#i would apologize for making this one so long but

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or "holy shit. you're him. you're MalachiConstant."

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ i made a community for you’ve got mail! join it and share your thoughts on the chapters <3 i made this chapter two chapters long because i promised i’d post two chapters this week but couldn’t so hope this makes up for it!! <3

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

you'd been standing at the fountain for about ten minutes when the clock struck eleven, tapping your foot against the marble underneath your foot, looking around. for some reason, you couldn't help but get there early, to possibly catch a glimpse of your online penpal off guard.

but your eyes widened and your brows furrowed so harshly it hurt when you saw who was approaching you; surely it was an accident? surely he wasn't MalachiConstant.

"dodge?"

"hi."

"you're MalachiConstant?"

little did you know, the real MalachiConstant had frozen up in his spot only a few meters away, staring at the interaction between you and dodge.

"i think you've gotten me mistaken with someone else." dodge chuckled softly, "your scarf's coming undone." the boy mumbled, getting closer to you as he wrapped the soft red knitted scarf tighter around your neck, a small smile on his lips, "are you waiting for someone...?"

"no, no." you mumbled, clearing your throat, "i was just… i, uh, needed fresh air." you feigned a smile, looking around awkwardly, trying to see if there was anyone nearby. "well, i was heading towards the cafe. you wanna join me?" you looked around again, only to find that there was no one there.

"yeah, sure." you mumbled; you'd apologize to MalachiConstant once you got back to your dorm room, starting to walk towards the campus cafe; but as you were walking, you finally noticed something.

in the distance, a boy was walking away from your direction.

he was wearing a red shirt.

YOU: i'm sorry i didn't show up.

you stared down at your phone screen, the tip of your thumb caught between your teeth as angel snored away next to you, cuddled up to you.

MalachiConstant: it's cool

YOU: is everything okay between us?

MalachiConstant: yeah MalachiConstant: why didn't u show up tho?

you let out a small sigh, glancing between your phone screen and angel, "what do i tell him?" you mumbled, bringing your hand to stroke her soft, snow white fur. on one hand, you just happened to run into a friend. on the other hand, telling a guy that you ditched him for another guy could give him the wrong idea. You let out an irritated groan, turning back to your phone and mumbling softly, "whatever..."

YOU: i just got cold feet... YOU: i'm really sorry.

rafe looked down at his phone, letting out a scoff and shaking his head. cold feet? sure, like he hadn't seen you leaving with one of his friends. he couldn't believe it, that he'd actually, even for a moment thought that you might have feelings for him, meanwhile you were probably hooking up with dodge of all guys. if you weren't, why would you lie to him?

MalachiConstant: yeah it's whatever

YOU: it's whatever? YOU: is everything really okay between us?

MalachiConstant: yup

YOU: alright... goodnight, vonnegut boy.

MalachiConstant: night

rafe let out a humorless cough of a laugh, before switching from KildareUChats to regular texting.

RAFE: yo RAFE: lets do sumn huge tmrw

TOPPER: damn bro you not whipped anymore? TOPPER: king rafe is back TOPPER: what were u thinking

RAFE: stfu id never get whipped by some chick RAFE: im not a fucking loser simp like u RAFE: lets just fuck shit up idiot

YOU: hii, how's it going? sent 8:31am YOU: you have any plans today? sent 10:57 YOU: i'm going to a cafe with my friend :) sent 11:13 YOU: you here? sent 01:31pm

"hello, earth calling." vivian waved her hand in front of your eyes, brows raised. "what's up with you? you've been staring at your phone the entire time we've been here. is it mystery frat boy? MalachiAlways or whatever?" you pursed your lips, finally putting your phone down and letting out a sigh. you'd sent MalachiConstant messages all morning, but all of them had gone ignored, even though usually he'd message you good morning every morning.

"yeah, it's him. MalachiConstant" you sniffled, biting the inside of your cheek, "lord, what is he doing now? ignoring you again like the little bitch boy he is?" "viv!" you groaned, making the girl roll her eyes, "i don't know. i think so..." "you need to drop this guy, babes. he seems like a complete manwhore." "he's not. he has a reason to ignore me..." "yeah, and what reason would that be?"

you pursed your lips, "we were gonna meet yesterday..." you mumbled, vivian's eyes widening and a gasp leaving her lips, the girl slamming her palm against the wooden table separating you two, "what?! you met mystery frat boy and you didn't tell me?!" "i said we were going to meet yesterday. not that we met..."

"what?!" she slammed her fist against the table, "did he blow you off? was he a no-show? because if he was, i swear to god, i will find him no matter what and i am going to strangle him and cut his little-"

"i was the no-show."

"what?"

"well... i went to our meeting place, and i saw dodge. and i thought it was him, but he wasn't. but there wasn't anyone else around, so when dodge asked me to go to a cafe with him, i accepted, because i couldn't come up with a reason why i couldn't... but as we were leaving, i saw a guy wearing a red shirt walking away."

"a red shirt?"

"i told him to wear something red." you took in a deep breath, "and i think he might've seen me with dodge..." "it isn't that big of a deal! you have guy friends, so what? if you just explained it to him, i'm sure he understood."

you avoided vivian's gaze, the girl narrowing her eyes in suspicion, "you didn't." she cocked her head to the side, "don't tell me you lied-"

"i lied to him." you interrupted, a tight smile on your lips, "when he asked why i didn’t show, i told him that i got cold feet..."

"why would you do that?" vivian sighed, her brows furrowed in slight concern as she reached her hand out to place it over yours, "i'm worried about you."

"i thought... i thought that if i told him i ditched him for another guy he'd get the wrong idea. that something's going on between me and dodge."

"look, i know you're not a liar. i don't want you to become someone you're not for some guy."

"he's not just some guy, viv-" "you don't even know what he looks like!" "he gets me!" you let out a groan in exasperation, "do you know how rare that is for me? i don't get along with every guy i come across and go into bed with them when i don't even like them!"

your eyes widened at the words that you'd let out vivian letting out a shocked laugh, "wow." the pink-haired girl shook her head in exasperation, starting to get up from her seat, "viv, i'm sorry, i didn't mean-" "you know, i've done everything i could to help you with people. i've gone out of my way to look after you, to introduce you to people, and you want to shit on me for getting along with guys?" your best friend snorted, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, "it's not my fault that you can't function around people without popping pills. you're not the only person in the world who has anxiety. put on some big girl pants, find ways to cope with the fact that you're not the only person on earth, or stop whining so much."

vivian threw a ten-dollar bill onto the table, walking right past you, the bell above the entrance ringing as she slammed the door shut behind her, and you were left there hating yourself, once again wondering what the hell was wrong with you.

music was blaring, the fraternity filled with people, most of who rafe didn't even know, his head buzzing with all the alcohol he'd been drinking for the past few hours. his arm was strewn around some random girl whose name he couldn't care to remember, who kept babbling at him and the group of people surrounding them, but everything around him was just... background noise. no matter how many shots rafe threw back or how many girls clung to him, he couldn't get his mind off of her.

the stupid smile on your face as you'd texted, the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you bit down on your lower lip, the soft sound of your laughter, the way your eyes glimmered as you looked up at the sky...

"gonna get some air." mumbled to no one in particular, finishing his drink in one, ignoring the small whine the girl he'd been with let out as he made his way upstairs, slamming the door shut as he got into his room and made his way to the balcony.

"fuck!" rafe shouted, slamming his fist against the stone railing over and over, the booze numbing his senses so much he couldn't even feel it even when his hand started bleeding, drops of red staining the stone he'd beating his hand against, a humorless chuckle leaving his lips.

"what'd that railing ever do to your dramatic emo ass?"

rafe whipped his head around to see a pink-haired girl standing in the doorway with her head cocked to the side and brows raised as she took a chug from a bottle of vodka, the girl wearing a dress that just about reached her thighs, the color matching her hair. topper's perpetual situationship and the best friend of the girl he couldn't stop thinking about.

"the fuck you want?"

"don't worry, i'm not here to interrupt your brooding time." the girl rolled her eyes, stepping closer to the railing, rafe's eyes narrowing, "just needed air." "what, topper or some other guy obsessed with you not giving you attention?"

"god, you sound just like someone i know." the girl chuckled, starting to draw patterns on the railing, taking a chug of vodka before holding it out to rafe, the boy taking it without saying a word, taking a large swig before giving it back to the girl, "i fucking hate fighting with someone i love."

"i get the feeling." rafe shook his head slightly, "what'd you have a fight about?"

"one of my friends pretty much told me that i'm a slut." vivian chuckled humorlessly, "well if the shoe fits." rafe mumbled, the girl punching him on his arm. "i know i'm promiscuous. i know i'm a party girl and i fuck a lot of people. but the thing is, it feels like a confirmation that the person you care about the most in the world agrees with the worst thoughts you've ever had of yourself." vivian took another large swig from the glass bottle before passing it onto rafe, in turn taking his own swig, "i said some shitty things too and i regret it. i just fucking hate all of this. it tears me apart."

"well, if it makes you feel any better," rafe took a large swig of vodka again before passing it on to vivian and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, "i'm also a huge slut."

"tell me something i don't know." vivian snorted, taking another drink.

"well, something you don't know is that i actually thought i found someone who got me." rafe shook his head with a quiet laugh and looked up at the sky, "we actually talked to each other for the first time right here. but it turns out she probably doesn't give a shit about me."

"what do you mean?" vivian looked up at him with furrowed brows.

"i was gonna go see her, but when i went to our meeting place, she was there with another guy, and left with him. then when i asked her about it, she lied. so i'm pretty sure he's hooking up with him and i'm the biggest fucking idiot on planet earth."

the gears in vivian's head turned, until the small smile on her lips slowly vanished when she finally realized why the story was so familiar. "holy shit." she mumbled, eyes as wide as saucers, "you're him."

"what?"

"you're MalachiConstant."

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[cursedcola]

Prompt: "It's a Zing not a Fling" :: The moment they realize you're the one. Masterlist: LinkedUP

Parts:: Heartslabyul (Here) | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia

Leading up to each high-tea at Heartslabyul, its esteemed Housewarden found himself penning a singular invitation. One for a guest beyond his court, yet not his reach.

His cursive penmanship loops your name like so on restless nights in the margins of his notebook. One of the rare lapses Riddle's inner-self allows, despite still diligently studying his evenings away.

He seals each envelope with care, pressing out any creases that dare to blemish his hard work. Only the best can request your presence, even if Riddle is confident you won't deny his request no matter the condition.

A Queen cannot host without his King in attendance, after all.

Long before students rise and his duties begin, Riddle walks the familiar yet rarely-traveled path to Ramshackle dormitory. He places the envelope flat in the box, careful to angle it where no dirt could tarnish its white lace trimming. he releases the metal flap and raises the side-flag. All set for you to receive at your leisure, and for him to go on with his day.

That is - until his steps halt, with one foot already pivoted to turn back and release the letter flag.

Inner demons desperately want to delegate morning role call to his Vice, march himself into your dorm and take up whatever time he can before his role forces him to do otherwise.

To which Riddle's inner demons win each and every time, all on the reasoning that leaving an invitation behind is improper. That a proper courier must ensure a job complete with his own eyes.

Certainly not an excuse to cross your path before anyone else that day.

Another selfishness he lets slip through the cracks in his discipline.

Cracks that coincidentally began to arrive around the same time as you.

Three sharp knocks the main doorframe, one lace-trimmed envelope, and a free escort to breakfast make up in an all-exclusive Rosehearts mail service.

"Is there a reason I have to wear white?" your question hangs on a ribbon. The one wrapped tight across your chest, to be precise. One of Heartslabyul's second-years, a fellow in the most extravagant top hat you've ever seen, methodically wraps and lines measuring tape across your body.

Riddle looks up from his book, "Laws of Practical Magic in Medicinal Context," for nothing longer than a second.

"All members of the Queen's court must adorn themselves in the proper attire for ceremonies and gatherings. You are aware of this."

The hatted-student forces your arms up without a word. You jolt, startled, and he's too absorbed in his work to notice. Only muttering an apology when Riddle clicks his tongue.

"I'm still not a member of Heartslabyul - why does it matter now of all times?"

Another click of his tongue, this time for you.

"Tradition." He says, as if it's the most obvious answer.

"Tradition?" your brow crinkles, "I hadn't thought I was violating anything until now. Are there extended rules for outsiders?"

While not a member of the Queen's domain, you will forever remain part of his court. All receive invitations. All must attend in the proper attire, decked to the Queen's delight in red and white. He let it pass while you remained a friendly exception. Times have changed.

Riddle lets his book close, only when his underclassmen makes a hasty retreat with his collection of notes, fabrics, and measurements in tow. The hatter much too discourteous for Riddle's liking, but good at his job.

"I've been lenient up until now under the belief that your dorm would adopt an official uniform," Riddle sighs, albeit cracking a smile when you scamper off the tailor's perch to his side, "seeing as months have passed with no developments? I cannot excuse your attire any longer. You will wear white when at any Heartslabyul event from this moment onward."

"Don't you mean red and white?"

His thoughts halt, - "Again. Tradition dictates only white."

"Because I'm a guest?"

Riddle shakes his head, fingering the pages of his text to ignore the heat on his cheeks.

"No. Because you are the visiting Queen."

"Ramshackle needs something like this, don't you think?"

You sipped at a cup of lemon-chamomile, poured as a game of cricket began. Riddle's eye caught at your white gloves - they climbed from fingertips all to your bicep. The hatter did wonders with the roll of satin provided.

In a dorm of red, you were the sole dominator of white save for a rose brooch at the breast.

"Unbirthdays are tied to the Red Queen's rule," Riddle pulls himself from you, holding his attention on the game, "Ramshackle has no need for such things."

"That's not what I was eluding too - but thank you for the dismissal" you huff, and it's not the amused one he's learned to detect.

He allows himself a brief peek, just to catch you eyeing your reflection in the teacup. Your gaze nowhere near as enthused as his. Not at the black-heart over your lips, or shimmering silver crown sitting on your head.

"I want a tradition, Riddle. Something that makes my dorm special. Unique."

Something within him waivers at your admittance. For him these parties were routine - an obligation. Your presence made them more enjoyable, but he never cared too deeply.

Perhaps, he never allowed himself to care. Yearning for belonging. Home. That is an emotion he can empathize with.

Riddle is proud - no, he is positively delighted - to be one of the first to receive an invitation. His mailbox is forever cluttered with academic documents and professional communications. Yet he recognizes your writing on sight, and is pleased you'd not forgone a traditional physical invite. He handles it with delicate care, opening the seal like a single tear would be sacrilegious. You've settled on hosting for large holiday back in your world - one that you've mentioned a handful of times since snow began to fall.

Christmas, he recalls with ease.

Everything you say somehow stores in the main filing cabinet within his mind. For easy access, or perhaps he simply finds you far more interesting than leagues of text he's memorized.

You seem keen on twisting the original meaning of this holiday, bringing decorations, food, and everything in between to Ramshackle. Going so far as to place an appeal to the Headmaster, and with Riddle's aid, worming out a decently sized budget for dorm activities. Bless him for his way to move a room. Riddle might've preferred staying on the Headmaster's good wing, but couldn't turn down your request. Not when you are forthcoming so infrequently. In truth - Riddle has not been invited to a party before. Not as himself. Only formal gatherings that his mother arranged, hanging to her side as she paraded him like a prodigal trophy, or mandatory parties as Dormhead where preparations hung on his shoulders.

Riddle will honor your wishes; he'll selfishly relish in the fact that with a novel idea there is a lack of rules to maintain. Although your warming desire for tradition doesn't escape him, so he'll happily commission a new set of green and red to dress himself.

"You've done a wonderful job," Riddle sips at aclear flute glass, held proper at the stem between thumb and index, " I am thoroughly impressed that there is food to spare, considering Grim's gluttonous habits."

Riddle resists the urge to smirk, hiding his pleasure in another sip. He's used to others balking at his praise, yet it's different when you look at him so glowing. For once, he is not the one at table's the head seat, but you've well earned the highest spot for what he's witnessed this eve.

Ramshackle's main hall cleared for a long, expansive table decorated with broad cloth and long strands of cranberries. Candle light illuminates the hall in between platters befitting a feast. Garlands of red and green shimmered - all drawing attention to the brightly colored pine tree situated near the lounge hearth.

Riddle hadn't considered ornamenting a giant pine with twinkle strands and glass bulbs, yet its beauty stunned him nonetheless. Stockings hung on the walls, each with a student's name written in glue-glitter pen. Some messier than others, he noted. Grim's handwriting could do with work.

They'd been stuffed with little treats and ribbon - surely more that hid under their fluffy tops. Riddle wondered their purpose and how you managed to hang some well-beyond what a stool could help reach. He pictured you standing atop stacked boxes, tongue poking between teeth as you precariously leaned to hang those higher up.

For his sanity - Riddle dismissed the thought to the backends of his mind.

"Thank you -" your smile, eyes twinkling under candle-light "It surely wasn't easy getting the Headmaster's approval for all this - I'm grateful you were able to help, otherwise we might've all been eating instant noodles instead of turkey."

Riddle huffed, swirling his near-empty ice water "I didn't do much - regardless, I'm certain the evening would have turned out fine. This is a new tradition, one where you are in charge."

There's mirth in your eyes for a moment. A happy glint that he's proud to have brought back.

"I don't think Vil would've been happy eating canned tuna on the couch, but I'll take your word for it."

"Perhaps you have a point, yet it doesn't matter. Since we are not eating canned tuna and certainly not on a sunken couch." he hums, and watches closely as you pick up your glass to stand. Having postponed long enough with idle chatter, your spoon hovers near the glass rim, hesitant to clink for attention.

For reasons he is quite confident in - you look to him in a moment of hesitance, and he's prepared. As always.

Riddle nods when your eyes meet his, and then there's the familiar chime of a toast.

"Everyone! I'd like to thank you all for coming despite your busy schedules. This is the first ever event hosted by Ramshackle and I hope it's been as much fun for you as it has for me..." His attention is lost to your words, despite Riddle's attempts to nod along. It all fades out. His hearing. The feeling of his glass between his fingers, even as he rolls the stem between them. You glow.

It's nothing out of the ordinary. Yes, you've cleaned up for the evening - and he was not reserved enough to stay a compliment upon arriving. You had admired his suit in turn, fussing with his striped bow-tie even though it was already tied to perfection. He hadn't minded the slightest. Surely he'd taken ample time to admire you. What you've done to this shabby dormitory. How you are obviously trying to mimic his speech mannerisms from the countless he's given -

Yet it is not candlelight, fancy clothing or words that make you glow. It is something he cannot string words for, which is an oddity in itself.

Your earlier worry lingers, even if it is not worth dwelling on. Not with Schoeneheit here and clearly satisfied with the arrangements. He'd been the most critical about the building decor, after all. Although Riddle is certain he'd have made time to come regardless of what you arranged.

Vil is not the only one outside of Heartslabyul that you've managed to gather- Riddle notes. Students across all dormitories are here for this new tradition of yours. Ones he doesn't think to question, such as Epel of Pomefiore or Scarabia's party-hungry dorm leader. Others Riddle nearly balked at seeing, especially when Malleus Draconia of all people made an entrance just when seats were almost filled. For reasons unknown to Riddle, Malleus lingered long to admire his name-card and placemat. Even a prince was pleased with the bare minimum once entering this dormitory. Did you glow to them? He wonders. Unlike the Unbirthday parties - you've gathered these individuals out of desire. Not obligation. Ask him mere months prior and he'd think it impossible.

And yet.

Zing.

There's a yearning in your eyes - but this time not shrouded by a silver crown. It's a brilliant sparkle. An appreciation for what many would surely consider utter chaos - and he has no desire to scold you for stumbling over words or failing to follow his proper regimen for speeches.

You sit down, his ears still deaf but his sight not hindered to the adrenaline flush in your cheeks. To the tremble of your fingers as they tinker with your cutlery. How you smile for him, and he knows it's gratitude but Riddle's done nothing worthy of it this night.

As platters circle around, chatter rises - you watch, taking it all in. Not a bite taken from your plate despite minutes passing. Like you're somewhere unimaginable.

While it is considered impolite to ignore the person across you at a dinner table, Riddle is more interested in the one to his left. He understands that yearning. For friends. Family. Loved ones. To be as he wants, and accepted as he is.

Riddle reaches underneath the tablecloth, his hand finding yours in a subtle gesture. His fingers pry through one of your fists, lacing through yours like they'd been longing to the entire evening. "Relax," he whispers, soft enough that it surprises even himself, "This is the start of what is sure to be a wonderful tradition. I, for one, am immensely proud of you," he says your name with the highest reverence,praying his gaze is kind.

You glow.

Riddle squeezes your hand, striving to convey that this feeling you're experiencing is shared. His adoration might not be apparent to you just yet, but it is all consuming.

Trey is not one to snap easily or let his emotions guide his actions. He learned that he must think ahead at a young age, mediate, and it's carried him this far.

Yet this sense of control. This comfort. It is as much bane as much as it is a boon. And chaos is best experienced at a safe distance, he also figured out, like an active volcano. Enough to wow but not enough to burn. No matter what trouble comes across Trey's path, he will let it go in favor of finding a solution. Maybe he'll laugh about it later and enjoy the mischief in secret. Yet he always waits until it is safe. You are a volcano that never ceases erupting. Yet he lives on your island. Willingly. The warmth is worth each risked burn, yet he knows you'd harden yourself if he ever showed his skin. You'd turn from fiery magma into igneous rock.

You hadn't purposefully worked to agitate Riddle. No matter how much Heartslabyul's dorm-head was determined to atone for his childish behavior, change does not come overnight. Your mischief sometimes went overboard, earning a collar that had no use but to make a statement, yet it was always in good fun. Nothing a few days and proper apology could not fix. The dorm lightened up, there were upsides to these eruptions. Trey would be there to make you see.

You hadn't caused irreversible distress, like blowing up the kitchen or switching the sugar with salt right before he entered the culinary crucible. Even then, grime could be cleaned and he didn't care about winning anyways. What's a trophy when faced with your supposed 'revenge'. What for? He has no idea, but Trey knows you're capable of much worse and counts his blessings. A small dose of cortisol usually ended with a good laugh, and possibly some blackmail material that he would never get around to using.

So long as you were happy, healthy, and most importantly- present. Trey could ask for nothing else.

Yet even the most optimistic man alive couldn't remain so at all hours - and he wasn't an optimist. Merely an idealist, a mediator - a lover, in this case.

The things we do for love - he could make a list.

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

Trey busied himself scrubbing violet dye out of his forearms. On the off chance there was a cleansing tonic available, he doubts Professor Crewel would waste it on something that will fade with time. The problem more-so lies with Trey's uniform, which wouldn't be cleaned in time for the next lab showcase. He'd likely be docked points, even as a Vice Housewarden. It would be major annoyance, if nothing else.

Trey sighs, going in for the third round of deep scrubbing " - Because accidents happen. What? You want for me to scold you?"

You don't answer his teasing. Trey scrubs harder. His skin was beginning to burn and yet he continued with the futile effort. If anything to act like he's unbothered and keep you from touching what's contaminated in the sink. Protect your curiosity, dispel your guilt. "Listen to me -okay? This isn't worth getting upset over. So I'm a candied violet for a few days? It's definitely a conversation starter." Trey kept his tone light, even throwing a joke that would definitely fall flat -

"-but you should be mad. Professor Crewel is going to mark your point card -" Yes. He knows. You don't need to remind him, " - maybe we can get you a new uniform? Or...or I can come with you? We can tell him what happened together and maybe he'll show mercy?"

Mercy? At Night Raven? You're kidding.

He scrubs harder. Under the fingernails. Over his elbows. It does nothing to lighten the pigment.

"No, trust me on this. A few points off my card makes no difference to a senior," he sighs, rinsing yet again. This time with scalding water that burns his skin, "you have two more years in this lab. That's a long time to endure Professor Crewel's scrutiny - and believe me, he remembers everything. Let me talk it out with him."

A partial truth. Normal seniors couldn't afford missing marks. Trey has seniority as a member of the science club, and no past demerits. He'll have to write an accident report at best, and be on cleanup duty for the rest of the month at worst. It's easier to accept the punishment then have you be subjected to one of Crewel's lectures on lab conduct. He can practically hear the cogs in your head. They're mucking up, slowing to a chilling halt. His teeth grind together, trying to think up a reassurance but coming up flat.

He'll smooth things over with Riddle afterwards, make a strawberry tart, the one with chocolate cream you liked last week, invite you over once he's calmed down to show no harm done. It'll be fine.

"B-but that's not fair! What about your -"

Trey shut off the faucet.

"Enough already," he grit the words out, "You're not supposed to be in here after hours and Crewel isn't the sort of instructor to let transgressions go. Do you want to be barred from the lab indefinitely?"

There was not any yelling. If anything, he was too quiet. No directly hurtful words. Trey hadn't meant for his tone to come out so forceful, but the veins on his arms were starting to bulge under duress and you just weren't listening.

His skin was about to blister if he kept it under water much longer. Maybe he should have let it.

Trey will do whatever he can to keep you happy, safe - satisfied and exactly as he found you. His feelings aren't that of a wet doormat, but he's always gone the subtle route. Thought things through.

Damn it - you always made it hard to think things through.

Grabbing one of the hanging towels, Trey turns around with the tick in his neck hanging tight. Just waiting for you to go and leave him feeling strung. The lab always felt cold compared to the rest of Night Raven, you'd take your warmth but he wasn't doing a great job of protecting it regardless. His mind's already running the extra mile and looking for a way to fix this.

"I don't mind being banned if it's what's fair. You don't need to shelter me, Trey. I know when I've messed up, and I want to help if you'll just let me."

Zing.

You don't run out on him, leaving a mess behind. Leave him cold. Like when the oven turns off and the kitchen's aired out. There's no need for a step-by-step plan. His words stung - he knew by your fists bunched in the pockets of your lab coat. You dislike this as much as he does - and yet, unlike Trey, you don't run.

"Let me help. Please?"

Trey purses his lips together, taking a deep breath through his nose before letting it out in four counts. He finishes toweling his stained hands, sooths the sting, tosses the rag aside and steps into your space. Closer than needed but something he wanted.

His painted hand hovers over your head, his impulse to make light and ruffle your hair. Reign it all back in.

Except one look in your eyes stops him short, and he finds your cheek instead. His purpled thumb looks ridiculous against your reddening cheeks - utterly wrong yet you lean into him before he can change his mind.

"Alright," Trey relents, tone much softer, "You win. I'm annoyed- "

Trey pauses, his brows dipping. You wait.

" - and I'm sorry for just now."

You nod against his palm, "I am too. Let's...let's just take a bit. We don't have to tell Crewel together if you're sure, but I can at least help with Riddle. I've had plenty of practice."

That you did with the freshmen you hang around - and a success rate of zilch since they still walk away with collars more often than not.

You really couldn't protect Trey from Riddle's word, in truth. He'd scold the both of you without hesitance. Although maybe it won't be so bad, sharing a tart without the roundabout.

"That sounds good to me."

Cater Diamond calls maximum-level bullshit. Magic is definite. His split-card never fails to produce an exact replica of him down to the finest detail. The cowlick he combs over, right above his left ear. The slight downturn of his right eye - an unfortunate side effect of sleeping on his side, face scrunched tight between forearm and bicep. His freckle pattern is identical too, even the ones on his back! Every possible fluctuation of his voice, the slight lag in his gait, his superstitions about stepping on tile cracks - even as a duplicate, he won't risk that karma. Cater's unique magic was perfect. Which is why he calls bullshit when you claim to tell them apart.

No.

Tell him from them? All clones look exactly the same, act the same, but apparently they didn't replicate his 'aura'. Whatever that means.

The first time you were able to do it, he thought nothing. That maybe you were looking to feel special - especially when your only response to how was 'I can just tell'. Even though no one looked convinced, you weren't bothered.

Cater wasn't about to take it personally either. Not when you were a great source for magicam material, and one of the few people his dorm head seemed to tolerate. Definitely the cute underclassmen type his sisters would go crazy for, and he did owe you for...well, no need to keep tabs, right?

It's not like you were being rude about it either. If it was a slight against his magic ability, maybe he'd feel differently.

Except you did it again.

And again.

Again.

Oh? Another time too.

Enough times that he stops sending a copy to do his dirty work, because you'll know. Even if you don't rat him out, there's that way you try to bit down a smile that somehow gets his clones to have a looser lip.

Okay. Maybe he needed to work on that. Yet still. Risking everything on your whim just so he can cut class isn't worth the headache.

Yet he will not concede.

It's bullshit. You're bullshitting so far out that he'd sooner believe Trey skipped flossing for an entire week straight. No. A month.

But Cater can't cling to that simple, vulgar dismissal. Even if he's never said it out loud to your face. There has to be a reason. While he's not one to have it 'out' for his underclassmen, you have to be putting on some kind of front. He can't bring himself to be spiteful about it since 'Cay-Cay' doesn't exactly encompass all that makes Cater.

You have to be - because it's physically impossible for someone to be this ignorant. He can excuse your lack of Wonderland culture (and is working to remedy it) but social cues? No. You have to be doing something intentionally. Anything. To see more of him.

He respects the effort, but if you're so intent on seeing him? Well. He'd let you see all right. Just don't blame Cater if you regret losing 'cay-cay' in the process.

"Special delivery for you, Peepers. Curtesy of Heartslabyul's royal court!"

With a perfectly-wrapped gift basket on one arm, and his phone in the other's hand. Cater holds the front door to Ramshackle on his hip and outstretches the screen for your 'signature'. Aka. just for you to take some photo-evidence that he's done his duty so Riddle won't scold him for skimping.

"On god, are those my cookies? Did Trey actually do it?"

You happily take his precious phone and snap a quick picture. One of Cater on the front- stoop, and another with half your face in the bottom frame. Eyes squinted enough that anyone could tell you're smiling. He poses too on instinct, but once the classic *click* passes he's eagerly dropping the basket in your hands.

You open the wrapping and sniff the air. "It is! I could kiss that man. Just get me a step ladder and a bit of peer pressure."

Cater snorts.

"Over cookies? I admit, we do have the best baker on campus but don't make it too easy. We don't want lovesick boys raining down on Ramshackle..." he wiggles his brows with a cheeky smirk, "...or do we? So scandalous of you!"

No reward for the messenger? He almost wants to press for it, but you'd probably take him seriously.

Cater disregards the slight bitterness in his stomach, and pushes into your space to snag one of the 'special delivery' bites. He dangles the biscuit just over your head and holds it up to the sun.

You, of course, try to get it back. He relishes in the brief power imbalance.

"Aren't these just normal cookies? Wah - look how golden the edges are! Totally pic worthy, if you ask me," he jumps through the threshold and into the main hallway. The cookie just on his lips.

"Would be a shame if we just ate them all, right peeps?"

A bit of sugar is worth that expression. The front door slams on your heels as you make like a bull towards him.

"Annnnnnd that's my cue! Later, gator!"

He dips and spins at the last second, sweeping past for one action-packed getaway that leads straight out the door to the safe confines of Heartslabyul castle. Not with boisterous laughter, but his cheeks do feel extra stretched out. Cater isn't sure if he wants this feeling either.

Never mind before. That was a magicam worthy image. The 'harmless' Ramshackle prefect ready to commit murder over one cookie.

Eyeing his little prize, Cater takes a bite.

Still not a fan of sweets or chores...but he can admit that both the victory and visit are sweet.

"I have a question."

"LOL - is that why you look three-days constipated?"

"Do you always have to be such a - "

Dick?

"Yes," Cater flashed his teeth, tapping his phone against his cheek, "To you? Always."

Cater doesn't mind playing sitter for a bit. Not that you ever actually sat still. Nah. Kalim was all too eager for someone to come listen in on what the Pop Music Club was working on, and you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now two-thirds of his club busied themselves fighting over if they'd sing a rock ballad, or some actual pop. Since they were technically the 'pop' music club, and their optimist leader wanted you to really catch the vibes.

Cater? Cater didn't mind all that much, but was real glad he chose today to attend in person. Not because you'd rat him out, but for these odd entertaining moments. It's not like he can poke all his little 'buds' this way.

He leaned against the back of Lilia's amp, attention flickering between your prattling and his doom scroll.

"Did you know I was coming today?"

Pretty steep lead-up for a lame question.

"Nah,' Cater shrugged, but caught your disbelieving look, "whaaa? Do you think I can keep tabs on all my cute underclassmen? Don't be such a spoiled goober, peeps."

You still remained doubtful. He tapped his phone to his chin, setting a line out for you to catch.

"Alright, I'll cast. Why are you so sure I knew, huh?"

You wince, sucking some air past your teeth. He recognized that look. It's the same one Ace had every time he admit to a crime. Dang. A-Deuce really has you clutched.

"You just...I noticed you kinda avoid using your unique magic with me around. Kalim said it's how you three can make music that needs more instruments, but -"

You pause, isn't he supposed to be the skeptic here?

"Well. You're you right now. So I just thought - not to sound accusatory, mind you - that it's because of me.."

Well that's new. Not the calling him out part. Cater's let that grudge go over time. You were just too fun to mess with, and he settled for playing the cards set up. It's not like you were going anywhere.

He just didn't expect his little one-sided rivalry to make it through that 'aura' barrier, or whatever it is you called it before. Neither for him to actually show his hand, especially when he could deny it so easily.

"You want me to lay it straight with you?" Cater asks, his smile too wide for blatant kindness.

Back out man. What are you doing?

You, doe-eyed no more, nod along.

"You're hella creepy. That's why I give you special attention."

Part of Cater relishes in the startled expression on your face. In the discomfort of being seen that he's dealt with since the moment you met. Even if the feelings changed an now coated with something sickeningly sweet. A feeling he didn't want, but came regardless.

He continues without prompt.

"Did you ever think about where the name 'peepers' comes from? Sure, you're cute like a little chick. ADeuce sure Shepard you like one, and I'm sure it'd be the same if you were in Heartslabyul with the rest of us - "

You say nothing. Although Cater's not really being cruel, just honest. He knows there are better words to use here. Can think of them, but he doesn't want to.

"- but you don't really know boundaries, do you? Which can totally get you on the off-side, just saying. At first I did it to make sure you couldn't twist my clones into admitting something totes embarrassing - but now? Hmm....dunno. Just having fun."

The uncomfortable silence that follows is not fun. Although he's good at flipping back to scrolling as if he didn't just get as real as it gets IRL.

You don't stick around for practice. Part of Cater feels guilty that Kalim came back to an empty room, but he's not much in the mood for singing anymore. With you gone, he left behind two doubles.

Later, in his room, he wonders if it was 'Cay-Cay' talking or 'Cater'. They're not mutually exclusive. Either way, he doubts you'd be willing to chat casually with either again. Problem mitigated.

You were a good, if not rattling, experience.

So why's he not happy?

“I want to apologize. If you’ll hear me out.”

Now that’s not what Cater was expecting. Not at all. Two weeks without a Ramshackle resident in sight. For a bit he thought you decided to hate him for setting boundaries of all things. Ace and Deuce were your besties, but they hadn’t breathed a word about whatever you felt to him.

Either you were better at holding secrets than anyone else on campus, or those two had enough tact to respect their upperclassmen. Most likely the former, given past events.

Cater’s more interested in the cup noodle in your hands. Not even the good kind either.

“Is that supposed to be an offering? Did Acey teach you how to pull a kettle out of thin air too?” He’s going to need some hot water after all.

What would normally get those noodles thrown at Cater’s head - maybe a half-baked insult about them resembling his hair too - doesn’t work. You set the styrofoam cup on his desk and sit next to it.

“I’m sorry you felt creeped out by my ‘sixth-sense’ or whatever it is that my shared braincell friends call it. All this time I thought you were hanging out with me because we were friends or -“

You stop. Surely you wouldn’t leave him hanging, but Cater knows you as well as you know him. Too well. Blood rushes to your ears, as does words to your lips.

“- or, uh, more. Like - you didn't use the doubles since you liked spending time with me. Which is a bit conceited to think, I guess. I didn’t realize you were forcing yourself to be something you’re not. In the beginning I really admired you. Maybe that’s why I can tell the clones apart? It's a dumb reason but really all I've got. You always caught my attention. I’m not special, or psychic, or anything - I just really liked you.”

Zing

It’s not as if no one’s ever confessed their feelings to Cater. He’s an online presence. Cay gets five confessions a day, at minimum. A dozen fawning comments at every meal.

Except he never stole their packages, or drove them up a wall trying to find a hidden dirty sock in their dorm.

He was still ‘Cay-Cay’. Blessedly cute, to his sister’s delight and his honed weaponry. Although if he could be what they all wanted, he’d be at RSA. Maybe in another life.

No use on what-ifs after all.

��Could you say that with a mouth full of uncooked noodles? Raw emotions should equate raw stomach pains to show your sincerity” Cater wiggled the styrofoam cup before bopping it on your nose.

In this life, he was a melody of sinful cuteness. Maybe you saw that, maybe you didn’t.

The want for that little ‘more’ definitely left him with ammo for what was about to come.

You could be bullshitting that too. The vulgar conclusion somehow still coming back up after all this time.

The diamond on his cheek crinkles with a cheeky grin, and one of his doubles walks in with a piping hot cup of water. Then another with two bowls and chopsticks.

“JK I won’t do that to you,” he lets them set up for some real noodles, slipping the ones you bought away for later. You don’t need to know everything.

He’ll let you in on this much though.

You were trouble. A bit annoying and oblivious.

But deep down, so was Cater. Maybe he was the one bullshitting himself this whole time.

“You’re real lucky that I’m into creepy these days….say, could we maybe do a horror collab at your place for our launch?”

Deuce often wonders where he'd be if he hadn't come home that night. Good parents try to hide their feelings for the sake of their kids, but what if he hadn't overheard that phone call? What if his mother still felt such sadness? The Insomnia is well earned - if you ask him. Shame that he'll carry for the rest of his life. Her sorrow is his greatest regret, but he'll carry it. To move forward.

Would he still be part of the gang? Likely. There's no way Night Raven College would want someone with bruised knuckles as the only trophy on their name. Who's only redeemable skill was swinging a bat while pumping a wheelie.

Or would they? Floyd Leech received a letter and wasn't turning over any shells to become less...Floyd-like.

Maybe Deuce wasn't special. Just lucky.

Perhaps Night Raven would be better off with the old him. That prideful jerk who didn't think twice before throwing a punch. Who's greatest pride was his blast-cycle and rarely spared a thought on the people who really mattered. An absolute moron stuck in the wrong crowd, in the wrong place always at the wrong time.

In an abyss of what-ifs, there is one certainty.

You would not be a friend to Deuce.

He preyed on the magic-less back then. It's so easy to picture you as those faceless kids that he taunted. He thought himself better than them. Made them preach his superiority, and if they refused? Made their life hell. As did the rest of his gang.

What might he have said to you? What would he have done?

Deuce wasn't necessarily thrilled to be thrown on thin-ice during his first week on campus. He wasn't outright cruel towards you, but Ace? Ace was an asshole. Deuce heard how your meeting went. How he preyed on your ignorance, even though you couldn't help it.

Deuce can't give your group's third shit for it either.

Not when a bit of teasing was mercy compared to the bullying he used to do.

Not when he'd have gone further than Ace could attempt, and not when you'd have taken it without knowing any better. Your trust that he now held so dearly, traded away for a bit of momentary cruelty.

He would have got high off your misery, and been none the wiser to what he was ruining.

This ache is how Deuce tames that abyss of what-ifs.

Any life where you are not a friend to Deuce, is a life that he refuses to see possible.

Deuce is not special. He is lucky.

Lucky enough that you came into his life when he embodied the dignity to learn, and sense appreciate someone so wonderful.

Just like with his mother, Deuce can't ignore the thoughts. They will come, and he faces them with an imaginative force.

At the start of this new life, Deuce set out to become better. To be honorable. Sharp. Strong. Diligent. His mother's pride and tears fueled those ambitions.

Except he forgot one important factor. When he thinks of himself in this image, the desire brightens with your face in his day-dreams amidst hard work.

Kind.

Deuce wants to be kind.

"Finished?"

You stretch lazily across the library table. In the wee hours of dawn, with the sun just barely poking in with it's grey-toned light, Deuce scratches away at one of the many 'guides' Riddle loaned him for practical magic studies.

The word 'guide' must be used loosely, since the notes require endless sifting through textbooks for proper context. Leave it to his Housewarden to give just enough for any student to learn, but they'd need to exhibit excessive effort.

Deuce felt like the village-idiot, or rather the stooge of his academic year. They did this sort of gimmick back in the gang. Every batch of new-comers would come with a dud, meant to fail during initiation as an example.

Hell even Ace passed the last exam. Even if he just brushed by with a 70, it was still miles better than Deuce's 42. At the rate Deuce is going he might as well sign his soul off to Azul agai -

No.

"Urhm...I think? Just need to read a bit more," the words blurred, was it is eyes or did he literally erase the ink off?

The packet disappears before his retinas refocus. You start skimming over the shoddy work without asking. Now he's feeling frustrated and embarrassed.

"Two's wrong," you flip the page, his fingers twitch over the table rim, "five, six, eight, twelve, and fourteen too. Nineteen's short answer is technically right? Not by Riddle's standards, but Trein would take it."

You slide the packet back towards him with minor corrections made. He shouldn't hate red, it's his dorm's pride. Although Deuce wishes that for once he could get a pristine white paper back.

Just once. A sign that all this work was paying off. That he's doing something right.

What's worse is that he's dragging you down with him. A yawn builds in the back of his throat and he shoves it so far down it meets his intestines. Tired? At a time like this? He can't be tired, not when you're giving up a precious Saturday morning so he doesn't resort to cheating like before.

He ducks low, hiding in red ink.

"Sorry, prefect. I'll - I'll just have to start over. You should go get some shut-eye before Grim needs you."

Sorry for wasting your time.

"Why would we do that? You did good."

Huh?

A red pen with the cap just barely holding on pokes the big 65 circled on his paper. It leads up to a lifted blazer cuff, which leads to a stretched arm, which leads to a knotted ribbon which barely passes as a bow.

All to you, in his space with your seat long abandoned with his determination.

All to kind eyes. Indiscriminatory, with patience.

"Good? I missed seven questions."

"Yeah, that's a 65."

Deuce strains his eyes, squinting at the mark with hatred.

"That's not good. It's not even passing."

"Yeah, duh." You sigh heavily. Not like there's a librarian or nerd on duty to hush.

The red cap thumps against his forehead.

"65 is 23 points better than a 42. C'mon, juice-box. Don't tell me we need to study maths next."

You hold the cap there until he looks up from his burial in papyrus. His deprecation - his lapse- meets you in battle and with that one look? You kick its ass to the moon and back.

No judgement. No exuberant praise. No false promises.

Just you and him against the world. Or in this case, a bad grade.

Zing.

One bad grade that he refuses to let set a precedent for his day.

There's a sting to his eyes. It must be the dust.

No. It's a heavenly glow. In this moment, you weren't a friend. You were like a saint sent down from the heavens or wherever it is you come from. It might as well be heaven to him, since he can't go there and it's sent him an angel.

He doesn't want to disappoint you. He doesn't want to spit in the face of that kindness. The hidden bitterness that a magicless student understood practical theory vanished in an instant, as did his desire to trade this pen in for a good sulk.

All he wants is for you to stay with him. To make you proud. He'll work without rest for as long as he has to, if it means he has your faith.

"D-don't call me that! If that nickname sticks then I'll never make it as a proper honor student!"

He swats the pen off him with flushed cheeks, but little strength. Your laugh invokes this newfound confidence and it's like six shots of espresso all at once.

You slip into the chair across him, snickering.

"Sure thing....if you can score 70 by noon. I believe in you, juice-box."

The heat is sweltering. What dorm doesn't have central air in the middle of summer? Ace already knows the answer, but complains anyways. The whines fall off his lips like greetings. More of an obligatory thing.

He could head back to Heartslabyul. Where it's a steady seventy-two degrees and hopefully some shaved ice in one of the freezers. He could sneak you in? Twist Riddle’s nickers even when the guy was across the sea.

Not just Riddle, but everyone else too. Ace hadn't seen another face on campus in nearly two weeks. Deuce was the last to leave, seeing as his 'new image' meant helping mommy dear out with a summer job.

There wasn’t anyone around this time of year. Just the upkeep staff. Needless to say that Night Raven morphed into one odd ghost town.

Oh. Let's not forget himself and the two lone residents of this dilapidated dormitory.

Zzzzz-

"It's not fair you always get the bed. What ever happened to basic hospitality?" he groaned, cheek pressed into the hard floorboards.

You scoff from where he can't see before going back to whatever it is you were rambling about. He wasn't fully paying attention. Something about this game franchise starring a pink gumball that eats things to get powers?

What a dumb idea. He'd say as much, if he wasn't becoming one with the ground. Banished to below after kicking you in the chin while laughing at his comics.

Sweaty, uncomfortable, clothes sticking to his skin and said comic too far out of reach. The pages spit every time the slightest gust of wind comes in from outside. Grim's knocked out-cold on the recliner, occasionally stirring awake to tell you both to shut up.

"Ace? Are you even listening anymore?"

You peer down over the bedside. Hair ready to host rats and a bit of cheese dust on your cheek. Beads of sweat smeared it into a junk food lipstick. Vil’ worst nightmare, honestly.

Zzzzzz-

Ace barely peels his body off the ground to smack his hand over your mouth. Your weight is nothing to stop him from climbing back over the crumpled duvet. That’s right. Scream under his sweaty grip. No one to save you now.

"Never was - now move over already before I become a puddle and melt all over your floor"

The bed is just as, if not more, sweltering and uncomfortable. Ace grins apathetically as you flail to escape his noogies. Only to give up and go back to rambling on. This time letting the heat suffocate you together rather than apart.

He could fall asleep like this. Will fall asleep like this. It’s his earned right for the entirety of summer. Whatever it is you’re on now, he doesn’t care. Not fully. Just keep talking and don’t get up.

Ace thinks the world doesn’t give him enough credit.

The sun, the sea, the sand - it’s all too perfect. A vacation away from endless classwork and his house-warden trying to rip him a new one? A dream.

That’s what this was.

A dream.

With you right at the center of it all. Again. This isn’t something he’s buried deep down. His mind’s eye didn’t need to work hard for his desires.

Ace knows what’s up. He knows that if he sits up on his elbows, reaches over to poke your ribs and taunts out a vengeful swat - that he’ll get more than just some sand in his eyes. He’ll be done for. He’ll be blinded.

He’ll fall into the sweetest nightmare.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz-

It’s buzzing in him. He’s walking such a fine, a dangerous line. This isn’t forever. He just wants you to be happy without the expense of his own. Is that so much to ask?

Where the hell are the adults? The professors? Why is he even in this position?

When will he wake up? How long until the fantasy is gone? He doesn’t want to give it attention.

Since he will wake up. You'll come for him. It's a matter of when, not if. If he gives in, then the fantasy will become just that until it's gone. He'll blink and it will all be gone.

Ace knows that the only way is for you to walk along in-between, but it’s impossible. Ace is well aware of the inevitable cracks better than anyone else. He doesn’t need convincing.

…

Fine.

Ace falls asleep willingly. He keeps his hands to himself, lays upon the shore, and lets the tide wet his feet.

Dreams are far more forgiving than reality, and the world can withhold its credit. He doesn’t want the knowledge.

“I thought I was changing your mind!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m in love with you, idiot!”

Ace felt his teeth crack together. He said it. It took months of trying. Months of pulling himself back as far as he could.

He said it. You heard it. He’s glad you heard it because it’s unfair that he’s the only one about to get his chest ripped out. It’s not fair.

“I’m in love with you,” he breathed out, “I’m in love with you and I want you to stay.”

It's not real. It can't be real. Since all he could see now was that person from the very beginning. The one he taunted on an off chance on his first day. He was such a dick back then. All he had to do was keep walking, but he was too cruel for that. He just had to go mess with the person who’s day was already at an all time low, stuck cleaning old statues while everyone else got on with their lives.

If he just kept walking. If he didn’t let his ego get the better of him. Then he never would have experienced any of this. He wouldn’t know you.

He wouldn’t love you.

Zzz-

And what burns the most, is that he wanted to love you. Even if it meant this frustration. This abandonment.

“I'm sorry."

I can’t do this.

“WAKE UP ALREADY -"

“Ace?“

He rest his forehead against your pulse. Nose nestled into your collar, body draped over your front like a blanket. His bones felt like pudding after running for so long.

The end of this nightmare wasn't close. Nowhere near. Even though he was ripped from one dream - no, a nightmare. A twisted, willing nightmare. It wouldn't be over until the dragon sung.

Even then. There were sill hidden cards within his deck. The ones Ace held close to his chest.

You came for him, because of course you did. He wants to say that he'd not do the same. That you're an utter dumbass for going against Malleus Draconia of all people. Except he'd be lying to himself.

"We need to get going," you tapped his shoulders urgently, "Ace? C'mon, you're freaking me out man...we need to help -"

"Just give me a minute."

He held you tighter. Not by much. His own subconscious drained life like Riddle at a party. His head was still buzzing. What was dream melted with what was reality.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" you asked, wary.

Idiot.

Ace held you at arm's length.

Zzzz-

"How much of that last part did you actually see?" he asked.

Your concern morphed into sympathy. Of course it did.

"Don't worry about any of us judging you, okay? Those dreams don't accurately reflect our hearts. If anything, more of a pleasant nightmare. Like our hearts giving us a weird case of Stockholm Syndrome with our desires"

That's not what he asked, but alright.

"So all of it," he concluded and clicked his tongue, "damn it....this is so not cool."

Whether you took his sulking as something to be pitied or not. It didn't matter. Twisted desire or not, it didn't matter.

He wouldn't let it matter. This card could hold until he made the dragon sing.

"C'mon," Ace pulled you forth to convene with the others. His head clear and the buzzing louder than ever. His fingers laced tightly with yours.

This is real. He can do this. He won't wait for another sweet nightmare or promise of power.

"You and I? We have words after this is over. I've been through seven layers of hell because of you, and there won't be an eighth."

Zing.

[cottonlemonade]

“I’m too pretty for academics.”, you whined and slumped dramatically over your textbook, chubby cheek smooshed into the paper. The words on the page stopped having any meaning long ago and with a pout, you turned your head to look at your friend (and longtime hopeless crush) Ushijima.

“Don’t you think I would make a great sugar baby?”

“Absolutely.”, Semi piped up from across the table, “You’re just cute enough to forget all your annoying whining.”

“Oh! - Oh! Is that how it is, Mr “I forgot my hairdryer and so I cried in the showers after practice”?”

“I can’t believe you still bring that up.”

“It was like… three weeks ago.”, Tendou noted, eyes hooded with mischief.

Ushijima looked from one to the other and raised his pen as if in class, waiting for the teacher to call on him.

“Apologies. But what does a sugar baby do?”

You shot up and searched his eyes trying to figure out if he was serious or if it was one of his rare deadpan jokes that went over most people’s heads.

This seemed to be a sincere question, but Semi and Tendou were still buffering, frowning, to determine how they should react.

Ushijima went on: “I know a sugar baby gets money from a sugar parent and they get spoiled with gifts and things alike. I know this, because Satori refers to me as his “sugar daddy” whenever I get him a soda from the vending machines. But then what?”

Tendou bit his lips to stop from snorting and Semi apparently tried to jumpstart the one brain cell he borrowed from Shirabu earlier. Since no one said anything, Ushijima asked, “What does the sugar parent get in return?”

Tendou cleared his throat “Well, in some cases - not in ours, though -“, at this point he wagged his finger between himself and Ushijima to make it very clear, “whatever the… sugar parent wants in return varies. Some want arm candy for events, some want saucy favors - intimate favors… sex”, he clarified at last because his friend still seemed lost, “and some just want a feet pic every once in a while.”, he ended with a shrug.

“And anyone can be a sugar parent, right?”, Ushijima asked.

“Please stop calling it that.”, Semi pleaded under his breath.

You and Tendou nodded and confirmed.

“Then… I guess I can also be your sugar daddy, y/n.”

Your face turned boiling hot and you scrunched your hands in your lap to stop from screeching. How did he always say the most unhinged things with the blankest stares?

Even though you turned his offer down, he would still keep coins in his pocket for whenever you wanted a drink, just in case.

a/n: based on a conversation with @haikyu-mp4. Thank you for always being the Tendou to my Ushijima (and thank you so much for adding the perfect final line).

[himasgod]

can you maybe do a fic about any of the overblot characters turning to a frog and having to have true loves kiss to get back to normal please and thank you

OVERBLOTS X READER

Where they turn into frogs and you, their true love, have to kiss them.

“Unacceptable! Utterly unacceptable!!”

The tiny red frog paced back and forth across your desk, sputtering in fury, his tiny webbed feet making the smallest pat-pat-pat sounds.

You bit your lip trying not to laugh.

“Riddle, calm down—”

“Do not tell me to calm down! I’ve been turned into a frog! A frog! This is a disgrace to Heartslabyul, a violation of school policy, and I demand a formal apology from that imbecile who—!”

You reached out and gently scooped him up before he worked himself into a meltdown.

“...Put me down.”

“You’re going to pop a vessel, and I’m not dealing with frog Riddle and internal bleeding.”

He huffed, cheeks puffing out — which didn’t help his image.

“Professor Trein said the curse can only be broken by a true love’s kiss.”

Y“You… think I’m your—?”

He flushed from neck to forehead (or whatever frogs have).

“I’m not saying that! But… the spell reacted when you held me. I-it warmed slightly. It must mean something.”

“So… do you want me to try?”

“Only if you want to. It would be... appreciated.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his head — and the next moment, you were nearly bowled over by a very flustered Riddle, kneeling on the floor.

“I—I’m back?” He patted himself frantically. “My hands—my hair—! Thank the Queen!”

“Nice to see you again, Riddle.”

He glanced at you and cleared his throat.

“Ahem. This… this doesn’t excuse public displays of affection without permission, but… I suppose I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

“So I’m allowed to kiss you now?”

He turned red again.“Y-you already did. Don’t push your luck!”

“I find this form oddly peaceful,” the frog says in that same deep tone.

You look up to the roof of Ramshackle, where Frog Malleus sits like a green gargoyle (LIKE BATMAN BRO)

“You’re… surprisingly calm about this.”

“In my long life, I have transformed into many things—dragon, mist. This is merely a new shape. Though I must admit, the lack of horns is somewhat tragic.”

“Lilia says it can only be undone with a true love’s kiss.”

His bright green eyes meet yours.

“…Then allow me to make a humble request.”

“You want me to—?”

“I would entrust my form, my life, and my curse to you alone.”

Your heart flutters like a hummingbird. You reach up and kiss his head.

When it fades, Malleus stands before you—tall, regal, radiant.

“I knew it,” he says, lips curling into a soft smile. “It was you.”

You glance away, flushed.

“You’re really okay with me being your… uh… ‘true love’?”

He steps closer.

“You already were. Long before this spell.”

You open your closet and find a bright green frog sulking on a pile of hoodies.

“Idia… you’ve been hiding in here for three days.”

A croaky sigh.

“Don’t look at me. I’ve become one of the background mobs. No… worse. I’m the tutorial boss.”

You stifle a laugh.

“Ortho said only true love’s kiss will break the curse.”

“Ugh, man. Cringe. That’s such a normie mechanic. What is this, some knockoff otome game from the App Store?”

“Idia. You’re literally living in my hoodie drawer.”

“If I croak, delete my browser history. But not the bookmarks. Some of them are important.”

“Do you want to be cured or not?”

“…If it has to be anyone, I’m… okay with it being you. But don’t laugh, okay?”

You gently kiss him. Idia is human again — hair ablaze in blue flames, sitting on the floor in your hoodie.

“You… you kissed me. That was, like, a cutscene moment. Did you see that sparkle effect??”

“Maybe we got the good ending.”

“I am going to SUE whoever enchanted that bottle.”

You stare into a porcelain teacup where Frog Azul is sitting, glaring indignantly.

“You turned into a frog in the middle of the Lounge, Azul.”

“In front of customers, no less! Floyd’s been threatening to toss me in the fryer all morning.”

“Jade said the only way to undo it is with—”

“—Do not say it. I already know. And I hate it.”

“But it’s—”

“True love’s kiss, yes, yes. What a cheap fairytale mechanic. There should be an antidote. I should have an antidote. I sell antidotes!”

“So what’s stopping you?”

He goes quiet.

“…You do want it to be me, don’t you?”

He makes a tiny, deflated ribbit.

“You just had to say so.”

You lean down and kiss him gently and a moment later, Azul is back, flustered and drenched.

“Note to self,” he mutters, adjusting his glasses.

“Burn that perfume recipe. And draft a new contract with… specific kissing clauses.”

“So I am your true love?”

He blushes down to his collar.

“well—technically—yes—but let’s keep this strictly off the record!”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You stared at the small frog sitting on your desk. The frog crossed its little arms (legs?) and let out an exasperated sigh.

“It’s not my fault! Azul's experimental potion exploded, and this is what I get for dodging it too late.”

“You’re a frog, Jamil.”

“Thank you for the observation, my savior,” he deadpanned.

“Now hurry up and kiss me so I can get back to normal before Kalim finds out and tries it himself.”

Your face twisted in horror.

“You want me to kiss a frog?!”

“Do you want me to stay like this and croak around the school forever? Besides, it’s not like you’d be kissing any frog. It’s me. I know it’s not ideal, but you’re my—”

You interrupted, cheeks warm.

“I’m your...?”

He looked away, small arms crossed.

“...My best chance at breaking this curse. Obviously.”

“…You could’ve just said ‘true love’ instead of dancing around it.”

“I’m not dancing around anything. You’re the one making this weird.”

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, your heart thumped a little harder. You hesitated, leaned down, and—

“Do not tell anyone about this after I turn back,”

You pressed a quick kiss. A second later, a very flustered, very human Jamil stood before you — eyes wide, lips parted, face red.

“I cannot believe that worked,”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m going to kill Azul…”

You looked at him smirking.

“But hey... true love’s kiss, huh?”

“Don’t make me regret this,” he mumbled—but his eyes lingered on your lips little longer.

You stared down at the most perfect frog you’d ever seen.

Velvety green, regal posture, and an expression of pure judgment in those little violet eyes.

“This is... humiliating,” the frog croaked — and yes, that was Vil Schoenheit’s voice.

You choked back a laugh.

“You actually still sound graceful. Impressive.”

“This is not the time for jokes, sweet potato. I was merely trimming a rose stem when that clumsy oaf Epel tripped into the cauldron. Now look at me. My skin is... green. Green!”

“Well, at least it’s glowing,”

“The only way to undo this is a kiss, and Rook has already tried to volunteer. I had to hop away in terror. You’re my only hope, darling.”

You knelt down beside him.

“So… ‘true love’s kiss’ actually works?”

“Rook thinks the potion was modeled after an old fable. He also said you’re the ‘fairest in Vil’s eyes.’ And honestly? I’m inclined to agree.”

“Wait… are you saying you—?”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” he interrupted.

“Now. Kiss me. Preferably before I croak... in the literal sense.”

Suppressing the heat rushing to your face, you gently leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.

Vil returned — golden-haired, poised, a hand already brushing nonexistent dirt from his shoulder.

“Thank the stars. My complexion is intact.“Though I must admit... for a kiss with a frog, it was surprisingly romantic.”

“You planned this, didn’t you?”

“If I did, would you be mad?”

The frog lay sprawled out in your pencil case. You stared at him, unimpressed.

“You’ve been like this for three days and haven’t moved except to complain.”

Leona lifted a webbed foot.

“I’m royalty. I don’t do peasant things like hopping.”

“You’re literally a frog.”

“Tch. And I’d be a prince again by now if you’d just kiss me already.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s the whole ‘true love’s kiss’ cliché. Apparently I’m cursed. Just my luck. I’m not letting just anyone smooch me. So c’mon. Be a sport.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one I’d willingly let get that close. Don’t act surprised.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“Does this look like a prank? Do you think I like being this size? I’m living in a lunchbox, herbivore.”

Despite everything, he looked ridiculously smug for a frog.

You sighed and leaned down. “If this doesn’t work, I’m feeding you to Grim.”

Leona snorted.

“Just kiss me already.”

You kissed him, and your frog vanished — replaced by a lounging Leona, now human.

He grinned lazily.

“Knew you’d go for it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself—!”

He smirked. “Too late. You already kissed me. That makes you my lover now, right?”

You threw a pillow at him.

[syluses]

HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 PART TWO (2) of the stepdad! sylus x reader series

(2) THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: ayyy finally got chapter 2 out ✨ apologies for the wait!! but i hope u enjoy this one my friends :] 💕 also sorry for any typos PLEASE overlook them i beg :,) i hate the edit/revise process it took SO long but i hope my sleep-addled brain did me decent as i went thru to correct stuff. oh also i made a teeny mistake in part one, but i fixed it and its very inconsequential (used wrong number: 6 changed to 7). but anyway just letting u know if ur very observant & noticed a difference lol!! [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

It’s hard to be secretive, tiptoeing down the hallway toward the stairs, when halfway through it opens up into the living room’s overhang.

If someone were sitting on the couch, and they heard so much as a creak from above, all it’d take is a glance thrown over their shoulder to spot you with a hand hesitantly placed on the banister, leery of stepping down to the first floor.

Nervewracking.

Perhaps it’s a bit dramatic to compare it to walking into the lion’s den- but you’re not the most talkative of persons, especially not with him, and it does seem daunting in your head to be cornered into conversation. Like prey meeting predator. Small meeting big. One delicate discussion could do you in, but you won’t bet on your demise being brought along so… easily.

To your immense relief, when you you peek around the stone column and survey the area below (mainly the L-shaped sofa, facing the massive wall-mounted TV above the fireplace), you find it empty.

At that, you let out a quiet breath. Some of your courage returns.

If you had spotted the twins, it would’ve been manageable, more so than if it was their dad, anyway.

It was only an hour ago (well, an hour and ten minutes, but you hope they won’t hold that against you— and considering all their tardy slips in highschool, they wouldn’t have the right) that you’d held conversation with them, and it went alright.

It’s a bit harder for you to admit that it was actually pretty nice to see them again.

Cathartic, even.

There’s a part of you that’s vulnerable and girlish- carefully stowed beneath the tough skin you lay on in front of most of everyone else- locked somewhere safe- and yes, it did miss them.

But you’re meant to dislike the three of them. Your meddling stepfamily who slipped into the cracks of your home, your mother’s heart, no different than an invasive species would. Stuck a foot into the door of your life and pressed until the hinge gave.

Once, it was easy. As effortless as breathing.

You didn’t have to think about it, or deliberate on it, or make all the justifications in your head- no, you hated them and that was it.

That feeling was meant to be final. Set in stone.

You thought it was.

For a time you even likened Sylus to Cinderella’s evil stepmother and his two conniving sons to the insufferable stepsisters. Oh, it’s childish, you know; looking back on those moments, you don’t know whether you want to hug the teenage girl you’d been or laugh in the face of her.

As it stands, though, Anastasia and Drizella aren’t half the monsters you’d once liked to believe. Awfully enough, you’ve warmed up to them, maybe even came to love them.

You’re stubborn, not stupid: Luke and Kieran have a special place in your heart and you recognize that.

You’re sure that they do, too. It’s what makes them bolder during every confrontation; brings out the smiles where they once paled. Scared you’d yell or shriek for your mom to just—

Get these two idiots out of my room!

That was then, though.

Things are different now. Changed.

…The ‘Lady Tremaine’ in this picture is still a work in progress. If you’re being honest, you wouldn’t be too terribly upset if it stayed that way—

No. But no, because…

Your mother would’ve been happy if you got along with him. Made amends. It’s a truth as sour as it is undebatable.

“Baby, please- he’s a good man, really. Can you just try, for me? I know you miss your dad, I know you do, I do, too-“

‘Does she?’ To save your hide, you bite that remark down, but listen on just as grumpily.

“-but I think that this can be a good thing if you just-“

Her words echo in the walls of your head. Plangent, bouncing. Like a gunshot ringing out through a canyon, it’s still loud in your conscience, even more so now that she won’t be around to nag you on the matter any further.

—“Smiled.”

If you don’t like Sylus, you’re the bad guy, right? And damn it all if that doesn’t dredge up an ounce of bitterness in you, but—

…For the sake of this trip, for the sake of her no longer being here (and oh, what you wouldn’t give so she could be here), you’ll do your best to swallow down your misgivings about your stepfather.

And you’ll be good.

Two weeks.

Reminding yourself of that for what must be the millionth time, you push off the truffle-wrap pillar to continue into the lofty hall. Starting down the wide, marble staircase in silence.

You’re not so sure where their father is. You definitely have your guesses— A fancy-shmancy meeting or outing that’s called him outside of the estate, or perhaps he’s simply in his study working, running an errand— All of which you hope are correct for the sake of avoiding him.

This late lunch of yours and the twins’ should be just that.

Yours and the twins’.

✦

The further you press into the first floor, the more you smell whatever the private chef is cooking.

Delicious, whatever it is. And no surprise there- the man who hired him demands only the best of the best. He’ll brook nothing less.

As you get closer, the aromas (some too faint to label, others almost dominating your senses: garlic, a pinch of ginger, the mouthwatering scent of meat) blend into a savory potpourri. A cohesive, expertly-made dish, you’re sure.

It’s true that in the past five years since your moving out that your visits have become more sporadic, far and few in between, but meals gathered around a tabletop brimming with tasty sides and entrées will always be a distinct memory you hold of this place.

I mean, you were all but forced by your mother to endure them. Thus, dinner became a special time for you and your stepfamily to bond.

Even Sylus, the endlessly busy CEO of some lucrative company you pretend not to know the name of, made room within his schedule where he could.

However, bonding is not what generally happened.

Teenage you always thought those dinners were stupid. Awkward at the best of times. Smiles too tight to be polite, hands passing around bowls you’d stick your nose up to. Not out of disgust, no, the platters never failed to make you drool- but because you’d take your dad’s homemade roast chicken over your stepfather’s insincere, gourmet trays any day of the week.

To be honest? you’d been mean to them, you’ll admit that much. Cruel even. A big brat with an even bigger bone to pick. You and your family didn’t come from rags, but your origins were infinitely more humble than the twin’s, than what Sylus had— yet you were prissy and rude in a way that they somehow weren’t... Presumptuous.

So upset with the new arrangement you couldn’t think straight.

“Y/n, pick up the fork for God’s sake- can’t you see your father went through all this just to have a meal with us tonight?”

Placatingly, “Honey. It’s alright.”

It’s not quite a snarl that you throw her way, but it’s close. With no one here to spank you, you’re allowed to mouth off a little, be unruly. No one’s here to stop you— your mother’s never had the arm for the paddle and regardless of that, she clearly shouldn’t be responsible over you if she can’t even make good decisions for herself.

To date, her worst decision yet is bringing that asshole around…

Pointedly ignoring the attention that’s gravitated to you, you scowl.

Maybe you are pushing the part of brat a touch too far- a shock, taking your past obedience into play- but how else will you get her to see you? Your hurt? I mean, the twins misbehave endlessly at school and at best, they get a slap on the wrist, no doubt because of their mogul of a father, but you don’t miss the laughs or rueful glances tossed their way.

The positive feedback.

“…Father?” You snip, eyes laser-focused on the woman at the far end of the table. The twins juggle between watching you and their dad with bated breath, half grinning in mischievous delight.

For several moments, the latter doesn’t move.

Sure enough, though, that cardinal gaze finds its roost on you. Not that you’re paying it any mind.

The air shifts when you open your mouth again, rising from the table with a start. The finely-placed cutlery jumps as you do.

“I don’t care if you’ve married him, made him your ‘quote on quote’ husband, that’s not my father and never will be. And these stupid boys that trail me all damn day long aren’t my family, either!”

“Whoa-ho! We caught a stray, bro!”

A beat of stunned silence.

Galileo crosses your mind; mainly what he did when the spotlight fell to him. The point is that there’s still time to recant, the rational part of your brain whispers. To backtrack.

Your cheeks warm. Heart pounding in your chest at the embarrassment of voicing your emotions, making a literal stand. But you can’t stop now. It’s too late to.

“A-And…” A tremble. You’re- You’re trembling, comes the small revelation. Ignoring it, you barely repress a wince, standing there uncertainly.

Finally, your mother- finding her bearings- angrily sputters out your government name.

You almost cow to it.

But you can’t be weak, not now, not in front of them, and-

In a frantic moment, your eyes dart over opposite the table to collide with his, your voice shaking wildly as the twins, at either side of you, snicker.

You swallow down the dregs of your self-consciousness to uncivilly pick up your fork and wave it at him.

“And you! Don’t even get me started on how awful you are! What you’ve done to me!”

All along you’ve done your damnedest to ignore him, only adding in your two cents where it was absolutely necessary. The last month or two you’ve spent under the same roof as him has been nothing less than an excellent demonstration of the cold shoulder on your part. You want the credit for that.

So when you point a literal finger, staring him down like you would prey through a muzzle and furrow your brow as unbidden tears wet your lash-line, his eyes actually double in size. Your stepfather, having forgotten to breathe by the looks of it (albeit, you have too), straightens by a fraction.

Good. That’s...

That’s good, you think.

Something in the back of your mind says ‘heel,’ says ‘don’t poke the bear,’ warns in every possible language you can think of that this is NOT a good idea. He’s rich enough to fill whole swimming pools with cash and powerful enough to move people like chess pieces— probably nudge them out of the game and off the board, too.

But he’ll never be the man of your house. You won’t allow it. So call it sheer stupidity on your end or just a death wish but—

“Y-You’ve stolen everything from me!”

On your right, Luke blinks with hesitant awe, his amusement petering out. Kieran’s jaw shuts. The foot he’d been kicking you with under the table draws away from yours. He exchanges a brief, suddenly sobered look with his brother as everything you’ve been holding back on these past several weeks looses to the surface.

“Y/n-!”

“You took it all! My mother, my dad’s honor, even my fucking house-!”

For the second time, your government name flies across the panel of demurred faces, but you’ve reached your melting point. The watershed where fear and politeness, all the conventional little things you’re supposed to respect and operate by, warps into hot unbridled anger.

This is a cut that originated from your father’s death, one exacerbated awfully by Sylus and his two sly, obnoxious sons- so you think it’s due time to let it bleed.

Bleed, it does.

But then- “You ruined my life, you-“

A breath. Stuttering and shallow and tender. It’s horrifying to realize it came from you.

“Y-You….”

Through the blur is a low, gentle murmur.

Rich and thick. You think even if your ears ceased to work, something in your chest could still recognize it; the bass moves through your ribs and rattles them.

In your periphery, for as fogged as it’s become what with the tears that suddenly speckle the room- the ones you vaguely acknowledge but do all you can to hold, even if just for a few more moments- the silver-haired man sets down his utensil. Nonchalant per usual. With unrivaled class.

It pisses you off.

Without looking at your frazzled mother, he raises a hand to calm her. “Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright. Let her speak.”

Speak…?

Oh- Is that what he fucking thinks this is? That you’ve stood, clinking the side of your glass with a spoon to humbly direct the diners’ attention from the plates spread tastefully before them to you as you prepare a fancy speech of sorts-?

This isn’t an announcement you’re making. This is not even a conversation. It’s just-

It’s just-

The epiphany that every set of eyes is on you including the chef’s (still tucked in the kitchen, as poor as any man could be as he hurriedly cleans up)— and that you are being treated no different than a dangerous animal that needs patience and slow movement to be handled, corralled back into a fucking cage—

It’s so infuriating you go quiet.

Your brain reaches a lapse and you shut up. Lips flattening into a pursed line immediately, you ball your fists and scamper back off to where it’s safest.

Your room.

“Sis, wait, Kieran said he’s sorry for kicking you under the table-“

You’d ignored it all and then you’d cried.

“Kieran,” an unexpected growl. “A word.”

…You suppose time has a funny way of soothing, though, because right now when you recollect the moment, you find the humor in it and scoff quietly.

“Dad, wait, I-I was just kidding around with her!”

Yeah okay, it was a bit embarrassing- you were a bit embarrassing- but you won’t hold that against sixteen year old you. She knew fuck all else how to navigate.

The big house is familiar and airy as you walk through the lower floor, as quiet as you left it.

Even if you’d forgotten the layout, whatever fragrance wafting from the kitchen would be enough to guide you there.

You wonder if it’s some kind of stirfry. A far cry from the humble PB&J’s you’ve been making yourself at home with chips sometimes as a side, but your tummy growls for it all the same.

You haven’t ate since sometime yesterday. As your tongue wets itself in anticipation, you’re made very aware of that now.

You spot the rice cooker on the side counter when you finally walk in and the blurred figures of the twins as they turn to look at you.

Luke, perched on a bar stool to eagerly watch the chef work his magic, hops off just to pull out another one at its right. The look in his eye, glittering, full of anticipation, tells you verbatim to ‘sit right here’. You don’t bother protesting- you’re already some minutes late after all- and climb up onto the seat between them.

Kieran, at your left, scoots closer to sling his arm over your shoulder. You let it happen with a small wince. The chair supporting the other twin gives a short screech when he, too, inches closer to fold his arms on the counter, lean his head on them, and angle his cheek to look at you.

“So, sis, how do you like Linkon so far?”

Not paying them much attention, you quirk an eyebrow.

Between watching the chef as he deftly tosses the pan back and forth (broccoli, you see now, with meat cubes he folds in) and glancing at the archways connecting the rest of the house into the kitchen- eyes peeled for someone- the twins are not your priority right now.

At the top, that list looks something like this: Eat a nice midday meal without any incident involving their dad.

“I’ve lived in Linkon almost all my life, don’t act like this is my first time here,” you poke back, albeit in a somewhat hushed tone. The walls might as well have ears.

Kieran reaches out to run an idle finger down the jut of your shoulder, his chin lazily propped up by his hand.

He looks at you.

“Sis, do you even realize for how long you were gone?”

His voice is light. Conversational. You’re not so deluded, though, by their indifferent, laidback act. You’ve known them not for a decade but not far off from that either, and you’ve learned to catch the whiff of trouble in the air before it blows its wind your way.

When you finally throw them each a gander, hesitantly prying your gaze from the open entries, the delight masked behind each placid set of eyes is absolutely there— just hiding well.

They’re getting much more amusement out of this than they’re letting on.

You’ll give them credit here: they’ve gotten better at pretending they’re not up to no good,… but there’s no bamboozling you.

You think about it for a few seconds before quipping back. “Almost seven months,… right?”

“Right,” Luke chirps beside you, “Seven whole months!” You turn your head to focus on him now.

(Ah, that’s right- you inwardly alert yourself upon notice- no matter who you’re facing, the other will inevitably be in your blindspot… Have to keep on your toes these upcoming weeks if you don’t want them pulling a trick on you.)

He pouts his lips, ever dramatic, to play up the kicked expression and make it all the more impactful as they guilt trip you. “Seven whole months where Kieran and I were left alllllll on our lonesome. Left to fend for ourselves.”

“Oh, you big babies.” With a huff, half-smiling, you lean out to flick his forehead. His hood slips off when he tries to nod away from your attack, laughing softly as wild, red tufts come loose.

“You’re plenty old enough now to care for yourselves. You can’t always rely on me for everything. Besides,” you start, thoughtful, and this is when your already quiet voice slinks into a whisper, one the boys draw in to hear.

Luke’s attention drifting past your shoulder, “you already have the big boss man covering your asses in every sense of the word.”

From the archway, a sonorous voice rings out.

“She’s right, you know.”

You and Kieran snap your heads over to look. The chef (and you don’t why you’re suddenly staring at him, or the ground, for that matter, nervous) gives a little glance his way, dipping his chin respectfully, but doesn’t note him beyond that. A big grin blooms across the lower half of Luke’s face. You’d smack it off if you could.

Beside you, Kieran suddenly lets out a chuckle, both of the twins once more very interested in you- particularly the reaction you’re trying to hide- as you swallow and look away.

Under the broad arch, their stepfather adjusts his sleeves before casually propping himself against the wall, arms folded.

You risk a glance over and instantly regret it when you catch his eyes on yours, a brow quirked teasingly.

…Directed at the boys, you realize when he speaks again. Of course. “You two lean on your sister far too much, don’t you think? I’d say you’re lucky she’s been so patient with you both.”

A huff from one of them. But they’re so similar it might as well come from the other. “Hah, I have the patience of a saint, especially when it comes to her! Don’t forget, dad, how long it took for me to get her to even talk to me-“

Frowning, you open your mouth to argue against that, to defend your past-self’s choices (because she had every reason to ignore the obnoxious pair), but to your suprise Luke beats you to the punch.

“Bro, you have to admit,” he starts with a sheepish laugh, “we were kind of annoying kids… I mean, we were pretty much always trying to find a new way to bother her…”

Curtly, you close your mouth. That deep, rumbling voice sounds out again- light in tone- and your heart skips a beat.

“Honesty’s not a bad start... Kieran, you might benefit from taking notes from your brother.”

“Eh…”

From behind the island, tucked in front of the stove- you swear you hear the cuisiner chuckle.

The pan sizzles. Your mouth waters and you’re reminded of how hungry you are, but the longer the silver-haired man lingers in the entryway the more you’re afraid he’s there to stay.

It was supposed to be just the three of you eating together. Not- Not him. And yeah, sure, this is his house at the end of the day— you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t already painfully aware of that- a fact that’s more obvious than ever now that your only real tether to this place, your mother, is gone— but why did he have to show up now of all times?

As every gripe starts to form in your head-

Two weeks. And then, and then it’ll be over for the last time.

-you silence them.

A moment passes and Luke, still studying you with the ghost of a grin, asks what you all really want to know.

“So, dad, are you staying for lunch?”

A beat. You furtively glance up in time to watch him check his expensive wristwatch, his brow furrowed.

“Lunch, you say?” He chuckles, ruby-red eyes practically sparkling when he lifts his chin, one corner of his mouth curved- though you can tell he’s trying to mask it. “And I guess this is the early bird special?”

“Sleepyhead Y/n here rolled out of bed late.”

You huff, crossing your arms, distracting yourself with the busy chef. “And these two all but barged in while I was still busy unpacking.”

Like clockwork, much of the mirth in his expression wanes. He frowns expectantly, voice neither stern nor flat but something in between. “Boys. What did I tell you about not pestering our guest while she’s still here?”

Luke and Kieran snicker. You bite down on a grin.

“Yeah, boys,” you murmur to be annoying, just loud enough for them to hear. That’s the hope, at least.

Sylus’s little smirk returns with a vengeance. He refolds his arms, adjusting.

“…Anyway, though. I can’t stay. I have a meeting I need to sit in at the main office, unfortunately. I would’ve…” A raking of his eyes between the three of you, interested, and a brief pause, “Enjoyed that, though.”

He hums, saying more to himself now than to any of you, “another time.”

For a number of moments, the air seems oddly tense. A miasma of something unsaid hangs between the four of you, thickening the air between, and in the split second before someone breaks the silence, you’re struggling to pinpoint the root cause.

It’s just the ice from last night, you decide quietly, the bits of it that didn’t break. The friction left over.

You’re still settling in, after all.

…And yet when his gaze finds yours again, something not to be uttered in it as cherry hues zero in on you, his lashes fluttering ever so slightly—

The pulse in your chest trips and picks itself back up again.

You blink, looking down to his chest. When your stare sweeps up again to his face, almost hesitant to find what may be waiting there, he’s addressing the twins and it’s already gone.

“Well. I’m out, then. Boys: don’t drive your sister crazy. And… Kitten…”

Your brow pinches unwittingly. There, again, is that strange yet patient twinkle in his eye and it steals all the breath from your lungs in one fell swoop.

Either side of you, Luke and Kieran trade off between appearing uncertain and then appearing just as eager. Behind the steaming stove, even the chef, cottoning onto the shift in atmosphere, tosses the briefest of looks over his shoulder to assess the situation.

You nervously wet your lip. “Y-Yeah?”

Promptly, your stepfather’s countenance smooths out into an easy, pellucid smile. A whit challenging; a whit encouraging— but not at all reluctant, no, the mite of intimidation in his gaze is a simple result of your clouded thinking these past few days. Nothing more.

“Don’t pull your punches if they do.”

A swallow. “Alright.”

The twins, no different than conspiring, bothersome little rats, slap a hand over their mouths to hide a laugh, and then their dad is skimming between all three of you in your row at the counter. Albeit, his tone is too gentle for them—

“Call if you need something,” he suggests.

And then he’s gone.

A tumbleweed blows through. Kieran turns to you afterward, Luke’s hand idly dangling off your shoulder, the pair far too comfortable with taking up your space- but for now, obedient enough.

“Well, chef, how’s it looking?”

Lunch is served on a silver platter.

Swallowing down your reservations, your typical discomfort with their casual, sumptuous lifestyle, you fold to your hunger and dig in.

Kieran, ever the pest, laughs when you finish before them, shoveling a share of his saucy broccoli onto your plate. His grin is shit-eating, but you can appreciate the generosity laced under his teasing remark for what it is.

“Wow, someone’s hungry, huh? Bet you’re wishing you ate during your flight!”

✦

In the hours after, you trampoline between idling through the massive home, revisiting various memories you hold of each room and long corridor, and sitting down with a hand over your full belly. Thinking.

Maybe all the reflection isn’t for the better, though, as much as you try to keep optimistic by playing dumb to your circumstances.

You don’t blame the boys for being so energetic, even amidst the doom and gloom that’s reared its head in just the past few days— it’s a lot to handle, everything with your mother, sure it is, but they’re known for their mischief, for being nothing but happy-go-lucky. Besides… sometimes grief manifests itself in strange ways. Whether it be through inconvenient fits of laughter or a stone-faced apathy, it’s all of the same brood: an interesting yet no less instinctual coping mechanism.

Considering you’ve been forcefully naive surrounding your reasons for being flown out, you know plenty about those mechanisms yourself.

It’s not impossible that they’re mourning her in their own way, the twins. Behind all the admittedly strange, insouciant remarks and the carelessness around such a delicate situation- tasteless at the best of times- you think you see it, the cracks.

The fleeting blips of unease in Luke’s eyes. The moments where the room goes quiet after a good joke makes its round through and he has to blink something away from his conscience. Or the gelidity of his brother, for that matter. The wide-eyed stare into nothingness before he, too, shakes it away like whatever it is is no more than an intrusive thought to be tossed aside and disregarded.

Not to mention they’re gentler with you. More… chivalrous, almost.

Exhibit A:

The boys approach you closer to sunset in your bedroom, their polite, small smiles and knocks before coming in pleasant surprises each.

Perched on your bedroom’s dormer window, you boredly flip through a book you’ve read at least thrice as they ask if you’ve found a dress yet for the funeral, as respectful as they ever could be.

On cue, your world weathers at the edges. Like paper thinning through after its corner is put to a lighter.

Right, right. A dress. The- The funeral….

You’ve not even been in the Qin estate for 24 hours but you’re already letting these things- these very paramount things- slip from your mind. They should be in the forefront of it, but the more you dwell on them (your priorities: using these two weeks to prepare for the ceremony, finding suitable attire, hopefully going through her belongings once you’re ready enough), the more it hurts, so you just shut it out.

See, all of this— the dreadful knowing that your veritable mother is gone and in terms of blood and bone family, you’re now left utterly alone (that maybe if you’d just- fucking hung around a bit more you somehow could’ve reversed her fate)— has obviously affected you as much as it has your stepfamily if not more- considering they were the ones who found her and all. But the twins, and even their father, are demonstrating a master class in composure, and you don’t know whether to find gratitude in their lack of flying off the handle (in this hell, someone needs to remain coolheaded) or be offended by it.

It almost feels like she was never here.

Like nothing went wrong... But you can’t really blame them for their cool and collected behaviors, because you’re putting up a strong front yourself.

Maybe your mother wasn’t the twins’ given at birth, sure... But they operated as a true family. Even when you were bitter and stuck-up and rude, the four of them were tight-knit, so much so that eventually you felt like the fucking interloper in it all, the outlying number in the equation.

So you quietly understand that there’s hurt involved on their side around her death- whether they’re being loud about it or not- and choose not to tally it against them.

…Perhaps, you think, it’s high time for you to retire your childhood grudges, anyway.

You close the book, smoothing over the cover.

If the five-second rule applies— you use four and a half to pick up your pieces off the floor and formulate a reply, not hiding how crestfallen you are.

“No. I… I haven’t even went shopping yet. I mean, I figured-“

A thick swallow on your end- and an exhale that sounds more like the stirrings of a panic attack and the boys are at your side in a moment. Their softer facets coming through as they join you on the loft window.

Luke takes the worn stuffed animal he almost crushes, dutifully ignoring its matted fur, and places it in your lap to distract you as you struggle to articulate your emotions. Kieran does his best to not scrutinize you too much, knowing you typically don’t like the attention, while you fidget with the plushie and give them an odd show of vulnerability.

I mean, fuck it. They see you as their sister, and you’re tired of pretending to be too tough to rely on them as your brothers, so—

“I- I figured we had two whole weeks, you know? And… And that’s plenty of time to just get a dress later. Have- Have you two gotten everything ready for it?”

“Yeah,” Luke murmurs back, taking your hand in his to swallow it up in warmth. It surprises you but you don’t make a comment. As if wanting to be included as well, or maybe he’s just mad his brother beat him to the punch, Kieran quietly nudges the plushie from your other hand and intwines his fingers with yours.

Your cheeks warm.

Your heart, ricocheting in your chest, whispers something you don’t quite catch as one of them sluggishly props his chin on your shoulder, mumbling a hey, it’s alright as you furiously blink, and you’re inundated with a foreign sense of- of—

Security? …Is that it?

“We went with dad yesterday to buy the suits.”

“Before he picked you up at the airport,” Luke clarifies in a light tone.

At your back, the sun glares over a chilly courtyard, lighting the fountain and iron-wrought gates with liquid, reflective gold. It only makes the near identical visages either side of you look all the more daring and impish— boyishly handsome— as dusk washes its hues over the three of you.

It’s just a little jarring.

A set of knuckles, almost experimentally, caresses your toasty cheek.

…For perhaps the first documented time in history, you don’t bite.

“We can take you, if you want? There’s a place in town that can tailor something perfectly for you. We can go tonight to get your measurements, sis, what do you think? Just get it done?”

It’s… not a bad idea. Far from it, actually.

You’d be able to quiet the restless part of your mind. Accomplish this seemingly easy task that’s become gargantuan in your head all within the span of just one night. To top it all off, it’d be with the added bonus of the twins’ brotherly support.

“A-Actually,” you start, lifting your chin to look at Luke, and then Kieran, voice thin, “I was, um, wondering if you two could take me somewhere else.”

They wait, owlish.

You meekly continue, “I’ve already read all the books I have here. I was thinking if you could drive me to that store downtown, just so I can pick up a few. Something to, um, fill in the time while I’m here, you know?“

Kieran blinks at you, dark eyes examining your face carefully, like he’s taking it in in a new light. You’re sure they don’t know what to make of you right now: for most if not all of your teen years, you played the part of distant stepsister very well, never wore your emotions on your sleeve and hesitated to be open with any of the members of your stepfamily.

Perhaps they think you’re taking a page from their book— setting them up for some grandiose joke so you can cackle in their faces.

Luke, smiling faintly, nudges your shoulder with his and leans in. “Sure, sis. Me and Kieran will take you. I guess you haven’t changed too much while you’ve been gone, huh? You’re still a big bookworm.”

“A big nerd.”

“Alright, you two,” you chuckle lightly, jabbing them both playfully- to which they both offer up a fake, dramatic grunt of pain to- before wiping the tear that almost beads at your eye. You hope they don’t notice. But if they do, they don’t make any sly remark about it. For that you’re thankful.

It seems you’ve all matured quite a bit since pre-adulthood, but it’s somehow more obvious this time around.

This visit is different from the last in more ways than one.

Looking between them both, hardly able to hold their respective gazes as your pulse swings in your throat— “Thank you”— you murmur, gentle.

For as embarrassing as it is to be vulnerable, you let yourself be just a little sweet with them... Considering your mother is gone, and the unsteady grounds you stand on with Sylus especially- the veritable owner of this home- you think you’re less of an inhabitant here and more of a… guest.

Once these two weeks are up and the funeral concludes, you’ll be going away again. Probably for the last time. Nothing will call you back.

(You’d been such a brat. What would want to?)

The twins, unable to hide the little, genuine smirks rippling across their faces, regard you inquisitively when something like sadness flashes across your gaze.

You clear your throat. That thought of finally escaping your stepfamily- your stepfather and all he represented- for good shouldn’t make something in your heart tremble. But oh, it does.

Politely, you brush off their hands and rise to your feet. You’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but you plaster on an awkward yet no less friendly smile and cross your arms.

“So, boys? You ready to go now? Or…?”

Kieran, the utter moron he is, comments something about how he was born ready, jumping up, and then they’re ushering you out the door and into the hall, towards the stairs, in a two-person stampede.

✦

You buy a book.

Three, for good measure, each thicker than the one before. Just something to occupy your mind in the windows of silence you’ll no doubt spend idling around the mansion before the ceremony.

On the way back, the sky is black underneath a cladding of clouds. Ash as far as the eye can see. The stars are hiding, but you lean your cheek against the car window and look up as if trying to spot them, anyway.

Lost in your mind, your own musings holding you close as the bag sits atop your lap, you don’t pay much attention to the boys when they ask if you wanna stop somewhere to eat because they’re getting munchy.

Without looking, though, you do tell them ‘no thanks, you’re getting kind of sleepy’ and Kieran makes the turn home— albeit not without a dramatic sigh.

It’s… pleasant though, surprisingly. Being with them.

It’s like luck is finally shuffling over to your side. Like things are finally looking up- no matter how trife or trivial they seem. For as shitty of a week it’s turned out to be, you need all the silver linings you can get. So (although with some reluctance, some… confusion) you’ll count this time with them as a small blessing.

Maybe, just maybe, this impromptu trip to Linkon is finally taking a turn for the better. Maybe each and every one of your efforts to remain patient and open-minded and mature with your stepfamily have actually begun to pay off. Maybe you won’t be tearfully pulling hair from your scalp after all, driven mad.

The twins’ harmless griping is a backdrop you smile at as the gates of the estate come into view through the woody road.

In the warmer seasons, it’s a monolithic modern thing erected atop rolling lawns striped green. As it stands now, though, the courtyard is a dull, frosted sage, quiet and cold. The fountain will need to be turned off soon before everything freezes, before the snow comes. You vaguely wonder if one of the workers or bush trimmers that come along every week or two will remember before Sylus even gives them the order. It’s likely.

A thud. “Are you sure, sis?” Your door closes behind you.

Hand still on the wheel, Kieran waggles his eyebrows as his sibling hollers from the passenger seat, thinking you’ll take his lilts as an invitation to get back into the vehicle.

“I’m sure,” you murmur fondly, actually stopping at the driver’s window for a moment to hear them out. You adjust the plastic bag in your grasp and throw a look down the rest of the driveway, towards the house.

“You want us to bring something back, at least? We found this cool new place that opened up that has the best—“

A chuckle. “I’m alright, really. We had lunch and dinner together, ‘member?” Then, you give your throat a soft, innocuous clear, scuffing your shoes over the pavement. “By the way, uh… Do you think your dad’s home yet?”

With the garage closed, the path empty and only the lights you left on in the house warmly shining through, it’s hard to tell if anybody else has come by.

Kieran actually snickers at your hesitance, the little bastard.

You reach forward to flick his forehead and he reels away with an excited shout. “Calm down, sis, I didn’t even say anything!”

“Yeah, but I see you laughing you dummy-“

“It’s just cute, is all. You’re always so worried about our old man and what he’s up to.”

You huff at that, maybe even visibly fluster. But before you can say anything, hop to your own defense, a puckish voice overlaps yours. “If you were in a cartoon, you’d have steam coming out of your ears right now.”

“Ugh! You two are unbearable-!”

“Hey, Kieran said it, not me-“

“But you thought it, didn’t you? You two share the same handful of braincells after all!!”

They both laugh, more endeared by your insults than offended- much to your dismay- and you put your tongue in your cheek. Your narrowed eyes drift back to the titanic of a home. Maybe it’s your imagination, but you almost swear you see a shadow flutter by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the bottom level and—

“Did you see that?” You untuck your arms from their weave at your chest and squint. The boys, still sniggering, follow your gaze. “I think he is home.”

A beat of silence passes.

You turn over. Luke faces ahead in his seat, wetting his lip wordlessly, but Kieran dangles his arm out the side of the fancy, sleek car (that his father surely bought for him as a toy) with his eyes set on you.

Holding your gaze with a shake of his head, his smirk is a tenuous thing, but it’s there. “Nah, I’m pretty sure he’s gone, sis.”

If you ever write a guide on surviving the Qin family, the first page would say: step one, do not believe the twins if they utter anything even a stone’s throw from the two words—

“Don’t worry.”

You frown, uncertain.

He laughs at your pouting. “Kieran- just tell me the truth-“

“I’m serious! He’ll be back later tonight, probably midnight. You know how it is. His schedule is spotty.”

A wind sweeps through and you shiver ever so slightly, clasping either of your arms as you hug them close to your body. Your lips are getting that uncomfortable dry feeling but you know it’ll only worsen if you run your tongue over them. So you don’t.

You eye the lavish, yet unassuming front of the home, ruminating. “Kieran-“

“Now go back in before you catch a cold. Dad will really kill me and Luke if he finds out you were standing out in the dark just to bicker with us.”

“I’m innocent in this,” his brother murmurs before exaggerating a yawn.

You analyze the crafty duo one more time before sensing no dupe on their end and sighing, marching up towards the house.

“Fine,” you call over your shoulder, just a little testy. You don’t want to be fooled, but there isn’t a big reason for them to lie about whether their dad’s returned or not- and even if he did make it back already, it’s no major thorn in your side. There’s a fat chance you’ll just casually, quietly, pass him by as you head to your room- and that’s even if you bump into him in the first place. The place isn’t exactly small or conducive to chance meetings.

“But if you’re lying,” you start, before blushing because you can’t quite think of a good threat. “You’ll- you’ll regret it.”

The engine purrs and the car pulls off- thank God- carrying the harmless yet bothersome mocking words of your stepbrothers with it. “Ohhhh so scary! See you later!”

You cluck your tongue, shaking your head at no annoyance of theirs in particular as you hop up the steps and fish for the key in your pocket.

Giggling under your breath. Idiots.

✦

You’re not giggling when you enter the open foyer, locking the door behind you, and spot a figure in the living room, splayed out on the large L-shaped sofa.

No, you’re not even thinking about the boys anymore, just the dilemma laid out before you as you press your lips together in a thin line and turn your feet into feathers to begin making your way through.

God’s hand must be over your life though, because upon closer, very furtive inspection, tiptoeing towards the archway, he’s…

Asleep.

You let out a soundless sigh of relief at that, shoulders slumping.

…And you should take the opportunity- glad it’s even come to you- and go, you know. It’s as good a moment as any to slip off, undetected, and retreat into the privacy of your bedroom.

It’s all but waiting for you.

What you told the twins was as much of a truth as it was a good excuse— you’re tired and it’s encroaching on that time where you want to plop into bed and curl up under the covers.

Not because it’s past your curfew or anything, no- honestly, you usually have a penchant to stay up late- but because you’re still a little jet-lagged from the flight and you’d prefer to sleep instead of loaf the evening through with the unwanted company of whatever thoughts that might creep in.

You’re not… incredibly close with Sylus. Unbidden feelings of safety and peace in his presence nudged aside, you’re not chummy with the guy and you really have no reason to stick around especially when you’re growing tired but—

Approaching the archway, you slowly reach a hand to rest on it, and you watch.

A half-touched mug of coffee sits on the table before the couch. Strewn beside it is his laptop, mousepad and mouse, and one of those yellow, lined notebooks that you quirk a brow at only because it’s deceptively cheap for a man so expensive.

It’s closer to something your own father- your real, now deceased one- would use to mark out measurements for his woodworking projects, or keep on the fridge under a magnet as a note to himself.

…Huh.

A mite amused by the sight of your generally very awake, proactive stepfather, you fight off a grudging smile- all too entertained by the languid display- and rest your shoulder against the wall.

Dim, golden lights fall over him in a gentle haze, but the shadow cut by his bumped nose is sharp.

You know they’re not related, Sylus and his unruly sons. The twins are splitting images of each other, but they mirror nothing of Sylus’s face— so when you heard the casual murmurs between him and your mother behind closed doors one evening about their ‘adoption’ long ago, you shouldn’t have been surprised. Yet you were.

For as much as you disliked him, it was never because he was a bad father.

The opposite, if you’re completely honest.

He’s always been good to the boys. Nothing short of nurturing (in his own indirect way, of course), paternal, and teacherly. Offering a hand of guidance where it was needed but never ironlike or suffocating with how he used it. If anything, he was even a smidgen lax with them- which you’d quietly admire but only in absolute secret.

Every parent has their faults, that’s a given.

Sylus had very little.

A head full of silver (and some grey, albeit it’s hard to notice his age just because he handles it so gracefully, so boldly) tipped against the back of the couch with an arm resting on the side of it- the shaggy throw blanket on his lap with the wintry chill kept in mind— he’s more than just peaceful. He’s…

Domestic. Relaxed.

This is his territory, you’re reminded again.

You’re just passing through it.

A five o’clock shadow dots the slant of his jaw. His lashes don’t even flutter in his sleep; you reckon he’s deep into it. A pen hangs between his fingers, limp.

Interest dashes through you as you quietly observe him.

You’re not… spying, per se, it’s just- You’re just curious, alright? And to be fair, he wouldn’t have any right to call you out on your observation even if he wanted to, because the number of times you’ve felt and ignored his patient, hopeful, or outright (for whatever reason) amazed stare is too high to be logged.

A pair of glasses rests on the tip of his nose, sloping off. There’s no way to tell just when he got home, but it’s obvious he had been hard at work with something on his computer.

Humming thoughtfully, you pull your gaze away before sluggishly pushing off the threshold.

You shake your head at yourself, readjusting your bag as you find the trace of humor in your desultory actions. Why you let your curiosity get the better of you, you don’t know. It’s very possible at this point that something’s possessed you. Either that, or your cold, guarded heart is thawing out at rates National Geographic needs to get an angle on ASAP.

In any case- you really ought to head up for bed now.

Quiet as a mouse, careful lest you wake and alert him to your presence, you pad behind the couch and across the width of the massive living room to the just as opulent stairs.

You look up to them—

Looming. Dark.

In your mind’s eye, so unrealistically steep- so dangerous—

Breath suddenly hitching, you glance down to your feet, planted firmly beneath you- unmoving- and remind yourself of good things. Other, things.

Puppies. Kittens. Rainbows with pots of gold waiting at the other end with leprechauns to greedily guard them- varying flights of fancy.

Awfully enough, in all your attempts to distract and soothe yourself, four portraits pop up into your brain and three of them belong to none other than your stepfamily.

You want to be callous. But it’s not working this time around.

This wound of yours that your mother’s death left behind is too open, too fleshy, for you to pretend that your skin is so hardened.

Reopening your eyes, you swallow down the bad gut feeling that twists like a knife- the inexplicable unease disappearing as quickly as it came- and reach a hand for the railing.

Bed. Bed. Clearly, you need the rest—

“Kitten?”

A groggy voice. That, and a shuffle.

You flip around.

You’re too shocked to even remember you’re meant to dislike him, hand flying over your heart in a trice. “Y-Yeah?”

Your stepfather, looking sideward over the couch at you, blinks away sleep casually.

Oh, God. It’s just him…

“Oh,” he mumbles, “Sorry, Sweetie. I didn’t mean to scare you…” lazily tossing a glance to the unoccupied space around him, even the banister overhead; checking for something, you realize as your heart slowly takes its foot out from your throat.

You sigh out, visibly deflating.

You think you see his gaze drop to the bag in your hand, giving you a once-over, but his ruby eyes are catching the light in a way that makes it near impossible to discern. You can only tell he’s looking at you because he’s facing you.

“Where’s the boys? You left with them, didn’t you?”

Your lashes bounce against your cheekbone, rapid as you collect your bearings. “Oh, they…”

His tone gets a little stern, then, his eyes a little clearer now as he dips his chin and quirks a searching brow. Incredulous, very. “Is… everything alright? They behaved themselves, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, no- the boys were fine,” you shake your head, rubbing nothing from your eye. Fatigue, maybe, as it drapes itself over you. It takes a second for you to remember the events that led you here before opening your mouth to speak on them. “Um, they just wanted to get a snack and I wanted to be dropped off, so…”

He takes a moment to ponder that.

Unconvinced, “But everything went well?” His attention skims over you hastily. You see that, now. The intense glitter in his eye, wholly transfixed, as the dregs of his slumber wear off- however, the gravel in his voice is more stubborn to go.

He sighs, long-suffering. “You can tell me. I won’t let them know it was you.”

You struggle to imagine how that would go, but shake your head in the next moment anyway.

“Really, it was fine. Everything went well.”

“Good.” He hums, then, seemingly satisfied.

He pores over you, curious all over again as a tiny bunch forms between his brow, wrinkling it slightly. “You’re… heading up for the night now, I guess?”

Oh, yes actually, you think to yourself in time with his reminding you of it- but you go to reply and hold off on it when he glances down at what you correctly assume to be his wristwatch, pausing thoughtfully.

“Oh, my. It’s gotten pretty late out now,” he drawls. “Hm. I must’ve drifted off while I was waiting for-”

You quirk a brow. “Ah. Waiting for this spreadsheet to get interesting,” he smoothly chuckles, looking at the screen of his computer and the low battery sign that pops up as a window on it.

Before you can think to respond- “Goodnight then, Kitten,” he lilts as high as his sleep-addled voice will allow, “I’ll see you in the morning. Should I,” a pause again, “wake you for breakfast?”

You swallow, momentarily glancing at the top landing of the stairs. “No thanks.”

“Are you sure?” He breathes.

Persistence is needed in business, you know that; it’s why you don’t hold it against him when his first instinct is to push rather than pull away. His realm is different than yours. And anyway, he’s just being polite— playing the part of the concerned, doting, yet nonetheless hesitant stepfather who is terribly uncertain with how to best handle his grouchy stepdaughter. He does it well.

“You’re not afraid of missing out?”

You offer a mildly amused huff, choosing to indulge him just this once- just for these two weeks. “On my sleep, maybe.”

He chuckles. It’s a full and rich sound. There’ll come a day where Luke and Kieran will coax more of the same out of him, and you’ll give them genuine, congratulatory claps on the back each for the achievement.

For now, though, that feat is yours and yours alone. Not that you’re… exactly proud of it.

“Alright, alright, I get the hint, little miss night owl… I won’t disturb you tomorrow. You have my word.” He smirks just barely. Just safe enough.

“Sleep tight, Sweetie.”

The ice is melting between you both, yes- a phenomenon you both curiously, warily observe— but he will watch his step.

You set your foot on the first stair, “T-Thanks. You too.”

…As will you.

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[tinybeetiny]

Apologies: OT8

Apologies from part 1

->Starring: OT8!AteezxReader ->Genre: Angst with comfort, ->Cw: Someone says shitty...., more angst but, as the title says, with apologies

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Seonghwa:

It had been days since you’d spoken. Really spoken.

The texts were dry, short, practical. The calls were missed. The weight of his last words — “You’re just too clingy sometimes” — hadn’t faded. They echoed in your head, over and over, every time you hovered over his contact name, too afraid to reach out again and be met with silence.

So when the knock came at your door well past midnight, you hesitated.

But you knew that knock. Soft. Hesitant. Him.

You opened the door to find Seonghwa standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, eyes downcast like he didn’t know if he was allowed to look at you.

“I shouldn’t be here this late,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t know where else to go.”

You said nothing. Just stepped aside, letting him in.

He didn’t sit. He hovered in the center of the room like he wasn’t sure he had the right to make himself comfortable.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said finally. “About what I said. About how I made you feel.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Took you long enough.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Silence. He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, eyes flickering to you.

“I always thought that loving someone meant being strong, being steady, not depending on anyone too much. So when you wanted more, more time, more attention, more of me. I told myself you were being too much because I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t giving enough.”

He looked at you then, and his eyes were tired. But soft.

“You weren’t clingy,” he said. “You were present. You loved me so openly, and I made you feel like that was a flaw.”

Your throat tightened.

He stepped forward slowly. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to dial your love down to be enough for me.”

Your eyes burned, but you didn’t look away.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right now,” he said, voice cracking. “But if you let me — I want to learn how to show up the way you do. Not just when it’s convenient. All the time.”

He finally sat, carefully, like he was afraid he might break the air between you.

“I don’t want to lose someone who gives love so fearlessly. Just because I was too afraid to give it back the same way.”

You didn’t speak right away.

But when you reached for his hand, he took it like it was the first thing grounding him in days.

Hongjoong:

It started with a message.

Not a call. Not a knock at your door. Just a text. Short. Almost too casual.

Hongjoong [2:03 PM]: hey… can we talk? maybe dinner tonight? my treat

You read it, then locked your phone.

He didn’t follow up with a second message. No explanation. No “I’m sorry.” Just a quiet request to meet, like that was enough to erase the weeks of feeling like you were always the one chasing after him.

Like his “is this about me not texting you back fast enough?” hadn’t gutted you the last time you saw him.

The silence that followed your heartbreak had been intentional. For once, you weren’t going to rush in with understanding or comfort. Not this time.

So you didn’t reply.

Not for ten minutes.

Not for an hour.

Not for four.

On the other side of the screen, Hongjoong’s knee was bouncing under the studio desk. His phone sat beside him, screen dark, taunting him.

Four hours.

He’d stared at your name. At the “Read 2:04 PM” notification.

He’d wanted to wait you out, tell himself you were just busy. Tell himself that you’d always forgiven him before, even when you shouldn’t have. That this time would be no different.

But something in his chest started to crack. Something cold.

Because deep down, he knew.

He knew this time wasn’t like before.

He drove to your place without texting again. Parked outside. Waited. Then walked up and knocked on your door.

When you opened it, he saw the shift immediately. Your expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t emotional. It was polite. Careful. Distant.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep it light. “You got my message, right?”

You nodded once. “I did.”

“And…?”

“I wasn’t sure if I should go.”

The words were calm, flat, the same tone he used to take when you’d ask if he was free and he’d say, “I’ll let you know.”

He swallowed. “I wanted to apologize.”

You didn’t step aside to let him in. You didn’t even shift your weight.

He fidgeted. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I said. About how I dismissed you. About how you used to reach out to me all the time and I’d just… reply when I felt like it. If I replied at all.”

Silence.

“I thought I was just busy. I thought you’d understand. But the truth is, I took you for granted. I thought you’d always be there.”

You didn’t react. Not even a flinch.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “And then today… when you left me on read for hours…”

He let out a breath. “So this is what it feels like, huh?”

Your eyes flicked up at that. Something in your jaw shifted. But you still didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you were too much. Like your love was inconvenient.”

His voice lowered.

“I miss you. And not just the version of you that always sent me good luck texts or made dinner reservations when I forgot, I miss the you who believed in me even when I didn’t show up for you.”

You leaned against the doorframe. Not moving. Not softening.

And that’s when he got it, really got it.

Because now, he was the one waiting. The one hoping for warmth. The one left on read.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me right now. You don’t have to be ready. But I want to fix this. I want to stop treating you like a second thought and start treating you like you deserve.”

He paused, swallowing hard.

“Dinner’s still on the table. If you’ll come.”

The silence stretched for a beat. Then two.

Finally, you opened the door just a little wider.

“Where?” you asked, voice quiet but steady.

He blinked. “What?”

“Where’s dinner?”

Hope bloomed fast in his chest, raw, real, and maybe still fragile, but there.

He gave a half-laugh, half-breath of disbelief. “Anywhere you want.”

You stepped inside to grab your jacket without another word. But the door stayed open behind you.

And for the first time in a long time, Hongjoong understood exactly what it meant when someone shows up even after being hurt.

Because you did.

And this time, so would he.

Yunho:

You hadn’t seen him since the day he ended things.

He hadn’t yelled. There weren’t tears or a dramatic scene. Just that same calm voice he always used, too calm, like he was trying to stay numb.

“Maybe we’re not right for each other anymore.”

You’d stood there frozen. Because it wasn’t a fight. There wasn’t something to argue against. He had just walked out. Quietly. Like it wouldn’t hurt forever.

And for the past three weeks, you’d done everything you could to keep moving, but your chest never stopped feeling heavy.

So when the knock came, you almost didn’t answer it. Some part of you still hoped it was him, but hoping hurt.

And yet… it was him.

Yunho stood outside your door, hood pulled up, cap low, eyes glassy and red-rimmed like he hadn’t slept in days. His breath fogged in the evening air, but he didn’t speak, not at first.

He just looked at you, mouth slightly parted, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here.

“You left,” you said, voice low and flat.

“I know,” he whispered. “But I never really let go.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t invite him in. So he stood there, taking it, whatever you were ready to give, or not give at all.

“I broke up with you thinking it would make life easier,” he said. “That if we weren’t together, I’d have more time, less pressure, fewer expectations.”

He swallowed hard.

“But all I did was tear it apart. My days feel longer. My bed feels empty. And everything I used to love doesn’t make me feel anything now.”

You looked at him then, and the pain on his face nearly cracked you open.

“I kept telling myself you needed too much,” he went on, voice trembling. “But the truth is… I was the one who needed more. More patience. More strength. More you.”

His chest rose and fell shakily.

“You were never asking for too much. You just asked me to show up. To try. And I ran.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to crumble.

“I miss your voice in the morning. I miss your socks mixed in with mine. I miss knowing someone out there saw me, really saw me, and still stayed.”

His voice broke.

“I thought I could be okay without you. But I can’t. I don’t want to learn how.”

The silence between you buzzed like static.

“I’m not asking to erase what I did. I’m not asking you to forget how I hurt you. I just…” he stepped forward, breath catching, “I just need you to know, if there’s any part of you that still wants me, I’ll spend every day proving I won’t walk away again.”

And when you didn’t answer, he didn’t beg.

He just stood there, waiting. Willing to face the ache he left you with, even if all you gave him in return was the door slowly closing.

Yeosang:

You weren’t sure why you expected anything different from tonight.

You had tried, gently, to bring it up. How distant he’d been lately. How you felt like you were loving him through a fog, always reaching, never quite touching. You hadn’t raised your voice. You hadn’t accused him of anything.

But somewhere in the middle of your sentence, Yeosang had sighed and said:

“Why does everything have to be so dramatic with you?”

He hadn’t even looked at you when he said it. Just stared at his phone. Barely blinking. Barely present.

The silence that followed was heavier than any shouting match.

An hour passed. You expected the front door to open and close with him leaving. But instead…

A knock.

Soft. Three quick taps. Then stillness.

You didn’t move at first. But then

“Can I come in?” His voice was quiet, muffled by the wood. Not demanding. Not confident. Careful.

You opened the door slowly.

He looked… small. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His bottom lip was bitten red. And his eyes, his eyes wouldn’t quite meet yours.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he started. “About you being dramatic.”

You waited.

“I didn’t mean it. Not even a little.”

He stepped inside, slowly, hands in his hoodie sleeves, unsure of what to do with them. “You weren’t overreacting. You weren’t picking a fight. You were telling me how you feel, and I… dismissed it.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I think sometimes I freeze when I don’t know how to respond. I act cold. Detached. Like that makes me look in control.” He finally looked at you, really looked. “But all it does is make the people who care about me feel like I don’t care back.”

You blinked, throat tight.

“I wasn’t taking you seriously. I wasn’t taking us seriously. Not tonight. Not the way I should’ve.”

He stepped a little closer, then stopped himself. “But I am now.”

There was a long pause. Then, with a shaky breath:

“You were right. I’ve been distant. I didn’t want to admit it because I don’t have a good reason for it. I’ve just been in my own head and shutting you out instead of letting you in.”

His voice dropped even lower, rough around the edges.

“You didn’t make everything dramatic. You made everything real. And I made you feel like your feelings were an inconvenience.”

The silence between you cracked a little when he added, softly

“I’m sorry.”

He held out his hand like he wasn’t sure you’d take it. “If I promise to really try, not just to listen, but to hear you, would you let me stay? Even if it’s just for tonight?”

You didn’t answer right away.

But the way he was looking at you, finally, fully, made you feel seen again.

And maybe that was the apology you needed more than anything.

San:

It had started small.

You’d reached for his hand in the kitchen, trying to slow him down, trying to talk about how you’d been feeling like he wasn’t really present lately, like his body was here but his mind was always somewhere else. On tour. In the studio. On his phone.

You’d said, “I just miss you.”

And he’d pulled his hand back like your touch burned.

“Why do you always need so much from me?”

That stopped everything.

You blinked, stunned. He wasn’t yelling, but it felt louder than any scream. You opened your mouth, but the rest of your words got caught somewhere in your chest. Instead, you walked away. Into the bedroom. Closed the door behind you, because if you didn’t, you’d fall apart in front of him.

San didn’t follow.

Not at first.

The door stayed shut. The apartment stayed quiet.

Until—

A knock.

Then his voice, muffled, low, wrecked:

“Baby, please open the door.”

You hesitated. You were still shaking. Still hearing his voice in your head, repeating that question like a cruel loop. Why do you always need so much from me?

But something about the sound of his voice, the crack in it, made you reach for the handle.

You opened the door to find San leaning against the frame, hands braced on either side like he was barely holding himself up. His eyes were rimmed with red. His cheeks flushed with emotion he couldn’t hide if he tried.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said immediately, desperately. “God, I didn’t mean it.”

You didn’t say a word. Your silence hit harder than any yelling ever could.

“I was overwhelmed and I said the first shitty, cowardly thing that came into my mouth. And the second I said it, I wanted to rip the words out of the air.”

He took a step closer, but didn’t touch you. “You don’t ask for too much. You never have. You ask for me. My time. My heart. And I’ve been so wrapped up in everything else, I forgot what it means to actually give that.”

He shook his head, jaw tight like he was trying not to cry.

“You tell me you miss me and I treat it like a burden? What the hell is wrong with me?”

Your throat burned.

He took a breath and pressed his palm flat against his chest. “It’s not that you ask too much of me. It’s that I’ve been giving you so little lately, it feels like anything at all is too much.”

His eyes met yours, glossy and pained.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I love you so much that it terrifies me. And sometimes when I feel like I’m failing you, I push instead of pulling you closer.”

He wiped at his face, chest heaving. “But I’m done doing that. If you’ll let me… I want to be better. For you. For us.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. His eyes followed it all the way down like it killed him to see it.

“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness right away,” he whispered. “But please — just tell me I didn’t ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You stepped forward, slowly. Just enough that he didn’t have to guess.

And this time, when he reached for your hand, it wasn’t to pull away.

It was to hold on.

Mingi:

It had been days since the argument.

Only… it hadn’t been much of an argument. It had been you, speaking honestly, telling him that lately, you felt like a ghost in his life. Like you were always the one reaching out, always the one waiting. Waiting for a call, a text, a sign that he saw you.

And him?

He hadn’t fought. He hadn’t begged. He’d barely said anything at all.

Just clenched his jaw. Sat there. Silent.

You’d waited for something. Anything.

But all he gave you was quiet.

So you left.

He didn’t stop you.

And that silence, the one that followed, was worse than the one during the argument. Because now it stretched between two broken hearts.

Until tonight.

You were sitting on your bedroom floor, back against the bed, scrolling through old photos you’d told yourself not to look at. Laughing selfies. Half-blurry videos of him rapping under his breath in the car. Messages from nights when he used to say goodnight, love you without fail.

Then a knock.

You froze.

And when you opened the door, there he was.

Mingi. Hoodie damp from the light rain outside. Shoulders hunched, eyes red, hands wringing the hem of his sleeves like he needed something to hold onto.

“I didn’t know if you’d answer,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet. He didn’t expect you to.

“I’ve never been good at saying things when I need to,” he started, voice trembling. “Sometimes I feel too much all at once, and it chokes me. And when you were telling me how you felt… I just sat there. Because I didn’t know how to fix it. And instead of trying, I shut down.”

His eyes were shining.

“I wasn’t cold because I didn’t care. I was quiet because I didn’t know how to show you that I did. But that’s not fair to you.”

He stepped closer, slowly.

“You told me you felt invisible. That you were tired of always being the one who reached out. And I should’ve said something. Anything. But I let the silence answer for me, and it said all the wrong things.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but your lips stayed still.

He took a shaky breath. “I didn’t say it, but I felt it. I felt everything. I just… didn’t know how to show you.”

He lifted his eyes to yours, voice breaking.

“And then you walked away. And for the first time, I understood what silence really sounds like.”

He reached out, slow and careful, like he didn’t expect you to reach back.

“I don’t want to go another day wondering if I’ve lost the one person who loved me anyway. Loved me even when I wasn’t making it easy.”

The rain outside tapped against the windows like it was waiting too.

“If there’s still a piece of you that wants this, I swear, I’ll never leave you wondering again.”

And maybe he hadn’t said much before. Maybe he’d stayed quiet when it mattered most.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was finally speaking the words that had been living in the ache of his chest all along.

Wooyoung:

It started subtly.

A missed good morning text, just one. Then two. Then three.

No updates about what you were eating for lunch. No late-night selfies. No rambling voice notes about how your day went, or the weird cat you saw on the way home, or how your barista spelled your name hilariously wrong again.

At first, Wooyoung didn’t panic.

He figured you were busy. Or maybe your phone had died. You were always a little scatterbrained. He thought it was cute.

But by day four, the silence started to weigh differently.

He scrolled through your past messages, his own replies now glaring. A string of dry responses. A few late replies. Some heart emojis sent on autopilot. He started to see patterns — moments he brushed off your excitement, teased your need for check-ins with lines like:

“You really text me more than my mom.

You always laughed them off. Or so he thought.

Until tonight.

He called. For the first time in a while, it rang. You picked up.

“Hey,” your voice came through flat. Tired. Nothing like how it used to be, all soft affection and brightness just from hearing his name.

Wooyoung sat up in bed, heart kicking into gear. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet lately.”

You hesitated. And that pause told him more than any words could.

“I just…” you finally said, “I didn’t want to be annoying. Or clingy. I figured I’d give you some space.”

Wooyoung’s heart stopped.

Your voice was distant, not cold, just… careful. Like you’d started building walls, brick by brick, while he wasn’t paying attention.

And then the realization hit.

His whole “God, you’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?” comment.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” you added quietly. “You probably enjoyed that I didn’t text anyway.”

“Stop,” he breathed, sitting up straighter, the words catching in his throat. “Don’t say that. Please.”

There was silence on your end. So he filled it.

He stood, pacing now, like movement might slow the panic rising in his chest.

“I could see you were pulling away, and I didn’t know why. But now I do. It’s because of me. Because I was too caught up in being cute or funny or whatever the hell I thought I was — and I made you feel like your love was too much.”

You didn’t interrupt. Maybe because you didn’t believe him yet. Or maybe because part of you had been waiting for this — for him to see it.

“I thought it was harmless. I never meant to make you second-guess how you show up for me. I loved those messages. I love the way you care, the way you never make me guess how you feel.”

His voice cracked.

“You were never obsessive. Never clingy. You were consistent. You were present. And I was a goddamn idiot for not realizing how rare that is.”

Another beat passed. And then, gently:

“I miss you. I miss all of you — not just your messages, but the way you never hesitated to love me. Please don’t take that part of you away. Not because of me.”

Your breath hitched on the other end of the line.

“I’ll do better,” he promised. “I’ll be better. If you give me the chance.”

And for once, Wooyoung didn’t try to make it light. No joke. No wink. Just truth, raw and bare.

Because now, he knew better than to laugh at the kind of love most people spend a lifetime looking for.

Jongho:

He thought this was best for him, for the both of you.

Being apart would calm the frustration, the tension, the ache he couldn’t put into words.

So when he let you walk away, it wasn’t because he didn’t love you. It was because he didn’t know how to love you right, and instead of learning, he chose distance.

But the silence didn’t bring him peace.

It brought emptiness.

No more texts. No more playful eye rolls when he tried to hide a smile. No more soft hands reaching for his when he thought no one was looking. Just quiet. Cold, hollow quiet.

And the worst part? You didn’t come back.

Not after a few days.

Not after a week.

He thought you might. He thought maybe you’d fight for him, call him out like you always did. But this time, you respected his words. You gave him what he asked for.

And now he was the one left behind.

It was late when he showed up at your door. No text. No warning.

His hoodie was pulled tight over his head, eyes shadowed under the porch light. He looked nervous, the kind of nervous you only get when pride has been stripped away, when all that’s left is want.

You opened the door and froze.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, shoulders tense, eyes unreadable.

Then:

“Hey.”

Your arms crossed instinctively, more out of habit than hostility. “Why are you here, Jongho?”

He exhaled. “I… I thought I was doing the right thing.”

You didn’t answer.

“But every day since you left—” He paused, jaw tight. “—I’ve wanted you to come back. I just didn’t know if I deserved you.”

Your brows knit together. “Now you’re deciding this? After you told me I was too much, that I needed too much?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I was overwhelmed. I felt like I was drowning in everything — practice, expectations, and yeah… us. But not because of you. Because I wasn’t letting myself lean on you.”

You stared at him. He looked different. Tired. Softer. But still him.

“Then why say those things?”

“Because I was scared,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “Of needing someone. Of letting myself be vulnerable. You were always so sure — about us, about me — and I… wasn’t. You're not exhausting to love, I was making it exhausting”

Your expression faltered.

“I thought pushing you away would give me control,” he continued. “But all it did was make me miserable.”

Silence stretched between you, taut and fragile.

“I was wrong,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

You looked away, blinking quickly. “You hurt me.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “And I hate myself for it. I know I can’t undo that. But if you still have anything left in your heart for me… anything at all… I want to try again.”

You didn’t respond right away. The pain was still there, fresh enough that your walls hadn’t come down yet. But something in you cracked, seeing the way he looked at you now. The regret in his posture. The hope barely hanging on.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you said softly.

He nodded, eyes glinting. “Then I’ll earn it. Day by day. Even if you don’t forgive me tonight.”

Another long pause.

Then you opened the door a little wider.

“Come in.”

Jongho stepped forward like he couldn’t believe it. His hand brushed yours lightly as he passed, hesitant, asking permission even in the smallest ways.

And maybe the pain wasn’t gone.

Maybe it wouldn’t be for a while.

But sometimes, love returns, not loudly, but slowly. Carefully. With trembling hands and quiet hearts that still believe in healing.

And Jongho was ready to fight for it.

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Father!Mark Grayson Headcanons

AN: woo! first post on tumblr, feeling kind of nervous…but i want to contribute something to the invincible fandom on here ^^ i apologize in advance if this is choppy.

WARNINGS:AFAB!Reader(but no use of pronouns), brief mentions of sex, pregnancy, fluff, not proofread, honesty can’t think of anymore on the top of my head

You and Mark had always practiced having safe sex. You both were young, but it took one time.

It’s been long, too long since he had his hands on you. Being in space without your warmth made his desire for you increase with each passing day. So the moment he flew through your bedroom window, he clung to you desperately. His soft whimpers filled the room as he kissed you, his tongue brushing against yours. You could sense his need for you. He didn’t need to speak, the way he ground his hips against your thighs told you everything you needed to know.

He reluctantly pulled back to catch his breath.

“Mmm…need you…need you so much, baby- please.”

And, whew! That was enough to make you toss your panties/boxers to the floor😮‍💨

Being caught up in the moment, the thought of using protection was long forgotten. Mark was too consumed by his desire, and you were too busy getting your brains fucked out to care. It wasn’t until those two red lines popped up that things began to settle in. You were pregnant, pregnant with his child.

Was absolutely nervous when he first found out about your pregnancy, but supportive. It wasn’t the fact that you both created life that startled him, no — it was the future. Being Invincible came with more downsides than ups. Part of him feared that your child would become a target for his enemies, that the GDA would find a way to get to them when they’re older and exploit them.

So I imagine him becoming more protective than usual.

Took fatherhood seriously. Like I mean really seriously…Way before the baby was born, he signed you both up for parenting classes. Which he tried his hardest to attend whenever Cecil wasn’t yapping in his ear piece.

“Yeah, yeah…another flaxan invasion. Let’s make this quick.”

Whenever Mark did need to leave for missions, he left you with Debbie. (who was more than happy to spend time with her in law) He didn’t want to leave you alone for too long. And who wouldn’t want to spend time with his mother? That woman has a kind soul🥹 She often gave you tips and tricks to make your pregnancy easier. And you got see Oliver too!

His whole world turned upside down when the baby was born. You gave birth to a beautiful girl! (sorry Mark is a girl dad in every universe — I didn’t make the rules/j)

She had his brown eyes and your nose — his heart melted when she reached out for him. He fell in love immediately.

Calls her: “sweetheart”, “gorgeous”, “princess” (treats her like one too)

Insisted on covering the night shifts. You just brought her into the world, so you deserve to rest.

He could be getting home late from work and he’d still do it. Mark spends most of his nights in the nursery, sitting on a rocking chair with your daughter cradled close to his chest. He’d tell the baby about his day, about the monsters he had to fight. She may be too young to understand what he’s saying, but he didn’t care. Just having her close and hearing her coo in her sleep was enough for him.

…And he’d tell her what an amazing person you are.

“You’ve got one of the best parents around. Don’t give them too much trouble, alright?”

“Your Mama/Papa is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

“Look at how cute you are! Looking just like them…”

“…Where would I be without you both?”

“How did I get so lucky?”

Will often read his comics to her. Mark’s dead set on making her a Seance Dog fan like him.

One morning, you walked in and saw them sleeping on the rocking chair. Your precious girl was still on his chest, her drool staining his t-shirt, and his book long forgotten on the floor.

Keeps every milestone documented. His photo library is full of pictures and videos. (that he proudly flexes to his coworkers)

If he misses anything, he’ll be distraught. She tried taking her first steps when he wasn’t around and he sobbed 😭

Will learn how to do hair just for her. He ended up giving her uneven little pigtails that look like antennas 💀 Don’t laugh…he’s trying.

Doesn’t play about quality time. Mainly because he wants them to have a relationship better than his and Nolan’s. She wants to play with dolls? Mark is joining and using his “girl” voice. (he ends up getting really into the dramatic plot they made)

“And I saw her with Tyler last week!”

“*GASP* Girl, no you didn’t!”

Tea party? He’ll act all sophisticated and try to squeeze into whatever tight polyester dress she gave him. She wants to do his makeup? He’ll suck up his pride and let her coat his lips with bright red lipstick.

Every drawing is hung up on the fridge.

She got her hands on one of his collectibles and broke it. Though Mark reassured her that it was okay, you saw that a part of him broke on the inside.

Since then, he spoils her with toys. Got to put that paycheck to good use somehow…and to keep her grubby hands off of his things.

Cannot discipline her, that lil girl has him wrapped around her finger😭 If he sees that she’s about to cry, he’ll fold. How can he be mad when she gives him those puppy dog eyes? You did get on him about this, though.

Has you both as his wallpaper. He likes to stare at it, it reminds him of what he’s fighting for.

Does that stupid hand thing on road trips💀 She could be minding her business, munching away on some trail mix and he’s reaching back for some

(LIKE OUUU GET YOUR OWN SNACKS)

She makes a face before sharing…because I know I would. His greed sickens me.

Whenever she has a nightmare, Mark takes her out flying to get her mind off of things. He’ll hold her close, pointing out different buildings and the stars.

Would protect her from anything, and I mean anything. Villains, Viltrumites, and even the imaginary monsters that hid in her closet — he’s fending them off. Made it clear to Cecil that he doesn’t want him anywhere near her. Her head doesn’t need to be filled with government bullshit.

At the end of the day, Mark just wants her to have a better childhood than he did. She deserved to enjoy her youth before the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

AHHHH FIRST POST DONE! i hope you all enjoyed it^^ i honestly had fun writing this out. thoughts and questions are welcome.

[4ever-me]

Have you changed your mind? - Park Humin (Baku)

Synopsis: At your new school you meet a boy who is your complete opposite, but opposites attract.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, Dom!Humin, squirting, oral (fem!receiving), bulge kink, big dick!Humin, fingering, size kink (light), overstimulation, violence(Reader gets punched), blood, harassment (not described in detail), Reader attacks some guys with a pen, Reader is a female version of Sieun, In this story there are girls in Eunjang, Grumpy X Sunshine, Reader is sensitive to loud noises (this was a little bit based on me).

does not follow the drama's storyline, so all the characters are of legal age. Minors DNI

Word Count: 3.4k (Sorry)

A/N: It was the first Weak Hero story I made, but it took me longer to post. I hope you like it ♡. English isn't my first language

You were still in your first week of classes at your new school: Eunjang High School. It didn't take you long to figure out the roles of each one, but you didn't fit into any of them. You weren't athletic, you didn't play any sports, you didn't fight, you weren't the most popular or the smartest.

You didn't usually start conversations, but if someone approached you and started talking, you would do it without any problem. However, no one had approached you yet, and maybe it was because of your somewhat grumpy appearance and not very friendly expression. But you were cool; still, you didn't have any friends or roles or positions in the school.

You enter the school and walk down the hallway with headphones on, without listening to any music. You walk slowly, starting to hear a commotion approaching. You don't care until you hear loud laughter and some people laughing a little more quietly. You get scared and lean against the wall, seeing a tall guy laughing and greeting people, followed by several others. Park Hu Min, or Baku, as everyone knew him, was the "leader" of the school. He had beaten up some guys from a gang that was chasing Eunjang. You didn't understand much about these things, so you didn't think much about it. But you knew one thing: Hu Min was loud, very loud.

He walks past you and your eyes meet. He winks in your direction and, when he's no longer looking, you grimace, frowning and finding what he did strange. After the crowd leaves, you go into your classroom and wait for class to start.

It’s lunchtime and you’re in the stands, watching a group of boys play basketball on the court. You eat a snack and drink some strawberry milk that a boy with glasses gave you as an apology after he bumped into you while running through the hallways. You watch Hu Min dribble the ball quickly and make a basket, yelling and hugging his best friend. You startle when he yells, even though he’s wearing headphones. The main reason you wear headphones all the time is to drown out loud noises, since you’re extremely sensitive to sounds.

You go back to eating, distracting yourself with the boys playing, and it doesn’t take long for you to get startled again by a boy sitting next to you. Park Hu Min. You look at him with raised eyebrows and a full mouth, staring at him like he’s the strangest being you’ve ever seen.

– Hello, pretty girl, – He smiles, leaning on his hands as he spreads his legs a little, looking a little sloppy.

– Hi – You say with your mouth full, trying to swallow the food.

– What is such a beautiful princess doing here alone?

– Eating – You answer dryly, wanting him to speak a little more quietly.

– You know what? – He points at you – I don’t think you’re a princess; you’re a thief, because you stole my heart. – He winks at you.

– What? – You didn’t understand if that was a compliment or an insult.

– What’s your name, cutie? – He approaches. But, thank heavens, before you can answer, a boy in blue shouts calling him; when Hu Min looks at the boy, you quickly leave in silence. And when you’re already far away, you hear him calling you, but you don’t look back and go straight to your class again.

It's been a few days since Humin last spoke to you, and you had avoided him like the plague during those days. If you saw or heard him in the hallways, you hid; you didn't go to the court anymore, because you knew he would be there with his friends. One day, you were in your class and saw him appearing at the door. You quickly crouched down, intending to hide. He shouts your name and you wonder how he found out your name and your class. No one answers, because probably no one remembered your name. When he leaves, you look up, seeing a boy looking at you with a bored face: Yeon Sieun. You realize that you used the table and his body to hide; embarrassed, you get up and go to your table. But, one day, Humin unfortunately found you. You were in the cafeteria, with headphones on, trying to drown out the noise. You are startled again by someone sitting next to you quickly, making you choke on your food and start coughing;  Someone pats your back as you grab your juice to drink. Stopping coughing, you see Humin next to you.

– Are you trying to kill me? – You ask loudly, still out of breath.

– Me? Kill you? No, no, no… – He moves his hands quickly as he explains to you – I would never want to kill the love of my life.

You just look at him in disbelief, picking up your tray as you leave and muttering “weird” to yourself.

It had been a few days, and you kept avoiding him. In the last few days, you had noticed the boy, seeing that he and his friend Gotak had been getting closer to Sieun and Juntae. They were a bit of a strange foursome, and it was funny to see the four of them together.

You walked home; this time, you decided to take a different route, one that wasn't full of people. You put your hands in your sweatshirt pockets, feeling a folded piece of paper, and smiled thinking about what it was: a little letter you found under your desk, signed with the name "Baku". It was a romantic letter, written in a not-so-pretty but legible handwriting. You couldn't help but laugh when you finished reading it, after lunch; you put it in your sweatshirt pocket as soon as class started. You thought it was cute, since you always wanted to get a love letter, but you never imagined it would be from him.

You walk down an alley, seeing a message on the wall that says "No Fighting, Eunjang High School", signed with the boy's name, exactly like in your letter. You keep walking until you see three boys entering the alley. You continue, attentive and cautious, holding the pen tightly in your other pocket. You used to carry a pen in your pocket, since you never knew when you would need one.

They were from another school and, when they see your uniform, they start talking to you. But you ignore them; they step in front of you, blocking your way.

– Hey, kitty, where are you going? – Asks the middle boy, with his hands in his pants pockets.

– She's from Eunjang! – He states the obvious, giving you a mischievous look while his hands shake.

– Move out of the way. – You say in the strongest voice you can. They stop laughing and look at you.

– What did you say? – Asks one of them, angrily.

– Get out of my way, idiots! – You says more firmly.

The boy in the middle advances towards you and you quickly pull the pen out, stabbing him in the shoulder. He yells some curse and you pull the pen back, making him fall to the floor near the wall. The other two boys come towards you and you even manage to cut one of their arms; but the other holds you back and makes you drop the pen.

– You cut me, you crazy bitch!! – He yells in your face and you struggle trying to get out of his grip. But the boy who yelled at you punches you hard in the face and you fall dizzy when he lets go of you. It's the first time you've been punched and it hurts more than you imagined. You put your hand on your nose and feel something wet; when you put your hand in front of your eyes, everything is still blurry, but you can make out the red color of your blood.

You hear a commotion as if it were a fight, but you don't try to see what it is.  When the noises stop and your vision starts to return, you see Humin approaching and crouching next to you.

– Are you okay?! – He asks worriedly, touching your face with both hands.

– They broke my nose… – You whimper.

– Let me see… – He lifts your face, analyzing it. – It’s not broken – He reassures.

– Come on, let’s go to my house to clean up this blood, – He carries you on his back.

– No… My house is close by – He agrees and guides you to his house.

You arrive at your house and go inside, heading towards your room. Humin leaves you on the bed and goes to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit. It's a good thing your parents weren't home; they would freak out if they saw you with a bloody nose. He sits down next to you and starts cleaning the blood.

– How do you know how to take care of wounds so well? – You ask curiously, since he seemed like a professional doing it.

– I get hurt a lot, you know? I play basketball and I also get into a lot of fights. – He explains. – Aren't your parents home?

– No, they went on a trip… – You say. – Will I get a bruise? – Your parents couldn't even dream of what happened.

– Probably not, but if I do, it won't be very obvious. – He sets the cotton aside. – There you go!– He puts the materials he used away and throws them in the trash. He comes back and sits down next to you.

– You look like a friend of mine;  He loves to poke people with pens. – He says.

You laugh and look at him. – Yeon Sieun. – You already knew the story that was circulating at school about the boy. Humin mumbles an "exactly".

– Did you see my letter? – He comes closer with a smile on his face.

You mumble in agreement – ​​I threw it away. – You lie in a simple tone, but try not to laugh when you see the boy's incredulous face. You pull the letter out of your coat pocket and throw it near him. He opens a smile from ear to ear.

– I knew you loved me too! – He claps his hands happily.

– Calm down, it's not like that! – You don't love him, but he's cute and funny too, and the letter made you look at him differently.

– I have time to change your mind. – He looks at you so intensely that you feel embarrassed. The atmosphere in the room gets more tense, but not in a bad way.  He still analyzes you and looks deep into your eyes.

– Come here... – His tone of voice changes, becoming more serious as he calls you with his hand. You get up and sit next to him. But he rolls his eyes and spreads his legs wider as he places you on his lap.

– What are you doing? – You ask with wide eyes.

– Making you change your mind. – He places his hand on the back of your neck. – Do you want it?

You don't think twice before nodding and saying "Yes, I want it" in a whisper. He also doesn't think twice before closing the space between your lips.

The kiss is easy at first. You notice him testing the limits, moving his hand from the back of your neck to your waist and asking for his tongue to enter your mouth, which you immediately grant, feeling the muscle invade your mouth, making the kiss more intense. You don't even notice when his hands are on your ass, helping you to grind on his lap, and you also didn't notice when he yanked open your school shirt, making the buttons fly across the room, exposing your bra.

He lifts you off his lap, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed. You don't understand what he's going to do until he spreads your legs and kneels between them. The boy smiles and kisses your thighs, and you shiver. He brings his hands to your shirt and pulls the fabric from your shoulders, pulling your bra down, freeing your breasts. He looks at them and comes closer, kissing your collarbone, before lightly kissing each of your nipples and you arch towards him.

The boy returns to between your legs, calmly taking off your panties and hiding his head under the fabric of your skirt. You feel his hot breath against your wet intimacy, and without warning he separates the lips of your pussy and gives a big lick, making you let out a loud moan and close your eyes tightly and do the same with your legs, he spreads your legs with his big hands, pulling your thighs to his shoulders. Humin begins to suck your clitoris and lick it like a hungry man, you lean on the bed with your hands and moan loudly, the boy runs his tongue from your entrance to your clitoris, sucking hard, making you scream and arch. You feel the tears blurring your vision and bring your fist to your mouth, biting down to muffle your moans. He sticks his tongue in your entrance and you shudder, he does the same movement a few times before pulling away and sticking a finger in your pussy, moving right after, you cry and grip the hem of your skirt.  He puts another finger in and you feel full, your pussy burns with the lack of habit. Seeing how much you are squeezing his fingers, Humin goes back to sucking your clit, making you relax your grip on his fingers, allowing him to move them. He starts slowly, still sucking you, speeding up each time you moan louder and soon he is already thrusting with his fingers quickly while sucking you and you can hear how wet you are, you feel hot and tight, already seeing stars. Your hands go to his hair when you start to feel something approaching, you scream and your arms almost give out when the knot in your stomach breaks, you feel a wave of pleasure, you shudder and writhe, but Humin doesn't stop, leaving you whimpering and crying with the sensitivity, and consequently he stops after a while, the boy looks at you and gives you a kiss on the lips. 

Humin lays you down as he climbs on top of you, he kisses your cheek and forehead, you hug his shoulders and pull him into a slow kiss, you wrap your legs around his hips, he looks into your eyes.

– Are you sure about that? – He asks quietly.

– Yes, I am – When you say it, he goes straight to your breasts, taking your nipple in his mouth, sucking it, he caresses your thighs, lifting your skirt, leaving it on your hips, his mouth releases your nipples and he looks at your pussy.

– You are so beautiful...– He is already putting his hand on his belt, taking it off and pulling his pants and underwear together.

You widen your eyes when you look at his pelvis. He is big, very big. You get nervous, maybe he won't fit you.

He laughs at your reaction – Touch it. – He asks, but when he sees that you don't, he takes your hand and puts it around his shaft.

It is soft and you almost don't wrap the whole shaft with your hand. You start stroking, seeing a drop of pre-cum fall on your belly, he continues with a small smile looking at you.  He takes your hand away and fits it between your legs, passing the tip through your pussy, he fits it at your entrance and starts to push slowly, but when he puts the whole tip in, you feel yourself being torn, you complain "stop, stop". He does, rubbing your clit very lightly and leans in to kiss you, but when he gets closer, his cock slides deeper into you, making you whimper.

It takes a while until he's completely inside you, but when his hips are pressed against yours, you feel full, about to cum, your eyes are wet and you're shaking, and Humin still plays with your breasts. He starts to thrust slowly, and you feel that familiar wave of pleasure returning.

– S-Stop! – You stutter – I'm going to cum! – He laughs mockingly, grabbing your legs and pressing them to you chest, giving a deeper angle to his cock. He pulls out of you and comes back in hard, you scream and he keeps doing it.  With just five thrusts you cum on his cock, he continues, despite your sensitivity.

You hear Humin's deep moans increase in volume, he's almost screaming, and what you expected would bother you turns you on even more.

– You're so tight! – He moans, pressing his weight into your legs, speeding up the pace even more.

You feel small beneath him and this makes you extremely sensitive, with these thoughts you feel your climax approaching and you don't know if you can handle a third orgasm, but at this moment it's the only thing you want.

He pulls away abruptly before you can cum and he lies down on the bed pulling you onto his lap, he grabs your hips, placing you on top of his cock and slamming you hard into his pelvis, you open your mouth in a silent scream at the sudden invasion and more tears fall from your eyes, he leaves his hands on you as support. You lean on his strong chest and start moving up and down on his cock with his help. You lower your gaze, directing it to where you are connected, and on your belly, you see a bulge that appears and disappears as Humin's cock enters and leaves your pussy, you moan broken and low seeing this, Humin follows your gaze and realizes what you saw and smiles satisfied seeing his cock marking your belly.

– Look, do you see how deep I'm in you? – He takes your hand and places it on your belly, and you feel the volume. He puts pressure on your hand making your hand squeeze your belly making the angle change and you feel fuller.

– Do you like this?  – He moans loudly and you head shakes in agreement desperately.

He holds you still on his lap and begins to lift his pelvis towards you violently, he leaves one hand still holding yours against the bulge in your belly and with the other he grabs your hips moving you according to his movements.

You are exhausted, with your eyes rolled back and moaning without caring who can hear as he destroys your pussy with desire. The climax approaches again, but this time much stronger, much more intense, much faster, and you scream along with him and with the euphoria of the orgasm, you don't even feel that you have wet the boy's entire abdomen and the bed with your squirt, you fall on his chest weak and with your vision darkened, still feeling the violent thrusts pressing on your cervix and the jets of sperm inside your pussy.

You take a while to recover, and when your consciousness returns completely, you feel the boy's hands caressing your hair, and a few light kisses on your forehead.   You snuggle closer to his chest, wiping your tears with your hand, feeling a slight pain in your nose.

You lift your head, seeing the boy's gaze on you and that characteristic smile. You approach and give the boy a long kiss on the lips. He smiles between the kiss and when you pull away, he asks:

– Did I make you change your mind?

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (the Flood) Simon Riley/female reader

Something is wrong.

He can see it, feel it as he slips beneath the covers and pulls you into his arms, your face finding the warmth of his neck, cheeks damp.

"Hey mama." Nix's birthday is always hard. After the party and the cake and the cleanup, after everyone has gone home, after the kids have gone to sleep-

the pain that lurks in the back of your mind finally forces itself forward.

Her second birthday was the worst. You held it together so well, so determined to make sure everything was perfect, the cake and decorations and gifts. Everyone came, clapped and sang, celebrated.

He watched you like a hawk the entire time. Waiting. Ready to catch you. And when you fell, you fell hard.

"Sorry I didn't help with clean up." You croak, and he rubs your back.

"It's alright sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

"Tired." Your voice is distant, and though you're right here, tucked against his chest, in bed, in the house, he knows you're somewhere else as your thumb absentmindedly strokes over the scar tissue of what's left of your ring finger.

It never goes away.

"She had fun today." You don't ask, but he knows you're seeking reassurance, he tightens his hold.

"She had a great time. Everything was perfect." You nod, and silence lays like a blanket over your shoulders until he breaks it, carefully trying to coax you. "Talk to me."

"I can still smell it." His stomach twists. "The blood. My blood. I thought that would go away, you know? I mean, I know it all doesn't go away but I thought... I thought the smell would."

"Certain things stick with you longer." He closes his eyes, kisses your forehead and holds it there, trying to block out his own memories, the image of you in that chair, the smell of the hospital room. "But no matter what you smell, or see, or feel, you're still here. With me, and our kids. Our family. You're here, and you're safe." It's a mantra he finds himself repeating, now even years later. You're here. You're safe.

"I want to forget." You whisper.

"I know sweet girl, I know. I wish I could take it from you." He's never wanted something so badly, except for maybe that night he saw you in the bar, never wanted to turn back time so desperately so he could protect you. Keep you safe.

It was his failure. A mistake never to be repeated.

"I love you." You murmur, tipping your head back to gaze at him, eyes heavy and sad. He never tells you not to be, never tries to redirect your emotions. You have to feel it, to recognize it, process it. His own experience taught him burying the pain, avoiding it does no one any favors, so he sits in the grief with you, holds you through it. "I'm sorry I'm so weepy." You look away, embarrassed, and he gently turns your chin.

"Hey. Don't hide from me." Tears gather in your eyes, and he kisses the first one that spills over. "You don't apologize, sweetheart, not for this. Never for this."

"I'm weak."

"You're strong. You're so strong mama. After everything you went through, you're still here, you're perfect, every little part of you. I'm so lucky, we're so lucky you're ours. My wife, their mom, you're everything." You sniffle, but the tension in your bones, your muscles, starts to ebb. "I love you so much mama. I couldn't live without you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," you roll onto your back as he follows, propped up on an elbow, cupping your cheek.

"Be weepy, or angry, or sad, I'll still be here. "

"Eternity." You echo his words from years ago, and he covers your mouth with his in a long kiss, only pulling away to reaffirm his vow.

"Eternity with you."

[philosophical-goon]

Thinking about reader! Who can’t ride on it and have her clit touched at the same time. Doesn’t work. Her brain can’t comprehend it in tune, it’s like trying to rub your stomach and pat your head at the same time like one of those fourth graders in gym class who was just shown a new trick.

So when König gets agitated with her over something stupid, readers acting like a brat, blah blah blah, of course he makes her bounce on it.

If she wants to act like a brat, she can do all of the work and heavy lifting he usually does. See how she likes it.

She is his little pillow princess, don’t think otherwise, but there are times she pushes her limits, where she willfully acts like a little shit just to get put back in place. She likes it—how he can easily manhandle her, how all the strength it takes to put her back in her place, he possesses it in his pinky finger alone.

And when he finds out about this little spaz of yours..?

Oh, the punishment just got 10x worse.

It was already a struggle to work yourself down on the thicket of him, hands braced on his broad shoulders in a tight grip, digits trembling like your thighs as you slowly rocked your hips to work yourself down. You were whining and pouting, your words sweet and sugary as you begged, trying to appease him into fucking up into you, to flip you over and take it away— anything to help.

Of course, he just snorted at your misfortune, meaty paw-like hands grasping at your hips, a slight ‘tsk’ coming from him as he slowly pushed you further down his cock, a choked gasp lodging itself in the back of your throat, hips squirming in his kneading grasp.

“No help. Now, move- take your punishment well.” He spoke with a condescending sort of tone, the one that made you scowl and huff in irritation.

You weren’t given long before he jumpstarted your movements with a hefty smack on your ass, body lurching forward as your hips jerked, tight cunt clenching around him instinctively in a way that made him groan low in his throat.

Again, you could scowl and pout and whine all you wanted, but in reality, was it really doing anything, maus?

So, you put on your big girl boots and slowly started to move despite being the pillow princess you were, dragging your cunt up and down his length with a shudder. You were trying to adjust to having him so deep, but he wasn’t having none of that, not with how you had been acting today.

Spitting demands, talking back, arguing with him about every single little thing- and then you had the audacity to palm him through his pants mid argument?

Another sharp slap rang out, a yelp leaving your lips as the stinging sensation rippled through your left ass cheek, hushed words of “faster” ringing out near your ear, demanding encouraging your hips to move at the pace he wanted.

He wanted you to fuck yourself on him like he would. Moving at that desperate pace, hips smashing down on his, grinding as deep as he could get, tip crushing against your cervix. He would always be too big to take to the hilt, it was just the reality of his size.

“Don’t stop moving,” he gritted out, “not until I tell you.”

It would take you a good 25-30 minutes of you straight bouncing for him to even consider helping you out, much less giving you pity. He was getting a little free show, not to mention the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him so snuggly it was dizzying. The whines, the begging, pawing at him, crying for just even a little kiss.

There would be times you stopped because you were tired, even if your hips just stuttered, and he would smack your ass raw until you started back up. You quickly learned to keep moving, trying your hardest to appease him, to get what you so desperately wanted.

And finally, finally after enough begging and apologizing, through tears and sweat, he let you have a little taste of his thumb on your clit.

It was just barely, barely even there, but the feeling alone on your sore, over sensitive clit made your hips stutter, a garbled whimper leaving you with the pathetic nature of a mewling cat.

You couldn’t keep up, your rhythm was immediately thrown off—and it only worsened with the more pressure he put. Eventually, it was too overwhelming to the point your legs just couldn’t continue, hips stuttering to a stop as noises flooded out of you, legs shaking like leaves on each side of his wide hips.

A cruel smile spread across his features before you had time to notice it, too engrossed in the feeling of his calloused fingers rubbing tight circles in a way that had you holding onto him for dear life, hips unable to function aside from a few twitchy, pitiful jerks.

It felt like a goat locking up, everything was harder to control, to move. As much as you tried to move your hips, it was like trying to fight against an invisible force field. It was too overstimulating, your brain just couldn’t handle both at the same time without overheating :(

König’s waiting hand lashed out once again, palm smacking your ass with enough force that should snap you back into gear, but you don’t start moving, only a misplaced moan falling out as your cunt clenched around him tightly. You were trying, you really were, but you just couldn’t move properly with the way he was smothering your poor little cunny.

Your name rang out like a sharp warning despite his growing amusement, König’s tone a low reminder to keep moving as his thumb rubbed tighter movements on your clit, hips twitching with a groan from the feeling of your velvety walls squeezing around his pulsing length.

He knew the effect it was having on you, but he wanted to push you, to prey on that sweet weakness, exploiting your soft body and subjecting you to his mean, teasing touch just because he felt like it. He couldn’t help it, it was truly intoxicating for a man like him…

If you thought it was bad before, this was a whole nother level.

Smack after smack on your poor burning ass, sparks of pain shooting after each hit—he gave a mocking hum, feigning pity as he rubbed the sore skin momentarily, gripping the flesh in his calloused fingers before delivering another harsh slap.

“What’s wrong?” He cooed, thumb swirling, fingers chasing your pelvis as you tried to wriggle away with a cry.

You didn’t get far before his beefy arms wrapped tight around your back, pulling you flush against him once more, pulling you deeper, closer, cramming you as tight against him as he could get. He kept your poor cunny speared on him tight, not giving you any room to escape.

“Can’t do it? Hm? Can’t keep bouncing on my cock?” He picked through groans, his thumb spamming against your clit as he gripped onto your hip to keep you in place.

All that came out of you were gasping, high pitched noises, whimpering and hiccuping as your chest stuttered, body squirming against him instinctively to escape the sensation. It was a cute attempt to get away, really.

Your head shook on its own, a sob escaping through a sharp breath, hips squirming vigorously—but he just wouldn’t stop. He was too deep, too big, too close and too fucking consistent that it threw you over the edge quicker than you could realize, spasming all over his cock.

And of course, you’ll need to be punished for that too. All in good time.

—

Sorry this was a little self indulgent considering I was thinking of my own personal little experience :)) and I got lazy like halfway thru so hope it’s not trash idk.

[whenstarsundress]

“my love doesn’t like kissing on the lips.”

sylus

sylus would absolutely respect the boundary without hesitation. he’s deeply emotionally attuned and careful with physical intimacy, especially after what he’s been through. he’d probably say something soft like, “as long as i get to love you, i don’t care how i show it.”

he’d notice your comfort zones immediately and redirect his kisses to your forehead, hands, shoulders. anywhere that earns a soft smile from you.

he might offer to explore it slowly, like, “if you ever change your mind, we can take it one step at a time. no pressure. just us.” but it would never be pushy.

bonus:

“thank you for trusting me. i’ll never ask you for more than what you’re comfortable with.” it’s never about where he kisses you. it’s about what he’s telling you with his touch. and if you ever want to try again, even years from now? he’ll be right there, patient, waiting, hand in yours.

zayne

zayne would care less than you think. this man is a flirt, but he’s also adaptable. if you don’t like mouth kissing? that’s okay. he’ll just kiss you somewhere else—your wrist, your collarbone, the inside of your thigh.

he’d probably smile and say, “kissing’s not just about lips, my love.” and then prove that he meant it thoroughly.

you might actually be the one who ends up flustered when he finds new places to worship with his mouth, because zayne doesn’t just accept boundaries, he thrives within them.

bonus:

“if i can’t kiss your mouth, i’ll just kiss the rest of you until you melt anyway.” he whispers and kisses you behind the ear. sweet, soft, and absolutely understanding. zayne never makes you feel weird. he just wants to show his affection, wherever you’ll let him.

caleb

caleb would be the most sensitive about it at first, not because he doesn’t respect boundaries, but because he’s so physically affectionate and tends to equate kissing with emotional connection.

he might get quiet the first time you turn your face away, but once he understands, he’d nod and just gently tease you. “guess i’ll just have to get really good at neck kisses instead, huh?”

over time, he’d lean into the ‘practice makes perfect’ route only (!) if you opened the door first. like, if you said, “i think i want to try,” he’d grin and go, “i promise to make it worth your while.”

bonus:

“i’m not here for what i want. i’m here for what we have.” then, without asking, he leans forward and kisses your hand, your wrist, the inside of your forearm. he doesn’t bring it up again. he doesn’t need to. “i don’t need your mouth. you already gave me your heart.”

xavier

xavier would freeze for a second. he’s not great with unexpected intimacy shifts. but once he computes it, he’d give a clipped nod like, “noted.”

but later, he’d go out of his way to research alternative ways of intimacy. expect subtle but thoughtful changes; longer hugs, holding your face while staring into your eyes, kisses on your temple while working.

if you ever felt guilty about it, he’d say something like, “don’t apologize for being the way you are. i chose you. that means all of you.”

bonus:

he loves kissing. it’s poetic to him, soulful. but he’s also deeply romantic, and that means meeting you where you are, not where he imagines you should be. “your lips may not be mine to kiss, but your smile is mine to protect.”

rafayel

rafayel would initially be genuinely curious. not judgmental, just inquisitive. “is it sensory? emotional? a past experience?”

once you explained your reasons or even just said, “i’m not sure—i just don’t like it,” he’d immediately drop it. he’d even help you feel more confident about it, saying things like, “your body is a temple, and i’m lucky to be invited to worship. wherever you let me.”

you might catch him studying your face when you laugh or look away, but it’s admiration, not necessarily longing. he’d be respectful to the point of making sure you never feel like you’re missing something.

bonus:

he might be a little dramatic about it. he mourns the loss of kissing with all the flair of a man being exiled from a country he never visited. but rafayel never pushes. never crosses the line. instead, he gets creative. “oh, you won’t kiss me? guess i’ll just… have to bite you then.”

author’s note: sometimes i can’t decide in which direction i want to go with a headcanon, so, i went with a little bonus 😊

[sereia4skz]

hi can I request head cannons for each member when you didn’t establish a safe word and he started choking you and you were unconfortable with it and tried to get him to stop and he didn’t until you started crying like not in a good way, and how they would react? (or you can do when you’re a virgin and they go to rough on you)

headcannons | you don't have a safeword

pairing: ot8!straykids x reader

genre: hurt comfort

warnings: unintentional rough sex, choking, emotional distress, crying, and panic, discussion of safe words, consent, and post-incident care

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

AN: HAVING A SAFE WORD IS SOOO IMPORTANT!!! EVEN IF YOU DON'T THINK YOU'LL NEED ONE! EVEN IF YOU DON'T THINK IT'S KINKY ENOUGH TO REQUIRE ONE!

BANG CHAN

He’s focused on being gentle, in his mind, he is being careful. But your soft winces, the shaky sounds in your breath? He misses them in the moment, too wrapped up in trying to stay in control. When he finally looks at your face and sees the tears, everything in him stops.

“Y/N...? Oh, no, no- are you crying? Shit. Baby, did I hurt you? Oh my god!”

He pulls out immediately, wraps his arms around you, tucks you to his chest like he’s shielding you from the world. He’s devastated he didn’t realize, and you’ll see the guilt all over his face as he whispers, “I thought I was being gentle. I’m so sorry. Please can we talk? I need to know how to make this right.”

He won’t touch you again until you initiate it. He’ll research how to have first-time sex safely, talk with you about pacing, about signals, and he’ll beg you to set up a safe word together. 

LEE KNOW

He doesn't mean to take it out on you. He’d been frustrated, pent-up, and you offering comfort turned into rough, hurried touches and sharp thrusts. You tried to keep up, you didn’t want to ruin the mood. But it hurt. And when you started crying, his entire body went still like ice water had been poured over him.

“Wait. Y/N. You’re crying. Fuck. What did I do?”

He pulls back instantly, breath ragged, not even touching you. His jaw tightens with self-directed anger. “I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I- god, I’m so sorry.”

He disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes, not to escape, but to get himself under control. Comes back with water, warm towels, and the softest apology in his voice. He’ll spend the next few days completely tuned in to your emotions. If you still want to be intimate, he won’t let anything happen unless he’s positive you’re fully into it, you’ll see a softer, slower version of him for a little.

CHANGBIN

He was in the moment, loving your reactions, your moans, the way your body moved. But he didn’t realize how strong he was being until he saw your face twist in discomfort… and then the tears came. It hits him like a brick wall.

“Oh my god- Y/N? No, no, no… baby, what did I do?”

His arms wrap around you before he even realizes he’s moving, holding you to his chest like he can protect you from the hurt he just caused. His own eyes brim with guilt. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. I should’ve-”

He’s scared. Not of you, but of himself. Scared that he broke something sacred. He’ll ask you later: “Do you still trust me?”, and you’ll see just how much he needs that answer. From then on, everything becomes gentle with him. You’ll never have to question your safety in his arms again.

HYUNJIN

He thinks it’s something you might like, his hand loosely wrapping around your neck, watching your reaction, but your stillness and the way your breathing changes doesn’t escape him. Even though you don’t say anything, he stops.

“Wait. Y/N? Is this okay?”

And when you can’t answer, when your lip wobbles and the tears start to fall, his hand is gone like he’s been electrocuted.

“No. No, no, I’m sorry- please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He pulls you into his arms immediately, voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have done that without asking. I should’ve asked.”

He’s quiet for a long time after, just letting you breathe. But later, he comes back with a printed article on safe kink practices, softly asking if you’d want to read it together. Hyunjin grows from this. He becomes your safe place, never taking control again unless you hand it to him freely.

HAN

You didn’t know how to say stop, but your body said it for you. Jisung was needy, fast, lost in the pleasure of it all, until your sob caught in your throat and he looked down and saw your face. He immediately pulls out, hands shaking.

“Oh my god. Y/N. No. Are you okay?! Baby- fuck, you’re crying?”

His panic spirals so fast, he’s near tears too. He sits with you on the bed, holding your hands with trembling fingers. He needs to know you’re okay, but he’s too scared to push.

“Was I too rough? I didn’t know. I thought you were okay- I should’ve checked- I should’ve asked. Please say something…”

Afterward, he becomes so gentle. Afraid to hurt you again. He starts asking “Too much?” after every move, slowing down even when he doesn’t need to. And you’ll catch him holding you at night longer than usual, softly whispering, “I never want to make you cry like that again. I swear.”

FELIX

His hand was on your throat, gentle at first, and you thought you could handle it. But then it lingered too long, your breath shortened, and you tried to say the safeword… but it wouldn’t come out. Your eyes welled with tears. Felix sees them the second they fall, and instantly lets go.

“Oh my god! Oh, love. I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you? Were you trying to say the word? Oh, sweetheart…”

He cradles your face, guilt written all over his expression. He wraps you in the softest blanket he can find, speaking to you in low, soothing tones. He feels like he failed you. And from then on, he asks if you want a non-verbal safeword, a hand squeeze, a tap, something you can always use, no matter what.

SEUNGMIN

He can be a little teasing, cocky, confident, and in the moment, he doesn’t realize how deeply it’s affecting you. Not until your body tightens beneath him and the tears start.

“...Y/N?”  He stops, blinks, startled. “Shit. You’re crying. Was I- was I too rough? Fuck, I didn’t mean to be.”

He backs off immediately, tugs the blanket over both of you. His expression is unreadable,  serious and worried. “Why didn’t I notice? I thought you liked it…”. But there’s no defensiveness. Just guilt. Just quiet hurt at the idea of causing you pain. 

“We’re never doing anything again unless you say exactly what you want, and I check in every step. No more guessing."

I.N 

He’s nervous, eager, and trying so hard to do everything right. But he doesn’t know how to pace himself, and he doesn’t notice how much you’re hurting until your voice cracks and the tears start to roll down your face.

“W-Wait, wait, are you crying?! Y/N, no- oh no, no no, I’m sorry-”

He panics. Like, full-body panic. Pulls back, covers you with the blanket, starts apologizing over and over, hands shaking as he cups your cheek.

“Did I mess everything up? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know what I was doing. Please tell me you’re okay.”

You’ll need to reassure him gently, he’s so scared you’ll never want to touch him again. But after that, Jeongin becomes the kind of partner who always waits for your lead. Always asks. Always watches your face.

“Next time… let’s go slower. Only when you’re ready. Only if you’re smiling.”

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue

[see-arcane]

Oof, that's tricky.

The trouble is the different flavor of vampirism we're treated to in Sinners, which I think needs a look first.

Remmick is the Head Vampire, but only because he's enforcing himself as a Head Vampire. He's got everyone turned, no matter who does the turning, under his direct influence in the big bloody grinning hive mind. The only exceptions we see to that influence come from Mary and Stack. In both cases, it seems that Remmick's direct control gets interrupted or spoiled by a suitable outer emotional factor.

Mary snaps out of her thrall mode when she sees Annie staked, recognizing that she's now fully dead and not part of the undead party. There's no getting Annie back--and that horror spurs Mary out of Remmick's command. By the film's end, we see her escaping into the dark at Stack's urging. Stack being similarly nettled out of the hive mind control enough to send her away.

Stack's full thrall mode is broken in the fight with Smoke, when the latter pins him and hesitates to stake him. They are brothers in that moment, not combatants. The one who protects--who always protected--apologizing for not keeping the other safe.

"Don't be sorry. You always did."

And that is Stack snapping the leash. Meaning Smoke is able to send him away after Mary; freed. That spares two loved ones. Which makes for a sour question of what might have been possible for the poor Chows. If Bo had been given the right stimulation, could he have broken free of Remmick? No knowing.

But circling back to the Harkers. What would have played out here? Mina in Annie's place, Jonathan in Smoke's.

Necessarily, a Jonathan who had presumably not gone through the Castle Dracula experience but had been given the up close view of how the undead appear to be smiling drones warped into Remmick's puppets with their souls as mere flavor added to the servitude. Especially after witnessing Bo Chow show zero regard for Remmick's cunnlingus line to Grace and openly threatening their own daughter. Bo just stood there, placid as anything.

That is not him, we're left to think. These people are not themselves at all, but costumes for Remmick's will.

No question. Jonathan would have kept that promise. And then, perhaps, felt a stake twisting in his own heart at seeing Mary (Lucy in this scenario?) reacting in horror to Mina's ending, breaking free in that shock.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Was there a chance for her after all? For all of them? Oh, God...

But either way, Mina would still be dead. With or without a belated bitter wondering at how she might still have been saved, Jonathan would have found some way to die in the end. Not Remmick's.

And now consider the flip side! Smoke as Jonathan Harker, Annie as Mina Murray.

The bitter abridged version involves Smoke dying immediately in Castle Dracula when he fails to play along to the Count's Bluebeard bullshit. If the Count was too chickenshit to turn Renfield, he's not turning the fucking brick wall that is Smoke and his impeccable aim. He'd want to kill the man dead, chuck his bits to the wolves.

But! Let's assume he makes it through the Castle Dracula BS in one piece, either stonewalling Dracula's psychological warfare nonsense or just flat out escaping. We get to the threshold of the Dracula Attackula of Mina Annie on October 3rd, mwa ha ha, cackle cackle, -> Annie clocks that she's on limited time, so if she goes full vampire, end her, swear to her and pinkie promise.

What would happen in order:

SMOKE AS A PSYCHOPOMP CRYPTID GIVE IT GIVE IT TO ME

Smoke also clocking that, hey, there is a waiting period involved with this kind of vampirism...and he has zero compunctions about killing anyone who looks at Annie the wrong way before she's actually factually cold and dead. Jack and Van Helsing do not survive long enough to make it to Transylvania. No, he hasn't seen them. Ignore the used shovel behind his back.

"If we have to split up, take this with you."

"This is a Tommy gun. How do you have a Tommy gun in the 1890s?"

"Don't worry about it."

But as to the serious Holiest Love bit? Fuck.

The vampirism is still poisoned with the influence of a colonizing Head Vampire, and supposing he was aware of the actual lethal body count Dracula and the Brides have chalked up as opposed to mere conversions like Remmick's, those vampires are more physically dangerous. If Annie told him she didn't want to become one of their number, I don't see Smoke reacting all that differently to how he did at the sticking point in Sinners. Annie was in immediate danger of turning into something Smoke had no reason to believe would really be her anymore. He acted fast. Dracula's conversions are slow, even when you aren't dead of exsanguination. You're forced to sit and wait and think.

What if? What if there's an alternative? What if there's a chance? What if we defeat the Head Vampire AND his curse in time and all is well? ...What if these others jump the gun? What if they try to put my beloved down because her teeth are too sharp or her hands are too cold? What if?

Smoke acted fast to stake Annie because he had already been made to promise

(Jonathan never promised),

he had no time to ponder

(Jonathan had resolved already that if Mina became a monster, he would too--the issue to him is not What if Mina becomes a monster? It's 'I Will Be Whatever Mina Is. Living, Dead, or Otherwise. Everyone else can do whatever.')

and no reason to think there was anything to make vampirism less horrible, right up until the shock of Mary and Stack slipping their mental collars over Annie's death. What if...

(Jonathan, thinking, thinking, thinking. These vampires have free will. I saw the Sisters disobey Dracula. I know Lucy tossed her poor young meal away at the sight of Arthur, love overruling appetite. If we kill Dracula too late and Mina is turned? Well. She will not be alone. Let them hunt two monsters. She will not be slain for another's sin. I refuse.)

It's all terribly tasty to think of.

And as an aside, I like my even more super abridged version:

Smoke as Jonathan Harker, lizard fashioning into the tomb, and just hacking Dracula apart with the shovel spade. No jumpscare, no waiting. Just whackwhackwhackwhack until he puffs apart into dust. The End.

There is so much to love about Sinners, but one of my favorite parts was the running theme of flipping the table on static storytelling tropes. And my favorite out of that pile?

Christianity is not the Magical Universal Good That Keeps the Monsters at Bay, and Hoodoo—or, nodding to cinema history, [INSERT ANY NON-CHRISTIAN FAITH HERE]—is not the Weird and Wicked Supernatural Scary Evil, Only Here for Curses and Pearl-Clutching Taboos.

In Sinners, Christianity isn’t held up as an evil in itself, but it is held up as itself, specifically as it actually came to be when it was introduced (forced) onto those people who never asked for it, didn’t want it, and had gods and cultures of their own which were largely crushed underfoot by colonialism and doctrines that generations were forced to choke down to the point that modern descendants now follow and spout a religion their ancestors had to have slaughtered or beaten into them. Remmick, an Irish vampire revealed as being old enough to have been a young man in an era before Ireland had been overtaken by Christianity, at the cusp of having it forced on them while their land and rights were stolen, can recite the Lord’s Prayer verbatim. Those words not only do nothing against his vampiric nature, but he admits the words give him comfort, even as he still hates the men who forced those words upon him and his father.

That scene coupled with Sammie’s interaction with his own father in the church was so beautifully and insidiously vindicating. Because Remmick and Sammie’s father are both leading congregations. They both have these groups of people following along, reciting what they want those groups to recite—even as they both come from groups that this religion was forcibly grafted into, they stand in places of power and command, and therefore it has become good! They both want Sammie to use his musical gift for their purposes, not his own wishes. They both disregard his fear and pain as they lay hands on him before staring crowds who wait to see him bow to their will.

Vampirism is the greater existential terror, especially as it is under Remmick’s rule. A potentially eternal undeath that traps the spirit and has one single controlling mind puppeteering their body and will. But Christianity as it’s framed in the reality of Sammie’s life is shown explicitly not to be the savior of the story, having so many of the same bones as the nightmare he barely escaped with his life.

Give up your gift and your desires and your free will to the Church, son, it’s the only way! Be a lesson for my followers and then we can acknowledge your torn face and the blood on your clothes and the absence of your cousins! Drop the guitar and give yourself to worship and leave behind all the evil sin that is joy not taken from sitting and reciting the Bible! Drop the guitar, son!

Then we turn to the Hoodoo and to Sammie’s musical conjuring. Annie’s magic and expertise is the only reason anyone survived the night as long as they did, and the only reason anybody was lucky enough to die as a human being. Her mojo bag saved Smoke’s neck from Stack twice, whereas everyone who went outside and got jumped by Remmick—or, in Grace’s case, rushed out in a literal blaze of glory to stake her turned husband—who might have worn a cross or been some manner of churchgoer, all got taken out by the vampires. Sammie’s power is not part of a Christian magic, but as the film points out, it is sacred. Those strings and his song pulled reveling spirits from the past and the future to dance with the present. That passion, that talent, that joy, that humanity, was so magnetic that it cast a spell...

…and it did so in what his father and many aghast others would deem a den of sin.

Sinful because of dance. Because of games at a table. Because of sex had for the sake of pleasuring each other—notably, each time with a miserably married woman, both getting to experience lovers who actually wanted them to enjoy themselves (sorry about that climax, Stack), rather than rote marital rutting for its own joyless sake. Because of nocturnal jubilation, separating oneself from the labors of life and the constriction of ‘polite and upstanding’ society.

Raucous joy is sin.

Faiths other and older than Christianity are sin.

Refusing to let yourself be absorbed into a coercive collective, no matter how well it sings or friendly its smile, is sin.       

Sin, sin, sin. The movie sins in this way, and so many glorious others, if only because these things which are not evil are painted with the label of ‘sin.’ Things that ‘are not done’ in a civilization choked by white supremacy and an increasingly puritanical Christian lens that leans deeper and deeper into disdain for empathy while championing strict control and obedience to patriarchy, bastardizing itself even as its original messages of love and goodwill are stretched so far and thin as to be nonexistent.

It’s sad to know how timely this story is. Here we are in the 21st century, strangled by conservative overreach on so many monstrous levels. But the story of Sinners does exist and it is being played like a loud and joyous song. A thousand thanks to Ryan Coogler for doing this all so artfully and so powerfully. I honestly can’t recall the last time I’ve seen such a thing on screen, if I’ve seen it at all. Here’s to more of it.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

In universe, how long d'you think does it take for someone to write Jake Berenson: The Musical? And what's everyone's reactions once it premiers?

I feel like everyone would go into the musical with no small amount of trepidation, because a) musical, and b) actual war. That said...

Act I, Scene 1: Our protagonist, Jake, comes onstage alone. He sings a song about the aching loneliness of leadership. Not only does he have to decide how to lead his friends, not only does he have no one to confide in, but now his entire family are controllers. He's worried for his parents, but feels he cannot confide that worry in anyone.

Out in the audience, Cassie reaches for Jake's hand, tears sparkling in her eyes. As soon as her hand rests on top of his, he jerks awake with a mumbled apology about how slow ballads aren't his thing. He asks Cassie what he missed. This pattern will continue for the entire rest of the show.

Act I, Scene 2: We meet our narrator, who for some reason is one of the Trekkin' Trekkies from the battle for the hork-bajir valley. His name is Angelo and he's a fictional character, but he introduces four other Trekkies, meant to be the Carpenter family, as the Geek Chorus. The play apparently considers this deeply clever.

In the audience, Tobias glances over at Ax, who holds up an ASL 84: their time left in morph. Next to them, in a not-quiet-enough whisper, Cassie is reminding Jake who the Carpenters were. Yes, she's aware they met the Carpenters before his parents were infested. No, she doesn't think the writers care. This seems to be an artistic interpretation of — Would he just watch the show?

Act I, Scene 3: The actor playing Jake calls his five friends onstage. They're all currently humans, so the Geek Chorus introduces them so that everyone will know who is who. Together, they sing a song about the hopelessness of the war, the power of friendship, and how all they have is each other.

Marco leans over to nudge Tobias. "Love the hair," he whispers, referring to show-Tobias's elaborate dark-brown coif. Tobias gives him a real smile in return, not because he likes fictional-him's hair but because he's secretly pleased that the show so clearly put effort into casting himself and Ax to look alike. Doesn't matter that they don't actually share any DNA; family is family.

Act I, Scene 4: The morphing. Oh lord, the morphing. The idea to make it a dance number—cum—costume change is kinda cool. The use of very saggy-looking cloth puppets is... less so. The fact that the Angelo and his Geek Chorus introduces The God of Tigers, The God of Gorillas, and so on is... inexplicable. Especially because The God of Andalites is just a human guy who has been painted blue. Presumably this is all to distract from the puppet show, which ranges dramatically in quality. By far the best effect is Tobias: they have the human actor fly a bird-puppet across the stage on long posts overhead, all the while staring wistfully up at it as if simultaneously inhabiting the bird and being a human watching the bird longingly from the ground. By far the worst is Rachel: she's just an elephant head that clearly has no body attached to it, poking out from behind various pieces of scenery.

In the audience, Marco is laughing so hard that he's threatening to fall out of his seat, doubled over with his fingers stuffed in his mouth. Cassie nudges Jake awake again, but in a you've got to see this kind of way. "Damn," Tobias mutters, "guess the Ellimist really really hated that production of The Lion King, huh?" Ax misses all of this, too busy staring at The God of Andalites with his mouth half-open in confusion, several mini-marshmallows falling onto his lap in the process.

Act I, Scene 5: Visser Three steals the show. In order to convey the battle for the hork-bajir valley, the cast starts to go into the big company number — the Trekkies singing about how they're going to defend their planet, the Animorphs singing about their morphs, a human dressed as a hork-bajir singing about forging a new home, the controller chorus singing about wanting more bodies — only to have the whole thing blown out of the water by the actors playing Visser Three singing overtop everyone else and drowning them out. That's right, actors: he's in his eight-headed fire-shooting morph, and each of the heads is played by a different actor as they belt out his song in unison overtop everyone else.

"Am I... cheering for Visser Three right now?" Marco whispers to Cassie, who shrugs. Jake jerks awake at the mention of Visser Three, mumbles something about how Hamilton was better, and goes back to sleep. But Marco's not the only one.

Act I, Scene 6: There's supposed to be a battle or something, and if we're supposed to be very sad when Richard Carpenter is heroically killed protecting his kids... but Visser Three is so damn awesome that the whole audience cheers every time he bites someone's head off or throws another Animorph off-stage. Eventually the battle ends just like it did in reality, with the hork-bajir flooding the valley to sweep Visser Three away, at which point everyone boos and even briefly breaks into a chant demanding Visser Three get an encore.

Tobias momentarily questions his entire existence as he enthusiastically joins in with Marco and most of the rest of the audience in chanting "Vis-ser Three! Vis-ser Three!". They're still going strong a good two minutes after the curtain fell, and there's no sign of anyone being able to go into the next scene. Jake mutters something about his having been Visser One at this point in the war, lost under the sound of Cassie joining in with the chant.

Act I, Scene 7: The curtain opens to a set piece that's clearly meant to be a giant tree, and all the Animorphs are sitting in said tree. The stage is covered in smoke from dry ice, meant to convey foam from the flood. Behind them, in a smaller tree, the surviving Trekkies huddle and drip on the floor. Tobias's human actor now cradles the hawk-puppet in his arms, preening its feathers, while everyone else perches on "branches" in poses that range from natural-looking (Marco in a gorilla costume) to extremely awkward (Ax is meant to be out of morph and... standing on a branch?). Worst of all is Rachel; the elephant head is now sitting directly on the stage, which is meant to convey that the rest of her body is underwater but instead just gives head-in-a-jar vibes. The six of them sing an uplifting rock number about the future of humanity, and the curtain falls on Act I.

After ducking into the bathroom to demorph and remorph, Tobias and Ax head for the concession stand. Marco tries and fails to get a themed cocktail for himself, but does succeed in buying a tiger brownie for Jake. Meanwhile, Cassie is attempting to summarize the entire show to Jake as he wipes drool off the side of his face.

Act II, Scene 1: One of the better songs in the show, honestly. It begins when the surviving Geek Chorus come out in front of the curtain, lay out sleeping bags, and apparently — though it can't be real because the auditorium doesn't fill with smoke — light a fire on stage. They huddle around it and sing a sad little melody about Richard Carpenter. Jake walks past them, and as he goes, first one side of the curtain then the other opens to reveal five more campfires dotted around the stage. Jake stops to speak briefly with each of the little groups, checking in, though no dialog is heard. Tobias sits at one with a blond woman who must be Loren, human for now and petting a stuffed dog. Cassie is at the next fire back with both her parents, and Marco is at far stage left with his. Rachel is sitting with Sara in her lap as Jordan and Naomi talk to her across the fire. An actor who must be playing Jara leads on a smaller costar also dressed as a hork-bajir, presumably Toby, and they set up a final fire upstage. One by one, each group around the fire joins in the song of mourning. Finally Jake stands alone downstage right, surrounded by warm glowing lights but himself alone in a circle of cold white light, as the last notes fade out.

Tobias mutters something about fire codes. Cassie wipes a tear from her eye, and then kicks Jake in the shins for whispering about how if Eva is right there on the stage, then how could that other guy be Visser Three?

Act II, Scene 2: Jake stands alone in the spotlight as the fires die behind him, and Ax comes in from stage left to join him. Together they go into a number called "The Only Child," about losing a sibling and being one's parents' only hope. During the coda, Elfangor's ghost comes onstage and sings about fatherhood and legacy... to Jake. To add insult to injury, the actor has to walk around Tobias and stand with his back to Tobias and Loren's fire in order to get to his blocking. At least Elfangor takes the time to put a hand on Ax's arm and give him a meaningful look before he exits stage right, but he has to walk around Tobias a second time to do so.

Cassie and Marco exchange a glance and a wince, before both of them look toward Tobias. Luckily he's rolling his eyes, not appearing offended. It's Ax who gets halfway to standing up before Jake puts a hand on his arm and shakes his head. In undertones, they start plotting an angry letter to the director.

Act II, Scene 3: Luckily, this is when Visser Three comes back, to uproarious approval. Now the eight actors are each playing four arms of a Lerdethak vine-beast, and in unison sing a campy rock number called "Kids These Days," about Visser Three's hatred for teenagers. In the background, the controller chorus is working to build a new yeerk pool as the Trekkies narrate about the Yeerk Empire expanding its reach on Earth.

All the Animorphs join in on the audience's cheers, and this time they do get an encore: the Visser Three actors sing a whole bunch more riffs on the final note of the song, and even do the coda again from the top, to universal acclaim.

Act II, Scene 4: The various gods of the animal spirits do a number about how the Animorphs aren't just fighting for humanity; they're fighting for Earth.

This one goes up like a lead balloon. Jake picks brownie crumbs out of his shirt, regretting that the chocolate is now keeping him from sleeping. Marco reads his program and groans loudly to learn that Visser Three doesn't have any solo numbers left. A kid is kicking the back of Tobias's seat, and he debates kicking back.

Act II, Scene 5: The Animorphs morph again, which is just as awful as the first time, and they all attack Visser Three (to general audience disapproval). In this version of events, Ax simply announces to Visser Three that they partnered with some rebel yeerks and taxxons at some point, and then throws a switch that turns off every ship in the Yeerk Empire at once. Since the Animorphs are all in the Pool ship at the time, this seems ill-advised; projections on the back wall convey everyone onboard falling to Earth.

"Why do they even have that lever?" Marco asks plaintively. No one answers him.

Act II, Scene 6: Everyone, including Elfangor's ghost and Richard Carpenter for some reason, comes back on stage for a big dance number. The Animorphs remain in morph for this scene, with Tobias's actor once again killing it as he swoops his puppet kite-like over the audience and Rachel's actor once again DOA as she half-heartedly waves one ear.

Everyone claps politely through the chorus's bow, then Elfangor's bow, then the parents' bow, then the hork-bajir's bow... and then Visser Three comes out to bow. The crowd is instantly on its feet, screaming and stomping and applauding with their hands in the air. Then people start trickling out and having side conversations during the Animorphs' bows. Tobias gets in line to have the Tobias actor autograph his playbill. "I told you we should've gone to see Assassins," Marco complains, and Cassie laughingly agrees. Jake buys another tiger brownie for the road, and gets one for Ax as well.

[kancelolol]

Serendipitous Treasure Sae Itoshi x GN!reader

After dating Sae Itoshi for a few months—and knowing him for even longer—you always thought that you'd be the first one to say 'I love you'.

wc: 1.5k || Gender-neutral reader || Fluff || Oneshot

"Lower your hat more," you chuckle softly, speaking at a low volume as you usher your boyfriend to follow your orders.

Sae grunts but wordlessly complies, pulling his cap further down this forehead to shield his face. As gorgeous as he was, the last thing you wanted was to be interrupted by paparazzi on his day off.

You tug him along with you, hand in hand down the city's streets while the clear sky and buzzing sun observes from above. He remained close to your side, but whether it was out of concern of his identity being revealed or simply a desire to be near you was a mystery, thanks to his usual impassive demeanor.

Or maybe it wasn't. You think you could make a pretty accurate guess based on how he held onto your hand like an otter holding onto kelp so that it doesn't float away from its home.

As you two strolled closer towards your designation, the number of strangers dwindled until you reached a tiny store. It stuck out like a sore thumb next to the other adjacent buildings, decorated with bright posters and colorful handmade windchimes that dangled from the wooden awning. You push the front glass door open, and a bell rings, prompting a short, elderly woman to look up from behind the counter.

She smiles—her eyes wrinkled and nearly closed—as she greets you, "Welcome. If you need any help, feel free to ask."

You lift your cap a bit to return her friendliness, "We will, thank you!"

You hum a tune that had been engraved in your mind for the past few days, as you saunter through the aisles with Sae in tow. Scanning the shelves full of yarns and threads, you try to find what you came for.

"Would this work?" Sae picks up a plastic packaging containing a bland, metal bracelet base with clasps.

"Ooh! Good eye!" You eagerly bump your shoulder against his, snatching the item from his hand to get a better look.

He intently watches you examine the product, gently smoothing the back of your hand with his thumb. He relishes in moments like these, where it feels like only the two of you exist in the world.

He's used to the buzz of the media. Used to the adrenaline coursing through every player on the field.

And the chase.

The chase for something greater than his present self.

But he likes this type of present. Maybe even loves it.

He loves the way you subconsciously swing your intertwined hands, and the way your lips curled up when you're satisfied with the item.

"Glad we already found something on our list this quickly." You comment as you grab two of the same brand, feeling pleased.

"Well, with how small this place is, I doubt it'd take long to find anything." He remarks, unintentionally insulting the space and disregarding the fact that the store owner was a mere ten feet away.

You let out a silent gasp, "Sae!"

He blinks and raises an eyebrow at your hushed scolding. Simultaneously, a raspy and airy laugh echoes throughout the empty shop.

"It might be small, but sometimes, it's the little things that have greatest treasures!" The old woman grins light-heartedly, fortunately taking no offense to Sae's words.

You quickly apologized before immediately dragging Sae to the furthest corner of the building—which wasn't very far if you asked Sae.

You continued to lecture him about his manners, half serious—half amused. Because after all, you suppose he would lack his usual charm if he didn't actively show off his crown for being the most unfiltered person to walk the earth.

Thankfully for Sae, you get distracted mid-ridicule by a basket sitting at the bottom of a shelf. You let go of his hand—much to Sae's disappointment (he wonders if this is your revenge for his previous behavior)—in favor of crouching down to get a closer look inside.

"Sae! C'mere!" Your eyes sparkle as you look up at him from the ground, holding a few packs of beads and charms. Sae lowers himself to your level, scooting right next to you. You animatedly dig through the basket and debate which ones to get for your matching bracelets, while Sae leans in to peer inside the basket, and then at you.

"Hey! Look! Don't these beads kind of match your eyes?" You light up at the find, picking up the pack before lifting it to his face. When you see how Sae's eyes and the beads glimmer a similar shade of teal, your lips can't fight back the cheek splitting smile.

"I think I'll get this one," you retract your hand, admiring the beads confined in the plastic baggie.

One corner of his mouth slightly curves up as he crosses his arms over his knees, "What? Just because it matches my eyes?"

"Yeah? Got a problem?" You snicker, resting your head against his shoulder.

Both corners now twitch upwards before they fall straight again, "Hmm...no. I guess not."

He runs his hand through the pile of beads, carefully inspecting each one. His movements only stops when his eyes catches a familiar color.

He raises it and mimics your earlier actions, glancing between your eyes and the beads.

"I'll get this one." He states with finality, like no other beads could dream to compare. You look at his selected color and grin like crazy.

"Copycat."

He scoffs, "Well they're supposed to be matching, no?"

"Fair enough," A huff of laughter escapes your mouth as you hold your choice of beads next to his, watching them gleam under the ceiling lights.

"Now we'll always have a reminder of each other." You softly whisper.

You're not doing anything grand. Just squating on the floor of a random crafts store during the afternoon.

But Sae loves it. He loves the pressure of your head on his shoulder. He loves the weight of your body leaning into his, alongside the distinct smell of your fragrance. He loves everything about you, even when your bothersome habits causes headaches from time to time.

Somewhere along the line, somehow, the things he once just liked about you—once despised about you—turned into things that he loves. That he cherishes.

"I'm in love with you."

You don't initially react. But when his words finally register, your head whips around at him while your body shifts backwards. You stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth hung slightly open before it breaks into a huge smile.

"Wow. Is Sae Itoshi actually saying 'I love you' first?!"

He scowls at you, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, "What? Didn't think I could?"

"Sort of?" He narrows his eyes at your response.

You laugh breathlessly as your arm loops around his, "I'm messing with you. Couldn't have you been a little more romantic with it though?"

"What did you expect?" He raises a brow, entertaining your question.

You hold up a finger to your lips, pretending to think, "Flowers. A romantic dinner. You know, the least you could do for your partner."

You only said that as a joke, but he gazes into your eyes with unwavering seriousness.

"Let's do that then."

Your mouth falls open, "What?"

"I'll take you on a date later. I'll find a restaurant. And buy you flowers." He declares. Not like it was a promise, but rather, a factual statement. Like he was going to guarantee that it happened.

You bite your lip to suppress your growing smile, dramatically leaning back with a hand over your heart, "You're making me swoon so hard right now."

He rolls his eyes and lightly smacks the small packet of beads against your forehead. On the outside, you're whining about his cruelty, while you internally replay Sae's words in your head on repeat—trying to push back the giddiness in your chest that's threatening to be displayed on your expression.

"So, am I getting an 'I love you' back or?" He peers at you from the corner of his eyes, head tilted to the side as he looks at you expectantly.

You pause for a few seconds before your lips form a mischievous smirk.

"You technically didn't say it~" You point out in a sing-song voice.

"I love you."

His reply doesn't skip a beat, but your heart sure does.

"...You're such a loser." You maintain your smirk, but you feel your face slowly warming up.

He notices. He always does. But he deadpans anyway and turns his head away from you.

"Nevermind. Just say you hate me."

You burst into a fit of laughter, which you're certain the old woman can hear, but your heart feels too full to care.

Content with your teasing, you lean in and place a soft kiss on his cheek. Your breath tickled his ear as you murmur into it with a fond smile, "I love you too, Sae."

His face relaxes, and his lips quirk up into a faint smile as he admires the beauty of you in your casual attire—while you stare at him like he was your whole world.

Yeah, Sae really did love little moments like these.

Perhaps the old lady was right. This truly was the greatest treasure.

Author's Note

Having major Sae brainrot when I'm not even a stan 💔 His character is just so interesting to write I fear...

[nakakahilo]

hello hello!! could I request tsubaki with a fem! reader who’s mistaken for a man constantly because of her physical appearance? thanks and have a good day!

THE PERFECT PAIR

summary: life isn't very easy, but tsubaki always manages to make it a little bit better. even though people assume your gender more times than you can count on your hand.

contents: tasuku tsubakino x fem!reader, mostly fluff, pretty short but thats my brand (the shorter the author, the shorter the fics lol)

notes: ouhhhh my god this ask reminds me so much of haruhi fujioka and i just HAD to do it omg omg i love u for this anon. i didn't do headcanons for this one and i did a small drabble instead and i hopes thats fine (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) if you want hcs, then feel free to make a req again!!

Ever since you were a child, people always had a hard time guessing your gender. Maybe it was because your mother always preferred your hair short so it wouldn't be too hard to manage, or maybe it was the way you dressed. You never knew the answer.

It's not like you cared about your appearance very often. As long as you don't look like a mess, that's okay for you.

However, you got subjected to ridicule by your peers for your boyish appearance all the way up to middle school. You tried growing your hair out for a change, but a girl stuck gum in your hair and you were forced to cut it short again.

"People won't always understand you," your mother would say, "But that doesn't mean you should conform to their ideals and lose the real you in the process."

Her words comforted you and you don't feel as bad about the situation anymore. And at this point, you were quite used to it anyway.

Although no matter how many times you reassure Tsubaki it's fine, he still doesn't take any misgendering towards you kindly.

-

"Oh my, what a handsome boy you are!" An older lady comments, unaware.

"Ah, she's a girl actually!" Tsubaki interjects, beaming. "But she is still pretty handsome, right?"

-

An old classmate of yours sneers. "Can't believe the tomboy actually found someone. I wonder who's the man in your relationship."

"Hey," Tsubaki claps his hand on their shoulder and smiles widely, a shadow casting over his eyes. "Let's not go that far. It's rude to talk bad about someone, especially if it's my girlfriend."

-

Those are just examples of Tsubaki always coming to defend your honor and it's not even all of them. Sometimes, you'd snort at the times whenever he does it and tells him it's alright, but he just couldn't take no for an answer.

You wonder why he does it so many times, but you don't know when's the right time to ask.

Until one day in particular did you finally find a reason to ask him.

"Ah, wait!" A kid in pigtails runs after you, grasping your wallet in one hand which she waves in the air. "You dropped your wallet, mister!"

You turn around immediately and smile. "Ah, thank you. I—"

"It's not mister, it's miss! But thank you for returning it." Tsubaki interrupts as he holds his hand out for the kid to place the wallet in his hand.

"Oh! sorry, miss!" The kid immediately apologizes, her brows furrowing. "I didn't realize."

You wave your hand in dismissal, "It's alright, kid. I get that a lot, haha." You squat down and pat her head, smiling reassuringly. "Thanks again for giving me back my wallet, but you should probably go back to your parents."

"Oh right! I need to go back to my mom!" The kid immediately turns to leave but stops to turn back around and wave goodbye. "Bye, miss! Bye, mister!"

You watch her go, waving back, as you get back up on your feet. Tsubaki immediately hands you your wallet back and you tuck it into your pocket, pushing it in deep so that it's secure and won't fall out again.

A sigh escapes your lips, "You know, Tsubaki..."

"Hm?" He turns to you.

"You don't have to correct everyone who mistakes me as a boy. Isn't it tiring?" You ask him. It wasn't a serious question, a small smile playing on your face as you tell him.

Tsubaki's gaze softens as he returns the smile back. "It isn't tiring at all. You might be used to it, but you still deserve to be respected. And I'll make sure that everyone knows about it."

The look in his eyes made you freeze in your place and when he said that, you felt the blood rush to your cheeks. You look away immediately, trying to hide away your flustered expression as you huff out a laugh.

"You're so cheesy sometimes." You mumble under your breath.

A pair of strong arms slots themself around your shoulder and pull you closer, his warmth radiating through his clothes and onto your skin.

Tsubaki turns you around to face him. "Anything for my lovely girlfriend." He grins, pushes the hair out of your face and tenderly kisses your forehead.