#but if you've followed me for a while then you know what i'm like

[spanktony]

“I’LL DO ANYTHING.” - anora.

summary: when you snap at anora, she leaves your place pissed, and you come back begging to make things right.

words: 2.3k +

warnings: 18+, fem!reader, oral (a receiving), fingering (a receiving), begging, ani calls u a good girl, reader is a meanie for a bit then turns to a lil bitch, this is bad, and yeah let me know if there’s more.

navigation. request.

tired would be an understatement of how you felt right now. your head pounded, each beat following up with a sigh from your boss's mouth, reminding you of the looming deadline for the project that still needed to be completed.

so, here you were on a call at 9:48 in the morning, on a day you were supposed to be off, with three other colleagues discussing the next steps for the project.

you rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the heaviness that had settled deep in your bones. you sat at your desk, a few feet away from anora's side of the bed, which made it harder to resist the temptation to crawl back under the covers and ignore the world for a little while longer. but you knew better. you couldn't afford to.

literally.

your phone buzzed on the desk, shifting your attention from one screen to the other. oh shit. the driver. you had planned a low-key day with anora—just the two of you—but now it seemed like that might have to wait.

your stomach sank as you glanced at the message: i'm here. do you want me to grab anything for you two?

you quickly typed back: no, that's fine. you can come inside and wait. i'm in a meeting; it shouldn't take too long.

hopefully…

you hoped anora wouldn't be too disappointed with the change of plans. the message sent, and you set your phone down again, the screen lighting up, showing the call you've been on for... three ongoing hours?!

behind you, anora stirred, waking up from her deep sleep. "good morning," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

you turned slightly, offering a tired smile as you double-checked to make sure you were still muted on your work call. "good morning, babe. sleep well?"

"mmm-hmm," she hummed, stretching. you heard the soft crack of her spine as she reached her arms over her head, a sound that made your heart swell a little. she padded across the hardwood floor with that familiar grace, her feet quiet but sure.

you could feel her before you saw her, like a magnet drawing you in. then she was there, leaning down to plant a lingering kiss on your neck. it made your skin tingle, sending a shiver down your spine. "you've been up for hours, haven't you?" she whispered, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"i have to finish this report," you murmured, half-distracted.

but anora wasn't deterred. her lips trailed to your jawline and then to your cheek, playful and persistent.

"ani," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. "i'm on a call."

she ignored your plea, her hands sliding over your shoulders as she planted another kiss on your temple.

"ani, seriously," you hissed, though a hint of laughter betrayed you.

"what? i'm just showing my hardworking girlfriend some love," she teased, grinning against your skin. it was sweet; it really was. but your boss's voice in your ear reminded you of the pressing deadline, and her teasing felt like too much in the moment.

"anora, stop!" you snapped, louder than intended.

her hands froze, and the warmth that had been cocooning you suddenly vanished. you heard her inhale sharply, and when she stepped back, it was like a cold breeze had replaced her presence.

"what the hell?" she asked with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows, still in the same position, looking hurt and confused. you felt your stomach twist. "i—" you started, but the words got tangled.

"i'm sorry for trying to spend time with you," she said, her voice raising in pitch before she swallowed hard. "god forbid i... i don't know, make you feel appreciated or something."

"i'm just trying to work, anora! i have deadlines, responsibilities—"

"and i'm a distraction, right?" she shot back, "just a little nuisance in your way?"

you opened your mouth to apologize, to explain, but she was already moving, grabbing her overnight bag from the floor and shoving her things inside haphazardly. it was like a fire was spreading through the room with how quickly she was packing up to leave.

"ani," you called out, your voice more desperate now. "please, wait. don't go."

but she ignored you, shoulders tense and eyes avoiding yours as she zipped up her bag. you heard the soft thud of her bag slung over her shoulder, and before you could say another word, she was at the door.

"y/n? are you here?" your boss's voice reminding you of the meeting you were supposed to be in right now. you looked at your phone, then the door your girlfriend had just rushed out of. sighing heavily, you unmuted your phone and replied, "yes, i'm here."

the hours that followed felt like eternity. the empty apartment was so quiet, so still, that it almost felt suffocating. by the time night fell, you couldn't bear it anymore. you gathered a few things—her favorite snacks, the earrings she had been eyeing for weeks but never bought, and a small bouquet of flowers you'd picked up on a whim.

your driver pulled up to her old place, her place that she rarely stayed at anymore because she was always at your apartment. she had even given you a spare copy of her key so you could move her things to your place when she was busy.

you opened the door and found the living room empty, thankful her roommate wasn't home. you knocked on her bedroom door, calling out her name softly.

the door creaked open, and there she was. anora's head peeked out from behind the door, her eyebrows furrowing both in anger and confusion, as she clearly wasn't expecting you. she was still in the clothes she'd left in, her hair slightly disheveled.

"what are you doing here?" she asked, opening her door slightly further to get a better look at you.

"i... i came to apologize," you said quickly, holding out the flowers like a shield. she eyed them, unimpressed.

"anora, please. i was an idiot. i shouldn't have snapped at you. you were just being sweet, and i let my stress get the better of me." she leaned against the doorframe, silent, her gaze piercing.

"i brought your favorite snacks," you added, holding up the bag. "and earrings. i even... i don't know, i just..."

you trailed off, realizing how desperate you sounded. but you didn't care. "please," you said softly. "i miss you. i miss us. i'll do anything to make it right."

anora sighed, stepping aside to let you in. you stepped inside her room, slowly closing the door behind you, watching as she stood a couple of feet in front of her bed. the tension in the air was thick as you set the flowers and bag on the nightstand beside you.

her expression softened, just a fraction. "anything?"

"anything," you promised, stepping closer, inches away from her.

"you really hurt my feelings," she said finally, a hand coming to cup your cheek, and you stumbled even closer to her, your lips ghosting hers.

you looked so fucking adorable in that moment, with that vulnerable, almost lost look on your face. like a kicked puppy—those sad, pleading eyes. you looked so damn cute, but she wasn't going to let you off the hook that easily.

her thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone. "you said anything, right?"

you nodded quickly, your hand wrapping around her forearm, and her heart skipped a beat. the way you held her arm, like you couldn't stand the distance between you two, made her lips twitch upward.

there was something in the way you looked at her now, something so earnest, so full of regret, that made her resolve waver just slightly. her eyes darted to your lips, feeling the heat between you both rise. god, you were so close, and she was fighting every instinct that told her to pull you in. to kiss you like she wanted to, to let you wrap her in your arms, to hold her.

her gaze flitted up, catching yours.

"anything," you repeated again, barely a whisper.

"get on your knees," she whispered. without hesitating, you lowered yourself in front of her, her hand running a hand through your hair. you stared up at her, waiting.

"beg."

"please," you said, the frustration clear in your voice.

"please what?"

"please forgive me, ani. i shouldn't have snapped at you."

"no, you shouldn't have. you didn't mean it, did you?"

you shook your head.

"that's right. because you wouldn't dare treat me like that. right, baby?" you nodded again, your hands finding their way to her thighs, gripping them tightly. anora's hands left your hair and cupped your face gently. "good girl," she said, a smile playing on her lips.

you licked your lips when your girlfriend began pulling her shorts down, revealing her bare skin inch by inch. she watched you the whole time, smiling, that smile that made your heart race with anticipation.

you leaned in, kissing the insides of her thighs, and she hummed. it was a gentle kiss, the kind that she needed after the day she had today, and it sent a wave of pleasure through her.

"such a good girl," she whispered, and your lips trailed higher, pressing against the clothed heat between her legs. she let out a soft moan, her hands finding your hair again to stop her legs from trembling.

you pressed a lingering kiss to the spot before pulling back, your gaze meeting hers. anora's eyes were half-lidded, her cheeks flushed, and she looked so gorgeous; what kind of an idiot would raise their voice at her? oh, that's right... you did.

"ani," you murmured, looking up at her, pleading.

"i forgive you, baby," she breathed, pulling her underwear to the side, revealing her glistening pussy. you could see the desire in her eyes as she guided you closer, silently inviting you to continue. with a soft smile, you leaned in to fulfill her unspoken request, eager to make things right between you.

you kissed her again, harder this time, your tongue slipping between her folds, tasting her sweetness as she moaned softly in response. you kept going, your tongue circling her clit slowly, teasingly. you couldn't help yourself, not when she was this wet and not when you owed it to her.

her grip tightened on your hair, and you moaned against her, sending a shockwave through her body. you looked up at her once more, taking in the sight of her, the way her lips parted slightly, the way her chest rose and fell with every breath she took.

"more," she whispered, her hips rocking forward, covering your chin with her slick wetness. you obliged, increasing the pressure and speed of your movements, your hands digging in the back of her thighs, trying to pull her even closer to you.

you continued like this, listening to her soft moans and pleas until she was close. she tugged on your hair, trying to pull you away.

"wait," she gasped, "not yet."

you pulled back, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. "did i do something wrong?" you asked, suddenly worried.

"no," she breathed, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours, her hands still tangled in your hair. "it's just been a while, and i want your fingers." you smiled like an idiot, rising off your knees to kiss her for the first time that night.

her lips were soft, pliant, and you savored the taste of her on your tongue. "fuck, i missed you," you mumbled, her lips parting to let out a soft chuckle, falling against the bed with you in a tangle of limbs.

"me too, baby. now be good and finish what you started." you nodded eagerly, sliding a hand up under her shirt, your fingers grazing her skin until you reached her chest, cupping her breast in your hand, feeling her heartbeat quicken beneath your touch.

"i'll make you feel so good," you whispered, leaning in to kiss her neck as she arched into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. "hurry," she urged, her voice breathless.

you slid your hand back down her body, tracing the outline of her curves before finally reaching your destination, sliding your middle finger into her pussy and feeling her wetness enveloping you. she gasped at the sensation, her hips instinctively moving against your hand as she whispered, "don't stop."

her head fell back, her fingers gripping the sheets when you added another finger, increasing the pressure and speed of your movements, your eyes locked on her flushed face, the way her eyes closed and her mouth fell open as she let out a moan, her back arching against the mattress.

you continued like this for a few minutes, watching her writhe underneath you, her hips rolling against your fingers. her moans were music to your ears, and the sight of her like this was enough to make you let out a low growl of satisfaction.

her breathing was labored, her hips bucking wildly, and you knew she was close. extremely close. her body tensed, her hands gripping the sheets so tightly that they were shaking, and her moans became louder and more desperate. you kept going, not letting up, ignoring the ache in your own hand.

"come for me, ani," you said softly, curling your fingers inside her, hitting that spot that drove her crazy. her moans grew louder, and her body stiffened, and then she finally reached her peak, letting out a loud cry of pleasure. "yes, fuck!"

you felt her walls clench around your fingers, pulsing with the force of her release. her head fell back against the pillow, and her body went limp, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath.

you watched her, mesmerized, not wanting to take your eyes off her for even a second.

you finally pulled out your fingers, bringing them to your mouth and sucking on them, tasting her sweet juices. her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at you, her expression softening.

"what candy did you buy?"

[angelshizuka]

Not people actually hating Stolas for "not trying/putting in effort" while Blitz is!?

Who in their right mind would ever expect anyone who just lost EVERYTHING to magically overcome that not even a month later!? Not to mention the Via incident that was the straw that broke the camal's back only happened earlier that day. Get fucking real... Like, tell me you've never been depressed/suicidal without telling me.

After Mastermind Blitz's life has improved significally and he finally realized how much Stolas truly loves him and how much he loves Stolas. So, of course he's able to put in the effort and just wants to be there for Stolas, because Blitz has literally been in the same situation of losing everything himself and knows how important having someone be there for you is, because I'm sure that's what he would've wanted back then.

And it's not even like Stolas is ungrateful or anything for what Blitz does for him. Sure, he has his hiccups, because he's literally not used to the life of a peasant, but he's so obviously learning and starting to take accountability. He's just emotionally/mentally numb right now and doesn't have the energy to properly return the affection, but doesn't reject Blitz's affection either.

Depression is fucking hard, because your body literally struggles feeling happiness and even when you manage to feel it, you know it will always be followed by a bad feeling, so you can't even enjoy it. Being suicidal is fucking hard, because your will to live is out of the window and makes it really hard to put energy into anything, even if you have it. It makes you take life one moment at a time, because you literally can't imagine yourself even being alive in the future and when you still are alive, you just feel lost.

Sincerely, someone who's struggled with both since she was 13 and still struggles with it almost two decades later. I know what I'm talking about, I've felt what Stolas feels. I feel like a lost child in an adult body, because I literally never expected to grow up.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Hii, I hope you're doing well!! This is my first time requesting so I was REALLY nervous :")) I saw some posts about Y/N accidentally calling some of the creeps their "husband", and I was wondering if you could do one with Jeff? I'm really curious of how it would be like with him and I really like him ^^

Listen. Listen. This man has been wormed into my brain for the longest time and my softness for him came out today, and this became like twice as long as I originally meant to to be, because I love him. I honestly ended up wanting it to be longer, but this took me way too long to write, so I cut it short. I hope you enjoy <3

While Jeff would never, ever admit it to anyone, he has spent hours thinking about what it would be like to be married to you. To be married to you, live with you, be able to wake up to you every single day, for everyone around the two of you to fully know you belong to each other. The unfortunate downside to that fact is that Jeff doesn't think he deserves it. He doesn't believe he deserves to be so happily married to you with all of the horrible things he's done, with all the horrible trauma he regularly has to deal with and make you put up with (despite you routinely telling him it doesn't bother you at all and you love him all the same, flaws and all). He thinks you're just far too good for him, and so the bitter, depressed part of his brain constantly tells him that'll never happen.

So, needless to say, Jeff is about to get his shit rocked mentally. The two of you were out and about, and you'd bumped into an old friend (i.e., someone important in Jeff's eyes), and introduced them to Jeff. Jeff, in his attempt to seem like a decent person under the watchful eyes of someone you have known for such a long time, does pull himself off pretty well, at least until you accidentally slip up and refer to Jeff as your husband. He feels like you've just punched him straight in the gut. He can't breathe, his heart is hammering in his chest, and he feels like he's gonna vomit, but he carries on with a passive smile, hiding all of his inner turmoil, keeping it locked inside until the two of you can get away from all of the prying eyes in this public space. The entire way home he still feels like he's gonna be sick, trying everything he can just to keep it together. The second you're through your front door he's wheeling around and pinning you to it, arms beside your head as his chest heaves, eyes slicked with a mixture of tears, confusion, and desperation. You can't tell what's wrong with him, and he can't tell why he's reacting so strongly, his mind foggy amidst his air-deprived anxiety attack. The two of you stand there, your hands comfortingly cupping his face while you coach him to breathe, to calm down.

By the time he's caught his breath, he's leaning on you, his body weighing against you as you rest against the door behind you. His arms are tight around your waist as his face nuzzles against your neck, and you're overcome with intense worry, unaware of what got him like this in the first place. "Did you mean it...?" His voice eventually trails off, and the emotion in his voice is untraceable, his trauma brain overtaking as your words replay in his mind over and over again. Your brows knit together as you try to figure out just what it is he's referring to, and he answers the question for you, saying he meant when you referred to him as your husband. He looks absolutely broken in your arms, and a lightbulb goes off in your mind as you finally realize why. You've heard it, the things he says to Liu, or BEN, his words about how he doesn't deserve you, how you deserve to marry someone better than him, soon followed by their chastising words about how that's not true, and suddenly his worrisome behavior from the last few hours that you've picked up on (because you always notice these things) suddenly makes sense.

You reassure him that of course you meant it, why wouldn't you? Jeff feels like he's being chastised once more, his cheeks puffed out in a pout as he avoids looking at you as you lecture him about how you'd love to marry him one day, and how he absolutely deserves to have you, how you're not too good for him, a lecture you should have given him long ago. He ignores the tears streaming down his face once more, ignores the thudding of his own heart in his chest, ignores the dying voice of denial in the back of his mind, but what he can't ignore is your lips slotting so perfectly against his own, or your fingers stroking along his scars in the way that always makes him fall apart. He's still not completely sure he deserves you, but goddamnit, with the way you're looking at him right now, he's sure as hell not gonna let anyone else marry you and take you away from him. Not with how tenderly you're holding him, how gently you're pressing your lips across his scorched skin, not with how lovingly you're gazing at him, as if he's the most beloved person in your life, because of course he is to you, just as you are to him. 'Husband' ends up becoming one of your favorite nicknames for him following that day, a nickname that always has his skin flushing red and his eyes softening in a way they only do for you. A nickname for now, and a title not too far into the future that he wears with pride.

[memorabxlia]

Silent Cry ━ 여상

genre: hurt/comfort summary: will you be saved in enough time? warnings: attempted suicide, mental health topics, harassment, bullying, insecurity, mentions depression pairing: idol!yeosang x fem!reader wc: 1.3k a/n: this fic is not for the faint-hearted. If any of the topics above are triggering for you, I highly recommend not reading this. However, if you choose to proceed, you are reading at your own risk. nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

"You know, the others can't stop talking about you." Yeosang's voice is soft, tender, the way it always is when the two of you are alone. You're curled up next to him on the couch in your shared home, his arm draped over your shoulders as you rest your head on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is calming, like a lullaby.

You smile at his words, though the weight on your chest doesn't lift. The members—Wooyoung, San, Seonghwa, Mingi, all of them—have been nothing but kind to you since you started dating Yeosang. They treat you like family, as if you've been part of their lives for years. But no matter how much they adore you, how many times they assure you that you're loved and welcome, it doesn't change the fact that a different kind of attention lingers on the edges of your happiness.

The fans.

You scroll through the comments more often than you should. It's hard not to. Every post, every picture of you with Yeosang, is flooded with messages. Some supportive, but too many are venomous.

_"You don't deserve him."_

_"He could do better."_

_"She's not even that pretty. He should be with someone skinnier."_

The words sting, no matter how many times you tell yourself they don't. And it's not just the comments. They've started leaking into your private messages, too. Fans telling you to end it, to let Yeosang go so he can be with someone they think is worthy of him. Sometimes, they even threaten you. Not directly, but in the veiled way that makes your skin crawl.

You haven't told Yeosang about it. You don't want to burden him. He's already got so much on his plate with the group, the fans, the media. You don't want to add to that.

But it's getting harder to ignore.

"Hey," Yeosang's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "Are you okay? You've been really quiet."

You tilt your head up to look at him, his dark eyes full of concern. You hate that look. It makes you feel like you're worrying him, like you're dragging him down into your mess. You force a smile.

"I'm fine," you lie, and he doesn't seem convinced.

"Are you sure?" he presses, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

"I know," you mumble, sitting up a little. You look down at your phone, your fingers itching to open the messages you've been ignoring all day. You don't, though. Not while he's watching. "I'm just tired."

He watches you for a moment longer, clearly not buying your excuse, but he doesn't push. Instead, he shifts, wrapping his arms around you again and pulling you closer.

"If you're tired, let's go to bed," he suggests softly, his breath warm against your skin. "We can talk tomorrow."

You nod, even though you know you won't sleep. Your mind will race all night, replaying every hurtful comment, every cruel message, until you feel like you're suffocating.

The next day is worse. You wake up to more messages, more hateful words. You can't escape it. No matter how much you try to stay off social media, it's like the negativity follows you. You start to wonder if they're right. Maybe Yeosang would be better off without you. Maybe he deserves someone prettier, skinnier, someone who fits the image the fans have in their heads.

You try to brush it off, but by midday, it's too much. You can't keep pretending everything's fine.

So you send Yeosang a text.

*I love you. I just want to say thank you for everything. For all the love you've shown me.*

You stare at the message for a long time before hitting send. You don't know what you expect him to say, but it doesn't matter. You just need to tell him. You need him to know how much you appreciate him, even if things fall apart.

When Yeosang reads the message, it immediately sets off alarms in his head. He knows you. He knows when something isn't right, and this—this message feels like a goodbye. He doesn't bother replying. Instead, he rushes out of the practice room, ignoring the confused looks from the other members, and drives as fast as he can to your shared home.

You're standing on the edge of the balcony when he bursts through the door, your hands gripping the railing so tightly your knuckles turn white.

"Don't," you say, your voice shaking as you hear him approach. "Don't come any closer."

Yeosang freezes, his heart pounding in his chest. He's never seen you like this—so broken, so fragile. He doesn't know what to do, but he knows he can't lose you.

"Please," he whispers, his voice cracking as he takes a cautious step forward. "Just come down, okay? We can talk. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't understand," you choke out, your vision blurred by tears. "I can't do this anymore. The fans—they hate me. They hate me, and I can't take it. I'm ruining everything for you."

Yeosang's eyes widen in horror. The fans? This is because of them?

"You're not ruining anything," he insists, his voice stronger now, desperate. "I love you. You, not them. Don't listen to them, please. Just... step down. We'll figure it out together, I swear."

You shake your head, the tears spilling over. "I can't..."

Yeosang tries to move closer, but he stumbles, tripping over his own feet in his haste. The sudden motion startles you, and before you realize what's happening, your foot slips, and you're tumbling over the edge.

But before the ground can meet you, strong arms catch you.

"Mingi!" Yeosang's voice is full of relief as he watches the taller member steady you in his arms. Mingi had followed Yeosang, concerned when he saw his friend's panic. He'd arrived just in time to catch you.

"You okay?" Mingi asks gently, his arms still around you as you tremble in his grasp.

You nod weakly, but you can't find the words to thank him. Your mind is still spinning, too overwhelmed by everything.

Yeosang rushes down to where you and Mingi are, his hands shaking as he reaches for you. "Thank you," he breathes, his voice cracking again as he takes you from Mingi's arms. "I'll—I'll thank you properly later, I promise."

Mingi just nods, giving you both a worried look before stepping back to give you space.

Yeosang holds you close as he leads you back inside your home, his arms wrapped tightly around you like he's afraid to let go. You sit down on the couch together, and for a long moment, neither of you say anything.

Finally, Yeosang speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"

You can't look at him. You stare at your hands, your fingers trembling as you try to form the words. "It's... it's the fans," you mumble, your voice weak and broken. "They... they hate me. They keep saying I don't deserve you. That I'm not good enough, that I'm ruining everything for you."

Yeosang's heart shatters at your words. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "You're not ruining anything," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't care what they say. You're the one I love. You're the one I want. No one else."

You try to respond, but the words catch in your throat, and all you can do is sob into his chest.

Yeosang holds you tighter, whispering soft reassurances, sweet nothings, until your breathing starts to slow, your sobs quieting.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

"Don't apologize," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm sorry. I should've seen how much this was hurting you."

You shake your head, but he doesn't let you argue. He just holds you, whispering that everything will be okay, that you're not alone, that he'll always be there.

Eventually, the exhaustion takes over, and you fall asleep in his arms, your head resting against his chest. Yeosang stays awake a little longer, his fingers brushing gently through your hair as he holds you close, vowing to protect you from the world, from the fans, from everything that tries to hurt you.

Because to him, you're all that matters.

❥﹒ ateez taglist: @minkilicious

[doctorho]

this one is for eveyone who needs some extra love around these times.

Viktor knows better than he'd like that life isn't always...pretty. Or simple, or easy, or fair. No matter how hard most of Piltover seemed to pretend that there was something magical in the midwinter turnpoint that made everyone suddenly forget the suffering and misery and the complexities of real-life situations, he knows that's not the case.

Which is why he doesn't ask stupid questions when you stay at the Academy over winter break. He doesn’t pry; he doesn’t need to. It's evident enough in the way you preoccupy yourself with work that it's something you'd rather not discuss. You're focusing harder than usual, and he's familiar enough with what that precarious, tight-knuckle grip on being okay.

And Viktor?

Well. Viktor's more than happy to be a distraction.

When he gets to the lab, mid-morning, you're already there. He's not exactly surprised; he'd anticipated this. Maybe even hoped for it. He'd worked with you for a while now and grown exponentially more attached to your company - not that he'd told you the extent of his affections. But he'd get to that. Hopefully.

He came prepared with two warm drinks and still-steaming pastries, and he silently starts unloading those to the common desk that had been designated as the makeshift kitchen of the room.

"Good morning," he says casually, "I brought breakfast." He thinks of adding if you want some, but upon reflection, doesn't. There's a fine line between respecting someone's free will and pushing them to make good choices, and he's currently erring hard to the side of I don't know if you've eaten anything yet today but you definitely should.

You only hum in response, not lifting your eyes off your current project.

In response to this, he hums back and tilts his head, studies the organized mess on your desk; circuit boards, either half-assembled or half-taken apart, he's not sure, stripped wires, a steaming soldering iron. Your hands, shaking a little.

He places the drink intended for you on your desk, just annoyingly out-of-reach, and waits for you to look up.

"When was the last time you ate something?" he asks, holding up the pastry now that he has your attention.

"Why does that matter?" you ask, reaching for the takeaway cup on the edge of your desk. Viktor leans the handle of his cane to block your reach, which makes you look up at him. Properly.

"Just trying to determine if I should make you take a lunch break while I'm bothering you, or if the pastry will suffice."

He lifts his eyebrows, waiting for you to answer.

You shift in your seat. He can hear your back crack in several places, and not in the pleasant type of way.

"Last night," you answer, leaning back with a sigh.

Viktor reaches over to turn off your soldering iron. "Lunchbreak it is, then. These can be dessert."

"I'm fine-" you start, and he lifts an eyebrow.

"I don't believe you," he says, completely casually, "I think you're pushing through low blood sugar to get this-" he gestures towards the desk, "finished, and I can tell you it's much easier to make mistakes when you aren't thinking clearly."

When you're quiet, he continues, picking up your coat and offering it to you. "You can trust me on this," he says, "I have more than enough experience."

You take a deep breath and sigh it out, feeling somewhat like a toddler.

"I promise you can go right back to poking at this later." He adds, and you slowly take the jacket from him.

"Good," he says, I know a place.

It's a careful dance, and he knows this; he doesn’t want to push you. But he's been there, and he doesn’t want you to suffer more than absolutely necessary. And he really does know a place.

He re-packs the drinks and the pastries, and you follow him to a nearby cafe-and-drink-cart that's serving small steaming dishes outside. They're serving small steaming cups of - stew? Soup? And warm bread filled with different things, and you hadn't really noticed it before, but now that you were looking at - and smelling - the food, you were starving.

By the time you've registered the selection, he's already ordered for the both of you, and then the guy at the cart is offering you a brown paper bag and Viktor is moving again, and you take a few hurried steps to catch up with him.

"Where are we going?"

You can see him smile before he answers.

"Well," he says, "I was thinking we could take advantage of the great hall being empty, and eat there." He turns to look at you with an eyebrow raised, "I can only imagine how displeased the Academy Staff would be if we risked dirtying their marble floors with common food."

"Oh, really, you can only imagine?"

He shrugs, grinning. "Are you insinuating I have experience with matters such as these?"

"Yes," you answer, opening the paper bag to study its contents while you walked.

He hums in answer. "I am shocked by your accusations." He says, then, clearly fighting a smile, "I would never get caught breaking such a boring rule."

You smile now, too. "Right," you answer, "only the interesting ones."

The way he glances at you and smiles is more than enough of a response.

He stops at one of the long tables at the grand hall, and as he shrugs off his jacket and sits down, you place down the paper bag and do the same. He starts unpacking the contents of the bag, focused, placing down steaming bowls with a spicy scent to them, paper-covered wraps of something, utensils, and smaller bowls of... something colorful. Spices? Toppings?

Viktor opens the containers one by one, making the contents of the single takeaway bag look like a pretty impressive feast.

And you study him as he moves. Careful, confident in his movements, calm. While your insides felt like they were trying to hide, and had felt like that for... a good while now, he was calm like any other day. A rock-solid presence in the otherwise empty room.

"Are you not going to ask me?" you ask, "why I'm working through the winter break."

Viktor's only imminent reaction is the gentle lift of a single eyebrow.

"No," he answers, casually, and it sounds simple when he says it like that.

He meets your eyes, and that feels simple, too; because he is here, too.

It doesn't have to be any more complicated than that. He unwraps a folded paper napkin with careful fingers, and then places a steaming-soft bread in front of you.

You look at him for a moment, and then take a bite of the bread. It is soft and warm and heavenly, and when you taste the stew-soup-something, it's like it warms you down to your soul. You eat in silence; but it feels like there's a gentle bubble of understanding surrounding you.

You hold the warm bowl, and slowly, your hands shake less and less. The tension around your head gives away a little, too.

"Do you like the snow?" Viktor asks, and you follow his gaze out the window.

"I probably shouldn't," he continues, "the cold isn't exactly gentle on me. But it is pretty, I can't deny that."

You hum in answer. "Yeah," you agree with a small sigh, "it is beautiful."

His eyes meet yours, and he tilts his head.

"Do you want to break another rule?" he asks, something michievous curling at the end of his words.

You tilt your head in response. "A more interesting one?"

"Infinitely," he responds with a smile, and you're already on your feet.

And that's how you end up breaking into the roof of the Academy with him. Or, it's probably not technically breaking, since he has the keys, but you definitely aren't supposed to be in there, so that's what it feels like.

It also feels... breathless. And not just because it feels illegal, but it's... it's beautiful, and he holds your hand in the dark stairway and doesn't let go when he guides you to the expanse of the roof, and there's snow floating down all around you-

and for a moment, it feels like you're the only two people in the world, surrounded by a gentle blanket of snow and silence.

Or... not-silence. There is a song softly floating through the air, like it's being reflected in the snowflakes all around you.

And Viktor is offering you a hand.

You furrow your brows as your head catches up with your heart. "Are you asking me to dance?"

"Would you say yes if I was?"

And that was the question, wasn't it;

would you?

Your head tries to butt in with should you, but... something still-soft and light in your heart comes in way too solid with a yes.

Yes, you would.

So you take his hand, and meet him halfway to an embrace. He pulls you close to his chest, and the dance is as gentle as the snowfall around you; just a soft sway from side to side, breathing in sync with the music.

And Viktor isn't sure if this is a good idea, but... you look like you're further away from that edge now, no-longer shaking, and... he hated seeing you in your head that deep, and if he could do anything to help you find your way back to yourself, he'd do that.

It feels a little selfish, this dance, but... it was difficult to justify that when you were in his arms, breathing calm and even.

"I really am fine," you tell him quietly, and he runs a hand up your back slowly. You swallow. "Or I will be, at least."

"I know," he breathes out, and he means it.

You close your eyes, and believe it.

[violetmuses]

Roman Reigns + Female Reader 🖤

Fandom: WWE

Character: Roman Reigns

@episodes-ff @expert-texpert @persethegawd @adriennegabriella @fearlesschimera @secretlifeoofmarpessa @mytribalnightmare @adoresmiles @blackgurlnhermoods @babybratzmaraj 🏷

=====

2021

Out of nowhere, unexpected rumors had spread all over the place that you've broken up with Roman Reigns and quietly found someone else.

Despite outlets pushing questions, you just kept working regardless, still laughing with your “brothers” Jimmy and Jey Uso nowadays.

“Hey!” Jimmy and Jey offered their special greeting when you entered behind the scenes.

“Goofball!” You laughed about nicknames before sitting. Cameras rolled for the segment. “Planning to see me again?”

“Only if you're cooking. I'm not staying around hotel meals.” Jey topped vibrant sunglasses.

“Both of you still have my number. Remember that.” Your kind grin brightened as always.

“All right…we'll be there...” Gentle crosstalk mumbled when Jimmy and Jey nodded, definitely planning to visit.

Yet, joyful energy dimmed once another person crossed this space.

Roman arrived.

Not yet fighting in the ring, this bun topped dark hair.

One beard smoothed his chin while brown eyes kept scoping every single corner. This black wardrobe had clothed his muscular physique.

“Got quiet. What's up?” Roman offered his Southern accent and pocketed both hands, curious.

“Nothing’s going on.” Jimmy shrugged first. Even Jey didn't know what to think.

Taking out your cell phone, you scrolled next to Jimmy like nothing happened and ignored Reigns.

As this segment played out, thousands of people almost gasped beyond the venue walls for you.

In truth, you started texting badass wrestler Naomi, Jimmy's wife and your best friend.

You: Red Alert! 🚨

Naomi: No! I can't leave hair and makeup right now. What happened?! 💚👀

You: Roman's here! 😳

Naomi: Don't panic. Just talk to each other. Love you! 🫂🫶🏾 💚

You: I'll try. Love you too. 🥺

Putting away the device, your eyes watched as Jimmy and Jey bid farewell to exit, sharing their embrace before leaving Roman with you.

________

Following one commercial break, silent air thickened when your segment returned to the locker room.

Roman welcomed this moment and both of you stood completely aware.

“What's wrong? Talk to me.” His strong yet easing voice would calm your dreams until now.

Even when this man joined the comfortable sofa, you know better. His brown eyes still watched your every move.

“It's important.” You just can't hide the truth anymore.

“Go ahead.” Roman didn't even smile and absolutely noticed the grieving sight of your presence.

“I don't love you anymore.” You no longer veiled reality, heartbroken.

“What?” Almost laughing, Roman scrunched up his chiseled face. “Princess…”

“Don't touch me. I'm serious.” You stepped back, fed up.

For quite a while, Roman Reigns worked as the Tribal Chief while shaming your brothers. Jimmy and Jey have suffered long enough at this point.

“Listen…” Roman tried.

“If you go around hurting Jimmy and Jey, what am I supposed to do?!” You shouted, prompting warm tears. Makeup would dampen all over your face.

“I'm sorr…” Before Roman could say anything else and apologize, you stormed out, encouraged by fans who cheered no matter what.

Fuck! Reigns yelled within.

*****

“Who lied, dammit?!” Marching forward, Roman ducked the ring and almost barked, enraged following this breakup.

“We didn't lie about anything! It's true.” Jimmy and Jey scrambled to respond for you as fans yelled in all directions. “She's done with your ass!”

“Who does she want now, huh? Who crossed my baby? Tell me!” As dark tresses of loose hair kept shadowing his face, Roman fumed directly underneath spotlights.

“A-Town Down!” Just before everyone could respond again, this nearly robotic sound picked up in the large-scale venue.

“Oh my gosh! Mr. Money In The Bank arrived. Austin Theory pulled the fray.” Commentators would dramatize this moment for television.

“Move, man!” Jimmy and Jey hurried to leave this ring, watching elsewhere before Roman spiraled.

“Reigns erupted with Theory! We can't even relay hits yet. You'll see utter chaos!” Announcers struggled through madness as the crowd lost their minds.

“Piece of shit! Look up when I'm talking to you. Huh? You'll never be like me.” Censors barely caught drops of explicit language when Roman pulled Austin's collar.

“I care…” Austin struggled, hardly, able to stand up. “Leave us alone…”

Kneeling, Roman alluded to forces by reaching Austin's chin and prompted eye contact.

“My baby, she's mine!” Roman's Southern accent deepened as he faced the backstage cameras and knew that you watched everything right now.

Fed up, Reigns nearly shoved Austin back down and exited the ring, devastated.

“The Tribal Chief just lost his Queen, ladies and gentlemen. An unexpected chapter has now turned pages.” Announcers pulled heartstrings to end this broadcast.

[vilevenom]

This idea slapped me in the face this morning and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down, so here you go.

This is Just a Hiccup

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog (movie universe)

Pairing: Sonic & Shadow (sonadow, if you squint)

Summary: It was nearly Christmas. Sonic should be excited to finally spend it with his family. But he couldn't help but think about someone who wasn't there... WARNING: MILD SPOILERS for Sonic 3

Sonic sighed quietly as he watched snowflakes gently swirl and float through the air through the living room window, his breath momentarily fogging up the glass. It had been snowing for nearly a week straight, coating Green Hills in a thick layer of soft white. While it gave the rest of the town a festive appearance, with the way the frost covered trees in town sparkled like glitter, Sonic couldn't help but feel like the it made the yard look desolate and unwelcoming. Everything felt quiet and cold to the blue hedgehog, mirroring his melancholy. It was rapidly approaching Sonic's first proper Christmas with his family, and by all rights he should be ecstatic, but he just couldn't find it in himself to muster up his usual exuberance.

"Hey, Sonic!" Tails chirped, hopping up onto the window bench next to the blue hedgehog, his namesakes waving behind him happily, "Maddie said the cookies are almost cool enough to start decorating. Are you going to come help?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh…nah. Last time I tried to help Maddie ice cookies I squeezed the tube too hard and it exploded everywhere. I should probably stick to just eating the results," Sonic hummed, turning to his little brother with a tiny, only slightly forced smile.

Tails frowned at him, his tails drooping as he eyed Sonic. "…Are you thinking about Shadow again?"

Sonic blinked in surprise, not realizing just how transparent he'd been. Though, in retrospect, he supposed sighing sadly every few minutes while staring forlornly out the window wasn't exactly what most people would consider 'subtle'. "I've been pretty obvious, haven't I? Sorry. I don't mean to be a bummer."

"You're not a bummer. I'm just worried about you. Ever since we got word from the doctors that Tom would be okay, you've been…mopey. I didn't want to bring it up in front of the others, because I know it's not really your style to talk about feelings, but…Are you okay?"

"I mean…Okay as I can be," Sonic sighed with a shrug, shifting around on the window bench to properly face Tails, "I guess I just…regret how our interactions went. He was the first hedgehog I'd ever seen, and we just wound up butting heads every time we met. And then with Tom getting hurt, and my Super rampage, I…We did talk a bit, and I never would've been able to divert the eclipse canon without him. But then…he died. He sacrificed himself, and I'll never get to tell him that I'm sorry for what happened to him. That I'm sorry he felt like he had no one else in the whole world, and that…that I couldn't save him. I know it's been months now, but it just keeps circling around in my head."

"Sonic," Tails murmured, his ears pressed back as he scooted into his brother's side, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug, his tails blanketing them in soft fur, "I'm sure he knew you would've done more if you could."

"Yeah," the hedgehog sighed, returning the hug and half burying his face in the tuft of fur on the top of Tails' head, "You're probably right."

The peaceful moment lasted a minute or two, with the snow still falling to the ground outside the window, and Knuckles and Maddie's conversation quietly filtering into the living room from the kitchen, before it was shattered by the doorbell ringing, and Ozzie's sharp bark at the unexpected sound. Sonic groaned at the noise, echoed by Tails grumbling into his shoulder.

"I've got it!" Tom's voiced came from the hallway, shortly followed by his hurried footsteps towards the front door.

Sonic sighed at the sound of the door opening, gently pushing Tails away with a soft smile. "Thanks, bro. I think I needed that," he hummed, ruffling Tails' fur tuft with a lopsided grin. He snorted as the fox swatted at his hand and jumped off the bench, shooting Sonic a quick, brilliant smile.

"Anytime, Sonic," Tails chirped, before he trotted off into the kitchen to join Knuckles and Maddie. Sonic moved to follow when Tom's voice cut through the rest of the noise in the house.

"Sonic? There's a…visitor to see you."

Tilting his head curiously, Sonic's shoes squeaked against the floorboards as he swiftly shifted the direction he'd been walking, trotting towards the front door instead of the kitchen. "A visitor? Could it be one of the many fans of Blue Justice?" His chuckled died in his throat as he saw Tom's pensive face, and the person in the doorway came into view. "Agent Stone?!" Sonic immediately shifted into a defensive stance, quills bristling and a scowl on his face, "What're you doing here?"

"Relax," Stone sighed, rolling his eyes at Sonic's low growl, "I'm only here as an escort."

"Escort?" Sonic echoed curiously, relaxing his stance and standing straight, "To who?"

With that, Stone stepped to the side, revealing a familiar black and red hedgehog, though he was swaddled in a black puffer jacket and deep red scarf to fend off the winter chill, making him look smaller than he was. His gaze was focused to the side, while a small white box was clutched in his hands.

"Shadow?!" Sonic couldn't help but shout in surprise, a wave of confusing emotions crashing over him as tears welled in his eyes. "You're alive!" He rushed forward and crushed the other hedgehog in a hug, heedless of the box the other held. Barely a moment passed, however, before Sonic swiftly stepped back with another scowl on his face. "You're alive?!" he snapped, "It's been months! You just left me hanging?!" And before either Stone or Tom could react, Sonic reeled his fist back and punched Shadow in the shoulder, causing the dark hedgehog to flinch and take a stumbling step back.

In a flash, Sonic found his view of Shadow blocked by the long black jacket that Stone wore, the former Agent letting out a low growl at Tom. "Control your kid," he snarled, before he swirled around and crouched in front of Shadow on the front doorstep, worry blatant on his face. Sonic was utterly flabbergasted as Stone's hands fluttered near Shadow, only touching when the dark hedgehog gave a near imperceptible nod. At that, Stone bushed his hands over Shadow's shoulders, the hedgehog's gaze fixed resolutely on the ground. Sonic was fairly certain that if he didn't have above average hearing, he wouldn't have been able to hear the hushed conversation the two then had. He was quite confident that Tom couldn't.

"Are you okay?"

"I am uninjured."

"That's not what I asked. Remember what we talked about? Even if you're not physically injured, it doesn't mean you aren't hurt. Now…are you okay?"

"I…will be."

"Alright. Well…did you still want to deliver your gift?"

Another near imperceptible nod from Shadow, and Stone stood back up, shooting the blue hedgehog a glare. Sonic couldn't help but shrink back slightly, feeling similarly to how he did when Maddie or Tom scolded him. He flicked his attention back to Shadow, who stepped forward once more, this time holding the small, now slightly crushed white box out towards Sonic, his red eyes fixed on the doorframe, rather than on the reception of his gift.

"Oh, uh," Sonic gingerly took the box, watching as Shadow quickly stepped back again, his fingers curling anxiously into the sleeves of his jacket, "Thanks?" He glanced up at Tom, who simply shrugged at him and gestured towards the box. Tentatively Sonic opened it, revealing a small, somewhat smushed and obviously homemade cake, with 'I'm Sorry' written in wobbly blue icing across the top. He stared down at the cake for what was probably longer than strictly necessary, momentarily lost in another swirl of confusing emotions.

"Sonic? It's usually polite to say 'thank you' after receiving a gift," Tom's voice broke through the thoughts swirling in Sonic's mind, the blue hedgehog quickly shaking his head.

"Right, yeah," Sonic breathed, looking up to find Shadow's piercing gaze finally focused on him. He swallowed thickly, for once at a loss for words as green met red and they stared each other down. "Thank you," he finally mustered after far too long, his voice weak.

Shadow simply nodded, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "You're welcome," he murmured in return, turning on his heel as if to leave.

"WAIT!"

Stone was already at the bottom of the stairs, while Shadow was halfway down, both pausing to stare at Sonic after his shout. He swallowed, frantically looking up to Tom, who was of no help as he arched a curious brow at Sonic.

"Uh…Maddie just made cookies, and we were going to decorate them! And then, after dinner, Knuckles, Tails and I were going to go look at Christmas lights around town. Can…Do you want to join us?" Sonic quickly rambled, clutching the little cake box to his chest. He looked up to Tom once more, desperation on his face, "Can they stay for dinner?"

Tom snorted quietly, reaching down to gently ruffle Sonic's quills. "Sure, bud. I'll go let Maddie know," he hummed, striding off towards the kitchen, leaving Sonic alone with Stone and Shadow.

"…May I?" Shadow asked, turning towards Stone, who looked mildly surprised.

"I don't see why not," Stone said after a moment with a short shrug, turning to walk back up the stairs, "If you want to."

"I…Yes. I do."

Sonic couldn't help the beaming grin on his face as he stepped aside to let the two surprise guests into the house, now knowing without a doubt that this Christmas was going to be the best one he'd experience to date. He'd make sure of it.

[butlervibesonly]

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑪𝑲 || 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐭 || Austin! Elvis

★ PART 2 - comming soon...

★ SUMMARY: Y/n is Elvis' fan, and when she gets to one of his performances for the first time, something happens. Something that she could never imagine in her wildest dreams...

★ PAIRING: Austin! Elvis x female! reader

★ WARNINGS: none??

★ NOTE!! My acknowledge of Elvis is not so big, all things I know are from movie, documents, webs etc! So I deeply apologize for any mistakes/typos/misunderstanding that have nothing to do with reality. All of this is fic and has nothing to do with no one or anything. Based just on Austin's role of Elvis! Thank you for understanding! 🫶🏻

The moment you saw him — the way he wiggles, the way he sings, the way he looks. His black hair shimmer in the spotlight. You are completely sure you've never seen anyone like this before. The entire United States seems to know his name by now.

Elvis Presley.

That's it. That's the name. Whether it's just Elvis or just Presley, everyone know who he is. You never thought seeing someone like that in person would mess with your head so much.

He is famous, even though he is still climbing towards true fame, but young girls are already crazy about him. And now you completely understand why. You're at one of his performances right now and it's unbelievable how much of an influence this guy has on everyone around you.

♪ Well, it's one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready now go, cat, go ♪

You would say it was almost impossible for him to notice the audience while he was moving around on stage, but one moment seemed to change everything. His blue eyes find yours. He seemed to lock his gaze on you while singing the rest of the song Blue Suede Shoes.

"Who's tha' girl over there?" Elvis asks the boys from band, not caring about the cheering he gets. "I have no idea, man," Bill answers. At that moment, Elvis is caring about nothing but the name of the girl who caught his eye.

If the crowd isn't crazy that much, he sure would jump into the audience just to ask for your name. "I need her name,"

"What?!"

Colonel Parker was already dragging Elvis into his presence. "Mr. Presley, there are some nice interviewers-"

"Get her damn' name, Bill!" As Elvis said it was done. The show ended and you're on. your way home, still taken away from all what happened. Bill runs after you, trying to catch you through the crowd.

"Miss?!" he shouts, not too far away from you. You turn around, seeing the familiar face. "Miss! E-Elvis sent me to see ya. He'd probably like to meet ya." Elvis would like to what? In less then 10 minutes you're waiting in the backstage, waiting for someone to tell you what's goin' on.

"H-hey, sorry for waitin'," suddenly you hear that deep fast voice. "Elvis. Elvis Presley, miss." he introduced himself to you as if you didn't know his name already. "All good," you shake his hand. "Y/n y/n/m."

"Y/n," your name slips from his lips like a melody. "That's uh- a beautiful name." Elvis seems really nervous but the more you look at him this close the more this feels unreal. "I- I was wonderin' if you're, uh, free tonigh'?".

"I am, yes," you reply faster than you thought. Who would decline a date with Elvis Presley? A nervous smile appears on his face as you agree. "Awesome! I'm here with my car, so..." he almost asks for your permission.

You nod and smile. Looking at him as he's wearing pink shirt with black pants. Not forget to mention that you are matching his outfit with beautiful pink cocktail dress.

You follow Elvis into his car, and the moment you see his pink Cadillac it's like a dream. "Ladies first," he chuckles, opening a door for you. You're sitting in Elvis Presley's car with Elvis. You're practically living a dream of every young girl right now. Elvis starts the car and he makes the way into the local dinner.

"So, Y/n, tell me about yourself," Elvis sits in front of you in the dinner. He ordered you and himself a strawberry milkshake. "There's not much to know, actually." you smile, your eyes scanning him. He looks so handsome and unreal.

"Ya know why I noticed ya?" Elvis asks, as you take a sip from your milkshake. "When I saw ya, you were, uh... different than other girls, y'know. You were so calm and uh,"

"That's because I've never seen anyone like you." you confess, blinking with your lashes. Elvis could swear he loves your eyes so much already. "I was simply taken aback when I saw you doing the... the things—"

"Ya like the way I move, doll?" he laughs. Doll. Is this how he calls girls he likes? Doll? "Bill told me, the first time I performed, that them girls like to see me wiggle. I can't stand still while singin'."

"Well, it's really mesmerizing..." Elvis smiles at you again. Oh gosh, how much he wants to get to know you more. You see the lovely desperation in his eyes. "I'm at college, right now. Finishing my studies. Daddy wants me to be successful, but whole my life I just dream about being free and... independent." you begin.

"Y'know, my daddy is a banker and my mama is a teacher. They both raised me really strictly to become the best version of myself. But that little girl always dreamed of life of her own, and still does." Elvis listened to you carefully, not caring that people in the dinner ate recognizing him.

"I've never met a girl like ya, Y/n," Elvis admits, his hand travelling to hold yours. "Ya are not like the other's, nah-uh."

"Do ya know I'm not surprised, Mr. Presley?" you take the last sip from your milkshake, then taking your purse and standing up. "Oh, Satnin', don't call me like this, I'm Elvis for ya," he grabs your wrist, stopping you from leaving. "Aight', Elvis,"

"Don't leave! Not yet," he pays for the milkshakes, turning back at you. "I gotta. Daddy's gonna be mad, if I'll arrive late."

"I'll drive ya home, mhm?" Elvis offers. Who are you to refuse this poor boy? "Okay."

When you're sitting in his pink Cadillac again, you don't want this moment to end. You can feel Elvis' eyes resting on you, as you smile. "Where do you live, doll?"

"Just around the corner. Turn right and the last house in that street," you point on the turn. The evening is already dark, but his eyes shine anyway. As Elvis pulls up on the driveway of your house, he turns to face you.

"Would it be aight', if I, uh, I called you sometime? What's ya number?" Elvis asks and your hands travel to your purse where you always carry a pen in a case of anything. Only problem is that you don't have a paper.

"Do you perhaps have a paper or something?" Elvis nods and searches the passenger's drawer for a piece of paper. He pulls out a piece of some kind of letter with his name on it – probably a letter from a fan.

When he hands it to you, he accidentally touches your knee. His touch is so gentle and soft. If you hadn't just met, you would want that touch to never end. Elvis passes you the paper, and with a smile you write your house phone number on it.

"Thank ya," you pass the paper back to him. "I had a great time, Y/n." he glances at you, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. "Are ya okay?" he asks, his voice low and easy.

You turn to him, startled from her thoughts. "Oh, I’m just… enjoying the moment, y'know," you reply softly, eyes darting to meet his before shyly falling away. The scent of his cologne, warm and woodsy, lingers between the two of you.

You both sit in silence for a moment, the world outside hushed. Elvis shifts slightly in his seat, leaning closer. “Y'know,” he murmurs, “I think you might be the nicest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You look up, your lips parting to respond, but before you can speak, he closes the distance between him and you. His lips meets yours—gentle, tentative, as if he was tasting the sweet taste of your juicy lips. Your breath hitches in surprise, but don’t pull away. Instead, a warmth unfurls in your chest, spreading like the soft glow of the car’s headlights on the road.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes searches for yours nervously. A boyish uncertainty crosses his face. “Was that okay?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You blink, your cheeks flushing. Then you smile—a radiant smile that makes his heart skip. “It was more than okay,” you say, your fingers lightly brushing the back of his hand. “It was perfect.”

He grins, relief and joy flooding his expression. You got out of the car, rushing to the from door of your house. As you turn once more again to see him, he waves at you and drives away.

"Sweetheart, who just drove out of our driveway?" you hear your mom from kitchen. You can't say it was Elvis, but sooner or later she'll find out if he's going to call you. "No one, mama!" With reply you rush upstairs to your room, where you close the door and can't believe this is true.

NOTE: Hahaha, how bad was this? I mean, I have written this as a complete freestyle soooo 🥲 Nvm hope u gonna like this and I hope this serie will be successful, even tho I didn't even think of the plot yet 😭

[starlightsearches]

Hello~ congrats on 2k~ I'm absolutely delighted you're including writing for Hux to celebrate, I've read absolutely all of your Hux works a million times and I love them so much still!!! I'd love if you could write Track 7 for Hux please~ thank you ^-^

Track 7: Kiss on My List by Hall & Oates  - Give me a character and a fluff prompt (or give me free rein) and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons about it.

Together

AN: This is a second part after this request for those of us who can't handle angst 😬 and thank you for the request, pookie! I hope you all enjoy!! Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated tee hee

Warnings: Mainly hurt/comfort whoops, language, heavy embarrassment for the reader, lots of talk about gossip, Hux is an awkward little freak, I made up a bunch of stuff about First Order bureaucracy, some brief mentions of sex but nothing too raunchy, and fluff at the end!

There are a lot of rules—both written and implied—when you're working for the First Order.

You're not sure where you'd find don't cry when you're on duty on either of those lists. But you know how dangerous the sting in the back of your throat is, either way.

You've never felt like crying on the bridge before, except for maybe from boredom. While there were tense moments, those were few and far between—like the stretch of empty space between stars.

And still, no battle or pursuit has come close to the horrible feeling that's smothering you as you stare down the back of the general's great coat.

He refuses to look at you, addressing all your orders to the viewport or the space above your head, his back to you whenever he can manage it.

There had been a senseless, simmering thrill that used to rush through you, before you had ruined everything—all those times you had caught the general staring, when you had watched the pink flush of blood crawl over his skin and imagined what the heat from him would feel like echoing from his hands, the press of his body, his wet, flushed mouth.

Stupid. Wanting him. Wanting anything, but especially this—to feel cared for, held, desired, by a man like the general. A man so single-minded, so dedicated to the cause his name was practically synonymous with the First Order itself, the unmitigated power that formed weapons and machines and the ruthless people who wielded them.

And why wouldn't he be ruthless with you? Maybe you were just one of many for the general—another subordinate, something to be used, designed to be discarded in the end.

You've made yourself thoroughly miserable following this trail of evidence to this conclusion, but it's difficult to find an alternative. Why else had he sent you away so soon after you had been together, had banished you from his quarters with the marks he'd left on your skin still stinging?

A voice you recognize too well interrupts your thoughts.

"Fall in. Uniform inspection."

Speaking of misery. Captain Cardall's had arrived on the bridge, sharp eyes wandering, always stained with a shade of loathing he saved just for you.

But you fell in to line, regardless, doing your best to school your expression into something neutral, if not a little resigned. You had given up long ago, trying to find some way to meet Cardall's impossible standards. No matter how much time you spent reading over the uniform regulations, he'd manage to find something you missed—or make up a new rule on the spot, couched in official language as an excuse to redress you, to take you down a peg.

Something he found necessary, although you couldn't imagine why.

You're near the end of the line, and so you're forced to wait, watching as the rest of your team is excused without comment, even Tawani, whose boots are so scuffed they're starting to look gray.

Whatever. Cardall and his pettiness and his stupid demerits were the least of your concerns.

It's your turn now, and you can smell the captain's breath as he nears—day old caff and the rotting stink of his soul. You snap to attention, eyes forward, doing your best not to keep your expression still and stony.

The man circles, looking for a loose stitch, a wrinkle, a crooked cuff. You don't dare breathe, but you can't miss his deepening frown as he scans each and every inch of you, desperation practically oozing out of him.

Fuck. Had you actually managed this time? It's a small consolation prize on the shittiest of days, but you'd take the wins you were offered, even if they couldn't possibly make up for your losses.

You've celebrated too soon. Cardall's face juts toward yours, only inches from pressing against your skin and your stomach rolls with nausea. You can't stop yourself from flinching, from turning away from him and his glacial gaze.

It's hardly a millimeter that you've moved, but you've given the captain everything he needs. A pit forms in your stomach as the joy returns to Cardall's features, the slow curve of his wicked smile.

And you know you've irreparably fucked up.

"Officer," he addresses you, two of his gloved fingers slipping into the space between your collar and skin. His touch is sickening, even through the leather, makes you want to run, but you're stuck, glued in place with fear. "What is this?"

Gods, if you had any luck left in you, any good-will from some unseen power, you'd drop dead right now.

It doesn't happen, though. You stay on your feet, even with the way your knees go numb. Everyone on the bridge has turned to watch. You think, although you may be imagining it, that the general's eyes are turned your way as well, the burn of his attention tracing up and down your spine.

"It's . . ." fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, "a hickey, sir."

You're half surprised Cardall doesn't start doing a little jig with the way he preens, brimming with excitement at this new and wonderful opportunity to humiliate you.

"A hickey?" he asks loud enough for everyone to hear—as if they weren't already engrossed in your torment—and you nod, his thumb just brushing the edge of the edge of the bruise you had tried to cover.

The general had done a number on you, truly. And left the galaxy's worst souvenir.

"Well," Cardall continues, finally pulling away from you to clasp his hands in front of his chest, "this is a serious infraction, isn't it?"

He takes his data pad from his assistant, a mousy young cadet who never utters a word. Cardall makes a big show of bringing up the uniform regulations, making a note on your personnel file that spares no details, narrating the description of the bruise and its location in enough detail it brings heat to your cheeks.

You're immobile, in flames, your own personal funeral pyre lit with shame. And still, you can only think of the general, of the way he must be feeling, watching this display. Did his shame mirror your own, his cheeks pinked as he remembered the feel of your skin between his teeth? Or was he disgusted by you, by this connection he wished so desperately to sever?

"Now," Cardall says, ready to deliver his killing blow, "to whom shall I send the fine for damage to First Order personnel?"

There's a nasty snicker from somewhere outside your line of sight. Everybody was familiar with the rule about visible marks left on other officers—meant to keep younger, and more volatile, cadets from fighting, the threat of a fine pulled from their pitiful service stipends enough to curb most tempers. Or convince the cutthroat ones to be cunning enough not to get caught.

But there was a secondary consequence—officers strutting into work, bruises painting their necks and a smirk on their lips when they announced the responsible party. For the younger and less responsible among you, it had become a particularly bold way to announce a serious relationship, a sign of commitment.

Not an option for you, of course.

"I take responsibility for the damage, sir," you state, feigning confidence and hoping no one will notice the way your voice shakes, "I'll cover the fine."

A hum of disappointment, a rush of whispers. It's allowed, certainly, but will only increase the intrigue, the rumors that will follow you around for weeks, or even longer, if all other wells of drama stay dry.

Captain Cardall sneers, but he's left impotent in this, at least. He makes another note on his data pad and stalks away to the next officer in line, but he must be at least a little satisfied with his torment, given the little hop in his step and the set of his shoulders.

You breathe, in and out, in and out, but just barely—too aware of your still-captive audience to allow yourself anything like relief. Instead, you blank your mind of everything that's just happened and turn back to your station, becoming a machine, emotionless and unblinking.

You spend the rest of your shift ignoring the unmistakable burn of the general's gaze.

Your time on the bridge comes to an end, and your replacement materializes at your side, finally releasing you. It's a quick walk back to your quarters, one you manage without tearing up or screaming in the halls, relishing the way your door sounds as it falls closed, sealing you safely from the shitstorm outside.

Finally alone, you fall back against the wall and take your first real breath.

Now you could break down in peace.

"Are you alright?"

It's mortifying, the way you jump at the whisper, the way your eyes—blown wide with fear—find him in the center of the room, watching you.

The general looks achingly handsome; you can't help but recognize it. High spots of color in his cheeks, his dark eyes flashing in the light, and it breaks your heart all over again to have him here in front of you.

"General," you force the word out, then try for some semblance of decorum, straightening your posture like it could ground you in such strange circumstances.

He only nods, and though you'd never truly trust your ability to read him ever again, there is something about the expression he wears—brows furrowed and meeting in the center, eyes turned down at the corners.

The general is worried, and the expression is not at home on his face.

He must not want you to see it, because he's swift to glance away from you, eyeing the walls without seeing much, the fingers on one hand tapping at the palm of the other.

It's so different from the last time you were alone. Any awkwardness had been swallowed up by the heat of the moment—his arms wrapped tight around your waist, those hungry and desperate kisses that still made your knees grow weak.

You can't speak, and even if you could, you're not sure what you would say. Why had he come here? To berate you? To thank you for letting all the embarrassment fall squarely on your shoulders?

"I—" the general starts, then pauses, flashing his eyes to yours, "I would have waited for your return, but given the circumstances—"

The circumstances. That's one way to put it.

"Of course," you mumble, and you do understand. If anyone had seen him waiting for you outside your quarters, it would have only offered greater fuel to the blazing stories that were undoubtedly already traveling the ship, red-hot and sparking from one person to the next.

"Are you alright?" The general repeats his question, still watching, still unreadable, but there's a softness to his voice that's entirely unfamiliar.

You nod, barely, throat tight and sore, eyes ready to well with tears at this small sign of concern—that he had sought you out, despite everything.

The general presses his lips into a tight line, and there's something in the cant of his body, tense with forward energy, leaning toward you like this small distance pains him.

"I've taken care of the fine," he tells you, "discretely. And the notes in your file."

You open your mouth to speak, to thank him, but no sound makes it out. There are tears now, pooling at the bottom of your lashes, but you won't blink, won't let them fall.

General Hux does step forward at the sight of them, fervent, the space between you shrinking, close enough he could reach out and touch you, if he wanted.

"And I'll take care of Captain Cardall, as well."

The words, and the severity behind them, drain the color from your face.

"No, please," you caution him with a shake of your head, "it will only make people talk more."

Cardall would certainly not react well to any kind of criticism—especially not where you were concerned—and the well of bitterness inside him was deeper than any other you had known. He'd spread the story himself, no doubt, and the connections were easy to make.

But the general is undisturbed.

"I don't care if people talk."

Spoken with all the authority in the world. You should have known a man like the him couldn't be frightened by a few whispered words.

Against your will and without any influence on your part, a little hope blossoms in your chest. He isn't embarrassed by you, isn't ashamed that others might try to guess at a relationship.

The general's eyes drop from your own, tracing the collar of your uniform, and he reaches out a hand, pausing just before his gloved fingers meet the skin of your neck.

"May I?" he asks, and you nod in confirmation, breath catching in your throat as he pulls your uniform out of the way, eyes the mark he had left on your skin.

His skin goes pink, cheeks rosy when he sees how he had stained you in the heat of the moment, sees it with the eyes of all the others who had witnessed the spectacle of you.

"I'm-" he flushes deeper, eyes bewildered," You must know how very sorry I am for— for this."

"Don't be."

It's the polite thing to say, you think, in a moment like this one, but you mean it. Being with him had been worth all the pain.

His eyes flash, wide with surprise now, and you don't miss the way his fingers brush at the column of your throat, reaching for more of you.

"Really?"

His tone incredulous, so different from what you're used to that you breathe out a laugh, letting your own hand reach up to rest on his outstretched arm, just brushing at the bare stretch of skin between his glove and the cuff of his sleeve.

He takes another half-step forward, his hand moving to cup at the curve of your neck.

"I had thought—" he starts, but he can't get the words out, eyes so wide and open, marveling at the touch of your hand.

He doesn't need to say it. You know what he had been thinking because those same fears had been yours.

How delightful it is to have been proved wrong.

You pull him closer, stroking your hand down the sleeve of his uniform and there's only a little hesitation in his touch when his other hand meets your waist.

General Hux smiles at you, really, and the expression is miraculous, has him glowing. Your heart stops beating.

He kisses you, slow, so very unlike the last time, and you feel that miraculous smile pressed against your own.

Nothing could be better.

[justlightlysedated]

you have set your heart on haunting me forever from the start (it's never silent)

Read on AO3 [HERE]

Edwin remembers not giving much thought to what he was going to do once he escaped hell. The only thought in his head at the moment had just been get out, get out, get out.

And then, after that, Charles happened.

Of all of the things that Edwin had been expecting, Charles was not one of them. And by the time that Charles had taken his last breath, Edwin hadn't known how he was going to spend the rest of his unlife without his presence. 

Charles deciding to stay behind never even crossed his mind.

Now thirty years later, he thinks back and realizes that he'd undoubtedly started falling for Charles right then in that moment.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Charles' voice startles him out of his recollection, and he blinks twice quickly before finding Charles sitting on top of the desk, perched on the corner where he always sits, tossing a baseball up and down, as his eyes dart all over Edwin's face as though he'll figure out the answer if he looks enough.

He is both entirely too close and not close enough. It's a thought that's plagued Edwin's mind as of late. 

It's almost as though Charles is testing his boundaries, seeing how much Edwin would let him get away with, now that they both knew that Edwin was in love with him.

There isn't a problem with that per se, but what Charles doesn't seem to be aware of is that Edwin would let him get away with a lot.

Charles had become proprietary of his personal space, pretty much from the very beginning. And Edwin hadn't even thought to set up that boundary.

Edwin has never been someone who craved the touch of someone else. Ever since he was a child, he'd learn that touch wasn't something that he was allowed, neither to give nor to receive.

But with Charles it had always been different. Even when Edwin initially flinched away from any and every touch, Charles just became more careful. And much sooner than Edwin would have expected, he didn't have to be. 

It had taken barely a year into their partnership for Edwin to become used to having Charles treating Edwin's personal space as though it were his own. 

Standing too close to look over Edwin's shoulder at whatever he's holding at the time, wrapping his fingers around Edwin's wrist and tugging him away from his books and to whatever crazy scheme he'd cooked up, tapping Morse code along the inside of Edwin's forearm during cases where they had to be absolutely quiet, draping an arm around Edwin's shoulders while they walked, crashing into him whenever he could convince Edwin to dance with him, dropping to sit down next Edwin on the couch and leaning his head on Edwin's shoulder, during particularly quiet nights, when he was in a particularly quiet mood-

Edwin's train of thought is once again derailed by Charles, who kicks him lightly on the thigh.

He blinks a few times, and realizes that he's been staring at Charles this whole time Charles, who didn't look away, and is staring at Edwin with a soft expression, lips quirked in one corner, eyes bright in the dim lighting. It's the same type of look that he gets whenever Edwin rants about whatever current project he'd been researching.

He blinks a few times, trying to recall what Charles had said. 

What are you thinking so hard about?

"You," he says, or more like blurts out, since it had been a while without an answer.

Charles gives him a slightly confused look before he realizes that Edwin was answering his question. The smile on his face grows wider, eyes positively sparkling as he leans down a little, "Oh yeah?" 

"Quite," Edwin replies, because he's never actually learned how to successfully lie to Charles about anything.

Charles' smile gets wider, and he slides a bit closer, until he's pressing his leg against Edwin's knee and keeping it there.

Edwin inhales sharply, eyes falling to the space where they're  touching. 

Touching anyone still alive felt like nothing, and it took a considerable amount of conscious thought to achieve. 

Touching other ghosts however felt almost like murky static, a buzzing sensation that felt stronger when the touch was intentional.

Edwin resists the urge to pull away from the touch, but also the urge to push into it.

He looks back up at Charles, who is staring at him with a look on his face that Edwin isn't familiar with, but it's been happening more and more as of late.

His eyes dart all over Edwin's face, before he's moving again, this time to lean back against the desk right in the space left behind when Edwin had pushed the chair back when thinking about Charles had taken priority over his reading.

Their legs are just barely brushing. And when Charles leans down a little, Edwin gasps quietly, eyes widening a little.

Charles just gives him a soft look, "What about me, exactly?"

Edwin opens his mouth to reply, he's not entirely sure what he was going to say when the door to the office opens, and in comes Crystal, already talking.

"I have a case for us, and before you say no it doesn't involve any witches or demons, and they'll pay us in actual cash plus a book all about deadly poisonous plants which has been passed down in our client's family line for generations."

She looks up then, furrowing her brows as she spots them.

"Sorry," she says, slowly, not actually looking sorry at all. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Absolutely not," Edwin says quickly, getting up at the same time that Charles straightens up, so that they're practically pressed close together. Too close, for too long seconds, where Edwin feels like he might actually be lightheaded even though he doesn't need to breathe, and Charles just stares at him with that same unfamiliar expression.

Crystal clears her throat, loudly. "Clearly," she says, and Edwin can hear the amusement in her voice.

Charles moves then, turning to face Crystal and smiling as he makes his way over to her.

He presses his fingers to Edwin's wrist as he goes, a touch that sends sparks down the back of Edwin's hand.

He inhales sharply, and then closes his eyes, breathing more carefully before he turns to face Crystal and Charles who seem to be having a conversation using only their eyebrows and a few head tilts.

"So," Edwin says slowly and deliberately. They both turn to face him. Charles stuffing his hands into his pockets, and Crystal crossing her arms across her chest. "What's the case?"

Crystal tells them all  about the ghost she'd heard crying in an alley and how she doesn't know how she died. Crystal had told her that she was part of a detective agency that helped ghosts figure out their unfinished business, and the ghost had offered cash and the book, both which she'd buried in the park a couple of weeks previously, but she wasn't sure why. She would give them the coordinates if they took her case.

"So what do you think?" Crystal asks as soon as she's done. She's got her hands on top of the desk, leaning forward and looking at Edwin seriously. Charles is sitting once again at the corner of the desk, and Edwin is standing right across from Crystal, writing everything that she's said, and jotting down a couple of questions that would need to be answered.

He looks up when he's done, eyes on Crystal, who lifts her eyebrows in question.

"I think that we'll need to talk to the client before I can come to any conclusion."

Crystal smiles, and pushes away from the desk, "Awesome, because she's waiting outside."

She walks to the door, and Edwin looks to Charles, who is grinning as he looks at him.

"What?" Edwin asks, brow furrowed.

"Nothing," he says, standing up and moving to Edwin's side. "Just a couple of weeks ago you were trying to get rid of her, and now you're letting her choose the cases. It took me years to get that privilege."

"Yes well," Edwin says, eyes darting to the closed door and back. "Crystal is clever and discerning. Whereas you see a pretty face and invite them to stay for as long as they want."

"Oi," Charles says, pushing Edwin's shoulder with his and shooting him a quick smile. "Are you ever going to let that go?"

Edwin hums, tapping a finger to his chin like he's thinking about it, before he shakes his head, "No, I don't think so."

Charles laughs at that, turning to fully face Edwin, "Hey, it all turned out alright in the end, didn't it?"

Edwin turns to face Charles at that, reaching out impulsively, and wrapping his fingers around Charles' wrist, carefully but deliberately. "I think it turned out better than alright."

Charles' eyes dart all over his face momentarily, before he smiles, and pulls his hand from Edwin's hold, letting their palms and fingers slide against each other, sending shocks of sensation all the way up Edwin's arm, causing Edwin to inhale sharply.

"Yes," Crystal's voice interrupts the moment. "They are always like that."

They both turn towards her at the same time.

There is a young woman standing next to her. She looked to be about a couple of years older than them. Her hair was pulled away from her face and piled on top of her head, which made the sickening gash on her temple very visible. Most likely the killing blow.

"Alright then." Edwin says, pulling his jacket down. "We are the Dead Boy Detective Agency. How may we help you?"

The ghost tells them that her name is Angela Harrison, but that most people called her Angie. She was nineteen years old when she died, and had been saving up money to leave her house, but she wasn't sure why. She knew that she had lived with her parents, and was going to a local university. She mentions that she doesn't remember much after walking home from her last class of the day. And the most important bit is that she's got a neighbor who had talked to her ghostly form, asking her if she was alright, before realizing that she was dead. He'd ignored her every other attempt to talk to him, so she wasn't sure if he had actually seen her or if it had just been in her imagination.

She'd started to cry towards the end of the interrogation, so Charles herded her over to the couch, to sit next to her and pat her back.

He turns to Crystal who stays where she's leaning against the desk as she turns to Edwin. 

"So," she says slowly and deliberately.

"So," Edwin replies, fast and short. "We have to interview the neighbor."

"I agree," Crystal responds, nodding her head. "I've already got the address. It's about a thirty minute bus ride from here."

She pulls out her portable telephone from the pocket of her jeans and taps the screen a few times before turning it to face Edwin to show him the bus schedule.

"The next bus will be at the nearest stop in forty minutes. Should give us enough time to prepare."

Edwin nods his head, opening his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a peal of giggles.

Both he and Cristal turn towards the sound, to see Angie leaning into Charles while laughing and Charles grinning a charmingly boyish grin.

Edwin taps one finger lightly against the desk, and Charles' head snaps to face them like he'd banged his fist on the wood.

Edwin turns to face Crystal instead of looking back at Charles.

"Did you want me to help you make a list of relevant questions or will you be sticking to your usual tactics?"

Crystal scoffs, "No thank you. I prefer to have some empathy when I'm questioning potential witnesses."

She smiles charmingly at him, and Edwin rolls his eyes, looking away from her to find Charles stopping right next to Crystal.

"What's the plan then?"

-

The plan goes without a hitch. Mostly.

The hiccup comes when the neighbor, one Turner Smith, turns out to be a psychic. Not as powerful as Crystal, but it was enough that he could see Charles and Edwin. 

While Crystal talks, Edwin surveys the room, taking note of the many strange artifacts and more mundane items, like paintings and exquisitely painted vases. Turner is a collector, but he doesn't actually care about the items he owns, which are mostly dusty and in disrepair. If Edwin had to guess, he'd say that this room is used to both impress and intimidate other people. 

Turner flirts outrageously with Crystal instead of actually answering any questions. When she shoots him down, he moves to Charles, who doesn't bother to entertain the attention. And then finally to Edwin, who flusters under the attention, since he's not used to it at all. But tries to rally himself immediately.

"We're not here for an afternoon chat, mate," Charles snaps, once Turner places a hand to Edwin's shoulder, and Edwin moves away. 

"Are you gonna answer the question or not? There is a dead girl who needs our help," Crystal continues. "And if you're not going to give me the answer. I can just take it."

Edwin knows Crystal enough by now to know that she is bluffing. But he also knows that if she has to, she'll do it.

"You can't get in my head without permission," Turner said, consonants practically disappearing with his nerves.

"Oh trust me, I can, but the real question is what are you hiding in there that you don't want anyone to see?"

She lifts a hand towards him, taking a step closer, and Turner jumps back.

"Fine," he says. "I'll tell you,  but it ain't gonna come cheap."

"What do you want in exchange for the information?" Edwin asks, pulling his notebook out of his pocket.

"A kiss?" He says, looking at Edwin both hopefully and salaciously.

Charles lets out a protesting sound, taking a step forward, while Crystal makes a rude sound with her teeth.

Edwin just gives Turner an unimpressed look, "How about something that is actually feasible for you to get? Like the Mona Lisa?"

Crystal snorts at that and Edwin can see Charles relaxing from the corner of his eye.

Turner shrugs, "Can't blame me for trying."

He asks for an occult item, a stone that lights up when ghosts are near that is more of a bauble than an actual threat, and luckily enough they have one lying around in the office, to use as a light source when needed.

Edwin goes to get it while Charles and Crystal stay behind.

When he gets back, Crystal looks pissed off, and Charles looks more murderous than before.

Edwin unilaterally decides that enough is enough, and they need to leave as soon as possible.

"Here we are," he says, stepping forward and holding the stone out. "One wandering stone at your service."

Turner moves closer to him, in a sauntering way, that's meant to be seductive, Edwin thinks.

He grabs the stone with one hand and grabs onto Edwin's hand before he can lower it.

"So that's a definite no to the kiss then?"

Edwin phases his hand away from Turner's hold, taking a step back as Charles moves to step in front of him.

"He already said no once," Charles says, standing between the both of them. "So maybe you should back off, yeah?"

Turner lifts his hands in the air in surrender and takes a step back.

"Okay, okay," he says. "No need for all of that."

"You got what you wanted," Crystal says, stepping up next to Charles. "So tell us, what did you see?"

Turner the psychic turned out not to have any information really. Only that Angie's father was hardly ever around and her mother was not that nice.

They walk to the nearest bus stop, Crystal walking in front of them, doing something on her portable phone while they both walk side by side several steps behind her.

Edwin looks at Charles out of the corner of his eye, and he knows that Charles is putting the same pieces together that he is.

"Can I ask you a question, Charles?"

Charles turns his face towards him incredulously, "You're actually asking for permission."

Edwin just shrugs a little helplessly. Charles shakes his head laughing, "Ask away, mate."

"Do I look like the kind of person that would accept-" he tries to think of an appropriate word, "-physical favors in exchange for information or-"

He cuts himself off, and stops walking at the same time that Charles stops and turns to face him.

"No," Charles says firmly. "That guy was just a  loathly wanker, wasn't he?"

Edwin gives him a small smile, "Still. This is the second time that it's happened."

"The second time?" Charles questions, brow furrowed, before it clears up and he gives him a knowing look, "The Cat King?"

Edwin just nods his head, and Charles just gives him an unreadable look for a long second, before shaking his head lightly and looking up to the sky. He takes an exaggerated deep breath, and then looks back to Edwin.

"I should've killed him once when I had the chance," he states, like it's a normal thing to say, and then starts to jog so that he can catch up with Crystal.

Edwin follows after him, reaching out to stop him before he gets too far. Charles stops immediately and turns to face him, raising an eyebrow in question. He looks slightly surprised that Edwin stopped him, but not entirely so.

Edwin just squeezes his fingers around wrist once, before letting go completely.

"Thank you for the offer, but I took care of it, and we left things on good terms. I think using up one of his lives would've gotten us an enemy that could make himself a real nuisance."

Charles shrugs a little, "It would've been worth it."

Edwin shakes his head, smiling, "You do know that I do know how to defend myself right?"

Charles gives him a look, "I've yet to see that actually happening, mate."

"I survived for seventy-"

"Yes, I know," Charles interrupts him. "And that was very cool and brave of you, but who was it that said that they didn't need to learn any self defense since I would be there to protect them?"

He's smiling and leaning into Edwin's space, much closer than is appropriate for the public. Edwin feels a little faint at the closeness, and his head feels like it's swimming.

"Well," Edwin says, swaying just a bit closer, eyes darting from Charles' smiling mouth to his shining eyes. "I've yet to see an occasion where you haven't."

"If you two don't stop flirting you're going to miss the bus," Crystal calls out to them.

Several people look at her like she's crazy, but she gets on the bus like nothing is wrong.

Charles and Edwin turn to look at each other once, before they start running together to get into the bus before it actually pulls away from the curb.

-

Crystal takes their client aside to ask her the questions about what's going on with her parents. Edwin is in theory supposed to be helping Charles, but instead he's leaning back against his desk and watching as Charles starts to meticulously pack his bag. 

Edwin doesn't expect them to actually need to defend themselves against Angie's parents, but he wasn't about to tell Charles that.

Edwin closes his book around one finger so that he doesn't lose his page, and he watches Charles. He remembers the months upon months of work Charles had put into figuring out how the bag worked. How it had been the payment given for a case. Charles had insisted he figure it out, and Edwin had searched through all of the books they had, finding several that were relevant, and leaving them in places where Charles would find them.

The first time that it had come in handy during a case, Edwin hadn't been able to prevent himself from telling him how brilliant it was. A breathless, "That was amazing, Charles!" as they kept running after Charles had thrown a bomb at one of the possessed suits of armor that had been chasing after them.

And a more effervescent, "Seriously Charles, it was aces!" once they'd gotten back to the office.

Charles had smiled, wide and happy both times, and this time he'd reached over and wrapped an arm around Edwin's shoulders, tugging him in close to his side and pressing their temples together for a brief moment.

Edwin remembers gasping in the moment, the touch almost sinking into him, and shuddering a little, before Charles had let him go.

Another instance Edwin can think back on and realize that what he'd been experiencing wasn't just a response to never actually being touched, but a reaction to being in love with Charles.

"I have never seen you this spaced out," Charles says, once again interrupting Edwin's thoughts about him. "Are you still thinking about me?"

Edwin blinks a couple of times. Charles is standing in front of him, another unfamiliar look on his face, eyes shining with something that looked like interest if Edwin didn't know any better.

 Edwin looks away from him quickly, clearing his throat and trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't be a complete lie, but also wouldn't be the complete truth.

"Hey," Charles says softly, reaching out a hand to turn Edwin's face back to face him, before dropping his hand back to his side. "There is no need for you to get all poked up about it."

Edwin releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, which was a ridiculous thing to do, since he didn't actually need to breathe. But like always, he seems to forget all about that whenever Charles is around.

"You know, I don't mind if you think about me," Charles says, like it's something that he's actually put thought into saying. "It's actually kind of flattering."

Edwin gasps at that as Charles moves closer. "Are you teasing me, Charles?" he asks, voice shaking.

"Depends on what definition of teasing you're ascribing to it," Charles responds. "If you mean, am I making fun of you, then the answer is never."

He moves even closer, hands resting on the desk on either side of Edwin on the desk, and he's so close that if they were alive he'd be able to feel the warmth coming off his skin. As it is, Edwin feels like he's buzzing, like he might just burst into a million tiny atom pieces if Charles moves any closer.

"If you mean am I flirting with you, then the answer is maybe."

Edwin swallows hard, licking his lips, "Maybe?"

"Yeah," Charles responds, leaning in even closer and tilting his head to one side. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about it. About what you said."

"You have?" Edwin questions quietly, eyes fluttering as Charles moves his hands and places them on either side of Edwin's waist.

"I've done nothing but think about it," Charles replies in an equally low voice. "And you know what I think?"

"What?" Edwin breathes, barely audible as Charles lips brush just barely against his cheek, sending sparks of sensation through him.

"That I should pack those books from the list you gave me. Don't want a repeat of what happened with the museum ghost, do we?" he says, pulling away. Edwin follows after him helplessly, not actually hearing what he'd said, until he does.

He stops and gives Charles a look, and Charles, Charles is just grinning at him,

"You, rapscallion," Edwin breathes out, letting himself slump backwards into his desk.

Charles smirks, "It's been a while since you've pulled that one out."

"Yeah, well, it's deserved," Edwin says primly, opening his book again.

He glances up as Charles laughs, almost giggles to himself as he packs the pile of books from the list that Edwin had given him earlier.

Edwin should continue to read his book. But he becomes distracted by Charles once again. The way his face scrunched up as he concentrated on putting away the books in the perfect spot where he'd be able to reach them in a hurry.

Every time he finds himself distracted he wonders how he didn't realize it before. 

Why it took an extremely forward Cat King and an ultimately sweet crow turned boy, to help him realize what he was actually feeling, when he can think back on hundreds (on thousands) of moments where he was without a doubt distracted and infatuated.

"I think we should talk after the case is solved," Charles says, and Edwin blinks a couple of times and finds Charles leaning back against one of the glass cases, staring at Edwin like he'd been watching him the entire time that Edwin had been thinking.

"What about exactly?" Edwin asks, even though he already knows what Charles would want to talk about. Edwin has been lost in his thoughts a lot lately. Ever since Port Townsend, and it really doesn't take a genius to figure out why.

"About something that I've been thinking about," Charles responds, stressing the I, like he knows what Edwin had been thinking the conversation had to do with him thinking too much.

Edwin wants to ask, but before he can, Crystal is walking into the office followed by Angie.

"Alright," she says. "I've made sure that both of her parents are going to be at the house tonight. We have less than an hour to get there, so let's just go over the plan one more time."

She looks up from her portable telephone then, and darts a gaze between the two of them, raising her eyebrows pointedly at Charles, who seems to understand what she's trying to say because he shakes his head once, as subtle as he could.

Not subtle enough that Edwin didn't catch it.

While Crystal and Charles go over the plan, he tries not to spiral into what that could mean. Even if Charles is going to tell him that he could never feel anything romantic towards him, Edwin has never been more secure of his place in Charles' life.

Nothing that is coming out of the upcoming conversation is going to have the power to tear them apart. Edwin wouldn't let it, and he knows that Charles wouldn't either.

-

Edwin walks a few paces behind Charles and Crystal, who are walking arm in arm talking in soft voices. The case is closed. Angie has moved on. And finding out her death was caused by parental neglect and could've been completely unavoidable, had hit a chord within all three of them.

But for Edwin, the neglect of his own parents wasn't something that crippled him anymore, not after the seventy years he spent in hell. He would've given them more privacy, and gone to the office through a mirror, but he didn't exactly want to let either of them out of his sight yet. 

So he strolled behind them, while writing in his notebook, finishing up the summary of every time he could recall that he'd been in love with Charles during the last thirty-five years. He'd never planned on giving him the pages after he was done cataloging his memories, but something about the words spat out by Angie's father, about how no one would ever care about a broken child like her, had made Charles so hurt and angry that he'd had to walk out of the house before Crystal was done with her interview. And Edwin had decided that Charles needed to know exactly how much Edwin loved him, despite and inspite of everything.

Every couple of minutes, Charles would glance back towards Edwin, and would nod his head a little, as though Edwin was right where Charles expected him to be, and he was glad that he was there, trailing after them.

They walk to the office, since Crystal had left her bag behind and the keys to her apartment were stuffed in one of the pockets, and Edwin knows that he's not going to follow after them when Charles walks Crystal home. He hasn't before, and he doesn't think that he should now.

It's something that they do on their own. And Edwin won't begrudge that when there are plenty of things that he and Charles share that don't involve Crystal, and the magic lessons he shares with Crystal that they ban Charles from.

Crystal grabs her bag and hugs Edwin goodbye. He pats her back once, and she grins at him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Edwin inclines his head, "I hope you sleep well tonight."

She gives him a look, which tells him all he needs to know about how she's going to sleep.

Charles grins, holding the door open for her, and moves to go after her, when Edwin stops him.

"I'll be right back," Charles says. "I did say-"

"No, it's not about that," Edwin says, and then he's pulling his notebook out and finding the correct pages before tearing them out.

"Here," he folds the five pages in half, and hands them to Charles, who takes them carefully, keeping them folded, while giving Edwin a questioning look.

"It's just about a  problem I've been working on for a bit," he says carefully. Not wanting to give away what was actually written, so that he wouldn't have to answer any questions until after Charles read everything. "I think I got my answer. And I think that it'll help you tonight."

Charles looks down at the papers in his hand thoughtfully and then back to Edwin, who tries not to look as nervous as he suddenly feels.

"It's just a reminder. Some reminders are good every now and again."

Charles opens his mouth to say something when Crystal's voice sounds from the street entrance. 

"Charles, I'm gonna miss the bus if you take any longer!"

"Be right there!" Charles yells back and then sticks the papers into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"All right, I'll be back before you know it."

Edwin just nods his head as Charles turns and leaves. 

The door closes behind him with a low click sound. Edwin turns around and walks further into the office where he has a pile of books that need to be sorted.

Edwin doesn't know how long he spends putting books away, but by the time he's done, Charles isn't back yet.

Edwin tries, unsuccessfully, not to read into that, and starts clearing things off his desk, a stack of case files, papers they no longer need, mail that needs to be sorted through, books that he's stopped reading part of the way through, too distracted thinking about Charles to actually finish reading them. 

He turns with the mail in his hands, and jumps startled, letting the letters fall to the floor, when Charles walks through the wall that leads into one of the empty rooms that surround their office. Usually, when Edwin can't find him, that's where he is, messing around with the dimension trapped inside of his backpack. 

He's got the pages that Edwin had handed him, and brandishes them in Edwin's face as he comes to stop right in front of him.

"Did you mean all of this?" he asks, something frantic in his tone. Like he needs to know the answer to that question more than he needs to know anything else.

"Of course," Edwin says immediately, sliding a step closer.. "It is all I've been thinking about lately."

He puts his hand to his chest, where his heart would be pounding out of his chest if he was still alive, "How this feeling crept up on me unawares. And I've come to the conclusion that it really didn't. It was always there. I just pushed it away, because I thought that that was what I was supposed to do. But it was always there, simmering beneath everything."

Charles stays silent for a long moment, eyes darting all over Edwin's face.

"I'm not expecting anything from this," Edwin feels the need to clarify. "After this last case. I just, really wanted you to know that I care, and that you are loved." 

Charles exhales softly at that, and lets his hand drop. Stuffing the folded papers into his pocket before Edwin can think to ask to get them back. 

Charles moves closer and anything else that Edwin had been about to say dies in his throat. Charles places his hands on Edwin's shoulders, and Edwin feels the touch sinking through him like a soporific, easing away all of the tension he'd been feeling.

"Edwin Payne," Charles says, the look on his face familiar for the amount of times that Edwin has seen it in the last couple of weeks. "You know I love you."

"I do," Edwin replies, trying very hard not to look away from Charles' face, or let the disappointment he feels show.

Charles exhales again, shaking his head, and moves his hands so that he's cupping Edwin's face, "You say that. But I don't think you do, really."

Edwin opens his mouth to speak, but Charles shakes his head. "Just listen to me, yeah?"

Edwin's dart all over Charles' face before nodding his head slightly.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about this. Which you know is unusual. But I can't just wing this. You're my best mate. My favorite person in the entire world. It's too important."

Charles' eyes dart away from him, like he's trying to figure out how to put what he's feeling into words, and back again, looking more determined than he'd been earlier. "I've never been in love with anyone. I don't know what that feels like. But I have loved other people. I loved my mom and my friends. I love Crystal. But it's all nothing compared to what I do feel for you."

Edwin gasps at the words, and Charles smiles at him, nodding his head a little, like Edwin is finally getting something that he's been trying to tell him for years. And Edwin is just, trying very hard not to do something utterly ridiculous, like slip into the gap still left between them and fit himself into Charles like they're one being.

"You told me that I had to experience hell in order to actually see it," Charles continues, sliding his hands back down to Edwin's shoulders, and the touch makes Edwin shiver, eyes fluttering. "My hell was losing you. And no afterlife would tempt me if you aren't a part of it. I don't know if that is what being in love is, but I do think it's the closest I'll ever get to that feeling."

Edwin can't help the smile that spreads across his face, Charles isn't looking at him in the eyes, eyes to the top of Edwin's head, like he can't look at him directly, but also can't stop looking at him. And Edwin has never felt like this before, like he's going to buzz apart into tiny atoms.

"And I don't know if that's enough-"

"It's enough," Edwin says, interrupting him. Charles' eyes dart back down. "It is more than enough."

Charles smiles, small and intimate, eyes shining brightly. "Yeah?" 

"Yes," Edwin replies immediately.

Charles laughs, and wraps his arms around Edwin's shoulders, pulling him into a full body hug. Edwin wraps his arms around him immediately, digging his fingers into Charles' back, pressing his face into Charles' shoulder and closing his eyes.

This is what he's been wanting. Every time Charles touched him, all he craved was Charles pressed as close to him as possible. Edwin isn't sure how he went on the last thirty years without this. Holding Charles and being held in return was what Edwin would hope the afterlife to feel like, warm and safe. 

Charles sighs, melting into the touch, and Edwin just holds on to him tighter.

After a couple of minutes, which Edwin hopes will last forever, Charles turns his head, so that his lips are brushing against Edwin's ear.

"There is one thing that I'm sure about," he says, in a low voice. 

Edwin digs his chin into Charles' shoulder, not really wanting to let go. "And what is that?"

Charles moves again, pulling back enough that they're face to face, and Edwin lets it happen a bit reluctantly.

Charles laughs at what must be a ridiculous look on his face, and then he leans back in, knocking their foreheads together gently. 

"I want to kiss you," he breathes, and Edwin gasps quietly, eyes falling shut.

"Would you?" Edwin asks, leaning forward a little, just enough that their noses brush together.

Charles breathes out a laugh, and Edwin feels it washing over him like sunshine after being trapped in the dark for days. 

"If I had known you'd be interested I would've kissed you thirty years ago."

Edwin gasps again, leaning back a little so that he can look at Charles. 

Charles is still smiling, but his eyes are sincere. Edwin can just barely believe that this is actually happening. It seems like something that he's been waiting for for years, but also like something that he didn't even realize he wanted until he got it.

And if it had been anyone else, he would've probably been more nervous, but this was Charles.

Who Edwin trusted implicitly.

So instead of questioning this, Edwin takes a page out of Charles' book and goes with his first instinct.

He tightens his arms around Charles, even though it's practically impossible for them to be any closer, and leans in close, pressing his nose to Charles' cheek.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Charles huffs put a breath, and his voice sounds rough when he speaks again, "Your explicit permission. Wouldn't want to be a repeat of your first now would I?"

Edwin just shakes his head huffing out a laugh. "You could have a repeat of my second kiss if you want instead?"

Charles makes to move backwards probably to question him, but Edwin just follows after him, and presses a kiss to Charles cheek.

Charles stops speaking, breathing  in sharply.  

Edwin smiles as he pulls away. Charles' eyes flutter open, and he stares at Edwin, like he can't believe that Edwin is real.

Edwin grins at the look on his face, delighted that he's able to surprise Charles after thirty years.

Charles laughs, shaking his head a little before he's moving again, fitting his hands to either side of Edwin's face as he leans in close.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Charles says, seriously.

"Are you really?" Edwin asks, not sounding as sarcastic as he's going for, leaning into Charles' touch, hands splayed along Charles' back. "Or are you just going to keep talking about it all ni-"

Charles kisses him, mouth pressed to Edwin's bottom lip, and the entire world falls silent.

Edwin can feel the soft, buzzing pressure of Charles' mouth against his own, and he's never felt anything quite like it in all of his years both living and dead.

Charles pulls away, and Edwin follows after him, kissing him again, smothering the soft sound of whatever word Charles was going to say with his mouth. Charles slides his hands to the back of Edwin's neck, and keeps him close as he kisses him back.

Charles pulls away again after a long minute, and Edwin keeps his eyes closed for a moment, before he opens them to see Charles staring at him, eyes darker than he's ever seen.

"Edwin," he breathes out, something almost awed in his tone.

"Charles," Edwin says back in the same tone.

Charles grins, happy and bright and then he's tugging Edwin back in for another kiss. 

Edwin falls into the kiss, opening his mouth to Charles and making a low, surprised sound when Charles licks against his lips. He pulls away slightly, and Charles is smiling a little sheepishly. "Too much?"

Edwin doesn't answer him, he just kisses him again open mouthed and possibly too enthusiastic, but Charles takes it all in stride, digging his fingers into Edwin's jaw and tilting his head to the side and kissing him back. 

Edwin loses himself in the kiss, following Charles' lead, until he accidentally snags his teeth against Charles' bottom lip, and Charles makes a low sound in the back of his throat, that makes that buzzing feeling in Edwin's throat sink to the pit of his stomach.

He drags his hands from where he'd been clenching the back of Charles' jacket into fists, and wraps his fingers in the open collar of his jacket, pushing him backwards and following after him, barely keeping their mouths pressed together.

Charles stumbles backwards, their mouths sliding apart, and he lands to sit back on the desk, toppling the pile of case files that Edwin had yet to put away to the floor. Edwin just follows after him, dropping his hands to the desk on either side of Charles' hips as he pushes in close and licks back into Charles' open mouth.

Charles' moans and wraps his fingers around the sleeves of Edwin's sweater vest, tugging him closer, parting his knees to make space for Edwin's hips between his thighs.

Edwin slides his arms around Charles' waist, and Charles drags his hands into Edwin's hair, scrubbing his fingers across his perfectly styled hair and messing it up entirely. 

Not that Edwin cares, not when Charles bites against his lip, and kisses him hard and fast, like he's been starving this entire time, and Edwin was the first good meal he'd had in decades.

Edwin doesn't know how much time passes, but it feels like no time at all has passed as Charles eases away, pressing shaky fingers to Edwin's face as he does.

He's breathing hard, and Edwin would laugh at the absurdity of a ghost being out of breath, if he wasn't too busy panting as well.

Charles licks his lips and swallows hard. "That was-" he starts, trailing off, as he drags his hands back into Edwin's hair, smiling.

"Yeah," Edwin says absentmindedly, eyes drawn down to Charles' neck as he swallows hard, where the collar of his shirt presses into the skin of his throat.

"We should've done that ages ago," Charles continues, but Edwin really doesn't want to talk right now. He leans down, and presses a kiss Charles' throat, half against the collar of his shirt, and half against his skin.

"Oh, bloody hell," Charles breathes, and Edwin presses another kiss, this one harder. Charles' hands slide back into his hair and he tugs.

Edwin muffles the sound he makes against Charles' throat, and noses the fabric of his collar out of the way to drop a kiss lower on his neck.

"Edwin," Charles whines, hands dragging uselessly though Edwin's hair. "Maybe we should stop, yeah?"

Edwin hums against his skin, and bites him lightly, making Charles jump and curse.

Charles tugs Edwin's head away from his neck, and Edwin goes willingly.

"You've got to stop doing that," Charles says breathlessly as he knocks their foreheads together, gently. "Or else we're going to end up naked, and I really want to take you on a proper date before we shag on top of your desk."

Edwin laughs at that, shaking his head and leaning heavier on Charles. "Think highly of yourself, don't you?"

Charles huffs a little, "You're the one kissing my neck."

"I've never done that before," Edwin admits, "But it's not the first time I've thought about doing it to you."

Charles makes a low sound, and kisses him again, too sweet and too fast.

Edwin chases after his mouth, unwilling to let the kiss be so brief and kisses him again.

They lose long minutes like that, kissing and kissing and touching and kissing again, mouths making slick wet sounds as they kiss sloppy and deep, hands scrambling everywhere, Edwin's hands flat on Charles' back, keeping him close, Charles' hands dragging from Edwin's hair to snag in the collar of his shirt, tugging until his bowtie is undone, and back again to his hair. The edges that make them two separate people blurring until Edwin can't tell them apart, like they're trying to fuse together into the same being. 

When they part this time, Edwin takes a step backwards, and Charles' hands catch him before he can get too far, fingers hooking into the sleeves of his vest. Edwin presses a shaky hand to his buzzing mouth, feeling tender and aching.

"I'm afraid," he says, swallowing thickly. "That if we had done that before, we wouldn't have gotten anything else done."

Charles laughs, the sound high and breathy, eyes squinting as he looks at Edwin. 

Edwin feels it bubbling inside of him, popping in his chest like champagne bubbles, and he can't help but smile back, swaying forward a bit as he just stares at him, feeling the words he hasn't repeated since hell trapped in his throat.

"What?" Charles asks after a couple of long seconds of silence.

"I love you," Edwin says, the words falling out as easy as anything.

Charles smiles, soft and sweet and tugs him closer, wrapping his arms around Edwin's waist and bumping their foreheads together. "Love you too."

Edwin breathes out a happy sigh, letting his eyes fall shut, and he leans against him, feeling for the very first time in the over 100 years of his existence that he's exactly where he's meant to be.

[katierosefun]

actually as much as i love mike and harvey together. i feel so sad for rachel zane because imagine falling in love with your coworker and then you learn that your coworker is a fake lawyer but not only that, your coworker is a fake lawyer who would literally do anything for his boss. he'll literally leave you at the altar to go to prison for his boss. he'll try to quit his job multiple times but keep coming back because his boss asked him to come back. he'll move to seattle with you, and you'll breathe a sigh of relief because it means that it can finally just be the two of you, but then you learn that he's inviting his stupid former boss to join them. and his stupid former boss agrees. you smile because your husband is so stupid happy at the idea of working with his former boss again, but you've seen this film one too many times before, and you are going to be subject to watching your husband choose his stupid former boss-slash-friend over you again and again and again and again and again and ag

[vampiricsheep]

so since I may be free this summer after all, would anyone be interested in an RP event that's a potluck? I've been wanting to do it for ages but there's never any interest compared to other themes

for a discord rp, I would make a separate server explicitly for this purpose so you don't have to be in any guilds or anything! I would also delete the server (or at least channel, if people would like an event-planning server long-term) after a week - enough time for people to read over their stuff but not preserved forever and ever.

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[icharchivist]

Go off queen

It's your blog and you should be able to talk about whatever you want after all

aww thank you 🥺 i appreciate it <33

i do really not like spreading negativity esp when it's on a topic i have strong feelings about, and let's say the D.A fandom especially tends to be. extreme about the way it reacts to people disagreeing with them.

And look. I'm not immune to it because sometimes i get caught up by the genuinely rancid vibe in the fandom as well, and i think those games are designed for us to have strong feelings to start with.

but it also means i don't want to go too deep into controversial thoughts because i genuinely don't want to get to a point where i'll see someone screenshot my posts to dunk on it and say i'm the reason media literacy is dead and why the fandom is so toxic (citing things i've actually seen on said blog, for instance though not directed at me but at takes i've seen taken out of context. except i knew the context so knew this was a bad faith argument.).

Like can't even dislike shits in peace in here.

[carnation-damnation]

A hiatus, or semi-hiatus, of sorts.

Trigger warnings for cancer and parental death.

[justabookworm39]

Price of Knowledge (Whumpay fanfic)

@whumpay Day 4: Gore

Inscryption,  Luke Carder-centric

Warnings: EYE TRAUMA HOLY SHIT. Eye trauma, gross sensory stuff relating to eye trauma (bone scraping and squishy stuff, etc.), torture, sensory overload (mainly that Thing where you’re in so much pain you can’t talk or think), non-graphic vomiting at the end. Also spoilers for the main game of Inscryption.

Notes: The uh. Eyeball sequence in Act 1. That’s all I have to say.

(I haven’t started Kaycee’s Mod yet so don’t spoiler it I swear to god-)

---

Everything went red.

His body curled in around itself, as if trying to get away from the pain. He wasn’t even able to scream, just barely able to force himself to breathe. The smell of copper flooded his nose, the stream barely touching the side of his mouth and a few tiny disgusting drops crossing his lips. The hand clenching the knife trembled, and he faintly heard something hit the floor with a wet *plop*.

“Good.” The phantom shape of a person stood on the other side of the table, speaking to him with a calm and airy voice. “Now the other one.”

“…What?” He struggled to lift his head, could barely make his eye focus in the darkness.

“The other eye.”

For a long moment, he just stared up at her, trying to form a coherent response, or even a coherent thought, through the pain. This wasn’t right, he shouldn’t need to– where was he even, this wasn’t the cabin, what was going on–

“Mr. Carder, please don’t make this difficult.”

Something about hearing his own name jolted him awake, and he knew he wasn’t just trapped in the game, this was something else. The knife fell from his grip, clattering against the table. That seemed to draw her focus.

As it did, he swiped his hand, throwing the knife aside and forcing himself to his feet as fast as he could, even as it made his head spin. He stumbled backwards a step and a half before a hand grabbed at his scalp, nails digging into skin. Glaring at the figure leaning over the table, he just barely spat out, “Go fuck y–”

The side of his head slammed into the table, rattling the empty socket and making him bite his tongue. No matter how he pushed against the tabletop, he couldn’t pry himself from under her grip as she lifted the knife–it looked to be the same knife, which made no sense because she never bent down to get it–

It hurt so much worse the second time.

The first time, it hadn’t felt real. It had felt like when he’d gotten his wisdom teeth removed, where it was just the shifting movement and the pressure but none of the pain. The pain hadn’t kicked in until it was over, and at that point it was a simple all-encompassing pain.

This wasn’t like that.

He felt the blade being shoved past the skin and bone at the edge of his eye, scratching against the inside of his skull. It cut the eyeball itself as it did, slicing into the soft tissue by complete accident and sending another trickle of blood down his nose.

He felt the pressure as the knife made its way to the back and was pushed, attempting to pry the eyeball from the socket. The hand on the top of his head pressed down, holding his skull as still as it could.

(And again, he couldn’t scream. He could just gasp and whimper, one hand briefly clawing at the arm of his attacker and trying to throw it off of him.)

He felt the tugging. He hadn’t even noticed the nerve the first time, but he did now, felt the last thing connecting his eye and his face being pulled taut. The pressure on the eye and his head let up, but only long enough for a hand to reach for his face and–

He felt a slight squeeze on his eyeball. He felt the briefest cutting sensation.

His body was carelessly tossed to the floor. He let out a tiny yelp of pain, hands instinctively reaching to cover and protect the open sockets. The mix of blood and jelly-like fluid smeared on his palms, and his head being forced sideways meant that it now coated two-thirds of his face. Every time he tried to scream his throat seemed to close up, what little noise he made probably going unheard by the figure standing over him.

“Let that serve as a lesson.” Another *plop*, this one right next to his head, and he recoiled away from it. It was followed by the sound of metal hitting the floor, probably a few feet away. “Don’t go looking where you’re told not to.”

---

The feeling of cold metal on his forehead did little to ground him.

Luke heaved again, but nothing came out this time. His arms trembled as he braced himself against the bathroom counter, and he’d resorted to resting his head against the running faucet. He hadn’t been sleeping well for a few nights, and he didn’t really have waking up from a nightmare needing to puke in him.

One hand traveled up his face, gently pressing at the dark bag under his eye. He could still feel the curve of something round beneath the skin, something resisting the light pressure he put on it. It was still there. Not that he should’ve needed to check, it should’ve been pretty damn obvious if it was gone. But instinct was instinct, he supposed.

He really needed to quit digging into that game. It seemed to be messing with his head.

Luke finally raised his head and saw his own half-asleep reflection. He stared at it for a while, holding his breath. Then, he slammed one hand on the counter and screamed.

He screamed the way he’d tried to in the nightmare. He screamed to let out the stress of the past several days, of countless rabbit holes and dead ends. He screamed for everything that sat in his chest, every minor annoyance at his day job and every loose shred of grief that you could argue led him to this point.

When he was done–when it finally died in his chest–he slammed his hand against the counter a second time, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck… fuck.” He gagged, and he doubled over the sink again as he spat up a mouthful of bile. A cough rattled his chest, and he wiped his forehead.

He’d revisit this again in the morning. Maybe he’d throw that game out, maybe he’d decide that whatever this was would just continue until he reached the end. But for now, he needed to sleep.