#i hope this adds something to your theory

[halfratsalready]

I definitely think that there’s multiple factors at play here.

This is such a long winded explanation so apologies in advance 😭

It does seem that the dancers portraying the story mode coaches had a lot going on this year. As far as I’m aware, I think Shirley is the only one who portrayed a coach in JD25? I know that Jerky Jessy choreographed Paint The Town Red Extreme, but I’m not aware of his involvement in any other maps (I could totally be missing something, though). Obviously they recast coaches all the time, but I can totally see why they wouldn’t want to recast the main story mode coaches (yes, they recast Night Swan for JD24, but that was probably to make things easier to film and worked out pretty well because Night Swan’s makeup is so heavy it’s almost hard to tell that the dancer even changed). I think the only reason they were okay with “recasting” Leda for IYE is because Shirley has played Night Swan before, even if Maïwenn played that version of Leda first in JD24. To me, this is the theory that honestly makes the most sense, but I doubt this would be the only reason they completely ignored the lore this year.

Part of me wonders if they held off on lore this year to see what the response would be. Obviously this would be a risky move and not a very smart one, but hey, given how divisive the lore seems to be amongst players, I can see why they’d want to see the reaction to a lack of a story mode in this game.

The inclusion of the Ariana Grande song pack seems more like an idea to fill the gap in the song list that a lack of story mode created than a reason for a lack of story mode. Both story modes thus far have consisted of seven maps, and the Ariana song pack includes six. Add In Your Eyes to the mix as an attempt to appease the lore fans in the absence of a story mode, and you’ve got seven maps to fill the gap left empty by the lack of a story mode.

Budget problems is 100% a possibility, especially considering the aforementioned divisiveness of the story modes in the past. They might be trying to appeal to a wider audience to get the most out of the budget they have (another reason that the Ariana song pack would be good for filling in for story mode maps in the final count).

For what it’s worth, I don’t think Lose Yourself has anything to do with it. I’m still a “Lose Yourself is a prequel map” believer, because it just doesn’t make sense to me that it would have been made for JD24 as a follow up to the JD24 story mode. I can’t imagine that they would end Dance With the Swan on that cliffhanger and then throw in Lose Yourself as a continuation. I could do a whole post on this honestly, but I personally don’t think that it has anything to do with story mode not returning this year, because I don’t see it as taking place after Dance With the Swan.

I also don’t think it’s to indicate a passage of time since Dance With the Swan. You can easily indicate time passing without actually waiting over a year to continue the story, and this just doesn’t seem reasonable to me at all.

I can’t say whether I believe they’ll do this or not, but a lore season would honestly infuriate me. To have something that is normally included in the base game be free for only a couple of months before locking it behind the JD+ paywall would be absolutely ridiculous and probably spark even more backlash than including lore in the first place. Would it be nice to have story mode-based rewards? Yes! I’d love some new Night Swan avatars by now! And some Night! Just Dancer avatars would also be great. But I’m holding out hope they don’t do a lore season because of the controversy it could (deservedly) start and the negative impact that could have on continuing the lore in the future.

That being said, I don’t believe they’ve totally given up on story mode or lore. I don’t think they would have included In Your Eyes if that was the case. Also I’m just really hoping they don’t ditch the lore because I want the lore and I refuse to believe that it’s not coming back.

All of that just to say - THEY SHOULD HAVE TOLD US. They can still tell us! All they had to do was acknowledge the absence of a story mode, and they couldn’t even do that. I would have been disappointed but still understanding if they’d acknowledged the fact that they weren’t going to include the lore this year. Instead, they’ve completely ignored it, which is the real problem for me.

Ok I wanted to do it for quite some time now

Those are all I could think about/saw people throw around. I could easily talk more in depth about each one, so if you're not sure what I mean, don't hesitate to ask. I can't add more answers, so if u have other theories or believe it's multiple reasons, feel free to share them in the tags 👇👇

Reblogs for a bigger sample size will be appreciated 🙏

[odetojupiter]

jean kevin and neil all being 19 when they officially leave the nest feels significant somehow

(kevin being 19 when he runs, jean being 19 when renee takes him, neil’s fake age being 19 when he leaves after christmas and his real age being 19 when he leaves after riko is shot and he’s officially pardoned by ichirou)

[kaeyacollection]

Hi, I don't play genshin but sometimes I like to lurk through other people's fandom to spice things a bit on my brain. Anyways, recently I saw some posts talking about some red moon eye-like god (? Something like that, having strong Naruto flashbacks here btw) and I was wondering:

(What with all the eyes?

I mean, visions look like eyes (and the name lol), the fallen nation's king had a single eye, Kaeya covers an eye, Furina has something weird in her pupil, that god is an eye.

That was really not the point tho.)

Is that eye god stuff the reason visions exist or celestia really said "oh, yes, lets give these tenacious mortals who have reasons to hate me a way to become stronger, there's no way this fires back at me"? Or is the eye god stuff Celestia? Or are all higher up gods just eyeballs? (Half joking with this one but that would be kinda fun) Though according to religious stuff, biblically accurate angels would look like eyeballs or something.

Anyways, I know you probably don't know the answer (since the game seems to be like an unfinished book with the real plot still unfolded), but I wanted to share the senseless questions in my head with someone and the chosen one (by my brain) is you (based on vibes).

Lmaoo hell yeah I passed the vibe check 💖💖💖

But you're right in that currently we're only working off of speculation for Visions

And oh boy did this become a long one lmao (tldr at the end ✨️)

The most popular theory back in the day was that Visions were the eyes of Celestia

Because as you said, they've also been given to people with reason to hate them, so this was a way to keep an EYE on them lmao

As we continued our journey we learned the archons would set aside a fraction of their power for those who hit certain marks in their life in order to be granted a vision - but they had no control over who got them or why

What finally challenged this theory is that Neuvillette, a dragon (that the ever composed Zhongli, ex archon, hid from), also set aside some of his power to be handed out as visions. Something that wouldn't seem to line up if they were actually harmful to the humans he's come to care for

And then we got his Friendship 6 Vision story:

"To continue to subdue and control the resentments and loathing of the world, the usurper and one who came after created the Gnoses together. So it came to be that an order was made to be upheld, and thus did humans come to only possess these seven remembrances ... From that day on, whenever a person's wishes reached the heavens, the seven overseers of the material realm were duty-bound to grant them a gift.

... And when one so gifted completed their duty... the gift the gods would receive in return would be more abundant still."

Neuvillette was also opposed to the fates/constellations before later caring for humans and allowing his own mark to be etched into the sky

"He did not initially care much about such, for the puppet strings glossed as "divine rules" would one day be burned away by the fires of judgment."

"And could it not be, he would explain, that King Nibelung had been wrong, and that the black void could only be opposed if all life were to band together as one? Thus did he, in the end, come into his own "fate." The skies had left a special, ennobled place for him, one reserved for the overseers and those who could defy the world itself — that of his own reflection."

Obtaining a Vision, and therefore a constellation, seems to represent a unity of goals instead. Not of a hatred for the Usurper but of an unbreakable will to keep pushing forward. A Will that when unified together, like in the fight against Ei, can become something more. It's easily why many Vision holders get theirs in dire situations, when faced with death they stand defiant against despair.

Perhaps when facing off against an all consuming void that threatens the world created by the Usurper, a darkness that would also threaten their very lives, these Wills will be at their strongest to push back the calamity, at least for a while longer.

To counter the despair of the world is to rise to your own judgment and demand to have a place in the world anyways... or at least that can be one interpretation 🤷

'Cause you see, the Narzissenkreuz Institute also brought up the belief that "one's own will is an obstacle, and that obtaining a Vision is a "guaranteed path to destruction." "

Whether a dramatic/poetic interpretation of giving up your Will to act as a battery for some anti-void machine, or much like Fontaine's prophecy, a twisted truth, it's not a line that should be disregarded so easily.

(Could also mean that having a will to stand in defiance would really fuck up their plan of everyone giving up their identities to seek shelter in the one water droplet during the end of the world. So "guaranteed destruction" in the belief that their plan was the only way to survive, and not that the visions themselves were the cause for the end)

So all in all, what we know about visions is that it's soft locked behind poetry and lines we don't have the full context for, and I suck at reading poetry (looking at you Fischl istg) ✨️

--

As for why eyes in general? Genshin takes inspiration from a LOT of mythos/stories/religions that ALSO have a thing for eyes

Like at this point I think they went through their own red string conspiracy of eyes throughout history and decided to compress it into a single story lmao

But man you just reminded me of the "Natsuhiboshi red eye" Naruto song I used to listen to a bunch lmao

[lovelivision]

RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP!?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: geto suguru/reader

𝐖𝐂: 11.9k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: friendships are hard, especially when the lines are so blurry you can't tell where the both of you stand. so what do you do when you catch feelings on top of all that ??

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, angst (?), swearing, making out, annoying drunk stranger, fingering, dirty talk, marking, titty worship, p in v sex, clit slapping, creampie, geto fucks mean, geto is a TEASE, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, no use of y/n, i think that's all !!

Being friends with Geto Suguru isn’t hard… in theory but in practice it’s one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do. It’s especially difficult because he does things for you that feel like they’re pushing the boundaries of a normal friendship without actually doing anything weird.

Things like his insistence on bringing things for you when you’re feeling down, showing you extra care in how he talks to you, hanging out with you and having frequent movie nights, being attentive to your needs. While those things are innocuous in theory, it’s the way he treats you, talks to you and how it makes you feel that has your friendship feeling like it’s on a precarious ledge. Caught between pulling back or pushing over.

Sighing, your foot kicks at his sitting form, “Don’t you have something better to do tonight?”

“Like what?” His eyebrow raises at you, eyeing your lazy form, spread out comfortably on your couch.

You’d feel bad for taking up the whole couch if you weren’t so comfortable, “I don’t know, like a date? Hanging with friends? Going out on the town or whatever youths do.”

“Firstly, I’m older than you–”

Interjecting to add, “–Not by much!”

He only rolls his eyes, ignoring your interruption all together, “To your other points, I’m not interested in dating right now, and I am hanging out with a friend.”

Sighing louder than last time, foot pushing him enough to sway him, “Aren’t you bored of me?”

“No?” his brows pinching in confusion, “Should I be?” Hand grabbing your foot to stop it from kicking at him.

You pout, trying to pull yourself free of his grip, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t say stupid things,” he huffs, amused by your struggle. “I could ask you the same thing you know.”

“I like hanging out with you,” you grumble at him.

“Yeah, well, I feel the same,” finally letting go of your foot.

You’re feeling restless, he’s your friend, you know he’s your friend, and yet you can’t help hoping that your friendship is just a little bit more special. You groan and kick at him with both your feet.

“Woah, hey!” Both his hands grab at your ankles, pinning them down into the couch, “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“I’m annoyed.”

“I’ve taken notice,” he’s trapping you with a pointed look, waiting for more of an explanation from you.

If you had an explanation, you’d give it to him but as of right now, you aren’t even sure if you’re aware of what you’re feeling enough to verbalise it to him. You deflate, looking back at him sheepishly, “I know you want to know what’s wrong, but I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Or you don’t want me to know?”

Pushing yourself up, you cock your head at him, “The result is the same despite my answer, no?”

“No.” His tone resolute, “I could help,” he returns.

You deliver a very plain, “You can’t.” He’s the cause of your confusion, talking to him could make it all so much worse and you don’t really want to deal with the fallout of all that.

“Woah, awful dismissive of me, I might be able to fix what’s wrong easily.”

Turning so you’re facing the screen, you try to focus on the plot, “You can fix what’s wrong right now by being quiet and watching the movie.”

“I was watching the movie, you distracted me,” he pokes lightly at your shoulder.

Shushing at him quickly, “Shut, I’m trying to listen.”

He doesn’t say anymore, just goes back to watching the movie in silence, probably following the plot better than you are because you’re sat closer to him like this and can’t help but sneak glances at him.

It’s not fair, he looks pretty like this, face illuminated by the soft glow of the television, seemingly entranced by the movie playing. While gazing over his features, you find yourself constantly looking back at his lips, heart stuttering in your chest. You wonder how kissing him would feel like, would it help, wait.

Prying your eyes off him, you desperately hope to be shown some kind of mercy, you shouldn’t want to kiss him, you shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. You need to get a hold of yourself.

Unfortunately, you are not shown any mercy and all you can manage to think about is him, how soft his lips might be, how he would kiss you, would he be tentative… or would he kiss you like he’s done it a million times before.

Not even realising you’re staring at him again until he sighs and locks his eyes onto yours, “Are you aware you’re staring at me?”

Trying to play it cool by answering, “I was not staring.”

“Are you alright?” He’s growing a little concerned by your unusual behaviour tonight.

“I’m fine! Good even, just… a little lost in thought is all.” You feel guilty.

“And just what exactly are you thinking about?”

Your skin flares at his question, feeling embarrassed by your thoughts, “Nothing! General thoughts… you know…”

“Right…” He’s clearly sceptical, not believing your flimsy answers for even a second, “Have I done something to upset you?”

He’s too much for you right now, you try answering confidently but fail miserably, “No?”

Moving so his body is facing you, he gets into your space, worried by your answer, “Why don’t you sound sure?”

“Why are you asking me so many questions tonight?” You avoid his gaze, flustered by him suddenly so close to you. Still thinking about his lips on yours, in the back of your head thinking about his hands on your body.

“You’re being weird, I’m just concerned,” his hand reaches for your face, “Do you have a fever or something?” His knuckles rest on your cheek, gauging your temperature.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” you’re fumbling more than you want to, eyes rounded and shocked looking into his.

It feels like you grow warmer the longer his hand stays on your face, it’s becoming difficult to think. If you had a good reason, you would kick him out right now but you’re already concerning him and you’re trying so hard to be normal. This night is taking a very unfortunate turn.

His face twists, concern written all over it, “You feel a little warm, are you sure you’re okay?” Hand slipping from your cheek, moving to rest against the back of the couch.

Trying to keep your answers short, you give a simple, “I’m sure.”

Geto doesn’t know where to go from here, his silence is evidence of that. You don’t blame him though because you’re not really sure where to go from here either, the thoughts of his lips on yours linger in your mind and you feel as if you could die.

“I just…” He looks to you when you start talking, ready to hear whatever it is you have to say, “I was just thinking – and don’t make this weird – but I was thinking about… how you would kiss me…” your words trail off slightly, growing quieter and quieter with each word.

His eyes widen slightly in response before he switches back to his neutral expression, “I–”

“–I don’t wanna know, don’t talk actually,” you cut him off abruptly, too embarrassed to dissect this any further and certainly not willing to have a conversation with him about it, already regretting having admitted to thinking it.

He questions you, clearly caught between being entertained and somewhat concerned, “I’m not allowed to comment?”

“No.”

“Even though you’ve been thinking about how I would­–”

Hurriedly moving your hand to cover his mouth, hissing out, “Shush!”

You’re closer like this, the proximity flustering you, the silence awkward, Geto glares at you from under your hand. He has something to say and is showing clear disdain for your repeated interruptions.

His larger hand reaches up and wraps around your wrist, trying to gently pry your hand away but you hold steady. Growing frustrated with this little tug of war game you have going on, he uses more force to pull your hand down, grabbing your other hand as well. Restraining them both in your lap, keeping you still.

Exasperated when he asks, “Don’t you think you’re overeating slightly?”

“No.” You tug back on his grip but get nowhere.

“Why are you annoyed at me over this? They’re your thoughts,” he reminds.

You’re irritated with how right he is, it’s not his fault you’re thinking like this, but it doesn’t change the fact that sitting right next to him makes it difficult for you to think of anything other than how soft his lips might be, or if he’ll hold you still while he kisses you, or if­–

He barks out a quick laugh, “You wanna kiss me that bad?”

Realising you were staring at his lips again you feel like you might spontaneously combust, struggling against his hold and huffing out, “Shut up, just forget I even said anything.”

He sounds restrained and incredibly serious when he murmurs back, “Might not be able to if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Don’t make this even more embarrassing for me, Suguru! It’s your fault,” you accuse indignantly.

Lips quirking evilly, “Oh? So, you want me to fix it then?”

“You should! Take a little responsibility,” you grumble out at him, all pouty and annoyed.

Leaning in closer to press you, “Do you want me to kiss you? Do you think it would help?”

“I don’t know… I mean…” you look to his lips again, gaze getting a little lost as you do.

If Suguru were being honest with you, he’d tell you how much you’re killing him when you look at him like that but he’s stubborn and a tease, so instead he says, “Eyes up here.”

Dragging your eyes back to his and staring daggers, completely pissed at him but mostly yourself for being so obvious again, “Do you think it would help?”

“You’d stop wondering,” he shrugs easily, like this is all so incredibly normal and not uncharted territory for the both of you.

“I don’t want this to make our friendship weird,” feeling pathetic as you look at him, you’re not even sure if what you have together is as simple as a friendship, it feels like so much more. At least, you’re kind of hoping it is, kissing him could do irreparable damage and you don’t just mean in terms of how you act around one another but specifically how you feel about him.

“I won’t let it,” he assures.

“I’m not worried about you…”

He’s taken aback by your small admission, it’s not clear enough for him to make any real conclusions from it or confront you on anything just now but he knows it makes his heart beat faster and flusters him slightly. In all his years of casual dating and serious relationships, you’re the only person to have ever made him feel like such a fool.

“It’s up to you then,” he smiles softly.

You aren’t sure if it’s worth the risk but if this is the only chance you’ll get then you don’t know if you want to risk letting it go by either, “I think… yes.”

Playing dumb, he asks, “‘Yes’ what?”

Your tone lowers again, confident answer short lived when he teases you, “Yes… I want you to kiss me…”

“You’re sure?” He asks but his hands are already moving up your body, one resting against the side of your neck, touch gentle and light.

“I mean… I’m not sure if this is a good idea but I’m sure I want you to kiss me.”

He huffs lightly in disbelief, breath tickling against your lips, “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“You…” Frown dusting your features as you utter it, eyes already focused back on his lips.

He doesn’t say anymore after that, faltering in his movements a bit but ultimately moving in completely and pressing his lips to yours delicately. It’s featherlight, kiss shallow and simple, like he’s holding back. It’s still enough to have your head full, full of thoughts of him, of how soft his lips are, how gentle his kisses are.

Geto pulls back all too soon for your liking, putting some distance between the two of you, head cocking to the side as he looks you over, “Curiosity satisfied.”

“Is that really how you would want to kiss me?”

“What?”

At his question you’re suddenly all too aware how bold yours was, “I just… It’s nothing, sorry.” Fumbling over yourself, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “It was nice! It was a nice kiss.”

“No, no,” he squints at you, “Go on… say what you want.”

It’s quiet for a moment, your hesitance clear, “…Did you… kiss me how you wanted to?”

“I think if I kissed you how I wanted,” pausing to lean in closer, “You might pass out or something.”

“Oh, come on, you’re not my first kiss or anything,” you roll your eyes at him and his ego, “I was just curious, if that’s really how you’d kiss me then that’s all there is to it, it was a nice kiss,” you shrug at him.

“Why am I starting to feel like I’m being assessed?”

“If you feel that way then that’s on you.” Trying so hard to play it cool, like you can’t tell he was holding back, like you don’t want him to kiss you more, “Do you wanna go back in the movie? To where we were before?”

As you get up to move off the couch and find the remote, Suguru is pulling you back down to him, one hand gently holding the front of your throat. You don’t get a second to think about all the movements he just made, his lips on yours, rushed, like he’s suddenly, incredibly desperate to kiss you.

Barely able to keep up with him, head dizzy from the whiplash, this isn’t at all how he kissed you before. You’re basically panting against him when he does pull back, allowing you the small moment to catch your breath.

His thumb pulls down on your chin lightly, “Open your mouth more,” his eyes are lidded as he looks at you, tone deeper than before.

Obeying him wordlessly and then he’s kissing you again, tongue in your mouth. It’s all messy and rushed and has you losing your mind. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls your body closer to his, hand moving to the back of your head.

When he sucks your tongue into his mouth and licks at you, you can’t stop the moan that leaves you. Swallowed down by Geto in an appreciative manner, his kiss lingers for a while longer, making you dizzy and thoughtless. He pulls back from you, connected by a string of saliva that snaps when he licks at his lower lip.

The look on your face is dumbstruck, eyes big and wet as you gaze up at him in a dazed manner. It makes him feel feral, not able to help the way he leans back in and presses more short, sloppy kisses to your swollen lips.

There’s a pause before you can regain your faculties enough to say anything to him and even then, the only thing you can manage is, “I… uhm…”

“Was that better?” He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, but his lips are swollen as well, and his eyes are lidded, and he looks… “You didn’t pass out did you?” His head lowers so his eyes catch yours.

Your brain feels fuzzy and all you can think about it how you’ve never been kissed like that before, that you want to keep being kissed like that, “What? No… I just… wow.”

“Live up to your expectations?”

“I didn’t really have any, I was only curious…” Smiling big at him, you add, “But yeah, maybe even exceeded them.”

“You aiming to boost my ego, or did I really kiss you stupid?” He can’t help the way he leans in again, just shy of your lips.

Mouth on yours before you get to answer or refute what he’s accused, you don’t stop him though, allowing him to kiss you fully, deeply. One of his hands on the side of your face, holding you, the other grips at your hip, almost tugging you in closer.

Before you lose focus again, you part to gasp out, “I don’t know if–” interrupted by his lips on yours, hand tangling into his hair to pull him back, he groans at the force of the tug, “Suguru, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep–”

“–Just another kiss, one more…” breathless in how he asks, mouth hot on yours, tongue already in your mouth.

It’s almost too much, he’s so insistent, he’s kissing you like he might never get to again, like he’s trying to get the most out of this. He might actually have you passing out, it’s not even as if you really want him to stop but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?

Pulling back, he sucks on your lower lip before nipping at it, the whimper he pulls from you is embarrassing and weak and you’re facing an internal conflict of so many emotions right now but mostly you’re struck by how badly you want to sleep with him.

You hadn’t realised his hand had snuck under your shirt, warm and large against your side, sending a shiver down your spine. The breathlessness you’re hit with has your skin feeling hot as you try to stumble out your words, “I, uh, think we should stop… here.”

“Why? Am I not a good kisser? Are you not enjoying yourself?” A smile creeps onto his face, “You sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Don’t.” Your head tucks down and onto his chest, forehead leaning against him, “Please don’t embarrass me.”

He wraps his arms around your body, embracing you, “Can’t help it.”

You stay like this for probably longer than you should, enjoying the moment too much for someone who’s about to go back to being just his friend.

Geto breaks the silence first, speaking into the top of your head, “Is your curiosity satisfied or are you going to start kicking me again?”

“I can’t promise I’ll never kick you again but yeah… I’m satisfied.”

He laughs against you, “Alright, well, if you’re ever curious again… you know where to find me.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It’s been about a week since you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t have in your friendship with Geto, and like the incredibly brave individual you are… you have been ignoring him.

Not on purpose though, you intend on replying to all his messages… but then you get nervous and freak yourself out and stop short of sending anything back. From his messages, you can tell he’s getting increasingly more worried… or maybe frustrated… you’re not sure, there is only so much you can infer over text.

Maybe you should reply, looking at his last message that reads, ‘seriously? answer me. today.’ Oh yeah… he’s annoyed, you have no idea how to reply to him, maybe something simple? Or maybe a long paragraph overexplaining yourself… or maybe–

Your phone screen changes to Shoko’s caller ID, saved by the metaphorical bell, “Hey! What’s up?”

She sounds a bit short when she answers you, “Are you coming tonight?”

“Tonight…” You trail off, completely blanking on what the hell she’s talking about.

Her reply coming incredibly deadpan and disappointed, “You forgot.”

“No noo, I would never forget about…” The rest of your sentence dropping off, silence falling over the line.

She fills in the gaps for you, “The stupid party that’s being thrown by our stupid friends to celebrate the stupid event that is a boring, normal, Friday night.”

She already sounds over it and you’re pretty sure she would’ve only just got there, “Okay, well… I now feel significantly better about the fact that I actually had forgotten what tonight was.”

“Yeah well I wish I had forgotten too because this is boring without you.”

“Didn’t you only just get there?”

“I feel like that’s beside the point,” you can feel her eyeroll through the phone, “So, when are you getting here?”

Sighing as you ask, “Do I really have to come?”

Not missing a single beat when she shoots back, “I’m here which means yes, you do.”

You go quiet for a moment, “…Will Suguru be there?”

“You’re more likely to know than me,” she sounds confused, “Listen, I don’t know what happened but surely you don’t think you can avoid him forever.”

“Not forever… just tonight,” you really don’t feel like running into him in person, not when you can barely get your head on straight long enough to message him back.

“I haven’t seen him, and he didn’t sound all that interested when this was first planned so I doubt he will show up.”

“You’re not just lying to get me there, are you?”

“Of course not,” it’s always been hard to tell when she’s joking but you’re pretty sure Suguru isn’t there, if you had been replying to him, you probably would’ve ended up hanging out together tonight just to avoid that pointless party.

Deciding to take the risk, you acquiesce, “Alright, I’ll be there soon, just give me a bit to put on something that isn’t pyjamas.”

Getting out of the apartment will be good for you, that and you’ll have the chance to catch up with Shoko, it’s been a while since you last hung out.

“Just come in your pyjamas.”

“Okay, now you’re being unreasonable,” you chuckle.

She groans through the phone, “Gojo and I just made eye contact, that’s like asking to be trapped in a conversation for at least an hour.”

You smile at her and her exaggeration, “That’s really funny, tell him I said hi.”

“Don’t hang up on me–”

The line goes dead as you hang up on her.

Nearly an hour has passed by the time you get to the party, but when you make eye contact with Shoko across the room – still stuck in conversation with Gojo – it looks like a century has passed for her.

Walking up to them both, you grab Gojo by the sides of his arms and shake him, making a loud noise to scare him as you do. He just about dies then and there, head whipping around to see it’s just you and gripping a hand over his chest.

He’s a little breathless when he scolds you, “You scared the fuck outta me, what the hell?”

“I thought it would be funny,” you smile bright at him, out the corner of your eye seeing Shoko fighting a smile and hiding it behind her drink.

“It wasn’t,” he half pouts.

“It kinda was,” Shoko interjects.

He just continues to pout over how badly you got him.

“Hi Satoru,” you chirp at him, trying to be as sweet as possible for scaring the living daylights out of him.

“Yes, hello,” he fights a smile when greeting you back, and then his face twists as if suddenly remembering something, “Hey! What happened with you and Suguru?”

Taken aback by his abruptness, “What?”

Staring intently at you, seemingly desperate to know your business, “I know something happened, you gotta tell me what.”

Honestly, you would’ve thought Geto would’ve told him by now, seeing as how they’re sort of attached at the hip, “He hasn’t told you?”

“He’s insistent that nothing is wrong.”

“Then nothing’s wrong.”

“I know something is wrong and I also know you’re dodging him because he made me text you to see if you’d reply and you replied within the same minute,” he squints at you accusatorily.

Arms crossing over your chest as you size him up, “You sent me a photo of the cat that hangs out in your neighbourhood as bait? That’s messed up Satoru.”

“I was investigating,” he defends.

“No, you were being nosy, just like you are now.” Something occurs to you very suddenly, “Wait, if you’re here… and I’m here… where is Suguru?”

“Here, obviously,” he shrugs.

Turning, you glare at Shoko who raises her hands in defence, “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t lie, I really haven’t seen him. I’ve been trapped in conversation with this idiot the whole time.”

“Trapped? That’s so mean Shoko,” Gojo plays up his hurt, sulking and giving her the saddest eyes he can muster. It unsurprisingly has no effect on her.

He’s here somewhere, you need to leave before he sees you. You’re so annoyed at yourself for not connecting that Gojo being here obviously meant Geto was going to be here too, especially since he wasn’t with you.

Spinning, you go for the front door you came through not that long ago, getting it open a crack before a hand above your head closes it. Turning around, you come face to face with Suguru, a very annoyed Suguru. Polite smile painted on his face but his eyebrow twitches slightly.

His weight supported by his hand on the door, leaning down to you, “And where are you going?”

“I was just gonna… head home… get an early night?” Looking away from him as you lie poorly, not able to look at him without thinking about how he kissed you.

He points out, “You just got here though.”

“Yeah, it’s just… not my scene…” In your defence, not a complete lie.

“Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.” He leans down to catch your eyes with his, sick of you avoiding eye contact.

You’re only able to look at him incrementally, eyes flicking from his, to the wall behind him, “No there’s no reason for me to be avoiding you, I don’t know why you would think that.”

“Oh good! That means you can stay then,” face scrunching with his – now – less than polite smile. Clearly growing frustrated with how you’re refusing to communicate with him properly.

You have no excuses to give, nothing good or even remotely believable anyways, “I uhh–”

Cutting you off to give an ultimatum, “–Either we’re leaving and talking like adults or you’re staying right here and suffering through this whole night with me right by your side.”

His choice in wording disgruntles you, locking eyes to say, “It doesn’t cause me suffering to be beside you, Suguru,” you want to make at least that much clear.

He gives you a tight-lipped smile, “Good. Then you won’t mind me not leaving your side.”

Weighing your options, you don’t know what would be better right now. On the one hand you’d get to leave but then you’d have to tell him about how much you’re affected by the line you crossed, about how you’re developing feelings for him that you shouldn’t have indulged in. On the other, you stay but he lingers around you all night and you’re left haunted by all the things you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to.

“Let’s go back to everyone then,” you smile back at him.

His face drops, “You don’t wanna talk about it that bad?”

“Suguru, you’re looking for answers I don’t even know if I can give you.”

He relents and takes a step back from you, “Fine. But just so you know, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Waiting for you to want to talk first seems to be his main goal but you can see just how impatient he’s getting.

You ignore his comment and walk past him back to Gojo and Shoko in the other room, they’re both exactly where you left them. It’s awkward, for you anyways, you don’t know about them or everyone else here, but you feel awkward.

It carries on for the whole night, it’s been a couple hours now and Suguru is still just following you around wordlessly. Only speaking to others when spoken too, engaging in some conversation, only to cut it short when you move on.

This really isn’t fun for you, normally not even bothering to come to house parties like this and only doing this as a favour to Shoko but she’s gone home now, and you’re left here with just Geto. You’d leave too, but you have a feeling Geto is going to follow you home, or at the very least make you talk to him before you try leaving and you’re just… so not in the mood.

Sighing softly to yourself as you walk into the kitchen, somehow managing to shake your tail, for now. Taking the small reprieve as a chance to breathe and think, which is cut short when some stranger starts a conversation with you.

“Hi! You’re really hot, do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. I’ve never seen you here before and trust me – I’d remember you.” He’s slurring his words slightly, “So, drink? You wan– I can get you a–”

He’s really forward, and drunk, it’s making you uncomfortable, especially since you’re far to sober and far too annoyed to have to deal with drunk men. “–I’m good, thank you, I’m not drinking.”

“Oh, come on! Jus one drink, it’ll loosen you up,” he moves in to elbow your shoulder lightly, “You’re too hot to be­– to be such a downer, maybe a smile would help.”

Completely unamused and slowly shuffling back away from him, “I think I’d prefer you just leave me alone; I’m not interested.”

“Don– don’t be like that,” he sulks at you.

Your back collides with someone’s front and looking up you can see it’s your missing stalker of the night. As annoyed at Geto as you are, you are endlessly thankful for his timing, physically feeling yourself relax now that he’s here.

Geto glares down at the pushy guy, “She’s not interested.”

“Oh man, I didn’t know she had– had a boyfriend, you know you should keep an eye on her,” the drunk idiot leers at you, “She’s kind of a tease, leading me on,” he shrugs.

Your face grimaces at his words and the way he eyes you, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Suguru moves in front of you, shielding you from him, his lip twitches at this guy’s words, “Excuse me?”

“No, well… I jus mean she didn’t tell me­–”

“–She said she wasn’t interested, that was enough,” Geto’s tone is growing more irritated by the moment.

“Suguru, let’s just go, it’s fine,” you tug on the hem of his jacket, not really wanting to have to deal with the fallout of whatever may happen if this idiot keeps unwittingly provoking Geto. He tries his best, but he has a breaking point, and he tends to hit it pretty quick when you’re involved.

He glances back at you, “It’s not fine.”

“Okay, it’s not but I kinda can’t stand this guy and this party sucks and I’m annoyed, and I don’t wanna be here anymore,” you feel a little pathetic for whinging but you’re so drained and this guy was your breaking point.

All his attention drops from that guy to you, his hands coming up to either side of your face, taking in how tired you look. Thumbs stroking high on your cheekbones, “Alright, let’s leave.”

Relief in your bones at the fact you’re about to be gone from here, “Thank you.”

From behind Geto you can see the drunk take the opportunity to slip away, apparently smart enough to use this distraction to his advantage. If Geto notices, he doesn’t say anything, clearly done with him, all attention on you now.

He hums at you, asking, “How’d you get here?”

Your eyes flick back to his, “I didn’t drive, if that’s what you’re asking,” you took an uber, you thought you’d either catch a ride with Shoko, or you’d take another uber home.

“You’re riding with me then.” His large hand takes yours, “Come on,” he’s tugging you through the house behind him.

The car ride has been quiet, you can feel your head drooping and your eyes closing, very nearly falling asleep. That is until, you notice Geto isn’t taking you to your house, instead heading towards his.

Turning to face him, you ask, “Why are we going back to yours?”

Without turning to look at you, he replies, “Because you’ve been avoiding me, so I am now forcing you to spend time with me.”

He’s decidedly not funny. Sighing as you try to chide him, “Suguru–”

Finally glancing your way only to speak over you, “–Don’t ‘Suguru’ me, my place is closer and you’re tired, if you weren’t being so weird around me ever since I k–”

“–Shhh, be quiet.” Your cheeks suddenly feel warm at the memory of how insistent his kisses were.

“All I’m saying is, if you weren’t being so weird around me, you’d come back to mine tonight anyways.”

It’s frustrating to you that he’s right, you normally would just go back to his and crash in his bed and then you’d make him breakfast the next morning to make up for the fact that you’d taken up his whole bed.

The only thing you can think to say is a flat, “…Fine.” Crossing your arms and looking out the car window the rest of the short drive.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Back at his apartment, he lends you some clothes to sleep in. It’s all incredibly intimate, showering in his bathroom, using the spare toothbrush you keep here, wearing his clothes, has your friendship always been this intimate or are you just looking at it in a new light.

Leaving his bathroom, you find him in his room, getting his bed ready for you to sleep in, you stand awkwardly at the foot of it, “I’ll just sleep on your couch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you always sleep in the bed with me.”

“Yeah but…” Your brows settle into a deep frown, “Do you not feel weird?”

He drops the blanket back onto the bed, exasperation with you clear, “I said to you – I wouldn’t let it affect our friendship, and that’s what I’m doing.” Turning to look at you before adding, “You’re the one making it weird.”

“I know that…” You also know that you were the one who said you weren’t worried about him.

His arms are crossed as he looks you over, “I’m gonna shower now, you don’t have to sleep in the bed, but I think you should, you know firsthand how awful that couch is.”

“Go have your shower,” you shoo him out of the room, standing in the middle of it, alone, considering what you should do.

The couch really is atrocious, it’s part of the reason why you started sleeping in his bed when you visited. He always says he’ll get a nicer couch or a blow-up mattress for you, but he never does, and you always end up in his bed anyways.

Deciding you’re too drained to think any harder about all of this, you crawl into his bed and make yourself comfortable. Everything is so frustrating to you right now, have you always felt this confused about your friendship or were the lines blurred for so long that you’re having trouble understanding where you both stand.

The irony of the situation is annoying and almost laughable because if it were about anyone else you’d be hitting up Geto and asking for his advice on it all.

When he comes back into the room, he shuffles around a bit before turning off the lights and getting into bed beside you. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, pretending to already be asleep.

His voice cuts through the quiet of the room, “I miss you.”

Your reaction to it is almost visceral, how are you meant to reply to that. It doesn’t help you feel better at all, only leaving you longing for something you don’t know if you’re allowed to claim.

Your friendship has always been on a precarious ledge but it’s only now that you let yourself acknowledge the disgusting depth of your feelings for him.

You mumble into the pillow, “I’m right here.”

“Then why do you feel so far away?”

Readjusting, you rotate so you’re facing him, not completely prepared for him to already be facing you. Propped up on his elbow, closer than your poor heart was ready for. You lower your head, so you don’t have to look at his face, “I wasn’t purposefully ignoring you, I really did want to reply.”

He pushes, “So why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know what to say…”

“What can I do to help?” He lowers himself down to your level, head on his bicep.

You still avoid his gaze, “Nothing, you can’t do anything.”

“You’re being–”

“–You are the problem, Suguru, there is nothing you can do to help but get out of my head,” you meet his eyes, frown prominent on your face, “You and your stupid kiss, you made it all a thousand times worse for me.”

“Making out with me was so life changing that you can’t get it out of your head, and you’re annoyed at me for that? You’re the one who wanted to know what it was like.” He’s trying to keep his tone light-hearted but he’s struggling, seemingly growing more irritated by it all.

You grumble at him, discontent, “You don’t need to point out the obvious, stupid.”

A noise of disagreement comes from him, “Well, I feel like I kinda do, since you’re overreacting.”

“I am not overreacting.”

“You are though.”

“No because it’s not just…” you stop short, “…Whatever, I’m going to sleep so be quiet.” He smiles at you like you’re completely endearing, which only frustrates you further.

“The only reason you would be this annoyed is because you want to kiss me again, or more…” his hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head up towards him, “You tell me, are you still curious?”

“Shut up,” you huff out, going to move away only for his hand to slide to your cheek, holding you still.

“You haven’t asked me, you know.”

“What?”

“What if I want to kiss you again? What if I want to do more?” His forehead rests against yours, “You’ve been so caught up in your own head, acting like an idiot over this, that you’ve not even asked yourself about what I want.”

“I am not an idiot.”

“No, but you’ve certainly been acting like one.” His hand slides from your face, down the side of your body, landing on your hip. “At first I thought it was cute, the curiosity, the unawareness,” his hand tugs you in closer to him, body against yours. “But now… now I’m growing impatient.”

Your head feels fuzzy, pressed up against him and that seems to be the only thing your brain is processing right now, “I’m confused.”

“It’s really quite simple,” he leans in, lips ghosting against yours.

You want so badly to kiss him, breath catching in your chest at the way his lips tickle against yours. Your attention solely on the way he might kiss you.

“You like me, and while it’s endearing to watch you fumble your way through the realisation, it’s killing me to know you’re all caught up on how I kissed you and not even being able to get in contact with you.”

“What? What?” Your brain takes a second to catch up, “I do not– you can’t know– just– what?”

“I can know, you know how? Because you’re painfully obvious about it. So honest, telling me about how you’re thinking of me, not able to look at me without looking at my lips,” a light laugh leaves him at your expression, “And it’s sweet, really. But I’m getting annoyed by the fact that you’re so obsessed with your own feelings that you’ve failed to consider mine.”

He’s giving you so much whiplash right now, “You–”

“–You think I kissed you like that just ‘cause?” He frowns at you, “I kissed you like that because I wanted to, I feel I was a little obvious about it all actually.”

“I’ve been so worried about ruining our friendship,” you feel so pathetic when you say it.

“I know,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “But I’ve hoped for nothing more.” He sighs, “I wanted you to come to me on your own, to talk to me about it but instead you hid from me.”

“What was I supposed to think? Through my eyes, I was stupid and asked you to kiss me just because I was thinking about it, only to not stop thinking about it, and then realise I like you, my friend.” You pull back from him slightly, “How was I meant to talk to you about it?”

“You think I’d kiss just any friend because they simply wondered about what it would be like?” his brow lifts at you, “Don’t you think our friendship has always been a little too intimate to just be a friendship?”

“Nothing was ever said… how was I supposed to know?”

“Okay, well, let me be perfectly clear,” he tugs you in close again, eyes meeting yours, like he’s going to say something incredibly important, only to plant his lips on yours in a full kiss.

Hand holding you to him tight, like he needs you to stay pressed up against him. His mouth on yours hot and consuming, kiss messy, tongue licking at yours. An involuntary moan gets caught in your chest and your hand moves to his hair, tangling in it.

Parting to pant out, “I like you–” kissing you again, “I like kissing you–” lips desperate against yours, “I want to do so much more–” he never parts from you long at all, barley willing to but needing to get his words out.

This is a feeling that you’re never going to be able to forget, the first time he kissed you overwhelming enough and now it’s like he’s completely following his instinct. No critical thinking happening in his head or yours. All your thoughts wash away from you, slipping through your fingers before it even occurs to you to form a thought.

Less scared now, throwing caution to the wind, not worrying about how you should stop, how you can’t ruin the fragility of your friendship. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when he already knows how you feel, not when he seems to feel the same, not when it feels this good.

He mumbles against you, “That clear enough?”

“No,” you huff back, “I think… I’m still a little confused.”

“Well, in that case,” he smirks before kissing you again.

Hand moving to your thigh, sliding it across your skin before grabbing at your knee and crooking your leg to rest on his hip. Leaning into you slightly, using his weight to push back on you, rolling the pair of you until he’s on top. Forearm holding himself over you, other hand still on your knee, holding you flush to him.

You gasp up at him when his erection ruts into your core, lips parting messily, spit connecting the two of you. A shudder runs down his spine when he looks down at you, at how you’re looking up at him. All big, wet eyes and kiss swollen lips, it’s like he feels all his insides softening for you in that moment, in the most sickeningly affectionate way.

His eyes suddenly look lost, and you don’t know why, going to say something only for his lips to land on yours again. Short, firm kisses planted on your lips over and over again, barely able to return them before he’s pulling back, just to do it again.

It’s sweet but it’s frustrating you, your hands are eventually grabbing at either side of his face and forcing his mouth onto yours, lips meshing together, kissing him fully. Tongue in his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with his hair. He moans at how you’rekissing him, at how both your legs are now wrapped around his waist.

Practically clinging to him, lips locked to his, your need making your body hot and head fuzzy. You’re trying so hard to not come across desperate for him, but you really can’t help the way your hips seek out his, grinding up into him.

His voice shakes with a moan, breaking the kiss, “–Ohh fuck – hah –” a breathless kind of laugh leaving him, "A little eager, aren’t you?"

"Should we stop then?” You ask with a smile, hands untangling and pushing at his shoulders.

He rushes out, “No no, I didn’t say that,” he pulls your arms, so they’re wrapped around his neck again, “Come back,” a light laugh leaves him, pressing kisses all over your face, lingering on your lips.

“So… you don’t want to stop?”

“Absolutely not, be as needy as you want,” he looks down between where his hips are resting against yours, his cock twitching in his pants, “Hell… be needier.”

“I don’t know… maybe this is all happening too fast,” you say it light heartedly, teasing him, “I mean… we are just friends.”

“Just friends?” He takes personal issue with that, even if he can tell you’re goading him, “Just friends but you’re grinding your pussy all over me?” His hand slips into the front of your borrowed sleep shorts, two fingers rubbing between your folds over your panties.

Gasp leaving you, chest stuttering, “S-Suguru, I–”

“Letting your friend touch you like this, hmm?” He pulls your panties to the side, “Fuck– this wet for your friend?”

Your back arches against the bed when his fingers slip over your clit, struggling to get your words out, “I– mmph– I get it, m’sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He smiles sweetly at you but two of his fingers are slipping inside you, quirking up and rubbing at just the right spot.

God, your eyes roll into the back of your head, cunt pulsing around his fingers so needily. Hands grabbing at him, tangling in his long hair, gasping for air you don’t really need but feeling like you can’t breathe from how he’s touching you.

“What are you sorry for, pretty?” He wants you back on track, he wants to hear you stumble out your apology to him.

“I-I’m sorry – hnnn – f-for…” your mouth drops open in a moan when his thumb rubs at your clit, “You’re not jus– you’re not just my friend – oh! You’re more– you mean more– Ah! Ah!” You can’t think, not when he adds another finger to your pussy, stretching you so open.

He leans in, fingers not stopping, “You mean it?”

It’s a question made to tease you but with your gooey brain, you look up at him so earnestly and answer, “Mhm, yeah.” Nodding your head firmly at him, even when your eyes look so fucked out.

Soft squelching noises fill the room with how his fingers fuck into you, your cunt clamping tight down around them. Walls so hot and wet that it’s driving him crazy, imagining how it would feel to have you wrapped so snug around his neglected cock.

He wants so badly to rip off your pants, so he can see just how well you’re taking his fingers but you’re pulsing so rhythmically around him, and your eyes roll with how good you feel, making the nicest expressions for him that he can’t even tear his eyes away from your face if he wanted to.

“Oh, you’re really cute right now,” he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, his heart stammering at how your wet eyes sparkle at him, at how your bottom lip wobbles.

Pouting up at him, “You don’t– ah! think– think I’m cute all the time?”

“I think you’re downright adorable all the time,” he laughs airily, “But especially right now,” he’s gazing so intently at your face, “Because, I’m pretty sure…” his thumb speeds up on your clit, “…You’re about to cum all over my fingers.”

Oh, how his words effect you so deeply, his tone, the cockiness and if he weren’t touching you so right you wouldn’t find it as arousing as you do but you feel like you could cry from just how overwhelming it all is.

Shaking your head at him as if to say ‘no, you’re not about to cum.’  

“No?” He pouts at you mockingly, “You sure?”

Denying it really doesn’t get you anywhere, especially since he can feel how you tighten around his fingers, how your gooey cunt pulses for him. Your back arching meanly, legs wanting so badly to kick against the air. Hand tugging at his hair as you gasp, broken moans leaving you.

“I mustn’t be doing this right then,” he hums at you in thought, slowing his movements slightly, “Should I stop then? Change up what I’m doing?”

The thought of him stopping now, or changing what he’s doing kills you, almost literally. Your eyes widen and you shake your head vehemently at him, “Don’t stop– hnn– don’t– please,” begging him with your eyes.

“Only ‘cause you begged so nicely,” his tone so sweet on you.

He doesn’t change anything, keeps fucking you with his fingers in the way that’s driving you crazy. His mouth waters at how your pussy gushes for him, dick leaking into his pants, losing his fucking mind at how he’s able to finally touch you like this, how you’re letting him touch you like this, even begging for it.

Muscles pulling taut, hearing and sight going fuzzy, “I– ohh– Sugu I can’t– I’m gonna–”

“You can,” dragging it out in a singsong, “Doing so well for me, pretty.”

Biting on your lip to hold back all the moans tumbling from them, hands pulling at him as you struggle to breathe through it. Chest stuttering as your cunt clamps down around his fingers, pulling him closer to you and planting your lips on his, desperately kissing him as you cum all over his fingers. Tongue licking into his mouth, his own moans spilling into the kiss.

Panting against your open mouth to say, “Just came all over your friends’ fingers,” his smile taunting and bright.

Your head lolls to the side, “So you really do just like teasing me, huh?”

“Pretty sure I said I couldn’t help it,” his fingers slip from your core, sucking them into his mouth, licking them clean in a display so obscene that your skin feels warm.

If he were a lesser man, he’d cum from licking himself clean, groaning around his fingers, mostly for himself but also somewhat to embarrass you. Loving how you squirm, and your face pulls up in embarrassment. All dazed and stupid looking from your orgasm, it makes his heart skip and his dick jerk.

You shock him when you tug your shirt up and over your head, moving to pull at his but he’s too distracted by your tits to make any move other than to lean down and press wet kisses all over your chest.

“Suguru– hah– your shirt,” your fingers still pull at the fabric.

“You can’t–” he sucks and licks at your nipple, relishing in the reactions and sounds he’s pulling from you, “–You can’t show me your tits and expect me to not touch them.”

When he looks up at you, his eyes are lazy and dazed, his tongue drooling all over your boobs. Moving to plant more firm and wet kisses all over your unbelievably soft skin, sucking to leave behind his mark. Wanting to leave behind marks that he will see when he wakes up tomorrow, marks that he will leave marks over so that they never go away, so he will always have evidence of how he touched you. Of how you let him touch you.

Groping at all your exposed skin, pulling at you, fingers tugging at your nipple, while he salivates all over the other one. Your legs tug his hips down into yours, rubbing your clothed cunt all over him, wanting him to fuck you so badly. He’s working you up so unfairly, already making you cum and then playing with your tits in a way that has you itching to be full of his dick.

“Suguru,” he ruts his hips back down into you but doesn’t remove his mouth from you, so you pull at his hair harshly, “Please.”

He moans at how you pull at him, eyes lidded, “So demanding.”

“You’re taking too long.”

He tuts at you, nipping lightly at the skin between your tits, “You’re just impatient.”

“Yeah, I am,” untangling your legs from him, you shuffle your shorts and panties down and off your body, “Are you going to help?”

“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The desire to lick at your pussy, make out with your cunt, is huge but with how you look at him, so needy and impatient, he needs to shove his dick in you. Now.

When you go to tug at his shirt, he lets you, letting you pull it off him completely, goose bumps breaking out across his skin with how you rake your nails delicately over him. The affection he holds for you feels like it grows tenfold at how you look at him, how tenderly you touch him.

“You’re so pretty,” you’re mumbling it out at him before you’re really registering that you’ve thought it, let alone spoke it.

His head drops into the crook of your neck, “So sweet on me, got me forgetting why I waited so long to say anything.”

You grin at him, “Because you’re stupid.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he sneers back at you before shuffling back to pull his pants off. Finding immense joy in how your smug little smile drops from your face when his cock is free, tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking profusely, precum dribbling down the sides of his dick.

Moving to get up before even really thinking about it, wanting to touch him. Only to fall into the pillows when his large hand pushes you back by your sternum. Looking to him just as he leans in, lips brushing yours so softly you’d think you’d imagined it if he didn’t immediately follow it up with a firm kiss.

“I want to touch you,” hands already finding their way back to his shoulders, his long hair tickling against skin.

His head is dipping low to watch how he moves his hands down your body, brushing against your inner thighs, opening your legs for him more, “Well, I want to fuck you.” He’s not capable of taking his eyes off your gooey cunt, so wet for him.

Goading him with your words, “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?”

“Sharp tongue for someone so sensitive,” he muses, fingers slipping through your folds, gently over your clit to make you jolt, as if to prove his point.

Not giving you a chance to say another snarky comment, his fingers dipping into your hole again, fingers stretching you open obscenely, pulling back covered in cum from your previous orgasm and fresh slick. It’s almost embarrassing how soaked you are, at least it would be if he didn’t seem almost overjoyed at the sight.

His hand covered in your mess moves to his dick, stroking himself, lubing himself so you can take him easier. Wanting to rub your thighs together, to squirm at how he languidly pumps at his cock, how his brows upturn and his mouth gapes slightly.

Palm warm against your inner thigh, holding you still, moving so he can tap his dick against your clit, smiling at how your body jerks.

“Don’t be a tease,” your hand moves for his, but he grabs at you before you reach him, looping his fingers with yours.

His tone is cheerful and bright, “But you look so cute when you’re frustrated.”

“I’ll leave,” you threaten, not even a little convincingly, way too horny to be taken seriously.

“Really?” He raises a brow at you, intrigued, “I don’t think you’d get very far,” mocking pout settling on his features.

Nothing if not stubborn and true to your word, you push him back and roll to get out of the bed defiantly. Barely making it to the edge of the mattress when his hands are on your sides and manhandling you back into your previous position. Spreading your legs wide and rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds, just dipping into your hole before repeating the previous movements.

Biting his lower lip as he watches, his precum smearing all over your messy cunt, “Told you, you wouldn’t get very far.”

Your head rolls at how he dips his dick in more, beginning to stretch you open, his hips stuttering forwards, hand slapping down onto the bed beside you to stop himself from pushing you too far.

“Oh– oh– fuck! How­– h-how are you this tight, oh,” breathless not even beginning to describe how fucked out he already sounds.

“M-more, Sugu, please– I–”

At your insistence, he fucks himself all the way in, holding his hips to yours as he fills you to the hilt. Your pussy spasming and creaming around him, so worked up that he can feel just how aroused you are in the way you twitch, at how your fingers grab at his skin, how your breath is uneven and broken.

He can’t help but marvel at how you let out little squealed moans, how your cunt stretches to take all of him. On cloud nine at how you’re so horny over how heavy he’s sitting inside you that you’re close to tears.

The moan he lets out is debauched, unbelievably turned on when your hips struggle to grind down into him needily, working yourself up to an orgasm so fucking fast that he can’t do anything but watch in awe.

You can’t stop yourself, you know you should, should slow down and maybe calm down but it feels so good. He’s so big inside you, his cock pulsing in a way that has you memorising the thumping rhythm. Not usually so eager, never this eager, enthusiastically rutting down into him over and over again before suddenly cumming all over him.

Choked and gasped moans pulled from you as your hands reach for him, hoping for him to let you tug him down into you but he’s too busy watching how you pulse and cum all over him. Obsessed with how your cute, little cunt struggles with his size as you coat him in all your creamy cum.

“Holy fuck,” he laughs, “That was–”

Head dizzy and eyes lazy as you whinge at him, “–Don’t– don’t say anything.”

“You came as soon as I got inside you and you expect me to make no comment?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“I think it was adorable,” he hums, voice strained, much more effected by it than he’s willing to let on.

You whine when he leans down into you, cock somehow reaching deeper. Geto’s arms cage you in either side your head, resting on his forearms, his lips against yours in a breathless kiss. Beginning shallow thrusts, his lips insistent on yours, fucking you so carefully for now.

Quickly, the need to have him fucking you stupid grows within you again and your legs loop around him properly, pulling him into you, wrapping yourself around him, mouth panting against his.

“Fuck– hah– you’re so wet,” he’s fucking into you faster, hips becoming desperate, “It’s actually– it’s– hnn– it’s crazy how good you feel,” he moves his head to the crook of your neck, growling beside your ear, “such a soaked little cunt, taking it so– ohh– taking it so good.”

“Ah! Ah! Sugu, it’s– ohh– it’s– more– I need more,” your fingers dig into his back, depraved wet sloshing sounds of him fucking into you so well fill the room.

He nips at your neck, “Demanding little thing aren’t you?”

He’s pulling out of you and the moan you let out is small and pathetic, disgruntled by his abrupt movement. The last thing you see is his smug grin before he’s flipping you over onto your stomach, hands pulling your hips up and pushing on your upper back, manoeuvring your body into an obscene arch.

Taking his sweet time to slip back inside, eyeing up your pussy and how your hole trembles and drools for him. Your hips wriggle back at him and he finds himself incredibly amused at how blatantly needy you are, apparently honest with him in more ways than one.

Just as you were about to turn around and complain at how long he’s taking to re-enter you, he’s shoving his cock back in all at once, jolting your body up the bed and forcing a moan out from your lungs.

“Ohh– Sugu– I…” you trail off as his hips pick up, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Sliding your legs further apart to take more of him inside, arching yourself even more, greedy cunt sucking him deep inside. He’s barely able to withdraw before you’re fucking your hips back into him, desperately driving back, so fucking needy that if you had half your mind you’d be embarrassed but right now all you can think about is how his dick thumps against your walls, how his hands grip onto you tight, probably leaving behind marks to match the ones he left all over your tits.

Mouth gaping open, spit pooling onto the pillow below, drooling over his cock, God, you could cry from just how fucking good it feels. Pussy spasming wildly around him, the more you think about the fact that he’s fucking you, the more worked up you get. Insides flipping at how he seems to touch the most perfect spots inside you, full of butterflies and him.

His mouth by your ear shocks you, his voice chirpy, “What are you – hah – thinking about, pretty?”

“A-about how goo– good it feels, feels– ohh– feels so good, Sugu,” your words are slurred, mind reeling at how he doesn’t even seem to slow his pace.

“Flatterer,” he barks out a laugh, “You’re quite the little charmer,” he mockingly compliments, tongue licking meanly at your salty tears that you hadn’t realised you’d shed.

“Shh– shut up– ah!” gasping when he gives a particularly mean thrust into you.

He can’t help but smile at the fucked out look you’re wearing, eyes rolled back, dazed and not comprehending anything other than his dick rubbing up against your walls so perfectly. Your face turns into the pillow and you bite at it, muscles pulling tight as another orgasm crawls up your spine.

It shocks you, how quickly you cum, Suguru’s harsh thrusts, your ass burning with the smack of his pelvis against you. The sting biting at your flesh making you feel like you’re on fire, cunt tight around him and orgasm overcoming you so fast that you don’t have time to prepare for it.

And maybe if he hadn’t been caught up in how deliciously you squeeze around him, he’d have time to realise you were coming again and he could stop himself but when you shock the both of you with your sudden orgasm he whines into your back and cums deep inside you. Shivers running down his spine at how it feels, dumping so much deep inside you that the force of his continued thrusts has some of it leaking from you back onto him and down onto the bed, making the obscenest mess he’s ever seen.

Immediately he’s pulling himself back up to see how he’s coated your walls white, his dick covered in your shared cum, creamy and lewd and he’s not even going soft because how could he when you’re still wrapped so warmly around him and when you’re so fucking gooey and snug. He might die before he’s done fucking you yet and he can’t even find it in himself to care even a little bit.

You’re not capable of forming words together enough to think of making a sentence, only thing coming from you being your garbled, choked moans and the sounds of your plushy cunt struggling to take him and all his cum. Pussy bulging with the weight of his cock and the mass amounts of seed he’s just pumped you full of.

His own eyes are lidded and low, pussy drunk and loving every second of it, “So turned on you couldn’t even warn me before you came,” he bites out.

His hand rounds your body and his fingers land on your clit, the overstimulation too much, one of your own hands moving down to try and pry it away, managing to squeak out, “T-too much– ah! Too much, Sugu.”

Tone light when his harsh words are mumbled back at you, “If it’s too much, then why – hnn – why are you fucking back onto me like such a slut?”

He’s so mean, so mean to you while he fucks you so… meanly. Head whirling over how he speaks to you, not even able to think long before he slaps your clit harshly and your knees buckle, falling into the mattress under him. His dick slipping from you as you collapse into the mattress.

Geto doesn’t pick you back up straight away, oh no, because you’re leaking all of his cum out of your little hole onto the bed and he can’t take his eyes off of how much cum he managed to get inside you. It’s you who picks your hips up lazily, presenting yourself for him.

He chuckles at your loyalty to his cock, but he also can’t help the way the sight makes him twitch. Shoving his dick into you again, feral in his pursuit to fuck you, to fuck you full of more of his cum.

“S-so devoted– hnnn– doing such­– hah– a good job for me, pretty,” he slurs.

You feel like you might pass out, so lightheaded but meeting each and every one of his thrusts all the same. An arm wrapping around your front pulls your back to his chest, both his hands landing on your tits, fingers pinching and rolling your nipples, making your pussy shudder around him.

You want to fuck your hips back recklessly but not able to with this angle, only able to arch further and give shallow grinds while he fucks his hips into you. He plants kisses and bites along your neck, nipping your skin hard enough that you twitch and whine each time he does it.

One hand leaves your tit and trails down your front, going for your cunt, spreading wide around where he’s stuffing you full continuously. Getting an absolute mess all over his hand and fingers, only to shove those fingers into your mouth, leaving you to lick him clean. Crammed full by his dick and fingers at once, convulsing around him at the thought of it, at the reality of it.

“You like being stuffed full, huh?” He muses to you, an evil kind of joy in his tone. You don’t get to choose your own response, he’s already using the fingers he has in your mouth to nod your head yes, “Ah, thought so.”

Pulling his fingers from your mouth slowly to watch how you suck on them as he does, before he’s wiping all your spit down your chest to your tummy. And then he has another hand on the back of your neck and is pushing you down into the pillows again, this time he keeps his hand there while he fucks into you diabolically.

Somehow faster than before, relentless, reaching his own end and wanting you to cum all over him at least once more. Head dipping back as he groans out, thrusts harsh and calculated, hitting all the spots he’s just learnt about, having memorised just how to make you fucking squirm for him.

Which he succeeds in, if he didn’t have the hand on the back of your neck, you would’ve crawled up the bed to try and get away from his evil thrusts. Poor abused pussy creaming around him for the fourth time, orgasm blinding you, only seeing white spots behind your eyelids.

The sounds he lets out are wrecked and beautiful and have you wishing that you weren’t cumming so violently if only to see the way he’s spilling inside you for the second time tonight.

“That’s it– fuck– take it– taking it so fucking well– holy fuck–” every word he utters is breathless and broken, essentially fucking himself stupid too.

Taking a moment for himself to catch his breath before he’s slipping from you and pulling your ass cheeks apart to watch how his cum dribbles from your overfilled cunt. You try to wiggle away but he holds you steady, eyes trained on your dipping hole, overcome with the desire to fuck his tongue inside you but instead settling for shoving two fingers inside, plugging your hole to keep his cum in.

You whine at him, and he can only chuckle and find you incredibly cute in your post orgasm bliss. Barely able to keep your eyes open, let alone speak right now.

He does eventually pull his fingers from you, wiping the mess on your thighs before turning you onto your back. It feels like you’re looking up at an angel as he looks down at you, or maybe the devil, all flush and sweet smiles, too sweet for a man that just fucked you within an inch of your life.

“Y-you can’t smile at me like that, not after you almost killed me,” you babble back at him.

He rolls his eyes at you, “There you go overreacting again.”

“You fuck so mean, Sugu,” you accuse… accurately.

A smile grows on his face again, “Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”

You weakly slap at him, he just grabs your hand and tugs your body into his kneeling form, hugging you to him. Pressing kisses all over your face, “Think you can stand long enough to shower?”

Shaking your head at him, “Not without fainting.”

“Alright, bath it is,” he concludes.

He takes such nice care of you afterwards, a complete contrast to how he fucked you. It’s lovely though, the hands that grabbed and pulled at you now delicate as they trace over your skin, washing you clean.  

You rest with your back to his front in the bath, head laying lazily on his chest, “So… for the sake of clarity, we’re not just friends?”

His lips tickle against the tip of your ear, “I can fuck you all over again if you need more proof?”

“I fear you might actually kill me.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it,” he presses a single kiss against your cheek.

In the morning, for the first time ever, he makes you breakfast, to make up for all the marks he’s littered your body with. He also officially asks you on a date, which you pretend to think really hard about even though you’d already decided you were going to say yes.

In the end, being friends with Geto Suguru wasn’t hard… it’s just not what you both wanted.

𝐀/𝐍: this was a while in the making and the vibes of it changed so many times throughout 😭 it was supposed to be situationship but i fear i'm not well versed enough in what exactly one is to write about it properly.... anyways ! i hope you enjoyed regardless and thank you for reading !!! <3

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

[5sospenguinqueen]

WAG In Training - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend makes the leap from F2 to F1, you never expected for fans to show so much interest in you. However, they seem to enjoy that your comments are… less than professional

Warnings: Suggestive comments

Requested: Yes by anon

F1 Masterlist

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f1 just posted

liked by jensonbutton, officialmpmotorsport and others

f1 starting in monza, franco colapinto will be racing in williams for the remainder of the 2024 season

12,074 comments

williamsracing welcome to the team

alex_albon bienvenida, franco

francolapinto so excited for this opportunity 

→ user1 he’s so polite

→ user2 just wait

user3 he looks like disney prince

user4 not surprised he got the seat. look at those big beautiful eyes. i bet james was like "whatever you say, handsome"

user5 hand veins! 

its_yn so proud of you baby! we’ll have to celebrate later

→ francolapinto i can think of a few ways 

→ its_yn as long as it ends with those fireproofs on the floor 

→ user6 who is this?

→ user7 his girlfriend, and has been since before he was in f2 so don’t start 

→ user8 omg her instagram is so cute. all the pics of her and franco 

its_yn just posted

liked by williamsracing, lilymhe and others

its_yn i heard f1 drivers get the best head. @/francolapinto want to test that theory?

6,389 comments

francolapinto but i already know i get the best. i am always happy to prove it though

→ williamsracing add this to the list of things you can no longer say online

→ its_yn that’s becoming a very long list

user9 she’s an icon, she’s a legend, she is the moment

user10 i never knew how much i needed yn in my life until right now 

user11 i hope williams never pr train her because she is hilarious 

lilymhe i can’t wait to meet you 

→ its_yn me too! you’ve definitely been my favourite thing about williams so far

→ alex_albon rude

alexandrasaintmleux i like the shade of lipstick

→ its_yn i’ll let you borrow it

user12 yn and franco are going to take off ten years from james vowels’ lifespan

user13 i love how cute her aesthetic is but then you read her captions

yourfriend uh oh, they’ve found you, yn. you better delete your old tweets

→ user14 too late. we already have screenshots 

user15 this is unhinged and i love it. is she like this all the time?

→ dennis_hauger yes. and i’m glad she’s gone

→ its_yn oi

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williamsracing just posted

liked by alex_albon, francolapinto and others

williamsracing first post-quali interview in f1 completed

10,998 comments

francolapinto something i have been looking forward to 

→ user1 yeah, hun, we know

→ user2 the interviewer definitely knows

user3 okay but the pouty lip in the last slide? talk about kissable

→ user4 i’d like to nibble on them liked by its_yn

→ user5 i love that instead of disliking all these comments, yn just joins in

user6 his face in the second slide when he realised yn was watching him flirt with older women

user7 yn is stronger than me because if my man was rizzing up all the interviewers, i would throw myself in front of a moving f1 car 

→ francolapinto she’s fine. she gets her own back by flirting with jenson whenever she sees him

→ its_yn it’s not my fault he’s so scrummy

→ jensonbutton thank you, yn

user8 okay but i love how secure they are in their relationship. she only jokingly told him off and they kissed straight after 

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fc43 just posted

liked by user9, its_yn and others

fc43 i wonder what else is thick

4,044 comments

its_yn i can already feel the bruises on my cervix 

→ user9 !!! 

→ user10 out of pocket

user11 i love that she’s even interacting with a fan page

→ user12 aha she’s everywhere 

user13 do you think he’s into choking? liked by its_yn

→ user13 omg she confirmed

→ user14 yes but in which way? he likes to be choked? she likes to be choked? both?? liked by its_yn

user15 his neck looks so biteable  liked by its_yn

user16 (s)creaming

franco43stan just posted

liked by user1, its_yn and others

franco43stan i’d like to report these photos. they made my 85yr old grandmother have palpitations

11,437 comments

its_yn gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

its_yn actually salivating

its_yn yes, i’ve licked those abs. yes, i’ve done so when they were sweaty 

→ williamsracing we knew we’d find you here

→ user1 oop she’s been caught. they’re going to take her away from us

user2 yn stronger than me letting her man post videos with a slutty 2 second shot of his stomach

→ user3 girl likes watching us thirst over him

→ user4 makes her feel validated about her horniness

→ its_yn at the end of the day, ladies, i’m the one who gets to touch 

user5 imagine that chain swinging against your back

→ its_yn been there, done that

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francolapinto just posted

liked by williamsracing, landonorris and others

francolapinto my girl

11,437 comments

alex_albon okay, this was sorta sweet if i ignore what these photos undoubtedly lead to 

→ lilymhe you never show photos like this of me

→ alex_albon those are only for my eyes! plus, i have been trained properly 

user6 franco saw that everyone loved yn for being unhinged and decided to let everyone know that he is also down bad

its_yn why would you post these when you’re all the way in america and can’t do anything about the ache you’ve created! 

→ francolapinto calling you. now. 

→ user7 doesn’t he have quali in 40 mins?

→ user8 phone sex is more important 

williamsracing why do you give us hope that this will be a normal post… and then we scroll? and then we read the comments

user9 i only look at franco’s posts to see yn’s comments

user10 even if franco doesn’t have a seat for next year, yn will forever be famous as my #1 wag

user11 yn and franco mean so much to me. we can’t lose them next year 

user12 franco is cute and all but yn 🥵

user13 can franco fight?

→ francolapinto he will try 

its_yn if i’d have known we’d get this much attention, i’d have convinced franco to stay in f2

→ francolapinto do not lie. you were so happy for me that you cried

→ its_yn no, that was from how good the celebration sex was

→ francolapinto some of our best work tbf  

williamsracing just posted

liked by jensonbutton, f1 and others

williamsracing couple’s day out? no! couple’s pr training! 

14,880 comments

f1 heartbroken 

jensonbutton finally 

user1 poor james looks like he’s heard things he never wanted to

user2 aha james has been through the trenches 

redbullracing don’t try to silence them

alpinef1team no! let them let their freak flags fly 

user3 james fighting for his life with these two

→ user4 and all the teams opposing him

user5 did they put franco in time out?

→ francolapinto yes :(

user6 just fell to my knees in walmart 

user7 noooo they got to my emotional support couple

user8 yn looks like she’s had an amazing day

→ its_yn i did! i learnt so much

→ user9 are you going to listen to any of it

→ its_yn no :)

→ francolapinto we’re here for a fun time, not a long time 

→ user10 ^^ franco trying to convince yn to have sex in his driver’s room liked by its_yn and francolapinto

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requests open

coming up; liam lawson x ferrari admin including cars references

max verstappen part 2 to taste

charles leclerc x sainz reader

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @iloveyou3000morgan

[jaehaeryshater]

The King Come Over and his bride Ygritte Firekissed

art by : @shripscapi

Edited to add: I was hoping that people that did not like this ship could still appreciate the art as I gave them two separate pieces, but people have been coming into my inbox on all platforms, so let me encourage you to block the Jongritte and Ygritte tags on tumblr or twt, as well as me so you will not have to see it if this is you. I also would encourage you to create your own AU as it is very fun. My AU is based on Jon becoming King before leaving the Freefolk, so following his psychology as a character, Ygritte is his only choice as consort as long as she’s alive. You can make your own with Val if you want, but I do not owe anyone to pay for commissions of their preferred characters.

Look at my King dawg we’re definitely getting through the Wall!!!

For the last month and a half, I have been working closely with Liesl to design concepts for Jon as King Beyond the Wall and Ygritte as his Queen. Personally, I’m not invested at all in Jon becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms despite him being my favorite character. He’s not very connected with the South and I don’t feel that it’s his birth right or anything, even being the son of Rhaegar. I am significantly more interested in him becoming King in the North, but my interest in Freefolk culture has led me to be far more invested in the idea of him rejecting Southron society as a whole and becoming King Beyond the Wall (this isn’t necessarily mutually exclusive to being King in the North later on).

The motivation for Jon becoming King as opposed to Mance stems from a theory that has been around since AGOT has come out: that the Others will only treat with/negotiate with a Stark. In the prologue of AGOT, when the Others are speaking among themselves before killing the Watchmen, what if they were confirming with each other that Waymar Royce was not a Stark and that they could go ahead and kill him? All in all, it doesn’t really matter if this is true, but rather that this is a plausible rumor that could easily have been passed down among the Freefolk which could lead Mance to conclude that Jon as a leader would give the Freefolk the best chance of survival. It’s not very hard, at least in my opinion, to imagine an AU like this, since survival is the most important thing to the Freefolk during the events of ASOIAF. But is it plausible that under these circumstances that Jon would abandon his Night’s Watch vows? I think so if he can be led to believe that only Stark blood could defeat the Others, but that is not the only factor. Jon Snow is insecure about his bastard status, plain and simple. He’s always lived in the shadow of his Robb, though he loved him. He’s wanted Winterfell, though he didn’t want to nor had any intention to take it from Robb. But he’s known since he was a small boy that he could never Winterfell and that would never inherit anything because he was a bastard. Jon also has thoughts, at least in passing, that Ned loved Robb more than him. He perceives Ned as having been more proud of Robb, of looking at him differently than himself. He’s seemingly always believed this, but there is a sort of confirmation of Jon’s feelings when Ned allows him to join the Night’s Watch without much preparation on what the Watch is actually like. Fully me making assumptions here, not something Jon has explicitly thought, but it’s unlikely that Ned would have sent Bran off at 14 to the Watch without much warning of what it was like, had Bran not become paralyzed. While we never get this exact thought process from Jon, in my opinion it fits into his psychology and insecurity. All this to say, if Jon is offered to be a figurehead, King, a title equal to his brother, but without taking anything away from the Starks or from Robb, that would almost certainly scratch that itch in him. It would be of his own merit, and there would be people behind him that don’t care that he’s a bastard, don’t see him as less than, and are willing to accept him for who he is. Not to mention that it also lets him feel like a hero and as if he is saving something far more precious than himself. And it probably doesn’t hurt that he would be able to remain with Ygritte as well.

We know from the descriptions of Mance and Dalla, as well as from being told directly by the former, that the King and his wife dress like all the other Freefolk, in thick furs. While the Jon and Ygritte arts from above are not particularly ostentatious by Southron standards, they are in obvious contrast to how Mance and Dalla are dressed. My idea was that Jon, having lived South of the Wall in a Lord’s keep all of his life, brought his own ideas to the Freefolk and added a distinction between a King and all other men. Nothing like in King’s Landing, all changes are inspired by his experience at Winterfell. I tried to think of what was achievable by the Freefolk, that would be difficult enough that it can’t be easily replicated for everyone else, but also keeping in mind of what could be done relatively quickly seeing as the Freefolk are focused on migrating South and saving themselves from the Others. The cultures I took inspiration for the clothing from are the Byzantines, Russians, Incans, Aztecs, and Mongolians. I wanted more “open” and flowy clothing, as opposed to more closed off and excessively modest clothing of 1300-1500s Europe that most of Westeros is based off of. Ygritte is still wearing furs, but they are dyed and there is weirwood embroidery in symbolism of the Old Gods and flame embroidery to symbolize her being kissed by fire. Her jewelry are simply clay beads that have been powdered blue. I didn’t want to give her any jewels as I felt it would be too difficult for the Freefolk to cut them directly and just overall would be against the spirit of the Freefolk. However, getting the blue on the clay like that still would be expensive and take a lot of time. I tried to keep the main color scheme surrounding gray as obviously that’s House Stark’s color. Jon’s clothes are similarly nice, with my main concern being him looking intimidating. I want the furs around his shoulders to be black because I wanted to call back to his time in the Night’s Watch without him keeping his psychical cloak, because I’m sure the Freefolk would not want him to do that. The furs are massive and make his shoulders look far larger, in an effort to make him look more intimidating, especially on a battlefield or in negotiations. He also has weirwood embroidery and his sigil is on the front of his outfit (my original idea was for him to have a flag with his heraldry on it, in which case the sigil would have looked far different, with a full length direwolf). There’s a white wolf on one side and either a crow or eagle on the other side (up for interpretation, both are relevant to Jon and one is one of the animals that can be used a symbol of the Freefolk) and the flame in the middle to represent Ygritte, but also defeating the Others as fire is the way Jon originally tried combating them as a steward at the Wall. The sigil is more than about Jon, after all, as it’s for the entirety of House Whitewolf, the House he founds. I thought the name fit far more in to Freefolk culture than something like Whitestark or something along those lines. Ygritte was supposed to have sewn on the sigil herself, and was very adamant about it, and that is meant to be why the thread is uneven and more visible than it ought to be. She’s not very good at the craft!

As I indicated before, crowns are not something common to Freefolk. That would be something else Jon would implement. Ygritte’s crown is very much like a hat, very casual. The beads are nice but obtaining them wouldn’t be unheard of, and holly most likely would not be particularly hard to come by. The reason I gave her a crown with holly is that during Christmas in the Tudor period and even before during pagan celebrations, people would go out into the woods and find holly and ivy to decorate their houses with. Holly was a symbol of masculine energy and ivy feminine energy. If you found more holly, it was meant to indicate that the man would rule the household for the year, and if you found more ivy then the woman would rule the household in the coming year (this was a way to “tell the future” not a rule lol). I liked the holly better for Ygritte so I’m just saying the Freefolk had the opposite belief. Jon’s crown is made of weirwood, which was important to me as I feel like his connection the Old Gods is also important as it is something that him and Freefolk both use to guide them. It ties them together. That being said, a weirwood crown is often used for Bran so I did not want to use a design that was too similar to the one used for him. Bran’s weirwood crown usually is made of weirwood branches, however, and not weirwood bark or logs, so I feel like it’s different enough. The frozen weirwood sap, as far as I know, is also unique to this design. There’s also some ivy to parallel with Ygritte’s holly.

The remaining bits and bobs I wanted to explain are the blue rose and then the face paint. The blue rose is obviously something associated with Lyanna Stark, who is widely accepted to be the mother of Jon Snow. I originally wanted to give him a rose somewhere, whether he was holding it or it was in his embroidery, but I forgot to ask during sketching, and then it was too late. But Ygritte holding the blue rose isn’t just about Lyanna. It’s also about Bael the Bard, a most likely fictitious person (or at least, the tale is fictitious, though I personally choose to believe it’s real) that went South of the Wall posing as a bard. He impressed the Lord of Winterfell so much that he granted Bael anything he wished; all Bael asked for was the most beautiful flower in Winterfell. This was granted for him, but the next morning he had stolen the Lord of Winterfell’s only child, a girl, and had left the flower in her bed in her place. He hid in the crypt with her for a year and they had a son together. Bael eventually went back North of the Wall and eventually Winterfell, having no other heir, passed to Bael’s child. Under this story, Jon is descended from Ygritte’s idol (maybe idol is stretching it, but she really likes him), Bael the Bard. Not only him, but all the Freefolk including Ygritte, according to her story. Following the story’s premise, Jon also poses as Bael and Ygritte as Winterfell’s daughter, with Jon joining her home under false pretenses and “stealing her”, as she calls it. So the blue rose has significance regarding both the Starks and the Freefolk. The face paint is inspired by tattooing done by cultures indigenous to North America. Indigenous Americans are not the only groups to use facial tattooing, the Vikings were famous for it as well, but Viking facial tattooing had more patterns based on shapes rather than lines and dots. I didn’t like the shapes so much, but the chin tattoo was one was that observed in all sorts of different cultures. Usually the chin tattoos with the line were on women in indigenous America, but I found some on men in other outside cultures. The dots I didn’t see outside of Native American culture and the claw marks on Jon’s cheeks I found mainly among Vikings. Because these all are an amalgamation of different cultures, we did them as face paint instead of tattoos because it seemed disrespectful otherwise. Not enough research went into it to be a proper representation of any one culture so paint was a better bet than a permanent body modification that is sacred to a number of cultures. The only thing that was meant to be a tattoo was the chin tattoo, which like I said, actually is from an amalgamation of cultures. Among the Freefolk (in this AU), dots on the cheeks are widespread, one of cultural mainstays of their people, and are generally a sign of peace, whereas the claws are meant to look intimidating and is applied to look like blood (Ygritte applies it for Jon) and is specifically used for military leaders. I really wanted to drive home the point that the goal with Jon’s whole look is to look fearsome.

I have so much more to say about Jon as King Beyond the Wall, how he negotiates with the Wall, the different rules he sets in place, how he sets up being King as a hereditary title once his daughter Bael is born, etc etc, but then I’d be here all day and approximately one person total read through all this. Oops! Ask in my inbox if you have any questions because I would love love love to answer them. All in all, shripscapi (Liesl) is so talented and she worked incredibly hard for me. She was extremely accommodating and changed as much stuff as I wanted. She never complained about the million times I decided something was not quite right and she sent me so many updates. I would recommend working with her to just about anybody. It was very cool what she was able to achieve and I got it in time for the holidays so I can enjoy my winter themed pfp on twt. So thank you from the bottom of my heart Liesl, and I hope everyone showers her with compliments because she deserves it. I also hope that people that don’t enjoy Ygritte very much can still appreciate the art and the concept of Jon as King Beyond the Wall. Hopefully I’ve gotten across how much I love and care for these characters to a chronically online degree and nobody accuses me of mischaracterizing them because that would make me!!!! very sad!!!

Bonus Jon with weirwood leaves:

[chithereader]

two idiots / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader , aaron hotchner x shy!reader cw: bau!reader, shy!reader, painfully awkward, a little naive!reader too, more of pining hotch, build up word count: 1.7k genre: fluff a/n: ahh i got so much love for shy!reader thank u all so much, here's one for you <33 i really wanted to show little moments between the two that spoke volumes about how they really felt. hope you like it!!!

You’re deep in thought at the crime scene, carefully taking in the mess caused by the struggle between the victim and the unsub. Playing out possible scenarios in your head to figure it out, arranging and rearranging the order of events– pushed into the table, hit with the lamp on the head, victim runs to the kitchen based on the blood droplets.. 

While in the background you can faintly hear Reid and Morgan bickering, also barely registering the conversation between Hotch and the sheriff, as well as Rossi in your peripheral who is looking closely at the picture frames that lined the wall. 

You walk back to the door, quietly working things out in your head. You act out your theories subtly, quickly getting caught up in piecing it together. You fail to notice Hotch taking notice of you, studying you in your element– it’s always been your thing, puzzle pieces. He’s noticed in the first few months since you’ve joined that you view every case like a puzzle, and every clue, every factor, every moment- a piece. 

Hotch, along with the other members of the team, are in awe of you. Even Reid, who is a certified genius, is intrigued at the way you view these cases– often asking you for your thoughts and theories. Sometimes, your input and analogies are actually what helps him solve a case, proving your effectiveness in the team especially given that the team’s clearance rate has only increased since you’ve joined. 

But being too caught up in your own world, you’ve failed to notice Rossi bluntly staring at Hotch– watching him watch you. Morgan, who also noticed, has been smirking into his phone quietly relaying to Garcia that boss man’s in one of his “love haze” trances again, to add to the many that have happened over the course of a few months.

Shaken out of his trance, Hotch straightens himself as if realizing something when he was watching you moving around the kitchen. He walks out the door quietly and disappears into one of your cars. 

While Morgan and Reid continue their investigation upstairs, Rossi stays with you. Partly waiting if you stumble upon a revelation, and partly for Hotch to come back, curious as to why he suddenly went out. 

It’s been a few minutes and the reenactment in your head has taken you upstairs– onto the second victim. 

Just as you were about to envision what could’ve happened, the room made you halt in your steps.  You didn’t know how long you were standing there when you heard Morgan ask, “You okay, kid?” with a barely-concealed look of concern on his face. 

You realized you were probably standing frozen for a while, taking in the gut wrenching sight of the nursery bloodied up. He walks towards you and as he nears you, recognizes the look on your face. You were trying to hold it together, to not let the broken crib and stained sheets break you.

You nodded, “Yeah, it’s just–” you open your mouth but nothing really comes out. Looking around, you realize there are no words to say. You can only offer the four walls your silence for what they’ve witnessed. 

Your shoulders notably drop and that’s when Morgan reaches for you, wrapping his arms around you to ground you. With your head on his chest, you feel the vibrations as he mumbles, “Just another day, kid.” 

With closed eyes, you breathe in his scent deeply– oak and mint, a seemingly weird combination that of course works on him. His comforting touch, rich smell and low voice have all comforted you. It’s brought you back to reality: that this is already done. And that the best you can do is catch the unsub who did this. 

You lift your head from his chest to look at him, to genuinely convey your gratitude through your eyes when you notice Hotch and Rossi out of the corner of your eye, looking at the two of you from the top of the steps. 

-

Deciding to go back to the precinct so you could build a solid profile, you all make your way back to the cars. You went to the crime scene riding with Morgan and Reid but to your surprise, Hotch ushers you out of the house and into the car he’s driving with a gentle but firm hand on your lower back. 

He guides you to the passenger seat- opening the car door for you and closing it as soon as you’re settled. You can only watch Rossi from the window waving you goodbye with a teasing smile, boarding the car Reid and Morgan came in instead of joining you and Hotch. 

As Hotch settles into the passenger seat, he reaches for a water bottle, opens it and hands it to you. You raised it in confusion while looking at him, not really sure why he’s giving you a bottle to drink. But he’s not looking back at you, only buckling his seatbelt getting himself ready for the drive. 

You start to lift it to your lips to drink it when he says, “You haven’t drank water since this morning– you’ve only had coffee.” Eyeing you from the side, as if pointedly saying that’s right, I know. 

The thought of Hotch watching you enough to notice what you have and haven’t been drinking makes all the blood in your face pool in your cheeks. You actually start to feel it getting hotter. 

You turn your head to the window while gulping down water, hoping that the movement and bottle are both masking the smile that’s fighting its way onto your face. 

His concern and ringing silence in the car, despite the radio playing softly in the background, made you feel pressured to talk and fill in the silence. But you really should’ve thought before opening your mouth because making conversation has never been your strongest suit. 

As you’re slowing down for a red light, you blurted “So… ho-how have you been, Hotch?” and as soon as the words awkwardly rolled off your tongue, you grimaced as if bracing for impact. 

You slowly turned to look at Hotch, expecting him to be annoyed or weirded out by your awkward and random question. Your eyes travel from his hand that’s on the wheel, along the length of his arm, to his shoulder and his neck, and finally to his face- sporting a soft but proud smile. 

“I’m okay, thank you for asking. You?” Thank you for asking? What are you- 4? Hotch is mentally kicking himself in his head, he should’ve said something cooler or more casual. He literally just sounded like a kindergarten teacher or the kindergarten himself. 

He bites his lip, stopping himself from looking like an even bigger fool– waiting for you to just bite and answer the question, then maybe he can come up with a better response and recover. 

Not expecting him to entertain your question, let alone return it, you stumble over your words.  “Oh– uhm.. Well, I’m okay. I’m– I’m good.” Your finesse always seems to leave the room the minute Hotch is in the vicinity. 

Nodding slowly, Hotch answers, “That’s good.. Good to hear.” God, can I be any more awkward? He couldn’t think of a better response, not when your reply didn’t leave him much of a choice but to start a new topic– all possible ones instantly fleeing his head when he sees your blushing face in his peripheral. 

You muster up the courage to steal a glance at him. Normally, you’d be in the backseat in cars, or at the back of a room, or to his side in the conference room– you’d just always be in positions and places that are strategically out of his sight. This was intentional because you enjoyed studying him. 

One would argue that Hotch is the hardest to read out of all the team members, but for some reason it has never been hard for you. You see the clenching of his jaw when he’s angry or irritated. The fiddling thumb thing he does when he’s deep in thought or drowning in worry.

You know his voice gets louder when he’s pushed past his limits, you know the pace of his breaths when he’s trying to calm himself. You know when he’s asleep because his brows twitch, as if the muscles in that part of his face aren’t used to being relaxed after a whole day of being scrunched in seriousness. 

Little did you know that the only reason why you know and notice all these things about him is because he lets you. His guard is alarmingly down ever since you’ve been around. Perhaps because there’s something about you that comforts him. Your presence relaxes him enough that he no longer feels the need to mask how he feels, to make himself unreadable. 

But maybe it’s also because he wants you to know him. The real him. Maybe he worries that you’d think he was emotionless. Hardened by the job and damned by the things he has seen. 

“You’re staring.” The deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Oh god, how long have I been staring at him? 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t mean to. I was just– I was thinking and I got wrapped up in my– I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” You rambled, fully panicking because not only have you made yourself look like an awkward idiot but you’ve now successfully added creep to the list.  

While the embarrassment is sinking in, you’re trying to look anywhere but at him, but your stomach drops even more when you realize you’re about to pull into the precinct– How long was I actually staring at him??!? 

Hotch easily puts the car in park as you’re now just staring at your lap in embarrassment and regret, and shame and– “I like it.” 

Lifting your head in surprise, “Wha-” in the split second that your eyes met you processed that he didn’t look uncomfortable or annoyed or weirded out– he actually looked.. Is he blushing? His neck is turning red, and you notice he swallows as if to clear his throat. 

“I like it when you stare at me.” Then he unbuckles his seatbelt, wears his sunglasses, and gets out of the car, in the cool hot way he always does while you’re left with your mouth slightly open, your stare following him as he rounds the car and talks to Rossi who just got out of the car parked across you. 

a/n: i think hotch definitely redeemed himself at the end!! i also thought maybe i should try the jealous!hotch route next time- what do you guys think? ◡̈

[kiss-inthekitchen]

bonus! i said i wasn't posting anything new til this weekend but i just got up to s5 e2 and spencer reid with that lollipop has made me insane, here's a drabble i just wrote in like 30 mins. barely edited, hot off the presses, hope u like

sucker

~500 words

Who the hell let this man have a lollipop in the workplace?

You could kill Garcia. 

You’re trying to act normal– trying so hard– but he looks so good. His hair is longer than it's ever been, so beautifully curly at the ends and you just know it’s soft. You need to test the theory but you can’t and it kills you on even a regular day. 

But today is a thousand times worse. There’s something about Spencer since he got shot, he just seems to give less of a shit. It definitely shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. 

It doesn’t help that you’d come in to tell him that you all had to be on the jet in thirty, and then he and Garcia had started asking questions, so Spencer’s been looking up at you from his chair for the past few minutes and something about it is getting to you. 

So yeah, you’re trying not to get so immediately caught for staring at Spencer as he wraps his lips around the lollipop again, but you’re also not about to miss a single second of it. You’re not about to do yourself that disservice. 

You clear your throat as the news broadcast about your unsub ends. “Right. So we’re going to Louisville.” 

Spencer moves to get up, finally. Popping the candy in his mouth, he waves one– large, long-fingered– hand at Garcia and reaches for his crutches. 

What is wrong with you?? You need to get it together before you’re stuck on the jet with pretty boy and all of the most astute people-readers in the Western hemisphere. 

God, you hate your life. If the universe was kind and loving it wouldn’t have had you meet Spencer in the behavioral analysis unit. If the universe was kind and loving, Spencer would be yours already. 

This was some kind of cosmic joke. 

“You good?” he asks. He took the lollipop out of his mouth to speak to you, his eyebrows raised in the most annoyingly attractive way. 

“Yeah?” you scoff, as if he’s the one being weird. 

“Okay. Cause you told me we have to leave and now somehow you can’t keep up with the guy on crutches,” he muses from the doorway, while you haven’t moved an inch. 

This man. If he wasn’t injured you would hurt him. You might just do it anyway. 

You shoot him a sarcastic smile. “I was being polite.” 

“How chivalrous of you,” he says, putting the candy back in his mouth and crutching his way down the hall without a second glance. 

You look at Garcia, and it’s a mistake. You can read her like a book. “Don’t,” you warn, pointing at her, and she presses her lips together but is clearly smiling behind them. “And I am so mad at you for that,” you add, gesturing after him. 

“Wh– he just took one, it’s not like I–” 

“Save it!” you call, already halfway out the room. You hear her laugh behind you, and shake your head. You love that girl, but she was not doing you any favors. 

Fuck it. 

You breeze past Spencer in the hallway. “Keep up, pretty boy.” 

You hear his indignant, playful scoff behind you, and you can’t help the smirk that creeps onto your face.

[waddleonmywaywardducks]

How to get back into your practice after a burnout

Alot of times in our practices, we often just straight up forget. Not going to lie to you I didn't practice much until I got out of my mom's home...which was one year ago. And I also have a theory that since paganism isnt dogmatic and is meant to be ran by a community we fall out really easy, it's natural, paganism is different now. But anyways here is chaos's master guide on how to put on your big girl panties and get back the work.

(disclaimer: just because these things worked for me doesn't mean it's going to work for everyone else, this post is completely upg. I'm just offering advice.)

Starting out small

What never stuck to me is those post that are like: "stir your intentions into your coffee, light incense, pray" because like yeah thats a good way to start off I really dont think itll set in our brains to do this everyday. Instead what I recommend is finding days to practice and sticking to that day. Find a day where you useally do nothing and dedicate it to getting back into your practice.

You could use this day to research on all the things you forgotten (been there)

Or you could just leave offerings out for your deities and call it a day

I think if you uphold a certain schedule your mind will get into the habit of "oh today's witch day, time to do witchcraft" this is basic psychology, and I promise it works 😭😭

Deity work and getting back into it

Little reminder: your gods are not mad at you. They do not hate you. They love you.

I have had so many falling outs with deities because I just couldn't uphold a schedule. Hekate being one of them. Hekate really showed me the way once I moved out of my mother's house, and after so many ins and outs of my worship to her, she still showed me love and compassion. I promise your gods will do the same. They understand our mortal lives more then you comprehend. After all, this is their earth.

Stuff you can do to get back into worship with your deities:

- offerings, big or small

- dedicate days to them, in my schedule Hekate is worshipped on Monday, and Aphrodite on Friday.

- research ways to connect with them more

- don't make big promises that you will get back into your practice and never fall out again, thats just putting yourself in more responsibility, your gods will now expect that responsibility. I've done this before and I definitely got side eyed by Hekate 😭😭

I recommend reading over these lovely post by @/khaire-traveler

Subtle deity worship

I honestly used this alot to get back into worship with my deities 😭😭 these posts go into worship you could do for deities while you are either hiding your practice or just want to do something for your gods. Really helpful post 10/10.

Getting back into witchcraft

I know I kind of went over this already, but I feel like there needs to be some small steps to getting back into witchcraft before we get to rituals, spells and stuff of that sort.

To get back into witchcraft, I recommend meditating, either by yourself or with your deities. Meditation allows you to just focus on the present and let go of all your stresses. I like to meditate with my deities because I get visions from them easily this way, it's easier for me to communicate.

From there you can do research on the basics of witchcraft and work your way up to rituals and spell work... hopefully all of this makes sense

Anyways yeah that's all the advice I have to getting back into your practice, if I have anything else to add I'll reblog this and add more. But yeah! I really hopes this helps at least someone lol.

[twopoppies]

hey love, i hope this arrives in one piece and nothing is cut off, as i am not sure anymore how much i can write in a tumblr ask. just to be sure, my message ends with a ":)"

i'm a larrie since 2013, but went on a work-related tumblr break in 2018 (i work in the music industry). i returned to tumblr last week, amidst deep shared grief 💔 to find solace in community. as i tried to cheer myself up by going through my favorite blogs (like yours, it's so wonderful) and trying to catch up -especially about Harry&Louis things that i missed in the last years-, i found the posts really feel like little nuggets of joy and i'm so grateful for that. so i decided i finally want to add to it, now that my industry commitments have downsized significantly. i haven't shared this in almost a decade (never online anyway) and it's not big news or anything, but whenever i remember it, it just makes my heart glow. so, one of my closest work-friends in the industry back in the days (and i'll use neutral pronouns to protect them) did two tours with them in 🦘 in 2013 and 2015. our shared work ethics and also contracts obviously forbade us both from sharing almost all of what was seen or heard (concerning the artists' personal business), but my friend knew i firmly believed Harry and Louis to be together, just closeted (and we both knew this sadly was very common in music or the film industry; meaning mgmt iron-closeting non-straight male artists was completely and automatically still considered The Norm back then, especially with male artists doing these kinds of numbers and having that large of a young fanbase). i never indulged in my reasons or theories, because i felt like i had a professional reputation to uphold and also with me being queer and in the closet as well, it felt too personal to discuss, back then. during the first tour in 2013, we didn't text much, they just said the band was all very friendly and crew was professional, they seemed "like family". the schedule was "brutal". and security constantly needed to be "tightened", due to invasive people trying to steal or replicate tour passes. i didn't ask my friend about Harry and Louis specifically --but admittedly we also weren't that close of friends at that point. during the second tour in 2015, we were though, and only a few days in, they out of the blue texted something that made me smile so wide, i honestly think my cheeks are hurting to this day. :D i quote: "hey so those two louis and h. can't tell you more but you weren't wrong!!!" i replied with ":DDDDDDD" (honestly felt like sending a million heart emojis instead) and about an hour later they sent "every here knows too!!!" and a correction: "everyone" and to this day, almost 10 years later, I keep these imessages saved, because it made me so happy. and i hope that sharing my time-capsuled precious memory will make someone else happy, too. their love is truly something so special. oh, and one of the two was really unlucky at the pokies (slot machines) and quite a sore loser, haha. I always guessed it was Louis, but I don't know. :)

🥹 Oh, we really needed some happiness around here. Bless you for sharing this.

Also, I tend to agree with you that it was Louis on the slot machines. LMAO!

[hatakemrs]

"Hq Boys and little things they do in their relationship. Pt1"

Warnings: None <3

Characters : Kuroo Tetsuro, Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Tobio, Suna Rintaro.

Pt.1 Pt.2

Kuroo  would buy you gifts without any special occasion. It isn't always something fancy like gold jewellery or an expensive dress you want (although he also buys them for you). He likes to give thoughtful gifts like a keychain of an anime character you like or a flower that reminds him of you. He picks up your favourite food whenever you sound like you're sad. You casually talk about a book you liked and he would buy you the sequel to that book or more books from that author. He catches you searching for lipstick online and the next day it arrives at your door even though you didn't order it. He loves spoiling you<3

Oikawa would watch your favourite shows with you. He hates horror but he would watch a horror movie if you want to watch it on movie night. You are so excited about this show and will make theories about it and Oikawa would just listen to you and if he had watched the show he would add to your theories. He likes to go on movie dates with you. He likes listening to your reviews about the movies. At one point he might open an account on letterboxd to keep track of the movies you watched and if you love a film, he would find a similar film to watch with you.

Kageyama helps you with tasks without being asked. He has a day off from practice but you had work. Yet you wake up to find Kageyama is already out of bed and the smell of coffee reaches you. He is in the kitchen making you breakfast. When you say he didn't have to do that on his day off, he just kisses your forehead and says he likes doing things for you. He will reach for the things in the top shelf for you even though you said you could do it yourself. He just teases you for being short.

Suna would click random pictures of you. His gallery is full of your pictures, and the most random ones. You are laughing with the rest of the Inarizaki team and he will capture your laugh because he finds it cute. You would peacefully read a book or do something in the corner and he would click pictures. He even takes pictures of you sleeping(not in the creepy way) he claims you look so dreamy while asleep he can't help it. He saves the most embarrassing picture of you as his screensaver just so he can look at it when he's sad. His social media is also filled with your pics. Gotta let everyone know you're taken. 

Anyways hoped you like it <3 Will makes a part 2 . Comment which characters you want in them.

A/n: Hiii! I'm back in my Haikyuu era again! I just miss my boys sm I need more Haikyuu content fr 😭.

[readychilledwine]

Pieces of You pt 3

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings - self doubt, slight manipulation, discussion of moving forward after the death of a spouse, hurt people hurting people, HOFAS spoilers *slightly* (a lot of us had this theory to begin with and I just played with it to fit this)

A/n - It can only be uphill from here, right?.. Special thank you to @honeybeefae and @thehighladywrites for helping me think through how quickly I should let reader and Rhys move on, and for convincing me that I should continue writing this. (Ps friends - sorry I can't tag you. I evidently hit the max tag amount with my taglists.)

✨️ Pieces of You Masterlist ✨️

The 3 month milestone had changed your and Morwenna's lives forever. Rhys had finally convinced you to move into one of his homes. He was insistently whispering to you over and over that the small cabin wasn't going to work anymore, that Cassian and Azriel barely fit inside it, that once his Little Mor and sweet Nyx began to move you four would need more space.

It had been also heartbreaking, entering the home Feyre had crafted, each room so individually thought of for who it was intended to belong to. Above all else, though, it had been lonely.

It wasn't your home. It wasn't the finely crafted wooden arches your mate had assembled by hand. It wasn't the rooms you had spent hours picking colors for. It wasn't cozy. That lack of security and warmth was why you were once again up at 3am. Despite the babies now sleeping for longer chunks of time, you never did. Regardless of if it was a night Rhysand spent at your side or one he spent tucked into the room he had shared with Feyre.

You leaned your head back against the exterior of the home, looking up at the glittering sky, and it finally happened.

3 months of mourning in silence. 3 months of screaming into your pillow. 3 months of stress, of anger, of overflowing love, 3 months of feeling like a shell of the female you were, of feeling as though your body was no longer yours, it crashed into you like a tidal wave. And it swept and destroyed everything in its path.

Rhysand shot awake in bed, feeling something was off. His chest ached, begging him to get up, to move, to search. He pulled on pants, glancing at Nyx and Morwenna sleeping peacefully, but you, once again, had not come to the room. He waited for the wraith to appear, feeling her just moments after he called. “Is it y/n,” Nuala nodded to the question, moving to admire the sleeping babes. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. She is mourning. That is her right.”

Rhys sighed, moving to your room without hesitation. He had hoped getting you out of that house would help. He had hoped the luxury he could offer you would have helped. He knocked on the door, listening for the broken come in that followed. “Why haven't you come to bed?” You were taken back by the question, taken back by him holding that perfectly tanned hand out. “Come to bed. Let me hold you until those sorrows melt away for the night.”

He knew you didn't feel it. That soft string that had made him scream, made him question all he knew about love and life. Part of him hoped you never did. Part of him hoped he would never have to explain to his family how it had taken him a miniscule 3 month period to fall in love with you and for a Mother given mating bond to snap. Part of him hoped he would never have to experience losing you, to add you to his list of things he would bury too deeply to properly mourn.

“I was unsure if I was wanted there.” That hand reached for yours, clasping it. He was so warm. Always so warm. You could bask in his warmth like he was the sun if given the chance. You shook the feeling mentally, though. “It is-”

“Our room,” he finished softly. “It is our room. Where our children are sleeping. Come to bed.”

Morning came much too soon for Rhysand. It had come much too soon for you as well. You took both of the babes, laughing as they spoke to each other in a language only they knew. They had begun taking more interest in each other, in toys, in the world. They were making life the greatest adventure, even if a lingering pain came from both of you seeing them smile so brightly.

It happened at the worst possible time. You were holding Nyx, forearm under his little tummy and letting “fly” as he worked so very hard to stretch his growing wings. Rhysand was watching you from the doorway, Morwenna on his hip as she looked up at him. Her thoughts were jumbled baby speak, all so happy. Nyx's were elated and fast. When you looked to the doorway, your wide smile fell as that string finished itself and settled deep into your chest.

Rhysand had never watched someone's mental walls fall as quickly as yours did. The silence in the room almost made the giggles of the two unknowing parties fade to background noise. “I was shocked too, darling. It's okay.”

Rhysand had dinner without you that night. He flew to the House of Wind with Nyx to eat with the Inner Circle. He wanted to give you time. He remembered the moment Azriel and Nesta came home, questioning their bonds after exploring those damned caves with the Quinlan girl and learning how the Cauldron had been corrupted. He knew you needed to process. He had too after all.

He took his seat trying to ignore the one that sat empty next to him. Everynight a plate was still sitting there. Even when you came, that chair sat empty, plate untouched. It was a screaming sign that the Inner Circle had not moved in. That they may never move on.

“It just makes the two mates theory make more sense,” Cassian and Amren were deep in a debate again. “If the Daglan, asteri, whatever the fuck we want to call them, did something to the Cauldron to ensure the mating bonds were taken over by it's creation for breeding purposes, then the existence of a Mother Blessed Bond must also be there.”

Amren sighed, “So which do you two have then?” Nesta stiffened at the question. “A Mother Blessed Bond is meant to be true love. It's who we are technically meant to find as a soul mate. A Cauldron made Bond is evidently strictly for breeding. Which do you two share?”

The table hushed. It was a valid question and point. “To continue,” Amren took a drink from her glass before setting it down with a gentle click. “If we come out and tell other courts about this, how many other fae will begin to question their bonds? Kallias and Vivienne? Tamlin and Briar? Helion and Saraya? Lucien and Elain? How do we even begin to prove which bond is which? Does it mean they love that mate less? Rhysand would not have loved Feyre less regardless of the bond type. He will never remarry. Never move on.”

Azriel flicked his eyes to Rhysand. He knew about the bond Rhysand shared with you. He had given Rhysand his blessing to move on and pursue. He had asked his brother to find happiness again. He watched the words land on Rhysand's features, watched his eyes dull.

“If Rhysand did find a new mate,” Azriel spoke softly. “We would all support him moving forward with the bond.”

Nesta scoffed from next to Cassian. “Imagine being that poor female. Living in the shoes of Feyre Cursebreaker. No one could compare.”

But you did, didn't you? Rhysand's grip on his thigh tightened before relaxing. You were just as special, as kind, as loving. You were beautiful. Gods knew you were absolutely beautiful. You were selfless.

“I wouldn't want to try to sit in her place. I would reject the bond,” Mor sipped her wine, leaned back with one arm across her stomach.

Cassian and Azriel both looked to where Rhysand was dead silent. “I need to take Nyx home. He's getting hungry. I'll be right back.”

When Rhysand came back to the House of Wind without his son, he had no intentions of coming back to you that night. So, he never did.

3 awkward weeks passed between you and Rhysand. 3 absolutely strange weeks of either heated kisses and touches or nothing. Not even a good morning. You sighed as you laid Morwenna and Nyx down in the nursery before taking the few strides to Rhysand's office.

He was avoiding you, and it hurt. It hurt knowing your mate, this beautiful unasked for second chance was avoiding you. He was hunched over his desk, reading over some papers and signing a few. “Are we going to talk about why you are avoiding me?”

“I am not avoiding you. I am busy.”

“Yes, busy avoiding me.” You sat across from him, feeling so cold and informal. It was as if you were nothing more than his employee. “Our children are asleep. We should talk about this while we can. I deserve to know if I did something wrong.”

He didn't even look up at you as he replied. “You didn't do anything wrong. As I said, I am busy.” This wasn't the voice of the male who coaxed you to sleep. The one who whispered his dreams to you. “You can go.”

The dismissal made the bond go taunt, and when he felt the first wave of your confusion and hurt, he locked it down more. “Rhys-”

“I think we should sleep in separate rooms again. Our relationship has crossed some lines.”

You blinked at him. Stunned and almost dead silent. “I don't understand where this is coming from?”

“It's the truth. I am your High Lord. You are my subject.” It killed him to say it. His own heart was screaming to stop, but that first brick wall now stood, waiting for the other 3 sides. “We cannot continue blurring that line.”

“You're my mate,” your broken whisper almost made him stop, but he dug in.

“Something we will need to discuss at a later date and time. Surely there will be away for us to reject the bond without causing a downfall and hurting your ability to nanny Nyx.” A second wall stood in place of you and his heart. He knew it was a low blow, and he watched your brows knit and mouth slightly open.

“Rhysand.”

“High Lord,” he corrected.

“Why are you doing this?”

“The bedroom you were in previously is fine.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“I am establishing a boundary, y/n.” He watched as you began to cry, holding in his own tears as he did. “Our relationship needs to remain appropriate.”

"Do you not want me? We are blessed with this second chance, and you are just turning your back on it. Please, is it me? I know I am not the beauty she was, I know I am not as special as she was. But I'd fight to make you happy, for our children-”

"Nyx isn't yours. Stop acting like he is.”

He watched as you crumbled inside of yourself, that last wall forming around his heart by destroying yours. He didn't mean a single word, but how else was he supposed to save you? All the Mother had ever done to Rhysand was take and take.

You recovered from the blow quickly, nodding as you aggressively wiped the tears from your face. "You have the weekend to find someone else to do what I am. Wen and I are leaving.”

"You can't just take her from me.”

"Yes I can," he knew what was coming, that new bond screaming for him to stop this all. "You aren't her father. Stop acting like it.”

You wanted to slam the door as you walked away before his act fell, before he gripped his chest and warded the room to sob. Little Mor had quickly become his everything. That dark hair, that button nose, those deep blue eyes. She looked like his sister, but you didn't know that when you threatened to take her away. Hadn't known why all three winged males so quickly became attached to her.

And now he was losing her. He was losing you. He was losing everything.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

Pieces of You Taglist:

@dr4g0ngirl @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @novalovi @rachelnicolee @sleepylunarwolf @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @bunnyredgirl @fandomrejects @bookishbroadwaybish @littlestw01f @la-petite-lapin @juniperberriesaries @anuttellaa @luvmoo @mirandasidefics @soph1644 @hungryforbatboys @awkardnerd @bruxa0007 @eerievixen @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @ghostlyrose2 @amygdtjhddzvb @marvelouslovely-barnes @batii-skies @emma-andrea1 @buckystevelove @slut4acotar @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @throneofshadows @sevikas-whore @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @why4anne @miadialila @12358 @blushingfawnsposts

✨️If you are not tagged but your name is listed, Tumblr will not allow me to tag you for some reason!✨️

[harrywavycurly]

Worth the Fight Part 2: City of Love

Masterlist: Here

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, language, bit of light arguing, brief details of the hook up in the bathroom, miscommunication and a touch of panic attack symptoms mentioned.

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden

A/N: I know it’s not Thursday but I just wanted to get this up because this week is a busy one for me! Hope yall enjoy it!!✨

Summary: Harry gets the confirmation he needs but wasn’t really expecting while you try to be as nice as possible to him, oh and Harry meets your cat! So enjoy getting a little look at the way your personalities work/clash together✨

“So uh-you’re actually pregnant.” Harry says with a heavy sigh as he watches you dig around in your purse for your car keys. You pause your search so you can look up at him just in time to see him run a hand over his face. “I just really thought maybe your tests were wrong? Like maybe you got a bad batch or something and-”

“A bad batch? Harry I took four different kinds of tests.”

“Well yeah but still I just don’t know how this happened?”

“Did your parents not have the talk with you about how babies are made? Surely you know how this happened.” Harry ignores your snippy remark as you resume your search for your keys as he presses the down button for the elevator.

The two of you just got done visiting with your doctor who confirmed you are in fact pregnant and suggested a well known obstetrician and gynecologist, Dr. Andrews that could take over and do the paternity test once you call and set up an initial appointment with his office and see exactly how far along you are. You weren’t shocked by the news, but Harry on the other hand sat there with his mouth hung open as if he didn’t expect it at all and you aren’t sure why considering you told him how many tests you took and how they all said pregnant in different ways. You know he had to be reminded of how the two of you met, seeing as he meets so many people and all but you just assumed that once he had his moment of clarity and remembered meeting you that the memory of the rest of the evening would also begin to not be as fuzzy for him but he’s proving that theory very wrong with every confused glance and silly question he tosses your way.

“I thought we were careful?” He questions once the elevator doors open up allowing the two of you to step inside, you let out a chuckle as he moves to stand next to you crossing his arms over his chest while he shoots you a glare. “Are you giggling? What’s so funny about this?” You just shake your head as you finally feel your keys on the bottom of your purse.

“Oh you-you’re being serious?” You ask as you look over at him with a raised brow making him nod his head in response. “I wasn’t aware that the pull out method was really even considered a form of being careful?” Harry’s eyes go wide as his arms fall to his sides and that’s how you figure out he really is struggling to put the pieces together of what exactly happened in that bathroom so you decide to give him just one more detail to help him understand how the two of you really ended up in this situation.

“And by the way in order for that method to work you actually have to pull out.” You add casually as you reach over and press the button for the lobby while Harry’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink as he looks down at the floor in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“So are you going to want to be at all the appointments?” You ask a few minutes later as the two of you enter the lobby of the medical building your doctor’s office is in. Harry looks around and brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck while you adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder as you wait for him to answer.

“I don’t know? I just-this is a lot.” He finally replies a few moments later making you purse your lips and slowly nod your head before you turn and head for the front entrance of the building. Harry doesn’t know what to do but he knows the two of you have things to discuss so he just quickly rushes to catch up to you and when he finds you heading for a small beat up looking car that’s parked in a very obvious no parking zone his eyebrows pinch together while his hand reaches out to grab your elbow causing you to stop walking and look at him over your shoulder.

“Look I’ll tell you how my next appointment goes and when they can do the paternity test-”

“Is this your car?” Harry asks interrupting your little rant, you watch his eyes go from your face to the car directly behind you.

“Yes. She’s very reliable even though she looks a bit rough.” You say in your car’s defense as you take a step away from him making his hand fall from its hold on your elbow as he stares at you in almost disbelief as you take your car key and unlock the passenger side door and toss your purse inside before closing it so you can turn and face Harry with your arms loosely crossed over your chest.

“This can’t be safe for you to be driving around in.” You roll your eyes at his statement as he takes a step to the side so he can give your car a proper once over and when he sees a dent on the front bumper he raises an eyebrow while pointing at it. “You run into things a lot?” He asks as he looks over at you from where he’s now stood near the front of your car.

“Leave Melanie alone okay she’s nice and gets me where I need to go.” You snap at him as you turn and place a hand on top of your car so you can give it a little pat. “I’ve had her since I was seventeen so yeah she’s got a few bumps-”

“Melanie? You named your car? Have you really had this thing since you were seventeen?”

“Yes Melanie just fits her and yeah Harry I’ve had this thing since I was seventeen because most people keep their cars for a while since we can’t all have a driver to take us places or have a fancy collection of cars we don’t use.” Harry doesn’t say anything in response so after a few moments of silence you take that as a sign the conversation is over so you just turn to round the front of the car and get into the driver’s seat.

“You’re in a no parking zone you know that right?” Harry says breaking the silence just as you open your door, you look at the sign that’s posted on the sidewalk right above where you’re parked and just shrug making Harry let out a huff as he rolls his eyes.

“I was in a hurry.”

“You mean you were running late?”

“No I mean I was in a hurry.”

“Are you late to a lot of things? Is that something I should get used to?”

“I don’t know Harry do you want to get used to me?”

“What? That’s not-not what I meant I just want to know if you’re late a lot?”

“I wasn’t late today was I?”

“No but clearly you were worried about it since you were rushing enough to just park in a no parking zone-what if your car would’ve gotten towed? What would you have done?” While he’s speaking you take the time to look him over and that’s when you notice it, his hands are clenching and unclenching fists by his sides and his cheeks are slightly flushed and his eyes are a bit wide, he looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack of some sort and him asking you these pointless questions is his attempt at holding it off.

You ignore his eyes that dart to various parts of your face and upper half of your body as if his mind can’t decide where it wants to focus as you close the driver’s side door with a bit of force making sure it stays closed and round the front of your car so you’re standing in front of him. You wonder for a moment as you stare at him if it’s your hormones already kicking in that makes you feel the need to make him feel better or if it’s just Harry who has this extremely annoying power to drive you to the brink of wanting to smack him a few time with your purse and leave him standing on the sidewalk alone and confused to all of a sudden switching it up to were you’re wanting to make sure he’s okay when he shows you any signs of distress. He watches your hands as they reach out and grab his and when you fill the gaps between his fingers with your own and give his hands a nice solid squeeze you watch his chest fall as he lets out a deep breath and his shoulders slump a bit. You look him in his eyes and give him a small smile while still giving his hands little reassuring squeezes.

“Would you like to come over? Have some tea?” Your question not only shocks Harry but you as well, not sure what came over you to even let the words slip out of your mouth, surely it’s just the hormones. Harry chews on his bottom lip for a moment before he looks down at his watch on his right wrist, checking the time before he looks back up at you.

“Uh sure yeah-yeah I can come over for a bit.” He answers with a nod. You just let go of his hands and reach over for the passenger side door handle so you can open it for him. Harry quickly looks at you with worried eyes and begins shaking his head and backing away from you while trying to reach into the front pocket of his jeans for his phone.

“Oh no I’ll just call my-”

“Harry.” You say with a sigh as you continue to hold the door open for him, he stops fumbling for his phone and stares at you making you roll your eyes as you gesture to the passenger seat with a tilt of your head.

“Just get in the car.” With that Harry just lets out a groan as he reluctantly takes a step towards the open door and bends down so he can pick up your purse off the seat. You bite back a laugh as you watch him have to duck down a bit to get into your car and he makes a show of buckling himself in nice and tightly once he’s sat in the seat. You give him a smile as he places your purse in his lap just as you close the door for him so you can go and get into the driver’s seat and take the two of you to your apartment.

“Do you have a cat?” You look at Harry over your shoulder from where you’re making yourself a cup of herbal tea in the kitchen and smile when you see him messing with a random stuffed mouse that somehow ended up on your table.

As if on queue Harry looks down as he feels something rub against his shin and you see a small smile tug at the corners of his lips when he sees your orange cat greeting him with a few purrs but it’s when you see him rub his head against Harry’s ankles that you feel obligated to warn him about something.

“Oh but watch out he might-” your words get cut off by a tiny squeal from Harry as he takes a step towards you with his eyes set in a glare aimed at the orange cat that’s decided to now head into the living room since Harry didn’t allow him to fully chomp down on his ankle like he wanted.

“He just bit me.” Harry states as he watches your cat jump onto your sofa and quickly flop down into a comfortable laying position. “He bit my ankle.” He explains while turning to now give you his full attention making you just shrug as you reach for the honey to add to your mug.

“Yeah well his name is Paris so he kinda has a thing for ankles.” Harry stares at the side of your face as you go about making your tea while explaining why your cat just bit his ankle and he rolls his eyes at how casual you are about it, but that’s something Harry is learning about you, you don’t seem to take a lot of things that seriously.

“What’s the city of love have to do with ankles?” He asks as you give the liquid in your mug a nice stir, he watches the way his question makes your brows pinch together and when you turn to look at him he sees your face looks almost concerned and he can’t imagine why considering the two of you are just talking about your cat.

“He’s named after Paris as in the one who killed Achilles.” When Harry just raises an eyebrow in response to your explanation you let out a long sigh as you pick up your mug. “Have you heard of Troy?”

“The Brad Pitt movie?” You have to fight off the urge to reach over and flick him in the ear at his answer but you just shake your head and walk past him and into your living room.

“No not the Brad Pitt movie I mean the actual story of Troy? With Achilles and Hector? The Trojan horse and all that?” Harry follows you into the living room and makes a mindful choice not to sit on the couch with the orange cat that just tried to make a meal out of his ankle, opting for the loveseat that’s placed across from the couch with a little coffee table in between the two pieces of furniture.

“Hector and the little horse thing are in the Brad Pitt movie though.” Harry explains as you get comfortable on the couch making Paris lift his head and look around to see who has come into the room and disturbed his peace.

“Little horse thing? Are you-you know what it’s not important.” You take a sip of your tea to help calm yourself down before placing it on the coffee table, Harry takes the opportunity to glance down and he quirks an eyebrow when he sees the name of the tea on the little tag hanging out of the mug.

“Paris shot Achilles in the ankle so that’s why I named him Paris…because he attacks the ankles of people he doesn’t like.” You smile as the orange cat stretches out next to you placing a paw on your thigh while Harry just lets out a scoff at the idea of your cat not liking him.

“You drink peppermint tea with honey? That’s criminal. And also there’s no way he doesn’t like me considering he just met me.” You laugh as you reach over and run your hand over Paris’s back making him purr while still keeping his eyes closed.

“Oh and it’s so hard to imagine someone not liking you after just meeting you?”

“Well yeah because he doesn’t know me so how can he not like me?”

“He knows enough to want to bite your ankle the first chance he got.”

“That’s because you’ve probably poisoned him against me.” You laugh and roll your eyes as Harry leans over and grabs your mug of tea off the table and brings it to his lips so he can taste it. “And that’s disgusting by the way.” He states with a face of disgust making you glare at him as you lean over and grab the mug from his hand before he can set it back down on the table.

“And I remember you being taller.” You mumble while Harry just glares at you from his spot on the loveseat. “What? You insulted my tea so I’m allowed to insult your-”

“I can’t really do anything about my height but you can and absolutely should fix the way you make tea because no one should be mixing honey with peppermint.” He argues as he watches you with a narrowed glare as you take a sip of your tea, you watch as he leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees and clasps his hands together.

“Is this how you always act when someone invites you into their home as a way of calming you down when you’re on the verge of a panic attack? You just insult them and-”

“I wasn’t having a panic attack.”

“You were maybe two minutes away from one and please stop interrupting me it’s so rude and isn’t your whole thing about treating people with-”

“How are you not panicking? You’re having a baby possibly my baby and you’re just sat there with your nasty tea and-”

“That’s it.” You say with a huff and Harry flinches slightly as you all but slam your mug down onto the table before standing up causing Paris to jolt awake at your sudden outburst. “You’ve insulted my car and my tea today and I was going to let it slide because that’s fine we can have differences in opinions on tea and cars but that’s on top of the fact you don’t even remember what happened between us that night and you think the story of Troy is just a Brad Pitt movie and I just-I think you should leave now.” Harry blinks up at you as your hands fall to your sides in what he almost thinks is a sign of defeat, as if you lost the internal battle you were having with yourself on trying to keep your cool with him and that makes his mouth droop a bit into a small frown.

“I remember plenty about what happened that night.” He counters as he slowly stands up while you grab your mug and turn towards the kitchen. Harry reaches for his phone in his front pocket so he can text his driver your address and a message to please come get him as soon as possible.

“If that were true then today wouldn’t have been such a shock for you.” You explain before you disappear from Harry’s sight, he can’t really put a finger on the exact feeling that comes over him as he stands there in your living room knowing that everything you said is true. He doesn’t remember exactly what went on between the two of you, at least not very clearly.

He knows that the two of you had an intimate moment in the bathroom because the evidence was shown to him this afternoon when the doctor handed him a piece of paper that told him you are truly pregnant and this is all really happening. Since then he hasn’t been able to think straight or focus on much of anything and if he’s being honest he really isn’t good in stressful situations in general, he tends to either overreact or just panic and this by far is one of the most stressful situations he’s ever found himself in and he knows he isn’t handling himself the way he should be. And your calm and relaxed demeanor just seems to make him even more unnerved because he doesn’t get how you’re not in the same panic riddled boat as him.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, giving a tug at his roots as he glances down to your couch, he catches Paris do a lengthy stretch before he sits up briefly just to look at Harry and decide that even he is fed up with him so he jumps off the couch and walks off into the kitchen. Now in that moment Harry knows he should do that as well, follow your cat’s lead and walk into your cramped kitchen so he can at least attempt to apologize for a few things but he doesn’t. Instead he just runs a knuckle under his nose as he sniffles a bit and when he feels his phone vibrate and sees a text letting him know his driver is on his way he lets out a heavy sigh. He takes one last look at your kitchen entryway, hoping that maybe you’ll come back and sit down on the couch and he thinks that he wouldn’t even mind if you didn’t say anything but just sat there not looking at him so that way he would at least be able to tell you goodbye and prove to you that he’s capable of being polite but the sound of the sink being turned on quickly wash away any traces of hope he might’ve had.

“This is so fucked.” He mumbles to himself as he walks towards your front door, he knows better than to leave the two of you like this, with certain things needing to be spoken and unkind words being the last ones said but he doesn’t have much of a choice since you won’t come out of the kitchen. So Harry opens your front door and walks out into the hallway making sure to close it as quietly as possible deciding that maybe this is for the best and at least he’s giving you exactly what you asked for, him leaving.

You watch the last bits of your tea go down the drain as the sound of your front door opening and then closing hits your ears, you take a few steps back from the sink so you can poke your head out into the living room and when you see it’s empty you just let out a sigh and go back to cleaning your mug. You didn’t want to end your afternoon like this, standing alone in your kitchen because your patience was worn too thin for the man who somehow managed to charm you into agreeing to a quickie in a bar bathroom over a month ago.

You almost don’t even know how that man and the one who was sat in your living room not even five minutes ago are the same person. The Harry you met at the bar was fun and flirty and even though he teased you throughout the night it was never with any real intention to hurt your feelings while this Harry can’t help but take every chance he can get to insult you or toss a jab your way about something. You don’t know why the corners of your mouth turn downwards at the idea of the night you two met never really meaning anything to him aside from being the night he got you pregnant. You don’t get to think about it for too much longer as Paris jumps onto the counter and makes his way over to sit next to the sink momentarily taking your mind off the curly haired boy.

“We can do this right? We’ll be fine won’t we?” You ask him while he sits there looking at you with his big green yellow-ish eyes that all of a sudden remind you a bit too much of the man who just left your apartment without even saying goodbye. “Next time bite him a bit harder okay?”

[maximumzombiecreator]

I would actually like to know what you consider the basics of improv to be! If nothing else, you phrase these things really well and in ways I haven't heard before, and I'm also aware there's a lot of things I don't know (I'm in a student run college improv group, our theory might be a bit lacking)

Be glad to. A lot of improv stuff is just oral tradition at this point, passed down in musty school drama rooms and community centers, so everyone has to pick it up somewhere. When I've taught people before, beyond the basic definition of what an improv scene looks like, I usually focus on a set of do's and don'ts.

Do's:

Make offers, and make them good offers. A good offer should be strong and elegant, like a power lifter in a ball gown.

Broadly speaking, I'd say the strength of an offer refers to how much it establishes about the scene, and how much what it establishes is different from a theoretical "default" scene. Typically, you think about how much an offer is establishing in terms of the questions words: who are the characters, what are they doing, where are they, etc. An offer that establishes "two characters who are old friends since high school meeting up at a coffee shop to catch up" is establishing a lot, but it's still a weak offer because it's such a typical scene. You're not adding much that can't just be taken for granted.

When I say a good offer should be elegant, I mean that it should be as compact as possible while still doing a lot. The typical inelegant offer is verbose and unnatural. A character walks into a scene and says, "Hey, big brother Billy, I hope you're recovering from the illness you've had for the last six months, ever since our father died," or some other expository nightmare.

So, the best offers are both. They create a lot of unique, interesting details about the scene, and they do it quickly. Let's say you stagger into the scene, miming carrying something under your arm, and say, "Doctor! I've been decapitated again!" In five words, you've established who you and another character are, where you are, and why, and you've implied a lot of very unusual details about the scene, world, and your character's history.

When thinking about elegant offers, it's also worth noting that a lot of offers that you should be making are physical. Depending on the type of improv you're doing, you might be physically embodying objects and the environment, and if you're doing background like that you can add a ton of detail that the audience can pick up without friction. But even if you're not, you can establish location through miming actions, you can create details about your character through how you walk and hold your body, you can endow others with traits through how you physically react to them.

That brings us to the next do: make strong character choices and enhance other actors' characters. People have written whole books on what comprises a "strong character" but for improv purposes I'd focus on three details: quirks, status, and connections.

Quirks are fairly straightforward: what makes this character unusual? Establishing character quirks is the focus of a lot of improv games and exercises, and the best quirks are quick to establish, significantly inform the character, and are handled with enough sincerity to make the character compelling rather than only funny.

Status refers to how powerful and important a character is. High status characters will command the room, low status characters will be ignored or mistreated. Status might shift over the course of a scene. The sheriff is a high status character until the king shows up, for example. Status might seem like an obvious thing to figure out from a character's role, but it's useful to play with it. What does a low status king look like? What does an employee-boss scene look like if you decide your employee is higher status than the boss?

Connections refer to the relationships between characters. This is going to drive scenes more than most other character details, and you almost always want to avoid unconnected characters. Choosing a connection to an existing character is a very good first choice when entering a scene, as it should immediately suggest a direction for the scene to take. This is also a reason to favour unusual connections. If two actors are in a scene where they're arguing about a fender bender they've been in, you could choose to enter as one of their friends, but it'll be far more dynamic if you choose a more unusual connection. What if you're one of their anger management therapists? Their boss? Their dominatrix?

In addition to creating your own character, you should add to other actors' characters. The main way you do this is endowment, giving the character traits through your offers. Direct endowment is when you simply ascribe them a trait. If you say, "Bill, you've been mayor for the last ten years," then you're obviously giving them the trait of "mayor." But there's also indirect endowment, where you add something to a character through part of how you react to them. If you flinch when another character moves suddenly, you're endowing them with the traits of being dangerous and erratic. If you speak to them very slowly and simply, you're implying something about how intelligent your character perceives them to be.

Putting it all together, the last big thing to do is build up. There can be a temptation in improv to build out, to add new details to scenes that sort of sprawl outward from the original premise. Try to avoid that. When you add new details, make them ones that build on the existing details. Instead of adding new tensions or conflicts, raise the stakes of existing ones. Reincorporate and re-contextualize things that have already been established. Incorporate audience suggestions repeatedly, using them to colour other offers.

Don'ts:

No blocking. This is the one even people who don't know improv know. If someone adds something to the scene, go with it. Don't reject or ignore offers, incorporate and build on them.

No wimping. Whatever the scene is, whatever your character is, whatever offers are made, fully commit. Bring all your energy to it. If someone says your character is on fire, don't just stop, drop, and roll and then go back to whatever else was going on. That's wimping. Be the most on fire that you can be.

No dithering. When you're in a scene, always be adding to it or moving it forward. Saying something that just fills space, at best makes a joke, and doesn't add to the scene is bad form, it doesn't give other actors anything new to work with. If you're dithering, you're forcing other actors to pick up the slack. This is called "gagging" if you're being funny by not adding to the scene, and is a great way to be popular with the audience and have everyone else hate you, don't be that person.

Don't make yourself look good at the expense of your scene partners. It's okay to get laughs at the expense of other characters, but not at the expense of other actors. Help others get into the scene, develop their characters, and give them things to respond to, add onto their offers.

Related to the above, don't steal the spotlight. If there's a scene going on that you're not the focus of, you should be trying to figure out how to enhance what's going on. Everyone can tell when an actor can't bear to be in a supporting role, and it's not a cute look.

More than anything, don't betray the trust of other performers. All theatre requires trust, but improv requires so much trust. If you lose that trust, you're done, you've got nothing.

[wonjns]

citrus — p.wb

⌗ pairing. . . park wonbin x male reader

⌗ genre. . . smut,, pwp tbh

⌗ summary. . . your fwb coerces you to drink pineapple juice solely because he loves the way you taste when you do. he's simply a man of science.

⌗ includes. . . switch!wonbin, semi-public, blowjob (rec.), overstimulation, mdni!!

⌗ wc. 1.4k

°A/N. . . requested by 🐈‍⬛✓ "....can I request a dom Wonbin whose obsessed with giving you blowjobs 🫣 I know he's a certified babygirl but something about his aura onstage mixed with those perfect lips of his makes my stomach do PIROUETTES." // HI ANONNN so sorry that this took me FOREVER love,, and that its so short. but i hope u enjoy it & i have more riize content coming very soon!!

the last thing park wonbin was, is predictable.

its been nearly 6 months since you've started your whole friends-with-benefits-borderline-situationship ordeal, and every time you hook up he still manages to make the butterflies in your stomach go absolutely haywire.

you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was about him that always got you so worked up. truthfully, it could be anything from his passion, versatility in bed, or more obviously his painstakingly good looks — but the one thing that you couldn't deny was your favorite is that he was the absolute king of giving head.

and it was his favorite, too, if the way he'd randomly start stroking you to full hardness throughout the day was anything to go by.

at first, you simply loved the way his soft lips would mold against yours whenever you'd make out. even more so when it was in a frenzied manner in the backseat of his car after a rough exam. that cloud 9 feeling would descend upon you whenever he would draw your tongue into his mouth, sucking on it rhythmically. yet, even that quickly proved to be only a warm up for what he was about to do when he’d begin to unbuckle your pants.

wonbin was a beautiful man, with beautiful eyes and a beautiful soul to match. there were books full of wholesome things you could list that contributed to your attraction towards him. but at the end of the day, you just had to admit that the motherfucker had those tantalizing, plush, pillowy lips that felt even better than they looked when he would wrap them around your needy cock.

he loved how subby it made you - how easily only he could reduce you into a pile of desperation for him with just his mouth alone. one touch from him and desire was radiating off you in waves of shameless pheromones.

he knew how much you loved it, causing the prideful boy to take even more joy in sucking you off.

one day, wonbin even went as far as to start convincing you to add pineapple to your diet, after he was scrolling through tiktok and found out it made you taste better down there. the blonde already thought you were naturally the best thing he’d ever tasted, so he practically had to stifle a moan at just the thought that he could make your orgasms even sweeter.

it felt a bit silly, the way he would start ordering pineapple juice for you at restaurants, but you went along with it regardless for the sake of testing the theory.

and oh boy, did it turn out to be true.

after the fruit had become part of your habitual snack routine, the orgasms wonbin would give you were nothing short of out of this world. you'd noticed his grip on your hips would be even tighter once your precum started seeping on to his tongue, and his throaty moans became even deeper.

you'd feel his eager, pink tongue begin to lap up and down the bottom of your shaft with more intensity, goosebumps rising from every inch of your skin as you were catapulted into your climax.

"oh my god, binnie...." you couldn't help but whimper, fingers curling into his silky golden locks when you saw his eyes roll back in ecstasy.

that first time, the way he licked up the entirety of the mess you made even after spilling down his welcoming throat showed you how serious it was to him.

"fuck," wonbin would groan, making sure to collect any remnants off of your lower stomach before grinning up at you. "we are definitely sticking with that method."

then before you knew it, he quickly became greed personified.

you'd think with how in command he always was, that you'd be the one usually on your knees for him - but he easily made it known that he wanted access to your sweet juices whenever he wanted.

and to wonbin... there was never an inappropriate time.

you'd have to use both hands to count the amount of times that you'd been out in public when he'd lay one of his ridiculously attractive, veiny hands on top of your core just to feel how your member would twitch at his touch.

it didn't matter if you were out shopping. it didn't matter if you were in the library. and it definitely didn't matter that you were now at dinner with the entire friend group.

wonbin didn't hesitate to give you that signature look, the one he knew you couldn't resist, while cupping your quickly growing erection after playing with under the table for the past ten minutes. for good measure, he also gave his plump bottom lip a singular tug between his teeth, just to seal the deal, to make sure he got you in the bathroom with your jeans pooled around your ankles.

you had to admit it was addicting, the way wonbin's smooth hands glided under your shirt to run along your torso while he teasingly licked your bulge through the thin layer of your underwear. your head fell back against the cool tile, unable to voice out your thoughts of how irrational this was.

nothing mattered when wonbin finally tugged your boxers down, removing that final blockade from him and your aching cock, already glistening with leaking arousal.

he shamelessly moaned when he pulled you into his mouth, wantonly sucking on your length as if it were his well earned dessert. in a way, it was — you have no idea what wonbin did in order to earn it while your friends were mindlessly chatting away back at the table, but you couldn't say no to him.

"god, y/n, i've got to be a fucking genius." the potty (albeit talented) mouth groaned. "you taste so good and haven't even cum yet."

you whined at his words, causing him to smirk as you meekly attempted to pull his head back to your cock, silently begging for more. he loved to tease you by randomly stopping just to utter nonsense, knowing the cool air exposed to your private parts after being wet from his mouth made you shiver.

you furrowed your hands in their familiar spot in wonbin's hair as he fiddled about leaving opened mouth kisses along your thighs. he took the time to gently suck the skin just below your belly button to drive you insane before he went back to the real work.

you often wondered how he never complained about his knees hurting, but just as you were about to ask him, he started bobbing his head up and down your length with vigor.

a loud moan managed to escape your lips when he hollowed his cheeks out around you, his warmness sending your body into overdrive.

"c-cumming—" was all you had to mutter before wonbin was pulling back, a smug look on his face as he held his thick tongue out.

"give it to me, pretty boy."

you nearly sobbed, overwhelmed with how sexy he looked - baffled with how dominant his aura could still be even while on his knees for you. he was commanding you while below you, and you’d never thought once about disobeying.

all it took was a quick jerk of your wrist after grabbing hold of your length, your love liquids shooting out and landing right on their target.

it was lewd, and a little embarrassing, watching wonbin swallow all you had to offer, but the way his adams apple bobbed while he lowly hummed to himself in satisfaction nearly sent you into another climax.

"so good, baby." wonbin drawled, keeping eye contact with you as he leaned forward to firmly grab your thighs, catching your relaxing cock back in his mouth.

you whined out feeling wonbin’s tongue properly clean all around your length, the overstimulation making your legs shake erratically.

weak attempts to push his head away were futile, wonbin absolutely having to lap up every inch of your skin he could to truly savor in the moment. it was a lot, but your body craved it. your head feebly swayed back and forth against the wall, and you swore your legs were seconds away from giving out when he finally pulled back.

wonbin pulled your underwear and jeans back up around your waist as he stood, softly kissing your lips to bring you back down to earth.

you swore during moments like this, that you loved him.

"lets go wrap up with the guys, then we can watch a movie at the house. how's that sound?" he questioned, raising a brow while gently pinching your flushed cheeks.

you nodded, before taking a deep breathe to compose yourself.

it was a cute offer, but in reality you were aware that the rest of your night fully entailed of you chugging a to-go pineapple juice on the car ride home, knowing that wonbin was gonna have you on your back drawing at least two more orgasms out of you before even turning the tv on.

© 𝐟𝐥𝐰𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐢 — all rights reserved

[skeltnwrites]

Tides at Moonrise ☾⁺˖⋆₊

After being attacked by demobats in the Upside Down, Steve experiences some supernatural changes.

vampire!steve, bf!steve, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort / TW season 4 spoilers, vomit, arguing, drinking blood, very minor descriptions of injury and gore, mentions of death and cannibalism, spooky elements 6k

a/n - steve and dustin are such a fun pair to write i miss the iconic duo that they are

── .✦

“Fuck,” Steve croaks, swiping at the thread of spit swaying from his lips. He glowers at his reflection in the toilet bowl, muddied brown from a piece of chocolate but mostly bile. The sting of acid coats the back of his throat and sours the length of his tongue. 

It’s been four days, going on five, and he hasn’t been able to keep anything down. You’ve tried toast, soup, crackers, protein shakes, and every other sick food on the list. And now in a desperate attempt, you’ve ruined his favorite candy for him too. 

You press a water bottle to his bicep, “Here.”

“No.” His hands tremble where they’re braced against the porcelain rim. “I can’t.” 

“Stevie. It’s just water.” 

“I will. Just, not yet.” His tone is callous. He’s not mad, at least not at you. A culmination of feelings fester in his chest like a swarm of bees gearing for attack. But he won’t take this out on you. Won’t let himself. 

He sinks back on his heels, decidedly finished. 

You snake an arm around his middle as if to say it’s okay. You’re both exhausted from a string of sleepless nights. Finding the proper words requires a level of energy you don’t have. He prefers your touch anyway. 

The half-hearted embrace lacks the comfort you hope to find. The skin of his bare back is like ice against yours. It’s a foreign sensation, though becoming less and less so each day. 

Steve sags into your warmth with the entire brunt of his weight. His strength fades with each passing night, as your worry grows in equal measure.

A finger scratches the coarse gauze plastered to his tummy. It’s still snug, exactly how you fixed it. You only trouble him with changing his bandages if it’s necessary. You’re thankful that the road rash across his back has scabbed over. It’s healing fine, but it’s not pretty. Like a pair of fiery wings hung from his shoulder blades.  

You coax Steve back into your shared room. He’s averse but can’t afford a fight. 

It’s late morning. Bright enough to project bars of sunlight across your sheets. Steve winces at them, among a number of other things, as he crawls into bed. Even through the glass pane, the sun stings. It’s not unbearable, but an uncomfortable heat, like a sunburn. 

You reinforce the makeshift curtain where it’s unfastened itself. It’s a throw blanket you really miss now that you sleep beside a human ice pack. Someone is bringing blackout curtains to cover the blinds. You think it was Mike who offered, but you aren’t really sure. Your brain is fuzzy with fear and fatigue. The last week has tangled itself in your mind like an unraveled spool of thread. The only strand of it you’re focused on is what’ll help Steve. 

He seeks your hand when you join him on the mattress. There’s enough indirect light seeping in to highlight the sickly shade he’s become. Signature golden, sun-baked hues have drained from his skin like a bleached photograph. And while he hasn’t eaten or seen the sun in days, it just doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation does. 

You all have your theories– how this is linked to the Upside Down or a part of Vecna’s plan. But everything circles back to that night. Steve was shredded by demobats and took a chunk out of one with his teeth in revenge. Something about their bites or swallowing their blood did something to Steve. It changed him, right down to his DNA. 

Dustin’s tried to present several possibilities from a scientific standpoint. Gene mutations, parasites, cellular regeneration, infections, but there are always holes in his explanations, always things that don’t quite add up. But you’re running out of time. You feel it, Steve feels it, everyone does. He’s grasping at a fraying rope, wilting like a dying flower in your palms.  

Steve calls your name like a beacon from your thoughts.

“I can hear how anxious you are,” he says when you face him. 

You have to be the strong one right now. You shake your head. “I’m not. It’s okay.” 

He softens like melting snow and scoots closer until he’s more on your pillow than his. “Don’t lie. Please.” 

“I’m not,” you whisper, not caring that he won’t believe you. 

Steve sandwiches your fingers between both of his palms; draws soothing shapes across the marbled green and purple of your knuckles. “I can hear your heartbeat, you know. It’s racing.” 

Your first instinct is to call his bluff, then shove away any embarrassment and lock it up in a box deep in your brain until all of this is over. But he’s not lying. He’s a stupendously bad liar. And at this point, he could tell you he has x-ray vision and you wouldn’t be that surprised. 

“I can hear the blood pumping through your veins too.”

“Is that… new?” 

“No. It was just so chaotic before. I couldn’t focus on it.”

You study his eyes. They’re a shade of brown you never expected to become your favorite. Hooded and half-lidded with the weight of too many things for one person to carry. You try hard to commit them to memory because you’re afraid if they close they may never reopen. 

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. 

“You’re not.” You blink away the salty sting as fast as it arrives. “You don’t know that.”

“I got it out of my system. I feel fine.”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s not,” he lies.

“It’s bullshit.” 

He snaps you a harsh look, seemingly triggered by your tone or choice of words. “Okay– well, shit, babe. What do you suppose we do?”

You sit up, ripping out of his grasp. “I dunno, Steve. Go to the hospital? The fucking government lab people? Literally anyone– we clearly don’t know–”

He scoffs, wrenching himself up with the help of the headboard. “Yeah, because the nurses will totally believe the part about the sentient vines that tried to strangle me. I mean clearly something– fucked, has happened to me. Something they aren’t going to know how to fix!” 

“Then the scientists! They might know! They’d have a better clue than us.” 

“And where do you suppose we find these scientists who El said were killed with Brenner?” 

“I don’t know, Steve! But it’s worth looking! You’re worth getting real help for!” 

The yelling is squashed by an even heavier thing that is silence. Steve isn’t sure what to say and neither are you. 

This is not the first time you’ve argued since that night. There’s enough stress between the two of you to stretch to the other side of the earth and back. And more than enough fear to turn both of your heads gray. You’re irritable and angry and so desperate for a night of sleep where you aren’t tormented by your loved one’s deaths. And you feel like your best friend in the whole world is walking a tightrope straight into death’s door. 

“I am okay,” he promises quietly. “I’ve been through worse. I have.” 

“What like getting in fist fights? Getting drugged by Russians? This is different, Steve. Something’s wrong.” Your voice raises and then wavers before breaking completely; like the keystone pulled from an arch, everything crumbles. 

Steve gathers you into his arms like you’re made of putty, scooping and pulling like you’ll slip right out of his hold. You inhale a staggered belt of air and choke on a sob into his collarbone. He seals you against his chest, not caring about the scrapes and cuts and bruises; not caring if they reopen and stain the mattress red. 

He cradles you for an innominate amount of time until you slacken and your sniffles morph into congested snores. His gaze flickers across your face, tracing the bend of your brows and the seam of your lips. He hates this; having to convince you he’s okay when he’s not. He needs to be stronger, to be there for you as much as you’ve been for him. Steve won’t lose you in this pit his body’s created. He can’t. 

ᯓ★

It’s evening when you wake. You can tell because the white glow framing the window has ebbed into orange. There’s a pounding at the base of your skull and a sharper pain, like two barbs behind your eyes. You remember why your eyes are puffy, why you aren’t warm in Steve’s embrace, and why someone’s knocking very loudly on the door all between one shuddery breath. You feel sad but you should be grateful. That’s the longest bout of sleep you’ve had all week. 

You tug away from your sleeping boyfriend and steal his water bottle off the nightstand. The static has to be shaken from your legs before you can drag yourself to answer the door. You know it’s Dustin before you open it because he’s the only one who knocks this impatiently. 

“Okay, I think I’ve figured it out,” he starts as soon as your face slides into view. “I was looking through my monster manual– and I know what you’re gonna say– this isn’t some game, Dustin,” he mocks your voice in an inarguably awful impression. You’d chastise him if you didn’t have such a killer headache. 

He prattles his way into the kitchen beside you while you search for that damn bottle of painkillers. Words are spilling out of Dustin’s mouth like a burst dam. You love him like a brother, and you appreciate him even more for what he’s saying, but you aren't catching a lick of it. The medicine is right where you forgot it beside the tower of dishes in the sink– mostly yours since Steve, well, you know. You take a swig of water and pop three pills. 

Dustin stops his spiel to ask, “Should you be taking that many?” 

“Yes, unless you want me to bash my head into the wall.” 

“Okay, fine. Whatever. As I was saying, if this really is the case, I think Steve’s a vampire!” He beams at you like this is great news; like he said something completely normal. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve huffs from the other side of the counter, a blanket strung across his back and bunched in the front like a cloak. He scrubs his nose, either squinting from being woken up or narrowing his eyes at Dustin in irritation, you aren’t sure. 

“I’m serious,” Dustin defends. 

“I’m going back to bed.” 

“Wait, Steve! Let me explain!” 

Steve entertains an explanation for one reason only. You told him to. Seven hours of sleep does nothing when you haven’t eaten for as long as he hasn’t. His stomach is twisting itself in knots and frankly, he doesn’t want to spend the last days of his life hearing about characters from Dustin’s nerdy game. 

But you both sit and listen and decide his theory actually kind of makes sense this time. Steve won’t admit it and you’re trying to be skeptical– raise all the right questions and find any holes– but your heart lurches at the possibility that you finally have an answer. A cure. 

Steve’s aversion to sunlight, his paling complexion, not being able to keep human food down, hearing your goddamn heartbeat– it all clicks. He’s a fucking vampire. 

“And vampires need blood!” You shout with Dustin. 

“You can’t be serious,” Steve glares at you. “I’m not a vampire.” 

“Weirder fucking things have happened here.” Your eyebrows knit together, mind swirling with endless thoughts. “I mean, how did we not consider this? You were bit by a bat!”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because it’s crazy!” 

“Steve!” 

He shakes his head in disbelief. You love him so much you’re desperate for anything, even illogical answers. He refuses to play along. 

“Will you just try it? See if it works first?” Dustin asks. 

“Do you realize what you’re asking me? To drink someone’s blood? Are you out of your mind? Where would we even–” 

Dustin cuts him off, shrugging, “I know a place.” 

“You know a place?”

“Yeah. I know a place. Don’t question me.” 

Steve stares, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s pig’s blood, from a farm.” 

“Christ, Henderson. I’m not drinking pig’s blood. You psycho.”

“Steve, don’t be like this,” you plead. “How can you know if you don’t try? Maybe you’ll like it?”

“‘Don’t be like this?’ Are you you kidding? I’m not doing it– that’s gross!” 

“Okay, okay. What about a steak? Like a really bloody one? Will you compromise?”

Steve makes a funny face. “Fine.” 

ᯓ★

“This is not the way to the grocery store,” Steve realizes out loud, heaving himself up in the backseat of his beamer. 

It’s overcast and nearly sunset but he’s dressed in long sleeves and brought his blanket-cloak for extra protection. Steve always loved the sun– pool days, barbecues, beach vacations, all of it. Now he can’t enjoy the heat of it from his bedroom without hurting. It’s like a punch to the gut, realizing you may never see his sun-kissed hair or trace his moles by his parent’s pool again. 

“Ding. Ding. Ding,” Dustin goads from the passenger seat beside you. 

“You guys are assholes. Especially you, Henderson.” 

“Wasn’t my idea.” 

Steve meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. He supplies his signature Steve pout. But only the tiniest slice of your brain is worried about that. You’re fixated on how bloodshot his eyes are. How deep they sag, even after sleeping as much as he has. You can deal with Steve being mad at you; what you can’t deal with is Steve being dead. 

You think he’s starting to come to terms with the plan because he doesn’t argue further. But he really just doesn’t have it in him to bicker. He thinks it’s a stupid idea. He’ll probably throw up, either at the smell or mind game of drinking it or whatever the hell’s wrong with his body. And pigs have all sorts of diseases, don’t they? It very well could make him more sick than he already is. 

When you arrive, Steve’s cheek is smushed against the car door. He’s been dozing in reluctant fits for most of the drive. 

The farm is fucking creepy, to say the least. It’s not dark yet, but the clouds are drawing shut over the last bit of light. And the long, gravelly path up to the house is freaking you out. This is the kind of place where people in movies get murdered. 

“You’re sure this is the right place?” You ask Dustin, shifting the car into park. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

You crane over your seat. Steve’s curled in on himself like an earthworm. The long drive was just a catalyst to knock him out. 

He’s been wired at night. You’ve spent hours up with him and the moon, trying any and everything that comes to mind– reading, movies, baths– none of it’s worked so far. But he’s exhausted during the day no matter how much he sleeps. At least the nocturnal-ness makes sense now. 

“We can’t leave him in here,” you say.

“Why not?” 

“What if he wakes up? Sees he’s in the middle of fucking nowhere by himself? He’ll think we left him.” 

“What if he makes a scene in front of the farmer? He’s not exactly on board with this plan.” 

You sigh, defeated. You can’t send Dustin alone. If he gets slaughtered, you don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself. Plus Dustin already called this guy to arrange this and explained the pig’s blood was for a project for film school. Dustin doesn’t exactly look old enough to pass as a college kid so that parts up to you. 

“Okay, come on.” You open and click the door shut as gingerly as the car allows. 

Dustin isn’t spooked but he is cautious. He scans the pines beyond the house, the truck parked under the sycamore tree, and the underside of the porch. No murderers, yet. 

You knock and put on your best film school student face. 

A long-bearded man in his seventies at least, cautiously eyes you through the crack of the doorway. “Can I help ya?” 

“Hi, we’re here to buy pig’s blood. For a school project,” you say. 

“Oh,” he grumbles, setting aside a shotgun before unlatching the slide bolt. “Forgot you was comin’.” 

The man ushers you inside. The foyer looks normal enough– framed family photos and wooden side tables and a floral rug. There’s no blood stains or screams or machetes lying around. That’s a good thing. But you can’t shake the uneasy feeling. It follows you through the house like a ghost. 

“I sell it by the gallon. Five dollars for one. How many ya need?” 

“Uhh. Two?” You glance at Dustin for reassurance. 

He frowns and shrugs. 

“Alrighty. Let me grab ‘em from the basement.” 

The basement? Those are keywords in a scary movie. He probably keeps his victims in the basement. Or worse, his weapons. 

“This place is creepy as shit,” Dustin leans over and whisper-yells as soon as the guy’s out of earshot. “We need to get this blood and get the hell out of here!” 

You swallow hard and think of Steve alone in the car. He’s not being brutally murdered right now. He’s not running for his life through the cornfield. He’s not–

“Here ya are, kids.” He lugs two dark red jugs onto the kitchen table. 

A thought crosses your mind that it’s human blood. How would you know? Are you about to force your boyfriend into cannibalism? 

You fumble with your wallet, willing your hands not to shake as you pass him a ten. 

“Now where’d ya say you go to school?” 

“Bloomington.”

“Purdue.” 

You blink stupidly at the man, scrounging your throat for excuses and pulling them up painfully by each word. “He’s going to Purdue– Well, he wants to. When he gets in he’ll go there! I go to Bloomington.” You purse your lips and nod excessively, like that’ll really top off the story's believability. 

“Right,” Dustin chuckles nervously. 

He cocks an eyebrow, “Well, okay then. Hope yer film goes well.” 

“Thanks!” 

You yank a gallon off the table and Dustin snatches the other.

Night has officially settled in, and the wooden porch steps creak loudly beneath your weight. For a moment before Dustin reminds you, you forget you left the keys in the car and convince yourself the old man has taken them and you’ve just become the star of the latest blockbuster. 

Steve startles awake when Dustin slams his door. He lurches into the back of your seat as you floor it in reverse. 

“What! What happened?” He shouts. “Guys, what the hell?” 

Dustin releases a dramatic sigh, slumps into his seat, and lays the back of his hand over his forehead. “We almost died, Steve.” 

“What!” 

Your hands are slick against the steering wheel. You’re still half expecting the farmer to materialize in the middle of the road with an axe. 

Steve bends over the center console and shakes your shoulder. “What happened?” 

He pulls you back into reality. He’s good at that. Except for before when Dustin convinced you that this was a good idea in the first place. 

You describe what happened in a poor attempt at good storytelling and Steve quickly determines that you and Dustin are just a pair of ‘paranoid idiots’. 

He perks up on the way back, offering to drive and booting Dustin to the backseat when you agree. Dustin gets dropped off at his house on the way to yours, leaving you, Steve, and two gallons of pig’s blood in your kitchen. 

“Should I heat it up, or like, mix it with something?” You ask. 

“It was your crazy idea, honey.” 

“It was Dustin’s. And I’m asking how you’d like it. You’re the one drinking it.” 

“I’d like you to throw it out.”

“Steve.”

“Mhmm?” 

“I can put it in a shot glass?” 

A wide smile divides his lips; the kind that makes your tummy flip. You ache for it as soon as it fades. 

“I hate you,” is said with such affection it can’t mean anything but the opposite. 

“I love you too. Seriously, though. How do you want it?” 

He takes it raw. Too afraid that combining it with real food will upset his stomach regardless and too afraid heating it up will trick his brain into thinking it’s human blood. You take a small glass from the cabinet and fill it halfway. Enough for a few big sips but not enough to set any absurd expectations either. 

Steve gags when you pass him the cup. You can’t blame him. It smells the farthest thing from appetizing. There’s a musky, metallic quality to it, like a box of screws that have been sitting in a garage for ages. 

“I can’t do this,” he decides. 

“Come on, Stevie. It might help.”

“No. You’re insane. Do you smell that? It’s rancid.” 

“It’s not rancid. You tore that bat's throat apart with your teeth. You’re telling me you didn’t taste its blood? At all?” 

Steve clicks his tongue. “I don’t remember! It was a heat of the moment thing– not supposed to be my dinner!” 

“I can count you down?” 

“No, no. Just,” he lines his nose over the cup for another whiff and scrunches his face in disgust. “Give me a minute.” 

A minute turns to three which turns to ten. But you can be patient. 

“I can try it first,” you offer.

“Absolutely not.” 

You don’t insist. You weren't exactly keen on offering in the first place; the smell really is strong. 

Without warning, he launches the cup up to his lips and takes several hefty gulps like he’s chugging a beer. And Steve’s determined, he empties it in one attempt, peeling the glass away and leaving a crimson mustache behind. A fist shoots up to stifle a burp and scrub his mouth after. 

After dating for so long, you can read Steve like a book; sometimes, you think you know him better than yourself. But this is the first time in a long time, you truly cannot decipher his expression. His lips twitch into a weird satisfied almost-frown and his lashes flutter like hummingbird wings. 

“What? How was it?” 

“It was… it…” He shakes his head, “I dunno.” 

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah, I don’t–” He snags the jug off the counter to pour another glass. 

You gawk, open-mouthed and floundering as much as a fish on the shore. “You like it?” You manage to ask. 

He takes another few sips, smacking on the aftertaste and analyzing. “I mean it’s… I really hated it at first. And it doesn’t taste good still. But, I don’t know, it’s like filling, I guess.”

“That’s good, right? You don’t feel nauseous?” 

“No.” He grins, relief washing over his features. “What the fuck.” 

“Dude, you’re a fucking vampire.” 

“Does that mean I’m like, immortal and shit.” Steve blinks at his hands like they might grow an extra set of fingers. 

You aren’t ready to process that possibility and instead, turn to open the fridge. “Do we have garlic?” You ask. Glasses clink as you card through the side door, retrieving the jar of minced garlic. You pop the lid and shove it under Steve’s nostrils. 

He wrenches away at the sudden potency of it. But it’s not repulsive. It’s the same scent he remembers.“Maybe I’d have to eat it?” 

“Or it might be a myth?” 

“I hope it is. I really like garlic bread.” He licks his lips, fishing for leftovers. “Is it bad if I have another glass?” 

Steve drinks half a gallon of pig’s blood like it’s orange juice. And weirdly, it doesn’t gross you out one bit. You’re just grateful to see him smile. To see him digest something and not immediately chuck it up. 

After four glasses, he belches accidentally and tumultuously with a groan. A strong hand grips your waist for support, the other propped against the countertop behind him. 

“You okay? Are you gonna be sick?”

He shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed. 

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?” 

“Dizzy,” he mumbles, searching for you in the sliver of vision still there. It’s like somebody’s strapped anchors to his eyelids.  

Heat flashes the inside of your body like lightning. Your first thought is poison. Some kind of poison. The farmer poisoned him? No. Drinking that much blood would poison anybody, right? Should you call poison control? Force Steve to throw up? Several trains of thought overlap and intersect into one inescapable explosion of anxiety. 

“Here, come here. Come sit.” You encourage Steve’s full weight into your side, underestimating how heavy he is. You stagger sideways, catching yourself on the stovetop with your free hand. On the way to the living room, he rams a shin into the coffee table and nearly takes you both out when you fail to warn him to step over a shoe. He’s easier to manage when he’s shitfaced, you think. Maybe this is like being drunk for him on some level. Blood drunk. 

But you make it to the couch; collapse into the cushions with the full force of two adults and pretend it doesn’t hurt when Steve headbutts your chin. Your limbs get organized for optimal comfort– Steve’s legs slung across your lap and his face tucked against your collarbone. 

He’s deadweight against you. Awake but just barely. And only fending off sleep for your sake; he can feel how scared you are. 

“‘s like a sugar rush,” he says, slow as a drop of honey. “‘m so tired.” 

“You feel tired? That’s all? Not sick?” You press a cheek into his crown, combing the untamed mop of bedhead starting at the roots. 

There’s an attempt to shake his head but all you feel is a twitch. He hums no and sighs, “Feels good.” 

His breath is freezing. You can’t help but shiver. Your fingers rake through his hair. One trails down to linger over his pulse point. It’s steady, not abnormally slow. At least if he is dying, he’ll die content. 

Steve isn’t the only person you love. You love the kids like they’re your siblings and some of their parents like they’re your own. But your love for Steve is uniquely distinct. You love him in a way you aren’t sure you could love anyone else. And you can’t lose that. You can’t lose Steve. 

He tilts his face up and he unsticks his eyelashes like they’ve been brushed with glue. “Relax.” 

You nod, too afraid to rely on your voice. A fingernail scratches the crusted stripe of blood cutting his chin in half. He looks peaceful, for once. “Sleep,” you whisper. 

That’s about the easiest thing anyone’s asked him to do all week. He feels as light and full as a balloon, trusting you to tether him to earth if he floats—your arms are a string of safety. He feels okay for the first time since that night. More than okay, even. 

Steve staples you against the couch but he’s more of a weighted blanket than a barrier. You have no intention of leaving his side anyway. You’d swear you aren’t tired but you fall asleep anyway. 

ᯓ★

It’s warm, uncharacteristically warm. You’re pinned on your side in a tight-knit cocoon of blankets. And you feel great, for once– no headache, no nightmares, nothing of the sort. It’s tempting to go right back to sleep but you begrudgingly open your eyes because this can’t be right. It’s not. You’re alone. Even in the dark, that’s obvious. Steve’s a restless sleeper and more often than not is holding some part of your body for comfort. What’s weirder, you’re in bed. You definitely didn’t fall asleep in bed. 

It’s too hot. You miss the unfamiliar cold of Steve’s skin. Where is he? 

You shove the layers off your body and sit up, blinking harshly, and swallowing harsher to chase the dryness away. Your feet are flimsy under your weight so you grip the bedpost for balance. You feel brittle as a pie crust, like you’ve been baking under that duvet for years. 

For a brief moment, you consider that you actually have woken up from a nightmare. Which parts are real and which parts aren’t, well, that’s hard to distinguish. But that still doesn’t explain Steve’s absence. 

You fumble around on the carpet beneath the bed for Steve’s bat. Stack one hand on top of the other, choke it at the base, and always point away– exactly how Steve showed you. You try not to fixate on the blood-rusted nails, but the image of a mangled demobat sticks to the forefront of your memory like a tattoo. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the squeal it made when you struck it. 

It’s eerily silent in the hall and just as black as your bedroom. Steve’s not on the couch where you hoped to find him but his keys hang from their rightful home by the door. He wouldn’t leave on foot, right? 

You slink into the kitchen and when it also comes up empty, you panic. You check inside a cabinet and then another, but he couldn’t fit inside if he tried. You realize the sink has been emptied and the countertops cleared. But why make the effort to clean it just to leave? Some kind of twisted goodbye favor? 

Something frigid skims the bare back of your arm and your heart stops. You lurch forward a few feet before barrelling around, bat outstretched between you and… Steve. 

He’s in a fresh pair of pajamas and his hair is slicked back behind his ears. His complexion is dewy, glowing with the moonlight spilling in from the window. He looks alert. 

“What the hell! Where the fuck were you?” 

Wide eyes comb over you. A warmness has returned to them, a sweetness too. And suddenly you don’t really care about where he was when he tells you, “I was just in the bathroom.” 

“With the light off?” You bark, still upset and climbing your way down the defensive fence you put up. Outbursts aren’t limited to just him, you have your reasons, and he knows that. But you know you need to reel yourself in before this turns into something it shouldn’t. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Did I wake you? I just– hey.” 

The bat clinks against the tile where you drop it. You lunge into Steve, interlacing your arms across his shoulders in a fierce hug. 

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” He spreads each palm across opposite ends of your back. 

“I thought– I thought you left or– or you died, or something.” You gasp wetly into his sternum, clinging to him like he might blow away if you breathe too hard. 

“I didn’t leave. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

He shushes and soothes you for a long period before you lean back for a better look at him. “You’re okay?” You blubber. 

“Yeah, I feel way better,” he promises. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” The pad of his thumb strokes a loop from the end of your brow to the bridge of your nose and back.  

“I almost took your head off with that bat.” 

He chuckles but it lacks any real amusement; he can’t find a joke through all his concerns. A set of kisses are sewn from your hairline to your chin. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry?” 

“It’s like four AM,” you wipe your nose with the flat of your hand. 

“So? You’ve been busy taking care of my ass. When was the last time you ate?” 

You make a noncommittal noise. You really can’t remember. 

“Exactly. Let me make you something. What do you want?” 

You let Steve cook for you. He’s happy to return the favor, take care of you for a change. And you’re just happy he’s happy. 

All vigor appears to be restored. He stands tall, moves swiftly, and works sprightly, maybe even more so than before. It feels too good to be true. Perhaps you’re dreaming now. 

He doesn’t notice he’s cooking with the lights off until you mention it. And he swears they don’t bother him like the sun does when you question him, just another newfound ability that he can see in the dark. But he flicks the light on for you and you find his face is a shade that is much more Steve. Not as golden as before, but not as lifeless, either. 

When you get situated at the dining room table under dim lights with a plate full of steaming food, you thank him. 

“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you, dummy.” 

You shake your head. Gratitude is not needed. “I missed you.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

Silly apologies aren’t needed either. “Don’t be, please. Nothing you could do.” 

“No, I should’ve listened to you, from the start. I hate to admit it, but you and Dustin were right.” 

A touch of a smirk finds your lips. He’s so stubborn, you love it as much as you hate it. “We need to call him. Tell him it worked.” 

“Inflate his ego some more?”

“Exactly,” you crack into a grin and he watches fondly, despite your mouth full of food. “But seriously, he cares about you, Steve.”

“No, I know. I know. I’ll call him.” 

There’s a dip in the conversation. You observe each other like you might never have the chance again. A mutual understanding eclipses any prior tension. You’re both alive and you’re both endlessly grateful. 

“We should visit Max. The others too. I’d like to see them.” 

You nod, an attempt to self-soothe more than a confirmation of his request. Tears prick your waterline like sand spurs and spill in quicksilver lines down your cheeks before you can stop them. 

Steve scoots his chair against yours, shovels you into his lap, and begs you to tell him what’s wrong in one fluid motion.

“I’m just so glad you're okay, Stevie. That’s all.” 

“I’m okay,” he assures and he repeats it again and again until you believe it. 

His fingers are icicles where they sweep the length of your arm. It’s a stark reminder of what’s changed. 

The love of your life, Steve Harrington, is a vampire. The idea is peculiar, sticks out in your thoughts like caution tape. But it presents some sense of consolation too. 

Steve’s a vampire. He moves like a mouse and can see in the dark and hears your heartbeat from across the room. Admittedly, you hate that last part a little bit. It’s fucking bizarre and something that’ll take time to get used to; even more for Steve than for you. Most importantly, he’s still sweet on you. Still selfless enough to nurse your wounds before his. Still loving enough to kiss your tears as they fall. 

This new phase is just that– a new phase. It brings things to learn and even more things to love about Steve. It’ll take a lot worse to tear you apart.