#fic: fragile verse

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

(ao3)

The worst thing, Bad knows, is the way that nothing changes. 

The clouds move slow across the sky, gentle giants on an eternal trek. The waters dance with fish; the brooks burble and sing. Grass grows. Sheep eat. Grass regrows. 

On, and on, and on, and on. 

Bad breathes in, slow, and holds it. 

It’s enough to go mad over. To become enraged for. To rip everything down just so that everything can match the- the keening lack in his heart. Grass grows. Grass has always grown. There is nothing that could ever stop grass from growing. 

His hands are curled into the ground at his sides. He clutches handfuls of the wretched plant and pulls, almost gently, and doesn’t snap a single blade.

He exhales, slow, and doesn’t inhale again. What point is there? He’s alone. No one will know whether or not he needs to breathe. He’s been alone before- days that Dapper doesn’t wake up, days where the other eggs are with their other parents. Days where he falls asleep in his chair and the ghosts are left to amuse themselves. He’s been alone before. 

He’s lost before. 

There is a sob in his throat. He refuses to let it out. It chokes him, and he takes another deep breath to try to settle it. 

There’s always- he misses Skeppy. Of course he misses Skeppy. He can’t lose Skeppy, but Skeppy isn’t here.

Dapper isn’t here. Pomme isn’t here. Richarlyson. Leo. Ramon. Chayanne. Tallulah. They’re-

Bad tears the grass out of the ground. He stares at his hands, dark claws curled around torn green plant. He tries to imagine the grass is white fur instead, but he can’t find the enthusiasm. That’s okay. The anger will be back later. 

He just- he can’t feel much beyond the loss, right now. The lack. The empty, quiet island where sheep eat grass and clouds keep moving and no eggs place any signs at all. That’s not okay, but he knows that, at least, will change. That’s how grief works. The world ends, and you end with it, and while you claw yourself up from the rubble the world ends again and sends you back under, and then again, and then again, but by the third go around you know what the tremors look like. You start to predict where it hurts the most. Then the world keeps ending but the ending just becomes a part of your world, and sometimes everything shakes but you shake with it and it’s not okay but it’s better. You get so used to the shaking that sometimes you forget that your world ever ended at all. 

How long will it take for him to forget them? 

Bad leans forwards, slowly, until he slumps into a miserable little puddle of limbs. He presses his cheek into the cool grass and when the sob rises up again he bites it back with teeth. The sun is blocked by a sombrero, now fallen awkwardly over his face, that Foolish had cheerfully placed on his head hours before. Bad doesn’t know why Foolish had put it there- except he does, and he’d seen it in the in the slightest tremor of Foolish’s smile, and so he’d kept it on. 

He can’t see them, but he can hear them laughing. Mouse, Jaiden, and Foolish, just around the corner. There have been so many people ‘just around the corner’ today. They’re so loud. They’re not the right type of loud. He feels guilty for the way that they’re comforting him, that he’s taking up their time, and then he feels angry that he feels guilty because he remembers the cage, and he knows what he really means to them, and-

They’re still here. The eggs are gone, and they’re still here. 

Forever isn’t here. 

Forever hasn’t given him a gift basket yet. 

…

…It doesn’t work. It’s a close thing, though- there’s a flicker of irritation at the thought of Forever’s awful, handsome face. Not anger, not nearly enough emotion to fill the void that is Bad’s heart, but maybe it could be. He’ll try again tomorrow. Isn’t that fun? Isn’t that something? There’s so much emotion he can’t feel any of it at all. 

Maybe it’s a bad dream. There were no remains. There was just Dapper’s top hat, and Pomme’s beret. No shell, no dead eggs. No eggs. It’s driving him mad, the maybe-yes maybe-no nature of his children’s fate.

He thinks, maybe, that tomorrow he will build a drill. 

Today, the world is dark beneath the sombrero, and the grass is scratchy and full of small twigs. Foolish laughs once, too loud. Automatically, Bad pushes himself up, because he knows Foolish, and knows how long he’s been away from the group, and he feels sick. He fumbles for his warpstone and- Foolish’s head pops around the corner- Bad freezes. Too late. 

Foolish looks at him, grin bright and neverending. Bad looks back. He can’t bring himself to say anything- he drops the sombrero at their feet. 

Foolish’s smile fades. Bad activates his warpstone again and, though the particles, he sees Foolish give him a sharp, left-handed salute. Bad can’t bite back his little laugh; Foolish knows him, too.

And then Foolish is gone. The world is purple. Then the world ends, once again, in Bad’s home. All of Dapper’s machines have stopped. Echoing noise to almost-echoing silence. Ah. Right. None of the island’s machines are working correctly. Bad will have to make a smaller drill. But he will build his drill, and he will dig, and he will find his son. 

“Dapper?” he calls, his voice cracking. The sound echoes. Only the animals answer back- they’re the only thing that stops the base from being completely silent. Grass grows. Sheep eat. Grass regrows. There’s so many animals here. What good company. It occurs to Bad, suddenly, that they’re good company. Dapper is gone, and his animals are still here, and Bad- 

He won’t kill Dapper’s pets. He is suddenly holding his scythe and he won’t hurt his son’s pets because he can’t trade them for his son and there’s a special sort of heartache to the fact that his son left behind instructions to machines that don’t work and so many animals that can’t keep Bad company the way Dapper kept him company and Bad- 

He’s holding his scythe. He’s holding the Sunshine Protector. He tries to take a breath but it comes out stuttery and he bites his tongue and. Dapper was-is always so sweet. He made Bonnie to keep Bad company, and Bad is always haunted by little ghosts but now most of all he is haunted by the love of his son. 

“Where are you?” His voice cracks on the third word. He stumbles to Dapper’s room and doesn’t think about the fact that they never got to build one for Pomme.  

The hole in his heart could swallow an island. 

Please don’t take- 

The scythe gets left outside. Bad can’t bear to look at it. Protector. There is a secure door in front of him that keeps nothing secure because now there is nothing to protect and Bad- 

-my sunshine away. 

He falls to his knees next to the empty bed. He chokes out, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, Dapper.”

When the sob rises again, he lets it.

[nanamiskentos]

LAST FRIDAY NIGHT — choso kamo

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (d) and let the show begin !

prologue. → it's been seven days since you wobbled into your apartment and almost threw up on your best friend. seven days since you confessed your love to him. seven days of radio silence as you've done your best to shut him out, hoping that the earth swallows you whole. there's no way he's going to want anything to do with you now!

but it's been years since choso had started silently loving you.

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader

warnings. vírgin!choso, spítting, kíssing, makíng out, thígh kínk (mild), yuuji being a menace 😭

word count. 8k! song inspiration. last friday night — katy perry

a/n. i can't believe i don't write for choso more. i really put a lot of love into this fic but i wish i had expanded on it a bit more 😭 one thing abt me is that i love adding side characters to cóck block

mp3. think we kissed, but i forgot!

"did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion? breakups happen every day — you don't have to lose it."

you jab at the skip button like it's personally offended you, cutting off the mournful strains of the evermore bonus track mid-verse. normally, you'd let the singer's poetic misery hold your fragile heart in a pretty gentle chokehold, for she understood your heartbreak like a nobel laureate in emotional devastation. but not today.

not on this particularly dreary friday, right before christmas, where even ms. swift's dulcet agony felt obnoxiously on the nose.

pinned under the suffocating weight of your quilt, you let out a dramatic sigh that could rival a victorian heroine wasting away from heartache and humiliation.

with the theatrics of someone clawing their way out of a shipwreck, you work one arm free, waving it weakly into the air like your tragic signal of defeat.

the cocoon of your quilts and covers isn't warm nor comforting. it's a smothering trap, a quilted tomb of your own making.

"this is it," you mumble to the empty air of the apartment, your voice muffled by layers of fabric, "this is how i go."

the universe, for its part, remains unbothered by your suffering.

with a theatrical groan that would earn you a standing ovation in a one-person tragedy, you yank the quilt over your head. plunging yourself into darkness once more.

but unfortunately, the muffled strains of your 'sad girl winter' playlist refusing to take the hint seep through, like overly persistent ghosts of your bad decisions in the past. it seemed that evermore was feeling less like a balm for your soul, and more like the soundtrack to your public humiliation.

somewhere in the tangled chaos of your bed, half pillows and half-sulking regret, your poor and neglected nintendo switch lies face down like it gave up on your hours ago. its screen has long since gone dark, but if you listen hard enough, you can almost hear your animal crossing villagers whispering conspiratorially, drafting a formal petition to evict you.

no doubt tom nook is already sharpening his capitalist claws, repossessing your house with an unsettling amount of glee.

but the rest of your room is not much better. the string lights on your walls flicker half-heartedly, casting an uneven glow over the wreckage of the past week.

it's not the charming nor dramatic kind of mess that makes for an artsy photo dump. no, this is the slow and unflattering unravelling of someone who let life beat them up with zero resistance. if rooms could file restraining orders, yours would have done it by now.

teetering laundry piles of discarded sweatshirts are haphazardly stacked in the corner. nearby, an empty hot cocoa mug sits, sticky with the remnants of whipped cream. candy cane wrappers are strewn across the room, the aftermath of a peppermint explosion that made your jaw ache.

but the true centrepiece of this disaster? your phone, face down on your nightstand. neglected and on silent. the one object in this room that's probably begging for attention, and one that you've been skilfully ignoring. and yet, right on cue, it buzzes again.

lighting up with a contact number that you've been ignoring all week.

choso.

and you squint at the notification, at the glowing screen that makes your eyes sting in the dim light.

sweet, dependable and utterly loyal choso.

your best friend of over a decade. the one person that you can't bring yourself to face.

the one person that also deserves so much better than this radio silence, and yet the last person that you can humanly confront. especially not after what happened last friday night.

and here, good friends, lies the crux of your problem.

that doomed night, seven days ago, has mostly dissolved into a series of blurry and fragmented snapshots. like a bad, half-finished film that you'd walked out of halfway through.

but the lead up? oh, you remember that part with the kind of clarity that should have been reserved for more important moments.

you could still feel the heat of storming out of that overpriced restaurant, half-drunk and fully pissed off, tears streaming down your cheeks and thickening your throat.

your ex-boyfriend? well, he had been your current boyfriend, before he decided to break up with you. in public. for all that classy, emotional damage that was so in character for him.

and with a line so perfectly cliché, it practically begged to be immortalised on a 'worst breakup excuses' list in cosmopolitan: i'm sorry, baby. i just don't see it working anymore. we're just too different. oh! and i found someone else.

oh, sure. but you should have been glad to have been rid of the man-child that thought frankenstein was the monster's name, the man who commented 'oxford study' on innocent tiktoks, and called pinterest 'girl instagram.'

god, what a fuckin' loser.

fuelled by a mix of public-induced heartache and questionable tequila choices, you had practically charged across street crossing. your feet hitting the pavement with the reckless kind of abandon reserved for teenagers sneaking out after curfew.

and there choso had been in your apartment. your best friend had been sitting cross-legged on your rug, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbons. probably wrapping yuuji's christmas gifts with military precision. he had been balancing a roll of tape in his mouth, scissors over his lap dangerously close to the family jewels. but you had barrelled through the door like a feral cat in a downpour.

his eyes had widened, a little startled, as you made your entrance. the tape had fallen out of his mouth, chestnut hair falling over his face as he gaped. you couldn't blame choso, of course. you had looked entirely like a bedraggled, disheveled mess in a storm. cheeks streaked with mascara trails, but then everything went...fuzzy?

what did you remember? crying. lots of it.

and boy, was it a show. the kind of weeping where your face contorts into a puffed-up, berry-red disaster, and you would feel the headache creeping in even before the tears had finished.

choso's arms had caught you before you could face plant into the couch. solid, broad. warm and familiar.

you had caught the scent of clove and pepper, alongside faint citrus that you had been associating with him over the years. you had been saying something, raw and desperate.

your words had spilled out of you like water from a broken faucet.

and here you were now, reaping the glorious consequences of your own unfiltered word vomit.

seven days of stewing in your own shame and regret. but seven days were not enough to undo this level of self-sabotage. you briefly considered the options: faking amnesia, dropping out of university entirely, or best case scenario — moving to antarctica and herding emperor penguins.

you groan, sinking deeper into the abyss of your covers. and then, of course, your phone buzzed again. the dull and persistent vibration drilled into your skull like a tiny, digital drill.

cho 💜

(01:09am) hey, are you doing okay? (08:42am) tell me if you need anything! (04:23pm) hello? did i do something?

you peek at the screen, trying to avoid making eye contact with the tiny and terrifying letters. your sheet mask scrunches uncomfortably, making you look like a particularly pathetic mummy. choso's sweet and utterly patient messages were a sharp control to your gross sulk, and his concern makes you want to curl into a ball and crawl into a snowbank.

outside, christmas snow fell gently, blanketing the world in a soft and untouched white. it was like something out of a dream, a world of calm and peace. peace that your trifling ass didn't deserve.

if choso wanted to speak to you, he'd have to drag you out of your self-imposed misery himself. and even if he were to arrive at your apartment door, he'd only find a note tacked to the wall. with a map leading to the south pole.

so, what exactly had happened last friday night?

the memory rolls out like an old film reel, all jagged and distorted. the kind that you can't skip, even if you wanted to. it comes in fragments, each one more excruciatingly clear than the last. the haze of vodka-infused whipped cream shots over hot drinks slowly melting away like a bad handover.

the door to your apartment? you remember that part with embarrassing clarity. you had kicked it open with awful, ragged flair. your heel slipping on the floor, and you had nearly stacked it. face-first into your own doorway, standing there with the grace of a giraffe on roller skates.

the second the door had slammed shut behind you, a gust of frigid winter shot through the apartment like a chill reminder of your situation.

choso had been sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, in the midst of complete, barbaric chaos. the roll of mauve wrapping paper teetered precariously on his dark jeans, and scissors dangled from his lap while a stripe of tape was wedged between his teeth. in between the mess of clippings and discarded tape, he seemed more like an absurdly morose-looking christmas elf that had been tasked with being santa's helper after an entire bottle of mulled wine.

but as you had walked in, or rather stumbled in, his gaze had shot up. his chestnut hair falling in messy curtains around his face, with one unruly strand intertwined with a red-white rogue ribbon. choso's face had twisted in alarm, his usual solemn manner replaced by someone who looked like they were trying to figure out whether they needed to brace themselves for good or bad news.

"hey," he had said, voice soft but sharp, like he was trying to handle fragile glass. choso had spat the tape out of his mouth unceremoniously, and he had been tugging the ribbon free rom his hair, concern all over his fine features, "what's wrong? are you okay?"

and you? a disaster. drunk, crying, furious. the recipe for an emotional molotov cocktail.

"i hate him," you had snarled, yanking off your beige coat, hurling it in the general direction of the couch. instead, your aim missed entirely. flopping halfway onto the floor, and halfway across choso's knee.

choso simply plucked the coat off his leg with two fingers, gingerly draping it over the arm of the couch. your best friend was frowning as he set down his oversized scissors, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. amber-hazel eyes flicked to yours, wide with alarm as he stepped closer, "are you hurt? is this about —?" he was hesitating, "your boyfriend?"

"no, my ex-boyfriend!" the words were ripped out of you, and your voice pathetically cracked halfway through as tears spilled down your flushed cheeks, "and 'm not hurt, cho. unless you count emotional damage," punctuating your statement with a tragic, breathy hiccup.

choso's perpetual frown deepened, as thick and unruly brows knit together, "okay," he said, voice low and steady, "do you want to sit down? i can get you some water, wait." his steps are slow, purposeful as he closes the distance between you gently, with measured care. or like he was defusing a bomb.

but you were having none of his gentle care, "no, i don't want water! i want — i want to un-date him," you wail, arms flailing as you start pacing like a caffeinated hamster, "god, i'm so stupid for dating him in the first place. and yes, i know, stop looking at me like that. i know you want to say i told you so, but he's such a —," you pause mid-rant, clawing the air for the right word, "a troll. a goblin, an ogre."

choso blinks, "maybe you should just get some fresh water in you," but there's an underlying layer of grimacing amusement painted over his quiet features, "and i didn't even say i told you so."

"no," you blurt, your head snapping so fast that your neck immediately files a complaint in the form of a sharp crick, "i don't want water. i want —"

and then, your brain short-circuited. because that's when you'd actually looked at him. like really looked.

warm hazel eyes framed by dark, sleepless circles that seemed to follow choso around like cursed ghosts. soft, feathery strands of mahogany hair that refused to stay tied back, and tumbled rebelliously into his face. that damn sweatshirt, loose and charcoal gray, and perfectly slouched over his broad shoulders. the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal forearms so solid that they could make a renaissance sculptor pack and quit.

and like a freight train at full speed, like whee-woo, the realisation hit you. choso kamo.

your best friend in the entire world. your steady and reliable, and kind to a fault best friend. better than any stupid ex that you'd ever had.

and because tequila is the nectar of chaos, and heartbreak has no filter, your mouth decided to unleash the words that you would haunt you for the next week.

"i should have been dating you."

the room is silent, as choso freezes entirely. like someone had smacked the pause button on him, and his hand, mid-reach for a glass of water, stops cold. his eyes are wide, mouth parting as though he hadn't yet processed what you had said.

"what?" choso finally manages, the words soft and stunned, like he wasn't sure that he had heard you correctly.

you, in your infinite wisdom (or rather, drunken idiocy), barrelled on like a bull who had just seen red cloth, "i'm so serious! you're the one i should've been with all along!"

you wave a hand at him, as if showcasing him to an invisible jury, "you're smart and you're sweet, and you actually care about me, unlike him!"

choso blinks, his expression unreadable, "okay," he says slowly, setting the glass back down on the table, "i think maybe, uh, you should sit down?"

"i don't wanna sit down, i want you to stop looking so perfect right now."

there's a faint flush creeping up choso's neck, like red pigment staining cream watercolour canvas, "perfect?"

"yes!" you hiccuped, teetering over the couch, "you're supposed to be my best friend, and instead you just stand there with your stupid forearms, and your everything, and it's not fair!"

choso doesn't move, doesn't even speak. just stands there, vaguely dumbstruck. like you had hung the moon, and then yanked it back down to earth to hurl it at his chest.

"i should've been dating you, cho," you declare again, louder this time, and your finger jabs his broad chest like it was somehow his fault, "you're the best, y'know that? and you're so hot, how did i not realise this sooner?"

your best friend's expression goes on a journey of varying emotions, shock and disbelief, panic and confusion. all while his candied pink lips open and close, "uh," because by now, eloquence had left the room for both parties. his hands hovering awkwardly like he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or flee. his ears noticeably red, the flush creeping down his neck.

but drunk-dumped you wasn't done. oh no, this was your oscar moment. the hill you were going to die on. the ted talk that no one asked for.

and you were on a roll now, "i mean, look at you! you've got the broody, hot guy thing down so well, and you know that's my type. and everyone knows it, like why aren't we dating already?"

choso's mouth curls again, but no sound comes out. he looks like he wants to crawl into a snowbank and bury himself there forever, "okay, i think maybe you should sit down before you hurt yourself, or, uh, the furniture."

"i'm fine!" you'd declared, throwing your arms up in defiance just as your knees decided that they were absolutely not fine. you wobbled, and in an instant, choso's warm hands are on your shoulders, steadying you with ease.

the searing heat of his touch makes your heart lurch in a way that felt far too real for comfort. you look up at him, his face close enough that you could see the faint freckles dusting his nose, and your breath hitches.

he's close enough now that his lips could press against yours with the mere turn of his head. but you know that choso's just too kind and thoughtful to kiss you in this state right now. he also looks like he's about to gently suggest that you pull yourself together. you wouldn't know, because you've just bulldozed right over him with zero brakes.

tears stream down your face still, but they're starting to slow. sticky and hot, tacking to your cheeks, as you deliver the final blow, "if i asked you to kiss me now — like genuinely right now, would you, cho?"

you would never know what choso's reply would be, because you hiccup violently. the kind that punches your chest and makes you sway. fate was never done with you, because your stomach lurches in warning. you had clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with panic.

choso, bless his heart, had looked ready to throw himself in front of you, "bathroom. now," he'd commanded, his voice taking on a rare, firm edge.

and that's right where your memory cut off, mercifully plunging you into the black void of your vodka-soaked brain. no idea if you'd made it to bathroom. no idea if you'd thrown up all over him, classy as always.

but the last thing you did remember, the thing that haunted you eve now, like a ghost tapping on your shoulder, was the look on choso's face. wide-eyed, jaw slack. like you had flipped his entire world upside down.

choso sits cross-legged on the cold dorm floor, the faint creak of wood beneath him. in his hands is a neatly wrapped gift, small and unassuming. but painstakingly chosen for you. the crimson ribbon, shiny and festive, catches the light of the desk lamp.

it wasn't extravagant, nothing flashy nor pricey. but it was thoughtful, personal. something that he had picked out weeks ago, back when everything between you two had been normal.

back when you didn't look at your phone, and decide he wasn't worth answering.

choso's thumb grazes the corner of the box, smoothing over the edges of the paper that he had meticulously folded after watching youtube tutorials. but now? the box felt heavier than it had any right to. would you even want this anymore? would you even want to see him?

choso sighs, letting his head tip back against the edge of his bed frame. it was a tight and awful feeling, something small and sharp that had wormed its way into his chest.

it wasn't just the silence. it wasn't even the unanswered texts or the way you’d been avoiding him like he was the human incarnation of bad news.

it was the fact that you were you. his best friend. the person he always knew how to read — until now, when everything felt scrambled.

he stares at the gift again, his brows furrowing. he'd been turning this over in his mind for seven straight days, wearing grooves into his thoughts like a track stuck on repeat. did you regret it? did you even remember what you said?

and worse — what if you did mean it?

that last thought was the one that always hit hardest. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, the dark strands falling back into his face. somewhere on his desk, his phone buzzed softly, and for a second, his pulse jumped. but when he checked, it wasn't you.

because of course it wasn’t.

"pathetic," choso muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

seven days.

seven long, agonising days since you'd stumbled into your apartment like the ghost of heartbreak past — tear-streaked, half-drunk, and dropping words so raw they’d knocked the air out of choso's lungs.

seven days since you’d looked at him like he was everything good in the world — right before nearly puking on him and passing out on the couch in a heap of drunken devastation.

and seven days of brutal radio silence ever since.

choso groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he slouched against the edge of his bed. he got it — why you'd be embarrassed. he, he was still processing it, the memory looping in his head like a cursed highlight reel.

"you're amazing, cho. you're perfect."

the words echoed, soft and slurred, over and over like a broken record choso couldn’t shut off. a selfish part of him — a really shameful, awful part — had been glad your ex was out of the picture. not that it was a surprise; choso had never liked that guy. too loud, too cocky. the kind of guy who thought buying overpriced cologne absolved him of skipping deodorant.

but then there was the other part of him — the one that made him feel like a jerk. the part that felt guilty for feeling anything at all. because he wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you.

choso wasn't supposed to have spotify playlists privately curated with all your favourite songs. wasn't supposed to have started buying extra hair ties, just because the thought of you stealing one was so annoyingly appealing.

and he definitely wasn't supposed to have been quietly, hopelessly in love with you for five years and counting.

how many times had he messaged now? four? five? enough that he was starting to feel like that guy, the one who couldn’t take a hint. what if you'd sobered up and realised last friday was just drunk nonsense? what if you didn't like him like that at all?

had he not spent seven days drowning his misery in tubs of mango and pistachio ice cream? enough was enough.

choso's thumb hovered over your contact for a long, stupid second, debating whether to send one more pointless text. but before he could add another "hey, just checking in," he swiped away and hit a different contact. a boisterous teenager with a shock of pink hair.

he shoots off a quick text, almost grimacing as he hits send.

Choso Kamo: Need advice. Got a hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: if this is smth weird i'm not googling it for u

choso rolled his eyes, already regretting this decision. but he needed to hear an outside opinion.

Choso Kamo: It's not weird, serious this time. If someone confesses something private to you while they are drunk, then avoids you for a week, what do you do? Hypothetically?

a pause, and then:

yuujithegoat2003: is this someone a hot girl lol

choso sighed, his dry lips twitching despite himself.

Choso Kamo: Yes. Also, serious answers only. yuujithegoat2003: ok ok. do they remember what they said? Choso Kamo: Most likely not.

yuujithegoat2003: huh...so did they say something good? or was it rude? Choso Kamo: It was good. Really quite good. yuujithegoat2003: bro this seems easy, just ask if they meant it.

choso blinked at his phone, at the...almost reasonable response. suspiciously reasonable, coming from his younger brother.

Choso Kamo: And if they freak out? Or say that they didn't mean it? yuujithegoat2003: then u say 'just kidding' and blow the place up and leave the country. i can get u a fake id, i know a guy. i know lots of guys.

Choso Kamo: You need to stop being influenced by Gojo Satoru. Just because his public break-up landed on national news does not make it a premise for my own situation. Hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: ok, gojo just said no one gaf abt your love life anyway. seriously tho if u like this hypothetical person, just be chill. don't be all intense and scare them off bc its never that deep.

Choso Kamo: Love is that deep. Especially when you care for the other person a lot. yuujithegoat2003: ur so dramatic bro. anyway good luck.

yuujithegoat2003: also if you get rejected don't tell me bc i can't handle second hand embarrassment. thx. gtg to work. these pizzas don't deliver themselves ay

choso glances down at the gift still in his lap, the ribbon he'd so painstakingly tied now a little crushed — much like his pride. the box stares back at him accusingly, as if to say, what's the plan here, genius? wait for her to magically show up?

choso exhales through his nose, sharp and frustrated. sitting here wallowing wasn’t doing him any favours, and neither was yuuji's unhelpful voice.

"yeah, sure," he mutters under his breath, shoving the box into his jacket pocket. he stands abruptly, grabbing his jacket off the back of his desk chair.

if you weren’t going to talk to him, fine. he'd bring the conversation to you. answers, he thought, stepping out into the cold. the winter air bit at his face, but it was bracing, grounding even. one way or another, tonight was going to settle this.

the knocking was relentless.

you tried to ignore it at first, clutching your blanket like it was a shield against all outside forces. whoever was at the door would get the hint eventually. probably. hopefully.

but no, the knocking persisted, evolving into a deliberate rhythm, like some overzealous drummer auditioning for a garage band.

"unbelievable," you groaned, peeling your headphones off and tossing them onto the pillow where they landed with a hollow clatter. if this was the pizza guy you'd ordered from two hours ago, he was wildly late, and you were too broke to tip him anyway.

dragging yourself off the mattress felt like an olympic event. your legs wobbled, your blanket fortress collapsed behind you, and your pride was buried somewhere under the covers still. at least you'd showered earlier — small victories.

your damp hair dripped cold trails down the back of your oversized sweatshirt, and you caught a whiff of cocoa butter as you shuffled to the door. that was…something acceptable at least. but then the mirror by the entryway betrayed you, reflecting sleep-swollen eyes, and the faint ghost of face mask residue clinging stubbornly to your skin.

perfect. a vision of grace and dignity.

you yank the door open, ready to unleash a pointed what do you want? — but the words lodge somewhere in your throat.

smooth. and oh, just your luck.

there stood choso, a walking anomaly in the drab matrix of your sad little existence. his tall frame fills the doorway, backlit by the flickering hallway light, clad in a baggy black tee and faded denim that didn't quite match the nervous energy rolling off him in waves. his hair was tied up in a messy bun, spiky strands sticking out like an afterthought, and of course, he looked unfairly good for someone who had probably spent the past week avoiding the sunlight.

"uh, hey," he says, his voice softer than usual — careful, even. like he thought you might throw the nearest piece of furniture at him and sprint into the night.

"hey?" you echo, voice brittle as you folded your arms tighter. the sweatshirt you were wearing — his sweatshirt, one that he had left here weeks ago — suddenly felt two sizes too big and painfully obvious, "what are you doing here?"

choso scratches the back of his neck, his gaze flickering over you briefly before darting to the floor, "i needed to see you."

"at…eight at night? without warning?"

"would you have answered if i'd texted you?"

the air between you stilled as your brain scrambles for a retort, but he had you dead to rights. with a reluctant huff, you step aside. "fair point. just come in."

choso hesitates for half a second before stepping inside, his presence making your already small apartment feel even more claustrophobic. he's taking a quick glance around, and you watched, mortified, as his eyes landed on the pile of crumpled tissues precariously close to a half-drunk mug of cocoa and a bottle of jack daniel's teetering on the edge of the coffee table.

"sorry for the mess," you mutter, your voice defensive as you crossed your arms tighter.

"it's fine," choso says, a little too quickly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. his gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than necessary, "i didn't mean to…interrupt."

"you didn't interrupt anything." you wave vaguely at the disaster zone that was your apartment.

choso's lips twitch, almost like he wanted to smile but wasn't sure if now was the time, "look, i just —" he trails off, his usual dull voice faltering as he pulled something small and neatly wrapped from his pocket, "i came to give you this. and talk."

you stare at the gift in his hands, shiny crimson ribbon and all, your pulse kicking up like it had somewhere urgent to be, "christmas came early? thanks, cho," you say, mirroring his words with the kind of ease that only comes from too many shared silences. "i'm fine, though. i wasn't up to much."

choso cracks a small, half-hearted smile, but it's like watching a flicker of light in a dim room — there, but not really there. "i tried texting," he says, glancing at you, searching for something.

"i know," you murmur, suddenly finding the floor very interesting, "i just wasn't in the mood for much talking."

choso huffs, a sound halfway between exasperation and amusement, "i noticed," he says dryly, and that only makes the air in the room more thick and uncomfortable.

you sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you flop back onto the couch, curling your knees up to your chest like you're trying to make yourself small enough to disappear, "so, what? you came here to check if i'm still breathing?"

"kind of," choso admits, settling awkwardly on the edge of your coffee table, his long legs folded beneath him in that way that makes him look like he’s trying to physically contain himself. his knees bump into yours, and you have to fight the urge to pull away, like you could get too close, "but mostly...i came to talk about last friday night."

your stomach does a horrifying little flip, the kind that sends cold fingers crawling up your spine. you stare at him, silently willing him to read the begging look in your eyes and back off, but he doesn't. he's never been the type to take the hint.

"i've been thinking about it all week," he continues, his voice quiet but steady, as if he's preparing himself for something big, "and i need to know if —"

"nope," you interrupt, holding up a hand, "nope. we're not going there."

choso blinks at you, like he's trying to process the sudden barricate that you've just put up. but you're so not ready for this conversation, not now, nor ever. and you'll be damned if he gets any closer to the minefield. he scowls, his brows knitting together like he's resisting the urge to push you off the couch, "why not?"

"because it doesn't matter, okay?" you lean your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like you can will this conversation away, "i was drunk as hell, cho. you're overthinking it."

he scoffs, his voice sharp now, like he's cutting through your flimsy deflection with a blade, "i don't think i am."

you wince, shrinking a little under the weight of his stony gaze, "why does this even matter?"

"you think i can just brush it off like it didn't happen?" and there's a rawness in choso's voice that hits you harder than expected.

your cheeks heat up, a fiery blush creeping up your neck, "i didn't mean it," you mutter.

"yes, you did," choso snaps back, with uncharacteristic heat, and he leans forward, enough to close the distance between you two, "and you know how i know? because you've been ignoring me all week. if it was just some drunk nonsense, you would have laughed it off by now. but you haven't."

you open your mouth to argue, to push back. but the words stick heavy in your throat. nothing comes out, and it must prove choso all the more right, because you watch as his bottom lip is captured by his teeth, suddenly watching plush skin split.

"do you want me to apologise?" you ask finally, voice a little too sharp for comfort, "because i will. i'll say i'm sorry for putting you in that position and —"

"i don't want an apology," choso cuts you off, and the dim light of your apartment makes the dark circles under his eyes stand out like bruises, "i want the truth."

you freeze, your heart thudding like a drum in your chest, "what truth, cho?"

"that you meant it," choso says softly, "that you meant it when you said that you wish it had been me."

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric. your breath catches, as your mind goes blank. an entire power outage, as you blink at him like a fish out of water. finally, after what feels like an eternity, you force the knot in your throat to loosen just enough to speak, "yeah," you whisper, "i meant it."

choso's whole body seems to deflate, like he's been holding up the weight of the sky. his shoulders slump, and the sheer relief on his face hits you like a tidal wave. it's almost enough to undo you. there's a sound, soft and shaky and far too vulnerable that escapes him.

neither of you move. the moment stretches out, fragile. like it could snap in half if either of you dared to breathe too loud.

then, choso is the first to move.

there's no hesitation, no uncertainty. just pure intention, like a dam finally bursting open. he shifts forward, hands finding their way to your waist with an urgency that makes your pulse go into overdrive. choso's grip is firm, but there's a reverence to it, as if you're something he's waited his entire life to touch. he pulls you to him, and you can feel the heat of him flood your chest, your blood, your bones.

"what if you regret this?" you murmur into his chest, voice muffled as your arms slip around his necks, holding onto the beautiful man like he may float way.

"not a chance," choso replies, and his voice is raspier than you've ever heard it, like he's saying it more to himself than to you.

choso kamo finally kisses you.

the kind of kiss that feels like a storm is finally breaking over clear skies, with an unrestrainted longing that crashes over the both of you.

his sweet lips meet yours with a hunger that makes your head spin, raw and real. choso clearly doesn't want to hold back, and neither do you.

his hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly at russet strands.

choso groans into your mouth, a soft and burning thing that ignites every nerve in your body.

without breaking his hold on your lips, his wide hands slide down, finding the back of your thighs, making you shamefully clench them closer together.

but he's tapping them in silent invitation, and you leap into him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. the world around you blurs as he stumbles backwards.

and when the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed, gravity does its job. you both tumble into the mattress in a jumbled mess of limbs and muffled laughter, your heart pounding so loud, as you muster up the courage to prod your tongue at his lips, letting him part his mouth so you can take up more of choso.

you land beneath him, his weight pressing into you in the best way possible, sending sharp spikes of heady arousal through you. and you blink up at him, breathless.

choso is so close now, his hazel eyes locked on yours with a rare intensity, like the calm façade is entirely shattered now. but there's a smile on his lips, a crooked little thing that sends a rush of warmth through you.

"hi, choso," you whisper, your voice soft yet breathless as he chases your lips again, a desperate hunger in his eyes. it's as if he can't bear to be apart from you, even for a heartbeat.

"hey," he murmurs back, that low rumble sending shivers down your spine, igniting a heat you can't ignore.

you keep pressing kisses to his glossy lips, the world narrowing down the press of his mouth and how choso's hands cradle your waist like you might slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

without breaking contact, choso shifts, his strong hands guiding you gently, firmly.

"don' wanna crush you," he spills against your mouth, his voice low and rough, and before you can reply, he flips you effortless.

the movement is seamless, fluid even. and you're suddenly perched atop him, straddling his thighs and sinking into the worn denim of his jeans.

he's leaning back against the covers beneath him, as his chest rises and falls in unsteady waves as he gazes up at you. expression caught somewhere between awe and hunger.

choso looks so completely, heartbreakingly in love with you that it leaves you breathless. his hands tighten on your waist, fingertips pressing with a near bruising intensity into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt that clings to your frame.

his cheeks are flushed a deep, telling pink, and you can't help the soft, teasing coo that slips from your lips as you trace the curve of his temple with gentle fingers, "is something wrong, cho?" you murmur.

his lips, swollen and glistening from your kiss, part slightly, his breath uneven and catching on the edges of unspoken emotions, "nothing. nothing, i swear," he says, the words tumbling out rough and raw, his voice pitched low and vulnerable.

his hands slide you closer, his grip firm but trembling slightly, and his next confession nearly undoes you, makes your core moisten even, "just…never done this before."

"really?" you whisper, eyes widening as you take him in — the flush on choso's cheeks, the way he won't quite meet your gaze, the way he holds you like you're something precious.

the realisation that he's never shared this part of himself with anyone else tugs sharply at your heartstrings, "never?"

choso swallows thickly, nodding once, his voice a quiet hum as he admits, "mhm."

"ah, you're so cute, cho," you giggle, watching as the man scrunches his nose in mock protest.

"tch, 'm not meant to be cute."

you huff, feigning disappointment, "and here i was, wishing you a very merry christmas eve." he whines as you lean in, pressing a teasing kiss to his neck, right where his heartbeat thrums beneath his pale skin. your lips find their home at the juncture, and you can't help but smile at the way he whines at your touch, bucks his hips up into yours.

"must have been real good to get a holiday gift like this."

you pull back just enough to admire your handiwork, a little red bloom that blossoms on thin skin, bruised petals that mark him now. choso's swallowing thickly, his adam's apple bobbing, as a soft whine escapes his lips again as you lean in, this time closer to the jaw. leaving a trail of kisses in a messy that makes choso squirm.

you press your thumb against his lower lip, feeling the soft and trembling skin quiver under your touch, "hey. open up," you coax, a teasing lilt colouring your voice.

choso looks up at you, his wide eyes clouded with desire as dark strands of hair fall across his forehead, "huh, what?"

you tap his lip again, impatience bubbling in your chest, "c'mon, open your mouth. properly," and the way he immediately obeys, parting his glossy lips sends a thrill through you. the scent of clove and citrus envelops you as you lean in closer, running your tongue over his lower lip.

you let a glob of spit fall from your lip into his mouth, with a thick thwack! echoing in the air. you deliberately miss, just a little bit, to watch him squirm as he swallows, eyes fluttering shut and inky lashes staining his cheeks.

"so good, aren't you? good at playing nice, hah," you use your thumb to smear the slick over his lips, just a bit. to watch him shudder, entirely captivated by you. it's exhilarating and makes your cunt clench around nothing. probably seeping through the thin material of your shorts and onto his thick jeans.

bang bang bang!

a sharp knock that booms at your door, enough to make your ears ring. you hear choso groan beneath you, shifting slightly so you can feel the full, thick curve of his bulge right where you need him most.

"think we can ignore that?" he rasps, his voice rough and low, the sound of it leave slick strands clinging between your thighs.

you spread your legs just a little wider over him, watching as his frown dissipates and his jaw drops, distracted by the preview you've given him, "i'm really hoping so."

but whoever is at the door has no intention of being ignored. another knock rattles the wood, followed by an all-too-familiar voice yelling, "hey! open up! delivery!"

your brows furrow, recognition sparking, "cho, isn't that—"

he cuts you off with an apologetic sigh, lifting you off his lap with surprising gentleness. choso sets you down on the quilt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before muttering under his breath, "it better not be."

you watch him go, more than a little distracted by the sight of his broad shoulders and the way his messy hair bobs with each step. already, you're plotting exactly how you’ll get your hands back in it once he returns.

choso swings the door open, and you hear a collective, "what the hell?" echo through the apartment — one part you, one part choso, and one part…

"itadori yuuji?" you blurt, leaning over to get a look. sure enough, there's choso's younger brother, standing in the doorway in a bright red pizza delivery uniform, balancing three large boxes in one hand and his phone in the other.

yuuji blinks at the two of you, then raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and something vaguely accusatory before reading off his phone in a robotic voice, "uh…merry christmas eve. i have three pizzas. extra cheese. stuffed crust," he pauses, not able to keep the act up as his golden eyes narrow, "but, uh — bro, what happened to your face?"

you bite your lip to keep from laughing as choso straightens, his expression caught somewhere between mortified and furious, "yuuji—"

but the younger man's attention shifts to you, his gaze taking in the oversized sweatshirt you're wearing, choso's sweatshirt, and his jaw drops, "oh hell no. this is the hot girl you texted me about?"

choso visibly flinches as you burst into giggles.

"that's like your best friend? that's like my sister-in-law!" yuuji throws up his hands in mock disbelief, "you really keep your circles tight, huh, man?"

before choso can even respond, yuuji leans in closer, squinting at his older brother, "and seriously, dude, what's all that on your face?"

choso groans, snatching the pizzas from yuuji with one hand and shoving him toward the hall with the other, "okay, that's enough. get out."

"you haven't paid me! that's against the law!" yuuji protests, but choso grabs the scruff of his brother's uniform collar, steering him out the door.

"i'll pay you double. triple. just leave."

"my pizzas are probably cold now anyway," you call out, adding fuel to the fire.

"yeah? well, you look a bit too busy to eat them anyway," yuuji swivels his head over his shoulder to wag a finger at you with a grin, before choso finally shoves him fully into the hallway.

as the door slams shut, you hear yuuji's muffled voice echoing, "i'm telling everyone. i'm telling dad. i'm telling sukuna. i'm telling gramps, gojo, nanami —"

you can hear their bickering voices fade down the hallway, to where choso is probably gonna pack him into the car and send him off.

you glance down at the box you'd set aside earlier, your curiosity getting the better of you. carefully pulling at the ribbon, you open it to find a small scrapbook, beautifully made. inside are photos and clippings of you and choso: movie ticket stubs, receipts from late-night takeout runs, train tickets from your trip to the coast.

your chest tightens as you run your fingers over the familiar handwriting scrawled in the margins, a quote from a cheesy romantic movie that you had forced choso to watch with you a few months ago. what an honour it is to be loved like this.

[prettycalla]

|| reverentia ||

Pairing: Geta/Reader

Summary: Geta is afforded a rare, quiet morning with his Empress. He refuses to let even a second of it go to waste.

Word count: 2.5k

Tags and warnings: Smut (not overly explicit, but still very obvious!), fluff, Geta adores his wife, Geta's POV, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

(Once again, the lovely @getaapologist gave me a little thought and here I am, turning it into a whole thing. Please check out her fics, they're so good! This can also be read as a vague continuation of this fic.)

Geta Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist

When Geta awakens, the sun has yet to breach the horizon. The hour is somewhere between night and day; that strange time where he can merely exist as he is. The burdens that come with ruling have been taken from his shoulders, laid to rest elsewhere for a brief moment.

Now, he is a man, no more and no less. It is a strange comfort to him.

He turns his attention then to you, asleep in his embrace. Your head rests against his chest, tucked under his chin. As if you were made to fit so perfectly in his arms as you do.

His beautiful Empress. His beloved wife.

A soft sigh falls from your lips, your warm breath ghosting along Geta’s collarbone, and he cannot help the shiver that runs along the length of his spine. The movement jostles you ever so slightly, but it is enough for Somnus to lift his spell from you.

A sleepy little groan leaves you, and Geta holds himself completely still, lest he disturb you further.

But it is too late.

“Good morning,” you manage to say through a long yawn.

Geta pulls himself back, just enough that he can see your face.

How he finds himself clinging to little moments such as these. When the greedy, unsatisfied child that is his Empire still slumbers on, and his only thoughts can be of you.

He says nothing, yet his mind races with words that he still stumbles over. Words that you are fluent in, that are still foreign on his tongue.

He has always seen vulnerability as a weakness, and yet he does not with you. How you hold your heart out to him, so fragile, so easily crushed by a man who has known only to conquer, to destroy. And yet still you offer it to him, this delicate, breakable thing.

Once he thought you foolish for it; now it only urges him forward to learn to do the same for you.

He does not know how to say it, and so he decides, as he so often does, that he must show you instead.

For rarely does a man of his lofty position ever truly have to think of what he must say. Why would he ever need to, when he has a sea of sycophants at his command?

Simpering sheep with daggers hidden in their wool. Dangerous to turn one’s back to.

But Geta is no less dangerous. He has had to learn from a young age that there are few he can place trust in. The Empire will take and take and take, until he is little more than a husk, picked clean by scavengers.

His teeth have grown long, his claws sharp in his years on the pedestal he has been placed upon. He is versed in swordplay, but will surrender to the animalistic violence more commonplace in his brother when he must. They are two of a kind, after all.

And he will fall prey to his baser urges to protect you, again and again. Without thought, without fail.

You are more precious to him than any jewel, any land, even his title.

He places a hand beneath your jaw, gently tilting your head up to look at him. Truly he is privileged to be the only man to see you as you are now - your face bare, a soft smile pulling at your lips as you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, still tipsy with sleep.

He cannot bear the thought of another seeing you as he does now. Even his own brother.

There was a time when he might have lost your love to Caracalla, and it is the only time in his life that he has ever truly considered taking the very breath from his body. His own flesh and blood. The only other to hold Geta’s heart as fiercely as you do.

You bring a hand up to rest over his, and it is only then that he realises how he trembles. You overwhelm him, like nothing ever has.

Like no one ever will.

He leans in, brushing his nose lightly against yours before he kisses you. His mouth is firm against yours, and as always, you lean into it, allow him to take what he will. You submit so readily to him, and yet he is very aware of how much power you wield over him. He wonders if you know this too.

He nips at your lower lip, and you gasp softly, allowing him entrance. He licks at your mouth; soft in his actions, knows that you will not disappear. That in this moment, he can take his time.

Your hand tightens against his, your body pressing closer to him. He knows that your need for him is gradually growing, as his is for you. He has each little movement, each touch, each sound, committed to memory.

If he were to forget everything, let it not be this.

Let it not be you.

It is with reluctance that he parts from you. He slips free of your gentle hold, placing a line of kisses along the length of your neck, down your shoulder, the crook of your arm, the delicate skin of the inside of your wrist.

He looks up at you, as he presses another kiss to the back of your hand. What a vision you are in his eyes. Venus herself would dare have your head in her ire.

You reach for him then, as if to coax him back to you, and he forces himself to resist the siren song of your embrace, persuaded elsewhere by more pressing matters.

He slips under the covers as he moves lower still, continuing a path of kisses across your stomach, your hip, until he has settled himself quite comfortably between your legs. His hands drag softly along the lengths of your calves, back and forth, until he feels the beginnings of gooseflesh erupt beneath his fingertips.

You offer no resistance, allowing him to arrange you as he likes. It does not escape his notice the unwavering trust that you place in him in these moments.

How he would never dare to lose it.

His hands push at the fabric that covers you from him, over your knees, past your thighs, until it is no longer in the way of what he seeks from you.

He stops for a moment, if only to admire you; beautiful creature that you are, laid almost entirely bare before him. He will never tire of this view, even after his very last breath.

To him, you are a goddess made flesh.

He dips his head to the insides of your thighs, where his cheek, still rough at this time of the morning, scratches against the sensitive skin there. You let out a gasp, and a low chuckle escapes him as he does it again.

“Geta…”

He sucks in a breath at the sound of his name leaving you in such a manner. There are few who will use his given name, fewer still who have earned the right to address him with anything other than his titles.

There is Caracalla, who says his name with such familiarity, as though he was born with the word already on his tongue. And there is you, speaking his name with such care, such fondness, that he finds himself overwhelmed with feelings he does not yet have words for, each and every time he hears it.

"Whatever is the matter?" he asks, composing himself, as though he is unaware of the part he now plays.

"Surely you have teased enough," you reply, with an impatient little huff.

How sweet you are in your desire for him.

"You would accuse me of such a terrible thing?" he asks, the very picture of innocence. "Such treasonous words cannot be ignored."

"Oh, please, you exaggerate- Oh-"

Geta deliberately waits until that very moment to strike, distracting you entirely with his tongue. You jolt at his sudden movement, and he places his hands on your thighs, holding you firmly in place. He is well-versed in making you squirm, but he cannot allow himself to become distracted from the task he has so greedily set himself.

There was once a time when he thought an act like this to be degrading, particularly to one of his lofty position. How he has most assuredly realised his error in judgment.

For how could he possibly see you, as you are in this very moment, as anything less than magnificent?

He has grown far more adept since the first time he had you in this way, and will use every trick at his disposal to leave you a quivering mess beneath him. Little else provides him with as much pleasure as watching you fall apart so beautifully.

If he could keep you like this for eternity, he most certainly would, and judging by how your fingers thread tightly into his fiery locks, free as they are now of the weight of his laurels, you would let him. Let him worship you as you deserve.

He continues to move his tongue against you in that devastating way, until you are able to do little else but let him take what he wants from you. The sounds of your breathless sighs, as they rise slowly in volume, are sweeter than any music to him, little song bird that you are.

"G-Geta," you manage to whisper beneath quick, little breaths.

Your grip tightens in his hair, and sensing your growing need, he works harder to tip you over the edge that you are so desperately teetering from.

"Please- Stop-" you gasp out suddenly.

At that, he lifts his head immediately.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

You nod shakily, and his shoulders drop in relief. To think that he might have hurt you-

"I am- I am more than alright," you reply, a tremble in your voice. "But..."

Geta rises then, moving until his body is over yours, his hands pressed to the bed on either side of you.

"But?" he echoes, his gaze focused so intensely on you. "Whatever is the matter?"

You cannot quite meet his eye, and he realises that it is not from fear or worry, but embarrassment.

"It...It is not enough," you admit quietly, finally meeting his gaze.

Geta's eyes widens for a moment, before his lips curl into a knowing smile. When once this would have provoked a childish reaction from him, now it only strokes his ego. Affirms how you feel for him.

"Oh. I see," he replies, crudely running a hand over his mouth. "What would you have me do then?"

As if he does not already know. In answer, you reach for him, your hands gripping his shoulders, as your heels dig gently into the backs of his legs, urging him closer.

Up until now, he has been able to ignore his own urges for the most part, but no longer can he cast them aside. Not with your soft touch against him, the warmth that radiates from your body, how you look at him, with such desire in your eyes.

To deny himself of you any longer would be to deny you both, and so he moves, his patience swiftly on the brink as he lines himself up and pushes into you. It takes everything in his power to stop himself from collapsing on top of you, but the feeling of you - that heat - around him is intoxicating. He is but a man, after all.

He gives you as much time as he can to adjust, but it is you who breaks first, clutching at his strong arms.

"Geta...If you do not move soon, I shall be driven to madness," you tell him, your need for him so evident in how you speak.

He needs no more convincing, and so he does as you command. He moves, and a groan slips through his clenched teeth at how perfect you feel. He is far too proud to admit it, but he knows that he will not last long.

He forces himself to focus on finishing what he has started, managing to build a somewhat steady rhythm, as he grows more and more pent-up with lust.

You only serve to make matters worse, clinging to him in a desperate manner as you urge him on. Your breath stutters, your nails scratching at his skin, and he knows that you draw close.

Geta's arms are tight around you, his fingers sure to leave bruises with how hard they press into your skin. He is animalistic in his need, yearning for release - both his and yours.

"Let go, mea lux," he all but pleads, as his hand slides between your bodies to push you further. "Let me see you."

It is not much longer before you are at last overcome, your back arching in his hold. He swears under his breath at how you squeeze him, and he is losing what little patience he had, he cannot last, he cannot-

His hips jerk forward as he spills into you, a growl working its way out of his throat as that wave of pleasure finally crashes over him. He ruts against you until he is finally spent, suddenly exhausted.

It is some time before he is able to move again. He manages to push himself up onto his elbows, and his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you. Your face is flushed, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing. He gives in to the sudden urge to kiss you that overtakes him, taking pride in how you gasp in surprise.

Neither of you speak for a while, content to quietly bask in the afterglow of it all together.

But there is only so long that Geta can ignore it. The unwelcome visitor in the room.

Sunlight is already beginning to peek through the slit in the curtains, slowly spilling across the floor, and breaking the spell that Geta has allowed himself to fall under.

"The hour grows later," he says softly.

It is with reluctance that he utters those words. He would give anything to remain as he is.

"Do as you must," you tell him.

He looks down at you, to find you staring up at him. He knows that look in your eyes all too well.

Stay here with me, you silently plead.

Geta lets out a quiet breath. Perhaps he can indulge himself a while longer. He lies down once more, pulling you into his arms as he does so. With your head once again against his chest, your soft breaths against his collarbone, it is as if he had never woken you at all.

Although he is most certainly glad that he did.

"Surely the palace can remain in one piece without me for a few minutes more," he murmurs.

You hum in agreement, wrapping your arms tightly around him in turn. Geta cannot resist the smile threatening to break across his face, and so he allows it. Allows himself another small moment of peace.

There is nowhere in the world that he would rather be right now, and certainly no one else that he would rather be with, than you.

Taglist: @lover-rep-fanfic @x-vadon @dubiousmetamorphosis @hikohyuuga @iitsmandii @medievalharlot @glassbxttless @getaapologist @fandom-princess-forevermore @robinbuckleywife @bib200 @samslvrgirl @cheesesandwichsanto @magikdarkholme @spider-starry

(You can join the taglist here! You can also ask to be removed through the same form!)

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

can you make a little chapter of mommy!Hwa doing baby's hair? 🥺 i am eating uuup all of the fluff you've been posting of him, it really puts into perspective why baby stops fighting so hard as time goes on and it's really sad but also sooo comforting for some reason how soft he is with her 😭

Flowers In Your Hair

Baby Series !

➾In Which: Hwa loves doing your hair.

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

❥feat. platonic C.S., S.M., C.J., J.Y.

➯a/n: yesssssss !!!! i absolutely can, it's canon that hwa is obsessed with taking care of baby and doing her hair is part of that 10000% ! i did it in a few different ways cause i like for my fics to be inclusive so we have : straight / wavy and natural curls / coils, enjoy some fluff 💞

➯a/n2: my bear clip buddy i've finally done it !! and 🫀anon, while i work on some more baby-verse yunho, i featured him here as well <3

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, fluff headcanons and drabbles

♫Flowers In Your Hair, The Lumineers♫Baby Playlist♫

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not proof read, non sexual nudity (showering together), casual intimacy (sharing drinks, cuddling, cheek kisses), stockholm + lima syndrome, non linear

➯disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind. (even though this chapter made me swoon so hard, mommy hwa please play with my hair-)

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

˗ˏˋbaby-yaaaˎˊ˗ @maplelilly05 @m00njinnie @tinyteezer ₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy

18+ BLOG. MINORS DONT LET THE DOOR HIT YA ON THE WAY OUT.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

❝ general ❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

✧Mommy Hwa has an entire makeup bag full of clips and bows and all kinds of cute accessories he puts in your hair.

✧He's always incredibly gentle, deathly afraid to snag your hair and hurt you — he treats you like a fragile porcelain doll as he does your hair.

✧Seonghwa washes your hair. No if's, and's, or but's. He wants his Baby to be clean and what better way to make sure of that than to do it himself?

✧You shower together more often than not, so it's really not a fuss. You come to enjoy it whether you realize it or not. And he likes it just as much; taking care of you makes him so, so, beyond happy.

"Lean back a bit, Baby," he guides your head back into the water, his fingers massaging your scalp as he rinses the suds away.

A soft, sighing moaning comes from you, making him smile. "Feels good?"

"Mhm," you hum as you lean further into his touch. "Thanks, Mommy."

"You're welcome, sweet girl."

✧One of Hwa's favorite things is rubbing your head as you lay it on his chest. It just feels so right.

"C'mere." He falls into bed on his back with a groan, "let me hold you, Baby."

You crawl up the bed with a small smile, glad that the day is over. Snuggling into his side, placing your head on his chest.

His gentle strokes to the back of your head make both of you melt. "Mh," he exhales softly, "I love you, Baby-ya."

"I love you, Mommy-ya." Your voice vibrates his chest ever so slightly.

Petting your head will forever hold a place in his heart. Just like everything he does with you.

❝ curls ❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

✧It took Hwa a little while to learn how to care for your hair, being so different from his own — but once he got it; he got it.

✧He has all of your favorite products, some new ones that he read is good for your hair type, and he doesn't stop at just taking care of it;

✧Mommy Hwa learns how to do your hair. How to style it, how to put it in protective braids, how to fluff it up all nice and soft, whatever you want.

✧He loves it when you wear your hair as it is because how nice it feels when he holds your head to his chest. But he also takes great pride in learning whatever style you want him to help you with.

"Tadaaan~" Seonghwa smiles as he pushes the last clip into the front of your hair, two cute snap clips on either side. He steps back and helps you off the bathroom counter.

You had your hair in its natural state, but you were bored of it this morning and asked him to put it in buns.

Initially, he panicked a bit because he'd only done ponytails and braids up until this point. But, looking in the mirror, you can see he did a more than decent job parting your hair in the middle and putting the two sections into neat buns.

"What do you think, angel?" He hums as he rests his chin on your head, careful not to mess them up.

"Cute!"

"Yes, you are~"

✧His personal favorite besides your natural hair might have to be box braids. He can, and does, spend hours parting your hair neatly and braiding it and adding colored strands to it.

Seonghwa leans over your head as you sit on the floor on a pile of folded up blankets between his legs. His tongues sticks out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he makes a part in your hair with the end of a comb.

"Here you go, peanut," San hands you a cup of juice as he passes on his way back to his spot in the armchair.

Mingi, laid nearly upside down on the couch next to Hwa, is running his fingers through a bundle of hair.

"Thank you, Sannie," you yawn before taking a sip. It's already been two hours. You're happy he forgoes his TV time limit when he braids your hair, because otherwise you'd have fallen asleep out of pure boredom.

"Give me a sip, please, Baby," Seonghwa yawns after you, gathering up a bit of product on his fingertips as he leans and takes a drink from your straw while you hold the cup for him. "Mwah~" He kisses your temple before leaning back and taking the hair from Mingi; who reaches with a groan and gets another piece off of the table which is littered in supplies.

"This stuff is so soft," he catches the contagious yawn as he plays with it while watching the TV.

Seonghwa takes his time making the start of the braid neat and tight before he rolls his neck out while working his way down slowly.

It makes his fingers ache by the time he's done and his neck is usually stiff, but it's worth it to spend every second doing it as long as he's doing it for you.

❝ straight ❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

✧Hello, did someone say pigtails? Seonghwa did — that's for sure. It's undoubtedly his favorite way to do your hair in the morning. You just look so cute! If you don't specify what you want, pigtails is what you'll get.

✧It took him practice, but he's got it down in three minutes flat: parting your hair evenly down the middle and making the twin ponytails nice and even.

"Waaah~" He beams, just the same as every other time he's finished putting your hair into the style. "Look at my little angel, so adorable~"

You smile as you slide off of the counter, leaning on your tip-toes to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, Mommy! Let's go eat!"

The pig trails sway behind you as you all but run off.

He already thinks you're the cutest thing in the universe, this is just a bonus.

✧He likes braiding your hair just as much, sometimes at night he plays with different types to see what looks best. And when he finds one that either of you like, he practices again and again so he can start doing it in a timely manner and do it in the mornings.

✧Seonghwa braids your hair pretty much every night after he read that it's good for it, and you can actually see a difference.

"Rubber band," Seonghwa holds out his hand between you and Jongho, who both sit on the floor.

He looks down at the piece of popcorn in his hand with a laugh, "Baby-ya," he eats it quickly and puts his hand back, "a rubber band?"

Both you and the younger member were too engrossed in the Winnie The Pooh movie to have heard him correct the first time. It's late at night, almost your bedtime according to the schedule Hwa's had you on; and it's clear you're tired as you play with Jongho's sleeve absentmindedly. "Oops," you giggle, placing a rubber band in his hand, "sorry, Mommy."

"My silly girl," he smiles while wrapping it around the end of your hair.

❝ members ❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

✧Whenever Hwa is in a rush in the morning, which isn't often, some of the other members help. Mingi is horrible at it, if it's his job —brushing it is accomplishment enough.

"Ow," you pout, reaching back and punching Mingi's leg. "That hurted!"

"Ow!" He says right back, rubbing his thigh, "that hurted! You pack a freakin' punch, shortcake."

"No fighting!" Seonghwa yells from the kitchen.

You laugh as he turns your head back around, facing the TV while he keeps attempting to make something that even resembles a neat ponytail.

"Ah..." He sighs, falling back into the couch and digging his phone out of his pocket, "I need to call in backup."

✧Mingi's backup, just like in most other matters in life, is Yunho. He has something of a magic touch when it comes to doing your hair.

Within a matter of ten minutes: Yunho is in the apartment, kneeling in front of you, and easily doing what Mingi couldn't; putting your hair up neatly.

He's somehow more gentle than Seonghwa — maybe because he's even more afraid to hurt you.

He hates to admit it, but the way you smile at him as he smooths out the bumps in ponytail makes him coo to himself.

"Thanks, Yuyu," you lean and smooch his cheek after he finishes.

"You're welcome, kid." He has a faint blush as he pats your head. You're so sweet even when he's distant to you. The least he can do is your hair.

✧San is almost as good as Seonghwa is, though. He may not be as diligent, but he can make your hair neat and cute in a timely manner.

✧San's go to with your hair is pulling it out of your face in one way or another. Twisting it up with a few butterfly clips, a simple head band, sometimes he has time to put the front of your hair back in two little braids.

The bathroom is a rush of activity: Seonghwa rushing this way and that, Mingi bumping into him as he does the same thing, both of them trying to get ready to leave on time. You sit on the counter, swinging your feet.

San gets into the mix as well, sliding past their backs and scooping you up, "come on, peanut."

"Five minutes, San-ah!" Seonghwa yells as he peeks out of the bathroom, watching San carry you into your room.

You and San don't have to talk to be comfortable, he just hums quietly to himself while soothing out your hair and then digging through the little bag of hair accessories he snatched up along with you.

"What do you feel like, peanut?"

You peek into the bag and tap your chin, "headband?"

"Good choice," is always his answer no matter what you pick.

He puts it on you gently and smiles; a somewhat rare genuine sparkle in his eyes. "Cute~"

✧Jongho spoils you, he gives you all kinds of gifts. But your all-time favorite is the butterfly clips that are shaped, instead of butterflies, like little bear heads.

✧You wore them for an entire week straight after he gave them to you, and you continue to wear them more consistently than anything else. The little brown bears give you a sense of comfort, reminding you that Big Bear will always protect you.

"Big Bear!!" You run to him quickly, crashing into his chest and hugging him so tightly that he stumbles a bit.

"O- hey, Little Bear," he hugs you back, smiling down at you as you look up at him; the familiar bear clips keeping your hair out of your face.

They hadn't left your hair the entire week he was gone, Seonghwa had to pinky promise you that he would put them back in after he washed your hair for you to even let him get close.

"I think she missed you," Hwa laughs lightly, setting his bag down.

"I see that," he bops the little bears in your hair softly, "did they keep you safe?"

"Yup!"

[hypernova-writes]

Part of Your World [Ch.1]

Chapter one: Am I dreaming?

Pairings: OT9 X Reader.

Synopsis: After moving into your grandparents old home, you catch up with some friends and play some Tf2 before bed...only to wake up and find the nine mercenaries in your home...

a/n: I saw a thing that asked for more reverse isekai tf2 fics and luckily I had this one prepared as my second series to go alongside the Crown Jewel one! Hope you guys enjoy!

“Nova. Please you’re making it worse,”

“Sorry!..I mean at least you have alot of room to yourself..”

You huff softly as you place the boxes in your hands down. Your friend Nova was helping you move all your things into your grandparents home. The duo decided to up and move and gave you the option to move into the home.

A home with everything paid for, looks nice and spacious, in this economy?

Oh hell yeah you were taking it.

The two of you just finished setting down the last box down in your bedroom, Nova smiles at you before stepping back.

“Well, Do you need anymore help setting up, or do you got it from here boss?”

You glance around before looking back at her, “Ahh nah I think I got it from here Nov! I’ll call you later and we can hop on the game!”

Nova nods before she reaches forward to hug you before turning and leaving. “See ya Y/n!”

“Bye Bye! Talk to you later!” You respond as you wave to your friend as she leave out of your new home.

You close your room door afterwards and sighs as you plop down on the bed, you looked over to your pc and the small posters you managed to get up while Nova was still here.

The two of you met from playing Team Fortress 2 and became quick friends, you were already well versed in the fandom, the posters you had up were a few fanarts made by some of your friends and one you drew yourself of Scout.

You move to sit up and move over to your PC, you loaded up discord to send a message to Nova that you were ready to play.

-Hey Nov you ready?⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

-FUCK YEEAAA I WAS BORN READY- cough cough uhh..i mean of course! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

You giggle at your friend before you loaded up steam and placed your headphones on your head. You hum as you waited for the loading screen to come on and decided you would play at whoever was on your screen when you loaded in.

And today it was Scout!

-“Ready to go run in and die?”

-“PLEASE! Are you going scout too?”

When the two of you loaded into the match you could already tell this was going to be one of those long nights where the two of you goof around and not take anything seriously.

You two were even joined by two of your other friends and ended up just running around smacking people with the holy mackerel, not even caring that your teams were horribly losing.

This went on until around 12am before you eventually could feel the tiredness kicking in and you yawned a bit too loud into your mic.

“Oop, Y/n is on the train to sleepy time junction.”

"Shut up Nova…”

“Damn somebody eepy,”

“The missile is eepy and needy to sleepy.”

You rolled you eyes playfully before deciding that was it game for today and leaning back in your chain. “Alright guys, I’ll talk to you tomorrow!”

“Night N/n!”

“Nighty night!”

|“See ya!”

You hummed softly as you got up and moved over to your bed, not bothering to turn off your PC, knowing you had it set to go off on it’s own.

You turned down the screen brightness and climbed into your bed, placing your phone on the charger and finally settling down into bed.

“She’s hot aint she?”

“Ya know Scout, You might be right, she is a doll..”

“Don’t tell me we are actually agreeing with this idiot now?..”

“Mhm mhph!”

“Pyro’s right! We outta take a chance,”

“Right, Right, I vant out of zhis damn box! Besides..I want to see what kind of heart she has~”

“..Doctor..human heart different from what you give us. She may be fragile..”

“IF SHE IS FRAGILE WE WILL HAVE TO TURN HER INTO A PROPER WARRIOR.”

“Aye, Solly. Doubt the lass wants to wake up at 6am to the sound of a horn.”

The computer screen starts to morph and change, the lights flashing on Y/N’s sleeping body, as one by one, quietly the men start to materialize in her bedroom.

“Woah..I wonder what year this is…?”

“From the clock on the wall, I think its the year 2025.”

“That’s 57 years. You idiots brought me 57 years in the future,”

“Vell, first of all Spy. in her world ve are fictional characters.”

“Oi! That’s us on the wall over there!” Demoman moves over and points to the posters.

“Is that how they all see us? And why in the sam hills are our hands so big?”

“And why in the bloody hell is Scout here so much?”

Scout chuckles as he runs a hand through his short hair. “Seems like dollface over here has class~, need i remind you she played me last night with her friends?”

Spy rolled his eyes. “Yea, and kept dying. Halting our progress with stupid games.”

Medic was already hovering over Y/n tilting his head as he looked down at her, “My My, she’s such a heavy sleeper! You vould think she vould hear 9 grown adults in her room..” 

Heavy looks around her room, “Seems like she moved, Maybe that is why little woman is tired.” He picks up one of the boxes and opens it, seeing plushies, before reaching in and grabbing a little bird one dressed like him. 

He turns it over. “...Little..Pootis?”

The other mercs look through the boxes, all seeing merch of various types of them, posters, figures, plushies and buttons.

Spy lifts one of the Spy crab plushies up and tilts his head. “Seems like she’s a fan. You picked the right one Scout.”

“You complimenting me Frenchie? I must be dreaming”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Sniper glanced around before noticing someone was missing. “Oi, Where’s the spook?”

Spy rolled his eyes and Sniper shook his head, “ No not you! Pyro!”

Engineer pointed out of the door, “Seems to be making himself home, Speakin’ of which, we all should be doing the same, i’m sure when the little lady wakes up she’s gonna want an explanation.”

You yawned as you awoke from your slumber, rubbing your eyes and checking your phone seeing that it was 8:32am. You rolled out of bed and noticed your box full of tf2 merch was knocked over. You bent over to get it, sitting it up straight and putting your little pootis plushie on your bed.

That’s when you smelt something cooking. 

You froze, because now you live alone, when you used to stay with your parents this was a smell you were used to…

But now you’re alone. 

Grabbing a baseball bat that was leaning against the wall, (one that you dont even remember buying, but hey that’s another problem for another day-) You made your way down the hall into the kitchen, and to your horror.

You heard multiple voices.

So now you were slowly creeping forward trying to make a plan in your head as you walked up. You noticed a hard hat on your dining room table along with a fucking FLAMETHROWER.

God you were ill equipped to deal with who ever the hell to enter your home...

You could hear someone with a southern accent speaking so someone else who sounded like they were speaking through a mask.

But right when you rounded the corner you came face to face with a man, dressed just like the Medic from Team Fortress 2. Like from the coat to his boots, he even looked like him too…

The male smiled brightly at you, “Ah! Our little Frau has awoken! Come come you can put down Scout’s bat, we won't hurt you at all…” You look to the bat in your hand and realize that it did look like the one you had equipped to Scout in your game.

You dropped it out of surprise and the noise summoned the two from the Kitchen, which you discovered to be Engineer and Pyro.

“h..How...are you..? You guys aren’t supposed to be real!?” You rightly questioned and Engineer chuckles. 

“Well we are as real as ever, Sugar. We could see you every time you loaded up the game there.”

“Engineer here is correct! We could see you and hear you too!”

“Mhoph hmph!”

You tilt your head before turning a bright red, This means that they have seen you walk in to play the game in just your bra and panties, and then proceed to say the most atrocious things about them for the amount of time you happen to game.

“W-well..where is the others..?” 

“Oh they’re in the livin’ room darl’ tryin’ to figure out how your television works.”

You decide to go look, with Pyro following behind you and low and behold, There was Scout, Demoman, Soldier and Sniper all on your couches watching what seemed to be some sports game.

Scout was the first to notice you and he jolted up with a smirk before coming over, “hey there toots~! Nice to finally see ya in person, I see you like me a lot!” He walks up to you and wraps his arms around you.

"I think me and you are gonna become good friends?~ Specially since im your favorite~"

You freak out a bit, and before you could push him away, Spy does that for you, by pulling him off of you.

He and Heavy walk in with bags in his hands..and your car keys. 

“Where did you?”

“To the store, We were going to cook you breakfast to explain things but it seems you woke up a bit earlier than we expected.” Spy explained as he pulled Scout to the side, ignoring the pout that the 27 year old had.

“You are a special one. We felt connected to you and your friends through game. But we chose you.” Heavy explains and you nod slowly as they guide you to the kitchen and sit you down at the table infront of a well made breakfast.

That was probably what you were smelling when you woke up. You looked down at the food, before giving them a sheepish grin. “a..ah..thank you..I guess..this is still all..jarring you know..” you began.

“All my favorite characters are real now and staying with me..I feel like i am dreaming.”

Medic leans over with that wide grin of his, “Do you need someone to pinch you?”

“No thanks..just give me a moment alone to process this..you guys feel free to roam and set up how you would like..” you say and the 9 males nod all together before all going in different places of the house.

You looked down to see the pancake had a cute smiling face, probably drawn with syrup by Pyro, you gave a small smile before you sighed. 

Maybe this is all a dream that you could wake up from, that they aren’t really real, and that you have to explain to your parents why the hell do you have 9 grown ass adults dressed as mercenaries living with you…

Yea. lets hope it’s one.

AHHHH I HOPE YOU ENJOYED

as I stated earlier, I saw this while i was scrolling trying to find motivated to finish this fic, and seeing that people wanted more reverse isekai tf2 stuff, I hope I could deliver with the fun first part to this series!!

- [Next]

[katyawriteswhump]

love and other catastrophes at the omega cafe (1/8 and index post, fic now complete 🐈‍⬛)

So I posted about this idea before here, (and was overwhelmed by the response—thank you!) but basically a cat café opened near me and inspired this:

Summary: Steve is a runaway Omega who gets a job at an Omega café, where he’s basically paid to curl up and purr in Alphas’ laps. It’s legal, and he earns a living, rents his own place. He’s getting along fine for a packless Omega. Then Alpha rockstar Eddie Munson turns up for an hour of ‘kitty’ petting, and shatters Steve’s fragile little world…

Rating: E; No major warnings, sexual content, omega-verse; Tags: omega steve, alpha eddie, a/b/o dynamics, fluff and angst; (It won't get tooooo angsty, I promise, and I should probably write a shorter version, but this seemed to want to get bedded in for some plot, so...) read on A03 and thank you @lexirosewrites for being so patient with my weird belated questions about what do with my idea!

Chapter 1 (below) Chapter 2 Chapter 3.1 Chapter 3.2 Chapter 4.1 Chapter 4.2 Chapter 5.1 Chapter 5.2 Chapter 6.1 Chapter 6.2 Chapter 7.1 Chapter 7.2 Chapter 8.1 Chapter 8.2 and THE END

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛

Chapter 1

Steve clocked in with Carol at the coffee counter and cosied up on a beanbag waiting for the first customer to arrive. He couldn’t stop yawning and struggled to keep his eyes open.

He didn’t usually work the Monday morning graveyard shift at ‘Kitties’—otherwise known as the Omega Café. Carol usually put him on the weekends, which were their busiest times. Plenty of Alphas—and sometimes Betas—were free then, to pass an hour with a cute Omega purring in their lap.

For a cost, naturally.

Steve, though, had called in sick yesterday and needed to make up his lost earnings. He’d been in heat. So, three days of cold sweats, congealed slick, and crippling cramps. At least the blockers he used for this job curbed his desperation to be fucked. All the same, a dull gnawing pain in his pelvis persisted, he’d barely slept and…

…Ugh, this beanbag was, if anything, too inviting and soft.

He’d gotten his most comfy, stretchy shorts on, his most butter-soft collar, and an only-slightly-cropped-at-the-midriff vest. His feet were bare, which was fortunate. Right now, only his icicle toes were keeping him awake. He was tempted to grab one of the many fluffy blankets scattered around the café, pull it up over him and snooze.

He was torn between asking Carol for a double espresso or napping—to be fair, it was unlikely anybody would join them till noon—when the bell on the door tinkled.

So much for a peaceful snooze.

Fortunately, rather than a hungover Alpha, Robin burst in. On spotting Steve, her shoulders sagged with obvious relief. She hurried up to the counter and presented Carol with her Apple-Pay. “Flat white with an extra shot, and an hour of kitty cuddles, please.”

“Sure.” The payment bleeped through, and Carol turned to grind the coffee beans. She never bothered with great customer service for Steve’s best friend. That said, customer service wasn’t Carol’s strength at the best of times. Steve liked that about her. For an Omega, she was a bitey feral, and she sure had their boss, Tommy, under her claw.

Robin sat down at a table, pulled a cushion onto her lap. Steve shuffled over on his knees and laid his head on the cushion:

“Jesus, Robin,” he whispered, as she started to pet his hair. It was usual practice for Omegas to wait till the customer spoke first, but this was, well, Robin. “You don’t have to pay to see me, you know that?”

“Apparently, I do, Dingus! I’ve been going out of my mind! Why didn’t you return my, like, billion texts?”

“Shit. Sorry.” Her fretful pettings only made him feel more guilty. “I’m out of data, and you know how shit Wi-Fi is in Sunshine Village. Plus, I had really bad cramps this month—I could barely crawl out of bed this morning.”

“Yeah, I guessed that. God, I’m sorry, too.” She slowed her strokes, as they both relaxed a little. “I worry about you all the time, living there. Working here. I wish I could take you home with me. Damn, I should rent somewhere you’re actually allowed to live.”

“No way. I’m fine, Robin. Seriously, I’ve landed on my feet. I like having my own little home. The heating is working in my block this week, and this is a pretty cushy gig.”

Steve didn’t even say that for the benefit of Carol, who’d just dumped Robin’s coffee on the table, slopping half of it into the saucer.

Steve had arrived in the city four months ago, down to his last few dollars. He’d soon realized that acceptable Omega jobs—teaching assistant, nanny, seamstress, junior positions in retail and catering—would all require handing over too much information about himself. He’d also swiftly discovered that Sunshine Village, the district he’d heard about where single Omegas could live unmolested, was little better than a slum.

He’d been caught between the terrifying choices of fleeing back home, starving, or sex work. Then he’d stumbled across this place.

If Tommy had checked the fake name Steve gave, he hadn’t cared. Steve got paid in cash after each shift and earned enough to rent a small place in the Village. Which, despite its shabbiness, turned out to be full of friendly, supportive Omegas.

It all meant he didn’t have to worry about Robin being evicted from her pleasant ‘beta’ neighbourhood for harbouring an unregistered Omega.

Robin chatted on, while sipping the remnants of her coffee and petting Steve idly. While she complained about how unfair the world was for Omegas—they’d met when Steve had turned up at an Omega soup-kitchen she volunteered at—her speech also underlined his point.

His life could be a shitload worse.

This morning, he was being paid for his best friend to give him much-needed bodily contact in a no-strings-attached fashion. While he didn’t have to force fake purrs for her, like he did for the majority of customers, soft sleepy purring happened anyhow.

After Robin left for work, the café was empty again. Carol made them both hot chocolate then turned her attention to doing her nails. Steve breakfasted on an out-of-date lemon muffin, which was still nice and gooey in the middle, then slipped out to the washroom for the second time since Robin left. He needed to re-check his hair.

He was reapplying his eyeliner, when he heard the bell tinkle again.

So much for the ‘graveyard’ shift. He pinched his pale cheeks, bracing himself to face whoever wanted to cuddle him next.

A high-pitched squeal from Carol pierced Steve’s hearing—one that was probably only audible to other Omegas.

And the scent snatched his breath.

The Omega café was flushed with scent-neutralising air fresheners, for obvious reasons. Whoever this Alpha was, his musk was potent enough to punch straight through. It nearly floored Steve with low notes of leather and woodsmoke, and high notes of… Christ, Steve didn’t know what that was.

Plums? Fine Californian wine?

It set his mouth watering, for all of a split second.

Carol! Was she okay?

He rushed from the washroom and peeped from behind a thick velour curtain.

Carol was fine. She was taking payment from an Alpha with long, slightly-frizzy retro hair, a jean jacket—who the fuck wore those?—and dark soulful eyes.

Steve’s heart rate spiked.

The Alpha was pretty damn good-looking, and young too, maybe only a year or so older than Steve.

He was also faintly familiar.

Did Steve know him from back home? Would he recognise Steve?

“So, how does this work?” asked the newcomer. His drawling accent sent a shiver down Steve’s spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him… and that definitely wasn’t a North County accent. Steve relaxed slightly, ogling the guy who was literally setting both his and Carol’s legs wobbling.

“You pay up front for an hour of kitty cuddles,” she said. “You have to order a minimum of one drink, and all new customers must read and sign our rules and disclaimers.”

“Ma’am, it’s Monday morning.” The Alpha sounded wearily amused, gesturing to the three-page fine-print document she shoved across the counter. “Do I really have to read all this?”

“How about I summarize for you.” Yup, Carol was being helpful and polite. Either someone kidnapped the real Carol, or this Alpha really was special. “You’re not about to go into rut, I take it? Because if you are, Sir, I’m really, really sorry—we can’t take that risk here, or we could get shut down.”

The Alpha shook his head. While Carol reeled off a few pertinent points—“no scenting, obviously. No kissing,”—his gaze snapped onto where Steve skulked, half-hidden behind the drapes.

Steve jumped back out of sight.

“Soooo,” said the Alpha, when Carol finally stopped talking. “To summarise—I can stroke the pussies, but I can’t stroke the pussies?”

Carol giggled. Though they’d all heard that joke, and every variation on it, at least a billion times.

“Pretty much,” she said. “We’re absolutely NOT a brothel. And don’t expect cat-ears and whiskers and all that jazz. Thursday is usually full-costume night, and… erm, right now, we only have one kitty, and he seems to have strayed. Boy kitty okay with you?”

“Yes, thank you, Ma’am,” said the Alpha.

“Cool. I’ll go coax him out with a saucer of milk or something.”

She found Steve backed up against the dingy back-corridor wall, knees basically jello. “Get out there! Christ, you do realize who that is?”

Steve shook his head, throat too tight to speak. He honestly didn’t know what was wrong with him. Alphas moseyed in and out of this place every day. He was usually able to keep himself together.

“It’s Eddie Munson! Lead singer of Corroded Coffin? Super-hot and super-famous bad-boy Alpha rockstar? Jeeees, you really did live in a box till you got here, didn’t you? Look, get out there—before I tell him boy kitty is off the menu, grab my skimpiest bikini, and burrow into that scorching lap myself.”

She nudged him through the curtain. Eddie Munson had already settled onto one of the cafe’s roomiest couches, arms splayed along the back.

Legs splayed too.

Eddie glanced up and those gorgeous eyes raked Steve, head-to-toe, stripping him so bare he might as well have forgotten his shorts. The Alpha’s grin spread slowly, revealing glinting incisors, and creasing up into the sexiest dimples Steve had ever seen.

Steve wasn’t sure how he made it across the room. Somehow, he did, shuffling the final few feet on his knees.

“Hello, Kitty,” said Eddie. Possibly taking pity, he closed his legs. He shoved his thighs forward so Steve could easily lay his head in them.

Steve did so, facing out across the café. His heart skittered like a little prey animal’s. It was only then that he realized Eddie hadn’t placed a cushion on his thighs. Well, if Carol hadn’t highlighted that part of the rules, Steve was hardly in a position to do it now.

Eddie didn’t mess around. Strong fingers plowed straight into the springy mass of Steve’s hair. “What’s your name, Honey?”

“Uh… St-steve?”

Who fucking stammers answering his own name?

“Hi, Steve. I’m Eddie.” He leaned a little closer, hot breath joining those strong fingers to send Steve even deeper into fluster. “How do you put up with the stink in here? I mean, I get it. All those Alpha-Omega scents battering each other would make this place a real fleshpot. Shame, though. I bet you smell real sweet. I mean, I think I get a whiff of you, even now.”

“You get used to it,” squeaked Steve, cutting that line of conversation off pronto.

“You get used to the diabolical plinky-plonky piano music too, Steve?”

“Honestly, I don’t even hear it anymore.”

To be fair, Steve didn’t hate the perpetual loop of movie theme-tune classics for exactly that reason. Even the smoochiest love songs—like the instrumental version of “Everything I do, I do it for you,” currently playing—didn’t mess with his emotions in the way music so often did.

Eddie snorted a dry chuckle, leaning back against the cushions again. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re right, Steve,” drawled Eddie, massaging deliciously into Steve’s scalp, “it’s pretty easy not to hear it. You have got the cutest purr.”

Steve’s eyes flew wide. He hadn’t even realized he was purring yet! Yeah, he could fake purr, but he’d been too befuddled to get to that. Now, he shook with loud rattling purrs that he could barely control.

Omegas purred when they were happy and relaxed, and also when distressed, to comfort themselves. He’d been reduced to that over the weekend. These purrs, though, grew couch-quakingly loud and felt different from anyway he’d purred before.

“You okay there, Honey?” Thank heavens Eddie was nice, though that made Steve’s weirdness all the more inexplicable. Eddie ran the back of coolish fingers down Steve’s burning cheek.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Steve. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His hormones must still be doing weird things after his chemically fucked-up heat.

He probably should’ve called in sick today too.

“Don’t apologise,” Eddie said. “Look, it’s freakin’ Monday morning. I’m the weirdo Alpha checking this place out. You’re just doing your job, and you’re mighty fine at it, I’m sure.” The words washed through Steve, their brutal truth leaving an awkward residue. “Listen, I’m just gonna sip my coffee and chill. You reckon you can chill too, little kitty?”

“Yes, Alpha,” murmured Steve. The preening growl that jostled from Eddie was enough to make Steve desperate to obey.

He didn’t usually call anybody Alpha on the job. It wasn’t strictly against the rules, but unless a client demanded it—and only the real a-holes did—the kitties avoided it.

Eddie, though, had dragged it from Steve before he could think about it, much like those purrs.

And much like how, a minute or so of petting later, Steve found himself purring effortlessly, and totally relaxed. He wasn’t even stressed by the fact that his cheek rested dangerously close to Eddie’s Alpha dick. Which appeared to be ballooning slightly beneath his thick pair of sweatpants.

This was exactly why the cushions were compulsory. Though Steve barely had time to worry.

“Steve,” said Eddie, fingering around the edge of Steve’s collar in a fashion that literally made Steve’s eyes cross with yumminess. “Are there any rules against you getting in my lap for proper cuddles?”

“No. Absolutely not.” There really wasn’t, though of course, it only worked with the larger Alphas. There’d been no way Steve could’ve fitted into a Beta like Robin’s lap, for example, without some level of squishing. Eddie was, to be fair, not the largest Alpha around, but he was certainly large enough.

After some not-too-awkward manoeuvring—and guided by Eddie’s hand in the small of his back—Steve soon found himself sitting across Eddie’s lap. Eddie scooped him close, and his arms curled around Eddie’s neck.

He stared point-blank into the fathomless depths of Eddie’s dark eyes. Nope. Too much. He dipped his gaze, then squeaked. Now, he fixed on Eddie’s jawline and throat, dusted with scruff, and which drew him like, well, catnip.

Steve inhaled oaky-smoky plums and… Holy crap, what even was that? He was in serious danger of burying his face there and violating the no-scenting rule himself.

Once again, Eddie sensed his discomfort and guided Steve’s head down onto his shoulder, holding him there. “Hey, any chance of another coffee,” Eddie called to Carol. “Extra-large mocha with marshmallows, please, Ma’am? Think I might be settling here for a while.”

After that, Eddie appeared to go out of his way to make Steve even more comfortable. Perhaps noting Steve’s squirmings over getting too close to his scent gland, he slid a thin throw cushion beneath Steve’s cheek. He then settled them both back against the comfiest, most enveloping part of the sofa. He pulled one of those fluffy blankets up over them both. Soon, a floaty weariness, bone-deep but pleasant, overcame Steve.

Even his ovaries had stopped bugging him. God, this was nice. He really got paid for this? Damn, he’d fallen on his feet and Eddie smelled divine. He couldn’t help but daydream about that huge Alpha dick nestled stupid-close to his pussy, with only two layers of fabric between them. He was too sleepy to get too excited, tho’. He soon floated on the surface of a calm ocean, safe and serene…

When Steve began waking up, a honeyed glow saturated his head and heart and previously aching pelvis. He couldn’t remember his dreams, but they must’ve been good ones. He felt complete and happy and… he flicked his eyes open. Oh shit! The cafe buzzed with conversation. Several other kitties had come on shift and were snuggling with Alphas.

He’d fallen asleep on a customer’s lap.

Steve’s focus snapped onto the clock behind the counter, where Carol and her assistant, Chrissy, who also did kitty duties, were rushing around making lunches.

1.57 pm.

He’d been asleep on the job for nearly three hours.

Asleep in the lap of…

“Hey there,” drawled Eddie, “somebody’s a sleepy kitty.”

Steve daren’t look up. Was Eddie pissed? He didn’t sound it.

Steve opened his mouth. Shut it again, dabbing the corner. His head had slipped off the pillow and rested against Eddie’s chest. The Alpha’s booming heartbeat mingled with an amused chuckle.

Steve wasn’t laughing: “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I drooled on your t-shirt!”

“I know.” Eddie’s low rumbling sigh was one of the most contented sounds Steve had ever heard. “You gonna charge extra for that, Honey?”

Chapter 2 on tumblr On A03

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛ I have got quite a bit of this fic drafted, so hopefully more soon. If you’re enjoying, please let me know, or like and reblog... it means a lot to know somebody would like to read more *purrs hopefully* and thank you soooo much for reading this far 💚

[r-memberme]

elle-mae | k.m

⎯⎯Instead, it lingers at the threshold of your grief like a candle that refuses to go out. It waits. It softens. It learns your silences like verses, and he reads them like scripture.

warnings: mention of miscarriage, heavy angst, this is a comfort fic (I need to be comforted), grief, Mother's Day

The lilacs come early this year.

They bloom in soft mauve clusters along the crooked fence, heavy with scent and memory. Their perfume drifts in the air like something ancient and mourning, and you pause beside them on your walk, your palm brushing the petals—fragile things that break even under gentleness. It almost feels like a mercy, how easily they surrender.

A year ago, you were bleeding in a bathroom that didn’t feel like home. The tile was too white. The air too still. The silence too loud. There was no one there to hear you whisper please into your own cupped hands.

You’d held the sink like a lifeline, forehead pressed to the mirror, praying to something that had stopped listening. Your breath fogged the glass. You watched yourself come undone in real-time—eyes red-rimmed, mouth trembling with prayers that tasted like blood. The kind of prayers that echo through your ribs long after you’ve stopped speaking them aloud.

The world outside had kept spinning, oblivious. Cars moved down the street. The sky stayed blue. The birds went on singing. The sun had dared to rise the next morning like nothing had happened. No one knew—not even the stars. Not even him.

Klaus hadn’t come into your life yet. He was still just a shadow waiting at the edge of your future. A silhouette in the mist of everything you thought you’d never deserve. He hadn’t yet kissed your trembling hands. He hadn’t yet whispered mine against the shell of your ear in the dark. He hadn’t yet learned to touch you gently, like the whole world might fracture if he held on too tightly.

You hadn’t told anyone. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you didn’t know how. How do you mourn something the world won’t name? How do you say I was a mother, even for a moment—when there is no cradle, no photograph, no name?

But the lilacs knew.

They’d been blooming then, too—outside that cold apartment window. Their scent had drifted in while you cried on the floor. You remember it clearly. The sharp sweetness of it. The reminder that beauty could still erupt, uninvited, while your body waged a quiet war on itself.

Even now, the smell takes you back. It splinters your breath. It gentles your rage. It carries the weight of what never was.

And yet—today, your hand brushes the petals, and you do not pull away. You let the scent wrap around you like an old lullaby. You let it sting. You let it stay.

༊*·˚

Klaus never asks for the story. Not all of it. Not in words.

He’s not the kind of man who demands confessions. He listens with his eyes, his hands, the way he watches you when you’re staring out the window too long, the way his thumb finds your wrist when your breathing falters, quiet and stuttering, when memories claw their way back uninvited.

His kind of love is not loud. It is not impatient. It does not beg you to move on.

Instead, it lingers at the threshold of your grief like a candle that refuses to go out. It waits. It softens. It learns your silences like verses, and he reads them like scripture.

Sometimes, you wonder how he knows. How someone like him—sharp-edged and storm-born—can love so gently.

But then you remember that he, too, has known loss in a thousand forms. Children buried. Trust broken. A heart stitched together with blood and betrayal. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t flinch from your brokenness. He sees it, recognizes it, and stays anyway.

There are nights when you wake up gasping. And he’s already there.

Sitting beside you, holding a glass of water, his hand on the curve of your back. He doesn’t ask what you dreamed. He just breathes with you until the storm passes.

There are mornings when he leaves a sprig of lilac on your pillow—tucked beside your cheek like a secret vow. I see you. I haven’t forgotten.

His love isn’t in the grand gestures. It’s in the quiet ones. The way he watches your hands when you touch the soil. The way he draws you into his chest when you can’t speak. The way he never tries to fix the grief—only hold it with you, until it hurts a little less.

And when you look at him sometimes—when the light is soft and his eyes are softer still—you realize: He loves all the versions of you. The one who still mourns. The one who sometimes can’t breathe. The one who keeps loving anyway.

His kind of love doesn’t rush healing. It builds a sanctuary around your ache. And stays.

༊*·˚

The body remembers before the mind does.

Sometimes, it begins with nothing— just a hush in the air, a shift in the light, a tremble in your fingertips you cannot explain.

May tastes like metal on your tongue. The scent of lilacs makes your stomach twist before your mind catches up. Your shoulders tense like they’re bracing for impact. Your chest forgets how to rise.

You go about your day as if the world isn't peeling away at the seams. You smile when you’re supposed to, nod when spoken to, fold laundry like a woman who isn’t unraveling.

But the ache roots itself deep. It curls beneath your ribs. It whispers beneath your skin.

Grief has no calendar. It creeps.

And when it comes this time, it doesn’t ask permission. It drags you back to the cold floor of that silent bathroom. The silence. The porcelain. The blood. The sound of nothing at all.

You don’t cry. You freeze.

Your hands are shaking when Klaus finds you standing barefoot in the hallway, staring at nothing, your tea grown cold on the counter.

He says nothing.

Just comes to you slowly, like one might approach a frightened animal— his hands lifted, his voice a murmur in the hush.

You try to speak but the words fail. You can’t explain this kind of pain. You’re not even sure you understand it yourself.

“I’m here,” he says, as if that is enough.

And maybe it is.

Because when he pulls you into his arms, your body remembers something else— safety. Warmth. The sound of a heart still beating beside your own.

Your face finds the hollow of his throat. Your breath breaks against his collarbone. And you shatter, quietly.

No wailing. No sobbing. Just that soft, aching kind of grief that seeps into everything.

He doesn’t try to hush you. Doesn’t tell you you’re okay. He just holds, like he’s trying to absorb some of the weight.

And maybe he is.

You feel it then—how he bows his head to press his lips to your temple, as if in prayer. As if kissing the place where the sorrow lives might soften it.

He whispers something low and ancient in your hair, words in a language you don’t know, but your body seems to understand.

The pain doesn’t vanish. It never does.

But it changes.

Wrapped in his arms, you remember that you are not alone anymore. That someone now carries your memory in his hands like a sacred thing. That your body, while marked by absence, is also cradled in presence.

And in that, there is comfort. Not in forgetting—but in being remembered.

༊*·˚

It’s a strange kind of ache—loving someone you never got to meet.

There’s no name. No photo. No voice you remember. Just a faint image that never formed, a space in your heart that opened without warning and never fully closed.

You sit on the edge of the bed with a blanket pulled over your knees, staring out the window. The lilacs are still blooming, soft and quiet against the fading light.

Klaus moves through the apartment behind you. He doesn’t ask questions. He just keeps you company, always nearby, always watching without pressure. You know he’d do anything if he could. Fix it, change it, take it away. But he knows better than to try. He just… stays.

You didn’t think it would still hurt like this. You didn’t think you’d still feel it—this invisible bond, this gentle, persistent grief.

But love doesn’t need time to take root. It doesn’t need a heartbeat or a name or a face. Sometimes, it just is.

You still love her.

You always will.

And it doesn’t feel like a betrayal to say that out loud—not with Klaus. Not with him sitting beside you in the quiet, your hand in his, warm and steady.

“I think about her,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not all the time. But… some days more than others.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “I know.”

You look at him then. And for the first time today, you see something in his expression that grounds you—something fierce and tender. He never met her either. But you can tell he would have loved her. Fiercely. Easily. As if she’d been his all along.

“I don’t know what kind of mother I would’ve been,” you murmur.

Klaus turns to face you fully, eyes steady. “A good one.”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “I was so scared.”

“You still are,” he says gently. ��And you still showed up. Even when it broke you. That’s the kind of mother you would’ve been.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, and he rests his chin lightly on top of it. There’s a pause, full of the kind of silence that feels sacred.

“I still light a candle for her,” you whisper. “Even when I told myself not to. Even when I thought I should move on.”

His hand tightens slightly around yours.

You smile, a small, sad smile that trembles at the edges. “I don’t think I want to forget her. Even if I never really knew her.”

“You don’t have to,” Klaus says. “Some people are real even if they were only with us for a moment.”

And somehow, that’s enough.

Enough to soften the sharpness in your chest. Enough to remind you that this kind of love—the quiet, invisible kind—isn’t something shameful or weak.

It’s yours. It’s real.

And even in the midst of the grief, there’s comfort in remembering.

You still love her. And that love still has a place to live.

༊*·˚

He takes your hand and leads you to the balcony just as the sun begins to lower—soft gold spilling over the railing, painting the world in that in-between glow. The sky is hushed, blushing at the edges. A day nearly done, but not yet gone.

You dont know what to expect. Only that he asked you to trust him.

There, on the little table by the wall, sits a small ceramic pot. Cracked in one corner, carefully repaired with golden lacquer. Kintsugi. Like the Japanese philosophy Klaus once told her about—of beauty in broken things.

Inside the pot, blooming in quiet defiance, are clusters of tiny blue flowers. Forget-me-nots. So small. So impossibly vivid.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“I thought they’d be lilacs,” you murmured.

He shakes his head gently. “Those were for the world to see. These... are just for you.”

You step closer, fingertips trembling as they touch the petals. They’re soft like silk. Cool like the morning. And somehow, they feel like a memory you never got to make.

“I didn’t know what to do last year,” you say quietly. “I didn’t know how to grieve someone who was never here. I still don’t.”

“You don’t have to know,” Klaus replies. “You just have to remember. And live. And let that be enough.”

You don’t know how long you stands there, watching the light slide over the flowers like a blessing. It’s not grand. It’s not loud. But it’s something. A small, living thing that doesn’t demand anything from you—only offers itself, blooming anyway.

Klaus places something else on the table beside the pot. A small card, hand-written in careful script.

You lean down to read it. Just two words.

Still yours.

Your knees nearly give out. You sit before you collapse, and he sits with you.

You leans into him, your face pressed into his chest. He holds you like the world might try to take you too.

And for the first time on this day—the hardest of days—your grief feels a little less lonely.

Because they are not forgotten. Because you are not alone. Because something still blooms.

Forget-me-nots.

And you won’t.

༊*·˚

You wake before the sun. The room is quiet, dim. Klaus’s arm is heavy around her waist, and for a while you just lays there, watching the early blue seep into the curtains.

Today isn’t loud. It doesn’t ache the same way last year did.

The grief is still there—woven into the corners of her mind, stitched into her body like thread—but it’s softer now. Not gone. But no longer screaming.

You slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, and pads into the kitchen barefoot. The floor is cold. The mug warms her hands. You stare out the window at the garden, at the faint glow beginning to rise over the lilacs.

They're blooming again, just like last year. Just like always.

But it’s a different kind of day.

You waters the forget-me-nots he gave you. They’ve taken well to the balcony. Small, bright, stubborn. Just like the memory they were planted for.

By the time Klaus wanders in—hair rumpled, shirt half-buttoned—your standing at the counter in the soft robe you insists on stealing.

He wraps his arms around you from behind, burying his face in your neck like he always does when he’s still half-dreaming.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” he says quietly.

You laughs a little, the sound cracked but full. “You’re not supposed to say that.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “But I mean it anyway.”

You lean into him. Closes your eyes.

It’s not the kind of day where you pretends nothing happened. It’s not the kind of day where you try to replace what was lost, or drown in what might’ve been.

It’s the kind of day where you let yourself be held.

Where you make pancakes with tears in your eyes, but a smile on your lips. Where you light a single candle beside the forget-me-nots and say nothing, because nothing needs to be said.

Where you let Klaus braid flowers into your hair like you’re something sacred.

It’s the kind of day where you lets joy exist next to sorrow without shame.

And maybe that’s all healing ever is—letting both things live inside you without tearing each other apart.

It’s a different kind of day.

And for the first time, that feels like enough.

Happy Mother's Day my loves🤍

Happy Mother’s Day to the ones who carry love that never had a name. You are seen. You are remembered. And you are still a mother.🤍(and so am i)

This one hit close to home but I felt that I needed to get it out there. hope it brings comfort to those who need it🤍

i will love you forever it seems, Elle-Mae.

taglist:

@myworldrightnow

@deactiveblogx

@witch-of-letters

@xtwistedchaosx

@liataylorsversion

@pardonmydelayyy

@siredbyklausm

@lilith-rhiannon

[alexanderlightweight]

Anything in not all who wander are lost (the teleporting soulmates one) or back in may of 2023 you had an au where alec met ragnor first that never got titled and that au was a straight up banger that has haunted me to this day would be 10/10 chefs kiss delightful as to whether its sfw or nsfw thats dealers choice and i hope youre having a great wednesday :)

it has been so long since i've worked on this verse but i'm happy to go back! i just went with the first prompt because i do love that verse but yes! i need to go look and see if i've named that yet (i love when some of the more obscure fics get mentioned or prompted). i might have but my brain is a bit holey. last part here

i'm having a wednesday with a lot of prompts and writing and while the comptuer didn't work for a couple hours its working now and thats what matters!! so it's very nice ty! i hope you're having a good onee too! Nightshade has decided that he will let me write as long as i pause every time he comes over for kisses or a snoot boop. i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

not all who wander are lost

Alec processes things slowly through the fog of his mind.

He has a soulmate.

He does.

A male soulmate even.

Someone who won’t crush his heart and soul to be with.

Does that matter?

When Alec can’t do anything to protect himself, let alone his soulmate?

There are words exchanged.

Alec doesn’t remember them.

There’s hands warm and firm and steady on him but he can’t remember the feel once gone.

There’s questions he answers, but Alec isn’t sure what was said by either of them.

There’s a portal, at the end.  Something ominous and looming and Alec welcomes it like the embrace of sleep he begs for every dawn.

—

Alexander is fragile.

Perhaps not in body, but he’s at the breaking point of his life.

Magnus can tell.

This is where he’s reforged.  When his will is broken and remade to what the Clave demands and Magnus will not let them remake Alexander into their image.

This is his soulmate.

Alexander is his.

By law and claim and the call of a soul echoing the yearning of his own.

The dissociation is strong.

Alexander seems more instinct than thought and he’s drowning in his own mind.

Magnus summons everything he can — allowed to because he’s inside the wards and was summoned by a magic more ancient than even the alarm systems of the Institute.

Then he asks what Alexander wants.

There isn’t much.

It doesn’t seem like his boy is used to wanting things.

Except there are a few things that even in this state, Alexander seems capable of remembering.

Obviously his siblings aren’t something Magnus is interested in retrieving, but knowing they exist is helpful.  However Magnus doesn’t think they’ll do much if any good, considering Alexander is hiding from them while panicking.  They’re either too young and immature to help, or are a part of the problem as well.

Magnus won’t pass judgment so swiftly, that’s not his priority.  His only priority is to get Alexander out of here and behind Magnus’ wards, where he can bond Alexander properly and ensure that legally, Magnus has every right to swiftly take Alexander away.

And refuse to return him.

—

Magnus doesn’t take Alexander to the loft.

No, that’s far too common of a place for Magnus to be found, even just by other downworlders.

Instead he takes Alexander to a small but comfortable cottage in the Welsh countryside.  A property bequeathed to Magnus by Ragnor — during one of his many excursions playing dead — and while Ragnor always teased gentle that it would be perfect for a soulmate bond to take place.  Magnus never actually dreamed that it would be a reality.

The garden is lush and green and the sun’s glare harsh but the heat faded before it reaches.  Cool breezes rustling the plants and bees and dragonflies and butterflies of magical properties — because all things mundane, creatures and beings — are kept out.

It’s an oasis for all things magical and Alexander breathes easier, even if the dark emptiness of his eyes remains.

Magnus portals them to the walkway, the luggage and Alexander’s things already inside.  It’s because he wants Alexander to see where they’ll be staying. 

To give him information without overloading him with words he hears but doesn't comprehend.

Alexander pauses as the walk up the path, his fingers lingering on the polished bone of the fence and his fingers gently — hesitantly — brushing against the soft petals of a luridly pink bloom.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.

Magnus still feels the rage swelling in his heart, untamed and smoldering yet being held in reserve for a better time.

Alexander is young.

He’s far too young for the kind of despair and pointless exhaustion that weighs him down.

The world is trying to break him — his own people are succeeding at ruining him — and Magnus will not let that continue.

Magnus protects what is his.

To the point of destroying his own self to do so.

In protecting Alexander, Magnus will also be protecting himself and for the first time that doesn’t feel like a weakness to admit.

Alexander is worth the protection and Magnus has a soulmate,  which means he also is worthy.

Regardless of how his father feels or what poison Camille spat or what seductive whispers of him being unlovable that she whispered into his ear.

AN:

Magnus does not tie the selfworth of others to soulmates. That’s reserved for himself. A special little trauma leftover from his mother and father. So like. Cheers to that. 

Like Magnus is incredibly powerful and intelligent but lets not forget how much trauma he’s gone through or how he’s had to dig himself free out of depression and spirals with every bad relationship that tried to knock him down (romantic, parental, familiar, friendship I’m not just talking romance).

Alec is drowning in his brain.  He’ll wake up in a few hours or days and be like ‘okay no, I want to be your soulmate. I do. But I can’t just abandon my responsibilities to play house in a cottage with you!’

Magnus entirely unbothered and not insulted because this is tame compared to what he’s prepared for: why not?

Alec: what?

Magnus: why can’t you? Are you so irreplaceable that someone can’t fill your shoes?

Alec: well no. It was made very clear to me that I am replaceable and if I don’t do better, someone will take over for me.

Magnus: so why is that a problem?

Alec: but I’m supposed to uphold the ligthwood name?

Magnus: oh… you’re a lightwood? Well I don’t mind. One can’t chose their parents and I doubt you wanted yours to be genocidal terrorists.

Alec: … are you. Wait. Are, you saying my parents were int he circle? (he can read behind the political lines. It’s innuendos he’s still working on)

Magnus: oh, you didn’t know? You’re not upholding the lightwood legacy darling, you’re rebuilding what your parents broke and the clave doesn’t trust them to fix.

Alec: … wait so all of this? Is because someone else fucked up. Not because I did?

Magnus not realizing the extent of Alec’s trauma being hinged on his parents and being a good lightwood heir etc: I mean, your parents even killed the last leaders of the NYI. I’m surprised they weren’t mobbed by the hunters who survived the attacks when they came back to lead what they destroyed.

Alec: …. So all those hunters who hated me for no reason and who I was never good enough for… that’s not because I was lacking or they could secretely tell I was gay?  It’s because of my parents?

Magnus: yes? …. Darling. Alexander. Sweetheart I am very new to this. Are nephilim supposed to start glowing like that? Alexander your runes look like they’re on fire what is goingon?

Alec: I think I just magically disowned myself.

Magnus: oh. So you’re in the market for a new last name? I happen to have a very nice one. Picked it myself.

Alec: …. Okay. Sure.

Magnus: I cannot beleive this worked and darluing…. Wait why are you crying? Shit. Alcohol? No. That creates bad habits. Sex? No that creates bad precedent… HOW TO STOP SHADOWHUNTER FROM CRYING??

Cat: … kill or comfort? I don’t know. This is a stupid question can shadowhunters even cry?

Ragnor: they can but mostly out of rage or disgust.

Magnus: no this is like, panicked sad crying. Quick. OPTIONS

Magnus: BESIDES ALCOHOL OR SEX

Ragnor and Cat: … neither of those were options we would send but now we’re curious

Ragnor: wait. Magnus. You’re at the cottage? You’ve found your soulmate then! How wondrous… oh dear. A shadowhunter then? Cat and I will create a carepackage but you’re on your own for the tears. Maybe give them a knife? Shadowhunters like sharp things

Cat: DO NOT GIVE THEM A KNIFE!!! NO WEAPONS

Ragnor: no you’re right. Unhelpful. A demon? Is it too bright? Do shadowhunters even like light?

Magnus: both of you are utterly unhelpful. I’ll text you later.

[mrsgojosposts]

Entwined spider-verse!jjk au fic teaser.

Genre: spiderverse au. slow burn. friends to lovers.

Pairing: spidey!gojo satoru x f!reader

Synopsis: Moving into the co-ed dorm was bad enough-getting stuck with Gojo Satoru as your roommate makes it more complicated. He's loud, wickedly smart, charming in the most exhausting way, and impossible to ignore. You don't mind his jokes or the way he fills the room with noise and energy-but between the late-night disappearances, the unexplained bruises, and that infuriating grin he wears like armor, you know he's hiding something. You tell yourself it's none of your business. You tell yourself you won't fall for him. Both are lies you're getting worse at telling.

Warnings: fluff, angst, porn with plot. stitching up wounds. Blood. Gore. Gojo has a filthy mouth and can't shut up. unprotected p in v. creampie. Manhandling. Size kink. Tiny mask kink if you squint. Strength kink. Praise. Degradation. Dumbification.

This was the fourth night you’d snuck up to the roof of MIT, and for the fourth time there he sat. Red and blue suit covering his lean muscular body from head to toe as his legs dangle over the side of the building, relaxed.

“Couldn’t stay away huh?” His voice cuts clear through the chilly fall air. Familiar and yet unrecognizable. “Something like that.” You answer, steps careful as you move towards the edge of the building to mimic the way he’s sitting.

You know you’re sitting way too close, you know you shouldn’t be playing the game you’re playing but this odd uncomfortable feeling that you know him won’t go away.

“How was your day?” His voice is quiet, and it seems odd to you, and then you’re thinking about why you think it’s odd. “My day was good… if you don’t count bombing my physics test.”

This has him perking up, “really?!” and even though he’s wearing a mask you swear you can see his expression. So without thinking you lean in close to him. Your fingertips ghosting over his latex covered ones. “I can’t shake the feeling I know you.”

“Oh?” He’s turned to you fully now, and he’s leaning in closer to you, but you know he won’t cross that invisible barrier. “Can I ask for a favor?” You tilt your head, your eyelashes fluttering.

“Ask away, sweetheart.” He says and you raise your eyebrow because there it is again. The familiar lilt to his voice.

Something about the way the endearment flows off his tongue has you feeling reckless. Bold in a way you rarely let yourself be around anyone.

So you place your hand over his, soft but certain. “Kiss me.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, in that easy, teasing drawl that always makes your stomach twist, he says, “Kiss you? That’s a weird request.”

His head tilts, and even though the mask covers most of his face, you can hear the smile in his voice. The one he always hides behind when things get too real.

But you’re done dancing around the energy here. The tug you feel in your chest whenever he’s near. Deep down you’re sure you know who’s hiding behind that mask, so you lean in closer. You blink up at him with wide, unguarded eyes. “Please.” The word escapes in a cracked whisper, threaded with something fragile and desperate and entirely too honest.

He stills. Just for a second. Like the air’s been knocked clean out of him, and then he’s moving, reaching for you with a gentleness that doesn’t match the chaos that usually follows him. He takes your wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of his mask. His voice drops, low and steady, almost reverent. “Okay, beautiful.”

Your heart’s pounding as you curl your fingers under the fabric, lifting it slow, deliberate. Just enough to uncover his mouth, stopping right under his nose.

“You sure?” you ask, voice barely above a breath, your gaze flicking between his lips and the covered part of his face. He nods once, no hesitation; but you don’t even get the chance to move because he’s on you in the next second.

One hand slides to the back of your neck, the other threading through your hair, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll run away, but kissing you like he’s starving. Like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have, maybe more.

The kiss is rough at first—urgent and full of pent-up frustration—but it softens at the edges as you melt into him, your fingers curling in the front of his suit. You taste the kind of relief that comes after too many close calls and unspoken things.

And even though he’s still half-hidden behind that stupid mask, this… this feels real in a way that scares you more than all his secrets combined.

[rebelfell]

✦ Stranger Things Masterlist ✦

My works generally feature a cis, fem reader with limited physical descriptors. Just by virtue of being written by me, they will likely be shy/inexperienced ‘cos I write what I know, y’know? There are individual warnings on each. If you come across something you think needs a warning, please let me know (gently, I am but a fragile soufflé ready to sink)

anything 🌶️ is marked with a*

EVERYTHING is 18+, MDNI for your sake and mine

The Third Date┃Part One┃Part Two~

eddie munson x anorgasmic!reader - 14k

Surrender┃Part One ┃Part Two*┃Part Three*

eddie munson x bi!reader x lesbian!chrissy cunningham - 18k

Bells Will Be Ringing┃Part One*┃Part Two*

crush!steve harrington x fem!reader x fwb!eddie munson - 16k

Hold Your Peace in Pieces┃TBD

engaged!rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader -

this summer is the apocalypse, pt II, pt III*, pt IV*, eddie’s interlude, part V, epilogue~, epilogue II~, epilogue III

thinking thoughts on eddie and an older!Harrington!reader (aka: stevie’s aunt has got it goin’ on)

for your viewing pleasure* vol. 1, vol. 2

series featuring pornstar!eddie and his director!reader

are you even listening to me?, cont’d, preq, preq II

bestfriend!eddie gets distracted by your… assets

working on my fitness, pt II, pt III

a gym meet cute w/ modern!eddie (neighbors au)

special delivery*

someone unexpected shows up to deliver your pizza

made for lovin’ you*

older!eddie makes a bad tinder date a whole lot better

hurry up and wait*

eddie wants his favorite toys to put on a good show

a public affair*

ex!eddie and you can’t seem to stay apart…even if he belongs to somebody else 💋

american engine*

truck smut for truck smut’s sake 🛻 (w/ steve)

shelter from the storm~

when the power goes out, your neighbor eddie checks in

under the influence

an edible loosens your lips in front of your frenemy, eddie

in the middle of the night*

boyfriend!steve helps to soothe what ails us🩸

haven’t had any complaints yet*

the trials and tribulations of giving van head over forty

game night* (surrender universe)

chrissy and eddie get extra competitive, you benefit 🃏

cold dry stone*

revenge fucking with gator 🐊

(parentheses)

just blatantly, shamelessly loving on eddie

you know my favorite thing about this?*

face-fucking, but make it ✨romantic✨

you’re not gonna tell on me, are you?

linecook!eddie can get away with anything 🚬

that Vanity Fair party was a lot~

actor!steve x assistant!reader x rockstar!eddie spice

buzzcut season, rockstar!eddie musing*

dmm, just embracing his shaved-head era…

I didn’t know you were into that…

you’ve been watching too many ghostface tiktoks 🔪

modern!wealthy!Steve? How’d you get in here?

steve spoils his girl in the midst of a hangover

wait, are you a…have you never?*

bigdick!steve x virgin!reader 🏕️

felt in need of some affection…

sweet!soft!eddie vignette

possessive.┃eddie shows you who you belong to

multiples.┃eddie wants you to arrive properly

urgent.┃eddie can do better than he can

hesitant.┃eddie and you try something new

how can you be sad on love’s birthday? 💌

a very flangsty valentine’s day w/ bestfriend!eddie

so wrong, it’s right, so right, it’s wrong 🎃

eddie munson x his best friend’s (ex?) girl

you’ve never seen gremlins? 🎃

it’s scary movie night at eddie’s house

you’re a what? (WCIL-verse) 🎃

modern!eddie bumps into you at a halloween party

how much of that can is left? 🦃

you + eddie + whipped topping

today is a no bones day 🦃

you and eddie in recovery mode

#index - landing pages for long form/multi-part blurbs & fics

#free write - bursts of writing based on images/other posts

#my moods - fic/character moodboards, (aka I spent too much time spent daydreaming on pinterest again)

#thrift shop eddie - short blurbs about all the odd and random gifts I would terrorize shower Eddie with if given the chance

© 2024 rebelfell All Rights Reserved. Any written work on this blog is my own and I do not consent for it to be copied, altered or re-posted in any form or to be fed into AI software.

[slowd1ving]

Hi! I love your lookism fics, I would love to see your take on Seongji Yuk x gn reader. Something sweet and simple would be great!

I see that you like using science metaphors and im curious to how many can you use in one fic. I’m a complete chemistry nerd 🤓 😂

THE MUNDANE . 　⁺ ✦ SEONGJI YUK

In which an amateur stargazer finds that no, they do not teach biology in Cheonliang, and yes, gravity does in fact affect everything with mass. woah... gravitational fields.... woah inverse square law... woah, G.... ik you probably wanted more chemistry but I couldn't resist the physics gnawing away/// arghhh pairing: seongji yuk + gn reader warnings: prejudice (quite literally lookism) wc: 1.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There’s a monster living in the Cheonliang mountains. 

A flutter of cloying kindness greets you when you first pull up to the rural village: tires burning on summer asphalt, senseless droning of cicadas, and warm rain seeping through your thin clothes. No rhyme or reason as to why you decided on this particular village to stop by; though, the rhyme might just be the hiccuping couplet of your pulse. Specifically, this pair of beats as your motorcycle drives past the tunnel; heavy, like two black holes encountering each other for the first time. Spinning, spinning. As the wheels on your bike do, naturally. 

Six fingers and toes, he’s cursed by the gods! Hark, my children—

Newton’s theory of gravitation dictates any particle with matter attracts any other with a force inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. This is the inverse square law. It’s used for practical and theoretical applications, but it’s pretty useful when considering why people are drawn to something when they are close to it. Emotionally, physically, empathetically. Psychologically. See, once one begins to increase the proximity of two souls, there is a certain degree of attraction that occurs consequently. 

Pray should you ever encounter this one, for he is but a merciless, mad beast.

It’s a stagnated hum that twines through the fields. Little kids begin the verse, and their elders finish it while you leisurely drive past. Over and over. They play hopscotch to the rhythm in their secluded playgrounds, clap their small hands to the beat, and seem to have no eerie feelings behind their bright smiles. A distorted tale, wound through with the modest price of one person’s dignity. There’s a basis for every tale, after all—bitterly warped to suit the storyteller’s perspective. 

Do not pity the one abandoned by all. 

Thus, when you begin the winding slopes through the fields and up around the mountains, it reduces the distance between you and the epicentre. You trust your gut. You believe (mostly) that what compels you to park your motorcycle on this particular trail is no madness, but rather a tangible, logical reason. A scientific one, if you will. You’re a mass, the monster of Cheonliang certainly is a mass—thus gravity objectively binds you both. 

It’s not entirely implausible to suggest the rumours entice you as much as anything, but the heavy telescope bound to your vehicle is as good a reason as any to stop by this eve. And that: the buzz in your very cells, that seem to divide simply to tug you in the direction of the sprawled forest. Stargazing in Cheonliang it is, then. 

Despite your idle curiosity, you don’t go looking: quietly setting up your equipment in a clearing where the breeze flows cleanly, like fragile forgiveness in a peaceful room. It’s a saccharine solitude—as sweet as tanghulu when you close your eyes. 

“It’s dangerous.” Those are the first words you hear in this village that aren’t blighted by eerie insinuation. Here, where the mountain is solitary and sepulchral, that is the only time you find someone who isn’t the real monster in this mired town. Human, flesh and blood and warm. 

“Isn’t everything?” You peer through the eyepiece experimentally, focusing on the calm tide in his voice—

“No need t’be a smartass.” His cadence becomes slightly rougher as you hear a dull thump; by the movement of syllables, you’d judge he just leaned against a tree. “Was a piece of friendly advice.”

Hmm. You look away from the sky that’s somehow cleared up—miserable grey giving way to faint periwinkle, then atrament smattered with incandescent freckles—then at the stranger peering right back at you. 

“What should I be wary of, then?” There’s a relaxed sort of ease in your body, one you’re unfamiliar with. 

He stares at you askance, as though you’re an idiot. 

“Strangers,” he answers brusquely, pointing at himself. “Haven’t you heard the rumours about this place?”

“Oh.” You turn back to the equipment, leaning down to bring the height of the scope up comfortably. Stars, you think dreamily. “That stupid song? Here I thought you’d say boars or something.”

“Stupid song?” he echoes. “And you still went up?”

Six digits on his left hand as it sways downwards, six on the right hand nestled in his pocket. He’s tall, so much so that anyone would feel intimidated staring up at the guy. Close—he’s close by, which is perhaps why you gravitate towards him. Two masses, feeling greater force with greater proximity. This was the epicentre that drew you here. 

“Is biology class illegal here or something?” you counter incredulously. “Do I need to pay attention to fear mongering?”

“No,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “I guess you don’t.”

It’s strange. Your first encounter with Seongji Yuk can only be classified as abnormal. Gazing at the massive bodies scattered across the heavens, it’s perhaps common sense that the man next to you interests you as much as those heavenly giants. He’s closer, after all—kneeling down beside you so he can peek up at stars just as large as him. 

Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s simply science that ties the two of you together. He gives you his name, you offer yours in return. Seongji Yuk. Lying in the grass with damp seeping into your shirt, you ramble about astrophysics, while he carefully coats fruits in molten sugar. Shards as sharp as the words at the base of the mountain, though far sweeter. 

He’s cautious—you can feel his eyes on you as you sit on his wooden steps. In fact, his eyes trail after you when dawn breaks and it’s time to move on to your original destination. 

“I’ll come visit,” you vow, for the cycle of orbit has already begun. Two masses have drawn closer to each other, and naturally begin the spin round their counterpart. 

“No one told you about stranger danger?” You’re too damn trusting: haloed in ditzy stars, the type in cartoons when characters hit their heads. Except it’s permanent, and you don’t look stupid, but rather awash in their glow. 

“Everything’s dangerous,” you evade sheepishly, and that’s that. 

Summer comes and goes, but it’s fine not bringing your telescope in the chill of autumn. After all, you’ve found something equally as captivating to stare at. Inky eyes, dotted with such a shine that it looks like a star’s emerged rather than a pupil. 

It’s as if the year is put into distillation—monthly visits condensing into fortnightly ones, then weekly ones, before you’re driving the hour down to this place every few days. He’s made you a little space in his house: one where you can snooze on a spare futon with little worry for safety. For there’s no place more secure in a ‘monster’ lair than by the side of a so-called ‘monster’. 

“Quit staring,” he warns, matter-of-factly while the axe collides with the wood on the stump—cleaved neatly in two, almost too cleanly. 

“You’re pretty, I just can’t help it,” you sigh, leaning back on the creaky porch. There’s a book by your side: a thick text filled with particles and numbing quanta. 

You’re strange. He’s had this thought for a while, but especially today. In fact, you may be more supernatural than he, for each time you say such things, his heart skips one or two beats. Like clockwork, the mechanical nature of your spell is guaranteed: mouth going somewhat dry, ears seeping with a faint crimson, eyebrows creasing minutely. 

Why? 

“Have you seen yourself?” you counter incredulously, and that is when he realises he did not keep his thoughts silent. “You’ve literally got stars in your eyes, man. You….”

Ah. It’s moments like these where he feels so utterly ordinary; listening to you ramble on about things he doesn’t particularly understand, just like anyone else his age. 

It’s nice being bound to someone like this: close to another, experiencing the gravity that draws two people together for himself. 

Science is a perfectly plausible thing to believe in, after all. 

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

2024 Fic Roundup :)

I was tagged by @exhuastedpigeon to do a 2024 fic roundup!

This year, I have posted 47 new fics, finished 1 2023 fic, and still have one from 2023 ongoing. Which is roughly 1,019,891 words. Excluding things I have written but not posted yet! (a lot of Eddie as a Swedish forest monster, for example).

I am just going to copy/paste the list directly from my masterlist doc:

January

Eddie Diaz is NOT a Birthday Person(4,704 words)

Summary: Eddie doesn't put much stock into celebrating his birthday, as an adult. But for the first time since moving to Los Angeles, it happens to fall right in the middle of a four-off. Buck schemes. Romance ensues rather accidentally.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨

Winter Prayer (18,229 words)

Summary: When a work conflict prevents Athena from accompanying Bobby to Minnesota for the ten year anniversary of his family dying, Buck and May offer to go instead. Over the course of the trip, they all learn more about each other, and Bobby faces his grief.

Rating: General

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

You Can’t Surprise Evan Buckley(4,971 words)

Summary: Ten months into their relationship, Eddie has not been able to execute a romantic surprise for Buck. But on Buck's birthday, things are about to change.

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨

February

Spinning Out (2,326 words)

Summary: The sun always rises in the east and sets in the west. What goes up must always come down. And if Eddie Diaz is in a helicopter with his team, it must fall from the sky.

AKA: Speculation into Eddie's reaction to flying on a chopper with his team into a storm, as per the trailer dropped on February 17th.

Rating: General 

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨😨

Precious and Fragile Things (46,918 words)

Summary: Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

AKA the Small Miracles by Olivia Atwater AU that you don’t need to have read Small Miracles to enjoy.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

March

Loose Threads (3,745 words)

Summary: New to dating and keeping it quiet, Buck and Eddie get a little carried away on a slower shift at the firehouse. But when the alarm eventually sounds, a spur of the moment mistake leaves them a little mixed up.

Rating: Explicit

Angst Meter: 😨

a mouth full of teeth with nothing to sing  (7,060 words)

Summary: Post 07x03, Hen struggles to process the cruise ship rescue and drunk driver call in the midst of ongoing tension with her friends.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

April

 Pennsylvania Under Me (22,391 words)

Summary: When unexpected circumstances require Buck to travel back to Hershey for the first time in over a decade, Eddie and Chris are right by his side.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

May

Cowboy With A One Track Mind (22,439 words)

Summary: Spin-off Sequel to Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness - Chapter 7 (Land):

Grieving and tortured, Evan Buckley has been living alone in Montana in a remote cabin for nearly a decade. After an incident that leaves him missing six months of his life, and suddenly in connection with a group of strangers from Los Angeles, Evan must decide whether to remain in his self-imposed exile, or take a chance at life again.

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

change the prophecy (30,150 words)

Summary: Buck has never felt secure in any of his relationships; he’s been searching for someone to see him the way he feels he’s meant to be seen, but after things start going downhill with Tommy, he thinks that person might just not exist. Eddie cannot figure out what’s wrong with him when it becomes clear things with Marisol aren’t going to work out. But what if they’re both forgetting something?

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨😨

A Lot Like You (14,236 words)

Summary: The dynamics between everyone change when Buck and Eddie have another child and Bobby moves on from the 118.

Affectionately referred to as the "Grandpa Bobby fic"

Rating: General

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

June

i told my future by reading your lips (7,295 words)

Summary: In 2018, on their way to a call at a child beauty pageant, and feeling a little strange, Buck and Eddie are suddenly thrown into a fast-paced look at some key moments from their future. And, what they see? Well it can only lead to one logical conclusion.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

like a bird stealing bread out from under your nose (21,661 words)

Summary:If you’d asked Eddie back in May what rock bottom looked like, it was his son leaving him. That felt like it; everything ruined so entirely that there was no way to ruin it further.

There’s always more to lose.

---

Eddie Diaz breakdown, Season 7 finale fix it fic

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

Slow Broil (2,975 words)

Summary: Five times Bobby helped Eddie cook a meal for Buck over the course of their relationship, plus one time Eddie did it all by himself.

Rating: General

Angst Meter: 😨

you could make light (4,171 words)

Summary: When a sudden blackout leaves May and Buck trapped for hours, the two find themselves getting a lot off their chests, and bonding over several important parts of their lives.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨

are you not the lost and found? (15,764 words)

Summary: In which Bobby has the opportunity to meet an alternate universe version of his daughter, who has lived to adulthood, but her life has not been without its own complications - including their relationship.

Rating: General

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨😨

i’ve seen a couple suns that set forever (7,041 words)

Summary: Freshly home from Texas and faced with the prospect of his dad's feelings for Buck, Christopher's abandonment issues surface. A conversation with Bobby, and realizing the parallels between Buck's relationship with Bobby, and his relationship with Buck, gives Chris the perspective he needs.

Rating: General Audiences

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

July

Jumper Cables (2,396 words)

Summary: Right around the time they're both wrapping up their time at Dispatch, May calls on Eddie for help when her car battery dies and she doesn't have jumper cables. He ends up giving her a boost and talking her through some stress.

Rating: General

Angst Meter: 😨😨

this postcard tells you where we’ve been (3,452 words)

Summary:.Eddie finds a collection of postcards Buck sent to Chris over his summer in El Paso.

Rating: General

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

I Hold It Like a Grudge (11,665 words)

Summary: Buck and Maddie come into unexpected and unwanted conflict when their parents meet Buck's son for the first time, by surprise, when he is under Maddie's care.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

Steal My Sunshine (30,473 words)

Summary: Memories hazy and unreliable, Eddie Diaz wakes up every morning in a house at the end of a cul de sac, goes to his office job at a petroleum engineering company, and comes home to his wife and son. But something is missing, and the more Eddie begins to put the pieces together, the stranger the predicament he finds himself in.

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

no one can be born too many times (10,114 words)

Summary: When Ravi's younger brother shows up at the station unexpected, the 118 gets a better glimpse into his life, and Ravi gets a better perspective on both his families.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

If You Can Make the Music (14,878 words)

Summary: Spin-off Sequel to Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness - Chapter 5 (Seaside): A year after a whirlwind two week love affair with bartender Buck in Galveston, Texas, Eddie Diaz finds himself coincidentally relocating to the area. But when he attempts to reconnect with Buck, he's in for an unfortunate surprise.

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

treat an opportunity like it’s treating you (12,771 words)

Summary: After losing his leg as a result of the fire engine bombing, Buck is presented with the opportunity to have a service dog donated to him.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

I Always Wanted My Own Spark (5,752  words)

Summary: In 2040, during the midst of a family crisis, Christopher Diaz and his younger brother butt heads.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

August

Jeep Talking (2,252 words)

Summary: A ride in the backseat of Buck's Jeep with Buck and Eddie in the front gives Chim new perspective on his brother-in-law's strange dynamic with his so-called "best friend.' And Chim is sick of them being so oblivious.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨

this could be the year for the real thing (8,780 words)

Summary: It's December, 2016 and Chimney is a bit down on his luck. But a chance meeting with Beverly Hills heiress Maddie Buckley, right before her parents' big annual New Year's party, might be just what he's looking for. OR a Madney Cinderella AU.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨

april love is for the very young (6,269 words)

Summary: May is deeply frustrated with her college roommate. Everything about her. Until a conversation with Hen and Buck makes her rethink what her problem is. (Lesbian!May Grant college rivals to lovers).

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨

the best endeavor waiting (12,477 words)

Summary: When quarantine puts the 118 on the front lines of the pandemic, Eddie asks Buck and his service dog, Cranberry, to stay with Christopher.

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

Weary Memory (11,872 words)

Summary: After an argument about the circumstances of Bobby's sudden retirement, Buck and Bobby each find themselves inexplicably experiencing one of the other's difficult childhood memories.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

September

Long Death (79,506 words)

Summary: In the summer of 2024, a never before seen form of vampirism breaks out in Los Angeles. Just as Eddie is about to get his son back.

Six months later, Buck's life is permanently changed.

Rating: Explicit

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨😨

Clammed Up (11,868 words)

Summary:  Captain Gerrard dies suspiciously at a murder mystery party held at Tommy Kinard's condo, with most of the 118 present. As the case unfolds, Athena finds she no longer knows who among her friends she can trust.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

Sweet Talk (6,563 words)

Summary: Eddie asks to crash at the loft while Christopher is gone, struggling to be on his own. Only problem? There's only one bed, and no couch.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨.5?

time likes pulling my teeth (24,349 words)

Summary: Buck is enjoying the last day of a family vacation with Eddie and Christopher. Over and over and over again. And Eddie seems determined to keep it that way. (Buddie Time Loop Fic)

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

A Little Wisdom (8,623 words)

Summary: Christopher comes home from Texas and needs his wisdom teeth removed, which leads to a larger discussion on hurt and comfort and needs that Eddie doesn't see coming.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

watch out, you might get what you’re after (2,272 words)

Summary: Buck unintentionally woos Eddie. And then has a hell of a time processing the way he feels about that.

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨

October

Late Fines (12,750 words)

Summary: Buck is a children's librarian at the branch closest to Eddie's house. When he gets himself involved in the lives of a cute kid and his handsome single dad, he gets a glimpse of what he wants in life. It might just take a few years to get it.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

Any Other Way (102,659 words)

Summary: In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

Rating: Explicit

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

Advice For the Young At Heart (3,630 words)

Summary: Buck and Bobby overhear big news about Eddie. Buck spirals. Bobby talks him through it.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨

a cold world for such a long life (12,977 words)

Summary: Eddie befriends Bobby's estranged older brother in a virtual support group for queer adults struggling to come out. The only problem? He has no idea that's who Charlie is.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

 all our bruises beg for a chance (10, 257 words)

Summary: Buck is adjusting to life living with Eddie, Chris, and his service dog Cranberry, when his parents visit for the first time since he lost his leg.

OR:

A Cranberry-verse take on the events of Buck Begins.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

i just might turn to smoke, but i feel fine (2,957 words)

Summary: A few days before his first date with Buck, Eddie comes to the fire station early to work out and blow off some pent up steam. Only problem? Buck's already there.

Rating: Explicit

Angst Meter: 😨

we won’t look back, we won’t be lost (37,526 words)

Summary: Over six years after the 118 rescued a baby from a pipe, Buck meets that same child again on a different call. And in all that time, she never found a home.

OR:

Buck adopts Pipe Baby while Eddie waits for Christopher to come home.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

November

we all assume the worst the best we can (6,059 words)

Summary: When a rescue goes wrong, Buck and Bobby are trapped, while Eddie and Chim scramble to save them.

Rating: Teen

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

December

go and kill, go and die (59,935 words)

Summary: The 118 are a group of survivors in a small California town in the wake of a zombie apocalypse. For months they've been isolated and safe. But the arrival of some new players, the search for some missing loved ones, will shake everything up and put their little team in jeopardy.

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨😨

take what the water gave me (20,701words)

Summary: New transfer to the 118, Eddie Diaz, has a secret. And upon getting to know his coworker, Buck, who is also hiding something, he begins to suspect their secret is the same. He's wrong.

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

Promising Light (20,145 words)

Summary: Buck and Eddie fall asleep drunk and in separate rooms after the night of Buck and Tommy's breakup. They wake up seven years later, in an unfamiliar future, only to find out that they're married.

Rating: Mature

Angst Meter: 😨😨😨

No pressure tagging @pantsaretherealheroes @goldenbcnes @aroeddiediaz

@theotherbuckley @tizniz @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazsdimples

@mangacat201 @wellcollapse @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @kultiras

@wildlife4life @adarkermiserablecrow @epicbuddieficrecs @diazheartsbuckley @kwills91

@watchyourbuck @buddieswhvre @your-catfish-friend @l0v3t0hat3y0u @lyricfulloflight

@theautumnbard @lightningmcqueer8 @nibblyssacrifice @swiftiefirefighters

[prophecyhaunted]

Sands of life ( anderperry short fic)

The powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

What will your verse be?"

And In the end they did exactly that. Reciting the only words that mattered. Reciting their verse. The night of December 15th, a warmth spread across the desolate grave of winter. The autumn leaves swept aside, dancing across the cemetery—were buried under the snow. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The hourglass was turned around. Winter had turned into summer for only one night. The sands of time, fragile—like life. Too fast, yet too slow. Trying to inhale the warmth and exhale the bitter all at the same time. The static wind now whispered the truth. But people were too busy trying to suck the marrow out of life to listen. Henley Hall, despite the chilly blues of winter, was shrouded in an orange-tinted glow. Time was ticking. An echo of a distant future could be heard if you listened closely. You could smell the smoke from the gun cradle your lungs. But people were too busy wallowing in the juxtaposition of this night. Winter had kept them warm. If only they could taste the bitter remains of winter—too bitter to spit, numbing the edges of the mouth. Time cascaded across the wind, mulled with the snow, as it settled on the window, wide open—well, not yet.

A boy with hopes higher than the moon stood on the stage. A play of life reached his feet like waves, washing over his toes. A glimpse of it all. Just the beginning. The waves were taking him, little by little. He was going to reach his dreams soon. It was just the beginning. He wanted to be swallowed by the waves of life.

Another boy stood facing him, opposite the stage. The dreamer and the poet. And so he observed—ever the poet. He observed from afar. Too scared of the waves, too scared to ever let them linger on his skin. Neil and Todd. One breathing in the world, the other holding his breath. Neil, who had always lived so freely, and Todd, who could only watch from the shore, feet sinking into the cold sand of hesitation. But the hourglass had already turned. The sands of time had started slipping.

In the end, it seemed like an improbable tragedy. But in the end, it was true. Two boys breathing the sands of life as they carved their present in the wind, waiting— as time stretched over them like a blanket that leaves your feet out cold, waiting— at the two ends of the hourglass of life. As it pumped its beating heart with every inhale and exhale. Everything was balanced—until the boy was chained to conformity. His heart, like a wild creature trapped in his own ribcage, he was trapped— in himself. His soul drained of color, a monochrome version of the boy he used to be. The walls of his life closing in, his father’s voice suffocating the last breath of him. He began exhaling, the sands of life slipping from his fingers. It cascaded down, filling the other boy with life as he let go—exhaling.

"And not, when I came to die, discover I had not lived " they had spoken these words. They would recite them every meeting and they would mean it every time too. But the interpretation of poetry changes with a changing perspective. As Neil stood ajar staring at the open window. A shadow grew on the wall engulfing him slowly. The shadow of death. He had an epiphany. He understood now. That he didn't want those words that they recited to become true. He did not want to spend his life merely existing. He wanted to live. So when death came he would not regret the life he had lived. And so he decided. And so he exhaled. And so he pulled the trigger. And so he died.

And then, the silence. The silence of a home without laughter, of a school without its brightest star. Neil’s father had taken him away. But not before the poets saw. Not before they felt the weight of his absence settle onto their shoulders like freshly fallen snow. So they went to the cave. The place where they had lived, where poetry had breathed something eternal into them. The juxtaposition of the night lingered like smoke across the December skies as Neil turned in a hollow version of himself, a brittle empty shell soon to be crushed by the weight of the falling snow. Todd felt the moonlight bounce off the snow casting a bluish shadow on his face. He felt it seep into his skin caressing his bones, an augury of something turning him into a mosaic as eternal as snow. Mosaic of snow— muddled with blood, with longing reeking of death, and most importantly the soul of the snow— Neil. As the last of the sands of life reached the bottom of the hourglass, a window was opened, an echo was heard and a wreath now sat on the window waiting for the time—when it will thaw again. And in homage to Neil, two shots rang through the night—one from Neil, now only an echo in memory, and one from Todd. But Todd did not hold a gun. His weapon was truth, just as sharp, just as final.

"We are dreaming of tomorrow and tomorrow isn't coming," he said.

The winter had turned into summer for one day because tomorrow was never coming. It was never going to come.

And the hourglass flipped once more.

[nocompromise-noregrets]

likethenight's Barduil fic masterpost

It's been a long time coming (mainly because I've been putting it off because there's so damn much of it how is this even my life at this point) but here, have a masterpost of everything I've written about the bi widower dads!

the series

My Heart Is An Empty Vessel: canon-'verse, featuring the dads getting together in the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies and featuring side-fics, flashbacks to Thranduil's youth in Doriath and an entirely canon-mangling sequel set in Valinor. (62 stories so far)

All I Want Is You: modern AU in which Bard is working as a delivery driver who keeps having to make deliveries to the reclusive owner of Greenwood Hall (and then lockdown happens). Including the daft Christmas-movie fic that nobody wanted except me. (23 stories so far)

A Kiss in the Cold and Dark: modern AU in which Bard and Thranduil knew each other as teenagers but lost touch for 30-odd years before running into each other again at a Christmas market. (14 stories so far)

Dancing In The Dark: modern AU in which Bard and Thranduil had a not-quite-a-thing in the 90s when they were both singers for relatively successful rock bands, never sorted themselves out, and find themselves on the same festival bill 30 years later. (14 stories so far)

stained glass heart: There is a legend in Dale, that somewhere deep in the forest that borders the city lives the forest king, an ancient being with a special care for archers, and for all things that grow. Bard, camping in the woods after his finals, finds a place that isn't on any maps and begins to dream of something - someone - familiar; and years later, after the heaviest loss he has ever had to bear, he goes back out there again, hoping to find something that might help him recover. (5 stories so far)

Stars and Arrows: the Oxford-college-professors-with-different-names reincarnation story, featuring a mysterious illuminated manuscript and your humble author's 25 years of archival nerdery. (2 stories so far)

the oneshots: canon-'verse

Something Magical: Thranduil thinks about magic, and glamour, and illusion, and wonders if now he is under a different kind of enchantment.

Overrun by Halflings: a somewhat cracky fic in which Rosie persuades Sam to take her and the children to the Undying Lands, some of the Elves are somewhat less than pleased, and one of them (no prizes for guessing who) has Absolutely No Room To Comment At All.

A Little Less Than Safe: Thranduil takes Bard, Sigrid and Tilda for a picnic in the forest. The sorcerer of Dol Guldur sees an opportunity to have a little fun and teach the Elvenking a lesson.

Should All The Stars Shine In The Sky: the first Midwinter celebration in Dale after the Battle of the Five Armies. Bard and Thranduil are in the thick of the festivities, Sigrid and Tauriel are stargazing on the rooftops, and there are all kinds of magic abroad on this, the longest night of the year.

Caught Like Stars: another Midwinter-in-Dale fic - Thranduil has his reasons for accepting Bard's invitation to celebrate Midwinter in Dale, but he isn't quite expecting anything that happens after he arrives.

(Not) For You: They’re not for you, the Elves, not for the likes of you, and Bard has known this all his life. But he's always been a dreamer, and after the Battle of the Five Armies his whole world has been turned on its head, and the Elvenking is being oddly open with him.

fragile/uncanny: in which the Elvenking and the Dragonslayer find that they have more in common than they realise at first.

what dark paths brought me here: Riding into the darkness of the forest, Bard wonders why he was so insistent that he go alone to ask the Elvenking for help; but it takes his mind off wondering why he can't stop thinking about the time they spent together last autumn, at least.

unanticipated, unexpected: Sigrid never expected to be in a position to actually do something about the ridiculous crush on the Prince of the Woodland Realm that she picked up during the fall of Lake-town - so Tilda and Tauriel take matters into their own hands. Otherwise known as the Sigrid/Legolas fic I never thought I'd find myself writing - the dads are a background pairing in this one.

Very Nearly A Diplomatic Incident: Dáin thinks something's going on between Bard and Thranduil. He…isn't far wrong, but they're not telling him that.

and where they dwell now none can say: there is a tale that's seldom told about two kings in days of old… (in other words, your humble author accidentally commits poetry)

On the Steps: After the battle is over, Bard finds himself talking to the Elvenking - and tending a wound.

A Very Recent Development: When Thranduil's temper gets the better of him in conversation with Dáin, he has to ask Bard to help him salvage the alliance between their three kingdoms. Perhaps inevitably, it gets complicated.

Waylaid: After the battle, Legolas is determined to get as far away from Dale as fast as he can. But when he is delayed retrieving his horse, he finds himself lingering for Tauriel's sake, and beginning to forge friendships with Bard's children - and beginning to mend fences with his father at long last. (another one where the dads are more of a background pairing)

into the darkness: Bard had only ventured into the forest to try and find something for his children to eat. But the spiders - and the Elvenking - have other ideas.

someone else's life: Bard often thought, in the months following the battle, that the world had ended, for him, on the night the dragon had come swooping down from the mountain breathing fire and flame and burned Lake-town to ashes and cinders. His home was gone, his livelihood was gone, his whole life as it had been had stopped on that awful night, and now - now he felt as though he was living someone else’s life.

the greatest treasure you could ever hope to find: A couple of weeks after the battle, Sigrid has a conversation with the Elvenking, and both of them find themselves saying rather more than they'd intended.

red: Thranduil's cloak is lined with red, the colour of blood; he is all silver, silver and red, ice and blood and a love he can no longer bear to let himself feel.

the oneshots: (mostly) modern AUs

Three Things and One Step At A Time: in which teenage boyfriends Bard and Thranduil are split up by Thranduil's abusive father and run into each other years later. Inspired by 'To Be A Father' by the lovely @fox-deer.

On Arda Street (chapter one): a tiny tattoo artist/florist AU, part of a set of AUs also including a pet shop, a coffee shop and a high school featuring other characters from the legendarium.

Metallic Red and Deep Pink: two fics set in the incomparable @scary-grace's seeking a friend for the end of the world-'verse. In a ruined, deserted mall somewhere east of Wyoming, Bard discovers that Thranduil is perfectly capable of walking in (very) high heels - and, in an abandoned motel, Thranduil tries on lipstick for the first time in a very long time.

Tonight Is For Mysteries: the retelling of the Cinderella story in which Sigrid is not the only one who finds something special at the Woodland Realm's masked ball.

A Double-Booking in Room 305 and Another Night in Room 305: Bard, checking into a hotel for a conference, finds that someone else has already checked into his room.

Once In A Lifetime and Make This Work Somehow: Bard's taken his first away-from-home acting job since his wife died and it's a huge opportunity, with the most renowned costume designer in the business working on the film. It's also an adaptation of his kids' favourite book, so...no pressure. And no need to even think about how incredibly attractive the aforementioned costume designer is, because that's not even the slightest bit relevant...

Espresso: There's a reason Bard always gets his coffee from the Lonely Mountain Roastery, every single day…

paint the sky and burn the stars: The best birthday present Bard ever had was the treehouse his da built him for his eighth birthday. Over the years it brings him his best friend, his first love, the one that got away…and then, eventually, it brings his first love back to him again.

All The Ages Of The World Alone: Thranduil never leaves the Greenwood, after the end of the time of the Elves in Middle-Earth. Gradually he fades away, drifting between the trees as a spirit…until a little lad playing in the woods catches his attention, and later, a grieving man with three children who seems to know about events he could not possibly have experienced…

Court Etiquette: (only just not-canon-'verse, this one) Thranduil is very bored at the wedding of Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins, but then he meets the new King of Dale, who has never been to one of these events before.

business class: Bard, on his first business trip abroad since his wife died, gets an upgrade to business class, where he finds himself sitting next to someone very intriguing indeed.

on first sight: Thranduil allows himself to be talked into a blind date.

[msmargarita]

msmargarita's reader fic cocktail

This is a masterlist of every reader fic I've posted.

Fandoms I've written for: Spider-Verse (Spot x Reader), X-Men (Peter Maximoff x Reader), How To Train Your Dragon (Riders x Reader), Dark Crystal (skekSil x Reader), Borderlands (Scooter x Reader), Overwatch (Junkrat x Reader)

I don't use Y/N and I don't write most physical descriptions. Sometimes the Reader is female, sometimes gender neutral.

Commissions are currently closed!

Now working on:

Overwatch

Bad Pennies (Junkrat x Female Reader) 31,607 words | SFW

Completed Fics:

Spider-Verse

i'm not going to turn into a cosmic anomaly and leave you forever (Spot x Gender Neutral Reader) 8,060 words | SFW | part 1 of a series

i'm really serious this time, baby (Spot x AFAB Reader) 4,151 words | NSFW | part 2 of a series

fragile (Spot x Gender Neutral Reader) 895 words | SFW | read tags

X-Men

You're going to ruin my nails (Peter Maximoff x Female Reader) 1,267 words | NSFW

How To Train Your Dragon

Berk's Hot Young Singles (Dragon Riders x Gender Neutral Reader) 22,623 words | SFW

Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance

Heresy (skekSil x Female Reader) 2536 words | NSFW

Borderlands

the loser perspective (Scooter x Female Reader) 12,624 words | NSFW

|~☆ heart dividers by @anitalenia ☆~|

[bittersweetresilience]

author's commentary part one

now that we've reached the end of the fic, i will finally explain the beginning.

i named this piece after 大鱼, a song whose title means big fish. in the fic, jing yuan references void songs twice, which i imagine are the sounds that void song whales make. if you remember, yukong talks about these whales in her visitor dialogue. they swim freely through the stellar seas while their sibling species on the luofu has disappeared into history.

whale songs. dream fish. the call of the void. the language of longing. to me, renjing.

author's imagery only the most important bits

the sky is freedom and departure, and it is jing yuan, eventually. the sea is the dissolution of the self and the thing that will swallow him, and it is yingxing. the lightning is the portent of death, but also the electricity of being in love. the wine is the representation of shared wishes and togetherness and history. the starskiffs are the memorials of the past and the vessels into the empyrean. the fire is desire and destruction. the ink is the color of blade's hair and the sincerity of the letters jing yuan writes. the bandages and the iron are blade and the violence of his existence. the paper birds are the fragility of jing yuan's memories, which cannot be buried. the nightclothes are the vulnerability he will shed in the morning. the string is the red string of fate between renjing, but also the strings that tether jing yuan to the luofu and to his ending. the womb and the egg are the places of rebirth and the representation of returning to the beginning. the sun is the stellaron, and it is jing yuan before the sky and the sea consume him, and it is the end of the dream.

author's commentary part two

below is my translation of the song.

大鱼 big fish

海浪无声将夜幕深深淹没 the waves soundlessly submerge the night 漫过天空尽头的角落 rising over the corners of the edge of the sky 大鱼在梦境的缝隙里游过 the big fish swims in the rifts between dreams 凝望你沉睡的轮廓 watching your sleeping visage

看海天一色 听风起雨落 seeing the sky and the sea in one color, hearing the winds stir and the rain fall 执子手 吹散苍茫茫烟波 holding my son's hand, i blow away the hazy ripples of smoke 大鱼的翅膀 已经太辽阔 the wings of the big fish are already too vast 我松开 时间的绳索 i let go of the thread of time

怕你飞远去 怕你离我而去 afraid you'll fly far away, afraid you'll leave me 更怕你 永远停留在这里 even more afraid you'll stop here forever 每一滴泪水 都向你流淌去 every tear flows toward you 倒流进 天空的海底 flowing backward into the ocean floor of the sky

(...)

看你飞远去 看你离我而去 seeing you fly far away, seeing you leave me 原来你生来就属于天际 so you were born to belong to the sky all along 每一滴泪水 都向你流淌去 every tear flows toward you 倒流回最初的相遇 flowing backward into our first meeting

without this song, this fic wouldn't exist. every part of the two was intimately interwoven. in particular, the line about the thread of time was what made me certain it would be a nonlinear narrative and the mixing of the sky and the sea was the image that created the entire story.

i further drew from the lyrics the most important imagery, the idea of ending on the beginning, and the son's hand as not only yanqing but everyone jing yuan leans on today in order to support himself against the weight of history. i drew the themes of dreams and reality, the dialogue on leaving, and the breathless, surreal atmosphere of melancholy and yearning. but in addition to all of that there is a double meaning in this song to me.

the first time you hear it, you think it's about jing yuan. and it is, of course. everything is about him. he is the holder, the sleeper, the one submerging. but by the last verse, you realize it is also blade, talking to him as he walks into scalegorge waterscape. trying and failing to call him back from within the endless dream.

both of them were born to belong to the sky. only one of them truly died in it.

author's dictionary

rèn, 刃, word for 'Blade' (lit. 'blade's edge') jiāngjūn, 将军, word for 'general' gānbēi, 干杯, word for 'cheers' (lit. 'dry cups') mèngdié, 梦蝶, word for the shortness of life (lit. 'butterfly dream') (this was not said explicitly but alluded to in the first dream) shīfù, 师父, word for 'martial master' bàitáng, 拜堂, word for the act of bowing to the heavens and the earth, the parents, and then each other in marriage (this is what the high-cloud quintet was joking about) yǐnyuè-jūn, 饮月君, word for 'Imbibitor Lunae' (lit. 'moon-drinker') nàihé qiáo, 奈何桥, word for the Bridge of Oblivion where souls drink Meng Po soup to forget the memories of their past life in preparation for reincarnation húlu, 葫芦, word for 'gourd' (this is what bailu uses to dispense medicine) qīng, 卿, word for 'senior official' (this is the honorific jing yuan uses for fu xuan in light of her position as master diviner) xiàngqí, 象棋, word for 'Chinese chess' (this is what starchess is based on, where my vision designates aurumatons as cannons, starskiffs as elephants, and cloud knights as pawns) gē, 哥, word for 'older brother' (this is a casual term of address for older men) shíhuǒ mèngshēn, 石火梦身, word for 'Starfall Reverie' (lit. 'sparks in stone, body in dream')

author's references

all of the xianzhou trailblaze missions. all of the relevant characters' character stories and companion missions. character dialogues. visitor dialogues. battle dialogues. battle mechanics. lightcones. relics. readables. item descriptions. character designs. character messages. the new trailblaze continuance. area maps. chinese voiceovers and their english translations. character trailers. combat guides. animated shorts. possibly more things i'm forgetting to mention. my wealth of insanity.

author's appreciation

wiki editors who came before me. people who upload youtube videos of different dubs of each trailblaze mission. spouses and ssswips. my beloved commenters. the composer of 大鱼. renjing.