#so like maybe for the best if i offended him and he no longer speaks to me

[hyewka]

love me | c.bg

synopsis; maybe starting a sexual relationship with a friend that is so clearly in love with you isn't the best idea you've had in a while, but god knows how much longer you could stay sexually frustrated with your boyfriend...and plus, he offers himself to you! how could you refuse?

or in which your best friend so graciously offers to satisfy your very stale sex life.

warnings; sub!gyu, dom!reader, fwb, sensitive gyu, thigh humping, gyu cums in his pants, infidelity!!! not proofread, i had no direction for this whatsoever lol

You couldn't hide the way your mouth fell open at your best friend's suggestion, so out of left field you couldn't help but laugh before fully processing the fact that he was serious.

"What."

"Don't look at me like that! I...I don't know, you just keep complaining, so I was just like, why not. I mean, I don't mind." You still gape at him, the way he was so casually on his phone as if he didn't just ask you to use him for your sexual pleasure.

And as if he didn't just completely ignore the fact that you had someone you've already committed yourself to!

Like he's reading your mind, Beomgyu speaks up again, looking at you this time as if attempting to persuade you. "It's not cheating if we don't kiss."

You would've laughed again at the bogus logic if this wasn't the situation that it was. You're a doting girlfriend, you admire your man, but it's been years and there hasn't been a single improvement made in the bedroom. You've tried the talking, guiding, everything!

But it seemed no matter what, you were left high up dry. You were sexually incompatible with the man you wholeheartedly believe are in love with.

You haven't been wanting to come in terms with that, choosing denial. If you follow through with Beomgyu's offer, it would be like actually admitting to the doom that is threatening your otherwise perfect relationship.

And the fact that it's Beomgyu, your best friend...makes you a little hesitant. You're not an idiot, at least about Beomgyu. Hes never been fond of your boyfriend, or... any of your boyfriends for that matter. You had a hint of why.

He continues when he catches the way you were at least giving it a thought. "Just saying, I'm your friend...and, and I obviously want the best for you. And he's obviously not making you happy with his sloppy sex skills."

You narrow your eyes at him, offended with the unnecessary jab--your lovely did not lack in the sex field, he just...didn't know how to use his tools...correctly.

"I don't want you stuck living like a nun for the rest your life," You wince-- for the rest of your life? He awkwardly purses his lips. "You know...like, if you end up marrying him or something."

You turn away from him, brows furrowed as you pondered. You definitely aren't prepared to be in a sexless marriage.

Choosing to take a glance to him one more time-- he was attempting to seem nonchalant, but you pride yourself on knowing him more than he knew himself.

Beomgyu wasn't the hardest person to read anyway, at least not with his eyes puppy-like, long fringe gently brushing over them, showing that he was eagerly awaiting a response from you.

There was no way you would do this...right?

---𓆩♡𓆪

Getting comfortable on the couch, rewatching your favorite most beloved sitcom while having your best friend's face buried in between your legs...is a unique experience. One you've been revisiting for a little too long now, to the point the pain of his nails digging into the flush of your thighs doesn't faze you anymore. You instead liked it, the way he got so worked up over making you feel good.

It's not like you haven't tried ending it. Every time you told Beomgyu it was over, that you were done with whatever you had with him, he'd somehow find a way to convince you with just one video.

Usually faceless as he focused his phone camera on his crotch, clearly hard as his bulge is outlined through his sweats-- palming it as he whined, saying oh how he just misses you. You miss him too right?

You'd feel your jaw tick whenever he mentions your boyfriend in his silly videos, but the irritation is quickly left at bay when he finally takes his dick out, sniffles heard in the audio-- frantic as he jerks off, his red swollen tip already leaking. Gosh, could he be any more indecent?

You weren't really in the place to judge, because every time, your thighs would rub together in attempt to get rid of the heat surfacing in between, eyes focused on every detail on your phone.

He never made it easy, especially when he'd use his eyes against you by the end, a flash of his face being the highlight of the short thirty seconds, brows pointed upward as he whispers his final 'miss you' through a pout.

Fuck, what a weakness. His eyes.

Especially now, when he makes sure to look at you as he sloppily ate you out, with those same doe-eyed look, tears making his long lashes prettier.

You place your hand on the messiness of his hair, playing with strands before you look away from his eyes, focusing on the scene you've watched a hundred times before, a fond smile making way onto your lips. It's the one your boyfriend declared it being you guys's 'official' show-- which you hadn't minded, it was funny.

You still end up chuckling at the jokes you've already seen, the delivery never failing to make you tearing up from pure laughter. But it seems like that pisses Beomgyu off, as he whines against your pussy, tongue working to get your attention again. When it's clear that that was a failed attempt, your eyes still focused on the TV, he raises his head. "Are you bored?"

You tear your eyes away to the boy, tilting your head at the sudden question. His lips were glistening, red, forming a pout, clearly insecure. You huff out a laugh through your nose, "That's such a stupid question."

"No it's not. You're focused on the stupid show and not me!" You roll your eyes, unfortunately for you, everyone has flaws, Beomgyu not being an exception-- his was and has always been his tendency to crave full attention on him.

"Am I ...am I not making you feel good?" his voice this time is softer, craving to hear a denial to his insecurities.

You sigh, another weak spot. When Beomgyu's voice cracks in attempt to swallow his tears, your heart cracks.

You're quick to soak up his insecure figure. "Beomgyu, no. Of course you're making me feel good." You feel him calm down, body releasing its previous tension. He rests his head on your tummy, allowing you to play with his hair again, "Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum. In attempt to lighten the mood a little, you tease, "Am I allowed to watch my show now?"

He nods against your shirts fabric. You smile, your eyes going from him to the TV screen. He just lays his head on your tummy, watching the show with you, arms around your waist. It's strangely intimate, but you dismiss the feeling.

He eventually goes back down on you, and you make sure to turn off the screen, providing him with your full attention. Beomgyu was always good with his mouth so it's no surprise he got you to finish. What's surprising is that he ends it there-- no reason for you to scold him for trying to take more than he was allowed.

"Good boy..." you murmur into his hair, you mean it. Though you were prepared for it, you weren't really in the mood to deep clean your couch again.

Your lids are heavy, almost drifting to sleep but sure enough, you feel Beomgyu's lower half moving against your leg. You think he's just shifting his position so you ignore it, but you quickly learn its something less innocent than that. "You're going to stain my couch again?"

Maybe Beomgyu didn't have his self control in check after all.

He suddenly stops and you try your best to not laugh-- it's like he was caught stealing something. "Go on, as a sorry for not paying attention to you. You deserve it."

He whines against your neck as if to thank you before his hips start rocking against your outstretched leg, quickly turning frantic as his breathing gets heavier. In an attempt to not make this further than it had to be, you never let Beomgyu enter you, only giving him the option of getting off from your thighs.

He audibly complained to you before, but he quickly learned to comply if it meant you wouldn't stop this relationship, adjusting to pathetically humping your leg. You've always been disapproving of his attempt to give you hickeys, it was rightfully risky, but Beomgyu was a horny dog, not able to control the urge to start sucking on the flesh of your skin.

You didn't have the power to stop him, especially when he knew all the right places to nip and slightly pull, choosing that you'll have to cover it up well later. His mind is eventually too cloudy to focus on giving you hickeys, whining with his head buried between your chest. Which makes it easier for your attention to be caught by the sudden light of your phone.

You reach out for it on top of the small coffee table in front of you, disrupting Beomgyu's rhythm for a second, but he doesn't fail to pick it up again-- it's cute, how he gets so worked up.

Your current mood is soured when you see a text notification from your boyfriend, your eyes then immediately travelling up to the time. Shit.

You have to finish this fast before he starts suspecting. You bite down on your lips, still staring at the text that reads, 'When are you coming?' Fuck, how could you forget about the date?

"Y/N...pay attention to me." he whines, making you spare a glance down on him. Beomgyu's head raises, with sniffles, flashing you his puppy eyes. You sigh, discarding your phone before you decide to quicken this-- instead of just laying there for your body to be used, you trail your hand up his shirt.

He shakes his head whimpering, hair messy over his eyes, but you ignore it. Your calloused fingers on his bud sends Beomgyu's head to overdrive, and you know it. Your thumb brushes over the puffy pink of his nipple, and it was over for him.

You catch the hot tears running down his cheeks for a split second before his head falls, hair over his face, humiliated as you continue to rub. "Baby...you're so pretty." you coo, getting his hips to fasten against your thigh, his slender body shaking.

His breathing strains against the fabric of your shirt, whines from the back of his throat, and you feel warmth spread between your legs, signalling that he soiled his pants. But he doesn't slow his movement, still humping your leg. Bad boy.

You're about to scold him but his incoherent whispers become louder, and now they're more than clear to your ears. "I love you, I love you, I love you so much."

You squeeze your eyes shut-- fuck. "Beomgyu..." you try your voice soft, but he's not willing to listen, shaking his head again, sniffling. He tightens his hold around your waist, "I won't let you go. Just forget about him, please forget about him. I love you so much."

In response to your silence, he raises his head from your body meekly, his dark eyes made bright and sparkling with sweet, needy tears, face flushed. "Love me too...please?"

God, what have you done.

----

[solspinaa]

We Should Stick Together

sanguinius ⋆˙⟡

have a very small sangy blurb that is literally just me braindumping! not proofread and a little fulgrim x reader if you squint :)

sanguinius has very clearly taken interest in someone, and fulgrim is quite tired of watching sanguinius collect offerings for his beloved rather than taking any productive action. through a little teasing and perhaps creating a lie great enough to form genuine jealousy, the phoenician can make something happen.

warnings: n/a

Fulgrim takes yet another sip of his 4th glass of wine, holding back a pout as he draws the glass away from his stained lips. To say he is bored - and also quite clueless - would be an understatement bordering insult. The wine he holds in his hand is absolutely delectable, a fine luxury piece from his own personal collection, smooth on the throat and incredibly enjoyable when not paired with second-hand embarrassment. He sighs as he notices his supply is dwindling rapidly, not feeling even the slightest bit drunk.

Throne, he should have brought something stronger.

"What do you think of these?" His white-winged brother shoved two sparkling stones into his hand, smiling like a childish idiot as he did so.

"They are.. nice..." Fulgrim claimed as he inspected them closely, attempting to hide his annoyance as he swept over the gems with violet eyes. "However, this one seems brittle, like it will crumble the moment it is grinded upon, and this one seems quite lackluster." His voice did not hide his disinterest in the subject, but he was at least honest.

"And what about the color? Do you think she will prefer quartz? Or perhaps red? Ah, but red makes it seem like it's about me..."

"Sanguinius..." Fulgrim whispered, trying to interrupt his brother, or at the very least return him to his senses before he went on yet another incoherent ramble about his potential courtier.

"And its about her, not me. I would hate to bring home something that is to her distaste. I don't wish to put her off, I think I've done well so far acquiring her interest, I really-"

"Sanguinius!" The Phoenician finally exclaimed in more of a yell than a speaking voice, his annoyance with his brother no longer confined behind a glass of chilled wine. He released the tension from his shoulders upon seeing the blond angel's wide, shocked eyes.

Taking in the final sip of his wine, he sighed yet again. "I don't think any number of my wives have had me in as much of a chokehold as this woman does you, brother. You are smitten, and hopelessly so."

Sanguinius' wings betrayed his feeble attempt at releasing his embarrassment. They fluttered at the mention of her, and so he turned away from Fulgrim, his cheeks dusted a light pink and a small amount of his feathers puffed up upon the top of both wings. A body language display familiar of most birds, but unfamiliar to the palatine phoenix. The angel's voice shook the very slightest as he attempted to maintain his composure.

"Hopeless, Fulgrim?" He paused, his shaking irises evident of trying to collect his thoughts. "Has she told you something she has not told me?"

Was there… anger? in his tone? Maybe it was jealousy fulgrim had heard, possessiveness even, he could not tell.

Regardless, this sort of reaction from the angel was something he had not heard from his perfect and composed brother before. A piece of him felt confused at the fact that his brother had become so quickly offended in regards to a mere human, and yet another piece felt curious, entertained by the possibility of whether or not he could strike a nerve within the brightest one.

Sanguinius saw a sinister smile creep across Fulgrim's perfect features. His shoulders raised at his brother's gentle laugh. "Defensive, are we, angel? Protective, perhaps?" The phonecian placed his wine glass down upon the rocks next to the two of them, taking note of Sanguinius' clenched fists and slightly narrowed eyes. He could tell the great angel was doing his best to mask his infamous inner wrath, but he simply couldn't at the mention of some mortal woman. "Worry not, I've already told myself that you would be the one marrying this one... Should you not take too long I would not make my move."

With a step toward Sanguinius, he moved closer, brushing a few strands of blond hair behind his brother's ear so that his whisper would fall directly on his ears "That being said, clock is ticking. Drop the stones you wish to bring her, take her your words instead… lest i take her my words first.”

The sound of ruffling feathers filled the air alongside a slight expression of jealousy from Sanguinius, brows downturned and eyes slightly squinted. “I know you only tease, Fulgrim."

"And if I don't?" The Phoenician replied, his tone simultaneously teasing and serious. He wished for nothing more than to confirm his suspicion, for the angel to fall from grace and admit the painfully obvious, that he was jealous.

"You best keep your hands off. It is I who loves her. It is I who will see to it that she marries me.”

Sanguinius would be lying if he said he was not slightly afraid of Fulgrim attempting his interest’s hand in marriage.

On one hand, the poor bachelorette had a winged mutant, a man with a pair of massive wings accompanied by two sharp canines and an insatiable thirst for blood buried deep within him.

On the other was a man who was perfect in every way. Silky, smooth, gorgeous white hair cascaded over his shoulders the same way his robes fit the contours of his slender body in a noble shade of purple. His face, in every way, was nothing short of youthful and beautiful and every positive word that a human could conjure from their lips.

In other words, if Fulgrim made it to her first, Sanguinius knew he would stand no chance.

…Would he?

Would she choose the man who had experience caring for women? Or the one who she would have to teach? Did she have the patience for him?

"Say it with your chest than, oh great angel."

"I love her…”

“Hmm…” Fulgrim smiled, aware that his dear angelic brother was completely lost in thought. He knew how to hit where it hurt, for no one could turn away from Fulrgim’s perfection.

He knew Sanguinius would doubt himself, and he knew that he had to force him to confess before he lost the confidence to do so.

Of course, Sanguinius was a mutant with fatal flaws, but just like Fulgrim did his hair flow off of his shoulders and down his back, framing his chiseled face like a golden halo as piercing amber eyes shone like the sands of Baal under its suns.

Fulgrim had witnessed the girl weaving small and intricate jewels into chains that would drape themselves beautifully over Sanguinius’ wings, if the two of them had just attempted to replace their distanced pining with the intimacy they both intensely longed for.

“What she told me was that she desired you just as much… But I told her your eyes were set on someone else.” He smiled deviously at his brother, watching his expression turn into one of horror as he realized Fulgrim had probably shattered her heart into shreds with his false news. “So she and I made a deal. If you confessed to her within the week, you could have her. But if you failed to…”

The Phoenician raised one of his hands, opening his palm to a ring made in approximately the size of a tiny human finger. Sanguinius’ expression filled with anger as he fought the urge to strangle his brother right then and there. His teeth were clinched together with enough force to shatter a diamond in two.

Fulgrim's smile spread completely across his face before he turned upon his heels, flicking a head full of white hair toward Sanguinius before he broke out into a full sprint for the imperial palace. "And who is it that will tell her the news, brother?!”

With a single thunderous beat, the angel shot into the air, his speed in flight incomprehensibly faster than Fulgrim was on foot.

He smiled once more, his winged brother gone in the blink of an eye. None of what he said had been true, of course, but he too enjoyed some lighthearted teasing every once in a while. The expression upon the face of the great angel had been priceless. How could one be so jealous over someone they were stuck longing for?

He hoped that the angel would return with positive news and without the urge to slap him, and that he would still be invited to the wedding.

[eldritch-spouse]

That is a very generous offer Jonesy but I don't want to live on an island. I'm happy enough here. Now if you'll excuse me I need to-ah! Jonesy. Please let me go.

[Ambiguous reader]

TW: Kidnapping

" Why... Whatever do you mean? "

The throne looks entirely perplexed, as if nothing in this world could have prepared him for a rejection that, from your point of view, is anything but surprising.

All of your interactions thus far with this 'celestial' have been nothing if not positive. Jonesy, as he calls himself, is a positive force in your life. You're one of many 'lessers' who this Mother Miara entity he speaks so fondly of has selected to be judged for a certain period of time. Initially, the fear of what this might entail kept you defensive, but Jonesy's 'judging' honestly seems to consist in him inviting himself into your daily routines and generally being helpful.

Convenient enough that you decided to go along with it.

Maybe that's being a little harsh, you did grow to enjoy Jonesy's company, a little bit. He's pleasant enough, polite, seeming to have your best interests in mind, even if he doesn't understand that he no longer has the level of authority angels might have once had over humanity. And, most of all, he always brings small trinkets when he visits. Sometimes it's a new decoration for your home, other times it's some thingamajig he doesn't fully understand and wants you to explain to him under the guise of a simple present. Two of his gifts stand out to you.

Jonesy once gave you someone's personal phone. It was still locked and entirely undamaged, he likely picked it up somewhere. Lessers like theses things, he had proudly said, I found another one for you. He looked offended when you suggested he deliver it to a police station, so you dropped the subject and quietly took care of it yourself. Another time, the throne showed up with a gorgeous, reflective feather. He sounded a bit vague when you prodded for its meaning, but it looks harmless enough. You've decided to put it in a little case, to which Jonesy recommended that you sometimes take it outside with you.

You were never overly touchy with the angel, didn't think you should be. Jonesy is easy on the eyes, in his own bizarre sort of way, but he exudes authority in equal amounts to safety and comfort, so it felt inappropriate to simply take that step. Nevertheless, impulse once made you comment about the quality of his fur, the few times he'd wear something a little more 'casual', and Jonesy said nothing for a few moments, before placing your hand on his chest and letting you feel the expanse of softness there. You had never experienced something like it before, your fingers sunk into it yet it felt so incredibly light, so cozy, as if you could just lay your head upon it and have the best rest of your entire life. Neither of you said much of anything to each other for the rest of that particular visit.

He appears to like animals too, which is something you find very appealing in people. A few times now, he had this super beautiful cat -It was very large, some kind of maine coon?- With fur as white as his own and these wide eyes that seemed just a little too involved in anything around itself. Jonesy carried it with the utmost care and would regularly talk to it, calling it 'lady'. It made you smile, though he would always hand the feline to another celestial before properly greeting you, removing any chance to interact with it.

He's definitely weird.

But, perhaps, you could call Jonesy a friend in your little life.

Being friends with him doesn't mean you're about to abandon everything you've built and those you love just to join an island far away and be in some sort of paradise cult. Even if he's right about it being the best decision you could ever make, even if you'd live your best life there and be incredibly fulfilled, without having to bare the weight of your society's expectations on your shoulder- It's just not your home. It's not where you think you belong, and it certainly doesn't justify leaving your family and friends behind.

" I mean exactly what I said, Jonesy. " You shrug, finishing the basic omelet you were trying to make when he nearly pounded through your door in his excitement to see you.

You suppose these 'wonderful news' are why he didn't waste a second before dropping that bomb of a proposal on you.

" Dove, are you listening? Mother Miara herself has judged your profile and deemed you worthy of joining us in the most sacred location of Earth! "

You really just want to eat and end this conversation. " Jone- "

" Do you not wish to be welcomed into Lady Miara's arms? She will make you the best version of yourself, you will never know misery, you'll be surrounded by prosperity and harmony. I would help guide you- "

" No! " You interrupt, a lot more forcefully. " No, I don't want to go to some remote location and abandon everything I know, excuse me if that sounds crazy to you. I have people here who need me, okay? I have a community I belong to, I like having my own place with all the stuff I own. I like going to places you won't find on an island, Jonesy. I'm not going anywhere. "

He's motionless after your outburst, maybe in shock, maybe trying to make sense of your reasoning. You decide to soften the blow.

" Listen, I'm very flattered. It sounds like a great deal that I know many people would take. And good for them! I'm not one of those people, I'm sorry man. "

The kitchen suddenly seems too small and crowded. After a very tense silent that absolutely rips the hunger out of you, he finally speaks.

" You poor thing. " The throne murmurs, making you rise a brow. " You don't think you're good enough. You feel that you must be tied down to this frivolous nonsense in order to have meaning in your life. You could never be more wrong. "

Frustration bubbles by now. " Jonesy, can we not have this conversation right now? "

" It's quite alright, I see now. You'll need a lot of help to overcome your mind's delusions. Fret not, I'll take it upon myself to clear them. "

The celestial advances as he speaks, resolve radiating off of him. You barely get to turn away before he bodily picks you up. With little effort, as if you weighed less than the very trinkets he'll occasionally bring around.

Angels... Angels don't hurt humans unless they have to, right? It's not in them to be malicious... Right? Jonesy wouldn't hurt you.

He won't.

You hope he won't.

" Wh- What are you doing?! Put me down, please. " He doesn't. In fact, he walks outside. " Please put me down. "

" Silence lesser, be graceful about this blessing. "

You can't see them, but you can hear another celestial waiting for Jonesy, making a noise of confusion.

" Are they wounded? " The new one questions.

" No, just blinded of reason I believe. "

The nerve.

" Unfortunate. "

You're handed off rather easily to a larger set of hands, unable to see the face of this stranger before they run a hand through your face and the ability to see is quite literally taken from you. It's enough to make you freeze.

" Quite. I know they'll find a better home with us however. "

You dare not move when they take flight, knowing it'd be certain death to squirm mid-air, blinded, and horrified.

[if-loves]

BORN TO LOVE YOU

// Michael Kaiser

sum: it’s been a month since kaiser let you slip away from him. he thinks he knows what it feels like to lose everything.

wc: 1080

warnings: probably OOC kaiser idk it’s my first time writing him, kaiser backstory & manga spoilers

a/n: sorry if this is a mess i just had to get exes to lovers with kaiser out of my head xd

likes & reblogs are appreciated :)

When Michael Kaiser was born, he had nothing. Not a family, not care, and most certainly not love. Michael Kaiser was born a mistake, and lived most of his life that way.

Everything changed when he was fifteen, when his life turned around and all of a sudden he meant something. All of a sudden he had a reason to care, a reason to continue living. No longer was he the mistake of a child that neither of his parents wanted, no longer was he a thief that had to steal to survive; he is Michael Kaiser, a member of the New Generation World XI, signed to Bastard Munchen with millions to his name.

He met you at twenty-one, a university student studying in one of the universities in the city, at some coffee shop he can’t seem to remember. He remembers the bored look on your face as you took his order at the register, and the way you didn’t even react when he said his name. If Kaiser was being honest, he was a little offended - but he also thought you were pretty even with your bored appearance.

He didn’t know that that fateful encounter would lead to perhaps the most meaningful years of his life.

Kaiser is not good with love. He was never given even a sliver of it, and he has never been in a relationship long enough to know what it feels like beyond the shallow like. Models and actresses alike all flock to him no doubt as a means of increasing their fame, and he could care less. It was fun to toy with them, and throw them aside when he got tired of them. They were all the same.

You, however, brought him down to earth; you showed him what it was like to be human. You showed him what it meant to enjoy the little things in life, to take a step back and relax for a moment, to enjoy the silence. If he knows how to appreciate the simple pleasures of life, it’s because of you.

Two years with you was more than enough time to get him addicted to the drug that is you. He’s not a passive person by any means, and he’s the kind of person to speak freely of his thoughts no matter the opinions of the people around him - yet he finds himself unsure of what to say when he’s with you. He finds himself wondering if he should say something, if he’ll offend you with his blunt words. So he softens himself the best he can, he tries to be gentler and kinder in his words and actions, all in an effort to keep you.

Yet, you still manage to slip through his fingers, until all he's left with are the bittersweet memories of you.

Kaiser doesn’t enjoy admitting he’s miserable. All that runs through his head are thoughts of you, how you’re doing, what you’re doing, where you could be. He yearns to feel your skin against his again, to hold you at night and let your breathing lull him to sleep, he yearns to hold your hand as you walk down the street, he yearns for you. You, who is just barely within reach, but the one thing he’ll never be able to reach.

Kaiser doesn’t cry. Kaiser gets angry, he gets frustrated, but he doesn’t cry. But when he thinks about you, and what was and what could’ve been, he can’t help when his face grows wet and the cascade of tears don’t stop. He waits for a moment, before he laughs bitterly, remembering that you’re not there anymore, and he’s back to wiping his own tears like all those years ago.

A month passes by, and you’ve never contacted him. His heart hurts in a way he’s never felt before. Maybe it’s an act of desperation, or maybe he’s drowning in his sorrows, but he finds himself at your apartment in the middle of the day looking and feeling like a wreck.

“I’m sorry.” The words slip out of his mouth on instinct. He’s not the kind of person to apologize, but if it’s for you, he’ll do it without hesitation.

You let him in and he almost feels like he’s breathing fresh air again. Your apartment is a familiar sight, and he remembers every inch of it like the back of his hand. The only things missing are the frames of you and him.

“I’m sorry.” He all but whispers when you sit down on your couch, his voice rough and raw. “I love you.”

“Michael…” Your voice, liquid gold to his ears, calls his name so tenderly he might just break down on the spot.

“I can’t live without you. I don’t know how to anymore. I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you, and I’ll never stop loving you. You… You’re my life. You taught me how to live, you taught me how to be human. If I know love, it’s because of you. How can I love another person while knowing you’re the only one for me?” Michael Kaiser has never begged. But for you, he’ll grovel a thousand times over and then some. His voice cracks and he wants nothing more than for you to love him again. “I… I know it’s selfish that I need you. You deserve better. I’m sorry that this is all I am, but I can’t let go of you.”

“Michael, please don’t say that.” Your voice is firm as you take his hands in yours and he swears he feels electricity shoot down his spine. “You are more than enough the way that you are, please never think otherwise. You’re the Michael Kaiser, any person would be lucky to have such a wonderful man by their side.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying, not until you wipe away his tears with your thumb.

When you embrace him gently, lovingly, he completely breaks. The tears don’t stop and he can’t help his sniffling. He’s afraid to speak, to hear what may leave his fragile heart, but he’s never felt so warm, so loved. Is this what home feels like?

“I was born to love you.” He finally manages to whisper, buried in the comfort of your neck with your arms wrapped around him, his wrapped around you. Your hands tenderly stroke his hair, and he feels himself being lulled to sleep.

“We were born for each other, my love.”

[oceaneyesinla]

This got longer than I expected, but I thought about Kiryu taking care of you, specifically after you bruise your knuckles, and it spiralled from there.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Imagine being Kiryu's girlfriend, and someone starts shouting insults as you walk down the street, hand in hand. Maybe it's about the way he clips his pretty pink hair back, maybe it's about the way he wears his patterned shirts and his Bofurin jacket; whatever it is, you don't like it.

Kiryu is just ignoring them - why would he care what they say, when he's got someone like you by his side? Besides, he's confident in himself; he likes his style, and one of his favourite things is deciding what to do with his hair every day, usually with your input.

You are less forgiving. This idiot is getting to you. How dare he insult your boyfriend? Someone who one, is better looking than this fucker could ever hope to be, and two, is one of the best men you've ever had the joy of meeting. He's kind, he treats you well, he takes you out for little adventures and never lets you want for anything.

You glare at the guy as you pass, and he just shoots you a cocky, self assured smirk. That's the last straw; seconds later, your fist is colliding with his cheek, and he staggers backwards a couple of steps. He clearly wasn't expecting your reaction, and once he processes it, his face warps with anger.

Before you can begin to regret your hasty decision or start planning for a trip to an emergency dentist when he's knocked your teeth in, Kiryu is putting himself between you and the asshole.

"Now, now. Unless you want me to call my friends," He waggles his phone playfully, and you can hear the smile in his voice, "I suggest you leave me and my girlfriend in peace."

He takes a step forward, and when he speaks again, you don't need to see his face to know his smile has dropped. You can see his expression in your mind's eye, and you don't need to hear his words. The guy's face drops, and moments later, he's staggering away from you both, looking over his shoulder every so often as if he expects you to follow.

Your hand is already beginning to ache, and the skin over your knuckles is reddened and broken in places. How the boys do this all the time, you'll never know. This sucks.

Kiryu slots himself into your personal space, kissing your forehead before taking your hand ever so gently in both of his, his voice a gentle coo, "Does it hurt, sweet girl? It looks sore."

You nod, bottom lip slipping out into a pout as he coddles you. He makes sympathetic noises as he softly pokes at it, murmuring apologies when you wince. Once he's satisfied with his inspection, he places a featherlight kiss to your knuckles, lips just barely brushing over the already bruising skin.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. I can handle some petty insults."

You frown, reaching up with your non-injured hand to cradle his cheek, "Yeah, but you shouldn't have to, Mitsuki. That guy was a jerk."

Kiryu is giving you that soft smile, the one that makes your heart skip a beat, though it quickly turns teasing, "Aren't I lucky then, to have such a dedicated protector? A pretty one, too."

You feel your cheeks heat up, and you try to pull your hand out of his grasp so you can pretend to be offended. No such luck; his hold on you may be gentle, but it's secure. Just like always.

"Look at me, baby." When you do, you're met with unfiltered adoration and a smile that reaches those beautiful green eyes, "Thank you for standing up for me."

You can't stay mad at that face, even if you're pretending. You press a kiss to his cheek, then to his lip, pulling away to meet his fond smile with one of your own. You would take a thousand bruised knuckles if it meant he could live his life free of the fools who would try and drag him down.

"Now come on. We need to get some ice on that hand of yours." He laces his fingers through yours and leads you down the street, and you don't regret a thing if it means he keeps smiling at you like that.

[costelloschoice]

I absolutely adore your fics and was thinking about a Yandere Mizu fanfic idea (if you like the idea as well of course) Keep up the good work you're amazing 🥰💜

-Thank you for the request, i made a little something short yet sweet <3 -sorry it took so long, I managed to fuck up my legs by falling from ice (don't ask) so i've been focusing on feeling better :}

Red Means I Love You Yandere!Mizu x fem!reader -warnings: toxic behavior, possessive over reader -hope you enjoy :]

She never felt this way about anyone else. It was scary.

Mizu believed that love wasn't for her. Love was harsh to her, least till you came along. You were such a breath of fresh air, a beautiful rose in a garden of weeds. And she wanted your sweetness all to herself.

You were like a small deer. A fragile and gentle being. Something so pure and sweet, weak and defenseless. So pretty up close but easily scared…Yet she managed to get close to this deer. And you didn’t run away…In fact you decided to come closer to her. She was a hunter, killing many, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t appreciate your beauty.

She thought she had a little crush on you. I mean, you were so nice to her and showed her kindness that she always dreamed of. But seeing how Taigen would try to flirt with you, made her feel an unbridled rage. How the hell does this man think he is? First, he has Akemi and now you? No. He doesn’t get to have who ever he wants. Maybe because of Mizu’s childhood he tortured her, but he doesn’t deserve a girl like you.

Mizu would Taigen away, threating him to stay away from you. That Mizu knows men like him will use someone as beautiful as you. Everything about you was perfect, Mizu couldn't find a flaw if she tried. It seems like you've stolen her heart from her. Taigen would get offended and walk away. Like a buck trying to win over a doe deer but failing due to the human the deer was so close to.

In her eyes, no one could be around you or talk to you for too long. She would barely let Taigen speak to you and Ringo was allowed to talk to you and only to help you with an injuries.

When Boss Hamata sent his men to attack Mizu and the women at the tea house, she tried to protect you the best she could. You refused to stay in the basement and help Mizu fight against the corrupted boss and his men. She told you to stay back and hide with the rest...but of course you didn't listen.

You were a foolish girl, but like all humans, we make mistakes.

You were on the ground, bloodied and you tried to stop the man’s katana from going into you. From the blood spots, it looks like you were getting weaker and weaker by the second and wouldn’t be able to last any longer. You were a poor, helpless baby dear against the big bad wolf…You couldn’t find this man off alone. It was pathetic, but in a cute way.

Mizu, trying to have a grip on the situation, immediately went after the man. Ripping the man off of you before stabbing him repeatedly. She was the hunter who took the wolf down to protect her doe deer. She didn’t care if he was dead, she just kept stabbing till her anger subsided.

Now covered in this man’s blood, she turns to see you. You looked petrified. She thought it was because of the man but really it was because of her. She was used to everyone looking at her that way…but your gaze hurt the most. Her deer was surely to run off in the woods and never been seen again from her.

“Oh my dove..” Mizu spoke, moving to you. Her bloody hand caressed your cheek. The smell of iron was thick and heavy, making you flinch and gag internally. You were disgusted by these actions, her violent and ruthless killing. Yes he hurt you but at some point it’s uncalled for….but bigger shouldn’t be choicers.

“You’re safe..” she whispered, placing a kissing to your forehead. A red lip print on your forehead. It felt so wrong but nice after your near death experience.

“My small doe…You’re mine to protect..” she whispered into your skin, continuing to place kisses on your forehead.

“You’re mine.”

She said with aggression present in her tone. You just nodded, what else could you do? She could easily hurt you is you protested. You didn’t wish to die at the hands of your protector.

“I’m yours…”

“All mine..” she mumbled. Mizu caressed the soft hair of her doe deer, calming down the easily frightened creature. She perfect, sweet, weak and fragile deer now safe in her arms again, where she belongs.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I recall reading in Ninaki's interview that Rachel met with her after the divorce decision and told her to be prepared as this news will come out in the papers the next day. Ninaki thought at that time what's the need for her to do so as Rachel wasn't even a big star when this was happened. But when I go back and scoured for this very detail, I can no longer find it. Guess Rachel got offended that Ninaki didn't think of her as an A Lister back then and got the article corrected

Ask from August 3rd

Here is the Ninaki interview (archived link). It's from December 2017. Be warned that there are *a lot* of pictures of Meghan in the article.

"It was such a shock when she told me they were getting divorced. After about three seasons of Suits, she called me and said she wanted me to know because it was going to come out in the papers. I knew they fought sometimes, but it wasn’t anything huge. The only obstacle was the distance because she was living in Toronto and Trevor was based in LA. But I thought that they were manoeuvring through it as best they could. Trevor would take his work to Canada to be with her and run his office remotely. I wasn’t aware there were any problems in the marriage. I had to accept what she said." Ninaki hesitates...[she] says she no longer recognises the girl with whom she shared her childhood. "A month after the divorce, I wanted to see how Trevor was doing. We met and talked. It’s not up to me to speak for Trevor, but I know he was travelling to Toronto every few weeks and would have walked the earth to make their marriage work. I don’t believe she gave him enough of an opportunity. I think there was an element of 'out of sight, out of mind' for Meghan. The way she handled it, Trevor definitely had the rug pulled out from under him. He was hurt. I tried to get details from her, but she wouldn’t tell me. What came to light after Trevor and I spoke ended my friendship with Meghan. I think everybody who knew them both was in shock. All I can say now is that I think Meghan was calculated — very calculated — in the way she handled people and relationships. She is very strategic in the way she cultivates circles of friends. Once she decides you’re not part of her life, she can be very cold. It’s this shutdown mechanism she has. There’s nothing to negotiate. She’s made her decision and that’s it."

and

"Then, after the wedding, it was like a light switched off. There’s Meghan Before Fame and Meghan After Fame. After three seasons of Suits, she called me to say the marriage was over. Maybe she had started to change before then, but I was refusing to see it. The tone of her voice, her mannerisms, the way she laughed didn’t seem real to me any more. Even by season two of Suits, she was turning down lunch with us because she said she’d be recognised. I felt if I questioned her behaviour, I’d be left on the outside. Sometimes the truth is not always what you want, is it? Her time became increasingly important. When she was in town, she’d want you to drop everything to see her. If I was busy, it would be, 'Why don’t you want to see me? I’m here. Let’s hang out!' There were instances when I felt she developed a sense of entitlement because she was on the show. The breaking point for me came when she wanted to adopt a dog. She’d fallen in love with it, but found someone else wanted the dog, too. So she emailed the pet adoption people and explained how she could provide a great life for it. She spoke of what a great time the dog would have in the Suits Family. I felt that she was playing the Suits card to try to get what she wanted. She included me and the other bridesmaids in the email chain because she wanted our moral support, I think. I didn’t respond to it. It left a sour taste in my mouth. We began to talk less. It was shortly after that I spoke to Trevor about the divorce. I phoned Meghan to speak about it, but she wouldn’t confide in me. It was obvious to me she wasn’t the friend I’d grown up with any more. She had a new circle of friends."

And one very prophetic line from the article: Many of the friends who celebrated with the newlyweds on that beach are no longer speaking to Meghan.

We can say the same thing now today about Harry. Many of the friends who celebrated with the newlyweds at Windsor are no longer speaking to Harry.

[pascaloverx]

OUR SECRET — MYG

chapter three

Summary: You and Yoongi are having an affair. No, you are not being his lover. But the world is not ready to know that an idol is dating someone. So you two were doing your best to make sure no one found out. Until he breaks up with you. His mistake.

Author's note: This fanfic will contain inappropriate language and intimate moments between some characters. Be warned. I will let you know if anything becomes inappropriate. Please enjoy this Yoongi fanfic.

PREVIOUS NEXT

You wake up surprised, you didn't even remember falling asleep. Especially in the studio where you shouldn't even be. Yoongi is still sleeping while you are spooning. How did this happen?

"Let's stay like this for a little longer..." Yoongi murmurs, almost opening his eyes and you don't know how to react.

"And we get caught like this? Never. I have to find a way to get out of here before I cause problems." You respond, moving away from Yoongi. Of course you I wanted to stay in his arms but a scandal now would be harmful.Even though there's a bigger scandal still growing inside you.

"Then why are you here if you're afraid of being seen with me?" He asks almost as if he's offended. You laugh, seeing him get angry. How the tables turn. In the past he couldn't stand the idea of ​​us being caught together. Now he's angry at you for being cautious.

"Scared? Me?" You speak indignantly at your ex-boyfriend's accusation. Yoongi seems to forget that you are the one who loses the least if the public finds out about you two.

"You always revert to things like I'm the bad guy. I literally mean that I don't care if anyone sees us and you treat me like the villain." And then you think about how long all you wanted to hear from Yoongi was this. You wanted him to be proud of being your boyfriend.

"It's easy for you to believe that you want people to know about us now that the two of us are nothing. Nothing to each other. Nothing but..." You look at him as you're almost crying. It's now or never. Tell him about something that will change our lives.

"Don't say we're nothing. You could never be nothing to me." Yoongi caressed your face gently. It's as if his touch makes the sadness goes away.

"Yoongi, we will never be anything to each other because you and I. You and I..." You are about to speak and morning sickness hits you. You vomit into a trash can near Yoongi’s soundboard.

"You are sick? Maybe it's something you ate..." He says worriedly. You think it's cute that he cares.

"That's what I was talking about. You and I can't be anything to each other anymore. Because I'm going to be a mother and you're going to be a father." You speak delicately trying to be as gentle as possible by saying this.

"Is this some plan of yours?" It's the first thing the man who says he loves you says. You have a feeling he's not going to react well. So you get up heading towards the door, but Yoongi stops you from leaving.

"Before you say something you'll regret, I want to leave. Don't worry, I won't appear in front of you or demand anything." It's painful to think that this is what he wants from you but it probably is.

"You are pregnant?" He asks like someone who needs confirmation bigger to believe.

"Yes, I'm pregnant. I'm going to have a baby. Are you satisfied?" You ask, trying to hold back your emotions and not cry. He looks lost as if he doesn't know how to react. That's when you hear someone trying to enter the studio.

"I'm going to hide you in the bathroom and then ask Namjoon to take you home. But this, between you and me, isn't over." He whispers and you shiver. You nervously let yourself be guided by your ex-boyfriend, knowing that soon you and him will have a baby.

[kiwi-muses]

Part One Here

It was only a couple of days before his shadow zoomed into his room to alert him that Gwyn was speaking with Bryaxis. It was the middle of the night, and Azriel grumbled as he pulled on his leathers. One of the rare instances where he’d been dead asleep, and Gwyn had to inadvertently ruin it. He made his way into the library, and weaved through the stacks, Gwyn’s voice becoming louder and louder. Azriel silently hid in the shadows, wondering what was so important that it must be spoken of in the middle of the night. 

“Do you sleep at all?” he heard her ask. After a moment in which Bryaxis must have responded, he heard her say, “Well, I suppose in some ways that’s lucky. You get to avoid the issues I have.” She was silent for a moment. “What you said… about my… mate… how did you know?”

Azriel felt his eyebrows raise. Gwyn had a mate? Since when? If Bryaxis spoke of it, perhaps that’s what surprised her the last time. There was an uncomfortable feeling in Azriel’s chest as he thought of Gwyn having a mate, though he couldn’t explain why, exactly. 

“I think I knew when I first saw him, though there was… a lot happening,” she was saying. “But I’ve never told anyone before. I thought maybe I was mistaken.” Her voice was soft. “No, I don’t wish it weren’t so. He’s a good male. Strong and kind.” She paused, listening, and chuckled. “Well, maybe you don’t think so, and I could certainly see why.” The longer Azriel stood there, eavesdropping, the more bizarre the conversation became. And the longer he stood there, the more that uncomfortable feeling in his chest grew. And a piece of him was almost offended for the unknown male. A mating bond was sacred. Why wouldn’t Gwyn tell this male? He became more agitated before deciding he was done for the night. He stepped from the shadows, and saw Gwyn whirl around to see him. She turned back to the pit. “Looks like our visit is over tonight.” She softly laughed again. “I’ll make sure to sing louder for you next time.” She walked towards Azriel, eyes sparkling. He crossed his arms over his chest, cutting an imposing figure. 

“We talked about this, Gwyn.” His voice was low. 

“You mean you talked, Shadowsinger. No one said I agreed.” He let out his breath in a huff. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” he said. 

She tilted her head at him. “You seem… vexed with me, Shadowsinger. Moreso than usual.” Azriel said nothing, turning to escort her back to the dormitories. “You can tell me, you know. Honesty is the best policy and all that.”

Damn him, Azriel couldn’t control it. The words were going to fly out of his mouth whether he wished them to or not. He stopped in the middle of the aisle and turned to her, seeing her waiting face. “You have a mate. Why won’t you tell him? Those bonds… those bonds are rare, and sacred. Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

He felt Gwyn’s eyes on him, studying him. He could almost feel her weighing her words carefully. “There are many reasons I haven’t chosen to divulge the information yet, Azriel.” The use of his given name struck him. She hadn’t used it before. It sounded less like a curse, and more like a caress coming from her. “Some reasons are mine, and mine alone, and maybe I will tell him one day. But I can say,” she took a deep breath, “I have it on good authority that he cares for another. I respect him enough to allow his choices, and I refuse to be chosen solely because of a bond. I’d rather be loved.” Her words struck him in the heart. It was everything he wanted, needed Elain to say and to practice. He needed Elain to want to choose to be loved, to choose him. Gwyn cracked a small smile. “Besides, I’ve met him and he is otherworldly. And I’m just me. He needs someone who he can be proud of.” Gwyn started walking past him, leaving him speechless. This female… he couldn’t figure her out. People were easy to unravel. They were easy to manipulate, to discover inner motives. But not Gwyn. She was a puzzle to him and with each new piece he handed her, he found something new to wonder over. 

“Gwyn,” he called, striding to catch up to her. She looked up at him. “Any male would be lucky to have you as his mate. And if they aren’t proud to have you, they’re not worth your time.” The dazzling smile Azriel received lit something in his heart. 

“Thank you, Shadowsinger.” She smiled, and something in him softened to know he put that smile on her face. 

“Now will you please stop talking to Bryaxis? I don’t trust that it won’t betray you and try to take you.” Gwyn laughed, though what was so funny he had no idea. 

“Bryaxis and I came to an agreement. If I sing while I work, Bryaxis will be content. I won’t have to go near the pit, Shadowsinger.” He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He had wrestled Bryaxis back into the pit; he knew what Bryaxis could do, the harm it could cause, if provoked. And he wanted Gwyn nowhere near that sort of danger. “I can make my way from here, Shadowsinger. I need to shelve a few books anyways,” Gwyn said.

“Alright,” Azriel said softly. “Goodnight, Gwyneth.” 

“Goodnight, Shadowsinger,” she replied, making her way through the stacks to her books, leaving Azriel to make his way out of the library, pondering the strange feeling Gwyn left him with. A few words and she could coax a smile from him without his notice, or cause his heart to stop in his chest just by having a conversation with a creature. Azriel wasn’t an outwardly emotive male. Inwardly, he felt everything, but a childhood of torture had taught him to effectively wear a mask. One that, somehow, Gwyn made him feel was unnecessary.

[heliads]

like a heartbeat, drives you mad

From the moment you first dream of Neverland, you know that it's a home unlike any other. Waking up is terrible every time, but what if you were able to find a way to stay there forever?

masterlist

You are always alone when the thoughts catch up to you. When you’re with other people, it’s different, easier to convince your mind to race to better, safer topics. You don’t have to think about the fears or the worries, you just have to keep up with the conversation or do your best to not seem like the person you’re terrified you truly are. Everything hinges on the one other person there, distracting you from the relentless parade of thoughts, keeping you firmly in reality.

When you’re alone, though, you can’t hide anymore. You wave goodbye to your friends to head inside, and with your hand on the knob, you think, did they really want to see me? And, was that laughter genuine, or were they faking it the whole time? Worse, was it at me?

Things get worse once it gets dark. You lie awake at night thinking that you’ll fail at everything, that no one will want to associate with you after that, that everyone on this earth is going to live and die and no one will ever remember you again. You don’t like thinking along such dark lines, but the self-hatred is strong and won’t let you go. You’ve tried before, shaking it off, but it always comes creeping back when you want it the least.

Life is not the best, but at least the fall of dusk upon the streets and surroundings of your hometown brings you the blessing of finally being able to go to bed. You can push off schoolwork until the next day, chores until forever, just so long as you can shut off your mind and crawl under your covers and everything will go away.

Tonight is one of those nights when you want it most of all. It’s been a long day, followed by a long week, chased by an even longer month. You can only tell yourself that it’ll get better soon for so long before even that familiar lie loses its charm. It’ll be good to rest tonight, though. Maybe tomorrow will make you happier. You close your eyes and try to sleep, all but begging unconsciousness to fall over you and carry you away. Your waking life is horrid enough. In sleep, at least, you will be alone, but–

In your dream, there is a boy. He was not there before. He is, in fact, nobody you have ever seen before. This should not be a problem. Dreams are rarely perfectly photographic, but this boy is, indeed, perfect. He’s absolutely in focus, blurred by none of that dreamlike haze that most figures cling to in your subconscious. It’s like a memory, but it’s never happened. It’s like reality, but you are still definitely asleep.

You stare at him for longer than is perhaps polite, but he does not go away. You can feel this dream in a way that should not be possible– the carpet under your feet, the cool of the air conditioning. You’re in your room, standing by the door. He’s perched on a chair, eyeing you with interest, and as bizarre as this dream is, you cannot shake the absolute certainty that this is his fault.

The only thing to be left, then, is to get some answers. You work up the confidence to speak, and your voice sounds exactly as it should, not distorted by dreams or anything. “Who are you?”

The boy chuckles. “A friend of yours. Hopefully, that is. I’d like to get to know you.”

Having gone a record number of years of your life without any hyperrealistic boys disrupting your dreaming schedule, especially ones who specifically wanted to meet you of all people, this only adds to your confusion. “Why?”

The boy shrugs liberally. “I’ve been encountering fewer and fewer dreamers around. Yours are the most vibrant. I was curious.”

You fight the odd urge to laugh. “A lot of people dream. Maybe you’re just bad at looking.”

This is, of course, the most rational thing you can do, immediately pick a fight with some guy currently terrorizing your brainwaves. Luckily, he doesn’t seem offended by your need to argue, and he just grins. “See, you’re right, but most dreams are nothing more than surface level. Yours are deeper, richer, stronger. In all honesty, that’s the sort of thing that makes me more powerful, so I wanted to see what it was about.”

You scoff. “Sure thing, magic boy, you, like, eat dreams or something. Weird of you, but okay.”

He smiles again. He shouldn’t, but he does. “You don’t believe me? I can show you.”

He stands, holds out a hand to you. You’re certain this guy’s nothing more than a figment of your imagination, but still. You hesitate. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Peter,” he says, “but magic boy works too.”

It makes you laugh. Shouldn’t, but it does. Just enough to shake loose your hesitations– what could happen here, after all, in the confines of your own dreams? You take his hand and something sparks behind his eyes. Pride, maybe. Or justification of some sort. Either way, you get the feeling that he’s just proven himself right.

Peter walks over to your window, throwing it open abruptly and climbing out onto the ledge. “You have to trust me,” he tells you, “or this isn’t going to work very well.”

You want to argue with him that you have absolutely no reason to trust him at all, but for some reason you’re already crawling out the window before you can get the words out. Your body trusts him, even as your mind doubts it. Strange, but nothing about this makes sense, anyway.

Peter straightens up slowly, bringing you with him. “Are you ready?”

“For what?” You ask, concerned.

His eyes dance with mischief. “For this,” he calls out, and he pulls you from the ledge.

There is a terrible moment of falling, when the only sure thing is his hand still wrapped around yours. You are plummeting towards the ground with dreadful speed, but then you’re not, and you’re leveling out again, the two of you pulled through the air as if by some invisible string.

The wind whips through Peter’s hair as the two of you soar through the air. “How is it?” He shouts over to you.

You laugh delightedly. “Fantastic.” It’s almost a pity it isn’t real. The fact that it feels so true but isn’t is almost more heartbreaking as if nothing had felt like reality in the slightest.

Before you know it, you and Peter are well beyond the reaches of your town, or even your country. Dark waters skim by underneath you, the waves of some foreign sea. Thousands of stars twinkle above you, Peter points out a few, shouts, second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning, that’ll get us there. You frown at him, call back, where? And he laughs, delighted in the thought of all that you have soon to experience, and screams, Neverland! at the top of his lungs.

It sounds like a joyous place. It is, from the moment you step foot on its pearlescent beaches, and later still, when you’re striding through the lush forests towards a campsite. It’s all a blur from that moment onwards, a swirl of new faces running towards you and laughing at your jokes, the clash of swords without a trace of fear, promises that you’ll love this even better, or that, or everything.

It is paradise. You do a hundred things and never tire. The Lost Boys who meet you, take you by storm, and obviously enjoy the company of a newcomer. Throughout all of it, Peter watches, tucked into the shadow of a tree trunk, arms folded across his chest with that satisfied smile on his face again. He does not approach until earlier into the morning, once dawn starts bleeding out beneath the blushing fingers of the rising sun.

“We have to go back,” he tells you at last, slipping out from his hideaway to step carefully to your side, “Or, you do, at least.”

The memory that none of this is real comes crashing down upon you, and you can feel the ecstasy of this whole night leaving you in a flash. “Right,” you say, “This is just a dream. Forgot about that.”

The thought that you’ll have to wake up and go to school and exist again as a normal person without any of this wonder that you’d just experienced makes you feel sick and saddened. Peter shakes his head, eyes soft. “You don’t necessarily have to wake up, but you should. You can come back soon, though.”

You laugh bitterly. “Of course I can, dream boy. I’m going to forget all of this by morning.”

He frowns. “Do you want to?”

“No,” you insist, “but I don’t think I have a choice.”

“You do,” Peter tells you, “You always have a choice. Always.”

With that, he takes your hand, and pulls just so. You stumble forward, caught off balance, and when you look up again, you’re in your room. Same four walls, same ceiling, same everything. You know somehow that this is the dream no longer, even without mysterious boys or wonderful islands in front of you.

A dreadful sigh leaves your lungs, carrying only heartbreak and misery. What a pity, to have such a magnificent dream and then have to leave it. Knowing that none of it was real is perhaps one of the worst agonies you have ever encountered in your life.

Or– was it not real after all? There’s something clenched in your hand, and you raise it slowly, uncurling the fingers one by one. What falls neatly onto your lap is a stone, polished to perfection by centuries of tides. It’s like no stone you’ve ever seen around here, shiny in a way that nothing natural is. It’s dark and lovely and– and it’s exactly like the ones on the shores of Neverland when you first touched down. There was no way you could have gotten it anywhere but there. That means that you were there after all, and that it’s real, it’s all real.

You go throughout the day in a haze, barely able to focus long enough to remember where you’re supposed to be going. None of it matters, though, not even the snide comments of your teachers or the questioning looks from your peers. Nothing matters, because the second the day ends and night creeps back around you, you know it’s time.

You have a brief moment of terror just before you fall asleep when you wonder if you can get back after all, that perhaps that was just a one time thing. No, you decide firmly, I want it. I’m going.

And, when you open your eyes to that same slightly uncanny feeling of the dream before, you know it, you can get back. Peter isn’t here this time, but that doesn’t stop you from racing to your window and throwing open the sash. You leap out into the air again blindly, reaching for the stars even before your feet leave the threshold. You won’t get hurt, none of this is real. All of this is real, that’s why you can fly into the air again, caught by an unseen hand. Second star to the right. Straight on until morning. You know the way. You couldn’t forget it if you tried.

The beaches of Neverland are empty, but you charge forward anyway, nearly tripping over tree roots and loose plants as you hurry through the forest. You can just see the lights of the camp, and then, yes, you’re into the clearing, and you’re greeted by shouts of glee and joy. Peter’s waiting for you at last, slowly clapping with the rest of the boys.

“You made it,” he says, evidently proud, “We wanted to see if you could.”

“Of course I can,” you tell him, laughing, “I made that choice.”

“That you did,” Peter says, and the celebrations begin.

It is quite possibly the best time of your entire life. You repeat this process day after day, slogging through your daylight hours with the end goal of being able to fall asleep and go back to Neverland, back to your Lost Boys, back to Peter. Nothing matters but the island. They all get along with you better than any friend you’ve ever made on the mainland.

The journey takes a shorter and shorter time, gone in the blink of an eye, and half the time you just wake up on the shores anyway, so familiar is the destination to you. You learn archery, throw knives, spar with the boys, shriek and shout and spin around the campfire. It’s fantastic, all of it, but that only makes the morning even worse in your opinion.

For, no matter how excellent of a night you had on Neverland, you always have to go back. Always. Peter takes your hand and he gives you that same look, that expression of regret and acceptance, and promises to see you later, to see you soon. Then you’re back in your house, and every time, the storm of homesickness and grief at no longer being on your island pulls you under.

It makes you think, though. On your first night on Neverland, Peter had said something strange about how you didn’t necessarily have to wake up. Perhaps it fits in with what he’s been telling you about how everything is just a choice. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to want that choice, the one to live here forever. It’s one you’d make in a heartbeat if you could only do it.

Curious, though, you start looking around at the other Lost Boys. They had to have gotten here somehow, right? One night you see one of them arrive, ferried over by a strange shadowy thing that looks far more terrifying than the whirlwind flight you’d had with Peter.

You ask one of the Lost Boys about it that night, interested to know why you were brought by Peter and this newcomer wasn’t. Apparently, though, you were the anomaly, not this boy.

“Usually Pan makes his shadow bring newcomers over,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly, “but I guess he wanted to impress you or something.”

You frown. “Why?”

The boy lifts a shoulder, evidently unbothered by the whole affair. “You’re the last of the dreamers, I guess he wants to keep you around or something.”

It’s an unhelpful answer, all things considered, and basically just what Peter had told you in your dream bedroom that first night. Still, the story is consistent, at least, and it makes you even more certain that Peter wants you to stay. You’re one of the dreamers, right? Why wouldn’t he want you to stay here forever, at least to keep his magic strong if not for the obvious friendship the two of you have had since the very first time you met?

You resolve to bring it up to Peter the next night. You’ve barely been on Neverland for an hour or two before you pull Peter aside and tell him what’s been on your mind for the longest time.

The breath out of your lungs is shaky, but you’re determined to get this right. “I want to stay in Neverland,” you tell him. “Forever, I mean. Not waking up. I want you to bring me here in real life. You always say that we have to make choices, and this is mine. I choose Neverland.”

Peter nods slowly, and you’re almost getting up your hopes that he’ll be accepting when he starts to speak. “That certainly would be an important choice. I would have to choose to bring you, though.”

You incline your head once. “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking you now. I mean, we’re friends, right? You and me, and the rest of the Lost Boys get along with me, too. I belong here, you know that. You brought me here in the first place, at least let me stay.”

He’s not saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? After too many minutes, Peter sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Dreaming is one thing. Actually living here is something else entirely.”

“I know,” you say, starting to get impatient, “I’ve thought about this a lot, trust me, but I feel more alive on your island than I have in the real world. This is my home, Peter. You made it my home.”

Peter stares at you, the ground, his hands, and back to you. “No,” he says at last.

It feels as if you have fallen off of a tall cliff, condemned to tumble down forever in endless emptiness. “What? Why wouldn’t you– you’ve let me come here every night for months, but actually being on this island for good is too much for you? Peter, was any of this actually real to you? Was I just here as a temporary thing while you tried to harness the power of a dreamer or something?”

Peter shakes his head quickly. “No, no. It wasn’t about that. You’re as good as one of my Lost Boys–”

You cut him off, feeling the horror build in your chest with every passing second. “But never actually one of them, right? I can hang around during my nights but I will never be one of them, because you don’t really want me here. If you did, you would have brought me like all the others.”

You want to scream and cry, perhaps both. You’ve trusted him and, hell, even loved him, more than anyone else. Peter was the one thing in between you and complete melancholy. He’s turned your whole life around, given you reason after reason to keep going, but he does not want you around for good. Maybe he doesn’t even want you around at all.

He’s trying to say something, come up with some excuse that’ll somehow exempt him from your heartbreak, but anger is quickly outweighing sadness in your mind and you won’t let him. “No,” you say shakily, “If you never intended to keep me, I won’t waste our time. Why have me here at all?”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Wait, please–”

You never hear the end of his sentence. You’ve woken yourself up from this glorious dream enough to be able to do it all by yourself, and you do it now. When you open your eyes, it’s still dark outside, several hours from morning, but it’s over now, it’s all over.

You know that with certainty. You’ll never be going back. If Peter does not want you, and it is suddenly crystal clear that he does not, or he would have already taken you to Neverland and never fought it, then you will not trouble him with your presence any longer. This is what he wants, even if it destroys you. 

It’s funny, realizing how much being on Neverland transformed your life. Your waking hours suddenly seem longer, the days filled with more dread and dullness than they ever had before. You had been miserable before you dreamed of Peter and the Lost Boys, and now that misery is back in full force. You compel yourself to forget him, to forget everything that had happened on that island, but picking up the pieces is a far harder task than you had ever anticipated.

Days pass. Weeks. Months. At first, you have to force yourself to wake up from that dream again and again, catching yourself with the image of second stars to the right even as you promised yourself that you would never think of it again, but it gets easier as time goes by. That hurts more than it should, but you have no other choice. Peter does not put himself in your dreams again. You do not show up to Neverland. Everything is exactly as it was before, but worse, because now you have those memories of a time that was far better than this one.

You’re walking home from school one day when you’re reminded of Neverland again. It’s a strong memory, forcing itself to the front of your mind. Green trees, the leaves waving overhead. The breeze whipping at your face. You can’t imagine why you’d be thinking of it again, and then you turn a corner and he’s there in front of you. 

Peter.

It’s impossible. You’re not dreaming, so he shouldn’t be here unless– unless he actually came here. You stand stock-still, hardly daring to breathe, and Peter looks back at you, just as shaken even though he’s the one who came all this way.

“I miss you,” he says slowly, unsteadily. You’ve never seen Peter hesitant, or ever show any sign of a lapse in his typical cocky confidence. Not until now, that is. Truly, he has no idea how you will treat him now that you’ve already left once before and gotten away with it.

“I know,” you tell him, “I know.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, trying to get a read on you. “Did you miss me?”

You take a step to the side, looking at the nearby scenery, anything but him. “Yes. Parts of it. I missed running with the Lost Boys under the trees. I missed the bonfires and the dancing. And yes, I think I missed you. But I hated feeling like you didn’t want me there, and for a while, that was enough to make me think I didn’t miss you.”

Peter’s eyes are wide, twin emeralds twinkling in the quiet air. “And what about now that I’m here? Can you miss me now?”

“I can,” you decide at last. You do. You have, and seeing him again has ripped open a fresh wound you swore had already healed. Blood is oozing around your fingers, but for some reason being with him still takes away the pain of such a grievous blow.

Peter holds out a hand to you. He’s trembling slightly, far less sure of himself than he’d been in a dream of your bedroom many months ago. Still. He wants you even now.

“Come back with me,” he says, “Back to Neverland. We all need you. I need you. You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. It was always your home, I didn’t realize it before. It could be your home again.”

You look at him. It’s been a long time. You’ve grown up in the time since you last stepped foot on the island, but strangely enough, you think he has too. That’s why you’re able to take his hand at last, and trust that he will not let you down again. He needs you, just like he said. As it turns out, you need him too.

Peter’s smile is radiant. “Shall we go back, then?”

You allow yourself to smile back at last. “I think we will.”

ouat tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

[wavypotatochips]

i love sergio so much, can u write another one? maybe where he likes to tease reader a lot but she’s very shy and introvert so sometimes he stops doing it because he might be scared he could offender her, like he’s very soft and lovey with her and maybe they both have a crush on each other ?

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐬

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Sergio Ramos x Female Reader

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2.4k

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: You are a shy, introvert photographer who PSG hires to take pictures of the players. You have always had a soft spot for Sergio Ramos, even before you were hired. With more time spent together, your crush is just growing, especially considering how sweetly he treats you. One day, He believes he has overstepped the mark one day when he does something that makes you flee.

𝘈𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦: I am so sorry for the wait!! (college has me in a chokehold rn) Of course I can write another! Thank you so much for requesting (: I'm not truly sure how to convey a very shy/ introverted individual, but I tried my best! Hope you like how I represent your idea ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚!!

[Translator Spanish is used- Note that translation may be wrong.]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♥

With just a few seconds remaining, the striker has  a chance to score and is going to kick, but Sergio stops him, giving PSG the victory. You smile to yourself and raise your camera to your eyes while shooting pictures of everyone as the boys rush over to him to celebrate. In order to capture Ramos alone, you keep the camera raised while you wait for the ideal opportunity. As your wish is granted a short while later, you start snapping quickly. He turns to look at you and gives you a wink as you peek through the camera lens to take the picture. Your heart starts to beat quickly as a flush spreads over your cheeks. "Got any good shots?," Ricardo, one of the other photographers for PSG, inquires. Ricardo, who is your age, constantly makes an effort to start a short conversation with you despite the fact that he is aware that you might not be interested in talking. But, because you two work side by side all day, you are closer to him than the other employees. You don't say much to him; you just nod your head in return as you look down at the camera and start looking through the pictures you've shot. You are a PSG employee recruited to photograph them for the social media department. As you are far from an extrovert, it comes as a surprise to you that you even got the job. Yet, social media is to thank for your opportunity. As several of the player photographs appeared on the explore page and started going viral, someone from PSG's social media team came across your profile. The next thing you know, an interview has been scheduled, and the rest is history. With butterflies in your stomach, you take a bit longer than necessary to look at the picture you just shot of Sergio Ramos. As a spectator, you have always found Sergio Ramos to be handsome, and your emotions have only gotten stronger now that you have the chance to meet him in person and get to know him better. He never appeared to mind that you were shy, and he always adjusted how he interacted with you to make sure you were at ease, which was especially important given that you spend more than half of your time with guys. He always made sure you were comfortable, whether it was by ordering the boys to step aside when he knew you were too afraid to speak up or by leaving blue raspberry jolly ranchers on your desk when you weren't looking after noticing that you were thrilled to find a blue raspberry-flavored one day in a candy jar. He always shows you the greatest kindness, but you can never tell if it's because he likes you or is simply being nice. Even though you have the largest crush on him, your mind keeps tricking you and making you overly anxious to communicate with him more than half of the time you two speak. Despite your best efforts, it seems difficult for you to make a change.

“Y/N The team is heading back through the tunnel! We should make it back before they do tunnel shots.” Ricardo exclaims, giving you a small smile and then begins to jog towards the team tunnel. You give Ricardo a small smile as you nod your head, mentally thanking him for removing your focus from the picture of Sergio Ramos. 

Sergio Ramos looks up at the bleachers and waves to everyone before gazing straight, his smile widening as he spots you walking into the team tunnel. He takes off his shirt and slings it over his shoulder, the adrenaline pumping through his veins from the exhilaration he felt. He sees you gaze down at the camera and as you move towards the tunnel, he starts to lightly jog in your way. He hopes you would compliment him on his outstanding save. Thousands of voices in the stadium have undoubtedly already applauded him, but the only words that will truly resonate with him are those that come from your mouth. He has always had his sights set on you ever since you were hired. As he is frequently surrounded by pretentious models, something about your timidity makes him feel like you are a breath of "new air," which makes him feel compelled to protect you. There hasn't been enough talk between you and him to qualify as a conversation. While he sees you as a fragile flower, he is unsure about how to approach you. The majority of the time, he makes an effort to imply that he is interested in you by showing you small acts of kindness. Other times, though, he will playfully tease you because he enjoys seeing how you respond, whether it be with a smile or a blush to the cheeks.

You hum to yourself as you enter the tunnel, keeping your distance from the players by walking close against the wall. Ramos' voice can be heard saying "Hey Y/N!" as his arm is wrapped around your neck and rests on your shoulder. You flinch a little in surprise at what he does. Your heart beats fast as you swallow anxiously and look up. Your body begins to heat up as your eyes contact him, your eyes instantly scanning down to his tattooed, shirtless torso, which is gleaming with sweat. When you glance up into his eyes, he smiles and winks at you from above. He smirks and leans in to whisper into your ear, “Me desempeñé bien hoy porque sabía que estabas mirando (I performed so good today because I knew you were watching.)”  You let out a tiny laugh since you didn't know what to say or do. You look away as your brain begins to process how close you are to his bare chest, your heart is pounding rapidly as if it is going to burst out of your chest. You look around to try and find a way out of the circumstance you are now in, your breathing starts to get faster. Sergio obviously has no malicious intentions, but this is simply how your body responds. When he notices your irregular breathing, his smirk suddenly vanishes. "Y/N are you o-" he begins, but you hurriedly push his arm off your shoulder and move swiftly in the direction of the closest restroom. Ramos was unable to do anything but watch as you almost ran away from him, his joy leaving his body and being replaced with remorse.

And the fact that he did not see you for the rest of the evening only made him feel worse. 

Meanwhile, in the restroom, your smile never fades as you recover your breath before squealing. “Oh my gosh,” you mutter to yourself, "Oh my Gosh, I can't believe that just happened!” You start whispering as you begin to recount all that just occurred. “I performed so well today for you, Y/N.” "Oh?-" you exclaim as you put your hand on your chest, “-for me?... How sweet of you. Deberías mirar las fotos que tomé hoy, te ves tan sexy(You should look at the pictures I took today, you look so hot.)” You remember the warmth that radiated from his covered in sweat body and giggle as you put your hand on the shoulder that his arm was on. That may seem disgusting, but hey, Sergio Ramos is Sergio Ramos, so even that is acceptable. Your grin then fades as you realize you are in the restroom and you glance in the mirror. You ran away from him yet again. A few weeks ago, you made a vow to yourself that you would talk to him and return his flirtations, but once again, your feet move more quickly than your lips. You groan and run your hands through your hair, too ashamed to even step back outside to see him at this point. "Next time you better speak out!," you say, pointing in the mirror at yourself. “You can do this!" You sigh once more as you realize you must return outside in order to provide the pictures you took on the field to the social media department. You expected your next opportunity to come later that night, but as soon as you went out of the bathroom, you ran into the manager of the media department and immediately began assisting them with their needs. The following day was a rest day, so there was no team meeting. Yet, as the day of the next team practice drew near, he didn't approach you to chat as he typically does. He might occasionally wave or crack a little smile at you, but he hardly ever even blinked an eye at you. You were saddened by this because you assumed that since he now thought you were awkward, he had lost interest in you.

Days have passed, and it is now officially two weeks since your last 'regular' interaction with one another. The guys are practicing right now, and you're back in the restroom, trying to convince yourself that you can talk to him. You are holding your camera and are dressed in black leggings with a PSG windbreaker because it is a little chilly outside due to the wind. You're pacing back and forth while telling yourself, “Okay Y/N…. you can do this…. How hard can it be? You talk to people all the time…. Maybe you can practice with Ricardo first…” You bite your bottom lip, trying not to let your nerves get the best of you because you haven't even attempted anything. You sigh and check your watch, realizing that practice is about to end and that you should head back to the field right now to take any last-minute shots. You give yourself one final nod of approval before heading outdoors to the practice fields.

You go down the hallways, your eyes widen as you start to hear a lot of voices, and you start to walk quickly. Of course they end practice early the day I don't need them too, you think to yourself. You witness Ramos pouring water into his mouth outside, still without a shirt. You want to scream at the sight, but you decide against it and carry on walking. YAs you start to move, you are too preoccupied with your thoughts to notice that you are walking right toward him. “Y/N?” You become aware that you are once more in front of a shirtless Sergio Ramos when he asks a question.  Your mouth starts to open and close as if you are a fish out of water as you attempt to conceal the sound of your rapid heartbeat. Come on, say something! Your mouth starts to open and close as if you are a fish out of water as you attempt to conceal the sound of your rapid heartbeat. Come on, say something! Sergio Ramos observes your frozen state for a few seconds before smiling and shaking his head. Before leaving, he puts his palm on top of your head and slightly messes up your hair. As you turn around and watch him walk away, you are upset with yourself. This time you pushed back instead of giving in, even if your neck feels like it has been sewn shut. “Sergio!,” You call out to him. He swiftly turns around with a smile on his face as he realizes you are speaking to him first. He answers, "Yes?," back. You take a sharp breath and swallow, hoping to get rid of your nerves. “You s-should put on your shirt…. I-I don't want you getting sick.” "Alright," He nods and chuckles as he quickly pulls the practice jersey back over his head. With the last inner power you have at this moment, you approach him as he was putting his shirt back on. “Sergio, I also want to apologize,”  there is a brief pause as you glance down and start to play with your camera,“I know I don’t always show you how thankful I am for the things you do for me, but I truly am. It's just my inner thoughts getting the best of me, and I believe that if I don't know what to say- then you shouldn't say anything at all.. I'm so-" "Y/N, you don't need to apologize," Ramos interrupts you and says,  “I should've never made you feel uncomfortable by invading your personal space last game… I just didn’t know how to apologize to you so I did what I thought was best and kept my distance in hopes that it made you feel better.” You give him a puzzled expression. "I didn't feel uncomfortable at all; I just responded that way because you were too hot to handle."   Your lips are swiftly covered with your free hand as you think to yourself, there is no freaking way I just said that. Your eyes widen. Ramos' eyes light up with amusement as he approaches you, hoping to taunt you a little,"Oh yeah? So, am I too hot to handle, or did you really want me to put on my shirt because you didn't want me to get sick?” You use your hand to conceal your face as much as you can because your other hand is still holding the camera. Ramos wraps his arm around you and gives you a big bear embrace as he laughs at the sight of you feeling embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but you are just too cute. I can't help but to mess with you a little." He glances down, but all he can see is the top of your head as you continue to mentally swear yourself out and conclude it's better to remain silent. "How about we go eat ice cream and I meet you in front of the staff housing in about two hours? He asks as he begins to rock you back and forth, "¿Eso te haría sentir mejor? (Would that make you feel better?)” He smiles once he feels you nod your head against his chest.“Great! Then it's a date.” "¿E-espera qué?(W-wait what?)" you ask, raising your head to look up at him, your chin pressing against his chest. He simply winks and releases his hold on you. "I'll see you later, princesa (princess)," he says as he turns to walk away. All you could do was look in disbelief because your brain was unable to comprehend what had just transpired. 

The one time you speak first, you get a date with your biggest crush. I suppose there are some risks that are worthwhile.

A/N: Part 2 with the ice cream date, maybe? c;

[juneknight]

In the spirit of missing dorm room Marc: maybe something fun like them going to a costume party, maybe matching, maybe in a couples costume, with colossal tension because of the implications of going matching? Anything that’s fun for you and is written by you is fun to read tbh

The exact moment you realize you’ve fucked up is this one: the bathroom door opens (a rush of steam and humidity flooding out, scented softly of Marc’s shower gel the one you use every now and then just to have his scent on you) and Marc comes out dressed nearly in the full costume that you had thrust into his arms a half-hour ago. The look in his eyes lets you know right away; you’ve overplayed your hand. 

Now he knows that you’re in love with him. 

“We don’t have to do this,” you backpedal. “Actually, this was a bad idea—” 

You bite off your own words, aware of how offensive they might seem, but Marc doesn’t look offended. He has paused to lean against the bathroom doorway—god he looks good, the holster sitting so low on his cocked hips, it’s enough to make you drool—and watch your frantic pacing, the white robe you’ve donned swishing around your ankles. You immediately sense that he’s doing That Thing, the one where he doesn’t speak and lets you dig yourself into a deeper hole. 

Well two can play at that game. You flop down on your bed and bury your face in your hands. How’s that for silence. You can barely hear his slow, careful footsteps over the ruckus in your brain, all your internal voice telling you that you had dug your own grave, you had fucking coordinated these costumes and now your feelings for him—for your best, closest friend—were plainer than day. 

The bed depresses as he sits down next to you. 

“You okay?” 

You shake your head. 

“You ever coming out of there?” 

You press your hands against your face tighter. 

His breath brushes your fingertips, his forehead resting against your temple as he whispers: “Is there room for me in there too?” 

“I didn’t even think when I bought the costumes, Marc, I swear.” 

“You didn’t?” 

“No!” 

He hums. 

“The couple’s costumes were buy-one-get-one-half-off, and so I spent most of time in that part of the shop anyway.” He hums again. “I saw mine first and I thought—wow, I’d look really good in that! Not that you don’t look really good in yours too—” He hums. Goddamnit, he’s doing The Thing again! “Marc, say something, you know I’m prone to nervous rambling, this isn’t fair—” 

“I think…we’re going to be late for the party if we sit around much longer.” 

You peek from your hands. “You still want to go? With me dressed like this? And you dressed like that? But people will think things. Most people who show up together and are dressed in couple’s costumes are…together.” 

“We should get together soon, then,” he says mildly. “Like now. Or on the walk to the party. We could get together outside Harrow’s apartment while we wait for him to open the door, but that’d really be pushing it. I’m more of a safe-than-sorry kind of guy.” 

You blink. “You. Say that again.” 

“You say it, actually. I want to hear you say it.” 

Your hands fall to your lap, tugging at the ends of your sleeves. You’ve always heard that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but you hadn’t really believed that until you met Marc. Sure his eyebrows are expressive, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes let you know that he is happy, but there’s something about his eyes themselves—warm and dark and so fucking safe—that can look at you and see inside you and somehow love what they see. 

“Marc, I really like you,” you murmur hesitantly. 

He has the perfect opportunity to say it, to say the most notable Han Solo line in all of cinema. I know.

“I really like you too,” he says softly. “Let me get the vest on. Gotta complete the look.” 

And when he does complete the look, it is a sinful one. Yes as a little girl you had had a huge crush on Han Solo (and Luke, Leia’s plight truly resonated with you). Seeing his image come to life over the blueprint of the man you are (swiftly) falling in love with is a recipe for a cocktail of feelings in your belly. Arousal. Fondness. Adoration. Desire. 

“Ready, Leia?” he asks, holding out a hand to you. 

You let out a breath you’d been holding since he opened the bathroom door. You take his hand. “Ready.” 

[lavenoon]

Falling Into Orbit (~4.1K)

Bloodstain Fool by @naffeclipse, og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic

Menace4Menace first meeting - plays before the first comic. Also reminder/ disclaimer that this is not a Y/N, and pronouns used will be he/she

Next -> Conjunction -> Asterisms

-

“You’re going to draw attention, looking like that.” 

You look up at the animatronic towering in front of you. For some reason, the comment offends you. Could be the fact that so far any passerby walking past has only spared fleeting glances your way, before looking up at your new friend and scurrying off with fear in their eyes. 

In a way, you get it. Twice your height and cutting quite the imposing figure in his suit, Eclipse is no one to sneeze at. 

Your nose still tickles.

“Are you sure anyone is even going to see me standing next to you?” 

Got him. There’s a twitch to his expression as his fingers curl around nothing but air, before he abruptly rips them down to his side. Just as suddenly he turns, walking down the sidewalk. 

You have to take two steps for each one of his. The most annoying part of it all is keeping your grin down.

Eclipse glares down at you just as you round the block. His eyes only narrow further, so perhaps you’re not doing that good of a job, hiding your amusement. 

“You’re still here.” 

… Where else would you be? He started walking, so you followed. Did he expect you to just shrug it off, and let him leave? Or maybe it’s wishful thinking, him hoping you’d turn out to be an apparition only. Too bad you have to disappoint him. 

You blink, and tilt your head. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Again with the furling fingers. It’s not a really reassuring gesture, but mostly you wonder if this time has stress toys. Eclipse sure looks like he could use one. Some, actually - multiple spares, just in case. 

The thought only intensifies when one hand wraps around your head, keeping your head fixed to where he leans down into your vision. While you’d love to say you’re fully focused on that probably faked cheerful smile, 

That hand is big. 

“I have work to do. I won’t babysit you.” 

You pat the hand on your head, and it twitches. 

“Lucky for you, I’m not a baby. You said you’d help me.”

“Because you were freaking out and drawing attention. Speaking of which, you calmed down really fast.” 

The words come out in a snarl, and his grip tightens again. At this rate you’re going to get a headache. That won’t help you clear his suspicions, so you do your best to project nonchalance with your shrug.

“I got distracted. Not every day you meet a sentient animatronic after all.” 

You look around, as much as your limited range lets you, and immediately realize that he won’t be able to sign off on that. There’s three other animatronics out and about, and that’s just from a quick glance around the busy street. 

So you have to amend your statement.

“Well. I suppose that no longer applies.”

The pressure from your head lifts as Eclipse straightens, his optics covered by his fingers curled into claws. He tilts his face up, and just like that you can’t see his expression anymore. Quietly, he mumbles. 

“Why did I agree to this?” 

You’re not sure if you were supposed to hear that, but you decide to reply anyway. First with a hum, earning you another glare, and then you grin. Eclipse drops his hand again, not looking even an ounce happier. You’re not sure it would have made much of a difference - he’s quite a lot of ounces. 

So you end up smiling for two.

“Because I’d go around and tell everyone I met you first. Think the police would enjoy my crazy story?” 

For an animatronic with a fixed smile, he looks awfully close to having bitten into his first lemon ever. But then, for just a second, his expression shifts - too bad you can’t read it at all. His pupils flit to the side, then narrow back down at you, and he looks as hard as ever. Moment over, then.

“You are my punishment.” 

You blink, unimpressed.

“You’re awfully sure you deserve to be punished.” 

Ignoring your comment entirely, he turns to look past you. When he speaks up again, his tone radiates eternal suffering, and you bite your tongue before you comment on that, too. 

“I know where you can stay. There’s someone who owes me a favor.” 

He starts walking again, and you follow with a dreary sigh. 

“Oh no, I landed in a time of ominous favors.” 

Golden eyes with black pinpricks glare back at you for a moment, and then Eclipse accelerates. You have to actually hurry now to keep up. 

“Word of advice, if you want to last here for more than a day, learn to keep your mouth shut.” 

And so you do, if only because your sense of self preservation isn’t quite that eroded. Well, maybe also because jogging after him is enough of a workout, and you prefer not announcing that via embarrassing wheezing. Without lungs he sure has it easy. That, and legs as long as you are tall. You’re barely more than a tripping hazard for him. 

That’s an impulsive thought you better don't indulge. 

Instead you try to focus on everything around you, taking in all the sights without falling behind too much. Just once do you stop to stare at a very fancy couple and their just as fancy car, and get lost a little bit in the excitement they radiate. 

And maybe the old car. Do you know the brand? Could you sneak back to steal a glimpse at the emblem? It’s a rolling death trap, even more so than the cars you’re used to, but if it doesn’t look cool…

Eclipse walks on, and when you look, he just rounds a corner. He nearly left you behind before. You hate running, but needs must. Rushing after him you nearly run into him - seems he waited after all. 

He scowls, grumbling a quick “Hurry up,” and moves on. 

This time you don’t let yourself get distracted. Getting lost in a city out of your time, without money or ID or anything else to your name isn’t your idea of a good time. Your little threat earlier was little more than a bluff - involving the police isn’t an option you actually want to consider. 

When Eclipse takes a sharp turn into a building you stop for just a moment, looking it up and down. Just a little shop, from the looks of it, selling a variety of things. 

The bell rings when you enter, and both Eclipse and the human shopkeep turn to you. The man frowns, and you instinctively smile - it probably does little to help. 

“Hi!” 

He turns to Eclipse again, thick brows furrowed. 

“For her?” 

“Do you have a room or not?” 

Your smile turns into a small grimace at the hostility in Eclipse’s tone, but at least it’s not directed at you. 

It gets worse, because the shopkeep does not seem to have a sense of self preservation. 

“Since when did you fancy…” 

Apparently unsure how to describe all of you, he makes a vague circular gesture your way, and what little you can see of Eclipse’s expression does not look happy. Maybe you can defuse the situation just a bit.

“Oh, we’re just friends!” 

Again, four eyes are on you. Eclipse’s optics are dark with thin, golden halos staring at you in disbelief. The shopkeep glances from you to him before tensing, and promptly making his escape into the back.

“... I’ll go grab a key.” 

You spare him a glance before looking back to Eclipse, who is currently strangling the air where you presume he would wish your neck to be.

“Why would you say we’re friends?” 

It’s hushed, as much as you assume he can lower his voice. The result is more of a squeaky rubber chicken toned stage whisper, and your little smiley grimace twitches. 

“Would you have preferred whatever he was assuming?” 

Somehow you don’t think him “fancying” you is in any way the better alternative. You don’t really look like someone anyone in this day and age would fancy. 

… At least your skirt reaches past your knees.

Eclipse’s fingers curl further, clenching into fists.

“I’d prefer to not be associated with you at all! I don’t have friends!” 

That was not what you expected. You blink, scowling as well now. 

“... Weird flex but okay.” 

His voice shoots up half an octave in strain.

“What?” 

There’s a small sound from the counter, and a stiff shopkeep slides a keyring with a small plated keychain and two keys over the counter. The way he keeps avoiding both your gazes makes you think he caught a bit too much of that conversation. 

“Second floor, third room on the right. You still know the address?” 

The keyring disappears in Eclipse’s hand, and then his coat pocket. 

“Yes.” 

From his voice, you'd think the furious voice crack never happened. You definitely don't trust like that.

And then the storm is coming your way. You scramble out of the shop, the doorbell ringing again, and not a second too early. Eclipse ducks back out right behind you, dark eyes still trained on you. For a second you duck, not exactly in fear, but certainly preparation. For what, you don’t want to think about. 

But then Eclipse straightens, closing silicon lids over his eyes, and when he opens them they shine in gold again. He squints at you, and somehow that smile is much more terrifying than the one before.

“Let’s go.” 

For a few blocks, you follow in silence, but then your curiosity gets the better of you (and your self preservation). Though a bit of it, the part you would like to not acknowledge, also is the looming realization that following a pissed off animatronic you have known for a few hours to an unknown tertiary location is currently your safest bet moving forward. 

Can’t have you thinking about that. 

“Do you really have no friends?” 

You barely hear his reply over the noise of the street and his grumbling tone.

“What did I say about keeping your mouth shut?” 

Well, the energy is certainly unmistakable, so you don’t think you’re wrong with your guesstimated perception. Who even needs to process full sentences? Definitely not you, as proven by your entire life so far.

Even though he can’t see, you shrug.  

“That’s kinda sad, dude. Friends are cool - nifty. The bees’ knees even. The cat’s meow?” 

Your brain sifts through months of fluctuating interests to scrounge up the brief interest in dated vernacular, with limited results. You’re not even entirely sure you’re in the right decade with those.

Eclipse still doesn’t grace you with even a look.

“Stop talking. Somehow, understanding you is worse.” 

You press your lips together tightly, keeping down another snappy comment. Antagonizing him is not in your favor, and you need to remember that. 

He doesn’t make it easy though. 

You’re busy studying the old fashioned traffic lights when you notice the motion in your periphery. Eclipse looks away as soon as you look up, rather paying attention to the lights himself. At least it’s too busy for jaywalking, and even he has to wait. Spares you from having to run after him, but not the conversation he picks up again. 

“I have a reputation to uphold.” 

While you have no doubt that nothing about you is helping him with that, you also don’t know why he’s bringing it up. Are you supposed to apologize? Or - 

The friends. He’s talking about having no friends. A fact which is apparently part of his broody loner reputation. 

Your realization must show on your face, because Eclipse spares you another glance, and his expression flattens immediately. 

“Don’t say it.” 

You grimace, and look back to the lights. As soon as it turns red, you’ll have to hurry before the traffic rounding the corner gets its go. Pedestrians are car fodder still. 

“I mean, you’re thinking it, I’m thinking it, I really don’t have to.” 

Unfortunately, your shrug gets interrupted by Eclipse wrapping his hand across your shoulder, and dragging you across the street. You didn’t even notice the light turning red. The fumes of the last car are still whirling in the air, and you cough through that cloud of exhaust. Either he’s really impatient, or pissed off at your comment that you technically didn’t verbalize - maybe both. 

He lets go as soon as you reach the other side, fortunately all in one piece, and at worst only slightly bruised from the fingers digging into your flesh. You rub the spots where his grip was tightest for just a moment before you have to hurry after him again. 

At least you wait until you’re right behind him to pry a bit more. 

“Seriously though, is your reputation just ‘loner who hates everyone’? People can’t do everything on their own, that’s madness!” 

Eclipse stops abruptly, stepping back and startling you into a jump. His eyes are dark again, the golden rings within blazing. 

“Not everyone. And what I can’t do, I arrange through contracts and favors. Friends are nothing but a pretty lie, none of it means anything.” 

Well, good to know the guy really never had a friend. You’re curious about the emphasis - but right now you want to focus on a different point to make. 

“So you do rely on other people! You know, sometimes coworkers can become friends too.” 

The static crackle coming from above sounds awfully close to a choke, except then… He’s laughing. It’s not bad, honestly even kind of nice, except you have no clue what the joke is - which means it’s most likely you. 

At least his eyes are golden again. 

“No, absolutely not.”

You blink. Okay, maybe his coworkers suck, too. What do you know? But still, you huff - you’re not done yet. 

“You know the saying ‘the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’?” 

The last of his lingering amusement seems to drain from him, a frown taking over. There’s a dark flash in his optics, just for a second, gone before you’d be concerned. Doesn’t mean his expression is in any way happy when he leans down just a bit. No, his grin is bitter, and you still have to crane your neck uncomfortably - you’re pretty sure he just wants to loom. 

You wonder if there’s a craft store nearby. He might strangle you for real, but it would be a hilarious practical joke.

“If you haven’t noticed, I don’t have blood to mingle.” 

Bonafide snarl, once again. You only cock an eyebrow.

“You do know how a metaphor works, right?”

As suddenly as he stopped before, Eclipse now straightens. Somehow, you’re glad you’re not shorter - he looks at you like you’re a particularly nasty bug, and you’re very squishy. Your still aching shoulder speaks for that. 

In your endless wisdom, you decide to stick out your tongue and blow a raspberry. 

“I’m just saying. You can choose a whole lot, and good friends are part of that.” 

“I choose none. Let’s get you settled, before I do something you will regret.” 

The remainder of the trek you stay silent. You’ve poked the bear enough for now - especially considering that this bear is very tall and very sharp, and currently begrudgingly helping you. 

Except the silence means you’re lost in thought, and you nearly run into him again once he stops. You catch yourself just in time, and look up at a nondescript apartment complex. At least, you think it’s an apartment complex. It looks decent enough, not fancy or otherwise flashy but clean. Besides, right now some privacy sounds heavenly. 

“This is the place?” 

Narrow eyes meet yours again, as if daring you to complain. 

“A boarding house. They’ll have meals, and you have your own room. You owe me for this.” 

You pause, then look back at the building, higher and higher up past the rows of windows. The different curtains and various trinkets you spot make it fun, somehow. 

“Currently, I can only pay with the power of friendship, which we established you don’t want. Can we go up and look at the room? My feet are killing me.” 

Wordlessly he unlocks the front door, leading you past a few curious gazes up into the staircase. You barely get to take in the hallway and adjacent communal rooms on the ground floor, but it’s fine, really. You’re a bit out-socialed anyway, and tomorrow is another day to leave bad impressions. Or, well - impressions ahead of the time. 

Second floor, the third door on the right. Nondescript just like the outside, and you don’t see any obvious scratches around the lock or frame when you duck to see past Eclipse’s hand. He scowls at you, then opens the door. 

The room is small, no question. But there’s a bed, a desk with drawers, a quaint little closet and a chair. Together with the promised meals and presumably bathrooms you’ll have to find, you’re all set. 

From the window ring the faint noises of afternoon traffic, and you step closer. Eclipse remains by the door, and a small part of you reminds you that he’s probably eager to leave. You just can’t help it, you have to look first. Staring through the glass, the same street you just walked past seems a lot smaller. Somehow, it makes reality sink in more. 

“You might want to look into getting a gun. You look like an easy target.” 

The words barely reach you through your daze. At first, you just hum - but then you realize just what he said, and grimace instead. Not looking away from the window, mind you, but it’s the thought that counts.

“I don’t like guns.” 

“Let me guess, you prefer knives?”

As much as it sounds like a question, his tone is too dry to actually mean it. You turn with a frown, tilting your head in a silent question. Just as silently, he gestures towards your arm, expression flat. Unnecessarily, you follow the motion, and blink at your tattoo. 

And just like that the dread pooling in your stomach disappears.

Unfortunately for Eclipse’s mockery in the making, you grin. 

“Oh, yeah! I collect them. Only ever carry one, though.” 

“You already carry a knife?” 

Eclipse perks up too, suddenly interested. You don’t think that mild enthusiasm will hold. It’s not really anything appropriate for self defense, not even as a bluff. Still, you dig around your pocket, and flip open the little knife before proudly holding it out towards him. His pupils shrink as he looks.

“Yup! Professor Stabby McStabstab.” 

You’ve never seen an animatronic this disappointed before. Sure, you’ve seen your first one today, but that doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe disappointed isn’t the right word, either - maybe, he just looks defeated. 

“I need to stop having expectations. You shatter each and every one.” 

The cheeky wink you direct at him doesn’t seem to cheer him up in the slightest. 

“It’s my specialty.” 

Eclipse has tasted many a lemon today thanks to you, it seems. 

“I’m leaving.”

He turns where he stands, expression still sour, and moves to open the door. That gets you moving, too. 

“Wait, one sec!” 

The door stays open at a crack as you dash over to the desk, hoping there’s something to write there. You end up in luck. A rough pencil, hidden in a small ridge and looking slightly chewed on, and some yellowed paper stacked in the corner. 

Quickly, you note down a haphazard I.O.U., together with the date you’ve seen printed on some newspapers now. There’s little else to write - “thanks for making sure I don’t end up homeless after appearing out of thin air and screaming at you” seems a bit wordy - but you feel like he’ll appreciate having a physical favor to cash in. 

Skipping over to the door does mean you nearly trip over the chair, and have to steady both it and yourself for a moment. Your leg and side complain where you’ve hit them against the wood, and you wince slightly. You’ll have to get used to the small space. 

For now, you finish your step and wave the note in Eclipse’s direction. He takes it with a frown. Probably best to explain before he can somehow turn it into an offense. 

“Here, for that favor. I guess I can only offer friendship, and the professor, but if you do ever need either you know where to find me. You can also show this to your boss, maybe, if they decide to make a stink over you being late.” 

Because you did end up occupying a lot of his time today. You don’t know enough about his job, given that you never asked, to know how much trouble he got himself into just to stop you from spiraling. All your pestering aside, you don’t want him to regret that. 

Eclipse stares. His expression keeps shifting, and you end up somewhat concerned before he settles on a mild frown. The note he pockets carefully - you don’t hear the paper crinkle as he slides it into his coat.

“You’re strange.” 

Without a care for what could be considered an insult, you take the two steps to cross the room back over to the bed.

“Would be rather boring otherwise, no?” 

You drop onto the mattress, doing your best not to mind the squeaky springs - gift horses, and all that. With a grin his way you let yourself fall backwards. There’s not a lot of room to spread your arms, and the angle is off, but after a day of stress and running after a cactus on stilts it’s soft as a cloud. You even end up closing your eyes in a sigh. 

There’s an exasperated echo from the door.

“Right, I’ll get to work then.” 

The dismissal is obvious, and you crack open one eye just to wave at him. If the lazy twitch of your arm even counts as such. 

“Great, have fun! I’ll lick my wounds, or something.” 

Actually, maybe your eyelids are still too heavy. Just lying there sounds great for now. Everything else can wait until after a nap, maybe. 

You haven’t heard the door shut yet. 

“Your what?”

Eclipse is granted a spectacular view of your double chin, given that you’re entirely too lazy to actually sit up. He doesn’t seem to care. The pinprick pupils aren’t a good look for him. They startle you into honesty.

“Uh, yeah, I mean I’m pretty sure you bruised my shoulder.” 

That was… sure a way to go about it. A very, very blunt one, unfortunately. 

Whatever goes on in his head, you wonder if the journey his facial expression takes you on depicts it all. His eyes flash darkly twice before he chokes out a response. 

“I have to go now.”

And then he’s gone. The door shakes slightly at the force with which he closes it. 

Because you mentioned the bruises? In bad taste, you’ll admit, after all the help he offered you, but it’s not like you mind them. You’re pretty sure your run in with the chair left you just as bruised, not to mention all the mystery bruises you already have. The shoulder doesn’t even hurt anymore either. 

But it doesn’t feel like he was reacting to the bad manners. You don’t know him, really, so what was going on in that head of his?

Curious, you heave yourself back up, first on your lower arms, and then into a sitting position. Did he… 

You narrow your eyes, and investigate. Tip toeing for no reason other than feeling like the pink panther, you make your way over to the door. From afar, it could have been the light, or a strange texture to the handle - but brushing over it with your fingers makes the dents undeniable. Your shoulder got off easy, then. 

Something tells you that Eclipse wouldn’t take that as reassurance. 

Your hand lingers on the dented metal. 

On impulse, you turn and bound over to the window. It’s stuck, and you have to throw your whole weight into it, but it opens with a pop - and when you stick out your head to look down, golden eyes furrowed in confusion meet yours. 

A fun perspective, seeing him from above.

You grin. Cheerfully, and loudly, you call out to him, waving the “injured” arm for emphasis.

“Hey! Big, scary Eclipse! Thank you!” 

The startled expression morphs into something unpleasant again, but you don’t mind it at all. If he has no friends, you bet he’s not used to gratitude either. Even gratitude tinged with a tease. 

He draws a finger past his thin neck in a choppy motion before he stalks off, pointedly not looking up. That’s just fine by you. 

You’re pretty sure he can hear you laughing. 

[wanderingblindly]

Hi sweetheart!!!!!!!!!!!! for the drabble thingy, 9, D, sebchal👀💖 love you💖💖

oh my god this was so fucking fun to write, thank you for the GENIUS prompt choice love!!!! cranked this out before i went to bed, i hope you enjoy the slight crack vibes!!!!

prompts here xx

Oops! All Twink Death (Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel, 1k words)

His head is too far up on the pillow.

In fact, it’s all wrong; the sheets are pulled up too high, not pooled around his feet like they usually are. There's a second pillow pressed up against his back -- actually, why is he sleeping on his side? He's been a stomach sleeper his entire life.

Sebastian groans, rolling over. It's never a good sign to break routine on a race weekend, especially when it's so easy for the smallest detail to linger like a rain cloud overhead -- a constant feeling of wrong-footedness. Cutting his losses, he peels back the sheets and flings his legs over the edge of the bed, slamming them onto the floor with much more force than usual.

Is the bed… lower?

His feet shouldn't touch the floor that quickly.

His hands grip the edge of the bed as he stares down at his feet. Suddenly, he catches it from the corner of his eye -- longer fingers, more pronounced veins on the back of his tanned hands, and well-manicured nails. His stomach lurches when he brain catches up, a panicked confusion building in his throat.

Because those aren't his hands. Sebastian knows these hands, knows the way they feel against tongue and teeth and flesh. Faster than a jump start, Sebastian flies off the bed -- tripping over his bigger feet -- and stumbles over to the bathroom mirror.

In Charles's distinct accent, he gasps: "What the fuck."

Frantic knocking on his hotel door confirms his immediate thoughts: that should be Charles with his body, then.

With careful steps, his new center of gravity more unsettling than sailing rough seas, Sebastian moves to open the door. "You'll wake the neighbo--"

"What did you do?!" Charles cuts him off, pushing his way into the room and grabbing Sebastian -- himself? -- by the wrist, dragging them both away from the door.

"What did I do?" He scoffs, both a little offended and amused as Charles paces across the room, tugging his hands through his hair agitatedly. It's bizarre, seeing Charles's youthful and expressive body language on himself -- almost like a return to a Sebastian long-gone.

"Well of course it wasn't me!"

"I mean, at least we switched with each other?" Sebastian offers, moving to sit down on the bed. He pats the space next to him, encouraging Charles to come tangle in his arms; maybe it's best if they both calm down first. "Because, well, it could be worse, right?"

"Could it?" Charles asks, voice pinched and eyes bright -- nearly manic. "I'm old, Sebastian!"

Ouch.

Sebastian smiles wryly. "Oh are you?"

If Sebastian didn't have the hottest driver on the grid wrapped around his finger -- if he hadn't always had the most desirable drivers under his thumb -- then maybe that would have hurt. But as it is, Charles acting like a panicked, distressed kitten is almost endearing -- batting at him without claws.

"It's --!" He stutters, finally freezing to stare over at his own body; Sebastian looks like a cat eyeing it's prey. "It's not old on you, but on me! I'm old!"

Sebastian didn't realize his accent got so heavy when his body was angry, nor that he could still blush so much.

"No wonder Mark always wanted to sleep with me," He smiles, eyeing his body up and down slowly. "I see the, hm. Appeal."

"Oh my god, it is not the time to be --!" Charles flutters his hands about, waving vaguely between the both of them. "We're fucked, Seb! And you already know what they are saying about me on Twitter, that my beard is --"

"Really hot?" Sebastian perks up, still trying to steer the conversation in a more… palatable direction.

"That it makes me look like I'm in, you know, twink death." He says it with derision, like speaking the words sealed his fate.

He can't help but laugh, laughing harder when he sees Charles's blush deepen -- running down his neck and towards his chest. "I'm sure you won't twink die, or whatever you're reading --"

"Twink death, Seb." He sounds nearly on the brink of tears -- god, yeah, Mark really had a point here.

Clearly it's not about being in Sebastian's body, really. It's something bigger.

"Oh Charles," Sebastian sighs, reaching his arms out to grab Charles's wrist; he never realized how small his hands are compared to Charles's before, the feeling of wrapping his fingers around him so easily makes him lightheaded.

Anyways.

He tugs Charles onto the bed, landing next to him with a pout. "You've never looked better than you do right now," Sebastian whispers in his ear, snagging his teeth on Charles's -- his? -- earlobe, the way he knows his body likes.

Charles shudders, Sebastian's hot breath on his sensitive skin surely sending shivers down his spine. Encouraged, Sebastian grabs Charles's hands and slides them under his shirt, pressing them against Charles's body's torso. "Do you know how much I love how big you feel now?"

"Seb," Charles whines, voice delightfully needy; Sebastian can't decide if he likes it better in his or Charles's accent. "That's not, you know that's not what I --" Sebastian pulls his hands up further, tracing the paths he's learned elicits a shudder from Charles's body.

He grazes his nipples, and his breath catches. God, is this what it always feels like for him?

"Wanna fuck about it?" Sebastian asks, mischievous smile on his lips, the feeling sharp and confident with Charles's beautiful mouth.

"Oh Jesus," Charles falls forward, burying his face in Sebastian's neck.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck, yeah. Yeah, ok."

Problem solved, probably. The self-esteem part, anyways. The body problem can wait until later, probably.

[ruishusband]

᧔ ˖ ࣪ 💋 ࣪ ⤹kiss the homies

⤷Rui Kamishiro and amab!reader are zesty AF. Just a silly thing sleep deprived me wrote!! NOT PROOF READ

Being Rui's best friend was amazing at first, but over time it became harder to just be friends.. you two would constantly flirt, trying to make the other blush. 'Its just a homie thing, guys flirt with other guys all the time as a joke' you swore, you SWORE you wouldn't get attached, that you wouldn't yearn for something so unattainable, but you did... the worst part? You didn't even regret it. Deep down you enjoyed imagining yourself holding his soft hands, kissing his face aggressively, resting your head against his chest as if it was a pillow... your thoughts consumed you, haunted you no matter what you tried to do to stop your feelings. But yet again, you didn't regret it.. you regret not regretting it, foolish you, using your heart rather than your brain...

You felt your chest burning up, it's so cold and yet you're so warm.. it was embarrassing you were overheating because of a crush. A faint notification sound, followed by more notifications, each getting louder and more aggressive. Your hand is slightly shaky and sweaty, but you presist to look at the multiple texts Rui spammed you. A faint giggle manages to escape your lips, a slight distraction from your previously overwhelming thoughts.

purple guy (theater kid edition): hi just finished practice lol, wanna meet up at the nearby cafe? lmk

Oh, that's right... he had practice. You felt bad for not coming to watch, even though Rui would always assure you that you didn't need to pressure yourself to go to every single practice. You replied quick, not wanting to make him wait any longer.

rizzmeister69: oh? my-my, THE Rui Kamishiro is asking me out? It's a date 😘 be there in 15 minutes

purple guy (theater kid edition): take your time my prince, no need to rush! I'll wait for you ;)

You chuckled, the voices in your head having a conflict of their own. 'God y/n pull yourself together you idiot! Stop getting so flustered over a text' 'OMGOMG OMG HE CALLED ME HIS PRINCE :3!!1!1!1'

You put on a somewhat lazy outfit, but you made sure to look at least somewhat presentable. You took your wallet, heading to the little cafe at the end of the street. You looked for Rui, and he wasn't there, which is ti be expected as the cafe was closer to your house than his. You took a seat, waiting a few minutes. You scrolled on your phone, mindlessly looking at tiktoks untill.. "My sincerest apologies, I didn't keep you waiting for too long, now did I darling~?" he took a seat beside you, slyly putting his hand on top of yours, rubbing circles in it. You had felt slightly sleepy these past few days, so his comforting touch made you yawn slightly. "Nah I've only been waiting for five minutes" you mumbled, slightly tired. "You should really be getting some more sleep, you know?" "Pfft, ironic considering thats coming from you" you tease, he faked being offended, playfully scoffing. You talked a lot, your feelings just became stronger.. fuck.. you were deeply in love with him.. "You okay? You zoned out, are you sure you want to talk, maybe you should sleep instead, it's fine honestly I don't mind-" you snapped out your thoughts as Ruis words hit you like a brick: "Hm? Oh- oh no! I, I'm sorry I just.. got lost in my thoughts I guess" he was about to speak, but the waitress came and took your orders, so he forgot what he was going to reply. You two kept glancing at eachother, awkwardly laughing when you both looked at eachother at the same time.

"Thanks for the date, pretty boy, I'll see you later" Rui winked at you, you forgot you joked about this being a date, so you just stood there dumbfounded.. he giggled, giving you a kiss on your nose. He left, but you stood there, shocked.. 'kissing your homies is normal, right?'

[maria021015]

HEAD-CANON: Stiles blurts random facts when he’s nervous and trying to find something to say.

“Just do it,” Scott hissed at his best friend, leaning back in his seat. Stiles reached behind him to stick up a particular finger at the wolf in response. He rehearsed the words he’d come up with over and over again in his mind, his confidence building with each repetition.

Hey Zay? You look really beautiful today. Hey Zay? You look really beautiful today. Hey Zay? You look really beautiful today.

“Hey, Zay?” He whispered and tapped on her shoulder to grab her attention. Only when her head twisted around to look back at him, his words caught in his throat. The darkened liner made the green in her hazel eyes so much brighter. With her hair pulled back, he was granted an unobstructed view of the sharper angles and softer features of her face. His mind was suddenly blank. “Uh…did you know butterflies’ eyes are made up of six-thousand lenses, which means they can see ultraviolet light. So they can actually see colours we can't see, and a lot of butterflies’ wings use ultraviolet colours to attract a mate.”

Zaida stared at him for a moment, the inner corners of her brows twitching slightly downwards in confusion. Was he making fun of her outfit? Or was she looking too far into it? “...Okay,” She mumbled but before she could turn back around, he opened his mouth again.

“Also! Uh…” He blurted. ‘You look really beautiful today’. Just say it, you idiot! “...They taste with their feet.”

“...That’s wonderful Stiles,” Zaida shook her head as she faced their teacher, her pen tapping against the top of her notebook. What the hell was up with him lately? She heard a thwap of paper hitting something, but didn’t bother checking on what the boy was up to now.

“What was that?” Scott whisper-shouted as Stiles clutched at his head where his friend had just whacked him with a notebook. “‘They taste with their feet’? How did we get from ‘ you look beautiful ’, to ‘butterflies taste with their feet’? How are you this hopeless?”

“Yeah, thanks buddy. I know I blew it, it’s not like you had to tell me.” He snorted bitterly. “How about we focus on what I am good at, okay? What are we going to do about the impending sacrifices?”

LATER THAT NIGHT

“Just hold on a little longer, okay?” Stiles took the seat beside her and whether he was speaking to Cora’s unconscious form, or her, Zaida wasn’t sure. “Trust me, if anyone's gonna get us out of this, it's Scott.”

“Did you really just say that?” Zaida snorted, unable to hold back her amusement.

“Yeah, I know...I can't believe it either considering we actually used to be the ones with the plan. Well, or, at least a plan B.” He chuckled.

“What do you mean ‘used to’?” She raised a brow, exaggerating being offended.

“I don't know...Now, I'm thinking, maybe Cora was right.” His face shifted into a grim expression as he looked down at the beta. “You know, maybe we are pretty much useless. Maybe all we really do is show up and find the bodies.”

“No, we’ve still got it, Stiles.” Zaida promised him. “We saved Deaton. We saved Lydia, didn’t we?”

“You and Scott saved Deaton and Lydia.” He corrected, and Zaida didn’t know how to argue that point. “What have I done?”

“You figured out how the Telluric currents were connected. Without you, we wouldn’t have even found Deaton.” The brunette pointed out.

“What about Heather? What about the lifeguard? The music teacher? The doctors? The pianist? Emily, Kyle, Harris, Dr Hilyard, Tara, Mr Westover…?” Stiles listed the amount of people they had failed to save in comparison. “...I don't want to find my father's body.”

With those words Stiles blew out a shaky breath, sniffing and wiping a single tear that escaped his eyes with the back of his hand. Zaida’s guts twisted at the sight of him crying, feeling his sorrow through the chestnut door in her mind.

“We’re not going to find his body, because we’re going to find him - alive and well.” Zaida spoke firmly, gripping onto the boy’s arm tightly with both of her hands.

“You can’t promise that, Zay.” Stiles spoke softly, his eyes glassy - eyes made of molten honey the shade of a rich whiskey. As she tried to find her words, Zaida drowned in those eyes, getting drunk in their depths.

“Maybe I can’t, but I do promise to do everything I can to get him back.” She whispered, unable to bring herself to speak any louder under the intensity of his gaze, yet she was also unable to pull away from him. Those whiskey-eyes were addictive, to say the least.

“Why?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking, wanting to know if her reason for doing so was akin to how he would do anything for her. It wouldn’t really matter what she asked of him, if her earlier demand for him to leave without her was any indication. In that moment he discovered he truly would risk it all for her. If she would do the same…would it mean she felt what he did?

“Because I don’t want you to have to mourn your father.” Zaida swallowed thickly, but emotion was still stuck in her throat, coating her words as they left her lips. The lips his eyes now found themselves drawn to as he traced all of her features, eagerly drinking them in like a man dying of thirst.

“...And I don’t want you getting hurt.” Stiles admitted, his walls crumbling beneath her stare. He was a person who found it incredibly difficult to open up, but in these vulnerable moments with her? There was nothing else he could do but knock down his walls to let her in to the softer sides of himself - to the boy who was terrified to lose anyone else the way he had lost his mother.

“And you think I’d be okay with anything happening to you?” She scoffed softly, beating wings stirring to tickle against the walls of stomach. She and Stiles had always been able to talk to each other about the deeper things, but this time it felt different. This time made her wonder if maybe there was something further than concern for a friend behind his motivations. It was in the way he was looking at her, and in the lowness of his voice. “...Or your father,” She added, pretending as though this was still about the missing Sheriff, when really, both of them were smart enough to know it wasn’t.

“I think…you’re a fighter, with the temper of a storm, and the strength of water.” He reached out to play with the golden bracelet around her wrist, his warm fingertips brushing her skin and sending goosebumps ripping up her arm. “As stubborn and relentless as the waves that shape immovable rocks. I think you would do anything to protect the people that matter to you. And I think…that whatever or whoever is in the way of what you want should be terrified.”

“The strength of water?” She repeated with arched brows, wishing that ignoring the rest of what he’d said would keep her heart from beating right out of her ribcage. She didn’t think the boy could be so poetic with his words. What’s more is that she never thought she’d like it.

“You know, the cohesion of hydrogen bonds between molecules makes water one of the strongest natural forces to exist on Earth?” Stiles rambled nervously, explaining the metaphor, and Zaida recognised the similarities between the manner in which he was speaking now, and how he’d spoken earlier that day in class. “Besides gravity, electromagnetism and nuclear forces…”

“You know…butterflies taste with their feet.” She shot back with a faint mischievous smirk in her own way of calling him out. Was she flirting with him? He was pretty sure she was flirting with him.

“What I meant to say was…” He shook his head at the memory of his own blunder, hesitating as he worried if maybe he was misreading the current situation. That was when he heard Scott’s voice in his head, egging him on.

‘Hey Zay? You look really beautiful today.’ Just say it, man!

“Hey, Zaida?” Stiles took in a deep breath, looking right at her as his chest clenched. “You look really beautiful today.”

“...I,” Zaida’s lips fell open as her blood rushed to her face, suddenly feeling entirely too warm to be sitting in such a confined space. After a moment of composing herself, she broke into a wide smile, eyes flickering downwards shyly. “Thank you, Stiles.”

The boy let go of the breath he had been holding in anticipation of her reaction, satisfied with the way he’d made her blush. Not knowing what else to say, his brain threw things that he did know at him. “You know what? Actually, a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope-” He began digressing once more.

“Don’t ruin it.” Zaida cut him off, but she laughed regardless. At least now she knew him blurting facts at her was his form of a compliment.

“Yeah, right, sorry. Shutting up now,” He mimed, zipping his lips closed, though there was a poorly-concealed glint of excitement behind his amber eyes.