him clean. Jay is now even more salty at Mike (the only time he doesn't burn things is when baking, so he's honestly more sore about that now).

[r0-boat]

heh…. *smirks* fem reader slapping the kings + minhyeok’s (if u can) asses and flees the scene…. Better yet if she slaps AND pinches their ass

Oh God.... Reader would be so screwed. Either way your pussy getting blasted. But yeah let's see the reactions!!

Fem! Reader clapping them demon cheeks (and Minhyeok)

Cw: Crack, This isn't serious I'm sorry, I tried I really did.

Satan

There you were obediently walking behind Satan. Your eyes drift downward. You can still somehow see his ass through his otherwise baggy pants. Your fingers flex as you remember the number of times Satan kicked, slapped, or punched his subordinates in the ass. You can still feel the sting on your own bottom the first time he had sex with you when you came to hell. Your breath shakes your palms become sweaty Your body moving before you can even hope to comprehend the consequences.

*SMACK*

"auuh~"

Your eyes shot wide open as you heard a noise coming from the demon of wrath's mouth. A noise you've never expected. High-pitched and squeaky.

Your very soul felt weight of 100 cinder blocks When Satan slowly turned around. Instead of screaming cussing you out or smacking me back He just smiled. A wide manic grin as he cracked his knuckles. "If ya wanted to fuck sooo bad~ You could have just asked." In an uncharacteristic sing song tone.

Mammon

there are plenty of times where you stared at the backside of this big ass mountain of a man. He always gropes your ass so Maybe it's time for a little payback. You're winded up your hand and swang.

Your hand stung. His cheeks weren't soft and inviting like they looked; they were firm and hard like rock.

Mammon will just smack it back. It starts becoming a weird tradition for you guys to smack each other's ass every time you see each other.

Leviathan

Do it and you will die...

But if you don't do it and you do it to other people you will also die...

SMH you can never win.

Also, Leviathan is a coward and won't smack your ass even once, not even during sex. Perhaps you need to earn it by really pushing his buttons and being a brat.

Beelzebub

Perhaps it was more fun and playful when you smacked his ass. He let out a goofy laugh before wrapping his arms around you and taking you someplace else. Beelzebub loves it when you're playful. You should definitely do it more often. He hates when you're not as touchy with him as he is with you.

Where he took you? A private place So he can fuck you silly.

Lucifer

A smack permeates the room everyone is silent staring wide eye at the crime that just take it place before their eyes.

You just smacked their King Lucifer the embodiments of pride in the ass. They fear of what their king might do to you yet they applaud you for your braveness. Marbas is already planning your obituary, a certain dragon has never been so jealous.

Lucifer just turns around the look on his face doesn't seem any different He walks toward you calmly and respectfully until he grabs you by the collar yanking you close to whisper.

"my office 9 pm You know what to wear."

Belphegor

You slap his ass and he falls forward smacking face first into the floor. Don't worry he's fine He's just sleeping.

Asmodeus

Rest in semen my friend...

Minhyeok

The first time you did it Minhyeok yelps in surprise hopping forward hands covering his ass. He gives you the most offended look but he's ever given you when he looks back at you as you make your escape.

He chews you out later the next time you do it.

You do it so much now, he expects it. Well, he's cooking lunch. You snicker as you creep forward. You wind up your hand, but instead of a smack, Minhyeok's hand intercepts and grabs your arm, inches before your hand could smack his ass.

With your arm in his grip, his other arm picks up a roll of tape off the counter. An evil smile you've never seen before appears on his face.

Here you are in your tape prison on the couch as he hand-feeds you.

You've never fucked with him again.

[8ft]

(he's going for speed)

this was supposed to be a short post about a cg i liked, and instead it ended up being about a few routes that i've neglected to think about until today. these weren't copypasted from discord, so they should at least be a bit more coherent!

this is also going to be shorter than the compiled furyposts, since i wrote this over the span of a night instead of a span of 2 months.

anyways, fun under the cut!

-----🫀-----

going the distance is already... not the most common of endings. i don't think i've heard it talked about a ton, either, which i can't blame anyone for. compared to weathered book, it doesn't have a ton of super overt Character Moments.

there's a good reasoning behind it, though: going the distance is, essentially, adversary!fury's version of quantum beak.

in weathered book and the rewound endings (which does not have a name in the achievs?), you spend the chapter watching her break herself down until she has to confront the fact that everything she's done to get Herself back has been hollow. you present no challenge to her in these routes.

quantum beak and going the distance, though, push back against her... and, by pushing back against her, give her a chance to reaffirm her identity. one last good fight or one last show of power.

this, though, is why they don't feel as character-rich as their alternatives. they are, but without all of that time for introspection, her chapter 2 selves and their desires remain at the forefront. that is what's put on display here. she is still there, she is still her, she's just unable to see it through the pain.

since quantum beak is really tower!fury coming back into herself, she retains tower's superiority complex... and the underlying insecurities it came with. something as pathetic as you being capable of taking her down to your level already had her deeply shaken. trapping you in a state where she can control you in perpetuity isn't just a Simple And Effective Punishment for your defiance, it's making sure that you can't do that again to what little of her still remains.

there's something else shown to us at the very end of the tower, though: how she reacts under pressure. she's impulsive. despite her attitude, she barely takes any time to think before swatting you away like a fly. it's an easy and effective out, but that doesn't change how disgusted with herself she is afterwards. in a way, quantum beak is an extension of this. you break out of Time Prison, she explodes you into a cloud of atoms. you come back. she does the exact same thing. exploding you deals with the immediate problem, but does nothing to ensure that the walls she put up will hold in the future.

and, as expected, she's too shortsighted to think of that.

with this in mind, it makes a lot of sense that going the distance is the only version of adversary!fury that allows you to actually fight her. as much as she wants to take her pain out on you, she still harbors adversary's need for a challenge and her belief that the two of you are meant for each other.

you can see what happens next as just the normal unwinding sequence with a new coat of paint: a chapter ripping you apart to find where the Self lays. i'd like to propose, though, that it's also a continuation of the fight you two left off when she put you out of your misery last chapter-- it's just a battle of wills this time. she can peel you apart with a subtle gesture, but you can keep pushing forward despite what she's taken. even with the power she's been given, you remain her perfect rival. you are the only one who could have done this for her.

which brings me to the thing that this post was supposed to be about: this cg from quantum beak! it's a bit easy to miss. it's from an autoplay sequence, so the panels can't be manually progressed, and it doesn't even show up in the gallery after you get it. it's just kind of here and then gone.

which is a shame! i'm fond of it, but it doesn't give you a huge amount of time to really digest it. which... makes sense, given that everything here is kind of happening within a split second. this is what screenshots and being insane on the internet are for.

there is a lot happening in just this little face journey, being her live reaction as she rips us apart and all. any version of the fury is going to be kind of absolute ass at telling her Needs apart from her Wants, and she spends the entirety of going the distance being given exactly what she asked for: one good fight. it's more of the body horror equivalent of an anime beam clash, but it counts.

there's a bit of a problem, though. the body is finite. as hard as she tries to find that spark she's looking for inside of you, there's only so much of You to be taken. she's finally running out. she still hasn't found it. if you're still empty deep down despite all that willpower, what does that say about her?

i just think it's all expressed so beautifully here. the zoom on her face. the way her brows start to knit together. the tight, forced smile. that slow realization that, even though you gave her that fight, the spark is still gone. "in the end, you're... nothing. just like what's left of me."

(and then you slay her and she finally feels something and princess_satisfy = +1 so it's all good)

that's a lot of words to say that i think she's cute when she fakesmiles! thank you for reading ^_^

[inamagicalhallucination]

atsushi has a complicated relationship with his hair

maybe thats too dramatic

on the best days he doesn't have any opinion of it, on the worst days he hates it

theres a few reasons

his white hair had easily caught the attention of to-be-adopted-parents, and though the orphanage always managed to steer them away with stories of how troubled he was, the first interest gaze at his hair was enough to leave his peers jealous

and suddenly, his hair, which looked different from anyone else even before but was never really a source of anything particular, becomes another checkbox in the long list of why he's so beastly, so demonic, so unhuman

its fine.

its fine even when he's held back, nails digging into the skin of his attackers as they take stolen scissors and jab it through his hair, leaving only at the sound of footsteps, laughing to themselves as atsushi lays there, the scissors and his cut off hair next to him

the only kind memory he has of the headmaster is him telling one of the other staff to fix the mess on atsushi's head

teh staff member doesnt want to do it, atsushi leaves it be, its fine

atsushi doesnt mind his haircut much, its grown enough that it seems like a fun purposeful style than just the remains of a messy prank, especially when yosano convinces him to let her at least make it look a bit more purposeful

his bangs are still crooked, slanted, and he has that long strand of hair, but it doesn't look like another remain of the orphanage.

his hair is fine

except

sometimes, something pale catches from the corner of his eyes and electricity shoots through his vein and pleasepleasedonthurtmeimsorryimsorry

but when those moments happen, atsushi pins his hair back and doesn't think about it

(he doesn't remember, not for a long time, but there was once someone with long white hair, so similar to his own. he'd visit him, tell him stories of the times they'd spend together, in the future, and atsushi had hoped and hoped as he learned how to read and thought maybe just maybe someone wanted him--- its those memories more than the torture, the experimenting, and his own claws ripping through someone's life that keep him up at night) (when he remembers, he wishes he never had)

at some point, atsushi brushes his hair out of his face and realizes that the color is familiar. not just because its on him, but becuz he sees it every time he goes to talk to the president.

atsushi's lip quirk up into an absentminded smile as he realizes that theres someone who's hair is kind of like his and they aren't unhuman and they aren't "kindkindkind until all atsushi can feel is pain"

its like... theres something warm to associate his hair with now, so on his worst days, he tries to think of the president instead.

and then

atsushi kind of forgets about maintaining his hair, caught up in work and the usual yokohama madness, until one day he's getting ready and he notices that his hair is officially long enouhg to be tied into a pony

he's pulling it back, pins for his bangs held between his lips when he comes to the abrupt realization, that if he grew his hair long, itd look kind of like kunikidas, okay they didn't have the same color, and atsushi had different bangs, but still, he could style his hair like kunikida's

and as he's walking to work, his ponytail just barely in the ribbon, he thinks of kunikida leaning over him and helping him understand math, he thinks of him ruffling his hair and always expecting the best of atsushi -- not as another way to hold him down, but in a way that makes it clear that he fully believes atsushi can reach his best

he has the president's haircolor, and kunikida's hairstyle and he's never cared much of his hair, other than on his worst days, but maybe it can be just another part of him. another part of him to explore, now that he's free

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

main take aways from Halloween (1978) rewatch:

michael myers is canonically 21??? this bitch should be at the club

*sees tiddies* ***MURDEROUS RAMPAGE NOISES***

that's it that's the movie

outside of the fact that everyone who has sex is murdered by the narrative, this is a surprisingly chill portrayal of female sexuality? these teen girls are horny and actively enjoying Getting It On with their boytoys. no pushy boyfriends sneaking in through their bedroom windows--these ladies are taking the initiative to sneak out and GET SOME. one of them gets laid and then immediately orders her boyfriend to get her a beer. (yes she gets Slashered soon afterward, but so does the boyfriend so honestly, gender equality.) yes the Final Girl is the only one not having sex, but she's not bullied for that, nor are her friends slut shamed except possibly by being murdered by the narrative

actually the only character who is shown being morally condemned on-screen is michael myers. specifically FOR his violent overreaction to other people's sex lives. (people he is spying on). metaphorically, the villain is American Puritanism sticking its judgy nose into other people's business.

aka Michael Myers Is A Republican

but actually the real villain is the doctor. guy's a judgemental, shaming, pathologizing asshole. and he's been in charge of michael's care since he was SIX YEARS OLD? kid never had a chance. i'd go on a killing spree too

also the parents. where are the parents? it's halloween night and all the teenage girls are home babysitting their younger siblings? come to think of it, michael's first victim was his own older sister, whom he killed while she was babysitting him. teen girls are really shouldering a labour burden here. maybe parentification is the true villain

side note: mike commits his first murder wearing a clown costume...which is never referenced again? his 'iconic' costume is a generic mask and wig and jumpsuit, when we coulda had a Killer Clown Michael Myers??? travesty

i like how the Final Girl and her friend casually smoke weed in her car. yeah she's an honor student and her friend is the sheriff's daughter. yeah they smoke weed. so what it's 1978

(to reiterate, mike is 21 and should be at the club. im not saying he shouldn't be rampaging, im saying it's sad that he broke out, tasted freedom for the first time in his life, and immediately snuck back into his childhood home to go rampaging. let's have a remake where he goes to a nightclub and has a few beers. maybe some slutty dancing. then rampage)

oh no he's hot

[slymanner]

Look all I'm saying is if that a shadow game can work THAT well and be so well designed story wise and gameplay wise

HE can work

[sysig]

Happy Pride, gay therapists (Patreon)