#and they just poked at that for no reason

[writerpetals]

mbfw: boundaries | 🔞

; optional male lead smut |  ☁️

w / au's: werewolf!au, bestfriend!au, getting you off with his fingers ...

summary: you learn more about what it means to be mates and Wolfie has a few things to say when you tell him you just want to talk

a/n: part two to my best friend's werewolf !!

words: 4899

“So tell me more about mates.” 

The two of you decided to go to a small coffee shop just outside of town the following Saturday afternoon. You both knew there was so much to still be discussed, settling on a quiet place to sip drinks, eat a dessert, and talk at a corner table near the back without as much foot traffic. You wanted to know more about his werewolf side as well as discuss the what if’s and the maybe’s. The best thing about your best friend is he is always willing to talk through whatever is going on. 

“What would you like to know?” he asks before taking a bite of the raspberry pastry he ordered for himself. “Mates are just kind of like soul mates. Our perfect partner. One we could spend lifetimes with.” 

The thought has your heart swelling. Oh… to be loved so strongly. You couldn't imagine. Or, maybe it's not about love and just about what fits best. Does his wolf even care about you? Could he love you? These are the questions that have been plaguing you and you know you need to find the answers before the situation drives you crazy. 

“Well, how did your wolf decide me?” You poke at your own danish with a fork, not as hungry as you thought. “Why me?”

“I think it’s because of our friendship.” He doesn’t sound so sure, but he sounds sure enough that it’s a pretty good guess. “You’re the closest friend, honestly closest anything I’ve ever had. You’re like a sister to me.”

“Ugh,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “sisterzoned by my mate’s second brain cell.”

“No, we share a brain cell, remember?” He chuckles while you laugh, nudging him with your arm. 

“It’s still so bizarre to me,” you tell him in a whisper. “That all of this is happening with my best friend, but I don’t think I would want it to happen with anyone else.”

He smiles at that. He has always been the sweetest person you’ve ever known. Even in high school, you became friends because he spotted you crying coming out of the bathroom one day freshman year. He stopped you to ask what was wrong. You told him some excuse about your period. He laughed when you actually told him the truth that it was over a boy. A boy that broke up with you to immediately ask out your only friend in the class, all while his friends laughed at your embarrassment. Teenagers can be so cruel. 

The reason he laughed was because he already knew what he was going to do. He asks you to point the boy out so casually, as if he was only going to talk to him, so you do. Turns out that talk turned into a fight and he was suspended for three days. The guilt weighed down onto your shoulders like a heavy rainstorm until the day he returned. You apologized, asked him why he did it, and he said it was because of the t-shirt you were wearing. He knew you were cool. No one as cool as you should be crying.

Looking back, you can barely remember the band on the shirt because they disappeared due to a scandal a year later, but it was his favorite as well as yours at the time. Your favorite tv show became his next one and his sentimental dessert shop from his childhood became the place the two of you would get ice cream and study on the weekends. You went to prom together (as friends), played video games together (as enemies), and your families grew as you got to know one another. His family fell in love with you because you kept him focused on school, and your family wasn’t convinced he didn’t have ulterior motives (they eventually came around). 

He’s always been there for you. Became your friend, the person you looked to first when you tell a joke and the last person you wanted to disappoint. Protected you and kept the creeps away from you as you grew older. You didn’t find it funny when he would tell guys you liked that he liked you more. They ran away because they felt like they had no shot after that, but in the end you were glad because most of the time, you loved when it was just him and you. 

Which is why you nearly spit your drink in his face when he asks you, “Are you going to tell me what the two of you do?”

“What… No! Fuck no. Absolutely not!” You reach for the nearest napkin to wipe your mouth from where the liquid dripped. He stares at you from across the table, a questioning look on his face. “Why would I? I mean… do you want me to?”

The two of you have never, in the history of your friendship, discussed such topics. Sure, you’d joke about sex in general because that’s what friends do, but you’ve never talked about personal details with one another. You didn’t care to know about his sex life, and he knew yours was nonexistent. Well, until now. 

“You’re okay with doing things with my body, but not letting me know about it?” He raises a brow, and damn it, you know he has a point. He’s right and the last thing you want to do is overlook a boundary he might have. Talking about it isn’t one for you, but it is embarrassing. 

“Didn’t you say you can feel it?” You try your best to look for a loophole. “So, just… feel what we do, maybe?”

His body slumps as his expression goes slack, his mouth even pouting a little. He’s seconds away from calling you by your government name, so you take a deep breath and nod.

“Okay, I will tell you. It’s not like I care if you know, I just can’t seem to say the words to you.” 

He chuckles, leaning in with a devious look in his eyes and… is he actually trying to smolder? “Would you rather show me?”

“Ugh!” You shove his shoulder to make him fall back in his seat. His laugh echoes throughout the coffee shop, so you glare at him until he quiets down because the barista is looking. “That’s not funny, Flynn Rider.”

He’s still smiling wide, but it soon begins to settle. “I’m not asking to know to be a weirdo or anything. It’s just that it feels weird, sometimes, to have these blank slates in my memory. I can feel that everything is okay, if I’m happy, or angry, or… other things…”

Your cheeks heat at the comment. Just like he’s always been there for you, he’s always made you feel so safe. He was your sanctuary when you felt bullied and had nowhere else to turn. He’s understanding and patient. He’s sweet and kind, and always puts you before himself. But now it’s time for you to put your feelings aside for him so you give him his own peace with the situation.

You lean in, voice just a whisper. “He was in my room that night after work, waiting on me after my shower. I just had my robe on.”

“He didn’t warn you first he was coming over?” You shake your head at his question.. “That asshole. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sure that scared you.” He reaches to take your palm in his own. Offering a squeeze, you smile and shake your head once again. 

“I was startled, but it was you, so I calmed down. Well, I thought it was you.” You sigh, gathering the strength to do the most embarrassing thing you can think of. You just hope he won’t judge you for it. “He asked if I remember him. I didn’t at first, but it clicked when I remembered the night of the full moon. He then told me no one can keep him from me, and he wanted to see me… um, see my body.”

You can’t meet his gaze as you tell him. Staring a hole into the uneaten pastry in front of you, you take a moment to catch your breath. You aren’t sure why this is so hard for you. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never had conversations with your best friend like this before, or maybe it’s the situation at hand. It’s got you so confused and emotionally charged. 

“Did he…” He cocks his head to the side, pursing his lips in thought for a moment. “Did he ask nicely?”

For a second, you’re silent as the question registers. Then you release a breathy laugh. “He was very… gentle. Dominant and… convincing, but he wasn’t forceful if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Good.” He nods with a wrinkle of his brow. Then he leans forward, elbows on the table with his forearms crossed, ready to hear the rest. Your heart races. 

“He untied my robe. I had nothing on underneath, so he pressed me to the wall and his thigh pressed into me and I pressed into him and we were really just pressed… pressed all together doing stuff.”

He can’t control his laugh at your rambling. You don’t care. You did it. You told him and he’s not storming off, so you’re good, right? You force a smile at him, making him shake his head. 

Then his smile settles and he bites his lip for a second. “Did you like it?” Warmth surges through you at the question, surprise taking hold. You stammer for a second, unsure how to reply.

If you tell him yes, you’ll feel like a creep and if you tell him no, you’ll be lying. 

“I did.” Creep it is, because you’d never lie to him. He nods, gaze falling down for a few seconds. 

“I’m not asking to make you uncomfortable about it,” he admits, taking you by surprise again. “As long as he’s coming out to be with you, I need to know for sure that you’re okay. That he isn’t… you know.”

“Okay,” you interrupt, getting the hint. “I know. Okay.”

“Okay.” He nods and smiles at you. You grin at him, warmth blossoming in your heart because no one has a best friend like you. 

***

omw baby

The single text you receive the following night sends your heart into a spiral. You know it wasn’t your best friend that sent that text from his number, but the wolf inside him. You barely had time to shower once you arrived home from work, but as you were throwing on an oversized, faded t-shirt, your phone dinged with his warning.

Luckily you had the place to yourself, and it didn’t take him much longer to arrive after sending you the warning. You assume your best friend made his disapproval of dropping by your place unannounced clear, which makes you feel a little better. It also made clear the fact they both are taking care of you, whatever you need. Why do you feel like the luckiest girl alive?

You’re happy he’s stopping by, however, knowing you need to try to talk to him like you said. You answer the door with a racing heart, letting him inside, but not before he raked eyes up and down your body. 

“You smell as pretty as ever, baby,” he tells you in a deep, dark and demanding voice, shaking you to the core. Once you shut and lock the door behind you, he pulls you close with hands on your hips. For a moment you’re tempted to melt into him. His scent begins to drift through the air right to your nostrils. It’s warm and safe and inviting, daring you to trust him and give yourself to him.

Shaking your head, you blink away the thoughts and push him away.  “Can't we just talk?” Raising your hand, you point toward the couch close by in the living room. You take a step away from him to back towards the front door. “Go sit over there, please. We need to set some boundaries.”

“Sure. Can I play with your pussy while we talk?” He shrugs before sitting down on the couch, spreading his legs to push aside the fuzzy pink pillows your roommate just bought and gripping his cock through his gray sweatpants.  “Come sit right here, baby. We can talk all night.” 

“No!” You groan, stomping your foot and waving a finger at home. “We need boundaries here and now!”

He pouts. Actually pouts and gives you puppy dog eyes. Releasing his cock, he sighs. “Whatever you want, baby, but if I don't get to play soon, I might go crazy.” Then he gives you the most devilish grin to remind you he’s not human. “Don’t make me come bite you.”  

You huff and roll your eyes. “You'll be fine.” Your fear turns to aggravation toward him. Maybe the confidence comes from the fact he would never hurt you. Or maybe it’s because he’s getting on your last nerve. If your best friend is patient and understanding, Wolfie is too playful for his own good, too bold with his choice of words, and a pain in your ass. 

Then for a split-second you wonder what he would feel like in your ass. He does look absolutely delicious sitting there in sweats and a plain t-shirt. You really did want to have a seat and be served a never-ending course meal and… what are you thinking?

“Your scent!” You cover your nose with a slap of your hand against your face. “What are you doing?! It’s like you’re making it stronger.”

“Having fun thoughts, baby?” He chuckles. “Tell me what they are and if you’re a good girl, you’ll get it.”

“Why are you so horny?!” You turn away from him toward the front door and throw your hands in the air. “I need to know what this is, okay?! Because I’ve never done this before and I don’t want to lose my best friend!” 

You turn and point between the two of you. All smiles fade from his face as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. His lids lower, eyes darkening as he stares at you. A chill shoots straight down your spine. His glare is iced over, but the fire it ignites inside of you shoots straight between your thighs. 

“I’ve told you before, you’re mine.” He rises to his feet to step toward you. Your body jumps on high alert as he nears, knowing if his scent enters your body, you can’t control yourself. “He can’t live without you, so I think you’re safe there.” He reaches for you when he’s close, taking your chin between his index and thumb. You have no choice but to meet his gaze and his body burns hot pressed against your own. “There’s no need to worry over what you have and haven’t done because the only things you’re going to be doing from now on are with me. And if you want to know what this is, it’s me wishing to cherish, worship, honor and obey my mate because you’re not only my mate, baby, but my master. I might have claimed you, but you own me. So that’s what this is.” 

You can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t speak. You feel flushed and weak and dizzy all at once. To keep from slipping to the floor, you press your hands against him, until he guides you to the couch where you settle in his lap. Side pressed to his chest, his arm around you. 

“Breathe, baby.” He rubs your back in small circles to soothe you, his voice caring, yet confident. If your best friend can make you feel better by being with you whether it gets better or not, the wolf in him speaks as if it’s a fact. He demands the troublesome thoughts in your mind and lures them out with his deeper, yet gentle tone that will rip them to shreds with his claws. If he has a playful attitude with you all the time, he has a deadly one with your anxiety. “Breathe and tell me what happened? How do you feel?”

His words are a warm blanket on the coldest night. It shouldn’t surprise you. Sure, this wolf desires you and wants to mate with you, but he’s also the protector. He can save you from drunk college wolves as well as your own worries and insecurities. 

“I’m fine… I just… can’t wrap my head around it still.” You inhale a slow, deep breath, then exhale as he soothes the anxiety with his hand against your back. “The fact that you’re my best friend, but you’re his wolf side, so it feels like two different people to me. And this is all happening so fast. Three weeks ago we were planning our summer vacation after we graduate. He beat me in three games of Mario Kart and I had to buy him pizza. That was the deal. Now the deal is a very intimidating werewolf in the shape of my best friend wants to mate with me and I’ve never ao much as made out with a guy. Now… all this!”

You throw your hands up in the air. Finally, you let it all off your chest. You only wanted to be strong for your best friend. Considering it was your fault for ignoring him and going to the bonfire anyway, you decided you owe it to him. But holding onto every emotion after a confession like that has you nearly in tears. You don’t even want to think about how much you’ve been crying lately. 

“You’re human, so it’s hard for you to deal with it all at once. But, baby, look at me.” You turn to see the look in his eyes that serves as warning. Listen to every word he says or he’s going to bend you over and spank you. The thought sends a jolt of desire straight to your core. “Everything I said is true. I’ve waited half my life for you so don’t think I act this way just because I want to fuck you. I act this way because I crave you like a sinner craves salvation and it would make me go insane not to have you now that I’ve finally got a little taste. You are my moon because you made me like this, but I’m still just an animal, baby.”

Your body comes alive with every word he speaks. Heat courses over your skin, feeling the air hard to breathe in the moment. His hand caressing your back falls to your thigh, reaching around to pull your t-shirt higher up your side. You’re frozen. All you can do is look him in the eyes. 

“I can’t help that your body is calling to me.” His tone shifts from assertive to teasing. His voice is still deep, but there’s a dark desire there that is begging you to play with him. “I can smell how wet you are for me. Don’t be a bad girl and hide it from me.”

As he speaks, his other hand rises to the knee closest to him, pulling it apart from the other. Your body remains weak in his hold, but now it’s due to the way your body yearns for him. He’s right. You can’t help but be turned on. All he’s done is talk about how he wants to worship you and you’re starting to become curious about what that would entail. The thought excites you. He made his intentions clear, now maybe it’s time you start trusting your best friend’s wolf. 

You finally look away from him to look down at your parted thighs. Your shirt is hiked up, exposing your cotton panties with a darkened spot showing him just how much you want his attention. Your pussy begins to ache with need as his sights fall between your thighs, taking in the fact that he was right. 

“You’re going to let me play with this pretty pussy, aren’t you, baby?” He moves his hand to dip between your thighs, his thumb brushing over your clothed pussy. A gasp fills the air. “Don’t make a wolf beg.” 

He begins to whine like a puppy dog a second before a devious smirk replaces his pout. Then without warning, he twists your body so your back is pressed against his chest and his hand falls to cup your pussy in his palm. Your breath hitches and body tenses, until his hand moves back and forth over your panties, coaxing you to relax against him. A soft sigh falls from your lips. You can’t stop your hips from moving, giving in to his touch because it just feels too damn perfect. He is perfect for you, there’s no denying it. 

“Please,” you softly whimper. You can’t stop yourself. Your clit begins throbbing, needing more, wanting the attention it deserves. Arousal drips from your aching cunt, dying for more pressure, more friction, more everything. 

“So you want me to play now? Want me to slide your panties to the side and fuck you with my fingers?” You’re trembling against him as he speaks. He leans in, mouth next to your ear, lips ghosting over your skin. “Be a good girl and let me make it feel good for you.” 

Your legs part wider for him without thinking as his hand dips into the band of your panties. His fingers slip between your thighs to brush over your slit, feeling how wet you’ve become. A jolt of electric pleasure courses through you when he grazes your clit, his fingers wet with your juices.

“Perfect, baby,” he groans into your ear from behind. Light, feathery strokes graze over your pussy as his other hand slips beneath your big t-shirt, fingers caressing up to your breast to take in his palm. “You feel so perfect in my arms. You were made just for me.” 

He finds your clit as he speaks, beginning to circle your swollen, slick flesh to earn little whimpers and moans from your body. His motions are slow and steady, taking his time to appreciate the way you feel in his grasp. 

“Oh…” You cry out his name, hearing him groan behind you just from the sound. Your hips begin to move, only to feel just how excited this wolf is beneath you. His hard length presses into your ass, but the more you move yourself against him, the more lost you become in the moment. “Quicker… please…”

“Show me,” he growls against your ear, beginning to roll your hardened nipple between his fingers. The sensation sends your head rolling back, a gasp filling the living room. “Show me how you touch yourself. What gets you off, baby?” 

It’s like your body follows his commands before your mind has time to register what he’s saying. Your hand dips into your panties, pressing your fingers over his own to guide him in touching you. You apply more pressure and circle your clit a little quicker. Feeling his fingers against you, pleasuring you in the same way you pleasured yourself the night before to thoughts of him, has your limbs trembling. Soft moans and strained whimpers fill the air until you’re breathless in his hold thanks to his pleasure. 

“So wet for me, baby,” he groans, holding you threw every second of your limb-twitching and hip-rolling against him. “You feel so soft, just like I thought. I can’t wait to feel you like this with my cock. Filling you up with my cum until it’s dripping out of you. Would you like that?”

“Yes!” you gasp before you can stop yourself. Every word he speaks draws you close to the edge. The heat of bliss surges between your thighs. You’re so close. Every stroke of his fingers feel like heaven and it only takes seconds before you’re tumbling over the edge. 

A final gasp falls from within as your body tenses, the first wave crashing over you before you completely sink into him. Every inch of you melts into his embrace as you coast the planes of pure, unselfish pleasure. He whispers in your ear how you’re so good for him, how you feel so perfect, guiding you into complete euphoria. Your head becomes light and your fingers and toes begin to tingle, so high off of him touching you, your vision goes blurry.

The first tear falls before your mind can catch up with your emotions. Your frustrations, your worries, your fears, and the pleasure all roll into one cloudy storm and you can’t make heads or tails. A sob slips from your lips and before you know it you’re being tugged into his arms, chest against chest, one leg on each side of him. His hands find your back as he wraps himself around you, holding you tight against him as your tears fall into his shoulder. He tries to get as much of his skin pressed to your skin as possible, and the warmth of him begins to calm you. 

“It’s okay, baby,” He whispers into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I dnn knn wh mm cyngg,” you mumble into his shirt, because you truly don’t. It’s like everything came crashing down at once and the flood gates opened. 

“It’s my scent,” he admits, soothing your tears with his hands rubbing circles into your back. “It makes things feel so much more intense when I make you come. I know it was overwhelming the first time, but you will get used to it.” 

It makes sense, but now you just feel exhausted from the night. Your body slumps into him, closing your eyes. You didn’t know how you were ever going to get used to anything about this situation. 

“When will you leave?” you ask him, pulling away from his shoulder with wet cheeks. He reaches to brush the tears away with his thumb. 

“When you’re ready for me to,” is all he replies.

“How do you decide who gets control?”

“I decide when you need me and then I find you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Could he come out right now if he wanted to?”

He stares at you for a moment. “Do you want him to come out right now?”

Sighing, you bat your heavy lids, ready for sleep. “I want to get to know you more,” you tell him. His brows twitch in surprise. “This is still kind of scary to me because you feel like someone different. Like a stranger. I think I only trust you because of him, but I want to trust you for you.” 

For a second he grins, all before pulling you down to press your lips against his own. His scent floods your nose from being so close, only thinking of how soft his lips are and wondering what they would feel like in other places. You can’t stop the moan that spills out, feeling him deepen the kiss with a tight grip on your hip. His tongue slips against your bottom lip to tease, and so you playfully nibble on his until he chuckles against you. 

When you pull away from him, you look down at him looking up at you. He really is so beautiful. It’s like your heart threatens to burst when you set your sights on him. He’s a stranger, but your mate. Someone else, but your best friend. You’re so conflicted yet satisfied with how perfect it feels.

“Are you dangerous?” you whisper as you ask him.

“Not to you.” He pulls you closer, wrapping arms around you with your face inches from his. “Never to you.”

“To others?”

He licks his lips, taking in a sharp breath. “To no one that keeps their hands off of what’s mine.” You see the visceral danger etched in each of his features so well it makes you scared for whoever he is imagining. A darkness settles over his eyes that chills you to the bone. Their fate would be sealed, no doubt, and the thought of just how dangerous he is both thrills and scares you. 

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Ask me a million.”

You take a deep breath, then blurt out the words. “Do you think he is truly okay with this? I’m scared for my best friend…”

He takes in your question with a few seconds thought. “I told you before, you are our moon. You created us.” He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb over your skin as heat spirals down to the pit of your stomach at his words. “One animal, one human, fused together by our moon both wanting the same thing.”

“Which is?” He couldn’t seriously be implying your best friend wanted to be mates, right?

“We want what’s best for you. We have our different ways of showing it and experiencing it, but in the end you’re what we need to feel complete.”

His words have the tears welling again, but he’s quick to kiss them away. Who knew the big bad wolf had such a gentle side?

“You’re sweet,” you tell him, bottom lip still trembling just a bit as he scoops you up to guide you to the bed, ordering you without words to get some rest. 

“I’m everything you need me to be.” 

[earthtooz]

earth do you have any spare alhaitham thoughts 🥺 thinking ab him a little extra hard tonight 😵

nothing but fluff, reader and al-haitham are engaged, so much banter.

"What do you think about inviting Nahida to our wedding?"

Al-Haitham looks at you incredulously, blinking slowly to register your question. You know a lengthy discussion is imminent when he uncrosses his leg, a habit of his whenever he needs to prepare for a conversation that requires most of his attention.

"You don't mean Lesser Lord Kusanali, do you?" He asks and you nod, as if it is typical to invite a god to one's wedding. "Dear, do you understand what you are asking right now?"

"I do," you sit down beside him, Zaytun peach in one hand and a small knife in the other, cutting up slices that you feed him.

"Then do you realise how ludicrous your question is?"

"I think you are overcomplicating it."

His book snaps shut. "Am I? Or is it appropriate because you just suggested inviting an archon to our very ordinary wedding?"

"You still think you're ordinary after overthrowing a corrupt government and being promoted by said archon?"

"You're crazy," Al-Haitham murmurs, shaking his head with an affectionate smile, one that he always likes to conceal by pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You poke his side gently. "Then we are cut from the same cloth."

"That does not diminish your madness."

Still, you persist. "Well, you haven't said anything in response to my suggestion."

"I called you crazy."

"You haven't said anything I want to hear."

Once again, he sighs, but the noise is too airy to hold any true malice. "Even if I reject your idea, you would personally go to the Sanctuary of Surasthana and deliver the invite yourself."

Instead of answering, you merely feed him another slice of the Zaytun peach, smile growing more and more mischievous.

There is a reason Al-Haitham wants to spend the rest of his life with you. The bouts of delightful juvenility paints endless blotches of colour on his plain canvas, carving a certain feeling of warmth and admiration in his chest that no one else has managed to recreate.

No one compares to you, and he's certain no one ever will because even after all these years of knowing and loving you, every moment he spends with you is as priceless as divine knowledge. Even when you ask ridiculous questions that perplex him greatly.

"How do you even deliver messages to the Sanctuary of Surasthana?" You wonder.

A kiss to your temple halts your thinking. "Let's find out another time. How did this idea of inviting Nahida spring about?"

You shrug. "I was merely thinking back. She's always been so thoughtful and kind to her subjects, even when the Akademiya hid her from us. Then the idea of inviting her made itself quite at home."

"I see," he hums. "Ever so thoughtful."

"Maybe it's a good omen for our partnership to invite an archon. She won't have to bring a present, her presence alone is enough."

Al-Haitham huffs. "My faith in our relationship exceeds that of a good omen, but I agree."

"Aww, you love me that much?"

"Do you still doubt me?"

"Still?" You parrot. "Darling, I've never doubted you."

"I'd like to contest that. Remember when you were vehemently against me resigning as the Acting Grand Sage?"

You feed him another slice. "It gave me bragging rights! Who else could claim that their hot boyfriend-now-fiancé was the Grand Sage?"

"So you prefer when I'm away at the Akademiya working tirelessly from dawn to dusk?"

"Well, no," you set the knife and pit of the peach down before throwing your arms around his neck, pressing yourself close to him. "I prefer having you all to myself."

Al-Haitham huffs triumphantly and you stay pressed close to him for a while, watching as he returns to his novel. He flips back to his exact page despite the lack of a bookmark.

"I'll be sure to send the invite to Nahida tomorrow."

"Alright."

Two days later, you wake to a message written in beautifully precise handwriting on Al-Haitham's blackboard.

'Can Wanderer be invited too? - Nahida'

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[literaila]

Can we get a scene where reader and satoru get sent to the principals office? I think it would be so chaotic

“y/n,” satoru coos, poking at your cheek. “c’mon, i know you want to say something.”

you slap his hand away, refusing to look at him.

“you’re scowling, and your mouth keeps twitching,” your face hardens even more and satoru sighs. “just let it out. it’s just us, you know? no need to feel self conscious around little old me.”

you let his stupid arrogant voice ring out, crossing your arms.

your eyes are drooping, your neck is sore and you feel… furious, idiotic, nervous, and most of all—furious.

this is all gojo’s stupid fault, with his stupid ideas, his stupid sunglasses, and his stupid gps.

seriously, how dumb can one person be?

you’ve gotten in trouble with him before—for bickering during training, or stealing his snacks, or being late for dinner because someone forgot how to tie his shoes—but it’s never been this bad.

yaga’s never had to step out of the classroom for so long to… what? avoid a heart attack? keep his head from exploding?

so if you’re ignoring satoru and secretly plotting his demise, who can blame you?

if nanami were here, he would approve.

gojo groans. “just say something,” he pleads. “i hate the silent treatment. i might die. do you want me to die?”

and maybe it’s his tone of voice, or the innocence he’s showboating, or his mental incompetence, but you break.

“go to hell,” you hiss, still staring at the chalk board.

damn it.

he grins at you, pulling on the sleeve of your shirt. “that’s not very friendly,” he tells you. “what would haibara say?”

maybe you can’t look at him because his face is another one of your breaking points. if only yaga was as susceptible to his grin as you.

“he would tell you to stop antagonizing me,” you slump down in your seat, feet tapping against the floor anxiously.

“what? i wouldn’t do that to my favorite underclassman.”

“this is all your fault.”

satoru snorts. “i cant even drive,” he argues. “and you’re the one who made the key.”

“only because i was listening to you! you told me no one would even notice.”

“i don’t recall.”

“‘c’mon, y/n,’” you mock, “‘it’ll be fine. everyone’s sleeping. don’t you wanna go for a joyride?’”

“who is that supposed to be?”

“i can’t believe you.”

satoru sighs. “how is this my fault? you’re the one who couldn’t sleep.”

you finally turn to him, eyes sharper than daggers. his smile can go to hell too.

“i hope you’ve enjoyed your life so far because it’s going to be over as soon as we get out of here.”

“go ahead and try, sweetheart.”

“i will kill you—“

satoru shakes his head. then he holds his hands up in defense. “you try and help a friend,” he says, so pitifully. “you try to be nice and instead of thank you, you get threatened.”

you lean towards him unconsciously. everything about satoru is a antithesis to evolution, to karma. “you want me to thank you for getting me potentially expelled?”

he laughs. “you’re worried about yaga? that pushover? when me and suguru broke that wall he just told us that curfew was an hour earlier.”

“well we didn’t break a wall, you dimwit! we stole a car!”

satoru taps at the table, snorting. “dimwit? that’s what you came up with?”

“it’s four in the morning!”

“is that why you’re so moody?”

“i am not moody,” you kick at his leg. “you’re just annoying.”

if nothing else, at least the bickering is a nice distraction from the actual crisis at hand.

in a couple of days you’ll probably appreciate this moment for what it is. appreciate gojo for caring about your insomnia and pulling you away from your hell of a world for at least a couple of hours.

you’ll recognize him for what he is. you’ll remember that the only reason you agreed to a late night drive with him is because of those eyes, because he smiled at you when he asked and—

you’ll look back at this fondly someday.

but for right now you would like to blame gojo for everything and punch him in his stupid face.

he nudges you back. “you’re freaking out about this for no reason.”

“we’re locked in a classroom waiting for yaga’s verdict,” you grind out, “he dragged you in by your ear.”

gojo waves a hand. he leans back in the chair, hands behind his head. “he’ll yell at us for an hour and then make us clean the common room.”

“i saw a vein on his forehead.”

“that’s always been there.”

you sigh and close your eyes. “i’m going to be homeless. i’m gonna be kicked out and i’ll have to work at a gas station for the rest of my life and i’ll probably be fired and i’ll never amount to anything.”

satoru laughs.

you whine, laying across the desk. “i’m never going to see shoko again.”

“i’m sure she’ll visit you at the gas station. you know how much she smokes.”

you make a face. “i’ll have to find some old rich guy to marry.”

“just marry me instead,” satoru suggests, easily.

you give him a blank stare. “you’re already dead in this scenario.”

he yawns, looking around. then he turns back to you. “are you really only going to miss shoko? what about me?”

“i’ll go to your funeral, i guess.”

satoru pouts. “i was helping you! i’m older and wiser. just trust me on this.”

“i trusted you when you said there was no way for yaga to find out.”

“okay…” satoru licks his lips. “so i make one mistake.”

you glare at him. “one?”

he grins. “at least if we get expelled, we’ll be expelled together.”

“are you kidding? me and one of the three special grade sorcerers? you’ll get a slap on the wrist.”

satoru contemplates this for a moment, and you suddenly realize that he looks.. tired. did he stay up just to entertain you? should you feel bad for getting him in trouble because he wanted to make you feel better? should you care about him at all?

he taps at his chin, another smile breaking his face. “you bring up a good point. i’ll just threaten yaga if he tries to kick you out.”

you groan, rubbing your eyes, deciding you don’t care if he’s tired or not. “i genuinely don’t know how you’ve survived this long.”

“well, it’s—“

and then the classroom door opens.

both of you sit up—because despite whatever satoru might say, you know he’s just feigning nonchalance. if anything, he’s at least dreading a lecture.

its just instinctual when you open your mouth, really.

“it’s all gojo’s fault—“

“she’s the one who crashed the car—“

you both turn to each other simultaneously, words clashing into one another.

satoru frowns and you point a finger at him. “it’s called parking you asshole—“

and, okay. maybe its a little bit your fault.

[pomefioredove]

heyyy i saw the flirty prompts and i wondered if you can do one "you like me because im a scoundrel" with leona??? for some reason it just fits him hehe

ooooh I don't write leona that often... this might be fun

summary: "you like me because I'm a scoundrel" type of post: short fic characters: leona additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, cute and fluffy, probably ooc, cuddles implied a part of this event

"He won't get up,"

Everyone in the room lets out a collective groan. Not that it's surprising; just disappointing.

Ruggie shrugs, says "what can 'ya do?", and takes a seat across from Epel in the Savanaclaw lounge.

"Can't we just leave without him?" Epel asks. "If he changes his mind, he can catch up later."

Jack shakes his head. "Leaving without Leona would be disrespectful,"

"...And it was Leona who signed all the field trip paperwork with Crowley, so we can't leave unless he goes," Ruggie says.

Another unanimous groan.

"I was really looking forward to the stadium snacks at this tournament thing..." Grim sighs. "Well... anyone else got any ideas?"

The room falls silent. No one, neither Ramshackle, nor Pomefiore, nor Savanaclaw, wants to admit what they're all thinking; someone needs to get Leona up.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Ruggie clears his throat.

"...maybe the Prefect could-"

"What?" you say, immediately. "Why me?"

"He might... actually have a point. Leona does seem to tolerate them more than any of us," Jack mumbles.

"Wait just a second-"

"That's what I'm saying! Leona'll be up in no time, right? Shishishi,"

"But I-"

"Well, no time to lose!" even Grim chimes in, ushering you towards the door. "Good luck!"

"I didn't agree to this!" you shout... but it's no use.

How do you keep ending up in this position?

You sigh and walk into Leona's room, letting the heavy door fall shut behind you. You have a feeling that you're going to be in here for a long time.

Leona is lying face-down in bed, still in pajamas, the closed blinds casting morning light over him in little slits.

"I told you to get lost," he mutters, his voice muffled by the sheets.

You roll your eyes. "I'm not Ruggie,"

A pause. Leona rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow to meet your eyes. It's stuffy in here.

"I'm not in the mood," he finally says. "Now, get lost."

"You can't just not go," you say, walking around the room to pull up the blinds. He hisses at the light, turning over again. "Everyone is waiting for you."

"They'll live,"

"Are you sick?"

Silence.

"...No. I just don't feel like it,"

"Everyone's been looking forward to watching this spelldrive tournament for months," you say. "You can't just change your mind."

"I can, and I have. If you stop your whining, I might even let you join me in here,"

You roll your eyes. "You're a scoundrel,"

He pokes his head out of the sheets to grin. "You like me because I'm a scoundrel,"

That earns him another eye-roll, and you sit at the edge of his bed, giving him a gentle nudge with your fingertips.

"C'mon. What's it gonna take to get you up?"

Leona huffs, green eyes darting away as if he's actually considering answering you.

"...Ten more minutes,"

Ruggie and Jack may have been a little right. You smile, feeling somewhat proud of yourself, and begin heading for the door.

"Good. I'll tell the others to get ready-"

"Wait,"

You stop just shy of the door handle, and turn to look over your shoulder.

He's got that smile on again.

"I didn't say you could leave, did I?"

You smile back, rolling your eyes again so he knows you still disapprove, and you crawl into bed with him.

[livwritesstuff]

Steve reaches the top of the stairs on his way to get ready for bed when he hears the weary call of his husband from the other end of the hall.

“Steeeve,” Eddie groans, “Rescue me please.”

He’s in Hazel’s room, Steve can tell, which probably means that tonight is another night in a long string of failures to get their three-year-old into bed at a reasonable time (seriously – their older two went to sleep without any issues hours ago, but their sweet Hazel James has been in a phase of doing everything she can to avoid her bedtime).

Indeed, Steve walks into their youngest daughter’s bedroom to see that Eddie is the one blinking bleary eyes at him while Hazel, on the other hand, is wide awake and standing on her mattress in her Halloween pumpkin pajamas (yes, it’s June – very few battles are won by Steve and Eddie these days).

“Uh-oh,” Steve warns her, ”You’re putting Daddy to sleep, sweet girl. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“Well, first I hafta show Daddy all the places I got hurt today,” she replies, coming up right to the edge of her bed so Steve really has no choice but to pull her in for a snuggle.

“Where’d you get hurt today,” he asks her.

“Don’t,” Eddie mumbles, an arm over his face shielding his eyes from the light of Hazel’s lamp, “It’s a trap.”

But Hazel is already wiggling out of Steve’s arms, backing away just far enough to push her sleeve up and reveal the impressive collection of colorful, patterned bandages decorating her arm.

Earlier this week, Hazel had discovered the magical power of Band-Aids (in other words, she fell and was completely inconsolable until Eddie suggested putting a princess Band-Aid on the nonexistent “owie” – surprise, surprise, the agonizing pain disappeared without a trace almost immediately).

Now, she’s practically covered in the damn things.

“Look,” Hazel says, pointing at a princess band-aid by her wrist, “‘Dis is where I fell and a stick poked my arm.”

“A stick poked your arm?” he repeats.

“Uh-huh, so now you gotta give it a kiss.”

Obviously, Steve obliges, planting a dramatic kiss onto the plastic band-aid.

“All better?” he asks her.

“Yep. And then this one –” Hazel points at a Ninja Turtle band-aid up by her elbow (Steve’s gotta make sure Robbie doesn’t see that one or her six-year-old version of hell will rain down on all of them), “This is where I got stung-ed by a bug.”

Steve kisses that one too, and then Hazel hits him with a pretty fantastic yawn.

“You wanna come cuddle in bed with me and Daddy?” he asks quietly. She nods, and as he scoops her up, Eddie grumbles something that gets muffled into his arm.

“What was that?” he asks (only a little sarcastically). Eddie drops his arm and lifts his head to look Steve dead in the eye.

“You’re a goddamn sucker,” he repeats.

“Let’s go,” Steve ignores him, holding out the hand not holding Hazel. Eddie takes it and lets Steve pull him to his feet, and then they head off to bed.

[psychotrenny]

I don't think "Fascist" is a very useful or accurate thing to call Caesar and his Legion (from Fallout: New Vegas) in the context of the game world itself. Like there are a lot of aesthetic similarities and basically all of their unironic real world fans are some sort of Nazi Nerd, but when talking about their place within the context of fictional post-nuclear Nevada it just doesn't work. Like Caesar's whole deal is that he's a Social Scientist who, living in a world that's been "blasted back to the Stone Age", figures that society must evolve through the same stages if it wants to properly return to modernity. The Legion is basically comprised of "Primitive Communists"* who've been forced into a Slave Society. His criticisms of the NCR boil down to them being a moribund remnant of/reversion to Old World Capitalism rather than something organically adapted to the post-Nuclear world. He repeatedly talks about how the Legion isn't meant to represent an ideal society but simply a stepping stone onto something better (the thesis that will clash with it's antithesis and evolve into a superior synthesis). His interactions with the Courier heavily imply that the Legion's Misogyny, Homophobia, Tech aversion etc. are much more tools of social organisation and control than values that Caesar personally holds. The Legion isn't just some band of mindlessly violent reactionaries but the product of very deliberate Social Engineering; a peculiarly post-nuclear sort of scientifically planned society

Now I'm not defending the Legion as a "good" choice or anything; Caesar's plan has a lot of problems, it's not hard to poke holes into and in terms of unadulterated cruelty The Legion is easily the most morally repugnant of the main factions. But the thing I really love about The Legion is how, within the specific context of Fallout's setting, it makes sense. Like once you really think about it you can understand why someone in Edward Sallow's position would arrive at these conclusions, and there are good reasons why (if you take your roleplaying seriously and don't treat the Player Character as an extension of yourself) someone living in this world might chose to side with him. The Legion may be terrible but it's not evil for the sake of evil; there's genuinely a compelling ideology behind it.

It's why I get sad when I see so many people dismiss them as the "dum dum fascist slavers" because there's so much more to them than that. Like I think the best part about The Legion is how ridiculous they first appear ("These raiders dress like Ben-Hur extras?????) but once you find out more about them then it all starts to click ("Oh I see their leader is trying to assimilate them into a distinct and alien culture in order to maintain their loyalty; severing their previous connections and giving them a whole new identity"). So it sucks to see so many people get caught up in the first part and never make enough connections to reach the second. Like in general, Fallout: New Vegas is very messy and flawed and yet it's full of all these interesting little nuances and I think that's worth appreciating it. It's why, time and time again, I keep walking down that dusty road

*in the very broad sense that Fallouts "Tribals" are meant to represent people who have reverted back to some sort of pre-state society; of course there are countless problems with how Fallout treats this matter (including but not limited to incredible amounts of racism) but in order to understand Caesar we're forced to meet the game on it's terms

[tortillamastersblog]

ᗢ Take My Hand - Wanda Maximoff ᗢ

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: steamy scene, violence, major injuries, and angst

Summary: A collection of the three times you comfort Wanda when she is scared of her own powers. . .

________________________________________________

The first time

“Okay, you’re good to go.” Dr. Cho finishes stitching up my shoulder and gestures for me to get off the table.

I thank her and put my shirt back on, leaving with a smile and a small wave.

The flight back from Lagos was exhausting and I can’t wait to just crawl under the covers of my bed and fall asleep.

I showered earlier and I thought I could go to bed right then and there, but Nat noticed the cut on my shoulder wasn’t healing the way it usually does, so she sent me to see Dr. Cho to get it stitched up.

I make my way through the dark compound and toward my room, expecting to find a familiar redhead under the covers of my bed, but she isn’t there.

I frown and look around, noticing the door to the bathroom is standing slightly ajar, a sliver of light from inside escaping onto the hardwood floor of the bedroom.

I close the door behind me and walk toward the bathroom, carefully pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The sight that greets me makes my heart ache.

The room is illuminated by the flashlight on Wanda’s phone which is sitting on the sink with the screen faced down.

It’s not much, and any other person would have probably missed the dark figure sitting curled up against the shower wall but I don’t because of the connection the mind stone has created between Wanda and me.

We were both experimented on by Hydra, the only two differences being that I was dead when they used the stone on me and they did it when they first got their hands on it back in the 1940’s. I was in the army back then and was killed in action before Schmidt recovered my body, somehow giving me powers and bringing me back to life.

They thought it didn’t work though, which is why they put me on the bomber plane that Steve ultimately crashed into the Arctic. They were planning on throwing my body off out over the sea to get rid of the evidence of their experiments, but because of the turn of events, I was stuck in the ice with Steve for sixty years before S.H.I.E.L.D. found and recruited us.

Wanda’s soft sobs fill the silence, each one making my chest hurt, and I’m quick to rush to her side, kneeling down in front of her after turning off the running water.

The tiles are wet and when I carefully place a hand on her knee, I notice that her clothes are soaked as well.

She freezes and buries her face in her knees even more, the hold she has around her own legs tightening.

“You know you’re supposed to take your clothes off before showering, right?” I whisper softly, not bothering to ask why she’s crying because I already know the reason.

The whole flight back from Lagos she was shaking and staring at nothing with a far off look in her eyes.

She blames herself for what happened and even though people did die because of her losing control, she also saved countless of lives on the ground.

Wanda doesn’t react to my attempt at a joke and I sigh, moving forward and unwrapping her arms from around her legs.

She whimpers in protest but I keep going, slipping my arms under hers and getting up, pulling her to her feet with me.

She sobs and tightens her hold on me, her face landing in the crook of my neck.

“It will be okay, darling,” I whisper, not caring that my clothes are getting wet. “It’s not your fault.”

Wanda shakes her head and another sob escapes her lips.

Then, as if realizing something, she pushes me back and stares at the bandage that pokes out from underneath my shirt.

“You’re hurt,” she croaks. “I hurt you.”

I frown and go to grab her hand, but she pulls away “What are you talking about? You didn’t hurt me.”

Wanda nods frantically and stares at her hands with watery eyes. “You got caught in the blast.”

“Wanda, I did, but—“

“No,” she whimpers. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

Her bottom lip begins to tremble as a tear rolls down her cheek and her knees start to buckle.

Ignoring her hands which are trying to keep me away, I step into her space and wrap my arms around her waist, holding her up.

She fights me for a few seconds, whimpering, “No, no. Get away from me. I don’t want to hurt you again,” before she stops and melts into the embrace.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head.

Wanda sobs and curls her fingers around the fabric of my shirt. “I’m a monster. . .”

“No you’re not.” I state firmly, squeezing her in my arms.

“You should be afraid of me,” she argues weakly.

I blink a couple of times to get rid of my own tears and shake my head. The fact that she’s thinking of herself like this, makes my heart ache and my throat burn with unshed tears.

“Wanda,” I whisper pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes are filled with hurt and despair and I take a deep breath, moving my hands from her waist to cup her cheeks. “I will say this as many times as I have to. . . I will never— you hear me— never be afraid of you and your powers. I love you and you couldn’t hurt me even if you tried.”

A new wave of tears streams down her cheeks and I use the pads of my thumbs to wipe them away. She lifts a hand and places it over my injured shoulder.

“But today—“

I shake my head again and press a kiss to her forehead. “It’s nothing, darling. Please, trust me on that. It’s just taking a little longer to heal because I’m exhausted and drained.”

“Y/N. . .” she protests weakly and I step back and take her shaking hands.

She watches with wide eyes, trying to pull away but I tighten my grip and hold her gaze as I lift her hands and press a kiss to each palm.

“I love you, Wanda,” I say firmly, bringing her hands to cup my cheeks. “And I love your powers. You’re beautiful inside and out and I don’t want to spend a single moment of my life without you. So please, stop. I’m not scared of you.”

Wanda’s red-rimmed eyes dance over my face, obviously looking for any doubt on my part, and when she doesn’t find any, she surges forward and kisses me.

Her lips are chapped and I can taste her tears, but I don’t care, letting go of her hands and pulling her closer.

“I love you, too,” she whispers against my lips before leaning back in, trying to deepen the kiss.

I stop her before she gets a chance though, not wanting to take advantage of her in such a vulnerable moment, and squeeze her hips. “We should get some sleep, darling.”

Wanda sighs and nods, resting her forehead on my sternum. “Okay. . .”

I help her out of her shirt and jeans, giving her one last peck on the lips before leaving her to take a proper shower.

While she showers I change into a new, dry set of clothes and slip under the covers of the bed.

It’s not even five minutes later that the door to the bathroom reopens and Wanda emerges in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt.

I lift the covers with one arm, extending my other in invitation, and let it drop back down once she has slipped into bed, pressed against my side with one of her legs thrown over my hips.

“I love you,” she says when I start running my fingers through her damp hair.

“I love you, too, darling,” I whisper. “Now get some rest.”

Wanda sighs and noses forward, pressing a kiss to the underside of my jaw before settling back down and closing her eyes.

Within a couple of minutes she’s asleep and I continue to scratch at her scalp until I drift off myself.

The second time

I’m as relaxed as ever listening to Wanda playing her guitar quietly.

We’re on our bed with the lights turned down low and a storm raging on outside, the rain and wind whipping against the windows.

Wanda is sitting with her back against the headboard and I’m lying on my side, watching her with adoration.

Her nimble fingers are picking a calming melody and if it weren’t for my inability to take my eyes off her, I would have fallen asleep a long time ago.

It’s been a little over three weeks since the Lagos incident and even though Wanda still feels guilty about it she’s doing better. I’ve done my best to be by her side whenever she has a bad day and keep her from watching the news.

“You’re staring, moya lyubov,” Wanda says, glancing at me before returning her attention to the guitar.

I smile, not at all fazed that I’ve been caught “I can’t help it. You’re just so beautiful.”

She chuckles shyly and continues playing, her eyes meeting mine every now and then before she stops abruptly, catching me off guard.

She sets the guitar down next to the bed and moves to straddle my hips, forcing me to lie on my back.

I blink at her in surprise and raise a questioning eyebrow, my hands automatically moving to rest on her thighs.

“What are you doing?” I whisper breathlessly when her she place her hands on my lower stomach.

Her eyebrows are furrowed and it looks like she’s conflicted about something, but when her eyes meet mine her face softens.

“I love the way you look at me,” she admits quietly, shifting her weight on my hips and I have to bite my tongue to stop a gasp from escaping my lips. “No one’s ever looked at me like you do and I. . . I just love you so much.”

I smile and give her thighs a squeeze to show my appreciation. “I love you, too,” I say, reciprocating the kiss Wanda gives me when she bends down.

I love wholesome moments like this and I kiss back with the intention of keeping things short and sweet, but Wanda seems to have other plans.

She bites my lower lip, slipping her tongue into my mouth and slips her hands beneath my sweater. Her nails scraped against my skin and I groan, feeling a shiver run down my spine.

We’ve kissed and made out before, but this feels different than anything we’ve ever done.

Wanda is kissing me with an unprecedented sense of purpose and urgency and I have to pull back to make sure I’m not reading too much into this.

Despite being together for almost a year now, we’ve never been intimate before. It’s something we’ve spoken about a couple months ago when Wanda stopped a particularly heated make out session, saying she wasn’t ready to cross that line yet. I reassured her and told her I’d wait for her no matter how long it takes and that was that, but now things seem different.

Following our conversation I always stopped things before they could escalate, but now, when I try to pull away, Wanda whines and reattaches her lips to mine in a desperate kiss.

It takes my breath away and we continue kissing for a few seconds before I regain my bearings and place a hand on her shoulder, pushing gently.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Wanda asks breathlessly, her fingers tracing over my ribs beneath my sweater.

I shiver at the feeling and close my eyes for a moment to escape her intense gaze. “Yeah, I-I’m okay. Are you? I mean, is this going where I think it’s going or do you want to stop?”

It’s silent for a second and I open my eyes to find Wanda staring at me with dilated pupils.

“I think I’m ready,” she whispers against my lips, making my heart skip a beat.

“A-Are you sure?” I stutter and instead of answering verbally she resumes our kiss.

It’s hot and open mouthed, and when I squeeze her thighs, a squeaky moan leaves her lips. It sends a spark of arousal through me and I do it again just to hear it again.

“Y/N,” Wanda gasps, sitting up abruptly to take off her shirt before leaning back down to resume the kiss.

My mind is reeling at the sight of her exposed skin and I can’t stop myself from bringing my hands up to her waist.

Her skin is soft and warm and I can’t wait to feel it against my own.

We continue to kiss feverishly until Wanda runs out of air. She disconnects our lips, panting, and I take it as a chance to connect my lips to her neck.

I kiss and suck harshly, not caring about leaving any marks and taking delight in the gasps whimpers it’s eliciting from the redhead.

When I move to the sensitive spot just below Wanda’s ear, she shudders and digs her fingers into my ribs, making me groan.

We’re so caught up in the moment that it takes a second for the sound of breaking glass to register in both our heads. We freeze and pull apart, looking around the room for the source of the sound.

My eyes land on the lamp on the bedside table where wisps of red magic surround the now broken bulb of it.

I chuckle, realizing what’s happened but Wanda remains frozen on top of me. She’s blankly staring at the broken glass and retracts her hands from below my sweater.

“Hey,” I say softly, my voice filling with concern. “Are you okay? It was just an accident. I can replace the bulb in the morning.“

“I—“ Wanda stops herself and stares at her hands in disbelief. “I don’t think I can do this, Y/N.”

I frown and sit up, wrapping my arms around her waist to keep her on my lap. “What are you talking about?”

I hate how quickly the mood has shifted and I hate seeing the familiar look of reproach and regret in Wanda’s eyes.

“I just— I can’t do this,” she elaborates gesturing between us with a shaking hand. “I want to, but I can’t let my guard down. I’ll lose control and I’ll hurt you. My powers—“

I cut her off before she can go on, grabbing her hands and kissing her knuckles. “Hey, no. Don’t do this. We’ve talked about this. You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”

Wanda chuckles sadly and shakes her head. “But I don’t trust myself.”

I sigh. Not because I’m disappointed we were interrupted, but because it hurts to know Wanda still thinks of herself like this.

I rack my brain for new ways to convince her she’s not the monster she thinks she is when I suddenly have an idea.

I scoot back until my back is against the headboard and turn Wanda’s hands around so her palms are facing up.

“Darling, look at this,” I say quietly, letting go of one of her hands.

I flex my fingers and focus on my own powers, feeling a familiar warmth rush into my fingertips until wisps of yellow surround my hand.

They slowly dance around and illuminate Wanda’s face as she watches what I’m doing.

I move my hand toward hers and as soon as our fingertips brush it’s as if my powers coax Wanda’s out of hiding.

Soft red tendrils begin to appear at the tips of her fingers and Wanda watches in amazement as they connect with my own powers.

They dance around each other, mixing and merging around our palms until they’re an orange web of liquid energy.

“Do you feel that?” I ask, referring to the warmth that spreads through my hand and up my arm.

Wanda nods, her eyes glued to our hands and the ever flowing stream of energy between us.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, knowing that it doesn’t but wanting Wanda to actually say it, to admit it, and acknowledge that her powers could never harm me.

“I— No,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine. “It feels good. I— I feel you.”

I nod encouragingly and interlace our fingers, “Exactly. . . Now you know you won’t ever be able to hurt me, but we don’t have to continue. You can put your shirt back on and we can cuddle and watch a movie and forget any of this ever happened.”

Wanda’s eyes drop back down to our hands, her eyebrows furrowed in though for a couple of moments before she whispers, “No.”

“No?” I question gently, not knowing what exactly she means. I disconnect our hands and will my powers to disappear before placing my hands on her thighs.

Wanda’s eyes meet mine and I gasp when I notice a faint red glow in them. “No. I don’t want to stop,” she admits, her voice raspy. “I want you.”

My eyes widen and my fingers twitch in excitement. “Are you sure?”

She nods and whispers a Yes before cupping my cheeks and pulling me in for a passionate kiss.

In the end, a couple more light bulbs explode and the whole room shakes when Wanda comes for the first time with a broken cry, but no one gets hurt.

Well, that is if you don’t count the countless bruises in the form of love bites on our bodies and the angry red scratches down my back.

The third time

“Wanda,” Vision says, “It’s time.”

Wanda turns and stares at the synthezoid with watery eyes. He’s her best friend and beside me he’s the only one who truly understands her.

“No,” she says sternly, turning back around to watch Thanos taking apart the team one by one.

Vision and I share a meaningful look and I nod in acknowledgment.

“They can’t stop him Wanda,” I say, cringing when Steve gets socked in the face. “But you can. You have the power to destroy the stone.”

Vision nods in agreement and takes Wanda’s hand, placing it against his cheek.

She shakes her head with a trembling chin as her eyes fill with tears.

“Wanda please,” Vision says, his kind blue eyes focused on nothing else but the redhead in front of him. “We are out of time.”

“I can’t,” she whispers, looking at me pleadingly even though there’s nothing I can do. I may have gotten my powers from the stone as well, but I’m not as powerful as she is.

Vision takes Wanda’s hand off his cheek and raises it in front of his face. “If he gets the stone half of the universe dies.”

Wanda’s face contorts with agony and she takes a step back, acknowledging that there’s no other way.

I bow my head, trying to hide my own tears at the imminent demise of one of my friends and turn around to make sure Thanos doesn’t get to Wanda or Vision.

“It’s alright,” I hear Vision say, “You could never hurt me.”

I swallow the growing lump in my throat, remembering how I taught him that phrase before everything went to shit because of the Sokovia Accords.

He called me one evening when I was gone on a solo mission, asking how to calm Wanda down after she accidentally lost control of her powers during a training session.

Thanos catches T’Challa mid-air and slams him into the ground before striking Nat with a powerful fist.

He’s getting too close, I think, getting into a fighting stance.

I raise my hands, letting my powers flow through me until my hands are surrounded by yellow wisps.

I can’t let him get to Wanda. . .

I take a deep breath, getting ready to get my ass handed to me like the rest of the team, when the breath suddenly gets knocked out of me by some invisible force.

I gasp and look around to see what might have caused it when a blinding pain shoots up my spine and through my head.

It feels like I’m being split apart from the inside out and I drop to my hands and knees, blinking rapidly to get rid of the growing black spots in my vision.

I whimper and press a hand to my temple, only for the pain to disappear the next second as though it was never there.

“My love,” Wanda’s voice and her hands on my cheeks make me flinch and when I look up I see she’s kneeling in front of me with concern written all over her face. “What is it?”

I shake my head, confused as to what just happened and take her hands off my face. “I don’t know, darling. Just keep going, I’ll be fine. Thanos can’t get his hands on the stone.”

She watches me with uncertainty, only reluctantly getting back to her feet when I shout, “Go!”

We’re running out of time.

I take a shaky breath and stand up on shaking legs before leaning against a nearby tree.

My eyes land on Wanda as she’s getting back into position to destroy the stone.

I want to get back to shielding her from the incoming Titan, but as soon as her power connect with the stone, the pain returns, and I yelp in surprise, doubling over in pain.

Just like last time, it stops almost immediately and it’s then that I realize what’s happening.

The mind stone brought me back to life, so if it’s destroyed, I loss my powers and I go back to being dead.

When I look up I see the same realization in both Vision and Wanda’s face.

Vision just smiles sadly, knowing this won’t change our shared understanding that the stone has to be destroyed, but Wanda’s paralyzed with horror.

“No.” She shakes her head, tears of despair dripping down her face. “Not you, too. I can’t do this.”

She shakes her head like a kid throwing a tantrum and I have to bite my cheek to stifle a whimper when I drag myself to her side.

“Wanda, there’s no other way,” I croak, wiping the tears off her cheeks.

She sobs and holds onto my wrists with an ironclad grip. “No. No. No. I can’t lose you. You’re all I have left. You’re my everything.”

I force a small smile and try to ignore the agony that washes over me.

Whenever one of us is feeling overwhelmed by an emotion, the other person feels it as well. It’s a side effect of the connection the mind stone has created between us and it usually doesn’t bother me, but right now it’s chipping away at my resolve to save half the universe.

“It’s going to be okay,” I lie even though my heart is begging me not to go through with this.

I’m scared of dying, yes, because I don’t remember what it was like the first time, but what I’m even more scared of is what’s going to happen to Wanda once all this is over.

She has lost so much already and I don’t know how much more she can take before she breaks completely.

“Please, no. Don’t make me do this,” Wanda cries softly, making my own tears run down my cheeks.

I struggle to breath and, not being able to bear the look of complete and utter despair in her eyes, I Iet go of her face and move so I’m standing behind her, her back flush against my front.

I press a lingering kiss to the side of her head, right above her ear, and take her hands in mine, raising them so her palms are aimed at the stone in Vision’s forehead.

“We’ll do it together, darling. I’m right here, okay?” I whisper.

Wanda sobs and whimpers, but a moment later her fingers are once again surrounded by her magic.

“Y/N. . .” she weeps, seeming unable to go through with it, but when I press another kiss to the side of her head, she lets her magic go, directing it toward the stone.

The moment it makes contact, I groan and my grip on the back of her hands tightens.

Her engagement ring glints in the sunlight and even though my body is overwhelmed by all the pain coursing through it, I managed to smile as I remember how I slipped it onto her finger a couple of days ago.

Oh, what a beautiful bride she would have made.

There aren’t many things I regret in life, but not asking her to marry me sooner is definitely on of them.

I would have loved to call her my wife. I would have loved to raise kids with her and I would have loved to grow old with her by my side.

Now, all we have left is this moment and I’m sure as hell not going to waste it.

When the pain turns blinding, I grit my teeth and close my eyes, pressing my nose against Wanda’s neck to breathe her in.

Her body is shaking with sobs and the effort it takes to destroy the stone and there’s nothing I can do to help except comfort her in this defining moment.

“I love you.” I gasp, letting go of her hands to instead wrap my arms around her waist.

I keep saying it with my eyes squeezed shut until the pain suddenly stops.

I don’t feel anything for a heartbeat, but then my blood runs cold and I feel my knees buckle.

My grip around Wanda loosens involuntarily and my body hits the ground hard.

The last thing I’m aware of before slipping into darkness is a pair of warm hands on my face.

________________________________________________

Don’t say I didn’t warn you. . . *insert evil laugh*

Not proofread yet.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Stressed and Sick on Set

Summary: Reader has a migraine and gets sick on set. Luckily Scarlett, Lizzie and her twin sisters are there to help you out.

TWs: migraine, vomiting, hiding illness, stress, mentions of family issues, mentions / implied themes of death

Words: 2.9k

A/n Idk where this came from but here it is … enjoy x

With the chaos that was currently your life it was no surprise or at least it shouldn’t have been when you were hit with the mother of all migraines.

To say people had been asking a lot of you lately was a gross understatement. Aside from filming your family had been a mess as of late. The whole family was expected back home for Christmas as your grandmother was sick and so the plan was for everyone to get together one last time.

However, between acting and uni work you were already stretched pretty thin. Your parents had been breathing down your neck to book a flight and despite wanting to see some of your cousins you knew family gatherings were a recipe for disaster. And with a sombre reason for the get together it would most likely be a mess of alcohol and tears which wasn’t something you were sure you could even deal with at this point.

Luckily the migraine hadn’t hit until you were finished in hair and makeup because the idea of anyone touching your face and hair with the amount of pain you were in right now might just push you over the edge.

The light blinded you as you stepped out of the hair and makeup trailer. Shielding your eyes you fumbled with clumsy fingers to put on your sunglasses.

Sighing softy as the sunlight was reduced you continued you way to set. You nodded as you passed a few stagehands and crew members. Finally, you made it to set. Lizzie and Scarlett were stood near their chairs talking with two blondes who you couldn’t quite see with the other two stood in front of them.

Joining the small group Scarlett wrapped a hand around your shoulders and pulled you into her side making your head spin.

“Speak of the devil.” Lizzie said. “Y/n, you’ve met my sisters before but if you can't tell them apart this one is Mary-Kate and that ones Ashley.” Lizzie said poking her sister's side.

“Hi Y/n.” Mary-Kate said with a smile and Ashley mimicked her statement.

“Hi.” You said softly. The noise of the set was getting to you and despite your sunglasses the fluorescent lights overhead seemed worse than the sun had been.

“Whats with the shades Y/n/n?” Scarlett asked.

“‘M just too cool for you.” You said burying your face into her neck in an attempt to hide from the lights. The adults laughed and your cheeks heated up with the tips of your ears turning pink also.

The four of them stood and chatted while you stayed relatively quiet only really speaking when spoken to. Your head was pounding, and the lights seemed to be out to get you. The hum of electricity and buzz of the stage crew flitting around setting up for the next scene was starting to make you nauseous.

Lizzie and Scarlett took note of your quiet demeanour and exchanged a look over your head. Your head was still resting in the crook of Scarlett’s neck as you tried your best to look and act normally.

A small part of you craved their motherly attention but you knew if you admitted to being sick, they would have you out of commission for a few days at least as per the contract. And if you were down with some sickness even if it was a migraine Lizzie and Scarlett would be by your side the whole time and as much as you loved them, you didn’t want to put everyone behind schedule due to your inability to handle your day to day life coupled with the demands of work.

However, as you heard the director call for places to be taken you wanted to reconsider.

Scarlett and Lizzie had already been shooting scenes this morning and now you were to join them they seemed happier.

Mary-Kate and Ashley sat down in Scarlett and Lizzie’s chairs to watch. Both twins had taken note of your sullen and quiet temperament also and were tasked by Lizzie with keeping an eye on you.

As you took your place you had forgotten your sunglasses which were still over your eyes. The director finished organising everything and before he called action he took notice of your unusual attire.

“L/n as much as I love the look, the sunglasses need to go kiddo.” He called and you buried a wince under your façade as you knew removing them would make everything ten times worse. But you had to if you wanted to keep up the pretence of wellness.

Taking a deep breath, you eased the sunglasses off your face and blinked in the harsh light. Your nausea increased and you swallowed down the thick feeling in your mouth, wishing you had some water to help.

A stagehand took your sunglasses and handed them to Ashley who has stood to get them for you before she returned to her seat.

Scarlett and Lizzie were observing you closely as they begun to cotton on to your less than perfect act of being ok.

Your eyes were still adjusting to the blaring lights, and you were trying to keep the nausea at bay. You truly felt awful. Your head pounded and there was a slight dizziness that came with each step you took. Your mouth was dry, and your stomach turned with each breath you took.

Doing your best to remain upright and keep your breakfast where it was you took slow measured breaths until you felt at least one percent better.

Schooling your features you did your best to get into character despite your condition.

The director called for quiet, and the set fell dead silent. The cameras began rolling and Scarlett and Lizzie delivered their lines perfectly. Doing your best to stay mentally present you did your best to give your lines. You nailed the first few scenes and you were beginning to think maybe you could get away with it all.

As you were internally celebrating your small victory you watched from the sidelines as Lizzie and Scarlett performed another of their scenes without your character.

Your stomach was still turning and the feeling of nausea which had begun to ebb hit you hard.

Feeling quite sick and dizzy you glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to you. The stage crew was busy running the scene and it seemed you were in the clear.

As the scene progressed the director was shooting a particular scene with harsh lighting. Still unsure where your sunglasses were, you felt the sick feeling in your stomach get ten times worse as they began amping up the lighting. They had background noise playing and coupled with the lighting you recognised your body’s signals to having enough.

Checking once more that nobody was paying any attention to you, you slipped away to the bathrooms. Know you were going to be sick was a terrible feeling and despite your best to keep it all down you knew you wouldn’t be able to much longer.

You hurried down the halls to the girl's bathroom and slipped inside. Forgetting to lock the door to the stall you sat next to the toilet and leant against the wall taking slow deep breaths in a last-ditch attempt to keep your breakfast.

As you sat on the floor still in costume and breathing slowly you heard the door to the bathroom open again. You recognised the voice of Mary-Kate echo around the stalls.

“Y/n? Are you in here?“ she asked, and you made a small noise before your stomach turned again and you leant over the bowl. As the first wave of sickness hit and you vomited you felt someone take your hair up and off your shoulders.

A soft hand rubbed circles on your back as you finished, spitting the gross taste out. Your head was pounding, and you felt truly gross.

“Shh your ok.” Mary-Kate said as you let out a small whine the pain in your head making everything worse as you clutched your temples. “Is it your head?” She asked softly and you managed a small nod.

You felt her slip something onto your face and you let out a small sigh as you recognised your sunglasses being put in their rightful place.

After a second you leant back against the wall.

“Done?” She asked kindly and you seesawed your hand back and forth to tell her you truly had no idea. Mary-Kate nodded and took a seat beside you on the floor. Luckily, they kept the bathrooms on set rather clean.

Mary-Kate hesitated for a second before gently pulling you into her side where you melted into her. Your head resting on her shoulder she gently played with your hair, and it felt nice despite the pounding in your skull.

“Your ok.” She said softly as she slipped her phone from her pocket. You let your eyes drift shut as you tired to remove yourself from it all.

You distantly heard Mary-Kate talking to someone and you couldn’t find it in your sick-self to pay any attention to her words.

You began to drift off the exhaustion of it all making you feel beyond tired.

Meanwhile Mary-Kate had dialled her twin to let her know what was going on. The twins had taken note of your absence as soon as you left and while Ashley went to check your trailer Mary-Kate had come to check the bathroom. They knew something was going on and they took their promise to Lizzie to look after you quite seriously.

Mary-Kate kept her voice down as she informed her sister of your status.

“Did you find her?” Ashley asked into the phone.

“Yeah, she’s not doing too good.” Mary-Kate replied.

“How so?” Her twin asked.

“I found her throwing up in the bathroom, I think she has a migraine.”

“Poor thing.” Ashley replied.

Mary-Kate hummed her agreement, her nails still gently massaging your scalp as you dozed lightly in her lap. “Can you get Lizzie in here when she’s done with her scene. And tell the director y/n’s sick and won’t be back for filming for a few days.”

“Sure thing. Which bathroom are you guys in?” Ashley responded.

“Main one on set. I don’t think she could have made it much further to be honest she not doing too good.” Mary-Kate whispered well aware you were pretty out of it.

“Alright. I’ll do that and Lizzie will be there soon, no doubt with Scarlett in tow.” Ashley said.

“Thanks Ash I’m gonna stay here with this one.” Mary-Kate said.

“You think she can move somewhere more comfortable?” Ashley asked.

Mary-Kate glanced down at your pale face despite the makeup. “I don’t think so just yet.” She said.

“Alright, love you sis. Keep her safe and we’ll be there soon.” Ashley said.

“Love you too.” Mary-Kate said, and they bid each other goodbye before hanging up.

As Mary-Kate shifted slightly to try and get more comfortable on the hard floor you let out a small whine as your head spun. Mary-Kate shushed you gently as she adjusted you to be better situated in her lap. You curled into her, your face now smushed into her chest as you clung to her like a small child.

“Your ok. It’s alright.” She assured you as you whined softly. The pain making it hard to think straight also made you act much more childish. “Lizzie will be here soon honey.” Mary-Kate said as she ran her nails up and down your back lightly as you were lulled back to a soft sleep.

It couldn’t have been even ten minutes later that the door to the bathroom burst open and a worried looking Lizzie appeared trailed closely behind by Scarlett who looked slighter calmer but still worried.

Unfortunately, the bang of the door made you jump and only made your head hurt more. As the spike of pain stabbed through your temples your stomach revolted once more.

Feeling hazy from the pain you gagged, still half laid in Mary-Kate’s lap. She was quick to sit you upright and position you in front of the toilet. You whimpered as you tried to fight it off.

You heard shuffling and low voices behind you as the person behind you switched places. A soft hand rubbed between your shoulder blades as another scooped the hair off the back of your neck and out of the way. It was Lizzie’s soft voice in your ear whispering reassurances as you heaved.

Nothing but bile came up and you had tears burning in your eyes from the effort. Your head was swimming. Distantly you heard Mary-Kate and Scarlett talking softly outside the stall. There was also a third voice in their conversation, and you assumed Ashley had followed the other two in.

Feeling exhausted you flopped back into Lizzie who was crouched behind you. Not expected you to put all your weight on her she fell on her butt and pulled you into her lap.

“Shhh honey, we’re here baby.” Lizzie whispered feeling your forehead with her cold hand. It brought you unexpected relief and you nuzzled into her palm, head resting on her chest behind you.

Your eyes fluttered shut feeling exhausted, sick and in pain.

After a moment you felt Lizzie readjust behind you as she pulled you into her lap properly, her body now leant against the wall behind her.

Scarlett looked into the stall and frowned slightly at the sight of you half asleep on the bathroom floor.

“How is she?” Scarlett asked softly.

“I think she’s done for now but she’s beyond tired.” Lizzie whispered back. “Where are the twins?”

“They went to set up our trailer for her. She’s not staying alone in her trailer when she’s this sick.” Scarlett said.

“‘M not sick.” You mumbled half listening and lifting your head slightly from Lizzie’s chest.

“Shh go to sleep silly girl, we’re here sweetie.” Scarlett shushed you gently and you rested you head back down once more prompting Lizzie to stroke her hands through your hair with a featherlight touch so as not to cause you any pain. You hummed exhaustedly as you drifted off again to state halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

Scarlett took a seat on the floor beside Lizzie as the two of them sat talking quietly while you dozed.

After another ten minutes the door to the bathroom opened softly to reveal Ashley.

“We set up Lizzie’s trailer for her. Mary-Kate went to try and find some Panadol for y/n/n. Is she good to relocate?” Ashley asked softly.

“I think so.” Lizzie said while Scarlett gently scooped you out of Lizzie’s lap and into her arms as she stood. Ashley came over and gently adjusted the sunglasses on your face.

“I got a sick bag from a medic incase she gets sick on the way back to your trailer and there’s a few extras in your trailer waiting for her.” Ashley said.

“Thank you so much.” Lizzie said as the four of you left the bathroom. Luckily you stayed asleep still throughly exhausted from the effort of being sick and in pain.

It was a short trip back and even despite having sunglasses on scarlet used a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. You were being held across Scarlett’s front with your head resting in the crook of her elbow. At some point Ashley had slid a pair of noise cancelling headphones over your ears to help block out the noise as they passed through the bustling set.

The director had given them all a few days off knowing that Scarlett and Lizzie wouldn’t be willing to act if you were sick and left alone, them much rather being by your side looking after you.

When they made it to your trailer Lizzie opened the door for Scarlett and they all headed inside with you still in Scarlett’s arms.

The trailer had been set up perfectly. Blackout curtains blocked out most of the light but there was enough to see after letting their eyes adjust for a second. There were three sick bags on the bedside table along with a pack of Panadol rapid and a glass of water. The bed had been set up with blankets and pillows, looking perfect for a long day of cuddles.

Scarlett gently set you down on the bed and Lizzie laid down next to you as you immediately sought her out. Curling into her side and returning to a still and restful sleep Scarlett exchanged a few short words with Ashley, thanking her for everything before the twin left to find her other half.

Scarlett joined Lizzie on the bed, and you curled up between them.

“She’s so precious.” Lizzie said softly running her hands through your hair lightly so as not to wake you.

“Well always protect her.” Scarlett said.

“Of course. She’s, our kid.” Lizzie said.

“Do you think she’d ever want to make it official?” Scarlett asked.

“Like adoption?” Lizzie said looking excited at the idea.

“Yeah. I know her parents are … not what she needs.” Scarlett said.

“I think I’d love that. When she’s better we’ll have to ask her what she thinks.” Lizzie said looking down at you with nothing but love in her eyes. She pressed a soft kiss to your temple and traced a finger down your cheek. “I love you my babygirl.”

“We both do.” Scarlett echoed.

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[mystverse]

EVERYDAY DRABBLES - ¹N.JM

What’s so wrong about being a single mother to a two year old when you are barely 23? You knew what motherhood would bring you. Even if your daughter’s father did not wish to be a part of her life, you knew you wanted her to see the world.

It’s not that they didn’t know. It’s that they didn’t care. You do wonder if they don’t take your words seriously. If your “no” has no meaning to them. It’s not everyone but most of them. You could count Jaemin out because he was nothing but a sweetheart to you. And so he’s allowed to meet your daughter.

“Say Nana,” he mouths the syllables so that your daughter can repeat it. He’s trying to teach her his name first. Yesol giggles, more intrigued by his ear. She’s trying to grasp it instead of repeating the syllables. Jaemin, maybe loves her a little more every day because not only is this little child a fragment of you but also a pure soul that just warms his heart. He could just look at her play all day. Just hold her all day. Sometimes, he wonders why Yesol can’t be his daughter. Why can’t you be his lover, his wife, not some coward’s? These thoughts often flash through his mind only when he’s around you or Yesol. Maybe it’s just that he yearns it so much, or maybe it’s just that-

“Da-da.” His thoughts crash. Yesol pokes at his cheek and repeats it again, “Dada!” a happy squeal. “Oh no- my angel. It’s Na-na,” he tries again. He can’t betray your trust. You had been away from dating and men for a reason, and his actions shouldn’t lead you to think that he’s using Yesol to get to you, “Come on, my angel. It’s Nana.”

“Dada!” A happy giggle and a soft smooch to the cheek, she was gladly poking. He looks around to see if you are around. He doesn’t know if he can rectify this, but he at least needs to let you know of this.

Unbeknownst to him, you were watching them be the daughter and the father. You can only blame yourself for all the troubles. It’s selfish to wish for him to be there for Yesol; be there for you, but your greedy heart wishes it more every day. The feelings between the both of you were obvious. He knows it, and he knows why you are hesitant to act on it, too. Maybe that’s why it’s your time to take the first step. If Yesol should have a father, it should be him. If you should give your heart to a man, it would be him.

You go to them, settling down as Yesol jumps into your arms, “Mama! Dada! Choco!” she excitedly shows the chocolate, half-squeezed and half-melted, “Yes, my baby. Dada gave you chocolate.” You kiss Yesol’s head softly, turning to look at Jaemin. He’s already looking at you, soft eyes searching for answers, “Can I assume something?” he asks, taking in your silence. You hum, “Assume what, Jaemin?”

“Dada! Choco pwease!” he laughs softly, giving her another one, “this is the last one, my angel, hm?” his attention is back at you after pressing a soft kiss to Yesol’s head. “Can I assume that us is possible?” You press a gentle kiss to the side of his lips. A silent affirmation.

: MYST

[bikiniarmorbattledamage]

Baldur's Gate 3 (Part 1 - Introduction)

It's a great time to be an old school Dungeons & Dragons player, you get to smugly observe millions of people realizing the game is good actually... or at least that the game can facilitate heart touching romances with imaginary, terrible people.

(To be clear, I'm not judging you - these two are, but I'm not)

As one of the biggest AAA games of 2023, it's unsurprising that it's big and complicated - and there's a lot that can be talked about with many aspects of it - including female armor and costumes. Indeed, there's already a lot of commentary on it and community activity, from the confusing, to the life affirming.

It has also been the topic of how corporate practices continually reward those who participate in the creation successful art with notice of dismissal.

And of course, both Dungeons & Dragons and Larian Studios have histories that we've touched on before - and I can confidently say it represents a huge improvement in quality, style and attitudes. Plus sometimes their advertising is just gay.

There's good, there's bad, there's inspired and there's missed opportunities - so it'd be impossible to sum it all up in one post.

Also, now it's finished... I can feel safe commenting on it and not being told "that's changing next week" - that's the excuse I'm using for being so late to the party on this one.

It'll also be impossible to avoid talking about it without some spoilers. So I'll try to cover as much as possible spoiler-free, then put spoilers below a read-more break.

-wincenworks

In General

It's pretty good. Most of the costumes and armors are essentially gender neutral and the ones that do change seem to do so in response to social conventions, rather than a desire to sex shit up sexy - but where you can sex shit up sexy, it applies equally across genders. (Seriously, Lae'zel's lingerie looks amazing on Gale (nsfw 🖼️) and he's not the sort you'd think could rock it).

Looking at the artbook that I have because I'm one of those people who buys deluxe editions - it looks like there might have been a few early stumbles in concept but these were smoothed out before release.

There are some amazing examples (Minthara), and some baffling designs (all Githyanki armor), some interesting (Orin's) and some that are complicated (Dame Aylin's).

But overall it's pretty good and I would certainly like to see more fantasy media take it's lead from these sorts of designs.

So let's start with a few examples of how everything is complicated.

Why goblins have sexy armor?

The goblins in Baldur's Gate 3 are disgusting, sadistic raiders who are primarily interested in killing, torturing and enslaving all other races. They don't seem to have any crafts people of their own, preferring to steal and adapt.

So it's puzzling that, statistically, when most players encounter them they get this cutscene to showcase a goblin in sexy leathers.

Now, these goblins don't have a sense of shame - or at least not one related to things like nudity taboos. They're not exactly tactical masterminds or great crafts people.

So there's no reason for her to have masterwork armor, or hide her body... but this particular piece looks like pretty lovingly crafted lingerie made specifically to be sexy and flaunt as much skin as possible.

And the couple of goblins that have this, stand out among the rest of the goblins... who are mostly wearing scraps and bits and pieces they've cobbled together with nowhere near this level of craftsmanship.

Obviously, this outfit is not ideal with the sharp bits poking out... but it's pretty intimidating and it'd make it things more difficult for an enemy trying to stop Zurga from killing them so it works.

The end result is weird… but also oddly foretold.

Great armor, terrible disguise

Now, this is great armor - a little flashy with a lot of extra doodads - but from a fantasy perspective, it conveys the message and that the wearer is a pragmatic person prioritizing their own self-preservation.

Honestly this is one of the best examples of armor that is designed to be fancy without becoming completely unworkable, like it is real armor that's been adapted for ceremony. It has layers and while you would expect it to quickly become damaged beyond recognition, if you needed to be ready for a surprise scrap - it'd do the job and do it well enough (a cosplayer friend advised the breastplate is a little prone to being bumped but otherwise she didn't bump into anything)

(Though as a random reminder, if you're going for the very realistic approach - helmets should be a top priority. We accept that doesn't happen in video games like this though because we want to see those emotive, sexy faces - judging us for loving them.)

But Shadowheart is a priestess of Shar, and if you accept her as a companion she will happily tell you all about that and how an important part of being a priestess of Shar is secrets and concealing your faith from the masses...

There is also an explanation for why she happened to be in her ceremonial attire... but for most of the game, she demonstrates no awareness that she was in vestments when you met.

Now I understand that a lot of these choices are due to various experiments, iterations, etc. Shadowheart being an "authentic" priestess of Shar is not as important as her being an interesting companion in a fun game.

And now that I've definitely made sure nobody is going to "well actually" about the armor design or Forgotten Realms lore... a conspiracy theory:

Karlach's outfit (#freethenipple)

So when you meet the tiefling muscle-mommy known as Karlach, her default outfit indicates that she does not partake in bras. (She's barbarian which is a class in D&D that protects themselves not with armor, but by getting so angry weapons do less damage to them... just go with it...) and despite the forced sexiness of this design - it kinda fits her backstory:

So, she has a definite look, and apparently does not partake the wearing of bras... good for her! She's literally so hot that fire flickers off her, the boob sweat has got to be epic.

Interesting, Karlach is one two female characters who's "camp clothes" are listed specifically as "trousers".

The other one is always in pants and bra on female characters (but not male), but for some reason Karlach's trousers include this top that... just doesn't match the rest of her style and is nothing like her underwear (which also doesn't match her style):

So it seems this seems to be an odd case where in a game where you can access full nudity easily, and they gave her sexy armor... they did a last minute cover up to prevent the woman who would have the epic boobsweat imaginable walking around camp topless... and her model has a lot of detail that gets hidden by that top and her armor. (nsfw 🖼️)

And I know I am not the only one (nsfw link) who has had this idea.

Unless you just go into inventory and take her clothes off..., then toggle so she's always in "camp clothes" and always nude. It's just weird that the players are fully able to make her a nudist, but the game seems to have stopped at the last minute at making her go casually topless.

-wincenworks

[thaliagracesgf]

night, no day

wc: 2.6k

contents (spoilers): alcohol, making out, and dying (emotionally and physically)

i would have died for your sins, instead i just died inside

and you deserve prison, but you won’t get time.

your stomach turned as the van crossed into manhattan. you helped michael and katie unload your van before gathering with percy, annabeth, and the stolls. your ears were ringing as he detailed defense strategy and lineups, annabeth nodding along. you were silent, staring pointedly at a notch on travis’s armor for no reason other than it being right in your line of sight. 

something inside you was telling you this was it. this was the end of this war, one way or another, and he would be here. you had heard from annabeth herself what had happened to him, and you were terrified. terrified that you would see him, that you would freeze. kronos probably wouldn’t even know you. 

you weren’t sure whether you wanted him to or not. 

you had been afraid of a lot of things in your time. endless monsters, curfew harpies, even the idea of being caught out late by mr. d or chiron, when you were out… always with him, until three years ago. 

three years ago. 

it didn’t feel like three years. it felt like one, at most—you were always in and out of camp, or thinking about this war when you were away at school. you had been trying to clear your mind, to forget about him, but the only thing more all-consuming was the war, which wasn’t ideal to be drifting off about in intro to indigenous ecologies. 

you had almost succeeded, though. you realized, according to the journal you were flipping through back at camp, that you had been more consumed with camp and kronos than him for a while just before he showed back up.

you had been sitting on your bed in sally and paul’s apartment, that they graciously let you (forced you) to stay in while at school, and which they refused to accept rent on (sally knows chiron doesn’t pay you, and she considers you looking after percy and annabeth as best you can at camp more than enough payment for her). your whiteboard-covered wall was overwhelmed with microbio vocab and species definitions for your final (why couldn’t they have made scientific names greek? or why couldn’t you have also had built-in latin included with your demigod dyslexia package?) when the clang came from outside. 

you poked your head out the window, expecting to see a concussed pigeon laying on the fire escape, and shrieked. there he was, back against the wall, heavily out of breath, rain dripping down his face from his hair and shirt soaked through. 

you jumped back inside, hand against your mouth. what was he doing here? was he actually insane? as your mind reeled, hands to your temple, you heard his voice. 

“i’m sorry,” he said. “i… i really wanted to see you.”

you’re speechless.

“can i come in?” his bodiless voice came through the window. you can’t see him, but you know how he’s sitting. arms draped over his knees, back to the wall, head tilted to the left, towards the window. towards you. you stayed silent for a long pause. 

“take off your shoes.” you heard him stand up, his steps towards you. your heart was beating out of your body in fear. how were you doing this? how were you letting him into sally’s house after he tried to kill her son? 

he took off his shoes and stepped inside. you noticed the muscles in his arm and back as he held the window pane above his head. 

you stared at him, your jaw rigid, before you pulled your heaviest pillow off your bed and started to hit him with it, repeatedly. his arms flew over his face to protect himself, but he didn’t try to protect himself. he knew he deserved it. 

“you.” hit. “absolute.” hit. “idiot.” hit. “luke castellan.” as you hit him, tears began streaming down your face, and your voice got shakier. “how could you? how could you— how could you— how…” you fell to a crouch before falling back against your bed. now it was your turn to sit with your arms over your knees, but you buried your face as sobs shook your body. 

you forced yourself to take deep breaths. you were not about to have a panic attack in front of him. when you finally looked up at him, his eyes were filled with sadness, but concern, too. you knew that he knew what to do if you did have a panic attack, but you hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“take those off,” you hiccuped. “they’re soaking wet,” you gestured to pretty much everything. 

“um.” you stared him down until he took everything off but his boxers and his socks. your heart was pounding in your chest as you balled them up to take them to the dryer. you hadn’t forgotten how gorgeous he was, and right now he was soaking wet and even more attractive. you tried to push down that familiar feeling in your stomach, the one that you would get whenever he smiled at you back at camp, or spun you in the air after capture the flag. 

“luke, your socks are soaking. let me put them in the dryer.” 

he hesitated before pulling them off, and you soon saw why. hidden, away from anywhere people might see, around his ankle, was his camp necklace, six beads strung along. you didn’t miss the fact that it included the lightning bolt of percy’s first summer. you stared at it for a few seconds. 

“i know,” he said, and you couldn’t tell whether he was embarrassed or ashamed of himself. you hoped it was the latter, but it was probably both. 

“it’s none of my business,” you said, taking his socks from his hand before leaving to put his clothes in the dryer. before you left the room, you worried that he might not be there when you returned, but it was ridiculous. you knew he wouldn’t. besides, he wasn’t going to go running around the upper east side in only his boxers. 

you had a heart attack when you ran into sally, dropping his clothes all over the floor. 

“hey sweetheart,” she said softly. leave it to sally to know immediately that something was wrong. the tears started falling, and you gestured wordlessly to your room, your voice lost to your lungs crying for oxygen. 

she knew. of course she knew, right away. 

“hey, hey,” she rubbed your back. “what do you need me to do? i’ll go chase him out with a broom if you want.”

you shook your head pathetically, finally catching your breath. 

“i don’t know.” your voice was quiet and fragile. 

“do you want to talk to him?”

“he tried to kill percy, sally.” 

“i know.” 

“how are you not mad?”

“i’ll never be mad at you, for any of this.” she whispered. “you’re a child. and so is he. and i know what he’s done, but percy isn’t here right now. and i know he didn’t come all this way to hurt you. i know who he is, and i know what he’s done,” she repeats. “but i know that this isn’t a normal war. you’re children fighting battles for deities and i don’t think this night is going to change the course of this war.” 

sometimes you forgot how well sally could see through the mist. sometimes even better than you could. “there’s nothing around?” you asked. she shook her head. 

“whatever this is, he’s not here for negotiations. he’s here for you. and i may be being reckless here, and i know chiron and percy would disagree with me here, but i think you need some closure with him. and i think annabeth would agree with me, which is my basis for most of my decisions.” 

you laughed through tears. 

“it’s going to be okay. i’ll put these in for you, take these,” she gestured at a plate of regular cookies. probably a good call—you didn’t think the blue would go over well with luke. 

“i’ll be right here if you need anything,” she said, ducking into her room. “just call.” 

you slipped back down the hall. when you entered the room with the cookies, luke tensed up, and so did you. you weren’t expecting his presence to get you for the second time, but it did. 

“does she know i’m here?” he asked quietly. 

“no,” you lied. “she’s a heavy sleeper.”

he shuffled awkwardly. 

“why are you here, luke?” you searched his eyes for something, anything, to tell you, and the longing was obvious, even to you, who had denied that he liked you for months prior to your finally getting together at camp. 

“i wanted to see you,” he said. “i needed to see you. i miss you.” 

“i miss you too.” it went quiet again, and you tried to look around your room to avoid making eye contact with his body. you failed. 

his muscles were even more defined than they had been at camp, but he looked skinnier. you wondered when the last time he ate was, and offered up the cookies. he looked at them skeptically before reaching out and taking a nibble. he swallowed hard, and set the cookie down on your desk. you made eye contact with him one more time, but you couldn’t take it anymore. you stared at his lips and his hair, trying to remember the days they belonged to you.

it took everything in you to hold yourself back. 

you sat down on your bed and gestured for him to join you. 

“why are you here?” you asked again. 

“i don’t know,” he answers. 

“you—” there was a knock at the door, and he jumped off your bed, spinning and running a hand through his hair. it was remarkable how similar it was to percy when you came to bother him while annabeth was over, you thought. 

“hey, can i come in?” paul’s voice came from the door. 

“um,” you looked over at luke, his eyes panicked. you had to grab his arm to stop him going back out the window, and the contact sent a shock through your entire body. “one sec.” 

you shoved him to the side, walking to the door and cracking it, peeking through at paul. 

“sally told me about—” you cut him off with a sudden widening of your eyes. “that party, you’re going to next weekend. thought you might want this, a friend from work gave it to us but it’s not really our thing. i figured underage college kids probably weren’t so picky.” bless paul’s entire being. 

you took the bottle of vodka from him, smiling gratefully. “thank you, paul. you’re literally the best.” you knew what he meant it for. clearly someone also didn’t do well with awkward conversations, and he wanted to give you some help. 

“of course! um… let me know if you need any help with… that bio assignment!” 

“thanks. i’m, uh, about to go to bed. sleep well, i love you.”

“love you too.” you closed the door. when you turned to luke. there wasn’t much to it now. 

“for old times sake?” you held up the bottle. 

he smiled. 

you hadn’t been drunk in ages. you had to get back together with silena and clarrise for a girl’s night, you thought through hazy eyes and a wide smile. 

you stared at luke’s matching grin. he was drunk, too. 

and then he was kissing you, and against all your better judgment you were kissing him back. and it was good, so good, and you held back sudden tears as you convinced yourself he hadn’t had practice since you.  

you told sally, of course. 

and even if i die screaming,

i hope you hear it. 

your bones ached. your sword was heavy in your bleeding hands, and sweat was dripping in your eyes. you could hardly see the man before you, the man who was landing blow after blow on your blade. he’d always been better than you. 

“luke…” you gasped. “please.” 

“foolish girl,” the deep voice of the titan lord reverberated in your ears. “pathetic. i fail to see why the boy was so desperate to save you.”

he’s trying to get to you. percy’s voice, echoes of his words when you woke in the poseidon cabin after nightmares of these very words. he doesn’t care about you or luke. he’s trying to throw you off. 

you couldn’t do it. you couldn’t reach past the city, past layers of concrete, not while you were fighting him. even if you knew all his tricks. the water was too far. 

you’re not as powerful as him. you’ve never been as good as percy. 

you’re taken aback as kronos halts his attack. a smirk on his face, the face you knew, once. the smile that had always drawn you in. you hated yourself, you hated him. how could he have done this? why, why did it have to be you that had to see the love of your life in the face of your—and your family’s—greatest threat? 

a haze overtook you as he walked away. a dark haze, overtaking your eyes. almost as if— you found it harder to think. lightheadedness. nausea. almost like when your leg had been split open during a particularly brutal capture the flag. 

“luke,” you called, as you clutched your stomach. you stumbled back, throwing out a hand to catch your fall. not your left arm… it had to stay. it has to hold… and that’s when it hit. the deep gash in your stomach. 

you would’ve vomited as you looked down at your open torso, but there was no food left inside you. 

“luke!” he’s not there. you weren’t sure whether the voice telling you was your own or kronos. you searched his eyes as he backed away, and for a second you saw a hint of deep brown among the gold. but then he was turning on his heel, summoning a guard of monsters to escort him back down the street. 

“please… percy… percy!”

you thought it was connor that found you, but was travis. and then percy was there, kneeling beside you as you gasped for air. 

“no, no, no, no, no,” he repeated as you choked in his arms. your baby brother.

“percy,” you cried. you were vaguely aware that he should be elsewhere, that you didn’t have time for this. that someone else was probably dying as you lay in his lap, and he cried over you.

“i’m here, i’m here. it’s okay, you’re okay.” there were tears in his eyes. did you say that already?

“percy, i don't want to die.” your voice came out in gasps. “i’m not ready, i’m not ready!” you choked on your own tears, or saliva, or blood. you didn’t know. 

“you’re not going to die, you’re not going to die,” he whispered. “it’s okay. annabeth! help me!” 

you couldn’t see annabeth, but you knew as well as she likely did that you were going to die. she stood opposite percy, standing in shock. her hand over her mouth, her bandaged arm supporting it. she was crying, too.  

“please. please, i don’t want to die.” 

“nico!” percy shouted. he was nowhere nearby. he probably couldn’t have done anything, anyway. “water, i need water.” 

“percy, i’m so scared.”

“percy… it won’t help,” annabeth cried. 

“just… please, please. she needs water. she needs… something.” 

the last thing you saw as your vision faded was percy, pouring a bottle of water over you. annabeth slipped two golden drachma into your palm. 

as you took your last breaths, grover and thalia rounded the corner.

luke felt it in his chest as hard as if he were a son of hades. it took everything in percy not to kill him when annabeth asked. 

yours was the only blue shroud at camp half-blood.

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

Asher and I sit in the living room of his apartment. I’ve been here a few times before to hang out with Lex and watch a movie or two, so I know this cluttered space well. Today, I sit on the worn rug with my back against her old couch. She was dragging me to the flea market one Saturday when she spotted it on the curb outside a tall brownstone apartment building. She likes patterns and bright colors, and this couch has both. Though, you wouldn’t have known it when we first looked at it. It wasn’t until she spent the entire afternoon and evening cleaning it with a determination and vigor that only Lex possesses for vintage furniture that the bright yellow color really shone. To me, it looks like something out of a basement room in 1995, but to her it is complete perfection, and it’s cozy, which is what matters most to her.

When I insist that I’m fine on the floor, Asher makes a point to lie down and stretch his body across the sofa behind me, as if to imply I’ll regret it, but I can’t change my mind. But, what he doesn't know, is my reason for choosing to sit on the floor rather than Lex’s famous yellow couch: The sketchbook I caught sight of poking out from the edge of the red-painted pallet-turned-coffee-table.

“Is this yours?” I ask as I pick it up and start flipping through it.

“Yeah, just something I was trying out,” he says nonchalantly, though I feel him sit up, watching me curiously.

The pages are full of different types of grasses and wildflowers, mostly individual ones where he practiced different species from different angles and different stages of life, some with color, some not, some have bugs or grasshoppers on them or bees buzzing around. Then, there are a couple pages with vibrant meadows. There’s one with a lone tree blowing in the breeze, with leaves being carried away. Another with a dog running through, a butterfly on his nose. They’re so intricate and detailed that I feel the need to sneeze just looking at them.

“Ash, these are amazing.”

“Thank you.”

He leans over my shoulder, and I feel my entire left side register his sudden closeness. Pointing to the page he says, “That’s my dog, Jasper. There’s at least one of him in every book I’ve had since I got him.”

“How long have you had him?”

“Uhm,” he pauses to mentally calculate, “almost eight years.”

“Oh wow. Must be tons of them.”

“Hundreds. I have a few books dedicated just to him. When I first got him, I would study him, drawing different parts over and over, his nose, ears, the different expressions of his eyes. For a while, I became completely obsessed with drawing his paws.” He stops to laugh at the memory, “It wasn’t easy either. He’s so energetic, it’s impossible for him to keep still unless he’s sleeping. Even if I do catch him sitting still, he’ll run to me the second he sees me looking at him.”

I just give a quiet chuckle in response. I don’t know anything about dogs. Or art. But I like the way Asher looks when he talks about both. He always lights up, whether he’s animated and excited, or casual and relaxed, the same spark is still there lighting up his face. 

When I don’t say anything, he smiles, lies back on the sofa, “Y’know, I was watching you today.”

I set the sketchbook aside and turn to face him, resting my elbow on the sofa seat, careful not to get close enough to touch him. “You were, huh?”

“Did you know that when you concentrate, you do this thing where you pucker your lips?” He attempts to imitate this thing I supposedly do, but fails when he starts laughing at himself, or at me, probably both.

“I do not.”

“You do,” he lets out a sound that can only be described as a choked giggle, and it makes me spit a laugh.

“So, what, you just stand there and stare at my lips like a creep, or something?”

“It’s hard not to. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. Not like that anyway.” He tries to imitate it again, only to devolve into giggles.

“You do the opposite, y’know.”

“What do you mean, the opposite?”

“When you’re really focused, you suck in your bottom lip and like, hold it between your teeth.”

He takes a moment to try it out and then nods his head when the action feels familiar, “Oh shit, yeah, I do do that, don’t I? Here you are, giving me shit, and it turns out you’re the one staring at my lips.”

“It’s hard not to.” I stop and let the words hang in the air, mostly to see how he’d react, but also because it’s not a lie. Catching him biting his lower lip at work sometimes can be mildly distracting. He nudges my shoulder gently with his leg and says with a grin, “Creep.”

Then, with a raised voice and a wave of his arm he says, “Okay, but the best,” as if it’s now some kind of competition that he’s clearly about to win, “is the singing! The way you like, sing to yourself when you’re working.”

“What about it?”

“Well, for one, it’s cute as hell, but also, if I did that, everyone would be so annoyed with me and tell me to shut up. I don’t know how you get away with it over there.”

I scoff, “No one is gonna tell me to shut up. For one, I’m cute as hell,” I say with a smile, and continue before he can interrupt, “but I don’t know, I can’t help it. I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time. But I think I’m quiet enough that most of them just tune me out by now, and besides, I have an amazing voice.”

“You’re awfully confident about that.”

“I should be. I’m professionally trained.”

“Are you really?”

“Yeah, our parents were very strict about the skills we had to learn growing up, and singing was one of them.”

“Well, shit, now I want to hear you sing for real.”

“I’m not just gonna perform for you, but I’m sure if you hang around me long enough, you will eventually.”

Unsatisfied with that answer, he says, “Hm. Do you ever do karaoke?”

“Yeah, karaoke’s fun. But you can’t just watch me. If we do that, I will make you sing at least one song with me.”

“That’s fair, I’d do that. As long as you promise not to make fun of me if I’m terrible.”

“I’d never.”

“Okay, but now I’m curious, what other secret skills do you have?”

“Uhh, let’s see, there was the singing, and then we had to learn to speak French, fluently—”

“And who’s ‘we’?”

“Oh, me and Dawn, my twin sister.”

“I didn’t know you were twins. I’m going to have follow-up questions, but okay so singing and French, what else?”

I can’t help but smile as his eyes shine with genuine enthusiasm. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone be this excited to know about me. I have to admit, it’s really flattering. I’ve never considered myself to be a very interesting person, especially to someone as charismatic and creative as he is. Somehow, he makes me feel like I am, though, so I continue, “The last one was piano, which was the worst of all of them.”

“Oh my god, right?!” He slams his hand down on the couch so hard that he practically sits up and it makes me jump. “I had to take piano lessons too, and I fucking hated it. Can you still play?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure I could figure it out, but why would I?”

“Good point,” he laughs, “I definitely can’t. Honestly, I don’t even remember how to read music, but don’t tell my dad that.”

“Why would your dad care if you can’t read music?”

“Because he’s a fucking composer!” he announces, with a wave of his arms. “Oh my god, the poor man, though, he really wanted Iris and me to share his love of music. Iris is my sister, by the way, but not a twin, she’s two years older than me. Anyway, neither of us took to it, and we both ended up doing visual arts. She’s a graphic designer, and I make fucking trees for video games.”

“Hey, you do way more than trees! You also make grass and weeds!” I say this with a hint of sarcasm, obviously he’ll do far more than that as the project progresses.

“Right, I fucking love weeds,” it comes out almost aggressive, he clearly means it, and I start to wonder if his casualness about the wildflowers was more of an act that I initially thought. “I tried a bunch of instruments though. He bought me a guitar when I was twelve, ‘cause like, who doesn’t want to learn guitar, right? Me. That’s who. I gave up after a week because my fingers hurt,” he stops for a moment to laugh at himself and I marvel at his smile as it stretches from ear-to-ear, his gray eyes bright and intense, “and THEN,” his words coming out quicker and more animated as he goes on, “he was like ‘alright well the kid’s got rhythm at least, how about the drums?’ And like, okay, the drums were fun and all, but I just couldn’t care less. I’d fuck around on them, but I had no interest in learning to be a good drummer. The best he was ever going to get out of me was dancing. Otherwise, I just want to put my headphones on and draw.”

“Well, I’m glad you pursued your passion in the end because you really are talented. The detail you put into your work, it’s the best I’ve seen.”

“Aw, well, shit, thank you,” he extends his hand out, but it comes just short of my arm, so he tugs the sleeve of my cardigan gently with his fingers and holds onto it. I think my compliment caught him off guard because he’s no longer laughing and his voice is softer now, “and, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. My dad is the sweetest, most supportive man in the world. If anything, I think I was a bit spoiled. I feel a little guilty that he kept investing in these instruments that I would just toss aside. There’s no way I can disappoint him further by admitting I don’t even know how to read music anymore.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure him, “your secret is safe with me.”

I’m acutely aware that his leg is resting against me now, and he’s rolling the fabric of my sleeve between his thumb and middle finger. Normally, I would have already scooted away from the sofa. Pivoted my body so the conversation could continue, but so that I could not be touched. But I don’t feel any need to do that. Not with him. His affection is so subtle and absent-minded; I can tell he’s just feeling comfortable with me. Something about that makes me feel comfortable with him too.

What really takes me by surprise, though, is that I want more. I want to lie next to him on the couch, to rest my head on his chest, to feel him run his fingers through my hair while he watches tv and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat keeps my own calm and quiet. Somewhere deep inside, I know exactly how it would feel, and I ache for it.

“Hey,” he tugs on my sleeve, pulling me out of my thoughts, “where did you go?”

“I’m right here,” I tell him.

“You left for a minute there. What were you thinking about?”

I’m not really sure how to answer the question. I try, but I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound ridiculous, so no words come out.

He cocks his head to the side a bit, looking curious, and says, “I can’t read you. It’s like your thoughts and feelings are written all over your face, but I don’t speak the language, so I can’t decipher your expressions.”

“Ahh,” he sits up with a groan and covers his face with his hands, “fuck, I’m sorry. That sounded really lame, and I regretted it as soon as it came out. Please, just tell me what you were thinking about, distract me from my embarrassment.”

I chuckle quietly. I don’t think what he said was that lame. I know what he meant. But his current state of vulnerability gives me just enough courage to attempt to answer his question, so I give it my best shot.

“I was just thinking that it feels like I’ve known you for years. Not that I’m feeding you some line about how it feels like we’ve known each other forever or something. But you just feel… familiar? I guess. Like, you know when you watch a movie that you haven’t seen in years. You don’t remember it, and you don’t know what happens, but you remember what's happening as it’s happening. Like déjà vu but not. I don’t know. I’m not making sense.” I give up and let my head fall forward onto the couch to hide my face, “maybe I should go before we continue to embarrass ourselves more.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he moves his hand to the top of my head and runs his fingers through my hair. It feels exactly the way I knew it would. The way his long fingers run across my scalp, then curl and pull on the strands gently toward the ends, letting them fall little by little. Somehow, I know the feel of his hands as well as my own. I freeze, trying not to move or make a sound. It’s almost as though, if I don’t acknowledge the act, I can ensure he doesn’t stop. And I don’t want him to.

But he does. The sudden tension in my body makes him pull away, “I’m sorry. Was that okay?”

I lift my head up and soften, “Yeah, it was okay. Unexpected, but it was nice.”

“Okay, good. I know I can be a bit touchy-feely sometimes, so if I ever make you uncomfortable, you can tell me. But I’ll be better about asking you first.”

“Thank you,” I say with a nod.

“Of course,” the words come out so gentle and quiet, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a such a sweet half smile that it makes me melt a little. And then he adds, “I really like hanging out with you, Atlas.”

I am officially a puddle on the floor. “Me too.”

Prev // Next

✨I wanna give a HUGE shoutout to @madebycoffee for creating the poses for this scene!! They are so perfect, I literally sobbed when I put them in my game 😭 It means so much to me to be able to bring this scene to life the way I imagined it. I absolutely adore you, Coffee, and I am forever grateful to have met you and to have the opportunity to share this love of writing and sims with you!! Thank you for loving my boys and for making this moment possible for them! 💖

[xamaxenta]

Super sillie goofy ahh au where this smoking hot babe of a princess (its Hancock) is announcing a tournament for the chance to win their favour

Marco and Sabo are entered for two different reasons

Marco is sent because politically having her favour would bring immense sway to their party

Sabo is sent because marrying him off to her would be a boon like no other for his bloodline

Jousting idk i want guys stabbing poking each other with long hard poles hehehehehe.png

Tie or whatever the fuck

The favour theyve won in question? Her smoking hot cousin (Ace) who just got out of a long toxic relationship with some guy he was sold off to for purity of the blood bullshit and he killed him so he deserved this freedom and now needs two strapping beefy hot guys (well in Marcos case, idk abt sabo fuckin ratman) to show him how to integrate into society again (again thats fine for Marco idk abt sabo fuckin ratman)

Sabo is elated because hes fucking gay wahoo (he was sulking the entire time bc he doesnt want a woman wtf)

Marco’s confused at the whole situation but he’s interested to see where this takes them

Ace is presented to them in chains which is a little disconcerting but Hancock assures them its only because he doesnt know his own strength hes such a sweetheart otherwise

[legallytoellie]

BED PEACE

KK Harvey x reader

warnings : nonesies, cussing and just per fluff, kinda short frfr, my spelling is so on point ( no its not.. )

synopsis : Chayla, both best friends with You and a specific hockey player, convinced you to go to a girls hockey game. You didn't want to at first but it was all worth it.

WRITER SPEAKS: AHHHH FIRST REQUEST, kinda struggled on this bc im not that much experienced with hockey players so bear with me 😭

"Y/NNNN", Chayla yelled almost doing a cartwheel while running. I looked at her weirdly, we were in our shared off campus dorm for the rest of the evening just in silence. So it was confusing why she was yelling. "What Chays", You yelled back, taking off your headphones.

You seen her holding up two tickets making you more confused. "So basically, i scored you a ticket for the women's hockey game that's happening tonight!!", she said almkst squelling making me cover my ears.

"And why would i wanna go?", you questioned her, making her frown. "DUHH, because like I'm playing tonight and i want my best friend to be there", she said plopping on the couch. She started saying more reasons for you to go making your head ring until you said, "Fine. Fine I'll go." That made her do some tiktok dance making you laugh.

.

You got dressed into some jeans and a baby tee with a black hoodie ( you can change this ofc ), You walked out your room to see Chayla already ready with her bag full of her hocket equipment. "Girll, you look cute ok let's go", Chayla said walking out the apartment with me following behind.

When you two made it to the arena you were instantly hit with cold air. Chayla requested for you to walk her to the lockerroom. You were hesitant but agreed. The two of you walked and talked until you were greeted by another girl at the lockerroom. She had curly/wavy blonde hair, green eyes, in her jersey holding her helmet.

You were caught in the days staring until Chayla started poking you to snap out of it, "Y/n this is Caroline Harvey or KK", she introduced. " "It's nice to meet you Y/n", she said flashing you a smile almost making you pass out. "It's nice to meet you to", You said quickly then saying bye to Chayla then running off.

You sat in the stands waiting for the game to start. Your seat was decently close to the rink. You were on your phone until you heard the telephone going off announcing the match is starting soon.

As soon as the match starts you see pucks flying left and right. You were a bit confused on what was going on but still watched closely. It seemed like the Badgers were winning.

When the buzzer went off the Badgers one. You cheered and went to the girls lockerroom and waited outside for Chayla sense she was your ride home. As you were waiting by the door you were greeted by a familiar blonde but in different close.

She had a tight white shirt on with sweatpants. She looked you up and down then spoke, "Hey, we didn't speak much earlier, your really pretty", she said making you blush. "Thank you!! you were really great out there", you complimented back.

"Do you go here? I haven't seen you around", she asked looking around. "Yeah, I don't really come to these games", you replied making her nod. "Would you like to hang out sometime?", she asked smiling. You start picking at your nails. You just met the girl she's already asking you out.

"Yea sure", you replied quickly, handing her your phone so she can put her number in. Afterwards you walked with Chayla waving to the blonde goodbye.

hands locked on my black couch with nothing to do cant stop on cloud 20

[foulwitchknight]

Will You Be Mine: Part II (Steve’s POV)

When Steve heard that Eddie was seeing Jason he almost quit. He had to remind himself that part of the reason he took the job was so he could become more independent. So he kept it but spent the lunch hour poking through want ads instead of going over to the record store. Bad enough that he had a clear sight of them being lovey dovey from Scoops. He didn’t need a close and personal look. To add to his torture Eddie had started coming by more. Most of the time Robin would cover the counter for him while he hid but the moments where she wasn’t around Steve had to interact with him. Eddie tried to strike up a conversation by asking Steve questions about himself which he barely answered. Then Eddie started inviting him to see bands with him. “Since you were always asking about them before.” Steve politely declined every time and handed him his rocky road hoping he’d take a hint. He did at least until the next time he wondered into the store. Eddie seemed determined to add to Steve’s heartache and he didn’t know if his heart could take anymore.. As much as Steve tried to keep it short and sweet with Eddie, he couldn’t help but feel thrilled that the alpha was starting to take an interest even if it was just as a friend. Eventually though Steve found a job and put in his two weeks at Scoops. He was relieved that he didn’t have to see Eddie and Jason anymore who seemed more in love than ever. With how stressful everything had been it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he got sick. A combination of rejection sickness and the flu. He spent three days camped on the living room couch watching soap operas that reminded him of his life. On the fourth day there was a knock at his door. He groaned, wrapped himself in a blanket and slowly shuffled to the door. He fully expected Robin who had been regularly dropping off food since he’d told her he was sick. Imagine his surprise when Eddie Munson was at standing on his porch. He opened his mouth to ask what he was doing there and ended up having a coughing fit. Lovely. He let Eddie lead him back inside and gently deposit him on the couch. He suddenly felt embarrassed with how messy it was but really hadn’t been expecting guests. Usually Robin stayed outside too scared of getting sick herself. Eddie didn’t seem bothered by it. He seemed more concerned about him. He was asking rapid fire questions about his state. If he was feeling ok? Did he have a temp? Did he need more fluids. He even pulled out a power-aid from the grocery bag on the table. Apparently he’d brought a care package which included homemade soup. “Wayne’s special recipe.” He said bashfully. Steve could have sworn he looked a little red but with him being sick and the low lighting he couldn’t be sure. Eddie insisted on staying to take care of him and Steve was too tired to argue. They spent the rest of the day watching soaps together. Steve had alot of fun explaining the characters and plots to him and in a few hours Eddie was even more invested than Steve. He made Steve promise to record the next episode so they could watch it together. “It’s a date. “Steve said grinning as he watched Eddie leave.

Part 2 Steve’s POV

@mx-jinxous

[sentimuse]

Thinking about what could happen should Melinoë wake Hypnos.

He's confused, but happy if bittersweetly so. He's the first of House staff to see little Meli all grown up, and he is going to rub it in their faces when they return. He resumes his duties as normal, keeping log of the shades you and Frinos send to the Crossroads. As well as giving you his seasoned and sagely advice of "Have you tried not dying?" And stories about your family.

He's bereft. Hypnos isn't quite as chipper as he used to be. There is no other house staff to chat with, no Zagreus to prod and poke at. Everyone he loves is gone, trapped in the House under Chronos. He knew baby Melinoë but this young goddess in front of him is a stranger he can find no comfort in. No common ground as you don't know what you're missing, no idea of what you're fighting for. Hypnos does though and

He's upset. Hypnos was sleeping for a purpose: to keep the mortals safe to spare Thanatos some trouble. Yet, you've woken him. For what? To be less alone? To find out what exactly it is you're fighting for if not just to fight? Pah! Hypnos was, for once in his life, is being helpful in a way only he can be. He's been working dutifully, something everyone in the house would pay more than their fair share of obol to see. He's done it with no prompting, no nagging and for no reason other than the love in his heart for his family. You have no common ground with him. You know nothing of the joys and the laughs and the pains and the sorrows of "your" family Melinoë. You are a stranger to him as he is to you and it's quite rude to bother strangers while they're working.