#it's that he can dash for short periods of time

[skyloftian-nutcase]

We (and the boys) all laugh at Sky's lack of stamina, but the boy can run. His stamina bar comes from him sprinting, during which time he runs faster than all of them but Wild. So technically he's faster than everyone else (unless they're using an item, of course). And unlike Wild, he can roll like the others to help speed things up too. And he can hold his breath longer than literally all of them.

Now granted, in LU lore with Jojo it does seem that Sky literally just runs out of stamina from regular running, but within the games he can outrun almost all of them.

[pinkmirth]

thinking about s/o who likes to dress up their vampire bf (yes i'm talking about adrian) and they always make sure that he likes the outfit too. he's just so pretty i can't 🥺

𝜗𝜚 ࣪ ˖ 𓈒 “DOTE” FT. ADRIÁN ‘ALUCARD’ ȚEPEȘ! ⸻ ( 2k+ ) words of ⨾ fluff + suggestive/nsfw, alucard x fem!reader ( black-coded ), canon-divergent, set in the set in the 15th century (1400s), established relationship, lowercase intended, explicit language, minors shoo!

my love letter! ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ oh my goodness luna, i adore this!!! doting on adrian and clothing him sounds like a dream! it’s moving enough for me to want to put it into words . . . i ended up writing this out to be a teensy bit sentimental, if that’s okay! i feel like he’d be hesitant to receive affection but eventually ends up reveling in it because it’s just what he needed! adrian truly deserves some loveee, and i’m here to give it to him >.< please enjoy, and thank you so much for reading! ❤︎

there’s something you and your lover like to call the ‘ echoes, ’ simply put, for any noise that bounces off the walls resounds throughout the entire castle. it’s a reliable system, and adrian’s able to use it to call your attention from anywhere within it.

“darling,” there goes his soothingly silken voice, ringing out all the way from the east wing. at times, you’re amused at how it can reach you from this far. “would you come over and give this a look, please?”

at his plea, you’ll be there. so you settle down the leatherback-book you’d been reading, slinking the pad of your finger beneath a page to fold it by the crisp outer corner.

“coming!”

you’re sure he feels you nearing, courtesy of your shallow-heeled footsteps thudding upon the wine-red shag of his home’s romanian rugs. he acknowledges your presence by swinging open the door to the primary bedroom.

you didn’t think you’d have to tiptoe around mountain-sized heaps of clothing upon entering adrian’s chamber— his closet’s practically ravaged. although, living with a dhampir was never known to be an experience short of surprises.

in the midst of all the madness is where he stands, still adorned in his cream nightgown. he’s got a garment clutched in one hand and a pullover tunic in the other. the subtle veins running along his slender hands makes his grip look exasperated. alucard appears to be having one of those days— where nothing feels just right.

“what’s all this, dear? thought you’d have been dressed by now,” you call out, making your way around a stockpile of trousers to approach him. gently, your delicate hands come to settle upon the broad expanse of his clothed chest. just as he figured it would, your touch immediately soothes him.

the man sighs before he speaks. “i apologize,” adrian peers down at you from where he stands, dropping both items to rest his hands on either side of your hips, “i’ll make sure to clean up afterwards.”

“no worries,” you hum, offering him a warm, sweet smile. when he tends to grow reckless, you know what he needs most is a dash of affection. “you wanted me to take a look at something, yes?”

“i did,” he mumbles, sunny eyes flitting over to his plundered closet, “though now i’m seriously reconsidering every single piece that i own.”

you don’t make a point to say it, but you know it isn’t about the blouses or the pants or any of those things. it’s his mind that tends to run rampant on all that’s been and all he’s lost. at tines, it manifests into agitation, a period of overstimulation where one thing makes him shirk and another gets him withdrawn. despite it all, he’s consoled that you’re here to reel him back in and distract him from himself in that dreamy little way that you do.

“show me the one you were last contemplating on, adrian.” you do it with such ease, pulling him out of his own head and bringing him back into the moment. for a good second, he thinks of just how lucky one man could possibly be.

“go on,” you pat his chest, and his lips flit up into a subtle grin. now more content, adrian scours for it and eventually plucks it off an embroidered chair situated in the corner; only God knows how it got there.

pinched between his index and thumbs, alucard holds up the top, exaggerated sleeves and all, presenting it to you; a simple chestnut colored option that shares the same wood-like hue as the bedpost.

“my twelfth option of the day,” he snidely notes. his sarcasm pries giggle from you. “what do you think, love?”

“it’s quite pretty,” you tilt your head, inspecting the piece with sparkly, concentrated eyes. he admires the way a wispy strand of hair falls along to drape against your face. just precious, he believes.

“it’s a little puffy at the sleeves, though.”

“i knew it,” adrian attests, “this is too . . . flouncy.”

“oh, forget what i said! it’s the perfect amount of flouce.”

“no no, it’s far too much. it’s practically screaming at me.” to that, you chuckle a bit. he can be ever so keen to such minute details.

theatrically, adrian mounts the nearby bed and flops atop the tousled sheets, an exhale leaving the depths of his chest upon impact. “i suppose this is just an ‘only-underwear’ sort of day.” you nearly add that he might as well free himself as a whole and go naked, but the poor man would flush so badly that you choose to refrain.

“you know, adrian,” you scan over his collection, eyeing the finest of silks, puffed shirts and ruffles. his wardrobe practically looks fitting for that of wallachian royalty. “i could make it easy, choose an outfit for you.”

its sudden, how he sits upright and turns to you. his eyes blink just a bit wider, a little slower. alucard’s mouth strikingly quirks upwards in a way that makes you believe he hadn’t been comfortable with the idea— almost as though you’d been meaning to treat him like a child.

“you’d . . . dress me up?”

you retract in the slightest, “only if you’d like. it isn’t a must—”

“please,” he ultimately responds, tone soft and low, “by all means.” it had just been the thought of the sheer intimacy that dazed him. you selecting what would fit him best through your eyes, pulling himself free of his clothes, revealed unto you as you’re dolling him up . . . it all sounds so touching and right now, he wants nothing more.

he can feel palpable relief roll off of you in waves as you beam, “sounds perfect, then.” he calms himself and fixes his countenance, gracing you with a sincere smile. rosy pigment scatters itself upon his face. you catch onto that hopeful glimmer in his eye, one that shows he’s pleased though you can’t quite place it. he’s too softened to say that gratitude has overcome him.

your back is facing him as you rummage around and take your pick, “undress while i put something together, alright?”

“bold request,” adrian characteristically quips. you merely laugh, “you should be bare once i turn around, you hear?”

he hums in acknowledgment, although he opts for tidying up the room first. you can’t see him with your back turned, yet you know he made use of his vampirian speed to grab and fold all his clothes that’d been thrown-askew, including the night attire he’d already been wearing. it amazes you that it only took him a solid eight seconds to complete it all.

“i’m sure that’s convenient,” you muse, turning his way with your selections in hand. alucard’s bare now, adorned in nothing other than his undergarments. a plain and skimpy pair of beige-white breeches shouldn’t excite you so— but god, they hang so low on his hips it’s like they’re barely even there. and how could you possibly ignore the way the cloth clings to his thighs? his arms look strong and coiled like wire, and the chiseled lining of his lean torso is embellished by the fleshy-pink scar that runs past his abdomen all the way up the center of his firm chest.

adrian can only hold your gaze for so long before realizing that you’re drinking him in. consciously, he pivots his head the other way as though to escape it, allowing his lengthy hair to drape down and cover the flushing of his fair cheeks.

you inch up to him, setting the clothes on his bedside. you find his larger hand to interlace with your own, and he only grows redder. there’s an indescribable pride that comes with being capable of riling him up.

“oh, don’t tell me you’re shy,” your hum is sugary like marmalade, “i’ve seen you before . . . you’re beautiful.”

“oh my god,” he whispers, pressing a palm to his heated face. sometimes adrian finds you to be too sweet. he isn’t sure how you haven’t yet succeeded at killing him with all your flattery. he bashfully smiles, cheeks warm as you stand high on your toes to peck them. “you and that mouth of yours.”

“i’ll leave you alone before you overheat,” you tease, halting your affections to return to the task at hand. “you love to toy with me,” he breathes out, and your giggle confirms it. you then display your choices; fitted pants of black leather paired with a warm-tan blouse, one that brings out the shine of his sharp eyes and adds a flush of vitality to his fair skin. interestingly enough, it resembles the color of his golden hair. you’d gone with something similar to his typical style so that he’d feel comfortable wearing it; though you know he’s been rather picky today.

“is it okay?” the way you await his approval makes his heart throb right within his chest. if only you knew that you handpicking anything for him was enough to make him fall in absolute love with it. it had never really been the outfit— he’s sure he just needed you all along.

“more than okay.” he smiles up at you, lips soft and pale-pink. you wonder if you’d end up altering the mood if you leaned down to kiss him. “well chosen, dear.”

“i know just what you like, don’t i?” you sound quite delighted, and it warms him up inside. “but of course. it’s my closet, after all.” the both of you share a knowing laugh that makes you feel so wholesome, so bound. you’ll be sure to commit the feeling to memory.

he then rises to his feet, standing a solid foot above you as he works his way into the bottoms you chose. a pout overtakes you, pretty lips pursed as you whine, “i could’ve done that!”

“you’ll get to fix the blouse. sounds fair, yes?” adrian knows if you were to have worn his pants for him, the hard-on he’d sport would’ve been more than embarrassing. you’ve seen each other vulnerable a good amount of times, and made love even more than what could be counted, but during a moment like this would only sully the mood, he’s sure.

with a hum, you give in. “fine,” your fingers trace against the threading of his shirt, “sit back down for me. you’re too tall for me to dress you from here,” alucard’s always found the contrast in size between the both of you to be endearing, especially whenever you go on to mention it. you’re surprised he decides to choose obedience instead of poking fun. he takes his place upon the bed and makes room for you to settle atop his lap. it’s instinctive, how quickly his hands reach for your waist. he rubs them along the patterning of your corset.

“arms out,” you’re a little less content when his touch leaves you, though you adore how well he listens. you ease the top over his head, onto his arms and finally onto the rest of his frame, tucking away the mussed locks of wavy blonde hair that fall array.

“i’ll brush it out for you later, adri,” you murmur, smoothing down the frizz before bringing your hands to cradle his cheeks. his face looks simply ethereal this close; flawlessly structured, handsome yet elegant. once again, his hands find their rightful place upon your sides. you watch him melt in your very hold when you coo, “my pretty boy.”

he whimpers a lowly call of your name. “thank you . . for all of it.” you know these sort of pocketed moments mean so much to him. his gentle pitch wavers with the subtlest hint of desire; you’d know the sound of it anywhere. still soft-spoken, though the slightest bit deeper. raspier, even. he only reserves such a tone for you.

your response is hushed, just about breathless, “always, adrian.” the pair of you are so close that the straightened tip of his nose grazes against your own. when the tension grows too thick and you can no longer escape his lips reeling you in like magnets, you finally lean into him and let your mouths slot, warmth blooming between you. his lithe fingers roam and you suckle at his bottom lip, prying a soft groan out of him.

alucard kisses you with longing, the span of his fangs subtly clashing against the pearly white of your teeth as he works at prodding his tongue inside, nipping at your lips and tasting of you. he frees out soft, little ‘ i love you ’ amongst all the licking and sucking.

you both wind up toppling down onto the bed, with his back to the mattress and your squished breasts to his heart. making out with a man such as adrian always gets so heavy; you’re panting into each other's mouths, swallowing up the other one’s sounds, and you just can’t seem to help but slowly roll your hips into the stiffness of his crotch. a handful of minutes with him already has you entirely soiled.

“this is becoming something else,” alucard breaks away with a huff, fighting himself not to rip off the clothes you just adorned him in.

but fuck, you aren’t helping. “allow it, then . . .” is your solution, bringing the plush surface of your lips to suckle along his jaw, against the column of his throat, right down his neck . . . no point in refraining now. you eased him of his worries, and he only wants nothing more than to repay you.

“quite a shame, dear.” it truly is— especially considering that you put together such a stylish assortment for him. “now everything must be undone.”

© 𝒫𝐼𝑁𝐾ℳ𝐼𝑅𝑇𝐻! ⸻ all rights reserved! do not steal, plagiarize or repost any of my works. please and thank you! ❤︎

[snow-snowball]

His friends saw your quarrel

characters: Paul Lahote; Seth Clearwater; Sam Uley; Leah Clearwater; Embry Call; Quil Ateara; Jacob Black.

warring: fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; dirty talk; Paul Lahote; profanity; lgbt with Leah; 18+ content; rude characters.

a/n: English is not my first language, so apologise for mistakes and other errors. If you don’t like my content, please pass me by. Be kinder and nose reading. Dividers are mine.

w: 5,3k

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ Paul Lahote ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You are once again taking a walk with your best friend, Jasper. To be honest, you haven’t been in the mood since morning because your period started. You knew the nature of your friend, so you were surprised by his composure. But it was precisely next to him that you felt much better. After all, the ability to manage other people's emotions isn't such a bad thing.

But going for a walk with someone your boyfriend can't stand is a terrible idea. Paul is a rock-solid and caring man, always ready to stand by you through thick and thin. However, his short temper is like a ticking time bomb. Even if you merely trip over a tree root, he would likely go on a tirade, ready to unleash havoc in the name of your safety. On one hand, it's sweet that he would move mountains for you, but on the other... being around him can be downright terrifying at times. It's like walking on eggshells, never quite knowing what might set him off.

Taking a deep breath of the crisp autumn air, you smiled brightly. Jasper settled onto a nearby rock, his gaze drifting deep into the woods. Vibrant yellow and red leaves danced down from the trees, gathering in delicate heaps on the ground. A mischievous idea sparked in your mind. You dashed over to a towering pile of leaves and leapt into it, sending a cascade of colorful foliage flying in every direction. Jasper chuckled, walking up to you. “Feeling any better?” he asked, extending his hand to help you up. But instead of taking his hand, you grasped his arm and pulled him down beside you. Now, both of you were sprawled in the leaves, laughter bubbling up like a mountain spring.

“Oh my goodness, what a child you are,” Jasper remarked, shaking his head in playful disbelief. He noticed a small twig lodged in your hair and leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours. He gently extricated the branch and tossed it aside. Before he could utter a word, someone's fist flew into his jaw.

“Don’t you dare touch her, you bloodsucker!” That gruff voice was one you could recognize in a crowd of thousands. Paul. Jasper was trying to dodge the wolfman's blows, not yet retaliating against Paul. But your boyfriend seemed to have lost his mind: his eyes were bloodshot, nostrils flaring as he greedily sucked in air, his body trembling with rage. “You’d better back off, sweetheart!” Jared shouted, a cocky grin plastered across his face. “This is going to be one hell of a show!”

“Jared, stop him!” you yelled desperately at the guy who seemed in no rush to rein in his friend’s fury. “Jared, please!” After yet another one of your pleas, the Indian boy sighed and stepped in to separate the two before things spiraled out of control. “Easy, girls, easy. I've got the lipstick!,” Jared quipped, hoping his silly remark would lighten the mood, but instead, a fist landed solidly in his gut. “Shut up, Jared!” Paul barked, still glaring menacingly at Jasper.

Tension hung thick in the air, like a storm cloud ready to burst. You felt your heart race as you watched the chaos unfold, praying that tempers wouldn’t flare any further. The atmosphere crackled with a raw energy, a powder keg ready to explode, and you knew all too well how dangerous such a volatile situation could be.

You stepped between the guys, tears welling in your eyes as you looked at Paul, who finally shifted his gaze to you, lost in the depths of your eyes. Gradually, he came back to reality. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were going out with that… that idiot?” he asked, fists clenched like iron. “Because I knew you’d be angry,” you confessed, your words sending shockwaves through him. “Are you trying to spite me or what?!” He slammed his fist against a nearby tree, splintering it to pieces. You flinched, instinctively shrinking back. “Paul, calm down, you’re scaring her,” Jared intervened, grabbing his friend by the shoulder, trying to pull him away from you to a safe distance. “Go to hell, Jared,” Paul snapped, spinning around and delivering a punch to Jared’s gut. Jared doubled over in pain, falling to his knees. “Paul! Please, come to your senses!” You placed a hand on his cheek, turning him toward you, but he struck you across the face, sending you flying back a few meters. An oppressive silence descended, hanging in the air like a heavy fog.

“[Y/N], forgive me, darling!” Paul immediately jumped up from his spot, trying to help you, but Jasper dismissed him with a flicker of irritation, his patience clearly at its breaking point. “What the hell, you damn vampire?!” But Cullen ignored the werewolf's outburst and focused on assisting you to your feet. He gently grasped your chin between his fingers, his brow furrowing in concern as he took in the bruise marring your face, the result of the blow.

Jared, seated on his knees, stared in disbelief at his friend, who had sworn to him that he would never let his aggression touch his betrothed. It seemed Paul had failed to keep his promise. “I think it's better if we stay away from each other for a while,” you murmured, refusing to meet Paul’s gaze as Jasper effortlessly lifted you into his arms.

“Go to hell, you slut! I don’t want a fiancée like you, anyway!” Paul shouted in sheer desperation, turning into a wolf and bolting into the depths of the forest. You stifled a sob, burying your face in Jasper's shoulder. Meanwhile, Jared was torn, caught in a tug-of-war between going after Paul or offering solace to Paul’s heartbroken girl.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ Seth Clearwater ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Seth had always been an open and spirited guy, that is until a certain moment. For some reason, he started ignoring your phone calls, stopped inviting you out, and simply didn’t want to spend time with you for the past two weeks. You tried to reassure yourself, thinking he was likely busy preparing for his upcoming exams. But your surprise turned to concern when his classmates mentioned that Seth hadn’t shown up at school for over a week. That set off alarm bells in your mind.

Now, you're making your way to the Clearwater house, determined to clear the air and get to the bottom of this mystery.

As you navigate the muddy path, slipping a couple of times due to the incessant rain, you can’t help but mutter under your breath. Of all places, why did Seth have to live out here in the middle of nowhere?

“Seth!” the girl banged aggressively on the door. “Open up, you scoundrel!”

“What on earth are you shouting about?”Seth's older sister appeared at the door, her beautiful face framed by the entrance. “He’s not home; he’s at school.” she paused for a moment, thinking. “Why aren’t you there? I thought school in Forks finished later.”

“That's not important! I want to see my boyfriend!” you stomped your foot and crossed your arms defiantly. “I’m not leaving until I know he’s okay.”

“He’s fine.” Leah replied tersely before slamming the door right in your face. You huffed in frustration and plopped down on the porch steps.

As evening fell, the chill in the air became palpable. The wind whistled through the trees, and the buzzing of nocturnal insects filled the silence. The branches swayed, casting eerie shadows that danced in the darkness, sending shivers down your spine. You were afraid of the dark, but more than anything, you worried about your boyfriend. Leaning against the railing, you succumbed to sleep, your thoughts drifting softly to Seth.

In the midst of a dream, you felt gentle caresses through your hair and the sensation of being carefully lifted into someone’s arms. You lingered in slumber, savoring the warmth enveloping you as you nuzzled against a collarbone, inhaling a familiar scent. Suddenly, you were laid down on a soft mattress, and smiling, you nestled closer to the body beside you.

Morning light poured through the windows, pulling you from your dreams with tender strokes brushing against your hair. Blinking into the brightness, your eyes widened in shock as you took in the sight of Seth lying next to you. He wore an apologetic smile, but before he could utter a word, “I’m sorry, [Y/N], I didn’t mean to—" you were already bolting from his bed, racing down the hallway. Disappearing from your life only to draw you back in like this? How could he dare to touch you?

“Don’t come near me, you traitor!” you shouted, trying to wrench your arm free from Seth's grasp. “I've been on edge for two weeks!” Finally breaking free, you slapped him hard across the face and then gasped in shock. “Oh God! Seth! I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry!” You reacted in a whirlwind of emotions, hitting your boyfriend just like those drama queens you used to roll your eyes at. Tears started to well up in your eyes, and you didn’t even give him a chance to explain.

“Wow,” Leah exclaimed from the kitchen, stirring her tea. “I never thought I'd witness a classic American soap opera come to life right in front of me.”

“Screw this!” Seth snapped, his expression serious. “[Y/N], please, just give me some time, and I swear I’ll explain everything. Not now, but someday—I promise.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, forcing a chuckle. “Can I at least give you a hug?”

“Don't tell me you're actually asking if you can start a family with her?” the girl scowled, glancing from you to your brother. “That’s just disgusting.”

“Leah!”

“Since the day I was born, it’s been Leah.” She rolled her eyes, taking a bite of her cookie. “I don’t need you to remind me of my name.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ Sam Uley ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You were tired of the ridiculous rumors about Sam. Your boyfriend, the founder of some gang? Nonsense! He is a decent and educated man—there’s no way he’s the head of a gang. But the problem is… your father believed those rumors and forbade you from seeing Sam. Instead of standing up for your relationship, he went along with your dad. Does he really not care about you? Was he just playing with your feelings like he did with Leah?

Determined to get to the bottom of things, you decided to follow him after spotting him outside a store. Throwing on a long black coat, a large black hat, and some ridiculous fake mustache, you waited until he was safely out of sight before you began to tail him, hiding behind lampposts and trees whenever he glanced back. Silly? Yes. Effective? You bet!

Eventually, you found yourself at his house, where a couple of guys had gathered. They were all shirtless, and as you hid behind a tree, you couldn’t help but admire the sight of the muscular guys, feeling both intrigued and a bit flustered.

“Sam, who is that?” one of the Indian asked, pointing towards the tree where you stood. “Do you have secret admirers?” After his friend's words, Sam shot him an annoyed glance before heading in your direction. Grabbing you by the elbow, he brought you to the center of the clearing, and all eyes were suddenly on you. Swallowing hard, you nervously waved your arms, desperately searching for an explanation. In an instant, Sam yanked off your hat and those ridiculous fake mustaches, staring at you in shock. “[Y/N]? What are you doing here?”

“Exactly, [Y/N]!” a girl stomped her foot. “I have the same question for you!” She poked Sam in the chest with her finger, her expression fierce.

“This is my home. I live here.” The man looked at you in confusion, crossing his arms over his chest. You mirrored his action, narrowing your eyes at him, your cheeks puffed up. Honestly, he didn’t want to argue with you, especially not now, when you looked so cute. His cute girlfriend. “Listen, I don’t want to fight with you, especially in front of others, and—” He didn’t get to finish, as his friend interrupted him.

“Nothing! We don’t mind watching a family squabble! Hey, Paul, do we have any beer left?”

“Jared, shut up and don’t interfere in other people’s conversations,” Sam said firmly, while Paul gave Jared a light smack on the back of the head and, putting an arm around his friend's shoulders, walked away, leaving you two alone. “Honey, this is a tough time for me, and I just want you to be safe.”

“Don’t you want to ask me what I want?” You stepped toward him impulsively. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous to be around you or not. I want answers, Sam Uley! Just tell me what the problem is! Maybe I can help?” You lowered your head, feeling defeated, and sank to your knees, covering your eyes with your hands as you tried to calm your racing heart and sort through your tangled thoughts.

The man crouched down beside you, gently stroking your hair. He always did this when you felt low. “[Y/N], I love you so much, and I want to make sure you’re safe.” Sam pulled you close, enveloping you in his strong arms—his broad frame almost shielding you from view. As you melted into his embrace, a sense of calm washed over you.

“Sam, I love you too, but if you keep pushing me away, you’re only going to hurt us both.” You pressed a soft kiss on his neck, your hands gliding over his bare back. “If you don’t want to explain, that’s fine. Just please don’t leave me; don’t abandon me. I can’t live without you!” You trembled at the thought.

He tilted your chin up gently, offering a weary smile. “I too can't imagine living without you,” he gently kissed you on the lips, as if trying to convey what he couldn't say. “I'm sorry; someday you'll understand everything.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ Leah Clearwater ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Your girlfriend was so rude to your best friend. Could it be that she's jealous?

Leah had always been hot-tempered and abrasive, but with you, she turned sweet and gentle. However, she could hardly tolerate your friends. They drew too much attention away from her. When she found out you were going to the beach with Bella, it was like a storm had hit her home. Anyone but Bella—the vampire’s girlfriend! There was just something about her that drove Lea up the wall. She acted as if the world owed her something, strutting around like a self-appointed princess.

You and your best friend Bella were sitting on the sand, engaged in a lively discussion while gazing out at the beautiful sea. Suddenly, Bella placed her hand on your shoulder, about to say something, when a jolt of pain shot through her arm, making her cry out. Stunned, you turned to see an angry Leah, her fists clenched tight, glaring fiercely at Bella. “Don’t you dare touch her!”

“Leah! What are you doing?!” you shot up to your feet, scolding your girlfriend. Leah's posture shifted, her arms drawing in close as though she were a scolded puppy, looking back at you with an expression of guilt. “What’s gotten into you?” you exclaimed, rushing to help Bella while dodging Leah’s snarls.

“And why does she think it’s okay to lay her hands on my girlfriend?” Leah retorted, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest. “Right now, you’re the one laying your hands on someone,” you shot back, casting a stern glance at her before turning your attention to Bella’s injury. “Oh crap, Swan, you’ve broken something!” you said, gently helping her to her feet, determined to escort her home.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Leah asked, concern thick in her voice.

“Anywhere but here!” you replied without looking back, the weight of the tension still heavy in the air.

All this time, a shocked Seth stood nearby, wanting to invite everyone over to Emily's house, but it seemed he had arrived at the wrong moment. “What happened?” he asked, approaching his sister. But she just gave him a worried glance and, without saying a word, went inside her home.

Once she reached her room, she lay down on her bed, pulling the blanket over herself. Seth remembered this scene vividly and felt a wave of dread. She had looked just the same after her breakup with Sam. He didn't want his sister to sink back into such a state again. “Leah, is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just go away, Seth. It's my fault,” she muttered, burying herself deeper in the blanket, trembling slightly. “It's all over now.”

“Nothing is over! I'm going to talk to her!” But the girl didn’t respond to his words. Leah knew she had made a mistake and she accepted her error, but there was no way to fix it.

Seth was persistently knocking at your door, and as soon as you opened it, he barged into the house. “Alright, let's measure up!” he said, grabbing you by the elbow and pulling you outside.

“Seth! Let go of me! At least give me a chance to change!” You stood in the middle of the street in your short pajamas, which barely covered your exposed skin. Covering your chest with one hand, you glanced around, hoping no one would see you. “I don't care,” Seth replied, scooping you up in his arms. His body provided some cover from prying eyes. “I'll get you to my place in no time!”

Well, he wasn't lying when he said he'd get home quickly. Just five minutes later, you found yourself standing at the entrance to the Clearwater house. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, you stepped inside, feeling a shiver run down your spine from the contrast of the warm interior and the chilly weather outside. As you climbed the stairs, you winced at the creaking of the wooden steps. Upon reaching your girlfriend’s room, you knocked a couple of times before entering.

Leah's room was dimly lit, almost gloomy. You struggled to find the light switch in the dense darkness, and once you flipped it on, you approached her bed and sat down. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight. Leah abruptly threw off her blanket, ready to unleash her frustration at Seth, but froze when she saw you before her.

“Hello, Leah.”

“[Y/N]?” The girl looked at you in shock, first glancing at you, then over your shoulder at Seth, who was leaning casually against the doorframe. “What nonsense has he been feeding you?” Leah snapped, her eyes narrowing as she took in your appearance from head to toe. “And why are you dressed like that?” After her question, Seth bolted out of the room.

“He said what he needed to say!” you huffed, curling up under the blanket beside her. “Come on, move over—I’m freezing.” You wrapped your arms around her waist and nestled your face against her warm shoulder. “You have no idea how hot are you,” you confessed, and then immediately clapped a hand over your mouth. “Not in the way you’re thinking, though that too. I mean—ugh! Forget it! I’m going to sleep.” In response to your jumbled words, you heard a sweet laugh, feeling her embrace you in return.

“I'll show Seth how to steal you away from home tomorrow! And…” She paused for a moment. “I'm sorry, please forgive me. I don't know what came over me.”

“It's okay, I forgive you. But please, don't do that again.”

“I'll try.”

“Lea!”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ Embry Call ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You like your boyfriend’s friend Jacob is loyal and kind, but Embry has been sneaking away to spend time with him way too often. Today is no exception. You were heading over to your boyfriend’s place to enjoy your usual Friday movie night, where it was your turn to pick the film. Last time, Embry chose ‘Attack of the Killer Tomatoes,’ and to be honest, you were left in shock by his choice. It made him seem a bit silly, and the thought of him picking the next film sent shivers down your spine.

You had decided on a horror movie for tonight: ‘Smile 2.’ You couldn't help but smile at the anticipation of being scared, imagining how Embry would wrap his arms around you, kiss you, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear to comfort you. Giggling and spinning in excitement, you knocked on the door, but only silence greeted you. Feeling annoyed, you circled the house, only to realize that no one was home. Anger surged within you at the thought of where he might be, and with a determined turn, you headed towards Jacob’s house. “I’m going to show that little pup how to keep his hands off my boyfriend!”

“Embry, toss me the seventeen,” Jacob shouted, inspecting the car's wheel. “Just a little more and this baby will be as good as new!”

“I think [Y/N] is upset with me…” Embry approached the toolbox, grabbed the required wrench, and went over to help his friend with the car.

“Girls are just… well, girls,” Black chimed in with a chuckle. “Listen, you’d better apologize properly…” Jacob raised his eyebrows, giving him a knowing look. “You know, like really lay it on thick.” He stuck out his tongue and pointed at him playfully.

“What?!” Embry pulled back in shock. “Dude, we’re not even eighteen yet!”

“Yeah, but that didn’t stop our classmate Betty.”

“Because our classmate Betty is just... just…” Embry paused, searching for a more tactful way to say it. “She's just a bad girl! And [Y/N] and I are not like that!”

“Maybe... damn it!” Jacob shouted as the tire slipped off, pinning him under the car while he was still lying underneath it. “Embry, get me out of here! I should have bought a new jack!”

Sitting on the floor next to Jacob, Embry couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't every day that your best friend had a car fall on him. Jacob didn't appreciate his buddy's good mood and shoved him playfully in the shoulder. They started to mock-fight after that. “Listen, about [Y/N]...” Embry paused for a moment, tuning into his friend's words. “Girls don’t just turn on ‘Sex and the City’ for nothing. Use your noggin, bro! Even Seth isn't as innocent as you think!”

“Well, at least you've got yourself a catch!” Your voice rang out like thunder in the serene garage, and suddenly, silence fell like a heavy shroud. “You’ve already stolen my guy! Are there no other options?” You strode up to Embry and passionately kissed him right in front of Jacob. He grimaced and rolled his eyes, while your guy, flustered, turned you both so that his back was facing Jacob. “He's mine!” you declared after the kiss. “And I'm taking him with me!” You grabbed Embry’s hand, intertwining your fingers, and led him toward the garage exit.

“Go ahead and take him, I've got plenty more like him!” Jacob chuckled, genuinely happy for his friend. “Just make sure to name your kid after me!”

“We’ll think about it!” you replied, wrapping your arms around Embry as you strolled casually to his house. You couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the boys’ conversation and realized that, with someone like Embry, you definitely wanted children. He took such good care of you and would never do anything to disrupt your comfort. Thus, you firmly decided that after you turned eighteen, you would gift him your heart and soul for his birthday. Although he was younger than you by just a few months, he certainly looked older and possessed a maturity that surpassed that of typical teenagers.

Lost in admiration as you gazed at his profile, you didn’t even notice that you had arrived at his home. Well, the evening promised to be enchanting.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ Quil Ateara ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Quil was always a kind and calm guy. He had never raised his voice at you, and there was always a sense of peace in your relationship. But something had changed; he had grown sharper and more cautious, as if he were searching for someone in the darkness during your walks. He stopped spending the night at home, and you increasingly noticed him without a shirt. You knew the legend of the Quileutes. But surely, that was just a legend, right?

While wandering through the forest, you didn’t expect to encounter anyone else, let alone here, in your favorite spot where you and Quil used to have your dates. But there, sitting alone, was a pale-faced young man. As you accidentally stepped on a twig, the sharp crack echoed through the stillness, and he turned toward you abruptly. Your heart seemed to stop. His red eyes filled you with a primal fear, and you instinctively took a step back.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” the guy smirked as he slid down from a large log, slowly approaching you like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. “What are you doing all alone out here, gorgeous?” He laughed in a way that sent chills down your spine, and in the blink of an eye, he was right next to you, revealing his white, sharp teeth. “Didn't your parents teach you that wandering through the woods alone can be dangerous?” He leaned in closer to your neck, inhaling your scent and rolling his eyes in delight. “Mmm, I can just tell you’re going to be quite a treat…” His tongue traced along your collarbone as he gripped the fabric of your light summer dress, which seemed like it might tear under the pressure. “I’ll show you how…”

“Didn’t your parents teach you that you shouldn’t come on to other guys’ girls?” Quil’s broad back appeared, shielding you from the unknown guy who had been tossed aside by Quil with a considerable force. “I’ll wipe the floor with you, you disgusting bloodsucker.” Your boyfriend’s eyes turned crimson as he bent down and began to shake with rage. You heard the tearing of fabric, and in the place where your boyfriend stood, an enormous wolf emerged—one that was unmistakably different from the ordinary. You noticed another wolf leap out from the bushes, lunging at the pale-faced guy.

They tore him apart together. And then the wolf, which had taken Quill's place, ripped off the guy's head and spat it out.

You watched in horror as everything unfolded. First, some pervert, and then Quill appeared, transformed into that huge wolf; then another one joined, and they tore the guy's head off and... Wait, where did they go? Before you could collect your thoughts, the wolves vanished into the bushes, and then instead of them, Quill and Embry emerged. An angry Quill and a worried Embry.

“[Y/N]! What the hell are you doing wandering around by yourself like this?” he roughly grabbed your shoulders, lifting you off the cold ground.

“Quil, she's in shock, maybe…”

“Don't interfere, Embry!” After he shouted at his friend, Quil turned back to you, ready to say something more, but when he saw your tears, he stopped. “Sweetheart…” As an empath, he seemed to sense everything you were feeling. It pained him deeply, and he felt like tearing his own throat out. “You’re scared, aren’t you?” He pulled you into his gentle embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. “God, you smell like that corpse…” But he quickly added a smirk. “We’ll definitely need to get rid of that stench, huh?” Quil traced a line of soft kisses from your shoulder to your ear. “Tonight, we’re going to relax properly,” he whispered, his warm breath enveloping your ear. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you, now that you… well, you’ve seen it all.”

“Alright…” you whispered, sniffing back your tears. “I trust you.”

“How sweet,” Embry said, wiping away his accumulated tears as he sniffled. “You two are just perfect together.”

“Oh come on, Embry, get a grip, man.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ Jacob Black ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You’re happy that your boyfriend has such wonderful friends. But he talks about Bella too often. Are you having breakfast together? He starts saying how he’s eating Bella. Are you out for a walk? He tells you where he went with Bella. Are you working out together? He mentions Bella's body and how fragile she is compared to you. That was the last straw.

You’re sitting with the guys at Emily’s, ordering pizza. Somehow, the conversation shifts from Seth wetting his pants as a kid to "Bella’s relationships with a vampire." Jacob, of course, chimes in, passionately defending Bella and blaming everything on Edward. Then, out of the blue, Jared makes a slip about the recent kiss between Jake and Bella, and suddenly the room falls silent, all eyes on you.

You bite your lip and bolt out of the house. Jacob barely catches up to you, grabbing your arm. You yell at him in response. Those who were inside the house rush out to see what’s happening. “Don’t you dare touch me!” you scream, shoving him away. “I've had enough! I’m tired of putting up with this kind of treatment! I like Bella and I'm fine with your communication with her, but you've crossed the line!”

“[Y/N], let me explain…”

“No, Jacob. It's over.” You tried to pull your hand free from his strong grip, but it was no use. “Let me go!” You couldn't hold back any longer and slapped him across the face. Everyone who was laughing fell silent at the sound of the pained cry that escaped your lips. “Damn it! Damn it!” You pressed your injured hand against yourself and dropped to your knees. The guy tried to approach you, but you pushed him away with your healthy hand. Then Embry and Quil rushed over, helping you to your feet and guiding you into the car to take you to the Cullens.

“Now that’s a solid punch,” Jared chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, puppies need to be trained.” Almost immediately, he received a punch to the stomach from Jacob.

Jacob paced back and forth, reflecting on his behavior. Had he really messed up? Undoubtedly. He had kissed someone else's girlfriend while he already had one of his own. Slapping himself on the cheek, Jacob sank down onto his bed, pulling his knees to his chest. Just then, he heard his father opening the front door and conversing with someone. Straining to listen, he quickly recognized your voice and bolted out of his room, knocking things over in his haste.

The moment he caught sight of you, he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground in a joyful spin. With a health hand, you playfully tapped his shoulder, signaling him to set you down.

“Forgive me! I'm so messed up!” He finally set you down on the floor. “I swear I’ll never do anything like that again. You’re my one and only! I didn’t realize how much you were hurting.” He let go of your head but immediately lifted it again. “Go on, hit me as hard as you can so that I feel the pain!” He spread his arms wide, exposing his chest and waiting for you to strike.

“Oh, no! I’m not going to hit you!” You waved your casted arm in front of him, chuckling.

“I think I'm going to hit him!” Jared's voice echoed who had brought you here, as he approached Jacob, and without a second thought, he shoved his friend outside and landed a solid punch to his gut, sending Jacob flying several meters and crashing through a couple of trees. You stood there in shock, mouth agape, watching Jacob laugh as he dusted himself off, shaking off the dirt and debris.

“Well, now he definitely won’t be bothering you anymore,” Jared winked at you, then took off running as Jacob playfully tried to retaliate with a mock punch. You let out a deep sigh, and suddenly heard a matching weighty sigh beside you. Billy shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes, and invited you to join him for a cup of tea, sensing that the boys would keep up their antics for quite some time.

© 2024 do not reblog, copy or publish my work on other platforms, or translate (without my permission) into other languages.

[grandmother-goblin]

Dialogue Punctuation Cheat Sheet

This is just a friendly little guide on how to use punctuation in dialogue since (at least for me) this isn’t something that I was taught in school and had to learn on my own. That being said, I am not an expert! I don’t have an English degree or anything like that! I’m just an avid reader and writer and wanted to share what I have learned in a concise format.

A lot of this information is from “How to Write Dazzling Dialogue: The Fastest Way to Improve Any Manuscript” by James Scott Bell, “The Best Punctuation Book, Period” by June Casagrande, and “The Blue Book of Grammar and Punctuation” by Jane Straus, Lester Kaufman, and Tom Stern. If you’re able to get these books, I highly recommend them!

(Also, yes I used Disney quotes for most of my examples lol)

---

Rule 1: Dialogue punctuation includes the following:

Period

Comma

Question mark

Exclamation point

Em-dash

Ellipsis

All dialogue will include some sort of punctuation before the closing quotation. 

---

Rule 2: Punctuation goes inside the quotes.

Correct

“Do you want to build a snowman?” Anna asked.

Correct

“You can’t marry a man you just met,” Elsa said.

Incorrect

“Do you want to build a snowman”? Anna asked.

---

Rule 3: Don’t capitalize a pronoun used for dialogue attribution.

Correct

“I was hiding under your porch because I love you,” he said.

Incorrect

“I was hiding under your porch because I love you,” He said.

---

Rule 4: Capitalize for action beats.

Correct

“A llama? He’s supposed to be dead!” She slammed her fist on the table.

Incorrect 

“A llama? He’s supposed to be dead!” she slammed her fist on the table.

---

Rule 5: Use a comma when introducing a quotation, such as when dialogue attribution comes at the beginning. The first word of the dialogue is capitalized.

Correct

Scar leaned forward and said, “Run away, Simba.”

Incorrect

Scar leaned forward and said. “Run away, Simba.”

Incorrect

Scar leaned forward and said, “run away, Simba.”

---

Rule 6: Use single quotation marks for quotations within quotations. Punctuation goes inside both quotations (I’ve heard this can vary depending on country).

Correct

“My father said, ‘Everything the light touches is our kingdom.’”

Incorrect 

“My father said, ‘Everything the light touches is our kingdom’.”

---

Rule 7: If there are two or more sentences, the speaker attribution should be put before or after the first complete phrase.

Correct

Grandmother said, “Great. She brings home a sword. If you ask me, she should’ve brought home a man.”

Correct

“Great,” Grandmother said. “She brings home a sword. If you ask me, she should’ve brought home a man.”

Incorrect

“Great. She brings home a sword. If you ask me, she should’ve brought home a man,” Grandmother said.

(Note: This is a rule I break all the time, but I thought I would include it in this list anyway! Usually when the first sentence or two are very, very, short and go together, but they still need that “breath” of a dialogue tag in between. But it’s a good thing to be aware of!) 

---

Rule 8: Use commas to interrupt a complete sentence with a dialogue attribution. Don’t capitalize the next word after the comma. 

Correct

“Aren’t you,” Hercules said, “a damsel in distress?”

Incorrect

“Aren’t you,” Hercules said, “A damsel in distress?”

---

Rule 9: Use ellipses to illustrate a character trailing off, showing hesitation, or a pause.

“Aren’t you… a damsel in distress?”

---

Rule 10: Em-dashes can be used for interruptions, indicating simultaneous actions that do not cause an interruption, or a change in thought/tone. Don’t use dialogue attribution after an em-dash.

Another Person Interrupts

Correct

“He would never do anything to hurt me. He—”

Hades threw up his hands. “He’s a guy!”

Correct

Meg said, “He would never do anything to hurt me. He—”

Hades threw up his hands. “He’s a guy!”

Incorrect

“He would never do anything to hurt me. He—” Meg said.

Hades threw up his hands. “He’s a guy!”

Self Interruption

“I—” Hercules reached into his pocket and pulled out a small doll. “I’m an action figure!"

Simultaneous Action

“I am surrounded” — Scar dragged his paw over his face — “by idiots.” 

Change In Thought/Tone

“It’s not that you’re awkward. I’m awkward. You’re gorgeous — wait, what?”

---

Other Notes (these might just be my personal preferences, feel free to ignore)

Don’t use semi-colons in dialogue. Use a period instead.

Use exclamation points sparingly. Extremely sparingly. Maybe once per 10k words or even less.

After using an ellipsis, saying “he/she trailed off” is redundant. Just skip to the next action. The ellipsis already implies someone trailed off.

New speaker (or character action that serves as a response) = New paragraph.

“Said” should be your most commonly used dialogue tag. Any dialogue tag other than “said” or “asked” will stick out to the reader, and should be used sparingly.

If there is anything I missed, got wrong, or should add, PLEASE KINDLY LET ME KNOW! Again, I don’t have an English degree, I’m not a professional, and I’m actually a bit of a pea-brain, but these are the general rules that I know of and follow in my writing.

[dezkal18]

Random collection of Prince Eric/Jonah observations (sorry it's so long and rambly):

1. The way he grabs Ariel's hand as he's waking up on the beach.

2. The way he runs up the stairs to see if she's the girl who saved him.

3. His face when he realizes she can't be the girl because she can't talk. He looks so heartbroken, like he was so close and then his hopes were dashed. But he's trying his hardest not to let her see his disappointment because he doesn't want to hurt her feelings, so he pushes through and offers her anything she needs.

4. The awe on his face when she finds the stone in the fossil and blows the conch shell.

5. I love how he's up for trying anything for her, no matter how foolish it makes him look. He just wants to give her anything she wants.

6. And you can just see a lightness and innocence in him when he's around her, like she's brought back the joy into his life and made him feel like a kid again. I think he does so many things he wouldn't have otherwise. Like, with the boat, he was planning on just grabbing his hat and going back to the carriage until he saw her looking at it. He also seems to just be in awe of her innocence and curiosity and the way she views the world.

7. In Kiss the Girl, right before he leans in the final time, you can see him breathing heavy and he's so nervous.

8. Grimsby, my man. The ultimate shipper. But I think an underrated moment is when he sees how smitten Eric is with the new girl and decides to casually bring up that they haven't found the mystery girl to make Eric stop chasing after a fantasy and see what's right in front of his eyes. I see what you did there and I approve.

9. How he pushes through Vanessa's spell and knows something is wrong.

10. How he's confused about Ariel being a mermaid and what just happened with Vanessa but he trusts his gut and trusts his feelings are real and decides to protect her.

11. When Eric sees Ariel standing there petting Max and he rushes to hug her, he has this crinkle in his forehead. I honestly thought he was going to cry and he looks so relieved, like he's thinking "oh thank God, I thought I was going to have to live a life without you"

12. His face when he sees Triton. I wonder if he's thinking, "Oh my God, my father-in-law is a merman and the King of all the oceans, what is my life?

13. Eric has to be so confused about what's going on but also amazed at the magic that has come into his life with this girl. Like finding the stone in the fossil and the conch shell. The animals and bugs lighting things up during Kiss the Girl. The girl he loves turning into a mermaid. Fighting an octopus lady. Etc.

14. Jonah's delivery of certain lines just gets me, they're not even significant lines:

-Oh. Me? No. Really? Alright... (when she shows him the conch shell)

-Grimsby, I feel a little... (You can tell he's so confused. He's been looking for his mystery girl and here comes this other girl and he's feeling so much for her in such a short period of time)

-Pretty much anytime he says "Ariel".

Ugh, Jonah. You have ruined every other male lead for me from now on. No one else will be as sweet and funny and genuine.

[stevetonyweekly]

Steve Tony Weekly - Week 1 - Avenger 2012

Welcome to the first list of 2025! I asked y’all to vote last month on what you’d like to see from the blog in 2025, and you were overwhelminingly in favor of weekly themes! So that’s what we’re doing. I’m debating doing a monthly list of what I’m reading as well, but we’ll see how that goes. For now--

Avenger 2012 Fics. 

What I love about this time is how everyone is sorting themselves out, and how hard it leans into the found family aspect of that time period. It’s when Steve and Tony have so many of their best miscommunications, and when they figure out just how amazing they can be together, and honestly, what’s not to love about that? 

Even Though We Know Love's Landscape by lazywriter7 

But at the core, he’s the same brand of poor little rich guy that dot the shadowed corners of every charity gala, every award function. Sure, maybe it comes in a ‘genius billionaire playboy philanthropist’ package…but his mettle is common iron. A drop of sea water, a dash of air, and he’d rust right through.

She, on the other hand, is made of better stuff.

In which Tony compares people to weird things, Steph recites poetry and two dorks fall in love.

Tony Shouldn't Speak Before Coffee by Heartithateyou

Steve and Tony have been secretly dating for months now, until Tony accidentally lets a secret slip at breakfast.

He really shouldn't talk before coffee.

Five times Steve Rogers had to adjust to the modern world, and one time the modern world had to adjust to Steve Rogers by oui_oui_mon_ami

Cap @SteveRogers

HOMOPHOBIA IS BAD. THAT IS MY OPINION. NOW CAN HOMOPHOBES PLEASE STOP USING ME FOR THEIR HATE. THANK YOU.

(Written for Steve Rogers' birthday!)

Perfect Paradise (Staring back at me) by Finduilas 

Tony doesn’t actually notice it at first, and even if he had, he isn’t exactly known for caring what other people think about him. And the first time it does actually catch his attention, Tony is mildly amused.

Code Icarus by FestiveFerret 

Steve Rogers hates falling, but he hates being caught even more.

Never Be Alone by thepartyresponsible

Steve comes jogging up the path in a pair of offensively small bright blue jogging shorts. He’s shirtless and windswept and glistening – actually glistening – in the warm sunset glow.

“Sweet abs of liberty,” Tony says, hooking his sunglasses down his nose to get a better look.

“Of thee I sing,” Clint intones, reverently.

(2019 Tony Stark Bingo T2 - Present Tense)

[cosmiclion]

Some ppl have shown interest in my lil self indulgent YOI AU (tl;dr if u haven't seen my previous posts: the only difference is that Viktor and Yurio are half siblings -on their mother's side, so that each keeps their respective last name- and the parents aren't around anymore by the time Yurio is 6 so he spends half his off time with Viktor and the other half with Nikolai), so I made more art of it bc it brings me joy 👉👈 And then I felt like writing a lil something to go with the piece bc why not, I very rarely write but when I do it's so much fun. Text under the cut.

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

“I did great, right, Vitya?” the little blonde boy asked excitedly as the silver haired teenager crouched down before him to pull up the zipper of his parka. A brown standard poodle pranced happily around them.

The older boy smiled fondly. “You were amazing, Yurochka.” He squeezed his cheeks and chuckled at the noise of indignation that came in response. “I’m sorry, mama and papa couldn’t come to see you skate today either. But grandpa took a lot of photos and videos to show them.” He adjusted the hat on the kid’s head before standing up. “Now come on, let’s not keep him waiting.”

Little Yuri’s eyes lit up at the sight of Nikolai near the exit and he dashed towards the man, Makkachin trotting after him and Viktor following close behind. The kid talked their ears off during the short walk to the car and during the whole ride, through mouthfuls of the pirozhki his grandfather had brought, proudly boasting about every new thing he could do on the ice now. Seated next to him on the backseat to keep an eye on his greedy dog, Viktor just listened and nodded along, trying and failing not to let his mind drift off.

At only 17, figure skating genius Viktor Nikiforov was under an enormous amount of pressure that had nothing to do with any competition. Even for someone who spent as much time away as he did, it was hard to miss that things had been going not so great at home. He had left in pursuit of his dreams long before Yuri was born, only to come back sporadically and spend short periods with his family before going away again, but he had to be blind not to notice just how starved for attention his younger brother was and just how absent his mother and her new husband were.

For a long time now, Nikolai had been putting in the work of being there emotionally for Yuri since his parents barely had time for him and his brother said hi to him only through video calls more often than not, so the least the latter could do to make up for it was to spend as much time with him as possible during the off season. At least Yuri didn’t seem to resent him, if anything he seemed to admire him more and more, and the teenager had gotten used to having the kid following him around like a duckling when they were together. At only 17, figure skating genius Viktor Nikiforov felt like a surrogate parent.

Suddenly, a finger poked the whorl on Viktor’s hair. “You’re distracted!” Yuri protested.

Viktor hadn’t even noticed that Yuri had taken his seatbelt off and stood up on the seat. “Sorry, sorry. Now please sit back down, that’s dangerous.”

Yuri obeyed but narrowed his eyes as Viktor re-adjusted the seatbelt. “You get distracted a lot. And you often forget things. Are you getting old?”

Viktor gave him a half offended, half amused look. Nikolai snorted a laugh from the driver’s seat. “If Viktor is old where does that leave me? Ha! But do listen to your brother, having to keep my eyes on the road is enough responsibility.”

“Sorry~!” Yuri sang almost innocently. He dug into the paper bag he was holding and took out another bun before resuming his incessant chatter. He talked so fast that Viktor wondered whether he actually needed to breathe. “If you’re getting old does that mean you’ll retire soon? Can you coach me? Will I be just as good as you? Will I be better than you? Will I win a gold medal? Don’t answer, I bet I’ll win a gold medal soon! Just wait and see, I’ll win my own gold medal one day!”

Yuri’s enthusiasm was almost contagious. Viktor ruffled his hair, earning himself another noise of indignation. “Of course you will.”

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

Some notes:

-I mentioned before that I couldn't find any official data on whether Nikolai is Yurio's maternal or paternal grandfather, but for this AU I'll assume the latter, so he and Viktor aren't related. -I almost deleted the whorl poking part, it's such a special thing between only Yuuri and Viktor that I felt like I was defiling something sacred lol. But then I thought that it'd be cute if Viktor's hair just had that effect on people. -At first I worried I had made Yurio too ooc but... he's 5 yrs old here, tbh most kids are the same at that age, just give him some time to develop his characteristic personality. Also I think it'd be both hilarious and tragic if he was a sweet adorable bby who loved his big bro before turning into an edgy teenager who hates everything ☠️

[illumins]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙄𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚

The morning sun bathes the towering facade of Daylight Academy in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows that crawl across the intricate masonry like tendrils of a climbing vine. It's a building that speaks of prestige, its ivy-draped limestone walls and soaring Gothic arches more befitting a castle than a school. I push open the heavy, oak front door, the old hinges complaining with a familiar creak that reminds me I’m home—well, as much as a school can feel like one.

As I step into the grand entrance hall, my footsteps echo off the polished marble floors and the vaulted ceiling high above. Banners of deep blue and silver, the school colors, hang from the walls, fluttering slightly as the breeze from the open doors breathes life into them. It's quieter than I remember; the usual buzz of excited conversations is muted, probably the nervous energy of the first day pressing down on everyone’s shoulders like the thick, humid air.

I’m Liya Faulkner, a senior now, though it feels like I just walked these halls for the first time yesterday. I'm not what you might expect for someone at an academy like this. Short, more comfortable in sneakers than heels, my brunette hair pulled back in a practical ponytail that sways gently as I move. My grey eyes might catch the light for a moment, hinting at thoughts that whirl faster than they probably should. Today, I'm dressed simply—jeans and a soft cotton shirt that falls just right, not too tight, not too loose, with a backpack slung over one shoulder.

Lucky—that's the word everyone uses. Lucky Liya, they'd say, to be accepted into Daylight Academy, the kind of place that promises a future brighter than the morning sun streaming through these high windows. Dad says it's a miracle, his lens always focused on capturing the underdog story for the city's news. Mom would have said it was fate. She dreamed of this for me, her hopes stitched into the very fabric of my being, and even though she's gone now, I carry that dream. It's a heavy mantle, one made of memory and desire—her memory, my desire.

Dragging a hand along the cool stone wall, I let my fingers trail over the rough texture, each bump and groove a testament to the history contained within these walls. Around me, the murmur of other students grows, a crescendo of anticipation for the year to come. I should feel excited, maybe even a bit scared, but there’s a calm in me, a steady beat of resilience that drowns out the usual flutter of first-day nerves.

"Heads up, Liya!" a voice calls out from behind me.

Instinctively, I duck as a football zips over my head, narrowly missing the ancient oil painting of the academy's founder. It crashes against the locker with a loud bang, the sound ricocheting off the walls.

"Sorry about that!" The culprit, a tall boy with a sheepish grin, jogs over, retrieving the ball. His apology is genuine, but his smirk tells me he’s gotten away with worse.

"No harm done," I reply, my voice even, betraying none of the annoyance flickering beneath my calm exterior. I'm not one to hold grudges, especially on such a sunny, promising morning. "Just try not to knock out the new kid, okay?"

"Deal," he laughs, then dashes off toward the gym.

The encounter leaves a small smile tugging at my lips as I head to my first class. Today marks the beginning, not just of the school year, but of the final chapter of what started all those years ago when Mom first whispered to me about Daylight Academy, her voice soft and full of certainty.

This is it—the culmination of years of dreaming, of striving, and of holding onto hope even when it felt like there was none left. I can almost hear her in the quiet between each bell, her laughter mingling with the echoes of my footsteps.

This is for her. This is for us.

I pull out the crisp sheet of paper from my front pocket—the schedule that seals my fate for the year. Chemistry, first period. Mrs. Henderson. Room 213B. The numbers and letters blur for a second, my fingers tightening around the edges of the paper as if holding it harder might make me feel more prepared. I tuck it back into my pocket and head towards the science wing, my sneakers squeaking softly against the freshly waxed floors.

As I turn the corner, the noise level increases—a cacophony of laughter, chatter, and the occasional loud greeting. The door to Room 213B is propped open, inviting yet intimidating. Taking a deep breath, I step inside, the scent of wax and whiteboard markers immediately filling my nostrils. The room buzzes with the energy of students reconnecting after the summer break, their voices echoing off the tiled floors and high ceilings.

The classroom is almost full, bodies clustered in groups, some leaning against desks, others standing in the aisles. I scan quickly for an empty seat, my gaze flitting over heads and backpacks, searching for any sliver of space. Most spots are already claimed, belongings sprawled out as territory markers—notebooks, pens, and colorful folders.

Then, amidst the hum of teenage dynamics, a laugh cuts through the noise, clear and familiar. My heart skips, just once, very slightly—as if nudging me. Mark Lee. There, leaning against a lab table near the window, his brunette hair catching the sunlight, making it look like threads of gold are woven through it. His eyes, warm and inviting as a summer’s dusk, crinkle at the corners as he laughs again. Those high cheekbones, more pronounced now, frame a smile that’s disarmingly genuine.

He’s definitely gotten cuter over the summer, not that he needed any enhancement. Mark, with his effortless charm and easy laughter, surrounded by classmates but somehow still standing apart. As usual, he’s beside Haechan, his best friend, who’s animatedly gesturing with his hands, telling some story that clearly amuses them both.

I hesitate at the door for a heartbeat longer, unnoticed. The warmth of the room seems to grow, or maybe it’s just me, feeling suddenly too aware of my own heartbeat, the slight tremor of my hands. I take a quiet breath, tasting the lingering sharpness of cleaning products mixed with the subtle fragrance of someone’s floral perfume.

Pushing past my initial reluctance, I step further into the room, my eyes locked on a small open spot near the back, away from Mark. I can’t sit near him; not if I want to keep my composure, not if I want to focus on anything other than the way his laughter seems to make the whole room brighter.

As I weave through the desks, I feel the cool metal and smooth plastic under my fingers, the occasional bump against my hip or elbow—a physical reminder of the space I occupy in this teeming sea of adolescence. Reaching the empty chair, I slide into it, unpacking my notebook and pen with deliberate slowness, arranging them just so.

From here, I can see him, watch him without being obvious. Mark, who looks even sweeter when he’s listening, his gaze fixed on Haechan as if every word matters deeply. There’s a calmness about him, a steadiness that draws people in, that makes you want to stay in his orbit just a little longer.

I settle in, forcing my attention to the front of the class where the teacher’s desk sits empty, waiting for Mrs. Henderson. My hands fold over my notebook, fingers tapping a silent rhythm, as I steal one last glance at Mark, letting the sight of him anchor and unsettle me all at once. This is how the year starts—with chemistry, both the academic and the unresolved kind.

The classroom door swings open with a decisive motion, heralding the arrival of Mrs. Henderson. She steps in, her presence filling the room like a brisk autumn breeze sweeping through stagnant air. With sharp, efficient movements, she places her leather briefcase on the desk—a thud that demands attention, pulling eyes away from mid-conversation smiles and whispers.

"Good morning, class! Let’s find our seats, please," she announces, her voice a smooth alto that rolls over the chatter, tapering it down to a murmur. I watch as students shuffle to comply, the scrape of chairs and soft thumping of backpacks setting a new rhythm for the room.

Mrs. Henderson is a woman of commanding presence, her gray-streaked hair pulled back into a tight bun that seems to pull her eyebrows perpetually upward, lending her a look of constant scrutiny. She sweeps a gaze over the class, her eyes lingering momentarily on me before moving on. I feel a tiny jolt, as if that brief eye contact was a test I hadn’t studied for.

She begins the class by introducing the syllabus, her hands moving with precise gestures as she points to the projected slides. “Chemistry is not just about reactions and equations; it’s about understanding the essence of materials, predicting outcomes, and—most importantly—applying this knowledge. Expect to be challenged, expect to learn, and expect to be surprised by what you can achieve.”

As she speaks, I try to focus on her words, but my attention is like a poorly tied knot, slipping away repeatedly. My gaze drifts to the front of the room, landing on the back of Mark’s head, his hair catching the light every time he moves. He’s three rows ahead, far enough that every detail shouldn’t be clear, but somehow, each shift and nod are distinct.

The chair beside me scrapes against the tile floor, and a girl with a cascade of curly hair and a nervous smile plops down next to me. “Hi,” she whispers, her voice threaded with the eagerness of making a new acquaintance.

“Hey,” I reply, my smile automatic, a well-practiced curve of lips that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. I turn back to Mrs. Henderson, trying to anchor myself to the lecture about atomic structure and periodic trends.

Mrs. Henderson’s enthusiasm for the subject is palpable; she talks about the elements as if they are old friends she can’t wait for us to meet. “You’ll get to know them, work with them, and yes, occasionally, they’ll surprise you—much like people,” she says, a twinkle of amusement in her eye.

I jot down notes, the scratching of my pen a steady sound that helps me focus—or at least pretend to. Beside me, the curly-haired girl is also taking notes, her handwriting a flurry of loops and whirls. Our elbows brush occasionally, a reminder of the proximity grounding me back to the present.

My pen pauses over a diagram of an atom, the nucleus and electrons laid out in neat orbits. I glance up again, my eyes seeking Mark despite my intentions. He’s leaning back slightly in his chair, his profile etched against the bright light from the window, every line and angle of his face a familiar map that I’ve traced in my thoughts more times than I care to admit.

Mrs. Henderson’s voice pulls me back, her words about chemical bonds suddenly mirroring my own thoughts on connections—how some are strong and enduring, while others are too weak to withstand much at all. I look down at my notebook, the ink from my pen bleeding slightly into the paper, indelible and stark.

As I force my attention back to the front, focusing on the molecular structures dancing across the screen, I can’t help but feel the tug of an invisible bond, one that connects me to the boy three rows ahead, made of curiosity and yearning—a compound as complex and unstable as any we might study this year.

My mind can be a peculiar place. Here I am, sitting in my first class of the senior year at Daylight Academy, and all I can think about is how the intricate dance of electrons around a nucleus somehow parallels my orbit around Mark Lee. It's almost laughable, this cosmic tug between a girl and the boy she's been quietly crushing on for years. How was his summer? Did he travel? Explore? Or maybe just lazed around like any normal teenager would?

I often found myself wandering past his neighborhood on my way to the grocery store, a detour that was slightly longer but infinitely more interesting. This summer, though, the streets that held his house seemed unusually quiet, his familiar silhouette conspicuously absent. I'd catch myself lingering a bit longer at the corner, hoping for a glimpse. Nothing. It was odd, his absence, but then, chastising myself for the stalker-ish tendency, I'd laugh it off and move on. My infatuation could be overwhelmingly silly at times.

As I'm tugged back to the present by the sudden cessation of Mrs. Henderson's lecture, I realize the girl next to me is leaning slightly towards me, her voice a careful whisper designed not to travel far in the hushed classroom atmosphere. "I'm Jenna, by the way."

I turn to face her, pulling my focus from the front of the classroom and giving her my full attention. Jenna's curly hair frames her face in a wild halo, strands escaping here and there, giving her a look of someone constantly in motion. Her eyes, bright and curious beneath thick lashes, hold a spark of friendliness that's instantly warming.

"Oh, hi, Jenna," I reply, my voice equally subdued. It dawns on me then—she’s the yearbook girl. I'd seen her darting around school events with a camera, her presence ubiquitous yet unobtrusive, capturing moments most of us would miss in the blur of our high school days.

She gives me a quick, conspiratorial smile, as if we're sharing a secret in just introducing ourselves. "I think I’ve seen you around, with the art club, right? You guys did that mural last spring?"

"Yeah, that was us," I say, surprised she remembered. My involvement in the art club was more behind-the-scenes, a detail not many would notice.

Jenna nods, her interest genuine, and I find myself appreciating the connection, brief as it is. Her presence is like a grounding wire, redirecting my scattered thoughts from their usual path marked by an all-too-familiar infatuation.

The bell rings, shrill and abrupt, like it's slicing through the thick tension of the room—a tension that's only really palpable to me. Around me, students shove notebooks and pens into their bags with a hurried, indifferent clatter. Jenna, with her smile waning into a frown, leans in slightly. "So, do we have the next class together?" Her voice carries a hopeful undertone that feels like a warm breeze.

I zip up my own bag, feeling the weight of her expectation. "Biology," I reply, my voice more of a whisper than I intend. The way her face falls, just a slight downturn of her lips, makes my chest tighten. "I'll see you around then," she says, trying to mask her disappointment with a brisk nod.

"Yeah, see you," I murmur, slinging my backpack over one shoulder. As I step out of the classroom, I watch Mark stride out ahead of me. He doesn’t look back. I take a deep breath, my heart pounding against my ribs like it's trying to escape. Get yourself together, Liya, I scold myself silently, stepping into the bustling hallway.

The corridor feels more alive now than it did this morning, pulsing with the chaotic energy of teenagers released from the confines of their first period. I navigate through the crowd, my steps hesitant but determined. The sounds of laughter and disjointed conversations create a symphony of normalcy that I crave yet feel detached from.

I catch the eye of a tall girl with paint-stained jeans—Mia from art club. Our eyes meet, and I offer a small, tentative smile, which she returns with a quick, bright flash of recognition. We don't stop to talk; our friendship, if it can be called that, consists of shared nods and occasional brushes of conversation about mediums and murals. It’s comfortable yet distant.

As I move past her, I nod to a couple of other faces from art club. There’s Jonah, who’s always sketching in the margins of his notebooks, and Elise, who’s more into sculptures than sketches. They know me, or at least, the version of me that holds a brush or a palette knife. But outside those art club walls, our interactions dwindle to these brief acknowledgements in crowded hallways.

It’s always been like this—me, drifting on the edge of circles, touching the surface of friendships without ever really diving in. People know me. I know people. But the connections end just as they begin to deepen, leaving me floating in this liminal space of near-but-far, together-but-alone.

As the hum of the corridor dwindles behind me, I pull out my crumpled schedule from the front pocket of my bag. My fingers trace the printed lines, double-checking. Biology, Room 210, Mrs. Hawthorne. I exhale, a puff of relief that feels almost tangible in the stagnant air of the hallway.

Stepping into Room 210, the atmosphere shifts palpably. Unlike the rigid order of Chemistry, this classroom thrums with a relaxed buzz. Students are scattered across the room, draped over desks and chairs like casual confetti, their voices weaving a tapestry of soft laughter and fragmented stories. Mrs. Hawthorne, a wiry woman with streaks of silver in her hair, sorts through a stack of papers on her desk, her glasses perched precariously at the tip of her nose.

I slide into an empty seat near the back, my backpack feeling lighter as I set it down. Relief seeps through me—not just at escaping the fraught energy of Chemistry, but at the absence of Mark in this classroom. Maybe I can actually pass this one, I think, allowing a small, hopeful smile to curve my lips.

As I settle in, scanning the room, my eyes snag on two familiar figures—Renjun and Jisung, part of Mark’s usual entourage. They sat diagonally from me, their heads bowed together in quiet conspiracy. Their presence pricks at my tranquility, a reminder of the orbit I circle but never enter. Still, they seem absorbed in their own world, a barrier invisible and yet palpable, separating them from the rest.

Mrs. Hawthorne clears her throat, the sound sharp enough to slice through the chatter. “Alright, everyone, let’s bring it in,” she calls out, her voice firm yet not unkind. The class gradually falls silent, attention turning towards her as she begins to outline the syllabus. Her words, crisp and precise, paint the semester ahead in broad, promising strokes.

As the bell rings, a symphony of relief and chatter floods the room. The class had rushed by, a whirlwind of historical dates that blend together in a blur—just the way it always does. Our teacher, Ms. Hawthorne, with her perennially furrowed brow, had walked us through the Civil War in less than an hour. Everyone is still buzzing about how, under her stern gaze, even the Battle of Gettysburg seemed to last only a minute. I pack my books, the edges frayed and covers battered from use, into my backpack with a practiced haste.

As I zip my backpack shut, anticipation pulses through me. Lunchtime means a momentary reprieve from the relentless pace of classes. I sling my bag over one shoulder, feeling the familiar tug at my muscles, and push my chair back. It scrapes against the linoleum, a harsh sound that seems too loud in the suddenly quiet classroom.

Stepping into the hallway is like diving into a river at its peak flow. Students flood the corridors, their voices a cacophony of plans for the afternoon, complaints about the homework, and the latest gossip which I tune out. I weave through groups of chatting students, my steps quick and light. Being small has its advantages; I slip through gaps between bodies and backpacks with an agility that keeps me from being swept away in the tide of teenagers.

Finally, I reach my locker, tucked away in a less chaotic corner of the hall. The combination lock clicks under my fingers, a sequence so familiar I could do it in my sleep. As the metal door swings open with a creak, I quickly stow away my History book. My stomach rumbles, thoughts of the cafeteria's offerings today—hopefully pizza, but more likely the soggy tacos—distracting me for a moment.

That’s when I hear it: a loud call, piercing through the buzz of the crowd. “Mark!” The voice is unmistakable—Jaemin. I freeze, a book half-shoved onto the shelf. My heart thumps painfully against my ribcage, a bird frantic to escape its cage. I turn slowly towards the sound, my movements stiff.

Jaemin and Jeno stand a few lockers down, their heads together, eyes scanning the crowd. Their gaze locks onto something, or someone, beyond my line of sight. Curiosity prickles at me, urging me to follow their stare. I lean slightly, peering around a cluster of students, and there he is—Mark, surrounded by Jisung, Renjun, Haechan, and Chenle. They're all animated, a dynamic cluster of energy and laughter, so different from my quiet observation.

As the voices crescendo, Mark and the others, caught in their own orbit of jokes and jabs, move like a comet trailing through the crowded hallway. They pass by me, close enough that I catch snippets of their laughter and the tail-end of a joke about Renjun's latest art project, which apparently includes more glitter than is strictly necessary. The air shifts around them, the way the atmosphere bends light around the sun, drawing eyes like moths to a flame.

I lean back against the cold, dented metal of my locker, pretending to search for something in my backpack while I watch. There's a palpable energy that buzzes from them, an invisible shield that seems to part the waves of students automatically. Some of the other girls stand a little straighter as the group approaches, their laughter ringing clear, like the peal of church bells on a quiet morning. One girl, with hair the color of autumn leaves, watches them with such open admiration that I wonder if she realizes her books are about to slip from her grasp.

"Do you think they ever notice?" The words slip out, soft and more to myself than anyone else.

"Notice what?" The voice comes from Jamie, who’s appeared beside me, her eyes bright with curiosity. Another friend I’ve met through the art club.

I jump slightly, not having noticed her approach. "The way everyone watches them. Like they're characters in a movie or something."

Jamie chuckles, a low, knowing sound. "I think they just enjoy their bubble too much to care." Her gaze lingers on the group, thoughtful. "Must be nice, living in your own little world where everything's a joke or a game."

I nod, the words hitting closer to home than I expect. The boys' laughter fades as they turn the corner, and suddenly the hallway doesn't seem as bright or as animated. The chatter around us fills in the void they’ve left behind, the ordinary concerns of high school life knitting back together like fabric after a pulled thread is reworked into place.

Time skates by as I sit alone in the back of the cafeteria, my lunch tray an island in a sea of noisy school life. The table, round and perpetually sticky, usually hosts only me and occasionally others who drift in with nowhere else to sit. Today, though, it's just me and my thoughts, with the distant clatter of forks and knives playing background music. I pick at the cafeteria's attempt at lasagna, more a mushy puzzle of pasta and sauce than anything else, and lose myself watching the swirl of students around me.

The lunch period ends too quickly, a rushed affair of eating and observing, and I'm the last to leave. I remember today is the first day back from summer and the dread of facing algebra with Mrs. Jensen after a carefree break nudges me forward. My steps quicken as I dart out of the cafeteria, swinging my bag over my shoulder. I make a quick detour to the bathroom, checking my reflection in the mirror not for vanity but to reassure myself I can face the rest of the day.

By the time I exit, the halls are ominously quiet, the absence of the usual hustle a clear sign that I'm late. My heart races as I approach the closed door of the algebra classroom. I stand there for a moment, hand poised above the handle, the metal cool and slightly grimy under my touch. I shake my hand, trying to dispel the nerves that buzz through my fingers like static electricity, and then, summoning every ounce of courage, I turn the knob as gently as possible.

The door gives a soft click, but it might as well have been a gunshot for how quickly the room falls silent. Heads turn, swiveling towards me as if connected by strings, and there in the sea of faces, I see a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Mrs. Jensen, mid-sentence, halts and fixes me with a look that's more weary than angry.

"Liya Faulkner, glad you could join us," she says, her voice dripping with a politeness that everyone knows isn't genuine.

I stumble into the room, my words tripping over each other as they come out. "Sorry, I—I got lost for a second there." My cheeks burn with the knowledge of how lame the excuse sounds, my classmates' eyes boring into me like tiny drills. Internally, I kick myself for not thinking of something more believable.

Mrs. Jensen nods, her expression softening a fraction as she gestures to an empty seat. "Just try to be on time, please. We were just going over the syllabus."

As I make my way to the seat, my backpack feels heavier than ever, loaded with more than just books—every step weighted down by their silent judgments and my own echoing embarrassment.

As I hastily sink into the only empty seat left in the room, the chill from the metal chair seeps through my jeans, a cold reminder of my tardiness. My hands fumble for the zipper of my backpack, movements jerky with nerves as I pull out my mathematics textbook, its edges worn from use. The syllabus, a looming specter of upcoming challenges, is notably absent from my desk. I try to steady my breathing, to dispel the flush of embarrassment still burning my cheeks like a slap.

That's when a sheet of white paper slides across my desk, drifting like a lost feather until it comes to rest beneath my startled gaze. I reach for it, fingers brushing the smooth surface, and glance up to thank the provider. The words die on my lips when I see it's Mark, the same Mark who was the nucleus of laughter just minutes ago in the hallway.

He gives me a smile, soft and unexpectedly reassuring, like the first warm breeze of spring after a harsh winter. "You're really okay," he murmurs, his voice a whisper meant only for my ears, "you haven’t missed anything." The simple kindness in his tone, in such stark contrast to the cacophony of the algebra class, makes my heart sink further into an ocean of foolishness.

For a moment, I'm rendered speechless, struck dumb by his casual grace. Words scramble like startled birds in my mind, but none take flight. His presence, the ease of his smile, narrows the world to just this small interaction, erasing the rows of curious eyes still glancing our way.

I manage a nod, a small, tentative smile stretching my lips as I clutch the syllabus a little tighter. It’s an anchor, a tangible reminder that this moment, however fluttering my heart feels, is just a fleeting connection in the mundane rhythm of school life. The room gradually fills back with the hum of teenage voices and the scratching of pens on paper, but the echo of his words lingers, a soft chord in the clamor.

The rest of the algebra class passes in a blur of numbers and letters, each equation Mrs. Jensen scribbles on the board another missed opportunity for my concentration to latch onto. I make a silent vow, keeping my eyes rooted to the white gleam of my own paper, steering clear of even the faintest temptation to glance sideways at Mark. But the resolve of the mind and the will of the heart are often at odds; the latter sneaks peeks when it can, betraying the former with each stolen glance.

From my peripheral vision, framed by the scuffed edges of my textbook, Mark seems absorbed in the lesson, but occasionally, his attention wanders. It drifts forward, like a leaf caught in a gentle stream, landing invariably on Amy-Jane. She's perched right in the middle of the front row, flanked by friends like stars around a moon, her laughter quiet but resonant, her notes meticulous as if each letter were crafted for display.

During one such moment, when my courage gathers enough to let my gaze linger a second longer, I catch Jaemin's elbow nudging Mark. Jaemin's whisper is lost in the space between them, but his grin speaks volumes, teasingly obvious. Mark's response is a sheepish smile, a subtle shrug that doesn't quite reach his eyes before he redirects his attention back to his notebook, his pen moving in bursts of renewed focus.

That interaction, simple and fleeting, stings sharper than I expect. A twinge of something akin to envy, but more complex, twists in my chest—a knotted thread pulling tight. It’s not just the pang of an unspoken crush noticed by others; it's the silent acknowledgment of my place on the periphery of this social cosmos, orbiting distant stars, invisible in their bright presence.

I press the tip of my pencil against the paper, the lead soft and slightly giving, as I force myself back to the problems laid out before me. The numbers blur, smudging into mathematical probabilities that don't account for the human heart's odd calculations. Each theorem feels like a cold reminder of the logical world, one where emotions are outliers, not data points.

The library unfolds in rows of tall, dark wooden shelves, laden with books that range from timeworn classics to modern paperbacks with spines barely creased. Above, the ceiling stretches high, dotted with small, round lights that cast a soft, golden glow, mimicking the stars that might soon blink awake in the evening sky. Between the shelves, large windows offer views of the schoolyard where autumn leaves flirt with the wind, their dance a quiet chaos against the orderly backdrop of the library.

The bell, like a final exhale after a long-held breath, releases us. I linger in my seat, thumbing through the colorful tabs of my planner until the numbers and periods align to tell me what I already hope for: a free period, a pocket of peace before the day ebbs away. I feign a deep dive into the cavern of my bag, rummaging through its contents—a tangle of pens, a frayed notebook, a half-eaten granola bar—anything to look occupied, to avoid unwanted conversations, especially with Mark still nearby.

My fingers brush the cool, smooth surface of a calculator, the textured spine of a textbook, while my ears tune in to the dwindling sounds of classmates dispersing. The shuffle of feet, the zip of backpacks, the low murmur of parting chatter fills the room. I don't lift my gaze until the sounds thin out, signaling that Mark, with his effortless smile and easy laughter, has left.

I choose a secluded corner table, nestled between sections of history and literature. It's an intimate nook where the sun, in its last act of defiance against the coming night, throws slanted beams across the wooden surface, turning dust motes into swirling galaxies. Here, in this carved-out space, I finally unclasp the tight ponytail, letting my hair cascade down in a relieved sigh, shadows playing in the light brown waves. As I settle, the chair creaking slightly under my weight, the library's calm wraps around me, a soft embrace promising solitude and stillness.

The library's quiet wraps around me like a blanket as I dig through my backpack and pull out my sketchbook. It's got a few creases and worn edges from being toted around so much, but I kind of like that it looks used—it's got character. Flipping through it, I can't help but smile a bit at the sketches filling the pages. It's neat to see how much better I've gotten over the past few months. The lines are smoother, the shading more precise, making the random faces and places I've drawn look almost real.

I grab my trusty pencil from its usual spot in my bag—it's short from all the sharpening but still perfect for drawing. Leaning back against my chair, I can't stop the memory of Mark's smile from earlier today from popping up in my mind. That smile had somehow made the whole awkward moment in algebra feel less intense.

I start sketching, letting my pencil lightly trace the outline of a face with that same easy smile. Trying to get his expressions right is kind of tough, but it’s a good challenge. I focus on the way his eyes had crinkled up when he smiled, trying to capture that. It feels a bit weird, drawing him like this, but it's also cool to see it come together on paper.

As I draw, everything else fades away—the sound of other students whispering, the rustle of pages turning. It's just me, my sketchbook, and the memory of that brief, bright smile. My heart does this little fluttery thing, kind of silly, but it makes me push on, adding more details to the sketch.

As I'm getting the smile just right on my sketch of Mark, a shrill, piercing sound cuts through the quiet of the library—the fire alarm. Everyone's heads jerk up, eyes wide. The librarian, Mrs. Finch, is suddenly all business, her voice firm as she herds us towards the exit. "Books down, everyone, let’s move quickly and calmly," she instructs.

I shove my sketchbook and pencil back into my bag, my movements hurried and a little clumsy. The alarm is insanely loud, making it hard to think. I zip up my backpack and sling it over one shoulder, glancing around to see if anyone else looks as frazzled as I feel. Everyone's just shoving their stuff into their bags, not talking much, their faces tense.

As we file out of the library, I can see teachers in the hallways, directing streams of students toward the exits. They look serious but controlled, like they’ve done this drill a hundred times. We all know the drill, but the suddenness still sends a ripple of anxiety through the crowd. I keep my head down, following the crowd, but I’m super aware of everything around me—the shuffle of feet, the occasional cough, and the loud buzz of the alarm echoing off the walls.

Passing by one of the senior literature classrooms, I spot Jaemin and Mark coming out, looking more alert than everyone else. Their eyes scan the crowd—sharp, focused. It strikes me as odd, their intensity. As they find the rest of their group—Jisung, Renjun, Haechan, Jeno, and Chenle—they weave through the crowd with a purpose that seems out of place in the chaos.

I can’t help but watch them, curiosity piqued. They’re trying to act normal, but it's like they’re on some secret mission, looking around cautiously. And then, right by the auditorium, it happens: Chenle bumps into Mark, not gently either. They both go down in a tangle of limbs, and the other guys quickly huddle around them.

The teachers and some annoyed kids just pass by, accepting the clumsy fall at face value, but I can’t shake the feeling that something else is going on. Amidst the fuss, I catch a glimpse of Mark slipping into the auditorium, quick as a shadow disappearing at dusk. The others stand up, brushing themselves off, and keep moving like nothing happened.

Once we're outside, everyone's clustered into little groups on the front lawn of the school. The teachers shuffle around, keeping a keen eye on us to make sure nobody drifts toward the busy street nearby. It's chaotic but organized, like some bizarre outdoor class assembly. I spot Mark's friends, still together, looking unusually alert and tense. They're whispering among themselves, glancing back toward the school building every now and then. What the hell? I think, my brow creasing with worry. There could be a real fire or something dangerous going on inside, and they just let Mark stay in there?

As I watch them, I find myself drifting closer to their group without even realizing it. My feet have a mind of their own, pulled by a mix of concern and curiosity. But as I get closer, reality snaps back. What am I doing? Panic flutters in my chest like a trapped bird. I'm about to turn around, to just walk away and maybe text someone to check if Mark's okay, but then it's too late.

Chenle’s eyes lock onto mine, his expression morphing from focused to confused in a split second. He nudges the guy next to him and subtly points at me. My heart hammers against my ribs, loud in my ears over the buzz of the crowd. Great, just great. Now what? There's no backing out now without looking totally weird.

Feeling a mix of irritation at myself and a stubborn set to my jaw, I keep walking toward them, trying to look like I meant to come over all along. The closer I get, the more I wish I could just melt into the grass and disappear, but I’m too far gone now. Chenle’s watching me approach, and I can almost hear the unasked question in his look: What does she want? I just hope I can think of something to say that sounds halfway reasonable.

As I get closer to the group, every step feels like wading through mud, thick and pulling at my ankles. I'm rehearsing lines in my head, trying to figure out how to casually drop into a conversation that, hey, I saw your friend sneak back into a potentially burning building. I mean, I'm not being nosy, right? I'm just concerned. But rationalizing it in my mind and actually saying it out loud are two different universes.

When I finally reach them, they're all looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and mild suspicion. Their faces are like an unread book, the kind where you're not sure if it's going to be a horror story or just a really awkward comedy. I don't blame them for the wary looks; we've never spoken before. To them, I'm just that girl who sometimes sits alone at lunch, maybe not even a blip on their radar.

Jaemin breaks the silence first. He leans against the school's brick wall, one hand casually tucked into his jeans pocket, his eyebrow arched. "Hi?" he says, making the word sound like a question, as if he's puzzled by my sudden appearance in their orbit.

"Hi," I reply, my voice squeaking a bit more than I'd like. Great, just great. I clear my throat, trying again. "Hi, I... um, saw what happened earlier, with Mark. In the hall, I mean." The words tumble out in a rush, and I mentally kick myself for sounding so chaotic.

They all exchange looks, their expressions shifting from curious to alert. I shuffle my feet, feeling the weight of their gazes like a spotlight that’s a bit too bright.

"Mark?" Chenle asks, his tone guarded, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yeah, when the alarm went off," I continue, pushing past the awkwardness clamping down on my chest. "I saw him... uh, he went into the auditorium. It looked like he did it on purpose, you know? And I just thought... well, it's kind of dangerous, isn't it? With the alarm and all."

There's a pause, heavy and thick, where I can almost hear their thoughts clicking into place. My heart thumps loudly, the sound a drumbeat in my ears as I wait for them to either dismiss me or—hopefully—take me seriously.

Jaemin straightens up, his casual demeanor tightening. "Thanks for letting us know," he says, his voice smooth but his eyes sharp, analyzing. "We’ll... um, handle it."

I nod, not sure what else to add, feeling like I've stepped into a stream that's flowing much faster than I anticipated. "Okay, just, you know, wanted to make sure someone knew," I mumble, already backing away, ready to escape the intensity of the interaction.

I'm halfway turned, ready to escape the heavy air between us, when it hits me—like a cold splash of reality. They're acting clueless, but I saw them, saw how they helped Mark sneak into the auditorium. I can't just walk away, not now. I stop, my heart drumming a frantic beat, and I spin back around, my resolve hardening.

Taking a deep breath, I march back towards them, my steps more determined. As I face them again, I can feel the flush on my cheeks, but it’s not just from embarrassment now—it’s from frustration, too. "You know what, no," I say, my voice firmer than I feel. "You helped him get in there for whatever stupid reason, and what if he gets hurt? What if there's actually a fire?" I throw the words at them like they're stones meant to wake them up.

The boys exchange looks—some amused, some just plain annoyed. Jeno steps forward, his expression darkening. He's taller up close, his presence imposing. He pokes a finger towards my shoulder, not touching me but close enough to make his point. "You saw nothing," he says, his voice low and threatening, yet there's a sharp edge to it, like he’s not just advising me but warning me. "Mark can take care of himself. But I'll let him know you were worried," he adds, his tone softening just a fraction, as if that's supposed to comfort me.

Just as I open my mouth to fire back another retort at Jeno, a loud boom erupts from inside the school. The ground trembles beneath our feet, a jolt that travels up through the soles of my shoes, making my heart skip. Instantly, the scene transforms into chaos. Nearby, cars screech to a halt, their drivers craning necks out of windows, while others honk incessantly, adding to the cacophony. The blare of police sirens grows louder as officers start spilling onto the scene, shouting commands and herding students further from the school building.

As I stand there, frozen, the reality of the situation hits me hard—the possibility of Mark, alone in the auditorium, maybe in danger, causes my stomach to clench. Behind me, some students are half-joking, half-serious, wondering aloud if this is the kind of scenario where Spiderman would show up. I roll my eyes at that. Spiderman? Really? I think as frustration is bubbling up. I'm not about to stand here waiting for some hero to swoop in.

Driven by a mix of fear and determination, I mutter to myself, "Fine, I'll do it myself." The words are barely a whisper, a breath lost in the wind, but they seal my decision. I drop my bag with a thud on the grass and start sprinting towards the school entrance. Calls of "Stop!" chase after me—some from the boys, some from other students, and sharply from the police trying to maintain order. But I don't look back. My legs pump harder, each step fueled by the urgent need to make sure Mark is safe, to not just be a bystander.

I can hear my name being yelled, a distant echo that I push from my mind as I focus on the school doors ahead, the heavy double doors that might just lead me to Mark—or into something way over my head. But right now, none of that matters. Only one thought propels me forward: I have to find him.

[thecapricunt1616]

The Bear & His Honey - Chapter 11

♡ Chapter Inspo: Song Lyrics; State Of Grace - Red(TV) TS "And I never saw you coming, and I'll never be the same"

♡♡》》𝟙𝟠+ 𝕆ℕ𝕃𝕐 𝔽𝕀ℂ! ℕ𝕆 𝕄𝕀ℕ𝕆ℝ𝕊 𝔸𝕃𝕃𝕆𝕎𝔼𝔻《《♡♡

♡ Summary: Carm goes to see Winnie after a long day at work, Winnie discovers that famous chefs like Carmy have fans & she introduces him to the world of fandom. They have a chat about BDSM and possibly exploring it more.

♡ W/C: 8,384

♡ Posted Date: 03/07/2024

♡ A/N: Helloooo all!! FIRST Just so y'all know for the story - Winnie is like 4'11 on a good day, Carmy/JAW is like 5'7/5'8 - so that's why Winnie seems so 'small' , they really have a normal height difference for a couple lol JAW is a short king. Anywho I saw a post abt. how there are actually fanfics for famous chefs and stuff and I looked it up- it is totally true!!! Loves it, So of course it inspired this chapter hehehe I feel like Carm would totally be an old man and not even KNOW what fanfic is but Winnie is a professional fangirl. Also - I am currently watching TS in Singapore & DBATCxBabe?!?!?!? IM SCREAMING!! Dead dead gone!! I predicted thissss heheheheh

♡ Warnings for BTC: Smutsmutsmut, BDSM talk, OH period sex (sowwy ik some people don't like that but u can skip and winniexcarm will be back next week with some fluffy goodness) getting lazy w these warnings but if you've made it this far in the fic nothing will trigger you i've already gotten most the triggering shit outta the way.

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ♡

𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒫.𝒪.𝒱. 🍯

When I heard a light knock at my door, I giddily jumped up from my comfy nest in bed I’d created for myself and dashed over, opening the door right away and Carmy dropped his hand away from the peephole, smirking. 

“And what if I was a killer this time, did you even look?” he stepped in the doorway, wrapping his arms around my waist and his hands sliding down to squeeze my bum gently.

I laughed a bit, wrapping my arms around his middle, crossing my fingers, and draping my arms around him lightly. “I guess I was so excited to see you I’d have been dead, kisses now” I puckered my lips up and closed my eyes expectantly. 

“Mmm…I’m expecting my test to be aced next time I come over yeah?” he pecks my lips sweetly and I open my eyes, furrowing my brows a bit before giggling.

“Test” I repeated, “You’re testing me?” I rested my forehead against his, gazing into the blue eyes I’d missed so much even though it’d only been 8 hours since I’d seen him last. 

“Y’can’t open up the door without checkin’, baby. This is a decent area- but Chicago is fuckin’ nuts” he nudged the door closed with his foot and tightened his grip on my waist slightly, the feeling of the calouses over his fingers causing goosebumps to rise over my flesh..

“Fine, but only cause I’m sooo obedient..for you” I pulled him into another kiss, wrapping my fingers in his frizzy curls and humming happily. I ran my tongue over his, enjoying the taste of tobacco and the minty gum he must have gotten rid of just before he got here. I feel his tense muscles relax slightly under my touch as I gently scratched my nails against his scalp. We made out for a few heavenly minutes, our noses bumping sweetly, him running his hands up my waist to my lower back, rubbing soft, soothing strokes back and forth.

He pulled away slightly, causing my eyes to flutter open and find his gaze. “Hm?” I questioned and he smiled a bit.

“I uh- I smell like work, I need to shower, honey” he kissed my forehead tenderly, his lips lingering for a sweet moment. 

I buried my face in his neck, inhaling deep and dramatically, letting out a satisfied hum which made him laugh, his chest shaking with movement.. “Mmmm…you smell soo good I love the way you smell Carmy, a little kitcheny, but still you,” I mumble into his shirt and he rubs up my back, his nails brushing over my ribs..

“You are fuckin’ weird babe,” he said, causing me to giggle and look up at him, resting my chin where it met his sternum and gazing up at him with a cheeky grin.

“Better get used to it, go and shower, pretty-boy- I can give you a massage after and everything if ya want. And I promise I’ll control myself this time” I said, pulling away with a step back. “Maybe” I added and he chuckled, grabbing his backpack from where he dropped it on the floor and heading to the bathroom.

“We both know you have shown little self-control around me while shirtless” he nudged it open, zipping open his backpack and dropping his usual grey sweatpants and boxers on the bathroom counter before tossing the bag on the floor. 

I gasp playfully at his accusation, “I’m Sorry- are you calling me thirsty?” I stood in the doorway, arms crossed with a playful grin.

He hummed and shrugged, turning on the shower and tugging his hoodie off, and undershirt as well. Of course, I watched- what male-attracted person wouldn’t watch him undress if given the chance? 

He brushes his hair back from the ruffling of the fabric, turning to pull the shower curtain open and I got the stellar show of watching his toned muscles flex beneath his skin as he does so. 

He reached down, unbuckling his belt, the metal buckle jingling as he pulled it off with one long tug, an action that had me readjusting my stance in the doorway to ease the now pulsing ache between my thighs. 

He unbuttoned his jeans, pulling the zipper down casually, and stepped towards the door, breaking my trance. “Mmhm…thirsty” he said softly with a smirk, pecking my lips before shutting the door in my face.I scoffed, blinking a few times in surprise and my cheeks going hot at the very true accusation. 

“Oh wow! Wow! A girl can’t enjoy free eye candy in her own damn house in which she pays the bills!?” I called through the door as I headed to my room with a smile, hearing him chuckle a bit. 

I laid back on my bed, opening my phone and going back to my scrolling on Tik Tok. It was about 10 minutes of senseless scrolling while listening to the water run- before, for some strange reason, I had the urge to click the search button and type in Carmy’s name. 

It felt…a little creepy. But- I pushed the shame off telling myself its normal to want to see someone you’re seeing’s social media, so I decided to feed that little voice in my mind telling me it was a good idea. 

And boy was it a great idea. 

The first 20 or so videos were absolute fan-cams of Carmen from different interviews he’d done for different events, award shows, etc. and the comments were absolutely filthy- and also spoke to my very soul for the way he made me feel..

‘Oh- I KNOW it’s big- FS fs!!’

‘I need him in a way thats concerning to feminism- like..strip my rights away’

‘He seems SO unhinged&crazy abt his craft…I NEED him’

‘Chef- more like DADDY’

‘You KNOW he's ripped, look at the armsss- and the HANDS?! NEED EM AROUND MY MF THROAT!!!’

Each comment i’d read I was giggling more, but then- an even better thought popped into my mind, if theres fancams… There has to be fanfiction.

 I nearly sprained a thumb opening my Tumblr app and typing in his name in the search bar. I giggled maniacally as if I just struck gold about 5 minutes later of digging through reposts of photoshoots he’d done fore magazines that I was amazed he didnt post on his personal instagram- when I struck the first one. 

Little gasps and giggles left my lips as I continued to read through the post. Being honest with myself, I wasn’t giggling at the people posting- I was giggling because I knew Carm doesn’t have a clue about this- and I can not wait to see the look on his face when I tell him about it.

I was so engulfed in the story of some fantasy someone had about Carm roughly fucking them in over the counter in the kitchen, giggling at the idea, that I hadn’t even heard the shower water cut off.

 I wish we could do that in the kitchen after everything was closed - but truth be told, Carmy is way too shy for public stuff, at least right now. But damn- after he leaves me in the mornings? I should be reading up on his tumblr tag for ideas because holy fuck- these bitches are filthy whores in the best way.

The bathroom door clicks open and he flicked off the bathroom light. “What’s all the gigglin’ out here missy?” he asked amusedly, coming over to now his side of the bed. I looked up to see him shirtless, clad in the light grey sweatpants I’d come to love so much that hung low off of his toned hips. 

“Uh-” I said, the meer view of him completely erasing all previous thoughts from my brain. Fuck his curls are so much more pronounced when they’re wet, it drives me nuts. No wonder his chest is so curly…

“TikTok?” he asks when I don’t reply, instead just admiring his frame, kneeling on the mattress and getting in bed next to me and he sees the Tumblr app open with a screen full of text. “Readin’ then, baby?” he asks now, and I realize I still hadn’t said anything, my focus on the little curly patch of hair that adorned the middle of his chest.

“Everyone wants to fuck you” I said the first thing that came to my mind, my eyes flickering to his finally, and he laughed. His head fell back on the headboard, eyes crinkling up in amusement adorably. 

“What?” he asked, poking my side playfully. “Who wants to fuck me? I haven’t gotten any offers as of late other than you, of course” he snorts and pushed his wet curls back off his forehead.

“N-no you’re like…famous, Carm, like- alot of people want to fuck famous chef’s.. I didn’t realize it before but it’s like..a kink? I guess? Like.. how I wanna fuck winged dudes, but some girls ultimate kink is a super sexy, awarded, top of the line chef ” I giggled and his eyebrows raised, a smirk forming on his lips.

“A kink?” he shakes his head amusedly, rolling his eyes lightly. “And who told you this baby. Sadie?” he asked and it was my turn to laugh.

“No! No, It was me, I figured it out… have- have you not looked yourself up on TikTok? People like, they make fancams with the interviews you’ve done at those um- the James Beard award things for the last few years? And the other interviews about how you’ve come up that you did back in New York..they’re like- people want you, Carm, really- like, you have these bitches pussys meowing.” I said with a giggle, smiling wide as a blush crept to his cheeks.

“The fuck is a fancam?” he asks, causing me to giggle.

“You are such an old man sometimes, you know that right?” I pecked his lips and he squeezed my cheeks when I try to pull away, smushing my lips into a dramatic pout.

“I’m only three years older than you, you know that right?” he said and kissed my lips once more before letting me go.

I laugh at his firmness on the matter. “Three years closer to 30, mister 27 and 24, 2 very different check points” I teased and went back to my tik tok likes. His eyebrows raised as he leaned in, wrapping his arm around my waist to pull me closer when he saw my last 13 likes in the previews contained his face.

“Should I be scared?” He mumbled into my neck with a soft chuckle, his minty breath hitting my senses.

“Mmm…Knowing you you’re gonna be all flustered, especially by the comments” I said, clicking on the first one. I smiled as I watched, “Look at that sexy little chef” I teased and he pinched my waist playfully as ‘Serpentine’ by The Gorillaz played in the background.

“S’what- people just like, look at me with music? Wait- why-why does it keep cutting to pictures of my hands from that article?” he questions, causing me to laugh and bury my face in the pillow at his pure obliviousness. “Hey! Tell me do I have weird hands?” he asks causing me to giggle harder. 

“Carmen oh my god!” I catch my breath. “You are so oblivious to your hotness, its adorable. No babe, no. Everyone is turned on by your hands, your hands are like…girlporn.” I explained, and his eyebrows raised in confusion, his cheeks bright pink.

“Girlporn.” he repeats, and I nodded enthusiastically with an amused smile.

 “I don’t believe that- I think y’re all makin’ fun of my hands, open the comments” he said and I roll my eyes playfully, obliging and reading some of my favorites out loud.

“Wow- these girls get me, Carm. ‘I know its big’ , ‘I need those hands around my neck-oops.’, ‘do you think he’s as passionate in bed as he is about the kitchen?’ oooo- I wanna reply and say yes to that one” I giggle and he takes my phone from my hand, scrolling. The light on his face accentuated his blush and he bit his lip in concentration as he scrolls.

“Who are all these people” he muttered to himself, causing me to laugh a bit. 

“Your fanclub baby, I told you - people love you, and they love what you do and the passion you have for it” I kiss his shoulder gently. “You haven't even read the fanfiction yet” I giggled into his skin and he looks down at me, offering the phone back quickly. 

“Show” he ordered, and I laughed. “Seriously, honey! Show! I’m frankly a little freaked out.” he said and I took the phone, going back to Tumblr.

“Babe, its nothing to be afraid of, they’re just horny 20-somethings like we are. And you’re like- mega famous? You’re like….Like- the Harry Styles of chefs! Of course like every bitch in culinary school is gonna be after your dick” I said, causing him to laugh.

“Oh my god- you really are something. C’mon, Read to me, about me- er how people think I am?” he chuckled and got comfy in bed, wrapping his arms around my waist and snuggling me into his chest. 

“Mmm so I’m your personal book slash fanfiction reader now?” I said teasingly, resting my head back against his chest and he kissed the top of my head sweetly. 

“Mhmm, and we can stay up as late as we want, I have tomorrow off” he said and I gasped happily, looking up at him with stars of pure joy in my eyes.

“You are?” I squeak with a broad smile and he beamed at my excitement, kissing my lips tenderly and resting his forehead on mine. 

“Mmmhmm, all y’rs t’morrow babygirl, you workin’?” he asked and I withered a bit, realizing I did, in fact, have obligations tomorrow.

“No- well…kinda, I have therapy at 1, and then I have the rest of the day, but my sessions are 3 hours.” I said my eyes fluttering to his lips before meeting his again. 

“Good girl” he said softly before kissing my lips dearly. My tummy flutters, and I feel warmth rush to my core at the name. He doesn’t know how much praise like that does to me. 

I delicately run my fingers through his damp curls, opening my mouth for him and humming in satisfaction at the minty taste that flares across my tongue almost instantly. I looped a curl around my finger absentmindedly, relishing in the taste of him. 

I interlaced our legs together, so every bit of possible flesh was being touched by him, soothingly running my calf along his. He huffs a small laugh into my mouth before pulling away. 

“Are we close enough now baby?” He kissed my jaw gently and nuzzled his face in my neck. I smiled wide, interlocking the fingers of my free hand with his. 

“Nope” I respond jokingly. Abruptly, I was being rolled over on top of him with one swift motion, only needing one of his arms to flip me like a ragdoll. I squeak in surprise, catching myself by straddling his hips with my thighs tightly and wrapping my arms around his middle, my phone lost someplace in the mass disarray of the blankets. 

“There we go angel, can’t be closer.” he said, pleased at his work. He wrapped his arms around my back and tucked his hands under my shirt, rubbing long strokes over my skin. 

“Mmm” I said happily, comfortably tucking my icy hands between his warm muscular back and the mattress “sooo warm” I said, giggling a bit when I sense him shiver slightly at the contact. 

“Jesus babe. Why the fuck are y’r hands so cold” he murmured, gently grazing my back with his short nails causing my eyes to flutter shut in ecstasy

I sighed softly in appreciation “keep doin’ that bear, it feels really good” I expressed, nuzzling my face in the crook of his neck comfortably. 

“Course babygirl” he said tranquily, causing a small smile to form on my lips. 

“I love it when you call me names…” I said calmly into his skin, gently kissing his neck. 

“I love it when you call me Bear” he replied lightly, squeezing my hip with the free hand that wasn’t doing the scratching. 

 “Good cause I love calling you Bear, it fits you, baby.” I kissed his jaw adoringly before sitting up slightly, resting my hands on his chest for support. 

“Alexa, lights out bitch.” I said loud enough for the speaker to pick up, before laying back down. 

“Okay, lights out, bitch.” The speaker replied before my tv shut off, as well as my lamps, the only glow in the room being my soft fairy lights. I feel Carms chuckle beneath me and I look down at him. 

“I can’t with you..Y’re not gettin’ out of reading that to me, y’know. I wanna know what people think I’m like” he said and I roll my eyes with a smile. 

“Fine- but I was only sparing you, a lot of the stuff they wrote is really filthy and I know you’re kinda shy” I settle back on his chest, holding my phone to the right of his shoulder where I could see. 

“Now I’m really interested” he snorts and I roll my eyes. 

“This one, is called Yes, Chef” I whispered the title in his ear seductively and nibbled at his earlobe, giggling when I felt his palm come down on my ass in a gentle spank. 

“Cut it with the theatrics and read, honey” he said with a smile 

“Okay! Ok fine. Here’s the summary; ‘Valerie is a 20 year old college student, who got a summer job as a food runner at Chicagos finest restaurant- The Bear, with world famous chef prodigy Carmen Berzatto, things got hot and heavy on her first day in the kitchen.’ ”

I read and he snorts a laugh. “Wow ok so firstly- she can’t even drink, way too young for me, and second- her first day?! Jesus people must think I’m a fuckin’ douchebag. The prodigy thing was a nice touch though.” he said simply and I giggled. 

“Just wait. It’s not supposed to be like…realistic. It’s only a fantasy.” I explained and started reading. A few paragraphs in when it started to hit the plot point, he interrupts. 

“Okay- what?” He laughs and I look up at him, an amused smile on his lips.

“Have you ever seen me wear rings in the kitchen? Ever?” He questions, raising his eyebrows. 

“Oh my godddd” I groaned dramatically, giggling into his chest. “Carmy! Fantasy. The rings have purpose, just wait.” I said and he rolled his eyes, leaning down and kissing the top of my head. 

“Fine. Continue, but this isn’t realistic. Rings are so unsanitary baby I’d never wear them in the kitchen” he rubs over my back gently. 

I continued on getting through a few more paragraphs before my sneaky eyes betrayed me, reading slightly ahead “ooo this is where it gets really good babe. ‘I could barely reply, and he must’ve known that because he lets out an almost mocking laugh, and growls in my ear “like that mm? Little slut loves getting filled out by her boss on her first day?” he spanks me so hard the sound bounces off the walls, and I’m sure there will be a bruise-“ 

“Okay woah- I’d never hit you that hard what the fuck” he said, a bit shocked causing me to giggle. 

“Why not?” I look up at him and his eyebrows furrow in concern. 

“You want me to hit you during sex?” He questioned, his hands going still on my back. I shrug a bit, thinking it over. 

“I’m more of a praise person, but if degradation like that gets you off- I think it’s hot. But…scenes like that where it’s all rough- it’s pretty emotionally draining. I’d just need more aftercare.” I said softly, gently tracing over the triangle on his chest with my forefinger absentmindedly as I spoke. 

“Like…BDSM? You’re into that?” He asked and I put my phone down, nodding a bit. 

“Yeah..I mean- yeah. You aren’t?” I asked, slightly anxious for the answer. 

It didn’t bother me if Carm only wanted to have the same vanilla-esc sex we’d been having, but I would be much more fulfilled sexually if he would try more daring things out with me. 

“I-I’ve never um…done it. Like- not…not anything real like- spanking, sure- but I’ve heard it’s like a whole…culture of stuff, and I don’t- I don’t really understand it.” He said quietly, his cheeks going pink. 

I smiled a bit, leaning in and kissing his lips tenderly, gently cupping his cheeks and rubbing my thumbs along his stubble. Had he even went home, or did he come straight back here? My heart fluttered at the idea of him being so excited to get back to me, he didn’t even bother stopping at home.

“We can learn what you like, together baby.” I said softly when I pulled away, gently stroking his cheekbone with my thumb. 

“What do you like?” He asked, equally as quiet as he gazed into my eyes. I could see all the curiosity behind his icy blues, and it almost made me giddy that I was the one who got to properly introduce him to this world. 

“The part of BDSM I like, is more psychological control than physical. I do like bondage, I love breath play, impact play is a maybe. I like being spanked, I’ve thought about belt play for sure - but I do not want you to slap me across the face or shove me around in like… a mean way. But what really turns me on is the dom-sub dynamic outside the bedroom. I’ve never had like- a real dom but I’ve wanted one. A soft dom... But I don’t do like…hookups, or friends with benefits. I want it intertwined in to my actual romantic life..which can be kinda hard to find. But…I could see you being really good at the soft dom thing.” I expressed, playing with his curls gently as I talked with my cheek flush to his chest. 

“I know what Dom and sub is..but what’s soft Dom? Like- a Dom that isn’t good enough er- like.. Strong enough to be a full dominant?” He questions and I sit up from his chest, my gaze meeting his one more quickly. 

“Baby, no…no. Absolutely not. You are fucking amazing. A soft dom is a preference. Just like I said how I love praises, soft doms use rewards more then punishments. Instead of demanding something out of a sub, like- forcing it out of them, they’ll give an order a precise order, and patiently wait for their submissive to follow it, and then they reward their sub, instead of punishing because they were made to wait or something... That’s an attitude I think you’d take on really effortlessly, just cause of your job and the tolerance it requires” I explained and he nodded a bit, his hands once more continuing to rub soothing strokes along my skin. 

“So…you like being told what to do, but in a nice way?” He questioned, and I nodded with a smile. 

“Exactly. And I love praises when I’m doing something you like. Soft dom’s aren’t about humiliation or degradation, which I don’t think you are. Just from what we’ve done…but- do you like degrading?” I asked and he bit his lip for a moment as he thought. 

“No…no- I dunno…I don’t wanna hurt your feelings baby, isn’t the point of sex to feel good?” He questioned and I gently stroke his cheek, my heart turning to goop at his honesty in the question. 

“Mmhmm, some people feel good when they’re being mean like that though. It’s all consensual, I think if I was into that it would be because I want to take back control, y’know? In a way, being slapped around as a woman- I guess in a situation that you’re controlling it can help us feel…safer?” I shrug a bit “but you aren’t a sadist Carm, we don’t have to do that.” I rest my cheek back on his chest, continuing to rub my fingers over the little curly patch of hair in the middle of his pecs. 

“Well t’me it would just feel…wrong? Like..to call you a slut or something.” I giggled a bit, resting my chin on his chest again to look at him. 

“You can do it in a nice way y’know? I’m talking about like- for instance ‘all you’re good for is being a slut’ I don’t like that. But if you were like ‘That’s it my good little slut you’re doing such a great job for me’ I’d probably love it. Because to me it’s like- If I’m your slut, if I belong to you.. it’s different than being just a slut- I guess I probably have a bit of an ownership kink.” I giggled and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Where’d you learn how to talk like that Jesus” he muttered, his hands sliding down and squeezing my ass firmly. “I…” he trails off for a moment. 

“What baby? Tell me” I said encouragingly.

“I think..” he clears his throat. “I think I like praise too?” He said his cheeks going flaming red at the admission. “I-is that normal f’r guys t’like that?” He asked quietly, clearly anxious that he’d possibly said something wrong. 

“Yes, yes baby, thank you for telling me, what kind of praise do you like?” I asked, gently tracing the veins along his neck with a feather-light touch. 

He swallows thickly, goosebumps covering his skin. “Um..I- I dunno…but it- I-I guess the idea sounds nice? C-can you give me some examples..maybe?” He asked nervously, his thumbs rubbing circles into the flesh of my bum that he was still holding on to firmly. 

“Mm..well it’s not so much of an example as it is a real thought I just haven’t said out loud.. when we were in the shower and you were all bossy telling me to bend over, that was so fucking hot. I think about it all the time when I’m getting off, it always gets me there.” I smirk, gently playing with his chain between my fingers, tugging lightly. 

His pupils dilated, drinking in my words and I could see that he was contemplating something behind his gaze. “So…you like it when I give you orders like that? Like..Bossin’ you around? I honestly felt kinda bad after” he said softly and I nodded. 

“I love it. Also when you praised me for how well I take your huge cock, that was so good baby.” I kiss his neck, gently nipping the sweet spot below his pulse point and he groans softly, his grip on my ass tightening. 

“Fine… Then get on your back.” He said lowly, his voice husky with lust. Without a second thought, I plop on my back, spreading my legs to make space for him. 

“As you wish.” I said with a satisfied smile and he straddled me, his weight pushing me into the bed and he held himself up by his muscular arms on either side of me, caging me in. His chain dangled in front of my face teasingly, and I took it between my teeth. 

“Fuck you look so hot like that baby” he said softly, causing my proud smile to grow. 

I dropped it from my teeth “I want you to own me Carmy” I said softly, my hands trailing up his muscled chest. 

“Ye’ baby? You wanna be mine?” He kissed my neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. My eyes fluttered shut, my stomach full of a swarm of butterflies, and my core on fire. I gasp in pleasure as he nips the spot on my neck that drives me wild, my chest arching up and becoming flush with his. 

Suddenly, I’m reminded of my current situation. 

“Wait” I said softly and he immediately stopped, pulling away and sitting up slightly. 

“Did I do something?” He asked nervously, carefully pulling down my shirt that had been pushed up in the heat of the moment. 

“No…it’s…” I blushed, covering my face in embarrassment. “It’s my fault- We can’t t’night I’m sorry,” I said shame lacing my voice. I feel his hand around my wrist, gently tugging. 

“Honey, look at me- what’s wrong?” He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it gently. 

“I’m- I’m on my period and…I don’t wanna disgust you so- so no.” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest, staring at the ceiling more annoyed with myself than anything. 

“If it’s a me thing baby- I don’t care. I’ll wear a condom if you want, we can put down a towel. I’m definitely not afraid of a little blood.” He said sweetly, gently resting his hands on my hips and squeezing affirmingly. 

I felt a hard lump in my throat, and tears began pooling at the back of my eyes as my lip begins to quiver. He noticed and his lips curled into a small frown “we- we don’t have to angel, I’m just telling you that I don’t care if you’re bleeding- It’s- it’s fine, princess, we can just cuddle” he said gently and I nodded. 

“I know-“ I whisper, the tears making their way to my lash line and threatening to spill over. 

“Then why’re you cryin’, pretty girl?” He gently swipes his thumb under my eye, collecting the tears that had gathered. 

“Cause” I sniffled. “Cause you’re perfect Carmen.” I cup his cheeks and pull him into a deep kiss, my eyes squeezing shut and more tears falling down my cheeks.

He pulled away gently “don’t cry Angel, please don’t cry” he whispers, brushing away my residual tears and kissing my damp cheeks before resting his forehead on mine. “Do you want to? I want to, baby. But what I want more is what you want.” He whispered, looking in to my eyes honestly. 

I smiled a bit, nodding slightly against him. “Yes” I whisper. “But I just feel…all mushy now- and…I don’t wanna fuck” I said and I saw the disappointment behind his eyes, but of course he didn’t let it show otherwise. 

“I want you to make love to me.” I whispered, kissing his jaw tenderly in a line up to his lips. He smiled softly against my lips, humming softly. 

“Anything you want, princess.” He said softly before kissing my forehead tenderly. 

I smile warmly, my hands trailing up his sides, “let me go get a towel..” I said softly, and he shifted onto his side of the bed, sitting up against the headboard. I sit up and looked at him before getting up, grabbing his hand and squeezing gently. 

“Promise if you get grossed out- we’ll stop? A-and…and that you won’t see me differently.” I said meekly, in frantic need of reassurance. 

“I told you, honey, you could never gross me out, and being intimate while you’re on your cycle won’t change my feelings for you. I love being close to you, nothing could change that” he conveyed sincerely, before bringing my fingers to his lips and kissing gently. 

I nod, “ok,” I said quietly. I got up and padded off to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I used the restroom quickly and prepared myself by wiping down with some baby wipes, even though I’d just showered a few hours prior (you could never be too careful) - and washed my hands before grabbing an old towel from the bathroom closet. I took a deep breath to settle my nerves before opening up the door again. 

“I just- don’t um…finger me. You can touch me but- no- no fingers..please” I said shyly and sat on the bed, plopping the folded towel on the edge. 

“You got it, honey, thanks f’r tellin’ me- now c’mere” he patted his lap gently. I shuffle over on my knees, straddling him and sitting on his thighs gently. 

“Can we…can we turn off the lights?” I ask softly and he nodded. 

“Whatever will make you most comfortable baby, I’m fine with whatever you want.” He kissed my jaw sweetly. 

I leaned down and kissed his neck gently, leaving soft, lingering kisses down and around his throat, trailing down, grazing my teeth along his skin as I did so and kissing his collarbones gently. “You have such a nice chest Carmy” I said softly, kissing the base of his throat sweetly. 

“I could say the same thing about you, can I take this off honey?” He tugged the hem of my shirt gently, and in response I sit up and lifted my arms. He slips the fabric off, throwing it somewhere on the floor and sat back, eyes racking over my frame causing my cheeks to heat. 

“So fuckin’ perfect.” He mutters, his large hands cupping my breasts and thumbs rubbing over my nipples causing them to perk up almost immediately. 

“Do you like my piercings?” I asked softly, one of my hands coming up and cupping his gently. He looked at me as if he was shocked I'd even ask the question. 

“Babe- y’re so fuckin’ hot. You have the nicest tits I’ve ever seen. I’m obsessed with these” he squeezes them together for emphasis, causing me to giggle and I felt all of my tension and insecurity melt away. 

“Yeah? What do you like about ‘em?” I asked with a smirk, amused at his boyish affinity for breasts, running my hand down his forearm and squeezing gently. 

“Fuck yes. So many things. I love how they’re the perfect handful for me, like they fit fuckin’ perfect in my hands honey. And they’re so soft, and so perky, and fuckin’ bouncy- c’mere I need ‘em” he pulls me to him, kissing over my flesh with hot, wet smooches before taking one of my nipples in his mouth and suckling gently, his tongue playing with my jewelry causing me to moan out loudly in pleasure. 

I’d never been ravished this time of the month before- and to be quite honest, it was slightly overwhelming just how sensitive I was. 

I gasped slightly at the feeling of his teeth gazing at the sensitive bud, my chest arching into him and pathetic whimpers falling from my lips. “Carmy - fuck I love your mouth s’much” I grind my hips into his, feeling his length already rock hard beneath me. He moaned slightly into my skin, the vibrations against my nipple sending a crashing wave of pleasure to my core that caused my hips to buck into his and my hand to fall flat to his chest to try and ground myself, his thumping heart resting beneath my palm. 

“Fuck - take these off” I said, tugging at his sweatpants. “I- I don’t wanna ruin them with a stain they’re my favorites” I breathe out, pulling at the waistband more. He chuckles into my skin, pulling away from my nipple with a pop and gazing up at me with dark, lust filled eyes, the blue almost completely swallowed by the black saucers of his pupils. 

“How do you want me angel?” He asked, resting his chin on my breast and not breaking my gaze. His lips were puffy and swollen from the assault on my nipple, glistening with saliva. 

“I-“ I felt my cheeks heat, my stomach flipping with anxiety at the realization of the intimacy I really wanted. I swallowed thickly before continuing. “I- I want you to be on top of me…like…like earlier? When you were pressing me into the bed it…it made me feel safe” I brushed a hand through his curls. 

A small blush heated his cheeks and he smiled a bit. “Yeah princess? Ok..I liked that too. I wanna see y’re pretty face” he said softly, brushing my fringe away from where it had hidden my eyes slightly. 

I kissed his lips tenderly before grabbing the towel, laying it down on my side and smoothing it out. I realized, without the glow of the moonlight pouring in that was cut off by the curtains, it was pitch black on my half of the bed. “Can you- um…open the shade a little?” I ask him when he got up to slip his sweatpants off. 

“Course baby, no one can see us right?” He joked, going over and pulling open the curtain and soft moonlight flooded the whole room, just enough. 

“I think it’s dark enough in here for no one to get a free show” I giggled, laying back and making sure my hips were fully on the towel so I wouldn’t stain my silk sheets. I sat up a bit, pushing my hair behind me so I or he wouldn’t pull it by accident before settling back down, spreading my legs once more for him. 

He stood at the end of the bed, like me, in nothing but his underwear. His large hands curled over his hips as he admired my frame. I blushed, suddenly feeling as naked as I was, and I resisted the urge to cover up my breasts with my hands. “You are so fuckin’ beautiful, Winnie” he said softly, kneeling on the bed and coming up to me, wrapping my thighs around his middle and kissing up from my navel to my neck in long, open mouth kisses, marking me with his saliva. The chill of the air conditioning after each kiss eventually brought on a small shiver that turned into raised goosebumps. 

 “You make me feel so beautiful” I said softly, my eyes fluttering shut and head falling back to the pillow in bliss as he ravished me with adoring kisses over every inch of bare skin. 

“Mm well that’s because you are, you’re the most captivating girl I’ve ever seen” he whispered in my ear gently, his voice laced with a certainty that he believed what he was telling me. 

I swallowed thickly, my breath hitching when he bites down on my neck gently, sucking on the sensitive skin. “I want to be yours Carm. Only yours- please” I breathe out, my arms curling around his back and fingers drawing little patterns over his muscles lightly. He bit down on my skin harder, sucking roughly. 

There will surely be a bruise. 

I moaned softly, one of my hands trailing up to wrap in his soft curls and play with them between my fingers. “Yeah?” He mumbled into my skin, peppering kisses down my jaw “Y’want me to own you, baby? Mmm? Y’want everyone to know that you belong t’me?” He asked gently in my ear, his hot breath and husky voice laced with desire hurling waves of warmth to my core. 

“Please-please own me Carmy. Make love to me” I begged quietly, my voice trembling with want and anticipation. He rested his forehead on mine, nuzzling the tip of his nose against mine sweetly. 

“You’re the only person I’d ever want to make love to, honey” he whispered into my lips before kissing me hungrily. I moan at his words, opening my mouth for him and dragging my tongue across his, needing more of him.

 I lifted my hips when I feel hip pat my bum, and he pulls my panties down to my knees, breaking our kiss to trail kisses up my leg before he drapes it over his side to peel off the barely-there fabric, flinging it to the floor before wrapping my leg securely back around his waist. 

“I need you” I voiced softly, my fingers trailing down his chest to his happy trail, delicately hooking my fingers in his waistband and pulling him free. His length eagerly pops out and slaps against his stomach, making me smile proudly.

 “Do you need me?” I ask quietly, wrapping my fist around his length and stroking him gently, giving him the firm tug he loved. 

He groans, his head falling back slightly and eyes fluttering shut as I run my thumb over his slit, spreading the precum all over his rosy head. “Fuck baby- so bad. I miss your pussy so fuckin much” he breathes out, whimpering and grabbing my wrist when I started massaging his tip firmly with my thumb. 

“Ah-ah-mmm-baby” he whines, gripping my wrist tighter “fuuck- shit Y’re gonna make me cum, s-stop- please- I-I still wanna fuck you” he whimpered and I gently lowered my hand, continuing to do slow languid strokes over the bottom half of his length and I see his muscles relax as if I’d just taken him right off the edge. 

“That’s how it feels when you rub my clit- more or less.” I said and he gently pushes me to lay back, causing me to lose my grip on him. 

“I’d say less considering-“ he spread my lips with his ring and forefinger, dragging his middle finger just barely brushing over my clit causing my hips to buck into his palm and a soft moan to escape my lips. “Takes barely anything t’get you worked up baby, you were chokin my cock- not a fair comparison” he teased with a smirk, leaning in and kissing me warmly. 

I cry out in his mouth when he flicks his finger over the extremely sensitive bud, “see baby? Y’re already so worked up… I love those sexy little noises you make” he hums in my ear, rubbing me in achingly slow circles. 

“Oh- fuck yes- yes-yes Carmy just like that” I whine out, tightening my heels in his back to pull myself closer. He adds more pressure and I gasp out, grinding my hips against his hand, so aching for more friction he barely had to move his fingers to get me off at this point. 

“That’s it honey” he leans down, taking my nipple back in his mouth and my core clenches around nothing which he feels beneath his hand causing him to smile lightly, his tongue flicking over the nipple.

I let out a breathy “ahh” at the wave of pleasure that washes over my core at the action.

“Mmm you’re humpin’ my hand like a horny little bunny right now baby, it’s adorable” he mutters into my skin and I smiled lazily, opening my eyes to look at him. 

“Not my fault your hands are better at the job then mine are” I circled my hips, and he took back over, rubbing quicker but lighter circles into my heat that made my stomach tighten and head fall back on the pillow with a breathy “oh”. My breathing quickens, my core tightening, that familiar building beginning to wash over me and my eyes twisting shut, nose scruching in focus. 

“Y’gonna cum f’me, bunny? Mmm? I know that adorable face baby, you close? Y’gonna cum f’me angel?” He cooed teasingly, kissing my collar bones and nipping gently. I whimper at the use of the new name, my eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure. 

“Ah! mm-mmhmm” I managed to ramble out, my mind going blank other than the overwhelming tightness in every muscle. 

“Hey, hey, lemme see those pretty eyes, princess” he kisses the corner of my mouth sweetly. “Mm? Please Baby? Can I see those pretty eyes while you cum for me?” my eyes fluttered open and met his, seeing him smiling sweetly. “Oh you are such a mess and we’ve barely started angel, such a good girl- my good girl” he said, and with that- I was thrown over the edge into my orgasm full force. 

My hips bucked up, my clit pulsing, warmth flooding every inch of my body as the pleasure overtook me. “Yesyesyesyes” was all that I could manage to get out of my mouth, my breathing ragged. I pulled him to me, kissing him feverishly, the sound of lips the only audible while I rode out my high.

 “I need you” I mumbled between hot, wet kisses. “I need you inside me,” I said, before kissing him again. 

He adjusted my hips, pulling away briefly and ripping open a condom with his teeth that he blindly grabbed from my nightstand he’d left out for us a while ago, and rolled the latex over his throbbing member. “Ribbed huh?” He raised his eyebrows teasingly and I giggled. 

“More fun f’me- especially with a huge cock like yours” I pull him back to me with my legs and chuckled as he lines himself up, holding himself up with one arm. 

“I’m honestly surprised you can take all of it.” He said, nudging his tip in and I moaned, dropping my head back and eyes fluttering shut.  “Fuck” he grunted, pushing in deeper. “Y’re fuckin tight babe- are you sure y’re ok?” He looks up at me and in response I nod, my jaw dropped wide in pleasure and eyes shut lightly, breathing heavy.

“Fuck- oh my god please- please- more” I begged him, grabbing his hand and interlacing our fingers. He gently kissed my forehead as he pushed himself into me to the point our pelvises were flush and I let out a loud whiny cry at the sudden pressure. 

“Yes fuck- I feel so full-s’good” I whine out. He moaned softly as he thrusts out to the tip before going all the way back in, the ribbed tip of his cock brushing right up against my g-spot in a way that makes my hips jerk and I let out a soft “ah”, stars forming behind my eyes. He wrapped his forearms around my thighs, pulling me higher up in his lap and wrapping his arms around my back, holding me over the bed with his hands on my shoulderblades as he started a quick snap of his hips, moaning out as his head fell back. 

“Fuckkk baby. Y’re so fuckin’ good t’me letting me have you like this- shiiit- s’fuckin’ tight baby y’re swallowing my fuckin’ cock right now” he grunted out in absolute ecstasy.

But it fell on deaf ears because this new position he had us in had me swimming through an ocean of pleasure and I couldn’t think of anything other then how deep he was, and how he was hitting spots I’d yet to discover myself or with any other partner. I could feel him in my stomach - and I’d have thought before now, someone so big would hurt, but it was as if we were molded for each other's bodies, he filled me up like a fucking puzzle piece.

“Mm? How’s it feel baby? You ok?” He slows down his movements,  breaking me from my trance and I cupped his cheeks, resting my forehead on his. 

“Carmen” I whisper, my hands trembling with pleasure. 

“What? What- baby, am I hurting you?” He asks his voice laced with worry. 

“No- no. I need you- I- I need you to keep fucking going. Don’t stop. Unless I tell you. To stop. Understand me? I’ve never felt so fucking amazing- I can’t even think baby- I can’t even fucking cum right now- i’m trying to process this level of pleasure, you’re fucking me dumb right now- please, please don’t fuckin’ stop.” I rambled out and stroke his jaw gently and he continues his slow pace. “F-Faster, and harder. Please” I said, kissing him deeply and moaning into his mouth when he did so. 

I pulled away, gasping in pleasure as he thrusted into my gspot, my hand gripping his shoulder and the nails digging in to the skin, causing half moon shapes “there” I squeaked, my eyes screwing shut. He rested my back against the headboard for support, before snapping his hips faste straight into that spot. The only sounds in the room were now his soft satisfied grunts, wet sounds of him drilling into me, the clapping of skin, and short sweet little ‘ah…ah…ah…’ noises spilling from my lips unintentionally at the force of his every thrust. 

Before I could even warn him, my walls are pulsing and fluttering around him wildly as one of the most intense orgasms of my life crashed over me like a tsunami, my hips bucking wildly and thighs quivering uncontrollably. I cry out, my back arching up and my fists white from grabbing the sheets so hard. I could have sworn I felt one of my nails crack under the pressure of my grip.

“Mmmm- cumming- cumming!!” I muttered urgently between heaving breaths when I could finally get a coherent word out, causing him to whimper softly as he continued on the same pace to his release.

 He grips my hips tight enough to bruise, his head falling forward as he chases his own release “fuck- gah- me too babe- ah” he grunted as he spilled into the condom, laying me on the bed gentle as he could in his exhaustion and limply collapsing over my frame as he catches his own breath. 

He lets out a breathy moan as my walls continue pulsing around him as I come down from my own release “holy fuck babe.” He breathes in to my skin, “fuuuuck” he sits up slightly, pulling me in to a heated kiss. I hum softly, my mind still fuzzy but happy he didn’t pull out right away. 

Once he pulled away from the kiss I smiled lazily, utterly fucked out from one round. “That was so amazing Carmy. I’ve never came like that before- like- that was a round three kinda orgasm, you did sooo good Bear, thank you” I said sweetly, playing with his chain gently and adjusting the pendant. 

“It was perfect honey, ‘took me so well” he kisses down my jaw and neck, I hummed in satisfaction. 

“Don’t pull out yet, I wanna stay like this, please” I said softly, running my fingers over his back. He chuckled softly into my skin 

“Okay babygirl, whatever you need” he gently brushed my hair out of my face and cups my cheek. “I like it when we get to be so close like that…when we have sex” he said quietly, bringing a smile to my lips.  “Me too” I whispered, leaning in and kissing him tenderly.

➵ 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

[strawberryya]

whichever blooms first

Joshua x reader

synopsis: A dandelion is resilient, it can weather any storm, and at the end of its life it will even grant wishes to whoever sees its worth as something more than a simple garden weed. Your relationship with Joshua is the same, you hope, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a wish that your love will last a lifetime anyways.

word count: 2.0k

genre/contains: fluff, hints of angst, flowers, lots of flowers, established relationship.

rating: sfw, all ages

a/n: here's my secret garden collab fic for the warm summer days ahead. it's short but sweet, I can pinky promise that much!

check out the other fics in this wonderful collab with the amazing authors from svthub here!!

[navigation post!]

The spring sun was warming the surface of your skin. A calm breeze swept by, ruffling the high grass in the field you were laying in with your boyfriend. 

Your head was in Joshua’s lap and his shadow worked as a way to avoid getting the sun in your eyes. For the past hour or so your mind had been completely immersed in the fantastical story you had been dying to read for a while, only just finding the time to pick up as the hectic spring period was coming to an end and summer was on the horizon. 

Joshua had been the perfect headrest and parasol the entire time, and you hadn’t paid much attention to what he had been doing. When you looked up it gave you quite the fright to find that he was staring down at you, a small smile gracing his lips and a spark in his eyes. A spark that both intrigued and terrified you since you had seen it before and what would happen next was always a game of guessing the impossible. 

“Why are you looking at me like you’re gonna do something…? 

He smirked, making you even more nervous. “Stop it!” You warned, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he gave you an even bigger smile and a nod, conveying the feeling of having made a decision in his own mind. “I think you need a new nickname,” he said. 

This was not the kind of mischief you had been expecting. Usually he would tease you, tickle you, or attack you with kisses. You stared up at him, trying to tell if he was joking with you or if his serious tone mirrored his feelings correctly. “Why?”

“Don’t know, just thought you looked like a spring flower and that you needed a name that properly reflected that.” he deadpanned. 

You couldn’t help but burst out in laughter at his cheesy line. “Oh really, am I that pretty today?” You said and pretended to fawn over yourself, hands underneath your chin and fingers wiggling as if you were a flower, making Joshua crack up as well. 

“You’re always pretty and you know it,” he chuckled, “but the flowers around here just seemed to match your gorgeousness so perfectly.” 

“I’m pretty like a spring flower!” you giggled and kicked your legs up into the air with a little shout of “Yay” before you relaxed and just smiled up at Joshua’s pretty silhouette that was being lit up from the setting sun behind him. “Are you serious about this, Shua?” you questioned with a small smile. 

“Which flowers bloom first after winter? Daffodils?" he said and quirked an eyebrow in question as to how you liked it as your new name. He was definitely serious, you realized. Daffodils are pretty, but their other name is narcissus… You looked at him with an offended look, “Are you calling me narcissistic?” you said as you gasped jokingly. 

Joshua gave you a dashing smile in return, making you instantly forgive him. “Okay, not that one…What about tulip?” You thought about it for a while, not bad, but it just didn’t feel right. Maybe they were simply too common, you thought. 

“Better, but there must be an even better one.” you decided. 

“Oh, I know! What do you think about dandelions? They’re pretty, but everyone doesn’t see just how pretty they are. Me, however, I see it and it is blinding.” Joshua said, looking down at you with an excessively smug face. You were going to protest. A common weed that grew stubbornly by the side of the road? Was that how he saw you? But before you could find the words your mind looped back to the book that lay heavily on your chest where you had stopped before. 

“Dandelion! That reminds me of a really cute quote I read just a couple of chapters ago!! They were racing with their horses and she was looking at the queen being all happy and carefree,” you rambled on, excited to get an excuse to talk about the book on your chest. “Wait,” you said as you picked up the book and began searching for the words you had been reminded of.

“Okay, so here’s the quote: “Ead felt her own cares lifted from her shoulders. Like seeds from a dandelion clock.” Isn’t that so pretty?” 

Joshua’s eyes were big now and his smile was one you had come to recognize as him thinking you were adorable. “What? Is it silly?” you asked, a little shyer than before. He had this eerie ability to make you feel so heard, so seen, and usually, it made you happy. Now you felt slightly embarrassed about having digressed from the conversation so suddenly. 

“No. I like it, it’s a great quote,” he reassured you fondly. “Dandelion it is then! Your new nickname I mean.” 

His smile shone brightly as he declared his final decision. “It’s bright just like you.” 

That smile, like every other perfect smile Joshua had given you over the years, quickly imprinted itself on your eyelids. The sight of his smile was as common as daffodils, but beautiful nonetheless. During those times when he had been unable to smile at you like this had been the hardest months of your life. 

You never wanted to go a single day without seeing that very shining expression on his face ever again. 

Joshua had turned his gaze toward the field of flowers, expecting you to go back to your book. When you instead began talking his head snapped back down to you, his pretty doe-eyes made your heart flutter just like they had done so many times before. “I wanna come back here later and make a wish on a dandelion clock. I wanna feel all my worries lift from my shoulders just like the seeds the girl in my book talked about. Could we come back once all of these have finished blooming?”

“Mm, of course. Could I ask you something though?”

You nodded. “What are you planning on wishing away?” he asked, even though something in his tone was telling you that he was a bit afraid of the answer. 

“Well, you know, it’s a bit silly to say it out loud like this… but I wanna make a wish that we can stay like this forever.” When recognition lit up in Joshua’s eyes you averted your gaze, instead opting to reach a hand out to play with strands of grass beside the baby blue blanket covering the ground below. 

“Do you still have doubts that we’re gonna last?” 

You heard the genuine concern lacing his voice as he found the courage to ask. You nodded slightly. “I mean, I know that you do love me. You’ve told me so many times. Some days it’s just harder to believe in what I know. I thought you loved me back then too, and still, we couldn’t do anything but fight.”

Joshua stayed silent for a moment. The buzz of the field and the birds in the distance filled up the silence. It wasn’t as awkward to talk about it anymore, you felt it in the way neither of you was getting angry. There wasn’t any frustration or tension surrounding that period of fighting and the weeks when you had broken up anymore. The relief was immense. You felt it in your bones. Maybe you were strong enough to weather any storm that may lay ahead if you had managed to heal and grow even past that horrible time in your relationship. At least you hoped so.

“Yeah,” he sighed, leaning back onto his hands in the grass. “I get what you mean.”

“I’m really happy now though, I hope you know that. I really wouldn’t change anything in the past if it meant I would lose what we have now.” 

Joshua’s face lit up into half a smile yet again. “Me neither.” With a soft kiss on your forehead, he lifted your head off of his lap, making you pout in confusion when he got up from your little blanket. “Wait here, I’m just gonna go get something, I’ll be right back!” 

“Okay, but where…” you began but changed your mind as you saw him begin to wander across the entire field, apparently searching for something among the high grass and wildflowers. You chuckled and went back to finishing the chapter you had left off at as you waited for Joshua to come back. 

It didn’t take long for Joshua to come running back to your blanket with his hands full of small yellow flowers with petals that sprawled out like a tiny explosion from their stems. You looked up at him as he dropped the flowers in a neat pile on the edge of the square of fabric splayed out on the ground before he sat down next to you, slightly turned away from you so as to not have his project within full view of your watching gaze. 

That didn’t stop you from curiously peeking over his shoulder to sneak a peek at his crafting. You weren’t sure what he was doing, even as you recalled childhood memories of doing the exact same thing as he was currently doing with the flowers he had picked. 

His fingers were surprisingly nimble for their size as he wrapped the stalks of each flower around the next one, forming a long string of flowers tied together. It was pretty, but your imagination ran wild trying to figure out what he was intending to make. A necklace? A rope? Why would he need a rope of flowers? 

As you wondered, Joshua looked back to see your confounded face as he began turning around, his hands very obviously hiding something behind his back. You were pulled back to reality when you heard him chuckle at your zoned-out expression. 

“Oh, you’re done?” you asked excitedly, putting down the book to pay all your attention to whatever Joshua had ended up creating. 

That mischievous look was back, his eyes shining in the light of the setting sun that was sinking down below the treetops. “Ready?” 

“Show me!” you exclaimed with curiosity. You gasped when he brought his hands out from behind him, showing you what he had ended up making. In his hands was a round wreath, dotted with the bright yellow dandelions you had seen him bring with him. 

“That’s so pretty Shua.” 

“You like it?” he asked, seemingly a bit nervous to hear if you truly liked his gift. You nodded and he softly placed the flower wreath atop your head. 

“Thank you, I love it,” you laughed, adjusting the flowers so they wouldn’t fall from your head. “What’s it for though?” 

“Well… it just means ‘I love you’, nothing more, nothing less, really.”

You pouted, he made you a wreath to assure you that he loves you? It was a strange way to tell you, but it definitely worked. 

“I just want you to know that you don’t have to wait until you can make a wish on the dandelion clocks to know that I will love you forever.”

“You’re gonna make me cry if you talk like that,” you said, fanning your eyes in an effort to stop the tears. 

“I have one more thing, so don’t cry just yet!” he hurried to say, making you laugh and pushing the tears away momentarily. 

From behind him, he brought out something small, it fit in the palm of his hand with ease. A single dandelion was wrapped around itself and created a ring of its stalk. Your hand flew up toward your face to cover the scream that tried to escape at the thought of what this ring-shaped flower might mean. 

“I know it’s not perfect, but… my dandelion, will you be mine forever?” Joshua was smiling again, encouraged by the way you were almost jumping up at the sight of his creation. 

Tears were pricking your eyes again, and you nodded. “Yes, of course, I will!” you exclaimed, your voice barely holding up as you shrieked and threw yourself into Joshua’s arms. His body wrapped around yours as he held you close, accepting all the kisses you gave him as the tears of joy flowed from your eyes.

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

[navigation post!]

[spiralinghours]

“Shades of Red”

Fandom: Saw franchise

Pairing/Characters: Mark Hoffman x Peter Strahm

Rating: R/M/18+ (whichever, it’s not for minors)

Content Warnings/Tags: vampirism!, biting and blood sucking, belly kink/fat fetishism, feeding (kind sorta), oral sex… Idk what else, men in their forties being rude to each other… You can assume how they talk…

Summary: Strahm thinks he’s going to finally catch and prove Hoffman is a Jigsaw apprentice… except he instead learns of a different secret.

Author’s notes: This really was just a brief vehicle to get to the plotless idea of Hoffman feeding off Strahm and drinking way too much blood. That’s it. The story doesn’t touch too much on why or how he’s a vampire, why Peter lets him bite him, why they behave as they do. This is strictly just for the kink of it all. So apologies if it’s kinda short, to the point, and maybe not as well-written lol… Just enjoy it for what it is.

Oh, and typical vampire lore is just thrown out the window on this one. Sorry for that too.

The way Peter Strahm discovered Detective Mark Hoffman’s little secret was so far from what he expected that… That he felt like a movie character stepping out of one frame and into a different genre in the next frame.

It was all so bizarre, so chilling, at how Peter’s glance paralyzed him to the spot as the man down the other end of the alley pressed his body hungrily onto another man’s—a victim. The attacking figure’s broad frame and softened features absolutely enveloped his prey, whose voice seemed to strain in a call for attention, but got cut short in a blood-drowned cough. That poor man was already dead despite any sputtering grasp for life.

Even in the heavy darkness, only pinpricked with reflective light from the moon and the puddles of trash water, Peter could make out two things: A) based on the vague outlining of blood against pouting lips and a strong nose, the attacker had to be Mark… and B) there was something perversely noteworthy about the way Mark appeared a little bigger, perhaps, in how he was keeping his victim pinned against the brick wall with his plush belly. (Peter’s intrusive wonderings imagined himself in the person’s position: skin sweating under the friction of their starched shirts… under the heft of Mark’s figure that beckoned a firm squeeze at the sides…)

Peter shook his head like a cartoon, swatting away the intrusion. While this was the man he was anticipating to catch red-handed, he assumed it would be under the guise of a pig mask, or behind some intricate death game.

This was something entirely unfathomable. Something else.

While the “correct and good” move would have been to advance on Mark and apprehend him, Peter couldn’t make himself move. In a flurry of indecision and stark shock, he dashed back from where he came.

Fuck the Jigsaw matter and all he had been pursuing, he had to leave. This wasn’t for his eyes.

——

A week and a half had swirled by all too quickly with the way Peter was burying himself in work, finding ways to become distracted. He was avoiding Detective Hoffman out of a vague mixture of unease and embarrassment. It was unclear if Mark had even spotted him in the alley that night, but Peter wasn’t taking chances. Even in having to work on the same case at the Metropolitan precinct—having to share reports and partake in the same meetings—he would find a way to slip away, or get Lindsey to operate on his behalf before even looking at Mark.

It was all working out.

Until one night, at Strahm’s condo, of all places.

Peter had just retired to his couch for the night, sitting down and stilling himself for what felt like the first time in a 48-hour period. He didn’t bother to shrug off more than his suit jacket and his tie before descending in front of the TV.

Staying in a minimally furnished, government-provided space was eerie and cold enough on most nights. Strahm used the glow and hum of the television to keep him company—buying into a flimsy sense of security and familiarity. But on this night, even that felt disrupted.

The walls behind the TV stand were nothing but window, meant for a scenic view during the daytime hours. In the blackness of night, something seemed to be looming, just beyond the glass, but it was hard to pin down what.

Peter had gotten up to look more closely through the window, noting to himself how he was making a dumb horror movie character choice. He scoffed. This wasn’t a movie.

But then there was a solid knocking at the front door—three heavy bangs punctuated by unnerving draws of silence in between.

Again, Peter chastised himself for even thinking to investigate, but this was reality. There was no monster, no slasher… But there was his gun in his firm grasp.

1, 2, 3…

Staying poised, maintaining control, he swung the front door open and reflexively pointed the gun forward.

“Jesus fucking—What the fuck?” The voice exclaimed from the shadows, somehow remaining unusually lax.

“Detective Hoffman?” Strahm squinted, confused and unnerved. He lowered his gun.

“Wow, it’s after hours. ‘Detective Hoffman’ is a little formal, don’t you think?” Mark started walking forward, not waiting for the other man to extend an invitation.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“You’ve been awfully… avoidant lately.”

“We’re not friends. I’m getting my case work done just fine without having to report my every move to you. Is there anything I’ve been doing—or not doing—that needs your direct attention?”

“Peter, this isn’t about the case.” Mark shook his head with a dismissive smile. Peter withdrew, sneering at the almost childlike way he was addressed. “Cut the horseshit, I know you saw me the other night.”

“I have no idea—”

“Did you like what you saw?” There was a brief flash of something pointed protruding over Mark’s lower lip.

“Excuse me?” Peter’s eyes widened beyond their stressed and crinkled framing.

“I saw the way you were watching…” Mark stepped forward, closer, backing Peter against one of the bare, wood-paneled walls. “Scared, confused… excited…” His lips puckered as he closed around the last word. What were clearly fangs peeked out, gleaming. He began to chuckle heavily at the way Strahm flushed with irritation.

“Eat glass,” Peter spat, mouth contorting into a wrinkled sneer.

“I’d rather eat something else, and I think you’d prefer that too.” There was that dry, smug look, just staring back at Strahm expectantly.

“What exactly do you want?” Peter sighed.

“Well, I haven’t fed in a while and… I dunno…” Mark, for once, seemed genuinely uncertain. He shrugged. “You seemed to have an idea of what I am, like right from the get go. But you also seemed like the type who might… be able to help me. Want to help me, I should say.”

“You really think I’d want to—”

“Peter…” Mark’s glare darkened, staring knowingly. He stepped back a hair, an unspoken implication that he wanted to play nice. “I can hear your heartbeat picking up…”

“Okay. Fine. You won’t kill me or make me… whatever the fuck you are?”

“I can’t make promises,” Mark replied, grin lazy and wicked.

“Maybe I’m changing my mind then!”

“Okay, take a joke. You’ll be fine. Listen, just biting you won’t turn you. Or whatever the scientific term is. I don’t really know all the in’s and out’s. And it’s easy: little bite, I get what I need, and that’s it. Just a little prick. Nothing too painful if you aren’t a pussy.”

“You’re a little prick.” Strahm made a point of casting his glare down at Hoffman, even if the height difference was only a mere few inches. “How do we… Ugh, should we sit on the couch?”

“Let’s go.”

—

They way they positioned themselves on the cushions was like two teenagers on an awkward first date: not sure what distance was appropriate enough, but needing to make sure the space was just close enough for the right angling.

The shock of Mark’s vampirism had diminished, long since spent on that moment in the alley. Now, Peter was treating the experience like a somewhat begrudging task; like Hoffman had asked him of a menial favor, and Strahm was obliging to get something in return. Still, he had to admit, the way Mark was opening himself up, loosing his own tie, spreading his large palms over Peter’s thighs to brace himself wasn’t terrible.

“Ready?” Mark breathed out, voice so smooth and rough and thick all at the same time.

He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so frantic and rushed—they were alone, no one watching, nowhere to necessarily be anytime soon—but Peter fumbled to unknot and yank his own necktie off. His blunt fingers slipped around his shirt buttons, but he managed to recklessly rake the fabric down to his chest, pulling one side of the collar low enough for access. “Okay, do it,” he agreed.

The initial break of skin—and the ensuing discomfort—was overshadowed by the tactile and intimate sense of it all: the humid scent of Drakkar Noir, the hum from Mark’s lips, the squeeze his chubby fingers had on Peter’s thighs, the unexpected crunch from the puncturing of flesh…

They sat quietly, save for the little labored gasps of air and the shuffling of their suit fabrics. Peter was shocked that he wasn’t squirming as much at the pain… though the pleasure, that had him.

Ten? Fifteen? Twenty minutes had passed? It was hard to tell, the moment feeling both excruciatingly long, unfurling, and yet so hurried.

“Ugh, okay… Okay, I think, I think that’s—” Peter began to sputter, feeling a plunge, a sickly twist in his stomach.

But Mark kept lapping, kept sucking with those plush lips suctioned to Peter’s skin. It strangely didn’t feel like much more than getting a hickey from someone with braces in high school… but the draining part of it all was, well, literally being drained. Strahm was starting to feel like he was contracting the flu: body stiffening and locking up, rapidly getting cold to the touch (to the point of freezing numbness at his extremities), spiraling into such a state of dizziness that he could barely keep his eyes open… Everything was fluttering—his heart, his breath, his lashes as he began to lose consciousness.

All the while, Hoffman had long since become overzealous, his chubby lips spreading into a vicious, messy smirk around his fangs. He sunk the points a little deeper, a sort of callous thrust behind it—a beast driven only by instinct and malice. The mix of blood and saliva, tacky against his warm breath, painted the act as an intimate tableau that would leave any voyeur to wonder if the scene was erotic or predatory. Hoffman relished in the filth of both persuasions.

As Peter’s chest rose and fell, shallow and frantic, he could feel more of Hoffman’s gut occupying the space between them. It pushed firmly against Peter’s ribs and slightly-leaner torso, cradling itself against the warmth. Peter could feel the give of Hoffman’s belly, wobbling ever so slightly with even the slightest movement. The pulsing from within Strahm’s straining temples rattled down through his neck, past the vacuum of Hoffman’s lips, and plunged into Mark’s stomach—the fresh blood continuing to pulse within him.

Despite perversely savoring the sight of Hoffman glutting himself like a hopeless animal—absolutely losing control to pleasure—Peter needed it to stop. “Isn’t that enough, big guy?” he tried teasing, though his tone fell flat with lightheaded exhaustion.

Mark snapped away, as if Peter’s faint drifting was what it would take to break the trance. “What’s wrong?” Mark purred, sharp teeth brushing wet against Peter’s ear. “Feeling helpless?”

“Are you sure you’re not the one feeling helpless, Detective?” Peter bit back, despite the nervous static running along his skin.

Mark had submitted to rolling aside, trying his best to prop himself up on his elbows, breathing shallowly.

“Need to lie down after that?” Peter mused, considering reaching out to give Mark’s belly a condescending little pat. He refrained. For the moment. “Was that… good? Was that what you needed?”

Looking satisfied with Peter’s service—but mostly with himself, as if he’d been lapping at something as rich and sugary as milk and honey—Mark responded with a tiny nod and an uncomfortable, suppressed burp. The slight jostle elicited a muffled blorp from his strained stomach.

“Damn, did you really drink that much? Do I even have that much blood in me? Jesus…” Peter muttered, cracking his stiffened neck while observing the way Mark’s gut heaved with each breath. The overfull roundness was emphasized by the way the dribble of blood ran down Mark’s shirt, causing the tight fabric to cling wet against his curves.

“I told you, it had been awhile. I got a little… eager.” Mark tried to play relaxed and disinterested, though his babyish wincing betrayed him. He raked his thick fingers against the sides.

“Yeah, maybe learn to swallow more slowly next time.” Peter’s attempt at a cutting laugh came out weak and raspy.

“Next time?” Mark wondered aloud, sheepishly. “You’d let me do that again?”

“Maybe,” Peter murmured in a blunt, cunning tone. “Maybe I like what it does to you… And maybe I meant something else…”

That familiar, dull half-smile quirked up the corners of Hoffman’s bloodied lips. “Oh, you think I’m gonna do something else?”

“I know you wanna do something else,” Peter shot back, hand making a shaky movement towards his own belt. They both looked pathetic in their differing states of exhaustion on the couch, but they weren’t spent yet. “I assume those lips are good at something other than just sucking necks.”

Peter’s voice seemed to be drifting from somewhere else, somewhere outside of himself. He had to be too delirious to realize his aroused thoughts had taken control, voicing themselves out loud like that. Just the same, he continued unbuckling his belt, undoing his pants, rutting his hips up just for Mark to watch with that lazy grin.

“You do want it, don’t you?” Peter laughed, low and velvety. “I mean, might as well return the favor.”

“You think I’m some kinda slut? That I would just suck you off that easily?”

“By the way you’re looking at me, I know so. What the fuck are we even doing? What is this whole dance, huh?”

It was true, Mark was terrible at hiding his eager blue gaze, cast from under those heavy lids. His ditzy expression was that of constant hunger, lust, and boredom… and it was honing in on the thickening erection under the meager fabric of Peter’s underwear.

Without preamble, Mark carefully shifted to his knees while remaining on the cushion, caging himself over Peter’s hips.

“No teeth,” Peter warned half-sarcastically.

Mark rolled his eyes, sliding his wetted lips over Peter’s tip, lowering all the way to the base, fit like a leather glove.

Peter was already so close, brought to the edge by every little thing: Mark’s dumb but sultry demeanor, his overzealous touch, the animalistic way he devoured whatever he could…

His tongue alternated between long, flat draws and smaller flicks on the underside of Peter’s cock, all while accompanied by some of the most desperate, muffled groaning.

“God, you’re such a desperate, fat slut,” Peter growled, unfiltered, unthinking. He reached his fingertips out for Mark’s shaggy dark strands and clawed at them viciously, no longer holding back to wait for the build up. He came roughly, hips jerking up against Mark, who braced himself in place to take it all and swallow down the thick spurts.

With an obnoxious smack and pop, Mark pulled off, panting and licking his lips, still splattered with remnants of blood but more so coated in spit and Peter’s slick.

“Fuck, Pete,” he huffed, trying to gingerly ease himself into a comfortable position with his back to the cushions. He was fading fast, so worn out, bloated with blood and cum.

“Take it easy, big boy,” Peter practically cooed, slipping into a strange familiarity in how he addressed Hoffman.

“Mind if I crash out here?” Mark seemed hesitant to inquire.

“Wait, don’t you need to be in your coffin by morning or some shit?”

“You think I actually sleep in a fucking coffin? That’s cute. All that Dracula stuff horse pucky. Like, you’ve seen me during the day at work. That’s all fake. So can I crash out here?”

“What? Too tired?” Peter wanted to laugh, but held it in a little, unsure of what instinct was urging him to behave somewhat kindly.

“Yeah,” Mark agreed, tired and minimally annoyed. “I’m tired and way too full. So if I could just sleep a little bit out here—”

Peter stood up fully, unfolding to his full height, despite how shaky his legs still felt. He reached down for Hoffman’s tie, still a bit cold and soaked with blood, and yanked. “Get cleaned up and you can get in the bed.” Peter, showed the slightest smirk, taking in the view of Mark bumbling to get to his feet, still too heavy and wide to move comfortably on his own. He didn’t offer a hand.

[captainsparklefingers]

It's always interesting when an old hyperfixation reemerges and hits you like a truck and drags you back into it, especially when the other currently active fixations don't go away but sort of just get shuffled around.

Like. I'm still working on Unhappy Families, and I've started to feel the flow coming back (not for 1947, unfortunately, THAT chapter still refuses to cooperate)...but suddenly the Sonic movie comes out and beats me with the 'youve liked this since you were 11 and now youre gonna feel things again whether you want to or not' hammer. And the flow is now split between the thing I want to/should work on...and a stupid dumb au idea that I shouldn't do anything with but can't stop thinking about.

So, to get it out of my system, let me tell y'all about my Maria Robotnik lives au, where a tragic lab accident does what it does in comics instead of in real life (aka: so now you have superpowers and a dash of Captain America-esque 'man outta time' vibes).

Lemme go ahead and shove this under a cut and get this out of my head for now. It's 1230 in the morning, my cat is draped all over me like a fuzzy heated weighted blanket, I can't sleep, my brain is going weird places, let's roll with it.

Spoilers for the Sonic movies (particularly the 3rd one).

OKAY SO.

We don't see what actually killed Maria in the movie. I mean, yes, it's the explosion of chaos energy caused by an errant shot, but the specific thing that kills her isn't shown. Could be a blow to the head or traumatic internal injuries, nothing good, but nothing as direct and obvious as a shot to the back like in the games.

And many a fictional individual has been 'blessed' with superpowers following a lab accident or exposure to radiation/mysterious energies/etc. I think you can see where I'm going with this. I mean this is a world with alien hedgehogs, teleportation rings, chaos emeralds, I think one can be allowed a little wiggle room in the name of an au here.

SO. Boom. Explosion. Maria appears dead, her family is devastated and the seeds of revenge are planted,Gerald is carted off, Shadow is put into cryo, all that.

Maria's body is taken by GUN (presumably alongside those of anyone else who died), probably put in a morgue somewhere...aaand that's where she wakes up, screaming, unleashing a wave of Chaos energy that shorts out all electronics in the area, and promptly passes out again.

So. GUN is now in possession of a preteen girl who should be dead, WAS apparently dead, who was exposed to something they were studying and couldn't understand/found too dangerous to mess with, who now appears to have strange abilities that both have kept her alive, given her superpowers, and also seem to (at the moment) be physically taxing to the point of not being able to maintain consciousness for long periods of time.

SO LET'S STICK THE UNSTABLE SUPERPOWERED GIRL INTO CRYO TOO, because that seems to be the standard MO at GUN for these sorts of things at the time. Walters, having been the one who made the call to put Shadow under, is given clearance here as well, as somebody who knew Maria before everything went horribly wrong. And maybe he feels guilty and responsible that this girl is going through this, because of the organization he works for, because he wasn't able to stop those men from pointing weapons at children with intent to fire. So, he lets her out every so often, giving her a chance to physically stabilize, to get an idea of what's been done and what she can do, and to let her know that she hasn't been forgotten.

(of course nobody tells her grandfather about this because why would they, this is all classified and he's a dangerous criminal element now.)

Maybe her memories of what happened are fuzzy. Years in and out of cryosleep following a comic book esque tragic origin story might do that to you. Maybe she's not fully aware of how long it's been, or the fact that she doesn't appear to be aging normally (is it the cryo sleep or the superpowers? Idk. Ask Steve Rogers, it was both with him ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯).

Anyway. Records slip through the cracks, particularly after information about Robotnik is purged by the government post first Sonic movie. And with her being more physically stable and having ways to channel this energy now (let's continue the family theme of science and robots here and make her a bit of a technomancer with machine buddies and robots she communicates with and channels power through, or something along those lines), her scheduled return to cryo sleep gets put off, and put off...

So we have a girl out of time literal computer wizard who's body can only handle so much of the energy it has going through it at once before exhausting her (it's not the same as having a terminal illness, obviously, but it'd be at least something to call back to the game character a bit), who's got patches in her memories, has (to her knowledge) lost her family and doesn't have anyone, who's whole existence is a bit of a cover-up to hide a civilian casualty...

Aaaaaand that's all I have right now. I'm trying to figure out what the best way to get her out of GUN would be while also not having her and Shadow cross paths/know about the other for a good long time (because I enjoy the angst of thinking your closest friend is long dead or gone and having to live on). I'm sure I'll figure out something, there was enough chaos caused by the events of the third movie that I could see her using it as a chance to break herself out.

I dunno. Maybe she ends up with Agent Stone for a bit since they've both lost somebody important. That could be fun. I'm sure there'd be some sort of dramatic reunion or something eventually, but that's all I have for now.

It really isn't much, and I don't want to take away from the impact her death had on Shadow or the importance of it to the story, but at the same time, I'm sort of enamored with this idea of this tween from the 70s who does computer magic and has exhaustion and pain who's trying to find a place in a world that literally forgot her and buried her 50 years ago.

(and maybe I want Stone to have a friend, too, after everything.)

(and maybe some dramatic meetings and reunions too, someday.)

[helloescapist]

Yushiro.......yushiroyushiroyushirooooo 🤧😚🥺😩 so real of you, tbh. I'd love to hear your take on Yushiro and Reader being tasked with babysitting?? I feel like he'd be the kind of guy to only like his own kids, if at all 💀 but idk, I can only imagine him either being liked against his will or having the pettiest beef with a seven year old 😭😂

*fan girl screaming*

Oh you. Yushiro, a cactus by any other name would be just as barbed. I adore this prickly pear. But the more and more I think about and fawn over this idea…. I feel like I need an entire soapbox (and separate post) for Yushiro as a dad. He would one hundred percent be the dad that snuggles an unwanted family pet. The Kamado child is NOT as cute as his. Godzilla scream.  But for now, I give you this.

Babysitting Headcanons | Yushiro

Word Count: 2523

Setting: Yushiro x gn!reader

Content Warnings: SFW, babysitting, domestic fluff, spoilers for post war [canon pairings]

Summary: headcanons on what Yushiro would be like as a babysitter.

A/N: you cannot convince me Yushiro would NOT look at Nezuko's little one, and think sure-- they're alright. but [YN] and his kid would be precious.

Taking care of a child, even if only for a small period is not a decision Yushiro takes lightly. It is one that is approached with sincere consideration. The spell weaver is more than aware of the implications taking care of a weaker creature entails as well as his own short comings.

Because of this, in most cases, he will adamantly refuse. Often without even providing his own reasoning. The demon is the sort to utter a sharp, “No” before slamming the door in the requestor’s face at full force.

If it hits them, they should have been more considerate of their manners. Serves them right.

However, I can imagine that are some existential circumstances in which he will allow himself to be dragged into the duties of a caretaker. But he’s going to complain.

There is of course if you should make the request of him. Yushiro will muddle through every practical excuse he can outsource for not choosing to take care of the Hashibara brat. Such as the fact he is not confident it is housebroken. The occasional one that he deems substantial, he’ll spill from his lips as quickly as he has conjured it.  Surely the Kamados are available.

However, the moment he sees the smile that has graced your features. The way your finger coos and beckons play, delighted by the little oinker’s cherub features. It’s going to be a long night. He’s a sucker, a simple. He knows it, and it will take little convincing once he sees the yearning touch up on your features.

Yushiro is threatening Inosuke to remain mindful of the time.

However, I think there are special circumstances in which he would be the one to offer childcare. Such as when Tanjiro inquires if the two of you would be up for taking care of the little ones for a bit.

Initially, Yushiro has rejected his request. Insisted that you’ve far too much to do for the time being, and Tanjiro being Tanjiro accepted he bold faced lie with a smile. The tilt of his head, the jingle of his hanafuda earing as he reassures Yushiro that he understands, he will just ask the Haribaras to take care of his little ones while he runs errands.

The gentle natured man waving his hand, the similar gestured copied by that of the child at his side, and one secured to his back as he sets off for Inosuke and Aoi’s residence.

Yushiro will accept it; try to convince himself that the Haribaras are more than capable of caring for a child.

Right? No, no of course they are. Their own children are doing well enough.

Somehow.

It’s only when he sets to work to procure groceries for the night’s dinner, passing Aoi upon his route that the realization sinks in. Inosuke. Has. The. Child.

Discarding all of his items in a single hall, the mad dash to the Haribara residence. Every fear evident on the sweat of his brow, the boar’s childcare a resemblance of torture. He will give Tanjiro a lecture for ever being stupid enough to leave the little ones in ITS care.

One way or another, whether brought on by your insistence to spend time with the little piglet’s façade of adorableness as if for one moment it will not mark the furniture as it snuggles into your arms, or of the obvious stress and rage, fretting over the stupidity the younger brat had inquired.

The Kamado children slung under his arms, leaving him only too kick down the door if you had somehow not heard his approach. A rage fueled scolding threatening to boil over.

Either way, the children are now in your care for the night.

To his dismay, smaller children insist on clinging to his sleeves. Beckoning him to play, daring to challenge him. Similar to the way an older cat is pestered by smaller children.

He doesn’t understand why the child insists on interacting with him. He has met its based needs; you’re more than available.

Does it really not understand that he has expressed he does not wish to be touched? Why is it doing that? Not the books. Not the books! He has told them time and time again! The bookshelf is unleveled, they’ll hurt themselves. Why doesn’t it listen? What is this sticky texture? Dogs have better manners.

WHY IS IT STICKY?

It will be a lot of back and forth banter, ones that edge upon the fray of his insanity. Some part of his questions how any demon in their right mind would make a meal of such small annoying creatures.  

The Kamados willing opted to further their bloodline.

Before, the fatigue has met his age. The ends of his hair curled and jutted at odd ends, submitting himself to whatever sticky torture the little credent’s have in store for him. Yushiro is just too worn out to fend himself off any further.

Where as the smaller child’s mere close proximities, its insistence to remain at his side, to lay upon his laps, and listen to the textbooks he has at his disposal are of high demands, it is the older child that has truly sparked his ire.

The slit of his cat like, lavender eyes tracing the silhouette of your form, and the little trespasser who dares to insist entangling his arms around your waste. That of a little duckling that insists upon toddling after you despite the fact you are attempting to prepare its dinner. It’s honeyed false words, sweet and well-practiced.

Far too smooth for its age, lulling you into its hold with its large eyes. How it convinces you to dismiss the way he dares to quip a knowing smile Yushiro’s way from time to time. Such as the way you pet its head.

The little bastard knowing all too well the angle its working, drawing his ire more and more. The little one has made a dangerous enemy. The way the Kamado child nuzzles into your chest, claiming the majority of your attention under the false pretenses it misses its mother. Not once has Yushiro ever seen that little narcist snuggle its mother so possessively.

The war of words, the little human’s tongue as sharp as his own leaving only the older demon in a poor lighting. As  though Yushiro had gone out of his way to initiate a war with the brat, the only one to receive your scolding for such immature behavior. It started it. He’ll pout from his seat, as the younger children cling to his features.

He’s not taking his eyes off of it.

Would be quick to seize the opportunity to instigate turmoil for the older child, such as allowing the younger children to launch an attack on their sibling. He didn’t see a thing.

Just gave them the blueprints.

Or the teasing pout of his tongue when he reminds you if the human’s impending bedtime. Still a brat. How agitated he openly expresses himself, the grit of his teeth when the little boy dares to point out that his mother tucks him in before bed and waits at his side until he drifts to sleep.

A worthy opponent.

Yet, as the later hours captures their small features. Innocence, and peaceful snores that meet the dead of night. Serene in the heaves of their chests beneath the heavy blanketing. Unaffected by their surroundings, succumbed to full bellies and the gentle lull of your lullaby. Drifted to sleep where they dropped.

The tender way he tucks them to bed, a secret he ushers you to keep from the others. The small smile that finds his lips, quick to tuck in the child that has strayed from its futon, and sooth the ends of the older child his enemy.  

Hush the occasional distress that falls between the roll of their bodies, eager to scoot just a little closer to his side. At first, he is refusing their approach. All too well of the importance of bedtime routine and trying to instill it on the small human despite its efforts.

The blissful late hours giving way to the fall of your eyelashes, in which the child launches one last chance to curl into Yushiro’s lap. He’ll tell himself, that it’s the fatigue, or perhaps trauma bonding, but he does not fight the curl of  the child’s chubby hands as it tucks to his side.

The delicate way he finds himself cupping the child to his chest and rocking it into the depths of the night. A lullaby that he had carried from his humanity, near erased amongst the passage of time.

If you should stir to the high of his voice, he will deny your inquiry in the morning. Swear that your dreams have robbed you of your senses. Denied at every turn.

Would be the type to wake up early in the morning if your babysitting duties have resulted in an impromptu sleepover. Inosuke would be the type to lose track of time and leave his kid far longer than promised. An early riser, quick to set to making breakfast.

Rice that has been given an added touch of umami as well as sweetener to appeal to the little ones, fried eggs, and octopus sausages, procured from his funds the means of adding extra apple rabbits to the plates.

Don’t you dare draw attention to it.

Yushiro is still going to give the Kamdos an earful for daring to leave their child in Inosuke’s care, incase you had forgotten, or to flip the bill to Aoi if any of the furniture should require laundering after a few “accidents”.

 After you’ve waved the families away, he’ll insist he’s relieved to see the little trespasser have left, but you will not miss the gentle tone in which he utters each little one’s name. Nor the way he safeguards the drawings they little ones have left in the garden sands.

Swears the little ones would cry if their artwork were disposed of---- not that he’s welcoming it back any time soon!

Truthfully, I don’t think it’s so much that Yushiro hates children by default. Rather, I believe he’s well aware of his own emotional short coming.

Children, especially toddlers have high emotional needs, and require a well-developed caretaker to address each one as they come. That of which, Yushiro knows he lacks the emotional aptitude.

Because of this, I can see babysitting suddenly being sprung on him coming at a cost of his emotional well being. He’s stressed. Holding the child away from his body as he walks. All while pondering, what is he supposed to do with this?

No, without an fully drafted plan of care, or routines unique to the expected child, Yushiro is panicked and uneasy. You may smile and reassure him that it will come to him—it’s merely nature. But what if such instincts were absolved in his demonic state?

Speaking of care of routine, I can imagine Yushiro being the type that when he has agreed to take a burden in even for a small time, he’s the sort to take meticulous notes on its care.

How often should he feed it, does it know how to use the facilities on its own? The look on his face when the parents insist that he addresses their bundle of joy as such, rather than a dog. He’s reminding them a dog has better manners.

As a care taker, Yushiro is the type to instill strict regimen—to be fair all of his rules are all well thought out with the intentions of protecting the child.

However, he is rigid, and when the child does not abide by instruction, he’s likely to be far more temperamental than he should. Especially for smaller children. Oh god it’s crying.

Realistically, he’s kind of an ideal babysitter by the parent’s standards, especially when he has reviewed the day’s agenda, and emergency contacts, but for the child, he’s a near nightmare. You want a treat? Here’s an extra serving of peppers.

Though, he is rather combative and competitive by nature, and I suspect that you may enjoy walking upon the smallest, pettiest of competitions that ignite play in the old soul, such as sniffing out a hidden child in a game of hide and seek, or parrying wooden sword after practice weapon with ease.

Secretly delights in the awestruck eyes as the children gaze up at him. Offers a knowing laugh, and offers to teach them—when they’re older.

He will not instruct milk drinkers.

That being said, I can see him having warmer bedside manners for children, such as the Kamados that he is more familiar, or exposed to regularly. Perhaps because it gives him a small obtainable interaction, he has see the way Kanao soothes her children, or the firm approach Aoi regards her little piglet with; he’ll do his best to apply what he has observed to practice.

In fact, because of how routine infants often are, I suspect that Yushiro would not only enjoy taking care of a baby, but would find it a comfort in comparison to the sticky terrors that toddlers provide.

Babies are simplistic, in a way that provides him wit the confidence to meet their needs with little hesitation. He has studied the child’s cries and cooes, and responds accordingly.

The little “eh”, as it struggles to arch its back, Yushiro will be proactive, quick to usher the child in the righted position, and offer gentle pats across its back. Praying for the burp to release the infant from its discomfort.

The little creature is so small and frail between his fingers, he would likely not be up to applying the proper force into his pats only frustrating it and him.

Always worried that he may break it, and yet, they are simple creatures. Able to address their needs in the smallest of coos, delighting in the snuggles that are offered.  

But, the cries will send him to his knees.

Just as it would with the toddlers, because at the end of the day, Yushiro struggles processing his own emotional needs, so much so that he simply cannot handle the tears. He feels guilty that he is unable to address their needs. Or have a clue what the need is.

It is essentially his own hinderance in the emotional caretaking category that has him shudder away from emotional interactions. Frustrates and guilts him that he has not the means to soothe their tears, nor meet their cries as he should.

Aware that he may become frustrated.

But this experience has left him to run analysis of your relationship, of your hopes, and perhaps... having a little one of your own.

[tommyssupercoolblog]

ok maybe im dumb but i finally checked ur pinned post instead of just eating up the stuff u put on my dash like candy (you make and reblog good posts a lot) and i discovered that u and @septiccoffeefreak are in fact in the same system and

hell yea congrats, its good to have someone u love

how do u guys handle posting to tumblr? do u each use a different sideblog? or have fully separate accounts? i've never encountered a system that used more than one blog at once so ur v cool for that.

you dont actually have to answer me if you think the question is too invasive

THIS IS A LONG ANSWER AND PROLLY WITH LOTS OF TYPOS BECAUSE IT'S LATE SO IT GOES UNDER THE CUT BUT I AM HAPPY TO YAP ABOUT THIS

We have entirely separate accounts!!! We actually have seperate emails as well!!! :D

Our system has:

My email

Seán's email

The core (original)'s email

Collective email

And our accounts tend to be split about the same way!! So like, me and Seàn have separate Pinterest and Tumblr accounts, and we have separate "profiles" on the Nintendo switch and the games on there (different Splatoon accounts, different skins and gamertags saved to the same Minecraft account because Nintendo Minecraft is cool like that, different animal crossing villagers). Our core has her own stuff too. Other alters could technically have their own stuff if they want but they don't front as often as we do so they just... don't really bother.

Alternatively, we'll have

General system account

Me and Seán SHARED account (on AO3 this is "Mishka_Blackbear" or smthn like that)

Core account

Or a combo, something like:

General system account

Me and Seán shared account

Seperate account for me

Seperate account for Seán

Core account

That last one is the setup for YouTube. me and Seán use a shared account for....most of everything tbh, and separate ones for uploading stuff AND for videos we know the other wouldn't like so we can keep it off the recommended for our shared one (so Seán will switch to his solo account if he wants to watch a horror thing, but if we're watching something together, which is post of the time, we'll use our shared account). Our core has her own. Everyone else has a collective account.

Clothes? Same story. I have my side of the closet and Seán has his. Our core keeps her clothes in their own container. Everything else goes in the dresser.

Phone profiles are different. Motorola phones allow you to save different "users" to one phone, but our phone only has two users: everyone else, and the core. Although again, other alters don't usually front, so the everyone else account is basically ours anyway?? This is the only example I can think of where there's so separate space for the rest of the system.

But all in all, most of our alters average for front times between a few seconds and two hours. Our core used to host, but nowadays she only tends to front for two to six hours (although we're trying to work her up to more so she can host again (not replacing us- just on the same level as me and Seán, with an even split between us) and she recently hit a record for the first time in years of 8 hours!!!) and me and Seán will front together, passing controls back and forth with the other watching or keeping company in headspace, anywhere from a few days to a whole month without stopping- although once we get to a month we usually get snippy and overstimulated and HAVE to stop fronting for at least a little while in order to be healthy.

So this means that a majority of them will only front like once or twice a year for a really short period of time and then only be seen in headspace and not actually front, or just straight up go dormant for a while, which is why they don't have separate accounts like we do. I think some of them have side profiles under the main collective Tumblr, but I don't know which ones or how many. I do know they have their own Pinterest boards on the collective Pinterest.

Anyway if we see something on the other person's dashboard that we like we can ask them to send it, but also if we're tuned out and not paying attention while the other is scrolling, we'll still sometimes send each other "gifts" of posts we know the other will like. We'll also sometimes go to the other person's blog and look through original post tags and reblog anything we didn't have a chance to before, because we like boosting each other's posts AND we also like interacting on them :3. We tag each other a lot but we also DM a lot.

My love language is gift giving so I'm the most guilty of this, I'll send Seán hundreds of posts and so sometimes they pile up, and then he avoids opening DMs until he has a big block of time to sit down and go through them all- which is when he adds like 90 posts to his queue or reblogs a bunch of things really fast; if he suddenly posts rapid fire reblogs of old posts on his Tumblr it's probably because he opened all the posts I sent him and started reblogging them one after the other to get through the pile of love offerings lol.

But that's how we handle that, since I'm sure the question of "what if you like a post but don't want to log out and log in and go through all that hassle to reblog it?" Will probably come up in ppls minds. That's what- we go "OOOH can you send that to me" and the other one goes "yea" and sends it so when we log in again we can reblog it. Same with gifts, we see something and think the other person will like it and it gets DMed to their account :3

[sitp-recs]

Hello lovely! First of all, thank you so much for sharing all your work and love to the Drarry fandom, we all appreciate it! <3 I was wondering if you have any recs on breakup and getting back together Drarry fics? Preferably v angsty and smutty ones, but I'm open to anything and everything 😄 Lots of love, @starlitsilvereyes<3

Hello my friend! Thank you so much for the kind words, I also appreciate your gorgeous art and contributions to the fandom! 😍🙏🏼 ohh love me a break up make fic - especially if it comes with lots of angst and tender smut, your ask is right up my alley! These are some of my favourite angsty and Explicit stories, I have a longer list for this trope here. Enjoy!

Maybe Just A Midnight Rendezvous by @writcraft (4k)

Harry's back in London and he's determined to show Draco how things have changed.

Packing the Flat by marguerite_26 (6k)

Months after their explosive break-up, Draco insists Harry return to their flat to remove his belongings.

Can't Fight This Feeling by Writcraft (11k)

A year may have passed, but Harry Potter definitely isn't over Draco Malfoy.

Petrichor by @lazywonderlvnd (12k)

Breakups hurt, especially when you're still in love.

Let's Dance To Joy Division by Femme (12k)

Let the love tear us apart, I've found a cure for a broken heart...

If We Were Honest by daisymondays (26k)

Two years ago, Draco and Harry had a whirlwind secret romance that ended in heart-break. Since then Draco's written a best-selling novel based on their relationship, but with one key difference—the characters get a happily ever after. Now Harry and Draco are reunited for the first time since their break-up, but can they rewrite their own ending?

Make Me a Headline (I Want to Be That Bold) by @dictacontrion (31k)

Draco never expected to see Harry doing that again. Especially with someone else, in a grainy photograph that's landed on his desk one Monday morning.

Winner Takes It All by @skeptiquewrites (41k)

As with all his friends’ wagers, it starts small. Fifty Galleons for one kiss from Harry Potter is easily done.

Blood and Fire by @lqtraintracks (45k)

Harry has spent the last twelve years in Romania, not returning to England as often as he knows he should. It's complicated. But when Ginny asks him to be her best man and help her plan her wedding, he can't say no. Having a reckoning with his choices, with himself, won't be easy. To say nothing of seeing Draco again.

A Case of You by @epitomereally (97k)

Draco was doing just fine working as an Unspeakable in Paris, hanging out with his living and ghostly pals, inventing new spells, and definitely not thinking about Potter. Then, Lucius just had to break out of prison and turn his world upside down.

Dwelling on Dreams by @the-sinking-ship (135k)

Draco thought he could avoid Potter for the duration of his brief return to England. He’d stick to his schedule and be back home in Paris, where he belonged, in a few short months. No trouble at all. He had plenty to occupy him, what with the opening of the London branch of his successful apothecary, his innovative research, drinks with Pansy, a backlog of unread potions periodicals.

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (234k)

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along.

[legolasghosty]

Hello, I heard you say that people don't send you many asks anymore, that needs to be changed immediately!!

Can I request a high school au with sticky notes? Something short and fluffy?

Okay, love you, byeeee!!! 💖💖💖

Gentlepeople of the world, may I present my lovely fiance? I love you so muchhhh! Thank youuuu! And yes of course you may! I love me some sticky notes!

Willie catches one glimpse of Julie on her way to class and reaches for the pad of sticky notes in their backpack. Her hunched shoulders and oversized blue and black flannel(probably Ray's) illustrate how she's feeling more than any words could. No time to catch her in the passing period, but he can probably get to her locker before she does after history.

They slide into their seat just as the bell rings. Reggie shoots him a smile from his spot a few seats over. Willie returns it, and doesn't miss the big A written at the top of the quiz Mr. Hood hands him a minute later. Willie's only has a B+, but he's happy with it. Mr. Hood starts talking about some club thing after that, so Willie sets his pad of sticky notes down just inside their desk to write. They have a few to write since this morning.

A hype up note for Julie, along with a dumb joke to make her smile on her bad day.

A good luck note to Carrie for her dance performance this afternoon.

A congrats note to Reggie for his history grade, which Willie knows he worked hard for.

A reminder to Luke that they're all doing dinner at the Molinas' tonight, cause he always forgets that kind of thing.

Willie's not sure when exactly it became A Thing, them writing notes to their friends and leaving them in their lockers throughout the day. His dad is probably to blame for the start of it. Caleb started putting notes in his lunchboxes less than a year after Willie had come to live with him. Usually reminders about appointments or best wishes for tests, but sometimes they just said "I love you" in the magician's curly, elegant handwriting.

So when Willie finally made friends, it only made sense to start writing the same notes to them.

He carefully folds the notes and tucks them into his pocket for later. As fun as it would be to ask for a bathroom pass and just happen to pass all his friends' lockers on the way, they'd gotten in trouble for that a couple of times already this year. He should probably try and pay attention.

After class finally ends, they dart out of the room. He's not sure he'll be able to get everyone before they reach their lockers, but he's certainly going to try.

When he's finished and stops for a second at his own locker, Willie is greeted by Alex's soft smile as the drummer leans against his own locker. Willie doesn't dare press his own lips against Alex's, they aren't really out as a couple at school, but they return his grin and brush their fingers against his on the way to his locker handle.

"How was history?" Alex asks.

"Same old," Willie responds with a shrug. "Bunch of straight white guys making up rules and ruining everyone else's lives."

"Youch, sounds like fun," Alex says sarcastically just as Willie swings his locker open.

Willie steps back, startled, as a bunch of slips of paper fall out of their locker. They're all little squares, uniform in size if not in color. And now they're on the floor all around their feet.

"Whoops," Alex mutters, dropping to his knees and starting to gather the papers.

Willie quickly joins him on the floor and scoops up a few of the slips. It takes the two of them a minute to gather them all. Just as they finish, the bell rings.

Alex swears under his breath and hands his stack of paper to Willie. "I gotta get to class, sorry," he says, offering a smile before hurrying off.

Willie stuffs the papers into his back pocket and slams his locker shut. At least he's already close to their English classroom. A quick dash later, he's sliding into his seat just as the teacher calls his name for roll call.

With trying to pay attention in class and not get distracted by the spring leaves on the tree outside, Willie totally forgets about the papers until study hall, his last period of the day.

They shift in their chair for the millionth time, trying to get comfortable. Their pocket just feels weird underneath him. Willie reaches back to make sure some old receipt didn't end up in there or something. But instead he finds a bunch of colorful sticky notes.

Willie frowns down at the crumpled slips. Sure, he slips notes into people's lockers all the time, but he doesn't get them back much. And never this many at once. He starts laying them out across his desk, grateful for a teacher who mostly ignores them the whole period.

Each paper has a single letter on it, which was odd, but they're all written in a very familiar hand. Willie smiles softly. Alex's awkward fumbling for them suddenly makes a lot more sense.

The letters are P, W, O, M, T, H, E, I, another M, and R, with a ? on the final note. Willie grins at the challenge and begins rearranging them into words. The worm? Moth prim? Their Mom?

Oh.

Willie feels like his heartbeat can probably be heard by the whole school as they fumble for their own notepad.

YES, I would LOVE to go to prom with you!!!! they write on the little blue paper. Though maybe this one can be a hand delivery, rather than being slipped into Alex's locker. It is the end of the day after all. No use leaving their boyfriend on pins and needles any longer.

Willie carefully tucks Alex's notes into a folder, probably looking like an idiot for how wide he's grinning but not caring in the slightest. Alex just asked him to prom! Which means coming out together. Being them. For the whole school to see.

Willie can't wait.