#anyway we are both okay which is much better than what i was expecting

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter warmers day 23 version 2: small cock(erel). aka a chick. No pairings. About 1.2k words. This is very silly and partially inspired by this post.

It happens on a Sunday, luckily after the race is over. One moment Max is standing beside him, distractedly grabbing his bottle while looking at the data GP is pointing at, and the next he's gone.

GP blinks, startled and confused, as the sound of the bottle falling to the ground gets swallowed by the noise of the busy garage.

He looks around, sure that he will just find Max one step away, but Max isn't there. The mechanics are still there, as is Jonathan, hunched over his notes just two stools away. Everything looks the same it did ten seconds ago except...no Max.

GP blinks again, rubbing his eyes. He knows he's tired, it's been a long weekend at the end of a long triple header, but he is not this tired. There is no way he would just imagine Max being there, especially since the water bottle is still very much on the ground, and there is no way he would just miss Max leaving.

So the only explanation is that Max has disappeared in thin air. Which is not much of an explanation at all.

"John?" he calls, reaching over to tap Jonathan's arm. He's not sure what his face is doing at the moment, but it must be something weird, because Jonathan's expression goes from distracted and mildly annoyed to very focused immediately.

"What's happening?" he asks, reaching for the headphones around his neck as if he's expecting to have missed some information from there.

Except it's much worse, and weirder, than that.

GP opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again. He knows there is no way to make this sound less crazy than it is, but he would love to find a way anyway.

"Have you, uh, seen Max?" he starts cautiously.

Maybe he is more tired than he thought. Maybe he did miss Max leaving, or maybe he's been speaking to himself the whole time.

Or maybe not, given how Jonathan is looking at him.

"Max? Verstappen? Who was here just a second ago?"

"Do we have other Maxs?" GP can't help to ask back, rolling his eyes a little. Okay, he is acting weird, he knows that, but there's no need to ask stupid questions.

Except, maybe there is.

"He was here, right?"

Jonathan's left eyebrow jumps towards his hairline, as he swivels around on the stool, giving GP his undivided attention.

"Are you feeling okay? Do you need medical?"

Yeah, that's fair. Maybe GP does, because this is absurd.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face and sitting on the stool right next to Jonathan's.

"I am fine, but..." he pauses again, but it's useless to hesitate at this point. "I lost Max."

The second eyebrow joins the other high up on Jonathan's forehead.

"You lost Max," he repeats, skeptic but not dismissive. Yet.

"I know how it sounds, but he was here right next to me," GP finally explains, pointing at the very clearly empty space near them, "and then he dropped his bottle and disappeared."

Jonathan looks down at the bottle, still on the floor, then up again at GP.

"He didn't step away?"

GP is very grateful for Jonathan for many reasons, but the fact that he is actually listening and not just dragging him to medical is one of them. He doesn't think there would be many people willing to entertain this madness just because they trust GP.

He shakes his head, then points to the bottle again.

"I swear, he grabbed his bottle, and one second later he was gone. He wouldn't have had time to get to the other side of the garage."

Jonathan nods, frowning now, and then he stands up.

"We better find him, then."

And maybe they're both crazy, but it's nice to not be crazy alone.

--

It's Calum in the end who finds him.

When it's clear that Max isn't anywhere around the garage, Jonathan and GP give up and alert everyone else. They still try to keep it on the down low, because losing the current world champion isn't a great look for the team, but it's all hands on deck, spreading around the paddock trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

Christian gives them an hour before he alerts the police.

Calum finds the chick when the time is running out and they're regrouping in the garage. He bends down to pick up Max's abandoned water bottle, and finds it there, right under the desk, hiding scared in a dark corner.

"Hello, buddy," he croons, trying to not scare the little chick even more. "How did you get here?"

He's expecting to have to do some serious coaxing to get the baby out of its corner, except that as soon as his hand is close enough, the chick is scrambling for it, high-pitched chirps falling from its little open beak.

Calum emerges from below the desk with a ball of agitated yellow feathers in his palm, and a puzzled expression on his face.

"Where did you find that?" someone asks, as he's trying to calm the little chick down, shushing it and brushing its ruffled feathers with one finger.

"Under the desk, right next to Max's water," he explains. As soon as he says Max's name the chick, who had started to settle, chirps again, louder and more distressed than before, pecking lightly at Calum's hand.

It takes them a while longer to understand what it means, and it's actually Jonathan who figures it out.

"Max," he calls, looking at the chick still safely in Calum's hand, a circle of team members around them.

The chick chirps, flaps its little wings.

Someone swears.

"Can you peck Calum's hand lightly if you are Max?" Jonathan asks, maintaining an impressive straight face.

The chick chirps, then pecks Calum's hand. Not very lightly.

Yeah, that's definitely Max, the little shit.

Turns out that someone had slipped a potion into Max's water. Which is a relief, because they could easily find an antidote, and very worrying, because that could have easily been something more dangerous.

As it is, Christian tells the police Max has been found, everyone agrees to be more careful with what gets handed to Max to drink, eat, or even just wear, and GP is the one who ends up with the task of keeping Max safe until the antidote is found.

"Stay," he tells Max, using his best stern voice, when he tries once again to fling himself off the desk to go wander around. GP is not too afraid he will hurt himself falling from this height, even if he's pretty sure Max can't fly, but he's so small, just a handful of feathers, and GP would probably get fired if he lost him again. Would definitely get fired if someone stepped on him.

"Don't make me put you in the cup," he threatens, pointing at an empty cup on the desk holding a few pencils, "you can still pay attention to the data, I'm pretty sure."

Max chirps at him, something surprisingly sassy for a thing so little.

A couple hours later, when Rupert comes find them with a little vial of antidote in his hand, GP is still looking at data and Max is a soft ball of yellow feathers, asleep in the cup.

[parasitic-saint]

i want my dog to live forever

[spencerscoven]

the alternate … art donaldson

Art has a proclivity for giving attention to his enemy. He hates her— but particularly hates how she has Patrick wrapped around her finger even more.

warnings ; smut .. slutty drunk freshman art x Patrick's gf, infidelity .. unedited for now! oops!

It didn’t take much time for Art to settle into Cornell— it wasn’t just the tennis or the girls, of which he quickly learned were rather women, or even the academics. His hesitation on his attendance was especially foolish, especially in moments like these as he rolled over, crushing the red solo up beneath him. The buzzing in his jean pocket persisted, just like it had for the last five minutes before, causing him to utter another affirmation to ignore it into her mouth.

Maybe the women had one or two things to do with it.

"Maybe just get it?"

"Why?"

"So you... can tell them you're busy."

He hummed into her mouth as the girl above him detached herself, moving to grab the stitch of her top to remove it as he tilted his hips to reach for his phone.

Patrick.

His calloused hands came up to push her thighs over his hips, sitting up to read the rapid series of text Patrick had sent. And Art soon saw— was still sending. All of them ranged from different ways of him asking Art to check up on you, letting your attendance be known. Patrick's texts detailed the simple request of him checking to see if you were taking your alcohol well. Another saying he hoped you wouldn't get roofed. And one that blatantly asked that he didn't let any of "those Ivy League assholes" fuck his girlfriend.

Art rolled his eyes, resentment laced in his actions as he muttered condolences and pledged to "be right back", his large hands taking the knob of the door and peering out into the dark hallway to find you. When a look wasn't enough, he left the room door slightly ajar, stepping completely into the hallway filled with red cups, colored lights, almost sidetracked by his team that pulled him by the neck and fought to put a drink in his hand. With a light smile still gracing his face and beer in a can, his eyes wondered up to your face, watching as your lips wrapped around a bottle of Corona, some leaking out the side of which you swiped away with the back of your hand. He felt the same kind of resentment he usually felt when he saw you when Patrick visited fill him from his chest out. He watched as you leaned against the wall talking to someone. He took in your skimpy skirt and top with less resentment, though.

He especially didn't like it when the next time he looked for your face, you were staring at him, eyes hooded and smile nasty and condescending.

"He told me to look for you."

"I know." You raised your eyebrow dismissively, almost wanting to laugh at Patrick's good intentions. He knew what you'd say about Art. Just like you assumed what Art said about you, yet he asked him anyway.

"And by that, he means look after you." Art leans in, lips close to your ear as the music sounded. You roll your eyes as he lingers there a moment too long and you expect him to say something more, but he never does.

"We both know I look fine."

It takes a beat before he responds. "We both do."

"And we both know you don't want to babysit."

"But I'm a good friend."

"I've known corrupt politicians that are better friends than you, Art."

He sways away from you, facing the rest of the party as he rolls his eyes with the kind of insularity he only reserved for you, tipping his head back to finish the rest of his beer and tossing it towards the trashcan, only to miss.

He turns to you, irritation flaring as he stabilizes himself on the sticky wall behind him by holding your hips. It's something you're willing to let go of, your breath clicking as he whispers: "You smell like pot."

"It's a free country."

"Okay," he challenges, pursing his lips as he leans closer. "What's in your cup?"

"What? Yours and Chelsea's not good enough for you?"

His upper lip raises, in a look of both disgust and toleration as he grasps your wrist, forcing you to bring your own bottle to his mouth. The contents of it are mostly able to be swallowed but the rest flow from the corners of his lips, down his chin, to his throat where his Adams apple bobs as he swallows. You wipe it instinctively, causing you to both freeze for only a moment. He shutters before he opens his mouth again to slur,

"Chelsea?"

You look at him quizzically, your mouth opening once, twice, three times, only to say nothing but erupt in laughter that rocks your head backwards and your body closer to his. Art looks around frantically, his mouth tilting downwards as he looks around, grasping your hips forward and gritting his teeth as he repeats himself.

"Chelsea? What's the fucking joke I'm not getting?"

"The girl that you just— my fucking god, Art. I know you look the way you do, but you couldn't even remember her name?" You tilt your head towards the doorway, insinuating the room you're sure his cologne still lingered in. He groans, his head falling forward in a laugh as his right hand on your hip runs up the side of your torso, his head spinning.

"I'm not a very good date, am I?" You can nearly taste the alcohol on his tongue and you're out of laughs, humor gone as a consequence of being so close to him. And maybe he's too drunk to realize it's happening, but you're too cross to care when his thumbs rub circles on your hipbone, of which he had to invade underneath your waistband to do.

"I almost finished my night like this." It's so quiet that you're unsure if it was for you to hear. But it doesn't matter, as your hand runs up his arm and shoulders, eyes following over the ripples.

"This is not the same."

Your other hand trickles down to his waistband, guiltily skating over his bulge as you feel his pocket for his phone.

"Arthur, Patrick told you to check on me. So, tell him I'm okay."

"I told him that I'd check on you. I also told him you were a bad idea, like I always do," He saws it lowly, as if it's not supposed to slip out and has only found it's way because of his level of intoxication. You scoff, pushing him backwards as you're suddenly slightly more sober. You rock back and forth, eyes rolling back, but the distance is not created before you can hear him finish: "but I never said he didn't have good taste."

You don't like that it's still said in the way only drunk and resentful Art could deliver it. "You're not a very good fucking friend."

"To who, you?" He makes it his personal duty to invade your space, his face in somewhat of a snarl. You know that some would see this as uncharacterized for Art, but it's most familiar to you. It feels somewhat like home. Albeit, a house fire, but home.

Your first encounter with him was glancing behind yourself at move in, and seeing his blonde locks brushed back by calloused hands as he looked at you, then to your racket.

Your second encounter was only minutes later, when he stood next to his raven haired friend who asked for your number as he rolled his eyes with a knot in his jaw, as if he didn't find you worthy. He tugged on the shirt of his friend, telling him there were better things to do. Better, he had said.

And that never made much sense to you. Because in your relationship with Patrick, there had always been the inconsequential three.

"You're not my friend," You begin, mind calculating how many rooms and doors of Cornell's largest final club you'd have to go before finding somewhere, anywhere, that would fit just you. "Never was."

Art's only silent for a moment, nose flaring and eyes squinting. his shoulders are tense, and if you were to look down you'd see his hand balled in a fist.

"What? What now, Art?"

"You never gave me your number."

He watches as your eyes furrow in confusion, the heat in your eyes rising rather than deflating. And he speaks again:

“You gave it to Patrick. But you never gave me your number.”

Without your bottle, your hands search for something to do, blinking frantically. They resort to touching yourself in the same places he just had, your fingers running down your torso quickly, your hip bone. When you touch your shoulder is when the two of your gazes meet once again. Art watches through blue as you nod your head slowly in both horror and understanding.

You're quick on your feet. He's watched countless of your matches, even when he had no business doing so. But he is too. So when a short string of curses land out of your mouth and you march down the hallway, he's on your heels.

And all you can think is that you know his gaze better than any other. It wasn't something you intended but through these sporadic games, your body and soul had bargained to be familiar with Art more than any other. If he leaned against the net or lunch table, it became the kind of resourcefulness of movement that was so particularly him. It was rare you called on him, yet necessary when it was a matter of Patrick. He was always there, steadfast and urgent. It'd be days before you learned of the lecture he missed because of it. And while your boyfriend was off being a pro, Art never was slow to tell you how good his female counterparts around him were, while you were "only barely whopping college ass".

But somehow he was always there. You found his gels and handle tape in your tennis bag. You had more than half your dining points still because you were just "a casualty of being present” when he was buying his own lunch. And it all made you feel as if he was just very...

"You're a fucking con artist," You shoved him against the door of which he only narrowly made it "A fucking wolf in sheep's clothing."

It made you even angrier that he was stronger than you but willing to let his body fall back, lips pierced in a thin obedient line as his back hit the door repeatedly under your assault until he grasped both your forearms, holding them closely together. A wince escaped your mouth, his strength relenting and becoming lighter but still he held you. He leaned down, attempting to meet your face that now focused on the hardwood below.

"I know I'm the bad guy. Still, what's it gonna be?"

You didn't look up at that. But you did at the vibration that sounded in his pocket just seconds later. There were always three.

Art doesn't waste a moment to release your arms, wrapping his own in an enclosure around your head to reach your lips, tugging you impossibly close to him. You can't help but not move-- letting him twist your head and invade your lips. It's only until you release a small moan you latch back.

After Art's kiss, your night was haunted. It was distorted beyond your eyes' power of correction. So when a pair of lips landed on yours again, you came back home. You gave in.

His hands ran down your body, invading each and every corner of you. Your hips, your waist, the small of your back, the back of your thighs which he used to hoist your body upwards and against the doorframe, caging you. As the wet kisses sound on your neck, you look past his head to the room you two now occupied, no bed. Just various pieces of miscellaneous covered in cream sheets. When you look towards the window, releasing another whimper as you feel his middle and index finger prod at your cotton panties, you can see dust aligning with the moonlight.

Like everything else he does, he's good at the way he touches you. No, nearly instinctual. Art's fingers curve and level themselves out inside of you, yet he leaves his palms frigid, rubbing your clit back and forth with the surface of it. It makes you all so weak, Art murmuring your name as the two of you lower to the floor, you're suddenly reminded of the urgency of the matter.

"Art, I need--"

"I know,"

I know,

I know,

I know.

He repeats the sentiment into your skin and it almost makes your eyes brim with tears as you feel his bulge covered by denim slot against your soaked underwear. The feeling is delicious, so you excuse your decorum when you buck your hips against his. You watch as he detaches himself from you, the depth of his blonde hair twinkling in the moonlight. His lips and chin are swollen and wet from your messy kisses that appeared to be more tongue than anything. He lifts your hips to remove your skirt on his own once he catches the way your eyes watch him, still. He looks at you, sick with the same fever, but now you're not quite sure what this illness even is.

His hands move to tug your shirt up, yet you push his hands away, making them double up on his belt as both of you scramble to slide his jeans below his ass. You also help him when he leans to grab your right leg, sliding it up and against his hip as he sways above you. You watch as he thinks, only for a moment, places a feather right kiss on your knee, whispers something you can't hear, and promptly shoves his dick inside of you.

The force of it slams your head against the door, the hinges rattling but the surprise of his size makes it so you hardly notice. You close your eyes immediately until you're struck with the realization that you hope this never happens again. You hope you're never drunk enough, or lucky enough to have your boyfriend's best friend's dick rocking you back and forth ever again. You near your eyes open, willing to at least let yourself savor what little you have now, gazing in the middle of you two where you can see him disappear inside of you repeatedly.

Art huffs above you as your name escape his lips repeatedly as if it hadn't been the first time. You find yourself unable to cope, grabbing the hardwood until you realize there's not much give. So you resort to firmly biting his shoulder between your gasps and yelps. which only surges him on to drive into you faster, his hips snapping and the sounds of both your flesh filling the room.

You feel his clammy hand reach for the hair at the nape of your neck and you allow yourself to submissively follow regardless of your confusion. Art's breath mingles with yours as he asks:

"Is it good?"

You don't answer.

"Does it feel good?"

Your brows furrow together as you nod your head up and down as if you’ve been doped, chest heaving uncontrollably. He meets your lips and it feels as if he's kissing you solely for himself as he drags his hand on your cheeks and forehead, ridding your face of your sweat and hair. His other hand circulates your clit with a firm hold and you feel the familiar sensation approaching. Your skin felt both as cold and hot as it ever had, your teeth penetrating your bottom lip, biting Art in the process.

"I don't think we should do this.." You spit out quietly in intervals, because it feels like the right thing to say right before you come all over his cock and he leans down to look at the mess you've made in bliss. The results that it gives are fruitful, as you feel his fingers' relentlessness on your clit still. But you can tell he's struggling to stay where he is, trying to milk every moment he can inside of you.

You use your feet to push his hips back, arms reaching above your head as you untangle your limbs. Your legs remain sprawled out on his thighs, of which lay on his calves. The silence between you two is like molasses, and he stares at your core as you brush your socked toes against his abdomen, then cock.

You see a frown form on his face, but you're also met with the needy repeated rise of his hips that meet your foot and help you grind against him. You watch in awe as his eyes don't leave yours, confusion filling the air. You bring your feet faster, rubbing against his tip and watch as Art's whimper fills the air and his cum shoots to his lower stomach and your sock, his eyes closing, throat repeatedly bobbing as he rides his high. You watch as the thrusts into you become increasingly slower until they stop completely and the two of you are left still once again. You marvel in the way it seems almost as if he always gets what he wants. And Art isn't quite sure of what to make of you at all anymore, with his ears ringing and chest warm.

On his knees, he cascades towards your body that slumps against the door frame. He moves towards you slowly at first, hesitating if you wanted any of this at all. But you don't decline the warmth of his chest as he pulls you in, wordlessly. You let him bury his nose to your scalp as he takes you in.

And you both agree that if this may be a story of tonight alone, you both might as well melt indistinguishably into it once again.

[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids soulmate aus | b. chan <3

a/n: i was knocked out by a migraine for days and the main motivation for me to get better was so i could write this au :,-) i love sweet chan and this prompt in particular has been a favorite of mine my whole life !!! i hope you enjoy it <33 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 1.8k | warnings: none really! some mentions of food | pairing: soulmate!chan x gn!reader | requests: open

♡ chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin ♡

soulmates meet in dreams every night, but your paths won’t cross in waking life until the time is right.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

whenever chan had a rough day, he would crave sleep more desperately than on his worst insomniac nights. today was one of those days. he couldn’t say that it was a bad day, but they were nearing the end of the tour, so his emotions and physical exhaustion were running high. he rushed through his nighttime routine, aching to fall asleep and see your face. he knew that, even if it were brief, being with you would keep him from completely falling apart.

“it’s about time you showed up!” you teased, grinning at chan when he walked into the living room you two designed.

“i’m really sorry, y/n,” chan sighed, falling onto the sofa, “these last few shows have messed with my sleep schedule more than i expected. i feel so bad that i haven’t been around as much.”

your heart broke when you saw his frown, “chan, i’m not mad. please don’t feel bad. i just miss hanging out with you, and this is the only place i can do it. i’m grateful for any time we get together during your busy schedule!”

“y/n…” chan’s frown turned into an adorable pout, “that makes me feel even more guilty. you can’t be so nice and understanding!”

you laughed when he put his head in his hands. you wrapped him into a hug, appreciating the giggles that escaped his lips at the close contact. 

“i miss you more,” chan mumbled against your clothing.

you shook your head, which, surprisingly, chan noticed, “don’t disagree with me! it’s true!”

chan smiled widely when he saw you laughing. he paused to enjoy the sound of your laughter. then, once your laughs quieted, he held both of your hands in his.

“i promise that i’ll rest a ton once i’m back from tour, okay? i’ll be on break for a while, so i’ll make sure i am at your beck and call every time you sleep. i’ll do everything i can to make it up to you, to make up for the lost time. i swear.”

the combination of his grasp and sincere gaze was almost overwhelming. chan always made promises with his full heart, and you knew that to be especially true right now. 

“i believe you,” you smiled, which prompted chan’s shoulders to relax, “thank you, chan. you don’t have to make it up to me. but you do need to get some more rest. i don’t want to have to scold you to take care of yourself the first time we meet!”

“you’re going to anyway, no matter what i do,” chan teased, laughing hysterically at your glare.  

you moved the conversation into lighter topics, soaking up his presence. though the visit was once again fleeting, you two enjoyed your time together. it was always healing to be with chan. whether you spent your dreams seeing the world or relaxing in a familiar space, you woke up feeling rested, all thanks to spending the night with your other half.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

after chan returned from tour, both of you happily settled into your normal routine. he kept his promise of resting more, much to your delight. rather than having to rush conversations, you could enjoy each other’s company throughout the night, only parting when your alarm went off in the morning. it was easy, natural. of course, there were days when the sunlight hit your eyes and left you feeling empty because that action alone separated you from your person. most days though, you beamed with gratitude because chan was recovering from his strenuous tour and returning to the happy-go-lucky man you knew him to be. 

last night’s dream was particularly wonderful. you and chan strolled around your favorite neighborhood while he told you all his favorite stories from tour. your heart always soared when you listened to the way he talked about seeing stays and joked about the antics he and the boys got up to while traveling. truly, the best part of it all was seeing him happy. the sparkle in his eyes and the upbeat tone of his voice were like a rush of sugar, the sweetest thing in the world. you confessed this to chan when a comfortable silence fell over you, and the last thing you heard before waking up was the sound of him giggling, highlighted by chan’s blushing skin.

perhaps it was chan’s sweetness that had you craving a treat as soon as you opened your eyes. stretching and soaking in the peacefulness of the late morning, you decided to go to your favorite bakery. it was the weekend, after all, and you wanted to do everything you could to maintain the happy mood chan put you in. after getting ready, you made your way to the bakery. the familiar route allowed your mind to wander, unsurprisingly to thoughts of your sweet soulmate.

the first dream you shared with chan was when you were six years old. you swung back and forth on the swingset in a quiet playground, covered nicely by the shade of a large tree. from beside you, a voice you had never heard before asked can i swing here too? you looked over, curious and unalarmed. when you saw the boy with curly brown hair smile shyly at you, you felt the tiniest of butterflies flutter in your stomach. you nodded, introducing yourself when he sat down on the swing next to you, i’m y/n. what’s your name? he grew more confident after hearing your voice, grinning charmingly as he said, i’m chan. it’s nice to meet you, y/n. you two watched the clouds float by, calling out the shapes you saw. in your childhood innocence and bravery, you suddenly asked, are you my soulmate? even as an adult, you could never forget the way chan’s ears turned bright red. how heartwarming it was for him to blush at the word “soulmate!” you didn’t need to hear him say yes, because the pink on his cheeks and the hopefulness in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you wondered, heart pounding in your chest, if he’d look at you like that the first time he saw you in the real world.

the sound of the bakery door’s bell ringing snapped you out of your reverie. you inhaled the decadent smells of the shop, fresh baked warmth fit for a saturday. your lovestruck thoughts of chan could wait. you had business to attend to. 

you greeted the employees, browsing the items on display. you took your time, selected your treats, and paid at the register. the place wasn’t too full, so you figured you could take a seat at a table near the window to appreciate the cozy ambience for a bit. you scanned for the closest empty table, nearly falling over when you locked eyes with someone.

well, not just someone. chan.

your mouth opened, but you couldn’t produce anything more than a few stammering syllables. chan’s eyes were wide with shock, quickly twinkling with happiness. soon, he started laughing. the sound bubbled out of him as though he were a child set free in a candy store, delighted beyond belief. you started laughing too. before people started to stare, chan waved you over to his table, pulling out a seat just for you.

“fancy seeing you here,” chan giggled through the cheesy line.

you rolled your eyes, smile never leaving your face, “don’t get me wrong. it is absolutely the best surprise in the world to see you here right now. but how does drinking a large coffee count as resting?”

chan lifted the coffee cup between you two, “oh this? i only got this because i couldn’t find a nap buddy anywhere. it looks like my luck might have changed though.”

he winked, making you blush and giggle like a teenager. not wanting to let him have all the fun, you grinned and replied, “i guess my first official duty as your soulmate is getting you to take a nap, isn’t it?”

now it was chan’s turn to blush. your body flooded with fondness, seeing the way his ears turned bright red at the word soulmate as it had when he first heard you say it. chan accepted your order when they called out your name, excitedly commenting on how good your taste was. the pep in his step was visible, though anyone who saw you would say that your pace matched his exactly. you two practically skipped the whole way back to your place, conversation flowing as though seeing each other was your plan all along. 

“can we take a second to talk about how crazy this is? that we finally met? after all these years, we’ve been only a handful of miles away from each other, and we met today?”

chan’s expression was full of glee and disbelief, and you agreed with his sentiment fully, “they really aren’t lying when they say you won’t meet until the time is right,” you paused, reminding yourself that this moment was real, “i do think it’s ridiculous we’ve practically been neighbors this whole time though. no wonder it always felt strange when you were on tour.”

chan pouted, “don’t remind me…that’ll make me feel even worse about leaving…” then, a smile replaced his pout, “at least now we know that every time i come back from traveling, i’ll be coming home to you!”

you returned his smile, only looking away to unlock your door. you slipped off your shoes and made room for chan to come inside. while you’ve dreamt of chan your whole life, nothing was more surreal than seeing him in your home. he looked so much like he belonged there, as though he had been inhabiting the space for as long as you. yet you stood there, staring, unable to believe that your dream had finally come true.

“what are you staring at, mon rêve?” chan asked, smiling sweetly.

“it’s just…” you walked across the room, meeting him halfway, “i can’t believe you’re here.”

chan hummed in agreement. without another word, he intertwined your hands, looking at you intently. you led him to your favorite nap spot, adjusting it so everything was just right. instinctively, your bodies molded together, finding comfort in the shared embrace. mere seconds after thank you left chan’s lips, you both slipped into sleep, breaths falling into your natural harmony.

you weren’t sure how much time had passed when you opened your eyes. it was strange, almost unnerving, to wake up from a dream that did not include chan. before the panic or sadness could settle in, you looked over to the man in your arms. you stared in awe at his lips curling up ever so slightly, his hair in disarray, and his chest rising to the beat of the precious heart you belonged to. every little detail of chan was at your fingertips, and it was more beautiful than any dream you had ever had.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[melzula]

Okay I have an request

So like we are azula and zuko sister and we adored by both but like in the catacombs we choose gaang over azula and zuko of this and please can y/n x sokka and now zuko now wants to join gaang and yeah I am not good with words I hope u understand what I said😁

Y/n can be a firebender or non bender its ur choice anyway

a/n: okay so there’s a lot to tackle in this request which is why i chose to do it as headcanons so i hope you don’t mind !

summary: being the middle child isn’t easy, especially when your siblings are Zuko and Azula

As the only non-bender and middle child of the royal family, you never felt like you mattered

You were the Black Swan of the palace, a disgrace to your father and his image

You kept to yourself, staying in the shadows and out of his way while your siblings took the spotlight

However, just because your father looked down upon you didn’t mean your siblings shared his sentiment

In fact, they adored you

Zuko was an attentive older brother. He let you follow him everywhere, defended you against anyone who dared speak badly about you, and was your shoulder to cry on whenever your father was feeling particularly cruel

He saw you for who you were, and who you were was an intelligent, kind, talented young woman meant to do great things in her lifetime

Azula, while being particularly mean to Zuko at times, never once treated you the way she saw her brother

Despite you being a nonbender, she surprisingly never speaks down to you or makes you feel less than

It could be because she doesn’t see you as competition as she does Zuko, or maybe she truly does just feel genuine sisterly love for you

Maybe it’s because whenever she felt your mother was unfairly favoring your brother over her, you were always there to assure her that she was a wonderful bender and just as important

Maybe it’s because sometimes she wished you could be her mother instead

Whatever her reasoning, Azula sees you as a comforting presence in her life. She seeks your validation constantly almost as much as your father’s, and she’d do anything to protect you and your honor

Things became worse for you when Ursa left. She could no longer intervene when your father felt like tormenting you, and your siblings knew better than to say anything in your defense. Shortly after her banishment, Ozai deems it best to send you away to the academy since he has no other use for you

Your departure is hard for both siblings. Zuko is gutted that he can no longer be there to protect you or look after you. Though she acts as if she couldn’t care less, Azula is devastated at your leaving. Her source of comfort is being ripped away from her, and she has no one to look out for her

At the academy you learn various forms of physical combat and weaponry wielding. You’re especially fond of using tanto swords in battle and they’ve become your weapon of choice when in a fight

Zuko and Azula send you letters during your stay at school behind your father’s back updating you about your home, their lives, and their annoyance of each other. You keep every single one they send, and it eases the ache of your home sickness

It’s also at the school that you learn of the Agni Kai and Zuko’s banishment. Your heart breaks for your older brother, and you’re devastated at the fact that you never got the chance to say goodbye and you may never see him again. He still sends letter for a time, but as the years pass they become less frequent and almost nonexistent. Azula’s letters follow the same path

Years pass and your father deems it time for you to come home. Now that you’ve made a decent fighter out of yourself he finds your worthy of being his daughter again

However, your stay is short lived. Azula recruits you to be part of her little team to capture the Avatar and your brother, and you don’t really have any other choice but to agree

You downplay how skilled you are in fighting so that she doesn’t expect much from you and force you to do too much of the work. You don’t want to go against her, but you also don’t want to have to fight your brother and your uncle

You also don’t exactly feel good about destroying the world’s last hope for peace

And that’s why, when the time comes, you choose the Avatar over your siblings

You’re tired of being pulled back and forth, of always being stuck between your siblings with no real purpose, of not being able to do anything for yourself

Zuko is astonished by your choice and conflicted. Just when he finally had found his way back into the family you chose to leave it. Why were you doing this? Why were you ruining everything?

Azula is furious. Your betrayal hurts worse than mother’s. You’d always taken her side, always comforted her and supported her, you’d always been there, and now you were leaving. How dare you leave her?

“You fool!” She’d cried, angrily sending a blast of blue flames your way knowing you wouldn’t be able to stop it. If not for Iroh, surely her strike would have ended you. The fact that your own sister was willing to hurt you for the cause was enough proof to know you were making the right decision

You help the Avatar escape and join his group, vowing to help them in any way you can to win the war. Your fighting skills and knowledge of the Fire Nation makes you a big help and they appreciate your assistance

It doesn’t take long for you to win their trust and acclimate into their group. You become fast friends with everyone, growing especially close to Sokka who may or may not have a huge crush on you

He definitely becomes your shoulder to lean on when things get tough, because he knows it can’t be easy for you to just leave all you’ve ever known behind. you struggle constantly over having to choose the Avatar over your siblings, but he constantly assures you that you’ve made the right choice

Least to say your departure makes Zuko’s return home even more conflicting and turmoil filled. How can he enjoy being back home when you’re not there to enjoy it with him? How could he be happy knowing his sister was out there risking her life to help the Avatar?

Your decision definitely inspires his own to leave the Fire Nation and aid Aang and his friends

Your abandonment of your siblings also fuels Azula’s descent into madness, fueling her fire to continue her mission to capture the Avatar

It’s a rough position you’ve found yourself in, but it’s not like your whole life hasn’t been you stuck in a terrible spot

Being the middle child is hard, especially when your siblings are Zuko and Azula

[luveline]

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

When Eddie asks you on a date, you don’t believe it. He probably meant as friends, right? Spoiler alert — Eddie wants to be more than friends, and he’s willing to prove it. [4k]

fluff, slight hurt/comfort, fem!reader, plus-sized!reader, reader feels undesirable, kissing, obligatory ‘don’t be cruel’ scene, eddie calls you pretty like ten times, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has one of those smiles that screams trouble. Every time he looks at you with that smile he might as well have "I'm gonna break your heart," written across his forehead in tandem. 

You sneak a glance at him across the atrium. Eddie’s paused bussing tables to talk to a patron, his customer service voice in play with a matching smile. It isn't the one you mean, but it's bad enough to make you flush red-hot. You cross your arms over the bar, regret it for its stickiness, and let your head rest against the crook of your elbow. 

You've been working together for a long time now, almost six months, and he's your favourite coworker hands down. He cleans up after himself, he brings snacks that you never accept (lest you look like the greedy chubby girl you worry everyone expects you to be), and he talks to you like a real person.

It's horrifying and it's not fair, but being fat means that sometimes guys don’t want to look at you. They don't want to be in the same room with you, and you can tell; they avert their eyes, or simply don't talk to you directly.

You've never had that feeling with Eddie. He meets your eyes, unflinching, and he sends you one of those pretty smiles and you think Fuck, because he should've been a movie star, he has the cheekbones for it, or a rockstar like that band he's always raving about. He'd have a slim LA girl on both arms, no doubt about it. 

He likely wouldn't waste his time with you. 

Not someone pretty as he is. Sometimes he'll lean over and expose the flat stretch of his stomach, his v-lines and the dark trail of hair peeking above his jeans, and you feel acutely miserable 'cause you know you'll never get to touch him. Workplace crushes suck. 

"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks, a hand dropping against your shoulder. 

You pull yourself up quickly. Speak of the devil, Eddie stands beside you with his hair tied away from his face. He looks more entertained than concerned, his smile unfortunately genuine. 

"I'm fine," you say, stepping back. His hand falls away from your shoulder. "Sorry, just tired." 

Eddie leans into your space, squinting. You freeze up, but he's only checking the time on the clock behind you. "Gotta tough it out. Still an hour and a half 'til closing." 

Which means there's more than two hours of your shift left. Your face must show how unexciting that is —Eddie laughs, warm and quiet, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

"You'll live," he promises. "Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go get pizza or something." 

"What, nobody else is available?" you ask. 

His head juts back a touch, put upon shock. "And why can't I ask you? I like you and I like pizza, that's a good combination. And even if you don't like me that much, you like pizza, right?" 

You know —you know, you do— that Eddie doesn't mean it as a slight. This isn't some thinly veiled insult on how you look. Why wouldn't you like pizza? Most people do, but his comment twists itself into an evil inky ball in your chest anyways, thick and hot as tar. 

You shake it off. 

"Who says I don't like you?" you ask, steering the conversation away from food altogether. 

His smile gets somehow better, which is to say worse. You're being punished for something, a childhood wrongdoing or a future crime, perhaps. Nothing else could warrant the mental torture that is being so close to him while he looks the way he does. 

"Good. Good, then we should get pizza. It's a date," he says, nodding. 

Morgan the shift manager calls for him to stop distracting you, though the Hideout is abandoned tonight, and there's nothing to distract you from. Eddie stands at full height, with a soldier's salute. "Yes, sir. No more lollygagging." He turns to you when you laugh, and you share a secret smile. 

He and Morgan disappear into the back of house. If you strain your ears, you can hear Eddie complaining about having to keep his hair in a bun, as it's totally against what he stands for, dude, it's stifling his self expression. 

"Count yourself lucky I don't make you wear a hair net, kid," Morgan says.

You turn back to your sticky bar, numb. It's a date? Did he mean, like, an actual date? A romantic date? 

Not a chance in hell. It's a colloquialism. Nothing more. 

Despite yourself, you stare into the silver reflection of a beer tap and try to liven up. You fix your hair, check your teeth, dig a lip balm out of your apron pocket and scratch the corners of your mouth just in case. The entire time you're heckling yourself about delusions. Eddie Munson doesn't like you. He's had a girl come around once or twice, and she'd been everything you're not: slender, confident. You'd wanted to dislike her, but she hadn't done anything wrong. There's no crime in being desirable. 

For the remainder of the night, you man the bar and serve the occasional patron. It's a Sunday night, so most stick to light beer or soft drinks. The live entertainment says goodnight and the Hideout empties like an opened floodgate. You clean the bar, Eddie buses the tables, and the kitchen staff turn on the radio and get to work cleaning. Soon, you can smell cigarette smoke and reheated mozzarella sticks. 

You wander into the kitchen to help. 

"Hi beautiful," Leon says, one of the cooks, "you want something to eat?" 

"No she does not!" Eddie says, helping the dishwasher Marcie with her last round of plates. Suds drip down to his rolled sleeves as he waves his hands around. "We're going to get pizza." 

"Yes!" Marcie says, delighted. 

"Where are we going?" Paul asks, another cook. 

"We," Eddie says, pointing at you and then himself, "are going to Marletto's. Yeah?" 

You startle when you realise he's asking you. "Oh, sure. Anywhere you want." 

His head bobs up and down, pleased. He goes back to his dishes. "Anywhere I want," he murmurs to Marcie, though he's saying it for everybody to hear, "hear that, Marc? I'm spoiled." 

You wipe down a few counters, label some leftover iceberg lettuce and put it back in the fridge. It's easy work, made better by the camaraderie of your coworkers, but you can't settle down. Your heart races at what's to come. "It's a date," is starting to feel less colloquial now Eddie's dissuading the other from joining you. That's how that works, right? He wants to be alone with you.

It might not mean anything. Maybe Eddie needs something from you he doesn't want the others to know about, like money. Maybe he wants girl advice, finally chasing that pretty girl who drops by sometimes. Or boy advice —there's a guy who comes around too, tall and blond and handsome. 

There's a logical solution. Any other girl would hear the word date and take it at face value, but you aren't them. You're you. You can't remember the last time somebody looked at you with desire in their eyes, if they ever have. High school was a shit show and work isn't exactly a hub for romance. Eddie joining the team here is the most excitement you've ever had in your life, for all his gentle squeezes and teasing elbows, his inside jokes and his tendency to burst into an air guitar solo at any given moment. He's a cheeseball, and you like him. It sucks. 

"Hi, are you ready?" he asks, coming out of nowhere. You're kneeling down near the lockers tying your shoelaces. 

It is a horrible position for him to see you in. You can't imagine what you look like, but you know it won't be pretty. You spring up with your shoelace untied still and smile weakly. "Yeah, I'm ready." 

"You need help with that?" he asks, eyes on your shoe. 

You burn with embarrassment. "I– no, I–" 

Eddie kneels down on the floor and reaches for your shoe. He ties it quickly in a double-knotted bunny-loop and pats the side of your ankle when he's done. When he looks up at you, you're in the middle of hoping a natural disaster will occur and put you out of your misery. 

He smiles at you from his position. Does he ever stop? 

"Cool," he says, standing up. He grabs his coat from his locker and doesn't bother closing it. "Let's go! I'm starving, man, Leon needs to mess up more often so I can steal the rejects." 

You follow him in a daze. Through the lockers and out of the kitchen, waving goodbye to the lingering closers and a grimacing Morgan. You aren't looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. You're more than sure he'll have something to say about workplace fraternising and general dawdling. 

"You okay for us to take the van?" he asks. 

Eddie's given you rides home before, and what felt awkward before has lended itself to a familiarity. You nod your agreement and cross the small parking lot out back, your breath rising in the cold night air. 

Eddie pulls open the passenger door of his van with a strong-armed tug. 

"Been meaning to get the latch looked at. I'd rather it have trouble opening than trouble closing, though, so that's a plus." 

He waits for you to climb the short step and sit before he closes the door. 

“All limbs inside the ride?" he asks. 

You laugh. It comes out weird. You kind of sound like you're being held at gunpoint. 

Eddie gets in the van and makes small talk as he starts the engine and pulls her out of the lot. Your mind isn't there, exactly, or rather it's too close. You want to think about your answers but instead you're worrying about how you look while you say them. You're worried about the seat belt around your stomach, and the way you look from the side. Being around Eddie makes you more self-conscious than usual. 

Marletto's isn't the best pizza place in Hawkins but it's open until three AM. You and Eddie take the first empty booth you come across, and the agony of ordering in front of someone else begins. 

"Meat feast for me, obviously," he says, pulling off his jacket. 

The cracked vinyl seat beneath him crunches with his movement. You dedicate yourself to staying still. 

"I'll get a margarita," you say, glancing between him and the menu for his reaction.  

"Didn't take you for such a bore," he teases. "Drinks? Sides?" 

"Just water will be fine." 

"Are you sure? I'm paying. If you wanna take advantage of me, now's the time."

You shake your head, pushing your cold hands under your thighs. 

Eddie frowns. "If you're sure…" 

He gets up to track down the register. You sit there, wondering why you agreed to this, what possessed you, why you could ever think this was a good idea. You don't wanna eat in front of him, you don't know what to say, he's looking at you like everything's normal but this is so not normal, this is the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Eddie returns with your water and a coke, all smiles despite your clear nerves. 

He puts the drinks down and clambers into the seat with a leg folded underneath himself, his elbows halfway across the table. He looks you straight in the face. 

"That guy just looked at me like I was crazy. I'm hungry, sue me. Three orders of mozzarella sticks is a normal human thing to get, right?" 

"Three?" you ask. 

His hand reaches toward you. If your hand were there, he'd likely squeeze it roughly as he sometimes does, like a playful scolding. "I'm hungry," he repeats. "I didn't get any lunch on my lunch break. What's the point in that? Just sat down in the locker room thinking about it. It was actually worse than working." 

"You should've had Leon make you a burger. He's always offering." 

"Always offering you, maybe. The rest of us gotta fend for ourselves." 

"That's not true. He asks Marcie, too." 

"Yeah, well, Leon's a sucker for pretty girls." 

You look down at the table. 

"I got enough fries for both of us, I know you didn't want any sides but everyone wants fries. I won't be sharing the mozzarella sticks, so if you want some you better speak now." He raps the table with his knuckles. When you look up, his face softens. "Well, alright. Maybe I'll share them with you. I'm a sucker, too." 

"What's that mean?" 

"What?" 

"You know what," you say. 

Eddie crosses his arms across the table. His hands and arms are pale, the ink of his black tattoos stark. You could draw them without prompting, that's how often you've fallen into his trap. When he crosses his arms like this, his biceps bulge up a little bit, emphasising the pretty curves and ridges of his arms and the hints of greeny-blue veins hiding under his skin. He tilts his head toward his shoulder, his limp curls dragging against the table. 

"It means…" he says, holding your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips, "that you're pretty. You're so pretty, I'd do anything you asked me to." 

You flinch. You pull your numb hands from under your thighs and cover your stomach with your forearms, glaring at the table between you thoughtlessly. 

"That's cruel." 

"What?" 

"That's cruel, Eddie. You're being mean," you mutter.

"I–" Eddie stammers. "What? I'm just trying to tell you how I think about you– how I feel. I'm sorry if you don't wanna hear it, I'm not trying to be mean." 

Hurt creeps into the lines of your face, your eyebrows pulled down and the starts pulled up, your lips pursed. Heat bursts in your throat as a molten lump takes shape there. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you have to. 

"I thought you were my friend," you say quietly. 

"I want to be more than that." 

"You're making fun of me." 

"No." 

Eddie reaches across the table again. There's nothing for him to grab so he spreads his fingers and presses his palm flat. He ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are ridiculously big, the black of his pupils blown and leaching into his dark irises until they're almost indistinguishable in the fuzzy lighting of the restaurant. 

"Come on," he says quietly, "when have I ever done that to you? I mess around, but I wouldn't say shit like that unless I meant it." His fingers lift off of the table. "I mean it. I think you're beautiful." His voice takes on a raw quality. 

You bite the tip of your tongue, fully frowning now. "I don't believe you," you say. 

"Why not?" he asks, frowning back. 

"Because I'm– I'm– I'm fat." You hate yourself for saying it out loud. 

People hate that word. Usually, if you admit to it, there's a rushed response. No, you're not. Pretty friends talk you down, loved ones wrap an arm around your shoulder and harp about puppy fat or big bones. 

Eddie doesn't do either. He sits back in his seat and smiles hesitantly. 

"Why's that a bad thing?" he asks. He shakes his head at himself. "I mean– I'm sorry, I should've said you aren't, you aren't–" 

"No, I am," you say. 

"You're so pretty," he says again, in a rush. "I don't care what size you are, I really don't. I just think you're beautiful and I wanted to ask you on a real date but I saw you and I couldn't wait anymore." He wraps his hand around the neck of his coke bottles and pulls it towards his chest. "Shit, I've made a huge fucking mess of it." 

You lean forward. Your body doesn't know what to do, the whiplash of hurt smothered by his enthusiastic, sincere compliments.

Why's that a bad thing? means more than anything else he said to you. 

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask timidly. 

"Drop dead," he says. Hope flickers behind his eyes. "Morgan pulled me aside on my second week, you know that? Said if I didn't stop staring at you he'd put me in the back for the week." 

"He did put you in the back," you say, confused. 

"Exactly." 

Oh. You raise your head properly. Eddie's watching you, just you, obviously waiting for you to speak. The hope on his face is clear as day now, his lips parted, the tiniest peek of his tongue on display. 

"You promise you aren't messing with me?" you ask finally. 

"I promise." He holds his hand out, palm up. "I swear." 

Your heart a hummingbird, you take your hand from your waist and put it carefully in his. His fingers curl around yours like a prince, the tip of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles slowly, half an inch at a time. You exhale out of your nose as goosebumps race up your arm. 

He looks like he has more to say, but the pizza and all his sides arrive. You spring apart like teenagers, blood rushing in your ears. The server unloads his tray.

"Alright guys," he says, looking down at you both with a knowing smile. "Anything else I can get you while I'm here?" 

Eddie sneaks a look at you that holds way too much meaning. "No, I think we're alright." 

There's a tiny, awkward silence. You busy yourself with unfolding a napkin over your lap, not sure what to say to bridge the gap. 

Eddie takes the plunge. 

He slides a basket of mozzarella sticks at you. "Pretty girl privileges," he says.

You feel insecure eating in front of him, but the sheer ferocity of his compliments discourages any shame. He thinks you're pretty. He held your hand like it was made of glass and he got put in Hideout jail for staring. 

"I think you're handsome, too," you say. 

Eddie almost chokes on a handful of fries. "Shit," he says, swallowing roughly, hand thumping at his chest. "Thank god for that. I mean, of course you do. My devilish good looks are hard to resist." 

He's not wrong. 

—

Getting put on kitchen duty isn't half as bad as Morgan seems to think it is. Eddie kind of likes it, the noise, the chaos, the heat. Plus, he can steal fries hot and fresh out of the basket. He's only burned himself once. 

"What're you in for?" Leon asks him.

"Staring." 

"You're a freak, Munson, you know that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "If your girlfriend looked like mine, you'd stare too." 

"Uh-huh." Leon grabs up a spatula to flip a burger, pink meat down and brown side up. Fat sizzles dangerously. Neither man flinches. "She ain't going nowhere." 

"You don't know that. Some rockstar might blaze through here and snap her up. Who would I be to stop her? She should be a trophy wife, she's a stunner." 

"Christ," Marcie says from across the room. 

"How the fuck can you hear us?" Eddie asks. Over the sound of the overhead spray and the sizzle of the burners, Marcie must have superpowers or something. 

"Uh, 'cause you're fucking yelling," she says. 

Eddie looks to Leon for some defence, but Leon agrees. "You are super loud." 

"You would be too–"

"If I had a girlfriend as pretty as yours," Leon says, audibly grouchy. "I know." 

"Don't be jealous that I got there first." 

"How is this fair? You get in trouble and I'm the one punished." 

Eddie blows a big breath out of the corner of his mouth, one of his shorter curls dancing away from his warm face. Ridiculous. They're all awful, and jealous, and nobody wants him to be happy. "Losers," he mumbles. 

He's kidding, mostly. He knows that everyone is actually very happy for the both of you. How could they not be? Eddie's happier than ever and you've turned to mush. It's his favourite thing in the world. 

He thought you were pretty before. These days, you're gold dust incarnate. You see him and smile like you've been waiting for him, no more nervousness (which, he found out, was down to a raging crush on him) (he walked on air for days), no more shying away from his touch. Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder and you don't tense; you melt. Butter in the sun. 

It's glorious. 

And sure, Eddie ends up in the brig a lot. He 'hovers' apparently. So what? He'll say it again, if any of these guys were in his shoes, they'd fall victim to the same compulsion. 

He waits for an opportunity to arise, four dinner tickets and a dishwasher disaster, and sneaks away as silently as he can manage, creeping out of the kitchen and to the bar. You're busy pouring a beer and don't notice him until the customer's left and he's wrapping an arm around your waist. 

"Eddie," you scold lightly, leaning forward to accommodate his weight against your back, "come on. You might actually lose your job." 

"They can't fire me. I'm the best bus boy ever." 

You turn your face to look at him. Eddie wants to put you on TV, you look that sweet. 

"No, you're awful, you," —Eddie interrupts you, leaning down for a quick chaste kiss— "distract me, and you," —he steals a second— "don't actually bus tables when you should," you finish, disjointed. 

He brings his hand to your soft cheek, stroking a badly behaved baby hair back into place. You go lax like he's some kind of quick fix drug, and your eyes contain a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He covers his heart with his hand. 

"You're awful," you murmur. 

He takes your face into both hands slowly. One cups your cheek, and the other slides behind your ear. He pulls your face forward and down toward his chin, his lips by your ear. You smell amazing. His eyes close on instinct.

"A little. It's not my fault. You're just–" 

"So pretty?" you ask. "Yeah, you've told me." 

"I have, have I? Have to let me tell you again." He kisses the skin before your ear, more a press of his lips than anything. "You're beautiful," he mouths. 

You shiver, but ultimately end up planting your hands against his chest and ushering him away from you. 

"Stop it. I mean it! We're in public, at work, and you're gonna mess me up." 

"I want to mess you up," he says easily. 

"I know you do." 

Eddie sighs, agonised, but heeds your warning. "Alright," he says, squeezing your shoulder in goodbye. You smile and squeeze his elbow in return. It's your new thing, silent conversation in fond touches. 

He's a couple of feet away when the urge to turn back is too much. He jogs back to your side, gets his hand behind your neck, and kisses you with enough pressure that your lips part underneath his in shock. He adores the side of your neck with his thumb one sweeping stroke at a time, his nose digging sliding against yours as he inches in further, and further. The dizzy pleasure of your lips can't be understated. Eddie fights back a kiss-ruining smile with all he's worth. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling back. Your lips shine and you blink, dazed. "Sorry," he says again, leaning in to kiss them dry. 

You laugh quietly, a breath against his cheek, and he's a goner, dropping pecks all over your pretty face until you're giggling and sinking into his arms. 

"I really am sorry." He punctuates with a kiss under your jaw. 

"No," you say breathlessly. Your hand twines loosely in his hair. "You're not." 

No, he isn't. He's never felt less sorry for anything in his life. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please consider reblogging, it helps more than you know!! <3 

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons - Part 10

WC: 817, Masterpost

Jason sighed as the tablet in his hands flashed with alerts. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“How did the meeting with Black Bat go?” Bruce asked instead of responding, because of course he did.

“You know it went fine,” Jason said, trying not to snap. “Besides, everyone likes her, there was a good chance it was always going to go fine.”

“We both know trauma isn’t always that easy,” Bruce said, his tone carefully modulated to be gentle. It rankled Jason, like it always did.

Jason took a breath and let his chin drop to his chest for a moment. Bruce didn’t mean it like that. He knew that now. This was Bruce trying as best as he was able— it wasn’t just another mask. Bruce just had to put effort into emotions that made it seem forced. Jason pushed away his flair of temper; it was harder to do than he’d like after too much worry and too little sleep.

“Ja—”

“I’m fine. It’s just like you said, trauma isn’t always that easy. I’m fine,” Jason said as he waved the concern away. “And names. You know we’re sticking to code names still.”

Bruce tilted his head, observing Jason through the white lenses. (That used to rankle too.)

“You thinking there’s a chance he’ll run.”

Jason sighed. He gave an exaggerated shrug to cover the worry that ran through him at the question. “Not run, exactly. I think he doesn’t believe that he can stay— that it’s even on the table. I think that we’re his last hope and he doesn’t believe in hope anymore.”

Bruce didn’t move. Jason gave him time to think that over.

“That’s why he doesn’t want to see… Wayne,” Bruce said, slowly, like he was feeling the idea out. “He doesn’t expect to get anything from him so it’s better to be healed up first.”

Jason shrugged again.

“Figure so. But also once that meeting happens, whatever happens, then all of this,” Jason motioned to the safe house, “is over as far as he knows. If he puts off the meeting, he puts off the risk of losing the first safety that I think he’s hand in a long, long time.”

Bruce’s shoulders hunched and he almost blended back into the shadows by the window. “If he’s already posed for it to go badly…”

“B, that’s not your fault,” Jason said— had to say. “The kid’s been through hell, maybe by his own family, of course he’s going to expect the worst.”

It was a long moment and then Bruce nodded, just once. “What’s the plan?”

If Jason really had his way, the plan would be to deal with all these ill feelings, but that’s not what anyone in the family was good at, him included. It would be what it would be.

“We’ll have BB over again for a meal tomorrow. I’m sure it will keep going well and she can help be on watch that night. We think it’s best to give that a few days before we introduce O or anyone else new, so you have to keep the rest of the horde reigned in,” Jason said pointedly. Then a though occurred to him. “Where is the little spawn anyways?”

“He’s on the roof across the block.”

“Yeah, is he? Because that was a lot of alerts—”

“Hood!”

Jason didn’t think before he was striding across the room towards Danny’s room. The kid was standing in the door. White hair stark in the low light. Green eyes bright.

Glowing.

Wide with fear.

“Danny?”

“Someone else is here,” Danny said. His voice was almost too quiet to hear, but Jason could half swear he felt it in his very bones. Danny reached out and clung onto the sleeve of Jason’s hoodie. A cold settled into Jason’s bones along with the vibration of the soft words. “Someone touched by death. Can you feel them too? They’re not not like us. They haven’t died. They haven’t died, but they reek of death. Hood, what are they?”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe here, remember?” Jason assured Danny automatically. The words rolled out of his mouth without Jason having to even think about them, which was good, because Jason’s mind was still caught on Danny’s words: They’re not like us. They haven’t died. “Some Bats just stopped by to check on us.”

Was it Bruce? Did all of Gotham’s death cling to his shoulders like his cape?

Was it Damian? Was it the stench of the Pits?

Or did Jason miss something else slipping in with all of the other alarms.

“We’ll go check on Nightwing together, alright? I bet he has a little red and black guest who slipped in,” Jason said. He twisted his hand to hold Danny’s. The cold bit at his skin. He didn’t let go.

He hoped he was right.

He had a hard time believing in hope too.

---

AN: A myyyyyyyystery *wiggly fingers*. Gods I'm so tired.

I no longer tag, you can subscribe to the masterpost instead!

[e-m-ma-lmfao]

"We're gonna get out of here, I promise"

pairing : mike munroe x (fem) reader

cw : mike has a gun, talk of death, and blood, and maybe like one swear I don't know. reader is referred to as mike’s girlfriend, but other than that i don’t believe any female pronouns are used.

a/n : i know this is kind of late since the until dawn remake has been out for a while but i kept procrastinating this after I started it. anyways #needthat.

The wind pulls at you from every angle, hair clinging to your sweaty, frostbitten cheeks. Adrenaline kept your body moving through the never-ending maze of trees and snow; you didn’t think it would last much longer. You were sure if you continued in this direction, eventually, you would reach the sanatorium. 

It was marked on the map in the cable car station, the same map you had seen before you made your way up to the lodge with Sam and Chris. That was hours ago, and you wish you could go back and warn yourself to go back down the mountain. Or even better, ignore Josh’s email altogether and stay home. Play sick. You’d say anything not to be where you are, right now. 

But that’s not possible, is it? 

Your clothes are sticky with blood. Not your own, you think. You hope. This night was not turning out the way you had expected it to. And the choices you had made leading up to this point were beginning to make your stomach turn the longer you thought about them. 

Why did you leave the lodge? You could’ve stayed on the kitchen floor after that psycho knocked you out; you could’ve pretended not to hear Chris’s attempts to wake you up. You could’ve looked for a phone instead of rushing into the snow to find Ashley. Speaking of them, why had you left Chris and Ashley? You could’ve returned to the lodge with them to find Sam after witnessing your friend be sawed in half, but no. You needed to know that Mike was okay considering you hadn’t seen him since you both arrived. 

Why did you start that argument with Mike before the two of you had left for the lodge? 

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“You're getting jealous over nothing. We’ve talked about this, there is nothing between me and Em. I’m with you. I’m in love with you. Why does this keep being brought up?”

“Maybe because she texts your phone like you're still close? ‘Text when you and the new gf get here, can’t wait to see you, winky face’,” you push his phone towards him. “She knows who I am, why does she feel the need to refer to me as the ‘new girlfriend’ as if we’ve never met? And why is she sending you winky faces? Why exactly is Em so excited to see you, Mike?” You make a point of emphasizing her nickname which seems to flow off his tongue so easily. 

“You’re looking into this way too much. This is crazy, I mean come on, that’s how she texts everyone, baby.” He gently takes his phone from you, throwing it onto the bed and reaching back for your hand which hovers in the air. You let him, but you make no effort to hold his hand back, fingers only resting in his hold. A soft sigh leaves your lips. 

“Yeah well, I’m not loving that she texts you that way and I’m also not loving the fact that you’ve said nothing to her about how weird it is. You have no problem defending her when you talk to me, so why can’t you say something to her about how I feel?”

“If I said something it would just cause a fight between me and her, or you and her, and the last thing that anyone needs up there, especially Josh, is for all of us to be fighting. Can you pretend to like her, only for the weekend, and then you never have to again.”

“You say that every time she’s involved, ‘just pretend to like her for tonight, and then you never have to ever again.’ But I will, because for some reason she is always around. I figured when Matt and she started dating we would see her less but I guess I was wrong.”

“Please, let’s just go and get it over with. We’re doing this for Josh, remember?”

“I don’t know, Michael, something about spending an entire weekend with your ex-girlfriend isn’t really appealing to me anymore. Call me crazy.” His eyebrows soften as you use his full name, especially in that tone. He is enjoying this conversation less than you are. 

“Don’t be this way, we’re already packed and ready to go. Just come downstairs and get in the truck. She won’t bother us, baby, I promise. Come on..” He attempts to pull you, gently bringing your hand closer to him. But your fingers slip from his hand, dropping to your side. From the bed, his phone buzzes, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who’s messaging him. 

“Sam told me she's taking the bus up there, I think,” you look back to him, “I’ll just head up with her so she doesn't have to go alone.”

“But then I have to go alone. And the bus leaves in like an hour, that's barely enough time to get ready and get to the stop. You're being ridiculous, just come with me. And if you want to, we can talk about this on the way up.” 

 You look away from him, missing the way his face falls as you turn your back to him. “I’ll see you up there, Mike.”

If you had just let it go, believed him, and gone with him instead of taking the bus with Sam, you would’ve never been angry with each other at the lodge. Or rather, you wouldn’t have been so furious with him because you would’ve talked things out in the truck, kissed, and made up instead of stewing in your thoughts on the bus. You wouldn’t be worrying about whether or not he was alive right now. But you were stubborn and foolish, and now you are trudging through the snow, improperly dressed, and praying the person you love is still breathing on this stupid mountain. 

You cross your arms over your chest, preserving what little warmth you have left, and with every step you lose another piece of hope. All you can think of is him. And how, if he is dead, he would’ve died thinking that you were mad at him. You weren’t even angry, annoyed for sure but not angry, you were just being stubborn and taking your frustration out on him. Now you might never get to apologize. The thought makes your stomach churn and your steps falter as a wave of nausea overtakes you. 

But, finally, in the distance you see the outline of a large building surrounded by a brick fence that appears to be falling apart. You allow yourself to be comforted, just for a moment, by the sanatorium's existence. The nausea in your stomach ceases as your steps quicken, arms uncrossing to move through the air. You reach the gate, blocked by the large pile of snow blocking both sides, not that you think you could’ve pushed it open in your current state; blocked from snow or not. 

You let your hand trace across the gate's bars as you walk towards the side of the fence. The pads of your fingers sting from the cold metal but you keep them where they are. As you move, they follow, moving from metal to brick. The only way into the sanatorium courtyard, you realize, is to climb over the stone fencing. 

A tired sigh leaves your body. You place your hands on the wall, palms stinging from the snow-covered surface. You lift your body, throwing your leg over simultaneously, climbing on top to straddle the snowy stone. The action uses more energy than you realistically have left so instead of gracefully landing on the other side of the wall you fall, directly onto your back. At least the pile of snow beneath you cushions your fall a tiny bit, but it still takes you a few minutes to recover your breath. 

Using the wall, you find your footing again. The snow falls from your clothes as you stumble towards the sanatorium. You don’t even know what you were expecting to discover here. You figured there might be people here. Maybe a construction crew, getting ready to tear the old building down. A custodian, forced to stay and take care of an abandoned building. Or on the slimmer side of chance, a large group of stable nurses and doctors that would offer you and your friends shelter and much-needed medical attention. However, the closer you get, the more you realize how fucked you are. Nobody is out here. And it was stupid to believe there would be. 

But you’ve come this far, and the chill that runs through your body borders on hypothermic potential. You reach the front doors, using your body to push the door open, shoulder first. It opens far easier than expected, and you fall to your hands and knees as it flies inwards. “Fuck.. me.” 

You don’t move from the floor, the opposite actually, you get closer to it, falling onto your back. You don’t even want to get up. No one is here. All your friends are probably dead back down by the lodge. What’s the point? At least this way you’ll have time to think over every choice that led you here, it’ll take a while for the cold to kill you since your feet are the only part of you still lying outside the building. From farther within the entry hall you hear a door open, the sound of steps echoing through the empty building. And though your heart rate picks up speed, you don’t move. Instead, you pray that whatever it is, will kill you quickly so you can be with your friends again. So you can be with Mike. 

“Who’s there? Whoever it is, just know I am armed and I am not afraid to shoot you. I have had one hell of a night and I am so not in the mood for.. whatever it is that you want.” Even with your heartbeat drumming against your ear canals, you still pick up the voice. A man's voice. Almost recognizable. You let your eyes close, murmuring the only thing you can think of like a mantra. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. 

“Holy shit. Y/n?” Mike? You turn your neck enough to see the man approaching. A sudden second surge of energy fills you, and you lift yourself into a sitting position to fully face the figure walking towards you. 

“M..mike?” 

“Holy- Oh my god, how are you- Are you okay?” He falls to his knees in front of you, dropping the gun and the lantern in his hands on the floor. His hands hover around you, scared to touch you. You notice that two of the fingers on his left hand are missing, replaced by a bandage soaked in blood.  Your hands are the first to make contact, landing on both sides of his dirty face.

“Are you real?” He nods, pulling you into a too-tight embrace. A stark contrast to his previous concern and reluctance to touch you. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m real. I’m so glad to see you. You’re alive.. holy shit I can’t believe you’re alive.”

“You look terrible” You wipe away some dirt from his face. Eyes wide as you try to convince yourself that he is actually in front of you. You had convinced yourself that he was dead, and now to see him in front of you alive and well - okay maybe not well but he’s not dead - it has your brain moving a mile a minute. There is so much you have to say. So much you have to explain to him. How do you explain to someone that his friend was sawed in half on the anniversary of his sister's death? Or how do you explain that the rest of his friends might ALSO be dead? And without sounding insane, how do you explain that you truly believe something is up on the mountain with you and that it might’ve followed you the entire way to the sanatorium? You can’t.  

“Well, I’m happy to see you too, baby.” He laughs breathily, unsteady. A laugh of disbelief. His way of coping has always been humor, even at the most inappropriate of times. Your features are probably the exact opposite of his uncertain smile. You pull him close again, practically pushing him to the ground, but his arms wrap around you and he straightens his back to keep the two of you upright. “Woah, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

You push your face into his shoulder, saturating the filthy, green jacket that he wears with tears. It stinks like cigar smoke, years of sweat buildup, and dirt. 

“Mike- Oh Mike,” your voice is muffled in his skin, pausing in between sobs to catch your breath. His arm wraps tighter around your waist, the other arm reaching up so his hand can rest in your tangled hair. “I’m so- I am so so sorry Micheal. I thought you were dead, I thought- I thought you died thinking I was angry. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. I’m just- I’m so glad you’re alive.” He kisses your temple, and as you raise your red face to look him in the eyes, he moves your hair out of your face. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? Can you walk? God, you must be freezing. Did you come all the way from the lodge like this? Fuck, y/n, how are you even alive.” You shake your head, a silent confirmation that you don’t know how you’re alive either. 

He helps you to your feet, taking off the unfamiliar jacket and helping you into it. He then retrieves the lantern and the gun from the floor, “Here, can you hold this up?” You nod, and take the lantern from his hand. In the hand opposite of you, he holds the gun, and with the other, he intertwines his fingers with yours. “We're gonna get out of here. I am going to get you out of here, I promise.” He’s so certain, and your fear almost dissipates completely as he leads you farther into the sanatorium with a tight grip on your hand.

[zorobraun]

ex husband ghost at your kiddo’s football game part two

“dad, what does ‘sex’ means?” theo asks, looking at simon while they’re playing video games. his father freezes. “what did you just say?” simon stares at his son in disbelief, instantly crashing the car in the game. “sex.” theo says again, his bright soft eyes full of innocence. simon swallows hard, frowning his nose. “first of all, how did you discover the existence of this word?” simon raises an eyebrow at the kid, laughing quietly. “mommy’s friend.” theo replies in a worried tone, his cheeks getting red from both regret and embarrassment.

“is that so?” simon’s tone is a bit angry now. “i’ll have a word with your mom, then.” he adds with a sigh, looking at his son. “don’t, please. it’s not her fault… she was very uncomfortable.” theo’s eyes are desperate and worried. “don’t worry, buddy. i’ll just talk to her… nicely.” simon reassures him with a soft smile, caressing theo’s head. he nods with a half hearted smile. “her friend was saying something about… mom missing the sex she had with you. i wasn’t supposed to hear that, but she’s too loud.” theo swallows hard, looking away.

simon is in shock. he holds back a laugh. “and mom said that… she can’t help but miss having sex with you, that you’re the best she ever had.” theo completes with hesitation in his tone. “oh my god, really?” simon asks with a fake surprise, laughing out loud. he’s not cocky, but he obviously knew that already, you used to tell him all the time. “yes, dad…” theo mutters with a light chuckle, still confused about the meaning of his mom’s statement.

simon shakes his head, still laughing in disbelief. “your mom is crazy, huh?” he says in a playful tone, wrapping his big arms around theo. “sometimes.” the kid replies, laughing too. “so… what’s ‘sex’, anyway?” theo raises an eyebrow, curious and confused. simon takes a deep breath, staring at his son in a serious, calm way. “sex is… an intimate moment that you share with someone you trust.” he explains in a non explicit way, smiling softly. “really? so you and mom… you trusted each other.” theo smiles sadly. “actually, it was more than trust. we… we loved each other, which makes the experience even better.” simon adds in a calm tone.

“do you miss having… that… with mom?” theo raises an eyebrow, innocent and naive as always. simon suddenly sighs quietly, the memories eating him alive. “i can’t believe we’re talking about this, buddy.” he lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “but yeah, i miss it.” he pauses. “i miss everything.” a sad smile appears on simon’s lips. theo stares into his father’s eyes. he knows that simon is not okay, but he decides to ignore that and give him a tight hug. “let’s get you back to mommy’s house.” simon breaks the silence, kissing theo’s temple.

a few minutes later, simon and theo are standing in your doorstep. you quickly open the door with a smile, since you were already expecting them. you crouch when you see theo, hugging him while you kiss his soft cheeks. “i’ve missed you!” you chuckle quietly, kissing all over his face. “mom, stop, it tickles!” he chuckles, pulling away from you. simon smiles softly in silence. the loud thunder makes the three of you look at the sky. the rain is just getting worse.

you look at simon. his eyes look like coming home. like listening to an old good song after months without listening to it. “hi.” you greet him, smiling. “hey.” simon smiles back, his fingers interlocking with your strands, caressing your head gently. “he already had dinner. and he also showered.” simon tells you, just like always. most of your conversations with him are like this. you nod with a smile. “um, you should come in. it’s raining too much.” you look at simon with a an awkward smile, making him chuckle quietly as he shakes his head. “it’s fine, but thanks.” he says, looking at you. “seriously, don’t drive right now. don’t make me worried.” you reply, touching his arm in a friendly way. simon seems to be hesitant.

“please, dad. stay a little longer.” theo grabs simon’s hand, pulling him inside. simon could never deny his son, so he gives in, clearing his throat before looking around your cozy living room. the living room that was once his, too. it’s a bit awkward to realize that he let you stay without even thinking twice, while he had to buy another place to live. “make yourself at home.” you say the magic words and simon feels that pain in his heart. this is his home. or used to be…

“can i get you something to drink?” you ask with a weak smile. “i’m fine, thanks.” he smiles back and you nod. simon takes a seat on the couch, theo throws himself beside his father. before you could sit next to theo, he leaves the couch to give attention to the puzzle on the ground. you and simon look at each other with a soft smile. you sit next to simon on the couch, making sure to keep a certain distance. “so, did you guys have fun?” you ask with a playfulness in your tone. “of course, mom.” theo chuckles, focused on the puzzle. simon chuckles too, his gaze shifting from theo to you.

“hey, can i talk to you about something?” simon asks, laying his arm lazily on the couch, his body turned towards you. you swallow hard, nodding. “sure. what is it?” you smile nervously. “tell claire to stop talking about sex in front of my son, for fuck’s sake.” simon laughs quietly, touching your hand and squeezing it in a playful manner. your cheeks get instantly red. “w-what? i mean, how… how do you know it’s claire?” you seem embarrassed at first but you end up laughing, slapping simon’s thigh.

“i know all of your friends, idiot. only claire would talk about such things in front of theo.” simon laughs again, making you laugh even more. “i already told her, alright? she’s impossible, i swear…” you smile playfully as you shake your head. “oh, i can tell.” simon mutters in a joking tone. you raise an eyebrow at him, mockingly. “she’s so blunt, it’s funny.” he adds, chuckling.

“she really is. remember that time when you first saw her? it was right in the beginning of our relationship, we had just started dating…” you say with a nostalgic smile. simon’s attention is fixed on you, a laugh wanting to leave his throat because he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “fuck yeah… she said: oh, honey. this isn’t your boyfriend anymore, it’s ours. i couldn’t believe my ears when she said that.” simon completes, laughing out loud, just like you.

“oh my god… i was so embarrassed. i felt so bad for you.” you mumble between chuckles, grabbing simon’s arm in a playful manner. “i was willing to break up with you, she almost scared me off.” simon jokes in a teasing tone, chuckling. you roll your eyes with a laugh, pushing him away. he laughs, adjusting himself on the couch. you stare at his lap for some reason, maybe because you just had flashbacks of the two of you having some late night fun on this couch. simon raises an eyebrow at you, clearly judging your malicious stare. you shy away.

the tension is too heavy when simon sighs quietly, staring into your eyes with so much longing that it almost hurts. he misses you like crazy… but then his brain reminds him that your boyfriend is probably upstairs, waiting for you, as he lays down on the bed that you used to share with simon. suddenly, he gets mad. he gets mad because that stupid boyfriend of yours doesn’t deserve you. he can’t even handle being with a woman like you. simon clears his throat uncomfortably, trying his best to ignore his intrusive thoughts.

“mom, did you tell dad about your wedding?” theo breaks the silence while focused on his puzzle and the world stops. simon holds his breath for a while, staring into your eyes as if he’s pleading to hear that this wedding thing is a joke. he feels like theo’s words opened an unhealed wound. he sighs quietly, looking away. the realization hits him. so you weren’t bluffing when you said that you were actually willing to marry your boyfriend. your eyes are filled with despair as you notice simon’s reaction, you can almost hear his heart shattering. “i’m so happy for you.” he finally says something, but his words are meaningless, shallow. he leaves the couch so he doesn’t have to be near you.

“w-wait, where are you going?” you stand up too, grabbing his arm. “i’m going home.” simon replies with a fake soft smile. you can see in his eyes that he’s devastated. “simon, just… stay. let’s talk.” you swallow hard as your touch stays on him. “i think we’re both done talking.” he replies in an annoyed, upset tone, still faking a small smile. “no, simon. i know you…” you insist in a frustrated frown. “don’t leave me in the dark, alright? please. your opinion matters to me.” your voice breaks a little, already fighting the urge to cry. simon has that pain hidden in his face, that you only saw when he was right on the edge.

“what do you want me to say, y/n? do you need my approval, is that it? don’t you think i’ve had enough of your bullshit already?” simon asks with an extreme frustration in his tone, a hint of betrayal. you hold eye contact with him in silence. a silence that’s too loud. you lick your lips nervously, swallowing hard. “i need… i need you to be okay with this. i need to hear you say that i won’t hurt you if i marry him.” you say in a whisper, your eyes tearing up.

simon sighs heavily, looking away in disbelief. he takes a step back. “oh, you want me to be okay with this? you must be out of your goddamn mind.” simon says with a hint of sarcasm. “i can’t keep doing this, y/n. i can’t keep getting in the way of your new love life, just because you want me to. stop relying on me to make decisions that i don’t have the power to make. i’m so fucking tired of having to watch you give all of your love to another man, right in front of my eyes.” simon stares at you with a certain anger as he comes closer again, grabbing the back of your neck with both hands. he’s tearing up. “can’t you see that?” he whispers, almost begging.

“you ended me the night you asked for a divorce instead of trying to make things right again, because you know damn well that i was more than happy to fight for you. for our marriage.” simon’s tired eyes are still on yours, just like his hands on the back of your neck. “so yes, you will hurt me if you marry him. after all we’ve been through… you betrayed me. i spent years loving you, treating you right, taking care of you, helping you through tough times… just so you could change your mind about us and fall in love with someone new in less than a year.” his chest tightens with his own words, pure betrayal consuming his veins.

“all i ever wanted was you, with all of your qualities and flaws. i wanted my son to have both of his parents living under the same roof. but maybe i asked for too much.” he says, a hint of disappointment in his low voice. tears start running down your cheeks and he sighs tiredly, wiping your tears away, again. “you see? you break me in half but i’m always the one to put you back together somehow, when your boyfriend should be doing it. so look me in the eyes and say that he deserves to be with you. say it. you can’t. because it’s my hand you reach for when you’re falling apart.” simon adds, kissing your tears away. it catches you off guard.

you can’t seem to have the strength to answer, so you just stay silent, feeling the safe warm feeling of his touch on you. simon stares into your eyes, waiting for a response. “y-you don’t understand, simon…” you mutter in a shaky voice. his hands are shaky too. he closes his eyes for a second, feeling even more frustrated and desperate with your words. his pleading gaze fixed on you, his chest rising up and down.

“you don’t seem to understand how this breaks my heart, love. you haunt me. i search for you in anyone, anywhere. i search for you in my empty bed, in the passenger’s seat of my car. in the grocery store, by my side, reading our grocery list out loud. i search for you when i’m out with our friends, when i’m at my mom’s and she asks how have you been, when i’m watching our favorite movie with theo for the thousandth time.” he swallows the lump in his throat. you close your eyes, you can’t handle it anymore. “god knows i even miss your toothbrush next to mine.” he chuckles quietly and sadly, making your heart break.

theo stares at his parents with sad, guilty eyes. but he knows that this seems to be a conversation for adults, only. so he stays quiet, turning his attention back to the puzzle. “you said you wanted my opinion, so i’ll give you just that. i want you to be happy, with or without me. if you’re sure that he’s the one for you, marry him. don’t let me hold you back.” simon’s voice is trembling, he keeps holding back his tears, he needs to sound firm and reassuring. “i’ve got you, always.” he adds and you sob uncontrollably, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

you hide your face in the crook of his neck while he strokes your waist gently. “i… i can’t live without you.” you whisper against his skin, almost begging for him to keep getting in the way of your new love life. simon sighs heavily. “you don’t mean that, love. you were the one who decided to live without me in the first place.” he places a bitter kiss on the top of your head. simon hates the fact that you make him weak to the point where he doesn’t even mind being raw and vulnerable. you know all sides of him, anyway. just like he knows all of yours.

“dad, please…” theo mutters, making the two of you stare at him with surprised eyes. “just tell her.” he turns his gaze towards his parents, holding back a cry. simon immediately walks towards him, crouching in front of the kid. he feels terrible for having that type of conversation with you in front of his son. theo starts crying quietly, making simon widen his eyes with a certain despair. “h-hey, kiddo, it’s okay…” simon picks him up, hugging him tightly. “i’m so, so sorry. i shouldn’t have said all of that in front of you, i’m sorry, buddy.” simon strokes theo’s back, kissing the top of his head.

you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, trying your best to stop crying. you have to be strong for your son. you walk towards them. “you always make her cry, dad…” theo mutters with a sob and simon’s heart and breathing stop for a moment. “theo, baby, no… it’s not like this at all.” you stand up for simon, caressing your son’s wet cheeks. “your dad is… the most caring, lovable person in this whole world, okay? don’t ever say that again.” you plead him, kissing his forehead. simon feels like shit.

“he’s a liar… he said that you’re still his love… that he misses everything.” theo says in a low tone, touching your face. simon sighs heavily with a defeated frown. you look at simon in silence, speechless. “enough, theo.” simon says in a more firm tone. he puts his son back on the ground, crouching in front of him. simon looks theo in the eyes, grabbing his shoulders gently. “sometimes love is not enough, but you’re too young to understand that.” simon completes, caressing his son’s cheeks.

theo stares at you with hopeful eyes, waiting for your response to his father’s statement. but you never open your mouth. “i already told you, mommy’s in love with someone else and that’s okay. that’s life. people come and go, right? just like waves. you know when we’re at the beach, swimming in the sea? the waves, they come and go.” simon smiles softly at him, kissing the top of his head before standing up. theo looks at you, disappointed.

“i-i do love you, simon.” you grab his arm, getting a little mad at his statement. “don’t say that in front of our son.” you scold him with red, puffy eyes. “you know exactly what i meant.” simon bites back, almost in an angry whisper, touching your arm briefly. “just be happy, alright? but don’t you dare be happier than you were with me. do this one thing for me, love.” he adds as a single sour tear runs down his cheek. he can’t hold back anymore. simon runs his fingers through your hair gently, while more tears start filling up his eyes. he breathes out, placing his hand on the back of your neck.

you’re staring at him as if you’re screaming i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for punishing you for things you never did. he pulls your face closer to his, leaning his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, so you can’t see how betrayed he feels in the corner of his eyes. “you broke me like your promises, but just between us… you’ll never be unloved by me. you’re too well tangled in my soul.” he whispers, being completely honest. you sob, speechless. then he kisses you. it’s not a passionate kiss. it’s a sad, tender, salty kiss. it’s the last kiss. it’s the closure kiss, for him.

this is the night in which simon finally sets himself free from the bitter embrace of your ghost. he officially gave up on you, for good. and you can feel it too — in the way he breaks the kiss without even looking at your face. he even seems a bit disgusted. simon pulls away from you, walking towards the door without looking back. now you feel cold without his body to make you warm. “i’ll pick you up at school tomorrow, kid.” simon mutters to theo in a defeated cold tone before leaving your house.

your love maimed him so excruciatingly well that suddenly he feels like a soldier who’s returning half his weight, waiting for his lover’s deadly kiss to put him in a never ending sleep.

[minawritesfanfic]

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: You and Dexter finally take the next step in your relationship, but as the saying goes one step forward and three steps back

Part 6

Previous | Next

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

As the sun came up I did end up getting called in to help at the cabin, thankfully I was already there. I helped set up the computers and mini lab that they’d brought from the station, it wasn’t very difficult but it was busy work that allowed me to get a better look at what happened without looking out of place. I had even received my own jacket which was nice, I finished setting up the last computer and kind of just stood off to the side unsure what else I could be doing right now. I wandered around looking at all the debris until I found Dexter, but just as I was about to talk to him both of us were called back to work. I sighed and just planned on calling him later.

I was sent home for the day since I’d already incurred more overtime than they liked, not that I was complaining it was kind of boring being there anyway. Besides as far as I was concerned Doakes was burned to death in that fire, unfortunate as it was but I was trying not to think about it. Guilt was a nasty emotion that eats away at you, I hated it and busied myself with other things. It had already been a day since the cabin fire, it was now Monday my usual day off. I lounged around in my pajamas on the couch doing the crossword puzzles in the newspaper as I sipped from my cup of coffee, I was surprised when there was a knock at my door. I set my coffee and newspaper down and got up, I stood in the mirror for a moment tidying my appearance slightly before opening the door.

I was greeted by a smiling Dexter who held a box of donuts in one hand and an envelope, I eyed him curiously and opened the door wider welcoming him inside. He set the donuts down on my dining table and handed me the envelope, he seemed unsure of himself like every action he was taking was new to him. His face remained neutral albeit I swore I could see the faint bit of hesitation in his eye, but I was drawn away from my thoughts as he spoke.

“I figured you liked notes with how many you sent to me, so I decided the best way to say this was through one as well. I’m not much of a baker so I brought donuts.” He gestured to the note prompting me to read it.

I opened the envelope and of course, there was a letter inside, I sat down at the dinner table and began to read the note.

“Last night was a mess but it solidified one thing in my mind, I want someone by my side who is clever, likeminded, and gorgeous. So I knew the first thing I needed to do was ask you to be mine. Would you like to become my girlfriend?”

The note was short and to the point but just as much as I expected out of Dexter of all people, despite that he hadn’t failed at being charming and I smiled as I set the note down on the table. I stood and wrapped Dexter in a hug startled him as he had become lost in his thoughts waiting for me to read the note. After a moment he hugged back and we stood there for a few moments basking in each other's warmth despite how warm it was here in Maimi. I pulled away after a moment and composed myself, I grabbed a donut out of the box.

“Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend, who knew you could be so sweet?”

“I certainly didn’t, that’s the first time I’ve ever written a love letter.”

“Awe I’m your first! I’ll cherish this forever, Dexter.” I took a bite from my donut and held the note close to my chest before walking to the fridge and hanging it up.

“You don’t have to do that, it’s just a letter.” He said bluntly but I could have sworn there was a hint of bashfulness in his tone.

“Yeah, just the first love letter I ever received from you. I have to cherish it because it may be the only one I’ll ever get.”

“So if I write you more love letters, you won’t pin that to your fridge?” He said with a sigh taking a donut for himself and I laughed.

“Okay I won’t but just know I’ll be waiting for another one.” I took the note down and set it on the counter as I wiped my hands before folding it and sticking it in my ‘recipe book’.

“That’s alright with me, but because we’re dating that does mean you’ll bake for me? I’m hesitant to admit it but I’ve been craving more of those muffins you made.”

“Oh really, the banana nut ones? I’m glad you liked them so much, I’ll definitely make you some soon then.”

“Thank you, the store-bought ones I got couldn’t compare. It was honestly a shame, I really did enjoy them though.” He said with a smile for a brief moment before his expression returned to neutral.

“Oh yeah, once you get home baked goods you can never go back,” I said with a laugh.

Dexter and I spent another hour together enjoying our morning before he did have to eventually part ways and head to work. As we were saying our goodbyes I gave him a small kiss on the cheek which I was surprised when he returned it with a kiss on the lips, he squeezed my arm and left shortly after. My face burned red at the thought and I grinned to myself kicking my feet up in the air, today was an amazing day by far and nothing could put a damper on my mood. After finishing the rest of the donuts I took the note out of the book and brought it into my bedroom, I set it on my vanity as I searched for something to keep it in. I hated to admit it but I was a slight hoarder, thankfully not to an unhealthy extent but still not very good either. I finally found it after searching the depths of my closet, I emerged with a small wooden box the perfect size for the note. Did I mention was handwritten? I tucked it inside the wooden chest and set it on top of my dresser beside the picture of my mom.

I picked it up and sat down on my bed, I traced my finger over the outline of her face. The photo was old in black and white, it was from she was much younger and before she had me. She looked beautiful and it made me miss her deeply, I hugged the photo tight to my chest for a moment before standing. I set the photo back on my dresser and went to look for my phone so that I could call her, I found my phone tucked underneath a pillow on my couch. I dialed her number and waited for it to ring.

“Hello, who is this?” She asked as her phone was old and didn’t show who was calling.

“It’s me, Mom, I was calling to check up on you and Stanley. How are you guys?”

“Oh hello sweetheart, we’re doing fine. Stanley’s out in the yard cutting some firewood for us, how are you, sweetie?”

“I’m doing good, today’s my day off so I’m just relaxing at home for now.”

“That’s good you deserve a nice day off, I know how hard you wo- Stanley you have to stack them neatly or they’ll all fall over!” Her voice grew muffled as she stepped away from the phone but she quickly returned.

“I hear Stan’s still lazy about cutting the firewood,” I said with a laugh and Mom sighed and I could almost see her shake her head.

“Yeah, you think he would learn after the first five times but nope. I swear that man is dumber than an ox, but I love him to pieces. How about you sweetie, any eligible Bachelor’s I need to come give my sign of approval?”

“I well- I am dating someone but it’s too early for any of that, but when I’m sure things are serious I would love to have you guys come meet him. I know you enjoy the weather down here, I still don’t understand why you won’t move.”

“Alright keep me updated sweetie, but you know me. All my friends are in this town and there ain't another place in the world where I belong, but I sure as hell love getting out of this cold!” We both laughed at her comment and I smiled.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it mom, just called to say hello. I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart, now go get me some grandbabies!” She hung up the phone before I could even retaliate so all I could do was laugh at her words.

★ ✮ ★

Monday came and went, and before I knew it Tuesday was upon me. After I finished getting ready for work I made sure to grab the banana nut muffins in my fridge I had made yesterday for Dexter, with a smile on my face I left home for the department. It was a relatively short drive and I made it just in time to clock in, I said hello to my coworkers and sat down at my desk. I decided to check my assignments before heading upstairs to see Dexter, I only had two tasks so far one of them coincidentally in the homicide department which was perfect. I grabbed what I needed and the muffins before heading up there, I climbed inside the elevator but just as the doors closed a woman approached trying to get on as well but I reacted too late and couldn’t open the door. I just shrugged and got off the elevator at the next floor, I walked into the homicide department and smiled seeing that Dexter was outside his office.

“Hey Dexter, look what I’ve brought.” Masuka smiled over at me as Dexter eyed the muffin in the Tupperware I brought.

“I know we talked about it but I wasn’t expecting them this soon, thank you.”

“So does this mean the secrets are out now?” Masuka butted in with his shiny bald head.

“Yes, Masuka he knows it’s me. We’ve been on several dates at this point.”

“And when were you going to tell me this?!” He said baffled looking between the two of us.

“At the same time, I was going to tell you that we’re dating.”

“Dating!?” Masuka said a bit too loudly, the rest of the office looked over at is curiously and I smiled nervously.

“Well don’t scream it out loud you asshole!” I whispered loudly at him as I was slightly embarrassed.

“Sorry, but you guys are dating!? Since when?”

Since yesterday Masuka.” Dexter said finally inserting himself back into the conversation.

“Dexter?” An unfamiliar voice called out, all three of us turned to look and I saw the woman from outside the elevator.

“Rita? What are you doing here?” Dexter asked his brow furrowing slightly.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls so I had to come to see you in person, it’s important can we talk?” I glanced over at Dexter deeply confused.

“Now isn’t a good time Rita.”

“Then when is a good time, because you been blowing me off for the last week and a half? I really needed you, Dexter, cause-cause I’m pregnant.”

If things weren’t awkward before they sure as hell were now, especially considering the whole office had heard the entire altercation especially after Masuka had drawn their attention to us moments before. This whole situation made me feel sick truth be told, I grabbed the box of muffins and politely excused myself from the situation not wanting to be associated with whatever that was any longer. I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t hurt, one day into dating my boyfriends got another woman pregnant. What kind of fucked up romance novel was this?

★ ✮ ★

To say Dexter was shocked was an understatement, he was baffled or flabbergasted even. Things in life were finally going right with the Bay Harbor Butcher case being closed and you as his girlfriend, but of course, things could only be right in his life for just a moment. Here he was outside in the parking lot with Rita as she talked on and on about how Dexter needed to step up so that they could raise their kid in a happy home. And Dexter waivered, what he had with Rita wasn’t awful. She made for the perfect cover life and he truly did think fondly of Aster and Cody, he needed to step up and be a father. But on the other hand, there was you, an option yet to be explored. You were someone who would understand him on a level no one else could and his girlfriend Rita had ultimately ended things between them a while ago, Dexter didn’t necessarily have to be with Rita to be a dad. He remembered the hurt expression on your face even as you politely excused yourself from the situation, you didn’t get angry or shout like Lila would have nor did you cause a scene and cry like Rita had. He had no idea what you were thinking and he hoped he hadn’t ruined things with you, but he needed to deal with Rita first.

“Are you even listening to a word I said, Dexter?”

“Yes, you want me to come back and raise our child together.”

“Yes, they deserve the world and the best chance at life. So you’ll come by the house later today? Astor and Cody miss you, I miss you.”

“I’ll stop by but Rita we broke up, you broke up with me.”

“Yeah, I did, because you cheated on me with your ‘sponsor’.” She said her voice growing heated.

“I did do that, and it wasn’t right for me to do that. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, but you still need to come by the house. We need to talk in-depth about the baby because I am keeping it.” She said standing up and grabbing her purse.

“Okay, I’ll see you later Rita,” Dexter said with a quiet exhale of air, he looked away and out into the distance with a frown. He saw Lila and knew that this couldn’t and wouldn’t be good.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[lostgirlmuseum]

Pulse 💗

Summary: Bucky can hear your heartbeat through the wall, and he can tell everything isn’t alright.

Pairing: Bucky x gn!Reader

Words: 600 (exactly 600, holy moly)

Warnings: None really, just mentions of anxiety and adhd. Wrote this within an hour, sorry if its bad

A/N: Self indulgent fic alert! This goes out to all my peeps who struggle with ADHD/anxiety. It sucks, but hang in there!

Divider credit: @saradika

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up from the papers on your desk.

A brief second passed, and the door creaked open. A cautious Bucky peeked his head in.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked.

You suddenly became aware of your leg bouncing 70 miles an hour, and forced yourself to stop. 

“Yes, why?” You replied, ignoring the urge to get up and walk around.

“Well, I—” he hesitated, and brought his hand to rub the back of his neck, “I was passing by and I heard your heartbeat going really fast—super hearing and all that,” he awkwardly chuckled.

“120,” you stated, glancing at your watch.

“What?”

“My heart rate is 120 right now.”

“That’s pretty high for just sitting,” he responded, having a hard time hiding his concern.

“Well, y’know, anxiety,” you breathily laughed, but it wasn’t that funny.

“What are you anxious about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Nothing.” You sighed, lowering your pen and facing him. At this point he was now in your room, perched in front of your door.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Seriously, I’m kinda freaking out over nothing right now.”

“C’mon, you’re always telling me I’m valid for having concerns, you are too.”

“No, I mean there is literally no singular thing I’m anxious about right now—it’s just physical anxiety, the general feeling that I’m going crazy, or dying, I don’t know, both I guess. That sounds so dramatic. I really am fine. I mean, I’m not fine, but I am, yeah?” You rambled on and on, and cursed yourself when you noticed your leg had started bouncing again.

“I don’t think you’re okay, do you want me to bring you to Dr. Cho?”

“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t think there’s much she can do. The worst of this should pass in thirty minutes anyway, it’s just my meds.”

“Oh.” 

You could tell Bucky wanted to ask more, but wasn’t sure if it was polite.

“I have ADD. ADHD, whatever you want to call it. So I take medicine so I can focus on certain tasks, like these reports. And it does help me focus, but it’s also a stimulant, so it also gives me a lot of anxiety, which is totally awesome!” You scoffed.

“Why do you keep stopping your leg from bouncing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to annoy you.”

“If bouncing your leg makes you feel better, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I feel like I’m embarrassing myself,” you whined. 

Beep.

You looked at your watch.

“Oh, look at that, 126!”

“Do you—would…would a hug be something that would help you? Calm you down?” He offered, casually putting his arms out for emphasis.

“Sure, Bucky,” you smiled, and stood up to meet him halfway. You knew it wouldn’t fix it, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

Bucky wrapped you in a big embrace, and you were shocked by how warm and teddy-like it was. You gave a small sigh, and rested your face in his neck, knowing you weren’t going to be the first to let go.

He held onto you for longer than you expected, just calmly swaying together in your room. 

To your dismay, he eventually let go of you. You were about to thank him and return to your work, but he gently grabbed your wrist and brought your watch to his sight. 

“107. Good, but I think we can do better than that,” he sweetly smiled, and wrapped you back up into his arms. 

“It might take a while.” You mumbled into his shirt.

“As long as it takes.” He cooed.

A/N: Should be either A) studying for a history exam I have tmw, or B) writing my stupid essay that the rough draft is due tmw, but I wrote this instead bc I’m procrastinating  HELP ME

[lot-of-nothing]

Entwined (Ch. 3)

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

You finally blow up on Melissa.

Warnings: Toxic Melissa, smut, and very veiled internalized homophobia

Author's Note: Okay so walking into this I had an entirely different idea, and then the fic just wrote itself. Thank you soooo much to @alexusonfire for betaing this <3

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2

While it had been weeks since you last spoke to or texted Melissa, she had been trying to contact you for weeks. You had received ‘come over’ texts, nudes, and lewd messages from the redhead - all of which drove you crazy. Sometimes you would find yourself staring at the past pictures she had sent, craving her. 

This craving felt immoral, especially now that you had been casually seeing someone you met online. 

Ericka had just about everything you were searching for in a partner - especially the way she responded to your texts and happily went on dates with you without you having to beg. She was kind and you were sure you both shared some interests (although you didn’t know what they were). You knew the bar was incredibly low for this stranger you met through a dating app, but you kept telling yourself anything was better than your dating life prior. 

--

Ericka stared across the table at you with her head resting in her hands, listening tentatively to your turn in the game you were playing. She always looked at you with a kindness that made you nervous. Her finger danced across the tabletop as she spoke softly, “Can we order dinner?”

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you opened the folder containing all of the apps for different restaurants and food delivery. You handed over your phone, your hand grazing hers made your cheeks flush. “Yeah. Take a look at what’s available and we can order something. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

When you emerged from the bathroom, you would have never expected for Ericka to have her coat on with her purse hanging off her shoulder. She held out your phone to you with a dejected look in her eyes that made your heart sink, “Is this the same Melissa you used to see?”

“What?” You ask, chewing the inside of your lip and taking the phone from her hands. Your eyes examined the open text chain between Melissa and you with a new picture you hadn’t seen that had been sent mere minutes ago - a picture featuring the bottom half of Mel’s face and her open blouse with her breasts pulled from her bra. It was mesmerizing, but you tore your eyes away to make yourself seem like less of a terrible person. 

Ericka’s jaw was tight as she spoke, “She texted you.”

“Ericka-”

“No. It’s really okay. It’s better that I know you aren’t emotionally available now than later on when it hurts more.” She cut you off and gave you a pained look that cracked your heart in two. While you hadn’t grown extremely attached to Ericka, she was incredibly kind to you and you never wanted to hurt her in all of this. 

Her tone alone told you that none of this was open for discussion or explanation, but you tried anyway. “It isn’t like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Ericka gave you a few moments to reply, but when you couldn’t formulate an answer she gave a saddened nod. She left you in silence as she walked towards the door, only pausing when she had one hand on the door handle. “That’s what I thought… Have a good night. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

--

After everything happened with Ericka, you were feeling horrible about your inability to fully cut Melissa off. If you are unable to do that, how would you ever move on? Tears pooled in your eyes and you wiped them away with your sleeves. You didn’t feel you had the right to cry after what you did. And to make matters worse a knock came on your front door. 

You pulled open your front door with reddened eyes and you couldn’t believe that Melissa was standing on your front step. The redhead pushed past you with a huff, entering your home without giving you a sideways glance, “I thought she would never leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Your jaw tightened at the prospect that Melissa could have something to do with your date with Ericka going so poorly.

Mel stolled deeper into your home, dropping her purse onto a chair and perching herself on the arm of the same chair. She rolled her eyes as she described how she found herself outside of your home a half hour ago. “Well I drove over here to see why you weren’t respondin’ to any of my messages when I saw Ms. Sunshine pull up.”

“And that’s why you conveniently sent a picture while she was here?” It wasn’t hard to tell from your tone that you were becoming increasingly infuriated. 

“Well I thought it would bring you to your senses. I didn’t plan on her seein’ it.” Melissa flipped her hair over her shoulder nonchalantly. You couldn’t believe how unaffected she seemed by ruining this night for you. How could a person be so cold?

Her confidence made heat rise to your cheeks. You couldn’t remember a time when you were so infuriated by another human. You clenched and unclenched your fists, snarling at the redhead, “So I had a real shot at a real relationship and you couldn’t let me have that? I thought this was just casual, hm?”

Melissa looked down at the floor, speaking with a wavering confidence, “It is.”

“This? This is casual? Casual, Melissa? This has been going on for years! You keep me like a little puppet on a string, but are you ever going to give me a chance? NO! Because you keep telling yourself you aren’t even the least bit gay.” You shifted quickly into shouting, unable to contain yourself any longer. 

Melissa opened her mouth to respond, but you cut her off before the words could fall off her tongue. “DID YOU EVER THINK OF WHAT THAT DOES TO ME? WHAT YOU DO TO ME? You drive me fucking crazy! I had a woman here! A woman who wanted to fucking date me, but you knew how to fuck that up for me so you could be the only one, huh?”

Melissa moved off the chair and placed her hands on her hips, staring up at you in an act of defiance, “Don’t act like you are such a victim. I never forced you to be so goddamn desperate.”

You knew she was trying to intimate you, but you weren’t about to cave for this woman quite so soon, “Desperate? I’m desperate? Says you that sent me so many messages and pictures detailing how badly you needed to be fucked.”

Melissa paused, trying to find her next argument, but it had momentarily escaped her, “I-I-”

“Go upstairs.”

“What?” The redhead’s eyes opened wider, but her mouth still formed a scowl. 

“Go upstairs. I’m going to fuck you.”

—

You weren’t even sure how Melissa was feeling after you told her to get on her hands and knees. Usually you loved watching her face and breasts as you fucked her with the strap, but now you only wanted to get your anger out. 

With one hand you clutched her beautiful red locks, and used the leverage to pull her backward mercilessly onto the dildo. The other hand gripped her waist - undoubtedly leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on her skin.

Melissa’s jaw hung slack, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she continued to will them away to not show you any weakness. She barely made any noise, however. The redhead had two orgasms which caused her senses to go fuzzy - a sensation she was growing to love. “M-more.”

“More? You think you’re in a position where you can ask for more?” Your voice was a low growl that sent shivers down Melissa’s spine. With a tug of her hair, you pull her backwards so she sat up higher on her knees. The redhead sucked in a breath from the pain, and instinctively you wrapped your spare arm around her waist to pull her down into your lap. 

The feeling of Melissa’s body pressed to yours had you feeling crazy. Slowly you released her hair, and slid your hand to her face, brushing the backs of your fingers across her cheek. Melissa was breathing heavily and subconsciously grinding down onto the strap. Your gentility ended after your thumb glided over her jawline and you dropped your hand to her throat, grasping firm enough to make her whine.

Your voice was merely a whisper as you began slowly rocking tantalizingly slow up into Mel, “You are an evil woman. Consumed by your own selfish pleasures…” 

The pretty redhead let out a meek whine.

Your hand remained steady on her neck while the other trailed down her abdomen, fingers slipping between her folds with ease. While the strap barely moved in and out, you were teasing her sore clit as you listed off Melissa’s sins, “You don’t think I remember all of the things you have done? All of the boyfriends you cheated on with me… Coming to my apartment the night before you and Joe got married… You were broken up with Gary only for a couple hours before you had me in your bed…”

Melissa huffed in frustration and wriggled in your grasp, failing to find the words to argue. Only if you could have seen the way her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment - those were all memories she pushed deep down. 

“And you’re right. I am no victim. I let you do whatever you want because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” You put a period on your sentence by catching her ear lobe between your teeth. Even while you wanted to punish Melissa and take all of your anger out on her, you avoided the hoop of her earring as you would never want to cause any real harm.

Flattery was truly the way to Mel’s heart no matter what she would say. Her groan in response was guttural and conveyed a desperation that was incredibly satisfying. She then began rutting against your hand, crying your name over and over again. 

“I wish I could hate you.”

And with those cold words, Melissa came hard enough that she doubled over out of your grasp. She buried her face into the sheets to hide the tears that involuntarily fell from her eyes. 

—

Once Melissa had recovered from her orgasm and moved off the strap, you slid off the bed. With your back turned to the redhead, you removed the strap in exchange for sweatpants. You refused to look at Mel when you spoke, “You need to go.”

“What?” She whipped her head around. Her brows were furrowed, and if you would have turned around, you would have seen the hurt in her eyes. 

“Leave. I can’t get over you if you are still here.” You cleared your throat uncomfortably as you pulled a shirt over your head. You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or wretch - regardless you were in pain with the line you drew in the sand for Melissa.

Melissa’s voice was soft… softer than you had ever known, “Hon…” 

“Have mercy, Melissa.” 

Four Months Later

The bartender placed a drink on the bar before you, earning them a furrowed brow and questioning glance. They gave a toothy grin in response and pointed down the bar to your left, “It's from the redhead.”

Your stomach sank at the prospect, and the bartender noticed how your features drooped. With a sympathetic glance, they let you be with your thoughts. 

Melissa. It had to be her. 

You stared down at the wood grain of the bar, debating if you even wanted to open the wounds that were barely healed as it was. Even a glance felt like too much for you now. You weren’t ready for this after everything ended so terribly.

But it didn’t seem like Melissa was giving you much of a choice as her plump hand crept from your shoulder blade to your shoulder, “Long time no see.”

Link to Chapter 4

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta, @unicorniusfallapatorius, @sapphicxrat, @earpivore

[021894s]

— 18 I wish it was easier.. [1.5k w]

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PAIRING: brothers bsf! sunghoon x f!reader

WARNINGS: language, mentions of oral sex

AUTHORS NOTE: it’s looking up for y/n and sunghoon!!

your heart raced as you quietly slipped back into your room, the sound of your friends' voices drifting up from downstairs. you quickly sent a text to Sunghoon: "You go down first, I’ll leave the shower running so they don’t think anything." almost immediately, you received a simple "ok" in response. you could hear Sunghoon's footsteps as he descended the stairs to greet everyone.

"Hey guys, how was hiking?" Sunghoon's voice carried up to your ears, a mix of casualness and slight nervousness.

Saerom was the first to respond, her tone exasperated. "Horrible. I should’ve stayed home and slept."

Heeseung laughed, "Quit being dramatic! I had a great time."

Niki chimed in with a teasing grin, "Heeseung screamed like a little girl when he saw a snake."

The group burst into laughter, Heeseung trying to defend himself amidst the teasing. Saerom then asked, "Where’s Y/Nnie?"

Sunghoon, a bit nervous, rubbed the back of his neck. "I heard the shower running."

No one seemed to read too much into it. After a few more minutes, you came down the stairs, more giddy than usual, not that you were aware. "Hi guys!!" you greeted, your voice a bit too cheerful.

Sunoo gave you a skeptical look, "Ew, why are you so happy?"

"Oh, um, I just slept really good!" you replied, trying to sound natura.

you glanced over to see Jaemin and Ningning in their own little world, giggling about who knows what. unbeknownst to you , they had hit it off pretty well during their time away from you and sunghoon. not that you cared, jaemin was just a cover up anyway. you realized how messed up that sounded, but it was true.

Everyone went back to their activities. The three youngest settled on the couch to watch a movie, while the guys headed to the kitchen to start preparing lunch. saerom approached you, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into her room.

"Are you okay?" you tell her, a bit taken aback by her sudden actions

“you dirty whore!” , she blurts out

Confusion clouded your mind "You slept with him, huh?!"

heat rushed to your face, avoiding her gaze "oh my god, you did." saerom gasped, "shh, keep it down... but yes."

Her shock was palpable. "We ran into each other in the kitchen, and things just escalated."

Saerom's face twisted in disgust. "In the kitchen? y/n , they're making our lunch on that counter as we speak..."

"Well, when you put it that way..." you trail off, feeling a bit flustered.

Saerom rolls her eyes and says, "I'll be skipping lunch, thank you very much."

You can't help but roll your eyes in response. Then, Saerom speaks up again, "So, how was it?"

You reply with a small smile, "Somehow even better than the first? Which doesn't even make sense because it was so rushed."

Saerom smirks and says, "First of all, ew. Second of all, it's probably the circumstances under which it happened. I mean, the first time you guys had no prior encounters and you didn't know what to expect. This time around you knew what it felt like and it's like you've been longing for it. It makes sense."

“yeah, i guess so..” you admit then add with a sigh “i didn’t get to finish tho”

saerom dramatically gasps “he didn’t make you cum??? oh girl…”

you let out a laugh at your honesty “no i mean i was blowing him in the shower when we heard the door open” you hear another gasp “oh my god i’m never gonna look at you the same ever again”.

you and saerom snicker when she all of a sudden lets out a “so what now?”.

“in all honesty i’m not sure. we’ll have to talk it out but it’s not like there’s many places it could go, I really don’t want to hurt heeseung” you explain to her the complexity of your newfound feelings.

“well for what it’s worth you guys can talk it out with him? seung is understanding and he loves you both. who’s to say he won’t accept it?”

a sigh leaves your lips “yeah i guess so… but I don’t wanna think about that right now. I just wanna enjoy our last day before going back home”.

saerom smiles at you, getting up from the bed and side hugging you, opening the door to enter the living space once again. you’re met with everyone in pretty much the same positions as you left them but food has started to gather around the table. you didn’t realize how hungry you were until the aroma filled your nostrils. after all sunghoon did distract you from the breakfast you had made yourself earlier.

everyone takes their seats at the table, you're sitting across from sunghoon. the chatter and clinking of utensils fill the air, but all you can focus on is the subtle tension between you two. It's the kind of tension that's almost electric, the kind that nobody else seems to notice but the two of you.

sunghoon glances up from his plate, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he quickly looks away, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. you feel your heart skip a beat and you can't help but smile back, even though you're trying to keep it cool.

you take a bite of your lunch, trying to act natural, but every time you look up, you catch sunghoon's gaze again. It's like a silent conversation, a dance of glances and shy smiles that only the two of you understand.

Across the table, your friends are oblivious, caught up in their own conversations. You steal another glance at Sunghoon, and this time, he holds your gaze a little longer, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something else you can't quite place. You feel a warm flush creep up your cheeks and quickly look down at your plate, hoping nobody else notices.

the moment is filled with laughter and chatter, but for you and sunghoon, it's like you're in your own little world, sharing a secret that nobody else can see.

“ningning and I are leaving early” jaemins voice cuts your little moment short. everyone turns to face the pair. heeseung is the first to speak “like.. together?”.

“well, yeah” ningning answers his question. “what about those two?” jake turns to you and sunghoon, both a little unsure of how to react to the situation. “sunghoon and I aren’t exclusive, neither are y/n and jaemin. we hit it off pretty well this morning so we’d like to see where it leads” everyone is left a little speechless and confused, not that you not sunghoon cared tho.

“aw well good luck guys” you wish them across the table, causing a confused glance from heeseung “you’re ok with this? you guys were all over each other yesterday”.

“well that was yesterday. you guys have fun!.” you answer. “sunghoon?” heeseung directs his attention to him. “i mean ningning is right we aren’t exclusive so”.

“you guys worry me” heeseung states, laughter erupting from the table. who would’ve know your little revenge scheme would end up working in their favor?

the rest of the day is spent enjoying the pool, taking in the final moments of your camping trip before having to go back to your daily routines.

The sun is beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the pool area, everyone else made their way inside, deciding to wash up and call it a night. you and sunghoon are floating lazily on inflatable loungers, the water gently rocking you back and forth. the evening air is warm, and the sky is painted with shades of pink and orange.

sunghoon turns his head to look at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "This is nice, isn't it?"

you nod, feeling completely at ease. "Yeah, it really is."

a comfortable silence falls between you, the only sounds being the gentle lapping of the water and the distant chirping of birds. after a while, sunghoon speaks up again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"tou know, I've been thinking a lot lately," he says, his eyes focused on the sky above. "About us."

you feel your heart skip a beat. "What about us?"

he hesitates for a moment before turning to face you, his expression serious but tender. "I just... I really value our time together. You mean a lot to me."

You can feel the sincerity in his words, and it makes your heart swell with emotion. "You mean a lot to me too, sunghoon."

He reaches out, his hand finding yours in the water. The touch is gentle, but it sends a wave of warmth through you. "I wish it was easier" he says softly.

You squeeze his hand, a smile spreading across your face. “me too”

the sun dips below the horizon, casting the pool in a soft twilight, you and Sunghoon float there, hand in hand. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you and the unspoken promise of something more.

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[wingedshadowfan]

⚠️arcane s2 act iii spoilers // criticism ⚠️

i kind of hated the end of arcane. hear me out.

i don't wanna rain on anyone's parade but we can all agree season 2's pacing was super breakneck. not a lot got explained or was given the proper time to develop or be addressed (at least in front of us, the audience, that is - but even then, some things could've been hinted at better) and this goes for both lore, motivations and interpersonal character relationships. (and i can give many examples such as the black rose, maddie's true motivations, caitlyn and vi's fight, jinx rallying up the undercity, viktor and ambessa's plans diverging, etc. but instead, i'll tell you what i think went wrong with what we got to see in the last three eps)

seeing where ep 7 left us made me think "okay ep 8 will start from the same exact spot and we'll see from there" and ofc my expectations were defied but that's not my main problem. i needed to know what happened to ekko, jayce and heimerdinger but even more than that, i wanted to see jinx grieve isha in her own way (by herself and not through being asked or guilt tripped to help someone else's agenda bcuz she clearly had little intrinsic motivation to unite the undercity over a common goal after silco's death) and internalize what she'd meant to isha - and that becoming jinx's catalyst to rally up the undercity. i wanted her to understand why this orphan from the undercity's mines sacrificed herself to save jinx - the symbol of a cause greater than her. i needed her to see what unifying zaun and making tangible institutional change to the undercity would mean in a way sevika never would've been able to show her. it would mean no more powders, no more ishas. not one more. breaking the cycle of violence, poverty, oppression, somewhat like what silco said in ep 9 (which she interpreted as 'you're the problem, so kys' and she attempted to until somehow ekko convinced her to help. how, why and did she even unite the undercity at all or just make her big hot air balloon late-to-the-party entrance with the firelights to a stray kids banger while sevika did all the work down in zaun?).

anyway, ep 8 threw us in for a loop in an alternative universe (and i loved it, don't get me wrong, but considering there were only 2 normal length eps left, it scared me just as much). instrumentally to the plot, we got to see ekko's main ability develop, and we saw jayce's reasons for shooting viktor. the main conflict of the show, the piltover/zaun one, if those 1,5 seasons so far were anything to go by, just got set aside for the time being. over halfway through the season, we've got a new big bad - the possibility of everyone getting possessed by the viktor/hexcore and becoming part of The Glorious Evolution™. it felt like a movie about racism and police brutality added aliens in the last 5 minutes to force oppressed and oppressors to (not all that successfully) work together, massive losses were suffered by everyone, and then the overarching motif wasn't about love or humanity or rebuilding (things that have come up repeatedly in other episodes, including the one ep literally called 'the messege hidden within the pattern'), it was "bad things happen sometimes, but good things happen sometimes too. it is what it is. i guess." like. duh?? as a viewer, this was quite the disappointing ending takeaway from such a masterpiece of a show but more on that in a second.

narratively, we saw a butterfly effect situation in ep 8 that answered the question of 'what could've been?' but even that answer confused me. the undercity was already oppressed and in socioeconomical peril before jayce's hextech - vi's death during that last job (which makes me believe zaun was the same in both universes because why else would they be poor enough to steal from piltover?) prevented it from being invented and thus stopping other things in piltover from happening but how did it lead to progress in the undercity? what happened and what was the key to it all along? why did shimmer not get invented, how did zaun and piltover seemingly unite, why were zaunites all of a sudden seemingly so much materially and culturally richer and better educated in just a few years? (that aside, i love ekko's determination to get back and save his universe's zaun. i loved the alternative jinx and i loved how everyone was wearing vests 10/10)

then, ep 9 felt like a bunch of confusing things happening one after the other to the point it almost overwhelmed me and i was left thinking i didn't understand a single thing from it (except maybe that one scene - that, i understood spiritually). and the first maybe 90% of ep 10 felt like i was just repeatedly getting hit, and again - no time to breathe, no consolation, no resolve, just receiving bad news after bad news, like getting beaten to the ground with stones.

and at the very end, after some of the ends get tied, caitlyn has her speech, which to me, sounds more depressing and hollow than anything else. she talks ambiguously of history and of ups and downs and of a story not yet over, but there's no promise for the future, no motivation to keep going, no bigger picture, no lesson learned. we're not shown much work being done either (and i'll make a separate post examining why it felt that way to me and a separate one abt how i interpreted her conversation w/ vi at the very end). i was left a bit confused, somewhat unsatisfied, and very, very sad.

did anyone else feel that way too? what did i miss, did i misinterpret or misunderstand something? please i'm going insane i had two different friends tell me they had no idea what i was talking about and that the ending was everything they wanted and more

[dapperapple]

Mike's crush on El does not necessarily contradict him being gay rather than bi

I wanna start off by clarifying that if you see Mike Wheeler as bisexual rather than gay, THAT'S 1000% VALID don't let anyone take that from you babe

this is just my perspective as a lesbian who thought she was definitely straight until the end of 10th grade (age 16, a bit older than Mike and Will are in canon)

I was rewatching a lot of scenes from the show, mainly s2 and s3, to see if I thought that Mike's feelings for El came across as weird/forced or if their relationship felt off

and honestly it left me (a Byler shipper) pretty confused at first

because YES there are a lot of odd things about his feelings and their relationship

BUT ALSO

there are a few moments that are so cute and feel so genuine I didn't know what to do with them for a sec

mainly all the scenes where they're together at the Snowball dance

because that shit seems real to me, it's cute as fuck, that is a Mileven win right there if there ever was one

and honestly, the forehead touch when she and the Byers are about to leave, and again when they reunite in s4

dude that shit is so sweet okay

(Mileven shippers are valid even if I disagree with it for the narrative)

ANYWAYS here's where my personal experience comes in to help out with my confusion over this

Mike in s1 feels the most obviously comp-het to me

because I had a big crush on a boy in kindergarten, another in gr2/3

I didn't even know what gay people were, I knew girls liked boys, so if a boy was my friendly, and nice to me instead of mean, I probably would've liked him or thought I liked him

Mike in seasons 2-4 reminds me of myself in gr7/8

the most intense crush I had on a guy was in gr7/8

I was more used to being friendly with guys at this point but this guy was becoming a close friend of mine

a cute confident guy who was nice, funny, and taking an active interest in me as a person was like wooaahh

I really do believe that Mike unintenionally idolized El, putting her up on this pedestal, with his self esteem all wrapped up in her liking him back

but I also don't think that's his fault, when you're young you don't know any better

the pressure to date starts to increase a bit, and low self esteem is kicking your ass

I did the exact same thing with the guy I liked, I had this whole other version of him in my head and I started liking him less and less the more he didn't act like that ideal

(insert Mike's behavior towards El after she assaulted Angela)

even after I figured out that the kind of person and the kind of connection I wanted in a relationship was something I was far more likely to find with a girl, I still thought I was straight, so it just made me kind of sad

like- I had resigned myself to the fact that I would struggle to find a guy that I TRULY liked

maybe it was lingering internalized homophobia, idk, I had lots of gay friends, but I just hadn't felt that way about any girl at all before, I didn't think I was capable of being attracted to girls

and then there was her

we became very close friends, she was such a kind person, so fucking funny, an incredibly skilled artist, and absolutely gorgeous

and it finally clicked

finally my mind registered the fact that I COULD be attracted to girls

I still consider her my first love

and then there was no turning back

WHICH IS WHY

I wouldn't be surprised AT ALL if it takes Will coming out to Mike/the party in order for him to consider Will romantically

not because he isn't already in love with him subconsciously

but because I don't think he has registered it as a possibility for EITHER of them

moral of the story:

COMPULSIVE HETEROSEXUALITY IS REAL GUYS AND IT CAN FEEL MORE REAL THAN YOU'D EXPECT

especially since when you're young, the differences between boys and girls (both physically and how we're socialized) are much less apparent

MIKE WHEELER I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE (because me too!!)

[anonymousewrites]

Lavender for Royalty; Sage for Wisdom (Book 1) Chapter Five

Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Chapter Five: Bluebell for Humility

Summary: Renge taking control of the Host Club goes as well as (Y/N) expected.

            With a few roles assigned by Renge, the production of the first Ouran Host Club Movie came into being as the hosts “became” their new personalities.

            “Hitachiin is Ouran’s ace!” cheered the guests as Hikaru and Kaoru played basketball.

            “Who made that shot?”

            “Hikaru, Kaoru?”

            “Who cares? They’re both spectacular!”

            “Here’s a towel, Kaoru,” said a girl shyly.

            “Thanks, but I’m Hikaru,” said Hikaru.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” the guest trailed off.

            “No sweat. I’m used to it,” said Hikaru, expression tired. A whistle blew in the game, and Hikaru jumped up from the bench. “Kaoru!” His brother lay on the ground, holding his knee tightly. “Get the stretcher! Take him to the doctor!” Hikaru knelt by Kaoru’s side as he was pulled onto the stretcher.

            “The game’s still on. C’mon, Hikaru,” said another (hired) boy to Hikaru. “Hikaru, I said—”

            “Shut up,” said Hikaru, kneeling beside Kaoru still.

            “Hikaru,” said Kaoru. He reached up to Hikaru. “It’s okay. We can’t share everything. It’s my pain…and your game. Go on.”

            “Kaoru,” said Hikaru softly. “I-I can’t…It hurts. It hurts so much. It’s not your pain, it’s ours! If no one understands, too bad! We have each other. We’re here for each other…that’s how it is.”

            Somehow, they ended up outside during that entire speech, and rain was pelting down on them.

            “I envy you two.” Out of nowhere, Tamaki appeared, soaked in rain. “Never alone, supporting each other.

            “But Tamaki, you’re every student’s idol,” said Hikaru.

            “Idol, huh?” said Tamaki, scoffing. He sighed. “If that’s all the praise I get is about…then I’m probably better off alone.”

            The scene switched to Haruhi leaning against a tree, looking up at Mori and Honey.

            “End of the line, pauper,” said Honey. “Remember, when you go up against me, this is what you get?”

            Haruhi gazed up in fear at Honey (which was a feat since Honey was so short).

            “You must stop.” Mori, a terrible actor, spoke monotonously. “For to hurt others…is to greatly hurt yourself.”

            “Don’t question my actions, Takashi,” said Honey. “My next scolding may be more…severe. There are those who must learn their place.” Honey kept his dark expression in place. However, his expression faltered as he gazed at Haruhi. “Waah!” Tears welled in his eyes, and he jumped at Haruhi to hug her. “I’m so sorry, Haru! I won’t be mean anymore!”

            “That’s not in the script!” shouted Renge, glaring from her director’s tray. “You must stick to the script! And don’t just recite the lines, put some feeling into it! Okay, everyone, take five! And make that rain melancholier!”

            The film crew gave her some thumbs-up. “Yes, ma’am!”

            “Straight from Hollywood, it appears,” said Kyoya.

            “Oh, good, my humiliation will be in perfect resolution,” said (Y/N), shaking their head with a sigh.

            “Rich fan girls…” said Haruhi. “We went from character revisions to a small movie project.”

            “I think she said something about opening footage,” said Hikaru.

            “She’s making the movie version of ‘Uki Memo,’ ” said Kaoru.

            “Aha,” said everyone. It all made sense now.

            “Ah, this is dumb,” said Kaoru, huffing. “What’s with us playing basketball, anyway? And getting drenched by the rain?”

            “This can’t be worse than my scenes,” said (Y/N), sighing.

            “What happened during them?” asked Haruhi. She and the others were working on their scenes, so they hadn’t seen it.

            (Y/N)’s cheeks warmed, and they coughed. “I am not Tamaki.”

            “That bad, huh?” said Haruhi, chuckled.

            (Y/N) sighed. Flirting so forwardly, even just for a film, was not their style. They were friendly, yes, and liked to make people feel nice, but the forwardness they had to exhibit for this film? No thank you.

            “Haruhi, (Y/N)! What did you think of my acting?” said Tamaki excitedly.

            “It was, uh, fascinating in a way,” said Haruhi.

            “You’re very good, Tamaki,” said (Y/N). They were being honest, too. It was a bit dramatic, but that was Tamaki’s style.

            “Well, I’ve discovered a new personality facet!” said Tamaki excitedly. “And I think I might go with it for a while.”

            “Really?” Haruhi looked up at him and blinked. “Seems to me you’re okay just the way you are.”

            Haruhi looked straight again, not seeing how Tamaki’s face blossomed a violent red. (Y/N) smiled to themself.

            “I suppose…you could be right,” said Tamaki.

            “Haruhi! Would you come over here, please?” said Renge.

            “Sure, what’s…” Haruhi rounded the corner and trailed off as she saw two tall classmates standing in front of her. (Y/N) peeked around the corner curiously and frowned.

            “I would like these students to appear in our production,” said Renge brightly. “Could you fill them in?”

            Haruhi sweat-dropped, and (Y/N) frowned. These were D-Class students, which could be the children of yakuza members who had the money for Ouran but not exactly the class… (Why they were allowed in, (Y/N) would never understand. Rich people were a strange group). Undoubtedly, Renge had chosen them for this reason since they were D-Class. (Y/N) disapproved.

            “What’s up?” said the boys.

            “We need villains in this piece! And these two will be perfect. They’ll harass our heroes, who will unite to stop them! That will affirm their friendship!” said Renge, grinning fiercely.

            “Renge, I don’t think—” began Haruhi.

            “Hey, we’re not villains!” The two boys looked horrified at the notion (good for them). “We’re swell guys!”

            “In the spectacular ending, Kyoya’s moving words will persuade even the worst elements of the school to be nice and act right!” said Renge excitedly.

            “Renge, you can’t tell order people around because you think they fit a profile,” said (Y/N). “Their relative status doesn’t say anything about them.”

            “I’m sure there’s a point in all that,” said Renge, moving on in a moment. “But never mind.” She took the arm of one of the boys and pulled him towards the stage. “You just come over here and—”

            “Cut it out!” shouted the boy. “Don’t think you can push us around just ‘cause you’re in A-Class!” He shoved Renge towards the scaffolding of the lights.

            “Renge!” (Y/N) caught her before she hit the metal. Instead, (Y/N) took the hit, and their shoulder crashed into the poles. Instantly, pain blossomed in their shoulder, and they winced. They stood shakily, holding their shoulder awkwardly.

            “Oh, my!” said Renge.

            “(Y/N)!” said Haruhi, eyes widening. She went to (Y/N)’s side, concern written on her face. “Are you alright?”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), but they winced as they spoke.

            “Haruhi? We heard a—” Tamaki’s eyes widened as he saw Haruhi holding (Y/N) as they grimaced through their discomfort.

            Kyoya’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Mori was instantly looming behind the boys, who flinched. Hikaru and Kaoru glared at them, and Honey even looked serious.

            “Which one of you did this?” said Tamaki, protective as ever of his friends.

            “We…We didn’t do anything…much…” said the boys nervously.

            “Would you like to be expelled?” said Kyoya, stepping forward. His glasses glinted. “Or do you plan on acting properly?”

            The boys paled. “We’re-We’re sorry.”

            “Teacher, two guys from D-Class are causing trouble,” said the twins, pretending to call a figure of authority.

            The boys grabbed one another and ran before anyone else could threaten them.

            “Are you alright, (Y/N)?” said Kyoya, looking at (Y/N).

            They nodded. “I think just bruised.” They rolled their shoulder slightly.

            “Wow.” Renge spoke as she watched the Host Club band together to take care of one of their own. “Camera! Did you get all that?!” She looked at her film crew anxiously.

            “Yep, in the can!” confirmed the team.

            “That’s it, then!” said Renge excitedly. “That’s just what I’m after! All we have left is to shoot is Kyoya’s moving—”

            Crash.

            Kyoya smashed a rock through the camera of the crew with not an ounce of care or emotion in his face. The film crew let out a cry, and Renge’s eyes widened.

            “All the footage! It’s ruined! My camera!” cried he cameraman.

            “Kyo…Kyoya…” said Renge in shock.

            “Sorry to be abrupt,” said Kyoya coldly. “But I cannot permit recordings of our members behaving this way. In fact, this whole business has been a very great bother. Time to wrap it up.”

            “But…why?” Tears sprang to Renge’s eyes. Her lip quivered. “Kyoya would pay my head and say, ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Kyoya would—”

            “Nah,” said Tamaki. “That’s not our Kyoya.”

            “Not to say it wasn’t kinda fun,” said Kaoru.

            “Yeah. Love arises for unfathomable reasons,” said Hikaru.

            “But for a true relationship, you need to get to know a person,” said (Y/N).

            “Seeing someone for who they are…that’s real,” said Haruhi.

            “I see…” said Renge quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

l

            (Y/N) sighed as they twisted and pressed the ice packet to their shoulder. Wincing, they had to drop their arm. Every time they turned, it aggravated their bruised shoulder, which made treating it difficult.

            “That won’t work.”

            (Y/N) turned to face the door of the room the Host Club used to store props and costumes. Kyoya walked in and held out his hand.

            (Y/N) silently handed over the ice pack and turned back around. Kyoya raised it and pressed it against their shoulder. (Y/N) winced, and Kyoya relaxed the pressure slightly.

            “Thank you,” said (Y/N), smiling over their shoulder at Kyoya.

            “I allowed Renge to have her fun for too long,” said Kyoya. “One of my best hosts got injured. I can’t have that.”

            “It’s barely a bruise,” said (Y/N). “It won’t keep me down.”

            Kyoya pressed slightly with the ice, and (Y/N) winced. “And yet it is clearly affecting you.”

            “Ow,” said (Y/N). “Fine, I’ll take it easy.”

            “Good,” said Kyoya. He looked at them, and (Y/N)’s gaze met his as he spoke. “I can’t have you injured.”

            This time, he did not mention their status as a host. (Y/N)’s chest warmed.

l

            “Tamaki! Hikaru, Kaoru!” said the guests excitedly as the doors of the Host Club opened.

            “Welcome, ladies,” said Tamaki.

            “We bought it! The video,” said the girls happily.

            The Host Club froze. The what?

            “That solemn rain scene is awesome!”

            “I’m just giddy over Hikaru and Kaoru’s relationship!”

            “Honey being a monster is just precious!”

            “Haruhi’s sorrow was so moving!”

            “Mori was so deep and mysterious!”

            “I wish there had been more (Y/N)! But their wink had me blushing!”

            The guests gushed giddily over the video content they’d happily purchased with their money, and the hosts looked on in surprise. They thought it had been destroyed.

            “Kyoya?” said (Y/N), looking at him.

            “It’s a rather simple matter to sneak data out of a digital camera,” said Kyoya as if it was obvious. “Of course, we did have to pay for the camera. Sales will cover that easily.”

            “Anything in the name of profit,” said (Y/N) in amusement.

            “Your—The scenes were judiciously edited,” said Kyoya, doing the computations for profit in his notebook.

            He always has an angle, thought the entire host club.

            “I finally realized!”

            The host club looked at Renge in the doorway of the music room. They had been under the impression that she was returning to France after the film fiasco.

            “I finally realized that the kindness needed to protect someone, no matter the cost, is not going to be found unless one looks and sees!” Renge grabbed (Y/N)’s hands and smiled joyfully at them. “Right, (Y/N)?”

            Everyone could see the hearts floating around her, and the hosts looked at (Y/N).

            They closed their eyes and smiled. “I’m glad you’re going to get to know people.”

            Renge blushed.

            She was quick to change her heart, thought the hosts.

            Kyoya made a note and pushed up his glasses. Hopefully, Renge would not prove a bother again.

l

            “We have the footage,” said one of Kyoya’s servants.

            “Leave it here,” said Kyoya, and the servant bowed, leaving the film on his desk.

            Kyoya picked it up and put the drive into his computer. The edits had been made for the video sold at the Host Club, but Kyoya had to see the rest of the footage and delete what he did not want existing anywhere on the internet. After all, when an Ootori wanted something erased, they did not take half measures.

            Kyoya clicked on the videos, and the first scene that popped up was one of (Y/N)’s. He narrowed his eyes instantly. (Y/N) had done an excellent job acting, no doubt about that, but the script Renge had given them?

            “If only I was as beautiful as all of you.” (Y/N) gently touched a guest’s cheek, who blushed. “No one can compare.” They winked. “You’re like a jewel, darling. Will you let me stand in your light? Pretty please?”

            Kyoya was not a fan. This was not (Y/N). They were not so forward, leaning in with a coy smile and a wink, smirking at guests. It was…interesting, to be certain, Kyoya could not deny that, yet the thought of someone else seeing them made Kyoya’s hand go instantly to the “delete” button.

            No one needed to see this but him.

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