#oh he's the most crucial piece

[kallicaria]

as a landoscar writer something i've been rotating in my mind is the way oscar slots into lando's life with all his childhood best friends. lando is someone who grew up so loved, who has always been so loved by the people around him, his friends and family; and not only that, but also someone so deeply and personally and intimately known by these people. and that's because they've been with him for so long, since he was a tiny midget prodigy child; they know all his ins and outs, his quirks and moods and how he loves and what he needs when he's upset, and he can always go back to them, because they're safe and easy and simple and home.

and then someone new comes along, a complete stranger; and because of his fame/job lando has good reason to be wary around strangers, to put up walls before letting them in (even if he doesn't always manage that because he's chronically wearing his heart on his sleeve). and oscar's unlike anyone lando's ever known or loved before, but he comes into lando's life and fills up a place he didn't even realize was missing, lying in wait. he understands lando in this oddly intense way; it's like they resonate on the same wavelength sometimes, and he's also just so patient, so calm, so steadfast. and so slowly lando becomes let to him in as well, to trust him with siller, brattier, less put-together polished versions of himself. to trust him to be there to help him when he's vulnerable; to, at the very least, always be watching him steadily.

and all of lando's friends are so protective and care about him so much, so they're cautious around oscar at first. they want to make sure he recognizes what a gift it is to be given lando's heart, what a priceless treasure he holds in his hands, and that he won't treat it carelessly or hurt lando in any way. but they know he makes lando feel happy, and safe, which is all they really want too in the end of the day.

these past few days i've been feeling so insane about nortrell—who i really think only work for me as platonic soulmates, best friends, brothers, more so than a romantic pairing. even romantic nortrell could only ever work as childhood friends to lovers (never strangers to lovers, for me at least!); their shared history, the way they know each other by way of all those shared memories and personal experiences, meeting as tiny children and becoming adults together, is an essential part of their dynamic. honestly i'd love to write something focusing on platonic brotherly nortrell as the central relationship but asdflkjaslkdjfa idk if non-romantic fics have literally any target audience on ao3 so maybe it'd just be something short? (that is if i ever manage to finish a wip in the first place)

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Hello love!! How are you doing? 💕

I LOVE your works so much!! You are so amazing and talented!! I wanted to thank you for writing the 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 cursed technique Nanami fic, and especially not judging me for it 🫶🏽. I don’t know you but you seem like such a nice and cool person, with that being said… I was thinking about a fic I saw where Saturo Gojo got his wisdom teeth removed and he falls in love with you over again and I thought that would ADORABLE but with Kento 😭 (also I can’t remember who wrote the fic to give credit sorry) So like yeah Nanami would get his wisdom teeth removed and you’d take care of him and he would be such a charming man (he already is) but like just the most fluff thing he’d be like “you’re a very beautiful nurse” “I’m not a nurse but thank you” you feel me? Anyways that was it lol

Much love and take care!! 💗💗

(I don’t know what anon is 😅 is it like your followers cause I see request and people ask if they can be added as anon and I’m like so confused)

You’re my…. my wife?

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, established relationship, crack, fluff, suggestive at the end.

An: Hey Anon! Tysm for requesting again. I’m glad you liked the freaky energy fic!! Also, ofc I’ll never judge you for any fic idea (as long as it’s not like straight up deplorable with nasty kinks).

I hope it’s okay, but I changed this fic idea a little because I fear it was a bit too close to the original creator’s idea, and I don’t want to encroach on their idea. However, I hope the vibes are still there that you wanted!!

Your normally strong, doting, intelligent husband has been reduced to a confused mess. Lying in the bed in the sterile infirmary, Shoko carefully monitors his vitals while Satoru recites exactly how it all happened for the nth time.

Your loving, sweet, charming husband was hit with a very specific cursed technique while he was out on a mission with Gojo. Luckily, he was physically unharmed and mostly mentally unharmed as well… except the cursed technique is one that messes with the memory.

The curse didn’t just want to kill Nanami; it wanted to break him. The curse robbed Nanami of his memory of his most precious moments: the one’s that included you.

His hazel eyes scanned the room, wondering why everyone was making such a big fuss over him. He was fine - really.

You sat beside his hospital bed, wanting to hold his hand, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him. Shoko said that his mind may be a bit fragile after having such a crucial part of his memory tampered with.

When his hazel eyes met yours, Nanami stared at you for a moment before shifting in his bed slightly. He looked to be uncomfortable with your sheer presence, which only broke your heart more.

“Were you hit with the cursed technique too?” He finally speaks, looking over at you with a bit of a confused look. He was really trying to piece together why you were here with him.

“Oh, um�� no..” You quietly respond with a forced smile. Your heart longed for your husband, and he was right here but he wasn’t your husband.

“Forgive me… Are you Shoko’s apprentice..?” He tries once again to remember. He’s seen your face before. Maybe in a different lifetime.

Satoru and Shoko are silent as they both witness what’s going on between you and Nanami. Holding their breaths, they’re hopeful that he’ll regain his memory at some point. The curse couldn’t just extract memories. As Shoko explained it, the curse probably just kept the memories hidden from Nanami. Your husband will probably slowly start to remember you over time.

“No… I’m not Shoko’s apprentice.” You politely answer again. As bittersweet as this is, it’s certainly a cute scene to see Kento trying to make conversation with you.

“Hm.” He hums to himself quietly before he gazes at you again. His hand combs through his hair, trying to fix it up from lying in the hospital bed, and Satoru quietly snickers.

“Trying to look good for her, Nanamin?” He teases lightheartedly, earning a death glare from your husband. You softly giggle too, realizing what’s going on. Your poor husband isn’t uncomfortable with your presence. He’s nervous.

“Don’t be crude, Satoru. There’s a lady in the room.” He huffs, shaking his head at Satoru’s audacity.

“Aww, thank you, Nanami.” Shoko grins, subtly playing along with Satoru’s tactic.

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Nanami responds flatly before his eyes shift to you in another “secretive” glance, except everyone notices how he keeps looking at you. Your husband can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“I.. apologize for being a bit forward, but do you think we could…” His eyes flicker down to the wedding band that’s proudly sat upon your finger. His face subtly drops to a disappointed look. “Ah, I see. forget what I was saying.”

Shoko and Satoru are nearly losing it. The irony that Nanami is disappointed that he can’t ask you out because you’re married to him is hilarious. You give them a look, and they both quickly excuse themselves from the room, so they can go laugh together.

Once the two are finally out of the room, you smile softly before placing your hand over your husband’s, using your thumb to gently stroke the back of his hand. He looks at you with an unsure look, but he doesn’t remove his hand. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly.

“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t like you touching another man like that…” He mutters quietly, causing you to softly giggle.

“Well, it’s a good thing I am your wife.” You finally reveal to him, unable to keep the secret any longer.

Nanami’s eyes widen, and he looks at you with sparkling eyes but also utter confusion written all over his face. His heart is racing in his chest. The heart monitor starts to beep at a more pressured pace. The pretty woman that has been sitting next to him is his wife…?

“You’re my… my wife?” He asks quietly.

“Mhm.” You hum in agreement before lacing your fingers with his. Your wedding band rubs against his. Both of the gems were cut from the same diamond. His eyes then focus on the joining of your hands, and he notices it too. “We’ve been married for a few years now.” You explain in a calm tone, trying to ease him into the idea of it all.

“I… I’m sorry… I don’t-“ Nanami is rarely off kilter like this, but he’s just trying to wrap his head around it all. You’re his wife… You’re his wife. “I’m sorry- I just can’t seem to remember…”

“It’s okay, Ken. Take your time.” You encourage as you rub on his hand gently.

His eyes fall to his lap, and a small smile curls on his lips. He may not completely comprehend what’s going on, but he knows in his very soul that he’s the luckiest man alive because you’re his wife.

Watching Ken fall in love with you all over again and rediscover all his daily pleasures was a treat. He slowly regained his memory over time: prompted by his senses randomly picking up on familiar sighs, smells, or even tastes.

Ken didn’t only fall in love with you all over again. He fell in love with the life he cultivated with you again. He found himself laughing a bit harder. He squeezed you a bit tighter. He lounged in bed for an extra ten minutes in the morning time to bask in your presence.

Oh, and that’s not to mention the literal tears he cried the first time he felt your cherished cunt after the incident. The way you squeezed around him so intensely… the way it’s so fucking wet — greedily sucking him in… Goddamn, he’s so lucky to have you.

[zooone]

" OH, SATORU ?! "

in which ?! - gojo doesnt show up to an extremely important meeting, and you find him passed out on his desk. poor guy.

words ?! - 2.2k

warnings and content ?! - swearing, teacher!reader, gojo is pathetic, reader hates gojo in the beginning but she takes care of him after 🙂‍↕️

an ?! - someone said gojo wants to be a sugar baby cuz he just wants to be taken care of for once and i went insane. also requests r open so plz send some!!

masterlist ?!

satoru gojo,

satoru fucking gojo,

of course he wouldn't show up to the meeting that she was pestering him about for days. of course he wouldn't show up to the meeting that she stressed was probably the most important hour or two of his life. of course he would leave the seat next to her empty and completely embarrass her.

she made it extremely clear to him, even going so far as to make sure he didn't have any missions in that time slot. but even with the the reminders and the sticky notes she left on his desk, he still somehow managed to be a no-show.

"satoru, don't forget about the meeting in two days!"

"i'll be there, don't worry" a fucking lie now, "you gotta stop worrying so much."

her immediate thought was that he assumed the meeting was below him. that the almighty satoru gojo was just far too important for mandatory meetings. she was seething in her chair thinking of all the excuses satoru gojo could possibly make, and how she could argue about each and every one of them. throughout the meeting, she scribbled a few into her notebook, fingertips turning to a near white as she gripped her pen with such hatred.

and as she lurched herself through the door, bag nearly falling off her shoulders, she would stomp down the hallway. her fists clenched and her shoulders to her earlobes.

as she spotted his classroom, she noticed that his classroom's lights were still on. and a million other thoughts fueled her angered mind, making her eyebrows clench. he skipped on a crucial meeting just to hang out in his classroom?

clicks and clacks of her heels echoed throughout, and she hoped satoru could hear it as a warning.

satoru gojo, however, could not hear it,

as he was face down against his desk, drool dripping onto the wood. his blindfold was halfway off, making for a nice barrier between the hard desk and his forehead. a pen laid between his fingers, along with the papers under him.

"satoru! you're-" she yelled, before stumbling back a bit and covering her mouth. she gazed her eyes upon his sleeping figure (half surprised that he was a being who was able to sleep), and she sighed softly. "satoru?"

more clicks of her heels as she walked in front of his desk, examining the full scene. he was in the middle of lesson planning, his messy chicken scratch all over a spare piece of paper. he was practically the only one who could understand his notes. but he preferred it that way. it felt more personal.

although his snowy hair covered his face, she could see the tips of his ears as they were a slight reddish tone. and as if on instinct, she sighed out a soft, "oh satoru."

her eyebrows furrowed even more now, however not due to anger but due to pity. she frowned, looking around the room. crumpled up balls of paper scattered around the classroom, of course accompanied by unsharpened pencils and erasers with poked holes in them.

on satoru's desk was a small schedule or to-do list, and it looked like he had to report a million different missions. he's been on so many lately with the recent influx of curses, and it didn't register in her head how tiring it must've been. after all, satoru came to work everyday with a smile on his face and a joke on his lips. he was always so happy. this was a completely different side of him. it made her frown.

she decided she would help, starting with picking up miscellaneous items from the ground. her heels had been removed at this point in order to keep the noise to a minimum.

but the plan was ruined,

the moment she got up from practically crawling on the floor, her head clashed with a nearby desk. it caused a loud thud to echo around the classroom, followed by her faint "ouch."

"hey!" and satoru sprung his head up, blindfold covering one eye and spit running down his chin. his voice was raw and raspy. it had a sort of weak undertone. but weak and gojo couldn't possibly be in the same sentence. "hey - put - putit down - i got- it-"

he was delirious.

"satoru - oh - go back to sleep -" she spoke, voice adjacent to that of a mother. it had the tenderness yet urgency that reminded satoru of his youth.

"y- y'can't tell me what to do!" his mouth barely opened as he laid back in his chair with his head thrown back. a soft groan escaped his dry lips.

"satoru-" she got up, one hand holding the painful sting on her head, the other reaching out for the man in front of her. "gosh, you're burning up, satoru -"

"no - no 'm not - im fine -" he tried to swat her hand away with a weak gesture, but ultimately it failed. his eyelids felt like they were too heavy, even for the strongest sorcerer of the modern day. "'m not sick-"

"you are," the corners of her mouth bent downwards. "i think you're overworking yourself."

his ivory lashes fluttered open slightly, squinting at the sudden light that met his cerulean eyes. "no- 'm just fine -"

"how much sleep have you been getting?" now she really sounded like a mom.

"ten hours!" satoru whined, trying to put his blindfold back on. "heheh. just kiddin'."

"satoru-"

"free hours. maybe. sorta." even his chuckle was raspy. a good chug of water would feel like heaven to him. "six eyes 're tellin' me you're worried. i - i told'ya ta stop worrying-"

even through a delirious fever and a couple hours of sleep, he was the one trying to put the spotlight on her. it made a sinking feeling in her stomach, one that made her bottom lip stick out.

"three hours is not good, satoru. especially with your technique and all -"

"i've got rct-" he whined, his arm resting over his blindfolded eyes. his pen was still in his hand, and a mere twitch would cause it to hit the floor. "im not in highschool anymore, 's okay - im- the strongest-"

she didn't want to argue back at an incoherent satoru, so she just continued to pick up items from the ground. but satoru, even with his blindfold and arm over his eyes, noticed her doing so.

"h-hey - hey, stop-" he pouted, a small cough following. "don't do that-"

"im just trying to help you, satoru." she gently spoke, like she was hushing a child. there was dust and gunk all over her fingertips. he definitely hadn't cleaned up in a while.

satoru nervously chuckled, using weak and shaky hands to unbutton his uniform. "heh, is it hot in here or 're you just happy to - see me?"

"that's- not how it goes," she scrunched her eyebrows at him, watching as he struggled to fiddle with his buttons. "let me help you."

she expected him go start whining and arguing again, but he didn't. without words, he let her slowly take care of the buttons of his uniform. the silence could be pierced with one of the dull pencils on the ground. his body heat radiated onto her fingertips, making her palms slightly sweaty.

by now, his blindfold was loose and falling off his face, and she could catch a glimpse of his feverish grin through her peripherals. thankfully, he had a thin tank top on underneath his uniform.

her touch stayed gentle as she removed the sleeves, her nails grazing upon his biceps. his laugh was small and whimpery. "hey, that tickles."

"s-sorry," she stammered, gulping down a bit of her saliva. his arms were hard as a rock, even when he was relaxed, and it didn't help that his skin was burning hot. literally, and figuratively. she noticed some faint, almost translucent hairs on his arm.

"'s okay. its nice." he rasped, his head tilting slightly. "you're nice."

"thank you. i just want to help you." and his uniform top was finally off. he let out a groan as the colder air stung his searing skin, and she noticed his abs clenching underneath his thin tank top. "better now?"

"mhm," he responded, his delirious smirk turned into a toothy grin. "y'might get sick if - if you stay 'round me."

"that's okay." she let out a shallow breath. her top priority was him at the moment, so she wasn't thinking about the busy days ahead of her. "don't you have a spare room here?"

"the floor above." he wiped his lidded eyes, an idle pout still on his lips. she couldn't believe that the same man who always had color on his face and a honeyed voice was here now like this. she felt like she should've seen the signs coming. "i shouldn't sleep i have - i have to lesson plan -"

"you're going to sleep, satoru." she said sternly, yet with a soft edge to her tone. "c'mon, get up."

"ugh, don't t-tell me what ta do-" he groaned, but he still stood up. his tall figure wobbled as he felt his blood rush. his joints fell weak, like he wasn't supposed to be even standing up. he collapsed against her, body weight and heat pressing up against her.

she was strong, there was no denying how she fought during missions, but him falling onto her caught her off guard. he sandwiched her between himself and the chalkboard, exerting a yelp from her throat.

"woah, i got you -" she grunted, pushing him upright. "i got you, satoru."

"'m tired." was all he could muster from his lips. "so tired."

"i know, i know, its okay." she whispered. he was more straightened out now, but he still leaned slightly towards her. she put his arm around her shoulder to help him walk adequately. "we're gonna take you to your room, okay?"

he hummed a response, eyes drooping again. his feet were practically dragging behind them, but she was able to guide him properly through the hallway.

"careful, we're turning," she would warn everytime there was an abrupt shift in the hallway. and he would just groan softly to show that he was still alive.

by now, she was sweating. the exertion of his warm skin rubbing up against hers made such a friction, not to mention the fact that she was basically carrying the taller man. but it felt good. it felt right.

once they reached his room, she fumbled around his pockets to get his keys. he groaned low in his chest, almost sounding like a purrr, as he felt her touch through his pants.

she recognized the layout to be similar to the student dorms, and she was able to locate his bedroom easily. of course, not without examining his place. the walls were surprisingly bare for his colorful personality. the big fake plant in the corner was the only noticeable thing about the whole living room. however, it was too dim to see.

she set him down onto his bed (and of course, his sheets were blue) and laid his soft blanket on top of him. he looked like he went back to sleep within two seconds, but as she was halfway through his doorway, he heard him and his blanket stir.

“stay,” he whispered over the decently loud ac. but she could still hear the desperation in his voice.

“oh,” she turned around, seeing his blue eyes barely open from underneath snowy lashes. “i was gonna go back to your classroom to clean up more-”

“stay, please.”

she let out a shallow sigh through downturned lips. she stared at the strongest sorcerer as he scooted over in his bed, allowing her room to lay. her heart stung a little bit at the sight, the dryness in her throat just adding to the sensations she felt.

“i have spare clothes you can borrow,” he frowned, lazily gesturing to his large closet. “they’re comfy.”

it was clear he was trying to use anything to convince her to stay, despite him being worried about her health. even if it was selfishly, he just wanted her near.

a small smile laid on his chapped lips when she went into his closet, picking out a t-shirt of his and going into the bathroom. through the white door, he could hear her softly humming to herself, and it felt like a lullaby to his reddened ears.

his gaze softened when he saw her, despite the piercing bathroom light. she just looked so beautiful. he knew that, of course, he’s known ever since they first met. but when she had her hair up in a bun and his shirt draped over her shoulders, she looked like a goddess. he would’ve said so even without his feverish state. she was just so perfect to him.

she walked over to the other side of his bed, flopping herself down. she didn’t realize how much her muscles ached until her body met the soft mattress. all of their surroundings smelled like him, a minty sort of scent flooding her nose. he was about to doze off again, back flattened against his sheets, but she scooted over and hugged him. the blanket plus his body heat was enough to make her start sweating again, but she still wiggled up against him. her fingers were idly tracing shapes on his chest while she continued to hum.

“thank you,” he whispered, voice crackling so much she nearly missed his words. he snaked his large hand to her back, pulling her impossibly close. it felt so intimate that small tears began to prod behind his eyelids.

“you’re welcome, satoru.” she responded, her tone still gentle. “goodnight.”

8.9.24

masterlist ?!

[aquickstart]

i need to talk to you guys about the colors of the Cattons (Felix specifically) and Oliver. the clothes they are wearing are telling the story of Oliver taking over and leaving his mark throughout the whole movie, with Oliver's failures and successes and a final triumph. holy shit. get in. this is long and ends in ancient greek culture trivia. let;s talk please.

disclaimer: am starting from Oliver's arrival at Saltburn. before that the outfits are also very intentional, but it's a lot more complicated and it has been discussed before. the world distorts once we are at Saltburn and the story gets truly gothic there, and every detail—including color!—is enhanced in meaning. also, special thanks to @kivlaro for doing this with me, the thoughts on this specifically and the Saltburn craze on the whole. pics and detailed analysis under the cut!

let's start from the beginning. here is Oliver at the door. simple, blue shirt.

the shirt is sort of its own character. logically it makes sense as Oliver's suitcase is small and he spends the whole summer there, of course he'll rewear stuff a bunch. but it is blue.

in contrast to Felix, in yellow. yellow is one of Felix's colors (he is the sun, which i've talked about here btw, so this makes sense).

same to Pamela, in blue. first time we see her, she is next to Elspeth, wearing the color that is Oliver's, taking the place that he takes right away, in this very scene. the only other time she is physically present on screen is at dinner, in black and white, and black and white are a blank slate. she is stripped of color and gone very fast.

a bit of crucial data for later: Oliver, in blue, and Felix in pink. pink is very important on Felix. this is their first morning together. they are separate and opposite, solid, contained.

where it starts to get good is the morning after the vampire strike.

Venetia is a Felix extension, just as everyone in the house is to Oliver. i will eventually rant about Saltburn as a whole entity and Cattons as aspects of one self, and Oliver as psychosis, but not here. so, yes, Venetia is a pink riot, a euphoria of self-containment because Oliver gave her a piece of something she felt she lacked to feel whole (validation, attention, care), not a piece of blue, of himself. Oliver is expectedly solid blue. Felix is incredibly interesting and something i didn't pay much attention to at first: predominantly blue, incredibly upset at Oliver for ditching him, with a tile of bright red (on the left! close to heart! over-reaching here but like still!), which still tracks. i mean, really, if i had so much foreign color bleed into me and then abandoned, i'd be pissed, too. nice little touch is sir James' beloved hydrangeas, behind Felix, also pink, very pink, always pink; i don't think i've seen them blue in the movie, although the sort exists.

Farleigh. sweet baby Farleigh i love you. I'm not dead-set on my interpretation of this specifically but i think multiple things are happening with Oliver and Farleigh here. like Rent, which is their song, blue is their color of outsiders and the triers to fit in. Farleigh points out the favoritism and preference of Oliver to him and his mother here, so it may also be appropriation of color to draw attention to Farleigh as almost (but never quite) Oliver. it may also be as simple as that Farleigh, as much as he denies and resists, still retains Oliver's influence, which bleeds into him very slowly.

a nice little moment of Felix wearing blue swim shorts with just tiny specks of a pink pattern. Oliver's shorts also have a bit of pink, but less than Felix's. Oliver is pretty good at remaining unaffected and uninfluenced overall.

and we're getting to where it all clicked and started for me. the Quick family house, the failed reconciliation, and the immediate aftermath. oh it's so good.

on the drive there, Oliver is blue, Felix has a pink polo shirt with a solid blue pullover over it. this is the most blue Felix has ever been (this is the most blue he will ever be!), this is trust. however shaky and toxic it is, Felix loves Oliver and accepts him into his world. as a side note, Oliver's parents are also very blue, mom more so than dad. nice!

and then it crashes. immediately after, it's the evening of the same day, but Felix is not wearing the blue pullover anymore. this is very, very important. this is rejection. it's the end for Oliver in Felix's world and with his trust. Felix, again, in solid pink, Oliver in solid blue. Felix successfully rips him out with the roots and everything. ouch.

daddy. sorry. is that highlighter? sweat? fuck. let me- daddy. SORRY

no i actually have a point about this.

the clothes are replaced by the lights, but we roll with it. Oliver basks in the blue-green light, while Felix is on the other side, in pink and purple and red. sure, blue shines through, and Oliver also walks through the slashes of pink, but it is mostly pretty separate, Oliver watching Felix's pink in his own blue from a distance.

the morning after palette is deep. the wine color that is so prominent in these scenes is fascinating to me. if i were to over-reach again i'd say it's the Oliver in Felix's attributes and in his place that requires the robe to be so dark, not usual definite pink, because deep blue has leaked into the color itself, mixed with it, made itself integral to the shade. but it's also just a nice color, and it is pink in its core. the flowers (with sir James in the background) i think are also this specific shade for the same reason. you look at what remains of Felix everywhere here, and it is his color.

and finally oh the lunch scene. the last supper. the judgement day. the who's afraid of virginia woolf madness.

i think we've established what's up with Oliver, but i also think it's important that he is his own color at lunch but in Felix's pink/wine right before and after. lunch is where he attacks, whereas before and after is where he grieves and enjoys. Farleigh is almost completely blue save for a strip of the same deep pink, and he is soon cast out, and Venetia is striped, blue and pink/salmon, affected deeply by Oliver yet still clinging on to the Catton pink with grief, probably, but also love for Felix.

and after all this, Oliver leaves himself.

no, like, actually, literally himself. sure, he'd got a taste of the Cattons and the pink, but he is a monolith, a solid blue when he leaves Saltburn. he has not been affected by the house, he has taken what he wanted but stayed true and whole. what a power move, honestly.

but it's an even bigger deal that 16 years later, Elspeth runs into Oliver wearing all white and a blue scarf. oh, she's not let this go, alright; it was a long time ago, "but not to me," she says. What Oliver has been up to in that time is a great question, without a doubt he's been keeping tabs on the remaining family as much as he could; but Elspeth has never moved on, either. She has held on to Oliver's blue and the pink is not important at all now. Oliver, of course, is invariably, unwaveringly blue. welcome back to his show.

and welcome back to his triumph.

the only color (except for, again, white and black) we see him wear in the flashback about Saltburn inheritance is the all-too familiar deep pink. wine. bright pink mixed with deep blue.

now i will take a liberty and step back, over-reach, over-interpret and go insane. here's a fun bit on ancient greek culture trivia for you.

this is an interesting and complicated historiographical and linguistic debate that i will not even attempt to relay here, but the essence of it is this: for us, the sea is conventionally deep blue. historically, one of the most prominent civilizations considered "deep wine" to be the descriptor for it (not necessarily the color but the property. highly rec to look this up it's so fascinating). what it gives me here is that Oliver has changed color, but not his self. he has integrated, mixed, but persisted, completely winning over, triumphing. long live the king!

in conclusion, i would just like to propose "colors" by halsey as the next cattonquick anthem. thank you for your attention, please let me know your thoughts. yours, yes, you. cheers. god. peace out

[fuckmymunson]

eddie who has a reputation to uphold, the weird and scary freak who wears chains and big metal rings and always goes on tangents about his hatred for the popular kids, not a sliver of fear or weakness in his eyes. eddie who at the same time never leaves his house without the light yellow scrunchy with daisies on it that you gave him, always on his wrist or wrapped in his hair.

eddie who’s sweet n soft on you in a way he never is with anyone else 🥹

💌 a/n: Oh god, this, this, this, this. Please, I don’t ask for much. I’m so happy to get back to writing! Hope you like it!

🪷 Check my recent poll ¡! 📌

“I lost it” His voice sounded almost defeated, and quite inopportune.

“Eddie!” You jolted in your place, closing the light green locker door. Behind it, there he was, the big, scary, mean freak of Hawkins High. Covered from head to toe in chains, leather, ripped jeans, black, black, all black. With dark, unruly hair and a chunky rings.

But also, with puppy eyes, and a quivering lip.

“You scared the shit out of me, Eds” The frown on your pretty face made his heart jump inside his chest. You were an angel, a sight for sore eyes.

“I lost it” He repeated.

“You lost what?”

“I’m sorry” Eddie looked down, apparently now his Reeboks were the most interesting thing.

“Care to explain what is missing and why are you apologizing?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you waited, for almost three minutes.

“I lost the scrunchy you gave me” He finally admitted, like a criminal at trial.

Eddie heard you sigh, to his ears, was a sigh of disappointment. In reality, it was a sigh of relief. Only Edward Munson knew how to make a simple thing as a scrunchy into a faithful message.

“That’s it? Eddie, it’s just a hair tie” You shook your head, still not comprehending the dimensions of his problem.

“It’s not just a hair tie!” He exclaimed, now almost offended, of course only he could switch mood that easily. A few curious students looked at your way, still wondering how did an adorable piece of cotton and sunshine like you, was dating the metalhead, three-times senior freak of not only high school, but of the whole town.

“Yes it is, love. I can just give you another one, don’t worry— Look, I can give you the one I’m wearing…”

“I don’t want that one” He said, his words sounding almost like a tantrum. “I want the one you gave me on our first date, the yellow one with little sunflowers”

“Daisies, Eddie” You corrected him with a smile. Only Eddie was able to remember such a tiny detail and forget a crucial detail.

Only Eddie was able to make you feel loved, cherished and appreciated. He was so different from every other person you have dated before. He snatched your heart from the very first day and it’s been a daily occurrence for almost a year. The scary, weird freak, the person considered a devil worshipper, the mean senior who had the admirable (or idiotic) courage to stand out against others who felt like they had the right to humiliate and ridicule those who weren’t like them. Your Eddie, the one who broke a jock’s nose one time for slapping your ass walking through the halls. Your Eddie, who waited patiently until every extracurricular activities you were into were over, so he could drive you home and hold your thigh and listen to you throughout the whole ride. Your Eddie, who loved Saturday night because it meant movie night, cuddles and kisses. The mean freak who let you braid his hair, paint his nails, sew his old t-shirts.

The Eddie Munson who was scared of spiders but wasn’t scared of a hundred people crowd. The boy who initiated a food fight at the cafeteria and had to go to the nurses office because an orange hit his eye and he realized he was allergic to them. The man who every Friday made fairy tales, knight stories and evil monsters come true and walk this very earth with just his voice and his imagination at his D&D club. Your Eddie, who on your first date, dropped a chocolate milkshake on top of your white dress, forgot to fill his fuel tank, and had to push his van all the way to the nearest gas station.

That’s how the bright scrunchy ended up in his hair, in a makeshift ponytail that you made by running your delicate fingers through his tangled hair.

That was your Eddie.

Your Eddie. Yours. Yours.

“Fine, let’s go find it” You said, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles. “Tell me what you did today…”

Sorry for any mistakes! English is not my first language. Thank you for reading!˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[nerak-01]

Just...Pissed off Bestfriend!Ghost who can't get outta the friendzone...

TW: no direct smut ig, but its teasing and build up to smut. Ghost pinning over an oblivious reader.

This might get a second part if it does well, but who knows.

Imagine Ghost who prides himself in being subtle, unfazed, and mysterious. Except, he isn't around you. He'd been one of your closest friends since you both practically grew up together. Even when he joined to military, you made it a point to send letters and stay in touch. Ugh, that made it so much harder to not grow attached.

Ghost, or Simon, as you know him, would never out right tell you he was interested. Instead, he chose to drop hints. Maybe warding off any guy who looked at you too long wasn't the best hint, but it was crucial. Simon made an effort to keep his hands on you whenever he could. Whether that was a hug; a hand on your hips when he brushed passed you; or full blown cuddles on the couch when you guys watched movies.

Oh, he loved the cuddles. He had your whole body pressed against him as he occupied most of your attention. You were always so soft and warm. He always had to take a bathroom break half way through to relieve himself of a harder problem.

If you noticed how Simon began to change, you never mentioned it. This was now approaching your sixth month of this friends with cuddles non-sense. It wasn't like he wasn't your type! On a boring mission break, he might or might not have gone through your search history to find some enlightening Onlyfans subscriptions. He was both unimpressed and flattered when he saw how his body matched many of your most visited sites. Why pay to see other men's bodies when you could run your dainty hands over his? Simon Riley didn't get it.

Simon also couldn't fathom how you still hadn't taken the hint. He'd agreed to go clubbing with you as you chose to parade around in the sluttiest two piece he'd ever seen. Fuck. Why was your skirt so short anyway? Your top was basically lingerie with the mesh pieces and thin straps. Were you trying to grab his attention on purpose? Cause it...was kind of working... a little too well for his liking.

He hated how his eyes ghosted between your thighs before pulling away to look at the cock block who had you exhale an airy laugh. Your sounds were always angelic. He'd be lying to himself if he hadn't fantasized about the more sinister sounds he could draw out of you when you'd finally gotten the hint. Nevertheless, hearing it directed to someone else made his blood boil. Perhaps the other predicament was the fact that he knew that his eyes weren't the only ones lingering on you.

"Hey, darling, I think it's time we head out." Simon wasted no time, in two strides he was at your side with his arms wrapped protectively around you. He gazed down at the moron who looked a bit paler before the guy made an effort to wrap up your conversation. The idiot quickly scurried off into the tight crowd.

"No, I wanna dance more~" Your voice drew Simon's attention. You were being such a brat by subtly grinding your hips against him. Sure, you were wasted, but you had to know how riled up he was. You should be able to feel his hard on poking your back by now. He gripped your hips, forcing them to still.

"Baby, you're drunk, and I'm the one who's responsible for getting you home," he growled in your ear. There was a thick rasp in his voice as he tried to repress the urge to grind back. This wasn't fair to him at all. How could you expect a man to resist you? Simon had plenty of trouble doing that already, but this gave blue balls a whole new meaning.

[ghostycritter]

Observing ☆

Context - Eyes don't lie. Certainly not theirs. Here, we unravel what's behind them. Eyes are the window to the soul after all. So how would their glances and glares feel?

Characters - Jing Yuan,Blade, Dr Ratio, Gepard, Aventurine

Warnings - none

A/N - first writing.

Masterlist (✧) HSR Masterlist

[景元] Jing Yuan -

Being under the general’s glare felt like a small stroke of lightning anytime his eyes fell on you.

The shock was gentle though. A shock that made you feel alive—a shock that kicked off your heartrate to rapid speeds. His eyes would always leave your heart pounding from how gentle his glances were.

It was almost comforting in a way. You always feel your cheeks flush every time. No matter how used to it you get, you can never comprehend the warm emotion that simmers deep within your heart.

On his end, his attention is always directed towards those who have caught his attention. Birds, Starskriffs, and maybe… You?

You, being the most memorable moment of his day.

Jing Yuan carries recollections of many amber eras. Everyday, he doesn’t notice himself getting older, however, days to him are desaturated in speciality. All he acknowledges is his duty as general.

But ever since you, everyday was like a blessing. He wished that days would travel at a hindered pace, just so he could look at your person again. Though conversation was rare, those glimpses at you were without a doubt the highlight of his days.

As you passed by him, you found his head following your direction. You lifted your hand to give the general a wave.

“Pleasant to see you [name].” That was relieving to say.

[刃] Blade -

He doesn’t know why he does it. He doesn’t feel like this, he never does.

But why does he keep looking back? Looking again, and again?

Blade has never reached out for an answer why, he’d much rather not ask. He’d just stare, like always.

Blade’s stares are cold. Your spine would go erect anytime you feel him eyeballing you.

You weren’t scared of course—there’s no act of maliciousness behind his crimson eyes. But rather, the word to describe your feeling would be intimidation.

Fear doesn’t overcome you, but his glare was so intense. It felt like a piercing blow to the chest. You had no complaints, because he would always look away when you catch him staring.

But you always know from your peripheral, that Blade’s eyes never abandon you as long as you don’t reciprocate the act. Maybe one day, his eyes would meet yours.

Blade crosses his arms, his mighty sword tightly gripped within the confinements of his fists. His head tilted downwards, it’s not like he has much to see anyways. His surroundings were deafening, he only observed his own being. How he can breathe when he takes up a flush of air with his nose. It’s like living.

But nothing comes close to ever making him feel more alive than being observant. Observing you.

Just a few system hours ago, he found himself looking… again. It’s always you. Never Kafka, Silverwolf, Firefly, or even Elio can drag his irises along like you do.

“Blade, time to go,” He heard Silverwolf call for him.

He must’ve been too submerged in his thoughts.

[真理医生] Dr Ratio -

Veritas Ratio was a piece of work. Brimming with knowledge and practically unparalleled in academics. So how come he catches himself eyeing you?

He doesn’t have time for such trivial matters; the doctor has more crucial things to focus on

However, it always comes back to you. He doesn’t even realise, but when he does, he internally scolds himself.

How his maroon eyes would stalk you, absorbing every miniscule detail about you. Any differences from the day before, he’d notice.

Oh, you’re missing that accessory you’d usually wear. Your facial features seemed more captivating today. In fact it seems that way now since he’s finally paying attention.

To you, the doctor’s stares were strict. It made you feel tingly, making you stiffen your spine on instinct or even walking differently. It’s as if you were being inspected thoroughly.

Another exhausting day finally came to an end. His usual routine, finding himself in front of his large bathtub. He stripped himself of his clothing and immersed himself in the waters beneath him. He let out a small sigh, he needed this.

Veritas was deep in thought. He simmered in the warm water, he thought about you. He remembered how you dressed today, but it seems as though you look more exceptional everyday.

Observing you became somewhat of a cycle he has gotten used to, taking mental notes after every look. But obviously it didn’t matter to him, it’s all a part of his nature to inspect things after all—or atleast, that’s what he tells himself.

[杰帕德] Gepard -

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards, a title he upholds dearly. Never once he lets his emotions get to him, staining his reputation when it comes to the military.

However, recently, some of his comrades have noticed Gepard covering less ground when it comes to patrolling.

He was always told to not overthink, to stay true to himself, but he never realised how often his gaze lingers on you.

His glances were quick when you’re aware, however, whenever you turn your back to him, his eyes linger a little longer. He looks at you with so much admiration, it’s innocent, he would question why, but all those inquiries would be muted by the sensation of adoration.

Gepard’s glare would boil a proud sensation in you. You notice how he looks, he isn’t very experienced in hiding it. You find it amusing the captain would find you so tranquil that he would pay more attention to you than patrolling.

Gepard stood firm and tall as he walked around the city. He found an abundance of citizens moving around town. He’s glad that the stellaron crisis was over, it made his job a bit easier with the fragmentum.

In the density of the crowd, with every person roaming and going on with their lives, he found you.

You caught his eye again.

How does this keep happening? He froze. The sight of you alone kept his heart rate surging, it was abnormal. His lips parted and slowly cracked into a subtle smile.

It’s good to see you today.

[砂金] Aventurine -

Nobody would ever expect the lucky risk taker of the IPC to have so much interest in someone else.

Usually, his ordeals would leave him to abandon the other party. Although his interest in you appears to be a wonderful exception from all others.

He had always had a keen eye for people. Most people being those deemed as ‘business’ to him. Subsequently, he finds you intriguing, but not in a professional way. Rather he took his own interest to you.

His unique eyes were sharp and enthralling, leaving anybody on edge when he peered, especially with his lips curved into a wide smile. He can’t blame himself, you were so entertaining.

Every little action that you’d commit would be under watch of Aventurine. Those contrasting eyes with his dark, sharp pupils made movement impossible to follow. It’d make you freeze, stumble, and stupefy anytime you’d catch him eyeing you.

He doesn’t hide it either, he isn’t ashamed. Why would he be?

Business has been accomplished, another risky negotiation in favour of him. With that success out of the way, he can finally rest with that achievement in mind.

He wonders, will he ever feel so obliged to watch over someone again? Was it out of concern? Interest? Or something more? He watches as you stand there, minding your own business. His irises locked onto your person. His smile grew a bit wider, he felt amused. It’s ridiculous how you can conquer his attention with leisure, he almost felt sorry for himself for being so helpless, but that would be impossible.

Regardless, having you under his vision was enough for him, he doesn’t expect you to take the time to notice it, rather that would be a miracle.

[sacrednova]

Drive me home | Simon "Ghost" Riley | 7

fem!reader | In this story, a young woman mistakenly texts Simon "Ghost" Riley, thinking he's her Uber driver after a wild night out. Despite his gruff, reserved nature, Simon shows up. Contains fake screenshots with texts messages and calls!!!! Start reading from the beginning: Part 1 | Part 8

It wasn’t hard to talk to Simon—it was just… hard. But not in a bad way. It was the kind of hard that made her pause, choose her words, and really think about what she wanted to say. And honestly? That was kind of terrifying.

She had figured out one crucial detail, though: Simon Riley was a really good listener.

Not the kind of listening where someone just nodded along and threw in a polite “oh, really?” No, Simon listened like every word she said mattered. Like he was gathering pieces of her story, stitching them together in that quiet, focused way of his.

His brow would furrow when something didn’t quite click for him, and she’d catch herself explaining things in more detail just to smooth out that little wrinkle between his eyes. Other times, he’d give her a small, almost shy smile, lips pressed tight as though he was holding back. And when he did decide to speak—rare as it was—his sense of humor was… well, awful.

Dry, sarcastic, and so poorly timed that it made her laugh harder than it should have.

But the most important thing? His eyes.

They had never left hers.

It wasn’t just polite eye contact. It was deep, unwavering, intentional. Those warm, brown irises seemed to pull her in, like magnets designed to drag her under his surface. Every time she tried to look away—to collect herself, to focus on something less overwhelming—she’d find herself drawn back to him.

And in those moments, the noise of the bar, the clinking of glasses, the hum of conversation… all of it faded. It was just her and Simon, his gaze anchoring her to the spot, making her feel seen in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just curiosity about the man behind the mask. It was something quieter, something deeper.

It was connection.

It had been a long time since she’d felt like this—so long, in fact, that she didn’t even know how to articulate it to herself.

Was there even a word for it? This warm, jittery, completely maddening sensation in her chest?

She didn’t know, but damn, she was into him.

Into every little thing about him—the way his voice wrapped around words like they were secrets meant only for her ears, the way he moved, so calculated yet effortless, as though every step was planned without trying to be. Even the way he drank his bourbon, the subtle way his lips pressed against the glass.

And that… that was terrifying.

Because the truth was, she didn’t know much about him. Not really.

God knows she’d tried. She had peppered him with questions earlier—little things about his day, what he liked, if he’d always been this serious—and he? He was as cold as a stone wall when anything remotely personal came up. It wasn’t rude, exactly, just… unyielding.

And there was no way in hell she’d push him. No. That wasn’t her. She wouldn’t pry, wouldn’t force him to share.

But it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Because damn it, she wanted to keep him around.

Not just as the guy who drove me home that one crazy night. She wanted a second date. A third. A fourth. She wanted…

Shit.

She wanted him.

“What you thinkin’ so much?” His low, rumbling voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

“What—huh? Me? Thinking? No, I mean—yes! I think, like, most people do, but—”

“Careful,” he murmured, his eyes sparking with amusement, “might bite ya tongue.”

The grin tugging at his lips was slight but devastating, sending heat straight to her cheeks.

And just like that, he had her spinning all over again.

She leaned back slightly in her seat, trying to steady the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her nerves were rattling inside her like a thousand tiny earthquakes, but hell, she wasn’t about to let that show. She needed to feel confident—wanted to feel confident—not this shy, not this flustered. Not this… undone.

"I want a wine," she blurted, scanning the room for a waiter like her life depended on it.

Simon didn’t respond immediately, and the silence was deafening. She shifted in her seat, suddenly hyperaware of his stillness. "Everything's fine?" she asked, hesitantly.

His response came low and even, carrying a strange weight. "Not a big fan."

"Of wine?"

"…Can’t handle it well."

Her lips parted in a silent gasp, her mind racing. Oh. My. God. Was it bad that her immediate thought—her absolutely terrible thought—was to see him a little tipsy? Just a little? She could practically feel the wicked urge tugging at her. It was irresponsible. Immature.

And, apparently, irresistible.

"Maybe a cup won't hurt you, Simon," she said, trying to keep her tone light, teasing.

His eyes—those unrelenting, burning brown eyes—locked onto hers, and her heart stuttered. He didn’t move, didn’t shift. Just looked. And in that moment, she was sure of two things:

1: He knew exactly what she was doing. 2: He was going to make her pay for it.

"Hm. Really?"

The words were a challenge, laced with that unmistakable edge of his.

She swallowed, feeling her resolve waver. "…We can share a cup."

"Can we?"

"Yes?"

His head tilted slightly, assessing her like a predator deciding whether the hunt was worth it. Then he leaned back in his seat, the tiniest smirk pulling at his lips.

"Fine."

Fuck.

Her pulse raced, and she could already feel her cheeks burning again. What had she just done?

Simon wasn’t an impulsive man. He never let his feelings dictate his actions. Discipline was his armor; control was his weapon.

Until now.

Until her.

Her laugh still echoed faintly in his head, soft and teasing, like it had been etched there. And now this—this moment, this glass of wine—was tipping him over some edge he hadn’t realized he was standing on.

What the hell are you thinking, Riley?

The question circled his mind as he took another sip, the rich red liquid burning less than he remembered. Or maybe it was the heat in her gaze that dulled everything else. Her eyes stayed on him, shining like they held secrets he wanted to pry out. And her lips—soft, slightly parted, tinted just right—were driving him mad.

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, a small, almost absent-minded gesture, and yet, it had him utterly fixated. Every move she made seemed calculated to undo him, and worse, he wasn’t sure if she even knew it.

Fuck, he wanted her.

He wanted her to want him, too.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice dipping slightly, pulling his attention back to her lips.

"Late," he answered, the word coming out rougher than he intended. He didn’t bother looking at his watch; the time didn’t matter.

Her eyebrow arched, playful, daring him. "…Really, late?"

Sarcasm. Teasing. She was testing him, pulling at the string between them to see how tight it could stretch.

"Really late," he repeated, his voice quieter this time, like it wasn’t meant for anyone else but her.

And then it was just… there. That thick, invisible tension wrapping around them like a cord, pulling tighter with every shared glance, every stolen breath.

The air felt heavy, charged, like it could ignite if one of them moved an inch closer. Their bodies stayed still, a careful distance apart, but their eyes… their eyes refused to let go.

He didn’t blink, didn’t look away.

What’s next?

The question clawed at him, louder than his heartbeat, louder than reason.

His hands twitched, the slightest movement, as if they were ready to reach for her. To break the distance. To shatter the moment.

What do you want from her, Riley?

The thought settled in the pit of his stomach like a weight he wasn’t ready to carry.

Where do you want this to go?

The answer was right there, coiled in his chest, hot and undeniable.

Fuckin’ hell.

Simon had never been in this situation before. Well, not exactly this situation. Sure, he'd had his fair share of nights where things spiraled a little too far out of control, but this? Sitting across from her, her lips flushed from the wine, her laughter soft and too sweet, her hands resting on the table like an invitation? This was new.

He wasn’t in any condition to drive, and he knew it. The wine had gone straight to his head, his pulse pounding louder than reason. He was good at hiding it—so damn good at keeping his composure—but not tonight.

She caught it. Of course, she caught it.

His eyes betrayed him, breaking from her face to linger on her hands, tracing the curve of her knuckles as she fidgeted with her glass. They dipped lower, to her shoulders, her neck, the line of her collarbone disappearing beneath the fabric of her dress.

He cleared his throat, trying to reset, but she was staring back now, wide-eyed and flushed, and that damn tension was snapping tighter by the second.

"So… how are we getting home, huh?" Her voice wavered, but her smile stayed steady, teasing.

He blinked, his brain working slower than usual. Drive? Right. He wasn’t driving. Absolutely not. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk that, but… he also wasn’t ready to let this night end.

He pulled out his phone, fumbling slightly as he swiped at the screen. "Uber," he muttered, voice gravelly.

She laughed, a soft, almost nervous sound. "Oh, a real Uber this time? Not the personal one?"

He glanced up, catching her grin, and something in his chest tightened. "Don’t push it," he muttered, but his lips twitched just enough to betray him.

The Uber arrived quickly, and they stumbled out into the cool night air. Simon opened the door for her—always, always—his hand brushing her lower back as she climbed in.

She didn’t notice, not at first. She was busy pulling out her phone, probably texting Lottie or someone equally amused about the fact she was heading home with him. But then…

The driver’s voice broke the silence. "So, your address is…?"

Simon leaned forward, his voice steady but quieter now. "Hers."

Her head snapped up, her heart lurching so fast it hurt. "Wait, what?"

He didn’t even look at her, just leaned back against the seat, his arms crossed over his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"My house?" Her voice cracked, disbelief flooding her chest.

"You got a problem with tha'?"

Oh, her brain was short-circuiting now. "I—uh, no, it’s just…" Fucking shit, is he STAYING? Is he STAYING at my place?

Her heart hammered harder, racing into the kind of panic that wasn’t fear, but anticipation.

Shit, shit, shit. Did I shave?

Her eyes darted to him again, her cheeks flaming. He looked so calm, but she knew better. She could see the way his hands twitched, the way his gaze dipped to her legs for a fraction too long before darting back to the window.

She felt the warmth rise in her throat, a blend of nerves and something deeper, darker.

And then it hit her.

This wasn’t just about him staying. It wasn’t about whether she shaved, or whether she had fresh sheets, or if she had leftover takeout in the fridge to awkwardly offer him.

This was about the fact that he chose her.

And hell, if she wasn’t ready for it… but maybe that was the point.

Her house.

Her rules.

Her Simon.

She bit her lip, her mind spiraling, her pulse racing, and as the Uber sped down the empty streets, she decided… whatever happened next, she wasn’t holding back.

Her thumbs moved faster than her brain, texting Millie in a frenzy. The Uber wasn’t even halfway to her place, and already her head was spinning.

Her breathing quickened as she stared at her phone, waiting for Millie’s reply. A second felt like an eternity.

She glanced at Simon, who was sitting completely still, staring out the window like the world outside held all the answers. His shoulders were so broad, his jaw set, his hands resting on his thighs.

Oh fuck.

Cool? COOL? She wasn’t sure she knew what “cool” was anymore.

She stared at the screen, Millie’s rare display of actual best-friend-mode sincerity grounding her, if only slightly.

She sucked in a deep breath, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline.

She glanced at Simon again, and her pulse fluttered. He turned his head slightly, catching her in his peripheral. His eyes flicked down to her phone.

“You alright?”

Oh god. His voice. Deep and low, like he knew she was spiraling.

“Y-yeah! Just… texting Millie.”

“About me?”

Her face burned. “No!”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. He didn’t press further, but she saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

And just like that, her nerves flared again, but this time… she kind of liked it.

Tags ♥: @sleep101 @all-by-myself98 @h0ney-mushroom

Omg, next chapter.... next chapter.... (evil laugh)

[capquinn]

here i am yet again hope you’re not over me yapping in your inbox all the time

i think about quinn revealing the big news that he’s gonna be a dad to jack & luke, maybe he’d get them mugs or tshirts that say ‘uncle’ and it takes them a hot minute to put the pieces together 😭

oh my god it would be absolute chaos, but in the most brotherly way possible.

Picture this: they’re in town for a couple of nights because it’s tradition at this point — late-night card games, takeout from Quinn’s favourite spot, and banter so constant you can’t even keep up. But this time, you and Quinn have a little extra something planned, and of course, he thinks he’s a genius about it.

So, the night before, Quinn had pulled out two brand-new mugs from the cupboard, bold lettering on each one: World’s Greatest Uncle.

“They’ll get it immediately,” he’d assured you, his confidence solid. “It’s so obvious.”

Except, now, it’s breakfast, and things aren’t exactly going to plan.

Quinn places the mugs in front of them casually, setting Jack’s next to his plate of eggs and Luke’s beside his toast.

“Sorry,” he says, far too nonchalantly, “we’re out of clean mugs. You’ll have to use these.”

Jack picks his up, squinting at it.

“World’s greatest uncle?” he reads aloud, glancing at Luke. “Why do you even have these? Did one of your friends have a kid or something?”

Luke furrows his brow at his own mug, swallowing a bite of toast.

“Why are there two of them?” he asks. “You don’t even know that many people with kids.”

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “This is so random, dude,” he says, taking a sip from it like nothing is amiss.

Across the kitchen, Quinn sips his coffee, his expression unreadable except for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. You bite back a laugh as Jack and Luke spiral into a completely unrelated tangent about Quinn’s supposed lack of kitchenware, but your gaze meets Quinn’s over your mug, and you know he’s thinking the same thing: how are they this dense?

It’s not until you and Quinn have retreated to the couch that the lightbulb finally flickers to life. From the kitchen, you hear the low murmur of Jack’s voice, a scrape of chairs, and then:

“Quinn?”

Quinn turns slightly on the couch, his arm resting along the back as he glances at them over his shoulder. Jack and Luke are standing there, mugs in hand, expressions somewhere between confused and dawning realisation. Jack holds his mug up like it’s a crucial piece of evidence in a high-stakes case, his brow furrowed deeply.

“Are you guys having a baby?” he says, his voice a little louder, eyes wide.

Quinn’s lips twitch, the faintest ghost of a smile forming as he leans back against the couch.

“Yep,” he says, his tone calm and easy, like he wasn’t just waiting for this exact moment.

Jack’s reaction is instant. The second the realisation hits, he’s shoving the mug into Luke’s hand, muttering a distracted, “hold this,” before practically vaulting over the back of the couch. He crashes into Quinn with a hug so forceful it nearly sends them both sprawling, his arms locking around Quinn like he’s trying to squeeze the news out of him all over again.

You can’t help but laugh, reaching out instinctively to steady them, your hand bracing Quinn’s shoulder as he struggles to keep his balance. Jack is grinning ear to ear, smacking Quinn on the back hard enough to make him wince.

“Holy shit, bro!” Jack exclaims, his voice booming with excitement. “This is huge! Congrats!”

Quinn huffs out a laugh, his arms coming up to return the hug, even though Jack is practically squeezing the air out of him.

“Thanks, Jack,” he says, his voice a mix of amusement and affection.

Luke, meanwhile, is still standing there with both mugs now, his brow furrowed in confusion as he processes what just happened. He glances between the mug, you, and his brothers like he’s replaying the moment in his head, trying to make sense of it.

Finally, he looks at you, his eyes wide.

“Wait, you’re serious?” he asks, his tone softer, tinged with awe. “You’re really having a baby?”

You nod, your grin widening as Luke’s expression shifts, the dawning realisation giving way to pure joy. He sets the mugs down carefully — because apparently, someone has to — and moves around the couch to wrap you in a hug.

“This is insane,” he says, his voice warm and full of excitement. “You’re gonna be parents. Holy shit. Quinn’s gonna be a dad.”

Jack pulls back, his grin turning mischievous as he claps Quinn’s shoulder.

“Better you than me, bro,” he says with a laugh.

Quinn rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t falter.

“Yeah, thanks, Jack,” he says, the dryness in his tone failing to mask the warmth underneath.

[tossawary]

For a while, I kept periodically thinking about F/M Wangxian (Male Wei Wuxian and Female Lan Wangji) without being able to figure out why I kept being distracted by F/M Wangxian. I mean, I think different genderbending AU situations are fun to think about in fanfiction, especially in worlds where gender roles are a problem. M/M, F/M, M/F, and F/F Wangxian all change the story slightly and I think it's neat to explore why and how.

And obviously, F!LWJ would be a total babe, that's nice to think about, but why still M!WWX and not F!WWX? F!WWX would also be a total babe, though of a different type, especially as the Yiling Patriarch. But my brain kept insisting that M!WWX was still crucial somehow and I couldn't figure out why that setup.

I mean, it is funny to think about how M!WWX's unchanged flirty behavior in their teenage years would suddenly set off every single alarm bell in the Cloud Recesses due to people being able to SEE IT thanks to heteronormativity goggles. WWX with a degree of societal permission to be romantically interested in Lan Wangji? Intolerable levels of annoying. Unbearable to witness. Singing love songs under her balcony type bullshit like he wants her to start another fight under the moonlight. He's writing her poetry (clever "joke" poems bordering on innuendo and actual romantic poems) and has the gall to be good at it. Lan Qiren is barely resisting the urge to beat WWX off with a broomstick. Lan Xichen doesn't know whether to be horrified or delighted (LWJ is bluuuuushing).

I do also like the idea of WWX coming back from the dead and finding out that the common people have decided in the past decade (thanks to the heteronormativity goggles) that the noble female cultivator LWJ had a Tragic Romance with the Evil Yiling Patriarch. Poor woman! WWX: "Who had a what now?" (I do also like the idea of Wangxian actually having a Tragic Romance during and after the war. And mutually stated romantic interest and affection still didn't fix anything for them. But it's funny to think about WWX getting completely blindsided by this EPIC LOVE STORY if there was no actual relationship.)

(Sizhui is still adopted here! Noble and pure-hearted LWJ adopted a war orphan because she longed to be a mother but swore never to love again after the Yiling Patriarch broke her heart, obviously! WWX, listening to this gossip: "She what? I mean, Lan Zhan would make an amazing mom, good for her, lucky kid, and no one is good enough for her if she doesn't want to get married, but seriously, I cannot stress this enough, what the fuck. She didn't like me back! Aiyah, I bet she's still so mad at me for ruining her reputation like this.")

Eventually, I realized that the key piece of this AU that I was missing was that I wanted to write F/M Wangxian that turned into F/F Wangxian. Because I think Transfem Wei Wuxian would display (and I mean this affectionately) the most ridiculous trans egg behavior imaginable, especially because it would lean more towards one of those "I was mostly fine living as a guy, but I'm so much happier as a girl" situations. Absurd amounts of queer foreshadowing.

So, Wei Wuxian gets resurrected into a female MXY's body or something and obliviously goes, "Oh! This is nice! I've always wanted to try being a woman! Yes, I can roll with this." And eventually Wei Wuxian has to actually examine the fact that she really likes being a woman and doesn't want to "go back" to being a man in any way, but not before putting Lan Wangji through an incredible amount of new "joke" flirtation. And people who knew WWX before are like... "Hmm. Some things are making sense now."

Things like: 1) As a teenager, WWX insisted that LWJ was such a strong woman that, if they got married, LWJ could be "the husband" and "he" would happily be "the wife". There were lots and lots of "I want to live as Jiejie's spoiled wife" jokes. Consequently, at the Cloud Recesses, at least one outrageously inappropriate joke was made by WWX about LWJ knocking "him" up, because WWX's breeding kink is still very much a thing. WWX didn't know about her breeding kink when she made that joke; both she and LWJ learned something about themselves that day.

2) Wei Wuxian would frequently pull crossdressing-related pranks saying: "Wow, this is crazy. I can't believe you guys are forcing me to put on a dress and all this makeup for this prank! You guys are wild!" And Jiang Cheng would reply: "No one is forcing you to do this. No one dared you. You suddenly volunteered to crossdress for a prank that does not require crossdressing AGAIN. Also, give me that brush, I'll do your makeup because you suck ass at it."

3) WWX would frequently go on rants about how women are so much more beautiful than men, which flew under the radar as a "normal behavior for a lustful young man", but there was always something a little off about it. Like, WWX might say that women are so beautiful and perfect that everyone would choose to be one if allowed to pick before being born just to admire the gorgeous view, and JC might say, "I don't think that's quite right...?" But WWX would just say something like (like an obnoxious teenage sibling), "That's because you know that you'd make an ugly woman!" or, "Are you saying that women aren't perfect? Also, are you saying Shijie isn't the best person in the world?" And JC would have to be like, "I didn't say that! And I'd make a beautiful woman, fuck you! Also, how is that relevant to your point?"

By the end of this AU, there is at least one public love confession that is horribly embarrassing for everyone else to witness, in which Wei Wuxian has finally realized that LWJ used to be in love with "him" and that she loves LWJ back, but tearfully apologizes because she can't be the handsome man that LWJ loved anymore. Even if she could be a man again, she still doesn't want to stop being a woman, even if she's not very good at it yet. She can't perform the required husbandly duties like provide a good home for LWJ! She can't father LWJ's children anymore!

(Jiang Cheng: "Do you have to do this now?! Stop being indecent! There are children here. Also, we're all being held hostage.")

But it's all cool! Because shortly after realizing WWX was back and determined to live as a woman, LWJ speedran a sexuality crisis, flipped a mental switch, and essentially went, "I'm a lesbian now." (Or maybe LWJ was really confused about being attracted to WWX when they first met, because LWJ had only been physically attracted to her fellow female disciples up until then, so WWX seemed like the "exception", until WWX comes back from the dead as a woman and then it's like, "Ah. Not an exception after all.")

[tsxkkis]

# iwaizumi hajime - won't let go

a/n = i'm not the best at writing hurt/comfort type of stuff, but i hope this piece is alright ^^ also we love iwaizumi on this acc sm he's the man fr.

summary = after an argument, iwaizumi needs to apologize.

warnings = one swear word, argument, idk what else.

the sound of rain hitting the ground came from behind your window, being the only thing disrupting the silence inside. the storm was getting heavier with each passing hour, taking you and many others by surprise, since the last few weeks have all been sunny and warm. luckily you didn't go outside today; or the day before, or two days before, or ever since the argument.

the last thing you expected, in this type of weather especially, was to hear a knock on the door. you didn't order anything, and your parents were supposed to come back from their trip on sunday. so who could it possibly be?

you slowly opened the door only to be met with the tall, dark-haired boy, his clothes soaking wet from the rain, hair sticking to his forehead.

iwaizumi.

"what are you doing her-"

your words were quickly cut off by the boy, his eyes locked on the ground in front of him before his head went up, his focus now on your face.

"i'm sorry."

you were used to the fact that iwaizumi didn't show much emotion on his face, but you also knew one other thing. his eyes would always tell the truth. and right now, as you stared into them, you were positive about how genuine his words were.

"iwa, we can't go on like this if you don't trust me."

he knew you were right. after all, that was the most crucial part of a relationship; trusting one another wholeheartedly. and iwaizumi trusted you, there was no doubt of that. but something was different that day.

maybe it was the fact that he was mad after losing the match. maybe it was how jealous he was at the smile you gave to the karasuno members, how you celebrated with them after they won. but all of those things just rubbed him the wrong way.

he knew that you were their manager, but you were also his girlfriend. and something made him feel betrayed that day.

"maybe we shouldn't continue this, then."

his words felt like a knife going right through your heart. you could feel your eyes getting watery the very moment they left iwaizumi's mouth. as you looked down, trying to hold back the tears as well as thinking of what you should say back to him, you heard kiyoko, one of your fellow managers, calling you from the other side of the hall, since there was a team meeting before the next game.

you turned around and left, without a word, wiping away the single tear that managed to slip and roll down your cheek, assuring your friends that yes, everything is okay.

oh, what a lie that was.

you didn't see him since last week. in the meantime, karasuno managed to win the final and secure their place in nationals, and as happy as you were for your team, you couldn't help but shake the sadness away after what happened between you and iwaizumi.

"come inside. you're gonna catch a cold." a deep sigh left your lips as you gestured for him to enter the house, closing the door behind him. you quickly turned around heading towards the bathroom. "you're soaking wet. i'll grab you a towel."

"please, listen to me first." iwaizumi's voice sounded desperate as it echoed from behind you, his hand reaching out to gently grab you by the arm.

"not until i'm sure you won't get sick." you looked at him for a spare second, and he decided not to stop you. he waited patiently in the hallway, reaching out to take the towel you handed him the moment you stepped out of the bathroom, along with a hoodie and pants for him to change into.

his hoodie and his pants. ones that he left in your house on purpose, ones you always used as pajamas when the nights got cold.

as you stood there in silence, watching iwaizumi dry his hair, you couldn't help but realize how awkward it all felt. it was never this way between you two; you could spend hours without speaking, just spending quality time with each other and it just felt right. but now, after the argument it was different. and you didn't enjoy that at all.

"i'm sorry. about what i said after the game." he took a deep breath, looking up at you, his words disrupting the silence. "i was just, jealous. and mad. i was mad after losing that match, and it made me even more furious to see that you were so, happy."

you didn't bother to interrupt him, letting him explain everything.

"i know you're their manager, and you felt happy your team won. i completely understand that. it would be weird if you weren't cheering them on. i just couldn't help but feel bad." his eyes were glued to the floor, the overwhelming feeling of shame taking over him. "i know that i fucked up, really badly, and there's nothing to excuse what i said that day." iwaizumi could feel the tears starting to form, but he did his best not to let them spill, a shaky breath escaping his lips. "i just need you to know that- that i don't feel that way. i don't think we shouldn't continue this thing that we have. because i love you. i love you too much to lose you like this, to lose you because of my stupid actions."

your eyes widened at his words. there it was.

the first time he ever said those words.

you took a step towards him, your hand reaching out to gently lay down on his cheek, a small yet warm and gentle smile gracing your face.

"it's okay, hajime." your words sounded so soothing to him, you're voice calming and soft, even though millions of emotions were going through you that moment. "i accept your apology. i just couldn't help but feel hurt by your words that day, you know. i think it's quite understandable."

he looked up at you, nodding in response, as his hand instinctively went up to yours, thumb trailing little circles on the outer part of it.

"and, one more thing." he had a questioning look on his face, his head tilted to the side as he heard your words, your body moving just a little bit closer to him. "i love you too."

a shy smile appeared on his face, his fingers interlocked with yours as you stared at each other, both happy inside that this situation was over with.

"it's still raining. you can stay here until it stops, if you want."

iwaizumi squeezed your hand, his smile noticeably growing as he heard it.

"i would love to."

taglist: @ox1-lovesick @moonswolfie @wyrcan

[keets-writing-corner]

guess who's still thinking about Lucifer >.<

anyways thought it'd be fun, given my previous post about his dissociation with conversations, to try and guess what his takeaways were from his phone call with Charlie based on his reactions

Maybe I'm wrong about what he's catching and what he's missing but either way I had fun

strike through= what he missed bold=what he caught neither bold nor strikethrough= he might've heard it/made it out through the white noise, but not enough to connect the dots RED= only heaven is in red cuz you cannot convince me otherwise that that's not a trigger word for him

Idk thought it’d be fun to try and guess what Lucifer is ACTUALLY hearing with his dissociation filter on let's GO

Lucifer: [insert absolute fail of hello]

Charlie: Hi Dad! Lucifer: Hey! How are ya? Oh! Wh-wh-where are you these days? Charlie: You know where I am, Dad… I’ve told you before…

Lucifer: You hAve? Oh. yeah Uh, erm well I um uh

Charlie: I told you when you called me five months ago! Or did you not listen?

Lucifer: No no no just forgot! I just forgot. I’ve been really busy with you know… um. iMpOrTanT tHiNgS

Charlie: Well I’m actually running a hotel to rehabilitate sinners, maybe you saw our commercial?

Lucifer: No? Sadly I… missed it!  Lucifer: You know I haven’t been watching much TV lately! Scrambles the brain!  Lucifer: but hey! A hotel! Fun!

Charlie: Listen, Dad, I’ve got kinda… a big ask?

Lucifer: -spit take- Yeah?! Of course! Anything in my power is yours for the asking you just name it

Charlie: I need to speak to heaven! Well, whoever’s in charge up there above Adam above anybody, I need to go to the top!

Lucifer: NO Lucifer: no no no no Lucifer: That’s uhahah no…

Charlie: Look! Dad! I don’t ask you for much. I never have, but this-this is really important to me. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done and I… need… you… I need your help

Lucifer: I-... I don’t know Charlie

Charlie: Please just- Come see what I’m trying to do. You’ll see why it’s a really good idea and heaven is bound to agree if I get the chance to talk to them

Charlie: Please dad

Lucifer: wait… you’re… INVITING ME OVER??? Lucifer: ABSOLUTELY Lucifer: I’LL BE THERE IN AN HOUR

___

so yeah, he can semi follow along but like crucial bits and pieces ARE being left out

[foursaints]

how do you think regulus eventually over time changes james??? is his labyrinth search done or is it sort of a "i fall to pieces when i'm with you type beat?

to be crass about it: he makes james less of a gigantic annoying asshole 😭

james potter is interesting because to 1/2 of the population he’s the coolest most desirable dreamboat (his perfect sports! his perfect hair!) but to the other 1/2 he comes across as the most insufferable prick of all time for the exact same reasons <- if you’ve ever been even slightly an outcast you’re in this category. #deathtojfp

(i believe that even my remus had trouble warming up to james at first) (12 year old remus is fresh off the train from berlin w/ his Poverty Rags and Shaved Head staring at him like 😒🚬 while 12 year old james is like Holy fucking hell is that remus lupin kid SMOKING?? he’s SO cool sirius don’t you think that’s so cool. <- remus is quickly incapable of withstanding the James Potter Radiant Megawatt Friendship Grin. he’s only mortal)

crucially: james potter is an obnoxious frat-star athlete who has a beer pong tournament bracket pinned to his fridge. WITH an adorable nerdy lisping boy scout deep down. (and yet another jock even DEEPER down, sort of a sandwich situation)

reg’s existence does the important work of making james realize that 1) it’s actually super messed up & insane to view the world through the lens of Good People and Bad People, and even worse for james to decide that He is the one who gets to make those moral judgments. and 2) old spice body spray smells fucking disgusting seriously potter get it together

but once regulus manages to effectively permanently do away with james potter’s Douchey Surface Layer he unintentionally creates a monster. because after james potter becomes Humble and Self Deprecating and comfortable enough to be a charmingly dorky overenthusiastic nerd about things (the way he was as a child) it’s like….. oh god. he’s even MORE perfect than before. who DOESNT want him. who is even capable of not wanting him under these conditions. look at the way he fumbles clumsily with his glasses!! oh god, he’s geeking out about different brands of hiking shoes!!!!!!!

meanwhile regulus is standing back with his arms crossed smugly. he’s like: That’s Right. I Did That.

[janitorhutcherson]

hey bitches!! it’s e, i’m backkkk. i had a fic idea, something i think i’ll use for a lot of new content if y’all react well to it. to give y’all a run down before we get into it, this is a famous!mike schmidt au.

basically mike is josh hutcherson. reader (you) are his live in PR assistant. not sure the perfect word for it, but basically you manage his social media presence, the way he dresses, how he is in public, attend all events with him to monitor him, etc…… kinda like a babysitter….. also, could technically be a part of olderbf!mike because reader is 22, mike is 31. anywaysss..! it’s a new idea, i just wanted to set the scene. the way i’m writing this is different from usual. plz let me know what you think! if y’all like i’ll write more in this universe🤭

summary: ur actor mike schmidt’s assistant!!

warnings: angsty, just an introduction to an idea.

————————

mike schmidt was a mess, and everybody knew it. that was part of what was so appealing to the public. he was a celebrity, a famous actor, known for various movies, tv shows. he was glamorized, lived in LA just like the rest of them, edits to upbeat songs all over social media with his hips swaying from some random snippet of a trailer. yes, mike schmidt was a heart throb, but he wasn’t your typical golden boy. he wore jeans and raggedy t-shirts to interviews. his brown curly locks were always tangled and sticking in fifty different directions. his stubble was always a little too rough, his hands calloused and bruised to masculine perfection. he wore snap backs and had no sense of what a filter was. he said things as they were on stages, into microphones, or on livestreams, silly phrases coming out of his pink lips. he was carefree, not glamorous nor slouchy but instead some odd middle ground that left women with slack jaws and puddles of drool. he was what every woman actually wanted when they said they wanted a man ‘written by a woman,’ or so they thought he was.

in reality, mike was the biggest pain in the ass to walk the earth. while most 22-year-olds got to save pictures of him to their pinterest boards and kick their feet every time he came into their tv screen, you were stuck managing his every move, saving his ass from letting the wrong thing fall from his mouth in front of the wrong audience. you were his manager, of everything, really. you managed his social media, coached him through what to say during interviews, inspected the clothing he wore before events… there wasn’t quite anything you didn’t do for mike. the two of you had a weird connection since you’d started, not quite foes but certainly not friends. the air was always somewhat tense, something you were all too aware of whenever you’d have an interaction with him. you knew it needed to change, and fast.

you’d gotten the job fresh out of college, extremely eager to take such a high paying position. you were lucky and you were aware, your gratitude something you showed through your endless devotion to being the best manager, and hopefully one day friend, mike could have. when you’d first been offered the position, part of what made it so appealing was knowing not only were you being paid, but you were given a room to stay, in the same home as mike. it was crucial, living alongside your boss in order to keep him in check. when you’d walked into a meeting room after you’d accepted the position, you were debrief about mike, told he was… difficult, to put up with. he tended to push his previous managers to the limit, his somewhat childlike demeanor sending them running the other direction. you accepted this as a challenge, something to motivate you to prove that you were worth more than the other old and dried up pieces of talent they’d had in here.

oh boy, did you have another thing coming. you weren’t any different to mike. sure, you were gorgeous, your eyes a color he could drown in, your laugh something he grew oh so fond of over the past few months you’d lived with him, but you were just another manager… right? it was his job to make this difficult for you. that’s how he saw it. so, you fought like you were pulling teeth, demanding he go change before going out like he was your 14-year-old daughter when he’d come out in a bleach stained t-shirt. you’d have to keep him from posting selfies of him smoking a joint on FACEBOOK just to cause a stir. for gods sake, you didn’t care if he put them anywhere else, just please, not where all the old people were. you’d argue late at night when you’d both head back to his place, your eyes filled with fiery anger after he’d drop some stupid shit in an interview, accidentally saying something about how one of his older costars were a “dried up old fashioned hag who needed to get some.” was he wrong…? no. but that didn’t mean he could say it.

he’d always yell back, his eyes filled with just as much anger. you went about this charade almost every time something had to be done. it could be a red carpet event, an awards dinner, an interview, even simply a live stream, there was always something with mike, something to yell and scream about. you constantly tried your hardest to stress how much you cared about this job, about him even too, sometimes blurring the line between professionalism and feelings as you’d get a little too intimate about the things you’d left behind, desperate for him to understand you, to see you.

it wasn’t until one night you’d finally had enough. he’d changed outfits right before a big interview that could’ve got him in front of multiple big directors, something big, even more groundbreaking for him. he’d been in an elegant outfit that fit his body so well, just like a glove, you could only imagine. of course, he hated it. he hated being coaxed into things, told what to do, to say, and currently, both were happening. when no one was watching, he’d slipped himself into a pair of black jeans and a tank top, walking out just like that, then proceeding to insult every director there individually. you were dumbfounded. no, he wasn’t drunk. no, he wasn’t high, medicated, or under any influence. this was just… mike, and you were starting to have enough.

the moment the two of you entered the house, you’d went at it, your face red from anger. how could he? how could he go out and blatantly go against everything you’d said purely out of boredom? he was a grown man, you’d think he could do better than this. you were embarrassed, not even for yourself as who represented him even though you should’ve been, but for him. you wanted this for him. your eyes locked on his, the moment you slammed the door shut. his big, beautiful brown eyes you most definitely didn’t mind looking into, no matter how angry you were. “mike, what the fuck,” was all you could say before he stuck his hand up. he went to turn on his heel, not even bothering to listen to a word you’d have to say.

that’s when you did something you didn’t think you’d do. this time, you’d let something slip, something you’d wished you hadn’t. “mike, if this shit doesn’t stop i’m fucking quitting, i’m leaving.”

that’s all it took.

that’s all it took for him to turn back on his heel to face you, frozen. his mouth was slightly parted, his eyes wider than you’d seen them before. he looked… angry.. confused.. no, not even. he looked… sad? he fluttered his eyes, his mouth opening and closing a little. you’d known you’d lasted longer than most, but this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“don’t,” was all he said, taking a couple of steps toward you. you stood there, frozen and tense as who was basically your boss slowly moved towards you, his demeanor different than you’d seen before. he was like a lost and wounded puppy, his dark brown eyes glistening with an emotion you’d never seen in him before. he reached out, touching your shoulder. you flinched, not even because you didn’t want him to but out of instinct.

“just, don’t go, y/n. i couldn’t take it, okay? i-i’m sorry, i’m sorry i fuck around too much, i’m sorry.. i just.. i don’t want you gone,” he said, his voice was low and growly. oh. he wanted you to stay. this was the first time he’d shown any interest in you in any way other than arguing, and you didn’t know what to do. with that being said, you did what you knew how to do best.

“okay,” you simply said, nodding your head as you went to your room. that night, you’d laid in your bed conflicted about the side of the man you lived with that you saw tonight. meanwhile, while you tossed and turned in your own sheets, mike did the exact same. little did you know, you were the only person mike had ever felt a real connection with. you were the only one patient, loving, thoughtful enough to be there for him, even through his hissy fits. he adored you, your style, your walk, your laugh, your humor, and he hated it. you were in his mind 24/7 and he hated it. but no, he could never get closer, because he knew you’d leave, just like the rest, and tonight was proof.

no, if mike were to ever attempt to get closer, you’d be the one to start it. and perhaps.. perhaps you would be, perhaps this encounter would be so engrained into your brain that you think about it daily, dissecting the look on his face. but who knows? maybe next week you’ll change your mind and pack your things, walk out the door. only the narrator knows quite what’s in store for the two of you…

[uglypastels]

sanji and 92 please with fluff !! i love someone new by hozier and i think it fits his vibe !

oh god i got a bit carried away with an idea i had as I listened to the song, so I'm sorry if it's not fluffy enough as I added a bit of drama, but hopefully nothing too angsty. again, apologies.

word count: 1.2k warning: implied smut (18+), pining, smoking, mention of alcohol (abuse?). not proodread.

Spotify Blurb Event ~ OPLA Masterlist

#92 Someone New - Hozier

There's an art to life's distraction To somehow escape the burning wait, the art of scrapin' through Some like to imagine The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do

Sanji awoke with his head shrouded in clouds of last night’s mistakes. A dull and miserable ache enveloped his body, reaching a peak in his joints and the nape of his neck. His shoulders were cold from the fresh air that had pressed his bare skin throughout the night as he slept uncovered. The bed creaked slightly as he moved to sit up straight. He cringed at the loud noise, immediately aware of the sleeping beauty beside him. 

Her draping locks concealed her face, leaving only the remnants of Sanji’s sober memory to fill in the gaps. She did not do as much as stir as he got out of bed. Did not wake, let alone reach out for him to stay. And he did not expect her to do any such thing. 

As quietly as possible, he roamed around the unfamiliar room for his clothes, eventually finding them scattered across all four corners. With the sun slowly peaking over the horizon, he fastened the last button on his shirt and threw his jacket over his shoulder… of course, not before making sure the packet of cigarettes and his lighter were still in the inside pocket, just to take them out once he had gotten outside. Rather than the fresh morning air, it was the smoke that filled his lungs. A bitter burning that woke him right up. 

It took Sanji a moment to identify the street he was in, let alone the direction to the harbour. It would have been a mystery to him how he had gotten here in the first place if it wasn’t for the fact of how often he had gotten himself in these situations. 

And it wasn’t that he intended it to happen. Never. But when a few drinks in too deep, the sight of a beautiful lady made him weak. It would start with a simple, innocent conversation, perhaps an offer of a drink, and next thing he knew, he was walking the streets in the early morning, cigarette between his lips, appeasing his mind with the blurry memories of the night. By the time he had made it onto the boardwalk, the air turning colder and saltier with each step towards the ship, he had pretty much pieced each moment together into a collage of a terrific night. 

With consideration to his crew, he did his best not to make any sound as he walked aboard and down to the galley. And yet—

‘You are one insatiable man, chef.’ a voice startled Sanji nearly off his feet. His side hit the solid wall as he moved around the shadows to find the source of what was now a fit of bemused giggles. It was only that, in the frenzy, he had still managed to recognise the friendly voice, or else you might have had that smile wiped off your face. 

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,’ you lied. All Sanji could do was shake his head, now a small smile tweaking at his lips, as he made himself comfortable in his favourite part of the ship. As every morning, he set a fresh pot of tea and took out ingredients for a delicious breakfast, moving around the room almost as if on autopilot.

‘Want some?’ he asked,  cocking his head in the direction of the brewing tea.

‘No, thanks.’ you replied. He knew you were in the kitchen, most likely only to get a glass of water before going back to bed to catch a few more of those crucial minutes of sleep. He saw the empty glass inches away from the sink. But he also saw you lingering about. Like you often did when you wanted to ask him at the last minute to cook something up while he was already cleaning up his workstation. 

But, Sanji, being Sanji, could never refuse you anything. ‘Just spit it out,’

‘Who was she?’ Your question was a somewhat expected surprise. He knew you were thinking about it, but he just had not been sure if you would be blunt enough to go and ask it so straightforwardly. 

‘Met her at the pub.’

‘An unusual name.’ You quipped, placing yourself against one of the kitchen counters. ‘Was she from around the West Blue?’

‘I should have asked, shouldn’t I?’ Sanji grabbed one of the pans and lit a fire on the stove. 

‘No, I suppose not…’ you watched him for a moment. How his nimble fingers prepped everything so mindlessly yet with meticulous precision. Another question popped into your head, and without a trip through any filter, the words blurred out of your mouth. ‘Was she any good?’

‘From what I can remember, great.’ Around you, Sanji had no reason to lie or sugarcoat things. ‘Why?’

‘Oh nothing.’ 

‘Alright, but try not to get jealous, love.’ He chuckled. As he poured some oil onto the heated-up pan, his eyes glanced over in your direction, trying to notice any possible markings that could indicate him right. But you just rolled your eyes at his comment. After all, you had nothing to be jealous about. Not when you got to wake up next to someone you knew and loved each morning. Though, that’s something Sanji tried not to think about too much. 

‘I can’t believe you don’t have a headache or anything. I saw you drinking those shots last night, and it was only 10 o’clock; Gods know what you were up to after I left.’ Indeed, as Sanji himself could not quite recall the exact concoctions he had submitted to under the fiery lights and company of strangers.  

‘You get used to it.’ He shrugged it off, however. What else could he say after years of such ridiculous escapades? ‘And I had a cigarette on my way back. It was quite refreshing, actually.’ The walk was more so than the cigarette, but it was nice nonetheless. 

‘I’ll never understand you, chef.’ You shook your head, smiling, ‘you’d think after the shit we’ve been through, we’d take better care of ourselves. Or you at least, your tastebuds.’

‘You’d think.’ Sanji cracked an egg in the pan, and it immediately sizzled, filling the room with more than just their empty conversation. You wanted to reply, but instead, a yawn escaped you. 

‘Go back to bed, I’m sure someone will wake you up for breakfast,’ Sanji said softly. 

‘Yeah, I think I will.’ And, like many other mornings, you bid him a sweet and short farewell with a peck on the cheek. Just a quick kiss, like a million times before, with nothing behind it but the years of friendships that you both held dear. ‘Smells delicious, chef.’ You commented at all the amazing food being prepared right in front of you. 

Sanji, still feeling you at his side, did nothing but smile. He made himself concentrate on the food, but for once, it wasn’t as easy said as done. 

He turned around, but you had already gone. It must have been a second too late. 

How typical of him. 

the end.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it, please consider to like and especially reblog but also I would love to know what you thought of the story so please feel free to leave behind a comment anywhere around the post. all forms are appreciated :] and anon asks are always open if you're not about that public life.

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[eepwriting]

Hi! Could I request a III X reader where they’re traveling with the band on a plane but III comforts reader who is afraid of flying?

Seat Buddy ✶ III x GN! Reader

Warnings: honestly none, just sweet iii. unless you’re super afraid of flying, then some bits might be uncomfortable to read.

Thank you so much for your request!! Such a cute idea 🤍

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You had joined the Sleep Token team at the beginning of the year. You were brought on as assistant and were ecstatic to tour with them. Finally getting to do what you love, traveling with a band you liked also being a huge plus.

In your excitement, you had somehow forgotten the most crucial part of touring. Traveling. When you thought about touring musicians, a big, roomy tour bus always popped into your mind. So when flight details were sent to your phone by the tour manager, you suddenly were okay with staying behind.

Alas, here you are, standing in line to board a plane. You somehow managed to keep your cool through TSA and the hour and a half chunk of time waiting to board. You had the band and the rest of the team to keep you company, take your mind off things, but as you stepped closer to the door of the plane, you felt very alone in your fear.

You hadn’t told anyone you were traveling with about this fear you had. You were determined on getting over it. Or at least, only having a slight freak out.

“What seat you got?”

You spin around to see iii standing behind you. His ticket held up between two fingers. He leans over you slightly, looking down at your ticket.

“Oh, uh, 10e.” You smile up at him, waving the piece of paper.

You hear him pull air through his teeth in a hiss. “Ohh, it looks like you’re stuck with me. Sorry about that. 10d.”

You laugh, moving up in the line. “Should be an interesting flight then.” You try to keep your voice steady as you get closer to the door.

III had always been kind to you, saying hi every time he passed you, always including you in conversations, had even recently started texting you posts he found funny. Although you hadn’t known him very long, you were glad to have a friend in close range.

You move up a final time, the energetic flight attendant at the door giving you a warm smile, welcoming you aboard.

You walk down the aisle, eyes scanning the numbers above the seats until you find row 10. A lone woman occupies the window seat and you give her a polite smile as you sit down next to her. You push your small backpack under the seat in front of you as iii stops in the aisle.

He puts his bag in the overhead compartment before taking his seat next you. You think he smiles over at you with the way his eyes crinkle.

You fasten your seatbelt after getting as comfortable as you can, pulling the strap tight. You want to reach for the safety manual that’s tucked into the seat pocket in front of you but you don’t want to freak yourself out even more than you already are. You clasp your hands in your lap and close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Hey, you okay?” III’s thigh bumps your knee. You turn to look at him. He’s slouching forward slightly to get a good look at your face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You try to smile at him. “I’m just a little afraid of flying, that’s all.” You clear your throat.

“Oh. I get it. First time?” He turns in his seat to fully look at you. You nod at him, your hands clenching and unclenching in your lap. “Well, the first time is always the scariest. I used to be scared to fly actually.” He leans in a little closer as he says this, as if it’s a secret.

“Really? And you got over it?”

“Eventually, yeah.” He nods. “Comes with the territory of the job so I kinda had to.” He shrugs his shoulders slightly.

“So, you’re just not scared to fly anymore?” You shake your head in question.

“Nope. Only thing I’m scared of is how much leg room I’ll have. I swear it gets less and less every time.” You both look down to his knees that are uncomfortably pushed up against the seat in front of him.

You laugh at his joke, feeling a small sliver of your anxiety slip away. III’s relaxed and playful nature calming your nerves.

Your head snaps up when you hear the pilot come over the intercom, greeting the passengers, telling you where you’re going, and laying out a general time frame of your flight. He introduces the flight attendant who greeted you at the door, letting her take over to demonstrate safety precautions.

III lets you lean over his lap to look down the aisle. You want to see everything she’s demonstrating, writing a mental note of all the exits. A somewhat foolproof plan of escape lingers in the back of your mind.

You check your seatbelt for the 10th time when the pilot announces that the plane would be making it’s way down the tarmac towards the runway.

III notices your uneasiness and leans over to you again. “I like to think about it like this.” His voice is quiet and calm. “What kind of stories do you hear about plane rides?” He tilts his head, eyes scanning your face.

You think for a moment before answering. “The bad, horribly terrifying ones.”

He laughs. “That’s right. You don’t hear about the thousands of successful flights that take off and land every single day. Anyone would be scared of flying if they only ever heard the bad stories.”

That is true, and it’s coming from someone who truly understands your fear. You smile at him, replaying his words in your head to calm yourself down.

The plane rolls its way to the runway, you and iii making small talk the whole time. The plane comes to a stop and it feels like an hour of waiting before the pilot announces takeoff.

You shut your eyes again, taking deep breaths when the tires start moving again, picking up speed. “You can hold my hand if that’ll help.” III’s voice is quiet next you, his shoulder leaning into yours. You quickly nod and hold your hand out, which he gladly accepts, letting you drag it to your lap. You squeeze his hand hard when the front tires lift off the ground and he squeezes back when the plane is fully off the ground.

You only open your eyes when you hear the pilot come over again, announcing an ETA and thanking everyone for flying with the airline. You look over at iii to see him watching you. “Wasn’t so bad, right? It sounds scarier than it actually is.” His hand squeezes yours again.

You nod and smile at him. You’re actually in a plane, in the air, still alive. “I guess not, no.”

You quickly learn that actual air time isn’t the part you’re scared of, just the takeoff and landing. Luckily, you don’t experience any turbulence, so you’ll have to fight that battle another day.

You find yourself able to actually relax most of the flight. III definitely helps, always keeping conversation flowing, cracking jokes, working quickly to distract you if he notices your anxiety creeping back in. He lets you grab his forearm or bicep at any sound or movement that’s even slightly out of the ordinary. Never laughing at you or making jokes at your expense.

He orders you drinks and snacks if you want them, lends you an earbud, showing you some of his favorite songs at the moment. Flips through the provided magazines with you, pointing out articles he might find interesting or tapping on pictures of travel destinations he’d like to visit someday.

You’re almost surprised when you hear the ding of the seatbelt sign and pilot announce that you’d be landing in 15 minutes or so. Time having flew by, no pun intended.

You make sure all your belongings are in order, excited to be on the ground again. This experience was not nearly as terrifying as you thought it would be, but you still had lading to get through before you could feel totally relieved.

“I’m glad you’re the one I got to sit next to, you know.” You smile at iii, bumping his leg with your knee.

“Oh wow, I’m so flattered.” He brings his hand up to his chest, his eyelashes fluttering dramatically.

You giggle and lightly swat his shoulder. “I’m serious! You were very helpful and kind today.”

He sheepishly shrugs, looking away from you, but offers you his hand. You gladly take it, holding it in your lap again. Squeezing hard when the plane jostles, front tires hitting the ground. He squeezes back when the plane comes to slow roll.

“I don’t mind being your seat buddy from now on.” He squeezes your hand twice, a smile reaching his eyes.

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This was cuteeee and fun to write. Thank you again for the request! 🤍

As always, if you like to see anything please let me know!

K. Bye bye.