#mirror mirror on the wall heh

[myartsing]

Staring at the man in the mirror

[ennabear]

⭑ SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE ⋆˚ ༘ *

ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ themes of jealousy, porn w/ plot, ellie is lowkey a bad gf (she makes up for it in the end i swear), hate sex w rockstar!ellie, dom!r, brat!ellie (heh, get it?), slapping + spanking, ruined orgasm, based on sympathy is a knife by charli xcx, somewhat projecting here because i’m an insecure overthinker oops, brat summer challenge entry for my oomfies, check out everyone else’s entries and consider joining the server!! fank yewwwwq!!! 18+

🍏 wc: 2.5k ++ divider creds

✮ don’t wanna see her backstage at my girlfriend’s show. ✮

the crowd was crushing you from all sides, a wave of sweaty, drunk strangers all packed tightly together. girls surrounding you were wearing short skirts and low-cut tops, all cheering for your girlfriend.

your girlfriend.

this was one of the cons of dating a rockstar, sure ellie made lots of money, sure you were her one and only muse, sure she only had eyes for you, didn’t she? but this enraged you, the way they all screamed at her like you weren’t even there. begging her to take her shirt off, play them a song, and especially the way she always followed their orders.

you sigh, turning around to squeeze to the back of the crowd, muttering a few ‘scuse me’s and ‘pardon’s. the smell of sweat and weed infects your lungs, causing you to cover your face with your elbow. stumbling over your feet, you finally land on a barstool, asking the bartender for a glass of ice water. ellie notices your absence, scanning the crowd for you, her gaze being met with thirsty glances all around.

the cool water soothes the rage boiling in your stomach ever so slightly. your heart is still pounding, hands shaking, feet tapping the floor. thoughts of self-hatred plague your mind at a million miles per hour, a wild voice that tears you completely apart…

“where the hell did you go?” ellie’s annoyed voice cuts through your mind. you jump.

“sorry,” you trail off. “i got too hot.”

“man… you should’ve seen the way those girls in the front row were screaming.” she beams, a glistening smile creeping up on her expression. “almost blew the fuckin’ roof off.”

you don’t respond to this, instead looking down into your drink and swirling the ice around with your straw. “you gonna come backstage?” she asks. “or sit here and pout.”

“i dunno, els. i’m kinda ti-” she cuts you off by pinching the apple of your cheek, grinning at you like you’re a trophy. a grammy, in her mind. “knew you’d say yes.”

another wave of rage crashes over you, a chill running down your spine. ellie’s tattooed hands grab your wrists, dragging you with her as if you’re a lost puppy. you don’t let it get to you though, letting it simmer as she drags you from the bar, and trying to ignore it once you slump onto the cracked leather couch.

maybe it’s just the sour mood you’re in, but the sudden change of environment makes your stomach churn. the paint chipping off of the walls makes your skin crawl, the lights surrounding the mirror are faded and yellow, the air in the room is stale and smells of body odor and piss. it’s uncomfortable all around.

ellie doesn’t notice this, of course. too lost in her own jabber about the show to pay any mind to you. a knock on the door halts your thoughts again. “ellie?” someone asks.

“yeah?” she calls back, throwing her shirt into her bag and lighting a cigarette.

“are ‘ya decent? i brought a few girls from the pit. they’re gonna kill me if you don’t open this door.”

your jaw falls open involuntarily. the audacity strikes you in your burning heart. the audacity. the audacity to shove other girls in ellie’s face while she barely even loves you.

once again, ellie pays no mind to this, swinging the door open and presenting her bare chest to the small group of girls peeking in from the hallway. your jaw clenches, you wish so badly she would say no for once. that she would forget about the fame and the money and take you on a god damn date.

in a moment of defeat, you cross your fingers behind your back. praying to some god, any god, that this moment ends soon. and with your luck, it doesn’t. you’re cramped in this small, crappy room, watching the love of your life converse with girls who are so much prettier than you.

and they’re so much prettier. they all have silky hair that cascades down their backs and and finishes with a little curl. expensive earrings and bracelets, full faces of completely untouched makeup, not even a single smudge or stain. shoes that cost more than your house, perfume that smells better than the bouquets of flowers ellie used to buy for you. you couldn’t even be them if you tried.

laughter breaks out between ellie and the girls. she nudges you in the side as a hint to start laughing along, but you bite your lip and look down, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. you can’t hear anything, so jealous you feel like you might faint.

ellie smiles and stands up, patting you on the knee as she does. you don’t follow, instead watching through blurred vision as she ushers the girls out of the door. tears fall from your eyes and you grimace, holding your head in your hands and starting to sob.

“do you wanna tell me what the fuck just happened?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing in anger. you don’t respond. you can’t. how are you supposed to tell her you’ve been spiraling because she’s been eye-fucking other girls? when she hasn’t even kissed you in days? and when was the last time she said i love you? why hasn’t she noticed?

“hello?” she shouts. “what the fuck is going on with you? why haven’t you been talking to me?”

“why haven’t i been talking to you? i don’t know, maybe because you’re too busy feeling up other girls in front of me?” you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. your eyeliner is streaming down your face, and suddenly your band tee and jeans feel improper.

“when’s the last time you’ve asked me about my day, ellie? i talk to you all the time. i help you write songs, i listen to you talk about your gigs, i clean your ass up when you come home drunk out of your mind.” you trail off, looking up at her to see a broken, almost confused look.

“you can’t at least pretend to appreciate the things i do for you?” she scowls, cornering you in the small dressing room. “you can’t even grit your teeth and fucking lie in front of my band? in front of my friends? i work my ass off providing for both of us and i don’t even get a thank you?”

“you don’t mean it…” you sob, absolutely sure that anyone outside of this room can hear the screaming match between you two. ellie scowls, your favorite green eyes are no longer soft and reassuring, but instead sharp. dangerous, almost.

“why do i have to share the space, ellie? did i do something wrong? did i-” you’re cut off by the door slamming shut. the mirror rattles behind you, shaking your reflection for a second.

what do you do now, sit here and cry? or will that only make it worse? a knock on the door soothes your racing heart. “you okay in there?” it was ellie’s assistant, the same guy who rounded up those girls earlier. “i- yeah?” your voice shakes as you answer. you go so cold.

he enters the room, sitting on the chair next to you. “we’re packing up the busses. you’d better hurry up before we leave you here.” how could you be mad at him? some sweet old guy who cares about you more than ellie does. you pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to form. “i don’t know if i belong here anymore.”

the comfort isn’t much, but you’ll take what you can get right now. you let a few tears fall, tear ducts already exhausted and drained. “don’t cry, kiddo. you’re both still young, she’s just going through something right now.”

somehow, this makes it worse. your cheeks heat up, that same anger stirring in your veins. “cmon, let me walk you out before they forget us both.” he laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you exit through the back of the building.

ellie is waiting for you in her bus, wearing an old beat up tank top and some sweats. she refuses to meet your eyes, her newly reformed ego letting her think that she’s too good to give an apology. you quickly change clothes, replacing your band tee with a sports bra and scrubbing off your smudged eyeliner.

she comes up behind you as you wash your face, completely ignoring you as she picks up a pair of scissors and starts snipping at her shaggy hair. the bathroom suddenly feels too small, like the walls are closing in on you. “so you’re still too good for an apology?” you ask.

“sorry.” she mumbles monotonously.

you turn and look at her. no, you glare at her. the attitude she’s had lately is almost jarring. here your once sweet, loving girlfriend stands. neglecting you for months, complaining to her friends about you, making you cry, embarrassing you in front of everyone she knows. this isn’t like her at all.

that rage boils up inside of you again. red-hot, vicious anger that scorches your insides and washes over you like a violent midnight hurricane. before you can even think, the palm of your hand is smacking her at lightning speed. her jaw falls open involuntary, eyes piercing into you.

that felt good. so, so good. you wiped that smug off of her face real quick. with your hand still raised, you grab her by the neck of her shirt— ripping a hole into the thin, flimsy fabric— and bend her over the sink.

“this’s how you wanna treat me, huh?” you laugh, out of exhaustion or relief, you aren’t sure. her pants slip off as soon as you tug them down, palming her bush beneath her boxers before you snag them off too.

“i- i’m…” she stammers. “i’m sorr-!!” you cut her off, pulling her back by the roots of her hair.

“i’ll show you how it fucking feels.” you punctuate this by sending your hand down to slap her ass, leaving a glowing red handprint on her pale skin. she grips the sink, whining loudly at the smack but deciding not to talk back, she might make it worse.

“that hurt?” you tease, rubbing over the area you hit. ellie bites her lip, not wanting to admit that it stung. she heaves a sigh, muttering a quick no.“no? not yet? guess we’ll have to go harder.” you smirk evilly. she gasps at this, but it’s too late. now she’s wincing at the slap, back arching into you as you palm at her ass.

“please!!” she begs. “i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!!” tears roll down her face, she looks just as pathetic as you did back in that dressing room. “what would those other girls think if they saw you like this right now?”

she doesn’t answer, instead her cheeks turn a bright beet red. one of your hands lifts her head up by her hair, angling her face to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. she can’t help but gawk at her expression, tears rolling down her face, lips pink and sore from being chewed on.

“one more? or are you gonna apologize now.” her lips pull back into a grimace at the thought of getting another smack from one of your heavy hands.

“i’m sorry.” she admits shyly. “i’ve been an asshole. i’m sorry and i mean it.” you slide two fingers into her dripping hole as she spews out her apology. she groans, gripping onto your wrist that just released itself from her scalp.

the pleasure soon overtakes the pain, and the stinging of her ass goes almost numb as your fingers reach deeper than ever. her lips quiver as she tries to hold back her moans, cunt practically sucking your fingers in.

her eyes roll back into her head as you pound into her, slick dripping down your fingers and wrist. she looks pathetic like this. now her own makeup is smudged and runny, she’s the one begging for forgiveness. “ohh, god, please!! right there.” she sputters, eyebrows furrowing as she gets closer and closer to finishing.

it doesn’t take much to please her, with two fingers massaging her g-spot and your teeth in her neck, she’s about to cum her brains out. she doesn’t, though. as soon as you notice the telltale twitch of her thighs, you pull your fingers out. she groans at the loss, cunt squeezing and clenching, desperately trying to get off without you.

“is that how you like it now? being neglected and completely left in the dark?” her head shakes, she wants to scream at you for ruining this for her, but she knows deep down that she deserves it. “keep going, please. i swear i’ll be so good. isweariswearisw-” you yawn, helping her pull her boxers back on.

“i dunno, ellie. i’m not sure you deserve it yet.” you sigh. “plus, i’m kinda sleepy.” once she’s dressed, you turn to leave. sliding the door shut behind you and flopping onto the small bed in the back of the trailer.

ellie takes a second to sit and think, and now she really realizes what she’s done. that her ego and crave for fame has gotten in the way of her love. as soon as your hands left her body, it was like she could feel herself losing you in real time.

the faucet squeaks as she turns the handle, splashing some cold water on her cheeks, and it mixes with her tears. what if you leave her? what if you leave her and it’s her fault? what if you showed her countless signs that you were feeling unloved and she completely ignored it? did she do that? now it’s her turn to spiral, to fall down the rabbit hole of insecurity and have to claw herself out with no support at all.

her body is starting to overheat, she peels her sweaty shirt off and throws it in front of her, soothing herself with the cold tile on the floor. she realizes how distant she’s been, how much she’s taken you for granted. maybe sympathy isn’t a knife, it’s a double-edged sword.

a few painful minutes later, she exits the bathroom and lays down beside you, curling into your side and sighing heavily. you can sense her unpleasant mood, but you still don’t really feel bad for her. not after how she’s made you feel.

and then she sits up and she kisses you for the first time in months. a real kiss, not a peck or a bite. her lips press against yours, she tastes the same, sweet and a little bit throaty. soft lips roam around yours, remembering how it feels to be intimate in such a way. to be loved. “i’m sorry.” she whispers on top of your lips. “i really am. do i get another chance?”

maybe sympathy isn’t a knife, it’s a double-edged sword.

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being in a secret relationship with the one and only Gojo Satoru.

Imagine sitting in a bar, colored light pointed everywhere as you silently stare at your surroundings. Casually taking a sip of your drink as you lean back on your seat, head bobbing up and down along the music. How boring.

"He's been staring at you ever since we came here." "Who?" You raise a brow but did not spare your friend a glance and proceeds to take another sip of your drink. It was sweet, alcoholic but sweet. "Gojo Satoru from business department, you know. That guy with white hair, blue eyes-" "And the one who always wears tinted glasses, right. Who wears that indoors and not to mention at midnight." You chuckle, setting your empty cup down before standing up. "Gotta go to the bathroom."

Imagine looking at the mirror, your own reflect staring at you as you turn your face to the side to take a good look at your features. Unlike the other day there your hood and glasses would hide away your face, it was one of those days where you feel like stepping out of your shell and have fun. Well, more like to pissed off your boyfriend that was surely waiting for you out of the door. Making sure you're presentable as you arrived, you take one last glance in the mirror before walking your way out in the bathroom.

"Hey there." There was your boyfriend in his fitted white shirt that was hugging his body so well his well toned body could be seen. "Why hello to you too, Gojo." You smile at him before walking past him, if only he didn't block you on your way back into your friend's table. "No baby, you ain't going anywhere." He said as he grab a hold of your wrist pulling you at the back as you just stare at him in amusement, looking around for a moment only to find his best friend, Suguru shaking his head at the scene of you two before looking away like it was none of his business.

"So?" You cross your arms, looking directly at his eyes underneath those tinded glasses he was wearing. Something you will never understand at the same time you do kind of appreciate it. Because you know as soon as he remove that, people would be all over him, going crazy at his baby blue eyes. "What please do I owe you?" "You told me you're going out for some fun, what are you doing here?" "Pfffff" "Why are you laughing?" "I think it's funny how much a lo- heh, how someone like you could meddle in my life like this."

Imagine the way he flinch under your watch, his jaw tense as his hand curl into a fist. "What?" You laugh, one hand reaching out to touch and trace his jaw. "Are you mad, Satoru?" You chuckle before your hand travel on the back of his head and tugging him down harshly so he was on the same level as you. At the same time, his other hand lean on the wall for support, his glasses on the tip of his nose on the verge of fallling. This time, he was glaring at you like crazy. "Remember this is your arrangement not mine and just like how you don't want me to meddle with yours, I advice you not to meddle with mine to or who knows what could possibly happen." You push him away, about to walk of but he just won't move.

Imagine it's not like you wanted this to happened. He was the one who wanted to keep your relationship a secret, the one who said you cannot meddle with each out in public. And to be honest it's not that you didn't see where he was coming from, you were just this normal person, one among the crowd in the campus. Living differently from him who lived so well off along side his buddies. He was the heir into the Gojo industries. And you, you're just you, someone who have nothing to lose, nothing to offer.

"Move." You repeat when he doesn't move, trapping you between him and the wall. "Satoru move, others are starting to look." You whispered, gripping on his close before taking a deep breathe and relax. You tap him twice in the chest, refusing an eye contact as you gently push him away. Going in this bar was definitely a bad idea. You shouldn't have come out of pettiness. "Satoru, your fiancée is about to get over here, move." As soon as he said that, you felt him when stiff before immediately pulling away from you. "Well talk later." "You're coming home with her, we have nothing to talk about." "(First name)-" "Come to think about it. It's about time." "What do you-" "I'm done being your secret, goodbye Satoru." "... wait-" "Satoru!"

Imagine without thinking too much about it, you walk back in your booth like nothing happened and immediately drown yourself with more drinks. It's not like you don't understand where he was coming from. You knew that he loves you. You knew that damn well that he was hurting too. But while he got the whole world around his palm, you only have him. You only have him yet you cannot even call him mine. You're tired. You love him but you're tired.

Imagine if you knew that loving him would hurt like this. You would have turn the other way around the first time you saw him. Loving him was a losing game. "Hey, thats enough."

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

The Fun Kind of Sparring Pt. 2

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x Reader

(Aka minors do NOT interact with this post)

A/N: Sooooooo… did ya miss me?? Heh. My down stairs brain has been exercised, that’s for sure. Took five but now I’m trying to change lives 💪

Anyways, as always, all interaction, especially commentary/tags, is extremely appreciated! It really makes my day to hear that people like what I’m putting out there.

Content Warning: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ If you thought the last one was diddle-that-skittle-worthy, this one… I think I’m going to need to take a cold shower. I mean, my man doesn’t stop talking. I will say he’s really sweet to the reader. A few things he says sound more like him in canon, but overall he’s really sweet. Look, guys, life is lifing rn so I just needed a sweet hot old man to talk me through it 🤷‍♀️

****************************************************

Previously on The Fun Kind of Sparring

"Good girl," he praises, and it's all I can do not to keen. I have to be soaked through my shorts by now, there's no way. "Well, what l'd do next... that's simple. I'd fuck her until she cried, and then I'd keep going. And I'd keep going until the only thing she can remember is my name, until she's gooey and clingy and a sweet little fucked out thing, all for me," he finishes, his grin from before returning back to his face. I'm losing it. I can't think straight. And yet- he's still waiting for me to make the first move. Son of a bitch.

"O-okay," I clear my throat, unable to find my senses. "And if that hypothetical girl was me?" We both know it's me, I just need to hear it.

"Well in that case I think l'd be the luckiest bastard who ever lived," he says sincerely, looking at me with a gaze that can only be described as pure adoration and lust. Yep. That's it for me. I lean up and kiss him with as much force as I can muster.

A strand of spit connects our lips when we part, and if I hadn’t heard him say all those dirty things I’d think it was the most erotic thing imaginable. It’s certainly a close second, though.

He crashes his lips back to mine once the strand breaks, demanding access that I could never be strong enough not to give. He explores my mouth with great fervor, silencing the small whimpers and whines trying to tear themselves from my throat. Once he’s sure I’m breathless he moves down, planting a row of kisses to my jaw before kissing down my neck, biting and sucking dark marks at the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

But through the lust induced haze that’s already clouding my brain I can only remember one thing.

“Uh, Ben?” my voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high.

“Yeah?” He says into my collarbone where he’s been leaving more love bites.

“What about you? Don’t you get to come in the story?”

“Oh, you’re sweet on me, huh, baby? Don’t you worry about me sweet girl, that’ll come later- no pun intended.”

“Oh, okay,” I mumble, tugging him up by the hair so I can kiss him again. “I could kiss you forever,” I say. And it sounds stupid, but his plush pink lips are just too good to be true.

“That can be arranged, sweetheart,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss me again. There’s just no feeling like it. I reach for the hem of his grey sweatpants, but he grunts, pulling away. I look at him, eyes wide with confusion.

“Sugar, as much as I’d love to give some sad sap the chance of walking in on this, I think it’s better we move this to my room.”

“Oh, okay,” I concede.

“Trust me,” he says, almost… shifty? Whatever. I’m too horny to decipher his gaze at the moment. I let him all but pick me up off the floor, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror embellished wall: my face is sweaty and splotchy, hair already a wreck, hickies everywhere on my neck and shoulders. Holy hell. I haven’t even gotten laid yet, and I look like I went nine rounds in a porno. Motherfucker. Me-fucker, in a minute. Good god.

“I think I’m an artist,” he says smugly from behind me, admiring the blues and purples on my neck and shoulders, and catching my gaze in the mirror. He presses his bulge to my ass, at which I gasp. He’s huge. I can already tell. How the fuck does he even-? I don’t even know how I’m going to finish that question.

“C’mon sweetheart, my room ain’t far.”

“Okay,” I mumble, stuck on the absent feeling of his bulge against me. “But the floor was so hot,” I pout.

“Don’t I know it, sweets,” he grins. “But I’ve got big plans for you, if you remember.”

I moan softly at the memory of his dirty words

“Attagirl.” The shit eating grin from before is right back on his face. “Now c’mon, sweets,” he tugs my hand in his, practically dragging me out of the gym. Before I know it I’m laying on my back in his soft bed, him over me. He somehow kisses me both soft and slow, and rough and fast, and it’s almost impossible to breath. Especially as he adds more to the canvas he’s made of my body.

“Can I?” he asks, tugging at the hem of my shirt. I nod, and pulls it up over my head, obviously enjoying what he finds under it.

“Of course my pretty girl has pretty tits too, I shouldn’t even be surprised, but”-he kisses the tops of each of my breasts-��damn, baby.”

I blush at his praise, unable to help myself. “Can I take off this cute little bra?” he asks.

“Mhm,” I say, hoping that he’ll just rip it off. But instead of being raucous he gently unclasps it from behind, teasing it off of me. He trails lower with his lips, lavishing my breasts in attention that leaves them perky and alert once he leaves them for my stomach.

I can’t help but start giggling at the feeling of his scratchy beard on my stomach as he continues his trek of kisses and such southward. “What’s funny?” he asks, obviously amused by my laughter. I can only giggle harder because he seems to catch on, now intentionally scratching at me with it. He starts kissing lower and lower, and eventually my giggles dissolve into moans as he nips at the juncture of my thigh and pelvis.

“So sweet,” he mumbles, tugging at the waist band of my shorts. He pulls both them and my underwear off in one go. “Oh, sweets,” he breathes. “You this wet all for me?”

I squeak, unable to respond to the dark, lust-filled look in his eyes as he asks. Thankfully the question is rhetorical, because my brain is already starting to get fuzzy.

He gingerly pulls off my shoes and socks, before pressing featherlight kisses to and massaging up my left leg. Just as he reaches my sopping heat does he stop, biting the squishy flesh of the inside of my thigh before returning back down on my right leg.

“Ben,” I whine impatiently, unsure of how much more of this teasing I can take before I just come without him doing anything.

He just tuts at me before continuing his ministrations. And good grief does he know what buttons to press, because my legs already feel like jello in his hands.

Finally he bites my other thigh, and I’m all but shaking with how eager I am for him to do something, anything to me. And he seems to be more than happy to comply.

“Listen, if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” he says roughly, sincerely, as his cheek rests against the inside of my thigh.

“O-okay?” I say, my tone far past breathy.

“That’s my girl,” he grins before diving in.

It’s like nothing I’ve felt before. It feels like he’s lit orgasmic fireworks, like far too much and not enough all at once, like… it’s fucking inexplainable. Especially while I’m physically squirming from how good it feels, while he only needs one big hand splayed over my stomach to keep me down. I couldn’t even tell you what I’m moaning between the incoherent mess of his one syllable name and the whines he’s pulling out of me.

It’s incredible. And he’s so methodical, so good at it. Eighty odd years of experience will do it to you I guess, but this is like, next level.

And before I know it my stomach is tightening in on itself, and I try to warn him. I really do. But he doesn’t even need me to warn him. Instead he takes his hand off my stomach and places both on either of my thighs, locking me in place around his head. And before I know it, his tongue thrusting in and out of me and his nose and facial hair rubbing on my clit have me coming with a loud cry of his name. I’m physically shaking by the end of it from how he continues to fuck me through it, lapping up every last drop.

The thing about Ben is that he does everything with great fervor. Passion, really, except he thinks that’s too feminine a word. There just has to be a certain exceptionality to the way he does things. When he snorts a line of coke, the line had better be four times longer than anyone else’s. When he performed back in the day, it had to be more grandiose than Queen, more ostentatious than Madonna. When he eats pussy, it has to be fucking leagues ahead of any other man or woman in the entire world.

And man oh man does he deliver. I think I come again, but it’s hard to tell from how intense the initial orgasm was and how fuzzy the overstimulation is making my brain. But he eventually pulls back, once again resting his stubbled cheek on the inside of my thigh, my come glistening on his jaw and mouth. It’s a sight of debauchery in its purest-or should I say filthiest- form. I’m panting, trying to ground myself as he smugly smirks at me, his greens eyes sparkling like cut emeralds.

“Y’like that, sweetheart?” he asks, knowing damn well I do. And yes, he’s cocky as fuck, but… he’s not wrong.

“Yes,” I mumble.

“Good girl,” and at that I clench around nothing. And he does not fail to notice.

“Aww, my sweet girl likes being a good girl,” he observes, languidly running a knuckle through my folds. I gasp, and he chuckles. “Easy.”

He surprises me by thrusting one finger in- and like he said, it wouldn’t do much with how wet I was. So he gives me a second, and I start to feel it, especially when he hits my g-spot on every languid thrust, eliciting tinny moans from me. The tinny moans get louder when he starts scissoring his fingers inside of me, opening me up as far as he sees fit. “Gotta get you ready for me,” he explains, spitting on his other hand before brining his thumb to my clit. I’m beyond fucked once the rough pad of his thumb meets my sensitive bud, gasping his name and arching my back.

“You’re taking ‘em so well, sweet girl. Gonna give you another,” he tells me before adding a third finger and rubbing on my clit even faster. I barely last three minutes of this before I come for the second-third?- time with a weak cry of his name, still ready for more. I’m flustered from how easy it was to make me come, and his words certainly don’t soothe my blush.

“Oh, look at this pretty pussy gushin’ f’me, she’s too good to me,” he groans, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out to prolong my bliss. “Aww sweet girl, why’re you embarrassed, huh? I think my new favorite color is pink cause of your sweet cheeks. My pretty girl, my perfect girl.”

My mind is so fuzzy. Ben- Soldier Boy- is literally praising me whereas he calls anyone else a disappointment or a whore. And he’s making me feel so good, not only because of the incredible sex but with the way he’s treating me.

He kisses me again before he stands up, and I can taste myself on him. I don’t mind though, because his lips, his tongue… I can hardly account for my senses, much less comprehend the taste of myself. He stares at me and finally takes the waistband of his sweatpants in his hands. I can’t help the way my jaw drops as he finally pulls them and his boxers down, and naturally he gives me his signature smirk.

The bottom line is that he’s even bigger than I had thought earlier. Like, this is a size I thought only dildos came in, not the real thing. It’s long, it’s thick, and it’s rock hard. His eyes are trained on mine, so naturally he catches me gaping and laughs. Jackass.

“You know that not all of that is going to fit, right?” I ask, a little nervous.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, cocksure. I can’t help but gulp involuntarily, but once he brings his lips back down to mine I’m right back into my whipped frenzy, pouting and following his lips like a puppy when he pulls away, rummaging in his bedside drawer but talking all the while.

“Don’t worry, m’gonna give you what you want, just gotta ease you into it, okay? Ain’t gonna treat you like a loosened whore, I could never. My sweet girl. Didn’t bring you in here for nothing, wanted this.” He holds up a small bottle, and that’s when I get it. He needed the damn lube. That’s why he wanted to come back here. Not a big connection, but for someone who’s ready to let him doin all sorts of unspeakable things to her and thank him for it, it’s a revolutionary revelation.

“Oh-oh,” I say, my voice breaking when I watch him fist himself a few times.

“Gonna make it feel so good for you,” he mumbles, rubbing a generous amount of lube up and down his length. As if it hasn’t already been beyond good. “Tell you what, baby, I want you to ride me, just to start. Y’can adjust on your own time, take it as slow as you need, okay sweet girl? ‘Cause if I’m on top… I don’t think I can make any promises.” At least he’s honest. The horny part of me wants him to just go ahead and rail me within an inch of my life, but the small, annoying, rational part of me recognizes how huge he is. He sits down next to me on the bed, comfortably resting against the pilos and the headboard. His legs are splayed, showing off the endearing curve to them.

It takes a lot out of my already fucked out self to move two inches and straddle him, but I do. He smiles, genuinely smiles, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Take it easy, sweet girl,” he tells me. “We’ve got all night. You just take all the time you need.” I’m so turned on by how sweet he is, I genuinely can’t even help it.

“Okay,” I mumble, reaching for his cock, feeling it in my hands. It’s just a little thicker than the grip of one of my hands- definitely thicker than anything I’ve ever had, but not as scary as I thought. I rub the leaking precum over his tip, because even though he’s already poured a more than generous amount of lube on himself I can’t be too sure. Not to mention the delicious gasps he’s making at every touch are enough to just do this for the next six hours.

But finally, finally I’m ready. I position myself over it, my arms encircling Ben’s wide, freckled shoulders.

And then I slowly, ever so slowly sink down on the tip. We both moan at the newfound sensation, and I physically have to stop for a second. He’s just so big. All of him is, from his ego to his overall stature, but inside me? He’s huge, and the stretch is beyond satiating.

“You okay, sweets?” he asks, recovering quicker than me.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“Good girl,” he kisses me on the lips. The distraction of the kiss lets me move more comfortably down his length. I make it a little bit more before I have to stop again. “You’re squeezing me so good, this pussy was made for me,” he groans when I stop, and I hide my own noises into the crook of his shoulder.

“Ben?” I mumble.

“Yeah?”

“I need help,” I whine, keeping my face hidden to hide my embarrassment.

“Aww, sweetpea,” he lets out a small laugh despite himself, furthering my angry red blush. “C’mere, look at me,” I do as he says, my thighs sore from keeping me up as I do so.

“No need to be embarrassed with me, sugar,” he says softly, before bring my lips to his, a big hand cupping the side of my head. I barely notice his other hand on my hip until he slowly starts guiding me down on him, lifting me up and down where I’m and pushing me down further and further as he does so. He muffles my whimpers and whines into the kiss, kissing me so long that I forget what it’s like to breathe.

Once he’s bottomed out and I’m properly seated on his lap does he pull away, letting me moan as loud as I need to.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his own voice strained.

“Full,” I mumble, because it’s true. He’s so all consuming in this moment, all I can concentrate on is how he fills me to the brim.

He twitches inside of me at that, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothin’ baby, you just can’t be throwing around words like that,” he groans.

“You asked,” I protest.

“I know,” he retorts, kissing me again. After a few moments of sitting there on his lap, I tell him I’m ready to move a little.

“You need help, sweets?” he asks, giving me a knowing look. And I want to say no, that much is probably written on my face. Want to show him that I’m capable of bouncing on his enormous cock, but I sincerely don’t think I am.

“Maybe,” I concede sheepishly.

“That’s okay, baby,” he smiles gently, grabbing me by the hips. He slowly lifts me up his length, and I can feel my walls trying to contract around him as he moves me up, clenching him like a vice. A soft groan leaves his lips whilst various whimpers leave mine.

He keeps this gentle pace, so slow that I can feel every single inch of him slide in and slip out. Slowly the burn from the initial stretch disipates into pure pleasure that leaves me whispering his name every time he bottoms out. But eventually it’s not enough, because the thoughts of his promises creep into my empty mind, his promises of fucking me. Until I cry, until I can only remember his name and nothing else.

“Ben,” I mumble, my head still resting in the crook of his neck as he eases me up and down. “I’m ready.”

“Ready for what, pretty girl?”

Jackass. He knows damn well what, I can hear it in his voice. “I don’t want to say it,” I whine. He pulls me back so we’re eye to eye, resting me on his lap.

“I think you’re gonna have to,” he’s grinning ear to ear.

I pout, my hands resting on his chest.

“C’mon baby,” he prods, thumbing my lower lip. I take his thumb into my mouth, sucking on it. It clearly takes a lot out of him to take his finger out of my mouth, he seems to be turned on by the action.

“Fine. I want you to fuck me,” I tell him, crossing my arms.

“You’re lucky I like you so much. If anyone else were acting this bratty with me I think I’d have to teach them a lesson,” he smirks, the cocky promise clear in his eyes. Before I can retort he slips out of me, and I whine at the emptiness. I don’t like it.

Thankfully I don’t have to wait long because he lays me down, resting over me in a plank just as he was when we were “sparring.”

“Y’trust me?” His thumb comes up to meet my pulse point, his other fingers grazing across the bitten flesh of the juncture of my neck and shoulder, creating the most delicious sting. I nod frantically. “Words, baby.”

“Yes,” I whisper. His presses down barely a fraction harder, and yet it’s already enough to set me off even while being empty.

“I need you to promise me something, gorgeous,” he says, making the most intense eye contact I’ve ever seen from him.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“If you need me to stop, you tell me, okay?” His eyes are slightly wide, indicating how important to him this is. It’s easy to say: “Okay,” he has all of my trust. I kiss him for good measure, and we’re back. Fireworks gone off again halfway through as I take initiative to deepen the kiss before he can. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s stronger and so all consuming, and before I know it my mind is blank again. Blank and wanting one thing: him.

He gets up and I whine, not wanting him away from him. “Miss me already? My clingy girl,” he says affectionately, grabbing a pillow and putting it under my hips, kissing my stomach.

Settling above me once again, he lifts my legs up so that my ankles are resting on his shoulders, nearly bending me in half. But I let him, I’ll be as malleable ad he needs me to be if it’ll help him deliver on those promises.

“You sure you want this, sweets? Last chance to back out,” he tells me. I can’t believe he has the audacity to let the thought of me wanting to back out cross his mind. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want him.

“I’m so sure. Fuck me, please,” I tell him. This is the strongest my voice has been this far, and I think he gets the memo.

“As you wish,” he grins, before sheathing himself in me in one go. I scream his name, but the noise is cut off by all air leaving my body as he thrusts into me at a literal superhuman pace. The sounds are ungodly, with every thrust a broken moan and the occasional grunt from him. He finds my g-spot with ease, slamming into it with every thrust ad he pounds me into his mattress.

“You sounds so pretty, maybe we should look into making one of those Internet videos.” I moan at the idea. I didn’t think starring in a porno would be my thing until he and his transatlantic 1950s accent suggested it.

“Yeah, everyone would want a piece of this pussy. But she’s all mine,” those last three words are punctuated with particularly hard, possessive thrusts that leave me gasping his name.

He brings his hand up to my throat once more, and the moment his thumb grazes my pulse point as it did before I realize just how much I want to come. “You like that, huh. Such a good girl,” I clench around him as he presses light pressure to my throat, and even though he’s not even done anything with my clit and it’s been maybe two minutes I’m coming hard and all-consumingly. It washes over me in waves that match Ben’s pace, seemingly getting more intense as he keeps fucking me.

“Oh sweetheart, you look so gorgeous when you make a mess of my dick. I’m hopin’ to see that five more times before the end of the night,” he tells me, but I barely hear him, too engulfed in my pleasure. He somehow adjusts the pillow under me while continuing his incessant pace and his grip on my throat and the new angle has me crying from how good it is.

“Aww, what’s the matter sweets?” he coos, knowing damn well what the matter is. It’s just too good.

“You’re so deep,” I sob, unable to gain my bearings because of how full I feel.

“Don’t I know it,” he groans, going impossibly harder. Eventually he takes his hand from my throat, and I whine, until he brings it down to my clit.

“Make it a good one, beautiful,” he winks with a click of his tongue before skillfully rubbing circles into my sensitive bud.

“Ben, it’s too much-,” I protest, but all it takes is a few more circles and I’m coming undone around him again. I’m both hyperaware of my tears soaking my face and the burn from the position of my legs but also on the verge of unconsciousness with how good it all feels. My legs are quivering around him but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re okay, sweet girl, taking it so well,” he mumbles against my lips, kissing away my tears. I’d never had a lay so good that the guy had to reassure me that I was okay because I was shaking and crying uncontrollably from just how good it was. But then again, prior to tonight, I’d never had a lay with Ben.

He quickly brings me to the edge again, his fingers fast on my clit and his thrusts deeper than ever. When I come I can’t say his name, I can’t say much of anything because my mind is blank. Fuzzy, syrupy, I feel almost soft while the only noises I can make are little whimpers as he just keeps going. And I fucking love it.

“‘m gonna come,” he warns, and I muster enough of my bearings to tell him ‘please.’ He gladly obliges, coming with a loud grunt of my name, bottoming out so far inside me that he may damn well be in my cervix. I can feel it leaking out of me, and even in my fucked out stupor I can remember to moan. It’s the hottest feeling I’ve ever felt. He slowly pulls out then, gently easing my legs down.

I look up at him with questioning eyes, wondering why he doesn’t go for another three like he was planning to.

“Don’t want to break you on the first night, sugar,” he says, sweetly cupping my face in his hands. “I know you don’t feel it right now but you’re gonna be real sore in a couple hours.”

I pout, unsure of how to react to that. My legs are still shaking and while I do feel tired I’m still turned on.

Okay, maybe there’s dull ache.

“Oh, don’t pout. There’s other nights, and I’m gonna take care of you,” he smiles softly.

“Okay,” I whisper, finally regaining enough sense to talk.

He leans down to kiss me, softly this time. I melt into the kiss, and that’s when I realize: I don’t just want Ben. I think the feelings might be deeper. Maybe I… love? him.

But hey. There’s other nights.

****************************************************

As a bonus, cause I love y’all: if we can get 250 notes on this post by the end of the poll time then I will do a spicy soldier boy fic with whichever of these gets the most votes. If we can somehow get to 400 I’ll do the top two! No kink shaming, okay? 🥹🎀

In the meantime, if you want more Soldier Boy try Taming the Supe!! <3

For fans of Big Sky!Jensen, part two of 2SC (aka my favorite project thus far) should be coming out next!

And don’t forget, asks/requests/thoughts/thots are always open!!

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Chaos Creator's Chapter 284

Brief summary: Epley tries to escape but is blocked by 3 dragons. Epley summons the Wall of Chaos, and God of Chaos appears. The original Chaos Creator meets our Chaos Creator Cale. Blue Wolf also appears through Lock's blue aura.

==========

This was an intense chapter. Not one, but two gods appeared today! As explained by CJS, the Wall of Chaos was a power of GoC that could break all rules and create chaos. It appeared as a gray-colored wall that shimmered like the universe. But it became the stuff of horror when countless pairs of eyes appeared and made everyone scared.

One pair of eyes stared at Cale who realized that this was the GoC. And Cale got a taste of his own power, finally experiencing what his enemies felt like when he dominated them through DA. Our Cale and even DA were scared of GoC, as GoC was more terrifying than GoB.

But then...

GoC: Child of chaos, you who have the power born from a pool of death, come and be mine- Blue Wolf: NO! Cale: I'm a what-? And pool of death? I thought DA came from CJG? GoC: Forgotten god, don't meddle. Blue Wolf: A forgotten god is still a god. I'm a god of this world! GoD: *screaming as he sends dozens of messages to Cale via the divine mirror* DA: Cale, I think I can imitate those eyes even if it's a knockoff. Cale: Heh. Raon: H-Human, why are you smiling like that? Are you trying to scam someone? Now's not the time for that!

Okay, the above was not exactly how it unfolded, but close to it. Moving on, our chaos creator had been acknowledged by the OG chaos creator and even got invited to join them! 😂 It's not unsurprising that GoD's divine mirror kept vibrating intensely. GoD must be screaming something along the lines of "Cale is mine" and warning Cale to stay away from GoC. 🤣🤣🤣

We finally got a clue about DA's origin. The pool of death must be referrring to the lake filled with the dead mana of a dragon. Thus, Cale questioned if DA really came from CJG since he never got a confirmation about that from CJG or WS. What do you think?

Blue Wolf finally descended into this world in the form of a young wolf via Lock's blue flame aura. It was nice that Cale was relieved of his fear when he saw Lock's wide back. From Cale protecting Lock in the past, to the present where Lock protected Cale. 🥰🥰🥰

Ending Remarks I did not expect two gods to descend today, much less GoC's appearance. Next chapter would be a continuation of Cale's meeting with the two gods. Would DA succeed in imitating the dominating power of those creepy eyes? And who exactly was DA's original owner?

[withonly-sweetheart]

Shades of Gray

Stylists and photographer; both such burdens but nothing can prepare you for the way Leon's arrival tips over your "shades of gray".

a/n: @chesue00 ... YOU LOVELY LITTLE MANIACAL GENUIS. I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH I CANT EVEN DESCRIBE IT HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE 😍😍😍

i was literally walking just walking you know i see that i have a notification from tumblr (if my slowass had checked the name i wouldve braced myself) but the post pops up

when i tell you i nearly hopped skipped and jumped like my friend gave me the weirdest look ever... like i cant tell you how much that art piece means to me its literally so hot im dying ahahhhhahhahhhh and i cant write smut for SHIT so future me revamp this when you learn the true smut writing ways....

tw: non explicit smut but just to be safe mdni!! also can u guess where the titles from.. heh

wc: 3.4k

“They might fire you with that attitude,” Ada muses quietly, humming to herself as she dusts off the camera lens, wiping it with such precision and care, something you couldn’t manage to do yourself.

You glare up at your superior from where you crouch at the legs of the tripod, scowling. “They can’t do that. I’m single handedly carrying this studio. How broke do you have to be to be both the one of the editors and the photographer?”

“Pretty broke,” she agrees with a small shrug.

“And it’s not even like the models are hot or anything,” you continue, exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of your nose in an attempt to shut your mouth before you say something you might regret. “I better get a promotion after this new guy.”

“Who knows?” Ada laughs, a soft, tinkling sound that seems to ease some of your tension. Between your job(s), there hasn’t been much time to relax, but the fact you storm around the studio with set shoulders, lips twisted in a frown never seems to bother her.

You suppose you should be grateful you have such a good friend. You just wish there was something worth her time here, because you sure aren’t.

<><><><>

“Room 3,” you read from the list, craning your neck to read the words scratched into the paper that’s plastered onto the wall. “Is that where she is?”

“He,” Ada corrects. “A guy, again. Isn’t that exciting?”

She means to sound eager, but you can hear how dry her tone is, and you can’t blame her. Most of the guys that show up are only here to have a quick session, earn some cash, try to get with one of the girls working on set, before rushing away, never to be seen again.

You place a tentative hand on her shoulder, rubbing the muscle there. “I’ll deal with it. You get some rest before the shoot, ‘kay?”

Her weary eyes find you, but they light up somewhat at your suggestion. Without another word, she nods and dips her head before walking off to the lounge. Ada’s overworked, you know that. The least you can do for her is this, right?

Ignoring the fact you’ve never actually done this before, you wipe your trembling, sweaty hands on your pants before sliding the door open.

The man sitting in the chair, eyes slicing to you from the mirror, face softening into a smile as you gawk in the doorway, unable to do much more than offer fragments of a sentence.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I thought you were the director.”

“Uhm. No.” You recognize him, a man you’ve only seen in stretched out movie posters that are plastered everywhere on your apartment block, a man only seen in the vivid ink on paper, on the pixels that cross your screen.

Now he’s really sitting here, in front of you, feet carrying you to stand right behind him. What the hell were you thinking? You meet his eyes in the mirror, too abashed to look directly.

"What are you doing here?" you blurt out in surprise. "You’re an actor! This isn't exactly your scene."

"Is that how you greet a guest?" With an arched brow, he gestures to the cluttered room. "And I could say the same for you. It seems like I'm not the only one who's a little lost."

"You have no idea," you mutter.

"Ah, there it is." Leon leans back, tilting his head to stare up at you, regarding you curiously. "So what’s happening? This your therapy session?"

You glance down and flash a tentative grin. Reaching around him, you quickly wet your hands, then card them through Leon's bronzed hair, working out the tangles and smoothing it into place.

His shoulders tense when your fingertips make contact with the back of his neck, eyes narrowing down at the ground.

"Your hands..." he murmurs unexpectedly. "They're so soft."

You pause, fingers stilling to look down, only to find his eyes closed, a faint smirk playing at his lips. You smile to yourself, feeling a flutter of pride in your work. It had been a long time since you’d done this for a friend, since Ada often recoils at your touch. "Well, you know, this is kinda my thing. Taking care of models, seeing they're relaxed."

“You’re pretty good at it,” he muses.

You feel heat sear your neck and gulp, reaching for some of the confidence that abandons you quickly. "Alright pretty boy, time to get you camera-ready." Spritzing some product, you sculpt his hair into what the director had requested - “tousled but not too tousled, sexy without trying too hard.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

Your hands move fast, eager with a purpose. Under your touch, Leon seems further away, lost in thoughts. When you’re close to finishing, he lifts his head again to meet your gaze.

“I’ll assume you already know my name,” he remarks. “You’ve watched my work?”

“Kinda hard not to.” You don’t mean for it to sound so condescending, but he just squints back up at you as you massage some kind of lotion into his scalp.

“You wouldn’t, by chance, know Ada, would you?” he asks quietly.

“‘Course,” you say with a soft chuckle. “She’s the only reason I have this job.”

Leon nods understandingly. "Sounds just like her. She’s got a way of reeling people in." A wry smile plays on his lips. "So what's next - you joining in on the shoot?"

"Over my dead body," you reply hastily. Leon tilts his head, the silent question molding into acceptance as you continue, "No, I'm just playing assistant for the day, making sure Ada and the girls have what they need. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

Somehow, looking at Leon's amused expression, you have a feeling you’ll be in for a lot more than that. But that must be the week-old guacamole you bought from Chipotle and ate for lunch today.

<><><><>

The shoot seems to be running smoothly, at least on the outside, when you’re finally done fussing over the minor details, checking off a mental list and trying really hard not to let your gaze dip a little lower than it should.

He doesn’t notice. Of course he doesn’t. He’s at least twenty years older than you. It only worked one way, didn’t it? Always did.

Next to the camera, you’ve taped reference pictures of other models artfully draped across ornate furniture, all courtesy of your work. You don’t exactly know what Leon’s advertising, but you caught a hint of the lavender rosemary liquid Helena was working on last week, so you assume it must be a fragrance shoot.

You spot Ada immediately, lounging on a chaise with one leg extended gracefully. Her emerald gaze flickers over as you approach.

"Well it's about time," she calls out, clapping her hands as she stands. "Hair and makeup, ten minutes ago."

Leon cracks a bemused smile. "We're here now, aren't we? Lead the way, assistant."

“How do you even know her?” you ask, slightly curious about their past, as you usher him into the couch.

“Acquaintances from our old job,” he mutters. And you quickly notice that something’s wrong. Leon looks too tense against the soft, relaxed background, too stressed as he frowns up at you, hands clasped between his spread legs.

So you do what you do best. You kneel in front of him, resting a hand on the ball of his knee. Once again, he steels at your touch, then relaxes, and you look up at him to see his jaw working, as if swallowing his words.

"What do you think you’re doing? Leon whispers, catching your wandering eyes.

“Just trying to help,” you say casually, with a shrug. It was safe to say you know what you’re doing, and even better, you can see it’s working. The corner of his mouth bunches up into a shit-eating grin, just the look you need.

<><><><>

Thirty minutes later, and not a single photo has pleased the director. He sits there like a goddamn statue, flickers of emotion passing his face only when spares a glimpse to the photos Ada calmly hands to him.

Her eyes are seething but her tone is level as she tells you in a low whisper, “I need some coffee or I will choke him.”

You know what that means. So, as if you’re programmed to do it, you swing by the cafe and pick up her coffee, two pumps of almond milk and light ice; the amount of times she’s sent you to fetch her drink is so absurd you’ve memorized it without meaning to.

You’re imagining the way her face will light up at the caffeinated drink chilling your hand, switching it to ease the strain on your fingers, when you turn the corner just as someone else does.

This someone else becomes only apparent to you after you’re done scolding them for not watching where they’re going, staring down at their faintly recognizable, designer brand, worn out shoes that currently have cappuccino dripping onto the material.

You drag your eyes up, ready to glare them down, when those blazing blue eyes meet yours and immediately you realize it’s all your fault, why weren’t you paying better attention to your surroundings?

Leon seems to be frozen, unable to move, as he stares down at his dripping shirt, and due to your perfect luck, the director also rounds the corner. He pushes Leon to the side, exposing the brown easily staining the white linen.

He presses a foot down on one of the stray ice cubes, crushing it and wiping his foot back. You grimace, paling at the idea of his wrath. Is this how you lose your job?

But Leon sighs patiently before he can say anything, inspecting the damage carefully. "Well, we had a good run. Not everything can go our way, hm?"

Your boss doesn’t seem to agree. He taps his foot rapidly on the tiles, a marching tempo, voice like sharpened steel. "You have exactly one minute before I find someone to replace you. Fix this, now."

Without another condition to his threat, he storms away to fume at the rest of the crew. They’ll be singing your praises for days, that's for sure. You wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out after him, sparking a rumbling chuckle from Leon. You roll your eyes and turn to him, jabbing him in the chest with your pointer finger.

“Why the hell does your shirt even matter when all you’re doing is smelling good?”

<><><><>

You quickly realize that the point of the shoot isn’t to showcase any scent. No, not at all.

The shoot starts like any other - adjusting lighting, discussing shots with the crew. But Ada's knowing smirk and the array of silky fabrics draped nearby piques your suspicion.

"Ada, tell me those aren't...?" you gesture weakly at the snug boxer briefs Leon now models, the only thing on his bare skin, miles of smooth, dewey skin, dimpled with years.

She laughs softly. "Don't pretend you're not enjoying the view. I can see it in your eyes.”

“But for the first shoot?” you whine.

“I don’t make the rules, hun. Now go powder his nose or something equally distracting."

You set to work on Leon's hair and makeup, desperately avoiding eye contact with his barely dressed form. But then he shifts, and the movement draws your gaze as his facade slips away, revealing a broad, scarred back, painted with the stories of his younger days, of memories lost to time.

Leon meets your hesitant eyes in the mirror, one brow cocked knowingly. "See something you like?"

You cough in response, flustered. "Just, uh, admiring my handiwork. You clean up well for a god, Ken- I meant, uh, an amateur model. Yeah. That’s what I said."

He chuckles, low and rich, echoing through your hollow eyes. "Whatever you say, assistant. Now, I believe we have some shots to take?"

He leaves you standing there, in a daze as you watch him saunter off, eyes fixed on a lower point of his back. It was going to be a long week keeping your eyes (and thoughts) professional.

The play of light and shadow dappling his skin, dipping into every crevice of his well-nurtured body and curving around his muscle is something you can’t keep your eyes off of.

He knows. You realize this with a sudden jolt as someone sighs nearby. He knows that everyone’s ogling, and he loves it. The arrogance only fuels his ego, you think, as a collective hush falls over you all.

And just like that, the cocky grin on his face is gone. You can at least admire how well Leon slides, almost effortlessly, into professional mode, shrugging at the director’s instructions to face the camera, to reveal sculpted plains of muscle and dusted chest hair.

Call someone to bring a water bucket, because watching him through the camera, your eyes to the world, the raw truth laid bare for you to witness, sparks flares of heat within you. You have a gut feeling that not even water can put it out.

You seek to capture the subtle shifts in expression on his face, the way his lips curve into a smile or his gaze lingers with a hint of longing. These small details, when frozen in time through the lens of your camera, seem to speak long tales of not only misery, but admiration.

And you catch exactly who they’re directed to.

Ada.

<><><><>

“What do you mean, nothing?” Leon scoffs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re pissy and this is the seventeenth time you’ve nearly pulled out my hair!”

“It’s not like there’s much left, anyways,” you snap back, equally as irritated as you yank at the strands, forcing them to separate, trying to clean the product. Against everything, you still feel the tiniest bit guilty when Leon winces.

“He’s not that old,” Ada calls out, swaying over to the cafe.

“Exactly,” Leon says, but he’s chuckling now, and he waves in greeting to her.

You can’t help but force a smile, trying to make your reaction seem genuine, your silent hatred unnoticeable. This isn’t healthy.

A man? Coming between you and your only friend in this wretched place? What are you, a teenager? But you can’t deny the disgusting, poison green envy that unspools in your stomach, catching onto the flames and turning them into toxic vapor everytime you notice his lingering eyes, her thoughtful smile, the small touches they think no one notices.

It’s hard for you not to, especially when you know he’s been teasing you all week, the bastard. You suppose you should be glad today is the second to last day of this collaboration, and that you’ll never see him after this. Pray that his movies never feature at the local theater again.

But why does he have to be so beautiful? You want to strangle the sculptor, the majestic mind that saw him in the block of hard set marble and brought him to life, all chiseled, lean body, marked with stories, the body you have to stare at with a stony expression as you click the camera. Yet the softest, most gentle touches you’ve ever felt come from him.

Soft like his fingers around your wrist as he glances up at you, evident concern in his azure gaze. "Hey, is everything okay? You seem down."

You shake your head dismissively. "It's fine. Just tired of playing assistant, I guess."

A frown twists his lips. "You know that's not all it was." His thumb rubbed gentle strokes on your skin, setting your nerves alight. "I didn't mean to lead you on if... Well, you seem so young, I didn't want to assume or make you uncomfortable."

Your breath hitches as he stares at you, awaiting your reply. Fortune favors the bold, right? In a rush of courage, you lean down to brush your lips against his stubbled cheek, just the faintest touch.

"Why don’t you come over tonight and try me?"

<><><><>

Leon’s always been depicted in shades of gray, through your camera, the filters of monochrome, white, gray and black sweeping him into dramatic stories. However many shades you have seen in him, more than fifty, you think absently.

When you met him, the glacier tilt of his glistening eyes.

When you shot him, iron gray, the set of his jaw in pondering poses.

The fog his breath on your bare skin, as exposed to him as he was once to you, ash in the scratch of his stubble that sets fire to every part of you it brushes, anchor to the peace bringing doves taking off against your shoulder where his eyelashes flutter, peppering your collarbone with cautious, restrained kisses.

He’s holding back. Right now, he’s the soft gray that washes over the hills in the early mornings, the gray of your tea as you stare out at the horizon.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, brushing wisps of hair that stick to his face away. Leon glances down at you, eyes contorted in pain.

“I-I can’t,” he chokes out. You’ve never seen him cry, but pearls well up in his icy, stormy eyes, clouds of emotion raining down his cheeks.

So you kiss the hurt away. You push him into the linen bed sheets, muse something about the coffee incident, which sparks a broken chuckle from his glorious, glorious mouth.

Eventually all sorts of things are sprouting from between those lips. You think most of them are profanities, but you’d prefer that over sobbing.

You realize that you never want to see him cry.

Never see the smoky pallor of his face.

<><><><>

You wake to the sounds of metal creaking and strange gushing sounds that you can’t identify. Slightly concerned, you pull on the blinds, letting the dawn sun wash over your tired expression as you peer down at the hotel parking lot.

“Is he…” You squint, rubbing your eyes and blinking before looking back.

Yeah, you were right the first time.

“Why are you- when did you- what?”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The corner of his mouth crinkles into a sappy smile, barely visible from under the gleaming, spotless body of a motorcycle. “You aren’t the only one that can multitask.”

“You know you have a shoot today, right?" You rub your eyes, further taking the scene in. He’s definitely been working on the bike for some time, if the spread of tools was any sign.

He waves off your complaint with a huff. “That’s irrelevant. Besides, she matters more to me.”

“She?” You scoff.

"I know, I know." Leon wipes his hands, sliding out from beneath the vehicle with a half-sheepish, half-proud grin. "This old girl needed a tune-up, and I couldn't help myself. You know how it is."

You crouch to his level, sighing and wanting to be annoyed with his spontaneity but finding it hard in the glow of his expression, with the passion that sparkles in his eyes. "Just try not to get too grimy before call time, Leon. Ada will have both our heads."

Leon chuckles, unconcerned as always. "No worries. A quick shower and I'll be shining for the camera again." He waves off your complaint with a huff. “Besides, she matters more to me.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. "She who?"

Leon grins, running a loving hand along the motorcycle's frame. "Why, my precious Matilda, of course."

“Isn’t that your cat's name?”

“Yes… and?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a fond smile. Only Leon would think of naming his vehicle. "Ah, now it all makes sense. I should've known no flesh and blood woman could ever compare to your one true love, your Ducati."

Leon meets your gaze with utmost sincerity, face twinged with amusement as he presses a fleeting kiss to your forehead, curling his fingers around the back of your head.

And his eyes are missing those rolling fogs.

Clear skies.

“Well, some things a man just has to do with his hands, you know?"

[ravers8fantasy]

Punch out locker room mishaps: world circuit💥🤑

The world circuit locker room would be bougie af, im talking like proper yknow

Super macho man is abbreviated to SMM cus no way am I doing allat

Sandman feels like he is baby sitting half the time because of the amount of bs that happens in the world circuit locker room

SMM has a double door locker (hell yeah) with photos of himself hanging inside of it

He calles it the 'super shrine', the other boxers think its the stupidest thing ever and soda takes the photos and puts them in the toilet cus why not

When Aran first joined no one knew what the flip he was saying, especially bald bull so he just told Aran to shut up whenever he spoke

Soda is too tall, the W.B.V.A had to install signs to the top of door frames because he kept walking into them

Sandman has watched Aran try break into his locker so many times now its become a normal sight for him

Every one is tired of Aran, bald bull has literally started a fist fight with him which ended up with Aran getting locked inside a locker for 2 hours

Sandman tried making peace between all the other boxers by making a group chat

Aran left it after bald bull kept thinking he was English, SMM thought it was a spam from crazy fan's and sent some stuff before leaving, bald bull said "fuck off" and left as soon as he saw SMM send a thirst trap and Soda was never added because he doesnt have a phone

Aran has to be searched and patted down before walking into the locker room before a match because of all his cheating scandals

When little Mac joined, Aran LOVED to not only make fun of his boxer name but also harrased him pranked him like taking his towel whilst he was using the shower and hid his stuff

Sandman made the others do a temporary alliance to beat up Aran and get poor Mac's stuff back

SMM loves the floor length mirrors in the locker room, his whole social page is full of just him flexing in that same mirror

One time he accidentally got sandman in the background looking absolutely unimpressed and it became a meme for a while

He also caught the fist fight between bald bull and aran in the background of one of his thirst traps as well

Soda's locker is full of 'juice' cartons, he doesnt need space for a gym bag because he's hidden it somewhere underneath the floor tile's somehow

Aran once head butted a wall at full force whilst trying to pick a fight with sand man

Not only did he knock himself out but he also managed to break through the dry wall and left a massive hole in the wall

Soda blasts russian hard bass/techno whilst showering and shouts the lyrics, everyone hates it.

"hell yeah bro's, I was like-

"U SO SEXY RUSSIAN GIRL Прыгай в мой фургон-танцпол"

"uh anyway yeah like as I was saying I totes like hit-

"ABSOLUT HARD BASS. RUSSIAN PARTY IN KAMAZ"

"oh now what the flip. What the flip brah thats so not cool"

Aran often crashes SMM's interviews, and shouts random things in the background (these are all being recorded by the way)

The last time it happened he shouted "OI SUPER MACHO MAN, I KNOW A SECRET ABOUT YOU MATE THAT PEOPLE MIGHT CALL A COMING OUT" (heh nikita mazepin and george russel f1 reference wait wrong fandom-)

Bull and sandman are pretty chill with eachother (on a good day which is once every couple of months), Sandman offers contructive critisism which helps Bull in the long run

Soda also gets help from sandman, Soda then tries to use the tips he heard from sandman in the ring, Soda then blacks out from drinking too much and loses

Aran makes fun of Soda's fear of horses by wearing one of those rubber horse masks (Aran is scared of flying in planes)

When Soda saw it he jumped and slapped the horse mask full force, if you know how silly it looks then you would know why bull started cackling

SMM and bald bull made a truce once, bull trapped Aran in a headlock whilst SMM took all of Aran's cheating stuff and handed it into the W.B.V.A officials

Ya cant be mad at them they were sick of getting hit in the face with his flying rope punching glove

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

Help why did I struggle sm doing this💔 thats all the locker room mishaps done, I fear this is only the beginning I have sm more planned keep grinding chat ill see ya next time 😈😈

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

thinking about tattoo artist!draken giving me you a tattoo in between and under my your tits im so unwell i want him to suck on my titties so bad HNSKSGDJKHGK okaybye

Hi Mack! Thank you for entrusting me with this awesome ask! I hope you like it! Proofed as much as I could.

WC ::: 2230 (HEY! It was 8 pages and I got it down to 5. So, you're WELCOME!)

C/W ::: MDNI, TattooArtist!Draken x F.reader, unprotected P->V and some other funsies.

You sat in the booth waiting for the artist to come in and start working on you. You'd met him a few times before while going over the finalized print of your design but why hadn't you noticed how sexy he was? He was like some mythological creature.

He walked in backwards and slid the screen all the way to the edge so the small booth was completely shut off from the rest of the shop. "Ok, ready when you are." Draken said as he turned to start getting the ink ready.

"Oh! O-ok, yeah. So, like," you hesitated with your words not wanting to seem like you were too inexperienced. You have tattoos, just not on this part of your body.

"Take your shirt and bra off and lean back and enjoy the ride." He is so fucking cool, you thought.

"Right, enjoy ... enjoy the ride." You began lifting your shirt over your head, watching yourself in the full-length mirror the whole time. Kicking yourself for wearing such a shitty bra (but really what else were you going to do? Wear your best one only for it to get ruined with blood and ink? No. Absolutely not.)

You put your clothes on the extra stool in the corner and wrapped your arms over your chest waiting for his next instructions.

"It's ... heh ... you gonna enjoy the ride or do I have to tat you up while you're standing by the wall? Come on, I'm gentle, I promise.

"Yes! Right right right. Sorry. I'm just a little shy I guess."

I've tattooed much stranger things than tits, trust me. Now sit down."

You moved to sit on the tattoo chair and leaned back. The cool leather made you shiver. Draken placed a paper towel on your chest and told you to relax. He leaned over you to grab the ink and needles. He was so close you could smell him. He smelled like leather, cologne and cigarettes. It made you feel high, breathing him in like that.

He pressed the needle into your skin, making you wince in pain. He pulled away for a second to apply more ink and then went back to work.

After a while, he was about halfway done with the outline. "You doin' ok, y/n? Needa break or anything?" You had zoned out so much that he had to nudge your arm to get your full attention. "Hey! You good?" He laughed.

"Oh shit. Yeah, I guess I just kinda got into a trance. You're very ... rhythmic. It's oddly soothing." You blushed.

"Told you I was good." He beamed. "So you want me to keep going?"

You nodded and put your arms back to your sides where they'd been.

"For this next part, I need you to put your arms above your head. Can you hold them there for a while while I work on the underside of your chest?"

"How long are we talkin' here? 30 minutes? 45?" You couldn't read his face because you didn't know him well enough to. But the look he had was less than comforting.

"Ish? I don't know, honestly. But it's going to be a while. I have a lot of detail to do here. Look, don't ask. Ok? But I can - *aheh* - fuck. I can tie your arms up if this is going to be a problem?" He made a point to look away when he suggested that to you.

And good thing too because the expression that washed over your face would have embarrassed a porn director. You're so proud of yourself for not moaning at the offer.

"YES! Yes. My arms get tired easily. Tie me up, Draken." Your eyes fell to his crotch and the bulge that was presenting itself was nothing short of delicious. You don't know what came over you but you let them roam the length of his chest and met his gaze.

He walked over to a cabinet in the corner and grabbed a few ties. "Which one do you want?" he asked, holding up a few options. You pointed to a soft-looking black one and he tied your arms above the chair. "How's that? Not too tight?"

You shook your head. "No, it's good. Just tight enough." He walked back over to the counter to get the ink and needle ready again. And you know he adjusted his dick. You've seen enough men do that to know what that little dance looks like.

He pressed the needle back into your skin and started on the underside of your tits. He was close enough that you could hear his breath hitch every time he accidentally touched your nipple. And you were certain he was doing it on purpose.

You don't know if it was the drilling of the needle into one of the most sensitive expanses of your body, if it was Draken being so close to you that he could stick his tongue out and flick your nipple with the tip of it. His shallow, labored breathing. His big hands doing such delicate work. But you were getting so fucking wet. And you couldn't help but imagine him sticking his fingers into you. Fucking you with them.

"You're um, doing great. Almost done with this side, are you hot? Do you want some water or something? Want me to crack the window?" he said, breaking the silence.

You nodded, not sure how to respond. "No, I'm uh, I'm doing great, thanks."

He walked over to the window and opened it just a sliver. The air was still warm but it was better than before.

"Thank you." You sighed.

"You're welcome. It's fuckin' hotter than hell in here." He took off his jacket and tossed it over onto your clothes.

You couldn't help but stare at the way his arm muscles flexed as he moved. The tattoos on his right bicep were beautiful and you wanted to trace every inch of them with your tongue.

"SO!" He shouted, startling even himself, he pulled the gun away from you. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say that so loud." His cheeks were burning. You wanted to reach out and smooth your fingers over his face. You wanted to sit on it. But that's just crazy, you thought. Draken continued, much quieter this time, "You got a boyfriend? Or ... or girlfriend. Sorry. I forget about that shit sometimes." He chuckled.

"Nope, no boyfriend. No girlfriend either." You said, looking down at his crotch again. You were so horny you could hardly stand it. "So, just me, my shitty bra, and my soon-to-be tatted tits."

He laughed and leaned over you to start on the other side. He was close enough that his breath was hot on your ear. You closed your eyes and let yourself just enjoy the feeling of his weight pressing against you. You were so close that you could have turned your head and kissed him.

But he beat you to it. He stopped what he was doing, sitting the gun down on the tray next to him and he trailed his fingers up over your belly. Lifting them up long enough to skip over your freshly inked skin and he put them down at your collarbone, skimming them to your chin and tilting your face toward him. You tried to put your arms around his neck but you forgot you were all tied up. Literally.

He smiled at the new light of this situation. "You're tied up." Draken's demeanor changed.

You looked into his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"You wanna be free or do you like it?" He said, tracing his fingers up and down your jawline.

"I like it." You blushed. "But I can't touch you. And that's kinda bumming me out." You laughed.

He leaned back, grabbed the scissors from the counter, and cut the ties, but he left them around your wrists. "You wanna touch me, y/n? You wanna play with my hair? My dick?"

You nodded and reached down to his pants. You cupped your hand around his bulge and squeezed it lightly. He moaned and you loved the sound of his voice. "I wanna do so much more than that, Draken. But … am I crazy for wanting this?" You laughed.

"Oh, you're definitely crazy, baby. An' that's just how I like it." He pushed you back against the chair and softly wrapped his lips around your pointed nipple and dragged his tongue over it.

You shifted in the seat and let out a small whimper. "Fuck that feels so good. I don't know if it's because you've been drilling on me all day or if I just really - I really want you, Draken." You pulled on his hair and he moaned again. He moved his hand up your leg and slipped it into your jeans, feeling how wet you were.

"Well, I guess I was right about something today, huh?" He laughed and unbuttoned your pants. He pulled them down just enough so he could get his fingers inside of you. "You wanna fuck me, y/n? Right here in my booth? You gonna let me fill you up - make you cum all over my cock."

You nodded, unable to form words.

He pulled his fingers out of you and unzipped his pants, pulling them down and sitting back on the edge of the table. He stroked himself a few times and looked back at you. "C'mon kitten, need this dick?"

You sat up and straddled him, holding your weight up enough so that he could slide himself into you. You let out a low moan as he filled you up, your pussy clenching around him. "Holy shit, you feel so fucking good," you moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your breath all but stopped it's exchange with the space around you.

He started to move his hips and you rode him, rolling them and bouncing up and down on his cock. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, feeling him moan into your mouth. His hands were at your waist, guiding you up and down and you felt so fucking good.

"Fuck, y/n, arch your back, stick your tits up, wan' 'em in my mouth." He said, his voice muffled by your chest. You leaned back, he pushed your breasts together and he latched onto them. Massaging them, sucking and biting on your nipples. You felt like you were in a dream, your body humming with pleasure and pain from the abused inches of your skin.

You slowed your movements to feel him better. His cock was hot and dragging against your walls so perfectly that you almost didn't want to cum. You didn't want this to ever stop. You felt his cock twitch inside of you and he moaned, his body tensing up as he came inside of you.

"Fuck, y/n, cum for me, cum all over this dick, baby." He moaned as you ground your hips against his, rubbing your clit against his abdomen. You let yourself go, your body tightening and releasing with the orgasm that washed over you.

You breathed heavily and leaned forward to rest your head on his shoulder. "Wow, Draken. I ... that was..." you trailed off.

He laughed, "It was, huh?"

You nodded, smiling. "Yeah. It was. But I really like your work." 

Your work? You thought. Why did you say that.

"My 'work'? That's what you like? Heh, well, I'm glad?" He chuckled, shaking his head softly. "I'd say the same for you but, I think that'd be weird since I just fucked you and you're still sitting on my dick." He pushed your hair away from your face and kissed you gently on the forehead. "But, you know, I do like your ‘work’, too. It's beautiful. And you're beautiful. And I can't wait to see the finished product." He said, smiling.

You smiled back and leaned in to kiss him again, this time on the lips. "Me too. I'm excited to see it." You blushed and slowly lifted yourself off of him, wincing as he slipped out of you. "God. I hate this part." You pouted.

"Me too, but I think I can make it better. I wanna take you out, y/n. Let me take you out?" He asked, getting up to put his pants back on.

You nodded, smiling. "I'd love that." You grabbed your bra and shirt and held them against your chest as you watched him walk back to the sink and start washing his hands.

"Deal. We should wait a few days after your tattoo has healed up before we go out. Don't wanna get it infected or anything." He laughed, drying his hands on a paper towel.

You laughed too and nodded in agreement. "Sounds good. I guess that gives me time to plan what I'm gonna do next." 

“Do next?” he asked zipping his black jeans and fastening his belt.

“Tattoo ideas … orrr …?” He spun you around by your shoulders and tipped your face up with his fingers.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got more ideas.” You turned your back to him and he helped you fasten your bra around the wrapping.

“Would you laugh if I said both?” 

“No. I wouldn’t laugh. I’d say ‘when’?”

[leonas-herbivore]

Impressing Vil: A Masquerade Mission

Summary: You have the BIGGEST crush on Vil Schoenheight but you don't know how to tell him. How exactly do you tell the most beautiful guy in school that you like him? Luckily for you, the perfect opportunity arrives: the masquerade ball being hosted by Night Raven College! You decide to work hard to win over the guy of your dreams. But, do dreams... really come true?

Word count: 6,714

Thanks in advance for reading :) I love you all *kisses*

Damn! Only 20 minutes until the store closes! Maybe if I run, I can make it. The setting sun cast a long shadow on your zig-zagging form as you sprinted down the sidewalk. You shouted apologies over your shoulder as people complained about your reckless running. But time was of the essence! The situation at hand was a matter of life or death. 

That was a lie. But it was still crucial. Night Raven College had planned a masquerade ball for Saturday night, creating an exciting atmosphere at school. What was even more intriguing was that it was going to be an interschool event. Supposedly, Royal Sword Academy was one of the invited schools, and judging by the groaning and muttering of the NRC students, nobody was thrilled. The posters decorated the walls all over campus about a month ago, and everyone had been talking about it since.  

According to the posters, it would be a glamorous event: dressing up in elaborate costumes and masks and engaging in ballroom dancing—a prestigious event for a prestigious college. And to add to the level of prestige, it was going to be held at the castle, Chateau De Chambord. Rumors said that it used to belong to an ugly beast. 

You needed one specific herb to complete the vision for your costume. Your legs burned as you stopped to catch your breath. As determined as you were, the realization that you wouldn’t make it to the herbal store started to sink in. A knot formed in your stomach. For a moment, you thought about giving up.  

But would he give up? You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. No. He wouldn’t. You took another deep breath and prepared yourself. You had to keep going! Go big or go home! Before you could take a step, a honking stopped you in your tracks. A sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Your heart nearly stopped. Whenever this happened in the movies, somebody got kidnapped and murdered. You steeled yourself for the worst. The window to the back seat rolled down. You gasped as a familiar face appeared. 

“Vil?! What are you doing here?” you asked him. His brow furrowed. 

“I could very well ask you the same thing. What were you thinking sprinting down the sidewalk like that? You could have injured someone.”  

“You saw that? There’s somewhere I need to be. So, I gotta go, but-” a thought popped into your head. “Hey, um. Beautiful Vil, the fairest one of all, heh.” You gave Vil the best smile you could muster. His face was the definition of unimpressed. 

“Would you mind… giving me a ride? I’m going to the herbal store, Kingdom of the Sun. Maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s not far from here. Pretty, pretty, please?” 

“Why, what a coincidence. I’m also heading there. The shopkeeper is an acquaintance of mine and was gracious enough to keep it open for me. Get in. I’ll bring you.” Vil said. He opened the door and scooted across the seat to make room for you. You pumped your fist in the air and climbed into the car. 

“Villy, you’re the best!”  

“How kind of you,” he mused.  

As the car pulled away from the curb, you settled into your seat and plopped your bag next to you. You caught the eye of the driver in the rearview mirror and gave him a small wave. Vil had a chauffeur? After thinking about it, it made sense. He was a celebrity AND a supermodel. He totally deserved it. 

You couldn’t believe what a lucky coincidence it was to bump into Vil. A few days ago, he told you that he was working on a big project and wouldn’t be able to hang out for a few days. Seeing him on campus became a rare occasion. You made sure to drop off extra fruits for him for his morning smoothies. Anonymously, of course. He couldn’t know it was you.  

“Spudling?” 

Vil’s clear voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You met his gaze. His perfectly shaped eyebrow was raised. You gulped. 

“Huh? What is it?” 

“Are you going to get up?  We have a bit of a ways to walk to reach the shop. It won’t take long though.” he said.  

“Oops! Sorry, I was just spacing out.” You gave an apologetic smile and hopped out of the car. The chauffeur rolled down the passenger window. 

“I will wait for you here, Mr. Vil. Please give me a call if you need help,” he spoke. Vil thanked him and gestured to you.  

“Walk with me?” 

Your footsteps clicked on the sidewalk. You glanced at Vil. Looking at him was like looking at the sun; worth the risk of giving in to tickling temptation, to catch a glance of its heavenly beauty even when it blinds you. His eyelashes were long and perfectly curled. His side profile was truly a sight to behold.

But it was a shame you couldn’t see his eyes. He had such beautiful eyes. They always looked so clear and every time you gazed into them, a wave of calm would wash over you. Maybe in his past life, Vil was an angel. I could stare at him forever. A sigh escaped your lips. Vil’s hair swished around his face as he turned to look at you. Like a princess. You hoped he couldn’t see your flushed cheeks. 

“How have you been, my dear?” he asked you. He called me “my dear”! You wished your heart would calm down. “I haven’t seen you in a few days. Working hard, I hope?” 

You nodded and answered, “Yes! I’ve been studying really hard, and I’ve even incorporated a skin care routine into my schedule. I took your advice. My face feels like a baby’s butt. And by that, I mean, it feels soft.” Vil chuckled. 

“A baby’s butt you say? Let’s see.” Vil stopped walking and turned to you. His thumb caressed your cheek. You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Hmm, yes. Very soft and smooth. I am so glad that you found my advice useful.” He smiled at you, and it was like looking at a sparkling pearl. You did your best not to pout as he lowered his hand from your cheek.  

“Please make sure to come to me in the future if you ever need anything. I’ll be there to help you.” 

“Aww Villy!” You grinned at him. You playfully bumped his shoulder. “I’ll always be there for you too! Although, I’m not sure how good my advice is. But I’ll do my best to help you.” Vil smiled again and bumped your shoulder back. The rest of your walk was in silence, though not uncomfortable. You were walking so close together, occasionally your fingers would brush his and your heart would sing. Eventually, the shop came into view. “The Kingdom of the Sun” sign glowed as its fluorescent light flooded the sidewalk. 

You took a deep breath. Ok, this is it. The final piece! Buying supplies for your costume and mask weren’t cheap. For four weeks, you’d been working your ass off, trying to make enough money to get what you needed. You worked as much as possible after class, before class, and on the weekends. Your friends kept wondering why you were working so hard.  

“Hey, what’s this all about anyway?” Grim asked you one evening after you’d returned to the dorm after a night shift. “Just for one party? Sure, it’s gonna be the biggest event of the year, but you never cared about parties. What gives?” You kicked off your shoes and plopped onto the dusty couch. You closed your eyes. A picture-perfect face filled your mind. Your heart skipped a beat. Those violet eyes and silky blonde hair. You thought you were over your blond boy phase. Guess not. 

After the events of the SDC, you’d been spending more time with him. He was truly an amazing person. Beautiful inside and out. You don’t remember when your crush on Vil started. But one day, stupid Cupid shot you in the heart and you became a lovesick fool. You weren’t brave enough to approach him, so you started doing little secret things. You left little presents and love letters at his dorm. This went on for some time. Courage was elusive to you and after a while, you thought you’d never get the chance to tell Vil how you felt. But then, the masquerade was announced. It was the perfect opportunity to make your move. Of course, you couldn’t tell Grim that. You shrugged. 

“What’s wrong with trying hard every once in a while?” Grim wasn’t satisfied with your answer and kept bugging you until you gave him a can of tuna. 

You walked a few steps before a hand landed on your shoulder. You turned to see Vil looking at you. Even in the washed-out fluorescent lights, his beauty still sparkled like a flawless diamond. It was enough to take your breath away. You wondered if you would ever get used to how gorgeous he was. His hands reached up to your hair. Your scalp tingled as Vil ran his fingers through your hair. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” you asked. 

“Your hair and clothes are an absolute disaster. I assume it’s from all that running you were doing. I can’t in good conscience let you walk around like a disheveled vegetable. Now hush.”  

Vil straightened your shirt. His fingertips brushed your neck as he adjusted your collar. It took every ounce of your willpower not to shiver in pleasure. Vil took a step back and gave a satisfied smile. 

“There. All better,” he said and gestured towards the shop. “Shall we?” 

The bell dinged as the two of you stepped into the shop. A pleasant aroma filled your nose as your eyes scanned the shelves of herbs and flowers. Vil waved to the shop owner and exchanged pleasantries. You followed suit. You left them to their conversation and set on your mission. Primrose, no; Briar Thistle, no. …Chimera breath? Yikes, that thing stinks. There it is! You grinned.  

The last thing you needed was the blue star-shaped herb, Starflower. And it was sitting right before you, the very last one. The talisman instructions that you read said that this herb had the effect of courage. Just the thing you needed for the big night. As you reached out to grab it, another hand bumped into yours. There was only one person it could be. Your eyes met Vil’s.  

“Oh! Sorry, Villy. Um, did you also need this?” you asked.  

“Yes, I need it for one of my potions. I am quite curious as to why you need such an herb. I’m almost certain it’s not for class. What do you need it for?” 

You bit your lip under his cool gaze. I need it to win you over on the night of the masquerade! And maybe we’ll kiss at midnight! I’ll leave with a lipstick mark on my cheek, hee hee. Oof, shouldn’t get ahead of myself. You couldn’t tell him the truth. Dying of embarrassment wasn’t on your to-do list. But if you lied to him, he would see right through it.  

“It doesn’t really matter, ha ha,” you said. “Why don’t you just take it? I’m sure the things you need it for are more important.” 

“You were running down the sidewalk earlier as if you had a lot to lose by not getting here on time. I have also heard some rather interesting rumors.” Vil crossed his arms. Sweat started forming on your forehead. 

“Rumors?” 

“According to what I’ve heard, you’ve been working a considerable amount for the past month. Strangely enough, it sounds like this all started when the masquerade was announced.” Vil wasn’t accusing you of anything, but you felt like a deer in the headlights. Who even told him that? Who started the rumors? What was happening? You swallowed down the lump in your throat. 

“Listen. I don’t know anything about those rumors. And what’s wrong with working hard?” you retorted. “You’re the one who’s saying how important it is to work on your inner self or whatever. That’s what I’m doing. Nothing wrong with that, right? Anyway, take the stupid herb. I don’t need it.” You turned on your heels and stormed out.  

It took thirty minutes for you to walk back to your dorm. Your cheeks burned the whole walk back, and they still burned as you sat on the couch in the common room. Grim tried to ask you what was going on when you walked in, but your evil eye silenced him. You were impressed with yourself. Grim was not easily silenced. You stared at the ceiling as you munched on your dinner. You shouldn’t have snapped at Vil. Your anger and embarrassment got the better of you. 

Didn’t people have anything better to do than talk about you? Since when did people take notice of what you were doing?  A million questions ran through your head. You pushed your food away from you, picked the pillow off the couch, and screamed into it. Today was probably the worst day ever. You worked so hard to be able to buy that herb, and it was all for nothing. Not only that, but Vil probably hated you now.  

“Hey, henchman!” Grim called out to you. It sounded like his voice was coming from the front of the dorm. You groaned as you lifted yourself off the couch. Your legs ached and burned with every step you took. Skipping leg day was a bad idea.  

“What is it, Griiii-” your voice trailed off. Grim was standing in front of the open door, and on the other side of the threshold was the Queen himself. The brightest star took a break from the sky just to visit little old you at your little dorm. We are not worthy!!  

“Villy! Um,wha-what are you doing here? Isn’t it late? Like, you should be in bed, getting your beauty sleep. Uh, not that you need it.” You stammered. 

“It’s 7pm,” Vil said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Grim, could you give us a minute? I need to speak with your prefect in private.” You gulped. He was going to verbally mince you into a pie. It was the end. Grim’s eyes darted between the two of you. You screamed internally as he nodded to Vil and scampered back into the common room. You glanced at Vil. 

“Listen, about what happened earlier-” you began to explain. Your words caught in your throat when Vil held out his hand. He was holding a small bag. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the “Kingdom of the Sun” logo. Did he buy the herb and bring it to you? He is SO sweet!  

“Take it,” he said. You shook your head.  

“I can’t take it. You bought it! And you said you needed it for a potion.” You pushed the bag away. “Really, it’s not that important,” you added. Vil sighed and grabbed your hands. He put the bag into your palms and closed your fingers around it. His hands were warm and soft; his fingernails were perfectly shaped. You melted under such a simple touch. 

“Just take it. Please?” Vil pleaded. Arg! I can’t say no to him. 

“W-well ok. But only because you said please.” you stammered. Vil smiled and patted your head. 

“I don’t understand what’s going on with you. But this herb seems to be of great importance. I expect great things to come of it.” Vil said. You said good night to each other. You stayed in the doorway until you saw his figure disappear into the night. You looked down at the bag in your hand. Your stomach fluttered with butterflies. He said he had high expectations of you. You grinned. Not bad for a spudling. I can’t let him down! You closed the door and rushed to your room. With renewed vigor, you added the finishing touch to your costume. It had to be perfect. It just had to be! 

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

The morning fog lingered on the ground as you snuck over to the Pomefiore dorm. It was the day of the final boss: the masquerade ball. You decided to leave an extra special gift for Vil on the doorstep. It was a perfume that you made yourself. Even though anyone could see that an amateur had made it, you were still quite proud of yourself. You wrapped it in brightly colored paper with a big bow so it could easily be seen.  

A little card in perfect cursive handwriting that took you a painstakingly long time to do were the words: To the Fairest One of All, Vil Schoenheight. I look forward to your radiant beauty at the masquerade ball tonight. Yours truly, your secret admirer. You would normally leave such a gift outside his bedroom door, but today was different. From afar, you could tell that the dorm was buzzing. People were hanging around the courtyard. Someone would see you and start asking questions. Sneaking into the building was going to be nearly impossible. Your best bet was to leave it by the front door so that when Vil came back from his morning jog, he would see it. You grinned.  

Hopefully, Vil would love the present and be so moved by it, that the night of the masquerade, he would give you a kiss. You really wanted a kiss. You imagined looking in the mirror at a red lipstick mark, staining your lips. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you thought about it. 

That was your plan. Completely foolproof. At least it would be if Vil wasn’t standing right there at the front gates. And… who were all those people? And more importantly, who was the guy with the balloons? Among the large group of people surrounding Vil, was a guy with balloons in his hands. You hid your gift behind your back as you got closer. The atmosphere was heavy.  

The guy got down on one knee and released the balloons into the sky. Bang! Bang! Bang! The balloons erupted into fireworks of purple, blue, and red. With a wave of his magical pen, a bouquet of flowers appeared in his hand and a sparkling rainbow shone above his head. He held the flowers out to Vil, whose eyes were wide. 

“Vil! I-I really admire you!” the guy’s voice boomed across the courtyard. “Will you please grant me the great privilege to be your date to the masquerade?” Gasps and low murmurs escaped the crowd's mouths. You could only watch in horror. You couldn't compete with that. The magical spectacle. The drama. The confidence! That guy knew what he wanted and went after it with no fear. You clenched your fists. I hate him. Vil blinked at hummingbird speed. 

“My, what a bold proclamation. Well, I-" Vil looked up from where the guy was kneeling. Through the horde of murmuring people, like a magnet, his eyes met yours. A warmth decorated his face that you'd never seen before. Under normal circumstances, this moment would have meant the world to you. But a cold feeling washed over you.  

The sound of breaking glass tickled your ears as your gift slipped from your fingers. A tightness gripped your chest. You couldn't stay here. Tears stung your eyes as you slipped away from the crowd. I was too late. How stupid am I? How could I think that Vil would choose me? Your steps felt heavy with every stride you took. I’m just a magic-less nobody. A stupid potato. You didn't spare Vil a second glance, even though you could hear him calling you. 

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

How annoying. Despite your grumbling and protests, Grim dragged you out to the masquerade. You didn't want to go. What was the point? But Grim was insistent. “C'mon! I heard there was gonna be free food! And I need my henchman to assist me. Better than sittin' here and moping. Get your costume, and let's go!” 

So, there you were. In the castle, Chateau De Chambord. The magnitude of the castle was enough to take your breath away. Everywhere you looked, there were the fanciest decorations you'd ever seen in your life. You would never be able to afford such things. Grim trotted beside you as you made your way to the ballroom. Guests in fine costumes were all around you.

Someone was a leopard, and another person was dressed up as a chameleon. You marveled at the intricacy of their outfit. Their costume changed colors to match the surroundings. You figured they used magic. Man, magic is SO cool! Your grouchiness slowly disappeared with every new marvel and outfit that you laid your eyes on. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a full-length mirror in a small alcove. You pulled a grumbling Grim over to the mirror to get a look at yourself. You held out your arms and did a twirl. A cultivation of a month's worth of work on full display. You chose your costume to resemble a rosy maple moth. Pink and yellow striped the long jacket of your dress suit, which was a body of yellow. You used fleece to give yourself the fuzzy look of a moth. Your mask covered your whole face, the same color as your suit.  

Large antennae crowned your head and fluffy tufts decorated your face. It wasn't the most elaborate costume, but your chest still swelled with pride as you admired yourself. The talisman you put together hung around your neck in clear view. You picked out a large silver pendant with a hollow glass container, so you could put your starflower herb concoction into the container. The glass looked like a sapphire stone. So far, you hadn’t noticed much change in your sense of confidence, but you hoped it would work soon. 

Lively music was playing as you and Grim entered the ballroom. The dance floor was littered with people who were drinking and dancing. You wondered if you would recognize any of your friends. You wondered if Vil had arrived yet. Your heart squeezed at the thought of him. Maybe he had a date, maybe it was the guy who asked him to the dance earlier. They could be dancing together right now, holding each other close and gazing into each other's eyes. At midnight, they would share the best kiss of all time. You felt sick to your stomach. Suddenly, the party seemed dull. 

Grim pulled on your sleeves and pointed to one of the buffet tables. Food was no longer enticing but nonetheless, your furry companion tugged on your sleeve with the eagerness of a small child. You sighed. The two of you waded through the crowd. Once you reached the buffet table, your eyes grew wide. You’d never seen so much food in your life. Everything looked and smelled so delicious. Grim was practically drooling looking over everything.  

“Henchman!” he exclaimed. “Give me one of everything! It all looks so amazing!” He hopped up and down with excitement. You sighed heavily. Despite the delicious aromas invading your nose, your stomach was in knots. The whole reason you wanted to go to the masquerade was because of Vil. It was your one big chance to finally make your move.

But it was all for nothing. You should’ve seen it coming. Of course, someone was going to ask Vil to the ball. He was a popular guy. It was stupid of you to think that no one would ask him out or even worse, that he would wait for you. He didn’t even know how you felt, why would he wait for you? You weren’t even sure if he felt the same way. In hindsight, it all seemed so foolish. But you wanted to follow your heart. 

“Hey! What are you sulkin’ for? Is this about Vil?” Grim’s question made your stomach flip. I think I’m going to puke. 

“What are you talking about?” You demanded. 

“You like him, don’t you?” 

“WHAAT?! How did you- I mean I don’t- It’s just that- Ugh!” You nearly shouted. If Grim figured it out, then everyone else must have too. That is so embarrassing. Grim huffed. 

“It was kind of obvious. You look at him like he’s the best thing since canned tuna. Your eyes get all sparkly and your face lights up like a Christmas tree whenever someone mentions his name.” Heat rose to your cheeks. Luckily, the mask covering your face hid your embarrassment. 

“This is... bad. REALLY bad. I thought I was being subtle!” You exclaimed. 

“You’re about as subtle as a brick to the face,” Grim said. “Well, did you ask him to the dance? Is he meeting you here?” 

“Uh...no. Someone else asked him earlier. I-I missed my chance.”  

“So that’s why you were all droopy earlier.” Grim paused for a moment. “Do you... want to talk about it?” You shook your head. 

“No thanks. But I appreciate your offer. For now, I’ll get your food for you, and we can just chill out for the rest of the night. Ok? So, go find us a table. I’ll find you after I make your plate.” Grim hesitated for a moment before nodding and scurrying off. You sighed again. It was going to be a rough night. You reached out your hand to grab a plate and bumped into someone else’s hand. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” You exclaimed. The hand belonged to a peacock. Or rather, a person dressed as a peacock. The iridescent blues and greens complimented each other so beautifully. A long train of plume trailed behind them by their waist. A blue mask covered their whole face with bejeweled stones. Your jaw dropped. “Wow! Your costume is so gorgeous. You look like royalty. Really. You should totally have a crown.” A thought suddenly crossed your mind. How long have they been standing there? Did they hear me and Grim talk about Vil? 

“Thank you.” The person behind the mask chuckled and you could've sworn you recognized it from somewhere. “Your costume looks wonderful too. Is it handmade?” 

“I can't tell if it's a compliment or a curse that you could see that. But yeah. I made this myself. I worked really hard on it! It took like a month to get it together.” You answered and puffed out your chest. 

“Of course it's a compliment. I can tell how hard you worked on it. You should be proud of yourself.” The peacock's voice was so kind. You blushed at their compliments. 

“Ah, please pardon me from before. For bumping your hand.” The peacock handed you a plate. “For you.” You thanked them and began to pile Grim’s plate with everything on the table. One of everything, as requested. After filling the plate to the brim, you waddled over to where Grim was sitting. He was easy to find with his flaming ears. It made him look like a glow stick in the dim light. 

“Thanks.” Grim chirped cheerfully as you placed his plate in front of him. Nothing made Grim happier than a big plate of food. 

“Yeah, sure. You’re welcome.” You said. You huffed and slumped into your chair. Beside you, you heard the scraping of a chair. The person from earlier, in the peacock costume, sat beside you. A meager meal sat on their plate as opposed to Grim's tower of food.  

“Would you mind if I sat next to you?” The person asked. 

“I don't see why not. Uh, I didn't catch your name before?” 

“My name is Vi-Vincent. A pleasure to meet you.” Vincent extended his hand to you, and you shook it. 

“Nice to meet you too! The ravenous raccoon over there-" You jabbed a finger in Grim's direction. 

“I am NOT a raccoon!” He complained. You were surprised you could understand him with all that food in his mouth. 

“Ha ha, right. My bad. That's Grim. Maybe he's a cat?” You shrugged. Vincent inclined his head to Grim before turning back to you. 

“I was wondering if you would tell me more about your costume. I'm so intrigued. How long did it take to you to finish it?” Vincent asked.  

“Oh, it took about a month. I've been working at several part-time jobs to buy all the pieces I needed. It's supposed to look like a... look like a...” You trailed. A nagging feeling was tugging at your mind. There was something about Vincent that felt so familiar. His posture, how he talked. His presence comforted you which was odd considering you’d never met him before. Or had you? 

“Like a what?” Vincent asked. 

“Oh, um. Like a moth. It was my inspiration.” You answered. You squinted your eyes trying to get a better look at the eye holes in Vincent’s mask. The shadows across his face and the dim atmosphere made it impossible to see his eyes. Still, that sense of familiarity didn’t leave you. 

“Well, your hard work most certainly paid off. And I must say,” Vincent pointed at your talisman. “That is such a lovely blue color. Is that sapphire?” You shook your head. 

“It does look like one but no. It's a little potion I mixed together. I used an herb called Starflower. That's what's making it look so blue. It's supposed to increase confidence.” 

“How impressive. But, if you don't mind me asking, why would you need such a thing? Was it for the masquerade?” Vincent asked. That’s a weird question, right? Why would he need to know? 

“Uh, well…I guess. Actually, I was hoping to ask out my crush tonight. I chose this herb to help give me the courage to do so.” You shook your head. “But I don't think I'll be able to ask him. He came here with someone else.” Tears stung your eyes. You still couldn’t believe that you missed your chance. Vincent tilted his head. 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“Huh?” 

Before Vincent could continue, the music changed to a slow song. Couples gathered on the dance floor, swaying and holding each other close. Your shoulders slumped. One of those couples out there could've been me and Vil but… 

Vincent stood up and extended a gloved hand towards you. 

“May I have this dance?”  

You gazed at his outstretched hand. You weren’t sure what was going on, but your heart was pounding in your chest as the wheels in your mind were turning at lightning speed. A normal person would take that as a sign that something was wrong, and it would be best to go home. But only one person made your heart soar the way it was soaring now.

Vil? You had to know. And you would only know if you took his hand. You reached out. Your palm slid into his and his fingers curled around your hand as he helped you rise to your feet. Through gloved hands, warmth seeped from his to yours like sunlight pouring through the blinds in the early morning. And it was then that you knew. 

Together you made your way to the dance floor, walking hand in hand, maneuvering between swaying couples. Under the light of a beautiful chandelier, Vincent turned to you. You gasped as his hand held your waist and he pulled you closer. The music couldn’t be heard over the desperate drumming in your chest but luckily, Vincent was taking the lead. You only had to worry about was following his movements and trying not to stare at him too much. 

“Are you alright?” Vincent’s voice murmured over the pounding in your ears. 

“Y-yes. I’m ok.” You paused for a moment. “What did you mean before?” 

“What?” 

“When I told you my crush came here with someone else. You asked me if I was sure about that. What did you mean?” 

“Ah, well. What I meant was-” Vincent went silent for a moment. “Well, did you see him say yes? To the other person who asked him.” 

“Well, not exactly but, it was a really impressive proposal. There were balloons, flowers, and fireworks! I can’t compete with that. I’m just a potato...” 

“A potato, you say?” Vincent mused.  

Hmm, he didn’t take the bait. Let’s try something else. You wracked your brain. Something about Vil. There were so many things that ran through your mind about him. His eyes, his lips, his hair, and his beautiful smile. How hardworking and smart he was; he was so gifted and talented. It still shocked you that he wanted to be friends with someone like you. He was a swan, and you were a crow.

But honestly, Vil wasn’t the kind of guy who cared about status. He cared about people for who they were and who they could be through hard work and dedication. Maybe that’s why he wanted to be your friend. Because he saw something beautiful within you just like you saw the beauty in him. And that the beautiful thing inside you, maybe, just maybe, it would be enough for him to feel the same way you did about him. 

“Your talisman!” Vincent gasped. You looked down. A bright blue light shone from your talisman, illuminating the two of you. Calmness washed over you like spring rain and a warmth radiated in your chest. Your morning slump was no longer important. It didn't matter that someone else asked Vil to the dance. The only thing that mattered was right here, right now. You could do anything. You could take on the world. You could get the guy. You had an idea. It was time to show off what you were made of. 

“Check this out!” You proclaimed. 

You pulled Vincent (aka Vil) even closer to you and took over the lead. You weaved your way across the dancefloor, twirling and stepping. The other dancers, the room, everything faded away as you danced with the most beautiful person in the world. This was it, now or never. You had to win him over! You gazed into Vil's eyes. The mask made it difficult to see him but you thought you caught a glimmer in his eye. As the song came to a resounding close, you did one last elegant spin before delicately dipping Vil. You heard him gasp as your hand held his back. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath.  

Between heavy breaths, you spoke. “I know it’s you under there.” You smiled with triumph. “Beautiful Vil.” You felt him tense under your touch. You helped him stand upright and clasped his hands. 

“Heh. Did I give myself away?” he asked tentatively. You smiled even wider. 

“Vil, you are the sun. I would recognize you anywhere.” You squeezed Vil’s hands. “There’s something I want to tell you.” 

“Please tell me.” 

“Villy,” You took a deep breath. You’ve been waiting for this. “You're an amazing person. I've never met someone as dedicated and hardworking as you are. Every time I look at you, you take my breath away. I’m crazy about you and I want to be with you. I know I may not be worthy of you but I promise to become someone who is! I'll work really hard and-" Vil cut you off. 

“Darling... Take the mask off.”  

Without hesitation, you took your mask off. Vil did the same. Under the dim lights, there he was. His smile lit up your heart. He cupped your cheek with his hand and looked deep into your eyes. Finally. You could see his beautiful violet eyes, sparkling like stars. 

“You're an idiot.” 

“Huh?! Hey! What's that supposed to-"  

“How could you possibly think you aren't worthy of me?” Vil smiled. “You want to know what my favorite thing about you is? How you remain so kind and unapologetically yourself. So many things have happened to you since you ended up in Twisted Wonderland. Don't you remember when I overblotted? You were my greatest supporter, offering your shoulder to cry on and a listening ear when I needed one. You are so, so wonderful. And I am so thankful to have you in my life.” Heat rushed to your cheeks. Vil had never complimented you like that before. You almost didn't know what to say. 

“So… even though I'm a potato, you feel the same way? You like me too?” You asked. Vil smiled again and you sighed. 

“Well, they say actions speak louder than words. May I kiss you?” 

You nodded so fast, you thought your head was going to fall off. As your faces moved closer and closer, you closed your eyes. His lips met yours. Warmth spread from your lips all the way to your toes like a flower blooming in spring. You wrapped your arms around Vil's waist as his fingers tangled in your hair. Your mind went blank as the kiss deepened, the feeling of his soft lips moving against yours was enough to make you see stars behind your eyes. 

All too soon, Vil pulled away. He chuckled as he saw your pouting face. He planted a kiss on your nose but there was no way that was enough for you. You wanted more. Vil slipped your mask onto your face before putting his back on. He took your hand and led you away from the dancefloor. The music was nothing but a muffled booming in your ears as the warmth from Vil's hand enveloped yours. You followed him to the door leading to the gardens. The fairy lights decorating the tables and walkways hardly held a candle to the billions of burning stars that twinkled in the sky.  

Vil made his way down winding paths until he found a secluded area with a bench and topiaries. He turned to face you and took off his mask. The stars paled in comparison to this beautiful man standing in front of you. You took off your mask and threw your arms around him and kissed his sweet lips. Euphoria overcame you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and returned your kiss. A thought struck your mind and you pulled away. 

“A mirror! I need a mirror!” You exclaimed. You whipped your head around looking for one but there were none to be found. Vil cleared his throat. You squealed in glee as he handed you a compact mirror. Leave it to Vil to always be prepared! You flipped it open and gazed at your lips. You grinned. Blue stained your mouth from Vil's lipstick, proof that he was yours and you were his. It was perfect. 

“Wow! Dreams really do come true.” You said. Vil raised an eyebrow at you but you only smiled at him in response. “So... what now, Villy?” He tapped his chin deep in thought. 

“Well, there is one thing I was curious about. I wonder if you wouldn't mind humoring me?” 

“Of course! What is it?” You asked. 

“Was it you who left all those gifts outside of my bedroom door? And the broken perfume bottle and the written note were also from you, right?” 

“Uhhh...” Your voice trailed off. “What if I did?” 

“You are such a silly thing.” Vil laughed. “Did you really do all of that for me?”  

“I wanted to make you happy and I’m glad it worked.” You sighed. “I love your laugh.”

“You know, there are other ways to make me happy,” Vil said and winked at you. You closed the space between you and kissed him. You pulled away and cupped his face in your hands. Your heart soared as Vil's face softened and his lips curved into a small smile. He took your hands in his and twirled you around. Together, you danced under the starry sky, the echo of the music in the ballroom, leading your steps. A whole month. You waited for this moment for a whole month. It was worth every single second, and you would gladly do it all over again just to live in this moment once more. 

[yellowjackets96]

i owe you a black eye and two kisses / angus tully x reader

summary / after defending your best friend’s honor in a scuffle with kountze, he decides to take first aid into his own hands.

warnings / mentions of blood, bruises, and general injuries

word count / 2K even!

heyyy, baby’s first x reader fanfiction! cannot believe i have been alive nearly twenty damn years and never once did this. who crode?

You cannot seem to remember when the blood started to pour from your mouth or the moment you realized Kountze’s nose should not be pointed in that direction, but both moments hit you like a freight train when Angus grabs your arm.

“Holy shit!” he exclaims, fingers prodding at the newborn black eye on your face. “You– you– my god.”

As cooly as possible, you pop your neck to the side and smirk. “Heh. All in a day’s work.”

“You could’ve killed him,” one of Kountze’s goons says, tending to his nose. The blonde bully is shell-shocked, a state of mind you previously believed to be inherently against his nasty nature.

You scoff, shrugging at the lackey. “I’m sure his daddy can help,” you remark, spinning around on your heel and striding out of the room, with a hyped Angus in tow. He’s so energized, he could probably shoot himself off the walls like a projectile and fly back to you like a boomerang.

“I can’t believe you had that in you,” he mutters, still quite bewildered by your sucker punch. “In all my years of knowing you…I don’t think he’ll ever bother me again, now.”

You turn slightly to grin at him. “Hey, I’m glad to hear it. Guy’s a real fuckface and a half. His reign of terror has gone on far too fucking long.”

Once you get to your modest dorm room towards the end of the hall, you feel Angus reach out and touch you once again, and he gazes at you sternly, his expression mirroring a way only your mom looks at you. You roll your eyes, hands not moving from turning the key in the door. “What’s the matter, Tully?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, a deep grimace on his face. “He was shit-talking me, not you. And now you’ve got a black eye, your lip is busted, and you could’ve lost teeth, and–”

You swiftly cut him off. “So? You’re my best friend. I was simply defending your honor. Little shit shouldn’t be able to get away with mocking your familial situation. It’s not like you can control it.” Twisting the knob to the side, you gently push the door open and step into the room, eyeing him slightly. “You can come in, if you’re not planning on lecturing me.”

“Well,” Angus says, shutting the door behind him. “You can ignore my chastising to high heaven, but you’re still going to need some wound care for the black-and-blue knuckles, swollen eye, and split lip. Even if you don’t wanna ice the bruises and bumps, though, you need to keep the lip stuff from the point of possible infections.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. “Everything that could possibly hurt is just…dully throbbing. And I’m sure all the bleeding was due to how shallow the cuts were. I need nothing more than an ibuprofen and a bandaid.”

For the third time, the boy takes a grip on your arm, lanky digits wrapping around your cold skin gently enough to leave no mark, but firmly enough to stop you definitively in your tracks. “Sit down,” he states, the edge of hoarseness in his voice causing it to be barely above a whisper. “Now.”

You find his forceful tone compelling enough to follow his commands, pushing your swivel chair around until it faces forward and reluctantly take a seat. “Fine. Have it your way.”

“Thank you,” Angus says, winking at you before immediately diving headfirst into rummaging through your cabinets and drawers. “You’re gonna need the whole nine yards of first aid care here. Just be patient, okay? I know from you doing it for me that the process tends to be lengthy.”

“Whatever you say,” you murmur. “As long as you don’t break anything valuable during your expedition into my belongings.”

He turns to you with a hearty smirk, arms filled with cotton pads, alcohol wipes, hydrogen peroxide bottles, bandages, and tweezers, among multiple other things. “Oh yeah?” he says, seemingly challenging you as he places the supplies on the desk behind you. “And what would you do about it if I did?”

“Probably cut up my end of our friendship bracelets,” you reply, not missing a beat. “You don’t even wear yours, anyway.”

Angus does not even need to speak to refute your claim as he pushes his sweater sleeve past his watch, revealing the braided object in question is still on display on the part of his arm that no one can see. Your jaw goes slightly askew at the revelation. “I stand corrected.”

He chuckles, sufficiently satisfied with the exchange as he flips the cap open on one of the peroxide bottles, pressing it against a cotton pad. Once he determines it to be prepared enough for your bloodied mouth, he looks over at you, eyebrows furrowed in thought. A moment of contemplation passes – he closely scans your face up and down, down and up, enough times to be able to sketch it perfectly from memory, as he nods to himself. With a steady step forward, he places the pad between his thumb and pointer finger and goes in, forcefully dabbing it against your bottom lip. All of the miniscule amounts of warmth escapes your body as you roughly suck air in through your teeth, grabbing a fistful of the cuff of his sweater.

“Does that hurt?” Angus asks, wide brown eyes filled with an entire galaxy’s worth of concern. “Be honest with me.”

You grind your teeth, putting as much effort as humanly possible into a brave face. “It stings, that’s for sure.”

He quickly withdraws the soggy gauze from your mouth. “Good news, then, ‘cause I’m already done with it.”

“Shit!” you exclaim, hands flying up to your bottom lip. “Really?”

Snickering at your shocked face, Angus tilts his head to the side, examining your injuries again. “Yup. I think you were right about it being shallow. I’m no med student, but I don’t think it’s at risk of developing any kind of infection.

Melting back into the chair, your face is overtaken by a relaxed smile, in spite of yourself. A few seconds pass before curiosity overtakes you and you peer over your shoulder to ogle at his activity. You’re met with the completely ridiculous sight of him attempting to maneuver a bandaid into a jar of petroleum jelly. “Jesus, Angus!”

He can’t help himself from laughing at your reaction. “What? You didn’t have any ointment!”

“You said my lip’s fine!” you respond. “Unless you were trying to soften the blow of my oncoming sepsis by lying to me.”

He shakes his head emphatically. “No. I just wanted to see if I could make it hurt less for you.”

“It doesn’t,” you insist, waving him off.

“Really?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest in judgment, once again harkening back to something an authority figure in your life would do. “Then why were you tugging at my shirt like a damn seven-year-old at a grocery store?”

You scowl at him, face overtaken by a shade of red that only appears when you’re trying not to laugh at him. “I hate you.”

Angus laughs a sharp ha!, face wrinkled up in a simper as he pulls himself back up to your level, an ice pack in either hand. “No, you don’t. You wouldn’t have kept me around for so long if you did.” He drops the ice packs in your lap and points at your cheek. “I can’t believe you were insisting on letting these wounds take care of themselves, dude. Your cheek’s swollen as hell.”

“How bad is it?” you curiously ask, brows quirked in thought.

“Well, the verdict’s already in that you’ll survive this,” he quips, earning a laugh from you. “So that’s out of the question, but if I didn’t already know you, I’d assume you either victoriously won or pitifully lost a professional boxing match.”

You playfully smack at his shoulder as he breaks into a laughing fit. “It was a compliment!” he defensively mutters, picking up one of the ice packs. “The thing’s a bona fide war wound, I swear. You look badass.”

“You should see the other guy,” you remark, watching him intently as Angus brings a hand up to your face, softly touching the ice pack to your bruise. “Also, I can’t believe you would call me badass. You must be buttering me up for the next time you have a bone to pick with Teddy.”

“Nah,” he denies, raising the pack slightly further up. “You’ve always been badass, ever since we were old enough to speak our minds. It’s a mindset in my eyes, since you never really looked like I imagined one being.”

Your face instantly softens as you gaze at him, studying the way he intently deals with something as uneventful as a bruised cheek. “You’re just being nice because I look like hell.”

Angus pulls his attention away from the ice pack to meet your lingering eyes. “I’m as serious as a car crash. You’ve always had this self-assured attitude, no matter who you were dealing with. The way that I don’t back down from a physical fight is exactly how you are in verbal sparring matches, but you’re, just, so much cooler in terms of that, ‘cause you refuse to relent on your beliefs. I could never be so firm when I speak to people, even if I try my very fuckin’ darndest.”

“I-I had-” you stammer heavily, effectively caught off-guard by his words. “No idea you thought so highly of me. That’s so incredibly sweet.”

“Well, you deserve to hear it,” he says, taking the ice pack off of your face. “You’ve been such a constant in my life, and I seriously don’t know who or where I would be without you. Hell, you even BEGGED your parents to let you transfer to every single school I ended up in post-expellings! I can’t help but idolize you. You were born with an insatiable fighting spirit. Nothing and nobody can get to you.”

Before you can form a single coherent thought, you blurt out four words you would never even dream of saying to Angus Tully. “Can I kiss you?”

Silence falls over the two of you like a curtain as Angus gazes up at you, eyes full of wonder, mouth hanging open. Before long, his lips turn upward in one of his signature smiles. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Lifting his hands up, he gingerly cups your cheeks with his hands and dives in, pressing your lips together in a delicate embrace. You close your eyes on impact, heart lighting up with an intensity you are not sure you have ever felt. Holy shit! Kountze must have killed you! This has to be heaven! The moments pass fleetingly before Angus finally pulls away, a genuine, natural, adorable little grin on his face as he sheepishly doesn’t face you, cheeks burning a soft, passionate pink. You must have been an idiot for never making a move all these years, but at least you finally got struck with the urge to do so.

“Y- your c-ch-” and now, like poetic justice, he is the one who’s been bitten by the stutter bug. “Your cheek looks better already. How about we get some ibuprofen in you and then we – okay, you have to step in if I embarrass myself here – step off of campus to go get some dinner?”

You’re smirking now, trying not to giggle at the unseen shy side he keeps so carefully locked away. “Angus Tully, are you asking me on a date?” He tries his very best not to avoid eye contact with you again as he nervously nods in confirmation. You reach out for his hand, interlocking your fingers together like puzzle pieces. “Well, then. I’d have to say what I’m sure you’ve been waiting to hear come out of my mouth all these years – yes.”

[sweet-yellow-honey]

HEY SO I NOTICED ALOT OF PPL ON HERE LIKED MY MIRRORBOX ART SO HERES A FIC I ALSO WROTE!!!!!!!!! YOU CAN ALSO FIND THIS FIC ON AO3!!!!!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Boxten and Poppy were sitting in the audience of one of Vees game shows, listening in on the winners prizes and loud buzzers.

“How did SHRIMPO win a car??? He can’t even drive!!” Poppy said with a huff. “Nether can you.” The box shot back. “oh ya” Poppy sighed, looking back at the stage as said shrimp almost ran though the stage wall with his new prize

“Hey Pops, any idea who the finishing act is? I just hope it’s nothing with cannons.. or flashing lights…. Or spiders…….”

“Oh! I think it’s Glisten this time actually!” The bubble responded, looking over the pamphlet that was handed out to them to check. “Huh, Glisten Glisten.. I dont think I’ve ever met him actually..” Boxten said, witch was a surprising statement, considering the fact everyone here pretty much HAD to know eachother. “YOU’VE NEVER MET HIM?????” Poppy yelled, looking at her friend with wide eyes. “What? What, was I supposed to know him? Ohhh I knew I should have introduced myself! I just got so worried about whether or not they would think I was weird… i mean… as I weird??? Ughh I-“ The music box went on for a few more minutes, when he felt a sharp jab in his arm.

“Stop worrying! I swear, it’s all you do!” The bubble taunted, rolling her eyes “heh, ya I guess I-“

“OH OH SHUT UP ITS STARTING-“ Poppy shouted before Boxten even had the chance to reply, turning to look at the center stage where Vee was standing.

“Alright folks! We’ve got an excellent show for you all tonight! Without further ado, its the gorgeous! The iconic! The gymnastic!… GLISSTTEENNNNN!”

Vee shouted, raising her hands to a large platform yards above the audience, lights flashing and darting towards the stand. Boxten had to cover his face to try and block out the blinding lights, trying to catch a small glimpse of the glittery mirror. And then… he saw him.

It was just for a second, Glisten had peered over the edge of the platform, gazeing down at the crowd waveing with a smile.

Boxten saw him just for a second. His bright, blue eyeshadow. The singular golden curl that fell over his face. The way his eyes sparkled just as much as the lights around him. Wow.

“He’s beautiful…” Boxten thought to himself.

Then the actual show started.

At first, boxten thought it was just gonna be a normal performance, probably singing or dancing or something. Something tame, something that wouldn’t make him jump out of his seat in fear. Besides, this guys seemed reasonable.

Boy was he wrong.

Just then, around two dozen or so glittery silver rings, bars, and hoops fell from the ceiling, makeing the stage more shiny than before. Then, the glittering mirror grabbed onto one. Then jumped from his post.

Boxten’s heart almost burst out of his chest in worry, how on earth can an angel like that put himself at risk like that?! Then he finally realized that sense the mirror was holding on to the bar, he wouldn’t fall.

Oh right.

Boxten tried watching the rest of the performance (still panicking for the gymnasts safety) gripping at his bandana as to try and stop his heart from pounding out of his chest. He tried to remember what Poppy always said to him. Breathe. And that’s what he did. In and out, in and out.

He then turned his attention back to Glisten, who was currently throwing this slimmer figure through multiple hoops at once. While terrifying, still impressive. REALLY impressive. Boxten couldn’t stop his hands from reaching his edges cheeks in a swoon, watching the taller jump from ring to ring, twisting and turning to dazzle the crowd.

He moved like an angel flying though heavens clouds.

At least that’s what Boxten thought.

And then it kept going.

Glisten grabbed bars, rings, and performed tricks that could’ve killed him if anything went wrong. At one point, he even flung himself from the top of the platform, grabbing onto a pair of rings to catch his fall. Then he started to spin around the golden metal hoops, moving faster and faster as the audience cheered.

Boxten seemed to be getting more and more nervous as the performance continued. I mean, who wouldn’t be when the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen was flying through the air like a damn stunt man.

Glisten then took a dive from his hoop landing back onto the large podium and Vee walked back on stage. “Alright everyone, thanks for coming to the game tonight, I-“

“BITCH I WASNT DONE!!!!”

Glisten blew a quick few kisses into the crowd and somehow struck almost five poses in the span of a second, then turned back to Vee, ok continue, ima go back to the dressing room, love you all!!!” The mirror said, jumping down from the podium and walking off the stage, leavening Vee a little speechless due the this mans audacity.

“…ok then.” Vee said, a little flabbergasted with the sheer amount of sass Glisten had. She then continued with her speech and the crowds slowly started to leave.

“Holy crap- Glisten is amazing!” Poppy said as she turned to Boxten. “What did you think?”

“I think…. I think I need to go.” Boxten said, jumping up from his seat and running down the stairs of the aisle, turning his square head back to Poppy, who looked utterly confused.

“ILL CATCH UP!! I’LL RIGHT BACK!!!!!”

The box shouted, already darting down a known hallway behind the stage area. He only new the place from a tour he did with Vee as a prize of the show itself. Boy did he love being smart.

Poppy stood halfway in the aisle, somewhat dumbfounded as a bright red lamp wandered up to her.

“Where’s he off to?”

“I don’t know, probably to the bathroom to masterbate or something”

“Poppy… he doesn’t have genitals… none of us do.”

“Oh ya! Why do i always forget the most important things…”

“It’s probably because of the brain damage.”

“What brain damage?”

Boxten rounded a corner, stopping in front of a huge wooden door with the words “guest room” written across a gold star plate. Once he caught his breath, he stopped for a moment. Should he do this? Should he knock? It was just that that was the greatest performance he had ever seen. He had to complement the man behind it. With a shaking fist, he gently knocked on the door.

Just then, the door slowly creaked open, revealing Glisten himself peaking around the side. “Oh! Can I help you?” He asked, politely smiling down at the small box toon in front of him. God, he was even more beautiful up close…

“Oh I uh-“ The music box muttered, stuttering on his words “ya uh, you don’t really know me… but I was actually in the audience watching your performance, I just wanted to say that it was amazing! It was honestly one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen, uh sorry it that sounds weird… I just needed to complement you on it… it was magic, really.” Boxten said, fidgeting with the end of his bandana, looking up at the graceful mirror in front of him.

At the box’s words, Glisten’s eyes widened, looking at him suprised. Then they softened, a small smile appearing on his face.

“Why thank you, dear.” The mirror said softly, his cheeks glowing slightly more pink than the blush already dashed onto them.

“Oh uh, ya thank you! I- I should be going now actually, I’m really not supposed to be here….. You’re beautiful tho- I MEAN- your performance was beautiful!” Boxten said quickly turning on his heel about to make a clean getaway, when a yellow hand stopped him.

“Hey, wait a sec!” The mirror said from behind Boxten, causing the box to whip his head around to face the taller toon. “ I just realized, I never caught your name, sweetie.”

“OH UH…” Boxten stuttered “it’s Boxten! I’m one of the background toons… although I WISH I was one of the mains…” the box chuckled, Glisten giggling along. “Oh ya, they get WAYYY to many food perks… But I was actually thinking..” the mirror said, leaning against the door frame. “… if you wanted to grab lunch or dinner at together sometime? I always atleast TRY to know everyone-“ Glisten said, hand on his hip and his face a little… nervous?

“Oh! Oh um, YES! Yes… I would- love too!” Boxten said, face red as hell at the fact this beauty of a man wanted to get dinner??? With him???????

“Great! Heres my number Boxy! Call me!” The mirror said, slamming a folded up piece of paper into the boxes arms, giving him a wink before closing the door before Boxten could respond.

Boxten looked at the paper in this hand, then back up at the door. At this point, only one thought could run though his mind…

“OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG-

I’m the luckiest man alive.”

ok Ty for reading this yippppieeeeee👉👈

[hanasnx]

“ COLLIDE LIKE TWO STARS FOR A WHILE ” — shakarian.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: during ME1, pre-romance. WARNINGS: fem shepard | spacer backstory, if you squint | established relationship as friends | slow burn romance themes | regular romance themes | friends to lovers and this is the precursor, the friends bit, so to speak.

It’s unlikely but not impossible that extraction fails, and night falls quickly. Out in the middle of nowhere, under the stars, SHEPARD and her team of GARRUS VAKARIAN and URDNOT WREX are stranded until early next morning. They adapt, as survivalists do, and make camp with limited supplies. Communications are on the fritz, but she’s not worried yet, right now they should get some rest. “You two get a head-start, I’ll keep first watch.” she’d said. It had been a while since then, the fire’s low, and she yawns into her hand. At least it’s a hell of a view, she hasn’t been somewhere without light pollution in years. She sees stars outside the windows of the Normandy all the time, but nothing like this. Perhaps there’s some ancient human in her after all, the kind that once-in-a-while needs solid ground under her feet while she gazes into the sparkling canopy of the skies. She draws in a deep, calming breath. This mission didn’t go her way, it’s been nothing but tough choices and rushed half-baked ideas trying to catch up to Saren. Now they’re stuck, waiting here until their retrieval.

Some rustling, then footsteps sound behind her, and she pivots her head in the direction at attention until she recognizes them. Garrus comes to stand aside her, the curves of his armor illuminated in the dull light. “Any action, Commander?”

Shepard is reminded of herself, sitting straighter at the sight of her subordinate. Elbows rest on her propped up knees, and her gloved fingers fiddle to get the blood flowing. Through her exhaustion, she musters a weak “heh.” cocking her head to reach the back of her neck to her hand and give it a rub. With a tired quirk to her lips she responds, “Not yet, Vakarian, but the night’s still young.”

Garrus aligns himself, and slowly seats next to her releasing a sigh on the way down. “I came to relieve you.”

"Yeah, I'll turn in in a minute." she replies, facing forward. He mirrors her position. Through lids not yet heavy, she watches the horizon, the long stretch of flatland curtained by the blue night. A thought occurs, and her brows quirk, glancing at him slyly. "It hasn't been that long. Couldn't sleep?"

"You could say that." he concedes, and pivots his body in the direction of the lumpy sleeping bag confining Wrex. "He snores, you know."

Something about Garrus's skill with subtle comedic timing has her scoff through her nose, curling her lips a second time that night. "Didn't notice." she audibly realizes, downturning her mouth with a discreet shrug. "At least one of us will be well-rested tomorrow."

"He'll have to carry us to the Normandy." he says it like it's a warning, but it passes over her head.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll love that." she quips, but she's far too drained to come up with anything clever to sustain the banter—not that she could outrun Garrus's mouth on a good day.

It's quiet for a moment. The noises of night fill the space from lack of conversation, and the dimmest of embers retreat into the centers of the wood from the fire.

Sheepishly, he studies her. "Commander?" His gaze shifts to his wrists resting on his propped up knees. "About today..." His fist forms as it hangs off the precipice, and he wishes he had a blade of grass to rip up between his fingers—anything to ease the churn in his stomach over bringing this up.

"Don't mention it, Garrus. Shit happens." A plainly informal response so abrupt it takes him aback. He's never known Shepard to be a shining example of professionalism, but the wall that's usually between them feels a little thinner right now. "Whatever went wrong it's my fault anyway."

Taking responsibility like a leader... he thinks. Against his judgment—quick to fight her for accountability and insist there's nothing she could've done—he seals his mandibles and waits.

"I've never been the Commander of my own ship before." she observes it like it's just now sinking in, and Garrus senses the beginning of an anecdotal explanation. It's an exceedingly rare thing, knowing next to nothing about Shepard's personal life that she supplied herself, he dares not move lest he break the miraculous trance she's in. "I've led units, sure, but I was always going home on someone else's orders. Now, it's different." She leans her weight to one side, lifting her foot to kick at a rock in front of her boot. The jagged edges of it draw a swirling picture in the loose sandy dirt. "I can't call the Council every time I need help." She settles into her seat, crossing her arms in a lax hug of her knees as she curls forward. It's... child-like.

Garrus is at a loss. This shade of vulnerability on his commanding officer is unseen and it's an understatement to say it's difficult to navigate. If he says the wrong thing, she'll remember who she's talking to, who she is, and the last thing she wants is to be pitied—that much he does know. He clenches his jaw. This is some freak combination of a mission gone sideways, the night air, her exhaustion, and his chance presence—it must be. There won't be another moment like this, and he doesn't want to screw up her opinion of him.

It's quiet again. "I can be your help." dies on his lips. A heavy weight presses into his chest, like he let her down.

"You're from Palaven, right?" The inquiry catches him off guard, and he perks up.

"Palaven?" his tone conveys his confusion about the abrupt shift, as if it's irrelevant where he hails from. "Er, yes. Cipritine, to be exact." After supplying the answer, he wears a shade of embarrassment on his neck for forgetting to address her properly. The question of whether or not he should've added a "sir" irks him, and his claws through his gloves scrape over the armor at his knee.

"What's it like there?"

If he was crossing the line, she made no show of it. Instead he saw the reflection of the stars in her eyes, and he wondered if she was trying to imagine his birthplace, or see it from where she sits now, thousands of lightyears away.

He hasn't given it much thought since he left, but for her sake, he'll make an exception. Glancing at his lap, he tries to remember what was so special about it other than a place to live, a place to be proud of simply because it sired him. He has respect for where he came from, but does he have love? He's unsure facing it head-on now. Regardless, he tries to describe it objectively. "It's... nice- I think. Warm... and- and safe."

After those few words, he gauges her reaction uneasily, but she's unfazed. Hundreds of twinkling lights in her gaze as she focuses on each one, pupils darting side-to-side as if she's counting them. Her body language relaxes, releasing her legs to let them fall apart, as her hands fix behind her, leaning on them.

Her comfort, it instills him. "Tall, silver spires reaching for the skies. It's... not like here." The surrounding flat land is nothing but sparse withered palmed trees and dry dirt. As he takes it all in, his eyes land on the back of her hand within reach of him. His heart rate picks up, and for one lapse he envisions placing his own there—like it's the right time for it. However, such a deeply inappropriate idea crazes him, sharply whipping his head away from the view of it to avoid considering it for another second. Considering it was a mistake, accidentally born out of these special circumstances and nothing more. To change the subject of his own mind, he adds, "Uh, well, what about you? Where are you from?" His words come out a little too quick for his tastes, falling clumsily out of his mouth as he nervously gestures towards her.

Shepard shrugs. "Never spent enough time in one place to know, really."

Within that small sentence, Garrus begins to feel a new appreciation for his home, one he may have took for granted before. "Oh." He star-gazes with her, and for a moment he wonders if he can see Palaven from here.

"It's alright. Cipritine sounds nice." she says, sincerely. It eases him.

"Maybe you'll visit it one day." he offers this suggestion hopefully as if in attempt to lift her spirits.

Her brows furrow, and a smile of disbelief stretches onto her features, spotlighted by starshine. "Yeah, as soon as I grow some Turian hide. Right."

"Heh. Right."

A loud and obnoxious groan of frustration alerts the pair, pivoting their necks in its direction, but exchanging eye contact with each other instead. "Will you kids keep it down? Some of us are trying to get some sleep over here." the throaty voice of Wrex scolds them, yanking them back into reality. Both of their bodies suddenly feel a little heavier.

"Speaking of which," Shepard gets up, and dusts herself off. "I should, uh, get some sleep." She jabs her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the sleeping bags, ignoring the way Wrex rolls over, grumbling to himself.

"You do that." Garrus nods to her.

"Take it easy." she tells him, and the sound of her footsteps distance themselves from his ear.

Just like that, the wall is back up... but it's a little thinner than before.

[apomaro-mellow]

okay yall convinced me to continue this

Eddie looked around and all he saw was black. Was this what death was like? He expected more people. But maybe death was just solitude. Then all of a sudden he wasn't alone.

He jumped back when he came face to face with, himself.

"What the fuck?"

His mirror image looked back and smirked. Then looked down at his hands.

"Finally."

"What the hell is going on here? Where am I? W-we?"

"Vecna is putting us back together. We can see everyone again soon."

"You mean...I'm not dead?"

"Oh we're very much alive. In fact, I'd say we're better than before."

As his mirror said that, Eddie felt a new energy thrumming in his veins.

"Why? Why would Vecna do this, I was tryina kill that bastard!"

"He wants something in return. To use us against them."

"Like hell that's gonna happen. I-"

"Didn't let myself get chomped on just so I could be used by an actual murderer."

"How did you-"

"Is it not obvious? I'm still you. But I'm the parts he wants to use. The part that's afraid of Vecna. Afraid of the world for seeing us for what we are. And angry at our lot in life. And ashamed for how we feel."

Eddie didn't respond. It was all a lot to take in. When his other self mentioned shame for feeling something, a certain face popped into his head.

"We're going to see him again. And this time, I'm going to take what I want."

"You put a hand on him and-" Eddie stopped himself. Not only did he feel pretty powerless here, he was never that good at restraining his own actions. "You touch him and he'll kick your ass."

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

After his little stunt, Eddie/Kas found themselves tied up again, this time in Steve's garage. And this time with chains (duct tape boys? really?). Nancy also made sure his legs were chained to the chair and had a shotgun trained on him the whole time they talked.

"We're all sure he's real?", she asked, nudging his cheek with her barrel. She was the only one here to actually experience Vecna's illusions besides Max. She knew how convincing they could be.

"He's real", Jonathan said, a lighter ready just in case. "Steve and the others said so."

Nancy rifled through all the information she got when she received the code red. Something that looked like Eddie had returned. But it was very obviously NOT Eddie. Stronger, faster, more durable. And apparently was receiving orders directly from Vecna. He also apparently had a craving for flesh, having busted into the meat locker of a deli before being found.

"What's your game this time? Use our friend's face to trick us?", she questioned.

"Heh, it really warms our heart that you call us 'friend'. Guess quality time over quantity, huh?" He was smiling, like none of this was a threat to him. Knowing creatures of the Upside Down, it would take more than one bullet, but Nancy had plenty.

"I believe I laid down my terms with the others pretty clearly. I'll follow your rules, so long as Steve is the one to watch me."

"Why Steve?", Jonathan asked.

Kas grinned at him. "Steve's my favorite."

"Oh my god, shut up, shut up, shut up", Eddie lamented from their shared mental space.

While Nancy and Jonathan were handling that situation in the garage, Steve was trying to get a grip on what was happening in his house. They were practically running up the walls.

"Steve you don't understand!", Dustin exclaimed. "This is huge!"

"I don't see how a monster posing as Eddie is huge?"

"But they're not just posing. It IS Eddie", Mike said.

"We don't know that. Not until Nancy confirms it."

Will rolled his eyes. "Oh like she'd know. She talked to Eddie for what? A day?"

"Cut the sass. And if you can talk, you can move your hands." Steve handed Will the knife and pushed some peppers his way.

"The point is WE, you know the people who actually hung out with Eddie would know him better. We should be the ones interrogating him", Lucas said, actually doing his duty of buttering a casserole dish.

"The other point is we don't NEED to question him because we already know that it's actually Eddie", Dustin said. "Vecna wouldn't know who Kas is. Eddie's in there. And he's telling us that he's on our side."

"You remember what Max told us, right? Vecna gets in your head. He sees what you see, knows what you know." Steve took the dish from Lucas and poured some rice into it. "If he got to Eddie, then he knows what Eddie knows." When Will finished dicing, Steve took the knife and was about to wash it under running water when he heard someone approach.

"Is Mama Steve making dinner?"

Steve reacted first and thought second and the knife flew threw the air. Kas caught it easily and twirled the knife in his hand.

"Nice aim. Lemme guess, little league?"

Nancy and Jonathan were right behind him. Steve wanted to respond. Maybe ask 'what the hell? why isn't he tied up? Nancy where's your gun?' But the kids got to it first.

"Tell us everything!" Mike demanded.

Dustin started rallying off questions. "Are you actually Eddie? Just enhanced? Or like a split personality? Is it one that came naturally or one Vecna implanted? Is Eddie like inside of you? Can he come out?"

"All in due time", Kas said, walking by them all to get to Steve, who once again looked like a deer with a car coming straight on.

"We struck a deal, princess. Looks like we're roomies."

There was still at least a foot separating them yet Steve felt boxed in. It was the same sensation he got whenever Eddie talked to him and only him, but intensified.

"Umm, hope you like chicken and rice?"

Internally, Eddie was falling to his knees. Steve's cooking, Steve in the process of cooking, with his little chickadees orbiting him. It was a domestic scene too much for his pining heart and he was actually glad right now that he wasn't holding the reins. Falling to his knees for chicken and rice wasn't the best look for a metalhead.

"Eddie would love some", Kas said cooly.

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

Dinner was an odd affair. All of them trying to figure out Kas in their own way. Dustin and Mike with their blatant questions, Lucas telling them to cool it, Nancy with her more subtle line of questioning, Will trying to see if he could feel anything, and Jonathan trying to see if Will was effected.

Steve was the only one pointedly trying to ignore the man which was very difficult given that he was doing everything in his power to get his attention. His favorite move seemed to be nudging Steve's foot with his own, causing Steve to bump his knee against the table at least three times.

Eddie wanted to roll into a hole and die. He especially wanted to do so when Kas started eyeing Steve's leg, because he knew what was coming.

"No, absolutely not. He let you get away with this much. But he will rip of your hand for this", Eddie said.

"I think he'd let us get away with much more." So Kas went ahead and put his hand on Steve's thigh, making him jolt up from his chair.

So yeah, quite the interesting dinner.

After eating, they figured out a rotation schedule for watching him. Technically Steve was only on the schedule for six hours a day. But considering Kas would be at his house the entire time, they'd be spending a lot more time together.

The rest of them were getting ready to leave so that they could check in with the others, but Nancy hung back to talk to Steve semi-privately.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Steve glanced at the mysterious figure that was masquerading as Eddie, who was openly leering at him while ignoring the children.

"I'll be..uh, I can hang in there Nance, don't worry."

Then everyone else left, leaving the two of them alone. Steve felt a little like caged prey. But he also felt like this version of Eddie wouldn't hurt him. Not physically at least. But that left other things to do to him and Steve was afraid to go down that rabbit hole of possibilities.

"It's just you and me, Steve."

Part 3A More plotty, fluffy, bit of angst

Part 3B Less plotty, more smutty

Tag team:

@jestyzesty

@mightbeasleep

@findafight

@spooky-mulders

[revelisms]

A mini-comic on Copia's (ongoing) dilemma of whether or not to shave the 'stache. Terzo is being a...somewhat helpful sibling.

Bonus ficlet with more context on this under the cut. In short: Primo and Secondo are absolute grumps, Terzo is a menace, and Copia is doing his best 🐀

1.2k words | T | Dialogue heavy, crude language, sibling-typical assholery (feat. Secondo's waning patience and Big Brother Terzo)

[You may be wondering how we've ended up in this situation...]

Or, at least, Secondo Emeritus had been wondering the same, glowering at his reflection in his suite's bathroom door.

"Lucifer's taint—the rat has been in there for twenty minutes."

"The what?" grubbles his hawkish elder brother from the window, half-marked with his skull paints.

Secondo ignores him; swings out his fist, instead, battering three knocks on the varnish. "We are due for the induction ceremony in fifteen, goddammit—Copia!"

A dismal sound echoes through the door.

"By the Saints' tits—"

"Ah, leave him be, Brother," Primo sighs, smearing a dash of black down his cheek. "He is putting on his finishing touches, eh?"

"Finishing touches. Finishing—" Secondo smacks out his palm, snarling like a disgruntled bear. "He has hogged the unblessed thing from the moment he entered the room. You would think the squirrel is making a winter's nest in there—"

"Then use another bathroom, yes?"

"It is mine! Fuck's sake—why are any of you in here—?"

And around the corner is dancing a torrent of black hair, face bared of makeup, rings clattering off the wall. "Out of the way, if you please—"

Secondo narrowly misses clocking his younger brother on the jaw, wrenching his arm out of his path. He snuffs when the current head of their church's suave ends up in a flattened grunt against the door, finding the handle similarly immobile.

"Feh—and now you wait your turn, Papa," Secondo snipes, notching his arms across his chest. "The little mouse has chosen an opportune moment to 'scape his every wrinkle, apparently."

Copia's voice barks miserably from the door: "I am not—"

"What is he doing?" Terzo hisses, palming back his hair.

Secondo huffs. "I've told you! Wasting my goddamned time—" His eyes stutter, cut down his brother's simply dressed form. For a pause, he chews on his words. Anger smokes off him like a pyre. "You are not ready."

Terzo swats his hand, trying fruitlessly again at the handle.

"You are not painted," Secondo growls on.

"Brother—hush yourself, eh? This is a matter of urgency—"

"You are due to be present, before any of us. Sister will have your ass—"

"Tut-tut—my chasuble—"

"Is where?"

"—Satan in hell—in the room, with the darling fool." He dances his painted nails sharply across the wood, graveling blandly to Copia: "You will have me in front of the clergy in my skin, little rat. You mean to do your Papa so horrendously, eh?"

From the window, Primo rolls his eyes, giving little reaction to the short-fused glare Secondo shoots at him.

"Just—just a minute," peeps Copia.

"A minute," Secondo gripes. "Twenty more, you mean?"

By the time Terzo has taken to kicking up one foot by the handle, bracing for a break-in, Copia has nervously creaked open the door. Their Papa nearly smashes his teeth on the counter.

"Ah!" Copia bumbles, red to his ears. "Sorry! Sorry—heh—it has been, eh—" He slams the door shut, avoiding Secondo's bouldering stare. "Agh, dammit—"

With some forced attempt at grace, Terzo slumps onto his elbows, fixing him with a dry leer. "Not only you leave me undressed, but you nearly ruin my smile?" He drags a thumb over his chin, with a scowl. "Forget Sister, little Coppie—if you so much as give me a need for veneers, I will have your hide, eh?"

Copia, slouched in his T-shirt and sweats, pouts miserably. "I—I—"

Terzo sighs, flicking his wrist dismissively. "What is it? You have the little pincher yapping a storm, out there—"

"Is it that bad?"

"...What?"

Copia runs his thumb and forefinger over his mustache, turning back to the mirror. "Someone, eh...well." His voice drops to a weary mutter. "They—they compared it to a combover, this morning."

Terzo's teeth flash: half-disbelieving sneer, half-barely contained smirk. "To what?" he chuckles lowly.

His brother sniffs. "This is not a laughing matter—"

"Oh, it is more than a laughing matter." Terzo narrows his eyes, biting his lip. "Combover," he repeats, and clicks his tongue. "Heh—should have compared it to a string of dog-hairs, no—?"

"Brother."

"No, no—a clump of herb-roots, perhaps."

Copia's eyes flash in dismay. "Brother—"

Terzo flicks his fingers. "I jest, little thing, I jest. If you are so concerned about it—"

"I'm not—"

"Twenty minutes, you've been ruminating over this?"

Copia folds his arms, glaring back at his reflection. "What should I do with it?" he mumbles then, looking like a slump of a twig ready to snap. He thumbs over his facial hair, again. "A little, eh...styling gel?"

Secondo's fist batters idly across the door, again. "Ten minutes," he warns. "If you two aren't dressed in five, you'll be dragged out by the hair." He pauses, then directs to Terzo: "And get my paints—"

"Yes, yes," Terzo snarks over his slumped shoulder. "We are having an intervention, your demoted Unholiness—shh. Now," he sighs, turning back to Copia, "who said this to you? Only we get to insult your integrity, you know. I will have the ghouls take care of the bastard, Coppie—you need only give the name—"

"No no no—it is all good, eh, all...all—"

Terzo pauses, furrows his brows. "...A sister?"

Copia welds his fingers over his mouth, giving a wretched frown.

"Oh, shit," Terzo hoots, and grins fully. "Nevermind, Brother. You are doomed. Shave it, this instant—"

"It—it doesn't bother me—"

"So you say, yet all I hear for ages is what to do, what to do, bleh—come off it." He fans his hand against the sink, in plain emphasis. "It is your face, no? Do with it as you please."

"But should I?" Copia whimpers.

Terzo pinches his fingers into his eyes.

"I, er—I just—"

"Just shave it."

In awkward silence, Copia brushes another touch over his mustache, tilting his head. "But—but it looks rather, eh, dashing, right?" he says quietly, in some quick attempt to reassure himself.

"Feh. To who?" Terzo snarks. "The mousettes in your little shoebox?"

Copia sends a fierce glare down his shoulder. Insulting his rats (as Terzo knew well) was often his final straw. "Brother."

Their Papa sighs: mock-offended. "So you ask my advice just to throw it back in my face, eh?"

"Tha—that isn't—"

"Typical."

"Listen here—!"

"No no no," Terzo grubbles, and sends a choice finger skyward. "I see how it is..."

"Lucifer."

Secondo's heavy footsteps sweep back by the door, joined by the hissing silk of his robes. He swings another clap of his fist to the door. "Seven—"

Terzo pops up from his elbows. "Mind my reach, Brother," he says, batting the cabinet doors against Copia's knees, and drags out the gilded layers of his own robes. "The regalia calls."

Copia baffles at the disorganized toiletries beneath the sink. "Why is it under there—?"

Terzo flashes a wink, grinning crookedly, and smacks a hand on his thigh. "Story for another night, little fool. Now hurry your ass up—Secondo will chop us in pieces."

Case in point, he bangs open the door, his brother's sets of paints brandished in hand, to Secondo's towering leer.

"I'm going, I'm going!" Terzo preens, ducking out of his reach.

Secondo gives up the banter: slops a black cassock over Copia's shoulder, instead, and growls, "Get out."

From the corner, Primo heaves out a dreary breath, finishing his paints with a neat click of lipstick. "The best time of the year," he comments, dryly.

Minutes later find the four straggling into the great hall, lead by Terzo's fawning swagger and mitre-capped bowings. Barely on time, to Secondo's stiff-lipped chagrin—but, thankfully, not late.

[teetle-time]

…so the writing demons grabbed me by the throat this morning and wouldn't let me go until i wrote this. anyway @hasello the cousins au is living in my brain rent-free so i hope u don't mind that i took a crack at something first-meetings-y with rise and 03 and wound up with 2.5k words of the babies :D

〜

The rat who once was Lou sprinted down the rain-slick alleyway with one arm clutching his boys to his chest and the other digging through his pockets.

"I saw it run this way!"

He bit back a curse; his pursuers were still hot on his trail.

And his tail.

Heh.

What a time to be alive.

The mystic key bumped against his fingers, and he quickly snatched it out of his pocket and darted to the nearest wall. He needed to be quick and precise.

…well, he at least managed speed. He spent too many precious seconds glancing back to watch the beams of light bounce ever higher just a turn away, so he really had no idea if his sigil was anywhere near accurate.

As if in answer to prayer, it lit up, opening a circular portal for him, and he leapt through without a second thought, pocketing the key as he fell.

His luck held out long enough for him to hear it close behind him without any of the humans chasing him shouting in surprise.

It did not hold out long enough to actually drop him into the Hidden City.

Instead, when the portal ended, he stumbled out into a long tunnel, directly in front of another rat with four humanoid turtles around them.

No-Longer-Lou froze like a deer in headlights, staring at the strangers and heaving for air.

The strangers all mirrored him, freezing in place and scanning him in all their various capacities.

The other rat spoke first: "My, isn't this unexpected?"

A snort forced its way from No-Longer-Lou against his will at that, though he quickly brought a hand (no, he had paws now) to his mouth to stifle it. "I- I'm so sorry, I just- I didn't mean to- This isn't where-!"

"Peace," said the other rat, carefully maneuvering the turtle in front of him a bit to the side and standing up. "Whatever circumstances brought you here, it is clear that you have been moved by the strings of fate, rather than by choices of your own design. You mean no harm to us, yes?"

"I-I- yes."

"And we mean no harm to you," soothed the other.

No-Longer-Lou breathed heavily for a moment more, but then his attention was quickly arrested by motion in his arms.

Raphael- the quickest to grow, but still so, so small- screwed up his face. "Papa?"

"I'm right here, Raphael," No-Longer-Lou murmured, reaching into the sling to give the boy's hand a squeeze.

The other rat's eyes widened at the name. "Now, that is a one-in-a-million chance, indeed."

"Why's he got a baby with my name?" demanded the turtle wearing a red mask over his eyes.

It was No-Longer-Lou's turn to be surprised. "Raphael? But then…"

He took in the colors of the masks on the other three turtle boys' faces.

Purple, blue, and orange.

"Donatello? Leonardo? M-Michelangelo?"

Silence.

At least, until the turtle boy in orange leaned over to his brothers and whispered loudly, "How does he know our names, dudes?!"

No-Longer-Lou's sons roused at their names, and he quickly realized his mistake as Michelangelo began to fuss. "Oh, oh, no, Michelangelo, please, it is alright, please don't-!"

Michelangelo may have been the youngest, but he had a record-shattering set of lungs, for sure.

The moment Michelangelo began to wail, Leonardo jumped in with him, refusing to be left out, and then Raphael was crying and Donatello was shoving his tiny head into No-Longer-Lou's chest with his hands over where his ears would have been and the rat could feel his own ears on the verge of bleeding-!

The other rat's back straightened, and he turned to the older turtle boys. "My sons, I still have some of the supplies I scavenged when you were tots. Raphael, the pacifiers. Leonardo and Donatello, the blankets. Michelangelo, the pillows."

The boys nodded seriously, wincing as the cries reached a peak before darting across the tunnel and digging through various chests and boxes. Meanwhile, the other rat carefully took No-Longer-Lou's arm and led him towards the chair the others had been gathered around in the first place. "Please, have a seat. I would quite like to hear the tale of how you came to this place-"

-an ear-splitting cry from Leonardo-

"-but first, we must calm your children," finished the other rat with a tired smile.

No-Longer-Lou nodded just as tiredly and began to gently bounce his boys. "There, there, your Papa is right here, we are all together, and…and we are safe."

The other rat's expression warmed.

"I got the pacifiers!" called the older boy named Raphael, charging back over and brandishing the four objects in one hand.

"Excellent work, Raphael," praised the other rat as he took the pacifiers.

The boy beamed.

"These should do for now," the other rat said, pressing one into No-Longer-Lou's paw. "These were enchanted by an old friend of mine to allow them to keep up with beaked babies."

No-Longer-Lou managed a weak smile at that, then carefully reached in to nudge the pacifier against Michelangelo's mouth. "Here we are, little Orange. Wouldn't it be nicer to suck on this instead of crying?"

Michelangelo hiccuped, but after a moment of what seemed like confusion, his mouth closed around the pacifier and he looked up at No-Longer-Lou with wide, wet eyes.

"One down, two to go," chuckled the other rat, handing off another pacifier. This one went to Leonardo, who contented himself quickly once he had something to do with himself. He seemed to be gnawing on the pacifier, rather than sucking on it, but No-Longer-Lou chalked it up to curiosity at the foreign object.

Surprisingly- or perhaps not- Donatello was the next one to need something to work with. Raphael began calming down after a few moments of being the only one still crying, but when Donatello caught sight of Leonardo messing with the pacifier, he turned an utterly betrayed stare up at No-Longer-Lou until he gave the boy one to fiddle with.

With the remaining pacifier in hand, No-Longer-Lou smiled wearily at Raphael. "You may be a bit big to use this, Red. Do you still want to try?"

Raphael nodded firmly. "Raphie's the big brother. Gotta be the bestest essample."

No-Longer-Lou handed the pacifier over, and…yep, it was completely dwarfed by his son. Still, his boy held it in his mouth and smiled over at Michelangelo when the two met eyes.

Michelangelo blinked, then smiled back.

"Blanket delivery!" called the bigger Donatello, carrying a pile of blankets nearly as tall as he was.

Next to him, his brother Leonardo fussed. "Donnie, I told you I could have held some!"

"Easy, Leonardo," chuckled the other rat, easily lifting the blankets from Donatello's hands. "How about you make sure our visitors are tucked in and comfortable?"

"Okay, Father," chirped Leonardo, immediately doing exactly that- and perhaps peeking into No-Longer-Lou's arms a few times to peer at his boys.

Little Raphael watched the bigger boy curiously, then said around the pacifier, "Raphie thought we were th'only turtle people."

The bigger Leonardo paused for a moment, then looked at him. "So'd we."

Leonardo- the baby- met the other Leonardo's eyes, then spat out his pacifier- and yes, it was much more chewed-on than before. "Hi! Hi, hi, hi! I'm Leo!"

The other Leonardo blinked, then grinned. "Me too. It's a good name, right?"

Little Leonardo nodded, shaking his entire body from the effort. "Daddy pickeded it!"

No-Longer-Lou chuckled. "Feeling better now, are we?"

Little Leonardo nodded again, just as energetically. "Mikey no sad no more!"

"Did somebody say Mikey?!" crowed the older boy of the same name, wildly waving pillows over his head as he ran over.

"Midey! Midey! Midey!" cheered the baby around his pacifier, flailing his arms.

"That's right, little dude!" Older Michelangelo grinned and peered over at him as soon as he skidded to a stop in front of No-Longer-Lou. "We're the mightiest!"

"MIDEYST!" shrieked the baby in glee.

Little Donatello winced and paused his inspection of his pacifier to glare witheringly at his youngest brother.

"Careful, Michelangelo," chastised No-Longer-Lou. "Your brother has sensitive hearing, remember?"

Baby Michelangelo blinked, then frowned very seriously and wiggled until he was able to grab Little Donatello's arm in a hug- or rather, a- "Dondon hubbub."

Little Donatello's glare softened, and he went back to fiddling with the pacifier with his free hand. It seemed the hinge on the back occupied more of his attention than the squishy part meant to be sucked on.

The older Michelangelo pressed the pillows in his hands to his face. "D'awww, they're so cute!"

No-Longer-Lou smiled warmly. "They are, aren't they?"

"It seems like we've established that we have similar taste in names," chuckled the other rat. "Though, just to be sure, might I ask yours?"

No-Longer-Lou's smile turned bitter. "It doesn't matter. I'm only a splinter of the man I used to be, anyway."

The other rat's eyebrows rose. "What curious phrasing. I never was a man, but the name I was given before my mutation by the family I was brought into was…well, Splinter."

No-Longer-Lou straightened in the chair at that. "Curious indeed…"

After a moment of thought, on a half-formed hunch born of one too many late night sci-fi movie marathons, he continued, "You know, before my own mutation, I'd more-or-less befriended a rat in my- well. A rat. I…I'd chosen the name Lou Jitsu years ago, but…the name I was given was Yoshi."

A shaky breath from Splinter. "…Hamato Yoshi?"

No-Longer-Lou steadfastly kept his focus on his boys. "I haven't deserved that name in a long time."

He kept the part about not wanting to be associated with his family's 'traditions' firmly unsaid.

"You okay, Papa?" asked Raphael, reaching up to pat at his face.

"I will be," No-Longer-Lou said, pressing a kiss to the boy's forehead.

Splinter gently laid a hand on No-Longer-Lou's shoulder. "I swear to you, you and your children will be safe here for as long as you need. I don't know how you came to be here, but I will help you return home if you so wish."

No-Longer-Lou nodded, thickness rising up in his throat and clogging it.

"Mr. Lou, can I see Baby Mikey?" asked the older Michelangelo, setting the pillows down.

Both rats' eyebrows rose, and Splinter asked, "Mr. Lou?"

"Well, if he doesn't use that Yoshi name, and we can't call him Splinter because you're Splinter, then he's Mr. Lou!" Older Michelangelo crossed his arms and nodded decisively, his point made.

Splinter and…and Lou met each other's eyes with equally bemused expressions, then Lou looked down at his boys. "I don't know. Orange, would you like to see Big Michelangelo?"

"Bihmidey!" Michelangelo said seriously, patting at Donatello's arm before wriggling upright and peeking out at the older boy. "Bihmidey hi?"

"Heh, yep," said Older Michelangelo, beaming widely. "Hi, li'l Mikey!"

The baby chirped excitedly, bouncing in place until Older Michelangelo reached over to pick him up. Lou watched carefully, but it seemed the older boy had at least some idea of how to hold a young child, as he easily hefted Little Michelangelo against his side.

"I wanna see the babies!" exclaimed Older Leonardo.

"Me too!"

"Yeah!"

Little Leonardo giggled and clambered out of Lou's arms too quickly for him to react. "Hey, hey, hi! I'm big boy!"

Older Raphael darted forward to keep Little Leo from tumbling to the ground. "You sure are, yeesh! Don't hurt yourself!"

Little Raphael whined. "Leo, don't fall down like that! You'll get a owie!"

"S'okay, Raphie!" Little Leonardo grinned up at his brother, then at Older Raphael. "There's two Raphies! That's even more Raphie! Gonna be saferest!"

Little Raphael whined again, but after a brief moment where Older Raphael's eyes grew suspiciously moist, the older boy blinked quickly before grinning at his younger double. "You heard 'im. I'll keep your bro outta trouble, swear."

Little Raphael scowled. "You better."

"Did you want to come out and keep an eye on them?" asked Older Leonardo knowingly.

That got a nod out of Little Raphael, and the older boy helped him climb down to the ground.

With only Donatello left in his arms, Lou couldn't find it in himself to be surprised when the older Donatello peered at the younger boy. "What about you, Tinytello? You wanna come hang out?"

Little Donatello hissed in displeasure and flipped the hinged handle on the pacifier up and down more quickly.

"I'm guessing that's a 'no,' then," said Lou. "It's nothing against you, I promise. Today has simply been…a lot."

"Oh, I can get that," agreed Older Donatello immediately. "Like, I dunno what you were doing before you came here, but it didn't look very fun. And now a bunch of big brother wannabes are getting all up in his space and playing with his bros without him? I'd be on-edge, too."

Little Donatello's handle-flipping stilled, and he shifted to look at Older Donatello's chest. (Wasn't there a turtle-specific word for that part of their shells…?)

"I'm close, huh?" asked Older Donatello. "Figured it'd be something like that. That's okay, Tinytello! Sounds like you've been having a rough time of it. Do you want me to go do something else, or should I stay put?"

Little Donatello's forehead furrowed for a moment, then he gravely held the pacifier out to the older boy.

Lou's brows shot up. "Huh. I know Purple is unique in many ways, but he usually isn't so quick to decide a stranger is worthy of a gift…even if that gift belonged to the stranger, first."

Little Donatello frowned when Older Donatello didn't immediately take the pacifier, then gave the handle a demonstrative flip before shaking the pacifier a little.

Older Donatello's eyes widened, and he carefully took the pacifier and gave the handle a tentative flip.

Little Donatello chirruped, shifting in place to get comfy in the crook of Lou's elbow in such a way as to keep watching the older boy.

Splinter chuckled as the two Donatellos went back and forth, flipping and chirping. "I do believe your son has found a new friend in mine."

Lou huffed a weak laugh of his own. "I suppose he has."

He took the opportunity to scan the tunnel- or rather, now that he had a moment to think, the room within the tunnel.

Little Raphael and Older Leonardo stood aside as Little Leonardo cartwheeled in circles, ooh-ing and aah-ing whenever the younger boy glanced their way. Older Raphael kept a hawklike eye on the toddler, constantly circling around him to place himself between Leonardo and the nearest obstacles. Older Michelangelo hopped around the room, bouncing the baby with each hop and getting the both of them to giggle madly.

Little Donatello yawned contentedly and smushed the side of his face against Lou's arm, still watching Older Donatello bemusedly flip the handle of the pacifier.

Lou felt the adrenaline that had kept him moving for the past hour finally begin to drain, and it quickly became a struggle to keep his eyes open.

Splinter's hand came down on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Rest, Lou. You and your sons are safe here. The rest can wait for now."

Lou nodded tiredly, and his eyes fluttered shut before he could have any further say in the matter.

[pinkrose05]

Ok so @b1adie's post from earlier got me thinking about element Types and Paths again.... and predictably enough, I am also here to talk about my fave old man Yingxing and how his kit would look like if he were playable.

We can probably agree that Fire type makes the most sense for many, many reasons, but in terms of Path I'd like to humbly propose....

drumroll

...Preservation!

Ok, hear me out: Preservation in this game is frequently associated with building and construction. You've got Qlipoth's walls, the Cornerstone effects, and the very act of creating a shield! Naturally, a master artisan would be right at home constructing stuff; I mean, remember that one scrap lion?

Yeah, Yingxing is very good at building things up from the ground. Just imagine the amount of detail this bitch would put in his shields! Knowing him, they'd be the most elaborate magic walls to ever wall in history.

Another thing is how Preservation pathstriders admire stubbornness and are prone to protective actions. As for the former trait, stubbornness is a part of persistence, and persistence through adversity is a key aspect of Yingxing's character: his home is destroyed, he's always struggling with the sabotage and prejudice of his seniors and peers... and still he keeps pushing on and ahead, all the way to hard-earned success.

As for the latter, Yingxing's attachment to the makeshift family he's found in the Quintet can definitely lend itself to a protective streak- doubly so considering the weapon gifts he'd given to them all. It's like he's always watching their back! It's his way of keeping them safe so he doesn't lose his loved ones again!

(It's the only part of him that will stay with them when he meets his timely demise. It's proof that, even in death, he will forever stand by their side.)

A third thing is that, if you consider the construction aspect again, Preservation is actually the most direct antithesis to the Path of Destruction. The symbolism in there really hammers in (heh) the 180° turn between Yingxing and Ren- and wouldn't it be the perfect sort of ironic for them to mirror each other in the very core of their beliefs?

(I actually think they should have the worst anti-synergy in history if/when Yingxing becomes playable. There's a kit concept somewhere in my files that has 1) several ways of pulling aggro, 2) Max HP buffs that depend on using skill points, and 3) a one-turn block on allies' HP changing whenever any of Yingxing's shields break. It's basically a dedicated sustain kit that just so happens to be a massive Fuck You to Ren in specific, because come on, the idea's just too good to pass up!)