#just for her to learn some of the things she might actually not know as maids always handled this or that for her

[heartsriki]

STRICTLY PROFESSIONAL ⌇ 패션

pairing ᝰ — jake x fem!reader featuring.. heeseung, jay, sunoo | word count: 8800+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ Rich/celebrity au!, suggestive content, arrogant reader and jake, make out scene, cussing, fluff, smidge of angst, lots of bickering, heeseung is a asshole, reader is a fashion designer, use of petnames.

synopsis — everyone knew who you were. young, successful, talented and most notorious man eater. you enjoyed the games you played with men but it got complicated quickly when you played it with jake. fashion scenes golden boy.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊oh my god this took so long to write, anyways I hope you guys like it fr! Idk if I like it yet but the bathtub scene 👅👅 good lord. Ima fully check this tmr so sorry for any grammar mistakes!

The night was still young, the air thick with the hum of conversation and the distant clink of champagne glasses. You moved through the grand hall like you belonged there—because you did. Every glance that followed you, every murmured whisper in your wake, only served to remind you of the power you held.

Any other woman might claim to hate these kinds of events, the forced pleasantries, the exhausting game of charm and deception. But you? You thrived in it. You loved the way the room seemed to orbit around you, the way men tripped over themselves just for a second of your attention.

And yet, there was one thing you couldn’t stand. The desperate ones. The men who thought a well-tailored suit and a glass of overpriced bourbon made them worthy of you. As one of them slid a hand around your waist, his touch sensual and unwelcome, you scoffed, effortlessly slipping from his grasp without a second thought.

They never learned.

This was your reputation—the untouchable, the unattainable, the woman they all wanted but none could ever truly have.

But amid the usual sea of admirers, there was one man who didn’t make a move. He didn’t approach, didn’t try his luck. He simply watched, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. You barely gave him a second thought. Another coward, too afraid to step up.

Or so you thought.

“Having fun?” Heeseung asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking a slow sip.

Jake hummed, his eyes still locked on you. “You could say that.”

Heeseung followed his gaze, his lips quirking up the moment he realized who had captured his friend’s attention. Then, he burst out laughing.

Jake raised a brow. “What’s so funny?”

Heeseung shook his head, still amused. “Her? No way. I’d switch targets now if I were you.”

Jake’s curiosity piqued. “Why? She got a man or something?”

“The opposite, actually.” Heeseung smirked, setting his drink down. “She’s a man-eater. Every guy in this room has wanted a piece of her at some point.”

Jake laughed, leaning back in his chair. “What, you trying to scare me off ‘cause you want her?”

Heeseung grinned. “More like trying to save you from embarrassment, man. She even rejected me, and that says something.”

Jake scoffed. “Egotistical bastard. Anyway, she doesn’t even know me. Why don’t I give it a shot?”

Heeseung let out a short chuckle and glanced at the others. With a simple nod, three more men joined the conversation—Sunghoon, Jay, and Sunoo.

“What’s up?” Sunoo asked, adjusting his collar.

Heeseung gestured toward you with his glass. “Jake has eyes on Y/N.”

Jay nearly choked on his drink. “Oh, hell no. Yeah, good luck, man.”

Jake scoffed. “You guys act like I’m not charming and rich.”

Sunghoon smirked. “Listen, if none of us even got as much as a kiss from that woman, you definitely can’t.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “So, you all think I can’t pull? Alright, then. Watch me.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, adjusting his cuffs before striding toward you with confidence.

The group watched in amused silence.

“Anyone busy tonight?” Heeseung asked after a beat.

“No,” they all replied in unison.

“Good,” Heeseung said, taking another sip of his drink. “Because that man is going to come back crying.”

As Jake strode toward you, you noticed him instantly—without even needing to spare him a glance. Finally. The man who had been eyeing you all night had mustered up the nerve to approach. Not that it would make any difference. You can just tell you wont be interested.

It’s just a game to you.

Clearing his throat, he smoothly excused himself into your conversation. The men surrounding you shot him warning glances, but he ignored them, his attention solely on you.

You didn’t even hesitate. With a polite smile, you excused yourself from them and turned to face Jake fully, flashing him the kind of grin that had men falling to their knees.

Too easy.

Jake took that as a good sign. See? She’s already giving such a pretty smile. How hard could this be?

“I’ve been meaning to introduce myself,” he began smoothly, holding out a hand, ready to bring yours to his lips. “My name is Sim Jaeyun, but the people I like to keep close—like you—call me Jake.”

You didn’t give him your hand.

Instead, you tilted your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Sim.”

Jake barely managed to mask his surprise as he quickly withdrew his hand. So, the gentleman act wasn’t going to cut it. Fine. He could adapt.

“You’re the most gorgeous woman here tonight,” he charmed, his voice dripping with confidence. “Where’s that dress from? It works wonders on you.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been told,” you said airily, before letting the real dagger sink in. “And this dress? It’s from me.”

Jake blinked. “From you?”

You smirked. “Yes. I made it.”

It took him a second, but then it clicked. Shit.

Realization dawned in his eyes. He knew now exactly who you were.

You leaned in slightly, your voice silky smooth. “Tell me, Mr. Sim… do you always fail to research the women you approach or did you just underestimate me?”

Jake swallowed. “I—uhm—”

Before he could recover, your hands were on him. A slow, deliberate caress up his shoulder, your fingers threading behind his neck. He stiffened, caught between the intoxicating warmth of your touch and the sharp edge in your voice.

“See, it’s men like you I hate the most…” you murmured, voice soft but laced with venom.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips curling in amusement.

“Uneducated.”

And just like that, you turned on your heel.

Jake stood frozen for a moment, trying to process how the conversation had flipped so fast.

Then, from across the room—laughter.

He turned just in time to see Heeseung and the others, barely containing their amusement.

Yeah. No. This wasn’t over.

Jake straightened his shoulders, running a hand through his hair.

If you thought that was the last time you’d be seeing him tonight… you had another thing coming.

After realizing who you were, he knew he needed a lot more than just a prince act to get to you.

Y/N, the youngest successful fashion designer in the country. Your creative silk dresses and outlandish designs shot you straight to the top, allowing you to build your own designer store and amass a massive fortune.

He regretted not researching you beforehand, but to be fair, you didn’t really advertise yourself—just your million-dollar merchandise.

But his greatest mistake was also his biggest opportunity. Jake and his friends just so happened to be ambassadors for your company, and from the looks of it, fashion was the only way to get to you.

As their car pulled up to the photoshoot, Jake grew more nervous. He had already landed himself in the deep end with you, and he had only a vague idea of how to get out. But you? You were a total wildcard.

Jake huffed as he stepped out of the car.

“What’s your problem?” Heeseung asked, walking beside him.

Sunoo smirked, approaching as well. “He’s still trying to woo Y/N.”

Heeseung laughed. “No way! After that shitshow last night? You’re either ballsy or crazy.”

Jake shook his head. “Whatever, I’ll figure it out.”

As they walked in, the photoshoot was already set up. Props were on display, cameras were being tested, and the staff bustled around. Jake scanned the room for you, but you hadn’t arrived yet.

Sunoo clapped his hands as he admired the lavish outfits they’d be wearing. Jake had to admit—you were talented.

The sudden bang of doors flying open caught everyone’s attention.

You walked in, dressed in comfortable yet stylish clothes that hugged you in all the right places. Jake could finally see what everyone had been talking about. You knew how to get eyes on you.

“Cameras, props, and lights ready?” you called out, hands on your waist.

The staff confirmed, and you turned to face the group. One by one, you examined each member calling them out with their valuable features—Sunoo’s alluring figure, Jay’s strong jawline, Sunghoon’s thick eyebrows, Heeseung’s plump lips… and then you paused when you got to Jake.

“Mr. Sim, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, grinning as you looked him up and down.

Jake let out a short laugh. “Didn’t know I was one of the ambassadors? I’m hurt.”

You hummed, circling him, trying to pinpoint a striking physical feature that could be useful. But for the first time, nothing came to mind.

“Anyway, let’s continue. Sunoo is first,” you said, brushing past him.

Jake scoffed slightly. It was a small thing, really. But for some reason, the fact that you didn’t highlight anything about him bothered him more than it should have.

He watched as you guided Sunoo through your envisioned concept, your passion evident in every direction you gave. Sunoo followed your cues effortlessly, showcasing the designs exactly as you intended.

One by one, each member had their turn, and every shot looked incredible—each outfit tailored perfectly to their features.

Then, it was Jake’s turn.

You stood in front of the wardrobe, flipping through the options. To be honest, it was frustrating. You had instantly known what worked for everyone else, but for Jake… you were stumped.

You turned around, squinting at him, taking him in. He sat there watching you, his throat going dry as you slowly walked closer.

Then, without warning, you reached out and tilted his chin up.

Jake stiffened.

You studied him, and suddenly, it clicked.

His big, expressive puppy eyes. His soft, round lips. The way he looked almost desperate and vulnerable.

…He looked so good like this.

You laughed to yourself, turning to the wardrobe and pulling out a sleek black suit.

You knew exactly how to take advantage of Sim Jaeyun.

You bitterly laughed as you scrolled through the articles. Of course, you had an eye for things like this.

The internet was in an uproar over Jake’s part of the photoshoot—but in a good way.

The concept was striking. The camera was angled just above him, catching the sharp contrast of light against his desperate, pleading eyes. His lips were slightly parted, pouty in a way that almost begged to be kissed. His shirt hung open just enough to tease, showing only a sliver of skin, while the veins along his arms stood out, practically begging for attention.

You coughed, shaking the thoughts from your head.

Shoving the distraction aside, you sat at your desk, fingers gripping your pencil as you stared at the blank sketchpad before you. Normally, this was the easy part—designs came to you like second nature. But today? Nothing.

Your eyes wandered the room, searching for something—anything—to spark creativity. And then they landed on the stack of freshly printed photos from Jake’s shoot.

It was like a lightbulb flicked on above your head. Thoughts started forming and it was like the cogs in your brain started turning.

You needed a meeting with him. Now.

It took some effort to track him down, but after a few well-placed calls, you discovered he was at a celebration party for one of his many sponsors. A big shot, was he? You scoffed, feeling a twinge of irritation crawl under your skin. No—why did he irritate you so much?

Your sleek, high-end car pulled up to the entrance, drawing the attention of reporters and guests alike. Ignoring their murmurs, you strode inside, brushing past the glittering crowd. The party was far livelier than the ones you typically attended, but you paid it no mind. Your focus was solely on one person.

Jake.

He was easy to spot, standing in the center of the room with a glass in his hand and a woman draped over his arm. She was laughing at something he said, tilting her head flirtatiously.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes before marching toward him.

At first, he didn’t notice, too caught up in whatever meaningless conversation he was entertaining. But then he picked up on the shift in the room—the way heads turned, whispers spreading like wildfire. His gaze finally landed on you, surprise flickering across his face.

What the hell were you doing here?

“Hello, Sim,” you greeted, your voice laced with amusement. “Having fun?”

Jake blinked, momentarily thrown off. The woman at his side tightened her grip, glaring at you as if trying to stake her claim.

You gave her a quick once-over before arching a brow. “Please. If you’re going to try and mark your territory, at least put some effort into that outfit of yours.”

She gasped, her face burning red before she spun on her heel and stormed off.

Jake smirked as he watched her leave, then turned his attention back to you. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“In your dreams,” you shot back. “I need you to come with me. It’s urgent.”

His brows lifted, a slow grin curling his lips as he leaned in slightly, his voice dipping into something lower, teasing. “Need me that bad, huh baby?”

Your face flamed, and you immediately shoved his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant—ugh! I’m requesting a conversation. Over dinner.”

Jake tilted his head, studying you. He wasn’t sure what this was about, but the fact that you were suddenly giving him attention? Maybe it was for the big success with his contribution to the magazine. Whatever it was, He wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.

“Alright,” he drawled. “Taking me out to eat before the fun stuff—how classy.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward the exit. He let you, a smirk never leaving his face as he trailed behind you.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet. You stared out the window, lost in thought, while Jake stole subtle glances at you. You were always like this—so effortlessly captivating, playing hard to get like it was second nature. He didn’t mind. The chase made it all the more fun.

When the car finally rolled to a stop, Jake glanced out the window, his brows raising slightly. The restaurant was high-end, even by his standards. You didn’t just pick a fancy place—you picked the fancy place.

“You really like showing off, don’t you?” he mused, stepping out after you.

The moment you entered, the security barely even glanced at you before letting you through. Jake, on the other hand, was stopped immediately.

You turned back, giving him a slow smirk.

“He’s with me,” you said simply.

That was all it took. The guard stepped aside without another word, and Jake scoffed, shaking his head as he followed you in.

You were led to a private, reserved area on the rooftop, where the city stretched out in a breathtaking view. The soft glow of lights flickered over your face, casting delicate shadows. Jake had to admit—you looked stunning.

After placing your orders, silence settled between you. Jake swirled his wine glass, watching you over the rim.

“So,” he finally said, breaking the quiet, “why do I have the honor of your presence tonight, Y/N?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sim.” You exhaled, looking away for a moment before leaning back. “Do you know how I built my brand?”

Jake raised a brow. “Hard work I would presume?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “A muse,” you corrected. “Every artist needs one. And mine… has grown dull.”

He frowned slightly, trying to decipher where this was going. “And?”

Your gaze locked onto his, unwavering. “Lucky for you, I seem to find creative inspiration just by looking at you.”

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning. Jake stared at you, and for once, he didn’t have a teasing remark locked and loaded.

Because you weren’t joking.

You had come all this way, pulled him out of a party, taken him to an extravagant dinner— not for some business deal, but because you needed him.

Jake leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as a slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

“Well, well,” he murmured. “Didn’t know I had that effect on you.”

You sighed, already regretting saying anything. “It’s strictly professional, Sim.”

“Sure it is.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was something else there too—something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, studying you the way you had been studying him all night.

Finally, he set his glass down and smirked. “Alright, Y/N. I’ll be your muse.”

You arched a brow. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” His voice dropped into something quieter, more serious. “But don’t think for a second that this is a one-sided deal.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jake leaned in ever so slightly, his smirk never wavering.

“You need inspiration,” he said. “And I need you.”

Your breath hitched.

Jake leaned back in his seat, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he swirled the wine in his glass. His eyes never left yours, watching your reaction with amusement.

“Go on one date with me,” he said smoothly, tilting his head slightly. “And I’m all yours.”

You stared at him, blinking once. Then twice.

And then, you burst into laughter. A real, full laugh that made your shoulders shake as you leaned back in your chair.

Jake didn’t say anything—he just sat there, watching you with an unreadable expression. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… watching.

When your laughter finally died down, you exhaled and shook your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jake simply raised a brow.

“So, you’re serious?” you asked, searching his face for any sign of a joke. “Just one date? No money? No sexual favors?”

His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “Yep. One night. Let me have you on my arm for a few hours, and after that…” He shrugged. “I’m all yours.”

You grumbled at the thought. The idea of entertaining a man—even for one night for something as useless as a date—made you want to roll your eyes into another dimension. But you really, really needed Jake. His presence alone had sparked something in you. God, you hated when a man had the upper hand.

You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine. One date. That’s all.” You narrowed your eyes. “And then you’re mine.”

Jake chuckled, resting his chin in his palm as he gazed at you, a lazy sort of amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Yes,” he murmured. “All yours.”

And for some reason, the way he said it made your stomach flip.

The deal was set. One date. That was all.

You repeated that to yourself as you adjusted your outfit, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles while glancing at your reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t like you cared how you looked for Jake Sim. It was just… appearances. You had a reputation to maintain.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. Your assistant peeked in, looking a little too amused.

“He’s here,” they said.

With one last deep breath, you grabbed your clutch and headed out.

Jake was waiting outside, leaning casually against his car—a sleek black luxury vehicle that, of course, fit his whole charming celebrity persona perfectly. He looked effortless in his suit, his hair styled just the right amount of messy, like he’d barely tried but still somehow managed to look good.

The worst part? He probably hadn’t tried.

His gaze flickered over you, and his smirk grew. “Well, damn,” he murmured, pushing off the car. “If I knew you were gonna look this good, I would’ve asked for two dates.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Not happening.”

He chuckled, opening the passenger door for you. “We’ll see.”

You slid in without another word, and the moment he settled into the driver’s seat, the engine purred to life.

“So,” you said, crossing your arms. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

Jake grinned as he pulled out onto the road. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You narrowed your eyes. “If this is some cliché rooftop dinner setup, I’m leaving.”

He laughed. “No trust in me at all, huh?”

“Not even a little.”

Jake shook his head, amused. “Guess I’ll just have to change that.”

It wasn’t a rooftop dinner.

It wasn’t a fancy five-star restaurant, either.

Instead, twenty minutes later, you found yourself in the passenger seat of Jake Sim’s car as he pulled into a bustling night market on the outskirts of the city. The place was alive—bright, colorful lights hanging between stalls, the air thick with the scent of grilled food, fried snacks, and sweet desserts.

You blinked. This was… not what you expected.

Jake shot you a sideways glance, catching your surprise. “What?” he teased. “Thought I was gonna wine and dine you in some overpriced restaurant?”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “…Yes.”

He smirked. “See? You underestimated me too much.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t underestimate anything.”

Jake hummed, clearly not convinced.

Before you could protest further, he was already getting out of the car and walking around to your side, opening the door for you. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “Let’s get something to eat.”

You hesitated before ignoring his hand and stepping out on your own. Jake chuckled under his breath but didn’t push it.

The market was buzzing with energy. Neon lights flashed, the sound of sizzling food filled the air, and people bustled past in happy chatter. You followed Jake as he navigated through the stalls with ease, stopping at a particular vendor selling tteokbokki.

“Spicy?” he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged. “I can handle it.”

Jake smirked like he didn’t believe you but ordered anyway. When he handed you the steaming bowl of rice cakes drenched in spicy sauce, you took a bite without hesitation.

And instantly regretted it.

Your mouth burned.

You coughed, eyes watering as you tried to keep your expression neutral. Jake, of course, was watching you with way too much amusement.

“You good?” he asked, clearly holding back laughter.

You swallowed, forcing a nod. “Shit—Totally.”

Jake snorted before handing you a drink. “Don’t act tough.” He said with a laugh.

“I’m not acting tough,” you shot back, gulping down the drink. “I just—”

“Don’t want to look vulnerable?”

You glared at him, which only made him grin. He slowly had you figured out.

The rest of the night went like that—Jake teasing you, you pretending to be unaffected, and somehow, between all of it, you… actually started to enjoy yourself.

He dragged you to different stalls, making you try every snack he claimed was the best. He somehow convinced you to play one of those rigged carnival games, and when you failed miserably, he swooped in with that cocky confidence of his and won a stuffed bear in one try.

“For you,” he said, handing it over with a wink.

You scoffed, snatching it from his hands. “You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

You didn’t. Well, maybe you didn’t hate it as much as you wanted to.

Hours passed without you realizing.

By the time you both made your way back to the car, the market had quieted down, the crowd thinning as the night stretched on. You hugged the stuffed bear to your chest, glancing at Jake as he walked beside you, hands tucked in his pockets.

“I’ll admit,” you said after a beat. “This was… decent.”

Jake smirked. “High praise coming from you.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He glanced down at where you touched him before tilting his head at you, something softer lingering in his gaze. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now. “You’re different when you’re not trying to impress.”

You stiffened slightly. “I’m not—”

“You are.” He smiled a little.

You quickly looked away, tightening your grip on the stuffed bear. “Don’t overthink it, It’s just one date.”

Jake hummed. “Just one.”

You didn’t like the way he said that. Like he knew something you didn’t.

Like he knew that one date wasn’t going to be enough.

The ride back was quieter than before. Not in a bad way—just… different. The playful teasing from earlier had faded into something heavier, something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Jake was focused on the road, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested lazily on the gear shift. You, on the other hand, sat with your arms crossed, staring out the window, pretending you weren’t acutely aware of every little movement he made.

It didn’t help that the car felt smaller than it actually was. Or maybe it was just the way he’d glance at you every now and then, his lips quirking up like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

At one point, he exhaled a small chuckle. “You’re quiet.”

You turned your head slightly but didn’t meet his gaze. “So?”

Jake hummed, his fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. “Just not used to it. Usually, you’re too busy trying to put me in my place.”

You finally looked at him. “Trust me, I still could.”

“Oh, I know,” he murmured, eyes flickering to yours before returning to the road. “But that’s not what’s happening right now, is it?”

You opened your mouth to retort but hesitated.

Because he was right.

And that was irritating.

The rest of the ride passed with that same unbearable tension, neither of you saying much, but the energy thick enough to cut with a knife. Every second felt stretched, every brush of his fingers against the wheel, every shift in his seat, every subtle glance your way felt charged.

When he finally pulled up in front of your place, you should’ve gotten out immediately. You should’ve thanked him—maybe given him a sarcastic remark for good measure—and left it at that.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you hesitated.

Your fingers clenched around the stuffed bear in your lap as you turned to face him. Jake was already watching you, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something else.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, you blurted, “Come inside.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “For a photoshoot.”

His lips twitched. “At—” he glanced at the clock on the dashboard “—midnight?”

You lifted your chin. “You said you were my muse now, right? I just got an idea. Unless you’re scared of a little late-night work.”

Jake’s smirk deepened, like he could see right through you. “You really suck at making excuses, you know that?”

“Are you coming or not, Sim?”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning off the car. “Lead the way, boss.”

The moment you stepped inside, the energy shifted again.

Your place was modern yet warm—high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, designer furniture, and mood lighting that cast a soft glow over everything. Jake took it all in as he followed you inside, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“So,” he mused, scanning the room, “where’s the magic gonna happen?”

You rolled your eyes at his choice of words but ignored it, grabbing your camera from the shelf. “In there,” you said, motioning toward the bathroom as you both walked in.

Jake raised a brow as he watched you adjust the settings. “Straight to business?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, but even you knew it wasn’t convincing.

He stepped closer, just enough that you felt the heat of his presence. “Whats the plan?”

Your fingers grazed over the camera button as you eyed him without hiding.

Your jaw clenched. You inhaled sharply. Then, without missing a beat, you lifted the camera and snapped a photo right in his face.

Jake blinked at the flash.

You smirked, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “Take off your suit—leave the button-up—and get in the bathtub.”

Jake froze, his brows lifting slightly. He looked at you like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. But for once, he didn’t argue, didn’t throw a cocky remark your way.

Instead, he simply exhaled, loosened his tie, and shrugged off his suit jacket. His fingers made quick work of his cufflinks before rolling up the sleeves of his already damp button-up. With an unreadable expression, he stepped into the tub, settling against the porcelain with his arms resting along the edges, looking like a king on his throne. His shirt, already slightly undone from earlier, clung to his chest, teasing glimpses of toned skin beneath the fabric.

You hummed, pleased with how naturally he fit into the scene. Lifting the shower head, you turned on the water.

Jake yelped.

“Hey—shit, that’s cold!“ He recoiled, hands shooting up to shield himself from the icy stream.

You grinned mischievously. “Oops. Sorry, princess.”

Jake groaned, dragging a wet hand down his face. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You only smirked as you adjusted the temperature, letting the water run warm. He exhaled, relaxing under the heat, though you could tell he was still a little wary.

The camera flashed.

Jake’s eyes snapped to yours. “Seriously?”

“That’s it,” you murmured, tilting the lens as you took another shot. “Just relax. You look better when you stop overthinking.”

Something shifted in his expression. His shoulders eased, his body sinking further into the tub as he let go of whatever was running through his mind. The water streamed over him, drenching his shirt completely, making the fabric cling to his torso like a second skin. His hair, already a mess from the rain earlier, now fell over his eyes, strands curling slightly from the dampness.

You almost let yourself admire him.

Almost.

He looked like something out of a luxury ad—lazily elegant, frustratingly attractive, like sin wrapped in silk. He was a glass of dark wine, the kind that burned just enough to keep you coming back for another sip.

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying that out loud.

Instead, you inched closer, adjusting the focus to capture his eyes. He had the prettiest, prettiest boba eyes—deep and dark, framed by long lashes, almost too soft for someone who loved to tease you so relentlessly.

But something wasn’t clicking. The shot wasn’t right. You frowned, turning off the water to get a better angle, hovering slightly over him in concentration.

Jake watched you past the lens, amusement dancing in his gaze as you pouted in frustration.

“You look cute when you’re trying too hard,” he mused.

You barely had time to process his words before—

Splash.

A gasp tore from your lips as you were suddenly yanked forward, water soaking through your clothes in an instant. Your knees landed on either side of Jake’s lap, hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. Your body pressed against his, and the realization hit you way too late.

The camera slipped from your hands, landing with a soft clunk on the dry edge of the tub.

“You—”

But you froze.

Because holy shit.

His hair was a dripping mess, strands falling into his eyes, water trickling down his temples. His lips were slightly parted, breath shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the soaked fabric of his shirt. But it wasn’t that.

It was his eyes. Those eyes.

Gone was the teasing glint, the ever-present mischief. Instead, they were dark, hooded—pleading.

Exactly what you were looking for earlier.

But with something deeper. Something unspoken. It expressed something his mouth couldn’t say.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, like he was waiting. Like he was testing to see if you’d pull away.

The only sound in the room was the slow, rhythmic dripping of water and the soft, uneven breaths between you both.

Neither of you moved.

Because if you did, if either of you so much as shifted—

You both knew what would happen next.

Jake exhaled shakily, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. Then, voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, “You gonna do something? Because this is killing me.”

Your throat went dry.

“Jake…”

The second his name left your lips—soft, breathless, uncertain—his fingers flexed against your waist, and something in his eyes snapped.

His jaw clenched. His chest rose sharply as he exhaled through his nose, his grip just a fraction tighter, just enough for you to feel the tension between you crackle like a live wire.

“…Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Without another second to hesitate, his lips crashed onto yours.

A sharp inhale left you as your eyes widened in surprise, but the warmth of his mouth, the way he moved against you so effortlessly, erased any thoughts of pulling away. Your lashes fluttered shut, that little voice in your head telling you to stop quickly drowned out by the sheer pleasure of it all.

Jake kissed you like he had been starving for this—like he had been waiting too long, and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to waste another second. His hands roamed along your back, gripping, exploring, pulling you closer as if he needed you to be right there against him. Your own hands weren’t still either—fingers moving with urgency, working on the buttons of his soaked shirt, pushing the fabric away in greedy desperation.

The wet material slid off his shoulders, discarded somewhere to the side. And then—God—your hands were on him. Palms dragging down the expanse of his torso, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Jake sighed into your mouth at the sensation, his breath warm, his body reacting to you just as much as yours was to him.

Your heart was practically pounding. What was he doing to you? You’d played this game before, teased and flirted, danced along the edge of something dangerous—but never like this. Never this raw. Never this vulnerable.

He moved before you could even process it. His hands slid up, fingers weaving into your hair as he shifted you—one second, you were on his lap, the next, you were lying beneath him, water still clinging to both of you.

Jake didn’t hesitate.

His lips left yours only to trail across your jaw, down your neck, to the sensitive dip between your collarbones. He kissed like he was memorizing you, like he wanted to leave a mark in places no one else had ever dared to touch. You sighed at the feeling, your hands slipping up into his damp hair, fingers tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin.

It was intoxicating. The weight of him, the heat of his breath, the way his lips moved against your skin as if he owned you.

Then— Jake stilled.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes flickering over your face. A sharp inhale filled his chest as he took you in—the way you were watching him, the way your lips were parted, the unhidden hunger in your gaze.

Damn.

You looked like you were ready to devour him.

For a moment, he just stared—like he was trying to brand this image into his brain, like he needed to convince himself that this was real.

Then, with a smirk, he leaned in, lips brushing over your ear as he whispered, “Strictly professional, huh?.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering through your desire-hazed mind when he pulled away completely. Jake stood, stepping out of the tub before holding a hand out for you. You took it, letting him pull you up. Water dripped from both of you as you steadied yourself, but your fingers clung to his forearm, your lips slightly parted in silent protest.

Your expression must have given you away because he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Relax,” he mused, tugging you flush against him. “I just wanted to take you to your bedroom—unless you want to do this right here?”

His voice was laced with amusement, but there was something darker beneath it. A challenge. A temptation.

And the way his fingers slowly dragged down your waist, the heat behind his gaze, the way his lips barely ghosted over yours without fully kissing you—

He knew exactly what he was doing.

The warm sunlight streaming through the window pulled you from your sleep, making you groan as your limbs ached from exhaustion. Every movement sent a dull throb through your muscles, a reminder of exactly what had happened last night.

You raised your hand to rub your temple, only to pause when your fingers brushed against something—small, dark bruises dotting your skin.

That jerk.

A lazy smirk tugged at your lips before you turned over, reaching instinctively toward his side of the bed, only to be met with cold sheets. Your stomach twisted.

Your first thought was that maybe he had just gotten up early. But then, the silence in the room became deafening, an eerie reminder of how alone you were.

Your chest tightened, but before the feeling could settle, you noticed the faint glow of light coming from the bathroom.

Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived.

As you moved closer, the sound of his voice—muffled but unmistakable—reached your ears.

You hesitated. Something in you told you to go back, to not listen. But your curiosity, your need to know, got the better of you.

And that’s when you heard it.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I should just get out of here before she wakes up, right?”

Your breath hitched.

Your heart didn’t just drop—it shattered.

Mistake.

Was that all last night was to him?

A mistake?

The one man you had allowed past your carefully built walls, the one man you let touch you in ways no one else had, was now talking about leaving before you even woke up.

Your hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into your palm to fight the sting in your eyes. No. No way in hell were you going to sit here and mope about this.

If this was a mistake to him, then it was a mistake to you too.

You turned sharply on your heel, biting down the lump in your throat as you moved quickly to get dressed.

You weren’t going to wait around for him to leave first.

From Jake’s perspective, he woke up to the soft vibration of his phone on the nightstand beside him. Groggily, he turned over, his eyes immediately landing on you—curled up beside him, your arm draped over his waist. You looked so peaceful, your breath steady, your grip on him light but firm.

His heart fluttered at the sight.

With a quiet groan, he reached for his phone, squinting at the screen to see Heeseung flashing across the caller ID.

He sighed before accepting the call.

“Hey,” he whispered, carefully shifting out of your hold so he wouldn’t wake you. Slipping into the bathroom, he shut the door behind him. “What do you want?”

“Yo, I haven’t heard from you since the party. What’s up with you?”

Jake glanced back at the bed through the cracked door before lowering his voice. “I’m at Y/N’s place.”

Silence.

Then, a loud yelp from Heeseung made Jake wince. “What?! Y/N? No way—did you guys—?”

Jake smirked. “Yes. Maybe—we did.”

Heeseung let out a hum of approval. “Damn. Someone finally got to her. Congratulations, man. We should celebrate tonight.”

Jake scoffed. “It’s not like that, Hee.”

Heeseung frowned on the other end. “Wait… you mean you’re actually trying to make something out of this?” A dry laugh followed. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Jake’s stomach tightened. “What do you mean? I thought—”

“Exactly. You thought.” Heeseung let out a sigh. “I already told you who she is. A man-eater, Jake. If you weren’t at her place right now, she probably would’ve disappeared before you even woke up.”

Jake swallowed hard.

It had taken a long time to get through to you—everyone knew that. But last night felt different. He wasn’t imagining that… right?

“Listen,” Heeseung continued, his voice laced with amusement, “if I were you, I’d take the good fuck and get out of there before she hurts your feelings.”

Jake’s grip on his phone tightened.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I should just get out of here before she wakes up, right?”

Then, before Heeseung could add anything else, a new voice cut in.

“Don’t listen to that player.”

Jake blinked as Jay snatched the phone away from Heeseung.

Jay shot his friend an unimpressed look before putting the phone to his ear. “If things actually seem like it’ll go good between you two, then go for it.”

Jake exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “You think so?”

“Yes. Don’t come crying to us later saying you fumbled.”

Jake let out a short laugh, finally smiling again. “Alright. See you later.”

Hanging up, he set his phone down on the sink and glanced at himself in the mirror. He ran a hand through his messy hair, wincing slightly as a sting shot across his back.

Curious, he turned his body slightly and craned his neck to check—only to see deep, red nail marks trailing down his skin.

A laugh rumbled from his chest.

That was definitely your handiwork.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Another thought crossed his mind, he shouldn’t have listened to Heeseung.

Sure, You had a reputation—everyone knew that. But you weren’t just some girl to him. Last night wasn’t just about the physical.

He had seen the way you softened under his touch. The way you looked at him like he was more than just some guy you had picked for the night.

He wasn’t an idiot. He had felt it.

And yet, for a split second, Heeseung’s words had gotten into his head, making him doubt everything.

Jake stepped out of the bathroom with a light smile, now going back to chuckling at the sight of the nail marks on his back. But as he looked around, his smile slowly faded.

The bed was empty.

The sheets, once messy from the night before, were now slightly straightened—like someone had hastily tried to fix them before leaving. His heart sank.

“Y/N?” he called, his voice hesitant.

Silence.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of you—your clothes, your phone, something. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the closet door slightly ajar. He walked over, tugging it open. Empty.

Jake’s stomach twisted.

You were gone.

His mind raced as he reached for his phone, but before he could dial your number, something on the nightstand caught his eye. A necklace—your necklace. The one you always wore, the one you never took off.

His chest tightened.

What the hell just happened?

Then, it clicked. The way he had found you curled up next to him this morning—the way your fingers had unconsciously gripped his waist, as if afraid he’d leave. You weren’t the type to do that. So why did you—.

Unless—

She heard me.

Jake felt the blood drain from his face. His own words echoed in his head, the ones Heeseung had fed him, the ones he stupidly repeated without thinking.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I should just get out of here before she wakes up, right?”

He clenched his jaw. “Shit.”

You had heard him. And now, you were gone.

Jake spent the rest of the morning searching for you. He called your phone multiple times, but it kept ringing until it went to voicemail. He texted, only to be met with unread messages. Every hour that passed made his frustration grow—where the hell could you have gone?

Then, it hit him.

Your studio.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his keys and drove across the city, ignoring every red light and honking car. His mind was a storm of emotions—guilt, frustration, fear. He needed to fix this.

When he finally arrived, the familiar sight of your workspace came into view, its large glass windows dimly lit from inside. His heart pounded as he stepped out of his car and made his way to the entrance, pushing open the door without knocking.

The moment he walked in, he spotted you.

You were sitting at your desk, hunched over a sketchbook. From the way your pencil angrily scratched at the page, it was clear you were frustrated. Your usual fluid, elegant designs had been replaced with jagged lines, some pages torn out and crumpled beside you.

You were trying to drown yourself in work.

Jake’s breath caught as he took you in. Your hair was messier than usual, your face devoid of the usual sharp confidence you carried. You looked exhausted. Like you hadn’t slept at all.

Like you were trying to forget last night ever happened.

But when you sensed someone standing in the doorway, you didn’t look up. “Go away.”

Jake swallowed hard. “Y/N—”

“I said go away.” Your voice was steady, but he could hear the underlying hurt beneath it. That hurt made his stomach twist.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, taking slow steps toward you.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, finally looking up at him. “Talk? Now you want to talk? Thought this was all a mistake?”

Jake flinched. “That’s not—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, slamming your pencil down. “Don’t stand there and try to spin this, Jake. I heard you. I heard everything.”

The weight of your words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“I woke up, and you were gone,” you continued, voice rising. “I went looking for you because—because for once, I thought maybe this was different. Maybe I wasn’t just another thing for you to play with. But then I heard you. I heard you say it was a mistake—that you should leave before I woke up.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Guess I just saved you the trouble.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, his heart hammering. “Y/N, you don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” You stood up from your chair, stepping closer to him, your expression unreadable. “I was stupid enough to believe that this was more than just another hookup for you. That maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t some temporary distraction.”

Jake took a shaky breath. “You’re not.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Really? Because that’s not what it sounded like this morning.”

Jake exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck. He was messing this up—again. He needed to make you understand.

“I didn’t mean any of that,” he said, voice softer now. “I was on the phone with Heeseung, and he was—” Jake paused, shaking his head. “He was saying a bunch of bullshit, making me second-guess things. But I never meant it, Y/N. The second I said it, I regretted it.”

You stared at him, jaw tight. “And yet you still said it.”

“I know.” He sighed, stepping even closer. “I was stupid. I let someone else’s words get in my head, and I didn’t think. But if you’d stayed just a second longer, you would’ve heard Jay tell me not to listen to Heeseung. You would’ve heard me say that I wanted to stay.”

You hesitated, but your arms remained crossed, a sign that you weren’t letting him off that easily.

Jake sighed, rubbing his face. “Y/N, I don’t do this. I don’t—I don’t wake up next to someone and feel peaceful. I don’t look at someone and think, God, I want more than just one night. But you…” He looked at you, eyes desperate. “With you, it’s different. And that scares the hell out of me.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice.

Jake took your silence as permission to continue. “I don’t want to be just another regret for you. I don’t want this to be some game. And if you tell me you regret last night—if you tell me you never want to see me again—I’ll leave. But I don’t think you regret it.”

Your breath hitched. He was right. You didn’t.

But you were scared, too.

Scared because you had spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, convinced that love was a battlefield you had no interest in fighting for. Scared because Jake had found a way past your walls without you even realizing it.

And scared because, despite everything… you still wanted him.

“I don’t regret it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Jake swallowed, nodding. “Then let me prove it to you.”

You stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all you saw was sincerity.

A heavy silence filled the room before you finally exhaled, your shoulders sagging. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you yet.”

Jake’s lips quirked into a small, hopeful smile. “That’s fair.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “God, you’re such a pain in the ass.”

“I’ve heard.” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes, but this time, there was no real malice behind it. Just exhaustion. Maybe even the hint of a smile.

Jake took a tentative step forward. “Can I at least take you to dinner?”

You raised a brow. “A real date?”

“A real date,” he promised. “No mistakes this time.”

You studied him for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “Fine. But im paying.”

Jake scoffed. “Just because you have way more money than me doesn’t mean you can show off.”

And as you stood there, sticking your tongue at the boy mischievously who had somehow wormed his way into your heart, you realized— this definitely wasn’t a mistake after all.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the bed. You stirred, shifting slightly, only to feel the weight of an arm draped over your waist. A soft exhale tickled the back of your neck, and you turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of Jake—eyes closed, breathing steady, his features relaxed in a way that made your chest tighten.

It had been weeks since the misunderstanding that nearly tore you apart. Since then, things had fallen into place in a way neither of you had expected. There were no grand declarations or extravagant gestures—just moments like this. Quiet, intimate, and real.

You gently moved his arm, attempting to slip out of bed without waking him, but before you could even shift an inch, his hold tightened.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was rough with sleep, and yet, there was a teasing lilt to it.

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I was going to make coffee. But I see you have other plans.”

He hummed, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “My only plan is keeping you right here for a little longer.”

You let yourself relax against him for a moment before sighing. “Jake, we can’t just stay in bed all day.”

“Why not?” He murmured against your skin. “I finally got you, and now you want to leave me for coffee? You wound me.”

You turned to face him, raising a brow. “You’re so dramatic.”

He smirked. “And yet, you love me anyway.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Jake noticed—the way your eyes softened, the way you licked your lips as if debating whether to respond. Love. The word had been lingering between you two for a while now, unsaid but present in every touch, every look, every stolen moment.

Instead of answering, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was slow, unhurried, filled with an emotion you weren’t quite ready to put into words but hoped he could feel anyway.

He smiled against your lips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes, I do love you, Jake. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t know how I survived this long without you.’”

You scoffed, pushing at his chest playfully. “You’re such a dumbass.”

He caught your hand before you could move away, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Fine, fine,” he relented, grinning. “But at least let me make the coffee. You stay here.”

You arched a brow. “You? Making coffee?”

Jake gasped dramatically. “I’ll have you know I make an excellent cup of coffee.”

“You put in twice the sugar any sane person would,” you deadpanned.

“You still drink it when I make it,” he pointed out smugly.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest only grew. This—this was what made it different with Jake. The teasing, the tenderness, the effortless way you fit together.

As he finally pulled himself out of bed, ruffling his already-messy hair, you watched him fondly. Maybe neither of you had planned for this, but it was happening anyway.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tech-luver]

Part 1 here

Ranking (some more of) the LL crew based on who would let you take a nap on them and how comfy that nap would be (Part 2):

Perceptor: 7/10 Good shoulders to sleep on and works in (and prefers) quiet environments like his lab and the main navigation area of the ship. Prepare for loud interruptions if Brainstorm feels like continuing his one-sided competition with the bot. Although, if Perceptor doesn't feel like entertaining him, he may use you as an excuse to shoo him away. Tolerates your presence and checks on you every now and then but nothing more. Would ramble to you about maths and science if you ask, which is great white noise for falling asleep, unless you're actually interested.

Chromedome: 6/10 Hm, ok, a little skinny but you could try his big ass shoulders? It would leave you pretty exposed… maybe we just go with the cradled like a baby option here. Allows it but you better not be giving Rewind any ideas, his arms are going to get so tired otherwise. Will speak in a hushed way but won't stop other people from speaking regularly, only if they get too loud. May tap or stroke along your spine absentmindedly. He found that keeping his servos active helps when he feels that pull to perform mneumosurgery, that repetitive motion is now just something he does whenever.

Rewind: 7/10 Actually not too bad, you have a chance with his shoulders unlike the other minibots but he would probably prefer holding you so there isn't a possibility of you sliding off. Moves around the ship a lot but prefers quieter spaces. Would ask if he can record you sleeping for "the preservation of historic cultural exchange between cybertronians and humans!" It is a genuine reason of his, but he doesn't mention the fact it's also cuz he thinks you're very cute dozing on him. It's a funny/sweet thought that there may be a recording of you sleeping on a minibot that exists thousands if not millions of years after you are gone.

Nautica: 4/10 I know she's sleek but I think it's doable to rest on her shoulders, might want to keep away from those propeller wings of hers but they don't seem to move much. Not excited about it, she cares about your well-being but it would feel like she's just babysitting you which isn't fun. Also, she wants to be up and at 'em with her science gang! But if the gang is chilling then, hey, she'll allow it, why not? Once they're off again she'll gently hand you over to another willing bot with a quick, whispered "Sorry!"

Velocity: 9/10 Again, sleek but doable, especially cuz she approaches your health with such a lovely intensity. If she can help the only human on-board feel a little more welcome whilst also benefitting their health, that's a double win in her book. Tell her if you need any sleep aids, she'd love to learn about how humans sleep and how to specifically aid you! Probably feels the most guilty out of all the medics about their lack of understanding on organic medicine so you asking to nap kinda helps her with that. Will try to be quiet but she is a doctor and won't ignore other patients.

Ravage: 0/10 lol no, he has disappeared before you can even ask. First of all, there's nowhere to sleep, laying on his back isn't an option cuz he won't sacrifice his movement for some human and you can't be held by him (no, not even in his jaw, getting dragged around like a sack of potatoes is not relaxing). Second of all, there's some prejudice against organics he needs to work on and even after all that, he isn't a cuddly kitty. So go on, keep pestering him, if you're persistent enough you might earn some cool new scars!

First Aid: 7/10 He'll let it happen, not too fussed. Definitely watches you as you sleep but it's for research, he swears! Very interested in how the human sleep cycle is different and/or similar to cybertronian recharge so don't be surprised if you wake up and the glow of his giant visor is the first thing you see. He is another medic, which means another fairly loud environment of bots being put back together. First Aid is quiet by himself but any noise caused by patients or fellow doctors he's going to assume you're fine with, why would you sleep on a medic if you weren't?

Riptide: 5/10 I spent a little too long staring at this guys shoulder plating and its still a maybe on if you could stay in one place. His back fin things would be great to sit against! However, if you can only nap laying down then there would be some difficulty. He would let you up without an issue, just helping a little guy have a little recharge, but he would 100% forget you are up there. Prepare to go flying. Or maybe just tie yourself to one of his plates. Other people would have to point out that you're on his shoulder when he gets that feeling of "Wait, I'm meant to be doing something for the human…"

Skids: 8/10 Chill about it, happy to be a napping perch even if he is quite an active bot. Really curious on how humans recharge but also mindful of the fact you just want some rest so you might catch him staring and hurriedly looking away a few times. If you nap on him enough, he knows exactly when you fall asleep and when you wake up, it would be kind of freaky if he wasn't so accommodating and quick to put a blanket over you or hand you some water. Tried to crawl in the vents with you napping once, went well for a while until you almost slipped off and cracked your head open, he never tells you this happened.

Ambulon: 4/10 He really hems and haws over this when you ask, he's uncomfortable with the idea but he knows Autobots are meant to love organics or whatever, especially humans. Eventually allows it but he picks you up with the tips of his fingers (trying to ignore the weird sensation) and angles his head as far away from you as is socially acceptable. Keeps an eye on you but its less out of concern for your well-being and more so he can see if you start picking at his paint or chewing his neck cables. He treats you like a feral creature but eventually loosens up when you don't do anything but…lay there sleeping.

Ok, I see why I picked the bots I did for the first part cuz after them, people start to have very complicated shoulders. (Also, I only finished reading mtmte like two months ago but I feel I'm already writing these guys out of character wth)

[hitlikehammers]

tremolo

…what if instead of learning clarinet or percussion, you could learn to read the music of hearts? 💕

rating: t ♥️ cw: love at first sight, car crash (off-screen), SUCH FLUFF ♥️ tags: ✨magical realism au, musician eddie munson, paramedic steve harrington, kinda soulmates (it makes more sense with the magical realism part), character study, softness

for @steddielovemonth day one: "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." —Plato

It was just like learning any instrument, really.

At least what they tried to convince Eddie to believe at the tender age of nine.

But it was all about finding an aptitude, apparently. Developing a talent. Fourth grade rolls around and he fucks up blowing with a reed, manages to give himself a tongue splinter. Nearly passes out on the brass. Ends up with the choir lady looking over horn-rimmed glasses and narrowing her eyes at him less like a teacher and more like a fortune teller or something, scrying what’s to come of him, like she can see through all that he is and will be, before she goes scribbling something on his little slip of paper already marking all the failed kinds of music he’ll never get to make and telling him: go to Room 011.

But no one ever goes to Room 011.

He meets a petite woman with mousy hair and clothes that look like they belong to someone else, somehow. She introduces herself as Miss L. She looks like a Miss L., so he doesn’t think any further on the point.

You will not play much, really, she tells him, and the way she talks is kinda funny, like she learned words but not from people actually saying them out loud. Eddie kinda likes it, though. The playing is only for emergencies, and if you find your True Note.

Eddie doesn’t know what most of that means, except for the fact that the whole point of trying—and failing—at all the instruments was to join the school band with something to play. So if that’s not what he’s going to learn, then what the heck is Eddie meant to be doing down here—is what he wants to ask.

He manages a little politer version of the same, his nan’d be proud. His dad wouldn’t care even if he was around and not behind bars. His uncle might be happy that Eddie’s kept his nose clean just this one time. So he figures he does okay.

But really, he just wants an answer. He was supposed to get to learn music. It was the one thing that was keeping this whole year feeling like he could maybe, maybe survive it.

It also means he doesn’t have to take the art class that’s mostly kindergarten crafts instead of real art, so.

“You will be learning music,” Miss L. answers, more patient than most grownups; “you are here to learn how to read the songs that hearts sing.”

And that is, by far, in all of his whole nine years of living, the most fucking absurd sentence that Eddie has ever heard.

——

He’d kinda thought it was a joke, when he left that first afternoon to get back before Language Arts.

Turned out: nope. It was not.

He’d maybe thrown something slightly less childish than a tantrum, when what he got was a big set of earphones and a box the size of an Easy-Bake Oven, where apparently he’d be playing some kind of recordings to start his lessons.

“Do you not wish to learn?” Miss L. asked so simply, and Eddie…

Eddie reminded himself that no matter how foolish and stupid this was, it couldn’t possibly be worse than making construction paper collages with Elmer’s glue, so.

He put the headphones on and pressed play.

——

His workbooks didn’t look like anyone else’s in band—in fact, Eddie didn’t think he was actually a part of the class band, like, he wasn’t expecting to play at the spring concert with the flutes and the trombones, anymore. When he had sheets of staves to fill out they didn’t have straight lines. He didn’t draw different circles with little flags and bridges connecting them. He…

“When there are no keys, and there is no time signature,” Miss L. had explained, and it took time to make any sense; “you are the rules, and you feel what is a melody,” she’d tapped something that feltbeautiful, like daffodils blooming, though Eddie couldn’t say why; “and what is a warning.”

And then she’d tapped again, and it clenched in Eddie’s chest like a tornado siren, and…yeah.

That was kind of the best explanation he could have asked for.

——

It’s in middle school, when everyone else gets new band directors while Eddie sticks with Miss L., that it starts to…well.

That’s when the fact that Eddie’s alone in his lessons, and no one seems to know quite what he does—and the other kids who get that kind of treatment are usually the ones who can’t add or spell right, who have some kind of problem to work on extra hard—but it’s around then that Eddie starts being called names for it.

It’s not too bad, at first. Eddie’s worked for his two full years of elementary school lessons to get through recognizing the songs, suffers the point where recognizing becomes unbearable, overwhelming—Miss L. never left his side when he held his head in pain for all the noise, all the songs because they were everywhere, in everyone, and how was he supposed to learn what was right and what was good and what was just okay but then what was also everything the opposite when he couldn’t even think—

But she taught him the tools, the ways to sift through the chatter, as she called it. Because not all of it was a warning; not all of it was bad just because it wasn’t beautiful.

Some of the noise just was.

She showed him how to trust his own ear; his own song in his own chest as a guide, because that’s why he was here: he had a gift, an aptitude, built in and in need of development. Liked they’d said in the beginning.

He’s nearly thirteen when she teaches him how to write his own songs, in the not-notes and the no-tempos. In the nameless flow of sound.

It’s when his classmates overhear one of those works-in-progress, the taunting gets worse, starts to hedge toward unbearable.

Until Eddie asks if he can just stop: quit this. It’s not worth it. He doesn’t want to be a freak.

“It is a rite of passage, to ask this,” Miss L. says slowly, no judgement, and weirdly no pity; “but I should tell you first,” and her eyes narrow more than Eddie thinks he’s ever seen them.

“Your skill is already greater than any I have seen, and is only getting sharper, more keen.”

And hell if a teacher’s ever said something niceabout Eddie Munson, let alone something that sounds like flat-out praise.

“They cannot hear the music, this is why they say those things,” she flicks her wrist less like conducting a chorus and more like shooing a gnat, like that’s the appropriate amount of consideration the comments deserve. “Your task has always been to teach them what they do not know, to show them the wonder they are ignoring as they live and breathe.”

And while it really would have been nice to know that before signing up for this…this what, calling? Vocation?

While that would’ve been nice, Eddie…Eddie can at least mostly understand he wouldn’t have understood any of it in the fourth grade.

He barely understands now.

But he can feel it. He understands how to feel the music that fills all those gaps.

“This is common,” Miss L. turns back to him, steeples her fingers while humming something from the radio: not bad, but not beautiful. That’s what she means, he realizes. The radio plays common.

“This,” and she puts a hand over her own chest and keeps time with her fingers on the tabletop as she hums a wholly novel thing out of thin air, and Eddie has never seen someone else recognize the music, has never watched someone compose in the veins where the songs that hearts sing are played, let alone in real time; maybe she never had because he had to lean for himself, first.

But it is kind of exquisite to witness.

“This,” she stops, and raises a brow pointedly in Eddie’s direction; “is human, built in your cells.”

Eddie couldn’t name why, precisely, but he feels…shamed, but also empowered. So different, but they make an almost compelling melody together as they clash.

“They will call you freak before they call you prodigy,” Miss L. says it like a fact, which…kinda sucks to hear, in all honesty.

“They will label you insane, before they recognize you as genius,” and the way she adds that part makes him feel like that was her personal burden to bear, and he aches for her in it.

“They will cry out garbage and nonsense,” and here, these words: these are the ones Eddie knows immediately he’s meant to be hearing, be weaving into notes the strongest, the ones she wants him to keep closest and never lose:

“They will cry out worthless,” she spits out with a venom he’s never heard her use; “before they will sob in the face of your masterworks, and how they will breathe magic in the soul.”

And…Eddie doesn’t know exactly what to do in the face of the conviction she says that last part with. To doubt it, as he instinctively wants to, feels vile; the most egregious disrespect. He can’t bring himself to even try. So, he asks instead, voice rough:

“When will it change?”

Because despite everything: he doesn’t want to be a freak.

“That I cannot say,” she sighs, and she does sound sorry; “and it may never change at all.”

Eddie doesn’t know if he’s built to handle that, the possibility of never.

“But even if you leave, here and now,” Miss L. cuts into his despairing; “even if you stop your learning, the songs will never leave you.”

Oh.

Oh, so did they…did they teach him to hear a endless goddamn curse, and as a fucking kid—

“You would always have come to hear them,” Miss L. must read his mind, or maybe just his face; “just never with any place to funnel the noise,” and he…guesses he should be grateful. He nearly went mad in those early years, before she taught him how to make new melodies, concertos the likes of which even the great masters hadn’t penned, because they played in a different medium. Their notes and structured time were useful, but limited.

And if they never heard otherwise, how would even the most brilliant talents know what they were passing over, leaving behind?

“Do you still wish to leave?”

Eddie turns, almost having forgotten Miss L. was still sitting there, watching him. Almost having forgotten what he’d come to ask, to give up.

There’s no question left, now.

He gets out his notebook, his pen, and starts as he always does.

With the listening.

——

It’s a genuine distraction—the songs get louder with time, but Miss L. tells him that’s a sign of his skill growing, his notice of the equivalents of key signatures and ligature notes in the heartbeats he passes every day—but it costs him passing senior year once, and then again, and almost a third time until by the skin of his teeth, he manages. While every other teacher shames him for it, derides him as incurably stupid, or at the very least unambitious to the point of embarrassment, the extra years mean more time with Miss L., and Eddie…most days, Eddie is nothing but thankful.

More time means Eddie also learns that the songs he hears are as much a public service as they are an art form, as much a defense mechanism as a craft. He knows when bullies are on the prowl, and to make himself scarce for their screeching cacophonies. He knows when he has to be less of a coward and step in when a wild rhythm makes him sick with its fear.

The more he pays attention to the not-quite-beautiful songs—especially when he thinks on them later and stumbles upon nuggets of the exquisite inside every way they weren’t—the more he remembers years ago, out of almost nowhere, but maybe…maybe everywhere, like it’d been written in his heart’s song the day she spoke it:

“My first day,” he enters the same room—not the same-same room but the one in the high school that’s as abandoned as all of them have been, always Room 011—but he enters the room close to the end of the year, the last year, with the question thick on his tongue, and woven the same in his song as he closes the door and feels his heartbeat quicken for no reason and every reason, like he’s long learned these songs always do.

Miss L., for her part, just nods; waits.

“You said,” Eddie rolls his lips together; “emergencies.”

It’s a delay tactic. They both know it.

She’s kind to play along.

“Mmm,” she hums; “the slightest bits, yes, you can shift the rules to change the song, because you made the rules to begin with,” she eyes him carefully, then. “But only by bits, and in only the most dire moments.”

Yeah, yeah, sure. He never thought he could like…write lines to coax a heart to sing itself back from the dead or some shit. He gets the point.

Again, they both know: that’s not the point he’s here for, heart pounding high in his throat.

“But then you also said something else.”

This time, she doesn’t nod at all; just stares. Eddie has to clear his throat twice to make a sound so as to ask:

“What’s a True Note?”

Because Eddie’s had a couple flings here and there. And the idea of anything real with someone else, alongside the weight of this…talent of his, this training that’s defined half his life by now: it’s really nothing more than a stray idea. But Eddie can’t really hide from the fact that, somewhere along the way, he’s suffused that idea with so much promise and potential, but with no legs for it to fucking stand on.

And he’s about to graduate. About to go out into the world and…who the fuck knows what.

He needs to either hold onto this insane, silly notion of some cosmic meant-to-be match waiting for him somewhere, that it’s at least possible, and then hold on to it like burning—or let it go, and get on with the rest of his fucking life.

“Do you know how I said you could sway the rhythm just the littlest bit, in the greatest of need?”

Of course he did. She literally just said it.

“Your True Note will sing like you have never heard before,” she tells him like it’s not something…immense; “and that song will sway your rhythm so much more than the littlest of anything.”

She just fucking says it, like it isn’t already swaying the rhythm his heart sings in. Here and now.

“That heartsong will change your world.”

And all Eddie can even think to ask, to make more plain in it, is just one thing:

“Will I change theirs, too?”

Miss L’s eyes lock to his and hold for enough seconds where it should be uncomfortable, where his chest starts to grow unbearably tight.

“Hmm,” she considers finally; “if it is meant to be that way.”

Eddie wants to scream. It’s not enough.

And still somehow, it will have to be.

——

In the months that follow his freedom, he misses Miss L. Kinda desperately.

But the lack of structure, the openness of knowing he has to find a way to piece together all the snippets of song he’s bombarded with: it is the reason he ever picks up a guitar. It’s the whole learning heartsongs thing that he has to thank for it, a roundabout journey toward the destination he’d wanted from the beginning.

Or else, that he thought he did.

It’s not just guitar, though. He eventually learns the woodwinds without ending up with a splinter in his mouth. Figures out the different harmonies at hand in making sure he tempers the way he breathes for the brass. He loves the piano, and the cello especially, alongside guitar and double bass: he makes a trip back home specifically to see her and ask—Miss L. tells him it’s probably because of their strings, like hearts have, too.

It feels right in a way things haven’t felt in a very long time.

Which is really how he comes to not only understand, but to accept in his bones: no matter if they ever call him prodigy or genius, if he ever plays a concert hall or anywhere but on a street corner with an open case for change, he was made for this; built for this. The woman with the horn-rimmed glasses who sent him to the basement music room saw it in him. Miss L. proved it to him by teaching him to prove it to himself. He doesn’t know if he’d have picked it, but he knows it was never something he could have picked or turned down in the first place at all: it’s who he is.

He is the music. He is the songs that hearts use for singing. And maybe someday he’ll meet someone who sees it in him, and hears his song, and sings ecstatic. Maybe.

He hopes.

But either way: this is his life.

This is his melody.

——

It takes years before they do sob for his masterpieces, for them to be ready for a style and cadence they don’t understand because they will never comprehend the language, that speaks deeper than the logic required for any of those rules. It takes a long fucking time before they start listening with the lens of the first song any of them ever learned. But the time does come, and Eddie is grateful, because he’d genuinely feared the maybe-never he’d been warned about. He’s glad that’s not where he is, now.

But now? Things start to happen almost unbearably fast. Shows here and flights there, guest appearances and interviews, record labels and live recordings, a book deal he can’t even begin to think about. The world tips on its axis and Eddie only really considered that happening to him for one reason: because of a song so beautiful, in a Note so True—this isn’t that.

But everything still feels upside down anyway; totally off-kilter.

He’s crossed ten time-zones this time. He’s exhausted, but he has a performance tonight, just like he did in the tonight of the place he just left. The car he’s in on his way to the next venue is sleek, like they all are now; his team is already there preparing, so it’s just him and some local hires he hasn’t even had a chance to learn the names of yet, which he hates. He hates being privy to their songs and not even knowing their names, let alone their stories.

He jots the notes he gleans from how they sing without their words on the drive across town anyway. Waste not, and all that.

Eddie has the pen in hand, cap between his teeth, when the truck plows straight into them.

What follows would be unsurprising, if Eddie could process it from a bystander’s point of view—as it is, the only thing he knows in the melee is the music.

He is devastated, as he reaches out for the slowing songs around him, knowing in the back of his mind what their slacking tempos mean, and marveling with something like horror at how beautiful each one is as it starts to fade: still unique, still something Eddie could braid into a piece, certainly one to draw tears.

His own song is ebbing, he knows, but it’s less important than the sweet melodies around him, especially—

Oh.

Eddie thinks, with what may be the last thought left to him as pressure and heat and pain tingle at the edges of the music, almost too strong now to be drowned out by the notes that are what Eddie is at his core: but he thinks he may be too far gone already, because what he begins to hear is…

Exultant. It’s…

If Eddie believed in a heaven, this would be what the hosts there sang. When the idea of divinity is bandied about, they can only ever be talking about some cheap imitation of what Eddie hears now. Luminous. Effervescent.

Beautiful in a way that exceeds the word itself so deeply that it barely fits, obliterates the notion on sight.

And what a gift, Eddie muses as everything dims to black, to hear such Notes, such perfect music as the last thing he has to hold onto in the end.

To end on something that’s True.

——

The next tones Eddie hears are mechanical. He winces—not bad but certainly not beautiful—and then winces harder because wincing itself fucking hurts.

He holds himself still, seeks the song he knows in his own veins: yes, and he’d been so sure it was gone, because there’d be an accident, a crash, he’d been thrown, crushed, songs all around him were dying and he’d heard the magnificent symphony of otherworldly perfection so—

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” a voice interjects, or no: drips in leisurely, like comfort, like honey; “because you’re a patient, and I’m,” and Eddie forces his eyes open to see the voice come out of a man, who is pointing at his chest: a uniform. Medical.

“I’m not dead?”

All signs do point that direction but…Eddie had been kinda fairly sure he was done for.

“God,” the man chokes like he’s pained, like the idea hurts him, and why; “no,” and he says that a little fiercely, protective almost; “though not for lack of an effort.”

He looks tired, as Eddie’s vision starts to clear some more. He looks radiant. Exquisite.

Beautiful.

“You saved me?”

Because Eddie clocks the uniform now: paramedic. The ones who come onto the scenes and try like hell to save who they can. Heroes.

“I helped,” the beautiful man says, like a hero would, of course. But…it still doesn’t make sense. If the man does this for his job, then Eddie isn’t special, so then why is he so vehement, and then what of all the fading songs Eddie remembers, because Eddie had heard—

“What about,” he starts, but there’s a hand over his quickly, soothing.

“Everyone’s here, different wards,” the hero-beauty tells him in lows tones; “we don’t know if they’ll all make it through the night, but,” he nods, like…this is enough.

And it is. Except…

“How?”

And where Eddie is baffled, his hero just quirks a brow.

“Don’t tell me you never covered emergencies?” he asks skeptically. “Most dire moments, greatest of need?”

And it’s with those words that Eddie’s world slows very quickly to a halt. The music swells in a way he’s never known: because it’s always present to hear.

Buts it’s never been so tangible to feel, not like this, and with such…magnificence, no lesser word could touch it. Maybe he truly is closer to death than not, maybe that’s the reason for the fervor in this man he doesn’t know—the choirs of the angels Eddie wasn’t banking on swells and is visceral, and this hero sits before him, speaks the words that have haunted Eddie more days of his life than not, and—

“This was where the music took my life,” the man pulls at his collar, indicative again: the heroism. He…he saves people, because he, he also hears…

“But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His hand on Eddie’s tightens, like gratitude, and Eddie…gapes like a fucking fish, and then—

“There’s something else.”

“Not just here to check up on the fruits of your medical miracle?” Eddie’s tongue feels heavy, thick in his mouth; he feels sluggish all over, weighted down and like he can barely move because…this man hears the music that hearts make.

Can he hear the ineffable beauty, like Eddie can? He must, that’s how it works, so why is he not in the same amount of awe—

“Not just,” the man smiles small, but real, a little hesitant. A little…shy, maybe, before he straightens, leans a little closer.

“Watch that screen,” and he tracks Eddie’s gaze until Eddie’s fixed upon the ECG, the most disappointing distillation of the songs he’s learned to find so much wonder in.

But then the man is pressing Eddie’s hand to his own chest, which…is forward, given they don’t even know each other.

Eddie is maybe still on, or at least just-recently-off, death’s door, and either way he’s fucking thrilledwith this development, warm beneath his palm.

“Now count.”

It only takes a moment, to put the gestures together into a statement.

The beat under his touch matches the line across the screen. Exactly.

But this man’s not the one attached to the monitor.

“Got it?”

Eddie nods, and the man doesn’t hesitate, lifts Eddie’s hand and presses it back to Eddie’s own chest.

“Again.”

And that’s…that’s not the same rhythm as the one on the screen; the songs don’t match at all.

But Eddie can still hear the one that does—the beauty. The exaltation.

“Can you,” Eddie asks, lifts his finger that’s got a clip on it, and the man’s a professional, he’ll understand—looks less than conflicted about disconnecting Eddie from wires and leads before clipping his own finger and letting the screen shift to a new cadence.

The same one under Eddie’s hand, in Eddie’s own chest.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” the man barely breathes, and Eddie notices now how intense his eyes are, focused solely on Eddie, and…Eddie remembers the words that came after the ones about emergencies. About how little he could help, but that he could still do something.

But with only one person, it could be—

“You didn’t just sway my rhythm,” Eddie half-gasps; “you made it your own.”

And oh: Eddie never tied the song of hearts to the song of laughter, but from this man, the huff of incredulous joy that slips from him now—they’re made wholly of the same stuff.

Symphonic. Staggering. Weeping to feel this much, in the soul, to be privy to such a…

Masterpiece.

“Worked both ways, it seems.”

“I heard you,” Eddie blurts out, because it makes sense now; “before I, when I thought I was,” dying, when he thought it was all over; “like I’ve never heard anything before.”

And now: of course this man hears the heavenly movement Eddie thought was a mercy before the end but was instead the arrival of everything he’d ever hoped to one day find, literally coming to rescue him in more ways than one; but that song is somehow commonplace to this unfathomable angel on the earth.

And what this man hears stronger, louder, dearer seems somehow to be Eddie, the song he sings from the chest, in how it’s causing those caramel eyes to glimmer, and to barely blink lest they miss something in just…Eddie.

“You never stopped,” the man says with urgency, with feeling; “your song never stopped,” and then he’s closing his eyes and laying both his hands over his own chest, where Eddie’s heartsong is ringing full and maybe changing his world, because the song in Eddie’s chest sure as hell has already changed his, and—

“It’s extraordinary.”

And Eddie, in years of ridicule, in months of celebration, in all the ups and downs and doubts and hopes this life of songs and hearts and rhythms and beats has left him with, in all of it—

Those two words rewrite his whole fucking being.

“True Note,” Eddie mouths more than speaks before he scoffs; “shit, but that seems like a really fucking inadequate thing to call it,” and his eyes lift to take in the man who he knows, he knows is going to be his magnum opus, or more: is going to write the magnum opus they will be and breathe and share from here to all ends:

“To call you.”

And there’s the clearest sense of a trip in a beat, but who it belongs to isn’t clear, and maybe that’s the reality for them both now: every subtlety of the song is now shared, now theirs.

“You could start with Steve.”

Eddie looks up, breath a little heavy, but the smile on the man’s face is broad and kind of overjoyed, kind of looks like Eddie’s chest feels:

“My name’s Steve.”

And that?

Best damn title for a symphony Eddie’s ever fucking heard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @rebellatlas @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here

[dailysquiddo]

but what if she was a superhero-ish guy. what then. what would you do then

[sketchybusiness4130]

gonna just use this as a little jumping off point to list all the cool and odd abilities the cast has (in the books and dairies, at least)

Roseabella is able to sense others' emotions, this is only featured in her diary but damn if its not cool

Cerise is able to hide and jump throughout the shadows (i believe this ability is granted due to her cloak)

Darling is indeed able to slow time by flicking her hair over her shoulders, but this only affects those looking at her. the students use her power to their advantage in the second book by looking away/covering thier eyes and then get the things done in a very speedy manner as the teachers and apple are stuck in slow mo

Dexter, by taking off his glasses cause those around him to swoon, presumably this only affects girls

Daring has his blinding smile. I've heard some debait in the past over if this is a real ability, but im gonna classify it as one since it also blends in pretty well with his siblings' abilities

Ashlyn can talk to animals, and in the books, if she's late(?) for anything, her clothes turn into rags. not much of a plus tbh

in the books, Hunter often tears off his shirt and strikes a heroic pose and invisible trumpets blair when he does this... It's definitely one of if not the weirdest one out of the bunch

Maddie can do anything she puts her mind to so long as she doesnt know that its actually impossible, such as jumping from a high location, boncing upon hiting the ground and then leaping through the air to crash land into apple and ravens room(i might be misremembering the exact circumstances 4 this example)

Kitty is able to disappear and reappear within thin air by smiling. She has to smile for this ability to work. also, she is able to.. open a wormhole( reminiscent of a smiling's fanged mouth) to look through and speak to the person on the other side?? presumably, she can only use this to speak with her mother, another cheshire.

Lizzie is able to construct practically anything out of cards?

Duchess is able to dance across water as if its land, along with being able to change between a swan and human form at will

Bunny can also switch between human and animal form, im sure you can guess what animal

Blondie is able to unlock ANYTHING she touches. No lockpins nor keys required

for both poppy and holly, their hair grows constantly and they both have to trim thier hair veryyy often

Justine has the "gift of eternal dance," which runs in her family and causes her to dance in her sleep. after finally discovering that she's been doing this she going to be able to "learn how to control it" what ever that means

Nina is able to grow and shrink her size from very small to big and back again

Melody is able to control people and rats with muisc

Hopper turns into a wellspoken frog anytime he gets tongue tied and can inly be turned back to his human form by a kiss

jillian beanstalk... is normal??? there's next to nothing on her just in general much less info on what kinda of power she may or may not have

cupid has a magic bow and arrows that if someone is shot with will cause the person to fall in love with the first thing they see. Cupid is adopted and according to monster high very much not an actually cupid, but presumably, she was able to grow a special flower that only cupids can grow. we dont actually see her grow these, only hand them out, so its up in the air if shes actually able to grow them herself or her father sent them to her

Meeshell is able to turn from "human" to mermaid upon touching water. this isn't actually an inborn ability, but due to a spell being miscasted(from her book, pretty good read and clears some stuff up 👍)

Cedar is unable to lie and compulsively tells the truth. this was a spell/curse cast on her after being made by her father

wow that was a lot of characters! but theres a few more still..

first up for the magic users is Raven Queen! she doesn't have the best grasp on ur magic but gets the handle on it after signing the book and freeing everyone from their previously set in stone destinies. her main problem before hand was being able to use her magic for good. ALSO flowers wilt upon her touch, nearly forgot about that

Faybelle is able to fly, bc she has wings and also has magic. she's only able to channel it by doing hexleading chants like 2 4 6 8 who do we appreciate. has to rhyme basically, same with other examples of magic, but the way that she goes about it is pretty unique, and I love it

crystal has winter magic but has to be channeled through a special wand. Potentially, anyone could use said magic if they had the wand, but this is unconfirmed.

Farrah is a fairy just like faybelle but needs a wand to do her magic. can do some pretty powerful stuff but anything she casts can only last till 12, be it am or pm. She grants wishes pretty much and can even turn back time

no clue if ginger is actually able to do anything special but we can assume shes able to do magic as well due to her heritage.

I think I've got everyone here. But I don't have time to double check cause I have work o7

Need more fics of people actually using their weird ass powers in eah like, darlings time slowing hair flick ? Briars enhanced hearing (while asleep though I feel bad for her) hell even apples weird 'charm' thing to get people to do good stuff, is good based on general consensus or apples intent?

Obligatory gif featuring raven queen

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[katierosefun]

okay so now that i’ve officially finished watching leverage i just want to say that maybe i’m obsessed with this show on multiple levels and something about how it hits so many itches in that it’s about found family and it’s about fucking over bad, rich guys (no billionaire bootlicking in this show! and i fucking love it) and it’s also about how sometimes the bad guys are the only good guys you get and it’s also about how we are all stronger together it’s about how at the start of this show, we have all of these characters who are largely used to working alone and being alone and yet the show concludes that ultimately, we are better when we are together and by being together, we might be able to leave something behind that is bigger and brighter for the next people in our generation and no man is an island and no person is meant to beat goliath on their own or whatever

[cetoddle]

some people are so mean for no reason. which i knew. but still.

[loderlied]

mmm essay about sally and kid gort in the tags (cw for child abuse, mentions of suicide, animal cruelty and a murder attempt. i always hope i don’t have to say this but just in case: i don’t excuse or condone any of her or gort’s behaviour at all.) this is literally not even touching upon everything i have to say because i hit the fucking tag limit lmao. NOBODY READ IT’S BAD BRAINSTORMING I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT OUT SOMEHOW

[imminent-danger-came]

Nimoma has good emotional payoff and animation but nothing else to really write home about TBH

It's very SPOP in that way, where the arcs and scenes are solid when viewed outside of the media in gifset or clip form but don't work as well when actually watching what they're from

For sure! I think that's a problem she-ra and toh both share with Nimona—they struggle with setup but then go ham on the payoff, which leaves everything feeling somewhat unearned.

The end of the movie bugged me in particular—Ballister's 180 with calling Nimona a monster (something he KNOWS pushes her to the brink) after one conversation with his ex-boyfriend was...I think out of place?

Normally if you have a character make a wrong choice like that you, as the audience, would be questioning the whole movie if they had ever REALLY changed. Was Ballister's loyalty truly to Nimona or to the Institute/Goldenloin? But, by that point in the movie they had really sold me on Ballister's complete acceptance of Nimona and disregard of the institute, so....why would he turn on Nimona then? I'm surprised they didn't do this plot the other way, which would instead have only made it seem like Ballister betrayed Nimona, you know? Like they did in Tangled. That way you don't undo Ballister's movie long arc with one scene, but you can still have Nimona go berserk and make her way into the heart of the city.

There were also a couple of other things that felt kinda dropped by the end. Ballister being the first commoner to become a knight? The Queen's important role in this society? This kingdom's prejudice going SO deep that not even a child would give Nimona a chance after saving their life, yet blowing up the wall changed everyone's minds in the end?

There were a lot of good pieces, but they weren't quite put together in the right ways.

[egg2k16]

This may be the depression speaking + the earliest trauma I've ever gone thru (completely accidental as well), but I think it's kinda pointless to give me gifts. I have clothes that still fit me and are in excellent condition. I have shoes. I have a sizeable movie collection (that tbf I can always add to), and all the books I'd want. I don't paint anymore so it's useless giving me art supplies. And unfortunately even giving me money is hilariously pointless bcus I'm not even gonna spend it on anything, I'm just gonna put it into my savings account and keep living day by day as I do: doing nothing...interesting

[changelingeyes]

think i might have to do rewrites on the Lazy fic,, the more i think about it the more i think that maybe tiffany and changeling’s friendship isn’t actually a good one

[axvwriter]

This is pointing out to me another element that I might relate to Kalim with but I hate that element thus I don’t like Kalim-

The idea that there’s a lot of basic things he may not know how to do but no one’s willing to teach him.

There’s things I want to know how to do but when I try to ask how to do it, the most common answer I get is “it wasn’t as easy to do back in my day”. So I guess I have to figure it out myself and I don’t even get to hear how they figured it out back then?!

The always happy act is something that interests me as a character trait, but I guess there’s a few too many upsettingly relatable things about Kalim that I rather ignore him.

Hearing the more analyzed and/or the more depth about Kalim’s character is something I feel like I need to hear or I’m going to keep trying to label him as annoying idiot.

Can we please talk about how tone deaf and horribly ableist a lot of Kalim's fandom characterisation is 😭

Like he's portrayed as a complete incompetent moron, an utterly useless idiot because... he doesn't get good grades or understand schoolwork, he misreads social cues/situations, he's happy all the time, and he can't do certain things by himself.

Wow

Why is it so hard to understand that your that your academic performance or understanding has nothing to do with how smart you are? And neither is your ability to read social situations. I don't even need to get started on not being able to do things yourself because that applies to so many disabilities and disabled people are thought of as stupid or useless or both.

And of course, there's the idea he's an utterly naive dumbwit who can't sense danger or has any worry about it. Have you. Have you not heard of... acting. Or trying to push the fear down. Which I think Kalim does.

He has literally talked about how people have tried to assassinate him. He has literally been poisoned. He has experienced that danger. He is afraid. He doesn't allow anyone but Jamil to make his food. That's a pretty good sign, considering he was, again, poisoned.

Leave Kalim alone please 😭

[arolesbianism]

Horrible realization that if I go through with recollecting all the oni logs then I'll have to actually find out how to get "a seed is planted" like for realsies this time. Maybe I should just cheat them all in actually. <3.

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[pogbur]

me an my sister have so many parallels to ccrime its scaring me. i learned nothing.