#but it still feels like it doesn't touch on much of my writing

[strwbrychffoncke]

"i just wanted to tell you incase you forgot... 'i love you',, 3k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: the ways in which you tell sylus "i love you" and ways in which he reciprocates contains: lnds sylus x mc?reader (fem in mind but she/her is used like once or twice) ,fluff! ,kitten/sweetie used as pet names ,domestic!sylus feel ,cuddling ,playful banter ,baker sylus ,incorrect evol use but its wholesome ,sylus chases u around ,twins feature ,not much to say other than soft!sylus being in love w u / both of u being lovesick for e/o + twins shenanigans at the end (i think thats it) note: (mostly edited ,will check back later) added this track last minute but immediately knew who i wanted to write it for. first fic of the event woooo~ :x

-

sylus wasn't a man of love-filled sentiments.

or at least, that's what you'd initially thought.

a man like him, the big bad leader of onychinus, someone who was above everyone else and the most sought-after criminal, wielding a steel-cold gun in one of his bloodstained hands...

someone like that didn't know love, surely.

but oh, how wrong you were.

you were the only one that knew, under all of that tough exterior, the true tenderness that lied beneath it.

and you were the sole subject to it, from the very beginning.

-

you woke unceremoniously in a bed that was not your own, surrounded in a blanket of warmth but not solely due to the comforter surrounding your plush body:

it was mainly due to the otherworldly individual beneath you, who you were using as your personal body pillow of sorts.

you stir, letting out a small groan before peeking your eyes open to catch a glimpse of the man before you.

the big, bad leader of onychinus, sleeping soundly in bed next to you, arm firmly wrapped around your waist and your head comfortably planted on his chest— your favorite makeshift pillow.

you can't help but to smile at the sight.

feeling a touch mischievous, you begin trailing your fingers, touch featherlight, up from his waist towards his chest and back down, slowly shifting to drawing mindless shapes in the expanse of exposed skin.

he doesn't react to your touches, still deep in sleep, so you change your tactic.

you drag a single index finger up, up, up past his slender waist, then his slowly rising and falling chest, his pretty neck then up towards his sharp jawline to poke at his cheek.

he grunts in his sleep, but nothing more.

you let out a huff, lifting your head up and staring at the serene expression on his face— even lost in the land of dreams, you couldn't help but to admire every feature of his visage.

a couple of minutes pass by just like this until you decide you're feeling a little bored again.

so you repeat your earlier action, dragging your finger up slowly, slowly, just about to poke his cheek again—

when your wrist is swiftly caught by a warm hand before you reach it.

"it seems my dream of a kitten mistaking me for a toy wasn't a dream after all."

sylus' crimson eyes crack open to look directly into your bright (albeit still slightly-sleepy) ones, heart full at the little playful smile you're sporting.

"she seems bored," he muses, thumb from the hand still gripping your wrist gently caressing your knuckles back and forth— a subconscious habit whenever his hands hold yours.

"should i entertain her?"

his question goes unanswered as he shifts over on his side while letting your hand go at the same time, causing you to slip from your spot on top of him to behind him, facing his back.

"—or leave her to her own devices?"

"sylus!"

your laughs are airy, quickly enveloping the spacious bedroom, and sylus finds himself smiling at the sound.

you don't leave him alone for long, quickly pressing against him and hugging his large frame from behind.

sylus releases a playful scoff. "is this a new attack of yours?"

"yeah, you can't escape, i'm going to stick to you like this forever and ever!"

"how touching," his voice is filled with amusement. "i think i can get used to this..." he trails off, smile evident in his words.

you stay that way for awhile when you decide to repeat your earlier actions in the new space, retracting a hand as you begin to draw shapes into his back this time. at the same time, sylus begins to hum whatever song is on his mind, eyes shut as he revels in your touches, neither one of you in a rush to get up from this sacred space for two.

"what are you drawing, kitten?"

your finger dances across the bare canvas of his back.

"guess," you answer simply as you continue.

he lets out a huff of a laugh. "not going to make it easy for me, are you?"

you hum in response, dragging your fingers to create imaginary lines over the muscles.

"is this... a kitten?" you can almost hear the raise of his eyebrow and see the funny yet curious expression on his face.

"oooh, i didn't think you'd get that one. how about..."

your finger traces several lines again, taking your time before you stop and wait for his answer.

"hmmm..." the way he's concentrating trying to figure it out fills you with amusement like no other.

"a... plane?"

"wrong, it was mephisto!"

"..it was close."

"are you calling mephisto a plane..?"

"..let's move on to the next one."

a hearty laugh rings out as you pretend to erase the image.

"wait until i tell him~"

"you wouldn't dare," he jokingly threats, causing you to only giggle back in response.

you decide on something much simpler this time.

your movements are slowed as you start near the center, drawing a tilted line outward and up before curving it inward and mimicking the same on the opposite side, connecting them to form a heart.

i love you.

a short, amused laugh leaves him, immediately recognizing the shape, but shaping a question instead of an answer.

"i'm not too sure, sweetie. might have to try that one again," he says, voice soft and tender, a hint of a smile within it.

say it once more.

so you do.

you repeat your action, slower, drawing another imaginary heart on his bare skin and within it, your unspoken promise of devotion towards him.

i love you.

this time, he turns around to face you, pulling you flush against him. you let out a short laugh before its devoured by his lips on yours, caught in a dance of love and devotion, giggles bubbling out of you between the breaks as you try to catch your breath while he needily chases your lips.

and the message he wishes to convey is clear as day.

i love you, too.

-

someone like him was the last person you thought you'd ever associate sweets with.

but after the time spent together, you find it hard to imagine anyone else cautiously reading the instructions, mixing the ingredients precisely, and carefully readying the icing for the fresh cupcakes that have come out of the oven and are left cooling nearby, except for him.

you tiptoe into the kitchen, watching him prepare a piping bag for the freshly-made icing he's made while he hums (when you asked him why he goes through the trouble of making it from scratch, he countered by asking "doesn't it taste better when you put in the work for something?" and despite playfully scoffing at the little smirk he offered, you couldn't help but to agree with him).

you smile at his focused expression, reading glasses perched on his nose, some remnants of ingredients spotting his clothes as he decides on which icing tip to use for these particular cupcakes (the last time he made them, they resembled simple flowers. based on the icing tip he was inspecting now, it seemed he was going to try for roses this time).

now just a step away from his back, you reach out both hands, index fingers out as you poke both sides of his lower back at the same time.

he jolts at the sensation, small gasp emitting from his lips and shock washing over him as he cranes his neck over his shoulder to catch your satisfied smile.

"another sneak attack, kitten?"

"i couldn't resist."

you step up beside him, taking a peek into the bowl filled with icing.

"red this time? i would've never guessed."

he scoffs, smiling.

"am i that predictable to you?"

"well, after spending so much time together, its only natural, right?"

"its bad if an enemy learns to read you so easily; who knows what trap will be set in the future."

"you're right," your words trail off as you step back, causing the sly crow before you to raise a brow.

"they can plan an attack when you're vulnerable, like—"

behind him again, you jump forward, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"this!"

his hearty chuckle rings through the kitchen.

even if he saw your intention from the start, he made no move to stop you. he'd surrender to you if you so much as asked.

"so? what will you do with me now that i'm caught?"

"hmmm..."

you hum in thought, noticing sylus has picked up the piping bag and was inserting the icing tip into it, getting ready to fill the bag with the red icing.

he's waiting for your answer when one of your hands reaches forward, dipping your finger into the icing bowl and quickly withdrawing your arms, swiftly turning around—

when you feel yourself being lifted into the air.

you let out a surprised squeal, giggling as you thrash around in the hold of sylus' evol, said man's attention still on the icing bag as he scoops a dallop of red into it.

"such a naughty kitten," he says, evol pulling your suspended body over to him slowly as you laugh the entire way.

"and naughty kittens deserve a punishment," as he speaks, he dips his own finger into the bowl of icing, red now gathered onto the tip before looking up at you through the rims of his glasses.

realizing what he's planning, you thrash around to no avail within the confines of his evol, trying to create distance between you two.

"nooooo! im sorry! please- aha, hahaha! sylus!"

your attempt is futile, sly smirk curling on sylus' lips as his finger moves closer and closer to your smiling face that's trying to inch further and further away, pressing his finger right onto your nose, painting it in red.

"noooooo!" you whine, sylus chuckling in amusement.

"how cute," he muses. "maybe this will teach you to behave in the kitchen."

he finally lets you down with his evol, eyeing you as you're standing upright and before him once again.

"now, go and wait till i'm finished, i'll even let you have the first taste," he bargains, turning his back to you and walking back towards the icing bowl.

despite this, a smirk plasters itself onto your face as you creep your way up behind him once again, red icing still staining your finger from moments ago stretched out, ready to paint his cheek—

"i thought i told you to behave."

despite the countless attempts to catch him by surprise attacks, he knows what you're saying through them:

i love you.

your wrist is easily caught in his grasp, stopping your attack before it can hit his cheek, a displeased groan emitting from your throat.

he brings your icing-covered finger close to his lips, lapping at the red. you watch as it momentarily stains his lips before his tongue licks them clean, humming at the flavor.

"it seems.. better this time, don't you think?" he turns, looking down at you.

you huff out a breath, trying to hide your embarrassment at his little action.

"be patient, kitten, i'll be done soon enough..." he trails off, hand unraveling from your wrist. "or do i have to restrain you?"

"i'm going, i'm going!"

with that, you scurry out of the kitchen to wait in the living room, sylus' amused chuckle surrounding the kitchen soon replaced by his soft, mindless humming once again.

i love you more.

-

a man of his caliber having a playful side seemed like a far-fetched idea.

until you experienced it for yourself.

and since the very first time, you're convinced he may be the most playful person on the entire planet.

to be fair, you kind of expected this, after all, its not like it was the first time.

but when you snatched a cupcake when his back was turned and took a bite, you didn't expect him to notice— at least, not right away.

but he did, and when he began counting, you instinctually bolted out of the kitchen, cupcake still in hand, giggles trailing behind you, determined to not be caught by him.

you dashed past the living area, two crow masks peeking up from their spot on the sofa and shifting to another figure— their boss— who was trailing behind you, watching until your figures disappeared down the long corridor of the hall.

"i give her five minutes," kieran pipes up, turning towards his brother.

"i give her three!"

"you're on!"

. . .

even as you dash down the halls, careful not to hit anything and running in scattered directions, it doesn't take long for sylus to close in on you.

you make it to a lounging area, movements slowed from the amount you've ran in the past couple of minutes, beginning to catch your breath after not sensing him around when you feel a weight on your shoulders.

"caught you."

"...!"

he's equally out of breath, taking a few moments to even his breathing, leaning against you more and more before pushing your body down onto the sofa. you fall back on the cushions with a short oof! still in the midst of catching your breath before sylus lays what feels like his entire weight right on top of you.

"sylus!"

you push against his broad chest, completely crushed by his beautiful build of a body, laughter ringing through the living space at your futile struggle against the smirking man above you.

"it seems a little kitten is stuck," he heaves a couple of breaths. "what are you going... to do about it?"

"get... off!" you laugh.

"i'm tired after all of that chasing... not to mention this is comfortable for me," he takes a couple more breaths, looking down at your slightly-sweaty face. "so i'd rather not."

"you're heavy, sylus!"

you weakly hit at his chest when he closes his eyes, pretending to fall asleep on top of you.

"sylus!"

slowly, he lifts himself up with his arms, hands planted flat on either side of your head.

"attacking me after making me chase you? how very cruel of you, sweetie."

your breaths are mostly even now, watching for sylus' next move.

he slowly begins moving his head down, and your eyes naturally flutter closed, expecting a kiss.

he takes this opportunity to plant his knees into the sofa, shifting his weight onto them as he leans down, breath fanning your lips.

"you trust me, sweetie?" he whispers against your lips.

"always," you whisper back.

he suddenly lifts his head, arms lifting at the same time before his fingers immediately begin dancing over your midriff.

your eyes shoot open in shock and betrayal, laughs immediately ripped from your throat as you thrash beneath him, trying your best to get away despite being caged into the sofa.

"s-sy-sy- ahahah! sto-o-p! s-stop! hahaha!"

his fingers continue their brutal attack on your sensitive skin, bubbling laughter infectious as sylus joins you, pleased smile adorning his face at your current state.

he relents shortly after, allowing you to catch your breath again as he looks down at you in a daze, reaching out to straighten your hair.

"kiss..." your voice is breathless, but he catches it.

"hm?"

"you still owe me... a kiss...." you breathe out, looking up at him expectantly. "from earlier."

"ah, of course."

he leans down, capturing your lips with his, hovering over your body as your arms snake around his neck, pouring your hearts into the action. you both kiss with equal fervor, chasing each others lips, never able to get your fill of the other.

i love you.

he pulls away slowly, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close in fear of him leaving you all of a sudden. the look in his eyes says i'm not going anywhere, his forehead touching yours as you both breathe each other in before he tucks his head into your shoulder.

"lets stay like this... just for a bit," his quiet, husky breath hits your ear and you shiver at the sensation.

"okay," you smile, hands petting through his silver locks.

i love you, most.

and you stay together, just like that, losing track of time in the world reserved for two, heartbeats syncing up as you meld against one another, both with the shared sentiment of never letting go.

(only at your insistence of taking a shower and slipping into some fresh clothes when you think he's dozed off does he relent, slowly getting up and scooping you into his arms, making his way down the hall towards his room).

-

sylus wasn't a man of love-filled sentiments.

at least, that's what you'd initially thought.

a man like him, the big bad leader of onychinus, someone who seemed to be above everyone else, the most sought-after criminal wielding a steel-cold gun in one of his bloodstained hands—

the same hands that cradled your face, caressed your hair any chance he got, tickled you when you least expected it, carried you so lovingly at your beck-and-call, hugging you close to his chest, close enough that you could feel his beating heart—

the heart of a man who loved so wholly and completely, devoting his entire being to you.

so, despite what anyone else may think, may also assume at first glance, you knew the truth:

despite the odds, sylus was someone that knew love the best.

-

epilogue:

"so... who won?" luke turns to his brother under the crow mask.

"i did, obviously," kieran is all-too confident.

"what?!? nuh-uh, she was definitely caught in less than five minutes!"

"did we watch the same thing? that was maybe six!"

"are you.... stupid?"

"rude!"

"i didn't think you'd try to lie your way to win," luke crosses his arms over his chest.

"i am not lying!"

"are too!"

the bickering continues for a couple more minutes until luke pipes up again.

"wait, what was the prize for whoever won the bet?"

"......"

kieran is the first to speak up again.

"you know what, since you won, you can be the one to tell boss the reason so many cupcakes are missing."

"WHAT???"

later, the cameras in mephisto's eyes would relay the twins chasing each other around— just amongst the footage of them scarfing down the freshly-made rose-icing cupcakes.

-

a/n: spreading the soft sylus agenda... this is inspired by a number of domestic art/tweets ive seen if i find them ill add but.. he's so soft..... i adore him

-

[captain-huggy-bear]

Just thinking about how clingy Jack is after a roadie. That man won’t let you do anything

Yeah, lets be real, Jack is a clingy baby. Olympic levels of clingy when he's finally back home. Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

Jack's always been clingy. This is only made ten times worse when he's missed you. He's under your feet every time he comes back from a roadie. He's a tactile person by nature, always reaching for you on any given day, but it's made 100 times more severe when he's been gone for a few days or worse a week. In a lot of ways it's sweet and flattering that he cares and misses you so much that he has to be on top of you the moment he’s home, has to be under your feet. In other ways? It's a bit of an inconvenience, and depending on your mood can actually make you a little grumpy.

It starts with him just being in the same room as you, whether it’s watching you cook or watching you fold laundry, Jack’s eyes follow you wherever you go. But, it never stays like that for long, maybe 5 minutes tops. Soon he’ll start physically following you around the room, not quite under your feet, but close enough that he’s in your peripheral vision, your shadow. You can feel him behind you, can sense where he is at all times even when he isn't yapping away at you. This is manageable, he’s not in the way and he’s never stopping you from doing what you need to at this point, but it never lasts long. Usually within 20 minutes of Jack being home he’s on you like the plague, arms latched around you, chest to your back, face nuzzled into your neck.

It’s sweet but impractical, you’re trying to go about your day and he refuses to let go of you, he has to be physically attached to you in some way whether it’s wrapping you in his arms and waddling behind you or putting his chin on your arm or a hand on your leg.

"Jack, I'm trying to make my lunch," You can't help but laugh as you try to cut up some veggies, arm movements somewhat restricted by the band of arms wrapping around your chest. Jack's so close to you he's practically pressing you into the counter.

"You can still make lunch like this..." He grumbles into your neck, pressing kisses to the skin there, the kisses are so light that you can't help but giggle at the ticklish sensation. This only draws an encouraged smirk from him, one that you can feel widening against your skin.

"Jack..."

"Angelllll...."

"Jackkkkkk," Nothing you say or do will get him to let go, he'll waddle around the kitchen with you, waddle to the kitchen table. Even when you sit down, he drags a chair so close to you that your legs are touching from hip down to ankle and he's got his arms wrapped around your waist, chin pressed into your shoulder the entire time you eat. You can't help but feel a mite embarrassed at him watching you so intently with those baby blues while you eat, the only thing making it bearable is the fact he's smiling the whole time like you're doing something amazing. Not just eating lunch.

Even when you try to shower, he's there, unable to detach himself from you because he's been gone so long and don't you love him? Didn't you miss him? He just wants to be around you...and Luke will more than happily confirm that Jack has been unbearable the entire roadie, nonstop talking about how he can't wait to get back home to you when he isn't talking about hockey.

“Jack, baby, I need to shower…” Your hands are pushing at Jack's shoulders in an attempt to get him to unlatch from you, but he's a hockey player. He's strong and if he doesn't want to be move then he's not moving.

“Can’t I just shower with you?”

“As if you could keep your hands to yourself..." You scoff at him trying to peel his arms off you, Jack only squeezes your waist tight. He's pouting up at you like you're being mean for wanting to have a shower without his arms attached to you for five minutes.

"I promise I can, I promise, baby..."

"No."

"Then I'm sitting in here." It's like watching a toddler sit on the floor of a supermarket refusing to get up because they can't have the thing they wanted. The way he points at the closed toilet lid to further illustrate his point, that he's not going anywhere.

"You're going to sit there and watch me shower? Like a creep?"

"Like a boyfriend who's missed his girlfriend who he loves dearly and who's girlfriend won't let him help her shower because she doesn't trust or love him." He's ultimately joking, you can see it in the twinkle in his eyes. You know if you told him that you wanted him to leave, that he was making you uncomfortable, he would. It's what makes the whole thing sweet and endearing because you don't mind him wanting to constantly be under your feet, you actually kind of love it.

"I trust you..." you pause for a second before grinning at him, "I just don't trust you to keep your hands to yourself."

"Baby..." He whines at you, almost throwing a tantrum, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. You know this phase will go soon, after a day back he'll still be clingy but not to this extent, so you find it cute and endearing rather than irritating while it lasts.

"Do you promise to help me wash my hair and not make any untoward advances?"

"Yes! Yes, I promise!"

"Okay, you can help me shower you big baby."

And he does help you wash your hair, but maybe his hands do wander a little...because he's Jack and he's missed you.

[meo-eiru]

Theo doesn’t talk to her.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

Because he can’t.

Because every time he even thinks about opening his mouth, his throat closes up, and his hands shake, and he feels like he might just throw up on the floor.

She’s right there, inches away, talking to someone else, laughing like it’s nothing, like it’s so easy to be… perfect.

Theo grips the hem of his sweater and looks down, brown curls spilling over his face, hiding what he doesn’t want the world to see. His eye burns, his single, lonely green eye, the one thing that makes him stand out in all the worst ways.

She can’t see it.

She can’t see him.

He wants to be seen, but only by her. Wants her to notice, but not too much. Wants her to hear the words he can’t even say.

"Y/N..."

The name is a fragile thing in his head, something that might shatter if he says it too loud.

He watches from the corner of his eye as she reaches into her bag, fingers brushing against something, a pen maybe, and the thought of how easy it would be to hold that hand makes his chest feel hollow. He knows the shape of her hands better than his own. Knows the way her lips move when she’s lost in thought. Knows how she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating.

But she doesn’t know him… maybe that’s for the best. Because if she ever really saw him, saw the way his fingers twitch when she’s too close, saw the way he lingers just a second longer in the places she’s been, saw the way his thoughts wrap around her name like thorns, and his eye—

She’d run.

They always do.

(Back with a short fic for my favorite cyclops)

I have to admit I was so immersed in this I actually tried to like it as if it was a post and not an ask in my inbox

My god op you write so beautifully, you really made me feel his loneliness.

Theo is indeed very lonely, he usually doesn't mind it. He made peace with the fact he would probably spend his entire life alone around elementary school. He's alright, it's not like he's jealous of the people who go out with their friends, do romantic stuff with their lovers or just... exist without the fear of the other person finding them disgusting.

But your sheer existence makes all his resolve crumble down. His sweet, beautiful, perfect y/n. Someone who can do wrong. Even if you did hurt someone you probably had your reasons.

He loves you. He loves you so much. For the longest time he couldn't even bring himself to think like that in his head because someone like him doesn't have the right to think of you in such ways.

But even as the monster he is Theo still has emotions. Some too strong for his weak body to handle, so he tries to make it better.

He sketches you as he secretly watches you from a few seats behind, he writes your name over and over again like a prayer, he secretly follows you home and takes you pictures. Sometimes he intentionally skips his lesson to go rummage your locker, if he's lucky he'll find a piece of clothing and will try to relive himself while hugging and smelling it for the next hour or so.

He doesn't want to be seen, but he wants you to see him. He doesn't want to be noticed, but he wants you to notice him. He doesn't want to be touched, but he wants you to touch him.

He often fantasizes about you catching him as he tries to steal one of your belongings. He wants you to make him regret it, but also become aware that he is there. He wants you to talk to him even if it's to call him a creep. Because Theo is a coward, he's a coward who pathetically stalks you instead of actually having to courage to speak up. So he wants you to do it. He wants you to one day turn around and see him, your eyes to meet his.

You noticing him, you knowing him, you insulting him, you loving him.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

ahhh i read all of your works they are so good. also may please request a "how can you still trust me after everything i've done" with an fem!reader with either 🩺 and/or "i've never met someone as infuriating as you and i can't stop thinking about you" with ⚔️? thank you so much! have a good day!

Hi @beachaddict48 ! Here's the second part of your request! I do hope you like this one! Thank you for asking!

Source for pic

Trust

Word Count: 4934

Tags: fem!reader; modern world AU; mafia; blood; threats; torture; slight angst;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Doflamingo thinks Law is betraying his trust, and what better way to make him confess than by torturing you?

Notes: Ooff, I feel like I need to really get to these requests, but everytime I start to write one I go: oh well, I'll keep this short, around 1k words, or so... IT'S NEVER SHORT! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, even though I'm so not happy with the ending...

|Masterlist|

“He's not going to give you what you want, Doflamingo. He's not a traitor, you're just wasting our time.”

You have only been in Donquixote Doflamingo's office once. That one time, you noted the opulence of such a room. The tidy desk, the vintage whisky bottles in the corner, some more expensive than a car, the sleek, glistening leather of the chairs. You also noticed that the room exuded something other than opulence: danger. You didn't quite know why, apart from the presence of the man who owned it, but the air was thick with it. 

But now you know. 

The ropes binding your wrists seem to get tighter by the second, your heart pounds against your chest in such an erratic way that you're almost positive the blond man can hear it. The leather chair has been replaced by a cold metal one, with plastic beneath its feet. At first, you didn't understand why he needed the plastic, but once he took out his knife, it all made sense. 

Doflamingo doesn't want to make a mess in his office. 

And it seems you're about to become one. 

“See, that's where you're wrong, princesa. In my book, the time spent setting out a trap to catch a rat is time well spent.”

Doflamingo caresses your cheek with long, cold fingers. His crimson eyes glint behind tinted glasses, and the mixture of the sweet scent of his cologne and the metallic tang of your blood makes your stomach churn with revulsion. 

“Law's not a rat.”

“We'll see about that.” He straightens, his lips curling into a thin smirk as he opens the door to his office to let his nephew in. “Come in, Law. I have a surprise.”

You stifle a gasp behind your teeth, your wrists twisting instinctively as you try to reach your boyfriend, to touch him. The effort only makes the rope’s bite harsher. The plastic beneath your bare feet sticks to them, the blood trickling down your leg, creating swirling patterns and tiny pools. 

Law's golden gaze falls on you, and you see it. His control silently slipping. It's something quite small, barely noticeable, but it's there. It's in the slight clenching of his jaw; it's in the way he opens and closes his hand; and it's definitely in the flicker of anger that flashes in his eyes as he directs his gaze back to his uncle. 

“What is the meaning of this? Why is she under questioning?” At least his voice still carries its edge and calm composure, though you, who know him like the back of your hand, can detect the barest trace of hate. 

“Oh, but she's not, Law. You are.” Doffy's chuckle is low and unnerving, his chest trembling slightly as he places his hand in the pocket of the trousers of his perfectly pressed pink suit. 

“I'm not following, Uncle.”

Law shifts, his gaze searching yours again, a shadow of pain darkens the gold, and you take a deep breath, trying to smile through your suffering as to reassure him. He's assessing your wounds, but Doflamingo was merely playing with you before: a slash on your leg, a shallow cut on your arm, a trickle of blood on your collarbone. Law takes it all in, his throat bobbing up and down as he tries to steady his own breathing. He needs to be strong for what's to come. 

“You see, Law, it has come to my attention that I am being betrayed. Someone is spilling my secrets to the police, and we can't have that, can we?” You focus on the glint of the knife tapping against Doflamingo's chin, using the rhythmic motion to try to steady your uneven breathing. 

It doesn't work. 

“I'm going to assume you’ve exhausted all other options before deciding that I should be the one under scrutiny and my girlfriend the one under torture?” He can't disguise it now, even though you know he's trying to stay controlled, you can hear the growl behind his words, the leashed anger, ready to snap. 

“Believe me, Law, I wish it weren’t like this.”

You know Doflamingo is a master deceiver, but the way he delivers his words almost makes you believe he actually regrets this. 

With a heavy sigh, the intimidating Donquixote steps closer to you, and each tap of his expensive shoes sounds like another nail in your coffin. 

“I trust you, Law.” You whisper. 

-*-

It was a freaking deluge. The rain was pouring nonstop, the light and blissful pitter-patter having turned into heavy, merciless drops in mere seconds. Your hands held your purse above your head, trying to shield some of the relentless rain away as you rushed to find shelter. 

You heard it before you felt it. The screeching tires, the wet sound of soaked concrete. And then blinding pain as you were hit before collapsing on the ground. 

Everything hurt, and you barely registered as the car drove away, its driver giving no thought to what might happen to you. 

You remember thinking this was how you would die. Having a lifetime of regrets and barely a handful of life achievements. 

This was how you'd go. 

“Hang in there, help is on the way.” His voice sounded distant, but it was so measured and gravelly that it managed to ground you enough for you to focus on his eyes. 

The most hauntingly beautiful eyes you've ever seen, an amber light in the darkness that enveloped you. 

“Am I going to die?” It wasn't fear that brought up the question, it was deep-seated regret. 

“Not on my watch.”

And he was right. He didn't let you die, he helped you before the ambulance arrived, disturbing the rain with its blinding lights and filling the night with its echoing sirens. 

But all you could hear was his voice, and all you could see were his eyes. 

-*-

The tip of the knife presses against the hollow of your throat, Doflamingo's fingers hovering over your pulse point, feeling how scared you are. 

Little does he know, you're not frightened for your life. 

It's Law's life that worries you. 

“Stop this, Doflamingo. I'm not the one you're looking for.” Law's voice trembles slightly, and you hope his uncle blames it on his anger rather than on him being on the verge of confessing. 

“Sadly, I don't believe that. And I also know how much you care about your little charity case here.”

Law bares his teeth as blood starts dripping from the small puncture wound on your neck. You lock eyes with him, silently pleading for him to be strong. 

“You do know what I do to traitors, don't you, Law? It doesn't even matter if they're family or not…”

Law's breath shudders as he closes his eyes, and you know he's reliving the worst moment of his life: the moment his other uncle, the man who raised him, who made him believe in love again, was murdered in cold blood right in front of him. 

And how that broke him. 

“You're unstable, Doffy. Deranged and delusional.”

Doflamingo removes the sharp tip from your skin, and you let out a deep breath. But then, his fingers grip your hair as he pulls and tilts your head back with enough force to draw tears, the knife now resting horizontally against your throat. 

Yet you don't release a single sound. 

“Ohhh, I'm so much more than that, Law!” His cackle is maniacal, and the grip on your hair tightens. “I'm insane! But I have a reputation to keep and a business to maintain. I will not tolerate traitors!” He says it with such rage that you can feel drops of spittle hitting you in the face, making you flinch. “Are you the traitor, nephew?”

“He's not.” You answer for him, too afraid he'll let his heart take over and confess just to save you. 

“Shut up!” Doffy growls and yanks on your hair, making you gasp as the knife digs into your neck, crimson droplets spilling out and marring your collarbone. “I'm not talking to you, princesa.”

Law takes a step towards you, and you can see how coiled-tight he is, every movement restrained and controlled. 

“Doflamingo…” There's danger in Law's voice. The type of danger that would make lesser men flinch in fear and hesitate. But not Donquixote Doflamingo. 

He revels in it. 

“Just say the words, Law. Either prove me wrong and make me proud, or prove me right and be the same disappointment my brother was.”

Tears gather in the corner of your eyes, your heart clenching at the pain Law must be feeling. You can't let him say anything. 

You can't let him die. 

“Law, I trust you!” There's not much more you can say. 

You hope it's enough. 

-*-

“I can never trust you again, Law! I thought we were becoming something. I thought you were the one. I just… I never expected you to have so many secrets.”

You had been dating Law for almost a year, had practically moved into his flat. You loved him, and though he had yet to confess the same to you, you knew he loved you back. He was a man who showed his love with actions rather than words. 

But these actions spoke louder than any words ever could. 

“Are you going to explain what this is?” The high pitch in your voice almost made you flinch, and you could see your own hand trembling as you pointed to a wad of money, a burner phone, and a gun. All things you had found hidden in the back of a cabinet while looking for treats for Law's dog, Bepo. 

Law lowered his gaze, looking defeated and ashamed, two things you would never associate with him. 

And it nearly broke you. 

“I don't have a good explanation.”

“How about the truth, then?” 

Law groaned as he took a seat at the kitchen table, gesturing for you to do the same, only to be met with a huff and your arms crossing in defiance. 

“My uncle belongs to the mafia. Owns it, actually. All sorts of shady businesses you can imagine.” He chuckled darkly, a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. “And then some.”

“And you?” You couldn't believe what you already knew to be true. Law was a doctor, he saved lives. He couldn't be taking them as well. He couldn't be part of this. He couldn't. 

Your eyes fell back on the gun, on the phone, on the money… 

“I…”

He didn't seem able to say anything else. And you had heard enough. You would never be able to trust him again. 

-*-

“I trust you, Law.” You hope he understands. He can't say anything. Not even if Doflamingo kills you. Law needs to be strong. 

Law grinds his teeth, his eyes locked with yours, burning with fury and determination. You smile at him. He's so strong. 

“I am not the traitor you're looking for, Uncle, but maybe I can help you find them. When you release my girlfriend and stop hurting her.” He takes a step towards Doflamingo, and you see the way his hands flex, like he wants to grab the man and yank him away from you. 

Doflamingo pauses for a moment, his grip loosening slightly as he seems to be lost in thought.

“It's not enough.” He whispers as he finally lets go of your hair. 

Law releases a breath and you gasp for air. 

Then Doflamingo stabs the knife into your shoulder, the blade coming down in a deliberate, arching motion, puncturing your muscle with a sickening sound. The pain is blinding, like nothing else. It radiates down your arm in waves, turning everything too bright and seemingly far away. The wound’s shallow and the knife doesn't seem to have hit anything critical. It’s meant to taunt, not kill. 

You taste blood as you bite your tongue to keep from crying out. You won't give him the satisfaction but mostly, you don't want Law to lose control. 

“Fuck! Doflamingo, stop this nonsense immediately!” Law takes a step forward, determination setting his pace as fury takes hold of him, but Doffy simply uses his other hand to reach for the gun on his back and point it at Law. 

“You stop right there, Law.” Law grunts and halts. You take deep, ragged breaths as your eyes focus back on him, on his gaze, on his pursed lips, and on his clenched jaw. 

“I'm fine…” You stutter. The knife still stands on your shoulder and you're bracing yourself for another wave of blind-hot pain when Doflamingo decides to pull it. 

“You're brave, little girl.” Doffy seems annoyed. “Not. One. Scream.” He emphasizes each word with a slight twist of the knife, and you can't stop the tears. Frankly, it's a miracle you're holding back your screams. “Are you going to speak, Law?”

“I fucking told you all I had to tell you, already! I'm not the one you're looking for! Release her, fuck!”

“You're lying!” Doflamingo shouts, his nostrils flaring in anger as he pulls the knife away from your shoulder, and you finally let out a scream. 

Law calls your name frantically, an urgency in his gaze and you force your head up to look him in the eyes. 

“I'm fine, I'm fine, Law. I'm fine.” You manage to sputter between deep breaths. 

“FUCK!” Law kicks the chair in front of him and it rolls twice before hitting the desk and stopping. He's clearly seeing you're not fine. “Let her go, now!” He takes another step forward and Doflamingo clocks the trigger of the gun, the barrel still pointing straight into Law's head. 

The shiver that assaults you doesn't come from the blood loss. The small whimper that leaves your lips doesn't come from the pain. The tears marring your cheeks aren't for yourself. 

And Doflamingo knows all of this. 

His laugh starts slowly. A low rumble behind your head that crescendos to a manic chuckle, then to an outright insane cackle. 

“Oh, this is precious. This is so good!” Law's hands clench into fists, and he sways unevenly, both wanting to lunge forward and stop your bleeding and forcing himself to stay still so he doesn't anger his uncle anymore. “I've been doing this all wrong.”

Then he steps away from you, sidestepping the plastic so he doesn't get blood on his expensive shoes. Your breath comes out in shallow gasps, each one making the pain in your shoulder travel through your arm in painful throbs.  

Yet you have no time to consider whether the blood you're losing will kill you, because Doflamingo places one arm above Law's shoulders, the gesture familiar and taunting as he smiles at you. 

“She's very brave.” He says, pointing at you casually with his gun. “And you're a tough nut to crack.” He tsks as he turns his head towards Law, one finger pushing against Law's temple. “I can torture her all night, and she'll barely scream. And you're wound up so tight, she could be on her deathbed, and you'd still be in control of your emotions.”

Law's gaze never leaves you, and you're sure he's watching as you wince every time you breathe, as your breaths grow shallower and shallower. 

“Now, what happens if you're the one being tortured, Law?” The barrel of the gun presses against Law's temple, and your breath hitches, your brows furrowing tightly as you trap a gasp. “You won't scream, I know that, but look at her. Look at your little princesa. I bet you don't even need to scream for her to spill all your secrets. Am I right, mi querida?”

You stay silent, lips pursed and eyes locked on Law. 

“I trust you with my life, Law.”

-*-

“Please, just hear what I have to say.”

“You have said enough, Law.” A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you tried to close the door to your flat. Law’s foot remained wedged between the door and the doorframe, and you pushed further, not caring if you hurt him or not. “Oh, no, wait. You haven’t said anything. You didn’t deny my accusations, which, in a way, was worse.”

You stopped trying to close the door on him, the gesture futile because he was stronger than you. Lacing your arms around your body as if to shield you from his lies, you took two steps back, expecting Law to burst inside your house. Yet all he did was pry the door open, his hands resting on the doorframe as he slumped his shoulders, his head falling forward in such a defeated way you struggled to keep your heart in check. 

“That’s why I’m here. I want to explain it all to you. But I need you to be ready to listen to me.”

“Have you killed people, Law?”

His sigh was soul-shattering, and you gasped, hands flying to your mouth as tears welled up in your eyes. You didn't know him, you didn’t know him at all!

“Can I come in?”

A ragged sob left your lips as you turned your back on him. “Fine.”

You didn’t turn to look at him, but you didn’t have to. The soft click of the door told you he had entered, but his presence always seemed to overwhelm everything else in the room. He hovered near you, yet he didn’t touch you or push your boundaries.

“I never killed anyone. But I never did anything to save them either. So, in a way, I’m an accomplice to those deaths.”

You could almost hear regret tinging his words. He sounded bitter, wounded, and grieved. But was he? 

“How many deaths?” His silence should tell you all you needed to know. “How many, Law?”

“Too many to keep track of.” 

You lost strength in your legs, your trembling hands finding purchase on the nearby table. No more trust, no more love. Could everything be over just like that? 

“Just… please, listen to what I have to say.”

You didn't answer him. But you didn’t stop him either. Instead you took a seat at the table, your head bowed down so as not to look into his hypnotizing amber eyes. 

He had already told you how his family died and how he was raised by his uncles. But he had never told you that his uncle Doflamingo had killed his own brother, Rosinante. You heard every word that Law decided to share with you, trying hard to keep your emotions at bay because you found it hard to hate the man you loved so much. Especially when he was baring his heart, his pain to you. 

He shared all about what his uncle did, the drugs he sold, the people he threatened, the high-profiled VIP’s he kept in his pockets, ready to be played like puppets on a string. Then he got into detail about what he did in the organization. And though he never killed anyone with his own hands, he had tortured and maimed enough to be haunted. 

“Why?” You asked, getting up and ready to throw him out of your house, out of your life for good. Even if you loved him with every fiber of your being. “Why are you still working for him when you know everything he does is evil?”

You watched as his throat bobbed up and down, his hands fidgeting with his phone: a burner phone.

Then his eyes bore into yours, and you couldn’t look away. Not when pain was so evident in them, but that was not what held you trapped in his gaze. It was hope.

No… it was…

“Because I’m spilling all his secrets to the police. I’ve been gathering evidence against him since he killed Cora. I’m going to bring him down, destroy his empire, destroy his mafia, destroy him.”

It was revenge.

-*-

“Trust? Trust is such a wasted sentiment, cariño.” Doffy chuckles before leaning in and whispering into Law’s ear. “She trusts you, Nephew, but do you trust her? Because I don’t. What I trust is that she will spill every little secret she holds dear to her heart once I start hurting you.”

“You wouldn’t!” You cry, using your outburst to release some pent-up pain from your shoulder. 

“Wouldn't what? Hurt my own family?” Another maniacal laugh escapes his lips. “You don’t know me at all, princesa.”

Then, without warning, he points the gun at Law’s thigh and shoots.

It all happens too fast, yet somehow, it replays slowly before your very eyes. The sound of the shot still rings in your ears as Law doubles over in pain, his cry trapped between pursed lips and clenched teeth. The smell of blood mixed with gunpowder is intoxicating and dizzying. 

You can’t bear it.

“STOP!” You scream, thrashing against your restraints as Doflamingo kicks Law’s other leg, causing him to kneel on the floor with a dry thud. “Leave him alone, don’t hurt him, please!”

“Look at the mess you’ve made me cause.” Doflamingo seems disappointed as he looks at his pristine carpet, tainted with the blood of his family. “I love it when you beg, princesa, but that’s not what I want to hear. Spill your secrets.”

-*-

“I can’t do this. He’s going to find out. He suspects already, and if he so much as thinks I’m the one behind it…” Law’s hands cupped your face, his eyes weary as they searched yours. “I haven’t hidden you well enough. He knows you’re my weakness. He will come for you, and I can’t–”

“Law…” You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the irregular drumming of his heart. “Oh, Law, you’re doing the right thing. Don’t doubt yourself. You’re so close! He won’t find out, don’t worry.”

Your lips found his, and he groaned, pulling you against him in a desperate embrace. “I can’t lose you, I can’t. I… God, I love you.”

You thought you had loved before, but the way your heart somersaulted, the way your breath hitched as you tried to breathe, was proof enough that you had never loved as deeply as you did Law. 

“And I love you, Law.” You held him close, your hands tangling in his hair, trying to brush away his feelings of fear and insecurity. “I trust you. You’re doing the right thing. I trust you, Law.”

He sighed, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you closer to him. “How?” A low grunt escaped his lips and he nuzzled his face against your neck, inhaling your scent. “How can you still trust me after everything I’ve done?”

You smiled against his chest, raising your arms to envelop his neck.

“You’re a good man, Law. I’ve known that since the day you saved me instead of leaving me to bleed in the middle of the street. I see it in the way you help people at the hospital, I see it in the way you want to bring justice for Cora. You’re kind, good, whole. I trust you with my life.”

-*-

“Are you going to talk, or should I shoot his other leg?”

Law grunts, ripping the fabric of his jacket to tie it around his thigh, stopping the blood but not the pain. 

“Maybe I’ll just skip to the head and get this over with. If I kill him and the treason stops, then I was right, if it doesn’t…” He shrugs. “Oops.”

“You’re sick!” You spit, your eyes searching Law’s. He shakes his head softly, a silent warning for you to remain silent, but you’re not strong enough. You know you’re not.

“Nobody fucks with my business!” Doffy shoves the barrel of the gun harshly against Law’s head, and you cry out again for him to stop. “And Law should know that better than anyone!”

-*-

“How much longer? Don’t they have enough proof already? What more do they need?” You paced the kitchen, back and forth, hands wringing against each other as your breathing came out in irregular gasps. 

“They say they’re almost ready. Almost.” Law typed away on his computer, his fingers detailing Doflamingo’s latest business. He was using a burner laptop, something that couldn’t be traced, and it was hiding in your flat.

“Almost is not soon enough! Doflamingo is breathing down your neck already. How long until he suspects something? I can’t… Law… what if he kills you?” Your voice broke, and you heard the chair scraping against the floor before Law’s strong arms wrapped around your body, trying to tether you and ground you back. To keep you from spiraling.

“Almost, love. We’ll be free. Soon. Trust me.”

-*-

“You have three seconds, doll.” Doflamingo’s voice sounds dangerous, unhinged, and maniacal. You sob, locking eyes with Law again and shaking your own head. You were never strong enough for this.

You will never be able to live without him.

No matter how selfish that may sound.

“One…” The barrel presses harder against Law’s head. “Two…”

“I love you.” Law whispers as you cry harder, your head falling forward and your shoulders wracking with heavy gasps, not even the pain radiating in your shoulder is strong enough to stop the tears.

“Three.” 

“It was me! It was me! It was always me, not Law! Don’t kill him, don’t! He didn’t know anything about it!”

It’s desperate. It's a hollow lie. But maybe he’ll buy it.

“You?”

“She’s lying! We don’t know anything about it!” Law rages, trying to move, but Doflamingo grips the scruff of his jacket, forcing him still as he steadies the gun against Law's head.

“Well, fuck me.” Doffy states. “Guess you’re going to have to die, then, princesa.”

“No! It’s not her!” Law thrashes and you whimper. 

“Is it you, then?” Doflamingo lowers his head, his lips hovering near Law’s ear. “After all I’ve done for you, after what I’ve taught you, after I’ve raised you? This is how you repay me?” You can't quite discern if what you perceive in Doflamingo's voice is disdain or disbelief. Either way he's upset. And he's taking it out on Law. 

“It’s not him!” You keep pleading, but neither of the men are paying attention to you now. “Doflamingo, listen to me. Leave Law alone!”

Law turns his face to the side, facing Doffy, the most unhinged and satisfied smirk spreading on his lips, even as sweat beads fall from his temple down his face. “It was always me, Uncle. I've wanted you behind bars ever since you killed Cora. I carried on the mission he started. I finished it.”

It’s clear Doflamingo was expecting that confession, but he still looks taken-aback. His smirk turns quickly into a scowl as he bares his teeth. 

“I hate you, Doflamingo. I loathe you with every fiber of my being. And you will rot in prison like the vermin you are.”

Doflamingo straightens up, his throat bobbing up and down as he fixes his glasses and suit. 

“Not before I kill you, dear Nephew.” He sighs heavily. “This was quite the disappointment. Go on, then, go meet my dear brother.” He raises his gun again, the barrel pointed directly at Law’s head and as he speaks, you know he’s addressing you, even though his eyes are locked with his uncle’s.

“I have no regrets. I would do it all over again.”

“Stop… stop… please… anyone… please…” You plead, your chest hurting, your vision blurring. You can’t lose him, you can’t. “Law…”

The bang is deafening. It reverberates around the space, clinging to the room like thick fog. You don’t have any more strength to cry, to shout or even to speak. So you close your eyes, tears dropping in an endless torrent.

It’s over.

It’s all over.

You just hope you’re next so you can meet Law in the afterlife.

…

……

………

“Open your eyes, love. Let me see your wounds, you’re bleeding too much.”

“Law?” It can’t be. “Law! What happened?” You look around the room, Doflamingo is sprawled on the floor, a bullet wound in his forehead, blood dripping in a very thin line and tainting his blond locks. 

“A sniper, I’d guess. The window’s shattered and I heard screaming outside. The police must be storming the place. They’ll find us soon. Keep still.”

But you can’t. You want to hold him, hug him, find out if he’s real. 

“Untie me, Law!” With a soft chuckle he presses his forehead against yours for a second before kissing the same spot and untying your wrists. You don’t mind the sharp stab of pain that travels through your arm or the swell in your chest as you hug Law tight against you.

“You did it, Law. He’s gone. He’s gone.” You manage to say between sobs and kisses.

“He should’ve spent the rest of his life in prison, but I’m not going to complain. You’re alive, love.”

“You’re alive.” You sigh, cupping his cheek in your bloody hands. “I knew my trust wasn’t misplaced. I love you.”

“I love you too.” And when you kiss it's like the world stops spinning, the commotion outside the room disappears and the pain ceases. All that exists, all that matters is Law. And the way he completes you. 

There was a time where you had a lifetime of regrets and yet you had barely lived. Now you have faced death and the inevitability of living a hollow life without the presence of your other half. You've found the person that makes everything worth it and you helped him in his quest for justice and righteousness.

You've lived. 

And you have no regrets left. Only trust.

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache

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[munsonsmixtapes]

Just You and Me: Part One

Hello, everyone! I was reading this series by @the-witty-pen-name and was inspired to make a fic where y’all chose who reader ends up with! On every part of this series this one, there will be a poll where you can vote whether you want reader to end up with Steve or Eddie! This has been so much fun to write and I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary: You convince Steve to fake date you in order to get Eddie's attention, unbeknownst to you that Steve is actually very much in love with you.

Part One: The Agreement

The diner is packed as you sit at a booth, your best friend across from you, eating his stack of pancakes while you've barely even touched yours. You're too nervous to eat, and honestly, watching Steve chow down is making you feel sick. there's just a lot of riding on the whole thing and you know you're going to sound crazy for asking him in the first place, but you still want to at least try.

Steve would do anything for you, you know that, but you're wondering if maybe this is crossing a line. You push your plate to the center of the table and sip on your soda, still trying to get the courage to tell him why you really wanted to meet him there. It definitely wasn't just for pancakes.

Steve isn't stupid. He knows something's going on that you're not telling him. You look sick, nervous and he hates seeing you like that. He just wants you to say what you need to say so you'll feel better again. He knows you're only chugging down your soda so you don't have to speak and he hates that for you, trying his best to not seem concerned because for whatever reason, that always somehow makes it all worse.

You finally get the courage to look up at him and hate that he's put on that dopey smile that always seems to be reserved for you. He's finished his pancakes so now he's just staring at you, waiting for you to just get on with it, politely, though, because he's Steve.

"What I'm about to ask of you is crazy and I know that. You are more than welcome to say no and I won't be offended if you do," you finally say before taking a deep breath.

"Are you asking me to bury a dead body? Did you kill them? No, I actually don't want to know. Wait, yeah I do. I should know if my best friend has committed murder." He's speaking so quickly that you can barely even understand what he's saying.

"I don't need help burying a body and I didn't murder anyone. I'm not asking you to do anything illegal, Steve. I would never ask you to do that. That's why we have Eddie, right?" Steve knows that Eddie would be the one to help you out with that kind of thing and that pisses him off. Fucking Eddie. It's just been the two of you your whole lives and then this fucker comes in and ruins Steve's whole plan. Well, he would have if Steve would have just stopped being a pussy and asked you out already.

Truth be told, the man has been in love with you since the moment he laid eyes on you. All you've ever been is friends, but he wants to be more. And he wants it so badly that the whole thing makes his chest ache. The only reason why he hasn't made a move in the almost fifteen years you've been friends is because as much as he loves you romantically, he doesn't want your relationship to change. He's afraid that if the two of you got together, you'd eventually break up and then he'd lose you for good.

"Right, so what's this about?" He asks before taking a sip from his own glass. For once, he's unable to read the situation. He almost always knows what's going on with you, but right now, he's got nothing.

"Well, speaking of Eddie, well, I sort of have a huge crush on him." Steve doesn't know why you're telling him this. He's known for a while. You're so obvious about it that it sometimes makes him cringe. He wishes he could give you some of his subtlety so you’d look a little more cool around Eddie.

"Duh." He's laughing now and for once, it's a joke you don't get, like it's something just for Steve and Steve alone.

"You know?"

"Y/n, all of Hawkins knows. You're not exactly subtle. But what does this have to do with me?"

"I was wondering if you maybe...would be willing to fake date me in order to get his attention." His eyes widen at your request. Whatever he thought you were going to say, it defintely wasn't that.

"Yeah, nice try. Not happening." He can't do it. He won't. He would do just about anything for you, but not this. This is where he’s drawing the line.

"You're not even going to consider it?" You're pouting now and if things were different, he'd kiss it away, or maybe he'd just give in because he almost always does when it comes to your silly ideas. This one, though, has got to be the silliest of them all.

"You said I could say no so this is me saying no." He crosses his arms over his chest in a sort of "that's final" manner and you know you should just forget the whole thing. It was all just a pipe dream anyway.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t want to help, it’s that he can’t. He would actually love to pretend to be your boyfriend and act all mushy with you like he’s wanted for years, but none of it will be real. It’s just going to be a fake relationship with fake feelings and fake kisses and he just can’t take that. It will all just hurt too much when he watches you running into Eddie’s arms when the thing is all over.

He already feels like a dick and seeing the dejected look on your face as you stir your soda with your straw is starting to feel like you stabbed him in the chest. And you might as well have. It would hurt much less.

Guilt is beginning to eat at him as he looks at you. That sad look on your face is making him reconsider. You do so much for him so he doesn’t know why he can’t do this little thing for you. It’ll be maybe a couple weeks tops, right? That wouldn’t be too bad. And not to toot his own horn or anything, but he’s a great actor. Well, he only thinks so because The Hawkins Post article that covered his fourth grade class’s performance of The Wizard of Oz applauded his role as Toto.

Maybe he can fake date you. Maybe it could be fun and he’s just overthinking it. He just wants you to be happy, and the thought of you possibly asking someone else is starting to make him feel sick.

“I guess I could just ask Robin,” you mumble, more to yourself than him, but he can still very much hear you. He can’t believe how quick you’re switching up on him, how quickly you’re able to find an alternate now that he’s said no. He’s usually your first and only option for things so now that you’re even considering asking anyone else-well, the knife has been twisted.

“I see how quick you are to replace me,” he grumbles. “And with Robin?”

“Well, who else am I going to ask? My first choice said no.”

“Or maybe you could cut the shit and just tell him how you feel. Eddie likes it when people are straight up with him.”

You know he’s right, but actually putting your feelings out there is terrifying, especially to one of your friends. You feel sick even thinking about it, the worst possible outcome playing in your head. You can vividly see Eddie laughing at you, the sounds echoing, sounding distorted, making you feel small and scared.

Yeah, there’s no chance that you’re letting that happen even though Eddie would never laugh at you because of something like that. If he were going to reject you, he’d let you down easy and be nothing but a gentleman about it.

“Alright, fine, fine,” Steve pulls you out of your thoughts. “Jesus, you’re lucky I love you.”

“Aww, I love you too, Stevie.” You’ve got on a smug smirk and he’s prepared to shut that shit down. As much as he loves you, he’s not doing this without something in return.

“Not so fast.”

“What?” You’re genuinely confused, convinced that it was a done deal and now you’re unsure if he’s actually going to go through with it or not.

“I mean, what do I get out of this? What’s in it for Steve?” He leans back against the booth, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The satisfaction of a job well done?” You ask with a shrug and he just shakes his head, unimpressed.

“If it works,” he scoffs. “What else?”

“My love and affection?” That should be a given.

“Boring,” he yawns. “You have to cover any family video shift I ask of you and you have to do my laundry for a month.”

“You’re kidding.” Your shoulders slump as you realize that you’re actually going to have to agree to his terms if you ever want to have a chance with Eddie.

“Afraid not. You didn’t seriously think I’d do it for free, did you?” You sort of did because he always does, but you suppose that this is much bigger than his other favors.

“I don’t know, maybe. But you’ve got a deal.” You reach across the table and put your hand out for him to shake.

“Really? That easily. Shit, you must be desperate.” He shakes your hand and that’s that. Steve is now officially your fake boyfriend.

“I am.”

“This better be worth it.” God, this is going to kill him, but anything for his best friend, right?

“Oh, it will be,” you tell him as you down the rest of your soda as you grab your purse that’s sitting next to you before you and Steve stand from your table and you walk side by side to the front where you pay for the meal. It’s the least you can do for Steve helping you out like this, right?

-

“You are such a dingus,” Robin tells Steve. He’s over at her apartment, the two of them talking over mugs of coffee at her kitchen table. He raced right over after breakfast with you to discuss the colossal mistake he just made, desperately wanting his other best friend’s advice.

“What the hell else was I supposed to do, Rob? She was looking at me with those puppy dog eyes.” He’s saying it like that was the only option he had when he could have easily said no and you would have dropped it.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington. Why can’t you just tell her that you love her?”

“And risk ruining one of the best friendship I’ve ever had? No thanks.”

“I can’t but also can believe you’ve gotten yourself into this. It’s just like you to help the woman you love get another man. Just so you know, I don’t support this.”

Robin loves you, you’re one of her best friends, and while she doesn’t think you ever ask too much of Steve, she does think that he tends to overlook his feelings to spare yours a lot of the time. He’d much rather risk his own happiness if it means he’s helping you in some sort of way.

While she loves that he’s willing to go above and beyond for you, she still thinks that’s it’s important that he takes care of himself. She just wants what’s best for him and hates that he’ll spread himself way too thin just to see a smile on your face.

“No one was asking you to,” he glares and she just mimics his facial expression. “I wasn’t asking for advice, I was just telling you what’s going on so you wouldn’t think it was real and blow my secret.”

“You’re pathetic,” she shakes her head. She honestly doesn’t know Steve still hasn’t told you the truth. The two of you could be married or at least engaged by now, but he’s too much of a chicken to just admit his feelings for you.

He’ll claim it’s because he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship, but Robin knows the truth. She knows that he’s just afraid of putting himself out there. She’s seen the women zipping in and out of his life and not one of them has stuck. As much as he claims he wants to love and be loved, he’s scared. Terrified, even. He’s convinced it will all just crash and burn and he’ll be all alone. Again.

“I know,” he whines, resting his head onto the table before quickly leaning back up and running a hand through his hair. “But hey, if said no, she was going to ask you.”

“Me?” She asks, her eyebrows shooting up as her big eyes widen. “I could have been her fake significant other? Shit, I would have done it for free.” Robin has always thought you were pretty and shit, having everyone think that you were her girlfriend would have been a goddamn honor.

“You’re not her type.” She knows exactly what he means by that, but she just feels like messing with him.

“Oh, and you are?” That’s salt in the wound and she knows it. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to take it back.

“You know what I mean,” he waves his hand in a dismissive manner. “And besides, you’re a terrible liar so it wouldn’t have worked out anyway.

“Well, I would have sold it much better than you,” she scoffs. “But maybe not since you always look at her with the longing stares. How she doesn’t know is beyond me. Anyway, I have to get to work. I’ll see you later, lover boy.”

As Robin leaves, Steve’s not so quick to get up. He just stares down into his coffee mug, gathering his thought about the whole thing. One the one hand, he wants to help you, but one the other, he’s already starting to feel hurt about deceiving his friend. Eddie’s someone he’s gotten really close to over the years and he’d hate to lose someone so special to him just because of something like that.

And what happens if you actually do end up with Eddie? Will Steve resent him for it? It wouldn’t exactly be fair since Eddie has no idea that Steve is in love with you, but he just doesn’t think he’d be able to stand by and watch the two of you behave like a couple when that’s all he’s wanted pretty much his whole life.

But there’s no turning back now. He’s going to stick it out because he doesn’t want to let you down. He’s going to have to see this through, watching you use him to get another man while having no idea that’s he’s fallen madly and deeply in love with you.

He drains the last few sips of his coffee then puts the mug in the dishwasher before heading out, making sure to lock Robin’s door behind him. He gets into his car and sits for a second, thinking to himself that he’s about to be in for one hell of a ride.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Cant be the only one who doesn't like riddle as Rapunzel lol. Why couldn't it be jamil? Idk maybe its just a me problem

[Referencing the JP Feb 2025 schedule!]

Well 💦 I wouldn’t call it a “problem”? People are bound to have different interpretations and opinions, so it isn’t necessarily a “problem” to think differently. However, let’s please try to not put a damper on this situation. You can still choose to dislike Riddle in a Rapunzel fit on a personal level without making it sound as though he somehow isn’t “deserving” of the SSR.

Speaking as someone that’s in the process of writing a twisted retelling of Rapunzel featuring the Twst characters, I did consider Jamil for a role—but as Mother Gothel, not Rapunzel. (Kalim was Rapunzel in one iteration of my retelling, since Jamil is the one controlling him in book 4). I feel like Jamil definitely has the long hair for standing in as the princess and could fit in with the “Road to Freedom” tagline mentioned in the event title, but the characters’ background doesn’t match as well. Yes, he has a restricted life due to his place as a servant, but he isn’t sheltered or manipulated by a mother figure to the same degree that Riddle and Rapunzel are. Jamil is out in the world doing things—but Riddle lacks knowledge of practical applications and other normal life experiences.

The event isn’t out yet, so we can’t be sure how much the degree of similarity to Rapunzel actually matters for the story or setting. (The events typically do explain why these particular boys were chosen for the occasion.) However, if the story does end up touching upon certain themes… well, I think we’d quickly understand why it is that Riddle was given the SSR. Jamil also currently has more event SSRs than Riddle, so maybe it’s as simple as “it’s Riddle’s turn on the XBox.”

Here’s another way to think about it if it helps with any disappointment you may be feeling? Event stories usually do not impact much in the grand scheme of things. If Riddle experiences any character growth, it won’t be HUGE. So if Jamil was in his place as the SSR and working toward achieving the “freedom” mentioned eadlier, I doubt he would be making any significant headway. Jamil’s issue is ultimately far more complex and wouldn’t be resolved or reaching breakthroughs in the span of a short event. I don’t see Riddle doing a ton either; at most, maybe thinking more deeply about his relationship with his mother and eventually finding his own independence.

I’m sure Jamil will have more opportunities for character growth and cool costumes in the future! For now though, he yields the stage to Riddle.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

belle i would love love love if you would write a fic(let) about aurora getting her Shit RockedTM. dealers choice.

It's probably consensual. Probably.

Cumulus grabs her by the nape of her neck, letting her claws dimple the skin under her ears and Aurora goes as limp as a kitten, eyes wide as the older ghoulette leans in to smell her.

“New perfume?” She asks sweetly, at odds with the way she sets her teeth over Aurora's fluttering pulse, pulling her head back by the hair to get the perfect angle for a bite. Aurora opens her mouth to answer but chokes on a breath as Cumulus' free hand slithers up her shirt to cup her breast.

“Or is it just your cunt I'm smelling?” Cumulus muses. “Because I know you aren't wearing anything under that skirt, darling girl.”

A breeze rushes her out of nowhere, fluttering her little miniskirt up to bare herself to the courtyard where Cumulus caught her. Thankfully empty for the moment.

“I want...” Cumulus says slowly, like she's savoring each word that makes its way from her twisted imagination to her pink, glossy lips. “To do something terrible to you, my dear. And I don't think I want to give you a choice in the matter.”

Her beautifully manicured nails dig into the sensitive bud of her nipple and Aurora groans as her knees buckle, threatening to go out. Of course Cumulus keeps her nails trimmed for her playing but they're still sharp enough to cause pain if she wants them too.

“Now I know it's your cunt.” Cumulus chuckles. “You just got wetter, didn't you?”

She doesn't even get the chance to whimper out a trembling yes before Cumulus shoves her other hand down the waist and of her skirt. Full on groping her now, toying and bouncing her breast under her shirt while the other hand cushions her clit between two fingertips and rubs her like that, firm and slow.  Aurora moans and circles her hips as best she can, humping Cumulus' hand in desperation for more. She doesn't want to cum like this, but she will if the older ghoulette wants her to, she'll pop like a bottle of champagne and squirt hot over the flagstones. Maybe if she's lucky, Cumulus will make her lick it up.

“Playing with your food again?” Calls a bored voice and Aurora squeezes her eyes shut. 

“Doesn't she look delish?” Cumulus purrs and bites Aurora for real, making her yelp. “Not sure I want to share…not even with an old friend.”

She senses more than hears Cirrus approach them, soft footsteps barely giving her away as gets closer and closer.  Cool hands clasp her cheeks and Aurora opens her eyes to Cirrus inspecting her with cool disinterest. 

“You haven't made her cry yet?” She asks. “Losing your touch.”

“I'm getting there.” Cumulus replies easily but there's an edge to her voice now that a second predator is showing interest in her catch. “Was going to shove her over that table and see if she could take my fist.” 

Aurora is given a thigh to perch on as Cirrus crowds her way into their space, stepping firmly over any boundaries Cumulus was trying to enforce. She makes a sweetly stupid noise when she grinds her clit against the rough fabric and the firm leg underneath. 

“Open.” Cirrus says to Aurora, ignoring Cumulus' posturing as she taps on Aurora’s mouth. Her jaw drops on a whine of Cirrus' name and she gets a single finger resting on her tongue. She closes her lips around it and tries to show it as much love as she can, looking up at Cirrus with stars in her eyes. 

“You can still do that.” Cirrus finally answers, staring down at Aurora. “She has three holes after all. Room for one more, even.”

“Don't you dare.” Cumulus snarls and Aurora's stomach swoops at the thrill she feels over how possessive her voice sounds. But it's too late. Cirrus slips a phone out her back pocket and hits speed dial.  As the other side rings, Aurora is forcibly shoved and shuffled across the courtyard to one of the tables. Cumulus pulls her top down so her tits spill out while Cirrus rucks her skirt up to expose her holes, already closing down on nothing in a hungry desire to be fucked.

Whoever Cirrus is calling picks up after Cirrus has her pants shucked off. She greets them with a cheerful, throaty hello and guides Aurora's head to her cunt where the little ghoulette wastes no time getting her mouth on Cirrus' clit. It's hard to focus on who the other person might be, especially when Cumulus slips two fingers inside her without any preamble and a light hearted comment about how she won't even need any lube for this.

“Not that I care if it hurts her.” Cumulus adds as an afterthought.

“If you wanted to keep her to yourself, you should have done this in private.” Cirrus admonishes as she holds Aurora by the hair, right where she wants her. Her pubic hair is trimmed but still tickly and every gasp of air Aurora is allowed is full of the scent of her cunt, thick and heady and musky. 

“Suppose I can't complain when the view is this great.” Cumulus admits. “Could be better if you undid your shirt.”

“I'll bet it could be.” Cirrus agrees and makes no move to acquiesce. Then, “No my love, I was talking to Lu. We're in the Ebony courtyard. Can't miss us. Closest table to the entrance.”

“So who did you invite?” Cumulus asks as Cirrus sets her phone down, letting her head fall back as Aurora lavishes her clit with attention, sucking on it as Cumulus fits four fingers in her now. Curling and flexing them, not to pleasure her, merely to see how much she can take.

“You'll see.” Cirrus replies with a smile. “Someone good with her hands to fill our sweet girl up properly."

Aurora moans as loud as she can as Cumulus fits her thumb into the palm of her hand and starts to guide it in. Somewhere in the distance, someone is walking leisurely to their courtyard and Aurora can't wait to find out what else she's going to put through next.

[apple-grass-and-smiles]

First Sentence Game

I promised you I'd do this, @sisterofficerlucychen. It's only been 10 days, which is kind of a record for me.

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Tagging (hopefully I'm not misremembering that any of you write fic) @chenlucys, @violetsandmagpies, @daisyejones, @whitesunlars, and @electricbluebutterflies.

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Bearing the Unbearable Weight (The Rookie):

In the days immediately after the break-up (the collapse of her world) Lucy logs a record number of hours at the LAPD shooting range.

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Nothing More Than His Wife (The Rookie):

The new Mrs. Tim Bradford is haunted by a ghost. It follows her everywhere, popping up in the most random spots. The ghost is at the nearby Korean food truck, in her husband’s car, hanging out in the park they had a picnic at. The ghost is not a particularly malicious one, but Mrs. Bradford can’t help but feel like she’ll never measure up against it, against the specter of Lucy Chen. 

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i used to know my place was the spot next to you (now I'm searching the room for an empty seat) (The Rookie):

The hardest part of Lucy’s day is going to bed. Two weeks earlier, before the breakup, when going to bed meant making funny faces at Tim as they brushed their teeth together and slow kisses and cuddling, it had been the highlight of most days. She had looked forward to bed. Now she brushes her teeth alone and crawls into a bed that is just hers. Or almost just hers. 

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How I Show I Love You (The Rookie):

Tim doesn’t know the last time he spent time doing something solely because he enjoyed it (other than watching a couple hours of football each week). Never mind doing something fun with another person. And certainly never with a rookie who hadn’t even passed their one-year mark. But he also hasn’t trained someone like Chen before. 

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i get along without you some nights (Prodigal Son):

The Christmas tree was already up when Martin was… (Jessica was still trying to find the polite term for it, trying different ones on) taken away. Normally Jessica insisted on no hints of Christmas in the home until the Thanksgiving dinner had been cleared from the table, but Malcolm had campaigned valiantly to put it up early. As per usual, Ainsley had joined in, asking Jessica to make an exception to her rule and then Martin had given Jessica that look, the one that had been crumbling her resolve since the day they met. 

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Cotard's Delusion (or the Process of Being Resurrected) (The Rookie):

I am dead. It’s the only thought ringing in Lucy’s mind as she closes her eyes, leans her head forward, finding no place to rest in the barrel Caleb has determined will be her last resting place.

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Dirtying the Slates (The Rookie):

So, Bishop and Lopez, or mostly Lopez, rig the roundup so Tim wins. Interesting , Lucy thought. She twirled her ring on her finger for half a moment, considering if it was her place to comment or not, before throwing caution to the wind and interjecting. “Wait, uh, are you guys trying to rig it so that Tim wins?” (Rule one of getting information in an interrogation: start with a question you already know the answer to.)

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Wrapped Around Your Finger (Like a Ring) (The Rookie):

Chen would not stop messing with her ring and Tim was a matter of seconds from using his TO Voice to go and confiscate it. Even winning the round-up (again) hadn’t put him in a good enough mood that the reflection from the light of the food trucks bouncing off the opal ring wouldn’t annoy him. Chen clearly was not aware that her rhythmic movements meant he was hit in the eye by a reflected ray of light every four seconds. 

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In Search of Air (The Rookie):

During her sophomore year of college, Lucy had had to memorize all of the symptoms of a panic attack as listed in the DSM-V. Technically the assignment was just to learn four or five of the 13 listed in the manual, but Lucy, ever the perfectionist, had been determined to memorize them all, to always be just that much better at psychology than the people around her. So, when she found herself once again locking herself in one of Mid-Wilshire precinct’s utility closets, it was that list of 13 symptoms she thought back on. 

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Through a Glass Darkly (Prodigal Son):

Malcolm Whitly's favorite color has always been red. It’s warm and bright and passionate, just like him. It’s the first color you notice in any crowd. It calls out to you and then pulls you headfirst into its world. His father had a red sweater when Malcolm was about 10. It was the softest thing Malcolm had ever felt. Martin said he had had to throw it out one night after spilling tea on it, but Malcolm had always loved that sweater. He still does. He has spent the intervening years searching for one that was similar so he could buy one for himself. He has loved the color for almost three decades now with absolutely no sign of his opinion changing any time in the near future. Red reminds Malcolm of his father and he loves his father. 

Malcolm Bright's favorite color has been blue most of his life. It’s calming and stable and peaceful, all the things he strives to be. It’s a color that can fade into the background when needed but also draw your eye if you’re looking for it. It’s always there to be beside you when you need it. 

[batsplat]

wait, is there a dovi/jorge feud???? i didn't know this!! also thank you so much for all you do for this community ❤️

not the only ask I've gotten about this and... look, rather than doing a proper write up that would take forever, I'm just gonna give my top ten fun... facts? bits of trivia. tidbits related to the two of them. quite long tidbits, on second glance. the highlight reel, if you will

(1) that time andrea dovizioso made 14 year old jorge lorenzo cry

the two of them already raced each other before the start of their grand prix careers, competing for the first time in 2001 in the cev when dovi was around 15 and jorge around 14. in riveras tobia's biography, here's jorge talking about their first fight:

I led the way at the start and Dovizioso and I escaped. It was our first head-to-head encounter, the first time we raced each other. My dad had heard that Dovi was a really clever rider and he warned me before the race. But just like in 1998 at Jerez, with Olive, I acted like a dummy and pushed for the whole race. I kept looking behind me to see the bastard still there! It was impossible to shake him off, he was watching me the whole race until the last lap. Three comers from the end I could hear his engine getting closer and I saw his shadow to my left, but he didn't come past. I thought to myself "This guy is going to try something in a second!" I decided I had to on a tighter line and close the door. Sure enough, Dovi went wider through that comer and then dived up the inside. I didn't close the door in time and tried to get in his slipstream, desperately hoping I could get him the next corner, but I ran wide and he won. I came back in tears, I didn't even want to go to the podium, I felt so cheated. I'd been on the limit for the whole race and I felt like I deserved the win more than he did.

so that's a nice and positive start! there's something charming about how even fifteen year old dovi was an absolute menace on last laps

also about that race:

'Jorge beat Dovi in Braga but in the previous race at Most, what a tantrum!' recalls Juanito, laughing. 'He didn't even want to go to the podium, he was crying like a baby! I can still see Dani (Antatriain) talking to him, trying to convince him. In the end he went but he didn't want to look at anybody.'

(2) the photo finish

in 2004, they were rivals in 125cc - a year in which dovi claimed the title and jorge was p4 in the standings. in the very first grand prix ever at the lusail circuit (pretty eventful weekend, you have to say), jorge and dovi crossed the line at the exact same moment

(3) dovi's top three favourite career win

dovi and jorge progressed through the categories at the exact same rate, and after their 125cc rivalry they continued fighting in 250cc. they were title rivals in both 2006 and 2007, with jorge's aprilia winning out both times against dovi's underpowered honda. (the general pattern was that dovi clawed back a bunch of points from jorge in the wet - jorge, with perhaps the exception of a few years in the premier class until around 2013, has never been much of a wet weather racers, while it's always been one of dovi's strongest traits.) for dovi's 300th career start in 2019, he was asked what his top three wins were - and one of his picks was from way back when in 2007

I'd recommend the race! which... well, I did in the race rec post - and I can only reiterate that these two kids do not acknowledge each other, not good vibes at all

(4) jorge's thoughts on young dovi from 2008

Jorge has a lot of respect for Andrea Dovizioso and feels that his two 250cc world titles have even more prestige because he had to beat the Italian to win them. 'You wouldn't label Dovizioso as fast, particularly, but he's much faster than he looks. He doesn't set many pole positions but he is always up front in a race, fighting to win. He is very intelligent and you can't trust him an inch on the last lap. He has been faithful to Honda, he has great belief in them. His negative side is that he tends to play the victim too much. He'll say that if his bike had a better engine or if it was a bit faster he would win. He's even said that if he was on the same bike as me he'd give me a hiding. I think he looks for excuses too often sometimes, but as a rider and a person I don't have a bad word to say about him.'

some dovi traits read as very familiar, from how he's a better racer than qualifier to the intelligence to the last lap prowess. as for jorge saying dovi plays victim too much? well

also this:

ER: Don't you think that Dovizioso wanted to be World Champion too in 2006 and 2007? Don't you think he gave everything to achieve it? JL: He will think he gave his maximum but he will be lying to himself because nobody does that. Nobody gets close to their maximum, not even me. He will think that he didn't win because he was riding a Honda. There are very few sportsmen who will say, I deserve what happened to me and there are no excuses. I didn't know how to do any better and I've done things wrong.' That is the only way to be the best, the only way. People who make excuses don't get to the top. I know riders who haven't made it for just that reason.

plus ça change

(5) jorge's thoughts on young dovi from 2018

when they were doing their thing as ducati teammates (bickering), here is one of the things jorge said about dovi:

dovi's been trying to undermine jorge's morale his WHOLE career... even when they were but teenagers... love it when you can really tell someone's been sitting on something for over a decade

(6) "also lorenzo is not my friend"

both of them moved up to motogp in 2008, jorge with factory yamaha and dovi with satellite honda. dovi had a very strong rookie season and finished in p5, only sixteen points behind jorge in p4 (who after a promising first few races had spent a lot of time that season crashing). after that, their fortunes diverged. dovi did not have a particularly happy time in the factory honda team and needed to do some shrewd negotiating to be retained by them for 2011 in that three-man squad, while jorge of course won the championship in 2010

here's a deep cut from 2011, a season where much of the excitement and drama was caused by marco simoncelli alone. jorge had exchanged tense words with sic in estoril, one race before simoncelli was responsible for a crash where dani broke his collarbone. the crash and sic's subsequent penalty meant that the three-way fight between jorge, dovi and valentino became one for the podium, with dovi and valentino eventually grabbing the two remaining spots behind casey. but during the race, jorge had executed a... questionable manoeuvre on dovi, one that did have some similarities to the sic/dani incident. given jorge's strong previous comments on racing standards, unsurprisingly the journalists pounced on this incident in the post-race presser and ask the podium sitters about it. here is the clip:

in this clip, dovi essentially says it was a dangerous move from jorge, but he wasn't sure what jorge's intent had been and he needs to watch the footage again. valentino (who had been the most outspokenly critical of sic of the three of them earlier in the presser) takes the opportunity presented to him to have a bit of a potshot at jorge. he says that dovi doesn't have the best relationship with sic but jorge had done something pretty similar in the race... at which point dovi goes "also lorenzo is not my friend"

which, you know. not exactly a major incident, but I find it very charming dovi felt the need to clarify that, actually, he doesn't like either of them. valentino also adds that by jorge's own standards, surely he too should have gotten a penalty. not exactly a meeting of jorge's biggest fans hm

(7) mapping eight-gate

well I can't leave it out, can I

so in 2017 jorge switches from yamaha to ducati and does not have a great time of it. a lot of weekends, he's just too slow, other times he shoots to the front of a race at the start (typically not great news for the rest of the field in his yamaha days) and then chews up his tyres before gradually dropping like a stone back through the field. at some point that year it became a bit of a running gag - especially when you saw he was the only big name to be picking a soft tyre and just went... buddy we ALL know how this is gonna end....

while this was happening, his teammate dovi was for the first time in his premier class career in championship contention. an extremely close title fight throughout the year with five protagonists until pretty late in the season, it eventually went to a title decider in valencia between dovi and marc. you know, the kind of year where every point counts. the race where marc put a bit of daylight between himself and dovi was phillip island, with marc winning a great dogfight out front while dovi had a bit of a horror show of a weekend. this meant that a lot would have to go right for dovi to have a chance of still winning the title... and sepang was already a match point race for marc

ducati had not won a championship since their 2007 title, courtesy of one casey stoner. after that year, their bike became steadily less competitive every season, reaching a nadir around the 2011-13-ish period. so by the time 2017 rolled around, they wanted this so so badly - even if they wouldn't have expected dovi to lead the charge. dovi had only narrowly beaten out iannone in the 'who's going to be fired for our shiny new lorenzo hire' contest of 2016, and really it was supposed to be jorge who was carrying ducati's dreams on his shoulders. but, never mind, they were throwing everything behind dovi now... no stone left unturned

which brings us, of course, to the subject of team orders. this discourse really took off at the penultimate race of the season at sepang, but was already brewing before that - and in phillip island, satellite ducati rider redding had been told early in the race to let dovi past

here from marc at sepang:

dovi had been in great form all weekend at sepang - and with his wet weather prowess being what it was, really there shouldn't have been any need for team orders at all. but he got a sluggish start, and the race unfolded from there... until eventually jorge was in first, dovi was in second and marc in fourth. in those positions, marc would have clinched the title there

and then, jorge got a message on his dashboard. suggested mapping: mapping 8. pit boards and dashboards and all sorts of boards will feature various codes during races, most of them completely innocuous - but of course they are a healthy source of all sorts of conspiracies. the timing of this one was certainly... notable, and speculation immediately started about how it might be a way of telling jorge that he should swap positions with dovi

jorge didn't end up letting dovi pass - it is questionable whether he really would have done so with what would have been his first ducati win on the line. in the end, he made a mistake that let dovi through so that dovi claimed the win anyway, keeping himself in mathematical contention in valencia. and jorge did say afterwards he was keeping dovi's title hopes in mind, kind of

jorge also said he hadn't gotten any message indicating team orders, and of course nobody at ducati confirmed that mapping eight did have anything to do with team orders

for what it's worth, this is what dovi said about their relationship at this stage:

lovely! let's see what the vibes are like a few months later

anyway, onto valencia. this race was pretty boring despite being a title decider, but the jorge/dovi bits were just unequivocally the weekend's most enjoyable aspect and rather nicely spiced up the whole thing. dovi's chances were always slim going in, given he'd have to win the race and marc would have to barely get any points at all... but still, you never know, right? marc could always crash (narrator: he did almost crash). jorge plays coy early in the weekend about the whole 'helping dovi out thing', and basically just started putting in place...? ... very specific conditions...? under which he'd help:

so during the actual race, dovi got stuck behind jorge in p5, with marc ahead of both of them. valencia is traditionally not a fantastic track to overtake at... so even if dovi had been faster, it's not like he'd have an easy time clearing jorge and cracking on. but they were beginning to drift further away from dani in p3 as ducati watched on, increasingly unamused by what was happening - and the tv cameras were of course kind enough to repeatedly show the ducati box looking deeply unamused. again, they went for the good old mapping eight message, which, hey, that could mean anything! they sure did keep showing it to jorge though, almost like he wasn't paying attention to it

eventually, they abandon all subtlety and go for a pit board message that does just straight-up tell jorge to swap positions. jorge kept ignoring the messages, lap after lap, and he never ended up letting dovi past. eventually they both crashed and marc claimed the title with a p3 finish, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway, but... still. the feeling was that this might things rather awkward inside of ducati

publicly, ducati was extremely keen to smooth over the whole controversy, saying they totally weren't mad at jorge blatantly ignoring team orders. jorge had, after all, explained to them (and the media, repeatedly) that he had totally been intending to help dovi by dragging him closer to dani

Giving his take on events, Lorenzo acknowledged that he ignored Ducati’s instruction because he felt Dovizioso’s chances would be boosted by having him directly ahead. “Even looking at this [dashboard] suggestion, I keep pushing until the end, because I knew it was the best thing for me, for Ducati and for Dovi,” said Lorenzo. “I helped him to improve his pace by one or two tenths, to be as close as possible to the first group. My intention was, and it was the case, that we arrive at the first group. If he had the option to win, I would have gone wide and let him pass. But unfortunately it was not like that. Maybe in some corners Dovi was close and I slow down a little bit his pace, but in general terms, having my wheel in front of him made him improve slightly his pace. I helped him stayed closer to the front group. “I knew Dovi was struggling, I knew his pace during all the weekend, and I knew he was making the best pace of the weekend just in the race. It was [because of the] help from my wheel. I’m happy because I was not wrong. If I was wrong and slowing him, I would be very sorry. But it’s not like that, my feeling was true.”

which, you know. is it really that easy to tell how much faster you are than someone who's sitting on your rear tyre? who's to say. dovi did certainly seem rather keen to get past

anyhow, of course there were plenty of fun dramatics post-race:

'our rider ignored team suggestions not team orders' is a great line, fairs. there's plenty more of this from ducati, some excellent spin doctoring - and dovi was extremely magnanimous about what had happened:

the whole thing was pretty undignified from all non-dovi parties, but it was also very funny so who's to say if it was bad or not

(8) runner-up-gate

let's check in on them in 2018, the second and ultimately last year in which they were teammates. remember that 'undermining morale' quote from above? those are from early 2018, after dovi says he wouldn't be surprised to see jorge elsewhere the following season. so, once jorge has complained that dovi had been trying to put him down his entire career, comes this:

so that's something. jorge, dovi and dani have a three-in-one crash in jerez, after which some fingers are pointed but it all remains fairly civil, and a bit later dovi says that jorge's approach doesn't work at ducati:

by the summer break, jorge's results had gotten better, but it was already too late to save the relationship with ducati and they parted ways. anyway, here's dovi and jorge having another go at it:

And while a rough patch for Dovizioso coupled with breakthrough back-to-back wins for Lorenzo in Mugello and Barcelona have now left the pair just three points apart in the standings, Dovizioso refused to back down from his claim when speaking to Spanish sports daily Marca ahead of the upcoming Brno race. “He’s won two races,” Dovizioso said. “Winning two races does not solve the problem of a year and a half. Lorenzo was not signed to win two races. Therefore I do not change my mind.” When the comments were put to Lorenzo, the three-time champion offered an ardent retort, stating that Dovizioso's rhetoric was proof of the claim he'd made back in April. “I'm a bit fed up with this situation, mainly because when I had trouble and he was winning, I was down there applauding,” Lorenzo told Spanish broadcaster Movistar. “What I said in Argentina - and the comments caused a big surprise - you can see that I was right. “He tried to undermine me, or downplay what I achieve or just attack me. As you can see, I wasn't lying. He's still doing it and now he says my method is not good, according to him.” Lorenzo intimated that Dovizioso was in no position to criticise him, as the Italian could do no better than runner-up to Marc Marquez in a 'perfect' 2017 season. He said: “I think my method has not worked too bad in my career. I've won three MotoGP titles and have 46 wins.” “In my second year in Ducati I'm usually faster than him, but maybe I should look at his method closer if in his best season, with everything going perfectly, he was second. Otherwise he's fourth or seventh usually. I'd tell him to leave me to go my way and to focus on his own and everything will be better, because when you have an angry Lorenzo it's usually worse for you.” 

fair to say that by this point the pretence at civility has mostly been dropped. I'm rather fond of the "lorenzo was not signed to win two races" line, though "when you have an angry lorenzo it's usually worse for you" is also really strong stuff. dovi tries to restore a little bit of peace:

Responding in turn to Lorenzo's tirade, Dovizioso sought to play down the conflict. “Jorge has his ideas and I think they are based on particular things. I don't think like him, but it's not a problem,” he told Movistar. “Everybody creates their own ideas based on what they see and how they live. “I don't think he has everything clear in his head about what's happened, but we continue the relationship that we started last year with respect, there's no particular problem. If he thinks this way, that's his problem."

so basically the classic 'idk what he's on about but it's not my problem' approach to attempting to defuse feuds

(9) twitter-gate

there's a few more on-track battles where it's nicely obvious how badly they want to beat each other, with jorge beating marc just ahead of dovi in austria and then dovi beating jorge in brno. jorge's season is increasingly derailed by injuries, which sets the stage for their next big spat:

The row was sparked by Dovizioso's comments to Sky Italia after qualifying at Sepang on Saturday, as he was asked what he thought of Lorenzo having to pull out of the Malaysian GP weekend with injury. "I don't know the details, I don't want to get into this, it's a bit of a strange situation," said Dovizioso."It happens often in Ducati or to certain riders, but I don't understand the details and I don't want to get into it and give my opinion." When it was put to him he was offering 'cryptic words', he added: "I leave things there, it's not my problem."

pretty vague, yeah. but anyway, I'm sure jorge had a proportionate response to this

Dovizioso's comments prompted a series of irate posts from Lorenzo on Twitter, with his first reaction being "Thank you very much @AndreaDovizioso! You are a real gentleman!". In his next post, he went on to call Dovizioso "an exemplary teammate", adding: "You applaud him under the podium when he wins and then... (That's right, he does not give his opinion, it's not his problem)." After that, Lorenzo labelled Dovizioso "envious" and described him as "a world champion... in 125cc."

the podium thing really bothered him, don't you think. their ducati in-fighting follows that general pattern where dovi says something... a little shady, a little ambiguous, where his intentions aren't entirely obvious... at which point jorge goes all in at fighting back and has a go at dovi - often not as much for what dovi is actually saying, but what jorge thinks dovi is implying. which is based on his understanding of dovi, the image of dovi he's built up in his head over the years, so that he is... predisposed to think ill of the intentions of the 'intelligent' dovi who always knows exactly what he's saying

again, dovi tried to downplay the argument, while simultaneously not exhibiting much patience for jorge's stance:

After the Malaysian GP, Dovizioso was asked about Lorenzo's responses to his comments, and the Italian accused his teammate of reading too much into headlines. He said: “Why should I talk to Lorenzo? I do not waste time on these things. He makes the usual mistake of giving too much importance to what is written, even without the context. "I have not pointed my finger at anyone and I have no problem with Jorge."

if I were ducati, I probably would've let the whole thing blow over given jorge was off soon anyway. but they decided the whole thing was so bad they had to organise a peace summit

Asked about the situation, Ducati sporting director Paolo Ciabatti admitted to Motorsport.com that the Bologna marque has already planned to sit its two riders on Tuesday in Milan to make it clear what its priorities are. Ciabatti said: “It is clear that the interests of Ducati come before personal problems between riders. On Tuesday we will be together in Milan, for the EICMA [motorcycle show] and we have in mind to spend half an hour to sit and talk to Jorge and Andrea. "We want to avoid similar things to what happened last weekend. "I understand that these kinds of situations can happen. Sometimes riders get nervous during a Grand Prix weekend and on a rainy day, with tricky conditions, sometimes they say things they shouldn’t have said."

god knows how that turned out

(10) wow, you guys aren't gonna let this go, huh

late 2020 and jorge's career is already over, while dovi's looks like it will be... paused, at the very least. which is always a good time to check in with riders on how they feel about their rivals - if they're still being nasty you know that shit was personal. from december:

some quality petty material here. "I can't understand his somewhat peculiar mind" vs "he was envious of me since 250cc, but I wanted to give our relationship a chance". note too jorge talking again about how generous he had been in the face of dovi's 2017 successes, and how he feels like this was not reciprocated at all. jorge's complaints don't stop there:

merry christmas!

not the only rider jorge has beefed with post-retirement, but compare and contrast with how he really hasn't been doing any of that with some of his biggest career rivals. valentino, marc, dani - sure, he still talks about the controversies he's had with them pretty regularly (to put it lightly), and he's hardly free of complaints... but mostly it's a distinctly nostalgic tone he's adopting with these guys. admittedly, it helps that none of those three have gone out of their way to say anything particularly inflammatory about jorge. still, the absolute lack of any sort of rapprochement with dovi of all people is pretty funny

bonus: that time when jorge skittled all of marc's rivals

you know how in catalunya 2019, jorge took out like? all of marc's major rivals in that era including himself in one go? with half a decade of hindsight, this was kind of hilarious, and it did also feature jorge having to eat a hell of a lot of humble pie and go to the three other blokes to apologise. anyway I have a lovingly assembled set of screenshots of all three of them emoting in their boxes after the incident, all suffering some form of an existential crisis. here is dovi contemplating the bleak realities of our brief lives on this planet:

truly one of the world's least enthusiastic waves

bonus 2: another one for old time's sake

already posted this elsewhere, but this from late 2023 made me laugh

"jorge came to ducati and thought he was going to beat everything, but in the end he didn't" uh huh

[outeremissary]

In the past week or two an attempt to recommend Rogue Trader to friends now that I am truly in a dire place with it resulted in convincing them all to never, ever touch it... I need Owlcat to release a game I don't feel obligated to include a list of disclaimers with when trying to recommend </3 It's always like "Kingmaker is one of my FAVORITE GAMES and the writing is GOOD AND FUN it has some of my ALL TIME FAVORITE CHARACTERS AND PLOTS and the gameplay is SO BAD MOST OF THE TIME and it has SO MUCH JANK but it's worth it if you have DOZENS OF HOURS OF PATIENCE" or "Wrath has combat and characters MANY PEOPLE LIKE and is VERY CINEMATIC and SIGNIFICANTLY IMPROVES QOL but the gameplay MIGHT PISS YOU OFF and you SHOULD DO PRE READING ON SYSTEMS AND ROUTES and the alignment dialogue is NOT GOOD somehow worse than Kingmaker's" or "Rogue Trader is a GREAT GAME with INTERESTING CHARACTERS and REALLY FUN GAMEPLAY except that the gameplay of the first fifteen hours is INTOLERABLY BAD AND BORING and the exposition for newcomers to setting lore is TERRIBLE also the scope of human atrocity is OFF THE CHARTS if that's hard for you and there IS A TORTURE PIT"

[crumbleclub]

Anyway. Mike regaining a sense of bodily autonomy after years of trauma and being given the impression that he's not allowed to have boundaries or make choices.

Haircuts, piercings. He can change how he looks, if he wants. Nobody can stop him. He can lock his door, and people have to knock rather than just barging in. No one can make him lie for them, or force him to lie to himself until he gets confused about what really happened. People can't touch him without asking. Nobody is allowed to go rifling through his belongings without permission.

[moe-broey]

Ooufhgh.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Ain't That a Kick in the Head

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Nudity but in a totally non-sexual way (you share a bath)

Summary: You watch Clayton take a puck to the face, suffice to say you are very much worried for your boyfriend at the end of the game.

Notes: Y'know someone needs to psychoanalyse why I thought it was so hot that he took a puck to the face, got 12 stitches, came out, played and still scored? Someone want to explain that one to me?

I've not written Clayton before but @wannabehockeygf has me hooked so...I hope this is okay?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"...that one up high caught Keller, let's hope Clayton is okay...he took that one right up in the face and he's headed to the room for some stitches I would imagine..."

"Keller's girlfriend has stood straight up from her seat, clearly not happy with what she's seen."

"Can you blame her? Keller's just taken a puck straight to the face and I imagine he's going to have more than a couple of stitches to fix that..."

It's an instinctive reaction really, to jump out of your seat at the way the puck soars into Clayton's face, the way he spins and falls to the ice. The blood that you can see pooling underneath his hand as he holds it tight to his eye and brow.

You've seen him get hurt before, seen him take hits to the boards, hits from other players, pucks to the ribs, sticks to the legs, but this...fuck, this was dangerous, this was scary. You're thankful for your seat overlooking the tunnel, thankful that you can reach a hand down as he makes his way off the ice, that even as he clutches a towel to his face to mop up the blood and try to stem the bleeding, he sees you, and reaches out briefly to touch your fingers, an attempt to reassure you that he's okay. That he'll be fine because fuck he knows you're probably freaking out about it.

Then all you can do is sit back down in your seat and wait. Waiting for him to come back out made you feel sick, stomach tied in knots, leg bouncing up and down in anxious impatience. Was he concussed? Was he in need of hospital? Or would it just be a few stitches to stop the bleeding? Had it done any serious damage to his skull? Was he actually okay? Was it just a flesh wound or something deeper?

It was taking too long, far too long, your eyes not even on the game, but on the tunnel waiting for him to reappear, watching people come and go back and forth each one not Clayton. Still you waited for that reappearance.

And reappear he did. Brow coated in blood, 12 stitches holding his face together, swollen, bruising planning it's spots as he stops at your section, looking up at you from the tunnel as you look down.

Your hand reaches out again and this time he holds it properly, fingers intertwining with yours to give your palm a tight squeeze, his ring digging into your skin slightly from how firmly he grips you. Like he needs to reassure you he's still strong, still good even as a blood drip starts to slide from the fresh stitches towards his eye.

"I'm okay, sweet girl," His voice is rough from overuse on the ice and he doesn't linger long, but it's enough to reassure you that he's at least fine, even if his face looks like he's been through the wars.

It's enough for you in that moment, enough for you to let his hand go, to watch him make his way to the bench even as that sick feeling still permeates your gut.

You spend the entirety of the second period watching him like a hawk, assessing to see if he should actually be out on the ice or not, relieved to see him skating well, stable, sturdy. Despite the physical wound he doesn't seem unwell and that is enough to settle you down a little, enough for you to start to enjoy the third period.

An enjoyment that is made 10 times better by Clay's empty net goal firmly confirming Utah's victory over the Winnipeg Jets. The moment the period is over and the players have left the ice you don't waste much time before making your way down to the locker rooms, leaning against the wall and waiting for Clayton to clean up and change.

He's out last, Kess stops to tell you he's just getting some of his stitches redone, and while you appreciate the heads up from the taller man it actually only serves to make you more anxious to see your boyfriend.

When he walks out he looks like he's been through the wars or been mugged badly or had a bad boxing match. New stitches means no quick shower, no water on them for at least a day and he still looks bloody, sweaty and definitely not okay. You can't imagine how uncomfortable he was putting his suit back on when he couldn't even have a proper wash, sweat causing his clothes to stick to his skin. Clayton's always been a stickler for cleanliness and you know he probably feels disgusting, probably hates it almost as much as the injury itself.

"Shit, Clay..." You gasp at seeing his face up close, his eye is bruising into a proper shiner, closing a little from all the swelling that's happening. The skin around starting to go a deep purple. There's an array of angry stitches holding his skin together, 12 to be exact, lined up neatly but clearly the only thing stopping more blood from falling down his face. They've clearly tried to clean as much of the old blood up as possible, but there's still enough left over that he looks rough around the edges.

"Right in the money maker, huh? It's okay if you think I'm ugly now, baby.." He's joking around as he steps into your space, trying to take that god awful look off your face. You look like you've seen a ghost, like you might be sick.

"Clay..." You reach for him as he leans over you, one arm leaning against the wall by your head, while your own hands cup his cheeks tilting his head so you can get a better look at his stitches.

"Sorry, sorry, just tryin' to get my girl to smile s'all..."

"I know..." He lets you get your fill, moving his head in whatever direction you tilt it while his free hand grips your hip. He wants you to believe he's fine but he knows you won't believe him, and in truth it fucking hurts taking a puck to the face. He's surprised he doesn't have a concussion. He feels a little sick, very gross and his face aches like nothing else.

"Clay...What do you need?" You, he thinks, just this. Just the soft way your thumbs brush his cheeks and tenderness with which you cradle his face, like he's not 170lbs of hockey player. He's not delicate and he knows that, you know that, but sometimes you treat him that way and it's nice sometimes. Nice to feel cared for.

He doesn't say any of that though, instead lets out a big sigh, "I need to go home, wash at least my body because I actually feel fucking gross..." He's still sweaty and he knows he needs help washing his hair without getting water on his stitches.

"Okay, I'm driving." You're reaching for his keys in pocket as quick as a whip, but he's quicker. Clayton's hand wrapping entirely around your wrist and stopping it from delving further into his pocket.

"You're not driving my car, baby. No." There's no amount of injury that could bring him to let you drive when that's his job and the grin he gives you is the sort you give a child who thinks they know better. It makes your eyes narrow.

"Clay, you took a puck going like 80 miles per hour to the face..."

"And I can still drive, and you are still and forever my passenger princess." It's not that he doesn't trust you to drive. You're a pretty decent driver, but that's not the dynamic you have. He drives you around. Always. If he can't then you drive yourself, but if both of you are in a car together? He's driving and you get to sit, relax and look pretty.

"You're impossible." You roll your eyes but concede defeat, pulling your hand from his pocket even as he continues to grip your wrist like now that he's got it the thought of letting go is preposterous.

"Impossibly handsome." Clay's hand moves from your wrist to slip into your own, fingers twisting together as he pulls away from the wall with you. His other hand tossing his car keys about with a jingling sound.

"Impossible hard headed."

"Ouch, that hurts, sweet girl." He finally gets a smile from you at that and that's all he wants as the two of you walk hand in hand to his car. If he's got to deal with stitches, bruising, swelling, then at least he gets to see you smile.

"Did it hurt more than the puck you took to the face tonight?"

"You're determined to not let me forget this aren't you?" He asks as he opens the passenger side door, watching you slip into the pristine seats because he'd be damned if he ever let his car fall into disarray.

You're quiet for a few moments as he leans over you to pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it into place. It's the proximity of him to you that's probably the only reason he actually hears your next whispered words as you look at your hands in your lap.

"...I was really worried, Clay..."

Clayton sighs heavily, large hand cupping your cheek until you look at him. You grip his wrist, fingers playing with the array of bracelets he always has there.

"I know, baby, but I'm okay. I promise. Got some stitches, no concussion, I'll be a little ugly for a bit but..." All Clay ever wants is for you to be happy, the worst part about getting hurt is that he knows you're stressing about. He's fine, but he knows he looks like he's gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and he'll probably look like that for awhile. He also knows you worry, and you'll worry over him until he looks completely back to normal.

"You could never be ugly," He smiles at the way you frown at him, like it's the worst thing he could do right now to insult himself, "You're just fishing for compliments." Your eyes soften under his smile and the frown loses some of its bite.

"You're the one biting, sweet girl."

"Shut up and drive us home."

"As you wish." Clayton presses a quick kiss to your lips, pulling out of the passenger side and closing the door on you. He's quick to make his way round to the driver's side and even quicker to get the car started so he can start driving back to the house.

You watch him the whole time, eyes fliting from the stitches in his eyebrow to the way his left eye is swelling to the point you don't know if he'll be able to see out of it in a minute if you don't get ice on it. Clayton chooses to ignore the staring, hand reaching out to rest on your thigh, rubbing warm strokes across it as he drives, like always.

When you pull up you wait, like always, in your seat because Clay complains if he can't open the door for you and unbuckle your seatbelt. So you wait and let him do it, just as you let him wrap an arm around your shoulders and led you inside as if you're the one that needs the TLC and not him.

You only briefly watch him struggle out of the suit he'd worn to the game before stepping in to help. The medical team not letting him wash had meant his shirt and trousers stuck to him from all the sweat left on his skin, and the extra pair of hands was helpful as he shrugged off the button up he'd been wearing.

He lets you lead him into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat and watching as you fuss around the bath tub. You're running him a bath even though you know he prefers showers because there's no way those stitches are staying dry in the shower, not with his ridiculous need for the most intense waterfall shower on earth.

Still, Clayton watches as you try to make the bath more enticing. Copious amounts of bubble bath, the sort that's designed for sore muscles, being thrown in, water running warm, but not too hot because he doesn't like his bath water to be as hot as the fires of hell. Unlike you. But, he draws the line at you helping him into water, it's his face that hurts not his legs, shrugging your hands away with an eyeroll when you go to reach to help him.

"I can get in on my own, baby."

He doesn't let the fussing annoying him because he knows you fuss out of concern and that any amount of fussing is still your attention on him. Fussing means you love him and if you took a puck to the face he knows he'd be fussing over you too.

You watch as Clayton eases himself into the water, a sigh rippling out from him as he slides into the warmth. His chains hitting the water because he'd never wear anything that wasn't solid enough not to tarnish over time, expensive taste as always. You watch the way he closes his eyes and just relaxes for a minute, skin turning slightly flush under the warmth of the water, neck pulled taut as his head tips back.

"You want me to help wash your hair?"

"Please, baby." It's sighed out, eyes still closed and you kneel next to the tub without a second thought, urging him to move forward and lean back until his hair touches the water.

You're careful about it, slowly wetting his hair, trying to avoid getting water on his stitches and while he might not want to be fussed over, this though? This Clayton can't help but love. The way your fingers thread through his brunet strands, how you stop occasionally to scratch at his scalp, the feeling of sweat and grime falling away? This is pretty much heaven.

You huff a laugh when Clayton groans a little while you massage shampoo into his roots. The pressure you apply making him sigh and groan like you're relieving knots in his back and it's sweet, how he can relax into this, into you, when he's normally the one giving and doesn't necessarily prefer to receive the care.

"You good, Clay?"

"Mmmm...." He hums and you smile down at him, the way he leans back into your hands, how his eyes remain closed, the content little smile on his face that just slightly shows his teeth.

You take extra care as you rinse the shampoo from his hair thoroughly, avoiding his stitches and his eyes as you do so, before getting him to sit up a little so you can place some conditioner on the ends.

"Get in with me..." His eyes are heavy lidded, like he doesn't quite have the energy to open them the entire way, a wet hand reaching out to grip your fingers, tugging lightly.

"Clay, there's barely any room left." His legs take up half the tub, you're a little concerned that you plus water displacement will result in water all over the floor of the bathroom. Another injury waiting to happen when one of you inevitably slips on wet tile.

"Please, just want to hold you for a bit, no funny business, sweet girl, promise." His cheeky little smirk that shows the dimples on one side of his mouth doesn't exactly fill you with confidence in his words, but the water is still warm and there's something always enticing about Clay, he has a way of convincing you to do something even if you shouldn't.

"Mmm, sounds likely..."

"Seriously, just want to hold you...I'm an injured man..." He pulls the guilt trip card, biting on his bottom lip. Something which would have looked sexier if half his face wasn't swollen up like a balloon. Still, you've never been good at saying no to Clayton even if you probably should from time to time.

"Fine..." You sigh, pretending to be reluctant even as you strip your clothes off, ignoring the way his eyes light up like a kid in a candy store, and step into the bath water with him.

It's a little tight, the water rising to levels that are mildly concerning before the overflow drain does the job of removing the excess water. Your legs twine with Clayton's and his arms slide around your waist until he can pull you comfortably back to lay against him, your back to his chest. It's funny, how you can be completely naked and feel completely comfortable like this with someone, every little touch is comforting rather than sexual, every kiss to your shoulder an attempt to be connect to you rather than start something intimate.

"Clay?" You wince out, the sensation of metal digging into your back causing you to squirm slightly in his lap, water sloshing nearer to the sides of the tub.

"Mmm...?"

"Can...can you move your chains? They're digging into my shoulder."

"Shit, sorry, baby." He's quick to do so, the chains being thrown over his shoulder and out of the way until settling against him is more comfortable, the rise and fall of his chest meeting your back in a rhythm that helps any residual anxiety from the events of the day melt away.

"You comfy, sweet girl?" He presses a kiss to your temple and you smile into it, humming as you lean as much of your weight back into him as you can.

"Yeah, you?"

"Mmm, might have to stay here..." He's tracing circles on you tummy, a series of circles that meet in a variety of patterns that remind you of crop circles from all those conspiracy theory and unsolved mystery shows Clay likes to watch when he can't sleep. Every few seconds a kiss lands somewhere else, whether your temple, your cheek, your neck or your shoulder. Each is quick and soft, but no less delightful. It's all so soft, the world feels like its humming a little.

"The water'll get cold."

"Good thing I run warm..." He tries to argue with you, like always, a sassy little remark to entice you to stay in the moment even if neither of you can.

"Clay, we're not staying in here all night, we'll die of pneumonia or something."

"Would be worth it." He grins into your shoulder, eyes relaxing when you reach a hand back to scratch his scalp and play with his hair. He's tired, so fucking tired and his face still aches like a bitch but this is nice, this so nice.

"We should really get some ice on your face, try and take some of the swelling down."

"Do we have to?" The idea of putting ice on his face right now is anything but appealing, but he knows you're right. His face is already pretty swollen and bruised and it's only going to get worse if he doesn't look after it.

"Do you want to be able to see from your left eye in the morning?"

"Good point, just...5 more minutes, baby?"

"5 more minutes." You let him have his 5 more minutes and then some, using the time to get clean yourself and rinse conditioner from his hair before the two of you stand from the bath after the water has cooled significantly.

He's sat crossed legged on the bed in a cosy hoodie and boxers by the time you've put together a makeshift icepack, ice piled up into a ratty old tea towel you got when you first moved out.

The look he gives the icepack is nothing short of disdainful, a glare that's combined with a pout of his top lip like the icepack has personally offended him already when it hasn't even touched him. If anyone should glare it's you because your hands are getting cold.

"The only way that is touching my face is if you're sat in my lap, sweet girl." He pats his thighs like its a given, like you'll just go over and plonk yourself down without question.

"You already agreed to ice your face, Clayton John Keller." Your hands find your hips, a stance Clayton calls your mom stance and it's extra apt when you're using his full name like that. Not that that deters him from his goal of having you wrapped up on his lap because that's the only thing that might make ice to the face semi-bearable.

"Only if you sit in my lap."

"That is not the original agreement."

"Yeah, well, trade talks, deals get renegotiated all the time." He shrugs with a smirk, pulling out the dimples because he knows you struggle to be stubborn when he does that and as much as you hate it...he's fucking charming and it works. You're sighing and stomping over like you're not totally endeared by him, letting him pull you up and onto his lap without any real protest until your legs are wrapped around his waist, your butt sat perfectly in the hollow created by him sitting crisscrossed.

"You are incredibly difficult to care for, Mr Keller." You grumble as you cup his face with one hand and raise the makeshift icepack to his eye with the other.

"Can you really deny an injured man small comforts like his girlfriend in his lap?" His smirk only widens until it doesn't, a hiss leaving his lips at the way it pulls on his stitches as his eyebrow moves.

"Mmm, you're ridiculous." You're smiling when you say it and that alone lets Clayton know that you're enjoying this as much as him.

He hisses again when the cold finally touches his skin, almost jerking back but your hand on his cheek stops him from going very far. The icepack is cold, so fucking cold, and he knows you're going to force it to stay there until you're satisfied that some of the swelling has gone down. You're cruel like that.

Clayton's hands fall to your hips, fingers clenching and gripping onto you, not painfully, but firmly enough that you know he hates this, hates the sensation of ice on his skin even if there's a tea towel in between.

You try to make it as bearable as possible, pressing kisses to the right side of his face even as the left faces the terrible ordeal of icing. The kisses have Clayton humming, hands stroking from your hips to your waist and back down again in a rhythmic motion that brings back memories of every make out session you've ever had with the man, and that you wouldn't be having until you were certain his face wasn't swollen and bruised.

When you finally pull the icepack away his face is less swollen, eye still partially closed, but no less bruised, you know the purple is going to eventually fade to a horrible yellow. You throw the damp tea towel into the laundry basket from where you're sat, excellent aim that has you letting out a little cheer that gets Clayton smiling up at you.

"Thank you, sweet girl, always taking care of me..." He presses a kiss to your lips, short and sweet, only because you refuse to let him stay there too long, determined to let the man rest.

"Yeah, well, you're always taking care of me too."

[phoenixcatch7]

What I'd really love to see is a svsss au where shen yuan had the immense powers from saiki k.

Like, svsss is already a romcom of a guy shunted into a fantasy world with meta knowledge and immense power for no reason apart from 'make a happy ending' as a fairly thick veneer over an absolute hot mess of a tragedy with a happy ending, red flags galore, complete with a protagonist completely removed from the concept of romance and resigned to his fate of being abandoned by the people around him because of the circumstances he was 'born' into, but he's funny about it.

The disastrous life of saiki k is a fast paced crack comedy about a guy granted immense power for no reason with meta knowledge of the world as a thick veneer over something a little darker and traumatic with a happy ending, complete with a protagonist completely removed from the concept of romance and resigned to being ignored by the people around him because of the circumstances he was born into, but he's hilarious about it.

Now I don't think it should be a 1-1 transplant of saiki to the svsss world, but to imagine an sy with those powers who didn't manage to find loyal friends, who moved out to live alone as soon as possible to avoid issues with his powers, who gravitated to web novels because of their regular updates as opposed to being constantly spoiled for books with finished endings. An sy who despite his ridiculous levels of power died alone in a stupid way and woke up in a world filled with people who also had immense and varied powers, dealing with the prospect of immortality when his own powers are still constantly growing and interfering with his life, but be silly about it.

I want to see a sy with telepathy still failing to understand what lbhs deal is because of his own denial, a sy with the power to crush mountains with a finger trying not to blow down walls with a sneeze because someone put him on a mountain FILLED with plants in SPRING, an sy who deleted an entire country from the planet aged four trying to dodge overly enthusiastic maidens he keeps saving because he doesn't want to steal from the protagonist and also no, lady, please. Shen yuan sitting in the water prison absolutely deadpan as people try and scare him with 10 iq stories about the acid waterfalls. An sy who hares around the peak trying to avoid being spotted on valentines day as he redirects unwanted admirers and improves his disciples dates just so they can all have a good day.

An sqh who really, honestly truly doesn't know how pidw was made real, honest!! All he could do was see ghosts! It's not his fault the story he wrote to make rent turned into all of this!! But because you're here can you pretty please make some ice, I'm in desperate need of air con and my king hasn't showed up in weeks!

Sqq and sqh playing telepathic chess during boring meetings and sqq leaving him to suffer when sqh is asked a question even though he himself knows the answer.

Lbh trying everything to get shizuns attention and discovering his total weakness to his cooking. Like, will let you cheat in class levels of bribery.

Sqq stalking dourly through fields of aphrodisiac plant because he's raised his body temperature high enough to burn out any pollen before it gets too close and the system just despairing at getting this man to do something interesting.

Cat!sqq transforming back as fast as he can because he's got a meeting in half an hour and having to rush around trying to find something to cover the cat ears he didn't manage get rid of.

Shen qingqiu pulling out his limiters and dropping the mask to reveal a deity in the shape of a man, something crafted purely of psychic energy and burning fury, determined to hold maigu ridge together and keep the realms apart with his will alone, to save luo binghe if it killed him again. A shining aura stretching miles, glowing like a star, halting the earthquake with his bare hands.

Sqq seeing a bug and freaking out so hard he teleports to the northern demon realm and lands in a slushy pond, and sqh nearly giving him away because of how hard he's laughing.

[mad-hunts]

✧

send me a ✧ and i’ll bold all that apply to your muse! (with italics as a 'sometimes' option because i'm a rule-breaker and things may depend on the situation).

i would kill you. ✧ i would physically hurt you. ✧ i would attack you unprovoked. ✧ i would manipulate you. ✧ i dislike you. ✧ you annoy me. ✧ you scare me. ✧ you intimidate me. ✧ i hope i intimidate you. ✧ i pity you. ✧ you disgust me. ✧ i hate you. ✧ i’m indifferent toward you. ✧ i’d like to get to know you better. ✧   i’d like to spend more time with you. ✧ i’d like to be friends with you. ✧  i’m unsure what to think of you. ✧ i’m unsure how I feel about you. ✧ you are my friend. ✧ you are my best friend. ✧ you are my mentor. ✧ i look up to you. ✧ i respect you. ✧ you are my hero. ✧ you inspire me. ✧ you are my enemy. ✧ you make me happy. ✧ i want to protect you. ✧ i would fight by your side. ✧ i consider you an equal. ✧ i think you are beneath me. ✧ i think you are above me. ✧ i would lie for you. ✧ i would lie to you. ✧ i would sleep with you. ✧ i would sleep by your side. ✧ i would hug you. ✧ i would kiss you. ✧ you are family to me. ✧ i would die for you. ✧ i would kill for you. ✧ i would trust you with my life. ✧ i would trust you with my most precious belonging. ✧ i would trust you with a secret. ✧ i would trust you with my biggest / darkest secret. ✧ i love you (platonically). ✧ i love you (romantically).

[fatespalm]

solemn vow to never be complacent or meek around things i feel strongly about again — to at least start the conversation even if i don’t have the words to talk back exactly to a poisonous idea — in kind, to pick up the thread if someone else does the same — tired of letting evil shit unfold —