#got more copies of all of those and many more besides!!

[queerliblib]

you may be noticing (some of!) your holds coming in quicker than expected

(we just dropped a fairly obscene amount of money buying more copies of many titles with long hold times)

xoxo, QLL

[requiemforthepoets]

he drives me crazy, it’s so beyond me 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x fewtrell!reader

SUMMARY: you’ve been hating on lando for a very long time now, since you were kids to be exact. only to realize that those hatred is only a mask for what you truly feel for him.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i’ve been on a slump lately, have so many works unfinished but i don’t really have the drive to finish them lol but my break from uni is near, so maybe i’ll get the motivation to finish all of it. for the meantime, hope you’ll enjoy this one! :)

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 3.3k

WARNINGS: typos, cursing, and playboy lando

Growing up being Max’s younger sister meant that you were always surrounded by his friends, and none of them irritated you more than Lando Norris. From the very beginning, something about Lando rubbed you off the wrong way. Though you had never understood why, there was something—an inexplicable annoyance that only grew stronger with time.

As kids, you tolerated him, well mainly because Max adored him and that they are racing karts together. You can’t just tell Max to stay away from Lando for no apparent reason, that would make look like an absolute ass. But as you all grew up, Lando’s behavior began to infuriate you even more, and it just got worse when he got to F1. He began dating girls and moving on as quickly as the seasons changed, never seeming to care about the trail of broken hearts he left behind. It wasn’t just his carefree attitude towards relationships or life in general; it was the way he would tease you every fucking chance he gets. If you tripped over a pebble or on air, he’d make a joke about it. Making fun of every little thing that he would notice about you. You just couldn’t stand it, and you couldn’t stand him and his whole existence.

But somewhere along the line, something strange started to happen. With all the teasing and eye rolls, you found yourself paying a little too much attention to him. Too much for your liking. It was almost as if you were noticing the first time how his aquamarine eyes sparkled everytime he laughed, or how his curly hair seemed to suit him perfectly. It made you mad—so fucking mad that you wanted to scream. How could you, of all people, start to like Lando Norris? Your public enemy number one.

Then the realization hit you like a shit ton of bricks. You were developing a massive crush on the one person you were supposed to hate. Surprised by the sudden realization, and you being you, instead of acknowledging it, you decided to bury it deep down, covering it with even more layers of loathing. If he said something stupid, which he always does, you’d snap back at him twice as hard. If he smiled that cocky grin, you’d glare daggers at him. But inside, your heart would be pounding, and it drove you crazy. It’s pretty much a fucking miracle that you have been able to stay sane.

One day, after a particularly annoying comment from Lando about your choice of outfit, you finally snapped. “You know, Lando, if I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it. But I didn’t, so why don’t you just keep your mouth shut for once?” Then you rolled his eyes at him. You’re going out today, you don’t need this kind of negativity. “Besides, don’t you have your own fucking house? Why are you even here?”

Lando grinned, clearly enjoying how riled up you were. “I’m just saying, those shoes look like something a hobo would wear.”

You groaned in frustration. “God, you’re such an asshole, Norris! Do you ever stop to think before you speak?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He shot back, winking at you.

You felt your cheeks flush, and not from anger. You wanted to punch him, but at the same time, there was this insane urge to grab him by the collar and kiss him just to shut him up. But instead, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the room, muttering under your breath about how he was the most annoying person on the planet.

But then there were those moments when you saw the other side of Lando, the one that made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t even fucking explain. Like the time when he won his first race in Miami. The whole crowd erupted in cheers, everyone was celebrating his win and you found yourself smiling as he won his first race, a huge smile on his face as he celebrated. Your first instinct was to run up to him and give him a hug and tell him how proud you were. But then, almost immediately, you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck for making you feel this way. He had a unique talent for pushing all your buttons, and yet, no one could make you feel the way he did.

After the race, you all went out to celebrate, and as usual, Lando couldn’t resist teasing you. “Come on, admit it, you were impressed, weren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smile from tugging at the corners of your lips. “You were okay, I guess,” you said nonchalantly.

“Okay? Just okay?” Lando feigned hurt, clutching his chest dramatically. “I expected more from my biggest hater.”

“Well, don’t expect me to start fangirling over you now,” you shot back, though your heart wasn’t really in it.

Lando just playfully winked at you, and excused himself, walking away and waving at someone else. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to admit it. To finally confess that maybe the reason why you hated Lando so much was because you love him in a way that no one else could. But you quickly dismissed that thought, shaking your head. There was no way you’d ever let him know how much he affected you. Not when he had the power to break your heart with a single word.

As the night went on, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. He was the center of attention, as always, and yet, for a moment, his eyes caught yours, and he smiled. Not a teasing grin that he would always send your way, but a genuine, warm smile. It made your stomach do flips, and you quickly looked away, mentally cursing yourself for being so weak.

In the middle of the night, you found yourself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day’s events in your mind. You hated how he could get under your skin so easily, how he made you feel things you didn’t want to feel. It was maddening, infuriating, it drives you nuts, and yet…you couldn’t stop thinking about him. How was it possible to love and hate someone so much at the same time? You didn’t know. You don’t have an answer for the lingering questions in your mind and it drove you crazy.

“Why him?” You whispered to yourself that night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. “Out of all the fucking people in the world, why does it have to be him?”

You knew Lando could be a major asshole, but somehow, he was your asshole. No one else could make you feel this crazy mix of anger, frustration, and affection all at once, and despite all the annoyance, deep down, you knew you loved him. It made you mad, and yet, in some twisted way, it also made sense. No one else could make your heart race like Lando did, that can make you feel so alive, so frustrated, so utterly confused—and most importantly, no else could break your heart like Lando Norris, and you were beginning to think that maybe, you didn’t want anyone else to.

It has been three months since Lando’s first win, but the tension between the two of you hadn’t eased. In fact, it felt like it was growing stronger, pulling you into a confusing spiral of emotions. It was one of those days that you were grateful enough that you were back in uni, and have to forget about him even for a short period of time.

Though it didn’t last long, you can’t stay and hide in uni forever. So here you were, officially back home for a break, and you decided to stay at Max’s for the time being. Prior to arriving from uni, Max had already asked you if you wanted to come with them on their holiday trip, but you passed on it, making up some silly excuse and wanting to get the rest you need since you haven’t had the proper rest back when you were in uni. You wanted to avoid being in the same place with him as much as possible, you definitely don’t trust yourself to keep up the charade of hating him when your heart was screaming the exact opposite.

It was when they’re already back from their trip, and as usual, Lando is at Max’s place. You found yourself in exactly in the situation you’d been dreading. Max had invited Lando over to help him with something, and you figured you could just stay in your room, far away from the inevitable teasing from him. But when Max suddenly had to leave to deal with some urgent matter, you were stuck. It was just you and Lando, alone in the living room, with a show neither of you cared about playing in the background.

Lando being Lando, of course he wasted no time in getting into your nerves. “So, how long are you planning to hide up there?” He asked, his tone annoyingly casual as he sprawled out on the couch.

“I was not hiding,” you retorted, focusing on your phone and pretending he wasn’t there.

“Sure, you’re not,” he said with a smirk. “You’ve been acting pretty weird lately. You didn’t even come to the trip that we invited you on. Is everything alright?”

You nearly choked on your words. How could you even begin to explain what was wrong—that you were utterly terrified of how much you liked him? That every time he teased you, your heart skipped a beat instead of fuming with anger? That you couldn’t fucking stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.

“Everything’s fine,” you lied, hoping he couldn’t see the turmoil behind your eyes. God, you just wanted for this conversation to end or better yet, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole right then and there.

“Uh-huh,” Lando said, clearly unconvinced. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “Oh my god, why do you even care?” You shot back defensively. “You’re just here to annoy me, right? So why don’t you just go call someone and bother them instead?”

Lando’s smirk faded slightly, and he studied you with an intensity that made you uncomfortable. “You think I just want to annoy you?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, frustrated by his persistent questioning. “That’s what you’ve always done ever since, isn’t it?”

Lando shook his head, looking more serious than you’d ever seen him. “No. Not really.”

The shift in his demeanor threw you off balance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his beautiful curly hair that you want to touch so badly. “It means that maybe I didn’t just do it to annoy you. Maybe there was another reason.”

You blinked, your mind racing to keep up. “What reason?”

Lando sighed, leaning back on the couch and staring at the ceiling. “God, this is harder than I thought,” he muttered to himself before finally looking at you. “Look, I’ve known you since forever. Yeah, I used to tease you because you were Max’s younger sister and it was fun. But somewhere along the way, it wasn’t just about teasing anymore. I think I did it because…I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What are you saying, Lando?”

“I’m saying that maybe I’ve had a crush on you for a while now,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “And I’ve been acting like an idiot because to be fairly honest, I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

You stared at him in utter shock, your brain struggling to process what he’d just said. All this time, you thought your feelings were unrequited, that he was just being his usual annoying self, but now, everything was different. The anger, the frustration, the confusion—it all made sense now.

“I…I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, still reeling from his confession. “Honestly.”

Lando smiled softly, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “You don’t have to say anything, I just want you to know. I get it if you don’t feel the same way, or if you’re too mad at me for being a jerk all these years. But I wanted to be completely honest with you for once.”

The room was silent for a moment, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “Lando, I—“

But before you could finish, Lando suddenly stood up, crossing the room in a few quick strides. “You know what? I can’t fucking take it anymore.” And with that, he grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you, pulling you into a kiss that was both urgent and tender at the same time.

For a split second, you were too shocked to respond. But then, your body seemed to take over, and you found yourself kissing back, all the frustration and anger melting away in the warmth of his embrace. It felt like everything you’d been holding back, all the mixed emotions you’d been burying, finally broke free. When Lando finally pulled back, you were both breathless, staring at each other in stunned silence.

“Why did you do that?” You asked, your voice shaky.

“Because I’ve wanting to do it for a long fucking time,” Lando admitted, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “And because I couldn’t stand the thought of you hating me for real.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t hate you, Lando. I…I think I might be falling for you, and it’s terrifying to tell you honestly.”

Lando grinned, his usual cocky demeanor returning. “Well, that’s a relief. Because I’m pretty sure I’m falling for you too.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you dissolving into something warmer, something that felt a lot like hope.

“You’re still an asshole, though.”

“And you’re still a pain in the ass,” Lando shot back, his grin widening.

This time, there was no venom behind your words, no hidden frustration like it was used to. Instead, there was a new understanding between you—a mutual acknowledgment that maybe the thing you’d both been fighting against all these years was exactly what you needed. When Lando leaned in to kiss you again, you realized that no one else could make your heart race like he did, and no one else could make you as crazy or as happy.

However, Lando’s confession and that unexpected kiss did leave you feeling more confused as ever. As much as you wanted to believe in the moment, in the warmth of his touch and softness of his lips, a familiar fear gnawed at the back of your mind. After all, this is Lando Norris that you’re talking about—the guy who seemed to switch girlfriends at lightning speed. You’d seen him charm his way through countless girls, only to move on without any second thought. The idea of being just another name on his list made your chest tighten with fear and anxiety.

As you sat still, still close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, Lando looked at you with a hopeful expression, waiting for you to say something. But instead of responding with the excitement that was bubbling up inside you, all you could think about were the stories, the rumors, and the heartbreaks you’d witnessed.

“Lando,” you began, moving away slightly, creating a small but significant distance between you and him on the couch. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Why not?” His smile faltered, concern creeping into his eyes.

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words that won’t hurt him. “Because…” you trailed off, “I know you, Lando. I know your way with girls. Yes, I can’t deny the fact that you’re very charming and sweet when you want to be, but the way you get bored and move on quickly scares me. I…I don’t think I can handle being just another girl you get tired of.” You breathed out.

Lando’s expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand, but you hesitated. He noticed this right away and dropped his hand to his side.

“I get why you’d think that. I haven’t exactly been the most reliable guy when it comes to relationships, am I?” You nodded and he chuckled, “but this…this is different.”

“Is it?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or are you just saying that because I’m here and it’s convenient?”

Lando shook his head, gaze so intense that you might melt and turn into a puddle any second. “It’s not like that, I promise. I know I’ve messed up before, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You’re not just another girl, and I’m not just saying that. I’m really serious about you.”

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But the fear of getting your heart broken, of being left behind like so many others, made it hard to fully trust his words.

“But what if you get bored? What if this is just a phase for you, and once you’ve had your fun, you move on to someone else?”

He looked at you with an earnestness that you weren’t used to seeing him. “I can’t blame you for being scared. But the truth is, I’m scared too. I’m scared because I’ve never wanted someone so much, something to work out this badly. I don’t want to mess this up. I know I have a reputation, but I don’t want that to be who I am with you. I want to be better—for you.”

You stared at him, your heart warring with your head. Could he really mean what he was saying? Was it possible that he could change, that you could be the one he was serious about? But even as the doubts swirled around you, there was a part of you that desperately wanted to take the leap, to believe that maybe this could be different.

“I don’t know if I can handle getting hurt,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.”

Lando took a deep breath, his expression sincere. “I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect, but I can promise that I’ll try my best not to hurt you.” He said, tucking a few strands of your hair behind your ear, “I care about you too much to let that happen. But if you don’t want to take the risk, I’ll understand. I’ll back off if that’s what you want.”

You could see the honesty in his eyes, the vulnerability he rarely showed. It made your heart ache, knowing that he was giving you the power to decide where this would go. It would be easy to walk away, to protect yourself from the possibility of pain. But then again, what if he was telling the truth, what if this was real.

“No, I don’t want you to back off,” you finally said, your voice steady despite the nerves twisting in your stomach. “But I need time, Lando. I need to see that you’re serious before I can let myself fall for you completely.”

Lando nodded, relief washing over his face. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

You smiled, feeling a bit of the tension ease, though the uncertainty still lingered. “Good. Because I’m not sure I could handle it if you did.”

As the two of you sat side by side on the couch, the show was still playing in the background, the atmosphere between you had shifted. There was no rush, no need to force anything. It was just the two of you, slowly navigating the complicated mess of emotions that came with falling for someone who scared you as much as they made you feel alive, and maybe that this was the start of something real.

[imsandra]

A breath

Pairing: Azriel x female reader

Summary: In the silent embrace of the night, Azriel found in Y/N the comfort he never knew he needed.

Warning: Fluffy comfort, I think that's it.

Word count: 1120

Notes: I believe many creators have written similar pieces, so this may not be a new concept. Feel free to leave your comments, suggestions; everything is welcome as long as it's with the intention of teaching and with respect.

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any spelling or grammar issues.

Original story, written by me. Please do not copy or plagiarize my work.

I appreciate any comments, reblogs, and likes I receive.

Happy reading!

Master list

The night in Velaris always had something special, but this one, in particular, felt magical. The gentle murmur of the Sidra River, the mild air filled with the scent of night-blooming flowers, and the clear sky full of stars that seemed to shine only for those willing to observe them closely.

Azriel was flying back to the House of Wind. He had had one of those long days, the kind where the exhaustion wasn’t just physical but emotional too. Azriel had spent hours training the Illyrians, dealing with disputes, and making sure everything ran smoothly in the Night Court.

Y/N had seen him enter, his posture stiff, and the shadows around him more restless than usual. Since they had begun spending more time together, she had learned to read him, to notice when he was tired or when something bothered him, even if he never said it. That night, however, something inside her told her that Azriel needed more than just company; he needed someone to care for him for once.

Without a word, Y/N followed him to the sitting room where Azriel usually sat after his missions or training, right next to the large window that offered a panoramic view of the city. He was there, staring out at the horizon, the stars reflecting in his golden eyes, but without his usual spark.

With a soft smile, Y/N entered and walked up to him. She sat beside him in silence, respecting his need for quiet. She didn’t need to ask what was wrong; she knew him well enough to know he would speak if he wanted to.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she suddenly got up and said, "I’ll be back in a moment."

Azriel watched her leave the room without asking where she was going. In his mind, the shadows kept whispering, but there was something about Y/N’s presence that calmed them slightly. She always made him feel less alone, less lost.

A little while later, Y/N returned with a cup of hot tea in her hands and a couple of blankets. Without asking, she offered him the tea and then draped one of the blankets over his legs.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Azriel asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Y/N shrugged, smiling. "Taking care of you. You look exhausted."

Azriel took the cup of tea, surprised by how comforting such a simple gesture could be. No one usually took care of him like that. He was always the one looking out for others, the one protecting, the one watching over his loved ones from the shadows. But with Y/N... she made him feel like someone worthy of being cared for.

Y/N sat back down beside him, wrapping herself in a blanket, and gently snuggled up against him. At first, Azriel tensed reflexively, but then he relaxed when she intertwined her fingers with his, softly caressing his scarred hand. Though he hated the scars for the horrible memories they brought him, Y/N didn’t feel the same. To her, they were part of his story.

The touch was so light, so intimate, that it surprised him how much it soothed him.

"Do you feel better?" she whispered, without looking directly at him, her focus on the nighttime view of Velaris.

Azriel gently squeezed her hand in response. "Yes... much better," he answered softly.

The peace he had been searching for all day, the calm he so longed for, he found there, in that moment, sitting next to Y/N, with her hand in his and her warmth comforting him.

"You know," Y/N continued in a low voice, "you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your own. You can rest, lean on someone every now and then."

Azriel remained silent for a moment, his thoughts deep. Y/N’s words resonated with him in a way that few things ever did. He was so used to being the shield for everyone else, to protect and care, that he rarely allowed himself to be vulnerable, even for a moment.

"Thank you," he finally whispered, his voice full of sincerity. "For this. For... taking care of me."

Y/N lifted her head to look at him, her smile soft and understanding. "I’ll always do it, Az. Anytime you need it," she told him, a promise between them.

Azriel turned to her, his eyes meeting hers, and in that moment, something inside him broke, in the most beautiful way possible. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against Y/N’s, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply, letting her closeness envelop him completely.

They remained like that, together in the stillness, simply enjoying the peace they had found in each other. For Azriel, it was a reminder that it was okay to be vulnerable, that he didn’t always have to be strong—at least not with Y/N. And for her, it was a moment of tenderness, knowing that, although Azriel was a warrior in the shadows, in her arms he would always have a place to rest.

"Come," Y/N said softly, shifting a bit and pulling him down. "Let’s relax a little more."

Azriel let her guide him, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa as she nestled at his side, resting her head on his chest. His wings instinctively moved to wrap around them, creating a warm, protective barrier.

"I promise tomorrow will be better," Y/N whispered, her fingers gently playing with the dark strands of Azriel’s hair.

Azriel smiled for the first time all day, his hand softly caressing Y/N’s back. "With someone like you by my side, it will be."

Y/N kissed his cheek, and the spymaster blushed.

Under the blankets, under the night’s veil and the shelter of Azriel’s wings, they both found comfort in each other. A shared peace that didn’t need grand words or elaborate gestures—just a simple promise to always be there for one another.

*divider by @cafekitsune , thank you <33.

A/N: After an angst-filled Azriel x reader it's only fair to have a fluffy one. I hope you liked it and I'm sorry it was short, let me know what you think. Kisses, love you guys.

[elssero]

project partner

k.bakugo

-in which you and bakugo get paired to work on a school project together ,sfw. angst!!!!! tw no happy endings ..

maybe you should’ve been paying more attention but your hero analytics class was so boring you genuinely couldn’t stop yourself from getting distracted.

it’s not like the view outside the window is any more interesting- at this point your just looking at anything in an attempt to drown out your teachers voice.

you catch a pair of birds on a tree outside- watching as they shuffle around each other awkwardly. god you wish you were one of those birds right now. you really hate this class.

“and yn, you’ll be partnered with uh- bakugo.”

wait what?

oh you’ve got to be kidding me.

you don’t even know what you’ve been partnered to work with him on? some sort of fake hero interview? god could your day get any worse.

you did not like bakugo. not one bit.

you didn’t like his ‘better than everyone’ attitude. you didn’t like the constant stupid scowl on his face. but most of all you didn’t like the way he spoke to your friends.

at the beginning of the year you’d made a conscious effort to befriend most of your classmates. never shying away from a conversation and offering your assistance whenever needed.

you knew what it was like to be strong, you’d always been a step ahead, seemingly excelling in everything you did. you guessed you had that in common with him.

however, what you didn’t have in common with him was his treatment of your classmates. you had never once wanted anyone too feel inferior to you, even if they were.

sure you were teasing- often joking around with many of your classmates but it was all in good faith. nothing like the actual insults bakugo often hurled at them.

you didn’t like him. not at all.

staring at aizawa with wide eyes he only gives you a shrug. you have absolutely no idea why he thought it would be a good idea to pair you and bakugo together- you’d never even spoken a word to each other in this class.

after reading out the rest of the pairings he dismisses the class, encouraging you all too make plans with your partners about scheduling time to work on the project he’d just given you, explaining you had a week to hand in two fully fledged professional looking interviews, one of your partner and of yourself with the other playing the interviewer.

you weren’t worried about your performance at something like this, being friendly and talking to people had never been a problem for you- at least not until it came to the blonde who was now making his way towards you. his signature frown on his face.

he huffs as he attempts to make himself comfortable in the seat next to you, still somehow looking incredibly uncomfortable.

you glance around at the other pairs in the room. brewing with jealousy as you see everyone already getting along- seemingly paired with someone their known to be friends with.

the boy beside you attempts to speak before you cut him off-

“okay look- i don’t want to be here any longer than i need too and i’m sure you don’t either.” you would normally grimace at the harsh tone of your voice- except it’s bakugo, so instead you continue on.

“i’ll spend tonight watching recent hero interviews too see what types of questions are currently trending, i’ll put us both together a series of questions we can ask each other.”

it’s better you do all the work, it means he can’t surprise you with some stupidly rude question. you don’t have to get along with him. you just have to do the project- get a good grade and go back to ignoring him.

“send me a copy of your schedule so i can work out a time that suits us both to film the interviews- they shouldn’t take too long, most interviews only last a little under an hour now a days.”

you don’t look at him as you speak to him, instead opting to drawing little cats in the corner of your page as you explain your plan to him.

“oh um- okay.” he pauses slightly before continuing speaking. “yeah- um i’ll send you my schedule.”

that was oddly easy? of course your glad he didn’t fight you on this, but to say you weren’t expecting at least a little challenge would be a lie.

deciding not to dwell on his weird behaviour you take this as a win- you get to dictate your entire project which is obviously what you’d rather. when the bell rings to signify the end of the day your beyond thankful to it for getting you away from the increasingly awkward silence your having with bakugo at the moment. getting up you don’t even bid him goodbye as you meet up with your friends while leaving the class to make your way to the dorms.

it’s jirou and mina you meet at the doorway- immediately accepting their invitation to join them on their walk home.

the walk isn’t long- you listen as your friends catch you up on the work they’d done with their partners during class- expressing their excitement to work on something more media based.

“so uh- how’s having bakugo as a partner?” you roll your eyes at your pink friend. it’s no secret that your not a fan of bakugo. infact you go out of way to make it very clear to your friends your feelings about the boy.

“it’s weird. he’s totally letting me do all the work- of course i’m not complaining but i thought he’d try to argue with me with at least once.” explaining how he’d acted to your friends you feel just as confused as you did in class.

“wait- you mean he didn’t argue with you once? not even a single time?” confirming minas question you keep walking. it is weird. you don’t think bakugo has ever done a paired project without being utterly horrible to whatever pour soul had been paired up with him.

“i mean are we really surprised? i can’t think of a single time he’s ever actually insulted you.” you look at your purple haired friend as she talks. she’s right.

you don’t know why, but since the beginning of first year bakugo had never once said anything mean to you. not since you’d kept up with him on the quick assessment on your first day.

it’s weird. god it’s so weird and your grateful someone else has noticed it. he’s always so mean. never thinking twice before hurling abuse at the rest of your class while he seemingly never even thinks of throwing some at you.

you rather it that way. it gives you the perfect excuse to never have to speak to him.

“wait your right…” mina currently looks deep in thought before a sly smile erupts on her face. “maybe he’s got a crush!”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles in your chest. bakugo?? a crush?? even the idea sounds crazy. not once in your three years of being at UA had you ever heard of bakugo even being remotely interested in anything like that with anyone.

“bakugo definitely does not have a crush on me- are we sure he even has a romantic bone in his body?” jirou beside you laughs at that, a small chuckle escaping her. “it’s not the craziest explanation- maybe he’s got a soft spot.” you shoot her a kidding glare.

“don’t be silly guys. i’m sure there’s an actual reason- maybe he just can’t think of anything bad to say about me.” your thankful when the girls next to you both burst into giggles- giving you and opening to change the subject.

the idea scratches the back of your head the whole walk. you can’t stop thinking about it as you make your way into your own dorm, showering and changing before beginning to work on your project- your thirty minutes into the most recent mirko interview when you decide you need a break.

dinner. that will definitely solve your problems. your just hungry.

making your way into the kitchen your hopes of getting your mind off bakugo are immediately shut down as you see his figure behind the open fridge door.

for fucks sake.

it’s too late to turn around now. sucking it up you made your way over to one of the cupboards before taking out some bread- you’ll just make a sandwich. something quick to get you the fuck out of this kitchen.

you nearly make it out- your so close.

“so uh- how’s the project going?” your being punished. your now completely certain someone out there has something out for you.

“um yeah it’s going fine- i have your questions all written out i’m just getting started on mine.” you forced to look at him quickly when you place the bread back into the cupboard. it’s clear he’s just back from a very intense work out. the sweat in his hair makes that evident. he looks good.

what the fuck? you turn away quickly before he notices your quick stare as you pack up your food ready to take into your room.

“you did my questions first?” there’s a slight surprise in his voice as he questions you.

“uh yeah it was easier. there’s a lot more male heros so it was easier to find interview questions compared to females.” it’s a logical explanation- you miss the way his expression drops slightly when he listens to your reasoning.

“is that all your having to eat?” this is weird. is he making fun of you? no that’s not it. there’s not a mean tone in his voice- instead it’s something like concern.

“i’m not really hungry. just wanted a quick snack-“

“you should eat more.”

you need to get out of this kitchen. why is he being so nice to you? okay maybe he’s right. a sandwich is definitely not a hero course student meal but your currently far to confused and far too tired too care.

“goodnight bakugo.”

you don’t wait for his reply as you quickly make your way to the door, desperate to get away from whatever the fuck is going on right now. you debate making your way to minas room to debrief what just happened but decide against it. she’ll probably attempt to try and convince you about her stupid crush theory again and there’s absolutely no way that’s true.

the after effect of your late night hits you like a truck in the morning, after groggily getting up and forcing yourself to get ready you rush to class- nearly missing the bell while you step in only a few seconds before your teacher.

you spend the entire period in complete silence- focusing mainly on keeping yourself awake long enough to get home and go straight to sleep. your keeping your face up with your hand while it threatened to fall when you receive a note from your left.

you okay? you look like your seconds away from biting your desk. -k.b.

why on earth did he sign his initials on this stupid note as if you didn’t just watch him place it on your desk. you decide to take a minute to calm yourself so you don’t end up writing him back a mess of profanities.

you don’t even reply at all, deciding instead to crumple the note up extremely loudly before placing it in your pocket. you miss the dejected look on his face but you do hear the scoff. that bitch.

you can’t wait for the end of this stupid project, hoping that by the end of it you and bakugo will be able to go back to how you were before. he can go back to terrorising the rest of the class while you go back to ignoring him.

it’s beyond weird that he’s starting to talk to you. you assume he feels obligated because he’s your partner but you’d rather he just ignored you outwith strickly work related conversations.

your packing up for class when he nexts approaches you- placing a piece of paper in your hand as he walks by your desk.

“it’s uh- it’s my schedule.” right. you did ask him for that didn’t you? did he put this together last night? it’s extremely detailed- compiling exactly what he does everyday seven days a week, even having slots for studying and meal times.

scanning it over quickly you realise the only free time you share is saturday afternoon- tomorrow.

that works. if you get your interviews completely done during the weekend it means that this weird situation you’ve found yourself in with bakugo will be over by monday- it’s perfect infact.

“i’m free tomorrow afternoon too- i’ll meet you in the common room at 1 and we can spend a couple hours on it. hopefully we can have it done before dinner.”

“yeah um- that’s fine i’ll meet you at 1.” okay great. you take note of the fact this is the second plan you’ve made without bakugo arguing with you.

you leave the class in speed after that- wishing your friends a goodbye as you let them know you won’t be walking with them today, wishing to run straight to bed as your far too tired to spend time with them right now.

it’s hours later when you finally wake up- 7pm your clock reads. you’d really hoped that you would just have been able to sleep though the whole night- it seems the universe has other plans for you as you hear your stomach grumble. great.

your making your way down to the common room when you hear a mixture of voices from behind the wall.

“yeah it’s great- but bakugos the luckiest for sure. he’s working with yn on this and she always does well on this shit. maybe it’ll bring your hero media grade up.” it’s kaminari you hear first. your ears perk up when you listen to a mention of your name.

“yeah bakugo how is it? it’s gotta be great working with her. i’m totally jealous.” you manoeuvre quickly to hide yourself fully behind the wall now. they’ve not realised your here yet. you intend to listen fully to what they have to say about you.

“it’s alright- i guess.” you wish you could say you were surprised but alright? if he calls doing all the work for alright then you’ll never do anything for him ever again.

“come on bakugo there’s got to be more to it than that? you finally get her to talk to you yet-?” huh? what does he mean by that? finally getting you to talk to him?

“shut up shitty hair- it’s- no i haven’t!” he’s getting increasingly more frustrated as he continues.

“every time i attempt to make conversation she shuts me out completely. i- i don’t even know what im doing wrong.” his voice sounds rejected as he finishes his sentence. he’s been.. trying to talk to you?

why? it’s the first thing that crosses your mind. why after years of being in the same class- years of mutually ignoring each other why would he now make the decision he’s interested in talking to you?

you can’t listen to any more of this. forgetting all about your hunger you hastily make your way back to your dorm- attempting not to draw notice to yourself.

somehow finding yourself more tired than you were when you first made your way downstairs you flop yourself onto your bed with a confused sigh.

you just don’t get it. trying to wrack your brain for reasons why bakugo would all of a sudden decide he’s interested in you- you fail to find a logical reason.

maybe you should just sleep it off- after your interviews are done tomorrow you won’t have to speak to him ever again if your luckily. you can spend your days avoiding him during classes and in the corridors. it shouldn’t be that hard.

his friends words repeat in your mind. finally get you to talk to him? had he been interested in you for awhile? and for what?

maybe he had been looking for something to make fun of you for- it’s the only explanation you can come up with.

forging yourself to stop dreading over it you take that as your answer. bakugo katsuki is attempting to get close to you so he can find something to poke fun at you for.

you know in your mind that’s not it. even in your tired state you realise that the excuse your giving yourself isn’t the truth. however your far to exhausted- and apparently still hungry to let yourself stress over it any longer as you fall back into sleep.

your alarm wakes you up at a sharp 10am. it’s your emergency alarm for when you accidentally sleep in. fuck.

you have three hours before your supposed to meet bakugo and your already riddled with anxiety over it. waking up late forces you to miss your work out for the third day in a row- maybe you’ll be able to get one in later tonight.

opting to just start getting ready your able to take your time- an outfit choice isn’t needed, you’ll need to wear your hero costume if your doing “hero work.”

it’s 12 when you begin to start thinking about getting something to eat- your ready to leave now, your aswell heading down to the kitchen early.

your heading to your door when you get a knock, opening it expecting it to be one of your friends your shocked when you see- bakugo?

in his hand is a brown bag- the little logo of a local bakery is crumpled but you can still make it out, in the other is a coffee of some sort.

“you didn’t eat last night. picked you up something after my run.” of course he’d went on an early morning run- your almost jealous of his work ethic.

he got you breakfast? it smells good. you can’t remember the last time you went to that little bakery, you’d forgotten how much you missed it.

“how’d you know how i take my coffee?” his eyes shift to the floor at your question- nervousness clearly evident in his voice.

“i uh- i asked raccoon eyes. she said that’s always what you get.” of course he went to mina- it’s not wonder she keeps making crazy assumptions about the two of you.

you offer his a small smile when you answer him- maybe the first you’ve ever given him. “thank you bakugo.”

his eyes go wide at that- “um yeah it’s no big deal- i was getting something anyway.” did he eat it already? your foods still warm- it feels as though he ran straight here after getting it.

“you ready to go?” your snapped out of your trance when you tell him yes- picking up your bag you make your way to the training room that had been set up specifically for this project.

it looks like a real interview set- in the middle of the room is a long table with two chairs- both situated with microphones with a camera catching them both in shot.

you begin to set up straight away- bakugo insists on working on your interview first as a thanks for doing the rest of the work and you take him up on the offer, settling yourself into the seat of the interviewee as he situates himself beside you.

he looks slightly different from how he normally does- less angry, you think. he’s really gotten himself into character- dressing himself a smart-ish shirt, he’s put on his reading glasses, he looks kinda cute.

the lighting of the set is definitely doing wonders for him- you just hope it’s doing you the same justice. he coughs slightly next to you- seemingly to get your attention.

“you ready to go?” he’s looking at you patiently- urging you to take your time.

“i’m good to go- just try stay on script yeah?” your joking with him- similarly to how you would your other classmates. maybe this project isn’t so bad.

he does infact follow the script perfectly in the beginning- opening up your interview- introducing you to the “audience” as he begins the questions.

it’s the usual stuff- questions you’d answered a million times. who inspires you? why did you decide to be a hero? what type of hero do you wish to be? blah blah blah.

“if we asked your friends to describe what it’s like to be your friend- how would they describe it?” you love questions like these- you feel it gives fans a real feel for not only you as a hero- but you as a person.

“i’m hilarious- obviously. but if we’re being completely serious i’d probably describe myself as helpful? i always find joy in being able to help my friends with things their struggling with- it helps i get too tease them about it too.” you flash the “interviewer” a smile to only be met with a deadpan expression.

did you say something wrong? you thought that was a perfect answer- it paints you as a kind but funny person. what’s his problem?

“why do you do that?” his interviewer tone is gone now- seemingly given up on his part.

“do what?” your voice is laced in confusion but in reality your angry. it had been going so well up until now- no arguments, no insults- just getting the project done and now your going to have to start the whole interview all over again.

“your nothing like that- at least not to me.” he’s grumbling as he says it- looking directly at you with that same frustrated expression.

“what are you talking about.” your firm when you say it- edging him to just get to the point of whatever tangent he’s about to go on so you can get back to work.

“you-? it’s just you! your fuckin’ friends with everyone- it pisses me off.” your mouth is slightly agape- what does who your friends with have anything to do with him? you don’t reply.

“it’s just- everyone fuckin’ loves you- apparently your so fuckin’ great to everyone but i can never get that out of you-“ anger is rising in his voice as he continues- getting more and more frustrated as he keep struggling to explain how he feels.

“your always such a fuckin’ bitch to me- always ignoring me- never giving me the time of day and everything thinks m’ fuckin’ crazy because your just soo good.” your anger is suddenly matching his- your such a bitch to him?? does he have any idea about the way he treats people?

“oh that’s fucking rich coming from you- your maybe the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. no wonder i don’t wanna speak to you.” your furious- who does he think he is?? that he thinks he can dictate how you act towards people.

“what?” the tone is his voice is changed now- the anger that was there a second ago seems to have vanished- now replaced with sadness.

“and you ignore me too!- don’t act like our lack of communication is all my fault.” now it’s his turn to be in shock- he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you act like this before.

“your right bakugo- i am a bitch. i’m a bitch to you because i can’t stand you. i don’t like you, not one bit. your a horrible classmate- i can only imagine an even more horrible person just going by the way i hear you speak to people.”

you take a deep breath before you continue- finally allowing yourself to actually look at him- your vision a little blurry from anger, but you can see it clear as day- the complete expression of hurt written all over his face.

you wish you cared- you wished you maybe felt a little empathy for the boy but you don’t- you can’t. you’ve listened to the way he’s treated people for years and now that you’ve started you can’t stop.

“you don’t do it to me- i don’t know why and quite frankly i don’t care. but i hear it, i’ve heard it for years and i wont shy away from it anymore- i believe you to be a bad person bakugo, you’ll make a great hero- maybe. but that won’t change the fact i truly believe you to be a bad person.”

he still doesn’t say anything- the hurt in his face somehow even more evident as the tears threaten to spill from his eyes.

“right.”

he gets up without saying anymore more- grabbing his coat as he makes a b-line for the door- leaving you alone in this stupid interview set.

he’s such an idiot- and too think he really had a chance- of course you would see him for as he was.

he loved you- he had for years.

and you completely hated him.

[hookhausenschips]

Fingers in His Curls, Heart in Her Hands {LN4}

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Summary: Lando adored how Y/N’s touch in his hair made him feel both relaxed and on edge, unable to hide the thrill her fingers sent through him. Her playful obsession with his curls, especially his new mullet, brought out a tender, vulnerable side in him that he couldn’t deny, leaving them both captivated by each other’s presence.

WC: 5.7k

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A/N: It’s our boy’s 25th birthday🥹

Lando would never admit it outright, but there was something about the way Y/N’s fingers moved through his curls that made him feel a certain way. He loved it—more than he could say—but sometimes it made him feel a little too aware of her, of how close she was, of the way her touch made his skin tingle. It was like every gentle tug and soft scratch sent a spark through him, making him feel both calm and somehow electrified all at once.

The first time Lando came home with his new mullet, Y/N could barely keep her composure. She sat on their couch in their Monaco apartment, eagerly awaiting his arrival. He’d told her he was getting a haircut, but she’d never expected… this.

When he finally stepped through the door, wearing a cap low over his eyes, her curiosity peaked. As he sat down beside her, he took off his hat with a casual, “What do you think?” revealing the masterpiece beneath. Her heart practically stopped.

Y/N had always thought Lando was attractive, but this? This was another level. His hair, now wild and curly, faded on the sides and left longer at the back, gave him an edge she hadn’t seen before. She felt her cheeks warm up, a flustered grin taking over her face. She straddled his lap, his hands finding home on her hips. Her eyes locked onto his unruly curls. She had no choice—she reached over and ran her fingers through the soft, unruly curls.

"Lando," she whispered, her voice breathless, "I didn't think it was possible, but somehow, you got even more attractive." Her fingers wove through his curls, gently tugging, and he couldn't hide the way his eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he melted into her touch.

He grinned, playing it cool despite the way her hands made him feel. "Oh yeah?" he murmured, slipping his arms around her waist.

"You're really that into it?"

She laughed, leaning in to brush a kiss against his cheek. "Don't act like you didn't know. This is... dangerously good." Her hands moved up to trace the lines of the fade, grazing his scalp lightly, sending little jolts down his spine. She could feel his muscles tense and then relax as she explored every curl, the sensation grounding them both. "I'm obsessed, Norris. No one can tell me otherwise."

And from that day on, her obsession only grew. Every chance she got, her hands found his hair-whether they were walking around Monaco, cuddling in bed, or even out in public. She'd reach up with a playful grin, fingers grazing his neck and tangling in those unruly curls, and each time, Lando felt a little shiver, a blush creeping up his neck no matter how many times she did it.

He’d act unfazed, jokingly rolling his eyes or pretending to be exasperated, but deep down, he couldn’t deny how much he loved her fingers in his hair. There was something about the way her hands moved through the curls that made him feel completely at ease—and yet, a bit on edge.

One evening after dinner, they were walking hand-in-hand back to their car when she paused, turning to him with a mischievous look. Before he knew it, her hands were in his hair again, pulling him close by the curls at his nape, and he couldn't help but smile, feeling his cheeks warm.

Her fingers finding their familiar place in his hair, her nails grazing his scalp lightly, and he couldn’t help but shiver. “That… feels nice,” he mumbled, his voice coming out quieter than he intended. He felt a flush creep up his neck, and he tried to play it cool, glancing down at his shoes to avoid meeting her eyes.

She grinned, clearly catching on to his reaction. “Does it now?” she teased, giving a soft tug to one of the curls at the back, watching as he tensed up just a little before relaxing into her touch. She loved how easy it was to make him melt, to see that slight blush dust his cheeks whenever her fingers brushed over the sensitive spots at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t get cocky,” he muttered, trying to act unfazed, but he knew she could see right through him. She always did. The truth was, her touch did things to him—made him feel vulnerable in a way that was rare. He was used to being the confident one, the one who could tease her and keep his cool, but whenever her hands were in his hair, he felt that careful facade slipping.

"Oh, you love it," she whispered, wrapping a curl around her finger, her eyes locked on his. His breath hitched, and he bit his lip, trying not to give away how much he was enjoying it, but she knew. She always knew.

The next morning, as they sat in the hotel lobby waiting for his car to arrive, she reached up once again, letting her fingers trail through his curls. He leaned into her touch, eyes half-lidded with that sleepy, satisfied look she adored.

"You're really not going to let this go, are you?" he chuckled, glancing at her, trying to keep his cool but failing miserably.

"Not a chance." She smirked, tugging gently on a few strands before smoothing them back. "You did this to yourself, you know."

Lando let out a little laugh, his hand coming up to rest on hers as she played with his hair. "I didn't think it'd make you this obsessed."

"Well, you thought wrong," she replied, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Her hands drifted through his hair, each touch bringing a soft flush to his cheeks, and he loved it-the way she adored every curl, every inch of him.

"Good thing I'm not planning on going anywhere," he whispered, voice low and full of warmth.

“Mhmm, Good thing.” She whispered.

One of Y/N’s favorite things about Lando—aside from the mullet, of course—was how easily she could fluster him. She loved knowing the effect she had on the usually cool and confident driver, catching him off guard with a look, a word, or a simple touch. Today, she was in the mood to see that familiar flush rise to his cheeks, and she knew exactly how to make it happen.

Determined, she set off through the McLaren garage, weaving through engineers and crew members in search of him. First, she checked the garage itself, glancing around the car but not finding him there. His driver’s room was empty too, and she knew he didn’t have any meetings. But just as she was starting to wonder where he could be, she caught sight of a familiar head of curls, bouncing slightly with each scroll of his thumb.

There he was, leaning against the wall in a quiet corner of the McLaren unit. He was dressed in his team kit, the top half of his race suit unzipped and wrapped casually around his waist, revealing the black undershirt that clung to his frame. He was absorbed in his phone, looking effortlessly composed, a picture of calm and cool. But that was about to change.

She stood there for a moment, arms crossed, just admiring him. He hadn’t noticed her yet, but she could feel the anticipation building, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Soon enough, that calm demeanor would be shattered.

As if sensing her stare, Lando’s head lifted, his eyes locking onto hers. A smirk crept onto his face, and he raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Come here often?” he asked, voice low and teasing, eyes glinting with that familiar mischief.

Y/N stepped forward, a playful glint in her own eyes as she approached him, slowly closing the space between them. When she reached him, she rose on her toes, giving him a quick kiss that left him momentarily speechless, before leaning back with a sly smile. “Depends,” she murmured, her voice soft but challenging, “What exactly are you looking for?”

Lando’s gaze flicked between her eyes and her mouth, caught off guard by the spark in her tone. He opened his mouth to respond, but she reached up first, threading her fingers into his curls, her nails gently scratching at the nape of his neck. His breath hitched slightly, his composure cracking as she continued to play with his hair.

She moved her fingers slowly, winding a few curls around her fingers, taking her time. He bit his lip, trying not to react too much, but every touch sent a little thrill through him. “Y/N,” he said, his voice coming out softer, almost like a plea.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of warmth and a hint of playful mischief. “What’s wrong, Lando?” Her tone was innocent, but he could see that knowing sparkle in her eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “It’s just… well, you know…” He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he stumbled over his words. “You’re, um, kind of distracting.”

“Oh?” She laughed softly, looking completely unbothered, which only made him feel more flustered. She slid her fingers back down to the nape of his neck, scratching gently, and he felt a shiver run through him. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly, trying to regain some composure, but it was no use. Her touch had him feeling like putty in her hands.

He tried to look away, to hide the way his face was flushing, but she tilted her head, catching his gaze. “You’re so cute when you get all flustered, you know that?” she murmured, her smile softening as she ran her fingers through his curls again, slowly, almost lazily.

He tried to gain a bit of composure back. “Y’know, if you keep doing that, I won’t be responsible for what happens next,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though his smirk was still there, just a little less steady.

She laughed softly, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “Oh, is that right? Well, I don’t mind seeing you lose a little control, Norris,” she teased, tugging lightly at one of the curls, watching as a faint blush crept up his neck.

He chuckled, trying to keep his cool but failing as his hand slid to her waist, pulling her a fraction closer. “You know you’re trouble, don’t you?”

She looked up at him with a grin, the sparkle in her eyes enough to undo him completely. “Only for you, Lando.”

His smile softened, his gaze turning from playful to something warmer as he leaned down to kiss her properly, forgetting everything else around them.

One night as they lay in bed, the glow from the city lights casting a soft hue over the room, her hands found their familiar place at the nape of his neck, fingertips grazing the curls she adored. He let out a soft sigh, sinking into her touch, his arm wrapped around her, pulling her close.

“Y/N…” he began, but his voice trailed off as she continued, each movement sending a wave of warmth through him. He felt his usual confidence slipping, and for once, he didn’t mind. With her, he could let his guard down, let her see this softer side of him.

“You don’t have to hide it,” she whispered, her voice gentle, her fingers tracing light circles at the base of his skull. “I like it when you’re like this. When you just… relax with me.”

He swallowed, feeling his heart race as he met her eyes. “I… I just…” He hesitated, but her smile encouraged him. “I like it when you do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe a bit too much.”

She grinned, leaning in closer, brushing a kiss against his cheek, right by his ear. “Good,” she whispered back. “Because I could spend hours right here, just making you melt.”

And he did melt. He felt his shoulders relax, any lingering tension fading as her fingers continued their soft, familiar rhythm. Each gentle touch made him feel more vulnerable but also more connected to her. It was like she had this quiet power over him, one he didn’t mind surrendering to.

They laid there for a while, her fingers moving slowly, carefully, as if she wanted to savor every curl, every little shiver he gave in response. He felt his cheeks stay warm, the blush refusing to fade, but with her gentle smile and knowing gaze, he didn’t feel embarrassed.

Instead, he felt cherished, loved, and completely captivated by her.

Y/N was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him. Lando Norris had completely captured her heart, but if she were honest, his hair—that mullet—had an extra hold on her. It was a slight obsession, something she couldn’t keep her hands off, no matter how hard she tried. And truthfully, she didn’t even try to resist it anymore.

As they wandered through the hotel lobby in yet another city, his arm wrapped lazily around her shoulders, Y/N couldn’t resist reaching up to tangle her fingers in the familiar curls at the nape of his neck. Her fingertips grazed his skin lightly, sending a delicious little shiver up his spine. She loved the way his curls felt—soft but thick, unruly yet perfectly controlled. They faded short at the sides, then bloomed into that wild mess at the back, each curl begging her to play with it.

Lando chuckled, glancing down at her with an amused, slightly exasperated look. “Honestly, Y/N,” he said in a mock scolding tone, “is there ever going to be a moment you’re not running your fingers through my hair?”

She grinned up at him, completely unbothered. “Absolutely not. You’re the one who had to go and get the best hair in Formula 1.” She gave a little tug on one of the curls, watching it bounce right back into place, as if it too was resisting her, only to keep her hooked. It was impossible to ignore how soft it felt, like velvet under her fingertips.

Lando laughed, leaning into her touch despite his teasing, clearly enjoying the attention more than he was letting on. “I knew this mullet was a good decision,” he joked, but his voice softened, betraying just how much he appreciated her adoration. “Didn’t think it’d turn you into a complete addict, though.”

She tilted her head, giving him a playful pout. “Maybe it’s not my fault,” she murmured, voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. Her fingers traced the line of his fade, then sank back into the wilder curls at the back. “If you didn’t want me obsessed, you shouldn’t have made it so irresistible.”

His smirk faltered for a second as she touched him, his breath catching slightly. “So it’s the hair, not the driver?” he teased, trying to keep his tone light, though his eyes were starting to darken. “I see how it is, Y/N.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” she replied, a spark of mischief lighting her gaze. “I think it’s the whole package. But the mullet? Definitely a bonus.” She slid her hand up to the top of his head, brushing back the longer curls that always fell forward. Her fingers drifted through the soft waves, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring her touch. She loved how his face softened, his lips parting slightly as he leaned into her hand, completely relaxed, a faint blush rising in his cheeks.

Her fingers trailed back down, her nails grazing the skin at his nape, and he let out a soft sigh, tilting his head forward slightly as if inviting her to keep going. “Feels good, huh?” she whispered, her voice tinged with affection as she watched him practically melt under her touch.

“Maybe,” he mumbled, though his eyes remained closed, and the way his shoulders relaxed said far more than words. It was rare for him to let his guard down like this, but her touch had a way of softening him, breaking down his usual playful front. A low, contented sigh slipped from his lips as she kept up her gentle rhythm, his head tilting just so, inviting her to explore every soft curl.

She smirked, leaning in close, her voice teasing as she murmured, “Down bad for me, aren’t you?”

Lando’s eyes flicked open, and he grinned, his own playfulness reemerging. “Says the one who practically has her hands glued to my head,” he shot back, his tone warm. He leaned in, brushing his lips close to her ear. “But maybe I’m down just as bad as you are.”

That was all the invitation she needed. Her hands slid further into his hair, pulling him gently toward her until their faces were barely an inch apart, their breaths mingling. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, his lips just inches from hers, and she whispered, “You don’t even understand…” Her fingers tugged lightly at his curls, feeling the way they wound around her fingers, grounding her. “I think I could stay here forever, just like this.”

Her words seemed to break the last of his restraint. Without another word, he closed the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a slow, lingering kiss. It started soft, unhurried, but as her fingers continued to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding around her waist, drawing her flush against him. His other hand moved up, fingers brushing along her jaw as if he couldn’t get enough of being close to her.

Time seemed to stand still as they stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away. His lips were warm, gentle yet insistent, a mix of tenderness and barely contained need. She responded with the same intensity, her fingers exploring every curl, every inch of hair that had driven her to distraction, grounding them both in the moment.

When they finally broke apart, a little breathless, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still half-closed, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You really are obsessed with this hair,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

She laughed, brushing another curl out of his face, her own cheeks flushed. “Guess I am,” she admitted, grinning up at him. “Good thing it’s all mine.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against her cheek. “Good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere, then.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, and for a moment, they stood there, locked in each other’s embrace.

He smirked, pulling her even closer. “All yours,” he repeated, sealing his promise with one last kiss, slow and sweet.

“So the mullet really does it for you. That’s it?” He teased as they pulled apart.

“Lando, you have no idea.” She smiled, catching his hand and guiding it back to her shoulder, so she could reclaim her rightful place in his hair. Her fingertips traced little patterns against his scalp, sending another wave of shivers through him. She loved how responsive he was to her touch, how even a simple scratch at the nape of his neck could make him soften.

They stood there in comfortable silence, her fingers moving slowly, gently, until finally, he let out a low murmur, almost like a purr. “You’re going to put me to sleep if you keep doing that,” he whispered, but he made no effort to stop her.

“Maybe that’s my plan,” she replied, grinning. “Just keep you here, quiet and still, while I play with this perfect hair of yours.”

He let out a sleepy chuckle. “Fine by me,” he whispered, a warmth in his gaze that made her heart race.

—————————

Extras:

1. At the Track

They were waiting for the race briefing to start, and Lando was in full team kit, cap on and all. Y/N leaned casually against the wall nearby, watching as he laughed and chatted with his teammates, looking every bit the confident driver she knew and loved. His cap hid most of his curls, but she caught a few unruly strands poking out at the back, teasing her with every small movement he made.

Finally, as Zak called him over, Lando adjusted his cap, lifting it briefly to scratch his head. Y/N’s breath caught as his curls were fully visible for a moment, wild and free, framed perfectly by the fade on the sides. She bit her lip, trying to hide her grin, but she felt her cheeks warm as she realized she was staring.

After the meeting ended, she found him in the hallway, and her hands went instinctively to his cap, gently lifting it off to free his curls. “There’s the look I missed,” she teased, running her fingers through his hair.

He chuckled, clearly amused by her fascination. “You really don’t get tired of this, do you?”

She flashed him a grin, her hand tangling deeper in his hair. “You have no idea, Norris. These curls… they’re dangerous.”

He leaned down, his gaze softening as he tilted his head so she could play with his hair more freely. “Dangerous? Babe, they’re just curls.”

“To you, maybe,” she murmured, her eyes lingering on each curl as if they were her own personal addiction. “To me? They’re perfection.”

Lando laughed, clearly amused. “You don’t get tired of it, do you?”

“Not even a little,” she replied with a wink, adjusting his cap as her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. “It’s like you’re a real-life heartthrob, Norris. And this,” she tugged on a curl at the back, “is part of the magic.”

He leaned down, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Just part?”

She nodded, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Well, the rest of you isn’t too bad, either.”

2. During a Lazy Morning at Home

They had nothing planned, so they were taking full advantage of a slow, lazy morning. Lando was sprawled across the couch, head resting on Y/N’s lap as he stretched, his hair a delightful mess from having just woken up. The soft morning light filtered in, highlighting the curls that tumbled carelessly over his forehead and fell against her thighs.

Unable to resist, she reached down, fingers tracing gentle patterns in his hair. As she began to massage his scalp lightly, he let out a soft sigh, his body sinking further into her lap. “Mm… that’s heaven,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Oh, really?” she teased, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. She could feel him shiver slightly under her touch, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush.

“Yeah, really.” His eyes drifted shut, and a slow smile spread across his face. “If you keep that up, I’m going to be asleep in two minutes.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one obsessed.” She said.

He cracked one eye open, catching her gaze. “Yeah, but let’s keep that between us,” he replied, giving her a sleepy grin. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger.”

She laughed, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Deal. As long as I get to keep doing this,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his fade before drifting back to his curls.

3. At a Fancy Event

They were dressed to the nines, attending a high-profile event, and everyone around them looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine. Lando was in a sleek suit, his hair styled but still rebellious with a few curls falling out of place, giving him that effortlessly cool look she adored. Y/N, in her elegant dress, was hanging on his arm, but her mind kept drifting to the tempting curls at the nape of his neck.

As they stood mingling with a few of his friends, she couldn’t resist reaching up and brushing a curl back into place, her fingertips lingering for a moment. Carlos noticed, chuckling. “Y/N, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more in love with his hair than with him.”

She laughed, unabashed, glancing up at Lando with a wink. “What can I say? He makes it impossible to resist. Also have you seen him?”

Lando’s cheeks flushed as he leaned down, his voice a low murmur for only her to hear. “You know, if you keep doing that, I’m going to think you’re flirting with me.”

“Oh, I am,” she replied with a playful smile, her fingers grazing the curls again, sending a shiver through him that she could feel. “But I don’t think you mind.”

He swallowed, his voice dropping as he looked at her with a smirk. “Not even a little bit.”

4. A Casual Dinner with Friends

They were out with friends at a cozy restaurant, laughter filling the air as everyone shared stories over drinks and food. Lando was animatedly recounting a funny moment from the paddock, his hands moving expressively, his face lit up with excitement. Y/N watched him, smiling, completely captivated by the way he spoke and the curls that bounced with each movement.

Unable to resist, she reached up mid-story, gently brushing back a few curls that had fallen forward. He paused, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he shot her a look that was half-teasing, half-affectionate.

“Oh, sorry,” she laughed, her fingers lingering as she gently twisted a curl around her finger. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Their friends laughed, nudging Lando playfully. “Seems like Y/N’s got you wrapped around her finger, mate.”

Lando grinned, reaching up to take her hand in his, bringing it down to his lap, though his fingers laced with hers, keeping her close. “Or maybe she’s the one who’s wrapped around my curls,” he teased, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

She blushed, biting her lip as she looked up at him. “Touché,” she murmured, squeezing his hand back, feeling her heart flutter as his gaze lingered on her a moment too long.

5. Post-Race Celebration

The race was over, and adrenaline still coursed through Lando as he celebrated in the pits, drenched in champagne and absolutely beaming. Y/N ran over to congratulate him, laughter bubbling up as he caught her in a big hug, pressing her close despite being completely soaked.

“Lando, you’re getting me all wet!” she laughed, but her arms wrapped around him tighter, her hands instinctively reaching up to tousle his champagne-soaked curls. His hair was a beautiful mess, wild and free, and she couldn’t stop herself from running her fingers through it.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, and she reached up, fingers sinking into his wet curls. “You look like a rockstar,” she whispered, giving his mullet an affectionate tug. “A very sweaty, attractive rockstar.”

He laughed, pulling her in for a kiss. “Good thing you’re still into me, sweat and all.”

“Into you? I’m completely obsessed,” she replied, running her fingers through his curls, savoring the feel of them even now, champagne-soaked and wild. “I think I might be a little obsessed.” She said, tipping her head up to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. She could taste the champagne on his skin, and as she pulled back, she smiled.

He grinned, brushing a curl back from her face. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

6. Winding Down in the Paddock

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the paddock as they walked hand-in-hand back to the car, the day’s excitement slowly winding down. The light made Lando’s curls glow, highlighting each twist and turn in a way that made her heart ache with affection. Her hand slipped up almost unconsciously, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Lando stopped walking, turning to face her with a raised eyebrow, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “You’re at it again?” he asked, pretending to sound exasperated, though she could see the softness in his gaze.

She gave him a sheepish grin, her hand resting at the base of his neck. “Can you blame me? You’re the one who got this haircut and then made it my favorite thing.”

He shook his head, laughing as he leaned into her touch. “I’m starting to think you’re going to be keeping me around just for the hair.”

She pretended to think about it, giving a soft tug to one of the curls. “It’s a strong motivator,” she teased, moving her hand down to trace the line of his fade before bringing it back up to the curls.

Lando’s eyes fluttered shut as she continued to play with his hair, his usual confident exterior melting under her gentle touch. “If you keep that up, I’ll be asleep in no time,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep going,” she replied, her tone playful yet full of affection. She watched as his shoulders relaxed, and a look of pure contentment settled on his face.

They stood there for a few more moments, wrapped up in each other, his head bowed slightly as her fingers continued their gentle rhythm in his curls. She felt a deep warmth spread through her as he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against her forehead.

In that moment, everything felt right—the warmth of his curls under her fingertips, the soft sunset casting a glow around them, and the quiet certainty that they were exactly where they were meant to be.

7. FP1 Madness

It was nearing the end of FP1 in Mexico, and Y/N was keeping up with the session results from afar, her curiosity getting the better of her. She had noticed, though, that every single shot of Lando that day showed him with his cap firmly on his head, the brightly patterned McLaren hat never budging, and she hadn’t seen a single glimpse of his hair. She couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that maybe, just maybe, he had finally cut off the mullet she loved so much.

As soon as Lando was back in his hotel room, they connected on FaceTime, like they always did when she couldn’t be there. He appeared on her screen, still in his orange McLaren shirt and with that same cap on, looking a bit tired but happy to see her. His arms were crossed casually, and his cap was pulled down low, just like it had been all day.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted, giving her a small, tired smile, clearly unaware of her suspicions.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, trying her best to look unimpressed. “So… you’re just keeping the cap on all day now? Not even letting me see the hair?”

Lando’s eyes widened in mock offense, leaning a little closer to his phone camera. “What, you don’t like my hat?” he teased, adjusting the brim slightly to cover even more of his forehead, purposely obscuring any chance she might have of seeing his curls.

“Oh, I love the hat,” she said, crossing her arms to match his posture, giving him a playful glare. “But you’ve had it on all day. What’s up with that? Did you…?” Her voice trailed off dramatically, narrowing her eyes. “Did you cut off the mullet while I wasn’t there?”

Lando burst out laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why would I do that?”

Y/N gave him a look, trying to hide her smirk. “I don’t know, maybe you got tired of it, or maybe one of the guys finally convinced you to go back to a normal haircut,” she shrugged, feigning disinterest. “But if you did, you’d be too chicken to tell me.”

Lando leaned back, crossing his arms again and smirking at her through the screen. “You really think I’d get rid of the mullet and not tell you? I’m hurt, babe, I thought you trusted me.”

She rolled her eyes, feeling bratty, pushing him a little further. “I don’t know, Norris, you’ve been hiding under that cap all day. I haven’t seen one curl. Not one.”

He chuckled, clearly amused, but then his expression shifted to a playful challenge. “You really think I’d cut it? How about a little bet then?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, really? What kind of bet?”

He tilted his head, still keeping his cap firmly in place, clearly enjoying dragging this out. “If I still have the mullet, you owe me… a full day of whatever I say when I get back.”

She laughed, narrowing her eyes playfully. “And if you don’t have it?”

“Then I’ll… take you wherever you want for a weekend. No complaints, no caps, just you and me.”

Y/N pretended to think it over, finally nodding. “Alright, deal. Now show me.”

He leaned in close to the camera, holding his finger to his lips, “Only if you promise not to freak out.”

Her eyes widened, a little more nervous now. “Lando… just show me!”

He grinned, clearly savoring the moment, before slowly, dramatically, lifting his cap just enough to reveal the back of his head. And there it was—the mullet, in all its tousled glory, with the sides perfectly faded and the curls at the back just as messy as ever.

Y/N gasped, covering her mouth, then let out a laugh, relieved and slightly annoyed. “You absolute tease! You had me convinced!”

Lando burst into laughter, finally taking the cap off completely, running a hand through his curls with a smug grin. “You really thought I’d cut it off without telling you? Babe, you’re the one who keeps begging me to keep it.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes but feeling a rush of affection. “Okay, okay, you win. I’ll admit it, you had me worried.”

“Worried, huh?” He leaned closer to the camera, giving her a smirk. “Don’t worry, babe, this mullet’s sticking around. Just for you.”

She sighed, playfully exasperated, but couldn’t help smiling. “Good, because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to those curls yet.”

He grinned, shaking his head, “Glad to know you’re just here for the hair.”

She smiled back, giving him a little wink. “Maybe I am.”

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @cheyennep3107, @d3kstar

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @ysnhua, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jack Howl - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Sports Field]

[tup, tup, tup]

Jack: Pant, pant… I could really feel the burn on those last 20 meters.

Jack: What's my time…? Oh, not bad. I'll have to remember this feeling for next time. Alright, guess it's time to stretch and head back to the dorm.

Riddle: Are you doing solo practice after your club activities once again? You sure are diligent, Jack.

Jack: Oh, Riddle-senpai. When you say "again" like that… did you already know that I always stay behind longer?

Riddle: Well, when the Equestrian Club ends our activities for the day and leave the stable for our respective dormitories, we do pass by the field.

Riddle: I've spotted you running by yourself many times before. Are you training for a meet of some kind?

Jack: Ah, actually, recently my times have been fairly stagnant, so I've been trying to adjust my running form.

Jack: Nothing I was doing was really working… But I think I've really started to figure out what I need.

Jack: For now, I plan on heading back to my dorm and, starting tomorrow, I'll focus on working on my newest running posture.

Riddle: A good decision. It would not do for you to injure yourself by overworking.

Riddle: Besides, a student's priority should be their studies. Passion is well and good, however you would do well to not neglect your studies.

Jack: No need to tell me twice. I don't plan on neglecting my practice nor my studies whatsoever.

Jack: I made it here to Night Raven College, after all. I'll put forth even more effort so I can achieve even more.

Jack: Even if it's the day before my birthday, I'll have to continue doing my best… No, I'll have to do even better than my best.

Riddle: Oh, is your birthday tomorrow?

Riddle: Then I'm sure there's much for you to prepare. It would be rude of me to continue to keep you, so I'll leave you now.

[Riddle walks off]

Jack: Eh…? Oh, sure. Thank you, Riddle-senpai.

Jack: …Did I just say out loud that it's my birthday tomorrow? I hope he doesn't think I'm excited about it, or anything…

Jack: Ughhhh. Nah, it's no good worrying about something that's already done! Time to stretch!

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Jack's Room]

Jack: Whew… I feel much better after a shower. Guess it's time to finally get to my homework.

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Jack's Room]

Jack: Guess that's enough of reviewing today's lessons. I gotta put my homework in my bag before I forget, too…

[Roommate A speaks up]

Jack: … Huh? You wanna copy my homework before I put it away? I didn't work on it to help you guys out, why would I show it to you, anyway?

[Roommate B talks back]

Jack: You don't know the answers? Well, that's your fault for not listening during class. Don't come begging me for scraps.

Jack: Ugh, look at 'em, all grumbling over something stupid. Anyway… I guess I just have "that" left to deal with before going to bed.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Jack: So they're looking for campus life improvements, huh. Well, there's the fact that some can be irritating just because they're a year or two older…

Jack: But it's not like the academy can really do anything to help improve personal problems. So, I guess…

Jack: I know I'd like it if they could do something about the rule that freshmen must live 4 to a room.

Jack: It's stressful enough having to share a small room with someone else, let alone 3 other people.

Jack: I can't wait for next year. Sophomores live 2 to a room, so it should be way better than right now.

Jack: There'll be more space in the room then… And I'll be able to find more sunlight for my cacti as well.

Jack: Even though I was able to beat the others to the spot that would provide the most light back when I first got here…

Jack: It's still not enough. Compared to the rooms reserved for the upperclassmen, it's still not as bright here, so I have to take extra care of the little guys.

Jack: Cacti are just like humans in that they don't do well if they don't get enough sunlight.

Jack: …That reminds me of back home for some reason. When winter comes, I always see people here and there sunbathing.

Jack: As a kid, I thought they were just lazy, and couldn't figure out why they'd want to just lounge out under the sun…

Jack: When I learned that there were health-related reasons behind it, I was both surprised and impressed.

Jack: It's not like I've been lacking any chances to be out under the sun ever since I've come to Sage's Island…

Jack: But if I could have a room big enough to roll out a rug, it might not be so bad to lay out and sunbathe on it a bit.

Jack: Alright… I've finished filling out the survey, so I guess it's time to sleep.

[roommates chattering]

Jack: Hey! You guys are being way too loud. How long're you gonna be at it?

Jack: You all better go to sleep right at lights out tonight… 10PM is bedtime! Don't keep me awake!

Jack: …Yeah, like those guys'll listen to what I say.

Jack: I should go back to the survey and ask for a canopy bed… Or maybe a partition.

Jack: Sleep is important for me to build my muscles… So I can't have them keeping me up… Yaaawn…

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Jack's Room]

[alarm blaring]

Jack: …Mm, is it morning already? Welp, then. First things first after waking up…

Jack: There's no question about it. TIME TO REPLENISH QUICKLY WITH SOME PROTEIN!!

Jack: I need to gain back all the nutrients I lost while sleeping. I'll swing by the kitchen for a protein drink and then head towards the washroom.

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Washroom]

[splash, splash]

Jack: Whew… No one's awake at this time, so it's nice and quiet here.

Jack: …Man, no matter how I look at it, my hair is tousled into a real mess. This happens every morning, sure, but…

Jack: Since I have thicker hair, it's so hard to tame the bedhead. Ah, tsk, there's even some pillow marks on my ears.

Jack: Well, I guess I'll just start with wetting the roots of my hair and then use the dryer while pulling the strands back…

[blow-dries hair]

Jack: Once the unruly strands are tamed, I'll comb it… Good, it's more or less better now. If I don't do this first, it ends up taking longer in the end.

Jack: I've tried a bunch of different hair products, but I ended up liking this wax the best.

Jack: Hair gel might be better to keep the shape, but it gets too stiff and takes too long to wash out.

Jack: Only using wax means that my hairstyle starts to lose its hold around evening time, but all I need to do for that is to just fix it up in the afternoon.

Jack: Nice, that looks good. All that's left is to spray it a bit…

[sprays hair]

Jack: Normally I won't use it 'cause I don't like it to get on my ears, but I want to make sure I look spot on today of all days.

Jack: As for makeup… Nah, I'll go without, like usual. I'd like to look good, but I don't want to get all dolled up or anything.

Jack: I'll just use my normal sunscreen. Can't say I really like how it feels on my skin, though…

Jack: But I remember the first time I ever went skiing by myself and the pain I went through when I forgot to apply sunscreen.

Jack: The way I got burned by the sun reflecting on the snow and I had to live with the embarrassment of the goggles leaving that imprint on my face… Augh, I don't even want to think about it again.

Jack: But thanks to that, I finally understand why my parents wouldn't shut up about not forgetting to put on sunscreen.

Jack: Looks like there's a bunch I'm able to understand more as I grow up, like that whole sunbathing thing. Guess that's another reason why it's fun to grow older.

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Jack's Room]

Jack: Alright. Now that I look presentable, I think I'll stretch out my muscles to prep for morning practice.

Jack: Phew… This old chair they supplied the room with really comes in handy for stretching.

Jack: Right after we got grouped together, none of us wanted it so we kept trying to shove it onto each other, but that was just a pain to deal with, so I kept it…

Jack: It's hard, sturdy, and it doesn't wobble so easily. Plus, the size is just perfect for someone of my height.

Jack: Next, I'll step onto the seat and… I guess I'll look over my class notes while I stretch, as usual.

Jack: I think we were on this page of the textbook for Magical History…

Jack: "The following year, the ancient incantations that were inscribed on the cave walls were successfully deciphered. The gathered mages then attempted to speak the ancient incantations…"

[Roommate B complains]

Jack: …Huh, what, I'm too loud? My voice woke you up? Well, good timing, the sun's almost up. Get up, already!

[Main Street]

Jack: Urk, is that who I think it is over there…? …Good morning, Riddle-senpai.

Riddle: Good morning, Jack. Have you finished with morning practice already?

Riddle: Happy Birthday. That's all I came here to say.

Jack: …Of course it was about that. Sorry to be a bother about it. I didn't mean to let it slip yesterday…

Riddle: Heh, you're no bother. We may be of different dormitories, however it is the duty of us upperclassmen to support our underclassmen.

Riddle: You should continue to do your utmost. …Of course, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that.

Jack: Yes, sir! I'll keep on improving!

Requested by @farfalla049.

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | Two | Bradley Bradshaw

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Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell. age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Bradley rents a bungalow about twenty minutes from base, towards the south of the San Diego bay. He explains, on the drive there, while she is hugging an overnight bag of her things, that he’s been renting it from this sweet old lady for the past four years — but he’s only been living in it for about three quarters of that time, with deployments.

He talks a lot. Shooting halfway amused looks across at him every now and again as he talks over his music, explaining his entire rental history, Avery just lets him go on and on.

Maybe he’s worried that the silence will give her room to start tearing up again, but she knows that won’t happen — it was already a rare occurrence, just the once. 

She lets him talk. He doesn’t seem to mind how much attention she’s paying either. Anything other than silence is fine, even if he’s the only one filling it.

The respite comes when he parks in the driveway, hops out, and proudly displays the home to her. It’s white all over and covered in plants, all up the driveway and over the porch. There’s a surfboard sitting on the porch, waxed up and looking ready to go.

Inside is masculine and simple, and spotless. It looks more lived in than Maverick’s place, but in an exceptionally organised way. 

Just past the front door, he has an organised entryway with a closet and one of those shoe racks that looks like an end table. 

Beyond that, his living area is all open plan. His kitchen is to the left right as you walk in, and the living room is the clear focus. He’s got a big grey sectional pointed at a big tv with a stack of video games beside it.

He doesn’t ask her to take her shoes off by the door, but she copies politely when he kicks his off. 

That leaves her, blue and white tube socks, toeing against the chewed up corner of the area rug while he busies himself with fixing the few things he deems to be out of place. 

Itching to keep moving, she prods at the fabric, examining the teeth marks, wondering where the dog must be.

“Oh— that was my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I’ve been meaning to buy a new rug.” He explains, furrowing his brows at the spot as he tosses a throw pillow down onto his soft looking grey couch. “Um — so, I do have a guest room, but it’s kind of a gym right now. You can just make yourself at home, and I’ll go get everything out of your way.”

“I can take the couch.”

“No, no, you deserve some privacy at least. I’ll just be a sec — I have sodas and beers in the fridge, glasses are in the cabinet to the right. Help yourself.” He’s a good host, and a better one than she had been yesterday, considering that Maverick’s place is now technically her own.

As he heads for the long, stretching hallway, she shoots a look back down at the mauled rug. With how spotless the rest of this place is, he must have really liked that girl to let her bring her dog here, and to let it chew up his stuff.

She wonders, aimlessly, if he was mad about it. If they argued. If they broke up long ago.

Avery hasn’t had too many relationships of her own. Some mediocre sex and a couple of couch-based movie dates here and there, nothing to write home about. 

She sits cautiously, sinking into the pillowy cushion of the couch, taking the time finally to really look around her. The space is bright, with big windows all around and a view of the bay. There’s a sun catcher dancing from the curtain rod, casting rainbows across his wooden floors.

Maybe his ex had bought that, too.

The bungalow is small, but it fits all of his belongings with an abundance of space left. Avery thinks back to her father’s place, always cluttered and spilling over with junk, treasure from his years of travels.

Maybe Bradley is a little bit less sentimental about keeping things.

He rattles around in the room at the end of the hall for a while, huffing occasionally. While waiting on the couch, she considers getting up and offering to help a few times, but ultimately convinces herself against it.

“Alright! Fresh sheets and some space to move, there’s still a bunch of stuff in there but I tried to get it out of your way.” He comes strolling back down the hallway and drops down onto the couch at her side, letting out a heavy sigh.

She screws her mouth up a little, looking across at him while he rests his eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. His long legs, covered by worn denim, stretch out far enough that he has to bend them around his coffee table.

When one hand comes up to card through his mussed curls, she catches sight of the tattoo inked across the expanse of his bicep. LXXXVI. ‘86. She starts to think on it, letting him enjoy his moment of peace, when he shifts and startles her enough to drag her eyes away from his flexing arm.

“Thanks, for everything,” Avery manages to still sound a little cautious in her tone, even when she’s rushing to speak. “Staying last night, driving me around today, letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles without opening his eyes, reaching out and letting his hand pat skim across the seam of her jeans, patting at her knee platonically.

“Any time.” He breezes, cool. 

The first night is uneventful. Avery sleeps restlessly on the futon in Bradley’s spare bedroom, turned home gym. 

She pretends that she doesn’t see the numbers on the sides of the weights, and pretends also that she doesn’t give a little bit of her imagination to the way that tattoo must move when he lifts them.

When she wakes up, Bradley is gone and there is a note on the kitchen counter explaining that he went for a run. He was gone for two hours, trying to run far enough that the sick, hot, thudding feeling in his chest would stop.

Back at the house, Natasha stops by and spends the afternoon. She lets herself into the place with her key, which sits on her own keychain like she’s had it for a while. Watching a sitcom from the armchair while they sit beside each other on the couch, Avery notices that the two of them are very close.

She wonders if Natasha happens to have a dog.

Sleep doesn’t come any easier for either one of them the second night. When he finally catches sight of the red, flashing declaration on his alarm clock that it is now 2:01am, Bradley gives up.

He tries to be quiet as he’s getting up, careful not to wake Avery. They’re in much closer quarters in his place than they had been back at Maverick’s house, her door is right opposite his across the narrow hallway.

He pads down the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, tossing up whether he’s going to try to drink something warm and go back to bed, or if he’s just going to stay up. He can’t keep not sleeping.

He almost heads straight for the kitchen, freezing in his tracks as he finally takes note of the blue light coming from his living room, and the sound of women’s voices. It takes him a second, even though he’d been being so considerate on her behalf, to remember that he has a guest over.

“Ave?” He mumbles. 

The TV immediately falls silent. She winces from her spot on the couch, craning her neck to try to see him at the edge of the hallway.

“Just me. I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” She sounds worried. He’s still half asleep. 

He shakes his head as he steps out from the shadows and heads for his kitchen. “No, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I couldn’t sleep.”

He passes by pretty quickly, concealed behind the kitchen island in just a few steps. Still, she saw him. Illuminated only by the light of the television, wearing a tight pair of black boxer briefs and dog tags around a silver chain. Long, muscled legs and tapered hips. 

Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.

Her mouth is dry as she mumbles out a soft, “Me either.”

“D’you want a tea?” He stands with her back to her now, reaching around in the darkness of his kitchen. She stares, unblinking, at his back.

“You drink tea?”

“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.”

Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”

He scoffs without looking. “Of course I have green tea.”

This whole lack of sleep thing isn’t new to him. It comes with the grief, but it’s there even when he feels like he isn’t grieving anymore. Since he was a kid, Bradley has had thoughts that keep him up at night, thoughts bad enough to stir him from peaceful, pleasant dreams.

He’s tried every tea in the catalog.

He carries the two mugs across the living room without once noticing the way he’s been stared at. He sets hers down on a cute little wicker coaster on his coffee table, walking past and dropping down onto the corner of the sectional.

His legs stretch out and he shifts and twists until he finds himself comfortable. “What’s this?”

She sets her gaze steadily on the television, her hands in her lap, wondering if he’s this brash with all of his house guests. With a swallow, she shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, it’s just this TV show about a columnist in New York in the nine—“

“Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.

Until, the light from the television catches on the silver of his dogtags. Her gaze drops, like a flicker, to his bare, toned chest — and she swiftly looks back to the television.

“You’ve seen it?” She asks softly.

He’s beyond good looking. He’d always been okay looking, he’d had a nice smile in all of those pictures she had seen. But now, the roundness of his cheeks is gone and he has grown into his nose, his lips are a shade of pink that would be a bestseller in cosmetics. 

Avery curses herself; she had been pretty successfully pretending not to notice that he had gotten good looking. Then, he comes strolling down that hallway and making her tea from his apparently extensive collection, having the nerve to sprawl across his own couch looking like that. 

Across from a girl who hasn’t seen any action in the better part of a year too. 

She almost scowls. 

“Every episode,” He answers gleefully. At first, she thinks of Natasha or that mysterious girlfriend with the badly behaved dog. Then, he adds, “This was my mom’s favourite TV show, ever.”

And suddenly, she feels a little guilty for acting like those muscles make him some kind of ladies’ man. Just because the rest of them have been, she guesses. 

Bradley seems like a nice guy. He slept in a bed clearly meant for a child all night last night, and he let her take the first shower this morning, he chased her across the parking lot and offered to fix all of her problems in one fell swoop. 

Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.

She glances across, watching him chuckle at a classic Samantha one-liner and take a sip of a raspberry herbal tea. Wrinkling her nose, she settles back down into the spot she had been relaxing in, and lets herself zone out again. 

They watch a couple of episodes. Unlike earlier, Bradley doesn’t feel the need to talk. He likes the quiet, mixed with their frequent chuckles. It’s an okay thing, to not have to fill that silent void. 

Avery is the first to excuse herself to go back to bed, and she hasn’t once mentioned his little Calvin Kleins or the way they make his thighs look. 

As she walks away, Bradley catches himself. He hadn’t much thought about what she might wear to bed, or what she’d been wearing when he first sat down with her. Her hips wiggle in her stride, her fitted pyjama shorts hugging her ass as she heads for the guest room. 

The material of her loose t-shirt is tucked in at the back. Those cotton shorts hug her hips and show off just the tiniest glimpse of her round ass, from where they have ridden up a little.

He looks away before she’s even out of view, but it doesn’t change what he had been thinking. She’s Pete’s kid, for gods’ sakes. Not much of a kid anymore, but still, it wouldn’t be right.

Man, Maverick would hate it, too. 

Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

With her dad gone, it just makes it worse.

These next few weeks are going to be hard, and the least he could do is think with his head to keep things simple between the two of them. He heads back to bed late enough for it to almost not be worth it. 

He wakes to the sound of chaos over the comms, that same last conversation, those snowy peaks behind his eyelids. 

Mouth dry, heart thudding, his eyes are still shut when he stumbles out into the hall and twists the bathroom door handle. It jams, and he remembers. The sounds of water coming from behind the door stops abruptly.

Peeking her head around the shower curtain, already wincing, Avery calls back out to him. “Sorry! I’ll just be a second!”

“No — sorry, take as long as you want.” He calls back, shaking his head and heading for the kitchen. Restless and anxious, he splashes cold water across his face and thinks about Pete.

He saw Mav do this insurmountable times. He remembers all of the mornings that Mav would wake up gasping, shaking, and he would head straight for the bathroom, bolting the door. He’d come back out okay again. He wonders if Mav still did it, even all these years later.

If he still heard Goose’s voice through the comms, calling him out of his dreams. 

The thought makes him shudder. The bathroom door unlocking makes him flinch, looking up sharply. 

Avery steps out of the bathroom, her hair still dry and tied back, droplets of water still beading along the skin and flowing under the plush blue towel she had taken from the linen closet. He had told her to help herself, but he’s staring at her now and she’s second guessing herself.

He stands at his kitchen sink, his hands braced against the countertop, his knuckles white. She barely even notices his little Calvin Kleins. Her brows knit together as she takes a step toward him, barely visible around the corner.

“Hey… are you okay?” Her face creases with concern, lingering in the hallway so that he can see her just enough.

He remembers to let go of the countertop.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, unconvincingly, reaching up and shaking a hand through his tangled curls. He takes a second, trying to gather his thoughts enough to keep the conversation moving. “Were you still thinking you’re gonna need a job while you’re here?”

She blinks, her scrunched up face relaxing as she takes another step closer, cocking her head at him.

“Um, yeah. I think so.”

He nods. “Get dressed. We’ll go see my friend in a bit, can see if it’s something you might be interested in. Maybe, then we’ll take your car to a mechanic this afternoon.” 

Out of the house, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s just sleeping, that’s all. When he’s really awake, he can control it all a little better, it doesn’t get to him as much.

He drives the same way he had yesterday. Three fingers around the bottom of the wheel, seventies music playing. Today, the windows are down. Avery makes a pretty good passenger — she doesn’t ask him to change his music and she doesn’t put her head in the way when he’s trying to check his mirrors.

Mainly because she isn’t once watching the road, but that’s okay. 

She looks around the city like she’s seeing it for the first time. Mav lived her for longer than she’s been alive — and the entire place seems foreign to her.

Bradley knows both of his parents’ hometowns like the back of his hand, and he still hasn’t ever lived in either one of them. 

“Did your dad ever tell you about Penny?” He asks so calmly, drumming his fingers along the wheel, Ray-Ban caravans sitting across the bridge of his nose.

The look that Avery shoots him gives him more than enough of an answer. She sets her phone down in her lap and studies him, frowning slightly.

“Who’s Penny?”

Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”

A product of one of Maverick’s ‘good friendships’ herself, Avery doesn’t need Bradley to explain to her what that means. It makes her a little less excited to get to wherever he’s taking her. 

With one quick glance across, he catches the little frown settling across her lips.

“She owns that bar on Breakers Beach. We drove past it yesterday when we saw Admiral Simpson?” Bradley prompts her, glancing across at the passenger seat. She nods along. “I texted her yesterday and she really wanted to meet you, said you can have some shifts there if you want them.”

Avery wrinkles her nose, trying not to frown across at him when he’s doing his best to just be helpful.

“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips. 

“She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?” 

Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.

But, he had heard of Mav’s experience with Penny Benjamin a long time before he had actually gotten to meet Penny Benjamin. Really, he’s surprised to find that Avery has never heard of her, she and Mav were really on and off for quite a while.

He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.

Which means that he would want Bradley to keep the fact that he had seen Mav and Penny leave the bar together three times in the weeks leading the mission to himself too.

“Yeah. Like a long time ago.” He confirms.

“Alright, okay — yeah, this’ll be good,” Avery sounds more like she’s giving herself a pep talk than like she’s replying to him. He shoots her a smile and a nod anyway. “Thanks, again, by the way. You’re cool for setting this all up.”

Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.

Reaching across the centre console, he gives her knee a quick squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mitchell.”

Briefly, his palm lingers there. It’s just because he’s focusing on turning into the parking lot, but it’s still his large palm hugging the curve of her knee for a minute longer than it should have.

Completely over the thick protection of her jeans, but she stares at the touch anyways. Then, she dares to look back up at him. Totally relaxed as he pulls into a spot up front like it’s his own personal one. 

One more squeeze, and he takes his hand back and swings open the door. The parking lot is surprisingly busy for the middle of the week at noon.

 Avery follows him out of the vehicle, gingerly matching his pace as he heads inside. It’s once he’s spotted that she falters. 

“Rooster!” Someone even taller than he is comes marching up right away and throws his arms around Bradley. Bradley hugs him loosely, greeting him with an aloof but firm pat of the back.

“Payback.” He greets quietly.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you holding up?” His warm eyes bore into Bradley, his head bowed slightly and his voice sincere. He hasn’t spotted her yet.

“I’m alright,” Bradley sounds convincing enough, but this Payback guy hadn’t seen how rattled Bradley had looked this morning. “This is Avery.” 

Finally, Payback’s gaze flickers to the girl standing behind Rooster. Halfway tucked behind his shoulder, staring at him through her lashes, looking totally lost and sheepish.

“Mav’s kid?”

In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.

Swinging his arm out and throwing the heavy limb around her shoulders, Payback watches Rooster drag the stunned girl out from behind him and present her at his side. “It’d pay you to learn your new bartender’s name, Fitch.”

He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.

Still, he smiles at her like he means it and nods his head respectfully.

“Already got it, it’ll be good to have you around, Avery.” 

A small smile works its way across her lips, grateful if not anything else.

“Nice to meet you.” She answers him quietly, stiff against Bradley’s side. He pats her back and urges her forwards.

“Here, this is Penny. Penny, meet your new bartender.”

Penny Benjamin is tall and striking, standing behind the bar with her eyes already on the new bartender. There’s a recognition and affection in the blue of her gaze that tells Avery she was lied to just a moment ago.

That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.

It puts a bad taste in her mouth, a pit in her stomach, a sudden coldness about the possibility of this job. Even if just for a short time, for however long she’s here, she’s just going to be an extension of the man she had always felt so far from.

Penny cocks her head to the side, just a bit. Sure, she can see semblances of Pete in the girl across from her, but it’s the rigid, flighty look in her eyes that catches Penny’s attention. 

Across from her is someone with something to prove, and a character they’ve been playing for a long time now. That’s what feels most familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Avery says stiffly, trying to sound like she means it. 

Penny nods, smiling. She glances towards Bradley, then back to the girl still tucked under his arm.

“You too. Let’s talk.” 

As Jimmy takes over the bar duties, Bradley’s left with the prospect of facing his friends when Penny and Avery disappear toward the back deck.

He scratches at the back of his neck, shooting one last look at the two of them over his shoulder, and wondering what he’s supposed to say to all of those guys. 

One by one, he could manage… but all in a group like that? — He hasn’t seen most of them since it happened. 

It’s Natasha that he can trust to catch his eye first, giving him that kind of look cautious parents give their kids when coaching them on a bike. She worries a lot for someone who swears that she doesn’t care about the meatheads she hangs out with.

He heads for her as coolly as he can manage, hoping that the other guys know not to give him a hard time today. They don’t, they never would. 

His therapist says it’s a defensive thing, the way he waits for people to say the wrong thing. When he’s hurt, he expects it, almost. He’s trying to get out of it. 

They can all give him credit for that.

Even so, it doesn’t take long for conversation to fade from small talk to the newest, most exciting subject.

“So, she’s staying at your place?” Natasha’s the first one to bring up the missing party, picking up on a comment about the two of them arriving together.

Bradley shakes his head and fiddles with his root beer bottle. “No, she’ll be over at Mav’s place once we get her car fixed up. It’s a real piece of shit, I don’t even know what they’d do to make it run any better.”

“Mav loves cars — and he lets her drive a shitbox like that?” It’s Javy who scoffs that out, the only one still talking about the Captain who had taken a shine to him in present tense. 

Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.

“She came all the way down here by herself?” Callie asks. She doesn’t say it, but she’s referring to the fact that her mother came all the way out to Lemoore to try to move her into the barracks like it was college when she was that age. 

Bradley shrugs again. He hasn’t heard much about Avery’s mom in the past twenty years, he isn’t even sure that he ever met her — certainly wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. All he knows is the gossip he’d gotten from his mom when it was all going down. 

“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question. 

“Okay, I think.” Bradley muses, thinking of how quickly Avery had questioned the recovery efforts yesterday. “I dunno how close they were, but it’s always gotta be hard. Just… trying to make it a little easier on her, I guess.” 

They all nod, slowly.

And then Avery comes marching back inside, her chin high and her hair a little wind-swept, making a beeline right for the closest thing she’s got to a friend in this town.

“Hey.” Bradley offers her a smile, and reaches out for her. His hand grazes the back of her bicep, and she smiles more genuinely than she has in the past two days.

“Hi.”

He catches sight of himself being watched, and takes a look back over Avery’s shoulder to find Penny looking. Her blue eyes flicker down to his hand on Avery’s arm. 

Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.

Penny knows Bradley well enough to know that. He’s always been a very affectionate guy. Still, the look that she gives him is one that certainly, and silently, tells him to keep his hands to himself. 

He blinks, and finds his friends looking back at him expectantly. 

“So, you’re taking the job?” He checks, shaking off Penny’s watchful eyes and settling back into what he knows. Avery nods her head at him.

“Starting tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That’s way soon. He’s going to have to make sure he doesn’t keep her up until four in the morning watching the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw tonight. 

“Well, guys, say hi to your new bartender.” 

He brings the bottle of rootbeer back up to his lips and shoots a quick glance back over Avery’s shoulder. Penny stares back, unfazed, as he narrows his eyes back at her.

What does she know about anything, anyways?

…

[sickwhispers]

hii could I request some rodger x reader..

QUITE THE CHARMER

Pairing: Rodger x reader

Relationship: romantic

Warning: none

Type: headcanons + drabble

"Y/n?" Toodles stands behind you, a curious look on her face as you turn around to face her. It wasn't unusual for her to ask you questions out of the blue, especially when the team was able to relax for a bit after another run, considering she was always such a curious little thing. And, you never minded answering. "Why does Rodger call you his sweetheart?

To say you were shocked was an understatement

Sweetheart?

Sure, you've heard him throw the word around before

But, usually he kept that sort of nickname saved for when you two were alone

And, most of the time, you had always assumed it was just something having to do with his overall persona

Referring to you as sweetheart in front of others, though?

That was new

He was always the type to be gentle with you, and maybe even a little protective

He cared for the others, there was no doubt about that, but he seemed to be more cautious when you or toodles were teamed with him

An airhorn hidden in his pocket, purposely messing up during an extraction, keeping extra tapes in case dandy were to sale aid

All things he did in case you two were in trouble

In full honesty, he knew he wouldn't forgive himself if you were to get hurt during a run

Along with him putting himself at risk for your safety, he usually preferred you to hide during rounds

Even if you weren't always so fond of it

He knew you wanted to help at times, but he'd sleep better at night knowing that you were safe and sound

"Alright... you two stay here. I'd rather you hide them lose another one of those hearts." He whispered, his voice barely audible to anyone besides you and toodles as he gently takes her out of his arms and into yours. And, the second she's handed over, her arms quickly wrap around your neck, holding onto tighter then you've ever felt before.

You open your mouth to speak, attempting to protest against what felt like another one of his commands. But, you didn't get far before he had already begun shushing you. "Don't start with me now."

"Toodles?" He starts once more, turning his gaze from you and onto the little girl clinging to you. It almost amazes you. The way his tone went from something akin to disapproval and worry, to something much more softer. "I need you to be brave, alright? Be a big girl and keep them safe for me."

"Got it, rodger!" She says, a little two loudly then what you and rodger were comfortable with. Quickly, rodger turned around, using his one eye to scan around the area. And, once taking notice of the lack of footsteps coming their way, shifted his gaze back over to the both of you.

"Thank you, toodles. Remember, shh..." her head nods in reply to what rodger had said, holding up a finger to her mouth as she copies the same shushing sound he had made.

He wasn't made to distract, and the heavy breathing that seemed to attract every twisted in the area was proof of that, yet..

At the same time

He couldn't help but jump into action

He knew how risky it was, and at most times he'd prefer to think of it logically

He was the logical person of the group, he was a detective

But, he felt almost embarrassed at how many times situations he's out himself in just to insure your safety

Now, if you weren't in danger, and he was able to think straight before reacting, he usually went with the more refined ways to insure your safety

Most of the time

If a twisted was headed your way, and hadn't noticed you yet, then he'd prefer to throw something in the opposite direction and away from you

But on those special occasions where he felt there was little to no time, he wouldn't hesitate before throwing himself in front of you

If he was able to reach you, that is

[famwhy]

Bereavement (2)

noun

/bɪˈriːv.mənt/ The state one is in when losing someone important to them

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

42! Miles X F!Reader, 1610! Miles X F!Reader

Synopsis: Miles is missing, and all you can think about is getting him back. Upon finally finding him, however, you're taken aback by the copy that stands beside him—the same copy that was staring at you with wide, shaking eyes full of... disbelief?

Note: I can't—for the life of me—believe how many notes the first part got after just a few days of being out, you guys are actually insane. Thank you all so much. And thank you too, Kingpin, for giving me the idea in the first place lmao. (Do me a huge solid and lemme know if any of my Spanish needs some work, I studied it for 3 years but it's been over a year since it's been put to practice so I'm a little rusty)

Miles would never drop you, not in a million years—you knew that.

Something had stopped him, forced him to let go as he froze in time; in an assortment of colours he couldn't control—that was how you found yourself where you were now—free-falling to your death for what was perhaps the second time in your life.

"Y/N!"

It was a lot scarier the first time—you had to admit—when you fell from the glass room right beside the huge collider more than a year ago. At the time, Miles had insisted you stay away from his spider business for your own safety, but you—being you—followed him down anyway.

That was your first mistake.

Your second—however—came in the form of letting Kingpin know you were there after allowing quite the ridiculous sneeze out of your mouth. And once he saw you, it wasn't hard for him to pick you up and throw you through the shattered glass in his rage and dismay of his failed plan.

Miles had his back completely turned to you when it happened, and yet—somehow—he was the first to whip his head around and notice your quickly descending form.

"Y/N!"

You had come so close to the ground—seconds away from touching it—when that familiar warmth wrapped its way around your waist, carrying you through the wind to prop you onto your own little cloud of safety.

Ever since then, Miles refused to leave your side. He took you out on every mission he went to—pretty much every news station had you pinned down as 'Spiderman's girl' and he never bothered to correct them.

So even as Gwen went off to another dimension, Miles grabbed you before following after. Even as he was invited to the headquarters of this 'spider society', he refused to go without them also granting you permission inside too.

When you asked him why he went to such lengths for you, he simply replied, "I almost lost you once while being in the same dimension as you, if you think I'm going to let it even come close to happening again, you've got another thing coming."

So no, you didn't find the second time you were falling to your death all that scary. Not when you knew Miles would save you—

"I've got you, cariño."

—you just didn't exactly know that it would be the other one that did.

His arms were wound tightly around the underside of your knees and upper back—carrying you so intimately, looking at you with so much love in his eyes, you found yourself growing slightly flustered.

...okay, very flustered.

"Oh, Cariño," as he spoke, he didn't lose the breath in his tone—the gentle air of disbelief he took on since your arrival, "you're here. I can't believe it—you're here. Te extrañé mucho." ("I missed you so much.")

You were speechless, gaping up at him like a clueless fish—what else could you do? You were being held in the arms of a copy of your best friend after he basically just confessed to you because the 'you' in this universe was apparently dead.

Though, luckily for you, there was no need to say a word for he continued speaking with those soft, fond eyes, "I missed your smile and your laugh. I missed how you always used to tug me around whenever something caught your eye... and how you would go on and on about whatever show was your new obsession of the month. You were always so... pretty when you spoke passionately.

"Speak for me, cariño," he continued, "let me hear that pretty voice of yours again."

"I—" you were stuttering—why were you stuttering?—"I, uh..."

Pull yourself together, Y/N.

"Miles—"

"Ah, I just realised how much I missed the way you say my name."

"—guh!" How the hell was he spitting such smooth lines? "Miles! Just listen for a minute, okay?!"

"Of course, mamí."

"I— I'm not who you think I am. I mean, I am Y/N but I'm not your Y/N. And you're not my Miles."

As the words came tumbling out your mouth, the boy's—this earth's Miles'—lips tugged down, gaze hardening and grip around you ever-so-slowly growing tighter.

"Don't be silly, mamí, of course I'm your Miles. I always have been and always will be."

Your brows furrowed and your eyes trailed to the view behind him, moving rapidly as you tried to locate your best friend. Though, soon, your view of the sky was cut off by the male with braids once more.

"What are you doing?" A growl. "Stop looking for him, look at me. I'm right here. He dropped you."

"He glitched! This isn't his world so of course he would, it wasn't his fault!"

You were quick to defend him—he was your best friend so of course you were. There was no way you were having anyone accuse him of anything negative, even himself.

"Cariño, you almost died. Again. He can't take care of you." Miles narrowed his eyes, as if just the thought pissed him off; as if he had the right to be pissed off.

"Oh what?" You scoffed. "And you can? I'm my own person, I don't need to be taken care of."

Stubbornly, you found yourself pulling away from him—or well, attempting to at least, he didn't seem to want to let you though, judging by the way his claws slowly began to dig into you a little.

His eyes were narrowed and his lips were tugged down, gaze seeming to pierce through you—as though he was trying to use you as a vessel to glare at the person he was really mad at.

Though, soon, the expression was gone, replaced by sullen eyes and an almost-far-away look—glossed over in a cloudy haze full of what you could only assume to be the grand despair that was grief; grief over a loss so great, it would pain someone to even admit it ever happened.

"Cariño, please. I don't want to argue with you, I just got you back. Please."

The look on his face, the crack in his voice—it was all too much, you almost couldn't stomach it, and soon, your arms loosened up as you lost the will to pull away.

"Miles," you whispered, "I... I'm really sorry—"

"Don't be, you're here with me now, aren't you? We can make up for all that lost time."

"I can't." Your vision blurred as you shook your head from side-to-side. "I'm sorry, I can't."

For a moment, all was silent. No words were exchanged, leaving only the strong wind to howl in your ears; to warn you of your grave mistake and whisper taunts into your ears. Then—

"It's because of him, isn't it?"

You almost couldn't muster words. "Huh?"

"The other me—it's because of him that you won't stay with me, isn't it?"

The look in his eyes was something of a dark nature, swirling with malice; with hate so inextricibly deep, you almost couldn't believe your own eyes—because... because there was just no way, right? There was no way your Miles (or any other Miles for that matter) could exhibit such a lethal level of loathing towards anyone...

"If I get rid of him, it won't be so much of a problem anymore... sí?"

...or was there?

@justmare, @majestichugs, @milktealvrr, @ladyfairenvale, @sakura-onesan, @haunted-pass, @phoenixgurl030, @stupendousnightmaretrash, @ultimate-geek14, @liaaa-1, @sluslutts, @angrypomeranianwifey, @thatbeanieboss, @kkate8008, @lilslmao, @honeydewpie, @elenasstxarr, @sloverr, @quartzangel0, @crystalsinwater, @astrosdelululand, @sflame15-blog, @nightshxdex, @dottoresgarden, @crowshiny, @teamowolverine, @bangtannie7, @k0la22, @kissmxcheek, @myloveforreading, @jared-oranges, @shisuishoe, @veryfancydoilies, @sunshinesetsstuff, @lovefks, @omg-the-nutella-queen, @hazzapotter, @levanneisdumb, @angie2274, @blueberrystigma

[haruka-norikoyo]

Biggest Fan

Monoma Neito x reader | Soulmate AU

The gasp I’ve gusped (yes past tense to the fourth dimension) when I thought of this scenario. Mild spoilers for the end of the manga.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fourth birthday is a momentous occasion in one’s life. Not only is it the year where most develops their quirk, it is when one is assigned a soulmate.

No one knows whether it is a quirk or something entirely foreign. Many believe there is divine power at play. Because, after all, how can one have such power? It is a phenomenon which extends throughout the entire world. On a person’s right wrist appears the first words that their soulmate says to them. When those words have been uttered, they simultaneously disappear, and they now know their soulmate.

Monoma Neito got his quirk before his words. It’s not unusual, just rather rare to be an early bloomer. Normally, developing a quirk early would invite excitement and respect. “You can’t be a hero with a quirk like that.”

He’d copied another kid’s quirk, excitedly showing it off to his friends. But quirks are unique to oneself, aren’t they? Something to take pride in because only you can do it. So for someone else to be able to do it too?

“That’s something a side character would have.”

He stopped showing it off to other kids after that. Though, before he knew it, it was his birthday. Neito never understood what’s so exciting about getting random words on his wrist and someone he’ll be stuck with for the rest of his life. He’s a kid, after all. Getting his quirk was much more interesting to him. But after the response he got, he doesn’t get his hopes up.

All his relatives were eagerly checking his wrist for the soulmate words. It honestly was a little suffocating to be crowded the whole day with “do you have it yet?”. He can’t wait for it to be over.

Then, a gasp. He turns to see his mom pointing at his wrist. “Neito, your words!”

“Oh,” he glances down. Now that it’s here, he can't help but be a little curious. “Excuse me, Phantom Thief? I’m your biggest fan!”

His eyes widen, but before he could properly think about what it entails, he’s surrounded by everyone at the party. All of them eager to see what his match would tell him in their first meeting.

***

The next time he saw the kids who said he’ll be nothing but a side character, he rubs it in their faces.

“Look at this! My soulmate calls me Phantom Thief in our first meeting. That means I’ll be a pro hero— and what’s that? I already have a fan.”

“That— that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Yeah! It’s probably your name for a comedy show or something!”

But their words don’t reach him. He has a fan. Sure, it’s his soulmate, them being his biggest fan is a given, but still. Someone out there will be watching him. “Hahaha! Envy me all you want— my soulmate loves me way before we ever meet!”

***

“You’re still banking on your soulmate’s words?” Is something he heard numerous times, especially when he made it known he signed up for UA high school. Standing amongst other examinees, he wonders if his soulmate is there too. Maybe they’re already watching him. He shakes his head. No, they call me by my hero name. I won’t meet them until I become a pro hero…

He looks up at the big gates of the practical examination, his lips forming a smile as he discreetly copies the quirk of the examinee beside him. Looks like I’ll have to work hard to meet them.

***

The sports festival was his chance to get his soulmate’s attention. Yet, all everyone could talk about is the class that got attacked by villains. He hatched a plan to take them down and help his classmates.

“I believe it would be beneficial if we don’t show everyone our quirks in the first round. Looking at the past sports festivals, it’s likely to backfire on us, so it’s better to keep a low profile and then show off our skills in the more important rounds. Of course, none of you have to follow up on this. I won’t blame you for wanting to stand out. This is the sports festival, after all.”

He figured Shiozaki and Testutetsu would want to go all out. Sure enough, they did.

“I wouldn’t mind going through with it,” Kendo says. “But what about you?”

Neito raises his brow. “Naturally I’ll follow through with it..? What’s with that?”

Kendo gestures to her own wrist, which already doesn’t have her words. “Nothing, I just thought that your biggest fan would want to see you go all out.”

Maybe without the words on his wrist, he would’ve followed through with his plan. As he crosses the finish line in 7th place, he looks at the crowd. They aren’t cheering as loudly as for the top three, but with the hundreds of people presently cheering, the stadium is still deafening. Did you see me? Neito gazes down at his wrist, wondering that if they did, is soulmate is as in love with him as he already is?

***

He got a few internship requests despite not making it to the third round. Currently, his classmates are busy picking their hero names while he sits back, already having decided his.

Awase groans from the front of the class. “Argh! Monoma’s lucky, his soulmate says his hero name already so he doesn’t have to think about it..!”

Neito shrugs. “I’m sure you can think of something…”

Awase groans in response.

***

What an eventful first year…

Shit happened. He fought in a war with other kids his age. Crazy. Well, at least it’ll go down in the history books.

He stands in front of the statue displayed for his efforts in the war. His face and his hero name is engraved on the marble surface. He was a key player. The start point for Deku and Dynamight in the war. It was made known to everyone.

“Most people know my name and what I did, but don’t necessarily recognize me like those two…” Neito sighs, rubbing the back of his head as he recalls the screaming first students swarming to Bakugo and Todoroki this morning. “Guess I’ll have to work harder still.”

He falls silent.

Neito turns his heel, walking down the walk way of other statues mounted after the war. “Woah, he really does have a statue..!” He looks over his shoulder, spotting a student running in from the entrance. Right, they’re permitted to go off campus during lunch hours again. Neito watched in amusement as the student marvels at the statue. Their face glows with excitement as they pulled out their phone, discreetly attempting to take a selfie. Though, they obviously felt too embarrassed to do so on their own, ending up with blurry pictures.

Hm, he has time…

He approaches. The student nearly drops their phone straightening themself out to look inconspicuous. “Need help taking a photo?” he asks with a smile.

A hint of recognition passes through the student’s face. They turn to him in bewilderment, yet, at the sight of him they seem to forget that train of thought. Their eyes widen, and they cup their hands over their mouth. Neito chuckles while they stare at him in silent excitement, looking down. Damn, now that he’s faced with a fan he doesn’t know what to do.

“Excuse me… Phantom Thief?”

“Hm?” he brings his gaze back up. The student move their hands away from their mouth, revealing the brightest smile he’d ever seen directed at him, or anyone for that matter.

“I’m your biggest fan!”

“My…” his eyes widen. He looks down at his wrist. It’s gone. His words are gone. “You’re my…”

They blink at him, tilting their head. Albeit their confusion, they still watch and listen carefully for what he’ll say next. Did they not notice? Were they so enthralled by meeting him that they forgot their own words? The idea makes his heart swell. Before he could even register his own actions, he reaches out for them, hands on their shoulders.

“S… Say that again!”

“Eh?!” they can’t help but step back, face warming up at their proximity. “Um… I’m your biggest fan?”

Someone watching from a distance wouldn’t be able to tell who the fan in the situation is. Although, one could probably say it’s both. “Your words… do you know how much your first words helped me over the years?” he breathes out, heart thumping so loudly. This adrenaline is a relief that is incomparable to anything else. “Huh? Over the years? U-Um…” Oh dear, it looks like the student might short circuit. “Ah, sorry… I got carried away.“ Neito steps back, releasing their shoulders. “But, you really don’t notice?”

They stare at him. After a few seconds, it finally dawned on them… the realization they made earlier. “You… said my words…” They look down at their wrist and gasp. “They’re gone!”

“Yeah,” Neito nods.

They point at him, eyes wide. “You’re my soulmate!” “That’s right.”

“Holy shit.” Neito laughs as they cover their mouth once more. “My soulmate… my soulmate is Phantom Theif? For real?! I’m not dreaming?”

“Does it feel like a dream?” he asks teasingly with a raised brow.

They nod vigorously. “C-Could I… get a picture with you?”

He grins, watching them fiddle with their thumbs nervously. “Of course. Mind if I take it for us?” “Oh sure, here,” they hand over their phone.

Neito extends his arm out, holding the phone still until the camera focuses on both of them. Of course, his statue is there in the background. After all, that’s what they originally wanted to photograph.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Neito asks, pulling away. He still has the phone, though.

“(L/n) (y/n).”

“Ah, good, now I know what to write in your contact. I can put my number in, can’t I?”

“Y-Your number…” (y/n) awes. It’s only natural to keep in touch with their soulmate, but having someone the Phantom Thief whom they love so much in their contacts is something they never thought would happen. “I’d love that!”

Neito types in his number into (y/n)’s phone, and hands it back to them. “Alright. Done. Send me a text any time you wanna meet up. And if you need help as my underclassman, feel free to come to me, okay?”

(y/n) nods. “Okay.”

“Then… I’ll see you next time.”

“Um! One last thing!” (Y/n) purses their lip, debating whether on saying it or not. “May… may I get your autograph?”

“An autograph?” Neito raises his brow with a grin, watching as they scramble to find something from their bag. “Even though I’m your soulmate?”

“It’s a big bonus that you’re my soulmate but— I’ve been a fan of you since seeing the sports festival replays!” Determination burns in their eyes as they extend a board and sharpie to him. “See? I even have a special place for you to put your autograph. Please?”

“Oh, how could I refuse a request from my biggest fan?” he snickers in attempt to distract from the blush dusting his cheeks. He takes the board and sharpie, fingers brushing against each other’s.

“(Y/n), thank you for supporting me even before you realized it. Sincerely, your soulmate, Phantom Thief.”

[intimidating-fettuccine]

As a fanfiction blog, I’m putting the warning out there to anyone that hasn’t already heard that one of the main things they want to go after is anything violent, LGBT, or adult content. Well, that will include fanfiction. It’s likely they’ll try to take down sites like Wattpad and AO3, so if you have fics on either of those sites you are especially attached to, you will probably want to start downloading and saving them. It’s even highly possible that they’ll take down tumblr, and it’s possible it will become risky to even be running a blog like this, as they’re threatening to put anyone who writes such content in jail. I am not even kidding.

If there’s any fanfic material that you have personally written or that someone else has written that you particularly enjoy, now especially is the time to start storing it and saving it so you can make sure you can still enjoy it if it comes down to it. I have no idea if they absolutely will be banning such things, I know they’ll probably try to (many states have already banned adult websites or require proof of identification to access them), so I suggest doing what you can now. Maybe they won’t end up doing it and it will have been for nothing, but maybe they will and you’ll be thankful that you did.

In the same vein, buy physical copies of any movies or download them if you can, and that goes for shows as well, and any video games or books you’re particularly fond of. We’ve got about two months to prepare before they start launching into and doing things. In their intent to censor everything, make sure you’re doing the best that you can to protect your right to free speech. Apparently they’re gonna be banning an entire gigantic list of books, including Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Twilight, The Hobbit, and Alice in Wonderland (to name a few big ones) and like hundreds more that we were raised on from schools and libraries, and I wouldn’t be surprised that if they succeed in doing that that they’ll go on to ban their sales.

Save and store anything that you can at this point. In order to prevent things like this we’ve got to help each other and stand up for ourselves and our rights. Do not get complacent. Do not let them walk all over you. If it ever comes down to my blog disappearing because of all of this please know I will still be standing beside all of you and supporting you still. We must continue standing up for ourselves and our rights.

[band--psycho]

Sylus x Reader x Zayne -Birthday Surprises - Part 2 (ZAYNE)

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

This is for my Zayne lovers! Thank you all for the continued support! I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over.

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms

L&DS Masterlist / Sylus Masterlist / Zayne Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Flashback 

Zayne wanted to make your birthday special. 

He knew how tough of a year it had been for you, he just wanted to make your birthday a day that you would remember and treasure for years to come.

Now Zayne didn’t do anything without taking the time to think it through first; that’s why he was so particular when it came to picking out birthday presents for you. 

Normally he would’ve brought you books but you had more than enough of those that you could’ve started your own little library and he knew Tara had brought you a small collection of books already. 

Besides, he always brought you books for your birthday.

This year he wanted to do something different, aware that your relationship wasn’t the same as it was before. 

So he brought you your favourite chocolates, a bouquet of your favourite flowers and he’d even created a scrapbook that you so often talked about making, filled with all of the photos you two had taken recently. 

But then he saw a beautiful heart shaped diamond necklace with a snowflake hanging in the center of it. 

He knew you’d love it; but despite knowing that, he didn’t buy it when he first saw it. 

It wasn’t because of how much it cost; he was more than willing to pay any sum of money for a gift for you, but it was what this gift in particular meant. 

It was a symbol of how he truly felt about you….

Of how much he cared for you.

Of how much he loved you.

There were so many times where he wanted to say those three words to you; when you were cuddled up by his side on the sofa during a movie marathon, when you met up for your weekly coffee catch-up, when you were in a photo booth taking picture after picture. Or whenever you came into the hospital injured after a mission, worrying him half to death. 

He’d  been too scared to tell you of his feelings then, fearful that it could ruin the friendship he valued so highly.

But when he saw you the following day; he kept having the urge to say those words, of course he didn’t, he didn’t think randomly blurting it out in the middle of a conversation would’ve been the best of ideas. 

The day after that though, he brought the necklace without hesitation, and with a simple plan in mind. 

He was going to make your birthday the best he could possibly make it. 

And he was going to tell you how he really felt about you. 

~~~~~~

“This is for you,” Zayne said, handing over a perfectly wrapped black box, once the two of you were in your apartment.

“An early birthday present?” You asked, unable to hide the smile growing on your face as you held the box in your hands. 

“It’s one of your birthday presents; you have to wait for the rest,” he explained, placing his glasses down on the sideboard next to him, before pulling his phone from his pocket and quickly typing away a message in response to the pinging sound his phone had been making the last few minutes. 

“The rest?” The surprise in your voice was followed with a quizzical look; not being able to help but wonder how many presents he’d gotten you; you hadn’t expected anything from him except a card and a book, the same as what he got you every year.

He simply gave you a small smile followed by a nod, urging you to open the box in your hand.

“Zayne, it’s gorgeous…” you breathed, completely in awe of the gorgeous necklace sitting in the black velvet box you were holding.

The longer you stared at it, the more you felt the butterflies in your stomach swarming. 

It was stunning, the most beautiful necklace you’d ever laid eyes on.

You couldn’t quite believe he was giving this to you as a gift, the brand name alone was enough for you to know that it certainly couldn’t have been  cheap. 

“Turn around,” Zayne said softly, snapping you out of your thoughts, putting his phone down next to his glasses before delicately lifting the necklace from its box. 

You did as he said and turned around whilst he unclasped the silver clasp of the necklace before gently hanging it around your neck.

You were trying to ignore how the slightest touch of his fingers on your skin sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

It wasn’t often Zayne touched you, much to your own disappointment, but when he did, you felt like your body was on fire, which was odd seeing as his hands were usually so cold. 

When you turned around to face him, you saw his eyes were fixed on you while a smile was tugging at his lips.

You loved it when he smiled at you like that. 

“Beautiful,” he complimented, making heat fill your cheeks. 

Zayne would often do this, give you little compliments like this, and everytime you had the same reaction. 

You should’ve been used to it by now, shouldn’t have let yourself be so affected by some kind words, but you couldn’t help it. 

When those words came from Zayne, they made your heart skip a beat. 

You felt something between you as you both stood there, a tension that you’d felt many times before but had tried hard to ignore, though admittedly that was getting harder and harder to do because of how frequently these feelings were occurring. 

You stared at each other for a while in silence; like you were trying to read the other's mind; to understand what the other was feeling.

“Zayne-” you whispered, breaking the silence, suddenly becoming aware of how close you were to one another.

He opened his mouth to reply to you; but then his phone started ringing, killing the tension that had been burning between you both. 

“I’m sorry, it’s work,” he apologized with a sympathetic look in his eyes as he picked it up from the sideboard.

You knew what that meant. 

“It’s okay,” you smiled reassuringly at him, “I’ll see you later right?”

You hated how needy you sounded with that last part of your sentence; but you wanted to spend time with him today….even if it was just for a few more moments. 

“Of course, nothing could make me miss tonight,” that was the last thing he said to you before leaving your apartment. 

Work always came first, for the both of you…

That was the part of the problem when it came to the two of you; a work-life balance was hard to keep when your jobs required so much of you at any hour of the day. 

You were just heading to your bedroom to start getting ready for tonight, until you heard a knock at your door.

That’s when you saw Zaynes glasses still on the sideboard; you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself, remembering every time prior that Zayne had left his glasses at your apartment.

~~~~~~

Present Time

“Y/n,” you heard your name called again from the otherside of the door; you were anxious to open it, knowing who was hiding in the closet next to it, but you also knew that not opening the door wasn’t an option either. 

If you didn’t answer the door, Zayne would worry, and the last thing you wanted to do was make him worry about you. 

You took a deep breath in, before opening the door. 

“Are you okay?” Zayne asked softly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took a step towards you. 

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a smile, feeling the pang of guilt in your chest, “I was just trying to work out what to wear for tonight.” 

You felt bad for lying to him, but how could you explain that the leader of Onychinus was hiding in your apartment after nearly kissing you?

Thankfully he didn’t push any further.

“I forgot my glasses,” he stated, nodding over to the sideboard where his glasses still were, “Also, I take it you haven’t checked your phone,”

“No…Why?” You asked, handing Zayne his glasses back before trying to remember where the hell you’d put your phone.

“Tara’s on her way here, her friend at the bar said it’s getting busy and that we should all meet earlier if we want to stand a chance of getting a table,”

‘Shit,’ you thought to yourself. 

How could you leave your apartment knowing that Sylus was still in the coat closet….

“I need to change-” at least that could buy you some time to somehow sneak Sylus out without anyone noticing, you didn’t know how, but you could leave him in there.

“No time,” Tara called out, running to Zaynes side, “we need to go, now,”

“Tara-”

“Cmon,” Tara pleaded, practically pulling you out of your apartment, “besides you already look amazing, doesn’t she, Doctor Zayne?”

He nodded in agreement, whispering, “you always do,” in your ear before watching Tara start dragging you down the hall and out of the building. 

His words echoed through your mind and made an all too familiar warm and fuzzy feeling fill your heart.

What the fuck was going on tonight?

What the fuck were you going to do?

The thoughts kept spinning around your head like a carousel; but in the end you knew it all came down to one question. 

One very simple question. 

Who did your heart truly belong to, Zayne or Sylus?

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @the-slytherin-poet @ladyparamount @hao-ming-8 @deathkat657 @bookworm1767 @book-dragon03 @fangirlsfandomsss @evilldentists @ayatoq @kisukiis @cheesemachine44 @babygirl-panda19 @tasha-1994 @worm-in-a-bug @popcorn-mochi01 @thegalaxysedge22 @hotdogcookie @ollieneedsamilkshake @comatosebunny09 @ayatok

[mlmxreader]

Sickly | Art the Clown x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi! I saw that you wanted to write more for Art?

I saw your sick fic about him and thought it was so cute! Would you maybe consider doing a part two where Art’s in bed (still in his clown costume because he literally sleeps with that thing) with the reader but he can’t sleep because he’s got the sniffles that bad? And his silent sneezes are just pitiful for the reader to watch lol ❞

: ̗̀➛ You resign yourself to a night of devoting yourself to Art whilst he's sick.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, sickness/illness, mentions of murder & gore

↳ Part One: Feverish

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The soft sound of Downton Abbey episodes were playing softly from your television as you did your best to sleep; but with Art beside you, constantly lunging forward and silently sneezing and coughing, it was difficult to get any sort of rest whatsoever.

You didn't know if it was better or worse that he made no sound, but even his harsh movements were enough to constantly justle you.

"Just how long is she here for?" Lady Violet asked her son.

"Who knows?" Came the quiet, mumbled reply of Lord Grantham.

You laughed softly at the exchange, which roused Art to shuffle around as he moved to grasp your attention; he tapped your shoulder, and when you looked at him, he pointed to the box of tissues that laid at the bedside table.

Even in the low light, you could see the snot clinging from his nostril, desperate to make it down to his black stained lips. You winced, immediately grabbing them and pressing the box into his lap; Art nodded in thanks, and roughly, violently, rubbed his nose on the tissue.

You had grown used to the fact that he always wore that fucking clown costume, even when he was lying in bed, but you were slightly less likely to think of a complaint given that he was sick and had been ever since his most recent return.

He didn't leave you as often as he used to, in fact, he hadn't left at all since he had come back to you. It was... odd.

You didn't really know what to think of it, if you were honest - sure, you were glad to spend any time with him without interruption. But you weren't used to having him around so often.

Lingering around you like the smell of rotting meat.

Granted, he did smell a lot cleaner than usual thanks to you; he had access to your shower and all your gels and shampoos and body lotions, and he always copied you when you washed in the morning and again in the evening.

He never exactly smelled fully clean, the metallic scent of blood and rotting meat always clung to him, but he didn't smell rancid like he usually did.

Even his breath smelled better now that you were making him brush his teeth after every meal to ensure that the bits of gooey brain matter and sharp shards of bone didn't get stuck between them and fester.

His teeth were always difficult to brush properly, their long and pointed shape, more akin to a lamprey than anything remotely humanoid, made it extra work to get between them without the bristles breaking immediately.

Art moved again, clutching his ribs as he opened his mouth to cough wetly and roughly, even though not a single sound left him; you felt pity, really. You had never seen him in such awful ways.

You coaxed him to lie down between your legs, the back of his head pressed against your stomach as you gently massaged his scalp. His breathing was slow and shallow, like he was struggling to get any oxygen in at all, and you turned the television up slightly.

Art watched the television, appreciating the monochromatic colour schemes of the gentlemen as much as the staff; their black and white outfits were much like his own, although with a different pattern.

He wondered what they would do if he went and bashed their heads in with all those shiny things in the shelves; the blood splattering all over their walls and carpets and paintings. So many people in one house, he wouldn't have to ask for anything to eat for weeks. Months.

But then the scene opened to a young couple - a brunette woman and a dirty blond man - sharing a bed; the duvet was red, with a white stripe at the top, and the headboard was a dark red colour. It looked a lot like your bed, although yours was green, not red.

He pointed excitedly for a moment, then dramatically sneezed against his sleeve at above the elbow.

"Oh, Art," you hummed softly, patting him gently so he relaxed against you again. "Settle down, too much excitement will make you worse, y'know."

He mocked sulking as he folded his arms across his chest and looked up at you with a stern pout.

Anyone else would have been ripped to shreds and had their brains removed and eaten for such a small action; but he simply sat there, pouting with his arms folded. Glaring at you.

His cold, dead, stare never even irked you anymore, and finding him staring at you in the middle of the night and gently stroking your face was far from unusual; but it was your time, now. Your turn.

You gently stroked his face, tracing all the little details that you cared so much for; that long nose and the line where his skullcap ended and his skin began. The little dot on his nose. The ring of black lipstick, the thin drawn eyebrows. The rings around his eyes with the slits down the middle, carved out of makeup.

He was certainly beautiful and striking to look at; you would never be able to deny that, as even when he was unwell and sick, snot clinging to the tip of his nose and phlegm at the back of his throat, he was still beautiful.

"I'll stay up all night if I have to," you mused kindly, a complete distinction to him. It was a wonder you were ever so close. "I can stay up with you."

Art shook his head, the dribble of snot flapping around from the edge of his nose; he was telling you not to bother, he even scowled and snarled at the thought of you losing sleep. No, no, no.

"It's not a worry," you told him. "Honestly. It's one night, and if it helps you to get better, then I really don't mind."

Art couldn't be bothered to argue, so with a heavy thump of his hand, he grabbed the television remote and turned the volume up a bit more; might as well see if the drama of rich, old timey, English people was better than his usual method of keeping himself entertained.

He doubted it.

hi! thank you so much for reading! if you'd be so kind, I'd like to take just a few more moments of your time. the Baalousha family need funds in order to secure the survival of themselves, but especially their two very small children; they have nothing left in Gaza, and with their home destroyed by Israeli bombs, they are desperate for money to continue to stay alive. so far, they have raised €20739 of their €52000 goal, so if you could spread their story and their fundraiser and even donate, then please, please do.

[rel124c41]

GOT YOU (WHERE I WANT YOU) (AS HEARD IN THE MOVIE DISTURBING BEHAVIOR). jade leech

In Jade’s logical mind, there is only one concrete truth: You are getting bored of your boyfriend.

1/3.

tags: no grim AU, established relationship, social criticism, piercings/tattoos, misunderstandings, hurt/comfort, punk!jade leech

word count: 9,684

It is hard to pin down when it started. 

For a man who likes to keep himself organized – his books, his shoes, his bedsheets, his life, his mind – it should not be this difficult to pinpoint the start. Perhaps because this change can be attributed to a number of variables, it puzzles him so. In his mind, he tries outlining all of them: Is it because your three month honeymoon phase has passed?; is it possibly an underlying issue he has never noticed?; or, could it be — well, Jade would rather not think about that third option. 

Perhaps it is not really important to pin down when it started. Does the beginning matter when already so deep in the middle? Besides, there is a more pressing matter at hand: “How about this one,” Jade holds it up to his brother, “if you do not use it, I’m throwing it away.”

What he holds in his hand is a long sheet of glistening paper. A tattoo sticker measured to be a full arm sleeve that depicts a lion head at the top, prayer hands, and three crosses at the bottom like headstones. Not Jade’s style. “Naaaah.” And apparently, not Floyd’s either. Jade tears it down the middle and discards it in his trash. 

As he flips through the other choices, the same question winds itself around in the train station of his mind, stubbornly refusing to halt. It is hard to pin down when it started. When did it start?

Maybe it started in the prologue. Or perhaps it predates the prologue, starting in the preface. The preface where his stomach twisted itself into the most complex, intricate sailor knots when you looked at him. That awful preface where he had to hold a hand to his heart to muffle the sound of it when you smiled at him. 

If he was trying to pin down when his attraction towards you emerged like some parasite, there are so many prefaces to start upon. For example, there is the time when:

You sat perched on the cobblestone wall in the main courtyard with a pocket-sized copy of Animal Farm in hand, balancing it between your fingers like teacup ceramic. Dark, heavily mascaraed eyelashes flutter as your eyes slice up each sentence and devour them on your tongue like greasy, hot pink stripes of bacon. Then, those cold marbles – that looked at him fleetingly, glossed over like he was not worth dissecting – caught him beyond a window and held eye contact undeterred. 

– or –

You sang with a microphone in hand, caught in a spin with one leg tucked up so your skirt fluttered with your single circulate, “Exhibitiiion is the name! Voooyeurism is the game!” Pinched between forefingers, you lifted up an edge of the box pleat skirt to cheekily reveal a lace pair of coconut white thong panties. In the back, Floyd — who Jade was sent to retrieve after he abruptly left his shift at Mostro Lounge — hammers away on the drums, taking up the spot for an ill Kalim at your pleads.

– or –

The time you had piqued the eel-mer’s interest by stumping and finding a flaw in his land knowledge due to a simple misunderstanding. Jade – who admittedly still had a lot to learn about the current world above sea – had heard in the rumor mill he frequented that you wore a two-way. He had assumed it was something less than innocent until you flipped open a prehistoric device not even talked about in Land Boot Camp and told him excitedly it was cutting-edge technology from your world.

– or – “I like that one.” 

Snapped out of his reminiscing, Jade blinks down at the tattoo sticker he has not fully been paying attention to. It depicts an oceanic scene of a Poseidon made of water rising from the waves where a doomed ship falls into an octopus’s grip. It also ends with a sunken statue head of Poseidon where Jade’s wrist would be.

The one that Floyd likes, Jade does not find himself sharing the sentiment. Bit too on the nose. Besides: “I don’t think (Name) would though.” Which is why he goes to place it back down. His bones jolt in surprise before he can pick up the next one.

“AHA! I knew it! ‘Just wanted to change my own aesthetic’ – knew this was for Shrimpy.”

On Jade’s desk, sixteen more of the remaining tattoo stickers lie. Fifteen remain on the desk when Jade pointedly analyzes one to ignore Floyd’s revelation. He subtly grits his teeth in annoyance, upset that by slipping into memories, he also allowed his words to slip.

“It is not for her. I am simply keeping her preferences in mind. We are dating after all.” 

Those concrete words – dating – help to alleviate a small sliver of Jade’s anxiety over his current situation. That despite the feeling of everyone wanting to have a piece of you, he had been the only one to succeed. He got the whole pie and he would not be sharing a slice with anyone. He is impossibly greedy to the end.

Yet, it seems his disdain for this situation (because it is so hard to pin down the start of it) must show on his face. “Aw poor Jade.” His brother’s voice is more mocking than sympathetic. “Trouble in Shrimpy paradise?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

Floyd hums as he leans back into bed. “It totally is. I can see it ya face.”

“Please, keep talking. And I assure you will soon find out what talking while missing a tooth feels like.”

“Hehe. Yeah, you wish.”

“Wishing is for people afraid to act. Let me remind you, I am very much a do-er.”

The laugh that escapes Floyd is genuinely amused. Jade drops fake malice from his grin into something softer. At least, Jade can count on his brother for when matters in life get too complicated, both can retreat to this small dormitory and rely on the other.

Matters of dating are so complicated and unnecessary. For moray eels in the Coral Sea, the equivalent of dating involves typically half a decade of elaborate gifts and proving themselves as a fierce protector before a kiss even happens. On land, it has proven to be much more complex. Friends can evolve to lovers; they can vary from lasting three months to two years to the rest of their lives. How fickle. Cater Diamond had mentioned that phrase humans go through, a three month honeymoon, before the other partner ‘flakes out’ (Cater’s words) with their affection. When a child grows bored, they find a new toy under the Christmas Tree to tear into.

Jade likes to think you would not be the type … but, as observative as he is, he knows better. It is almost scary how similar and identical the disposition between you and his brother is. You two are always chasing the next high. Fluttering through life, you refuse to be bored ever. 

Which is why, perhaps, Floyd is finally able to pinpoint the start. After an interlude of silence, shuffling through a few more prints, Floyd breaks the quiet with a contemplative sentence. “It’s because of that time ya went to that record store, ain’t it?”

Hooked like a fish, Jade only gives his acknowledgement of Floyd’s response by tearing a lightning bolt through the sticker. A faultline forms through a pinup sitting cheekily on a pair of dice and a heart with a king’s crown hovering over it. As the casino-themed sticker is casted aside into the trash, his twin knows he hit the nail on the head. 

“Pike Cichlid again? That guy’s so lame. He’s got nothing on you, Jeido.” And though his twin’s encouragement is genuine and coming from a good place, it is like a teaspoon of water thrown with intent to douse out a forest fire.  

That had not been the start. It had been when Jade had already found himself waist deep in this situation. So rarely caught off guard or unsure of where the start is, this whole situation seems to be the equivalent of a trap. Is love not one of life’s most fantastical imprisonment? Covered in saccharine sentiments, love can hide the worst and best in one’s self. It certainly seems that way when Jade found his ankle crunched between love’s many bear traps.

He had only noticed at the record store. Numbness worn off. Pain crashing in. And, after watching you laugh so genuinely and talk so animatedly and dance so freely, Jade realized he had fallen into an emotion that he thought he could avoid for his entire life with demure logic.

“I love that band!” Before Jade realizes what had happened, your hand had slipped out of his. The clunk of your platforms sound like ricocheting gunshots on the floor. “I thought I was the only one that knew about it.” 

You glow a bit brighter with your excitement. As a frequent observer, Jade knows when the zenith of your excitement floods through each of your veins like lightning chords of gaiety. It shows so clearly on your face. You have not glowed in a while because of your concerns of filling Cater’s and Lilia’s spots in the band. A band to you is family. So, seeing someone across the store pick up a record you know fairly well, it causes each synapses of joy in your veins powers on; you glow a bit brighter, smile a bit wider. 

Before he can even cover the distance between the rows of records, your mouth is moving a mile a minute. You are asking about their favorite single off the album, diving into history you know about the makings of the album, and (simultaneously jumping in place and swaying back and forth on the balls of your heels) talking about the chords you like the most, imagining yourself fully dancing along to them. Your energy is infectious. Like a sun in a solar system, everyone turns their face to you to feel your warmth. It is because of this bewitching nature of yours that Jade is late to revealing who you are talking to. 

Until he notices the macaw feather that dangles from the stranger’s left ear and the golden bracelet wrapping up the stranger’s wrist, that odious laugh falling from the stranger’s lips and disrupting your laugh … Insecure is an adjective that poorly describes Jade; it is not synonymous with himself. 

Other people have made you glow: Cater, Kalim, Floyd, Lilia, the list can go on. It has yet to bother him with those people. Watching how you glowed at that time was somehow different. It is different than watching Floyd bind himself around Riddle Rosehearts or Azul suction himself to Jamil Viper. The glue between the three of them is tighter than a breakable bind or a suction; their new friendships are insignificant and do not worry Jade. However …

“Nothing on me? I am assured that that guppy is irrelevant. I am hardly worried.” 

The way fate sorted out their Unique Magic is nothing sort of an advantageous miracle on Jade’s behalf, what with the way Floyd’s gold eye narrows in skepticism. 

“Sureee.”

The center of the situation is this: Jade could not go back to being nothing in your eyes. A sentence to skim over. A body to ignore in the crowd. A musical chord progression you do not find interesting enough to play. 

So, he pulls out another tattoo sleeve sticker from the pile.

It depicts a scene of engorged, psilocybin mushrooms with fat stems that travel in a mountain trail spiral. Some of the psilocybin will reach up to the skies on his shoulder. Like a giant artifact, a larger-than-life skull is found on this pathway, vomiting up bulbophyllum phalaenopsis. Which are actually interesting species of flowers Jade would love to tell you about as long as your attention persists.

“Help me apply this.” 

“We’re twenty. Why don’t ya just a real tattoo?”

“Pliers or my fist?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I got ya.”

If you put up with him a bit longer, he will prove the rest of the student body is dull. 

With two of your band members graduated, it has been a wild scramble from both you and Kalim Al-Aism to find people to fill those holes. 

This timeline, Jade has outlined perfectly. In September, yours and his relationship was on a rocky tectonic plate. Switching and rolling between the waves of will they, won’t they. Even though you were only friends, Jade had V.I.P tickets to the absolute distress of coming back to practice with only a drummer and singer to make up the formation of a four person band. He has never seen you act so distraught:

“You played bass?” Though the structure of it was a question, it sounds more like an accusation coming from your mouth. Marching into his space, you aim the question slash accusation at him like a knife. Your face and eyes are not friendly at that moment. The expression on your face reeks of perfidy, like he is some knight that committed treason against his King.   

Which Jade finds ridiculous and endearing. The emotion in your voice as you ask him about the instrument he used to play in middle school is just so uncharacteristic that it makes him hum happily.

Not bothering to stop in his trek, Jade says with an artful dodge, “Yes. Floyd, Azul, and myself happened to be a band.” Then, he no longer elaborates. He wonders how you found out. Though, right now, he focuses on making his strides short so you can scurry after and match his pace.

“And you what? Never thought to mention it to me?” 

There you go, faithfully matching his steps. 

“Is it really that interesting to you?”

“I’m in the Pop Music Club. Of course it is.”

“My apologies, I did not anticipate my middle school years would be so interesting to you. Are we to now have slumber parties and reveal our deepest, darkest secrets to each other while watching a romantic comedy?”

“Jade, this is friendship 101! You tell your best friend about your time in a Band.” You say band with the paramountcy as if you found out he has been secretly working undercover for the Mafia. Capitalized importance aside, you look so cute when frowning. He wishes you were his. 

“So did you use a Fender, a Gibson; I think you strike me as an Ibanez man! Oh … wait, those brands might not exist here though, right?” The way your frown morphs into genuine sadness causes something odd – concern? – to twist in his guts. Hoping to alleviate your stress, Jade answers punctually.

“I’m afraid I never heard of those brands. I played a Downton brand double bass.”

“... Double bass?” 

The face you are directing towards him is horrid. It isn’t cute like when you are drawing your lips into a pitiful pout; it does not have him chuckling with satisfaction when you look at him like he has betrayed you. It is something else entirely. He has seen it before at the start of the Entrance Ceremony, where you surveyed the crowd like each individual was a wad of gum on the bottom of your soles, observing everyone’s matching robes; this is some private university, isn’t it, you spat with disgust. 

Is jazz really that disgusting to you? He had never known you hated it so.

As you look at Jade like he is vomit upon your shoes, his heartbeat quickens. Under your breath, you mutter, “Ah … nevermind … that’s not what I meant. Shit.”

“(Name)?”

“Thanks for your help, Jade. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“For that sleepover? I would not miss it for the world,” Jade jokes with his customer service smile. 

Trying to appear unbothered, he beams. It is disheartening because you are rushing away from him, lengthening your strides twice as long as his. At least, won’t you depart on a lighthearted joke and laugh with him? It would soothe some of his worries. Yet, you simply rush away, distractedly muttering, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

Then, you have slipped through his grasp once again.

However, that September night, about three months ago, you did apologize to Jade for your rudeness. As you both took to watering your extensive number of pots housing oleander and planting talismans into the soil to ward off the three, ill-tempered ghosts in Ramshackle, you explained about how you are simply in a rush to fill up the spot that Cater Diamond and Lilia Vanrouge left behind. As the singer, you felt responsible for finding two new players – bass guitar and electric guitar. 

Plucking a straw of sage incense from its paper sleeve, Jade assured you it was of no harm. He understood you felt a little lost without the cement foundation of a band. He knew why too. As wisps of sage incense bloomed the stick’s tip, Jade took to telling you, sincere and quiet, that he would allow you to lean upon him if you needed to.

Still caught between the riptide of will they, won’t they, both of you grew flustered. The rest of the nightly ritual of implanting protection charms and talismans against ghosts was spent in silence. That night in the parlor, you two sat a little closer to each other on the moth-eaten couch.

That had been some time ago. Since then, you managed to fill both of those spots after a lot of trial and error. Cater and Lilia had left some impressive shoes to fill, one the wildcard bass player and the other the mediator guitarist. Those sacred spots could not just be given to anyone who could successfully play a simple riff; those spots were meant for someone who viewed music as a lifeline and chords as their heartbeats. At least, that is how you described it to him.

Forming a band – in Jade’s eyes – is much like forming a business. All the gears need to be oiled and attuned to each other. Where one section is struggling, the others must take up the helm. As Azul, Floyd, and himself balanced each other out, you, Cater, Lilia, and Kalim did the same. Though the new gearheads you have acquired might be a bit too clunky or rusted, it seems that your personal business is going well. 

Jade only wishes you would not mix business with pleasure – despite the glaring fact that your business is your pleasure. 

Jade likes to imagine your pleasure lies somewhere else, perhaps with him.

Right now, Jade is so engrossed and deeply in the middle of business. At least until Floyd barges through the V.I.P door, loud enough that he startles the pen out of Heartslabyul student’s hand. Jade watches, stifling a grin all the while, the delicate roll the pen makes as it falls away from the contact and moves down the marble table.

“Floyd,” Azul barks indignantly. 

Delighted and elevated, Floyd takes no qualms with Azul’s harsh tone. Instead, humming a light tune that Jade does not recognize, Floyd sweeps into the private meeting with a drink in his hand. His twin seeks him out right away, making his way over to the couch he is seated upon, nudging a glass in Jade’s face and repeating, “Try, try, try!”

As Jade takes the milkshake glass in hand and swirls the peppermint patterned straw, the words of Azul’s annoyance at his twin are a great thing to hear. “Floyd. How many times must I remind you not to interrupt these important meetings. I’m terribly sorry …” Jade does not listen to the student’s name, having already forgotten it, as he takes a sip of the ruby red concoction in front of him. The taste of chocolate raspberry floods his tongue.

“But, Azuuul, try this.” The peppermint straw is forcibly removed from Jade’s mouth as his twin bends it towards Azul (who sits on the same couch as Jade).

The housewarden’s face crinkles with disgust. “I would rather not. Sharing food with you two is extremely unhygienic.”

“I’m clean.”

“You wound me, Azul.”

“The both of you,” Azul grunts, shaking his head. He turns back to the Heartslabyul student, noticing the pen at the very least back in the victim’s hand. Anger mulled over a bit, he instructs Jade sternly, “Jade, tell your brother to take back his drink. We have specific times that we discuss menu item additions.”

“But I don’t know the recipe, Shrimpy made it,” Floyd whines.

“Well, quite frankly, I don’t care about that. She can —.” But before Azul and Floyd can get into an argument, Jade interrupts.

“Raspberry Riptide.” He looks contemplatively down at the red slush. Takes a sip so deep that his cheeks hollow a bit. “Hm,” he hums with the taste on his tongue, “or perhaps, Red Sea.” The milkshake glass is about halfway lighter than before when the vice-housewarden stands up elegantly. 

“Huh?”

As Jade starts to speak, musical and low, he methodically takes off his blazer plus scarf and rolls up the sleeves of his lilac undershirt dorm uniform. “I’m quite assured we have everything completed here. Our dear card soldier seems to have come to a conclusive decision. I’ll return shortly.” And even if the card soldier is hesitant, the way Jade’s new tattoo moves as he flexes his forearm should be warning enough. Don’t make a dumb move. 

As Jade and Floyd exit, the sound of a pen scribbling on a contract their departing sound, Jade reflects on how much influence tattoos hold. 

Appearances are influential. One must learn how to construct their appearance to be what they want to be perceived. Perception starts with the linear body, speech and action comes secondary. The beginning there is easily defined and clear-cut. How you look makes all the impact stick, as Floyd has found with shoes and Jade has found with keeping his outfits ironed so neatly that not a thread is out of place. 

Tattoos hold a certain volatile quality about them. Coming in such a wide variety of styles, images, and spots, each tattoo is scrutinized by an outsider’s perspective with so many unpredictable thoughts. Their father has an oceanic canvas of the Sea Witch dragging the princess’s boat down to the watery depths, all done by the extensive method of chisel tattooing. The scene inscribed upon his shoulder blades and spine commands respect. Depending on how a person wants to present themselves, they seek to alter their appearances in the best way to match their embellished image of themselves.

You’re in your uniform. Jade observes it as Floyd and him close the distance with a warm smile. Not an NRC uniform of any sorts, rather the uniform Crowley gave you for your job as janitor. You are not enrolled as a student in this college on account of having no magic.

Your appearance goes like this: the top of your coveralls is tied around hips to expose the tight, form-fitting tank top you have underneath; bumblebee yellow mechanic gloves are gripped in your right hand which you balance on your waist; a pair of thick stereophones hang around your neck (ones you found in the back of a dusty, unused computer lab); and, lastly, there is a smudge of oil on your cheek like a delicate kiss. 

“Try hitting the switch now,” you instruct the Mostro Lounge worker. “Don’t hold it longer than five seconds but don’t do it less than three either. Got it?”

As the worker does as told, Floyd whispers to his brother, “Shrimpy been textin’ ya back?”

Displeasure presses an intimate kiss to Jade’s lips. As he scowls, he says with polite resistance, “As of this moment, no. That is typical though; her communication device is quite primitive and, frankly, faulty on its best days.”

“Hey, if Shrimpy heard you talk about her pager like that, she’d slap ya.”

“Perhaps. But I’d accept any reaction of her’s.”

“Sap. Ya let her kill ya?”

“I would not be opposed.”

And since they are drawing closer to you and the trash compactor you had been fixing, his brother sings one last time, “sap~” before pushing Jade towards you. Not as though he needed the shove, you were his final destination after all. Still holding the milkshake glass, predictions about what you will name it floating around in his head, Jade presses the chilled glass upon your pierced ear.

You jump; you squeak like a mouse; then, you turn your body sharply towards Jade with wide, surprised eyes. How absolutely adorable you are. The hand holding your gloves holds itself protectively over your ear as you stutter, “J-Jade! What was that!”

Giving you a toothy, mischievous grin, Jade pulls the drink so it is eye level with you. “Shouldn’t you recognize your own handiwork?” 

Get it; as you are a handyman of this college? Jade waits patiently as you open your mouth, perhaps to tell him he isn’t funny (he is) or – well, your retort is unknown as the student by the sink’s trash compactor cheers happily, “it’s fixed!” And whatever fleeting amount of your attention Jade was gifted with immediately flies towards your actual handiwork. You are a bird forever uncaged.

“Good,” you say. “Now, be more careful with what goes down there. Pasta and bread, no matter how little of it, shouldn't be thrown out in the disposal. It clogs. Got it?” The staff member nods as you take to slipping your gloves inside your coverall pocket. “Good, good,” you tut in repetition. 

With that, you lean down to organize your suitcase of screwdrivers and wrenches. You are filing away your hex keys by sizes. As you do, Jade steals your attention once more, “Have you ever considered working at Mostro Lounge?”

You stifle a laugh and reply with sarcasm — without turning to Jade’s disappointment — “, of course. It’s been my lifelong dream to work after high school.”

“If you are diligent about it, I’m sure you can secure the position. It would allow customers to indulge in the drinks from an alien race.”

“Alien? Heh.” Focus entirely on your plies, you click and snap each tool back into their proper placement in the suitcase’s labyrinth. “I was thinking of naming that extraterrestrial drink Raspberry Riptide.” Your head then turns and Jade almost anticipates finally getting to see your eyes. Instead, chin parallel with your shoulder, you continue, “or Red Sea. I couldn’t decide.”

“Both are creative choices.” Jade smiles fondly behind you, proud of himself for guessing correctly both of your workshopping names for the drink you made. He thought surely only one of them would be right.

“Too much alliteration in the world.”

“I disagree, you can never have enough alliteration.”

“Riveting Raspberry Riptide?”

“Riveting, Rapid Raspberry Riptide?”

You laugh, hand hovering by your lips, and it is as if all the tides have gently washed over Jade’s body. Whenever he is around you, it feels like he has drunk hundreds of candied milkshakes and smoothies. So saccharine, your mere voice leaves a tattoo of sweetness on his taste-buds. 

“You’ll have all your customers tongue-tied trying to say it,” you chuckle and close your suitcase. The back of your neck is exposed as you latch all the locks. Truly, you do leave yourself too unguarded around him. 

You almost hit him with your thick suitcase as you whirl up and around, giggling happily, “Hey! What’s with you today!” The back of your neck drips with the condensation from the bottom of the Riveting, Rapid Raspberry Riptide’s glass. An appreciative hum bristles in Jade’s ribcage as he catches the scent of dark oil and rich sweat radiating off your body.

Finally, looking at me again. 

“I assure you, I’m acting as I typically do.”

You appear unconvinced. “Mmm, yeah right.” Those seductive witchcraft eyes map a miniature flight across Jade’s visage. “Hey, you aren’t in uniform. What gives?”

He wonders how long it will take you to discover it. Scrutiny is not a labeled weakness or strong suit of yours; your observance skills are perfectly average. However, Jade’s patience for this has been biding a fair enough amount of time until you two collided paths again. He wants to drink your reaction now. Swirling the fountain glass, red undulating in the glass like blood in his veins, Jade waits.

“Well? Is this a guessing g–?” Then, your torpid eyelashes bounce up, suddenly alert. It is good for you that Jade has a .00001 probability rate of ever spilling anything in the lounge, or you would have ended up with a new color on your tank top. “Holy hell! Jade!”

“Fufufu … don’t squeeze too hard now. The skin is quite tender.”

You hold onto Jade’s right arm as if it is a rope thrown out in rescue. As if it can save you from the boredom you must have felt all day without him here at your side. Content to be a helpful hand, Jade allows (perhaps even preens under) your constant ministrations. You are like an unstoppable force. He only has to stop when you attempt to twist his whole arm, which would have surely split Riveting, Rapid Raspberry Riptide all over yours and his shoes.

A mischievous (yet almost softly giddy) smile anchors up Jade’s lips. Silver teeth peek through as he requests, “Would you perhaps kindly indulge me on your … mile-a-minute thoughts?” 

Bouncing on the balls of your feet, tracing the lines, you are full of energy. Each time your nail scrapes across the outline of a psilocybin’s stem or traces along the edges of the skull, it sends a brillant tingle up his spine. You look as if you hope to memorize the new artwork upon his skin like it is enchanting braille.

“Jade.” You squeeze his wrist and he thinks the bones might bruise. “Jade!” A wide smile blinds. “This is so, so cool! And the mushrooms! Oh, I love that it fits you so well. There’s more above your elbow right; does it go all the way up? When did you get this done?”

“Floyd helped me with it last night. The design –”

“He did the design!” You turn your head, waving at Floyd who is pestering and stealing bites from a line-cook. “Floyd!” His head springs up. “This looks so good!” From far away, Floyd’s thumb pops up to get you a positive response, chewing on rosemary bread he stole. Your mouth only halts from shouting out something from across the room again, uncaring of who hears, when something wet touches your cheek.

Like a turtle, you shrink away. Wide-eyed, you turn bewildered to stare as Jade as he removes his thumb from your cheek. “You had a bit of oil on your face.” The material of his glove is slick with his own spit and your oil. It seeps into the fabric like gray moss. 

Those centipede legs of mascara flutter. Your face slowly morphs to a brighter hue, rosing up with a blush, as you suddenly turn your head away. It almost seems like you will continue your conversation with Floyd. Has his actions offended you? He had anticipated a thuggish smile on your face, not a quick, avoidant head-turn.  

Under your breath, you still urge him to tell you more about the tattoo by saying, “It is a very intricate design. You and your brother work well together.” 

“Fufufu, I’m glad you think so.”

You blink hard twice at the floor before remusing being yourself. Looking up at him, you question, “So, how’d it feel to be under the needle?” When he gives you a befuddled quirk of his lips, you supply him with, “during the tattoo?” That does not clear up his confusion.

“It was done with a sticker. The magical properties –”

“Boring,” you mumble under your breath. It is an ugly truth; you never say comfortable lies, too blunt for that. No guilt is your eyes. Perhaps because you thought he did not hear. 

Your words spear through Jade’s chest like a whale-hunting harpoon. Or more appropriately, eel-hunting. Yet, he continues steadfast in his explanation, making sure not to stumble once. “Magical properties make it –” Yet once more, he is interrupted and it is by a student saying that they need you to look at the light fixtures while you are still here, maybe Mostro Lounge blew a fuse somewhere, could you please check?

Everyone needs to disappear. It is the only coherent thought in Jade’s mind as he shimmers silently in anger. If everyone could go away today and forever after, he would not have to play an elaborate game of hopscotch to keep your attention on him.

Always in motion, you reply to the student (who will now be working overtime tonight and receiving less pay too), “Yeah! I’ll be right there!” To him, “ Tell me about it later, yeah? I’m sure it’s … cool!”

Then, you stand on your tippy-toes to kiss his cheek. He imagines the distance must feel like a burden. After such a torturous day fixing areas of the campus, do your toes ache when you have to kiss him?

“Well, I have to shuffle along. Ain’t no rest for the wicked.”

Suitcase in hand, you follow after the student. The glass in Jade’s hand has started to drip, condensation like a dewy rainforest on the shining surface. Love you. He watches you with a forlorn brow, missing you already. Who knows when you two will see each other. It is like trying to keep track of a bus that never arrives on time, always unpredictable.

Until next time, Jade thinks, certain. 

A moment or two pass.

You come barreling back into the kitchen.

You almost wipe down a staff member holding a tray of drinks. Yet, still moving like a train, you push a hand under the silver metal, steady its balance effortlessly, and continue on your track steadfast. Your destination? Well, it is quite clear as you drop your suitcase and tightly interlace your fingers with Jade’s gloved ones.

He blinks twice as you stare with the magnitude of a galaxy. 

“You! Scarabia! Tonight! Will you come!”

The smile you knocked off his face in surprise slowly re-emerges. Too fast for life itself, you often give out invitations at the last moment notice. Not that he minds as he has grown to appoint free minutes and hours for your spontaneity’s usage. 

Slothful and intentional in his words, Jade murmurs for only you to hear, “I would be delighted to come.”

You might as well have bioluminescence with how alight you turn at his mere words. “Sounds razer!” 

Then, like a shooting star, you are gone. 

There is no need for elaboration from you: him, Scarabia, tonight. Those words make a clear outline for what Jade should be expecting. If it is not a concert in Scarbia, this will be a rare glimpse of Jade’s mental prowess growing old with age. 

Imagine that, he just turned twenty last month. No, he is sound of mind. He knows his starts and his ends.

There is a portion of the upcoming Animal Languages exam which he was planning on studying tonight. However, the review can surely wait for another time. It is not often you remember to invite him to one of your concerts. Always racing around, it is a frequent thing for some of your thoughts to slip out your head like cubes of bar soap. An invitation from you is something to cherish. 

Jade is intentional when he chooses an outfit that will show off the full expanse of his arm. Besides the top part of his shoulder that is covered by a tee sleeve, the majority of mushrooms are shown. On pale canvas, spiraling columns of psilocybin paint an eldritch picture, slowly growing grotesque. More frayed like torn curtains and oozing like wounds. 

If you had only waited a little longer, you would have seen that. 

However, one should not fool themselves into thinking a perpetual motion ever stops for one silly person. Jade has always been deliberate when letting Floyd satisfy his impulses. You and his brother match in dispositions. Walking through the maw of a venomous snake with his twin, the mirror shimmering like crystals, Jade knows he only feels so assured of their bond because they are blood. Matching with fingerprints and mirroring irises.

You and him are fragile in a terrarium he is just starting to construct. The environment is so volatile. Jade chews on the words three month honeymoon and the human culture implications of it, as Floyd races away from him, calling out Sea Otter and Sea Snake. 

Late in the night, Scarabia starts to cool down. The pocket dimension’s sun sets and the pocket dimension’s moon rises. That does not mean the light in Scarabia is snuffed out though. Instead, acrid scent coats the air like a thick, overused perfume. Sulfur waves puff up from the campfires placed around like chess pieces and trickle out from the lanterns that hang overhead like bats. 

His nose is not used to the smell of fire. Magical fire is clean without expelling residue. Fires like the one in Scarabia – correct in nature’s chemical code and unheard of in the Coral Sea – irk his senses. 

Still, Jade endures as always. 

Walking deliberately, he takes in the sights of campfire light flickering unsteadily. As expected, there is quite a crowd here tonight. Most are Scarabia students, resting on draped carpets or snacking by the hors-d'œuvre, but there are a good handful of Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, and Pomefiore students. Most are gathered near the empty stage, waiting. 

Some items feel out of place without their owners. Like how uncanny school hallways and mall outlets can be devoid of people walking in them. The desolate microphone on stage seems almost sad without its owner howling and singing into it. 

“Jade! Jade!” But, its loneliness will soon be cured. As will his own. “Jade!”

Jade allows himself to be barreled at. He has been hit harder, but he finds he revels in the weight of your abuse the most. He wishes you would squeeze tight enough to crack a rib (as if it were a mere toothpick) as you hug him and bounce giddy on the balls of your boots. 

As is routine, his nose finds the crook of your neck and inhales deeply as you ramble. “Jade! You’re not going to believe this! I get to have the first hour of the set to myself instead of having to wait the second hour! I’m so excited! Hehe!” 

You pull back slightly to show him all your teeth, grinning and glowing. With your eyes closed like that, Jade memorizes the shade of eyeshadow you have on your lids. The base color is gold and the top layer mimics a tiger skin pattern. Those pretty witchcraft eyes pop open when he asks, “What will you be playing?”

“Ah, I was thinking some Suicide Machines, some Offspring … Oh! I really wanted to do Inside Out by Eve 6 but I don’t know if our new guitarist has the chords down yet.”

“New guitarist?”

“Yeah, our last one said he needed to focus on his studies more. Truth be told, I think he left because he hated how Kalim’s playing dominated over the guitars.”

“Well, Kalim certainly has a unique way of playing.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it more fun when you try out new things!”

“I suppose so. Playing without any variety is a tedious endeavor.”

“Exactly! Better to switch things up!”

After the hypocritical sentence falls out of your mouth, Jade shifts his hands from your shoulders to the swell of your hips. Now, that’s not entirely true, is it, pearl? 

He will not say those words; he does not want to cause you unnecessary pain. However, he lets his hands speak for him as he comfortingly rubs the side of your left hip.

It was a grievous experience to you when Cater and Lilia graduated. You stood before them, bottom lip ceasing to stop quivering no matter how hard you bit it. There were no tear drops hanging on your centipede-leg eyelashes, but your body seemed to be stuck in mid-sob all the same. You did not deal well with band members coming and going. Yet, you slapped on a facade all the same. Perhaps you just choose to rush away from grief in the same manner you choose to rush away from everything. 

“I’m sure he is a fabulous addition. Do I know him?”

“Yeah, you do! He’s actually –!”

“(Name)! Ah, I’m glad I found ya. We’re starting in ten, ya dummy.” 

Jade is not surprised. The face he wears is one of clear anticipation for this very moment, cool eyes and slight smile lifting as his attention moves to your new guitarist. Truthfully, Jade had been prophesying this exact moment.

He would be a fool to not be at least three steps ahead of everyone in this lawless world. So, sliding a bare hand down the length of your arm to interlock fingers, he replies for you, “Sounds like plenty of time. I won’t keep her for much longer than five.” And then the rest of hers and mine life. 

The Scarabia student with the macaw feather earring tears his gaze away from you (good) to look at Jade. His face briefly pinches before flattening out, gruff in his mannerisms yet light in tone, “as long as ya promise to deliver her to me before the show starts.”

“I can assure her punctuality.”

Diverting from eye contact, the Scarabia student looks towards you for your confirmation.  “I’ll only be a few minutes, Iago! I’ll be on stage at five!”

Iago nods. When he leaves, Jade notices how many rings are on his fingers. Would that not obstruct him from playing his guitar? “You’re the boss. See ya, (Name).” 

“I’m not the boss!” Iago smiles mischievously; you start to laugh. “C’mon! You know I hate that!”

“Aye aye, captain.” 

You are giggling up a storm as Iago leaves. Big and toothy, like all the ones Jade adores to see. Soft, you glance up at Jade and there is something carefree in your witchcraft eyes, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. “He reminds me of,” then you say your old guitarist’s name. The one from your original world. 

Sea-urchin quills pierce his lungs like balloons. Jade’s hand tightens around yours as he is going to lose you again. Expression neutral, he hums, “is that so?”

“Their mannerisms are kind of similar! Their playing style isn’t a perfect copy but it is pretty damn close! It’s like … a warped fingerprint of each other … ya know!”

He supposes he does not. Jade never met your old guitarist, probably won’t ever either. Praises, however, were sung loud and often enough to feel he had sat down in a past life and drank tea with your old guitarist. As a retired musician himself, he knows a bit about the DNA residue of other musicians – most intimately he knows Floyd’s and Azul’s musician thumbprint – that he can safely nod. “Similar but not quite identical.”

“Similar but not identical! Yeah!”

How enthusiastic. Cute. Jade opens his mouth to dissect (and maybe exploit the weaknesses) in your old guitart’s playing style with Iago’s when you are suddenly squeezing his hand tightly. “Jade! Wow! This is!” Your eyes are glued to his arm, mesmerized. How enthusiastic. 

It has morphed since the last you saw it. Around his biceps, psilocybin mushrooms come apart like time-lapsed fruits, bruised and decomposing in sunken holes. Like a book-cover or sticker coated in felt, you touch the unique texture of real life bulbophyllum phalaenopsis lying on Jade’s porcelain skin. As you pet the orchid family plant, Jade smiles. 

“Bulbophyllums are one of the worst smelling plants in Twisted Wonderland,” like a child hearing a story, your eyes draw up to observe Jade, “they grow deep in the heart of the Sunset Savanna. Warthogs are the only animal that can digest them and their smell is said to drive men to want to cut off their noses.”

“I would ask how the smell would work against the undead, but I would rather keep my nose intact.”

“As would I.” He taps you on the very appendage. “An adorable feature deserves to stay on an adorable face.”

“Is there a reason they smell so bad? Like are the pheromones supposed to protect something?”

“It is to deter most animals looking for a snack. Once past the smell, there is –”

“(Name), Kalim can’t find his drumsticks!” And though your attention was fiercely focused on him, it evaporates like a drop in the summer sun. Your neck almost cracks with the speed you use to turn back towards where your band members are gathered. Iago waves at you urgently.

Lip wobbling, you murmur guilty, “Jade…”

“Go. I’ll be off to the left side of the stage. Perhaps, if it is not too much strain, blow me a kiss?”

You turn with gratitude in your expression. “Thank you,” you breath relieved. Before you race off, you gift him with something even sweeter than a blown kiss from the stage. You press your lipstick painted embrace on his cheek, leaving a mark that is dark as fresh blood. “I love you. Thank you.”

Logical and intelligent, Jade is correct about one thing irrevocably. The microphone stops looking uncanny as you take it in your grasp. 

It is as much a part of you as his sturgeon scale earring is a part of him. An undeniable accessory to your body that you fit into the mold of yourself like a puzzle coming together. Microphone held in your grip, you speak minutes later (rarely without shouting), “This is a song that came out last year in my world before I came to Night Raven. It was September 1998. And, at the start of my senior year in high school, it was all anyone heard on the radio. I practiced it every day after school until I memorized the chords. I decided when I graduated in 1999 that I was going to be a woman like that – a rockstar.”

Kalim, energetic, slams a beat on his drums, getting the crowd hyped. A grin materializes on your face. Fond, you shuffle a few steps back on the stage, looking towards your drummer, before turning to face your beloved crowd. 

You howl into the microphone — everyone … please make some noise!! — as the band starts to play. 

Jade thinks to himself, there are certain places people belong. 

The first time you two officially met, it was after Azul’s overblot.

Too distracted about the success of having two hundred and twenty-five magicless students under his thumb, Azul had not anticipated the slothful Leona Kingscholar deciding then and there would be a perfect time to destroy the contract between the two housewardens. Given Kingscholar’s haughty disposition, it was only natural that he would take to unraveling each and every contract Azul ever made. From there, the spool of Azul’s self control unraveled until he was naked, lying on the floor, come undone like a sweater.

In the aftermath, sprawling among his unthreaded mind and magic, Mostro Lounge had suffered significant damages. 

Smashed plates, broken tabletops, shattered ornaments, and an indoor aquarium leaking out corpses of fishes and intestines of underwater plant-life. Jade himself happened to lose a one-of-a-kind tea kettle that was a family heirloom. However, his grief was a mouse compared to the elephant in the room: the irrefutable fact that Azul had truly lost so much in mere hours.

Not that Jade held any doubts that Azul would bounce back better than ever. There has always been an undercurrent of confidence in both Floyd and Jade that is Azul trips, he comes back sprinting.

A rich image, though, if you imagine a slow, eight-legged Azul ever being able to achieve a sprint; simply, it is all metaphorical.

Hilarity aside, yours and Jade’s colliding paths happened after Azul’s overblot. It is an easy start to label. Puppetered by fate or perhaps coincidence, Jade had found himself unable to fall asleep that night. A teacup, drank down to the granular leaves at the bottom, sat on both the nightstand of Octavinelle’s housewarden’s bedroom and his own brother’s bedroom. Not wishing to usher himself into sedative-induced sleep just yet, Jade slipped into the wreckage of Azul’s restaurant and found you dancing upon it. 

Now, you were not vindictively celebrating a release from contract. Nor were you particularly happy about the overblot in general. At this point in time, you have not even met Azul before, much less held a reason to revel in his misfortune, but still you danced.  

It is a violent twitching and lurching motion like you are trying to dispel a ghoul out of your body. Juxtaposingly, it is a gentle swaying and gyrating like you are performing on the thawing, icy floes of northern waters. It is a combination of motion Jade has never seen before. Some he will later learn have names and rules about how they are done; others are merely the eldritch and true hypnotism of music puppeting your body.

I think I know them; Jade squints. Perched on the stone walls in the courtyards. Caught in the middle of cleaning an empty classroom. Finally, the memory flutters in: you, pitching a fit at the Headmaster, saying you did not want to be attending college, much less a private college.

You are the janitor. He knows you. Not intimately (and he does not even know your name) but he does recognize who you are. Dull and colorless in his world, there is no reason for you to be here when Jade came to the lounge to fight his own insomnia through cleaning up the mess. 

And, you aren’t even cleaning up anything. You might as well be a thousand stars away, a hundred planets, and ten galaxies away from this place right now. 

In hand, you have your trickling mop which you strum invisible frets on. As if determined to wring music out of a cleaning supply, you violently took to dipping it as if caught together in a macabre tango, jerking it like horse reins, and pounding it against your sternum when a particular hard chord is struck. Despite the violence, it would take a blind man to not immediately recognize you know what you are doing with your fingers.

As you strum and pluck at air, the motion in your phalanges reminds Jade of the incessant twitching of shrimp legs as they glide down underwater vegetation. Fluid as if you were a machine constructed for the purpose of playing the guitar until fuel runs out, your programmed raison d'etre. 

Jumping like a restless rabbit, your boots slam upon the lounge floor. Pound. Airborne. Pound. Airborne. It is a repeat that only ends when you plant them both down. Your hip ticks back and forth as if you are balancing on a surfboard. Then, in a mannerism he has seen of many beastmans, you throw your head back and howl.

It is not at all like the cacophony of those beasts. From your pursed lips, you eject a bewitching melody that threads itself through Jade’s ears like a dangerous conjuration. It causes the teapot in Jade’s hands to tremble slightly.

“Awooooouuuuh! Got you where I want you!!” 

What peculiar lyrics. He has never heard anything like that before. Although, with the pair of ancient headphones over your ears, you might as well be as unreachable as the moon. Jade still has to evacuate you from the lounge. Talented singer or not. Holding onto his kettle of sympathy, he makes his way over to you. 

The only reason that there is a .00001 probability rate of Jade spilling drinks in the lounge instead of being a plain 0 is because … well, frankly, it is sentimentally embarrassing. Yet, when you turn around, lyrics like cigarette smoke on your lips, and face him, you perform a spell. Now, Jade knows you are magicless. 

This knowledge is contradicted by the way your eyes instantly cut each of his Achilles tendon and drain all tangibility of his legs from underneath him.

Or perhaps it is because of the spot you left wet from the mop.

“Dude! … Sir! … Um, shit! Whoever you are, ugh! Idiot!” Headphones yanked around your neck, you race forward and leave your mop-guitar behind.

Now, Jade has not had legs for as long as his peers. He got them at seventeen, practiced with them over the summer at Land Boot Camp, and he is now nineteen in his second year of college. So for approximately two years, he has been anchored by hamstrings, calves, ankles, etcetera. He is familiar with them enough to know when he cannot recover from a fall.

It is quite a shock to the walking eel-mer when he does not in fact hit ground – despite the clear, piercing sound of another family heirloom being broken to bits, at least he can fix this one, all the chipped pieces congealed in one place – and it is not an act of magic this time.

“You okay there?”

Starstruck, Jade blinks at your face hovering over his. Briefly, he feels your knobby knee on the small of his back. His body is bent uncomfortably like an abused violin bow; yet he feels no dull sense of pain. The touch of your embrace is irreplicable, as pleasant as home. Into your swirling eyes, Jade stares and recalls a childhood memory from the days that legs seemed an impossible addition to his body.

The bottom of the northern Coral Sea is dark and cold, yet it is home. Additionally, it is not entirely the bottom of the sea where he grew up. There are still depths unexplored before in that great expanse of stretching black sand. 

Jade is seven and a quarter (he likes to count his age meticulously) when he comes across one of those unventured abyssal areas that he has never seen before. He knows he has gone further than ever before because he has never seen such an eccentric trench before. When he is eighteen, he will find that manholes closely resemble the sight. 

It is one giant manhole. It is like some behemoth man carved a circle into the seabed. Where the black sand underneath him is seeable, this sudden descend is full of a nebulous black without any sort of gray or silver shadows. A ring of ineffable ebony. 

It is wide enough that if he stretches his tail across he might be two feet off from measuring out the mere radius. The diameter is twice (and then some) as long as his tail. Approximately, Jade calculates diligently in his head, the trench is 5.282 meters long across. And since it is a perfect circle (this has Jade entranced as trenches do not form like this in the environment) it is a full 5.3 meters in each direction he could swim across it.  

Not that he would dare. No. He is too terrified to even calculate the time it would take to swim that distance.

Yet still: “Goin’ to swim across?” His mother eggs him on.

Young Jade looks behind with wide eyes. A swarm of impish intent is swimming in those violet blue hues. He loves his mother dearly but her errant ways are sometimes too much for him. Now so more than ever. As he feels his sinking stomach drift down and down, he replies dutifully and clearly to her troublesome inquiry, “No, Mama.”

Then, because he is still a child, his eyes mistakenly slide back to the circular trench. His stomach lurches. Jade relocates behind his mother. He tries not to let his chagrin show as she laughs at him, high pitched and musical like a witch. 

She eventually turns her head around, talons delicately placed on her chin which is parallel with her shoulder. Like jellyfish tentacles, her deep black hair sweeps across her nose and cheek much like scars. Jade shivers at the water breeze, not cowering but using his parent as a shield.

“Afraid, baby?”

“No, Mother.”

“Do not lie.”

“... I’m not afraid.”

It is a half-truth from a squeamish boy. But it is spoken with the conviction of a man. So, his mother only turns her head a bit more to glance down at Jade who stays firm behind her back. Her violet blue eyes narrow like they are knives meant to dissect his larynx. 

She likes ugly truths and loathes comfortable lies.

A soft smile graces her face. And, Jade, who was keeping his eyes intently focused on his mother’s slithering teal tail, steals a quick glance up at it. His tense muscles unwind. Then, as his mother does whenever one of her two boys hide behind her, she grabs Jade by the black strand and tugs him hard in front of her body.

She digs her talon in his shoulders, almost draws blood (would if he were anyone else), and pushes his body to overlook the trench. 

His mother does not relent, even as Jade binds his tail around her forearm almost hard even to break the bone (would if she were anyone else). Without a single whimper, he squirms in her harsh hold. His dual-colored eyes are wide in fright. The abyss looks bottomless. If his mother loosens her talons, he will surely fall in and never be heard from again.

Delicate and dangerous like a nightmare, his mother puts her head onto Jade's and whispers, “fear, insecurity, and anxiety are like curses. You’ll learn about curses soon in school. The more power you give them, the worse it gets for you, Jade.

“So,” here her grip relents finally and Jade starts to unwind his tail from her forearms, “banish it.” The cavern swallows like flowing sheets undulating over his head.  

That exact feeling is mimicked by the stare in your witchcraft eyes. 

And those eyes fall all over town.

[yumeka-sxf]

Spy x Family CODE: White post-release promo videos

It's now been a week since CODE: White released in Japan and we're STILL getting new promo videos with new footage! Obviously my favorite is the Twiyor ferris wheel scene ❤️

First Twilight had the chin monster, now he has the cheek monster 😂

There's more new promo videos besides this one, but unfortunately I can only embed one video per post. So here's a bunch of screenshots from the other videos, along with links so you can watch them for yourself!

Links below:

And here's an additional one that's only on Twitter as of now.

It really is amazing how many scenes they've shown in these videos! All that's left is for them to show us the whole movie at this point 🤣 Also, for those who didn't see my previous post, I got copies of the CODE: White novelizations and have been reading through them. I plan to share a summary of the whole movie once I'm done!

[hauntedhokage]

Day Two: Exhibitionism & Body Worship

Nanami Kento/Fem!Reader

summary: nanami’s got an office crush, and it turns out that you’re into him too. 

word count: 1.8k

warnings: public sex against a copy machine, marking, exhibitionism, possessive!nanami, nanami is kinda ooc but it’ll make sense i promise

note: I think about miserable corporate Nanami often because I, too, am a corporate girlie that is (occasionally) miserable

He’d had his eyes on you for a while, you’d started working at the company around the time that he did and being the first person he’d really met in the building already had you leagues ahead of the others he hasn’t met yet. Nervous during your first few days, you’d almost clung to him for the first few months because he was the only person you knew from the orientation days - plus the other men of the office always looked at you weird and you didn’t like it. As he grew exhausted of the day-to-day monotony, you seemed to keep that chipper exterior which had you quickly promoted to a senior role despite your short tenure with the company at that point. 

You were damn good at your job. Intelligent, laser focused on the market trends which made you quite skilled at getting sales (even when the markets were down, something that thrilled upper management). While he didn’t understand how you did it, he could respect your drive to succeed in this environment. He’d grown to admire you because of it, but that admiration turned into infatuation and he quickly came to the conclusion that you were the most beautiful woman on the floor - likely in the entire company. He wanted to devour you.

He understood why his coworkers and even managers would oogle as you walked by. It didn’t matter what you were wearing, there was always a whisper after you were supposed to be out of earshot about how hot you looked that day. He couldn’t say that he disagreed, even when you were wearing a turtleneck and jeans you were just as attractive as you were in a skirt and blouse the showed off plenty of your skin that he wondered if it was as soft as your voice was when you were speaking to him. He supposed you trusted him more, due to the fact that he wasn’t audibly wondering if you were single, or making propositions on a constant basis to take you out for drinks. On occasion he’d bring you coffee, or you’d drag him away from his desk to eat something besides the bread he’d brought in that morning - he had a closeness to you that no man in the building could ever hope to achieve. Those lecherous losers were jealous of him - and they should be. 

“Good morning, Kento,” you greet, leaning against the table beside the copy machine he was using. Too many figures needed to go to too many managers for signatures - waste of both paper and his time. “I would’ve handled those report copies for you, I know how stuff like this can grate on you.”

“You’ve got a hard enough job trying to encourage them to hit quotas, I couldn’t waste your time with this.” It's when he finally looks over at you that he sees what you’re wearing, the silky black shirt he liked so much with the top three buttons undone instead of your usual two. Likely to show off the necklace you’d gotten for your recent birthday, but he’d discreetly admire the way the swell of your breast was on display for him due to your height difference. “You look lovely today.”

“Thank you.” You’re smiling, batting those pretty eyelashes at him while playing with the papers in your hand. “I feel like you’re the only man here that appreciates my appearance instead of sexualizing it all day.”

“A woman like you should be admired, treated with care and respect.” 

“And you’d treat me with care and respect?” Your hand rests on his chest, and he’s glad that he left his blazer at his desk when his body begins to heat up at the contact. “We’ve got about half an hour before anyone starts to show up, wanna show me some proper respect?” 

He’d worship you if you’d let him, and that has him dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands hold your hips, fingers kneading into your body while also searching for the zipper of your skirt. As desperate as he was to have his hands on you, to taste your beautiful skin, he was not going to ruin your clothes. 

Except maybe the pantyhose that obstructed his path to truly feel your skin. 

“Forgive me, but I promise to replace these,” is all he says before ripping at the flimsy fabric, rolling it down your legs before bringing one of them up so he could comfortably kiss the side of your leg by your knee. You were just as soft as he’d dreamt you’d be, and he looks up to meet your gaze as he kisses and sucks - leaving the occasional bite) along your thigh as his other hand kneads at the flesh. “I’ve never told you how beautiful I’d always thought you were. Thank you for providing me this opportunity.”

Your hand pushes into his hair, the perfectly combed style instantly messed up by how you’re petting his head as he makes his way up to your core. Your mound is covered by black lace, the fabric pushed to the side so he could kiss around your labia while murmuring to you how beautiful your pussy was. You’re already soaked, juices pooled at your entrance that he eagerly laps up, your taste better than he could’ve ever imagined. His groan into your entrance brings a moan out of you, your hips pushing against his face as he grips them again. You could do whatever you wanted to him, and he’d take it all with no complaint. 

His finger carefully probes your entrance, and he’s pleased by how easy you take him. Your gummy walls almost welcome him with how they coat his finger in slick, making it easy for him to ease a second digit in to work to stretch you out. Your soft moan when his tongue drags along your clit, and he enjoys peppering kisses around your little clit as he fingers you. He doesn’t exactly want to make you cum this soon, but if it happened then it happened. You’d just have to give him another if you did. 

“Kento,” you sigh, sounding heavenly as you roll your hips into his hand. “Kento please, I’m gonna cum.”

That’s his cue to stop, sliding his fingers from inside you and enjoying the disappointed whine that leaves you. 

“Patience,” he chides softly, undoing his belt and pants so he could free his throbbing erection. “Gonna give you everything.”

His fingers are taken into your mouth as he pushes his cock into your waiting entrance, and he loves the way you moan at your taste while taking him so beautifully. The way your tongue lavished his fingers with attention, trying to clean every millimeter of your juices from his skin - making him wonder how much attention you’d give his cock in later events. 

Your eyes close as he bottoms out, his soft sigh making you smile around his fingers before you release them with a pop. He hears your heel hit the floor as your leg moves with the rhythm of his first few thrusts against the copy machine, the plastic creaking with every push against it. The thing was probably fifteen years old, liable to break after he was done with you, but this was not the time to worry about damage to company property. 

“You’re so tight, made just for me huh?” he murmurs, kissing at your neck before nipping at your jaw. He soothes that spot with a kiss before sucking at the skin there, knowing you shouldn’t have a hickey on your face - or anywhere visible, really - but he couldn’t care. Knowing that you’re marked by him, so everyone knew you were his, was much more important than protecting either of your reputations. 

He hears footsteps but cannot be bothered to care, not even when one of his coworkers stops in the doorway in shock at what was happening in the copy room. You’re letting out small moans with every thrust, and his hands are trying to get more buttons of your blouse undone so he could properly stare at the chest he’d spent years admiring.

Your breasts looked beautiful as they bounced, your bra barely able to keep them in place until his hands pushed down the cups to free them. One hand sets to idly kneading one of your breasts, fingers occasionally rolling and pinching your nipples as his mouth busies itself with your other breast. Your moans were sure to draw attention to your less than professional actions, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from properly adoring your body and delivering the utmost pleasure that he could provide at seven in the morning on a Wednesday. 

By now a crowd has formed, a herd of eager men all trying to get a look at the most beautiful woman in the office getting fucked against the copy machine. He’s normally a territorial and private man, but in this instance Nanami doesn’t care because it means these men know you’re off limits. You’re his now, only his, and your neck and breasts would be covered in marks that will serve as a reminder to everyone just who would be taking care of you. 

“K-Kento!” You’re also unconcerned by the crowd and how they watched, the occasional wolf whistle and flash of a camera trying to capture your beautiful body as it moved with his powerful thrusts. If anything, he was sure it had turned you on more judging by how you had tightened around him. 

“Sound so pretty when you’re moaning for me,” he praises, leaning in to suck at your neck to leave yet another bruise against your otherwise unmarked skin. “Let me hear you some more, please?”

“Y’like me that much, huh?”

“Think I love you,” he responds, pressing his face into your neck as he feels you tighten around him some more. “Gonna show them how beautiful you are when you cum for me?”

“Uh-huh.” He’s got you so close you’re practically whimpering for him, your hands messing up his hair and fingers digging into his shoulder hard enough that if it wasn’t for his shirt he’s sure your nails would break his skin. When you did this again, he’d make sure you did to mark him up as much as he’d marked you up. 

It’s when you’re cumming around his length, your juices dripping onto his pants before he pulls out to paint the copy machine with his own spend, that he knows that he’s truly in love with you rather than simply liking you. 

Fuck, was he lucky. 

“Uh, Kento?” you ask, snapping him from his fantasy and sending him plummeting back to the reality that was standing in front of a copy machine with you now waiting for him to finish so you could use it. “Are you okay?”

“I apologize, were you needing something from me?”

“Uh, not exactly.” You’re avoiding his eye contact now, fiddling with the papers in your hand. “I was going to ask if maybe you wanted to get a drink, or have dinner with me?”

“That sounds like a wonderful evening. There’s a restaurant not far from here that I enjoy, when would you like to go?”

And after plans are finalized, you leave the copy room - he assumes to go to your desk - and he realizes you’d left your papers on the table. One look tells him that they were blank, meaning that you used waiting for the copy machine to have an excuse to talk to him in a secluded place.

Those losers never had a chance.