#i love him so much and i feel like a terrible person

[haerenven]

Pairings. M.D.Luffy - R.Zoro - V.Sanji - Nami - N.Robin - Shanks

summary. Them with curly headed reader

— (a/n): consider this a gift for my gorgeous curly girlies ₍^. .^₎⟆

MONKEY D LUFFY

- Endless Fascination with Your Curls

Luffy is obsessed with your hair—not in a poetic, admiring-from-afar kind of way, but in the most Luffy way possible. He tugs at your curls just to watch them bounce back, sometimes even poking them with a finger like he’s testing if they have a mind of their own. “Whoa… they’re like little springs!” he exclaims every time, as if he’s just discovered it all over again. And if you ever get annoyed? He just laughs, completely unbothered, and does it again.

- Zero Concept of Personal Space

If he’s tired? Your curls make the perfect pillow. If he’s hungry? He’ll lean against you, idly playing with a strand while thinking about meat. If he’s excited? He’ll grab you, spin you around, andsomehow get his fingers tangled in your hair in the process. Luffy doesn’t care about boundaries—he’s always close, always touching, always acting like he has every right to be tangled up with you, just like your curls are with each other.

- Unfiltered, Genuine Compliments

Luffy doesn’t have a poetic bone in his body, but when he compliments you, it’s so real that it sticks with you forever. “Your hair looks like a whole adventure!” he grins one day, staring at the wild way it moves. “Like if I followed every curl, I’d find treasure at the end!” It’s ridiculous, but he says it with so much excitement—so much Luffy-ness—that you can’t help but smile.

- Doesn’t Understand Hair Struggles but Tries Anyway

If you’re ever frustrated with your hair—too tangled, too frizzy, too much—Luffy doesn’t get it, but that won’t stop him from trying to help. “Just leave it like that!” he suggests with a grin, fully convinced that you look amazing no matter what. And if you insist on fixing it, he offers solutions that make no sense. “What if we dunk your head in the ocean and see what happens?” (Spoiler: Bad idea.)

- The Ultimate Protector—Even Against the Wind

Luffy doesn’t care much about the wind messing up his hair, but when it comes to you? Oh, he takes it personally. If a strong gust blows your curls into your face, he immediately stretches his arm out like a shield, standing in front of you with a dramatic stance. “I GOTCHA!” he shouts, as if he’s just saved you from mortal danger. It’s completely unnecessary, but he’s so proud of himself that you just let him have his moment.

- Plays with Your Hair Absentmindedly

Whenever he’s deep in thought—rare as that may be—his fingers somehow find their way to your hair. He absentmindedly twirls a curl around his finger, stretching it slightly just to watch it spring back. He’ll braid random sections (terribly), tie tiny knots (that you definitely have to untangle later), and sometimes just hold a curl in front of his face, squinting at it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

- Unapologetic About His Preferences

One time, Nami tries to brush your hair out into loose waves, and Luffy immediately pouts. “Nooooo, put it back!” he whines, reaching over to mess it up again. “I like it all poofy and crazy!” He doesn’t care about what’s fashionable—he just loves you, exactly the way you are.

- Loves How Your Hair Feels Against Him

If you ever rest against his chest, he immediately buries his face in your hair, rubbing his cheek against it like a cat. “It’s so soft!” he laughs, nuzzling into you without shame. If you try to push him away, he just stretches his arms to pull you right back. “Nope! I live here now!”

- A Love That’s Loud and Unshakable

Luffy doesn’t do subtle. If he loves you, everyone knows it. He shouts your name across islands, tackles you into hugs that leave you breathless, and brags to strangers about how cool your hair is like it’s his greatest discovery. And when it’s just the two of you, when the sea is quiet and the stars stretch endless above you, he tugs at a curl, grinning softly. “I dunno,” he murmurs, his voice softer than usual. “I just think everything about you is perfect.”

RORONOA ZORO

- Absorbed in the Movement of Your Curls

Zoro is not a man prone to idleness, but when it comes to you, he finds himself drawn to the subtle movement of your curls, as if they’re the sea itself—wild and free. In those quiet moments, as the crew rests, he may sit next to you, his hands absentmindedly finding a strand of hair to twist between his fingers. His touch is unthinking, almost a part of the background, but there’s a quiet fascination in the way he does it—his rough fingertips tracing each curl’s path, not because he’s trying to tame it, but because he finds it impossibly captivating. If you tease him about it, he’ll turn away, muttering under his breath with the same gruffness he’s known for. “It’s just… bouncy,” he’ll say, though the pink in his ears tells a different story.

- A Shield Against the Wind

Zoro observes, always quietly aware of his surroundings, and he notices how your curls seem to fight against the wind, their natural beauty battling the elements. While others may not notice, he does. When the wind picks up, he’ll subtly shift his position, always placing himself between you and the gusts, blocking the worst of it with his broad frame. If you ask him why, he’ll scoff, “You could move, y’know,” but his stance remains unchanged. It’s his way of silently protecting you—and your curls—from the chaos outside.

- Comfort in the Aftermath

After a fierce battle, when the adrenaline that had once sharpened his senses fades into a quiet exhaustion, Zoro finds solace in your presence. He doesn’t need to say much—his actions speak for him. With a quiet breath, he’ll reach for you, running his fingers through your curls, feeling the softness of each strand as his hand tangles within them. It’s not about comfort; it’s about grounding himself, reminding himself that you’re still there, still safe. In those moments, his touch lingers just a second longer than necessary, and though his eyes may not meet yours, the weight of his affection is undeniable.

- Uncomplicated Praise, Deeply Felt

Zoro is blunt, his words seldom adorned with the sweetness others might offer. But when he compliments you, it’s grounded in truth, uncomplicated yet deeply sincere. When you’re struggling with the tangled chaos of your curls, his gaze will lift to you, and with a grunt, he’ll say, “Looks fine to me. Don’t change it.” It’s not flowery, but it’s Zoro in its purest form—honest, no frills. On rare occasions when you take care more of your hair and styling it, his eyes might linger a moment too long, before he clears his throat and mutters, “You look… good.” Simple words, yet they carry the weight of his admiration.

- The Battle of Haircare

When you mention needing new hair products, Zoro’s mind immediately shifts into a mode of confusion. He’s never thought about something as trivial as shampoo, but his love for you has him trying—if only to see you smile. In the aisles of an unfamiliar island store, he glares at the endless bottles, trying to make sense of them. “What the hell is ‘hydrating curl cream’ supposed to do?” he mutters, but when you ask him to help detangle your hair, he takes the task more seriously than anything else. His brows furrow in concentration, fingers working through the knots with an intensity only rivaled by his swordsmanship. Each strand is handled with an unexpected patience, proving that even in the smallest things, Zoro will always give his all.

- A Silent Protector

Zoro’s way of protecting you isn’t flashy or showy. He doesn’t need to make a spectacle of it. But when your curls are threatened—by the wind, by the crowd, by something as simple as an ill-timed brush of someone’s hand—he steps in without hesitation. With a firm but gentle hand, he pulls you closer to his side, shielding your hair from harm, acting as if it’s no more than a casual motion. If someone dares to touch your curls without permission, his gaze is enough to make them rethink their actions, his glare sharp enough to cut through any pretense.

- Loyalty Shown in the Quiet Moments

Zoro’s love for you is shown in the quietest, most sincere ways. If you run out of your favorite hair product, he’s the one to notice, somehow keeping track of the small details that others might overlook. One evening, he’ll appear beside you with a new bottle of your favorite oil, placing it gently in your hands as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. If you’ve had a long day and your curls are more unruly than usual, Zoro will offer a gruff, “Sit down. I’ll take care of it.” The way he works through your hair is slow and deliberate, as if he’s taking the time to tend to something precious. It’s not about the task—it’s about the way he quietly shows you that, no matter the day or the chaos, he’s there for you, always.

VINSMOKE SANJI

- Adoration in Every Strand

Sanji’s fascination with your curls borders on obsession. The moment you walk into the kitchen or sit down at the table, he can’t help but be drawn to the way your hair naturally moves, the way it defies gravity, as if each curl is a work of art in itself. “Mademoiselle,” he’ll sigh dreamily, gazing at you with the adoration of a man utterly enchanted. “Your hair… it’s like a perfect symphony of elegance and chaos—so wild, so effortlessly beautiful.” He could spend hours simply staring, but when he’s around, you’ll always feel like the most stunning creature to ever exist.

- The Art of Curly Hair Care

Sanji may be a chef, but when it comes to your hair, he becomes a meticulous artist. He knows exactly how to make it shine, how to take care of it with tender touches, and he’s the only one you trust to give you the perfect trim. Whenever you ask for help with it, he responds with complete seriousness. “Of course, darling, it’s my honor to ensure your curls remain as perfect as they deserve to be.” His hands are always gentle but firm, his focus intense as he works on keeping your hair looking its best.

- Flirty Comments with a Side of Gentle Touch

His flirting knows no bounds, but with you, it always feels different—genuine, tender. If you catch him staring at your hair, he doesn’t even try to hide it. “How do you make your curls look so good?” he’ll ask, his voice thick with admiration, leaning in as if he’s trying to discover the secret. “Are you sure they’re just hair, or do they have a mind of their own?” he’ll muse, his gaze so intense it feels like he’s searching for the very meaning of life in your locks.

- Curly Hair, Perfect Partner

Sanji’s love for you goes beyond superficialities, but the way your hair frames your face? He can’t help but be captivated every time. You’re a vision—whether it’s in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of his best dishes, or on the deck under the golden sun, your hair always perfectly wild and untamed. “How did I get so lucky?” he’ll whisper to himself, caught in a moment where everything seems to revolve around you. “My perfect, beautiful mademoiselle…”

- The Hair-Ruffling Ritual

On rare, quiet moments, when you’re sitting together or sharing a peaceful moment, Sanji has this little ritual. He’ll reach over, carefully running his fingers through your curls, smoothing them down as if it’s his responsibility to protect them. When he does this, there’s always a soft, affectionate smile on his lips, as if he’s savoring a secret joy no one else gets to see. “I swear,” he’ll say with a soft chuckle, “if I could, I’d make sure every curl stayed as perfect as the first time I saw it.”

- Teasing with Adoration

Even in his playful teasing, Sanji’s love for you is clear. If your curls are a little out of place, he’ll make a show of dramatically fixing them, acting as if it’s a matter of utmost importance. “There’s no way I can allow such disarray on my lovely lady,” he’ll say with a smirk, his fingers carefully tucking a curl behind your ear. You know he’s teasing, but the care with which he does it shows just how much he values you.

- A Man Who Wants to Spoil You

He doesn’t just want to cook for you—he wants to pamper you. He’ll surprise you with special oils, conditioners, or hair accessories that he swears will make your curls even more radiant. “Only the best for my queen,” he’ll proclaim as he carefully places a luxurious bottle of hair serum in your hands. “A woman as beautiful as you deserves the world, including perfect curls.”

- In Private, He’s Your Rock

When it’s just the two of you, away from the prying eyes of the crew, Sanji’s admiration for you feels like a soft, steady thing. In moments of quiet, when you’re lying in his arms after a long day, he’ll press gentle kisses to the top of your head, letting his lips linger just long enough to enjoy the feeling of your curls against his face. “You know…” he’ll say softly, “I’d protect every single curl on your head if it meant keeping you safe.”

CAT BURGLAR NAMI

- Strategic Observations of Your Hair

Nami is always keenly aware of your curls, though she rarely shows it. She’s more practical than emotional, so she admires the way your hair moves with the wind or the humidity with the same precision she’d use to study a map. “so gorgeous,” she’ll say, a faint smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth as she watches a few stubborn strands fight against the breeze. You can see that spark in her eyes—Nami loves a challenge, and your curls are one she enjoys mastering in subtle ways.

- Curly Hair Care Expert (Without the Compliments)

Nami isn’t one to shower you with over-the-top compliments about your hair—she’ll leave that to others like Sanji. Instead, she’ll approach your curls with the same pragmatism she applies to everything in her life. She’ll be the first one to suggest a new hair product when your curls are looking frizzy, her voice casual as if she’s offering you an extra map for your travels. “Try this—works wonders with humidity. Trust me, I’ve tested it.”

- The Subtle Tease

Nami loves to tease you, and your curly hair is a prime target. “It must take you forever to untangle that mess in the morning,” she’ll comment with a smirk, clearly enjoying the light-hearted jab. But when she says this, you know there’s affection behind the teasing—Nami isn’t mean-spirited, she’s just playful. Still, you’ll catch her grinning as she watches you attempt to fix one particularly stubborn curl.

- The Subtle Compliment (When You Least Expect It)

While she’ll never openly gush about how beautiful your curls are, she’ll show her admiration in small, subtle ways. When she notices a particularly well-placed curl or a new style you’ve tried, she’ll make a nonchalant comment. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” she’ll say while adjusting a map or focusing on something else. “That curl right there—looks good.” She’ll never go overboard, but you can hear the sincerity in her voice.

- Curly Hair, Practicalities First

Nami’s practicality takes over when it comes to your hair. She’ll often have hair ties and clips on hand, offering them to you without hesitation. If your hair starts getting in the way during a storm or a chaotic situation, she’ll hand you one with a knowing look, as if it’s just another tool to make the day go smoothly. “Trust me, it’s easier when you don’t have a ton of hair in your face while navigating through this mess.”

- Shared Moments in the Sun

On those rare, peaceful moments when the crew is relaxing on a beach or under a tree, Nami will sit beside you, eyeing your curls with a kind of fondness. She’ll reach over to lightly tuck one curl behind your ear, the touch soft, almost intimate. “Your hair’s wild,” she’ll comment with a small smile, “but in a good way. It suits you.” These little moments of connection, where Nami’s usually cool demeanor softens, are a quiet but important reminder that she values you, in every sense.

- In Private, She’s Surprisingly Gentle

When it’s just the two of you, Nami can be surprisingly tender. If she catches you adjusting your curls in frustration, she won’t let you do it alone. “Let me help,” she’ll say quietly, gently moving to fix the curls you’ve been trying to tame. You’ll feel her fingers brush your scalp, working in silence with focused care. For someone who doesn’t always show her emotions, her actions speak volumes.

- Nami’s Way of Saying “I Care”

Nami doesn’t always wear her affection on her sleeve, but when she does, it’s in these small moments with you. After a rough day, when the rest of the crew is busy or unwinding, she’ll settle beside you. Without saying much, she’ll gently adjust your curls, fixing them in a way that feels almost soothing. “You’re fine. Stop stressing,” she’ll whisper with a calm smile, her touch tender but firm, reminding you that she’s there.

NICO ROBIN

- Admiring Your Curls from a Distance

Robin, being observant as always, notices the subtle beauty in your curls, though she’s not the type to openly gush about them. When she’s deep in thought, her gaze will often drift to you, to the way your curls frame your face so perfectly, as if each strand is in its rightful place. She’s not one to speak often, but when she does, it’s always with a calm, almost meditative tone. “You have a way of making chaos look beautiful,” she’ll say, the softness in her voice making it clear that it’s more of an observation than a simple compliment.

- Gentle Touch and Care

Robin isn’t the kind of person who’s outwardly affectionate in the traditional sense, but when she does show her care, it’s in the smallest, most delicate gestures. If you’re struggling with your curls, or if the wind has made them unruly, she’ll quietly take a seat next to you, her hands moving to adjust a few strands with meticulous care. She doesn’t rush, allowing the moment to feel intimate, her touch feather-light as she smooths down a particularly stubborn curl. “There. That’s better,”she’ll say softly, her eyes lingering on you with that serene, knowing expression.

- The Quiet Compliment

Robin doesn’t give many overt compliments, but when she does, it’s always in the form of quiet, thoughtful remarks. If your curls catch her attention—perhaps when the sunlight hits them just right—she might lean in ever so slightly, her lips curving into a subtle smile. “You always seem to look the most radiant when the wind plays with your hair,” she’ll comment, her voice low, as if she’s sharing a private thought.

- Her Subtle, Intimate Observations

Robin’s way of showing admiration is to notice the things that others might overlook, the subtle movements, the small details that make you unique. She’ll watch your curls bounce as you move, and though she might not comment on them every time, there’s a certain glimmer in her eyes that lets you know she’s taken note. “Your curls have their own rhythm,” she’ll muse, her voice a soft hum as she watches them shift in the breeze.

- The Quiet Protector

Though Robin is typically reserved, when it comes to you, she’s remarkably attentive. If she notices you becoming frustrated with your curls, especially in the heat or humidity, she might offer you a calming smile, her hand gently brushing your hair out of your face. “Don’t let something so simple trouble you,” she’ll say, her voice as smooth as silk, her touch both soothing and reassuring.

- The Curiosity About Your Hair

Robin’s intellectual curiosity extends to you as well, and she’s often fascinated by the way your curls seem to have a life of their own. “It’s remarkable,” she’ll say with a quiet tone of wonder. “How do you keep your curls so full of life?” She’s genuinely interested in your haircare routine, as it represents the unique qualities of your personality that she finds so intriguing.

- A Gentle Bond in the Quiet Moments

In private moments, when the noise of the world fades away, Robin enjoys the soft serenity of your company. She might run her fingers through your curls, not in a rush but with a calm, soothing touch, as if she’s cherishing the peacefulness of the moment. “Your curls remind me of the ocean,” she’ll say, her voice almost distant as if lost in thought. “Full of mystery and depth.” It’s her way of expressing how much she values you, in her own quiet, graceful manner.

- Noticing Your Efforts Without Saying Much

Robin is keenly aware of the effort you put into your appearance, especially when it comes to your curls. She notices when you take extra care, or when you’re struggling with them. If you’re frustrated with the way they’re behaving, Robin will gently offer assistance, her tone soft but sure. “I’m sure they’ll settle. It’s just a matter of patience.” She understands the small, quiet frustrations that others might overlook, and she offers support without making a big deal of it.

- The Protective Quietness

In the rare moments when someone else dares to make a comment about your hair—either teasing you or offering unsolicited advice—Robin is quick to defend you. She’ll raise an eyebrow and speak with calm authority, her words firm but never harsh. “I don’t believe they were asking for your opinion,” she’ll say, her gaze never leaving the person who dared to intrude on your space.

- Help with Your Curls

Nico Robin’s Devil Fruit powers, the Hana Hana no Mi, allow her to sprout extra limbs from almost any surface. She’s not one to show off, but when she notices you struggling with your unruly curls—perhaps a particularly stubborn knot or frizz—she’ll use her powers in a subtle, gentle way to assist you. With a calm, focused expression, Robin will sprout delicate, flower-like hands from the back of your head or from the side of your shoulder. “I’ll help you with that,” she’ll say, her voice serene. These hands will deftly smooth through your hair, massaging out any tangles or gently pushing stray curls back into place, working with the same care and precision she’d apply to her own tasks. The hands, sprouting from places like your shoulders or even from behind you, are soft and graceful—never overbearing or intrusive, but more like a quiet offering of help, her calm presence easing away any frustration.

It’s a gesture that’s almost poetic in its execution—Robin’s powers are used not for grand battles or dramatic displays, but to ease your mind and make your hair fall just a little bit more perfectly, with a soft smile on her lips.

RED-HAIRED SHANKS

- A Love as Wild as the Sea

Shanks has spent his life chasing the horizon, but when he looks at you—when he watches the way your curls catch the sunlight, wild and untamed—he swears he’s found something even more boundless. He cups your face in his one strong hand, his thumb tracing over your cheek as he gazes at you with that easy, knowing smile. “The sea’s spent its whole life trying to move like you… and it still doesn’t come close.” he murmurs, voice dipped in quiet wonder, as if he’s found the only treasure that truly matters. Your lashes fluttered as you blinked, once, twice, before giving him a look somewhere between amused and skeptical. “You always this smooth, or did the sea teach you that too?” Shanks’ grin deepens, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against your cheek. “Nah,” he muses, voice low and teasing. “The sea just taught me how to chase what’s impossible to resist.”

- His Fingers Lost in Your Curls

His hand is calloused, rough from years at sea, yet when it finds your curls, his touch is impossibly soft. He has a habit of playing with them absentmindedly—twisting a strand between his fingers while deep in thought, brushing them from your face with the backs of his knuckles. When you sit beside him on the deck, he leans in just enough to let the scent of salt and wind in your hair lull him into contentment. If you ever rest against his chest, his hand naturally moves to cradle your curls, holding you there like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

- A Sailor Who Studies the Storm

Shanks is a man who understands the sea—its tempests, its serenity, its unpredictability. And when he looks at you, at the way your curls shift with the wind, full of their own wild defiance, he understands you in the same way. He watches as they move in the ocean breeze, never trying to tame them, only admiring the way they mirror your spirit. There’s a quiet reverence in the way Shanks watches you, as if memorizing every twist and turn of your curls the same way a sailor memorizes the tides. He never tries to smooth them down, never seeks to control them—because to him, they are a perfect reflection of you. Wild. Free. Untamed by the world. When the wind picks up, pulling at your hair like the ocean reaching for the shore, he only chuckles, his hand instinctively finding its way to you. With an easy touch, he tucks a curl behind your ear, his fingers lingering just long enough to make you feel the warmth of his calloused palm against your skin.

- Sheltering You from the Wind, His Own Way

Shanks doesn’t just pull you close when the wind picks up—he does it casually, as if he has every right to. He’ll throw his heavy cloak over your shoulders with a smirk, shifting his body just enough to block the strongest gusts. “Can’t have the wind stealing my favorite sight,” he muses, tucking a stray curl behind your ear with his thumb. He may be missing an arm, but that never stops him from holding you the way you need—as if the sea itself could never sweep you from his grasp.

- The Scent of Salt and Memory

He’s drawn to the scent of your hair in the same way he’s drawn to the ocean—something comforting, something constant. When he embraces you after weeks or months apart, he buries his face in your curls, inhaling deeply before exhaling a slow, content sigh. “Smells like home,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and unguarded. If you tease him about smelling like rum and mischief, he only chuckles, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Then I guess we belong to each other, don’t we?”

- Taming His Hands, Not His Heart

He may only have one arm, but when he touches you, he makes you feel as if he could hold the entire world. If you ever struggle with your curls, he’ll offer to help, his fingers threading through them with surprising patience. “You trust me with this?” he teases, though his touch is careful, reverent. If you let him, he’ll tie loose sections away from your face, securing them with a scrap of ribbon he cut from his own coat. And when he’s finished, he leans back, studying his handiwork before murmuring, “Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

[cei1ne]

—What the Bakusquad does for you on Valentine’s day, aka the most romantic holiday!

:..｡o○Summary: Heacanons and Scenarios about Bakusquad members and what they do for you on Valentine’s Day and how they act

:♡.•♬✧⁽⁽ଘPairing: Bakugou Katsuki ; Kirishima Eijirou ; Denki Kaminari ; Sero Hanta

✧༺༻✧Tags: Fluff ; Cute ; Dating ; In love ; Tsundere ; Loving ; Acts of Service; Words of affirmation; Giving gifts

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳Wordcount: 11k

⡈⡠*✩A/N: Happy late Valentine’s guys! I was super sick the past few days so this is a little sloppy but I hope you guys will still enjoy it! Love you and hope you enjoyed the holiday! And btw I am half-asleep so I’m sorry if it’s sloppy again, I tried my best. Don’t be afraid to give your opinions in the chat I want feedback xx!

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—Headcanons of how the Bakusquad members would act on Valentine’s Day!

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Bakugou Katsuki

1. Lowkey but Thoughtful: He acts like he doesn’t care about Valentine’s Day but secretly puts in effort. His gift isn’t flashy—it’s something deeply personal that proves he pays attention to you.

2. Homemade Meal: He refuses to deal with crowded restaurants, so he cooks you an insane homemade dinner instead (and it’s amazing).

3. Actions Over Words: He’s still terrible at expressing feelings, but his actions scream love. He’ll pull you close while watching a movie, hold your hand tightly when walking, or brush hair from your face when you’re not paying attention.

4. Jealousy Shows: If someone flirts with you, expect him to glare daggers and throw an arm around you, making it very clear who you belong to.

5. Soft Moment Before Bed: When the day is over, he lets his guard down just a bit, murmuring something gruff but affectionate like, “Tch… had a good time, I guess. Don’t get used to it, idiot.”

Kirishima Eijiro

1. Big Romantic Gesture: He’s the type to go all out—roses, a big date plan, maybe even fireworks if he can pull it off. He wants to make you feel special.

2. Handmade Gift: He’s great with his hands, so he’ll craft something for you—maybe a custom bracelet, a carved wooden keepsake, or a cute love note hidden in a heart-shaped rock.

3. Adventurous Date: He doesn’t want to do the typical dinner thing—he might take you rock climbing, ice skating, or even on a surprise trip to the beach just to be different.

4. Physical Affection Overload: Expect him to be extra cuddly, with bear hugs, forehead kisses, and randomly lifting you off the ground.

5. Endless Compliments: He can’t stop telling you how amazing you look and how lucky he is to have you—he genuinely means every word.

Denki Kaminari

1. Goofy but Sweet Gift: He tries to find the coolest or funniest Valentine’s gift—maybe matching heart-shaped sunglasses, a mixtape of love songs (including meme songs), or a plushie that says something ridiculous when squeezed.

2. Surprise Flash Mob (or Attempted One): He definitely tries to put on some grand, embarrassing performance, whether it’s a public serenade or a TikTok-worthy dance.

3. Gets Super Nervous: He’s confident until the actual date starts, then suddenly starts panicking about whether you’re enjoying yourself.

4. Accidentally Short-Circuits: If you kiss him or say something super sweet, there’s a good chance his brain fries for a second. You might have to reboot him.

5. Late-Night Stargazing: After all the chaos, he genuinely enjoys a peaceful moment just lying down together, looking at the stars, and talking about random things.

Sero Hanta

1. Laid-Back But Sweet: He’s not the type to go overboard, but he does make sure you feel special—whether it’s with a handwritten letter, your favorite snacks, or a playlist of songs that remind him of you.

2. Unique Date Idea: He avoids cliché fancy dinners. Instead, he might take you to a drive-in movie, set up a rooftop picnic, or go roller skating together.

3. Jokes to Hide Nervousness: He’ll make dumb jokes the entire time to cover up how much he actually wants the date to be perfect.

4. Cuddles Over Everything: He loves just being close to you—whether it’s throwing an arm around your shoulders, resting his head on yours, or pulling you into a cozy blanket fort.

5. Cute but Teasing: He’ll absolutely playfully tease you all day—“Whoa, you’re really into me, huh?”—but the second you tease him back, he gets all flustered.

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—Scenarios of how they would plan out the Valentine’s Day!

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Bakugou Katsuki

Valentine’s Day wasn’t really Bakugou’s thing.

He hated the commercial nonsense, the heart-shaped decorations everywhere, and the way couples acted extra just because it was February 14th. The idea of being forced to be romantic just because of a stupid holiday pissed him off.

But… then there was you.

And somehow, you made all that crap seem a little less annoying. Period were the best

Which was why, despite all his complaining, he found himself standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, a deep scowl on his face as he meticulously chopped vegetables for a homemade dinner.

He could’ve easily taken you to a restaurant—hell, he had the money to rent out the nicest one in town if he really wanted to. But that wasn’t his style. Too many people, too much noise, and the last thing he needed was a bunch of extras gawking at him while he was trying to have a date.

No, he wanted tonight to be personal. Just the two of you.

The smell of seared meat filled the air as he worked, his movements sharp and precise. He was making your favorite dish—not that he’d ever admit he remembered the exact way you liked it. But he did. Of course, he did.

As he flipped something sizzling in the pan, he glanced at the clock. You’d be here soon.

His heart did a weird little thump.

He ignored it.

_________________________________

When you arrived, you were met with the surprising sight of Bakugou—apron on, standing in the middle of a very put-together candlelit dinner. The table was set, the food smelled amazing, and if you didn’t know him better, you’d think he’d actually been excited to do this.

“Wow,” you breathed, looking around. “Did you—?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just dinner. Sit down before it gets cold, dumbass.” We all know damn well—

You smiled, sitting across from him. The first bite was heaven. “Katsuki… this is amazing.”

He scoffed, but you didn’t miss the way his ears turned pink. “’Course it is. What, you think I’d cook you some half-assed shit?”

Dinner went on like that—him pretending not to care while absolutely caring. He made sure your glass was always full, that you had enough food, that you weren’t too cold. It was subtle, but every action screamed I love you louder than any cheesy Valentine’s card ever could.

Then, of course, came the small mishap.

You reached across the table to grab something, and your sleeve brushed a candle. Within seconds—

“Shit!” Bakugou was up in an instant, grabbing your wrist and patting out the tiny flame before it could do anything. His hands, warm and calloused, lingered just a second longer than necessary.

“You good?” he asked, his red eyes scanning yours, full of concern he wouldn’t dare voice.

You nodded, biting back a smile. “Guess dinner really was fire.”

He groaned. “I swear to god—” I can see the grey hair coming early

_________________________________

After dinner, you both ended up on the couch, watching a movie—not that either of you was paying much attention. Your head rested against his shoulder, his arm draped lazily around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm.

Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, shoving it into your hands.

A small box.

You blinked. “What’s this?”

“Just open it, idiot.”

Inside was a delicate, simple bracelet. It wasn’t flashy, but it was you—elegant yet strong, the kind of thing you could wear every day. And on the inside, barely noticeable, was a tiny engraving.

Dumbass.

You laughed, eyes watering. “Did you… engrave an insult on my Valentine’s gift?”

His face was burning. “Tch. Just thought it’d remind you who you belong to.”

You turned to him, eyes soft. “Katsuki…”

His jaw clenched, like he was physically holding back the words he wanted to say. But then, finally, in a voice so quiet you almost missed it, he muttered—

“Yeah, yeah. You know I love you, right?”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I know.”

His grip on you tightened. “Good. ’Cause I ain’t ever letting you forget it.” MY SHAYLASSS

Kirishima Eijirou

Kirishima went all out for Valentine’s Day.

None of that “lowkey” nonsense YEAH BAKUGOU—he wanted today to be special. For you.

Which was why you were currently blindfolded, his hands gently guiding you forward. “Almost there, babe,” he said, voice full of excitement.

You laughed. “Eiji, if I trip and die, I’m haunting you forever.”

“Not happening! I’d totally catch you before that!”

Finally, he stopped, hands resting on your shoulders. “Alright, ready?”

You nodded, and he removed the blindfold.

Your breath caught.

In front of you was a beautiful setup—soft blankets, pillows, and fairy lights twinkling under the night sky. A picnic spread was laid out, complete with your favorite foods. The best part? You were on a rooftop, away from the crowds, just the two of you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babe!” Kirishima beamed. “I wanted to do something different.”

Your heart swelled. “Eiji, this is amazing! I’m overjoyed! You’re the best!”

_________________________________

As you two settled into the blanket fort, the stars above providing a soft glow, Kirishima could hardly keep his excitement in check. “Wait, I’ve got one more thing for you!”

He disappeared for a moment and then came back with a small, carefully wrapped box. His face was red as he handed it to you. “Open it,” he said, voice trembling a little.

You hesitated only a moment before ripping off the wrapping paper. Inside was a custom-made bracelet—a piece of raw, polished stone, shining under the dim light. It was rugged and strong, much like him, but also delicate in its own way.

“I thought you might like something that’s… you know, us,” he said, his voice rough but full of tenderness. “I wanted to give you something that represents how I feel about you.”

You held it up to the light, the stone glinting in the soft glow of the fairy lights. “Eiji… I love it.”

A grin spread across his face. “It’s not much, but it’s a promise.”

“A promise?” you asked, looking up at him curiously.

“Yeah. A promise that I’m always gonna be here for you, no matter what.” His voice was steady, but his eyes were full of sincerity.

You took his hand, gently pulling him into a soft kiss. “You’re everything to me, Eiji.”

He smiled, leaning his forehead against yours. “And you’re everything to me, babe. Let’s make this day one to remember.”

_________________________________

As the night deepened, you and Kirishima stayed on the rooftop, watching the stars slowly appear in the sky. The city around you buzzed with life, but up here, it was just the two of you, away from everything else. For a brief moment, it was like the world outside didn’t exist.

Kirishima had an arm around you as you leaned against his shoulder, listening to the sounds of the night. It was peaceful, comforting. His presence alone made everything feel right.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you said quietly, tracing the silver necklace around your neck. “I’ve never had a Valentine’s Day like this before.”

He chuckled softly, his hand resting on the small of your back. “I don’t do things by halves. You’re worth it.”

You smiled up at him, your eyes full of love. “You’re more than enough, Eiji.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. It was like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something. And then, softly, Kirishima said, “I love you.”

You nodded, a gentle tear slipping from your eye. “I love you too, Eiji.”

The night stretched on, the two of you in your own little world, no need for words. You felt like you could stay there forever, wrapped in his warmth, knowing that no matter what, you would always have each other.

And with that, you both made a silent promise to keep this love strong, just like the stone that lay around your neck—the symbol of a bond that would never break.

Denki Kaminari

Denki had never been good with romantic holidays. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do something special for you—it was just that he had absolutely no idea how to pull it off.

He tried to plan the perfect Valentine’s Day, but everything kept going wrong. He bought chocolates… but they were melting. He got you a bouquet of flowers… but the store sold him the wilting ones.

It was a disaster.

He sat at his desk, surrounded by half-eaten chocolates and dead flowers, a full-on panic attack settling in. What if he messed this up? What if you didn’t like anything he did?

Before he could spiral too much, his phone buzzed.

“Denki, you okay? What’s going on?”

It was from you. You could tell he was freaking out, and that made his heart soften just a little. He hated that you could read him so easily, but also, it made him feel closer to you.

He quickly typed back, “I’m fine. Just trying to make today perfect for you, that’s all.”

A few minutes later, he received another text from you. “You’re already perfect to me. Don’t stress, okay? Let’s just have fun tonight.”

Denki stared at the message, his heart doing a little flip. How could you be so calm when he felt like he was about to short-circuit?

_________________________________

When you arrived at his apartment, you were greeted with an explosion of color—streamers, balloons, and lights everywhere. The room looked like it was in the middle of a party, and Denki, dressed in his most ridiculous, sparkly “Valentine’s Day” shirt, greeted you with the biggest, goofiest grin you’d ever seen.

“Ta-da!” he shouted, throwing his arms up dramatically.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Kaminari, what… is this?”

“I wanted to do something fun! A Valentine’s Day party for two!” he said, holding up two tiny glasses of… something that looked suspiciously like pink lemonade with glitter.

You took the glass, smirking. “You’ve been a busy guy, huh?”

“Only the best for my best girl!” he said, striking an exaggerated pose.

After a bit of awkward dancing, Denki tried to serenade you with a cheesy love song. It wasn’t the best rendition, and at one point, he forgot the lyrics and had to ad-lib, but it made you laugh so hard you nearly cried.

But there was something real in the way he looked at you, his eyes softening when he held out his hand for you to dance.

“Okay, maybe I’m not the best singer,” he admitted, pulling you close. “But I want you to know that I’m serious about us. I know I can be a bit of a mess, but I care about you so much.”

You smiled, letting him pull you into a slow dance, your bodies moving in sync as you rested your head against his chest. “You’re perfect, Denki. I love you.”

He froze for a moment, his heart stopping in shock. Then, with a goofy grin, he spun you around. “I love you, too!”

_________________________________

The night had settled into a comfortable rhythm. The arcade date, the neon-lit laughter, and the chaos of Denki’s very extra Valentine’s Day surprise had left your cheeks sore from smiling. Now, the two of you sat side by side on the floor of your apartment, a mess of candy wrappers, discarded game tickets, and plushies from the arcade scattered around you.

Denki stretched his arms over his head, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Man, I think I really outdid myself this year. I mean, come on, best Valentine’s Day ever, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Confident, are we?”

He grinned, wiggling his fingers playfully. “Babe, you literally have proof of my greatness. Look at all these prizes I won you.” He gestured at the pile of plushies he had proudly collected throughout the night. “That’s love in stuffed animal form.”

You laughed, picking up one of the plushies—a tiny Pikachu that he had fought to win from the claw machine. “I’ll admit, I was impressed by this one. But the real highlight of the night was watching you almost get kicked out for trying to ‘hack’ the basketball game with your Quirk.”

Denki pouted. “Hey, listen. That machine was rigged. I was just leveling the playing field.”

“Uh-huh. Tell that to the manager who threatened to ban you.”

He scoffed. “Joke’s on him—I’ll just wear sunglasses and come back in disguise.”

You shook your head, leaning against him. “You’re such an idiot.”

Denki’s arm snaked around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

You smiled, tilting your head up to look at him. “That’s true. And I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

For once, Denki didn’t have a joke ready. His usual cocky smirk softened, and he just stared at you for a long moment, his golden eyes warm and full of something deeper than his usual playful charm.

“You know, I’m not always the best with words,” he started, his voice quieter now. “I joke around a lot, and I know sometimes people think I don’t take things seriously. But I do take this seriously. Us.” We love a serious and romantic man

Your heart skipped a beat as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something small—a delicate, silver ring, thin and simple, with a tiny lightning bolt engraved on the inside.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Kaminari…”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost nervous for the first time that night. “It’s not, like, an engagement ring or anything—I mean, unless you want it to be someday, then heck yeah—but right now, it’s just a promise. A promise that no matter how stupid I act, no matter how many dumb jokes I make, I’m always gonna be here. For you.”

You stared at the ring, your heart swelling with so much love you thought it might burst. Slowly, you took it from his hands, slipping it onto your finger. It fit perfectly.

“You’re such a dork,” you whispered, your eyes glistening.

He grinned. “Yeah, but I’m a dork who loves you.”

You launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a deep, lingering kiss. He melted into you instantly, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his touch warm and electrifying all at once.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his. “I love you too, Denki. More than words.”

He beamed, his cheeks flushed. “Well, that’s good. Because I plan on making every single Valentine’s Day better than the last. So, y’know. You’re stuck with me.”

You laced your fingers with his, glancing down at the small silver ring that now rested on your hand. “I think I can live with that.”

And as the night stretched on, filled with laughter, soft kisses, and the comfortable warmth of being wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew one thing for certain—Denki Kaminari would never stop lighting up your life, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sero Hanta

When you walked into his apartment, you were met with a comfy, casual setting—candles, soft music, and a cozy homemade dinner laid out on the coffee table which was burnt. There was no extravagant setup, just a simple moment between the two of you.

“Hey, babe,” Sero greeted you with his trademark grin, his arms opening wide. “You ready for a chill night?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Chill night? I don’t know… I was expecting a little more flair from you.”

Sero just shrugged, leaning against the back of the couch. “Hey, I didn’t want to overdo it. I figured we could just hang out, eat, and relax. You down for that?”

You smiled, immediately feeling comfortable. “Sounds perfect.”

_________________________________

After dinner, you sat together on the couch, enjoying the quiet. Sero was doing that thing where he would gently pull you closer, his hand resting on your thigh as he smiled lazily at you. He loved moments like this—easy, laid-back, where you could just enjoy each other’s company.

Then, he suddenly reached into his bag, pulling out a small box. “I got you something,” he said casually, handing it to you.

Inside the box was a delicate necklace, simple but beautiful. It was silver with a small heart-shaped charm that had your initials engraved on it.

“You know, I thought about getting you something big, flashy, like flowers or chocolates,” Sero began, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “But I figured… I wanted to give you something you could keep with you. Something that would remind you of me.”

You felt a warmth in your chest. “Hanta… it’s perfect. I love it.”

His grin widened. “Good, ‘cause it’s a reminder that I’m always thinking about you.”

You leaned forward, giving him a soft kiss.

He teased, pulling you closer for another kiss.

_________________________________

The soft glow of the streetlights outside your window painted long shadows across the walls of your apartment. The warmth of Sero’s laughter still lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. After the incredible night he had planned—you found yourselves curled up on the couch, tangled in each other’s arms under a thick, cozy blanket.

“You know,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest, “I think this might be my favorite Valentine’s Day ever.”

Sero chuckled, his fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles on your back. “Oh yeah? Even with the burnt cookies and the—what was it? Oh, right—highly questionable pasta?”

You playfully nudged him. “I don’t care about the food. I care about this—being with you.”

His teasing smirk softened, and he gently tipped your chin up so that your eyes met his. “Good. ‘Cause that’s all I wanted today to be about. Just us.” AWWWW

There was something unspoken in his gaze, something deeper than just his usual lighthearted charm. For all of Sero’s jokes and laid-back attitude, you knew how much he truly cared. He showed it in the small things—how he always made sure you laughed on bad days, how he remembered the little details about you that no one else did, how he made even the most ordinary moments feel like an adventure.

And right now, he was looking at you like you were his entire world.

You swallowed, your heart swelling. “You’re amazing, Hanta. You know that?”

A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face. “Oh, I definitely know that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ugh, why do I even bother?”

“Because you love me,” he teased, shifting so that he was lying on top of you, pinning you under his weight. He grinned down at you, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “And admit it—you love my stupid jokes.”

You huffed dramatically, pretending to consider it. “Mmm… debatable.”

Sero gasped, clutching his chest as if you had stabbed him. “Wow. After everything I’ve done for you tonight? The rooftop movie? The candlelit disaster dinner? This is how you repay me?”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down closer. “Fine, fine. I love you, and I love your stupid jokes.”

His expression softened at the sincerity in your voice. He leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “Good,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “Because I love you too. And I plan on making every Valentine’s Day just as chaotic and ridiculous as this one.”

You grinned. “That’s a promise, right?”

“Cross my heart,” he whispered.

And as you lay there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside faded away. Nothing else mattered—not the burnt food, not the cheesy rom-coms, not even the chaos of the day.

All that mattered was that, for the rest of your lives, you’d always have each other.

And maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind being tangled in his love forever.

[scoutofmymind]

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-�� you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

[buubonita]

This is too messy but no worries i will try to explain the connections and I ADDED the "its complicated" label because i can and relationships can be and are soooo pretty complicated sometimes and your perspective of that person can always change like the weather,, or in fact, they have a dynamic that is difficult for me to explain personally.

Lets start nyao! oh boy this is LONG.

Nightmare & Dream: its complicated. They have mixed feelings all the time, there are times when they genuinely can't stand each other, but their family love remains intact, only sometimes, living together is difficult. I dont think Nightmare hates Dream genuinely, just for moments, and i am speaking more from someone who haves a twin.

I'm not saying that the situation is the same because my brother and I are not at war, lol, I'm saying that disagreeing and fighting with the person with whom you have shared memories and time since the cradle is a constant.

Dream & Blue & Ink: Found Family & friends. I just like to think that they, rather than a poly like fans insist, function more like an imperfect but still functioning family.

Dream & Ink: Friends/It's complicated. Dream and Ink have mainly disenchanted ideals, but they can coexist without resentment. I think they care about each other.

Ink & Error: enemies/frenemies. Self-explanatory.

Error, Geno & Fresh: family found. I love to think that the three of them have an inexplicable connection, something rooted in their codes. I know that Fresh is an outcode, but the body they posses, I like to think that it is a variant of Aftertale Sans (not Geno, the other Sans) <3

Blue, Sans & Fell: I love the idea my besties proposed that there are TWO Underswap Sans in the multiverse (Blueberry belongs to the Stars and Swap makes up the Sans and Fell group). They are good friends and super hilarious together <33

Reaper & Geno: Secret 3rd thing. I wont explain it here tho.

Fatal Error & Error: they hate each other to death.

Fresh and Lust: Secret 3rd option! I like to think that they actually get along really well. They go to disco nights together on Saturday nights fr.

Horror, Dust & Fell: besties. They can be besties okay, i loveeee the idea of Horror and Fell getting along with Dust as their main bond, point in common. If Fell could help Dust, he maybe could help Horror <33

Killer & Color: besties and QRP. I dont have much to say that someone hasn't already said , they are cute! Super adorable as well :3

Killer, Dust and Horror: Frienemies, its complicated. Their relationship It is quite turbulent and there are moments of horrible tension between them, the atmosphere in which they meet is not very good and does not help either, but they are companions in misfortune who try to move forward. I like to think that I could improve with the help of Color (who I forgot to put in the circle but the board already looks terrible!!!) Anyways MTT + Color is defo my thing <33

Dust & Reaper: Acquaintances. Reaper has seen Dust a lot during his endless encounters with The Player. He keeps tempting him to shake his hand like a new friend, hehe <33

Nightmare & Killer: Its complicated, enemies & secret 3rd thing. I've said it before, Killer and Nightmare's relationship is so weird, at least from my perspective, it has so much potential, so many nuances to explore that it's hard to classify what the hell they are. They don't even know what they are or what they have, they think they know each other but there are always details that escape them. Do they hate each other? Maybe. Do they need each other? Who knows. It's weird. They're fucking weird. And I love it, because Nightmare and Killer don't have the same dynamic or personal history that Nightmare and Horror and Dust do. One of my faves.

Color & Nightmare: Enemies. Its complicated. Rahhhh i have been CRAVING more Nightmare and Color content focused, how troubled Nigtjmare actions can be for Color and how it goes against his morals. Id say Color hates him, not totally, but definitely Nightmare "makes it very difficult to be able to help him" and thats a common point he haves with Dream.

Nightmare & Ccino: its complicated, secret 3rd thing aaand enemies. Ccino hates Nightmare for so many reasons, but the main one is the most wrong and absurd: he abandoned him.

Eldritch entity and totally tired mortal quth mundane life have a connection incomprehensible to the established parameters of society or regulations. My favorite.

Ccino @ everyone: is on the image but i think Ccino would know everyone at least because his café is a multiversal meeting point.

Epic & Cross: besties & QRP. They are so lovey, so cute, so beautiful, i love what they have so much.

Cross & Dream: Secret 3rd thing <33 they are very good friends and... :3c

Epic & Nightmare: Enemies & Acquaintances. Epic only knows about Nightmare through word of mouth, but he doesn't like what little he knows. I think he's secretly very resentful towards people who hurt the ones he loves (Cross, Color).

Epic & Dream: Acquaintances. I like to think that Dream is the only one who has seen Epic lose/destroy his body to the point where only his cursed eye remains intact. Something about out-of-body experiences he has suffered since he is a being of light residing in a vessel.

But in general, Epic does not interact and stays away from the apple twins because of their empathic abilities (an apple a day keeps the doctor...).

And thats it. I have a lot of other ideas that I left out the chart but imma write here hheehehe.

Like the fact that Dust and Epic could be friends (and their relationship is a bit rocky because Epic seems to treat Dust like a patient kjj and how that brings problems, as if Epic wanted to fix something of his own by helping and supporting him in his vocation as a doctor, yadda yadda)

Oooor like, fucking Reaper and the twins. Reaper seeing some of the contempt and rejection he himself suffers in his own universe??? That ALMOST inspires some pity, but I'd say it's more towards poor passive/past Nightmare than anything else.

Reaper and Dream should and are friends. I like the idea that Dream is one of the few who laughs at Reaper's shitty jokes (besides Geno) and feels bad about it because of his dark humor.

Nightmare hates Reaper becaaause, what a redundancy, what he personifies and not what he is and that is what prevents Reaper from feeling sorry for Nightmare despite having gone through similar but not at all identical situations <33

Or maybe Color and The Stars (or Color and Dream specially, please, yes?)

Prolly i am forgetting things but whatever this is long enough, i hope the artist doesn't minds ;;0;;

Again this is, like everything i say, my opinion <3

Ship chart but it’s not a ship chart it’s a friendship/found family/QPR chart

[aurmisery]

confessions unheard: sickening sweetness.

a ronin b. x gn! reader for 'My Fallen Valentine's.'

okay as you can guess this is going to be ronin x reader ! hope i did this prompt correctly? i just thought of really sweet (unhinged even) fluff.

cw // depictions of gore and viscera, this is ronin we're talking about LMFAO, violence, references to cat-calling/sexual harassment, drinking,

-and i'm sure that's it!

sorry if this is ooc, since this is supposed to be sweet n shit i tried making him more of a loser and uncharacteristically in love??? also i don't even know if he drinks and im sure it's probably not canon for him to be feinin this much 😭

idrk if i have a good grip on his character n all but i tried my best!! sorry for all the filler in this lol

good luck to everyone else participating!

(FUCKING FINALLY I GOT ALL THE WORDS BACK PLUS MORE!?! ENJOY!!!!! and if there's any errors....just ignore it...for my sake...)

word count: 5723 ❤️

something's...wrong, with ronin.

well- you technically could say that out of context and nothing would change, but no, something is terribly wrong with him. and surprisingly, it's not the fact that he's a serial killer with a kill count that rises practically everyday, nor is it the human remains aligning his shelves.

he's been out of it lately. constantly pacing around the reds and blacks of his room, all the while being more...fidgety than usual, unable to focus or parade his regular devil-may-care attitude around.

this is really fucking weird for him; ronin beaufort is the devil, and the devil doesn't change. he remains in the darkest pits of hell and slaps his knee at the idea of it, even.

he's unchanging, eternal, his punishment being no different.

so why couldn't he focus on his damn job and get this fucking filter replaced?

sweat beads down his forehead, grease coating his arms as he strained his neck further beneath the car, wrist flicking with each turn on the drain bolt and eventually...

it loosens, crust fluttering from the grooves of the screw, and the must of... whatever the hell's been sitting in this person's tank slowly infiltrating his nose.

it didn't have the strong petroleum scent, none of the chemical sharpness, and it didn't snake up his nose like new oil did either-

it smelled charred. ashy, even, and the must was evident as he turned the bolt and it did the rest of the work, a thick, almost black sludge filtering out of the tank and all over the concrete ground with a wet thud.

lacking a quick reaction, ronin's brows knitted low, letting a small 'fuck,' pass by his lips as he turned and reached around for wherever the hell he laid the oil catch pan.

he forgot to put it under the plug...somehow.

he's been forgetting to do a lot of things recently, matter of fact.

he shoves the thought down. he probably just needs to stop staring at a screen as soon as he comes home and get more rest, yeah, that's it.

speaking of a screen, when did you last text him? actually, when's the last time you two have held a conversation?

he slides the pan from beside him underneath the gunk-spewing tank, rolling from under the car and grabbing his tools and such off the ground, running his nails through the tips of his low ponytail.

...maybe he should check his phone.

it wouldn't hurt, just to see if there's a notification from you. he did get your number, finally. took a bit of convincing and some back-and-forth before you slid it, but now he has one of his best friends at his fingertips.

best...friends.

the collocation doesn't really fit with you, or at least the image he has of you. sure, you're his friend, a damn good one at that, and if he were to use it the way a normal person would, he would definitely call you his best friend.

but it doesn't feel right for him to call you that.

it's not like you're undeserving of the title, but it just doesn't fit with you. should he create a nice little title for ya?

he grins at the idea, and doesn't seem to notice the blackened oil trickling over his knuckles as he fumbles with his password.

you two are like... peanut butter and jelly? nah, overused, and stupidly corny. you two are like...thelma and louise! ehhh, he's not feeling it. cool reference, but maybe there's something else buried in that skull of his.

he leans against the car door, finally wiping his hand over the thin material of one of his plain work shirts. you can't really wear anything cool when you're working as a mechanic, after all.

tom and jerry? you two do bicker a lot. eh, not enough, also doesn't have that ring to it. bonnie and clyde? hard maybe, it'd be perfect if it was more platonic, besides, you two are just friends anyway.

friends- ugh, he cringes at that. he can't just dilute his partner in crime to a...friend.

naming you his partner in crime is very basic, but considering the underlying context between you two, it's rather fitting, right?

yeah, you're his partner in crime. plus, it doubles as a Set It Off reference in a way. fitting, veeeery fitting, actually.

"yo, beaufort! i'mma need this area in about 2 to 3, you finishin' up over there?"

a burly voice calls out- presumably one of his coworkers, and the twist in ronin's lips gives out- no notification from you.

he types out a quick message to you: 'still Alive?' as he slides his phone back onto the work table, he'll check it later- and only when he's done with this stupid replacement.

he lowers himself onto his creeper, rolling underneath the car whilst pulling the sludge-filled tin from underneath the ink-smeared tank and flushing the rest of the old oil out.

he grabs a wrench, tapping the rust and burnt oil from the plug and screwing it right back to its rightful place. he can do this quick, he's done this hundreds of times before, what's one more?

he's taking out the old tank when a high pitched chime rings out from his work table, his notifications alerting him of a new message.

weirdly enough, his motions freeze on cue and he's about to stand up and check it like it was instinct. but- well, he was still under the car.

a sharp, hollow crack rang through the garage as his head met the steel frame above him. a curse shot from his lips, low and snarled as the pain bloomed across his skull. eyes squeezed shut, he gritted his teeth, pressing a palm against the fresh ache.

for a moment he just...laid there, letting his arms fall flat on the concrete below him, exhaling through his nose and letting the pain settle before daring to move again.

what the hell's wrong with him? he told himself that he wasn't going to check his phone 'till he's done with this, and this is one of the easiest things to do in this field! why is it taking him this long?

through his wavering vision, he could spot two muddied boots slinking besides the car he's under, before they creased and the person sunk into a crouch.

"you okay there, kid?"

ronin rolled his eyes- 'kid', only one or two people here call him that, and the baritone of his voice paired with those boots must mean that the manager was doing his rounds and decided to check in on him.

"'m fine, just layin' on the concrete 'cause i wanna."

a thick rumble reminisce of a chuckle reins deep from the gut of the older man, before he cleared his throat and reached a gloved hand out underneath the car.

"need an ice pack?"

he eyed it- could help if there's any possibility of a bruise or a welt showing up, but as ronin ran a hand down his face, he gave a shake of his head.

it doesn't really hurt that badly anymore.

"nah, thanks though. just...lemme finish this and i'll be on my way out."

a grunt followed, the gloved hand retracting from under the car, and the raggedy pair of boots turned out of view.

alright, fuck it- let's just get this over with.

.

.

.

with a quick brush of his hands, ronin came out to the front, tapping on one of the various workers and letting them know that he was clocking out for the day.

slinging his bag over his arm, he was met with a calloused palm fixed onto his shoulder blade. he turns, and yep- the big guy.

"get some rest, you seem off your game."

the grouch's voice was unusually sincere, and it almost made ronin's gaze soften before the older man gave him an overly enthusiastic tussle of the hair.

"you're still young. sleep is important for you."

he's eyeing the light bags beneath his eyes and ronin could tell, but he only shrugged and gave a sloppy salute in return.

"yeah yeah, no kiddin', i'll be on my 'best' behavior next time. see ya later, old timer."

the gruff man stiffly nodded, immediately disappearing into the busy background as ronin turned and headed for the door.

as soon as the bell overhead chimed, he padded in his passcode and opened his messenger app, pleased to see the '3' icon bubbled besides your nickname.

[writer Darlin']

-'Sadly, my heart is still beating 😭'

-'agent's on my ass so I've been writing another piece for as long as I can whilst the hype is still high'

-'wouldja put me outta my misery?'

and there comes that feeling again, the staticky unease that bleeds into his cheeks, that flows in his chest and even shows through the light tremble of his fingers.

and then the obnoxious twist of his lips, the smile that weaves itself thick and heavy on his lower jaw that he can't seem to rip off, and he steps a bit slower through the sidewalk.

-'nah, i think I'll let ya Suffer a bit longer...'

-'besides, what's a devil to do Without entertainment?'

at this rate, you're probably rolling your eyes out of your own skull because of him, and he'd want nothing less.

[writer Darlin']

-'damn, cruel. shouldn't have expected the devil to be my savior anyway, guess I'll have to ask a sweetheart like Angel to smite me instead of your lame ass 🙄'

as soon as your reply dropped, he responded. no, not out of jealousy or anything stupid like that, but c'mon, be honest with yourself.

-'you've already got Lucifer himself staring over your shoulder, don'tcha think you're being selfish by hoarding all of the Divine power?'

he knows he's being a little shit, but that's just how he is when it comes to his best buds.

he's scrolling through your previous text messages, and it's enough to put a strain over his heartstrings. it's always a dance with you, and he wouldn't have it any other w-

...he nearly walks into a street light.

awkwardly shoving his phone back into his pocket, he decided to worry about getting home alive without some random slip-up ending in his death or worse.

yikes- yeah, he just needs a good kill and a few more hours of rest, and everything will go back to normal. that's all he needs.

...did you respond to his text yet?

.

.

.

maybe ronin was back to his usual self, because after going home and cleaning up, he felt like a new man.

it could've just been ridding himself of the grease and powder from his workplace, or maybe it was the thrill seeping its way back into his bones as he ran a finger over the cold, heavy iron of his crowbar.

changing back into his usual aesthetic helped too, reds and blacks with accents of silver coating him from head to toe, devil horns peeking atop the grey and black fabric of his beanie.

now that he's in uniform, pep flooded his step as he threaded his blackened nails through the silk of his hair, sliding out through his front door and into the night.

who's going to be his lucky pick for today?

.

.

.

he found his victim rather quickly.

greasy brown hair hung in uneven clumps around his sunken face, a pair of bloodshot eyes, watery and half-lidded, scanned the street with a predatory gleam, glinting with something both lazy and lecherous.

and each time a woman pedalled by, presumably hoping to get home before the night sky blackened further, his lips would curl into a crooked grin.

his targets were few and far between, but he made sure that every one of them knew that he had a mouthful of things to say about them right off the bat.

...no matter how young they looked.

it was almost funny, he wanted a victim and he found the best candidate as soon as he set out searching. who'd miss a scumbag like him? uptown needs their savior, after all.

it's more than enough to warrant bashing his head in for the night, and the perfect opportunity to clear his own in the meantime.

the narrow walls of the alley were slicked with grime and shadows. overhead, a single flickering street light was trying its' best to illuminate the corner with its green-hued flare.

its dying glow cast over the alley, draping its rickety textures in a haunting atmosphere- fitting, given that ronin had doused these walls with blood before.

the pavement was littered with crumpled newspapers, shattered glass, and puddles of murky water that reeked of decay. a nauseating stench hung heavy in the air- a blend of rotting food, damp mold, and something metallic and sour, like old blood.

scraping his crowbar along the exposed pipes decorating the filthy path, he tapped it against the dingy metal, once, twice- until finally, the scumbag turns his head, yellow teeth fixed into a scowl.

got him.

ronin's fingers flexed around the warming iron of his trusty weapon, before lifting it and raking its teeth against the brittle brick, a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard grating through the stale air.

"cut that shit out," a low snarl, warning, biting, even. the man's now leaning uneasily over his own two feet, glass bottle tight within the drunk's grasp.

ronin whistled out a long, sharp burst, dragging his tool against the cracked concrete, glass occasionally crunching under his platforms.

"you wanna go, asshole?" the pig snarled, vocal cords strummed with copious amounts of alcohol and mucus as his wrist wiped over his running nose.

the drunken bravado of this prick is more than enough to have ronin's fingers itching to burrow through his abdomen- to wreak havoc across this bastard's body and let him know what hell truly looks like.

the drunkard's now storming towards ronin, almost tripping over his own shoes as he slung slurred words and insults towards him.

little did he know, he was just luring him deeper within the emptied twists and turns of the alley, just to ensure that he gets enough time to hear him scream without any unneeded innocents stopping by and getting an eyeful of gore beyond their wildest nightmares.

eventually, the lone streetlight stopped its' flickering, dimming into a low hum buzz as its' glow grew weaker and weaker- and finally into pitch black.

how well can a drunk man see in the darkness?

.

.

.

it was the same routine. wash, rinse, repeat. mangle the disfigured body into whatever position he wanted and splatter the newly-killed man's innards all over the alley concrete for all to judge.

but the experience was....rather lacking. he barely had a taste of the rush, of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. it died out quickly, and he's right back to thinking of you as he slips through the night and right back into his sanctuary.

[goreboy] 04:06

-'hey Angel is cupid Also an Angel?'

[Angelic] 04:07

-'Well that's a lot of capitalization, especially with the A's but I don't think so? I think he's some god or something in Greek mythology, but I'm not too sure. Why?'

[goreboy] 04:07

-'you two have wings Good enough'

-'tell him to fuck off please and Thanks!'

-'and hey, you know i can't resist that Sweet sweet alliteration.'

[Angelic] 04:07

'How do I deal with you...'

'But wait wait wait, what does that mean? Cupid?'

he feels instant regret- he shouldn't be texting or ranting or whatever the fuck he's doing to angel right now. she's got her own shit going on, and he's skipping like a school girl in a field of daisies- well, preferably bodies, over the thought of...

you. god, it makes his heart hurt. why? how would he know?

he has to hunt you down for this- you definitely cast some weird spell on him to make him feel this strongly for whatever reason and it's absolutely destroying him.

sure, he cares about you, deeply. you're really close and he enjoys being around you, but he didn't know that hanging out with you a couple of times would amount to...this.

and now he's spiraling inside of his own head, falling apart at the seams so easily, and he doesn't even know why.

[goreboy] 04:13

-'oh god bless my bleeding Heart'

-'...'

-'it's Nothing.'

[Angelic] 04:13

'Ronin, is there something going on?'

being sardonically impulsive was a trait that rarely bit ronin in the ass, especially when his instincts were usually sharp, but when it did- it wasn't a fun time.

tucking his head in a bandage-draped palm, he dangled his fingers over the keyboard, only for them to hang motionlessly.

what does he even say to that? "i'm falling in love with one of my best friends and for the first time i'm too much of a pussy to admit it! woe is me!" give him a break.

[Angelic] 04:16

-'You don't have to tell me anything, but if there's anything going on, you know you have a safe place with me, no matter how irritating you are.'

-'Regardless, you really should sit down and just process anything that could be troubling you. Get some sleep in and see how you feel in the morning about everything, y'know?'

'-And if it's cupid related, I don't mind playing matchmaker. 🤍'

ronin couldn't help the smile creeping up on his lips. it helped, y'know? remembering that he had someone in his corner who he could confide in when things got heavy.

[goreboy] 04:17

-'Noted'

-'...'

-'thanks. for y'know, Everything.'

-'and that last bit seems rather Interesting despite the fact that you're basically a Lamer version of cupid'

[Angelic] 04:18

-'I hate you oh so very much 😭'

a dry chuckle vibrates through his chest, and he's shutting off his computer, letting the screen fade to black.

she's right, though. instead of moping in self pity, he should sleep on it, maybe even pray that he won't feel anything for you when the sun rises and he gets out of bed.

he lazily sets his phone on his nightstand, not bothering to plug it up before he had a double take, hitting the power button and reading the numbers in bold.

"4:20 AM."

didn't he say something about getting more sleep?

shit.

.

.

.

he wished he could say that sleep did something for him in the grand scheme of things...

it did little to nothing, especially with the time he went to sleep. now he's restless, maybe a tad manic, and driving himself absolutely mad at the thought of you.

god, it feels as though his teeth are about to fall straight out of their sockets- and not just because he's been slapping himself dumb around his room all night.

he's been thinking- way, way, way, way too much. thinking about his feelings, what he wants, if there's a possibility of you feeling anything too, if you want him too.

further in the day, he thought that perhaps a drink or two will smooth the rough edges, shut his brain up enough for him to do the usual, but after a glass, or two...maybe three, he wasn't getting any closer to salvation.

he still thinks about it- those rare times that you've two hung out and you would casually slink an arm over him or play with his hair as you two binged another horror franchise. the times where he'd turn to watch your reaction at a movie heavily relying on shock value and how you'd scoot a little closer to him after it.

was he just imagining that? did your heart beat no faster at the idea of being closer to him? was all of this normal for you? whenever you went outside to do something simple, like checking the mail, did you not spot something that reminded you of him?

because as he's trailing down the countless alleyways he has memorized like the back of his hand, everything he looks at sends his mind into a blurry fuzz of everything you.

he didn't even notice the storm clouds rolling in, and the low grumble of faraway thunder did little to dissuade him from traveling farther from home, despite his lack of jacket or umbrella.

he felt like a stray dog wandering the streets with a maw full of bleeding rot, looking for something to devour that'll push the feeling down.

but there's nothing to do to push it down, to cast it out of sight and out of mind, and he's too full of feelings that he doesn't know what to do with-

should he pick out another kill for him to waste his time on?

normally, that'd be something he'd consider, something he'd chase out and bide his time on until the adrenaline, the rush, the high- would hopefully push you out of mind.

but he knows it'll just fail, like it did the day before.

the sky's weeping heavier at this point, and he's just now wringing out the black fabric of his shirt, drenched beyond relief at this rate.

he shrugs it off like it's whatever, as if the thunder and fat raindrops pummeling down on him was nothing more than an inconvenience, and he decides to retreat back home for the day.

each stride through the darkening streets feel almost weightless as he trails down the empty sidewalks, and it's right there.

his sanctuary.

except he turns the doorknob and it's... locked.

a frown bags over his lower jaw, and he tries it again. nope, locked.

and then a hollered "i'll be right there!" muffles behind the door. wait, what?

he looks forward, noticing the unfamiliar 'welcome!' rug at the doors front steps, and the change in scenery around him.

the door opens, and before he can hot tail it out of there, you're peeking out from behind the frame, and your brows furrow.

fuck, he's so screwed.

did he really self sabotage himself so badly in his drunken stupor that he walked to your front door instead of his?

because now he gets to see you- in person. and he doesn't know if he can handle that right now, if he can stand face to face with you knowing how his heartbeat quickens at the sound of your voice, nonetheless seeing you right before him.

you're motionless for a second, eyes beading over his form in a vertical line before you craned the door wide open, a mix of concern and confusion etched onto your face and he sobered up at the sight immediately.

don't you see that you're opening the front door to the worst person right now? fuck, why did you decide to answer? you shouldn't have, you really, really shouldn't have.

it felt like he was dying of embarrassment, and death had never felt so foreign and uneasy in his chest as he gave you a nervous grin.

"uh, hey."

his voice was dry and nearly died out as soon as the words left his lips, a faint crack ending off of his awkward greeting.

and suddenly, he could feel the way his pants weighed more than usual and how his shirt stuck uncomfortably close to his skin, fat raindrops still pummeling him under the dark sky.

"is it...normal, for you to be standing in the pouring rain?"

it was a jab, a friendly one at that, but your lighthearted words were simultaneously laced with...shock? surprise? maybe pity?

he pulled at his collar, sheepishly rubbing at the nape of his neck as water trickled down against his spine, causing a shiver to stream through him.

"uh, yeah-yep. y'know, just, uh...getting some fresh air."

getting fresh air in the middle of a thunderstorm? yeah, right. he was hoping to lean into the dry humor of it all and maybe crack a smile out of you that would allow him to brush past the inevitable 'what the fuck are you doing here?' question, but fate said otherwise.

"well, maybe you should come inside? i mean-you're soaked and the night's only gonna get darker."

immediate no. he cannot let himself step through your doorway, he cannot delve between the walls that's everything...you. that's the LAST thing he needs right now, last thing he should surround himself with.

you tug at the wet fabric of one of his sleeves, as if trying to guide him into the warmth of your home, but he only nails his palms over the ridges of your doorframe, enabling him still.

"no, i'd rather stay riiiight here, thank you."

you side eyed the worsening weather at his back and grazed your pupils over to his, staring at him as if he said something funny.

"ronin-"

"'m fine where i stand, thanks darlin'."

you frown, your brow raised strictly as if you were about to scold him, but you held your tongue for whatever reason, as if you could tell that he really didn't want to step inside.

"fine, but if you get a cold and i have to take care of your ass, don't tell me i didn't warn you."

is it bad that the scenario doesn't sound too bad to him?

his heart's working against him in ways he never knew it could, and before he could shut himself up, he's leaning further towards you, eyelids heavy and irises locked onto yours.

"you'd take care of me if i were sick?"

he didn't realize how desperate he was coming across, but when he heard the immediate drop in his tone and the lack of crypt in his voice, he felt a flutter in his chest. fuck, you're killing him.

the attitude slathered all over your face phases over, shifting into light solemn as you cross your arms, giving a small nod.

"yeah, of course. i care about you,"

fuck, you're killing him!

"-you're one of my bestest friends, after all."

oh my god, put him out of his misery already!

he's never rolled his eyes harder, he could've sworn he saw the man on the cross himself for a moment and he could've set on his knees as a believer right then and there.

maybe he should ask for the lord to strike him down here and now, and hopefully with enough repentance he'll die on the spot.

unluckily for him, you noticed his reaction, the way his head turned and his x'ed out pupils narrowed and slid out of view. the way his head veered away from you and his nostrils flared momentarily.

now you're curious, and you already know what happens to those who question things they probably shouldn't. curiosity killed the cat, 'n all.

"well, you have something to say, yeah? this is the first time i've seen satan himself shivering, so should i assume that hell finally froze over?"

the jest in your voice was unmistakable, but so was the genuine undertone of your question. he wished he could turn you away and soothe your curiosity with a toothy grin that told you all you needed to hear-

but with how he's standing ahead of you like a deer in headlights, he'd reckon that it wouldn't do much to salvage this situation.

"i don't," he began, only to slap a hand over his face with his index and middle fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"i, i can't, it's..."

he drawls off, and he can feel it, the excuses longing to claw their way out of the confines of his throat, the overwhelming need to escape your gaze, and the hesitation churning in his abdomen.

"wow, whatever the hell you're going on about is really fucking you up, huh?"

you weren't wrong. this was definitely out of character, especially for ronin out of all people.

you clicked your tongue, rolling it over your teeth as you mentally noted the slight tremor in his body.

"are you...sure you don't want to come in?"

your voice falls on deaf ears, he's too absorbed in it all, in everything you do down to the smallest things. it's embarrassing, really, the dilation of his pupils following the view of your tongue running over the angle of your canines.

the sight should strike terror into his bones and he knows it. he should be running for the hills at this point - what can he even do to tilt the odds in his favor?

and yeah, he's fucking horrified. horrified at the way that his face doesn't pale in fear, but hazes over with the lightest pink. horrified at the way his heartstrings tense and pull, as if his heart was trying to ruthlessly beat itself out of its' bindings.

you're the scariest thing he's come across. the careless ruffle of your hair, the rosy pigment blotched over your bottom lip, and that...casual look in your eye. the way light dances and reflects in your irises like the prettiest firework show he's ever seen.

you're bad. really fucking bad for him, you're the worst thing he's laid eyes on, and he knows it once your head tilts in confusion and his gut wrangles high into his throat. what the fuck are you doing to him? do you know what the fuck you're doing to him?

you're probably deeper in the pits of hell than he is, and that's saying something. you're dangerous! akin to some monstrosity that the likes of man couldn't even fathom.

he was wrong for questioning your lack of survival instincts when you opened the door for him, he should've been questioning his own when he wandered to your front door like a lamb to the slaughter.

instead of having your aorta between his fingers, you have his wrangled between yours, and you don't even fucking know it.

the crackle of thunder right down the street is enough to wake him from his internal monologue, and he realizes that you're basically shaking him dry, snapping your fingers before him in a pitiful attempt to 'wake him up'.

"jesus christ," you heave, and you're grabbing him by the wrists, the heat of your fingers locking around his pulse burned his cheeks into a brighter shade of pink that, for once, made him look more alive than corpse.

"ronin, talk to me. tell me what's going on, please, you're not acting like yourself, and that says something."

the sound of his lifeline thumps heavy in his eardrums, even as he digs his teeth into the crackled, slightly bloodied mess of his bottom lip. he can feel the random, morbid variations of everything he's been feeling coursing through his veins.

they taste odd, unbalanced over the piercing on his tongue, and he doesn't even know how to describe it himself. fuck it, he's here right now, he needs to do something about these feelings while they're still fresh and bleeding, but all the ideas garble up into pathetic word vomit once he gets a hold of them.

he's eyeing the wet glisten of your lash line, and he notices you're now, too, partially in the rain. the hands holding his wrists now interlocked with his, fingers crisscrossing over one another.

he's thinking about it all; the times you've shared, ranging from your hangouts to your gaming sessions, and they all were...

perfectly imperfect.

yeah, the time you two went out for ice cream and not even two steps away from the truck, your scoops splattered all over the pavement. or the last time you guys hung out over at his place and blackjack- his pet rat, started nibbling on your fingers and you nearly dropped the damned thing.

nothing ever seemed to go as planned when your paths crossed. it was as if the gods themselves conspired to curse your time together, weaving misfortune into every interaction, a twisted, modern-day version of romeo and juliet. yet, no matter how things unraveled, the night would always end the same: with laughter, warmth, and the unmistakable feeling that none of it mattered as long as you were together.

the stupidest shit could happen on the days that you've planned to see each other on, and no matter what, you two would find a way to work it out, without fail.

standing here now, would telling you ruin everything that's been? divide you two back on your separate roads, the way fate wants it to be?

he's tired of guessing.

twisting black painted nails around the width of your hand, he moves your palm up to the plain of his chest, and your brows raise. he lays it close to his collarbone, but far down enough that the flat of your hand meets the rapid thudding in his body.

"feel how fast my heart's beating?"

you nod.

"would'ja drive a stake through it? spare me my autonomy, quiet the rhythm in my ears and leave me no longer breathing?"

he's closer to you now, the x's in his pupils trailing your every feature, taking in the way your cheeks flush and your lids lower.

"would you consider that mercy? no longer needing to confront your emotions?"

he gives you the slightest smile at your response, the void in his gaze sucking you in as he lays a thumb under the curve of your lower lids, brushing over your cheekbone, smearing a few water droplets across your cheek.

"who wouldn't? that's the beauty in being human, in feeling all these...things. gives us so many weaknesses, so many flaws, but so, so much to discover."

he's almost grinning ear to ear at the sight of your eye twitching irritably, a tight lipped smile spread on your face as you huff. he can tell you want him to get to the point.

so he will.

"ronin, stop all the cryptic talk. just, tell me what's going o-"

"i'm in love with you."

and the warmth pumping through your cheeks increased by tenfold, for a moment, the cogs in your brain just... stalled. you blinked, once, twice, staring at him like he'd just spoke in a language you didn't know.

"wait... what?" the words tumbled out before you could stop them, a mix of confusion and disbelief your words.

"you... you like me?"

"did i stutter?"

"no, no, i-i just...like, like like me?"

it was adorable; how doubting you were, your words almost frantic. and it wasn't in a 'ew, you like me?' type of manner, it was more of a 'oh my god, you like me? me!?' way.

he now has both of his hands cupping your face, thumbing along the corner of your lips and you're even warmer- or maybe it's just because he's drenched in rain water and you're only slightly damp.

"is there somethin' wrong with me for likin' you?"

and just like that, the tables turned. you're the one who's flustered and trying to explain yourself while he's just smug watching your panicked display with a grin.

"no! no, it's just- i'm...dumbfounded. i mean, i didn't really see it coming. are you...sure?"

he's more than 100% sure, but if you need some more convincing, he doesn't mind.

"want me to prove it to ya?"

his jaw's already nearing yours and a low timbre wedges in the tangle of his vocal chords, words sweet and curious.

his question was rhetorical- he knew you wanted him to, and your irises giving his lips a quick glance confirmed it.

"well? i'm waiting in the wings."

you give a slow nod, hands running up to the broadness of his shoulders before he dipped forward and...

the soft pout of your bottom lip met the cracked surface of his, and it couldn't have been more perfect, the trailing of your fingers rising through the soaked locks sticking to his skin. you're warm, really warm, and he doesn't want to let you go.

and suddenly he can breathe again, the tension compressed in his body releasing all at once, he, for one, finally feels free at the maddening press of your skin to his.

the faint taste of alcohol dances between you two, and your tongue gives a light swipe over his bottom lip in response to it, as if trying to get a better taste.

have you come from the abyssal sky above to grace him salvation? to save him from the endless pits of his own sin? to cut him apart with gentle hands, to dissect him with hushed promises of alleviating the burning ache in his chest?

because the warm cradle of your embrace sets his soul alight, and he's burning up like a dry weed catching the first sparks of summer's relentless rays.

it's been so long since he was last touched like this. since he's had someone to cradle, someone to hold, to kiss, to love.

he's been saved by you, and not in the biblical sense, no, he's damned no matter how you look at it. but he no longer feels lost, no longer yearning, craving something he thinks he can't have.

eventually, you have to pull away, his arms still slung over the dip of your back, and yours still around the nape of his neck.

"whaddya say? wanna be my partner in crime?"

you cringe, your nose scrunching in utter distaste at his title for you and you pitch a playful whack on his chest, a curl lingering on your lips.

"were you always this cheesy?"

he's about to respond with a teasing quip back, but then-

"ah-achoo!" his head pivots away from you and into the crease of his elbow, sneezing into his arm and he sniffles quietly.

"i uh, might have to take you up on that offer you proposed earlier?"

"see! i told you!"

----

hi teehee thanks for reading sorry this definitely sucks ass in some parts bc i rushed this last minute, lots of things here were just made up/headcanons about his character

i....i finished editing it....2000 words officially brought back from the dead...i couldn't have done it without the power of friendship ‼️

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling - a year later

A/N: Well I guess none of you were expecting more Little Darling - I certainly wasn't expecting to write any more! But here's a fluffy little bit for @fluffbruary - taking the prompt hands although I think that was for about 7 days ago!

Little Darling masterlist is here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan

Word count: 812

TWs: None! Pure fluff and a little kiss!

Tegan almost falls into Elvis’ arms at the end of the training session, she’s so tired. She usually tries to keep a sensible distance from teacher, so she doesn’t get accused of getting special treatment by her classmates, but today’s lesson has been punishing. Probably her own fault for having a few weeks off really, having too much fun celebrating her anniversary with Elvis, but it’s really taken it out of her. 

“Well done today, honey,” he coos at her as he leads her over to the bench at the side of the room. “Ya look beat.”

She groans, taking her belt off and looking about for her things. “Remind me to never take three weeks off in a row again.”

He chuckles. “My fault, Tegan bach. Takin’ ya away on fancy vacations.”

Pulling on her socks and shoes, she looks around as the hall slowly empties, students waving as they leave. Elvis waves back, dropping the odd comment about how well someone is doing, how their kicks are coming along nicely or that they’re really getting the hang of the kata they’ve been learning. Tegan smiles to herself. He always has a kind word for everyone, no matter how long they’ve been there or how terrible they still might be at karate. It’s one of the things she loves about him the most. 

She leans her head on his shoulder as the last person leaves. “Mmmm. Yeah it was a good holiday though. I’d like to be back in the Bahamas right now.”

Elvis turns a little to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Me too.”

Tegan sighs softly and closes her eyes for a minute. Her muscles are aching already. 

Elvis looks down at her lovingly. He’s been thinking lately that maybe he should stop teaching entirely, leave the Karate schools to Lisa or someone who wants to manage them, and take Tegan away to live somewhere tropical and beachy permanently. He’s not getting any younger. The more he sits here, in rainy Memphis, the more appealing the idea becomes. His eyes drift down to her hands, both resting on one of his thighs, and he notices the cuts and bruises there. Scooping them up one at a time, he starts to press gentle kisses to her knuckles. Her eyes flutter open again. 

“Oh!” She exclaims, softly. Not even realising her hands were damaged, she suddenly feels  a little overwhelmed at his tenderness.

“Sore, baby?” He looks up at her with those beautiful blue eyes and she feels like she could melt right there on the spot. Idly wondering if she’ll ever get over how beautiful he is. 

“Little bit.”

He smiles against her skin. “Am I helping?”

“Always.”

Finishing his ministrations, he carefully replaces her hands and then cups her cheek gently, looking into her eyes with a seriousness that makes her stomach twist. 

“I know ya love ya job, an’ yer apartment,” he begins. “But uh… that vacation jus’ made me think… I'm gettin’ old, Tegan bach, an’ I don't wanna live out the rest a my days here,” he gestures around to the empty hall, “teachin’ like this. I uh… I wanna retire an’ take ya somewhere warm ta live. Nice beach somewhere.”

His eyes shift around nervously. He knows how much she likes her life now, and values her independence. But he's been thinking this way for a while now. The vacation had just solidified the decision. 

Tegan bites her lip. The vacation had made her reevaluate a few things too. Part of her had been scared that despite everything they’d been through they wouldn’t last a year, and when they did and their relationship seemed stronger than ever, she had started to wonder just how long Elvis could keep up the travel related to managing the business. And how much she wanted to be away from him, insisting on keeping her job in case things went wrong. 

“Yeah I do love both of those things,” she replies. His face falls a little so she continues quickly, “but I love you more, ‘raur. And if you want to retire and take me to live on a beach with you… I think I can probably manage.”

His lips curl into that cute lopsided grin and his hand slips to cradle the back of her head. “Are ya sure?”

“Am I sure I want to live on a beach with the love of my life? Yeah I'm sure.”

“Oh honey I love ya so much,” he mumbles, as he presses his lips against hers. 

“I love you too, cariad,” she replies, a little breathless from the passion of the kiss they’d just shared. “I don’t want to waste any more time apart. Let’s go home and figure out which Caribbean island we want to spend the rest of our days on.”

Elvis chuckles. “I can’t wait, baby.”

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

[ierofrnkk]

So… puppy little sad Steven alone in Valentine’s Day Jorking off while crying pathetically

I mean Steven and valentines!

Ana you sly devil, you……

of course hehehehe

Maybe Next Year

Steven Grant (~800)

Summary: Steven’s alone on Valentine’s Day again this year.

Tags: 18+! Masturbation (male), brief mention of porn, crying, Steven crying a lil while he’s jerking off, dacryphilia (?) if you squint, slight angst bc Steven is lonely

a/n: yeah yup. uh huh.

——

Valentine’s Day. The day of love, or, more accurately: the day that everyone else is in love and seemingly enjoys shoving it into every single person’s face.

Needless to say, Valentine’s Day is not Steven’s favorite holiday.

Cheap, tacky red and pink hearts were plastered all over the museum, in every shop, even on the front door of his apartment building. The day seemed to mock him, the fact that he was painfully single was not forgotten that day.

He couldn’t even manage a date, not even for the night; not after the last dating fiasco, at least.

Steven’s night was arguably the most sad in all of London; he picked up some dinner for himself—a little vegan wrap from the corner shop that he’s grown quite fond of—and spent his evening at home, alone.

He tried whatever he could to make himself feel better, but nothing really worked as well as he’d hoped it would.

He read some books, spoke to Gus for a while, even put his favorite show on the TV, but all of it made him feel that much more alone.

He even resorted to watching some porn, hopefully something in his favorite rotation of videos would help him feel a little less lonely. He clicked through a few videos, the super-secret ones, the ones with the soft voices full of praise and far-too attractive women.

The sight of everything, of course, garnered the reaction that tends to happen when you watch porn alone in your room.

He was already pretty hard, and figured there was no time like the present to take care of it—not like he had anything else planned for the evening.

The last video had begun playing by the time he slid his hand beneath the elastic of his sweatpants and boxers, though Steven wasn’t paying much attention to what was on the screen.

His eyes, for the most part, were either closed or focused up onto the ceiling as he took his aching cock into his hand, stroking himself slowly.

It was nice, obviously, but not exactly how Steven wanted to spend another Valentine’s Day.

Alone, in his room, jerking off.

He worries his lower lip between his teeth as he continues, having established a pace with his hand that he knew would get him to finish quickly.

The thought that this is what he’s doing, while everyone else he knew was on a date—at the very least, out somewhere with the potential to score a date, or even get laid.

He twists his wrist, focusing the slightest bit more attention on the sensitive, leaking head of his cock. He knows that it won’t be very long until he’s finished.

As if he didn’t feel pathetic enough, he can feel the ache in his chest, the stinging pinpricks of tears in his eyes as he continues to think about everything that’s gone wrong in his life, leading up to this point.

His eyes are wet with tears, now, rolling from the corners of his eyes down the sides of his face as he lays back with his head against the pillow.

The two sensations are warring within him—the increasing tension, the heat in the pit of his stomach as he works himself closer and closer, and that empty ache in his chest, leading him to cry because he’s feeling so terribly alone.

The last video’s finished by this point—not like he was watching it anyways—the room relatively quiet besides the sound of his breathing and the muted noise of the city through his windows.

Steven can feel himself getting closer, the coil in his stomach tightening further and further as he strokes himself, imagining what it might be like to have somebody else do this for him, for a change.

It doesn’t take much after that for him to find his climax, spilling his release all over his hand and a bit on his stomach.

The labored breaths as he comes down morph into soft, shaky inhales as the surge of emotion combined with the intense feeling prove to be too much for him to handle.

This, he feels, is the lowest point in his life.

After taking a few moments to collect himself—at least somewhat—he sits up in bed, grabbing a few tissues to clean himself up and tossing them in the bin next to his bed.

He shuts his laptop, gets dressed in his coziest clothes—a sweater that’s far too big for him, and some warm flannel pants—and settles himself onto the couch in front of the TV once again, snuggling up with the soft pillows and comfy blankets.

Maybe, he thinks. Maybe next year’ll be better.

Thank you for reading!

tags: @faretheeoscar @howellatme @winniethewife @midgardian-witch @reallyrallyauthor @my-secret-shame @silvernight-m @ominoose

[tarnishedxknight]

"Oh, good!" Ashelia said with genuine happiness when Larsa said her healing was smooth and short. "Healing is something I love. It makes me feel good about myself. Sometimes I feel like I am too angry or shortsighted a person and then... then I heal someone... and I can feel good that I've improved or saved someone's life. That's why I've worked hard to perfect it. This way if everything else sours in me somehow as the years drag on, at least that part will remain good."

She realized then that she was rambling, and she chuckled, her cheeks turning red. "I'm sorry, I... Listen to me, talking nonsense when you must be so overwhelmed by the whole process. But I am glad you found it an easy one."

When he address her formally, Ashelia's smile grew. It was in that formal address that she felt for just one brief moment like she was back in Ivalice again. The words, just those simple words... they took her back there. "Forget it," she whispered, grinning affectionately. "By now we've done each other favors ten times over, and I feel your tally is far larger than my own at this point. Consider us more than even... my lord." She nodded slowly and just as formally to him as he had just addressed her.

When he asked if she was alright, she chuckled. "Me? Oh, yes, I will be fine. I am only a little tired. You should have seen me the first time I discovered that I had a natural ability to heal. Sometimes those of Dynast blood do, but one can never be sure. I healed Basch's nethicite poisoning when I was only a child. Not on purpose, mind you, I was simply sad that my dear friend and mentor was... well, to be frank, he was dying. Already bedridden. I thought I was going to lose him, and had already begun to grieve. One day I sat by his bedside and took his hand in mine and... it just sort of... happened. I passed out for several hours and terribly worried my father and Basch." She patted Larsa's hand. "But don't you worry. I've had a lot of practice since then, and I've gotten much stronger. Now all I feel is just a little fatigued, and it passes quickly," she explained, hoping to reassure him.

Larsa did not expect to be unfrozen at all, let alone in the future. When he had snuck upon Gabranth's ship set for Pharos he did it to ensure the peace would be possible. The last thing he remembered was running towards fallen Gabranth and then... Light. (Marvel AU) - tarnishedxjudgement

@tarnishedxjudgement

Noah didn't have the same abilities and resources in this time period with which to inform himself of anything and everything that was going on around him. He was in the dark, most of the time, unless directly informed of things, a condition he hated. Being at the mercy of others he neither knew nor trusted for information was not a position he usually found himself in.

It was the reason he hadn't known about Drace being found after him until she was brought one day to the training compound. Inexplicably, after executing her in his own timeline, here she was again, seemingly from another. The entire experience was wholly jarring, but not nearly as jarring as losing his only son.

So often had Noah thought of Larsa in the months following his revival in this strange time. Thoughts invaded his peace, his sleep, his ability to function, until he found himself so erratic and unhinged that he did not recognize himself anymore. Even Drace found it difficult to comfort him, and she had always been a master of that feat. There was no closure to be had, no second chances, no going back... and that knowledge was eating Noah alive from the inside out.

But once again, information had been kept from him, and yet another arrival from Ivalice to the Avengers compound was neither expected nor necessarily wanted. Would it be another Dalmascan? Gods forbid a Rozarrian. And the way the people of this time seemed to think that all Ivalicians got along and would be happy to see each other was beyond irritating to him. Nevertheless, when he was specifically summoned to greet this newcomer, Noah begrudgingly left his quarters to do so.

What he saw... stopped him dead in his tracks. Within seconds, his expression betrayed him, and within a few more, he was on his knees, his legs giving way in disbelief of the sight that lay before him. It was little Lord Larsa, looking just as he did when last Noah laid eyes on him, perfect as can be.

He knew he should say something, but words betrayed him as well as his own legs had. Instead, he merely stared, the absence of his helm serving to display to the boy all the shock, confusion, and relief at seeing him standing there. Finally, he forced out the only two words he felt he could say without falling apart.

"My lord..."

[durgeapologist]

Omg your blog is such a relief. Every day I feel more and more like I want to distance myself from about 80% of the Solavellan community bc I am telling you it is ROUGH being into the egg and wanting to talk about him but being surrounded by people who think that everyone and their mother is out to get them. Meanwhile someone can come up with valid criticisms about how Lavellan's characterization was handled in VG and get swarmed with unsolicited opinions about solrook shippers and accusations of misogyny. I also see them running around in posts that are clearly marked as "Critical" And half the time when I CAN talk to them about Solas it's like they aren't even talking about the same character I am? They want him to be some helpless little abuse victim who isn't responsible for anything he does??? Why are we redeeming him if he did nothing wrong? What would be the point? We love him because he's fucked up and a manipulative bastard but also complex???? Did we play the same game girlies???

i have been staring at this ask since it came in trying to find a normal way to respond to you anon i will be so fr rn so i am so sorry it's taken a few hours

i’ll start with this:

“Why are we redeeming him if he did nothing wrong?”

full stop. this. so much. (i am in love with you anon) why is there a atonement/redemption ending if he did nothing wrong? (you’re literally so real) solas has done horrendous things. like genuinely abhorrent. (i crave to be your friend so bad anon) he is a genocidal, serial killing, manipulative lying cunt. to say the least. AND THAT IS WHY I LOVE HIM. he has such complex characteristics that make him so intriguing. he wants to be a good person. but he doesn’t really know how to be genuine. he is riddled with guilt and regret. he feels BAD about the things he has done. but he doesn’t want to face his mistakes. he knows he has done absolutely terrible things in the name of his people and their liberation, things most of them never asked him to do. some even asked him to NOT DO THOSE THINGS. did he listen? of course not! this is solas we are talking about. arrogant, prideful, calculating solas.

“They want him to be some helpless little abusive victim who isn’t responsible for anything he does.”

yes. yep. THIS SO BAD. (genuinely let me be your friend pls i am on my knees begging) the dynamic between solythal gets convoluted by most solasmancers because of three things: misogyny, jealousy, and ignorance. was there abuse? yeah. not denying that. was there only abuse? no. mythal was a victim of abuse herself. the way she learned to love, she passed down to solas. BOTH were victims of abuse who did terrible, no good, awful things. BOTH were also extremely powerful, omnipotent, and power-hungry individuals. mythal's hunger for power showcased differently than solas' and was amplified (IMO) by elgar'nan whispering in her ear. solas had felassan to keep him in check.

i am of the UPMOST certainty that had solas not taken down the evanuris the way he did and went to sleep after creating the veil, he would have become another tyrant ruling over the elven people. (THE MASKED EMPIRE ANYONE? HELLO? HELLOOOOO?) also anyone who says she was his MOTHER or SISTER?? god please drown me. put me in a tub and hold my head under water. that was his PARTNER AND HIS LOVER. i cannot with the takes that she raised his ass COME ON. i have sooooo much more to say about this dynamic and the themes of abuse AND how solasmancers twist it to make her this most evil, vile, horrible woman; but i would like to keep some of my followers tbh (anon i am frothing at the mouth if you want to discuss this further i beg you to dm me) so we shall move on.

"...valid criticisms about how Lavellan's characterization was handled in VG..."

yeah full stop i will never forgive them for making her one personality type. sorry, i just won't. my lavellan egg-mancer was a strong-willed and angry proud dalish woman who told solas off every chance she could! i am genuinely so happy people who wanted the dynamic we got in VG got that, because that is how their lavellan is/was, but what about the lavs who punched him? who told him to stop being an asshole about elves, and just farmed approval for the romance by asking questions? i chose to hunt his ass down BECAUSE I WANTED TO HUNT HIS ASS DOWN! my lavellan would not be so understanding or forgiving, she just wouldn't, so it feels like my girl's personality was ripped away from her fr. now, i DO NOT agree with some of the takes on how she was presented because those criticisms are in fact riddled with misogyny and most are just downright vile. but i do agree with the criticisms that not all lavellans would have been so kind to that bald man.

so anon, TRUST me when i say i feel you so bad. i was in lots of solavellan spaces before i started shipping dreadrook, and even then i was looked at SO funny for my takes on the romance and called plenty of terrible things simply because i didn't hold solas up on this pedestal and make my lav worship the ground he walked on. even as a dreadrooker, the same exact takes that i couldn't get behind in solav spaces are very prevalent in dreadrook spaces. solasmancers have a tendency to simply agree with solas on everything and refuse to acknowledge how bad of a person he really can be.

i am a proud solasmancer AND a proud solas hater. #1 solas hater, in fact. i rarely have positive things to say about his actions and behaviors outside of a joke setting, and even in a joke setting the things people will say to defend him RUB ME SO BADLY THE WRONG WAY. also heavy on the perusing the "critical" tags and getting offended when my takes are, in fact, critical LMFAO. anon i am literally a beggar sitting on the side of the street waving a metal cup at you asking for coins of your affection rn. i have maybe one other friend who feels like this and have hardly anyone to rant about these things with. holding my hands out towards you and begging you to dm me fr. PLEASE. we can be critical together <3

[taleya15]

"Just friends"

*Ring*

*Ring*

*Ring *

"Nothing. Again. Great." Mike sighed against the wall of his basement. He hates when Joyce is working, which is constantly now. He rings up Dustin to complain. Because Lucas is at basketball practice like always. So Dustin is all Mike has now. It's weird because Will used to be the person Mike would go to so he can complain and rant to. Now Will's mom is the reason he complains. Dustin is quick to answer like always, and for a moment Mike feels grateful.

"No answer?"

"Nope. Nothing. I'll try again in an hour, but for now! What the actual fuck dude! I hate Joyce's job! It's so stupid that I basically have to schedule a meeting with my best friend!"

"I know. I know man. I'm sorry."

Mike sighs out but doesn't say anything for a moment.

"Thanks for trying though man."

"Of course man. But hey listen I gotta go, my mom's calling me up. She wants a new cat."

"Oh. Haha have fun."

"I won't. See ya man."

"See ya!" With the sound of the hanging up beep, Mike sighs again and walks to the couch. He plops down dramatically and starts thinking. He hates this so much. All he wants to do is at least talk to Will. The only thing that can calm him down in a bad mood is Will. El helps when she can, but Will is the only one who can fix it completely.

He hates that too. He hates that the only person who can calm him down is the person he can never reach. He hates that he can't go to his girlfriend about this. She could only understand and help so much. But Will.. he understands everything Mike says. Sometimes Mike wishes Will was a girl. Then maybe it'd be easier, but he loves El. At least he thinks he does anyway. Eventually he realizes the time and realizes the full hour has passed. An hour of self loathing and anxiety. Great another one.

Mike gets up again and goes to the phone. He almost doesn't pick it up. He almost just leaves it alone and goes to sulk for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time. But something in him tells him to try again. Maybe it's his stubbornness, or his desire to talk to Will that does it. But he picks the phone up anyway and while he puts the number in he gets a weird rush of Deja Vu. But he pushes on and listens to ring of the phone. It's five rings later and he almost hangs up. But then there’s a different sound, a pause then the sound of the phones connecting.

"Hello, Byers residents. Joyce speaking."

"Oh! Joyce hey!"

"Mike? Oh hi hun! Haven't heard from you in a while! What's going on? How's school going?"

"Uh. Yeah school's great thanks."

"Right! Silly me! You're calling for Will aren't you?"

"Haha yes ma'am I am. Is he there?"

"Yes! I'll put him on now!"

There's a muffled sound of Joyce's voice then there's something different that happens.

"Uh hello?" Will answers the phone seemingly confused. His voice seems deeper, like three octaves deeper. It surprises Mike for a moment, but he pushes past his initial thoughts and speaks to him. Finally.

"Will!"

"Mike! Hey man! How- how are you? I haven't heard from you in a while."

"Yeah. Yeah I know sorry man." I tried calling you, like every day. But that sentence dies in his throat. He wouldn't dare say that out loud. He'll sound like a wimp.

"That-that's ok! How's it going?"

"Um. It- it's fine thanks. How um how is it for you?"

“... good. Are you sure you're ok? You can tell me." Great. He saw right through it like aways.

"I- I just honestly had a terrible day today." He sighs uncomfortably he really doesn't want to elaborate. But he knows he has to.

"Oh I'm sorry what happened?" Mike sighs again and thinks of something to say. He can't say the real reason why. He can barely admit to himself the real reason.

"Oh. Um I got a bad grade on my exam today." That actually was true, he did get a really bad grade on an exam today in math. But he honestly didn't care about that. He couldn't care less about it, but it was the only thing he could think to say.

"Oh man! I'm sorry I understand, is there anything I can do to help you?"

"I- I don't know right now."

"Well I can distract you."

"That sounds great actually."

For the next ten minutes Will talks about anything that he can think of. Mike mostly listens, but he loves the conversation. He feels at ease for the first time all day. And for a moment, a single moment he wishes he could tell Will what he's desperately wanting to tell him. He's dying to confess to him, to say 'Will, I'm so desperately in love with you. I wish I could be with you, I don't care about El. She's nothing to me, because I can't have you.’ But instead he just listens and reminds himself that they're "just friends". And Mike would never dare ask Will his feelings either.

Because he's convinced that Will's straight, but is he?

[cryptidmickle]

Hi, dont know if you've answered this before but about your shadow milk cookie amnesiac au. Would shadow milk want to go by a different name? Instead of using one he doesn't really associate with?

since he sees corrupted shadow milk cookie as a separate version of him, and doesn't really see those actions as really him.

(Sorry if this is worded weirdly. Also I love both your art and the au! Their great!)

have not answered this before! see... i did think about giving him a different name, but that requires me to come up with a name for him that others havent used before and that seems like a HASSLE

of course i would have done so anyways but! it actually makes more sense for smilk to continue using that name instead of coming up with a separate one, as he has simply lost his memories! not become a separate person. i feel hes very aware of that fact, and its why the name "shadow milk" still resonates with some dull feeling within him that he can't understand

as much as he denies full responsibility for what corrupted him did, and insists he is not that criminal, he knows he did those things. he is very aware of what he is/was capable of doing and thats what frightens him so much when hearing about what happened in the faerie kingdom

taps chin, i'm not very good with words so im not sure if i can explain it in a way that sounds coherent haha, but in my eyes... shadow milk is exactly who he was before the corruption of his soul jam, the corruption just further amplified negative feelings/actions and it was just terrible luck that the beasts were already so powerful. you know how it is, a god's tantrum is enough to destroy a city. same logic with amnesia'd smilk, hes still him, but now without corruption and without memories of who he used to be

I,,IN OTHER WORDS. NO, HE'S OKAY WITH GOING BY SHADOW MILK, HE STILL FEELS A CONNECTION TO IT

[aunttheta]

Bringing this post back because I would love to see more people release their own opinions on how Siffrin's eye affects him emotionally and physically out into the world.

there's barely any talk about it outside of how it effects his relationship with Bonnie, which don't get me wrong is great! But there's so much more to losing an eye then just the guilt someone else may feel about it y'know.

Like I know Siffrin was very much brushing the whole thing off and trying very hard to pretend it never happened, but that must have been pretty scary for them at first, suddenly being down half of your sight, probably in pain from the attack, and none of the comfort that a hug might have brought them because the party still thought Sif didn't like being touched. Like the actual event and events after losing the eye must have been genuinely terrible for him and he wouldn't have said a thing about it to anyone because to Siffrin their own personal comfort is completely unnecessary when thinking about how scared Bonnie must have been, how terrifying it must have been for Bonnie, and so forth.

Siffrin would rather pretend it never happened and pretend that it didn't affect him in any significant way than admit that the situation was at the very least uncomfortable for them, like I fully believe him when they say that losing the eye meant nothing to them because otherwise Bonnie would have gotten hurt, but feeling like he made the right call doesn't actually change how it's consequences effected him and the emotions however briefly they got to exist before getting repressed to hell and back they must have felt in the actual moment and direct aftermath were probably pretty intense.

Well would you look at that! Apparently I actually did have more to say about it lol!

I've been seeing some posts about siffrin being bad at his job that got me thinking super hard about it. Like Siffrin IS bad at their job but it's only because he's recently disabled, Like at the point we first meet him he doesn't seem to even fully accept the lost eye as being lost and they haven't adjusted to it being missing and what that really means.

Almost everytime Sif misses something in the house its because they couldn't SEE it, like the switch in the pillar, the key in the head housemaidens office, and i think the most obvious offender the counter.

Honestly the only things I can think of that he misses due to just, not getting it would be the secret library and the key in the diary, which I also find the diary super interesting because I feel it's pretty safe to assume they miss it because of how he values privacy of thought but that's not what this is about.

The point is Siffrin is struggling with his sight and no longer can spot things as easily as he likely is used to, and isn't giving himself any breathing room for messing up because in their mind they should be better at this because at some point not that long ago he WAS better at this, meaning if he failed its got to be his fault, that means he isn't trying as hard as they should or didn't look hard enough, either way it would be because of some kind of failing on their part.

But that isn't true, the issue isn't looking hard enough or trying harder or anything like that, it's because he's partially BLIND and won't ask or talk to the party about it, because as previously established he refuses to acknowledge it affects him and his ability to do their job.

And all of this ties in to their inability to talk about or even think about their feelings. One of the major themes of the game is communication and I think the eye is a pretty great example of Siffrin's general struggle with it and also is just a great view into the way he sees himself in general, which is.... not great lol.

Okay I'm done I have no more rambles, hopefully this was coherent and made sense lol. I have so many thoughts about Siffrin's eye and how that affects him and all that, it's so interesting. Put that creature into he blender to be thoroughly examined lol.

[0798f]

💞 — Vis Amoris.

RELATIONSHIP: Alhaitham x Reader (college au)

SUMMARY: The force of love | Alhaitham creates a misunderstanding, Kaveh accidentally exacerbates it, and you’re left with terribly annoying feelings.

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! This was longer than expected (2.4k)! Enjoy this hilarity.

“Hey, (Name)! Where are you heading with those flowers?” Kaveh waved down (Name) before they could pass him by in the hallway. There had a small bouquet of flowers in their arms; a variety of carnations and daisies tied neatly together with a red ribbon.

They were caught off guard by Kaveh, suddenly looking a bit shy. “Oh, ah, I was going to... give them to Alhaitham!”

“Seriously? Why him?”

Kaveh was the first person (Name) befriended after entering university. He was kind and friendly, a wonderful person to be around, and made nights at the bar very lively. If not for him being a dramatic and loud drunk, then for his enigmatic group of friends that (Name) also became quite close with over time.

In those few years, (Name) had become great friends with Kaveh, Cyno, and Tighnari, but especially Alhaitham. The other three found that relationship quite interesting; most were put off by Alhaitham’s attitude but (Name) appreciated the challenge. They’ve overheard other students call Alhaitham unfriendly but he hadn’t been anything less than polite to (Name). Maybe that was because he was a kind person at heart, but sometimes (Name) drifted off into a daydream where Alhaitham liked them more than just a friend.

Alhaitham appreciated honesty and rationality. What was more rational than being straightforward with their feelings? “Well… I just… y’know! I like him! So I wanted to tell him…”

(Name) hoped the look of shock on Kaveh’s face was because he hated (not really) Alhaitham and hated (not really) when good things happened to him. But after the shock wore off his expression morphed into something more of concern. “Well, uh, I really hate to break it to you, (Name), but we went drinking last night and I got drunk and started giving him a hard time.. the usual! Somehow we got onto the topic of relationships and I was lamenting about my life and I was complaining that girls keep trying to get me to pass confession letters to him—”

“Kaveh, is there… like… a point to this?”

He took another deep breath, “there is, I swear! Since I was complaining about all that I asked him why he keeps rejecting confessions and he said he didn’t have any time for a relationship!”

(Name)’s heartbeat flatlined at Kaveh’s words, the weight of the bouquet suddenly becoming all too heavy. The optimistic smile on their face had dropped into a frown. “Oh,” was their only response. What were they supposed to say? (Name) suddenly felt very silly.

“I’m really sorry, (Name)!” Kaveh bowed his head in shame as if he was to blame for any of this. “I feel really bad!”

(Name) shook their head and smiled. Much too empathetic for his own good, Kaveh could easily see that their smile didn’t quite reach their eyes. He felt terrible, he really did; he wished Alhaitham liked (Name), they were so perfect for each other! Kaveh was even sure that Alhaitham had a crush on (Name), and was shocked to learn that he didn’t.

“Hey, relax,” (Name) hummed. They appreciated the comfort and care from their friend and kept their smile unwavering for Kaveh’s sake. The last thing they wanted was for him to feel guilty about telling them— he had done them a favor, after all. Saving them from having their confession rejected by Alhaitham himself. But there was something equally disheartening about knowing that their feelings never even stood a chance. “I’m glad you told me. Saves me from the heartache, right? It’s no big deal, anyway... Just a crush.”

The bouquet fell to their side, petals floating to the ground.

It had been an odd week for Alhaitham.

(Name) was one of his closest friends and he quite enjoyed being around them. He was sure (Name) felt the same way— until they were suddenly avoiding him at all costs..

They had classes together so they couldn’t always avoid him, but even then they were trying their best. Alhaitham looked across the lecture hall, where (Name) had found a seat completely opposite of him. If his texts being ignored wasn’t enough to make the point clear, the empty seat next to him cemented it.

They had been sitting there for day. Initially, Alhaitham let it go on, unsure how to approach the situation. He was book smart, yes, but for all his research into human nature he felt clueless about what to do when a friend began ghosting you out of nowhere. They didn’t write scholarly articles about that. But, he had to at least try himself.

The class ended and as students began filing out of the classroom Alhaitham managed to catch (Name) as they were putting books back into their backpack. Something was clearly wrong. (Name) looked taken aback at Alhaitham’s presence, and they couldn’t even look him in the eye. He felt quite awkward, but he pushed past that. “(Name)... Did you see Tighnari’s message? We’re watching a movie tonight. Are you going to join?”

(Name) gave Alhaitham a smile, though it seemed a bit forced. “Sorry, Alhaitham, but I am just swamped with homework tonight. I’d love to join you guys, I really would, but I just need to focus right now!”

And, with that (Name) rushed out of the room without even saying goodbye, leaving Alhaitham in the dust. He stood there for a few moments, an unpleasant feeling attacking his heart. Did he do something wrong? Alhaitham had no idea and it had been eating away at him all week. He sighed and left the lecture hall to make his way towards his friends, who had already been waiting for him to show up.

“There you are. We’re gonna miss the previews.” Cyno admonished Alhaitham as he approached the group waiting at the quad.

“Only you want to see those,” Tighnari rolled his eyes. He looked behind Alhaitham once he noticed someone was missing. “Where’s (Name)?”

“(Name) said they were too busy.” There was a tangible dejection in his words that felt all too earnest coming from Alhaitham of all people. The sound of disappointment even surprised Alhaitham himself.

“Are you sure they’re busy? Aren’t they mad at you?” Tighnari’s comment piqued Alhaitham’s interest and made Kaveh’s heart stop. Mad!? Sure, Kaveh overheard Cyno and Tighnari’s whispered conversations over the past week about (Name) acting weird around Alhaitham. But who said (Name) was mad!? No one knew about (Name)’s crush, right?

Alhaitham tapped his chin in thought. “Are they mad? They have been trying to avoid me lately…”

It was so sudden. Alhaitham hadn’t realized how practically attached at the hip he and (Name) were until they began to distance themself lately. Had he done something to make them upset? He thought about it, nothing came to mind; (Name) didn’t act angry around him and smiled like usual.

Cyno blinked. “They’re mad? I thought they liked you.”

Kaveh looked like he entered catatonic shock while Alhaitham mulled over the idea in his head. He did not react for the first few moments. (Name), liking him? Romantically?

People either treated Alhaitham like he was a jerk or like he was the unattainable man of someone’s dreams. (Name), though, never cared for those labels and treated him like he was regular person from the very start. What was the line between platonic and romantic? Alhaitham tried to think about the differences. (Name) always stopped by the library to give Alhaitham some snacks during his long study sessions. (Name) always sat next to Alhaitham when they went out to drink. (Name) always listened to Alhaitham talk about his research, no matter how boring it might have been to the average person.

Did that mean something?

“What are you talking about! (Name) totally doesn’t have a crush on Alhaitham anymore!” Kaveh waved his arms frantically to distract from the situation. And upon realizing what he said only stoked the fire, increased intensity. “Not that (Name) ever had a crush on Alhaitham! They don’t even like him! Well— I mean, that’s not true, obviously, but it doesn’t even matter, because Alhaitham doesn’t like them back!”

The silence had never been so loud. Cyno and Tighnari stared at Kaveh in disbelief, the latter shaking his head at the outburst that seemed to reveal a bit too much information.

A light bulb went off. Alhaitham recalled telling Kaveh he had no time for a relationship when they went drinking a week ago. Alhaitham was confident in that declaration initially, but (Name) becoming so distant made Alhaitham feel like he was missing something. He didn’t realize how much he appreciated their company, and he didn’t realize how much he took them for granted until they were avoiding him.

Everything finally fell into place in his mind. “Oh, I see. I do like (Name).”

“Are you KIDDING ME!?” Kaveh let out an exasperated groan and fell to his knees in the middle of the bustling quad. Some other students walking by looked at the group in confusion. “I told them that you didn’t like them! That’s why they’ve been trying to avoid you all this week!”

The other 3 guys stared at him in disappointment. “Wow, Kaveh,” Cyno chided, shaking his head. “Not a great wingman. You left (Name) and Alhaitham on the ground.”

Walking away from Alhaitham made them feel terrible. (Name) hated to avoid him, but just being around him and knowing their stupid feelings were unrequited made their heart hurt. Alhaitham was a great friend and it felt awful to abandon that, but was it wrong to wish for something more?

Shaking their head at the thought, (Name) continued walking down the street. It wasn’t fair to any of their friends to let this silly crush get in the way. They’d have to get over it soon, to avoid suspicion but also because they just missed hanging out with all their friends.

They turned the corner and was startled at the sight of Alhaitham waiting at their bus stop. Aside from all the circumstances that made this an awkward encounter, (Name) also left campus much earlier than Alhaitham did. “Alhaitham? How did you get here?”

“I ran.”

That did answer (Name)’s question but they were hoping for a little more elaboration. “Okay… why? I thought you and everyone else were going to go watch a movie.”

The absurdity of the situation made it easier to talk to Alhaitham, even after avoiding him for so long. And (Name) was quick to realize that they really missed being able to talk to him like a normal person and not feel their heart breaking knowing the feeble scholar who just ran across campus at a breakneck pace would never like them back.

Alhaitham walked towards (Name) while keeping a comfortable distance between them. “We were, but I learned something important from Kaveh and I needed to talk to you—”

(Name) couldn’t let him continue his sentence without feeling like their heart was going to explode. “Oh, God— did Kaveh tell you..?” All this trouble to try and avoid him and their feelings get spilled anyway; how miserable! (Name) waved their hand frantically and forced a smile onto their lips. “Listen, don’t worry about that! It’s just a stupid crush. I know that you don’t like me back... and that’s okay! I promise, it’s okay!”

Hopefully Alhaitham would believe their words because the quiver in their voice pointed to the idea that it was, in fact, not okay. Did Alhaitham run all the down here just to tell them this? Sometimes he could come off a bit rude, but that would be pretty cruel.

They waited to hear something heartbreaking; ’I’m sorry,’ Alhaitham might say. But, instead of anything terrible, (Name)’s vision was flooded with vibrant colors as Alhaitham held out a bouquet of flowers that were previously hidden behind his back. A variety of carnations and daisies tied neatly together with a red ribbon. Some of the flowers slumped with fallen petals as a result of his race across campus. Deja vu.

“Kaveh did tell you that I had no time for a relationship, yes.” Alhaitham’s voice was surprisingly gentle. (Name) peeked around the flowers and noticed Alhaitham was blushing. It was faint and barely visible in the pink hued sunset, but unmistakable. “I was sure about that, until I realized how much I missed your company this week.”

He looked into (Name)’s eyes with an intensity that left them captured in his gaze. Was this real? Their feelings being reciprocated? This had to be some sort of sick joke. But the sincerity in Alhaitham’s voice accompanied by the delicate bouquet of flowers was reality, and (Name) couldn’t believe it.

For all the daydreams (Name) had about Alhaitham as a partner, they always struggled to imagine him being romantic. They were sure he was capable of it, but they had never seen that side of him so they couldn’t be sure. But Alhaitham stepped forward, grasping (Name)’s hand in his. He brushed his thumb over the back of their palm and (Name) was pretty sure they stopped breathing. “I’m trying to say that I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings, to be clear.”

(Name) wasn’t sure how a relatively clunky confession brought them to tears, but it did, and pulled Alhaitham into a hug. They felt him stiffen and move the flowers out of the way to save them from being crushed, but after a moment he wrapped his free arm around their torso to reciprocate. The hug was warm and Alhaitham held them tight in a way that felt secure.

“... This means you accept, right?”

They laughed against his chest. “Of course it does! You need to study more about relationships, geez.”

Alhaitham smiled, “I hope you can teach me.”

— BONUS

From around the corner, their friends tried to get a good view of the confession scene. If they weren’t going to see a movie that night, they could at least watch this.

“He gave them the bouquet,” Cyno exclaimed before being pushed out of the way by Tighnari.

“See! Flowers were a good idea. He better thank Collei later for making a bouquet on such short notice.” Looking all too pleased with himself, Tighnari watched the two in the distance intently, while fighting Cyno from moving him out of the way.

Kaveh shoved both Cyno and Tighnari out of the way. “They’re hugging! See, it all worked out! I’m a pretty good wingman after all!”

The three didn’t last long watching the scene until Alhaitham and (Name) noticed them. They called them creepy.

masterlists.

[idksomething356]

My Littlest Pet Shop [au] tf x reader Absolute Territory pt.1

! DO NOT take this too deep&seriously, these headcanons are just for fun and for freaky freaks like me. This is my AU, so I am smashing everything I know together !

To fully understand what's happening here SFW + short story

You are a pet. Simply put — a pet. Time has passed since you first arrived on the Lost Light. Drift was the one who rescued you from the evil servos of Decepticons, who were ready to squeeze you like a stress ball and toss away your limp, soulless body. But for once, lady luck had finally smiled upon you.

Drift had actually planned to present you as a gift to his conjux, Ratchet — thinking that the always-busy medic could use a stress-relief pet to hold and lazily petting on the back or their little helm during breaks from work. He had no evil intentions, really! It was just that you were so small, miserable and terrified that you were facing a terrible death that he just couldn't pass by and leave you alone! Drift wanted to protect a creature so fragile and give it to his care. Of course, Ratchet immediately scolded his beloved and intended to return you to your shop owner.

But then — you clung to his digit for dear life, eyes full of tears, looking like a kicked puppy. You mastered all of your acting skills as soon as you realized these big bots ain't gonna keep you. And… his spark ached at this scene. Congrats! This old bot's feelings have been melted by your poor condition and tears.

So, you took full advantage of your current situation.

By the grace of Primus, Rodimus and half the crew had been to Earth before, so they understood your language. It was much easier to convince others to let you stay — especially once they realized you weren’t just some mindless animal, but a sentient, thinking being. Not without effort, but you've gotten everything you need for yourself from Rodimus; new clothes, hygiene items and your own separate, organized corner room with private bathroom. Once the red-and-yellow blob Rodimus Prime even chimed in on how expensive it is to keep a human pet. And quickly apologised for it under Ultra Magnus' stern gaze.

Things got a little awkward after that… yet still pretty chill. Because, at the end of the day, you were helpful!

Well, at least for being adorable, cute, little human, welcoming exhausted mechs back to the ship after long missions. All pretty to look at.

SWERVE

Your first ever close friend was Swerve! Oh, this guy not only loves humans but is also obsessed with your shows, music, and everything else. And he’s the funniest bot around! One of the Autobots who didn't see humans as little pets and really got into your kind as their equals. So, obviously, it was easy for you two to become close and hang out together at his bar. When you don't have much to do, you always find his company and you talk about something. And you're so open to him, not just his mask of perpetually cheerful bot, not just as a good bartender, but as a real person. Well, who better than you to know what it's like to be degraded to the level of an animal with no personality or intelligence? Right.

You often helped him with drinks as much as you could. At one point, you almost convinced him to buy you roller skates, a cute short skirt, and a blazer so you could skate around, clean the floors, or deliver energon to the minibots at their tables... Though, you both understood that being exposed to energon was extremely dangerous for you. So, in the end, all you really did was stay by the bar with him, entertaining mechs with your human stories!

However, he did end up buying you a mini skirt, a blazer, and even a few extra pairs of clothes…

RUNG

Oh, this sweet, sweet bot. So Gentle and patient with you! Maybe, that is a thing that you get along with minibots due to them being not so large and tall. Yes, Rung was much bigger than you, but at least you felt relatively safe, without the fear of being crushed suddenly and recklessly. You could say that for all minibots, if you think about it. What didn't escape your keen gaze tho, was the way that despite the smile so tenderly bestowed upon you by the Autobot, you sensed something deeper, even sadder, behind it. What's more, you've quietly become the second therapist for the Lost Light crew without expecting it. In fact, you were still happy to listen to mechs, to help them sort through their feelings or just simply be here for them when needed. Rung is not an exception to it, and honestly? He appreciate it. Very much. He shares his thoughts with you, often asks you about your past, and even showed you his model ships collection! Under very close watch. You even held one ship in your hands. Not for long, but still! For extra help, you would sometimes sit with Rung in his office and listen to him talk to his patient. Their chatter, which you couldn't understand at all, made you want to go to sleep often. What were you doing there anyway? Well, you played the role of an emotional support animal human. And he sometimes needs that kind of help too, at times even more private. RODIMUS Erm, this one is... defo something. The 'fuckboy' vibes you get from him are miles away! And that's not even your problem, Rodimus immediately started playing along and flirting with you as soon as you were aboard their ship. It was nice, as odd as it sounded, but you could easily tell it was just one of his personality traits and he didn't mean anything serious by those words. He loves attention — that's what you learned short after. Since you have plenty of time, you put aside your Cybertron history lessons (thanks, Ultra Magnus, again) and go pay a visit to see Rodimus. You'd think that since he's the captain of the ship, he'd be busy all the time. But in reality? Uh, 7 out of 10? You always wondered 'does he actually do his job?' Kinda...We're not here to discuss work, are we. He'll gladly welcome you into his quarters where you can talk or even help him with some business, more often than not related to real, necessary work, or watch some cool Earth media (cool stands for action movies). However, you quickly remember Ultra Magnus' very menacing faceplate and rush Rodimus to finish the important paperwork. And he's whining, making such a pathetic optic expression that you believe he's about to cry. No, he doesn't cry, just ex-vents and gets to it. At least it's not so boring doing it with you around. But if you really annoy him with reciprocal flirting enough, he'll first start to panic, and then…. you'll have to accept the consequences of your brazen flirting with your hands on him (he really liked the way your soft touch slid over his armour).

(I know Rodi is more than that, chill)

NSFW SOON

@kitschaosden

[cod-thoughts]

Proclaim eternal victory

Word count: 1.1k

Relationships: GazRoach, Gaz/Roach

Tags: love confession (kind of), first kiss, competitive Roach

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: Happy valentines day @hexxedghost!! I actually really struggled to write something for you cause you like so many things but I did include Roach cause i just had to. Its how we started talking anyway so it had to be done :D I hope i got their dynamic right, it was fun to write smth a little random like this instead of hurt/comfort pffft. I wish i had the time to write smth horror based though those ideas were so goooood, definitely gonna have to revisit that :O You're always so nice and understanding, your DMs have always been open and a safe space to me and for that i want to thank you, genuinely <33

The rivalry had started as a joke.

Gaz liked to talk. Roach, despite his silence, somehow always had the last word.

It was infuriating.

At first, it had been small things—Roach raising an eyebrow at Gaz’s one-liners, shaking his head with mock disapproval when Gaz made a particularly terrible pun. But then, Roach started using his phone to reply, quick texts flashing on the screen with pinpoint sarcasm, perfectly timed to shut Gaz up before he even had a chance to counter. Sometimes, when he wanted to really drive the point home, he signed. Gaz had been making an effort to learn, but he still missed a lot when Roach signed. It certainly didn’t help that Roach had started deliberately making his signs quicker, more subtle, knowing full well Gaz was struggling to keep up.

It should not have been possible for someone who didn’t speak to be this annoying.

It wasn’t just training, either. Roach had developed an uncanny ability to disrupt Gaz’s focus at the most inopportune times. Briefings, field exercises, even casual downtime—there Roach would be, watching him with that insufferable smirk, typing something at a speed that suggested he had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The worst part? Everyone else was enjoying this.

“You’re a menace,” Gaz muttered after Roach absolutely obliterated him in a training exercise, landing a clean shot before Gaz had even spotted him.

Roach, ever smug, pulled out his phone and held it up: Get good.

Gaz swatted the phone out of his face with a huff, only for Roach to catch it effortlessly, flashing a shit-eating grin before pocketing it.

Soap and Ghost, the ever-present audience to their nonsense, watched on with far too much amusement.

“Y’know, Gaz,” Soap mused, stroking his chin like he was deep in thought, “for someone who’s meant to be the witty bastard on this team, you’re lettin’ Roach run circles round you.”

Gaz rolled his eyes. “I am not letting him do anything.”

Roach, with the worst timing imaginable, sent a single message to his phone. Gaz felt the buzz in his pocket and, with a sinking feeling, pulled it out to read it.

Yeah, but you still can’t keep up.

Gaz turned to glare at Roach, who merely tilted his head with an expression of pure, innocent delight.

“Oh, that’s it—” Gaz began, but then Roach signed something quickly to Ghost. Whatever it was, it sent the normally stoic man into a low chuckle, shaking his head as he walked away.

“What? What did he say?” Gaz demanded, looking between them. Ghost just patted him on the shoulder.

“Nothin’ you need to worry about, mate.”

Gaz turned to Roach, eyes narrowing. “That’s dirty play.”

Roach smirked behind his mask but didn’t deny it.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

The next time Roach got the drop on him in training, Gaz decided to fight dirty. He grinned, wide and slow, and stepped right into Roach’s personal space, leaning in just enough that their noses almost brushed.

Roach, who had been infuriatingly confident up until now, immediately stilled, blinking at him with sharp, surprised eyes. Gaz didn’t miss the way Roach’s fingers twitched by his side, like he was debating stepping back but refused to give in.

Gaz smirked. “What, cat got your tongue?”

Roach’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze, but Gaz saw the faintest dusting of pink across his cheekbones and oh, this was brilliant.

Gaz was just about to revel in his small victory when Roach, moving faster than Gaz could react, reached up and flicked him on the forehead.

“Oi—”

Roach pulled out his phone, typed something quickly, and held it up for Gaz to read.

Try harder, pretty boy.

Gaz’s brain short-circuited.

Soap cackled. Ghost actually laughed, which was worse. Gaz was left standing there, ears burning, fists clenched, as Roach just walked away, supremely satisfied with himself.

Gaz seethed.

Alright. Fine. Roach wanted to play this game? He’d show him.

The next few days were war. Gaz spent every moment he could trying to get one up on Roach, but every attempt only seemed to amuse the other man more. Whether it was sparring, training drills, or even meal breaks, Roach found some way to fluster him. He’d smirk behind his mask, tap a quick message, and watch with clear amusement as Gaz gritted his teeth. He started stealing Gaz’s seat at meal times, casually handing him his phone with a text that read mine now before returning to eating like nothing had happened.

Gaz had never wanted to throttle someone more in his life.

It wasn’t fair. Gaz was supposed to be the smooth one. The fast talker. The one who could charm his way out of anything. And yet, every time Roach smirked at him or sent a cheeky message, Gaz felt his stomach do flips.

One evening, when they were walking back from the gym, Gaz decided it was time for revenge. He waited for the perfect moment—Roach, distracted, stretching out his arms, looking smug as ever—and stepped in front of him, blocking his path and guiding him into a slightly more secluded corner. 

Roach quirked an eyebrow, amused, but before he could sign or reach for his phone, Gaz lifted a hand and hooked his fingers under the edge of Roach’s mask.

Roach stilled. His hands didn’t move to stop Gaz, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—just a moment where he let Gaz decide what happened next.

Slowly, deliberately, Gaz pulled the mask down, revealing Roach’s lips, slightly parted in surprise. Gaz felt his breath hitch at the sight of him, and for once, Roach wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing—he was watching Gaz like he was waiting for something.

So Gaz gave it to him.

He leaned in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was slow, deliberate—less about winning and more about the way Roach melted into it. Roach made a soft, startled sound against his mouth before he kissed back, his fingers curling instinctively into Gaz’s hoodie. Gaz let himself sink into it, into the warmth, the way Roach’s breath hitched when he tilted his head just so.

The world around them blurred. The distant sounds of the base, the ever-present murmur of other soldiers moving about none the wiser to the revelation that Gaz was having right now—it all faded to the feeling of Roach’s lips against his, the way his breath stuttered when Gaz moved just slightly closer.

By the time Gaz pulled back, they were both slightly breathless.

Roach blinked at him, lips red, pupils dark. For the first time ever, he had nothing to say.

Gaz grinned, victorious, his voice smug but warm. “Gotcha.”

Roach’s fingers twitched—half instinct, half hurried—before he pulled out his phone and typed furiously.

Gaz had barely a second to brace himself before Roach turned the screen towards him.

Do it again.

Gaz’s breath hitched.

Oh, he was in so much trouble.

[generalluxun]

Bee Sisters: Second Chapter(Rest)

This is me going back through an old fic of mine I foolishly migrated to AO# all at once long ago(so it was on the new page once, as opposed for each chapter) it represents my long-ago hopes for the interactions of the two sisters. If you're interested you can grab the rest of the fic on AO3 rather than wait for me to get around to posting another chapter here ^^ This Chapter takes place after an initial outreach where Zoé make a (terrible) birthday cake for Chloe- who had been trying to hide the fact it was her birthday, because she 'hates' them. Chapter below the cut.

Zoé heard her sister’s approach not so much by the sounds she made, but by the way the normal sounds of the hotel died at her approach.  The maids who had been studiously ignoring Zoé’s presence all found excuses to be out of the hallway, leaving a surprisingly blissful stillness behind.

“You make a lousy window dressing you know.”

Zoé raised her head from her knees.  She was curled up on the ledge, Paris continued it’s way below her, unaware of the exhausted teen watching it with unfocused eyes.  “Hi Chloé.” The barely whispered words did more than a shout to dent the smug superiority and self satisfaction on her sister’s face.

Chloé hesitated, wrongfooted briefly but rallied and plowed on, ”Mother wants you to know tickets to Le Miserables came in from an investor.  Since theaters are your… thing… you are expected to attend for the family to show gratitude.”

Zoé shifted slightly, one hand playing with the laces on her shoe, ”Okay Chloé.” she mumbled in response.

Another dent.  Zoé wasn’t even in the frame of mind to enjoy it.  A small war was waged across her sister’s face then with a shift of her hips and a crossing of her arms,”Okay, you’re being weirder than normal today.  What gives?”

Zoé managed the smallest of smiles at that,”I’m just tired.”

Chloé rolled her eyes,” Then go to your room and take a nap like all little girls. ”she waggled her finger at Zoé,”Stop taking up space in the hallway, you’ll offend the guests.”

Zoé let out a small laugh, which seemed to confuse her sister, ”Not that kind of tired; just out of energy, feeling… lonely?”

Chloé hmphed, "Isn't that why you've got your little band of tacky friends?" Chloé turned her back, "Go hang out with them, just don't bring them in here or we'll lose business."

"It's not like that." Zoé rushed the words out before her sister could leave.  Her efforts were rewarded with a pause and a slow look back over the shoulder.

Zoé continued, "Back in New York I only had one friend.  We hung out when we could, but it wasn't that often.". She uncurled and turned herself on the windowsill to face Chloé,"I love my friends here but it takes a lot of energy sometimes." Zoé raised her eyes to meet Chloé's, "Haven't you ever just felt alone in a crowd?  Everyone's paying attention to everyone, but nobody's paying attention to anyone.  Keeping up can be so exhausting." Zoé put her hands on the sill, lifting and shuffling herself a bit as she dropped her gaze again, ”Does that make sense?”

Zoé looked up again in the silence that followed.  Chloé’s back was still turned, deep blue eyes were focused on Zoé, calculations going on behind them.  With a flick, Chloé's phone was out.  She keyed it open and began walking away as she talked.

Zoé pulled her feet back up and dropped her head to her knees again.  She wrapped her arms around her legs this time and let out a long breath.  It had been worth a try.

“-en have him turn on the sirens, this is an EMERGENCY Sabrina.”  A firm grip wrapped around Zoé’s wrist and yanked her clear off the sill.  She stumbled a few steps, pulled along by her sister without a glance back.  A door opened down the hall and Chloé shoved Zoé sideways behind a decorative column against the wall, pinning her there with an elbow.

“What’re you mff?.” Chloé’s hand clamped over Zoé’s mouth, her older sister’s eyes followed some unknown person then she pulled Zoé back out, ushering her further down the hall.

Without warning Chloé stopped again beside an open door, ”Aha, perfect!” she yanked Zoé to her, then with unexpected strength lifted and tossed her into a laundry bin.  Zoé’s landing was cushioned by bath towels, and she was too surprised to even make noise.  She poked her head up, blinking in confusion as Chloé grabbed the side of the cart, ”Stay down!” she hissed, pushing on Zoé’s head then taking off, pushing the cart ahead of her.

Zoé stayed down as the cart kareened through the halls, onto an elevator, then back out again.  She could see her sister’s face over the edge of the cart, a surprisingly serious expression and focus present.

Down another hall, through some doors and, ”Okay, get out now.”  Chloé walked away from the cart.

Zoé emerged, still slightly rattled, and looked around her sister’s suite, ”What was that all about?” she asked her sister’s back.

Chloé crossed over to her bedroom, calling back, ”Well OBVIOUSLY you couldn’t be seen coming up here.”

Zoé straightened her beanie and jacket, that sounded like Chloé, so what was the rest of this?, ”But *why* am I here?`` She followed after her sister and was rewarded with a face full of plastic-wrapped clothing for her troubles.

“I don’t like being questioned.  Put that on.”  Chloé vanished back into her room.

Zoé examined the package she was holding.  A freshly laundered robe, folded and sealed by the hotel’s laundry, ”But this is-”

“YOU CAN ALWAYS LEAVE!” the shout echoed back at her from the other room.

Zoé looked back down at the robe.  She could leave, but she’d spent so long trying to get to just this spot.  Maybe she could tough it out a little bit longer.  She unwrapped the robe and changed.  It was the softest of white silks, with a fur lining.  The smooth fabric felt cool to the touch as she pulled it on, but warmed quickly against her skin.  The fur tickled a little when she moved, but added one more small layer of warmth; gratefully so since as Zoé pulled it on she realized it was remarkably… short.  A knock at the door interrupted her concern.  ”Chloé there’s someone here?”  There was only so much bravery Zoé had on hand at the moment.  She shuffled sideways to put the table and flowers between her and the door.

“Good good.”  Chloé stormed down the stairs from her room, ”Go out and wait on the balcony.”  she made a shooing motion and didn’t even look in Zoé’s direction.  She didn’t have to, Zoé beat a hasty retreat from whatever pair of eyes might be on the other side of the door.

The balcony was an immediate bubble of solitude.  The sounds of the city went on below, but up here she seemed untouchable.  Zoé’s thoughts strayed to the safe in the corner, then sadly to the incidents that followed that discovery.  She shook her head to chase away the melancholy.  Zoé strayed to the balustrade and peered down.  With a small laugh to herself she realized she owed Chloé one thing at least, she was too confused to feel lonely right now.

The afternoon sun warmed both the robe and her skin.   Zoé let the warmth sustain her until her reverie was broken by a thump at the balcony door followed by an unladylike curse closer and a frustrated gasp closer still.  Zoé turned to see Chloé with what must’ve been an armful of odds and ends, the largest of which was a basin of water that now occupied the foot of one of the deck chairs.

“Sabrina usually does this part.” Chloé fumed, then she turned to Zoé and stabbed a finger at the chair, ”Sit!”

Zoé walked over but paused to protest,”Chloé, you really need to explain what all this-”

“SIT!”

Zoé sat reflexively, blinking.

Chloé picked up a jar from the small assortment of odds and ends, ”Close your eyes and lay back.”

Zoé complied, it seemed safest at this point.

After another moment she felt Chloé’s fingers on her face, and the spread of something warm and wet across her skin, ”If your beautician ever applies a cold mask, fire them.  They’ve got body heat for a reason and someone who doesn’t know how to warm up a cream should have their license revoked anyway.”

“I’ve never had a beautician.” Zoé assumed it was safe to talk.

“That much is obvious.”  Chloé’s fingers moved across Zoé’s face from forehead down across her cheeks, nose, and following the curve of her jawline.  There was something oddly soothing about the competence and precision of her touch.  Zoé let out a long slow breath.

“Open your mouth.” Chloé instructed, even as she laid two cool disks… cucumbers?  Over Zoé’s eyes.

At this point Zoé’s compliance was a given.

“Lemon First.” Chloé popped a small chocolate into Zoé’s mouth and true to word the small confection had a crisp lemony tart in the center.  It washed away the chocolate flavor and left her mouth feeling light and astringent.

“Honey next.” a second chocolate, filled instead with a thin sweet honey liquor that coated the roof of her mouth.  As it dissolved Zoé felt Chloé hook first one foot then the other with a hand, depositing Zoé’s bare feet into the tub of warm steaming water in front of the chair.  A tingling in her skin told her it wasn’t just water.

“Mint last.” One more small mouthful, ”Suck on this one, do not chew.”

Zoé wiggled her toes in the water.  The chocolate was dark, but not harshly so, and the mint was infused rather than all in the center.  There were no more instructions.  Zoé didn’t know what to do with her hands.  She fidgeted slightly, adjusted the hem of the robe.  She began to anticipate some new onslaught.  Slowly she reached up, and lifted one of the cucumber slices to peek out.

Chloé sat in another of the deck chairs, magazine in hand and a small stack beside her, reading quietly.  She didn’t look up when Zoé peeked, didn’t seem even remotely connected to everything that had just transpired, she was just there.

Zoé laid back down.  She folded her hands across her stomach and let out another long breath.  The chocolate was dissolving slowly but surely, spreading a cooling sensation through her mouth and nose.  The tingling in the water had died down to a comforting warmth, and the sun continued to add its own warmth and soon the airy nature of the robe made sense.  The slightest breeze could blow over and through, taking just a little heat with it to keep the whole from being too much.  Paris rumbled below but the rumbling inside of Zoé died away.  She was separate, but she was not alone.

The light through the cucumber slices was different, the water was cooler, and none of her limbs wanted to respond right away.  These were the signs Zoé had fallen asleep.  Slowly slipping back into her own body she sat up, the slices falling away.

Her sister looked up from the magazine she was reading.  The stack beside her had shifted considerably.  Zoé tried to stifle a yawn but gave up and just let it take her.  She stretched expansively, arching and curving her back while the yawn held her and then collapsing back into a relaxed slouch, ”That was amazing.”  she lifted one foot out of the water and wiggled her toes in the air.

Chloé closed the magazine, ”Of course it was.  You can take the rest of the cream and bath salts.  Sabrina knows the name of the chocolatier.”  Chloé flicked the magazine.  Zoé could see the discomfort rising in her sister’s eyes already.

“Why don’t we hang out more often?” she asked before all the walls could be built back up.  She reached up to try and find the edge of the face mask to begin peeling.

She got the words out in time.  Chloé hesitated, caught between peace and reality, ”Your friends are tacky,” she decided on,”*You* are tacky.”

Zoé laughed, ”I clean up good, I swear.”  slowly she peeled the mask off.  It felt absolutely wonderful as it came away.

She had Chloé on the ropes.  Her older sister shifted uncomfortably in her chair, then seemed to reach some internal choice, ”Fine, next week.  There’s a ball being held by one of daddy’s donors.  It’s a *masquerade* ball.”

It was a start, ”We could coordinate colors, like paired harlequins.” Zoé grinned.  She reached up to touch her bangs, ”I’ll find a way to hide my hair, that would be too easy.”

Disdain warred with excitement in Chloé’s gaze.  Finally,”Then I suppose yellow and black are out of the question then as well.” she replied with an unused sort of smile that didn’t quite seem to know how to rest on her face.

Zoe smiled easily back,“We’ll figure something out.”