#it looks like the theme will be the same for each rerun

[agisleepy]

Here's the theme for the Magic Assault Practice event!

Hope you enjoy!💕

Google Drive link

[scalingsvt8thusiast]

Wait for your love (angst)

summary: you wait in silence, waiting for wonwoo to finally love you

inspired by Ariana Grande's We Can't be Friends (AKA Wait for your love)

a/n: I wrote this in a fever dream, some suggestive themes but nothing much apart from that. It's a 2 part fic. so look out for part 2 I guess :D

I didn’t think you’d understand me

You remembered the first interaction you had with Wonwoo. You had asked him for help with some maths question back in high school. 

“I don’t think that’s the right answer…” You whispered, watching him flush red as he rummaged through his pencil case clumsily looking for his eraser. 

“My maths isn’t very good!” He cried, erasing the answer that was so far off. 

“Oh! How about we try this!” You stuck your tongue out as you worked on the question using another method. 

The both of you flipped to the back of the book to check the answer. You remembered the look of awe Wonwoo gave you when your answer was right. 

Wonwoo was the quiet kid, the one who sat at the last row of class, always looking out the window, not paying attention in class. He wasn’t a star student or an athlete so on the popularity scale he was basically non-existent. You weren’t far off either. Pigtails and braces meant you weren’t much higher than him on that god-forsaken scale. But that’s what brought the two of you together. 

After that first interaction, you started warming up to your quiet seatmate. You joined him in the cafeteria, asked him out on study dates, even dragging him to his first hangout. You liked to think that he just accepted his fate, the two of you were destined to be friends. 

Somewhere along the line of your friendship, you started developing feelings for the scrawny boy. You couldn’t pin point exactly when or what caused your infatuation. You just remembered realising his facial features were so sharp, his shoulders were so broad and his hands were so large and warm. Was it when your hands met in the popcorn tub during the Star Wars reruns at your local cinema? Was it when you stared too deeply into his eyes during a round of cards? Was it when he picked you up and ran a whole lap around the park to prove a point?

You couldn’t remember. But it felt like you had been liking him for the longest time.

I’ll wait for your love

Everything changed after graduation. 

The break before university was due to start, you had gone off to stay with relatives in Paris while Wonwoo had gone off to stay with his brother in Seoul. The two of you were scheduled to attend the same universities, even scheduled to live together. It was only natural considering how long you two had been friends. He would arrive from Seoul first and you were due to arrive 2 weeks after, just in time for the first day of school. 

You were thoroughly surprised by the boy man who greeted you at the front door. 

“Wonwoo?” You said, blinking rapidly. 

Where was the scrawny, skinny boy you were familiar with? Who replaced him with this tall, handsome and extremely well built man?

“Y/n!” Wonwoo beamed at you, immediately helping you with your bags. 

You were momentarily taken aback by his voice. His high pitched, nasally voice had developed into a deep baritone. 

“How was Seoul?” You had managed to croak out, still dumb struck by the massive change your best friend went through.

“Great. I actually met quite a few friends in the same uni.” Wonwoo’s eyes held an excited glint.

You hummed, wondering how your anti-social and shy friend had managed to become a social butterfly. 

You should have known that was the first sign of the inevitable downfall of your friendship. 

Throughout the next few weeks, you were busy trying to get settled into your new life while Wonwoo was busy partying his life away. He would leave each night and return at wee hours of morning.

You remembered the first time you went to pick him up. 

“Y/n,” He drawled over the phone. 

You turned to check the clock, it was 4AM. “Wonwoo?”

“Can you come-,” A loud cheer erupted in the background. “Can you come get me?” 

“Oh, ok!” You said, pushing your blanket aside. “Text me the add-,”

He hung up. 

DING

You received the location from him.

Trying to look as presentable as possible, you hopped into your car. Driving to your best friend with Google Maps as guidance. 

You arrived at the party, expecting Wonwoo to be waiting for you by the road, ready to leave. But he was nowhere to be found. Wonwoo wasn’t waiting for you in front of the house, he wasn’t even standing with the groups of people near the front door. 

You tried his phone again but you were sent straight to voicemail. You jumped out of the car and went into the house. You tried your best to push through the multitudes of drunk people, looking for your best friend. Finally you found him, playing beer pong and boy, did he suck. 

“Won?” You said, coming up next to him. 

“Y/N!” He shouted, throwing his arms around you, dragging you into his chest for a hug. 

“Won, let’s go.” You coaxed, your nose crinkled from the strong stench of alcohol. 

“Everybody!” Wonwoo bellowed, “This is my friend! Y/N!”

You were horrified as everybody turned to look at you. You gave an awkward smile and squeezed his arm.

“Wonwoo, let’s go, please.” You begged, you had a class in 2 hours and you wanted to get home in time for at least 1 more hour of sleep. 

“But y/n, you just got here!” Wonwoo whined, he pouted. 

“Oh God, Woo, please.” You implored, biting your lip. You weren’t comfortable, you didn’t know anybody here and you had an overgrown child hanging onto you. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo quipped. “But only because you asked nicely.”

That was how you managed to get your housemate home. 

Wonwoo never apologised. He didn’t speak to you the whole week, he kept himself shut in his room while you went about your day. You tried knocking on his door, offering some food you had made but he never responded. 

After that incident, you noticed that he would do it more often. He would call you at odd hours of the morning, asking you to come pick him up, flirt with you then subsequently pass out on the couch. 

You found yourself getting hopeful. You deluded yourself into thinking that Wonwoo was doing this because you were the only person he trusted. You just had to wait a little longer for him to realise his feelings for you. You just had to wait.  

“Y/n, I love you soooo much,” Wonwoo slurred, you had slung one of his arms around your shoulder, walking him to your car. 

“Won, please.” You said, trying your best not to be effected by his empty words. You pushed him against the car while you fumbled for your car keys. 

Suddenly you felt your world spin, when it stopped you were face to face with your best friend. Wonwoo had flipped you over, your back now pressed against the car, his arms to your sides, caging you. His face was a whole ten centimetres away from yours. You could feel his breath on your face, your heart beat rapidly rising, one of your hands gripping his bicep to keep yourself steady. 

“Y/n, you’re so pretty.” He muttered, he placed a hand on your cheek. His eyes were on your lips. His tongue licking his own. 

“You’re drunk.” You whispered, you used all your strength to push against his chest. 

He didn’t move. Next thing you know, his lips were on yours. 

That was how you lost your first kiss to your best friend.

You cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again

After that kiss (wherein he subsequently passed out on you), Wonwoo seemed to avoid you even more. 

He no longer called you when he needed a ride home, instead his friends would send him home. You had met 3 of his friends: Mingyu, Vernon and Seungcheol. They each seemed to take turns dragging Wonwoo’s drunk ass into the house. Surprisingly they would all be sober each time. Which made you wonder if Wonwoo just had a habit of calling random people to send him home. 

“Y/n?” Wonwoo’s voice came.

You shot up from the dining table, you had just been busy revising for your upcoming tutorial. Wonwoo never spoke to you, so this was a shock. 

“I was wondering,” He cleared his throat, “could you help me with this?” 

You blinked, he was holding a few pieces of paper. 

“Sure!” You chirped, a little too cheerily. 

Of course you would help your best friend. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t spoke to you in months. It didn’t matter that he had ignored you when you tried to wave at him on campus. It didn’t matter that he pretended not to know you among his new friends.

Wonwoo was your best friend, so you were going to bury your feelings and help him. 

“Thanks.” He smiled. 

That smile that made your stomach do a summersault. That smile that threw you back to your teenage years, when he would smile at you and only you. 

It became a routine. He only spoke to you when he needed help with work. Even though you weren’t in the same course as him, you found yourself studying up on what he needed, just so you could help him. 

You found yourself staying up late, studying for both your finals as well as his finals. Just so when he came home the next day from some party, you could help him. 

You helped him because that was the only chance you had to speak to him. 

You helped him because that was the only time he showed you any attention. 

You helped him because you loved him. 

Just wanna let this story die

Wonwoo brought a girl home. 

It was 4AM in the morning, you were cramming for your exams the next day after looking through Wonwoo’s materials for his tutorial the day after. You could literally feel your head overheating with all the knowledge you were shoving into your brain. You stood up, deciding to stretch out your unused muscles when you heard the front door open. It was opened with so much force that the door banged onto the wall, causing you to jump. 

“Wony!!!” You heard a voice, it wasn’t that low voice you so loved from your house mate. It was a high pitched squeal which you were sure your house mate could not have produced. 

A yelp could be heard followed by loud shushes. 

You pushed your door open a smidge, peeking out into the hallway.

You blood ran cold.

Right by the front door was Wonwoo, making out with a girl.

You could feel a lump growing in your throat as you shut your door. You closed your eyes, trying your best to erase the sight. The image of your best friend’s lust-ladened eyes, arms encircled around another girl, lips on hers was burnt forever your memory. 

You felt yourself crumple against the floor. Your stared blankly into space for what felt like hours. The pit in your stomach grew with every second that passed. When you finally found the energy, you crawled over to your bed. Tears seeped from the corner of your eyes as you buried your face into your pillow. Trying to muffle the loud moans and groans coming from the other room. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying not to make a sound as you cried yourself to sleep.

So for now it’s only me, and maybe that’s all I need

“He’s a fucking asshole.” Chan cursed. 

You smiled weakly at your friend. The two of you sat in a booth at Chan’s favourite bar. You didn’t drink but he did. Chan had forced you out after you refused to leave your room for weeks.

“He knows you have feelings for him.” Chan hissed. “There’s no fucking way he doesn’t.”

You shrugged. After much pestering, you had finally relayed everything to Chan. Everything. From when you first met Wonwoo to when he brought a girl home. 

“I thought I would wai-,” You voice came out as a whisper, ashamed.

“Please don’t tell me. Wait?” Chan finished for you, tilting his glass of beer towards you. 

“Yup.” You said with a sigh. 

“Why wait for someone like him? Why wait for someone who doesn’t even care about you?” Chan said, sounding angrier and angrier by the second. 

His question stung. Deep down, you didn’t want to admit it, but you knew Wonwoo didn’t care about you. You knew he was just using you, keeping you around only because you made his life convenient. 

“Move out.” Chan demanded. 

“What?” You blurted, “Chan, I can’t just move out!” 

“Yes you can.” Chan pointed to himself. “Move in with me, I have a spare room!” 

“But what about Wonwoo?”

“What about that asshole?” Chan rolled his eyes. 

“I can’t just leave him like that.” You said, exasperated. You weren’t about to leave your best friend alone. 

“Why not?” Chan argued. “You think he won’t do the same to you? He’ll drop you the first chance he gets, y/n.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes. You loved Chan but there were times when he was too blunt. 

“Chan, please.” You whispered, tears started rolling down your eyes. 

“Ok, I’m sorry.” Chan immediately panicked. “I’m sorry I said that.”

He moved to sit next to you, rubbing your back as you sobbed into your bowl of fries. 

You moved out the next day, without so much as a goodbye to your childhood friend. 

a/n2: not very good at writing, quality is absolute crap imo considering i wrote this in under an hour. anything you guys think I should improve in lmk!

[jolapeno]

frankie, baby

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: “Well… we technically can’t touch each other inappropriately,” you begin, tracing your fingers on his black shirt, circles then squares, then triangles. “But, Will wasn’t specific about saying inappropriate things.”

warnings: explicit. 18+. smut. p in v. nsfw chat up lines. flirting. one slight spank. frankie undressing you. frankie being gorgeous, minor cock worship, christmas themes. reader wears a green dress, talks of lipstick - but nil else.

wordcount: 3.7k an: huge thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this and ensuring words meant what i meant. to all my frankie-lovers, this one is for you. credit to this tiktok for the idea.

It wasn’t that Frankie hated Christmas parties, he just found they weren’t his favourite.

Over the years of attending the Miller’s annual bash, he’d always found himself asked the same questions over, and over, again. They would always come at him in varying voices, accompanied by different expressions.

But they all had the same undertone: what’s next for you, Francisco? What’s your future like Francisco?

He’s sure he wouldn’t find it all so tedious if it were only once he had to deal with it.

However, it replays itself—almost like a rerun—when he visits his own family. The only difference is there’s more judgement, a higher pitched concern and intermittent Spanish.

This year, there was at least one noticeable change. A thing which spoke for itself: you.

Stepping out of the cab, you close your bag, fussing with the bottom of your green dress before you look over at him—eyes finding him.

He counts—a thing he does now. He does so until it appears. Having begun doing so without realising when the two of you made it official. He’d learnt that sometimes it comes by the count of five, but he loves it when it’s on the count of three.

Tonight, it’s two—two, measly seconds.

Eyes zoned in, Frankie watches it like a spectacle—like it’s a firework show just for him. His eyes trained as it blooms and stretches out, gazing as it brushes out over your cheeks. It hits your eyes, that smile which could stop his heart.

The one which makes him feel lucky; that burned a bonfire inside of him that no rain, wind or hail could ever extinguish.

“Keep looking at me like that, Morales, and we’ll break Will’s one, and only, rule.”

While the two of you would never describe yourself as animals, apparently the Miller brothers disagreed. Unbearable had been another descriptor used—

It’s not that we’re not happy for you both. But, around my family, could you calm it down?

Smirking, he holds his hand out to you. Something shifts back into place when your palm meets his and your fingers find their homes between his.

“I’m not the one with their legs out, querida.”

“I didn’t want to be underdressed!”

Snorting, he pauses at the steps to the front door. The music from inside thrumming, the hard-to-contain usual excitement is practically already trying to seep its way out into the night, trying to brush over the two of you, as he takes a second to admire you.

Because you looked radiant, indescribable. Yet, it isn’t even the half of you.

Fingers brushing your smile, he swallows, half thinking to himself if this is all a dream, he hopes he never wakes up. Not from this, from you.

“I tell you that you look good?”

Stepping closer, you press your lips to his. Bathing him in heaven and sweet scents, leaving a mark of you against his mouth.

“You did,” you whisper, breath dancing with his when you part before your thumb wipes over the stain your kiss left. “Now, let’s go in, so we can begin the countdown to getting home.”

Foolishly, Frankie had expected you being on his arm would answer questions.

But if anything, it forced more to arise.

Some he could answer with a smile, a laugh, even a shrug, and others he found were ticking time bombs that no amount of sips of his beer would dilute. It was made worse when you’d slip away, tempted by a cocktail or a glass of bubbles, a kiss to his cheek as a parting gift while you left him to the hounds.

When he managed to make a break from the third when are you asking her to marry you, Frankie hides next to Ben—who is eyeing up the buffet table like it has all his answers and prayers layered over it.

“Hey man, having a good time?”

“Yeah, Benny. Great.”

Snorting, Ben grabs a piece of fruit. “Y’good?”

Twisting the cap off another bottle, he shoots a glare at Ben—hoping it’s readable, his anguish, how fucking uncomfortable he is. “Your Aunt just asked me when I’m getting married, and when I’m making her a great aunt.”

Laughing, he watches as his friend pops another piece of ham in his mouth. “And are you?”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“Jus’ saying, maybe I wanna be an uncle while my knees are still good.”

Shoving him, Frankie leaves him laughing, moving through the guests, nodding and hugging those he had managed to avoid thus far. But his eyes are fixed on finding one thing—you. With each brush over a group, his heart sinks a little.

It only returns to its rightful place when he finds you in the corner, tucked away. Close to the overzealously decorated Christmas tree, positioned close to a set of bookcases he remembers hiding next to himself last year.

You have your back to the room, allowing him a moment to brush his gaze over your spine—over the way your dress skims down over your curves. Your attention is stolen, either genuinely interested in what you’re holding or busy pretending to be in a book covered in more dust than an abandoned building.

Sliding his arms around your waist, he feels you curl into him.

“Answer me this honestly. Do you think if I drank a smidge of bleach I’d still be able to fly with you to your family, or will I ruin Christmas?”

Laughing, he hooks his fingers together over your stomach, thumb brushing out over the silk—allowing himself to feel the softness that glides between his touch and your skin.

“That bad, huh?”

“Apparently I both have good skin and simultaneously could benefit from a skin regime—I found both out in the space of five minutes.”

Pulling a face, Frankie turns you, resting his head on yours as he feels your arms slide around him. Hearing you softly murmur which relative handed you both pieces of information.

“We could hide out in this corner all night? It’s a nice corner.”

“This where you hid last year?”

He says nothing, but the face he lets fall out says enough.

“We could hide or…” you say, an infliction to your tone.

One he doesn’t catch immediately, but dawns on him in the seconds that pass. More so, when he feels your eyes on him, burning, glaring.

“Or?”

Smirking, you bat your lashes—feigning innocence. A look he knows all too well means anything but angelic.

“Well… we technically can’t touch each other inappropriately,” you begin, tracing your fingers on his black shirt, circles then squares, then triangles. “But, Will wasn’t specific about saying inappropriate things.”

Leaning closer, Frankie narrows his eyes, pinching the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“So, let’s see who can get away with saying the wildest, but publicly appropriate things.”

His mouth twists, watching your head tilt ever so slightly, lips remaining parted, waiting.

“Who wins?” he asks.

Tracing the edge of your upper lip with your tongue, you slowly begin to smirk—all wide-eyed, practically fucking shimmering.

“The person who calls an early cab home.”

It thrums in him, the tension of when you’ll say something.

Your fingers are in his as the two of you join the others, finding a place next to Will—who is busy both telling and reenacting a story Frankie is already sure he told last time.

He’s also sure you know it. Having been sure it was one Will had told most chances he got. But the way you’re hanging on to every word, makes him question otherwise.

“Very on top of things, isn’t he?” you whisper, nodding your head to Will.

Pausing, Frankie bites his smile, brow raising as he watches you twirl your finger over the top of your glass. The distinct sound of Santa, Baby playing in the background, fading from the loudness to a simple hum as you adjust your dress in front of him. Letting him see a glimpse of your breasts—showing him how all that remains between him and your skin is one single, thin piece of silk.

Keeping his hand at his side, he watches you. Assessing. Trying to work out your direction, your ploy—taking a sip from his beer just as you begin to add:

“I like to be on top of things. Would you like to be one of them?”

He almost chokes. Heat flushing on his neck, burning up to his ears. Somehow able to bury the splutter, your face shifting into one of concern—but he sees the devilishness under it. Your eyes giving you away, even if your hand is patting his back, calling his name.

Moving closer, your lips almost brush his ear. “You like that one, Morales?”

Catching himself, he knocks the bottom of his bottle against your glass. “That’s a good one, querida. But, wait—are you an elevator, because I’d love to go down on you.”

It’s instant, the way your mouth falls open— eyes widening before he swears they twinkle.

“That was…”

Moving closer, he presses a kiss to your forehead, taking your empty glass from your hand. “Can’t wait to see you crack, baby.”

“Oh, it’s so on, Morales.”

At one stage, between you whispering ‘is that a candy cane in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?’ and him replying with ‘nice dress. Can I talk you out of it?’, Frankie had lost you to Will and an intense game of darts.

When he manages to pull himself free from an intense questioning from one of the smaller cousins on helicopters, he finds you in the kitchen—just tidying up some plates.

“Hey.”

Smiling, you slide the one in hand into the dishwasher. “Hey, handsome.”

“Why you in here alone, querida?”

Standing straight, you sigh, resting your palm on the counter as you look across at him. “Just… I’m not feeling myself.”

Placing his drink down, he moves around the counter. A wave of guilt crept up, wondering to himself how he’d missed it when he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you.

Placing his palms on your jaw, he slides his fingers up your cheeks—lifting your chin.

“Can I feel you instead?” you add.

He feels your smirk sliding up into your cheek—slowly shaking his head as you begin to bite your tongue, his nose scrunching.

Laughing, low, almost gruffly, he smiles. “You’re so bad.”

Nodding, you slide your arms around his neck. It’s second nature to move you, press your lower spine into the counter—press his hips to yours.

“How you gonna make me good, Morales?”

“Well, I’m not a dentist, but I bet I could give you a filling.”

Grinning, you tighten your arms around his neck, mouth ghosting over his. For a moment, it’s just the two of you. The room fades out, the party a distant memory and the music nothing but a soundtrack. His fingers fall, sliding down, knuckles brushing over the silk which sits over your breast, running over your nipple he feels harden, before sliding down. Moving, slowly trailing his way until his hand grasps your hips—hearing the soft gasp you let escape.

You make him so hard—make him desire and crave.

Make him want to slowly pull up the skirt of your dress and feel for himself too if you’re having the same effect. If you’re soaked, if the tops of your thighs are coated in want.

“Frankie,” you whine, all low, barely more than a whisper.

As his waist presses against you, survey you as your brows rise at the realisation of how hard he is inside his jeans—how hard he is for you. Eyes flashing, something shifting—no longer a game but a prize within reach—as you lift your chin, slotting your mouth over his.

It begins soft, gentle. But in a click it's desperate. The words, the insinuations—all of them—slamming into the two of you as you crawl your nails against his scalp, and tug on his curls. His own grip tightened on your hip, keeping you flush to him, letting him rock his hips ever so slightly, the friction helping, groaning into your open mouth.

“Want you,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” he pants, drawing a circle on your hip, feeling you urging to kiss him. “Call a cab, baby. Call one and I’ll make it worth it.”

You halt, pause.

Blinking a few times, before clarity washes over lust—drowning it, dragging it back out to sea, leaving the beach with only memories.

“You should know…”

Tracing his nose over yours, he bites your bottom lip. “What should I know?”

Rolling your lips, you stare at him—the biggest, fullest eyes he’s seen. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

He knows you move, but he doesn’t feel you do so.

Suddenly short-circuited. Left with only a fleeting recollection of the way your hip felt in his palm, the way your dress felt under the callouses and years of service. It isn’t until the door to the kitchen swings back, brushing against the frame, does he blink. Snapping out of it. Forcing him to realise what it is you just said.

“Fuck.”

Moving, he turns on his heel—palm flat on the wooden door as he pushes it open. His blood is thumping, jeans are uncomfortably tight as he scans the area.

All of the lines he’d found on his phone were seemingly pointless now. Hell, even the game seems pointless now. How close it was already, the fact all his nerves were sizzling, faint memories of how warm you were against him.

Especially now he knows he can pull you into an empty room, slide the fabric up which covers your body and find you bare.

The only thing he wants to do is surrender.

Is it say his goodbyes, call a cab, and have you at whichever home is closest. He just needs to find you. Doing another look, another scan. Moving through the room—spotting how the numbers have dwindled—before he finds you with Ben, no drink in hand, just a tight expression on your face.

“Hey—”

“I’ve called us a cab,” you announce, staring pointedly, the weakest wink sent only for him. His lips desperate to crawl up, clamber into his cheek. “Told Benny my headache was getting worse.”

The two of you are barely through the door when he presses you flat against it, it clicks into place—his finger-twisting the lock, sealing the two of you inside, nothing and no one allowed to interrupt.

“Bedroom, now.”

You slip out of your shoes, fingers wrapping around his chin as you slant your mouth over his—and he’s able to taste the bubbles you enjoyed earlier, the faint remnants of mint from gum you likely chewed in haste. Then it’s gone.

Fingers around his wrist, dragging him past furniture and rooms until he’s being led into his own room, your touch falling from him—feet stepping back, moving closer to the bed.

“If I said you had a beautiful cock, would you put it inside me?” you ask.

Groaning, he closes the gap, and pulls you flush to him as his palm comes down on your ass—your gasp spreading into his mouth, before your groan replaces it, washing past to his throat, tongue licking past his teeth.

His mouth on yours, his shirt coming undone. Your nails scratch down his chest, his stomach, pausing right where his belt sits on his waist—

“Dress on, or off.”

He barely registers the question at first, until his fingers grasp the dress by your waist. He tortures you with it, the way he bunches it up, slowly pulling it up, letting the edge of it skate past your knees, up your thighs. Each inch unveiled meaning the cool air is kissing your skin, brushing over it, likely making even more of a mess between your pressed-together thighs.

Not halting his movement until he can see you weren’t lying earlier, and then he aids you in getting it over your head, unveiling you—a goddess, the hottest fucking thing his eyes have ever seen.

And, you’re all his.

“Sit down, baby,” he moans.

You do, slowly perching your rear on the end of the bed, spreading your legs—looking at him with the same wide eyes as you’d given him in the kitchen. But, he’s only focused on the space between your thighs. How you’re drenched. Practically desperate.

“You want me?”

He watches you nod, and he steps closer—forcing your thighs apart, spread by his thighs as he slowly removes his shirt—eyes gesturing down to his belt. And, you read his mind well. Tongue swiping over your lip as you begin to undo his belt, the melt clattering, his jeans loosening as you move to the button, then the zip—the noise cutting through the slow breaths the two of you keep trying to take.

Commanding your eyes up to his, he slowly kneels on the bed—one on either side as he watches you slide back, the two of you moving more into the middle, bodies almost touching, heat searing between the two of you. It only warms further when his lips find yours, when it’s needy, all tongue and whimpers.

His hips move with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest moans as he grabs a hold of his cock, dragging the head of it through your slick folds, making you plead, beg—smearing and skating it spitefully over your slick folds.

That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he knows he’ll think up when the two of you are apart and he can’t sleep. When he’s rock hard and only imagining you being with him—I want to feel you tomorrow, Frankie.

It unlocks something. Floods him. He manages to take in a breath before he buries himself inside you, right to the hilt, going deep. He feels you stretch around his thickness, as he revels in your tightness, the way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into his sheets. In awe of you, momentarily just watching you before he wrenches your back from his sheets, perching you on his thighs, needing to see you, needing to run his palms up your spine.

“You look beautiful taking me, querida?”

You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good querida taking me like this. And he expects a comment, a thing you bite back.

But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and clattering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.

“More, Frankie. Please.”

His hand sliding down between your thighs, above where the two of you are joined, thumb finding your nerves, drawing circles—languid, slow. Tracing the letters of his first name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier.

"Love your cock, Frankie. Always feel so good inside me."

You're a mess, covered in a sheen of sweat and make-up smudged, but to him, you're still perfection. A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to emptying himself inside of you and writing his name there too.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he grunts, teeth pinching your ear as your hand grips his wrist—thumb still swirling, the R and N being from your favourite from the way you moan, the way you clench around him, “Thought about this all night. Only fuckin’ thing that got me through it.”

He feels your nails dig down into his neck, mouth searing as it burns against yours, moan after moan coating him, letting him taste the sound of his name.

“Y’ruin me, Frankie—only one I ever want fucking me.”

It spurs him on, angling his hips, hitting the spot which makes your words slide into moans, all pleases and yeses, undoing you. It ripples out. Making your back arch into him, tightening up from your head to your toes, before it bursts. Erupts.

You clench all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.

The two of you collapsing against his mattress—both of you gasping, his heart hammering in desperation to rip out his chest and be with yours, as you turn in his grasp. Then, he feels your lips on his, burying three words against them, three words he says back, pressing them to your mouth, so he knows you have them.

Both relaxing, your ear coming to his chest, hand sliding out over his body.

“I liked our game,” you whisper.

“Me too.”

“Next time, we should make it more fun.”

Next time, he thinks, letting his eyes drift out to the drawer you never go in—the one stuffed with his underwear, and a box you no nothing about.

“Could get toys we need our phones for,” you continue, a mix of mischief and sleep adorned on your face.

Kissing your hairline, he sighs in contentment. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

Because next year he’ll let you have whatever fun you want, as long as you’re his fiancé and not his girlfriend.

an: think sundays are now feral-frankie-sundays with jo...

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

[sweetyyhippyy]

Birthday Boudoir. Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader. *FLUFF*

Summary: Reader takes some spicy boudoir photos for Eddie’s birthday, and gifts them in a book for him.

Word Count: 701

TW: Spicy elemements througout. Suggestive themes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She tied the ribbon one more time around the book, making sure it was secure enough against the wrapping paper.

This present had to wait until they got home, it being far too saucy to be seen by anyone other than her boyfriend.

Eddie was sprawled out on the couch, absentmindedly watching a rerun of Miami Vice on tv. A few of their friends went out to the Hideout for some drinks, something very lowkey per Eddie’s request.

She comes around the couch, the book hidden behind her back and a smirk on her face.

As she comes into view, Eddie turns to look at her, immediately knowing she was up to something mischievous. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” Eddie raises his eyebrow.

“I have another present for you.” She says, sitting next to him on the couch and putting the present on his lap.

Eddie readjusts himself on the couch, grabbing the present and shaking it next to his ear jokingly. “Hmm, what could it be? Is it a car?”

Playfully she rolls her eyes, the anticipation of him looking at the pictures eating at her. “Yeah totally, I got you a car.”

Eddie smiles back at her, pulling the satin ribbon loose and instantly ripping into the wrapping paper. He grabs the brown leather book, opening the front cover, choking on his breath. “Holy shit, you didn’t.”

Eddie stares at the close up of his girlfriend, the only part of her face that’s visible is her glossy, pouty lips, her hair cascading in the frame along with her boobs spilling over the cups of lacy push-up bra. “T-this is for me?” He stutters over himself, in disbelief that he was actually experiencing one of the hottest things he has seen in his life.

Her stomach flips as she nods her head. “I got them done a few weeks ago. Keep flipping.” She smiles softly.

Eddie goes to the next page, groaning and rolling his head back against the couch, “Oh my god.” He laughs. “Look at you.” He continues to flip through the pictures, his pants getting tighter in the crotch, using the book to cover the ever growing hardon he was sporting.  

With every page flip Eddie groans, grunts, moans, and whines. “I can’t believe you did this for me.” His already round eyes grew impossibly wider at each saucy picture and pose she was positioned into.

“Thought you should have something special for your birthday.” She wraps her arms around one of his arms, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Flip to the last page. I’m dying for you to see those.”

Eddie flips to the last page, his eyes protruding from the sockets. “Oh, fuck.”

Her knees were on the mattress, lacy panties peeking out from under Eddie’s infamous Hellfire tee. Her eyes focused on the camera while her lips were slightly parted open.

The next picture he could see was his custom Dio jean vest, his patches a dead give away it was indeed his. She was in the same position as the last picture, but the Hellfire shirt was off her torso, her bare stomach and cleavage poking through, her hands were wrapped up in her hair.

“Do you know how hot you are? Jesus Christ.” Eddie was practically drooling as he looked at her. He leans over to give her a peck on her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, Eds. So, it’s safe to say you liked them?”

“Baby, I am the luckiest son on a bitch on this earth to have a girl as beautiful as you do something like this for me. I’m never letting this book out of my sight.” He leans in for a quick kiss before getting his own devilish smirk on his face.

“What’s that face for?” She giggles, biting her bottom lip slightly.

Eddie flips to the middle of the book and points to the picture, staring directly at the camera, her lips looking juicy in the dark lipstick she was wearing, and her ass peekabooing behind her head in the back. “How about you recreate this pose for me?” Giving her the most puppiest of eyes.

“For you, anything. Let’s go birthday boy.”

[ilyuu-archive]

teyvat: which released region do you prefer and which unreleased nation are you most looking forward to visiting?

archon: which nation’s known ‘ideal’ do you like the most: freedom, contracts, eternity, wisdom, justice, or war?

paimon: friend… or annoying foe?

venti: which character(s) do you think you’d actually get along with if you were to meet in person and who do you think you’d actually dislike interacting with?

delusion: what are your genshin unpopular opinions?

adventurer’s guild: which genshin group would you align yourself with?

guizhong: which characters have your favorite aesthetic and/or design?

rex lapis: what’s your favorite cultural aspect of each of the released nations?

barbara: you’re a tourist traveling teyvat, which locations in the game would you want to visit in person?

dragonspine: what’s your current party and is that going to change in the upcoming patches?

elemental burst: which character has your favorite vision achievement story?

lantern rite: what is your favorite cutscene in the game so far?

ganyu: which character’s rerun are you waiting for desperately?

jean: which standard 5 star character do you wish would get an event banner?

*cracks knuckles* alrighty just give me a few minutes of your timejdnwjeibne

teyvat : which released region do you prefer and which unreleased nation are you most looking forward to visiting?

mondstadt!! it's forever my home away home!! sobs literally so many memories there,, like falling off a cliff because i thought i had enough stamina to reach the top,,,

definitely khareni'ah and no it's definitely not because of the likely chance that it'll be star and space themed and i'm really biased towards said theme,,, it's totally because of the lore i promise you hehe

archon : which nation’s known ‘ideal’ do you like the most: freedom, contracts, eternity, wisdom, justice, or war?

freedom, and it's mainly because of that one line venti said that goes along the lines of "what does freedom really mean when demanded of you by a god?" and i really liked it. there's so many interpretations of the word "freedom" based on what each person thinks is freeing to them, all depending on their circumstances and choices.

paimon : friend… or annoying foe?

listen... LISTEN. as much as i like paimon and appreciate her, more around times when the traveler is feeling low, there's no denying that she plays a role in something in the greater scheme in things and i won't deny that when the day comes that she's parted from the traveler for whatever reason I'LL BE NEARBY CRYING AN ENTIRE OCEAN

venti : which character(s) do you think you’d actually get along with if you were to meet in person and who do you think you’d actually dislike interacting with?

after intense debate with myself (really, just a few seconds lol) i'd think i'd get along with any of the pyro characters since, even as quiet as i am, i'd be able to almost echo and share their feelings!! (that said, i don't think diluc and i would get along and that's only by the fact that if he stood right before me at this moment, i'd be incredibly intimidated.)

and characters i wouldn't get along with? types of characters like zhongli, ayato, alhaitham - the more composed and collected ones technically, because i wouldn't be able to see the way that they see things, their perspectives and even if i do, i might not be able to agree with them with the same resolve and understanding they might have. someone tell me this makes sense because I LOST MYSELF HEREOPSNDEW

delusion : what are your genshin unpopular opinions?

*mic feedback* i don't like claymores *exits stage*

adventurer’s guild : which genshin group would you align yourself with?

uh UH fischl, razor, and bennett NEXT QUESTION

guizhong : which characters have your favorite aesthetic and/or design?

...don't make me say this please literally every single outfit is so detailed to the point that it makes my hand cry when trying to draw a certain character, it keeps their personality down to the very threads

BUT IF I HAVE TO it'd be layla, wriothesley, yoimiya, shenhe, and ganyu (and this isn't even half of them)

rex lapis : what’s your favorite cultural aspect of each of the released nations?

CAN I JUST SAY THAT THROUGH THESE EVENTS ALL SORTS OF CHARACTERS FROM ALL SORTS OF NATIONS GET ALONG?? i do also like the world-building in each of the events, it's so lively and if not a bit emotional and bittersweet like that one TCG with kiara and charlotte because dude. the ending got me.

ITWAS LITERALLY THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP COME ON sobs

barbara : you’re a tourist traveling teyvat, which locations in the game would you want to visit in person?

liyue.

"....but they asked which locations you'd-"

LIYUE. everything there is heavy with history and i want to learn every year hidden in the cracks of old relics and eroded rocks, there's a story, small or not, stirring in them

dragonspine : what’s your current party and is that going to change in the upcoming patches?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

my current team (although i don't play genshin anymore cries) is gang, qiqi, yoimiya, and venti and no i don't take constructive criticism

elemental burst: which character has your favorite vision achievement story?

LITERALLY ALL OF THE HYDRO CHARACTERS BECAUSE. CAN RELATE WITH EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM TO THE FULLEST EXTENT.

but if i'm being specific it's ayato hehe

lantern rite : what is your favorite cutscene in the game so far?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

that one cutscene of xiao sacrificing himself in the chasm in attempt to save everyone else, the amount of times i repeated it is insane and someone should've taken away my internet privileges all the way back

ganyu : which character’s rerun are you waiting for desperately?

would you believe me if i said kaveh because i just want the man to be at c6 as a show of my affection for him it'd genuinely be a dream come true

jean : which standard 5 star character do you wish would get an event banner?

QIQI. I NEED HER CONSTELLATIONS STAT

[angelharness]

this was a super fun prompt, i hope i did it justice... i still likely could've done more with it aagh

Blood and Oil in the Water

WARNINGS: typical saw themes

AMANDA YOUNG / THE PIG

Amanda was proud of the shotgun collar. Not an elegant name like the angel trap nor as refined as the well-used reverse bear trap, but it worked as intended and without a fuss.

She should have known something was up. John never used the same trap more than once unless it had moral significance—yet four nights earlier he had requested she revise the collar. It was too sensitive, apparently. It was designed to be a hassle for someone unfamiliar with it to safely disarm it, but he’d reported it could prematurely activate if the wearer moved too abruptly.

As she turns it over in her hands, all the shining locks and hefty, overlapping metal strips, she’s reminded of her own trial, her own personal device. It had left scars, set deep into her cheeks, patterned like a jagged zipper. You always kissed the marks; eventually she stopped hiding them under makeup.

But the memory of her test makes her soul burn fiercely. Maybe with the hot embers of anger, but not at John, never, of course. She was weak back then, stumbling through her life drunkenly without motive, ebbing in and out of lucidity. She had never made plans for the future, never thought she’d make it that far. She’s mad it took her such a close experience with death to wake her up. Mad she had to hold its awful, terrorizing stare, to feel its numbing hands. She’s mad that it took its great jaws around her head like a crown of metal thorns to appreciate life.

Life was unfair, she decided. It was about working with the cards you were dealt, no matter how unfavorable.

She doesn’t end up touching the shotgun collar much. She tightens it by a hair's breadth then hands it back over to John. Whoever will be the one to wear it will live if they want to, she thinks as she sets it into a thick box, sliding the lid into place.

You… knew vaguely of Amanda’s work. You knew she didn’t especially want you involved, and though sometimes it felt like she was pushing you away, she made it well-known that it was for the best. She’d been super spacey lately, though. She comes home late and sleeps late. She wakes up frequently and you lay in bed listening to her pace around the cramped kitchen of your apartment. You trace the dark folds beneath her tired eyes when you lie together on the couch and she flinches as if startled from her thoughts, or doused in droves of frigid water.

That night you had planned an outing at the drive-in theater in town. It had been difficult finding the time to set aside for each other, but the two of you settled on a horror movie. A rerun of a classic you both adore. It’s been a while since either of you went out for a film, and you thought that it, along with an armsful of snacks would do her good to unwind. You would stop at a restaurant on the way there for take-out, and arrive early enough to score a good spot with a good view. It was going to be great. The entire day you were especially energetic, clocking out of work with the biggest smile fixed on your face.

As you start up the winding staircase of the apartment building, you notice the halls are unnaturally empty. You look over your shoulder at a flickering shadow as you turn the key into the slot and enter your shared apartment.

Instantly, your heart slumps. It’s only your pair of running shoes by the door, and the lights are all off. The jacket and blankets you folded for your outing are still set neatly on the couch by the entryway.

You drop your bag by your room, which is similarly empty. The sheets of your bed are disrupted, covers thrown to one side of the mattress. Your eyes slink to the closet-sized bathroom in the room, where light leaks through the open door. You flick the lights off, your reflection in the bathroom mirror drenched in blue darkness.

Your phone buzzes. You fish it out from your pocket and slide it open. You try not to be disappointed. Two more consecutive dings sound. You click on her name in your contacts and open the messages.

Out late with work tonight, I’m so so sorry.

Maybe we can go this weekend. I hate to cancel at the last second but it’s important.

Love you.

You sniffle, fingers curling over the sides of the phonecase, shaking. You don’t know why you’re crying. You know you’re upset, but this isn’t something to cry over. Still, glittering tears pool in your vision and splatter across the screen. Using your palm and sleeve, you wipe away the wetness. You tuck your phone away and unzip your jacket, tossing it onto your desk chair. Your shoes come next, abandoned at the foot of the bed as you stumble out of them.

It’s no big deal, but Amanda always stuck to her word, and you have barely seen her at all as of late. She’s been distant, even her sweetest touches seeming unsure or rushed. Her hugs are brief and uncommitted, holding you uncertainly like handling a snake.

You sink into her side of the bed, taking up a fetal position, sinking into the ripples of cottony fabric. Her warmth is still there, dissolving but unmistakable. It makes you feel worse, so you roll over, retreating to your side and beneath the thick covers. Your eyes flutter closed, tears webbing in your wet lashes. You wipe them away too.

Amanda definitely should have known when John had suggested she should join him in observing his newest subject. She was used to being assigned projects then working on them independently, so it’s rare she’s involved with his less elaborate trials.

Still, it’s 11:09 pm and she’s in a thin jacket and baggy jeans standing outside the backdoor of a decommissioned testing facility. She digs in the collar of her t-shirt and fetches a key from around her neck. It slots into the lock of the grimy double-doors. The click as she turns it is like a gunshot in the silence of the alleyway. She opens the doors and passes inside. The interior is cold, made up of winding, frigid halls and grubby tiled floors. Nauseous yellow stains and shallow scuff marks streaking the walls. An itch crawls up her throat like the scraggly legs of a spider.

At intervals are yellow-ish windows that peer into undecorated, clinical-looking rooms. Folding chairs around folding tables, open cabinets, piles of clipboards and the cases of pens.

Amanda scans over the numbers on the placards that are to the right of each door. 304… 305…

She comes to another pair of double doors, sickly, almost jaundiced lights coming from the windows. She sees a long meeting table, a ring of folding chairs, another window on the opposite side. John’s slumped, sagging figure is seated by the glass panel, looking away. Robed in black with sinister red accents. She feels underdressed, not having thought to bring her cloak, the stagnant cold of the building already working its way into her bones.

He doesn’t turn to acknowledge her as she enters. Amanda follows his unwavering stare to the room on the other side of the glass. Another chair settled in front of a pillar. There’s a drain in the center of the room, with dark stains running to it in dried streams. A television is set up across from the chair. Her eyes drift to the VHS player.

“Who?” she wants to ask, but her painted lips stay sealed and in a resting scowl. She hears a set of thuds from somewhere nearby in the building. John’s eyes lift slightly. He looks over his narrow shoulder to Amanda, something like recognition on his pale, drooping features, all a washed-out yellow like the fluorescent lights. Understanding, she takes the seat next to him. Anxiety torches her insides. She crosses her arms protectively across her chest and attempts to quell her stuttering heart.

On the other side of the glass, Hoffman shoves through a door using the back of his shoulder. He’s hoisting a limp body up to his chest. As he passes inside and under the faintly pulsing lights, she sees your unconscious face on the body he’s carrying. Metal wails against tile as Amanda shoots to stand, chair shoved behind her, clattering into the table. John blinks impassively.

Her throat dries up, and though she’s barely processed the situation she’s shaking horribly. Her mouth is moving, but it’s only her pulse she hears thundering in her ears.

“John,” she shrieks, scaring herself. He breathes deeply, his glassy, sunken eyes fixated on the window. She turns back to Hoffman, watching as he lifts you up onto the chair, tucking your limbs back into place. A moment later your arms slide back to swing at your sides. He scoffs noiselessly and tugs them behind the back of the chair, tying them with a thick rope that he loops over itself twice. She catches your eyelids twitch.

“John,” she sneers, standing in front of him now, arms out and raised, “John, what the fuck?!”

He cocks his head up at her. Her eyes are alight with fury, her veins too, where blood boils and seethes, feverish. But she’s shaking. Shaking the way she did on the day of her first test, when she stood outside, shielding herself from the assaulting daylight, her dark hair stuck to her face and damp with sweat, soaked in blood up to her elbows, her eyes so wide with fear. She looks just as she did then, vulnerable and terrified.

“Amanda,” he finally addresses her.

“Open that box over there,” he orders, but it’s weirdly soft. He nods over at a metal rolling cart. On top of it is a thick cardboard box. She knows what’s in it.

“Don’t involve them in this,” she pleads. She shakes to her fingers, to her neck and knees. A headache pounds behind her eyes, throbbing. “Please.”

Her voice is fractured and nearly silent.

“The box, please,” John prompts again. She stands there for a moment, silence stretching the second on infinitely until it hurts to behold. It floods her lungs like a toxic gas, burns her eyes, thickens the air. She turns slowly and steps over to the box. She pries the lid off and sets it aside delicately, like it’s dangerous. The tang of aged steel overtakes her smell.

She lifts the shotgun collar out of its container. It feels so much heavier than before and takes a great deal to carry back over to John. She stands there in front of him like she isn’t sure what to do, but in reality she’s just stalling. Her muscles burn and shake. John only nods solemnly and it nearly breaks her.

She steps into the room but sticks close to the door, like entering a shark’s tank. For another painful moment she stands there before walking to the center of the room, shoving past Hoffman intentionally with a low snarl she hopes John doesn’t catch. He stands behind her, but she sends him an intense glare that gets him to ease off her and back off somewhat.

Amanda, holding her crown of thorns, stares at it. She’s scared. She watches her own chest rise and fall gradually with each breath, just to remind herself that she’s indeed alive in this moment, that it’s real. There’s the sound of ticking somewhere in the room, but she hadn’t seen a clock when she entered. It’s like a heartbeat in the walls. Her head hurts. Someone is thrusting a screwdriver into her skull and twisting it around.

“C’mon, Young,” Hoffman hisses over her shoulder. She wants to sock him in the jaw, maybe dislocate it too, afterward, but she knows John is watching. She seethes silently instead.

“Or I’ll do it myself.”

The threat finally pushes her to action. She lifts the collar over your head, careful as she rests it on your shoulders and around your neck. You sink under the weight, but remain asleep. The lock clicks securely. She knows her way around all the mechanisms, but she’s still terrified it will randomly trigger and (although empty) ignite your face.

Hoffman shuffles behind her and appears at her side, shoving a pack of bullets into her hands. Five, wide, shimmering bullets. Their exterior is cold, almost biting her palms.

Amanda methodically slides each shotgun bullet into place, clasping each tightly in its holder. Each click is deafening. She steps back, breathes in, breathes out, stale air that’s acidic in her throat. None of this feels real to her yet.

She leans forward, her eyes fixed on your face. You look unfittingly peaceful, and it tears her apart entirely. She knows the terror she felt when she woke up in the same situation as you will soon. She knows how awful and raw it is, and she aches to comfort you, pull you from your binds and collar; she wants to promise you a safety that she just can’t.

Her forehead meets yours. Your breaths are slow and even. Hers tremble. She closes her eyes and can almost pretend for a brief moment that you’re at home in eachothers arms. The bitter air, the lights burning the back of her neck, Hoffman’s figure lurking over her shoulder; she can only hold the image for a moment before it slips through her fingers and she’s back in the testing chamber.

As she pulls away, she strokes your cheek. The rough pad of her thumb traces over your bottom lip, then cradles your face.

“I’m sorry,” Amanda can only wheeze. The cruel irony of it all isn’t lost on her, and she wants to tear her skin off, claw out her throat, any pain to relieve her from reality. It’s her trap around your neck. A week before she had it on her desk, all her drafts and blueprints stacked to one side. She pressed the butt of the screwdriver to her chin, decides, no need to mess with it, and set it aside. It was swiftly packed away as you appeared in the doorway to her workshop, summoning her for dinner. She smiled at you tiredly; you smiled back sympathetically.

“A lot of work?”

“You about done?” Hoffman asks dryly, not so much a question. Her fingers fall from your face. She stands, and when she turns she doesn’t look back, elbowing past Hoffman again, searching for John—the window is one way glass though, and so she’s left alone in a room that’s not empty.

She pushes inside the observation room, keeping her stare on the gaps between the floor tiling, tracing along them with her eyes. Hoffman shuffles inside behind her, and she hears the lock slide into place. His heavy boots thud along the ground and out of sight. Her vision goes glassy, tears rimming her eyes. A few beads run down her cheeks and drop to the floor below. She’s holding back sobs in her chest; she’s scared of breathing, so she stands there, holding her breath until her lungs burn and her eyesight fogs further.

Click. Two more, a mechanical humming. Static bites through the silence. Jigsaw announces your name.

[ashtonsdrumstixs]

“The new boi on the block just kicked his way into the 100K Club! Geordi is officially the fastest character to go from creation to this milestone!

Some behind the scenes stuff about Geordi:

Geordi's name is a reference to Geordi La Forge, from Star Trek the Next Generation, played by the amazing LeVar Burton. Next Gen remains one of my favorite series, and Geordi was easily my favorite character of that show. I grew up watching reruns of Next Gen and Reading Rainbow, and while *my* Geordi doesn't really take any character inspiration from the one on TV, I wanted to give a nod to what the character and actor portraying him have meant to me.

I was truly surprised by the success of Geordi's series. I of course want all my characters to do well in terms of views, but realistically I know they won't all be super popular, and that's okay. It doesn't put me off from creating content around them. Some of my favorite videos I've made have been ones that got few views, and I don't mind that. But with nothing about his series being particular searched-- no "-dere" keyword, no big ticket paranormal race, like Vampire or Werewolf or Demon, I just didn't expect his video to really go anywhere. So I was very pleasantly surprised to see how much it took off, because it was a lot of fun to make.

From the start, I was really excited to explore the concept of an empowered listener with an unempowered character. So often in my content, and I'd hazard to say, in a lot of other creator's content, the listener is either at a power-disadvantage, or they're on roughly even footing. Which in and of itself is interesting to think about, given that in a lot of interactive media, where the consumer of the content is portraying some kind of character in the narrative, most often in video games, the viewer/player/listener usually has *more* power than the people around them, rather than the other way around. But this style of content tends to go the other way. So it was fun to get to explore that for the first time on the channel.

Another aspect of Geordi's story that I felt was important to explore was kind of an extension of some themes I've touched on in the past (like in Aaron's), but never looked at quite so closely as I got to here: the idea, uncomfortable though it may be, that we can end up hurting people we care about completely without meaning to, or even realizing it until it's said to us, and how we then navigate that realization. I wanted to convey in the audio that "Cutie" had no ill will, they love Geordi and never intended to hurt him, and that while that intention is important and worth knowing, that it doesn't change the hurt that they've caused him. It gives context, but it doesn't just instantly excuse what happened. And that to continue forward from that will take open, honest communication from both of them about their feelings and boundaries and wants and comfort levels. Any kind of relationship, romantic or otherwise, is fundamentally built on trust, and that trust is directly supported by communication. That idea of honest communication is taken in some ways to its most extreme through this storyline, where through the Telepathy, that communication is at its most raw and unfiltered, for better and for worse, and that's an interesting dichotomy to dig into.

Geordi is one of my new favorites to write and voice, because I really enjoy that it can simultaneously be so flippant and silly, bouncing around in his head, but also become grounded in serious discussion, because that's just life, ya know? None of us are one thing all the time. Feelings exist in multitudes; we can feel conflicting emotions at the same time. We can be mad at someone *and* love them. We can be hurt and hopeful. Trusting, but scared. The feelings can be in conflict, but they don't overwrite each other, and it's valid in its complication. And stream of consciousness is a really cool way to explore that, so I'm excited to continue crafting Geordi's storyline.”

WELCOME TO THE 100k club Geordi !

[bluexiao]

Your Name

➜ Character/s: zhongli; f!reader

➜ Theme/s: soulmate au. fluff. first meetings (kind of?). reader is an ordinary person from qingce village.

➜ Word Count: 2,460 words (two-shot)

➜ Note/s: as celebration for the zhongli banner and also since i got him hours ago along with yanfei (aaaa i won 50/50 im so happy!!), i shall present a zhongli oneshot for the soulmate series! also, this is the very first genshin oneshot i’ve ever written but i only posted it now since i wanted to time it with the zhongli rerun eheh. enjoy reading!

➜ Part of the Series:

Home - Albedo | Love or Hate? - Tartaglia/Childe | No Love Left - Aether | Destiny & Fate - Venti |

Folklore, legends, and myths were not uncommon to the people of Liyue. Even though the thousand of miles apart in each of the parts of Liyue, these stories travel just as fast as how the god of Lightning itself would pierce through its opponents in battle. Soulmates, they were not that far behind all of these.

In Qingce Village, people believed in almost everything, but one thing that everyone shared was the story of being united with their fated lover, whom their souls were bound to, that even death could not do them part.

The village itself was known as where most old and very young children lived due to the peacefulness of the place, and it was also the reason why you agreed to stay there with your grandmother even as most of the friends that you’ve had decided to leave the village for the bustling Liyue Harbor, or maybe be an Adventurer to travel the whole of Teyvat, even. You could barely even remember their faces, you doubt that you could recognize them by the time that you’d see them—you doubt they don’t recognize you, that is. Well, it’s not like you’ve changed that much since childhood, people who’ve visited you told you that you looked the same as before, just a little more mature.

“Dear, could you brew tea for us please?”

“Yes, Grandma Ruoxin,” you respond immediately, just before you had caught sight of the guest that came to your home, not spending a second more before walking away. Rarely have you had visitors before, maybe a couple of villagers, but not much from those who were not from there. Just by looking at the boy and his companion, it was fairly obvious how they seemed to not belong.

You shrugged, figuring that you’ll figure it out soon by the time you will go out there again to deliver the tea to your grandmother and her guests.

“-My granddaughter, she’s the only one who has been taking care of everyone here. I almost feel bad for her. Say, if you ever need another companion, maybe she could join you as well.” your grandmother says, her voice hinting a small chuckle that followed afterward.

You would’ve made your way and cut the conversation right there and then, but the thought makes you wonder—what being free in this provincial life looks like, sounds like, feels like. You were not ashamed that you’ve thought of the possibilities, but it makes you regretful that you wanted to experience it yourself. It’s not that you have had enough of the quiet life in the village, you like it—you love it, even. Although adventure, it’s something that your heart secretly desired, deep within the caverns, hidden beneath everyone, including you.

“Your granddaughter? Then who would be there for you when she’s gone?” you then heard the companion of the boy say. And base from where you’re peeking, you can see it floating, like how a geo-crystal butterfly would, leaving a trail of sparkles in its wake. You found it beautiful—and it made you contemplate further on the topic of being setting foot out of the village and into the vast world ahead of you—would you be amazed like you are now, or should you be frightened?

As most of your friends said before, you will never know unless you try it out yourself.

“Ah, dear, perfect timing.” Grandma Ruoxin beams just as you entered the room, feeling their attention shift towards you—not that they weren’t early on, anyway. As soon as you are pouring the cups for all of them, the traveler’s companion speaks up once again.

“Hello! You must be Granny Ruoxin’s granddaughter! She told us so much about you-“

“Paimon-”

“-Oh and my name is Paimon, by the way. And this is Aether!” the little fairy-like creature said, her voice as chirpy as one could get, and she reminds you of a friend you know of that also went to Liyue Harbor.

“I’m sure she did.” you smile at your grandmother, for a second before offering a hand to the traveler. “And it is nice to meet you. You may call me Y/n.” you say, then feeling him reach out to take your hand, shaking it formally. It has been said that you would be able to figure out someone’s personality on how one shakes another’s hand—the way they hold; is it gentle, was it rough, was his movements stiff, you could tell. Despite not having any vision, at least this was something you could have fate on—your instincts.

Thus, when you left your grandmother’s house and your home for your whole life, you knew that you would regret nothing. Meeting Aether and Paimon was destiny’s way of telling you to get out of the gates of your comforts and be vulnerable to what lies ahead of your future.

Liyue Harbor was not like you had imagined, it was far more beautiful than the ideas you have had in mind, and you were certain that it was the effect of the Lantern Rite Festival that was being celebrated all throughout Liyue, more so there in the harbor. Actually, it was not just beautiful, it was breathtaking.

“I will just be doing a few commissions, do you want to come or do you want to explore the harbor in the meantime?” Aether suddenly asks, seemingly unpanicked even as you have seen the list of things that he has to work on. During your journey from home, he admitted that he was there in the village for a commission from your grandmother and a few villagers. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to reprimand him any of it in fear that you may come across as meddling in his affairs. In the village, it’s something that one should be careful of.

“Ah, don’t mind me. I may just be a burden to you if I come with you. I’ll stay here and we should meet up afterward when you are finished.” you responded, offering him a kind smile. When the three of you agreed on the meeting place for the evening so that all of you could watch the Mingxiao lantern be released together, you, Paimon, and Aether went to your separate ways, whereas the two stayed with each other, and you alone.

You were not fond of being left by yourself in the middle of a place that you’re not familiar with, and the regret was starting to build up that you could almost turn back and run to find Aether and Paimon. Yet, something stirred inside of you, may it be the guilt of slowing down the two in their work, or just your mere desire to enjoy and marvel at your surroundings. You were used to it—being on your own, must be why you didn’t fully dislike the idea either.

Besides, you were in the perfect place.

If anyone were to bother looking your way, they could have seen the wonder in your eyes, the amazement in the way your breath hitches. Liyue Harbor is so much different than Qingce Village. And for the first time ever, you’ve seen more people than you’ve seen your entire life.

You were in an entirely different world—and you were enjoying each and every second of it.

That was until you bumped into someone else.

“Ah-I’m so-I apologize about that, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, there was no harm done.” the man cuts you off, and at the same time, his voice caught you off guard. You found yourself glancing at his, and you didn’t know at that time whether it was his voice that made your heart skip or was it his appearance?

It was a given that you never found others attractive to the point of being flustered at them due to the fact that you have always treated other people as friends, or family, even. You had not yet seen anyone as someone who you could potentially be within that way. It was unusual, yes, but for you, it was understandable.

“I was not looking, I hope I did not hurt you.” you immediately say. From what you could remember, you slightly tripped your foot with his, and you were absolutely relieved that you did not step on him. If you did, you might have been more embarrassed than you would now.

“I don’t suppose you did,” he answers quite calmly, “although even if you did, it’s not something that you should be bothered by. I will pay no mind to it.”

He’s a gentleman, that’s what you’d say if you’re asked what your first impression was on him, whoever he is. Everyone in your village was kind, but something about this man gave you the feeling of being in the presence of a well-respected person, not just because of his looks, but also his personality. It made you curious, so to speak, yet you ought not to make it obvious still. He was still a stranger, and you were in an unfamiliar land, all by yourself. If there’s anything you have learned from your friends who came back to the village and visited you, it’s to never trust anyone fully until you’ve learned their true intentions. Liyue was led by the god of contracts. One should remember to be cautious of the world and its people, especially if you were at a disadvantage.

“Well then, I suppose I-” it appears that you have spoken out of turn when you thought that you had already escaped the fate of embarrassment. You tripped on your foot, regardless of your relief earlier, luckily however someone saves you from further humiliation.

“I-I’m really-woah-”

His chuckle made your heart skip a beat, not to mention that he was also holding your hand like a true gentleman, his grip on your shoulder light and fleeting, a sign of respect and a sense of privacy.

May the archons help you, you prayed.

“You must be new here, I don’t seem to recognize your face.” he starts to form a comfortable conversation, probably to make you forget of the moments that you almost had your face planted on the ground of Liyue Harbor before you even got to enjoy it.

“Ah, yes,” you say, fixing yourself and stepping back, not without hesitating on letting go of his hand. You were actually nervous whether he saw you hesitate due to how he glanced at your hands, yet you immediately pulled them back to your front, twiddling your fingers together unconsciously. “I came from Qingce Village, a traveler brought me here per request of my grandmother.”

Your eyes were trained to your foot, but it traces upwards when you heard no reply from him, and just as you had expected, he was not even glancing at your face, but rather... your hands? Why-

“What did you say your name was-well, if it’s alright for you to say.” he pauses, “If it makes you comfortable, my name is Zhongli, and I work as a consultant at the Wansgheng Funeral Parlor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” there it was again—his hand. It was so tempting that you didn’t even realize that you had only taken it in a split second to take it.

“I’m Y/n. It is indeed, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zhongli.” he was looking at your intertwined hands, yet that was not on your mind.

You see, you haven’t forgotten about your tie to your soulmate—the person you were bound to forever, no matter how many lives you’d have. It’s needless to say that you haven’t found yours yet in this lifetime, but you’d admit yourself as a fool for even thinking for a second that this man might be that person—the one, as many children call it in your village. For elderlies, they would just laugh it off, silently reminiscing about the past, probably their prime years when they have met their life partner. You wondered what it felt like—to have someone you can call as your other half.

But going back to reality, this man is just not it.

“That name on your wrist,” he suddenly implied, “have you met them yet?”

You were flustered by the question, and also your answer nonetheless.

“I don’t suppose I have,” you nervously chuckled. “If I had, I probably wouldn’t be walking on the streets of Liyue Harbor in the middle of the Lantern Rite Festival all alone.” there was a hint of bitterness in your voice, you noticed, yet it doesn’t seem to be something you regretted doing, no matter if the god of fate would curse you for it further.

Zhongli hums, likely as to contemplate what he’d say. And before you can even point out that you two were still in the middle of holding your hands out together, he spoke yet again.

“I don’t see any reason for you not to find them around here, in Liyue. You’ll never know, they might just be near you, as we speak. Fate, after all, is like a fleeting wind towards a lantern, despite flowing above the sea, it might still find its way to its owner. It’s unexpected and quite inevitable.”

You stared at him, maybe for far too long that he had to chuckle to take you back to your senses.

“I suppose my rambling might have surprised you. I merely recited a saying from way before this time. I believe it’s not even written in the books nowadays.”

“Ah no, it’s alright,” you interject. “I was just simply amazed by your way of speaking. You spoke far better than any of the elderlies back at home.” you smile, recalling of the villagers that still hold your heart. “I could say I agree, and it appears to have put my mind to ease. After all, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of people who are called Morax.” there was a smile on your face when you said that name, and a flow of warmth spreads to your chest. You can blame it all on the customary about soulmates.

Maybe someday, when you see this person, your heart would also skip a beat when you see them.

Unknown to you, however, Zhongli’s piercing eyes landed on his wrist. And even if he couldn’t see it with the sleeve of his coat, he knew it was your name that was embedded on his skin, your name that he searches every single day, your name that could thaw a solid heart like his.

All throughout your lifetimes, he was glad to have been given a chance to see you once more. In his mind, this was the only contract Zhongli would always choose never to break.

[wh6res]

chase — renhyuck

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

tw bullying, violence, swearing, yandere themes, possessive themes, blood, weapons (a gun, a grenade), implied noncon, implied kidnapping, mentions of stalking

disc i dont condone this behavior

wc 5k

‏‏‎ ‎

29 hours before the annual purge

“hold her down—i said hold her down, idiot!”

putting everything into account, they saw you more like a glorified chew toy than an actual person. 

they ruined your life simultaneously and it's ironic, that despite being sworn rivals, it seems you were their neutral ground—after one has had their own fun, you’re passed on to the other person so they can deliver that final, shattering blow that weakens your resolve. 

it was meant to be that way because it had always been that way. you’re the unlucky loser that ignited the worse sides of both lee haechan and huang renjun. 

they’re like oil and water; they don’t mix but with you, they found a compromise. stealing your lunch money, trashing your homework, quickies in between lectures. all of these should’ve been enough to give them a good power trip. but they’ve developed a hunger so severe that these past instances are but mere crumbs that hardly satisfy their cravings. 

it was beyond exhausting, being caught in between two headstrong people that were unwilling to back down at any cost. their aggression and anger towards each other directly being channeled onto you as they shove and swing you around like some ragdoll. 

you weren’t a bunch of kids, you knew that. you don’t cry and sob and say that it’s unfair, you hold your chin high and walk up to the guidance counselor’s office to report them for bullying. but you never should’ve underestimated the power of money and their respective families’ broad network of connections. 

without a doubt, the empty promises for justice is what broke your heart the most. it breaks with every bruise, every tight grip, and every nasty name the people willingly turned a blind eye to. 

it’s sad but it was a reality you taught yourself to get used to—the meek mouse learning how to evade the cats hot on her trail. 

but you weren’t as lucky today. 

“i am holding her down.”

a pair of lips comes in contact with your neck. its feathery and light at first until its biting down to mark you with his teeth. not too strong to draw blood, but enough to dent the surface of the skin. 

haechan has an oral fixation. biting his lips. his nails. whenever you see him, he always has a lollipop on his mouth and if he doesn’t, he’s painting hickeys across your skin. you hated his oral fixation, especially when makeup and clothes proved useless to hide the marks he gives you. 

“why run?” renjun asks you, slipping his fingers underneath your skirt as he kneels. “you know you have nowhere to hide in the campus.”

haechan snorts. “or anywhere else.”

it’s always the same thing. you go to school. you sit in your first period for thirty minutes until one of them shows up. then the other boy probably felt a gut instinct that he’s missing out on the fun. last time, it was an empty classroom in the abandoned left wing. 

they like taking you there all the time, it was always dark, the blinds pulled and shut tight. not to mention it was incredibly dusty. but both male knew you’re afraid of the dark, exactly why it’s their favorite spot. but empty classrooms and supply closets are close seconds, too. 

“you’re so pathetic. useless—only know how to whine like a fucking pornstar,” he quickly comments, feeling you arch against him when renjun’s tongue comes in contact with the pearl between your legs. “my cumdump.”

you feel a sharp exhale against your lower lips. you shudder. renjun clicks his tongue in annoyance. “can you shut up? you’re making my dick soft with all that talking.”

but haechan had ignored him completely, blissfully ignorant of the petite boy’s frustrations as he angles your head up to crash his lips onto yours. when he slightly pulls away, still playfully nibbling your bottom lip, what he said next made your blood run cold. 

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6 hours before the annual purge

the price to pay for protection started rising again this year and you, much like your neighbors, are in a sense of turmoil. jamming the doors with cabinets and nailing your windows with wood is hardly enough to satisfy the gnawing feeling in your stomach. much less when you didn’t even have a weapon to wield other than a wooden bat and a cheap taser you bought on sale. 

“its not like anyone will be coming for you, right?” the little girl says, touching the randomest stuff in your apartment. her name was naeun and she never really liked pink and sparkles like most girls her age, maybe that’s why she took a liking to you. 

her mom works a 9 to 5 and her grandma stays with her on occasion. but the old lady loved to sleep, naeun said, so she gets the chance to slip out and come knocking on your door. you tried shooing her out of your apartment countless times but she’s stubborn. 

she reminds you of yourself. 

“well, i hope no one does.” you joked, putting on a turtleneck. 

naeun’s mom doesn't like you as much as it is, but if you yourself let naeun see the bruises on your skin? you’d hate yourself forever. “now, come on little missy, go back to your grandma. i need to head over to the bank to settle my protection fees.”

“but you just said no one is going to come for you anyway,” she whines stomping towards the door. “mom already settled ours yesterday becase grammy forced her to. mommy said it was just a waste of money because who’d bother to rob us anyway?”

a memory flashes in your head. two boys who’ve sandwiched you between them in the dark of a fucking supply closet at uni. wandering hands, labored whispers, curt giggles, one pair of lips trailing up your neck while the other up your inner thigh.

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

you needed that protection. that was no slip up because haechan never makes mistakes. if he wanted to make you feel like some animal on the run after catching a whiff of trouble then he sure is doing a good job. 

“hey! i think you just went someplace else there,” naeun says, nudging your side irritably to get your attention again. 

you try forcing out a chuckle but it doesn't work, still deeply peeved by a memory from last week replaying vividly in your mind. if they ever mean what they meant (which you know they do) then this is now more than just trying to get through the night—you have to survive, prepare, and pray neither of them finds you. 

“i think your grandma’s right in doing what she did, naeun. with humans, you’ll never know.”

and just like that naeun went silent, bid you goodbye, and disappeared behind the apartment door.

the bank was a quick walk from your apartment. you hardly broke much sweat and you even managed to stop by the grocery store to make some last-minute runs. the store’s nearly empty, deserted of any human being as the seconds slowly but surely ticked away. it was only when you walked past aisle seven did you pause, the hairs on your back standing as a slow chill crawled up your spine. 

you look over your shoulder. 

no one’s there. 

you swallow, quickly looking down your watch to check the time as you made your way to counter. 3 hours before the annual purge. you needed to get your ass moving. you just need to grab one more thing and you’ll best be on your way. 

you practically ran towards the dairy section and just as you spin around, strawberry ice cream pint in your hands, you jump as he appears before you in thin air and you drop whatever you’re holding. 

“such a skittish little kitten,” renjun clicks his tongue, bending down to retrieve the ice cream on the floor. “here you go.”

you couldn’t even stare at him in the eye. your hands shook but it wasn’t because of the cold desert. now you get it. it’s his eyes you felt on you earlier, ever intrusive and piercing as he watched you from afar. was he stalking you?

“i didn’t quite catch a thank you, kitty.”

how foolish of you to think he’ll let you duck away without at least speaking to him, hm?

“thank… thank you?”

renjun grins, satisfied with your stuttering as he raises a hand to ruffle your hair—he ignores how you flinched away from him—before walking away with one hand in his coat pocket, whistling an eerie tune that can haunt your nightmares way after purge night. 

“see you later, kitten.”

if it wasn’t the whistling that set you on edge or that clear promise of your doom—it’s the pack of zip ties and duct tape in his hands.‏‏‎ ‎

you were watching a rerun of your favorite morning reality tv when it cuts to the dreaded blue screen showing the flag of korea. 

this is not a test.

this is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the south korean government. 

weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. all other weapons are restricted. 

commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. 

police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 am when the purge concludes. 

may god be with you all.

you’ll never get used to the blaring siren that echoes through the empty streets. you can feel the floor vibrating and it travels throughout your whole body as the dread starts sinking deep into your skin. 

you’ve already double checked all your windows and the front door. activated the security system provided by the bank. and you’ve also already charged your taser and have hammered down nails into your wooden bat. fine. if they wanted to scare and bully you into a panicked frenzy, it did its job but fuck no will you go down without a fight. 

you shut all the lights, the apartment basking in the moonlight glow brought by the translucent curtains as you make your way to your bedroom, nearest the emergency exit just in case they barge through your front door by force. 

at first, nothing happened. it was peaceful. tranquil. you can hear a pin drop with how quiet it was. both inside and outside. you were almost tempted to cover your mouth in case you were breathing too loud. 

it’s silent. until it wasn’t.

your phone rings. it’s there, vibrating on your desk and you make long strides until you’re face to face with a set of numbers on your screen. an unregistered contact. there’s a debate inside your head whether to answer it or not, fingers hovering between the red and green button… until it eventually lands on the green. 

you put it up to your ear, hands sweating as you wait with bated breath for the person on the other end to speak. 

“kitten?”

it’s renjun. you don’t answer. 

“i can hear you breathing, you know. i can’t wait to see you. we’ll have so much fun together. it’s sad that i have to share with that imbecile but better half of you than nothing of you, right?” he laughs and you feel a rush of anger surge through you. yet, you don’t bother to give him the satisfaction of a reply. 

“i can see you’re angry, little kitty. while it’s cute and hot… don’t be. turn that frown upside down for me, wouldn’t you?”

but the blinds are drawn he couldn’t have seen you—

“you’re never going to get me, you fucking bastard. i’m not scared of you,” you sure do hope he can’t hear the tremble in your voice. “whatever you plan on doing to me, you’ll fail.”

you walk back slowly, eyes darting everywhere to look for a camera they could’ve installed in your room. they have connections and the money to do it so you won’t put it past them. 

“oh, my stupid kitty. how can we fail when we already got a head start?” 

the floorboard behind you creaks and before you could turn around, someone slams your head against the desk. you hear a crack, whether it’s the screen of your laptop or your nose, you couldn’t tell. the person is agile and silent as he maneuvers you to the ground and seals your lips with duct tape. 

“after all,” haechan giggles. “you can’t lock out what’s already inside, kitten.”

your phone lands somewhere near your head. renjun has already dropped the call and the line goes silent. 

squirming, you glared at the person on top of you. is this how you’re gonna go? you can’t deny, even you yourself find this pathetic. the security alarms you bought, the nail-studded bat, your taser, everything was all for naught? just because you didn’t check under your bed to make sure no one was there?

how long was haechan waiting? when naeun was still here? when you went out to buy groceries? 

you thought it would be fear you’ll be feeling as you get caught but the emotion isn’t present at all. instead, it’s white hot anger that overrides your system and forces you to act without thinking—and it just fucking saved your life. 

haechan always saw you as a vulnerable, sad little human being who couldn’t do shit on her own. it’s easy to underestimate you and that’s his first mistake. 

the second is rather foolish—not tying your legs up first. it’s all too easy to slam your forehead against his before jerking your leg up to knee him in the balls. 

you can see the anger in his eyes clear as day as you made a run for it to the kitchen, having come up with another escape plan—because surely if you went down the emergency exit, haechan would’ve caught up easily with those long legs after he’s recovered from your assault. 

your nose was probably bleeding and your head is in the early stages of a full blown migraine, at least you were able to function enough to wobble your way towards the trash chute situated near the stove. you had cursed that chute the first day you moved in here (who would put a trash chute next to a fucking stove) but the day has come for you to thank the gods that you have that in your house. 

going for a swim in all your neighbors’ trash is disgusting and unplanned (plus, falling down maybe six floors to your doom) but you’ll choose that over lee haechan and huang renjun any day. 

“don’t you dare fucking think about it!”

you flashed him the middle finger to tick him off. a petty retaliation for all the bullshit he and renjun put you through but it felt good nonetheless. 

“catch me if you fuckers can.”

and you were falling down the trash chute.‏‏‎ ‎

okay, yeah—maybe you should’ve thought it through before hurling yourself six floors down only for some half-filled dumpster to catch you but at least you’re still alive, right? alive and free, mind you. but you don’t have time to celebrate. 

it smelled awful and you swear your knees and elbows are bruised but you scramble to climb out and run away as fast as you can. 

it was only haechan inside your apartment. no sign of renjun but he did see you somehow and you have no doubt it was a camera inside that room. you didn’t have much time to ponder for how long they were installed in your room. it’s the least of your worries at the moment.

you’re outside. 

during purge night.

even if you did manage to escape it felt more like a win than a lose, forced out of your own apartment in nothing but shorts and a shirt—heck, you don’t even have shoes on!—it felt like they won. again. 

if you’re not going to die in the hands of some other wacko, you’ll die of hypothermia. how nice. 

you didn’t know where you were running to, the only thing you knew was you need to get the hell out of this neighborhood as fast as you can. you didn’t want to run in alleyways and risk getting stabbed for fun. maybe the sewer system… oh, right. you don’t have your phone on you and it’ll probably be pitch black down there. 

you really, truly, genuinely didn’t want to run so out in the open but it was the best you can impulsively come up with. 

when you feel like you’ve put a reasonable distance between you and the apartment, you stop, hands resting flat on your knees as you crouch to catch a breath. just as quick the adrenaline appeared as fast as it had disappeared. you feel the weight and tension crushing your legs, not to mention you’re really starting to feel that headache settle after headbutting haechan. 

you almost collapse against the brick wall. 

the last person you ever thought you’ll see jumps out from the corner of the alleyway and you almost broke their nose. 

until you saw who it was. 

“NAEUN?”

their apartment got raided, some buffy sickos who they had the misfortune of breaking into their house to purge. luckily they got away, but after getting attacked on the streets, naeun got separated after she ran for her life just like you did. you can’t help but feel sorry for the little girl, who experienced the full effect of this godforsaken holiday. 

this is bad. you can’t leave her but it’s tough enough to have to fend for yourself. you’re not so sure whether you can protect another human being but you’ll have to try. 

“did your mom or grandma tell you anything? anything at all?” you ask, crouching to her eye level. “you said your mom knew the way… where? what do you mean?”

“mom said they’re providing refuge on the other side of town but it’s a 30-minute drive. walking would take longer.”

shit. you didn’t want to risk it. you don’t have a car and you’d rather die right here right now than walk another step out in the streets—

“who’s ‘they’?”

“i don’t… i don’t know. she didn’t say.”

you licked your chapped lips. you can’t trust what she’s saying, not when you didn’t even know these people. it’s too risky, not to mention you’re already running from not one, but two people.

naeun sits next to you against the bricked wall of the alley, looking down at her lap. “i’m scared,” she admits. you hear a tremble in her voice. “are mom and grammy de—”

“no,” you cut her off, pulling her tiny body against yours. when you feel her fists clutching your jacket, you swear to protect this girl with your life. “no, they’re not. i’m sure they’re heading there now to the refuge center just like we are.”

her head pokes out, looking up towards you. “we’re going? i thought you didn’t want to.”

you shake your head, wiping her tears. “well, it’s the one way for you to meet your mom and grammy, right?”‏‏‎ ‎

walking down the streets during purge night—man, this has got to be the most ballsy thing you’ve ever done after that one time you spat at renjun in the eye. you managed to find a litter of bodies way into thirty minutes of walking and you nearly sent naeun flying onto the asphalt with how hard you pushed her back. she couldn’t see this mess, you’d be damned to allow a nine-year-old walk right into psychological trauma. 

you pocket a gun—you didn’t have enough courage to fight with a knife. you wiped the blood off using your shirt before shoving them down onto the garter of your shorts. you didn’t bother to take their shoes, none of them would’ve fit you anyway and it’ll just slow you down. 

“hey, are you alright? is that blood—”

“it’s not mine, naeun. come on, let’s get moving.”

for two hours you walked towards this mysterious refuge center on the other side of town and both you and naeun managed to evade death three times. 

the first attack: a group of high schoolers with their uniforms on. there were three of them, about your height, and while you weren’t responsible for the blood on your shirt, you’re not so sure about their lot. they looked crazy, excited even, but sloppy in the way they flung their knives and bats around. their first purge, you assumed, so it was fairly easy to take them down. a bullet to the head worked like a charm. naeun didn’t say anything when you urged her out of her hiding place to flee the scene. three bullets left. 

the second attack: it was a surprise, one that got you stabbed in the shin of your right leg. it was a drunkard with a knife, you could smell him as you walked past by his slumped form in the sidewalk. he wasn’t moving, so you thought he was dead and it was poor judgement on your part. it’s pathetic getting injured this way, you thought, but at least it was you who faced the consequences and not naeun. two bullets left.

the third attack: two men but deadlier than the girls and the drunk. you didn’t get to reason out with either of them, not when they drove their cadillac at 140 miles per hour and nearly ran you over. a chill crept up your spine when you saw the bloody, naked women strapped down onto the hood. victims. you didn’t engage in any form of combat, it’s impossible, so you took naeun in your arms and ran straight to the back alleys. number of bullets remain the same.

three lucky strikes. 

three times you’ve cheated death. 

but time is up and your luck has run out. 

“beating up a girl? what a coward, if you ask me,” you say, spitting out a tooth after someone kneed you in the face. you were in no position to say such things when they’ve got you busted up and bloody, left eye swollen after one hard punch. 

naeun is nowhere to be seen. 

good. 

who knows what these assholes could’ve done to her. you told her to run so she better fucking run and make sure she lives through this nightmare. 

another kick flies to your ribs and you lie sprawled on the dirty pavement of an alleyway—what an uncool way to die but at least you’ll die with a clear conscience. 

you passed by city hall a few minutes ago. surely, the refuge center is not too far from there. naeun will make it safe. she’ll make it. 

“what’s that look on her face? is she dead?”

another one scoffs. “well… if they’re after her then she’s as good as dead.”

you blacked out. ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

you hate the scent of disinfectant. it crawls up your nose and you hate how the stench is so strong you can taste it on your tongue. this isn’t heaven, not when you know you’re better off burning in hellfire.

unless you weren’t dead—your eyes shoot open, sitting up in haste as you clutch the thin blanket. 

rows upon rows of the same cot you were lying on greets you. people injured, some standing, some sitting. there were people treating them, too, but they were in normal clothes so this can’t be a hospital. in fact, it looked like you’re in some warehouse, stacks of metal crates sealing off all entrances. 

“it’s the refuge,” you whisper. 

“you’re awake!” before you could even turn around, a body launches itself onto you and nearly makes the cot collapse. judging by the small frame and the pitchy voice—

“naeun, be careful!” her mother hisses but the girl in between your arms couldn’t care less. if she’d been an adult, she’d be squeezing the life out of you. when she pulls you closer, your healing ribs made a strike of pain surge through you. 

you groan, bowing in the pain. distantly, you can hear the mother and daughter fighting and it was a banter you’ve never experienced with your own mom. it nearly made you tear up from the overwhelming wave of emotions you were feeling but all else disappears when a person tenderly grips your shoulder. 

“thank you for taking care of my granddaughter.” the old lady was smiling appreciatively as she stared at you. 

that was it. it could’ve been the happy ending to a gruesome and bloody storyline—it should’ve been, family of three reunites again and that was all thanks to you, right?

but even heroes have their own bad endings. 

you heard the ticking of the grenade only seconds before it detonates. the other refugees didn’t even have the time to take cover as some closest to the sealed doors were sent flying so far back they crashed into the row of crates behind you. 

you were severely injured, limping, ribs broken, and you only had one good eye to rely on—yet the first thing you thought of was protecting naeun. maybe the midget had a way of worming herself into your heart. but before you even push yourself off the cot, a figure emerges from the smoke. 

petite and harmless, pretty as the tips of his hair grazed porcelain cheekbones. renjun’s eyes are as cold and calculating as can be and it’s the only thing that terrifies you to no end. when he opens his mouth, anger is hidden well underneath that calm tone. 

“i’ll give you one minute to come here willingly.”

there’s no room for bargain, he needn’t when he knows you have absolutely nothing to offer him but yourself. he doesn’t finish his sentence but he trusts you’re smart enough to figure out the silent threat—come, or he’ll turn this place into a fucking bloodbath. 

cornered and weak, defenseless. weird how they have a fixation for calling you ‘kitty’ when they’re the cats in this chase. 

“naeun,” you whisper, trying to crane your neck to look for her in the filth of rocks and debris. please don’t be hurt.

you freeze when you feel a barrel pointing at your head. it was only there for seconds, haechan probably doesn’t have the guts to hurt you in any way permanently (unless it’s inflicted with his own hands and not through some other medium). 

“ah, look. now we have matching black eyes,” he giggles like a madman, craning your neck up and the leather in his globes brings discomfort to your skin. 

you see the way the other refugees looked at you—scum, dirt on their feet that brought about trouble in their lives. they were already badly hurt as it is and now, this happened? you don’t blame them. 

not one man tried to stand up for you as haechan hauls you up and throws you down on renjun’s feet. your ribs were screaming and you’re cold and so, so afraid. with shaky fingers, you gestured towards the crowd. “just... please, don’t hurt them. they don’t have anything to do with this.”

renjun coos. such a cruel smirk for a pretty face. “aw, such an angel my darling is. always thinking of others instead of her own safety. funny because i don’t think you’ve ever done such a thing for me and haechan, though. i wonder why...”

the latter digs his heel in your injured legs and you scream as black starts to surround the corners of your vision. you tried to crane your neck back, pleading eyes wanting to look at the assaulter but renjun’s calloused hand is gripping your chin too tight.

“should we make a bargain, kitten?”

you stare deep into renjun’s eyes. he knows you don’t have anything left, he can see it in your glassy eyes, too wide and vulnerable. he’s doing this all for show, trying to make you even more desperate and self-aware of your eventual demise.

and you thought haechan was the only cunning one.

“what… what bargain?"

renjun practically gleams in pride. “i’ll let everyone walk free—even your precious little naeun—that’s her name, right? the little girl you’ve been protecting the whole night?—we’ll let her and everyone in this building walk away unharmed. that’s my bargain. you know how those work, right? now, you need to give me something i want.”

forcing you to offer yourself up to them.

what a brutal way to crush your pride.

choice wasn’t an option. if you don’t oblige and choose to run away on your own, they’ll kill them and still hunt you down. you gotta say, it was a tempting bargain that appealed to the sense of heroics in your heart. naturally, you have to choose where there is less blood shed. and as renjun lets go of your chin and lets you look over your shoulder to meet little naeun’s eyes, how she sobbed against her mother’s arms and shook her head and screamed…

“hurry, kitten. i don’t like to be kept waiting.”

you know what needs to be done.

“me. i’ll give you… me.”‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎

they stood playing a game of pool in the dead of night. it’s peaceful inside the estate while the city beyond rampaged and burned. they achieved their goal, had finally seen an end to a plan that had been set in motion for years. they’ve succeeded and the broken woman lying on the bed meters from the pool table is proof of their victory. 

“don’t you just love it when an elaborate plan works like clockwork, injun?” he asks, voice like trickling honey as he hits number 9 with the cue ball. 

the other, more petite male, rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. “oh, please, people like us always triumph, donghyuck. it’s nothing new. although i am surprised that little girl and her so-called “family” played along so well. almost had me fooled.”

“i agree. it's such a shame they had to go.”

‎

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[kieraelieson]

Three Times Patton Got Lost in a Market

Thomas was walking through the old store with his mom, careful to hold her hand while they shopped.

“Oh, look! There’s a wind chime! It’s just like the nice neighbor lady!” Patton said.

Thomas stopped to look, and his mom stopped too, looking at something else across the aisle.

“It isn’t exactly the same,” Logan said. “Hers has a hummingbird on top, but this one has a butterfly.”

“And anyway, this one has prettier colors when the light hits it,” Roman added.

“Oooh, the red really is pretty, Roman!” Patton said excitedly. “And the purple, and the yellow!”

“It’s exactly the colors of the most beautiful rainbow reflecting back from a pot of gold,” Roman said dreamily.

“Mom!” Virgil suddenly shrieked, alerting them all to the fact that Thomas’s mom was no longer beside them.

Instantly, there was a pandemonium of overlapping voices, all very confusing, and Virgil at the front screaming.

“Quiet!” Patton yelled, as loud as he could, and then felt a little like crying. He didn’t like yelling, but this was important!

“But we have to find Mom!”

“We should run after her!”

“If we yell someone will hear!”

“Listen to me!” Patton yelled again. “Remember what Mom said? If we get lost in the store we stay put, and if we see an employee then we ask them to call mom for us.”

Virgil bit down hard on his sleeves, and Patton took his silence for agreement.

“That is indeed what Thomas was told,” Logan admitted.

“I still think we should go find her!” Roman protested, though less pointedly than before.

Thomas plopped down on the floor.

“Ok. That settles it, we’re waiting for mom,” Patton said. “Let’s look for more pretty things while she comes to get us. Roman, what else can you see around us that looks like a rainbow?”

Roman grumpily crossed his arms. “There’s a rainbow on the lawn decoration.”

“Very good!” Patton said. “Logan, can you see anything that’s science-accurate?”

“Science-accurate is a very vague phrase, but I suppose you could be intending to direct me to the collection of decorative barometers.”

“Oooh~ yes, the water swan neck thingies~” Roman said.

Logan launched into an explanation of barometers, most of which Patton didn’t understand.

He checked on Virgil, who was scanning the aisle they were in over and over again, and chewing holes in his poor sleeves.

“She’ll be here in just a minute, don’t worry,” Patton said gently.

Virgil nodded slightly, but didn’t stop checking the ends of the aisle and staring down each person that passed.

And then his eyes went wide. Patton turned to look.

“Mom!”

“Thomas, I thought I lost you for a minute there! Stay close, ok?”

Thomas took his mother’s hand and nodded.

Patton let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t lost anymore.

••^*^••

Thomas was a bit worried about high school, and especially the test coming up, and Logan and Virgil were mostly helping him with that. But now he had to go to the store for groceries. And Roman was exhausted after being all excited over the play and was sound asleep.

So Patton was helping shop!

He smiled confidently, prompting Thomas to look at the list again. He needed to get the ingredients for tacos, and some bread, milk, eggs, and ice cream. Yum!

Now what all went into tacos?

There was meat, and sour cream, and little shredded lettuce, and cheese, and taco shells, or was he supposed to get soft tortillas?

Patton considered, wandering into the store towards the food. Maybe both? Yeah. Both. Oh! And there was the bread! That would probably have tortillas near it!

Patton hummed happily, finding the bread that looked the same as what mom had been getting, noting the brand name. Nature’s Own. Huh.

Now tortillas… what kind did they normally get?

He finally just picked the one that had blue on the label.

Virgil popped up, startling him for a moment, especially with his intense frown. “People are staring. We’re taking too long near the bread, and your humming is gonna make people think Thomas is weird.”

“Oh, it’s alright!” Patton said cheerfully, glad he hadn’t dropped the tortillas. “I didn’t get in anyone’s way, and they haven’t said anything yet about thinking Thomas is weird.”

“Yeah…” Virgil glared at the people milling around and shopping. “Well they could. Just… keep it quiet.”

“Will do!” Patton grinned, and Virgil sunk back out.

Next he had to find… well, next he had to find the next thing. Should he keep walking and hope to see them, or should he seek each one out? He’d stumbled upon the bread, surely he would stumble across the rest.

Patton hummed happily and kept walking, skipping along beside the cart as Thomas pushed it. Thomas must really be out of it, poor guy. But Patton could help him cheer up!

Pretty soon, they had almost everything! Except for taco seasoning. And Patton wasn’t sure if they were supposed to get the kind that was in packets, or the actual spices. And he also wasn’t sure whether he should look in the spices area or the Mexican food area. Or where those areas were.

Surely they’d passed those special Mexican drinks a while back. But where?

Patton encouraged Thomas to turn around and go back, but after several aisles he still couldn’t find anything he was looking for. He turned back around, and then again.

“Perhaps… I need to go from one end all the way to the other…”

Virgil popped up again, rather grumpy looking, but not as much as earlier. “That’s gonna take too long. We’re already late, and Mom is gonna need Thomas home son so she can make dinner.”

Patton sighed. “Ok. Logan, help please, I’m lost.”

Logan popped up, looked around, and then pointed. “That aisle.”

“But how do you know?” Patton asked.

“There’s a sign above it.”

Patton looked up. “Oh. Yeah.” He chuckled. “I should’ve thought to look for signs. Thanks, Logan!”

“You’re welcome. However I do suggest we attempt to make our trip home expedient. I’ll need Virgil’s full attention and assistance to prepare adequately for the test.”

“Will do!” Patton said, already spurring Thomas towards the aisle.

••^*^••

“I have created the ultimate maze!” Roman said excitedly. “It is called Infinite IKEA!”

Patton clapped excitedly, and even Logan gave a single clap.

“I really don’t see the point—“

“The point is a race, Emo Nightmare, and the winner gets to pick which old reruns Thomas watches tonight.”

Virgil tried to pretend he was still disinterested, but Patton could tell he was excited. “So what would we have to do to win the race?”

Roman grinned. “I’ve hidden a copy of each of our logos in the store somewhere, except for mine, which Logan hid by sinking in and placing it in a random place, so he doesn’t know the layout of the store yet. You have to find your own logo, and then exit the store!”

Oh, so that was why Logan had a bump on his head. He’d probably tried to rise up too close to a shelf. Ouch.

“Everybody ready! Set! Go!”

They all rushed into the store. Patton looked around excitedly, getting more excited to see that the store was full of items that came from houses where Thomas had lived or visited. He ran to the section of beds and flopped onto the biggest one.

He let out a comfy sigh, looking up at the roof which, rather than being metal supports and too-bright lights, was intricately painted with something that glowed.

It was amazing.

“You did a really great job, Roman,” Patton said, even though Roman was probably running ahead to win the race— oh! This was a race!

He jumped up and started walking, looking around for his heart with glasses.

After the bed section, where he wished he could stay and flip onto each one, he wandered into the lamps and chandeliers section. That was beautiful. He was still dazzled and in awe walking out. It even had that massive one Thomas had seen in the one hotel once.

And then came books, where Logan was!

“Hi, Logan!”

“Ah, greetings Patton.” Logan was looking through the books, just as captivated as Patton had been by the beds.

“Find your logo yet?”

“Not yet. I’m not overly concerned with winning, and Roman has certainly made this an interesting place to browse.”

“Mhmm!” Patton looked around. “Where are the kids books, I want to see if the Winnie the Pooh book is still chewed on or if Roman made it brand new.”

“That way, two shelves down,” Logan said, rather distracted by a book he’d picked off of the shelf.

“Thank you!”

Patton found the children’s section, and then found the book. It was still chewed on the corners. He smiled, and flipped through the thick cardboard pages. Thomas had loved this book.

And then, when he opened the last page, his logo fell out.

“Awww, look!” He picked it up, and found that it was a sticker. He promptly stuck the sticker to his chest and put the book back. Now all he had to do was find his way out!

He wandered into the next section, which was all dark and purples and blues and blacks and everything cozily packed together.

There was even a sign warning him away from certain aisles, because there would be spiders, and Patton was very glad Roman had thought of that.

And then he remembered the sunglasses stand sitting at the beginning of the lights aisle. That was probably for Virgil. Roman had been so thoughtful in building this! Patton hoped Roman would win. He certainly deserved the prize after putting all this together.

There was a whole section of Disney, all the movies, and posters, and any Disney themed toys and figurines, and even cardboard cut outs! It was lovely and chaotic and colorful, and it bridged Virgil’s section with Roman’s very well.

Roman had every single picture Thomas had ever seen, which was so many pictures!! Patton looked in awe until he realized that the paintbrushes weren’t just for show, some of them had been used. There was a little black cat in the corner of one painting, and a little V, and the paintbrush was in a cup of black water.

Patton found a picture of a field of flowers, and picked up the paintbrush, dabbing a bit of pink onto the picture. It turned instead into exactly the kind of flower Patton had been envisioning! He smiled wide and painted another, and another, and another, and each one turned out beautiful!

He ran to another painting and gave a little boy in the background a balloon and a smile. And then he gave the lady sitting in a rocking chair a baby to hold.

He finally had to stop himself. He could stay here forever, but he probably should get to the end of the store so he wouldn’t worry the others.

He got to the end of Roman’s section, only to find a massive blanket fort. He kept himself from exploring, and passed through, coming out at… the beds again?

Ohhhhh, right. It was a race and a maze.

Patton flopped down on the bed Thomas had grown up with, wrapping up in the blanket. He let out a happy sigh.

“Logan! Roman! Virgil! I’m lost! But I’m also gonna stay lost!”

Roman rose up and leaned against the footboard, a pleased smile on his face. “Enjoying the store?”

“I’m loving it!” Patton said happily, sitting up. “You did a really good job!”

Roman glowed. “I guess I’ll have to leave it up for you to wander in then. Once Virgil finds the exit I’ll put it somewhere more obvious so you can get out once you’re done.”

“Oh, did you and Logan already get out? Who won?”

“Logan, but only by a few minutes. He hid my logo in a hard place! How was I supposed to guess he’d put it under the makeup stash?”

Patton chuckled. “Wait, I didn’t see that.”

“It’s in Virgil’s section, in one of the spider aisles. I can un-spider it for you if you want.”

“Well, let Virgil have his fun first, but I’d really like that.” Patton smiled. He could have fun in here for a long time. “You did an amazing job with the paintings too! I loved those!”

Roman puffed up happily. “I did, didn’t I?”

There was a distant, triumphant, “Ha! I made it! Wait, Princey beat me? Aww.”

Patton giggled.

Roman patted his shoulder. “Have fun.”

“I will!” Patton said happily, eyeing the blanket fort which he now had time to explore.

—————

If you enjoyed, please reblog! And consider supporting me as I try to make a living off of writing 😊

[we-dragons]

I'm from a different dimension actually Chapter 7 Damian x reader

"Ira! I need my emergency kit!" Molly is pulling at my hair with a brush, I grimace at my reflection, she had put pearls and violet gems in my hair. Seeing as it already wasn't long bearly pushing past my ears, even though there aren't many of them in there it ways down in some places. I had already allowed her to put me in a ball gown, which I'm sure costs much more than my apartment building. It reminds me of peacock feathers, purples, greens, blues fill the cloth they blend seamlessly dark purple at the top and ending with blue at the bottom. I look at the matching marbled shoes and guilt climbs through me.

"Molly I don't need makeup, I'm already in a peacock dress, and there are gems in my hair. Besides the mascara is enough I don't want to spend an hour rubbing anything else off." Molly gasps, a hand gripping at her heart.

"Why-how could you say such a thing!" Ira hands Molly her phone, she screams. "We're going to be late! Ira put the bag back!" I'm yanked from my chair and raced down the hall within minutes I'm thrown into a limo with Molly's parents. Molly jumps in starting to yell at the driver shocking her parents who kept telling her to calm down. It doesn't take long to get to Wayne Manor, the courtyard is crowded filled with flashing lights from cameras reporters, and newscasts. They surrounded every inch with an exception of a semi-circle right at the front of the building where the car pulled up. Once more I'm pulled roughly out of the vehicle by molly, I nearly trip going up the stairs.

"Molly dear, we need to go in together!" My friend's mother pants from behind her husband seems to be in a similar position as me. Like mother like daughter.

I pull my arm away from Molly gently and smooth out my peacock dress, I sigh internally finding relief that I had personally told Molly to make the dress so it covered without it being tight. If I didn't then I would be pulling up the fabric like Molly who went not so modest. Not only had she blinged out she full-on black and high heels that pushed out her height. She looked good, and she made her parents match. When her mother finally catches up she puts a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

What happens after the incident leaves me at a table sitting behind a card with my name on it. Molly was seated somewhere else because I had used my own invitation instead of being a plus one. My eyes cast over the room soaking in again the decor of the newly decorated main floor. My energy seems to drain while I watch the people chat dance and laugh. No one was seated at my table and I was slightly relieved but I still felt odd. I had gone to parties with my mom in the past, ones that were held in her honor about her findings. I feel myself relishing in those memories I had looking back at the times she would pull a silly face at me while I was bored at said parties, or told a joke in some of her speeches. My mother was the expert in The Islamic Golden Era, despite not being a Muslim herself. She prided herself on giving credit to those who deserved more but had their work stolen by Europeans. But then, when she went on that Egypt and Greece dig she had found something that unnerved her. I knew what it was, and I wish I hadn't either. My happy thoughts turn sour, and I can feel myself grimace. I am tired...so tired.

"You made it, It's good to see you here." my head whips around falling on emerald eyes.

"Yeah, I had already told Molly that she could take me to the next party she goes to. However, I didn't know that if you came with an invite and not a plus one that you had to sit at a separate table." He snorts and sits down to my right.

"You were originally sat by her but father assumed I needed a friend," He shows me a card with his name on it. "so he changed Grayson out for you."

"Do you not have friends?"

"None close by."

"When have I accepted you as a friend?" He smiles

"That is a good question, but the same goes for me, you more someone I tolerate."

"Same here, Besides your a bad influence."

"tsk,...touche." his gaze looks me up and down and I have the sudden urge to say 'eyes up here'.

"You look tired, would you like to go to the library?"

"Usually libraries and tired people don't mix."

"How about a tour then, we have several artifacts my father has purchased that you might find interesting." He pushes harder.

"You want an excuse to leave, don't you? I thought my main purpose for being here was to talk to Mr.Wayne, not venture into the mansion." He sighs with his own body, visibly exaggerating the movements.

"My father is deeply preoccupied already in another engagement, he won't even be here for hours. Would you prefer to stay here doing nothing or would you like to leave?" He sounds rather annoyed while looking off to his left and scowling more. I follow my eyes to a group of three who I recognize from the cafe, all of them are pointing and smirking. I being to feel more drained at the thought of them coming here and stand. "Your home, where to first?" He shoots up, grabbing my hand dragging me through the dense crowd of people.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Amazing, this would date back to the early years of feudal Japan, this is Greek! Oh! There's a Khopesh and a Canaan Sickel sword on this wall!"

Damian scoffs sounding more like a laugh than a mocking tone. "You can tell the difference." I give him a look, feeling offended.

"Of course I can, you mostly can tell by the markings on the blade." I turn my head back to the wall slowly pointing to the distinguishable pieces of evidence. "This one is older Hebrew, and here you can see small hieroglyphics depicting the sun. Plus the metals on each blade are very different." I tilt my head back to him, his face stays indifferent. "You knew that already didn't you?" He nods and walks again.

"You must really like history, seems like you could talk about it none stop." He calls back.

"Did you forget who my mother was?"

"I thought she specialized in the Islamic golden era."

"It didn't mean she didn't know the history of other peoples. My mother developed research of anything she could get her hands on." I pause for a minute. "What about you, where did you learn."

"I was taught by some of the best in the world, my mother made sure of it."

"I see." We talk more while examining the objects displayed, I had fun just listening to him explain how his father got some of them. Though the collection wasn't huge it still made me a bit happy to see the objects. My phone buzzes, and I quickly take it out of my pocket.

Molly: Hey where are you we need to get going!

Molly: Dad got too drunk and now he's crying about the world.

Molly: We will be outside, Be there.

"Sorry, I have to get going, I'll see you at school later!" I run through the hall and snag as many macarons as I can on the way out. Molly waves from the car opening the door so I slide in faster.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Sorcerer found. Name: Doctor Fate, Subject: host"

"Anyone else?"

"Database shows,... John Constantine, and Zatanna. All other information is unavailable."

"Gather what they have on the crows send probes if you must."

"Proceeding."

Nightmare stands by the window waiting for his queue. I pull a scale out from the box and open the window. I hand him the scale and he chews effectively destroying the small miracle. "Remember stay out of sight if someone spots you wipe it from their memory and if you see a crow take the fight to the in-between and go for the kill. You have a little bit of my power with you only use it when needed." He purrs, rubbing his head on my hand, then jumps. He vanishes. I sigh putting the device in the box marked with an X just in case and push it under my bed. I head out into my living room putting some things away and cleaning here and there. Proud of my work I turn on the TV and sprawl on my sofa with a bowl of popcorn. Reruns of Highlander play on one of my favorite channels, I smile at my luck and sing to the theme song.

*Thunk thunk thunk*

I jump at the sound, I hear the noise again and follow it to my kitchen bat in hand. I flip on the light and smack my face, a very wet robin scowls at me through the glass. Only then did I notice the rain, and I pray that Nightmare is staying safe. I open the door and let him in, he mutters a thank you while walking in dipping water on my floor.

"Not to be rude, but is there something you need?" He ignores me and continues dragging water on the floor to the living room.

"Robin?" I catch up to him, he pulls something out from his ear and stuffs it in his pocket.

"I would like to stay here for a little while"

"How long is a little while, will I need to pull out the bed in the couch?" He gives me a look.

"There's a bed in your couch?"

"Sometimes I want to watch TV while I do my homework, laying down here makes it easier." I go to the bathroom to pull out some towels.

"Where was this when I was heavily injured?"

"I'm sorry, but the fact that you were bleeding was more concerning. I also put new sheets on the bed and you broke a perfectly good window. There is still blood on my cushions, and you wanted me to place you on the bed?" grabbing the biggest fluffiest towel in the bunch walking back out to the living room.

"You still on about that?"

"It was expensive!" I hold out the towel, he takes it and places his yellow cape in my hand. I frown but head to the coat rack hanging the heavy fabric on the highest rung. I feel short noticing its length, I turn back to Robin who's sat down on the couch the large towel engulfing him completely minus his hair. The black strands stuck oddly to his face and drooped sadly, I almost laugh because he looks like a sad cat. Like Nightmare whenever I give him a bath, I think I have a picture of that somewhere. "Did you want something to drink or eat?"

"Why is it that every time I come here you offer something?"

"It's a hospitality thing I got living in Minnesota, it's just being nice. Besides, you work to protect people, don't you? It only makes sense that I offer you something, I doubt you get paid to do your job. I bet you have countless scars from just doing so, I can do my part and help you feel comfortable. Call it a form of respect."

"Tsk."

I stroll into the kitchen, "Well, I suppose I could give some soda, tea, or water after all you left plenty on the floor."

"What happened to respect?"

"Well, I have feelings to sir! Tossing my words aside like that, I shouldn't even feed you." I poke my head back out, I smile at his scowl while he in turn glares at me. "Now for once, I am out of tea but I have several cans of cherry coke and some popcorn and macarons from a party I went to earlier. How about that?"

"That's fine." I hum grabbing what I needed and plopped back down in my seat handing him the coke. I place the brightly colored macarons and some chips I found between us along with the popcorn. I let myself get absorbed into the Highlander again just as MacLeod beheads another immortal and gains his Quickening.

"What is this?" My Jaw drops while I look at him concerned.

"Just how uncultured are you." His face flushes and his face twists he opens his mouth but i stop him. "Say no more, I will be right back." I come out with my computer and pull up VUDU opening season one of the show. "Sit back buckaroo, now your in for the long haul. Now right now all you need to know is 'There can only be one." His face contorts in confusion, but gives in and moves closer.

"I'm not going to get in trouble with Batman am I." He smirks.

"Most likely."

"Dammit."

[sunlit-squid]

I don't care about everyone else! i care about you, SQUIDWARD! (simping softness asks)

For those who don’t know, my ask box is open. Send me a simping softness prompt, and I’ll write a short sbsp ficlet for you. ✰

so, uh -- i might have gotten a bit carried away with this prompt. it’s definitely longer than a ficlet, but oh well. either way, it was a lot of fun to write! selfish spongebob is so rarely explored.

fic under the cut. also, just in case, cw: drinking, drunkenness, etc.

Spongebob rose bright and early, long before his foghorn alarm went off at 7:00 a.m. With a cheerful shout, the poriferan jumped out of bed, earning a disgruntled “mrow” from Gary, who was still asleep nearby. Stretching vigorously, the sponge leaned down, planting a soft kiss atop the snail’s shell.

“Gary,” he whispered, practically vibrating with excitement. “Today’s the day!”

Turning away, Gary simply replied “mrow”, in a disdainful way that most certainly meant “whatever.”

Undeterred, Spongebob ran to his calendar. Sure enough, the day’s date -- July 14th -- was circled in bright-red, permanent marker, with the words “My birthday!” written neatly across it. And just below those words, was a tiny drawing of Squidward’s face, with dozens of little red hearts surrounding it.

Making his way over to the window, Spongebob gazed out at Squidward’s moai in the distance. He sighed, dreamily. What was Squidward doing right now? Probably sleeping, in that adorable dress of his.

The sponge lingered there, staring dazedly out at the moai, for perhaps a moment too long. Then, remembering himself, he sprinted to the bathroom. Once inside, Spongebob pointed a finger at his own reflection in the mirror.

“Enough beating around the bush, Mr. Squarepants!” he yelled -- much to Gary’s annoyance. The sponge lowered his voice down to a soft whisper. “Today, you tell him how you feel.”

His reflection simply shrugged. “I mean, okay,” it said. “But this is like, the 57th time you’ve said this.”

“Oh, shush.”

-0-

The party was supposed to start at 6:30, but Spongebob, in a manic cleaning fit, had the entire house ready by noon. This year, the party was themed around As The Tide Turns, a very polarizing-but-popular soap opera, especially in Bikini Bottom. If you were a Bikini Bottomite, you either watched the show genuinely, or ironically -- there was absolutely no in-between.

Spongebob and Squidward both genuinely enjoyed the show. It was one of the first things they bonded over, back when Spongebob started working at the Krusty Krab. Through the window to the galley, the two coworkers would talk for hours about the show, and whatever drama was center-stage for that season.

It got to a point where Mr. Krabs -- who only watched ATTT ironically -- got on them both, for shirking their duties.

“If yer gonna flirt,” he’d said, “do it on yer own time.”

So, Spongebob started coming over to Squidward’s house on Friday nights, when the new episodes would air. In fact, even when the show was between seasons, Spongebob still came over, just to watch reruns. It was one of the few times Squidward would (begrudgingly) let Spongebob inside, with no complaints.

Spongebob hummed softly to himself, his eyes scanning the small clipboard in front of him. Food, decorations, party games … Check, check, and check. Everything was present and accounted for -- and he had to admit, the house looked spectacular.

Every room was themed around a different, iconic arc in the ATTT series. His living room, filled with chalk drawings, crime scene tape, and red-string boards, was inspired by the murder mystery arc. His kitchen, decorated with leftover Halloween gear, was inspired by the vampire arc … and so on and so forth. Each and every room had its own particular, careful design -- and in all, it was probably Spongebob’s most intricate and detailed party to date.

That was because it had to be. Spongebob had a plan, a carefully detailed plan -- one that was sure to sweep Squidward Tentacles right off his … er, tentacles. And it went like this:

Squidward and Spongebob’s favorite arc, in all 42 seasons of As The Tide Turns, was the murder mystery. In the arc, the dashing Detective Heartthrob, accompanied by his sidekick-slash-lover Joey, must bring a heinous mass murderer to justice. At the climax, it is revealed that Detective Heartthrob is the true killer -- having been hypnotized by a witch, who was also his evil twin sister, for some reason. In the end, Joey must kill Detective Heartthrob, in a tragic display of love and sacrifice.

The season was thrilling, silly, and emotionally traumatizing, to boot. For months after the finale, Squidward and Spongebob would not shut up about it -- much to the annoyance of Mr. Krabs.

Either way, Spongebob had set up an elaborate, original mystery game, inspired by the events of the show. Each attendee would get a “random” card, assigning them a different role in the story. Squidward would be Detective Heartthrob, and Spongebob would be Joey.

Together, they would embark on an original mystery, one that Spongebob had devised all by himself. After he and Squidward solved the mystery together, and the party was over … Spongebob would finally, finally confess his feelings.

Of course, Spongebob had, more or less, rigged the game to ensure this would happen. Which was cheating, sure, but this was for love! So it couldn't possibly go wrong.

-0-

It went wrong. Almost immediately, in fact.

For one, the party started at 6:30 -- and, nearly two hours later, Squidward had yet to show up. Spongebob spent those first two hours lingering by the door, staring out the window towards the moai, and forgetting to refill the punch bowl. Sandy, ever the observant one, noticed immediately.

Pulling Spongebob aside, she asked, in a hushed voice, “Hey, partner. You good?”

“Oh, I’m -- I’m great!” chirped Spongebob, putting on his worst, most unconvincing smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh-huh,” said Sandy, flatly. “This about Squidward?”

Spongebob blushed, immediately. The squirrel sighed.

“I thought so,” she mumbled, folding her arms across her chest. “Did he say he was gonna come?”

The sponge nodded. “He said, ‘I’ll see if I can make it work’, which in Squidward-speak, is practically a yes!” groaned Spongebob, staring up at Sandy with his huge baby blue eyes. “He’ll come, right, Sandy?”

Sandy hesitated. She didn’t really know Squidward that well … but he did seem to have a soft spot for Spongebob. Awkwardly, she replied, “I mean … I can’t say for sure, but he did say he would try. Let’s be patient, okay, Spongebob? Maybe he just got caught up with something.”

Spongebob sighed, then repositioned his face into its usual chipper smile. “Alrighty. You do usually know what’s best, Sandy.”

“I sure do,” she giggled. “Oh, and Spongebob?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t cut his cable this time,” she said, before walking off to get more punch.

-0-

By 9:30, the party started to go a bit haywire. At this point, practically all of Bikini Bottom was at Spongebob’s house, except for Squidward -- and Larry thought it would be a great idea to play Truth Or Dare: Extreme Edition. The rules were pretty much the same as Truth Or Dare: Standard Edition, but with one exception: each subsequent truth or dare had to be more extreme than the last.

It started off alright. A few people were dared to take off their pants, or do a somersault down Conch Street while blindfolded. However, as the game progressed, the stakes grew astronomically. At one point, Patrick was dared to eat half of Spongebob’s pineapple. Later, Sandy was dared to juggle three of Plankton’s bombs, while riding a unicycle. Even later, Larry and Mr. Krabs were dared to switch shells and wrestle -- which wasn’t really destructive. Just disturbing.

The dares were stupid, but if there was one thing Bikini Bottomites had, it was a complete lack of common sense. Or any sense, really.

It certainly didn’t help that as the night progressed, the partygoers grew more and more … inebriated. The punch itself was non-alcoholic, but apparently, Karen and Plankton had taken it upon themselves to bring their own alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

By 10:30, Squidward still hadn’t shown up yet. Several people had either passed out or thrown up. And the pineapple was a complete disaster.

Spongebob sighed. He was seated on his living room sofa now, watching as the partygoers reveled inside (and outside) his home. Of course, the sponge was happy they were enjoying themselves -- but this day was supposed to be about him, and … well, nothing had gone as planned. His entire house was destroyed, it would take days to clean up the mess -- and Squidward hadn’t even bothered to show up! The nerve.

“Hey Patrick,” muttered Spongebob, waving a tired yellow hand at his drunken best friend.

Immediately, the starfish stumbled over to him, drink in hand. “Wha… haha … whasss’ up, Spunchblarb?” he slurred.

Spongebob pointed to the drink in Patrick’s hand. “Could I have that?”

Patrick grinned widely. “Yeeeeeahh! Now -- now, yer talkin’, buddy!” And with that, the starfish handed Spongebob his first drink of the night.

-0-

About three drinks in, Spongebob Squarepants was well and truly intoxicated. Which was nice, in a way. Now, the world was a weird, misty haze, and he didn’t have to worry about his pineapple being destroyed, or his party being ruined, or Squidward, or whatever. Now, he could just be peacefully drunk and stupid, just like everybody else in his house. Blissfully unaware of the world around them.

As the night went on, Spongebob began losing track of time. What time was it? Midnight? 3:00 a.m.? Did it even matter?

Over the course of one very stupid evening, Spongebob made more than a few bad decisions. For one, he bought like, ten mops online. Which was both counterproductive (he was a sponge) and financially irresponsible (he was also a frycook). Later, the sponge swam to the surface of the ocean to see how long he could breathe without water. He fainted within the first ten seconds, and had to be retrieved by Larry. After that, the night became a dizzying blur. Spongebob was certain he had been driving, at one point, and also dancing, and maybe singing?

Either way, several hours later, Spongebob was still dancing in his living room, a lampshade stuck on his head, when he felt something on his shoulder. Turning woozily, the sponge tried to get into “kara-tay” position, and ultimately failed.

“Who -- what -- stay back! I’m warning you!” shouted the sponge. “I know … er, kar .. karat … carrots?”

There was a familiar sigh, then a soft chuckle. “Oh, you moron,” came a voice, a voice that Spongebob loved so dearly, even in this drunken state. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Squ … squib … ?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward, wrenching the lampshade off of Spongebob’s head. “It’s me. Sorry I’m late.”

Spongebob looked up at Squidward -- and in his inebriated, hazy stupor, he couldn’t take it. He loved him so much, and for so long. It hurt. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Squi -- Squidward, you -- you came,” the sponge stammered, his bottom lip quivering. “I -- I didn’t think …”

“Hush,” said Squidward, looking around the room. “This is, uh … wow, you really had a rager, huh? I didn’t think you had it in you, Spongebob.”

Stepping away, Squidward began picking up random items off the floor -- the punch bowl, some photographs, and a spilled carton of milk. The octopus had to step over and around several bodies, which were lying passed out on Spongebob’s floor.

“Listen, I’m gonna try and find a way to get everyone home,” said Squidward, sifting his way through the pile of garbage and bodies. “Everyone else is knocked out -- ”

Spongebob had had it. He’d had enough. He’d planned out this whole day perfectly, just for Squidward to not show up, for his whole house to be demolished in the chaos. Sure, he was glad everyone had a good time, but deep down, Spongebob was a little selfish, and deep down --

“I don’t care about everyone else!” shouted Spongebob, clenching his fists at his sides. “I care about you, Squidward!”

Squidward, startled, nearly dropped everything he was holding -- and before he could properly respond, Spongebob fell over, unconscious.

-0-

For once, Spongebob didn’t wake up to the sound of his foghorn. Instead, he woke up to the sound of the television nearby. Very soft dialogue wafted its way over to the sponge, bathing him in its pleasant familiarity.

“Why, Joey, I think you’re right -- the killer is closer than we seem to think!”

“Then we best get cracking, Detective Heartthrob!”

Groaning, Spongebob sat up -- a dull, throbbing pain coursing through his skull. Dear Neptune. What happened last night? There was the party, the drinking, and … Squidward, maybe? Spongebob felt his heart drop at the thought of his neighbor, and sighed. He hadn’t gotten to tell Squidward how he felt. Attempt 57 had failed. Miserably.

Blinking slowly, the sponge looked around, and with surprise noted that his bedroom was not a mess, like it had been during the party. In fact, it was squeaky clean. The only thing out of place was the living room television, which had been moved to the end of Spongebob’s bed. The TV was playing an old rerun of As The Tide Turns, from the murder mystery arc. A smile tugged at Spongebob’s lips. How ironic.

Wait a minute. Who moved the TV?

Just then, there were footsteps on the stairs -- the tell-tale pat-pat-pat-pat of someone with four legs. Squidward. He was still here! Steeling himself, Spongebob sat at attention, gripping the blankets tightly.

When Squidward entered, he was holding a tray of food and wearing a long pink apron. When he saw that Spongebob was now conscious, the octopus jumped, nearly dropped the food, then steadied himself just in time.

“Squidward!” said Spongebob, cheerily. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, you nitwit,” muttered Squidward. “Who else was gonna clean up that messy party of yours?”

Squidward crossed the room to place the food tray on Spongebob’s nightstand. Once there, the octopus shoved a glass of water and two pills into the poriferan’s hands, with one simple command: “Drink.”

Spongebob did so, gratefully. Then, he asked, “The party … what all happened?”

“I don’t know, but it was a mess,” sighed Squidward. “I’m pretty sure half the town was completely passed out by the time I got here. I’m surprised the cops didn’t get involved.”

“Oh,” said Spongebob, feeling very guilty all of a sudden. “Did -- did everyone get home okay?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward. “Listen, don’t -- don’t worry about it, okay? I took care of everything. Your house is clean, Gary is fed, everyone got home. That’s all.” Squidward’s cheeks were stained red.

Spongebob smiled, his heart jumping happily in his chest. “Thank you, Squidward.”

After a moment of silence, Squidward brought the food tray up to Spongebob’s lap. “You should … you should eat that,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “Look, I … I’m sorry I was so late, alright? The truth is, I … I got caught up.”

With a mouthful of food, Spongebob asked, “Wif whaf?”

Squidward grimaced. “You’re disgusting,” he snapped, then looked away, blushing brightly. “Anyway, I … was trying to get ahold of your birthday present. It was supposed to be delivered here, to Conch Street, yesterday -- but I guess there was a mix-up, and it was instead delivered to Conch Road, which is … in an entirely different town. Several hours away.”

Spongebob blinked. “You drove all the way to get it?”

Squidward scowled. “Whatever,” he snapped, pulling a small red present box from beneath Spongebob’s bed. “Either way, it’s here. So, I guess … open it, maybe.”

Shoveling down the rest of his food (much to Squidward’s disgust), the sponge quickly shredded the pristine red wrapping paper to reveal -- a boxed set of the entire As The Tide Turns series. The extended edition, with all the bonus scenes and commentary tracks. And to top it all off -- the box was signed by the stars of the show.

Spongebob looked up at Squidward, eyes shimmering with shock and awe. “Squidward, this is -- this is amazing, I thought they didn’t sell these anymore!”

“Oh, trust me,” said Squidward, shuddering. “You have no idea what I had to do to get my hands on that.”

“Let me guess,” said Spongebob, holding up two yellow hands to form finger-guns. In his best Joey impression, the sponge said, “You had to kill a lotta folks, didn’t ya, Detective Heartthrob?”

Squidward chuckled immediately. In one suave motion, he leaned against Spongebob’s bed, and pointed a finger-gun of his own. In his best Detective Heartthrob impression, the octopus replied, “I did, and I don’t regret it at all, Joey!”

The two laughed for a good long while. Then, suddenly embarrassed once more, Squidward looked away. Taking a deep breath, the octopus said, “Look, Sponge, I -- last night, you said something kinda weird, and I wanted to know if -- if maybe --”

“Huh?”

“You said -- you only cared about me, not anyone else, and I -- I wanted to ask,” stammered Squidward, “... what exactly … you meant by that.”

Spongebob’s eyes widened. Oh, barnacles. Did he really say that? Well … there was no hiding it now. Gripping his sheets tight, Spongebob steeled himself for what was to come. “It means I … I wanna keep hanging out with you, Squidward,” said the sponge, staring down at his yellow knuckles. “I wanna hang out with you more than anyone else.”

Squidward swallowed, hard. “Sponge, what are you saying?”

Spongebob looked up. Their eyes met. “I like you,” said the sponge, smiling nervously. “A … a lot.”

A long moment of silence passed. Spongebob’s heart hammered furiously at his chest. Then, Squidward sighed, and picked up the ATTT boxed set. Walking over to Spongebob’s TV, the octopus inserted the first disc, grabbed the remote, and returned to Spongebob’s side.

Lifting the blankets, the octopus said, “Scooch over.”

Spongebob blinked, then did as instructed. “Why?” he asked.

“You really are an idiot,” muttered Squidward, climbing into bed with him. “It’s a Sunday, the Krusty Krab is closed, and we have a whole boxed set to watch together. Might as well start now.”

Spongebob smiled, happily. “So -- so you -- ”

Squidward rolled his eyes. “If you must know, yes, I … I like you,” he snapped. “I’m not gonna drive halfway across the ocean floor for just anybody, you know.”

Spongebob grinned stupidly. “I guess not.”

With that, the show began, its melodramatic theme tune echoing pleasantly across Spongebob’s pineapple home. And just below the bed, Gary let out a soft, contended meow -- which almost certainly meant “finally.”

-0-

References:

The line about cutting Squidward’s cable is a reference to the episode “Party Pooper Pants”, in which Spongebob cuts Squidward’s cable to get him to come over for a party.

[af1899]

The first FEH calendar of 2022 is finally here

Like it's been happening lately, the calendar is coming out as soon as it's 11th in each month (GMT-3), and here's our new one:

(Thread on Twitter)

And, as per usual, my dump of thoughts and plans right below. 👇🏻

About: banners

This is the first thing I care about like always, potential banners in which to pull, but outside the {Legendary Hero Remix} and the mysterious seasonals and Legendary Hero, I don't find much of interest to pull on, so I'll summon for Legendary Lucina soon as her rerun is live... speaking of which, just two more days!! Pretty much psyched to pull for best Awakening girl. 💙🦋

This time, I'll record my summoning session in my PC since my phone might not have enough storage for a lengthy summon marathon, whereas my PC does. I know waiting for the night of 15th for the seasonal units' trailer would be ideal, but Lucina is only missing 4 merges and I have 610 [Orbs] as of this post, and, as someone that really appreciates her, I've been looking forward to a chance to finish merging her since months.

Also, we're having yet another [Heroes with Push] banner, is I.S. pushing these onto us? 🤨

And the rest of the stuff

Damn, the anniversary is coming in about three weeks? Time flies.

I guess it's related to the sus gap we've got in the calendar, there might be something grand in store since we're talking about the fifth anniversary since the game launched back in 2017, I'm definitely looking forward to it.

I found an interesting thing in Twitter but Legendary Male Byleth isn't returning in those banners until April this year... still, I.S. sure messed up here.

Anyway, I first thought that [Summoner Duels R] was essentially the same thing, something that was quite wrong in one of my previous post, because it's a separate event yet still mostly the same as the vanilla game mode, but seasonal as it last 4 days (explained here), I'm not really thrilled by it but I'll try to get the rewards because I need them.

[Tap Battle] returns also (details on the theme here)... this game mode is unfortunately not so rewarding, but it's at least something different from your usual maps, so it's not too shabby, but I.S. literally mostly forgot about these and is just rerunning old ones from time to time... I'd still like to see some revamp in these.

So... this month...

It's going to be pretty tame for me, only thrilled for Legendary Lucina's rerun (out of everything announced for January) then that's it, and unless any of the new seasonals is interesting, I'll head back to saving [Orbs] after said summoning, but we'll see.

The End

Thanks so much for reading my posts as always, and I hope you found anything useful in these!

[jostepherjoestar]

Poly BruAbba comforting their fem! s/o who’s having an off day

sfw // This turned out so cheesy... but dear lord I’d risk it all just to be squished between them. Hope you enjoy! Had this idea swirling in my thoughts for days now <3 

You’ve been in bed all day, curled up in the comforter. You woke up with a heavy head and a stuffy nose, not the ideal way to spend your day off, but lounging in bed did offer your tired body some rest. Bruno and Leone did not have the same day off as you so they unfortunately had to leave, but not before giving you reassuring kisses and hugs, telling you to rest up as they got ready for their day. So you were left alone, rolled up like a cannelloni in your warm sheets, aspirin trying its best to ease the pressure in your stuffy head. You were still in your pyjama’s, a cute matching flannel set themed for fall. You could hear soft rain tap against the window while the radio played old crackly songs. Getting a little bored of doing nothing, since your headache prevented you from being able to read for longer than a minute, the focus on the words only furthering the pain. With a big sigh and tissues in hand you’d relocated to the the couch to watch some tv, skipping through channels, trying to find anything entertaining. While watching an old rerun you heard the front door open, excited to finally have someone to keep you company. But it was only Mista, lazily walking in the living room with an apple in hand. He couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of you, a snivelling little cocoon on the couch. After some light conversation Mista headed out again, still on the job, only having stopped by for a short snack. You enjoyed the quiet but were so used to everyone being around, going on jobs together. You felt you eyelids get heavier the longer you watched the old reruns. Deciding to return to your room for a peaceful nap.

You were awakened by a door opening and the sound of multiple footsteps on the wooden floor. Still hazy from sleep and curled up you decided to stay in your place. You could hear the sound of your whispering boyfriends, scuffling about, perhaps changing into their more comfortable clothes? You couldn’t make out what they were saying so you decided to turn around and check. With a sleepy smile you were greeted by Bruno who was already walking over to you. He was wearing his home attire, darker sweatpants, a shirt and a warm cardigan. Bruno liked to keep it cozy during colder days. Sliding his hand over to your cheek and caressing it, he looked at you with his lower lip pouting. “Are you feeling a little better patatina?” He called you his little potato whenever you felt a little down since it never failed to make you smile. Returning a sleepy smile while reaching out to him, you just wanted to be held like the little potato you were. Opening up your comforter to let him in, he got into the warmth your body created. His arms caging you in as you put your head on his chest. “I am now,” you smiled as you breathed him in, his heavenly perfume a reminder he was your home, “but where is Leone, I missed you both so much today.” You hummed into his chest.  “Ah, patience, cara, patience.” He said while carefully moving over you to the other side of the bed so you’d be in the middle. Agreeing to be patient, you asked Bruno about his day and what he’s been up to, trying your best to stay awake while his chest hummed against you as you rested on it. Leone and Bruno were out on Passione business all day, mostly meetings with other factions. Not wanting to bore you with the details, noticing how tired you were. Resorting to placing gentle kisses on your forehead where it hurt. You heard the door open again, turning around in excitement to see Leone in the doorway, tray in hand. Finally you were complete. He was also wearing his at home attire, a dark purple sweater and loose pyjama pants. He saw your tired little face and felt himself melt. Your silver haired boyfriend might have a tough exterior but damn, when he saw his little patatina sick he wanted nothing but to spoil them. Bruno also cared a lot and couldn’t help coddle you a little but he still had a soft sternness about him. Making sure you did as he asked. Leone walking over and set down the tray on the bedside table, a cup of tea and a plate of cookies placed on it. “Come here I’ve missed you!” You gesture at him to join the warm pile of blankets and love. Snaking your arms around his neck as you hugged him and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips to welcome him back. He’d already removed his usual lipstick, his lips a darker plump pink. “So Bruno how is she doing?” Leone inquired like you weren’t snuggly placed in between them. “Ah, our patatina is doing a little better now. Although…” he paused, a comedic finger placed on his chin to mimic confusion, “She hasn’t told us how she caught this cold.” You were laying on your back, the two of them on each side, leaning on their elbows so their eyes were on you now. Trying to hide yourself under the covers you felt your cheeks get red. “I uhm… I went out without my scarf yesterday.” You answered quietly knowing it was your own fault for catching a cold. A smile growing on both of their faces, Bruno uncovering your face to see you blushing and avoiding eye contact. “So that beautiful black scarf we got you has already been lost? What a shame.” He chided playfully. “I forgot ok, it’s my own fault I got sick.” You pouted, their little charade amusing you. Bruno tuts you. “Now you know for next time.”You huff and turn over to face Leone. “He’s so cruel right. Is he always like this?” You asked, Leone’s grin only widening as he moved his eyes from yours to the blue pair behind you. “So very cruel. The absolute worst.” Bruno mocking shock as you turn on your back again. He’s sure you’ve learned your lesson by now.

While talking about how much of a boring day you’ve had Leone has been caressing your arm while periodically kissing your shoulder as he’s leaning his head against the side of yours. Bruno likes being curled around you so his leg is hooked in yours while resting his head on your soft chest, using your breast as a pillow, arm hooked over your waist. The heavy feeling in your head and the stuffy nose had taken a backseat, distracted by the loving attention of your partners. Wishing you could stay here cuddled up forever, but glad you have this moment for tonight.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Firefighter.”

Still back on themed stories. Hope you like :) was fun to write. 

The road ahead had been long, krill had never experienced something like this before, traveling over ground just for the experience of it all, and though, overhead he could see hundreds of hover cars cutting over the land in straight lines, the roads ahead were clear, almost no traffic.

In a way it was almost sad, though he couldn’t really explain why.

Though none of that was entirely as sad as Adam Vir’s driving. The human may have been able to fly anything with wings or a propeller, but when it came to driving a car, the man was an absolute menace.

Still, krill somehow found he liked the feeling of driving, with the sun shining through the open windows and the wind whipping past his antenna. When the human turned his music up, Krill was sent into a state of half trance leaning against the car door as wind whipped past his face and the land outside drew past in rolling hills of crops, yellow or green under the blue sky above.

He wasn’t even afraid when a rainstorm rolled overhead, and he watched raindrops pelt the windshield, rolling along the side of the car where the wind pushed them. Thunder roared outside, but it was almost comforting.

It was still raining when they pulled into the small hotel, just on the outskirts of the small city. It likely wasn’t part of the same establishment as the distant white buildings, but rather taken over as the city began to expand outward. Many of the houses here were still made of wood, and manufactured after old building codes.

Adam stepped from the car rain quickly darkening his shirt as they hurried towards the old but well-kept building.

A friendly clerk greeted them at the front of the counter smiling.

He glanced down at Krill eyes widening, “Well I’ll be a son of a gun, are you.”

“An alien, well yes my friend, he is.”

The man looked up his eyes still wide, “Wow, I it's a privilege. Never thought I’d see one of you in my lifetime, I tell you that.” The human’s smile was surprisingly pleasant, and he seemed genuinely pleased to see krill, and rill liked that. Happy humans were very pleasant, especially the ones that were excited to see you.

He never knew how to feel around humans. Either they scared him half to death, or they were more than welcoming to the point where he couldn’t imagine being in danger.

The Friendly predator behind the desk gave them a room, only one bed because Krill didn’t sleep.

“Storming pretty hard out there?”

“Yeah, some pretty serious lightning.”

The man nodded, “For sure, we don’t usually get storms this bad around here, but the farmers will be happy. We needed the water.”

Krill was mostly surprised to hear that farmers were still relying on their planets unpredictable weather to water their crops, but he didn’t bother to say anything as the two of them climbed the stairs to the third floor -- well Adam climbed, and he sort of just floated his way upwards.

The room they stepped into was old, but well-kept. There were no bugs, like Adam said there could be, and the rain drumming against the window was a rather peaceful sound. Thunder rumbled off in the distance and the occasional flash of lightning cut across the sky, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. Adam had been driving all day, so the human took his leave to rest flopping down on the bed and falling asleep almost immediately under the light of the TV. 

Krill watched the light box interested in what else he might learn about humans, while his human practiced a little bit of death behind him.

The night wore on, and at some point there was a crack of  lightning so bright and loud that it jolted adam from his sleep and krill from his reverie. It went away quickly and both man and alien went back to what they had been doing before. The TV channel stayed on, and slowly turned from nighttime television to reruns of concerts.

Krill hadn’t been expecting the music, and it lulled him into a sort of half trance.

It was only when the power went off did Krill finally awaken.

In the dark, and without a sense of smell he didn’t notice anything was wrong for the first few minutes except for the slowly increasing temperature. Something glowed orange outside the window, and it was only then, when the light broke slightly through in to the room was krill able to see a strange haze that had gathered up around them.

As the orange light outside grew brighter, a distant crackling noise reached him and the room lit up even brighter until he could see the acrid black cloud beginning to build around them. 

A strange wailing noise reached him just as he was rushing across the room.

Before he got there Adam awoke coughing violently.

The orange light outside was joined by flashing red and blue.

Adam rolled form the bed and onto his knees on the floor coughing and hacking violently.

“What’s going on!.” Krill yelled 

Adam continued to cough pulling his shirt up over his face, “Fire.” He coughed again 

“Don’t you have alarms for that!” krill insisted 

“Doesn’t matter now.” His coughing grew worse, and he tugged Krill down beside him as he crawled his way towards the window and the flickering orange light. A wall of smoke billowed up above their heads, and it seemed the closer they were to the floor the safer.  He reached up to undue the latch on the windowpane, but as soon as the window was open, and they looked down a gout of flame spit up towards them from the second story window. Adam cursed and fell back into the smokey room as fire licked at the edges of the glass.

Krill could feel the radiating heat licking away at his skin.

Still coughing, Adam grabbed Krill again and began crawling towards the door. Reaching it, he threw out a hand against the wooden frame feeling the door with his free hand.

Below them, the floor was growing hot, and Krill could hear the boards creaking.

Adam covered his hand with his shirt and quickly shoved the door open as the two of them spilled out into the hotel hallway. The smoke was thick and dark here, but no fire.

Behind them flames were just beginning to lick at the windowsill and corner of the room.

Acrid black smoke followed them into the hallway.

Adam slammed the door shut coughing and crawling along down the hallway as thick choking clouds billowed over them.

Krill watched in horror as the smoke and failing oxygen slowly choked the human.

Krill survived on carbon, and smoke did nothing much to damage him, though the fire certainly would. 

He could breathe just fine for the time being. 

As they passed, the human knocked loudly on as any doors as he could unsure if everyone else had awoken when the fire began. They had reached the landing on the second floor now.

A gathering black cloud filtered up the stairwell with a flickering red light and tongues of flame. Krill was scared, sure he was going to die. The human continued to cough and hack violently as he grabbed Krill and dragged him back into the smoke on the second floor.

A few of the doors were open here, testament to the people who had managed to escape though the door right below their room flickered and smoke continued to pour out.

With fire behind them and fire in front of them, Adam stood hand over his nose and mouth, grabbed Krill by the arm and raced forward.

The heat was unbearable and Krill screamed in half pain as they roared past the doorway and though an acrid black cloud. The heat licking at them from the side. They were halfway down the hall when the human tripped and went spilling onto the carpet.

It was impossible to see now, like they had walked into a thick fog from a fog machine.

The human continued to wheeze crawling along the floor with Krill at his back.

They had almost reached the stairs when the human slowed, grew still and collapsed.

Krill panicked.

He couldn’t see, and the roaring of  distant fire and the sound of sirens nearly deafened him.

Adam lay unconscious on the smoke stained floor.

Behind him the smoke continued to pour out but it seemed that the fire had died down.

Voices echoed up at him from the stairwell at, what he assumed to be, the end of the hallway.

Somewhere in the smoke, a blinding light, and a massive hulking shape appeared out of the darkness. He wondered vaguely if it was death come to take both of them.

He couldn't hear or barely see anything as the smoke billowed around them, but the figured dropped to its knees as other lights swirled around behind it.

It was humanoid in shape, and as it reached out he could see the five fingered hand covered in a massive glove.

Whatever it was it didn’t seem to want to hurt him, and, floating, he grabbed onto its arm.

Two more figures cut past them through the blackness moving up the hall and stopping at each door.

The bulky figure grabbed adam by the feet, adjusted him so the souls of his feet were on the ground. Then reached out grabbed him by the hand and hauled him upright and over one shoulder.

Adam hung listlessly against the creature’s back as the thing turned and made it’s way back towards the stairs.

Krill was at its back, still holding on, and what he saw was a massive oxygen tank, like the ones he had seen Adam use for diving.

Was this thing human?

They clattered down the stairs moving down as other entities were moving up. A billow of smoke cleared, and he saw one of the figures to be wearing a full gass mask.

He was pretty sure these were humans!

Humans who were walking straight into a burning building! Prepared and on purpose!

They turned the corner form the stairwell, and the hulking figure dragged them through the propped door to their right.

Smoke cleared form Krill’s face and krill could finally see the inky blue sky above them lightened slightly at the horizon by a rising sun.

He could see the creature better now, and to his shock it was most definitely human. A human wearing a thick brown-yellow uniform, helmet, gas mask and breathing apparatus with reflective strips all over their body. The grounds around the were crowded with frightened looking humans, and massive red trucks spouted gouts of water towards the smoking building.

They were dragged forward onto the lawn, and the figure knelt depositing Adam on the ground as others rushed over with an oxygen mask fitted snugly over his face.

“Are you alright?” Someone said, and he turned to find the face of another human as their rescuer turned and back towards the building.

“I, yes, I think so….. I’m a doctor…” he said not sure if he was really thinking straight.

He looked down at Adam, “Is he going to be ok?”

“Yes, he’s going to be fine.”

Krill turned to look back at the building watching in awe as the humans worked to put out the fire. Massive hoses, and some kind of chemical agent that could be thrown in like a grenade to cool the fire.

They walked around in massive flame resistant suits wearing gas masks and oxygen tanks only to plunge into the smoke and return moments later. He saw others being carried out and laid down on the grass, only for them to turn around and do it all over again.

Where any other creature in the universe might have balked from a fire, let it go on, the humans were not interested in allowing this to continue. They raced TOWARDS the fire instead of away from it, carrying unconscious individuals on their backs if they had to, and in their arms if that was needed.

Krill marveled at the sheer bravery, or perhaps, stupidity of these humans.

The flames died down and all that was left was smoke.

Adam was moved from the ground and into the back of an ambulance. Krill watched light spill from upper story windows as the humans searched every room unwilling to leave anyone unaccounted for. Krill learned in the ensuing time that the hotel manager had tried to cut cost and had bribed someone to avoid checking the alarm system.

Krill watched as a few of the strangely dressed figures pulled off their masks and helmets showing sweat and soot covered faces.

Real humans betting the odds against real fires.

Turning back, he saw Adam awake and sitting up. His face was tinged dark grey with the smoke, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was still coughing, but he was conscious. A figure appeared from the chaos.relieved from their mask and helmet.

She stopped by his ambulance, “I’m glad to see you’re awake.” the woman said, smiling past her sweat and soot stained face, her hair short and dark.

Adam looked at her, “Are…. you the one who carried me out?” He wondered 

She smiled and nodded.

His eyes widened, “Damn, the whole of my 200 lbs ass.”

She grinned, “Yep all of it.” 

They shook hands, “Adam.”

“Sofia, I have to get back to work, but I’m glad to see you’re ok.” She turned and vanished back into the madness.

Adam shook his head.

Krill floated next to him, “Who are these people?”

“Firefighters.” 

“Seriously… that’s really what they are called?”

“Yes.”

“And this is how they make a living?”

“Yes.”

“Running into burning buildings pouring buckets of water on stuff and generally putting their lives at risk on a constant basis?”

“Yep that sounds about right.”

Krill stared at the human, he had been being sarcastic for most of that, but sarcasm becomes kind of pointless when your sarcasm is correct. He turned to look at the humans finally putting out the last of the fire.

How strange.

Humans who challenged the flames. One of the most powerful and destructive forces in the universe, and their job was to stop it?

HE shook his head in half amazement half wonder half annoyance.

Humans never stopped, did they.