#imma need to fix the tags

[stellawolfearts]

“So wait. Who’s older between you?”

MK and Nezha: *stare at each other in silence*

MK and Nezha:…yes

they say that in public but argue about it sometimes in private

*roughhousing*

*pulls hair* Ive lived for thousands of years!

*pushes nezhas face away* yeah but your short!

*bites hand*

OW-*pulls hand away* SEE!? LITTLE BROTHER BEHAVIOR! IM THE OLDER ONE

YOU ARE NOT!!!!!!!!!!

[gothsuguru]

i made so much progress on “butchered tongue” i’m so happy AHHHHHHHHH :3 still a long way to go but i’m gonna pat myself on the back regardless <3

[pilonciillo]

lol didn’t think someone giving money would give me anxiety

[flojouno]

guys autism made me draw again. give me 3-5 business days to learn how to draw again JUST for mike

[iced-souls]

Ooh the thingy thing hehehhehe

I definitely have more oc’s before Kate but i decided to choose oc’s i did stuff with more than once/ have LOREEEEE

I LOVE DEM ALL AHHEHEHHEHEHEHHEHHEHHEHHEHE!!!!!

[sk3l3t0n444]

heyo

[glasseswearingrabbitdetective]

Day 3, still no voice :,D yeah I’m probably very fucked … orz someone asked for an update, Idk if their even online but,, here you go,, ig GKAKVKA

me Irl </3

[yanderespamton78]

do you guys ever get it when you have stuff to do but you cant because your brain feels wrong??

like its not anxiety in a physical sense i dont feel anxious and besides i dont have anything to be anxious about i just feel weird ;-;

[hwanchaesong]

━⁠☞🍽️ Second Course: He treats you so well, and you're naive enough to believe that only you have the key to his tasty heart. Or his pants. 🥢

🎧: Olivia Rodrigo - Traitor

wc: 1.0k

genre & warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of sex, cursing, crying, there's another girl, lovers to exes, pure heartbreak :D , Yeji of ITZY special appearance etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Sour Restaurant series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

ps. i've already reposted this but it still won't appear under the tags that i've put so ig i'll just let it be lmao. imma just post it the way it is bc i'm tired of trying and thinking on what to do to make it work.

At the tender age of 13, you took note of everything that was written in an article that you accidentally opened and read on a fishy website entitled, 'Signs that your partner is falling out of love.'

You thought it would help you avoid conflict with a future partner, it would help you evade an impending heartbreak, but nothing can prepare you for the real world, it seems.

Your boyfriend, Park Seonghwa, was the definition of a picture perfect man.

He's kind, respectful and loving. He had all the love languages.

He never shunned away from skinship, and most of the time, he's the one who's initiating it. Giving you hugs and kisses even in public without any ounce of shame.

Even when he's busy, he still gives you the time of his day. Often, he would choose to lose sleep if it means that he'll be able to talk and see you after a long, tiring day at work.

He's also the type to buy 'just because' gifts. Randomly walking around a park then he'll see this cute bunny keychain, buying it immediately so he can give it to you because the bunny reminds him of you.

Fixing collars, tying shoelaces, cooking you food— he does it all, and naturally too. The way he pampers you like a mother hen is the sweetest thing you have ever seen in a man.

The most important thing though? It's his ability to listen and soothe all your worries away. He tells you that if you're overthinking, you can simply say it to him and he'll gladly give you all the assurance that you need.

So, what went wrong? Where did it go wrong? Is there something wrong with you?

The situation at hand made you question yourself, then again, are you really the problem here?

"The least you can give me is a reasonable explanation!" you yelled, gripping Seonghwa's arm that was holding his suitcase, attempting to stop him from leaving you without any form of closure.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" he snapped, raising his usual soft voice at you, something that he has never done before.

"A reason! Explanation, anything! Why are you suddenly breaking up with me?!" you blinked rapidly, the itchiness in your throat makes it harder for you to breathe, and the sinking feeling of dread in your stomach is urging you to vomit.

This is so fucking messed up.

Just last night, Seonghwa was fine. He even made love to you in your shared bed, whispering how good you are for him.

Last week, he brought you flowers. Last last week, he took you to a nice restaurant for dinner. Last month, he took you to Maldives for a summer getaway.

Nothing changed and everything felt the same, thus, the current happenings don't make sense.

You come home from work and the next thing you know, your significant other of how many years are mumbling nonsense of going separate ways. That you two are better off without the other.

You just don't fucking understand what the hell went wrong.

"I don't love you anymore."

You never knew that a mere sentence that is composed of five words is more than enough to break your heart, your world.

He doesn't love you anymore?

"Since when?" you weakly muttered, wanting answers that will probably hurt you more.

"For the last few months."

You winced, there were no signs of him not loving you. He must be lying, his shaky chocolate orbs say otherwise.

"Okay." you speak, no more energy to fight for him, to fight for a battle that is not worth the blood, sweat, and tears.

Just like that, you watched him walk away. Out of your home, out of your life, and you were left alone. Crying your heart out, gripping your chest as it physically hurts as well, the pain searing through you.

Two weeks later.

Your friend, Yeji, was making a ruckus, she was basically shoving her phone in your face.

"Y/N, look! Isn't this your ex?"

You peeked at the device, and your heart dropped along with your mood.

What the fuck?

That is your only reaction at the photo posted on Seonghwa's instagram because it hasn't been a month, and here he is, with a girl that he's being lovey-dovey with.

A girl.. a familiar one.

"That fucker." you uttered menacingly, your fists tightly clenched on your lap as your friends worriedly glanced at you.

Isn't that the one you asked him about? The fucking girl that was lingering around him all the damn time like a wretched fly. He told she's nothing but a co-worker.

Sure. Kissing your co-worker on the cheeksin a field of maple trees is very professional, isn't it?

You are not sure what to feel. He broke up with you so he could date that girl, it seems.

Should you be thankful? Or should you curse him until he dies?

Either way, now that you're thinking about it, maybe he really didn't fall out of love with you, just that he found someone that he loves more. There was no proof, but there was evidence of his upcoming betrayal.

The way he was always on his phone, and maybe, all the things he had done for you before were nothing but distractions so you wouldn't notice what he was doing behind your back.

A lady's gut never lies, yet you choose to ignore it, and this is what you get.

You laughed yet the tears dripping down your cheeks is the complete opposite of your actions.

Not once did you hear him apologize during the argument about the break-up, and my god, did you hate him so much for entering your life like a storm and leaving such a mess behind.

Park Seonghwa is no cheater, but he is a raging traitor.

Then again, no one is at fault here but you, as you should've seen this coming. You should've been alert, using your rationality instead of your useless heart, and now you're paying the price for his treason.

taglist:

@acciocriativity @iarayara @stolasisyourparent @shakalakaboomboo @xdannix @nsixns

[str4ngr]

polished [ simon 'ghost' riley ]

read too many mafia simon fics [ more specifically @cordeliawhohung. omg j the thought of her fics gets me all bothered.] ANWAYS. bodyguard/underdog fic of him... ugh, got me drooling. i can't help but ramble about him like this.

cw: suggestive, public teasing/mentions of public sex, some fluff, mafia au, established relationship, mostly just headcannons/rambling, no real plot, obsessive-ish simon, fem! reader.

simon "takes care of what belongs to him" riley who doesn't let you even see the bill of the restaurant he takes you to. only taking you to restaurants that have his card at registration, that don't ever print and only e-mail receipts.

who acts like all hell will break loose if you even try to pull out your wallet, immediately wrapping his large hand around yours, smiling as his gruff voice mumbles to the waitress, or cashier, or bartender, or whoever else would be cashing you out. even when you pout and whine, he chuckled, his lips curving into a smile and he pulls his mask just over them, to shush you with a kiss.

simon riley who never lets you slip away from his touch, smiling as he lets you sit on his meaty thigh, your back pressed against his broad shoulders as you sit in the private room with some... friends. you knew otherwise, with the way the women changed every hour, but you didn't. you stayed, the hand splayed around your waist unmoving as his masked face trails its lips down your spine, kissing the nape of you neck through the fabric.

who makes sure to schedule every appointment for his girl. your nails, your brows, you spa, anything else you want, need, desire. he'll do it, he'll wash more money, wake a little earlier, blaming it on a morning run, bidding you goodbye with a kiss on your forehead, closing your bedroom door to load his gun. but it didn't matter, not when he got to see your cute little face warm up and smile, thanking him in that sweet coo as you tugged gently at his collar; a kiss as a thank you.

simon riley who makes sure you never, ever, ever are alone, unsafe, without him. he goes everywhere with you, the grocery store, he loiters at your little diner as your best tipping customer, sitting beside you as you get your nails done. and even when you think it's just you and your girlfriends, giggling and drinking tea from cute china cups, he's had some snake through the security cameras for him to watch. to keep you safe.

who never lets you take charge, who makes sure he can fulfill all of your desires. learns all your reactions, how the way his mask rustles against your cheek makes you blush as he whispers into your ears. how you always bat your eyelashes when you get needy. how you can barely last an hour with the way his rough fingers tap at your waist in the private club, watching the other couples flirt. how you let him tease you on his lap, as if no one else could see the way his fingers snuck under your skirt. how you always forget your own name when you feel the knot tightening in your belly, so impatient as he forced you to wait until you were in your own bed to satisfy you.

simon riley that learned how to cook your favorite breakfast so every morning after. bringing you tea, a plate of food, and a kiss to bed as you woke up, marked up and sore. you happily tucked you into his chest as he held a silver spoon to your lips.

who loves you dearly, the apple of his eyes, the sun to his moon, his woman.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

i didn't mean to make it this long... hehe. if you recognize the car in the banner... i fucking love you. [pls buy me one.] edit: i literally forgot to fix the tag before i posted imma cry.

directory

[marionluth]

Have you ever found yourself trying to write a fic on a fandom where you're mostly versed in through fanfics, fanart and fanon?

And so you start writing the idea you randomly got and have fun with it and then something minor comes up and you start researching it.

And one bit of detail leads to another and you find yourself thrown in a million different fanon directions and at least ten different canon interpretations.

And you're more confused than ever, and instead of figuring out the random detail you were researching for your little random fic, you end up deep diving into the heart-wrenching drama of the main characters and you're entirely invested in fixing things up for them.

Or how I started writing a Jason-Todd-Getting-High-In-Between-Killing-Sprees short one-shot and ended up psychoanalyzing Jay, Bruce, and Dick.

I'm talking considering actual psychological theories on how they affect each other (Gestalt my beloved), trying to figure out HOW THE HELL JAY ENDED UP IN THE PIT (do enlighten me if you have a straightforward answer ‘cause I've read at least 5 different versions) and ending up making an AU (5k words deep already) where Bruce is not a dick to Jay and is invested in getting him back and doing right be him this time, but of course being Bruce fucks up with his stubborness and self-righteousness. Big brother Dick takes things in his own hands to help Jay before said Jay does something entirely stupid while spiraling out of control and ends up dead again. Tim may or may not end up involved somehow. All the feels. Alfred hugs the shit out of Jay when he sees him for the first time post resurrection. Brothers plotting a very much needed murder of a very hated (by yours truly) villain…

And generally imma slap an AU tag and go batshit crazy with my boys, ‘cause JAYSON TODD DESERVES BETTER! AND SO DOES DICK!

End of rant. The Batfam have claimed me. The fanon and canon have eternally perplexed me.

[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Eight

☁︎ Eris x Healer OC

☁︎ Notes: okay. This is kind of a big one 👀 pls let me know what you think, if the descriptions make sense, etc. I'm really hoping the concept for Aya's powers is actually interesting and not dumb but here we go

I've gotten a lot of notes from new readers lately and I wanna say thanks so much for the love and comments!! 💛💛

☁︎ Warnings: battle/war, injuries, blood, death, grief (it's not that graphic I just wanna make sure I get all the tags needed)

☁︎ Word Count: 3.5k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ Latest Artwork

☁︎ Taglist (let me know if you want on or off) : @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams @daycourtofficial

The secret behind Aya’s power was the extra eye in her mind. Whether they were simply visions or she had some connection to another place, she did not know. But either way, she was born seeing things that no one else could.

Aya had discovered another world, visible only with closed eyes or when she let her vision go hazy. It was a place where wards and spells were visible things, overlayed on top of reality. She could see the building blocks of the universe, the materials that made up the world. And she could reach out and touch them. They were hers to fix and break and manipulate how she pleased.

After years of observing people and the things that they were made of, she came to understand that they could be sorted into three categories. Sewn things, woven things, and things to be fired in a kiln. The first three people Aya had known were one of each. The first memories to exist in her mind were ingrained with their imagery. Her mother, a tapestry. Her aunt, a quilt. And Thesan, a vase.

It took nearly a decade of life for Aya to understand that no one else saw things the way she did. No one else had another realm materialize when they closed their eyes. No one else healed by patching those quilts, stitching down loose threads, or filling cracks in pottery with veins of shimmering gold.

There were many, many times when she wished that she had never spoken about it to anyone. She could have learned sooner to close her eyes and not let anyone see the golden light that shone when she used her power. She could have taken less time to understand that she was different. Or maybe she could have been born knowing that she was not the same as everyone around her.

But it was too late for any of that. Her life had already been molded by her differences.

In truth, using her power was easy. So easy that it scared her. Sometimes an extensive injury or a complicated spell would draw a sweat from her brow, but even then she could go for days if she wanted to. The store of energy within her seemed endless. She had never experienced burnout, or ever been close.

There were so many terrifying truths lying underneath the lid she kept on herself. Her morbid curiosity, the things she could do, how much she was capable of. She never dug too deep, never once in her life testing the limits or possibilities. She could not bring herself to. She would not let herself become a thing that destroyed.

The fear that others carried around her was tangible. Whispers of witchcraft followed her everywhere - apparently her mother hailing from the continent was suspicious, with less known about the origins of their magic. And Aya's own tapestry was stained with the echoes of her mother calling her a liar, holding deep grudges over the discrimination that Aya had brought upon her family. There was no shortage of things that had made this existence difficult.

But on days like this, no matter how much she hated it, Aya thrived.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

The battle had seemed so endless. The shouting, screaming, and clashing of weapons were a constant song, and Aya did her best to tune it out as she ran from bed to bed, cleaning, bandaging, and healing wounds. Her ears rang, desperate for a moment not filled with terrible noise. Her muscles ached, begging for her to take a break. But there were always more buckets to haul, more soldiers to drag to safety, more wounded to heal. She ignored every protest of her tired mind and aching body as she splashed through the mud, dodging arrows and swords, zeroed in on whoever needed helping.

She also ignored the magic within her that sang, thrilled to be used and stretched and tested. It pushed her body to keep going long after she had reached her physical limits, always restless and desperate to be let loose. But she would only ever release as much power as she needed to do her job well. Never any more.

Even still, Aya was always the last standing, the glow of her healing still going steady when all the others had used their last sparks. In class, this earned her jealous looks and accusations of cheating or witchcraft. But of course today, there was nothing but murmured thanks and praise. Aya ignored those, too.

At last, dusk fell like a funeral shroud, covering the silhouettes of broken bodies littering the battlefield. All of the gore blissfully hidden in the darkness. The sky could not, however, hide the sound of suffering and grieving of those who still lived, reaching toward the heavens in desperate tones.

Now, it was an effort to keep her head upright as she sat beside the High Lord of Night, her hand hovering over the gash in his arm. Rhysand, even with his weary eyes and the grime caked into the lines of his skin, watched her heal with a keen interest. If it was a different time, and her heart felt a little lighter, Aya may have asked him about it. Maybe he knew something that she didn’t. But right now it was taking too much focus just to stay awake.

When she closed her eyes Aya was stitching silver stars into a quilt, each block made from a different shade of night. Slightly darker shapes made up the subtle outline of a city, constellations hiding in same-colored thread here and there. It was lovely work, the stars twinkling and shimmering, the night sky velvety soft beneath her fingertips. It did not take long for his arm to be healed. With eyes glittering like the thread she had just held between her fingers, Rhysand thanked her and swaggered off to find his mate.

Truthfully, Aya liked him. Often, she came away from a healing session feeling as though she had read the person's soul front to back like a book. And in Rhysand, she liked what she learned. He was deeply kind, very clever, and generous. She knew without a doubt that his story of Under the Mountain was true. She could see the scars within him, like rips and tears in the quilt that he had tried to fix himself. Some were smoother, aided in their mending by his loved ones. He did not know how lucky he was to have them.

Of course, there were dark patterns in the fabric of his being. Shadows much deeper than others seemed to carry. But that seemed to be a burden bestowed upon all of the High Lords.

Aya liked the Night Court general, too. She had healed Cassian many times over. At first she thought it was recklessness and it was an effort to bite back on her lecture about looking after himself. But she learned, upon closing her eyes, that it was all deliberate. Calculated. It was not carelessness, but devotion. He would take shots and blows for others as often as he could, his shouts and commands ringing out louder than the din of battle. In his mind, he had not done his best unless he was nearly falling apart.

Healing Cassian was like knitting homespun wool yarn. Each stitch snug and precise, marled grey and white like the Illyrian mountains. The colors were so solemn, the material so practical, but the finished product warm and comforting. That seemed to sum him up. He always had a grin and a wink for her, always a genuine thank you and some absurd compliment. He was consistent, always, like the woven pattern of his being.

Over the course of the battle, Aya collected those images, like a scrapbook of the people around her. She mended seams, knit and wove, spun thread, molded clay. Every once in a while, she was too late. The knitting had too many missed stitches, too many loops had come loose and it all unraveled beneath her hands. Every time, she mourned with her whole heart. Grieved until it hurt.

If she kept her eyes closed, tuned into that other realm, she could watch the soul depart this world. Always drifting toward the sky like a wisp of smoke. The first handful of times she had witnessed it she had not been able to look away, frozen in place by some terrifying curiosity. Or perhaps it was the desire to see them off, on the chance that her guidance could provide one last comfort.

But she did not like to watch it anymore. It would show up in her dreams that night without fail, always with her hands reaching and that soul slipping through her fingers despite her efforts. Today, she did not need to give her nightmares any more material to work with.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Aya did not see Eris until the battle was over. The possibility of seeing him here, of seeing the worst, had haunted her every moment since she had arrived with the rest of the healers. She never had the heart to scan the lifeless bodies for his pale, freckled face, but she also feared that she would be the last to know if something had happened to him. There was a long list of people who would take priority first.

It was a strange thing, the aftermath of battle. The air was thick, relief and mourning twining together into something heavy and difficult to breathe. Celebratory laughter and singing clashed with the solemn sounds of funeral rites and grieving songs. Metal clanged as armor and weapons were moved and cleaned, soldiers lay resting wherever they could before the journey home.

Among the chaos, a glint of red captured Aya's attention and she turned to see Eris striding across the field, armor glittering in the sun and that crimson cape billowing behind him. Her breath caught in her throat as he pivoted and his russet eyes locked on hers. The relief was immense, almost painful as she drowned in it.

Even so, she was prepared to see him turn the other way and pretend he hadn't seen her, as he had done at the High Lord's meeting. And she would be content, just knowing he had lived. But he did not look away. Eyes growing wild, he turned on his heel and rushed toward her. He pulled off his gauntlets and let them thump to the ground, hands reaching for her face the moment he was close enough.

"Sparrow," He murmured, turning her head back and forth to look for injuries. He took in her tired eyes, swiping a thumb over the purple bags and lines of dirt. "I was afraid I'd find you here. I'm so glad you're alright."

Aya was speechless, staring up at him with her lips parted as she searched for words. She was still confused, her thoughts snapping back and forth between lingering anger and relief to see him. Her skin burned under his touch, under the eyes of those that watched them as she could practically hear the gossip forming on their tongues.

"I never got to apologize," He said in a rush, his voice hoarse. He paused, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips.

Aya’s head throbbed. She did not have room for this in her mind, today. Not for the memories of their last conversation or for whatever game he was playing now, looking at her like she was the sun when anyone could see and overhear his pet names.

Her mind was still reeling from these last days, trying to process everything she had seen and heard and felt. There had been no room for hesitation and no place for her fear, all anxiety barred from her body so as not to weigh her down. Now the fear and pain rushed back in, like predators reclaiming their territory and she was nothing but a vessel for the conflict, barely holding herself together.

So, Aya let her gaze drop from his eyes and fall to the grass, breathing deeply in an attempt to placate the beasts threatening to tear her apart.

Eris watched, and she missed the understanding dawning on his face as he studied her trembling form. He swallowed the dozens of things he wished to say and put aside his desire to extinguish the nightmare that had haunted him since the High Lord's meeting. Later. He could say it all later.

As her eyes trailed back upwards, they snagged on Eris’s hurt knee, blood dripping between the plates of armor on his leg.

"You're hurt," She said, unable to resist despite her tiredness, "Let me heal you."

"Alright," He was still for a moment as he considered protesting. But right now he'd do anything to lift even a fraction of her burden, so he picked up the gauntlets and followed after her.

She led him to a quiet tent, only a few others inside, resting or bandaging fellow healers. A few heads turned at the Autumn heir, tall and regal. And then their stares flickered to Aya, the black sheep of the Dawn Court leading the way for him. She ignored them, as she was developing quite the talent for.

"Sit," She murmured, scurrying to find a clean rag.

Eris obeyed, sitting on the edge of a cot and removing the armor from his leg to reveal his bloody knee. He watched her trembling hands, chest aching as he imagined what she may have been through. The memories of his first battle had stayed sharp through the centuries, the desolation still so heavy after all this time.

"Aya," He said when she’d returned, keeping his voice soft.

Taking the supplies from her hands and setting them aside, he reached out and took her shaking fingers in his, gently pulling her in to stand between his knees. He rubbed his thumbs over her icy knuckles, grimacing at the dried blood under her fingernails. His power was nearing the dregs, but he still willed a bit of heat to the surface to warm her skin.

She looked up at him, such sorrow in her grey eyes, and when her chin wobbled, it broke him. Aya was strong and brave and could do whatever she put her mind to. But he would still choose to keep her away from this place, too full of death and hurt and blood.

"You did well, today," He whispered.

They stayed like that for a long moment, Aya standing in the shelter of his body, absorbing his heat and all the comfort he tried to emanate. This time as she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, Eris's warmth began to wash away the terrible things she had seen. The ways she had failed. The lives that had slipped into the afterlife while she had no choice but to watch.

The burlap tent dimmed the sunshine, beams of light sneaking through ripped holes in the fabric to dapple Eris’s skin. Between those golden spots and his whiskey-brown-sugar scent, Aya could almost pretend they were somewhere else, under the canopy of the Autumn forest.

"Thank you," She murmured. Her eyes fluttered open and Eris let out a breath, relieved at the return of the steadiness he'd grown used to.

Heaving a deep sigh, Aya grabbed a cloth and began to wipe the blood from his skin. With the tender moment passed, the silence between them was heavy, charged with unsaid things. It did not help that the air was filled with the tang of blood and the cries of the injured.

Aya tossed the bloody rag into a bucket and closed her eyes once more.

Through the darkness, shapes began to emerge, that other world coming into view. Searching for his essence, she found the woven texture of Eris's tapestry. It appeared before her in all its loveliness - a gorgeous scene of Autumn woods, adorned with thread that shone like rubies. She had seen it a dozen times by now, but she was always captivated by it's beauty. By the secrets hiding between the threads.

She desperately wished to know the meaning of all of them. The hounds and the maple leaves were clear enough, but what of the birds and the chess pieces and the interlocking pattern cleverly hidden in the leaves of the trees? There were stories in all of them, pieces that made Eris who he was. Her hunger to know them had never lessened, and she was beginning to wonder if it ever would.

The section that needed fixing was interlaced with gold, and Aya found herself already equipped with a length of gold thread, wrapped around her forefinger like it was a spool.

She went to work, filling the gaps in the images and stitching down loose threads. Her magic eagerly rushed to the surface, still energized and ready. Its endlessness reminded her of the time of daily faebane doses to keep her powers from being revealed to Amarantha. The memory was bitter on her tongue, the horrid taste of faebane like a vengeful ghost.

At least now, she did not have to rush. There were no rows of beds waiting for her help. It was just Eris, patient and calm and not in any danger.

There was just enough golden thread around her finger to finish the job. But as she tried to find the end of the spool and tie off her work, she found it had wrapped in a loop in the exact place her golden band should be. Pulling on the string revealed it to be as unmoving as Edana's ring, as if it were attached to her skin. Aya tugged her hand back but the thread pulled tight, attaching her to Eris’s tapestry.

Again, she pulled, but it did not budge. A pulse traveled back down it, sending a tingling feeling through her hand, as if the tapestry had tugged back.

What was this? This was like no healing she’d ever experienced. Once more, Aya yanked as hard as she could, and heard Eris make a choking sound in front of her.

Her eyes snapped open. She was met with the image of Eris, his brows furrowed in confusion, a hand resting on his armored chest. Aya's heart stuttered, her throat closing with her rising panic. Time seemed to slow to a stop, and through the blood rushing in her ears, she heard his heartbeat. Her own echoed, calling back like a songbird.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, afraid of the answer.

"A chest pain," He said, and he shook his head, any suspicion clearing from his mind. He was oblivious.

Aya could not breathe. She closed her eyes again, willing her lungs to fill with air, and she could still see that golden thread, bridging their tapestries. She dared not pull it again, not with Eris right in front of her.

Had she done that? Had she made it herself? Was she that powerful, that she could forge a bond with her own hands?

"Are you alright?" Eris asked, eyes flicking back and forth between hers.

She ignored him, thoughts whirling faster and faster. She couldn't look at him anymore. His gaze burned, burned like fire and it hurt. The space between them was painful and her body was crying out for her to close the gap, to weave every thread of herself together with his and become one.

“I need you to go,” Aya swallowed hard. Eris opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off with an unconvincing smile and added, “I just need to lie down.”

He stared at her for a long moment, anxiety written so clearly in his eyes. It took all of the strength Aya had left not to tear away from his gaze, not to let tears rise to the surface and his hands wipe them away. The magnetic draw pulling her towards him only aided in confirming her suspicions and furthering her panic.

Finally, his lips drew into a tight line and he nodded.

“Please take care of yourself,” He said, slotting the armor back into place. At the entrance to the tent, he gave her one last glance before returning to the field.

Aya managed to wait until he had left to let the tears fall, dropping slowly to her knees and bending to let her forehead rest on the edge of the cot. What had she done?

She hadn't meant to do it. She had only been trying to heal him. Oh gods, had she trapped him, by accident?

All at once, everything that she was not flooded her mind. He deserved someone better. Someone less strange, someone people weren't afraid of. Someone smart and gorgeous with a mind for politics. Someone from Autumn, who Edana would love and welcome.

Trapped trapped trapped hammered against her skull in a steady rhythm. What had she done? Selfish selfish selfish.

She cursed her power over and over. It was not possible. It could not be possible.

And yet, she felt empty, her body acutely aware of his absence. The thread itched, begging her to chase after him and be closer. She had dreamt of a mating bond before, in the way that most young people did.

But this did not feel like a rose-tinted daydream come to life. This was another nightmare.

______________________________________

p.s. there is a metaphor in here that was especially fun to write if you can find it I'll give you a prize 👀

[t-the-ring-master]

This will be made as a male reader mostly because I feel like there isn’t enough with female characters and I just want dad character to Brightbill. However, feel free to imagine it as however you like, they are robots so not much happening in that area, so do what you like. And please make sure to salt your purple next time, gives it flavor.

If anyone wishes to be tagged in any future The wild robot posts or anything else, please comment, ask through ask box or just message me!

Imma try and ask C if she can draw T as a Rozzum one of these days. I also wrote this over like an hour. My face hurts so not as long as I wanted it to be but oh well. Hope you enjoy!

I also just added the last part for fun. Also if someone wants to request a continuation of this.

TW: none? No use of Y/N, I use (Name). Mentions of mates and partners I guess? Everyone ships you with Roz I guess.

Request: circus anon

Requests: open

Taglist: @cs-cabin-and-crew @the-lavender-clown

❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦

Roz x Robot!reader

You had crash landed in the woods. Your metal package and your transmitter to contact your built site had been damaged as well.

So you decided to try and find the person whom had ordered you.

Yeah that didn’t go well.

You had been kicked, attacked, chased and more within just the span of 6 hours before giving up and sitting in learning mode to fix the language barrier you’ve found yourself trapped in.

Due to being in learning mode, you hadn’t been paying enough attention to your surroundings, causing you not to notice the Rozzum unit analyzing you.

Fink: what is it Roz?

Roz: it seems to be a Rozzum unit, but I cannot tell the number nor model.

Yeah you scared them when you came out of your learning mode.

(Name): hello! I am the new and improved (Name) Unit: 0001. I am a one of a kind prototype! Here for any needs or demands!

Fink: I’m getting flashbacks.

Roz lead you to her, Bightbill and Finks home. She hadn’t ever seen your model before, so she excitedly asked you questions.

Roz: I’ve never seen your make or model. What are you designed for?

(Name): I am designed for many things. Cooking, shopping, manual labor, heavy lifting, childcare-

Roz: child care?

(Name): indeed, is this something that interests-

Roz: I have a kid.

(Name):…. Alright.

She proceeded to bombard you with questions on what your childcare program provided, which as per your programming, complied.

When you arrived to the home of the Rozzum, she led you inside and began showing you baby pictures of her “kid”

(Name): this is your child?

Roz: yes, he is called Brightbill.

(Name):…. He has your eyes.

You ended up staying with Roz, Fink, and eventually Brightbill when we returned for the spring.

It took a lot of getting used to the fact that you could no longer follow protocol here. But at least some of your programming helped you and the others a bit.

Such as you being more stronger than the Rozzum, as well as having better and hardier equipment than the other models. Fink definitely appreciated your heating mode (which is often used in your caregiver function to help a baby fall asleep) during the harsh winter…. And so did many of the other animals.

Pink tail likes you, since you watch her kids when she needs a break.

Pink tail: you found a good mate Roz. Possums aren’t so lucky when it comes to that.

Roz: what do you mean?

Pink tail: some of us don’t have life mates. (Name) seems to be a pretty good parent though.

Roz: Mate?

Que Roz studying “mate’ and “partner” which rabbit holed her down into “Spouse” and so on.

Fink ships it.

Brightbill ships it.

Pink tail…. You guessed it. Ships it.

Que all the animals trying to keep you two together.

Pink tail: Hey, Roz. (Name) is looking for you!

Fink: hey (Name) I think Roz wants to ask you more questions about your programs. I think she’s at the beach.

Brightbill: hey mom, (Name) wanted me to tell you he’s at the beach.

And so on.

Yeah you both confused by it all.

Eventually you two do end up spending some time together. Actually it was where Roz first met Pink Tail. You were busy analyzing some of the plants around you (as per your programming to search plants in case they have useful properties or are dangerous) while Roz sat there observing.

You two had a good time…. Ignoring the fact that a certain Fox and goose were stalking the two of you.

A couple weeks later, Brightbill let it slip and called you dad. You didn’t mind.

At this point you’ve become just as much as a wild robot as Roz has. And we’re very useful to your new family as you were able to repair minor things for yourself and Roz, which made it easier during winter.

You now also have your own picture with the rest of the family.

The other animals like you, you just kinda have a reputation of being more aloof and less soft compared to Roz.

Unless it’s the young… you are shockingly good with young. (As if you weren’t programmed to take care of them-)

The next winter, you had found an egg and brought it home.

Roz: here we go again.

Brightbill:…. Well I was upset at not having siblings-

[nzia-writes]

•{Speak life unto me}•

RATED SLUTTY 18+

Sums: Riri let’s you practice a majorette dance routine in her garage while she remodels her prototype.

I feel like Dom would channel Riri in this manner. It’s a sappy little something that’s heavy with dialogue. You have been warned. Enjoy.

Interact please and thank you

(tagging a couple folks I seen under riri fics: )

@donewit51life @mysticalmarss @shinsousliya @c0cac0laguns2 @mlmilani @melodykisses @doms-fav @verachii @luhreen @zayswriting

Riri Williams

You draw a breath, trying your hand at Coach’s complex combination once more. You fail with ten steps off count, ten seconds off beat, and ten milliseconds from freaking out.

This is the 100th time and disappointment has been the only result. Come on man. Seems as if fuck-ups is what you run into and a fuck-up is what you are. What else do you call someone allergic to consistency within performance in life and in art?

Coach is gon’ tell me that my efforts ain’t worth a damn again.

Skylar, the captain, gon’ call me all sorts of expletives again.

Maybe they are right. You are not the dancer you presumed yourself to be. You aren’t exhorting enough passion. You aren’t going to succeed with a dancing major. You aren’t going to dethrone Skylar from her rank as captain. Not with all of this lack. So much lack.

“Imma failure, man,” you grit.

The shrill of Riri’s hand-held power tool spurs the cacophony all the more. There is too much going on. There is too much not going on. Failure. Tears. Doom. It is an incessant thought.

You have had enough.

A reverberant scream rattles every solid item within the garage. “Fuck! Fuck Fuck!” Your vocal chords give a roiling wave of heat.

A startled RiRi flips up her welding helmet and lays her tool on the floor. By the time your hollering simmers down, your big brown eyes leak with the pressures of failure and your edges coil from sweat; a newly installed thirty-six-inch buss down gone with the speed of light.

“Y/N.”

A boisterous scream again.

Riri jumps in fright. Damn.

You labored pants follow thereafter.

“I keep on and keep on failing! Busting my ass day in and day out. Still coming up short!” You yell. You yank up your duffle, lodging your belongings inside as aggressive as your body allows. Surely it allowed just the right amount. It wasn’t offering much in many other departments. Useless, it was.

As she powers off her prototype, Riri hesitantly speaks. She’d be damned if she triggered more rage and hurt. Then there’s two bitches arguing and one leaving. “Sugg.”

“Uh uh I’m leaving. I can’t keep doing it, Ri.”

“And what you plan on doing after?”

“Ion know! Lord knows these folks don’t wanna see me win. Lord knows I ain’t got the talent in me to win!” You zip your duffle and turn to Ri, face stricken with defeat. “I’m just tired. I’m not cut fah this shit, ya heard meh?”

“Rest. You need some,” Riri says. She’s so calm, you have no other choice but to be.

“Rest? You think the world gon’ let a nigga like me rest?! Outta’ yo’ damn mind. I’m out.” You turn to go.

“You need cooling and I got it for you. Come talk to me real quick.”

“Ri…”

“Come here, boo. Please.” Her eyes plead beneath fanned out eyelashes.

She removes her welding helmet and places it on the table congested with her quantum technology and hammers. Once she shakes out her box braids, she waves you over. Maybe..just maybe..entertaining what she has to say will end with weights being lifted.

Your bag slumps to the floor and you make your way to Riri. She keeps herself true to her concern and wipes away your tears the moment you are in arm's reach. She reeks of oil and burnt metal but her aura is sweet enough to mute the most unpleasant fumes.

“I can’t stand seeing you like this..” She leans against her work table while you stand before her. Her hands work with caution to fix your disheveled appearance. “Worryin’. Stressin’. You too pretty for that.” She then laughs a bit inwardly. “Got yo’ minks lifting like they got something smart to say.” She simply peels them off and sets them aside.

You persist with a hardened mug, ever the one to cradle rage until everyone feels it.

“Come here,” she sighs, inviting your rigidness into all of her softness, raising on her tiptoes to wrap the parts of you in need of double love. “Let that shit out, sugg. You owe yourself that much.”

She is right. You do. Your rage has cracked a series of dams, but Riri’s love has cracked many more. You whimper and squeeze her small frame tight. “I love you, girl.” The words shake as you inhale. “I love you s-so much.” You squeeze tighter, rocking from side to side.

When the tough battles are fought, she’s the only man standing, willing to fight with you no matter who the enemy may be. She’s going to step about her Sugg.

“Imma always be here when everybody else ain’t, you understand me?”

“Yeah,” you exhale. She coaxes with back rubs and encouraging words until the sniffles are no more. You both soon separate to lean on the table side by side. Her fingers brush yours.

“Whatever rage you feelin’, you entitled to feel. Let it all out, much as you can.”

“Tell that to my mama. To coach. To that doghead bitch Skylar.”

Their hatred and high expectations have silenced your innermost parts. The Y/N you strive to be. And you keep silenced to keep safe, for life has become something that needs to be survived. Not lived.

Riri frowns. Your strength is admirable. You were forced to the bottom at such a young age, unheard and treated unfairly, yet here you stand with the dignity of a knight. She has sworn to sit for hours if it means you are being seen and heard and validated. She will be the change you need to see if no one else will.

“The only way out of this hurt is into it. You gotta face it.” As harsh a truth it is, life will not progress until it is experienced.

“Please… ion know the first thing about facing life. I’ve hid from most of it.”

“It ain’t something you know how to do, it’s something you learn to do. I’m here to help you find your way back. Always.” She slides her hand in yours. Squeezes softly.

“Thank you..so much.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to do. Now go ahead. Tell me how you feel. I wanna hear your heart.”

“I just got too many folks praying on my downfall. Especially back home where my mama swears my dance major ain’t worth it. No support from them unless it’s to flaunt their lavish lifestyle.”

That’s that shit right there, Riri thinks. Makes her want to disrespect your entire bloodline. But she holds back for your sake. You love them, after all. “Listen here.” She turns your face toward her, eyes locked.

“We are two young black women who made it out the slums with what we had. Talent and brains. Your ‘mama nem’ can’t take credit for that shit. You got out and did the work. That’s truth. Don’t let nobody tell you no different. Not even yourself.”

You nod. It is hard to believe, but is isn’t impossible to believe.

“Now as for the dancing. What’s up with that? Had you saying you not talented enough and whatnot. I don’t want you talking about my girl like that again, alright?”

You cheeks flush. “I don’t see nothing untruthful about it, Ri. I’m last��always. Coach and Skylar make sure of it. I’m trying for captain but… as you saw earlier I ain’t got it in me. I fuck up more than anything, ya’ know?”

Riri lets that process. She then gestures to her prototype. It’s a polished transformer looking thing. “From one creator to another, the best work is produced during our moments of strife. I’ve failed more times than I have succeeded, but that’s what makes a legend. You are a legend in the making. Don’t give up.”

“I ain’t say I was allat na’. I’m just dancing to somebody else’s shit, ya heard meh?”

“You are always so wrapped up in all you lack that you don’t take the time to see how blessed you truly are. Mama, you got it good. Real good. You shine bright and you have this remarkable essence. That shit changes people and I need you to see it for yourself.”

The more one disregards their gift the quicker it is lost on them.

Riri continues. “Hear me out..if you ain’t invited into somebody else’s circle, form your own. You were co-creator of some of the most viral dances in the loop. You got the smarts, the talent, the moves..” her eyes drink you in from toe to head “the body,” she smirks. “You can do it.”

You lick your lips and look away. Forming a dance team? Hell no. Impossible. There will be too many odds: people willing to sabotage, your own self-esteem, and the pressures of adulthood. It wouldn’t work.

“Nah I’m good on that. I’ve hid from the spotlight, cast as a shadow all my life. I’m fine where I’m at.”

“Did you hide in the back? Or were you forced to the back?”

“I um…”

You are sent on a voyage of memories that were to not be seen again. Now here they are demanding you see yourself for who you are. You have existed so long in this world as nobody. How would it feel to actually be somebody?

“Gotcha,” she laughs.

“You did,” you chuckle. “Look at you being a ghetto monk and shit.” You tug her to stand between your legs.

“And look at you flodgin’ like it ain’t making you feel something good inside. Let yourself feel it, boo. It’s what you deserve.” She flattens her palm on your abdomen, teasingly trailing it up your chest. She outlines the swirly ink sheathing your neck, acrylics lightly scraping brown skin as her hand curls around it.

“You think so?” You bite your lip, fighting the inner-princess.

“Mhm.” She knows it so. “You cool with the backseat?”

“But you all dirty and dusty.”

She tilts her head, braids falling to one side. “Under these clothes I ain’t.”

“I-“ Eyebrows raised. “Girl go head, hea’? Lemme get in this backseat.”

She laughs like the goddess she is and removes her fire-proof apron with the rest of her gear. “On your back for me too.”

“Yeah, mama.” The words melt off your tongue.

Yes, you feel as if you are gliding on your toes, carrying your heart with less strain. It is the Riri effect so it seems. You are truly grateful for a friend with a lethal mouth.

~¥~

The back of Riri’s car is humid and smells of sex. You lay across the seats, thighs forced back into their plushness, pussy spread open for her filthy onslaught. She is situated in a sniper's position with her small feet dangling out of the open car door. Her devious eyes bore into your own. This has surpassed casual sex long ago. This is love-making.

“Damn girl,” you gasp as she jerks your thighs open the moment they close in on her face. She hums against your bundle of nerves, wagging her head for a deeper dive into your oasis. You sweep her braids into a makeshift ponytail, gyrating lusciously. She eats it like she’s starving; so precise and sloppy.

“Riiii. Just like that.” You nearly force your face to become one with the seat cushion as she swiftly slides her favored fingers inside, stroking your gushy walls, twisting deliciously. She had made the quick decision to pop those acrylics off before the escapades began.

She comes up for a breath, licking her lips slathered in your nectar. “Come on, mama,” she whispers sweetly. “Don’t close up on me. I need you to take it for me, okay?”

“Okayyy. fuuu…uhhn.”

“There we go,” she whispers, glancing down. “Look at you.”

It takes all the strength in you to open your eyes to look down on command. “Shiiiit,” you whine. You didn’t feel yourself creaming.

“She’s creaming like this for me?” Riri bites her lip.

Your response sounds scrambled. You were sure it was a stammered, “all for you.”

“That’s my sweet girl.” She means that in a myriad of ways.

“My god,” you cry softly, “Baby.” You use two fingers to widen pretty brown folds, the back of your head sinking into the seat as she plunges her fingers deeper. Wet squelching noises and breathy moans surf the wind. Your brain is shoved into a mind-bending utopia, it feels so fucking good.

You glance down again to see a string of arousal dribbling down the valley of your ass only to be slurped up by the very lips milking you out. Fuck. The lick is long and ravenous, from the crack of dawn to the peak of your mountain, pouty lips suckling as if it were a dreamsicle in sticky heat.

The more speed she exerts the lower your moans drop. You are now whimpering and whispering incoherent babbles, trying your hardest to fuck back, but you consistently run up the length of the seat from Riri’s freak nastiness.

“That’s it, beautiful.” She hooks her fingers, submerges them to their deepest, and holds still. Her thumb flicks your nub deliciously. Your sharp inhale churns her brain in the best way there is, smooth skin prickling in awe of your slick muscular body and your contorted faces. So beautiful, she moans.

There is a pause in time. A hitched breath. A stuttering heart. Love. So much of it it spills over the both of you.

Riri transmutes it powerfully, keeping the pad of her fingers rubbing that raised sensitive spot inside. Your eyes cross and roll back. “Oh yes yes..” Your hand comes down to plunge her fingers in deeper so she can get in that. “Fuuck…..gonna cum. Cum…” You whine in melody, pushing out a river of glistening slick. It drizzles down Riri’s fingers just as promised. “Uhh my god.” You exhale deeply.

“There we go. Feels good to let go?”

You nod, moaning uncontrollably. She crawls up your body to enrich your lips with a salacious kiss. It’s a moaning mess clouded with a tenderness neither of you will choose to acknowledge until your hearts see fit. You spread your cheeks as she slides her fingers in and out of your creamy canal, white fluids oozing out as you clench and unclench.

“You so…” you hiss in pleasure as she slips her fingers out with care, gathering all of what you spilled with an idle circle of her fingers.

“Talk to me nice,” she hums. “Unless you want it again.”

“I can’t do it again,” you exhale, eyes heavy. You palm her cheeks, kissing her lips sweetly. Her long braids fall over your faces but you don’t care to move them.

She brings her fingers up and plunges them in your mouth. You leave not a drop leaking as she slides them out and leans in to suck it off your tongue. You both pull away to stare. You see it. She sees it. Feels it. Smells it. It’s there and it’s mighty.

“Thank you fah that, baby,” you grin. You pronounce it as beh-beh. That ‘nawlins’ never left.

“You know how deep my love runs for pussy. No need to thank me.”

“Mhm. Cute ass.” You press another fat kiss to her lips, running your hands down to her ass to grip her up. She bites her lip and breathes through her nose. She loves that shit.

“I need me a cold drink,” you chuckle.

“Guh you and me both,” Riri laughs.

End note: Imma eat every single time. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Fun fact: I write the smut quicker than the story itself.

[sugar-omi]

we're gonna have to come back to this bc well this is stupid short but mostly bc I'm having fluff, horny and angsty ideas...

DAY THIRTEEN — CAR SEX

*kinktober masterlist | *ao3

tags : drabble, NSFW, gn + bottom reader, teen!reader/cliff

synopsis : you were suppose to be cuddling, trying to relax before you and cliff had to return home. it turns into a lot more than venting and cuddling.

imagine being in your teens with cliff, you both snuck out because cliff was trying to get away from his parents and he needed your comfort.

he really did just want to cuddle and vent, distract himself from his home life...

but you're alone in his car, cuddling up in the backseat and you're on top if him...

how can he not pull you into a heated kiss, cupping your jaw, and he tries to guide you, but you're so close and your body heat is driving him crazy.

he bumps his head trying to get his pants down, and your worry can't reach him when your naked ass is in his face while you're trying to get the condom and lube out the glove box.

you're both fumbling, trying to find a position that works and cliff is behind you, holding your hips still as he rough stretches you open.

he tears the packet open with his teeth, trying to speak with the foil still in his mouth when you whine, missing his fingers even though something better is coming.

"hol' on, imma take care of you.." cliff purrs, throwing the wrapper on the floor. he'll deal with it later.

he lines himself up, sinking into you.

you're fucking like desperate animals. he's clinging onto you, nuzzling into your neck and placing wet kisses along your neck and shoulder, panting and moaning near your ear.

you drag your hand down the window, pushing back on his cock.

the car rocks with the force of your movements, the windows steam up and you can see your hand print, smudged from your hand dragging down the window and scratched from your fruitless search for purchase.

"cliff! i'm-i'm gonna..!" you pant, moaning wantonly. you reach down between your legs, stroking your sex and trying to keep your body up with one shaky arm, your nails digging into the cheap leather seat.

cliff groans, flexing his sweaty fingers and pistoning into you faster, the sound of your moans mixing with the lewd squelching and skin-against-skin eggs him on, pushing both of you over the edge.

cliff leans over you, his loose hair tickling your back.

you make a mess on the already fucked up seats, your cum / slick dripping on the seat, and you shake and tighten around cliff as you work through your orgasm.

your panting breath is all that's left in the air, and eventually cliff pulls out, your sensitive walls shaking around him, and he wraps everything up along with the takeout bag from earlier.

cliff steps out the car, hiding behind the door as he fixes his jeans.

you fumble about yourself, your hoodie inside out when you put it on.

eventually, you both get situated and look presentable. as presentable a couple of teenagers can brew after fucking in the back of a car.

cliff collapses into the front seat, and you turn to look at each other. you smile and laugh. the gravity of what you got away with sinking in.

cliff leans forward and steals a kiss, then another. "you're good at making me feel better."

you slap his arm, only making his lopsided smile widen.

[daisyishedwig]

Imma share two scenes from the same fic tody because I wrote them both last night. These are both from when you hold me it holds me together, one is Seblaine focused and the other is the Hevans scene I didn't fully intend to write. First we'll start with the Seblaine scene, since it is a Seblaine fic of course.

“You’re hurt, Bas.”

“I’m fine,” he whispered into Blaine’s ear, giving a sharp nip to the lobe. 

“No you’re not,” Blaine said, gripping Sebastian’s wrist tightly and removing it from his pants. “We have no idea what condition your ribs are in, they’re still hurting you and adding stress to them could make them worse.”

“My ribs don’t affect my ability to give a hand job,” Sebastian said, and edge of petulance slipping into his voice.

“But physical exertion leads to heavy breathing and heavy breathing is bad when you have multiple broken ribs.” Blaine squirmed around so he could face Sebastian, leveling a stern gaze at him.

“Maybe I can’t get off right now, but you still can,” Sebastian argued. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“Why?” Blaine pressed. 

“Do I need a reason for wanting to jerk my boyfriend off? I’d much rather give you a blow job but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Maybe you don’t need a reason, but you certainly have one. Spill it.”

Sebastian’s bottom lip jutted out but he said nothing.

“Sebastian,” Blane hissed.

“What?” he snapped, his chin trembling. “You just… you’re so tense. And angry. And I don’t know how to fix that in anyway other than sex.”

Blaine deflated. “It’s not your job to fix it, Seb.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t that the exchange? You keep me safe, I make you forget everything for a while. Help you let go so the rest of the world goes away and it’s just us. Let me make it just us,” Sebastian pleaded. 

Blaine kissed him, an attempt to soothe, to distract, but Sebastian pulled away instead of letting Blaine pull him closer. 

“Is it because Kurt’s here?”

And the Hevans scene

Kurt turned towards the stairs to leave, to hide in his bedroom until the weekend was over and he could return to Dalton. But Sam snagged him by the elbow and pulled Kurt into him. Kurt stiffened and tried to squirm away but Sam held firm, cupping the back of his head gently until he caved and buried his face in Sam’s neck. 

Kurt was still unused to affection from men who weren’t Blaine or his father. He’d spent so many years feeling like a leper that noone wanted to touch lest they catch the gay. And sure, the warblers were generally affectionate, but in that strictly boyish way, shoulder punches and side hugs and maybe a congenial arm across his shoulders for a moment. Finn and Puck followed much the same route when it came to touching Kurt.

But something had shifted in Sam after Kurt transferred, and these kinds of hugs were typical, even if they still caught Kurt off guard everytime. Kurt’s fingers gripped the fabric of Sam’s shirt tight as he muffled a quiet sob in his shoulder. Kurt let himself cry in Sam’s arm for a count of ten before he took a steadying breath and pushed away from him. 

Sam was frowning at him as he watched Kurt center himself. “You don’t have to do that,” he said. 

“Sam,” Kurt sighed. 

“You can take the comfort, Kurt.”

“Not now, not with Blaine in the house.”

“He doesn’t care,” Sam argued taking a step forward. Kurt shuffled further away from him. “He’s too distracted by Sebastian to care what’s happening with us–”

“There is no us, Sam. Blaine’s your best friend and my ex, and whatever you think is happening here is certainly not something he can witness.” Kurt rubbed the back of his hand under his nose. “I’m going to bed.”

“Kurt–”

“Don’t,” Kurt said sharply, “don’t follow me.”

And I'll tag everyone I can think of this time since I haven't done this in forever and have no idea who is actively writing anything right now. @calsvoid, @lusthurts, @sperrywink, @annepi-blog, @bitbybitwrites @wowbright, @kurtsascot, @cryscendo, @fallevs, @katyobsesses, @backslashdelta, @leydhawk, @polvmetis, and that's everyone my brain can think of in this moment so I'll also extend an open tag to anyone who wants to share what they've been writing.