#soft gray neutral colors

[interiorergonomics]

Using Soft Grays with Green Undertones for Residential Interior Design

Soft grays with green undertones have emerged as a popular choice in residential interior neutral design. The good thing is that they're offering a unique blend of calmness and sophistication in living spaces. These hues create a serene backdrop which complements a variety of design styles, from modern to traditional. The subtle green undertones add warmth and depth, making spaces feel inviting without overwhelming the senses. This versatility allows experienced interior design companies to use these shades in different areas of the home. That is, from living rooms to bedrooms in order to achieve a cohesive and harmonious look.

Interior Designing with Soft Grays with Green Undertones

Incorporating soft grays with green undertones actually enhances the overall atmosphere of a room. These colors work exceptionally well with natural light, allowing them to shift in tone throughout the day, which adds an element of dynamism to the space. When paired with natural materials, such as wood and stone, these hues can evoke a sense of tranquility and connection to nature. Additionally, they serve as an excellent backdrop for other colors and decor, making it easy to incorporate bolder accents or textures without clashing.

Choosing soft grays with green undertones also aligns with the growing trend toward sustainability in design. Many homeowners are looking for paint colors and materials that reflect their values and foster a connection to the environment. These shades intensively draw inspiration from the natural world, creating a soothing aesthetic that promotes well-being.

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[rainbow-queen]

[rkkuri]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⏆⠀៸⠀⠀⠀⠀seen you before⠀⠀☽⠀⠀@wnhee

[staarboyyy]

Spill

joe goldberg x gender neutral reader [ anatomy specific ]

18+ characters / scenarios - minors dni

> joe goldberg's internal dialogue

tags / warnings ; dead dove do not eat, "canon" joe, stalking, breaking and entering, voureism, somnophilia, noncon themes, masturbation, glove/latex play, reader has vagina, fourth wall breaks/unreality

summary ; hello you. im glad youre reading so much, you always know how to make my head spin.

word count ; 2.1k

a / n ; i absolutely love writing for joe! this was a concept i really wanted to mess around with, id highly suggest minding the tags and also minding the fact i write for joe out of pure morbid fun, not for fanservice! so proceed with caution of nonconsenual themes and general creepy behvior. But hey if you think most fics on here aren't in character, heres my doing my best to change that! mwa

You were right, this is... Different. I knew you liked writing. Maybe, not into literature as much as I am, but despite all my attempts at forcing your nose into a hardcover, it was precious. How cagey you were about your writing. I can see it now, that screen pressed flat to your chest, ashamed. You know I know, you have to. Your eyes are resting on the television in front of you as if you weren't thumbing your keyboard like a rabid animal just a few moments ago. What are you inspired by? Surely not the takeout, long cooled, sitting on the coffee table. But still, I like this game. I know it won't last long, and I know you'll cave into it - Into me.

Digital writing, not as much of a discrepancy to the world as I got to know you, got used to reading novels over your shoulder. I couldn't resist, not while you slept so beautifully, so deep in your dreams you wouldn't notice - No, not my business. I'm a good man, you need a good man; But trust is one thing, you caging your phone from me is another. Why are you protecting it like a live wire? One look then, just one.

Your attempt at a password is precious, did you know that? Biometrics, new school, even for me, but you couldn't part ways with your dearest number code. Clogged, different apps, the colors assaulted my eyes when you insisted on showing me a book you were looking for at Mooney's- You were thrilled when you did. My eyes will adjust. Now what app was it? I could feel the gray in my hair illuminating at the thought, but you refused to let me get too hasty over it when we met; I think you like it. Nothing too far gone in your notes app, aside from the occasional single words with nothing else. Do you ever clean out this garbled junk? Searching, and more and there it is, a little blue square, white T.

Navigating these things is not my expertise. I can feel the crows feet on my face blinking a flashing target on my back; I'm getting too old for this, but moving to your account, searching under 'drafts' pauses the train of thought. My name, pasted between filthy words - Did you write this? Legs, thighs, arousal; My heart is jamming, and I can't deny the sigh of relief breaching my lips. I glance down at you, still sleeping soundly beside me, your breathing even and soft. I'm the nice man at the bookstore, but you're twisting me around in your mind right now, aren't you? Are you dreaming of me? I glue my eyes back to the screen, resisting the physical urge to put a hand onto your warm body. You know I'm here, don't you? Stories, after stories - My hand on your throat, you crave this? The feeling of my heartbeat against your back, while I ravage you, fingers tangled in your hair, breathless. I can imagine it, just how you write it; It's not your fault you can't write me perfectly, but just seeing my name repeated, over and over, folded into your fantasies? You know me well enough to know I want you, well enough to know you drive me insane - Was this all on purpose? I try to be a decent man, a good man. And you trip into the reopening of Mooney's, small talk; That's all it was, but you knew.

Well. You... are a pervert, and trust me, I've seen everything; Describing my body? My cock, the weight and warmth of me in your mouth - Is it the writing, or the imagination that takes your breath when you touch yourself? The feeling of typing my name, writing it over and over like a mantra. I can picture you reading them, phone flush to your body, breathing wavering as you read over the words you wrote. You deny the real feeling, the feelings between us, but you can feel it. The pulse rushing from the words on your phone screen straight to your thighs; Fuck, why are you making me do this? Did you want to get me hard? This wasn't a part of the plan, and surely you know that. We've hardly even met, exchanged pleasantries. But I know you, now. The real you, I can see it now. Right now.

Hello, you. Reading more? I'm glad - I mean it, really, you know the nagging of the man at the bookstore is one thing, but you'll get used to the classics once you're mine. Really mine. Once I can wrap my arms around you while you sleep, once these aren't just fantasies; Some of these things are extreme, even for me, but you want someone who will do anything for you. A man who can thrust a blade to your throat, make you gasp for air, but also protect you from this evil world. It was irresponsible, but I'll remind you when you're mine to lock the windows before you sleep. For now, I've never been more thankful you're so forgetful - It's sweet. Your room is comfortable, breathable, and sharing your air is intoxicating. Can't you hear me breathing? Hovering beside you, watching over your most vulnerable and beautiful state? You're lucky to have me. Could you imagine if some random man broke into your bedroom at night? I'm here to protect you, protect our fantasy, you have no idea we share. I can't wait to come through the front door to see you after work, no more hiding under your bed, I promise. Unless you ask for it, of course. I'd do anything for you.

Joe's hand falls down over his body, the rustle wrenching a wince from his throat. Quiet, he reminds himself. His gloved hand white knuckled your phone as he palmed his cock. Sweat beads down the side of his jaw, the description of your perversions riding on the line of obscene - And he loved every moment of it. His breath shuddered, eyes dancing between the words on your screen and your sleeping frame. The thought of pulling back the covers, exposing your warmth to the sting of cold, his latex-gloved hands rolling over the soft of your stomach. Joe's shaking hand fumbled with his belt, the metallic click sending a shudder through your unconscious body. You shuffled slightly, kicking away the sheets; It was hot, the little knowledge of another occupant in your bed not reaching your subconscious. He broke the seam of his underwear, sweat sticking his pants to the apex of his thighs, pulling down just enough to free his throbbing cock. He hissed, the feeling of the latex glove on his shaft a sick reminder of this encounter; Unaware, but knowing more than you ever could. Choking back a grunt, he swallowed hard, squeezing at the tip of his cock. A bead of precum pearled at the slit, and Joe's heart staggered in his chest, thumb scrolling over your phone. He had been drooling, allowing the pool to spill into his glove before reaching down once again - He felt like an insatiable high schooler, dark eyes lulling half lidded between you and your fantasies on full display. Joe began slowly, imaging the vivid sight of splitting your cunt; You described it already, he didn't need to worry about supplementing his desires, or risk his saftey with tugging your at sheets and sleepshirt. Surely you know I'm here. Fuck, you feel amazing.

Joe hitched his hips upwards; He wanted to pound you into your squeaky mattress, crawl through the spaces of your room he so neatly memorized - All this for you, all of him for you. His chest tightened with a moan, head falling back ever so slightly, cock pulsing as his spiral fell deeper, darker. Joe shut his eyes, your phone falling onto his lap as he planted a hand over his mouth.

God dammit, you're tight. He could practically hear the swell of your moan, pitching to a whine as he reached the hilt. Relishing in the purely euphoric feeling of your cunt around him - He craved it, like an animal he trained to stay quiet, subservient. He groaned into his palm, panting softly as he stroked himself, wanting nothing more than the hot feeling of your cunt around him. Please, I've been good. I've played nice. Even while you read this now, you know how much I've resisted these things about myself - But you take pleasure in them. It horrifies me in every way imaginable, makes my stomach turn; I should be disgusted by the things you want from me. And here I am at the mercy of your body, your power over me palpable in your bedroom. The smell of you is surrounding me, suffocating me.

Joe stifles another moan, less hidden than he'd like. The veins of his cock surge, his chest swelling with the smell and taste of the air only you breathe. He wants to taste all of you, your hips grinding your cunt down onto his greedy tounge, your blood from a nick in the kitchen. Everything you could create, he wanted, needed. He sighed through gritted teeth into his gloved palm, teeth now clenching at the black latex. Why do you have to make this all so fucking difficult? I want to be what you need, not just a fantasy; We're more than a fantasy, you wouldn't come looking for me like this if it wasn't true - Does that scare you? That I can see you, all of you, the parts you obscure from your peers and family, and still love you the same? Fuck, you're going to ruin me, just the sound of your breathing gets me off.

Joe arched his back into his fist, chest quivering with a threat to let his voice spill. Clamping tight over his mouth, his eyes parted open to find your sleeping body; You rolled onto your back a few moments ago, arms tucked close to your chest. You were peaceful, unaware of the violation happening just inches away, in your own bed. The sight of it was obscene in Joe's mind, teeth breaking the thin barrier of latex as he clenched his jaw, feverishly stroking his cock. His sweat dripped from his jaw and chin, lips pursed as he focused on the rise and fall of your chest. Your lips, soft and parted, glossy with a smear of drool. I could do anything to you right now. And the idea of that makes your heart thrum - Is that not real? Real, true, romantic and fucked up love? I want to drown in you, taste every inch of your body and bare my soul to you. Joe tilts his head back, eyes glued to your face, his pace unwavering as the hot binding of his senses came to a rushing pulse. He bucked his hips, shuddering and making your bed squeak, spilling his cum into his hand and thighs. He couldn't tear his eyes from you, stroking himself more, somehow pushing past the peak. He frantically, sloppily used his cum as more lubricant, knawing into the latex of his glove. You would be so proud of my restraint - I want to follow every line of this, twist your fantasies into your reality until you can't tell why you crave me the way you do. I want to be in your dreams, to take up every one of your senses until I can call you mine; You already did these all for me, infected my dreams and urged my heart to keep you safe. Joe let a whimper pry from his throat as he came a second time, eyes rolling back at the image of you pleading on your knees for him. This time the rattle of your bed stirred your peace, Joe's shaking body just inches away. He just couldn't stop, the thrill sending a shockwave racketeering through his veins as your expression changed. Just a soft furrow of your brow, a soft hum passing your lips as you sighed, shuffling your legs. But it was enough to keep Joe on the edge, eyes pinning you to the spot as he slowed his strokes. The sloppy mess dripped over the knuckles of his gloved hand, staining the black fabric of his pants. His hips continued to tense at a steady pace, tongue clamped between his top and bottom set of teeth. Just one more, I deserve it, and you're loving this. Joe rubbed the tip of his thumb over his sensitive tip, lips parting with a painfully pleasured expression; He had to stay silent, he kept reminding himself. Though the obscene wet sound of his fist slick against his cock, in your bedroom, was more than he needed to finish a third time. His mind was numb, the smell of your sweat, the taste of the air you breathe - So much of you, all at once. The air was thick with Joe's heavy breathing, unsteady as he stood up from your bed, body still quaking with the ghost of pleasure. He pried alcohol wipes from his duffel bag, still catching his breath as he leaned down, beginning to wipe away any cum left on his pants. He can leave a thing out of place, underwear can go missing, but he refused to leave evidence of nights like these.

A weak moment, he told himself as he set your phone back down onto your bedside, resting every urge in his body to lean down and kiss your forehead. He let his eyes linger on you as he slowly zipped his small duffel bag, new items to keep nestled deep within the pockets. You wouldn't notice they were missing. Joe smiled softly at the thought, shaking his head as he moved back to his feet.

One day, I'll leave you something to find. You'd love that, and knowing that for a fact is something that will just make our love stronger. I'll be back tomorrow night, we have a date, now that you've given me so many new ideas.

[coven-of-genesis]

Colour Magic: Painting Your Spells with Intention

Every color holds energy. When used consciously, colors can charge your spellwork, clothing, candles, or surroundings with subtle but powerful intent. You don’t have to speak a word—let the color cast the spell for you.

⸻

Color Correspondences & Meanings:

• White – purity, truth, clarity, all-purpose substitute

• Black – protection, banishing, shadow work, mystery

• Red – passion, power, courage, love that burns

• Pink – self-love, softness, friendship, healing from heartbreak

• Orange – attraction, motivation, creativity, joy

• Yellow – intellect, confidence, clarity, success

• Green – abundance, luck, fertility, health

• Blue – peace, communication, emotional healing

• Purple – intuition, spirit, wisdom, psychic power

• Gold – solar magic, wealth, divine masculine

• Silver – moon magic, dreams, divine feminine

• Brown – grounding, home, animals, stability

• Gray – neutrality, compromise, invisibility

⸻

How to Use Color in Witchcraft:

• Choose candle colors based on your spell’s purpose

• Wear color-coded outfits to influence your mood or aura

• Use colored paper or ink for sigils and written spells

• Add flowers, crystals, or cloths in corresponding hues to your altar

⸻

Color is frequency. It speaks its own language.

Let it speak for you.

[bg-brainrot]

More than Vampiric Charms (Astarion x Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: After some banter between Astarion and Jaheira goes too far, you (Tav) take some time to remind Astarion that he is so much more than a pair of fangs.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3, Astarion is Bad at Feelings, Blood, Blood Drunk, blood as a coping mechanism

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted for this banter in my last poll! This was a fun one c:

Word count: ~3.2k

Walking through the streets of Baldur's Gate is always an adventure with your group– a particularly fraught adventure on this day, as Jaheira and Astarion seem hellsbent on trading barbs.

It had started out playfully enough, with a snide remark from Astarion, "Oh that building used to be a delightful little sweets shop about a hundred years ago. Though I suppose the crone would remember that, wouldn’t she?”

Jaheira, used to remarks about her age, often being the one to start them, was ready with a quick quip back, “Was that before or after your hair turned gray? With my old age, I can never remember.”

Astarion visibility bit back a remark about this being his natural hair color when you glared back at both of them. “Could we focus a bit please? You two can reminisce after we’ve seen to this latest bloody basement.”

One trail of blood, a disgusting array of corpses, and a piece of clown later and the two of them were at it again.

“Jaheira,” Astarion had started in a light tone– a clear indicator that he had no intent to focus. “Have you considered taking on the role of Dribbles the clown yourself? The makeup might help cover all those pesky wrinkles.”

The druid had snickered, appreciating the comment, and shot back, “I think you would be better suited to the role, given you are already a fool.”

That time, Karlach had interrupted, “Don’t either of you dare! No one could replace this Baldurian hero.”

“Which is exactly why we’re helping to piece him back together,” you’d confirmed with a nod. “Besides, you’re both cranky enough to make the children weep.”

“Darling!” Astarion had gasped, an offended hand on his chest. “How could you say that about me?”

You’d ignored his question, instead choosing to deposit a quick kiss on his pursed lips. A soft, effective bandaid that left the man with crossed arms and a reluctant smile. 

Moments later, you were ushering the group out of the building and into the city. Insults forgotten, everyone began trudging the familiar path back to the Elfsong to clean up.

Now, along this very path, you hear Jaheira strike up a new conversation with Astarion– one that has your ears perking up, even as you continue to lead the way ahead.

“It seems that you and our leader are closer than ever,” the woman observes, a smile in her voice.

There’s a moment of silence, and you can practically see Astarion’s suspicious expression in your mind’s eye as he assesses the situation. “Yes, you could say that,” he finally replies. “What can I say? I am, after all, quite charming.”

“I am glad it is your non-vampiric charms our friend has fallen for, Astarion.” A short, thoughtful pause follows before she asks, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Astarion responds, his voice reaching a comically high pitch– one that almost makes you laugh. You want to hear this conversation more than most though, so not a sound escapes your lips. The vampire scoffs before he continues. "Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?"

There’s a clear hesitation as Astarion’s words hang in the air.

You wonder why Jaheira isn’t responding, what her expression must be– but before you can turn around to find out more, Astarion is speaking again.

“If you insist on prying,” he starts, clearing his throat a bit pointedly. “Perhaps you’d care to join us. And see how much we enjoy one another.”

The insinuation in his tone is almost enough to have you spinning around– teasing Karlach or Shadowheart is one thing, but Jaheira? Gods, you can feel the heat rising up your neck– “Why?” Jaheira snaps back. “Do you require some instruction on how the deed is done?”

“I’m sure even I could learn some new tricks from an old veteran such as yourself,” Astarion replies, mirth shining through in his tone.

Wait, is he actually inviting her?

You know you need to stop this conversation before it mortifies you any further. “Stop it, both of you!” you say, turning your head back, trying your best to keep a stern, not-at-all embarrassed expression on your face. “We don’t need the next installment of ‘Love at First Knife’ getting any more convoluted.”

There’s some grumbling from Astarion, an amused smile from Jaheira, and a chortle from Karlach, but otherwise your group makes it back to the Elfsong without tearing each other– or their clothes– apart.

__

That evening, Astarion slips away.

It’s not an unusual occurrence– some days his hunger is harder to ignore than others, on some you hadn’t found nearly enough evil to suck dry. Ultimately, he never wanted to take too much blood from you, so he chooses to forage as he has taken to calling it.

As a result, you think nothing of it at first, settling into bed after dinner with a book propped between your hands. After all, Cazador is dead, and Astarion is more than capable of taking down some of the most fearsome enemies in the city– he should take all the time he needs to himself.

But the hours pass, and Astarion has yet to return. The candles around you begin to dwindle, words begin to swim on a page you haven’t turned in quite some time, and sleep slowly but surely starts to drag your eyelids down.

It has almost claimed you when the door to your shared room at the Elfsong slams shut. You hear groans from around the room as those who were similarly drifting off to bed are shocked awake, everyone expecting yet another unwelcome visitor. You almost don’t have time to react before an armor-clad vampire lands atop of you.

You do react though, instinctively striking at the man with the spine of your book, a loud ‘thwack’ letting you know that your contact was true.

“Oof,” Astarion mutters, now fully splayed across your torso like a stretching cat. “Darling, must you be so violent?”

“Astarion?” you ask, putting down your book, shaking off the beginning throes of sleep as you realize what’s transpired. “Weapons down everyone, it’s Astarion.”

After a few affirmative grumbles from around the room, you turn your attention back to the vampire, “Are you alright? Did you get injured?”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, burying his face in your blanket, and rubbing at the spot where you’d hit him. “Nothing's the matter. Everything is perfectly dandy.”

His words slur though and something seems to be amiss. His movements are fluid, his body weight is completely and utterly relaxed onto you.

Almost as if…

“Are you… drunk?” you haven’t seen him like this since the bear he drank near the grove. When you’d asked him the question then, he’d shrugged it off– but it was certainly the closest to drunk you’d ever seen him.

“Not strictly speaking, no…” he drolls, tilting his head slightly to stare at you with one eye. His cheeks are flushed, a telltale sign of his recent feeding, and his eye is glazed over, its blissful sheen telling you all that you need to know.

“Have a good dinner, did you?” you ask, smiling down at him wearily. You can hardly fault him for indulging, especially after the couple of weeks you’ve had.

He chuckles, his one visible eye crinkling a bit. “Oh yes. A rather large bugbear. Hardly knew what bit him.”

You run a hand through Astarion’s hair, and respond, “Well done, my sweet, bloodthirsty vampire.”

Normally, such sweet words of unabashed ​​flattery would elicit a smile, a laugh, maybe even a kiss– but tonight Astarion freezes under your touch, his eye going wide before he tucks his face back into the bedding.

“Astarion?” you ask, your previous worry about injury now promptly replaced by a worry of a much deeper hurt.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, voice sounding distant.

You scratch at his scalp, a bit, trying to encourage him back toward you. “Love, you know you’re a terrible liar. What’s wrong?”

He gives a soft, annoyed huff– an endearing, drunken noise were it not for the fact that he seems determined not to look at you. And continue to crush you with the full weight of his body.

“Astarion,” you say again, with a bit more emphasis, shaking his head a little with your next scratch. “If nothing is truly wrong, I will wake up Karlach. You know she would love to see you in this state.” As if to punctuate your point, a snore sounds from a few beds over, where you know the barbarian slumbers.

“Please don’t,” he murmurs, finally turning around to look at you fully.

You’re surprised to see his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down in a truly melancholy frown– always an expressive man, it seems that Astarion’s intoxicated demeanor is twice as exaggerated. Cute, you think. But also concerning. “Love,” you whisper, running a hand along his face. “Talk to me.”

Astarion hesitates, his watery eyes wincing as he debates his next words. Those same red eyes show an unexpected amount of vulnerability– all that bugbear blood is keeping his expression open, his entire face a rosy hue. His mouth opens, closes, his body shifts, and he fumbles with the latches on his armor as he thinks. You simply lay there, playing with his curls until he’s ready.

When he finally speaks, his words take you by surprise.

“You don’t just like me because I’m a vampire… do you?”

“What?” you ask, eyebrows raising in disbelief. Surely, you misheard him.

“You know,” he continues, waving a hand about the air. “My vampiric charms. The fangs. The blood sucking. The mysterious allure?”

“Why in the nine hells would you think that?” You reach a hand out to grab his, tugging on it gently to try to get him to sit up.

Astarion’s eyes drift away from you, but he does sit up, legs draping over your stomach. “Just… because of something Jaheira said.”

Oh. The conversation you’d been eavesdropping on.

“Do you mean what she said earlier? On our way back to the Elfsong?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Well, yes,” he mutters, still not looking at you. “Though I can’t help but notice you haven’t answered my question…”

“Astarion,” you start, releasing his hand, only to place it on the slightly flushed skin of his cheek. “No, I do not only like you because you’re a vampire.” Your words are firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

His eyes meet yours again, and still you can see so much doubt, so much unmitigated fear. “Are you certain? You truly do seem to enjoy it when I bite you.”

“Well, that’s true,” you admit with a small wince. It does feel rather… good when he bites you, it would be a lie to say otherwise and, besides, you’ve told him as much before. “But that’s not why I like you, you fool.”

Astarion’s bottom lip slips into a small pout and he moves away from your hand. “You’re not very convincing, you know? Especially when you call me a fool.”

You scooch out a bit from under him, leaving your legs under his. With all of the severity in the world, you reply, “If it makes you feel better, I’m a fool too.”

“You are?” he asks, curious despite himself– easily falling for your little trap.

“A fool for you.”

The noise that escapes him is half groan, half chuckle, and his mouth pulls into a lopsided little smile that you’re not certain you would have earned were he not a bit blooddrunk. “Gods, how the hells did I fall for you?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” you respond with a smirk on your face. When you place a hand on his knee, the smirk turns into a small smile. “But I’m being genuine– I don’t like you because you’re a vampire. And before you ask, I don’t love you because of your vampirism either.”

He gives a small huff. “Well, Jaheira made it sound as if there wasn’t much else to care for.” An uncharacteristic admittance from him– normally he would brush off such a statement with a proud declaration of how phenomenal he is. But it seems that Jaheira’s words cut deep– and that blood has loosened his lips.

“Jaheira, despite all of her many, many years of experience–” you enjoy the full laugh that elicits. “simply doesn’t have my refined taste. There are so many reasons to like you, love. In fact, vampirism doesn’t even make the list.”

“Oh, you’re keeping track, are you?” he asks, folding his arms and body over his legs and smiling up at you.

“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning forward toward him. “Would you like a sampling of reasons?”

The look he gives you then is hopeful, but more than a little dread slips through in his shining red eyes. When he answers, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Only if you mean them.”

This withdrawn, unsure Astarion isn’t a common sight to you, but, like every other facet of the man before you, he’s no less lovable. So you lean forward, placing a kiss on his pale forehead, and say, “I mean them with my whole heart.”

“Then… I suppose I ought to be lavished with them," he murmurs, and you spot the blush intensifying over his cheeks, now also coloring his ears.

Coupled with his fluid, inebriated state, his heart laid bare before you, you want to scream the reasons from the roof of the Elfsong, if only for him to believe you. But, as it is, the soft snores of your companions keep your voice hushed, your face close to his as you begin.

“Let’s see… should I start with the first thing that stood out to me?”

He hums in agreement, and closes his eyes, as if preparing to listen to the sweetest tune known to the entirety of Faerun.

“Well, it started with your first lie, I think,” you start.

Astarion gives a disapproving groan, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“My dear, you said you said you had a ‘brain thing’ cornered– I hope you know the smile on my face wasn’t from confidence,” you say with a new, fond smile at the memory. “I just knew from that moment on, you didn’t much care for what others thought of you, as long as your goals were met. A kindred spirit. Or so you said that day.”

At that, he reopens his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“We’re not kindred spirits?” you ask, an unexpected tinge of hurt blooming in your chest.

“That’s true,” he says, balming the hurt quickly. “It’s not true that I don’t care what others think of me. I do. Well, maybe not everyone.” His eyes dart toward Gale’s bed and you stifle a snicker. “But I certainly care what you think of me.”

You look into his crimson eyes, a bit clearer now than when you began talking– the blood seems to be working its way through his system. His words come from a place of honesty, not a lack of inhibition.

“Then, let me assure you here and now,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I think–” Another quick peck on his lips. “you’re the funniest–” A kiss to his nose. “the most deft–” A brush of lips against his temple. “creative, endearing, brave–” Each word comes with a kiss along his jaw. “man I’ve ever met.”

Astarion’s eyes look at you, his face still for a moment as he considers your words. When he finally speaks, it’s a quiet, choked up question, “Oh, is that it?”

“Would you like me to keep going?” you ask, lips perched just above his eyebrow, ready for another round.

He shakes his head ever so slightly. “No– no need or you’ll be here all night, surely,” he says, posturing as best as he can while still looking at you with fearful eyes. Almost as if your candid praise is simply too much for him to bear.

It may be too much, and you’re not one to push it.

“Very well,” you say, pulling back. “But I didn’t even get to how good you look covered in blood…”

The man gives a light laugh at that, some of his nerves melting before praise he understands– his appearance is a source of comfort, one that brings him back to himself. “Oooh yes, I do look dashing in red, don’t I?” he purrs, a content smile forming on his face.

“That you do,” you assure, with your own warm look. You wish he would accept all praise this easily, but you suppose this is all you can do for now.

So little of what matters to you is his vampirism, his looks… but for a man like Astarion, for whom a kind word felt like a double-edged blade for two centuries? Well, you’re reminded that regardless of how many times you may tell him, whether now when he’s a bit fuzzy around the edges or when you’re in your cups, he may never truly believe you.

No matter, you suppose. I’ll simply keep finding new ways to show him how much I care for him…

“So Jaheira was kidding, right?” Astarion asks, sitting up and finally beginning to remove his leathers.

You nod, moving to help him remove his greaves. “Naturally. I thought you’d been enjoying the conversation, actually.”

“I had been,” he replies, thoughtfully. “But the more I remembered how sinfully you shiver under my fangs…”

He’s dodging before you can so much as flick his ear. “Excuse you. Is that any way to treat your most reliable source of sustenance?”

Astarion smirks as he leans away from you in the bed. “Oh darling, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, you can’t help it.”

“Astarion–”

“Ehem!” You hear from somewhere behind you. It’s followed shortly by Shadowheart’s annoyed voice, “Would the two of you please keep it down? Some of us are trying to rest.”

If by ‘rest’ she means ‘reach the end of her copper novel’, then you suppose she’s right. Either way, you whisper back, “Sorry, I was defending my dignity.”

“What dignity?” she murmurs back. “And in case you’re wondering, you’re both utter fools.”

Oh great, she’d heard everything.

“Shadowheart, were you eavesdropping?” Astarion asks, crawling over you to glare at her from the edge of your bed. He’s half-dressed and still somewhat out of sorts, so you just lean back against the pillows and accept your fate.

“Is it really eavesdropping if I can hear it all clearly?” the cleric says, and you hear her book snap shut. “Besides, Astarion, if you really needed someone to reassure you, you should have asked me.”

“You?” he asks, incredulously. “And why should I ask you?”

“Because,” she starts, and you can hear her wicked smile in her tone. “I can confirm without a shadow of a doubt that there’s no such thing as ‘vampiric charm.’ I’ve never felt less charmed in my entire life.”

You can sense Astarion is just about ready to light Shadowheart’s hair on fire, so you tug him back down from the divide. “Thank you for that clarification, Shadowheart,” you call, biting back a laugh. “And I’m starting to realize none of us really have private conversations, do we?”

“No, we do not,” you hear Gale reply from a few beds away.

With that, Astarion gives an exasperated sigh and the two of you finish removing his armor in silence.  When you’re both finally ready for bed and you whisper to him, “Goodnight.” Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll all respond, “Goodnight!”

[anystalker707]

heavy feelings

Pairings: Frank Iero x [gender-neutral] Reader Genre: Light angst / Comfort / Fluff Summary: Longing for each other until finding out you two feel the same for each other. a/n: hey guys i hope i don't regret writing this little thing for mcr after forever away from it, even if this is a sam monroe fic that i adapted for frank iero

MASTER LIST

          Of course, you knew it would rain, seeing the darkness gathering in the distance, the clouds looking heavy and dense, slowly rolling in. Maybe not so slowly. You’d predicted it’d rain later at night, and not right when you had to leave work. Or perhaps, even, you just wanted to convince yourself of it after noticing your umbrella wasn’t in your bag. Leaving your house in a rush during an especially stressful week could do that.

There was nowhere to run to now that you searched for shelter by standing as close to the building as possible, staring at your phone’s screen. With a sigh, you finally texted Frank, receiving a text you didn’t know how to interpret. Still, you waited.

Ten minutes or so had passed when the car finally stopped by the curb, and you quickly rushed through the rain to slip into Frank’s car, which had an almost permanent smell of cigarettes and a hint of the drink Mikey spilled on the back seats some weeks ago. The engine hummed under you as the rain pattered against the window, but not loud enough to drown out the music from the radio, making a comfortable atmosphere that felt like a warm hug after a long day at work.

The gray colors of the sky merged with the city lights, creating distortions through the raindrops that ran down the cars’ windows, and also hiding an otherwise a sky with the colors of the end of the day.

“Am I your Uber now or somethin’?” Frank raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to look down the street before crossing the crossroad, his tongue lightly playing with his lip ring.

You shrugged, adjusting your bag on your feet. “Well, seemed like a good opportunity to see you.” Twisting the knob slowly, you turned the volume up, just enough for the words to be comprehensible.

"Oh don't talk of love" the shadows purrMurmuring me away from you"Don't talk of worlds that never were…

Frank was silent, letting his brain swim in the lyrics, before he exhaled. “Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t want you to see me right now.” Annoyance marred his words, rough with irritation and… something else. “Maybe I just want to be left alone.”

Bitter, as usual. You rolled your eyes, looking out the window with a soft sigh. “Just drop me at my place.”

Frank’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, and he glanced at you. “Wait,” he choked out, his throat suddenly dry. “I didn’t mean that. ‘M sorry. I just…” He huffed. “‘M not good at this.” His hair was a little wet from catching a little rain earlier when getting in the car, and wetting his palm slightly when he tugged on his own strands almost painfully. So fucking stupid. Why couldn’t he just be nice to you? “I don’t want to take you home. I want to spend time with you. Just you.” Hopefully, that waver in his voice was just his mind tricking him.

A sigh. “Whatever. Sure.”

His heart kept beating way too fast. Damn it. Frank hesitantly reached over and grazed your thigh with his hand. He needed to cross that bridge. “Come on,” he mumbled in a softer tone. “Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere.” It wasn’t much of an apology, but he couldn’t do much better now.

Silence stretched, and Frank was hyper-aware of everything. His sweaty palms around the steering wheel, the floor vibrating under his feet, the rain, the music, you. Really, all he did was make things worse. No one ever liked him in such a tender way, so he wasn’t sure how to handle it all. Or even how to communicate nicely.

“You know,” Frank attempted, voice quiet, “I don’t like it when you’re upset with me.” The words felt heavy on his tongue.

Silence stretched again, but not for so long. “I’m not upset with you,” you said softly, suppressing another sigh, observing the inked lines along his skin. “Gloomy weather just makes me feel… down.”

Frank’s jaw clenched as he turned the car, navigating the familiar streets towards his house, keeping his eyes glued on the road because he didn’t know how he’d react if he looked at you. Something thick hung in the air, too sensitive to be touched, causing another silence, but it was heavy and oppressive this time. After he pulled into the driveway, it pushed more upon him as he stared at the distorted image of his house through the windshield. He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension. But the words wouldn’t come.

Frank fought against whatever seemed to hold him back and reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together, finding solace in the small touch. “Come inside. Please. I need you.”

The two of you shared a look before you nodded, giving his hand a brief squeeze, then releasing it to leave the car and jog towards the front door together.

Focused on unlocking the door, Frank twisted his mouth faintly. He held it open for you before stepping inside as well, both of you leaving the wet shoes by the door as he unlocked it again. He watched you take off your shoes, feeling his heart twist—it was a sign of comfort, of familiarity. Of home.

The house was quiet, the lights dimmed, a guitar forgotten on the couch. It felt empty, lifeless. Just like Frank felt most of the time. He leaned back against the door and looked at you for a moment, analyzing, looking for something. He knew something troubled you, the sadness was there, even if he couldn’t quite tell the reason, and it made his heart ache, made him want to take it away. How could he have such strong feelings for someone else? His stomach churned.

“Come here.” Frank held out his hand. “Please, I just… I need to hold you.”

Despite your silence, your hand found Frank’s, hesitantly, lacing your fingers together as you stepped closer, and his hand immediately tightened around yours. He slowly wiped away a raindrop that ran down your temple, sighing.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered. “I hate knowing that I can’t take it away, that I can’t make it better.” The closeness allowed him to drink in every detail of your features and burn it in his memory so that he could revisit it later when he was missing you.

You looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’m fine, really. It’s not that bad.”

Frank knew you were lying for your own sake, though it still hurt that you didn’t trust him to comfort you, to make everything better. He let his hands fall to his sides when your grip loosened. The frustration made him want to scream and break everything—he would never do that, not when it could worsen things.

“I know you’re not okay, and I hate that I can’t do anything to change that.” Frank pressed his lips together, nipping his lip ring a little, and stepped back, trying not to seem needy or pushy. “I’m here for you.” It was cliché, something you were probably tired of hearing already, but Frank didn’t know what else to offer, and maybe it worked.

Your eyes softened, and your shoulders dropped. “Don’t worry.”

“Come on,” Frank said before silence reigned again. “Let’s go upstairs. We can watch a movie or somethin’.” His hand found yours before you climbed the stairs, and his hand remained in yours when you left your bag by the corner and tugged you down with him as he flopped on the bed. You landed in a tangle of limbs, with his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you close, and his face buried in your neck to inhale your scent deeply. Home.

Despite not being what you expected, it was easy to relax and let go against Frank, taking in the oddly comforting scent of his bed and returning the embrace, tracing circles into his back—he hummed contently in response.

The little gesture calmed down the furious sea of emotions inside Frank and reduced the world to the little bubble shared by the two of you. Everything was about your warmth and the weight of your arms around him.

Enough time had passed when Frank turned his head to rest it on your shoulder. His fingers tightened around your shirt, as if you’d disappear if he let go. “Turn on a movie, please.” Your shoulder muffled his voice. “Something you like.” All he wanted was to give you a moment free from the weight of the world on your shoulders, and maybe, just maybe, Frank would find and provide solace in the process. “I don’t care what it is. Just pick something.”

Damn. It was hard to choose. You tried to think about something both of you liked and aligned with the atmosphere. None of you would watch it anyway, but the muffled talk under the sound of the rain outside was comforting. Playing with your hair proved to be a lot more interesting to Frank, an intimate and possessive gesture, to him. Mine, his heart whispered.

“Thanks for putting up with me,” Frank muttered quietly. He knew he wasn’t the easiest to be around, and he could be a lot to handle, but you were still there with him. That meant so much. Despite the lack of an answer, his heart melted at seeing you enjoying the touch, pressing your head to his, briefly. It was almost like you were completely his, and Frank almost allowed himself to slip into the daydream of being yours when guilt pushed him back.

The ending song started playing, but Frank remained still, trying to prolong the connection. He had never felt so close to you before, so… exposed. Unlike he had believed, it was peaceful.

Eventually, he pulled back to meet your eyes in the dim lighting of his bedroom. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat, jumbled and indecipherable. “You should sleep here,” he said, finally, the only words that managed to escape through. “I’ll put an extra blanket on the floor for you.” He wasn’t up to going through the usual bickering of who should take the bed. Most of all, it was an offering, a plea, to have you there while he slipped into the unforgiving embrace of sleep, since he couldn’t have you hold him overnight. “Unless you’d rather go home.”

“I’ll stay. Don’t worry.”

Frank nodded in relief.

The makeshift bed wasn’t the best, but it was the best that Frank could do. If only he could convince you to take the bed. “There,” he exhaled, giving you one of his pillows. “It’s not much, but it’s… comfortable.” He sat back on the mattress. His eyes followed you, observing how his borrowed clothes looked on you and the weight of the day in your eyes. Fuck, he was so lucky to still have you there with him. “Thank you,” he said, because it was all he could do without feeling like he would fall apart. “For staying, for being here, for… everything.” He wanted to say more. It wasn’t the time, though. He didn’t think it was the moment.

“It’s fine. It’s not something you need to thank me for.” You adjusted the pillow on the ground before lying down and pulling a blanket over yourself. It smelled like Frank. The rain still poured outside, comforting and daunting at the same time. “Good night.”

Frank watched you in silence, nodding, and swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Good night,” he mumbled. He dimmed down the light on the nightstand, leaving the room in a soft, cozy darkness, a little envious that you fell asleep faster, but he knew the day had been harsher on you. The weight in his chest held Frank awake, and he couldn’t help but roll on his side to observe you. There was not much to see in the darkness, but he could make out the rise and fall of your chest in a peaceful rhythm that lulled him into a sense of security—a false one.

If only you cuddled with him to sleep. Frank reached out, letting his fingertips graze your arm in a whisper of a caress, allowing himself to imagine a scenario in which you fall asleep in each other’s arms. He doesn’t want to wake you because of his silly daydreams, especially not when you’re finally allowed to rest.

With a heavy sigh, Frank forced himself to withdraw his hand and let you sleep undisturbed, averting his attention to the ceiling. He’d just settle down for the comfort of your presence with the knowledge that, even if not enough, it was more than he deserved. Among the mess of thoughts and feelings, he could finally fall asleep.

Panic rose in his chest when Frank noticed the empty spot beside his bed, but then he saw you standing by the window, with your hands on the windowsill, watching the rain, and his heart calmed down. He sat up with a yawn, leaving smeared makeup on his fingers with rubbing his eyes. The sight of you standing there filled him with a strange sense of peace.

Frank swung his legs over the bed's side before standing up and as much as he wanted to walk over, he preferred to rush to the bathroom and at least take a piss and wash his mouth before anything. Given the situation of it, he presumed you’d been awake for longer than he thought.

Finally, Frank returned and approached you, standing close enough so that your shoulders touched. “Morning,” he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. “You slept well?” He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the sleep in his eyes. “Coffee? I can make some if you want.”

You observed him for a moment before finally shaking your head. “Morning. The floor isn’t so bad.” You paused. “We can have some coffee later.”

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Frank prayed you wouldn’t mention anything about leaving. He hoped there wouldn’t be any last-minute band practice today. Spending so much time with you was… nice. More than nice, actually. It was everything he had been wanting lately.

Rain kept pattering against the window. It was a soothing sound he found himself soothing into. He tilted his head, pressing his nose to the cold glass, and his heart fluttered at the chuckle he snatched from you. “We could…” His mind raced with the possibilities. He didn’t know. Whatever you wanted, as long as you two spent time together.

“There’s not much we can do.” You shrugged, averting your eyes to the outside again, watching the puddles. “And you? Slept well?”

Frank looked over at you, nodding faintly. “Mm, yeah.” Sleepiness still clung to his voice, but he couldn’t fight the feeling that came along with rainy days. He decided to indulge in his wishes and slide an arm around your waist, relishing the closeness, humming as he buried his face in your shoulder for a moment before following your gaze outside the window. He felt like melting when you held him in return. “We can watch a movie. I’ll even let you have the remote.”

For some reason, Frank felt clingy, unable to hold himself back from tightening his arms around you, basking in the warmth of your skin that seeped through your—his—clothes. He’d never felt this close to you, and maybe you felt the same.

Your nose pressed to his cheek, breath tickling his skin. “Sounds good.”

Frank wanted nothing more than to turn his head and meet your lips, but he restrained himself. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he mumbled with a soft sigh. Words heaved on his tongue like lead, at the same time they prickled in a plea to be freed. “Y’know, I love you.” While he pulled away to look at you in the eyes, he was already making up a thousand excuses in his mind, but all of them vanished once his eyes met yours, and he winced.

“I… ‘m sorry,” Frank said, anxiety coiling in his gut, and he wanted to spill a thousand words to justify himself, but nothing ever came. His brain short-circuited the moment you leaned in and simply kissed him, the sensation so much more intense and better than anything he could’ve imagined.

A soft sound escaped Frank’s throat when he finally returned the kiss, adjusting his grip around you, taking in every detail—your breath fanning over his philtrum, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek, your hands on his shoulders, his lip ring between your lips, everything. The doubts and worries melted away shamefully easily, calming down his heart in a way he’d never felt before.

Only a few seconds and eternity had simultaneously passed when the kiss came to an end, and Frank looked at you again, his mind a lot quieter now, lips tingling. He felt so safe in your embrace, fuck.

“I love you, too, okay?” You mumbled, kissing his cheek, and he couldn’t help but smile, burying his face in your shoulder.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

[undiagnosedcruelty]

A Week of Psychological Warfare and Pranks

Pairing: Jeongin x GenderNeutral!reader x skz Genre: Crackfic

Summary: What starts as harmless poke towards Jeongin spirals into a week-long prank war.

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Content Warnings: mild language, pranks, mischief , jump Scares, fake spiders, psychological warfare, jeongin and reader being menaces Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: I had too much fun writing this.

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EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION──NOTHING IS DIRECTLY RELATED TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

Day One: The Declaration of War

The prank war doesn’t start with some grand plan or premeditated scheme. No, it begins with something far simpler.

It starts because you were bored.

And when you’re bored, you do stupid things.

Jeongin is your chosen victim simply because he’s there—because he’s unsuspecting, and because, in your experience, annoying him is one of life’s greatest joys. He’s curled up in his bed, his soft breathing steady, his face peaceful in sleep. It’s almost a shame to disrupt such tranquility. Almost.

You move with the stealth of a seasoned prankster, carefully pulling open his dresser drawer. A neat row of socks stares back at you, all in their usual, boring shades of black, gray, and white.

That won’t do. Silently, you extract them, stuffing them under your arm before replacing them with the true stars of the show—the vibrant, horrific rainbow-colored toe socks Felix bought as a joke. They sit there in the drawer like a crime scene, each bright stripe practically screaming chaos.

You stifle a grin and close the drawer. Now, you wait.

Morning comes. You’re already awake, lounging on the couch, one knee tucked under you, scrolling idly through your phone. The dorm is quiet except for the distant hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the building settling. Then, from the bedroom—

The rustling of blankets. The shuffle of feet against the floor. A quiet yawn, followed by—

Silence.

Your ears perk up. You glance up from your phone just in time to see Jeongin standing in the doorway, frozen mid-step. His gaze is locked onto his own feet, his expression unreadable. One socked foot is slightly raised, toes flexing experimentally against the soft fabric.

Then, slowly, he wiggles his toes.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. His fingers tighten at his sides. He doesn’t look up.

“…What,” he says at last, voice disturbingly calm, “is on my feet?”

The corners of your lips curl up as you lean back against the couch, tapping your fingers against your knee in mock thoughtfulness. “Oh, what’s wrong?” you drawl. “You don’t like them?”

Jeongin finally lifts his head, and the sheer betrayal in his eyes is exquisite. Gone is the sleepy maknae, all soft edges and quiet innocence. What stands before you now is something far more menacing.

“You did this,” he states, voice flat, devoid of any real emotion.

“Obviously.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, his expression shifts, sharpening into something cold and calculating. His shoulders square. His posture straightens. His eyes, still half-lidded with lingering drowsiness, narrow slightly. It’s subtle, but it’s enough.

A chill runs down your spine.

“I see,” he murmurs, flexing his foot again, as if testing the abomination currently enveloping it. “So that’s how it is.”

Your grin falters—just for a second, but it’s enough for him to notice.

Jeongin hums, expression eerily neutral, and takes a step back into the room. “Alright,” he says smoothly, too composed, too calm. “If it’s war you want…”

He turns on his heel, walking away without another word.

A feeling of unease settles in your gut.

That should’ve been your first warning.

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Day Two: The Escalation

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Jeongin, it’s that he does not take things lightly.

He doesn’t prank you back immediately, and you should’ve been suspicious of that, too.

But no. You just laugh it off, thinking he’s already lost, that he doesn’t have it in him to keep up.

You’re wrong.

The next morning, you go to grab one of your hoodies, still groggy from sleep, expecting the familiar weight of soft fabric between your fingers. But as your hand meets empty air, your brain stutters.

You blink.

Your closet is empty.

The hanger creaks slightly as it swings in the open space, mocking you.

Confused, you check your chair, where you always toss your favorite hoodie. Then the laundry basket. Then the couch. Nothing. Your hoodies are gone. Every single one.

Slowly, dread creeps in, cold and certain.

And then you see him.

Jeongin is standing in the living room, leaning casually against the counter, a mug of tea cradled in one hand. His posture is relaxed, like he has all the time in the world. Like he hasn’t just committed a heinous crime.

But it’s not his stance that makes your stomach drop. It’s what he’s wearing.

Your hoodie. Your favorite hoodie.

The one that’s just oversized enough to be comfortable but not too baggy, the one that smells faintly of your detergent, the one that’s been worn so many times it’s softened into perfection. And now it’s draped over his shoulders, the sleeves slightly too long on him, the hem just brushing his hips.

He meets your gaze, his lips curving into a slow, smug smile.

“Oh,” he says, voice smooth, innocent, infuriating. “Were you looking for something?”

You inhale sharply, eyes narrowing. “You little gremlin—”

Jeongin takes a leisurely sip of his tea, tilting his head. “You started this,” he reminds you, utterly unbothered, utterly pleased with himself.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. Fine. Fine. If this is how he wants to play it, then so be it.

You replace his toothpaste with mayonnaise.

The anticipation is almost unbearable. You wait, lingering just outside the bathroom, ears straining for the inevitable moment of horror.

It comes swiftly.

Jeongin lifts the toothbrush to his mouth, and the second the bristles touch his tongue, he freezes. His entire body goes still, muscles locking up like he’s just short-circuited.

Slowly, like a machine rebooting, he lowers the toothbrush, eyes narrowing. He sniffs once. Then again. His gaze flickers to the mirror, and for a moment, he just stares—at himself, at the toothbrush, at the cruel, cruel world.

A deep breath.

A long pause.

Then, very quietly, voice filled with quiet devastation:

“You monster.”

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Day Three: War.

What follows can only be described as a psychological battlefield.

It starts small. Subtle. A quiet but devastating act of war.

One night, you go to charge your phone, yawning as you grab the cable. You don’t even think twice—just plug it in, expecting the familiar vibration, the screen lighting up.

Nothing.

You frown, unplugging and flipping the cable around like that’ll magically fix it. Still nothing.

Maybe the outlet? You shuffle to another one, trying again. And again. And again.

Still. Nothing.

A prickling sensation creeps up your spine. Your grogginess fades, replaced by the sharp clarity of suspicion.

Your mind starts racing. The charger? No, I used it earlier. The port? Maybe—

And then you see it.

A tiny piece of clear tape covering the inside of the charging port. Practically invisible. The perfect crime.

Your blood boils. Heat rushes to your face as you stare at the offending piece of sabotage, your grip tightening around your phone like it personally betrayed you.

Your nostrils flare. Your pulse thrums. Your eye twitches.

You whip around, fury burning hot in your chest. “JEONGIN.”

Somewhere in the dorm, a cackle erupts—loud, victorious, merciless.

Your fingers curl into fists. Your vision tinges red.

Oh, he wants war?

Fine. War it is.

Your revenge is swift and merciless.

That night, when Jeongin is deep in sleep, mouth slightly parted, completely vulnerable, you make your move. Silent as a shadow, you creep into his room, barely breathing as you reach for his phone.

With expert precision, you unlock it, go straight to his photos, and select the picture—an image so undignified, so horrendous, it should have never seen the light of day.

Mouth half-open. Mid-blink. Caught in the weird in-between moment where he looks like he’s about to sneeze but forgot how.

You set it as his wallpaper. Both the lock screen and home screen.

Then, you slink back to your room and wait.

Morning comes. You sip your coffee, pretending to scroll through your phone, ears tuned to the slightest sound.

And then—

A sigh.

Not just any sigh.

A deep, defeated sigh that carries the weight of a man who has stared directly into his own abyss and seen something he can never unsee.

Peeking over the couch, you watch as Jeongin stares at his phone, utterly disappointed in himself. His lips press into a thin line. His grip tightens. His shoulders slump ever so slightly.

Like he’s questioning every life choice that led him here.

Triumph surges through your veins.

You grin, savoring the moment. Checkmate.

Or at least, that’s what you think.

Because of course, Jeongin takes it too far.

That night, you slip into bed, muscles relaxing as exhaustion washes over you. The blankets are warm, the mattress familiar, the day’s battles a distant memory.

You exhale slowly, the tension leaving your body.

And then.

Something moves.

Something small.

Something foreign brushes against your leg.

Your breath catches.

A frigid jolt of terror surges through your veins as every instinct in your body screams at you to GET OUT.

Heart pounding, you go rigid, muscles locking in place. Your fingers tremble as you reach for the blanket, your throat tight with a suffocating sense of dread.

Slowly—very, very slowly—you lift the covers.

And see them.

Fake spiders. Everywhere.

Scattered across the sheets, dark shapes against the pale fabric, waiting.

A beat of absolute stillness.

Then—You scream.

Loud. Piercing. Bloodcurdling.

Panic explodes inside you like a wildfire as you launch yourself out of bed, blankets flying, your mind short-circuiting with sheer, unfiltered horror. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest, your skin crawling with phantom sensations.

From the next room, Jeongin howls with laughter—the unhinged, victorious kind that makes you want to commit actual violence.

You stand there, shaking, pulse hammering, fists clenched so tight your nails dig into your palms. Your breathing is ragged, your dignity shattered.

You are going to kill him.

The next morning, you drag yourself into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, traumatized, and dangerously close to committing a crime.

Jeongin is waiting for you.

He slides a cup of coffee toward you with a shit-eating grin.

“Sleep well?” he asks, voice dripping with amusement.

You don’t think.

You grab a pillow off the couch and hurl it at his face with everything you have. It smacks him with a satisfying thud. He just laughs.

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Day Four: Camaraderie (Joint leagues)

One day, after yet another brutal round of psychological warfare (Jeongin replaces all the sugar with salt; you glue his slippers to the floor), you both collapse onto the living room couch, utterly spent.

It’s been days.

Four long, merciless days of constant back-and-forth. No moment of peace. No second of safety. Just an endless, escalating game of deception, sabotage, and war.

You lean back, head resting against the couch, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of fabric as Jeongin shifts beside you.

For the first time in days, there’s no immediate threat. No paranoia. No fear of hidden tape, rigged alarms, or mysteriously missing belongings.

You inhale deeply. Then exhale.

Jeongin does the same.

And then—

“…What if,” you whisper, barely tilting your head to look at him, “we called a truce?”

A pause.

Jeongin doesn’t move at first, still staring at the ceiling like he’s weighing the cost of peace. Then, slowly, he turns to face you, an eyebrow arching in pure skepticism.

“Why,” he says warily, “would I trust you?”

You smirk, tilting your chin up slightly, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.

“Because instead of fighting each other,” you say, eyes glinting with something dangerous, “we could team up… and take them down.”

Silence. A long, slow beat where the idea settles in, where you can see the wheels turning in Jeongin’s mind.

And then—A grin. A dangerous one.

“I like the way you think,” he murmurs.

There’s no hesitation now. He extends his hand. You grasp it firmly, sealing the deal with a single shake.

And just like that—

Operation: Mutually Assured Destruction is born.

────────────────────────────────────────

Day Five: Assured Destruction

Target One: Hyunjin

The plan: Flip his entire room upside down.

It takes an hour of meticulous effort, but the results? A masterpiece of confusion.

Every single item has been inverted—his chair balanced precariously on its head like an acrobat, his books reversed so their spines face the wall, his posters rotated exactly 180 degrees, making his favorite idols appear as though they’re defying gravity. Even the little things—the framed photo on his desk, his alarm clock, his bedside lamp—are all upside down, creating an uncanny sense of wrongness.

The best part? His slippers. Flipped, soles up, placed perfectly on the floor, like they’re waiting for him to step into another dimension.

By the time you and Jeongin finish, you step back, hands on your hips, and admire the scene.

“Genius,” Jeongin whispers.

“Perfection,” you agree.

Then, you wait. The moment Hyunjin walks in, towel slung over his shoulder, damp hair sticking to his forehead, he stops dead in the doorway.

His entire body freezes.

His expression is too blank. Too neutral. Dangerously unreadable. His lips part slightly, and his eyes scan the room, flicking from one absurd sight to the next, like his brain is actively trying to reject reality.

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Then, wordlessly, he pivots on his heel and walks right back out.

You and Jeongin barely have a second to exchange a triumphant glance before you hear his voice—flat, exhausted, utterly done.

“I don’t have the mental energy for this,” he mutters, disappearing down the hall.

Jeongin snorts so hard he nearly chokes. You double over, wheezing.

Target Two: Seungmin

The plan: Weaponizing his own routine against him.

Seungmin has an infamous morning ritual—practically a science at this point. Alarm goes off at 7:00 AM. Snooze until 7:10. Another snooze until 7:20. Finally drags himself up at 7:30 with all the enthusiasm of a man being forced to walk the plank.

Naturally, you and Jeongin decide to ruin it.

The night before, you set up six different alarms across the dorm, each placed strategically to go off in perfect succession.

The first alarm blares at 7:00 AM sharp.

As expected, Seungmin groggily smacks it off, rolls over, and burrows deeper into his blankets.

Then—Another alarm goes off.

And another.

And another.

By the time the fourth alarm is screeching from an unknown location, Seungmin is stumbling half-awake through the dorm like a sleep-deprived zombie, hair sticking up in at least three different directions. He slams the fifth alarm off with a low, guttural growl, muttering something about "murder" under his breath as he drags himself toward the kitchen, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

For a moment, it seems like sweet, sweet relief has finally arrived.

Then.

The final alarm goes off.

From inside the freezer.

Seungmin freezes.

His entire body locks up.

His sleep-fogged brain processes the impossible noise, his eye twitching slightly. Slowly—painfully slowly—his head tilts toward the fridge.

The realization dawns.

His hands tighten around the counter, his knuckles going white, his whole posture radiating dangerous restraint.

Then, in a voice hoarse with pure, unfiltered morning rage—

“WHO. DID. THIS?!”

His yell rattles the walls. A few rooms away, someone groans in protest.

Across the room, Jeongin, lazily sipping his tea at the table, doesn’t even glance up.

"Should’ve called in sick today."

Target Three: Chan

The Plan: Turn his studio into an existential crisis.

This is it. The final act. The grand finale.

You and Jeongin spend hours meticulously renaming every single one of Chan’s files. Beats. Demos. Vocals. Project drafts. Sound effects. All of them become Eternal Bang Chan.mp3.

By the time you finish, the entire computer is a minefield of identical, indistinguishable files. A place where logic ceases to exist. Where only suffering remains.

Then, you wait.

Morning comes.

Chan walks into the studio, rubbing his temples, a massive iced coffee in one hand. His eyes are heavy with exhaustion—he was up late mixing, and today was supposed to be a productive day.

Poor guy.

He sinks into his chair, cracks his neck, and stretches before clicking the first file.

Click.

A drum loop plays.

He frowns. Not what he was looking for, but okay. He clicks another.

Click.

A metronome.

He freezes.

His brows slowly knit together. The exhaustion in his eyes is replaced by suspicion. His mouse drifts to another file.

Click.

It’s just white noise.

Chan sits back in his chair, blinking slowly at the screen, scrolling through the endless abyss of Eternal Bang Chan.mp3 files. His breathing slows. His jaw tightens.

His entire studio is compromised.

He exhales through his nose.

And then, finally, in a voice laced with defeat and impending vengeance—

"…I hate you guys."

From the doorway, you and Jeongin silently high-five, basking in your undeniable victory.

────────────────────────────────────────

Day 6: The Intervention

By the next morning, the others have had enough.

Felix stands in front of you both, arms firmly crossed, his usually bright aura dimmed by pure exasperation. “You two need to be stopped.”

Hyunjin, looking absolutely exhausted, gestures vaguely toward his door, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes. “I live in fear.”

Seungmin rubs his temples like he’s aged a decade in the past 24 hours. “I have never been more awake in my life, and I hate it.”

Bang Chan exhales so deeply it’s like his very soul is trying to escape his body. His voice is hollow—lifeless. “I had to rename all my files back by hand.”

Even Lee Know—Lee Know, the resident menace of the dorm—just shakes his head in disapproval. His gaze, usually sharp with amusement, is cold. Calculating. Dangerous. “You’re both demons.”

Meanwhile, Jeongin? Entirely unbothered. He merely shrugs, arms folded, face calm as ever.

"Was it worth it?" he asks.

You pause, glancing around as your eyes take in the destruction.

Hyunjin’s upside-down room.

Seungmin’s hollow, sleep-deprived eyes.

Chan’s dead, soulless stare.

You smile, pride washing over you as if it were the greatest thing you've achieved. “Absolutely.”

Felix sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. If you swear to stop, we won’t retaliate.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, at the exact same time, you and Jeongin extend your pinkies.

"Truce," you both say in unison and the room falls into a sigh of relief.

The war is over.

…Or so they thought.

────────────────────────────────────────

Day Seven: The Ultimate Finale

Phase One: The Ceasefire That Wasn’t

The prank war was supposed to be over.

That’s what you and Jeongin promised when Felix, Chan, and the others staged their so-called “intervention.” You even pinky-swore. A sacred vow.

But the problem is…

Neither of you have any self-control.

And so, it begins.

Jeongin flops onto the couch next to you, looking way too casual. His posture is relaxed, one arm draped over the backrest, but there’s a glint in his eyes—a telltale sign of danger.

“So,” he drawls, stretching like a villain preparing a monologue, “what if, just for fun, we did one last prank?”

You glance at him, interest piqued. “One last prank?”

He nods solemnly, like this is a deeply serious matter. “A grand finale. The prank to end all pranks.”

Your fingers tap against your knee. Your mind whirs to life.

Slowly, you lean forward, resting your elbows on your thighs, fingers steepling like an evil mastermind.

"I’m listening."

Jeongin smirks.

Phase Two: The Perfect Crime

This prank has to be flawless.

No simple sock-switching. No petty toothpaste tricks. No tiny, insignificant disruptions.

This has to be a masterpiece.

The target?

Everyone.

Even yourselves.

Because the only way to ensure no one sees it coming… is to make sure you suffer too.

And so, after hours of careful planning, deep-dive research, and entirely too much maniacal laughter, you and Jeongin prepare for the greatest prank in history.

It starts with notes. Scribbled ideas. Diagrams. Timelines. Synchronized watches, just for the drama of it.

Jeongin sits cross-legged on the floor, sketching out a blueprint on a whiteboard you stole from Chan’s studio (he won’t notice… probably). There are arrows, lists, color-coded sections, and—for reasons neither of you can explain—a stick figure of Changbin with question marks around his head.

You stand behind him, arms crossed, nodding like a criminal mastermind overlooking a heist plan.

"This has to be methodical," you say, tapping the board. "If we go too easy, they’ll suspect something. Too hard, and they’ll actually kill us."

Jeongin hums in agreement. "We need balance. Chaos, but controlled chaos. Like… an art form."

A pause.

And then? A simultaneous, evil smirk.

Because this is what you were born to do.

Phase Three: The Execution──Fake Evacuation Notice

The first step is psychological warfare.

You and Jeongin spend the night printing out official-looking notices from the “Apartment Management Office.” The letters are filled with absurd yet barely believable warnings:

"Immediate evacuation required due to building-wide ant infestation. It is advised you leave NO food behind unless you wish to become one with the colony."

"Pest control will be fumigating with an experimental gas—side effects may include dizziness, nausea, or uncontrollable tap dancing. Management takes no responsibility for involuntary Michael Jackson impressions."

"All personal belongings must be packed by 8 AM sharp. Any items left behind will be confiscated and sold to fund Chan’s coffee addiction."

At 3 AM, you and Jeongin sneak through the dorm, taping these notices to every bedroom door. Then you go to sleep like nothing happened.

The next morning, the dorm erupts into chaos.

Phase 4: Controlled Panic

The moment Chan sees the notice taped to the door, he groans in defeat, rubbing his temples like he already knows this is going to be a long day. "I knew this building was cursed."

The paper is deceptively official-looking—printed on crisp white paper, formatted in stern legal jargon, with just enough bureaucratic nonsense to seem legitimate. The logo at the top is a painstakingly photoshopped version of their apartment complex’s management company, slightly off but convincing enough in their half-awake state.

But the real kicker?

At the very bottom, bolded and underlined:

“DUE TO EXCESSIVE NOISE COMPLAINTS AND UNCONTROLLABLE TAP DANCING, ALL TENANTS MUST VACATE IMMEDIATELY.”

Felix, still half-asleep and bundled in his blanket like a human burrito, blinks blearily at the notice, rereads it twice, then mutters, “…Uncontrollable tap dancing?”

Seungmin, rubbing his face and still in his pajamas, squints suspiciously at the letter. "Why does this look fake?" His voice is hoarse with exhaustion, but the suspicion is there.

But then—

"WAIT, WE'RE BEING KICKED OUT?!" Han shrieks, already spiraling. His eyes dart wildly around the dorm like he's mapping out the fastest exit. "DO WE HAVE TIME TO SAY GOODBYE TO THE NEIGHBORS?!"

Changbin, halfway through stuffing his protein powder into a duffel bag, yells in horror, “I CAN’T HAVE ANTS IN MY PROTEIN, MAN.” He grips the tub like it’s a lifeline.

From inside his room, Hyunjin, still face-down in his pillow, muffles out a single, exhausted groan. "WHY ARE YOU ALL SCREAMING?"

And then there’s Lee Know.

Unlike the rest, he does not panic. He does not rush to pack. Instead, he stands in the hallway, arms crossed, staring.

At you.

At Jeongin.

Two people who are currently frantically pretending to pack their bags—shoving random objects into backpacks with the frantic energy of guilty men.

Lee Know’s eyes narrow.

"You two," he says slowly, his voice eerily calm, pointing a single accusatory finger. "You're behind this, aren't you?"

Silence.

Then—

"WHAT?" you gasp, clutching your chest like a scandalized grandmother, eyes wide with faux innocence.

"How dare you," Jeongin adds, dramatically shoving more socks into his bag, despite already having packed way too many. "We are victims."

Lee Know does not blink.

He does not move. His expression says he knows.

But before he can expose you, Bang Chan—who has already accepted his fate and started packing his entire life into his duffel bag—throws it over his shoulder and sighs, "We don’t have time for this. Let’s go."

And just like that—

Panic wins.

Phase 5: Smurfed.

Now that Phase four has been set into motion and absolute chaos is unfolding, you and Jeongin move on to the pièce de résistance.

This one? A full-scale sensory assault.

While the others are still frantically stuffing their bags, you and Jeongin slink off to the bathroom like a pair of trained saboteurs, silent and efficient. With the precision of seasoned mischief-makers, you unscrew the showerhead, carefully prying it open to reveal the hollow space inside. Then, with the reverence of an artist perfecting their masterpiece, you slide in your secret weapon—several concentrated blue food coloring tablets, packed deep into the nozzle.

But you don’t stop there.

Oh no, this is war.

You move to the sink, working in perfect sync, rigging each faucet with the same vibrant blue dye. Every water source in this bathroom is now a ticking time bomb, primed and ready to unleash chaos at the first turn of a handle. No one is escaping this transformation.

And the results? Spectacular.

The first victim is Han.

Still half-asleep and utterly unaware, he stumbles into the bathroom, eyes squinted, hair a mess. He turns on the sink with a groggy mumble, reaching out instinctively to splash water onto his face. The second the bright, electric-blue liquid gushes out, there is a beat of silence. A moment of pure, unfiltered confusion.

He blinks.

He stares at his now smurf-colored hands.

Slowly—hesitantly—he raises his gaze to the mirror.

What stares back is a monster. Or at least, that’s what his sleep-deprived brain decides in the moment.

“…OH MY GOD.”

His shriek is bloodcurdling, echoing through the walls with such force that the whole dorm practically shakes.

"I'M TURNING INTO A SMURF. HELP. HELP."

Seungmin, already in the middle of his morning routine, suffers next. The moment his own sink betrays him, a strangled, borderline inhuman noise escapes his throat. His reflection glares back at him, now painted in Smurf Juice™ horror.

“I’M GOING TO KILL SOMEONE.”

Felix, who hears the commotion and rushes in to investigate, stops dead in his tracks at the sight before him. For a split second, there’s silence. Then—

“Oh my god.” His voice trembles with suppressed laughter. “You’re BLUE.”

At this point, Changbin peeks into the bathroom, curious as to what’s causing the screaming. The second he lays eyes on Han and Seungmin—both looking like they just lost a fight with a bucket of paint—he collapses. He doesn’t just laugh—he wheezes. He’s doubled over, clutching his stomach, practically crying.

"BRO," he gasps between fits of laughter. "YOU LOOK LIKE A FAILED AVATAR CHARACTER."

Hyunjin, blissfully unaware of his own predicament, is already recording the entire thing, panning the camera dramatically between each victim. Despite the undeniable evidence of his own blue-stained hands, he grins into the lens, completely unbothered.

“This,” he announces with the conviction of an artist unveiling a masterpiece, “is art.”

But karma is swift.

Changbin, still chuckling, decides he’s had enough entertainment for one morning and heads to his room, ready to grab his duffel bag—only to freeze.

His bed is gone.

Like… completely vanished.

No blankets. No pillows. No mattress. Just empty space where it once stood.

Slowly, his gaze drops to the floor, where a single note rests, written in dramatic, official-looking handwriting:

"You worked out too hard and punched your bed into another dimension. - Management."

For a full ten seconds, there is only silence. Then—

A guttural, horror-movie-worthy scream rips through the dorm.

“WHERE. IS. MY. BED.”

 The Inevitable Reckoning

Lee Know watches the chaos unfold.

He stops. He blinks. He sighs.

Then, slowly, methodically, he cracks his knuckles. The sound echoes like the opening of a battle sequence. His gaze sharpens, dark and unforgiving.

His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

"Run."

And that’s exactly what you and Jeongin do.

You sprint like your lives depend on it—because they do. Behind you, chaos erupts like an apocalyptic event.

Felix? Still doubled over laughing, absolutely no help. In fact, he actually cheers as the chase begins, clapping his hands like this is some thrilling action movie.

Hyunjin, resembling a vengeful blue ghost—now having finally realized his own blue predicament after what he thought was a relaxing shower—lets out a banshee-like wail before taking off after you at full speed, blue hair whipping behind him like a dramatic anime villain. His phone is still recording. This is content.

Han, meanwhile, remains rooted to the bathroom floor, staring at his blue-stained reflection in existential horror. “I have become the Smurf. The Smurf has become me.”

Seungmin, on the other hand, does not waste time with existential crises. He grabs the nearest water bottle and, with the accuracy of a seasoned sniper, hurls it directly at Jeongin’s back. It slams into him with a resounding THWACK, sending him stumbling.

“DIRECT HIT!” Seungmin cackles, eyes gleaming with vengeance.

And then there’s Bang Chan.

Poor, long-suffering Bang Chan, who has lived through so much at the hands of his chaotic members. He stands in the doorway of his studio, looking at his laptop screen in dead silence. His meticulously organized files—hours of work, blood, sweat, and tears—are now all renamed:

“Smurf Life.mp3”

“Why Are We Like This.wav”

“HELP.MIDI”

He closes his eyes. He exhales slowly. He mutters to himself, “I deserve this,” before walking away as if accepting his fate.

Meanwhile, you and Jeongin are still running for your lives.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you dodge through the hallway, Hyunjin’s unholy screeching right on your heels. He reaches out—fingertips nearly grazing your shoulder—

And then Jeongin trips over his own sock.

Time slows.

His body tilts forward in a tragic arc. His foot catches on the traitorous piece of fabric. He goes down like a felled tree, arms flailing. And because fate is cruel, he grabs onto you for balance.

You don’t even have time to react before you’re yanked down with him.

Both of you hit the floor with a thunderous CRASH, limbs tangled, groaning in pain.

A heavy silence falls.

Then—

Felix appears above you, silhouetted by the hallway light, arms crossed, grinning like a victorious gladiator.

“Well, well, well,” he hums, cocking his head. “Look who finally lost.”

From the doorway, Seungmin—still blue—glares down at you both like an avenging deity. His arms are crossed. His expression is merciless.

“Permanent truce,” he demands.

You and Jeongin exchange a look. This is it. The end of an era. With great effort, Jeongin lifts his hand in surrender. “Truce?” he wheezes.

You follow suit, lifting your own. “Deal.”

A beat.

“…Permanent deal,” Seungmin growls.

“…Fine.”

The Aftermath

Days pass. The battle is over. But the scars remain.

Changbin’s bed is still missing. He spends his nights on a makeshift pile of blankets and despair. The note remains taped to his wall as a grim reminder of his loss.

Lee Know? He never trusts you again. Every time you so much as breathe near him, his eyes narrow in suspicion. He flinches if you even look at the bathroom door for too long.

Bang Chan sighs every time he opens his laptop. He doesn’t even bother fixing the file names anymore. His soul has left his body.

And you and Jeongin?

You never officially break the truce.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t find… creative loopholes.

A little missing sock here. A mysteriously locked door there. A single rubber duck appearing in someone’s bag at the perfect moment to cause confusion.

After all—

What’s life without a little chaos?

[solar4seekstron]

Chapter 1: No Matter What

Transformers One x reader: Awakening Chapter One

Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six

Transformers One x Cybertronian!GN!Reader

Introduction Movie Masterlist

Following the Reader go on the large adventure of our heroes create their own path.

Trigger Warning: 16+(?), Some harassment, bit of assault not too sexual, Long aft chapter, we don’t meet B yet :(. So far that’s all.

(In this story the reader is Cybertronian and gender neutral. Going by they/them but you can imagine it’s your preferred pronouns if you wish. Be sure to not harass and bully anyone in the comments. Everyone is free to make their own opinion. The story will sort of be yandere-ish because that’s just fun if I’m being honest. Nothing too sexual but I’ll put it up for 16+. The characters to the reader are super affectionate as the reader is a little affectionate at times being a little more collected. The reader is cogless in the story and like I said the story is a little yandere-ish which means EVERYONE WANTS THE READER HAHAHAHAHA! At the end there will be a two parter. My plan with either the reader goes to join D-16 or OP and elite and Bee. lol making the three have to share you still but D would get the reader all to himself after leaving lmao. But for the ending with the three there will be secret 3 parts of the reader choosing them and becoming a couple at the end. Also no the reader isn’t being a ho. They're just really nice and slowly grow feelings. You can decide who they grow feelings for and who they grow to respect and care for more as a friend. I’m just having some fun at this point lol. I plan to release

6 chapters every Tuesday and yes they will be long so sorry if any of you don’t like long chapters.

The Reader. I want them to be pretty tall and their alt mode is going to be a helicopter. So think much of them like Drift from TF4 and they use swords as well. Compared to Orion and D they’re as tall as like that seen where it’s D and sentinel. They be the same height as D and D and Orion are the size of sentinel. Hope that makes sense. So they’re that same height with and before getting a cog. Their armor color is up to you like their gender as well as which ending you choose for them. You a B simp there is an ending for him like the others you simps lol.

I hope you all enjoy and will love the support as I keep continuing to write this series fiction. Well my first fiction planning to write more after it being transformers or other franchises….ok enjoy Imma go to bed)

The story begins on the planet Cybertron. A planet that’s a whole world of transformation. The story carries through the underground of the planet with buildings of a large city. Tall buildings hanging upside down over the city that stands up.

The story would go to the ground where the miners section, as other Cybertronians were chatting before going to work. A certain bot would walk through the halls and past others greeting them with a warm smile as they make their way to a certain gray bot who was admiring some of his stickers of his biggest idol. The bot would put their hands behind their back as they sneakily come up behind D-16 and whisper, making him jump a bit.

”So?-“ Soon on reflex D turns around and swings a punch at them being started. Y/N easily catches his fist with a soft smile and continues their question.

“How’s the collection coming along D?” They say with a little grin. Still holding his fist.

”Oh! Y/N! Sorry, I kinda just zoned out- Ya- ya know.”

“Oh I’m aware. I admire it too when I pass by you know.”

”Oh yeah- I-I mean, really? I wouldn’t have them if Orion didn’t go out most times. Just wish it didn’t have me saving his aft all the damn time before though.”

”You and I both D. But what can we do?” They say as they put their hand on the side of his shoulder and look at the collection admiring them. D glancing at them for a short moment.

”Beat him?” He says after a second. A cute grin on his face as he looked at them

”D!” They gently push his shoulder and smile.

”What I’m kidding. Ehh, sorta.” The two chuckled joking with each other as they looked at eachother then at D collection. The speakers in the miners section would speak telling the minors it’s time for their shift. D would then sigh and stretch his arms, flexing a bit to show off in front of Y/N. They just rolled their eyes and put a hand on Ds shoulder and starts walking with him as they walked towards the cart and start putting the tools for work before walking out with the others making their way to the train. D pushing the cart as Y/N walks close next to him.

Meanwhile~

The story then leads to a tower hanging on the top of the underground with the others as it shows a Cybertronian climbing and sneaking through a vent from the outside. Carefully landing in silence as he kneels down before red lasers on the ground. Him taking a closer look before looking around and then standing up. Stepping carefully towards his targeted direction. He then starts looking over a shelf with different records searching for a sort of recording chip.

”All right, lets see what we got here.” He says as he picks up a chip. Then walks to a table for the chips to show a recording.

”Seen it. Seen it.” He lets out a sigh as he walked and looked over the ships. “What’s this about?” He asks himself as he then puts the chip down on the table. After the records would start playing but it was a bit messed up being at its old age. The recording will repeat no as Orion would tell it to shush as he tries hitting the buttons.Causing one of the security bots to awaken and turn on floating in the air to find the source. Orion would then get the bright idea to take the chip out to shut it up and look behind him with worry in his eyes as he looked out for anything robot. He would then look back at the chip in his hand and gently blow on it before setting it back. The recording would start to work right.

”Ah, Here we go.” Orion says with joy.

”At the dawn of time. Years ago. There was our gracias and powerful creator. Primus. To protect our universe, he sacrificed his life for us. Transforming his life for us, transforming himself into our planet Cybertron. From within Cybertrons core birthed the first transformers known as the primes. The most powerful transformers appointed to lead future generations. To assist them primus created an entity of great power. The matrix of leadership”

”Matrix, there it is. Ok good. Come on. Keep going” Orion says un aware of the bot coming towards him.

”With the matrix in the primes possession. Cybertrons natural power source, energon. Flowed in abundance. Sustaining life across-“ The recording Continues as the small robot patrols and soon notices Orion. Orion was still watching the recording as he awaited the answer he’s searching for.

“Attention! Unauthorized movement detected at the archived vault. Sector J3.” The snitch robot says to other Cybertronianss with cogs.

“K to K 12 to K to K 1. Perching archives in 10 seconds.” A Cybertronian says with another as the two rocket shoes help them go faster to their intended location.

”For generations, there was peace and prosperity until the matrix of leadership was lost. Causing energon to no longer flow.” The recording says before turning off.

“Ugh, why does every leg and about the matrix end right there?” He sighs before looking in his arm. “One of these has to say what happened.”

“Halt. Criminal. Prepare to be contained”

”Uhh Iiiii”

”Prepare to be contained.”

”Prepare to conta-“ Orion would then punch it very hard after putting his fists up.

He would then run down the hall to where he came in from but the two guards who were warned about him made it in time to stop him. He would then turn the corner trying to escape still.

“Freeze!”

“Get Down!”

“Oh! Well! Hello guys! Yeah! I’m so glad you’re here. Which way is the exit? I must’ve taken a wrong turn.” He chuckles as he walks backwards.

“It’s that defective mining bot. Oreon Pix.”

”Orion Pax.”

”Who cares! We told you to never come back here!”

”Why are we all yelling guys?” He chuckles nervously.

”We are going to smash you!”

”Hold on. Whoa whoa hold on. No need for violence. How about this? I run away. You chase me. We play that game. Huh? Come on. You’re bigger, faster. It’ll be fun.”

”He doesn’t have a cog. Lets give him a head start.”

”Why not? It’s not like he can transform.”

”Oh yeah? Well watch this!” He would then fake a transformer ion to trick the two bigger bots before quickly turning around and running away getting a head start. Leaving the two mad as they both now chase after him.

“Get him!!”

Orion would then run through the archives and do a few stunts along the way. Jumping up and pulling a part of the ceiling down behind him causing it to fall on one of the bots. As he runs he then slides down on the floor as he keeps running looking for somewhere or something to use to escape. The two bots on his tail.

“I uh need something to find. Uh something to find.” He then spotted another bot for the archives.

Stealing the bot and carrying it in his arms as he kept running. The two bots are still chasing him. One of them would then transform mid air into his lt mode. Orion looking back seeing him would then run faster to the window. Jumping into it without hesitation. Orion would then be falling at very tall heights still holding the small robot with his hand. Hitting and shaking the bot to work

”Start!. Come on.” It would then work to help Orion stay in the air a bit as he hanged on.

Soon causing him to go into mid air traffic. Causing him to sort of get hit and him spinning with the bot. He would then hit a wall of a building causing him to let go and fall once more. Sliding down on the roofs of the building and making a fast jump to another one next door. Luckily catching it with his arms and climbing back on top. Noticing the two bots now on his tail again he fully got up and started running for a door.

”Haha. So long suck-“ He would then fall in a room full of Cybertronians speaking to each other. All having their cogs. He would land on a table breaking it and a bunch of energon placed there now around and a bit on him. All of them stare at him and he gets up taking a few energon with him

”Oh energon. Evening everyone. Pardon me.”

As he continued running he would slide off the floor again dropping some energon. Running into a crowd of other cybertronians with their cogs as a few would keep walking and others notice him making a run for it. He would continue to eat small pieces of energon off the floor as he kept running. He continues to run to where the other minors are as he bumps into other bigger Cybertronians who are surprised to see him. He would then notice the train and soon jump off a cliff right onto the train. landing on it causing the others inside to look up and see him.

”Oh it’s Orion.”

”Seriously?”

Orion would then keep running on the train. Once it’s at a complete stop he soon jumps off and continues to run getting closer to the doors for the minors as other minors are walking out. But the two bots would soon catch up and land in front of him, transforming. Orion then stopped to catch his breath.

“Ok. Hey fellas. Thanks for the head start. Wanna give me another one?”

”You’re dead!”

”I’ll take that as a no.” Orion says as he walks backwards again as the two bots get closer and closer now, more angry than ever. But then someone bumps a cart into one of the bots.

”Hey watch where you’re going you-oh nooo” D would then pretend to be surprised as he looked up at the two with his hands up.

”What did you say no cog?” The bot says to D.

”Sorry sir. I didn’t mean you. I was referring to the bot who was behind you.”

”What? Where he go?”

D would then start putting the tools needed back in the cart as he continues to speak to the bots. Helping Orion to escape.

“The filthy red and blue bot? Has a big mouth, squeaky joints, and gives off a carota metallic stench.”

”Where is he?!”

”He went that way.” D would then point to the right direction lying to the bots.

”When I get my hands on him!” The two then leave to the direction searching for Orion again among the many minor bots.

D would start walking to the train, getting on and standing at the other side.

*On the train-

Y/N and Elita were in the train already waiting for the train to start. The two stood. Elita speaking to another while Y/N looked out the window. Curious it’s in their eyes as they also look at the towers above. As they continued to look, Elita would turn and look at them. They sigh and look back down. Elita would dismiss her friend and walk to be next to Y/N looking out the window as well. Elita would then speak. Her hands down.

”So today is quite the day. I’ll finally get my promotion. I’m uhh- a little nervous.”

Elita was sort of lying feeling more confident. But she got nervous around them so much but did a good job not showing it too much. Y/N would then turn their body a bit as they looked at her with a soft smile.

”Elita you’ll do great. I believe in you. You’re a great leader and Sentinel is surely to notice.”

The train would start moving. Elita couldn’t help but smile as she glanced at them. She would then stutter on her words that are almost noticeable.

”O-oh you really believe so?” Her hand almost reached for theirs.

Y/N would then brightly smile and wrap that very hand and arm around her shoulders bringing her a bit closer. Elita caught herself as she then looked at them once at the same height. Their arms are still around her.

”I know it is. If anyone can do it. It’s you.”

Elita would visibly relax then. She would then get the confidence to put her hand on their shoulder as a smile is set on her lips.

”Thank you.” There was a moment of silence.

”And hey if it means you go to bigger places. Imagine! You’ll be an icon to all minors, not just me and the others close to you. Just don’t forget us. Dont forget me yeah?”

Elita would stare at them with soft optics as she stood up a little straight as she noticed they’re getting closer to the mines.

”You’re with me and a way better team than the last one.”

This made them really smile and look back up the window as it slowly gets dark. Them getting in the mines.

*Orion and D-

D was on the train as he nodded to another bot passing by

”Alright, all clear”

Orion would then pop out catching one of the tools from falling as he then would speak to D.

”Ok D-16 I may be a little rusty but carota that is too far. And where’s Y/N??”

”Elita had them join her earlier. To make sure the other miners aren’t going to mess up her promotion.” D would then sigh. Orion almost seemed disappointed like Ds face was. But they weren’t looking at each other.

”Let me guess. Checked out of the Archives?”

”Yeah. I had to jump out a window this time. Almost died. It was wild.”

”And digging through ancient data is worth dying for?”

”Yes it is.” He would say to the both of them as he then falls.

”I need a new best friend.” D groans as he then kneels down to help him.

“If there are clues in our recorded history that can help locate the matrix of leadership they’re in the archives. Trust-”

”Sentinel Prime. Thee sentinel prime is up on the surface. Right now. Is risking his life for us in search of the matrix. That’s-“

”Exactly what I’m doing! But I’m trying to help him!”

”Yeah. Oh oh ok.”

”The sooner energon flows again the sooner we won't have to mine for it. Don’t you wanna choose your own path. Do whatever you want?”

Orion would then leave against the cart as D will have both arms on the cart.

”We’re miners. We mine. That’s all”

”No, there's got to be something more I can do. I can feel it.”

”Oh yeah? Like the time that you had a feeling you could transform without a cog?”

”You said you were never going to mention that again!”

”Took me 3 days to pry you open. Your feelings get you in trouble.”

”Yeah. Yeah.”

”Just trust Sentinel Prime.”

”I do trust in him.”

”Hey. If we did have cogs.”

”I’d transform into a shovel and beat you.”

”I don’t like how fast you answered that.

“And listen if you did beat me. I couldn’t give you this awesome Megatronus prime thing I have here. It’s cool I’ll give it to someone else”

”What megatronus prime thing?

”Ah it’s nothing, it's just you know a mid-condition Megatronus prime decal first edition.” Orion would then show to be holding a Megatronus prime sticker between two fingers. Causing D to gasp before speaking.

”What?” He says in a low voice.

”I mean if you don’t want it I could just throw it away.”

”Throw it away!? Don’t- That’s not funny! Let me see it!” D tries to grab it before Orion pulls away.

”Don't grab. You’ll increase it.” Orion would then put the sticker on Ds arm and give his shoulder a nice pat before D speaks

”You know Sentinel prime says Megatronus was the-“

“Strongest Prime to ever live. I know buddy…It looks good on you.”

”It’s really cool. Thanks.

“Always Got Your Back.”

”No Matter What”

The two will the fist bump as they both smile at each other. Showing their brotherhood. (*crys*)don’t look at me)

The train would go into the mines as a lady over the speakers on the train would speak to the minors before their shift.

“Approaching sub level stations .Stand by of doors. Mining teams prepare to-“

The story then shows the works of mines as energon is shown falling out of mining carts. The coal of energon goes through a machine and soon shows energon flowing. Soon the miners for the shift at that hour fly through with rocket packs as they fly in unison to the designated spot. Y/N being behind D and Orion and speaks along with the others when speaking in unison.

“Metal to the pedal drill bits. This is it. How much energon you mine under my leadership.” Elita speaks as the leader she is.

“So much Elita One.” The minors say in unison.

“And how perfect is my mining record?”

“So perfect Elita One.”

“We are near 30 units of energon away from my promotion to supervisor. Are you happy for me?”

“So happy Elita One.”

The minors then land at a mining section. Elita in front with D and Orion right behind her. Y/N right next to Elita walking with here having their hands behind their back. A little smile on their face as usual.

“Elita- I mean Captain. You’re looking especially shiny this morning. New polish?”

Y/N Would look back at the two. Happy to see the two as the two would also look at them happy as Orion and Elita continue to talk.

“Orion Pax I’m sorry if I gave off the impression that we’re friends.”

“Apology accepted.”

“One up that wall! Let’s go! 10 seconds!”

“Happy to take the lead today captain. Feeling like I have enough power in me to drill down and touch primus myself.”

“You don’t have the touch or the power. Ready positions rust buckets. Let’s go!”

Elita would then start running as D and Orion continue to keep walking with their tools. Y/N joining her as they wave at the two before following. Orion and D would wave at them as they both have little cheeky smiles.

“She’s in a good mood today.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You ready?”

“Always ready. Lets punch it.”

They all would go to a section of the mines as a hole then a path opens up for them with much energon inside. Y/N still next to Elita as they ran along into the tunnel. Other bots behind them setting up a a sort of tool that extends to help keep the tunnel open for them. Once things are set Y/N and the other minors start to fly deeper into the mines. Finally landing and start using their tools. Taking out any peice of energon they can.

“Here we go, this one won't be open long. Brace it up.”

“Here we go! Ready!”

“Our channel is open.”

“Roll it out.”

Orion would glance over at them every now and then while D would focus on work a little more then Orion. Y/N continues their work until they hit something. But as they continued the energon would start reacting aggressively and the cracks wuld start to spread.

”Hey I got som-“

“It’s not stable! Gotta go. Gotta move!”

Everyone would start flying out of the mines flying up. Soon everyone getting pushed more by a explosion of the energon.

“Evacuate! I want everyone out! Evacuate immediately! The tunnel is closing! I repeat. The tunnel is closing!”

Elita an a few other minors fly away not being in the mining path. Jazz, D, Orion, and Y/N still behind in the mine as they keep flying escaping the closing mind right behind them.

“With me D?”

“On your six. Keep going!”

“Jazz? Y/N?”

“Right behind you” the two say together.

“Watch out!”

A giant rock would land on Jazz leg. Y/n was close to him and they already got up to start pushing the rock.

“Jazz is stuck! Elita we got a trapped minor. I’m falling back to assist.”

“Negatives do not break protocol. Evacuate.“

“We’re gonna need more lift!”

”We need a miracle!” Y/N and D said as struggle is heard in both their voices.

“It’s closing! Just grab your pack and go!”

“Good idea.”

“What?! No I didn’t mean it!”

“Pull him clear!” Orion would pull jazz as D and Y/N keep pushing. The pack soon exploding. Orion would protect Jazz as D. and Y/N lean away from the explosion to protect their self.

“Pax what’s happening?”

“Nothing much. Just normal protocol following stuff. It’s all good….oh that’s not good.”

The four would then hear a rumbling sound as they looked back. The place would then cause a sort of electric wave causing dust to go everywhere.

“Orion Pax, would you please exit the tunnel of death.”

“Elita1 it’s about to get messy out there!”

The wave would then reach the others and push Elita and the other minors back. The four are running together as fast as they can. Elita would throw the tools to keep the path open. Y/N behind D as they get closer and closer to the others. Everything is collapsing around them.

“Go go go!”

The four made a jump and were able to get out in time. D having to have talked Elita to save her while Y/N was right behind Orion. They were all able to get out. Y/N face planting on the ground

“What the hell Pax? I told you to evacuate.”

“I did. Eventually.”

Orion says as he and Elita speak while slowly standing up. D standing as he help Y/N giving her a hand. Before turning to help Orion. The three now looking at Elita while she spoke.

“If I get fired because of you!”

“Oh please. They’re not going to fire you.” Darkwing would then land behind her from the ceiling as he looked down at her.

“Elita One, you’re fired.”

“What?! Why? I follow protocol to the letter!”

“That is true. I was the one who broke the rules not-“

“No one asked you. Darkwing please I worked too hard for this you can’t-“

“You are no cog bots with limited options. report to waste management immediately.”

“Waste management?”

Elita would walk towards the three with anger in her eyes. Y/N looked at her sad as they try to reach a hand towards her.

“Elita.”

“Next time, why don’t you stop and think before you ruin someones life.”

“I'm sorry..”

Y/N would then get an idea and walks past the two and up to Darkwing. Getting in front of him after speaking to wheeljack

”The hell is your problem? Elita is just as good as any other like a cog bot I know and we know! OK you-“

”As I said. You are cogless bots with limited options. The only thing that makes any of you special is your ”relentless” need to work and eat. And the only way to get off that. Is to have a cog.”

He would then get in their face. Their face natural but their eyes are now farrowed as they stared up at him. They would then open their mouth only for him to interrupt them

”But we-“

”If you want more such as Elita did before. I suggest you either get better at your job or try a job where you will be a “little more” noticed.” He would put his hand on their shoulder a little closer to their head. D and Orion noticed and the two started to worry until Orion would got an idea

Y/N would look at his hand then look down, almost worried. Darkwings hand showing to squeeze their shoulder a bit.

”I’ll personally take you to the destination myse-“

“Hey Darkwing!” Darkwing takes his hand of them and stands up a bit straighter as he looks at Orion. Y/N look at Orion a bit worried for him

“Don't do it.” D said a bit annoyed with Orion but he mostly watched over Y/N.

“I may not have a cog but my finger can transform. Guess which one. I’ll give you a limited option.” Darkwing would then throw a punch towards Orions head until D stopped his fist with his hand.

“Excuse me sir. Allow me.” He then punches Orion on the side of the face

“I apologies on his behave for the disres-“ Darkwing would then punch D in the face

“whhhyyy”

“D!” Y/N would walk past Darkwing. He would watch them as they kneel down and look at them both. Darkwing would then scoff

“The offer still stands. Don’t let these two cogless scrap hold you back Y/N. They ain’t worth the time.” He says as he stays standing behind them. Crossing his arms as he looked down at him

”I’m fine with just where I am now. “Thanks” Darkwing but I can make my own connections and place as a cogless bot.” They give him side away. While he grumbles and walks away

They would look back at thee two. Orion sitting up as he groans from being punched and D doing the same but a bit slower. They help Orion and then D as they speak.

”Come on guys. Lets go back tot he train. We’re done here.”

The two groan as they say yeah in unison. Orion putting his hand on D shoulder while Y/N had one hand on his chest and the other on his back as he had his arm around their shoulder. The three would walk to the direction and get new jet packs along with everyone else. The three would soon make it to the train and head back to their mining quarters as they were done with that shift for the day.

*On the train-

Orion, D and Y/N stand on the train. D leaning on the window as he rubs the side of his face he was punched at. Orion leaning against the window on his back crossing his arms. Y/N stands as they put their hands on their hips and looks down. Worry and annoyance in their face. Orion notices this. Scratching the back of his head as he stands up a bit straighter and lets his arms down.

”You meant what you said right? Uh back there about the-”

”Yes Orion. I do mean it. Darkwing doesn’t know what he’s talking about when it comes to us miners. Just was he’s been told. At least from my point of view.” They would look at him. Orion smiling a little from their words

”So you will stay with us?”

”I’m at a better place with you guys then anywhere else Pax.” They say as they put their hand on his shoulder. Giving him a warm smile. D would then groan a bit more

”How much longer??”

”Just a couple more minutes D. Then you can rest better bud.”

”Yaaaaaaaayy”

Orion and Y/N would chuckle as they both looked at eachother. The train continueing.

*Back at the minors quarters-

“That. Really. Hurt…”

“Well what did you expect, he’s metal.”

Y/N was standing next to D and puts a hand on his shoulder and their other on their hip as he rests his head on his fist and looks down.

“You know you were out of line. Talking back to a superior like that.”

“Darkwing was out of line. He deserves it…Aren’t you tired of being treated like we’re nothing.”

“He had every right to hit me. I interfered.”

“Hey. And I appreciate you having my back. I’m glad you were there with me to get punched in the face. It was fun.”

“Anytime buddy.”

Y/N would look at them with a warm smile on their face. Crossing their arms as the two would chuckling together. Feeling better right away

“Attention all sectors stand by for a live transmission from Sentinel Prime.”

“He’s back? He’s back already?”

D would look at Orion and Y/N as the two stood up and the three went closer to where the hologram of Sentinel Prime would appear.

“Maybe he found the matrix.”

“Is it on? Ok, thank you. Hello my friends. Hello Iacon city. Hello to our saviors. Industrious miners, who toil ruthlessly to maintain our energon reserves. I celebrate you.”

Y/N next to Orion as D stands on his other side. Orion and Y/N stand their with soft smiles keeping their hands behind their back.

“Humility and presents. That’s leadership. Nobody does it better!” D says looking at the two. The two looking at him happy to see him smile.

“Once again I have narrowly returned with my fleet after another treacherous expedition across the desolate, dangerous surface of our planet. I departed in hopes of finding the matrix of leadership and in bringing balance to Cybertron. I regret to inform you that we’ve returned empty handed. This is a set back. But not a failure. Rest assured. I will find the matrix of leadership so that energon can flow again. but that’s in the future. Right now I think we all deserve a little fun. Tomorrow there will be no work, all shifts off. Because tomorrow is the Iacon 5,000. My favorite event a high obtain race all across Iacon city. Let’s all see which competitive can prove they are truly more than meets the eye.”

Everyone cheered excited thanks to sentinels speeches. D going to another bot to cheer while Orion and Y/N stood there. Orion was deep in though as he thought about Sentinels words. Y/N noticed and put a hand on his shoulder giving him a small smile. Later that night while everyone else was asleep Orion was the only one awake. Looking over at D who was across from him.

“D….Pst. Hey D….Oh good you’re up. Come on, I have an idea.”

“Whatever this is, it better be good.”

“Yeah yeah yeah ok listen. What if- What if- What if! Tomorrow we ran in the Iacon 5000! Huh?”

“What if I kill you for waking me up?”

“No no no hear me out. We don’t even have to win.”

“Nah that’s good ‘cause we wouldn’t.”

“But! If we beat just one transformer it proves we’re just as good as they are.Not only would we go down in history the- the mining bots that did the impossible but we would show everyone that we’re capable of so much more.”

“Or we get publicly humiliated and then busted back to tear one.”

“Yeah but at least we would’ve done something you know?”

“Pax.”

“Come on D-“

“Pax. We’re mining bots who can’t transform. We can’t fly. We can’t roll. We can’t race. Come on lets go.” D would start leaving back to the others to go back to sleep

“All right, fine. Yeah maybe you're right. Maybe…..” He would look at the board his face will show determination as he has his mindset on a new plan he’s sure to work

Oh yeah first chapter of Transformers One story where you’re a miner! Sorry for this being so long but every moment just feels right to add! Can’t wait to power chapter two next week and at least some of you enjoyed this lol. Any feedback or criticisms is welcomed and hope you all have a good rest of your Morning/Afternoon/Night

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Pastel Colors

Pastel Colors - pale variations of primary colors and exhibit lightness and low saturation.

To create a pastel shade, blend white into the original color, mixing the pigments until they fully combine.

The more white you add to the original color, the lighter the pastel shade becomes. 

Examples of Pastel Colors

As tints of primary colors, pastel hues are not on a traditional color wheel. Their limited saturation and pale shades create a soothing and romantic atmosphere. Common shades of pastel colors include:

Baby blue: Similar to sky blue, baby blue is a light shade of azure that pairs well with pastel yellow and pink. Baby blue is also a signature color scheme for nurseries and children’s rooms.

Lilac: As a mix between mauve and light blue, lilac is a pale shade of violet that resembles the lilac flower. This pastel color creates a bright contrast alongside shades of olive green and gray.

Mauve: Like lilac, mauve is also a pastel variety of the color purple. There are different shades of mauve, with some tints containing pale pink hues and others containing light gray shades.

Mint green: A blend of blue, green, and white, mint green is often a staple shade on a pastel color palette. Different tints of mint green vary according to the proportions of white, blue, and green.

Peach: A bright summery tone, peach is a pastel color in the orange family. Its warm hues resemble a bright cream, making it an ideal color base upon which to build.

How to Use Pastel Colors

By matching the right colors, you can effectively incorporate pale tones into different design trends. Try these steps for working with pastel colors:

Create a pastel color scheme. As an arrangement of complementary color combinations, a color scheme is a foundation that balances bright and dark shades. Start by choosing a pastel color as your base. Select complementary colors by pairing this main color with tints on opposite ends on the color wheel. If your color wheel does not include pastel colors, find the primary color closest to your pastel and then note which color is across from it. The pastel version of this second primary color is your complementary color. For example, if pastel blue is your main color, use pastel oranges as your complementary colors in your color scheme.

Test your shades. Before applying any color to a new space or template, test your color scheme. Pastel colors appear differently depending on how the light hits them. Consider doing a small patch test to ensure you like how the color looks after you apply it.

Incorporate contrast. Contrasting colors enhance different aspects of your design. Pastel on pastel can result in a faded look the eye has trouble viewing. Instead, layer your pastel background with color contrast. For instance, in a pale yellow web design, consider using a saturated hue for the lettering so the text is eye-catching. Darker tones that pair with pale colors include magenta, eggplant, navy blue, and dark green.

Add an accent. For a more dramatic look, you can incorporate accent colors in your template. Soft pastels amplify the appearance of bright colors. To make a statement in your design, consider incorporating a primary color shade into your palette. For home décor, use primary color throw pillows as an accent to a pastel-colored couch.

Tips for Using Pastel Colors

Consider these styling tips for using pastel colors in graphic design or interior design:

Add intrigue with metallic shades. Since pastel colors have less saturation, shimmery colors, such as gold and silver, are attention-grabbing against pastel backgrounds. Experiment with different metallic shades to add texture to your pastel look.

Play with patterns and shapes. Pastel backgrounds are an opportunity to incorporate bold shapes and interesting textures. Consider adding a geometric pattern to a wall with a pastel color scheme. The soft gradient of the pale colors allows the unique shapes to stand out.

Use neutrals for balance. Adding a pale hue to a neutral color palette creates a fresh, eye-catching look. Neutral colors, such as white, gray, and beige, ground pastel shades and prevent an overwhelming blend of color. This technique works well for business cards and logo designs.

Graphic designers, interior decorators, and artists incorporate pastel colors into their work to blend color palettes, build texture, and balance bold patterns.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[queerteapie]

She Who Knocks (18+)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal

Rating: Mature

Challenge: Agatha All Along Week, Day 4: Professors/Teachers (@agathaallalongweek)

Summary: Agatha Hart doesn’t open her office door for just anyone. She’s senior faculty, tenured, untouchable, and she prefers it that way. Until Rio Vidal shows up. Younger, newly appointed, and never arrives without lipstick perfectly in place or eyes that linger just a second too long.

She keeps coming back.

Agatha keeps letting her in.

And one of these days, someone’s going to close the door and forget to lock it.

Tags: 18+, smut, NSFW, professor, teacher, mutual pining, tension, flirting, desk sex

AAA Week Day 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Ao3

She Who Knocks

The rain starts just as the campus clock chimes two.

Agatha Harkness doesn’t flinch. Her fingers tap once, then twice, against the edge of her desk, dark nails clicking rhythmically over a stack of essays she’s already regretting. A thin ribbon of steam curls up from her mug of black tea - earl grey, no sugar, no sentiment. She doesn’t bother looking at the door when there's a knock and it creaks open.

She knows who it is.

“You’re early,” she says, still not looking up.

The click of heels enters the room, soft but deliberate. Like she’s walking on clouds and still means business. Agatha finally lifts her eyes.

Rio Vidal is - unbearably radiant. Again.

Draped in a soft lilac blouse that ties at the collar, curls pinned up messily like an afterthought, gold earrings catching the gray light spilling through the old stained-glass windows. She’s holding a portfolio pressed flat against her chest like a shield. Or a gift.

Agatha says nothing. Neither does Rio, for a moment.

“I thought we were supposed to review the exhibit submissions,” Rio says, her voice gentle, laced with something like apology - but not quite. She smiles, eyes bright, expectant. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“About participating?” Agatha leans back slowly in her chair, fingers steepling. “Not yet.”

Rio laughs, a soft, genuine sound that somehow makes the office feel warmer. She steps closer, setting her portfolio on the corner of Agatha’s desk, careful not to disturb the papers. Her perfume is light - something floral, maybe bergamot. Agatha hates that she notices.

“I brought coffee. In case tea’s not enough to tolerate me.” She lifts a to-go cup from her bag, still warm, and sets it beside the mug without ceremony. “Oat milk. No syrup.”

Agatha eyes it suspiciously. “Do I look like someone who drinks oat milk?”

“No,” Rio says with a grin. “You look like someone who hasn’t tried it yet and is about to be pleasantly surprised.”

Agatha should say something sharp. Should dismiss her, or at the very least mock the idea of emotional beverages. But instead she leans forward, peering at the portfolio.

“Fine,” she mutters. “Show me what you brought.”

Rio’s smile softens. She opens the portfolio with careful hands and spreads the first few submissions across the desk. Student work - chaotic, colorful, achingly sincere. Agatha lets her gaze drift, critical but quiet.

“Don’t hold back,” Rio says, eyes flicking to her. “I know you won’t.”

Agatha’s smirk is faint. “You’re learning.”

Their hands brush as they both reach for the same page. Neither moves right away.

Outside, the rain begins to fall harder.

They sit side by side, a respectable gap between them at first, until it narrows with each page they pass.

Agatha lifts a mixed-media piece, layers of magazine cutouts and oil pastels swirling into a collage of mouths, eyes, and bruised colors. She studies it with a neutral face, but Rio watches her like it matters. Like she’s trying to read her.

“You hate it,” Rio says lightly.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Agatha exhales through her nose and shifts the piece aside. “It’s raw. Which isn’t a criticism, necessarily. But it lacks cohesion. It’s emotion without direction.”

Rio hums. “Maybe that’s the point. Direction isn’t always the goal in grief.”

Agatha glances at her. “Are you always this forgiving with your students?”

“Only when they’re brave.” Rio shrugs one shoulder, the silk of her blouse catching the light. “They put their pain on paper. That counts for something.”

“Everything counts for something, Miss Vidal,” Agatha replies, tone cooling. “But in an exhibit meant to represent excellence, sincerity doesn’t outweigh technique.”

There’s a beat. Rio doesn’t flinch. Instead, she smiles - gentle, unwavering, like a lighthouse against Agatha’s storm front.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says.

Agatha turns away first.

They keep going. Another piece. Then another. A charcoal study of hands in various gestures. A photo essay of late-night diners and their lonely patrons. An abstract interpretation of insomnia - bold streaks of black across canvas, splattered with silver ink.

Rio leans closer to straighten one that’s skewed, her shoulder brushing Agatha’s briefly. Warmth, perfume, the edge of her wrist grazing Agatha’s knuckles. It’s gone in a second, but Agatha’s body registers it like a burn.

She says nothing.

“Do you ever miss it?” Rio asks softly, eyes still on the piece. “Being the one making things instead of judging them?”

Agatha doesn’t answer immediately. She leans back, folding her arms.

“No,” she says, though it sounds like a lie.

Rio doesn’t call her on it.

Instead, she gathers the pieces carefully, sliding them back into the portfolio. “I think this’ll be a good mix,” she murmurs. “If we balance my idealism with your cruelty, we’ll get something…honest.”

“I’m not cruel,” Agatha says.

Rio’s smile curves, mischievous now. “No?”

“I’m discerning.”

“Mm.” Rio tilts her head. “You know what the students call you, right?”

Agatha arches a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“Professor Harkness the Heartless.” Her tone is teasing, but her eyes are watchful, like she wants to see how deep the nickname cuts. “But they don’t mean it. Not really. I think it’s part fear, part admiration.”

Agatha hums low in her throat. “Fear and admiration are often confused.”

Rio pauses, fingers still resting on the top of the portfolio. “And which would you prefer? If you had to choose.”

The question hangs there, deliberate. Not innocent. Not flirtatious, either - but intimate in its own way.

Agatha leans forward slowly, hands clasped.

“I don’t choose,” she says, voice low. “I command both.”

Rio’s breath hitches just slightly, a shift in her posture almost too small to notice. Almost.

Outside, the rain has slowed to a drizzle.

In the quiet, the air between them buzzes.

Rio breaks the gaze first, but only to close the portfolio and slide it neatly into her bag. She smooths the strap across her shoulder, fingers lingering on the leather like she’s giving herself something to do. The calm she usually wears like silk is still there, but thinner now - edges showing.

Agatha notices.

“I should let you get back to grading,” Rio says, standing slowly. Her voice is soft again, like she’s dialing herself down. “Thanks for reviewing everything. This went…better than I thought it might.”

Agatha doesn’t stand. She watches her instead, chin resting on her hand, fingers curled against her cheek.

“Are you always this optimistic?” she asks.

Rio pauses in the doorway, one hand on the frame. “Only around people who pretend not to care but clearly do.”

Agatha huffs a quiet sound - amused. Or impressed. Maybe both.

Rio turns then, just slightly, giving Agatha her profile. The curve of her lips. The gleam of her earrings. The warm softness of her expression that never quite dips into sweetness, because there’s intention behind it. Curiosity. Hunger, maybe, in its earliest form.

“Walk me out?” she asks.

Agatha considers refusing. She should. She wants to. But she doesn’t.

She rises instead.

The rain has stopped, leaving behind slick cobblestones and the smell of wet leaves. The sky is pale, the sun a dying smear behind the clouds.

They walk in step, their shoes clicking softly through puddles. The path is nearly empty. A few scattered students laugh in the distance, voices muffled by the mist.

“I think the insomnia piece was my favorite,” Rio says after a while, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her cardigan. “It was loud. Messy. Honest.”

“It was also poorly balanced and overworked,” Agatha replies, hands in her coat pockets.

Rio glances at her sideways. “You’re exhausting.”

“You’re insufferable.”

But they’re both smiling.

They reach the library steps, a wide marble landing slick with rain. Rio stops there, facing Agatha. Close, but not too close.

There’s a flicker in her eyes - hesitation, or maybe invitation. “I’d say this was nice,” she murmurs, “but I don’t want to offend your disdain for sentiment.”

“You wouldn’t,” Agatha says. Her voice is lower now, her coat damp at the shoulders. “You’re too perceptive for that.”

Rio’s smile softens. “Mm. And what do you perceive, Professor?”

A beat. The moment is delicate, fragile in its stillness.

Agatha steps closer - just half a step. Enough to close that respectable gap from earlier. Her gaze is steady, unblinking. She doesn’t touch Rio, but her presence is a touch all its own.

“That you should be careful with how you ask me things,” she says, voice like velvet over stone. “I’m not as restrained as I look.”

Rio’s breath catches. Her lashes flutter.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And then, just like that, she turns. Walks down the stairs into the silver light. Not quickly. Not flustered. But deliberate. Like she knows Agatha is watching her leave - and wants her to.

Agatha stays on the steps a moment longer.

The drizzle picks back up, light and cold.

She doesn’t feel it.

**********

Agatha tells herself she’s not waiting for her.

She’s just early. Organized. The portfolio is already on her desk, sorted, annotated. The room smells faintly of sandalwood and old paper. Outside, the sun is sharp through the stained glass, painting fractured reds and golds across the floor. She pretends not to notice that the clock ticks past the hour.

And then. 

Knock, knock.

No creaking hinges today - Rio steps in with confidence, umbrella tucked under one arm, lips glossed a soft rose. Her cardigan is oversized and cream-colored, sleeves swallowing her hands. The kind of effortless, artistic softness Agatha would mock in anyone else.

But not her.

“You’re late,” Agatha says, even though she isn’t.

Rio tilts her head, smiling. “I know. I wanted to see if you’d wait.”

Agatha raises a brow. “Dangerous habit.”

“You seem like the patient type.”

“I’m not.”

Rio just grins and pulls up the same chair as last time, sliding in closer than before without asking. “Good. I like being challenged.”

Agatha exhales, slow. Controlled. She doesn’t look rattled. But she’s aware of every inch of Rio’s presence now - the rustle of her sleeves, the faint scent of jasmine and linen, the way her leg brushes against hers beneath the desk and stays there.

Rio opens the folder.

“I marked the ones I think are strongest,” she says, tapping the stack. “But you can destroy them first if you’d like. For consistency.”

Agatha gives her a sideways look. “You enjoy provoking me.”

“Only because you haven’t told me to stop.”

Agatha pauses. “Is that what you’re waiting for?”

Rio doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she turns a page, revealing a student’s minimalist sculpture proposal - steel wire twisted around pieces of broken mirror. Her tone shifts - lighter, more focused. “This one surprised me. There’s something visceral about it. Ugly, but honest.”

Agatha lets her linger in that detour. It’s easier to dissect art than whatever this is between them.

“Yes,” she says, studying the piece. “But it needs balance. It’s all edge, no center.”

“Kind of like you,” Rio murmurs.

Agatha stills.

She meets Rio’s gaze, and the silence between them is no longer professional. No longer safe.

Rio doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t apologise. She just sits there, soft and certain, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You assume I have no center,” Agatha says, her voice low. “That’s bold.”

“I don’t assume anything,” Rio replies, sweet as a knife. “I observe.”

Agatha leans in slightly, enough to let their shoulders touch again - this time with intention. “And what have you observed, Miss Vidal?”

Rio’s smile is slow, blooming. “That you’re not nearly as untouchable as you want to be.”

For a moment, neither of them moves.

Then Agatha shifts back just an inch - enough to break the tension, but not deflate it. She turns the page, feigning focus.

“Let’s stay on task,” she says, though her voice is rougher than before.

Rio’s grin lingers. “Of course, Professor.”

**********

Agatha commands a room without trying.

She doesn’t pace. She doesn’t raise her voice. She stands still behind the lectern, spine straight, voice sharp, every word landing like it was carved from something older and less forgiving than time. The lecture hall isn’t large, but it’s full - half the students leaning forward, half scribbling furiously, all of them listening.

No one dares interrupt.

The slide on the screen behind her reads:

“Symbolism and Subversion: Witchcraft as Metaphor in 19th Century Literature”

She gestures once - measured, elegant. “To be clear, the witch is not just a woman punished for power. She’s a symbol of resistance, of deviance, yes, but also of control. And those who write her - burn her - fear her precisely because they recognize what she mirrors back.”

A rustle at the back of the hall.

The door opens quietly. Rio steps in.

She’s dressed differently today - still radiant, but toned down for the chill in the air. Cropped wool coat, wine-coloured lipstick, hair loose around her shoulders. She lingers in the back, careful not to draw attention, but Agatha sees her instantly.

Doesn’t show it.

Barely a shift of the eyes. Barely a pause.

But something in her spine goes straighter. Her tone sharpens. She leans forward, hands braced on the podium like she’s daring the world to disagree with her.

“The literary witch,” she continues, eyes never leaving the room, “is often written with one of two fates: destruction or domestication. Rarely is she allowed to exist on her own terms. That’s the threat - an untethered woman. A woman no longer asking permission.”

Rio exhales slowly, arms crossed over her chest.

She’s not taking notes. She’s watching.

Watching the way Agatha handles silence. The way she uses it, lets it build tension before breaking it with a single line.

The students don’t even fidget. They’re pulled in - charmed, maybe. But Rio knows better. This isn’t charm. This is power.

And Agatha wears it well.

The last slide fades. The room begins to stir - papers shuffling, bags zipping, a low murmur of voices. Agatha closes her laptop with a soft click, already halfway turned toward the door when she sees her.

Rio’s still lingering at the back, leaning casually against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other like she’s waiting for the perfect moment to be noticed.

Agatha notices.

Rio waits until the last student filters out, then approaches with that familiar, deliberate grace - like everything about her is designed to be watched.

“That was...” Rio’s voice is soft, thoughtful. “Impressive. You really know how to hold a room.”

Agatha’s brow lifts. “Is that a compliment, Miss Vidal?”

“It’s an observation. You don’t teach so much as…seduce.”

Agatha’s lips twitch, just barely. “Careful. That kind of language gets people into trouble.”

Rio steps closer, close enough now that her perfume teases at the air between them. “Only if you mind being seen for what you are.”

Agatha lets the silence stretch, her gaze sharp and unreadable. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“A woman who doesn’t ask permission,” Rio says. “Just like your witches.”

Agatha’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “You should be careful with your metaphors. They tend to burn.”

Rio smiles back, a little too sweet. “Maybe I like the heat.”

Agatha doesn't answer right away.

Instead, she turns back to the lectern, methodical as ever - zipping up her laptop, gathering her notes. But her movements are slower now. Not distracted, exactly. Just…thoughtful.

Rio watches from the first row, now seated in a chair that was meant for someone else. Her legs are crossed, one heeled boot tapping softly in the quiet. She rests her chin in her palm like she has all the time in the world.

“I didn’t expect to find you so captivating,” Rio says.

Agatha exhales, amused despite herself. “Is that another observation?”

“It’s a revelation,” Rio replies. “Unfortunate, really. I had such a clean boundary going.”

“Funny,” Agatha murmurs, sliding her notes into her bag. “You don’t strike me as someone particularly interested in boundaries.”

“I am,” Rio says, leaning forward just slightly. “I just like knowing exactly where they are…so I can step over them on purpose.”

Agatha looks up.

And there it is - that moment where her restraint falters. Just a crack. Her eyes dip briefly to Rio’s mouth, then flick back up with razor focus.

“Why are you really here?”

Rio doesn’t pretend not to understand.

“I wanted to see what you’re like when you’re not playing defense.”

Agatha tilts her head. “And?”

Rio’s smile is slow and molten. “You’re worse. In the best way.”

Silence blooms between them. Not awkward - just thick with something unspoken. Something waiting.

Agatha finally steps around the lectern and down the aisle, coming to stand beside Rio’s chair. She stops just short of encroachment, just shy of too close.

“You’re charming,” she says, voice low, unreadable. “But be careful not to mistake fascination for safety.”

Rio looks up at her - chin still tilted, gaze still soft, but steady. “What if I don’t want safe?”

Agatha breathes out a quiet sound - nearly a laugh. Or a warning.

“Then you’re exactly as foolish as I hoped you’d be.”

She turns before Rio can answer, gliding up the steps of the hall with unhurried grace.

Rio watches her disappear through the exit, heart tapping a little faster.

She’s not sure who won that round.

But she knows there’ll be another.

**********

The reception is a low hum of polite conversation, clinking glasses, and quiet laughter.

Agatha moves through the crowd with a practiced ease - her presence commanding, yet deliberately unapproachable. She carries a glass of deep red wine like a weapon, eyes scanning, always observing.

Rio arrives moments later, the soft sway of her hips and the shimmer of her statement earrings immediately catching attention. She’s dressed in a sleek, emerald dress that hugs curves with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing here.

Their eyes meet across the room.

Agatha’s lips twitch into a small, knowing smile.

Rio approaches slowly, a deliberate crossing of the floor that cuts through the murmur like a whispered secret.

“Professor,” Rio says, voice low but carrying just enough amusement to turn heads. “You do clean up nicely.”

Agatha’s gaze sharpens. “Miss Vidal, you’re far too generous. Or perhaps just distracting.”

“Maybe both,” Rio replies, tilting her head. Her fingers brush lightly against Agatha’s arm - a fleeting contact, charged and electric.

The room seems to shrink around them, the noise fading to a distant buzz. Neither speaks for a beat, just lets the air thicken between them.

A colleague interrupts with a question about the latest syllabus changes, breaking the spell.

Agatha steps back, smoothly slipping into the role of the engaged academic.

“Let me know if you need a break from the politics,” Rio murmurs as she moves away, lips curving with promise.

Agatha’s eyes follow her retreating figure.

This game - this dance - has only just begun.

**********

The night air is cool, a soft breeze tangling Rio’s hair as she leans against the railing.

Agatha steps out behind her, the door clicking shut with a muffled thud.

Neither says anything at first.

Just the quiet city skyline, the distant murmur of the party behind them.

Rio glances over her shoulder, eyes catching Agatha’s in the moonlight. “You know, I’m starting to think you like this game as much as I do.”

Agatha lets out a dry chuckle. “Perhaps. But I play to win.”

Rio’s smile is slow, predatory. “Then maybe you should stop holding back.”

Agatha’s gaze sharpens, stepping closer until there’s no space left between them.

“For someone who claims to know boundaries,” she murmurs, “you’re awfully good at pushing mine.”

Rio’s fingers trace a light line down Agatha’s arm, a touch so deliberate it sends a shiver under her skin.

“And you’re not nearly as untouchable as you pretend.”

Agatha’s breath catches.

The game -this slow, delicious game - has just turned real.

The city lights flicker beneath them like distant stars, but all Agatha sees is Rio - close, too close, the faint scent of jasmine and something warmer wrapped around her.

Rio’s breath hitches as her fingers trail from Agatha’s arm to the back of her hand, squeezing gently. The heat pulses through Agatha’s skin, the cold night air forgotten.

“You always play so controlled,” Rio whispers, voice low and teasing. “What happens when you lose control?”

Agatha’s gaze sharpens, but there’s a flicker - a crack in the armor. “I don’t lose.”

Rio leans in, her lips barely brushing the shell of Agatha’s ear. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right opponent.”

The space between them collapses.

Agatha’s hand lifts, sliding up beneath Rio’s hair, fingers threading through the soft strands. The world narrows to the warmth of her skin, the pulse beating wild beneath her touch.

Her voice is a rough whisper. “Maybe I want to lose.”

Rio’s eyes darken, lips parting just enough to invite, and with a soft, deliberate motion, she closes the distance - lips meeting Agatha’s in a slow, searing kiss that tastes like promise and fire.

The balcony falls away.

All that exists is the electric charge between them - fragile, dangerous, and utterly inevitable.

Their lips linger, soft and searching, as if memorizing a secret only they share. Agatha’s fingers thread deeper into Rio’s hair, pulling her closer, tasting the subtle sweetness of her breath.

The city’s night air wraps around them, cool and sharp against the heat building between their bodies.

Rio’s hands rest lightly on Agatha’s waist, grounding her in the moment, steady yet electric.

For a breath, time stretches - suspended between want and restraint, between the thrill of crossing a line and the danger waiting on the other side.

But then-

“Rio? Agatha? You two out here?”*

The sharp voice cuts through the haze, pulling them apart like a sudden gust.

Agatha steps back first, her breath shallow, eyes flashing with something fierce and unreadable.

Rio blinks, still caught between the pulse of the kiss and the intrusion, a slow smile curving her lips despite herself.

“It’s just Professor Kale,” Rio murmurs, nodding toward the doorway where a middle-aged woman stands, glass in hand, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

Agatha straightens, regaining her cool in a practiced heartbeat. “We were just…getting some fresh air.”

Kale chuckles, oblivious to the tension crackling beneath their words. “Well, don’t stay out here too long. The party’s still going strong.”

With a nod, she disappears back inside.

Agatha and Rio exchange one last charged glance - part challenge, part promise - before Agatha turns and strides back through the door.

Rio lingers a moment longer, the night air cooling her skin, her pulse still racing.

Then, with a final glance toward the retreating figure, she follows.

**********

The knock comes just after noon.

Agatha doesn’t look up right away - doesn’t need to. She knows that knock now. Knows the cadence of Rio’s steps when she enters without waiting for permission.

Rio closes the door behind her with a soft click.

“You skipped the faculty lunch,” she says, stepping into the room with an easy sway. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Agatha glances up from her desk, unreadable. “Maybe I was.”

Rio smiles, slow and knowing, and perches herself on the edge of the desk - deliberately close. Her heels click softly against the wood. The fabric of her blouse shifts, catching the light just so.

“Too bad,” she says. “I’m not that easy to shake.”

Agatha doesn’t reply.

Instead, she stands - slowly - and walks to the office door. Without a word, she reaches up and twists the lock with a definitive click. Then, one by one, she draws the blinds shut. The light goes soft. Private.

Rio watches her, head tilted, mouth curving with dangerous delight.

Agatha turns back.

And then she moves.

In two strides, she’s between Rio’s legs, her hands braced on either side of the desk. Her mouth crashes into Rio’s with a hunger that’s been coiling beneath her skin for days.

Rio gasps against her lips, fingers tangling in Agatha’s dark hair, pulling her closer. The kiss deepens, all heat and teeth and finally, finally.

Agatha’s hands slide up Rio’s thighs, firm and sure. She presses forward until Rio leans back slightly on her hands, letting herself be taken - the polished wood beneath her cool, the woman above her anything but.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the balcony,” Agatha murmurs against her throat, voice rough with restraint fraying fast.

Rio arches, breath catching. “Then stop thinking.”

Agatha obeys.

Agatha’s mouth finds Rio’s neck, trailing heat in its wake - deliberate, possessive. Her teeth graze the pulse point just beneath Rio’s ear, and Rio exhales a soft moan, fingers tightening in Agatha’s blouse.

“You’re so composed in front of everyone else,” Rio whispers, voice breathless, taunting. “But here - this is what you really want, isn’t it?”

Agatha answers by sliding one hand beneath Rio’s skirt - slow, reverent, claiming.

Rio gasps.

The lace between them is already damp. Agatha’s fingers press over it, firm and knowing, and Rio shudders in response, her thighs parting wider on instinct.

“That time you sat in my classroom,” Agatha murmurs, “crossing your legs like you didn’t want me to look…” Her fingers tease, barely-there pressure that draws a whimper from Rio’s lips. “You were begging for this.”

“Maybe I was,” Rio breathes, lips curling into a defiant smile. “And maybe you were too cowardly to do something about it.”

Agatha growls low in her throat and hooks her fingers into the lace, dragging it down in one sharp, fluid motion.

Her fingers slide over slick heat, slow at first, then deeper - and Rio lets out a strangled cry, hips rising up toward the pressure.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Agatha whispers, voice dark, hungry.

“Good,” Rio gasps, barely holding herself upright now. “Then don’t hold back.”

Agatha presses her fingers inside - two at once, slow and deliberate, feeling the way Rio clenches around her. She watches the younger woman closely, studying every flutter of her lashes, every shift of her breath.

Rio tilts her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her hips roll to meet the thrusts. Her legs part wider along the desk, heels slipping to brace against its polished edge.

Agatha curls her fingers just right - and Rio gasps, sharp and involuntary.

“There,” Agatha murmurs, voice low and coaxing. “Right there.”

Her thumb circles Rio’s clit with slow, steady rhythm. It’s too much and not enough all at once, a perfect torment. Rio grips the edge of the desk now, knuckles white, mouth open in a desperate little gasp.

“You always act so put together,” Agatha whispers, her breath ghosting over Rio’s cheek. “But look at you now…”

She leans in closer, lips brushing Rio’s ear. “Coming undone in my hands.”

Rio whimpers, hips stuttering as Agatha quickens the pace - fingers driving into her with precision, her thumb never easing up. The tension coils tight in Rio’s belly, her moans tumbling freely now, lost in the hush of the office, the blinds shielding them from the world.

“Agatha,” she gasps, voice cracking on her name. “I-please-”

Agatha groans against her skin, lips dragging down her neck. “Let me feel it.”

Rio breaks.

Her body arches, thighs trembling around Agatha’s hand as the orgasm crashes through her - sudden, intense, and all-consuming. She cries out, biting back Agatha’s name like a secret, clinging to her blouse as waves roll through her.

Agatha holds her through it, fingers easing only when Rio starts to twitch from the sensitivity, her breath shuddering with aftershocks.

Then silence.

Heavy. Intimate. Electric.

Rio blinks up at her, flushed and glowing, strands of hair sticking to her cheek.

Agatha draws back slightly, her hand still warm between Rio’s legs, her other resting over the thudding beat of Rio’s heart.

“That was…” Rio breathes, licking her lips slowly. “About time.”

Agatha smiles, dangerous and indulgent. “You have no idea what I’ve been holding back.”

A sharp knock sounds at the office door.

They freeze.

[piftamere]

twenty-two - mushy and in love (wc : 1.2k)

he walks the hall, the muted sound of footsteps echoing off the floors. the gallery walls stretch endlessly on either side, paintings hung in line beneath soft lights. his breath catches when he reaches the section where her name, slanted, unmistakable, is signed in the corner of each canvas. they are arranged in what appears to be chronological order.

the first few paintings are harsh and furious, deep reds, rough black strokes and muddy browns clashing together like a storm. there’s a strangely specific detail he doesn’t miss. a pair of shoes discarded in a trash can, sullied and ruined. it echoes a painful memory.

he swallows hard and keeps moving.

as he moves along, the tone shifts. the next canvas is almost oppressively bland, with neutral grays and dusty beiges. it feels empty and unimportant, void of emotions.

then gradually, the colors brighten, pale yellows blend into warm greens and rich blues. the brushstrokes become freer, more assured.

he stops at a painting of a man lying face down on a white sheet. a pink bandage on his cheekbone, the rest of his face obscured by his disheveled hair. vulnerability and intimacy radiate from the paint strokes. his chest tightens with something warm and bittersweet.

further down, there’s an unsettling portrait of a child with a bloody nose, clutching a worn stuffed bunny. her wide, teary eyes pierce through the canvas. the next painting shows the same child, laughing, as she splashes in sparkling water, no longer alone.

and then he finds her.

she looks different. polished. composed. her hair gleams under the lights, her cuticles no longer raw. she’s dressed professionally, in a way that he isn’t used to, dress pants and a blazer replacing the leather jacket and denim miniskirt he remembers.

she’s deep in conversation with someone, gesturing toward one of her pieces. there’s a nervous energy in her movements, though she hides it well. when the other person leaves, he clears his throat. “so, are you the next van gogh?”

startled, she turns around swiftly, eyes wide with shock. for a moment, she just stares at him, as though unsure whether he’s really there.

“the jury’s still out,” she says finally, attempting playfulness. “you think i have a shot?”

her voice wavers, betraying her unease.

he chuckles, crossing his arms as he studies the painting in front of them. “bigger than van gogh,” he teases.

she mirrors him, not sure what to do with her hands. after a beat of silence she starts quietly. “i’m sorry-”

he cuts her off, firm. “i didn't come here to hear you apologize again.”

she snaps her head toward him and pauses, her eyebrow furrowing in surprise, “why are you here then?”

“i told you i’d come see your art.”

she doesn’t know what to say, but a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips, “right.”

a pause.

“so… thoughts?” she asks, sounding almost shy.

“you want my feedback?”

she nods, hesitant.

a playful glint flickers in his eyes, “the colors are nice.”

it’s strange, laughing and joking like nothing happened. like she didn’t betray him. it feels good, but there’s this weight pressing down on her chest. he feels it too.

he looks back at her paintings, and with a sheepish look on his face he mumbles, “sorry for puking on your shoes.”

“i loved those shoes” she replies, the smallest hint of a pout on her lips.

“what were you thinking bringing shoes you liked to a party?”

“i didn’t exactly plan that someone would puke on them!” she says, louder than intended. a few heads turn, but neither of them cares.

“great first impression huh?” he jokes, though his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

she chuckles despite herself, looking around nervously. she ignores the curious looks from her friends on the other side of the room. “do you want to eat something? i hear the food’s pretty good.”

they find a quieter spot in a hallway near the back of the gallery and sit down with their plates. the hum of conversations fades into the background as they eat in silence, neither daring to break it. once they’re finished, the air thickens again, heavy with everything unsaid.

she stares at the floor, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “did you really come just to see my art?”

he shrugs, “i guess i wanted to see you too.”

“i don’t get it.” she exhales shakily, “how you still want to see me.”

“i don’t get it either,” he admits, looking down. “not fully. even if you lied and it wasn’t real, it felt real to me. more real than anything i’d ever felt before.”

she winces, guilt flickering across her face. her voice is barely above a whisper. “it was real to me too, in the end.”

silence stretches between them as people pass by, the exhibition nearing its end. neither of them make an attempt to leave.

“i read your letter a lot,” he admits quietly.

she tenses, visibly bracing herself. “and?”

he exhales shakily. “the first time, i was pissed. i thought, why now? why would you say all that when it was too late?” he pauses, searching for the right words. “but then i read it again… and again. and it started to feel different. less like a confession and more like-”

“like what?” she asks, her voice fragile.

“like hope.” 

her eyes widen, glossy. “hope?”

“yeah,” he says softly, gaze fixed on his hands. “you didn’t write it to make yourself feel better. you weren’t asking me to forgive you. you just… laid it all out. the ugly truth, the things you did.” he swallows hard. “it felt honest.”

“i was scared you’d never even read it,” she admits, her voice breaking. “that you’d just throw it away.”

“i almost did,” he confesses. “but i couldn’t. i couldn’t stop thinking about what you said.” his voice lowers. “about shion, about how you didn’t think you could be loved.”

she flinches, looking away. “i shouldn’t have dumped all that on you.”

“i’m glad you did.”

her head snaps back toward him, surprise evident on her features.

“i needed to know,” he continues. “even if it hurt. i needed to know that it mattered to you, that we mattered.”

“it mattered,” she whispers gently. “god, it mattered so much.”

the weight of her words hangs between them, undeniable.

he lets out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief and something lighter. something closer to relief.

“there’s one thing in your letter that i don’t agree with,” he admits, and she cocks her head to the side, intrigued. “you didn’t ‘make me believe’ i loved you. i fell in love with you.”

she shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “but you don’t know me.”

“i don’t?”

“no,” she insists, voice trembling. “i’m selfish, mean and i get petty when i’m wrong. i’ll fuck up again, hurt you. and you’ll get bored, and i’ll feel trapped waiting for it to fall apart, because that’s how it always goes.”

he meets her gaze steadily, “okay.”

she blinks rapidly, thrown off guard. “okay?”

“okay.” he repeats, chuckling a little awkwardly but still warmly.

it’s not perfect. there’s still so much left unresolved, so much to heal. but as they sit there, side by side, the weight pressing on their chests feels just a little lighter.

and when they leave the gallery together, neither of them looks back.

fun facts

after seeing the tweets atsumu got worried someone'd ask him about the art

he did his best to "dress smart", poor guy has no idea what to wear to an art exhibition

yn was wearing atsumu's jersey at his game and it made him sooo happy

until he heard her and osamu point and laugh when he missed his serve

hinata and kageyama asked atsumu and yn to go on a double date, because that's how they all got together, they pretend to find them annoying but they're happy they're back together

author's note

the end!!! i loved writing this fic, thank you for reading it! 🫶🫶

the end is inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind bc i love this movie:)

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[archonofthestars]

Quiet

In the quiet moments between missions, you help Boothill take care of himself and feel a little more human.

Characters: Boothill, Reader Insert (gender neutral) Tags: Boothill being soft and vulnerable, your relationship to him can be whatever you'd like to be (not specified)

A/N: My first HSR ficlet! And my first reader insert ficlet (on this blog, not in general). It's good to get back to my roots; the last time I really wrote reader insert was back in MCU's heydays.

Want to see me write something? Submit an ask!

✧. ┊    

✧. ┊    

It’s a rare moment that Boothill allows himself to be quiet and still. It’s even rarer that he does so around another person.

The fact that you’re allowed to witness this is a testament to the years that you’ve worked together and the numerous times you’ve helped him, whether it’s tending to damage to his mechanical body or patching up injuries on the remaining human parts of him. Occasionally, you’ve also helped bail him out when he manages to get himself into trouble he can’t blast his way out of.

Normally, the cyborg greets your assistance with that devil-may-care grin and a "mighty fine thanks there, pardner," complete with a tip of his hat. But, sometimes, you’re instead given a weary smile and a soft apology when you constantly bemoan how he gets into trouble.

That’s how you know something’s different. And in these moments, you always do your best to respect the quiet and be a comforting presence to the loner Galaxy Ranger.

Right now, you currently have the quiet Boothill in front of you. Both of you are kneeling on the floor of a humble, one-bedroom safe house, somewhere in the cosmos. Dull gray metal patches cover Boothill’s arms, back and chest; they’re emergency patch ups to cover significant damage to his cyborg body. Dust, soot, and blood streak his human face and hair.

Carefully, you thread your fingers through the long mane of black-and-white hair. As you work your way down, knots bundle up against your knuckles, but you carefully take the time to detangle them. Even when the knots accidentally pull on his scalp, Boothill doesn’t say anything. He just tilts his head slightly as you murmur apologies, eyes closed in the dim light of the room.

It takes a considerable amount of time with how long his hair is, but once it’s detangled, you pull over a nearby wash bin of warm water and gently coax his head back into the water. The gears and pistons of his body whirr quietly as he follows your guidance. 

You lather your hands with shampoo and run them into his hair, working through the grime. Months of travel, fighting, living rough and Aeons-know-what-else dissolve into the water, turning it a dirty gray-brown color. You can literally feel his hair getting lighter and softer as the water gets darker.

After you feel like all the dirt is finally out of his hair, you grab a pitcher of clean, warm water and pour it down the length of his hair to coax the rest of shampoo and filth into the wash bin. Grabbing the conditioner, you again thread your fingers through his mane until it's shiny and smooth. One more pitcher of clean water rinses the conditioner out, leaving the Galaxy Ranger’s hair clean once more.

A well-worn brush replaces your fingers and you work carefully, starting from the bottom, teasing out any remaining snarls until you get all the way to his scalp. The end result leaves the black-and-white hair clean and soft for the first time in months.

As a final touch to your efforts, you section his hair off into three parts and begin loosely braiding it. One of your hair ties secures the end before you grab a cloth and begin wiping the dirt and blood from his face, coming to kneel in front of him.

It’s only then that his eyes open to look at you, simply watching you as you work. Once you’re done, you set the cloth down near the wash bin and sit next to him, content to enjoy the silence for as long as he needs.

“...thank you, darlin’,” he whispers after a moment. You smile and rest your shoulder against his.

“Always, cowboy.”

[cozage]

Not sure if I’m going to explain this well but imagine an AU where people can see others eye colors the more they care about the person (because eyes are the window to the soul). The more they care, the more their eyes fill in with their actual color.

Luffy sees almost everyone’s true eye color after one friendly conversation, especially those who he helps. He realizes Zoro’s eyes are still gray after a few days, but he notices that the gray is precise and intentional. Luffy can see the slightly darkened patches mixing with the lighter colors almost immediately.

Zoro, on the other hand, rarely sees anyone’s eyes at their actual color. There are a few people who have gotten some light shades of color, but nobody at their real color. The last person’s eyes who he truly saw was Kuina’s, and he has no intention of adding to that list.

But he notices the slight shifts in his crew mates eyes as he spends more time with them. Luffy’s eyes grow darker every day, and Nami’s eventually start to turn a soft brown. Robin’s eyes immediately lighten to a sky blue after Enies Lobby. Chopper and Usopp’s eyes turn to a dark gray as they travel through Alabasta. But that damn cook’s eyes stay the neutral shade he saw with almost everyone he encountered before joining the Strawhats.

Until one day he wakes up from training and there are rice balls next to him, freshly made. He hadn’t remembered telling the cook about his enjoyment of rice balls. It must’ve been a lucky guess.

The next day, he gets rice balls again. And when he finally storms to see that damn cook, he’s met with crystal blue orbs staring back at him. Zoro suddenly lost his ability to curse and belittle, finally understanding why all of the crew secretly whisper about Sanji’s eyes when he’s not around.

Sanji, though, is frustrated. Zoros eyes are the first ones in his life he can’t see, and he’s angry. He knows this stupid swordsman. Zoro hates chocolate, but loves rice-even more so in ball form. His swords mean everything to him, and Sanji knows his exact routine every day.

He would never admit it, but Sanji did care about Zoro. He cared about everyone, except for people who were rude or hurt ladies. And while Zoro was brash and abrasive, he wasn’t rude. So why couldn’t Sanji see his eye color?

Finally he asks. There aren’t many people he can trust, but Robin will be honest with him. And she’s the least likely to make fun of him.

“Robin-Chan,” he starts, and she can hear how nervous he is. “Do you know what color Zoro’s eyes are?”

Robin stifles a laugh. “I’m surprised you can’t see them, Sanji. Do you really hate him that much?”

“No, I-!”

“They’re gray.” Robin said. “I thought there was something wrong with me too. But they’re just gray. Look a bit closer next time, and you’ll see they’re not quite the same shade they used to be.”

Sanji follows her advice, and subtly stares at Zoros eyes when he thinks the swordsman won’t notice.

“Do you mind?” A pink blush dusts across Zoro’s face when he realizes the cook is staring. “I’m trying to focus here.”

“Your eyes would be a shitty gray color, so nobody would know when they actually started caring about you!” Sanji’s cheeks were getting pink too, and both of them ignoring the other’s blush.

Zoro cocked an eyebrow. “Do you care about me, cook?”

“Like hell!”

[cmdrfupa]

Calm Chaos

Metalhead!Choso x Reader

a/n: Let the parasites win with this one. Metal head Cho is simply just another flavor I'm enjoying right now.

Wc: 3.8k

Pt. 2 here

cw: language, boorish man behavior, Reader is condescendingly called princess.

 Calliope

The soft rustle of wind swept through the streets. It carried the scent of damp leaves and the sharp bite of late autumn air. The street trees outside the coffee shop were a mix of orange, red, and a few stubborn greens. They clung on before the chill of autumn claimed them all. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that promised rain but held off just long enough to make you keep glancing up.

Choso sat at his usual table. He wore an illegible name band shirt, dark, worn jeans, and old boots propped against the table leg. Tattoos crawled up his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his shirt and peeking out at his neck. Black headphones over his ears. If you were close enough, you'd hear the muted sounds of thrashing guitars. His notebook sat in front of him, half-filled with scrawled lyrics and music notes, though at the moment he wasn’t writing—he was people-watching.

The cozy shop was warm. It smelled of brewing coffee and baked goods. A low murmur of conversation added to the comfort. This was a stark contrast to the gloomy weather outside. It was late afternoon, another day passing. The café buzzed with students, writers, and anyone seeking a brief escape.

A smirk tugged at his mouth as he scanned the café's patrons. Most were lost in their phones or half-assed chats about weekend plans and autumn break. But his gaze lingered on the door as it opened, the bell jingling lightly.

The kind of person who looked like they had just stepped out of some book club. There you were wearing a dusty orange cardigan over a simple, neutral dress. It fluttered as you moved. Your well-worn boots surprised him as you ordered. You had a beloved book in one hand and a tote in the other.  

He’d seen you here before. A regular, it seemed. Every time you came in, you ordered the same thing. It was some tea thing with seasonal syrup, probably pumpkin spice. It was whatever people like you drank. You always found a quiet, sunlit table by the window. There, you spent hours reading or writing in a neat journal. He confidently pegged you as an intellectual type, for sure. The type who had a color-coded planner. And, knew the word count of your favorite novels. He could practically hear the gears turning in your head.

Today, though, you seemed a little more frazzled than usual. The hefty book slipped from your grip as you tried to juggle your order, and before you could steady yourself, you stumbled right into his table. Choso smirked as your drink wobbled out of your hand, knocking over his and just barely missing his notebook but dangerously close as it spread across the wooden table.

“Careful there,” he drawled, watching as you struggled to regain your balance. “Would’ve had hell to pay if you spilled that pumpkin spice creation all over me. Or worse—ruin my masterpiece.”

You glanced down, eyes wide in surprise, and saw the coffee dangerously close to his notebook. “Oh shit, I’m sorry!” you sputtered, fumbling to pull the cup back up as he grabbed his notebook to avoid it being soaked. A barista brought a rag and Choso began to clean off the table.

He leaned back once he was done, dark eyes glinting with amusement as he watched you fluster. “Guess it’s my lucky day,” he continued, his voice dripping with teasing. “What are you planning to do about this mess you caused, princess?”

You blinked at him, clearly unsure how to take the comment. Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you straightened up, trying to compose yourself. “I… can buy you a coffee,” you offered quickly, then added, “And I’m not a princess.”

Choso grinned, leaning forward just enough to make you a bit uncomfortable. “Could’ve fooled me,” he said, nodding at your outfit, his tone playful. “Cardigan, pumpkin spice bullshit and all—definitely princess material.”

You narrowed your eyes, clearly annoyed now, but there was something else in your expression too—a curiosity. “It was masala chai. And I’ll take that as a compliment,” you declared coolly, straightening your cardigan as if it were armor. “So, what’s your masterpiece, exactly?”

Choso tapped the edge of his notebook with a finger. "Lyrics," his voice dipping into a low, almost mocking tone, “could be a little too… heavy for you," eyes daring yours to engage further. “This isn’t that pop goes punk Fall Out Boy shit.”

To his surprise, you tilted your head and gave him a small, defiant smile. “I highly doubt it.” 

_________

You ordered a masala chai for yourself and a cold brew for Choso. Then, you sat across from him. 

“Drinks should be out soon.” You craned your neck in an attempt to look at his journal. “Sorry again.”

Choso looked out from under his brow line, tilting his head towards you. “Uh huh… what are you doing?”

“You told me I could look at your lyrics.”

“I definitely didn’t say that.”

"Well, you challenged me. Saying they were too dark for me. Which is false."

A devilish grin grew, and he put his pen down. “Now why on earth would I let the pretty princess of apple-picking look at my lyrics?”

“Because I bought you a new coffee.”

“Yes. After spilling mine and almost ruining my shit. So what now?"

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. But don't start getting sad when I don’t invite you over to sit with me at the best table.” 

“The table that’s now occupied by the couple that's a tongue swipe away from fucking over there?” He pointed to the table near the large window you usually sat at. From just a glance around the cafe, tables were filled.

The barista brought your drinks, and you realized you were stuck if you wanted a table.

Like you were praying into the void, you closed your eyes before smiling. “Fine. But don’t talk to me. I want to finish the next 4 chapters in peace.”

Choso lets you get set up. Your book is open to page 257. A bookmark with Badtz-Maru, Pandaba, and Hana-Maru sits on a beach. You put your phone on the table to keep up with the time and sip your chai, beginning to read. 

“I didn’t say you could sit with me,” Choso murmured, expressionless. “I want to be alone.”

“There is nowhere else, the fuck?” 

“Tough shit, Princess.”

You scoffed, closing your book as you huffed, gathering your things. “So fucking rude.” 

Choso laughed and stood up. He threw his backpack over his shoulder, grabbing his journal with one hand and his coffee with the other. "Relax, Princess Apple. I’m leaving."

You hadn’t noticed how broad he was until he was standing. The steel-toed boots he wore added maybe 3 inches to an already gargantuan man. "Oh…"

“And now you owe me again. Amazing how that works, Your Highness.”

He gave you a wink before walking out of the café. You watched as he walked across the street into the late autumn evening. 

The next day, the weather had turned even colder, with a drizzle coating the streets. Inside the coffee shop, it was warm and bustling as usual. The steam from the hot coffee and the muggy day outside fogged the windows. The air was filled with the comforting scent of roasted beans and cinnamon.

Choso stood at the counter, leaning slightly as he waited for his order to be called. His dark hair was down, framing his face in long, loose waves. His patch-laden leather jacket hung open over a faded band tee. The tattoos on his neck and collarbone were barely visible under the worn material. He tapped his fingers on the counter. The metal rings on his fingers glinted in the dim light. He was in no rush but didn't plan to stay long either.

His mind was on the gig his band had lined up for the next night. It wasn't anything huge, just a venue they frequented. But the thought of the setlist, which they might use on tour, had been taking up space in his head all morning. As the barista handed him his coffee, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here two days in a row.”

He turned to find you again. A few feet away, there you stood bundled up in a soft, dark blue and purple checkered cardigan. It was over a simple shirt and slightly distressed jeans this time.

Choso’s smirk returned instantly, his eyes flicking over you for a moment. “I had a feeling the people's princess would be here again. Glad I was right.” He picked up his coffee, checking the name before taking a sip.

You gave him a small, knowing smile as you approached the counter to place your order. “Right, well, I’m starting to think you live here.”

Choso took a sip from his coffee, glancing at you over the rim of his cup. He felt hesitation bubbling up. It was odd for someone who never hesitated. ‘Just invite them. Don’t make it weird.’

“Actually…” he started, leaning a little on the counter next to you as you waited for your drink. “I’ve got a show tomorrow night. My band, that is.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but trying to play it cool. “A show?”

“Yeah. It’s at this venue called D’s Garage about 2 blocks from here. It’s nothing big,” he said casually like it wasn’t a big deal. He angled his body toward you; how he held your gaze just a little longer than usual suggested otherwise. “You should come. If you’re not too busy annoying anyone else.” His voice had a familiar teasing tone, light and playful. But a flicker of genuine interest lay beneath it.

You blinked, momentarily taken off guard by the invitation. “To a metal show?” You seemed dumbfounded by the mere thought. 

Choso shrugged, his smirk widening. “Why not? You said you could handle heavy shit.  Time to prove it.”

“Look.  I’ve listened to metal before, so this isn’t some new thing for me.” You paused, pushing up your glasses as if weighing your options. “I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to headbang or anything.”

Choso let out a low chuckle, pleased with her response. “We’ll see. It might be hard to resist once I get on stage.”

Your drink arrived. He grabbed it and handed it to you. You glanced at him as you looked for a place to sit. “I’ll see you there then. Thank you.” 

Before you could turn away, Choso added one last playful jab. “Don’t be late. I want the princess to have the perfect spot. And It might be too loud for someone like you to handle without a bit of warm-up.”

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but fight the smile that tugged at your lips. “I think I can handle it.”

“Starts at 8, but we should be on around 10 or so. And I’m CK. But call me Choso.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night, CK.”

Choso watched as you went to the small table near the window, sipping his coffee with a satisfied smirk on his face. He wasn’t sure why he’d invited you—maybe it was because you seemed like such an outsider in his world, and something about that intrigued him. Or maybe it was just fun to see how flustered you got when he pushed your buttons.

Either way, he was looking forward to seeing your face again.

________

“Why did I say yes?” The usual conversation that should’ve been inside your head was now being held out loud. Sipping your chai, you let the warmth calm your nerves. You weren’t sure if it was the challenge in his voice or the way his smirk lingered in the air like a dare. Part of you wanted to prove him wrong—that you weren’t just some princess with a book who couldn’t handle a little chaos. But there was something more. Something about him that intrigued you, that made you want to see what he was like in his world.

He was a mystery—tattoos, in a band, a metal band no less. His playful banter and lightheartedness sharply contrasted with your life. Always logical, grounded, and comfortable in the routines and pursuits that would stimulate you. Choso, on the other hand, seemed like the kind of person who thrived on unpredictability. It was a tension that made you both nervous and curious at the same time.

“Is he even going to see me? What if I get punched in the face?” You continued walking as your imagination ran wild with what the show might be like. Would he be completely different? Less picking and being in the zone focused on playing and the crowd. “Should I stand in the back? Eh. But if I stand too close I might look like a dumbass. It would be more fun, though. Hm.” 

You shook your head as your apartment building came into view. You stood on the sidewalk. Your recent journal entries were happening. You had wanted to step out of your comfort zone. This was the turning point you needed to shake things up. 

D’s was exactly as you pictured. Tucked away in a brick building that would otherwise be ignored during the day but hard to miss by its flickering blood-red signage that cast a jagged light on the damp sidewalk. 

The inside was dimly lit. A faint smell of cigarette smoke mixed with some floral cleaner. 

“Ah. Smells like home.” Shoko smiled as she stepped in behind you. A band was already playing. They yelled about cranial discharge leaking to the floor. You turned to face your smiling friend. “This should be fun.” 

Flyers and posters of past and future shows littered the walls as you walked deeper into the building. The air was thick. You saw a group, swinging their arms and stomping hard. They were pushing other showgoers around. “The hell are they doing?”

Shoko smiled as she ushered you both towards the bar. “Your first-class ticket for when I'm doing rounds at the ER. Come on, let’s get a drink.” 

You sat on one of the bar stools while Shoko ordered you both a beer. You wouldn’t call it nervous. But it was not relaxed. The band finished their set and the group of fist-throwing crowd members settled down, dispersing until the next band got on stage. 

"So, this Choso guy. Did he tell you his band name?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Shoko raised her brow. “Did you ask what he played?”

“Uh. No? That probably would have been smart.”

You laughed as Shoko shook her head, passing you your beer. “The person who has to pay attention to detail for work couldn’t even get the details on a guy she’s coming to watch perform.”

“I’m not just here for him! I’m here for the experience. Something new!”

“Yeah yeah. Well, when I invited you out to a punk show, you declined, so I’m not trying to hear about this new experience nonsense.” You kept laughing as Shoko playfully nudged you. 

She chose to wear a band T-shirt, dark pants, and her low-profile skate shoes. With her hair pulled back, only letting her side-swept bangs frame her face, Shoko was blending in effortlessly. 

And you look like you stepped out of a cardigan's quarterly shopping magazine. 

Lost in conversation, you hadn’t realized the next band had set up until you heard a voice over the mic. Introducing a band called “Blood on Your Hands” before he hopped off the stage. 

The harsh sound of a screech sent the crowd into a frenzy. Heavy, almost a good itch to the brain.

Rapid, aggressive riffs ripped through the sound system. The machine-gun drumming caught your ear. Your eyes went to the back of the stage. 

Choso. 

This wasn’t late afternoon cold brew Choso. This was a foaming-at-the-mouth, zoned-out machine. His large arms moved erratically as he played with full energy. 

“It’s him!” You jumped up, pulling Shoko with you. You walked around the barrier of the crowd against the wall to get a better look. 

His heavy foot hit the double drum pedals so fast, you couldn't keep up. But you knew he was playing with no restraint. And damn, did he look good doing it. 

The veins in his arms bulged with each meeting between the drumstick and the cymbal stack. Thankful, he chose a shirt with cut-out sleeves and sides. It showed his pierced nipple and fully tattooed sides. You gawked at the way the shirt stuck to his abdomen.

Some of his hair stuck to his forehead as bulging biceps glistened with sweat. He noticed you during the second song but knew if he kept looking, he’d surely fuck up. 

In the final song, he sang harsh, growling, obscene backing vocals. The audience chanted back.

“DESTRUCTION BEFORE DEATH! MAKE THEM BLEED."

You laughed at the crazed look in his eye until he stood up. The crowd cheered and yelled as they wrapped up their set and his eyes landed on you. Choso gave that mischievous smile before winking at you. He pulled his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face and you could’ve sworn you heard the heavenly trumpets. A fucking six-pack? With a hard gulp, your eyes traveled up until you saw his pecs then his face where he caught you red-handed. He pointed towards the exit and flashed 10 up. You nodded in agreement. “Let's go outside. He said wait for him.”

____

Ten minutes turned to twenty, then twenty to thirty. The temperature dropped by at least 8 noticeable degrees, and you’d waited long enough. “Let’s just go. It’s getting chilly, and it’s been half an hour.”

You walked towards Shoko as she put out her cigarette. She was bummed for you that he forgot you were waiting outside. “Sorry babe. Probably got wrapped up in talking or breaking down the stage. It happens.”

“I guess. But I can at least say I came to the show. That’s good enough.” Arm in arm, you began your walk back to your place. 

  "Hey, Princess Peach.” A familiar voice called out to you. “You leaving me already?” 

“Thirty minutes? You said ten.”

Choso let out a low chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he walked over. “Yeah, well... bass amps don’t load themselves, you know?” He stopped in front of you. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you wait an hour.”

“Lucky, am I?” you shot back, but there was no edge to your voice. If anything, it was half amused, half exasperated, and Choso could sense it.

“Definitely,” he said, the playful tone back in his voice. “Most people don’t get an encore performance of my charm.”

He walked over, trying to play it off like he hadn’t just made you wait longer than promised. “But really, I'm sorry about the wait. Band life,” he said, his voice casual but just a little strained. “I thought I told the guys to handle the loading, but, you know, can’t trust them with anything.”

He was kicking himself for taking so long, but part of him was glad to see you still waiting. Your amused smile loosened the knot in his chest just a little. 

Choso looked over at Shoko and nodded, “Is this the princess's escort for the night? 

“Ieiri, the princess's lady-in-waiting.” She teased and reached out to shake his hand. “I’m gonna step over there and smoke. Let me know when you’re ready.” She smiled and took a few paces to give you some privacy. 

  “So did you have fun? Or did we scare you off?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to keep the conversation light while his heart raced a little faster than he liked to admit.

“I had fun.” You responded, surprising him with how easily your words came. "A bit intense, but... but I can see why you like it.” 

Choso blinked. He wasn’t used to people from outside his world understanding why he was so into it. Most people assumed metal was just noise or something to be tolerated. But the way you said it—like you got it—threw him off balance. “Yeah? Didn’t think it would be your scene.”

You tilted your head slightly, a challenge in your eyes. “You shouldn’t be surprised. Every princess has to be well-rounded, Choso.” 

Choso chuckled. His usual confidence returned. But, a twist in his stomach reminded him why he was here. He had to ask you—before he lost his nerve.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice lowered as he smiled. “Actually, since you don’t think I’m too awful entertainment-wise, we could hang out again sometime.”

Your expression was curious but calm. "Hang out?"

Pushing through the wall of nerves in his chest, he swallowed. “Yeah. Like grab dinner or something. Just the two of us. No amps, no bright lights, no mosh pit.” His eyes flickered to yours. “A proper date.”

  For a moment, you just stood watching him with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. Choso tried to keep his cool, but internally, he was bracing for whatever answer you gave. He wasn’t used to feeling this unsure. Normally, he didn’t care either way—if someone said yes, cool. If not, whatever. But with you... a yes would probably have him on the moon until he saw you again; he cared. A lot more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

“Hmm,” you said, drawing out the silence just long enough to make him sweat a little. You tilted your head, letting him wonder for a beat before a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “A proper date, huh?”

“Yeah,” Choso said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite mask the underlying hope in his voice. “I promise I won’t make you sit through another metal show... unless you’re into that sort of thing now.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think one show is enough for now.”

Choso grinned, feeling the tight knot in his chest start to loosen again. “So... that’s a yes?”

Nodding, your smile widened, “That’s a yes.”

  He couldn’t help the little rush of relief and excitement that coursed through him. His smirk grew, but there was a softness in his eyes now, a warmth that was rare for him. “Alright. I’ll pick a good spot. Somewhere quieter. For your sake.”

“I appreciate that,” you muttered, still smiling as you looked at him. “But no more thirty-minute waits.”

Choso chuckled, leaning in just slightly, his playful edge back in full force. “No promises, princess."

props to @/saradika- graphics for dividers!

[solitaryearthperson]

Are You Okay?

Summary: Before he can get help, he has to know that you're okay.

(The reader is gender neutral and is 18+. The ethnicity/race is preferably Black/person of color.)

The sounds of groaning and moaning meant nothing to Levi as he walked through the infirmary, his gray eyes roaming over the room looking for you. He had to hurry and find you, make sure that you were alright.

“Levi!” He could hear someone calling his name, more than likely Hange, but he would get to them later, right now he needed to make sure you were getting the best care right now, not caring about his injuries. They were miniscule anyway.

As he walked past nurses and doctors helping soldiers, he kept a cool face, ignoring the twinge of pain in his side and kept himself from looking down. He could feel his shirt becoming sticky and wet on his side, but he wouldn’t worry about that. 

“(Y/N)!” He yelled, turning his head, looking around the packed room. “(Y/N), answer me!”

“Levi,” your voice was low, but he still heard you and quickly followed it to find you laying on one of the infirmary beds, your leg wrapped up, a bruise on the right side of your face, and your right wrist wrapped also. Your uniform was still slightly ripped and covered in dirt, but aside from that you looked perfectly fine. “Levi, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, e-everything’s fine. Wasn’t as many casualties this time.”

“Good,” you said with a sigh of relief, looking at Levi’s body and frowned in concern. “What about you? Are you okay? Were you checked?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, taking a step closer, before kneeling next to the bed. He tried not to show the pain he was in, but you were able to see the small wince he made and sat up, instantly, ready to call someone for him. “Hey,” he said, placing a hand upon your left hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “I’m fine. Are you okay? Are you in any pain?”

“I was at first, but I’m better now. Just gonna be down for a little bit. Thank goodness the ground did more damage than the Titan did.” 

At that he felt his blood begin to boil. The image had kept replaying in his head over and over. As usual things didn’t go the way it should have, and before anyone knew what was happening, three titans had made their way to the path of the Survey Corps, two of them being Abnormals. As he and two others took down one Abnormal and the normal Titan, the second Abnormal had snatched you from your horse, ready to devour you. He had gripped his blades ready to slice it to pieces, but before he could, you had somehow sliced your way out of its hand, and was soon falling to the ground along with the Titans fingers. Levi had quickly used his gear and maneuvered to its neck, cutting its nape out, when he heard your yelp of pain as you landed on your right side. 

Shit, he thought, his heart racing in his chest as he remembered your face. How your face was scrunched up and your body jerked in pain. 

“I’m sorry,” he told you, squeezing your hand tighter. “I should’ve moved faster.” “Levi-”

“Those Titans weren’t supposed to be there. An idiot didn’t use their flare like they were supposed to.”

“Levi, it’s alright-”

“I swear when I get my hands on them, I’ll-”

Not seeing any other choice, you let go of his hand and placed yours upon his cheek. Lowering your eyes, you could see that a red stain was slowly growing on his shirt, and sighed, knowing that you will have to force him to get help. 

“Levi, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. It’s no one’s fault. Okay?”

He opened his mouth to disagree and tell you how it shouldn’t be you who's hurt and instead the idiot who didn’t shoot his flare, but seeing your expression, he closed his mouth and nodded. 

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeated, smiling at your little win. Now comes the hard part - getting him to leave your side and receive some help. 

“Levi, please go to a nurse or doctor and get patched up.” “I’m fine-”

“Your blood is staining your shirt, Ackerman. Go.”

Any other time, he would have argued you down that he was fine and that he was as healthy as a horse, but at the use of his last name, he thought better of it. 

“Fine,” he responded, standing to his full height, wincing again. “But I’m coming back to check on you.”

“Okay,” you agreed, happy that you got your win again.

“After I kick that idiot’s ass…”