#so i guess it's less of a “used to” than i thought

[traumaone]

Mature

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 2k

warnings: angst, reader is purposefully petty, mentions of robby being an asshole, age gap, mentions of injury (care pile up, car crash), mentions of death

synopsis: Robby's POV of my fic Immature

note: Did somebody say Robby's POV??? (it was me, I said it). i'm probably going to come back and edit this a bit in the morning.

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

I’m your attending, and you’re my resident. Act like it.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

He’d been harsh, way too harsh. You made a difficult choice, chose to do a procedure you weren’t confident about in the interest of saving lives, and he’d torn you apart for it.

None of what he’d said was true; you didn’t lack discipline, you respected the chain of command, and respected him even more. He’d even taken a shot at Jack during his little spiel. 

The weight of his mistake had set in when he’d seen the tears threatening to spill, when you, so endlessly confident and sure of yourself, had refused to meet his eyes.

You’d bit back, put him in his place the way he deserved. He’d seen that kind of fire from you before, just never directed at him.

Robby watched you leave the hospital without even saying goodbye.

He calls a therapist after his shift, not his therapist, a therapist. It feels too real to sit down in an office, to let them open a file with his name on it, so he sticks to the phone, doesn’t even have the man named as a doctor in his phone.

He talks about you the entire appointment.

Day One

Robby texts you before he even gets out of bed.

He checks his phone while he’s making coffee, and finds no response from you.

He checks again before he showers, no response. 

And after he showers, still no response.

He leaves his apartment under the hopeful assumption that you’ll be waiting for him when he gets there, and you are. You’re pacing back and forth like a crazy person, but there none the less.

He smiles when he catches your eye, but the frown carved into your face stays.

“Do you need something, Dr. Robinavitch?” Ouch. That’s the tone you use with Gloria.

“I owe you an apology.” He’s starting to wilt under your frown.

“Yes, you do.”

“Tensions were high, I was struggling to keep it together, and I took it out on you. It was completely unfair, and I’m sorry.” He could say more, he could confess to you the millions of thoughts of guilt that had plagued him in his sleep, but it’s early, and you already seem tired of him.

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.” He knows from your tone that you don’t. “I guess I’ll see you inside.”

Robby watches you turn heel and walk away from him as casually as you would any stranger.

Robby trails after you, hoping that you’ll turn around for just a second, but you don’t.

He needs to earn your forgiveness, he knows that now. He pushed you too far, poked the bear too hard while knowing he’d get bit, and boy does that bite sting.

Day Three

Robby leaves his apartment twenty minutes early and takes a detour to stop by your favourite cafe.

He orders his coffee black, and yours with two creams and two sugars, the same way you’ve been drinking it since he met you.

There's a bit more of a pep in his step today. He knows that one coffee isn’t a fix all, but you’d actually spoken more than a few words at a time to him yesterday, so he thinks it’s a good step.

You’re already tucked behind your desk when he comes through the door, frowning at your computer as if it’s wronged you in some way. Something about the sight makes his chest ache.

“Abbot told me you came in early this morning, figured you didn’t have time for a coffee.” He’s lying through his teeth. He knows you never drink coffee before noon, it makes your hands shake.

You don’t even look at him, or reach for the coffee 

“Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch.” He’s heard you sound warmer with Garcia.

That ache from before only deepens. 

He nudges your chair with his foot, pushing you away from his desk so he can slip between your knees. It’s the closest he’s been to you in days, and the proximity, the lingering smell of your shampoo, is enough to make him feel weak in the knees.

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness?” It’s earnest, genuine, the most vulnerable he’s been in a while, and you dismiss him immediately. 

“You’re forgiven. I’m just working on my ‘respect problem’ you had so much to say about.”

You reach past him for your coffee, and Robby has to fight the urge to lean into the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Buttercup, I-”

The nickname slips out before he can correct himself.

Abbot had come up with years ago when you were new to your residency. The three of you had been sitting around a table in the staff lounge, eating breakfast in silence after a particularly long night shift. 

You were Abbot’s resident, almost a stranger to him, but you were sweet, incredible at your job, and you put an obscene amount of butter on the blueberry muffin you were eating, enough to show teeth marks. Abbot had laughed, cracked a joke about having to give you a stent some day, and from then on, you were buttercup.

“It’s Doctor,” You’re standing so close now Robby can smell the mint on your breath. “or my first name, or nothing. Respect goes both ways”

You’ve turned into a spitfire within a matter of seconds, and Robby loves it. He hates that you’re mad at him, really, he does, but this is a side of you he never sees, and the anger looks good on you, very good.

“Pull it together, you two.” Dana’s voice almost makes him flinch. “Incoming trauma, two minutes out.”

“On it.” Robby abandons his reconciliation plan. He doesn’t want your annoyance directed at him, but at least you’re talking. “Buttercup’s leading.”

You stomp away like a petulant child.

“Am I actually leading this, or are you going to take over the minute the patient comes through?”

“Oh, this is all you.” Robby reaches for the ties on the back of your gown, he’s not as gentle as he should be, but he can’t help but let his fingers brush against the nape of your neck when you pull away. “I’m not even gloving up.”

“Let's see how long that lasts.”

Robby stands vigilant at the trauma bay doors, eyes fixated on you and only you. You’re brilliant when you work, you always have been. It’s what he imagines watching daVinci paint the Mona Lisa would be like. 

When you stabilize the patient, faster than Robby knows he could’ve, you turn to him, a fox-like smile painted on your lips. “See how incredible I am when I’m not being pestered by questions?”

You’ve never looked sexier.

“Believe me, I’m well aware of how incredible you are.”

Day Five

“I’m covering Parker on the night shift for the next couple days.”

The two of you had been surprisingly civil yesterday, so of course you’re switching shifts.

“And who’s going to be covering you?” You don’t need to be covered, but he wants to know what you’ll say.

“You have Langdon, Collins, Mckay, and Mohan, not to mention King, Santos, Javadi, and Whitaker. You don’t need me here.”

“Sure, but I want you here.” He wants you here more than anybody, even Dana.

You fix him with a frown. “No you don’t. I’m not being nice to you this week.”

“No, you’re not,” He almost wants to laugh. “But that doesn’t mean I want you gone.”

“I appreciate that,” It’s the most sincere he’s heard you sound all week. “But I want to be gone for a little bit.”

“If Abbot were here he’d be telling us to talk out our problems.”

You laugh, and that ache in his chest returns.

“Then let’s be glad he’s not.”

Day Seven

Robby has a routine for Sundays; work his shift, say goodbye to you, stay a little late so he can talk to Abbot, walk to his favourite cafe, enjoy a cup of tea and watch the world pass by through the window.

He hasn’t deviated from it in years, but things are different today. 

He doesn’t know if you’re still upset with him, opposite shifts have kept the two of you from having a conversation that’s longer than a few words and related to anything other than work, but that doesn’t change that tomorrow is the anniversary of your arrival to the ED.

It’s silly of him, but he wants to commemorate it somehow, which is how he finds himself in a flower shop ten minutes before close, staring cluelessly at a fridge full of flowers while his nose starts to run. He settles on a multi coloured bouquet of hyacinths, both the flower of forgiveness, and your favourite. 

He tucks the bouquet away in a vase on his counter, and falls asleep thinking about your smile.

Night Seven

Robby wakes to nine missed calls, five from you, three from Dana, and one from Abbot.

He gathers from your messages that there was an accident, a bad one that has quickly overwhelmed the ER. He doesn’t hesitate to grab his things and flee from his apartment, not even bothering to lock his door behind him.

You were on the verge of tears by your last voicemail, and Robby just can’t grasp why. 

He makes it to the hospital in record time, and you’re the first thing he spots, standing in the same spot you’d been waiting for him a week ago. You’re standing eerily still, eyes focused on your phone, but you look okay, untouched.

“Did you guys get everything handled, or do you still need help in there?”  

It’s an attempt at playfulness, at easing the tension that had no doubt formed during his absence, but it doesn’t work, because the moment he sees his presence register on your face, you crumble.

Sobs tear from your throat with a sound that makes Robby’s heart shatter. 

He pulls you to his chest as quickly as he can, nuzzling his face into your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo as he feels your tears hit his neck. You’re shaking in his arms and he grips you tighter, hoping to compress your nervous system, but it only makes you worse.

“Shh, it's okay.” You only sob harder. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I thought you were dead.” Your voice sounds so small, almost broken.

Robby freezes. “Why would I be dead?”

“The transport crashed through the cafe you go to every Sunday, and you weren’t answering your phone. I thought you were going to die thinking I was mad at you.”

Suddenly it all pieces together. “Oh… Oh, I'm so sorry.”

He buries a hand in your hair, presses a kiss to your head and the sobs begin all over again.

It shakes him to his core. You’ve always been a force to be reckoned with, stronger than any of them by a long shot, but right now, you’re fractured, broken into pieces right between his arms.

You pull away eventually, and Robby misses the feeling of you in his arms instantly. “You have nothing to apologise for, I was being ridiculous.”

“That’s not ridiculous, I would’ve gone down the same road.” It’s true, painfully true.

You lift your eyes to look at him and Robby feels his heart break all over again. Even with tears streaming down your cheeks, your hair mussed, and your nose starting to run a bit, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m sorry.”

Robby smiles. “I know.”

“Everything’s mostly handled inside, we just have to get our shit together and prepare for the rest of the night.” You seem awkward now, unsure.

“I’ll come inside and help.” He’s not ready to be away from you yet.

“You don’t need to.” He knows you don’t mean it.

“I know,” He brushes the tears from your cheek, smiling again when you lean into his palm. “But I want to.”

[pomelace]

amber liquid

pairing: frank langdon x afab! reader

content warnings: not proofread, no physical desciptors used for reader, implied age gap (about 11 years), takes place after s1 of the pitt, mention of breakup & divorce, alcohol consumption, intoxication, emotional vulnerability, flirting, kissing, mild smut (nothing to graphic, I can't write smut to save my life). as always let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : this legit came to me at 2 a.m. when I should've been sleeping, but honestly, when you have a good idea, you have to write it. I wanted to try writing smut but gave up — I legit can't do it; all props to those who can. let me know if you guys want more fics like this! I really enjoyed writing it and stepping outside of the usual hospital setting. as always, I hope you enjoy, and requests are open! (someone pls request)

word count: 3504

Maybe you should’ve seen it coming. Maybe you should’ve guessed he wasn’t ready. And maybe—just maybe—a small part of you wasn’t either.

But guessing that he didn’t want to be together anymore?

That had never even crossed your mind.

Six years together. Six years of laughter, of holidays spent hand-in-hand, of whispered promises in the dark. You thought you were happy. You were sure he was too.

So what went wrong?

You don’t have an answer as you sit hunched at the bar of the restaurant—the same restaurant where, less than an hour ago, your boyfriend dumped you.

It was supposed to be date night. A special night. You had curled your hair, slipped into your best dress, painted your lips the shade he said he loved. You had even dared to hope he might propose.

Instead, he gave you a goodbye.

Now, you sit at the bar, your hair slipping loose from its carefully pinned bun, staring blankly ahead as the waiter slides a shot of tequila toward you.

You toss it back without hesitation, the liquor scorching your throat, leaving a burn that barely registers. Another. And another. You drink until the line between anger and sadness blurs, until your own misery drums in your ears louder than the soft music playing overhead.

It’s a slow night. Quiet. You barely notice when someone slides into the seat beside you.

You keep your eyes down, tracing the rim of your empty glass.

“What are you drinking?” a voice asks—a man’s voice, low and easy.

“Tequila,” you reply, your voice quick, almost defensive. You glance up—and meet his gaze.

He’s older than you. Not ancient, not graying, but maybe a decade your senior. His blue eyes catch the warm light above the bar, sparking just a little.

Before you can say another word, he lifts a hand to the bartender.

“Another shot for her,” he says, smooth and sure.

You manage a small smile—your first real one tonight—as the fresh shot slides in front of you. You raise the glass, clink it lightly against his, and down it in one quick swallow.

He mirrors you—less gracefully—coughing once as the burn hits him harder than expected.

“Celebrating something?” he manages between coughs, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“More like mourning,” you murmur, your fingertip circling the rim of your glass.

He coughs again, this time from surprise, struggling to find the right words.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry for your loss,” he says finally, voice soft, almost tangible in the way it wraps around you.

You laugh—a sharp, unexpected sound. He looks confused until you set the record straight.

“No one died,” you say. “My boyfriend broke up with me.”

For a second, Frank just looks at you—then relief floods his face, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh. Well... in that case,” he says, shifting to face you fully, “the guy’s a goddamn idiot.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“Smooth,” you say, dry.

He shrugs, utterly unapologetic.

“Hey, I'm not here to win points. I'm just telling the truth.”

For a moment, you just look at him. The easy way he smiles, the unbothered tilt of his shoulders, like nothing in the world could hit him too hard. It’s a little annoying. A little comforting, too.

“I'm Frank, by the way,” he adds, tapping his chest like you might’ve been dying to know.

You glance up, eyeing him with a bit of suspicion.

“Well, Frank, are you always this charming, or is it just the tequila talking?”

He shrugs with a grin, clearly unfazed.

“Maybe a little of both. But I assure you, the charm’s mostly natural.”

You snort. “Natural, huh? More like 'forced'.”

“Hey, I'm not the one drowning tequila like it’s water,” he points out, raising an eyebrow as he gestures to your empty glass.

“I think you’ve got your own coping mechanism.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“Touché. So, what, you just come to bars to offer unsolicited life advice and overpriced shots?”

“Nah,” Frank says, leaning in slightly with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I’m here to save you from a night of self-pity. A public service, really.”

You stare at him for a beat, then shake your head with a quiet laugh.

“God, you're a piece of work.”

He grins, unrepentant. “You’re welcome.”

You set your glass down with a soft clink, taking in the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Alright, Frank Langdon. You’re buying the next round, right? Or am I supposed to keep drowning my feelings while you play bartender?”

He lifts his hand in a quick motion, signaling the bartender.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this. I’m here for the long haul. Just don’t expect me to let you drink your problems away.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what, you think one more round of tequila will fix it?”

He leans back, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Maybe not, but it’ll definitely make it more interesting.”

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

By the fifth shot, the tequila had softened the sharp edges of reality.

The hollow ache you'd carried has dulled, replaced by something lighter—something dangerously close to joy. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the stranger at your side, but for the first time all night, you feel a little less alone.

Tipsy now, you and Frank lean against the bar like old friends, shoulders brushing, each too stubborn to admit just how much easier the night feels with the other there.

He’s in the middle of telling you a story about the time he stitched up his own hand in med school—because he was, in his words, “too stubborn and too drunk to admit it hurt”—and you’re laughing so hard you nearly spill your drink.

“You’re such an idiot,” you gasp, clutching your stomach.

“Certified,” Frank says proudly, slamming his shot glass down. "Got a degree and everything."

You shake your head, grinning. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose a finger.”

He holds up his hand and wiggles his fingers dramatically. “All ten. Still sexy.”

You snort into your glass. “Debatable.”

Laughing, he flips his hand over, showing you a faint scar that cuts across the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes catch on the mark—small but jagged, like the story behind it—and for a second, you're almost charmed by the ridiculousness of it all.

Almost.

Because that’s when you notice it.

The thin silver band, sitting there plain as day on the fourth finger of his left hand.

You blink, the drunken haze clearing just enough to register what that means.

He’s married, you think, the realization landing with an uncomfortable thud in your chest.

You sit back a little, the weight of what you’ve just seen settling heavier than any amount of tequila.

Frank doesn’t notice at first—still grinning like an idiot, clutching his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. You watch him, every instinct firing warning shots in your head.

“You wound me, sweetheart,” he says dramatically, tapping a hand over his heart. That cocky, lopsided smile is back—the one you’re starting to realize isn’t an act. It’s just him.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” you say, your smile fading clean off your face.

He catches the shift instantly, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eye.

“What should I call you, then?” His voice drops a little, playful but not heavy, the kind of flirting that feels easy, harmless—if not for the ring still sitting heavy on his finger.

You open your mouth, ready to fire back something sharp—but all that comes out is a scoff. Your brain is too clouded with tequila and the sudden, sour taste of disappointment.

That’s when he notices. The coldness he hadn’t seen before. Confusion flashes across his face, and he leans in again, trying to catch your eye.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, his voice quieter now, genuinely concerned, as if he has no idea what he's wearing.

You tilt your head, voice sharper than you mean it to be: “Does your wife know you’re out here handing out pity shots to heartbroken strangers?”

His smile slips, just a little. A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face before he sits back in his stool, schooling his features into something easy again.

“No wife,” he says. “Not anymore.”

You arch a skeptical brow.

He huffs a low, humorless laugh, reaching for his glass and twisting the ring around his finger.

“Divorced,” he clarifies. “Signed the papers six months ago. Just... haven't taken it off yet, I guess.”

You study him now, properly. The easy charm, the quick wit—it’s still there. But underneath it, you can see the cracks. The exhaustion. The way some people carry their hurt like it’s stitched into their skin.

“Why keep it on?” you ask before you can think better of it.

Frank shrugs, the barest lift of one shoulder.

“Habit. Guilt. Laziness. Pick your poison.”

You don't have an answer to that. So you just nod and reach for your drink, letting the silence stretch out between you, strangely easy, strangely human.

Frank’s eyes stay on you, a little too intense now, like he’s not quite sure whether to keep poking the fire or step back.

He leans in slightly, his grin returning, though it’s more of a soft, knowing smile now—like he’s trying to find the right words, but not quite sure how to approach it.

“You know,” he starts, his voice low but playful, “I could’ve been a counselor, right? Deep stuff, just me and a couple of shots of tequila. I’d charge you, but I’ll give you a free session for tonight.”

You snort, trying to fight the grin threatening to tug at your lips.

“Uh-huh. What’s your rate, then?”

He gives you an exaggerated, thoughtful look.

“Well, it’s a sliding scale. But for you? Free. For now. We’ll work out the details after you pay with a drink.”

You roll your eyes, but the laughter slips out anyway.

“You’re ridiculous. What else do you charge for? Self-pity sessions?”

“Of course,” Frank says with a deadpan expression.

“I’m a pro at helping people feel bad about themselves while simultaneously offering unsolicited life advice. It’s a talent.”

You chuckle, shaking your head.

“I think you’re selling yourself short. You could really make a business out of that.”

“Hey, it’s a full-time gig,” he grins, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s all about commitment to the cause.”

You shake your head, feeling the liquor starting to work its way through you, loosening your muscles, softening the edges of the night.

“I guess I should be grateful. I was about to start feeling sorry for myself. Instead, I get a free therapy session.”

“Least I could do,” Frank says, his voice taking on a quieter tone.

“But don’t expect any miracles. I’m no miracle worker.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and something shifts between you two. He isn’t joking anymore. There’s a sincerity to the way he watches you, like he can see something in you that maybe you’re trying not to acknowledge.

The silence lingers just a beat too long, and you can’t help but feel a tug in your chest.

You glance away first, clearing your throat as you take a long sip from your glass.

“Guess we’ll see if the tequila does its magic, huh?” you say, trying to brush it off.

Frank nods, but his eyes stay locked on you, searching, like he’s trying to figure out what’s behind your smile.

“I think it’s already doing its job,” he says softly, his gaze lingering.

“But maybe not in the way you think.”

You meet his eyes, and for a moment, it feels like the air is charged, a quiet tension settling between you two. The playful edge from before has softened, replaced by something more unspoken, more intimate.

For a second, you almost wish you could just forget the world outside of this conversation, forget the hurt that brought you here, forget the ring on Frank’s finger that keeps reminding him of the reality he lives in now.

But the weight of it all presses down, and you break the silence with a soft laugh, the sound forced but somehow real.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

Frank had insisted he take you home, by that, he meant riding a cab with you. You two were far too drunk to get behind the wheel, and to walk straight without stumbling.

The cab pulls up in front of your house, the engine humming to a slow stop as the late-night air wraps around you like a cool blanket. For a moment, you just sit there, staring out at the dark, quiet street.

The lights from the porch are soft and welcoming, but the weight of the night presses in on you like a fog.

The door opens, and Frank is the first to step out. He moves with that same easy confidence, like everything in the world is exactly where it should be. He stands outside the cab, waiting for you to follow.

You hesitate for a second, your mind buzzing with a mix of tequila and too many unanswered questions. The cool breeze hits your face, clearing some of the fog in your head. Frank turns back toward you, catching your hesitation, and gives you a playful grin.

“You know,” he says, his voice teasing but with an edge of something softer, “I’m not gonna carry you to the door if that’s what you’re waiting for. I’m already pushing my luck by not falling over on the sidewalk.”

You laugh lightly, the sound a little more genuine than you expected. You push the door open and step out, the ground under your feet feeling a little less solid than it should.

“Good thing I can walk myself,” you say, brushing past him.

He hands the cab driver some money and asks him to wait as he follows you at a leisurely pace, matching your steps but keeping his distance—just enough to give you space, but close enough that his presene is felt.

As you approach your door, the key feels heavier in your hand than it should. You fumble with it, trying to fit it in the lock, and Frank steps up beside you, leaning slightly against the doorframe as if he's been here a thousand times before.

“You need help with that?” he asks, his voice a little quieter now. The playfulness has faded, replaced with something that feels almost... careful.

You shake your head, finally getting the key to turn. The door clicks open.

“Thanks for making sure I got here,” you say, your voice quieter now, more serious.

“I probably would've ended up face-down in a bush if I tried it alone.”

Frank chuckles, a low sound that rumbles in his chest, easy and warm.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

As you reach for the handle and push the door open, you almost stumble, your balance slipping for a second.

Frank moves instinctively, a hand shooting out to catch you, but you tighten your grip on the handle just in time, steadying yourself with a small, breathless laugh.

You turn back to him, lingering in the doorway, the porch light throwing a soft halo around the two of you.

“I want to say I'll see you around,” you murmur, sincere and soft, "but we probably won't."

Frank’s smile falters, the grin fading into something smaller, more real. He scratches the back of his neck, looking suddenly, painfully sober.

“Who knows,” he says, a thread of hope weaving through his voice.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Then you offer him a small smile — the kind that feels like a goodbye and a maybe all at once.

Before you can turn away fully, Frank shifts his weight, like he’s fighting with himself. His hand brushes lightly against the doorframe, hesitating.

“You’re not the only one who needed tonight,” he says, voice low, almost rough.

You freeze, heart catching somewhere between your ribs. The air between you stretches, electric and fragile. For a moment, neither of you breathes.

Then you’re moving — or maybe he is — it doesn’t matter, because the next thing you know, you’re reaching for him, pulling him by the collar of his jacket.

Your mouths collide in a kiss that's messy and desperate, all teeth and heat and aching need. His hands find your waist like he’s done it a thousand times before, anchoring you against him.

The cab outside gives an impatient beep beep — a harsh reminder of the real world waiting just beyond your front porch. Frank breaks the kiss for half a second, glancing back toward the street — then without a word, he guides you inside and kicks the door shut behind him, the soft thud echoing through the quiet house.

And then he's on you again — gripping your hips, your back hitting the inside of the door with a soft thump. You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound, kissing you harder, hands sliding up under the hem of your dress like he can't get close enough.

Clothes, decisions, consequences — they all fall away, unimportant in the face of this electric, reckless need.

Frank lifts you with startling ease, and you wrap your legs around his waist without thinking, your arms tightening around his neck.

He carries you a few steps deeper into the house, bumping blindly into a wall, laughing quietly against your mouth like he can’t quite believe any of this is happening.

You break apart just long enough to catch a breath, your foreheads pressed together, both of you panting. His hands skim down your thighs, rough and reverent all at once, as if grounding himself to reality through you.

“Bedroom?” he murmurs, voice wrecked and breathless.

You nod, dazed, and point down the hall.

Frank doesn’t hesitate — just turns, still holding you close, and starts down the hallway, kissing you between every few steps like he physically can't stop himself.

The world narrows to the feel of his mouth on yours, the strength of his hands on your skin, the way he murmurs your name like a secret he’s afraid to lose.

When he finally finds the door, he shoulders it open and stumbles inside, both of you laughing breathlessly through the haze of want.

He drops you onto the bed with a gentleness that doesn't match the wildness in his eyes, then crawls over you, kissing you again — slower now, deeper — like he’s determined to memorize every inch of you.

You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, down the line of your throat. He lingers there, breathing you in, his hands splaying wide across your ribs like he’s trying to steady himself.

“God, you’re...” he starts, voice breaking like he can’t even find the words. He kisses you again before he can try.

Clothes become an afterthought — a barrier that both of you work to strip away with frantic hands, punctuated by soft gasps and half-laughed curses when fabric gets stubborn or tangled.

Frank pauses every few seconds, checking your eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. But you just pull him closer, giving him your answer without a word.

When there’s nothing left between you but heat and skin, he looks at you like he’s seeing something he doesn’t think he deserves. His thumb traces the line of your cheek, gentle, reverent.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, rough and honest.

And then he’s kissing you again — slower, more deliberate now, like he's savoring every second, like he’s afraid it’ll be ripped away.

His hands map your body with careful, aching thoroughness, every touch setting your nerves on fire.

His hand roams down the curve of your sternum, slow and sure, until he cups one breast in his palm. You gasp, the sound spilling from your lips before you can catch it, your back arching into his touch.

He strokes his thumb lightly over your skin, reverent, almost awed, as if he’s memorizing you one careful inch at a time.

He touches you with such aching tenderness, like you're something precious — fragile, irreplaceable — something he’s terrified to hurt or lose.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice so low it’s almost a prayer.

You shake your head, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

“Don't stop,” you whisper, barely audible, but it’s all he needs. His mouth finds yours again, a little more desperate this time, his hands mapping every curve of your body like he’s trying to brand the memory of you into his skin.

You cling to him just as fiercely, drowning in the way he feels, the way he makes you feel — alive, needed, wanted.

Tonight, you’re not thinking about tomorrow.

Tonight, you’re just feeling.

©pomelace 2025

[perreqult]

DEAR GOD ✶ WILL SMITH

summary: it’s pretty hard to forget Will when he’s everywhere you are

word count: 1.4k (maybe a little more i counted before i continued more)

contains: smut (p in v— unprotected don’t do that), screwing your ex (i’m self projecting), missing your ex and being in denial about it, swearing, drinking, think that’s it

notes: i miss my frat boy situationship from freshman year

not proofread, expect mistakes

Working for the sharks didn’t seem too bad when you and Will were dating, but Lord was it aggravating to when you and Will had been broken up for a while.

The worst part were the stolen glances and awkward interactions. Let alone Macklin shamelessly staring at you. No matter where in San Jose you went, Will and his stupid pretty face followed you, haunted you.

Your mind has been flooded with everything about him. His smile, his voice, his body that you remember like it’s yours. Fuck, you miss that part of him— ‘Oh my God stopping thinking about that’, you tell yourself. It sure as hell doesn’t work.

You do try to forget him, it just fails. Every thought you have leads back to him, and it really doesn’t help that you two see eachother on a daily basis.

Forced interactions that couldn’t be described as anything but awkward should be considered torture. Every single uncomfortable “Hey.” that’s uttered out you think you miss him even more.

Does he miss you this way? You’re guessing the answer is no based on the fact he looks like he wants to die when you two have to talk.

Did you really think you’d be at a party one of Will’s teammates threw tonight? No. Are you, though? Yes. And so far it’s sucked.

Corny music is blasting in your ears from possibly the loudest speakers of all time, it’s hot and humid, and worst of all— Will is right next to you. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t the most awkward experience of your life

You’re really only still in that spot— or at this party at all— because your friend decided that you can get over your emotions towards Will for the night and can get along with her friends. Who may or may not be Will’s friends.

Eklund offers you a round of beer pong and you use that as your escape to get anywhere Smitty isn’t. Even as you’re tossing the pong ball across the table set up you can’t help but think of him.

It would be a lot easier to forget him if you didn’t see him everywhere. You wanted nothing more than to say you forgot about him, you hate him, you don’t think about him every waking second, but if you did those would all be lies.

You’ve even thought about praying to whoever’s out there to let you forget him. Let you not think of him and his stupid dick when you’re lying on your bed.

You snap out of your haze of reminiscing him just in time for— you guessed it— to walk over to the table you and Eklund were at.

“Ah, Smitty. You have to ignore this round. She’s kicking my ass.” He laughs out, pointing at the cups scattered across the flat plastic foldable table. Will responds with a chuckle.

Embarrassment rushes through your body, it should, your ex— who you think about way too much— is standing less than 10 feet away from you, laughing. And fuck he looks perfect.

You’re staring. You know it. All you hope is that he doesn’t notice. Unfortunately your luck gave out tonight and he notices, he definitely does. He nods at you and smiles awkwardly. Is it possible for you to get more flustered? Right now you don’t think so.

“You know what? I tap out. Smitty you sub in for me, alright?” He tells him with a friendly pat on his back drunkenly. Yeah no, it was definitely possible to get more embarrassed.

“Sure.” Your heart practically sinks. One part of your mind says “Can he leave me alone?” and the other says, “Can he never leave me alone again” maybe it’s the alcohol making you indecisive.

You win but you don’t say anything the entire game. He’s acting a lot more relaxed now. This is the first time you can say drunk interactions with people are easier than when they’re sober.

“Y’alight?” He asks, breaking the weird silence between the two of you. All you can do is just nod again. You’re trying to blame it on being drunk but you know that’s not the truth. He flashes you a puzzled look but shakes it off like he knows you’re lying.

It’s because your thoughts about him, your dreams about him, the way you still love him.

“I… I’m gonna go with my friends.” You sputter out, not even looking him in the eyes as you say it, ready to leave, to not have any more memories of him you’ll eventually miss.

“I still love you by the way.” He blurts out. You’re expecting him to have some surprised look on his face, mirroring the one you have plastered all over yours. He doesn’t. He’s serious. You can tell.

“What?” Is what stumbled its way out your lips. You’re frozen in shock, whipping your head back to face him.

“I do.” He adds on, sure you don’t believe him. You don’t. He’s either been acting like you don’t exist or acting like you’re the most disgusting person on earth.

You don’t even respond. You do the first thing that pops into your drunken, hazed, mind. You kiss him. Oh God why did you do that? At the very least, Will doesn’t pull back in disgust and kisses back.

When he pulls back to breathe you already know he’s gonna say something stupid. “You gonna stop acting like you hate me now?” There it is. You hate that he’s right and you hate that you’re there right now. So what now, you fuck your ex? What if he’s just drunk and he’s gonna avoid you as soon as you drift out of his bed.

“Just shut up.” You tell him before grilling his face to pull him back into the kiss, particularly aggressively Will notes.

You probably shouldn’t be in his bedroom right now, should you? But you are. You’re slipping your dress off swiftly, almost giving you flashbacks to your relationship.

He looks at you with a grin that can only described as smug as he catches you staring at him as he yanks down his pants.

“Looks like you’ve missed me.” You tells you, pointing with his eyes at your soaked panties. Fuck. He’s right. Why is he always right about you?

You climb up onto his bed in a way that you remember all too well, pushing your weight onto your elbows as you eye him, pushing his boxers off to free his cock.

It’s not surprising that you remember it— hell, you’ve been thinking about it the past 4 months, why wouldn’t you?

You snap out of your subspace, drowned in thoughts, when he climbs up onto you, staring down at you. Yet again, that fucking smirk. God, he is hot.

He’s lined up to your dripping entrance, tip prodding at your hole. There’s some sort of intimate silence that lies in his bedroom. Maybe it’s the way your mind is filled with the memories you’ve been trying to forget.

“You ready?” He asks. You nod, way too quickly. He almost laughs— God, you were eager. As he dips into your soaking heat, he mumbles “Missed you.”, letting out an almost silent moan, slightly tipping his head back. You, on the other hand, cry out in pleasure. You hate to think this again, but God you missed him. A lot.

He takes the silent cue of you gripping his shoulders, pulling him deeper to start pistoning in and out of your drenched cunt. You try your best to quiet yourself down, for Will’s floor neighbor’s sake. It would be a terrible lie to say it actually worked. You were moaning in bliss as he went back and forth through your walls.

“Fuck.” You yelled as he hit that perfect spot in your hole that makes you go crazy. Will’s groans and low moans grow loader, gripping your hips tight— almost hard enough to leave marks— each time he slams back into your cunt.

“Anybody else fuck you like this?” He asks through a husky voice, starting to pump into you at a fast, rough pace. You can even fight the urge to cry out.

“Oh—Fuck… Haven’t fucked anyone else.” You sputter out through moans, your eyes rolling back into your skull. He groans out, a sly smile slipping across his face.

“Don’t gotta worry about that ‘nymore, huh?” He tells you through—deeper than usual— sultry voice. You wail out in undeniable bliss in a way that had to have boosted Will’s ego. You know it does when his smile goes wider.

Your mind practically goes blank, left in a blissed out subspace by the time you’re reaching your orgasm.

“Mmm, fuck.” You stutter out, feeling your peak grow closer. Will’s thrusts grow more and more sporadic, he’s close to. You know his body.

“Mm, gonna make me come.” He whispers into your ear, speeding up his thrusts, something you didn’t think was possible. That’s what throws you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you as you wail out.

He reaches his soon after, slowing down his thrusts so he’s left still, pulling you tight. “Missed you too.” He mutters. You’re too fucked out to care what he says at this point, you’ll talk in the morning.

“I didn’t miss you at all, Smitty.” You tell him, lying through your teeth. He just rolls his eyes, he knows you’re lying, pulling out of your heat slowly.

He rolls over to appear at your side and pulls you tightly next to him. You would say you forgot how nice it felt to sleep next to him, but you didn’t. You remembered it every night when you had to live without him.

[strungnews]

Mark peels his eyes open when he hears the chime of his phone. He’d ignore it if it were anyone else, his beauty sleep too precious for anyone’s demands at this hour, no exception.

Except one, that is.

He personalized his text notification for you, just because, he reasoned. You’d text him late at night, this was no different. You loved showing him all kinds of curious stuff he never knew existed. Usually it was pretty lively, or quiet.

But came another ping, quickly followed by another, then it went quiet.

That was less than usual. Odd.

He opens it up, lockscreen practically blinding his eyes while he tries to decipher what you’re texting. It’s punctual, direct, just your usual self.

Mark. Do you have any glue that can stick anything together.

Its important.

Odd, eery, okay.

At this hour?

What for?

. . .

No reply. The bubbles on the screen disappears, left on seen.

Okay. He needs to check up on you, right now.

���Please don’t do anything stupid.” He mutters under his breath, quickly flying over to you like a bullet to the head.

Your blinds are closed, typically. Lights are open, dim, no shadow casts near the window the closer he goes, the latch isn’t locked. Concerning.

“Hello?” He softly calls out. If this was really an emergency, him calling out to you would most likely be the cause of your death. And he wouldn’t know whether or not to laugh or grimace at that when he’s standing by the headstone of your grave. Who needs some strong ass glue for a scenario like that?

“Im just gonna let myself in…” Its the smell that hits his nose first when he slides it up, like fixing his busted nose by snapping it back into place, he can take a deep breath again. Everything is so strong, so pungent, so headache inducing.

“Why does it smell like rugby in here?” He groans, pinching his nose. It’s so quiet in here.

Usually the soft whirrs of your dingy fan was enough to be white noise, or the sound of your phone playing music faintly by the bed. But nothing, just dead silence and that familiar beat of a heart.

Mark softly calls you out, his socked feet thudding lightly on your floor. Your back’s to him, and he watches as you just eye at something by your feet.

Your favorite umbrella. It was those old fashioned ones, popular in the 1960’s since people raved about a lot of things that essentially made little to no impact back then. Now its handle has been broken and separated, the pungent glue is lathered lazily and hastily, like a doctor trying to revive a patient on the spot.

So much supplies are scattered just at the side, he guesses it was your quick panicky feeling at trying to salvage this.

Mark bought it for you at some antique shop, since you wouldn’t stop eyeing it whenever you’d coincidentally pass by the same row at the place. 100 percent from japan, the tag and the lady at the counter said so!

You paraded that thing around when you first got it, yet hesitant to even use it when you’d actually go out.

‘What if someone steals it?’ ‘What if I forget about it and I cant find it anymore?’ You’d complain, as if you weren’t opening up the thing in your room. Just sitting under it while you typed away like there was a storm inside the place. It was cute.

“Oh, man.” Immediately, he sits next to you and drapes an arm while squeezing at your shoulder.. Enough to let you lean in if you wanted, and enough room to pull away. An option in case you were ever overwhelmed.

Its a bit hard to gauge your expression and emotions in this state. You’re kind of just staring at it with a blank face, eyes while tracing over it like you’re committing it to memory, before blinking it away. Repeating the process.

“Im upset.” You finally say. Your tone doesn’t indicate you’re as upset as he’s thought you’d be. Just like a disappointed sigh kind of upset, the one he’d get from his mom whenever she caught him lazying a second too long.

“I really liked that umbrella.”

“I know.” He leans further onto you when you do first. You both sit there, watching the broken handle of the umbrella and its body just to the side. Like a wielder’s sword put to rest. Boxed and put in a glass in admiration, the rough patches and jaggedness a story of its history, of its past.

“I think Paul could help with this.”

“You think so?”

“He’s a man of many tricks, trust me.” Mark starts to rock the both of you lightly, your body now fully leaning onto him.

“Really now? I think your mom would know more about that than him honestly.” You two giggle, tracing spiraling patterns on his knee.

“Im so telling mom that.”

—

It seemed no glue would be enough to fix that crack in your umbrella shaped heart. It got fixed, of course. But the fear of it breaking even more doubled by the time you’d received it back in one rather than two.

Paul helped install a small hook to attach it at the wall of your room, presented in all its yellow glory.

Mark shortly surprises you by taking you to the same antique shop, this time they were on sale!

“It was like it was meant to be.” You said, pushing the door as the bell above jingles.

“You breaking your umbrella?” That earned a heavy yet light hearted smack on his shoulder. Too early.

It wasn’t all that hard to look for a substitute, the bright yet soft color of green had already caught your eye the moment you started looking, and he thinks there was no changing your mind.

“Look Mark! It even has a crocodile for a handle!” You beamed, brighter than that old umbrella of yours, brighter than the screen of his phone at a late night.

Man, that’ll never get old.

A/n: im so sad (?) that the handle my umbrella broke because i was too busy chasing away the ants in my room and i stepped on it sob. Here it currently lies on my floor still broken and in disrepair

[twistmusings]

Eternity Float Event

CW: Spoilers below the cut but I thought I'd share some of my favorite details about the Eternity Float Event and mini character analysis because it's exceedingly cute? 😭

First, it's so sweet to me that the first person Jade picks to come with him is Azul? Azul refuses because if he does go Mrs. Leech will spoil him with food so he refuses (my boy still definitely struggles with food policing himself) but that's actually very sweet. Georgina herself is, notably sad about Azul not being there (even more so than being sad that Floyd didn't show up? Which is hilarious because it means she probably expected Floyd might lose interest but she's actually sad Azul didn't come to see her. She definitely adores Azul and sees him as part of her family too.) Plus Azul being flustered that Mrs.Leech gets along so well with his mom and grandmother is very funny.

Jade guilt trips no less than five people into going with him by manipulating the hell out of them. It's extremely funny because being in the Fandom when it was first released in the U.S., most people at the time assumed the most dangerous twin was Floyd because of his mood-swings. Your honor, I would like to petition the court to consider that Floyd is, in fact, just a morally grey little guy. Or like, very big guy, but you get the point. He seems to be the least likely of the three to actively do something sadistic or swindle you.

Azul pawning Jade off onto Yuu and being relieved that he successfully distracted Jade from harassing him into going. As it turns out, even he sometimes needs someone to come collect that freak of a man.

Jade has dreamed of being in a wedding, not as the groom but as a part of a tradition to try and tip over the newly weds gondola and admits he's been dreaming about it since he was young. The way he phrases the statement tells us a lot about Jade's motivation for wanting to do this because he notes something to the effect of "people cheer loudly when the Moray manages to tip the boat over fully". Jade is, once again, being kind of a brat and despite his claims that he doesn't like to be the center of attention, he really wants to be the center of attention actually.

Less about Jade specifically, but it is worth noting that this ceremony is specifically for when a human marries a merfolk and the couple remains on land (if I am translating correctly), meaning that it seems to indicate that there really aren't weddings in this form in the Coral Sea.

Of course, we get to see Jade's mother, Georgina, and the first impression of everyone in the group is how tall she is. She is noted to be a) taller than Jade, b) twice as tall as Riddle, and c) her sprite is taller than Malleus with his horns. I don't personally take the comment about being twice as tall as Riddle as 100% fact, but that would mean she could be as tall as 320 cm (around 10 feet). If I go based on sprite measurements, however, I would guess she's a few inches taller than the highest measurement of Malleus' horns. Considering Malleus with his horns clocks in at around 202 cm or 6'6", and measuring their sprite heights, I would guess she's close to 213 cm or 7' tall.

Just want to add, while that might mean Jade and Floyd are still likely to get taller, it could also mean that her husband is simply *much shorter* than her and the twins take after his height. Either of these are possible, considering we don't know exactly how Merfolk biology compares to human biology and how far into life they keep growing.

Speaking of fish and growing, one set of lines that stood out to me is when Jade mentions that he gave his mother Floyd's nicknames for inspiration for their outfits. Riddle is visibly a bit upset by this, and admits he doesn't like the comparison to goldfish because they are "small and red". Georgina apologizes for Floyd being rude (though she laughs as well) and tells Riddle "when released from captivity, goldfish can grow very large". Riddle seems to be excited by this, however Jade laughs. I believe Jade assumes Riddle is excited by the prospect of getting taller. Given Riddle's backstory however... and this is complete conjecture, it seems like Riddle may be correlating it to being under his mother's control and is excited that he may "grow" when he's free.

[badkitty3000]

One Bed

Five Hargreeves x Female Reader, One-shot, 7.4k words, request

Summary: You are the lead singer in Lila's band, touring with the other Hargreeves and spending nights in run-down roadside motels. One night you and Five are forced to share a room... and you guessed it... there was only one bed!

A/N: @voteforevilthoughts this one's for you, babe! 😽

Warnings: Smut, explicit sex, oral sex (giving and receiving)

One Bed

The tour seemed to be going ok. It wasn’t the greatest thing in the world, having to share a shitty bus with six other people while you drove from the venues to an equally shitty motel night after night. But, hey, this is what you wanted and you were finally getting to show off your amazing vocal talents. Your bandmates were cool for the most part. Lila was fucking nuts, but you liked her, and you thought she and Diego made a cute pair. Viktor was a talented musician and easy to talk to. 

You were also traveling with the other Hargreeves siblings. Allison was the band manager and was the one that booked all of the gigs and made sure everyone got paid accordingly. If anyone tried to stiff them, she rumored them into paying what they were owed, and then some. Luther was basically a roadie, helping to carry amps and other heavy equipment. He also served as security if the crowd started getting a little too rowdy. Klaus tagged along, mostly for the fun of it, and because he liked listening to the band play. He also drove the bus and usually picked the motels for the night, which was why they were usually sketchy at best.

Then there was Number Five.

You weren’t really sure why Five was there, other than to make everyone’s life less enjoyable. Mostly he just scowled and made snarky remarks, and sometimes took over driving when Klaus got too tired. On those occasions, no one was allowed to stop for bathroom breaks or detours, because he was “making good time”. Although you noticed he had no problem stopping to see the World’s Largest Spatula that took you twenty minutes out of your way.

The band was technically Lila’s, even though she was the drummer. The Prime 8’s was a punk band and hadn’t really made it big yet, but you were hoping that since you signed on you could change that. 

Back in Lila’s Commission days, and when The Handler was training her to use her own powers, she would use the Infinite Switchboard to search for other superpowered kids to try and mimic. Her mother would bring her within the vicinity of another child’s powers so she could learn how to use her own. When Lila had found you, she saw that you were also a little off-kilter and liked loud, punk music. You wore short skirts with black boots and dyed your hair whatever color you were feeling at that moment. As a teenager, you rebelled against your parents and got several tattoos and piercings in various places that they wouldn’t find. 

Lila was drawn to your fun personality and you and she became friends and kept in touch. When the last lead singer had quit to go off with another band, Lila immediately contacted you. As it so happened, you had been looking for a band to join, so it worked out perfectly. Plus, you would be amongst others that had powers, so you wouldn’t have to feel weird being the odd man out.

Your power was temperature manipulation. Growing up, you had never thought of it as a particularly useful power, but over the years you had come to appreciate it. And it always came in handy on super hot days or freezing cold ones. Your body was always the perfect temperature.

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

“Move your feet,” Five demanded in that ultra-superior tone of his.

He was standing in the aisle of the bus, glaring down at you in the seat that you had just plopped into. You were headed to another crappy roadside motel for the night, after finishing a show, and you were exhausted. Your feet were resting on the seat next to yours so that you could sprawl out and maybe take a nap.

“Why should I move?” you asked in annoyance. “There’s like six other seats to choose from.”

“Correct. There are six other seats you can choose to sit in.”

“What is your problem?”

“My problem is that your feet are in my seat. That’s where I was sitting on the way to the venue and now I would like my seat back.”

“Five!” you cried, bunching your hands into fists and hitting your thighs with them in a tiny temper tantrum. “Is it possible for you to not be a total dick all the time?”

Five paused, as if he were considering the question. “Feet. Off.”

You made a loud growling noise, but ended up moving your feet and letting him sit down. You knew he wasn’t going to let it drop, so you might as well just give in. You huffed quietly and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the cold window. To make it a little more comfortable to rest your head on, you placed your palm to the glass and warmed it a few degrees. 

“Everybody good?” Klaus yelled back from the driver’s seat.

There was a chorus of tired-sounding responses and Klaus pulled out onto the highway. It was dark out and the bus interior lights were dimmed. Next to you, Five crossed one leg over the other, his knee brushing against your bare thigh that was exposed under your skirt. You felt a little shiver as the fine wool of his pants met your smooth skin. If Five noticed, he pretended not to. Instead he took a sip of the coffee he had and then leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes.

You took the opportunity to study his face while he wasn’t looking. You were pretty sure the guy didn’t have one soft curve anywhere on his body. He was all sharp angles; chiseled like a Greek statue and just as beautiful. 

You found yourself wondering just what exactly he had going on under those suits he wore all the time. They were definitely tailored to show off his trim physique, but you had never seen him in anything else. You had a feeling he was a lot stronger than he looked. People that carry themselves the way he did knew they had something good. Big dick energy; and Five certainly had that.

As you ruminated on whether or not it was just the energy he had or the real deal, your eyes traveled slowly up his legs and abdomen. Your top teeth caught on your bottom lip as you stared. When your eyes drifted back up to his face again, his eyes were open.

He turned his head just slightly in your direction, a tiny smirk on his face. “Can I help you with something?”

Your face heated up and it had nothing to do with your powers. You quickly looked away. “Not really, no.”

Five picked his head up from the back of the seat, clearly amused that he caught you checking him out. “Want me to stand up, honey? Give you the full view?”

Your cheeks burned even hotter. He could have spared you the embarrassment and pretended not to have noticed. But no. He had to be a giant asshole about it.

“Fuck off,” you spat out.

Five just gave you that dickish grin of his and settled back into his seat, uncrossing his legs. He spread them just enough for his knee to touch yours again. The super smug look on his face had you opening your mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Since you were at a loss for words, you retaliated by grabbing his coffee cup out of his hands. 

“Hey!” he yelled.

You said nothing, just stared him in the eyes as your hand that held the coffee turned a bright white and small ice crystals formed on the outside of the cup. When you were satisfied that it had been long enough, you handed it back to Five with an overly-sweet smile.

He snatched it from your hand and removed the top, peering inside. As suspected, it had been transformed into a solid lump of black ice.

“Enjoy that, honey,” you cooed, before turning back to the window with a satisfied smile.

“Fuck,” you heard Five grumble under his breath before tossing the entire thing into the trash can that was sitting a few feet away. You smiled even bigger and closed your eyes.

The Forest View motel had neither a forest nor a view in its vicinity, but it did have cheap rooms and beds that did not appear to contain any vermin, so it was deemed passable for one night’s stay. After checking in, everyone split up into their normal pairs of roommates. Lila and Diego. Luther and Viktor. Klaus and Five. And you and Allison.

After stepping into your room, Allison claimed the bed nearest the door, as always, and turned back the bedspread before climbing in. 

“I’m exhausted,” she breathed out, closing her eyes as her head hit the pillow.

“Don’t you want to shower?” you asked.

She waved a hand in the air. “I’ll do it in the morning. You go ahead.”

You gathered your toiletries and pajamas up and headed to the bathroom. You thought Allison was being a bit dramatic considering she wasn’t the one that had been dancing and wailing at the top of her lungs for two hours, but whatever. A nice hot shower was calling your name.

As you turned the water on and let it run for a while, you brushed your teeth and washed your face. While you were mid-way through flossing, you started to hear voices drifting through the paper-thin walls between your room and the next one. The voices were muffled, and some of the words were cut off, but you could still make out most of what they were saying. You could tell that it was Klaus and Five.

“I saw you snuggled up with… the bus,” Klaus said.

“Was NOT snuggled… wouldn’t move her stupid feet!” Five argued.

“Uh huh… that’s what it looked like.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying… the way you look at her.”

“And how do I look at her?”

“Like you… starving… haven’t… ten years… Las Vegas buffet.”

You heard incoherent grumblings from Five. “ … an idiot!”

“I’m not blind, Fivey. Admit… she’s cute.”

More angry muttering was heard and you could picture Five over there, all tense and wound tight.

“I can tell by… face… you do,” Klaus said with a laugh.

“So what if I do? … means nothing.”

“Make a move. You… want to.”

“Klaus… shut… fuck up.”

“Ok, but… saying… I see her… you too. It’s… obvious… crush on you.”

“Drop it.”

After that, you didn’t hear anymore, but you stood there with a piece of dental floss hanging out of your mouth while you stared wide-eyed at the wall in front of you.

Klaus thinks I have a crush on Five? And Five thinks I’m cute?

As you got into the luke-warm shower that you warmed up a couple of degrees with your powers, you had a lot to think about. Did you have a crush on Five? He was a no-fun asshole, but he was actually pretty funny with his sarcastic comments and dry wit. And he was obviously very smart. He also made you feel weird little fluttery sensations in your stomach when he looked at you. You shook your head as you rinsed the shampoo out of your hair. You must be crazy.

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

The next day, you kept thinking back on the conversation you had heard the night before. Since then, you were much more observant of Five’s actions around you. While you were on stage, blasting out song after song and dancing around like a maniac, you caught him watching you. 

Maybe he had always watched you while you sang, but you had never noticed. Now you could see that those deep green eyes of his looked you over like he was studying you. Like you were a wild creature he was observing for his scientific research. When you jumped up and down, fluttering your short skirt and giving the audience a tiny glimpse of your red panties underneath, you saw a flicker of a smile on his face.

Interesting. So the old man has a pulse after all. 

After the show, instead of getting on the bus with everyone, Allison went her separate way. Claire had a volleyball tournament the next day and she didn’t want to miss it. She said she would catch up with everyone next week. With Allison gone, you realized that made your little traveling group an odd number. You wondered how that was going to work once you got to the motel. You got excited thinking you may be getting your own room.

When you arrived, Five blinked off the bus while you and the others filed out and joined him, Klaus headed off in the direction of the office to check in and get the keys. Luther started unloading the bags.

After a minute, Klaus returned, holding up the room keys and passing them out. “Here you go,” he said as he dangled a key over your waiting hand. “By the way, I should mention, since there was an opportunity for someone to get their own room, I volunteered.”

“What?” you cried. “Klaus, that’s not fair! I’m the only girl here!”

“Sorry, babe, but you snooze you lose. You should have thought of that earlier and put in your request. I already invited a guest over and I need the solo arrangements, if you know what I mean.”

You put your hands on your hips. “So I have to share a room just because you want to hook up with someone?”

“Uh… yeah,” he said, as if that was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Great,” you murmured, looking around at the rest. “Ok, well who am I with then?”

“Not us,” Lila said as she pulled Diego close to her by his belt loop. “Mommy and Daddy need some alone time.”

“Sorry,” Viktor said. “But Luther takes up an entire double bed on his own and I have a major aversion to sleeping with anyone next to me.” He looked at you guiltily. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

You realized with absolute horror that meant only one person was left. You turned to Five with wide eyes as the realization hit him at the same time.

“Shit,” you both said in unison.

As the rest of the group walked away to their respective rooms, giggling to themselves, you and Five regarded one another.

You sighed. “Well, come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Five picked up his bag off the ground and started following you towards the room you had been assigned. “You better not snore. I’ve been known to strangle a person in their sleep for less.”

“I do not snore,” you said, offended, as you unlocked the door.

When you stepped inside, you stopped in your tracks. Five followed behind you, almost plowing right into you before he saw what you saw. There was only one bed.

“Oh fuck no,” he said with a groan, dropping his bag heavily on the floor.

You let out a loud, disbelieving cackle. “This is a joke right? Something Klaus set up? This can’t be real.”

Five ran a hand through his hair and then spun slowly around, surveying the tiny room as if another bed were going to spontaneously appear. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he breathed out.

You and he stared at one another for several seconds, neither of you knowing what to say or do, until Five suddenly disappeared without a word, leaving you alone in the quiet of the crappy room.

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

Five’s first stop was Klaus’s room, which was right next door. He banged on the door with his fist. “Klaus! Open up!”

“Who is it?” came a sweet, sing-songy voice from inside.

“You know damn well who it is! Open up!” Five yelled through the door.

“No turn down service tonight, thank you! But a bottle of sparkling would be lovely,” Klaus called back.

Five blinked inside, surprising Klaus as he lounged on his back on one of the two beds in the room. A cigarette hung casually out of the corner of his mouth as he smirked at his brother.

“Oh, hey Fivey… something wrong?”

“Klaus I’m going to…. “ he started, balling up his fists in a rage. “Did you do this on purpose?”

“Do what?” Klaus asked with feigned innocence.

“You know fucking what! Now let me stay in here with you so she can have the other room.”

“No can do, Fiverino… I got some company headed over as we speak. And while I don’t really object to you being here, I doubt you’re going to want to bear witness to all the freaky shit that’s about to go down. I mean… unless you are?”

“God Klaus… can you stop being such a slut for five fucking seconds?”

“No. No, not really.”

“Then switch rooms with us at least! There’s only one bed over there.”

Klaus bolted upright in the bed with a giant, shit-eating grin on his face. “What do you mean there’s only one bed?”

Five sighed, barely restraining the urge to strangle his brother. “I mean there’s only one… “ He held up his index finger in the air for emphasis. “ONE… fucking bed!”

Klaus started to laugh obnoxiously and he clapped his hands together. “Oh holy shit, I had no idea about the bed! This worked out even better than I thought!”

Five leaned in dangerously close and Klaus realized what he let slip out. “What was that?” Five ground out between tightly clenched teeth.

Klaus giggled nervously and gingerly pushed Five out of his personal bubble with a single finger to the middle of his chest. “Nothing.”

“Klaus… I swear to god, you better switch rooms right now or… “

“Or what? Hmmm, Fivey? You going to go all full psycho mode and slash me to bits? Leave my corpse here to bleed into the cheap carpet and stink up the place worse than it is?” Klaus shook his head sadly. “Not very nice to the poor cleaning woman that will surely find me.”

“You’ll be back again before anyone will find you dead,” Five spat out.

Klaus took a drag off his cigarette and settled back against the headboard again, putting his hands behind his head. “Well then, looks like either way I’m not leaving this room.”

Five’s mouth dropped open but no words came out. Instead, he made a desperate, hilariously loud growling noise of immense frustration before blinking away, leaving Klaus chuckling quietly and congratulating himself on a job well done.

Five’s portal opened in the motel office, surprising a very depressed-looking desk clerk that had been scrolling through his phone for job openings in the area. The clerk screamed as Five appeared directly in front of the desk, eyes blazing with anger.

“I need… “ Five breathed out, his words measured and slow. “A new… room.”

The clerk stared up at him, blinking in confusion, until Five slammed the palm of his hand flat on the desk. “Now!”

“I… I’m sorry… we’re all full,” the clerk stuttered.

Five closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried again, this time attempting a cordial smile. Unfortunately all that accomplished was to make him appear even more deadly and deranged.

“I have no doubt that this lovely establishment is just packed full with eager guests at the moment. After all, it is the prime season for shitty roadside motels that haven’t seen a remodel since the Eisenhower administration. However, I really REALLY need a new room. Pronto.”

The clerk slid his chair back a few inches, his eyes wide. “Really, I’m not kidding. We had a pipe burst a few weeks back and half the rooms were flooded. The only ones we have are the ones you and your party are staying in.”

Five glanced down on the desk, noticing the letter opener that was lying conveniently unattended. The satisfactory image of the clerk gasping for breath as blood gurgled out of his mouth after Five plunged the opener into the side of his neck surfaced for a moment, but then disappeared. Just like with Klaus, the aftermath would be too messy.

“Fine,” Five hissed angrily. He was just about to blink off to his room again when he stopped and turned to the clerk, stabbing a finger in the air towards him. “Just so you know, I will be leaving a scathing review online.” Then he was gone in a flash of blue.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed when he materialized again, breathing fast and hard and looking like a crazy man. He tried to smooth his hair down and straighten his tie in an attempt to look pulled together. It wasn’t convincing.

“So,” he began. “It looks like there are no other rooms and Klaus is being a giant dickhead, so I think we are stuck here.”

“Ok… well, really it’s–”

“It’s alright. I can sleep on the floor, it’s no big deal.”

You and he both looked at the faded, thin carpeting under your feet. The pea-green color was spotted with various shades of brown stains. In the middle was a large, suspiciously dark red splotch.

“Five… you’re not going to sleep on the floor –”

“Or the bathtub!” he interjected, suddenly blinking into the bathroom. He came back almost immediately. “Ok, so there appears to be a bit of a mold problem in the bathroom. But that’s alright, I’ll just sleep on the bus,” he prattled on, reaching down to grab his bag off the floor.

“The bus has no heat. You’ll freeze to death.”

“Ok…” Five began again, searching the room frantically as if he was considering crawling into the ducts and sleeping in there.

“Five! Will you calm down for two seconds? It’s not THAT big of a deal!”

Five stared at you, the look on his face clearly pained. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

You sighed heavily. “We are both adults. I think we can handle sleeping next to one another for one night.”

There was a long pause as Five took this in. He finally dropped his bag again and ran a hand through his hair for the fiftieth time. “Yeah… ok, you’re right. I can handle it if you can.”

You nodded. “I can handle it just fine.” A grin crept slowly over your face. “You’re not that irresistible you know.”

Five rolled his eyes, but then he smiled. “Yeah well, neither are you.”

You laughed. “Ok, it’s settled. But I need to take a shower because I was really working up a sweat on the stage earlier, so do you mind if I go first?”

“Not at all,” Five said, gesturing to the bathroom. “Take your time. I’ll just be here, enjoying our luxury accommodations.” He picked up his bag and threw it on the bed. Then he unzipped it, pulling out a half-full bottle of whiskey. “And maybe some of this. Care for one?”

“Absolutely!”

He blinked away, returning with two cellophane-wrapped plastic cups from the bathroom. He unwrapped them and poured the whiskey into each one. He handed you one and kept the other for himself. 

You held your cup out in a toast. “Here’s to shitty motels with only one bed!”

“To only one bed. Cheers,” Five said with a small smirk before taking a sip.

You brought the cup of whiskey into the shower with you and you sipped it slowly while the hot water ran over your body. The booze was starting to make your brain a little loopy and you smiled to yourself thinking about Five sitting out there, just mere feet away, while you were naked and wet in there. 

He probably wouldn’t even know what to do with a naked woman, you thought to yourself. But then again… he said he knows how to do everything.

When you stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the flimsy pieces of fabric they considered towels, you wrapped it around you. You left your hair wet, but you brushed it out so it wasn’t matted together. Then you noticed the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

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

Five didn’t mean to look. Not really. It wasn’t his fault that the cheap ass bathroom door hadn’t latched right. And it certainly wasn’t his fault that the bed he was lying on faced directly into said bathroom. It was, maybe, his fault for not looking away.

The shower curtain offered some privacy, but he could still see your silhouette as you tipped your head back to wash your hair, stretching your arms up and pushing out your chest as if you knew he was watching. Five felt bad for thinking such things but not that bad. He was stoic but he wasn’t dead.

As he laid there, propped up against the headboard, leisurely drinking his precious whiskey, he enjoyed the little show you were unknowingly giving him. He still had on his full suit, so he shed his jacket and vest. He pulled off his tie. He would have loved to strip out of his pants, too, but he wouldn’t dare with you around. Plus it might be a little too obvious how he felt about your situation if he didn’t have his tailored pants covering up his growing hard-on.

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

If you hadn’t been tipsy already, you probably wouldn’t have done it. But at that moment the urge was just too strong. You let the towel drop from your body onto the floor.

You made a show of running your fingers through your hair and dropping your head back seductively. When you bent over to get your underwear and pajamas, you made sure to move extra slowly and bent over so your ass faced the door. You pulled your panties on slowly. Then you slipped your t-shirt over your head, pulling it down so that it stopped half way down your thighs. You had shorts that went with it, but you kicked those to the side. You opened the door and stepped out in a cloud of steam.

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

You had to have been doing it on purpose, Five was certain of it. In the shower, he knew you hadn’t realized the door was ajar. But now… fuck… now, you absolutely knew. And you were killing him.

When you emerged, he almost choked on the whiskey and he coughed, sputtering and stammering.

“Damn it… ,” he said in between wheezes. “Went down… the wrong pipe,” he coughed out.

You laughed, walking over to the bed and standing in front of him, wearing just your white Prime-8’s t-shirt, with your wet hair dripping onto the front.

“You ok?”

Five nodded, still letting out a few lingering coughs. “Yeah, all good.”

“Your turn,” you said with a smile as you walked to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers. Five’s eyes followed your every move.

Five spent a long time in the shower, drinking his whiskey, and trying to get his head on straight. He was trying to prolong the time before he would be forced to crawl into that bed next to you. The fact that you had decided to torture him by only wearing a t-shirt and panties was driving him crazy. Did you want him to not be able to sleep tonight? It was beginning to look that way. 

Five thought about jerking himself off while in the shower, just to get things a little more under control and to try and prevent any embarrassing mishaps in bed. But the thought of beating off while you were just a few feet away in the other room was even more humiliating. 

He had admitted to Klaus that he thought you were cute, which was true. He liked your funky tattoos and crazy colored hair. He liked how confident you were on stage and the sound of your voice. And when he had caught a glimpse of the little silver ball that pierced through the middle of your tongue, he thought about what that would feel like if you dragged it over his dick.

But he didn’t need to be acting on any of these feelings. It wasn’t a good idea to get involved with someone you had to spend that much time with. And he also didn’t need his annoying siblings inserting themselves into his love life, which they undoubtedly would do. Klaus already was.

“Stupid Klaus,” Five muttered angrily before shutting off the water. 

He dried off before pulling on a pair of clean black boxer briefs. He was about to put on a pair of pants, too, but then decided to give you a taste of your own medicine. Five had already caught you staring at his body the other day, and you weren’t the only one that could be a tease.

Back in the room, you tried your best to pretend to be asleep. But when Five came waltzing over wearing nothing but his underwear, your eyes refused to close. His hair was still damp and hanging over his forehead. His chest and stomach were hard, with toned shoulders and biceps that rippled with each movement. He looked like a goddamn underwear model.

“You’re wearing that?” you asked, partly horrified.

Five looked down at himself, as if he hadn’t even considered there to be anything out of the usual. “What’s wrong?”

You cleared your throat and then shrugged, snuggling down deeper into the covers and closing your eyes with indifference. “Nothing. Just figured you might be cold, that’s all. It’s drafty in here.”

“I’ll be fine,” he answered. “But thank you for your concern.”

After that, he shut off the light and crawled into bed next to you. You felt his weight on the mattress and the heat from his body radiating outwards. You shifted around on your side, suddenly not able to get comfortable. He smelled so good it wasn’t fair. You flipped over so that your butt was facing him, which wasn’t much better. But at least you didn’t have to look at his perfect profile silhouetted in the moonlight.

He made no move to get closer to you, and neither did you. It was silent except for the sound of your breathing. You both laid awake, blinking into the darkness, before finally falling asleep.

It was the middle of the night when you both woke up again. The room was noticeably colder and while your body temperature had regulated itself even in your sleep, you felt Five shivering next to you. You sat up in bed, looking around. The internal temperature had dropped so low you could already see your breath in a faint cloud in front of you.

You looked over at Five, who was huddled under the covers and obviously freezing.

“The heat is out,” you said in his direction.

“Yeah, no shit,” he said angrily through chattering teeth. “I already checked, the radiator died. Probably because it was built sometime in the late 1800s.”

You laughed. “Bet you wish you had some actual clothes on now, huh?”

Five grumbled. “Shut up. Go back to sleep.”

You huffed at his irritability and closed your eyes to try and fall back asleep. The fact that Five was lying a foot away from you, practically naked, and shivering so hard you could hear his teeth rattling together made it a little hard. After a few minutes you let out a loud sigh.

“Five?”

“What?” he snapped.

“I can help you, you know. I can warm you up.”

There was a full ten seconds of silence. “No thank you,” he answered, a little softer than before.

“God you are the most stubborn person I have ever met!” you exclaimed. “Believe it or not, I’m not trying to hit on you. I’m just trying to be nice so that you won’t freeze to death.”

As Five laid there in silence for another minute, you waited. Finally, you heard him exhale slowly through his nose. 

“Fine,” he said.

“Good. Now give me your hand,” you told him.

Five slid the hand closest to you over the mattress and you grasped it in yours. The red light from your powers created a soft glow from under the covers.

“How’s that?” you asked.

“Good. Thanks.”

“I know it’s not just your hands, though. If you want… “ you hesitated. “I can warm up the rest of your body.”

Five audibly swallowed. “Uh… I’m not sure… “

You made a huffing noise again. “You are such a baby!” Without asking again, you wiggled your way over to his side and hugged him around his chest. Then you threw a leg over his thighs, trapping him in a bear hug. Your entire body gave off a faint red glow as you worked on warming him up.

As your powers started to take their effect and Five stopped shivering, you rested your head on his shoulder. His intoxicating scent was invading your senses and you closed your eyes. It wasn’t long before you were both breathing just a little heavier, your chests rising and falling faster. Five placed his hand over the top of yours, resting on his stomach. 

“I think I’m good now,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything at first, but you let your powers die down. Without even thinking about it, you tucked your face into the crook of his neck, brushing your lips and nose against him.

“Ok,” you purred into his warm skin.

Five made a quiet moaning noise, and when you started to pull away his hand tightened on yours. 

“Wait,” he said. “I need you to help with one more thing.”

Your voice was shaky as it came out. “What’s that?”

Five slowly moved your hand down his hard abdomen and over his boxers until he reached the problem he needed help with. He pressed your hand firmly against the prominent bulge between his legs. “This,” he said, and his voice cracked.

“Oh shit, Five,” you moaned. “You didn’t have to wait so long.”

The following minutes were a dizzying blurr of mouths colliding and teeth gnashing; limbs intertwined and hands desperately searching; hearts racing and lungs gasping. You had climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and grinding down onto his hardened cock. He had already ripped your shirt off and he grabbed roughly at your breasts. You leaned down to kiss him again, and his tongue flicked across the silver stud in yours.

Five groaned as the tip of his tongue explored the cool metal. “I’ve been dying to get a feel of this tongue ring,” he told you breathlessly.

“Yeah?” you questioned, as you moved to his jaw and neck, and then his collarbone.

“Yes.” He pulled your hair, making you whine. “I want to see what you can do with it.”

You pulled back, looking down on him with a sexy grin before clicking the stud against your teeth. “How about I show you?”

“I won’t object to that,” Five breathed out as you started to slither down his body.

When you were kneeling between his legs, you pulled the waistband of his underwear down, revealing the hard cock you had been grinding against. It was perfect, just like the rest of his body, with smooth taut skin and long veins that ran from the girthy base to the suckable head. You made a little moan of approval as you removed his boxers the rest of the way.

Five sucked in a loud, sharp breath when the flat of your tongue met the underside of his dick. His hips jerked up as he let out a low moan. You worked your tongue up and down the shaft, running the stud along the vein and up to the tip, where you licked it slowly and traced it in a circle with the metal ball. 

“Holy… ff–ffuuuuck,” Five groaned, throwing an arm over his face.

“Do you like it?” you asked coyly, knowing full well what the answer was.

Five was panting. “Fuck yes… yes, I really like it… keep going… please.”

You continued sucking and lapping at his dick, drawing patterns over it with your tongue ring and making him whine and hiss through his teeth. You tapped it against the underside of the swollen and leaking head, feeling Five’s muscles tighten in his thighs as he tried to contain himself. When you took him completely into your mouth and you slid your hot mouth over him a few times, making sure the stud was in play, he grabbed your hair in his fist.

“Stop,” he ground out, trying not to sound as desperate as he was. “You have to stop.”

Knowing that meant he was about two seconds away from blowing his load down your throat, you relented and pulled away. You looked up at him as you knelt between his legs, his wet shaft in your hand, and your eyelashes fluttering innocently.

“Fuck,” he growled, his jaw clenched tight. “Take those panties off.” You did as he said and threw your underwear onto the floor. “Sit on my face,” he told you in between heaving breaths.

Just hearing him say that had the wetness pouring out of you and you maneuvered your way up until your thighs were on either side of his head. He grabbed your ass with both hands and immediately went to work.

You had never received oral sex quite like this before. Five ate you out ravenously, like he couldn’t get enough. He was rough and sloppy and relentless, and you had to hold onto the top of the dusty headboard just to keep your balance.

“Oh my god!” you cried out, automatically starting to rock your hips against his face. “Shhiiitttt… Five!”

Five didn’t slow down or change his tactic; he just dug his fingers harder into your ass cheeks and shoved his tongue inside you, drinking up the river that was gushing out of you. The light scruff on his chin and upper lip scratched against your thighs and clit, creating even more friction to drive you insane. 

His mouth was warm and wet as it engulfed your entire pussy, sucking and licking at all of your most sensitive parts. You were riding his face, even as he tried to keep you in line by holding you still. But you couldn’t help it, you just wanted more.

“Yes yes… please!” you screamed as you started to feel the beginnings of an orgasm building.

In one blinding blue flash, you found yourself kneeling over nothing, holding onto the headboard as you panted heavily.

“What the hell–”

Five grabbed you from behind, his hands on your tits and his hard cock sliding between your legs as he knelt behind you. His warm mouth was on your neck and you tipped your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he whispered harshly near your ear as he squeezed your breasts harder.

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded anyway. “Yes… do it.”

You pushed your backside out a little to allow him better access and Five guided the head of his cock inside of you with his hand. He didn’t push it all of the way in, instead he stopped and waited.

“Does that feel ok?” he asked gently as he kissed your shoulder.

“Feels so good,” you moaned. “Keep going.”

He filled you up slowly until he was completely buried inside you. He rested his forehead on your shoulder with a long groan. “God… you feel even better than I imagined.”

With a breathy laugh, you pushed your hips backwards. “So you’ve been imagining this?”

Five grasped your hips tightly and slammed his dick harder and deeper with a forceful thrust. He smiled when you cried out. “This and a lot more.”

“Tell me,” you whimpered as he continued to fuck you hard from behind.

“I imagined fucking you in those short little skirts you wear,” he groaned. “Fucking you on the bus with the lights out and you riding my cock.” His voice came out in clipped grunts as he railed into you. “Fucking you on stage in front of everyone.”

“Oh fuck… Five.” You gasped in a lungful of air while your entire body was shoved back and forth and the headboard rhythmically slammed against the wall. “I would let you.”

“You’d let me fuck you in front of hundreds of people?”

You nodded desperately, trying to talk through moans and whines. “I want everyone to see what they’re missing out on.”

Five chuckled softly before suddenly pulling out. Before you could ask him why, he was flipping you onto your back and crawling on top of you. You automatically opened your legs for him and he slipped his entire length inside again. Five gazed down on you, a small smile on his lips. 

“On second thought,” he said before lowering himself to kiss you. “I don’t think I want to share.”

With your legs wrapped tightly around him, he continued to kiss you, deep and long, swirling his tongue around yours. His pace started to quicken and your nails dug into the muscles of his back. Five brought his hand up to the side of your face, sliding his thumb into your mouth and onto the flat of your tongue. You closed your lips around it.

After a few more fast and hard pumps, you felt your climax come on strong and sudden. You clamped down around him as your body shuddered helplessly. Your tongue ring pressed against his thumb as you made high-pitched mewling noises and shaky sobs.

As soon as Five saw you lose yourself, he followed, stilling against you and groaning low in his chest while his eyes squeezed shut and he held your chin with his hand, his thumb still in your mouth. 

“Ah… fuuuckk,” he breathed out, collapsing onto you and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He removed his thumb from your mouth as you caught your breath. Your hand came to rest in his hair, raking your fingers slowly through it as he laid against your chest. Neither of you said anything, and after a minute he pulled out and adjusted himself so that he wasn’t lying directly on top of you anymore. You turned to face him and he pulled you in with an arm tightly around your waist. He gave you a lingering kiss and smiled.

You kissed his chest and he hugged you even tighter. “You’re going to crush me,” you said with a laugh.

“I’m cold again, I need you to warm me up.”

“Well, I’m not a glow stick! I don’t work by cracking me in half!”

Five laughed and loosened his hold on you. “Sorry.”

You used your powers to warm both of you up and Five sighed. “I could get used to that.”

“Are you saying you might not mind sharing a bed with me again?”

He tilted your face up by your chin and kissed you softly on the lips. “Honey, if you suck my cock with that magical tongue of yours again, I will sleep anywhere you want me to.”

You hummed quietly and traced the outline of his lips with your fingertip. “I think you’re the one with the magical tongue.”

He kissed you again. “Just my tongue?”

“Maybe some other body parts, as well.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said quietly before rolling you onto your back. He continued kissing you, his hand stroking your hair and face while his body pressed against yours. You could feel him hardening against your thigh.

“Even though this worked in my favor,” Five murmured in between heated kisses. “I’m still going to kill Klaus.”

You nodded before tipping your head back so he could attack your neck. “Oh absolutely. I’m going to freeze all of his underwear and burn all of his socks.”

Five made a growling noise in his throat as he rubbed his dick between your legs. “Yes, do that. Then I’m going to kill him.”

Your laugh was cut short as Five entered you again, his mouth on yours while he thrusted lazily into you. 

Five paused for a moment to look down on you with one eyebrow raised and a crooked smile. “I don’t care if there are a hundred beds or zero beds going forward. You’re sleeping with me from now on.”

He continued his rhythmic, perfect fucking and you laid a hand on the side of his face. “I think I can deal with that.”

[absifofhws]

— MATT'S FIRST YEAR AT THE OFFICE ESPRESSO¡READER X LATTE¡MATT STURNIOLO

warnings: slight cliffhanger, kinda fluffy, cute latte¡matt, split pov. wc: 1078 (intended lowercase)

matt's pov:

it was my first anniversary at the office, working for her. i've now concluded that while she's a great boss, she'll never be my friend. I know nothing about her other than her stupid coffee order, and when she gets out of work, i mean, i don't even know when she leaves — she stays behind for hours after the rest of us. i guess that's what it takes to be successful at our age.

i get to the office a little earlier than usual, look at my laptop, and see my emails from her. i answer them before getting everyone's coffees. by lunch, i felt like something was wrong, i mean no one had mentioned the fact it was my first whole year here, and i had like no work to do, barely any emails. it was on the calendar, everyone's milestones at the company were celebrated, i guess everyone just forgot about me.

"ugh, whatever," i say in my head as i get back to work. thinking it wasn't that big a deal, i mean other than this, it was still the best i was treated at any job.

two hours later:

it was almost the end of my day at work, i went over to the office kitchen to grab my tupperware from the fridge, but instead i'm met by the whole team, circled around a cake and a large card on the big table.

"what's all this?" i ask as i awkwardly pull the tupperware out of the fridge.

"you didn't think we all forgot, did you?" she says with a smile. she looks almost proud at getting one over me, surprising me. that's when i realised she had purposely spent less time talking to me; she had also given me less work than usual, probably because she was busy planning this.

"uhm, yeah, i kinda just thought everyone forgot," i say, as i scratch the nape of my neck.

"yeah, no, we didn't forget, we just spent literally all day arguing about what cake we thought you'd like," she says with a small smile. maybe this was finally it, my chance to get closer to her, "ah, so this is what had everyone avoiding me today, you were surprising me," i say jokingly, rolling my eyes, acting annoyed.

"fine, if that doesn't make up for it, everyone can leave work early today, and i guess we can get a couple drinks at the bar opposite the office," she says as she hands me the knife to cut the cake, that smelt like, "it's a vanilla cake with coffee buttercream. thought you would like it, latte," she says with a small smirk, still on about that stupid nickname, but i kinda liked it coming from her.

i cut the cake while the rest of my employees congratulate me on my first year here. i soon came to realise what she had said, just a minute prior, 'the bar'? she had never ever gone to get drinks with us. maybe this is my chance to make friends with her.

i don't know where this idea of becoming friends with 'espresso' had come from, i think it was just about the challenge, breaking down someone's walls when they were so high up, impenetrable, almost. she never got close to anyone she worked with, and when i first got my job here, someone had told me not to even try, because she was, "she's sweet with a slightly bitter undertone. just like espresso."

we eat the cake, and pack the rest away. before walking across the street together, and the first drink she orders is an espresso martini, i should've known how deep the caffeine addiction runs, considering i literally get her 3 espresso shots a day.

"can i get a white russian?" i ask the bartender. he quickly mixes up the drink for me, before sliding it across the bar.

espresso¡readers pov:

"wow, another coffee addict, i guess i should've noticed, from all the lattes, right, latte," i say, with a joking smirk. "oh, haha, very funny, i was a barista while in college, i just got addicted to the taste of the stuff," he says trying to speak over the loud music, whilst matching my energy.

i felt kinda weird about talking to an employee outside work, i was usually the type of person to at most give a small head nod with a smile if i saw anyone in the street, acknowledging their existence but never taking part in conversation with them

"a barista? whilst doing financial management, right, at the university of boston?" i ask, looking over at him. making more eye contact with him than i ever had. "mhm, you remember my resume," he says, laughing a little. "so, why financial management?" i ask as i take my drink and sit in a quieter area of the bar, he follows just behind me.

"you want me to be honest?" he asks as he takes a sip of his white russian, i could smell the baileys from the few feet distance we had. "mhm, yea, be honest, you can't lie to your boss, i mean i can fire you," i say in jest, making him laugh a little. "well, i basically had no clue what i wanted to do, so i did the only thing i was kinda good at in high school, math," he says with a small shrug.

"wait, you went to college in london, right, imperial?" he says with a smile, trying to not give away the fact he had looked her up. "mhm, imperial, for biological sciences,"

we spend the rest of the evening getting to know each other, to the point that the rest of our colleagues had long gone home.

"so, here's a question for you: why do you never get close to any of your employees, i mean i feel like you have no friends at work?" he asks, which makes you shrug automatically. "i don't know. actually, i feel like it's a little easier having that part of my life separate," i say as we walk out to the area where your ubers were supposed to meet you.

"okay, well, i know your food orders off by heart. i think being friends isn't a jump, right?" he says with a grin as you both wait for the rides. "i guess not," before you could think about it. he puts his hand out for you to shake and says.

"well then, friends?"

similar au's: personalassistant¡chris and busyceo¡reader by @theyluvivi and employee matt and boss reader by chrattho1

au masterlist: latte¡matt sturniolo x espresso¡reader

taglist: - @courta13, tysm for joining my taglist <33

©ABSIFOFHWS 2025

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Meaty Post Since It's All You're Getting for a Bit

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

*** This blog will be on mini hiatus for most of May 2025. Not dead just busy. You'll be fine without me. Don't burn down this hellsite anymore than normal while I'm away.

April 2025 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Stubborn (Sun iQIYI) ep 1-2 of 10 - Mflow's latest high heat office romance involves best friend's younger brother, boss meets intern, bit of a love triangle, GL crumbs, and few other tropes.

It's... raunchy.  And it's giving me Deep Night vibrations. So to speak. Similarly cringe but still fun to have on our screen. I don't mind a "teach me daddy" trope. The leads are serving up BossNoeul in LITA and the other pairs seem decent too. It’s messy gay but it’s low stakes high melodrama soap opera messy gay so I guess I'm okay with that style. Shall we call this "sloppy gay"?

I'm not mad about it.  

The BangkokBoy (Thai Sat Gaga) ep 1 of 12 - Action, crime, and revenge meets gangs, street fights, mafia, and more. Oh my. Intriguing premise. Not a bad beginning in terms of acting and family strife set-up. The terrible dubbing is sending me. The terrible fight scenes are sending me even further. They better give us some BL within the next two episodes or I don’t know if I can take this level try-hard.

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) ep 5 of 12 - I am so happy to have Jimmy back on my screen. I can’t even tell you. No additional thoughts, only Jimmy in glasses.

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) ep 6 of 10 - this time I reminded myself going in that this is based on Japanese IP. But I still couldn't take it. I fast-forwarded through most of this ep. I knew it was coming but I still couldn’t stomach it.

Akin better get everything tested. And some counseling.

Boys in Love (Sun iQIYI ) ep 1-2 of 12 - Our only true high school BL from GMMTV this year and it's fresh faces for the youths and old favs for the teachers. I want to like this (and be surprised by it) as much as My School President in 2023 but so far that is definitely not the case. I do love the teachers (shocker) and I like the sides but I’m not sold on the main couple. With a kiss already in ep 2 the pacing is off. If this were Japan I would 't be worried, but this is GMMTV messing with the formula and that could be rough for all of us.

Side note... how does Papong look so daddy in Not Me and do damn ingenue here? Best chameleon in GMMTV's stable? I think so. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Heesu in Class 2 (Korea Fri Viki) eps 9-10 end - omg they are ridiculously cute dancing round each other. Please just kiss! Bah, this did take too long to resolve. I was worried about that.

The people (aka me) want more BL in our BL! Rah rah rah.

I also wanted more Heesu advising others and less of the hets hetting about the place. Sad we got not kiss but also no time to develop it.

Conclusion

What started out with a great core concept (KBL version of Sex Education) rather lost its way getting mired in the slowest of slow burns which effectively turned the BL storyline into a sub plot for multiple het dramas should have just added flavor. The acting was sweet all round, and sincere, and the lead character of Heesu very engaging. There was even some chemistry with his love interest, rare from Korea. The extra length (so rare in KBL) turned out to be just enough for them to hang themselves with. Should we be shocked that Korea didn't have enough faith in the queer romance thread? No, but I had hoped for better. This was almost great but missed the mark by simply not being gay enough. 7/10 

I will add the handling of the coming out sequence was... deft.

I think I need to go rewatch Light On Me.

Business as Usual (Korea Thurs Viki) Ep 4 of 6 - Gah this is so sad. They like each other so much and made such stupid mistakes! i guess Jin Hwan won't let it stick? Honestly I'm kinda glad this is a short one.

Something Is Not Right (Korea Weds Viki) ep 2 of 8 - The library scene made me laugh.  Every single on of them is such a drama queen. It's awfully angsty but i like it. 

Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 6 of 12 - Oh this is getting kinda good. That fantasy was lovely. The rest of the story is rough. But the chemistry is great.

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 12 end - Pretty much just a wrap up episode with lots of sex and a double wedding (never a good idea). But all of it was very pretty. 

Summary 

Taiwan gave us this weird premise of funeral home + mafia + secrets, yet somehow no excitement or real tension because they then slapped it with a pathetic excuse for a plot. Everybody in it was pretty, but the chemistry really wasn’t what I’ve grown to expect from Taiwan. The suits were nice, i guess? Ultimately, given the initial concept, this is remarkably forgettable. 6/10 

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL.

Last Meal Universe (Thai ????) 8 eps - An alien who has come to destroy earth instead falls in love with Thai food and then the Thai boy who cooks it - realistic, actually. I got a link to watch but it still wouldn't work for me, so I guess I'm waiting to see what happens.

Lost in the Woods (Weds Gaga) 7 eps - Not my thing, dropped at ep 2.

Secret Ghost (Thai Sat Viu) ?? eps - The trailer dropped and it looks so bad.

My Golden Blood (Weds iQIYI) 12 eps - dropped at ep 5. Recent thought process as follows: Oh, I think I would have loved this if it were OffGun.

What a thing for me to think.

Still, I'm not wrong.

The Rewatch BLigade!

Jazz for 2. I wasn't sure about this when it aired and I'm still not sure about it. I think I like it. But how much do I like it?

Cherry Magic Thailand. Still very enjoyable but there are more slow and lagging episodes than I remember. Lots of fast forwarding through the slow bits. But TayNew still deliver like only they can. Now I kinda wanna do a Deep Blue Kiss rewatch.

Wandee Goodday. I fast forwarded through everything that wasn't YakDee on screen together. Solid choice. I love them so much, and I suspect they might be the healthiest sexual relationship we have ever seen depicted in a BL. (On Viki these days)

Unintentional Love Story. Yeah a regular rewatch for me. I put it on to check something, and then just ended up running through the whole series. Will I ever recover from Gongchan's eyes? Not in this lifetime.

Your Sky. Yeah I finished the 3 ep special and then immediately rewatched the whole darn show. This is my 3rd or 4th time. I love it, totally my type of so bad it's good, so sweet it hurts, BL pulp. I don't ask for much from my BL. This show gave me exactly that much and no more.

Mr X & I - Us Against The World. One of those obscure shorts I love, this one from China pre 2016 crack down. Yep. Still love.

I'll be doing a ton of rewatching over the next month because of all my travel. Wish me luck!

Next Week Looks Like This:

Coming in May

5/2 Pit Babe The Series 2 (Thai Fri iQIYI) 13 eps - More conspiracy and struggles and past coming out to play but even less omegaverse.

5/3 The Next Prince (Thai Sat iQIYI) 14 eps - Hotly anticipated 3 yr production featuring ZeeNewNu in a fantasy/historical set in a palace where Zee plays a knight and Nu a prince fighting for his right it inherit. Plus Jimmy with a new partner. Should be pretty and hot if nothing else.

5/16 Knockout (Thai Fri WeTV ) 12 eps - A low quality less fun/funny version of Wandee Goodday?

5/19 I Promise I Will Come Back (Thai Mon WeTV) 10 eps - A Thai Taiwanese colab. Stars two Thai actors and Taiwanese identical twins from H3. However the lead and co-producer Tontae is actually a very good actor, so this could be good unless it's oen of those mostly intended to be a tourism advert for the Thai countryside. We shall see!

5/16 My Sweetheart Jom (Thai Fri YouTube) 12 eps - I admit I wasn't sold on this one from the trailer but Saint is back and I'm disposed to be intrigued by the kind of script that would pull hm in. But it is certainly not my kind of script.

May? Season of Love in Shimane AKA Ai no Kisetsu: The Season of Love (Thai) - Sequel to Kiseki Chapter 2 which I intensely disliked, must we?

May ? Sweetheart Service (Korea Gaga) - Strongberry is back with a fake dating trope?! After being pressured by his family to get married, Min U proposes to Yu Ha to pretend to be his fiancé. As they spend time together, feelings begin to develop between them.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Lap sit kiss teaching sesh with this boy you kinda hate who is now also kinda your boss... sure, why not?

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[lanf1an]

DREAMS lando norris pt.8 When your childhood bestfriend Flo had convinced you to get the fashion design job at her brother's company Quadrant, it finally paid off when Louis Vuitton was announced as the new sponsor for F1.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7

-

It wasn’t deliberate, the loss of contact. You just didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say? “Hey, I’m choosing my career over us”? Also, there was not even an official us. The occasional texts became less frequent, the new project at work in Madrid was super busy and Lando had a world championship to win.

So when the time came for a holiday, it was much needed. The sun was beating down, reflecting off the glistening waves as the yacht rocked gently in the open water. You stretched out on one of the sun loungers, the soft hum of conversation in the background, ice clinking in glasses, the occasional burst of laughter from Flo. It was perfect—warm, lazy, a complete escape from the past few weeks.

You hadn’t thought about him in weeks. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The vintage Louis Vuitton bikini you’d pulled from the showroom had been a last-minute choice, but it fit like a dream, the delicate monogram print hugging your curves. You felt good. Better than you had in a while.

And then you heard his voice.

Low, familiar, unmistakable.

“Didn’t know I was crashing a Louis Vuitton ad.”

Your breath caught, fingers tightening around the cold glass in your hand. You turned your head slightly, heart lurching as your eyes met his.

Lando.

Standing at the edge of the deck, hands in the pockets of his swim shorts, looking irritatingly good. His tan had deepened, his hair was slightly longer, curling at the edges, and despite the sunglasses perched on his nose, you could feel his gaze dragging over you.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Flo had said he was training. She had specifically said he wasn’t coming.

You shot her a sharp look, but she only raised her drink to her lips, avoiding your gaze.

Lando pulled off his sunglasses, smirking slightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to sit up, to pretend his presence didn’t send a ripple of heat through you. “Funny. I could say the same thing.”

“Change of plans,” he said easily, glancing around. “Figured I’d get some sun. Relax.” His eyes flicked back to you, lingering. “Didn’t realize I’d be running into old friends.”

You didn’t miss the emphasis.

Something unspoken crackled in the air between you, thick and heavy. You knew everyone else could feel it too, even if they were pretending not to notice.

Flo finally spoke up, too casually. “Well, this is fun, isn’t it?”

Neither of you answered.

Instead, Lando’s gaze dropped, just for a second, taking in the bikini, the way the sun cast a glow over your skin. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he dragged his eyes back up to meet yours.

“I like the bikini,” he murmured, voice just low enough that only you could hear. “Very… on brand.”

Your stomach twisted.

You arched a brow, feigning nonchalance. “Still repping LV”

His lips twitched. “I see.”

You should have looked away. You should have stood up, walked inside, done something—but instead, you held his gaze, the past months flashing between you.

The nights. The mornings. The way it all seemed like a dream now .

“Anyway,” he said after a beat, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “Guess I’m staying.” His smirk deepened as he glanced back at you. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

It was. It was a huge problem.

But you’d rather die than admit that.

So you just forced a smile, ignoring the way your pulse hammered in your throat.

“Not at all.”

Lando’s smirk didn’t waver. He gave you one last look before walking past.

-

-

The next morning, the sun was already high by the time you dragged yourself onto the deck, sunglasses firmly in place, the scent of salt and sunscreen thick in the warm air. The night before had been… confusing. The way Lando had looked at you. But the moment had passed, and now, in the bright daylight, things felt different. Lighter. You decided to suck it up and enjoy the holiday. 

Lando was already up, of course. He always had more energy than should be humanly possible. He sat at the back of the boat, shirtless, feet dangling over the edge, lazily tossing bits of bread into the water where small fish darted up to snatch them. When he spotted you, he grinned.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

You groaned, flopping onto a lounge chair. “Too early.”

“It’s noon.”

“Exactly.”

Lando laughed, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re gonna waste the day lying there?”

You peeked at him over the rim of your sunglasses. “That’s the plan.”

“Wrong answer.”

Before you had time to react, he was moving—fast—grabbing your wrist and pulling you up before you could protest.

“Lando—”

But he was already dragging you toward the edge of the boat.

You dug your heels in. “Don’t you dare.”

His only response was a wicked grin before he yanked you forward, sending you both tumbling into the sea. The Mediterranean wrapped around you in a rush, cool against your sun-heated skin, and when you surfaced, gasping, Lando was already laughing.

“You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

You splashed water at him, but he was quicker, dunking you under before you could retaliate. What followed was an all-out war—ducking, splashing, shrieking as you tried to get the upper hand. At one point, he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you from escaping, spinning you in the water, both of you breathless from laughter.

It felt like old times. Like before.

By mid-afternoon, the boat was anchored near a small secluded beach, the kind with soft golden sand and bright blue water, tucked away from the more crowded tourist spots. Someone had set up a speaker, music floating through the air as the group settled in.

The hours passed in a golden haze. Swimming, racing Lando and Flo on paddle boards (and losing, much to your annoyance), attempting to play beach volleyball with little success. At one point, you sat on your towel, lazily eating slices of fresh fruit when a shadow passed over you.

Lando. Holding out a bottle of water.

“You’re gonna get heatstroke if you don’t drink something.”

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway. “Yes, dad.”

He plopped down beside you, arms resting loosely on his knees. For a while, you just sat in comfortable silence, watching the waves roll in. Then, after a moment, he nudged your foot with his.

“You having fun?”

You glanced at him, catching the way his damp curls clung to his forehead, the relaxed tilt of his mouth, the way his skin had turned even more golden under the sun.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I am.”

His smile was softer this time, something unreadable in his expression. “Good.”

Before you could think too much about it, someone called for a rematch of beach volleyball, and Lando was up in an instant, offering you a hand.

“C’mon, stylist. Let’s see if you can actually win this time.”

You huffed but took it anyway, letting him pull you up, your fingers brushing just slightly longer than necessary.

And for the first time in a while, everything felt easy again.

The sun hung low over the horizon, casting golden light over the water as the yacht pulled into a small cove near the shore. 

-

The night air was cooler now, a soft breeze rolling off the water as the yacht gently rocked beneath you. Laughter and music spilled from the deck where everyone was still drinking, but you needed a break—a moment to breathe.

The small kitchen was dimly lit, a soft glow from under the cabinets the only source of light as you filled a glass with water.

And then, just as you turned, he walked in.

Lando froze for half a second in the doorway, like he hadn’t expected to see you either. His eyes flickered over you—bare feet, damp hair from a swim, the bikini still clinging to your skin—and something passed through you, too quick to catch.

You swallowed hard. The space was tiny, barely enough for one person, and when he stepped forward, it forced you back against the counter.

Then, the boat rocked with the gentle pull of the waves, and the movement knocked him forward slightly—just enough that his body brushed against yours. The warmth of his skin, bare and sun-warmed, pressed fleetingly against your own, the contact sparking something sharp and immediate.

Neither of you moved away.

His hand came up, gripping the counter beside you, steadying himself—or maybe steadying both of you. His breath was warm, his scent a mix of salt, sun, and cologne, something distinctly him. The boat swayed again, and this time, you felt his thigh press lightly against yours, your shoulder brushing his chest.

Your breath caught. His gaze dragged over you, slower this time.

“This bikini,” he murmured, lips just barely tilting. “Really doing it for me.”

Your breath hitched. 

You should say something. Anything.

But instead, you felt it—that pull, the slow, magnetic force that had always existed between you, no matter how much you had fought it.

And now, with the boat rocking beneath you, with barely an inch left between your bodies, it was impossible to ignore.

Your body responded before your mind did, leaning in ever so slightly, the air thick with something unspoken.

And then—

Your hands pressed against his chest before he could get any closer. “Lando, I can’t.”

His jaw tensed. “Why not?”

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. “Because...”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift. A beat of silence stretched between you before he finally stepped back, nodding once, sharp.

“You’re seeing someone?” he said, voice unreadable. You didn’t deny it. “Got it.”

-

WN: Hope you guys like it!! Feedback/suggestions are always welcome xx

tl: @freyathehuntress @linnygirl09 @sarx164 @joannaln4 @widow-cevans @444-leqz @laneyspaulding19 @mayax2o07@n3versatisfied @anayaverse @tvdtw4ever@honethatty12 @meyla123x @liz140569

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for denver behind the cut; “project sidekick”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I mean we could technically do both, nothing’s stopping us from doing ‘both’, we’re strong, competent sidekicks who don’t need no moderation,” Kid Flash mutters under his breath, briefly scowling at the ceiling as he folds his arms. “Heck, we could loop in the three-man cover band while we’re at it, really hit all the bases. What do you think for the home run, what sounds–?” 

“They didn’t know,” Superboy cuts him off stiffly, because–they didn’t. Obviously. It’s not their faults. Kid Flash is supposed to be blaming–“I’m the one who got you all caught.” 

“Like sure fine whatever, sorry we can’t all take getting surprise-cloned as well as Superman, we’re not all Superman-levels of good guy up in here,” Kid Flash snipes irritably, briefly blurring at the edges before starting to pace back and forth between the couches as Robin snorts out a slightly too tight laugh and Kaldur lets out a quiet little sigh, and Superboy–

Doesn’t flinch. Just . . . doesn’t. 

He guesses nobody told them about that, then. Which . . . well. It’s not actually important to anyone else, so there’s not really a reason anyone would’ve bothered. 

But if they all think Superman’s that level of good, then once they hear that even he didn’t take–just, if they think that, then what does that mean about what they’re going to think about their clones? And what they’re going to think about . . . 

Superboy feels like an asshole for caring if they’re going to think less of him, for that. After everything he personally fucked up in their lives, they should already think less of him anyway. There’s no difference if they think less of him because of Superman’s opinion on top of that. 

Plenty of people already do anyway, so what’s it even matter? 

Just–the three of them were the first people he’d ever met outside of his own head. The first people who’d promised him . . . better than the inside of his own head; than what he’d been made for. Promised him that to the point that promise had carried over to three completely different people who’d kept it without even knowing they hadn’t been the ones to make it. 

So . . . no, it definitely would matter if they thought less of him because of Superman’s opinion instead of his own mistakes. But it’d only actually matter to him, again. So that’s not . . . important, no. 

At least he’ll understand why he deserves it, this time. 

“If you don’t like them, just . . . don’t be–assholes about it,” he says stiffly, because that is important. That’s–definitely important. “If they try to–talk to you, or . . . whatever.” 

He doesn’t say anything about Superman. Or himself. Because–not important, again. Not to anyone but him. 

The other three all pause, all at the same time. That was–definitely obvious, Superboy knows. It was obvious, and he didn’t mean to be obvious, but it makes him feel . . . 

It’s not important, how it makes him feel.

[olderthannetfic]

Hey, so I know this is probably something that not many can relate, but I wanted to ask here anyways:

How do you guys do to not feel alone or lonely in fandoms? I'm not mostly active in a small one and almost all of us know each other, but yet seems like I'm an outcast. When I hear that most of the members are DMing one another or creating little creative groups and yet somehow no one tries to dm me and brainstorm ideas... or when some of them have called me their friends yet I try to keep contat and the friendship going and it feels like I'm just being pushy or stupid for trying.

Is funny, because in a way it was some of my fics that rebuilt the community around this fandom, and still it feels like I'm here to churn out fics and that's it. All the fandom interaction I get is minimal and seems like a chore to the others. I haven't felt this alone in fandom communities in the past.

Maybe it's how modern fandom is and I'm being nostalgic for the fandom experience of a decade ago, or maybe it's my brain being stupid. But yeah, just, what do you guys do if you ever feel lonely in fandom spaces? Could use the help. Also, love the blog. Have a nice day :)

--

Okay, first, one hundred percent, your brain is being stupid. I'm having a bad brain day today myself. There could also be some other stuff going on, but let's be real: your brain is being stupid. Not feeling lonely is at least half about general mental health management.

I don't think fandom is necessarily always lonely now. I do find that I've done a bad job of cultivating close friendships lately. I'm trying to finish up some projects, and my kid is entering a phase where it's hard to go to events. I think it's very easy to not have enough energy to make social things happen. It's also easy to not remember how much effort one put in in the past or to not have noticed at the time since one was in a more energetic, excited phase or happened to be in some situation where one ran into potential friends without trying (school or the like).

Now, it sounds like you're already putting in some work trying to connect with people. That's good. That's a necessary, though not always sufficient, step. It's hard to tell from the outside whether other people find it a chore. I'd guess that's more your brain sabotaging you than reality.

I think there's a strong possibility that these DMs you aren't privy to are less awesome than you think. People tend to assume everyone around them is doing better—better than those other people actually are and better than themselves. They seem okay on the surface! They must have their shit together, unlike me! (Spoiler: they probably don't.)

It's certainly possible that you're great at fic but much less good at conversation. If the things you want to chat about just don't mesh well with these other people's style, a DM conversation will grind to a halt. I can give the usual advice about being genuinely interested in others and remembering to ask about them, but it's totally possible there's just a natural mismatch that can't be fixed. It's also possible they all hang out on some discord together that sparks the DM conversations, but you don't like discord and thus aren't there when the conversations break off like that. Substitute twitter or zoom or whatever other divisive format as applicable.

I suppose the times I've really had a good connection discussing meta thoughts on some character or canon have been when I had a beta or someone I was brainstorming with. When you post fics, perhaps you could add a note that you're looking for someone like that, or you could offer to beta for others.

[am-i-interrupting]

Worth Keeping | Haymitch x Everdeen!Reader

Chapter 1 | Lost Bet

Summary: For the first five years of mentoring, Haymitch was not numb but indifferent to these new tributes, on their way towards death. This year, he's forced to change that approach when his childhood friend's little sibling is called at the reaping.

Your reaping best was a dress, knee length with sleeves that bellowed out. They were made from the slightly scratchy material of the produce bags from the capitol but that is precisely what gave the sleeves their shape. The thick material was easily manipulated and held its form rather well. The rest of the dress was made out of patches of left over fabric. A waterfall of colors. Your shoes were just regular boots, worn with time and age.

That didn’t matter. You always felt like a grand princess when you wore the dress.

It was your masterpiece. A thing you’d made over the course of a year. Carefully hiding fabric swatches when you thought they’d match the others you’d collected. You stitched it all together by your own hand and no one else’s.

You were proud of it and if the capitol didn’t like it for their shiny televisions, they could kiss your ass. ‘Cause you sure as hell weren’t gonna change it.

Burdock came up behind you. He ran his fingers through your hair. He hooked one around a small section. It was divided into three parts and he started braiding.

“Last year,” he said.

You wanted to nod but didn’t want to mess up his work. “Last year.”

There was a tense silence between the two of you. Your foot shifted from side to side beneath you. He wouldn’t look you in the face just like every other year.

“You’ll be fine,” he said as he tied off the braid.

You grabbed his hand and force a smile up at him, determined to not show your nerves. “I will be. I am.”

“You are.”

He sighed through his nostrils.

Every single reaping was different now. It didn’t used to be like this. Not years ago. It just so happened that the day of your first reaping two of your childhood friends were ripped away and neither of them came back.

“Come on, it’s getting depressing in here,” you said as you walked past your brother and out of the house door.

You breathed in the air. It was thick and heavy. There was a certain stickiness to it.

“It’s a miracle they don’t pack up their equipment,” you said, raising your voice loud enough so Burdock could hear from inside. “Rain’s in the air. Might ruin all their shiny shit.”

“They have the money to replace it,” he said as he closed the house door.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

The district was normally quiet before the reaping and booming after. There was no day people drank more and worked less.

“Where’s ma and pa?” you asked.

“They never came home last night,” he answered. “Apparently there’s some coyot pack that’s been around. They wanted to find it. Then they can sleep when they get back and have no consequences.”

“Other than pa complaining tomorrow about sore his feet’ll be.”

He snorted at that and pushed you along.

You almost wanted to take off your shoes and walk down the dirt path. There was something so satisfying about that feeling of the earth between your toes. You could do it later though and you’d done it enough to know how it felt by your heart.

The boots were just so confining. No matter how worn they were, they structured in a way. Maybe your foot could fit instead the shoe but it couldn’t sit the way it was supposed to when gravity caused it to spread.

If you got anything bigger though it would weigh down your foot and rub against your skin. No matter what kind of socks you put on, it would still manage to rub your skin raw.

You gave your name, waiting for the line up.

They always put the little ones in front. Those wide, innocent eyes filled with their first experience of fear and shock. No idea how it felt to be in that position until they were in it and not able to hide the way they felt now that they were.

The perfect expressive faces for television.

That’s all anyone in the districts was to the capitol. It’s the only time they ever seemed to care about making things at least look livable but not too livable. It all had to be clean but just dirty enough.

You gave Burdock a hug right before your name was called.

You saw your parents coming in the distance. Both with tiredness etched in their every being. Tam Amber and Clerk Carmine right by their sides. You gave them all a way.

You got your hand pricked by a capitol member for what would be the last time. Your blood was smeared across the white page along with all the others of age for what would be the last time. You walked to that little closed off place for the last time.

You were almost out you weren’t stupid. You weren’t out yet.

Being one of the oldest people meant your name was in there a lot more than some others. Just, hopefully it wouldn’t be you.

Hopefully.

The whole ordeal started.

Haymitch sat down on stage. He never really did stand. He’d tried his first year and he been too drunk to stand straight. He kept leaning from side to side. Now, like every year, he clutched a bottle in his hand and had a far off look in his eyes. His feet dangled off the edge of the platform. His back covered the bottom half of the microphone stand from view as he leaned on one hand and tilted his bottle with the other.

Reaping day was hard for everybody, especially since Haymitch’s games.

Not only was it the day that two kids were going to be sent off to their death. It was also now the day that a boy had died, killed in front of all of them for trying to escape the death sentence only to reach it early.

There had been a change since that day six years ago. It was no longer Drusilla Sickle who pulled the names. That change happened almost instantly.

Now she was replaced with a much younger woman. In her twenties. She always had brightly colored and drastic makeup. A shocking outfit. You’d heard her name was. . . It had an F in there, somewhere.

She, in contrast to Haymitch, had perfect posture even in her heels. Her movements were fluid and delicate. Always thoughtfully planned.

She had a high pitched but clear voice. Perfect pronunciation. A wonderful announcer’s voice with the cheeriness but somberness to fit the capitol and the district’s emotions. All performative, surely but that perfect balance nonetheless.

As with every other year the speech played. One that made many glare or roll their eyes.

No one wanted such a drawn out and lengthy process. At least not in the districts. Like a bandage, everyone wanted it quickly dealt with.

“Now, it is time for us to discover which courageous young man and woman will be select to represent District 12 in the fifty-sixth annual Hunger Games,” and though her voice was sweet it did almost make one yearn for the harsh vinegar of Drusilla again. At least she was direct with her ever present disdain.

“Ladies first,” she said before she placed her hand in the bowl. Her hand swirled above then went below the piles of paper. She shuffled them and then drew out a single piece. Your heart froze when your name was called.

A sinking feeling you’d felt once before came to you.

Your hand went to your bracelet on your wrist. Years old and once a necklace you’d outgrown. It was wrapped and twisted around your wrist. Colorful pieces of thread stolen from Lenore Dove’s bedroom at the age of eleven. A rock from the river you’d sneak to tangled in it. It was made by you and your childhood best friend’s collective efforts just weeks before your twelfth birthday when you would be eligible for slaughter.

You turned your head, half expecting to see her, and you did. A brief glimpse of twin braids that framed a heart shaped face and a scar on the forehead above grey eyes that looked at you with the exact same horror of which you felt now.

She was gone.

You clutched the smooth stone and walked past the girls in line. They parted with no hesitation.

You looked back and saw a brief glimpse of your parents, Burdock, Tam Amber, and Clerk Carmine all huddled together and all with the same.

Peace keepers forced you forward.

You met Haymitch Abernathy’s gaze. His bottle was down on the stage. His feet were planted on the ground. He was oddly steady.

You were marched forward. Every time your feet hit the ground it was like you were being shook to your very core.

You really wished you were barefoot just to feel this dirt one last time.

As you grew closer and closer, you could see him clearer. Tears began to well in your eyes but you forced your head to stay up tall as you blinked the down. Your breath hitched in your lungs, caught on your ribcage.

Everything was just coming back to six years ago again, it seemed, as you saw that numbness which covered up fear and hurt in Haymitch’s eyes.

He spoke not a word. You didn’t expect him to.

You walked up the steps and grabbed the woman’s offered hand. It was soft. She placed her arm around your shoulder and her back other hand on your upper arm. She rubbed her thumb up and down. You were guided to your place and her touch was gone.

“And now for the boys.” A moment of silence. “Milo Declan.”

Milo was a younger boy, only twelve years old. He had strawberry blond hair and brown eyes. His face was still round with baby fat of which he’d yet to grow out of and likely never would now.

You heard the drag of a bottle against wood. Haymitch tilted it back once more. He walked away from the and out of the camera’s view.

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” the woman said as she backed away.

Milo wiped his hands on his pants before he stuck one out to you. You grabbed it, shook it.

Then were suddenly in a room. Your mother and father visited you. Hugged you. Said words you couldn’t process. Were pulled out by peacekeepers.

Burdock came in after. He hugged you. Whispered words of love and pushed your hair out of your face as he looked at you close one last time.

It was when Tam Amber and Clerk Carmine came in that reality finally sunk in.

You collapsed in Tam Amber’s arms, crying into them. Smoke cling to his clothes even though he’d been nowhere near a fire. Clerk Carmine hugged you from behind.

“You better,” you began through hitched breath, “be singing loud enough that I can hear it when I step in that arena. I don’t want to die in silence.”

Both of the men held you tighter.

“You won’t, buttercup. You won’t,” was either could say.

[kindaasrikal]

Absolutely everything in season 3 is furthering my opinion of how desensitised the ninja have become to things that are unbelievably tragic and traumatising.

That includes their reunions that i thought would be built up on in more private moments, their overall treatment of Jay’s situation, Pixal’s reaction to Zane being severely injured compared to Zane’s own lack of care as well as how likely it is he never told the others, and Lloyd’s everything, especially his ‘death’ in part 1 and the detached sadness and acceptance from having both Arin and Sora leave.

I think this is further supported by the idea that literally all of the new ninja are shown as incredibly more emotional, feeling grief and sadness more often/strongly than the others have been shown, as well as Ras’s justification for taking Jay in and making the ninja feel guilty in the tournament.

And i acknowledge the Ras was absolutely manipulating all of them collectively but he recognised the issue and knew its a sore spot but the ninja seemed really tired by the thought. Tired isn’t really the best word since i can’t think of another but it’s like the feelings hit but they’re just so used to it??

And i also acknowledge that the ninja DO feel guilt and regret and hurt and sadness, its more on the fact that they seemed to have gotten so used to it that they don’t really know what the appropriate way to react now is other than a quick ‘this is bad’ to another quick ‘this is getting better-aw man we gotta save the world.’

Its interesting to watch and see because they’ve still got their personalities, they’re still themselves beneath it all.

But its as if we’re finally seeing the actual affect of all those years of shared, continuous trauma.

It’s important to note that if the case was they all faced their trauma’s individually and didn’t actively see others suffering they’d probably actually be worse off, as people feel more safe and comfortable and at ease knowing there’s others who understand what they’ve been through. There’s also a possible setback to that though in that eventually you might place less importance or weight into the trauma you faced if you’re not told that this is still something that was bad even if others have gone through it as well. This isn’t something to be treated normally as if there was no trauma you faced, and moving on and growing doesn’t mean you become desensitised.

What worse is that people may take this and blame Wu, but it’s literally a cycle at this point. Who knows how the Fsm reacted or treated his trauma when i doubt he actually had many people he could talk to or even feel equal too. Garmadon is Garmadon obviously but the ninja haven’t been around him as often as they have with Wu, who was in the same exact position as them. Saving people constantly and sacrificing your own well being for the greater good, eventually becoming desensitised and not realising how you’ve begun to put less weight into everything that’s happened to you and therefore not as much weight onto other’s trauma as long as your alive and around them.

I mean have we ever really seen a big reaction to Wu losing his brother who he loved constantly over years? Not anymore. It’s equal to the ninja’s own reactions in the fact that they care and it hurts, but it’s mixed with a sense of familiarity.

Let’s look at it in the perspective of how they react or treat Jay’s whole situation. Reminder that i have not watched dr season 3 part 2, but i have seen some talk about it.

We all noticed how the ninja obviously do care about the situation with Jay, but they also seem so much calmer than most would think they would when handling such a situation. Not calm in the sense that they’re like ‘aww okay guess Jay’s lost his memory, we’ll fix that eventually’ but in the sense that they feel the weight of the situation on them and they’re just used to it.

And like, they are.

Imagine the weird effect that would actually have on Jay/Rogue because this guys has this trauma and its his ONLY trauma and its effecting him greatly and you have the ninja giving weirdly mixed signals.

Imagine Zane just going like “Jay, i understand what you’re going through. The pain and suffering of not knowing who you are will always haunt me like how it is you, but it doesn’t mean you cannot heal and grow into becoming someone you love.”

And Jay’s literally about to cry or crash out and then “-Anyways, i think theres a bomb in the monastery, do you wanna go fix that with me?? If not we can bake cookies instead later :D” as if he didn’t just drop the most jaw dropping advice and lore drop ever.

Man they gotta get some serious therapy the ninja might just die and act like nothing happened atp.

Season 3 part1: well.

MANNNNN this got unbearably long and it’s probably horribly written to the point I’m either completely wrong and sounds like a mess or my point just doesn’t even come across. Forgive me i have gotten lazy 🙏

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I hc that chat lacks self-preservation instincts because Adrien uses Chat as a form of escapism and kinda disassociates from real life, thus making it not truly come across to him how dangerous he is actually being. What are your thoughts on this "theory"/idea/thoughts on why Chat almost kills himself constantly.

Warning! Doyalistic analysis incoming: I think you've put more thought into the topic than the writers have. We're six seasons in and I can't think of a single episode where Adrien's self sacrificing streak was treated as a problem. I don't think that canon even acknowledges that it's a reoccurring issue. Every time he's killed, mind controlled, or otherwise incapacitated is treated like the first time because this is a formula show and you're generally supposed to view every episode as a standalone story even if it often doesn't feel like one.

While I don't like that canon made that choice, I will defend it to a mild extent because I get why it keeps happening. Or, at least, I think I do. My best guess is that the writers aren't viewing the self-sacrificing thing as a serious character beat. They're just using a standard trope and Adrien just so happens to consistently be the easiest character to shove into the role that the trope requires.

The trope in question is usually called the "red shirt" trope and, to save myself some time, I'm just going to quote TV Tropes' to explain what it's all about:

[Red shirts] are the Good Counterpart of Evil Minions and Mooks — set filler for our heroes' side. Their purpose is almost exclusively to give the writers someone to kill who isn't a main character... [Red shirts] are used to show how the monster works, and demonstrate that it is indeed a deadly menace, without having to lose anyone important. Expect someone to say "He's Dead, Jim", lament this "valued crew member's senseless death", and then promptly forget him. Security personnel in general fall victim to the worst shade of this trope, as most of the time their deaths aren't even acknowledged at all; according to Hollywood, you could walk into a bank and shoot a security guard right in the face without anyone making a fuss.

All of the above is why canon consistently lets characters be disintegrated, captured, mind controlled, and so on. These moments are not meant to be serious character beats. They're just there so that the show can raise the stakes for the day's fight.

While the trope is usually reserved for random characters that don't matter, Miraculous tends to use established characters instead because there's a magical reset mechanic which makes negative status effects a temporary issue. It's less the writers calling Chat Noir useless and more them taking advantage of the fact that they can "red shirt" characters that the audience actually cares about. That's a much better way to raise the stakes than red shirting a random character that the audience has never met.

Zombizou is a perfect example of this. That episode sees the entire miracuclass sacrifice themselves, but the message is not that they all have self worth issues. The message is that they trust Ladybug which is the only message canon is trying to send on the occasions when self sacrifice is actively chosen by a character, thus dialogue like this dialogue from Lies:

Cat Noir: There are only two liars left in Paris and one of them knows the ultimate way to catch her attention. Ladybug: No way! Don't do it! What if I fail?! Cat Noir: You know what? I trust you.

Other episodes see the self-sacrifice happen by accident and those don't even get a line about trust. It's just there to raise the stakes.

Of course, that's the Doyalistic explanation. If you want to get Watsonian, then I think your take is a solid one! I just don't think that it's even remotely intentional which is why I would only go Watsonian if you're doing something like writing a fanfic. Don't expect canon to ever address this issue because canon doesn't see it as an issue. It's even one area where I don't judge canon too harshly because this is a really standard trope so I get why they keep using it. Every episode has a fight and you have to do something to keep them interesting! I don't know how you make 130+ fights feel serious without some red-shirt-style moments. That's why the trope exists! It's just the nature of the beast.

My only real criticism is that Miraculous keeps red shirting a character that a lot of the audience understandably views as having self worth issues. That's not a choice that I'd personally make. If Adrien is going to be your standard red shirt option, then don't make him read as depressed and struggling to find his place in the world. Or, at the very least, round robin the red shirt role between the various cast members so that Adrien doesn't stand out in the role! In my opinion, it's yet another case of the writers really not thinking beyond the most surface level implications of their writing choices.

Since you seemed interested, I'll note that my favorite way to address the self sacrificing issue is to have this behavior come from Adrien doing what needs to be done even though he has no desire to die or even just be hurt. After all, Ladybug does need to survive every fight. She's the one with the cure! He's right to protect her! The story doesn't end there, though. Instead of just accepting this, I use it as a way to bring Carapace onto the team because you don't want to just randomly expand the team. Establish a problem, then expand the team to solve it. Ladybug needs to survive every fight and Chat Noir keeps getting hurt? Bring in a human shield. Problem solved!

[jack-of-heartstrings]

More thoughts on El Toro de Piedra, specifically on Juleka's side.

First and of course, I do really wish we'd gotten to see more build-up and more screentime for Juleka getting a big moment, though I'll never complain about her getting any focus. (Fingers weakly crossed for episode 6 when we get it...? my hopes are low but not-zero I guess.)

For me personally, juxtaposing the song with the fight made the fight harder to follow. Part of that was just that I struggle to watch both subtitles and the action, so that's not a fault or anything. And I fully respect the decision to not include fight sound effects alongside the song, as that DOES make it much easier to watch the song on its own later, but I think it would have felt nicer AS part of the episode itself if it had included at least some of the fight sounds.

HOWEVER, I do think it was a WONDERFUL decision to also throw her in with the theme of this episode.

We have three characters— Ivan, Adrien, and Nathalie— all with very complicated relationships with their dads, all of whom are/were really shitty and want their kids to go down the same shitty paths.

But then we've got this girl who barely knows her dad, met him for the first time less than a year ago, who also has a really complicated relationship and hasn't gotten over the ways in which he was shitty. And unless it's changed in the last few months, her greatest fear is presumably still him hating her and discouraging or breaking her dreams. But her dream IS to be like him, and has been since before she learned he was her dad. And honestly I think that's so much nicer than anything else they could have included. Someone like Marinette who just has a good relationship with her dad or even another dad that used to be bad but improved wouldn't hit nearly as hard as a dad who used to suck, who's improved but still has an at best tenuous relationship, yet whose legacy is still what one of his children wants more than anything in the world.

Just. What a good contrast. Sometimes a parent's legacy is imposed against your will, and sometimes it's embraced enthusiastically, but sometimes it's something you want despite your relationship. Sometimes it's actively something that helps connect you and can lead to improving the relationship.

And on a separate Juleka note, of course LET'S GO JULEROSE, but specifically...

Given Juleka's reaction to the kiss, I think I've decided the funniest interpretation of the ship (and thus the one I'm choosing to believe) is that they weren't dating before, and might still take a little longer to Officially get together now. Imagine. Imagine for me.

They're that cuddly all the time. They talk about how much they love each other and stare deeply into each other's eyes. They give each other cheek kisses way more often than other friends do, more than either of them gives other friends. Rose kisses Juleka on the mouth during the Zombizou incident and Juleka is super flustered by it but that was clearly just an akuma thing and she never mentions it afterward, or if Rose remembers since she wasn't akumatized herself then they just choose not to talk about it. They watch Marinette and Adrien be clueless all year and Rose keeps complaining about why won't those two just get it already. Rose marches down and tells the idiots if they don't kiss already then she's just gonna kiss them both. Nobody has this same problem watching Juleka and Rose be clueless because everybody genuinely though they were already together. Except them. They still took months to realize, and then both of them were like "but what if she doesn't feel the same way and then I make it weird" until Rose just went for it this episode. Absolute disaster sapphics if I ever saw them. 12/10.

[kinogassa]

how come we all used to tag file types when we reblogged posts. why'd we do that. i remember i did it too but that's just 'cause i saw everybody else doing it