#i just think he needs more threads and more love

[xinganhao]

🥈 svt vs. reader's bad boyfriend.

anon → "could you do a post with one of the members getting after yn's bf because he thinks he's not treating her well enough?"

⌗ ┆i have a terrible feeling i might've misunderstood this req,, so please forgive me if i did lol ꒰ ꒡⌓꒡꒱

‧₊˚✩彡 includes: reader has a bad boyfriend, hurt/comfort, [light] angst, crack, cussing, [short] headcanons under the cut.

🥈 headcanons .ᐟ

— "break up with him now" ✩ junhui, soonyoung, wonwoo, minghao, vernon.

ah, yes. the trope of someone who will immediately insist that breaking up is the solution, although, in this case, it's completely warranted. soonyoung and minghao are the most vocal about you ending your relationship, but in their own little ways. for his part, soonyoung's a little annoying about it— you'll barely have explained your current predicament and he's already whining, "just break things off with him!" minghao, meanwhile, actually listens, but his expressions and consequent advice are brutal. he's always been no-bullshit when it comes to life, and so when he hears about all the things your boyfriend is doing/has done? he's actively advocating for you to get up and go. junhui's the type to take it out on your boyfriend. he's constantly threatening bodily harm and various other minor crimes against the poor guy, even though he doesn't really ever act on it. he is extra cold when he's in the other man's presence, to the point that your boyfriend may be under the impression that junhui hates him. (spoiler alert! jun does!) wonwoo isn't always vocal about his distaste; he's a little more backhanded/passive-aggressive about it. he's more of an actions guy, through and through. picking up the slack here and there to show you that your boyfriend is a dick for not doing things that your friends can. vernon also struggles a bit to get the right words out, so he just... says it as it is. he may look like he's packaging his advice as a joke, but he's 100% sincere when he sends you breakup playlists and reddit threads about ending things with your significant other. that's just his way of communicating it, really.

— "but are you okay?" ✩ seungcheol, joshua, mingyu, jihoon, seokmin, seungkwan.

for the most part, all the boys are the 'just-end-your-relationship-please' type, but there's also some who rely more on expression of concern. take mingyu, for example, whose chief endeavor will be to cheer you up. he'll leave sweet nothings and encouraging notes in hopes of lifting your mood; his eyes, constantly peeled to see how you're faring. you can rant in to the wee hours of the morning, and both seungkwan and joshua will listen. they'll let you tell the same old stories again and again; even if they half-joke that you just never listen to them, they're still there as a shoulder to cry on. seungkwan is more likely to give advice, while joshua's strength lies in non-judgmental indulgence. seokmin will make it his life's mission to distract you from the issue at hand. a movie night? a trip to an obscure café? if it will improve your mood in any way, shape, or form, he's already halfway there. he won't even mention your boyfriend, if you don't bring him up. seungcheol is similar to mingyu in the sense that he best expresses his concern through little encouraging gifts. he's not the type to push the envelope, to try and get you to talk when/if you're not ready, so he just communicates to you that he's there, when/if you need him. jihoon's also a bit unsure how to navigate a relationship that's not his. he can pick up how you're feeling, at the very least, and so he instead focuses on that. he's a quiet, steadfast presence who will take you to the gym or encourage you to write songs, if only because he thinks those might be potential solutions.

— "play stupid games, win stupid prizes" ✩ jeonghan, chan.

svt's petty line, how i love you so. they can all admittedly be petty when they want to be, but these two? they take the cake. jeonghan is a big believer in "show him what he's missing." he'll snap hot photos of you on your behalf. he'll let you use him as a nice little ploy to incite some jealousy. is it a little toxic, a bit red flag-y? sure, but that asshole is putting you through much worse. jeonghan's a firm believer that revenge is a dish best served cold, and he's cold to the bone when it comes to making sure you get what you deserve. (and that your boyfriend, too, has what's coming for him.) chan is insistent that you should break up with your boyfriend, of course, but he's a big believer that you should go out with a bang. it's a bit amusing, to see one of the group's more lowkey members insist that your boyfriend should be on the receiving end of a public lashing. some might say he just likes the drama. truthfully, he just wants to make it abundantly clear to everyone that you're not someone to be messed with, and that you're not going to settle for anything less now that you've kicked the devil's incarnate to the curb.

[mumblingsage]

I also think it's worth being pedantic about important things...and in that spirit I've spent like an hour writing and deleting various responses to this one (I found myself over-policing my tone and stopped that, so I'll just say right off I have no ill-will toward you and appreciate the contributions, even as I disagree on interpretation in several ways):

First, your tags - "for example a book can really kick off a delusion and set something off that can be traumatic." As I've said in another reblog thread, but it deserves repeating, triggering delusions, compulsions, or PTSD or adjustment disorder symptoms is not the same as causing trauma. We should try to accommodate people with triggers, and much of this accommodation will need to be individualized because the range of potential triggers is vast and often does not include things conventionally recognized as upsetting. I had a loved one make an irreversible error because of a delusion he had that was fueled by the due date on his library card being coincidentally the same as the date of his dentist appointment. That's not a reason for us to have a cultural conversation about the format of due date stickers. Though it could call for a discussion of how we can best support people who are experiencing delusional thinking or psychosis (we are currently doing very badly).

Re: vicarious trauma. Reading the Wikipedia article, I see that the examples given are of real life events reported on in the media, primarily social media and news coverage in the wake of terrorist attacks. I'm not going to get too deep into personal experience here, but let's just say this is not my first time hearing of vicarious trauma, and the important thing is that it is a real response to real harm and disaster. I wouldn't refuse evidence, but have not seen any, that it's caused by 13 Reasons Why or The Bridge to Terebithia or Outlander. (Bellingcat has useful advice for safety and 'metal hygiene' when engaging with firsthand sources of violence. I might use similar techniques when watching clips from a horror movie, but the stakes are not the same. Also, heads up that anyone who clicks through that link will read some text about distressing real-life events.)

"Books can have a significant impact on someone’s mind and outlook and that’s why they want them to be banned." < I agree and I think when people talk about how they don't want kids (or others) to read books about death, violence, sex, etc, they are participating in this. Authoritarians want us to have very particular ideas about these topics and resist any alternative information or thinking about them. When people go around saying "Learning or thinking about something upsetting is the same as being traumatized" they are doing the work of Christofascist Censorship Attempts, and I don't care if it's accidental. We don't need to compromise with them. (I don't have room to open this can of worms fully, but I also think too many people go around saying--for example--"13 Reasons Why traumatized me, I can't believe any library would let a kid read it" and thus send a message to the people around them with real-life experience with suicide, suicidal ideation, etc. that their experiences are unspeakable, untouchable. This social stigma is incredibly harmful.)

"I think it’s more productive to challenge the idea that a book that can potentially cause harm should be banned instead of the idea that books can potentially cause harm." < This is an interesting idea. I love its uncompromising stance. It's one I would adopt if I was convinced books can cause something that deserves to be called "harm" (the two of us may just have different definitions). I definitely believe we all have the God-given right to give ourselves nightmares and anyone trying to 'protect' us from that should be kicked in the fork of the legs.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[fairandfatalasfair]

One of the things I'm missing the most when I think about not getting a season 2 (and, by the same token, one of the things I love seeing in fanfic) is getting to see more of Crystal and Edwin growing into a relationship.

I think their back-and-forth would start to be a real point of entertainment for both of them, still with sharp edges but with a thread of warmth underlying it that belies the snippy tones. I think Crystal would start to keep a mental list of all the things that she can tweak Edwin's tail about that will genuinely annoy him, but not cause any real harm (and a parallel list of things that aren't funny, that make him shut down for real or retreat into stiff formality or foist her off on Charles until he can get himself together.) I think they would slip effortlessly back and forth between snarking at each other and ganging up on the rest of the world (Charles and Niko excepted) while Charles watches with stars in his eyes.

I want to see them showing up for each other, defending each other with words and with magic and with the right piece of information at the right time. I want to see them looking to each other for honesty, because they both know how to be cruel when they have to, and sometimes you need someone to just tell you the truth. I want to see them both understanding what it's like to be someone who doesn't think of themself as kind, or likeable, or good, but is trying.

I have so much love for snarky characters who are kind and generous and caring, but not necessarily nice or comfortable. I adore the kind of complicated friendship where you know you can trust their kindness because you've seen them at their most ruthless. They make me crazy. They could be so good for each other. They are so good for each other. I want to see where it goes.

[r0-boat]

Can see how the king's right hands deal with their ruts? Especially Beleth if you don't mind

Raaaaa

Whb second in command

(advisors or right hand devils)

Asmodeus's right hand devil will get a part 2 along with all Abbadon devils once it's confirmed

Sitri

Do you know how hard it is to hold back? Especially when you're a devil that takes pride in their professionalism. And all you do is tease him, envy and wrath mixing with possessiveness and lust as he watches you trying not to shatter the porcelain in his hand.

He's not like a certain empty-headed brute that becomes a slave to their rut. At least he has a level of class to keep other devils away from you.

It starts with death glares and possessive touches, pulling you to his side, His hand grabbing at your hip. Trying to guide you away. Settle remarks telling other devils to back off or else consequences will happen.

However, adding a particular devil to the mix can escalate quickly until Sitri becomes the feral demon he once was. He'll take you away to claim you All his bottled up feelings exploding as drills into your body and degrades you.

Bimet

He'll do anything to get your attention during his rut even eliminate others in his competition. These are one of the only times Bimet will open his own wallet and spoil you because all he wants is your body and to monopolize all of your time.

Become significantly more whiny, begging for your attention. He'll get nice and dressed up and tight and lacy lingerie just for you! Grind his rock hard leaking cock against your supple body does he lays his lips and kisses every inch of your skin.

Don't be fooled by his submissiveness, He has a sly as a fox and the moment he has you to himself, And when you least expect it That's when he takes full control.

Plunging his cock hard and deep. His inner demons take over saying worrying comments of how he'll keep you all to himself and that you'll only need him, that he's the only play thing you'll ever need.

Foras

He tries to avoid you, He does not mean to make you sad or break your heart He just doesn't think he can hold himself back around you and do his job at the same time.

That doesn't mean he doesn't want you... Far from it. But he can't just claim you out in the open especially not when Levi is hanging every devil that dares even look at you. So he waits; a patient devil will be rewarded.

Leviathan will never know that is most trusted devil waits for him to leave you two alone for enough time for him to finally let go. Hours perhaps even days of holding back now he's drooling and he can't stop himself. "Please tell me to stop... Because I don't think I can."

Like a switch is flipped inside of him, you've never seen Foras so... Rough, His hands that normally touch and caress now grope and smack, and His feather-light kisses are now bites and hickeys. Foras thinks it's so cute that you don't believe that he can be just as jealous as his king. He's just good at hiding it.

Bael

It seems like he's not affected at all but all it takes is one little thread to snap for everything to come crashing down. He has so much work and he just tries to bury himself with even more work during his ruts.

He already knew you might be a problem during his rut so he tries not to see you, no matter how tempting and how much he's plagued with dreams of your body bouncing up and down on his.

And when you do visit he can't bear till even look at you just hearing your voice He could feel his cock throbbing. And you just love teasing him don't you? You just love pushing him to the point where he slams you on his desk and fucks you. He'll make sure to fill you up so full you're still dripping of him when Beel gets a hold of you.

He'll make you reek of his scent,He's not letting you leave till he's covered every part of you in his scen. Bael could already imagine his friend's grimacing face when Beel buries his nose into your neck just to find out that you already been claimed by the devil actually running the country.

Marbas(+Gamigin)

He has underestimated a dragon's rut, He did not know how fast the Young dragon's body would lose control, just by your scent alone He doesn't exactly blame him Your scent is intoxicating especially during rut but at least he could control himself instead grinding himself on you like Gamigin.

Even now the dragon looks and whines as he struggles against the black bondages Marbas had to put him in. You thank Marbas That's smile of yours affecting him more than he'd like to admit, before asking him if the dragon will be okay?

He drools at your honey like voice wondering what it sound like if you screamed his name. You care so much about all the devils around you. It's no wonder you're so popular. Mine

Marbas in reality is no better as his kisses turn rougher and deeper all as the dragon watches His older 'brother' putting him in his place. Gamigin needed to learn the virtue of patience anyway...

Beleth

He wants you, He wants you so bad. So he must play all his cards right, plan things just right so he could have at least one night with you... Even before his rut He would stay up all night laying in bed wondering how much that cute little human body could take before it breaks. Now as his cock dribbles and soaks with precum He could feel your imaginary walls squeeze down on him.

It will all start with an innocent little text. Whether it be a dinner date, or something he needs to ask in person. Anything to get you right where he wants you. With Belphegor being asleep this time of day and The other's working. His office is empty.

He asks you to take a seat on his couch and prepares a glass of alcohol or any drink of your choice (He made sure to ask a couple of days beforehand). His office looks sleek and modern, almost as if you're preparing for a job interview then to talk with a friend.

That's when you realize something is off. Is he slides you with a glass? His eyes stare into yours, giving you an almost hungry look. Then he sits next to you so close His thighs are touching yours still giving you that look. Then he places a hand on your thigh finally taking cigarette out of his mouth. He licks his lips before leaning into kiss you. Before you know it Your body is trapped between His and the leather couch. Is a rat makes us cock hurt so much He might just keep you for a few days or perhaps... Weeks. You don't mind being a little cock slave toy for him for a while, do you? You could warm his cock while he works hard and keep him company before he goes to bed. Make sure you get luxurious meals and make sure you get plenty of water and rest doesn't that sound delightful?

[sur-i-ki]

7/20

Scissors, paper

The moment he tells you, you feel like the floor has fallen out from under you. It's a sinking sensation in your stomach, a heaviness settling in your chest that makes it hard to breathe. You look at him, waiting for him to tell you that it isn’t true, that he didn’t mean it, that he would never choose someone else over you.

But his face says everything you’re afraid to hear.

There’s a tension in the air, thick and pressing. You can feel your heart pounding in your throat as he stares at the ground, refusing to meet your gaze. He’s looking at his hands, clasped tightly in front of him, his knuckles white as if he’s holding on to some invisible thread that’s keeping him from falling apart.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask finally, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You want to sound angry, to make him feel even a fraction of the hurt that’s tearing through you, but all you hear is your own desperation.

He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, like he’s been holding it in for too long. “Because it doesn’t change anything. I didn’t want you to feel… like this.”

“Like what?” The words are sharp now, as they slice through the silence between you. “Like I’m not good enough? Like I was just… convenient for you?”

He flinches, his face contorting with guilt, but he doesn’t argue. And that hurts more than anything else, more than any explanation he could try to give. The truth is there, hanging between you, raw and unspoken.

You stare at him, feeling an ache so deep it feels like it’s carving a hole inside of you. “Tell me,” you say, barely managing to keep your voice steady. “Tell me that I wasn’t your first choice.”

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he looks up at you, his eyes glassy with something you’re afraid to name. “You weren’t,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t… it doesn’t mean I didn’t fall in love with you.”

The words wash over you, cold and sharp, a twisted comfort that only makes the ache grow stronger. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You’ve shed enough tears over him already, over this fragile connection you thought was solid, that you thought could hold you both.

“Then why?” Your voice breaks, and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t stop. “Why did you stay with me? Why did you let me think that I was enough?”

He rubs a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping, and you realize he looks as broken as you feel. “Because I didn’t know how to let you go,” he admits, his voice thick with regret. “I thought maybe… maybe I could make it work. Maybe you’d be enough to make me forget.”

“But I wasn’t,” you say, the words bitter on your tongue. “I was never going to be.”

The hurt in his eyes sharpens, and for a moment, you see his own pain, his own helplessness. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean for you to feel like a second choice. I wanted to love you as you deserved.”

The sincerity in his voice cuts through you, leaving you raw and vulnerable, but it’s not enough to heal the wound he’s opened. Because no matter how much he wanted it, no matter how hard he tried, the truth is clear. You were never his first choice, and you never would be.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat almost unbearable. “Do you even know what it feels like?” you ask, your voice trembling. “To be with someone who can’t give you their whole heart?”

He shakes his head, but you can see the remorse in his eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, and his voice is so soft, so pained, that you almost believe him. “I tried to love you completely… I really did.”

“But you couldn’t,” you say, finishing the thought for him. “Because there’s a part of you that still belongs to her, isn’t there?”

His silence is all the answer you need. It’s an emptiness that fills the room, suffocating, a quiet confirmation that cuts deeper than any words could.

You take a shaky breath, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Do you even understand what it’s like?” you ask, the anger finally breaking free, a wave of hurt and resentment that’s been building up for far too long. “To be someone’s almost, someone’s maybe, but never… never the one?”

He looks at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, and for a moment, you think he might say something, that he might offer some comfort, some reassurance that would make this hurt a little less. But he stays silent, his gaze dropping to the floor, and you know that there’s nothing he can say that will change the truth.

“I thought I could be enough,” you whisper, the words more for yourself than for him. “I thought if I just loved you hard enough, it would make up for the parts of you that weren’t mine. But love doesn’t work like that, does it?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, and the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. He tried. Maybe he wanted to love you as deeply as you loved him. But there’s a difference between wanting and being able to, and you’re realizing now that he was never able to give you everything, no matter how much he wanted to.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and painful, until finally, he speaks, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry,” he says, and there’s a brokenness in his tone that makes you wonder if he’s hurting just as much as you are.

But sorry isn’t enough. Not for this.

You take a step back, your heart aching with every movement, and you watch as his face falls, as he realizes what you’re about to do.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say, your voice shaking. “I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with being second best. I deserve more than that. I deserve someone who looks at me and doesn’t see a compromise.”

He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching out, but you shake your head, holding up a hand to stop him.

“No,” you say firmly, swallowing the tears threatening to spill. “I love you, but I can’t keep losing pieces of myself just to fit into this space you made for me. I can’t keep being your second choice.”

The finality of your words settles between you, and you see the pain flash in his eyes, the realization that he’s losing you, that he’s already lost you. But he doesn’t try to stop you. He knows, just as well as you do, that there’s no fixing this, that the damage has already been done.

You turn and walk away, each step feeling heavier than the last, until you’re out of sight, and the silence closes in around you. And even though you know you did the right thing, even though you know you deserve better, the emptiness lingers, a hollow ache that will take time to heal.

But for the first time, you know that you’ll find a way to move on, that one day, you’ll find someone who doesn’t just settle for you, but chooses you wholeheartedly. And until then, you’ll hold on to that hope, a small but powerful light in the darkness of this heartbreak.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰n

Finally clearing drafts

[wethotcrazy]

GIVE IT A CHANCE

pairing: Ollie Bearman x Fem Driver! K-pop Fan! Reader

word count: 2495

this idea came to me in a prophetic vision as i was listening to ETA by NewJeans, yk he just has that face idk how to explain it.

The early morning simulator room was dim and quiet as Ollie stepped in, rubbing his eyes and adjusting to the light. He wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there at this hour, which is why he was surprised when he heard upbeat music pulsing softly through the room, lyrics in Korean threading through a catchy beat.

It didn’t take him long to spot Y/N, her head bobbing to the rhythm, her eyes focused on her screen. She was wearing her headphones halfway, one ear open, giving her full control of the simulator’s settings—and, evidently, the speakers.

"Didn’t think anyone would be up this early,” Ollie said with a smirk, hoping to catch her off guard.

But Y/N didn’t even flinch. She simply smiled, her eyes sparkling with a playful look. “Oh, yeah… first in gets speaker rights, haha…,” she replied, turning up the volume just a little. “You don’t mind, right?"

Ollie shrugged, a little charmed by her confidence. "Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice.”

With a laugh, Y/N launched the next song, not hesitating to dive into a quick explanation of how NewJeans had taken over the K-pop world lately. Ollie listened, half-amused, half-impressed. She talked about girl groups like they were close friends, like they were just as important to her racing routine as the car itself. As she continued to gush, he found himself caught up in her excitement, almost convinced by her infectious enthusiasm.

She noticed his curious glances and laughed, nudging him. "You know, it’s actually quite nice, Ollie. You should give it a chance."

Ollie just smiled, making a noncommittal noise. He didn’t know much about K-pop, and he didn’t think he’d ever see himself adding it to his playlist. But then he caught himself humming one of the melodies later that day—an upbeat tune from Twice that he’d heard during the simulator session. It kept popping back into his head when he least expected it, like a pleasant earworm he didn’t want to get rid of.

Over the next few weeks, something shifted.

Ollie found himself scrolling through her social media in his downtime, watching the TikToks of Y/N’s “pre-race rituals” she posted. She’d film herself doing girl group choreography in her racing suit, top half hanging around her waist as she danced to songs that were clearly meaningful to her. Fans loved it, and so did he. There was something endearing about her passion, and the way she didn’t hesitate to share it with the world. Somehow, it made her feel even more real, like there was a part of her that was untouched by the pressure and intensity of racing.

One day, he came across a clip of her dancing to a song by Le Sserafim. She was focused, but her expression was soft, full of joy, as if nothing else existed in that moment but the beat and the moves. It made him smile, watching her in her element like that. Without even realizing it, he saved the clip, something he’d catch himself watching on repeat whenever he needed a moment of calm.

He didn’t notice the change right away, but slowly, his playlists began filling up with the songs she loved. He’d go to sleep with the catchy hooks of K-pop songs playing in his head, and he’d wake up humming them, much to his own surprise.

The next time they met for simulator training, Ollie arrived a little earlier than usual. He saw her slip into the room with her headphones on, smiling to herself as she tapped her fingers to a beat he couldn’t hear. Instead of waiting for her to notice him, he took out his phone, tapping to play one of the songs she’d shown him before. The room filled with the familiar sound of a NewJeans track, and she whipped around, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Ollie!” she gasped, laughter bubbling up. “Did you just put on K-pop?”

He grinned, feeling a strange thrill at her reaction. “Well, it grows on you, I guess.”

Y/N looked at him with a mix of pride and amusement. "I never thought I’d see the day! So… favorite group?”

“Don’t make me choose,” he joked, but he was a little flustered by her excitement. “But if I had to, I’d say… maybe Twice? Or, you know, New Jeans.”

She clapped her hands, beaming. “See? I told you! K-pop’s addictive.”

The two of them shared a quiet laugh, and Ollie couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through his chest. It was more than just the music now—it was the way they’d found this new connection, something that felt personal and easy, a side of Y/N that he felt lucky to know.

On race day, Ollie arrived a bit earlier, hoping to catch a glimpse of her “pre-race ritual.” He didn’t have to wait long. Y/N was in her own little world, music playing on her phone as she moved through the steps of a quick choreography, fluid and confident. She didn’t see him at first, and he took a moment just to watch, a smile tugging at his lips. She was magnetic, her energy infectious, and he found himself tapping his foot along to the beat.

Finally, she looked up and caught him watching, cheeks pink as she laughed. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” he said, stepping closer. “You know, maybe if racing doesn’t work out you could debut as an idol.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah right, okay…”

They shared a grin, a quiet moment of understanding passing between them. Ever since that first K-pop-filled simulator session, their dynamic has changed. He’d go out of his way to make their training schedules align, just so he could listen with her, maybe pick up a new song or two to tease her about later.

And though he’d never say it out loud, watching her dance, knowing these little rituals were her way of staying grounded… it felt like his own way of connecting with her. A small piece of her world that she’d let him into.

As the season went on, fans began to notice Ollie’s subtle transformation. In interviews, he’d mention her more often, usually with a smile when asked about their friendship. Some eagle-eyed fans even caught him humming a few K-pop melodies during Prema videos, and speculation spread across social media like wildfire.

When someone finally asked him about it, he shrugged with a grin. "Guess Y/N has good taste," he said, leaving it at that.

But in truth, it wasn’t just about the music. Every song reminded him of her laugh, her energy, and the way she found joy in something so different from racing. It was a little ritual, a small way to stay close, even during the busiest days. And though he didn’t know exactly when it had happened, somewhere along the line, Ollie realized that maybe K-pop wasn’t the only thing he’d grown attached to.

Ollie’s transformation was undeniable. Y/N’s playlist had become the soundtrack to his days, whether it was Le Sserafim blaring in the simulator, NewJeans playing through his earbuds on race day, or even the quieter Twice ballads that had somehow snuck into his late-night wind-down routine. He’d catch himself mouthing along to the lyrics, subconsciously practicing bits of choreography he’d pick up from YN, his own private tribute to her.

Of course, his friends at Prema and a few of the other drivers started to notice, and the teasing came swiftly.

“Are those Twice lyrics I hear, Ollie?” Kimi called one day in the paddock, his grin practically splitting his face.

Ollie rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t fight off the smile. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Kimi raised his hands in surrender, still laughing. “Hey, hey—no shame in it, man. Just didn’t know our resident racing prodigy was also a K-pop aficionado.”

“Yeah, next thing you know, you’ll be wearing matching outfits with Y/N and doing TikTok dances before races!” joked another driver, Dino, who’d caught Ollie attempting one of Y/N’s routines before practice one day.

Ollie could only laugh, brushing off the comments with a shrug. “She would be more than happy to teach you guys too,” he quipped, throwing a wink at Y/N, who was watching the whole thing with an amused grin.

As the season rolled on, Ollie’s transformation was undeniable. Y/N’s playlist had become the soundtrack to his days, whether it was Le Sserafim blaring in the simulator, NewJeans playing through his earbuds on race day, or even the quieter Twice ballads that had somehow snuck into his late-night wind-down routine. He’d catch himself mouthing along to the lyrics, subconsciously practicing the moves Y/N had taught him, his own private tribute to the friend who’d somehow changed his life with her love for K-pop.

Of course, his friends at Prema and a few of the other drivers started to notice, and the teasing came swiftly.

“Are those Twice lyrics I hear, Ollie?” Kimi called one day in the paddock, his grin practically splitting his face.

Ollie rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t fight off the smile. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Kimi raised his hands in surrender, still laughing. “Hey, hey—no shame in it, man. Just didn’t know our resident racing prodigy was also a K-pop aficionado.”

“Yeah, next thing you know, you’ll be wearing matching outfits with Y/N and doing TikTok dances before races!” joked another driver, Max, who’d caught Ollie attempting one of Y/N’s routines before practice one day.

Ollie could only laugh, brushing off the comments with a shrug. “If you want to keep up, maybe you should get on the trend too. Y/N would be more than happy to teach you guys some moves,” he quipped, throwing a wink at Y/N, who was watching the whole thing with an amused grin.

As the season progressed, he found himself leaning into it, not just to keep up with Y/N but because he genuinely enjoyed it. He started keeping tabs on comebacks, messaging her when a new song dropped, sending her clips and asking which choreography she was going to master next. Y/N would respond with enthusiastic voice notes, her excitement filling his inbox with laughter and inside jokes.

One night, during a particularly tense week before a race, Y/N shot him a message just past midnight.

Y/N: Can’t sleep. Found this new song from a girl group I think you’ll love. Wanna come around to listen?

Ollie didn’t think twice, slipping out of his flat and finding her in her own dimly lit living room, her phone ready with a new track queued up. She played it softly, the two of them listening together in the quiet, just sharing a moment of calm before the chaos of the upcoming race. It became their routine—a new song here, a dance there, small moments that only they shared.

One rainy afternoon at the track, while they were waiting for a rain delay to clear, Ollie watched Y/N from a distance, bouncing slightly on her toes, moving through the motions of a dance routine that was clearly second nature to her. She didn’t have the music on this time, but she didn’t need it; every beat, every move was etched into her memory. Her racing suit was half off, hanging around her waist, her fireproofs slightly damp from the humidity, but she was lost in her world.

Kimi sidled up next to him, noticing where his attention had drifted.

“You’ve got it bad, mate,” he said, crossing his arms, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Bet you know more K-pop routines than any of us now.”

Ollie shrugged, unable to keep the warmth from spreading across his cheeks. “It’s… fun. And it’s kind of relaxing, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s not just about the music, though, is it?” Kimi shot him a pointed look, which Ollie pretended not to notice. “Come on, we all see the way you look at her. Even my mum could pick up on it.”

Ollie laughed, trying to brush it off, but deep down, he knew Kimi was right. It wasn’t just the music that drew him in anymore—it was the way Y/N shared it with him, like she was letting him into a part of herself that was untouched by the pressure of racing. Every song was a glimpse into her world, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful that she’d let him in.

Finally, it all came to a head one evening after a particularly intense race. Y/N had performed spectacularly, finishing on the podium, and the team celebrated with a late dinner at a nearby restaurant. There was laughter, cheers, and, of course, someone brought out a portable speaker to keep the energy up.

Y/N, still buzzing with excitement, nudged Ollie, her eyes gleaming. “Alright, Bearman,” she said, her tone playful but challenging. “You’ve been following K-pop all season, so it’s about time you proved yourself. How about a little dance-off?”

Ollie blinked, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “You’re joking.”

“Come on!” she urged, and the others at the table started chanting his name, egging him on. “Show us what you’ve got!”

With a reluctant grin, he got up, and she queued up one of her favorite songs from Le Sserafim, the opening beats pulsing through the room. They started off slow, her laughter contagious as she showed him the steps. To everyone’s surprise (and Kimi’s endless amusement), he actually kept up with her (though timidly), moving through the choreography they’d practiced during one of their late-night sessions in her flat.

The team erupted in applause when they finished, a little breathless, a little flushed. Y/N beamed up at him, her hand squeezing his arm. “You’re not half bad, Bearman,” she said, her voice soft, only loud enough for him to hear. “Guess I really did a good job with you, huh?”

He looked down at her, the noise around them fading to a hum. “Yeah,” he replied, voice low. “You definitely did.”

For a moment, they stood there, surrounded by their friends but entirely in their own little bubble. He felt like saying something else, something about how her music had come to mean so much more to him than just catchy beats and routines. But he didn’t need to say it; the look in her eyes told him she understood.

And in that shared, unspoken moment, Ollie realized that the season wasn’t just about racing anymore. It was about every song, every laugh, every quiet moment they’d stolen away to be themselves. Maybe K-pop had been the start of it, but what it had led to was something he wouldn’t trade for anything.

K-pop might’ve been her world first, but now, in some small way, it felt like their world too.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Here’s a sleep token thought for you.

Lazy morning sex. With whoever you want, or what it would be like with each of them.

Run wild with it. Feel free to spiral.

(Please and thank you. I love your writing)

Favorite flavor

a/n I’m supposed to leave for a conference in 20 min. What am I doing… when am I not horny for this man.

warning: iii smut duhhhhhhhhhh

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Morning light filtered through the room. The Saturday morning you two had been dying to spend together in peace was finally here. iii had been busy with the preparation of the tour. You had been swallowed by your nine-to-five job. Both came home drained and exhausted. Both with no desire to do anything other than sit in fluffy sweats and watch silly movies. But today was supposed to be different. You two had planned out the whole day together. Just you two and all the little things you loved doing before the chaos of life took that away.

You stirred slowly. A smile instantly spread over your face as you felt the warmth of your boyfriend next to you. Light snores still leaving his lips. You nuzzled closer, kissing his left shoulder as you inched towards his neck, cuddling deeper into his chest. iii’s arms almost immediately wrapped around your torso as he pulled you slightly higher onto his body.

“Morning..”, he muttered groggily, eyes still closed. “Morning, darling”, you mused, brushing your fingers through his hair. iii hummed at the feeling, turning his head closer to your touch. “How did you sleep?”, you muttered, knowing that he needed his rest before all the insanity of the upcoming shows. “With you next to me - it was perfect”, he nodded lazily, pealing one eye open to look at you. Making you giggle as you leaned in to kiss his lips. The movement left you hooking one leg over his torso as you pushed up against his chest. His palm met the back of your neck as iii pulled you into him.

You grunted into the kiss, rocking your hips slightly, “you’re alright hard?”, pulling apart you couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m not the only one excited to wake up to my girlfriend, okay”, iii shrugged, pushing your hips back and forth as you moved against his boxer shorts. Feeling the material getting damper immediately. A slight blush crept onto your cheeks.

“iii”, you whispered, brushing your nails across his lower stomach. “Looks like you’re excited too, huh,” pressing a palm to your back, bracing your fall, iii pushed you off him. Instantly crawling over your body instead. You kept your legs wrapped around him, feeling his hard on brushing between your folds, making you bite your lip. “Very annoying this shirt don’t you think?”, hooking a finger over the shirt you had on, iii pulled it up. Licking his lips at the sight of your hardened nipples.

“You’re so fucking pretty”, he hummed, kissing the valley of your breast before letting his tongue swirl around one of the peaks, sucking onto it softly. “iii”, you whispered, fingers threading through his hair as you pulled at the blond strands, before pushing him down even further. “If I spread your legs open, would I find you all nice and wet, baby?”, he muttered against your skin, sending a shiver down your back as you nodded eagerly. “Show me then”, he breathed and you instantly grabbed for his wrist, pulling his hand between your thighs, messily coating them in your arousal. iii grunted against your neck, “All this creamy goodness just for me?”, rubbing your slick folds up and down before pushing a finger into your already soaked vagina. “Jesus, fuck yes”, you clung to his bicep. Arching your back as you tried to take more of him.

“So responsive this morning”, iii chuckled. “You having touched me in two weeks, asshole”, you grunted, slowly fucking yourself over his finger, as iii watched. You two had been to rung out for sex most nights. You didn’t blame him. It was just that both of you were fully drained by life. “I could cum from your voice alone”, you whimpered as iii pulled his hand away. “Should we test that theory?”, he asked, but you yanked at his boxers instead, “If you don’t give me that dick, I swear iii”, you grunted, letting your hand swirl over the precum-coated tip, spreading it all over his girth. iii threw his head back, buckling his hips into your palm. “Still want to just talk?”, you teased him, keeping the steady rhythm as you worked him up.

Throwing the covers off you both, iii quickly followed the plush sheets with his boxes. Replacing your hand with his own as he watched you spread out against the white sheets, slowly cupping your breast. “I could bust just watching you”, he mused, pulling your leg up, and kissing down your calf. “Next time maybe”, you reached out pulling him closer, “This time bust instead me”, iii grunted at your words, making you chuckle.

“I fucking love you”, he mused, pressing the very tip against your entrance, pushing ever so slightly into you, before withdrawing. “I love you but please…”, your voice raised an octave as iii thrusted almost all the way, making your eyes roll back. “Fuck you’re so tight”, he nibbled at your shoulder, littering your naked chest with kisses. The sound of your juices gushing around his cock, filled the quiet room.

“Closer”, you pleaded, holding onto his shoulder as you pulled his chest over yours, iii instinctively pulling your legs to wrap around his torso. You could feel him deep inside you, nudging all the right places as he bottomed out every time, making you clench around him. That’s until he pushed your legs back apart, hooking his hands from beneath your hips. “I’m suddenly thirsty”, he mewled, “iii”, you whimpered, knowing full well what was about to go down. “Give me your champagne shower, love”, he smirked, before pulling you down onto his cock full force leaving you grasping for sheets around you.

You cried out, feeling the knot inside you unraveling. “Come on baby”, he urged, thrusting into you, “you’re close, I can tell”, he mused. “iii”, you whimpered, feeling the overwhelming pleasure blinding you, pushing at his hands, even though you don’t have the slightest desire for him to stop. “Be a good fucking girl and cum for me”, he cooed at you, bringing one of his palms between your legs, drawing circles.

“Baby… fuck”, you cried out his name, arching from the mattress as your orgasm hit you, making black spots dance all over your vision. “There you go”, iii mused, “Fucking…shit”, his thrusts faltered as he too spilled deep inside you, warming your body from within. But his thrusts picked up once more, igniting the smoldering fire once more.

“No”, you pleaded but iii only nods, “Yes baby”, your sensitive walls clenching around him as he bottoms out once more, rapidly circling your clit as he pushes your legs to bend at your knees, eyes already fixed on the spectacle. “Ahhh.. iii”, you cry out, tears leaking down your cheeks as the tide breaks once more. Gushes of your arousal wetting the sheets. iii pulled out, bending to lap at your puffy folds. Licking your thighs as he went along, your hands pressing into his prickly undercut, fully sending you into a sensory overload.

“Such a good girl”, he praised, kissing your stomach as he hovered over you once more. Your eyes meet for a brief moment before he leaned in to kiss you. Hungrily sharing the flavor of you two. “You did so well”, he pulled back, brushing the strand of hair away from your face. “You know they say slow morning sex…”, you breathed out, making iii chuckle, “You and I both know that we don’t do slow”, “I think I’m aware…”, you let out a huff, heart still beating fast. You two laid there for a moment before iii broke the silence, “I wanna go for a second helping”, “Don’t you dare”, you batted his arm away but he was already smirking. “iii”, you warned him before breaking into a giggle as he wiggled his eyebrows, “Not my fault that you are my favorite flavor, love”.

[m1d-45]

Can I offer you the thought of gifting Kazuha a music box to keep during his travels?

songbird

notes: yes. ignore that it took me [checks notes] like several months to get to this request. and that it was meant to come out on his birthday. shush.

word count : 3k

-> warnings : none ! minor spoilers for inazuma AQ but nothin serious

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist : @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

there was little you could give a wanderer. he only carried what he needed, and what was needed was already kept close and well-maintained. there was little room for extra trinkets or unnecessary weight, either sacrificed in a moment of exhaustion or left behind when fleeing from those who wished him ill.

your kazuha was no different. even after joining the cruz fleet, he travelled light, with barely the clothes on his back to keep him company. he kept his pen in one pocket and paper in another, rarely carrying so much as a coin purse. this was fine and good, except his birthday was coming up and you had not a single clue what to get him.

you couldn’t ask beidou or the crew, as he’d certainly be lingering by and his hearing was far sharper than his blade. you couldn’t ask him—you’d tried, actually, but he’d just smiled and promised that he didn’t have want or need for anything. he spoke of his birthday very casually, as if it was any other day and not the reason he was by your side at all.

but kazuha was nothing if not thoughtful. for your last birthday, he’d gotten you a book of pressed inazuman flora, each carefully labelled, and had spent the entire afternoon telling you exactly where he’d picked each and why he’d chosen it. a lavender melon flower for resilience, a sakura bloom for change, a maple leaf for love. it was a painfully sweet show of affection, especially considering that the sakoku decree was not yet lifted.

“kazuha- are you sure you want me to have this? it could be years before you could collect these again.”

“please, my muse, the decree will not last forever. i have faith. and even if it doesn’t…”

he slips his hand into yours, looking out across the harbor. he’d taken you to a ridge just outside the city, letting you appreciate the sights without being unable to focus on his book. he looks away for a while, out to the sea, out to what lies beyond, the world seeming to slow to a crawl around you. the very air held its breath, allowing a wayward samurai’s sigh to linger, his mind far, far away.

“…inazuma is my home, but it is not my only place of rest. even if i never again got to experience a wondrous autumn, i’d still have this book.” he dragged his eyes from far-off shores, the same color as the maples sewn into his clothes.

“i’d still have you, wouldn’t i?”

and oh, archons, just the memory of that was enough to make your cheeks warm from more than just the liyuen sun. it’s early morning and the crowds are just starting to pick up, the shops of the lower harbor slowly selling off their wares. you’ve been looking for the better part of an hour now, and nothing seems to quite stick.

he already has pens, and is rather fond of the kind he already has. while you have the name and seller of said pens—he’d lent you one a while ago and never took it back—he already kept several spares tucked into his pockets. no matter how often he writes, how many papers he folds and gives away, his pad never seems to thin. the thread he uses to repair his clothes never fades or grows sparse, and he’s never so much as lost the tie in his hair. the week is growing shorter, and you have nothing.

and sure, kazuha isn’t materialistic to begin with, but you can’t think of anything else. it’s not like he dislikes liyuen food, but you’ve caught him frying his own fish enough times to know that he far prefers simpler tastes. he’s the one more familiar with liyue’s plains and hills out of the two of you, and you’re not eager to hurt yourself looking for somewhere new only to find out he’s already been.

he never asks for anything, never shows a hint of wanting. if he likes something, he gets it, leaving little for you to grasp at. it’s hard not to feel helpless, when he knocks at your door with your favorite flower in hand and you can hardly think of a single thing to do for his birthday. you can’t very well buy the sight of gardens of maple, nor somehow import those odd jelly-fungi he’s mentioned eating while in inazuma. based on the way he describes them, you’re not even sure if they’re meant to be edible…

his sword is kept in pristine condition. his shoes don’t seem to wear. you’re not familiar enough with medicine to try at getting him something for his aches, but it doesn’t matter, because every dawn means a fresh set of bandages, the faint herbal scent of whatever medicine underneath staying strong. he doesn’t need anything, and what he does he already has, and what he wants is quickly paid for through months of saved wages. he catches his own food, embroiders his own clothes, and you’re certain he’d filter and drink seawater if beidou didn’t stop him.

what can you get someone so minimalistic?

you prepare to loop around a final time, pricking your ears for the slightest call of something interesting. an array of local fruits, the freshest on the market. silk textiles, horsetail baskets, handmade chopsticks. you push through the crowds, eyes flicking over each stall. food, clothes, more food, building supplies? the harbor is crowded, overlapping shouting and negotiating and the barest sound of music through it all, quickly becoming overbearing.

…music? you stop and turn and seek out the delicate sound, surprised enough that your purpose for browsing has been lost. it’s rare to see street performers this far from the city center, not to mention the sound is so thin… normally there’s at least a set of drums to cut through the chatter. you’ve looked over everything twice anyway, it wouldn’t really hurt to look.

you don’t find a performer. instead, the sound leads you a few stalls over, to one full of various odds and ends, each carved from a dark wood. a lone chair, a set of cups—one has a weird chip in the lip—on an uneven plate, a good dozen set of chopsticks, somewhat clumsily painted. it’s tended by a young man who’s very nervously watching the customer in front of him fiddle with a wooden box, turning it over and inspecting every angle. there’s a key sticking out the back, and when they open it again, a single thin note floats out, quickly dashed away by the crowds. it’s beautiful, clear and crisp, even with the noise around you.

“maybe another day,” the other customer shrugs, and though the vendor’s face falls, yours lights up.

it’s perfect. sure, yeah, as the would-be buyer steps away and you look closer, the lines of engraving are uneven and hesitant, but the music was what made it worth it. kazuha always talks of the song within whispering wind, and you’ve seen how his pace slows when passing an opera, lingering just so. you never bought tickets because you didn’t know which he’d seen before, but this… this would do just fine.

“sorry about the wait,” the vendor apologizes, a slight sigh to his voice. “feel free to take a look around, just please be careful when handling the pieces. i don’t need another scolding from master lu…”

you pick up the box before he’s even done speaking, flipping open the lid. inside is some sort of flower on a plain pedestal, the same color as the rest of the box and largely unremarkable. you turn it, twisting the key in the back a few times, letting the song play again. it’s a slow, dancing tune, clear through the bustle. the little flower spins slowly, and you’ve made up your mind.

“what song is this?”

the vendor perks up, picking through his pockets until he finds a folded note. “’moon in one’s cup,’” he announces, “composed by yu-peng from up in yujing terrace.”

you dedicate the name to memory, closing the box and latching it shut. already, your heart is beating a bit fast, excitement and relief filling your chest.

“how much?”

you were hiding something from kazuha. he didn’t know what, he didn’t know why, but he knew it.

well, that was a bit of a lie. if he had to guess, it was whatever you’d gotten for his birthday. he’d done his best to assure you that you needn’t do or buy anything for him, but you’d gone and found something anyway. he couldn’t mind too much, not when the wind around you seemed to curl and skip along, ruffling your hair with self-inflicted pride. you were happy, and that was a fine enough present in itself. it was better than the poorly-hidden worry that always colored your features before, and it was a relief to know that it was a shallow issue you had been hiding. birthday or not, he’d hoped you’d tell him if something was wrong…

but it was nothing, thankfully. you asked him to find you after dinner on the day of, and that was that. the rest of the week slipped away like clouds from the sky, leaving him with a clear mind and a faint smile as he slept.

beidou was, surprisingly, not the first to wish him a happy birthday. it was furong that first saw him enter the breakfast hall, raising a glass with a shout that quickly spread across the crew.

“happy birthday!”

“here, c’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

“a toast!”

“to another year of smooth sailing!”

“to our stormwatcher!”

beidou was, however, sat closest to the door, and so she was the first to throw her arms tight around him, not minding the way his armor certainly dug into her skin.

“happy birthday, kazuha. don’t mind the noise, yeah?”

it would be impossible for a day such as today to turn south. the crew settled down and food was pressed into his hands, the shouting cooling off as they refocused on whatever they had been doing prior to then.

aside from the commotion at breakfast, his day was relatively normal. monitor the supplies coming in to ensure nobody tampered with them, then unpack them below decks. there was less to do, but that was simply because the date of their departure was approaching. within a few more days, he’d be off across open waters once more, keeping eye on the horizon.

that was for later, however. after lunch, he left port and took a stroll north, sitting for a while in an open field. the sky was cloudy, but not enough to worry about rain, so he lay on a flat-enough stone and let inspiration ebb and flow. a haiku here, a scratched out line there, though he was admittedly less focused than usual. the joy from that morning hadn’t really left him, sticking to his clothes and filling his thoughts. he wasn’t blind to the fact that he was welcome aboard the alcor, but it would be foolish to deny the appreciation of such a loud gesture, in meaning and volume.

his birthday didn’t mean much to him. sure, there was another year’s worth of memories to look back upon, a year’s worth of friendship and connections, but that could be declared any other day just as easily. when on the run from the shogunate, there was little time for such things as celebrations…

perhaps that was why he was still smiling. not just because of his friends, but because he had the energy to appreciate them. the ability to take off work and sit in the sun, soaking in nature. the energy to look forward to later obligations, instead of being permanently stuck in the moment.

dinner was far calmer than breakfast. he returned to the fleet late in the evening, ducking below deck to help cook. very few crew members liked (or were even good at) cooking, which meant it often fell to him. today, though, he was ushered out quickly, a few more people than usual seeming determined to block him from entering. it was strange, but not unexpected. the crew was close-knit, with every milestone met with raucous celebration.

he didn’t mind, though, returning above and busying himself with odd tasks. ferrying messages from furong, sorting papers with huixing, any and everything to keep himself occupied until the bell rung and dinner was served. the smell of alcohol quickly stained the air around the crowded dinner table, joining the heady mix of relaxation, joy, and a bit of anticipation.

another surprise awaited him, it seemed. he stuck around after he’d finished his food, noticing when little yue slipped out but not mentioning it. he also looked the other way when he snuck back in with a plate with a somewhat dented cover, letting someone else take his empty plate as the new one was pushed into its place. the conversation fell and he ignored the smell of sugar in the air, lifting the lid.

inside was a cake with shaky, cramped writing, struggling to fit his name in such a small space. it had obviously been made in-house, and was likely whatever secret the chefs had been determined to keep.

the cake itself was okay. a bit too sweet, dense, and with an odd sourness that he couldn’t tell was intentional or not. but the crew was happy and laughing and he didn’t need wine to get dizzy off their high, sitting at a well-worn table in a familiar seat surrounded by those he loved.

there was only one thing left…

he packed one of the last slices and kept it close to his chest as the halls grew quieter, the night air far cooler above deck. anemo softened his fall onto the pier, the wind leading him through the city and into familiar streets. the sight of your house had long since engrained itself into his mind, but he still felt his smile grow, tucking his cake behind his back as he knocked.

you were as beautiful as ever. he was certain you could pick yourself up from a pile of mud and still be sstunning, but tonight you had put in effort. still dressed for the weather, but with a bit more care into the set of your hair, standing straight.

“my muse,” he breathed, taking the small box from behind his back. “i have brought you a gift.”

and of course, you made a fuss about it, about how it was his birthday and that he didn’t have to do anything for you. but was that not the same logic that he had given you? did it matter, really, when the air was sweet with more than sugar and even your mock anger couldn’t hide your excitement?

at your behest, he took your hand in his and led you out of the city. his ‘favorite place’ was rather vauge instruction, but his mind had been made up from the moment he’d seen you. not too far, as he’d hate to stay out too late, but still somewhere nice. past bubu pharmacy, up the stone path, and on the low ridge beside it. few people would be passing by this late at night, but it was still close enough to the city that there were no real threats. a blanket was laid out and you both sat, exchanging gifts. his was in a plain bag, carefully wrapped in layers of protective paper, a small wooden box that looked as if it was meant to have legs but the designer had changed their mind halfway through. it was fine work, if a bit clumsy, but he knew it wasn’t yours. your sudden shift in attitude earlier could only be explained by a storefront. further inspection found a latch on the front and a key embedded in the back, and he understood. inside the music box was (what he could only guess to be) a carved silk flower, though again, one of the stems seemed to have been snapped and hastily covered. he reached for the back and turned the key twice, letting the song begin to play.

it was beautiful. careful notes plucked a carefree song, sounding very much alike to the lighter bands along feiyun slope. the music rose and fell, cheerful but quiet, like a soft satisfaction instead of a bright outburst. it was a lovely song in its own right, but his mind was far elsewhere. you were waiting for his reaction intently, face held in suspense like you thought he might hate it. he’d think it foolish, but that would imply that he disliked it, and that was far from the truth. to know you cared so heavily about his reaction to a simple music box, that your worry was for him, that you had been so excited for him, that you were hoping for his approval as if you didn’t already hold all that he was in your palms. the box could be stolen on his way back to the city, knocked out of his hands and dashed under a heavy cart, and his day would still be all the brighter simply by virtue of you being in it.

it was his birthday, after all, and you were one of the best gifts he could ask for.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

(part ???? of this ongoing thread/universe/au?)

(buckle yourselves in this is a long one!) (will be two parts as my brain wouldn't stop coming up with more nonsense as per usual)

*not long after telemachus met his dad's enemy 'friend', the god of the seas poseidon, for the first time*

*poseidon has fled (gods don't flee they briskly walk away) left to go back to the sea*

*odysseus, penelope & telemachus are having dinner*

telemachus: *smiling while retelling the meeting to penelope* -and he was so nice! father is so lucky to have him as his friend-

odysseus: *slightly chokes on his food at poseidon still being referred to as his friend*

telemachus: *looks at odysseus* -father are you ok?

penelope: *who knows odysseus' real relationship with poseidon*

penelope: *hasn't had much entertainment in 20 years*

penelope: *wants to stir the pot some more* ignore your father my dear, please continue telling me all about his friend

odysseus: *looking at penelope*

odysseus: *under his breath* penelope why?

*dinner continues with poseidon being the subject much to odysseus' dismay*

telemachus: *enjoying the family dinner*

telemachus: *gasps*

odysseus & penelope: ???

telemachus: we should have a big family dinner! father you can invite lord poseidon! i'll invite athena!

telemachus: *happy with himself for thinking of such an idea*

odysseus: *doesn't want to shoot down his son's idea, but also DOES NOT WANT TO SPEND ANY MORE TIME WITH POSEIDON*

odysseus: *scrambling for an excuse* son, he's a god and surely is very busy an-

penelope: *with a devilish grin* -and i'm sure will make time for his friend! what a wonderful idea telemachus! i'll let the palace cooks know!

penelope: off you go dear husband~ go and let your friend know~

odysseus: it's evenin-

penelope: first thing tomorrow then!

odysseus: *sighs in resignment* yes my love

telemachus: great! i can't wait to tell athena-

*athena appearing out of nowhere*

athena: i heard my name and came.

odysseus: athena?!

telemachus: athena!!

penelope: oh lady athena!

athena: *smiling whilst looking at telemachus* what would you like to ask me telemachus?

telemachus: oh yeah! we're going to have a big family dinner! father just needs to invite his god friend-

athena: *confused as she's odysseus' god friend* but i-

odysseus: *panicked* wait-

telemachus: -lord poseidon!

athena: *wide-eyed in shock*

athena: *slow blinking* did you say odysseus' friend is p-po- my uncle?!

telemachus: *nods and smiles* yeah, i thought you knew!

odysseus: *wondering how he'll explain this whole situation to athena*

odysseus: *under his breath* well now she knows...

penelope: *laughs to herself*

(to be continued!)

(okay i know i said in the reply to the ask i'd post the dinner scene, but my brain wouldn't stop throwing stuff for me to add in the run up to dinner. so there WILL be the dinner scene, but that will be in another post... tomorrow? -depending on how my work day goes-)

[bullet-prooflove]

Waiting: Bode Leone x Reader (Drabble)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @dizzybee03 @yousigned-upforthis @mini-bee-bee

Companion piece to:

Remedial - You discover what's been going on with Bode.

The God Damn World - Bode wishes he could give you the god damn world.

One Kiss For The Road - Bode gives you one last kiss for the road.

Two Weeks - There's just two more weeks until Bode's parole.

Trust - You are the only person Bode trusts entirely.

Fern - Bode struggles to adjust to life after incaraceration.

Gossip - Bode doesn't realise the two of you are the source of some small town gossip.

Something Else (NSFW) - Bode finds something he loves about life after incaraceration.

To The Moon & To Saturn - Bode finds a nerdy way to tell you how he feels.

Campaign fires are the worst type of fire. They’re wild, fierce and barely containable, it’s why firefighters can spend weeks up there in the hot zone away from the ones they love, trying to fight one.

It’s Bode’s first one since becoming an active firefighter. He’s done a couple during his time at Three Rock but this, this is different because back then he didn’t have anything to come home to and now he has you.

He thinks about that as he kisses you inside the fire station. How important you are to him, how vital. His hands thread through your hair as he tries to pour his love, his adoration into that kiss. He needs you to know that no matter what happens out there he’ll fight to come back to you. He’ll walk through hell if he has to.

“This isn’t goodbye.” He tells you as he cradles you close to his body. “It’s I’ll see you soon.”

And you smile then because you know it’s a promise he intends to keep.

“I know.” You whisper, your fingertips ghosting up along the lapels of his turn out coat as you draw him back to you. “And I’ll be right here waiting.”

Love Bode? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[nenoname]

me: oh i totally get it if some folks dont jive with same coin theory, plus it's strange to conceptualise at first--

me when i see people call it lame:

[crystal-verse]

Day 11 - Surrogate

[brief and vague mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. featuring lyna's parents, and queerplatonic relationships between the two of them and the exarch]

It escapes them, some days, just how lucky they are to have Dulna and Vaimet by their side. Then, of course, he is reminded, by a stray word or some thing he'd forgotten that one of the two had dealt with in his stead; by a stray pat on his shoulder, or the way one of the two would so casually yet carefully press a shoulder against one of his.

He is very close with the two, the Exarch -- Raha, though the name is feeling less and less his each day -- knows. The two had been the first to meet the Exarch, really, back when they were just Raha, an unnamed Mystel of some amount of power. They are perhaps the only ones to know his face, here in Norvrandt; all those who had met him in those initial years, so confusing and chaotic with the Flood having been so soon, are either dead or no longer remember them, and the Exarch cannot help but be grateful for it. They are more and more strange, living without aging, ageless and timeless just like the crystal that crawls further and further up their arm and shoulder, and while the Exarch knows that 'tis to prevent any recognition on the part of either Warrior of Light when they are eventually summoned. . . it is also a small source of comfort, keeping their face hidden, being an anonymous face to match their simple role. (Or -- 'twas supposed to be a simple role, at least.)

Dulna and Vaimet have never betrayed that trust, either -- they are always naught but professional when in public, the commander of the guard and his second-in-command who are ever loyal and respectful of the Crystal Exarch's time and duty. But behind the closed doors of the Tower, the two shed those roles like masks, the same way that the Exarch lowers his hood and is simply Raha again, for however long it lasts. There is comfort, between the three of them. Raha does not know quite what he would call it, but they are -- close, certainly. Not lovers, no -- they are well aware of what romance feels like, what infatuation swelling in their heart feels like (for they still love Sae'pheli'ehva, all these many, many years later) -- but neither is it quite friendship. There is friendship there but it is. . . it is different, somehow. (Raha hesitates to say closer, as if this relationship -- whatever it is -- is inherently better than friendship, as if romance is inherently better, but Raha does not know how to phrase it.)

It is not romantic love, at the least. Raha is certain of that. The Exarch, themself, had been the one to officiate Dulna and Vaimet's wedding, at their own shared request, and they know that just as they do not view the two in that light, neither do either of them view Raha like that. Still -- still, there is closeness. A deep bond, enough that Raha trusts them with his face, with his name, even. (He has not spoken of his past, but. . . they do not pry. When the memories grow too heavy, enough to choke, Vaimet will sit with him, oftentimes humming something beneath his breath, and will sometimes shift Raha to sit with his head pressed against Vaimet's chest, to hear the heartbeat. When Raha cannot carry the weight of all the grief he is forced to bear, Dulna will talk of whatever comes to her mind, until Raha is tethered in the current time and can breathe a bit easier.)

(It is not romantic love. It does not have to be. Raha loves them regardless, whatever this relationship might be.)

Perhaps they should be less surprised, then, at the request that is made of him.

"We want a baby." Dulna had said, one morning, with little preamble.

Raha raised merely blinked in response. ". . .alright. Were you wanting to adopt one of the orphans from the Sin Eater attacks. . .?"

Dulna looks at him as if he is stupid. Perhaps he is. "No," she says, enunciating carefully, "we want a baby."

"I'm. . . afraid I don't grasp your meaning?" Much more of this and Raha will be truly well and baffled.

Vaimet huffs, quietly, his shaking shoulders the only sign that he is repressing further laughter. "We want a child of our own blood." He explains, leaning his weight on one leg. "And I cannot sire a child, on account of lacking the necessary parts. So we need a surrogate."

"Ah. Well, I can. . . see about who would be willing to. . .?" Raha trails off, shrinking in on themself slightly as Dulna's expression only gets stonier.

She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. "Raha." (He does not startle at the name, but there is a fluttering in his chest regardless.) "You beautiful, beautiful fool of a man."

"I'm. . . sorry?" Well. Now Raha is baffled.

Vaimet, then, seems unable to restrain himself any longer, finally laughing loud enough that he is breathless for several moments. "We want a baby." He repeats. "And we want you to be the surrogate."

They -- "ah." Raha says, simply. They then proceed to scream into their hands.

After Raha has finished making a fool of himself, and Vaimet has finished laughing, and Dulna has sighed the last of her exasperated-if-fond sighs, the three properly sit down and plan how they are going to go about this. (Raha is awkward enough about it to make Vaimet laugh, and Dulna snicker at them, so even if Raha is horribly embarrassed the entire time, 'tis at least worth the smiles. And -- 'tis not as if the three of them have not seen each other naked, various times, between the damage from fights and needing to patch one another up or simply wishing to forgo the heavy layers of clothing amidst summer heat, so it's really the point of the whole thing that has Raha so embarrassed to begin with.)

It's Dulna that shall bear the child, they decide -- well. Vaimet and Dulna decide. Raha is mostly happy to be included, after he has eventually gotten over the awkwardness (as much as he ever will, at least). Vaimet is captain of the guard and presumed to be the same as any ordinary man by those who do not know him well enough, and Dulna is willing enough to take some time off from the regular guard rotation, once the pregnancy gets into its later months.

(Raha is still embarassed the entire time, but -- they do feel so very honored, that Dulna and Vaimet would trust them with something like this. And happy, of course, always happy to spend time with the both of them, individually or together.)

Time passes. The general public assumes that Dulna's child is Vaimet's -- and why should they not? 'Tis not as if there is anything to say otherwise. (And 'tis not like there is any stigma or judgement against those like Vaimet -- but Vaimet is older than a fair few of the Crystarium's citizens, by now, and values his privacy just as much as the Exarch does.) For the ease of avoiding any rumors, the Exarch does hope that the child will resemble Dulna more. (Raha hopes that his own Viera blood, however much of it there is, will shine through and hide any traits that would suggest a Mystel parent. Better for all their privacy if the child looks naught but Viis.)

Dulna and Vaimet toss about possible names for the child, through the months, but Vaimet is insistent that Raha should get a say, as well. Dulna reminds them that Raha will be involved in the child's upbringing regardless -- as if Raha would forget that. In the end, 'tis Vaimet's idea for the child to take the latter half of Dulna's name, for Raha's idea to name them Lyna. Dulna, smirking victoriously, declares that she does not care for whatever the gossipmongers may think, so long as their child (their child, claiming Raha as Lyna's parent just as much as Vaimet and Dulna are, and it makes a fragile little warmth bloom in Raha's chest) grows up happy, and loved, and cared for.

"We can claim you're their grandfather." Vaimet jokes, one stormy day when all are in their dwellings -- a rare day, where the Light is not quite so blinding.

"And what would that accomplish?" Raha raised an eyebrow, curious. "I assume that Lyna will discover the truth eventually, if they are not raised knowing it." They wrinkle their nose at a sudden thought. "I certainly would not like it assumed that I am a parent to either of you."

Vaimet only shrugs. "Well, we don't want them calling you father in public." And that is the issue, isn't it. The masks, and the roles. As far as anyone knows -- as far as anyone can confirm, at any rate, which has to be good enough -- they are simply Vaimet and Dulna, happily wed couple expecting their first child, employed as heads of the Crystarium guard, and the Crystal Exarch, kind but distant from all, a mysterious mage who's face and name is unknown to all. "Besides, you have taken time to interact with the other orphans and various children -- you've enough grandfatherly airs about you, when you want."

Before Raha can respond to that, Dulna cuts in. "We will figure it out when we get there." She declares. "For now, let us just enjoy the rest, hm?"

And so the time continues to pass. (Vaimet, Dulna, and Raha work on that idea, some -- the Exarch most certainly can put a grandfatherly aura about him, when he wants. Vaimet near laughs himself sick at it, and Raha can't help but join in. The many orphans, certainly, are grateful for the attention from their so very respected Exarch, and the orphanage caretakers, and the Settlement Council, are glad for their own brief respite from work as the Exarch takes time to care for the children for some hours out of a week, every now and then.)

(Raha worries, as the months go by, about what Lyna would inherent from them. If they would inherit anything at all. Would they get the curve of his nose? The pale shade of his skin, so unlike Dulna's deep reddish brown? Would Lyna get the red of Raha's hair, or the upward slant of their eyes? Would they get Raha's own full lips, or would they take after Dulna with thinner ones? Would there be any Allagan blood made present, in Lyna? Would their eyes be the one thing to mark them as being Raha's?)

It is another stormy day, when the child is finally born. Vaimet paces circles in the small washroom they had absconded to, the three of them, muttering under his breath, while Raha's hand is held in Dulna's white-knuckled grip. It is over rather more quickly than any of the three of them had expected, but it leaves them all exhausted -- nonetheless, there is nothing more memorable than the cries of a newborn infant.

Lyna's ears are clearly Viis, as is their short stub of a tail. Their skin is paler than Dulna's, but still a rich brown, and the downy fur on their ears and head is an off-white color, a pale echo of Dulna's near-black shade of purple. They sneeze, and open their eyes, and Raha can feel the breath leave his lungs. Lyna's eyes are a purple the color of Lakeland -- this, too, they did not inherit from him. Allag has no claim on them, despite his contribution to their parentage. There shall be no other sanguine-eyed individuals in Norvrandt, or on the entire First. Raha weeps, and they do not know if it is in loss or in relief.

[pastafossa]

I have two questions:

1. Have you ever considered writing a book that you would want to get published?

2. I wonder if you will explore Matt’s blindness in TRT. Like for example at the end of the day Matt did lose his eyesight and maybe sometimes wished he could see Jane. It doesn’t have to be a big thing because Matt has accepted his disability but like a moment when he’s just really wants it. Idk I thought it would cool

1. I’ve thought about it, yes! And I’ve actually got an (unedited) trilogy of vaguely humorous, post-apocalyptic scifi adventure books that’s like... halfway written, and that I’d love to get published. I was actually in the process of working on Book 1 when Covid hit, and then my writer’s group kinda... collapsed, which is when I promptly discovered that as an extrovert, I desperately need interaction to make The Story go. No interaction, no drive (and that’s also why fic works fine). And sometimes I toy with the idea of starting up again, maybe with a new writer’s group. I’m also looking into taking a lot of the original elements of TRT and then self-publishing that (with some changes to get Disney off my back obvs), which would let me keep the fic up, too. Not sure! I definitely have plans to try to get a book published eventually though!

2. Sometimes I’ve thought about it! I may touch on it eventually, though very, very delicately. Like you said, it wouldn’t be big because I really do think Matt’s accepted he’s blind and he doesn’t see it as a bad thing, and it’s really not. I do admittedly think he probably still gets understandably frustrated at how blatantly inaccessible some things still are (ex: i literally walked by a coffee shop that had a printed piece of paper inside the window in small print that said ‘large print or braille menu accessible on request!’ and I was like... ok but a blind/visually impaired person can’t read that???). Cause that’s the truth of it - he is still blind. He’s got a disability that affects his day to day and even if he’s happy the way he is (or that’s how I read him), he still needs his aids. I’ve tried to make that clear in TRT - Jane’s taken up his labeling system with braille, she leaves things in *very* specific places because Matt’s got an organization system he needs, he uses his ear pieces and refreshable braille display. And yeah, as someone who’s disabled myself, I could see him now and then going... ‘I wish I could see just for a second’ when there’s no solution for something - when he’s touching old pictures of his dad, or now and then when he’s with Jane, in the same way I’m sometimes like, ‘I wish I could literally run somewhere without pain, just to feel the wind’. It’s a passing thought usually, but it’s probably there now and then for him. So the thought’s rattling around in my brain, definitely. If the right moment in fic comes I can see touching on it!

[lesbianbishounen]

there are some pieces of media that i love a lot for a variety of reasons but most of the content on social media about it is ship related. and a lot of the time i like said ships as well but theyre not the reason something impacted me at all i want other kinds of content. but if i have to read a single analysis post from an online stranger that i disagree with i might start blowing people up with my mind

[lostandbackagain]

I think kell's going to break up with lila

he's done nothing but change to be what she wants while he gets nothing from her in return--they're doing her job, she makes fun of him for the ring and he thinks she threw it away, he wants to be told he's going to be okay through his pain and she just yells at him and leaves him alone, she's molded him into the same kind of fighter she is because she's outwardly acting like there's nothing they can do about his magic anymore, he's begged her to tell him she wants to be around him after swallowing her dismissive attitude for years.

in her head, obviously, she says she loves him and keeps the ring on her at all times, but she's driving him away by pretending like their relationship can just be in her head. I know she's been trained by her childhood to reveal nothing to anyone but she just can't continue living like this if she wants kell to stay in her life. being around rhy and alucard is only going to remind kell of what a healthy relationship can look like.

and if he doesn't leave, he probably should

[namorian]

horror of our love by ludo is just the theme song for an au where xavier really was the hyde all along IM JUST SAYING-

or alternatively you know…….. we just… let him be appropriately freaky for an addams family entry……..

like i mean lbr….. there’s a “you must be this deranged to get with an addams” sign that goes up every valentines and halloween.

i personally make everyone’s resting level of demented at least 2 notches higher than canon (except ajax and eugene they’re Vibing) because like. they’re halloween town people. they’re spooksters. this is the school morticia and gomez addams went to. shit like the statue explosion and crackstone’s resurrection and hyde serial killings should be like…. tuesday. they should have a student mortality rate that rivals sunnydale high. there should absolutely be a super comical mix of people super blasé about the Horrors and people like “wow man… lotta Horrors in here huh?”

like I’ve basically already decided xavier is kind of a Intense Creepy Freak. you know like a REAL tormented artist type so he’s all fucked up and spooky to be around (and thus 100x hotter inherently). frankly imo he’s like a handful of bad days away as is from going full blown horror of our love batshit. he has will graham in hannibal “i’m a psychic and i’m a light breeze away from doing something Unspeakable” energies.