#and that line specifically alway just stuck in my head!!!!

[humanmorph]

PALISADE 18 SPOILERS

the next saddest thing about baldwin home getting shot aside from. The whole situation. is that it cuts Austin off from doing more intros with him when they were sooooooo fucking good

Like I had this on repeat the other day (thank you FatT fans who make AMVs your service is invaluable)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[connormoving]

when i wake up i need to make a robot. okay

[esotericcangel]

💭 thinking about rafe who uses sex as a replacement for his coke addiction…

rafe has known you forever. you’ve stuck by him through some of his hardest times, through wards death, his coke addiction… so consequently, it’s no surprise when you two start dating.

and shockingly, for once in his life, rafe realizes he wants to be better. for you. for himself. so, with a lot of support from you, he quits doing drugs. coke specifically.

and it’s not easy. obviously. there are nights where he wakes up in a cold sweat, body trembling and his heart racing like he just did a couple lines, but he knows it’s just the withdrawals. and luckily for him, you’re always there for him.

in more ways than one.

sex. rafe found it was the only thing that distracted him from his once drug addled mind, the warm comfort of you wrapped around him enough to flood out any thoughts of needing coke.

in the mornings, in the afternoons. sometimes even when you were both asleep. he’d wake up, badly trembling, gasp escaping his lips and when he was sure that nothing could soothe the ache in his chest, you were right there.

soft, warm, the smell of your perfume lingering on your skin. the one rafe loved, the one you wore because you knew he loved it.

“baby,” he murmured, his voice a raspy, gruff murmur, still not yet shaken from the confines of sleep. you hummed in response, body shifting, like you already knew what he needed. it was wordless permission in itself—the way you scooted your ass a little further so it nestled into his crotch, your mind still fuzzy with sleep, but awake enough to know what he needed.

and he’d oblige everytime, a soft breath of content leaving his lips, large hands massaging your hips gently as he toyed with the edges of your panties. he mouthed at your neck, warm soft kisses, hands easing your panties down to your mid thigh.

he was already flushed, leaking at the tip, his body begging for that sweet warmth only you could provide him.

and when he finally eased himself in, when both of your lips parted to release the softest of breaths, he felt safe. his nerves relaxed, his heart beat slowed. it felt safe. content.

he didn’t move for a bit, just savored the warmth around his, pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, murmured sweet nothings.

“so perfect,” he whispered in your ear, his kiss bitten lips brushing the cartilage of your earlobe, easing his hips a little higher, starting a steady rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure up both of your spines, yours fuzzy, and dull, his more consuming.

“y’feel so good, baby.. ah, fuck..” he groaned low, hands holding your hips like a vice, the softest of whines escaping you, a symphony of noises filling the once silent space.

his orgasm always came fast, a tightening in his stomach, his hand wrapping around your torso, thumb rubbing circles onto your clit. and when you both were on your peak, about to fall off, he’d grab your jaw, pulling you into a messy kiss that was all teeth and tongue, spit mixing and making a lewd noise in the night.

it was later when he finally pulled out of you with a soft hiss, his body sensitive from his high, your breathing evening out as you rolled over, meeting rafe face first.

“feel better?” you murmured, soft and comforting, hand reaching out to stroke his head, eyes half lidded and blurry with sleep.

he leant into your touch, arms wrapped around your body like he was afraid to let go, like if he did, he’d wake up from the same withdrawals and realize this was all a dream.

“when i’m with you?” he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, holding back a smile when your eyes fully shut. “always, baby.”

rafe cameron masterlist ♡ want to join my taglist?

© 𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 please refrain from copying, translating or claiming my work as yours .ᐟ

🏷️: @winnie1emon @drewswife @urcoolgf @browniepop62 @angvl3tears

[riddlesrose]

the string of fate

w/ riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, idia, & malleus in part one: meeting your soulmate.

“i learnt about this in school as a kid, but didn’t know it could… cross dimensions?”

most go their entire lives with little to no hope of finding their cosmically assigned second half, but there's always a chance.

you don’t see your string until you come into physical contact with your soulmate for the first time. a red string will tie itself on your left pinky, unable to ever be removed but it feels as if its never there. the featherlight tickle of the string always reminds you that you've found the one thing a lot of people would lay down their life for.

a.n; 7.6k words total ~ 1.1k each so buckle up for a long post

riddle never really thought much on the idea of a soulmate. his mother taught him that he’d have no need for one, to push the idea out of his head. but it stuck. it stuck to him in the back of his mind, that there was someone out there, and the slim chance he had to meet them kept his hope aflame. 

riddle and his crew of cards were some of the first people you actually met in the wonderland. you took him as some sort of rule enforcing, crazy man for the first few days until you realize he really just likes making sure everything stays in order. 

headmage crowley had sent you on a few back and forth missions for him recently, which always led you to the same heartslabyul dorm each time, specifically to riddle or trey if the housewarden was busy or unavailable. 

you rap your knuckle against the large front door and are instantly greeted by ace, who happens to look like he’s in a major rush. he greets you quickly, then speeds past you like he’s tardy for something. he probably is. 

you shrug and let yourself into the dorm building, “hello?” you voice echoes off the walls of the oddly empty halls. you take the chance to look around a little more closely than before, you notice there are signs pointing to many different directions on the same stem, but they all point to places leading to walls or doors. strange. 

there are many paintings hung on the tall, red wrapped walls. some are of animals, like flamingos and hedgehogs, others are of people. you notice there are a lot of one plump lady with a small yet tall crown upon her head. must be the queen of hearts. 

someone clears his throat behind you. “i see you’ve let yourself in.” you whirl around and are met with riddle’s stern look. not quite disapproving, but you can’t quite place the look he’s attempting to flatten you with. 

“well, ace technically let me in?” you gnaw on your bottom lip, realizing how stupid that sounds. 

“right. i see you were looking at the pictures on the walls, have any caught your attention?” the housewarden lifts an eyebrow, before scanning the nearby paintings and various pieces of decoration filling the hallway. 

you turn to the large portrait of who you assume is the queen of hearts, “yeah, this one.” you take in the details, her mouth is open as if she’s commanding the various card soldiers by her side. you notice they’re all a perfect match to a deck of cards. spade, diamond, heart, and clover soldiers march together in perfect unison at the queen’s orders. 

behind her is a large castle surrounded by tall shrubs in varying shapes resembling animals and many red rose bushes. something about this painting feels vaguely familiar. 

“ah, yes. that is actually my favourite painting in this hall– the main focus of it is the queen of hearts. she was a strict ruler who ruled over her land. she kept everything in order with her army of card soldiers who followed her loyally. i believe that is because if one of them was out of line, she declared immediate beheading.” riddle looks fondly up at the painting, as if reminiscing over someone lost. 

you step closer to the painting, almost close enough you could see the brushstrokes if you squint hard enough. “she kind of… looks like she would fit in here. i think she would like the roses.” 

“you’re not wrong.” you glance at riddle, catching the small smile he’s wearing as he stares up at the old painting. riddle wipes the smile away swiftly, turning to you. “so, prefect. if i may be so curious, what brings you here today?” 

“right! right, that. headmage crowley said…” you pause, “wait, what did he say.” you mumble, turning away slightly to think. “did he…? yes, he wanted me to relay a message. for… some reason.” 

“that message is?” 

“‘tell housewarden rosehearts that we are expecting a new delivery of riding gear by next week.’ ” you mock crowley's voice to the best of your abilities, turning back to riddle, then continuing. “there’s horses here?” 

“yes, there’s multiple. i’m in the equestrian club with some other students. i could show you some time if you are interested.” riddle’s smooth, almost uninterested voice gets a little softer when he goes on, “i dare say i have a favourite, she’s quite kind.” 

you hold out your hand, offering a promising handshake. “it’s a deal, housewarden rosehearts: you show me the horses sometime.”

the redhead cracks a small smile, “please, riddle is fine.” he takes your hand, “sometime it is-”

he stops mid phrase. small red glitters start emitting from your interlaced hands, falling but not quite hitting the floor. they disappear moments after they appear. the twinkling glitters capture the light coming from the nearby window, they shine bright before dying like an oxygenless fire. 

riddle’s breath hitches in his throat, frantic eyes meeting your equally blown ones. both of you want to rip your hands away, to go back five minutes ago, but neither moves. the glittering stops moments later. you’re the first to slowly peel your hand from riddle’s, breaking eye contact, you look down to your left hand. there sits a neatly tied bow, perfectly symmetrical, perfectly placed for all to see. 

riddle copies you, examining his own left hand. a matching red bow sits tied on his pinky. despite his mind screaming at him to leave, to ignore fate, he decides to test the waters of the universe. he gently grasps your left hand with his right, when you make no move to take back control, he slowly moves your hands together. 

a light tickle is felt as the string unwinds and begins reaching towards riddle, more specifically, towards his string, which is also unwinding and reaching for its second half. your heart is hammering against your ribs as you watch fate’s cruel display of affection. 

you’re sure riddle can share the sentiment of cruelty. you’ve known riddle for a total of less than a month, and hey, has anyone mentioned that you’re not from this universe? no? maybe they should. 

your breath comes out slow and ragged, words fail to form as you attempt to say something, anything, to who was just a friend minutes ago. 

“i-i think, i uh, hear grim calling. i need to go.” 

“uh, yes, yes. i will… be in touch about the horses. if you’re still interested.” riddle’s voice trails off as his confidence wavers with each word while he watches you leave. you look back over your shoulder to riddle, to your cosmic partner.

riddle has no need for a soulmate, right?

you have no idea what you’re going to do about this.

leona never really put his hopes in a soulmate. he knew after he graduated that he’d go back to the sunset savanna and be the second prince once again. though he often milked the ‘prince’ title, he loathed the idea of falling into line with actual princely duties, like getting married. there was a sliver of hope in leona’s mind that if he ever found his soulmate that there’d be a chance he’d get to have a say in his marriage. 

in the end, he’s as hopeful for that outcome as is a sea sponge is to grow legs and walk out of water. 

you blink away the drowsiness clouding your mind, professor trein might actually bore you to death if he’s not careful. though it’s only the first weeks of classes, half of his lectures are not sticking in your brain. some would say, in one ear and out the other. 

an elbow nudges you from your left side, it’s ace. “do you get any of this?” he whispers. 

“you’re asking the wrong person.” you narrow your eyes and blink hard this time. 

a moment passes where ace is beyond confused, then he realizes that in fact he is asking the wrong person for help here. he quickly twists in his seat to his opposite neighbour, deuce to ask him the same thing. deuce shakes his head. ace’s shoulders deflate, defeated. 

some more time passes before class is over, trein assigns some work, you, ace, and deuce groan in succession but were quickly leveled with a stare from trein. the three of you swiftly made for the exit. 

it’s only an hour later that you realize your bag was unzipped and wide open as you were complaining with the heartslabyul freshmen, meaning your history notebook was left somewhere in trein’s classroom. you bashfully rub at your neck while you explain to the duo why you have to suddenly ditch them, reassuring that you’ll be as quick as you can and they don’t need to come with. 

grim stares at you before ineffectively dismissing his hench-human with a huff and a flick of his paw. (you were going to go whether grim ‘allowed’ you to or not, you need that book.) 

your speed walking caught you some funny looks as you sped past students in the halls, you didn’t want to leave your friends hanging. gods this would be so much easier with magic. 

you reach the history classroom and the door is slightly ajar. you assume either the professor was still in there or it was purposefully left open. maybe he realized there was a forgotten notebook and thought you’d come back for it. it does have your name across the top in blue pen. 

the door squeals on its hinges as it opens slowly, you cringe at the sudden noise. it goes quiet as the door fully opens. no trein in sight, nor does his desk have an addition of your notebook. okay, maybe it’s still at your seat. 

the class is empty, thankfully. you don’t have to awkwardly squeeze through strangers looking for a white notebook. a lot of people have white notebooks, but only you have your name. you reach the desk you sat at today and… no book. oh.

“okay, where is it.” you sigh to no one as you fold your arms across your chest, trying to think of anyone who would steal a freshmen history notebook. while you’re thinking, a yawn catches your attention. wait, what?

“check the floor.” the yawn turns into a phrase, making you jump. 

“what the hell?” you look around, whipping your head from the left to the right, but ultimately seeing no one. after a minute of silence, from both you and the gruff voice, you inch your way around the desks, checking the row behind. you practically jump out of your skin when you’re met with leona kingscholar sprawled out across a row of seats. 

“that can not be comfortable.” you point out the obvious as the scare wears off. 

“it’s not.” leona agrees, “but it was quiet, and empty.” he cracks an eye, leaning his head up slightly to look at you upside down. he kind of looks like he’s scowling but it’s hard to tell. 

you take a second, somewhat taken aback at his jab to your presence. “right. well, sorry?” 

“apology accepted, now get out lest you disrupt me anymore.” okay, rude. you roll your eyes before taking his previous suggestion. you squat down and check the floor for your book and-

“aha!” the notebook somehow ended up in the row behind you, it must have slipped from your bag and slid backwards. you reach under the seat leona’s got his head on, but the sleeping prince catches your arm before you can grab the book. it stuns you for a moment before you recover, “what’s your deal?” you try and back your arm from his grip but he doesn’t let go.

“you. you’re the deal. you’re yellin’ beside my head.” embarrassment rushes to your face, you did triumphantly shout when you found the missing book, that much is true. 

“okay, i’m sorry. now please let me go.” leona releases your arm, opting to run a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes as he sits up.

you scoop the notes off the ground, attempting to get out of leona’s bubble before you make enemies with the wrong person (i.e the second born prince of the sunset savanna). he reaches up and stretches his arms and back from probably the worst sleeping spot on school grounds, but something catches your attention. you suck in a breath, not wanting to make assumptions, and lift your left hand. 

there sits a perfectly tied red string, transparent yellow glitters still emanating from thin air. looking back up, leona has a matching patch of disappearing glitters that follow his stretch. scrambling to your feet, you drop the notebook you searched so diligently for and reach for leona’s arm as it falls. he opens his mouth to protest but snaps it shut at the panicked look in your eyes. he falters for a moment, hoping you explain before he asks.

the housewarden glances where you’re focused. a dainty red string is unwrapping itself from your finger and reaching towards… him? not a moment later, you’re walking as fast as your legs will take you without giving out, back to your friends who’ve hopefully not forgotten you were with them. you’ve a lot to think about. 

then again, so does leona. 

azul always humoured the idea of a soulmate. someone to always put up with him, to be by his side eternally. he’s caught himself once or twice drifting off to the idea of who it is, were they like him in any way? was it someone from the human world, the sea, or was he bound to never find this mysterious individual? azul found himself checking his pinky if he remembered. it was always bare. 

until the day it wasn’t. 

you absentmindedly kick a pebble into the slightly overgrown grass surrounding main street. large stone statues of the seven tower around the street, each with a plaque engraved with their names. something about them felt oddly comforting, like finding an old childhood toy buried deep in a box, but you couldn’t place why. 

suddenly, both your arms are taken by a matching pair of twins. one loops his arm around yours, the other lightly grabs onto your shoulder.

one second you’re shuffling around the statues of the seven, next you’re being dragged around by the freaky leech twin duo. floyd offers no explanation, jade simply says he knows what he’s doing. you’d hope so. you hope he’s got a real good explanation for abducting someone off the main street and hauling them to the mirror room, transporting them to the octavinelle dorm building. 

the sea theme catches your eye, the plants sway as if they really are underwater, and the air smells slightly salty. you take in the exterior design, how it all blends together and creates a homey feeling for the students. 

you breath in the air once again, “okay, now that we’re here, can either of you tell my why i’ve been kidnapped?” 

floyd begins cackling behind his hand, “shrimpy-napped!” air passes from your nose, ready to get annoyed with floyd before jade offers an explanation. 

“azul has requested you come visit him, this was the best way.” 

“no, it’s not? he could have come to talk to me like a normal person.” 

the octavinelle dorm opens, revealing the man of topic. “why be normal? besides, i am a very busy man, this was optimal.” optimal for you, you weren’t nabbed off the main street by a pair of eels. you close your eyes for a moment, mentally resetting. 

you realize jade and floyd are still hanging off your arms so you shake them off as azul now takes the lead, showing you to his office, where he claims is the best location to have a chat. you’re not sure what he wants from you, or why you’re actually here, but it better be good. 

azul sits, gesturing for you to take the seat across from his desk. the chair is simple, seemingly in pristine condition too. maybe it’s new. his desk, on the other hand, has definitely seen better days. there are knicks and scratches all around, marking up the beautiful detailing of the wood. you sit as you examine it.

azul clears his throat, stealing your attention from the chipped desk. “so, ramshackle prefect, are you one hundred percent sure you don’t know how you ended up here?” 

you groan as soon as the words leave his lips. this cannot be the reason he’s gotten you prefect-napped by his vice housewarden and his brother. you stand to leave, not wanting to play along with azul’s ridiculous play on your arrival. 

“wait- don’t go?” he sounds almost confused, as if he doesn’t know why you’d up and go. 

“oh come on, azul, this is like our second proper meeting and you hound me for showing up in twisted wonderland? i don’t know, okay?” you sit back down. 

he folds his hands on the desk in thought. he kisses his teeth before starting again, “alright, i’ll admit, that was low of me. how about this, i’ll offer a glimpse of my past in return for some of yours. i am very curious about you.” 

at least he admit to his wrongdoing, but why is he interested in you and your past? azul must be able to see the confusion and consideration in your face, he continues. “i cannot lie when i say i haven’t felt the same since you arrived.” his face instantly flushes, as does yours. that really sounded like some twisted love confession. 

“i-i mean there’s been this odd feeling i get when someone mentions your name, i can’t quite explain it.” 

“azul, stop while you’re ahead. you’re digging a deeper grave here.” he nods, flushed cheeks hidden behind gloved hands. 

for the next half an hour, the two of you ignore the odd confession azul accidentally spilled while you share childhood memories. it’s oddly intimate but comforting at the same time. 

sometime during an anecdote you lean your arms on the desk, fiddling with the nearest pen to keep your hands busy. a habit that azul shares. he’s flicking a pen back and forth absentmindedly while he recounts the first day he met the twins. 

azul lowers his hands, halting the pen's movements, and taps the top of your hand in a comforting attempt. “now, i hope i didn’t… make a… bad impression…” he trails off as quickly as he started. 

your eyes are glued to your balled fist where purple glitters begin emanating from thin air, materializing the fated red string. you instinctively flatten your hand to watch the string work its way around your finger. across from you, azul is equally as stunned as he almost rips his glove in attempts to remove it, watching as his own matching shimmer appears. 

you’re both stunned to silence. unsure of how to react, or what to say. until the boy across from you breaks the momentary silence, “i guess… i know why i was drawn… to you.” his voice is soft, almost scared as he speaks. 

“maybe it was a good thing i was ‘shrimpy-napped’ today.” you’re just as quiet, eyes glossy.

shrimpy-napped? you’ll have to explain that one to him later. you have nothing but time… azul hopes. 

kalim knows he can’t indulge the idea of a soulmate too much. he’s next in line to a wealthy family and carries an influential last name. despite knowing this, it’s always been a thought in his busy mind, knowing someone, somewhere is the missing piece to his mental puzzle. 

for the last week, something has been bothering kalim. neither he nor jamil can figure out what it is, he’s passing his classes (to his knowledge), he’s got a trustworthy vice housewarden and no one has tried to kill him for the past few months… kalim couldn’t put his finger on the reason his stomach felt like it was in knots. 

it got progressively worse over the week and he was afraid he was falling ill. a few tests later and he’s healthy as a horse. with a clean medical slate and nothing of real concern, the only thing kalim can do is plaster a smile on his face and go about his day, trying to ignore the sensation. 

the large door separating the lounge from the kitchen swings open with great force. “jamil, i can’t take it anymore! it feels like there’s something wrong with me!” 

“i believe i can assure you there’s nothing wrong with you, are you nervous about anything?” 

“no,” kalim sighs, dropping his head into his hands. it’s been a week of no answers, and the only time he felt any better was in his classes. maybe it was because his mind was occupied by other things, or… there’s another reason. 

you let your head fall back onto your pillow, looking over to grim. “well, weasel? am i dying, or am i dying.” the pads of grim’s paw feel across your forehead, not without shooting you a look over the nickname.

he retracts his paw, tucking it back by his side. “you feel fine? maybe you’re homesick?” grim offers a solution you hadn’t thought of. it wasn’t a non-possibility, you did get transported away from your homeland not two months ago. 

you check the phone you were given for the time, “grim, we’re going to be late!” you shoot up straight like a firework, snatching your school bag and blazer before scurrying out the door, grim hot on your trail. 

you know you’re not supposed to, but you take off running down the halls of NRC like you’re being chased. the last thing you need is to be late and get in trouble. you dodge other students who aren’t in the same rush you are, they’re probably in the right half of the school anyways. your class was on the opposite side of the school, up two flights of stairs. for someone with magic, this would be easy. no sweat. 

you’re in the middle of mentally complaining when you zone back in, you gasp as you almost bullrush the student in front of you, but his companion quickly pulls him aside. your hands just slightly brush up against one another as you pass him. without stopping, because if you do you’ll surely be extremely late, you glance over your shoulder and yell an apology. 

you catch sight of who you almost crashed into, and by the gods, you were almost dead. dead at the hands of jamil viper. you just about swept kalim al-asim straight off his feet and onto the ground, but thanks to jamil, you’re spared a swift demise. 

many halls and two flights of stairs later and you reach your class. thankfully, just as you step in the bells ring. as you take your seat, you realize you feel a lot better all of a sudden. 

a long, lazy hour later, the class finally ends. you’re freed from the grasps of boredom, but a pair of tan hands decked in golden jewellery find themselves on the top of your table, halting your attempt to leave peacefully. 

the scarabia housewarden beams as you stand, startled. how did he know what class you’re in? what is he doing here, and what does he need with you? 

a hundred questions blind you as kalim settles into the chair in front of your table. his beaming smile fell slightly into a smaller smile. you greet him, somewhat unsure of how you’re supposed to address him, as you know his title but haven’t really made friends with him yet. he dismisses it and asks to see your hands. 

your teeth find your lip, biting down lightly in curiosity. you untuck your hands from your pockets and present them towards kalim’s outstretched ones. a gasp falls from his lips when he catches sight of your hand. your left hand. 

you look down, unsure of the reason for his reaction. 

then you see it. a gasp falls from your lips this time as you bring your hand closer to your face; a little red string, tied perfectly into a bow sits on the base of your little finger. 

“when- who-... how!?” unfinished questions fall before you can think. you’ve met your soulmate without even knowing. this had to have happened today, but when? who was it? you only remember just about crashing into… kalim. 

your face falls in disbelief. without thinking, you reach towards his hand, where a matching bow sits. the closer you get, the less uniform the bows become. when they’re within a few inches they begin to unravel and wrap around the other, like a vine conjoining in the middle of a wall. 

kalim silently watches the spectacle in front of him, amazed. never in a hundred years did he think he’d ever be able to see this happen to him. growing up, he was told stories of soulmates and how they’re very unlikely to ever meet. but here he is, meeting the one the stars believed was best for him. 

as you and kalim are watching the pair of strings move like magic a voice clears his throat by the door. you had no idea he was there but jamil shoots the housewarden a look, a warning of sorts, you assume. he knows there’s going to be a lot to unwrap with this newfound information. kalim knows it too, and so do you. 

like why is your soulmate interdimensional? man… what a week. (it’s tuesday.)

vil liked the idea of a soulmate. would they be like him? or maybe the opposite. though, he didn’t actively search the lands for his soulmate, he was never opposed to the fact that the gods above, maybe even the seven, had picked someone for him. 

him and his entourage of fans who would probably collectively lose their minds if vil announced the existence of his soulmate. 

a few days ago, you were given an invitation by the pomefiore’s housewarden for a lesson on twisted wonderland etiquette. you assume crowley put him up to this, or maybe, vil wanted too. you weren’t sure, the only thing the invitation said was a date, time, and location. 

now it’s the day, 4pm and you’re standing outside of the pomefiore’s large, castle-like dorm building. the perfectly trimmed bushes and blooming flowers give the exterior a nice, inviting aroma, but the sense of dread and fear have been gnawing on your insides since you passed through the mirror. 

surely the wonderland’s etiquette can’t be so different from that of your homeland. maybe it was a ploy, or a faulty invitation. should you leave? yeah- 

the door opens gracefully as you’re about to turn on the balls of your heels and high tail it back to the mirror. you’re met with the heeled housewarden of pomefiore, the illustrious vil schoenheit greets you kindly, inviting you in. 

“thank you for uh, inviting me here.” you bow your head slightly, unsure. 

“it looks like you’ve already got some experience under your belt, good.” does he seriously take you for a baby? you have basic manners, seriously, this cannot be a good use for your time. 

but truth be told, vil solely invited you under the guise of an etiquette lesson because he’s had a feeling of lost since you appeared on the first day. something has been tugging at him since then and he had to find out what it is and how he can get rid of it. 

vil guides you through elegant hallways, passing by large windows that look out to various places. large gardens, a fountain, beautiful blooming flowers, and chatting residents. all of it is somewhat overwhelming, but you can understand the constant need to be perfect, vil is the embodiment of it. 

you trail slightly behind him as his heels tap on the flooring. you’re able to get a good look at him, his perfectly styled hair, creaseless uniform and perfect posture. you wonder how long he takes to get ready each morning. 

the tap of his heels stops but you realize too late, you’re just about to crash into his back when he spins on the toes of his shoes. “before i forget, prefect, there’s something in my room i must fetch. come.” and then he’s off again, heels clicking on the shiny tile like tap shoes. 

he swings the large detailed door to his room open, it’s decorated elegantly, like the rest of the pomefiore building. it’s something straight out of a designer competition, the sheets and curtains are silky, and expensive looking too. 

“is there an ulterior motive for having me here?” the words fall from your lips as you’re looking around before you’re able to stop them. vil spins again, facing your after rooting through a drawer on his bedside table. 

the blonde places a hand on your shoulder, gazing down through perfect eyelashes, “i believe with more practice, you won’t make a fool of yourself while you’re here.” 

your brows furrow, is that the only reason he wanted to teach you? he thinks you’re a fool? you look over to the hand on your shoulder, but notice something other than his hand, which you were ready to swat away and go back to ramshackle. 

iridescent purple glitters fall from midair, and you’re instantly filled with a sense of relief. like an ache that’s finally gone away, like you’ve found something you didn’t know you were yearning for. 

technically, you did find something. 

as you’re internally monologuing, you feel the hand on your shoulder tighten. vil has realized why he’s had an odd pull in your direction. you’re his soulmate. soul. mate. his mouth goes dry at the thought. 

the magic-less human from a different world with an unbridled familiar, hand picked by the gods for him. he has one question: why? he releases your shoulder after you wince under the pressure, floating his hand to your raised one.

vil’s lips purse into a thin line, hiding the purple lipstick fully. he watches the string reach towards the one wrapped around your finger, moving as if controlled like a marionette. each draw of breath is slow, uncalculated and scared. the star believed he’d be excited, like anyone would be, if he found his soulmate, but your situation makes this hard. 

he wants to enjoy this experience but you share the sentiment, your lips are pursed and eyes are wide. 

the strings meet between your hands, tying into a neat bow between the other string. these fate strings are seemingly very smart; they’ve got some kind of gravitational pull towards its match. vil meets your gaze with an unexplainable shine glossing his pale eyes. 

suddenly, his dorm door bursts open, revealing a disheveled rook, who’s actively attempting to smoothen the crinkles in his uniform and dust off his shoulders. he’s not in savanaclaw anymore. shocked, vil rips his hand from its place beside yours, shoving his hands under his arms as he crosses them. 

“la roi du poison- oh, et la ramshackle préfet!” rook tosses his hands up, clearly not expecting you. “i hope i’m not interrupting, but there’s a problem in the lounge!” he starts back down the hall before vil can reply, leaving him no choice but to follow. 

the housewarden apologizes quickly before only the tap and clack of his heels can be heard as he’s quick to follow his vice into whatever trouble someone’s caused. 

you, on the other hand, are left with way more questions than this morning, but have the answer to one. the lifelong question about soulmates has been answered. somewhat.

idia didn’t believe he’d ever care even if he found his supposed soulmate. he’s too awkward, socially inept, and too focused on his games most days to consider searching. if luck was on his side eventually, and the day the string appears comes, he may just change his mind. 

the first time you met idia properly, it was a complete mess. he often made appearances via floating tablet, or sent ortho in his place to meetings or gatherings. you heard from others that not many have seen the ignihyde housewarden in person for more than ten minutes total in the three years he’s been in NRC. 

others are luckier with the introvert, like azul who shares his love for board games with idia. he’ll get all riled up during the club, going off on tangents, only to zip it moments later, utterly embarrassed about his outburst. azul had grown accustomed to idia’s back and forth attitude, and is more patient with him as a result. 

you clutch the papers specifically handed to you by crowley for azul, something about a tax return for… his dorm? you didn’t quite understand what the headmage was yammering about before he ushered you out and directed you to the club, guaranteeing that you’d find the octavinelle housewarden there. 

you pause in front of the class crowley mentioned, then push the door open. “well, if it isn’t the ramshackle prefect!” azul greets you as you enter the somewhat empty room, causing others to glance your way before returning to their games, including idia. his gaze lingering for but a moment longer from the corner of his eye. ortho greets you kindly as well, floating over to you, trying to peek at the small stack of papers. 

“hello, azul. and ortho!” you smile to both. 

“say hello to my brother, too!” ortho’s sweet voice rings as idia, who you now realize is his brother, looks as if he’s shaking like a leaf, ready to fly away with the wind. 

“n-no, ortho, it’s okay.” his voice is quick, almost inaudible as he mumbles into his hood, which is doing a poor job of covering the flame-like hair that sprouts off his head. 

you shrug walk closer to the table where azul and idia’s half finished game of checkers lies forgotten. you reach out and move around a white piece, claiming victory for the white team, who you assume was idia. you turn to azul and hand him the papers, “crowley sent me to give you these. something about a tax return? whatever he meant by that.” 

azul takes the papers, tucking them under his arm. “i run a lounge open to any and all students, headmage must want his cut, i assume. you should come by some time! though, i’m surprised you didn’t know.” 

“i uh, would if i could,” you pull the empty pocket liners out of your pockets comically, “i’m completely broke, wallet went poof when i… appeared? here.” 

“ah-”

“well, azul, this was great but i’m going backtomydormnow, pleaseexcuseme.” idia’s unexpected, almost panic stricken voice breaks your conversation with azul as he stands, more like jumps, from his seat, startling not only you, but his brother and azul. 

as the older shroud brother attempts to speed walk off, ortho floats around in front of him, trying to get him to stay, claiming he never leaves a game unfinished, or a score tied. idia tries to swerve around ortho, to get out as quick as he can, he’s not even fully sure why he wants to leave, why he feels he has to leave, but an overwhelming sense of familiarity surrounded him when you walked in. he tried to ignore it but it got worse the closer you came, and when you finished his game of checkers, he almost passed out. 

he has to get out of here. back to the safety of his dorm room, to his games and favourite anime. 

idia felt as if he was trapped in a triangle between azul, ortho, and you. 

he stumbles over his own foot pathetically, causing you to reach out instinctively to hold onto his arm, hoping to steady him before he falls. idia pauses, looking scared as he brings a shaky hand close to his face. his eyes widen as you all watch a red string materialize from blue glittering stars tie itself around his pinky like magic. his face pales as you copy, bringing your left hand up to view. 

a red bow sits neatly around the base of your pinky, blue glitter quickly fading. you slowly move your hand closer to idia’s, watching as the bows unravel and reach for one another. like a pair of vines, they wrap around each other until idia returns to his senses and rips his hand away, covering the new accessory to his everyday wear with his other hand. at the loss of its pair, your string returns to your pinky. 

you stand there, utterly dumbfounded in the middle of the board game club. you came to simply deliver some papers to azul, but are now leaving with some very, very confusing new information. 

you turn to azul who’s sporting a matching dumbfounded look, and ortho seems to be the only happy one at this point. when you turn back once again, idia has disappeared, possibly quicker than any teleportation magic known to magekind. ortho waves a swift goodbye, giggling as he tails after his brother.

you look at azul again, who’s mostly regained his composure, “well…?” 

“what do you mean, ‘well’!? i could use a little more support here, azul. i just found out my soulmate isn’t even from my DIMENSION.” you drag your hands down your face, exasperated. and suddenly, very tired. “y’know what, don’t even answer that, i’m going back to ramshackle.” 

you hear azul snicker as you march out of the classroom. asshole.

malleus cast the idea of a soulmate out long ago. with his millennium long life expectancy, he was sure he’d outlive, or had outlived, any type of lover the universe has assigned him. 

the heir to briar valley was quite frustrated today. he had overheard some diasomnia students chatting about the idea of soulmates earlier in the morning and it’s been on his mind ever since. it’s well past the final class of the day, and he skipped dinner. 

i don’t quite feel hungry as of now. he waved off lilia’s attempt to join them for the meal, worrying sebek the most. lilia quite literally had to hold the first year by the collar to stop him from chasing malleus down. 

the housewarden shut himself in his room like a temperamental toddler. angry clouds crackle and pop outside, rivalling his emotions. his head felt like it was swimming in an indescribable pot of gelatin, it was heavy and sad, which troubled malleus more because he thought he was long over the idea of a little red string wrapping itself around his pinky. 

what a trivial thing to be so upset over. some things in life aren’t fair, malleus knows that better than just about everyone. time is a thief and age is a curse, the heir gets to live hundreds of lives while that of humans perish so quickly. 

sure, he’s enjoyed learning new traditions and customs that have sprouted within his lifetime, but he’s also watched the last remaining folks die in cultures, leaving their history to be forgotten over time. 

malleus isn’t sure how, but he’s managed to be so deep in thought that he wandered to the spot he used to occupy before it gained a new resident. what’s now the ramshackle dorm, was once a beaten, dusty, forgotten building beside the main building of NRC. 

the day you showed up was one he won’t forget. a human with an unruly, unkempt familiar who really has a knack for getting himself in trouble. since you’ve been living in the old building, fixing it up and going to classes alongside him and his peers, he’s stopped coming here for more than one reason. 

it would be impolite to intrude on what is now your space, especially uninvited. he’s settled with lingering in the gardens in front of ramshackle. he’s taken a liking to the purple and blue flowers that have begun to wilt with the cooler season upcoming. malleus runs a finger over one, watching it instantly gain the strength to hold itself up, blooming once again. the purple petals shimmer with the lingering magic he shares, admiring the way it almost seems to follow his hand, asking for more. 

“uh, excuse me?” a voice startles him back into focus, he clasps his hand behind his back and turns around. he’s met with a half asleep ramshackle prefect, hair messy and wrapped in a blanket. 

“i apologize, i shall be going at once.” he’s been caught, he figures it’s time to find a new place to think. 

you take a step forwards, looking the housewarden over, you’ve definitely seen him around before but he always looks either deep in thought or like he doesn’t want to be bothered, so you’ve kept your space from him. “no, wait.”

malleus falters, wait? he does just that. he doesn’t use his magic to teleport away, doesn’t walk backwards, doesn’t move. he allows you to look him over, to judge him, expecting the usual treatment. his guard remains high but he realizes how he towers over you, like he does with everyone else so he somewhat relaxes his body, trying to be smaller. 

as you’re examining the semi-stranger in the garden, you notice the singular purple flower that’s in bloom. you tilt your head, looking past malleus. “did you… do that?” 

malleus turns, suddenly remembering the flower. a small smile graces his lips as he leans down, picking the flower's stem near the middle. your brows knit together as he turns back and holds his hand out to you. the flower still shimmers from the magic he used. “i did.” 

you pluck the flower from his hold, careful not to damage the delicate plant. you bring it close, “is there a reason you’re not in your dorm and in my garden? it’s late and sounds like it’ll rain at any moment,” you look upwards, expecting the sky to be as black as paint but instead you’re greeted with many, many twinkling stars and an almost full moon. “or… not?” 

the housewarden follows your gaze, he hardly noticed the clouds have cleared. when did they do that? he swipes at his forehead, clearing his vision from the hair that sprouts around his horns.

“i suppose it is appropriate to explain my presence,” he turns back to you, bangs falling back into place. you’re still looking at the stars but you nod in agreement. “before you inhabited this building, i used to come here to think. since you’ve arrived, i’ve ceased that for clear reasons. i hope you do not mind i still roam the garden. it is quite lovely in the spring when everything begins to bloom.” 

you listen to the horned individual, lightly caressing the flower unconsciously. the soft petals felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before, especially in a flower, could that have been due to the magic embedded in it?

“i don’t mind, it’s not like you’re being creepy about it, right?” he hums, “and besides, we all need a space to think. i’m… glad my little makeshift home can be comfortable enough for you.” you look up to him, moonlight glistening across your eyes. 

you signal him to lean down, waving him towards you as you take a step closer to the not-so-stranger. his sharp eyes narrow ever so slightly, confused, but leans his head down. 

you reach up to the tall man, setting the flower against the inside of his right horn. your finger grazes the side accidentally, you find it to be smoother than you expected. when you lean back, malleus stands up fully once again, and you’re able to take in how large he actually is. for a third year, he’s very tall. must run in the family. 

suddenly, everything around goes quiet. no crickets chirp, no frogs sing, nothing. as if the world stopped breathing. the eerie feeling is felt by both you and malleus, but you catch on quicker. your eyes widen as you lock eyes with him, your eyes shoot to his left hand. lo and behold, a red string begins materializing from green shimmer as it slides itself over his pinky. you reach to grab his wrist, to examine what you seriously cannot believe is happening, but he beats you to it. 

malleus evades your grasp as he moves quicker than you can see, he’s crouched beside you before you can blink. he’s intently watching the red string he’s sure he’d never see wrap around your little finger, breathless. but you–you’re frozen. frozen to the spot as a million thoughts run through your mind. the most important one though, is why your soulmate is from a whole different dimension. that’s… not good. 

malleus’s only thought is: finally. 

then dread hits him like a freight train. he wants to be so very happy, to be excited. to tell lilia, to tell someone that he’s found his soulmate, but he knows two things. one; you’re human. two; twisted wonderland is not your home. 

malleus meets your eyes, they’re filled with an emotion he can’t place. but if this is bothering you, your face definitely shows it. he’s quick to stand, and as soon as you blink, he’s gone. 

the purple flower, seemingly frozen in time, flutters from the place malleus’s head just was. a gust of wind suddenly picks up, stealing the flower from your outstretched grasp as clouds quickly fill the sky like they did earlier. a crackle, some thunder, and they’re ready to split open and flood these lands. 

masterlist

[lovelake]

In which you find out who the person leaving you continuous love letters is and return the gesture

solivan brugmansia x gn!reader | 1.7k wc, fluff, reader is friendly, awkwardness, nervousness, hyugo’s very involved, deryl and geo (briefly, just in the background), tiny implication of masturbation if you squint

note: i felt a little iffy writing about lockers because they’re uni students but that’s how it is in the game so (ᵕ—ᴗ—) this was supposed to be out while most people were still in college (because i think people in the semester system are already out for break) but i didn’t make it in time </3 as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated

masterlist read on ao3

Lately, your existence has been put on the same pedestal as that of everything beautiful in the world.

You’ve been getting love letter after love letter ever since Valentine’s Day. At first, you thought it was some sort of misunderstanding—they got the wrong locker. It wasn’t until certain details in them were specific to you that you finally got the message across. This secret admirer really was yours.

You picked up on quirks in the handwriting after rereading them so many times. Separated letters frequently molded into random strings of cursive. The horizontal lines on the t’s are low, they look like upside down crosses. 

If the writing itself wasn’t sweet enough, there were also doodles left on the margins and corners. Flowers, hearts, and oddly enough, pumpkins. 

Life was more fun with romantic secrecy in the air.

Sometimes it was embarrassing, though. You’d trip, drop a paper, or miss a shot of a wrapper to a trash can—and your mind would immediately go to, did they see that?

The question hovered over your head for months like a cloud. Who are they? 

—

“Don’t eat so close to me,” Sol mumbled to Hyugo, angling himself away as he continued writing. He didn’t want the wind to blow any crumbs onto his paper.

“Another letter? You’re so romantic, Sunny! It almost makes me lose my appetite.”

Yes and no. It was a letter for you, but essentially, it was just a draft for now.

“Do you think it’s working?” Sol asked with a sigh, vulnerability in his question.

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t. Have you seen their reaction to finding one in their locker?”

“A couple times.”

“And?”

“They were smiling.” Sol’s own answer prompted a faint one to form on his face.

Love and commitment wove through each and every word until the end result was practically a written serenade for you, and only you.

—

Whether by sheer luck or fate, you didn’t have to do any snooping to find who your secret admirer is. The answer came to you.

“Pass your homework towards the front of the class.”

Stuck in the very first row, you patiently waited until you were tapped on the shoulder and given a stack of completed homework.

As you were making the stack look presentable, you noticed a familiar looking ‘t’ on the title of the last paper. No way. Was the person sending love letters in this class? They had to be sitting at the very back if so.

Knowing their name wouldn’t help, you didn’t know anybody in this class because group activities weren’t required.

Acting nonchalant, you stretched your back from side to side and took the opportunity to look behind you. But you couldn’t really see because of all the people in your way. 

Next idea. You “accidentally” dropped your pencil and leaned over in your chair to catch a glimpse. 

Their head rested snugly against their forearm, you couldn’t see their face. Black and dark green long sleeves, that’s all you were getting. Okay, you could wait until class ended for the mystery to be revealed.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

The clock mocked your excitement for approximately fifty-five torturous minutes. 

Class ended, students scrambled.

After quickly gathering your things into your arms, you (not very discreetly) turned around. There was no reason to, there were two doors and you usually went out the front one since it was close to you.

But only in this way were you able to fully look at the person who’s been making even the shittiest of weeks feel better.

Tall, pierced ears and lips, eyelashes that look long even from a distance…

Your secret admirer is handsome in a pretty sort of way. Even so, he looks like someone who would give his crush a necklace with his blood in it rather than lovey-dovey letters. 

You must’ve been awe-struck for too long, time slowed.

As soon as he caught on to your staring (gawking), he immediately walked out of the room, leaving his friend talking to no one. “…and then–huh? Sunny? Sunny! How rude…”

“No fair. You have long legs, you walk faster than me.” Hyugo eventually caught up to Sol. Their lockers were next to one another’s.

Sol’s body felt hot. You had looked at him with intent for the first time ever, not just an accidental glance or something. He tried to compose himself as he opened his locker to put one of his books away.

Were you finally noticing him? He had so much love to offer, all you had to do was embrace the soul that was so willing to give it to you.

“…I have to use the restroom.” He most certainly does not, at least not in the way it’s intended to be used.

In the midst of being over the moon, he failed to see that you were nearby.

You know where his locker is.

Now there’s only two things left to do.

—

i. WRITE HIM A LETTER

Now back at home, you felt insecure. Just a bit. All his letters were beautiful: nice expensive looking paper, sentences all in pen (somehow he never made a single mistake, there were never any words scribbled out), and lived in envelopes that had pretty dark red wax seals prior to you opening them.

Well. You didn’t have any envelopes. Your paper was college ruled with three holes on the left. Your pen was gel-point and smeared when you wrote too fast. And, you didn’t have any white-out in case you made a mistake.

“This is silly.” You tell yourself, shaking away your doubts and picking the pen back up. 

You didn’t harbor the same feelings that he did to you, how could you, when you barely came to know of his existence? Either way, his letters always left you feeling giddy. And who knows, maybe a potential future relationship awaited you.

So, you got to writing. 

ii. DELIVER IT TO HIS LOCKER (GONE WRONG)

Time passed by ever so slowly the next day, it always did when you had something to look forward to. Butterflies ran rampant in your stomach, concentrating in class was hard, especially the one you shared with him.

You waited until the end of school, the letter already in your hand as you (hesitantly) made your way there. If anything, it looked like you were holding a folded graded assignment with a big giant F on it, nobody would suspect it.

“Hey, maybe that’s another letter for you Geo! Your locker’s full again isn’t it? Have you even gone through them?”

“Be quiet.”

They couldn’t be talking about you. They just couldn’t.

Thankfully, those guys turned a corner. It would’ve been awkward if you all kept walking the same way. And who’s Geo, anyway? Is he really that popular?

You leaned against the wall, your other hand preoccupied by your phone as you waited for the after school crowd to die out. Checking the time, you had a tutoring session upstairs in ten minutes.

Eventually, the only footsteps you could hear were distant. Putting your phone away, you swallowed your nerves and approached his locker.

Well, here goes nothing.

You start slipping it in. 

Somehow, your body flinches before your hearing processes anything.

“Woah! Is that a letter for Sunny?”

Shit. 

Wide-eyed, you looked over. The letter was still in your hands, only the tip of it was rammed into the locker ventilation hole. 

Day one of trying to mimic your secret admirer and you already failed. 

Just your luck, his best friend was here too. Even so, you could only focus on him. His expression matched yours, but his was from being incredibly flustered rather than embarrassment from being caught.

You didn’t know what to say, only one word slipped from your lips.

“…Hi.” 

Hi.

Hi?

Hi?!

“Hi!” Hyugo greeted you back with a grin and wave, catching your attention for a split second. Like the good best friend he was, he nudged Sol your way. 

Looks like he was too stunned to talk, you’d have to break the ice more. All the words he held right now, you were sure you’d already read them all.

You brought the letter back down.

“I may have…figured out that you were the person sending me letters. Unless I’m wrong! And in that case I can leave and…” 

“How’d you figure out it was me?” 

Surprisingly, his voice is soft. 

“Because of your t’s.”

“…My t’s?”

“Yeah. You write them differently. Not differently in a bad way! Just…I’ve never really seen anyone write them the way you do.”

One of his brows raised. You thought you offended him until he smiled. That alone put you at ease.

“This is for you,” you handed the letter to him. His fingertips briefly kissed your skin.

The paper didn’t so much as crinkle in his hold, he was being gentle. You were grateful he wasn’t bold enough to start reading it on the spot, you would die.

He opened his locker with his free hand and fetched a crumpled-looking paper. He stammered a bit over his words as he held it out to you. “It’s…It’s not done yet.”

It was a draft full of scribbles and crossed out words. So, he did make mistakes. Just that he worked on a draft before putting everything onto the fancier paper. Somehow, that just made his gestures all the sweeter. 

“I think this one will be my favorite,” you tell him, no sarcasm present.

You were kind and welcoming, exactly what he needed in a world such as this.

"I love-" Sol's overly strong confession was interrupted by Hyugo elbowing him.

Finding a clock on the wall, you curse under your breath. “I have to go catch a tutoring session but it was nice finally meeting you. What’s your name?”

“You can just call me Sol.”

“See you tomorrow, Sol!” 

You repeated his name under your breath over and over to commit it to memory as you walked away. “Sol, Sol, Sol…” 

He was stuck in place, never taking his gaze off you until you turned the corner. Your voice echoed in his head, a catchy melody he would never tire of. 

See you tomorrow, you said. Like you would be talking to him from now on. Like you wouldn’t be put off by him casually approaching you. Like you were friends now.

Hyugo lightly pinched Sol’s arm, he got no response.

Sol looked down at the letter, he was holding something sacred—you put thought into it, something in your possession (your pen) had touched it, your fingerprints were all over it. Does this count as indirect hand-holding?

He needed to read it, and he would, once in private.

“Let me see, let me see!”

“Touch it and I’ll kill you.” 

“…Jeez, and then who’ll clean up all your messes?”

[doitbuckley]

36, 37, or 41 for the setting prompts ☺️

for the setting prompt 036, a long, winding road (8x12 coda)

“Someone peed.”

There’s silence for one unbearable second, and then Buck’s voice crackles over the line, muffled and thready but there. Always there. Thank God, Eddie thinks. “Huh?”

Buck is usually the one in charge of saying something off-the-cuff when he picks up the phone. And then Eddie will say Hi, Buck, and Buck will say Hi, Eddie and get back to whatever it is he needed to say, unperturbed. “Someone peed in my backseat,” Eddie sighs, rolling his window back up so he can hear better. They have to be down, usually, when he’s by himself. The whipping of the wind manages to loosen some sort of invisible noose cuffed around his neck, whatever’s been making him feel suffocated and hollowed out. Eddie’s alright with being trapped for now, stuck inside of the familiar four walls of Buck’s voice. “My last rider today. He was really drunk.”

“Oh,” Buck coughs out, like he’s holding back a laugh maybe for Eddie’s sake, but it doesn’t really work. Something similar to relief skitters down Eddie’s spine, settling down near his tailbone. “That’s, uh, geez.” He clears his throat, swallowing down the rest of his laugh. Eddie can imagine the twist of his mouth, a peek of pearly white coming out to bite down on his bottom lip. “How even–did he just like, whip it out or something–”

“You don’t wanna know the specifics,” Eddie interrupts before Buck can let his imagination run wild, a shiver running through him at the not distant enough memory. “I had to perform black magic to get the fuckin’ smell out.”

Eddie turns right, the road long and winding before him, seemingly endless. If he had to choose one thing to miss about El Paso, maybe it’d be the sunsets. They were always so orange, almost angry in their vibrancy, setting alight all the buildings and the roads and the yuccas. “Sorry,” Buck says, and he has the audacity to sound genuine. “If I were your passenger, I’d at least have the decency to not do it on your seats.” 

“Ah,” Eddie says, cranking up the shitty AC that doesn’t blow nearly hard enough, undoing the top button of his shirt. The driver’s seat will probably don a permanent sweat stain in the shape of his body soon. “‘Preciate it, bud.”

There’s the scrape of a chair against wood on the other end, an exasperated groan. 

“Old man knees,” Eddie says.

“Fuck off,” Buck huffs, but there’s no trace of heat behind it. “One to talk, I can hear your bones when you sit down.” There’s some shuffling, a puff of breath. “I could,” Buck corrects himself softly, almost like Eddie’s not supposed to hear it.

Eddie swallows, dryness creeping up his throat in one fell swoop. The road keeps winding, the sky darkens to something more burnt and final, contrails making pretty patterns in it. “Hey,” Eddie speaks up after a beat. “Chris hugged me today.”

“That–” There’s a pause, and then the shuffling stops. “Shit, Eddie, that’s great.”

He sounds so pleased about it that Eddie can’t help but smile to himself, rubbing over an aching spot in his chest, tender like a damp spot of soil.

“Mhm. Thanks for, uh, getting me out of my head.”

“No biggie,” Buck says, and Eddie can picture the boyish up-down flop of his shoulders as he shrugs, his no big deal, just doing what I do shrug. He’s probably ducking his head too, though, blinking and looking off to the side like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

Eddie shakes his head even though Buck can’t see him. “Yes biggie. I know it’s not all fixed, but. You really helped a lot, Buck.”

Silence, then clinking. He must’ve sat down for coffee, probably his second of the day. It’s early enough in LA for it. Something constricts inside of Eddie’s chest then, like a big old iron fist clenching at the cage of his ribs. “Okay,” Buck acquiesces, so gentle Eddie barely hears it. “What are you doing? Anymore rides for today?”

“No,” Eddie says. “I’m driving over to Red Sands.”

“Red Sands?”

“I guess it doesn’t technically exist, it’s not regulated. It’s sort of what people call that giant desert area in the East—you know Hueco Tanks?”

“Of course.”

Yeah, Buck probably knows about every state park in existence. it just seems like something he’d be into. “Yeah, it’s not too far from there.”

The East side off of Montana Ave, Eddie remembers. He and Shannon used to drive out around Hueco Tanks in his beat up truck to get away from the city, park it, watch the sky. Maybe fuck on the truck bed under a blanket if it was dark enough, but that was neither here nor there. He’d look up and he wouldn’t feel so trapped for once, those precious minutes of stillness and quiet, the sky endless and all-encompassing. He didn’t know shit about constellations, so he’d make stuff up just so Shannon would laugh and bury her cold nose into his neck. 

“Why’re you going there?”

“See the stars,” Eddie says. The sun continues to retreat farther, hiding itself away, and everything blazes red.

“Oh,” Buck says kind of wistfully. “Feeling sentimental?”

“Something like that.”

Eddie used to hate the sand. The desert, it just stretched on for miles and miles, that boring, ugly sand. He doesn’t really mind it now.

“Looks just the same,” Eddie says as he slows down on the road. Red-orange sand, dunes, small hills, sagebrush and yucca. There’s a couple of people zipping over the sand. “White guys love to come out here and ride their ATVs.”

Buck snorts. “I bet they do.”

Eddie wishes, with a sudden blinding ferocity, that Buck were there with him. He could picture it, even, Buck riding one of those eyesores over the blazing red sand dunes, the mostly reformed adrenaline junkie that he is. 

“Wait,” Buck says suddenly. Eddie can hear him set down his mug. “Let me tell you what to look out for in the sky.”

That aching feeling intensifies tenfold, unrelenting. No matter how hard Eddie rubs at his chest, he can't work out the knot.

“Hm. Oh! You should be able to see Jupiter with your naked eye tonight. Mars, too.”

“Got it,” Eddie says, digging his knuckles into his ribcage. It hurts something fierce, but he keeps nudging. “I definitely know what those look like.”

“You can’t miss ‘em,” Buck insists. “You’ll know them when you see them. Trust me.”

Well, Eddie has never had any reason not to. “Sure,” Eddie says. “Yeah, just call me Galileo.”

Buck huffs and then laughs in that way he does that calls Eddie lame without actually saying it. “Man,” Buck says suddenly, forcefully, like it’s bursting out of him. “I really love you.”

Eddie swallows, the ache spreading down to his stomach, stale water trickling from a leaky ceiling. “Hm?” he asks, even though he heard Buck loud and clear.

“I didn’t.” There’s silence. “Mean to, uh.”

Eddie blinks at his steering wheel. “So you don’t love me?”

“No! Uh, yes? Uh, no, I just meant. That.” Eddie wishes he could see whatever face Buck is undoubtedly pulling right now. “That felt weird.”

Eddie doesn’t want to think about why he doesn’t like that. “Why?”

“Maybe, I-I don’t know, because. We don’t really. Say it, I don’t know.”

“Friends love each other,” Eddie says, and it doesn’t feel quite right.

There’s more silence. Eddie feels wrong-footed all of a sudden, cold sweat on his brow. Man, I really love you. Of course Buck loves him, that’s—of course he does. Eddie already knew that. Of course. But it hits him then, like a horse kick to the chest, how they don’t really say it. They just do it.

Man, I really love you, it knocks him right upside the head.

“Yeah,” Buck says after what feels like an eternity times two. He sounds muffled and far away again, and Eddie wants to tell him to speak directly into the microphone, maybe get him to say it again with even more certainty and veracity, but that’d be asking too much. “Yeah, they do.”

The desert stretches on for miles. The wind whips. The ATVs sparkle under the last dying rays of sun. Man, I really love you.

“Yeah.” Eddie swallows, keeps rubbing at his chest that must be caving in. “I love you too,” Eddie says, and it feels too raw. “For the record.” 

Buck laughs, more of an exhale of air than anything else. “Yeah. Yeah, good to know.”

Eddie is able to see Jupiter that night. Mars, too.

[kysstar]

BF!ATEEZ & WHEN YOU LEARN ABOUT THEIR HOBBIES | ATEEZ (requested 💕)

pairing : : bf!ateez x gn!reader

genre : : pure fluff

warnings : : none but a suggestive line if you squint (or its just me being dirty minded 🤷🏻‍♀️ )

author's note : : these are just my headcanons! they may differ from yours, so don't take them srsly <3 I was giggling and kicking my feet while writing this 💕 thank you for requesting this @atinyyuyu 💖

KIM HONG JOONG !

You walk into Hongjoong’s studio, casually pointing at something on his screen, mentioning a term he’s always ranted about.

He freezes. His eyes go wide like you just uncovered his biggest secret. Hands pause mid-air, hovering over his keyboard.

Blush creeps up his ears as he stares at you. “How… do you know that?” almost comes out as a whisper.

He groans, burying his face in his hands, mumbling about how he must talk too much. You laugh, nudging his shoulder, telling him you just listen because you like hearing him talk.

He peeks at you through his fingers, ears still pink, but there’s a small smile growing. His pride and shyness are battling inside him.

Then, the excitement wins. He starts explaining, hands moving as he talks, eyes sparkling. His voice speeds up, getting more passionate with every word.

You nod along, watching him, admiring how happy he looks when he talks about the things he loves.

At some point, he tugs you closer, absentmindedly pulling you into his lap, too caught up in his explanation to realize.

When he does realize, he pauses, looking at you like he just processed what he did.

Blush deepens. Hands hesitantly settle around your waist. A small, flustered laugh slips out before he just… continues talking, pretending like nothing happened.

His voice stays steady, but his grip on you tightens slightly whenever you shift.

You rest your head against his, listening to him ramble, feeling the warmth of his arms around you.

He notices but doesn’t say anything. Just smiles to himself and keeps talking, a little softer this time.

PARK SEONG HWA !

You casually mention a specific LEGO set while Seonghwa is focused on building, and he immediately stops. Hands frozen mid-air, eyes blinking at you like you just cracked a secret code.

Slowly, he turns to you, suspicion all over his face. “…How do you know about that?”

You grin, admitting you’ve heard him talk about it before. His ears instantly turn pink. He groans, covering his face with his hands. “I knew I talked too much.”

You laugh, sitting beside him, watching as he pretends to be embarrassed but keeps sneaking glances at you, lips twitching like he’s trying so hard not to smile.

“Do you wanna help?” His voice is quiet, almost shy. When you nod, his whole face softens. He gently places a tiny LEGO piece in your hand like it’s the most important job in the world.

As you build together, his usual careful and precise movements get a little clumsy. His fingers brush against yours, and you swear he hesitates before pulling away.

At some point, you get a piece stuck and struggle to pull it apart. He chuckles, shaking his head before scooting closer. “Here, let me.”

Instead of just taking it, he covers your hands with his, guiding your fingers as he helps you. His hands are warm, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You glance up, catching him already looking at you. He clears his throat, quickly focusing back on the LEGO set, ears betraying him by turning even redder.

After a while, you yawn, stretching your arms. Without thinking, he reaches out and gently fixes your hair, tucking a stray piece behind your ear before realizing what he just did.

He stiffens. You raise an eyebrow. His eyes dart to the LEGO set. “...It was in the way,” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

You let it slide, but you don’t miss the small, flustered smile on his face as he keeps building—his hands still slightly shaky.

JEONG YUN HO !

You casually mention a strategy from his favorite game, and Yunho immediately pauses the game. No slow reaction, just an instant freeze. Controller still in his hands, mouth slightly open.

Turns to you, blinking in disbelief. “Wait… you know about that?” His voice is a mix of awe and mild panic.

When you nod, admitting you’ve heard him talk about it before, his face explodes into the biggest grin—but then it hits him. “Wait… have I been ranting that much?”

He groans, flopping back dramatically, covering his face with his hands. You poke his side, laughing. “It’s cute.”

His hands slowly lower, and his eyes narrow playfully. “Oh? Cute?” Next thing you know, he’s pulling you into a loose headlock, ruffling your hair as you squirm and protest.

He finally lets go, but not before pressing his cheek against yours for a second—quick, warm, and intentional. When he pulls back, his ears are red, but he pretends like nothing happened.

Offers you a controller, grinning. “Wanna play with me?” You agree, and the excitement in his eyes triples.

He scoots way too close, knee pressing against yours as he eagerly explains controls. His hand covers yours at one point, guiding your fingers on the buttons.

He’s terrible at hiding how happy he is. Keeps sneaking glances at you instead of the screen, smiling like an idiot every time you get something right.

When you win a round, he throws his hands up in fake defeat. "Okay, maybe you're not that bad,” he teases, eyes twinkling.

Suddenly leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder, voice softer now. “Guess I have competition now, huh?”

His breath is warm against your skin, and you don’t miss the way his fingers lightly drum against your knee.

He pulls back, still smiling, and hands you a snack like it’s a reward. “Okay, rematch. But this time, I won’t go easy on you.”

KANG YEO SANG !

You casually mention a specific skate trick Yeosang has been practicing for weeks, and he immediately freezes mid-motion. Board under his foot, arms slightly raised, completely stunned.

Turns to you slowly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know about that?” His voice is calm, but his ears are betraying him, already turning red.

When you admit you’ve been watching him practice, he blinks a few times, then covers his face with his hoodie sleeve like you just exposed his deepest secret.

Tries to act unaffected but keeps stealing glances at you, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smile.

“Wanna try?” He finally asks, casually patting the skateboard—except he’s definitely nervous now.

Holds your hands way too carefully as you step onto the board, like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.

“Okay, just balance first,” he says, but he’s already hovering like he’s ready to catch you at any second.

The second you slightly wobble, his hands are immediately on your waist, steadying you. He doesn’t move them.

“See? You’re getting it,” he murmurs, voice softer now. His thumbs absentmindedly rub small circles against your sides before he quickly pulls away, clearing his throat.

After a while, you sit on the board while he pushes you gently, letting you glide across the pavement. He watches you with that soft smile.

When you reach the end, he crouches in front of you, resting his arms on his knees. “You look cute like this.” He says it so casually, like he doesn’t just make your heart race.

You throw a playful kick at him, and he laughs, grabbing your ankle before pulling you closer by the board.

Ends up just sitting beside you, the two of you sharing his hoodie while watching the sky turn orange.

“We should skate together more,” he murmurs after a while. Then, quietly—almost shyly—“Or just spend more time like this.”

CHOI SAN !

You show up at San’s place, casually holding a plushie he’s been wanting for ages. The moment he sees it, he gasps—like full-on, dramatic, hand-over-mouth gasp.

His eyes dart between you and the plushie, processing. Then, suddenly, he’s tackling you in a hug.

“HOW DID YOU—? WHERE DID YOU—?” He’s literally shaking you with excitement before snatching the plushie and hugging it like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

Looks at you, eyes shining, voice softer now. “You… remembered?”

When you nod, he just stares at you for a second, like he doesn’t know whether to scream, cry, or kiss you.

Instead, he flops onto the couch, dragging you down with him, the plushie squished between you both. His arms stay around you, warm and secure.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the plushie—then, after a pause, nuzzling into you too.

He doesn’t let go. Just stays there, holding onto both you and the plushie like you’re equally important (which, let’s be real, you are).

At some point, he quietly says, “You always listen to me, huh?” His voice is filled with something soft, something almost shy.

You hum in response, running your fingers through his hair absentmindedly. He melts.

He’s quiet for a while, just enjoying the warmth, then suddenly—“Okay, now you have to name it.”

He shoves the plushie in your face, dead serious. “It’s basically our child now.”

SONG MIN GI !

You show up with a rare vinyl record of an artist Mingi loves but could never find, casually handing it to him like it’s no big deal.

He just… stares at it. Then at you. Then back at the record. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a tiny, breathless, “No way.”

Gently takes it from your hands like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. Turns it over, checking the details, his fingers shaking a little.

“How did you even—? Where did you—?” His voice cracks mid-sentence, and you barely hold back a laugh.

He suddenly pulls you into a hug—tight and warm, like he’s trying to pour all his emotions into it.

Pulls back, eyes shining, then hugs you again because once wasn’t enough.

Five minutes later, he’s already setting up his record player, bouncing slightly on his feet like an excited puppy.

As soon as the music starts playing, he grabs your hands and starts swaying with you, even though it’s not even a dance track.

He’s humming along, looking at you more than the record, and oh no, he’s getting soft.

Midway through, he suddenly spins you around—way too enthusiastically—causing you to almost fall, but he catches you just in time, both of you collapsing into laughter.

You end up on the couch, him lying across it with his head in your lap, still rambling about how much this means to him.

He keeps looking up at you with this ridiculously fond smile, one hand playing with your fingers as the record crackles in the background.

At some point, he just sighs, closing his eyes, murmuring, “You’re actually the best, you know that?”

He falls asleep like that—smiling, music playing, your fingers running through his hair. And yeah, he’s definitely dreaming about you.

JUNG WOO YOUNG !

You casually mention wanting to cook a dish Wooyoung has been talking about forever, and he immediately gasps—dramatic, hands-on-his-chest levels of shock.

“YOU?! Want to cook that? With me?!” He’s already bouncing on his feet, practically vibrating with excitement.

Before you can react, he’s grabbing an apron and spinning you around, insisting on tying it for you. “Stay still,” he hums, pulling the strings snugly around your waist.

He definitely lingers, hands resting on your hips a second too long. “Perfect,” he murmurs, voice a little too smug in your ear.

Immediately back to his usual self, he pulls you to the counter, explaining the steps with way too much enthusiasm. Keeps leaning in way too close, just because he can.

At one point, he dips his finger into a sauce and holds it up to your lips. “Taste.” His grin is teasing, but his eyes are soft.

When you hesitate, he boops your nose with his sauce-covered finger instead. “Fine, I’ll just feed you myself~”

And he does, gently pressing his finger to your lips, watching with a very satisfied smile as you taste it.

He gets playful, stealing tiny bites of ingredients, making a mess on purpose just so he can pout and say, “Guess we have to clean up together~”

Randomly back hugs you while you stir the pot, chin resting on your shoulder. Sways you side to side, murmuring, “We should cook together like this every day.”

When you finally finish, he sits you down, insisting he plates everything. “I have to impress you, obviously.”

He watches so intently as you take your first bite, eyes glowing when you tell him it’s good.

Then, with zero warning, he tackles you into another hug, peppering quick kisses all over your face. “You’re officially my cooking partner for life!”

He keeps holding on, swaying with you in his arms, mumbling something about how he loves this—loves you—but quickly covers it up with a loud, “Okay, now dessert!” before you can tease him.

CHOI JONG HO !

You casually mention a pool technique Jongho once ranted about, throwing in a term he’s definitely used before.

He stops mid-shot, cue stick still in position, and just stares at you. Like you just told him you’ve secretly been a pool champion this whole time.

“Wait… how do you know that?” His voice is calm, but his eyes are so wide.

When you shrug and say you’ve heard him talk about it, he exhales, shaking his head with the smallest, flustered smile. “I really talk too much, huh?”

Tries to act unaffected, but the way he keeps rubbing the back of his neck definitely gives him away.

Offers to test your knowledge, stepping behind you and adjusting your stance, his hands warm as they rest on your arms.

He’s way too close now, voice soft as he murmurs, “Like this.” His breath tickles your ear, and you swear he’s doing it on purpose.

Guides your shot, his grip firm but gentle. When you actually make it in, he grins so proudly, ruffling your hair. “Not bad.”

But the second he takes a shot, you distract him by casually complimenting his form. His cue stick slips, and he glares at you while you laugh. “You did that on purpose.”

Tries to act mad but fails because he loves seeing you smile. “Alright, if that’s how we’re playing…”

Next thing you know, he’s caging you against the table, one hand flat beside you, smirking. “Maybe I should play like this. You wouldn’t be able to focus either.”

You shove him, and he finally bursts into laughter, pulling you into a quick hug before letting you go.

As the game goes on, he casually feeds you small snacks between turns, making sure you’re comfortable without even thinking about it.

When you win a round, he groans, flopping dramatically onto the table. “This is rigged.”

But then he peeks at you, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I have to play with you more, huh?”

© kysstar

[bambooswordwielder]

Obsessed with the fact that Shen Yuan only transmigrates when all the Peaklords have settled into their positions for a few years because the idea of Shang Qinghua being stuck watching Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge arguing for nth time about some budget detail that is DEFINITELY getting overblown now and just being stuck thinking

"Damn this would've been such a good enemies to lovers plot line... Imagine how much I could've made off of them..." and regretting not monetising their rivalry more before he killed off Liu Qingge ( "Oh and the angst Shen Qingqiu would've faced after his secret lover died and everyone blamed him for it! Fans would've been begging for more extras!" 🐹💔)

Like all the peaklords are desperately trying to mediate and fix the situation and Shang Qinghua is just imagining his one hundredth Fix-It Fic/AU where Shen Jiu is the King's trusted scholar and Liu Qingge is the King's personal bodyguard

Everyone thinks when a single tear falls from Shang Qinghua's eyes its because during Liu Qingge and Shen Jiu's fight they destroyed both his newly drafted budget (for the fifth time that month) and the fact they also destroyed the table (for the third time that week and the week just started)

Reality is Shang Qinghua is crying because he thought of an angsty death scene for the two Romeo and Juliet style because both their families couldn't accept them being together

Years of this pass and at some point he even picks up writing again (specifically about characters clearly based on Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge) and he gets really popular, popular enough his novels start to flood all of Cang Qiong and even Liu Mingyan takes some inspiration from them

Everyone knows damn well that the characters are clearly meant to be Peaklord Shen and Peaklord Liu, but no one tells because they all are legitimately waiting for the next volume of "Battle-to-your-poisonous-heart-and-peaches"

Does everyone know it's Shang Qinghua... Noooo.. Would anyone admit if they did know.... No.

Then all the sudden on day Shen Qingqiu suddenly looked in the dictionary and discovered what the word 'nice' is and now he doesn't abuse his students 🐹🤯

He even let himself get poisoned and potentially ruined his cultivation for life for Luo Binghe of all people!? Um excuse Airplane Logic, but the MC is supposed to only get all the good stuff AFTER he falls into the abyss!

And what's this about Liu Qingge helping to 'clear' his meridians so he has to personally visit Qing Jing peak every week?? Def something is off, an author knows fishy when he sees it

For how many years Shang Qinghua is stuck watching these two do their whole "You're my precious Shidi" and "I'll always be here for you" act and he's just stuck eating dogfood wondering when exactly is the marriage extra coming in and why the System won't tell me why Shen Qingqiu is acting all happy go lucky now

Shang Qinghua notices Shen Qingqiu talking to Yue Qingyuan more, he notices Qing Jing disciples running straight to Shen Qingqiu with joy and excitement rather than the reserved fear they had before, he notices how Shen Qingqiu only glares at him twice every meeting than before!

Maybe this isn't his version of PIDW, maybe it's a fan made version where Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu fall in love and with the power of love and friendship Shen Qingqiu learns to be kind and to care and isn't going to cause Luo Binghe to go down his dark path and maybe they can all have a happyily ever after—

*Endless Abyss Arc*

"Oh fuck–"

[Before Endless Abyss Arc]

*Shang Qinghua watching from a distance as Luo Binghe is practically clinging to Shen Qingqiu's side. Shen Qingqiu pats Luo Binghe's head and Luo Binghe does THAT smile he only does for his wives*

"Well this is an interesting fanfic..."

[After Airplane Reveal]

"Wait... So you're actually a transmigrater as well, Cucumber-Bro?"

"Yeah, and?"

"..."

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Do you hate, or have you at least at some point hated, Liu Qingge?"

"I– No–Wait what???"

"Let me reword it. Have you ever considered murdering him at one point?"

"WHYAREYOUASKINGMETHESEQUESTIONS!? YOUKNOWWHATHAPPENEDTOSHENJIU! IMNOTRISKINGHISFATE!"

"... So I'll take that as a no."

"OBVIOUSLY!?"

"So it's just a normal Friends to lovers 😮‍💨 No flavour 🙄"

Shang Qinghua was then brutally attacked.

[During the Five Years SY was dead]

*Shang Qinghua watching Liu Qingge go every single day to fight Luo Binghe for Shen Qingqiu's body*

"Oh my Airplane.... It's not a enemies-to-lovers... It's not Teacher X Disciple... It's a bloody love triangle with both! Oh how much money this plot would've made me 💔 I would've been able to pay for four months worth of rent and groceries!"

Random Disciple visiting An Ding: "Um.... Is Shang-Shibo okay? He fell on the ground?"

An Ding Disciple: "Leave him. He does that sometimes. Now about your budget request..."

*Shang Qinghua screaming in the background*

Random Disciple: "..."

An Ding Disciple: "..."

Random Disciple: "Should we check on–"

An Ding Disciple, now dragging other disciple away: "Let's settle this at your peak."

Years later when Bingqiu have already had their wedding and everyone has become somewhat tolerant of their relationship, Shang Qinghua just sighs loudly and Shen Yuan asks him what's up. Shang Qinghua looks him in the eyes and just shakes his head.

"My ship...💔"

"..."

"OW– Why did you have go hit me on the head!?"

"Because I don't want to know what's going on in there and I need to make sure what's in there stays in there."

[sxytwker]

Something Different

Summary: You come home from a lecture and now you have a bratty attitude with Luigi. At first, he doesn’t care, but when you start to sass him around, he doesn’t let that slide. So, he obviously teaches you a lesson.

Smut • MDNI

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂ ⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂ ⠂⠁ ⠂

The door slammed like it had something to prove.

Luigi Mangione didn’t flinch. He barely looked up from the laptop perched on his thick thighs, glasses slipping just a bit down his nose as he scrolled through lines of code. One push of his finger and the lenses nudged back into place. The cursor blinked.

So did he. Slowly. Calmly.

“Rough day?” he asked, voice low, stretched with boredom and maybe a little amusement. He knew that slam. That specific energy. She was in a mood.

He heard her kick off her shoes. The sigh came next — long, dramatic, and sharp enough to slice drywall.

“You don’t even wanna know,” she muttered, stomping past him in that way she did when she wanted attention without asking for it. Gold bangles clinked on her wrist as she tugged her hoodie off the back of a chair. Brown wavy hair half-fell from her clip.

He finally looked up.

“Tell me anyway,” Luigi said, cocking his head. A smirk pulled at his mouth — the one she hated. And loved. She always acted like she didn’t notice how good it looked on him.

She rolled her eyes. “Professor Menson is an actual parasite. And my lab partner—don’t get me started, Luigi, I swear—if she sighs at me one more time I will flip a fume hood onto her.”

“Mmhm,” he said, still not moving, still smug. “Sounds like you’ve had a long day being the smartest person in the room.”

She scoffed, already disappearing into the bedroom. “You say that like it’s fun.”

When she came back out, she’d changed.

Oversized hoodie. Hair down. Cotton panties — his favorites, he noticed instantly, though she pretended not to notice him noticing. She was scrolling her phone now, on the couch, legs folded under her like a bratty little queen, fake-distracted.

Luigi’s eyes flicked up again, slow and knowing.

“You done with the storm cloud act?” he asked.

She didn’t even look at him. “I’m not in the mood, Luigi.”

“You never are when you walk in the door,” he said, voice warm, smug, and just shy of cruel. He closed the laptop and set it aside. “But you forget, sweetheart—”

She finally looked up, caught in his gaze. His eyes were sharp, narrowed, cocky.

“I know how to fix that.”

She opened her mouth to sass him, but the words got stuck somewhere around the time he stood up and pulled off his hoodie in one motion — casual, confident. His white t-shirt stretched tight around biceps that practically dared her to look away. The ones she liked to pretend she didn’t fantasize about when he was typing one-handed and sipping espresso with the other.

She bit her lip. It was so fast she didn’t even notice it.

Luigi noticed. He always noticed.

“Ohhh,” he grinned, walking toward her, “now that’s the look I needed.”

She threw a pillow at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t need to,” he said, catching the pillow mid-air. “You do it for me.”

He was in front of her now, crowding her on the couch, one knee on the cushion beside her thigh, the other foot still on the floor. She looked up, and the way his glasses had slipped again made him look even more dangerous.

She tried to sass him again — tried. “You think you’re such—”

He cut her off by dragging his fingers under her chin and tilting her face up.

“No,” he murmured. “I know I am.”

There was a shift then — subtle but unmistakable. His hand moved to her waist, fingers sliding under the hem of her hoodie, dragging along bare skin that was suddenly, shamefully warm.

“You wanna keep rolling your eyes at me, sweetheart ?” he asked. “Be careful. Might have to remind you what happens when you forget who runs this house.”

“Oh my God,” she muttered, “you are—”

“What?” he said, cocking his head, voice low and silken. “Too cocky? Or too right?”

She hated how good he smelled. How strong his grip was. How right he was.

And then he kissed her — rough, like a promise. Like a man who knew what she needed before she could say it.

And she stopped thinking altogether.

Her breath caught when he kissed her, and for a second, the attitude melted. Just long enough for her to relax against his chest, let his hand on her hip take control. She leaned into it, let him steal the sass right out of her mouth. For a second, she was quiet. Soft. Sweet.

But then he pulled back with that grin — that damn grin — and something in her snapped right back into place.

“Oh, please,” she said, eyebrows raised as she wiped her lip with the back of her hand. “You think that’s gonna fix my mood?”

Luigi’s brow arched. “Didn’t hear you complaining two seconds ago.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it was practically a full-body movement. Then she stood up — that sharp little exit she always made when she wanted to remind him she ran things. Or at least pretended to.

“I’m getting a snack,” she said, brushing past him on the way to the kitchen. “Since clearly, you’re not feeding me.”

Luigi let his head fall back with a groan. Loud. Exaggerated. He dragged a hand through his curls, muttering something in Italian as he followed her with slow, heavy steps.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, voice rough now. Less playful.

She didn’t even look at him. Just opened the cabinet with a little shake of her hips, like she knew he was watching. She reached up, stretching — on purpose, obviously — until her hoodie lifted just enough to flash a peek of soft skin.

“God, you love pushing it, don’t you?” he said behind her.

She didn’t answer. Just kept reaching.

He was there in a second.

One hand slammed down on the counter beside her hip. The other followed, caging her in. Arms braced on either side of her. Solid. Unmovable. His chest brushed her back, and she froze for just half a second.

Then she exhaled. “What are you doing?”

“Dealing with a problem,” he said, voice low, eyes burning through the back of her neck. “The problem being your tone.”

She smirked. “You have a tone now.”

He tilted his head, jaw tight, lips parted just enough to show the edge of a snarl. “You don’t get to brat your way out of everything, you know.”

“I think I do,” she said, smile syrupy sweet. “It’s part of my charm.”

He leaned in until his nose brushed just under her ear.

“Your charm,” he said, “is getting on my nerves.”

She giggled. Actually giggled. Bold. Reckless.

Luigi exhaled like he was counting to ten. Then his hands moved — not rough, not yet, just enough to turn her by the waist so her back was against the counter now. So he could see that face. Those pretty glasses. That smug little expression she wore like armor.

And he looked down at her with that annoyed, hungry fire in his eyes.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he said, “and you’re gonna lose the ability to stand up for a while.”

Her smile faltered for half a second. But only half.

“Promises, promises,” she whispered.

Luigi’s jaw ticked.

The next move he made — that would wipe the smirk right off her face.

She stayed pinned between the counter and him, but her body language screamed defiance. Chin tilted. Arms crossed. Legs brushing his like it was an accident — it wasn’t.

Luigi’s arms were still caging her in, muscles flexed like he was holding himself back more than holding her in place. His eyes scanned her face, slow and sharp. He didn’t say anything right away — just looked.

That look.

Brows raised, tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or throw her over his shoulder. Probably both.

“You’re still doing this?” he asked, head tilting slightly like he was marveling at her.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. Her eyes narrowed just enough. Lips twitching like she was holding back a smile. It was quiet, but the bratty attitude was all there — loud and smug in the way she held his stare without blinking.

Luigi huffed a laugh, low and frustrated, dragging a hand down his face.

“You just don’t learn, do you.”

She shrugged, biting her lip — innocent if you didn’t know better. “Maybe I like getting on your nerves.”

He laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. Then he leaned in again, real close — forehead almost touching hers, breath warm, eyes locked on her like she was a dare he couldn’t wait to take.

“Oh, you love it,” he said, voice dropping dangerously low. “You live for this. Pissing me off just enough to see what I’ll do.”

She blinked, slow and smug, eyes sparkling behind her glasses. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

Luigi’s brow shot up. Tongue in cheek again. His whole face shifted into that look — half exasperated, half impressed, completely done with her.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” he muttered.

Then, without warning, his hand dropped to her thigh, fingers gripping with purpose, pulling her closer until their hips met. Her breath hitched just barely — but he caught it. Of course he did.

“And you’re quiet now,” he said, cocking his head. “Finally.”

She stared up at him, lips parted slightly, still not speaking. But that look in her eyes — bold, bratty, unbothered — hadn’t gone anywhere.

She was challenging him.

Luigi smirked, completely fed up and completely into it. His other hand slid to the back of her neck, thumb stroking just beneath her jaw.

“I’m gonna wipe that little look off your face,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

She still didn’t speak.

But the corner of her mouth curled up, just a little.

Like she wanted him to try.

Luigi’s hand stayed on her neck, thumb grazing under her jaw, grip just firm enough to remind her who was bigger, stronger, in charge — when he wanted to be.

She was still giving him that look.

That smug, bratty spark in her eyes like she was daring him to do something about it. Like she’d been waiting all day just to get under his skin. And now that she had, she was enjoying it a little too much.

Luigi rolled his eyes hard, jaw clenching as he shook his head, half-laughing in disbelief.

“You’re actually insane,” he muttered. “You start with me, get all mouthy, give me attitude — just so I’ll manhandle you like this.”

She blinked slowly, still quiet, still smug. But her eyes flicked down to his biceps — one of those little flickers she thought he wouldn’t catch.

He caught it.

“Oh, you’re sick,” he said, grinning now, voice heavier. “You’re obsessed.”

He flexed his arm just slightly, still bracing it next to her head, and watched her eyes immediately snap back up. Caught. Fully.

“Mmhmm,” he smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Her breath was getting a little uneven now. The sass was still in her face — but her body was starting to give her away. Her thighs shifted slightly. Her fingers twitched at her sides like she didn’t know where to put them. She stayed bratty, but barely.

“You really think you’re hot shit, huh?” she whispered, voice thin and shaky in a way she hoped he wouldn’t notice.

He noticed. And he leaned in again, this time with his mouth right against her ear.

“I know I am,” he said. “And you act like you hate it. But here you are — backed up against a counter, breathing all heavy, wearing those little panties I like, giving me that face.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her again.

“Still giving me attitude,” he added, head tilted, “but your eyes are screaming please wreck me.”

That was the last straw for him.

One hand stayed on her neck. The other came down to grip the counter edge beside her hip as he moved in and kissed her — hard. Not soft, not sweet, just pent-up frustration and heat that had been building all evening. She gasped into it, fingers clenching into his shirt instantly, body arching forward like she’d finally snapped.

He lifted her — easily — and set her on the counter without breaking the kiss. Her legs wrapped around his waist like it was instinct.

Luigi pulled back only slightly, breathing heavy now, eyes dark and intense as he stared at her.

“Still bored?” he asked.

She couldn’t even answer.

Didn’t need to.

He smirked again, lips brushing hers.

“Didn’t think so.”

Her back hit the cabinets with a soft thud as he stepped between her thighs, the cool marble of the counter under her thighs making her gasp. But Luigi didn’t give her time to catch her breath. Not tonight.

“You’re so—fucking—annoying,” he growled, each word punctuated with a kiss that was more teeth than lips. “You push and push and push—”

Her fingers tangled in his curls, eyes wide and glassy now, lips parted like she wanted to say something snarky but couldn’t form the words.

He tilted his head, eyes wild, smirk twisted into something darker. “Nah. Don’t even start.”

His hand came up fast, fingers slipping between her lips before she had a chance to argue — two thick fingers filling her mouth, pressing her tongue down. Just like that.

She froze. Eyes wide. Then melted instantly.

“Oh my God,” he muttered, watching her lips close around them like she was made for this. “You like that?”

She blinked up at him, cheeks flushed, mouth full. She nodded — slow, deliberate, bratty even now, her tongue swirling around his fingers just to drive him crazy.

Luigi actually laughed. A low, stunned giggle, like he couldn’t believe how far gone she already was.

“That’s sick,” he whispered. “You’re disgusting.”

She moaned softly around his fingers in response, and he cursed under his breath, thrusting his hips against the counter, against her, like his body couldn’t help it.

“You get mouthy just so I’ll shut you up,” he said, eyes locked on hers, voice rough and fast now. “And you’re so good when I do. Look at you. Finally quiet.”

He pulled his fingers out of her mouth slowly, watching a thin strand of spit follow them, and wiped it off on the hem of her hoodie like he owned her.

“You’re mine when you’re like this,” he said, voice dropped down to a rasp, leaning in again, grabbing her jaw to keep her eyes on his. “No attitude. No fucking smart mouth. Just you — quiet and desperate.”

She whimpered, hips grinding against him now, completely undone, but that same spark was still in her eyes — bratty, but worshipful.

“Yeah,” Luigi muttered, grinning darkly, licking his lips. “That’s right. You love being handled.”

And he was just getting started.

Her head tipped back against the cabinets, lips swollen, breath hitching as he leaned in again — this time with both hands gripping her thighs, spreading them wider without asking, without hesitating.

Luigi was grinning now. That smug, feral kind of grin. Like he was both fed up and having the time of his life.

“You’ve been asking for this all fucking night,” he muttered, pushing her hoodie up around her waist like it was getting in the way — because it was. “And now you want to act all quiet and sweet?”

He laughed again. A sharp, low sound that vibrated right against her skin.

“Nope. Not happening.”

She tried to say something — maybe another tease, maybe just a breathy whimper — but his fingers were back in her mouth before she got the chance.

“Nah, baby. Shhh. You’ve said enough.”

She closed her lips around them like instinct, eyes fluttering, legs pulling him closer like she needed him in every possible way at once.

And Luigi was loving every second of it.

His free hand stayed on her waist, fingers digging in as he pulled her flush against his body — hips grinding, arms flexed, chest heaving. His glasses were fogging up from how close he was, but he didn’t care. Didn’t even blink.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, rutting against her like he couldn’t control it anymore. “So goddamn messy for me. All this mouth earlier, and now I’ve got you quiet with two fingers?”

He pulled them out again just enough to speak — her spit dripping down his knuckles, her lips chasing them like she wasn’t ready to let go.

“Say somethin’ now, sweetheart,” he whispered, breath hot against her cheek. “C’mon. Where’s that fucking attitude?”

She opened her mouth — maybe to say something bratty, maybe not — but he was already sliding them back in, slow and deep, pressing on her tongue like he was daring her to choke.

“Nope,” he said, smirking. “Too late.”

She moaned — muffled and desperate — and he felt her shudder against him.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

His hips rolled again, and his eyes fluttered shut for a second, overwhelmed by how good she felt, how perfectly her body fit around his. But then he opened them — and they were wild. Dark. Hungry.

He looked down at her like she was a goddamn meal.

And he wasn’t even close to full.

“God, you’re gonna be sore tomorrow,” he whispered, voice low and reverent, but still cocky as hell. “And you’re not even gonna complain. ‘Cause you love when I lose it on you like this.”

She whimpered, nodding with his fingers still in her mouth.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning wider. “You love being manhandled.”

He picked her up again — effortlessly — and turned, slamming her down on the kitchen table now, hair fanned out, gold jewelry glinting under the warm light.

And he stood over her, chest heaving, curls wild, that charming smile now dangerous, addictive, and fully unhinged.

“Hope you weren’t planning on walking straight tomorrow,” he said, slipping his shirt off in one motion. “Because I’m not done.”

The kitchen table creaked under her as Luigi stepped back just enough to strip, eyes locked on hers the whole time. He peeled off his shirt first — that solid chest and those arms she was embarrassingly obsessed with on full display — and then his boxers, dropping them to the floor like he was throwing down a challenge.

She lifted her head slightly, eyes widening as he came into full view. And then, even through the heavy breathing, the flushed cheeks, the sweat-slicked heat between them…

She grinned.

That same bratty smile, softer now, but still there.

“Mmm,” she hummed, lips twitching. “Mr. PhD.”

Luigi froze — then burst into a laugh, breathless and delighted, running a hand over his face.

“Oh my God,” he said, chuckling, head tilted back. “You’re insane.”

“Pretty Huge—”

“—Don’t finish it,” he warned, pointing at her as he grinned, stepping back in close.

She just smirked.

But the second he was between her thighs again, everything shifted. His hand grabbed her jaw, thumb brushing her bottom lip.

“You finally done being a brat, baby?” he asked, voice teasing, but lined with something a little more serious underneath.

She nodded slowly, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, lips still wet from his fingers.

“Good girl,” Luigi said, voice low and dangerous, and something in her snapped at those two words. Her thighs clenched instinctively around his hips.

“Oh, you like that,” he murmured, almost amused. “My good girl. Finally.”

He didn’t give her time to answer.

His hands gripped her thighs and yanked her to the edge of the table like she weighed nothing. Her gasp turned into a sharp moan as he lined himself up, leaned in, and pressed his forehead to hers, still grinning through his teeth.

“I’m still gonna be rough with you,” he whispered. “Because you earned it.”

And then he pushed in — slow but deep — and her mouth fell open in a silent gasp, eyes rolling back just a little.

Luigi groaned, head dropping to her shoulder.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growled. “Every damn time.”

She tightened around him, hands clawing at his back, that bratty fire in her eyes now flickering with something else: surrender.

And he loved it. Ate it up.

His hands wrapped under her thighs, lifting her slightly off the table, holding her there while he started to move — hips snapping forward, rhythm building fast, rough, controlled but barely.

“Still got that smart mouth?” he panted, between thrusts. “Say something else, baby. Go ahead.”

But she couldn’t.

She was already half gone.

And Luigi?

Luigi was grinning, panting, sweat running down his chest, his curls stuck to his forehead, a giggle breaking through the ragged edges of his breath every time he saw her try and fail to come up with a comeback.

He was still annoyed. Still rough. Still giving her exactly what she needed.

And he was just getting started.

The table rocked under them with each deep thrust, wood creaking, her back arching as he drove into her like he had something to prove — and maybe he did.

Maybe this was about every eye roll. Every bratty little comment. Every strut into the apartment like she didn’t need him — just to make him prove that she did.

Luigi leaned in close, forehead brushing hers, breath hot and ragged, curls damp and sticking to his temples. He was watching her now, really watching her — how her mouth hung open, lips red and swollen, eyes fluttering but never leaving his arms, his chest, the way his biceps bulged every time he adjusted his grip on her thighs.

“Now you’re lookin’ at me right,” he rasped, still grinning like the devil. “You gonna talk, baby? Or still too busy drooling?”

She whimpered, hands moving up to his shoulders, then into his hair — those curls she always claimed to hate because they made him even cockier, now tangled in her fingers like a lifeline.

“I—Lu,” she breathed, voice high and thin, breaking on the syllable. “Lu—oh my God.”

“Oh now it’s Lu?” he laughed, voice raw and breathless. “No more ‘shut up, Luigi’? No more stompin’ around like you run the place?”

She shook her head, pupils blown, lips trembling. Her fingers clutched at his hair tighter, dragging him closer like she needed him to stay in control, to keep going, to not stop.

“I’m—I’m being good,” she whined, voice soft and desperate. “I’m being good for you now.”

He groaned at that. Real and guttural.

“Oh fuck, baby. You are. Finally.”

He slammed into her harder, the sound echoing through the kitchen, and her gasp came out half a sob. Her legs shook, her back arched, but his arms held her up like it was nothing. Strong. Unshakable. Like he was built to wreck her and keep her standing all at once.

She watched them again — his arms. Those damn arms. How easily he handled her like she was made of air. How they flexed and rippled with every movement, veins popping, sweat dripping down the curve of his biceps like something carved out of marble.

She moaned, head falling back. “Luigi, your arms—”

He laughed again — sharp and cocky, dragging his teeth across her jaw.

“Yeah? You want me to flex for you while I’m ruining you?”

She nodded helplessly, lips parted, eyes glazed.

He adjusted his grip, curling his arms tighter under her thighs, bouncing her on the edge of the table with a force that made her breath catch.

“Hold on, baby,” he muttered, eyes dark and glowing now, teeth bared in a smile that was pure sin. “We’re not done. You think this is me going hard?”

She whimpered, nails scraping down his back.

“This is me warming up.”

Her body trembled under his grip, legs barely holding form as he kept her right at the edge — deep, rough thrusts rolling through her like aftershocks. Her hands clawed uselessly at his shoulders, his arms, like she didn’t know what to do with herself anymore.

Luigi was panting now, his curls sticking to his forehead, his mouth open, neck flushed, veins in his arms bulging as he held her up like it was nothing. Still cocky. Still wild-eyed. But tired now — in that satisfied way.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he breathed against her throat, voice wrecked but still smug. “You get like this every time I handle you.”

Her eyes rolled back. She wasn’t talking anymore — she couldn’t. She was too busy whimpering, panting, letting the high-pitched, breathless “Lu… Lu…” tumble out of her mouth like she didn’t even know she was saying it.

“Aw, baby,” he laughed, low and shaky. “You gone dumb for me?”

She nodded, slow and lazy, lips parted, voice barely there.

“Please… I’m—Luigi—please—”

He wrapped an arm tighter around her waist, pressed his forehead to hers.

“Almost there, baby,” he whispered, his voice all grit and heat. “Be good. Come with me. I got you.”

And then—

She broke. Legs shaking, body collapsing into his, whimpering into his mouth as her whole world short-circuited.

He followed a breath later, groaning into her shoulder, arms locking around her like a vise, hips stuttering, everything crashing down in one final wave. He held her like that, forehead on her chest, both of them gasping and shaking and so tangled together there was no space left between them.

It was quiet for a moment.

Then—

“I’m… I’m sorry, Lu,” she mumbled, barely audible.

Luigi froze.

Lifted his head.

Looked at her — really looked at her — flushed and wrecked and completely sincere, her fingers still tangled in his curls like she never wanted to let go.

And he melted.

The cocky grin faded. His eyes softened. His lips pressed into a smile that was all affection, no edge.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, brushing her hair off her sweaty forehead. “You’re okay. You’re so okay.”

He kissed her — slow this time. Sweet. A thank-you. A promise.

And then he scooped her up in his arms like she weighed nothing. She let out a soft sigh, nose tucked against his neck, her fingers still wrapped in the chain around his neck, gold catching the light as he carried her out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“To bed,” he murmured. “Then a bath. You earned it, sweetheart.”

She barely nodded.

Didn’t have to.

Luigi had her now. And she wasn’t going anywhere.

The sheets were cool against her skin, but her body still burned — from him, from how hard she’d gone, from how deeply he’d taken her apart. She was laid out across the bed, cheeks pink, chest still rising and falling with every breath. Her hoodie was half off, her legs stretched out, hair messy and perfect.

But her eyes — they were soft now. Vulnerable. No sass. No games.

Just her.

Luigi stood at the edge of the bed, watching her like she was the most breakable thing in the world. His chest still heaved, muscles twitching with leftover adrenaline, but his expression had gone full melt.

“Hi,” he said, voice hoarse but warm.

She blinked at him, slow. “Hi.”

“You alive?”

Barely, she mouthed.

He grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. “You’ll survive. Just need a reset.”

And then he scooped her up again — bridal-style — even though she was a little limp and giggling quietly in his arms.

“Lu—”

“To the spa,” he cut in, mock-formal, walking toward the bathroom. “Only the finest for my sweet girl.”

She nuzzled into his chest, hands lazily dragging across the curve of his biceps, her thumb tracing the definition like she still couldn’t believe he was real.

“You’re just showing off now,” she mumbled.

He looked down at her, smirking. “I don’t need to show off. You hype me enough for both of us.”

Once inside, he set her gently on the counter, kissed her forehead again, and turned on the bath — hot water, a bit of oil he knew she liked (something sweet and warm, like her), watching the tub fill as steam curled around them.

When it was ready, he picked her up again — gently this time — and slowly eased her into the water. She let out the softest moan, eyes fluttering shut as her body slipped beneath the surface.

“You’re not real,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “I was just thinking that about you.”

And then he climbed in behind her, pulling her into his lap, arms wrapping around her waist under the water. She leaned into him instantly, head resting on his chest, her fingers floating up to touch his hand, his jaw, his shoulder — everything.

“You’re being so sweet,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Where’s the scary man from earlier?”

He smirked. “Buried somewhere under this bath bomb.”

She giggled — then reached up and cupped his cheek, thumbing the soft stubble there before kissing it.

“You were kinda mean,” she teased.

“You were worse,” he shot back, pulling her closer.

She kissed his shoulder next, then his bicep, then the back of his hand resting on her belly. Her lips lingered there like it was sacred.

“I like when you’re mean,” she said softly.

He let out a very pleased sound at that. “I know you do.”

She curled tighter into him, turning her face into his neck. “You gonna bring back ‘Mr. PhD’ now?”

He barked a laugh, head falling back.

“God,” he groaned. “I knew that was gonna stick.”

“You love it.”

He gave her a look — the kind of half-exhausted, half-in-love look that only shows up after you’ve completely broken someone down and put them back together again.

“Yeah,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I really do.”

The water had gone warm, her skin flushed and soft as she lay against his chest, eyes half-lidded and dreamy. But eventually, the bath started to cool, and she shivered just a little, goosebumps rising on her arms.

Luigi noticed immediately.

He reached for the towel he’d left warming on the radiator — because of course he had — and pulled the drain before carefully lifting her out of the tub like she’d break if he didn’t.

She squeaked at the sudden air. “Cold!”

“I know,” he said, laughing as he wrapped her up in the fluffy towel, rubbing her arms gently, dragging her in. “Come here, I got you.”

She buried her face into his chest, fingers gripping the towel closed while his bare skin radiated heat.

He kissed her temple first. Then her cheek. Then lower — jaw, neck, collarbone — slow and sweet, with little pauses between each.

“You’re all pink,” he whispered against her skin. “Like a baby peach.”

“Lu…” she giggled, squirming slightly under the attention, still cold but distracted by the way his voice went warm and low.

“And you smell too good,” he muttered, nose dragging along her neck, arms curling tighter around her waist. “Like warm vanilla, and sugar, and my favorite fuckin’ problem.”

She laughed, and he grinned, planting one more kiss between her shoulder blades.

“Still cold?” he asked, voice more gentle now.

She nodded.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice slipping into something darker as his hands slid down her towel-wrapped back, barely brushing her bare hips beneath. “I’ll warm you up. You just gotta let me be bad for a few more minutes.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, biting her lip. “You always say that.”

“And you always giggle when I whisper filthy shit in your ear, so we’re even.”

He leaned in and did exactly that — murmured something so dirty against her ear it made her knees wobble and her cheeks flare hot again, even under the towel.

She whined softly. “Luigiiiiii.”

“Just sayin’,” he said, smug and soft and completely pleased with himself. “You bring it out of me.”

When they made it back to the bedroom, she peeled off the towel and changed slowly — still flushed, still warm from his voice in her head. She stepped into a pair of soft cotton panties, the same kind he always loved, and then pulled on one of his hoodies — oversized, dark, and full of his scent.

She tugged the sleeves over her hands and climbed into bed.

Luigi stood by the dresser, watching her, arms crossed, head tilted.

“You look real cozy,” he said, voice low and fond.

“I am,” she said, sinking into the pillows, hair messy, gold jewelry still glinting against her skin.

“Can I join you?”

“You’re required to.”

He laughed softly, and climbed in next to her, pulling her close, arms wrapping tight around her waist again.

She kissed his jaw once. Twice. Then again, just below his ear.

“You’re so warm,” she whispered.

“And you’re so dangerous,” he said back, brushing her hair behind her ear. “In panties and my hoodie? That’s a threat.”

She giggled into his neck.

“You’re still gonna try to sleep after that?” he teased.

“Mmhm,” she said sweetly.

“Liar.”

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂ ⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂ ⠂⠁ ⠂

I really rally hate this fic for some reason, but it’s fine. I have some other ideas for fics, but I’ve also had like an empty mind about ideas. So please please please flood my inbox with suggestions and ideas 💗

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Hard Times

Masterlist + Soundtrack

❥Kim Hongjoong x fem reader

18+ MDNI. fun fact; minors will explode if they touch my blog

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, ANGST, smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: DEAD DOVE. DARK FICTION. listed more specifically on each chapter: step-dad hongjoong, featuring uncle bumjoong doing his best + best friend hiyyih being an angel, reader calls hj dad on accident / jokingly + he likes it a little too much, age gap (reader young adult, hong in his late 30s), serious daddy issues, soul crushing grief + survivors guilt (reader survives a crash that takes her parents), flashbacks give a glimpse of them before the accident, depictions of deep depression, medication, emotional manipulation (lowkey going both ways), unhealthy attachments + extreme taboo relationship, hardcore daddy / ddlg kink (wow shockerrrr), hongjoong is a freak with a corruption kink and likes making virgin reader: squirm / cry / call him daddy / suck on his fingers, honestly dubcon (she shouldn't be making these decisions in her headspace to begin with + hong blurs the lines of consent)

✫彡wordcount: 22k (AND COUNTING)

➯a/n: siiiigh when will i learn to keep things as simple one shots— IIIIN MY DEFENSE... eeeh i got nothin lmao just daddy hongjoong stuck on the mind 😪

taglist ? ➾ open !

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

────୨ৎ────

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need."

"I need you to hold me."

────୨ৎ────

Teaser

────୨ৎ────

Chapter One

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: brief hospitalization, attempted suicide, emetophobia, non sexual nudity, no smut

In Which: After the untimely death of your family, your step-father steps up and takes care of you.

────୨ৎ────

Chapter Two

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: alcohol, possessive behavior / jealousy, there's nowhere hongjoong's tongue doesn't go: making out + cunnilingus + hickeys, body worship, fingering, pussy + thigh job

In Which: Navigating your day-to-day becomes increasingly less difficult with your step-dad proving, time and time again, he always has your back.

────୨ৎ────

Chapter Three

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: virginity loss, kim "just the tip" hongjoong, epilogue included

In Which: You've finally reached some level of stability, and life isn't so bad with Hongjoong by your side.

────୨ৎ────

Hard Times

⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻

ılıılıılıılıılıılılıılıı

♫Hard Times - Ethel Cain♫

1:43 ━━━━●───── 5:03

"A little girl who needs her Daddy real bad."

"In the corner, on my birthday, you watched me. Dancing right there in the grass."

"Too tired to move. Too tired to leave."

♫Now this house ain't a home - ATEEZ♫

0:58 ━━━━●───── 3:44

"You never know what's around the bend."

"The world is cold to me, so cold. The world is dizzying to me, so dizzying."

"I endure one day, then one more — hoping someday I'll reach that place."

♫Home - Daughter♫

2:10 ━━━━●───── 4:18

"Keep the nightmares out, give me mouth-to-mouth — I can't live without you."

"I don't stand a chance in these four walls."

"Now he's moving close; my heart in my throat."

♫Devil On My Back - Chrissy♫

0:35 ━━━━●───── 3:13

"And when you're crying, are you lying about who you're crying for?"

"While I'm not getting better, you're waiting patiently. You're being strong for me."

"He used to touch himself to photographs of me..."

♫Skin - Marika Hackman♫

2:10 ━━━━●───── 4:18

"I'm jealous of your neck — that narrow porcelain plinth of flesh... It gets to hold your head, and I'd rather preform the task instead."

"I am too naive."

"To shed some light, the fire must get in."

♫Watch You Sleeping - Blue Foundation ♫

2:25 ━━━━●───── 6:33

"I want to carry you, but you won't get up. It's really killing me, you know it's killing me."

♫Jupiter - Flower Face♫

0:24 ━━━━●───── 4:31

" 'Til my body overflows in the summer afterglow. I love you more than you will ever know."

♫Work Song - Hozier♫

2:31 ━━━━●───── 3:49

"In the low lamp light I was free — heaven and hell were words to me."

♫Daddy Issues - The Neighborhood♫

1:18 ━━━━●───── 4:19

"And if you were my little girl, I'd do whatever I could do. I'd run away and hide with you."

♫Francis Forever - Mitski♫

1:02 ━━━━●───── 2:29

"I don't know what to do without you... I don't know where to put my hands."

♫Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Rey♫

"If you hold me without hurting me — you'll be the first who ever did."

1:54 ━━━━●───── 5:00

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[heesmiles]

pleaseeeee more dad jake 😭

rain's mic is on ੭ ۪ ݁ ݁ ۪ you weren't super specific so i thought why not add baby sera's first steps ! I'm so soft this is so cute! 𐒘𝛠 Includes : teeth rooting fluff , dad!jake from off the ice in my crossing the line hyung line series. w.c : 514

It’s a slow Sunday, the kind that drapes itself in golden light and quiet chores, where time seems to exhale and sprawl lazily across the hardwood floor. The kind of afternoon where Sera has just woken from her nap with flushed cheeks and a tangled halo of hair, and you’re both too in love with her sleep-heavy eyes to do anything but watch.

 Jake’s sprawled on the floor in sweatpants, his hoodie bunched at the elbows, a water bottle abandoned beside him and the faint outline of hockey tape still stuck to his fingers. He looks boyish, younger than he should for someone who’s already carried the weight of a sleepless first year on his shoulders. But then again, he always looks soft like this when he’s watching her. When he’s watching you with her. 

“She’s eyeing the corner again,” he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent. You glance over. Sera is gripping the side of the couch, tiny fists clenched into the fabric, her legs wobbly but steady enough. She's looking across the room toward her dad, eyes bright like she's already decided she wants to go to him. You shift slightly on the rug, your knees brushing his. “Do you think…?” Jake doesn’t answer. He’s too still now, chest barely moving, afraid to breathe too loud and break whatever spell has settled over the moment. But like a small, slow miracle — Sera lets go. 

One step. Wobble. Two. Her little arms flap like wings trying to remember how to fly, her brows drawn together with so much determination it almost makes you laugh. Jake lets out a gasp that sounds more like a prayer. You cover your mouth, your heart blooming and breaking all at once. “Come here, baby,” Jake says, his voice cracking like it’s too full of everything he’s ever felt for her. He drops to his knees, arms wide open, eyes shining. 

Three. Four. She stumbles. Nearly falls. But she catches herself with a breathy squeal, and before you can blink, she’s in his arms, both of them toppling backward onto the rug. Jake’s laughter is the sound of something being set free. You’re already crying, though you’re smiling so hard it hurts. You crawl over, kiss Sera’s head, then Jake’s cheek, your fingers threading into his hair. He looks up at you like he’s seen heaven.

“She walked,” he whispers, like it’s a secret only the two of you are allowed to carry. One only the three of you share.  “She walked to you,” you whisper back, tears running down your face, your voice thick with wonder and disbelief. Jake reaches for your hand. “She walked to us.” 

And there, on the soft rug where her toys are still scattered, with your knees pressed into Jake’s and Sera babbling nonsense between you like she’s already telling the story of her own beginning; you realize the three of you are a constellation no one else will ever know the shape of. A home, built from midnight feedings, missed classes, quiet apologies, and the breathtaking beauty of small firsts. Like this. 

(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @teddybeartaetae

[parisoonic]

How the hell do you manage to superimpose the hilariously exagerated proportions of the tf2 mercs into a cohesive 2d style? I always struggle SO much with like, the way the mercs' models have huge hands, the way they have relatively low-poly definition on things like arms, shoulders, and legs... and Especially the way like, the models are kinda janky when you pose them for art purposes- when using movement tools, things like armpits and seams between body parts get all deformed... Which makes the study of form and silhouette rather difficult.

I assume that a lot of your ability to translate the concept of the mercs from their original mediums into your own works of art comes to you quite naturally- through experience you have with drawing and art style stuff, as well as through intuition. I was simply wondering if I could poke at your mind and get some insight into your process, any thoughts you have about the proportions and silhouettes of the mercs, any quirks you've found while drawing the mercs, or simply what you enjoy drawing about them. Like, don't be afraid to infodump about something just because you think people wouldn't find it interesting- I am here, I am sitting, and I am listening- if you so choose to speak.

I am utterly fascinated and enraptured by the more behind-the-scenes aspect of art. The mundane things that come second nature to great artists yet seem so revolutionary to less experienced artists.

I love your work, I look forward to seeing more of it, and I hope you have a nice day :]

Sorry for the late reply! I've been a little…stuck on how to answer this but that's mainly because to me, drawing is composed of SO many different little skills - you have form, anatomy, shape language, silhouette, appeal, rhythm, acting and posing…not to mention everything AFTER your raw draughtmanship like line style, rendering and colour theory. Trying to distill a multiude of small skills into some pithy advice is overwhelming to my brain. So I'll take the invitation to ramble instead :))

I don't think I have any new or revolutionary insight into the tf2 guys specifically - more I'm using them as work horses to excercise general silhouette/posing/shape-language and further my skills when it comes to drawing characters!

I do agree though the proportions are rather silly when you stop and think about them realistically…they can be kinda tricky if you follow their 'actual' proportions. what looks great individually was maybe never meant to be directly compared (ie: Heavy's hand size against Spy's lol). It would've been funny if the TV show exsisted and we had more content to review…would the animators have had rules like Spy and Heavy can never shake hands? Would they cheated the proportions for shots? Or would they have said WHATVER it's gonna look weird and embraced it? (Like Kingpin in Spiderverse lol)

Paul Lasaine for 'Into the Spiderverse' This is AWESOME. But it's also one of the silliest designs I've ever seen comitted to screen. The varied scales of the characters work because of the unifying treatment (lighting, rendering, consistant hand anatomy, consistant clothing fold treatment etc) and because they are sort of proportional within themselves. A common mantra is that hands should be about as large as a characters face....which they all are here!

Human brains are very flexible and forgiving though. It's totally fine for you to put a character with huge hands and head next to a teeny tiny character! Vanellope and Ralph from Wreck-It Ralph look grand next to each other! And in that film you even have varying levels of stylisation sitting against each other (unified by the look dev treatment of the shaders and lighting). I think as long as the chracter is proportional within themselves it sort of works out. IE: a general rule is that a hand should be as large as the face so…you can have some large arse hands as long as their placed on a body with a big arse head. Unifying characters with the same treatment (ie: lineart brush, colouring style will also help them look cohesive next to each other :) )

I don't actually reference the 3D models/animations very much at all and instead draw their proportions based on my tastes for stylisation following their general vibes/silhouette profiles. I don't stick THAT close to their in-game looks and there are artists who do that are so so so much better than me (Creedei and Flapjack come to mind). I'm not amazing at body-type differentation and TBH they're all wearing chunky clothes all the time so I usually draw the guys as one-of-three body shapes: Heavy is the uniquely wide guy; Sniper/Scout/Spy are all tall and slim and Demo/Soldier/Medic/Engie have a little more of the generic 'hero' bodytype with varying tallness and broadness of the shoulders

Something like this! You can vary all these individual elements in terms of size, thickness, taper amount etc to create different characters. If you ARE going to reference the 3d works though you'll need to apply some anatomy knowledge to overcome the weird shoulders, armpits and knees which desperately need blendshapes to correct the 3D volumes and approach it a little more like an animation supervisor. There's a reason why you see in making-ofs and art-ofs character designers, character leads or animation supes doing drawovers of the models. These are character models that have had great effort put into their 'base' silhouette but it still needs to be reinforced in every frame for maximum appeal.

Shiyoon Kim for 'Raya' This sort of thing will occur at multiple stages during the animation process. Shiyoon Kim's notes are post final model but pre-animation. Most likely for internal rig tests, exploring what blend shapes and alt shapes are needed for the rigs etc. If your production has time, this will continue all the way to final anim. IF! But it's interesting to see how he emphasises the shapes and enhances the character acting of the 3d model.

As for 'mundane things' - I wouldn't say they're second nature! (If that makes you feel better!) I have to actively really persue certain advice and try to figure out how to best apply it. This can sometimes involve redrawing and redrawing an element of the drawing until I've grasped the nettle of whatever I'm after or…..until I get frustrated and either delete the drawing or just call it done lol

Here, I'm looking for a really specific flow of the head that sells both the acting and a subtle head tilt. I'm also trying to apply the general mantra regarding faces that converging lines (set by the eyebrows and mouth) are more appealing than parallel. It's tough! I also tend to use a drawing I've already done as a template/reference on the page too. Oh! This page is an amazing example of why I'm not an animator or storyboarder…consistancy? Who is she? 💅

Converging lines (that form tapered shapes) are always more appealing than parallel. Using this logic you can loft the facial features across converging lines to create dynamic appealing espressions. Combining this with anatomy, perspective and rotation is the tough part though. I'm still learning o7

The things I probably think about MOST are always flats vs curves, simple vs complex and general line of action/flow...and then eliminting tangents. Each of these can be a dedicated visual-essay on their own - hence my stumbling as to answer your question. Anyhow, not sure if it's ever come up on this blog but I looove dinosaurs :)) so i'm using a wee piece to demostrate these ideas! (but also to demostrate these concepts apply to everything from humans characters to animals, props and background design)

Okay, I'm getting self-aware that this is getting really long :') I have a wee tutorial tag for my blog if anyone wants to comb through my garbled art-thoughts. Learning, studying, repetition and practice will always be the greatest teachers! I'm glad you like my art- thank you so much for the lovely comments - I feel like such a noob still and not qualified to give people advice but we're in it together learning! High-five! 🙌

[trogort]

As I enter my 6th month of unemployment I can't help but come to a conclusion which has begun to greatly trouble me. I only exist as far as I am convenient to others. I don't really think this is a specifically profound observation, obviously you aren't going to spend time with somebody who you actively dislike, but in the past I've always felt like there has been a sort of balance when it comes to making yourself available to others, and others making themselves available to you. I don't know what has changed, recently, I can only assume it's me, but I no longer feel that balance. I feel like I'm a footnote, an asterisk, somebody who, when around, is welcomed, but not important enough outside of that. To capitalism, I'm little more than a means to an end. A cog designed from birth to convert labor into value for people I will never meet in exchange for the privilege of continued existence. To my friends I provide companionship and entertainment, insofar as I make myself readily available, when it is convenient. To lose this convenience, to the workforce, to my friends, feels like a resignation of my existence in itself. Maybe I'm just tired of all the effort. Maybe it's just the natural drift apart of things as I age. And so I put in more effort, and I try harder, and I'm still left with the bitter sting that once that well of exertion dries up, all I'll have done is waste more and more of my limited time.

This is a selfish line of thinking, one that I don't particularly enjoy, but one that I'm stuck in. Why do I get the feeling that, were I to inexplicably disappear, the vacuum left would be quickly cemented over with the next most convenient person to have around. Don't take this as a statement of intent, of course, there are far too many important things in my life to head too far down that train of thought. But it's an exercise I find myself unhealthily returning to lately far too often. Truly there is no intent with these words, other than just getting them out of my head in the hopes that making them real could reveal some sort of truth. The format of which is inherently selfish. A long and storied history of Posting Things Online which are likely better left unsent, such is the rambling nature of this stream-of-consciousness rant.

[biteyoubiteme]

thicc thigh obsessed gyu 😵‍💫 he loves how squishy and plush they are, touches them all the time, rests his head, inner thigh kisses and wearing pretty thigh highs and stockings has him hard and drooling

beomgyu x thighs

beomgyu x fem!reader

warnings: 🔞!!! chubby reader implied, thigh fucking, marking, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 0.6k

an: okay I want to say I love that you sent me this and it was stuck in my head forever and im just now answering it but omfg- gyu IS A THIGH LOVER I'll take it to the grave/ die on that hill bc YES. and specifically the gyu I wrote in bubblegum flavored- so if you see beomiebear mentioned here thats why bc it’s so him coded pls I love it thank you for this. [m.list]

He would so buy you thigh highs, little sets of garter belts that clip to the top of them. He loves the marks it leaves on your thighs if you’ve been lying down with them on. Likes to snap the bands to make you jump. He loves when you’re in a skirt, and loves it even more when you wear tights, he ruins every pair you’ve ever had and loves to rip them just enough to suck hickeys on your inner thigh. Will take the time to suck them Into the shape of a heart, spending as much time between your legs as possible. Gets you fishnets a size too small, still stretchy enough to feel comfortable but tight enough to let your skin dimple, the marks left after you've taken them off turning him on just as much. 

He loves it when he lays on your plush thighs and you play with his hair. Loves it more when you wear thighs highs when he does it, finger tucked under the elastic, running back and forth. Loves when you sit and it makes a little roll right where the end is, peppers kisses all along the seam. Will use his teeth to pull them down enough to kiss the indents on your skin. 

Insatiable when you casually walk in wearing anything that highlights your thighs. But it’s always the first thing he notices anyway. You could be spending dinner with all your friends and he’s got his hand shoved between your thighs under the table, not necessarily touching you but just resting his hand between your legs for the comfort. 

Gets you specific stockings to wear during sex, the lace lining on top the perfect spot for him to kiss along. The sheer gauzy fabric is just the right texture for him to run his teeth over while he looks up at you from his knees. dons so many kisses to your lower half you have to remind him your mouth exists, pushing his hair back from his eyes, “beomie if you’re good I’ll let you fuck them,” 

and he’s putty in your hands, his weakness so easily exploited when it came to you. Because he loved to push his cock between your plushy thighs. His hands holding your squishy flesh hard enough to leave red hand prints all over. 

Laying you back against the mattress and lifting your legs up, pushed together and slathered with lube, your ankles over his shoulder, arms wrapped around your knees as he pushes his cock in and out between your thighs. 

He’s a whiny mess kissing at your legs, begging for release as you squeeze your legs together for him. You watch the way the tip of cock pokes through the seam of your legs with every thrust. His hair in his eyes as he loses himself, “Oh god- you feel so perfect-“ his fingers digging in harder as he orgasm gets closer, and watching the way you look laid out before him, your body reverberating with every hash slap of him against you. 

He always cums so much when fucking your thighs, the hot streams pulsing out and coating your stomach. cock jerking as he gives lazy thrusts, his whimpers so sweet to your ears as you praise him, “You came so good for me beomiebear, if you clean me up I’ll let you go another round,” and he will comply licking you clean and burying himself between your legs to properly devour your wetness; a reward within this request itself just before he’s hard again and ready to do it all over.

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[alotofpockets]

Different loss, same grief | Beth Mead x Reader & Renee Slegers x Platonic!Reader

5k celebration prompt: "I don’t need you to fix me, I just need you to hold me."

Warnings: talks of parental loss, and absent parent

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.4k

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You thought you had been good at hiding your emotions, only showing them when no one was around. It had worked at home, you didn’t think Beth had any idea of what was going on in your mind. But now you’re on the pitch, running your drills, and you can feel Renee’s eyes on you.

Not the regular way a coach would watch you, no she was watching you as a friend. A friend who knows your tells way too well for your liking. Renee used to be your roommate back when you both played for Linköping, so you knew each other quite well before she joined the coaching staff at Arsenal. She sends you a questioning look, but you quickly shook your head, silently asking her not to get into it right now.

After that short interaction with Renee, you focus back on your training. You hope no one caught on, because you were really not in the mood to share your feelings with the rest of the girls. You loved them dearly, but you just were not wanting to talk about it.

For the next drill, you were playing a little 1v1 drill. By pure chance, you were paired with your girlfriend, but you had a feeling that Renee had a say in the pairs. Everyone lined up, one of the duo on each side of the balls that were lined up in the middle. The game was simple, a version of the head, shoulders, knees, and toes game. The twist was that the ball would be amongst the body parts named, first to get the ball will win a point. Beth was properly excited and egging you on about being faster each time she got the ball first.

Once training on the pitch was done, everyone had their own individual plans. You didn’t have anything specific on your schedule, so you decided to go for a jog around the pitch. Usually running helped clear your mind, but today it only seemed to focus more on the parts you were trying to set aside.

That’s how you found yourself at Renee’s office. After training she always had her door open to any player who wanted to come talk to her, and you had taken her up on that quite a few times since she became head coach.

She’s focussed on her laptop, so you knock on the door softly. “Do you have a moment?” You ask when she looks up at you. She closed her laptop right away, “Of course, my door is always open.” She smiles as you step inside and close the door behind you. “Manager or friend?” Renee asks as you sit down on the sofa in the corner. “Friend, please.”

Renee walks over and sits on the other end of the sofa. “Alright, what’s on your mind?” You stay quiet for a moment and then take a deep breath.

“You remember the whole story of my dad walking out on us?” Renee nods, her face turning more serious. She remembered how much you used to struggle with it when it had still been recent, but she hadn’t heard you mention him recently.

“Last week I saw this video on TikTok about a girl saying ‘I don’t wanna be like my dad, but with anything football related, I become my dad’. I don’t know why it got to me so much, like my job has been playing football for a long time, yet somehow my brain went back to little me doing everything surrounding football with my dad.” Tears were welling in your eyes now, so you wiped them away quickly before continuing. 

“And of course this is all around Father’s Day, where everywhere you go there is something about dad’s being great, amazing, or the best, and mine wasn’t. Mine isn’t. He left and started a new family without us, and I am stuck here with another Father’s Day approaching, without a father I am in contact with.”

Renee, who was quietly listening, put her hand on your shoulder to offer you some comfort. “I’m sorry that’s been going on in your mind. Have you talked to Beth about it?”

With a shake of your head, the tears finally start spilling. No more holding them in now. “I want to talk to her, I need her. But I can’t. I can’t tell her.” 

Renee gives your shoulder a quick squeeze before she brings you in for a hug. For a moment you just cry in her arms, but when your sobs fade away, Renee asks you why. 

“Because she lost her mom, like really lost her mom. I can’t be upset about losing a parent, because I chose to go no contact, to someone who had no choice in losing her parent.” You sit back up and lean against the back of the sofa.

“While you have experienced different kinds of losses, it doesn’t mean it’s not allowed to ache the same way. She might be one of the few people that truly understands the pain you’re feeling.” Renee said, and you let her words sink in. “Maybe you’re right.”

You sat with Renee for a while longer, just sitting on the sofa while she continued her work. Her words were wise, and convinced you that maybe talking to Beth about your feelings could actually be beneficial to you. Beth left training earlier than you because she had a session before practice, and you just wanted to go over how you wanted to tell her everything.

When you finally deemed yourself ready, Renee hugged you once more before telling you to go talk to your girlfriend, and get the comfort you need for her. You thank her again for being there for you, and make your way out of the building.

Once you opened the door to your home, you could smell a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Beth had started on dinner, and was quietly singing along to the music that was playing in your home.

You walked to the kitchen and took in the sight around the corner. Beth chopping up some vegetables, the sleeves of her hoodie bunched up at her elbows, and her hair up in a ponytail. 

She smiled when she noticed you. “Hey babe.” She turned to you and her smile instantly fell. “Are you okay, darling?” Apparently you couldn’t hide it as well as you thought you could for the short time before you were going to tell her.

“I’m okay.” You said and walked closer to her. Beth quickly wipes her hands on the kitchen towel. “Are you sure?” You nod. “Did someone piss you off? Is your knee hurting again? Do I need to tell someone off?” Beth’s smile grows as she is trying to use humour to get you to open up.

“Come on, love, what can I fix?” She is standing right in front of you as she asks you, one of her hands reaching out to your arm. That’s when you break again, tears streaming down your face. "I don’t need you to fix me, I just need you to hold me." Beth takes less than half a second to pull you in for a hug. She holds you tight while she rubs her hand up and down your back.

“Dinner can wait, let’s sit down.” She walks you over to the sofa and pulls you down with her. You tell her what you told Renee as well, between sobs, hoping that Beth is able to puzzle it all together as one clear story. 

Once you’re done saying it all, Beth is quiet for a moment to take it all in. Hearing that you weren’t sure if you could come to her, left her heart aching. “Oh baby, you know I will always be here to listen to you and to hold you. Our situations are different, but that doesn’t take away that your situation hurts you. You can always come to me, and I will always be there for you, no matter what.”

Her arms around you feel grounding. She presses a long kiss to the top of your head, you know that she meant every word of what she said. “You never have to carry anything alone, I promise.” You hug her a little tighter, a non-verbal way of thanking her.

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