#but not the right ones to get across what i mean most of the time

[daddyd0nt]

I can be patient with an afab person who doesn’t realize she’s complicit in their own oppression I have no patience or civility for Amab people who want me to accept a less safe world to spare their feelings and validate them. I never said the BIGGEST threat to afab people was trans women but that does not mean they don’t still pose a threat. There is no way to tell for sure who is a “good one” and who is a predator and like I said the safety of even one single woman on the planet earth is not worth risking to spare Amab feelings or be “fair”. Patriarchy isn’t fair. The fact that I can get pregnant from rape and an Amab person couldn’t isn’t fair. The fact that no matter how I present I won’t be safe but an Amab person couldn’t isn’t always take off the dress and cut their hair and regain their full Amab privilege if things get too scary/hard isn’t fair. I’m not obligated to be fair, I’m trying to be SAFE. Sad Amab people even devistated Amab people is a small price to pay for afab physical safety. True biological sex is 100% real, GENDER is fake/made up/a construct.

My anger and fear is not misdirected, all Amab people are privileged and all afab people are oppressed under patriarchy regardless of how you identify. You might not be more privileged than cis AMABs but you still have privilege over afab people. Our movements can even work together on 99% of issues but I will not be spoken over by an oppressor trying to infiltrate afab safe spaces. Birth sex privilege is immutable the fact that you experience oppression for not being cis does not mean you face the same oppression AFABs of any gender face.

Make. Your. Own. Spaces. Afab people had to fight for ours drop the entitlement and do a single step of your own fucking legwork. Also SA statistics across the board show Amab people of any gender commit 96% of sex crimes. Also the statistic for violence against Amab trans people shows when dissected that almost all trans women killed are killed by cis men and most of them are full service sex workers of color, white non-FSSW actually have a significantly lower rate of attack than cis women with the same qualifiers.

Womanhood is not for Amab people who “failed out of” manhood that’s disgusting to say and shows you think of afab people as inferior. Women are not failed men. And what you described is still literally male socialization afab people aren’t privileged to get to cry or do girly things we are allowed to do those things because they are considered degrading/training for subservience and afab people are considered weak by default. Also boo hoo you got called some names I was raped for the first time before I was out of diapers and grew up being called a “fat dyke” for not fitting into patriarchal femininity again the hardship u faced for not being cis is not worse than what afab people face for being afab let alone if you are non-cis on top of it.

Are you delusional about how bottom surgery works? A trans man can’t impregnate me. Putting birth sex markers on ID would be a perfectly easy solution.

Trans women are a risk to AFABs in afab prisons. I don’t care what happens to them in Amab prisons, a single afab person put at risk to protect an Amab one is patriarchal and unacceptable. If you don’t like how ur treated in Amab prisons once again demand for and fight for your own spaces like afab people did. The source on the sex crimes statistic was a 2018 MOJ study showing half of trans Amab prisoners had committed one or more sex crimes. Studies behind The Equality Act of 2010 came to the same conclusion.

Ellen is a narcissistic oligarch with ties to human trafficking so of course no right minded political activist wanted to back her but this literally isn’t about gay women, gay AFABs pose no statistical threat to other AFABs in these spaces? But yeah like I said all these spaces started integrated and had to be made separate because of the high rates at which Amab people sexually abused afab ones. I’m not talking about capitalism or the rich or the PIC I’m talking specifically about patriarchy that is the axis this conversation is about idgaf what other privileges you don’t have and if being told you don’t belong in a space you don’t belong in causes you to manipulatively threaten suicide you need to be in a hospital until you sort that out and can cope with a world that isn’t specifically catered to your validation at any cost to more marginalized people.

IDGAF who is “at bat” for feminism supporting a movement does not mean entitlement you to the resources of that movement that would be like me complaining that the NAACP doesn’t cater to me and should because I’m anti-racist. Once again your problem is entitlement. Idgaf about “outnumbering” you literally should not be extracting a single resource from the feminist movement to serve Amab people. If you actually support feminism you will continue to support it despite this.

Gender oppression does exist as an extension of the intersection of patriarchy and homophobia.

“You are like the white people who harassed Ruby Bridges or the cops at stonewall” could you be any more self important or obsessed with making yourself the victim? You are not Ruby Bridges for telling afab people we should sacrifice our physical safety to indulge your feelings/identity expression. You are a whole-ass entire AMAB oppressor throwing a tantrum about Afab people prioritizing our physical safety over your emotions. You are not the ally you think you are.

"OP is a terf" is a thought-terminating cliche meant to keep you from questioning the status quo and keep you afraid of being labeled a heretic should you come to your own conclusions about anything.

[pickingupmymercedes]

White Fireproof - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities

Wrap it before you tap it.

wordcount: +2k

a/n: White fireproof tribute (the 2019 one, the one that actually had aura)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

I’m not one to get distracted easily.

Really, I’m not.

But there’s something about the way Lewis moves when he’s in his element that just…scrambles my brain.

And right then, standing in front of me, adjusting the collar of this brand-new, snow-white fireproofs like he’s trying on his newest Dior collection instead of his race driver uniform.

“Do you think this watch pops enough against the white?” he asks, flicking his wrist in my direction.

I hum in response, my eyes glued to the line of his shoulders, the fit of the material across his chest, and the way it clings to his hips like it’s got a personal vendetta against me.

I mean I’ve seen him in fireproofs a hundred times, but this shade of white? This specific white? Sinful.

Lewis keeps talking, oblivious to my descent into thirsty nostalgia. “I think it’ll works for the shots. Clean, sleek. What do you think, babe?”

“Mmhm,” I mutter, my mind decidedly not in the present.

Here’s the thing: Lewis like this, all crisp and sharp, unlocked a memory I had neatly tucked away.

Abu Dhabi, 2019. Last race of the season.

Last time he wore a fireproof this white at a race. And the first of many times we did something reckless—but oh-so worth it.

Lewis, bless his heart, keeps chatting. Rambling on about how the watch’s black dial contrasts with the white fabric, and I’m sitting here pretending to listen while my brain serves up a reel of that night.

“And then they said we might try another angle where the light hits the watch just right—”

Oh, I’ll tell you about angles, sir.

Like the one I had to work at to get around the time frame on that fireproof while making good on a promise that was half a joke, half a long-standing fantasy.

He finally looks at me, his brows pulling together slightly. “You good? You’re quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I wave a hand, crossing my legs to try and focus. “Just thinking about…stuff.”

Smooth, Y/n. Really smooth.

I didn’t think I’d actually do it.

A tipsy promise made over tequila shots months ago doesn’t usually hold much weight. But then again, I’m not dating just anyone.

I’m dating Lewis Hamilton, one of the most competitive guys I’ve met, fresh off winning the last race of the season and securing a Grand Chelem after achieving his 6th championship two races back.

And who am I to back out now, when he’s standing in front of me, soaked in champagne, grinning like he’s on top of the world?

He barely gets two steps into the driver’s room before I’m on him. I press him against the door, his laugh vibrating against my lips as I kiss him like we’ve got all the time in the world, even though we don’t.

“Someone’s happy” he teases between kisses, his hands settling on my hips.

“You’ve got no idea,” I murmur, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling back slightly. His gaze, dark and shining, flicking between my eyes and my lips.

I let my fingers toy with the zipper of his race suit, tugging it down just enough to reveal the long sleeve underneath. “Remember the bet?” I ask, my voice low, playful.

He blinks, clearly taking a second to process, and then his brows shoot up. “You’re serious?”

“Very serious.” I grin, dragging the zipper down the rest of the way. “We got fifteen minutes, champ.”

He swallows hard, the heat in his eyes unmistakable now. “Yes ma’am” he mutters, no resisting as I guide him toward the small sofa tucked in the corner of the room, giving him a gentle push.

He obeys, leaning back slightly, his legs spread just enough to make my mouth water.

I settle between his knees, my hands gliding over the champagne-soaked fireproofs. The fabric clings to his skin, warm and damp beneath my fingers, exuding that sharp, fizzy scent of victory—sweet and metallic, a heady mix of adrenaline and success.

His gaze doesn’t waver, intense and unblinking, like he’s trying to commit every second of this to memory.

I can hear the quickening rhythm of his breath, and the barely-there hitch that makes me shiver. His chest rises and falls beneath my hands, steady but heavy, the pulse in his neck beating fast enough for me to notice, almost in sync with my own racing heartbeat.

“You with me?” I ask, smirking as I press a kiss to his hand that is hovering mine. His silence is answer enough.

His breath hitches audibly as my fingers hook into the waistband of his fireproofs, the sound low and raspy like it’s caught in his throat.

The soft rustle of fabric against his skin fills the air as I tug them down, revealing smooth, sweat-slicked skin that glistens faintly under the dim lights. The faintest trace of cologne—woody, clean—lingers where his body heat mingles with the champagne.

 It’s intoxicating, almost dizzying, and I can’t help but lean in, my nose brushing just above his waistband to drink it in.

The bulge in his briefs is impossible to ignore, and I let my fingers trail over it lightly, earning a soft groan from him.

“You know” I say, leaning in close, my lips brushing against the fabric “if you walk into that debrief with this situation still going on, it might be a little awkward.”

He chuckles, though it’s strained. “Help me then.”

“Maybe I should” I reply, pulling his briefs down just enough to free him.

He’s already hard, the tip glistening with precum.

I start slow, my tongue flicking out to taste him, and the salty but fruity tang spurring me. I drag my tongue along the length of him, spreading the slickness as I go.

His breath is uneven, and I can feel his restraint slipping.

When I finally take him into my mouth, I go as far as my throat allows, the coolness of my lips contrasting with his heat. I pull back with a soft pop, flicking my eyes up to meet his.

His gaze is locked on me, intense and unwavering.

I wrap both hands around his length, stroking him slowly, deliberately, while maintaining eye contact. His lips part slightly, and when I hear the first low moan escape, I can’t help but grin.

“Enjoying yourself?” I tease, my voice raspy.

His only response is a shaky exhale, and I take that as my cue to dive back in, my mouth working with my hands. His hips twitch slightly, his self-control barely there anymore.

The sounds he makes—soft groans, sharp inhales, and the occasional whispered curse—are like music.

His thighs tense under my palms, firm and unyielding, as if bracing for what’s next. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the heady mix of sweat and lingering champagne heightening every inhale I take.

His body is alive beneath me, each twitch, each gasp, syncing with my rhythm of hands and mouth.

When I glance up again, his head is tipped back, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He’s completely lost in the moment, lost in me.

I pull back, letting him slip from my mouth as I sit back on my heels and his eyes snap open, dark and desperate, as if I’ve just yanked him back to earth.

“Problem?” I ask innocently, tilting my head, pretending like I’m done.

His jaw clenches. “Babe” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, his eyes narrowing in that way that makes my stomach flip.

I raise a brow, waiting. He knows what I want. He exhales heavily, his hand reaching out to rest on the back of my head.

With the gentlest pressure, he guides me back down. “Don’t stop,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my jaw.

I smirk before taking him in again, my lips wrapping around him, picking up right where I left off.

His hands stay on me, not pushing, just there, grounding himself. I can feel his thighs tense beneath my palms, his body teetering on the edge.

And then—footsteps. A knock on the door.

“Oi, hurry up, you two!” Angela’s voice cuts through from the other side. “Five minutes left”

Lewis freezes, his entire body going rigid. His eyes shoot to the door and I freeze right with him, unmoved, my tongue teasing him lightly just to test his resolve.

Angela’s steps fade down the hall, and I finally lift my head just enough to whisper, “She’s gone.”

His shoulders sag, and he lets out a breathy laugh. “You’re gonna kill me” he mutters.

“Not before I finish what I started.”

Without missing a beat, I shift my focus, letting my hand drift lower to gently cup his balls. I massage them with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch, all while my mouth works him steadily.

His hips twitch, and I know I’ve got him.

“Shit,” he breathes, his head falling back.

It doesn’t take long before his hands move again, this time pulling gently at my head, trying to stop me. “Babe,” he rasps, his voice strained. “I’m gonna—”

I hum in response, doubling down, taking him deeper. His grip tightens, his hips jerking slightly as he tries to warn me again, but I’m not stopping.

Not this time.

His body tenses, and then I feel it—hot and thick, spilling down my throat.

I swallow every drop, my eyes locked on his, watching as his features twist in pure bliss. His mouth falls open, and the quietest, most wrecked groan escapes him as he collapses back against the sofa. Spent.

I give him a few more gentle strokes, making sure I’ve got everything, before finally pulling back, letting my lips trail one last time over the sensitive tip.

His hands fall to his sides, useless, as he tries to catch his breath.

I rise slowly, crawling up his body until I’m face to face with him. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with satisfaction, but they don’t leave mine.

I press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips, like I hadn’t just sucked him dry moments before.

“Thanks for the trophy,” I whisper against his mouth, grinning.

I’m still half-lost in my own mind when Lewis’s voice breaks through the haze. “Love, you good?”

I blink, snapping back to the present. He’s standing in front of me, white fireproofs hugging every muscle, his brow slightly raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, waving a hand dismissively, even as my cheeks burn. He doesn’t need to know how far down memory lane I just went. “Just... admiring the view.”

His smirk deepens. “Uh-huh.” He steps closer, leaning in slightly. “You’ve been staring at me like that since I put this on. Something on your mind?”

Oh, you sweet, oblivious man.

I clear my throat, standing up from the couch and brushing past him to inspect his fireproofs more closely. “All I’ll say it’s,” I start, my fingers tracing the fabric near his shoulder, “It’s not as good as the 2019 one.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms. “I thought you liked the all-white look.”

“I did,” I admit, turning to face him fully, my hands on my hips. “But these little dot patterns?” I point at the subtle textured details near his ribs. “They’re throwing me off”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course.”

“Hey,” I retort, poking him lightly in the chest, “I’m only pointing out the obvious. The 2019 ones were iconic. These? Meh.” I scrunch my nose for dramatic effect.

“Meh?” he repeats, incredulous. “Okay, little miss fashionista”

I grin. “And yet, here you are, still putting up with me.”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to that soft, teasing tone that always gets me. “You’ve got strong opinions for someone who couldn’t keep her hands off me in the old ones.”

Touché.

“Fair point” I concede, stepping back just enough to keep things playful. “But let’s not forget who really benefited from that moment in history.”

He laughs, shaking his head as he adjusts the sleeves of his fireproofs. “You know,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine, “I don’t remember much from that race. But those ten minutes? Burned into my memory forever.”

I bite my lip, warmth blooming in my chest. “Good” I reply, my voice softening. “I like knowing I leave an impression.”

He reaches for my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You always do.”

The knock on the door snaps us both out of the moment. “Lewis, waiting for you!”

Lewis sighs, giving my hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “ I’ll be right back”

As he heads for the door, I can’t resist one last parting shot. “Tell the photographers to focus on your face” I call out. “It’s the real moneymaker.”

With one final smirk, he disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and the satisfaction of knowing I’ll never look at white fireproofs the same way again.

_____________________________________________________________

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[adieutristana]

comforting reader scenarios; arcane women x fem! reader

finally home and spending time with family for the first time in a while. i started writing this while still at my dorm though, and wanted to finish it <3 i’ll get to my requests once break is over!

summary: scenarios of arcane women comforting their girlfriend.

characters included: jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn.

tags/warnings: mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, insecurity, nightmares (mel), smoking (sevika), crying, fluff, hurt/comfort

men dni.

jinx;

hosting at the last drop during a holiday weekend was no easy task, you knew that. but still, you needed extra hours. you needed extra money. so you picked up the shifts.

which you were now regretting more than you had any decision in a while. you wished that you could rewind time, and slap your past self across the face. tell her to put her sanity over a few more hours of pay.

you had just seated your final reservation of the night, and as soon as you got back to the host stand, your hands scrambled to untie your apron and slam it down on the desk. you couldn’t even be bothered to hang it up on its hook. you were overstimulated, stressed, burnt-out. you were exhausted.

your coworker grimaced seeing you, but was evidently concerned. “you gonna be okay getting home?” they asked, a hand on their hip. “i can give you a ride.”

“no, it’s fine. i’ll find my way.” you grumbled, grabbing the last of your belongings before swinging the door open. you knew exactly where you were headed: jinx’s hideout. you turned on your heel, keeping your head down as you sped through the bumpy streets of zaun. your destination wasn’t far, but the way in which your hands were trembling and you couldn’t focus your vision, you didn’t want to face the risk of any more human interaction.

you reached jinx’s hideout after about ten minutes of walking, and stepped in quietly. you saw blue braids, your girlfriend’s back facing you as she tinkered with what was presumably a new explosive device. typical jinx. she turned around in her chair as soon as the sound of your arrival registered, and she ran to give you a tight hug.

“how was work, toots?” she asked, her dark lips curled in a smile. “i missed ya, y’know.” she chimed, her arms still holding you close to her. you sighed and released the day’s worth of tension from your body, finally feeling safe enough to do so.

“it was hell. honest.” you began, before you felt a full tirade coming on. “i mean- i got yelled at for the simplest things. not having a table for a party of thirteen, having to consult with my manager for something, anything and everything. it’s… it’s like i couldn’t do anything right today.” you spoke, your voice faltering. you felt tears welling in your eyes, and you felt jinx’s grasp around you grow tighter.

“(y/n). hey. it’s okay.” jinx replied, her voice softer than most times. one arm stayed in place, and her other hand came up to gently cradle your cheek. “customers are awful. they always are. but you’re a damn good hostess, and you were doing your best! it’s just one of those weekends. they feel like they can do or say whatever they want…” jinx trailed off with a slight scowl in her voice. you knew that jinx was never particularly the best with choosing soothing words for you, but her odd and sometimes aggressive way of reassuring you did work.

your girlfriend softly grasped your shoulders to sit you down, then opted to grab one of your hands. her slender, calloused fingers slotting themselves between your own. she offered her shoulder wordlessly for you to lay your head on, which you accepted. you let out a sharp exhale through your nose. a single tear fell.

“i shouldn’t have taken those shifts. holiday weekend, back to back.” you scoffed. “money be damned. i’m never interacting with the public again.”

“no problem with that.” jinx remarked, trying to lighten the mood a little. her free hand came up to run over your side, up and down, up and down, gently and repeatedly. an oddly soothing pattern. “you could just stay here with me forever, y’know.”

you gave a soft chuckle in reply. “yeah. that’d be nice. you and me, not needing anything else.”

vi;

tonight was just one of those nights. you were getting better, you thought. you had been consistently seeing a therapist and airing out every little ugly detail about your life, your past, yourself to a complete stranger. and it was helping. you had a girlfriend who adored you, body and soul. who would do absolutely anything in her power just to see a hint of a smile on your face.

but right now, with your hair clutched in your hands and hot tears streaming down your face, your heart beating in your chest at record speed, you couldn't think about any one thing.

there was no rhyme or reason, you just felt horrible. about yourself, about your life, about everything. it was as if all of that progress you had worked so hard for was completely undone. dull and noid. you swore you could feel yourself dropping deeper and deeper, your shallow breaths growing quicker, until you heard the door of your apartment swing open.

"hey, babe, sorry i'm late, i got held u-" vi stopped dead in her tracks in front of you, taking in your state for a split second before her expression turned to one of unease. "oh, my god- (y/n), what happened? come on, talk to me." she breathed out, calloused, bandaged hands coming to grasp at your shoulders.

your girlfriend’s grip did ground you slightly, but you still couldn’t get a word out. you could only focus on trying to breathe; in, out, in through your nose, out through your mouth. vi’s worried expression didn’t falter, but her hold on you did loosen as she noticed your breathing grow more steady.

vi now sat next to you and swung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close to your side. she brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face, and tried to soothe you in the most gentle tone possible. “hey. hey, now. it’s okay. i’m here. i’m not goin’ anywhere, ya hear?” she whispered. “tell me what’s wrong.”

you just gulped, and hastily reached up to swipe away the tears on your cheeks. “nothing… nothing happened.” you said, voice still shaky. your gaze was downcast, focusing on some odd stain on the carpet. “i just feel so hopeless.” you blurted out. you just didn’t know how else to phrase it.

“i’ve done so much, gone to so many appointments and faced myself in the mirror. faced my flaws, my past, i’ve done some rough work.” you explained. “but i feel like it’s all for nothing. if i’ve gone and done all of that, why do i feel like complete shit right now?” you muttered under your breath. your shoulders were tensing back up, and more tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to fall at the next minute.

the girl next to you took your chin with her forefinger and thumb, gently guiding your gaze to meet her own. “(y/n), look at me.” she said.

you looked at her, eyes shaky and unsure.

“you don’t feel like this every day, do ya?” she asked. “i… no. i don’t.” you replied.

“there you go, then. no amount of therapy or coping or self-analysis is gonna take away the fact that some days just fucking suck.” vi’s arm was still draped around you, holding you in close to her and now slightly rocking you.

“you’ve got problems. we all do. they’re not just gonna go away overnight, some of them probably won’t ever. but ya have to keep trying, right?” she asked, prompting you to slowly nod. you sniffled, and whispered, “it just feels so pointless.”

“i know it does, but it isn’t. you know you haven’t done all of that for nothing. one shitty moment doesn’t erase all the hard work you’ve put in.” vi affirmed. she accentuated her words with a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “you’re one of the strongest people i know.”

you finally let yourself go and lay your head on her shoulder, wordlessly accepting your girlfriend’s comfort. her grip around you only tightened, and while you couldn’t see her, you knew her well enough to know by now that she was smiling at the sight of you.

mel;

mel loved sharing a bed with you. it was so peaceful, so intimate in a way. you had her in your arms facing you, her head buried in the crook of your neck taking deep, relaxed breaths.

until you shot up from your slumber with a sharp gasp after having a nightmare. enforcers. your family. you hadn’t done anything, and neither had your family, but there the enforcers were in that dream, taking them from you. ignoring your choked sobs and loud pleas to just let them go.

it was probably a side effect of growing up in the undercity, and witnessing that exact scenario more times than you could keep track of. even though it wasn’t real, it still horrified you.

you tried to steady your breathing as to not wake the woman next to you, still deep asleep. but the second you saw her begin to stir, you knew you were in trouble. mel did not take kindly to her sleep being disturbed.

she sat up slowly, looking around and one hand coming to rub at her eyes, then her eyes met yours. there’s no malice or annoyance in her gaze, only concern. “…what has you up this late?”

“just a nightmare, mel. don’t worry about it.” you sighed, voice dropping and trying to convince her to just go back to sleep. it wasn’t until you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around you, though, and pull you close to mel’s chest that you realized she wasn’t planning on letting this go.

“no, talk to me.” mel demands, although sleep is still evident in her voice. now it’s obvious that she isn’t going to let this go, and although you feel guilty for disturbing her rest, you’re grateful that she’s not angry with you.

you let out a deep breath, and begin twiddling with your thumbs to keep your racing mind at bay. mel still has you held close to her, one hand cradling the back of your head. “it was about my family. i had a nightmare that enforcers… took them. threw them in jail without a trial. even though they’ve done nothing wrong.”

having been brought up in zaun, this was a fate that was unfortunately not uncommon. a slim possibility for you, one of the more ‘respected’ families of the undercity, but the chances were never zero. you were unsure as to why you were suddenly having nightmares about this, though.

silence hung in the air for a moment, the only sounds in the room being your girlfriend’s slow breathing and rain pattering against the windows. “…that won’t happen, love. i wish i could tell you that our enforcers are a just group of people, but they are not. but you know all i am doing to try and fix this… your family is safe. i can promise you that.”

mel’s words were genuine, but in reality, there was only so much comfort she could offer. piltover as a city was corrupt; there was no denying that. but at the very least, you could rest assured that she was trying. mel cared- not just because they were your family, but because she had a heart. that’s more than you could say for some of the other council members.

you reached to intertwine your fingers with hers, and let your eyes slowly slip shut again. “you’re safe with me, darling. a nightmare is just that; a nightmare.” mel whispered, her voice like honey, sweet and smooth. “let’s get you back to sleep. i’ll be here all night.” she pressed a final lingering kiss to your temple, before you fell back into a deep slumber.

sevika;

being one of silco’s henchmen, it wasn’t uncommon for you to arrive home with an array of injuries. bruises, scrapes, cuts, sometimes even stab wounds if it was particularly bad. most of the time, you couldn’t place exactly where each injury had come from, only that it hurt like hell. but you were used to it by now, and working for silco both paid well and earned you protection. so you couldn’t exactly complain.

this time, though, you weren’t only hurt, you were exhausted. you were honestly considering marching (albeit weakly) to silco’s office and telling him you’re resigning, effective immediately. your legs felt like they were going to fall off. you undoubtedly had a few bruised ribs and had suffered more severe injuries than ever before. thankfully, nothing seemed to be broken, but there was only so much you could take.

you swung the door to your shared apartment open, seeing sevika already sat down. you slumped into the beat-up couch next to your girlfriend, letting out a loud and exasperated sigh. what to do? you had lazily patched yourself up, but you were still in considerable pain. you looked around the room, scanning all of your belongings from years of working for the eye of zaun. could it all have been for nothing? all of your hard work- was zaun, was silco going to chew you up and spit you out?

“(y/n)? took ya a while to get back. everything fine?” sevika asked. she swung one leg over the other and took out a cigar, grabbing her box of matches from a side table. you tried to muster up the most chipper tone of voice possible, and replied, “yep, i just got a bit held up on the way back. all is well.” you even tried to cement it by giving her the best smile you could manage.

sevika gave you one of her knowing side-glances, an eyebrow raised as she lit her cigar. “spit it out.”

god damn it.

if there was one thing your girlfriend was, it was observant. she knew your mannerisms, your habits and your demeanor well enough to know when something was wrong. honestly, sometimes, you thought sevika might know you better than you know yourself.

“sev, it’s nothing, really. don’t worry about me.” you tried to reassure her, a smile cemented on your face to really sell it. yet she still saw right through you. “(y/n), somethin’s up. i can tell. come on, dove, you can talk to me.”

you weighed your options for a minute. you were scared, if you were being honest with yourself. you knew that sevika was frighteningly loyal to silco, and saying that you were thinking of leaving could anger her. maybe provoke her in some way. but another thing you knew about your girlfriend was that once she started something, she wasn’t going to let go of it until it was resolved.

“i got beat up. badly, worse than i ever have… i don’t know if i have it in me to keep doing this, sevika.” you muttered. oh, god, your voice was shaking. “everything hurts. i’m exhausted. i’ve seen so much, and i don’t know if i’m strong enough.”

sevika sat in contemplation for a moment- a moment that felt like hours. she took a long drag of her cigar, exhaling as she talked. “that comes with the job, darlin’.” you felt your heart drop into your stomach. sevika was right. now you seemed like a traitor to silco and weak. “but, we all have our limits. you’ve done all you can, and you’ve done a damn good job at it. now, i’m not gonna tell you that you should leave, because i don’t want you to. i’m selfish like that.” your girlfriend chuckled.

you let her words sink in. you swung your legs around to be on top of her lap, laying your head down on the arm of your couch. sevika brought an arm up to rest her hand on one of your thighs, gently squeezing in reassurance. “do what you think will be best, okay? i’ll still be here. always will.” she smiled. “but… what about silco?” you muttered.

sevika barked out a laugh at that, which slightly startled you. your eyes blown wide and your form jumping. “silco’ll be fine. he has his other people… like me.” she said. sevika gently pulled you to sit your entire body in her lap, and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “i’ll be here, regardless.” she looked at one of the half-assed bandages on your ankle, blood seeping through. “let’s get ya properly patched up, okay?”

caitlyn;

you sat in one of the many libraries on academy grounds, countless papers sprawled out in front of you on a desk. all of the words and countless problems needing solving had lost all meaning. your final exams were exactly a week from today, but your head was fuzzy. you couldn’t process anything. none of the study methods you were using stuck.

“shit.” you muttered to yourself, grasping your head in your hands against the desk. you lifted your head up to take in your surroundings: countless other students at tables, some in groups and some by themselves. what they all had in common was that they all seemed to be getting something done. that was a lot more than you could say for yourself.

you groaned out loud, disregarding the fact that others would absolutely hear over the loud silence of the facility. you gathered your papers, stacking them the neatest you could before shoving them in your messenger bag. you pulled out your chair, not bothering to push it back in, and turned on your heel to exit the library. god damn it.

you hastily made your way to your apartment, trying to keep your chin up as you passed other students of the district. you couldn’t let yourself crack. you couldn’t let on that anything was wrong. as you inserted your key into the lock of your apartment and turned the doorknob, the smell of dinner immediately hit you. was caitlyn… cooking?

“i’m home!” you called out, trying to search for caitlyn in the kitchen. you spotted her tall figure, her back turned to you and arms busy. you hung your bag up on a hook, and sat down on the living room couch with a dramatic huff. caitlyn turned her head to look at you for a moment, abandoning whatever she was busy stirring to come sit next to you.

when you looked over to see your girlfriend, you jumped the slightest bit. her footsteps were so quiet, it was startling at times. you never knew exactly where she learned how to do that.

“how was studying?” she asked, reaching to twirl a strand of your hair around her index finger. you sucked your breath in, and hung your head low in defeat. “well… i didn’t exactly get much done.” you murmured.

“i didn’t get anything done, actually.” you corrected yourself, voice a bit more clear this time. “i’ve got this… this mental block right now. i don’t know what it even is. i feel like every time i look at a piece of material to study, my mind just goes blank. whoosh, like i haven’t been studying this shit for months in class.” your hands were clutching your pants, trying to find any type of temporary relief. you were so utterly disappointed in yourself.

“what now, then?” your girlfriend asked, still absentmindedly playing with your hair. the smell of what you could now identify as some kind of pasta filled the room. “what do you mean, ‘what now?’” you asked. it wasn’t a quip, but a genuine question. as much as you loved caitlyn, she could be confusing from time to time.

“i mean, what are you going to do now? sulk? rest?” she clarified, her blue eyes gazing directly at- or through you. it wasn’t meant to be intimidating, but caitlyn had that effect. you took your hands off your lap and crossed your arms over your chest, gaze still downcast. “i don’t know. i’ll try again tomorrow, but right now, i don’t know.”

caitlyn moved her hand to gently tap your jaw, signaling that she wanted you to look at her. you obliged, her eyes still piercing- but a bit softer now. “do you know how many days like that i had as a girl, sat with my instructor? completely clueless as to how to solve the problem in front of me?” she asked, her tone soft and the slightest bit playful. she scoffed as she recalled the memory.

“that’s part of the reason i decided not to attend the academy. of course, i had expectations to live up to, which played a major factor in my decision. but student life hasn’t ever been for me.” caitlyn said, settling her hands down and opting to rest her head on your shoulder. navy strands lightly tickled your neck.

“what you do is admirable, dearest. one odd day doesn’t make that less true.” she smiled. “you’re still such a hard-working, smart person.. you just need to rest.” she accentuated her statement by pressing her lips to your cheek, ever so gently. fleeting.

you gently smiled at her words and leant into the kiss. you didn’t have a clue as to how she managed, but caitlyn somehow always had the right words to say. you remembered the pasta cooking, though, and gasped. “shit- cait, should you be leaving that unattended?”

your girlfriend lightly chuckled. “the sauce needed to sit for a few moments. all is well, i promise.”

[razorblade180]

Ekko Location

Ekko:*thousand yard stare*….

Caitlyn:(Should I tell him? No, false hope doesn’t do any good. Especially in this case.) *looks left*

Giant mural of Jinx

Caitlyn:….Ekko?

Ekko:What could you possibly want after everything?

Caitlyn:Hopefully, an olive branch. I have to tell you something but you have to promise to not get your hopes up, or tell Vi. This is something I’m trusting with you specifically.

Ekko:And how in the world did I get such an honor?

Caitlyn:Because if it wasn’t for one act of kindness, I’d be in your shoes right now.

Ekko:…What do you have to tell me?

xxxxxx

One month later. Somewhere across the water, in a nice quaint land known for its view of the ocean and mountains, a cloaked girl bobs her head to music as she roams the back alleys streets without a care in her mind.

Jinx: 🎶Do you ever wanna catch me?Right now I'm feeling ignored. *turns corner*

Jinx:So can you try a little harder? I'm really getting bor-

Ekko:*cloaked* !?….

Jinx:…..(Just when I thought I’ve wrangled all the voices. This is a low blow, me.) *closes eyes* (Just gonna breathe in and-)

Ekko:*grabs her wrist*

Jinx’s eyes immediately shoot open to see him right in front of her. She starts looking back, forth, everywhere; her thoughts trying to rationalize this moment because what do you mean he’s real!?

Jinx:Y- wha- how? How!? Fuck everything else. How?

Ekko:Let’s just say someone offered me a little hope. Honestly it was more like wishful thinking.

Jinx:Ekko, that’s not a “how” at all! You left Zaun to chase wishful thinking? That’s alone is crazy, but not as crazy as you actually finding me! I could’ve gone in any direction and stopped anywhere yet somehow you’re right here searching in the correct city? Gasps Did you put something in me?!

Ekko:What? No! Jinx, we used to spend literal hours talking about all the places we wanted go; the sight ls you wanted to see. Sometimes you rambled so much I never got a word in to say mine!

Jinx:So you’re telling you just remembered all that ramble and started flying to the places I yapped about!? Who the heck remembers stuff like that!?

Ekko:Me!! Since when have I ever forgotten anything!? Especially stuff about you!?

The girl was too stunned to speak. Ekko told no lies and he had a point, however, what the hell? How was she supposed to respond to that? She told absolutely nobody that she was leaving and left no trace, yet somehow wishful thinking from probably the world’s most annoying enforcer and childhood memories was enough for Ekko to find her in a little over a month. Jinx could only squint at him in disbelief. Sure, she could definitely break free of grip and make a break for it, yet this moment only gave her the strength to exhale tiredly before him.

Jinx:Anyone else know?

Ekko:Nope. You think people have time to chase hypotheticals?

Jinx:So you just left??

Ekko:Told them I needed some air. Had to move quickly. You don’t exactly stay in one place for long.

Jinx:…..Alright. Out with it. I know you have some rehearsed lecture and rant you’ve prepared in case you actually somehow weren’t crazy and found m-

Ekko:*hugs her* I can tell at you later.

Jinx:You really just might be crazier than me.

Her entire body relaxed as she finally put her arms around him. Despite all odds, he really was right here. Leave it the Boy Savior to yet again foil her schemes.

Jinx:At this point I should call you Ekko Location or something.

Ekko:I this point, I should put a fucking bell on you.

Jinx:I’d still get away.

Ekko:And I’d find you again.

Jinx:Heh, yeah. *hugs tightly* You would, wouldn’t you?

[uravitypng]

previous

soulmate hanta who is completely oblivious that it's almost shocking. the way you skirt around the subject of soulmates whenever someone brings it up, while nervous and looking everywhere that isn't in his direction.

you think you've been careful, you think you've tried to not put hanta in a difficult position and people do let the topic go when you try to avoid it. they don't think your soulmate is hanta but they know something is up.

hanta doesn't. for someone who spends all his time with you, thinks about you all the time, and always pays attention to the little things you do he doesn't notice something is up about the topic of soulmates. you act like he acts around the subject so it doesn't weigh on his mind at all.

soulmate hanta used to get asked a lot about his soulmate. denki whining about how he hasn't found his soulmate yet. "i know they're out there somewhere! it just sucks that i haven't found them yet! aren't you in the same boat? loads of people have already found their soulmates or are uploading pictures online trying to find them! there's a whole reddit page dedicated to it, it's so frustrating."

"i don't care about my soulmate," he responded flatly and kaminari looks at him like he's grown two heads.

one day in your second year of ua iida and hatsume walk around campus stuck together, glued to the hip. it seemed super out of character for him. he didn't even tell anyone he found his soulmate, not until the following week where asai asked about why he was spending so much time together with her. hanta regrets being in the room when that happens. "she's my soulmate."

"what?" midoriya looks so excited for him. "so many people have found their soulmate now! there's not many people that haven't, i'm so happy for you iida. speaking of soulmates how are you and uraraka tsu? you found each other before i found todoroki and before most people found there soulmate."

he drowns out her answer but when hearing his name he's back to paying attention, that is, before hearing the full question and wishing he was anywhere else. "sero you still haven't found your soulmate right? i'm sure you will soon."

"thanks midoriya but i'm not interested in meeting my soulmate." his phone is face up on the table, it beeps and he sees a text from you, his whole face lights up. they all see your name flash on his phone, a photo of you and him on his background, they never bring up his soulmate again.

in your third year of ua mina comes bounding into the dorm shouting about how she's found her soulmate. "i've never even really spoken to yui before but i've always thought she was pretty and her quirk is so cool! sero have you posted a photo of your mark online? you never know if someone will come across it and it'll be you introducing yourself or they'll recognise their handwriting."

"even if i did find my soulmate it wouldn't matter." she's about to ask what you mean but you walk into the room, his eyes trail yours with fondness she's never seen in his before and drops the subject.

people don't ask him questions anymore. he doesn't care about his soulmate because he has you.

soulmate hanta who, even though he doesn't get asked about by his friends anymore, still has to see online articles and speculation from fans all over social media. 'have the famous ua alumni war heroes found their soulmates?' 'i'm still holding out hope that me and cellaphane are soulmates !!!!' 'cellaphane and froppy spotted together out of their hero suits.'

after reading the headline, 'PROOF that reveals pro hero cellaphane's soulmate,' he made sure to never enter that restaurant in the thumbnail with you again. the whole article is full of photos taken by fans and paparazzi of the two of you. there's a lot of them but it makes sense to him with how much time you spend together. there's more regular photos like you two on patrol or walking down carpets together on your way into the entrances to a gala and some not so regular ones that fans have taken without either of your knowledge or consent but that's one of the cons about being a hero.

there's a photo taken at the cinema when you went to see the new studio ghibli film the boy and and the heron. you can tell it's the two of you even though it's dark, his elbows and your hair gives it away. you're leaning against him and sharing popcorn, his arm resting on the armrest.

there's a photo of his tape wrapped around your hand, while you're both grinning, it was christmastime and you were shopping, you couldn't find any tape so he said he'd give you some of his.

there's a blurry photo taken of the two of you in a small cafe, it looks like it was taken in a hurry. you and hanta are sitting across from each other at a table and you've got your mouth open, hanta's leaning forward with a fork, going to feed you some of his food.

there's dozens of photos and it just makes him want to be more careful when going out in public with disguises.

'PROOF that reveals pro hero cellaphane's soulmate.' hanta wishes that was true.

he looked at the first comment but clicked off when it was someone talking about how you're 'couple goals,' the amount of likes on that comment was astonishingly high for two words.

soulmate hanta doesn't care if people see his soulmate mark, he doesn't even think about so when he lifts up his jumper and his shirt lifts up as well during games night bakugou scowls.

he doesn't remember random words and sentences his friends said to each other nearly a decade ago now. but this. he knows this. on hanta's hip, in your handwriting, is his soulmate mark.

bakugou knows your writing well, he made you study. he'd put a timer on his phone and you'd sit together studying until the timer ran out, he'd talk you through anything you didn't know and understand. he'd snatch your paper out of your hand after it got graded and read everything you wrote. bakugou is one of the reasons you passed your classes, he's probably the only reason you passed your classes. that's why he knows that's your handwriting and seeing that it's your handwriting just pisses him off.

'why the hell is soy sauce face always looking at her like that if she's his soulmate and they're destined together.'

someone else could think that they're together but just haven't announced it to the public but bakugou knows that isn't true. he knows you're single, he's a hundred percent sure you are. it's true that something is definitely up about your soulmate situation and now he's got a clue of what that might be but whenever he makes a comment about how being single is good for his career because he can focus more on being number one you agree with the same sentiment.

'does that mean she rejected him? i don't know about that. would someone spend that much time with someone they rejected? what if they never realised. no that doesn't seem possible.'

"yo bakugou, you good? you're just kind of staring at sero with daggers in your eyes." kirishima asks noticing that bakugou hasn't taken his off of sero for awhile.

bakugou is straightforward, he's honest, he speaks his mind, he cares about his friend even if the public doesn't understand that. he gives his friends nicknames that people don't understand, even though he's the number one hero he still get's backlash for that. even with the backlash the nicknames stay the same, his first two friends at ua still get called 'shitty hair' and 'shitty women', he still calls denki 'dunce face', jirou 'ears' but he cares about them all.

all that caring is amplified when it's comes to you and you're involved, he's protective of you- emotionally. ever since he's met you you've been competing on who's better, you're the number ten hero always saying that you'll take his place soon, he knows you can handle yourself but when it comes to emotion- he worries. without him would you be friends with all the people you are now? you were worse at making connections with people than bakugou was and that's saying something, all because you were so quiet and worried about your soulmate situation.

he knows there's speculation that you're his soulmate but you both ignore it, he doesn't love you, at least romantically. it's definitely an emotion he can't put his finger on though, he guesses it's likely brotherly love but he's an only child so he can't be sure about that.

"why the hell do you act all lovesick all the time when your soulmate is spending everyday with you?"

hanta's mind goes blank. what the hell is he talking about? "huh, i- what?"

bakugou tuts, 'why is he acting like he doesn't know?' "i'm not a fucking idiot. shitty women's handwriting is on your hip."

hanta's eyebrows furrow, "i think i'd know if one of my best friends was my soulmate bakugou. this isn't her writing."

"holy fuck, you are an idiot. i've spent enough time studying with her to know."

"you obviously didn't if you think that." hanta retorts. 'there's just no way that's her writing.' he hasn't actually seen your handwriting that much and certainly not in recent years. it's one of the things he hasn't committed to memory about you but he knows for a fact that's not your handwriting. 'wait was does my soulmate mark even say?' he doesn't remember, he hasn't properly looked at it for so long now.

hanta lifts up his top again to read what it says, tilting his head trying to read it upside down. bakugou answers his silent request knowing that he wouldn't have asked and tells him what is says.

"i don't remember hearing 'thanks sero, you were great too,' but... wait, that... that does look a bit like her handwriting." he stares at the mark, trying to think back.

"yeah, plain face that's because it is." bakugou crosses his arms and looks at him annoyed.

soulmate hanta thinks everything bakugou just said to him through. "hold up," hanta lets go of his top again letting it drop down and moves around the all the furniture to go into a back room. he's so glad this game night is taking place at his. he leaves without anymore explanation and starts rummaging around in his spare room where he keeps things from the past, from ua and before that.

in one of the cardboard boxes at the back is notes from you that he's kept. they weren't meaningful or particularly very sentimental but they were notes you passed him in class. you sat far away from each other and would do mad libs and hangman. he didn't focus on the way you wrote each singular letter at the time.

you'd give him notes that said things like '6 letters. clue: current annoyance' he was able to win that fairly easy. after winning, writing back 'is mineta a current annoyance if you're always annoyed at him?'

you'd pass back a note for him that read, 'write me back: celebrity name, colour, adjective, object, colour, emotion, animal! after class - if you can read the completed filled in sentence without laughing or smiling you get to choose the film for tonight' it was always hard for him not to laugh or smile, especially when he had to say things like "hawks always wanted an orange handsome dildo-" he couldn't keep it in and grinned after that, you ended up choosing the film.

hanta can't pinpoint the exact moment he started to crumple up the paper, holding it tightly in his hand. he's figured it out, that's your handwriting! he clutches onto his shirt and takes deep breathes. he has to tell you! you have to know! you're meant to be together the proof is right in front of him, the proof is forever marked into his skin. it'll be a shock to you and he knows it's probably not the best to spring it on you but you have to know.

leaving all the notes scattered across the floor he quickly gets up to talk to everyone. "bakugou's right!" bakugou rolls his eyes at that. "i-i can't believe she's actually my soulmate. i have to go."

"wait what, go where?" kirishima questions. kaminari overlaps him, at the same time congratulating him.

"she's not on duty tonight, i have to tell her!" no one really has a proper chance to respond before he's already left.

"should we leave?" kirishima looks around the room.

"nah, we've already opened our drinks and booted up the tv. we'll go later." kaminari picks up his beer.

soulmate hanta who rushes over to where you live, banging on the front door loudly. you wonder who's knocking at such an hour and so noisily at that. it's not abnormal for hanta to come by but he's with the guys tonight and he doesn't knock like this, he usually knocks the same pattern which he refers to as his own chime of a doorbell. you open the door and you're surprised to see hanta, looking at you... strangely? "oh, hanta! i wasn't expecting you. weren't you supposed to be hosting games night tonight? is everything okay?"

hanta doesn't answer the question and instead asks, "can i come in?" he says in a low voice and licks his lips, wetting them. your eyes quickly glance at the movement before looking back up at his almond eyes. you move to the side for him to come in and shut the door behind him. you don't think something's wrong, at least it doesn't look like something's wrong by the way he's looking at you and his posture. he's looking at you for a second before pacing around the room, you don't press him on anything you just stand where you are and wait for whatever he needs. he stops his pacing and turns back to you, the intense look in his eye almost makes you want to squirm out of embarrassment for being seen that much. "i need to tell you something."

"okay," you respond, prolonging the end of the word. you're confused.

"we're soulmate!" hanta almost shouts at you. with knitted eyebrows and a bewildered expression you repeat okay. "w-w-what do you mean okay?" didn't you just hear me?" hanta's in disbelief and he scans your face.

"i mean... i heard you but i don't know why you're telling me something we both know." you don't even have time to feel anything other than puzzled. this situation should be making you feel heavyhearted or heartbroken but instead it's just filled with questions of 'why is he bringing this up? we already know this.'

hanta splutters, "why are you acting like you already know this?"

your mind goes blank.

"what?" you whisper, your mouth is dry and your limbs feel heavy. ''why is he acting like this? he doesn't seem drunk or high. is he being controlled by someone? there's no way he'd be this cruel.' you open your mouth breathing softly and you're finding it hard to keep your breathing steady. "why are you being like this hanta? it's cruel." your voice is even quieter than it was.

hanta's eyes soften as he sees you and goes to reach out to you before stopping himself. "i'm not trying to be cruel, i'm just trying to understand what you're saying. i've just found out you're my soulmate and i needed you to know... but... but you're acting... you're saying that you already know. i don't understand why you've kept it a secret."

you blink slowly, trying to process everything hanta's just told you. "what do you mean that you just found out? i haven't kept anything a secret. i knew from the very beginning we met. you tripped over my bag and praised me after a practical lesson. did you really forget?"

soulmate hanta's eyes widen. "forget?! i didn't even know. you really think i'd forget the woman i've been in love with since i saw her is my soulmate."

you have questions but all you can focus on is, "you love me?" you ask- softly. shyly.

hanta goes bright red. "w-well yeah, of course i do." you giggle and he smiles affectionately at you, he loves hearing you laugh especially when he's the one getting you to do it.

"i love you too," you let him know sweetly.

hanta grins, "really?"

you hum and nod your head. "did you really not know?" hanta shakes his head. "how did you find out in the end though?"

hanta rubs the back of his neck and appears guilty as he responds, "oh, that... well, it was bakugou. he saw my mark and knew it was your writing."

you pout at him, "god, you didn't even realise yourself." hanta chuckles nervously. "what am i going to do with you hey? my oblivious soulmate." you wrap your arms around him and hug him, your face on his chest, gazing up to make eye contact.

soulmate hanta grins when he hears you call him your soulmate and reciprocates the hug, holding onto you and squeezing lightly for a second. "i can't imagine what it must of felt like for you, i'm sorry. all those wasted years we could of had together if only i connected the dots better. i promise i'll make it up to you."

there's plenty of time to talk about your feelings, to express to him how you felt rejected. there's your whole life for that but right now there's something better. "oh, how are you going to make it up to me?" you say teasingly and smirk.

hanta chuckles loudly and grins, "what do you have in mind?" one of his hands that was holding you sneaks in under your top. neither of you have ever done this before but soulmates are made for each other, you'll know each other's body better than you know your own because, at the end of the day, you're meant to be.

[an-au-blog]

modern academic au where viktor just can't get his peace and quiet in the library. Because every time he tries to study, there's this damned himbo that trails him around asking him what he's researching with a big goofy smile. It's always "do you want me to carry your books" and "oh I haven't read that one yet, is it good," and so on and so forth. And in his mind, it's like "just because I'm using a cain doesn't mean I need your help, and yeah of course you haven't read it, you're probably in with some sports scholarship or whatever" but he never voices it. He's the headmaster's portage and he can't go around being rude to random people in the library. Plus, it's not like the other man stays too long, he goes to classes and secludes himself to study as well.

Around exam season, the man stopped hanging off his arm so much, they didn't cross paths in the library or in the halls, but once or twice, Viktor would see him with books about physics, electronics and other things Viktor had been researching before. He never approached him, but he was a bit amused at the seriousness in his expression while he was scribbling something in his notebooks.

If the man WAS on a sports scholarship, perhaps he was reading those books to find a way to talk to Viktor more and in all honesty, it would have been the most someone had done to get to flirt with him, so what if he thought it was a little sweet... it wasn't as if he would expect though. No. His studies were far too important to be put on the back burner for a guy who thought a bone crushing hug (that usually lasts too long for it to be just friendly) was an adequate way to greet an acquaintance.

One day, Viktor found a notebook with research that could be groundbreaking one day. It was past closing hours for the academy, but he had keys so he was left to read all the notes throughout the whole night and even into the day. The neat handwriting, the diagrams, the brilliant ideas... whoever this person was, he was flowing in potential. And when Viktor turned each page he couldn't help but smile to himself, how silly and a bit narcissistic, to sign your name on each of them. Jayce Talis, Jayce Talis, Jace Talis, Jayce Talis, each page, just Jayce Talis, Jayce-

"Hey!"

A familiar voice called for him. Out of breath and disheveled, stood the man who had been trailing him around.

"Oh, I'm so glad I found it- I mean you-" He sagged with relief. But when his eyes flickered from the notes to Viktor and back, he seemed to get a bit sheepish. "I thought I lost them." A whisper to himself before he snapped his eyes back to Viktor. "Ah, uh... you read all of them?"

And there he was, flirting with the same lame excuse, Viktor thought.

"Yes," he decided to humour him a bit. Closing the book and pulling it away from the other. "I was hoping to return it to it's owner, maybe discuss some of the ideas in it."

The man didn't seem to take the hint as he sat across from him with a small smile. "Yeah? So you don't think it's an obnoxious or ridiculous idea?"

"Ridiculous? Perhaps a bit, but it is not obnoxious to want natural resources of this quantity to produce -" He stopped himself, this random guy didn't need to hear it. "Nevermind, you don't need to hear that." Viktor was ready to stand up until he felt a hand reach for his to make him stay.

"No, no! I really want to hear it! Every professor I've tried showing my research to has told me I'm being unrealistic. But I think that with enough time, and effort, it's possible!" His face was glowing. "I mean as far as energy sources go, this could save much for both the people and companies. See- " grabbed one of the notebooks and started flipping through it, "right here, I tried to make a model of-"

"Jayce?" Viktor asked in disbelief.

The other man looked up at him with that dumb smile again. "Yes?"

"Jayce Talis...?"

Jayce tilted his head in question. "Yes?" He asked with more hesitance.

"You are Jayce Talis?" Viktor lifted up the notebook, pointing at the place where the name was signed.

"Did I not introduce myself the first time we met?"

"No!"

Jayce laughed a little awkward chuckle and it made Viktor's chest constrict. With anger, probably...

"Well, I'm sorry, um. My name is Jayce." He reached his hand out for a shake. "Nice to meet you."

"Viktor." He took it. "Likewise." And he found himself meaning it.

[fan-a-tink]

Personal post, but seeing this gif loose in the tournament brought up some stuff and I just needed to get it out of my system.

This moment right here is the reason why this show has come to have such a hold on my soul. Before I watched a single minute of the actual show, I came across the YouTube video where Jayden & George break down the confession scene and it includes this snippet where Charles says "there's no one else, no one else" and I knew then I had to see this show and that I was going to love it.

A few years ago, I fell in love with my best friend and having carried this love quietly for a long time, I finally told them how I felt. It was one of the scariest but also bravest things I've ever done. I had realised that I was ace earlier that year and it took me a long time to work out where I fell on the aromantic spectrum. It was because of my friend that I could understand what being "in love" meant. For me, romantic attraction is all about that secret third thing, that incurable hope to mean something to the other, to be allowed to love them and care for them and be a part of their life not matter what. So when I told them about my feelings, I wanted to acknowledge how important they are to me. I wanted them to know how much they are loved, how important their presence and friendship is in my life. And yes, I guess what I was hoping for was to be just as important to them as they are to me. I was asking them whether they wanted to go through life with me, and let me go through life with them. And although their answer was similarly to Charles a "not yet" rather than a definite "no", it caused a hurt I have still not recovered from and I'm not sure if I ever will. At the end of the day, I was not a priority to them enough that they wanted to figure out what the rest means together.

So hearing Charles say that "there's no one else, no one else" does something to my heart every single time I watch that scene. Having been the Edwin in this moment, I cannot tell you how much Charles' response to Edwin's confession is an affirmation of their friendship, of the importance of their relationship, no matter how they define it. No matter who Charles has a crush on at the moment, there is no one else he would go to hell for. Edwin is the most important person in the world to him and that will never change. It's exactly the response I was hoping for from my friend, the response I didn't get, and hearing Charles say these words tore my heart in two and healed it at the same time. The entirety of the confession scene still does all sorts of crazy things to my emotions, but this is the moment that I cannot let go of, that I will never recover from.

Edwin and Charles mean the world to me because their relationship is the definition of the secret third thing, so devoted that the distinction between romantic and platonic looses some of its significance. They are "it" for each other, they choose each other over heaven and hell over and over again. They care about each other so much that being apart is the only thing they cannot endure. They can deal with whatever happens to them, as long as they are together. The one thing that they are both completely sure of is that there is no one else for either of them. Their relationship is what I had hoped to build with my best friend, and to see these two ghost boys get there has healed something in my heart and made me feel incredibly seen.

[pearlzier]

ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ 𝜗℘ㆍ nerd.ᐟmatt ☆ nerd.ᐟreader ，✿

"POPULAR, YOU'RE GONNA BE POPULAR," you'd sing when you were doing absolutely anything. it was no shock to anyone that you adore musicals, you're an absolute theatre fiend. since you were a little kid, it's been your form of escapism, being able to transform into a different person on stage instead of how sheepish you usually are. matt personally loved how confident you were infront of an audience and so passionately speaking the lines you'd worked so hard to perfect.

after the inarguable disaster that was the mean girls adaptation (you'd quite literally sobbed into his arms about how bad it was) you two were pretty sceptical about a wicked movie adaptation.

"you really like uh.." matt's watching you, as best as he can, anyway, considering the fact that he's driving the two of you towards the cinema. his eyes flutter back to the road, hand working over the wheel as he holds onto it. "uh.. what's her name, the woman who played glinda on broadway—" he drums his fingers against the wheel in thought.

you adored the original wicked on broadway, you'd practically learnt the entire score, and you were so serious when it came to elphaba and glinda. literally, you and your bestfriend had gone as them one time for halloween before it was trendy to do so—the 'og's, shall we say. you loved many musicals, but wicked would always have a soft spot in your heart. having gone to see it live, it was a memory you'd never forget.

you were like, the most qualified ever to judge whether a wicked movie adapation was actually as good as it should be.

well, matt thought you were, anyway. he held you in extremely high regard.

he doesn't even get to finish before you're interjecting, "kristin chenoweth!" causing a smile to spread across his lips. there you go again, so eager to talk about musicals. he only ever sees you this happy when you're talking about the things you like or when you're with him.

"kristin chenoweth," he agrees quietly, watching the way the gleam in your eyes twinkles as you speak. he's in awe, pure awe, at how perfect you are. he'll get better at voicing it, he's sure of it. he's just.. a little overwhelmed by how much he loves you.

"she's amazing, matt," you insist, adjusting the tote bag sat in your lap. nothing could describe the amount of energy you have right now, you're practically bouncing off the inside of the car with joy right now. this might be one of the best moments of your life if you're completely honest with yourself.

"this is gonna be amazing, 'm sure of it. the marketing team are working overtime for this." matt might actually cry if he has to drink down another glinda themed robinsons drink—he won't, he'll brave it for you, but still.

matt isn't exactly into musicals the way you are, he usually plays video games, watches movies, and gets so hype over them it's crazy. though, you get it, your interests make you just as feral. but this is a movie musical, so you think he'll be into it as well. wicked was inescapable, his entire for you page was just glinda and elphaba and he wasn't even mad about it. couldn't be, especially with how happy it made you.

it was like when hamilton was trending, oh, god, you'd performed like seven one woman performances of the musical that he's sure he can quote the entire thing by now.

the two of you are quiet for a little more, the original broadway cast singing away in the background as it plays through the car speaker from your phone, 'till the car comes to a stop outside of the cinema. "we're here," he murmurs, killing the engine once he makes sure his parking's perfect.

"oh my god, matt! we're here. what if i faint? what if i vomit? oh god, i won't get to see the movie if i faint or vomit, will i? oh no, uh, okay, i need, uh.. oh—"

"hey, hey, relax," matt says, gently, wanting you to chill out a little. he offers a sheepish little smile and he murmurs, "uh.. we can go get the themed popcorn buckets and you can throw up in there if you want to.. in style.." that makes you giggle and you nod, practically ripping off your seatbelt so that the two of you don't waste any more time inside the car. he has to quickly get out to join you, making sure that you don't run off on your own.

as the two of you walk, his fingers awkwardly twitch at his side as he wishes to hold your hand, but he's a little apprehensive to. though, he doesn't know why he's so apprehensive about it, the two of you are dating, holding hands is a simple thing. but.. he is.

"wicked's real popular," he murmurs, glancing around. "it's real amazing," you add in return. the two of you make your way inside the cinema together, and you glance at eachother for a moment. he smiles, you smile, and it sends a surge of warmth through both of you. leaning against his shoulder, you watch as he pays for the two tickets, and even more heat surges through you at the fact you're one hundred percent going to be seeing wicked now. matt likes how happy it makes you. it makes him almost as happy, he's sure.

and you notice this, after a little. there's a bit of a queue—wicked was so popular—and you end up interlacing your fingers with his own. it makes a heat flush to his cheeks and he offers a smile to you, shuffling closer to you and pressing by your side a little just to make sure you don't get too cold considering it's getting colder out.

"line's pretty long," he notes quietly, glancing up. you guys are near the front, so it's okay. "mmh, yeah, but we're almost in," you agree, swinging your interlaced hands as you stand beside eachother.

"popcorn buckets?"

"popcorn buckets."

you're a mess when you get out of there. literally, he's got stains on his hoodie from your tears, not that he minded all that much. he'd be a hypocrite otherwise, he's feeling a little teary eyed himself. thrusted against his chest are the various popcorn buckets that you'd bought, as you're currently trying to compose yourself and make sure your pink makeup doesn't run. you'd dressed up in full glinda gear, as best as you could, and he'd gone as elphaba. in your words, he'd given you total wicked witch of the west energy, in the best way.

he mumbles a soft, "you're okay," switching the popcorn buckets to one arm so he could gently rub your arm as the two of you made your way out. a soft smile settles on his lips, just watching you. everyday he's reminded in little moments why he loves you so much. this is definitely one of them. matt quietly leads you out of the screening room, giving smiles to the people working at the cinema, ones who are quiet heartwarmed by your reaction to the movie and how much it clearly meant to you.

"that was just.." matt sighs softly, shaking his head as heat flushes to his cheeks. he shifts his weight a little, gently tugging on you for you to stop. it's just outside of the screening, his eyes meeting yours. your eyes are glossy, gleaming beneath the pink and green lights illuminating you both. "perfect," you finish for him, words wavering a little as you speak. god, you've never enjoyed a movie more. definitely a top ten movie. maybe even for matt, too. he couldn't deny how good it was.

matt nods his head at your words, adding a quiet, "really perfect," you'd one hundred percent be watching the movie a gazillion times after, probably in cinemas, but also definitely on some illegal websites when you got back home. matt'd be joining you, totally. he may not have been a complete musical fan, but he'd get into it for you, definitely.

"i'm like.. a new person after that," you tell him, shuffling closer to him and leaning your head up against his chest. he places the buckets down on the ground beside you two and he tentatively wraps an arm around your middle to bring you up against his chest.

"me too.. might be a musical fan.." a laugh slips past his lips ³and in return you giggle too. a soft sigh escapes you afterwards, head tilting to the side a little. he blinks when you look up at him like that, and the heat floods his cheeks a little more. he's getting warm from all the attention, really. but you're looking up at him like he hung the stars and the moon, and it makes him feel so unbelievably special. his heart's pounding against his chest, literally.

"i.. wanna kiss you," you find yourself saying before you even realise, and matt practically splutters and stammers over his words in return. "oh, uh.. you do? oh," he swallows thickly, glancing down at the ground a moment before he meets your gaze again, nodding his head. he'd been thinking the same exact thing, since.. right now, your lips look like they're coated in pure sugar, all shiny and glossy.

"you can kiss me. i wanna.. wanna kiss you," he mumbles, slowly easing his hand upwards on your back, his lips parting.

you're the one who goes for it, bringing your lips to his in a gentle kiss. he brings you as close as possible with his hand, a dreamy sigh slipping past his lips against your own. you let your hands come up and cradle his jaw, both of your eyes shutting together as you take in the bliss that is the kiss you're sharing. when the two of you part, he's breathless, eyes gleaming in a similar way to yours. "you taste like candy," accurate, considering all the candy you'd been eating during the movie, but he loves it.

you feel a heat come to your face at that, and you glance at the floor sheepishly. "i do?"

matt nods, because yeah, you do. he sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting the sweetness that you'd left there in the kiss. he's incredibly intoxicated by you, how you taste, how you feel, just.. you. "yeah.." he really wants to do it again, but the realisation that you two had just kissed in public hits him and he ends up burying his head in your hair to try hide himself in some way. "oh my god, we just kissed, in public," you say in realisation.

he's got absolutely no clue where all of this confidence comes from, but he murmurs a breathy, "y'know what's not public?" that makes your eyebrows raise in interest, lashes fluttering a little bit. matt relishes in that expression on your face, just for a moment.

"what is?" you soon ask, brows furrowing now.

"my bedroom," matt wiggles his eyebrows instinctively, and despite your surprise at his forwardness, you laugh. a genuine, soft, laugh. god, you adore him. enough to the point you quickly run behind him as he practically drags you back to the car.

ִ ֹ ★ @deansbite i hope you and our 120+ kids are proud o'me for writin' consistently :3

ִ ֹ ★ @mattybsgroupie, @mattslolita, @stellasturns, @stevelacylovebot, @55sturn, @jetaimevous, @phone4pills, @aesthetixhoe, @venusiers, @chrissdollie, @stvrnmc, @sarosfilms, @sarosfilms, @funkycoloured, @v3nusasgirl, @beridollie, @pr3ttyf4wn, @sincerebabydoll, @cayleeuhithinknott, @j2ss7, @sweetrelieef, @l3sbiancvnt, @beausling, @lovesickgrlsrh0t , @cupiidk1lls, @sofiassaturn ִ ꒱

[jam3sacaster]

“What did you fucking say?”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Rupert would go the ends of the earth to protect you, as he always told you. However, you’d never seen it in action…

18+ FANFIC / Feral, protective Rupert 🩷 Reader character aged at 21 🫶🏽 Mentions of half the cast 😅

It was a tantalisingly crisp Spring afternoon — golden rays of the sun casting a glow against the tremendous cups of daffodils and the brisk breeze dancing between the blades of grass at Green Lawns. Freddie and Valerie Jones had decided to host a garden party, meaning copious amounts of horrific champagne and a hoard of people exchanging fickle pleasantries. It was also yours and Rupert Campbell-Black’s first public outing as a newly established couple, and you secretly adored the scornful looks you received from every attendee’s envious wives as you arrived, hand-in-hand. The crowd has grown silent as he led you into the flamboyant garden, mouths agape in resentful shock.

“Charming welcome, as always.” Rupert remarked towards you, shooting the hushed crowd a fraudulent smile. Soon enough, their conversation grew frightfully noisy once again, although a few piercing gazes remained on you. “Oh hello, Mr Campbell-Black, please do help yourself to champagne.” A woman with a gaudily colourful dress on — mismatched hues of green and pink slapped onto a black linen shell — spoke towards your boyfriend, ignoring your presence entirely. “Thank you, Mousie. We will.” Rupert nodded, making his way to the buffet table and pouring you both a teeming flute of champagne. He just about made it over to you to hand you the glass, before he was whisked away by Valerie to introduce to an adoring gaggle of fans.

From across the carefully preened lawn, Tony Baddingham was involved in a tedious conversation with some television executives, but his piercing eyes leered at you like a hawk eyeing its prey. “Hello, gorgeous. Feeling like an outcast yet?” A familiar voice chimed from behind you, heavy hands pawing at your shoulders. “Hello, Bas. Not yet.” You grinned at the olive-skinned man, turning around to face him. At least you had one friend here — you had spent just as much time with Basil as you had with Rupert, often feeling like a third wheel in their fantastical friendship. “Oop. No. Not today.” Your boyfriend’s boyfriend groaned, bringing your champagne flute to his mouth for a stolen gulp, and practically bolting in the opposite direction. Utterly confused by Basil’s prompt exit, it immediately became apparent as Lord Baddingham emerged afore you.

“Why, hello there. Lord Baddingham. And you are… Rupert’s latest conquest, I take it? You’re not the first poor bitch he’s dragged along to one of these things.” The Roman-nosed man spat. God, Rupert’s right, he is a total cunt, you thought to yourself. “Lovely to meet you, Lord Baddingham. Rupert has told me all about you.” You respond — saccharine smile aching your lips. “Which lie has the poor bastard told you to get you here then? He’s never felt this way about anybody before, he’ll give you the world, or your pussy’s too tight that he can’t let you out of his sight?” Tony chortled at his own repulsive witticism. “I don’t think that’s rather appropriate to say to somebody you’ve just met if you don’t mind my saying, Lord B. I’m happy with Rupert.” You reply, but you needn’t have. Tony’s predatory eyes were ogling your cleavage, dreaming of something so very, very out of his reach. He leant in towards you, hot, acidic breath washing across your skin. “When he chucks you, you know where to find me. I wouldn’t mind a go on those marvellous tits.”

“What did you fucking say?” Rupert boomed from behind him, his voice irresistibly sexy and his presence providing the most needed wave of calm. Tony paused for a moment, exhaling deeply and turning on his heels. “I was just taking a moment to introduce myself to your new lady.” He replied, lying through his teeth. “No, what did you just fucking say to her?” Rupert reiterated, teeth grinding together so hard they could’ve crumbled. “Steady on, old chap. You’ll dispose of her in a few weeks, and she’ll be wanting to hold onto the fame with a new cock.” Tony hissed, the words leaving his mouth bitter and cold. It made you shiver in disgust.

Without hesitation, Rupert’s arm swung and delivered a forceful punch to Tony’s jaw, knocking the sinewy man to the floor and coaxing a ripple of gasps from the now gathering crowd. You clapped your hands across your mouth, shocked into silence. “Rupert! Don’t lower yourself, for fucks sake.” Basil thundered, sprinting over to his friend and pulling him aside. Tony, sitting up, tended to his bruised and bleeding jaw, Monica now fretting beside him. Rage seethed through Rupert’s body, but he smirked at the pain he’d inflicted on his mortal adversary.

“I’m terribly sorry you had to see that, angel. But there was no way I was going to allow him to speak of you like that.” Rupert huffed, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tight to his chest. “Yes, of course. Well done, Rupert. Made yourself feel like the big man now, have you?” Tony continued his barrage of abuse, pulling himself to his feet and spitting a bloody glob of phlegm onto the ground. Marching towards him and grabbing a tight fistful of Tony’s navy silk shirt, Rupert practically lifted him from the grass. “Listen, Baddingham. If I see you so much as glance in her direction again, you’ll be straight to Corinium nursing a lot more than a fucking broken jaw. Do I make myself clear?” He seethed, and rather enjoyed seeing Tony spluttering in confusion. “Yes…” He managed to choke out in that weedy, pathetic voice of his.

“Good.” Rupert muttered, loosening his grip of Tony’s shirt and watching him fall to the ground once more. Taking a firm grip of your hand, Rupert ushered you towards the pathway. “Come on, angel. Let’s go home.”

[scrumptiousmongerhumanoidshark]

Zagreus SFW and NSFW alphabets ♥️, for my friend @ember1224

≿———————— ❈ ————————≾

SFW alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Zagreus is extremely affectionate to his friends, as we see in the game, he offers you as much nectar as you’ll accept, and once you stop accepting nectar he’s giving you Ambrosia until you demand he stops.

Zagreus also shows his affection by standing close to you, or having a hand on your shoulder as you walk together.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Oh if you’re his best friend you’re going to get so much gossip.

He will tell you anything and everything- Achilles and Patroclus have a small argument? You know every detail before even Hermes does. Charon was caught being affectionate to Hermes? You’re helping him spread the news across the house.

You’d undoubtably meet him by being a servant to the house, someone he’s known for a long time and already has a small bond with.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Zagreus adores cuddling, he cuddles by literally yanking you into his lap, putting his head on your shoulder while he yaps about his day/night. He’s so giddy about it, arms loosely around you as he holds a new book of legends and myths that he’s had edited and he’s reading it to you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Zagreus is absolutely down to settle down with a partner, the only bad part is he’s very uh… well he has no culinary skills and his ‘cleaning’ is mostly shoving clothes under his bed and into whatever crevices he can find.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Zagreus would definitely be far more polite than most when it comes to breaking up. He’d probably bring you into his room and apologize, comforting that it wasn’t your fault but he’s just no longer interested in you. He’d still be down to be best friends, but if you didn’t want to be he’d understand completely.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Zagreus, as we all know, is impulsive as FUCK. He’d be down to get married if you even show a little attraction back to him. He will commit if he thinks you’ll commit.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s uh.. he’s a little dense, but that’s ok. He’s not the most emotionally gentle guy out there, I mean, have you seen how his dad deals with everything?

Nonetheless, he’s very physically gentle, he knows his own strength very well and he (somewhat) knows when to use it.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Zagreus adores hugs, he will yank you into a bone crushing (not literally) hug every time he sees you, grinning like an idiot.

Zagreus will hug you every time he sees you, even if he only saw you a few minutes ago, you will not escape the hugs from the Prince of the underworld.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He says “I love you” very quickly, right as he confesses, actually. Every morning he will wake you up with praises, kisses all along your shoulder and neck, and him mumbling “I love you” against your skin.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they��re jealous?)

Zagreus will only get jealous if you’re getting ‘too’ close with someone he knows, then he’ll basically turn into a ‘big scary dog’ and hover over your shoulder pouting.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Zagreus’ kisses are soft, but quick, usually on your forehead before he goes off on a run and literally jumps out his window.

He loves when you kiss the palms of his hands, just adoring the scars on them.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Please don’t let him around kids, he doesn’t know what to do. The way his dad treated him is his ONLY reference- he will hand them Stygious and try to teach them how to use it if he’s unsupervised.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings are spent in bed- he will not get up. Good luck leaving his bed if you’re there, he’s holding you hostage until his dad comes in there and shouts at him to get up because he’s late for his duties.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are spent cuddled up against each other, him somewhat flopped on you as he reads the Iliad (one of his favorite stories as it’s about Achilles) to you until you both fall asleep and the book falls to the ground.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Zagreus won’t be super quick to reveal things about himself, but every time he talks he mentions some little thing about himself. He honestly focused more on trying to understand you, rather than trying to vent about himself and all of his trauma.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Zagreus has decent patience, but if you do something royally idiotic you’re getting an annoyed interrogation from Zagreus. I think the only way to truly piss him off would be to hurt someone dear to him or break something important.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers random details about you, whatever his brain considers interesting. He remembers your important details along with when you first became friends, to the last time he saw you interacting with a random shade. But he won’t remember your birthday- for some strange reason.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment is when he first gave you ambrosia, how you put your hands over your mouth and stared in shock at the bottle he was handing you. You were so, so flattered and shocked that Zagreus cared enough to give it to you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Zagreus is extremely protective of his friends, and he’d absolutely protect you against everything he could. He’d do the same with all of his friends- and he’d honestly laugh if you tried protecting him back. He understands that you care about him, but believe me, he’s far stronger than you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

As much effort as he can possibly use, he’s going to Elysium, beating Theseus’ ass into the ground, and bringing you back some fine ambrosia for you to drink in celebration- and if you like fish then he’s beating the shit out of his dad and bringing back a fish from Greece.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He has a bad habit of just yoinking some of your gold. He’s gotten so used to sparring with Charon after stealing from him, that hes started unconsciously pick pocketing stray coins whenever he sees them.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not at all concerned- he’s already the underworlds biggest nuisance and the biggest pain in his dad’s ass. Any worries about his appearance is long gone.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

I think Zagreus would definitely feel lonely without you, I mean he knows plenty of shades, but each of them takes up space in his heart. He’d definitely feel a part of him missing, and would undoubtably search for you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Zagreus has a diary with little notes on everyone he’s met, usually it has things that they like and little interesting facts about them written down so he knows what to get them.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn’t like someone who lies for no reason- it just tells him you can’t be trusted with anything. He can tell a lie immediately, and will probably tell you not to lie to him because he likes to trust his friends, but if you keep doing it he will cut you off completely.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Insomniac king- he almost never sleeps, but when he does it’s the heaviest sleep ever and he will sleep for a day and a half if he’s not woken up. You’ll find him curled up in his blankets, face down in his pillows and chances are he still has his clothes on.

NSFW alphabet

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

Zagreus is so sweet after sex, giving you sips of nectar as he bathes you, gently massaging your sore muscles. He’s a gentleman, albeit a somewhat clueless one. He takes care of you and even tucks you snuggle into his bed before he dares to care for himself.

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

Zagreus’ favorite part of himself is his hands- they’re strong and durable, after all. He uses them to hold you close as he fucks you, or even to gently tug your hair. He will absolutely melt if you kiss along his callouses and compliment the scars on his palms.

His favorite part of you? That has to be your lips, he loves how they trail along his scars, or leave gentle marks along his immortal skin. He also loves feeling your soft lips against his own, it’s almost enough to make him moan.

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

Zagreus’ loves cumming down your throat, feeling your throat constricting around his cock and milking all of the cum out of it. Breathless praises would leave his mouth as he loosely holds you there.

His second favorite place to cum is between your thighs, not necessarily in your pussy (if you’re female) or in your ass (if you’re either gender), but he likes seeing the white liquid staining them and slowly dripping down onto the bed/couch.

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

I can’t really see Zagreys having a dirty secret, if I’m being honest :P

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

Zagreus is not the most experienced man in the world, considering how I think he’s only ever been with Meg, but that taught him a lot. He… well he somewhat knows what he’s doing, but he’s a quick learner and can improvise on the spot.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

His favorite position is the lotus position, with him slightly reclining back in a chair in his room , arms around your waist, your legs and arms wrapped around him as he gently fucks into you.

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

Zagreus is not the most serious person in the world- I mean he won’t just be a complete dumbass during sex, but he is absolutely not stoic and serious during sex. He’s definitely the kind of guy to lightly joke around during sex.

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

Zagreus is not well groomed, at least not until after you get together. He has some thick hair down there, but he’s drummed it down quite a bit. The hair along his crotch is dark, like his hair, and slightly curly.

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

Zagreus is so sweet, generally he has one hand cupping your jaw, making your eyes stay on his own as he praises you and asks if you’re alright. He is the definition of attentive, even the slightest show of discomfort and he will stop to check on you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Zagreus doesn’t really give himself the time to jack off, but if he’s been on a particularly long run, once he’s cleared a room he’ll start jacking himself off to hold himself over until you can be in his arms again.

All in all, Zagreus doesn’t masturbate often, but if he gets impatient for you he will.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Zagreus has a mirror kink, he loves holding you close while he glances into a mirror across from him, watching himself fuck you, watching your face if you’re turned away from him, or just eyeing all the marks his nails have left across your back and sides.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Zagreus will only do it in his room- he loves you, he really does- but he’s not going to fuck you anywhere but his room. It’s completely out of his comfort zone to have sex outside of his room.

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

He gets turned on by the simplest things, you could be brushing his hair and say some simple compliment and he’d have a hard on, if anything the sweeter the compliment or comment is, the more horny he gets.

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

He will not share, he will not hurt you and he absolutely won’t do it anywhere but his room. Zagreus has boundaries and if you push them, or try to push them, he’d be turned off pretty quickly.

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

Zagreus loves receiving Oral, he will do almost anything for a quick blowjob from you, but if you want oral you’ll have to guide him through it. He’s a quick learner, and honestly adores the taste of you- and might (will) become addicted.

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

Zagreus lets you control the pace most days, if you want it fast and rough he’s holding you close and fucking you until your throats gone raw from moaning.

If you want it slow and sensual, he’s going to murmur how much he loves you into your ear and slowly roll his hips against your own.

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

The quickie king, always willing to give you a quick fuck before going on another run, always making sure to at least clean you up before leaving.

Quickies happen at least four times a week, if not more.

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

Zagreus needs quite a bit of convincing to take risks during sex, as he’s very content to just coddle your smaller frame as he fucks you. Needles to say if you do risk something and he doesn’t like it, risks are off the table for a while.

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

Zagreus is a god, he could last for days if he tried hard enough, he can last for a decent amount of time each round. On average he’ll go for two or three rounds, just so you stay conscious and thinking while he fucks you.

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

Zagreus owns a few dildos and plugs, all gifts from his uncles (he will never use them, he does not trust them), but they’re locked away in a safe and you will have to let him watch you boil them for literal days before he willingly uses them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Zagreus will be in a teasing mood about half the time, playfully slowing down whenever you’re on the brink- or just stopping and going on a run to make sure you’re ready for him later.

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

Zagreus is not exactly loud, but he’s very vocal. Hes grunting in your ear, gasping whenever he’s about to cum and if you’re lucky, he might start whimpering in your ear.

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

Zagreus is honestly embarrassed about any mention of you being his mate, or any conversation about sex. He does not want to talk to his dad or uncles about his sex life and he would love if they stopped asking about it.

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

Zagreus is almost seven inches long, and slightly tapered towards his tip. His cock is almost a pale orangish red at the tip, giving off a little heat. Hes about two inches wide.

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

He has a very high sex drive, willing to go whenever you are. He always craves your body against your own, wanting nothing more than to have you in his arms and your body pressed against his own.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He takes at least two hours to fall asleep, just because he wants to take care of you and make sure you’re perfectly taken care of before he even thinks about cleaning himself up to go to bed.

Im gonna be honest i got really tired like halfway through the NSFW half, but i really enjoyed making this :)

Hades is up next

[lotusarchon]

Hi Lotus! If it's possible may I request an x reader scenario with Erlang Shen reacting to a reader who is studying western magic? (harry potter-way) and they come from house Hufflepuff? The differences in how magic is handled by eastern and western countries would be a fun dynamic I think. Also, I wish you a lovely day!

ermine (erlang shen x reader)

content warnings: gender neutral reader, second pov (you/your), fluff, drabble

author's notes: sorry lucky, but i don't like harry potter despite reading the books it was just...eugh for me lmfao 😭 so i'm sorry this isn't too good

“What's the purpose of even using a wand?”

Erlang hadn't meant for the question to come off as rude. He was only mildly curious, and by extension, rather intrigued, observing you walk off ahead with a small frown.

He'd by lying if he said he was only interested in your magic tricks though. Coming across you after fighting that little monkey, walking around with the world's most befuddled expression. From what he could get from you on that first meeting, you were a mortal, with some interesting talents to keep yourself from dying.

And well. Given that you could survive a yaoguai despite having a weird old stick in your hand, you were worthy enough for Erlang to fully acknowledge you.

“It kinda. Like….helps focus the spells, or something?” You replied in response to his question, but judging by your own tone, you didn't quite know why either. It seemed that wherever you came from (which was far from here), using these little pathetic sticks to cast spells was a norm, and a contrast to how Erlang had grown up learning them.

He hummed to acknowledge your answer, quickening his steps to meet yours. “And I presume you know of transformation spells?”

You made a face. “Transformation spells? You mean like disguises?”

When he shook his head, you sighed. “Naw, we don't have that kind of stuff. Least, I don't think so. I mean…” You tapped your wand against your hand. “We can do transformation stuff? But like, I'm not advanced enough for that, plus I'm sure you gotta do like potions…this that…yadda yadda.”

You waved your hand, causing Erlang to chuckle. You glanced at him in turn; “Can you do transformation spells?”

“I have 72 of them.” As if to prove his point, his figure disappeared into a puff of golden smoke. Where he once stood, there was a fluffy white ermine, sitting on its hind feet and beady black eyes gazing up at you. You couldn't help but coo, squatting to rub his head affectionately.

“Your magic is certainly something,” you commented, scratching ermite Erlang’s head. “You didn't even need to cast a spell! Just, poof! So cool!”

And maybe he didn't mind. Just as long as no one knew the cute ermine getting belly rubs in your hands wasn't the great Erlang Shen.

You continued to gush, this time, picking up ermine Erlang in your hands. Though surprised, he remained compliant, allowing you to scratch his head and rub his belly while you continued to walk to whichever destination you wanted. He'd learnt that questioning your logic would only give him a headache in response.

@lotusarchon , 28.11.2024, all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

[nekrotiize]

It's a controversial take because everyone's stupid but I'm never going to stop calling fandom + shipping culture homophobic. Fandoms are consistently extremely homophobic, and shipping culture is consistently even more homophobic.

Yes, the way fandoms center men so religiously is obviously misogynistic. The only people who deny that are themselves misogynists. But the aggressive centering of men and the resultant fixation on male/male dynamics lends to this slimy coating of homophobia that nobody talks about. The misogyny is an issue, clearly. But gay men are, to most people in fandom, toys. We are sex objects to coo over. It's intensely voyeuristic. Every god damn interaction is scrutinized to hell and back, and the second a man shows any kind of emotional connection with another man, it gets pounced on, and he gets thrown into a mill that flattens him down to one of three deeply heterosexual yaoi tropes that are fandom's only way of processing the existence of gay men.

It doesn't even matter what that man is. A disconcerting amount of time, people will start fawning over the idea of literal rapists being gay with zero critical thought applied. As if gay men being painted as and assumed to be sexual predators isn't a method that's been historically used to literally legally murder us. (What the fuck do people think "Gay Panic" means, even?)

Gay men aren't given the ability to be human beings in fandom. We're not afforded nuance. We're accessories, we are constantly objectified, and no one ever takes the time to consider that we have cultures, and that we are real human beings. We keep getting shoved into the most heterosexual boxes physically possible for the easy digestibility of people who do not want to see us as human beings. Semes- sorry, I mean Tops are the taller, older, more masculine, capable men of the relationship. Ukes- oops, sorry again, I mean Bottoms are the smaller, younger, more feminine, and totally useless women of the relationship. It's painfully yaoi. Gay men in fandom are never given the opportunity to be regular men, because people are too busy turning everything into homophobic, misogynistic fetish porn of our existence to be normal for five seconds.

There's something comedic about how many people in fandom want to say they're progressive, accepting. Safe. How fandom is welcoming of everyone. Look, we've made all this representation! And every time, gay men are sex objects, the women are scapegoated to hell and back, the headcanoned trans men are always skinny white softboys not a single day over 21 maximum, lesbianism is maybe acknowledged 0.5% of the time and largely for brownie points, bisexuals are across the board made out to be overtly horny and often sexually aggressive, fans of color are harassed out of the community left and right, anyone on the aro/ace spectrums is called a freak and a killjoy for not participating in shipping, characters on the aro/ace spectrums are heavily included in shipping content with the excuse of "aros/aces can date/have sex like normal people, too!" with zero regard for what our love looks like, and there isn't a single accepted trans woman headcanon to be seen.

Fandoms are circuses full of dirty little liars with cotton stuffed in their ears and Shipping Culture is a disease.

And if you criticize either of them, the most annoying white liberals you've ever seen will start clutching their pearls because how dare you criticize something that's free?! Don't you know a lack of price point immediately negates any criticism?! Just laughable.

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle16]

Day 21: Arcade

Chuuya watches the blinking red ‘Game Over’ screen in front him, the feeling of defeat infesting his insides once again as Dazai cackles from the other side of the gaming machine. 

Hands fisting with rage-induced tremors, he springs up, knocking his stool aside and looking over the top at the brunet. “Rematch, you cheating bastard!”

Dazai giggles, a smirk on his lips as he meets Chuuya’s eyes. “But Chuuya, that’s what you said last time. And the time before that and the time before–”

Chuuya screeches, dropping his head onto the machine and groaning out the rest of his frustrations. It is true, much to his derision, he has lost the last… four (?) matches. All he knows is that the score is 1-to-5 in Dazai’s favor, meaning the mackerel is the winner of this versus session.

After venting his not-so-kind thoughts into Dazai and the machine, he stands straight to cross his arms as narrows his eyes at Dazai. “Alright, what’ll it be this time?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Let me think about it,” Dazai says, getting up himself.

“What?! You had this whole time to think about it, are you shitting–”

Dazai grabs Chuuya’s hand suddenly, pointing across the arcade to something that Chuuya can’t even see thanks to a different machine in his way. Stupid beanpole and his stupid height.

“I want that! Chuuya has to get it for me as punishment!” Dazai does a little hop, whining more as he keeps pointing.

Of course he couldn’t clarify what it is. Chuuya doesn’t know if he’s about to agree to paying for a dumb trinket or the whole arcade.

“Stop that,” Chuuya starts, grabbing Dazai’s outstretched arm to reel it in before he smacks some unsuspecting person. “Tell me exactly what it is and what you want me to do. I’m not being forced to do extra work again because you didn’t specify the rules.”

Dazai rolls his eyes, snatching Chuuya’s wrist and practically dragging him to his destination before Chuuya can even react.

As they keep twisting and turning, Chuuya’s beginning to wonder how the bastard even saw whatever he’s aiming for.

And then he sees it.

It’s in one of the claw machines on the top shelf where people with no self-control are supposed to stick the claw’s handle through an itty-bitty hole.

Chuuya does have to admit, though – it IS cute. Very much so. And fluffy enough to have those blankets stores only bring out for the holiday season fucking jealous. 

Staring back at Chuuya with beady, shining eyes is one ginger, stuffed-plush cat big enough to fill Dazai’s greedy arms.

He’ll give it to Dazai – this is nowhere near the worst punishment he’s given. That doesn’t mean Chuuya has to be happy about it as he yanks out his wallet, though.

With even more grumbles, he inserts his first bill of the night, watching with the most deadpan expression he can make as the machine lights up, LEDs going wild in front of them at the prospect of another sucker.

Unfortunately, Chuuya knows how this part of the game goes. Dazai’s grip is tight on him, eyes laser-pointed at the item of his desire. 

Chuuya takes a breath, trying to focus as he feels the heat of Dazai’s hands seeping through his clothes. With a blink, he moves the stick controller, bringing the key towards the little hole on the other side of the glass. He pauses.

Behind him, he hears Dazai sniff, the judgement of it clear to Chuuya. The redhead whirls around.

“Bastard, fix it yourself–” and from the corner of his eye, he sees the key start to move forward, the timer having run out.

It misses by a centimeter. Chuuya growls, getting ready to insert the next bill.

Dazai continues his hold on him, this time going so far as to wrap his arms around his shoulders from behind and lean his head against the side of Chuuya’s.

The electric lights do their silly little dance again, and this time Chuuya makes sure to concentrate. This machine will. not. beat. him.

He lines it up, taking a moment to think. Dazai taps his chest twice, and Chuuya shifts the stick to the right the smallest amount he possibly can.

Just as he’s about to hit the button to get it to move, something bumps into Dazai and thus him, pushing him forward enough to hit the stick and the timer goes off.

Chuuya watches as the handle misses by more than just a centimeter.

And then a chill goes down his spine. He shifts in Dazai’s hold, glancing up and over his shoulder to see those black hole eyes pinpointed on a kid who didn’t even bother to apologize. Before the Demon Prodigy can cause anyone, child or not, to piss themselves, Chuuya shrugs him off.

He inserts one more bill. Just as Dazai moves to go back to his perch, Chuuya sticks his hand out to stop him.

The machine whirls to life again, this time with a red glow barely enveloping it. Chuuya brings the handle to where it was before using the actual stick, then from here he lets the machine do its thing.

As the key moves forward, he forces the machine to line itself up in the correct position, feeling the mechanics trying to go against him but they’re no use against the power of gravity.

The key fits perfectly, unlocking the glass box holding the plush and releasing it into a hole beneath it. A thunk near their feet alerts them to its delivery, and Dazai is quick to snatch it up and into his waiting arms, any traces of the Demon Prodigy long gone as he beams at Chuuya.

“Thanks, Chibi!” He squeezes the cat against his chest, and Chuuya tries to ignore the small thrill of butterflies flying around his stomach.

He frowns, looking away and crossing his arms. “Tch, whatever.”

He opens his eyes again. There, across from them in a corner of the store he couldn’t see earlier, is one of those shooting carnival games, this time with nerf darts to avoid any liabilities.

And above it, hanging from a little loop connected to the roof, is a black cat plush — reminiscent of Dazai’s new one to the point it could be from the same brand, a matching set.

He only spends a second staring at it, debating, before turning away. He’s got better things to spend his money on. It doesn’t matter how soft it looks or how cute. He’s not a kid like Dazai.

He makes a move for the exit, intent on getting out before he can rethink his decisions.

A foot to his shins has him almost hitting the floor. He knows exactly who did it as he catches himself. He couldn’t use his ability just then, after all.

“Dazai, what the fu–”

“Shh, there’s children in here,” Dazai admonishes, his trademark fake gasp popping out, albeit a little less dramatic. Before Chuuya can question it, Dazai’s twirling around to face the carnival-esque shooting game and marching forward, one of his hands wrapped around Chuuya’s wrist much like before.

“One round, please,” the brunet says, taking out his own wallet that Chuuya’s never actually seen until now and handing the cash over to the employee. With the nerf gun equipped, he glances at Chuuya for a split second and sends him a smirk. “Watch and learn, Chuuya.”

Chuuya really can only watch and learn as Dazai effortlessly hits five different targets in their bullseyes, one after the other. The electronics connected to them flash over and over with each hit.

And once a moment has passed for both the employee and Chuuya to pick up their jaws – mostly the employee, though – Dazai sets the gun back down and merely points up at the black cat plush.

The employee gets it down, leaving it on the counter for them to take.

Chuuya doesn’t immediately reach for it. Why would Dazai do this? It doesn’t make sense to him.

Dazai nudges his shoulder and he hesitantly reaches out to grab the plush.

Today is one of the few days he decided to forgo his gloves; the cat’s fur is just as soft as it looked. From here, he can tell that this one is a black version of Dazai’s, a duo set.

He’s never had a plush of his own.

“Why?” he asks, avoiding Dazai’s eyes as he stares into the black fur. Something in his chest is warming up. What, he doesn’t know.

“Chuuya wanted him,” Dazai says, shifting on his feet to sway from his toes to the balls of his feet. “And a thank-you for Slug.”

/That/ causes Chuuya to look up. “Hah?”

“What? He looks like chibi, doesn’t he?” Dazai shoves the orange plush into Chuuya’s face. “See, see?”

Chuuya scoffs, shoving ‘Slug’ out of the way. He sticks his tongue out. “If he’s Slug, then this one’s Mackerel.”

Dazai laughs then, high and airy – genuine – and Chuuya can only attempt to hide his reddening cheeks behind Mackerel’s head. He follows as the brunet leads them outside where the sun has begun to set.

And once they’re a few blocks away, when their lighthearted jabs fade into a comfortable silence, Chuuya gives his own thanks, earning the endearing sight of Dazai’s widened eyes and tinged cheeks before the other tries to wave it away.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

IK YOUR DOING KINKTOBER RN BUT I HAVE A REQUEST FOR WHENEVER. JERRY AND E... JUST THEM.. BUT. ELVIS BEING NEEDY FOR JERRY . HEAR ME OUT.

Sorry Always Seems To Be The Hardest Word

A/N: well, well, well. I hope you enjoy, anon! I actually used to write m/m slashfic so this is very much in my wheelhouse. Also happy thanksgiving to my American friends lol.

Pairing: Elvis x Jerry

Word count: 3K

TWs: I mean, fairly obviously it's Elvis x Jerry and there's no reader. Infidelity, dry humping, blowjob, little bit of choking.

“Jer? Jer? JERRY?” Elvis walks around the house, shouting. But there’s no reply. 

He sighs deeply. Damn stupid argument about Sandy. He couldn’t believe Jerry would have just stormed off though, and he’s starting to worry about where exactly he might be. He’s got used to having Jerry around. No, it’s more than that. He loves having Jerry around. He doesn’t insist on violent games all the time like Red and Sonny do, and he’s less of a yes man than Charlie. In fact, when he thinks about it, Jerry might be his favourite member of the Mafia right now. His best friend, even. He pinches the bridge of his nose. How has he managed to lose his best friend?

The door clunks loudly and Elvis hears footsteps, but he doesn’t move from the living room. The TV isn’t on and neither are most of the lights, just one lamp near where he’s sitting on the couch. The footsteps get closer, and he hears some heavy breathing too. Then a familiar silhouette appears in the doorway. 

“E.”

Elvis nods, curtly. “Jerry.”

“Look, um…” Jerry starts, not really sure where he’s going with the sentence. The whole day had been an absolute trip. From the fight with Elvis to being spotted by a model agency, he really isn’t sure which way is up right now. And he’s exhausted from walking ten miles across LA. 

Elvis waves a hand. “It’s fine. You’re back now.”

Jerry frowns. “What’s fine?”

“You storming off like you did. It was stupid but it’s happened now. Just make sure you don’t leave set like that again.”

Jerry’s eyes go wide and he steps further into the room. “You’re not going to apologise for what you said about Sandy?”

Elvis turns towards him, his eyes set on full beam. “Why should I apologise? It must’ve been her.”

Jerry shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ve had it. You know what? I’ve had an offer from a modelling agency. And I’m going to take it up.”

Elvis gets up quickly from the couch, furious but at the same time shocked. A modelling agency? Well, he supposes he had always thought Jerry was kind of attractive, for a guy. Not that he thought of guys like that. At all. 

“A modelling agency?” He spits. It’s all he can think of to say. 

“Yeah. A talent scout spotted me. Offered me a place. Plenty of lucrative jobs where I don’t have to deal with my boss accusing my girlfriend of spreading rumours about him. Rumours that are so obviously true anyway.” Jerry can’t resist the last jab, now he’s decided to leave. Might as well go all in. 

Elvis closes the gap between them, grabbing Jerry’s shirt collar and pulling him closer. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jerry shrugs him off, angrily, and steps back. “You know what it means. I’ll be in my room, packing.” And with that, he turns and storms off. 

***

Jerry’s hands are shaking as he tries to fold his clothes and put them back in his suitcase. Threatening to storm out of the house in LA is not quite as dramatic as it would have been to storm out of his room in Graceland, all his worldly possessions in tow, but he still feels a rush of adrenalin. He’s never fought with Elvis before, but he’s seen the other man’s temper and knows he’s not to be trifled with. Still, Sandy is a nice, kind girl, and he has to defend her honour. How Elvis could think she’d spread rumours about him is absolutely beyond Jerry.

He pulls open the drawer of his bedside cabinet and grabs the contents, about to stuff them all in his case too, when he notices the title of the book in his hand. Dropping the other bits and bobs on the bed, he sighs. The Impersonal Life. Elvis had given him this copy, on the promise that they would sit down together and talk about it. It’s one of Jerry’s favourite things about Elvis - his passion for reading and self-improvement - although he knows his opinion isn’t shared with many of the other guys. Only really Larry, at this point. He sits down on the bed and flips the book open at a random page. 

“You may, with your personality, try a thousand times a thousand times to break through the shell of your human consciousness.”

That sounds like Elvis, all right.

“Thought you were leavin’.”

The voice is very quiet but it makes Jerry jump all the same. Elvis had crept into the open doorway like a ninja, and Jerry hadn’t heard a thing. Now he leans on the wall, looking down at his fingers and fiddling with the rings on them awkwardly. 

“I am,” Jerry replies, closing the book and putting it in his suitcase. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

Elvis’ eyes widen and he looks up, letting his hands fall back by his sides. “I um… yer… yer wanted, Jerry…”

The other man carries on busying himself with packing, moving quickly around the room, emptying drawers and pushing more and more things into the bulging suitcase. His hands are shaking again and he can hear his breathing, ragged and a little too loud. He doesn’t want to look at Elvis, in the doorway, behaving oddly. He’d prefer a steaming row rather than this strange, tense kind of stand-off. 

“I’ve got a good opportunity,” he starts to say, almost to himself. “An opportunity to do something for myself. I have to take it.”

Elvis is gripping the door frame at this point, staring at the other man with such intensity he’s almost expecting to burn a hole right through him with his eyes. But Jerry is still ignoring him. What is happening?

“This isn’t the life for me. I need my own career, E.”

Jerry stares at the top of the suitcase, full to bursting now with his possessions, and wonders how he’s going to close it. He also wonders just what exactly he’ll do after that, to continue to avoid Elvis’ insistent gaze. Maybe slowly get down on the floor and slide under the bed. He suddenly feels two strong hands on his shoulders, forcibly turning him around. 

“I wish ya’d just look at me, damnit.”

Jerry doesn’t have much choice, Elvis’ face is inches away from his own now, and his eyes are on fire. Long fingers are digging into his triceps as those lips curl into a sneer. 

“You can’t leave me.”

Jerry frowns, starting to get annoyed again. “Why not?” He spits, moving his arms to try and free himself from Elvis’ grip, and pushing him hard in the centre of the chest. 

“Because I SAID SO,” Elvis thunders back, punctuating the words with a shove to Jerry’s chest in return. 

“You’re not the boss of me!”

Jerry goes for another shove, but Elvis anticipates him and loops his arms through Jerry’s, trying for some kind of double-arm lock and ending up with the other man’s forehead pressed against his own. 

“That’s exactly what I am,” he hisses in response. 

They’re both still then, semi-trapped in the deliberate tangle of arms and semi-trapped staring into one another’s eyes. Jerry can hear his heart thumping in his chest, he’s still mad but Elvis is so close, and there’s something so intoxicating about him right now. Elvis huffs air out of his nose like an angry bull, trying to work out what to do next. He knows he should let go of Jerry’s arms, but he doesn’t want to. He likes Jerry this close. Likes it a little more than he thinks he should. He moves his head slightly and presses an experimental kiss against the other man’s lips. 

Jerry feels like his heart has stopped. He can’t pretend he hasn’t thought about this before. Elvis is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, the most beautiful man that probably anyone has ever seen… and his lips are so soft. WHAT ABOUT SANDY? Flashes up in his brain, over and over, in big neon letters as he kisses the other man back. It’s still there when Elvis lets his arms go and puts his arms around him instead, pulling him in close for a passionate kiss that lands both of them staggering towards Jerry’s bed and falling onto it in a tangle of limbs, knocking the overflowing suitcase onto the floor. 

“Shit,” Jerry mutters as the loud bang makes them pull apart and he peers down at the mess. 

Elvis’ heart is hammering in his chest as Jerry looks back at him. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to run away from the situation he’s just created. What is he doing with another man on his bed? He can feel his face getting red but he’s still just staring at Jerry, who really is quite handsome and apparently has a modelling career just waiting for him. 

“All that time packing…” he mutters, an empty sort of statement that he doesn’t know why he says, other than just to fill the silence. 

Jerry looks from Elvis’ eyes down to his lips, shining with saliva, and then back up again, as if that might help him understand what the other man just said. He can hear blood rushing through his ears and he wonders if he’s going to pass out. Elvis on the other hand takes Jerry’s looks as a signal to go back to what they were doing, which seems a damn sight easier than either thinking about it or talking about it. He crashes his lips back into the other man’s and rolls on top of him. Jerry groans into his mouth, feeling their bodies pressing against one another. It’s good for a moment, but then he realises he doesn’t want Elvis in charge of this, he wants control. So he pushes on the other man’s chest and rolls himself on top instead. Elvis feels himself letting it happen, letting someone else take control, and his brain goes pleasantly blank. Someone else was always in control nowadays, the Colonel, Priscilla, whoever happened to be directing the latest shitty movie. Why should this be any different?

Jerry thrusts his tongue deeper and deeper into the older man’s mouth, wanting more and more. It’s as if a switch has been flipped in his brain and now he’s committed to this. The neon sign reminding him about Sandy has been switched off, and all there is is a giant ELVIS sign instead. The same one that’s been shining since they met all those years ago playing football. He’d always admired Elvis, an admiration bordering on obsession and love, and now it seems like that admiration is completely unfettered. He’s given himself permission, and he wants it all. There might not be another opportunity, in fact there almost definitely won’t be. The concept of an empty house, for a start, is a completely alien one in the Presley world. And Jerry can’t help but feel that as soon as they pull apart for any significant amount of time the spell will be broken and Elvis will just pretend this never happened. 

Elvis has only ever kissed girls like this, and not for a while. He can feel himself regressing to his 19 year old self, kissing and dry humping, his hips bucking up into Jerry’s, the odd but satisfying sensation of his clothed dick rubbing against another one. Then he starts to think again about their argument, about Jerry threatening to leave when Elvis feels like he’s the only decent friend he has left right now. One of the only joyful things in a depressing life of shitty movie after shitty movie and crappy soundtrack after crappy soundtrack. He can’t let that happen. He has to find a way to make Jerry stay, a way to apologise. 

He grabs the other man’s head with both of his hands and forces him to stop kissing for a moment. 

“Lemme suck ya.”

Not a sentence Elvis ever thought he would say, but Jerry wastes no time scrambling to sit up and pull down his jeans and boxers. He’s starting to regret not showering when he got in - that ten mile walk had definitely made him sweaty and if he’d known this was going to happen… well. Obviously he had no way of knowing this was going to happen. Of all of the things he’d thought of during that stupidly long walk, this had not even registered as a possibility. 

Elvis sits up and looks at the big, cut dick next to him. He swallows awkwardly and wonders what he ought to do next. His own dick is confused. Little Elvis had very much enjoyed the kissing and the rubbing, but is shrinking slightly now being faced with the prospect of Elvis putting his mouth around another man’s junk. But Elvis himself just keeps thinking about the fact that Jerry said he would leave him, the fact that he’d upset his best friend and he wants more than anything to resolve the situation. He wants Jerry. He needs him. And he kinda wants to suck his dick right now.

Jerry decides that maybe Elvis needs a little encouragement. They can’t remain in this weird position, Jerry sitting there with his pants half-pulled down and the other man just staring at his dick and balls. He wraps a hand around his length and starts to pump it, slowly. Elvis still doesn’t move, so he very cautiously puts a hand to the other man’s cheek and then rubs his thumb across those plush lips. Elvis parts them, instinctively, and feels the end of the other man’s thumb slip into his mouth. He moans softly as he sucks a little, and then moves eagerly to take the whole digit, sliding his mouth back and forth on it pornographically and looking up at Jerry through his lashes. Jerry feels like he could just cum there and then, watching that little show, but he slows his movements on himself down and just watches, chest heaving with desire. 

Eventually he pulls his thumb back out and Elvis sighs. Little Elvis is standing to attention again now, pressing against his pants, fully wanting him to suck this other man off. So he dips his head down and takes the end of Jerry’s dick in his mouth, slowly and carefully. His tongue slides against the underside of the shaft and Jerry moans loudly, slamming his hand down on the mattress. Emboldened, Elvis crawls closer, one hand pressing on the younger man’s hip as he starts to take more of him, tongue corkscrewing around the head and then the shaft. 

“Fuck!”

Elvis doesn’t stop, repeating the movement over and over as he takes more and more of Jerry’s dick in his mouth and down his throat. He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t have much of a gag reflex, so the only thing holding him back from getting the whole thing inside is how girthy it is, and how difficult that makes breathing through his nose. But he doesn’t let that stop him, and soon he’s moving up and down as the other man moans and groans. It’s hard to judge properly, since he’s so used to women, but he feels like Jerry is close for a while and he can’t get him there. His jaw is getting sore, so he slows down a bit and tries to get his breath back. Jerry grunts with frustration. He’d been pretty close a few minutes ago but now Elvis has slowed down and he’s not that close anymore. He starts to think about their fight again, about how mad he’d been, how much he’d wanted to just leave. And now Elvis is half way through a blowjob and can’t be bothered to finish him off. Jerry grabs hold of the other man’s hair roughly and starts to thrust up into his mouth, determined to get his orgasm even if he has to do the work himself. Elvis blinks in surprise and tries to move his head but finds he can’t, Jerry has his hair in a firm grip and there’s a big dick plunging down his throat, almost choking him as Jerry picks up the pace, cursing and moaning as he starts to get close again. Elvis steadies himself with his hands on either side of Jerry’s hips and just decides to let it happen. He deserves this, at this point. And Jerry deserves to cum. 

“Oh God! Elvis!” 

Jerry doesn’t mean to call out Elvis’ name when he cums, but that’s exactly what happens. Elvis doesn’t mean to cum in his pants whilst having his mouth fucked either. But Jerry calling out his name certainly doesn’t hurt. He rolls onto his back, panting, his mind going at a million miles an hour thinking what he’s going to do next. 

Jerry’s head is spinning too. He just came down Elvis Presley’s throat. That was the best orgasm of his life, and he’ll never be able to tell anyone about it. He wonders if that’s really such a bad thing. This can be his precious little secret, something just for him. He turns to look at the other man, lying next to him, still breathing hard. Elvis’ face is flushed and he looks fucked. Jerry starts to think about returning the favour, his eyes trailing down to Elvis’ pants when he notices the damp patch there. He must’ve… oh God. Jerry takes a deep, shaky breath, as thoughts start to crowd into his brain. He decides to silence them by leaning over to press a gentle kiss onto those marshmallow lips. 

“Thanks,” he whispers, awkwardly. 

Elvis looks up at him through hooded eyes. “No, Jerry,” he whispers back, his hand on the back of Jerry’s head, fingers in his hair. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t leave.”

There’s a long silence as Jerry stares down into those beautiful blue eyes. Eventually he makes himself speak again. 

“I couldn’t, Elvis. Even if I wanted to.”

***

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas

[seven7een7h]

There is a mosquito in my living room, and I’m waiting for my bread to rise so I can bake it, so I don’t want to leave the room, lest I forget. So I of course wrote smthn about it since that’s apparently a thing for me now.

The fucking mosquito was back.

This damn bug, he hated mosquitoes. Fuck this thing.

Stiles stood up and walked to the center of the room. Standing carefully with his arms away from his body, as if waiting.

Derek paused mid-sentence, which—well, admittedly, Stiles hadn’t been listening, something about… responsibility? Derek liked to talk about that. Or safety maybe?

“Stiles were you even listening? What are you doing?” Oops, Derek sounded perhaps slightly annoyed. Just a little.

He muttered something about a bug. Of course he wasn’t listening Derek, he wasn’t even listening to himself. He was honed in on the buzzing in his left ear and waiting for the damn thing to land on him.

He tracked the mosquito across his field of view, allowing it to circle him while he listened acutely to its high pitched whine, freezing when he saw it swoop down towards his arm.

Derek was looking at him intently now, confused with furrowed brows, Stiles could see him watching from his peripherals.

None of that mattered, the bitch had landed.

With a quick muttered spell, Stiles whole body burst into flame. The tattoos hidden in his skin rising rapidly to the surface to dance along the exposed sections of flesh on his arms and hands.

With another spell he snuffed them out, the smell of something burned drifting through the air.

He grinned, stupid fucking mosquito, gods he hated mosquitoes. He looked triumphantly up at Derek. Who… well, Derek was frozen mid-step, halfway across the room to him, looking somewhere between irritated and alarmed.

“What. The. Fuck.” More irritated maybe.

“What?”

“What do you mean what? You spontaneously combust and you have the audacity to ask me what?”

“There was a mosquito?” Why was he mad, Stiles had eliminated the threat. He should be rejoicing, this was a joyous occasion.

“So you burst. Into. Flames.”

Ohhh. Yeah, that’s right. He had grown so used to the pull of his spark while he was gone that he had forgotten that not everyone here was as kept up to date as his father, who admittedly, was also not that up to date.

Fuck it we ball. “Uh, yeah? As one does?” This is normal. Really Derek is the weird one, right? Everyone does this. Silly werewolf.

“Right.” Man, Derek really loved those periods, huh?

“Glad we agree! You were saying?” Really, what was Derek saying, Stiles had tuned him out somewhere after the second time the mosquito flew past his ear. And that was generously assuming he had been listening in the first place.

If only one of the pack was here to deal with him, Stiles hated lectures and being away hadn’t made him any more receptive. Time did not, apparently, cure ADHD, especially since it was difficult to get a new prescription without a phone, or a pharmacy, or most civilization. For a good portion of his absence, there was very little of all of that.

[boysinmaidoutfits]

Ocean eyes

Stepbrother au

Warnings: curses

mainly inspired by the Billie Eilish song ocean eyes🫢

Summary:You and rafe were step siblings, ever since your parents met they just had to be together. Rafe hated that though, so he ultimately hated you. He was mean, and always doing something to make everyone angry at him. Except you. You liked Rafe, even if he he was so mean sometimes for no reason you still remained sweet to him, the sweetest girl in fact, and that’s what annoyed Rafe the most. You clung to him always, especially when your parents were out, or away, like they were this weekend.

It was just you and rafe in the house, he sat in the living room, “Rafeyy!” I shout as I come down the stairs, as soon as I arrive in the living room I see Rafe’s blonde hair and broad shoulders as he slumps back to couch with a gruff look on his face as he watched the tv. "Shh! For fuck's sake, will you be quiet?" He muttered under his breath "Always fuckin' noisy..." he takes a swig of his beer, deliberately avoiding looking at you "What do you want, y/n?” I sit down next to him on the couch, our arms slightly touching which was seeking me more comfort than it should. “Just wanted to spend some time with my stepbrother, what are you watching?” He rolls his eyes as you sit next to him, his arm tensing as you get too close for comfort. "Last nights game, you're gonna sit here and stare at the tv with me?" He asks sarcastically, taking another swig of his beer. “Thats what i was planning on doing yeah.. if it bothers you just say so god..” I slightly roll my eyes, i never understood his attitude and why he was so cold all the time towards me. "I don't want you near," He snaps, his temper flaring. "Happy now?" He takes another swig of his beer, trying to drown out the fact that you're still sitting there acting all nice to him. “Fine, I.. I guess I’ll just go then..” i mutter as i stand up to leave with a disappointed look on my face, as i start heading to the kitchen.

A few moments pass, it feels so quiet but Rafe’s thoughts aren’t, he gets up from the couch, his feet carrying him to the kitchen despite his brain telling him not to. He leans against the doorframe, watching you as you grab some food. He hates how you always look so sad when he snaps at you.

As i rummage through the fridge and get some ingredients, i hear a slight creak causing me to turn around, and there he was, Rafe standing right in the door. “You need something?” I ask, i cant help but still be nice to him, this is one of the traits i hated about myself, my niceness. "No," He says gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just came to see what you were doing." He watches as you turn back to the fridge, his eyes trailing over your small figure. He quickly looks away, not wanting to get caught staring. “Well.. im gonna make your favorite so you better be hungry.” I turn around smiling up at him with all the food piled up in my hands, i quickly settle it down on the counter. “Im not hungry y/n..”he snaps, even Rafe didn’t know why he snapped at you, why was he so annoyed by your presence? What was even his issue? He walks further into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. "You're too fucking stubborn for your own good, you know that?" I look up at him. “Oh so im the jerk for caring for you or what?” I slightly raise my voice which usually never even happens, but this time he was acting really stubborn. “And what is that even supposed to mean?! Look at how YOU’RE acting right now..” I huff. "It means you don't take no for an answer, even when it's clearly what someone wants," His eyes trace your features, noting how the harsh kitchen light brings out the freckles across your nose. "Like right now." “I really don’t wanna play one of your games tonight Rafe, plus all this shit that you’re doing doesn’t affect me get that in your head.” I turn away from him refocusing on preparing the food, “Oh, it'll affect you," He says, his voice cold. "It'll affect you more than you realize." He reaches out, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. "You think you're so fucking tough, but you're not." He looks at me with his piercing cold ocean blue eyes, all i see is hatred. I realize im not tough, my eyes began to tear up and my throat goes dry i try to look away, pull away, but his grip is tight. He notices the tears welling up in your eyes and something inside him snaps. "Fuck," He curses, his grip on your chin tightening. "Don't cry, goddamn it." He pulls you into his chest, holding you tightly against him. I breathe in his rich woody cologne and the words “Im sorry..” spills out from my mouth. "Don't apologize," He murmurs, one hand moving to stroke your hair while the other keeps you firmly against his chest. His heart is racing, beating against your ear. "Stop... being so fucking sweet to me," He whispers, voice cracking slightly. "It makes everything... harder."