#and i have the be the bigger person and move on

[moonstruckme]

Hi! If you are still accepting requests would you be ok with writing something with poly emt or doctor rem where your tampon string breaks? (I heard that actually happens and vowed to never use them like God that's terrifying)

Hi lovely thanks for your request and it’s also important to me that you know this is extremely (extremely) rare so I hope you’re not too freaked out! Ly <3

cw: non-sexual nudity (full disclosure, he puts his fingers in her so potential sa trigger though to be clear there's nothing even slightly malicious about it)

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 692 words

You stare down at the white braid of thread in your hand and try to take a deep breath. 

“How is it possible that I have no socks?” Remus opens the bathroom door, going to the mirror and frowning as he combs down a couple errant pieces of hair with his fingers. It’s normal for him to come in without knocking, you’re far past the point of being pee shy around him, but this morning you’re horrified at the intrusion. “I swear I’m always buying socks. Do you think you have any pairs that might fit me, lovely? I need some to wear to work.” 

“Remus,” you say. 

You try not to be alarming, but Remus is perceptive and he’s alarmed nonetheless. He turns to you with a wary expression. 

“Dove?” 

You hold up your severed string feebly. “I’ve lost my tampon.” 

“Oh.” He blinks, eyebrows lifting. “Okay. In…where?” 

“In me.” 

“Have you tried to get it out?”

You nod, feeling the burning of panicked tears in your eyes. “I can’t find it.” 

“Okay, that’s alright.” Remus hesitates for only a second before opening the cabinet and grabbing a towel. “I can get it for you. Let’s go to the bed.” 

You don’t move. “What if we can’t get it?” 

Remus stops in the doorway. Doubles back. “Hey,” he says softly, taking your hand and bending to look you in the eyes. “We’ll get it out, sweetheart. You’re not the first person this has happened to, and it’s not my first time dealing with it. Come with me, okay?” 

You follow him tentatively. Your boyfriend has the momentum of a man with a plan. You watch as he unfolds the towel partway towards the end of the bed, smoothing it out. “Climb up here for me.” 

You go where he tells you, sitting atop the towel and waiting awkwardly for your next instructions. You’ve really no clue what to do. 

Remus offers you a gentle smile. “Don’t think this will do us much good,” he says, pulling the tampon string from between your fingers. You hadn’t realized you’d still been holding onto it. “How long has it been in for?” 

“Overnight,” you answer quietly. “More than eight hours is bad, right?” 

“It’s probably fine,” he assures you. “It increases your risk for infection, but we’d know if anything had set in. I’m going to get it out, alright? You trust me?” 

You nibble your lip. “Okay.” 

“Okay, sweetheart. Lay down, try to relax.” 

You lay on your back, folding your hands on your stomach, and try not to cry. It’s not that you’re worried Remus will hurt you, or even that you’re uncomfortable with him feeling around for your tampon—you’ve been in far more compromising positions with him—just that this unforeseen and horrific development feels like a lot to adjust to after just waking up. This is not how you were expecting your morning to go. 

Remus folds one of your legs up higher (“Can you keep this here for me please, lovely?”) and soothes his hand over your hip while his other one sweeps a slow, searching circle inside you. 

“Found it,” he says. “Hold still for just a bit longer, I’ve almost…got it.” He emerges victorious, your tampon held proudly between two fingers. “See? Not so dire.” 

“Oh my god.” Your relief is immense, bigger than words. A tear slips out when you close your eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Oh, my love.” Remus pulls you upright, folding you into a hug. He sets the tampon down on the towel beside you, shushing you when you fret about getting blood on it (“What did you think it was there for?”). He sways you back and forth a few times, kisses the salty corner of your eye. “You’re alright, sweetheart. We’ll keep an eye on you to make sure nothing changes, but I don’t think it was in long enough to be too dangerous.”

“Just, thanks for your help,” you sniffle. “I was really freaking out.” 

“I can tell,” he laughs, giving you a fond squeeze. “I get why you’d be nervous, but try not to worry too much, okay? I’ve always got you.” 

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: lee seokmin

first love

'when it comes to you, 'forever' sounds so sweet, so good'

there are some things that are just plain facts like earth being round, for example. there are some things that are not up for arguing like banana milk being the best milk. then there are some things that are true but it takes a while to learn them like how grass is not greener on the other side but where you water it. seokmin thought long and hard about it and in the end decided that his love for you is applicable to all three categories: it's both a fact, something that is not up for arguing and some thing that is true but took a while to learn.

and take a while it did. 'seokkie?' your head pops in, smile wide and eyes crinkled. 'sorry for bothering, just wanted to check in. is everything okay? you've been quiet whole dinner.'

seokmin blinks, focusing on you. he wasn't quiet whole dinner per say - he's been talking and engaging with everyone and to anyone who doesn't know him close he looked absolutely fine. but you are very close to him and of course you noticed slight tense posture, how smile didn't quite reach his eyes. seokmin's heartstrings tug at your attentiveness towards him; he smiles, telling you to come in. when you shuffle forward, he instantly envelops you in a big hug, moving you to lay side by side, finding this gesture oddly comforting. in fact, everything about you is oddly comforting - you remind seokmin of home, of that feeling when you're back in your own bed after being away for a long time. it's addictive and after so many years of knowing you and being your friend, he's sure that he doesn't have anyone closer to him than you.

'what is it, seokkie?' you ask in a whisper, turning your head to face him. your eyes are so expressive, seokmin never gets tired of just staring into them; right now they are filled with worry and gentleness that is so you, seokmin can't help but reach out and pinch your cheek cutely. 'hey! don't distract me mister, answer my question!'

'i don't really know,' seokmin answers truthfully. 'i guess i'm just scared of all these upcoming changes, you know? they feel so big, too big for all of us. i'm scared how they will change everything.'

i'm scared they will change you and me is on the tip of his tongue but he doesn't voice it out loud. he won't be able to let go, he knows it. if you go, this void in his chest won't be filled with anyone else, he knows it too. moving away is hard but it's even harder when he loves-

'whatever can happen will happen,' you say, staring at him seriously. 'but it will never change you and me.'

-you. he loves you. it's clear as a day to him when he now stares at you and this realization takes his breath away. and it's not like seokmin is dumb or oblivious - he definitely knew that his feelings for you bordered on something much, much bigger than simple 'like' or 'friendship'. it's more about how he never thought to give them a name and got so used to having them because they became a part of him, of who he is and whoa, isn't that a big and scary thought? that his feelings for you are literally part of his personality? it probably should be but it doesn't scare seokmin for a one bit. loving you, he realizes, is as easy as breathing.

'i don't want us to ever change,' he admits, trying not to choke on his feelings. 'i want it to always be you and me, together.'

he hopes you hear it. he hopes you understand what he's trying to say because he just learned that he loves you and it's a lot. your smile makes him smile back and when you nod, telling him that you two will always be together, he feels his heart beat faster. 'course, seokkie. i love you,' you say and you say it so easily that his breath hitches.

and if you can say it to easily then he can, too. 'i love you,' he voices out, trying out these words on his tongue. they feel good. 'i love you.'

there's a change in your eyes, like you start to get what he means. when seokmin leans in, you don't stop him or lean back. when he kisses you, you don't push him away or tell him to stop - you kiss him back.

and it's not something up for arguing either. because you are his first friend, his first girlfriend, his first love. seokmin dares anyone to tell him that first love is not real or that it won't last - he is here to prove everyone wrong with you. how can it not last, when you're looking at him with your sweet smile and he feels like earth goes around only because you exist?

and it is a plain fact - earth is round, sky is blue, seokmin loves you with everything in him.

a/n: huge thanks to @flipflopscrop for giving me idea for this one! hopefully you all like it <3 - nini

my seventeen works are here

my formula 1 works are here

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Why do you think The Arcana always leads towards “ Killing the bad guy “ is wrong?

Because if you kill Lucio in Muriel route & Kill the devil in the Nadia route ( and I’m not 100% sure but I think you can kill Tasya in Portia reversed route ) you get the reversed route.

Do you think because it was a game +12 and up?

Do you think maybe they wanted to push that “ Killing is not the way there’s always another option “ route?

Do you think they were trying to do the “ If I kill you I’ll be just as bad “ trope?

Or something else entirely

Moving on from that, Do you think these should be considered reversed routes? Is Muriel killing Lucio justified after what he put him through? Same with Portia and Nadia? Do you think the punishments each antagonist and/or villain gets in the game is justified/deserved?

Just something I had in my head :)

-🥥

Hey coconut anon! My answer essay is under the cut xD

Honestly, it's hard to say. The second three routes get a little ... gentler, as far as downplaying darker themes, when you compare them to the first three. In Muriel's upright route, you end up defeating the Devil with festival games, while in Asra's upright route, you purposefully lead Lucio to an icy lake so he can drown, only to watch him get devoured by eldritch horrors. Death of the antagonist doesn't necessarily seem to be the deciding factor of reversed vs upright.

The theme that the two different types of endings do revolve around is growth vs stasis, with a particular focus on community. If you consistently pick decisions that challenge and empower your LI to face their shortcomings, you're headed towards an upright ending. If you consistently pick decisions that coddle or enable your LI's flawed tendencies and/or a poor relationship dynamic, you're headed towards a reversed ending. (e.g. Julian caving to self-sacrificing tendencies vs letting others fight next to him, Asra choosing the path of least resistance and isolating vs uncomfortably confronting evil, Nadia choosing control vs letting others help her, Muriel isolating and surviving vs forming community and pushing for happiness, etc, etc)

Killing plays into that as far as making a choice that doesn't give the LI room to grow. For Muriel specifically, it harkens back to his time as a gladiator and turns him back into the person he's spent so long trying to forget. Meanwhile, Lucio's death in Asra's upright ending is the result of him refusing to run away from their problems anymore, developing the courage to confront the person who's caused so much pain head on instead. Meanwhile in Nadia's route, killing the Devil has less to do with murderous intent and more to do with her choice to take all power and decisions and control on herself, rather than depend on others.

I will say in the last three routes, there's a much bigger emphasis on avoiding killing and keeping things a little more lighthearted, but that appears to have more to do with a change in the context the project was happening in than the intentions of the authors themselves. Hope this helps, friend!

[myluvmine]

The Void

Pairing: Matt Murdock × fem!reader

Summary: If he had been a bit more careful, maybe this wouldn't have happened. But it did, and Matt believes it was all his fault. Now, the void is all there is left.

Word Count: 0.7k

Warnings: mentions of blood, ANGSTY angst, no happy ending, it's a tad bit sad overall yk

A/n: I'm on my period and feeling angsty, this was a direct result of that I'm afraid😭✋. And I would personally like to thank @mattmurdeaux for making this GORGEOUS GORGEOUS (I seriously love it so bloody much) gif and putting it out into the world. Thank you love, we all appreciate a bloody, sad matty boi out here.💗

💞reblogs and feedback are tremendously appreciated!!💞

His knuckles hurt. The overwhelming copper tang of blood invaded his senses so strongly that it was impossible to ignore. They were certainly bleeding, he was sure.

The bruises and blood hurt, but the void that resided where his heart once did was a lot worse. The emptiness was a lot worse.

"Matt you've gotta stop this, you're gonna end up dead!"

He'd been distracted for just a moment, but it'd been enough to change the entire trajectory of his life.

Matt hated himself in that second. This was nothing new ofcourse, Matt Murdock was never his own biggest fan. But never had he experienced such unadulterated rage towards anyone— or anything like this before.

And there would never be another before, he'd made sure of that.

"Goddammit Matthew, are you even listening to me?!"

The film of muted buzzing that had wrapped itself securely around him, slowly choking him, seemed to loosen it's grip for a minute. Matt deliberately clenched his left hand into a fist, it definitely hurt— the raw skin stretching painfully, sending sharp pangs shooting mildly up his arm. He could feel his helmet pressing into the back of his calf as he uncrossed his ankles. He was on his couch. Back in his apartment.

"Foggy?" he enquired brokenly into the surrounding darkness, his voice scratching his windpipe. It felt so very foreign— speaking. Almost like something he hadn't done in weeks.

He felt Foggy's demeanor soften as his best friend's wounded voice reached him. "What— what're you doing here?"

"This has gotta stop buddy" came Foggy's soft but stern reply. It wasn't a suggestion, but a statement. The joint symphony of heartbeats and footsteps indicated his best friend was moving towards him— closer, but with measured steps.

The void in Matt's chest only seemed to grow with each passing day, almost drowning him in it's depths. In an attempt to fight the darkness pulling at his feet, he had sought to fix the irreparable damage he had done by attempting repayment in blood and bruises, by starving himself of peace, sustenance and sleep. By carving himself inside out to rectify the irredeemable.

He'd stretched himself thin in the process, to put it kindly. Going after every petty robber that crossed his path and putting all that he had into bringing down the new branches of the Irish crime syndicate that had recently popped up in and around Hell's Kitchen.

It was far from what those who cared for him — atleast the ones that were left— had wanted for him, but it didn't matter now. None of that mattered. The void was getting even bigger.

"She wouldn't have wanted you to go on like this" although the words left Foggy's lips in a whisper, they pierced through Matt's skin with the impact of a thousand knives, embedding themselves between his ribs— a throbbing pain twisting in it's place.

The tone of finality along with the implications of it being something from the past, licked up his ribs like the hottest flames.

It was his fault.

If he'd been quicker, acted a little more fast, you'd still be here. You would be the one reprimanding him for not taking care of himself. You would have gently run your fingers through his hair as you scolded him. Afterwards, you would have held him close and pressed kisses to the expanse of his forehead, the button of his nose and he crook of his neck, as he looked on with adoration, as you told him how much he meant to you. How you loved him.

But you were gone, and the void almost had him now.

"I'm the reason she isn't here now, Foggy" Matt let out dejectedly, his voice quivering. His eyes were empty now as the tears that filled them to the brim — but stubbornly refused to fall — clouded his soul.

"I can't stop seeing it. Every time I close my eyes it's like I'm right back there, reliving it over and over with no way to change the outcome."

The past could not be changed and the present, which lead to a future devoid of you was quickly cementing itself as an event inevitable in Matt's mind.

Matt Murdock's world had been swallowed whole by the void, his heart lost in it's valleys and crevices.

[l-in-the-light]

The Red Line and the All Blue

I have been thinking about the All Blue lately. I really, really like the theory that to get to the All Blue we need to destroy the Red Line. But there's just one problem with this. It lacks story reason. It doesn't have the oomph the usual mysteries in One Piece deliver. It's like the fandom discovered this piece of puzzle and left it on display, instead of trying to connect it to other things to make bigger sense of One Piece's world.

Red Line is called, curiously enough, a line.

If we ignore the seabelts, it looks like it seperated the world into two parts, two halves, because that line goes all around the globe. Interestingly enough, it seems like the North-West part is the one that is scientifically more advanced in comparison to the East-South. We have the family of best doctors the Tragalgars and botanists Mont Blancs in the North. Germa Kingdom with it's advanced science also is located in the North. And there are also Ohara's scholars in the West.

Meanwhile, there's no notable locations like that in the South and East, and most places seem to look very primitive there (lots of villages and small towns, not counting Goa Kingdom itself). In South Blue it seems to be similar, though there's one exception: Torino Kingdom. It looks primitive but actually hides lots of advancement. This makes me think that (at least some places in the) East and South might be pretending to be more primitive that they actually are, hiding their inventions. Flevance or Ohara were pretty open about their achievements, knowledge and technology, like it was to be expected that they're advanced and proud of it.

Oda doesn't really expand much on West and South Blues, but we know quite a lot about East and North, so I will focus on them primarily as we move on.

Shakky makes it sound like calm belts are means of protection, not something posing danger, like we were led to believe so far. But now they're not so safe anymore because of scientific inventions. It makes it all seem like calm belts were placed there intentionally somehow and aren't a result of coincidence. Not even Marines could go to the calm belts before using Vegapunk's inventions.

Now the question we should ask is this: what are calm belts protecting? People like the Kuja tribe (personally I think Kuja are just benefitting from it, they weren't the original purpose)?

Or... perhaps to protect the Grand Line itself by seperating it from everything else? And by extension, also from the Marines. Grand Line is the place where all pirates go who seek the One Piece, it can't be a coincidence.

"This is the boundary between justice and evil!" said the Marines as they painted the line and told everyone to respect it. What we know from the Void Century so far is that it was a war between two different ideologies. What if the Red Line is the result of those two fractions seperating from each other, literally dividing the world into two parts? "Don't ever cross that line". Crossing the Red Line is definitely a difficult thing to do for normal people and if anyone crosses it it's either Marines or Pirates. It divided the seas for forever.

Vegapunk also said there are still scars left on the world from the Void Century's war. Not only the world sank by 200 meters, apparently there are literally traces from the war left behind, and normally you would expect to see some ruins. But 800 years passed already and so many nations are so fast at rebuilding their kingdoms, what possible "ruins" or "scars" could be left behind that are still visible? Unless... those scars are the Red Line and the calm belts. It would be indeed very challenging to get rid of those. Coincidentally we have no idea when the Red Line got created. All we know is that Lunarians used to live there at some point. Marco knows that from Whitebeard and I wonder who Whitebeard heard that from? Perhaps Roger, because Roger told him what the D. stands for, so why not that as well.

Unless it's somehow connected to the D.

Because in the "land of gods" this is what welcomes the visitors. Cloaked figures of warrior-guardians (my guess based on their looks alone), those on the left wieldings swords, those on the right spears. This must be a relic of older times, because it has literally nothing to do with Celestial Dragons. And it kinda fits the idea that current Government just stole the older structures for themselves. Impel Down (that bears poneglyph-like writings), Gates of Justice, Marie Geoise, they might have even had different functions long, long time ago. What all those locations have in common is their advancement and heritage that seems not to be used to it's full potential, more like recycled for a different purpose. Impel Down was probably never a prison to begin with. If you want more headbending mysteries, then I can't reccommend enough to play One Piece World Seeker. Just the map alone of the Jail Island raises so many questions. It's also a mining town and has an underwater prison as well...

This looks like there was once an entrance or a passage way, allowing the ships to go through between the North and East Blues. It has been sealed off or something else was done to it.

Curiously enough, doctors were the ones allowed to pass the line between "justice" and "evil". Because doctors save lives. We know Trafalgars were apparently a family of doctors for many generations. It is possible they didn't even originate in the North Blue, but moved there at some point. Because doctors are allowed to cross borders.

Many people speculate that the red figure of Luffy (or is it a statue of Joyboy?) symbolizes the Red Line in the logo of One Piece. The horizontal lines are the calm belts protecting the Grand Line. What's the anchor and skull&bones with the Strawhat then? In the very first chapter of One Piece Luffy wears this shirt:

Is the anchor Luffy, or rather, the East Blue where Luffy comes from? Is the skull and bones with a strawhat the North Blue then perhaps? So then, the idea behind destroying the Red Line would be to finally connect the East and the North Blues together again, seperated for centuries. That might be what the rope symbolizes: connect them together (coincidentally, the "full" name of One Piece treasure includes the word hitotsunagi which might have a second, double meaning: connect the people). The goal of destroying the Red Line is to bring the two seperated seas back together, and by doing that we discover the All Blue. Perhaps, long long time ago, in the ancient times there was only one sea.

Zou is on the back of Zunesha for over thousand of years. That's way before the Void Century even happened. Which means minks have the knowledge about the world that dates back a thousand years. And back then there was only one sea, the All Blue, and 5 islands in the whole world. It's likely the world was not divided yet into two parts with the Red Line either.

Why is the skull munching on the rope, I have no idea.

I have a hunch this is all part of the plan. Roger's plan and Joyboy's plan (yes, I believe Roger did something as well to help Joyboy's plan to succeed). They're waiting for the "right people" to show up, after all. They are stationed in certain places that can't be avoided on the voyage to Laugh Tale, like Twin Capes, Sabaody... all ships have to pass through these locations on the Grand Line.

Maybe they helped fate a little?

But clearly fate isn't all there is to the story.

Merging those symbols together get us a "sun" symbol we have seen in many places before (like Alabasta and Shandora and Kozuki's clan, they're all the guardians of the poneglyphs and had possible ties to Joyboy). Blackbeard has it too, he apparently likes to study history, so maybe he knows some secrets.

My current bet is those two fractions used to be one, then they divided into "crossbones" (later outcasted and villainized, perhaps?) and "crosses" (World Government, the "good" guys or in other words: the winners).

But I bet you anything there will be a twist, or even few twists, here. There's no way the final answer will be that simple ;) And I'm sure Joyboy's plan will be one crazy ride as well :D

[wannabehockeygf]

State of Grace | Clayton Keller

"We are alone with our changing minds, We fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds, or fades in time, And I never, Saw you coming And I'll never, Be the same."

*** request: "☁️ (fluff) w keller inspired by the song state of grace by taylor swift" summary: same people, seven years of distance... word count: 9.2k pairing: clayton keller x fem!reader warnings: public drinking/alcohol, pda (kissing, making out), very very slight sexual innuendo notes: - tbh this isn't my best work. but I worked hard on it and didn't want to scrap it so I hope you like it ! - this is def giving slightly cocky more confident flirty clayton... but i will probably make him a lot softer and sweeter in the future. just felt like doing him this way this time. - also, I have 2 more keller requests. so if u requested him and this wasn't ur request they are coming. - I have never been to salt lake city. apologies if I completely slandered it. - red is my fav ts album, just felt like I should mention. ***

You never thought you'd see Clayton Keller again.

He was supposed to be a chapter you’d closed long ago—one you’d shoved into the back of your mental bookshelf, never to be opened again. You had plans, big ones, bigger than the swoon of your teenage heart. You had meticulously plotted your path to Boston University, intent on becoming a sharp, hard-hitting journalist. You could see it now: your name, printed in bold letters, beneath a thought-provoking headline in The New York Times.

But then he came. His blue eyes locked with yours, his stupidly perfect hair falling just right, those dimples of his flashing at you like some cruel joke. You didn’t stand a chance. The kind of falling you did for him wasn’t cute or accidental—it was more like falling flat on your face in front of a crowd. Painful, embarrassing, and lingering.

He was your first everything. And you gave him everything—not a piece of you left unshared, unexposed. It felt romantic at the time, but looking back, it was more like you emptied your entire emotional bank account and let him walk off with the cash. Seven years ago, when he told you he was moving to Phoenix and that you two should “see other people,” you didn’t buy his polite words. What he meant was that he wanted to be young and free, without the burden of a long-distance girlfriend dragging behind him.

“Wait, wha–”

You never even finished your sentence. The door had slammed behind him before the rest of your thought caught up to your lips.

That was then. Seven long years had passed, and you were standing in a press area in Salt Lake City, feeling like all your well-laid plans had been thrown into a blender. You weren't in New York writing world-changing pieces for a big-name paper. You were pushing through a horde of sweaty, exhausted journalists, armed with a press badge that read "Utah Hockey Club"—a new team you hadn’t even thought much about until you got the assignment. You’d taken this job because, well, rent. Plus, there’s something humiliating yet poetic about going from wanting to change the world to covering idiotic brutes who give two-word answers between mouthfuls of Gatorade.

The Delta Center hummed with the energy of a big game, the walls vibrating with the echo of shoes shuffling, cameras clicking, and reporters murmuring amongst themselves. The fluorescent lighting overhead gave the place a washed-out look, amplifying the wrinkles in everyone’s faces. Hockey’s a fast-paced game, but the post-game press scrum felt like watching paint dry. You pushed forward, determined to at least pretend you were thriving in this moment.

“Excuse me, sorry—coming through!” You elbowed your way to the front, probably earning a few disgruntled glares. But at least you’d get the scoop firsthand, even if it was on some sweaty player who would grunt a few words before retreating to the locker room.

The door on the far side swung open, and the team’s PR person stepped aside as the hero of the night walked out. You barely had time to register who it was before the sea of reporters parted slightly, and there, standing in front of you, was Clayton Keller.

No fucking way.

Of all the faces you expected to see tonight—sweaty athletes, fellow journalists, maybe a stray beer vendor—his was not one of them. And yet, there he was, stepping out like a ghost from your past. Clayton Keller, in the flesh. For a moment, the crowded press room shrunk, the shuffling reporters and camera flashes dimming into the background as your gaze locked with his. His eyes widened, a flicker of recognition crossing his face, but neither of you said a word. It was like being hit by a rogue puck, stunning you into stillness.

Clayton freakin' Keller? You blinked rapidly, trying to process the cosmic joke unfolding before you. How did you not know he was playing for this team? You’d been on autopilot since you accepted this job, barely caring who laced up their skates for Utah as long as you got a paycheck at the end of the week. And now, standing mere feet away from you, was the boy—no, the man—you’d once mapped out a future with in your mind. The same guy who had practically evaporated from your life with nothing more than a mumbled excuse and a slammed door.

Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, racing like they were being chased down the ice. Part of you wanted to turn around and melt into the crowd, become invisible like you had all those years ago. But the other part, the journalist, the professional, forced you to stay rooted in place. You had a job to do. You had moved on. You were fine.

Except you weren't.

The lights in the room seemed harsher now, bouncing off his ridiculous helmet hair—seriously, how did it still look that good after a game? He looked annoyingly fit in his compression shirt, like a real-life action figure, and it felt unfair. You, on the other hand, were wearing the same tired blazer from two seasons ago, still trying to convince yourself it was "timeless."

The pit in your stomach deepened as Clayton’s eyes bore into yours, his mouth tugging into a half-smile that sent a wave of heat rushing to your face. That stupid smile. You’d seen it a thousand times when you were together—playful, slightly cocky, but never without charm. You hated that your body still reacted to it like this, even after all these years.

Don’t smile back. For the love of God, don’t smile back.

Too late. Your lips betrayed you, quirking up before you could stop them.

Suddenly, the PR person began talking, but you didn’t catch a word. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe. The room seemed to shift back into focus, the noise returning as questions were fired off at him—none of which you could hear through the roaring in your head. Your fingers clenched around your press badge as you watched Clayton respond to the reporters, his voice low and steady. You didn’t need to hear what he was saying. His presence alone was enough to throw you into a tailspin.

What does he think? Your mind raced with a hundred possibilities. Was he surprised? Regretful? Did he even remember how you left things? Of course, he does. You’ve never quite forgiven yourself for the way you let him walk out without a fight. And now, here he was, larger than life, as if fate had decided to throw you together just for kicks.

The press scrum started to disband, the tension loosening as the cameras lowered and the reporters shifted toward the exit. You should’ve done the same—should’ve grabbed your recorder and escaped with what little dignity you had left. But your feet refused to move. And then, suddenly, neither did his. Clayton looked right at you. The air around you crackled, thick with unspoken words, neither of you daring to break the silence.

Before you could decide whether to run or speak, he was walking toward you. Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body buzzing. The gap between you felt like miles and inches all at once. Each step he took seemed to echo in your chest, like the beat of a drum getting louder, faster.

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint hint of sweat and Gatorade. The grin had faded from his face, replaced by something unreadable—soft, curious, maybe even a little sheepish.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

Hey? That was it? After all these years, after everything, and all he had was a “hey”?

Your mind screamed a million things at once, none of them appropriate for public spaces. But what came out of your mouth was... “Hi.”

Nailed it.

The awkward silence stretched between you, both of you clearly unsure of how to navigate this weird, tension-filled reunion. It was like standing at the edge of a frozen lake, knowing one wrong move could send you crashing through the ice.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “So... you play for Utah now?” Wow, groundbreaking journalism. Really killing it.

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of a smile creeping back onto his face. “I do. Yotes are no more. Guess I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same.” Your voice wobbled, betraying the chaos in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were more mad at him or yourself. For not seeing this coming. For caring. For still feeling something after all these years.

His eyes softened, as if he could read your thoughts. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Seven years. Seven long, winding, confusing years, filled with everything you thought would erase him but never quite could.

“Yeah,” you whispered, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “It has.”

Another pause, thicker this time. You weren’t sure where to go from here. He didn’t either. But here you were, both stranded in this moment, waiting for something to break the ice—or for the floor to swallow you whole.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you’d forgotten about but instantly recognized. “Maybe we could... catch up sometime? After all this?”

Your heart skipped. There it was—the opening, the question that could send you spiraling back into something you weren’t sure you could handle. You should say no. You should walk away, hold your head high, and leave him standing in the echo of his own question. But, of course, that’s not what happened.

“Yeah,” you found yourself saying. “I’d like that.”

What was wrong with you? This was the exact opposite of moving on. But standing there, with Clayton looking at you like no time had passed, like maybe you were both still the same people you’d been before everything fell apart... how could you resist?

*** It had been a few days since the interview, and you were still trying to wrap your head around the surreal fact that Clayton Keller, that Clayton Keller, was back in your life. You'd both exchanged numbers after that painfully awkward conversation, the kind where every word felt like walking on eggshells and every pause seemed to echo louder than it should. A part of you hoped he’d never use it—let the number sit in his phone, untouched, like some relic of a past better left buried. Another part of you, though… well, that part was curious.

So when your phone lit up late one night, your stomach did a little flip when you saw his name. FaceTime. Of course, it was FaceTime. He’d always preferred that over a regular call—something about needing to see your face when he talked, like the words didn’t count unless he could watch them land.

You hesitated for a split second, staring at the screen. What could he possibly want? At this hour? A thousand scenarios played out in your mind, but you knew you’d overthink yourself into oblivion if you didn’t answer. So, with a quick swipe of your thumb, you connected the call.

And there he was.

Clayton, shirtless, lying in what looked like a messy bed with white sheets, his hair damp and tousled, the way it always looked after a shower. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he’d just finished a long day of skating and was too tired to care that he looked half-dead. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his face, making his eyes look even bluer than you remembered. He looked exhausted, but somehow still infuriatingly good.

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice a little hoarse.

You blinked, trying to process the sight of him. "Hey," you managed to say back, though it came out softer than you intended, like your voice wasn’t quite ready to handle the weight of this unexpected late-night call.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. He just stared at the screen, blinking slowly, his lips quirking into a lazy smile like this was totally normal, like you weren’t both swimming in a sea of unresolved feelings and unspoken words. His half-smirk sent an unwelcome rush of heat to your face, and you cursed your body for still reacting to him like this.

“I, uh… didn’t wake you, did I?” Clayton asked, his tone casual, but there was something in his expression that felt… tentative. Like he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line by calling, but had decided to do it anyway.

You shook your head, the corner of your mouth lifting in a small smile. “No, I was just… working on something.” Which was technically true, if by ‘working on something’ you meant binge-watching Netflix in your sweats and trying not to think about him.

“Good,” he said, sighing like he was relieved. He stretched his arm behind his head, his bicep flexing a little, and you tried—tried—not to stare. But come on, the guy was practically a walking thirst trap, even when he wasn’t trying. “I figured it was late, but…” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that tugged at something deep inside you. “I don’t know, I wanted to talk to you.”

That admission hung in the air for a second, and you weren’t sure how to respond. He wanted to talk to you? After all these years? After everything? Part of you wanted to ask why. What did he think he’d get out of this conversation? Closure? Redemption? Or was he just bored in his bedroom, flicking through his contacts until he landed on a name that felt familiar?

Instead, you settled for a simple, “What’s up?” You hoped your voice sounded more casual than your heart felt, which was currently doing cartwheels in your chest.

Clayton shifted on the bed, the sheets rustling softly under him. “I’ve been thinking about… you know… us.” His eyes flickered away from the screen for a moment, like he wasn’t ready to face the weight of that statement. “I mean, it’s been a long time, right? Since we’ve, like, actually talked.”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, it has.” The understatement of the century. Seven years wasn’t just a long time—it was practically another lifetime. And yet, here you were, talking to him like no time had passed, like the years between you had folded in on themselves.

He let out a soft laugh, one that sounded more self-deprecating than amused. “So, uh… what have you been up to? I mean, other than, you know, writing and all that.”

You let out a short breath, trying to figure out how to distill the chaos of your life into something that didn’t sound pathetic. “Well, I’m not exactly where I thought I’d be,” you admitted, leaning back into your pillows. “Thought I’d be in New York by now, writing Pulitzer-worthy exposés. But, surprise—here I am, covering hockey in Salt Lake City.”

You watched as Clayton processed your words, his expression softening, a faint smile playing on his lips. His gaze never left yours, even through the screen, and for a moment, you felt that old, familiar connection stirring inside you, the one you thought you’d buried beneath years of moving on—or at least pretending to. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, his movements slow and languid like he wasn’t in any rush to end this conversation.

“I noticed,” he mused, his voice low and scratchy, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Never would’ve pegged you for a Utah girl.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on you through the screen. His words floated in the air like an awkward icebreaker at a high school reunion—too familiar, too uncomfortable, and yet, impossible to avoid. Covering hockey in Salt Lake City. How had that become your life?

"Salt Lake's... different, you know?" you finally added, giving a small shrug like it wasn't a big deal, even though you felt that weird tightness in your chest whenever you thought about how your career hadn't exactly gone according to plan. "I mean, I didn’t expect to be here either, but hey, life happens, right?”

Clayton’s blue eyes narrowed, his lips twitching in amusement, though there was something behind that look—something like understanding. He was watching you carefully, and it felt like he was seeing more than what you were saying, like he could tell just how much you'd needed that reminder to yourself, more than him. That quiet acknowledgment hung between you both, the years of growing up, of failed dreams, pushing at the edges of the conversation.

“You always made it look easy, though," he said suddenly, like he'd just remembered something. “Everything, I mean. You had this way of… handling stuff. I used to think it was kinda badass.”

Your eyebrows shot up, his words catching you off-guard. Badass? Was he serious? You could barely handle anything these days without second-guessing every decision. Yet here he was, casually throwing compliments like it was nothing.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure badass isn’t exactly what people are thinking when they see me asking sweaty hockey players questions about their game-winning strategy.” You tried to sound light, but there was a hint of something vulnerable under the joke.

Clayton let out a low chuckle, the sound sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. “I don’t know. You’ve always been good at getting people to talk. Especially me.”

Your breath caught for a second. There it was—that little jab at the past, not sharp enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you of all the conversations that had gone unfinished between the two of you. His compliment, while soft, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

You rolled your eyes a little, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t give me too much credit. I wasn’t exactly a therapist back then.”

His face softened, a different kind of look crossing his features now. “Nah, but you listened. You always did. Even when I was being an idiot.”

The admission hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your emotions show on your face. What was he doing here? Dredging up memories that had long since been buried under years of moving on, of pretending you hadn’t spent too many nights wondering if he’d ever think about you again.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t always know what to say," you admitted, your voice a little quieter now. "But I tried."

There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretched out too long, where every second felt loaded with thoughts neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Clayton shifted on the bed again, running a hand through his damp hair, and you caught yourself staring at the flex of his arm before quickly looking away. Damn him for still looking this good. Even better, actually, because since the last time you saw him, he’d grown into his body and had gained the ability to grow a moustache.

“Look,” he began, his voice dropping a little, “I know I wasn’t… the best back then. To you, I mean.” His words came out slowly, like he was testing them, gauging your reaction. But instead of following through with what felt like the start of an apology, he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the screen.

You waited, expecting more, but it didn’t come. Instead, Clayton leaned back on his pillows, a faint smirk curling his lips. “But you still looked cute when you were pissed off at me. I always liked that.”

You blinked, the sudden shift from what might’ve been an emotional breakthrough to yet another casual compliment leaving you disoriented. “Are you… serious right now?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped you. Only Clayton would steer an almost-apology into flirting territory.

He shrugged, a lazy smile still playing on his lips. “Just saying. You had this look. Like, when you were mad, but you were trying not to be. Your nose would scrunch up a little, and your eyes—”

“Okay, stop,” you cut him off, raising a hand to your face to hide the fact that yes, you were blushing. Damn it. “You can’t just… I don’t know, throw that out there after all this time. You’re still deflecting.”

“Deflecting?” His eyebrows rose, a mock-innocent expression spreading across his face. “I’m just being honest.”

“Honest?” You scoffed, leaning back against your headboard. “What, by bringing up random stuff from eight years ago?”

Clayton’s smirk widened. “Seven. Not random. I remember a lot, actually.”

Of course he did. The way he said it, too—like he was deliberately nudging you, reminding you of all the things you hadn’t forgotten either. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Oh yeah? What else do you remember?” you asked, your tone playful but with an edge, daring him to see just how far he’d take this little game of his even though you felt like you were about to throw up.

His eyes sparkled, that familiar mischievous look you’d known so well flashing across his face. “Like the time you sent me that–”

Your stomach did a full somersault, heat flooding your face instantly. Oh no. He was not going there. “Nope. No, we are not talking about that,” you cut him off quickly, your voice coming out a little too high-pitched as you desperately tried to keep the conversation from veering into dangerous territory. “That was a one-time thing, and we agreed never to bring it up again.”

Clayton leaned back into his pillows, that damn smirk still glued to his face. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it—for now,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, sending a ripple of something through your chest. You could almost feel his presence through the screen, that mix of nostalgia and charm making you momentarily forget all the reasons you’d been trying to stay away from this exact moment.

You let out a small breath of relief, glad to have dodged whatever embarrassing memory he’d been about to dredge up. But the silence that followed wasn’t exactly comfortable—it was thick with things left unsaid. You couldn’t tell if the tightness in your chest was from anticipation or dread. Maybe both.

“Anyway,” Clayton said, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy move that only drew more attention to his already distracting physique. His voice had that familiar playful tone, the one you used to hear all the time when he was up to something. “I was thinking… we should actually catch up. Properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting in your seat. “Properly?” The word hung in the air, vague but full of possibility. “What exactly do you mean by ‘properly’?”

Clayton tilted his head to the side, his lips twitching with amusement like he was letting you in on some kind of secret. “Well, what are you doing tonight?”

You glanced at the clock on your phone screen. “Uh, it’s already like, midnight, Clay. What could I possibly be doing?”

His grin widened. “Exactly! You’ve got no plans. So let’s fix that.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether he was serious. “And how do you suggest we ‘fix that’ at midnight in Salt Lake City?” You emphasized the city name, because let’s be real—Salt Lake City wasn’t exactly known for its wild nightlife. You were pretty sure the most exciting thing happening outside right now was… nothing. “There’s not exactly a lot of options here. The city basically shuts down after dark.”

Clayton gave you a look that was equal parts amused and mischievous, like he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t discovered the real Salt Lake yet.”

You squinted at him through the screen. “The ‘real’ Salt Lake? What, you’re gonna tell me there’s some secret underground club scene I’ve missed out on all this time?”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, like it could melt away the awkwardness that had been sitting between you. “Maybe not exactly an underground club, but I could show you a thing or two. You free? I’ve got nothing going on tomorrow, so… why not?”

You stared at him, your brain struggling to catch up with what he was suggesting. Was he serious? A late-night tour of Salt Lake City with Clayton Keller? The guy who’d ghosted you years ago, now offering to play tour guide like it was no big deal?

“You want to go out,” you clarified slowly, feeling like you needed to repeat it just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “In Salt Lake City. At midnight.”

Clayton shrugged, completely unfazed. “Why not? If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all these away games, it’s that every city has something going on. Even the Mormon capital of America.”

You narrowed your eyes, still half-convinced he was joking. “Are you really trying to convince me there’s a hidden nightlife here?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not as boring as you think,” he said with a wink, clearly enjoying how skeptical you were. Then his voice dropped a little, a teasing lilt sneaking in as he added, “You still like your wine, right, sunshine?”

Your heart stopped.

Sunshine.

The old pet name hit you like a sucker punch to the gut, the way it slipped out so casually as if no time had passed at all. He hadn’t called you that in years, but hearing it again now sent a shiver down your spine. It brought back a flood of memories you thought you’d buried—a thousand late-night phone calls, stolen moments when you were younger, when he would look at you with that same mischievous grin and call you his Sunshine.

You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. The screen in front of you, Clayton’s blue eyes twinkling with the kind of trouble he used to drag you into without a second thought. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

His face softened for a moment, the playfulness easing into something more sincere. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, almost like he hadn’t meant to let it slip, but now that it was out there, he wasn’t going to backtrack. “But it still suits you. Always did.”

You felt your stomach do another flip, that knot of unresolved feelings tightening all over again. Damn it. How was he still doing this to you? You had no reason to trust this—no reason to believe this wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment thing he’d forget about by morning. And yet, something in the way he was looking at you made it hard to resist. The old pull between you, still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You let out a slow breath, leaning back into your pillows, your mind racing. Was this a terrible idea? Probably. Was it also incredibly tempting? Absolutely.

“So… where exactly are you planning on taking me at midnight, Keller?” you asked, adding a bit of edge to your tone, trying to regain some control over this conversation.

Clayton’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming like he’d just won something. “Guess you’ll have to come find out.” He paused, then added, “I’ll pick you up in fifteen?”

You stared at the screen, still trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Yep.” He was already sitting up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, ready to go. “Better get moving, Sunshine.”

Before you could argue or talk yourself out of it, he flashed you that damn grin, and then the screen went dark. The call ended.

You sat there for a second, staring at your phone, a thousand thoughts swirling through your head. What were you doing? Going out with Clayton at midnight? Had you lost your mind?

But despite the logical part of your brain screaming at you to stay home, your body was already moving, throwing off the blankets and scrambling to find something halfway decent to wear. You might’ve been completely out of your depth here, but there was no way you were backing out now.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to figure out why in the world you had just agreed to go on a midnight adventure with your ex-boyfriend. You were practically sprinting around your apartment, rifling through drawers and closets as if your life depended on finding the perfect outfit. The truth? You had no idea what "perfect" even meant in this situation. Was this a date? Was it just two old friends catching up? Was he seriously about to show you some secret Salt Lake City nightlife, or was he just messing with you like old times?

Your hands shook as you grabbed a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Casual, but not too casual. It was chilly outside, and something about layering up made you feel a little more in control, like the extra fabric might protect you from all the feelings currently fighting their way to the surface.

What am I doing? you thought, your heart racing faster than it had any right to at this hour. The rational part of your brain was screaming for you to stay home, to crawl back under the blankets and pretend this whole thing never happened. But your body—the traitorous thing—had other ideas. It moved on autopilot, pulling on sneakers, brushing your hair, applying just a hint of makeup, because apparently even at midnight you still cared what he thought.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and sighed. "You’re insane," you muttered to yourself, but the slight tug at the corner of your lips betrayed you. There was no denying it—you were excited. The nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of excited that you hadn’t felt in a long time. And for better or worse, Clayton Keller was at the center of it.

By the time you heard a knock at your door, your hands were still trembling, but you pushed aside the anxiety and opened it.

There he was.

Clayton leaned against the doorframe, his hands shoved in the pockets of a jacket that fit him way too well. His hair was tousled, like he hadn’t bothered with it before heading out, and his grin—God, that grin—was the same cocky, boyish one you remembered from years ago. Except now, it carried a weight that hadn’t been there before, like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and wasn’t about to let you forget it.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made your skin tingle.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "You really think there’s something to do here at this hour?"

He chuckled, that low, familiar sound. "Guess you’ll have to trust me."

Trust. That was a loaded word.

Still, you stepped out, closing the door behind you, and followed him to his car. The night air was crisp, biting at your skin just enough to remind you it was almost fall. Clayton opened the passenger door for you—something that shouldn’t have surprised you, but did—and you slid in, trying not to think too hard about how close he was when he leaned over to shut it behind you. The scent of his cologne lingered, a warm mix of something woodsy and clean, the same one from all those years ago, and it was enough to make your mind go blank for a second.

As he got in on the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. His jawline was sharper than you remembered, more defined, and he had this maturity that wasn’t there before–some stubble, barely-there fine lines. It was a face you knew well, but now it felt foreign, like you were seeing him in a new light.

"So," you said, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your chest, "What’s the plan? Are we sneaking into a speakeasy, or are you going to take me to one of those places with $12 coffee?"

Clayton laughed, and the sound was like a balm to your nerves. "Oh, come on. Give me a little credit. I’m not about to drag you out at midnight for overpriced coffee." He shifted the car into drive and shot you a sideways glance. "Unless that’s what you’re into now, Sunshine?"

There it was again. The nickname.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your heart did a little flip at the sound of it. "You really need to stop calling me that," you said, but your voice was softer than you intended.

He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, the air in the car felt thick, like the space between you was shrinking by the second. He drove in silence, the streets quiet and still, as if the whole city had gone to sleep while the two of you were still wide awake, caught in some strange limbo between the past and whatever this was turning into.

"You gonna tell me where we’re going, or is this part of the whole ‘mysterious night tour’ you’re so committed to?" you asked, breaking the silence with a quirk of your eyebrow. Your voice was light, but the tension was still there, hanging between you both like a thread stretched too tight.

Clayton smirked, not taking his eyes off the road. "Be patient. You’ll see soon enough." His voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more, like he was just as aware of the weight between you as you were.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "You still haven’t outgrown that whole ‘man of mystery’ thing, have you?" you teased, your tone playful, though your heart was pounding a little harder than you wanted to admit.

"Wouldn’t be any fun if I did, would it?" he shot back with a grin, glancing at you briefly. And that’s when you noticed it—the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, as if he was memorizing the details of your face, taking in the little things you hadn’t even realized he’d noticed before.

You felt the energy between you shift again, and it was suddenly harder to breathe. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, bubbling up in the things you both were dancing around, the memories neither of you had acknowledged yet. You glanced down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, the silence growing louder the longer you stayed in it.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you felt Clayton’s hand brush against yours, his fingers grazing your knuckles absentmindedly. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you didn’t think it was—but the warmth of his skin sent a ripple of awareness through your entire body.

You glanced up at him, startled, but he was still focused on the road, like he hadn’t even noticed the accidental touch. Except… you knew he had. The way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way his one-handed grip on the steering wheel shifted, knuckles going white for a second before he relaxed again—it was all there, in the small, nearly imperceptible gestures that spoke louder than words ever could.

Your heart thudded in your chest, a familiar ache starting to form. Damn him for being able to do this to you without even trying.

"So," you said, desperate to break the silence before you could lose yourself completely in the warmth of his touch. "You’ve been in town a lot recently, huh? Since the team got moved?" It was a lame attempt at conversation, but anything was better than the whirlwind of thoughts currently swirling in your head.

"Yeah," Clayton replied, his voice casual, but there was a slight tension behind it. "Trying to get used to it. A lot of home games lately. But I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice getting to see places like this again."

You raised an eyebrow. "You mean you enjoy being stuck in this city at midnight?"

He chuckled, and the sound sent a warm shiver down your spine. "When you put it that way, it sounds awful. But, you know, every city’s got its charm. And besides"—his voice dropped lower, a little more serious—"it’s not the place that makes it worth it. It’s the company."

You froze for a second, the weight of his words settling in like a stone in your chest. The way he said it—so effortlessly, like it wasn’t loaded with a thousand layers of meaning—made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you did what you always did when you were caught off guard.

You deflected.

"Is that your way of saying I’m good company?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light even though your pulse was racing.

Clayton shot you a sideways glance, that damn smirk returning to his face. "You always were," he said, and the sincerity in his voice knocked the wind out of you for a second.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling like you were eighteen again, sitting next to him in the car, wondering if he was going to reach for your hand like he used to. And just like back then, the possibility hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

You turned to look at him, studying the way the dim light caught on the sharp edges of his jawline, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones. His face had matured, sure, but the boyish charm was still there—the same Clayton you’d fallen for once upon a time.

"You really haven’t changed much," you found yourself saying before you could stop the words from slipping out. "I mean, you’re still… you."

He glanced over at you, his expression softening as he caught the hidden meaning in your words. "Neither have you, Sunshine," he murmured, his voice almost too quiet for the small space of the car. "You’re still… you."

The way he said it—like he hadn’t forgotten a single thing about you—made something inside you ache. You wanted to say something back, to tell him how much you’d missed him, how much you hated that he still had this power over you after all these years. But the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in your throat, tangled up with all the things you hadn’t been able to say back then, and now.

Instead, you reached for his hand—just a simple, fleeting touch, your fingers brushing his in a way that felt almost accidental. But it wasn’t. Not really.

His fingers curled around yours, just for a moment, just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin and the way it made your whole body hum with something familiar, something you hadn’t felt in far too long.

And then, just like that, he let go.

You blinked, pulling your hand back and staring out the window, the city lights reflecting off the glass in a blur of color and motion. Your chest felt tight, too many emotions crashing into you at once. But you couldn’t deny it—no matter how hard you tried to keep your walls up, they were crumbling. And Clayton? He was still the one person who could knock them down without even trying.

"So," you said, your voice a little breathless, "Are we almost there?"

Clayton glanced over at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled softly. "Yeah, we’re close."

The rest of the drive was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was the kind of silence that was full of possibility, of things left unsaid but not unwelcome. You didn’t know where this night was headed, but you knew one thing for sure—whatever happened, it wouldn’t be something you’d forget anytime soon.

***

The city streets blurred as the car slowed to a stop in some tucked-away corner you barely recognized. The soft glow of the streetlights overhead cast a warm hue on the pavement, but you barely noticed. Your mind was still spinning from the weight of Clayton’s words, from the way his hand had felt when it lingered on yours for just that fleeting second.

“We’re here,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure this was the right place, or the right time, or maybe the right anything.

But you didn’t care. The night felt charged, like the two of you were moving in slow motion while the rest of the world was speeding by. It didn’t matter where “here” was, not really.

You both stumbled out of the car, the cool night air rushing at you as you wrapped your sweater tighter around yourself. But it wasn’t enough—not with the way Clayton’s presence seemed to radiate heat just inches away. You were on edge, your senses heightened, and every part of you was hyper-aware of how close he was, of the way his breath lingered in the crisp air, of the way he watched you with a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as he grabbed a bottle of something from the back seat. “We’re not done yet.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Is this still part of the mysterious tour?”

“Maybe,” he teased, already uncorking the bottle and handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours again, and it was ridiculous how that tiny touch sent another shiver down your spine.

You took a swig, the liquid burning as it slid down your throat, but you welcomed it—the warmth, the distraction from the pounding in your chest. Clayton took the bottle back, and soon you were both drinking far too much, far too fast, but neither of you seemed to care. You walked aimlessly, shoulders bumping, laughing at nothing and everything, the weight of the past slipping further away with each step.

It didn’t take long before you found yourselves outside some random corner store, the neon sign buzzing faintly in the distance. You leaned against the brick wall, head tipped back as you took another swig, giggling at something Clayton had just said—something about how ridiculous it was that he had to move here, that his dogs liked it better in Arizona.

But then, suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore. Not when you felt his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze burning into your skin. You turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat as the space between you disappeared in an instant.

He was close. So close.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your hand finding the front of his jacket, tugging him closer until there was no more room left between you. And then his lips were on yours, soft but insistent, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The first kiss was electric. You could taste the alcohol on his lips, sweet and sharp, but that wasn’t what had your heart racing. It was the way he kissed you—hungry, like he was trying to make up for all the time you’d lost, all the time you hadn’t spent together. His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly, the entire world faded away, leaving only the two of you under the dim streetlights.

You didn’t care that you were making out in public, that anyone could see. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you kissed him harder, more desperately, as if you were afraid this would all disappear if you stopped for even a second.

You broke apart, gasping for air, but Clayton didn’t let go. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as you both stood there, hearts pounding, the night spinning around you. “God, Sunshine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, “What are you doing to me?”

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you kissed him again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and the warmth of it seeped into your bones. His hands roamed your back, pulling you against him in a way that felt reckless, like neither of you cared about anything except the feel of each other.

Somehow, in your drunken haze, you ended up wandering through the streets, arms wrapped around each other, stumbling over your own feet as you laughed and kissed and touched like you were teenagers again. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair—and you couldn’t get enough of him.

At one point, you found yourselves pressed up against the side of a building, your back hitting the cold brick as Clayton’s body pressed against yours, his mouth hot against your neck. You were both breathless, both lost in the moment, and you couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped your lips as his teeth grazed your skin.

“God, Clayton,” you gasped as he kissed a trail down your jawline, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin. “We’re in the middle of the street.”

He grinned against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “So? It’s not like anyone’s around to stop us.”

You laughed, a giddy, breathless sound, and shoved him playfully, though your hands were still clutching the front of his shirt. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet,” he murmured, pulling you back in for another kiss, his hands sliding to rest on your hips, “you’re still here.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Your body pressed against his again, and suddenly all your protests faded away as he kissed you like he had something to prove. You could feel the way his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and your whole body felt like it was buzzing with energy. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, the way he touched you, kissed you, like he was trying to make up for all the lost time in one night.

The two of you were a tangle of limbs and breathless kisses, stumbling down the sidewalk toward what you assumed was his apartment. Neither of you seemed to know—or care—where you were headed, as long as you were together. The past, the complications, the years of distance—they all melted away, lost in the heat of the moment.

And you? You were drowning in it. Drowning in him. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to come up for air.

*** You woke up to the sound of an obnoxious alarm blaring from somewhere across the room, the kind that felt like it was drilling straight into your skull. Your eyes fluttered open, your brain struggling to catch up with the sudden onslaught of noise, and you groaned, pulling the covers over your head in a desperate attempt to block it out.

That’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t your bed.

The sheets were soft, unfamiliar against your skin, and the room smelled like him—clean, woodsy, with that faint hint of his cologne that you’d been way too aware of last night. Last night. Oh, God.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as the events of the previous evening slammed back into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. Clayton. The kiss. The way he touched you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted. The way you hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t even wanted to stop him. And now, here you were, tangled in his sheets, his bare chest pressed up against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist like it had always belonged there.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, praying this was some whiskey-induced fever dream and that in a few minutes, you’d wake up in your own bed, alone, and none of this would have actually happened. But no amount of willpower could change the fact that you were very much awake, very much in his bed, and very much aware of the fact that you’d slept with Clayton.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to break free.

Beside you, Clayton stirred, groaning as he stretched lazily, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he shifted. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, and you could hear the smile in his tone even though you couldn’t see his face.

Oh, he sounded way too casual for someone who had just turned your entire world upside down.

“Morning?” you squeaked, your voice coming out far higher than you’d intended. You shifted out from under his arm and sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest like a lifeline. “Clayton, what the hell—?”

His eyes cracked open, blinking at you with that groggy, lopsided grin that would have been charming if you weren’t currently having an internal meltdown. He looked… annoyingly good. The kind of good that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, and the conflict was making your brain short-circuit.

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he stretched again, the muscles in his arms flexing. “You’re freakin’ out. I can tell. Relax, Sunshine.”

“Relax?” Your voice pitched higher. “You told me you didn’t have anything going on today!”

Clayton blinked, then frowned slightly as if he was trying to recall. And then, like a lightbulb flicking on, you saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Yeah… about that.”

Your heart sank. “Clayton.”

“Okay, look, technically I don’t have anything going on until later…” he started, but you shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel.

“Then what is that?” you asked, pointing accusingly toward his still-blaring phone, the sound making your skin crawl. Clayton sighed, pushing the covers off and swinging his legs out of bed. He crossed the room in nothing but a pair of his boxers—of course he looked ridiculously good in them—and smacked the alarm off with a casualness that made you want to scream.

“I might’ve… uh, forgotten to mention that I have practice this morning,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s just a quick thing. Early session. In like… 20 minutes.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” he protested, his hands up in mock defense. “I just… omitted some details. For the sake of the night. I didn’t want to kill the vibe.” He had the audacity to smirk at you, that same cocky, infuriatingly charming smirk that used to make your stomach flip when you were younger—and still did, apparently, despite everything. “I figured I’d have enough time to grab a shower, kiss you goodbye, and get outta here. No big deal.”

No big deal? You gawked at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish, trying to find some coherent response to that. Was he serious? After everything that happened last night, he thought you could just… what? Kiss him goodbye and pretend like nothing had changed?

“Clay,” you said slowly, “We slept together.”

He shrugged, that damn smirk never leaving his face. “Yeah. I remember. Pretty sure you were there for that.”

Your face flushed hot, embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside you. “How can you be so—so chill about this? I’m freaking out! We haven’t seen each other in years, and then you just show up and… and this happens?” You gestured wildly, like the whole situation was somehow his fault, which, okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely fair, but still.

Clayton’s smirk softened into something gentler, his eyes searching your face as he stepped closer to the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low, calming, as if he could sense that you were on the verge of spiraling. “I’m not freakin’ out because… because I wanted this to happen. And not just last night.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "I know it’s complicated," he said, his voice steady. "But I also know that I don’t want you to leave."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally turned to face him, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. He was looking at you like he meant every word.

"What are you saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly trying to find the right words. "I’m saying… I don’t know what last night means either. But I do know that I don’t want it to be a one-time thing. I don’t want to wake up and find you gone. I don’t want to go to practice and come back to an empty apartment. I want you to be here when I get back."

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

"I didn’t realize it until last night, but I’m not… I’m not the same without you, Sunshine," he continued, his voice soft but sure. "And I don’t think I want to be."

Your heart felt like it had taken off at a sprint, and suddenly, all the panic, all the confusion that had been swirling in your head since the alarm went off, started to melt away.

You didn’t know how to respond—hell, you didn’t even know if you had the right words to respond to something like that. But as you looked at him, sitting there with that vulnerable look in his eyes, you felt something inside you shift, something that told you that maybe—just maybe—this was worth the risk.

You still loved him. Him, and those blue eyes that practically glew, all of his awkward, uncoordinated limbs paired with the way he never failed to make you laugh.

How could you not?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I’ll be here."

Clayton let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, his shoulders relaxing as a relieved grin spread across his face. "Good," he said, his voice lighter now, teasing. "Because I was really hoping to have breakfast with you after I kick ass at practice."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that broke through. "Oh, you were, huh?"

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “And if you’re really nice, maybe I’ll even make you coffee.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the tension between you both dissolved into something warmer, something familiar. "Wow, lucky me," you teased back, tilting your head up to peck him on the lips. Your heart felt lighter now, like maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something neither of you had expected but were both willing to explore.

A love that’s worth the fight, even if it hurts, if it faded in time a long time ago, because it just feels so right. 

He’s it for you, and even though he was always notoriously bad with his words, the way he’s looking at you speaks all of them for him.

[frightenedcricket]

One of our songs.

Noah Sebastian x Reader. Fluff.

Note: first noah fic!!!

Warning: none, I think.

You muttered the lyrics written in your notebook while your fingers moved up and down in the air. Noah watched you from the corner of his eye as he pretended to be working on something.

"Is it... Uh... That's how it happened, right? He cheated"

You sighed and turned to look at him.

You had written the song with Noah, mostly based on your ideas and feelings that kept flowing after a few bad weeks. He simply offered a few changes, way to express certain things and how to make it more "singeable".

"Yes"

Noah nodded and mimicked you. Now, you both sat looking at each other.

"Sorry for using your band as therapy" You chuckled.

He laughed and shook his head. "Our pleasure"

You went quiet for a while, both a bit lost in your thoughts.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Any of you liked him, Noah. What would have happened?"

"Yeah, I see your point" He chuckled.

You leaned your head against the chair and watched him. Noah was now looking at the desk.

"Are you sure about the song?"

"For now? It sounds amazing" You said. "Need to hear it from you, and the guys' green light."

Noah nodded. "You can just say no anytime. We won't release it if is too personal"

You grabbed his hand and run your thumb over his knuckles. "Thanks, Noah"

"No, thank you for giving us this lyrics."

"Hey, sorry. There was a lot of traffic." Nicky walked in with sweaty cheeks and his hair quite messy, but had some coffee.

"Nah, don't worry dude. You have to check this" Noah gave you a sweet smile and that's how you started producing the song.

A few days later, you sat with your eyes closed and headphones on, Noah sitting by you in the silent room. It was your first time listening to the song and there was something special on it. It took you a while to figure it out. But when you realized, your mouth opened and you turned to look at him. The other guys were outside having some drinks after a long day, so it was just the two of you.

Noah smirked and crossed his arms.

"It's me" You muttered.

You didn't think they would use it. You had sung the song once. It was recorded and everything, you had agreed. But this...

"Noah" you pushed the headphones back right when his voice came back.

"Listen. We can remove it. We actually have two versions. But if you like it and you agree, we want you to feature in the song."

You didn't know what to say.

"Maybe not like huge thing. But we want your name on it"

"My name is already on it"

"Bigger this time. YN, half of the album is also yours. Do you think we could do this without you?"

"Probably"

He rolled his eyes and grabbed your hand.

"I disagree. It's on you, YN. Feel free"

You considered it for a few seconds. Your voice was there, doing some chorus and melodies. It wasn't a big thing.

"Don't make it too big"

"Promised" You linked your pinkies and smiled sweetly at each other, that warm love between you two obviously showing. Maybe not enough because any of you seemed to notice.

A few minutes later, Noah walked you to the kitchen, where he passed you your drink of choice and lifted his.

"To YN, who finally sings one of our songs."

"To YN!"

Months passed and the song had been released a while ago. It had been a good one, the fans liked it and it sounded good on live.

"YN"

You turned to see Folio by the door.

"Mhm"

"Uh... Can you come with us for a minute?"

Why did you tour with them? Good question. Some days you still wondered what was your job apart from songwriting.

When you left the room, you found all of them looking with suspicious smiles.

"Okay, what's wrong? What have you done?"

"Nothing yet" Jolly chuckled.

"I'm scared"

"We want to ask you something" Noah started.

Then, Nicholas followed:

"What do you think about singing with us on the stage?"

You gasped too loudly, making them all laugh at your genuine reaction.

You needed a few days to prepare for it, attending to rehearsals and sound checks. But it all went smoothly.

"So, I announce you and then you come in."

You nodded with your eyes fixed on Noah's hands. They were the perfect distraction. Tonight was the night and nerves were eating you.

"You will be there, right?"

Noah smiled, more to himself than anything, but if someone had seen him... The guys would have teased him so much.

"Of course. I will always be"

You nodded with a rapid beating heart.

"But listen, we follow you. You can run away if you want to" He chuckled. "It will be fine"

You nodded and grabbed his hand in a sweet thankful gesture.

"Thank you"

"Free therapy, sweetheart"

You chuckled and blushed at the same time. It wasn't usual to hear him call you pet names, but oh how you loved them.

"My actual therapist would hate you for that"

"Sure thing"

Noah got up and lean to kiss your forehead.

"Remember, black outfit"

You rolled your eyes and tried to hid the blush.

"See you in twenty"

You nodded and watched him walk outside the room, leaving you enough space to think about what would happen at the end of the show, how Noah had guided you through the whole process, how he had been singing a song about your shitty ex for weeks now, how him and the guys had allowed you to pour your rage and feelings in that song only to perform it for you, how now they were giving you the opportunity to do it yourself.

"Okay... That's the last one" Matt whispered to you. "Ready?"

You nodded and the manager hugged you.

"Okay, you've got this"

"Now! We have a very special guest tonight" Noah climbed on his step and look at the fans, who shouted at him. "Are you ready!?" They shouted back at him once more. "Make some noise!" He finally growled as Nick's hands finally fell on the drums.

The lights, the music, the fans, the guys... Noah... They waited for you, the signer with a had stretched out.

With an encouraging push from Matt and the mic in your hand, you stepped in the stage. It all became loud, still, Noah waited for you. You grabbed his hand and he pulled you up in the step. And then he let go of you and moved back.

It was refreshing, so relaxing, so... The adrenile filled your veins so soon, as soon as you saw all that people singing back at you, singing those lyrics about such a sad moment. But you also heard him. For this performance, you had switched places. Your voice was the main one as Noah stood behind you. What originally was your voice doing melodies and choruses, was now Noah screaming and growling, which made your skin crawl.

And almost at the end, during the climax, he appeared next to you and grabbed your hand. You turned to him and looked into his eyes. This hadn't been planned. You hadn't rehearsed this but now you were singing together and you felt so light.

You reached the highest note easily, hand in hand, with him screaming one last time. And then it all went dark and the instruments faded. The loud sounds of people filled the theater.

You were shaking, but it was excitement. Then Noah pulled you to his body and you felt yourself coming back to reality again. His tall lanky body engulfed you and his strong arms kept you close. So close. You hugged him back and gripped his turtleneck so hard you could have ripped it.

Your chest were pressed and you were breathing hard. Then, still in the dark stage, only with faint white background lights, Noah kissed your temple and you felt a wave of feelings. It was there, right there.

The lights came back and he faced the stage, still with his arm around your shoulders. You tried to focus on something else, maybe Folio by your other side who was ruffling your hair, or the fans... But still it was only him you could think of. You stayed with them for the last goodbye to the fans.

You were the one who left the stage first, almost hyperventilating and with your ears buzzing.

You heard them behind you, congratulating each other and hugging.

You turned around and your eyes fell on his, he was already looking at you.

"Noah" You whispered.

He only saw you mouthing his name, but stopped walking. The guys passed you.

"Noah" You repeated his name. He nodded. He knew, he could feel it too.

You finally walked to him and your bodies clashed. Then your lips. You kissed fervousily and your hands roamed his sweaty hair. His arms wrapped around your body and pulled you impossibly close.

The kiss was intense, hard... Teeth clashed, tongues played with each other and little noises escaped you both. You could still hear the eco of the fans outside. But that was all. There was nothing else but Noah.

"Oh god" You panted as you pulled back. With your forehead against his and your hands on his tattooed neck, you could feel his quick pulse. "Noah"

"Yes" He nodded and moved his hand to the side of your face. You both still had your eyes closed and your lips wet from the kiss. Your body only begged for more.

Noah kissed you once more, softly this time, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper. "I'm here" He whispered in your mouth.

You finally opened your eyes and he looked at you.

"I love you" That was all you need to hear.

[deadhands69]

Something More

Katsuki Bakugo x gn reader

Eventual smut/afab

Setting: mid-time skip, Senior Year of College. Reader did not attend UA high, just joined for university. Enemies to lovers.

Warnings, etc: series contains eventual smut, slight angst, light violence/injuries but it's bnha soooo, drinking/intoxication, swearing.

This is part 1; more parts coming as soon as I get a break from work and homework :)

Earlier today, you would never have dreamed you’d be stuffed in a closet with your rival, Katsuki Bakugo. Nor would you ever have imagined you’d enjoy that. But being here, pressed against his chest with his arm wrapped around you - it could be a lot worse. 

Yesterday Morning

It felt like nothing could go right. You overslept, waking up groggy and angry at the world. Your shoelace broke, you dripped toothpaste down your shirt, your phone died on the charger (hence the lack of alarm to wake you), and the weak coffee you chugged on the way out of the dorms did absolutely nothing to improve your mood. 

That’s all before walking into the classroom.

Earlier in the week, you were assigned a term-long project detailing your partner’s quirk. Pros, cons, good/bad match-ups, how your quirks work together, what you could learn from them to improve your own progress. You hoped for Izuku Midoriya, with his notebook full of information already, but you were paired with Katsuki Bakugo. 

Aizawa must hate you.

The two of you had never gotten along. Sure, he was warmer towards his friends, who he'd known for years, but never with you. That’s fair though, you also hated everything about him. You hated how cocky he would act. His stupid face when he thinks he’s right. How he always got away with his bullshit. You hated the way he treated the girls who swooned over him (all because he defeated some nerfed villain a while ago.) Then, you hated him even more when you saw the constant stream of faceless fangirls being shuttled in and out of his room in the middle of the night like no one noticed. Most of all, you hated the lack of respect he always had for you.

Unfortunately for you both, the assignment would involve a lot of back and forth, questions, explanations, etc. Considering the relationship you had with your partner, the two of you opted to work on your pieces alone, exchanging in the mornings. And, well, it’s the morning. Time to interact.

“Hey, Backfire. Ya get that work done?” (he’d always chosen to call you this, over your hero name “Echo.”)

“Yeah,” you handed him the paper detailing what you’ve observed about his quirk in practice.

He barely looks over it before adding his critique, “this is garbage. That part’s bad too. Are you trying to make me sound weak? Not like your shitty quirk is that great. Redo it.”

Not happening.

“If you have a problem, why don’t you do it then? Here’s a pen, there’s the paper. Be my fucking guest. Tell me alllll about how amazing the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite is,” your biting words saccharine sweet as you pretended to fawn over him, “or should I just ask the girls lining up to crawl into your bed every night to write it?”

“What, jealous? God, you need to get laid. It’s a shame no one pities you enough to help out with that,” he responded with fake sympathy.

This wasn’t too far from a normal conversation between the two of you. Any other day, you thought. Any other time and maybe you could put up with his shit. 

But absolutely not today.

Before you could think, you smacked him. Hard.

A hush fell over the class as everyone watched for his reaction. Your next move.

To be honest, you surprised yourself with that one too.

You were always the “good kid.” Maybe standoffish and mouthy but you got good grades, always turned your homework in on time, and, mostly, tended to follow rules when it mattered.

But the bigger elephant in the room: no one actually fucks with Bakugo. Sure you’d all throw his words back at him and argue but physically? Between his strength, personality, and explosive quirk, no one touches him.

His face reddened in anger, hiding the puffy pink outline your hand left. “Do you wanna die??” he yelled before Aizawa shuffled to his desk in his yellow sleeping bag to start class.

Class went by as usual, despite the lingering tension in the air. Before you knew it, it was over. The teacher said something about randomly assigned partners for sparing in the morning then set you free. 

“Do it better,” Bakugo asserted, shoving the paper back at you. The imprint of your fingertips still dotted his face. 

“Fine, as long as you fix your half too. I am not getting a bad grade because of you,” you spit the words out like they would burn your tongue if you held in thoughts of him any longer. 

The rest of the afternoon, you stared at a blank sheet of paper. No matter how hard you tried, the words just wouldn’t show up. At seven, you gave up and went to Jiro’s room to hang out and watch music videos while discussing what you’d wear to Mina’s friend’s party the next day.

This Morning

Aizawa’s monotone voice carried through the training area. “We’ll be sparing today, as mentioned yesterday the matches are already set - the list is posted on the door. If you have an issue with it, don’t bother me. Otherwise, find your partner and make a plan.”

“The fuck,” you exclaim upon seeing your name next to Minoru Mineta’s with a match against Katsuki Bakugo and Shoto Todoroki.

The team pairings were randomly drawn from a hat but the matches were chosen. Aizawa must still be set on making your life hard when he made the list.

It would have been hard anyways, it’s not a fair fight. They’re the two strongest in the class and you were paired up with the weakest. They’re also both assholes when it comes to things like this so you know they won’t go easy on you. Not that they should. Your rebound quirk sends their attacks back at them, making you a difficult match for anyone who relies on their quirk. Generally, most of the class you are sparring against are resilient to their own powers to an extent so they aren’t at risk of being massively injured but that doesn’t make it any easier for them to take you down to win. You typically just have to stay out of the way. However, using your ability takes focus. With years of practice, you still weren’t sure if you’ll be able to go up against them both at once. And Mineta wouldn't be much help. 

In spite of the difficulty, you’d still have to give it your all. You’re lucky you even got into the hero course, honestly. Getting the points in the UA University entry exam wasn’t easy. Interfering with other potential students to bounce their quirks at the fake villains allowed you to scrape by. 

“Match one, get in place,” Present Mic’s voice rings through the building. 

Preparing on the other side of the room, your rivals didn’t look happy being paired with each other either. 

“We just have to get the flags off their belts,” you mumble down to Mineta, “throw your balls to trap them and I’ll walk up and take them. Oh, and don’t-” you pause, thinking of the last time you worked with Mineta on anything, “don’t do anything weird.” 

“And go!”

Immediately, Minetta covers the hall behind you in sticky purple balls. You rush to the other side, taunting them to chase you. 

“Hey, Todoroki, what’s this I hear about Endeavor in the news? You must be so proud, right? Come over so I can congratulate you!” 

The air cools around you, got him. Gliding with his ice, he rushes towards you before getting stuck on the trap you’d set. He immediately shoots a stream of ice, pinning your sparring partner to the wall.

You’re on your own now. That’s fine. It’ll be 1v1.

You turn to take Todoroki’s flag but only find his shoes. He’s in his socks, taking Mineta’s instead. You can still win this, you think. You’ll just have to be smart. 

Seeing a corner, you decide to duck into it. This will allow you to bounce back any attacks head on until they tire out. 

Red and white hair blurred towards you before the room froze. By focusing your quirk, you were able to shove his ice back ten while he attacked. You noticed his feet slide slightly back as well from the recoil. What you didn’t notice was Bakugo dropping behind your back and blasting you point blank into a wall of ice.

This Afternoon

“It’s because he hates me,” you groan. 

Recovery Girl had revived you, after mending quite a few broken bones and burns. She was still baffled by how beat up you came in from a “friendly” class match. A broken arm, two fractured ribs, burns on both wrists, and the entire back of your hero outfit had been blasted off, leading to even more burns.

“Hate is a strong word, he’s your classmate. I don’t think he hates you,” she continued while bandaging your arms.

“Definitely feels like it,” you mumbled looking down at your wrapped up limbs.

Once she finished patching you up, she told you to stay here for the day to rest then take it easy the next few days. She was leaving to visit family over the weekend but your condition is stable enough. You slept through the rest of the afternoon.

Earlier Tonight

9:05pm, the numbers on your phone illuminate the dark room.

Your hero costume had been sent in for repairs. Fortunately, your best friend has an extra key to your room. Jiro dropped off one of your hoodies and a pair of pants while you slept. She texted that she didn’t want to wake you but she’d see you at the party later tonight if you’re up for it. You pull the clothes out of the bag and get dressed, carefully avoiding your sore arms.

Feeling rested enough, you texted her back that you’d be there before throwing your boots on and heading out. 

In the dim waiting area, a black clothed figure was slumped over the chair. He begins to stir and rubs his blonde hair out of his eyes as you pass before he jumps up to follow you.

“Let me guess, is apologizing and walking me home your punishment?” you ask.

“Yep,” Bakugo responds.

“Got it,” you say walking out the door. The cold winter air burns your face.

After a long pause, he began to apologize. “I really am sorry though, I didn’t mean to actually hurt you. I should have known better and that’s on me,” his words puff out in clouds.

“I just figured it was because I slapped you yesterday.”

“It wasn’t out of retaliation,” he pauses before continuing, “I’m really not that mad about you hitting me. I mean, I was mad, but more shocked than anything. No one in our class ever treats me like that.”

“Well, someone has to. It’s one of the things I hate the most about you - people just let you get away with anything. It’s infuriating.”

“Hey, that is not true.” he side eyes you, “also, the thing you hate the most about me is how other people treat me? Really? That’s not even about me.”

“No, the thing I hate the most about you is how you treat me.”

“Well, someone has to,” your words felt icier thrown back at you.

As the conversation slipped to silence, you realized this was the first time you’d ever spoken to him alone. He almost seemed sincere, but you still weren't friendly. The rest of the walk continued like this. The dead air between you grew in tension until you reached the building. 

“Hey, you’re friends with Raccoon Eyes too. So you’re heading to that party off campus, right?” he asks, while you walk to the stairs.

“Mina’s friend’s party? Yeah I’m going.”

“I’ll walk you there. We can talk about our project on the way. Besides, everyone else has already left.”

You nodded, not having any excuse.

“Meet you here in twenty.” 

Fixing your makeup and hair took no time and you even added a little extra eyeliner. Clothes were another story.

Here’s the issue: all of the cute outfits you’d discussed wearing earlier in the week didn’t work unless you wanted to show off your massively bandaged arms. Out of time, you panicked throwing on a baggy long sleeve shirt with the skinny jeans and boots you were already wearing. Grabbing your sweatshirt to throw over the top, you ran out the door. Frumpy but at least no one would ask questions.

“Wow, it’s like you didn’t even try,” his voice calls out from the lobby.

“Oh, fuck you Bakugo! Half my body is covered in gauze because of the burns you gave me. Nothing looked cute.”

“You’re talking to someone who is covered in scars. No one cares. Besides, if anyone does say shit about it, I’ll kill ‘em. I owe you that much.”

"You covered the scars on your arm with tattoos though, doesn't count."

Ignoring this, Bakugo’s red eyes looked you up and down once more before running up the stairs past you.

“Now come on, Backfire, I’m not walking into a party with you if you look like that. Let’s pick something else.”

“Oh, treating me like one of your arm candy girls now? So fucking sweet of you,” you rolled your eyes but still followed him back up the stairs.

“If you were 'one of my arm candy girls', I wouldn’t have to drag you back to your dorm to change. Have to say, this is a first.”

“Ughh speaking of which, it’s ten - shouldn’t you be hooking up with someone by now?”

“Pretty hung up on that, huh?”

“On the way you treat women? Yeah, you’re disgusting.”

“Am not. I’m not leading anyone on or making anyone do anything.” 

“What if they end up wanting more?” you asked while pulling out your keys.

“Then I ditch ‘em, like I said I’m not leading anyone on.”

“Wow, you’re such a gentleman. Bet that’ll never come back to bite you.”

As you flipped the light on in your room, you were glad it’s relatively clean. Except for the pile of clothes you’d created on the bed but it’s not like you were trying to impress him of all people. 

Not missing much time, he practically dove into the discarded items you’d tried earlier. “This is cute,” he said holding up a tiny tank top, “and this one. I didn’t even know you owned stuff like this,” he said before handing you a stack to try. 

You almost commented about not wanting to take fashion advice from him before you realized actually looked good. He was wearing a grey jacket, tight black v-neck, and pants that fit really well. Fuck him.

Carefully, you put on the first shirt before looking up at the mirror. It’s a strappy black crop top. You bought it online over the summer but so far you hadn’t had the occasion (or the confidence) to wear it anywhere. The outfit, as a whole, looked cute but it really contrasted with the white cloth wrapped around your arms. 

“I look like a mummy,” you said as you walked out of the bathroom to show him.

Saying nothing, his eyes analyzed you. “No, that’s the outfit,” he said, continuing to stare critically, “do you have a sweater or something?”

“Yeah,” you said while picking a thick oversized grey cardigan, “you sure I don’t look like a little kid on halloween?” Why are you even asking his opinion, he’s probably just fucking with you. 

“No, you don’t,” he laughed.

The walk off-campus wasn’t the worst. He seemed to genuinely feel bad for hurting you so he got every door for you (which felt uncharacteristically nice but you decided not to get used to it.) You brought up the project from class and after a quick discussion, you both agreed it would be good to work together on it. Phone numbers were exchanged and you decided to meet tomorrow on “neutral territory”, the library. It wasn’t until you walked in the door of the house, that you realized the two of you were accidentally matching. 

Not wanting to look like Bakugo’s date of the night, you split off fairly quickly and found Jiro and Mina outside. 

“Hey, [y/n]! How are you feeling?” Jiro yelled before hugging you.

“I”m okay - thanks for dropping off clothes, that was a lifesaver!” you turned to give Mina a hug as well, “thanks for the invite! This party is awesome.”

“Of course! You should grab a drink and catch up to us!” Mina slurred back. You turned when Jiro grabbed your shoulder. 

“Oh. And as a heads up, Mineta’s been looking for you,” Jiro mumbled under her breath.

“Thanks for the warning!”

He probably just wanted to recap after what happened in class today. That could wait until Monday - he could be tolerable in moderation when he was sober, but dealing with Mineta after a few drinks? Absolutely not. You made it three steps through the door when a glint of purple entered your peripheral vision and you booked it. Rushing between people, you ran down a hallway.

Now

Seeing a door to your left, you take a chance. You reach for the handle when it flies open and you collide with Bakugo, who is also cramming himself in what you’re now realizing is a closet. His arm wraps around you, pulling you against him to shut the door.

“Ouch, fuck,” you grumble after he grabbed the still raw burn on your back. Shifting back slightly, you hit a bunch of coats, leaving you pressed into his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing in here??” his hushed voice interrogates you.

“Hiding, obviously!” you respond in a whisper.

“Hiding from what?” 

“Mineta. I think he wants to talk about today but.. Ugh I can’t deal with that little creep right now.”

Upon further thought, being in a closet with Bakugo isn’t ideal either.

“You know what, I think I’ll take my chances,” you begin to press the door open when he grabs your hand.

“No, you don’t. If you open this she might see me.”

“She? Who's ‘she’??” 

“A girl in the support course. It’s so fucking stupid. I hooked up with her last week, now she thinks we’re dating.”

“So you’re hiding in a closet? So much for being direct and not leading anyone on.”

“Oh, I forgot. You’re just sooo much better than me. I’m not in the mood for a lecture,” he shifts against you, “you know what, fuck it. I’m going out there.”

“Wait!” you whisper yell at him, fighting the urge to say you told him so, “fine. I’ll drop it. Now wait a few minutes, if you open this door, I’m sure Mineta will still be lurking around.” 

“Fine.”

Taking a deep breath, for the first time since entering the closet, you become acutely aware of how good he smells. He smells clean, like laundry and shampoo, but there’s another smell. Something more subtle that really draws you to him. Not that you could be drawn much closer. In this tiny space you feel the warmth of his body, the movement of his breathing. His arm still wrapped around you. This isn’t so bad. What the fuck are you thinking?

Bakugo breaks the long silence.

“This is the worst game of seven minutes in heaven,” he jokes, in an attempt to break the tension.

“No, it could be worse. Last year I got shoved in a closet with Denki. He was wasted and pretty handsy.”

“Really? I can’t picture you playing that game, you seem-”

You laugh, “I seem what?”

“I dunno, like you’d be too good for that or something.”

“Too good for that?”

“Yeah, like. You don’t even date,” he responds.

“You don’t date either.”

“You know what I mean. You’re basically asexual.”

“Oh my god, I am not,” you reply, “ I’m just busy, that’s all. I’d love to have more fun but it takes a lot of work to keep up in school. My quirk’s not all flashy like yours.”

He pauses. 

“None of this is easy,” you almost feel like you’re imagining things when his thumb subtly rubs your shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m hard on you because I didn’t think I’d beat you otherwise.”

“I’ll tell that to Recovery Girl next time.”

“I promise there won’t be a next time. I went too far. And I got lucky. If you’d directed your quirk at me, I would have slammed into the wall and been in there with you. It was a risky move anyways and I shouldn’ have done it.” He squeezes your shoulder, “I’ll make it up to you. Come on.”

Pressing out of the closet door, you really hope no one notices you stepping out of the small space with Katsuki Bakugo. He takes your hand, pulling you down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Kitchen. That little runt’s afraid of me so you’re fine as long as you stay close.”

Approaching a counter of liquor, he opens a bottle of tequila, pouring both of you a shot. He slides it to you.

You pitch an eyebrow up at him, “you think I’m taking a drink from you?”

“Oh come on, I’m not a perv. You said you wanted to have more fun and I owe you.” 

Skeptically you agree. “Okay, but I am not going home with you.”

He laughs, “who said I’d wanna go home with you? Besides, I’m still not convinced you’d ever relax enough to fuck anyone.”

“Oh fuck off, Bakugo. Clearly you don’t know me at all,” you say before downing the shot. It burns but you don’t let yourself react.

“Clearly,” he responds slightly smirking before drinking his own.

A few hours after you first started drinking with Bakugo, the two of you are sitting on the kitchen floor with the bottle between you. You’d started shot for shot but at some point managed to lose the shot glasses and switched to passing the bottle back and forth. Your sweater and his jacket piled in a ball between you.

“Okay. So,” you slur, gesturing vaguely at him, “you want to be a hero because of All Might?”

“When I was a kid, yeah.” He puts a hand on your shoulder to steady you, “but now I have more reasons, not just him. You didn’t answer my question though! Who’s yours?”

“Who made me want to be a hero?” you’d slightly dodged the question because, even in your inebriated state, the answer is a bit embarrassing. “Okay, I’ll answer but you can’t make fun of me for it.”

“That’s no fun, I already answered and you’re definitely gonna make fun of me.”

“If I was going to make fun of you, I already would have. You’re wearing All Might socks,” you lightly kick his ankle, the blue and red socks showing where his pant legs slid up. He glances down before his head lolls back towards you, staring expectantly.

“Okay, fine. Mine’s Eraserhead.”

“Eraser? Like our teacher?” he laughs, “no, that makes a lot of sense. You totally have a crush on our teacher!”

“I do not!” you lightly shove his shoulder. Unfocused, your eyes rake over him. You’d never noticed how pretty he is until now, he’s beautiful. He bumps back into you.

“Is that why you try so hard in class? You should tell him!” he picks up your phone from the floor.

“No! But also kind of?” your hand reaches towards your phone, missing his entirely, “I don’t have a crush on him but I want him to like me.” he raises his eyebrows at you, “NOT LIKE THAT!” you pause before continuing, “how would you feel if All Might didn’t like you?”

“He doesn’t dislike you.”

“He made me work with you,” you blurt out without thinking.

Bakugo flinches slightly at the honesty, but he seems to get it. “He’s not stupid, [l/n]. He’s had almost two years to see that we fight all the time and he just wants us to get along or something.” 

“If only he could see us now,” you laugh. To a stranger, you probably look quite close right now. Your leg over his, his arm over your shoulder, leaning in towards each other.

Wait, fuck.

His glossy crimson eyes light up, “wait! I’ve got it, that’s what you should send him!” he says while sloppily swiping the camera open on your phone and flipping the screen to a selfie. Pulling you in closer, your head falls onto his shoulder. The screen of your phone flashes lightly and he drops the arm in front of you, but you can’t be bothered to move. Tipping your face into him, your eyes closing. He really does smell so good.

 “Aww it’s like we’re friends, he’ll love it,” he says, nudging your phone into your hands.

Prying yourself up, your eyes adjust to the screen. As your doubled vision merges with itself, you notice the notifications in your group chat with Jiro and Mina.

Jiro [where’d you go??]

Mina [we miss you!1!]

Mina [okay, we’re looking for yuo]

Jiro [re3alyy where r u?]

“Oh shit,” you say, “my friends must have texted when we were in the closet.”

You [omggg just saw tghhese]

You [not dead]

Tipping your phone away from Bakugo, you add

You [hes so hott6t]

You [shuold i kiss himn?]

Mina [oooooooo]

Jiro [who.?]

You [image]

Jiro [no]

Jiro [defnitly not]

Mina [🚩🚩🚩]

Mina [babe, ur SLOPPY]

Jiro [is that a kitchen?? we’re otw!]

Jiro [dotn do anythng!!]

Abandoning your phone on the floor, your head droops back into his shoulder. He leans into you, pressing his cheek into your forehead. Taking the bottle from his hand, you sip idly - unable to feel the burn anymore. You wonder what it would be like to kiss him, gazing longingly at his lips that are now only inches away. 

“Blasty, you’ve been hiding [y/n] from us!” Mina’s voice fills the kitchen as your friends pile to the floor next to you, Kirishima in tow.

Jiro takes the bottle before grasping your hands and pulling you upright. “Hey, you alright?” she asks soothingly. 

“They’re fine,” Bakugo asserts, “and I didn’t hide shit. We’ve been here most of the night,” he yanks the tequila back from Jiro, polishing the bottle off in a final gulp. “All of you just suck at looking for people.”

“Come on man, get off the floor.” Kirishima urges, “let’s go kick everyone’s asses at beer pong!”

“We need to get up and go too,” Jiro adds as she and Mina collect your belongings. 

Staggering slightly, you follow your group out to the living room before everyone begins to part ways. 

“I’m gonna stay with them!” Mina whispers to you, “Eijiro will walk me home later,” she adds with a wink.

“Bye, have fun!” you hug her before turning to Jiro.

“Don't forget about tomorrow!” Bakugo yells over his shoulder, following his friends.

“One o'clock, I'll be there, ” you yell back, your words still slurring together.

“What’s tomorrow?” Jiro asks while guiding you out the door.

“School project we have to do,” you respond. 

“That makes more sense, but still. Maybe next time we go to a party you can find a boy to sit on the floor with who didn’t try to kill you earlier.” 

[bidisasterevankinard]

I'd have put my money on the conflict being Buck charging full speed ahead with the relationship (eg wanting to move in) while Tommy sort of puts the brakes because of past relationship trauma and not fully believing Buck's committed enough. BUT a bigger storyline wouldn't be just about this so I'm very curious

I see your vision and I agree I'm sure the main problem wouldn't be the argument itself, yet I don't think it's gonna be helicopter crush, but some other thing or maybe car crush or bad call, but I'm not sure it's Buck who will run too fast. Because he tried to commit to fast (Abby), to commit slowly (Ali) and commit in good tempo but because of bad reasons (Taylor) and because of different reasons it bit him in his ass. Ofc he wasn't the one who was on the blame relationship fall(with Abby and Ali it's hard to find his fault at all) but it still I'm sure it made him scared bc he doesn't know how to commit to a person as he should in good tempo bc of good reasons. I kinda feel it's gonna be Buck's problem. To be able to say why he wants to be "it" with Tommy, but not to get back to his clinging phase (also btw 8x5/6 it's time Gerard is back so maybe he will add to the problems for Buck to get over. Now i also think maybe Buck will be met with the close to Athena's situation in season 2 when she had a chance to get new higher job but she loved her life like that and only Bobby wasn't the one to tell her to go and change her life. Maybe Gerard would offer Buck smt in the other station and it will lead to Buck need to address what he wants from his future and from his life rn)

As for Tommy it's harder to say anything bc we don't know his love life story except that he came out only in 2017. There's a lot of hcs and I see Tommy as the person who had little slut phase but then tried serious relationships and bc of smt it never clicked. Is that possible he wouldn't want to be more serious with Buck? Ofc, but there's also can be that he actually the one who feels like Buck is less commited after he went over his panic and trying to chase Tommy. Maybe Tommy would feel insecure about smt

Everything is possible. Also ofc i wouldn't be so against moving in in episode 6, but my gut tells me it's not gonna be it. I think I love you scene more possible. And i bet moving in it's at least middle season finale if not the season finale. Bc how Tim and Oliver talked about this season I feel like they would try to get Buck and Tommy to get to know each other really really good and overcome some difficulties first, before moving them together(especially if they would decide bucktommy it's not it break them before they moved on together would be easier. I see bucktommy moving in together close the them getting engaged). Madney and BuckTaylor both moved together only in second part of the seasons where they officially dated (3 and 5s), bathena also moved together only in second part of the season they officially dated (2s) but yeah it was definitely faster. My bet bucktommy gonna move together around 10 months of dating, not 6 as I suspect it's gonna be in 8x5-6

[chrysanthemumgames]

Could you share a little more about your writing process? Do you outline? I’m struggling with keeping the amount of choices down in my game but also keeping it customizable

I may not be the best person to ask about this, as I'm honestly still quite an amateur, but I'll share some of what I do, and maybe it'll help.

I do think some amount of outlining is pretty necessary for writing an interactive fiction. Flying by the seat of your pants (that is, just writing until you're done, then going back to rewrite everything into coherence) isn't really sustainable practice for a (long) choice game. You really want to know at least where all the major branches of your game are going, and where they can meet back up again.

Those meeting places are called chokepoints, and they're vital.

For example, in Chapter Four of FoA, the player has three different routes of investigation they can take. They can go talk to Lethe and try to help heal her, they can go into the city to see if the spirits know anything, or they can go to the riverbank to try and pinpoint the source and nature of whatever is ailing the river Lethe. This results in three distinct scenes, each with their own choices, and if I'd wanted to, all of them could have further branched in some big way that would affect the plot, and so on, and so forth.

The thing is, that's not really doable. There needs to be some place the branches meet up again so the story can continue, at least as early in the game as Chapter Four! In this example, it was literally a meeting where everyone talked about their findings, but of course it doesn't have to be. The point is, it brought the branches back together again and allowed the story to continue. You should probably at least have a sense of when the bigger branches are going to occur, and what's going to bring them together again. That alone will help you control the number of choices and branches you offer. If you know they all have to eventually get the player to the clock tower at midnight or something, then you know how to steer things within each branch.

My outlines tend to be a little more detailed than that. I start with a beat chart for the game (or, in the case of BotL, a beat chart for each subplot, because it's basically several subplots stacked together wearing a trenchcoat), and from there I put them in the right order and make a beat chart for the whole thing.

A 'beat chart' here is just a list of the big things that happen like 'PC meets Iasion' or 'Trial of Pirithous and Theseus.' Once you have a really general outline like that, you can stop outlining if you want. You have a roadmap, and if you're more of an improvisor, that should still be enough to help you steer yourself towards the necessary chokepoints. If you prefer to plan more, like me, you can break your outline into chunks and add levels of detail. I will do a chapter-by-chapter outline with a list of scenes for each, and then when I come to the specific chapter I will actually outline the scenes with code before writing my way through them. Sometimes all at once, sometimes in the form of outline, scene, outline, scene.

Finding the process that works for you is a big part of succeeding at finishing an IF, I think. Yours might not (probably won't) be the same as mine; the important thing is that it keeps you moving forward (and not just laterally, into more and more branches). Branches are great, but you have to prune them back sometimes for the healthiest plant. IF. You get what I mean, I hope.

[hypermania]

Is it weird if the "Is that what makes you fascinating" scene is the hottest I've ever found Armand? He's usually so contained and careful, and there was such a wild edge to him there, and an emphasis on Assad's height and muscle rather than making him look waify as they usually do, and it was so compelling and weirdly sexy. And horrifying.

oh man. i watched season 2 after all of it had already aired and was fully spoiled on everything that was going to happen so i knew it was coming and it was the thing i was most looking forward to and i still wasn't prepared! nothing could have prepared me. it is *clenches fist* so good.

i'm personally more stuck on the fight between him and louis. there are two moments in particular that his physicality really gets me. the first is when louis is asking (taunting) him if he's going to be the gremlin or the good nurse, and this is armand's response:

i love this because you can see him warring with himself. he doesn't know if he's going to be the gremlin or the good nurse (and hilariously, i would argue he ends up being both: good nurse with louis and gremlin with daniel [and then eventually the good nurse with daniel as well when he's going to kill him].) but there's something about the way armand is holding himself here, like he knows that he's bigger, more powerful, stronger (and in the shots leading up to it, he is inarguably bigger. you can see that he's got height and width on louis as louis is screaming in his face!) but he's still holding himself back, despite everything he's already said to louis and everything he will say. he's still confining himself to a flesh and blood body.

the second is a few moments later:

the reason i love this one is because it's so human. the way he points with the cassette tape and then slams it down on the table is so incredulous lol. and i feel like it's the first moment where he really looks his full size. i don't know how to explain it but there's something very... masculine? i think? maybe? about the way he moves that isn't typically present in his demeanor and it makes him look every inch of his size. and yet!!! he still looks so human.

anyway i bring these moments up because i think they help make your point about the "is that what makes you fascinating?" scene(s). this episode is, i think, the first time we get a real look at who armand actually is. but despite the mask finally slipping in his fight with louis and his size being on full display, there's still something fairly ordinary about him. it's not until his face-to-face interactions with daniel that we see the deranged ancient vampire behind the almost cherubic face. he becomes otherworldly.

and it's very clear that we're supposed to understand that he's the most powerful thing in the room. he is a looming presence that takes up all the air. there are a lot of shots with angles like this where we're looking up at him with daniel:

and a lot of ones like this where ostensibly there are two people of similar size in the frame but he takes all the space up:

but i think the thing that makes the "is that what makes you fascinating?" scenes so horrifying is not his size, but the fact that he's not actually using it. he is larger than both daniel and louis and we're now acutely aware of that. but he doesn't put his hands on daniel at all. in fact, for quite some time he barely even glances at him. armand is terrifying here because he is so physically in control of his body and actions and so desperately out of control of his emotions and you can see it all over his face.

like?? he could snap daniel's neck with barely a thought. he is in the body of a sizeable man and has supernatural strength. but the danger here is the boyish desperation and longing on his face.

anyway this was all a very long-winded way of saying i see you anon and i agree lol

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Normal Friend Behaviour.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[bunnyboy-juice]

g-d bless femme ass hair 🥰

[ryllen]

Look what came through the mail today! The letters & ( •̀ω•́ )σ 3 little gremlins from letterstoear.

Just wanna say i adore the flower stickers on the letters too much, they are that much worth mentioning.

[chalkrub]

super fun trade with @charseraph !

[useless-catalanfacts]

Btw if you come on holidays and stay at an AirBnb instead of an actual registered hotel I hate you personally. Not "I hate the gentrification and touristic massification and the way we can't live in our homes and are forced to move away because of tourism" in an abstract way- No, not just that. I hate you.