#and with them all being ghosts there’s a LOT of layers

[galwednesday]

How Ruth E. Carter Resurrected 1930s Southern Style for Sinners

Stack’s suit had three little buttons down the front. It had a 1920s cut, and knowing they were coming from Chicago, we figured they likely had custom suits done. His character is very self-conscious and [plans] every little detail; on his pants, the pockets are slanted, he’s got the collar bar, the tie bar, the cuff links—he’s got everything. I remember flying back to L.A. to look for things because in New Orleans, some things you can find, some you can’t. I wanted to find Stack’s hat, and I walked into this hat shop on Melrose, and there was this red hat that ended up being perfect. I’ve worked with a lot of hat aficionados, and I know you can’t just throw your hat around or leave it anywhere, so we had these leather cases made just to hold his hat because it had to stay perfect the whole time. Smoke is less conscious. He doesn’t have a tie, he represents the everyman, and his suit was a little more boxy, a little bigger, and a little less tailored because he’s hiding all kinds of stuff; he’s got two guns, he’s got a knife. His look reminds me of Don Cheadle in Devil in a Blue Dress. He’ll take you down in a second. I loved his blue hat too because it was made of denim and was meant to represent workwear. We really did this movie so fast; there are little things that if I could just take a magic paintbrush and be at the theater and tell the projectionist [to change, I’d be like], “Hold on! Can you pause right here? I have to add a little bit of age to the hat!” But I love the juxtaposition of the red and blue [tones] with Smoke and Stack. That was Ryan’s idea.

And then in comes Mary! Mary had left her community; she married a wealthy man, [but now] she’s getting on the train to go back after her mother’s funeral, and she’s in her little knit dress. She doesn’t even look like she belongs. She’s like a ghost from another planet or another stratosphere, and that was the intention with her look. She’s not a part of the struggle and the strife that is the Mississippi Delta; like Smoke and Stack, she’s made another life for herself. We meet her in this pale, pale, pale color, and she’s wearing the same dress when she goes to the juke, and that was on purpose. I wanted for her to seem ghostly because of what happens to her later on and all of the blood that eventually gets onto the silk. It was very intentional.

It’s unexpected because we knew we were making a horror picture, but I never focused on the horror part. I focused on the Mississippi Delta and the blues and the sharecroppers and the migration and all of that. I had to remind myself, “Oh, they’re gonna bloody this one up!” When one of my team members said, “You know we’re gonna have to make 10 of these [pieces]?” I would say, “Oops! Sorry, guys. I was just focusing so much on the story of it all.” The response to it all is what I wanted it to be; I wanted people to see the Mississippi Delta, and I wanted them to see the story of the blues. Now that it’s rolling out and people are seeing this is more than just a horror film and that it has all of these layers—we made it with the intention of having those layers. There was a story within a story within a story.

How Ruth E. Carter Resurrected 1930s Southern Style for Sinners, Harpers Bazaar, April 24, 2025

[airplanecrashingtowardstheground]

no worries! i don't think you're starting drama or being rude or anything.

in short, i like both feng xin & mu qing because i enjoy how they are written, and i really like the layers they have, especially mu qing who i think is misunderstood a bit more than feng xin because mq isn't as open as fx is and some people like xie lian so much they don't like mu qing.

feng xin spends the majority of his time in the mortal realm, and it's widely assumed that he's there doing both his duties and looking for xie lian. however, with xie lian's bad luck that kept him from being found by hua cheng for hundreds of years even with his butterflies seeking him out. feng xin likely never would have found xie lian himself, and we know jun wu probably would've tried to intervene if feng xin was getting close by since he wanted xie lian isolated.

they immediatly butt in because they are concerned and want to be around him, but they're also unsure of how xie lian will receive them which is why they first show up disguised. and all they know of hua cheng is that he is hostile towards the heavens, is a ghost king, and has an evil sword. they don't know his intentions towards xie lian and they're concerned/wary.

xie lian wasn't the only one having a bad time. they all were; so of course not everything is going to be handled gracefully. they were all under a lot of stress, having a shit time and had other people they cared about. (jian lan and mu qing's sick mother) to expect them to stay only at xie lians side at their own expense is ridiculous and unfair.

if you don't like feng xin that's totally fine you don't need to be converted. you're not in the wrong for having opinions.

hope i answered some of your questions!

i'm sorry but how does someone read xie lian telling feng xin to stop following him and go, and interpret that as feng xin abandoning him??

[candyheartedchy]

[telesodalite]

Woe, unfinished, mildly edited, fulfire fic tid-bits be upon you

-

Like a magnet, his optics kept drifting back to Misfire's face. His stupid, strangely charming face.

For a short while, after Clemency, it had been that face that haunted some of his nightmares. His recalls blurring the lines between the strange reality of Misfire's hands reaching into him to lock his fuel pump back into the very spot he'd pulled it from, and the fear that just as easily he could pull it out again. They had been bloody dreams. Dreams that had him startling awake, gripping his chest in the vain attempt to close what wasn't open, before spending the rest of the day avoiding Misfire's optics.

But now things were different. Not Misfire's face. No, that hadn't changed much. But Fulcrum's dreams had definitely changed. To say the least of what all rolled around in his processor as he slept nowadays.

Some of those newer dreams had crept to the forefront of his mind as he sat there on the couch, staring as the lights of the screen reflected dully across Misfire's plating in hazy blues and greys.

The lighting made his colors seem muddy and faded, but Fulcrum didn't really care, nor did he care to think what it made himself look like. He was too busy bringing an empty engex can to his lips while he watched the crinkle of Misfire's nose as he barked a laugh at something Fulcrum didn't catch onscreen.

He'd started noticing it months ago, all the ways the silvery mesh of Misfire's face would scrunch up with his emotions. Those little crinkles along his optics and nose when he laughed or glared. The creases indented along his cheeks when he grinned. Fulcrum found himself quietly logging away these little details. Idle notes and observations that had suddenly started piling up in the corners of his processer.

He… He'd never really done that before? He'd never really noticed those sorts of things in other mechs.

The faces and expressions of his past colleagues never seemed terribly important. All the details of every smile and frown were never worth filing away, outside of few notable moments where those expressions reflected his work performance. But besides the smile that meant promotion, and the frown that meant he'd screwed up, nothing else was noticeable. Nothing was worth remembering.

But now the memory of every genuine laugh that bubbled out of Misfire sat comfortably besides memories of warm joyful optics that Fulcrum found himself collecting every time Crankcase cracked a rare half-smile for him, or when Krok placed a reassuring hand against his back, or the times Spinister spontaneously pointed out something odd but ultimately nice about his stupid frame.

He didn't really know why he was doing it, memorizing all these mundane little things, just to have them flit through his processer randomly. Maybe it was because those expressions, those details, felt… comforting? Comforting in such a strange and unfamiliar way. But, a good way. A good sort of strange, much like the mechs themselves.

-

-

He had stared for a long moment, the credits and their rolling tune playing somewhere in the background as Fulcrum stared back. But Misfire was never one for personable silence, even as the sound of some likely long dead Iaconian orchestra filled the room.

"What is it?" He asked, a small chuckle escaping him as he brought a hand to his face, "Don't tell me I've poured it all over myself again."

It had taken Fulcrum longer than usual to unstick his glossa from the roof of his mouth as he watched Misfire run a thumb over his lips, but eventually he had coughed out a small, choked, "No."

That had earned him an odd look at first, but with their fields loose and open, Fulcrum could almost feel the exact moment something clicked in Misfire's mind, as the idle comfortable static he projected in pulsing waves evened out into something openly curious and almost subdued.

It wasn't often Fulcrum felt him that clearly.

Misfire tended to keep his field fairly close, though, maybe not as close as the others did, what with how Crankcase kept an iron grip on his, and how Krok's always held an air of strained control, even when it slipped from him. But still, Misfire's was always hard to read, no matter the reach or depth of his field.

Even then and there, with it loose and unfiltered and buzzing with the engex running through his system, there was an ever present undertone of something indescribably jumbled about him, like too many feelings at once, each too vast and hurried for Fulcrum to really feel or understand.

It always seemed to stir the passive anxiety Fulcrum must've been forged with when Misfire's field brushed against his own. As facing the indescribable vague mess of Misfire felt like trying to untangle a pile of live-wires he couldn't even see.

It was almost frustrating in a sense, the need to try and sort and understand what wasn't even his to begin with. But at the same time it was almost exciting as well. It was like a game, like a puzzle he had yet to solve.

-

-

Finally letting his own can go tumbling to the floor to join Misfire's, Fulcrum had brought a hand to cover his face as he drew his legs up and leaned back against the arm of the couch, trying to suppress the fit as the sly look slipped from Misfire's face at the sounds.

While Fulcrum had laughed, and… snorted, embarrassingly, he had felt Misfire's field change again, brushing something fizzy and almost warm against his plating as Misfire's features softened.

"I'm looking at you," Fulcrum had said then between gulps of air, letting his hand fall from his face as he reached out to poke at Misfire's chest, "Dumbaft."

His finger had lingered over the thick plating there for maybe a little longer than necessary, drawing Misfire's attention as it slid down a little before pulling away.

Looking back up again with his helm angled slightly, Misfire had followed the sight of his hand leaving his plating to where Fulcrum let it fall between them.

"Wow…" Misfire had chuckled a little dryly, "I was gonna make it real easy for you. I was going to say something like, ''Do you like what you see?'' or-… or something like that. But now you've ruined it. Good job."

Meeting Fulcrum's optics again as he pulled his own hand back from Fulcrum's shoulder, he brought it to rest between them as well.

"And you're laughing at me," He said next, faking a small pout as his hand drifted closer to Fulcrum's, "Which totally ruins the whole vibe I was going for really. I mean, it's sort of hard to be all nice and suave-like when you're being laughed at. Total vibe killer. Bit of an ego killer too if I'm being honest. So thanks for that loser, thanks for saying I have a funny face."

With Misfire's fingers brushing distractingly past his own, Fulcrum didn't think before the words stumbled out of him.

"I like your face."

It came out almost matter of fact sounding, Fulcrum's laughter having died down while Misfire complained about it. But at the same time the words felt so simple, they came out so easily, and in a weird way they felt nice to say. But Misfire's optics had widened in surprise, his frame frozen and his field suddenly struck quiet, and despite the engex numbing his usual nerves, Fulcrum felt a sudden pang of anxiety because of it.

The silence in Misfire's field was terribly alien. It felt wrong, and something in Fulcrum spiraled to think he had caused it. But slowly, almost as if it were creeping forward, an odd almost scrutinizing uncertainty fanned outward in a careful wave. Misfire moved with it, leaning closer as he searched Fulcrum's expression for something.

"Oh yeah?" He'd said lowly then, and that sly look returned. But that vague uncertainty didn't fade with it, if anything, Fulcrum felt it strengthen. Caught between what he saw, in Misfire's easy smile and dimmed optics, and what he felt, in the growing hollow distance within their fields, Fulcrum found himself frowning and pulling back.

-

-

Growing frustrated with himself, and wanting that feeling back, he had pushed forward, shifting onto his knees as he reached for Misfire's face before the other could pull away from him entirely.

"I like your face." He said firmly, maybe too firmly. His expression still drawn into a frown as he pressed his fingers into Misfire's helm, brushing his thumbs across the silver mesh he'd been staring so intently at before. "I like your optics, and your nose. I- I like the way you smile. When you really smile, and when you laugh. I do. I'm not lying."

And oh there it was again, that little curl of warmth in Misfire's field. Almost a tangible thing, like a brush of ventilation, but Misfire wasn't venting. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, but no breath left him as he stared at Fulcrum with widening optics.

Spurred on by that tiny bloom of warmth, Fulcrum chased after it with slightly slurred words and clumsy hands as he tried to fix whatever he'd done wrong, hoping with each word that Misfire might soften and smile again.

"I like your expressions, and- and I like your voice," He said, glancing down at Misfire's parted lips, and laughing softly, nervously, as he continued, "Even when you say something so stupid. I like- I like the way it sounds. I like your accent, I like the way it makes your words sound. I- I like your- your mouth?"

Once more that weird but nice feeling settled in Fulcrum's chest. Those simple words felt good to say. It felt like a weight off his shoulders, like an admission he'd been waiting to say. About what and why? He wasn't really sure. But the warmth grew, and Misfire took a sharp vent inwards, and that felt right, so Fulcrum kept on.

"I like your helm," He said with a smile, reaching up to brush his fingers over the jutting finials there, before dropping his hands to settle lightly over Misfire's chest. "I like your frame, the colors of it. I like your-"

Before he could finish, Misfire was surging forward, knocking their helms together and nearly bruising the mesh of their noses as he tried for, and just barely missed, Fulcrum's lips.

-

👁👁👍

[bluebeads-art]

As the flash hits your eye, you feel something crashing into you from all directions. Below you is obvious, Bonbon situated themself to bump into you while the picture was taken. You look to your right, and Mirabelle’s cheek is pressed up to yours. On your left, Isabeau’s sheepishly hugged you to his side. There’s a hand in your hair, too, and it feels like Madame Odile. [...] “We need a souvenir of this trip,” Mirabelle adds. She rushes to the ground to pick up the picture and snort-laughs as she looks at it. “Oh no, Siffrin looks like we’re holding him hostage!” — Curtain Call, Chapter 9, by @openphrase123 (Link in the replies)

2024 October 22nd

Fanfic fanart fanfic fanart!! When I read the "hostage" line, it invoked such a clear image in my head of Siffrin tensed up like a startled prey animal that it got added to my list of things to maybe draw immediately.

Dooon't think about the words 'left' and 'right' in that quote too hard. I know how to read I prommy. :) (I did Not process those words and lost the coin flip in the composition phase...)

Close-up and ramblings about the cans of worms I unleashed upon myself under the cut

Time taken on this was [head in hands] 48 hours and 37 minutes.... That bloated number has two culprits:

1) I got a new tablet! My old one was 10 years old. Its plastic was melting and the electronics had ghosts in 'em, so it needed the sweet release of retirement. However, I had just gotten to the line art phase when the switch happened. Clumsily getting used to the new one during the most precise phase of the process did devastating things to my perfectionism.

2) I made a GRAVE mistake with how I chose to color this. I wanted to keep the grayscale layers for accuracy instead of just slapping a B&W filter over the colored version, so all the colors come from gradient maps, color balance layers, overlay layers, and raster layers clipped to other layers. Listen. I'm used to working with lots of layers. I like keeping things separate so I can edit them more easily. But this is the worst layer system I have ever created. Going from color to B&W requires toggling exactly 20 layers & folders on or off. There are 87 visible layers total. This file lags when you edit it. I've never wanted CSP v1.13 to have layer comps more in my life.

Not helping matters was Isabeau. I said he was the easiest to draw in my last post, but he took that as a challenge, apparently. It's a simple fist-on-hip pose, why was that so hard!?! His face gave me grief too.

Odile's lil' wave got added at the end of the line art phase. I've never added to a sketch that late in the game before, but I felt bad about how little screen area she got, haha. Girl, I tried, but this composition was not kind to you.

Giving Isa, Odile, and Siffrin skin colors felt cursed. Well... "color" is maybe a stretch for Sif. The pallor from being affection-jumpscared isn't helping. In the dev's nose reveal post, they said that Siffrin isn't white but is white-passing, so BOOM albinism headcanon. Like c'mon, they wear a big hat and have most of their skin covered because the sun is a deadly laser when you have little to no melanin and idk if sunblock exists in-universe. Heck, maybe most Islanders have it, their whole religion is about the night sky so maybe they're nocturnal. This makes perfect sense. :)

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 8 — DOGGY/PRONE BONE

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — mydei, anaxa, moze, phainon

— warnings. — fem! reader, doggy/prone bone, cream pie, lots of cum lol, petnames used: angel, baby, princess

⚝ — MYDEI

mydei aches to give you more, to offer you something gentler, something more deserving for his angel— but now, your cunt tightens around him like a vice, and you’ve been nothing short of difficult at that.

always teasing him, pretending to be an utter brat.

still, you let him, let him fuck you as you feign sweet innocence considering the man adored it whenever you were a total asshole to him.

you let his veined hand guide you, back and forth, back and forth over the length of him— his thick, fevered, unrelenting cock snapping the synapses of your brain apart while his mouth ghosts over your spine, hovering a breath more than a kiss on top of your doused flesh.

he fits himself into you like he belongs there, like he's anchoring himself inside the shape of your body when you finally stop resisting and open yourself up to him, filthily moaning his name and savoring his cock pumping deeply through your tight hole.

and fuck, his hands were pressing so hard against your lower back now, with a subtle layer of degradation and longing that felt more like moral surrender than indulgence as you've felt yourself becoming slightly dizzy when he fucks into you with no remorse— smack smack smacks of his thick girth burning through your walls and creating a scorching sensation on your sensitive flesh, truly, mydei makes you see all the stars, all of them, whichever you wished for.

⚝ — ANAXA

"fuck," anaxa stammers— and it was barely beneath a breath, barely hinted with voice, only revealing a slightly desperate tune of wanting more of your warmth surrounding him as he trembles above you when you suddenly fuck and grind your ass back into his cock.

he moves and catches your thrusts half way and it ruins him, sinking into your cunt and rocking his hips as he shivers like he's been touched by something divine and entirely undeserved.

his body wraps around you raw, bare, no barrier between sin and skin, and ugh, it's too much— you're unraveling underneath his body, falling apart in the quietest ways, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack and fingers digging into the sheets like he needs to hold onto something real before he disappears into you completely.

"so messy princess—fuck, i need you," he moans into your neck as he tightens his grip on your hips, spreading your hole further in order for him to feel how your slick oozes from your pussy and messily splatters all over him, finding true solace in your warm, tight cunt being so pretty n obedient to him.

you're surrounding him with your hotness as his voice cracks every time he feels his cock twitch and turn with his cum dying to shoot into you, just breed and fuck you silly as each syllable of his hefty groans fracture at the edges— and you feel it, all of it, how then at last, waves of pheromones and pleasure wash through your veins and cross around your skin like vines of lust taking you hostage.

⚝ — MOZE

moze fucking you in that position makes him forget about himself entirely as thought he became static— cut off, severed, yes, that's it, as though some inner switch has been thrown off violently, leaving him stranded in the sensation of your warm pussy milking him alone.

what remained was an instinct, raw and ungoverned, a primal rhythm surging through his veins as he moves his body in and out of you without the burden of conscience— shaped in that of mindless hunger.

there was something almost holy, almost monstrous about how he pinned your body down and let you be on your fours, filling you up over and over until you're creamed up from your pussy to the inner sides of your quivering thighs.

moze was whimpering when he hears you wince out his name in sweet, little tunes— and beneath his breath, you can hear them— those small, involuntary whines, rising like something shameful and half-choked, the kind of sounds a man makes when his composure begins to fracture with every heavy pump in your cunt.

continually holding you down with static buzzing rolls of hips when you instantly cry out, cumming all on his cock like the messiest girl, creaming over his twitching dick as moze sinks back inside your hole with no problems.

⚝ — PHAINON

attached to our afterglow, your legs shake and rattle deeply as phainon got you pressed down your stomach with a pillow messily squeezed under your bare ass.

but he's cute about it, you know? brushing over your shivering skin with his lips before applying a wet kiss on the scorching flesh, "missed how you feel," phainon exhales a ragged, trembling breath, his voice breaking into a hoarse, near-incoherent groan— half-formed, making him sound even hotter, as though he has been deprived of air for too long, deprived of your pussy squeezing and battering him up so well.

he's pulling his hips back to watch the mess you made through glimmering eyes, more so to admire your slick and his cum leaking from your pussy before rocking himself back and back and back inside.

your body shudders beneath his touch, feverish and undone as your mind teeters on the brink of an intense delirium— where smart decisions simply crumble, and only the unbearable, inescapable pleasures of him filling you remain.

"seems like my baby missed me too, hm?" phainon mumbles as his cock continuously pumps more and more of his filthy girth until you feel like you're surely on the brink of exploding, yet phainon wants you to feel his seed seeping from your hole into the sheets like a confession too raw to be spoken aloud, only leaving behind a trace— a wet, irreversible mark of who had claimed you that night— as if the fabric itself was a bearing witness to everything neither of you would admit aloud.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[astrobydalia]

🐍New year astro observations

first post of 2025, the year of the snake!

– astrobydalia

A thing I've noticed is that degrees can carry some energy from the dignities. For example if you have your Mercury in 21º degree in whatever sign, that mercury can express characteristics of debilitation since that's a sagittarius degree and mercury is debiltated in sagittarius

Aquarius placements, specially venus, appear picky when choosing their friends or people they truly like but honestly I've noticed that all they want is someone who has a personality. Like literally just be your own person and they’ll love seeing how you’re someone with many layers to you. It sounds simple but we live in a society where the instinct is to imitate others to fit in and Aquarius placements like it when you're (genuinely) true to yourself. Does not mean they will make you their bestie cause that depends on each individual but they at least appreciate the authenticity.

^^I remember this Aquarius Venus guy had a crush on me back in college and he once said to me "I like you because you're complicated"😭

Aquarius/11th house placements befriend people who share their political/philosophical/spiritual ideals. I’ve noticed that the people they ghost the most are the ones who don’t share their visions

Mercury rx natives are very good listeners actually. Even if they have the planet in domicile or exaltation, they are very patient when it comes to obsorbing info that's why I've seen this placement is common in "nerds" or book worms. They take their time understanding things and can come across as slow sometimes but they’re just very meticulous.

Capricorn Moons and their “facts don’t care about your feelings” attitude while simultaneously being the most sensitive and emotional person in the room

Something else I've seen with debilitated moons (scorpio/cap moon) is that they tend to have no patience or sympathy for people who seem to have it easy in life in some way. They only seem to respect people who know what it's like to struggle like they have

Virgo Mars natives are low-key misanthropic and/or introverts. They don’t like being around people for too long cause they very easily feel a lot of disdain for others' dumb and nonsense behaviors. It’s like they seem to be so easily exasperated by everything and everyone ​

Also, I’ve noticed Virgo Mars people are the type to stay low profile during conflicts or tense situations, mostly choose flight over fight response. They are surprisingly calm and collected and will find a solution or escape in no time. When they feel threatened and choose to fight tho… they get cold-blooded af

Taurus Venus natives are so POISED and elegant and I say that as a libra venus. You will never see them being messy, they behave with a lot of class always

Venus-Sun conjunction in synastry is actually not so good imo. In a natal chart this is considered a weak aspect for relationships because venus is combust. When we find it in synastry, this means Sun person combusts venus person. At best Venus person almost worships Sun person to their detriment. At worst Venus person feels like sun person is too much and tends to see the sun person as too obnoxious

I also think this is why Sun-Moon conjunction in synastry is overrated. Moon is too soft of a planet and sun feeds off of the moon’s affection while moon becomes attached and drained. I’ve very often seen with this aspect how sun person unknowingly offends or hurts moon person in some way

Also, strong venus synastry between women can manifest as toxic competition, "cat fight" energy

Venus opposite/square Moon is a very phony aspect tbh specially the square. They appear to be way nicer than they actually are

I've noticed men with Leo placements tend to be pretty sexist and openly defend traditional gender roles or patriarchy values. The instinct of Leo men is to be the 'king', the leader and Alpha just like actual lions. However if they also have strong feminine energy in their chart such as major water and earth energy they tend to show more benevolent sexism or chivalry behavior

Gemini placements will immediately like you if you are someone who is open to chill chats with them and you overall make them feel like they can freely rant to you about random stuff

Cancers are very infantilized but imo they are the least naive and most intelligent out of all the water signs. Cancer Moons in particular I've noticed can actually have a very accurate and impartial intuition. Cancer Moons have this ability to just understand and accept people's feelings, intentions and situations exactly for what they are without any judgement which makes them VERY intelligent people. Idk I’ve just seen cancer moons are actually the most level-headed out of all water moons

Leo Venus honestly give me huge pick-me vibes and low-key have the personality of a spoiled brat fr. I've seen ppl with this placement be a lil to obsessed with getting sexual attention and being the most desirable person in the room

honestly I've noticed that the people I genuenly get along with the best in the long run are people I have 1st house synastry with. There's something about 1st house synastry that feels SO uplifting and refreshing like there's this spark everytime you see or are with this person and you just naturally get eachother's vibe

That said, 7th house synastry is a bit overrated imo. Again, not saying it is bad but this is the house of open enemies as well as partnerships. 7th house represents parts of yourself you have a hard time accessing and that's why you attract people with this energy. Therefore 7th house synastry often creates love-hate dynamics, cause it's like yeah you like the person on a surface level but there's always some hidden 'BUT' bc they low-key embody the exact opposite of what you identify (1st house)

6th house synastry is very common in people that dislike each other, specially the house person disliking the planets person

Virgo placements are STARVED for validation like no other sign but they hide this well cause they don't wanna appear desperate. They tend to carry this teachers pet behavior to all sorts of aspects of their life hence the trope of virgo being obedient or goodie-two-shoes

I need to ask Capricorn Mars people: when do y’all sleep? Every single minute of these people’s lives is occupied with some activity, be that work or leisure. And funny thing is they never seem to be overwhelmed or tired at all, in fact the more they do the more energized they seem to be

Something else I’ve noticed with Capricorn Mars is that they tend to have a very bold and obnoxious personality. Even if they are more introverted, they tend to be a little too direct to the point where they can come across as rude, insensitive and power-hungry. But at the same time this makes them appear competent and confident and a lot of ppl like that about them

Scorpio Juno natives tend to be very opportunistic and greedy when it comes to business. Sometimes to the point of having questionable work ethic sometimes. Overall this is a major placement for indicating talent in business or finance and making a lot of money

Libra Venus natives have a wondering eye definitely. What makes them start to consider someone as a potential partner is looks first and foremost, the rest comes later lol

I once saw an observation that said “gemini placements want you to listen to them but they won’t listen to you” and let me tell you this is a FACT. Talking with a Gemini placement feels like they’re just brain dumping stuff on you💀💀Love you guys tho

Libra loves to flex their wealth, achievements and status a lot more than Capricorn/Scorpio/Leo

Capricorn placements are naturally good educators and they honestly give me influencer energy low-key. They just naturally have this trustworthy and competent energy that when they lean into guiding and teaching people in some way they really excel and attract success the most

Venus-Venus synastry >>>>>> Venus-Mars synastry. With Venus-Venus aspects (even harsh ones) there’s a natural desire to bond/come together with this person in some way no matter what, so the attraction is most of the time mutual and very lasting. You also just naturally like each other and genuinely enjoy each other’s presence. If the relationship is sexual then the sex is just as good if not better than with Mars cause Venus rules pleasure and you’ll both want to please each other while Mars tends to be more self-serving sexually

This is not to say Venus-Mars aspects in synastry are bad, they definitely can create nice bond, chemistry and all of that. But Venus and Mars have opposing natures which can create strong attraction and irresistible pull because they compliment each other but at the same time it can also manifest as mismatching dynamics in the relationship where you aren't always in the same page, specially with harsh aspects. Just my opinion tho.

I know I've said this before but I wanna reiterate that Mars in the 7th house synastry does not reap good results in the long run as per my observation. Its giving friends-to-enemies or lovers-to-enemies energy. There's this feeling of instantly clicking with this person but very soon becomes evident that the two people have conflicting drives and desires which creates a LOT of tensions and unspoken competition/resentment. I've noticed it creates a dynamic where eventually one or both but specially the mars person in particular ends up resenting the house person

I’ve also talked about this before but I just keep observing that Moon-Saturn conjunction often appear to be very thoughtful, mature and kind because they’re very calm and observant of others but you very quickly notice that they actually seem to be completely and genuinely apathetic towards others’ emotions fr. They are aware of people's feelings and can actually understand them fairly well but it's like they observe them from an outside perspective like they're studying others rather than getting emotionally involved with them in an empathetic way. This behavior can have its positives but honestly for the most part I've seen that it makes the natives pretty shady and two-faced due to the strategic nature of Saturn. People with this aspect can play double agent exceptionally well

The most short-tempered mars sign as per my observation is Taurus Mars hands down. They're moody and unpredictable af.

Gemini Mars people have this oddly calm and aloof energy to them where they look like they’re only two sentences away from sending you to the therapist if you upset them in the slightest (they scare me)

I’ve noticed it’s actually Aries and Aquarius placements who love the enemies to lovers trope. Aries is the type to enjoy playful bullying or little dramatic arguments while Aquarius is more about the cat and mouse dynamic, flirting while acting uninterested and things like that. I've noticed they both love this vibe of almost daring the other person and feeling intrigued.

Speaking of, Aries Venus people confuse the shit out of me cause you gotta be a lil bit of an ice queen in order for them to like you😭 And they themselves act in ways that you'd think they hate you and wanna piss you off or create tension but they're just teasing, they wanna see what you're made of. That's why I said they "lack charisma" not because they don't have any but cause they have a very specific charm that can very often rub a lot of people the wrong way (cause it goes against venus' universally plesant nature), same with the other debilitated Venus positions

Gemini moons 🤝 being emotionally unavailable.

Gemini placements 🤝​ being forgetful AS FUCK. Not so much if they also have taurus placements tho

Something I've seen in a loooooot in the synastry of those married couples where the man is head over heels obsessed with his wife is the man's Lilith conjunct the woman's inner placements or angles SPECIALLY her ASC or Venus. She is his weakness and it's that kind of relationships where he can't take his eyes (and hands) off of her and he is fiercely determined to make her his

Something else I've seen in the synastry of married couples is the man's mars falling on the woman's 4th house. He wants to protect her and start a family with her

Aquarius ASC in the composite chart gives off HUGE situationship vibes frrr. I've noticed that couples who have this tend to fully act like they're in a relationship but if you ask them if they're dating they'll tell you they aren't cause they never made anything official. This is the type of connection where they've been together for years but it is uncertain where there relationship is going long-term, nothing's ever officialized or set in stone (Cap 12th house) kinda like "yeah idk one day we'll get married I guess who knows"

astrobydalia

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Castles

Castles, fortresses, and fortified mansions can be military and administrative headquarters for medieval feudal overlords, romantic ruins in a nineteenth century Count's estate, or haunts for ghosts… They hold our imagination, they show up in historical fiction and fantasy alike.

Types of Castles by Location

City castle. Found in the historical centre of a medieval city, and often as the core part of a larger fortification called a citadel, the urban castle houses the ruler of said city, city-state or realm of which this city is a capital.

Rural castle. Built as a standalone structure, this type of castle was more widespread than the urban castle in Western Europe. Often castles planned as standalone structures attracted folks from nearby villages and grew towns around them, eventually becoming city castles and citadels.

Types of Castles by Construction

Motte and bailey. The most primitive kind of castle, the motte and bailey is barely above a pre-medieval hill fort. It is usually just a tower or a fortified manor standing on a hill, which may be a natural hill dug over with artificial trenches and berms or a wholly manmade mound (the motte). The motte was also outfitted with extra defences such as a wooden stockade (the bailey). Often the bailey was located sideways of the motte and did not encapsulate it; the steep slopes of the motte made walls unnecessary. Note that not all castles built on mottes are motte and bailey castles: the central section of the famous Windsor Castle, which is far from being "just a tower", has a large motte under it.

Keep and curtain wall. To improve the ability of a motte and bailey castle to withstand sieges, medieval engineers went for the most obvious decision: build a solid wall instead of a wooden stockade around the motte. They built massive walls, high enough to be unscalable without proper siege ladders, and later augmented those walls with towers. The towers provided defenders a vantage point for raining arrows onto the attackers. The tower also became more fortified and turned into a keep, or donjon - the main tower or fort of the castle, a smaller fortress inside it. Even when enemies breached or otherwise surmounted the curtain wall of the castle, the keep was able to fend them off for a while, hopefully until the relief or backup forces arrives.

Moat. To add another layer of impenetrability to the curtain wall, medieval engineers augmented it with a deep ditch, or moat, around it. The purpose of the moat was to stop the attackers from breaking castle walls with battering rams and make it harder to use siege ladders. The moat was also often filled with water to stop undermining (digging under walls to make them collapse). A drawbridge or a permanent bridge could be used to cross the moat and reach the gate.

Gatehouse. Because of the moat, the castle gate became the prime target for attempts to breach the walls and break in. So the gate naturally became more fortified, built into a large, wide tower: the gatehouse. A typical gatehouse contained a lot of security measures to make battering the gate harder: corridors, portcullises, arrow slits overlooking the bridge.

Barbican. A barbican is another fortification built to protect the gate: a second, smaller gatehouse in front of it, connected to the main one with a pair of walls.

Enceinte. An enceinte is the motte, Mk.II, now made of stone! It's an inner solid stone wall surrounding the keep, making it a castle within a castle.

Concentric castle. Combining all of the above defensive measures resulted in a complex, many-layered castle with two or more sets of curtain walls and a keep surrounded with an enceinte. Such castles were built during the Late Middle Ages.

Quadrangular castle. A late development in castle building, this style does away with the keep and turns the curtain wall into a large rectangular building with a courtyard. In essence, the curtain wall is used as the outer wall of the building.

After gunpowder artillery became the main weapon of sieges, castle architecture entered into decline.

Low-profile and complex structures with thick earth walls were needed to resist artillery bombardments, and castles made way for bastions, star forts and similar fortified structures.

However, during the period of Romanticism and Gothic literature in the XIX century, interest in castles renewed.

These "revival castles" served no defensive function and were just stylized stately homes for Blue Blood elites; the most famous example of such a castle is Neuschwanstein in Bavaria, Germany.

In the 19th and 20th century, the romantic allure of castles even inspired some non-royals with deep pockets to build them as fantasy getaways.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Parts & Types of Castles ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[nerdygirlramblings]

totally self-indulgent because if you can't be self-indulgent with your fanfic when can you

tw: self body shaming / body dysmorphia, low self-esteem reader

You weren't bad looking. You figured you were a generous 5, a solid 6 if you dolled yourself up right. But it never felt like enough. You'd been on dates and gotten compliments, but no one stuck around. Every time you were left alone, the common denominator was always you.

It wasn't hard then to think that you weren't enough.

Until them.

You met John first, processing paperwork he was picking up. Your first month on the job and you were still getting used to the rhythm of the base. While it was still paperwork, these administration duties were so different from the last office where you'd worked. John was a friendly face, and a handsome one too. You didn't mind when he dropped by alone or with members of his team.

He'd introduced you to them all in the weeks after he'd met you. There was Kyle, the beautiful man with a golden smile; Johnny, a human golden retriever with bright blue eyes; and Simon, a steady, quiet presence. You'd been polite, been a nice colleague and had lunch or tea with the men, alone, in small groups, or with all four.

You had no idea this was their idea of courting you.

The first time you'd joined them for a drink off base, you were not expecting them to explain how they were together like that, and how they wanted to see if you would want to be theirs. Shocked, you said yes. Sputtered it, if you were being honest. But how could someone hold their own when not one but four big, strong, caring military men wanted to date them?

So you started going on more actual dates: dinner with John, the cinema with Kyle, walks in the park with Simon. The men all tried to make you feel special, but getting past your walls wasn't easy. You knew it wasn't, even if you wanted to make it so. Too many years of bad dates, of being ghosted or rejected, of men who wanted to keep the lights off, didn't want to meet your family, didn't want to stick around, reinforced every bad thing you thought about yourself.

Until the night you'd joined Johnny for a nightcap at theirs, and everyone was home when you stepped in. You felt trapped, but Johnny put his big hand on your lower back and escorted you into the sitting room, placing you gently onto the sofa next to John.

"Doll," he'd said, turning your face to his, "we know this is a lot, all of us, but we've been talking." You sucked in a breath, anticipating how poorly this night was going to end. This was it, they were done. Your walls were too high even for the best of men to scale them. But you couldn't look away from John's steady gaze. "We know yer scared, love, but ya don't have ta be. We like everything about you."

You try to turn away, only to see Simon steady at your back. "Yer bloody gorgeous, luvie. Dunno how ya can' see it," he said, running a hand possessively down your face to your collar.

"Perhaps we need ta show ya instead," Kyle said from where he'd moved to your knees. He ran his hands up your thighs and just slipped under the edge of your skirt.

"Let us show ye," Johnny whispered from the back of the sofa. He leaned forward and kissed the column of your neck.

They didn't give you the chance to run, slowly, carefully, peeling back your layers. Kisses that lead to light groping, which you've done with them all before, but as it moves to heavy petting and actual intimacy, you pull back, try to hide your flaws and imperfections. You hadn't been intimate with a partner in ages because after so many bad experiences, you knew there was something wrong with you. Something about how you looked, how you behaved. You were the problem.

But not to them.

Every time you clamped down on a moan, remembering the partners who were annoyed at your noises caused Simon to tut, "Let us hear ya, luvvie. Need to know wha' ya like." When your tried to cover your cellulite, the parts of you you hid under spanx, Johnny and Kyle were there with soft caresses, moving worshipfully across your body. And when you were all stripped bare, you focused intently on their pleasure, trying not to be a selfish lover. Until John told you they were each going to gift you an orgasm before they got off, "Because your other lovers were shite if they didn't focus on you, love."

And finally, you saw you were enough. You were worth more than you'd ever been given before. You were worth everything they were willing to give you. And more.

So you let them.

main masterlist

[sh4rkkks]

NSFW ALPHABET ⁂ - simon ‘ghost’ riley

i’m back!!! so sorry for such a long break but i hope you enjoy this little treat 🫶

not my template!!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

believe it or not, this man is very awkward in bed. despite his outward appearance of feigned confidence, he’s a complete mess after he’s fucked you stupid. he tries his best when it’s more than a casual fuck, grabbing a warm washcloth to clean you up. if he feels comfortable, best believe he’s crushing you beneath his weight while basking in your warmth as he lazily kisses your neck.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

simon’s- he’s a self conscious idiot abut his body despite being built to the nines, a soft plush layer of fat covering his muscle that makes him all the more desirable. he’s very proud of his biceps though. wrapping the strong muscle around your head as he fucks you stupid makes him feel desired in the bed way possible. seeing the scratches you left after clawing at his arm the night before makes him all the more likely to put you in a headlock later that night.

yours- this man loves everything about you. whether you’re on the more plush side, or have slimmer curves, he’s a sucker for you. i will say however, that thighs really do it for him. the feeling of the warm muscle wrapped around his head as he devours your cunt, or how he can squeeze them as you’re riding him, oh boy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

this man has a breeding kink and you CANNOT tell me otherwise. the sight of his cum leaking from your pussy as you whine and squirm beneath him gets the blood rushing straight to his cock again. he also loves to cum on your plush tummy, watching as it rolls down your waist and onto the bedsheets…

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

loves dry humping. the idea of him getting home from deployment and being so needy he can’t even get his clothes off? he’s just rutting at your pussy through your thin panties, groans leaving his lips as he grabs at your soft skin and curves.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he never had much experience with anything besides a quick one and done before meeting you. but after one night in bed with you he’s practically got a pen and paper to wright down what gets you going. he’s an extremely quick learner, hitting the right spots pretty much on the first try after he’s got you in his bed, relishing in the praises leaving your lips as he asks you how it feels.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary- basic i know..but this man is anything but. he loves to have control in the bedroom, making sure he can see each reaction he can pull from your face as he pounds into you. palms at any flesh he can get his hands on, eventually collapsing on top of you and just absolutely rutting his hips into you for his release.

against the wall- having you pressed flush against the wall as he fucks you is the fantasy that runs through his mind constantly. your back pressed against his chest as he holds you firm to his skin. if he’s fingering you it’s even better, holding you up as your knees begin to buckle under the pure ecstasy that this man is making you feel…

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

i wouldn’t say he’s stone faced during sex. he most likely will crack a shitty joke if he’s not pent up. he’s weirdly smiley during sex, not in a creepy way, but he just can’t believe that you’re actually his—actually willing to give him the pleasure of your warm cunt.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i am a strong believer in blonde ghost, so i will say that the carpets do in fact match the drapes. he’s not one for one night stands, needing a lot of the comfort and security that a proper relationship holds. that being said, i think that he trims from time to time, making sure that everything is cleaned up (major neat freak).

however, his partner? truly doesn’t give a fuck. there’s men who want a bush, men who don’t, but ghost really couldn’t care less. whatever you’re happy with, he’ll worship your body all the same.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

like i said before, i think that he craves the intimacy that comes from sex. none of the hate fucking bullshit or having threesomes like some people say (NOT DISPUTING THE HEAD CANONS OF OTHERS) he’s such a broken soul, someone who needs the feeling of intimacy to cope for trauma and the lost feelings of navigating sex.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

as we all know, he’s in the military. i would say his sex drive is average, so unless he’s seriously missing you, then he rarely jacks off. he’s also in the middle of a war field so he hasn’t got much time to even think about getting himself off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

goes absolutely feral for any type of matching set. this man will be slobbering all over the intricate designs of the matching bra and panties as he tries to ‘contain’ himself. he’s thanking you constantly while he fucks you, your panties wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet that he can’t seem to part with.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

if he were to pick any ideal place, the bedroom. basic i know, but this man is so possessive. he can’t so much as bare the thought of someone else seeing you during the euphoric intimacy. he likes feeling safe in the comfort of your bed or his, knowing it’s a secure place letting his mind ease.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

this man is like a teenager, literally anything will get him going. freshly out of the shower, shaved and dressed in a skimpy set? he’s ready to go. lounging in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, not brushed your hair that day, a face mask on, and brushing the crumbs off your shirt as you sit on the couch? his hands are on you in an instant.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

BDSM. he’s really not into any sort of pain during sex. whether that be you or him, his last thought is to try and cause pain during the special moment. considering his past and trauma he’s sensitive to that sort of stuff, never wanting to inflict discomfort upon you. of course, he wouldn’t mind leaving hickeys and bruises from gripping your hips, and your nails scratching down his back makes him feel weirdly comforted.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

munch. that’s my only word. he’ll get himself off between your thighs, grabbing at the flesh of your ass as he has your legs resting on his shoulders, his hips are rutting at the bed below him. he’s so desperate the bring you any sort of pleasure that he often just gets lost between your legs, unable to pull away when you tug at his hair, whining about overstimulation.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

a bit of both. he’s big into the intimacy aspect, but as i stated before about dry humping, he’s sometimes so desperate that he can’t be bothered to go slow. coming back from a month long deployment? he’s got your panties off the second he walks through the door, bringing you down to the carpeted floor as he jackhammers into you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

prefers to have his time with you, get you all stretched out before you take his cock. but he’s literally just a horndog there for your pleasure, so if you need a quickie, your wish is his command.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’s pretty vanilla when it comes to sex, not that he’s not an absolute beast in bed, he just doesn’t tend to have any reason to experiment if you’re satisfied. he’s willing to try whatever you want, putting aside insecurities for your benefit and happiness.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

military man. give him a few minutes and he’s ready to go as many times as you need.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesn’t own toys, prefers your cunt. if you have toys though, best believe he’s teasing and ruthless about them. pressing a vibrator against your clit as he coos about how ‘my cock no’ good enough, lovie?”

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

another kinky bit…but i feel like simon loves to be teased. he’s a pretty usual dom, but when you take control…he’s a goner. teasing you? huge on that. loves pumping his fingers in and out as he denies your orgasm from you, a wicked grin on his face.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

wouldn’t say he’s one to moan or anything, but the sounds you do manage to pull are just as good. he’s grunting with every thrust into your warmth, swearing under his breath as his muscles tense. when he’s close it gets much louder, groans slipping from his lips as his head dips between his shoulders, breathing ragged.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

likes watching you change. not even in a sexual way (sometimes). he just admires the domestic feel of you getting ready in the mornings or for bed. watching as you strip naked without a care in the world, not shy to show your body to the man who worships the ground you walk on, sends his head into a mess.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

i’d say about 6’5 inches, a couple veins, and heavy between his legs. you’d definitely need some extra massages between your thighs after the fact.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

he’s got a relative sex drive considering his job and everything. however, as i stated before his on switch is the easiest thing to turn on, so i’d say about 2 times a day, maybe 1 depending on how you’re feeling.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

no one can convince me that this man isn’t a major insomniac, constantly staring at the ceiling as he listens to your soft breaths in the quiet night. he falls asleep much easier next to you, so id say he’s knocked out about an hour after you.

[dazevi]

CHAPTER ONE: GHOST IN THE ROOM

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: with the tour coming to an end, vi's manager insists on the band taking a break. meanwhile, you help your best friend, mel, with planning her wedding.

content warnings: MDNI. angst (lots of it), slightly suggestive, rockstar!vi, writer!reader, eventual exes to lovers (more like exes to fwb to lovers), no smut but mentions of sex, jaymel cameo, bestfriend!mel, time skips, mentions of alcohol and smoking

wc: 11,388 (about—i made some edits lol)

note: good morning!! (its morning where i am) this is my first time writing a series so feedback would be very much appreciated—would love to hear what you guys think!!! also i had some trouble deciding if i wanted to write jayvik or jaymel but i felt like mel would’ve been more fitting for reader to have as a best friend lol anyways here is the first chapter! i hope you all enjoy!!! (fanart by bunimint_ on ig)

navigation | series masterlist | previous chapter

The hum of the venue echoed faintly through the backstage room, muffled by layers of concrete and steel.

The crowd had been electric tonight, their cheers and screams still ringing faintly in Vi’s ears as she sat on the small stool in front of a mirror. Her guitar sat propped against the brick wall behind her, its strings still vibrating in her memory from the final chords of the night. The air in the room smelled faintly of sweat and smoke, the residue of adrenaline and effort clinging to her skin.

The band was as much a family as it was a group of musicians. While Vi stands in front, Ekko was on lead guitar, the youngest of them but by far the most electric on stage, shredding solos and occasionally stepping up to rap when a song called for it. Then there was Steb on drums. He didn’t talk much, but he didn’t really need to. He was a crucial part of the band already and quite creative with his beats. And on bass was Loris, a big guy with a bigger heart, who filled every song with lines that could shake the floor of any venue.

But she was alone now, the rest of the band off celebrating the end of the tour, their laughter faint in the distance, just past the door. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her—flushed cheeks, damp hair sticking to her temples, her tank top slightly wrinkled. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but her mind wasn’t calm.

Not really.

She reached up to push a strand of hair from her face when her fingers brushed against the cool silver chain around her neck.

Her hand stilled.

The necklace felt heavy on her neck as always, but she hardly thought about anymore.

Tonight, for some reason, it felt heavier. Vi tugged gently at it, pulling the necklace out from under her shirt to let it fall against her chest. They glimmered faintly in the dim backstage light, catching her eye like they always had.

She stared at them for a long moment, her throat tightening.

She hadn’t thought about it—about you—in a while.

Or… maybe that wasn’t true.

Maybe she’d just gotten better at pretending she didn’t.

But now, with the adrenaline of the stage fading away and the silence of the backstage room settling in, it hit her all over again.

Six years had passed since graduating high school. She remembers all the memories that came with it—that came with being with you—as if they happened yesterday.

But, three years.

It had been three years since the two of you had broken up, and Vi still couldn’t let go of this last piece of you. She told herself it was just a necklace, just a reminder of a time when life seemed simple, but deep down she knew it was more than that.

It was a lifeline to a past she hadn’t entirely made peace with—a time when the world didn’t feel quite so big, and her dreams hadn’t come at the cost of losing you.

She blinked at her reflection, her jaw tightening as her fingers played with the rings. The memories came flooding back despite her best efforts to push them down. The nights spent tangled up together in her room, the sound of your laugh as you teased her for pretending to know how to play certain songs when she wanted to impress you, the way you always smelled faintly of lavender and paper from all those books you carried around and loved so much. God, she could almost hear your voice if she closed her eyes, could almost feel the way your hands used to cup her face when you kissed her.

But you weren’t here. And you hadn’t been for years.

Vi exhaled shakily, letting the necklace fall back against her chest. She rubbed her hands over her face, her calloused fingers catching slightly on her damp skin.

She tried to tell herself this was what she wanted—what she had worked so hard for. The sold-out shows, the screaming fans, the endless crowds. It had been her dream for as long as she could remember.

But the truth was, none of it felt quite as fulfilling as she thought it would. Not without you.

The buzz of her phone on the dressing table broke her train of thought. She glanced at it, the screen lighting up with a text from Ekko reminding her to join them at the bar. She hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the mirror.

For a quick moment, she thought about it—thought about texting you. Maybe, calling you. Just to say hi. Just to hear your voice again, even if only through the cold distance of a phone call.

But she knew better. You had probably already moved on, or at least, you deserved to.

Vi stood slowly, adjusting the chain so it tucked back under her shirt, hidden from view. She ran a hand through her hair and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on. As she walked out of the room, she felt the rings press lightly against her chest.

The party the next night was loud, chaotic, and everything it should have been to celebrate the end of a year-long tour. Vi found herself tucked into a corner of the room, a half-empty beer bottle in her hand as she watched her bandmates laugh and shout over the music. People swarmed around them—fans, industry suits, and a few familiar faces from the tour circuit.

It was exactly what she used to love, the kind of scene she’d dreamed about when she first picked up a guitar in her mom’s garage. But tonight, it all felt hollow.

She plastered on a grin when someone approached, making small talk she wouldn’t remember later, pretending the music wasn’t giving her a headache.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the celebration. She should have been celebrating. A year long tour. Ninety shows. Sold-out venues in cities she never thought she’d even visit, let alone play in.

But now that it was over, the rush was fading.

Vi’s manager had pulled the band aside after the final show, giving them a rundown of what came next.

Or rather, what didn’t come next.

“You’ve earned it,” the manager had said, looking around at the group. “Take a break. Go home. Recharge. You’ve been going non-stop for years. You deserve this.”

Home. The word lingered in Vi’s mind. It felt heavy and unfamiliar.

She sipped her beer and glanced around the party again. Everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives, but Vi felt detached, like she was watching it all through a screen.

The truth was, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. This band, for the time being, had been her life. The shows, the music, the adrenaline—it all kept her moving forward, kept her distracted.

But now? Now she was being told to stop.

Her fingers brushed against the chain around her neck, hidden beneath her shirt. She’d done it out of habit, her thumb grazing the spot where the rings rested against her skin. She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as she felt some sort of pain swell in her chest. She pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the noise and the people around her.

When a girl caught her eye across the room—pretty, confident, the kind of girl who wouldn’t ask too many questions—Vi didn’t hesitate.

She let the girl take her hand and pull her upstairs to some empty room in the penthouse suite. It was mechanical by now, second nature. She knew what to say, where to touch, how to make it seem like she was present when, in truth, her mind was somewhere else.

Or rather, with someone else.

It always ended the same way.

Vi closed her eyes, and it was you. There was no one else she could think of other than you.

It didn’t help that every time she hovered over someone else, her necklace would dangle just in front of her, and she’d look down and catch a glimpse of you beneath her, all pretty and waiting, with eyes full of love and warmth—the very eyes she fell in love with again and again. Every laugh, every touch, every kiss—it was you she conjured up in her mind.

But it never lasted.

Reality always came crashing back when the girl whispered her name in a way that had no effect on her or when she clung to her a little too tightly, too roughly.

When it was over, Vi sat silently by the bed, pulling on her shirt, avoiding eye contact.

“Can you stay?” the girl asked softly.

“No,” Vi shook her head, grabbing her jacket. She never stayed. She never left her number. And she never looked back.

Walking out into the cold night air, Vi lit a cigarette with trembling hands.

She thought about you—again. She thought about the way you used to smile at her, how your fingers used to trail through her hair when she rested her head in your lap, how you’d call her name so softly that it felt like she was listening to her favorite song. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but it was the only thing that reminded her she was still alive.

Since the breakup, Vi had grown bitter, the world feeling heavier with each passing day. She hadn’t felt truly happy in years, hadn’t laughed the way she used to.

So she buried herself into anything that could distract her—work, music, and nights like this one.

But it was useless.

Because no matter how far she ran, how many strangers she kissed, or how loud the music played, she always had you in her mind.

Always you. Only you.

To the little town she used to call home. To the life she’d walked away from when she chose this one.

And for the first time in a long time, Vi wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice.

The chime of the bell above the flower shop door rang faintly as a customer left, and you glanced up from where you sat behind the counter, absentmindedly wrapping a bouquet of daisies in soft brown paper. The shop smelled sweet and earthy—comforting in a way that nothing else had been for the past few years.

It had been your mom’s idea for you to work here after you graduated college, though you hadn’t exactly protested. It was a nice job to have. Stress free. Relaxing. Arranging flowers, chatting with customers, and helping with orders had its own kind of peace.

You figured it would be nice way to pass some time while saving up money for your own shop—a book shop.

But some time has passed now, and all you’ve got to do is find the courage to go downtown and lease out that nice empty spot by the town gardens.

But, you decide to put that off for next month. Maybe after the wedding.

Your degree in literature had been the culmination of years of dreaming, of late nights spent pouring over books and writing short stories that no one else ever read. And for a while, everything felt like it was falling into place. That book—the one you poured your soul into, the one that had felt like ripping your heart out to write—had done surprisingly well. It wasn’t a bestseller, but it had been enough. Enough to make you believe you were on the right path, to reassure you that the sacrifices had been worth it.

But now, the blank pages in your notebook always stared back at you, mocking. The words didn’t come as easily as they used to. It wasn’t writer’s block, not exactly—it was something deeper. A lack of fire, you called it. And you told yourself that the flower shop was just a temporary stop, a place to regroup until the inspiration came back.

But part of you worried it never would.

As you finished tying a ribbon around the bouquet, your gaze drifted to the small bookshelf by the window. Copies of your book sat there, stacked neatly, the cover facing out. Your mom kept them in stock, proud and supportive as always, even if the sight of them made you wince. Every time you looked at it, you remembered how much of yourself you’d poured into that story—how you’d been told it was heartbreaking and beautiful, and yet writing it had felt like stitching up a wound that refused to heal.

You always tried not to think about who had inspired it.

But of course, you failed. You always did.

Some days, it was easier to pretend that part of your life hadn’t happened, to bury it under layers of routine and busy nights. Other days, it hit you out of nowhere—a song on the radio, a laugh in a movie, the way a stranger’s voice pitched just so.

And suddenly, you’d be back there.

Back to her.

The chime of the bell rang again, snapping you out of your thoughts as a new customer stepped in. You forced a polite smile, brushing your hands against your apron. The shop was warm and safe, a place where you could hide from the rest of the world.

But somewhere out there, the rest of the world kept moving—just as it had for Vi.

You remembered the day you saw that headline.

You hadn’t expected to see it, but there it was—Violet Lanes Spotted Dining With Famous Actress Caitlyn Kiramman—in bold, glaring letters across the entertainment news section of your phone screen.

The date on the article was just two weeks after your breakup, and it felt like the universe had decided to make sure you never forgot. You could still remember the way your heart sank as you read it, like the air was suddenly sucked out of your lungs, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

You’d known about Vi’s fame, how it grew quickly when she started making music professionally, of course—how could you not? She was a rockstar, her face plastered everywhere, her name trending almost daily.

But this… this was different.

Caitlyn Kiramman was an actress with a reputation that preceded her, a star on a different level entirely. Vi was supposed to be with you—at least, you thought so, at the time. But as you read through the details, the pictures of Vi smiling across the table at Caitlyn, her arm casually draped around the actress’s shoulders, something inside you snapped. It was the first time, in the aftermath of everything, that you’d truly felt like you’d lost her.

You tried to dismiss the burning ache in your chest. After all, you hadn’t exactly been an innocent party in your breakup. You had your reasons for walking away, too.

But seeing Vi so effortlessly move on, laughing and drinking wine with someone like Caitlyn—someone who could stand next to her in the spotlight without being swallowed by it—hit you harder than you expected.

It wasn’t jealousy, not really.

It was just you realizing that Vi had stepped into a world without you, just as you had stepped into one without her.

You thought about calling her, but you didn’t.

The last time you’d spoken, you’d said what needed to be said, even if it hadn’t felt like it at the time. You had told yourself you were better off, that you deserved more than being constantly second place to her career.

You didn’t want to call. Instead, you buried yourself in your work, threw yourself into your job, and started writing stories that felt too hollow to ever really be finished. You kept your distance from everything that reminded you of her, trying to forget the feeling of her hand in yours, the sound of her voice when she’d whisper your name in that low, raspy tone that made your heart flutter.

Maybe Vi was happy. Maybe she had found someone else who could give her the things you couldn’t. The thought hit you harder than it should, but you couldn’t stop it.

You thought about the necklace—the one Vi had worn, the one that had been yours too, back in high school. Your fingers traced the small silver chain around your neck, the one you hadn’t taken off since that night you two shared it.

Had she kept hers? You wondered, for the briefest second, if she still thought about you.

But you had no way of knowing. You hadn’t heard from her in years, and you had convinced yourself that it was for the best.

The familiar sound of the bell above the shop’s door jingled softly as your mom stepped out from the back room, balancing a couple of boxes in her arms. She looked like she’d been at it for hours, strands of her hair falling from the bun on top of her head.

“Sweetheart,” she said, setting the boxes down on the counter with a thud. “Mel’s going to call about the flowers soon. You know how particular she can be about the arrangements.”

You sighed, pausing mid-wrap on a bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus.

“I know, Mom,” you muttered, though you couldn’t quite keep the smile off your face.

Mel had been one of your closest friends since high school, and if anyone had a reason to be particular, it was her. She deserved the perfect wedding, after all.

“She’s already called three times this week about those centerpieces. I’m pretty sure I know her vision better than she does at this point.”

Your mom laughed softly, brushing her hands on her apron. “She’s just excited. It’s a big day.”

She gave you a knowing look, the kind that said she wasn’t just talking about Mel.

Before you could respond, the phone behind the counter buzzed, cutting through the silence of the shop. You reached for it instinctively, already knowing who it would be.

“I swear, she has a sixth sense for these things,” you mumbled as you picked up the receiver.

“Hello, Lane Florals, how can I help—”

“Don’t even start with the formalities, I know it’s you,” came Mel’s voice, bright and slightly exasperated on the other end. “And I know I’ve already called you a million times this week, but I need to talk about the bouquets again. Jayce thinks we’re good, but I’m having second thoughts about the hydrangeas.”

You let out a dramatic groan, though you couldn’t help the laugh that followed. “Mel, you’ve gotta stop stressing. You’re going to make me go gray before your wedding day. What’s wrong with the hydrangeas now?”

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “I just feel like they don’t have the right… feeling. Maybe we should go with lilies? Or peonies? Or—oh! Do you think we could mix in some sunflowers? Jayce looooves sunflowers.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, glancing over at your mom, who was now suppressing a grin as she watered the potted plants by the window.

“Mel, we’re two weeks away from the wedding,” you said gently. “If we keep changing things, you’re not going to have any flowers at all.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Mel sighed dramatically. “You’re right. Ugh, you’re right. I’m just overthinking it. I’m sorry, I’ll stop being such a pain your ass.”

“You’re not a pain,” you said, softening. “You’re just… a perfectionist. But it’s all going to be perfect, I promise. The hydrangeas are beautiful, and they’re going to look amazing with everything else. Trust me. I’ll throw in some sunflowers, too, for Jayce.”

Mel let out a small, relieved laugh. “Thanks, babe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Lose your mind, probably,” you teased, leaning back against the counter. “But seriously, you’re going to be fine. And as your maid of honor, I think you should take my advice and roll with it.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, and you could hear the smile in her voice. “Oh, and don’t forget, you promised to help me with the seating chart this weekend.”

“I know, I know,” you assured her, though the thought of wrangling that seating chart made you want to pour yourself a strong drink. “I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”

“Okay. Love you!” she said quickly before hanging up.

You set the phone down with a sigh, turning to your mom, who was now watching you with an amused expression. “Hydrangeas again?” she asked.

“Hydrangeas,” you confirmed with a laugh, shaking your head. “I swear, if I hear the word one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

But despite the teasing, you felt nothing but warmth for Mel. She was one of the few people who had stuck by you through everything, and seeing her so happy with Jayce was something you couldn’t begrudge, no matter how stressful wedding planning had become.

You glanced at the calendar on the wall, your thoughts drifting briefly, as they so often did, to Vi.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

At least, that’s what Vi had told you when she kissed you goodbye at the airport years ago, both of you standing on the edge of the new chapter—her with her band’s first big break, and you heading off to college.

She had cupped your face, her calloused hands warm against your cheeks, and promised, “We’ll make it work. You and me, we’re solid, baby. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

But it did.

You used to call everyday. Text everyday. It was so often that Vi would fall asleep on the phone every night, to the sound of your voice, telling her how much you missed her. You’d do the same, too.

But the calls that used to stretch into the early hours of the morning grew shorter and less frequent.

At first, Vi always made time for you, even if she was in the middle of nowhere, some dingy tour bus parked at a rest stop. She’d stay on the line, her gravelly voice cutting through the static as she told you about the show that night or the funny thing Ekko had done to annoy Steb. And you’d tell her about your classes, your professors, the friends you were making in your lit program. She also always used to mention you in interviews when people would ask the band if they were single or whatever.

And Vi would always say, “I’ve actually got a girl waiting for me back at home,” with cheekiest smile she could throw on.

For a while, it was enough.

But then the band’s success started to pick up, and Vi’s world got louder, busier. The calls started to come later and later—or sometimes not at all.

You’d stay up, staring at your phone, waiting for it to ring, only to wake up hours later with an empty inbox and a dull ache in your chest.

And the texts? They dwindled too.

You used to send each other everything—pictures, inside jokes, songs that reminded you of each other.

Days would pass before you’d hear from her. And when you did, it was always rushed. A quick voice message, “Sorry, babe, crazy day. Miss you, though. Love you,” followed by radio silence for the rest of the week.

You tried to understand. You really did.

You knew how much this meant to her, how hard she’d worked to get where she was. You were proud of her, more than you could ever put into words.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

One night, you were in your dorm room, sitting at your desk with a stack of notes and an unfinished essay in front of you, your phone balanced precariously on the edge. Vi had promised to call after a show—it had been over two weeks since you’d last spoken properly—but the clock was inching toward midnight, and there was still no word.

When the phone finally buzzed, you snatched it up, your heart pounding. “Vi?”

Her voice came through the line, raspy and tired. “Hey, baby. Sorry, show ran late.”

“It’s okay,” you lied, sinking back into your chair. “How was it?”

She sighed, and you could hear the exhaustion in it. “Good. Crowd was wild. But I’m beat.”

There was a pause, one that stretched too long, too heavy. You could feel the distance between you, the miles and the time zones and the weeks of missed calls.

“I miss you,” you said softly, your voice breaking a little.

“I miss you too,” she said, but it sounded automatic, like something she’d said a thousand times before—who are you kidding? She probably has.

You wanted to ask her why she hadn’t called, why it felt like you were slipping further and further apart.

But the words caught in your throat.

Instead, you said, “When are you coming home?”

“Uh…” Another pause. Then, “I don’t know, babe. Not for a while.”

It felt like a punch to the gut.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’m sorry,” she added quickly, like she could sense your disappointment in her. “It’s just… everything’s so crazy right now. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

When the call ended, you stared at your phone for a long time, tears blurring your vision. Vi had always been your safe place. But at that time, it felt like she was slipping away, and no matter how tightly you held on, you couldn’t stop it.

And Vi felt it too.

She hated the way things were between you, the way she could hear the hurt in your voice even when you tried to hide it. She wanted to fix it, to drop everything, fly to you and hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

But the truth was, she didn’t know if it would be.

Because no matter how much you loved each other, the distance was pulling you apart. And neither of you knew how to stop it.

NOVEMBER, THREE YEARS AGO.

It had been months since you’d last seen her—months that felt like years. You’d tried to bury yourself in your studies, keeping busy so you didn’t have to think about the loneliness she left behind with you.

But then your phone rang one rainy afternoon, and when Vi’s name flashed on the screen, you hesitated for only a moment before answering.

“Hey,” you said softly, curling up on your bed as you balanced the phone against your ear.

“Hey, babe,” she replied, her voice a little hoarse, like she’d been yelling or maybe singing too much. “How’s school?”

“It’s… fine,” you said, trying to keep your tone neutral.

You wanted to tell her everything—how much you missed her, how hard it was to fall asleep without her voice in your ear—but you swallowed the words.

“What are you up to?” You asked, bringing a hand up to rub the side of your neck.

“Nothing, right now… I’m in bed. I just finished up at the studio,” she said quietly. “It ran pretty late so…”

“Are you doing okay?”

You hear her take a breath before sighing softly, “Yeah, I’m… I just miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you echoed.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then she said, “I was thinking… I want you to come to New York.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “New York?”

“Yeah. The band got invited to this award show. It’s kind of a big deal, I guess. I—I want you to be my date.”

Your stomach twisted at the invitation. You could hear the hope in her voice, and for a second, all you wanted to do was say yes. But then reality set in.

“Vi, I don’t know. I have finals coming up, and plane tickets are—”

“Will be taken care of,” she interrupted quickly. “I’ll handle it, everything. Just say yes.”

“Vi…”

“I wanna see you,” she said, and her voice was soft, almost pleading. It caught you off guard. “Please. It’s been too long. I miss you.”

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the wall, and sighed.

It was always hard to say no to Vi.

“Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll come.”

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice brightening.

“Yeah.”

The next few weeks all happened too quickly.

Vi arranged everything—a plane ticket, a car to pick you up from the airport, even a dress for the event. You didn’t know how she’d managed it all, but you weren’t surprised. She could practically do anything she sets her mind to.

When you stepped off the plane and into the terminal, you were expecting to just follow the signs to baggage claim, look for the driver Vi had mentioned in passing, and quietly make your way to whatever fancy hotel she had booked for you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate her effort—Vi always went all out when it came to you—but you figured this was just another one of those things she couldn’t be present for, one more event she’d planned out from a distance.

But when you rounded the corner toward the arrivals area, your feet froze mid-step.

There she was.

Vi was standing near the entrance, her tall frame wrapped in an all-black outfit. A long black coat hung open over a fitted turtleneck and dark jeans, her combat boots planted firmly on the tiled floor. In her hands, she held a small bouquet of flowers—white daisies and a few pale pink roses wrapped in simple brown paper.

She looked every bit the rockstar she’d become, yet look on her face told a different story.

Her eyes scanned the crowd eagerly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the paper wrapping as though she were nervous.

Your breath hitched, and tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.

For a moment, you couldn’t move.

Then Vi’s eyes found yours.

Her face lit up like the sun breaking through a storm, and before you could even process what was happening, she was running toward you. Her long strides closed the distance in seconds, and then she was there—her arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you into her chest.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered against your hair.

You couldn’t respond.

Your throat was too tight, and the only thing you could do was cling to her, burying your face in her neck as the tears spilled over. The flowers were crushed slightly between your bodies, but neither of you cared. Vi’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, holding you like she was afraid you might disappear.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands cupping your face as she scanned your features like she needed to memorize them all over again.

She let out a breathy sigh, a smile making its way onto her face, “God, you’re even prettier than I remember.”

You let out a watery laugh, wiping at your cheeks with trembling fingers.

“Shut up,” you teased, though your voice wavered.

Vi grinned, a little sheepishly, and handed you the now slightly crumpled bouquet. “These are for you. Sorry, I think I crushed them a little.”

“They’re perfect,” you said, taking the flowers and holding them close to your chest.

She smiled again, softer this time, and reached out to take your suitcase.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. We can go get lunch after the hotel. I know a place you might like.”

And for the first time in a long while, being with her finally felt right.

The weekend passed like something out of a dream. Vi stuck close to you, almost glued to your side, like she couldn’t bear to let go of you for even a second. She carried your bags, opened every door, kissed you in every private corner she could find.

In the the hotel room, with the city skyline stretching endlessly outside the window, she kissed you until her lips felt bruised, like she was trying to make up for every kiss she hadn’t been able to give you.

She made love to you slowly, tenderly, the way you deserved—whispering soft words against your skin, brushing stray strands of hair from your face, as if she couldn’t believe you were there with her.

“God, I missed you,” she murmured over and over again, her voice thick and quiet, spilling out each time her lips found yours. “I missed you so much.”

And it wasn’t just the being this close to you that left Vi breathless—it was everything else.

The way your laugh filled the room when she cracked a joke. The way you shyly tucked your head into her shoulder when she kissed your temple in public. The way your voice softened when you told her you missed her, that you loved her. Vi felt like she was relearning you, rediscovering all the tiny details she’d loved about you from the start—the way your fingertips felt trailing down her arm, the way you hummed absentmindedly when you were happy, the way you fit perfectly in her arms like you’d been made for her.

For once, Vi wasn’t thinking about work, about the band, about the next tour or the endless cycle of interviews and late-night rehearsals.

None of that mattered here.

The world felt smaller, quieter, when it was just the two of you.

She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed you, how much she’d missed this.

As the weekend was drawing to a close, you were lying in bed together, your head resting on her chest. Vi traced lazy circles along your shoulder with her fingertips, her other hand draped protectively across your waist. The sheets were tangled around your bare legs, the city lights painting soft, dim patterns on the walls.

“I forgot what this feels like,” Vi had said, her voice almost a whisper. “Just… being with you. I missed it.”

You tilted your head to look up at her, your eyes warm and full of something she couldn’t quite name.

“Me too,” you said softly, your hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

Vi leaned down to kiss you again slowly, her hand cradling your jaw.

She wanted to stay in this moment forever, to bottle it up and carry it with her wherever she went.

Being with you, she wasn’t worried about the distance, about the time apart, about anything other than you.

But happiness like that didn’t last for long and, tomorrow, it would all go to shit.

The night of the music award show was everything Vi had hoped it would be, glimmering lights, and flashing cameras. She could hardly contain her pride as she stood beside you, her arm around your waist, guiding you through. Everything had been planned, from your dress to the after-party, and it seemed like everything was falling into place.

You looked stunning in the dress she had picked out for you. It was a deep shade of red that hugged your body in all the right places, with delicate lace detailing along the neckline that made your girlfriend want to cover your collarbone with kisses. Vi couldn’t take her eyes off you when she first saw you in it. She kept telling you how beautiful you looked, her voice filled with awe every time she caught a glimpse of you.

You had always been beautiful in Vi’s eyes, but tonight, you looked like someone straight out of a dream, her dreams. She felt a pride swell up inside her every time she looked at you, like the world had never seemed brighter, knowing that you, her girl, were beside her.

But despite how nice it was all going, it wasn’t without its discomforts for you.

There were moments when you felt too out of place in the spotlight, when the flashing of cameras made your chest tighten, or when you were pulled away from Vi to stand beside some celebrities for interviews, your smile feeling stiff and forced. Every time you were apart from her, even for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of loneliness, wanting to be close to her again.

The show itself went smoothly, though.

Vi did her thing and you watched from the sidelines, starstruck and completely in awe. It was so surreal to see her like this, her bandmates by her side, to see other celebrities you watched from home, the crowd cheering for her every time her name was called. She looked radiant. And it was hard to not feel overwhelmed by it all.

But the further the night dragged on, the more it felt like you were losing her to this new world.

You felt more of it at the after party. Vi had been swept away by a group of celebrities who wanted to talk to her, leaving you standing alone at the bar.

Ekko noticed and came over to keep you company, but it still wasn’t the same. He asked about how things were at home, mentioned how much he missed eating Benzo’s cooking. And it was nice talking to him—nice to have a friend around who didn’t feel too far into the fame as everyone else did in the room.

As you leaned against the bar, nursing your drink, you found your eyes wandering back to Vi, standing across the room, laughing and chatting with some famous actress, her hand resting on her arm. She looked completely at ease, her eyes sparkling as she talked with the other guests.

But it was clear that you that were nothing more than a bystander to her world now.

Ekko’s voice snapped you out of your daze. “You okay?” he asked, noticing your distracted expression.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a bit tired, I guess.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “You sure? Vi looks like she’s having a blast. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

You smiled again, though it felt hollow. “Yeah, she always has a way of talking to people, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she does,” Ekko agreed, grinning. “But you know she’s really happy to have you here tonight. She’s always talking about you. Can’t get her to shut up about you sometimes.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, but it faded almost as quickly as it appeared.

You stand there, drink in hand, feeling an odd tension settle in your chest as you watch Vi across the room. She’s talking to someone—a tall woman, all legs and sharp angles, with dark blue hair that catches the light in an almost ethereal way. The way the actress moves, the way she laughs—effortless, magnetic, like she’s always been in the spotlight.

You’ve seen her before, vaguely—magazines, red carpets, maybe a movie trailer. She’s the kind of woman people can’t help but stare at. Perfectly polished, perfectly poised.

And there’s Vi, her face bright with a smile you once thought was reserved just for you. But now, as she stands there, chatting easily, you feel like a ghost in the room, watching from the sidelines.

Your fingers tighten around your glass, but you don’t move. You can’t.

It’s strange, this feeling that tightens your chest, this longing and bitterness you can’t seem to shake. Vi’s laugh carries over through the party, and for a moment, you close your eyes, remembering when you were the one who made her laugh like that. When you were the one who kissed that smile from her lips.

But it all feels so far away now.

The more you watch them, the more out of place you feel.

The more you look at Vi, the more she seems to belong in this world—this world of lights and flashes, of perfect strangers who all seem to know exactly who they are, exactly where they fit.

And you?

You’re still standing in the corner of this room, feeling like you’re made of something that doesn’t belong, something that’s too small for this space.

You swallow, trying to force down the lump in your throat.

It’s stupid, you know it’s stupid.

You’re just a girl from a small town with college exams coming up and some books you wrote.

Nothing glamorous.

And Vi—Vi’s everything you aren’t. She’s out here, living the life you never had the guts to chase. You can’t even blame her for it. She’s been nothing but amazing, talented and hardworking, giving you so much of herself, even when it all felt too complicated.

But seeing her like this, only reminds you of how out of place you feel now, in her world, in this world.

“I… I think I’m just gonna get some fresh air,” you say quietly.

You excuse yourself from Ekko, offering him a small smile as you slip away from the conversation. You need air—fresh, cool, anything to clear the thoughts that have taken root in your mind.

You take the elevator down to the ground floor, your heels clicking softly on the polished floors. The doors open with a soft ding, and you step out, immediately greeted by the cool bite of the night air. It’s a entirely different compared to the warmth of the party inside, and for a moment, it feels like a relief, like you can finally breathe without the walls of the venue pressing in on you.

The city lights glow in the distance, the hustle of traffic and the low hum of conversations from nearby streets filled your ears. You pull your coat tighter around you, the fabric clinging to your shoulders, but it doesn’t do much to shield you from the knot tightening in your chest.

You stand there for a moment, breathing deeply. The cool air is refreshing, but it can’t seem to cool the heat rising in your cheeks, the bitter ache in your stomach. Everything about it reminds you of how far things have come—and how far apart you and Vi have drifted.

You didn’t want to feel this way tonight. You didn’t want to spend another evening consumed by jealousy, by doubt.

But here you are, standing outside in the dark, unable to fight the feeling.

You really hadn’t expected it to be this hard.

Maybe it’s silly to think you could’ve ever fit into that world.

But the truth stings.

You want things to be different. You want to be the one she looks at, the one she chooses. But everything about tonight has made you feel like that’s something you’ll never be again.

You look up at the sky, the stars barely visible through the city’s haze, and for a moment, you close your eyes, letting the cold air fill your lungs.

You wish things were different. You wish you could go back to when you were everything to each other.

But you can’t.

Not anymore.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Vi’s voice cuts through your train of thought.

She must have slipped out unnoticed, and now, there she is, standing behind you. Her arms come around your waist, pulling you closer, her front pressed against your back. Her chin rests gently on your shoulder, her breath tickling the back of your neck.

“Hi, baby,” she muttered quietly.

You want to speak, to tell her how you feel, how the space between you both is only growing wider.

But the words stick in your throat.

Vi stays there, waiting for you, her body warm against yours. Her hands move from your waist, softly tracing over your arms, gently coaxing you into the safety of her touch, even though you don’t know how safe it feels anymore.

For a moment, all you can do is breathe, just breathe, feeling her arms around you… as if it’s the last time you’ll feel it.

When you do finally speak, it’s quieter than you intend, barely above a whisper. “Vi, I think we… I think we should stop this.”

Vi stiffens behind you, her hands pausing on your skin.

You can feel her heart rate quicken slightly. But she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she presses closer, her breath brushing your ear as she whispers, “What are you talking about?”

She holds you tighter, and for a brief second, you feel the urge to give in to her touch, to forget the mess in your head.

But it’s not enough anymore.

You try to speak again, but your words come out jumbled, like you’re struggling to find the right pieces to fit together.

“I… I don’t know. We’re not the same anymore.” You let out a shaky breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to explain the mess of feelings inside your chest. “It’s like we’re just… strangers now. I can’t keep pretending it’s the same, Vi.”

Vi’s hands stay on your waist, but you feel her pause for a moment. She pulls back just a little, enough to look at you, but not enough to fully let go.

You can hear the uncertainty in her voice when she speaks, “What? It’s still us. You and me. I—” She swallows, and you can hear the faint tremor in her words. “I thought we were okay.”

You shake your head, your chest tight.

“We’re not. We haven’t been for a while. And, I can’t tell if you even notice. Do you? You’re… you’re so far away, and I’m just… here.” The pain in your voice stings, but it feels like it’s the only truth you have left. “And I don’t know how to make it work anymore. I don’t know how to feel close to you when you’re a million miles away all the time.”

Vi’s arms move again, but this time, they’re softer, as if she’s afraid you’ll break under her touch.

“Don’t say that. I-I do notice. I do. I know it’s been a bit rough lately, but we can fix this… right? We’ve always been able to fix things before.” She tries to lighten the air, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she’s trying to erase the tension in the air. “I-I promise to call more, baby, please—”

But it doesn’t reach you.

You step back from her, the space between you both growing with each step, and for the first time in so long, you feel something other than the ache in your chest. It’s cold, too cold, and the distance feels like it’s swallowing you whole.

Vi’s arms drop at her sides, her hands twitching as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.

She watches you carefully, her eyes wide as you move away. When she tries to move closer, you flinch. It’s instinct, something you didn’t mean to do, but you can’t help it. You just need space.

And Vi hates it.

“I wanna go home,” you say, your voice shaking with the everything you’ve been trying to ignore, trying to bury.

Vi’s smile falters, her brows furrow as she processes your words. She takes a small step toward you, the panic creeping into her voice. “O-Okay. I-I’ll call a cab and we can go back to the hotel and—“

You cut her off before she can finish, your heart hammering in your chest. “No, Vi. I want to go back home. I don’t… I don’t belong here with you.”

The ring in her ears and as soon as they leave your lips, you can see the color drain from Vi’s face. Her breath catches in her throat, and you watch her, eyes wide, disbelief settling in. She furrows her eyebrows, her entire posture faltering as she tries to process what you just said.

“What?” she whispers.

She takes a shaky breath, her gaze searching your face, looking for any sign that this might be some kind of cruel joke, some kind of misunderstanding.

But you can’t give her that. You can’t pretend anymore.

“I just…” you start, but the words get caught in your throat, like you’re suffocating on them. You look at her, at the girl you once knew better than anyone else, and you realize that you’re not the same person anymore. “I thought I could keep pretending, but I can’t. And… I-I don’t see how we can change anything right now. I’m sorry, I—”

Vi opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She just stares at you, like she’s trying to wrap her mind around what’s happening, and in her silence, you hear all the things you can’t say.

The tears begin yo roll down your cheeks and Vi wants to wipe them away immediately, wants to take all that pain you’re feeling away for good… but…

“I need to go home,” you whisper again, this time your voice firmer, because if you don’t say it again, you might never leave.

And the look in her eyes—this heartbreaking, raw pain that flits across her face—makes your heart shatter even more.

Because you never wanted to hurt her.

But you’re not sure how to fix any of this. How to find your way back when it feels like everything between you two has crumbled into dust.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but the words feel so small. So insignificant.

Vi doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, frozen in place. She swallows hard, her lips trembling as she finally finds her voice.

“I thought we were… I thought you wanted to be with me.”

“I always want to be with you, I do, but this—” you bring a hand up, wiping your cheeks quickly. “What did you think was gonna to happen after this weekend’s over? That we’d have a great time here together, then everything would be okay? All of our problems aren’t just magically gonna disappear, Vi… You barely call. You barely text. And I’ll go back home and you’ll stay here and I… What, I won’t see you again for another four—five months? I-I cant be in a relationship with someone who—fuck, with someone who can’t even really be with me. And I don’t want to make you choose. I can’t make you choose but, Vi…”

Her eyes widen in panic, her face twisting with desperation.

“Don’t say that. I-I can fix this. We can fix this, baby, just—” she starts, her voice broken, her words faltering, as though she’s trying to pull something, anything, to make things right.

“Stop it, Violet,” you say quiet.

“No, no, just—just tell me what to do,” she says. She’s shaking, but it’s not the gentle tremor of someone trying to hold it together. It’s raw. It’s frantic. “Tell me what I need to do to, please—”

You stand your ground, feeling the anger swell within you as her frustration starts to mirror your own.

“Stop it.”

“I love you.”

You freeze. Your heart skips a beat, and for a split second, you wonder if she’s right, if there’s a chance, if somehow everything can go back to how it used to be.

But then the reality sets in.

“Are you happy with me, Vi?” You ask.

Vi looks at you and furrows her brows, confused at the question, “Of course, I am—”

“You’re happy with the way things are right now? Really?”

Vi freezes, the words caught in her throat. The certainty she usually wears like armor slips away.

“You’re happy with how far apart we always are? You’re happy that we barely talk anymore? That we don’t have time for each other anymore? T-That when I go home, you’ll forget all about me until you suddenly remember that you have a girlfriend miles and miles away, just waiting for you to call or pick up your damn phone?”

“I…” she stammers, her brow furrowing as she tries to find the right thing to say, but nothing feels right. She’s taken aback, not just by your question but by the realization behind it—the way your words cut through the illusion that she’s been clinging to, that everything is okay.

The silence between you stretches for so long and Vi fucking hates it. She hates the way you’re looking at her, as if you already know the answer she’s too afraid to give. Because deep down, she knows she’s not happy—not with the distance, not with the missed calls and the half-hearted promises, not with the way she’s been letting you slip away.

But admitting that feels like admitting defeat, like saying out loud that she’s failing you, failing this.

“I—” she tries again, but she looks away, her jaw tightening. “I’m sorry.”

She wants to say that she’s happy, that you’re enough, that she wouldn’t trade this for anything—but the truth is, she doesn’t even know what this is anymore either.

And by the look in your eyes, neither do you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, before opening them again to look up at her. Your hand reaches up, trembling slightly, and cups Vi’s cheek. Her skin is warm, damp from the tears she didn’t realize had fallen until now. The moment your palm makes contact, Vi leans into it instinctively. Her eyes flutter closed, and her shoulders quake as she lets out the softest, most broken sound—a quiet sob she tries to hide but can’t.

“Don’t,” she whispers, shaky and fragile. “Please…”

You don’t pull your hand away. Instead, your thumb brushes along the line of her cheekbone, and how gentle you were with her makes her cry harder. She feels your breath, and she hates how much she craves you, hates how much it hurts.

You swallow hard, the sound of your barely louder than a breath as you say, “This isn’t good for us.”

Vi’s eyes snap open, bloodshot and wide, her lips parting in disbelief. For a second, she freezes, the words not fully sinking in, like her brain refuses to process them.

“We should stop,” you say again, softer this time. Your hand is still on her cheek, and Vi clings to it, her larger hand wrapping around yours as though she could keep you there forever. “We’re hurting each other, Violet. We’ve been hurting each other for a while now.”

“No,” Vi pleads, shaking her head, her voice so weak you could barely hear her as she presses harder into your touch, desperate. “I don’t wanna stop. Please, just—let me fix this—”

You shake your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay, though they’re already blurring your vision.

“It’s not about fixing anything, Vi. We’re just in two completely different places and…” Your voice falters for a moment, breaking. “…and it’s not working for us.”

Vi’s breath hitches, and the hand gripping yours starts to tremble.

“I don’t know how to—” Her voice cracks, and she looks down, her tears falling freely onto the ground. “I don’t know how to do any of this this without you.”

Your heart clenches painfully, and for a fleeting second, you want to take it all back. You lean down slightly, pressing your forehead to hers, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, you do,” you whisper, the words like a final goodbye. “You’ve been doing all of this without me already.”

She shakes her head softly, “That’s not true.”

Vi’s breath comes out shaky, her tears mingling with yours as she presses herself closer, trying to savor the moment, to memorize the feel of you before it slips away entirely.

“I love you,” she says, words trembling as if the words are the last lifeline she has left to offer.

She watches you closely, her wide, teary eyes searching yours, desperate for something—anything—to tell her this isn’t the end.

But you don’t say it back right away.

And for those few agonizing seconds, the silence feels suffocating. Vi’s heart pounds painfully in her chest, and a lump forms in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her lips part to say something, to plead again, but before she can, you finally speak.

“I love you, Violet.”

It’s everything Vi wanted to hear, but as soon as the words leave your lips, they cut deeper than any silence ever could. There’s a softness to your voice, a finality in the way you say it, and Vi knows.

She knows what it means, what you’re trying to say without saying it outright.

And it hurts so fucking bad.

Her breath catches, and her hands drop slightly from where they’d been holding you, as if the weight of the words has drained her strength.

She shakes her head, voice cracking as she stammers, “Don’t say it like that.”

You look at her with so much tenderness it almost shatters her completely, but it’s that softness that makes it clear you’ve already made up your mind.

“Vi,” you whisper, and the way you say her name only makes the tears come faster.

She hates it. She hates how much of a goodbye it sounds.

“I love you so much,” she says, words breaking, barely audible now.

But even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they’re futile. She knows that no matter how much she loves you, no matter how much she tries to hold on, she can’t stop you from slipping through her fingers.

And for the first time, the love she’s always clung to feels hollow, like it’s not enough to keep you here.

Like she’s already lost you.

After a moment, you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to Vi’s cheek, the warmth of your lips lingering on her skin.

Vi closes her eyes at the touch, savoring it, even though something deep inside her tells her this is the last time. She wants to hold onto it, to freeze this moment, to make you stay just a little longer. But you’re already stepping back, pulling away from her reach.

“I’m gonna head back to the hotel,” you say quietly.

Vi nods instinctively, her breath catching in her throat as she responds, “I’ll go with you.”

Just a little more time, she thinks. She just wants whatever time she could get with you. Her voice is so weak under her breath, but she takes a step forward, already moving to follow, to stay by your side no matter what.

But then you stop her.

You place a hand up between you—not to push her away, but enough to keep her there, frozen in place. And when she sees the look in your eyes, Vi feels the first crack split through her chest.

“I’ll be okay,” you say softly. “I’ll call a cab and find my way back.”

It’s not the words themselves that break her; it’s the way you say them, like you’re letting her go in every sense of the word. Her heart shatters, the pieces falling one by one, and she doesn’t know how to stop it. She doesn’t know how to stop you.

“Let me go with you,” she breathes out, her voice, desperate to see more of you for as long as she still can.

But you shake your head gently, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill over, and she knows there’s no changing your mind.

She’s never felt so powerless, so useless, and all she can do is stand there, watching you walk away, feeling like you’re taking every part of her with you.

She watches your silhouette grow smaller and smaller, her mind clinging to every detail—how your hair looked under the dim streetlights, how soft your lips felt against her cheek, how your voice cracked when you said her name. She already misses all of it, every little piece of you.

But deep down, she knows she’s been missing you for far longer than just tonight.

The air is damp and Vi doesn’t move. She doesn’t know how long she’s been standing there, rooted to the ground, staring at the spot where you disappeared from her sight. A faint drizzle begins, tiny drops kissing her skin. She barely notices it at first, but soon the rain falls harder, soaking through her clothes.

She shivers, but she doesn’t move. Her hands fall limply at her sides, her mind replaying every moment of the night, every word you said, every second she couldn’t hold on to you. Her knees feel weak, but the ache in her chest is worse.

She wants to run after you, to stop you, but even if she said all the right words, she knows you’d still be leaving.

And it’s her fault, she thinks. She let it all slip away.

Hours pass, or maybe just minutes—it doesn’t matter. By the time she finally stumbles back to the party, her hair is dripping, her hands are trembling, and her heart feels hollow.

You booked the earliest flight you could, and as the sky begins to lighten, you pull your coat tighter around you and make your way to the airport.

In the next couple of days, in a big headline on your phone, you find out that Vi punched someone at that party.

SATURDAY, PRESENT DAY.

The hum of soft music drifted through the flower shop as you sat at the counter, a list of names and scribbled notes sprawled out in front of you. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched by your elbow, the faint aroma of lavender and honey filling the air.

You tapped your pen lightly against the edge of the paper, squinting at Mel’s unusually messy handwriting.

“Does Jayce even know this many people?” you muttered, half to yourself and half to Mel, who sat cross-legged on a stool across from you, flipping through her wedding binder.

Mel let out a melodious laugh, shaking her head.

“Oh, you’d be surprised. He seems to think everyone he’s ever spoken to needs a seat at this wedding.”

She reached over and plucked the list from your hands, glancing at the names.

“This is ridiculous. He even invited his college professor,” she squinted, pointing at a name near the bottom of the page, “—Heimer…dinger?”

You laughed softly, shrugging. “Don’t look at me.”

Mel groaned, leaning back and rubbing her temples. “I swear, at this rate, we’re going to have to build a second venue just to fit all these people.”

“Maybe you could just cut the guest list in half,” you suggested lightly, marking a few names off with your pen. “Say the venue has a sudden capacity issue.”

She smirked. “Tempting. Though, knowing Jayce, he’d probably build a whole new venue himself just to make sure no one gets left out.”

You smiled at her, then turned your attention back to the seating chart—you were only halfway through the list. You could feel the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the shop’s windows. The scent of fresh blooms mixed with the faint perfume Mel always wore, filling the air with a sense of comfort you’ve gotten familiar with long ago.

“Do you think my mother will mind sitting next to Jayce’s?” Mel asks, uncertain. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and frowns at the chart like it’s a puzzle she just can’t solve.

You glance up at her and let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I think they’re are old enough to behave for one meal.”

Mel sighs, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. “You clearly haven’t met my family.”

“Yes, I have,” you roll your eyes and lean forward, studying the chart. “Okay, well… how about this?”

You move a few names around, scribbling quick arrows to new spots.

“We put your mom near your college friends. She can’t cause too much trouble if they’re surrounded by strangers.”

Mel grins at you, resting her chin on her hand as she watches you work.

“Perfect,” she says.

“How’s your mom holding up with all of this?” Mel asked suddenly, watching you as you meticulously rearranged the tiny paper name tags on the chart.

“She’s good,” you replied, your voice soft. “Excited, mostly. She keeps talking about how nice it is to have the shop involved in something so big.”

You paused, your hand hovering over one of the name tags.

“She’s just happy to see you and Jayce so… settled, I guess.”

Mel tilted her head, studying you with a thoughtful look in her eyes. “And you? How are you holding up?”

You hesitated, your fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the seating chart. For a moment, you considered giving her the same polite, surface-level answer you gave everyone else. But this was Mel—your best friend, the one person who’d known you through every high and low.

“I’m fine,” you said finally, though the words felt heavier than they should have. “Really.”

Mel’s gaze softened, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached over and placed a reassuring hand on yours, her smile warm and understanding. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great. And if you need anything—anything at all—you know I’m here.”

The phone rings before you can reply. You instinctively reach for it, the receiver cool against your hand as you press it to your ear. “Lane Florals, how can I help you?”

“Oh, hey! It’s Jayce,” a familiar voice greets you cheerfully on the other end. “Just checking in to see if Mel’s still holding you hostage over there.”

You laugh softly. “Hostage is a strong word, but yes, we’re almost done.”

Mel perks up at the sound of his name and reaches for the phone.

“Give me that,” she says playfully, taking it from you. “Jayce, we’ve been over this—your input doesn’t count unless you actually help with something.”

As Mel steps into the back to argue with her fiancé, you sit back in the chair, momentarily tuning out the sound of her voice. Your eyes wander around the shop, landing on the bundles of flowers waiting to be arranged, the sunlight filtering in through the windows, and the stillness of this place.

You absently twirl the pen in your hand, your mind drifting for a moment. It’s easy to stay busy here, to focus on what’s in front of you instead of the ache you don’t like to name.

“Jayce insists we keep his cousins together,” Mel said with a playful roll of her eyes as she returned to you. “I love him, but the man doesn’t understand how chaotic that side of the family is.”

“Maybe put them near the bar. That way they won’t bother anyone too much,” you suggested, earning a grateful laugh from Mel.

“Alright, I think we’ve almost got it,” she said, standing up to pour herself a glass of water.

Left alone for a moment, you leaned over the chart, eyes scanning the names to double-check the placements. Your gaze moved quickly at first, recognizing some familiar names and skimming unfamiliar ones, until it landed on something—towards the end of the list—that made your breath hitch.

Violet Lanes.

It was there, clear as day—her name printed neatly on a delicate little card, tucked beside a few other names at one of the smaller tables. Your hands stilled, hovering over the paper as a wave of something sharp and overwhelming crashed over you.

“Hey, you okay?” Mel’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, I just—” You glanced down at the name again, your fingers brushing against the edge of the paper. “I’m fine.”

Mel’s eyes softened as she walked over, leaning over your shoulder. She followed your gaze to the card and let out a quiet sigh.

“I was going to tell you,” she said gently. “Jayce invited her. You know how they’ve been since high school. They’ve been in touch for a while, I guess. He didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

You nodded again, but the tightness in your chest didn’t ease.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow.

Mel reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“If it’s too much, I can figure something out,” she offered. “She hasn’t even confirmed with us yet… She’s probably so busy anyway.”

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “No, it’s… it’s your wedding. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“Mel, really. It’s okay,” you threw on one of the best fake smiles you could give. “It just caught me off guard, is all.”

Mel studies you for a moment, her gaze lingering on your face. “If you don’t want her there, I can tell Jayce—”

You cut her off with a quick shake of your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but you push through it. The last thing you want is for Mel to feel guilty, or worse, pitying you.

She doesn’t seem convinced, but she nods anyway, going back to arranging the seating chart. You know she’s trying to keep things light, to keep you from feeling weighed down by whatever’s hanging in the air. And maybe you’re fooling yourself into thinking you’re not still carrying it.

But the truth is, you don’t know what to do with the ghost of her, or your love for her, lingering between everything you do.

“Hey,” Mel says after a beat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Want to grab a coffee after we finish here? We could use a break.”

You nod, grateful for the distraction. “That sounds good.”

Glancing at the seating chart again, your finger rests on the name that’s still too familiar.

series masterlist | next chapter

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[puppym3]

felix x reader ─── two-time thing

synopsis - after everything that happened last time, you couldn't bare to see him face-to-face, but after restless nights and finding him in your dreams, you made it to his bed.

wc: 9.1k

silly tags: MDNI! 18+, bsf!felix, afab!reader, definitely pining, angst, questionable dreams, idiots to (eventually) lovers, realization of feelings, awkwardness, other members appear, pt 3 will come!!, pt 1 -> here - PT 3 -> here

MDNI!! smut warnings under cut!!

WARNINGS: smut, lots of kissing, lowkey dry-humping, grinding, masturbation (m. rec), hair pulling, handjob, a lot of sounds are made

Fight or flight? No doubt you chose flight.

You weren't sure how long you stayed in your room, but the tension was so thick throughout the entire house that you couldn't dare to step out of your comfort place.

Embarrassment clung to your skin like a second layer, suffocating and unrelenting. You, too mortified to face reality, had trapped yourself in your room.

Your friends had noticed, of course. You couldn’t completely cut yourself off without them catching on, especially when meals became a problem. The reliance on others for basic needs was humiliating, but the thought of stepping outside your self-imposed prison made your stomach churn.

Chan, ever the nurturing friend, complied without question at first, bringing you food with a furrowed brow and soft reminders. “You’re gonna get sick if you stay in here,” he’d say gently, setting the plate on your desk before retreating without prying too much- though the concern in his eyes lingered long after he left.

Lee Know, on the other hand, was less forgiving. When you’d sheepishly asked him through text for a favor, he left you on read without a single reply. The message was clear: get your act together.

Then there were Seungmin and Han. Unlike the others, they weren’t content to just drop off food and go. Seungmin, sharp-eyed and intuitive, had crossed his arms and leaned against your doorframe one afternoon, his voice tinged with amusement but lined with curiosity. “You wanna tell me what’s really going on?” he’d asked, his tone deceptively casual. When you shook your head, he’d sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

Han was less subtle. He’d plopped down outside your door once, knocking rhythmically until you opened up just a crack. “C’mon,” he coaxed, grinning mischievously. “Whatever happened can’t be that bad. Spill it.” You’d slammed the door in his face before he could say more, your face burning.

But tonight was different.

"So you like pulling hair, hm?" A deep voice drawled, the words barely a whisper before the tug on your hair sent a jolt through your entire body.

Your knees hit the floor, the sharp sting of the impact radiating through your legs, but it was nothing compared to the scorching heat that coursed through your veins. Felix stood above you, his dark eyes gleaming with an amusement that made your pulse quicken. His hand remained in your hair, pulling your head back with an ease that made you feel entirely at his mercy.

"Tell me, is that all you want from me?" His voice was low, teasing, almost dangerous. The question lingered in the air, thick and charged, as if daring you to admit something you weren’t sure you wanted to say.

You wanted to answer, wanted to insist that wasn’t the case at all. You couldn’t think like this about Felix. He was your best friend. He always had been. But the words stuck in your throat, none of the words formed in your head being able to come out. Instead, a single, breathless "Yes" escaped, and it felt like your whole world tilted.

"If I’d known sooner," Felix murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear, "I would've just given you what you wanted right away. Saved us both the trouble, huh?"

Heat flushed your skin. Shame mixed with something more dangerous, as his words settled into your chest like a weight. The rough pull on your hair made your breath catch. He didn’t have to speak again for you to understand the power he wielded over you in that moment.

"You thought you could hide it, didn’t you? Pervert."

The word hit like a slap, but it only stoked the fire burning deep inside you, a dangerous mixture of arousal and guilt. The feeling was intoxicating, suffocating, leaving you dizzy.

Your eyes flew open, your body jerking awake with a gasp as if you'd just surfaced from deep water. The darkness of your room enveloped you, but it did little to soothe the wild thrum in your chest. Your skin was sticky with sweat, the sheets clinging to you in uncomfortable heat.

Felix’s voice lingered in your ears, a faint whisper that refused to leave you. The echo of his touch, his hand in your hair, was still present, the warmth of it searing your scalp and making your body ache in places you didn’t want to acknowledge.

What the hell?

Your heart hammered in your chest, too fast, too loud. You couldn’t get his words out of your head: Pervert. The way he had looked down at you, amused, like he knew exactly what you were feeling. The power, the control. It was all wrong, and yet the heat between your legs told a different story.

"God," you whispered hoarsely, your body betraying you as you squeezed your thighs together, trying in vain to will the ache away. It was irrational, unwanted, but you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop thinking about Felix. Your best friend.

You shifted in the bed, throwing an arm over your face in a feeble attempt to block it all out. This was all your mind playing tricks on you. Your subconscious messing with you because of that stupid night, the one when you'd been curled up against him, your fingers brushing through his hair absently. The sound he made when you tugged at the strands had been so soft, so unexpected, that it had sent a bolt of heat straight to your core.

You hadn’t meant to pull his hair. You hadn’t meant to like it. You hadn’t meant for anything that followed to happen, either. But there was only so long you could tell yourself it was a mistake before it stopped feeling like one.

That night. That night when you’d asked- no, pleaded with him to let you watch. It had been an accident, a slip of the tongue, a momentary lapse in judgment. But it wasn’t just a mistake.

It wasn’t just one.

That was the part that made your chest tight with panic, the feeling that it had already happened once, and now you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

No. You wouldn’t let yourself do this again. You couldn’t.

It was just a dream, you repeated aloud, as if saying the words would make them true. Just a dream.

But even as the words left your lips, you knew they didn’t make sense. The ache, the heat, the guilt, they were real, and they felt dangerously real.

Just a dream.

-

You tried. You really did.

You buried yourself under your blankets, squeezed your eyes shut, and willed your mind to drift anywhere but back to him- to Felix’s voice, his touch, the ghost of his breath against your skin. But the harder you tried to suppress it, the more it clawed its way to the surface, relentless and consuming.

Sleep wouldn’t come. It never did on nights like this.

You rolled onto your side, gripping the sheets in frustration, your heart still unsteady. The dreams had unsettled you in ways you weren’t ready to confront. It wasn’t just the weight of his words, the way they had sent a shiver down your spine, it was everything else. The longing. The loss. The quiet, aching realization that you missed him.

Not just his touch, not just the confusing way your body had responded to him in your dream. You missed him.

His laugh would make his eyes sparkle, and always broke through the heaviest of silences. The way he clung to you without hesitation, throwing his arms around your shoulders or draping himself over you like it was second nature. You used to roll your eyes, shove him off playfully, but now? Now you felt cold without the weight of him, without the warmth of his presence filling the space beside you.

And you’d been avoiding him.

You’d kept your distance, hoping that space would clear your head, but it only made it worse. The days felt empty without his voice in them, without his brightness cutting through your usual gloom. Now everything seemed unbearably quiet.

A choked sound slipped past your lips before you even realized you were crying.

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you curled into yourself, gripping the pillow like it could somehow fill the space Felix left behind. You felt stupid. Weak. But no matter how hard you tried to push the feeling down, it only swelled, filling your chest with a pressure you couldn’t escape.

You missed him. You missed him so much it hurt.

You hated this. You hated yourself for feeling this way, for wanting him so badly when you weren’t even sure what it was you wanted. For running away when all you really wanted to do was run straight to him.

Why couldn't you have just said nothing that day? Why did you have to make a mess of things and then disappear? Why did you have to ruin everything with a few stupid words?

"Lixie..."

Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears, the words a strained, choked whisper.

"I miss you."

-

The next morning, the sky was overcast, threatening rain. A dull grey had settled over the world, the clouds hanging low in the sky, the air heavy and damp.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You were exhausted, having barely slept a wink, and the last thing you wanted to do was get up.

But there was a nagging sense of guilt, a persistent feeling that you should at least try. So, with great effort, you dragged yourself out of bed.

The house was quiet, the silence broken only by the distant patter of rain against the window. The kitchen was empty, the countertop clean and bare, as if nobody had touched it.

You stood in the empty kitchen, fingers ghosting over the cold countertop. The house was eerily still. No clatter of dishes, no muffled voices from the other rooms, no muffled music playing through the walls, nothing.

Felix wasn’t here.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up.

The hallway was dim, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound accompanying you as you stopped in front of his door. It was cracked open, just enough for you to push it the rest of the way without much effort.

The moment you stepped inside, his scent wrapped around you.

Warm, familiar, Felix.

A mix of something subtly sweet; maybe vanilla, and the faint trace of his cologne. It was so distinctly him that your chest tightened painfully, a strange feeling simmering under your skin.

Your gaze drifted over the room, taking in the familiar chaos. His desk was cluttered, papers scattered haphazardly, some crumpled at the edges like he’d been frustrated while working. His PC sat idle, a dark screen reflecting the dim light filtering in through the rain-streaked window.

And your eyes roamed to the other side, you saw them.

An array of different kinds of photos all together on his desk.

Your breath caught as you stepped closer, fingers hesitantly brushing over the small collection of photos.

It was you. Both of you.

Photos you don't even remember taking, one of you and him dressed for a formal night, a photo strip you guys took at a mall together, a picture of you sleeping on him.

He had kept these.

You swallowed hard, a wave of something you didn’t know how to name crashing over you. You didn't know what this meant right now, sure, it was normal to keep photos of your friends, but so close to his desk? A place he spends a lot of his time at?

Slowly, you turned away from the desk, eyes landing on his bed. The blanket on his mattress was messy, like he’d left in a hurry, and the sight of them made your stomach twist.

You shouldn’t. And you knew you shouldn’t.

But the weight of everything was too much, the pull of him too strong. Before you could second-guess yourself, you were crawling into his bed, sinking into the warmth of his space, his scent enveloping you completely.

Had he been sleeping well? Hopefully, he had some peace at night compared to you.

Or did he spend his nights thinking of you as well? Did he miss you too?

Did he stare at your photos until his eyes started to hurt, and then close them, wishing he could fall asleep and see you instead of the back of his eyelids?

Was it wrong to imagine him like this? To think about him the same way he had thought about you?

You weren’t sure. Maybe, probably, definitely.

But in the safety of his room, surrounded by his scent, the thought was too tempting to ignore.

Felix was your best friend. He had been since forever. And yet, you couldn’t help but think about him like this. The way he had looked at you, the way his fingers had curled around your chin, his gaze focused on you. The way his breath had hitched, the way he had pulled his lower lip between his teeth. The way his cheeks flushed.

He was beautiful. You knew that, you always had, but the thought never felt this... dangerous.

And he had looked at you. Just, only at you.

Like you were the only thing he could see. Like you were the only thing that mattered. Like he wanted to devour you, and it scared the shit out of you.

It was stupid. Irrational.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sheets, his scent overwhelming you in the best and worst way possible. It made your skin burn, your stomach twist, your mind spiral into places you shouldn’t let it go.

It wasn’t just missing him anymore.

It was wanting him.

The weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating in its intensity. You squeezed your eyes shut, biting down on your lip, desperately trying to will the feeling away. But it was useless.

You could still feel the ghost of his touch, the way his fingers had brushed against your skin, the way he had looked at you, really looked at you. Not as a friend. Not as someone he’d known forever. But as something else. Something more.

The memory of it sent a shiver down your spine.

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, but it only made things worse. The ache was unbearable, sharp and all-consuming. Your body was betraying you, responding to something you weren’t ready to admit to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, barely a whimper, and before you could stop it, a sob ripped through your chest.

Tears burned hot as they slid down your cheeks, frustration and guilt tangling into something unbearable. What was wrong with you? Why were you like this? Why did you have to ruin everything by feeling this way?

Felix was your best friend. Your best friend.

And yet, here you were, crying into his pillow because you wanted him so badly it hurt.

The sound of the door creaking open barely registered at first.

"Y/N?"

You froze.

The sound of Felix’s voice cut through the haze of your emotions like a blade, sharp and inescapable. It shouldn’t have been this way. You shouldn’t be in his bed, gripping his sheets like they were the only thing tethering you to the world. You shouldn’t be crying over him, missing him so desperately that it physically hurt.

You shouldn’t want him.

But you did.

And now, standing at the foot of the bed, Felix was looking at you, really looking at you, his damp hair from the rain clinging to his forehead, his lips slightly parted in shock. His eyes, warm and deep, flickered with too many emotions to decipher.

“Shit,” he breathed.

His voice was unsteady, like he wasn’t sure what to say, like he was trying to understand why you were here, curled up in his sheets, looking at him like he was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely.

He said your name again, softer this time, laced with concern.

You forced yourself to sit up, your fingers trembling as you swiped at your tear-streaked cheeks. The weight of his stare was suffocating. What are you even supposed to say? That you missed him? That you had spent nights aching for him, haunted by the way he used to fit into your life, into your space, into you?

You swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. "Sorry."

Felix’s brows furrowed. That was the last thing he expected you to say.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was quiet, but there was something else beneath it. Something careful. Something dangerous.

You hesitated. “I… I was looking for you.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Felix’s expression softened, his sharp features easing into something more familiar, something more him. He took a step closer, then another, hesitance flickering in his eyes like he was afraid you might bolt.

You didn’t.

Instead, you stayed still as he slowly, cautiously, sat down on the edge of the bed beside you.

The space between you was barely there, just inches separating your leg from his, the warmth of him reaching you before his touch did. The tension was suffocating, thick enough to drown in. It was the closest you had been to him in weeks, and the reality of it sent your pulse into a dizzying rhythm.

"Y/N…"

The way he said your name; gentle, almost pleading, made something inside you splinter.

He turned his body toward you, leaning in slightly, his voice softer than the rain against the window. “Are you okay?”

You wished he hadn’t asked.

The moment the words left his lips, something inside you gave way, cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding back.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it was useless. The flood was already coming.

A choked sob tore from your throat, your body betraying you as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. You shook your head, barely able to breathe through the tightness in your chest.

“No,” you whispered, broken and raw.

And then Felix moved. No hesitation as he reached for you, pulling you against him in one fluid motion, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt effortless. Like this is where you were meant to be.

His warmth consumed you instantly, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you even as your own breath came out uneven and shaky. He smelled like rain and something distinctly him, vanilla, musk, and home, it made your head spin.

You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie like he might disappear if you let go. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, his skin warm against your cheek. The scent of him, the weight of his arms around you, it was everything you had missed, everything you had craved but refused to admit.

Felix let out a breath against your hair, his grip tightening, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against your back. But you could feel it, the way his heartbeat wasn’t steady, the way his own breath was just slightly uneven.

Was he feeling this too?

Was this affecting him the way it was breaking you apart?

"Lix…" Your voice came out in a desperate whisper, muffled against his skin.

His arms flexed around you, just for a second.

"Don't-" he sighed, his tone heavy with something you couldn't quite place, "-don't say anything now."

He sounded tired, almost resigned, like he had finally come to terms with something he couldn't fight.

"I want to be selfish for a moment," he said quietly, his words sending a shiver down your spine, "just for a little while."

Your heart thudded against your ribs, too fast, too loud, a painful reminder that this was real. That he was holding you, that he was whispering against your hair, that he was breathing in your scent, and god, this wasn't supposed to be this way.

It wasn't supposed to be this painful.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself not to let more tears fall, not now, not when you were already clinging to him like a lifeline.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that, tangled in each other's arms, his hands tracing patterns against your back.

The rain continued to fall, a soft patter against the windows. The faint glow of the sky had shifted, the grey giving way to a warm orange hue as the sun dipped below the horizon. You weren't quite sure what happened in that time, the exhaustion finally kept up to you and the feeling in his arms was too good, and soon, sleep was pulling you under.

But just before the darkness took over, Felix spoke again, so quietly you could barely hear it, his breath ghosting against the shell of your ear.

"I missed you, too."

-

The first thing you registered upon waking was warmth.

The steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek lulling you into a state of half-consciousness. For a moment, you forgot where you were, caught in the hazy in-between of dreams and reality. Then, the scent of him filled your lungs, the slow, even heartbeat under your palm grounding you, and it all came rushing back.

You were in his bed.

Your breath hitched as the realization settled. He was still right next to you, you were still curled into him, his arms still loosely draped around you like he had never let go.

Maybe he hadn’t.

You barely dared to move, afraid of shattering whatever fragile moment this was. But the ache in your chest, the longing you had buried so deep, was unbearable. You wanted- no, needed to be closer. Just a little more.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted, nuzzling deeper into the crook of his neck, your nose brushing against his collarbone. His scent surrounded you, overwhelming and intoxicating, a cruel reminder of everything you had missed. Your fingers hesitated for only a second before they moved, ghosting along the hem of his hoodie before slipping underneath, meeting the warmth of his skin.

You could feel how he tensed under you.

It was barely perceptible, just the smallest hitch in his breath, the subtle tightening of his fingers against your waist. If you weren’t pressed against him, you might’ve missed it.

But you didn’t.

You stayed still for a moment, waiting. His breathing remained steady, deceptively even, as if he were still asleep. But you knew better. You knew him. The way his fingers twitched, the way his chest rose just a little too sharply, the way his lips were parted just so... it was all too careful.

Felix was awake.

But now, you couldn't afford to care. Your fingers, still under his hoodie, traced the bare skin of his stomach, featherlight, barely there. The muscles beneath your touch tensed slightly, his breath faltering for half a second before evening out again.

He was pretending.

You swallowed back a laugh, feeling emboldened by the way his body reacted despite his act. Slowly, you tilted your head up, your lips barely grazing the line of his jaw, soft and unintentional, or at least, that’s how you wanted it to seem. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallowed breath, and the smallest noise, something between a sigh and a hum, escaped his throat.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

“Felix,” you murmured against his skin, your voice low and sweet, testing, teasing.

His grip on your waist tightened, a fraction too firm, and this time, he didn’t bother to hide the way he inhaled sharply.

You smiled against his jaw. “Are you asleep?”

Nothing.

No response.

Just silence and the pounding of both your hearts in the space between you.

Your lips ghosted down, soft and unhurried, tracing the line of his throat. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, fast and uneven, betraying him in a way his stillness couldn’t. Your hand slid higher under his hoodie, your fingertips brushing over the warm planes of his abdomen, teasing along the defined lines.

Then, just as your lips met the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, Felix finally broke.

A sharp inhale, a barely contained shudder, and then—

“Y/N.”

His voice was rough, breathless, like he had been holding it back for too long.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and he was staring back at you, heavy-lidded, filled with something unreadable yet entirely unmistakable. His lips were parted slightly, his breath uneven, and the way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt him shift, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers grazing your skin beneath your shirt. His touch was deliberate, careful, like he was grounding himself. Or maybe grounding you.

“You knew,” you accused, voice barely above a whisper.

Felix’s lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk, but there was something softer beneath it, something hesitant.

“Of course I knew,” he murmured, his thumb stroking absent patterns against your hip. “You’re not subtle.”

Heat curled low in your stomach, and you hated how easily he could turn the tables with just a look, a touch, a word.

His eyes flickered to your lips.

Your breath caught.

Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, Felix whispered, “What are you doing?”

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping his hoodie as if that would steady you. You didn’t have an answer. Or maybe, you had too many.

But right now, in this moment, none of them mattered.

Because all you could think about was how close he was, how his hand was splayed against your skin, how his lips were right there, and how neither of you seemed willing to pull away.

How easy it would be to just lean in.

Your breath trembled, shaky and desperate, as you leaned in, just enough for your lips to graze his, barely a whisper of a touch. But it was enough. The moment they made contact, a sharp, electric shiver shot down your spine, spreading heat through your entire body. Felix’s breath hitched, and for a fleeting second, he stayed still, holding his breath, as if unsure how to respond.

But the moment you started to pull back, his fingers dug into your hip, pulling you back toward him with a quiet urgency that sent your heart pounding. His lips parted, and the sound that escaped him; a relieved sigh, broke you completely. It was so raw, so needy, and it undid you in ways you hadn’t expected.

You couldn’t stop yourself. Your fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently, guiding him closer as you let him pull you in. The soft strands slipped through your fingers, and you could hear him, so close to you, making those quiet, broken, desperate sounds that made everything inside you burn. The heat in your stomach twisted, a knot of need that only seemed to grow tighter as his hand slid higher along your back, pulling you flush against him, pressing you harder into him like he couldn’t get enough.

The second kiss wasn’t tentative. It was hungry. A deep, urgent collision of lips and tongues, slow but with a hunger that left you both breathless. His lips moved against yours, teasing and tasting, savoring. When you sighed into him, something broke, both of you, releasing any last semblance of restraint.

His grip on you tightened, turning desperate, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips parted against yours, moving over you with an intensity that sent a wave of heat crashing over you. You moaned quietly, fingers framing his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks before your hands tangled deeper into his hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, to taste him, to lose yourself in him.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, raw and broken, as he exhaled shakily against your lips. His fingers slipped under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending waves of fire over your skin as they traced the curve of your spine, leaving a trail of heated promises. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut, his breath a shallow, uneven rhythm. He was barely holding back.

“Y/N,” he rasped, and the way he said your name; like it was the only tether keeping him grounded, sent a shiver straight through you.

Your breath came in sharp, uneven pulls, your mind spinning as you forced yourself to break away. Your forehead pressed against his, and for a brief moment, you tried to gather your thoughts, but the haze of heat clouded your mind, leaving nothing but need, nothing but him.

What the hell were you doing?

Felix was your best friend. Your sweet, goofy, sunshine of a best friend. But right now, there was nothing sweet or goofy about the way he looked at you.

You were now- somehow, straddling his lap, your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips swollen from his kisses. And Felix- Felix looked absolutely wrecked. His pupils were blown wide, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pants as he stared at you like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. His hoodie had slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin, flushed with heat, and the sight of him like this; disheveled, desperate, waiting, had your stomach twisting with pure, aching want.

“Fuck.” The curse slipped out before you could stop it, your voice shaking with everything you were feeling. Because you knew.

You weren’t stopping.

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and that was it. That was all it took for the last fraying thread of restraint to snap.

You crashed into him, and he met you with just as much desperation.

The kiss was nothing like before. It was raw, all heat and hunger, lips moving together in a mess of gasps and teeth and need. His hands were on you in an instant, gripping your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt, fingers splayed across your back like he needed to feel every inch of your skin against his.

You gasped into his mouth, and the sound made him shudder beneath you, his nails pressing into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. The friction sent a dizzying wave of heat through you, making your stomach tighten, making you crave more, more, more.

Your hands roamed, desperate to touch him, to make him fall apart beneath you. You dragged your nails lightly down his scalp, and the noise that left his lips; low, needy, wrecked, shot straight through you, pooling molten heat between your legs.

“Fuck, Felix,” you breathed against his lips, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard it. You knew he did, because he groaned, his hands gripping your waist harder, grinding up into you without thinking. The feeling of him beneath you, warm and hard and completely lost in you, sent a sharp thrill through your veins.

Your lips parted, and he took the opportunity, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and slow, tasting, savoring. The way he kissed you; like he was drowning in it, in you, had you whimpering into his mouth, had your fingers fisting his hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“Shit-” He pulled back just enough to breathe, but his forehead was still pressed against yours, his lips hovering over yours like he couldn’t bear to be too far away. His voice was hoarse, ruined, his breath warm and heavy against your mouth. “Y/N…”

He couldn't seem to say anything else.

You swallowed, the ache between your legs growing more insistent by the second. Your body was burning, aching for him, and the fact that he was so hard beneath you, grinding up into you without hesitation, only made it worse.

You could feel the way his body tensed, the way his hips moved against yours, slow, experimental. His breaths were coming out in shallow pants, his lips parted, and his expression... he looked completely and utterly wrecked.

Your heart stuttered as it hit you all at once.

This was why you had kept him at a distance, why you had refused to let yourself linger too long in the warmth of his presence, why you had forced yourself to ignore every stolen glance, every lingering touch.

The realization crashed into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

You liked him.

Not just as your best friend. Not just in the way you always told yourself was innocent. No, this was something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for longer than you cared to admit. And now, with him beneath you, his lips swollen, his breath ragged, his body trembling with want, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Felix was wrecked. But so were you.

A shaky exhale fell from your lips. You didn't want to think. Not now, not when everything was falling apart. All you wanted, all you could think about, was him.

Felix was unraveling beneath you. And you, God, you weren’t any better.

His hands trembled against your skin, his grip on you tight, unrelenting, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged breaths, his swollen lips parted, so aching.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, it felt like your heart was working overtime—what you were feeling in other places wasn't any better. And yet, when you shifted in his lap, when you rolled your hips against him, just to see, just to feel, Felix gasped, his head tipping back, a low moan falling from his lips.

“Y/N-” His voice wavered, his fingers digging into your waist. “Fuck, don’t-”

He cut himself off with a shuddering breath, his body tensing, his eyes screwing shut. You feel him trembling beneath you as you did it again, slower this time, you could feel your clothed core rub against the length of him with an unhurried, intoxicating friction. It caused your swollen clit to drag deliciously against the fabric of both of your clothes, causing you to throw your head back.

His hands flew to your thighs, gripping hard, as if to steady himself. A sound tore from his throat, breathless and wrecked, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, so desperate it made your entire body burn. So deep that it brought a chill up and down each vertebra of your spine.

“Shit-” His fingers flexed against your skin, his breathing erratic. “I can’t- I can’t fucking think when you do that.”

The confession sent a heady rush through you, and made something dark and hungry curl in your stomach. You wanted more. You wanted to hear him fall apart even more. You leaned in, lips ghosting over his jaw, down the column of his throat, feeling the way his pulse pounded beneath your mouth.

A soft whine left his lips, his hips jerking up into yours without warning, and the feeling, the friction, had you moaning softly into his skin. His fingers gripped your thighs, digging into the soft flesh, and the slight sting, the thought of his grip leaving a mark had heat pooling low in your stomach.

A sharp knock at the door sent a jolt through both of you, the sound cutting through the thick haze of heat that had settled in the room.

“Felix?”

Chan’s voice was muffled through the wood, but it was clear, steady, completely unaware of the way you and Felix were currently tangled together, breathless and trembling.

Felix went rigid beneath you, fingers twitching against your thighs before they fell away entirely, like he’d just realized where they were. His wide, dazed eyes snapped up to yours, his expression shifting from desperate hunger to sheer panic in a matter of seconds.

You barely had time to process the loss of his touch before Chan spoke again.

“Have you seen Y/N?” A pause. “She wasn’t in her room when I checked, and I- oh, uh, I brought breakfast for everyone.”

Felix made a choked sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a quiet curse.

Your stomach dropped.

Your face burned, your breath still coming in short, uneven pulls as reality came crashing back down on you.

Felix looked just as wrecked, just as breathless, his chest still heaving beneath you, lips swollen and parted like he was still stuck somewhere between the moment you’d shared and the one you were currently panicking through.

You had to move. You had to get up, act normal, open the door, something-

But then you shifted, and the second you felt the hard press of him against you, felt the way your own body was still burning from the friction of before, you realized something else entirely.

You couldn’t leave like this.

Felix must have come to the same realization at the same time, because his hands shot out, gripping your waist, holding you still before you could make it worse. His jaw clenched, his eyes screwing shut as he inhaled sharply through his nose, trying- failing to steady himself.

A quiet curse slipped from his lips.

You swallowed thickly, your heart hammering as Chan’s voice rang out again, a little more hesitant this time.

“Felix?”

Felix’s throat bobbed, his grip on you tightening for a fleeting moment before he forced himself to speak, voice hoarse and uneven.

“Uhm- yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

There was a pause.

“…Are you okay?”

Felix glanced at you, but you felt like you were on fire.

“Yeah!” He cleared his throat, scrambling for composure, but the breathless edge to his voice betrayed him immediately.

Felix’s grip on your waist tightened, as if desperately begging you not to move.

Chan hummed on the other side of the door, completely oblivious. “Alright, well, hurry up and come eat. I got enough for everyone. And please- please," he paused for a moment, trying to find the right words, "just call Y/N, it's not good for either of you to keep fighting.”

A beat of silence. Then-

The sound of retreating footsteps.

You both exhaled at the same time.

It took a second for the tension to shift, for the weight of what had just happened to sink in.

And then-

Felix groaned, dropping his head back against his pillow, running a hand over his face. “Oh my God.”

You swallowed, staring at him, your entire body still burning from the inside out.

He was still hard beneath you.

And you- well, you weren’t exactly in a better state.

You licked your lips, nerves twisting in your stomach as you tried to force yourself to move, to think, to figure out how you were supposed to get out of this mess without making it even worse.

Felix beat you to it.

“We can’t leave like this.” His voice was low, strained.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “I know.”

A pause.

His throat bobbed. “I-” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your waist like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I can- figure something out. Just- just give me a second.”

He was trying so hard to be responsible about this, to be rational, to get through this without making it worse.

But your mind was still spinning from before, still drowning in the memory of his body beneath yours, the sounds he had made, the way he had looked at you like he couldn’t think about anything else.

And maybe that was why the next words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I can take care of it.”

Silence.

Felix froze.

Your stomach twisted at the way his breath hitched, at the way his fingers tightened against your skin like he wasn’t sure he had heard you correctly.

His eyes found yours, searching, disbelieving.

“…What?”

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. “Just- just let me, please.”

Something flickered across his expression, something hesitant and utterly wrecked. You could see the thoughts racing through his mind, the questions, the uncertainty, the sheer disbelief at what you had just suggested.

But when he spoke, his voice was quieter this time, more vulnerable.

“But..." he swallowed, his eyes searching your face, "you won’t run away after?”

You paused, something in his voice making your chest ache.

How could he think you would do that? After everything?

But then again, hadn't you pushed him away first? Didn't he have every right to think something like that from you?

Guilt simmered in your chest, you couldn't run this time.

"No, I won’t run," you said softly.

Felix held your gaze, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he was trying to figure out if you meant it.

"J- Just this once... then..?" His voice wavered, unsure, hesitant, but you could tell how much he wanted this. How much he had been waiting for this.

Just this once?

You don't know why, but even though you've heard those words before, this time they left a sharp sting in your chest.

You couldn't tell if it was guilt or not. Maybe it was the idea that he just saw this as a one-time thing. Or I guess, two-time thing now.

You shook the thoughts away, letting out a deep breath as you slowly got off of him, moving into a spot in between his legs and crouching down, and his head raises at the sudden change in position.

You don't have much experience when it comes to giving handjobs, so you were just going to follow what he did last time with the addition of a few things that you researched yourself. You had already seen him do it up close, the way his fingers tightened around the base of his shaft before sliding upwards in a slow movement. He had taken his time with himself, drawing it out and keeping it steady, the movements practiced and sure.

His breathing grew a little more ragged when he realized where this was heading. He started to sit up, his expression wary, a protest rising to his lips. But the moment his hand dropped to cover himself, your fingers found his. You could feel them twitching.

He fell still.

Your chest tightened.

His lips parted, a small gasp escaping, eyes fluttering closed as you let your hand hesitantly outline the trace of his length, replacing his hand. Your hand slid upwards, mimicking what his other hand did.

You didn't look up, didn't dare meet his eyes. But you could feel the weight of his gaze.

It's the same, yet different. This time you are touching him, it's you making him feel that way, the soft gasps falling from his lips, the way he's biting back a moan, it's because of you. You try to copy the things you saw him do, tightening your grip just enough and letting the pressure slide slowly upwards. Your heart skips at the sound of Felix's breath stuttering, the way his muscles tense, the way his fingers dig into his thighs, holding on, struggling not to react too much.

His lips were parted, his breaths coming in shallow, uneven pulls as your hand moved against his clothed length in an unhurried, almost lazy pace. You kept your eyes down, unable to bear seeing what was in his eyes. Unable to bear seeing the look you'd put on his face.

Felix wasn't unaffected either. You could feel the tension in his muscles, feel the way his thighs twitched when you stroked his cock through his pants, the way he gasped and whimpered softly. You were suddenly very aware of just how close you were, your fingers moving beneath him, brushing his own every few moments as he moved. The air in the room had changed, shifted.

You were acutely aware of every sound, every hitch of breath, every shaky exhale, of the heat coming from his skin and the scent of his skin so close, and it was like every one of your senses had sharpened.

"Uhm..." you hestitate, wondering how to ask without embarrassing yourself too much, "can- can I?" You asked shyly, gesturing to his pants and hoping he'd get the idea, and when he doesn't respond for a while you looked up to see his face filled with confusion.

You exhaled, feeling your cheeks burn as you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes, trying not to stare too long at his swollen lips, his mussed hair, at how utterly disheveled he looked, and tried to make your voice more clear, "can I touch you... like- without... the pants?"

His throat bobbed, his Adam's apple dipping before his lips parted to say something, but it took him a while before he finally managed to let out a choked sound. "O- Oh-" his voice faltered, cracking under pressure. He took in a shuddering breath, nodding hesitantly. "Y- Yeah- Yeah, okay."

You swallowed, shifting in your spot between his legs as your hands went down to tug at his waistband, letting your knuckles brush against his skin as you pulled his pants lower, feeling a flutter of heat low in your stomach.

He was watching you with half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark and unreadable. His breath was coming in short, uneven pulls as he leaned back, bracing himself against his hands. You couldn't help but glance at his chest, watching it rise and fall with every unsteady breath. He looked... vulnerable, almost soft in the dim light of his bedroom, like this, in a way he never usually did.

His jaw was still clenched tight, and he swallowed, the bobbing motion of his throat drawing your eye for a moment before you dragged your gaze back down.

Your fingers trailed along his waist, feeling his muscles tense under your touch as you finally pulled his pants down enough, freeing him from the restraints of his clothes.

He was aching, and hard, the tip swollen and pink. Your stomach tightened at the sight of him, at the memory of last time and everything you felt then.

You started slow, like he did. Letting your palm glide smoothly over his tip, his hips stuttering into the air at the contact, letting out a broken noise, and when you didn't move your hand any further, he let out a breath. His body was wound up like a coil, every muscle taut and rigid, waiting for your next move.

Your grip tightened, stroking upwards in a slow movement that drew a low groan from deep within his throat. He gasped, his chest heaving, his breaths ragged and uneven.

"God- fuck, you-" he let out another strangled moan, his voice strained and raw.

His hips rocked into the air, thrusting up to meet your palm, his movements needy and desperate. The sound of him panting beneath you was sending shivers down your spine, sending heat coursing through you like electricity.

He was reacting way more than last time, every touch, every brush of your skin against his sending him into a spiral of pleasure. It was intoxicating, watching him lose himself under your hands, hearing him gasp and whine, his moans and groans like music to your ears, knowing you're the one doing this to him, to make him lose control, to fall apart at your fingertips, knowing how much power you had over him at that moment.

The knowledge left you lightheaded, dizzy with a rush of heady power as you sped up your hand just slightly. He was completely and utterly lost, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly, his fingers twisting in the sheets as he struggled to breathe, to hold himself together. You felt the tension in his thighs, heard the sharp hiss that escaped through clenched teeth, felt the tremors running through him.

You felt your clit pulse, the sore feeling causing you to squeeze your thighs together. It felt so good. You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, soaking your underwear.

It wasn't long before he was teetering on the edge, his head thrown back against his pillow, eyes screwed shut, his chest heaving as he tried to hold himself together.

"Felix..?" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire, the sound of your name falling from his lips only serving to make you throb harder, the feeling between your thighs almost too much to handle.

"Yes-" his voice was raw and rough, broken as it was forced from his throat, a groan cutting through the silence, a desperate whimper escaping him as he finally let himself go. "Yes, I'm so fucking close-"

It didn't take long before he was shaking apart beneath your touch, a shuddering moan leaving his lips as his back arched, his hips bucking up into the air. He came undone with your name on his lips, his fingers twisting in the bed sheets. The way he sounded as he came was the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. His voice was hoarse and shaky as he whispered your name like a prayer, as he trembled and shook and let himself unravel under your touch.

He fell apart and came undone, spilling himself on his own stomach with your name on his lips. The sight made something warm and fuzzy pool in the pit of your stomach, something you'd never felt before, something you'd never let yourself feel. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, from the way he looked in that moment. It was so intense, so intimate. It felt so real and raw, and it hit you in a way you never expected it to.

Your gaze drifted lower, your heart stuttering at the sight of his mess, his stomach painted with white. You were transfixed by the sight, unable to stop staring even as he shuddered beneath you, gasping and trembling as the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. He collapsed back on the bed with a sigh, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His hair was plastered against his forehead, his face flushed and sweaty, but he looked so extremely hot nonetheless. His lips were swollen and parted as he stared at you with half-lidded eyes, completely blown from arousal, from how good you'd made him feel.

The sight had you aching for release. You bit back a groan as your cunt throbbed.

He watched you with glazed eyes as you leaned over and grabbed the towel you'd seen on the ground. You pressed it gently against his stomach to wipe him.

It's like he didn't care if you'd seen it or not, he was completely undone, boneless, his entire body still buzzing, still high from his release. He let out a soft hum when he felt you touch his stomach. He was so warm. He looked like a cat who got what it wanted.

Felix let out a content sigh as you wiped him down, his body loose and pliant beneath your touch. His head was still tilted back against the pillow, eyes heavy-lidded and glassy, but when you shifted to move away, he blinked up at you, something soft and almost hesitant in his gaze.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I-” He swallowed, his fingers twitching where they rested by his sides. “I can help you, too.”

Your breath caught.

The air between you shifted again, his offer sending a rush of heat through you, settling low in your stomach. The way he looked at you, all earnest and drowsy and still so, so beautiful- it had you aching all over again.

"But-"

You hesitated, panic creeping in around the edges of your mind. It wasn’t that you didn’t want it. You did. But now that the haze was clearing, now that the heat of the moment was cooling just slightly, reality started creeping back in.

Too much time had passed.

You couldn’t still be in here when breakfast had already been announced.

You forced yourself to swallow down the nervous lump in your throat, shaking your head as you pulled away. “No, it’s fine. We should-” You cleared your throat, trying to sound as normal as possible. “We should clean up. Breakfast is waiting.”

Felix stilled for a second, his expression flickering- hurt, then understanding, then something else entirely.

He didn’t argue.

But you saw it- the way his face fell slightly, the way guilt settled in his features. Like he thought he’d done something wrong.

You reached out, squeezing his wrist briefly.

“It’s okay,” you murmured.

He nodded, but you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced.

Still, he got up, following your lead as you both cleaned yourselves up. You made sure to go first, slipping out of his room quickly so it wouldn’t look suspicious.

The moment you stepped into the dining area, a chorus of voices erupted around you.

“Oh my God, she lives.”

“Finally out of your room, huh?”

“You good? You were MIA for a while.”

You barely had time to sit down before a hand smacked your back playfully. Jisung grinned at you from across the table, a knowing glint in his eyes. “We were just about to plan a funeral for you, what happened?”

You swallowed thickly, your face burning. “I was sick,” you blurted out, the first excuse that popped into your head.

Jisung’s brows shot up. “Sick?”

Hyunjin snorted. “What, like love sick?”

Your stomach flipped, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. “No, dumbass. Just… sick.”

Jisung hummed, unconvinced, but he let it go in favor of stuffing his mouth full of food.

The table returned to its usual chaotic energy, playful banter bouncing back and forth between the members. You joined in where you could, laughing when Changbin and Minho bickered over the last pancake, Chan stepping in, telling them they had to leave it for Felix. You felt a little lighter now that the focus had shifted off of you.

But then, you felt him before you saw him.

Felix.

Emerging from his room, freshly cleaned up, hair still slightly damp, eyes sweeping the room before they landed on you.

Your stomach clenched, your breath catching in your throat.

He looked normal. He looked composed. Like nothing had happened.

But the second his gaze met yours, you knew.

You clenched your thighs together instinctively, forcing yourself to look away, shoving a spoonful of food into your mouth as a distraction.

Felix sat down across from you, grabbing a plate, acting as if everything was normal.

But you could feel it.

The tension still lingered, simmering beneath the surface, waiting.

And you had no idea how long you could keep pretending it wasn’t there.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

tags for beauties : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88, @velvetmoonlght, @honeyybbuubblleess, @skzswife, @c9b7luv, @lixies-favorite-cookie, @yeetfellx, @lailac13, @amortiff, @crazylinofangirl, @sunshinesfreckless, @darkwitchoferie, @sanriomilk, @st4rv3lly, @skybluelixie, @potentialgay, @ana006banankica-blog

[glitchgh0sty]

🎵 if you’re ready for some lore and ya know it, clap your hands 🎶👏👏

Essentially, Decepticon!Prowlers got some, *cough* upgrades that I should probably mention,,

[Lots of exposition beneath cut 🫶TuŤ]

During Prowls earlier days as tactician for the Decepticons,, his superiors found that his tactical strategies tended to increase in accuracy when surveying the ongoing battles from a 1st person perspective,,

Close field monitoring made it easier for him to guesstimate percentages [and become desensitized to immediate battle brutality], The troops he was in charge of began to survive more and more frequently due to his input,, and because of this he was put in charge of more and more squadrons.

However, this comes as no surprise to us, Prowl is a powerful tactician after all. ✨

But Shockwaves understanding of his talent might be a little more, how to put it,, twisty?? Essentially, Shockwave noticed that Prowl’s accuracy increased the more integrated he was into the physical senses of the soldiers in the squandrant he was surveying. Up until that point Prowl had been receiving his data through the lens of a faulty camera located somewhere on a select infantry soldiers frame, and had become too valuable to send to the frontlines where all the most important data was being received,,

So?

Shockwave had a little idea ✨

Dedicate that infantry soldier to be Prowls eyes, modify that soldier so Prowl may see what they see, hear what they hear, feel what they feel. One frame practically living in another,, integrate it so that both Prowl and the soldier take on modifications, such as,,

Prowl: Split doorwings for more data collection / sensitivity, hooks pried between wrist plates for more immediate machine response, and plz just take your worst nightmare and put it right where the processor goes

Infantry / Soldier: Forced installation of heavy weaponry, optic replacement, and a series of wires installed throughout the frame to connect to every sensitivity nerve imaginable, like someone’s put a second layer over all of your 5 senses, but like, inside your body

Prowl would be able to access everything the soldier senses without the ability to physically interfere with whatever the soldier is doing.

Think of it this way. He is able to fully experience whatever that soldier is going through,, [though he often disables the inconvenience of pain], but he isn’t able to move the soldiers blaster or make that soldier walk. He is simply a spectator who analyzes the given data to be sent to the leaders of the troops as tactical command

Prowl is also highly adverse to the idea of being in direct contact with the foot soldiers over the course of the battle as it seems to negatively effect group cooperation when one dude is acting like their lowkey - high key possessed [because having Prowl communicate with them is less like a signal interception and more like someone is moving your mouth to make you hear things you don’t know yet]. Because of this Prowl is only able to [and only has the desire to] contact the Generals directly.

Even if that soldier is in danger, ESPECIALLY if that soldier is in danger,, Prowl would not interfere audibly with them due to the fact that the Autobots have been redoubling their efforts in discovering the significance of these [Ghost] soldiers as every time they get rid of one, another simply comes to take their place with eerily similar tactical style

If you’ve made it this far?? Please take this spoof as compensation cause ohmigosh that was a lot of words 🫶TuŤ:

[spookierdeer]

OL EUA YUGQ G XGOYOT OT MXGVK PAOIK, OZ ZAXTY OTZU G MXGVK. NGVVE NGRRUCKKT! 🎃⚠️

(costume talk and yapping under the cut)

starting from back to the front:

stan and ford are handing out candy this year, stan dressed in his vampire costume and planning to scare kids and ford is wearing a mabel (turtleneck!) pumpkin sweater, about as festive as he's willing to dress up this year. ford was originally planning to hole himself up in his lab and work on data analysis or whatever nerd shit he has going on but stan invites him to help scare the hell out of kids. ford declines initially, better things to do, but after checking to see how stan's doing (badly), ford decides to help by bursting out of the bushes with a glowing laser gun, face cloaked in shadow. it's more fun than he expects or admits and he eventually fully joins stan.

soos and melody are trick or treating in a couple costume, soos as zelda and melody as link. melody wanted to cosplay link for awhile and you cannot convince me soos wouldn't jump at the chance to dress up as a badass anime elf princess who can fire lasers.

mabel, pacifica, and waddles are dressed as utena, anthy, and chu chu respectively. i have a headcanon that post working at the diner and slowly getting used to normal kid things, pacifica discovers anime. specifically shojo princess anime. she finds utena and loses her mind over it in private, with mabel eventually breaking down her walls and getting her to admit to the sin of liking anime. mabel gets pacifica to show her her favorites and mabel immediately insists they need to cosplay as utena and anthy for halloween, pacifica is a princess after all! (said in jest, but baby gay panic ensues on pacifica's end. mabel is pretty oblivious to her plight and doesn't realize why being pacifica's knight makes her feel so giddy until later on.)

dipper sees pacifica joining mabel as an excuse to flake out on trick or treating without being a total jerk, especially since they'll be joined by candy and grenda later. i know he's working on not trying to grow up too fast by the end of the series, but kids and teens are full of anxiety and doubts and i figure he would be pretty awkward about a lot of things still, even after learning otherwise. wirt doesn't want to dress up since the previous halloween ended with him in the unknown then waking up in the hospital, but greg still wants to go trick or treating. dipper tags along to help babysit greg despite it not really being necessary, wirt's just glad to have someone to chat with while he takes greg, especially someone who doesn't leap to finding him strange. greg is going as a ghost elephant and wirt assumes it's just the weird kid tradition of layering costumes over the years, but greg's logic is that he "died" as an elephant last year so now the elephant is a ghost. if wirt heard this he would probably end up freaked out, but kids are often more aware of things than expected. dipper is wearing wendy's hat since she traded with him at the end of the series.

putting wirt and greg in there could feel a little random, but these are my two favorite shows to watch during autumn and i associate them with each other. plus, it's otgw's ten year anniversary and it's so perfectly halloween, i think it makes enough sense to put them together. idk i love joy and whimsy, i am cringe and i am free.

i initally wanted to include other characters, candy, grenda, and wendy for sure but i was also considering coraline, wybie, and norman. felt way too complicated so maybe i'll draw something with those characters some other time.

[greyskyflowers]

I'm just such a big fan of Edwin having some permanent issues after a second trip to hell and the final run in with Esther.

I like the idea that he actually has to sleep now. Nowhere near what a living human needs but more then he ever needed before. Maybe sleeping for several hours every few weeks.

Iron wounds take longer to heal, even though Edwin has always had a higher pain tolerance due to his experiences in hell.

When he's really tired, things start to hurt. Tender pain along all his joints, the spots where the demon spider found it was the easiest to tear him apart.

He get bruises under his eyes, headaches, occasionally a little chill, stiffness, and just a general aching all over his body.

It's hard for Edwin to sleep, for several reasons. Nightmares, anxiety, restlessness, and just being stubborn.

The vulnerability of sleep is terrifying.

The idea of leaving Edwin alone somewhere to sleep, even in their office, has Charles skin pickling. Especially knowing Edwin is also reluctant to sleep without him there.

So, Edwin does not sleep alone. Ever. Occasionally he gets left with Niko, and sometimes Crystal, but it's for very brief amounts of time before he's back with Charles.

It should be embarrassing to have these issues now, and it is, but they're even closer after Port Townsend and it's not something Edwin can avoid. He has to sleep now.

Really, it comes down to does he wants to keep it to himself and nap when no one else is around to avoid feeling weak? Or does he want to sleep with the comfort of knowing someone is with him and hell won't take him before he even gets a chance to wake up?

It comes down to how fearful is he of something dragging him off into hell again and the answer is apparently incredibly so.

Also, if he's going to look vulnerable and weak then it might as well be with Charles, who's seen him at his worst.

He tries not to overthink how pleased Charles is each time Edwin seeks him out for a nap or how good it feels to be held, the safest place he can think of is in Charles arms or under his sharp watch.

Charles hovers, and he's aware of it. He can't convince himself to stray too far from Edwin. Part of it's because he's protective, reluctant to leave Edwin in anyone else's hands when he's more vulnerable then before.

Part of it is selfish, he's a little possessive. A sleeping Edwin is not something anyone else needs to see. Edwin in pain is not something anyone else needs to see.

Crystal had recently demanded they have a bed available in the office for when her and Niko stayed over, even though they rarely use it. It's soft, covered in pillows and blankets, and Edwin has taken to hiding away in it when he sleeps. Crystal looks incredibly pleased when it slips that Edwin uses it and Charles is hit with a intense wave of fondness for her.

No one needs to see Edwin like this. Especially not when he loses a lot of his layers and curls up in something more comfortable. It leaves him vulnerable, his throat and wrists bare, and looking smaller without all extra clothing.

Nobody needs to see how he only really lets himself sleep when Charles is in bed with him or close enough in the room to reach out for if needed. He watches Charles do whatever it is he's doing with half lidded eyes, a strip of green that stubbornly stays visible until Charles is closer.

In the beginning they thought it was something temporary. Ghost don't need to sleep, Charles never sleeps. Sometimes he can get himself to relax enough that it's almost like sleeping but it's not anywhere near actual sleep.

They think it's just him trying to make up what Esther took.

But it keeps happening. Again and again.

And it makes them both anxious. Charles is worried about why Edwin suddenly needs to sleep but Edwin is worried about the actual sleeping part.

He does not want to sleep. Sleep means dreaming and nothing good will come from his dreams, he's sure of it.

It's also scary. Sleep is a weakness, it leaves him vulnerable and unaware. He doesn't want to sleep.

In those first few weeks where they all still thought this would pass, exhaustion caught up to him one evening as they were finishing up a long case. Charles was out and he couldn't even think about how wonderful it would be to go to go lay down because Charles was not there.

The office was too quiet. It made him restless and he would have paced but he was feeling especially sore that day. His hands had ached while he was writing and he had to stop frequently to flex them.

He was weak, alone, and rapidly sliding into a decreased mental awareness due to exhaustion. It's not a situation he liked.

They weren't apart for long those days, and still aren't, so Charles is back pretty quickly but it's long enough that Edwin was struggling. He blinked sleepily at Charles, with eyes that itched when they shouldn't have, and he must have looked terrible because Charles straightened up a little bit and his eyes jumped around the room before he relaxed.

He said something, dropped his bag and walked forward until he could put his hands on Edwin and that's it. Edwin leaned forward until he was relying on Charles to hold him up, turned his face into his neck and passed out still standing up.

It doesn't get that bad again. Charles is good about noticing when Edwin starts to slow down, and when it takes him a little longer to string his words together or explain himself. He picks up the way he carries himself different on day where things hurt a little more or how he rubs his temple when he feels a headache coming on.

He herds Edwin to bed like a sheep dog and makes sure everything is locked up so they won't be bothered. Edwin had managed to find a spell that would keep anyone else, living and none, out of their office when activated. It's perfect for extra privacy and security.

Charles hates that Edwin was hurt enough that he needs this now, and he hates seeing him wore down and exhausted... but part of him loves these days.

Edwin sleepy and soft, usually pulling Charles down with him until they're under all the blankets and pillows, tucked on their own little world.

He clings when he sleeps. He buries his face in Charles throat and under his chin like he's trying to hide, presses in as close as he can until they're completely tangled together. Not that Charles has any problem with that. He runs his fingers over skin in soothing gestures and pulls him in close if he starts to show any signs of a nightmare.

He wakes up with hair sticking up and clothes rumpled, blinking at Charles a few times as he tries to wake up enough to remember what's happening. Sometimes, Charles gets lucky and Edwin will stretch out like a cat before readjusting himself to be close again and doze off for a little longer.

It knocks the breath he doesn't need out of his lungs and love sits in his throat until it threatens to choke him.

Sometimes there are nightmares and Edwin shoves himself away desperately with a pained and fearful noise that has Charles cringing. Edwin stares at him from the other side of the bed, eyes big but unfocused in a way that shows he's not actually seeing Charles. He's tight, tense and completely locked up. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. They're both still laying down, and Charles doesn't move even though he wants to. He starts talking, low and soft, keeps doing that until Edwin starts to relax again. It's a slow process and it takes a while before Edwin is relaxed enough that Charles can reach out and coax him back closer. He's exhausted after those little episodes, too tired and his body too sore from being so tense to put up much of a fight as Charles tucks him in close again. Sometimes he's asleep before they're even settled back in, limp with sleep as Charles rearranges him in a way that won't have him aching when he wakes up.

Sometimes Charles is too wired to lay down, even if cuddling is great motivation, and he keeps himself busy while Edwin rests. Sometimes they're in the middle of a case and there's still work that needs to be done, so he does what can while until Edwin is back up and functional.

It's a powerful feeling, having Edwin trust him so much and so openly. Sometimes Charles has to check on him, the quiet and unmoving lump on the bed making him nervous until he looks him over, just to make sure everything is okay. It's hard to tell sometimes since they don't breathe like the living, and Edwin sleeps so quiet. He doesn't even flinch at Charles getting close, nothing triggering those survival instincts gained in hell that would have him awake and moving if it was anyone else this close.

God help anyone stupid enough to try something when they're like this. He'd fight anyone who disturbed them, anyone who woke Edwin up from his much needed rest or threaten to cause them harm. It burns under his skin and it makes his teeth itch.

Nothing would separate them. Nothing could take them away from each other.

[b1rds3ye]

“Your Hoodie? No, My Hoodie.”

How the boys react to you stealing their hoodies/clothes, if they would steal yours, and other cute clothing shenanigans

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Genre: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k (~300 each)

Warning: A little spice but no smut

A/N: After writing some drama/angst pieces I figured some pure fluff will do me good 😌

Captain John Price

Price’s fashion sense has become a little dated, so while he has one or two hoodies, he owns a lot more jumpers and vests (especially those puffy ones that all American dads seem to wear in colder weather)

He also doesn’t wear said hoodies all that much so if you steal them, he’ll likely just compliment your attire like a gentleman then go about his day. When he does notice the hoodie as his, he doesn’t care, you can have it

“Lovely top, darling.” “Price, sweetheart, this is yours.” “… Ah, so it is.”

However Price will notice if you use one of his jumpers or sweaters, not that he has a problem with it. In fact he encourages it, he thinks you look far better in them than he ever will and you actually make his clothes look fashionable when all he ever cared about was practicality

It becomes a bit of a love language of his, for the sake of being a gentleman and as he gets older he’s more aware of the cold. Price is always making sure you’re suitably warm before going outside when it’s chilly and he’s always giving you his own clothes to layer yourself with

Ever a traditional man, Price loves doing up your outerwear for you, as you keep talking and he nods along with deft fingers making work of buttons or zippers. There’s something intimate about it, having his hands so close to your abdomen, with him being responsible for your warmth and consequently your wellbeing

Has considered asking you for a hoodie or item of clothing of yours to bring him comfort on missions but eventually decided against it. His operations get messy unexpectedly and quickly, heaven forbid if he loses your items. He doesn’t have the best habits either and he’ll never forgive himself if he gave your clothes the lingering smell of cigar smoke

Simon “Ghost” Riley

When off duty, hoodies are his go to. They’re simple, easy to put on, the hood obscures more of his features and with his stature they help him look terrifying. He has quite a few but they’re all the same dark shades so for the longest time you thought he only had a couple

He always tells you and Soap that he’s “plenty fashionable” and you genuinely can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. All you know is that it looks like he wears the same outfit 24/7

The first time he saw you in his clothes, it activated something in him. It was an almost animalistic possessiveness, like wearing his clothes meant you were willing to be owned by him

“Fuckin’ hell,” is all he can say, it’s quiet, barely audible but just loud enough for you to hear and get the hairs on your back standing. You feel like prey being found by the predator as he stalks up to you and attacks you with kisses

Seeing you in his clothes is like a public broadcast that you’re with him, that you’re proud to be with him and Simon wishes he can reciprocate but he’s got a reputation to uphold but most importantly, he doesn’t want to put a target on your back by associating you with him

He still does little things just so he can feel connected to you though, he’ll gladly slip accessories under his sleeves or in his pockets to remind him of you

He has taken one of your hoodies with him on long missions, he swears it’s the only thing that keeps him sane when he brings it close and gets the scent of you and home. He’s not concerned about having it damaged, he leaves it at base, neatly folded and stashed away like a treasure that he guards with his life

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Has a respectable amount of hoodies, he likes how comfy they are and he wears them well. The only thing better than him wearing them, is you wearing them

He’s a tease, he wants you to take his hoodies but he’ll never outright say so. You won’t have a choice though when he straight up steals and hides all of your outerwear, leaving you to drift over to his wardrobe and take something

And then he acts incredibly smug about it as if he didn’t orchestrate the entire damn thing

He gets giddy whenever he sees you wear his things, you just look so damn cute. If you’re leaving for an event you better hope your friends don’t mind you being half an hour late because he will latch onto you, begging you to stay with him

Johnny will also try to wear your clothes. Doesn’t matter if you’re a few sizes smaller than him, he’s not afraid of prancing around in a crop top in the confines of your home (or in public if he’s very tipsy). Are you a similar or larger size to him? Well call Johnny a communist because it’s not your closet but our closet now. Don’t be surprised if some of your favourite clothes “magically” disappear

He becomes very proud and energetic when wearing your stuff or vice versa, he puffs his chest out like a pigeon but he does get very serious and apologetic if he accidentally damages your things and will immediately buy you a new one

A chronic clothes stealer, he has most definitely taken your non-important items with him to missions. He stores them under his camp bed, he calls it a mini shrine that he worships for good luck

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably the most fashionable out of the 141 (although the bar isn’t set particularly high), he has a range of hoodies for various casual occasions, dark for covert missions, brighter if he’s just out with friends, you name it, he’s probably got it

His clothes are so high quality you honestly feel bad so you initially avoided using his clothes, which just broke Kyle’s heart because he’s an absolute sucker for the trope of partners sharing their things. He has to near beg you to take his stuff

But when you finally do? Especially out of your own volition? Kyle is all over you, praising you to the moon and back about how good you look, trying to encourage you to take more of his things

Extra points if you borrow his hats, Kyle swears it’s the cutest sight in existence and now he has a reason to look forward to a sunny day

Loves cuddling you while you’re wearing his hoodie, particularly where you’re lying on the couch and he’s on top of you, head on your stomach or chest. He has to give himself credit, he bought some very soft hoodies and on you with his head listening to your heartbeat has him feeling like he’s lying on a cloud

He adores how at the end of the day his clothes end up smelling like you instead, he’s almost tempted to never wash them

He will never gift you clothes, if you want clothes you’re taking them from his wardrobe and that’s final. The only exception is if he wants you two to wear stylish matching outfits where he’ll supply you with what you need

Alejandro Vargas

A man of style, Alejandro much prefers his turtleneck jumpers (also because he knows he absolutely kills it) but he does have a hoodie or two if he’s really prioritising discretion or comfort for the day

Seeing you in his hoodie gets him incredibly riled up, even if to you it’s not incredibly stylish or sexy. The instant he lays eyes on you in his clothes he’s rushing up to pull you into a passionate kiss, hands tugging and massaging you through the thick fabric. Whenever you have to pull away he’s purring in Spanish before pulling you back in

Obsessed with seeing you in his clothes, if you ask for a jacket he’s automatically going to his wardrobe. If you want your own clothes you’re going to have to get it yourself because Alejandro can be very stubborn when he wants to be and will only bring you his own attire

Alejandro will gladly borrow your clothes if he can, but only in private. It destroys him inside because he desperately wants to be publicly associated with you but he will never risk your safety associating with him in Las Almas for his own selfish wishes

An absolute gentleman, he loves putting clothes on you. He opens up the hoodie so it’s easier for you to slip your arms in, he zips it up for you, and then he tugs at the folds so it compliments you perfectly. In his world, you’re the emperor and he’s but a humble and grateful servant, he’s not letting you lift a finger

The only thing he could enjoy more than putting on your clothes is taking them off for you. Not even in a lustful manner (although that’s not off the table for him), it just feels intimate, like he’s pulling armour off of you, with you entrusting him with your most vulnerable self and he’s honoured you trust him this much

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

He likes his cosiness and practicality so he has a fair lot of hoodies and he’s more than happy to lend them to you. You don’t even have to ask, he just assumed that when you two became a couple his stuff was yours too

But when Rudy first saw you in his clothes, he was taken aback. He never thought much of his clothes, they just look decent and offered functionality, so how did you make such mediocre items look so damn good?

Gets oddly sentimental when he sees you in his clothes. It’s such a domestic sight, one he thought he’d never see when he dedicated himself to Las Almas. Every time he’s holding you close, peppering your face with brief but hefty kisses. You won’t be escaping his grip anytime soon

Rodolfo will only borrow your clothes if you explicitly tell him you can. He adores you and treats all your items as something sacred, it feels almost blasphemous using your things

When he does use your items, he realised it’s been a long time since he’s felt bashful. Not that he’s embarrassed or ashamed of you, far from it. He just knows some of his soldiers will ask and he’s near giddy that he can talk about you

Another clothes helper, he giggles when he sees you get tangled and lost in his slip on hoodie, accidentally trying to put your head through the arm sleeve. He gently guides you, and when you finally poke your head out, he gives you a soft smile and a kiss on the forehead as though he hasn’t seen you in months

“Ah, I found you mì amor.”

Call of Duty Masterlist