#but maybe I'm overthinking it and should just. less is more!

[allllium]

Sleepy

[ Jason Todd x Reader ]

- Fluff, WC: 1005

- Jason struggles with comfort

You are usually very good at understanding things about your boyfriend, Jason. It took you no time at all to find about his nightly activities and everything about his family. But on the other hand, you can't seem to understand him at all.

You've tried not to ask him about certain things because based on hints from his family, he's had some bad shit happen in his life. More than he's been comfortable telling you so far in your relationship.

However, the more questions you don't ask, the more that seem to pop up.

You haven't asked him why sometimes he flinches away when you touch him but other times he leans in.

You haven't asked him why his hands make fists when you're trying to sleep at night.

You haven't asked him about the scar along his chest or his aversion to certain foods.

All because you're too scared to make him uncomfortable, or maybe because you don't know if you could stomach it.

You're laying bed and waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. Somehow, you take less time getting ready for bed than he does. You suspect it's because he needs a couple minutes to process everything that happened during the day.

As usual you have a million thoughts running through you're head all at the same time. 99% of them are about him.

When he finally comes into your shared bedroom and gets comfortable in bed, you're debating whether or not to talk to him about some of the things you can't get out of your mind.

You decide against it. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable or bring up any bad memories that might affect his ability to sleep through the night.

He can obviously sense your unease, you don't hide it very well.

"What's wrong?" His raspy voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Nothing, sweetheart." You try to play it off.

"Uh huh." He says blankly.

"I'm just thinking about things, is that a crime?"

"Depends on what they are." He pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms around you.

"Nothing bad."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"If someone's bothering you, you should tell me."

"Why is that?"

"Well I have an ability of getting rid of people."

"Oh my God, Jason, you can't joke about that." You look at him in amused shock.

"Who says it's a joke?" He asks, face completely serious.

"Okay no killing people on my behalf, pretty please." You chuckle and he copies. "I'm just trying to figure you out more."

"Why?"

"Cuz I want to know more about you?"

"Like what"

"Right now I want what's bothering you, and know what you want." You pull away from him in order to sit up a little bit.

"I don't want anything at the moment."

"Yes you do. If you didn't want anything your fists wouldn't be clenched and your eyes wouldn't have that look. Like you want to say something but can't."

"You really want to know?" He asks.

"Yeah I really do." You immediately reply.

"A couple months ago while we were watching a movie on the couch, you played with my hair and it was very comforting. And the best sleep I've ever had." He rambles off as quickly as possible.

"That's it? I've been driving myself crazy trying to think of explanations and you're telling me you just want me to play with your hair." You question him in disbelief. It's been months of overthinking thoughts and random mind rampages for something you haven't even noticed you were doing.

"I didn't know how to say it." He shrugs, not looking into your eyes. "It sounds childish."

"No it doesn't. Everyone has different ideas of perfect comfort and I happen to agree with yours. Jason, if you want something from me all you have to do is ask."

You lean over to give him a quick, sweet kiss.

"I'm not used to that."

"Well you better get started."

"Fine, would you play with hair so I can go to sleep, Angel?"

"Only because you asked so nicely."

It takes a second for you both to get rearranged so it's comfortable. You're now laying on your back with Jason half on his side, half on top of you with his head on your chest.

It's almost amusing how quickly he falls asleep but above all else you feel a sense of pride at the fact that you're the one giving him this feeling.

He said this was comforting. He said this was the best sleep he's ever had.

And you're the reason he's having these things.

You stay up longer than you probably should have. This time the thoughts running through your head aren't worrying or overwhelming.

They make you happy. Happy enough to fall into a very sound sleep.

You wake up to coffee on your nightstand and a missing Jason.

"Jason." You call out and he quickly comes running.

When he walks in the room, you immediately begin questioning him.

"What is this?" You ask with an ounce of suspicion. You're worried it's a repayment of some sort.

"It's coffee. A hot caffeinated drink."

"Why?"

"Because you like it and it makes you irritable for far less time in the morning."

"Jason you don't have to do things for me just because I did something for you."

"Yes I do. Because words won't let me explain how grateful I am for you."

"Since when are you so sappy?"

He sits on the bed next to you.

"Don't be mean to me right now, I'll take it away."

"Fine. Continue your speech."

"I know it's a small thing for you but I haven't felt comfort like you give me in a very long time. Maybe even ever. And I need you to know that."

"I can't tell you how happy I am to give that to you."

The next thing you know, you both have giant grins on your faces and you're both happier than ever before.

- send requests!!

[pukefactory]

Ok screw it i saw a thingy and might as well talk to someone about it I saw a love and deep space thingy about "The darker side of dating {Blank Character here} and that got me thinking "Wth would be the darker sides/down sides to dating BBQ Ena? - 💖🍫🦯

[I'm trying to get outta my comfort zone cuz I always worrying I'm bugging the people I ask stuff too lol cuz Overthinking and Void ik has been asking you stuff so it has made me kinda try to coke out of my own shell and do so. (they are a friend of mine that have asked you stuff in the past and in their own words "Honestly do it! I get scared talking to big bloggers too, but remember they're just people like us behind the screens :3 I'm sure they like getting interactions and asks" so might ask well to push myself a bit)]

Loving Dream BBQ ENA is a surreal commitment—part passion, part puzzle, and part performance art you never rehearsed for. She is not like anyone else; she is a girl stitched together with color blocks, emotional extremes, poetic contradictions, and unspoken griefs. To date her is to date the sky mid-weather-change—blissfully blue, then storming with no warning. One day, she’ll look at you like you’re her entire world, wax poetic about the shape of your eyelashes, kiss your forehead and call you her “quiet little earthquake.” The next, she’s dissociating in your arms, mumbling about paper boats and burnt calendars, unsure where she is or who she’s supposed to be.

She forgets things—not because she doesn’t care, but because her brain runs on a different kind of clock, one that ticks in skips and distortions. Sometimes she forgets dates, sometimes she forgets why she’s upset. Sometimes, she forgets how long you’ve been holding her hand. It hurts, not because she loves you any less, but because loving her means accepting that you will always be part of a dreamscape she’s half-drifting through. You are her anchor, her constant, and yet you will never fully exist in the same emotional plane she’s spiraling in. She needs you to remind her that she’s real.

There is also danger in her. Not malice, but entropy. She talks in riddles, shifts in mood like blinking lights, and sometimes you wonder if she’s unraveling faster than you can gather her threads. Her joy is chaotic and loud, all-consuming. Her sadness is an echo that swallows entire days. And when she’s overwhelmed—when the world presses too hard—she might lash out with words that feel more like sharp polygons than syllables. And then apologize with trembling sincerity and a handmade gift that makes no logical sense but still makes your heart ache.

Dating ENA means laughter so intense it gives you headaches, emotions so raw they strip you bare, and conversations that border on existential riddles. It means grounding her when she forgets where she ends and the world begins. It means offering your patience again and again, even when she spirals. It means living in technicolor chaos. It means watching someone try to be human even when every part of her code says not to be.

It means loving someone who is, at her core, a glitching miracle. And choosing to stay anyway.

(Don’t worry about interacting with me! I’m just an autistic woman who enjoys writing, much like many others—there’s nothing particularly intimidating about me, haha. I’m not a popular blogger, or at least I don’t think I am? Maybe I am, but I genuinely don’t pay attention to that, and neither should you! If you have a question, feel free to ask :3)

[albatris]

can't decide whether I wanna go all in on some bullshit madeup science for this mystery rentalcar drug or whether Less Is More

[nymphaura777]

Why are u still not in the void?

No seriously ask yourself that you’ve been trying every method, listening to subliminals every night, doing breathing exercises, following this and that method, and yet...nothing? You see all these people saying "i entered effortlessly" and it’s like why not me? :(( so let’s actually talk about it.

First thing? You are thinking too much. every night you lie down, overthinking every feeling, wondering if you’re "doing it right?" You keep telling yourself "okay, tonight is the night" and then after 10 minutes, "wait, why am i still here? am i close? am i about to enter? should i move? should i start over?" and just like that, you’ve already lost. The void is about letting go, not controlling. You keep waiting for some crazy shift in feeling, some magical pull into nothingness, but the truth is? It’s not that deep. people have entered the void while just closing their eyes for a second or even just thinking abt it casually. Yes it is that simple.

And let’s talk about the whole "method addiction" thing. Why do u think u need 50 different techniques just to do something that is natural?? like, be real. some of you are cycling through methods like ur life depends on it, sats, affirm till u pass out, starfish, visualization, state of kinesthesia, lucid dreaming, awake methods, asleep methods... and every night, you try a new one bc "maybe this is the one!!" the problem isn’t the method, the problem is you don’t trust yourself. If you truly believed you could enter whenever, you wouldn’t be desperately searching for the "best" way. I'm not completely denying that you shouldn't use methods but some people use methods as some magic stick, nahhh, you have to believe it, no doubts then only you are using methods in the best way, imagine trying "distraction method" and in mind thinking "would I get into void or not by using this?" So your brain automatically puts you into the thinking mode, so how would you relax, because that's all what you need for void, honestly this how I use method : ik I always get into void easily, I don't need to worry about it, this is only just a fun thing, that's it, no overthinking and no worries.

Now let’s talk abt self-concept, because some of you are your own worst enemy. You keep saying "I can’t enter" and then wondering why you can’t enter. You keep saying "the void is hard" and then getting mad when it feels hard, like...do you hear yourself? You are literally manifesting failure. The void isn’t keeping you out, your own doubts are. You wanna know the real difference between someone who enters easily and someone who doesn’t? mindset. The ppl who enter effortlessly aren’t special, they just don’t overthink. they decide they can enter, and so they do and please stop thinking the void = being dead. You don’t need to lie still for hours. You don’t need to "feel" your body disappear. You don’t need sleep paralysis. You don’t need some weird floating sensation. You can enter while walking, while blinking, while mid-conversation if you wanted to. You can enter with eyes open, eyes closed, lying down, sitting up, doesn’t matter. You don’t have to follow a script, u just have to decide.

But the biggest issue? Y’all are obsessed. like, I get it, you wanna shift, you wanna manifest your dream life instantly, but the more you obsess, the harder it gets. the people who enter easily don’t sit there thinking about the void 24/7. They go about their day, do their thing, and when they decide to enter, they just do. The less importance you give the void, the easier it is. Because at the end of the day, it’s not something u have to "work" for, it’s just a state of awareness, honestly when I was putting the void on pedestal, and was searching 1000 methods, thinking about it whole day, I didn't get into void, but once I put off the void from the pedestal, I got into void effortlessly.

So stop overcomplicating it. stop making it a struggle, the void is not running away from you, it’s literally right there, waiting for you to stop doubting and just step in.

[comicaurora]

A bit of a strange question, but if there were any of your videos you were to "remake" today for any reason (ex: you feel like you misrepresented the original text or spread misinformation), which would it be and why? None of them is a perfectly valid answer

Again: bit of a strange question, but I've been thinking about my own creations and how I could have done so much better with some of them, but I also know that is a sign of my growth and constantly chasing "what if I did this instead" isn't always healthy for nurturing a creative mindset, and I was wondering what your opinion might be as a Creator of Things with a bit more experience than I

There's been a few trope talks where I've thought later of other angles I could've explored that might warrant sequels or part 2s, but I don't dislike any of the summaries enough to justify a rework.

I always find "I could've done this better if I made it now" to be a bit of a fallacy. I'm only better at making things now because I made all those earlier things. If I knew everything I'd learn from making a project before I started the project, it wouldn't come out the same.

I think when it comes to the "rework remake perfect" instinct, it helps to zero in on what the impulse is really grounded in. In my experience, more often than not, it's not actually about making the art better, except incidentally. It's usually about showing that you are better. It's demonstrating your competence and your higher standards and your skills, and more importantly it's overwriting the proof that you were once less than perfect. If people look at your old work and think that's all you're capable of, they'll be judging you poorly!

If that's the motivator, it's a very unhelpful one. You can't control for being harshly or incorrectly judged. It's a fruitless effort to stave off potentially upsetting outdated criticism, and it's not even going to work. Fear of critique is an unreliable and untrustworthy motivator.

If it really is about making the art itself better, perfecting your magnum opus with your newly leveled-up skills, that's a little more solid. But from where I'm standing, it's always better to use those skills to make something new instead of polishing something old. The older, unpolished work has already acquired its audience that finds it appealing for reasons that might never occur to you. Trying to bury or overwrite it just deprives that audience of the thing they like, and maybe makes them feel bad for having liked it in the first place. Also, usually when you look back on the older work, you'll conclude that the problem is everything and it'll need to be torn down and started from scratch. I know when I revisited the first three chapters of the comic, when I let my critic brain spin up, it wasn't shading or lineart I wanted to fix - it was panel composition, overall pacing, the entire structure of the chapters as a whole. I would've had to make them all over again to be happy with them, and they wouldn't be the same story by the end.

I've been thinking a lot about the Discworld through this lens lately. It ended up over 40 books long, but everyone agrees that the first two are not what you should start with, because they're the worst ones. They're entirely parodic, purely referential of at-the-time major fantasy series, and borderline mean-spirited in places. If you haven't read Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and Dragonriders of Pern, you're not gonna understand like a full 50% of The Colour Of Magic.

It's clear that when he started in on them, Pratchett was entirely focused on taking the piss out of a genre he found mostly shallow and unimpressive. But the Discworld wouldn't leave his head, and everything he made fun of he clearly eventually found himself overthinking. He'd make little one-off jokes in the early books about Dwarves having no women and a hundred words for gold, and then twenty books later he'd have a Dwarf gender revolution make waves across the Disc, and then he'd write Thud!, a book that delves deeper into the nuances of Dwarf societal structure than Tolkien ever did.

If you look for them, there are continuity errors everywhere in Discworld. In his introductory book, Carrot defused a dwarf bar full of rowdy brawlers by guilting them all into writing to their poor lonely mothers back home. Shortly thereafter, Carrot will be outraged at the mere concept of an openly female dwarf. Pratchett even eventually wrote Thief of Time, a book that loosely explains that the Disc makes no sense because history has been broken and put back together incorrectly twice, and therefore any continuity errors are because of that.

He's the writer. He could've gone back and fixed it, edited the reprints to be less disruptively discontinuous with the later books. Instead he continuously moved forward and allowed the world he made to grow without cutting it off from its roots. And because he didn't bury his older, far worse work, we have the privilege of following the Disc's evolution from the very start, and seeing how this shallow, stock fantasy world parody became something incredibly rich and complex without ever pretending like its early installments never happened.

Anyway, that's why I think it's better to move forward. You make more good stuff that way.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Their Reaction to Your Spotify Wrapped

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in honor of wrapped day!!! this idea came when talking with @axel-skz one of my fave friendships made in 2024. i hope yall enjoy cuz it was hella fun making this.

Warnings: Slight suggestiveness, Slight cussing, mention of afab! reader (ovulation), mention of pornography (in a joking manner).

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Chan

The minute you pulled up your Spotify Wrapped, Chan was leaning over to be nosy.

"I bet it all Stray Kids." He said, as the animations started playing." You gave a small nervous laugh, knowing that it wasn't going to be them.

"And I was rig- Billie? Eilish?" His face froze. "Billie Eilish, Tyler, the Creator...Stray Kids. We're third?" His brows furrowed and the corners of his smile twitched downwards. "Oh..." His voice was defeated and he looked at you with unreadable eyes.

"Yeah! Isn't that great! You guys are in my top five!" You said pinching his cheek lightly, trying to brighten the look painted on his face.

But it was no use since he was already spiraling.

"So do you- well, is it our music? Do you not like it anymore? Is it too repetitive? Or is it my production? Should I switch things up- like should I make more ballad? Add more orchestral elements? Or maybe-"

"Chris-"

"-more collabs? Maybe Billie would be open to- are our lyrics not deep enough?"

"Christopher-"

"I think maybe we need less-"

"CHRISTOPHER BANG!" You shouted through a fit of laughter.

He pulled back in surprise and looked at you with eyes as wide as saucers.

You took your hands, placing them on either side of his face. "It's not you or the boys, baby."

"Then what was it? Why weren't we number one?" He asked with a pout.

"You're third because I live with you." You lips upturned and Chan searched your face. "I don't need Spotify to listen to Stray Kids. I've got the worlds best producer humming in my ear while we fold laundry and wash the dishes. Billie and Tyler don't do that."

His lips parted into a sheepish grin, a small "hehe" slipping out of his mouth as his face scrunched into a boyish excitement.

"You think I'm the best producer."

"Without a doubt." You replied, kissing his cheek softly. "So stop overthinking. What matters is that your my number one where it actually matters."

Chan's ears flushed pink when you said those words, and he surrendered, opting to cuddle next to you on the couch as you turned on the TV.

"Alright..." He said as you clicked on a random drama. "But I'm still going to add some features on our next album. Just for you."

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Minho

"Y/N. You're a virgin."

You sputtered on your tea, getting it on to the pages of your book. "And?! What does that have to do with anything-" You asked as you turned around to see your boyfriend dangling your phone like it was contaminated.

Your Spotify Wrapped illuminated the screen.

"Minnie-" You reached to snatch your phone but he held it out of arms reach, his eyebrows raised in mock incredulity.

"What the hell are your top five songs Y/N?! CupcakKe?! Unironically?!" He looked at your screen. "Deepthroat...Its Hard to Say I Love You, parentheses, while you're sitting on my face...Slob On My Knob- and another CupcakKe song, Y/N are you trying to manifest something?! Because this is not the way!" He said in horror.

You gave up trying to reach for your phone and crossed your arms and huffed. "As my friend always says- celibacy either leads to being asexual or a freak. Its a closed way of thinking but can be rather true sometimes..." You muttered, turning away to hide the blush creeping up your face.

"I'm shocked." He said, looking through the songs again.

"Why? It's art."

"Art. Art? Stray Kids is art, kitten. Wanting to eat dick but not wanting to fuck up your nails so - and I quote - 'i pick it up with chopsticks' is not art. Thats basically audio porn."

"More like audio smut."

"More like absolutely fucking terrfying." He said looking at the rest of your wrapped in morbid curiosity. "Where do you even listen to this freakiness? At the gym? While cooking? In public?"

"Sometimes..." You said shrugging and deciding to own it. "Its empowering."

Minho dramatically handed your phone back to you, giving you the longest and hardest side eye ever. "Your a completley different person. I've never been more afraid of you in my entire life. And I've seen you drive."

You took your phone, his words giving you and idea.

A devious smirk lit up your face.

Minho watched you in curiosity as you set your phone down. "Baby..." You started to laugh, heading to the living room. "What are you plotting-" Your eyes zoned in on the Alexa and Minho's eyes widened as he replayed his words.

"Alexa-"

"Baby no-"

"Play Drive by Stray Kids"

"Jagiya no-"

"Now playing Drive, by Bangchan and Lee Know-"

"Alexa no! Stop don't play that!"

"-feel the heat inside. Baby, baby we gon' do this day and night-"

"Enjoy your own art, baby!" You said kissing, him which in habit he leaned into before yelling at Alexa frantically.

"Alexa! Stop! Cancel- Delete Y/N's existence!"

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Changbin

"So..ITZY is your number one?" Changbin asked you, an unreadable look on his face as he stared at your phone. "Then NewJeans, TWICE, Blackpink, and aespa?"

"Yes..."

"And Stray Kids didn't even make it to your top five?"

"Yes...?"

There was a moment of silence, and Changbin looked up at you.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and your mouth felt dry. "Are...are you mad?"

Changbin set your phone face down and stepped towards you. "Mad? Mad?" He asked, his voice slightly elevated.

You opened your mouth to say something- to apologize or ask him to not be too angry but instead you were shocked when he trapped you in a hug and lifted you; spinning you around in a tight hug.

"I'M ECSTATIC!" He said, setting you down, and almost vibrating from happy energy. "Why would I have reason to be upset?"

"Because you weren't on my top five. Since your my boyfriend I thought that would make you-"

He shook his head, placing his hand out and closing his eyes. "Its a sign." He said in a philsophical whimsy.

"...What?"

He opened his eyes looking into the distance romantically. Then extending his arms in a dramatic flourish he painted the picture.

"You like girl groups. Meaning you're clearly meant to be with me."

You looked at him in a confused wonder.

"Think about it. I'm the ultimate baby girl. ITZY was number one. Who is close to ITZY? Me, Seo Changbin, your boyfriend. Subconciously, your soul has been telling you I'm the one for you all along." He said looking at you with a cheeky grin.

That made you laugh, your nerves leaving you.

"Binnie I think that has to be the most unhinged logic I have ever heard!"

"But it makes sense. The music reminds you of me. The energy scream 'Changbin'." You could almost imagine the sparkles around his name. "Cute, charismatic, adorable. The visuals- the duality. Me. Changbin." He looked at you with an exaggerated smolder.

He pushed you onto the couch gently, attacking you with tickles.

"Bin- you're- riDICuLOUS-" You squealed, as his fingers flew around you.

"No I'm not!"

"DelusionAL-"

"Never!"

He strengthened his attack until you could barely breathe you were laughing so loud- wondering why you thought someone like Changbin would be upset at something so meaningless.

"Even if I was, you would love me nonetheless!" He stopped his tickles, he blew a rapsberry on your neck and peppered you face with a few kisses. "And you'd have to deal with it 'cause your stuck with me forever."

"Forever?" You asked, a radiant smile on your face as the last of your giggles died out.

"Yes forever." Changbin replied, plopping down on top of you, planting one last firm kiss on your lips. "ITZY said so."

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Hyunjin

"Beethoven? BEETHOVEN?"

Hyunjin looked at you, his jaw nearly on the floor. When he asked you who your most listened to artist of the year was, he wasn't expecting to hear a classical composer leave you lips.

"Yes. Beethoven. Followed by you guys."

"N-n-n-n-no. No. Nope, no. Nnnnnn...nono." Hyunjin said shaking his head. "Run that back."

"Beethoven then-"

"Y/N-ah." He said with a serious look. "You mean to tell me...Beethoven- an old dead guy - was favorite over the band your loving, hard-working ALIVE and BREATHING boyfriend is a part of?!" His eyes narrowed in disgust.

"Well if you put it like that-"

He flopped dramtically onto the couch. "How am I supposed to tell the guys you chose a decomposing man who sits there- uh...metaphorically- and collects streams; over your boyfriend and his bandmates who work day and night, through blood, sweat and tears." He throws his hand over his forehead. "Its such a disgrace."

"Hyunnie, I think that Beethoven would have words for you if he was here." You say through a chuckle.

"Well he may have words for me, but I have no words for you." He said huffing dramatically, zoning in on Kkami who was sleeping peacefully. Hyunjin stands and scoops him up, burying his face in the poor, startled dog's fur.

"I can't believe you and your dramatics." You say walking up to him and putting your hand on the top of his head.

"C'mon Kkami. It's just me and you now buddy. We're boycotting Y/N-ie."

You rolled your eyes, letting out a snort. "You're a drama king, Hyunjin." You said, your eyes trailing to Kkami who looked between you and Hyunjin in an unconcerned sleepiness.

"Y/N clearly doesn't love us anymore."

Kkami looked at Hyunjin, then looked at you and then back at Hyunjin, then cocked his head; almost as if he understood the absurdity of the situation.

"You're insufferable." You flicked your boyfriend's nose, and stole the dog from his arms. "Beethoven is my study music. It helps me focus."

"So you're saying we're distracting?" Hyunjin takes Kkami out of your arms. "Don't talk to me or my dog ever again." He flips his hair and buries his face once more in the small dogs fur, the later shooting a look that seemed like an SOS.

"You're being so extra." You sat on the couch, patting the spot Hyunjin occupied only a minute ago.

"Oh, am I?" He asked, lowering himself next to you, a playful pout on his lips. Kkami immediately rushing towards the far end to resume his nap.

"Unbearably so." You whispered against his lips. "And for the record, Beethoven doesn't make songs that make me want to cry like 'Cover Me' or songs I want to scream at the top of lungs like 'God's Menu'."

"You really like Cover Me that much?"

"Mm. Obviously."

"Fine, fine. I forgive you. But only because I'm way to pretty to hold grudges."

You roll your eyes, but can't help the smile that forms.

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Han

Han peered over your shoulder, his eyes widening as he looked at your Spotify Wrapped.

“Y/N... baby, angel, love of my life...this... this...is your Wrapped?” he asked, a mix of disbelief and amusement in his voice.

You glanced at him, not anticipating the reaction. “Yeah, it’s my Wrapped. What’s wrong with it?”

Han let out an exaggerated gasp.

"Jagiya...Taylor Swift? Olivia Rodrigo? Sabrina Carpenter?” He placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You’re telling me I’m dating someone who has these as their top artists?” He blinks at you.

You blinked at him back incredulously. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything!” Han said, his voice playful but slightly elevated. “I thought you were cooler than this, Y/N! You’re too good for this mainstream pop stuff. You deserve better! To think you've never experienced more than that bubble...my heart is breaking."

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his intense reaction. “I listen to your music as well! Besides...I like what I like? Why do you care so much?” You retorted.

“Because,” he said, suddenly serious, “I’m trying to help you, babe. Spotify Wrapped is like a doctor basically, it gives you a diagnosis. You’re... basic. Heartbreakingly basic. I'd be okay if you had at least one quirky artist but your last artist is Playboi Carti which knowing you, you played his music on repeat while you slept so your wrapped could seem at least a little cool."

You let your eyes land anywhere but him, knowing he clocked you on that one.

"I’m going to save you from this madness.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Am I really that boring?”

Han shook his head, his expression turning playful again. “No, no. Not boring, just undiscovered. You could be listening to something way cooler- something with depth! I’m dating someone who only listens to pop queens when you should be out here vibing to underground, avant-garde...I don’t know, maybe like, 90s rock or something? You seem like you could rock with that to be honest?”

“90s rock?” you echoed, trying not to burst out laughing.

“Yes! You need to broaden your horizons!” Han continued, clearly loving the moment. “I’m not mad that Stray Kids aren’t number one, I mean, that’s whatever, you literally can have a private show whenever you want. BUT I’m honestly a little teensy weensy upset I’m dating someone with such a copy and paste taste. Come on, babe! I expected better! Especially when you're dating a member of a band that has a wide range of talent. I mean you can literally ask me or any of the guys and you'd get a shit ton of different recs. You have an entire library of musical knowledge at your disposal. That's like having 100 flavors of icecream and choosing vanilla.”

You grinned, poking him lightly. “Okay, I get, I get it. But just so you know, you're still number one in my life, even if its not represented in my music choices."

Han’s eyes sparkled as he leaned in, ruffling your hair with a grin. “I’ll fix that, don’t worry. We’re going to go on a musical journey. I’m making you a new playlist. And I'll have the rest of the memebers make you playlists as well. You’re going to listen to some cool stuff, baby, and by next year’s Wrapped, you’ll be so hip that even I’ll be jealous.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” you said, laughing. “I kind of like my basic pop playlists.”

“Well, you will like my playlists,” Han said confidently, leaning back with a smug smile. “Trust me, love. I’ve got you covered. You’ll thank me later, once you realize just how much better music can be than the top 40."

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, alright, I’ll give it a shot. But only if you don’t judge me when I still go back to my pop queen playlist sometimes.”

“I’ll never judge you,” Han said, giving you a sweet smile. “I’m just here to help you reach your full potential as a music lover. Open your world up a bit. Change your life.”

You poked his side playfully. “You’re so dramatic, but I love you.”

“I know you do,” he said with a grin, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Now, get ready to say goodbye to those mainstream artists and hello to your new musical future.”

(<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>)

Felix

Felix is sprawled on the living room floor, legs stretched out in front of him as he pulls up your Spotify Wrapped on his phone. His excitement is palpable- eyes glowing, lips curved into a soft smile.

That is, until he starts scrolling.

“Baby,” he says slowly, his voice gentle but undeniably concerned. “Why is ‘Meow Meow Meow Meow’ your number one song this year?”

You blink at him from your spot on the couch. “Because it’s a bop?”

“A bop?” he echoes in a strained tone, as if the words physically pained him. He turns the phone to you, the incriminating title glowing on the screen. “It’s literally just someone meowing to 'What Was I Made For'. Why not just listen to the original version?”

“Actually it's AI.” you reply, in a matter of fact tone. “And because it’s genius. I love cats, and I love Billie. Win-win."

He tilts his head, blinking at you like you’ve just confessed to a crime. “Um...okay. Maybe Minh-hyung would like it, I guess? ‘Skibidi Toilet, Minion version’? Why is that number two?”

You shrug, trying to suppress a laugh. “It’s catchy.”

“Catchy?!” Felix’s mouth falls open as he sits up straighter, his freckled face a picture of disbelief. “Do you…do you listen to this unironically? Like...for your enjoyment rather than being funny?” His voice hold even more concern now, it wavering slightly.

“I guess you'll never know,” you reply smugly.

He groans, laying back down and holding your phone way above his face. “Let me guess, number three is-” He cuts himself off with a noise that’s somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. “Ten hours of washing machine noises?”

Now you’re laughing, tears forming in your eyes as he glares at you. “It’s calming!” you explain between giggles.

“And who’s number four?” He face morphing with increasing horror. “Laufey…cat version?”

You shrug again, biting your lip to stifle your amusement. “It’s Laufey but, you know…with meows. It’s cute!”

Felix places the phone face down on the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s fighting a migraine.

“And finally, number five. Let’s see which masterpiece you deemed worthy to round out this absolutely deranged top five.”

The moment he reads it, he freezes. His expression morphs into something unreadable- equal parts betrayal and comedic disbelief.

“KSI,” he mutters, his voice flat. He sits up slowly and releases a breath. “Behind… the washing machine and cat Laufey.” He releases his words with a click of his tongue.

You can’t hold it in anymore, bursting into uncontrollable laughter as he stares at you like you’ve just kicked his puppy.

“You’re number six, though!” you manage between gasps, tears streaming down your face. As you joined him on the floor.

Felix clasps his chest, like your words physically hurt him. “Six?! Y/N, I’ve cooked for you. I’ve baked brownies. I’ve stayed up late listening to you rant about coworkers! And I’m sixth place? Under meme songs? I mean your entire wrapped in a compilation of memes. I'm surprised Symphony didn't make it on there.”

“It’s not personal,” you tease, wiping your eyes. “It’s just Spotify.”

“Just Spotify?” he repeats incredulously, propping himself up on his elbows. “I sing you to sleep on facetime, Y/N. I text you good morning and good night every single day. And you’re telling me I lost to Skibidi Toilet?”

You crawl onto the floor next to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “It’s okay, Lix,” you coo, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Maybe next year you’ll beat the washing machine.”

“Oh, I’m beating it,” he mutters, determination flickering behind his eyes. He grabs his phone, pulling up his notes app. “I’m writing a song that will sound good with Cat AI. With a bridge. And a rap section. And violins. There will be no way you won't like it."

You double over with laughter, and Felix can’t help but grin despite himself, his pout softening. “You’re lucky I love you,” he mumbles, pulling you into his lap.

“You’re my most listened to, most loved, and most wanted in real life, Lixxie.” you assure him, smiling up at him sweetly.

Felix sighs, but leans to kiss your forehead anyway. “Yeah, well, I know that.”

"Then why do you look so down, hmm?"

"Because I'm concerned, I might need to find you a therapist."

(<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>)

Seungmin

You sat on Seungmin’s bed, tapping through your Spotify Wrapped with a satisfied grin.

Just how you thought it'd be. Predicatable, but represntative of how your musical year went.

You were minding your business, about to share your results to insta when Seungmin sat himself on the bed next to you, snatching the phone from your hands.

The moment he saw the screen, though, Seungmin let out a surprised huff.

"Ateez?" he said slowly, his voice tinged with amusement and a slight possessiveness. You knew how he was when you stanned other Kpop groups. You had been with him for a while, of course you knew. “Oh, I get it now. You’re one of those people."

You sat up and looked at him. "What do you mean one of those people?"

Seungmin shrugged. "Its okay, you can admit that you like bands that perform like they're auditioning for a Korean rendition of Magic Mike."

Your eyes widened, but before you could protest, he fell back on the bed, holding your phone up like a damning piece of evidence.

“Don’t even try to defend yourself, Y/N,” he continued, the smirk growing on his lips. “This Wrapped is telling me everything I need to know. It’s basically the modern-day Rorschach test you know; and what it’s screaming is that you’re letting your ovulation and hormonal spikes curate your playlists. I bet you’re one of those people who stream music videos on mute, too, aren’t you? Just vibing to the abs and body rolls in crop tops.” His eyebrows quirk in curiosity.

Your jaw dropped as you threw a pillow at him, but he dodged effortlessly, tossing your phone onto the bed carelessly.

He quickly got up, maneuvering himself so he was in front of you.

“Don’t act so scandalized.” He leaned closer, his dark eyes glinting with mischief, as you leaned back slightly. “You can admit it- you like watching them dance half-naked on stage, huh? I mean, who wouldn’t? Factually speaking they’re...talented.” he said, dragging the last word with exaggerated emphasis. “Really skilled performers. Without a doubt. But it’s cute. You’ve got a thing for guys showing a little skin. It’s very...telling.” He gave you a small, smirk.

You fell back on your elbows, your face warm from his teasing, but Seungmin wasn’t done. He shifted closer, hovering inches above you, the bed dipping under his weight as he planted one arm beside you, effectively caging you in. The other hand rested on your waist.

“But here’s the real question,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. “If you’re so into that, what are you doing here with me? Fully clothed, tragically modest... just a genius who writes incredible music and doesn’t need to flash his abs to be appealing. What a shame for you, huh?”

The corner of his lips twitched upward as he leaned even closer, the air between you charged. “Tell me, Y/N,” he whispered, his breathe tickling the shell of your ear. “Do I need to take my shirt off to compete with them? Or should I just show you what real...talent looks like? Would you like that?”

"I..." Your heart was nearly leaping out your chest, a warmth overcoming your body as Seungmin spoke. You couldn't deny how flustered you were.

"Listened to them for 1000 minutes? How 'bout I double that. You'd enjoy every second."

Your breath hitched, you, nearly caving in; but before you could respond, Seungmin nipped your ear lightly and sat back with a sly grin, leaving you flustered.

“Ah, I was right. Hormones. But don't worry,” he said lightly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. “I’ll forgive you for now. But only because I find it hilarious that my perfectly curated playlists are competing with your...uh,..primal needs?” He shot you a wink, his smugness on full display.

And just like that, he stood up, stretching leisurely as if he hadn’t just thrown you into emotional- and hormonal- chaos.

With that, he walked to the door, pausing to glance back with a knowing smirk. "If you ever get bored of half-naked performances let me know. I'm here, fully clothed yet still 10 times more attractive. I could teach you what good taste in music looks like. I’d hate for your Spotify Wrapped next year to be just as embarrassing.”

He winked again, blowing you a kiss, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you a flustered, blushing mess on his bed.

(<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>)

Jeongin

You handed your phone to Jeongin, proud of your Spotify Wrapped results. “Look! Stray Kids is my number one artist.”

Jeongin barely glanced at the screen before freezing mid-scroll. His eyes darted back up to meet yours, wide with disbelief. “Wait... what?”

“Stray Kids is my number one! My boyfriend is my most listened to artist!” you repeated, grinning like it was the best news he could hear all day.

But Jeongin, to your utter confusion, looked horrified.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head as he sat back on the couch. “This...this is all wrong. Utter sacrilege.”

“Sacrilege?” you echoed, frowning. “You’re in the group. Shouldn’t you be happy about this?”

“Y/N-ah.” Jeongin said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if he were physically in pain. “Do you not see what you’ve done? Look at your other top artists!” He gestured wildly to the screen. “It’s TROT. Literal legends of trot music. Song Ga In, Jang Yoon Jeong, and Na Hoon-a!”

“Yeah?” you said hesitantly, unsure of where this was going. “What about them?”

“What about them? What about them!?” Jeongin’s jaw dropped like you’d just said the sky was green. “They should be above us! Above me! Above Stray Kids! This is trot. TROT.” He pronounced it with the reverence of someone naming a sacred art form.

“But I like Stray Kids,” you said, laughing nervously.

“That’s not the point!” Jeongin stood up, pacing back and forth like a professor about to give a lecture. “Trot is timeless. It’s emotional. It’s pure, unfiltered storytelling in music. And you’re telling me you put us- a bunch of chaotic twenty-somethings who write songs about cheese and screaming—above the actual foundation of Korean music?” He stared at you as if you had 6 heads growing from you.

“It’s not like I ranked it!” you protested. “Spotify Wrapped did that for me! Blame them!”

Jeongin spun back to you, pointing an accusing finger. “Don’t blame Spotify. This is your fault Y/N-ah. You’re clearly not listening to enough trot if us noisy Gen Z - minus Channie-hyung he's like an old grandpa- beat out legends like Na Hoon-a. Do you even know how much soul that man has? How many hearts he’s broken with his voice?” He looked at you in complete seriousness. "Countless." His eyes shone with admiration.

You rolled your eyes, unable to contain your laughter now. “Innie, are you seriously upset that I listen to Stray Kids more than trot music?”

“Yes!” he declared with absolute conviction. Then, after a pause, he added, “Well...no. I mean, I love that you like our music, because that means you love me and my dream but...this is trot! It’s a different category entirely!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “I need to fix this.”

“Fix it? Jeongin I already listen to a lot of trot. You see it on my top artists.”

He nodded solemnly, sitting back down beside you and grabbing your phone. “But you don't listen to it enough. From now on, we’re having mandatory trot listening sessions. Every week. Twice a week, actually.”

“Twice a week?” you repeated incredulously.

“At least,” he said, scrolling through your Spotify, curating a new playlist on the spot. “You need to understand why this is a crime against music. Stray Kids shouldn’t even be in the same league as these legends. We’re fun, sure, but we don’t make people cry the way trot does. I mean, do you cry when you listen to ‘Thunderous’? No. But Jang Yoon Jeong’s ‘First Marriage’ could make a grown man bawl. I'm that grown man, Y/N. I'm that grown man." He said his voice dropping to a rueful whisper.

You couldn’t stop laughing as Jeongin grew more and more animated, his passion for trot completely overshadowing any pride he might’ve felt about his own group’s success.

Finally, he looked at you with a small, satisfied smile. “Don’t worry. By next year, I’ll make sure your Wrapped is perfect. Stray Kids can stay on the list, but trot will reign supreme. It’s the least I can do for your musical education.”

“And if I still prefer you guys?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Jeongin huffed, pretending to think for a moment. “Then I guess I’ll forgive you...eventually. But we’re playing trot at our wedding, okay?”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “Jeongin, are you seriously bashing your own group right now?”

“Yah, yah,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “They’ll understand. And if they don’t, they love me anyway. They literally wrote a whole song for me.” He smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You shook your head, still laughing. “Unreal.”

Jeongin grinned, adding a song to your new playlist.

“What’s unreal is how lucky you are to have a boyfriend who’s the best of both worlds- trot connoisseur and K-pop icon. You’re welcome.”

*edit*: but why is trot actually good...??? like i listened to it while writing this and...MYTRO...gonna stan when they debut frfr

(<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>)

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz

[fairestwriting]

Hello there! Love your writing! How about my sweet Savanaclaw boys finding out that their crush (or S/O) sleeps cuddling a plushie of their respective animals (like a wolf for Jack). Thanks! I love Jack so much :)

me while jumping at the opportunity of writing the man: i hate leona

Leona Kingscholar

He is canonically a very smart and perceptive guy. But somewhere in my heart I just know he wouldn't fully make the connection for a while. Just trust me on that one.

Kind of pokes fun at your "cat" plushie. What's with that thing, Herbivore? Aren't you a little too old for stuffed animals? Though he steps back if it makes you genuinely upset, which isn't what he's going for, he's just being an ass as a joke again. A part of him thinks it's really endearing, even before it really clicks for him.

He kind of feels vaguely jealous of the plushie. If you bring it while you two are sleeping together he'll pull the what do you need this thing for, I'm right here kind of shtick.

Confused on why you sleep with a plushie in the first place, more confused about why this stuffed cat looks so weird... oh, wait.

He's stupidly proud when it actually clicks. Of course he won't tell you it went over his head for the longest time, but all of a sudden, he's all smug whenever he sees you with the plushie, saying you could've just called if you missed him so much.!

Ruggie Bucchi

Takes a hot second to make the connection, but a lot less than Leona. The delay is mostly because he's never expected to see a hyena plushie of all things.

Actually loves it because it reminds him of the kids back home a little. He asks where you bought it, how much it was, tells you a little story about a kid he knew who wanted one just like that.

He won't explicitly ask to hold it but you should offer it, he loves your little buddy, he's already said you should come to him if you ever need to get a tear patched up. Doesn't even have it in him to make a joke about it being childish, at most tells you he'll keep it a secret if you look embarrassed.

When he does notice though, while poking at the plushie's little ears absentmindedly, he's the one who gets flustered. Oh no, that's really cute kind of realization.

He wants to sound cool when he says that, you know, if you want to sleep with him, you can just invite him over, but he does fail pretty hard. He can't help it, though, it's just way too endearing to him.

...Besides, he's already offered to co-parent the toy. If it doesn't have a name, it's just a matter of time before Ruggie asks and "jokingly" comes up with suggestions.

Jack Howl

Only one who thinks it might have to do something with him... but he's kind of too flustered to say anything about it for a good while.

He bashfully reassures you there's nothing wrong with keeping plushies around even if you're not a kid, maybe letting it slip that he thinks the little wolf is pretty cute... then pretending he didn't say anything.

Jack overthinks it a bit. Wolf plushies aren't that uncommon, right? You probably had it before you met him. He's too shy to ask if you had it before you met him.

He'll settle on... asking about the plushie itself. It might not have anything to do with him, but he knows pretty quickly that he wants it to. If you're not dating yet, he'll use the almighty excuse of asking about it because he needs to get his little siblings a gift.

Either way, though, the next excuse he gets, whether it's Christmas or your birthday or whatever, you find yourself with a very neatly wrapped box in your hands, and Jack nearly hiding behind it. Just saw it in a shop near home and thought you might like it, he says.

Whether your previous plushie was based on the exact same type of white wolf he is doesn't matter. If it is, it's getting a twin. You bet he scoured the shops to find it, blessing his luck on wolves being animals plenty of people love. He has a small, shy smile on his face when you take it.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

[luvendiary]

👁👁 I'm the anon that asked for a silent/non-talker reader fic with hiccup many many moons ago, but if you still write for him, could it be with a prompt where reader's still not much of a talker on some days but would like to still passionately communicate, therefore inventing a sort of sign language system with hiccup under gothi's supervision, and maybe put in a bit about how stoick knows of their relationship (i visited this hole of fondness in my brain again, forgive me)

a/n: dearest anon. I am so sorry for gettin back to you so late. I haven't been writing much lately, but your request helped me sort of rekindle my love for it. I've been spending way to much time on my phone instead of doing the things I like. I'll try to put out more writing. i'm sorry if the ending is a bit janky, im a little out of practice. also, i don't know much about asl, so i apologize for any mistakes. thank you for your request!

Sweetest of Melodies (pt. 2)

pt. 1

The sound of soft humming flooded the room. You were so focused on the soft lulling sound that came from your throat that you were unaware that the place had gone quiet. When you did, however, you found that all eyes were on you, making you retract your head into your shoulders as the signs of embarrassment appeared on your face. You silently reached out for Hiccup’s hand in order to seek some sort of comfort.

‘Sorry’, you wanted to say, but your words failed you at the moment. You had come a long way since allowing yourself to speak more freely in front of the riders. That didn’t mean that you were still totally comfortable with letting yourself be heard. Instead, you liked being able to hear yourself better; that’s what most of your words were meant for anyway. For you to hear them.

“You should sing more often,” Astrid said as if it was no big deal. You appreciated her nonchalant attitude, it made you feel less judged. You knew the riders didn’t have bad intentions, it was probably still a little strange to hear you make a sound, which prompted their current reaction. But years of overthinking made you jump to the worst possible scenario, even if you knew it wasn’t true.

In return you offered her a shy smile. Hiccup sensed your discomfort and did his best to steer the conversation away from you whilst giving your hand a small squeeze.

Later that night it occurred to him that whilst you were somewhat comfortable speaking to him, it was still a big step for you to accommodate to this while having been mute for years.

He was visibly stressed as he realized that some of your relationship’s problems might stem from that. You weren’t used to communicating with anyone. Anyone besides Gothi.

That’s how Hiccup found himself knocking at your front door one early morning. Gothi opened the door, as he knew she would and assuming that he was looking for you (like he often did), she quickly signaled to him that you had gone to collect some items you had run out of. 

“Actually. I’m here to see you”, he explained with a nervous smile.

Gothi seemed surprised for a brief moment before inviting him inside.

Awkwardly, Hiccup made his way inside and found a stool to sit on. He watches as Gothi -much like you did whenever he came to visit- occupied herself with making tea. 

Once the tea was on the table, and she had poured a cup for him as well as one for herself, she stared at him patiently.

He took that as his sign to talk, and set the cup down after having had a sip. “I need your help,” he stated rather obviously.

The small woman raised her eyebrow before signing your name in the form of a question. 

“Yes,” Hiccup confirmed. “I just-” he sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s come so far with speaking out more, and she’s doing great, but…I’ve just now realized that while she’s making all this effort, I don’t seem to be doing anything to understand her better.”

Gothi’s gaze softened.

“She tries so hard, all the time; to understand me, and help me understand her, I just feel as if it’s about time I did the same for her.”

Silence settled between them as Gothi took another sip of her tea before hopping off the stool she was sitting on and staggering off to one of her many shelves. 

“I guess, I was wondering if you could help me. Understand her better, I mean-”

 Not a second later a small book was slammed on the table. Hiccup jumped slightly, marveling at the frail woman’s strength. 

Upon further inspection he realized it was not a book but rather a journal. Littered with drawings of different hand signs and gestures and their respective meanings. Dust covered its pages, indicating how long it had been since someone opened it last.

Hiccup looked up at Gothi with admiration. “You made this?”

The woman shook her head and flicked back to the first page where your name had been scribbled down neatly. 

He chuckled as he stared down at the journal, “this is amazing.”

She nodded proudly. She had been the one to help you come up with this communication method, it had been your idea of course- but as the both of you developed it it made your bond grow stronger. She considered it to be hers as much as yours. 

Hiccup carefully tucked the journal away and stood up. Enthusiastically, he gave Gothi a quick kiss on the cheek and thanked her before bolting out of the house.

‘Good luck’, she signed as she watched the young man ride away on his dragon.

Hiccup was determined. His presence amongst the dragonriders had become sparse. When he wasn’t training or helping out in the forge, he was most likely practicing his signing skills. Even then, work seemed to come second to his newfound hobby. 

He found himself practicing with Toothless, as he signed him orders receiving a confused tilt of the dragon’s head in return. He stole moments in the forge, his hands mimicking the signs in between hammering metal; his usual rambling also appeared to be accompanied by matching signs. Even during dragon races, he would move his fingers in the air absentmindedly, his mind working through the motions while Astrid gave him odd glances.

You, on the other hand, had no idea what was going on. His absence was more palpable as the days went on. He still greeted you, still sent you small smiles and the occasional kiss when you crossed paths, but your moments together felt shorter. Less frequent. He always had somewhere to rush off to. Places to go, people to see, things he needed to do. 

At first, you didn’t think much of it—Hiccup was the chief’s son, after all. He had responsibilities. 

But as the days stretched into weeks, your nervousness grew. 

Had you done something wrong? Was he getting tired of having to put up with you? Maybe it was too much effort, too exhausting. Maybe he had realized that words were easier. Someone else would be easier…

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You tried to push the thought away, but doubt seemed to creep into every corner of your mind. 

You found yourself slipping into old habits. Speaking less often and keeping to yourself. You had stopped going to the forge to keep Hiccup company while he did his work.

Maybe he needed space.

Astrid had taken notice of this change, trying her best to include you in whatever plan the dragon riders were currently in the midst of. Whether it was a trip to a nearby island or just having lunch together near the cliffside.

One afternoon as you took residence in the Great Hall while grinding herbs, you felt a presence approach you. Hiccup strode in, and you quickly averted your gaze as you focused on the task at hand.

“Where have you been?” he asked lightheartedly as his arms snaked around your waist and he pulled you closer.

You smiled nervously and just shrugged your shoulders.

“My dad's been asking for you. You don’t come by the forge anymore,” he continued as he nestled his head on your shoulder, pressing your back to him. 

“Just busy,” you replied curtly.

He noticed how your hands seemed to accompany your words now. One of them laid flat, with your palm looking downwards whilst the other stood vertically and moved side to side in a repetitive motion.

‘Busy’.

He hadn’t noticed that before. But now that he thought about it, your hands were always moving. You had been talking to yourself all along, in silence.

“I need to tell you something,” he said then, as he took a step back. His arms leaving your waist. You immediately missed the contact.

Your mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. 

Hiccup's hands flexed and unflexed at his sides and his shoulders did that shaky thing they did whenever he had a lot on his mind.

‘Leaving,’ you signed to yourself as you placed down the pestle.

His face turned into that of confusion, as his right hand mimicked what yours had just done.  ‘Leave?’ 

“What? No,” he mumbled, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘I miss you’

Your mind had been too slow to realize what was happening. “What?”

 ‘I miss you’ he signed again. This time followed by an ‘i love you’.

Your breath caught in your throat as a gasp escaped your lips.

His movements were slightly jumbled, not as smooth as yours or Gothi’s were. But the message was there clear as day. He was talking to her, with no words.

You stared at him for a long moment before finally reaching out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his.

“I miss you too,” you replied. “So much.”

Hiccup grabbed your hand and pulled you in before sweeping you off your feet for a kiss.

“What did you mean ‘leave’?” he asked with a slight chuckle as he pressed a tender kiss to your neck.

Your face flushed, immediately embarrassed for your self-deprecating thoughts. You tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck but he moved his head to search for your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you thought I wanted to leave you,” he said, though the statement came out more as a question. 

“I’m sorry!” you said as you buried your head in his chest. “You just had been spending less time with me, and I thought you were getting tired of having to deal with me.” 

Hiccup pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “Hey, don’t say that,” he whispered. “I could never get tired of you. I just—I wanted to learn. I wanted to understand you the way you understand me.”

You smiled up at him, adoration clear on your face. You stepped back and raised your hand slightly. 

‘I love you too’.

[etherealily]

𝕏𝕆𝕏𝕆, 𝔽𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕩.

Felix Catton + fem!reader. Warnings : Cussing. Drugs. Long.

My other Felix fics, if you have the time.

this might be one of my favourite things i've written. hope you enjoy! happy v-day💌

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You don't want to fix him, but you do, anyway.

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Okay, okay, so he beat someone up on campus, so fucking what?

It's called being a good fucking person. Look, you do not let some utter chav get away with cat-calling a girl in the middle of the dining hall, and then a frat party, where she might have been roofied if she'd have been dumber (thank god she wasn't), and in a fucking library, just because she couldn't cause a scene. Three strikes and he was out.

But apparently, so was Felix.

"No, Sir, I'm telling you, he was--'

"Professor Walker."

Professor. Asshole. "Professor. I apologise. Professor, I'm telling you, he was being absolutely dodgy!"

"Mr. Catton, I'd advise you to stay calm--"

His fist slammed on the table, the pens on this useless waste of a PhD's desk bouncing, seemingly in tune with Felix's blood pressure. "YOU are a philosophy professor, yeah? Don't bloody talk about practical shite to me, and don't tell me what to do about what happens in the real world, when your whole career is telling people to overthink everything and keep their heads in the clouds!"

Uh, whoops.

His adrenaline shot down as fast as it had shot up and all of a sudden, he was acutely aware of his ranking in this shithole.

Student.

He's lucky he wasn't expelled.

Because the philosophy 'professor' said "young minds often reject new ideas".

Figures.

He got let off with a warning, an extremely disappointed voicemail from his mother (Felix, dear, you know philosophy was my major, that was a horrid joke to make), to sit in on one month's worth of philosophy lectures - surprisingly, without charge - and a mandatory weekly anger management session for the rest of the academic year.

That last bit was what he was most chagrined about.

He did not need a bloody shrink. GOD. He was fine. He just couldn't handle the philosophy 'professor' telling him to 'stay calm' when he was perfectly calm. Maybe he knew that would set him off. Any class with Felix in it is sure to get more listeners. So maybe it was this Professor Walker mooching off his campus-wide popularity.

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Having to miss classes wasn't exactly on your bucket list, but your body was far less used to Oxford winters than you'd expected, and so the flu decided to scrape a week off your lectures. You made up for it, though, being a swot on your first free week of Uni, and not needing to catch up on much.

However, there was definitely no chance your professor took too kindly to your absence, seeing as psychology was your major, and she expected you to be there, rain, hail or shine. Star student, you were not, but the only one taking it seriously, you were.

So here you were, sitting in front of her as she regarded you. "You need extra credit."

"Yes, Professor."

"Your career path?"

"Uh... undecided."

"Career focus?"

"Psychology.' That, you knew.

She hummed, shaking a packet of sugar before ripping the corner. You watched the tiny, crystalline cubes get engulfed by the brown of her coffee.

"You should try going into therapy."

For a moment, you almost chewed her head off.

"As a career.", she clarified, almost snorting as she saw your expression. "You interact well with people, and you have a good grasp on the subject." Ah. Say that properly, bitch.

"Here's what I'll do.", she declared, taking a large sip of her coffee - you were almost 90% sure she'd made it Irish earlier - before sliding a small, stapled pile of papers over to you. "I'll give you all the tools you'll need. See if you can get them memorized and come back for a solo quiz later this week. Then, you can begin conducting."

Conducting?

You skimmed your eyes over the stack of paper. Weekly mandatory anger management sessions. Split second, and you thought it was for you, because maybe she had heard you mentally call her a bitch.

"An extremely hardworking and well-scoring student recently got into an altercation on campus, on grounds.", she explained, and you nodded, your eyes not leaving the stack of paper.

'Conducted by' : blank. You supposed that's where you were supposed to sign.

"Although we have a strict policy against harrasment and conflict, none of the three parties involved has openly stated discrimination. The only solid thing the university has got is a confession from the initiator and witnesses from the side of the victim. But given his clean record so far, we have resorted to only this. Sessions to contain any such future outbursts."

Who even was this kid, and why was he your form of extra credit? "But I'd be using him as a lab rat, basically."

"Come again?"

"I'm not qualified or licensed to conduct these sessions, so I don't think--"

She waved you off, the bint. "It's a mere formality, no need to put stock into it. That's not to say you can slack off, half-arse it, either, but he's had no history of violence and is known to be a relatively good-tempered student."

Then why the fuck?

"We figure he can be let off easy - we'd never take sides, so this is off the record, but he was justified - and you can get extra credit, and the victim can be appeased. Quiet and a win-win-win."

The coffee now completely drained, she watched you think it over while staring blankly at the space in which you needed to sign your name. Inhaling deeply, she leaned over, gently prying it from you and flipping the page. "This bit, very important. Sort of like an NDA. No, maybe... an ANS. Agreement Not to Sue. But less official."

"This looks more like summat he should be signing. Basically, since I'm not a licensed therapist, if he doesn't get better, or gets more fucked, the Uni isn't to blame?"

"You need to sign it, too. You'll have to record the sessions, as well."

"So you know I'm not 'half-arsing' it?"

"So we know he's coming to them. But yeah. That too.", she smiled, tilting her head. "You in?"

Well, yeah, you kind of had to be, seeing as she cut marks for your absences out of sheer fucking spite.

You nodded and so did she. "Brilliant! Sign here."

Scrawling your sign - that you came up with in the eighth grade instead of fucking having fun like a kid - on the blank spots her manicured nail hovered over, you bit the inside of your cheek. Was it weird that they weren't telling you who it was?

Was it weird that the sheet had been blank when it was brought to you, meaning whoever this bloke was, he had no clue what was coming?

Uh huh. Yeah.

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"A student?! A first year fucking student? I'm getting a kid-shrink?"

"It's a mere formality. Given your record, we're sure you don't even require these sessions--"

"Professor! Come on! Can't we just say I took them?"

It's quite interesting how chill a philosophy professor can actually be once you get to know them personally. And Walker was cool, as Felix had come to find out in the past couple days of knowing him.

"Afraid not. But I'm sure she's been adequately trained by the psychology in-charge to handle these sessions."

"Why can't the in-charge do it? Would actually do summat!"

"She's busy."

He scoffed as he was handed a stapled stack of papers. "What's this, then?"

"Read it."

He did, for a while, before looking up at him with raised eyebrows. "What is this, a Liability Waiver for if she bollockses my mental health by accident?"

"More or less."

Sweet lord. "Oh, fantastic, so I'm a scapegoat, a trial for this first year, am I? See if counselling is her 'thing'?"

"You know, a more positive attitude towards this, and you might not have to go the whole year.'

"What, sayin' she'll give up?"

Walker looked almost amused, snorting. "No. I'm saying you might actually get a solution for your rage issues."

"I don't have--'

"You could learn a thing or two, Felix. Learn to calm your temper - no matter how non-existent you claim it to be - and learn how to be happier."

"Brilliant. A first year is going to teach me about the joys of non-reactivity, then? Brilliant. We'll see her keep her temper when a girl's being near groped in front of her, hm?"

"We'll need to have you sign there and there and twice on the last page, please."

"She got this before me?", he muttered, glaring at the signatures already present on the pages. "So she got to decide whether she wants to deal with me, not the other way around!? Unbelievable."

"Sign, please, Felix."

He grumbled under his breath, attempting to recall whether he'd ever even heard your name before, as he messily signed something that was probably not his signature, on each page. He has no clue what his signature is. He figured he'd sort it out when he takes over the family estate (or business), or whatever.

"None of these look the same."

"Well, this is hardly official is it? 'S long as my name's there, it's not a problem, yeah?"

"You're gonna give me a migraine before my first week as your student advisor.", he muttered, accepting the sheets back anyway. "Okay, good. Sessions start Saturday."

Fucking spectacular, now this girl was taking his weekends away.

WEEK 1

Your pen twirled between your fingers and the inside of your cheek practically split open with how frequently you'd been resorting to chewing on it lately.

You'd passed the solo quiz that your professor had set up for you, and she'd declared you 'adequately trained' to take these sessions.

Okay? And? What, were you supposed to jump in joy?

Late. This arsehole, 'Felix Catton' was his name. You just... try as you might, you couldn't place a face to the familiar name. And that face was almost ten minutes late.

But one thing you would not do is get up and leave until the hour was up. Work ethic. Wait till the last moment. With any luck, he wouldn't show up at all, and you could complain, and get extra credit some other way--

The door exploded open, and shuffling, throwing-off of a coat and grumbled-settling-down was heard, as you looked up from your notes.

"You're the first year, then?"

Oh, THIS GUY?! Whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, you remembered him!

You nodded. "Yes. Uh, just a second, Mr. Catton.", you muttered, angling the video camera right, ignoring the scoff it elicited from the junior.

"I'm two years older than you."

"What would you like me to call you?" That plug from the Christmas party who tried to overcharge me?

He watched you fiddling with the device for a bit before sitting up, one leg crossed over another as he huffed, playing with his rings. "Felix is fine."

"Felix it is, then.", you mumbled, finally getting the thing to work, before clearing your throat and sitting up. Here we go. "So, Felix.", you began, trying to smile off the awkwardness. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and--"

"Do you wanna know why I'm here in this bloody session?"

You glanced over to the camera for a second, feeling like you were in a fucking Office episode, before nodding, gesturing at him to continue. Fuck, if this shite went on the record and he said summat so unbelievably stupid you were at a loss for words, you could kiss your extra credit goodbye.

"I punched a lad. Hard, till his nose bled and he couldn't stand up without support."

You nodded, flicking through the file of information you'd received from some advisor of his, Professor Walker. Nice chap. "Yes, I see that. How does that make you feel? Did it make you feel powerful?"

"Mhm.", he hummed, nodding as he glared at you, a sort of smirk on his face, like he thought this would have you freaking out about his sadistic tendencies. It's funny he thought you cared.

"Happy?'

"Very."

"I see. But one thing that's conveniently missing from your file.", you replied, eyes flicking accusatorily to the camera before reaching his eyes once more. "Is why you did it.", you stated, your fingers intertwining as you looked at him with rapt attention.

This seemed to throw him for a loop, the self-satisfied grin fading for a moment.

"Why'd you want to know, sweetheart? So that you can record me confessing to the crime on tape?", he mused, gesturing at the camera before reclining back in his seat, his arms crossed. "Because I'm sorry to disappoint your wide-eyed, freshman dreams, but I've already said it, on the record."

You frowned, tilting your head softly for a moment. "No, I'm asking, because I truly don't know. They wouldn't give me your identity, let alone your case."

"Well, I hit a lad. For cat-calling a girl."

He observed your face almost twitch for a moment, and he figured you were about to throw the camera at him, but instead, you switched it off. "And they're punishing you for it?", you asked, leaning your forearms in front of him, basically whispering although the camera was off.

Huh. Whoa, maybe you were on his side.

"Yeah, isn't it mental?", he scoffed, leaning in, too. "I figured I should get some sort of medal, y'know? Maybe a commendation from the dean."

"I wouldn't go that far, but it's good, what you did.", you laughed, softly.

"Exactly!", he huffed, a genuine smile now on his face as he leaned back, rubbing his hands over his jaw. "Wow. I- sorry, love, but I didn't expect us to, like, agree."

"No, no, yeah, totally! I thought you were a hotheaded twat. I didn't expect...", you exclaimed, gesturing at him. "Reason."

"Right. Well, okay, great! Uh, phew, yeah?"

You nodded.

"So, yeah, this is cool. We'll just... you'll take care of it, won't ya? Thanks, you're a peach.", he grinned, standing up and not believing his bloody luck!

"Hey, hey, where are you going?"

Turning, he frowned. "Well, we agree. So you'll talk to your in-charge, and say I don't need it, yeah? Oh, oh, you want me to stay the hour so you can, like, log it in. Yeah, yeah, got it.", he mumbled, nodding eagerly.

"What? No." He was, uh... clearly not on the same page as you.

His smile faded slowly. "What?"

"We've got weeks left of this."

"Yeah, but. Wait, I thought you agreed with me."

"I do. It's bonkers to punish you, but, it's mandatory, so."

"'So'? So, go do summat about it, then!", he cried, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Tell 'em there's nothing to work on!"

"I'm not just going to--"

"WHY?!"

You almost flinched. God. Maybe he did have anger issues.

"WHAT'S IN IT FOR YOU?!"

Oh, oh-- uh oh. He didn't even know why you were doing it, and you were sure he'd blow five gaskets if he did.

"Just finish it, stop causing unecessary problems!"

"No, seriously! What's in it for you?"

"SIT DOWN!"

For some reason, that, he listened to.

He slumped down.

"Shut up and do what you were instructed to do." Lord knows where you'd got the balls to talk to a junior like that.

Reaching over to turn the camera back on, you began again. "What would you like me to call you?", you repeated.

"How about I call you something and we can workshop sm'n out for me later?", he grumbled under his breath.

"Sorry? You weren't audible. What was that?"

"Nothing. Felix."

"Felix.", you echoed, nodding. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and live an overall, controlled and more fulfilling life and have a more fruitful experience here at Oxford.", you read off the script, jaw clenched, mirroring his dirty look.

"Yes, I'm aware, thank you, freshie."

"I'd like it if you adressed me by my name. You already know it from the sign-up form for the sessions, but I am happy to repeat it if you wish.'

"Sign-up form?", he scoffed, looking directly at the camera. "Is that what they're calling it on the record?"

"That is what it is."

"Sweet Lord, it's a Liabil-- hey.", he grimaced, narrowing his eyes at you as you kneed him from under the table.

"Right. Y/N. Am I supposed to call you 'Doctor', too, freshie?"

"Just my name is fine."

He rolled his eyes, his hands fiddling with his rings. "Let's begin with your recount of the incident."

How many bloody times?! He was about to explode.

~~

You ended the session at exactly one hour, because you couldn't take this moron anymore, for fuck's sake.

He didn't object.

Shutting off the camera, you wordlessly packed up your things, stuffing them into your bag.

"Are they payin' ya?"

You snorted, zipping up your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. "No."

"Fuckin' snake."

"How am I a snake, Felix?", you sighed, tapping an impatient foot on the floor.

"Pretending you're on my side and that. Was that just to get information for the therapy part of it? Because that was a bitch move."

"What? No, I genuinely think it's odd that they're punishing you for something like this."

"Then why?! What could they possibly offer a fresher? They wouldn't increase your scholarship for shite this petty, so-- wait. EXTRA CREDIT?!", he gasped, standing up startlingly quick. "You're doin' this for a couple points of extra credit ?! WHAT?!"

"So what if I am?", you asked, schooling your face and your voice to be the picture of calm. "Either way, these sessions are mandated if you don't want this to escalate. It'll be over before you know it."

"EXTRA CREDIT?!", he practically shrieked, as he followed you out the door. "How bloody pathetic! You're going against what you know is right for extra bloody credit?! Just fucking study!"

"It'll be over before you know it, Felix."

"For the rest of the academic year, I have to come to you every Saturday and listen to you blabbering on about how to 'take deep breaths and count to ten'.", he scoffed, incredulously, easily overtaking you and obstructing your path in more ways than one.

"Doesn't always have to be a Saturday."

Oh, he was about to actually get anger issues.

"This pisses you off, too! Come on, admit it, fresher! You don't like this any more than I do!", he declared, crossing his arms defiantly.

You sort of liked pissing him off. Gave you much more to work with, sadistically. Reaching into your bag, you handed him the tiny blue journal you'd bought. "Here."

"What is this?"

"It's for noting down your feelings. You will have to fill at least one page every day and bring it back to me during our sessions."

He gaped incredulously at you as you shouldered past him. You're giving him homework?!

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WEEK 5

"You're not taking off your helmet?"

"No. Bothers you?"

You glanced at the camera for a second, before shaking your head, the corners of your lips turned down in feigned and exaggerated indifference. "No."

"Because I'll keep it on, mud and all. I fell on the way here."

"You fell?"

"Yeah. Helmet's now my coping mechanism. Calms me, y'know?" That made no bloody sense!

"So you're keeping it on."

'You wouldn't deny me my coping mechanism, would you, Y/N?"

You sucked on your teeth, shaking your head once more. Dirt on the desk, dirt on your laptop, dirt-- FUCK!

"No, it's alright."

He grinned slyly, nodding, before sliding the journal over to you. "I filled it."

"Entirely?" It's only Week 5, what the hell?

"Yes, actually. I'm an overachiever."

You raised a brow, taking it from him and placing it next to his file.

"So. How are we doing today?", you asked, once again intertwining your fingers and placing them on the desk as you leaned closer to the imbecile.

"You're not readin' it?"

Oh, please, like you had no clue what was in there. "No, actually, I've got to directly submit this to both your advisor and my in-charge."

"What?"

"Yeah, protocol. That's why I said to take it one week at a time so we can monitor progress, but it seems you're an 'overachiever' - your words, not mine."

"Can I have it back?" His tone was almost nervous, and you were now even more certain what he'd actually bloody written in there.

You almost smirked before you remembered the presence of the camera. "You want it back, Felix?"

"Yeah, I think I, uh, used a couple of profanities."

"That's alright, I'm sure they'll understand."

"Can I please have it back?"

You shrugged, holding it out for him to take, letting him tug on it for a moment before you released it from your grasp. "Would you like another one? Since you've filled this one?"

"I'll buy my own."

"Very well. I ask again, how are you doing today?"

He huffed, momentarily looking like he was actually prepared to answer honestly. "Great."

"Great.", you echoed, your pen twirling between your fingers. "And define 'great' to you."

"Not shite.", he said through gritted teeth.

"In more elaborate, less crude terms, please, Mr. Felix.'

"I am doing well today. Not bad.", he mumbled, playing with the buckle of the helmet he'd so adamantly kept on that was now seeming a bit too bloody tight. But he couldn't take it off. Not when it was clearly bothering you. "Nothing particularly terrible or triggering has occurred."

"And is that always the standard you measure your experiences on? 'Not bad'? If nothing 'terrible or triggering' has happened, it's a 'great' day?", you asked offhandedly, noting it down. 'Not shite'.

His eyes darted up to you. "What?"

"I said, is that always the stand--"

"No, I heard you. Just... isn't that what everyone does?"

"Do you think it is? Do you think it's what everyone does? Have any of your friends told you it is what they do?"

"What do you do?"

"Me?" Were you allowed to answer this? Is that against some therapist rule? You weren't sure, and you couldn't really ask your textbook right now, could you?

He nodded, mildly intrigued.

"Personally, for me to count a day as 'great', there should be an equal balance of absence of bad things and presence of good things."

"Well, then, I fell off my bike, but I did well on a test. Is that, in your books, a 'great' day?"

"Depends. Which do you weigh more? Is falling off a bike worse than getting a bad grade, or is getting a good grade better than staying upright on a bike?"

"Getting a good grade."

"Well, then, I suppose, there's your answer."

Huh. This was an odd perspective he's never exactly... heard before. Wait, no! This shite is not working, fuck off, fresher!

"Whatever."

"Whatever indeed.", you nodded. "You seem to have a better attitude this week, to the session." He did not. But it would piss him off if he thought that you thought this was working.

"I do not."

"Oh, well, then, pardon me, my mistake. So, tell me. Why do you think it is, that you're not particularly interested in these sessions?"

"Because I don't have anger issues. If a bloke catcalls a girl once, it's whatever - still bad - but whatever. Happens. But if he keeps doin' it, almost roofies her at a party and constantly tailing her, and then tryin' to score in a fucking library, just because she can't yell out at him, that's, like... creep behaviour!"

You nodded. "Yes, you mentioned this, in the first session, and also to your student advisor, it seems.", you replied, tapping the tip of your pen at the bit of the file that mirrored what he was saying.

"And you think that that's a therapy-worthy answer."

"Why do you not think you're going to get anything out of these sessions, Felix? Even without anger issues, per se, everyone could use some guidance in controlling their emotions and resolving conflict peacefully, wouldn't you agree?"

"No, I would not agree. I think that if you're being an absolute prick , then no amount of peaceful talking is going to do anything. You need to get physical. Teach a lesson."

"I see. And you know this works because...?"

"Because he's shut up, hasn't he?"

"Right, but maybe he's still doing it. Perhaps not to that particular girl, but how do you know for sure you've 'taught him a lesson'?"

"Because- well.", he muttered. Shut up, fresher! "He's not that daft! He wouldn't risk another beating!"

"If he's daft enough to do it three times even after she expressed disinterest, Felix, I'm sure he might be 'daft' enough to 'risk another beating'."

He tsked, taking off the bloody tight fucking helmet, and running his hands through his hair. You watched the brown spill through the gaps of his fingers, before your eyes came back to his face. "You're frustrated?"

"Yes, I'm frustrated."

"What do you usually do, when you're frustrated?"

"Certainly not sit in a room with a fresher and 'talk about it'!"

"Right, I suppose you don't.", you replied, smiling. "So what is it you do?"

"I dunno, smoke?"

"Smoke?", you asked, tilting your head, noting it down. "You smoke?"

"Yeah, I smoke. What, you going to turn this into a cancer-awareness session?"

"I'm simply trying to understand you, Felix."

"What is this, like a first date, you learn shite about me, and see if I'm worth anything in your eyes?", he scoffed.

"Would that make it easier to open up?"

"No! God! What high school did you go to? Idiot."

"Oh, so we are going with the first date thing?"

"No- I- you're so stupid! I don't actually care what high school you went to! It was rhetoric!"

His outburst, oddly, was not followed by a calm and infuriating retort, in fact, you just looked back at him, disappointed, it looked like. But that was impossible, because that would mean you gave a crap, which, you couldn't. You did this for extra credit like a fuckin' try-hard, right?

The silence almost devours him whole as he looks into your eyes - why were they so... he didn't even know, that look you were giving him just... freaked him out.

"Time's up. You can leave."

What?! No, no, no, he just got here.

"Already?"

He heard the video camera shut off. "Time flies when you're actually working with me, Felix, y'know?"

"Don't get used to it, I had a shit day.'

You chuckled softly, nodding. "I won't. Have a nice rest o' your weekend, Catton."

WEEK 10

"Hello again, Felix."

"Hi."

"You seem cheery today."

"Yes, actually. I went out last night. Downed a couple pints with the lads. It was fun."

"I'm glad you had fun."

He nodded, pursing his lips as he rocked back and forth, awkwardly.

"Yes, so. If you don't mind, I'd just like to go back to some things that were left unfinished in some of the previous sessions. Let's circle back to your mention of what you do when you're frustrated. Smoke. Anything else?"

He sighed, rubbing his temple as he looked up at you. 'No. Well, if you're talking about last night, uh, drink, yeah, sometimes, but never to change my mood or whatever."

"I see. So that's all you do, when frustrated?"

"Yeah. Smoke."

"How about this. Next time you feel frustrated, instead of picking up a pack of cigarettes, pick up a pen."

"What, write down my feelings like a thirteen year old girl?"

"No, draw. On paper, on a desk, on your hand, who cares? Draw."

"Draw?"

"Yeah. It's worked for me, and you seem to be responding slightly better when I give you real life examples of what's worked and not worked for me, so."

"What, the bike thing from Session 5?! Because I-- Oh, please, you're not that bloody smart! Anyone could've said that, doesn't mean I'm 'responding better' just because you said it worked for you, you're a fuckin' fresher, everything you read in your stupid little psych textbooks would work for you!", he snapped. He didn't even know what half of that meant. He just wanted to say something.

"See, it seems that this is more what you do when you're frustrated, Felix, per my observation. You're free to correct me if I'm wrong, but since our previous sessions, this sort of insulting defensiveness is what I feel you resort to."

"'M not defensive. I just think this is pointless."

"Yes, you've made that quite apparent."

"Well, then how about you just declare me fixed?"

"It's not about declaring you, alright, it's about finishing the minimum duration provided to us by the University."

"Fine."

Silence. "So. I ask again. Why not draw?"

"Fine, I'll draw."

"Alright. Thank you, Felix. Time's up."

"What?!"

"Just kidding. You've only been here five minutes. How about... and humour me here...", you muttered, reaching under the desk and groping around until you pull out two sketchbooks. "We draw right now?"

"What, and then you analyse how fucked I am in the head?"

"Or we just draw. We don't even have to talk.", you replied, handing him the sketchbook. God, this better work. You'd had to draw info from child psych books for this guy.

~~

It took barely five minutes for him to begin talking again.

"What are these pencils?"

"Don't ask me, they're all Oxford-provided."

"What a joke. You know, when I was a fresher, I didn't even let myself think of borrowing anything from Uni, I got all my own shite, and even if I lost it, I'd ask it to be sent over from home."

"Really?" Fucking rich boy cunt.

"Mhm.", he hummed, the scratches of his incessant scribbling almost grating in the silent room, but also comfortable, somehow, blending in with the smooth swish sounds of your own, lazy strokes. "Only the best. Can't afford mistakes, can I?"

Can't afford? You'd researched him enough to know that little existed of the sort for him.

"I suppose you can't."

"Y'know, I fucking lost my shite third week of freshman year. How about you?"

"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking." You were, in fact, not. Your assignments were all overdue by now, and you were having to pull all-nighters that bled steadily into mornings because of this new extra-credit task you'd taken on, and to top it all off, none of the other Professors seemed to care that the Uni was milking the two of you. Abusing your need to improve your grade - although you shouldn't fucking need it -and subjecting him to these sessions with none of his own volition.

"That's good to hear. How close are you to offing yourself, then?", he mused, raising a brow and licking the back of his molars as his eyes slowly reached yours. Fuck. He was onto you.

You tsked, reaching over and shutting off the camera. "You know I have better things to do than edit this to cut out your little quips, right? I really can't have you talking about offin' yourself."

"Oh, so you're also a drown-in-alcohol kind of person, I see."

What in the everloving fuck-- "God, get a fuckin' life, mate.", you muttered, reaching back up to switch the camera on after silently glaring and counting down from three.

"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking.", you repeated.

"Huh. Really?"

"Yes. Why, is your school year not going okay?"

"No, it's going spectacular. My parents pay for an afternoon to go off once a week for a useless fresher to tell their son to meditate."

You chose not to respond to that, instead pursing your lips and continuing to draw. A flower, it seemed, your hands wished to create.

"Why do you even need extra credit?"

"I was sick, and I missed a couple classes."

"Oh, and you flunked the tests?", he asked, reaching over to grab your pencil out of your hands and use the eraser on the back of it, before tossing it back to you. Prick, and if that smirk was any indication, smug prick.

"No, actually, I'd already finished a good chunk of the syllabus content my first couple weeks so I did fine in my tests."

"So why?"

He looked genuinely curious. So genuinely curious, that you actually felt like this was a first date and he was an annoyingly inquisitive romantic candidate.

"She just didn't like the absences." Plus, everyone else just took Psych to slack off.

"That's not fair."

"Yeah, well, you beat up a creep for a girl and they're punishing you, so."

His eyes flicked over to the camera momentarily. "That's on the record."

"It should be."

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

Normalcy is hard to achieve because it's never truly been attained.

Now, this kind of knowledge is only acquired when you take a philosophy class - like you - but since Felix was a PolSci-stuck-up-arsehole, it really didn't strike him that the life he'd lived before you had neither been normal nor happy.

Which is why when he found you and a couple of your friends hanging out by the lawn of a frat party, passing around a spliff, he just couldn't resist.

"Is this your coping mechanism, then?"

He reveled in the groan you replied with.

"Ladies, if you could excuse us?"

You rolled your eyes as all your mates nodded slyly before scrambling up. With hungry and suggestive looks at him and then you, they waved subtly. Spectacular. They already thought you were hooking up and now... fuck.

"Ah. I think we're gonna need that, if you will.", he called, winking as he grabbed the spliff from one of them, before settling down next to you. "See? I'm a celebrity. You should bring that up next time, see if you can't do anything with it."

"What?"

"Like, ask me about that. Incorporate it. 'How's it feel, Felix, being the life of the party, and the apple of everyone's eye?'"

"Incorp-- do you think this is a game? Like this is a play?!"

"Well, yeah. It's basicall--"

"GOD, you absolute prick! I'm here freakin' out about the syllabus, tests, and stayin' up to analyse and collate your bullshit and I have to submit it and study resources for it and--", you paused, catching your breath and glaring at him before taking a hit to calm your nerves. "And you think it's a story, like an improv session, where we add off each other.", you mumbled the last bit out.

"What are you, burnt-out from this shite?"

You didn't respond and he watched the smoke flow above the two of you. "God. You are. What sort of a freshman's burnt out by second term?"

"The kind that has to be a shrink to some anger-issued arsehole."

"Hey, c'mon, you-", he huffed, tilting his head at you. "You don't have to put too much effort into this, it's a formality."

"To you!", you yelled, sitting up in frustration, your elbow on your knee and your blunt in your fingers.

He sat up, too, sighing. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth."

"Worth nothing."

"Yeah, I can tell.", he muttered, hiding a scoff. "Gimme."

You rolled your eyes, but handed him the spliff nevertheless, which he grumbled as he took a drag of. Knees elevated to his chest, he exhaled the smoke. "This is good. Is it American?'

"How should I know?"

"You don't care what sort of weed you smoke? This actually is one of your coping methods?"

"For the love of-- lay off, man!"

"Whoa, whoa, it's a joke!"

"You're a joke!"

He almost laughed at that. Almost, because he'd had quite fucking enough of you. He didn't forget who he was just because you might have changed his perspective a little. He was still Felix motherfucking Catton, a motherfucking Upperclassman. And when he was a fresher, he had to treat his Upperclassmen with utmost respect- no, reverence - so he'll be damned if he's gonna let you sit here and call him a joke.

"Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up."

"Why?"

"NOW, FRESHER, NOW!" Okay, the startle in your body language made him feel the tiniest bit bad, but still, it was exactly what had been done to him, and he wasn't all whiny about it.

"Okay, okay, I'm up, I'm up!", you mumbled, straightening out your shirt. "What?"

He had no clue what he wanted you to stand up for.

"So. The reason I had you shoot up..."

Think, Felix! Think!

"...Is actually quite simple, really. I'm sure you've already guessed."

"You want to get my mind off it or summat."

Sure. "Good. You're smart. And how will I be doing that?"

You shrugged. "Take me on a joyride on your stupid bicycle or summat.", you grumbled.

Sure. Let's go with that. Better than Felix's idea of making you do jumping jacks, like his seniors had done to him.

"Wow, maybe shrinks really can read minds. And at least you have one of your own.", he replied, flicking your forehead as he shepherded you over to the exit of the party. Yeah, he didn't think through how far you'd have to walk before you actually reached his bike. Oh, well. Better for him.

"So.", he began, arms swinging exaggeratedly at his side. "Have you heard anything from your in-charge yet? Walker won't tell me anything."

You shook your head. "It's all the same. 'Received tapes. Good work. Keep going.' Like I'm bloody angling for a gold star."

"Well, you're angling for the college equivalent of a gold star, which is a smidge of extra credit."

Shrugging, you seemed to agree. It was a pleasant sort of... stoned sort of quiet for the rest of the walk until his bike came into view. "There it is."

"That's the bike you fell off of after you aced your test?"

"Yeah."

"How?", you scoffed, buckling up the little helmet he offered you "Thing looks brand new."

"What, you were expecting some post-war, ancient bike?", he snorted, clambering onto the seat.

"Yeah, I thought it'd be some rusty, squeaky, rickety thing. How's this supposed to work? Where do I sit?"

"On your own bike's seat.", he replied, gesturing to the rest of the bicycle lot.

"I don't have a bloody bicycle! I'm normal! I walk to classes!"

"How close is your dorm?!"

"Quite."

"Well...", he huffed, taking off his helmet. 'Well, okay, so, just... take one."

"Take one?"

"Like... a random one. Borrow an unlocked one."

"Steal, you mean."

"Semantics."

"I'm not stealing."

He groaned. He had way too much of a heart to punish you like his seniors did.

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

"Could you slow down?!"

He watched you grumble before you slowed down, allowing him to jog up next to you. "I'm going to hold onto the handlebar because I wouldn't put it past you to steal my bike and then ask me 'how did that make you feel?' in the next session."

You actually had to stop the bike to laugh for that one.

"Oh, she acts human.", he remarked, crossing his arms across his chest as he regarded you. "Alright, it's not... that funny."

But you just didn't stop laughing.

Well, until you started crying.

Maybe that weed was laced. Yeah, he was feelin' a bit off, himself. Shit.

"I mean, fuck, Felix, mate, you- you know I don't think you should be antagonized like this, yeah? You're... you, you're good, you- you helped a girl, and your anger issues are good!"

Okay, clearly the laced weed was hitting you both at the same time, somehow. Either it was causing him to mishear some sympathy from your end or causing you to express sympathy. Either way, somehow, you were both oddly on the same page.

"I don't have anger-bloody-issues.", he gritted out, tapping his fingers impatiently on the handlebar.

"No, mate, you do, but, like, they're good, you don't have to get all touchy about it. I like it, personally. Think it's good. You're stickin' it to the man and all that."

He scoffed as he shifted closer, flicking your - well, his - helmet back a bit. "You're on thin ice, 'mate'! I told you, I don't have anger iss--"

"You're yellin' at me right now!"

"I'm NOT--", he cut himself off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're pissin' me off."

"Everything pisses you off! That's why they're called anger issues!', you retorted, and he swore he was close to pushing you off the bike and seeing how many minutes of meditation you'd employ not to uppercut him.

"I don't need your shrink bullshit, and you can't do it anyway! I don't get how you're burnt out, y'know? You half-arse everything!"

He barely knew you outside of these sessions. He was straight up lying, but he wanted to prove that it wasn't that easy to keep your calm when provoked. Especially not by some smart aleck swot-freshman who thinks her psych major means she can read his mind and give him lip.

Ow ow, ow. Fuck. He needed to sit. down. The 'weed' was definitely about to make him pop a blood vessel, because did he just see three stars in the sky run down in front of him? No. Can't be, yeah?

"D'you think...?", you groaned, hastily removing the helmet. "D'you think there was summat in the punch?"

"Think it was the weed."

"Weed doesn't-- oh."

He nodded, gently steering the bicycle to the nearest bench, which was barely a hundred paces away, observing your feet elevated and the pedals rotating on their own as he tugged it along.

Grunting lowly as he sat, he held out a hand for you after you leant the bicycle against a nearby streetlamp. You slumped down next to him. "This is why I don't take Donna's weed, but she swore it was clean."

"Some friend she is."

"Hey."

"Oh, please, come on. She lies to you, gives you laced weed because, what, she thought she knew best on what would calm you down? That's not what a friend does."

"What does a friend do? Take you on bicycle rides across campus?"

"I mean, sure. Why not?", he asked, gesturing around. "It's fresh air, yeah? We had some talkin' happening, as well, sorted out our differences and that, yeah?"

You chuckled, softly, shaking (and lightly clutching) your head. "And what did we sort out?"

"That you're a bit of a cunt. And I'm a twat."

"Second one is accurate."

"That statement just proved the first one.", he retorted, before scoffing and breaking into a fit of breathy giggles. "Fuck."

You watched the world spin for a while, a dizzying amalgamation of shapes and stars and colours and suddenly you were aware of the clothes on your body, the wind in your hair, the saliva on your tongue, the beat of your heart.

And that's when you did it. You weren't sure what you expected or why you did it, but you just ended up kissing him like it was summat you were meant to do next, like a script. Like clockwork.

He, to say the least, was surpised it was you who initiated it. Honestly. He'd always been a very daft person when it came to... well, boundaries, for one. Sane actions, for the other. However, there was something less daft and more... crazed about this drug-induced haze you were clouded in that rendered his self-awareness moot.

And so he kissed back.

Ravenously.

This, it seemed, according to the faux marijuana, was all he ever fucking needed. Poof, no anger issues. And for you? Poof, no stress.

It was wrong, to say the least. Not due to anything besides the fact that there was no logical person who'd put you two together. He groaned softly, almost reverently, as he gripped a couple locks of your hair, a wordless direction for you to get your idiotic arse over here. And you did. The kiss didn't break. You guys should get an award for that impressive feat.

But the real award should be for your desperate, bruising grip to sobriety, the one that eventually led to you pulling yourself away from his lips, breathlessly.

"I know what you're doing."

He wasn't one for biting his lip, so he bit down on yours, instead. "Yeah? What's that, babe?", he asked, fiddling with the button of your jeans.

"You're tryin' to get off the hook of these sessions by claiming conflict of interest 'cause of this."

Oh, fuck, he hadn't even thought of that. Would've been so fuckin' smart, and plus, he'd have got a lay out of it. But he didn't exactly feel like giving a premature end to these sessions that he'd - never fucking admit - grown sort of fond of.

"Or maybe, I'm trying to get off, period.", he whispered, kissing at your cheek.

"Yeah, right."

"Trust issues much?", he murmured, his hand gently sliding into the front of your jeans. "Maybe next session, we should work on that, sweetheart."

Fuck.

════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ════════════════════════

No one ever tells you this - lest you experience some form of joy in life - but waking up to good smells rather than any form of sound is heaps better, calmer, lovelier.

And you woke up, not to the sound of your alarm, but to the smell of goddamn butter and toast. Like, fuck, okay. Damn. This is what life should feel like, then?

You groaned, almost ready to scream at how at peace you were, before getting out of bed, rubbing your face. You shot right back in, though. Right. You were starkers.

"Felix?!"

God, you hoped it was actually him and you hadn't had some sort of adventure after him last night.

He practically left skid marks, the way he rushed to the bedroom doorway. "Uh huh?"

"Where the fuck are my clothes?"

"Oh, I put them in the wash."

"Felix--"

"Just kidding. They're in that drawer, there." Across the room.

"Could you get them for me?"

He smirked. 'Yeah."

"'Yeah' as in you will, or 'yeah' as in you could, but you won't?"

His smirk dissolved into an almost fond simper. "You know me so well."

"I'm not walkin' out naked."

"See, what is it with you girls, gosh! As if I didn't see everything last night, now you're suddenly all coy?", he teased, yanking the drawer open and tossing you your clothes, rolling his eyes before turning around so you could change. "Last night count as a breach of, uh, what is it...?"

"Not breach. But Conflict of Interest. Yeah. So, I'm guessing you're free, now. No more sessions."

"Mm. Shame, that. I had some really interesting things written in there.", he replied, pointing to a blue notebook on the bedside table.

"Like what?"

"Like... me realising I'm falling in love with you.", he whispered, softly, hand on his heart. He paused long enough for you to begin to question whether this was dedication to his joke or an actual, sincere fuckin' confession.

"Fuck! Wow! Gullible much? I'm joking, obviously! What, you think I'd have some, like, ten lines written every day, like 'Oh, my love, oh, my love, XOXO, Felix!', or summat?"

"Well, I don't bloody know! Your'e scarily good at the poker face, y'know?"

"Why, thank you, thank you very much.", he preened, tipping an invisible hat in your direction.

"Makin' French Toast. You vegetarian? Or vegan? Nah, I don't care, you're eatin' this."

Groaning, you got up, took his offer of an unused toothbrush, and let him escort you to the bathroom. "These rich-kid-dorm-suites, I swear--"

"Jealous much?"

"I swear to fucking god, you better stop saying 'much' after everything and thinkin' it's funny!"

"Anger issues much?"

"Arsehole much?!"

He giggled, waving at you before scrambling over to the kitchen to make sure his French toast was stil intact. Not before he grabbed your imaginary 'flipping-off' from the air and brought it to his heart, as if you'd blown him a kiss, instead.

Fucking hell. You had to now spend a. money, on Ibuprofen, b. time on coming up with an explanation as to how this happened and why you still deserve that extra credit, and c. energy on having to deal with this Felix Catton guy who you'd apparently come to be relatively fond of.

Spitting out your paste and gargling the remnants out, you walked out of the bedroom to the kitchen, where Felix had laid out the toast on crappy paper plates. "Left over from a party, figured I'd use 'em."

"Thanks.", you nodded, sitting down and biting a bit off one. "It's good."

"Thanks.", he parroted, dropping the last onto his plate before turning off the stove and sitting opposite you. "So, it just violates it all? Just 'cause we shagged, you can't 'fix me' anymore?", he asked, gulping down a sip of orange juice.

"Yeah, summat like that. I might, like, be more inclined to let you off the hook or whatever."

"Mm. What about your extra credit, then? Why don't you just act like this never happened?"

"Couldn't. In good conscience."

"But then you'll be extremely stressed. Might go back to Donna and her laced weed.", he pointed out, taking a bite. "Over the summer, you'll have to catch up on your missing assignments, yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuck. Oh, yeah, I do.", you whined, your forehead on the heel of your palm.

"Come to Saltburn, then."

"What?" What was he talking about?

"My family estate. Come to Saltburn. It's a change of scenery, and it works wonders, I swear. You'll finish everything by first week of summer vacation, and the next month or so, it's all just you-time."

"Why would I come to Saltburn?"

"I just told you."

You sighed. Logically, yes, it did make sense for a change of view. But. You didn't exactly want to get dragged into whatever a normal day for Felix Catton (and Farleigh Start - his cousin, apparently!) looked like.

"It's full of old shite, though, like, ancient stuff. Cobwebs, dusty, grimy, stuffy-- hey! Stuffy and boring. You'll fit right in.", he grinned cheekily, winking as he continued to chew.

Well, fuck.

"Suspicious much?"

'Much'. You were going to strangle this guy in his own mansion, you're sure.

"Seriously, think about it, just us, ice-cream, the sea, summer. Who knows, you could go in a loser and come out with a boyfriend. Moi."

"Oh, please.", you snickered, and he followed suit.

"I just might tell you what's in that diary. XOXO, Felix, yeah, but what'd I write before it? A confession of my love? A death threat? A riddle? Poetry? Secrets?", he mused, waggling his fingers as if to spook you. "Ooh."

You scoffed, shaking your head in amusement as you took a sip of the orange juice.

"Come on. Come to Saltburn. Worth your while, I promise."

Well, fuck.

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Hiii for your 500 follower event can I request number 4 that sounds like so much fun and delicious 🤭

And congratulations on 500 followers love! Here’s to many more! 💙

Hi, beautiful Cait!! Tysm, baby 💜 I really wanted to write number 4 cause I love Ghost so much, I'm glad you are the one who asked for it 😊

4. His hands moving lower during pottery night

Prompt list— open

Word count: 914

Warnings: smut

Alexa, play Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers

It started with something dumb your friend said over lunch one day.

“You’re totally disconnected from your feminine energy. You should do something creative. Sensual. Artistic”

You laughed at the time, but the words stuck. They hung in the air later that night while you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she was right.

When you told Hyunjin a few days later, he blinked once, then gave you that crooked little silly smile you knew meant he was trying not to laugh, “Feminine energy? What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. Flow, softness, intuition…. being in tune with yourself”. You waved your hand vaguely, cheeks warming, “Whatever. She said maybe I should try working with my hands”

He hummed with a teasing smirk in his lips, “I have a few ideas”

“Don’t”

He held up both palms in surrender, “What about pottery, then?”

You expected him to brush it off, but a few days later, he picked you up in the afternoon with a secret smile on his face, “You said you wanted to get in touch with your inner goddess. Come on”

The studio was cozy and quiet, and smelled like wet clay and damp wood.

You didn’t know Hyunjin came here but it made sense.

He guided you in with a soft hand at your back, setting you up in front of the wheel, rolling up his sleeves to show you how to press your foot down to start the spin, how to wedge the clay, how to center it with both hands.

You were terrible at it. Sloppy, tense, too focused. He watched, amused, as your mound of clay collapsed for the third time.

“You’re holding your breath, babe”, he murmured, “Relax”

“I am relaxed”

“You’re not. You’re overthinking it”, he stepped closer, lowering his voice, “Let me help”

When he sat down with his legs framing yours, something in you shifted. It wasn’t just the warmth of him at your back, it was the way he settled against you like he belonged there.

He guided your hands, but his slow, confident touch said more. He wasn’t rushing through the motions, he was inviting you to feel— to soften.

His palms wrapped over yours, grounding you. His breath moved with yours, chest to your back, syncing without effort.

And for a moment, it wasn’t about the clay at all.

You felt his hands slip from your fingers to your forearms, then to your sides, dragging heat and clay along with his touch. Your body tensed at first, but soon began to melt under his touch. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until you exhaled as relaxation hit you.

Then one of his hands slipped lower. Just a little bit, just enough to make you crumble completely.

Your mind said your clothes were gonna be ruined, that it was going to be messy, that you should've stopped him. But your body didn’t want that.

Your body, usually overworked, over scheduled, over everything, softened under the tenderness of his care. You leaned back instinctively, craving more of his warmth, more of his magical touch.

He responded in kind, lips brushing your neck, sending a shiver through your spine.

“I think I’m getting it now”, you whispered.

He hummed, proud of the result, “Yes, baby. You are doing great"

The wheel spun on forgotten beside you as he kissed just below your ear, then your jaw. You felt your stomach twist and your thighs instinctively pressing closer together. A different kind of magnetic energy.

He shifted you gently, laying your back on the studio old mat. Your hands were smudged with clay, but you couldn't care less.

When he knelt between your thighs, it was completely unhurried. His gaze held yours, and it felt like he was peeling you open without touching a single piece of clothing yet.

And when he did touch you, it was slow, reverent. His fingers moved up your thighs and pulled you open in a quiet authority, and when his mouth met you— you gasped.

It wasn’t just physical. It was deeper than that.

He sucked you like he meant it. Like he was trying to bring something back to life inside you. The part of you that had been dormant, hidden beneath layers of self consciousness and responsibility.

You were dizzy with his tongue— it moved patiently, precisely. And the way his hands held your hips like they were made of fragile ceramic, it made you feel like you owned the whole damn world. Like beneath all the pleasure he was giving to you, it also had a kind of devotion that you weren't used to— but you were loving every second of it.

This was the ‘you’ that had been waiting. The version that felt, that softened, that opened without thinking too much.

He murmured into your skin, “Let me adore you. I’ve got you baby. Just feel, nothing else”.

You cried out, thighs trembling as tension built low in your belly, and when you came, your back arched and it felt like release and rebirth all at once— like you found yourself again beneath his hands

Afterward, he stayed there. Kissing your inner thighs, caressing your waist, looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

“You’re one hell of an artist”, you panted, still breathless

“You are a fucking masterpiece”, he said, “I didnt have to do anything”.

Maybe your friend was right. Or maybe your feminine energy had never left you— maybe it had just been waiting for someone who touched like this.

taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep , @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127 , @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

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[allllium]

Comfort

~ Some Sappy Jason Todd x Reader

~ Playing with Jason's Hair

~ Fluff, a little overthinking, WC: 981

- You play with Jason's Hair -

You are usually very good at understanding things about your boyfriend, Jason. It took you no time at all to find about his nightly activities and everything about his family. But on the other hand, you can't seem to understand him at all.

You've tried not to ask him about certain things because based on hints from his family, he's had some bad shit happen in his life.

However, the more questions you don't ask, the more that seem to pop up.

You haven't asked him why sometimes he flinches away when you touch him but other times he leans in.

You haven't asked him why his hands make fists when you're trying to sleep at night.

You haven't asked him about the scar along his chest or his aversion to certain foods.

All because you're too scared to make him uncomfortable, or maybe because you don't know if you could stomach it.

You're laying bed and waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. Somehow, you take less time getting ready for bed than he does. You suspect it's because he needs a couple minutes to process everything that happened during the day.

As usual you have a million thoughts running through you're head all at the same time. 99% of them are about him.

When he finally comes into your shared bedroom and gets comfortable in bed, you're debating whether or not to talk to him about some of the things you can't get out of your mind.

You decide against it. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable or bring up any bad memories that might affect his ability to sleep through the night.

He can obviously sense your unease, you don't hide it very well.

"What's wrong?" His raspy voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Nothing, sweetheart." You try to play it off.

"Uh huh." He says blankly.

"I'm just thinking about things, is that a crime?"

"Depends on what they are." He pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms around you.

"Nothing bad."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"If someone's bothering you, you should tell me."

"Why is that?"

"Well I have an ability of getting rid of people."

"Oh my God Jason you can't joke about that." You look at him in amused shock.

"Who says it's a joke?" He asks, face completely serious.

"Okay no killing people on my behalf." You chuckle and he copies. "I'm just trying to figure you out more."

"Why?"

"Cuz I want to know more about you?"

"Like what"

"Right now I want to know what you want." You pull away from him in order to sit up a little bit.

"I don't want anything at the moment."

"Yes you do. If you didn't want anything your fists wouldn't be clenched and your eyes wouldn't have that look. Like you want to say something but can't."

"You really want to know?" He asks.

"Yeah I really do." You immediately reply.

"A couple months ago while we were watching a movie on the couch, you played with my hair and it was very comforting. And the best sleep I've ever had."

"That's it? I've been driving myself crazy trying to think of explanations and you're telling me you just want me to play with your hair." You question him in disbelief. It's been months of overthinking thoughts and random mind rampages for something you haven't even noticed you were doing.

"I didn't know how to say it." He shrugs, not looking into your eyes. "It sounds childish."

"No it doesn't. Everyone has different ideas of perfect comfort and I happen to agree with yours. Jason, if you want something from me all you have to do is ask."

You lean over to give him a quick, sweet kiss.

"I'm not used to that."

"Well you better get started."

"Fine, would you play with hair so I can go to sleep, Angel?"

"Only because you asked so nicely."

It takes a second for you both to get rearranged so it's comfortable. You're now laying on your back with Jason half on his side, half on top of you with his head on your chest.

It's almost amusing how quickly he falls asleep but above all else you feel a sense of pride at the fact that you're the one giving him this feeling.

He said this was comforting. He said this was the best sleep he's ever had.

And you're the reason he's having these things.

You stay up longer than you probably should have. This time the thoughts running through your head aren't worrying or overwhelming.

They make you happy. Happy enough to fall into a very sound sleep.

You wake up to coffee on your nightstand and a missing Jason.

"Jason." You call out and he quickly comes running.

When he walks in the room, you immediately begin questioning him.

"What is this?" You ask with an ounce of suspicion. You're worried it's a repayment of some sort.

"It's coffee. A hot caffeinated drink."

"Why?"

"Because you like it and it makes you irritable for far less time in the morning."

"Jason you don't have to do things for me just because I did something for you."

"Yes I do. Because words won't let me explain how grateful I am for you."

"Since when are you so sappy?"

He sits on the bed next to you.

"Don't be mean to me right now, I'll take it away."

"Fine. Continue your speech."

"I know it's a small thing for you but I haven't felt comfort like you give me in a very long time. Maybe even ever. And I need you to know that."

"I can't tell you how happy I am to give that to you."

The next thing you know, you both have giant grins on your faces and you're both happier than ever before.

[itsnesss]

𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 | oliver bearman × fem!reader

summary | you and oliver are university study buddies. one late night in the library, he helps you with physics, flirts a little, and asks you out if you pass your exam

warnings | fluff, soft, flirting, mild academic stress

word count | 0.6 k

🖇️ more ob87 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The library smells like cheap coffee and old books, and your brain feels like it’s melting from quantum physics.

You rub your eyes and sigh, debating whether you should just pack up and accept failure. But just as your hand moves to close your laptop, someone drops into the seat across from you.

"Here again? Late as always," says that now-familiar voice.

You look up. Oliver Bearman. The Formula 1 driver who, for reasons still unknown to you, decided to take a semester off and study here. The same guy who’s somehow become your unofficial study buddy these past few weeks.

"I'm trying to make sense of this," you mumble, motioning toward your screen. "But I think my brain shut down about thirty minutes ago."

Oliver smiles, and there it is—that soft, charming smile that makes your chest feel a little lighter.

"Let me take a look."

He leans in close, hoodie wrinkled, hair a little messy, and his scent—clean laundry and something warm—wraps around you like a blanket. His eyes scan your laptop screen while you forget how to breathe.

"I think you're overthinking it," he says, flipping his notebook around to sketch a diagram. "Look, if you imagine the quantum states like a superposition..."

He explains things slowly, carefully, his hands moving as he speaks. You try to focus on the actual content, but his voice at this late hour has a way of making everything feel softer, slower... safer.

"Does it make more sense now?" he asks, turning back to you.

You nod, not entirely sure if it’s the physics you understood or just the way he looked at you.

"Yeah... thanks. How do you get it so easily?"

He shrugs. "I guess years of analyzing telemetry and engine data paid off somehow."

You laugh softly, and he joins in, the sound echoing gently in the quiet library.

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s peaceful. The kind that only happens when you’re with someone you genuinely enjoy.

"Want a coffee?" he asks, standing up. "My treat."

"I’d love one," you say, offering him a tired smile.

Minutes later, you’re walking down the empty campus hallway, you hugging your coat tightly, and him with his hands buried in his pockets.

"You know," he says after a beat, "I didn’t think I’d end up spending my nights studying with someone who makes me wish exams lasted a little longer."

You stop in your tracks, looking at him. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly flustered.

"That sounded less weird in my head."

"It wasn’t weird," you say, cheeks warm. "It was… sweet."

He looks surprised, then grins. That grin could light up the whole hallway.

"Then maybe," he says slowly, "if you pass this exam… we could go out. Like, out out. Not just library dates."

Your heart skips. But you manage to keep your cool.

"And if I don’t?"

"I’ll help you study until you do," he says without hesitation.

You finally reach the coffee machine, but neither of you move to start it yet.

"Alright," you reply. "Deal."

As the machine hums to life, filling the cups, his fingers brush against yours, and it’s such a subtle touch, but it sends a soft spark through you.

You don’t need to understand quantum physics to know that something real is happening between you two.

[laura1633]

I'm in work and I am bored so here are 750 words about Lestappen and lingerie.

“Surprise,” Max is just about to swoop Charles up in his arms when he notices that the Monegasque looks less than pleased to see him. 

In fact Charles looks panicked, eyes wide like some startled deer who is staring down a predator. There is no flight or fight response though - just the look of someone accepting his fate. 

“You’re not meant to be home until tomorrow,” Charles tries to smile but his expression is too tight. It’s not the welcome home Max was hoping for. He’d assumed that getting back early would earn him some brownie points. Or to put it rather more bluntly, a blow job. Right now Charles looks like he is more likely to jump out of a window than drop to his knees. 

“You haven’t got someone stashed away have you?” Max asks as he pretends to peer under the bed, “You look terrified.” 

“No I - ”

Max sees Charles’ neck contract as he swallows. There’s a redness to his cheeks. He’s not just panicked, he’s embarrassed. It’s only when Charles moves to hide his hands behind his back that Max realises what has gotten Charles so worked up.

And, oh - 

“I didn’t mean for you to see,” Charles tries to stuff the panties into his pocket but there’s a hint of red peeking out that continues to hold Max’s gaze, “Can you pretend you didn’t see them?”

“I could,” Max tires to divert his attention away from the flash of red, “But I - , Charles, it is not - , you don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

Charles is chewing at his bottom lip in the same way he always does when he’s overthinking things, teeth pressing down into flesh. 

“It’s not what you think,” Charles mutters as he tries to tuck the last of the lace out of sight into the depths of his pocket. 

“I kinda hope it is,” Max laughs faintly. A reality where Charles is too embarrassed to share this side of himself is upsetting. A reality where Charles is buying sexy lingerie for a woman is - well it's Max’s worst nightmare actually, a reality where he isn’t enough. 

“Sorry,” Charles tries again to smile, his lips curling up ever so slightly at the sides as he tries to soften his expression.

“Can I see them?” Max takes a few tentative steps forward and reaches into Charles’ pocket.  The movement cautious, like it would be if he were approaching some injured animal that is hardwired to flee. Charles doesn’t move other than to flinch as Max takes the garment into his hands. 

The Dutchman runs the red fabric through his fingers, circling and tracing around the delicate patterns, all the while acutely aware of how Charles is watching his every move. 

 “They’re pretty Charles,” Max hums as he circles an arm around Charles’ waist and pulls him closer. 

“You really like them?” Charles’ eyelashes are fluttering as he looks back at Max. He really is beautiful, Max has always thought that, even long before they got together. Charles could wear anything and Max would be licking his lips and salivating at the sight. 

And the idea of Charles in red lace lingerie - , well Max is only human. 

“I love them,” Max soothes, his breath tickling against Charles’ skin as he peppers kisses up and over his boyfriend’s jaw, “You want to put them on for me?”

Maybe Max should approach this with more tact. Maybe he should ask why Charles felt the need to hide this side of himself. Maybe he should do a lot of things but all he can think about is getting Charles into the lingerie so he can rip it off again with his teeth.

Except Charles is still tense, still has his brows pinched tight together in a look of concern. 

“I shouldn’t have bought them,” Charles mumbles quietly, “I just - , It’s not - It was just a fantasy.” 

“Charles,” Max chuckles, “I think it might be my new fantasy too. I don’t know what you’ve heard but the idea of having a beautiful guy laid out in red panties is insanely hot.” 

“I know it is,” Charles is fidgeting, his cheeks awash with a rosy glow, “Max I - , having a beautiful guy laid out in front of me in lingerie is my fantasy.”

“In front of y - “ Max stops mid sentence.

“You weren’t meant to see them, ” Charles admits, “But I - I bought them because I thought you would look pretty in them. My fantasy is you wearing them for me.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello Miss Raven!!! I need a bit of help... And maybe you could help? Perhaps?

I've noticed that in the English translation, they gave Leona this sort of... speech pattern? Style? Idk how to call it, but basically that thing where in his text they tend to replace the words ending with -ing to just -in'. But he doesn't do it in every word I've noticed.. In most, yes, but not all of them. And sometimes they make him say 'n instead of and and such. And a lot of wanna / gonna / gotta instead of writing the full thing. (And sometimes I think I've seen him use "ya" instead of "you", but that one's a bit less common on him from what I can remember)

I think this is a very interesting bit of characterization and I really like it! However, I struggle to implement it whenever I write him in English, since it's not my first language. I find it really hard because I never know when it's too much and when it's an acceptable amount... I never know when to replace the ing → in' while not making it too exaggerated 🥲🥲 I can't manage to make it feel, idk, natural? So I tend to prefer to ignore that aspect of his "speech style" entirely in fear of making him sound weird... Which is a shame, because once again, I think it's a very interesting detail, but I just never seem to get it quite right.

So, I wanted to ask... Since I think your interpretation of him (how you write him in general) is very good, and since I think you're a native english speaker too lol, is there any easy what to remember when to apply such "mannerisms" when writing him or similar characters? Or am I overthinking too much and should I just put it wherever I think it fits nicely? Or do I just put it in all the words ending with -ing with little exceptions?? 😭 I know that this type of written speech is used to represent how someone Says those words, like... spoken. But since I'm not surrounded by people who speak the language, I can't really go about it in that way either 😭 (as in "oh, I'll just listen to people around me and figure it out in that way!")

Okay, so 💦 I want to take a second to remind people (both Anon and my general audience) that I'm NOT open to telling people how to write. Asking for general advice ("how do I get over writer's block", "how do I get inspired", etc.) or about my own experiences is fine, but I'm not comfortable telling others how to write specific Twst characters, OCs, or what to do with their own art. So just know what whatever advice I provide in this post WON'T be me telling you to do X, Y, or Z to arrive at the "correct" answer. At the end of the day, it's only my own interpretation, and to pass around my interpretation as though it is gospel or the "most canon" would be incorrect to say. I understand that some may hold me, my takes, or my writing in high regard, and therefore view me as some kind of fandom authority or someone whose opinion holds a lot of weight. However, I've repeatedly stressed that this makes me uncomfortable and I want to discourage this behavior as much as I can.

Now then, Anon makes a lot of salient points. Every character has a unique way of speaking and their own quirks and mannerisms. There's the very obvious ones like Epel's dialect, but also more subtle things like how Leona (in English) drops the "-g" from the ends of some "-ing" words, how he sometimes uses "'n" in the place of "and", how he tends to use "wanna"/"gonna"/"gotta", and how he sometimes trades "you" for "ya". TThese are important things to pay attention to if you're trying to capture a character's "voice"! (Yuurei-san has an interesting series of posts about the Twst characters' speech patterns!) Most likely these localization choices were made for Leona's English dialogue in order to reflect his informal manner of speaking in Japanese. For example, he often uses ねぇ~, elongating some of his words sarcastically. If you have access to Twst EN, I'd suggest opening it up and listening to how Leona voices his lines (while you read the English text). If you don't have the game, you can probably still find voice clips on the Twst wiki(s) or on Youtube. That may help you get a sense of his cadence and how he words things. You also need to think about how you write his dialogue and the details around it. Is he mad or annoyed? Maybe tired or just not feelin' it? Consider how mood factors into whether or not Leona chooses standardized or colloquial English. Sometimes he adopts an overly formal and princely tone in some instances, like when he's presenting himself at the book 7 farewell party, so you have to consider situations where he uses formality sarcastically. Again, it really depends on the context. This will require a lot of thinking, judging, and putting yourself in the character's headspace. You won't get it perfect the first time (or even the times after); it'll take lots of trial and error to find something you're happy with.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: february 2025

I can't believe that with all the bullshit nonsense of this year I've managed to read ten book a month for two months in a row. it's not on purpose but it's crazy that it's happened twice!

what have I been reading?

The Art of Frugal Hedonism: A Guide to Spending Less While Enjoying Everything More (Annie Raser-Rowland w/ Adam Grubb, 2017; audiobook read by Alice Ansara, 2024) - this was my first audiobook, and it was a doozy. the short version is that this book sucked and made me so, so mad. I really hoped to have my scathing haterade-fueled review up on patreon by now so that I could link it, but that hasn't panned out because I just have too much to say about these out of touch cunts offering the world's least qualified financial advice. "just take a leisurely twelve hour hike to a train station instead of going on vacation" kill yourself!!!

The Age of Magical Overthinking: Notes on Modern Irrationality (Amanda Montell, 2024) - I quite liked Montell's previous book, Cultish, but unfortunately I fear Magical Overthinking was a bit of a flop for me. I can't help but feel that the ideal target demographic is extremely anxious women in their teens and early 20s who need a compassionate explanation of why they should spend less time on Twitter and TikTok, and I'm afraid that shrimply isn't me.

The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World (Robin Wall Kimmerer, 2024; audiobook read by the author) - this was, unintentionally, a lovely little counterpoint to Frugal Hedonism. where Raser-Rowland and Grubb focus deeply on individual consumption habits and have a bad penchant of commodifying human interaction, Potawatomi botanist Kimmerer emphasizes the need for structural environmental change that can come by embracing Indigenous models of viewing the earth and its resources as members of crucial members of the family deserving of respect. a thoughtful and lovely balm to the bullshit!

My Year of Rest and Relaxation (Ottessa Moshfegh, 2018) - a book about the original queen of giving us nothing, as our protagonist goes to increasingly drastic lengths to spend as much time as possible asleep and disengaged from anything more complicated than acquiring more prescription pills. what can I say? I love books about miserable rich white women rotting in their own self-absorption.

Don't Want You Like a Best Friend (Emma R. Alban, 2024) - this was my patreonites' pick for my romance novel of the month, and I'll admit I went in nervous - historical romance novels are often not my thing, and the Taylor Swift lyric for the title was a red flag. but you know what? this was a romp. I was entertained. dare I say I was even charmed. sure, it falls into the common historical queer romance pitfall of emphasizing the vague threat of period-typical homophobia while assuring us that every important character just so happens to be startlingly cool with homosexuality, but whatever - I didn't come here to see these girls get hatecrimed by their own parents, alright? I wasn't planning to read the sequel, but it turns out it's a VERY direct follow up where the girls from this book hatch an INSANE plan to (SPOILER ALERT) get their male cousins to fall in gay love so that they can lavender marry each other's cousins and live happily ever after. INSANE! I love it here.

Dawn (Octavia E. Butler, 1987) - on the one hand, I'm a little heartbroken. this marks the beginning of the last of Butler's series that I haven't read; after Adulthood Rites and Imago, I'll have read everything she published in her too-short life, with no new works to look forward to ever again. but on the other hand: MAN, am I glad I saved this one for last. this book has it all: humanity's near-extinction. aliens. psychic tentacle threesomes. maybe the biggest L that any of Butler's heroines ever took. it's wild out here! cannot wait to see where we're going with this.

Iron Widow (Xiran Jay Zhao, 2021) - this was a reread to prep for the sequel, Heavenly Tyrant, which came out in December, and MAN am I glad I decided to check back in with the first book. I really thought I remembered the broad strokes of the plot well enough, but I really did not remember just how blood-spittingly bugfuck viscous Zetian and her two boyfriends are. of the three people in this throuple, the nicest one is the guy who murdered his brothers and dad in cold blood. and I think that's awesome! cannot wait to see what these absolute freaks are up to now, and my hold cannot come into the library quickly enough.

Pardon My Frenchie (Farrah Rochon, 2024) - okay. listen. on paper I shouldn't like this book. the male love interest is boring at best and a full-blown shithead at worst. the biggest driver of the plot is the love interests' dogs going crazy levels of viral. the sex is minimal and nothing to write home about. and yet. AND YET. our female lead, Ashanti, is simply so charming and earnest and plucky that I adored her immediately. girl lost both her parents on the same day, had to drop out of veterinary school to raise her twin younger sisters, and is struggling to run the world's most plush doggy day care AND run a successful side business selling homemade dog biscuits. truly I just want anything to go right for her, ever. she's never even been eaten out prior to this book, and that makes me so, SO sad for her. I may not like her boyfriend, but at least he'll get her off, and that counts for something. overall, it's Ashanti's storyline about learning how to prioritize what's important to her and let some obligations go instead of clinging madly to everything that really got me through and won me over. plus, this book bypassed by usual kneejerk dislike of obnoxiously cutesy plot device pets in romance novels by making the dogs actually completely integral to the story and the characters - Ashanti is hugely defined by her adoration of every dog she meets - in a way that I really enjoy. will I read the upcoming sequel, Pugs and Kisses? fuck it. maybe.

White Feminism: From the Suffragettes to Influencers and Who They Leave Behind (Koa Beck, 2019) - Beck's book falls in a really sweet spot of building very well on a lot of feminism 101 to actually meaningfully discuss new concepts without being redundant. okay, yes, you've heard "white feminism" is bad, but do you know why? Beck has some of the most well laid-out explanations I've ever encountered, thoroughly detailing the ways in which white feminism reject collectivist anti-capitalist action in favor of individual advancement within the status quo. plus there is, as promised, a great historical throughline, contrasting the actions of historical middle and upper class white feminists against those of actions largely headed up by women who are Black, brown, Jewish, and/or immigrants who served entire communities. the takedown of "lean in" office girlboss culture is particularly killer.

Acts of Service (Lillian Fishman, 2022) - a short novel, ideal for reading in a couple hours if you love mess and happen to be trapped in various airports and flights with not much else to do! I was expecting another entry in the obnoxiously disaffected young woman genre and was pleasantly surprised by how curious and engaged our protagonist, Eve, actually is! much like Edie of Luster, I think she's gonna be alright once this deranged throuple situation blows over. ultimately I don't know if the conclusion of the novel hit for me as well as Luster did, and when I got to the end of the book I did kind of find myself going damn... and what was the point of all that? I have no idea, but it was well-crafted and I'm glad that I didn't read this like six months ago because it probably would have killed me with toxic horny poisoning at that point in my life. I'm normal now.

[misfortunelady69]

I'm over you

Law X Oc

Angst

Pt1

I should have known better.

Trafalgar Law isn't the type to comfort people.

He isn’t the type to let anyone close.

So why—why—did I think I’d be different?

For a long time, I tried to convince myself that maybe he wasn’t ignoring me. Maybe I was overthinking it.

But I wasn’t.

It was obvious.

He spoke to everyone except me. He acknowledged everyone except me.

Even in battle, if we fought side by side, he gave out orders without once looking me in the eye.

At first, I told myself I’d get used to it.

But it never got easier.

Because unlike Sanji, unlike Zoro, unlike anyone else—Law and I were actually close.

At least, I thought we were.

We trained together. We fought together.

We trusted each other.

But the moment I let my guard down—

The moment I let my feelings slip—

He shut me out.

And I had to pretend it didn’t hurt like hell.

It wasn’t just the avoidance.

It was the way he made it a point to be distant.

No casual conversation. No comfortable silences.

No more staying up late after the others went to sleep, talking about things that didn’t matter.

It was like he erased me.

Like I never mattered at all.

The silence was suffocating, like a thick fog that refused to lift. And the worst part?

I let it happen.

I refused to be the pathetic fool who chased after him, who begged him to talk to me, who humiliated myself again.

So I moved on.

The last person I expected to get along with was Kid.

We’d fought before. We’d insulted each other countless times.

But for some reason, he stuck around.

At first, I thought he was just looking for a fight, the way he always did.

But then, one day, he said something that caught me off guard.

"You're stronger than you act, y'know."

I frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You act like shit doesn’t get to you, as not to worry the rest of the crew. " He smirked, crossing his arms. "Guess I kinda respect that."

I blinked.

Eustass Kid. The man who never shut up about how much better he was than everyone else. The man who never respected anyone but himself.

And yet, somehow, he saw through me like no one else had.

So we started talking.

It was easy. Natural.

Unlike Law, Kid never made me feel like a burden.

I didn’t feel invisible.

Didn’t feel pathetic.

With Kid, I could be myself.

And for the first time in a long time—I was happy.

At least, until I realized that Law was watching.

I wasn’t stupid.

Law didn’t get jealous the way other people did.

There were no glares. No snide remarks. No dramatic outbursts.

Instead, he acted like nothing had changed.

Like I wasn’t there.

But I saw the little things.

The way his jaw clenched whenever Kid threw an arm around my shoulders.

The way his fingers curled into fists when he saw us laughing together.

The way his stare would linger—just for a second—before he turned away like he couldn’t care less.

It was pathetic.

I was done chasing after him.

So I ignored him.

And I moved on.

Or at least, I thought I did—

Until he finally broke his silence.

"I need your help."

I didn’t even look up.

"Ask someone else."

Law exhaled sharply. "I would if I could."

Liar.

He had plenty of people he could ask.

I focused on sharpening my sword. "What do you want?"

A pause.

"Come to the medical bay. I need an extra set of hands."

I scoffed, finally looking up. "Oh, now you remember I exist?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Don’t be childish."

I let out a bitter laugh.

"Childish? Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Law."

He didn’t answer.

Of course, he didn’t.

Law never argued when he knew I was right.

I set my sword down, staring at him for a long moment.

"Tell me something."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Why now?" I asked. "After all this time, why talk to me now?"

Another silence.

Then—

"I miss you."

My breath caught in my throat.

He said it so simply. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he didn’t completely destroy me months ago.

I clenched my jaw. "That’s funny. You sure as hell didn’t miss me when you were pretending I didn’t exist."

He exhaled through his nose. Frustrated.

"It wasn’t like that."

I slammed my hand onto the table. "Then what the hell was it like, Law?"

He didn’t flinch. He just stared at me, unreadable as ever.

"I didn’t know how to handle it."

I laughed humorlessly. "Wow. What an amazing excuse."

His expression darkened. "You think this was easy for me?"

"Oh, I’m so sorry this was difficult for you." My voice dripped with sarcasm. "You were the one who ignored me. You were the one who acted like I didn’t matter. And now, now, when you see me actually happy, you suddenly remember I exist?"

He didn’t answer.

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Let me guess. It’s not jealousy, right? Because Trafalgar Law doesn’t get jealous."

His jaw tightened.

"It’s not jealousy," he muttered.

"Bullshit."

For the first time, I saw his composure crack.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue—but then he stopped.

His fingers twitched at his sides. Like he wanted to reach for me.

"You meant something to me," he said, quieter this time.

Something in my chest twisted.

Too little, too late.

I swallowed hard, my voice cold and sharp.

"We’re just part of the same alliance, Law. Nothing more than that."

He didn’t move.

Didn’t argue.

And this time—I was the one who walked away.