#one person said 'I'd read it' and that was enough LOL

[dailyfigures]

I know you're an anime figure blog, but I'm pretty sure you said you liked Megan Thee Stallion, right? Would you happen to know if she has any outfits that are more well-known or iconic?

I want to make my friend that loves her a custom doll, but I'm not sure which look to pick and I feel like it would be sus if I like randomly asked her lol

oh that's such a super cute idea anon! i love megan :)

overall i'd say she always looks really good and she does have a clear style imo but only a few outfits really went viral enough to say they're really iconic if that makes sense.

this bunny outfit that she wore in her boa mv recently has been super popular, i've seen a lot of artists draw her in this too!

she does anime cosplays/inspired looks sometimes which are always really cool, i'd say one of her most popular ones is this jjba bruno inspired look she wore to the crunchyroll awards.

her personal style in more casual settings (radio appearances, freestyle vids, etc.) is usually a tight crop top and jeans or hot pants. i'd say that's maybe a bit more of her default look. don't forget her belly piercing!

i hope this helps and anyone reading this can feel free to add their opinion in the comments! :)

[mechahero]

//Let's also not forget the discourse that would be "hurr durr trans character existing bad".

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Telling Hugh Dancy about trans masc Will and more...

As some of you already know by now, I went to Boston Fanexpo this past weekend for another stop on the unofficial Hannibal 2024 Reunion Tour.

I had planned to do autographs on the Friday before the Hannibal panel and had brought some gifts for Hugh which included a copy of Adapt. Evolve. Become: The Genderqueer Fandom of NBC's Hannibal, which I compiled and edited last year. I also got him to sign my own copy (above).

It all moved quite quickly, but I did have the chance to explain that it's a volume by and about trans, non-binary, and genderqueer Fannibals that includes art, fics, essays, and personal pieces. He seemed intrigued and I said I hope he'd have the chance to read it and that the art isn't explicit/sexual but some of the fics are - he laughed and said he appreciated the warning.

It was all quite the whirlwind, especially after coming all the way from the UK, so I was absolutely mortified when I remembered the next morning that I had talked with a few trans Fannibals who had specifically asked me to let him know that he/Will is a trans icon. So I went back up to see him again on the Saturday morning when it wasn't too busy (and get more stuff signed) and this is what happened:

[I wrote notes down right after so this is as close an account I can get without having filmed it!].

Me: I saw you yesterday Hugh: I remember (smiley-friendly) Me: I gave you a book Hugh: I remember (smiley-friendly) Me: well, I forgot to tell you. A few trans Fannibals reached out to me to tell you that Will is a trans icon to them and we all love you for it. Hugh was surprised (in a nice way) and I was pretty much going to walk away then - job done and feeling like time for me to stop bothering Hugh lol. But before I could walk away he sort of held out his hand to stop me and said something along the lines of - I don't mean this in a disrespectful way, don't take it the wrong way... I'm genuinely curious- I get that it can be about identity- but what is the connection to Will and being trans? Luckily - my essay in the book is exactly about how Will can be read as trans, so I sort of gave him a summary of that. I explained that (obviously) both Will and Hannibal can be read as queer, and that - especially as both characters have dominant masculine and feminine traits, it's also easy to read them both as trans or in some way genderqueer. He was nodding and agreeing, so I further explained that with Hannibal, he is fully formed - he's already whatever he is - which Hugh also agreed with. But that Will is still becoming, still transitioning and therefore can be more relatable to trans fans who see that journey in themselves. So although it's not necessarily the same journey - there is enough to it that it resonates with trans people. I said that in the show there is also the added bonus of Will being seen and accepted for who he is, just as trans people wish to be. He was nodding along and agreeing with me and then he thanked me for explaining that. It was pretty quiet previously but I'd been there a few minutes so the queue was building up a little but he was so focused on me - so genuinely intent on hearing what I had to say and learning more. SO I CARRIED ON. (lols) I explained to him that it goes further than the show, that we have found a community in the fandom and that many trans people have a catalyst in their life that sparks their journey - like Will had in his friendship with Hannibal. For us it might be a person, an event, or even a TV show. I explained how the fandom are so supportive of trans people - that we are SEEN. That I for one wouldn't have been able to afford top surgery without the kind donations of Fannibals back when I was not in a good place (mentally or financially). That we all help each other and for some of us that has been life-saving. He did the hand on heart thing and said "wow" and was clearly moved. I said to him that so much of this is in the book, that I completely understand if he doesn't want to read the fanfic, but I really hope that he will at least read each of the personal pieces - that each of the fics and art also have a little write up from their creator about what the show and/or fandom has meant to them and their gender journey - how important this has been in our lives. He repeated a couple of times that he would definitely read it. I thanked him and he held out his hand and gave me the most genuine hand shake I've had in my life.

I want to really stress here how much this was instigated by Hugh. That he really wanted to know more and understand and didn't even look at the slowly growing queue but was instead intently focused on knowing more about the trans Fannibals and about why this show and the characters mean so much to us.

I then went off and spoke with a few Fannibal friends in the queue before getting around the corner to another Fannibal friend and having a bit of an emotional moment/breakdown. I can't even explain how grateful I am that he gave me the opportunity to explain all this to him. And I was especially glad I got to tell that Will is a trans icon because I'd have felt terrible if I'd have not done that after people had asked!! Thank you for trusting me to pass that message on for you!

💖

I know for many of you Adapt. Evolve. Become: The Genderqueer Fandom of NBC's Hannibal might have gone a little under the radar. So here is some more about that >>

It was compiled last year for Trans Hanni Day, edited by Max Turner of (and in conjunction with) A Coup of Owls Press - and published under Max's ACoO imprint.

It features essays, personal pieces, fanart and fanfic by and about trans, non-binary, genderqueer and otherwise non-cis Fannibals.

IT IS FREE TO DOWNLOAD, however we ask that if you do that, please consider donating to one of the linked trans orgs if you can afford to (or a similar organisation/charity of your choice).

It can be purchased on Amazon, however, as the proceeds go to charity, and Amazon only gives royalties, more is earned/given if bought directly via Max's shop.

Dearest trans Fannibals, please know that YOU ARE SEEN!

[telanadasvhenan]

thinking more about the psychological aspect of solavellan, and before I start, I'd like to stress that this is NOT CRITICAL of it, I actually think it's what makes part of the dynamic interesting. My word isn't the be all and end all, however, this is just my musings on the topic :] Also, REALLY long post! so, more under the read more lol

From Lavellan's point of view, I would personally struggle to see her trusting another lover or close one again for a long time, if ever again. I don't really think people ever talk about the real impact of the things she goes through, or what solas put her through, and the hurt as a result of it. The relationship is never defined between the two of them, it's always spoken about in vague undetermined words from their companions and poetic elvish between the two of them. Are they lovers? companions? partners? it's really up to the player. Leliana says that "you were close", Sera says Lavellan is "in it." Vhenan means home, heart, it's not a word said lightly imo and he tells you he loves her by their second kiss. It's never an official thing, so how secure can Lavellan truly feel?

This could go both ways when it comes to the break up. Crestwood, as a scene, is so interesting to me because the first portion seems like a man brought to his knees by weakness for the woman he loves. The two of them never cease to touch, fingers entwined, shoulders brushing, skin to skin. It's so reminiscent of how Lavellan matches his Hallelujah cadence. They're two parts of a song singing together. It's a gorgeous scene and it's understandable how so many are angry at how it ends because the whiplash between how it starts and what it leaves you with is severe. Imagine this from lavellan's shoes.

You're desperately in love with someone at odds with your people, who is wonderful and enticing and smart. Loving solas feels like loving the whole world, like being free and connected with the stars. But you don't know what this is. And, if you thought you did, how far can you presume? Is Lavellan always on edge, scared to love him deeper and richer than he loves her? or is she in a false sense of security, assuming his affection is forever hers. So when he not only breaks away your faith and trust in your history, plus potentially the vallaslin, she is clearly deeply upset. This isn't a minor fact that simply can be swept aside. The vallaslin is important. And Solas, even with the best intentions, has hurt her. He knows it and there's a reason why he apologises (bc he wimped out on the real truth). How much more does he know about her people that he has refused to tell her or kept from her by omission? Can you imagine the embarrassment, the utter humiliation of that secret? how many memories of them together where she replays his distaste for her people in her mind, knowing that he has access to knowledge that could change her perception of her past? Its ALOT. and thats even before the breakup.

Solas is not kind about the break up. It's rushed (impulsive to me) and doesn't do their connection justice. His composure cracks in places and it's very unlike him. It absolutely blindsides the player, so imagine being in Lavellan's place, AFTER THE VALLASLIN? personally, I wouldn't have been able to function. I half suspect that a sad, calm Lavellan is also in shock or disassociation. Because how else do you cope? The lack of communication between them alone is enough to raise my eyebrows. He promises answers. He confides that she saw through his mask and doesn't tell her what was real, and what was fake. He has given her a kernel truth whilst keeping her in the dark. Everything he told her could be a false, imaginary polite mask or it could be the truth. Where does it end? Where does he begin? Where does she stand?

I don't know if everyone has experienced what it's like to be ghosted or for a friend to simply disappear one day, but it changes you. I say this as someone who has both been avoidant as well as anxious, but you never recover. Someone disappearing like that makes you doubt any reassurance that people won't just evaporate from your life. So when Solas just disappears, the game's single conversation with Leliana feels a little lacking to me. I understand that they can't really dedicate a lot to it, I get that, so I'd like to fill it in. At first, it's search parties. Solas wouldn't just leave her like that. He promised her answers. He started another mural just before they left for corypheus. He didn't intend to just leave, surely.

Days, weeks and months pass. The question is worse than the truth. Is he dead? Did he use them? Was he being truthful when he spoke to her in those ruins, or another polite mask he could hide behind? Is it better if he's dead or better than he didn't deem her worthy enough to even say goodbye? We, as the players, obviously know this isn't true, but she doesn't know that. Does your lavellan assume the worst and be overcome with grief that her one love, her heart, her home, was nothing more than a lie of omission? or is there anger there at his betrayal of her trust once more? I seriously doubt it was easy to forget or dismiss. That kind of disappearance ruins your trust with people. Something. Anything would have been enough.

Again, this is all my opinion on how these emotions would play out and DEFINITELY NOT canon nor do they have to be! But I seriously struggle to see how Lavellan could even come to heal from these wounds within even a two year time skip. By the time of trespasser, almost everyone has left her side. She's almost entirely alone again, save Cullen and Josie (and leliana if she's not divine). And thats okay: they all have rich lives to return to. But that must just reaffirm to her that no one will stay. She is alone. How does she trust again?

And then there is Fen'harel. Lavellan's reaction to fen'harel has always lacked the fear I kind of hoped would be there? I mean this isn't just a minor deity, this IS THE antagonist of her entire faith. I'm assuming that she's lost hope in the gods, even though it's confirmed to her that they're real, but that message has been a part of her since childhood. So learning that he is the dreadwolf, again not from him, but from the fragments of his past must cut her deeply.

Her love was never who he said he was, she knows this, but who is the real man? She's never known him in a context where he can truly show her. Her love is fragmented between each identity he holds. Her trust that he is who he said he is fragments with it. The knowledge that not only has he been watching the inquisition, her, for years without a single hint that he lives or is okay must destroy her. Could you imagine how insignificant you must feel to him? And he essentially affirms to her that yes, in the greater scheme of things, his love and hers are inconsequential. They cannot matter to him because he cannot strive from his path. His indulgence was a mistake. And it's undeniably cruel. I love solas and I cannot argue that he was kind to Lavellan because he wasn't. To me, there is no way to see his actions as kind. Understandable, absolutely and definitely without malicious intent.

Lavellan learns that he loved her just as deeply, if not more. He loved her with all his heart and it did not matter. She changed him and it has only brought him more pain. He loves her too much to even allow her near him, to even give himself that weakness. They are apart from each other in an endless distance, only the two of them in the world. No one else.

Obviously, each Lavellan is different, and I've made a lot of assumptions, but I think it's worth considering. How do you love someone again after all of that? How much can you rebuild your faith after what you have learnt. Lavellan has loved a "god" (I know he's not a god, but for all intents and purposes, he has the power of a god and wears an evanuris crown.) and in turn, a god has loved her. And he left her with one last embrace that will leave its mark on her forever, then he leaves once more. Lavellan is alone.

Each love after is met with suspicion, distrust and comparison. Lavellan is entirely changed. How many pieces of her can be taken away until she is no longer herself? Each person wears a new mask she cannot determine. Where do they begin? Where can she find herself?

How lonely it must be to love someone like Solas and be at the other side of an endless distance.

[hedgehog-moss]

I met with you in my dream last night! For some reason I was in France, so it was only natural I go visit you. You took me on a little tour of your house and showed me some cow bones you had, and then you took me on a ride in your flying boat and fed me some cut fruit. You were very kind and gave me some excellent advice on a problem I was having in the dream. Then we met up with my mother, and I introduced you as my friend Hedgehog, lol. Thank you for being such a lovely host in my dream!! It was quite fun. I hope I get to visit dream you again, and maybe meet the dream llamas next time!

That's such a nice dream! All it's missing is a kiss from Poldine :) I'm glad I was a welcoming host, because I was bracing myself for a dark turn when I read "you showed me some cow bones you had"—that just felt ominous.

I want you to know that it may have been a prophetic dream. Just a few days after I read your ask, back in June, Poldine & I went to visit some distant neighbours, and not only did I find the place eerily quiet and messy-empty, as if they had moved in a hurry, but there was a cow skull on their doormat. (There was also a goat skull behind the window in the barn.) My first assumption was that someone had placed the skulls there while the owners were temporarily absent and it had scared them into leaving for good. (I asked a friend "What should I do if I came home from a weekend away and found a cow skull placed in front of my door, and a goat skull behind the window in the barn?" and she said "Let whoever did this have your house; leave immediately.")

I don't want to post my cow skull photo because you see the glass door + the inside of the house behind it so it feels weird, like I'm doxxing my ex- or future-neighbours. Whoever moves here next will already have enough problems, what with all the skulls. I do have a photo of Poldine looking ambivalent about our presence here, post-skull discovery:

EDIT 2 months later: I kept this in my drafts and let the summer pass before posting, hoping local gossip would allow me to figure out what happened and I'd have a fun story to share, but no. The facts are: my distant neighbours (who moved here just last year) moved back to the big city in a hurry, no one knows why, 2 other people went to visit them after they left but I am the only one who saw the skulls. Maybe the person who put them there came back for them later so they can use them again when a new family buys this house? (It's a nice little wooden chalet, if anyone is interested. You'll be living in the woods with your nearest neighbours quite far away and possibly an enemy lurking in some nearby tree.)

I'm very sorry for unexpectedly turning your lovely ask into an episode of Creepy Rural Mysteries! Let me know if you have any more dreams about visiting me; they could contain important details and / or warnings.

[nymph-ette111]

What if Jeff, EJ, Toby, Masky, Hoodie, and Ben (separately) found Y/N silently crying? Would they help or try to calm down Y/N?

That's it, sorry if I chose too many creepypastas ❤

I hope you have a great day/night!!

(I love your writing style aaaaah! Luv ya >< )

Sorry if I sounded cringe ;)

WARNINGS; JEFF BEING AN ASSHOLE LIKE USUAL/TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, MENTIONS OF A DECAPITATED BODY

AUTHOR'S NOTE; NO ONE HERE IS CRINGE!! and I love you too <3 was giggling and kicking my feet writing masky and hoodie's part LOL

TOBY;

-the first thought that comes to his mind is that somebody caused this.

-may be a bit rough when asking what's wrong, because like I mentioned before, he just jumps into the conclusion that it's someone else's fault.

-Toby is a little... impulsive when it comes to solving his problems, always going the aggressive route.

-basically what I'm trying to say is that he is willing to chop up someone's body if they did something bad enough to make you cry.

-he will pry the information out of you, whether you want to or not.

-he doesn't realize that this makes things worse for you :( let's be realistic, imagine crying to your boyfriend because someone bothered you just for him to leave and come back covered in blood holding the head from said person's decapitated body.

-he'll even try to hug you, not caring if he is covered head to toe in blood, not caring if the smell was overwhelming your senses. he'll get upset if you refuse his "affection" and "comfort". sometimes Toby's thinking is... hard to understand.

-99% chance you're going to throw up from the sight alone. what I'm trying to say here is Toby's attempt at making you feel better is nowhere near what it's supposed to be.

-but if that wasn't the case and your crying was because of something else like an insecurity, just the overall stress of your day, basically anything that doesn't involve another person he'd be less aggressive.

-wouldn't really know what to say so he'd just go for physical affection and hope that it works.

-now this part depends on you since not everyone likes physical touch when upset. if you don't mind it then he's going to hold you until you feel better. if you don't he'd respect your wishes but he won't leave, even if you ask him to.

-would kiss away your tears one hundred percent.

-i'd give him about... 7/10 less if he brings back a corpse with him but the physical affection is nice :)

JEFFREY:

-love how your relationship is hanging on by a thread.

-it's surviving off of hopes and prayers bro.

-Jeff believes that he should be the only one who can make you upset in any way shape or form. I'd say he doesn't take the idea of someone else making you feel bad very lightly.

-not even in a "oh, someone made my partner upset! not on my watch!" he's just offended because it feels like someone took his place or something.

-yeah did I mention he's toxic as fuck.

-i honestly don't know how he'd react... contrary to popular belief I don't think he'd go out of his way to kill somebody because they made his partner upset like Toby would. in Toby's case it's out of pure love obsession and the need to please you. in Jeff's case he'd probably kill for his own benefit which I mentioned before, someone taking his place.

-fuck it he'd probably kill the person just to torment you, he enjoys that shit.

-however if it's your own feelings regardless of what it is, he'd pretend to not care.

-i think I somewhat implied it in my "stretch marks" post that he doesn't know how to handle his partner's emotions. insecurities or not, big chance he won't do anything, probably throw an insult or two just to make you feel pathetic.

-damn I don't think any fluff post with Jeff would work.

-how can this motherfucker even be nice.

-and if you're asking, no he would never break up with you. you boost his ego a little too much and he doesn't want to lose that.

-he doesn't want to admit it but he's attached to you to a certain degree.

-i'd give it... why are you even reading this it's an obvious 0/10

EYELESS JACK;

-im torn between making EJ the feral demon he is or making him more... human.

-i think I lean towards the more human side when writing for Jack but that might change in the future. expect all of my headcanons to change since I'm still trying to figure this out. even for his personality.

-i should make a poll for that... ANYWAYS

-regardless of the reason, he'd react pretty much the same way.

-he's so sweet and comforting it's actually insane :(

-he's naturally awkward but the voice, the way he weighs and genuinely considers his words before speaking, trying to find the best way to make you feel better can make anyone instantly fold I'm TELLING YOU.

-bro sounds smart and is smart just the way he talk to you is enough to make you move on from whatever had happened.

-intelligent men are so

-head scratches after he's done giving you his advice and point of view of the situation.

-my husband<3

-tries to get you out of your room after that, or just include you in whatever so you wouldn't think about it again. like offering to invite you to the infirmary, there's always an extra seat for you there :)

-i might be biased but 9/10

BEN;

-i've said this before and I'll say it again, does not know how to comfort people. especially ones he cares about.

-he just... stands at the doorway (or floats, whatever you like)

-if it was another person he laugh at them right away, but considering you're his partner he'd fight the urge for your sake.

-actually he might laugh a bit but if he notices that you're clearly serious about what upset you he'd drop it.

-would download a virus on the other person's devices.

-he thinks it's funny.

-he genuinely tries to make you feel better tho, just doesn't know how :(

-if you're insecure about something then he'd react similarly to my "stretch marks" post and try to convince you that whatever it is about you, it's beautiful.

-might come off as corny tho.

-either way... I'd give him a 5/10 maybe even 6/10 if bullying kids on roblox cheers you up.

MASKY;

-regardless of the reason, he'll ask what's wrong but secretly hopes you don't want to talk about it.

-he is a teen tiny bit awkward.

-kind of like Toby, he goes for physical affection and hopes it's enough to take your mind off of it somehow.

-but the hugs this man gives...

-might as well stay there forever.

-just imagine him holding you tight to his chest, one hand rubbing your back while the other plays with your hair. a cig hanging loosely from between his lips UGH

-can you tell I'm listening to lana del rey while writing this.

-again he might not offer much in terms of... actually saying something to comfort you but his hugs are enough and if they aren't then girl what the fuck is wrong with you.

-i need him.

-i give 8/10

HOODIE;

-another one who relies on the physical affection only because he's a selective mute.

-unless you know sign language.

-unlike masky, instead of a hug you're sitting on this man's lap.

-his mask up to the bridge of his nose, scruff facial hair grown from years of not taking proper care of himself rubbing against your flush cheeks, strong arms holding you tightly against him.

-i genuinely cannot continue writing this so I'm ending it here because another word of describing this man will have me tweaking out 9/10

[needle-noggins]

(CW for SA, suicidal ideation) Here we go. My favorite and simultaneously least favorite panel of Vash and Knives.

I've seen a few interpretations of this scene and before we dive into the one that really struck me, let's start with the more... chill one. We're finally introduced to the third gun of Trigun, Vash's angel arm. And the way we're introduced to it involves Knives forcing him to pull the trigger. Of course, since no one knows anything about Knives, the people of Noman's Land blame Vash for Fifth Moon, and Vash likewise blames himself (this is kinda a spoiler but if you've been paying attention, it's just par for the course). However, he's not the one who pulled the trigger, Knives is. It brings up an interesting moral question of blame - do we blame the gun (and Vash, who is being used/objectified as a weapon here), or the person who wanted it to happen? Guns don't kill people, genocidal twins do!

Now for the awful interpretation, the one that makes me cry and wish Vash was real so I could hug him and pay for his therapy. And really highlights how awful Knives is and how far he'd go for his brother in his own, fucked-up way. I touched on this in a previous post about Legato and the Murder Cafe, and the whole time I was thinking about Fifth Moon but didn't want to say anything for the sake of spoilers.

So. Pay attention to the way Vash and Knives are standing. Knives, when he first grabbed Vash's head, was standing in front of him. He moves behind him to better control him and yeah, he's still controlling him via hand on head, and now he's got his other hand gripping Vash's chest, where feathers/wings are manifesting. Knives is assaulting him. If you wanna get crazy with it and say that the angel arm is kinda phallic, you could say... yeah. This is rape. I heard that specific interpretation once and while I accepted it I also don't know if that would be generally accepted or if I'd be called out for it, so I'm trying to tread lightly here.

It also doesn't escape me that of course the angel arm has feminine features like the plants - the plants that, again, humans are exploiting for their ability to create. There's a lot of feminist commentary to be made here but many people have said it better than me. Specifically I'm thinking of this one post I saw about gender fuckery and Tristamp Vash. Anyway.

Also, the atomic bomb/black hole/sun/whatever that is in the middle... It's just so powerful. It's terrifying. The eldritch body horror here is a punch to the gut. What the fuck, Trigun? I thought this was a funky space western!!!

Oh, and here's more commentary on the following few panels:

Vashussy shot, Knives is still right behind him. Yeah, I wasn't kidding about how bad this pose is for them. Knives, you sick fuck.

Vash shoots himself in the leg (a key difference from '98 trigun, lol), because of course he does, but it doesn't free him from the arm.

The arm's getting darker/the light inside is getting lighter! Stampede did an awesome job with their interpretation of the angel arm and I don't think I would have understood it without that. Also, on my first read I didn't notice that Vash is literally levitating, which is cool, but also terrifying because ?? he's not in control of that either??

Finally. A super painful, minimalist, double-page spread. Nightow loves 'em. Vash thinks he's dying (maybe?) and he wishes he had never existed. It's not suicidal ideation per se, but he wishes he didn't exist at all because he's already caused enough suffering. This is a low for him, because he believes so strongly in the concept of the Blank Ticket. (Come on, soupy brain bitch boy, get it together!) He's a monster, it's just how he was born, and he's not in control. Very specifically too, he says "we", and then changes it to "I"... he doesn't blame Knives at all, and that's very him. I want to shake him! Stop playing the martyr, Vash!

[iwrite-sinsandtragedies]

Day 1 — Soulmates ₊˚✧ ﾟ

Submission for @goldengroovy's @olnfweek2024

MC: Micha

Long ass ramble under the cut 😂

Okayokayokay SO-

I love soulmate au's. I cannot tell you how many fics I've read or how many prompts I've played with or media I've consumed or how many bullshit ideas I've come up with in my own head for them, I CANNOT.

It's just - hhhhhhhhhhhh- Soulmate au's and Time Travel au's are just the shit that gets me out of bed some days 😩💖my world weary soul drinks that shit like medicine, okay?

That all being said, it's probably a little ambiguous which au I picked to some, so let me explain: There are two au's I'm mashing up here really, both are from fics I've read back in the day. One being a Clack fic and the other a Thilbo one 🤷‍♂️kind of calling myself out here but w/e, they were good fics.

The Thilbo one is easier to explain - the concept is "Heartsong" which is, literally what it says on the tin. You find out who your soulmate is the first time you hear them sing (and no, that does not mean everyone is just a naturally good singer - they can be ass at music but, the point is, when you hear them their song is the perfect song for you and your heart knows that). There's a lot of little nuances to this one - things like you hearing your heartsong when you dream so you always know the moment you find them. Also people who have quiet dreams because their heartsong died, sometimes before ever even meeting them. etc etc. The heartsong also seems to expand, in some respect, to instruments (as Thorin plays his harp one night and Bilbo starts to hum without thinking about it because it sounds wonderful to him and that's how Thorin finds out).

Overall, it's a very soft and sweet concept to me and as someone who has a deep love of music, it's also one of my very favourites.

The Clack one is a little less easy to explain? I think. Maybe because it's nuances are so round about but I'll do my best. The concept for this one is "I Only See Colour When I'm With You" - anyone who knows how Clack fics usually go knows where this is probably headed 😂 and I am sorry to have hurt you but, overall, the idea is: You live in a noir-esqu world where everything is black and white. This only changes when you find your soulmate, of course, who brings the world into full saturation and lets you see colour for - possibly - the first time in your life (I say possibly because I genuinely can't remember if you start out colourblind or if it's an age cap thing).

Unfortunately, for as much as I adore this concept, it's been a long damn time since I read the fic and I don't even know if it still exists somewhere. So I can't actually recall if it was a 'you have to touch them' or 'you have to hear them' thing but the fic takes place with Zack on the cliff right before Midgar where he holds Cloud and looks at the sky - so I'm willing to bet it's a touch thing.

I also really loved this fic because it was the first one I'd read that brought in the concept of multiple soulmates to me - As Cloud later sits with Aerith and sees the colour he couldn't see with Zack, meanwhile Aerith only sees black and white, because she was only able to see colour with Zack (who was never able to see colour with her, because he needed Cloud for that).

Essentially, they all needed each other to see the world in colour. As a polyam person who didn't quite realise I was poly back then, it was a very comforting (and now dearly cherished) fic.

Anyways! Now that you have the background on the two concepts, you can kind of get what I'm going for with this piece.

Tamarack, Micha and Qiu are all soulmates in a fuzzy, desaturated world (I'm sorry, I'm not cruel enough to but them in complete greyscale LOL) and the way you find your soulmate is by hearing them sing and, when they do, your world is suddenly vivid and bright and beautiful. Suddenly, you can see things as they were meant to be seen and it's a permanent change (unlike the Clack fic) but things are always clearest and brightest when your soulmate speaks or sings 💖

I get a real kick out of the idea that Micha's known for fucking months that Tamarack is his soulmate (if not years) because he's always listening to her play but never says jack shit about it because he's emotionally constipated that way 😂Though genuinely, it's probably because he just doesn't think he's her soulmate and he's a bit against finding out he's right honestly.

Joke is on him, he's Qiu's and Tamaracks soulmate! And he couldn't have picked a better moment to grow a pair an take the risk 🥰

[aayakashii]

Hii just wanted to say I have read most of your fics and headcanons and I loved them and for this reason I wanted to request if you could do "what petname the tokyo debunker characters use for their s/o in a relationship"

I just want more tkdb fluff🥲

Thank you for reading my stuff!!! 🫂 I'm glad you liked it and thank you for entrusting me with this idea! I hope you like it <3

what petname would they use for their s/o in a relationship?

Kamurai Jin

The good and old fashioned "my love". He probably uses anything he can say it's his, and "my love" is the perfect way to refer to you. You're his, and you're his love after all.

Ishibashi Tohma

"Mouse" 💀 He's standing on the tethering line of being super sweet and mildly threatening lol A tiny little thing he loves and wants to protect but that's also very very squishable...

Fuji Kaito

"Angel". You're giving him the time of the day and being in a relationship with him, so he immediately worships you like you're some holy being. You're 100% his angel.

Lucas Errant

I don't really see Luca using petnames, but if he did, he'd probably call you "dear". And it'd come out very naturally! He'd be asking you for something and accidentally call you dear while doing it. Or maybe one day he said "good morning dear" and it just stuck.

Mido Alan

Alan most probably doesn't use petnames in the beginning, but after he's comfortable in the relationship, he might call you "bug" <3 something a little old-fashioned like that fits him, I think!

Kurosagi Leo

He'd call you something mildly deameaning but shockingly sweet for someone like him as well. Maybe something like "dumbass (affectionately <3)"

Haizono Sho

Oh he most definitely calls you "babe". He is very much a huge flirt and that will never stop even when you two are dating lol

Sagara Haru

Literally every extremely chessy petname ever like sugarplum, buttercup, pumpkin, cutie pie, honey bun 💀 But that's when he's trying to be funny or annoying! When he's serious, he calls you "sunshine" <3

Otonashi Towa

Besides Dandelion, he calls you every flower with a romantic meaning or flowers that mean beauty! Such as rose, daffodil, tulip, camellia, honeysuckle etc.

Shiranami Ren

Not one for petnames, but if he uses one, it'd be some inside joke between you two, like he could call you the name of a character he likes in one of his gacha games and you could do the same.

Hoshibami Taiga

Besides kitten, I could see him using "doll" too, because dolls are cute and compliant, and that's the perfect little toy for him :)

Romeo Scorpius Lucci

He probably would call you "darling" with a mildly threatening tone 💀 it's the type of petname that can sound very sweet but also very ominous depending on his tone. Fits his borderline yandere personality too.

Shinjo Ritsu

He probably thinks "partner" is already a petname, but you'd have to explain to him that it isn't (with a huge document signed and notarized if possible).

Kagami Subaru

He probably feels incredibly embarrassed, but I think he wouldn't mind calling you something sweet and cute, like "honey" or "love" too. I don't think Subaru would go crazy with the petnames, so I'd expect something classic like that.

Kusanagi Haku

Princess/prince obviously, but I can also imagine him saying things like lovely or gorgeous, especially if he can get to whisper it in your ear just to fluster you lol

Kotodama Zenji

Oh god. All of them. Probably a different one every single day. He probably keeps a notebook of petnames just to get ideas for new ones. He refers to you as his beloved when he's talking about you to other people, though.

Edward Hart

Dove, but if you bother him enough, he can call you spider monkey, don't worry *gets shot*

No but seriously, dove is perfect for him.

Mizuki Rui

All of them. Just... all of them.

Lyca Colt

I don't see him using any, but maybe if you call him something, he'll use it as well. That's a HARD maybe though, I think he'd feel too embarrassed to do that.

Isami Yuri

He'd probably overthink about which petname he could use before ever calling you one. And after he decided, he'd have to take his time to gather the courage to even do that. He'd probably settle for something normal and classic, like "darling" or "sweetheart".

Kirisaki Jiro

Does not use petnames. Maybe if you ask him to use one, he'd do it, but you'd have to tell him what he could call you.

[comically-callous]

Hi! You must’ve JUST posted while I was searching a tag! WELCOME to the crowd of other amateur writers who have no idea what we’re doing!

I have a request for a short fanfic/drabble! Wonka 2023 where fem!reader is a storyteller who worked in the laundry room when Willy arrives. Reader is closer with Noodle and usually tells her bedtime stories before going to sleep, and Willy comes to admire the vast imagination in the stories while falling in love, to Noodle’s joy. I haven’t had the motivation to write in a long time, so I hope you’d be up to trying to get the story out of my head!

Hi! Thanks sm for the request. Hope I could do your idea justice lol

Willy Wonka x Storyteller!Fem!Reader (Wonka 2023)

Warnings: None, I think. Sort of just a cute fluffy one.

Three years ago, you made the worst and most unforgivable mistake of your life: Taking a shower at Ms. Scrubbit's hotel.

To make a fairly short story shorter, you neglected to read the small print, leading to you being in a massive debt to her. So, for the next 5 years of your life, you'd be forced to work in a dirty, old laundry room.

You were absolutely miserable at first. Your days dragged by and your nights were mostly spent curled up in your bed crying. But, once you accepted your situation, you found a way to make the days go by faster: Making up stories in your head while you worked.

You'd always had quite the creative mind; so, weaving tales of magic and wonder was a fun way to spend your time.

Plus, Noodle always liked to hear your stories before she went to sleep.

But, recently you'd earned another fan of your stories.

Willy was the newest person who was unfortunate enough to end up down here. And lately he'd started sitting at the desk in Noodle's room every night, tinkering with new chocolate recipes or practicing his reading and writing skills, while you told Noodle a bedtime story.

But, according to noodle, he was actually in there just to listen to you. Supposedly, the moment you left, he'd turn to noodle and the two would discuss whatever story you'd told that night.

If that was true, you were honored.

One night, Noodle and Willy snuck out of the laundry room to do who knows what. And a couple hours later, Noodle returned without Willy. She told you all about the adventure they had which apparently included milking a giraffe, flamingos, and a run in with the police.

Her recount of the night was entertaining, and you were glad she's had fun. But, you couldn't help but feel a bit worried for Willy. "So, what's gonna happen to Willy?" You asked. "Is he getting arrested?"

Noodle shook her head. "He told me he'd talk his way out of it." She said as she got into bed. She tilted her head at you. "Do you like him?"

"What?" You flushed.

"Like, do you wanna be his girlfriend?"

"I-" You were about to say no, but that wasn't entirely true. You admired him. He had a brilliant mind, and he was unbelievably handsome. "Okay, how about I tell you a story?"

"So, you do wanna be his girlfriend."

"Story is beginning now."

Later in the night, you were in your own room, about to settle in for bed when someone knocked at your door.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, getting up to open the door for whoever it was.

"Hey." Willy greeted. "Sorry if I woke you up." His hair looked wet which was strange, but you were more concerned with why he was at your door.

"Don't worry, I wasn't asleep. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I was just wondering if... Uh, did you tell Noodle a story while I was gone?"

You nodded. "I did."

He seemed a little disheartened, which made you feel bad. "I'm sure noodle can retell you the story tomorrow." You offered, trying to lighten his mood.

"She could. But, the way you... I mean... You have a wonderful, imaginative, beautiful mind. And the way you tell your stories, it's amazing! You could read me a grocery list, and I'd be on the edge of my seat." He gushed.

You couldn't help but blush. "You think all of that?"

"Yes! How could I not?" He gave you an affectionate smile.

You returned him smile. "I mean... I could tell the story to you right now, if you want."

Willy thought about it. "It's alright. I think I can go without a story for one night." He said reassuringly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the offer, though."

He began to step away from your door, saying a quick goodnight before he began walking toward his room.

"Wait, Willy." He stopped and turned to you.

You walked up to him and kissed his cheek. Willy blushed. "What was that for?"

You shrugged. "To make up for the story you missed out on?" You offered.

Willy smiled and gave you a quick peck on the lips.

"What was that for?" You asked this time.

"Just cause I like you." He replied as he leaned in to kiss you again.

[agaypanic]

Hello! I'd love to request Charlie Swan with a teacher girlfriend. Perhaps he comes to visit on his lunch or something and sees how attached the kids are to her and it makes him happy to see how caring she is. Please and thank you!(I work with pre k but my former class was todds and they are still clingy 💖💖)

Lunch Break (Charlie Swan X Teacher!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Chief Swan visits his girlfriend on his lunch break, and can’t help but adore the way she is with her students.

A/N: i know nothing about taking care of or teaching little kids lol

***

Charlie wasn’t used to being around a toddler, let alone twenty of them. Even when his daughter Bella was at that age, he didn’t see her much. 

Yet here he was, sitting in his girlfriend’s classroom, having lunch with her while a group of toddlers napped on the floor.

“So, how’s your day been?” You asked in a whisper, picking at the burger and fries that Charlie had brought you from the Carver Cafe.

“Oh, not much.” He responded in an equally low voice, but more gruff. His fingers smoothed over his mustache before speaking again. “Still looking into those missing persons cases, but we’ve been coming up with nothing.”

“You’ll find something, bear.” You squeezed his shoulder, and he leaned into your touch. “You always do.”

“Yeah, maybe… But enough about me, how’s your day?”

You let out a tiny laugh, not surprised that Charlie would bounce the attention onto you as soon as he could.

“Well, today we had an art day.” You gestured to one of your tables on the opposite side of the room, covered in different drying papers. “Watercolor, crayon, markers, that kind of thing. That was really fun. I know I shouldn’t play favorites, but I really like Delilah’s. You know her mom, right? Samantha?” Charlie nodded after a quick moment of thought, and so you continued. “Well, she wanted to make a meadow, so she covered her paper in green, and then she stamped little fingerprints all over as flowers. I mean, you kinda have to ask her what it is to figure out what it is, but I don’t know, it was really cute and- oh my god, I’m rambling, huh?” You covered your mouth to stop more word vomit from spilling, a little giggle slipping past your fingers.

Charlie pulled your hand away, laying a kiss on your knuckles. He nudged your knee with his own, a coy smile on his lips.

“No, I like hearing you talk.” Your cheeks reddened, and you scrunched your nose at him. He squeezed your hand. “Come on, keep going. What happened after painting?”

“Read the kids a story.” You answered, trying to remember the title. “They really like that Llama Llama book. But some of the kids really wanted ‘Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!’ so I told them I’d read that after nap time. Then they all had food, fell asleep, and then you came with lunch.” You ate a fry before stealing a sip of Charlie’s coffee. You liked how he didn’t mind, instead watching you with a fond expression. “Which is delicious, by the way, thank you.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

“Ms. Y/n?” A tiny voice sounded from one of the sleeping mats. You gave Charlie’s hand a quick squeeze before letting go and standing up from your chair.

“Jayden?” You asked quietly, even though you knew it was him from his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Bad dream.” The little boy answered, rolling off his cot and looking at you with bleary eyes and a frown.

“Aw, I’m sorry, honey.” You said softly, crouching down close to him. “Do you want a hug?”

He nodded a few times, carefully walking through his sleeping classmates to reach you. He latched his arms around your neck, and you patted his back, waiting until he felt better.

Charlie saw the interaction from the corner of his eye, not wanting little Jayden to feel watched. He couldn’t help but smile at how quickly you were able to comfort him. It was clear that you were made for this kind of work, being so caring and nurturing without even thinking about it.

“Feeling better?” You asked Jayden as he let go of you, and he nodded. You smiled at him. “I’m glad. Now, you have a couple more minutes before we gotta start waking up. Do you wanna lay back down?” Jayden nodded again, and with a little wave of his hand, he tiptoed back over to his mat. 

When he was settled, you stood up from your crouched position and went back to Charlie, who was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“What?” You asked, finishing off the rest of your food.

“Nothing.” He said, shaking his head a bit. Charlie looked at his watch and sighed, realizing his break was almost over. “I should probably leave. The boys’ll need me back at the station soon.”

“Okay.” You said with a slight pout, wishing you had more time with him. The two of you cleaned up, Charlie insisting that he could throw the trash away on his way out. “I’ll see you later, bear.”

“See you soon, sweetheart.” Charlie kissed your cheek and went to the door, giving you a wave before exiting the room.

[kwonnyangel]

[☆] — long way home | c.sc

synopsis ‣ choi seungcheol knew the city roads like the back of his hand. 30 minutes was more than enough time he needed to take you home, but driving slow whilst taking the long route doesn't sound all too bad, especially if it's with you

pairing bf!seungcheol x fem reader

genre fluff, drabble | warnings not proof-read, use of pet-names (baby & love), kissing, reader calls seungcheol a dork lol

wordcount 0.5k

✷ first post ! been reading tumblr fics for a while but its my first time publishing anything :—) idea was sparked by the 5sos song "long way home" and my current obsession over coups heh enjoooy !

you were strolling around the park with seungcheol after having a hearty dinner at the newly opened italian restaurant you've been wanting to visit, followed by a quick stop for coffee on your way to said park.

hands intertwined, stomachs full, and the dim lights casting a glow on your lovely boyfriends face, you felt content.

and a tad bit sleepy.

"cheol, let's go home?"

you softly ask him, your head laying on his shoulder as you watch him snap a picture of a cute dog wearing a vest in an even cuter shade of pink. you make a mental note to look for one for kkuma, maybe you could even turn it into a matching outfit for all three of you.

"come on, baby"

the sound of seungcheol's voice breaks your train of thought and you look to him, his hand extended for you to take.

you gladly do so, jumping on your feet as you swing both of your arms back and forth all the way to the parking lot.

like muscle memory, seungcheol opens your door and buckles your seatbelt for you, not forgetting to send a cheeky wink your way when your eyes interlock as the buckle clicks into position.

"careful now, i've got a boyfriend you know"

"yeah? can he drive as well as i can?"

"for your information, he can!"

"well i'd like to meet this hotshot then, maybe i could snag his number and take him from you"

"hey!"

he giggles at your remark, admiring the way your hand fit in his as he drove through the roads of seoul with ease. you had always praised seungcheol for his driving, never once making you feel dizzy or nauseous especially for a person who gets motion sickness quite easily.

of course he was and is extremely proud about it.

driving together was easily one of your favorite things to do. drives with seungcheol always made you feel like you two were the only people in the world. laughter, intimacy, and conversations about anything under the sun filled the atmosphere of his cozy bmw.

"so we're taking the long way home?"

you ask in a teasing tone, hiding the hint of hoping that he would say yes. you loved drives with your boyfriend you won't let that get to his head, of course.

"you know it. i'd love to get lost and drive forever with you, baby"

a small giggle is elicited from you as seungcheol kisses your knuckle

"well i guess we should start our forever now."

"waaay ahead of you, love. been waiting for our forever... forever."

your smile widens as you spot his dimples, the streetlights casting yet another glow on your boyfriend's pretty face. the lighting gods must love him i guess, you do too.

"you can always make up for that lost time by kissing me everytime we come across a stop sign"

the amusement in his voice is evident as you spot a big red octagon with the word stop in its famous big bold white text.

the car does exactly as the sign says and seungcheol turns to face you, a boyish grin spread across his face, dimples present and everything.

"you're such a dork, cheol!"

that was all you said before flashing him your own signature smile and giving him a kiss that made him forget his name.

seungcheol made sure to pass by every stop sign on your route home after that.

[eiightysixbaby]

…and a happy new year

word count: 5.5k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: your first week with eddie since his return to hawkins is pure bliss. you both decide you need to ring in the new year the right way. or, you and eddie can't keep your hands off of each other at nancy's new year's party.

author's note: this is an extra oneshot taking place right after my fic i'll be home for christmas. you don't have to read that fic to understand this, but i'd be extremely grateful if you gave it a chance.

cw: 18+ ONLY — SMUT. established relationship, lots of petname usage, alcohol consumption, eye-fucking basically lol, unprotected piv (he pulls out tho), oral (f receiving), reader's nickname is 'sunny'

December 31st, 1989.

One week. Seven days. Ten thousand and eighty minutes. Six-hundred-and-four-thousand, eight hundred seconds. That’s how long it had been since you found out Eddie was home, give or take. Six of those days were spent with him as yours, finally all yours after such a long and grueling wait.

It’s New Year’s Eve, now, Christmas having passed quickly. You and Eddie had spent the time between holidays in a cozy, warm haze together. It was surreal when you woke the day after Christmas with him in your bed beside you. It was a week full of sleepovers, reacquainting yourself with the man you’d missed so much, rediscovering your most favorite parts about him. It was him stealing kisses from you basically every single chance he got, getting up in your personal space to press sloppy kisses to your cheek, or lingering pecks to your lips.

Kissing is as far as it had gone, for the meantime. That was fine, you didn’t need or expect anything more just yet, and neither did Eddie. The last thing he wanted to do was get his girl, and then fuck up by rushing things.

At least, it was fine, until right now. Until you decided to wear that outfit to Nancy’s New Year’s party. He was watching you from across the Wheeler’s basement, where you stood with Robin and Max laughing about something. A champagne flute was placed delicately between your fingers, your body relaxed. Your plaid skirt hugged your hips just right before fanning out around your thighs, the neckline of your sweater dipping just low enough to make him fantasize about what lies beneath.

He feels a little bit sick, ogling you like this. You’re so sweet, so soft, and he’s basically panting like a dog where he stands beside Steve.

What he doesn’t know, is that you’ve been eyeing him up, too — albeit more subtly. He just looks so good tonight, in his blue jeans (a rarity for him) and his sweater and that black leather jacket. The jeans might be a little too snug, hugging him perfectly in all of the right places, and you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t staring at his ass each time you could catch a glimpse.

At one point, you finally catch each other trying to gawk. You giggle around your mouthful of sparkling wine, giving him a shy little wave from across the room. His smile is immediate, eyes brightening as if he hadn’t seen you in ages. He’d spent every possible second with you since Christmas. It makes your heart skip a beat, the alcohol no longer the only thing making your face feel warm.

“You guys are disgusting,” Robin teases, her arm automatically slinking around Nancy when the smaller girl comes to stand beside her. Nancy perches on her toes, kissing Robin’s cheek.

“And we aren’t disgusting?” she asks, face scrunching up adorably when Robin laughs.

“Fair enough.”

“We won’t be offended if you abandon us to go canoodle him,” Max smirks, breaking into a laugh when you roll your eyes.

“There will be no canoodling,” you say, but it’s clear none of them believe you. Not like it matters, anyways. They’re just happy for you.

Eddie beats you to it, walking over to you before you can go to him. The television plays in the corner, the news broadcast of the big ball-drop event in New York crackling through the screen. He snakes his arm around you, pulling you into his side. His warmth immediately blankets you, and you look up at him with bright eyes.

“Hi handsome,” you say.

“Hey, sugar. Come here often?” he asks, giving you a sweet-dimpled smile before he leans down to press a kiss to your lips.

It’s still a little surreal, that he’s yours now. That he’s home. That you can kiss him whenever you want; that he does kiss you whenever he wants. You look over Eddie’s shoulder, watching the way Jonathan and Steve pretend to gag from their spots on the worn-out old sofa.

“Hey! I saw that!” you shout at them, giving them a playful middle finger as Eddie leans down again to kiss your head.

His grip on your waist tightens, and it makes you press your thighs together, suddenly antsy. His hand seems to sear an imprint into your skin, permanently a part of you. Your body is hot, growing more eager to have him in ways you haven’t before.

“You look like you need a refill on your drink, sweetheart,” Eddie says, his face tilted downwards at you, tipping his own glass towards yours. “Let’s go get you some more?” he nods in the direction of the staircase, grabbing your hand when you agree.

He leads you up the rickety wooden steps, into the warmth of the kitchen. There’s a large spread of food laid out on the counter, and more alcohol than your group really needs considering there’s only six of you who are of drinking age. The second you’re upstairs, and positive there’s no one else lingering nearby, Eddie has your back pressed against the countertop. His lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, and you can feel the way he smiles into it when you pull him closer.

“You look so gorgeous tonight, you know that?” he murmurs against your ear, nose brushing into your hair. “I mean, you always do, but this outfit…” he drawls. “Baby.”

His hands wander, but don’t push. His words have an edge of scandal, but yet he speaks them so sweetly. It’s a good thing Nancy’s parents and her little sister Holly are out of town, otherwise you’d be playing an extremely dangerous game right now.

Your fingers trail up Eddie’s chest, walking up up up until they reach the neckline of his sweater. You tug on it, bringing his lips to yours and making him groan.

“You’re killing me, sweets,” he says, eyes boggling like a cartoon.

The glass of liquid courage you’d consumed has you feeling bold as you bat your lashes up at him. “I want you so bad…” you hum, placing a kiss to his jawline before slipping out of his grasp and refilling your glass of wine.

He barely lets you get away, hot on your trail with his front pressed to your back as you try not to spill the whole bottle in your hand.

“Baby. I know you’re not gonna say that and then walk away from me,” Eddie says, pitiful as you slip out of his reach once more.

“It’s less than an hour til midnight, Ed. We can’t miss the ball drop,” you reply simply, a wicked smirk on your face that tells him you know exactly what you’re doing. It feels like a little game, drawing out the anticipation longer, and it drives him crazy.

Maybe the alcohol was getting to you, or maybe he really was just ethereal tonight, because your hard-to-get demeanor was almost impossible to uphold. Especially with the way he was about ready to drop to his knees and beg for you.

“Sunny, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, grabbing you from behind before you can get away, pulling you against his chest just to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Always so dramatic, Munson,” you giggle, taking a sip of your freshly-poured drink before leading him back down to the basement.

Mike, Lucas, and Dustin are in the middle of a riveting game of Twister, Will calling out the moves each of them will have to make. El and Max have resorted to sitting on the floor by the TV, watching the live broadcast beneath a blanket. You and Eddie join Robin, Nance, Jonathan, and Steve where they all sit on the furniture, Eddie letting you take a seat on his lap.

“I can’t believe it’s about to be 1990,” Robin scoffs, far too upset about the matter. “I just like the 80s. Something about the 90s rubs me the wrong way.”

“Well, get used to it Rob, cause it’s about to be the 90s for the next ten years of your life,” Eddie says, shaking his head when she lets out a loud groan.

You try to focus on the conversation that ensues after that, you really do, but you swear you can feel something pressing into your ass. You wiggle a little on Eddie’s lap, testing it, and then you’re sure you feel it. He’s definitely hard right now, and you’re definitely making it worse for him.

You chew at your lip, squishing your legs together as you squirm on top of him. He notices your restlessness, and he knows exactly why you can’t stay still.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he whispers into your ear, as quiet as possible as everyone else talks around you.

You don’t answer, knowing he’s just setting you up, and you almost yelp when he squeezes your hip with one hand.

“Just gotta wait till after the ball drops, baby,” he purrs, using your words from before against you. “Then we can ring in the new year the right way.”

You end up getting off of Eddie’s lap, because it’s the only way you can even attempt to focus on something that isn’t him. Jonathan had gone to join in on the game of Twister after Mike decided he’d had enough, so you distract yourself by going to watch.

He’s currently got both hands placed on near-opposite sides of the mat, pressing into the different colored circles. His feet are criss-crossed behind him, making him look a bit like a pretzel.

“I’ve had too much to drink,” he giggles when he sees you approach. “This might end badly.” His body wobbles a little as if on cue, but he straightens himself before a collapse.

“Don’t be a quitter,” you laugh. “You need to win this round, Jon! I’ve put all my money on this!” you tease, making him laugh more.

You try to keep your focus on the antics unfolding in front of you, but you can feel Eddie’s eyes on you. Drinking you in, searing two holes through the back of your skull. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of finally having him, going further than you ever have. You check the clock, noticing it’s only ten minutes away from midnight.

Just ten minutes. You can survive another ten minutes.

At least, you’re convinced you can until a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle and Eddie’s lips press a soft kiss to your neck. You asked for it, you suppose, teasing him in the kitchen. And he’s gonna make sure you’re very worked up, now. He sways your body back and forth, holding you tight. Your head tilts back, resting against his shoulder as you look up at him.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, winking down at you.

“If you guys don’t get off of each other, I’m literally going to throw up,” Dustin says, peeking out from behind Lucas where they’re tangled up on the Twister mat.

“Shut it, Henderson, or I’ll knock you over right now,” Eddie threatens, slowly reaching out a hand towards the teen.

“No! NO!” Dustin screeches, making Jonathan laugh so hard he finally topples.

“Okay, I give up,” he resigns. “Shit, it’s almost midnight. I need another drink,” he says, running up the stairs to quickly refill.

Everyone shuffles closer to the television, standing close together as the hands of the clock reach twelve.

“You ready? For our first whole year together?” Eddie says softly, still standing behind you.

“More than ready,” you reply, your whole body filled with an unexplainable amount of affection. You need him.

Before you know it, there’s a countdown on the TV screen from sixty seconds, and everyone watches as the number dwindles. The group counts in unison once it gets down to twenty seconds.

Ten seconds…

Eddie’s grip tightens around your middle. You’re both smiling wide as you count backwards.

Five seconds…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

A loud and joyful “Happy New Year!” resounds from the chests of everyone in the room, Steve letting out a loud whistle. Eddie spins you around, planting a kiss on your lips. Your glass in one hand, you wrap the other arm around Eddie’s neck, letting the kiss linger for as long as it can. Your skin is set ablaze where he holds your lower back, and when he finally pulls away his eyes are big and wide.

“I love you, Sunny,” he says, taking you by surprise.

It was the first time he’d said it, in the romantic context at least. And while the love had been felt all week, you’d been waiting to hear it, straight from his mouth.

“I love you, Eddie,” you smile wide, clinking your glass with his before you both take a sip of the alcohol.

You cheers with the rest of the group, everyone happy — even Robin, despite the 80s officially being over.

Eddie lets you slip away to the girls, helping Steve clean up some of the confetti that had been thrown around the room.

“Why are you so happy, sunshine?” Robin asks, noticing the smile that won’t leave your face.

“He just told me he loves me,” you say, looking down at your feet as her and Nancy both squeal.

“Finally!” Nancy squeezes your arm, her big blue eyes squinted in delight.

You feel warm, bubbly, content. This week had felt like a dream, but the best part is that it’s all been real.

Not long after midnight, the teens set up their sleeping bags on the basement floor for their sleepover. Robin and Nancy head up to the latter’s room for the night, Steve and Jonathan opt to sleep in the living room, and you and Eddie get the guest bedroom.

He’s hot on your trail as you ascend the carpeted stairs, letting yourselves into the usually empty room and shutting the door behind you. He presses you, soft against the door before his lips meet yours. He’s gentle, despite how eager he is, his mouth slowly moving against yours. Your lips part, tongue poking out just slightly to meet his. His hands keep a firm hold on your waist, thumbs smoothing over the soft fabric of your skirt, slipping beneath the hem of your sweater and sending goosebumps across your skin.

“I love you so much. God, I love you so much,” he says, mouth against your cheek.

Your nose brushes his face, lips pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you,” you reply, and you can’t help but smile.

“What’re you smiling for?” he cocks a brow, lips barely able to stop kissing your face to ask the question.

“I’ve just wanted to hear you say that for so long,” you say, and he pauses. Deep brown eyes search yours, all the love in the world held in his gaze.

“Well I’ll tell you as many times as you’ll hear it, babe,” he grins, his perfectly straight teeth on display, his dimples coming out. “I love you,” a kiss is pressed to your mouth. “I love you,” another on your jawline. “I love you.”

“I need you, Eddie,” you sigh as his mouth makes its way to your neck, sucking oh so softly on the delicate skin. “I’ve needed you all night,” you say, your voice leaning into a bit of a whine.

He chuckles, pressing his front against yours. You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh.

“In case you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, same,” he says, letting his hands fully slip beneath your sweater before taking a pause. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too soon?”

“I promise I want to. I’ve thought about it all week,” you admit, looking down at the floor in slight embarrassment. He’s having none of that, tilting your chin back up to look at him instantly.

“You just tell me if you want to stop, at any point, ‘kay?” he asks, holding your shoulders.

“I will, Eddie.”

With that, he’s picking you up, placing you down onto the perfectly made bed. You lay back, head sinking into the pillow as he hovers above you, leaning down to kiss you like his life depends on it. Your hands hold his face, not wanting him to go away for even a second. He laughs into the kiss, pulling ever so slightly away.

“I can’t do much of anything if you don’t let me move, sweetness.”

You huff, giving him a dramatic pout as you let him go.

“Can I take this sweater off?” he asks you, smiling when you nod.

Slowly, the material is worked over your head, your arms lifting to allow him to pull it off. His eyes go wide at the sight of your pretty lace bra, holding your tits perfectly. You’re even more stunning than he ever could’ve imagined, and he hasn’t even seen all of you yet. His perfect girl.

His head immediately dips down, kissing your neck, down to your collarbone, his teeth stopping to toy with the pendant on your necklace. He kisses the dip between your breasts, his hands slowly creeping up to slip under the cups of your bra. Fingers squeeze your nipples gently, making a breathy moan leave your mouth.

“Eddie…” you arch your back, and he takes the hint, reaching around to unclasp the garment. He tosses it to the floor, worshiping your tits with his hands and his mouth.

He sucks on one nipple, then the other, tongue laving over the sensitive buds. Your hand finds its way to his hair, embedding your fingers into his soft curls and tugging. He groans when you do, a reaction you weren’t expecting, but it encourages you to continue. Eventually, when he’s decided he’s focused enough on your breasts for now, his mouth continues its descent.

Kisses are trailed down your stomach, below your bellybutton, right to the waistband of your skirt. Your breath hitches when he reaches that spot, your brows furrowing as you look down at him.

“Please keep going,” you whine, and he smirks at the hint of desperation in your voice.

“So eager, huh sweet girl?” he teases gently, fingers already hooking beneath your skirt to pull it down. He discards it just as he had your bra, leaving you in nothing but a pair of panties to match the top piece.

You feel your cheeks get hot. You hadn’t intentionally worn a matching set; you didn’t go into the night expecting anything. But you fear it looks that way now.

Lucky for you, Eddie doesn’t notice; or if he does he doesn’t care. He’s looking at you like he’s never seen anything more precious, more beautiful.

“Baby, holy shit…” he breathes, sinking down to press kisses to your thighs.

You couldn’t count the number of kisses you’ve received tonight if you tried. He’s sure to hit every inch of your skin. His nose brushes against your clit, his hot breath fanning against your core. You know you’re soaking the lace that keeps you covered, and you can feel yourself throb for him. His mouth kisses atop your panties before he presses his tongue flat against them, so close to where you need him most. Separated only by thin fabric.

It’s cruel, the way he teases, his lips kissing over your clit before moving to your inner thighs. His teeth nip at the skin there, making you shiver when he starts to suck.

“Ed, oh my god,” you pant, your legs threatening to close involuntarily, your body so sensitive. He grips your thighs, pushing them apart more forcefully than he’d done anything so far.

“Gotta keep your legs spread wide for me, sweetheart,” he purrs, big eyes glancing up at you.

You nod quickly, feeling your slick start to pool in your panties. “Need your mouth on me, please,” you cry, grateful when you feel him tug your underwear down.

“Such a sweet girl, being so polite,” he says, pulling the lace around your ankles and feet until you’re completely ridden of your last article of clothing.

Eddie tugs off his jacket, followed by his shirt before he leans back down between your legs. He pokes his tongue out tentatively, licking a stripe up your folds. You gasp, hips bucking before his strong grip brings them back down. He buries his face in your pussy, tongue prodding inside of you, lapping up the honey that drips from your center. His nose bumps against your clit, giving you much needed friction. It takes everything in you to not grind against his face, trying keep some composure.

You’d imagined scenarios like this plenty of times, always knew Eddie would be able to make you feel good. But he’s truly unreal, you’ve never felt pleasure like this in your life. It’s been worth the wait to have him, you can say that for certain, your brain fuzzy as he devours you.

You’d think this is his last meal, the way he licks and sucks and moans as he does it. He flicks the tip of his tongue rapidly over your clit, and you have to remind yourself of where you are before a loud whine can escape you. You bite down on your fist, something to muffle your noises, to keep your actions discreet.

Eddie’s relentless, barely coming up for air as his tongue unravels you. When he does pause, he gives you a devious little grin, his chin shiny with your arousal. The sight makes you feral, primal in the way you desire him. And as much as you love the way he eats your cunt, you need more from him.

“Eddie, baby, please—” you pant, tapping his shoulder to get his attention. Once you’ve got it, you feel nervous under his intense stare. “I want to have sex,” you say softly. “I need you inside of me. Like, right now.”

“My god, you’re something else,” he breathes, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

He moves to hover over you, his bare chest on full display. You let your hands run down his pale skin, fingers tracing the outlines of his tattoos. He shivers at your touch, and you can see the tented fabric of his jeans; his cock straining to be near you. His lips are on yours, his tongue working your mouth open for him as you reach down to palm him through the denim. The taste of yourself on his mouth has you throbbing for him, aching. He whimpers when you squeeze the outline of his cock, a sound you weren’t anticipating.

“I think you should take these off,” you suggest, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes blown out with lust. “Good idea.”

He shimmies out of his tight jeans, his boxers following suit. His cock springs free, and your eyes widen at the sight of it. He’s got the perfect girth, and he’s long. The head is pink and leaking for you already, and there’s a slight curve to his shaft. A vein protrudes from beneath the skin, practically throbbing.

“Oh my god…” you whisper, startling when you realize you said it out loud. He’s grinning like the devil, bending back down to kiss your cheek.

“Like what you see, huh, Sunny?” he asks, smug as ever.

You roll your eyes, playfully shoving him away. “Fuck off,” you giggle, your tone holding no malice.

He does the exact opposite of what you said, invading your space once more to kiss all over your face. You laugh, making him join in with you.

“I do like what I see, for the record,” you tell him honestly, his smile turning shy. “I can’t believe you’re mine. I’m so lucky that, after everything, this is where we are now,” you continue, seeing the way his face completely softens at your sweet words.

“I’m the lucky one, I promise you,” he says. “Do I need to say it again? I love you so fucking much.”

It feels so right hearing him say those words. It feels like you’ve been saying them your whole lives, rather than just starting tonight.

“I love you,” you sigh, his body pressing against yours.

The realization of the line you’re about to cross hits you, but it’s welcomed. You trust Eddie to take care of you more than you’d trust anyone, and your heart pounds in your chest as you think about how much you want him. Your adoration for him is unwavering, and you so badly crave him.

“You ready for me?” he asks, patient as he rubs his thumb along your cheek. “Shit — do you want me to get a condom?”

“Yeah. I’m ready,” you confirm. “Don’t want you to use a condom. Wanna feel every inch of you,” you plead, biting your lip as he curses under his breath.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” he chuckles, shaking his head of dark brown curls.

“So you’ve said,” you reply, letting him kiss you sweetly before lining himself up properly. You inhale deeply when you feel his tip prod at your entrance.

He makes eye contact with you as he slips inside your wet walls, both of you moaning in unison at the feeling. For him, it’s the way you squeeze around his length, sucking him right in. For you, it’s the overwhelming stretch to accommodate him. It knocks the wind out of you, your eyes rolling back as he sinks in even deeper.

“Oh my god, baby,” Eddie groans, letting his forehead rest on your shoulder.

He doesn’t move once he gets fully sheathed inside, letting you adjust to his size. When you start to get squirmy, he knows you’re ready for more. He thrusts slowly, wanting to take his precious time with you. Wanting to be careful, to make love to you rather than fuck you like a one night stand. He wants to show you how much you mean to him.

The gentle rocking of his hips has your back arching, his cock reaching perfect depths inside of you. He hits the spot your fingers can’t, drawing breathy whines and moans of his name from your pretty lips.

“You have to be quiet, sweet girl,” he shushes, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Don’t want anyone to know what we’re up to.”

“You just feel… s-so good, Eddie. This is everything I wanted,” you whisper, your hands clutching his back tight as he moves just a little bit faster.

The slick glide of his cock in and out, in and out has you seeing stars beneath him. Every inch of him feels divine, and he steals your breath each time he pushes back in. Your nails dig at the skin of his shoulder blades, biting down hard on your lip to keep yourself quiet. His ragged breaths turn you on even more, as does the strained look on his face as he tries desperately not to cry out for you.

“Wanna ride me, baby?” he asks. “I’d love to see the way those pretty tits bounce with you on top,” he purrs, sugary sweetness dripping from his words. He wants to worship you, like the goddess you are.

You’re nodding eagerly, having already wanted to ask him if you could ride him. He pulls out, making you wince before he flips you over. With him sprawled out on the bed, now, you’re getting a full view of everything.

His cock is wet with your slick, nearly purple in color and clearly so needy. The dark patch of hair at the base is enticing, and you want to nuzzle your face into it. His balls hang heavy between his thighs, and you reach out instinctively to squeeze them.

“Fuck,” he hisses, making you smirk in satisfaction.

It could be a fun game, you think, learning how to touch him; discovering what makes him whine, what makes him twitch. You’re excited by the fact that you have all the time in the world to learn what gets him going. His body is yours to explore, to study and observe. It makes you hot for him all over again.

You straddle him, letting your wet folds glide along his length. Your palms are planted flat on his chest, wiggling your ass on top of him.

“Such a little tease,” he says, looking up at you in awe. “Look so pretty up there.”

You flush, gripping the base of his drooling cock before aligning it with your entrance. Sinking down onto him, a light and pretty whine escapes you. He watches, completely enamored as your expression changes with each inch of him that fills you. You’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, he’s certain of it.

This new angle allows him to go even deeper, and it feels incredible in a different way than the previous position had. Your hands grip onto his sides, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach to ground yourself as you start to rock your hips steadily.

“Eddie…” you moan, trying to keep your voice quiet. He looks blissed out where his head rests on the pillow, his lips parted as he takes shallow breaths.

He begins to do some of the work for you, his hips meeting yours as he starts to rut up into you. You gasp, his cock hitting that perfect spot once again. Your body feels tingly, electrified. Everywhere he touches you you can feel sparks, wishing his hand could be everywhere all at once. He sets a slightly faster pace than he had in missionary, bouncing you perfectly up and down. You lean down, your chest pressing to his as you hold his shoulders for stability. Burying your face into his neck, you start to kiss and suck on the skin there.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good,” he grunts, the sound of his balls slapping against your skin filling the bedroom.

Desperate for more, you let your hand worm its way between your bodies, starting to rub your swollen clit. There’s barely enough room between the two of you for it to work, but you’ve got it. Eddie, of course can feel it though.

“Whatcha doin’ there, sweetness?” he asks. You don’t need to look at him to hear the grin in his voice.

Your fingers continue their ministrations, pressing into your clit in circles. “Nothin’” you mumble, shy into his shoulder.

“Ah-ah, none of that, shy girl. Look at me,” he commands gently, tilting your chin up with a finger beneath it. He smiles wide when your eyes meet his. “Does that feel good?”

“So good, Eddie,” you breathe, cheeks blazing hot under his taunting stare. He’s smug, of course he is, because he has you so worked up you’re touching yourself to get to your release faster.

“Good. Keep doing that for me, baby, okay?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, wobbly as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. Not too fast, but just enough to tip you over the edge.

The way his cock presses repeatedly into your sweet spot makes you see stars, your fingers moving as fast as they can go over your sensitive bud. Your mouth is agape, no sound coming out as he fucks into you.

“I love being inside of you, baby. Love everything about you,” he murmurs into your ear, kissing the side of your head.

The softness of his words juxtaposed with the absolute filthy way he’s fucking you makes you delirious, your body so desperate for release. You find it harder and harder to stay quiet, whimpers and squeaks leaving your mouth with each thrust he gives you. You’re so close, the tension in the pit of your stomach rising to a head.

“Is my pretty girl gonna cum for me? Gonna cum all over my cock?” Eddie encourages, sensing your quick approach, his honey tone of voice pushing you past your breaking point at last.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, washing over you in overwhelming waves. You clench hard around him, soaking his cock and the curls at the base of it. Nothing has ever felt better, your mind and body succumbing to sheer pleasure; being pulled right under. He pulls out just in time, ropes of his own cum spurting out over his stomach and chest.

You both breathe heavily, the sounds of each inhale and exhale the only thing filling the space around you. You shakily climb off of Eddie, sitting beside him on the bed. He reaches over, pulling tissues from the box on the bedside table. He cleans you up before he cleans himself, gingerly wiping between your thighs. He kisses you in the midst of it, lips pressed to yours as one hand grips your face.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Sunny,” he whispers. “My fucking dream girl.”

You giggle, unable to hide how smitten you are. “Such a sap, Eds,” you joke, leaning in for another kiss. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and then some,” you say after pulling away, enjoying the way his cheeks flush pink. “In case I haven’t said it enough this week, I’m so fucking happy you’re home.”

“I’m never going anywhere ever again. It’s me and you forever, sweetheart,” he promises, laying back down and pulling you to join him.

Chest to chest, you tilt your chin up to look at him. Your noses are nearly touching, his arms wrapped around your middle; keeping you close and keeping you safe.

“I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you even more.”

[throwaway-yandere]

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting. 

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either. 

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white. 

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?" 

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man. 

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts. 

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species." 

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

[blockedbykei]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

— synopsis: kageyama always had one agenda in his life: volleyball. it just so happens that you seemed to challenge him even more than the sport has ever done in his life.

— warnings: (this chapter) awkward kageyama, sucks at feelings. frenemies to lovers, a little angst bc kageyama's about to relapse lol pls don't attack me also i don't know how the academic system works in japan

— parts: i, ii, iii, iv

ii; love thorns all over this rose

kageyama is awake thirty minutes before his alarm rings.

and in those thirty minutes, he spends it like he usually does— planning.

and with a little bit of spice, reminiscing.

"they'll pay you," he said on the phone. he had sensed your relief despite your silence on the other side.

"thank god." you sighed. "okay dude, i gotta be honest with you. i'm only using this opportunity as some kind of job starter, 'kay? i won't be permanent. so don't get your hopes up."

"i won't be too hopeful on you." he deadpanned. a little too honest, to upfront, maybe brought up by buried pain. kageyama shook the thought. "when can you start?"

"anytime you want me to start, tobio-chan." you beamed. he heard ruffling in the background, and the familiar sound of keys jingling. "except today though. i have some paperwork to do. will tomorrow be okay?"

"okay."

that was yesterday, at 4:13pm. it was now 5:30 in the morning.

and it seems like you were awake too.

kageyama jumps at the sound of his phone vibrating against his wooden bedside table. he pushes the covers off his body, pushing himself up to sit against the bed frame before unplugging his phone off his cable.

you. u up? wanna jog around? 5:32am

he doesn't hesitate to reply.

kageyama. Sure. 5:32am

—

to his fortune, your apartment was near his home. so the idea of jogging around was easily fulfilled as his legs are now being warmed up outside the entrance of your building.

kageyama is a little eager to see you at this time in the morning, a rush of excitement adding a bounce on his heels. and he only waits for five minutes until he sees you exit the elevator in your sports attire.

jacket and leggings. same as his, except he wore sweatpants.

your hair is tied up messily, strands of hair above your head uncombed and bumpy. you walk towards him and give him a smile, stopping just a few friendly feet from him.

he thinks that image of you will stay plastered on his mind.

"ready to go, tobio?"

he looks at you, foot pressed on a bench. his fingers tie his laces as he stares at you.

kageyama was always a man of few words, and you'd learned how to read him through his eyes and body language alone. his stare may seem blank to others, but you read it as "yes, i'm ready."

and he says it either way. "yes"

—

"so what exactly is it that i'm supposed to do?"

you've matched his pace, or maybe he's slowed down to jog by your side, or maybe he's just slow and you're a bit faster than him. either way, you're happy to be in the same speed, enough so that you can talk to him without having a hard time.

kageyama hums. "uh. you will be like my life coach?"

"what the fuck is a life coach?" you grimace.

"i don't know either." his breath is white past his lips from the cold air, sparing you a quick glance. "i just think i'm too obsessed with volleyball that i kind of... don't have a life outside of it."

"i thought volleyball was your life."

"it is. until i became an adult." he swallows thickly. "when i'm not on the court, i'm in my classes. when i'm not in my classes and the court's not open i... i don't do anything. i think i'm a boring person."

"so you're like a loser?"

kageyama sighs dejectedly. "yeah."

"and you want me to make you more, what, interesting?"

"yeah."

"and i'm getting paid to do this?"

"yeah."

"i'm getting paid to teach you how to get a life," you guffaw, small pants leaving your mouth as you do so. "i never thought i'd be doing that after three years. holy shit, tobio-chan."

kageyama pouts. "do you find joy over the fact that i'm a loser?"

"oh yes," you shake your head, a smile on your face. "i do enjoy that."

you both stop after ten minutes, deciding to take a break by sitting on the bench. you place your feet on the space beside kageyama, bringing it to your chest, facing him. he tilts his head up and swallows the water rapidly as if he'd been parched since the dawn of time.

he wipes his sweat off his forehead, his biceps contracting, hair sticking to his skin. you blush at the sight.

"so what do you want to try doing?" you ask him, tugging on your sleeves.

kageyama shrugs. "how to not be too obsessed with volleyball."

"okay genius," you roll your eyes. "i meant do you want to learn how to ride a bike? how to paint? to swim?"

"i know how to ride a bike," then he pauses, looking down at the tips of your shoes grazing his thigh. he scratches his chin. "i wanna learn how to swim."

you scrunch your nose. "did you even attend the swimming classes back in high school?"

"no."

"god, tobio," you laugh through your nose. "where were you? hiding in the gym?"

"i was with you inside the janitor's closet remember?"

your smile fades a little, pulling your feet closer to yourself. and then you look away from him.

"so i'm teaching you how to swim then." kageyama wishes you'd look at him again, take your eyes off from whatever you're staring at and plant them on him instead. "i might push you into the deep part of the pool, then i remembered you're tall so you could just stand. unless i put a rock on you..."

"do i need to list it down?" he asks, and you look at him. your eyes seemed duller than earlier. he almost winces. "all the things you're going to teach me?"

"hm," you scoot closer. your arms rest on top of your knees, your chin resting on top of your left forearm. "first, you're gonna get a manicure with me. that'll be tomorrow because i want one."

"okay."

"then we're gonna do yoga," you beam. "so you could relax. you're always so tense."

kageyama pulls his phone app, and you assume he's opening the notes app. "okay."

"swimming. then skydiving. camping. joining those bike marathon thingies. oh! pottery. i think you'd like pottery."

"do we really have to do skydiving?" he shivers a little; partly from the cold, partly from the image of falling from the sky with the chance of dying. "i don't think that's a hobby that will help me with volleyball. i think that would just make me want to stay on the court."

you roll your eyes. "whatever. add cooking. unless you already know how to."

"just a little."

"add cooking."

his fingers type on the letters, the click-clacks emitting from his phone mingling with the soft breeze's gentle whisper. "anything else?"

"i kinda wanna keep the others a surprise." you smile, flashing him a bit of your teeth between your lips. the wisps of your hair fall on your cheeks, and your eyes almost smile at him. "done taking a break? i wanna run again."

kageyama stands up, putting his phone on his pocket. you kick your feet off the bench and place them on the ground, stretching your arms.

you start before he does. he feels a thread of nervousness coursing through his veins, tying it around each tendril. there's doubt knocking on his head telling him that at some point of this "life-coaching" of yours would eventually fuck up whatever it is that you have now.

he wouldn't want to fuck up twice.

his feet jogs himself up at your pace, his heart twinging at the smile you give him.

—

september 2014

senior year meant mandatory swim classes. which meant that kageyama would skip class for the 63rd time since his freshman year.

the table was jovial with excitement, albeit it seems that tsukishima was voicing the similar disdain towards swimming. "getting dressed in front of you guys is enough." he reasoned.

hinata and yamaguchi beam in excitement, mostly because they both knew they would be given free time to play around the pool. and since the boys and girls were separated, you and yachi made a silent vow to stick with one another.

"tobio," you placed your hand on his shoulder. he jumped out of his daze, food in mouth, his head turning to look at you, and you debate on telling him to stop looking at you like that, because while a second ago he seemed horrified, now he looked at you like you'd given him a miracle to be saved. "you alright?"

"yes." his head nodded, putting another broccoli in his occupied mouth. "i don't want to go swimming."

"me neither," you giggled. your hand was still on his shoulder, burning onto his uniform and seeping through his skin. kageyama fought hard not to blush. "i promised yachi though, so. please don't skip."

"okay." okay, i'll still skip.

"kageyama," hinata bumped his shoulder. "let's race to see who swims fastest."

"i don't want to, dumbass," kageyama snarled. "i want to eat lunch. let's see who gets to finish first."

their petulance had always interested you. their relationship would always trick people into thinking they despised one another, but no one ever really saw their true bond and how close they were. you laughed at the way they would swallow their food directly and at the way yachi had begin to voice her concern on choking and something about the heimlich maneuver.

in front of you, yamaguchi and tsukishima's slowly blooming ("platonic" they said, defending) relationship seemed to quietly berate the two.

later that day, you'd lost yachi with your other classmates right after you ascend from the pool. you quickly got yourself dressed, hair dripping wet and leaving streaks of water down the back of your blouse, and searched for her.

you found yourself inside the gym five minutes later, seeing that the doors were unlocked. but when you peeked, the sight of her bright blonde hair was nowhere to be seen.

a muffled cluttering sound startled you.

"hello?"

your voice echoed in the empty gym.

"(y/n)?"

kageyama's nervousness rang at every corner of the gymnasium. you saw him peek his head out from the closet, eyes wide. you furrowed your eyebrows.

"what the fuck are you doing there?" you asked hastily, walking towards him. "you're supposed to be at the pool—"

he yanked you towards him, inside the closet and closing the door behind him. it hadn't registered to you that kageyama began hearing footsteps approaching the gym and it put his heart at an alarming rate. your mouth snapped shut, hiding behind his body, your hair leaving droplets on his uniform.

then there's muffled conversation, a few laughs, a tone that mimicked questioning, and then you heard the doors slam shut. you froze.

"how are we going to get out?" you panicked, voice small and a whisper, even though you're certain that a normal volume would've sufficed.

"calm down," he scowled. "i have the keys with me. how'd you think i got in here in the first place?"

he pulled the keys out and twirled them in his finger. relief defeats the panic that settled on your face, though a smile never rose out of you. but it was enough for kageyama to reassure you. he walked to you, resting his back against one of the shelves beside you, keeping a distance that could've looked like he wasn't giving you any sort of distance at all.

"what are you doing here?" he asked, arms crossed. you took the keys off his hands, clutching it in your fist, and couldn't help yourself but sneer at him.

"you said you'd go to the class."

"i only said okay, doesn't mean i'm agreeing."

you gawped. "that is agreeing!"

"you didn't answer my question." he instilled. "what are you doing here?"

you scratched the back of your neck, fingertips dampened from your slowly drying hair, chlorine and faint conditioner evident through the scent. "i lost yachi. i thought she could be here 'cause the doors were open."

he showed his acknowledgement through a hum, no words leaving him. you sighed and approached the door, twisting the doorknob and peaked through the small slit you created.

"i should probably go," you said, looking back at him. "we should probably go."

you give him a stern look, vexated at his lie. kageyama pushed himself off the shelf, walking towards you, and you thought that maybe he'd decided to follow your orders, but instead his arm reaches out to pull the door close.

the brightness from the outside is only evident through the cracks beneath and between the doors, the only light in the dark room. kageyama stood in front of you, both of you leaning your bodies against the metal door.

your heart beated a little faster, the sound reverberating in your ears. you hope he doesn't hear how fast it gets with the way he slowly leaned closer to you, his head tilted just the slighesg, hair falling just above his eyebrows.

his eyes are dark, but there's a little shine at the edge of his irises, his gaze soft. his lips are parted the slightest, tongue coming out to gloss the dried skin. you swallow thickly.

it felt too oddly intimate to be in a situation like this with a friend you've known since the beginning of junior high. and you wondered if it was inappropriate of you to blush wildly; if it was disrespectful of you to want to tiptoe the edge of your friendship just because you're in a closet with him hiding as if you'd both be shot dead and you're enjoying the last, quiet moments together.

you knew you've never seen him as more than a friend. at least, that was what you've manipulated yourself to think. you convinced your excitement to see him as a way to be excited to start your day. you tell yourself you're concerned for his safety because you worry his sister would eat you up if he'd gotten hurt without you rather than because you wouldn't want him to get hurt in general.

you forced him to take breaks from volleyball because you poke fun at his lack of social life, not because you worry he may drive himself away from you from his over enthusiasm and passion.

you do not feel lovesick over kageyama.

and he thought that the look on your face— surprised, blushing, wide eyed— was the most endearing sight out of all endearing sights. the corner of his lip tugs upward, his teeth beginning to poke out of his awkward smile.

"we don't have classes right after," he reasoned. "we could stay here for a few more minutes."

"you-" you point your finger to his chest, nail digging on his shirt and onto his thick skin. "-have practice. i have a student council meeting and volleyball training at the local court, thanks to your fucking greedy asses, by the way. both of which will start in like-... uh...-"

"seven minutes." he cocked a brow. "let's stay here until then."

so you did.

you sat on the floor and ate the snacks he had on his bag, cross legged, on opposite sides. you started the conversation by asking when the nationals were, and that if it fit right into your schedule, you could bring the student council to up the level of the cheerleading team for karasuno. kageyama beamed at your offer.

your phone lit up, a notification bar on the screen, and he knew what your wallpaper was– it was the six of you, on one of the carnivals last june, on the ferris wheel that showed hinata yelling out the edge, tsukishima gripping on the sides for his dear life, yachi and yamaguchi laughing at the chaos they ensued;

you, holding the phone up, with kageyama beside you, smiling with his eyes set on your laughing figure.

he saw the way your eyes lingered on the screen for a moment before you tapped on the text, screen brightening, your fingers tapping on the keyboard.

"who's that?" he asked, curiosity undecided if he should be jealous (and deny it) or be relieved.

"kuroo-san," you said. "he's inviting you guys to play at nekoma next week. says he and the old team are visiting to check out the new team, and he thought it would be great if you guys fought with them again...? what...?"

"why is he texting you, though?" he shoves a hello panda in his mouth. "shouldn't he text yachi? or literally anyone else."

"i don't think he has her number."

"why does he have your number?"

"because hinata gave it to him."

he swore to murder him after 7 minutes.

"i'll tell them," he said, forced to give you a smile; forced to hide the distaste on his tongue at the thought of kuroo sending you a text. "you gonna come?"

"maybe, i could play, too, bring my team so we could finally play at a court where we wouldn't have to share with kids." you scowl at him. "can you impress me for a hundredth time?"

he'd take that chance at any given moment.

—

kageyama finds himself on the court again after your jog. the cold air still fresh on his damp skin, the sound of your voice still evident even if you'd already left almost an hour ago to meet up with your team one last time.

"so, how'd it go?"

hinata plays with the ball on the other side of the court, bouncing it between the floor and his palm. kageyama shrugs, placing his towel on top of his gym bag.

"she said we'll start tomorrow," he answers, walking towards the net, fingers poking through the square slots. "i'm nervous about this."

"i think it's a big mistake." hinata blurts out, his hand immediately covering his mouth. his wide eyes do nothing but start the fuse in kageyama's temper.

"what do you mean it's a big mistake?" he ducks between the net, towering over his shaking friend, who walks backwards and shoots him an ever nervous grin.

"i'm just saying– i mean well, we've talked here and then, and she hasn't exactly– dude, you're scaring me–"

kageyama stops in his tracks, sighing heavily with a hand on his forehead. "exactly what, hinata?"

his friend shakes his arms, snapping them. his right hand comes up to his left and rotates it, looking at kageyama like he hadn't scared him beforehand. "she hasn't exactly forgotten about what you did, you know. i mean its nice of you to take the chance and make up for what you did, but if you ever fuck up again, i don't think she'll be as forgiving as last time."

"i won't fuck up." he scowls, going back to his side.

"and if she finds out you only did this to keep her from getting that job with kuroo-san?"

kageyama places his hands on his hips, looking up yo the ceiling. it was high; the lights a bit blinding, the basketball hoop folded upwards to keep out of the way from high serves. his eyes close and counts to three, until he feels his nerves calm down, before looking back at hinata.

"has he mentioned it to her?"

"i don't think he has." hinata says. "i don't think he's forgotten, either."

"okay."

"kageyama," he begins, looking at him warningly. "if she finds out you're only doing this so that you won't lose her– so that she'd be here with you, she's not going to like it."

"i know that."

"then stop whatever it is that you're doing!"

"whatever, man! i'm doing her a favor," he spins the ball in his palm, squishing it with the other. kageyama glares at his orange hair, not at his eyes– because he doesn't want to actually make him feel that he was mad at him. "she said she quit because she didn't want to be associated with volleyball anymore. kuroo's offer is associated with volleyba-"

"an offer is an offer, kageyama, it's her decision to decline it or not," hinata sighs. "don't confuse her. don't make her fall again. don't make things even more complicated than it already is."

kageyama feels the gasoline inside him about to burst, his eyebrows furrowing further, scowl deepening. he throws the ball into the air, and jumps at the right time to serve. hinata, thrown off guard, ducks and covers his head with his hands as the ball hits the wall behind him.

hinata looks back at him with wide eyed anger. "you- you jerk!"

he runs to him, diving beneath the net to tackle his legs. kageyama falls to his back, his yell echoing, wrapping his legs around hinata's neck.

his anger, albeit predictable, is rooted on something he can't identify. he knows he's mad at hinata, but he also knows it's not exactly the actual cause. there's a deep set of guilt planted in him that coalesces with the anger he decides to displace on others. maybe it's because he knows that hinata's right— that the offer kuroo was supposed to propose was yours to accept or decline; it wasn't his position to keep you from doing so.

but at the same time, he knows that if he hadn't done anything— even if he could— to keep you here, with him, while he's slowly easing the pain he'd caused you, he would die with the regret he'd feel. and even so, he would do anything to get you back.

so at the feeling of his head meeting the floor, kageyama is snapped into a dilemma of morals and deluded wants. hinata pins him to the ground, knees on either side of his hips, looking disappointedly down on his heaving friend.

"we haven't fought this hard since freshman year," he laughs tiredly. "she's my friend, kageyama. and you're my friend either. i don't want you both to be hurt to the point where it affects all of us. i was honestly surprised that she was able to act normally after the shit you pulled. she was that afraid to lose you."

hinata pushes himself off him, offering his hand to kageyama. he takes it, pulling him off the ground. "please don't tell her."

kageyama could see him contemplate. he knows how easy hinata is to control under pressure, most especially if it included his guilty conscience in honor of a friend— he can't bring himself to lie. he was never a liar at the expense of someone.

but if it was something he had to do for the people that he cared for...

"okay," he says in his pleading gaze. "i can keep quiet. but i don't know when kuroo will bring this up to her. she'll find out eventually."

"i'll tell her myself."

—

after spending five hours in relishing the exhilarating thrill of spiking a ball across the court, his free training is cut "short" when his phone begins to ring.

doused in sweat, he walks to the bench where his bag resides. hinata plops down to the ground, elbows on his knees, panting. kageyama picks up his phone and sees your icon—

in a small circle, with a smile, in the karasuno uniform with your hair in a ponytail. he does not remember the day the picture was taken nor what the event was, but he swears he's had the same icon of yours since high school, even after he'd switched the phone.

he clicks the green telephone button.

"hello?"

"are you at the court?" there's a busy crowd behind you. you sound uncomfortable.

"no."

"don't lie."

"yes."

you laugh, he blushes. "okay. can i come there if it's okay? we've got matters to discuss."

he says yes and you're there 20 minutes later. you discard the thick coat off your shoulders, revealing something that looked too comfortable to be considered as casual— literally a large shirt and sweatpants.

"ey, (y/n)!" hinata comes up to give you a one-armed hug, trying not to get you wet with his sweat. you smile at him, sitting down on the bench beside kageyama's bag.

"hey, sho-chan." you beam. "mind if i'm here for a short while?"

"i don't mind if you stayed here until midnight." he laughs, sitting down crossed legged in front of you on the floor. kageyama sits on the same bench, his bag dividing the two of you.

"so what's up?" he wipes his face with a towel. do players actually sweat this much?

"so i got a call from your management," you begin, taking your phone out and opening your notes app. "i took in minutes of the meeting as a habit. anyway, so your pr manager told me that we can't exactly be seen together all the time unless we want people to think that we're dating. yuck."

the emphasis on your yuck makes him laugh out the pain.

"anyway, so she said we can't do whatever it is that you want all the time. we either have to do it with your friends, the two of us on a very private area, or just you alone." you explain. "so i decided to, like, create a list of all the things we should do. and i also need you to sign this contract because i'm not doing this forever."

a soft copied contract he assumes is sent by his management is displayed on your phone as you hand it to him. you zoom in on his name, types in capital letters beneath a line where his digital signature is to be placed. with a shaky finger, he writes his signature.

you stutter. "you- you didn't even read it."

"i don't want to."

"you have to," you roll your eyes. "okay so, your management says that i have to do this life-coaching shit of yours only until your next big match."

"which is in a few months." hinata butts in, a granola bar in hand.

a few months. he has a few months with you.

a few months of making up for the damage he caused. a few months to change the way you act around him. a few months to keep you with him. kageyama doesn't know what happens after then— maybe you'd already found out the offer kuroo ought to give you, and maybe you'd take it with no hesitation, leaving him behind.

the stress of lying catches up with the way his stomach twists and his tongue loses its taste. the hollow feeling of nervousness emits from the way his palms begin to sweat. he feels pressured to plan already— to figure out what to do right after the contract ends; what to say when you found out he interfered with a major opportunity.

"yeah. so. i also can't interfere nor be the cause of your downfall in volleyball or they will sue me." you bite your bottom lip. "is that even possible? like, defamation?"

"what's defamation?" kageyama asks, fingertips fiddling with the cap of his waterbottle. you huff.

"it's by ruining one's reputation by creating false statements. i'd do that if you piss me off," you jest, going back to your phone and scrolling. kageyama thinks of it as a real threat. "anyway, so i will have to ask your teammates or friends to come join us for the following weeks, although i do prefer if you also do it."

he frowns. "why me?"

"because you hired me and it's also your job to be less of a pain in the ass," you poke the space between his eyebrows. he groans, grasping your wrist and pull it down from his face.

hinata's eyes narrow at the sight of two tinted cheeks.

you break free from him. "i'll be sending you the list tomorrow. i'll get going now."

kageyama stops you from slinging your bag over your shoulder, a hand on one of the straps. "how'd you get here?"

you make a confused face. "uh. by bus?"

"let me drive you home."

"i'm fine, tobio," you laugh lightly, standing up, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. "it's only one bus ride. plus, i don't think hinata's done with practicing yet—"

"we're done!" hinata claps his shoulder, squeezing it, tight enough to make him uncomfortable. kageyama glares at him through his peripherals. "it's fine. i'll close up."

it's gotten to the point where hinata had pushed the both of you off outside the court and into the parking lot.

kageyama almost feels desolated— the silence caused by confusion almost deemed you a ghost, thus making him feel like he was lost in a very crowded parking lot. but when you nudge his shoulder, and the look on your face was replaced with a small smile, he takes his keys out of the pocket of his gym bag, his car beeping not too far.

you sit on the passenger side, quickly buckling your seat belt and dropping your bag on your lap. kageyama shuts the door and sticks the key in the ignition, a random song on the radio playing as it lights up blue.

no one says a word during the drive.

you can sense the tension was brought by thoughts that are wanted to be shared but never spoken. something about the past— the past you'd tried to forgotten; the past kageyama was trying to mend. it was not because of the sudden professional relationship created by the both of you.

(it actually also was that.)

the ride was short— maybe five songs had passed and three ad breaks. he parks just at the side, where he wouldn't be told off, and you unbuckled your seatbelt.

"thanks for the ride," you say, finally. he sucks in a breath of relief.

"no problem." and just when you're about to reach out and leave, he puts his hand on your wrist again. you stop on your movements, looking back at him over your shoulder.

"is something the matter?"

"why'd you take it?" kageyama asks, his hand still on your wrist. you blink at him, sitting back down and resting your back on the car seat. but his hand now hovers over your burning skin.

your eyebrows furrow. "what do you mean?"

"why'd you take the job if it sounded stupid?"

you look into his eyes. kageyama looked unsure— almost in disbelief. he seems to be doubting you at this moment which almost brings a scoff out of you. his bottom lip is quickly bitten, a habit of anxiousness.

"i told you– it's a starter job. it's not easy to get a job while i'm still in college. i kinda need the money as soon as possible too, y'know? i'm not exactly a pro athlete so i don't get paid—"

"why are you helping me?" he urges. kageyama leans over the transmission, a hand on the wheel. his elbow is placed on the shoulder of your seat, and he's unbelievably close to you that you feel his hot breath. "you could've taken a job at a cafe. tsukishima could've helped you with it. or yachi-san. so why did you accept my last minute offer?"

it was like he was searching for a reason for your sudden acceptance at an incredulous offer for a job that he made up. he wanted to know the reason behind it— maybe something that could get his hopes up on fixing a relationship that's barely even there; something that could feed on his nightly routine of delusions about you and what could have been.

your eyes flicker between his. kageyama has always had intense eyes. too intense that you can't decipher what he's actually feeling sometimes. but even so, they're the only ones you're forcing yourself to look at— because he's so close. there's barely any friendly proximity between the two of you. you're afraid of glancing down his lips to avoid any miscommunication; you don't look at anywhere else because you don't want to seem shy.

your heart starts to beat faster. you curse it.

"because you're my friend," you murmur. "and i'm actually concerned about your obsession with volleyball."

kageyama leans back just the slightest, but you can still feel his heat.

"i've always wanted to help you lessen your obsession since high school, y'know? at least this time i'm– i'm getting paid."

"you still want to help me even after—"

"i don't want to talk about it, kageyama."

it seems as if you knew what he was going to say. the sudden use of his surname, the softness that immediately hardened at the memory flashing in your mind; the guard you instantly put up. kageyama's heart twinges, leaning back on his seat.

he expects you to leave him and slam the door, watching you walk towards your building.

instead, he feels your hand on his.

your hand on his.

his head snaps to you, twitching slightly. your fingers squeeze the back of his hand a little, offering him a sad smile.

"i care for you," you say. "i hope you don't abuse it again."

kageyama feels like he's been holding his breath for years.

you exit his car and close it properly, crossing the front and enter your building. he watches you disappear behind the doors of your elevator, and he thinks you may have been looking at him as well.

the feeling you leave on his hand remains. he puts it on his chest, placing his other hand on top of it, and feels the way his heart skips multiple beats that he considers rushing to the hospital.

nervous. guilt. an unfamiliar sensation on his belly that rises up to his chest filled with heat.

he does not want to fuck this up.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

[munsonsmixtapes]

hurt/comfort with benedict maybe? maybe reader sees benedict dancing with another girl and notices how happy he looked (him of course just being polite) and she ends up walking away overthinking their entire courtship.

Absolutely! I'm currently reading Benedict's book in the Bridgerton series and am feeling my hyperfixation over him making a comeback lol

cw: hurt/comfort, jealousy

The Danbury household was filled with people who were dancing, laughing, and just generally having a good time. You found yourself with Benedict over by one of the windows and the two of you were giggling about something.

You had been courting since the beginning of the season and had been nothing but happy throughout it, your parents and Lady Bridgerton were thrilled when you made the announcement. In fact, both of your families had been elated when the news broke.

It wasn't surprising considering that the two of you had been inseparable since your meeting all those years ago and everyone had been waiting to see if you would actually get together.

You sipped on your lemonade and watched Benedict stare down at your with that grin that was reserved for you. With him, you felt like the luckiest woman since you had managed to snag the most sought after man in Mayfair and he was just as into you aas you were into you.

Your entire life, you had developed feelings for many boys, but they all seemed to pay you no mind. But the second you crossed paths with Benedict, you knew that it would be different. You were the one who fell first, but he definitely fell harder.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?" He asked, resisting the urge to bring his hand up to your cheek. He didn't care if people saw but what he care about what them whispering about you. Rumors had spread about him, but he'd be damned if anyone said anything untrue about you. So he settled for linking his pinky with yours where no one could see.

"I'm just thinking about how lucky I am to have you," you told him with a smile.

"I'm the lucky one, darling, you know that," he smiled back.

"Why can't we both be lucky?" You asked and he nodded in agreement.

"I suppose you're right," he agreed, loving to see the bright smile on your face widen. He was so in love with you that he didn't know what to do with himself.

"I'm going to get some lemonade, would you like some?"

"I'd love some, but let me get it my love." That was the gentlemanly thing to do and he didn't want you to have to do it when he was perfectly capable.

"You always do it, let me this time." Before Benedict could protest, though, you were already heading towards the table. And he watched you, admiring how politely you spoke to the others that were standing around the table. You were so sweet and it always warmed his heart watching you interact with other people.

You spoke with Lady Danbury who was also by the table and she always seemed to have a lot to say and you didn't want to be rude so you just nodded and listened, only giving input when it was necessary. You wanted to get back to Benedict, not wanting to keep him waiting, but you simply couldn't just leave Lady Danbury in the middle of a conversation. That wasn't the kind of person you were.

"So how is it going with the Bridgerton boy?" She asked and that got your attention. You found any excuse to talk about him, just waiting for him to be brought up so you could gush about how lovely he was.

"He's good. We're happy." She couldn't help but notice the bright smile on your face, so happy that the two of you had finally gotten together.

"Oh, that is lovely to hear," her face lit up. "I have been waiting for this moment for a long time, but Ms. l/n, is that not Mr, Bridgerton dancing with Miss Ashbrook?"

You turned your head, and sure enough, Benedict was dancing with another woman. And she was beautiful and he was smiling. You couldn't watch for long because the whole thing made your stomach churn, a true stab to the back. Especially because they were engaging in your favorite dance.

"My, you are looking green," Lady Danbury pointed out. "Are you alright?"

You ignored her question and turned back to the dance floor, watching the man who you were courting dancing with another woman, twirling her around the room as if you had ceased to exist. You had to get out of there and fast.

"I'm fine, thank you, Lady Danbury," you curtsied before rushing towards the door, out into the garden.

Benedict continued to dance with Miss Ashbrook, completely unaware that you had fled at all. As far as he was concerned, you had still been talking to Lady Danbury. But when he turned in that direction, the woman had been alone. He frantically searched the entire room for you, not seeing your bright blue dress as all. Where could you have possibly gone?

"Tell me more about your lady," Miss Ashbrook spoke with a bright smile. "She sounds lovely."

The only reason why Benedict had been dancing with her was to be polite. And he had been gushing about you the whole time because he didn't want her to think that he was unattached. And she seemed to already know that, only asking him to dance because he was the closest and she didn't want a certain man to ask. It was just a favor and nothing else.

"My apologies, but I must go, Miss Ashbrook, but it was lovely to meet you and I'm sure that there's a suitor out there for you. Don't settle for less than what you deserve." He bowed as soon as the song was over and didn't even stay to hear her response because he was rushing over to Lady Danbury.

He slid across the floor, almost crashing into the refreshment table, but that was the least of his worries. He really needed to find you before you had gotten to far. He needed to know why you had left.

"Mr, Bridgerton, do be careful," Lady Danbury scolded and he was quick to bow before her, certainly not wanting to upset the host of the evening, especially not by breaking her table nor dishes.

"My apologies, Lady Danbury, but do you know where I could find Miss l/n?"

"She went to the garden," she responded then waved her hand, signaling that he should come closer so he bent down so that the two of them were eye level. "That is one of the most lovely women I have ever met and you should know better than anyone that she is beloved by everyone here so I suggest you not screw it up by dancing with women who you are not courting. Are we understood?"

"We are," Benedict nodded then raced towards the garden, searching every nook and cranny for you. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized that you were truly gone, that awful pit in his stomach forming.

But then he heard a loud scream that pit growing even larger as he hurried to where the sound had come from, another blood curdling scream tearing throughout the garden. Benedict ran as fast as he legs could carry him, feeling his chest tighten and his throat burn as his breathing picked up.

He got to where the noise had been coming from and felt a hoarse gasp leave his throat as he saw you on the grass, clutching your ankle with tears streaming down your cheeks. He rushed to you, crouching to sit on his knees in front of you, reaching for your hands, but you pulled them out of his grasp, looking at him as you hadn't wanted him to be there.

"What happened? Why did you leave?" There was hurt in his tone, but he was mostly just worried about you. And he hated seeing you in pain, both physically and emotionally.

"Oh, don't worry about me, Benedict," you snapped. "Perhaps you should just go back to Miss Ashbrook."

"Miss-darling, what on earth are you talk about?"

"I saw you dancing with her, Benedict. And you were smiling. It was almost like you forgot that were courting."

"Oh," he let out a chuckle that quickly turned into a fully belly laugh. How could you have possibly thought that he had been interested in anyone besides you? You had his whole entire heart and he wasn't going to give that to just anyone. It only beat for you so he supposed that you were the only one worthy of having it.

"I'm glad you think my pain is so funny," you reached up and swatted at his shoulder, but he was quick to grab your hand and press a kiss to your knuckles.

"My love, I was only dancing with her because she didn't want to dance with man who was going to ask her. And I was smiling because I was telling her about you." Your eyes widened and now you just felt like an idiot. Of course he would do something like that, because he was always trying his best to be polite. You couldn't believe you had let your insecurity get the best of you and almost ruined the best (only) romantic relationship you ever had.

"Benedict, I'm so sorry. I feel so stupid, I-"

"No," Benedict cut you off, his tone nothing but gentle as his hands cupped your cheeks, wiping your tears from your cheeks. "You're not stupid and have every right to be angry with me. I'm so sorry that I upset you and I hope you forgive me."

"Of course I do," you nodded, tears continuing to stream down your face that Benedict just wiped away.

"Good, because I have something for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box, a gasp falling from your lips as he opened, a beautiful, glittering ring nestled inside. "Marry me?" He asked and you leapt into his arms, tackling him to the ground, your injured ankle completely forgotten.

Benedict was flat on the grass as you fell on top of him, your lips crashing to his, multiple yeses coming out of your both between each kiss. You pulled away long enough for him to put the ring on your finger and then you were back at it, lips slotted together as you both lied there in the garden, soaking up your alone time together before you went inside to make the announcement to everyone.