#i love getting worked up over nonsense. it makes me feel alive.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

You're all being spared some truly heinous perfume posts right now so I think we should all be grateful I'm saving them to drafts instead.

[solxamber]

Overblot Gang + Rollo vs Plushies

Surely they're not jealous of a stuffed toy, right? ....right???

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle stepped into the room, exhaustion clinging to him like an unwelcome guest. It had been a day filled with chaos—Ace and Deuce were their usual disruptive selves, Heartslabyul’s hedgehogs had staged what could only be described as a minor rebellion, and the tea party had gone disastrously wrong when the tart supply mysteriously disappeared.

All Riddle wanted was to collapse into bed with you, the one person who made his world feel a little less upside-down.

But instead of finding you waiting to greet him, he found you fast asleep, curled up in the middle of the bed.

And clutching...a plushie.

Riddle froze, his hand still on the doorknob, his eyes narrowing at the offending object. It was a bunny plush, worn and clearly well-loved, nestled securely in your arms. Your cheek rested against its soft head, your lips slightly parted in a peaceful slumber.

For a moment, Riddle just stared. Then the tiniest flicker of jealousy ignited in his chest.

It’s just a stuffed toy, he told himself, but the longer he looked, the more irrational his thoughts became.

Why is it getting your affection while I’m here, alive, and far more deserving?

He shook his head, trying to dispel the ridiculous notion, but the sight of you snuggling the plushie like it was the most precious thing in the world made his face heat up.

“This is absurd,” he muttered under his breath, but his resolve only grew stronger.

Quietly, carefully, he crept closer to the bed, his eyes fixed on the plushie. His plan was simple: extract the bunny and take its place. Surely, you’d prefer your boyfriend over a stuffed toy.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the plushie’s soft fabric. Just as he began to tug it free, your eyes fluttered open.

“Riddle?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Riddle froze like a thief caught in the act, his face turning as red as his hair. “You’re awake!”

“I am now,” you said, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you noticed the bunny in his hand. “What are you doing?”

“I was—” He struggled to find a reasonable explanation, but his traitorous blush gave him away. “You were holding it so tightly, and I thought perhaps you’d be more comfortable with me instead.”

You blinked at him for a moment before breaking into a laugh, soft and warm. “Riddle Rosehearts, are you jealous of my plushie?”

“I most certainly am not!” he spluttered, though the way he avoided your gaze told a different story.

“You are!” you said, sitting up and holding the plushie close. “You’re jealous of Bunny!”

Riddle groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is mortifying.”

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” you cooed, deliberately making it worse. “Riddle doesn’t understand how much you mean to me.”

“Give me that!” Riddle reached for the plushie again, but you held it just out of reach, giggling as he tried to maintain his dignity while grappling with a stuffed toy.

Finally, you relented, setting the plushie aside and wrapping your arms around him instead. “I’m just teasing. You know you’re my favorite, right?”

He sighed, leaning into your embrace despite his embarrassment. “I don’t know why I let myself get worked up over something so silly.”

“Because you’re adorable,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Riddle’s blush deepened, but this time, he didn’t try to hide it. “Just...promise me you won’t replace me with a toy.”

You grinned, cupping his face in your hands. “Never. You’re too cute to replace.”

And with that, you pulled him into a kiss, his earlier jealousy forgotten as he melted into your affection. The plushie sat abandoned at the foot of the bed, no match for the warmth and love you gave so freely to the one who truly deserved it.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona slammed the door to your shared room, the sound of it echoing through the space. His day had been one giant pile of nonsense—from an annoying meeting he didn’t even want to attend to Ruggie disappearing when he needed him to take his place. And let’s not even talk about that one random pigeon that had the audacity to poop on his shoulder during his walk back to the dorm.

All he wanted now was the comfort of your presence and the luxury of using you as his personal pillow while he finally got some peace.

But when he turned to the bed, his sharp emerald eyes caught sight of you curled up against something that was decidedly not him.

You were cuddling a lion plushie, of all things, as you read a book. The toy was tucked snugly in your arms, and every now and then, you absentmindedly stroked its mane while flipping the pages.

Leona froze, his ears twitching in irritation. What in the world is that thing doing in my spot?

You glanced up when you noticed him standing there, his face an unreadable mask of simmering annoyance. “Oh, hey, Leona,” you greeted cheerfully, holding up the plushie. “Look! Isn’t this cute? I found it earlier, and it reminded me of you.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room in a few swift strides, grabbed the plushie from your arms, and unceremoniously hurled it across the room. It landed with a pathetic little plop in the corner.

“Leona!” you exclaimed, half-shocked, half-amused. “What was that for?”

He flopped onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms with a huff. “That stupid toy’s been hogging my place all day,” he grumbled, burying his face in your neck. “I don’t need competition in my own bed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, threading your fingers through his hair as he tangled himself around you like an oversized, grumpy cat. “Leona, it’s just a plushie. Are you seriously jealous of a stuffed animal?”

“I'm not jealous,” he muttered, tightening his grip around your waist. “I’m the only lion you need.”

“Aw, poor baby,” you teased, tilting his chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “Do you feel neglected? Should I make it up to you?”

Leona raised an eyebrow, though the corner of his lips twitched upward in a smirk. “Damn straight, you should. Start with those kisses you owe me.”

With a laugh, you leaned down and kissed him softly, your hands cradling his face. He hummed in satisfaction, his earlier annoyance melting away as you continued peppering his cheeks and forehead with affection.

“Better now?” you asked, grinning against his skin.

“Hmm,” he replied, sounding almost lazy, though his arms stayed firmly locked around you. “Still annoyed that you thought some stuffed toy was good enough to take my place, but I guess I’ll survive.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head but snuggling closer to him.

“And you’re mine,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Now shut up and get comfortable. You’re my pillow tonight.”

You didn’t mind one bit, letting him rest his head on your chest while you stroked his hair. The plushie in the corner could wait—your favorite lion was right where he belonged.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul walked into your shared room, exhaling a sigh that carried the weight of a long, exhausting day. Between renegotiating contracts with customers, juggling lounge finances, and—most harrowing of all—keeping Floyd and Jade from causing a full-blown diplomatic incident, he was done.

All he wanted now was the comfort of your embrace and the chance to leave the chaos of the Mostro Lounge behind.

But when he stepped into the room, his eyes landed on you sprawled on the bed.

You were curled up with an octopus plushie of all things, the game console in your hands forgotten as you absently squished the toy. It had an oddly familiar round head and floppy tentacles that dangled off the side of the bed.

Azul froze in the doorway, blinking at the scene in front of him. His sharp mind began firing off thoughts at record speed.

Is that... me? No, of course not. But you’re cuddling it. You’re smiling. Does it remind you of me?

He frowned as another realization hit him like a cold wave.

Am I... jealous of a goddamn plushie?

Clearing his throat, he stepped further into the room. “What’s this, my dear?” he asked, voice smooth but laced with suspicion.

You glanced up and beamed at him. “Oh! Welcome back, Azul!” You held up the plushie as if presenting a priceless artifact. “Isn’t this cute? I found it earlier and thought it looked a little like you.”

Azul’s composure faltered for a split second, his cheeks tinging pink. “You think an oversized toy resembles me?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, tilting your head innocently. “It’s an octopus. And it’s adorable.”

Azul adjusted his glasses, hiding his expression. “I see.” He hesitated before clearing his throat again. “It seems you’re quite attached to it.”

You hummed in agreement, giving the plushie another squeeze. “It’s so squishy and comforting to hold while I play.”

Azul’s eyebrow twitched. “Comforting, is it?”

He walked to the bed, sitting down beside you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Darling, might I propose a trade?”

“A trade?” you repeated, trying not to laugh at how serious he looked.

“Yes,” he said smoothly. “That plushie for... well, anything you desire. Perhaps a free full course meal at the lounge? Or a favor of your choosing?”

You raised an eyebrow, setting down your console. “Are you trying to make a deal with me over a stuffed toy?”

Azul’s cheeks darkened. “Of course not. I simply thought you might prefer a more... meaningful source of comfort.”

It clicked, and a mischievous grin spread across your face. “Oh. Oh, I see what this is.”

“What are you implying?” he asked, straightening his tie even though it wasn’t out of place.

“You’re jealous of the plushie,” you said, leaning toward him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

Azul sputtered, adjusting his glasses again. “Jealous? Don’t be absurd. Why would I—”

“Aw, Azul,” you cooed, cutting him off as you set the plushie aside and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You should’ve just said you wanted to be my cuddle buddy. You’re my favorite octo-mer, after all.”

His ears flushed deeper as he tried to maintain his dignity. “Well, of course I am. There’s no need for comparison.”

“Good,” you said, pulling him down onto the bed and into the position the plushie had been occupying moments ago. You rested your head against his chest, a satisfied smile on your face. “Because this is way better than some squishy toy.”

Azul relaxed, his arms wrapping around you as a content sigh escaped his lips. “Naturally,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

From the corner of the room, the plushie sat forgotten. Azul glanced at it once and smirked. You’ll never take my place again.

Jamil Viper

Jamil shuffled down the dorm hallway, exhaustion radiating off him in waves. The day had been a whirlwind of chaos—cooking for Kalim’s impromptu banquet, mediating arguments between students, and narrowly avoiding another wild scheme involving magic carpets.

All he wanted was to collapse on the bed he shared with you. That you’d be there was just the cherry on top.

He pushed the door open, ready to greet you—only to stop dead in his tracks.

You were curled up on the bed, scrolling through your phone with a peaceful smile. But it wasn’t just you. No, you were wrapped snugly around a snake plushie.

Its long, noodle-like body coiled over your lap as you absently hugged it closer, your cheek pressing against its soft fabric.

Jamil’s eye twitched.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and stared at the scene with growing annoyance.

You look so happy... with a plushie.

“Hey, Jamil!” you greeted cheerfully, glancing up from your phone. “Welcome back. Long day?”

“Mm,” he hummed, walking toward the bed with a carefully neutral expression. He sat down stiffly at the edge, his back to you.

“Everything okay?” you asked, noticing his unusually curt demeanor.

“Fine,” he replied, voice clipped.

You frowned, putting your phone down. Wrapping your arms around his back, you rested your chin on his shoulder. “You sure? You seem… off.”

“I’m fine,” he said again, though his tone didn’t convince either of you.

You squinted at his turned profile, the faintest flush dusting his ears. He wasn’t looking at you—or, more specifically, at the snake plushie you still held loosely.

Then it clicked.

You smirked, leaning closer. “Wait a second. Are you… jealous of the plushie?”

His shoulders tensed, and he immediately scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh my gosh, you are jealous!” you teased, letting go of the plushie entirely to wrap yourself fully around him. “You hate my noodle friend, don’t you?”

Jamil turned slightly, just enough to glare half-heartedly at you. “It’s not— I don’t— It’s a toy,” he huffed, the flush on his face deepening.

“A very cute toy,” you said with a grin, nuzzling your cheek against his. “But not as cute as my boyfriend.”

Jamil stiffened as you started peppering kisses along his jawline. “Stop,” he mumbled weakly, his resolve clearly crumbling.

“Why?” you asked innocently, kissing the corner of his lips before moving to his neck. “You’re so much better than any plushie. You’re warm and handsome and smell nice…”

He finally cracked, turning to face you fully with an exasperated sigh. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Mm, but you love me anyway,” you said with a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Jamil gave you a tired but affectionate look, letting himself melt into your embrace. “Maybe.”

You smiled, pulling him down onto the bed with you. As he settled into your arms, the plushie forgotten on the floor, you whispered, “You’ll always be my favorite noodle.”

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder to hide his embarrassed grin. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Never,” you said, pressing a kiss to his temple.

And Jamil, despite his protests, felt a sense of peace he hadn’t experienced all day.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil returned to his dorm room with a sigh of relief, the stress of the day clinging to him like stage makeup. The auditions, the photoshoots, and Epel’s ongoing refusal to use skincare—it had been a lot.

What he wanted now was simple: your company, your warmth, and the soothing routine of winding down together before bed.

However, when he stepped inside, his poised demeanor wavered.

You were curled up on the bed, a content smile on your face, snuggled tightly against a plushie—a soft, bunny-shaped one at that.

Vil froze, one hand still on the door handle.

It’s just a plushie, he told himself. A mere inanimate object.

But as he watched you absentmindedly rub your cheek against the bunny’s floppy ear, he felt… something.

Annoyance? At the plushie? Himself? You? He couldn’t even tell.

Brushing off the irrational jealousy bubbling in his chest, Vil set his things down and began his evening routine. He didn’t mention the plushie or the way it seemed to taunt him with its undeserved place in your arms.

You looked up with a warm smile. “Hey, Vil. How was your day?”

“Busy,” he replied smoothly, glancing your way briefly before focusing on his vanity.

“You want me to pin up your hair?” you offered, already starting to sit up, plushie still clutched in one hand.

“No need,” he said quickly, voice tighter than usual.

You blinked. That was unusual—Vil always let you (only you) help with his hair. But you shrugged it off, assuming he was just tired.

As Vil carefully applied his cleanser, the plushie caught his eye again in the mirror. It was still nestled against you, smugly enjoying the attention that should’ve been his.

Halfway through his routine, he finally snapped.

With a dramatic sigh, Vil spun around, crossed the room in three graceful strides, and plucked the bunny from your lap.

“Uh—?” you started, confused, but before you could say more, Vil replaced the plushie with himself, settling across your lap as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Vil?” you asked, biting back a laugh as his weight pressed you into the mattress.

“Not. A. Word,” he warned, narrowing his eyes at your amused expression. His cheeks were faintly pink, but he composed himself quickly, picking up where he left off with his skincare routine as though nothing had happened.

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Vil’s hands faltered for a split second before he regained his composure. “I don’t need your commentary.”

“You’re totally jealous of the bunny,” you teased, leaning up to kiss his shoulder.

He clicked his tongue but didn’t deny it. Instead, he muttered, “Why would I feel jealous over a plushie?”

“Because you’re pouting,” you said, laughing softly.

Vil sighed, tilting his head slightly to look at you out of the corner of his eye. “I do not pout. And don’t think I’ll let you win this one.”

“Oh, I’ve already won,” you said, tightening your hold on him.

Vil shook his head, muttering something about your insufferable sense of humor, but his posture relaxed as he continued his routine.

By the time he finished, the plushie had been completely forgotten, replaced entirely by the warm, smug human wrapped around his waist.

Idia Shroud

Idia shuffled back to his room after the dorm leaders' meeting, grumbling under his breath about its sheer redundancy.

"Like they really needed me there. My tablet could've handled it. Heck, I could’ve sent Ortho in my place! It’s not like I’m ever the one making decisions… What’s the point of—"

His mumbling came to an abrupt halt as he stepped into his room and saw you on the bed.

You were curled up against a giant teddy bear, console still in hand, the screen long since dimmed. Soft snores escaped you as you nestled deeper into the plushie's arms, utterly at peace.

Idia froze, his face instantly heating up. "Wha—?! W-why is this so—?!" His hair sparked pink as he clutched his hoodie, feeling like he was going to short-circuit.

The sight was almost too much. You, looking so cute and peaceful, holding a teddy bear like it was some kind of rival stealing his spot.

He fumbled for his phone, hands shaking slightly as he snapped several photos. “For, uh, research. Totally normal behavior. Definitely not for my… secret stash.” His whisper echoed a bit too loudly in the silent room.

But now he was faced with a dilemma.

On one hand, you looked so cozy, and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb you. On the other hand… he wanted to be that teddy bear.

Idia stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, trying to decide what to do. He wrung his hands together, muttering to himself like a character weighing dialogue options.

"Option A: Let them sleep. Pros—cute and peaceful. Cons—no interaction.

Option B: Wake them up. Pros—I get attention. Cons—they might get mad."

Before he could settle on an answer, you stirred, stretching with a groggy yawn. Your eyes fluttered open, and you blinked at him standing there, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Idia?" you mumbled, setting the console aside. You gave the teddy bear one final pat before tossing it away and reaching out to him. "C’mere.”

His heart skipped a beat. “M-me?!”

“Obviously you,” you teased with a sleepy smile, pulling him into a hug as soon as he got close enough.

Idia practically melted into your arms, his hair shifting to a bright pink. His smugness quickly returned, though, as he realized the teddy bear had been successfully ousted. "H-heh. +1 affection point for me," he muttered under his breath, his voice a mix of pride and shyness.

You raised an eyebrow, laughing softly. “Affection point? Idia, you already maxed out your affection gauge ages ago.”

His brain short-circuited again, and he buried his face in your shoulder, muffling a squeaky, “D-don’t say stuff like that!”

“Why not?” you teased, leaning back to look at his glowing face. “You’re adorable when you blush.”

Idia groaned dramatically, his hair flaring brighter as he tried to hide behind his bangs. But despite his embarrassment, he managed to wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.

“Fine, whatever. Just… don’t let go, okay?” he muttered, his voice soft.

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Not a chance.”

From the corner of the room, the discarded teddy bear sat forgotten, a silent casualty in Idia’s victorious conquest for your affection.

Malleus Draconia

It had been a peaceful evening—stars twinkling, a cool breeze wafting through the window, and the promise of a lovely stroll under the moonlight. Malleus had been particularly pleased with the weather and decided to invite you for an evening walk.

He entered the room, his usual serene expression softening when his eyes fell upon you. But then, he froze.

There you were, curled up in bed, holding a plush dragon in your arms like it was the most comforting thing in the world.

A deep rumble echoed in the distance.

You blinked, sitting up slightly. “Was that… thunder?”

Before you could ponder further, a crack of lightning lit up the sky outside, followed by the booming roar of thunder that seemed to shake the walls. You stared out the window in disbelief.

“But it was perfectly clear two minutes ago!” you exclaimed.

Turning back to Malleus, you found him standing as still as a statue, his eyes narrowed and locked onto the offending plushie in your arms. The air around him practically crackled with energy.

“Uh… Malleus?” you ventured carefully, glancing between him and the plush.

His voice was low and serious, tinged with a hint of betrayal. “Is that what brings you comfort in my absence?”

You stared at him for a moment, then at the plushie, before the realization dawned. Suppressing a laugh, you decided to play along.

“Oh no, this?” you said, holding up the plush with exaggerated disdain. “This means nothing to me.”

Malleus arched a brow, clearly unconvinced, though his eyes remained laser-focused on the dragon-shaped invader.

To really drive the point home, you dramatically tossed the plush into the corner of the room. “See? It’s nothing compared to you, my most handsome, powerful dragon.”

You spread your arms and wrapped yourself around Malleus, resting your cheek against his shoulder. His stiff posture eased almost immediately, and the thunderstorm brewing outside dissipated as if it had never existed.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his voice quieter now but still holding a touch of haughtiness. “I suppose it’s only natural. I am your favorite dragon, after all.”

“You’re my only dragon,” you said with a chuckle, leaning back to look at him.

Malleus gazed down at you, his expression softening into something tender. “Good,” he murmured, placing a hand under your chin to tilt your face up. “I would hate to compete with a mere stuffed toy for your affection.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, you know that?”

He blinked, visibly startled by the compliment, his ears tinging slightly red. “Cute? I… I do not believe ‘cute’ is the word one typically uses to describe the future king of Briar Valley.”

“Well, I do,” you said, smiling mischievously as you planted another kiss on his lips.

Malleus let out a deep sigh, though the corners of his mouth quirked upward. “You are… quite the peculiar human, my love.”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” you teased.

Malleus chuckled softly, pulling you closer. Outside, the weather had returned to the calm, moonlit serenity it was before—a perfect night for a walk. Though judging by the way Malleus held you now, neither of you seemed in any rush to leave.

Rollo Flamme

After a long day of dealing with incompetent council members, insufferable students, and the lingering stench of magic in the air, Rollo Flamme was finally free. As he walked into your shared room, his shoulders relaxed slightly at the thought of seeing you. Your presence was always the perfect antidote to his day’s irritations.

But then, he saw it.

There you were, curled up in bed, holding a plush dragon that was far too detailed for his liking. Its smug, embroidered eyes glinted in the soft light, as if mocking him. Worse, it was lounging on his side of the bed.

He froze mid-step, the betrayal hitting him like a thunderbolt.

You looked up, immediately noticing his stricken expression. “Rollo? Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond, his gaze locked on the plushie with such intensity it was a wonder it didn’t burst into flames.

You tilted your head, following his line of sight. “Oh, this?” you said, holding up the dragon plush with a smile. “I won it at the arcade today! Isn’t it cute?”

Glass shattering. Dramatic violins. Betrayal.

“...A dragon,” he said, his voice low and tight.

“Yeah,” you said, hugging it closer without realizing the depth of the offense. “It’s so soft, and look at its little wings! They’re kind of shiny—”

“Does it need wings?” he cut in sharply, glaring at the plush like it had personally insulted him.

You blinked. “Rollo, are you... mad at the plushie?”

He straightened immediately, huffing indignantly. “Mad? At a stuffed toy? Don’t be absurd.”

But the way his eyes flicked back to the plush betrayed him, the subtle narrowing of his gaze screaming volumes.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. “Oh my gosh, you are mad! Is it because it’s a dragon? Does it remind you of Malleus?”

His jaw tightened. “I do not dignify such comparisons with a response.”

You grinned, setting the plush aside. “Well, if it bothers you so much, I can just put it away.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he lied, though his shoulders eased a fraction when you stood and picked up the plushie.

“I’ll banish it to the closet,” you teased, waving the dragon plush dramatically before stuffing it into the closet. “There, see? Gone.”

Rollo exhaled quietly, his usual stoic demeanor returning. “Good. It’s for the best.”

You walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his shoulder “You know you’re the only one I’d ever actually want to cuddle, right?”

His ears turned red, and he cleared his throat, but his arms instinctively came up to hold you close. “I would hope so,” he muttered, though his tone softened as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

As you snuggled against him, he allowed himself a moment of peace, though his mind wandered. He would have to get you something far superior—something elegant and tasteful. Perhaps a plush raven or something equally refined. Certainly nothing with wings or scales.

You smiled against his chest, feeling the tension leave his body. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

“No,” he said quickly. “But I’ll be... keeping an eye on your choice of arcade prizes in the future.”

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Whatever you say, Rollo.”

Deep down, he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d won or lost this battle, but with your arms around him, he decided it didn’t really matter.

Masterlist

[mononijikayu]

nonsense christmas — nanami kento.

“Tell you what, Kento.” you said, voice low and teasing. “If you don’t kiss me under a mistletoe by the end of the night, I’ll stop. No more flirting, no more teasing. I’ll leave you alone.” Kento tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words. “And if I do?” Your breath hitched at the question, but you managed a grin. “Then I’ll finally have my Christmas wish.” His lips parted softly, as though he were about to respond, but instead, he exhaled slowly, his warm gaze dipping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your bright teasing eyes again.  “You’re impossible.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: AFAB! Reader, Safe For Work (SFW), Romance, Crushes, Getting Together, Classmates, Friends to Lovers, Persuasion, Teasing, Teenagers, Feelings, Friendship, Fluff, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Humor, Domesticity, Slice of Life, Mild Angst, Idiots In Love, Light-Hearted, Confessions, Pining, Kissing, Mistletoe Kiss, Christmas;

WORD COUNT: 5k words.

NOTE: nanami kento come to the front because??? you made your lover wait for this long??? but its okay guys, he'll love you forever so that he'll make up for his making you wait. anyway, i hope that you enjoy christmas!!! ill come back with more stuff!!! i love you all <3

box it up, christmas hun! (santa kayu 2024)

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS THAT TIME OF THE YEAR. The ballroom felt alive, sparkling with the magic of the season. Music drifted through the air, a soft, lilting melody that seemed to heighten the intimacy of the moment. You couldn't help but notice how the warm golden light cast a soft glow on Nanami Kento's sharp features, making him look even more handsome than usual. His presence in the crowd was magnetic, his quiet strength standing out against the festive chaos of the room.

You couldn’t help but admit it: you liked this man too much. Nanami Kento was just that man. More than anyone else in this room. Maybe even more than anyone in the entire world. It was a thought that lingered in your mind far too often, but you couldn’t shake it, not when every moment with him felt like the only thing that mattered.

You decided that he was the one the moment you both were at Jujutsu High. The very first time you saw him, sitting there in the classroom, casually dressed in his uniform, a book in his hands. The image was burned into your memory, as clear as if it had happened yesterday. The way he looked—so effortlessly cool, so calm, so utterly engrossed in his reading. It could’ve been plucked straight from the pages of a shoujo manga.

And yet, as much as it was cliché, it was perfect. Every detail about that moment was perfect. His sandy blond hair, the way it fell in messy waves over his brow, the soft crease of his shirt, the relaxed way he rested his chin in his hand as he flipped the page. You could almost hear the soundtrack of a gentle string instrument playing in your mind as you watched him, caught in a moment that felt as if it had been orchestrated just for you.

You could still remember the flutter in your chest, that instant of realization. It wasn’t just admiration. It was more. It was the kind of feeling that felt destined, as if the universe had conspired to place you in that moment, in that room, with him. And just like that, you were hooked.

You didn’t even need to know him then to know that you wanted him. His presence was magnetic, his energy effortless, and you found yourself thinking of nothing but how perfect it would be to spend the rest of your life with him.

Looking back now, you could trace the beginnings of your feelings to that very moment—so simple, yet so profound. A single snapshot in time that made you realize that sometimes, the best things in life happen when you least expect them. That moment with him, so ordinary and yet so extraordinary, felt like fate pulling you toward something you didn’t even know you wanted.

And now, here you were, so far from that classroom, so far from the days when the idea of him seemed like an impossible dream, and yet… it was real. He was here, and he was yours. You smiled softly to yourself, your heart full as you looked at him, knowing that it all started with one perfect moment—and you would always fall for him, every time, in every way, for the rest of your life.

The memory of that moment still lingered in your mind, vivid despite the years that had passed. You had spent weeks psyching yourself up, rehearsing your words in front of Haibara, who always smiled and encouraged you.

“He’s too serious, but you’ll break through!” Haibara had said with his usual sunny grin. “You’re good for him, you know? Like sunshine cutting through all those storm clouds he carries around.”

Those words had fueled your determination, and when the day finally came, you’d found him sitting under the big tree near the practice field, reading. His tie had been loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and he looked so effortlessly put-together that it made your chest tighten.

“Kento, hey.” you’d called softly, your voice shaky.

He’d looked up, his expression calm as always, though his brow furrowed slightly when he saw the nervous way you fidgeted with your hands. You shouldn’t be nervous like this in front of him, but you were. It was hard, when you felt overwhelmed by someone. 

“Can I talk to you?” you’d asked, and he’d nodded, setting his book aside.

The confession spilled out in a rush, your words tumbling over each other as you tried to make sense of your feelings. You’d told him how much you admired his dedication, how his quiet strength made you feel safe, how you couldn’t stop thinking about him. By the end, your cheeks burned, and your hands trembled.

“I like you, Kento.” you had finished, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nanami Kento had listened without interrupting, his expression steady but unreadable. When you finished, he let out a quiet sigh, his caramel gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours.

“I don’t think I can give you the answer you’re looking for.” he had said, his voice even but kind. “At least, not right now.”

The words had stung, but they hadn’t been a rejection. You nodded, forcing a smile. “That’s okay, Kento. Don’t worry.” you’d said, and you meant it. You didn’t want to pressure him or push him into something he wasn’t ready for.

Haibara had found you afterward, your head resting on your knees as you tried to process everything. “How’d it go?” he’d asked, sitting beside you.

“He didn’t say no, Haibara.” you’d replied quietly, your lips twitching into a small smile. “That’s something, right?”

Haibara had nudged your shoulder gently. “It’s more than something. He’s just the kind of guy who overthinks everything. You’ve planted the seed, though. Give him time.”

But time had passed, and Nanami Kento left Jujutsu High not long after. You never got another chance to talk to him like that again. You told yourself you were content loving him from afar, finding solace in the way your heart still fluttered at the thought of him.

But when he returned, something in you had stirred—a flicker of hope, fragile yet insistent. Maybe, just maybe, things could be different now. Time has changed both of you. The boy who had quietly declined your feelings at Jujutsu High had grown into a man, more self-assured but still carrying that same steady, composed demeanor that had drawn you to him in the first place.

You were adults now, and that alone made you believe there was a chance. Life has taught you patience, resilience, and the courage to keep trying, even when the odds seemed slim. That was why you hadn’t given up on him.

And so, you pursued him.

Every opportunity to be near him, to share a moment, you seized with the quiet determination that had defined your feelings for years. You sought him out for coffee when you knew he preferred a quiet café to the bustling city. You’d “accidentally” bump into him at the farmers’ market, pretending it was a coincidence even though you’d memorized his routine.

“Kento!” you’d say with a teasing grin when he raised a suspicious brow at you. “What a coincidence running into you here. Do you always buy the same sourdough every Saturday morning?”

He’d sigh, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips, a ghost of a smile he didn’t quite let show. “You’re persistent.”

“Someone’s got to make sure you don’t spend your weekends brooding, you know?” you’d reply, nudging his shoulder. “Come on, loosen up!”

It became a habit, this delicate dance of seeking his company without being too obvious about your intentions. You’d ask him to spar under the guise of “staying sharp” though the truth was, you just liked the way he’d carefully correct your stance or the brief flicker of admiration in his eyes when you managed to land a hit.

“You’ve improved, a lot.” he’d say, his voice calm but laced with sincerity, and it would make your heart race.

“Good teacher, as always!” you’d reply, hoping he couldn’t see how much his approval meant to you.

Every moment with Kento, no matter how mundane, felt like a gift. Whether it was sharing a quiet cup of coffee on a rainy morning, or simply sitting in comfortable silence while reading, there was something in the way he looked at you, spoke to you, and allowed you to be near him that made everything feel extraordinary.

And though he didn’t openly reciprocate your pursuit, even after all these years. Never rushing into declarations of affection or sweeping gestures—he didn’t push you away, either. It was a slow process, but he let you in, bit by bit, his walls coming down in small, subtle ways.

You could see it in the way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You noticed it in the way he trusted you enough to share a casual comment or a fleeting thought during the moments when he felt most comfortable.

One evening, you found yourselves sitting on the couch in his modestly minimal apartment. The sound of the rain pattering against the window and the occasional crackle of the radiator filled the air as the two of you shared a bowl of popcorn. 

Nanami Kento looked so effortlessly at ease, his long legs stretched out and his sweater sleeves pushed up to his forearms as he focused on a historical documentary you’d both stumbled upon online.You leaned your head on his shoulder, your voice soft as you broke the comfortable quiet.

“You know, you’re not as cold as you pretend to be, Kento.” you said, stealing another handful of popcorn.

He glanced at you briefly, his lips parting slightly in surprise before he let out a small, amused chuckle. “Not cold?”

“You’re warm, always.” you said with a grin. “You let me in. You don’t push me away, even when you could.”

There was a moment of silence as Kento stared at the television, his hand resting on the couch beside you. His expression wasn’t guarded, but it wasn’t entirely open either—just enough for you to read the smallest hint of vulnerability.

“I guess I never really had a reason to push you away.” he finally said, his voice low but steady. “Never.”

His words lingered in the air for a moment, and you could tell he’d chosen them carefully. His voice had a softness to it that was rare for him, but just enough for you to feel the weight of his trust.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, catching the faint glow of the television reflecting off his glasses. “Why’s that?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

He hesitated for a moment, his shoulders shifting as he adjusted his position, and then he looked at you fully. “Because you make things easier,you make life feel kinder, in some ways.” he admitted, his words simple but honest. “You don’t ask for much, you listen, and you’re just there.”

You held your breath for a moment, your heart tightening at his words. His walls had come down, even if only by a fraction, and you could feel it. His tender tone, his presence, his warmth—it all felt so sincere. Too sincere for you to handle.

“I care about you, Kento.” you said softly, unsure if he truly understood the depth of your feelings.

His caramel gaze lingered on you for a moment, his hand reaching for the bowl of popcorn absentmindedly. His lips pressed together, his expression unreadable, before he looked back at the screen, the conversation shifting back to the documentary.

But the weight of his words, and his willingness to let you in, lingered with you, wrapping you in a warmth that felt both fragile and strong. You knew there was still much more to uncover with Kento, but for now, this….his presence, his openness, his choice to let you stay—it felt like it was more than enough.

And sometimes, enough was everything.

But sometimes, you know that doesn’t fill the hole.

You still wanted more than what enough was.

And that was human of you, truthfully enough.

You weren’t naive enough to think it would be easy. Nothing about life, especially when it came to love, had ever been simple. You knew this, just as you knew there was a layer of reluctance in Kento—a hesitation, a kind of guarded distance he fought to keep even when you could feel the pull between you both.

Kento was, and still is, someone who struggles with the idea of letting go completely. His walls were strong, built from years of experience, loss, and quiet battles that no one but him could fully understand. It was clear to you that he struggled with the need to distance himself.

As if pulling back were his only defense against the weight of inevitable heartache. His fear of loss, perhaps, weighed heaviest on his mind, an unspoken ache that lingered just beneath the surface. And he’s never gotten over it.

He never told you, not in words, though you could feel it. Sometimes, late at night, you could see it in his tired caramel eyes or hear it in the hesitancy of his voice. He still dreams of Yu Haibara sometimes, in the most grievous ways.

And it was there in his moments of quiet, the small ways he hesitated to open up, even when you wanted him to. His reluctance was both a shield and a barrier, but it didn’t mean he didn’t care. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to feel things he does for you.

Because even through that fear, even through his uncertainty, you knew he still wanted you close. He still wanted you around him. His need wasn’t entirely spoken, but you could sense it in the way his hand would linger near yours, in the way his shoulders would relax just a bit when you sat beside him, in the way his smiles felt so much warmer when they were aimed at you.

He wanted your companionship. Your warmth. Your smiles. Even if just for a little while.

And you found yourself wondering if you could ever bridge that gap, if you could ease away the weight of his fears, of his walls, just enough to allow him to breathe. But you knew it wouldn’t come easily. It wasn’t about convincing him or rushing him. It was about staying close without suffocating, about being the kind of presence that felt like home without overwhelming his heart.

So you stayed. Patient. Gentle. Hopeful.

Because sometimes, love wasn’t about having all the answers. Sometimes, it was just about simply the ability to be there. But of course, that didn’t mean you didn’t like being playful with him sometimes. 

Sometimes you ended up teasing, flirting absentmindedly when the mood suited you. It kept things light, kept the tension from building too heavily between you both. And you knew Kento liked it, even if he would never openly admit it.

Now, you watched him, standing by one of the tall windows with his usual composed grace. The snow was falling outside, the icy tendrils of white dancing against the backdrop of the gray sky, and it cast a dreamy, ethereal glow over his figure. 

His sharp handsome features looked even more striking in the pale light, his stoicism seemingly as solid as ever, but something about his posture seemed a bit softer, more contemplative, more… approachable.

He had a half-full glass of champagne in his hand, the bubbles dancing at the surface as if mirroring the cold, soft beauty of the snow. His gaze was fixed outside, distant, a world away from the warm interior you occupied.

You felt that familiar pull—the urge to go to him, to close the distance, to connect. It wasn’t a conscious thing, really. It just happened. And as you took a step toward him, you couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you took his hand gently, drawing his attention as you swayed toward him. His stoicism faltered, ever so slightly, his usual confidence wavering under the warmth of your smile.

“Care for a dance?” you asked, your voice light, playful.

His eyes flickered down at you, the quiet surprise in them both unexpected and endearing. He hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding, his lips parting into the faintest, almost-smile. “I suppose one dance couldn’t hurt.”

You held his hand as you moved into a slow, natural rhythm, the sound of the music faint in the background as you swayed together. His movements were smooth, calculated, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders ease as he allowed himself to follow your lead. His fingers were strong, steady, warm as they pressed into your hand, grounding you.

For a moment, everything felt still. The soft sound of the snow outside, the faint music, the warmth of his touch—everything blended into this gentle, fleeting moment that felt like it belonged to just the two of you.

You met his gaze, playful and soft, as you twirled, and he followed you easily, his composure blending seamlessly into the rhythm you created together. You could feel his walls, his hesitation, but this time they felt far less imposing. His defenses, ever so slightly, had come down.

It was in these moments, in these small dances and quiet gestures, that you felt yourself reaching him bit by bit. Not with force or words, but with your presence, your laughter, your warmth. You grinned again as he looked at you, a genuine, rare smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and you knew this was enough.

“Come on.” you teased gently, tugging him toward the floor. “It’s Christmas, Kento. Loosen up a little.”

His grip on your hand tightened briefly, a subtle indication that your forwardness had caught him off guard. Still, he followed, the faintest hint of pink brushing against his ears. As the two of you swayed to the music, you let your fingers glide lightly over his shoulder, relishing the solid warmth beneath your touch. 

“You know, Kento.” you began, your tone playful, “I wasn’t lying earlier. You’re on my wish list this year. Like last year and the year before that.”

Kento raised an eyebrow, but the slight flush deepened across his cheeks. “That so?”

“Mm-hmm.” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’ve got that whole ‘Santa-but-make-it-dashing’ thing going on. Makes a girl want to write a love letter to the North Pole.”

He cleared his throat, his warm caramel eyes darting away briefly before returning to yours. “I doubt Santa would entertain... that kind of correspondence.”

You leaned in, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Good thing I’m not sending it to him, then. I’d deliver it straight to you. No middleman required.”

For the first time that night, Kento faltered. His confident posture shifted, and his eyes widened just a fraction. “You’re relentless, you know that?” he murmured, a hand coming up to adjust his tie, though it wasn’t even out of place. “Always have been.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and teasing. “Oh, Kento, don’t tell me I’ve made you nervous. It’s just a little harmless flirting…….but well,  unless you want it to be more.”

His lips parted, but no immediate response came. That small victory sent a thrill through you, and you leaned closer, just enough that your words were for him alone. “Tell me, does this kind of thing make you uncomfortable? Or are you just not used to someone being so... direct?”

Kento’s hand tightened slightly on your waist, his composed exterior visibly cracking. “It’s not discomfort, not at all.” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “Just unexpected.”

“Unexpectedly charming?” you pressed, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

He exhaled sharply, a sound that might have been a stifled laugh. “Something like that.”

Encouraged, you let your fingertips trace the seam of his suit jacket. “You know, Kento.” you continued, a playful lilt in your voice, “if you’re ever feeling generous this season, you could always fulfill my Christmas wish.”

“And what would that be?” he asked, the words coming out more strained than he probably intended.

You leaned in, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear. “You. Under the mistletoe.”

When you pulled back to gauge his reaction, you were rewarded with the rarest sight: Nanami Kento, speechless. His hand flexed slightly on your waist, and his gaze flicked away as he struggled to compose himself. He looks at you for a moment. 

“You’re incorrigible, really.” he finally muttered, but his voice betrayed him—soft, amused, and maybe even a little flustered. “You haven’t  changed.”

“Only with you, Kento.” you said sweetly, squeezing his shoulder before stepping back. “But don’t worry, I’ll wait for my gift. After all, good things come to those who are patient.”

As you walked away, a satisfied grin on your lips, you couldn’t help but glance back to find Nanami Kento standing exactly where you’d left him, his calloused fingers brushing absently over his tie, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and something you dared to hope was intrigue.

The night carried on, the hum of conversation and the swell of holiday music forming a cozy backdrop, but you couldn’t keep your attention off Nanami. He had retreated to the edge of the room, standing by one of the tall, arched windows. The faint reflection of twinkling lights played across his face as he stared out at the snowfall, the earlier flush still faintly visible on his well defined cheeks. You decided you weren’t quite done with him yet.

Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing server, you wove your way back through the crowd, your dress swishing lightly with each step. When you approached him, you tilted your head playfully, holding out the glass. 

“For the most stoic man at the ball, our dear Santa.” you teased.

He glanced at you, his lips quivering in what might have been a reluctant smile, and accepted the drink. “I didn’t realize I had a title.”

“Oh, you’ve earned it, Kento.” you said with a wink, leaning against the window frame beside him. “But don’t worry—I like a challenge.”

Nanami Kento took a measured sip of the champagne, but you caught the way his jaw tensed, as though he were bracing himself for whatever you might say next. It only spurred you on to tease him even more.

“So, Kento.” you said, turning slightly to face him. “Are you enjoying the ball, or are you just here to fulfill some jujutsu society obligation?”

He hesitated, clearly weighing his words. “I suppose I’m here out of tradition. And obligations. These events aren’t really my style.”

“I could’ve guessed that, you know.” you said, grinning. “You’re not exactly the life-of-the-party type. But you know, Christmas is about more than tradition. It’s about joy. And sharing it with someone.”

Kento gave you a sidelong look. “You’re quite persistent.”

“And you’re quite stubborn.” you shot back, smiling. “But I think there’s a soft side to you, Kento. One you don’t show often enough.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what makes you think that?”

“Well, for one, you haven’t walked away yet. I’m sure that you could end up doing that, knowing how much I tease you.” you said with a smirk. “And two... you keep looking at me like you don’t know whether to scold me or kiss me.”

His composure faltered again, a faint cough escaping as he set his glass down on the windowsill. “You certainly have an active imagination.”

“Oh, come on,Kento.” you said, your tone playful but insistent. “Admit it—you’re at least a little tempted. And if you’re not, then prove me wrong.”

Kento looked at you then, really looked at you, his sharp gaze softening just slightly. For a moment, you thought you might have pushed too far, but then he straightened, adjusting his tie with a deliberate slowness. 

“I don’t think I need to prove anything.”

“Ah, I see.” you said, stepping closer, emboldened by the flicker of challenge in his tone. “So, you are tempted.”

He said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. The tension between you was palpable, the space narrowing until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. You bit your lip, deciding to go all in.

“Tell you what, Kento.” you said, voice low and teasing. “If you don’t kiss me under a mistletoe by the end of the night, I’ll stop. No more flirting, no more teasing. I’ll leave you alone.”

Kento tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words. “And if I do?”

Your breath hitched at the question, but you managed a grin. “Then I’ll finally have my Christmas wish.”

His lips parted softly, as though he were about to respond, but instead, he exhaled slowly, his warm gaze dipping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your bright teasing eyes again. 

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stalling for a while now.” you countered, a laugh bubbling up. “But that’s okay. I can wait. I always will.”

You stepped back, letting the tension linger as you gave him a playful wave and walked away. You didn’t have to look back this time—you knew he was watching. He was trying to memorize this moment, to observe it for what it was. And somehow, you had the distinct feeling that before the night was over, Nanami Kento would be fulfilling your wish.

As you moved away to get another glass of champagne, your heart fluttering with equal parts exhilaration and nervousness, you wondered if perhaps you’d gone too far. But before you could fully retreat into the crowd, you felt a hand on your wrist. It was a gentle, but firm pull enough to stop you in your tracks.

You turned around, with a surprised look on your face as you found Nanami Kento still standing there, his expression unreadable. His warm fingers lingered just a moment before he released you, his caramel gaze steady but softer than you’d ever seen it. The air between you seemed to hum with unspoken words.

“I—” He hesitated, his usual composure slipping just enough to make him seem almost vulnerable. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing as if surrendering to something he’d been holding back. “I need to say something. I should have, a long time ago.”

Your pulse quickened, and you nodded, stepping closer. “I’m listening.”

Kento glanced away briefly, as though gathering his thoughts, before looking back at you. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet but steady. “I’ve been aware of your... feelings. For a long time. I always knew about it. You were frank about it.”

Your cheeks flushed at the admission, but you didn’t interrupt. His words felt heavy, deliberate, as if each one had been carefully chosen. You could see the warmth in his eyes and the guilt and the desperation swirling through into one, your reflection echoing softly.

“I didn’t know how to respond, I never have.” he continued. “I thought it was... better to stay distant. With how things are….To keep things professional, I thought it was the best course of action. But… I made you wait. And that wasn’t fair.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, and when he looked at you again, there was something raw in his eyes. 

“What are you saying?”

“I’ve realized I’ve been lying to myself.”

Your breath caught, and you stared at him, hardly daring to believe what you were hearing. “Kento... you don’t have to—”

He ran a hand through his hair, his usual calm veneer cracking further. “I like you, I think I’ve always have.” he admitted, the words escaping like a confession he could no longer contain. “I’ve liked you for longer than I care to admit. More than I can express in words. Maybe…Maybe if I had loved you less, I’d be more able to talk about it.”

You gasped at his words, your mouth opening as wide as your eyes in surprise. “But I didn’t know how to handle it. You... you’re bold, and relentless, and you make it impossible for me to think clearly. You make it impossible for me to know what to do. Because I’m overwhelmed by you. And I…I surrender to it.”

“Kento, I just….” A surprised laugh bubbled out of you. “This is just….”

Kento gave you a small, self-deprecating smile. “You challenge me in ways I’m not used to. And while I’ve tried to ignore it, I’ve found that I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want to keep playing games, especially tonight.”

Your chest felt like it might burst, a mix of disbelief and elation washing over you. “So... does this mean I get my Christmas wish?”

Kento let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, darling.” you said, stepping closer, your voice playful but trembling with emotion. “You like me anyway.”

He sighed, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “I suppose I do. More than I could ever understand.”

“You made me wait a long time.”

His eyes looked warmly at you. “I know. And I have….I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, for making you wait for so long.” 

Before you could overthink it, you closed the remaining distance between you, your hand resting lightly on his chest.  You smiled at him. “Good. I’ll take that as your apology.”

“Does….does this mean—”

“Kento.” you murmured, your voice soft but sure, looking at his eyes more closely. You smiled at him. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

His warm caramel gaze dropped to yours, and for the first time, you saw no hesitation in his eyes. Not one bit. He smiled back at you, his warm palm resting against the tresses at the edge of your hair, tracing it as though to memorize every bit of you.

“I think I do.” he said, his voice low and steady, and then, as if finally giving in to everything he’d been holding back, he leaned down and kissed you.

The world seemed to fade around you, the music and chatter of the ball becoming nothing more than a distant hum. His lips were warm, firm, and deliberate, and the way he held you. His one hand steady at your waist, the other lightly brushing your cheek. It made you feel like the only two people in the room.

Your heart soared, the years of unspoken feelings and quiet longing finally culminating in this perfect moment. His kiss wasn’t rushed or hesitant. Everything about it was purposeful, full of emotions he’d kept bottled up for far too long. Everything about it made you swore into the clouds, ever so happily.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, you couldn’t help the soft, giddy smile that spread across your lips. His face was red as the scarlet sunrise, but he smiled even warmer than that as your gazes lock in an embrace.

“Merry Christmas, Kento.” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with emotion.

He huffed a soft laugh, his breath warm against your skin. “Merry Christmas.” Then, with a smirk that was both rare and devastatingly charming, he added, “I suppose you got your wish after all. After all this time.”

You laughed, the sound bright and uninhibited, before teasing back, “Well, you are my Santa, you always have been.”

“Am I really?” He responded back, heartily.

“You do have a big sack too, so……” You trailed off, leaning closer with a mischievous grin. “Let me unpack it tonight, Santa?”

His face turned into an even more impressive shade of red, his composure slipping for a moment as he stared at you in disbelief. You laughed as he looked away for a moment, trying to gather himself. Your arm wrapped against his own. 

“You—” He cleared his throat, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as if to steady himself. “That’s... incredibly bold.”

You tilted your head playfully, your grin widening. “My boldness worked on you, didn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply, his lips twitching as though trying to suppress a smile. “I’m starting to see that, darling.” he muttered, his voice laced with reluctant amusement.

The nickname had made you feel even more giddy inside. “Hm, I suppose so, my love.”

“I’m sure that you’ll be more creative about it.”

“Well, you are right.” you said, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “Stick with me forever, Kento. I have plenty more where that came from.”

Shaking his head, but unable to hide the warmth in his warm mahogany gaze, he leaned in again, ever closer this time. You could feel his voice in a low murmur against your ear. He gives you a small smile as his fingers trace the back of your neck. 

“Something tells me I’m in for quite the adventure.”

“Absolutely, my love.” you said, beaming as his lips found yours once more, sealing not just a moment but the beginning of something you’d both waited far too long for. “Buckle up.”

He snickers. “I look forward to each and every nonsense Christmas then.”

You laughed. “Expect it for all your days too.”

“Hm, that’s what I signed up for.”

[ma1dita]

asking for trouble

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words:  7.8k prev -> when the curtains close | next -> as above so below summary: (post-TLT, compliant to TLO) The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all) a/n: non-descriptive mentions of blood and war, main character death. angst. a boyfriend that yall may or may not agree with. one chapter left after this!! i imagined the last scene to play out with luke in a room where they have the immersive exhibits at a museum

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[august 15th; camp half-blood kitchens, long island, new york — 9:49 pm]

Everything begins and ends with love if we are fortunate enough.

There’s a stillness that fills the air the night before what historians and future demigods alike will deem the Battle of Manhattan. It’s stifling—suffocating in the silence of the camp kitchens as you cover a sheet cake with blue frosting, piping the edges with a steady hand as you check the clock, time always ticking over your shoulder.

Almost lights out.

The circumstances are different now though, and surely no one will be able to sleep soundly tonight. Fate is hard at work unraveling the future, the gods and their spawn alike are preparing for war, yet you’re here putting sprinkles on Percy Jackson’s birthday cake.

It’s the most nonsensical thing you’ve done all week amidst the war preparations, taming the whirlwind of mixed emotions that shook camp in the days before. Perhaps it comes with the knowing that everything will change, and the only way out is through. Only the lucky ones get to go home after this.

“Are you really not coming with us tomorrow?”

Clarisse chuckles at your question from her position against the doorway, crossing her arms and watching you stick candles on the top of the sweet dessert. Her hands flex over her sleeves, tugging at the fabric like she needs to hide away from the rest of the world, “You make it sound like it’s a walk in the park instead of what it really is.”

“Is that why then?” You look up from your piping bag raising an eyebrow at her, “We need all the help we can get, Risse.”

“It’s a death wish. I don’t know how you do it grandma, but the world will keep spinning no matter if 5 shows up or not,” Clarisse mutters, rolling the words around in her mouth, “How do you do it? Knowing that he’ll be there…I-I don’t want Chris to put himself through that again. We’re going to lose anyway—something, if not everything.” 

You know that too.

There’s something ironic about how the children of war won’t be joining the fight of their lives, but Clarisse La Rue is as stubborn as a mule when she doesn’t get her way. Only something truly special would send her running to the battlefield at this point.

“A part of me feels obligated to be there and help fix it, Risse. This is the path I chose.”

She scoffs, her sneakers knocking against the side of the kitchen island. The daughter of Ares is wistful, hesitant… and nothing like herself tonight. You suppose conflict shapes someone like her like how insanity lines the essence of your being. Intangible, but the base of every choice—the driving reason connecting you to your godrents. 

“Yeah, I know that, but I still don’t get it. You don’t have to be here anymore,” she says thoughtfully, moving the cylinders of sprinkles around on the counter by height order, then by colors of the rainbow, “you could’ve chosen the easy life without all of this…I mean, if I ever got out of here alive, I wouldn’t look back.” The statement is sharp in the silence as if she’d attacked you with Maimer. Your eyes meet hers as if there’s a big secret she’s missing out on. You always look at them like that now, with a faraway gaze of a place none of them can reach.

“Who’s to say? Getting old and aging out of here is harder than you think, you know… College, rent, taxes…” you list off with every squeeze of the piping bag, spelling out Percy’s name with white frosting. Clarisse bites her lip, resting her chin against the palm of her hand as she watches you.

When she closes her eyes at night, she often dreams of being home in Arizona, dry heat prickling at her cheeks and dust swirling at her ankles. That’s what her future will look like, she thinks—and she’ll let herself be selfish if it means she gets what she wants. What do you dream of? Do you think about a future for yourself if you’re so worried about saving everyone else’s?

“But you still came back. Is this easier than that?”

Not easier, but familiar. Nothing you ever want comes easy after all. There is a comfort in walking the grounds of a camp counselor job you used to dread instead of filling out job applications; easier to you means fighting with the gods and slaying creatures of old instead of paying student loans and making rent. 

“I think you’ll find out that you do stupid things for love, Clarisse La Rue.”

She’ll never tell you this, but you’re the strongest person she knows. You’ve shown her that strength doesn’t always mean brain or brawn. Sometimes strength is loving someone without expecting anything in return, and the gnawing feeling in her stomach eats at her in an unsatisfying way—like Tantalus reaching for the grapevine, fingertips grazing the leaves for eternity.

Instead, Clarisse wipes down the counter with a Clorox wipe as you make your way towards the door, cake in hand. Tonight, she and her siblings will sleep with the knowledge that they’ll get to see another day. Call her selfish, sure—but that’s how she loves them. Alive.

“I still stand ten toes behind the fact that Michael Yew can be knocked down a fucking peg,” she mutters. There’s a small smile on her face and when she looks up at you, she sees your face is illuminated by moonlight. Clarisse hopes this won’t be the last time—silently praying to her father to extend his hand onto you.

“I’ll see you when I see you, La Rue.”

Whenever that is, she thinks. This is easier than a goodbye. What matters is showing up. What matters is that they try. That’s what she reminds herself as she turns off the big light and heads toward Cabin 5. 

Does any of that still matter in the end if they aren’t alive?

Her siblings are already asleep when she tucks herself into bed despite the music and laughter coming from 12. Light from across the way filters through her window, a warm glow cast across her face leaking through even when she shuts her eyes. It warms her, reminds her of the orange of the stupid shirts they wear, sunsets on Fireworks Beach, and the molten lava that drips down the climbing wall. 

Home might not be what she remembered it to be after all these years. Clarisse decides to sleep on it, hoping that when they wake, there’ll be something worth fighting for.

[august 15th; cabin 12, long island, new york — 10:08pm]

Camp Half-Blood is quiet as you walk through the dark forest, minding your step over the brambles and checking off your mental list of responsibilities before day breaks. The air is especially cool for a summer night, melancholy being your only jacket as you move on auto-pilot. Your fingers tighten around the tray you hold, pushing the door open to Cabin 12 which currently houses most of your campers. It’s lively and bright in here—you would think they’re all celebrating a Capture the Flag win instead of being sent off to their deaths for the greater good.

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up soldiers.

The wood creaks beneath your boots and it’s drowned out by the sound of soft chattering and laughter, a few of them still scuffling over sleep spots, and then—”HAPPY BIRTHDAY PERCY!”

There are only enough people in here to comfortably fit in a few of the strawberry trucks tomorrow—some went home to their parents to avoid the chaos and some chose not to fight at all. And the ones that remain— all 40 of them, that is, are spread out on the floor in sleeping bags writhing like worms. All the whooping and cheering is accompanied by Michael leading his siblings in song (and Connor and Travis ruining it by chanting CHA CHA CHA!). 

Percy is just shy of sixteen now, but the sheen in his blue eyes still reflects the tranquility of open water and something tender that you saw in him when he came to camp at twelve years old. Later, through mouthfuls of cake and smears of blue buttercream on his cheek, the son of Poseidon looks up at you thoughtfully, “Is this a pity cake?” He tries to make light of the situation by acting like the fate of the world doesn’t depend on his life or death, and you take a deep breath. 

Even demigods fall victim to fate, and the gods still push on. But what of their children that fight for change in the world they set the rules for; their children that fight their battles for them and lose their lives for immortal beings that live forever?

“This is a birthday party, not a pity party, Percy Jackson. There's no pity for the damned,” you chuckle. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. All of the world’s problems seem so permanent when you’re 15 years old. It’s just fucked up that his will actually alter the course of humanity.

“And if this is the end of the world, I just wanted to make sure we’ve told you happy birthday first.”

“Well thanks,” Percy mumbles over a spoonful of buttercream, face reddening when Annie throws a paper towel roll at his face, “Hey!” It reminds you a lot of when you and Luke would fight in the dining pavilion, chicken tenders and mac n’ cheese flying through the air, and apples cut just the way you like.

You blink. 

It all boils down to him or Luke.

“Wipe your face, Seaweed Brain!”

Percy rolls his eyes, smiling down at his plate regardless of the weight he carries upon his shoulders. The more you want to live the more you have to lose, you think as you brush your knuckles against a spot of frosting he missed. You don’t look at the blonde boy and see a hero of the Great Prophecy—still, you see him as the little boy who was mesmerized by you conjuring strawberries on his plate on his first day at camp, innocent and honest. 

Looking around the room wistfully at that thought, you start to see the memories of their childhood blanket all of themlike ill-fitting clothes; it’s all you can notice. The feeling is so big it swallows you whole. Annabeth is still the little girl who’d rattle off obscure facts from Snapple bottle caps from her time on the road, drawing pictures of buildings with your eyeliner after sneaking into your room. Silena still makes blush out of berry juice and would call you about boy problems as if she’s not a child of the goddess of love herself. Will is still the boy who sings as he lights up fireflies and draws smiley faces on bandages. Katie, the girl who makes flower crowns for your birthday and eats strawberries with you soaked in morning dew. You look around and see scraped knees that you’ve kissed better, sleepy eyes you’ve sung to, and hearts you’ve kept warm—this is your glory, your greatest achievement being the family you’ve found in the woods of the Long Island Sound.

“You see it too?” Grover mumbles, nudging you and you sigh, squeezing his shoulder. Sometimes you forget the satyr is older than you; he stands tall as your pillar of support, unwavering in his promise to protect these kids. 

“We’re getting old, man.”

“You’re only 23. There’s so much left of you,” he deadpans. Laughter comes out of you in waves as you shake your head smiling.

“And what a pleasure it’s been to grow up with you.” 

Grover bids you a good night as you walk up the stairs to your old room, phone in hand while you dial a familiar number. Your boyfriend answers before the end of the first ring.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d still be up!”

Settling against the windowpane near your bed, a soft smile graces your features and you realize he’s not there to see it. It’s always been easy with him—Dex was unbelievably kind, and he had a heart that he’d share without you having to ask. He was unlike any man you’d ever encountered before, and over the past year and a half you found it easy to love him. 

Worst of all, he’s utterly devoted to you. At least every part of you that you were willing to give him, even if it wasn’t all of you per se. Plus, you saw the ring in his desk drawer last week.

It was too…good to be true.

You recognize that this was your way out like Clarisse said, your escape from the turbulence that was your life as a demigod. But it was hard to believe that you were deserving of it. He’d never know of the ichor that runs through your veins, and the life you’d have to leave behind to truly be with him. You suppose every love you’ve ever had was sacrificial. You just wonder if because of that, easy makes it hard to feel real.

Maybe if you survive this one you’d tell him the truth. But for now, he’s rambling in your ear about his sudden work trip upstate. Morpheus and Hypnos are already at work then, redirecting the city dwellers out of Manhattan. It must be later than you thought already and in a few short hours, Apollo will be shining his rays across the Island for what you hope won’t be the last time.

“I wish I was with you right now,” you mutter in a hushed tone, and you hear him laugh breathily through the static sound of the phone. It’s easy to imagine him twirling the telephone cord between his fingers, flopped over the tiny loveseat you went halfsies on with your first big paychecks. The apartment you both moved into after graduation is more accurately a shoebox—but it’s yours, and the love you have for it is immeasurable in comparison to the square footage. You hum, listening to the sound of his voice, “Maybe I can catch you before I go—stop by and say hi before I drive up.” 

He won’t. By morning, you’re not even sure if he’ll remember you—all traces of Greek gods and their counterparts wiped clean from memory until it’s all over, whenever that is. You’re mindlessly walking in circles around your room, bare feet padding against the floorboards. He repeats your name and you realize you haven’t been paying attention, the tail end catching your ear, “Hmm?”

“Or you could come to me. I’m sure your dad won’t mind. It’s time I meet him, don’t you think?” 

And out of anything happening tomorrow, that especially sounds like a nightmare so you make a noise of disagreement, “I can’t. You know I can’t, honey. I’ve got…” your voice trails off as your lilac eyes land on a faded photo strip thumbtacked to your wall, “unfinished business to deal with.” There’s nothing left but inky silhouettes on the sun-damaged paper, two past lovers huddled together. But you know what it’s a picture of. Rye Playland, you and Luke at fifteen, cheek to cheek and covered in wisps of cotton candy.

“Mm. Sounds important. Does your unfinished business have a name?” 

Dex sounds playful now, teasing despite the silence on your end of the line. A beat passes, and then another, and he can hear the sound of your hands rifling through the things in your desk drawer. The dragon scale necklace is cold in your palm. 

For good luck, you think. 

It’s been a while since you’ve worn it—keeping it safe in the only home you and Luke shared, and as soon as it touches your neck, you feel a little less empty inside. It feels like a safety blanket, protecting you from whatever might come next. You almost feel guilty to be relieved.

Thumbing the cord absentmindedly, you mutter, “You don’t even know the half of it, Dex.” 

“Maybe one day you’ll tell me.” Sometimes, it’s like he knows— Dex must be the ivy that grows over the walls you’ve built up around yourself, and he can see glimpses of who you try to hide behind your stone-cold resolve. He wonders if you’ll ever tell him about the names you call out at night— an indistinguishable language he’ll never fully understand. He wonders where you’ve gotten your constellation of scars and where your mind goes when you sit next to the window and stare at the skyline.

Oh, he wonders.

The glow-in-the-dark stars are faded now on the ceiling when you look up at them, fighting to give their last bits of light. You wonder too, if there’s any fight left in you; a bit of Luke always remains—he’s everywhere you look. You can feel him as night falls upon New York, bidding you goodnight before it crumbles tomorrow. 

“Maybe. Good night, honey.”

Dex yawns into the receiver. You know his feet are kicked up onto the coffee table even though you always tell him he shouldn’t, and that his glasses are already off for the night. You really think he could be a nice guy to end up with, all things considered. Dex was the epitome of normal, and after almost two and a half decades of existence, it’s quite evident that you are anything but. 

Normal might be quite nice.

He yawns again. Hypnos must have reached his window, “I love you, you know that?”

“I do. Me too. Good night.”

It’s the truth. 

You love this man and the spaces he’s filled within the chaos of your life. You love all of him, from the perfectly normal way he makes breakfast for you every morning (and laughs when he burns the toast), and takes the train to work at a middle school in Harlem (“6th grade ELA takes a lot out of a man,” he jokes). He picks you up from your job at the therapist’s office downtown if you get out too late, as a gentleman would (though you’ve fought monsters that he’d scream at the sight of). Once upon a time, normal was exactly what you used to wish for.

There’s a moment where your breath hitches and you sink against your pillow and you wonder if he would love all of you—demigod and all. Could he get used to this— summers at Camp Half-Blood with chariot races and gladiator-style fighting, pegasi and harpies roaming the grounds, and watersports with woodland nymphs? Dex never even questions your green thumb or how Pollux made him hallucinate your dead brother when he came to visit (“It’s what Castor would’ve wanted! The full twin-terrogation!” he insists. You convinced your boyfriend he got food poisoning that night). Could you come clean about knowing how to slay a chimera, or why you never get drunk, and have the stamina of an Olympian (the athletic kind, but not too far off from the truth)? 

But it shouldn’t be called coming clean. That makes it sound like you’re ashamed of who you are—which you’re not. You’ve just been hiding this part of you from a normal human that you love very much.

Gods, is this how your dad felt when he was seeing your mom? 

Somehow insanity has always felt bearable—love, however, has always been such an ordeal.

The phone bounces onto your bedspread once you hang up the call. There is no more time to worry about playing a part. Tomorrow, everyone comes as they are—whatever happens after will be a problem if you reach another day. Fate has its way of making itself known, you know that by now. Blinking, you take a deep breath, and very intentionally, with your feet criss-cross applesauce, you pray—for what, you still try to figure out as the minutes tick by. 

Better late than never.

Here at camp, you were always the last one up after lights out, anyway. Tonight of all nights shouldn't be any different.

[august 16th; 34th street and herald square, manhattan, new york — 9:17 am]

“Where do you think you’re going, mister!”

Your little brother flinches, immediately turning tail and walking across the deserted street to meet you in the middle. He’s taller than you now, craning his neck down to look at your angry glower as you thrust a finger into his face, “You’re sticking with me.”

“Jake said he’s taking 9 and 12 to the Holland Tunnel,” Pollux calls out, shuffling his feet and you punch his arm hard, “OW! —It’s what Percy wants.” He swats your hand away for good measure, his arm guards clanking against yours when he dodges another swing at his head.

“We are Cabin 12, you shithead. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a second.” Your staff is heavy against his shoulder and Pollux can’t help but let his gaze wander to where Jake Mason and the other children of Hephaestus are waiting for him a block over. Manhattan is a warzone, and the difference between fighting empousai and fighting his older sister right now is very similar in theory—hard to do alone. The tunnel is halfway across the city from the Empire State Building—if something were to happen to either of you…

"M’not here to fight,” he sighs, “with you at least. I need to do my part, sissy.” The old nickname is an arrow through your heart and you grab Pollux’s hand, “I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I couldn’t get to you in time.”

“HEY 12! You coming, or what?”

The two of you look towards the small army down the block, both of your hands intertwined like grapes from the same vine. You’re not sure if you can let go; you’re not sure if your father could lose another child. But Pollux’s face is almost set in stone—he’s never been more sure of himself. Your lip wavers, forcing itself into a stiff smile and he softens at the sight, “I’ll be okay.”

“And if you’re not? Then what?”

He shrugs, “Then… then I’ll get to see Castor.”

You nod, breathing shakily, and flinching when Jake calls for Pollux again, “Well. If you are okay…You come find me. After this is over, you come straight back home to me. You got it?”

Pollux hugs you, hard—the force of all of him sending you sprawling into his arms and it knocks the wind out of you. As the twins have grown, it’s been rare for them to show you any affection. They’d usually recoil or whine about how mushy their older sister is, and each time it makes you laugh. But right now, you stand there gripping onto his t-shirt, breathless; the ringing in your ears gives way to words he mumbles into your hair, “I love you,” he says, in case you didn’t already know. 

Just in case this is goodbye. You take it in for a moment longer, running a hand through his blond hair and cupping his cheeks as you finally step away, “I love you. I’m so proud of you, P. We all are.”

“Haven’t done anything yet,” he grins, backing away slowly, a skip in his step as he nears the small troop of Hephaestus kids. You wave them off, blowing a kiss as they band together and turn in the other direction.

Why is it that you can only be proud of someone if there’s something to prove it?

You think about all 40 of your campers fighting for their lives in the greatest city in the world. The sound of hellfire, roaring monsters, and screams that could only come from your kids. Fatigue wears you down with each swipe of magic towards enemy forces, monsters writhing in pain at your feet, demigods reduced to insanity and blood-curdling screams. It disgusts you even more so that no one can witness the weapon you've been forced to become.

After all, no one knows any of you were there. Life continues on outside of the bubble containing the Battle of Manhattan. And only the ones fighting will be able to remember this. Only you will remember the blood you spilled to wrestle for your destiny.

The rest of the city continues to sleep, safe from the people who swore to protect it.

[august 17th; empire state building, manhattan, new york mount olympus, in the sky above new york??? — 11:22 pm]

Running up 492 flights of stairs was another type of hell you didn’t expect to put yourself through, but it was faster than waiting for the elevator to Olympus. It’s quiet besides the steady rush of blood pumping in your ears, your boots slapping against the tile to reach your friends who might be in danger at the hands of someone you know well. But it’s too late to give up when you’re so close—you realize you’re praying to anyone who’ll listen as you push through the pain of always being a little too late. 

“Ugh!”

Air pierces through your lungs painfully as you trip up a landing, hands clawing against the banister. Have you been running in place this whole time, quick to start but hard to follow? Your lip quivers, eyes trailing up the stairwell faster than your legs can take you. 

Whatever the outcome, you’ll be better for it, you hope.

It’d be easier to give up. To stay away and not watch Percy fight for his life against him. You dry heave as you press your head against the wall, wondering if it’s worth not seeing what will become of this wretched prophecy. It’s hard to survive loving the villain when the rest of the world is dying because of it. Your legs feel like jelly underneath you, and not a single soul in Manhattan knows you’re here—until you feel the strength of an old traveler lift you up and revitalize your soul. Looking down to see your boots retie themselves tightly, the feeling in your chest reminds you of him. Everything leads back to Luke, and you think wherever he is now—Hermes knows that too. 

“Thank you,” you mutter. He’s handpicked your prayer through the tempest that hangs over Manhattan so that maybe your hands will be gentler in smiting his lost son. You find yourself with the nerve to run up the last dozen flights of stairs, pushing past the entryway to see Thalia Grace under a statue of her stepmother, “THALIA!” You barely make it to her fallen form before her free arm tries to push you away from the rubble.

“Get out of here! I mean it—” Thalia spits out your name through gnarled teeth and bones crunching under the heavy hands of Hera. The statue lays over the bottom half of her body, holding her legs down like how one forms a fist, and the daughter of Zeus pushes through pain and millennia worth of her dad’s karmic debt in giving her life—the essence of being a forbidden child still has a hold on her, even now. 

“I’m not gonna…leave you…”

With everything in you, both demigod strength and sheer desperation, you push at the unmoving stone and your fingernails begin to splinter from the pressure. 

But you know what it feels like to get left behind. 

Desolation slowly sets in your bones, a hollow feeling that spreads through your core as sweat rolls down your cheeks, and when you sniff to wipe it away, Thalia’s lip quivers. She’s writhing in pain and everything is coming to an end down the hall from where you stand. 

“We’re so close, Grace. I’m not giving up on you when we’re this close. I need you in there with me so you just hold on, okay?”

The marble is cool to the touch under your moist hands, and her face is fixed in a grimace as she looks up at you and sees you for who you are—another demigod who was never given a fair chance at fate but with a spirit of a hero waiting for the right chance. Thalia coughs before slapping your hand away, “LISTEN TO ME! I’ll be okay. He needs you to be there. We’re almost out of time!” 

You barely register your body moving as you get up and start to run, looking back at Thalia by the time you’re at the top of the landing. There are no words that you could imagine to string together when your eyes meet hers in the distance that separates you two—the feeling of grief bearing down as you both know the end is near and inside those doors.

As you turn back around, you take a moment to wonder if you might’ve had different people in mind for who’s up there waiting for you.

[august 17th; the hall of gods, mount olympus, the sky above new york— 11:48 pm]

Finally pushing through the heavy doors of the Hall of Gods, your eyes burn like salt in a wound as you travel toward the center to see three figures laid out on the marble mezzanine. There’s a cramp in your calf by the time you reach them, your legs giving way as you skid to a stop in front of Luke’s corroded body. The pain doesn’t register for you, split skin going numb as you stare into the eyes of a storm you fell in love with almost ten years ago. 

A stranger is no longer wearing your love’s skin. Percy and Annie’s eyes feel heavy against your back as they watch you sigh in relief, a landslide of emotion rolling off of you when you see he’s still breathing, even faintly, as if he waited for you to make it back to him.

“It’s Luke,” Annabeth chokes out, “the scythe transformed into Backbiter and I knew it was him. He was fighting for us.” Her voice makes you flinch, makes this more real—it echoes as the wind carries it through the hall. Without a doubt in your mind, you know it’s him by the way he looks at you with tired eyes, soft and amber—the light pushing away the shadows and he reaches out for you. His skin is paled by the River Styx, face weathered by the Titan as you gently guide his head onto your lap. A pathetic cry slips from your mouth when you realize there’s more pressure in the fingers he brushes against your cheekbone versus the one holding the blade embedded in his chest. 

Fuck, what do you even say? 

He’s dying right in front of you and you can’t think of a single word to say.

The clock is ticking and every breath of his comes out weaker––he speaks before you can find the words, breathing out, “I missed you,” like it was a relief to say it. And it all comes spilling out like a secret you’ve been safeguarding since the day he left— a mix of your tears and his blood smearing across your cheek as he reaches out to wipe them ever so gently. You find yourself smiling in the face of death itself—smile even if the both of you can feel death’s hand on him saying that time is finally up because the act of meeting each other here in the middle makes the years you’ve gone without him worthwhile. 

The reunion is also the loss; a nasty habit you’ve both fallen into over the years. But this time, Luke’s finally able to give you the world he wanted to see just before he leaves it.

You clutch him close without intending to let go, purple eyes scavenging for confirmation that this is your Luke, the one who pushed you through the brambles of the North Woods, wind in his hair and mischief in his smile. He’s citrus and musk, cunning smiles, something sacred kept within cabin 11, calloused fingers pulling at your t-shirt, and the voice out of tune at nightly sing-a-longs—and he loves you still. 

Loving you was the only thing that never changed.

“Shhhh, don’t waste your energy. The gods will…” you swallow a sob despite yourself, “I…my dad’s going to be here soon. He’ll help us.” There’s a lump in your throat that carries the weight of everything unsaid. Who would help you now that everyone else is getting what they wanted—a brighter tomorrow without the villain? But the prophecy unveils itself so cruelly, and the one who hurt you is the hero in this story, just as he’s always dreamed. It so happens to be at the cost of loving you.

Luke’s eyelids flutter like butterfly wings descending softly. You press a kiss onto his forehead like you used to while waiting for him to fall asleep. The chuckle that rumbles his ribcage is faint against the hand of yours that’s holding him together and the war is finally over and no one even knows that besides the four of you in this room.

“I'm running on borrowed time,” Luke wheezes, “I think my life ended the day I left you.” His thumb weakly traces the tear tracks cascading down your face, and he’s reacquainting himself with every feature of yours while he can touch it—to hold and be held by you after so long feels like drinking up ambrosia, his last bits of strength telling you what you’ve always known. 

Is there a word stronger than love?

One that would explain how close and how far you feel to him at this moment and you don’t want to say the wrong thing but there are no wrong words when it comes to the right person. Hoarsely, through wavering lips, you chuckle, “Then it's time to stop running, baby. I’m here now.”

It’s exhausting to carry the weight of tomorrow in your arms and to know it’ll be made possible only by letting him go. You’re holding him too tightly, claws sinking in to feel—to ground yourself and keep him tethered to this reality, just in case a different answer falls out of the sky. 

But falling with Luke Castellan, falling for him, has been nothing like you wanted. You've said your goodbyes more often than you can count. 

This part is just about letting him go.

“I think I’m doomed,” he laughs, coughing harshly. Blood soaks his airways, retribution for the lives he took. It drips out of his mouth and you still look at Luke like he’s asked you to marry him. What a soft, funny thought. 

Love must be more violent than war, to feel like this—to know he’s wrecked your world and still come out the other side smiling at him like he put the stars in the sky. His fingers are slipping out of yours as you hold onto the knife that keeps him here and Luke mutters, “I’m so s-sorry. You deserved better in this life.” You hear Annabeth sob from somewhere behind you but you can’t look at anything else but his eyes, not daring to miss another moment of him.

“Can’t be all that bad,” you say with a watery chuckle, wiping his mouth with your thumb. There’s more of a mess now with your feeble efforts but the action comforts you more than him; caring for Luke is something you cannot unlearn. 

“This life gave me you. I don’t want to know anything else. Do you hear me?” 

You want Luke to know this—to understand that even if this is how fate has handled the both of you, there is no other hand you would hold but his.

“You’re my whole life, Trouble.”

“I know, angel. I know. It’s always been me and you.”

You and me, he mouths, an echo of himself left to relay the message as his eyes lose their warmth, empty now and unseeing. And then he's home in your arms again as you hold every broken and bloodied piece of him together until he's no more. The parts of him he leaves behind blur into you, rivulets of his lifeforce weaving through your fingertips even when you put pressure against the knife you both hold, hands cradling the spot under his armpit, and to Percy and Annabeth it looks like you're holding his heart, clutching it between your fingers.

Protecting it until his last beat—when he finally gives it over to you. 

It was always yours, anyway. 

Before, in the in-between, and now after, his heart is yours.

Time stops for Luke Castellan, the man born to die, in the Hall of Gods that day— in the arms of his partner and in the presence of his little sister and truest friend. 

Lips against his ear, no one tries to pull you away, even when the gods of Olympus march in expecting a battle to only find a dead hero and a story that needs to be told.

You’ve never seen him so still before. 

Luke’s always been the one with something to say, hands fidgeting to hold yours. Still, you hold his hand even if he can't feel it, still smile even if he can't see you, still whisper words of devotion even if he can't hear it. By the time you feel your father’s hands on your back and hear Percy say, “We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes,” you imagine that he’s miles away from where he lays motionless, dead weight in your grasp. Nothing can pull you away from the mantra you set to remind him that he’s yours even when he leaves again. Luke’s soul will soon journey where you cannot follow, and you whisper to him in the stillness amidst the noise, “I love you, I love you, I love you…” 

When the Fates come to collect the body, their ancient hands spin around the two of you as they unweave your hold on him. You weren’t given a choice—his material body dissipates in front of your eyes and you swear you feel the tug from deep within your core as you watch them float Luke away. It’s so much different now from when he used to fly around your room with his stupid winged Converse—even the gods avert their eyes when you let out a sob that shakes the ornate hall. Hopelessly you watch, sat down on the marble and unable to move or follow—as if maybe he’d still answer to your sweet nothings, and not leave you hanging once more. You slump against your father’s side, catatonic and at a loss for words—they leave with him, floating away into the distance.

Humanity’s biggest problem and resolution has always been love—this was never a story about the lack thereof.

[august 18th; 12:00 am, death, pre-judgement? — the seven minutes after]

The path that Luke Castellan takes after he dies is most peculiar and unlike any path he’s traveled before. And yes, there have been several times that he’s come close to death—under Ladon’s claws in the Garden of Hesperides, and when he relinquished his physical self by bathing in the River Styx, but neither of those times where he’s cheated his way out can compare to the real thing. 

He once read in one of Annabeth’s textbooks that there are seven minutes of brain activity that wanes in your consciousness before you die. There’s a distinct thrumming in his ears when he comes to, and Luke discovers he’s completely in the dark with no sense of direction and most importantly, no visible way out. The old him, were he still alive—would be panicking by now, short terse breaths and sweat upon his brow. Old Luke would have fidgeting hands and eyes that rocket around for an exit. But this Luke, whoever he is—whatever he is now, finds himself eerily calm. Everything glows in a vignette, and familiar scenes materialize before his vision, a kaleidoscope of color and your shrieking laughter surrounding him in the familiarity of your happiness with him—it feels like lifetimes ago. He realizes he’s smiling. 

Versions of you swirl in the space he stands in, taking up space wherever he can look, wherever he turns—you’re there. 

And he remembers.  

Memory is a choice after all, much like love is. And no one can take that away from Luke Castellan except death itself.

The scene flickers for a moment, eyelashes fluttering against morning light peeking through the windows of Cabin 11.

It’s Luke’s first morning at Camp Half-Blood after the storm that brought him and Annabeth there. You’re standing over him with a half-beaten pillow and a menacing grin that grows as he spits out feathers. It’s his first impression of you, Kool-aid tipped hair and hands shaking with a crushed Redbull can in your other fist.

“Good. You’re still breathing. Wasn’t sure for a sec.”

A voice yells out your name and you make a run for it, barefoot and giggling and looking back at him every few steps—his breath catches in his throat again like how it did on the first day you both met.

The scenery changes and he’s sitting next to you on the dock of Canoe Lake.

“I dare you.”

“No way,” he hears himself say, and then he sees you fling algae at him in ropes, cold and slimy that it makes his voice crack, “He—ey! You’re gonna get us fired and it hasn’t even been a full day since we got the job,” he says, clearing his throat as you bite your lip.

“What’s one last hurrah?”

“You’re always gonna be Trouble, aren’t you?” he says, getting annoyed by the orange fabric that temporarily blinds him. Chuckling, you pull your shorts off and look back at him, eyes glinting in the moonlight and he can’t help but ogle at the rest of you, gulping hard. You catch him staring and he averts his eyes, looking back at the treeline to see if anyone’s come to find you both. A resounding splash echoes in the silence between you and Luke turns back to find your head bobbing visible above the water and not much else.

“I double-dog dare you, Castellan.”

He jumps in.

The dark blue of the water turns into light reflecting the pinks and purples of the sky above Montauk Point at sunset.

“We’re alive! Told you we’d be fine,” you yell, clicking your seatbelt off and jumping out of the car before Luke can even put the hatchback in park. It was his first drive anywhere—you’ve finally graduated from looping around Farm Road.

“Hey wait up!”

He calls out your name, but you’re already kicking up sand as the distance between you grows until he locks up the car and chases after you. You didn’t stand a chance, slipping and sliding in the sand as the son of Hermes quickly grabs you around the waist and throws you over his shoulder as you scream bloody murder. When he sets you down, your arms are looped around his neck and you’re smiling against the pink and tender scar on his cheek.

“Think we can break into the lighthouse before the guards come, angelface?”

The sound of crashing waves turns into chattering cabin counselors and when Luke looks around again, he’s at the Big House, with everyone else pushing their chairs in and walking towards the door. He holds his hand out and you grab it with no words or instruction—like a key nestled within its lock, exactly where it’s meant to be. 

“Last order of business, kind of…” Your dad drones from his spot near the windows. Luke tries to let go of your hand but you don’t let him, “Don’t panic,” you mutter.

“This… fraternization won't become an issue for all of us, will it?”

Everyone’s frozen near the doorway, staring at your intertwined hands. Luke clears his throat and turns toward Mr. D, “I’ll see to it that it doesn’t. Sir.”

You could almost hear a pin drop, and no one knows what to say next—not even Mr. D.

“Yeah, I’ll keep Castellan in line.”

That’s the confirmation everyone was waiting for; a mixture of groans and the clinking of drachma fill the air as Chris holds his hands out and takes his spoils of victory with a charming smirk on his face. Clarisse throws the coins at his head.

“I feel like I should take a bow or something,” Luke snickers into your ear, before placing a kiss against your temple.

You’re still in his arms and still look good in orange, but when he pulls back to look at you again, you’re both hovering above the ground near the dining pavilion. His knees are shaking when his winged Converse flap madly underneath you—a flurry of uncoordinated movement that makes you want to piss yourself.

“You’re lucky I have a strong core, babe,” he grins—and he’s thrilled at the fear on your face as you clutch onto him for dear life, one arm around his abdomen and the other around his neck, both legs latched around his waist.

“I swear to the fucking gods if you drop me, Castellan…”

His right foot jerks in a slightly different direction, making him laugh as you squeak.

“Castellan, huh? That scared, Trouble? Not gonna drop my baby.”

The wind around you whirls like a tornado as Luke tries to show off, getting higher and higher until, “LUKE!”

He catches you by the fingertips again and now there’s sand beneath your feet. You’re still spinning in his arms and his mom is singing along to a song playing on the radio you brought to Westport Beach. May claps lightly and you tug her up with a soft smile, “Come on Miss May! Take your son out for a spin.” Tugging at the damp white t-shirt you wear over your underwear, you take a seat on the picnic blanket and watch them with a smile you haven’t given Luke in years.

“Mother-son dance,” May whispers in his ear, humming a few notes of the wedding march.

He closes his eyes and soaks it all in, slightly swaying.

That thrumming is in his ears again, a steady beat against his chest and he feels it everywhere—a pounding rhythm that cannot be ignored. He opens his eyes and you’re snuggled against each other, tangled beneath the sheets. You’re still asleep and Luke just…watches you before the morning starts (whenever this is) and it all has to end. You’re breathing against his neck, lips slightly agape as warm air brushes his pulse. He moves hair out of your face and you pull him in unconsciously, skin to skin with no atom of space left between you. 

Luke blinks. 

You’re in your college apartment.

He blinks again.

His childhood bedroom.

Again, please.

In Cabin 12.

Please, just one last time.

You’re drooling against his neck in his tiny bunk in Cabin 11 and the noise is getting louder now—a static sound that morphs into the sound of your voice throbbing like a heartbeat, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It’s the last thing he can hear before he has to go.

_ 

“I wanna see your eyes / Is it a crime to say I still need you?” - Adrienne Lenker

[tiramissyoucake]

could you write something for prison mark? he gets no love💔💔

Dunno much about him besides being a sadist freak! Here's him finding reader, CW for unwanted kissing and a little choking, Fem reader:

It was almost comical, the end of the world and it was at the hands of copies of the geekiest loser you knew, you couldn't waste time guessing where they would start causing chaos and got to work; alerting your loved ones, taking safety precautions and packing yourself a bag to head to whatever location public safety officials deemed suitable for shelter.

The TV played in the background as you got your bag and threw a few bottles of water, snacks, flashlights and essentials inside, you could hear a news reporter explain what's happening and a few messy and cut up shots of men who resembled Mark destroying the town, moving too quickly for the eye to witness.

There was a rumbling, silence, and rumbling again, a continued loop as you prepared to head out, making sure you're packed and ready to go— you opened the backdoor and hurried out, phone in hand.

You dialed your parents and siblings when you were inside, your friends messaged you so they didn't need the message, you decided to check in on Mark's family, dialing Debbie's number as you locked the door.

"Hey! It's me, did you see the ne— I mean, of course you saw, fuck- y-yeah! I'm leaving now, I'm heading to the closest shelter.." your keys jingled, refusing to cooperate with you.

A shadow loomed over your head, your eyes were too focused on the keys.

"Wha? Yeah, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?... listen, I'm abo—!!" A gasp caught in your throat as you heard an abrupt landing behind you, one louder than Mark's. "So, you're still alive here." The stranger stood up straight, you had to squint to realize that he wasn't just bald, his skin looked.. burned. you weren't sure if it was from a fire or a chemical disaster. He rolled his shoulder as he approached you. "Sorry I'm late, it's a long trip from Russia, y'know?" He could hear Debbie begging you to answer or continue over the phone, prompting him to snatch it quickly from your hand. "Wh?! hey!! give it back you jerk!!" "Aw, I'm hurt." He dropped it onto the ground, boot crushing it immediately, the voice on the other end immediately died off. "You don't recognize me?" the dots connected that he was a variant of Mark, but he's not your Mark. "a freak from hell version of Mark?!" You regretted your words immediately as his hand shot out to grip your throat and stop you from spewing anymore nonsense, you could feel the battered texture of his skin. "Watch your mouth, if you wanna dish it, I expect you to take it." he looked too happy watching you struggle to breathe, were you some kind of enemy where he came from? Moving you aside, he kicked your backdoor open, the splinters flying as the lock broke easily under the force of his foot. he threw you inside. on one hand you were glad you could finally breathe but the pain spreading at your back was not worth it. he loomed over you as he stepped inside. "Figured we needed some privacy, so let's start over. and I expect you to play nice." As you coughed and glared up at him, he smiled, like he was happy you did. "Yeah, that's what I'm looking for." he shuddered. "you fuckin' hate me, huh?" He dropped on his knees to straddle your waist. "Y'know, you were crazy about me in my world." "you wish." you strained with gritted teeth as he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look up at him properly. "You were so upset when I was thrown to prison, we traveled the whole damn galaxy together." No response, you couldn't as he tightened his grip and examined you. "like some horned up version of Bonnie and Clyde." His breath fanned over your face, he was getting more and more excited as he finally had you in his hands. "Fuck, you even smell just like her." You defiantly grunted, trying to look away as he leaned in. "Stop moving, I know you recognize me. And I know for a fact I'm better than your world's Invincible." His lips pressed to yours forcefully, you couldn't purse your lips in time as he snaked his tongue into your mouth. Mark's hands let go of your jaw to grab your wrists and stop you from shoving at his chest, using his weight and strength to lower you to the floor, murmuring between kisses. "You taste good," as if he wasn't enough of a creep he had to say that. "Probably better than me, huh?" he let out a raspy laugh, self depricating at his current physical state his fingers jabbed into your fists, opening your palms and intertwining your fingers together. "It's like your body knows-" he let out a long hum into another kiss. "like it knows you were mine, how about we ditch this place? huh?" you grunted once more, turning your head away forcefully. "Yeah, keep being difficult." his hands came back to your throat, your own immediately coming to his wrists with a grunt and hiss. "See where that gets you when I turn this town to dust."

[euphorix-moon]

Love Maze

Vi x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Helping Vi realize that she can break out of this loop that's she's in

Warning: Slightly Angsty and slightly out of character

A/n: Arcane season 2 just came out and i'm still reeling from everything, just had to make this cause i was inspired by episode 3 it broke my CaitVi heart

It was just one of those days,

There weren't many days where you would get the house all to yourself to enjoy so you didn't waste the chance to relax when your roommate said she was going out to run some errands.

You were currently enjoying your day re-reading through your favorite book series until you were disturbed by a sudden knock at the door.

You skeptical and slightly annoyed you went to go answer the door. Opening the door is when you came face to face with the pink-haired woman you came to know as Vi. She almost looked slightly surprised to see you at the door but kept her composure

"Is she here ? " Vi asked worriedly

"Hi nice to see you too, but unfortunately your girlfriend isn't here, she went out to do some stuff" you replied

She lightly sighs before saying, "Well if that's the case then I guess I'll wait for her till she gets back. That's fine with you, right ?" She says walking through the door before you can get a response out. You sigh closing the door behind you knowing she would stay and wait either way.

There was an awkward silence between the two of you guys so you took it upon yourself to try and get a conversation going.

"So....what brings you here ?..Is it the same issue again ?"

Vi glares at you but after some time does lightly nods her head to confirm your suspicions. You kept quiet lightly sighing to yourself.

The cycle had become almost predictable at this point: a fight would ignite, Caitlyn would storm off ghosting Vi, and then, a few days later, Vi would return, offering half-hearted apologies that seemed to smooth things over just enough to delay the inevitable crash. Caitlyn never seemed to learn, and neither did Vi. But the truth was, they both were just playing the same tired game, and you wanted all this nonsense to come to an end once and for all.

Here,” you said, slipping behind the counter to make a couple of drinks. “Let’s take the edge off. I’m sure you could use something stronger than water right now.”

Vi didn't argue. She sank down onto the couch, taking a deep breath, clearly exhausted from everything. As you handed her the glass, you kept your tone light, almost casual. "So, how's work? How’s your family? Anything to distract you from… well, everything?"

She gave a weak laugh, taking a sip of her drink. "Work’s fine. Same as usual. Nothing exciting," she muttered, looking down at her hands, clearly distracted. "Family’s... okay. You know how it is, always got something goin on"

You nodded, pretending to listen, but your mind was already working. "Yeah, I get that. But seriously, when’s the last time you actually did something for you, Vi? Like, something that made you feel alive? Not just for Cait, or for your job, but for yourself?"

That was a hook. Vi wasn’t even aware of it. She leaned forward, a little too eager to talk about herself, to talk about anything that didn’t involve the draining mess she was in. She starts going into detail about the many things she's been interested in but never got the chance to due to feeling like she's alway has to balance a thousand things in her life.

"Well if I'm gonna be real honest with you Violet, it sounds like this relationship is just another thing holding you back" you say with sincerity.

"It’s just... it’s not that simple, okay? Violet shot back.

me and her have history. We’ve been through a lot together. And—" she paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "Yeah, things have been tough lately. But we love each other. I know she has her issues, but I really think we can fix this. I don’t want to just... give up on everything we’ve built."

You almost rolled your eyes at the word history—as if that was supposed to make everything else okay.

"Vi," ."You’ve been ‘fixing’ things for months now. You keep telling yourself it’s just a phase, that Cait’s going to change, that things will get better. But they never do. You are stuck in a loop and you can’t keep pretending like nothing’s wrong."

"So, what? You want me to just leave her? After everything? You’re not even trying to help me,You’re supposed to be my friend. You should be supporting me in making this work, not... pushing me away from her!"Vi’s jaw clenched, her chest rising and falling with each breath as if she was holding back.

Her words stung just a little bit but you knew how to respond back. "I am doing this because i care enough to tell you the truth Vi, you deserve so much better than this. Don't let Caitlyn stress you out so much, especially when there's already a lot on your plate".

"You just don't get it. You don’t know what she's like when we’re together,” she says, still feeling obligated to defend her relationship.

"Maybe i don't and i might be wrong about all of this, but all I'm saying is that if you were my girlfriend id be the one coming to apologize and id try to find every possible way to make it up to you." You say leaning closer towards Vi

She sputters trying to find the words to defend herself, every single word unfortunately dying in her throat.

"I’d be the one begging you for another chance after acting like a dumbass. I'd spoil you and not let you do anything till you forgave me" You continued.

The silence that fell between you and Vi after your last words was thick with unspoken things. Vi feels as if her heart is beating out her chest as you continue to close the distance between the two of you guys.

"You do deserve better, Vi," you said, your voice soft but certain. "And when you’re ready, I’ll be here for you. Not just as your friend, but... more than that, if you want. You don’t need Cait to feel loved. I’m not going anywhere."

Vi looked at you, her eyes wide, and in that moment, it was like everything clicked for her

You wanted to kiss her. You wanted to show her that everything she needed wasn’t in Cait. That there was more for her. That she didn’t have to settle.

Just as you leaned forward, your lips barely inches from hers, the door to the room creaked open, and the sudden sound of keys jingling at the front door broke the fragile bubble that had formed between the two of you.

You two quickly back away from each other, moving to the opposite sides of the couch, averting eyes as Caitlyn walks into the room

A/n: Sorry for the cliffhanger and sorry to all the caitvi shippers, i love them too...i just can't pretend that i wouldn't want vi if they broke up fr.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Cruel Summer

no rules in breakable heaven

Pairing: Jaime Tartt x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ - smut(f receiving oral, other implied nonsense, cursing

Word Count: 5.5k

Author’s Note: clearly I’ve gotten caught up in the babygirl wave, my lovely wife @andr0medafallen helped me immensely and I love her. Also I’m just a slutty little virgin so I can’t be held accountable for any inaccuracies

Conversations are swirling around you, music is blasting from a building down the street, you’re keenly aware of the blood pumping in your veins, and you need a goddamn break.

You loved spending time with Keeley, you really did, but it’s hot and muggy outside, and this is the fifth party you’d been to in the past week. Tonight, at least, is with the Richmond boys, and not some friend of a friend of Keeley’s where all you do is stand in the corner and drink by yourself. Keeley, ever the social butterfly, is off chatting with Rebecca and Leslie, giving you the opportunity to focus on not losing your mind.

It’s strange, to feel so simultaneously alive and asleep, and you could swear you can feel the air buzzing in your ears. You simultaneously want to go to bed and to stay awake for the rest of the night, it’s like your mind can’t figure out what it needs.

And then Jamie’s walking over to you and the world comes back into focus.

The two of you aren’t very close, connected mostly through your separate friendships with Keeley, but from what you’ve heard from her and from the internet, he seems to be turning over a new leaf. Though, there was a part of you that enjoyed his bad boy attitude, even when he was a bit of a dick.

Maybe you just had a thing for men who were emotionally unavailable.

“Want me to walk you home?” Jamie says after a few seconds of standing next to each other in silence, shocking you out of your silent appraisal of your surroundings.

“Huh?” Clearly, your brain-mouth connection is taking a while to get up to speed.

“You seem kinda out of it, I know you came with Keeley, figured I should ask if you wanted to leave.”

The kindness of his offer is a little shocking in the way it’s so purely sweet, and again, your brain seems a little slow on the draw.

“I’m alright, I can call a car in a bit,” you tell him, not wanting to drag him away from a fun night just because he saw you acting all mopey and uncomfortable.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind getting outta here,” and then it’s clear to you that his offer is simply an excuse for him to leave the party, and while your heart drops a little you can’t say you blame him.

“What the hell,” you respond anyway, finishing your drink before you turn to follow Jamie out of the party, stopping by Keeley to let her know you’re headed home.

The walk back to your place is mostly silent, the air hanging heavy and thick as you try to figure Jamie out. It’s clear that he’s changed from the first time you’d met him, back when he was only Keeley’s douchebag of a boyfriend, shortly before his stint on reality TV. Now, though, he seems different in some way that you can’t quite puzzle out.

“Wanna come up?” You offer, your heart and your brain in a heated argument over how awful and irresponsible of a decision that is.

“Nah, I’m alright,” he sticks his hands in his pockets and you try not to let your heart sink onto the ground with this cool-guy routine of his.

Still, you thank him for taking you home and head up to your apartment, flicking off your shoes and berating yourself for acting the way you did. Even though you’re an adult, and wanting to sleep with someone doesn’t make you a bad person, there’s a layer of guilt that hangs over your simple question, over your desires.

Maybe it’s because he’s Keeley’s ex, and even though she’s moved on and found her perfect match, girl code says you shouldn’t even look at him. Maybe it’s because as far as you know, he’s an awful person who would treat you like nothing. Or maybe it’s because he’s actually worked on himself and you’re going to self-sabotage anything good that could even possibly happen.

The guilt you taste at the back of your mouth doesn’t change the fact that you want him, though, so you throw a longing glance out your window and are surprised to see Jamie still standing on the street below. As quick as you can in your old building, you unlatch the window and push it open, sticking your head out.

“Change your mind?” You ask, a grin spreading on your face when Jamie jumps at the sound of your voice.

“That ok?” He throws back, looking a little bashful and so unfairly adorable that he makes you a little dizzy. You just nod in response, and he seems to get the message because he disappears from view and a few seconds later, there’s a knock at your door.

Briefly, you wonder if he ran up the stairs.

There’s a part of your brain that keeps screaming about how this is a bad idea, that come morning you’re going to regret this, but you do your best to ignore it as you close the door behind Jamie and press your lips to his. His hands find your waist, settling there with a firm grasp, and you hope you never need oxygen again.

It’s addicting, the way he touches you, the way he kisses you, and you do your best to ignore the alarm bells ringing in your mind that you’re never going to be able to move on from this and instead just enjoy yourself. Moving on autopilot, you find yourself at your bedroom door, and feeling lightheaded you pull away from Jamie and rest your forehead on his.

“Can I?” He breathes against your mouth, fingers grasping the bottom hem of your shirt. You nod enthusiastically, your nose brushing against his. Once your shirt is flung somewhere into the depths of your room, Jamie’s hands settle on your bare ribs.

Pushing every worry you have to the back of your brain, you follow Jamie’s lead and, with his help, pull his shirt over his head as he walks you back towards your bed. Obviously, you’d known he was fit, but seeing him so close, so open to your touch is a whole other feeling. You want to trace his entire body, his scars and bruises and tattoos, first with your hands and then with your mouth.

“This is just a one time thing, yeah?” Jamie asks as your hands settle onto his jaw, trying to bring him in for another kiss.

“Yeah, of course,” you respond, being the cool girl you know you’re meant to be even as you fantasize about hearing the stories behind his tattoos and spending mornings together.

It’s practically impossible for you to keep your hands off of him, every layer removed giving you more of his skin to explore. Jamie, though, seems just as greedy as you are, kissing and touching his way across your body. You feel alive, electric in ways you’ve never felt before. It’s as if every moment you spend with Jamie, he takes up more and more space in your brain, until he’s all you can think about.

Jamie, as he bites that sensitive spot underneath your jaw bone with a grin.

Jamie, as he trails kisses down the center of your body, from your sternum to your belly button.

Jamie, as he moves lower and lower, his hands resting on your inner thighs.

Jamie, he’s all you think about until you can’t think of anything, your mind shut off and your body rewired as you feel like you’re exploding from the inside out.

And then everything comes rushing back in, all the sounds and scents and feelings of your apartment, all the thoughts you’d tried to keep away. You still haven’t said anything, focusing on breathing and not floating away.

“You need water or something?” Jamie asks from his spot on the pillow next to you, watching as your breath continues to heave in and out of your chest.

“This is my place, shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You retort once it feels as if your heart won’t escape your chest.

“There aren’t any rules about who gets water.” You watch as a smirk grows across his face, “Besides, you look like you need it more than me.”

Trying not to give in to his teasing, you hide your face in your hands and groan, “Maybe that means you should have been trying harder.” He shrugs, conceding before he slips off your bed and begins the hunt around for his clothes. You wish you could ask him to stay, even just for a few minutes longer, but instead you shrug on a large t-shirt and walk him to the door.

“See you around,” you offer as you lean in the doorway, Jamie making his way to the stairs.

“Yeah, sure, see ya.” And then you're left all alone again, your brain running wild within your skull, so you make your way back to your bed in the hopes that you can fall asleep and pretend you aren’t regretting all of your life decisions.

The next few times you see Jamie, the two of you talk sparingly, sticking mainly to waves across the room or slightly uncomfortable smiles. And it’s a shame, because you’ve found that you actually enjoy talking to Jamie, but now you’re not so certain you can handle yourself around him.

Even though you know Jamie’s not looking for a relationship, it’s hard not to think about what you’d be like together, if you’d even work out, because in your mind, what’s the point of trying if you know you’re going to fail? Why would you enter into a relationship with someone if you know it couldn’t possibly last?

“Hey,” a voice says from behind, shocking you out of your introspection. You jump, ready to scold whoever snuck up on you when you hear Jamie’s laughter, happy and loose.

“Jesus, Jamie, you scared me to death,” you tell him as his laughter dies down, eyes scanning for anyone watching your interactions. You know that no one cares, that people have casual relationships all the time, but you can’t help but feel like you’d be judged for doing the same.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asks, and you can tell from his voice, from his eyes, from the way he’s holding himself, what he’s really asking you.

“I thought that was a one time thing?” You hide your smile by taking a sip of your drink and delighting in the way Jamie’s cheeks redden.

“What I meant was, it’s just a no-strings-attached thing.”

“I’m flattered,” you tell him, already turning to leave and planning your text to Keeley that you hadn’t felt well and called an Uber to leave early.

Instead of an Uber, though, you find yourself pressed up against Jamie’s car, his hands holding your waist and his tongue down your throat. As much as you loved the attention, you pulled away, placing a gentle hand on his cheek when he tried to follow.

“Someone could see,” you whisper against him, trying to keep an ear out for anyone else leaving the small party at Colin’s house. This seems to bring Jamie back to his senses, though, because he unlocks his car and slips inside, but only after he kisses you one last time.

The drive to his place is short, leaving the two of you sitting in his driveway, no sounds but the noises filtering in through the cracked windows. There’s something about this, about him, that just feels like summer, like late sleepless nights and days spent in bed.

Even though neither of you have spoken about it, you can tell that whatever relationship you have with Jamie ends with the summer. You know this is for the best, knowing that once training and games pick up again he’ll barely have time for friends, let alone any other kind of relationship, but you hate the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. It feels like there’s an expiration date, some dark cloud looming over your sunny day, and it’s making it hard to enjoy the time you do have with Jamie.

You’d never say any of this to him, though, because you’re not even sure if you’re really friends, if this relationship you have is anything beyond physical. It’s not as though you sit around pining after Jamie Tartt all day, but you can’t help but feel left out whenever you see him with his actual friends, as if you’re missing something important about him. The two of you have a surface level connection, and you’re fine with that, you really are, it’s just hard not to get caught up in your own head.

Jamie, though, is doing his best to get rid of seemingly every thought you have, leaning over the center console to kiss you again. It’s cramped and a little awkward and you don’t have any room to move around, but you can’t stop. Eventually, the two of you break apart for long enough to stumble into Jamie’s house and then you’re being pushed backwards to his bedroom.

The realization hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever been to Jamie’s house, and you can’t help but look around his bedroom, taking in all of his choices in decorations and knick-knacks.

“That’s a pretty color,” you say absentmindedly, starting off into his room.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Jamie asks, pulling back from where he’d been sucking a mark onto your chest.

You can’t help but laugh, loud and unrestrained, as you run your fingers through the strands of hair hanging in Jamie’s eyes, giving them a gentle tug. Looking down after you catch your breath, you notice Jamie smiling at you and suddenly you feel too exposed, too open and you want to turn and run and never see him again but instead you use your light grip on his hair to pull him up for a kiss.

There’s a strange feeling deep in your stomach, one that you plan to ignore for as long as you can because it’s distracting you from Jamie. At first, you’d just thought it was the want filling your body, the urge to pull him impossibly close and feel him impossibly deep, but the feeling’s still there hours later as you lie boneless and sleepy.

Jamie’s off getting you some water, even though you never asked for any, and when he returns you’re dozing on his pillow, resisting the urge to snuggle under his sheets.

“You can just stay here tonight, if you want,” Jamie offers, sitting on the other side of the bed and staring off into space before quietly adding, “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Your bed is pretty comfortable,” you reply, thankful that you don’t have to get up and go searching for your clothes.

Instead, Jamie hands you the glass of water and a t-shirt, one that you gratefully slip on before getting under the covers. You fall asleep almost immediately, exhaustion spread throughout your entire body and mind, so you never know that Jamie lies awake almost the whole night, staring at the ceiling and trying not to wake you up or think about how perfect you look while asleep next to him.

When you do wake up, it’s with the sun streaming through the windows and Jamie’s arm slung over your waist. The two of you are impossibly close, both sharing the same pillow despite the size of his bed. It pains you to notice that he’s incredibly adorable when he’s sleeping. Part of you wants to kiss him all over and wake him, but the other just wants to let him sleep forever, watching as he breathes.

Luckily, you don’t need to make that choice, as Jamie’s eyes flutter open and you can see when he realizes just how close the two of you are and he tries to play it smooth but he scoots back to the side he fell asleep on.

“Did you sleep alright?” He asks, and you’re more focused on the scratchy way his voice sounds than the actual question. You just nod, hoping that was the right answer and delighting when he smiles, all soft and sweet and just for you.

You need to leave, get out while you still can before you end up spending the whole day with Jamie, because you know if you stay for a second longer you’re never going to want to leave him. Most of your time together was spent sleeping, but it's already almost impossibly hard to leave him. While you still have your resolve, you slip out of his insanely comfortable bed and go hunting for your clothes. It kills you a little inside when Jamie doesn’t stop you.

“Want me to drive you?” He asks, sitting up and moving to get out of bed and you need to stop yourself from staring at his toned chest, at the shorts low on his hips.

“No, I can just walk, it’s a nice day,” you lie, having no idea what the weather was like but hoping that summer wouldn’t let you down. Jamie nods, settles back into bed, and you could swear your heart physically aches because none of this should be happening.

You shouldn’t even be here in the first place, but here you are not wanting to leave. You shouldn’t be staring at him, with his mussed hair and his tattoos on full display. You shouldn’t have any feelings for him besides physical attraction and the basic feelings of friendship, but you’re starting to worry about that feeling in your belly that just grows and grows every second you spend with Jamie.

“See you around,” you tell him, leaving as quickly as you can before you convince yourself to stay any longer. You wander around London, all turned around and trying to find your flat without thinking of Jamie, while Jamie sits at home and tries not to think of you.

The rest of your day is spent doing meaningless activities, chores and work you’d been putting off for weeks. You wash your sheets and clean your fridge and respond to emails, trying your hardest to keep your mind off Jamie. It’s impossible, and the second you find yourself distracted, your mind wanders right back to him. What you really need is to leave your house, find someplace with blasting music and bodies pressed impossibly close, somewhere that you’ll have no space to think of anything, let alone Jamie.

Lucky for you, Keeley stays busy, always having one event or another she needs to go to and she always lets you tag along. Tonight your mission is to stop thinking of Jamie, even if that doesn’t mean going home with someone else. Just for a few hours, you don’t need him consuming your every thought.

Unfortunately for you, Jamie is always welcome with Keeley and has the same exact plan as you.

The air inside the bar is stifling, as if there’s no air conditioning and no windows, just the thick summer heat. You notice Jamie almost immediately, though it would be impossible not to with his highlights and his beaming smile, like your own personal sun. As much as you try to fight it, you can’t help but wonder if he noticed you at all, if he thinks of you at all when you’re not together.

You’re two drinks deep and you can’t help but think about Jamie, about what he thinks of you. Are you really just someone to fuck, someone who’s attractive enough for him to sleep with you whenever he feels the urge?

You’re three drinks deep and you can’t help but wonder if you could ever be anything more to him, if he’d ever want that. It’s common knowledge that Jamie’s still a little hooked on Keeley, and who could blame him, but are you really just a distraction?

You’re four drinks deep and you can’t stop crying, the tears flowing like rivers as Keeley and Rebecca try their best to comfort you, to calm you down. Eventually, Rebecca calls you a car and Keeley waits with you, ready to leave and make sure you get home safely.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I promise,” you say through your sobs as you sit in the backseat on your way to your apartment, Keeley rubbing up and down your arms in a soothing manner.

“This isn’t about Jamie, is it?” She asks in that kind, understanding voice of hers and it only makes you cry harder.

“I think I love him and it fucking sucks.” Keeley’s hand moves to smooth over your hair as you lean against her, all the fight draining out of your body.

“Babe, just tell him.” You can’t help but shoot her a glare, one that she brushes off with a laugh, “What’s the worst that could happen? He won’t sleep with you anymore?”

Your mouth drops open, shocked to your core that Keeley knew about what the two of you had been doing and your heart breaks a little more because you feel like you’ve just betrayed one of your best friends. Keeley, though, gives you a supportive little squeeze, one that tells you that she isn’t mad at all.

That was one of your favorite things about Keeley, how supportive she is of all of the people she loves, no matter the situation. She’s wise beyond her years and is the kind of person who will go out and get whatever she wants through her own hard work and determination. Keeley is absolutely someone you need on your side, and it hits you just how thankful you are for her and all she does for you.

Here you are, sobbing over a boy, and Keeley does nothing but support you and try to help you calm down. She doesn’t look at you like you’re over-dramatic or crazy and instead is doing her best to fix whatever was making you feel this way.

“Clearly, this whole situation-ship is hurting you, and if he doesn’t want the same things as you, maybe it’s time to let it end,” she finishes with another loving squeeze, just as the car pulls up outside of your building.

The two of you slide out of the car, Keeley offering you her hand as she helps you up to your apartment and you’re left reeling by what she’s said. You didn’t even know you wanted something more until it hit you like a ton of bricks tonight, Jamie consuming your thoughts in all the wrong ways. You know Keeley’s right, that whatever you have going on is only going to hurt you in the long run, so you resolve to tell him everything the next time you see him.

Keeley’s wise words from the car and the glass of water she gave you before she left after confirming no less than ten times that you were okay have you sobering up rather quickly. You’re left feeling embarrassed and exhausted to the bone, wanting nothing more than to lay down in your bed and stay there for the next hundred years, but suddenly there’s a knock at your door and Jamie’s standing outside.

“Keeley let me in, hope that’s ok,” he tells you, seeming slightly uncomfortable and you briefly wonder if it’s because of your puffy eyes and slightly disheveled appearance, embarrassment coursing hot through your blood. “Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Jamie always keeps you on your toes, and though you know this isn’t a big deal, it warms your heart all the same. Jamie Tartt, drama queen footballer and prick reality star, is at your front door to see if you’re ok because you left a bar crying. You’d promised yourself that the next time you saw Jamie, you’d sit him down and talk about your feelings, vowing that you wouldn’t hide them anymore.

But here Jamie is, being all sweet and concerned, and that plan goes out the window. There’s just something about him that makes all the sense leave your body, so instead of having a conversation about your feelings you pull him down by his shoulders and kiss him.

It’s messy and desperate, and even though you’ve sobered up since leaving the bar, your head is spinning and your thoughts are starting to become consumed with Jamie. There’s a weight behind it this time, one that you’re sure the both of you are aware of, because Jamie’s hands are gripping your waist with a bruising force and you barely even pull away from him to breathe.

Both of you know something is going to change.

As you make your way to your bedroom, clothing is thrown down the hallway, a sock here and a shoe there, until you almost trip trying to remove your pants. Luckily for you, though, after what seemed like a miles long walk, you finally reached your bedroom door.

Jamie pushes you gently inside, breaking the kiss but staying close enough to breathe the same air, and he keeps pushing you back until the back of your knees hit the bed and you fall onto it with a sound of surprise. Jamie just smiles, but it’s soft in a way that makes your insides melt and not the cocky smile he has whenever he scores a goal.

You scramble to sit up, to take your shirt off, but your brain shuts off when you see Jamie get on his knees in front of you. More gently than you ever could have imagined, he tugs on the hem of your pants, bringing them down your hips until you need to push off of the bed to get them down the rest of the way. He continues to pull until they slip free of your feet, and by the time he’s standing again you’re throwing yourself upward to kiss him.

There’s just something about him that makes you want to be near him all the time, like a moth to the flame. It doesn’t feel self destructive though, and that’s what scares you. It scares you that you might be hurting yourself without knowing but it scares you more that this might not hurt you at all.

It’s always a little shocking to you just how gentle Jamie is, the soft way he cradles your jaw when he kisses you and the way he runs his hands up and down your back when he can tell everything is starting to get overwhelming. Of course, he can be plenty rough and you have the bite marks on your thighs and the hickeys on your chest to prove it, but it seems like it’s in his nature to be soft with you.

“You sure you wanna do this?” He asks, fingers playing gentling with the hem of your shirt.

“100%,” you reply, and give him a quick kiss to reaffirm your statement. Now, he wastes no time in pulling off your shirt and starting to remove his own clothes. It makes you pause, standing there by the foot of your bed in the process of removing your bra, because suddenly he’s shirtless and it never gets any less surprising despite the many times you’ve been in this situation.

It’s not like your being subtle in your ogling, and Jamie just smirks when he sees you staring. He pushes you back onto the bed, softer this time, and you scoot yourself backwards until your head is resting on the pillows. Jamie joins you, pushing your legs open wider so there's room for him to lay in between them.

Then, you’re almost certain you’ve died and gone to heaven because he’s slipping his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugging them over your hips and down your thighs. You’re absolutely no help, lying there pliant for him to maneuver however he sees fit because you’re fully convinced your brain has stopped working.

It’s a little startling, how well Jamie knows your body. He always knows the right pressure and movement and location to make you see stars, make your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drop open. You’d think that he’d be all bark and no bite, but it’s so clear to you now that he has the skills to back up his attitude.

You have the bite marks to prove it.

Your fingers are itching for something to grab onto, something more substantial than grasping at your bedsheets, so you gently twist Jamie’s hair around your fingers, just enough to ground you, to keep you anchored to your body when you feel like you’re seconds from floating away.

It feels too good, too overwhelming, you’re unable to control any of the sounds that come out of your mouth. Jamie’s hands are gripping, digging into the flesh of your thighs and it stings where his fingernails dig in but it’s so perfect you can’t help the way you whine.

The connection between your brain and your mouth must be severed because you keep babbling away about how good, how perfect everything feels. You’re not thinking at all, only able to focus on the feelings building deep in your belly until Jamie licks at your clit with the perfect amount of pressure and you just fucking lose it. Your mouth drops open and you’re completely unaware of the sounds that come pouring out of your mouth until, “I fucking love you.”

It’s like you’ve been doused in a bucket of ice water and Jamie’s pulling away and you’re fucking terrified and the pleasure that’s been building inside your body is completely replaced with dread. After you feel Jamie pulling back, you turn your gaze from the ceiling down to between your legs where Jamie still lies.

He just grins, looking like sin himself with your slick making his mouth all shiny and glossy. And then he gets right back to work, nipping at your inner thigh before doubling down his attention, working twice as hard and you don’t even remember what you’ve said because you’re thrown headfirst back into the intensity of Jamie’s full skill and attention.

It’s only seconds later when you’re almost certain that you’ve died, feeling like an exploding star as your back arches off the bed and you dig your fingers harder into Jamie’s hair and your mouth falls open again. When you regain your sense of existence, your body feels tingly all over as if the remnants of your orgasm are still coursing through your veins.

Breathing hard, you look down to see Jamie resting his head on one of your thighs, just waiting for you to come down from your high. He places a kiss over one of the marks he made on your inner thigh before he crawls up the bed to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

He disappears after that, and you’re a little worried that he’s left you like this before he comes back a few minutes later, with a glass of water and a plate of snacks. The thought of him trifling through your cupboard makes your heart stutter a little and you’re so overwhelmed with feelings that you can only manage to give him a small smile in thanks.

The two of you sit quietly side by side on your bed, eating the snacks Jamie had brought. He checks in on you again and again, making sure you’re totally comfortable. And then, he clears his throat and shifts around, looking uncomfortable and you can feel your heart rising into your throat, dread gripping at your stomach.

“Are we gonna talk about what you said?” He asks, tracing shapes on the bare skin of your knee as he talks and looks anywhere but your face.

“I think I meant it,” you tell him, feeling as if your whole world is crashing down around you. There are other important things in your life, work and friends and family, but there’s something about Jamie that even after the limited time you’ve had together, the thought of losing him makes you sick to your stomach.

“Good, that’s good to know.” He goes quiet for a moment but his fingers never still in their drawing, “I think so too.”

“Good,” you tell him with a smile, one that he returns and it makes you want to cry because he’s so gorgeous and wonderful and you won’t be losing him after all, there’s a hope for you, a future, and that’s all you need.

You know nothing is certain and there are plenty of things that could go wrong, but you try to bask in the afterglow of what’s been confessed the same way you’d lay in the sunshine. You feel warm and happy and you’re determined to hang onto those feelings, to enjoy the time you spend with Jamie instead of worrying that everything will come crashing down.

There’s just something about him, something that makes your worrying come to a pause whenever you’re with him. He brings you an unexpected sort of peace, one that you vow to enjoy now that you’re not worrying when it will disappear, when he’ll disappear. For once, that feeling in your chest isn’t one of anxiety but one that you’re convinced is love.

You love Jamie Tartt, and that thought isn’t as scary as it once was.

Tags: @andr0medafallen @pazvizslasprincess @scaramou @parcelofbread @lightninginab0ttle @curlypeter @maggiecc @percysaidnever

[bun-z-bakery]

(Repost from my abandoned account) these are just my personal head canons for dogday. this is a survivor au

(All characters are over 18 btw)

-dogday sometimes has dog like tendencies, like growling, barking etc.

-he doesn't remember a lot about his life as a worker but will share stories he remembers of his human life once you two become close.

-man is like a love sick puppy. First you save him? Give him legs? AND a home?! And his friends are here too?! You really are his angel.

-he's very protective of his angel. He can't have anyone take them away or even hurt them. Plus all those years locked away, he can't loose you, you're his hope.

-this man will most certainly plan his confession, script and all. Maybe you're away at work and this is something he's been working on for a while. He's always bringing you little gifts on his hunting trips (depending on if you like to collect rocks and such) but this dude went out of his way to find the best of the best. Even somehow found flowers beautiful enough to almost rival your beauty, keyword: almost.

-he enjoys spending time with you, poppy and kissy, he enjoys playing outside with you three, even if you guys have been out of the factory for years already. They still enjoy the outside world.

-I know bro is huge, like dude is taller than an American door way (according to some measurements fans have made, hes 9'5) if you're a shorty (like me 5 feet even😭) he will most definitely pick you up and carry you like a dogtoy. He likes the feeling of carrying his angel, it gives him a sense of pride doing so. Even if you accidentally hit the ceiling or he needs to really get down so you don't hit the top of the doorframe, he will always apologize or joke about it.

-he's a cuddler, he LOVES cuddling! He has his own giant dog bed in your shared room, but he prefers to sleep on your shared bed. If you're away from work and he's eepy, he'll pass out on your bed because it smells like you. Your scent keeps him at bay until you come home. Poor guy will shoot up and push anyone out of his way to be the first to get to you! He sits there on the floor waiting for his mandatory headpats and kisses as soon as he hears your keys.

-it takes his brain a few minutes to properly turn on. After all those years he finally gets proper sleep, I can imagine you waking up first and getting ready for the day to prepare breakfast for the group and you poke him, trying to wake him. He'll mumble some random stuff about not letting rats do taxes then fall back asleep only to be woken again by your pokes still talking nonsense. I can also see him sometimes waking up confused, you know like when you wake up your parents and they're mad for no reason asking what's wrong while gasping for air? (Just me?) I can see him being THAT dead asleep bhahsha

-my take on the survivor au is more of a modern take (as in yes the factory closed years also but reader is possibly in early to late 20s sometime in 20xx / non specified year) so they weren't an employee but probably knew someone like a family member who worked there or was dared to enter the factory (we'll see if I ever post my fanfic haha as these hcs kinda tie into that story) so dogday being alive in the 80s or 90s he probably has like the old school idea of love and attempts to swoon you as such. The flowers, cheesy pick up lines.

-I can imagine because he's not up to date with the newer terms and he might be confused while trying to seem cool haha. "Angel what does rizzler mean?" (Poor peepaw)

- Personally I love the theory that DogDay is an ex worker aka Rich. Which is probably why he was the leader of the smiling critters. Because he was mature enough to make sure everyone was in line/well behaved, I also think some other workers were turned into the mascots too (obviously) but maybe they trusted Rich more so they just threw him into the dance circle and hope that he'd be a good leader.

- this one ties into the first one btw! I like the think that maybe he was one of the mascots when he worked there. Like a guy in the costume who worked with the kids (hence the zipper, how else would the workers get into the bigger body suits?)

- I like to think DogDay likes when Angel calls him by his old human name. Maybe once he opens up more about his human life (or at least bringing up some of the memories he still has) he just randomly brings up his name when talking about a memory and hearing Angel repeat his name back, he'd probably like hearing it. It might make him feel like less of a monster in a sense. Granted I think he wouldn't care about what Angel calls him but he would most definitely prefer for them to alternate. Like you know when someone makes you mad and you use their real name instead of their nickname? He'd hate for his Angel to get mad, especially at him. But when living with 3 other people it can get a bit hectic.

"DogDay! Did you bring mud into the house?!"

"N-No!... "

*silence*

"RICH, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

*footsteps are heard and DogDay bolts out the door*

- Now this head canon I have can go either one of two ways, right? Hear me out. Listen up, listen carefully, and listen closely. (Lmk if you got that reference) ok so back to the zipper! I think the zipper just opens to his organs tbh like the zipper was just left functional in case he needed to be "repaired internally". BUT another thought, I also can see there being some sort of barrier! You know those stuff animals who have their stuffing blocked by a barrier so it doesn't fall out but the zipper opens to a compartment where you can store items? I kinda think that's whats there tbh, I mean it makes sense. What if one of the kids opened the zipper by mistake? Surely there would be a barrier just in case.

- as I mentioned in the last hc post, I can see him trying to swoon Angel in the old romantic type of way. I can see him pinning after Angel hard, at first they wouldn't get the hint, they'd probably think he's thinks he's indebted to them for rescuing them and giving the 3 of them a better and new life. But quickly they realize bro is in love. Of course poppy teases him about it too at some point lol. He doesn't really try to hide it either. I can see poppy and kissy thinking it's sweet and first then they get annoyed once you're the only thing he talk about lol.

- You're married. That's all! No but I can see in his mind you two are basically married. He'd probably want to have new custom star collars made for both of you or maybe even a ring for you and a matching collar or something for him to wear and propose. Of course it will bother him a bit because he can't go out with you, take you on dates or show you off but he trusts you (even though he gets jealous when you smell like someone else) he basically tries his best with what you guys have (If only there was a holiday that came once a year where you guys could go out dressed in customs without looking like freaks).

- He looks like the type of guy who would love pasta. I'm not sure why or how this even came into mind but I just feel like that's what he often wants for dinner. Poppy would probably eat fruit for dinner, kissy isn't really picky, but Dogday would probably be asking for either pasta or meat. Also I think Angel would be hesitant to feed certain foods to Dogday because you know, he's a dog (not really but hear me out) but because he acts like one at times I could see Angel being like haha nope you can't eat this!

*Angel eating chocolate cookies*

"May I have some?" *cutely pouts*

"I don't want you dying, love."

"You know I'm not actually a dog...right?"

ok ok you got me there" (they just really didn't wanna share lol)

- tbh this is more of a general head canon for the toys but I seeing as they had to resort to c*nnibalism. They clearly need food and water to survive. I think catcap was probably keep Dogday alive as a "lol now look at you now, look at me" (yes that's a BP reference) moment but only feeds him when he felt like it, since food is basically scarce in that place. I think that their human organs were transferred over but little things like veins, teeth, tongue, blood vessels basically anything that's not a major organ was made artificially and connected in a sense to those major organs making them function as such.

Yeah that's kinda it lol, there might be some more parts to this if I can think of anything else! But yeahhh that's kinda my hc and rambles lol (I tend to ramble a lot especially when I have to give context, I apologize!)

[glassica-writes]

Bad Ending

Notes: M!yan sidekick x Gn!reader hero, betrayal, drugging, confinement, mild noncon touching & kissing

That's it. No more of this revenge nonsense, you'll have to come with him regardless.

You noticed from the start, those intense feelings he harbored towards you were anything but mere adoration for a friend. Didn't settle with just being one of your companions, the man was convinced, or rather adamant, that he was the rightful partner you couldn’t live without, and my God did he was determined to prove it at all cost! His investigative skills were instrumental to track down the culprits behind the ruin of your family. The team never had to worry about getting stranded throughout the journey, all thanks to his incredible network introducing you to helpful locals and navigate through cities and underground system. Espionage? Fear not, years of working in palaces taught him enough etiquette of nobles to pass off as one, successfully infiltrated into the enemies’ inner circles.

The man worked, worked, and worked to the bone, hoping that one day you’d recognize how irreplaceable he was to you, accepting his fervent affections at last. He would softly put his lips on your palm, like any gentleman supposed to, congratulating your long-awaited victory over the sunset. The two of you then would enjoy the rest of life together in a countryside, just like how any love story closing with the leads happily ever after.

Pure wistful thinking. Your heart was too consumed in the pit bottom of despair and thirst for vengeance to allow such tenderness a chance blossoming. He thought love could be the thing to regain the happiness and peace back to you, and soon enough learned the bitter truth: his darling needed none of it. You didn’t ask for salvation from a white knight, rather longed for the cruel destruction of one’s own after karma finally bestowed upon your nemesis. Judging by the countless lives unjustly taken under your vindictive blade, this should be a beffiting conclusion for a vengeful hero.

…As if he would’ve allowed it.

Cocky smirk spread across the face as he was looking down on the helpless figure of his beloved. What a sight to behold! You looked delightful laying there on bed, immobilized from that suspicious drink earlier. Eyes hollowed and soulless, you’d given up resisting those touchy fingers caressing every bit of your body (not like you were able to move anyway). Smooches raining on wherever he had his hands, just served to pile up on the sickening emotions making waves inside your heart. Disgusted. Betrayed. In no possible scenarios could you ever predict that it was him, the right-hand man, your first ever teammate, your most trusted ally, would be the one bringing your downfall. Perhaps times spent within the enemies’ quarters had rubbed him off the wrong way, you should’ve never let him penetrate into that rotten den in the first place!

“No sweetie, you get the wrong idea,” he chuckled haughtily, aware of what was going on in your head, “I did not choose those imbeciles over you my love. No one will ever come close to you, that alone I can promise.”

“I’m so tired of waiting. How more are you gonna string me along darling? Is my heart not worth even a second for you to consider? Or are you only keep me around until I’ve offered up all my services, next throw me aside like a useless toy? Why is it so hard to say you love me back?!”

With each questions he grew angrier and more unstable. Pupils tinged a ray of pitch black seemingly like abyss threaten to swallow you whole. To hell with the plan, he couldn’t give a damn about your wish to avenge beloved family. They were no longer alive either way, but his feelings were. They were real, burning the mind of a lovesick man, tormenting him days and nights with frightful ideas of you drifting further away, to somewhere his arms couldn’t reach out. “This madness have to stop,” was what he murmured on the way to inform the villains about a surprise attack from your team that night.

And so, this is the ending of a tragic hero, a disappointing one at that: No justice to clear the name of your household. No noble death to atone for your sins. Forever caged in a twisted love game of one’s very own traitor.

[sciencewife]

Some GLaDOS Thoughts

I’m sure other people have written about this already, but I wish we got more time with GLaDOS after she’s reactivated in Portal 2, while she’s getting her bearings again and fixing up the facility as she has Chell test again. It’s majestic to see the facility slowly being repaired, the dust shaken off its many inner workings and moving parts, and just watching it become alive again, just like GLaDOS. The facility’s waking up with her because now she is the facility.

Maybe that was the case in Portal 1, too, but in a limited sense. GLaDOS was the facility (she says after Chell escapes that she can feel her there, etc), but kind of had one hand tied behind her back. She overcame the cores that the scientists attached to her to try and slow her down, but they were probably still blabbering nonsense and limiting her potential. Much of the facility, too, still appeared as if most of it was constructed by human hands. Which makes sense—Doug moved Chell up the list of test subjects so that she’d be tested and would face (and ultimately destroy) GLaDOS sooner, so even if she could, she didn’t have the time or ability to make the facility truly hers.

To me, the final battle with Chell in Portal 1 ultimately served as this big reset for GLaDOS. She was destroyed, the cores slowing her down were incinerated and the facility was left in ruins for who knows how long until she was reactivated—by the same dangerous mute lunatic who destroyed her in the first place. Naturally, GLaDOS is a little upset, at first. She had to endure a loop of getting destroyed over and over and over again for an unknown (but a VERY long) period of time. Not fun! And the first person she sees is the same woman who’s responsible for putting her through that.

And as she has Chell test while she fixes up the place, GLaDOS is sarcastic, and goes on about how you murdered her, etc, but at the same time she’s just. So happy that she can get back to what she was doing before. Setting up tests, doing science, gathering results… she gets to do what she loves again!!! Most importantly, she does it one on one with her favorite test subject forever and ever, isn’t that great? Now that she’s in charge again they have so much catching up to do <3. Whenever she’s being meanies, I see it as just her being cranky and again, what she had to go through wasn’t fun. Even with that she says she thinks that she and Chell can put their differences behind them!

And just listen to her. She’s soooooooo happy that she’s rebuilding her facility and making it her own, and Chell’s helping her test and do the science she loves. She gets to be in her element at last, no cores weighing her down, no scientists telling her what to do… she gets to be herself and make the facility in the way she sees fit. It’s perfection. It’s beautiful. It’s an extension of her and it is her, if that makes sense. Every panel, every component, its all her, all in sync… Aaaaaaaand then Wheatley shows up, and control of the place is handed over to him, and her hard work for the past couple in-game hours is undone. And towards the end she’s like “Ohhhhh no my facility 🥺 💔”. She’s so sad!! Her beautiful facility is a mess… I just wish we got to see have more time with her before all that. Doing tests and science with glabos with no orb interference, seeing her in her element building tests for the test subject she loves so much.

I do wonder how the game would’ve gone if Wheatley hadn’t interfered. An AU to consider perhaps…

Sorry if this post is kind of rambling (I was writing this at work and kept getting interrupted lol) if I need to clarify anything just send me an ask or something. I love talking about this kind of thing.

[cccakessslicemeee]

+some thoughts but I don't have the time to create a full fic so uh... Here if you like?

Season 3 spoilers??? Yeah read at your own risk

I guess also season 1 spoilers???

--------------------------------------------------------

Y'all think there's a world where Riz takes on so much fucking stress his heart gives out and his mom is the first person to find him home and dead?

Papers all over the place. Kristen's campaign scattered across his desk. No sign of a struggle, lukewarm coffee on the desk. He worked himself to death.

And she just has to have a second to really process what this bullshit friend group is putting her baby through. Are they even his friends? Why is he putting his blood, sweat, and tears into their bullshit? Why can't they step the fuck up?

She has him revived and brings him to a hospital because gods know how long it's been since he's had a real check up. She's fuming.

Riz feels like absolute shit. Sure he's alive but the tension all over is still there and his chest still kinda hurts. Ugh. This sucks.

He doesn't fight with his mom or the doctors he kind of wishes everyone would fucking shut the fuck up. The lights are too bright and everyone's voice is three times higher than it needs to be. Man what level do wizards or whatever get to be able to casts zone of silence?

What follows next is the biggest crash from burnout. It swallows Riz whole and puts him in a functional depression but he doesn't have the energy to do literally anything. He doesn't say a word to his friends about what happened because honestly it's just so fucking dumb. They don't need to know.

Sklonda probably pops off when her and Gorthalax have dinner or whatever. Obviously I don't think she'd bad mouth Fig Infront of her father but boy shitting howdy does she have essays about Fabian and Kristen. Everyone honestly probably has essays to spew about Kristen and her nonsense but regardless.

Gorthalax very subtly tries to mention something to fig but she figures that shit out real quick and oh fuck Riz was so stressed out his heart popped. She goes german shepherd about it and makes a lotta stops at Riz's place. Only to her surprise Riz is not in his business casual. Who the fuck is this guy? It's Riz but he's swimming in sweaters and he looks so tired. He doesn't want her here right now he doesn't feel good.

There's a long pause between the pair before Riz knows that she knows and they both feel so fucking bad.

"I went to bard class today. And I'm gonna go again tomorrow."

"...so you're doing what you're supposed to do? Finally? Congratulations?"

"Yeah...so everyone's at Mordred if you wanna pop over? Lydia made so much chili-you know how she do."

"I do, know she cooks for an army. Thanks for stopping by but I really just want to sleep. Save me some?"

"No promises. You can sleep at the manner with us. No one can get into my room so like if you wanna be left alone you can be alone but with us?"

"I would really appreciate being truly just alone right now. Thanks."

"That sucks. I miss your face. Can I come in?"

"Please don't. Fig I really can't. Please just leave me alone. I don't want to be bothered. "

"Is it because it's me? Because like I could go get Fabian or Adine."

"No. Sometimes people just want to be alone."

"Oh. Okay I get that. Yeah so if you need me I'll just be outside the door."

"Fucking hell-no. NO! I want to be left entirely alone. Please go back to the manner. It's gonna be so weird if you just hover at my door."

"Well it's that or I crash on your couch? Or you come to the manor? "

"Why are you like this?"

"I went shepherded mode. Sorry. I promise to shut up if you let me inside. Please?"

For the first time in his life he thinks about putting a hole in his friends chest. For only a half second. Fig is just being herself and this is how she shows love. By being a clingy pain in the ass. He begrudgingly lets her inside because if he doesn't he'll never get to sleep again. She'll do something about it.

He goes to bed. She watches the fantasy equivalent of legally blonde and whatever else comes across the T.V.

Riz loses the desire to do anything. His clue board looks fucked up but he couldn't care less. His briefcase feels so damn heavy in his hand now, the suits are so damn restrictive and hard to breathe in. The necktie his father gave him feels like a noose now. Ugh. It's too much. He's a bad son whatever, worse agent.

Maybe his dad calls to check in. He was doing a mission wasn't he? He doesn't have the stomach to lie to his dad so he just doesn't pick up. Can't lie if you don't say anything right? He can apologize later when he doesn't feel as shitty.

Riz spends a lot of time in bed doing nothing. It's such a hard pivot and Sklonda has no idea how to handle this. She tries.

Fig tells the bad kids that Riz is in a funk and she blames herself because she's probably the reason his heart popped. When they get the gritty deets I think it ticks something in all their brains collectively and they crack down on the school bullshit. Mainly helping Kristen and Fig through their stuff and Gorgug you can't really do much for him because the teacher hates him but they still try.

Riz doesn't want to do a fucking thing. He just wants to sleep. Fabian sees Riz in a state of being similar to his mom and it's wild. He doesn't know how to handle that.

"Riz if you don't get the fuck up, I'm going to stab you."

"you know where the door is. You can leave."

And Fabian stabs Riz in his side. The goblin frenzy's so hard bc what the fuck man that shit hurts why are you being a huge piece of shit ow! There's blood on my sheets you pompous asshole.

They have a fight. It's more of like a pissed off cat clawing the shit out of its owner and the owner just trying not to lose an eye while lil Tiffany calms the fuck down.

Fabian hog ties Riz and they go to Mordred Manor where Kristen was practicing her campaign speeches Infront of a wide audience of Zayne Dark shadow, Jawbone, Sandra Lynn, Adine, and quite possibly a couple of other spirits just floating about. She's really stepped up her game and even put on a clip on tie! God she's so like, professional now. Maybe she's got a suit on bc she's really fucking trying.

Riz is kind of impressed. Like it's still not good but the effort Kristien is pouring into this still counts for something. And it's better than it was before.

Jawbone probably cheers for her. "Hell yeah, Fetty Wap. ((Who the fuck is that?))" And Adine has to whisper explain it to him.

Sandra Lynn sees something in Riz she can relate to and she doesn't like that. He's so young. He shouldn't be having those feelings. Jawbone clocks it too but doesn't get in the way or dog pile Riz. For now they put him at the table and just try to get him something to eat. No appetite. Go figure. They've seen him inhale food before and three bites (pretty generous honestly) of chili are not enough to fill his belly. There ain't no way.

Adine sees Riz's fucked up foot and she looks to Fabian already knowing what happened. "Did you stab him?"

"it was a friendly stabbing. Thank you. It got him up and out of bed."

And Fabian is also covered in claw marks and several bites

"well I suppose that's true."

Kristen's got it. She heals up Riz's foot and Fabian's everything.

Riz tries to leave after a lil bit but they won't let him. He really wants some space. Everyone's kinda suffocating him in a way where they are trying *not* to be on top of him. It sucks.

Riz does something crazy. He slips off his shoes and socks and climbs out the window getting on the roof just to get away from all the "Riz would you like to..., Riz could you.., Riz come here a second.." he needs to breathe.

When he gets to the rooftop Sandra Lynn is there smoking a clove. "You have a high tolerance." She remarks.

"yeah well... Yeah." He sighs.

"you want me to leave? If you promise not to fling yourself from the rooftop I'll let you have the roof."

"I'm not gonna make Kristen waste her spell slots on me."

That's horribly telling.

"kiddo... What good is a cleric who doesn't heal her friends? That's kinda the whole point of having revivify and greater restoration. Isn't that why YOU ripped a defibrillator off the wall on freshman year?"

His ears bounce. "How do you even know about that?"

She laughs. "Jawbone does not stop talking about you guys. They haven't had the time or the funding to replace that one in the cafeteria you yanked yet he was complaining about it being a safety hazard and I asked who would be dumb enough to rip that thing off the walls."

"Oh. Wow. That feels like a lifetime ago."

"Doesn't it?" She muses. "Hey. I know Jawbone is a lot to some people but if you need to talk to anyone and it's not him he knows a lot of other reputable people."

"why does everyone think that? I'm perfectly fine."

"...Are you? You took your shoes off to climb the manor. It's a pretty long climb."

Frustrated. "Did you know I'd be up here?"

"You think you're the only one who needs a breather? I love my daughters so much but there are times I have to get the fuck away from them. I'd do anything for them. Anything. But sometimes I have to take a puff of a clove and not be near them and their energy. It's not because I don't love them, I wish I could tolerate the nonsense as well as Jawbone does. Truly. But some people have thinner nerves and weaker stomachs."

"it's because of Kristen isn't it?"

She smiles and then shrugs. "It's because of Kristen this time, but mostly because I see myself in Fig and I can do almost nothing to stop her from walking in the same direction I did when I was her age. I think you help her with that, you all do so before I run my mouth all night thank you for making sure my daughter has good friends who love her."

"I know she loves me a lot too. I don't get it with her...nonsense but I know she loves me and that means a lot."

"I have love for you too kiddo. Don't feel like you can't reach out to any of us. Okay?"

"...yeah. thanks."

Sandra Lynn smiles. She ruffles his hair a little bit then goes back inside so Riz can stare at the stars until the sun comes up. Tomorrow is another day.

[lemotmo]

Celebrate good times come on 🎉🎉🎉

Q. Ryan's interview! The stills! What a day to be alive! So much seems to be happening in a single episode. How are they going to fit everything in? I'm so excited I can't stand myself! What are we about to see?!??

A. Haha, I feel this completely. I have deadlines for work, imminent deadlines and everything came to a complete halt yesterday so I could listen to Ryan's interview. Yes, it was filmed in December, but people were already spiraling then, and I am obsessed with how he always knows what people are saying about him and Eddie (seriously what's his Tumblr handle 👀) and uses his interviews as a way to correct the nonsense. I love that he does this. Will it stop the nonsense? Nope because some people are just innately miserable human beings and refuse to acknowledge anything that isn't horrible. And other people are just assholes looking to make other people miserable. So while it won't stop any of those people, he said what he said and they all heard him say it. As for the episode remember that it's a two part episode. So my guess is 8x9 will mostly be Maddie taking the calls from the killer and trying to figure things out while the Buck and Eddie angst plays out alongside it. They're clearly going to fight. Oliver mentioned conflict between characters we don't normally see it with, and Buck in those stills is not a Buck who is going to be able to fake it. Eddie looks not at all pleased in the still from the shelter rescue with Buck and the dog, so Buck likely did a reckless thing. It's also clear from the stills that Eddie doesn't want to go, and is probably unsure of his decision (hello callbacks to him leaving in season 5!). But he's decided he should go so he's probably not going to be receptive to someone voicing his uncertainty out loud, which Buck will most likely do. So they're going to fight. I think Eddie is supposed to leave at the end of 9, so we will see his goodbye to the 118 that we saw in the stills, but the Buddie rain goodbye is for 8x10 so 9 probably ends with Maddie being taken and Eddie deciding to postpone his leaving until they know something more. Which means 8x10 will be Maddie during the abduction and Eddie being there for Buck. That's really the only way you can tell both of those stories at the same time. Because Buck flipping out over Eddie while Maddie (and possibly Jee?) is missing would not be a good look at all so supportive, comforting Eddie is probably what we're going to get in episode 10. Then that leaves their goodbye rain scene as the last scene in episode 10. I don't really see any other way to tell both of those stories within the same episodes. And then HELLO MUTUAL PINNING MY LOVE! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Thank you Nonny!

Yeah I agree with the timeline of 8x09 and 8x10 here. I can see it playing out like this as well.

I'm so excited at this point that I'm feeling like I'm going to vibrate out of my skin. How am I supposed to sleep like this? And I have to wait until Friday to see the new episode, because it airs in the middle of the night and I really do need my sleep to survive my days. 😫

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[lowkeyrobin]

Can I get some Morgie x reader where he's trying to get them to join the VK'S? Like trying his absolute best, but gets a little bit nervous.

yesyesyesyes thank you!!! ; thanks for requesting, hope u enjoy!! ; also sorry this is so short, writers block has been killing me recently :(

MORGIE LE FAY ; join us

summary ; morgie desperately tries to get you to join his (ulianas) vk group

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; reader is allergic to peanuts for the bit

word count ; 637

masterlist

"Hi!"

"...Hi"

Morgie smiles, a little bad with social cues. Uliana shoots him a look from across the room. "Uhm, you're Y/n, right?"

"Yep"

"Uh, would you like to join my- our group? I, we, think you're really cool!"

"I work better solo" you reply. "Thanks though."

You quickly look back down at your paper, scribbling some nonsense onto the page to make him go away. He cracks his knuckle, out of nervous impulse, and quickly scurries back across the room to Uliana.

"So?"

"No"

"Jesus, Morgie."

"I tried!" Morgie defends

"Try harder next time. We need them with us if we're gonna pull this plan off."

"I thought you thought they were cool?"

"They're known to be a backstabber." Uliana rolls her eyes. "One and done job."

"Oh, okay..."

Morgie was not backing down to ask you about joining his group. It wasn't because of Uliana's pressure or Hook's inability for patience, or Maleficent's insistence, or Hades' obnoxious droning. It was because he honestly thought you were the coolest person alive.

He was set on getting you to join them.

He'd made peanut butter cookies for you, trying to now bribe you with food.

He approaches you at lunch, a plastic Tupperware in his hands.

"Hi, I made you cookies. Maybe you could rethink joining me?" He awkwardly chuckles.

You look up at him, slightly confused and annoyed. "What kind?"

"Oh, uh, peanut butter"

You chuckle. "I have one weakness. Peanuts"

His eyes quickly widen. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize, I didn't know-"

"It's fine." You giggle.

"Uhm, why are you sitting alone?"

"Told you. I work better alone"

"Oh, yeah"

Morgie, even after nearly poisoning you, was still not giving up. He didn't care about the weird, swirly feeling in his stomach or the ache in his heart when he thought of you. He wanted you. He needed you.

Over the course of the next week and a half, he'd been leaving little love letters in your locker. You liked them, feeling loved and appreciated, not having to be let down by reality. Anonymity was the great part about it. What wasn't so great was that you almost caught Morgie in the act after he'd left you another note.

Inside the safely sealed envelope rests a piece of paper, on it reading 'meet me outside by merlin's office at 3. hope to see you then ♡ -your secret admirer'

"Christ on a cracker..."

You couldn't make your mind up if you wanted to meet this person later or not. You didn't want to be let down by any internal, high expectations, but at the same time, curiosity nabbed at you desperately.

Once again, at your lunch table, you sit alone. Well, until that weird kid Morgie showed up again. He quickly sits down with you, ignoring your confused look.

"Hi" He awkwardly smiles.

"Hey," you reply nonchalantly, trying to hide the million thoughts wrapping around your brain.

"You busy this afternoon?" He asks.

"Uh, maybe" You shrug. "Why?"

"Just asking"

As the afternoon rolled around, you decided to just man up and go meet your secret admirer. Maybe you just had to think positive, maybe-

"Oh my God."

Morgie smiles and waves, standing under a large oak tree.

"Jesus Christ, are you the person who's been leaving notes in my locker?" You ask, standing a few feet away from him.

He shrugs and nods. "Yeah."

You blink twice, silent as you try to think.

"Look, I just really want you to join my group" He speaks, stepping forward. "You're really cool, and super smart and funny. Just please, please, please, think it over"

You sigh, knowing this boy won't take no for an answer. "Fine. I'll think about it"

"Yes! Thank you!"

"That's not a yes. Don't get your hopes up"

[dontlookbackjeane]

Dominic x Reader : The Rite of Spring

pt.3 to the dominic x dancer reader - pt.one pt.two

this gets lowkey toxic - i don't condone these actions & the real dom would never.

You were looking forward to the drive back from dinner. You had slipped out of your heels on the passenger side, Dominic had the music blaring and you stared out at the clear night sky.

For the first time in weeks, you felt relaxed, the dinner party had gone better than you expected. You didn’t want to get your hopes up but you felt Aleksi was going to choose you for the lead. You were blissfully lost in imagining the future of your career - completely unaware of Dominic’s racing thoughts. 

Dominic gripped the steering wheel tightly. His mind kept flashing to your conversation with Aleksi. How your eyes lit up when Aleksi spoke, how you had leaned in eagerly, hanging onto his every word. You were more alive with Aleksi tonight than you've been in weeks with him.

"You know," Dominic starts as he turns off the music. "I think Eleanor was trying to get my attention tonight."

“Eleanor?” you repeated. You assumed this was going to be about a fan interaction. You were surprised, she rarely played modern music in the changing rooms.

"Yeah," he said. "She kept looking over at me, you know? And when you walked away with Aleksi, she… implied things.”

“What did she imply?” You asked, half-amused. You trusted Dominic. And besides, Eleanor was essentially a coworker. She was bold but surely not enough to try something and face you on a regular basis.

“She said if you’d get the lead, you’d be working late. And the way she was saying it… like I guess, she’d be free for me,” he shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Oh,” you spoke quietly, trying to process the moment. It became clear if you were to get the lead over her, she had plans to retaliate. You felt jealously creeping up, the quiet, gnawing anger that had been festering since you’d met the bitch.

“And you know, obviously I didn’t say shit back to her.”

“You didn’t say anything?” You found that hard to believe. “Not even a hey I’m here with my girlfriend so kindly fuck off?” 

“Nope,” he said breaking into a smile. “I didn’t say a thing to her, just handed her my number and our address.” 

You shot him the most annoyed side-eye at his dumb joke. “That’s hilarious,” you said sarcastically. 

“You didn’t seem too bothered by it at dinner,” he mumbled. “Too busy with that prick.” He hadn’t meant to sound so accusatory but he was struggling to repress all the jealousy.

"Aleksi is the director, Dom. I don't have control over that." You felt disrespected by his implied accusation but you didn't want to fight over something so nonsensical. You sought to quickly dismiss the topic. “And Eleanor is just being Eleanor.“

“I know you want this role but you’re letting it… consume you,” He spoke quietly with frustration. “It’s all you talk about. I don’t know, it makes me feel like I'm not even in the picture anymore.”

You understood his grievances, more often it was you dealing with the frustrations of dating an artist. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re not important, Dominic. I love you,” your tone softened.

“I know,” Dominic sighed. “I love you, too.”

“I didn’t expect us to ever have this problem,” you shared honestly. “I thought we had an unspoken understanding about our careers. I’ve never complained when you have to lock yourself away to write or go sign a hundred autographs for a crowd full of girls.” 

“I’m not complaining,” Dominic shot back, his voice defensive again. 

“I don’t mean it like that-“

“I’m trying not to bottle things up, y/n. I want some clarity here. I don’t know what’s going on with you,” he interrupts. 

“Nothing is going on” you exclaimed. Truthfully, you were beginning to feel irritated. You've always put your emotions aside to support his career. But suddenly now that your career was potentially on the rise, it seemed like he couldn't handle it.

“I don’t want to only be known as some musician’s fucking girlfriend," you explained. "God knows how long that’ll even last.”

Dominic felt a flash of rage. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. Without thinking, he suddenly pulled to the side of the road, hitting the brakes. Your body jerked forward, you held your arms out to stop yourself from smashing into the glove compartment. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I don’t know anymore!” Dominic shouted. He leaned back in his seat, his head spinning, his pulse pounding. He knew he was in the wrong but something in him couldn’t stop. Maybe it was the alcohol or the fact he’d never felt such anger towards you before. For a moment, you both sat in silence, breathing heavily.

"This is insane," you whispered mostly to yourself.

“Insane?” He laughed bitterly. “What's insane is you spending weeks running around to impress a guy who can’t even make up his mind about you."

"He's my fucking director" You snapped. "Should I drop my career because you're insecure?"

"No, why the fuck would you do that when God knows how long it's going to last anyways," he spits out as he slams his fist against the wheel.

You were in shock at how angry he was becoming. He looked over at you, his gaze meeting yours. Your expression unfamiliar, your eyes wide with a flash of something. He couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear. Or maybe guilt? But the knot in his chest twisted tighter.

"This is ridiculous, you know I don't care about Aleksi," you tried to reassure him. You needed him to calm down. "He's not..." You trailed off not knowing what more you could say to convince Dominic.

"He's not what?" He demanded. “Not into you? He’s just the director. I get it. But don’t play it off like I'm insecure, he clearly has a hold on you. And he clearly gets off on it.”

He couldn’t think straight. It wasn't solely about Aleksi, he felt you'd been slipping away for weeks. All the emotions that had been building - the loneliness, the worry, the insecurities - it was all coming down at once.

"Just stop," you sighed, you were exhausted. You didn't want this fight, there was no favourable outcome. Aleksi was your director whether your boyfriend liked it or not. You couldn't handle the thought of your career becoming a reoccurring point of tension.

"No one should be a problem in our relationship. I only want you," you promised, your tone gentle. You reached for his hand. You needed him to calm down.

He didn’t say anything, just sat there, letting you hold onto his hand, taking in your words. Then to your surprise, he leaned in to kiss you. After a moment, he pulled back, taking a deep breath, the jealously and anger simmering down. To your relief, his hand slipped out yours as he leaned forward to start the engine.

As he drove back onto the road, you both sat in silence. The tension hadn't vanished but it didn't feel as heavy.

"You’re going to get the part, aren’t you?" he asked after some time had passed.

"I don't know until Thursday," you answered honestly. All of a sudden the thought of getting the role you'd been dreaming about made your stomach drop.

[kibblbread]

TRANSFORMERS ONE BLURB — OPTIMUS PRIME X MEGATRON

Based off my tf one alt clock fic! You don’t have to go back and read the other post but it will give some insight to how I envision how they got to this point.

This is a decent time jump btw from current events and closer to the time of where my fanfic takes place tho. Also excuse the writing, the last fic i wrote for the transformers fandom was when i was 14… im in my early twenties 😭

ty for reading and support the official release, i want a sequel pls

🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Optimus looked up at Megatron with half lidded eyes. He was deciding whether or not to wake the sleeping titan of a bot. It’s been awhile since they’d gotten any alone time since the recent quintesson strike.

The dust was finally beginning to settle though.

High-Guard has always been more than effective with ridding Cybertron of hostile forces since Sentinels fall. With Megatron earning back the trust of not only the citizens, but Optimus’ as well, he was able to easily climb rank to first lieutenant of the Cybertronian Defense Corps and become official commanding officer of High-Guard. Megatron is a protector, and has been actively putting the safety of homeworld before his needs.. even if it means grinding his gears down to scrap.

Optimus was tired, yes. He fights against quintessons and isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty just like his friends and colleagues, but, there’s no doubt that most of a Primes work is done in accordance to his people’s needs. And right now that need is diplomacy, organizing society, & supervising the rebirth of a nation. Ultimately, Prime’s job is mostly relegated to delegation as of now.

Megatron however, doesn’t have the luxury of talking things out. He’s not just tired, he’s completely exhausted. Constantly having to fight on the frontline and keep the enemy at bay was wearing on him in a way that was downright worrisome. The guy has never been good at hiding his feelings either, sincerity is just his nature. Don’t get it twisted though, Megatron’s essence is that of a warrior, a gladiator. It’s what’s kept him alive to outmatch all his opponents again and again, but also what makes his lover so anxious.

Optimus pressed his palm to the center of Megatron’s chassis.

The young Prime took a moment to think a second longer, ‘I shouldn’t be selfish.’ He let his hand fall gently from Megatron’s chest.

“You don’t wanna tell me about your day?”

Optimus snapped his head up to met Megatron’s heavily lidded bright red eyes. “You- …Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to-“

“No, I was-” Megatron yawned between words “I was waiting for you.” A tired smile appeared on his face, it was playful looking as his eyes were still squinted into happy beams of red.

Optimus gave a subtle breathy chuckle “In your stasis chamber?” His arms crossed over his chest.

“Uhhhm, well clearly- I uh..”

Optimus raised a brow knowingly.

“Yeah I fell asleep. You caught me, Prime.” Megatron stepped out of his pod and Optimus naturally backed away just enough to make room for his larger frame.

Ever since taking on an aircraft transformation, Megatron looks down at him. It was initially a weird adjustment, but a welcomed one all the same. Optimus allowed himself to be enveloped by large limbs, and embraced gently.

“I missed you.” Megatron kissed the top of his lovers helm “Like, a lot actually, I feel like we never see each other anymore… It’s not fair.”

Optimus stayed quiet. Keeping his head tucked under Megatron’s chin, he loved listening to him. From complaining, to nonsensical ramblings, nearly any and everything over time became more and more melodic. Shifting the weight of them both, Megatron leaned against the doors of his stasis chamber while continuing to hold Optimus.

“I wish we could just have a day, just one day alone together.” This time Optimus yawned, “Oh sorry, is my yearning for your undivided attention boring you?” Megatron asked sarcastically.

Optimus half chuckled and half hummed to himself as he rubbed an eye. “Don’t be such a glitch, Mega, besides you fell asleep first.” The bot negged playfully.

“Tch, you’re the glitch.” Megatron subtly opened his stasis pod again and pulled Optimus in alongside himself. “And now you’re trapped.” The silver bot smirked to himself.

“Trapped definitely insinuates this isn’t something I enjoy… I’m immensely enjoying this by the way.”

“Uh huh.” Megatron rolled his red optics. They were dimmed as he began feeling the effects of the pod working.

They both started to doze off.

Optimus however, after a couple of moments opened his eyes just enough to gauge where Megaton’s hand was. He grabbed it without second thought right as he felt his free hand being caressed.

Optimus smiled to himself and rested his against the top of Megaton’s chest as they intertwined their fingers.

“Yeah, I missed you too.”

[bucktommy-much]

But I'll build a house out of the mess (and all the broken pieces)

Chapter 1

pairing: bucktommy

word count: 4 k

summary:

He gets drunk off his ass, alone in a dirty and dark dive bar somewhere in Orange County. He sleeps in the back seat of his car, with Tommy’s old jacket as a blanket and the familiar smell as a lullaby. He has never felt so alone in his life. On his way back home, he begins to think of the plan. He can’t go on like this. He physically cannot take it anymore. He does his best to ignore the tears that blur the road in front of him. He does his best not to dream of driving straight into the highway divider full speed.

Buck stares at the envelope in front of him with tears in his eyes. He doesn’t want to touch it. He doesn’t want to have it. He hates, with every fibre of his being, that he needs to open it. He has never felt so much dread before. He takes a breath. He knows what this means.

***

They’re smiling too wide for the kiss to account for anything. Their foreheads are pressed together, and Tommy is looking him deep in the eyes with so much love and affection that he feels warm all over. He has never felt this safe before.

“I had fun tonight. We should do it again some time.” Buck bites on his bottom lip to try to contain his smile. It doesn’t work.

“Does Friday at seven work for you? I can come pick you up.” Tommy once again gives him a full-body once over and raises his eyebrows in that fun, flirty and carefree expression that Buck loves so much. He can’t wait until Friday.

“Yeah. Yeah, Friday works. What should I wear?”

“Evan, you would look beautiful in a trash bag. Don’t worry about it.”

Buck doesn’t.

***

The house is dark when he comes home. The only light he can see from the front door comes from the bathroom, but there are no sounds to go along with it. The bathroom door is not closed all the way. Buck knows what he will find once he gets there. He sighs.

He takes a minute to drop off his work bag in the laundry room and drink a glass of water. He checks the fridge to see if Tommy ate any of the leftovers that Buck prepared for him last night. Every container is in its place, with all the sticky note labels left untouched. Tommy wasn’t here today. Buck sighs again.

He slowly makes his way down the hall towards the bathroom. He really doesn’t want to confirm what he thinks he will find there, but there is no way around it. He opens the bathroom door all the way.

The smell of booze and vomit is the first thing that hits him. He doesn’t let it faze him, he was ready for it. He braces himself and looks around the room. Tommy is on the floor by the toilet, out like a light, with only the slow rise and fall of his torso to prove that he’s even still alive. Buck sighs for the third time.

He takes a minute to compose himself before reaching out and lifting Tommy from the floor. Quiet, nonsensical mumbling is all he gets in response. He takes care not to jostle Tommy too much and not hit his head against anything in the tiny room. Slowly, he carries Tommy’s unconscious body to the bedroom.

He drops him off on the bed and carefully removes the vomit-covered hoodie from his body. He leaves the pants where they are because he just doesn’t have it in him to care anymore. He wraps Tommy up in their comforter and gives him a long, drawn-out kiss on the forehead. He misses him so much.

He is just so tired.

***

“What do you mean you’ve never baked cookies before? You’re telling me you haven’t had a single warm, homemade, delicious cookie in your entire life?” Buck knows he sounds incredulous, but he just can’t quite believe it. The man he loves so much has never had a good cookie. Buck wants to find Tommy’s parents and hunt them for sport.

“Evan, it’s okay. I know your cookies are way better than the store-bought stuff. You don’t have to convince me.” Tommy is pressed against his back, with his arms wrapped around Buck’s waist, and speaking directly into Buck’s neck. He sounds almost sleepy. Buck supposes it’s fair, he just came off a 24-hour shift with almost double the usual call volume. It still doesn’t excuse the fact that he doesn’t know what a good cookie tastes like.

“Tommy, darling, light of my life. This is absolutely unacceptable. I can’t let you go on like this. This is not a good life that you deserve.” Buck wiggles out of Tommy’s hold and grabs his hand to pull him towards the kitchen. “We are fixing it right now. This is non-negotiable. You need to expand your horizons, love, I promise it will be worth it!”

Tommy smiles to himself as he follows after Buck into the kitchen.

***

Tommy silently holds up a piece of paper in front of Buck’s face. It takes a second for Buck to realize Tommy wants him to read it. He puts his book down.

“What do you mean you got a DUI? Do you know what this means for your career?!” Buck actually can’t believe what he is reading. Tommy was always so caring and careful, so thoughtful in the way he interacted with the world. The Tommy Buck knows would never jeopardize someone’s health and safety like this. The Tommy Buck loves would never drive drunk.

Just as silently, Tommy takes the paper out of Buck’s hands and steps away from the couch. His face is blank and emotionless, and his entire body is turned inward, like he is trying to appear smaller. He doesn’t look back at Buck as he leaves the room.

Buck can feel the tears coming up. He feels helpless. Worthless. Dirty and lost. He feels so much and yet so little. He catches the first sob before it can leave his mouth. He feels devastated. He is losing Tommy, and there is nothing he can do.

***

The blanket underneath them is warm and fuzzy. Buck can still taste the sweetness of the cheesecake they just shared. The comfort of Tommy’s hand in his own is grounding against the happiness Buck feels that makes him almost floaty. He turns his head to the side.

“You’re actually so beautiful. It’s almost criminal. I think someone should lock you up for how pretty your face is.”

“You’re the one to talk, Evan. Have you seen yourself lately?” Tommy also turns his head from the sky towards Buck, and he brings their interlocked hands up to his mouth to kiss Buck’s knuckles. The butterflies in Buck’s stomach almost make him nauseous.

Buck feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s just him and Tommy, and their warm fuzzy blanket, covered by the dome of stars and moonlight. It might be the wine talking, but Buck feels like he could spend the rest of his life in this little corner they found for themselves without moving and he would be happy.

***

Buck looks around the room and tries his best to recognize the house he is in. There are piles of washed and unwashed laundry mixed together in every corner. There are so many empty bottles. A thin layer of dust covers every surface, and the air he breathes in feels heavy. He doesn’t know where Tommy is, Tommy stopped telling him where he was headed months ago. He doesn’t know if he should stay up waiting or give up and get some rest.

He knows he won’t be able to fall asleep until he feels the familiar warmth of Tommy’s arms wrapped around him.

The kitchen sink is overflowing with dirty dishes, and there is no empty space on the counters anymore. Buck considers turning on the music but decides not to. He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

He is tired. He is just so very tired.

***

“DId you know endometriosis can cause pneumothorax?” Buck knows that talking with his mouth full is bad etiquette, but he has been bursting with desire to share the information ever since he found out.

“I’m not sure I follow the logic. How can extra tissue around the uterus cause a collapsed lung?” Tommy, like a polite gentleman he is, makes sure to ask his question before he takes a bite out of his own sandwich.

Buck swallows before responding.

“It’s called catamenial pneumothorax and it’s like. Super rare.” He takes a sip of his very self-indulgent chocolate milkshake. “No one knows why it happens, but the link between endometriosis and pneumo was proven a long time ago.”

Buck looks up when he feels Tommy’s hand on his face.

“You got a bit of salad dressing around your mouth.” Tommy is very gentle when he wipes it off with his thumb. “That’s better.”

“Thanks. Anyway, I’m so glad I don’t have a uterus.”

“Me too, dear. Me too.”

***

They’re in the living room together for the first time in weeks. Tommy is curled up on the other side of the couch, silently looking at the floor. The TV is playing some stupid procedural that neither of them are paying attention to. The lights are off, and the house is otherwise silent.

“Please, Tommy.” Buck’s voice shakes like an autumn leaf. “Therapy is a thing. There is help out there, there are people out there who are rooting for you. You- you just have to be open to it.” There are tears in his eyes. This is the fourth time this week that they are having this conversation. This monologue. Tommy doesn’t look up.

Buck slowly gets up from the couch. He wipes his nose with the sleeve of the stolen hoodie that feels like the last bit of comfort he will ever get. He sniffs, looks at Tommy’s hunched frame. He begs for Tommy to look at him. Silence is all he gets in response.

***

“Do you ever think of what your future husband is doing?” Buck does his best to juggle the phone pressed to his ear and all the grocery bags he just took out of the trunk. He locks the car and makes his way across the street towards his building.

“I don’t know. What are you doing right now?” Tommy sounds playful, but there is an undercurrent of seriousness in his voice. His voice is joking, but Buck can tell he means it.

“You smooth fucker. I was planning on making Spanish rice for dinner, but now I’m on my way to your place, where I can explain to you in detail exactly what I’m doing.”

“I’m looking forward to that. I will leave the door unlocked. Love you.”

The line disconnects and Buck takes a second to breathe. He loves him too. So much.

***

He finds Tommy at the kitchen table, sitting up for once, with a half-finished bottle of whiskey in front of him. Tommy’s face is closed-off and emotionless. He is moving the glass in his hand from left to right in some sort of rhythmical motion. He doesn’t look up when Buck steps into the room.

“I take it your day did not go as planned.” Tommy was supposed to go out for a walk today to clear his head. He was supposed to take in the nature and maybe pet a dog or two. He clearly did none of those things.

Tommy just hums in response and reaches out to get himself more whiskey. Buck takes the bottle away from him and immediately pours the rest of it in the kitchen sink. Tommy makes a quiet, sad sort of noise but doesn’t protest.

“Have you thought about therapy at all? We could get you on some medications to help with the healing process.” Buck is desperately grasping at straws at this point. “You could talk to Bobby, he would be totally happy to help you.”

Tommy looks down on the counter in front of him. He doesn’t acknowledge if he even heard what Buck just said. Buck takes note of how much weight he has lost in the last few weeks. His already defined jawline looks sharp enough to cut glass. His cheeks and eyes are sunken in, void of their usual colors. He has a patchy beard that seems to never go away these days. The lines around his eyes look deeper. Darker.

“Please, Tommy. We can’t live like this.”

Buck is not surprised when silence is all he hears.

***

Buck is sweaty in places he didn’t know could sweat. He doesn’t want to know how bad the socks on his feet are by this point. The tank top he is wearing clings to his entire back in a pool of sweat and heat. He looks, smells, and feels disgusting.

“I think that was the last of the boxes. Remind me whose idea it was to move in in the middle of the summer again?” Tommy is not doing much better in the sweat department, but unlike his own body, Buck finds the shine on the visible part of Tommy’s chest hot as fuck. He takes a second to appreciate the view.

“I’m pretty sure the exact words you said to me were ‘Let’s do it. As soon as humanly possible. I want you in my house yesterday, sweetheart,’ but I could be wrong. This is all your fault.” Buck bends down to grab the water bottle he left by the stairs to the patio. The water got hideously warm by this point, but he couldn't care less.

Tommy steps up to stand close to him.

“But aren’t you glad you’re here now?” He gets up on his toes to kiss the top of Buck’s head, and then presses even closer to kiss his birthmark. “Don’t know about you, but I am really looking forward to waking up with you tomorrow morning.”

Buck smiles. He is looking forward to that too.

***

He gets drunk off his ass, alone in a dirty and dark dive bar somewhere in Orange County. He sleeps in the back seat of his car, with Tommy’s old jacket as a blanket and the familiar smell as a lullaby. He has never felt so alone in his life.

He wakes up to 3% left of his phone battery and a single text from Tommy that reads “?”.

No missed calls. No other words.

On his way back home, he begins to think of the plan. He can’t go on like this. He physically cannot take it anymore. He does his best to ignore the tears that blur the road in front of him. He does his best not to dream of driving straight into the highway divider full speed.

***

They’re in the shower together, getting ready for their respective shifts, and Buck pauses the process of lathering up the shampoo in Tommy’s curls to ask a very important question.

“So… What is your favorite dinosaur?”

“Oh, that’s a tough one. I don’t think anyone asked for my favorite dinosaur in the last thirty-five years or so.”

“Tommy. Tommy. This is very important. There is a right answer to that question, and you are being tested right now. I need you to pass, or this whole relationship is ruined.”

“Well in that case… Technically it’s not a dinosaur. But it is a reptile.”

“I’ll allow it, but you are on thin ice, dear.”

“They’re called quetzalcoatlus. They’re the-”

“Biggest thing to ever fly!” They finish the sentence together, and Buck jumps up excitedly. He immediately regrets it when he slips and almost falls face first, but Tommy is there to catch him.

They end up with their chests pressed together, faces inches apart, both warm and soapy.

“Did I pass?” Tommy’s voice is lower and rougher than just seconds before. Buck suddenly feels so hungry.

“I’ll think about it. Give me five.” He slowly gets down on his knees. The distinction between prehistoric reptiles and dinosaurs is the last thing he is worried about right now.

***

He looks at the man in front of him. The man he loves so much it hurts. The man who owns his entire heart, his very soul. The man who is sinking, and dragging Buck along.

He doesn’t remember when it started. When the crack in Tommy’s psyche got so deep and dangerous. When they lost the connection they used to have. He doesn’t remember when it started, but he can see so clearly when and how it will end.

***

It’s their first anniversary, and Buck is more nervous than he’s even been. Tommy will be home in less than an hour, and he just burned their dinner. He can feel the beginnings of a panic attack building up, and he doesn’t know what to do. He takes a breath. Then another one.

The casserole is absolutely not salvageable. All he has now is the layer cake he made for dessert and the fancy wine he got from Karen. He doesn’t know what to do.

He takes out his phone.

“Hey-hey, Bobby. Are you… are you busy r-right now?”

“Hey, kid. I have a few minutes if you need me. You sound off, is everything okay?” Buck hates how transparent he is. He hates that Bobby can tell he is nervous immediately. He wishes they didn’t need this conversation, but he is completely out of options.

“I was… I was making dinner for the- for the anniversary, which is today, and it’s- it’s very important, right? And I made this fancy cake with the new frosting recipe, which I greatly recommend, by the way, and I got the- the wine in the fridge to be ready, and… and I tried to… Tried to-”

Buck cannot breathe.

“Easy, kid. Take a breath, count to four with me. You’re okay. One… I’m with you. Two. Hold it. Three. Almost made it… Four. Breathe out.” Buck lets out a shaky breath. He focuses all of his attention on Bobby’s voice. “Alright. Now. Tell me what it is that you tried to do.”

“I tried to- tried to make the casserole you… You showed me last week. The flavor combination was great, and it wasn’t very heavy so there would still be space for- for dessert. I wanted that. So I tried m-making it, and I fucking burned it. Bobby, it’s completely ruined! And Tommy will be back in- in less than an hour, and there is no time, and I don’t know what to do, and I feel like a- a complete failure! This is all my fault, and I should’ve nev-”

“Buck. Easy. Take another breath. You’re okay. Do we need to count to four again?”

“N-no, no, I’m… I’m good.”

“I promise you, you have nothing to worry about. Tommy has heart eyes the size of Jupiter when he looks at you. You could serve him the dirt from your backyard and he would thank you. The man is so far gone for you it’s almost funny.” Bobby pauses, and Buck can hear him say something softly. He’s probably talking to Athena. “Tell you what. How about you order a nice, big pizza for dinner tonight, and on Sunday you’ll come in a few minutes early so I can show you the casserole again. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great, Cap. Will do. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it. Happy anniversary, Buck.”

***

He takes the stack of papers out of the envelope. He reads each one through the tears. It takes him way longer than it should. A part of him wants to go out back and burn them to a crisp. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to.

Slowly, he brings his pen down to the pages. He signs and dates each line that asks for it. The tears are streaming down his face freely now, and all his signatures are weird and wobbly. He barely recognizes his own handwriting.

***

It’s their usual weekly date night, and today they decide to stay in and rot on the couch together. Both of them had an insane week so far, with hours and hours of overtime and the calls getting crazier and crazier with every day. Buck can feel the leftover tension finally leaving his body as he leans against Tommy’s chest and hides his face in the crook of his neck.

Tommy takes his time to slowly and gently work out every knot in Buck’s curls. He ends the process with a nice long kiss on the birthmark. He goes down, kissing both of Buck’s eyelids, then his cheeks, then his chin. He goes higher again and kisses the tip of his nose. Buck can feel his entire face scrunch up with a smile.

“Stop it. You’re being silly.”

“We could both use a little silly today, don’t you think?”

Instead of replying, Buck reaches up to finally kiss Tommy’s mouth. It’s soft and gentle, with barely any tongue. They’re not trying to get anywhere with it, they’re just enjoying the journey. After a few minutes, Tommy leans back and pokes Buck in the belly as he stands up.

“Wait here. I got something for you.”

“Why, though? Did I forget something important? I totally did, didn’t I?” Buck hugs himself to keep some of the comfort that is quickly leaving his body.

“You didn’t forget anything, sweetheart. You’re okay. This is just a little surprise I got for you a few weeks ago. Just wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.” Tommy’s voice is soft and gentle. It’s impossible not to listen to him.

Buck relaxes until he hears the returning footsteps in the hallway. He actually feels excited.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now. Pretty much ever since you got me that god-awful coffee on our second not-date. I saw your smile, and your bravery, and your selflessness, and thought: I need to keep him. I gotta keep him for myself.” Tommy is back, but instead of sitting back down on the couch he’s in the middle of the room, slowly lowering himself on one knee. Buck stops breathing entirely. “Evan, you’re incredible. You’re one of a kind. You’re loving and lovely, you’re sweet, you’re strong. You’re perfect in every way that counts. Here, tonight, I have just one question for you.”

“Yes.” Buck can feel the tears gathering in his eyes. He lowers himself to the floor so he is the same eye level as Tommy. He reaches for Tommy’s hand hidden in the pocket of his sweats. “Yes, Tommy. I’m saying yes.”

“You didn’t let me ask. I need you to let me ask, love.”

“Do it quicker, before I lose it.”

“Evan. Love of my life. Sweetheart. Will you marry me?”

Evan doesn’t answer. He just tumbles forward and tackles Tommy and the ring he just took out of his pocket to the floor. He doesn’t care about the tears and snot coming down his face. He grabs Tommy’s cheeks with both hands and kisses him on the mouth like a man starving. He presses his body as close to Tommy’s as he can, trying to disappear inside his ribcage. He separates their mouths for just a second, pressing their foreheads together.

“Yes. Yes. I’m saying yes.”

His voice sounds broken, but he could not feel any more healed. He sends a prayer of thanks to every higher being he can think of. He feels like the luckiest man to ever walk the Earth. He has never been so happy.

***

Tommy silently takes the pen he is offered. His face is stoic, but some kind of deep, desperate sadness is still deep inside his eyes. Just as silently he signs all the papers right next to Buck. He doesn’t look up when he’s done.

Buck feels like he might be sick. He stares at the papers in between them. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this!

But the papers stare back at him, unblinking. Careless. Soulless. Signed by both of them.

This is the end. They are officially divorced.