#the flippy curls out the back

[pricesgirl]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

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9

Y/N

I've been mimicking the makeup look she did on me for the past month.

It’s become an oddly comforting routine. Every morning, I shower, and as the warm water hits me, I let the makeup rinse off my face, watching the streaks swirl down the drain. It’s almost symbolic—like washing away all my hesitation and inhibitions along with it. But then the color—the blue—stays. It stains my eyelids, stubborn and bright, no matter how much I scrub.

So, I just reapply it.

I’ve never been one to wear makeup often. It always felt like something I should avoid, something that made me stand out too much. But ever since I started copying Jinx’s eyeliner, I don’t know—something about it feels... different.

She called me hot yesterday.

The words keep echoing in my head, like a soft hum that refuses to fade. Jinx, of all people, had called me hot. Me. It wasn’t just the words, though—it was the way she said it, the way her eyes had lingered on me like she was really seeing me for the first time. And it made my stomach do that thing.

The small flippy thing.

It hasn’t left me. Every time I see her, it’s like it’s still there, swirling in the pit of my stomach, a constant reminder of how she looks at me. And it's not just the eyes, it's the way her fingers had brushed my cheek, the way she touches me like she's touching something pure and fragile.

Today, I’m not thinking about any of that.

I ditched the gala. I ditched the speeches, the fancy gowns, the fake smiles. I just couldn’t do it. Cait and Mel had insisted, but Ekko promised something better. Something more... me. And when he invited me down to the lake, I knew I had to go.

The sun is high, casting a warm glow over everything, making the grass shimmer with golden light. Jinx’s voice rings out, teasing, loud, and carefree. She’s sitting on the dock, her legs swinging over the edge. She’s wearing that tiny black bikini she’s always so confident in, the one that leaves little to the imagination.

Her hair is loose around her shoulders, the waves falling in messy strands, and her eyes are hidden behind her usual blue-tinted glasses.

Everything with her is blue, blue, blue.

I can’t help but watch her as I sit down next to Ekko, who’s already got his feet dipped in the water, one of those rare, unbothered smiles on his face.

I’m trying to keep my focus on Ekko, trying to play it cool, but my gaze keeps drifting back to her. Every movement Jinx makes is magnetic, like gravity pulling me in. I catch myself tracing the curve of her back as she stretches, the sun reflecting off her skin in the most effortless, alluring way. My heart stutters.

She doesn’t seem to care at all that I’m looking, and maybe that’s what makes it worse. She’s always been so comfortable in her own skin. I want that confidence, want to be like her in that sense—bold and unapologetic.

Ekko notices the direction of my gaze, and his lips curl into that teasing grin of his. “You’re gonna keep staring, or you gonna jump in?” he asks, nudging my side.

I look at him quickly, caught. “I’m not staring,” I say, though I know it's not convincing. I can feel the heat in my cheeks.

Ekko shrugs, his grin widening. “Sure you’re not.”

I glance at Jinx again. She’s humming something under her breath, clearly unaware of the chaos she’s causing in my head. It makes me wonder if she’s ever not aware of it. Or maybe, she’s just used to it. Used to the way people are drawn to her, the way her presence fills the space.

I swallow, feeling a lump in my throat. I really can’t stop staring.

She looks over at me then, her lips curling into that mischievous grin. "You gonna keep hiding behind your makeup?" she calls, the challenge clear in her tone. “Or you gonna come in and get your feet wet, Y/N?”

I freeze for a moment, caught. The air between us thickens, and the playful tension in her voice wraps around my ribs. Something inside me stirs.

I swallow again, and for a split second, I wonder if this is all just some sick joke to her. But then I see it in her eyes—something that’s almost daring, but also warm. Maybe I’m overthinking this, maybe not. But what if I just... let go? What if I let myself fall into whatever this is with her?

"Yeah," I finally say, forcing myself to stand up. My voice doesn’t sound as steady as I’d like, but it’s out now. "I’ll join you."

Jinx raises an eyebrow, but she’s not mocking. There’s a challenge in her eyes, and something else too—something softer, hidden beneath her usual bravado.

"Good choice," she murmurs, before taking a step back into the water, her body moving fluidly like she’s completely at home in it.

I follow, stepping closer to the edge. For a moment, my feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. It’s a whole new world for me—one where I’m not quite sure what comes next, but I feel her eyes on me.

My heart pounds as I wade into the cool water, watching her from the corner of my eye. Something about the way the light hits her, the way she looks like she belongs here—like she belongs anywhere she chooses—it pulls me in deeper than I expect.

"Come on, Y/N," she teases again, her voice soft, but the effect it has on me is anything but. "What are you waiting for?"

The water is cooler than I expected, and it wraps around my legs like a smooth second skin. I take a few hesitant steps in, wading deeper, but my gaze is still caught on Jinx. She's floating effortlessly, the water barely lapping at her sides, her body moving in rhythm with the gentle waves.

She looks so beautiful.

I can't help but admire how she owns everything, from the way she laughs at nothing in particular, to the way she carries herself like the world has to adjust to her, not the other way around.

Ekko's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. "You look like you're about to sink, Y/N," he calls, smirking from where he's lounging on the shore. He’s got that lazy, relaxed grin on his face, but I can tell he’s paying attention to everything around us, like usual.

I snap my attention away from Jinx, blinking a few times to shake off the haze she's cast over me. Ekko's smirk pulls a reluctant smile out of me, though the heat in my cheeks gives away my embarrassment.

"I'm fine," I retort, but my voice has a slight quiver to it, betraying my attempt at confidence. I take another step deeper into the water, just enough to feel it creep up my thighs, but I can't help but glance back at Jinx.

She’s watching me now, her expression unreadable, her lips curling into that signature playful smirk. "Careful, Y/N," she teases, "the water's gonna swallow you whole."

I chuckle, trying to brush off the nerves clawing at my chest. "Maybe I'll let it," I throw back, feeling a little bolder than I had earlier, even if the words are more of an attempt at bravado.

She tilts her head, intrigued by my response, and the tension that’s been building between us shifts, just for a moment. But then, as though to break the spell, she suddenly lunges at me, splashing water everywhere.

"Hey!" I yelp, too late to avoid the wave she sends my way. The cold water hits me like a shock, and I flail, laughing despite myself.

"Gotcha!" Jinx laughs, her voice loud and full of mischief, and before I can retaliate, she ducks under the surface of the water, reappearing just behind me to launch another splash in my direction.

"You're gonna pay for that," I warn, the playful fire igniting inside me. I don't even think, just act, lunging at her in return, the water parting as I move forward.

The splashing battle escalates quickly. We both end up soaked, drenched in water that clings to our clothes and skin, the sun beating down and drying us just as quickly as we get wet. I feel free—reckless, even—laughing harder than I’ve laughed in days.

Ekko, no stranger to our antics, chuckles from the shore. "You two are nuts," he says, his tone amused. "Shoulda known better than to leave you two alone."

Jinx flashes him a look over her shoulder, still floating in the water, and tosses her hair back in that effortless way that makes me want to take a mental picture of the moment. "You should join us, Ekko! This water's perfect!"

He shakes his head, smiling. "I'll pass, thanks," he says, but the warm, relaxed look on his face says he’s enjoying watching us have our little moment.

I splash Jinx again, catching her off-guard this time, and she lets out a surprised laugh, her usual confidence slipping just a little. It's rare to see her like that—vulnerable, maybe? Or just... not in control for a second.

And for that split moment, I feel this weird... connection. Like she’s not just this chaotic, unpredictable force I’ve been drawn to. She’s also... just her. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what I’ve been afraid of. Seeing the person under all the layers.

But before I can think too much about it, Jinx grabs my shoulders and spins me around, sending a giant splash over my head. I sputter, coughing a little as the cold water rushes up my nose, and Jinx bursts into laughter at my expense.

"You're so easy to mess with," she teases, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of it all.

I shake my head, wiping water from my face, but I can’t help but smile, my heart beating a little faster, a little louder. "You’re gonna regret that, Jinx," I threaten, but there’s no real malice in my voice.

She just grins back, her expression mischievous. "We’ll see about that," she quips, swimming out a little farther, as though she’s daring me to follow.

And I do.

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Jinx

Oh, Y/N. My sweet, sweet, organized, "I-have-everything-planned-out" Y/N.

She really did forget to bring a towel to the lake day.

Idiot.

It’s not even a cute, forgetful idiot thing.

No, it’s just straight-up clumsy.

How do you forget something like that? It’s not like we were just wandering around the lake.

We had a whole ass bag packed.

She brought, what, like, ten extra books and three different kinds of snacks? And yet... no towel.

But you know, there’s a certain... charm to it.

And, hey, I’m not complaining.

Because here she is, sitting on the dock, her hair wet and wild like she just stepped out of a shampoo commercial, all pouty and pathetic.

And guess what? She’s wrapped in the only other towel available.

A shark towel.

I can barely keep my smirk in check as I watch her tug the hood over her head, the fins on the top sticking up like she’s some kinda ridiculous sea creature.

I’m half-waiting for her to make a shark face, and you know what? If she does, I’ll probably lose it.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, shaking her head in frustration.

The towel’s too small for her—too short, too tight around her shoulders.

She looks like she’s just been swallowed by a giant fish and didn’t even get the luxury of being digested properly.

I snicker under my breath. "Lookin' good there, shark girl."

Her eyes flick to me, her lips curling into a pout that I can’t help but find a little... endearing.

She’s so mad at herself, and it’s kind of cute, even if it makes me want to mess with her more.

"Shut up, Jinx," she mutters, but the corners of her mouth twitch like she’s fighting a smile.

“Aw, come on,” I tease, my voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You look adorable."

She groans, crossing her arms and pulling the towel tighter around herself. "This is not adorable, Jinx. It’s lame."

I roll my eyes dramatically, doing my best to look unimpressed. "Whatever you say, Shark Girl."

And damn if she doesn’t look even cuter when she tries to look pissed off.

It’s like she’s always a little pissed, but it’s all... softer, somehow. Like she doesn’t really want to be mad at me, or anyone, really.

I lean back, propping myself up on my elbows, and just watch her.

She’s trying so hard to act like she doesn’t care, but it’s all over her face. The way she bites her lip when she thinks I’m not looking.

Fuck she's fucking gorgeous.

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Y/N

Ekko left earlier than expected, citing some vague excuse about needing to help Benzo at the shop. But the look he gave me before he walked away? That spoke volumes. It wasn’t just a casual departure—it was deliberate, calculated. He wanted Jinx and me to be alone.

I could feel the weight of his intention in the way his eyes lingered, how his smirk curved knowingly as if he could already see what was coming next. It wasn’t subtle, either. He’s not exactly a master of deception, but then again, he didn’t need to be.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment; Ekko’s always been supportive in his own quiet way. But now, as I sit on the dock, the air around us heavy with the lingering warmth of the sun and the gentle sound of water lapping against the wood, I’m acutely aware of Jinx’s presence beside me.

She’s dripping, water tracing lazy paths down her skin, catching the sunlight like tiny sparks.

And the bikini? It’s practically painted on, clinging to her in a way that feels downright criminal. The black fabric hugs every curve, every line, as if it’s as enamored with her as everyone else seems to be.

I try not to look too long—really, I do—but it’s impossible. She’s magnetic, every movement commanding attention. The way her hands comb through her hair, wringing out water, only makes it worse. Her wild blue waves cascade over her shoulders, darker now from the lake, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from staring like an idiot.

She tilts her head, shaking out the damp strands, and her laugh carries over the water—low, unbothered, and completely at ease.

Her voice rings in my ears, light and teasing, but the words barely register. They’re just sound—background noise to the way her lips move.

God her lips.

I should be listening. I should say something back, something clever, anything really, but my brain feels like it’s short-circuiting.

All I can focus on is the way the sunlight catches her collarbone, the faint freckles I hadn’t noticed before, the way she tilts her head when she laughs like she’s letting the whole world in on a secret.

She shifts closer, her knee brushing mine, and it sends a jolt up my spine.

“Y/N?” she says, and suddenly her voice isn’t background noise anymore. It’s sharp and clear, pulling me back into the moment.

“Huh?” I blink, heat rising to my cheeks as I realize I’ve been caught.

She smirks, tilting her head. “You okay there? You’ve got that zoned-out, lost-in-space look.”

“I’m fine!” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “Just, uh, thinking.”

“Thinking, huh?” Her grin widens, wicked and knowing, and she leans in just enough to make my heart stutter. “About what?”

Her question lingers in the air, and I know she’s not going to let it go. Jinx has this way of peeling back layers without even trying, exposing things I’m not sure I’m ready to show.

I stammer something unintelligible, but she just laughs—a low, musical sound that’s equal parts disarming and infuriating.

“Relax, nerd,” she says, leaning back and stretching out on the towel like she owns the whole damn world. “You’re way too easy to mess with.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “Maybe you’re just annoying.”

“Guilty,” she replies, grinning. Then, out of nowhere, she perks up, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Hey, you wanna play something?”

I arch a brow, wary of the glint in her eyes. “Like what?”

“Truth or dare,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Seriously?” I laugh nervously. “What are we, twelve?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” she insists, sitting up and crossing her legs. Her bikini still clings to her, distracting as ever, and I force myself to look at her face instead. “Unless you’re scared, that is.”

“I’m not scared,” I reply quickly, even though I probably should be.

“Cool.” She leans forward, her grin widening. “Truth or dare?”

I hesitate, knowing there’s no safe answer here. “Truth.”

She hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin before her eyes light up with an idea. “Okay, here’s a good one: have you ever thought about kissing a girl?”

My stomach flips, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we’re sitting. “What kind of question is that?” I say, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

“It’s a truth question,” she says, emphasizing the word with a smirk. “And you’re supposed to answer it, nerd.”

My cheeks burn, and I feel like I’m about to combust under her gaze. “I... I don’t know.”

Her brow quirks, clearly unimpressed with my answer. “That’s not an answer. Yes or no?”

“I mean, maybe,” I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Maybe, huh?” She leans back on her hands, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Alright, your turn.”

I scramble for a way to shift the spotlight off me. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” she says immediately, her confidence almost daring me to challenge her.

I chew on my lip, trying to think of something that won’t completely backfire. “Uh... I dare you to—”

“Kiss you?” she interrupts, her grin turning wicked.

My heart nearly stops.

“That’s not—”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” She laughs, but there’s something in her eyes—something curious. “Unless you want me to.”

I freeze, my brain stalling completely. She doesn’t press further, just sits there watching me, like she’s waiting for me to say something, to make a move.

And suddenly, I’m not sure if this is just a game anymore.

The air between us thickens, the playful banter slipping into something quieter, something a little more intense. I can feel my heart racing, and I have no idea what to do with the sudden shift in energy. Jinx’s grin lingers, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet challenge that makes my throat dry.

“You’re just messing with me, right?” I ask, my voice coming out softer than I intended, like I’m trying to convince myself more than her.

She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes tracing my face like she’s looking for something. Then, slowly, she leans in just a little bit closer, and my breath hitches. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just bored.”

Her voice is low, almost a whisper, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I can feel the weight of her words hanging in the air, like she’s daring me to take them seriously, to step past the boundary of a joke and into something real.

I swallow, trying to regain my composure. “You don’t play fair.”

Jinx leans back again, her eyes gleaming with amusement, but there’s something else there now, something deeper. “What’s the fun if it’s not a little bit unfair?” she says, her voice like silk, teasing and smooth.

I shake my head, trying to push the heat out of my cheeks, but it’s no use. It’s like she’s inside my head, twisting things around until I’m not sure what’s real anymore.

“Truth or dare?” she asks, her voice a little too sweet, too knowing.

“Dare,” I respond almost automatically, not thinking through the implications.

She smiles, her eyes scanning me as if she’s weighing the options in her head. “Kiss me.”

I freeze. This time, it’s not a joke. It’s not playful. She’s serious.

My pulse is thundering in my ears, and I can feel the air around us thicken, crackling with something unspoken. The lake sounds distant now, just a hum in the background as I try to process the words.

I should say no. I should tell her to stop messing around. But all I can do is stare at her, unable to form a coherent thought.

Jinx tilts her head, watching me carefully, her lips curving upward. “Well? You said dare.”

I’m trapped in her gaze, and something inside me shifts. Without really thinking, without fully understanding what I’m doing, I move closer. Her breath catches, and I can feel the tension between us grow.

She's the one to close the distance.

The kiss begins with a tenderness that seems to hover in the space between us, barely there yet brimming with intent.

It’s slow, almost like she’s testing, gauging whether I’ll pull away, whether I’ll let her in. Her lips brush against mine, soft and light, and I swear I can feel the pulse of her heartbeat through the touch. The air seems to still around us, the world fading into a quiet hum that’s just for the two of us.

I don’t pull away.

Instead, I lean into it, just a fraction of an inch, and that’s all it takes. She’s more than ready, her hand finding the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, no longer just an experiment, but something… more. Her lips move against mine with purpose, and I can feel the heat rising between us, the fire igniting where her skin meets mine.

My fingers slowly reach up, tangling in her hair, tugging slightly, and she makes a sound.

A really nice sound.

It’s like a soft, breathy hum, something that vibrates through me and makes every nerve in my body stand at attention. The sound is low, almost a moan, and it sends a spark through my chest. I can feel her warmth radiating against me, her body pressed so close, and I don’t know if I want to pull away or get even closer.

Her lips find mine again, but this time, there’s a hunger to it, an urgency, as if she’s been waiting for me to catch up.

And maybe I have.

My heart is pounding so loud I can’t hear anything but the thrum of it in my ears. The air feels thick, charged, and when her hands slide down my sides, I can’t help but shiver at the touch. She knows what she’s doing—knows exactly how to make me forget everything but her.

It’s like she’s pulling me into her orbit, and I’m just... falling.

Her lips trail down to my neck, and I gasp, my fingers tightening in her hair, tugging her closer. She responds with a breathless laugh, that familiar mix of chaos and playfulness, but there’s an edge to it now, something deeper that makes everything feel more intense.

I can’t stop the little sounds that slip from my lips, ones I didn’t even know I was capable of. Every time her lips brush my skin, every time she moves closer, I feel it—her power, her pull, and I’m too far gone to care about anything else.

For a moment, all I know is her.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hi, this is the chapter everyone's been waiting for, hope you liked the kiss ;)

please like and reblog <3

[chimivx]

‘after all the boys and girls that we’ve been through, could you give it all up if i promise to you, that i’ll never talk again, and i’ll never love again’

the finale : ̗̀➛ senior year at nasara university

<- enroll here .·:*¨༺ (1) ༻¨*:·. next page (2) ->

➳ college!teez x fem!reader (oc) - nice for what cast ➳ 9k (part one of ???) ➳ 18+, sexual content, drugs/alcohol, college life, all the drama, angst, mentions of anxiety/depression… IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

saturday ~ september 20th ~ 11:16 pm

Glass beneath your feet, a red cup in your hand, music pulsing in your ears, your friends shouting at you from the floor, not one of them could get a grip on you. Stumbling across the dining room table wearing nothing but your white lace sundress, matching with half of the girls in the house, your bare feet stepped on napkins and kicked plastic plates away as you twisted to the music, singing along to every y2k beat that poured from the speakers. 

“Aurora, get down!” Yuna laughed, but her tone was stern and went unnoticed by you. You heard the laughter and it fueled the way your body moved. Ducking underneath the chandelier hanging over the table, you let out a shout and almost tumbled off the edge. “Stop!” Her hands flew up to grab onto your hips, pushing you back onto your feet. 

Lifting your cup to your lips, downing the rest of its contents with a cringe- San filled it with straight vodka ten minutes ago- you tossed it aside and smiled down at her.

“Ror, this is not funny.” Tossing her chocolate waves over her shoulder she glanced around the room and sighed. 

A body covered every square inch, boys from ATZ, girls from ITZ, all new recruits being welcomed tonight with veteran members scattered throughout the chaos somewhere. Hours ago the boys showed up on your doorstep and both parties went through with the tradition, the silly little ritual of inviting the sibling house into the other, maintaining the facade of polished politeness throughout dinner until the sun set and the lights went out.

ITZ held the dinner this year, it had been your responsibility to set it up. Well, most of it. Your team beneath you really put it together while you sat at that big, intimidating wooden desk that Yeji used to sit behind with your knees pulled into your chest and your arms wrapped around them. They discussed details and you disassociated, staring down at the to-do list that haunted your dreams and lived within every nightmare.

Tori, your knight in shining armor really, she handled what you couldn’t. With a wave of her hand she could send one of the girls on a mission, in her planner she kept track of every goal, each morning she shared a phone call with you, Seonghwa and Hongjoong, and hours later she’d be able to recite it back to you verbatim. Her details had details, and every time she hit it out of the park. 

Working with Chaewon, a junior who had been appointed ITZ’s social chair last year at the time of the change, Tori perfected tonight's dinner. She hired cleaning services to come through this morning, and the moment they left, a swift, easy moving schedule, the caterers swooped in and tackled the kitchen, setting the house members up to be treated like royalty. Where the girls were meant to host the boys, Tori hired waiters to wander about, carrying silver trays of champagne, hors d’oeuvres, desserts, you name it, they were serving it to you. 

Not one guest arrived unimpressed.

But you wouldn’t be able to recall, you’ve been sipping cocktails since the cleaners were scrubbing between the wooden boards of the floor. 

Dressing yourself, or trying to, Tori had to tie you into your dress, the top half wrapped around you like a lace corset. You wanted to match with her, but she opted to wear her silky white Tom Ford cocktail dress she bought for her sister’s movie premiere she and Mingi attended at the end of last month. Loose curls hung over her exposed shoulders and draped down her back, the flippy layers having grown longer than you’ve ever seen them. Silver jewelry accentuated her old Hollywood look, diamond necklaces dangled into the v-cut of the dress, tear drops hung from her ears, and bracelets jingled on her wrists. 

She topped it off with her Louboutins, a pair she’s had for years kept in pristine condition.

Tonight belonged to her, and everybody knew it. She owned this dinner.

Wandering beside her while the caterers set themselves up, you listened in to her and Ryujin’s conversation. She caught her right before she and Jeongyeon were headed out to Sicuro for the weekend to visit her parents. Tipsy already in that moment, Ryujin’s words didn’t affect you the way you thought they would.

“Damn, Tor, you really stepped up! This is insane, they’re gonna talk about you for years…”

You agreed with her, because she was right. No chapter has ever pulled something of such grandeur off before, Tori surely would go down in ITZ history for this, no matter how superficial that sounded. These girls cared about things like that, that’s what Tori came here to do.

Change.

Mold.

Shape.

Make a difference.

All you had to do was shake Seonghwa’s hand on the porch, and your job was done.

Whispers of a shared past flowed through both groups like a hushed breeze, one gentle enough to not be noticed, but that unmistakable chill that struck your spine told you enough. Change occurred between this year to last, but not enough. The echo of Yeji’s like minded girl's speech circled around you whenever you sat behind that desk. Looking each of them in the face, shaking their hands through recruitment, during rush, walking them through tours…

You searched. You studied. You analyzed. And you were thorough.

Flipping through profiles front and back, upside down and backwards, background checks, social media searches, you lost sleep trying to find anything incriminating about every girl you were about to have living in this house. You’d be damned if it happened again. You wouldn’t allow it to happen again, and Tori had your back. She didn’t spend the sleepless nights with you, but whenever you tossed her a project, needing her to keep up with the current board members so you could deep dive into lives in ways you really weren’t sure were legal- Tori did what Ryujin said, she stepped the fuck up.

While you, by yourself, drowned in recruit papers and schoolwork, she ran the sorority.

You weren’t helpless, Wooyoung offered to flip through profiles for you, and he did for a night. In his apartment scattered across the living room floor, the two of you tiered the girls in three categories. Most likely to Yeji, least likely to Yeji, and doesn’t have an ounce of Yeji in her blood. Throughout the night, over papers, containers of take out, and a few beers, he did his best to assure you that you had the upper hand now, that these girls answered to you. When in return you told him flat out that they answered to Tori.

You haven’t felt like the president since last semester.

All you had to do was shake Seonghwa’s hand, and you were off the hook.

You had gripped it tight, and he had laughed to himself. With a lean toward you, in your ear, he’d whispered, “Hammered already, President Aurora?” And you answered him with a smug smile.

Yunho stood behind him in a white button down and black slacks with a tie hung loosely around his neck, of course you were hammered.

You didn’t look at him.

He didn’t look at you.

That’s how it’s been since July.

On the floor, Yuna threw her hands to her side and groaned. “Ror, please,” she said, watching you teeter side to side, somewhat attempting to sway to the music all the other bodies rocked along to.

Raking your fingers through your hair, you finally spared her a glance, and after a few seconds, flashed her a smile. 

You weren’t coming down.

He stood behind him in his half made up suit, every dusty brown piece of hair on his head perfectly in place. Taking in the sight of all of your girls stretched along the front of the porch of ITZ, he didn’t look at you once. Other than your friends no one knew your history, you and Yunho, why you were the way that you were, and frankly, you aren’t sure you quite know either. 

When did it start, like, really start, and why did it go unspoken for so long? Why, after he’s played with your heart, broken it, and your trust, do you continue to yearn for him? You wouldn’t say you were yearning, but Tori’s called you out plenty. You’ve said too much this summer, drunken confessions, that you can’t talk your way out of anymore.

He stood right behind Seonghwa.

And he couldn’t care less that his president shook your hand. 

So you drank, and you drank some more, and you sipped from a bottle offered to you by some ATZ freshman recruits, and you cracked open another can of bubbles, and you accepted a cup from San, and then a refill and a kiss from a very sloshed San…

“Ror, if you don’t…” Yuna pressed her fingers into her bare thighs. White bodycon dress clinging to her slender figure, she paired it with white wedge sandals and gold jewelry from Jongho, the senior a vision to behold- something the ATZ recruits took very seriously. 

Glancing around herself in the dim, well, the dark, she released a heavy sigh, took one look up toward you, then vanished into the sea of beings.

He hadn’t said one word to you since July!

Even in joint meetings between the boards, something you and Seonghwa set up to be had monthly, he didn’t look at you, and he certainly didn’t speak. Keeping to himself aside from the occasional mumble to Mingi, and questions to Tori or Chaewon, he arrived at the meetings in his usual hoodie-sweats combo with a small hello to everyone other than you, and left just the same.

This wasn’t a Yunho you knew.

Your Yunho took up space, he asked silly questions, he over exaggerated his explanations, he’s outrageously fucking dramatic and he’d admit it too.

Now he sat in silence.

Each time he tolerated your presence he seemed to reach into your heart, your subconscious somehow, and erase himself little by little. Everything you thought you knew, everything he taught you about himself, every piece of him he gave you, he started to take it all back.

An undoing.

An erasure.

He didn’t love you.

And maybe he never really did. 

Maybe the words he spoke held no value.

“…and she’s gonna get hurt, I can’t get her down, I wanna take her up to bed ‘cause I can’t keep track of her, she’s fast, I just-“

Yuna’s frantic speech didn’t catch your attention, the deep voice that cut her off did. Spinning on your toes, your ankles knitting together, you stumbled forward and they both jumped.

“Oh my god,” Yunho sneered, both of his hands extending in front of him, ready to catch you if you reared off the edge of the table. Flickering his hardened glare between you and Yuna, he spoke to Yuna. “Where’s her keeper?”

Yuna rolled her eyes. “Not here, and he’s not her keeper. They broke up in July.”

“Yeah, people keep saying that.”

Yuna thrusted a hand toward you. “So, help!”

Yunho glanced up at where you danced, watched how you laughed with some recruits watching you from the floor, then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“And, why not?” Yuna crossed her arms over her chest.

Copying her, Yunho turned toward her. “I’m not falling for tricks like these anymore,” he said. “I’m done with this.”

Yuna took in a breath and stepped in a small circle around herself looking for a Plan B. Speedy eyes scanning the hoards of tipsy people, she found Intak and Jiung squeezing themselves through the dining room doorway. They clocked you already, their gazes were pointed and locked. 

Grabbing onto Yunho’s arm, Yuna sighed. “If you don’t do something, they will.” Pointing at the boys, Yunho followed her finger. 

His jaw tightened. “I can’t do anything,” he mumbled through clenched teeth, “She hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Good god,” Yuna groaned with another roll of her eyes, “You guys exhaust me, I can’t believe you’re still playing that game,” she waved towards the table the boys circled, “Just get her down.”

Intak stood four feet from him on the opposite side of the table, his face alight in the glow from phone screens and the moonlight leaking in through the windows, wearing a smirk. Jiung whispered to him, his eyes drawing up and down your form wobbling above him.

If Yunho didn’t do something, they would.

Stepping forward, placing both hands flat on the table, Yunho peered up at you with a hope that you’d possibly peer back.

You didn’t.

Intak caught your eye, and though he filled your gut with a nausea that once felt like curiosity, he was the only boy tonight to not look at you like he knew what you were. Even some of the girls looked at you that way, some sort of unease behind their poised complexions. 

They knew.

They gossiped.

They judged.

Intak though, and Jiung for that matter, both of them, absolute arrogant assholes, the sparkle in their eyes drew you in. They enjoyed the show, they didn’t look down upon it. The pieces of you others judged, the pieces Intak and Jiung knew about, they didn’t talk it down, they wanted a taste.

You’d lay Intak down any day of the week. With that slick smile, his cropped hair, his button nose, you wouldn’t say no… If he hadn’t turned into an utter douchebag. It really was a shame you didn’t have the chance to get to know him when his possè wasn’t around, you blamed both Jiung, and Jongseob, for Intaks assholery. 

And Soul’s.

Soul who lingered under Jongseob’s arm all night long. That’s why you took a drink from San, to get rid of that nagging care that hung within your chest.

He didn’t care, why should you.

Pausing on top of the table, drinking in darkened eyes and an unbuttoned shirt, you wobbled for a second, then lowered yourself down to your knees in front of Intak. Licking your lips, you took in his smile. It’d been a while since anyone had been on the receiving end of your alcohol fueled pettiness, so you sucked in a breath, leaned forward and crawled toward him…

“Nope.”

An arm hooked around your waist, one strong, strapping you to his front, securing you in place with the other. Feet kicking, you grasped his hands and thrashed, the room spinning more than it had been as Yunho turned from the table and started for the hallway. Recruits were kicked, bumped into by Yunho, and pushed aside by his large frame. Swallowing down the way your stomach rolled, you wriggled and writhed, an attempt to free yourself, but he was too strong.

Throwing your head backward against his chest, you fell limp. He walked through the double doors to the hall, turned to the left and dodged an endless amount of bodies toward the kitchen, rounding the wide set of stairs that lived in the center of the first floor. The pulsing of the music quieted some, the chatter of tipsy mouths growing in volume instead. 

Grasping his arms, pushing at them, another attempt to escape, he dropped you on your feet the moment he crossed the threshold into the forest green kitchen. Wobbling, pushing your hair from your face, a tousled mess on top of your head, you scanned the dim lit kitchen and blinked.

Freshmen hung around a corner, peeking inside the door to the storage space beside the door that led to the porch outside. Yunjin, a junior and now ITZ’s appointed Secretary, strolled out with a fresh drink in her hand and the other latched to the shoulder of a sophomore recruit, the two whispering as they passed by you with light smiles. Others wandered in and out, some popped their heads inside in search of certain someone’s, and Yunho, he took to the fridge.

His shirt had been slightly disheveled. Where it was tucked in, tight to his body, it hung off of him now, still tucked within the leather of his belt though. Hair that had been parted neatly over his forehead, sprayed back so it wouldn’t move, it’d been moved. 

He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and pushed the door shut with his elbow, not acknowledging the group of girls in the corner whispering while their eyes drew all over him. With a reluctant turn he faced you, jaw clenched, tipped up some. He cracked the bottle open, left the lid on, and let the bottom of his shoes scuff the floor as he took slow but sure steps back over to where he dropped you off. 

July.

Not a word spoken.

That night on the beach, you ripped each other apart, drunken thoughts and blunders that should’ve never left either of your lips, but they did. Running after him through Tori’s beach house, down the stairs, through the crowded kitchen, onto the porch. Thundering down the stairs he effortlessly flew down, Wooyoung on your tail, you’d caught him on the sand, and he ripped you a new one.

And you laid right back into him.

The only time you’d really spoken since the end of the semester- screams drowned out by the waves, the neighbors nor your friends would have a clue. 

Looking up at him now, your stomach roiled at the thought of his face that night, how he looked down at you. The way he ignored Wooyoung trying to keep him at the house, how he nearly spat at your feet, and should’ve, and stormed off the beach. You’d never seen him so angry. 

And now, standing in front of you handing over a cold bottle of water he got for you from your fridge, he wore nothing on his face.

Which was usually hard for him to do.

The vodka made you smile. You couldn’t help it. Taking the bottle from him you tried to swallow it down, tried to hide it. You almost laughed.

He didn’t budge.

You had to hand it to him, he’s been an excellent rule follower.

He hasn’t spoken to you since the Haos vacation, because he’s listening to you. Almost a year ago you’d told him not to speak to you unless you spoke to him first.

He took that literally.

As did you.

So here you stood.

In the middle of ITZ’s kitchen with a foot of space and a water bottle between you, in silence.

The girls in the corner watched. All you did was stare at one another, you didn’t even take a sip of the water, you let it cool off your hands and your dancing sweat, and you stared at each other. 

His top button, undone, called to you. Skin beneath it still golden from the summer in the sun, the white of his shirt making the melanin only that much deeper, you pressed your lips together to stop yourself from nibbling on them. Tousled hair, flushed skin letting you know he’s been drinking, wandering eyes that snapped back up to yours as you moved to take a sip of the bottle in your hand- he had something to say.

Lips wrapping around the spout you tipped your chin back and gulped, some water spilling from the corners of your lips and down your cheeks, onto your dress. He lurched forward, his eyebrows softening for half of a second, until he put himself back in place like some sort of soldier. Like grabbing you a napkin would put a bullet through his head.

So he didn’t.

Slapping a hand to either cheek, you flung the excess drops off, slamming the bottle onto the countertop. You met his eyes. 

Sedentary.

Looking him up and down, his six foot two self towering above you, you curved your lips into a smile as if to thank him for nothing, and then spun on your toes to saunter out of the room.

He hadn’t spoken to you since July.

Maybe you’d keep it that way.

“Aurora.”

Damn.

What would he say to you? You had to admit you were curious, what he’s been keeping bottled up for months, what he’s forgotten to say on the porch of the house he and your friends were renting for a month this summer. Maybe he’d scream it at you like he’d done that night, maybe he’d spew your equally dirty laundry out here all over the kitchen for all of your sisters to hear, for all of his brothers to hear, for everyone to know, everyone to be included like they craved to be.

What once had been hidden from everyone was no longer yours to share. Everyone knew, and everyone wanted to know what happened next.

And, so did you.

You turned around, Yunho right behind you, his cologne intoxicating, almost enough to knock you to your knees, to beg him to say something, anything, hands clasped together, brows flipped over, tell me you love me because I know you do.

He spoke first. This was it.

Yunho didn’t move. He didn’t reach for you, he didn’t look anywhere but your eyes, hardened glare digging deep into yours. “Go to your room,” he said softly enough for only you to hear, his tone not matching the intensity in his caramel irises.

Amusement rose within you, it threatened to spill out your lips, something he noticed with how the corners of your lips tipped up. He didn’t move. Standing here in silence, knowing it killed him only furthered your protest. You suppose you wanted the fight, the fire for it still scorching you inside fueled by Mina seared gasoline. 

He narrowed his eyes, flickering them to your lips for a second. A little glimmer. You’ve been shamelessly eating him alive since he set you down, but he’s done a very good job of playing his part of I don’t want you anymore. Until right now, that one second. A meaningless fracture of time, how he’d spend his hours in class beside you your freshman year, where he’d stare whenever you uttered a word, a whisper, anything. 

Unable to hold back your smile, one that broke out into a toothy, smirky grin, you whispered, “Gonna follow me up there?”

Yunho blinked. “Yeah, I am.”

You scoffed. “Say less.”

One track minded, nobody mattered anymore. Not that you gave them a thought before, at least until after Seonghwa’s handshake. Weaving through bodies, your bare feet dragging through alcohol puddles on the floor, stepping over other feet, bumping into the backs of people paired off and darting through the halls, you made it to the stairs and gave a look over your shoulder. He followed you, stone faced and close behind. He followed you.

Either tonight’s the night, or tonight’s the night.

Heart thumping in your chest you darted up the stairs as quickly as you could without slipping and falling onto your face, though you’re certain Yunho would catch you, you reach the second floor and find it empty for the most part aside from the light peeking out under the bathroom door. A few bedroom doors were cracked open, but no other lights dared to be flickered on amidst the party. 

Your hand slipped around the bannister, flinging your body around it, whipping yourself toward the bedroom you shared with Tori. Presidential status didn’t change a thing, the two of you were roommates for life. Coming back to Nasara, to your shared space, it aided in healing what happened that month in Haos, the two of you naturally falling back into the push and pull of messy and neat, of loud and sleepy, of locked door because Mingi was inside and fist banging on the door because it meant San was inside instead. The RorTor was back, and the boys knew it, they could feel it.

It made you wonder what the one behind you knew.

Voices of your sisters echoed up the stairs, the thumping of music growing faint as you pushed your door open and tumbled inside. Yunho caught it before it slammed into Tori’s vanity and rattled her hair and makeup products around like it may have already in the past. Taking it with two hands, he surveyed your bedroom, the clothes scattered across the floor, the books stacked beside dressers with papers shoved in them, how Tori’s side tended to be a bit more put together than yours, and he shut your door.

He didn’t lock it.

Spinning around, pressing your back to your bed, you crossed your arms over your chest and eyed him where he stood by the door. He reached for the lightswitch.

“Don’t,” you spat, and he shot you a look, lowering his hand with tenacity. 

Grumbling something under his breath he came toward you a few steps and waved you toward him. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go?” Squishing your brows together you tipped your chin back and curled your top lip. “You’ve lost your game, Yo.”

He winced. It still got him. “Christ, Aurora, you can’t stand up straight, get dressed for bed.” He waved you toward him again. Embarrassment was lost on you at the moment, the implication he brought you up here to sleep with you not lost on him. You glanced at his outstretched hands and teetered toward him. “This is the worst you’ve ever been,” he muttered, taking your shoulders in his hands, his palms engulfing them, turning you around. 

Letting him move you, not like you had much choice, you said, “No it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” he said with more oomph, “You’ve been drinking all day, you’re done, and you need to calm the fuck down.” 

“How do you know I’ve been drinking all day?” you questioned. His fingers pulled at the zipper of your dress. You could feel it, the way he tried to be oh so careful not to touch your bare skin. 

Hooking his fingers beneath the straps, he lifted them a bit, then tugged them down your arms. Without touching you. “It’s not that hard to tell, but besides, Tori told me.”

Whirling around in your underwear, white fabric bunching up around your ankles, you barked, “Of course she did.”

Yunho did nothing but breathe. “We’re all cool, Rory, don’t pull shit like this again. Of course she told me.”

Your heart cried, some type of weight forming between your lungs.

Rory.

It came from his lips with ease. You aren’t even sure he realized he said it.

Gulping, you shook your head quickly. “If she told you that means that you still have a need to know.” Going dizzy, tipping sideways, Yunho grabbed your cheeks and steadied you. 

Thinning his lips, he dipped his chin down and said, “She told all of us, Aurora.”

“Whatever,” you groaned, reaching up to shove his hands away, wanting his touch off of you. “Where’s my clothes?”

Yunho took a step away from you and watched you spin in a circle. Hands tangled in your hair, pushing it away from your face as you wobbled over the floor, picked up clothes that looked like yours, he wrapped his hand around the strands like a ponytail and gently lifted your head, halting your search. He held up a big shirt and ignored your wide eyes, your instant submission. 

“Here,” he said under his breath, letting go of you.

Taking it from him, literally the shirt you went to sleep in last night, you took a step backward and slipped it over your head. “Thanks,” you whispered, looking up at him. He’d taken a few steps back as well. Sliding a hand up the back of the tee you unclasped your bra and reached into the sleeves to pull it off, slipping it out of one of them and tossing it to the floor. 

Yunho sucked in a breath, pressed his hands to his thighs and glanced away, jaw clenched. “What’s the matter, Aurora?” he asked, giving you the smallest glance in case more clothes were coming off. You curled your fingers beneath the hem of the shirt and smushed it in your palms. Facing you completely, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and tilted his head. “I know you’re not getting shitfaced ‘cause of me.” You looked up at him. “But if you are, I need you to tell me.” 

“I don’t wanna…” you whispered, the start of a sentence you were somehow able to cut off. The words made you nauseous. The words, ones you never thought you’d say, they made you want to rip the t-shirt off, tear your sheets off your bed and Tori’s, kick and smash the mirror that stood between your beds, knock over your dressers and scream until you couldn’t. 

“You don’t wanna?” he asked, repeating what you’d said. “I just wanna understand, you don’t-”

“I-don’t-wanna-be-president.” A heavy sigh followed, one that almost took you to your knees. Staring at the floor, not wanting to see his reaction, you pulled at the shirt hanging off of you and watched the wood under your feet spin. “My mom is calling me, everyday, I don’t know how, my dad had a heart attack, we’re living with my uncle, if he doesn’t call me, like, every hour, I think something bad happened, and I don’t wanna be president anymore.”

Yunho stood in silence.

Glancing up, meeting his eyes, you smiled. Then, you laughed, and he scoffed.

“This is how I know you’re still okay,” he shook his head, throwing a hand toward you bent over in a fit of giggles. “What the hell, Aurora?”

“I know,” you giggled, then gasped, standing up abruptly, taking many steps towards him. His shoulders tensed. “We don’t know how she got his number either, she hasn’t talked to my dad in years, like over twenty years, why the fuck is she trying to get to him? It’s been longer than I knew about too, he didn’t tell me for a while, I blamed his heart attack on her, you don’t get it, Yo, he loved her, and he left her, and she gave him me, and she ran the fuck away.” 

Yunho took his hands back to your shoulders and pushed you away from him a bit, putting space between you. “I know,” he mumbled as you rambled, bobbing his head, “I know the story.”

“He loved her, real bad,” you said again, and he rolled his eyes. “And she broke his heart, isn’t that awful? And then she came back only to leave him with me. She handed me over and she left us.” Yunho gulped, and nodded. “That’s like, imagine if I really was pregnant, and I didn’t talk to you for so long, and then handed you our kid on vacation, like-”

“Oh my god, stop,” he groveld, face scrunching up, hands tightening on your shoulders.

“I’m serious!” you shouted, trying to step back toward him, but he wouldn’t let you. 

He groaned, then grumbled, “The fact that you thought about the timeline makes it worse, Rory.”

You laughed, and he shot you a look. “I had to, Yo, what the fuck?”

“What the fuck?” he spat, furrowing his brows. “What the fuck is… No,” he took his hands off of you and stood up straight, “I’m not having this fight again.” 

You grasped your arms over your chest, gazing down at his chest peeking out of his shirt. “You’ll lose it again anyway.”

If looks could kill his glare would have splayed you out on the floor in pieces. Holding up a hand, he clasped it into a fist and took a deep breath. “Whatever,” he said with a patience like he practiced it, “Whatever, whatever. I’m sorry about your dad, but he’s okay, he’s at your uncle’s like you said, if anything happens to him, they’re there with him.”

Tightening your grip on yourself, you shifted your jaw around and shrugged your shoulders, feeling your eyes growing heavier the longer you weren’t sipping a drink. “I should go home and be with him,” you said, and he shook his head.

“He wouldn’t want that,” Yunho said, and you glanced up at him.

“Wooyoung said the same thing,” you mumbled. With a grimace Yunho popped his brows. “You still don’t like him.” He didn’t answer you, not even with his eyes. “I told him this,” you breathed, “That I don’t wanna do this anymore, that I wanna stay home with him, that I don’t feel right here anymore, and he tried to help, he tried to fix it, tried to fix me.”

“You aren’t broken, Rory,” he crooned.

Pressing your nails into your skin, you smiled. “But, I feel it.”

Yunho puffed his chest and stepped toward you, his expression going mad. “Because he made you feel that way.”

Ah, the tale of Wooyoung’s Aurora’s Therapist. You knew that one.

“No, he didn’t,” you stepped closer to him, your chests nearly touching, “You’re not listening to me, did you hear what I said? No, you just hear his name and get all angry, and ignore whatever I said, god, this always happens, you don’t listen to me!”

He closed the space, bumping your arms with his chest. “I am listening,” he grit his teeth, “you said-” Something inside of him snapped, and he closed his eyes. Tipping his chin up, he took a breath. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m still mad, you’re still mad, we can’t do this, not right now.”

Pressing your hands to his chest you gave him a nudge. “Mad about what?! My late period?”

“Him,” he growled, looking down at you. “I’m mad about him.”

A laugh came out of you. You nudged him again. “You were fucking me and Mina, how can you be mad about him?!”

He went unmoved by your shoves, like he was on that beach all over again. With a shake of his head, he said, “See, we both have shit we’re not over.” He nodded to the left, glancing toward your bed. “You’re trashed, you need to get in bed, we’re done talking.” 

“Yeah,” you sneered, walking backward, tripping over a stray shoe. He caught you and you shook him off. “We’re done talking. No more. Ever. Forever.”

Yunho laughed under his breath and guided you toward your bed. “You don’t mean that.” 

You spun around and pressed yourself against him, eyes wild. “But, I do. You didn’t speak to me for months, you’ll be fine.”

Fire burned in his eyes. “Because I’m following your stupid fucking rule!”

Your hands swatted at his chest, at his arms, and he took it all. “Fuck the stupid fucking rule, Yo! We’re grown!”

“Fine,” he laughed even louder, grasping your wrists, holding them tight. “Fuck the stupid fucking rule,” he lowered his chin, his eyes lined with yours, “Don’t expect me to come save you next time. Good luck with your fucking presidency, Aurora.” 

His nose brushed against yours. Your heated, angry breath graced each other's cheeks. 

Moving at once, moving as one, your hands fumbled to grab onto one another, your lips couldn’t meet fast enough. Your fingers fisted into his hair, pulling him onto you, his were thrown around your shoulders, bending you backward. Nothing but a mess, a furious, frustrated, heated mess of parted lips and famished tongues.

The first kiss in months, in almost a year. You almost forgot how he tasted, but not enough time had passed, the familiarity sunk back in before your tongues tangled. How he moved, how you moved, how your bodies melded together, how they knew how to come together like they moved on their own, two beings who knew and craved each other, knew that whatever was to follow was something they liked, something they wanted.

Yunho almost wedged a knee between yours, but the bedroom door had been flung open. It bumped into Tori’s vanity and rattled her beauty products. Neither of you have moved faster in your lives, both of you ignoring how it felt like neither of you wanted to move.

Tori and San stood at the door, one shocked face and another smug as ever. 

Without a second thought Yunho stormed out of your room, barging by them, bumping their shoulders. Smoothing out your shirt, nibbling at your bottom lip, you smiled at San, but cowered beneath Tori’s shock. 

No words were spoken, none shared.

Hurrying up to San, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, Tori pulled the bedroom door shut and followed Yunho down the stairs.

sunday ~ september 21st ~ 9:45 am

Her fist pounded on the door three times.

Groaning beneath the sheets, you stirred, opening your eyes to the morning light, pulling the blanket from your face. You aren’t met with the sun. With his arm under his head, his eyes fluttered shut, and his lips parted slightly, San slept soundly, unaffected by the shaking door.

Throwing the blankets off of the two of you, grabbing his arm to shake him awake, you sigh at your naked selves and roll off of the mattress. Snatching the shirt you put on last night, the one San took off of you, you yanked it over your head and trudged toward the door.

“Can she shut up,” San grumbled from the pillows, stretching his arms over his head, his muscled middle winking at you before he flipped over and buried his face in the mattress. The blankets apparently didn’t mean shit to him.

Unlocking the door, you pulled it open a crack and gave Tori a smile. Wearing a frown, she didn’t quite match your morning energy. She pushed open the door and gave you a once over, she herself wearing some of her boyfriends clothes. She kicked the door shut and started for the dresser next to her bed, pulling hair pins from her head. 

“You’ve got balls being here, Choi,” she said to San’s bare ass. He rolled over and flashed her a grin. She turned to you, three more pins falling into her hand, ones she tossed on the dresser. “You’re lucky I didn’t break in the door, and that it’s just me.”

Folding your arms over your chest, you puffed out your cheeks and smiled again. “I’m the president.”

Tori whirled around, pulling nice clothes from drawers to change into. She messed with her eyebrow piercing and shot San a glare. “That’s not funny,” she said, “That’s not what a good president would do.” Waving a hand at the boy watching the two of you, she motioned at his clothes. “Out!” San looked at you.

Sighing, you took to his side and whispered, “Go. Out the window. The girls can’t see you.”

His charisma oozed from his smirk. “I don’t make you sneak out my window, Ror.”

“If you didn’t fall asleep here, you could’ve walked out the front door last night.”

He glanced down at himself, gorgeous physique on display for you and your best friend, and he smiled. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asked you, and you smiled, but you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t count on it,” you muttered.

It was enough for him. He leapt from your bed, slipped into his pants, swiped his shirt from the floor and disappeared off of your roof. By the time he was gone Tori had already changed, beige flared dress pants and a white fitted tank with Versace on the tag.

“Where’d you sleep?” you asked her, turning to sit down on the edge of your bed.

Putting in her gold hoops she turned and said, “Mingi’s. You better start getting ready, we have to be downstairs in fifteen, the boys’ll be here in ten.”

The meeting, right.

The meeting.

Anxiety flooded your veins. You’d call it nerves, but it’s persisted long enough. It made you nauseous, it made you not sleep if you were sober, it made you jumpy. Wooyoung called it anxiety, so it was anxiety.

“Shit, I don’t even think I have…” Sliding off your bed you started for your dresser and sifted through notebooks, then moved under your bed and sifted through your things. “I don’t have all my-”

Tori placed a hand on your shoulder. Looking up at her from the floor, you stood up slowly and faced her. “They’re on the desk,” she said softly. With a steady face, a steady tone, she said, “I organized them all with Yunjin. You just have to make the decisions and sign on the line.”

You swallowed away the lump in your throat, the electricity in your veins lessening. Since school’s been back she’s been on top of your shit. And her own shit. And the house's shit.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Pressing her now glossy lips together, she patted your shoulder, averted her eyes, and nodded. “Course.” Flickering her eyes back to yours, she gave you half a smile. “Get dressed and come downstairs. Please.”

“I will,” you whispered. 

She left in a cloud of Calvin Klein perfume, leaving you to dress yourself. Your white dress still lived in a heap on the floor where Yunho took it off of you. Searching your brain, walking over it, you cannot remember half of the things you said to him last night, half of what he said to you. You kissed him, that much you remembered. He kissed you.

And if San and Tori didn't walk in on you, you would’ve woken up beside Yunho instead. 

More nausea.

Changing into clothes appropriate for a meeting, something clean and not from the floor, a pair of jeans and a Nasara crew neck, just as you slipped it over your bed head, your phone rang from beneath a sweater on the rug. Sifting through the fabric, smoothing your hair in the process, one glance at the screen made you groan. You clicked the red button and opened your fathers text thread instead. At least the unknown number no longer filled you with dread.

Tapping the button to call him, you settled back on your bed, nestling yourself in the pillows.

He picked up just after the first ring.

“This is early for you on a Sunday,” he said, a tv echoing somewhere in the background behind his voice, “Everything okay?” A deep voice mumbled over the noise of the show. Yeonjun pulled the phone away, his voice going quiet. “Aurora… Yeah,” he said, then spoke into the phone, “Yoongi says hi.”

“Hi Yoongi,” you said within a breath, then sighed, “Dad, she called me again.”

“Motherfucker,” he muttered.

“That’s you, Junie,” you said, and he scoffed.

“Shut it.”

Sharing the smallest of laughs, you listened as he shared the intel with your uncle, his older brother.

“Don’t answer any,” he said to you, and you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t plan on it, it’s creepy she got my number.”

Yeonjun took a breath, you could hear it. “Yeah, I don’t like how that happened.”

Gulping, grabbing onto the pillow San slept on, pulling it into your lap, you squeezed it, bracing yourself for his answer to your question. “Have you talked to her? At all?”

“Hell no,” he said without missing a beat, “I have nothing to say to her.”

You fisted the silk in your lap. “You keep getting calls too, right?”

He shifted around where he sat, you could hear it. After a heavy breath, he muttered, “Yes.”

“Maybe she knows what happened,” you said quietly, body going very still. He was a man not keen on discussing his own health problems, whether it almost took him out or not. Even if you gave it the slightest of mentions he’d grumble like a child, though he didn’t give you as hard of a time as his brother, those two would get into it.

“How the fuck would she know all that?” 

“I don’t know,” you scoffed, “You used to frequent ‘Mano, maybe one of your girlfriends told her.” He laughed, you could hear how his head tipped backward. “When’s the last time you saw Seulgi?” 

His off and on not girlfriend. Hard to believe you were his child, right?

“Uh… August.”

“Exactly,” you said, “She’s spreading your shit.”

“I’m done with her,” he breathed, and even Yoongi laughed aloud in the background.

A smile spread onto your cheeks. “Thirty six…” you mumbled in thought, “Thirty seven?”

Yeonjun spoke to you and his brother, “Shut uuup,” he drug out.

“Think that’s the thirty seventh time you’ve said that,” you teased him. 

Yoongi said something in the background you couldn’t make out, but you knew he’d be agreeing with you if he could hear you. Yeonjun typically kept these conversations to himself when others were around in Yoongi’s house, whether it be his brother, his sister in law, or any of their kids.

“I mean it this time,” he said, “I haven’t seen her since August, you know that. She can’t handle the sober shit, so I’m done.”

His words made your blood run cold, but somehow it comforted you. Life since he’s come home from the hospital hasn’t been easy on him, or Yoongi, or you. Everything had been flipped upside down. Yeonjun didn’t lose any aspect of not being able to live his life, he could function just like everyone else, but the degree to which everything happened scared the shit out of every single one of you. The physical therapy he went through to get some of his mobility back, the strict change in diet and habits, none of it went over easy with him. A man stuck in his ways since adolescence…

Yoongi had been helping him sell the house, they packed up your childhood, your entire life into boxes, and shoved it into his basement. That little, beautiful, one story home on a street now desolate, but to you still so incredible, it stood with a sign pushed into the front lawn, one that read For Sale. Your uncle jokes that he foresaw this happening at some point, it just took twenty years longer than he thought- jokes centered around Yeonjun actually being a good dad and handling his shit when only Yoongi thought he could. It only took him dropping to the floor in his garage for this move to happen.

“You’re doing a good job, Dad,” you said quietly. 

He hesitated, then asked, “How was the dinner, Aura?” Never acknowledging himself, his accomplishments, how far he’s come, and how great he really has been doing. With a switch change of the subject he knew you were complimenting him but he simultaneously shoved a knife into your stomach.

“It was good,” you lied through your teeth. “Everything went exactly as planned, Tori did a really great job. They’re already making her a plaque for the hall of fame.” A joke, one you knew would be true, and she deserved it. 

“Give her my love.” 

You could hear his smile. “You’ll kill her if I do.”

He laughed. “How’s, uh… That boy.” You sucked in a breath, your stomach going sour. “Yunho. Right?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Did he talk to you at the dinner like you hoped?” The way his tone changed made a lump grow in your throat. His I’m trying tone.

Thinking of what to tell him, what to say to him, nothing of last night seemed appealing. Not that you could remember what you or Yunho said. You could only place the kiss. His lips and the way he pushed you backward, like he yearned for more, like he wanted more.

“Yeah, he, uh, he did,” you said. “But, it-”

“Aurora!” Tori yelled from the stairs. “We’re about to start!”

“It what? What’d he do?” Yeonjun asked.

“Dad, I gotta go,” you sighed, “We have a meeting.”

Yeonjun took a breath himself. “I don’t… Okay, yeah, call me later.”

“You don’t what?” you asked, sliding off of your bed, searching for shoes to slip into. 

Yeonjun hummed, then said, “It’s nothing. Go, President, have a good meeting.”

Your throat tightened. With sneakers on your feet you reached for the door handle and pulled it open, faced with a hallway of girls bustling about, greeting you with smiles. “Thanks,” you said to him, “Take your meds, please.”

“Already done,” he said, Yoongi’s voice sounding from the background.

Locking your phone, hanging up, ignoring the voicemail notification left behind from the unknown caller, you slipped it into your back pocket and yanked your door shut, smiling back at the girls who took their time to say hello to you. Returning their morning niceness, something you weren’t accustomed to, you spread your hello’s across the floor and tossed a few compliments toward a couple who were dressed and ready for the day.

Spinning around to eye a freshmen’s sandals, giving her your A+, five star rating, as you turned back to head down the stairs you fumbled right into the arms of a freshman, Kazuha, or Kaz as she mentioned she liked to be called. Her eyes widened, irises so dark they were almost black. She was a tiny thing just around your height, if not an inch or so taller, and she seemed to dress similarly to you in a sense, keeping things low maintenance, something she didn’t seem to care about in the couple of weeks you’ve known her. 

She joined the sorority with similar intentions to most, she wanted a sisterhood, a place to call her own, find where she belonged. But, there was something different about her. Quiet, yes, she kept to herself, but she didn’t force herself into belonging. While some of the girls took on the styles of other sisters, attempted to impress upperclassmen and members of the board, Kaz held onto herself. Her style, her sense of personality- authentic. 

Listening to her shower you with apologies now, her unmanicured hands grabbing onto your shoulders, her head shaking back and forth, long, thin, colored black hair swishing over her back, you couldn’t help but smile. 

Sifting through your brain for that night in Wooyoung’s apartment, you searched for her profile, her resume. Wooyoung had been the one to look it over, and she’d been placed in the doesn’t have an ounce of Yeji in her blood category.

You were safe. Kazuha was safe. 

“Aurora, I’m so sorry,” she gasped.

“You’re fine, it’s my fault,” you smiled, “I was not paying attention, I’m sorry.”

Kaz shook her head. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she smiled with you. “This is perfect actually, I was waiting until later today, but, if I can, I have something to ask you, if we’re having a parents weekend, or family weekend this year?”

Nodding, you put your hands on her shoulders. “Of course we are, I know Tori has plans for it.”

Kaz sighed, relief flooding onto her face. “Thank you, my mom and sister have been dying for a reason to come bother me.”

“No problem,” you said, giving her a gentle shake. Her eyes swept over your face before her smile deepend. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you soon.”

Letting go of her, giving her a wave after she bid you goodbye, you hurried down the stairs, around the corner, and rushed into the room in the back of the house. A big wooden desk greeted you, as did a few smiling faces all facing Tori where she stood beside your chair. They were in light discussion of the night before, your cheeks threatened to turn pink. Laughs, inside jokes, comments of what went on, you weren’t aware of any of it. 

They all said hello to you, except Yunho.

He sat next to Mingi who sat directly in front of where Tori stood. In black sweatpants, a navy blue hoodie, his glasses perched on his nose just beneath his freshly washed hair, he didn’t even spare you a glance. Feeling your phone vibrate in your back pocket, you let them continue their last night jokes and pulled it out, expecting to see another voicemail waiting for you.

To your surprise, your dad had left you a text.

[choi asshole #1]:  I don’t know how I feel about this one aura that’s all. I don’t want to sway your decision because I know how you feel but I don’t know. What you had with wooyoung was so good how can you go from one to the other??? I trust that you will make the right decision. You usually do. Take your time. I love you.

Tears brimmed your eyes. Sitting down in the leather chair, the mass of the desk nearly swallowing you, you gave the message a heart and set your phone down. Looking out into the room, all of the couches and chairs facing you, the new board members' eyes flickering around with excitement, you sucked down a deep breath and sat forward, your elbows laying across the wood.

“Okay, okay,” Tori spoke up, quieting the room. Holding her hand out to Seonghwa, she grinned. “Hi guys.”

The boys returned her hello, but Mingi’s was the loudest, his smitten little smile gazing up at her behind his large frames on his nose. 

Tori took a deep breath, scanned the room, smiled at you, then announced, “The Sweethearts Formal is happening this year.”  

The girls erupted with cheers, Mingi and Seonghwa shouting with them as the other boys smiled and slapped their hands together. Everyone filled with instant excitement, a happiness that couldn’t reach you, or the boy sitting beside Mingi. 

Tori clasped her hands together and took a breath. “And we will be opening it to students outside of our organizations.” More cheers. Yunho shifted in his seat, his eyes pointed to his lap. “Chaewon and I will start looking for spaces to hold it as soon as possible,” she turned to you, “As soon as we have eligible places, we’ll hand them over to you two,” she glanced at Seonghwa who spent a few seconds with his eyes on you, “And we’ll await approval.” 

The Sweethearts Formal. An event you knew would come with some sort of twist, because they always did. An event for Tori to plan, for her to handle. Something you knew she adored.

All you had to do was sign the papers.

NU home ✧ speechless masterlist ✧ talk to me ✧ ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[flipfliqyaoi]

Do u think fliqpy killing someone would be any different if the person was genuinely horrified and like sobbing and stuff? Like when fliqpy kills people in the show, it feels a lot more slasher-esque where it focuses on the other character's shock and immediate fear/paranoia instead of emotional anguish. If he was about to shank someone, and they started bawling and begging for their life and curling up, would he still kill them normally or would he be like erm :/

I do believe he'd be startled and stop for a moment and be like '?????? Why the fuck are you crying." Because when was his last time even seeing an Enemy Tiger have the time to emotionally process a life-death situation quick enough to invoke such a visceral reaction in the middle of combat, especially towards him HAHA. He'd probably contemplate in his pause if this was some sort of trickery to get him to falter and let his guard down, shooting glances at his surrounding to check if it's some ambush. but seeing how the latter didn't even utilize that chance to like. idk. attack back n stuff — They're both just standing there, very. very awkwardly. It abruptly snaps him out of his adrenaline-filled avenge role, finally thinking of anything else other than the bloodshed he must do to save himself.

I also think it'd be way more shocking of a moment for him when it's someone like Flaky (Flippy's closest friend), it hits differently and yet he doesn't get why it does. It just — feels like someone familiar, someone close, a comradery. and he very well knew in his intent that he was going to kill them mercilessly before this whole pause-in-time happened. But he also knows he has NEVER in his life cared this much over a Tiger to stop like this. This is different and he's aware of it; this person is nowhere near close to resembling what he perceives as an enemy. He takes a step back, it feels wrong to kill that person now, doing so would feel like he's going against what his sole job is. it almost feels like a parallel to when they led their teammates to their demise in that very Operation, the times where he wasn't able to save the ones he cared about no matter how much determination he put out, the grief that obstructs his airway every time he gets reminded of not being able to prevent his teammates deaths.

Fliq would experience cognitive dissonance — was he really about to kill an ally without a second thought? The one thing he vowed to never do intentionally? How did he not realize they weren't a Tiger WAY sooner? Has he made mistakes like this before without noticing — and how many times has this happened before this moment?

At this period he's probably spacing out & switching out by now since he's sidetracking like crazy. Flippy switches in again and he is forever oblivious to what Fliqs thought process just went through and SIGHH he lives his life never knowing what fully happened to get him to switch in like this. The end. Double thumbs up hehee

[flipp-fliqping]

"I'm scared…"

A little flippy tidbit ><

again this is VERY canon divergent so basically all ive done is taken flippy's character design and basic personality and slapped my own lore onto it ahaha-

TWs: War, Violence, Death, Shootings

tags?

@the-fallen-collective @paintedgrilledcheese @star-seeking-stray @lemon-reef

@trashlike @yumereblogs

Thunder. It crashed outside Flippy's window, lightning flashing and casting eerie shadows across the walls. He yelped, curling up in his blanket, clinging to his worn and barely stitched together squirrel plush toy, ears folded against his head as he whimpered softly, shaking.

When the next clap of thunder struck, he tumbled out of bed, yelping as he tangled himself in his blanket and landed on the floor with a thud. He heard his door slamming open, and he saw his older brother standing in the doorway. He rushed over, picking Flippy up (who was still tangled in his blanket), and gently pulled him out of it.

"Flippy?" ████ asked softly, putting the blanket back on Flippy's bed. Flippy sniffled, just wrapping his arms around ████'s neck, clinging as tight as he could.

"It's loud…" He mumbled, burying his face in ████'s shoulder nervously.

"Oh Flip-flip…" ████ said softly, walking over to Flippy's bed and sitting down. He gently held Flippy, grabbing the blanket and gently swaddling the fuzzy kid, letting his arms out of the top. He held Flippy's paw gently, and pressed against the toe beans softly, apply a little pressure.

"It's okay Flippy… how about I sing you a song I learned when I was your age?" ████ offered, giving a gentle smile.

Flippy hestitated, but calmed by the slight pressure on his paws, nodded.

"Brother Wind is turning… sister Rain to snow Mother Earth is winter white, father Sun is low…"

Flippy shut his eyes, blinking away tears, his rifle close to his chest as he heard screams from above him. He was lucky enough to reach a hole before enemy fired started. He was praying his brothers made it too. He knew there were out on the front lines…

He shakily got to his feet, peering over the edge of the hole. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as he saw what was happening.

His brother. ████. Laying limp on the floor with a knife jabbed into his forehead. Eyes empty as blood trickled underneath his head.

Flippy felt like throwing up. He ducked back into the hole, curling up smaller, tears streaming down.

"Sister Rain has left… and Father Sun is home… Brother Wind comes blowin' in, to welcome home the gnome…"

His voice was shaky and broken, fighting off sobs as he hiccuped, rocking back and forth as his vision blurred with tears. He sang to himself as he waited, trying to return to that time with his brother when they were kids, on that loud, stormy night.

He felt pressure on his paws, but they weren't his brother's warm hands. It was the cold metal gun in his hands, which he had a death grip on.

He eventually passed out. He couldn't tell when, but when he came back to consciousness, he was in the medbay, his hands bandaged.

He sat up shakily, looking around.

"…Wh-where's my brother…?" He was ashamed to hear his own voice. It was so small. So weak. So… pathetic.

"Flippy I… I'm sorry." One of the nurses by his bedside said. "████… he didn't make it."

Flippy's whole life just crashed before his eyes.

[berglietz]

(part 2)

"also-" he flung his bangs back, a showboat with credentials. "do you notice anything different about me?" (guy who just equipped charm.) "I like to think my abilities on the field have dramatically improved!" (guy who just equipped charm.)

he waxed a bold smile, hand pronged against his chest in pride. (guy who just equipped charm)

"I shall make you proud, I promise!"

"—Uh?" Caspar's finger curls down now, head tilted to one side as he looks Ferdinand up and down. A little disheveled from battle, but he's got the same flippy-wavy hair, the same bold-cocky smile, the same shining pride. He did help Caspar feel a bit better about the loss, but that doesn't seem all that different from Ferdinand's usual self. The guy does do his best to lift other people up, even as high-flying as he is himself. "I dunno. You're already a strong fighter though, aren't you? So I think you should just…be yourself out there. Probably?"

[netherfeildren]

Idk if u saw the airport pic but I’m going insane bc of buff Pedro…. Like I need a minute

bitch did i ever ……..

i’m taking a twitter break bc that place has been annoying tf out of me so let’s DISCUSS !!!!!

he’s so strong he’s so masculine he’s so SKJDKSLSKSKSKWK his skin looks so smooth and soft also ????? i need to know what he moisturizes with, does he exfoliate in the shower ????? which leads me to my next point the wet fucking hair the little flippy curl at the back what’s his shower routine what body wash does he use i need to be in there with him and experience a live viewing on that like really

ALSO ALSO the tight pants 😩😋 his thigh is so thick i bet if you poked it it’d be rock solid hard (iwonderwhatelsegoesrockhard) also what the hell is he so smiley for 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 he’s only allowed to smile at me like that guys it’s the law 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

begging praying he gets tf out of engl🤢nd and comes home pedro baby the kids MISS YOU

[cepheusgalaxy]

Febuwhump day 20 — "i did good right?"

I really like how this one turned out! (^^)

CWs: Magical exhaustion, exhaustion whump, implied abuse, child whump (Meine is somewhere between 11 and 12)

Buildings and houses passed by the car window, but Meine couldn’t make his vision focus on any of them.

White walls blurred themselves with what seemed to be the blue sky—or a store’s facade?—and with green smudges Meine couldn’t be settle over being gardens or street arborization. A traffic light turned red somewhere on his left and the car stopped. A mass of legs and color and noise passed on the street. Probably people. Or cars. Or dogs. Meine watched them pass by.

The limo started moving again, and every blob of color was meshed together as they passed. He couldn’t tell any of them apart from each other if he wanted. Meine narrowed his eyes. Still blurry.

He turned forward and crossed his arms over his seatbelt. Fine, then. It was probably the movement’s fault. His father’s limo was quite fast, after all.

It was also kind of starting to make him a little nauseous. He opened the window to let in some fresh air and rested the back of his head against the cushion of his seat.

“Close the window, Meine,” he heard Father saying. He was sitting on the very back of the car, legs crossed. Meine groaned and did as he was told. As the glass wall rose up with a whirling sound, the last breeze from outside passed through the gap between glass and metal, and then it was gone. The air conditioner inside the limousine hit him in a blow of cool air.

Meine sighed, supressing a shiver.

He went back to looking out of the window. His eyes fell shut before he could stop them.

“Meine.”

Oh. He’d fallen asleep. Meine lifted his face off his hand—shit, it had probably left a mark—to notice his father was having his side of the door opened and they had arrived. He still felt way too tired.

But that didn’t matter.

He sucked it up and unbuckled his belt.

Meine almost tripped over his feet and fell face down on the stone path, but he managed to hide it by catching himself on the limo door. Emerith, the chaffeur, was holding it open for him.

“Mr. Meine?”

He shook his head and grit his teeth.

“I’m fine.”

Before the man could open his mouth again, Adonis called him.

“Emerith.” He appeard from behind the car, adjusting his lapel. “Wait in with the other servants. Expect us here by four to five.”

He shut his mouth and nodded. Adonis shot a glance down to Meine, ordering him to follow.

The manor was white and quite small, and the path to enter was a simple marble road. There was probably some river nearby, by the sound, and the gardens surrounding weren’t anything particularly impressive. Meine followed after his dad, trying not to get behind. His feet were way too heavy for his liking.

When he noticed, his father was ringing on the bell. The door was opened, and a butler came in and greeted them.

“Mr. Adonis Coronet,” she bowed her head. “Mr. Meine Coronet.”

The woman was quite old, graying hair tied into a tight bun. She had a warm and polite smile, but Meine could see that below it she was annoyed, distaste filling her moods to the brim, lips curled tight. She had an aura that was flippy, unpleasant and cold. He held back a flinch. “My master has been waiting for you. This way, please,” the butler held her hands, firm and stiff, over her uniform, gesturing them inside.

Meine saw his father scoff at the decoration inside, but he didn’t care to notice it much. His head was foggy, and the fierce headache from before had started to buildup behind his brow. That wasn’t good. He thought he’d had enough sleep last night.

But father had needed him earlier.

His mind flashed with the memories of swirling patterns and images only he could see, demanding voices of adults asking him about them and tuning up buttons and small levers on reading devices. His third eye was struggling to keep itself open. Meine hadn’t had that big of a load in months. That was probably what had drained him, he thought.

And there he had been, thinking he’d get a break after. Meine had almost whined out loud when a maid announced to him—who’d been laying down on his bed, trying to drown out the ache drumming on his head with the curtains closed to try and block out the afternoon sun, so bright it made him wince—that they were going out to meet a business partner or something. But at least he would be able to rest his eye. Or so he thought.

Father had told him to Look.

A few servants swooped the floors near a sofa set, emanating colors of both tiredness and sharp focus. Two maids dusted something that looked like a bookshelf—it was hard to be sure—camraderie and intimate mischief coming out of them. Their voices were low, but Meine could assume they were probably chatting. The red lacing their figures was so bright. He looked away. The woman was leading them to a large staircase on a corner.

Father was still annoyed in front of him.

Despiste himself, his body tensed up—it didn’t help the sore on his limbs. That wasn’t good. Meine had expected they were maybe here for someone he liked best, like the old man that would let him ramble endlessly or the young heir that looked up to him like some sort of god. Meine didn’t really knew or cared about what their roles were, but his dad was always in a good mood after discussing—or monologuing—to one of them. But not today. His aura was tensed up like a stretched out thread, waves of annoyance looming around his feet. It made him nervous. Meine gulped down and tried to swallow his nausea as he walked up the stairs.

The floor below him seemed to sway. He stopped for a second to catch his balance, breathing in deep.

“Meine?” His father questioned, a few steps above. The butler also looked over her shoulder, gloved hand tucked close to her body. He was annoying her. Meine unclutched his hand from the large handrail and shot up a small smile.

“Pardon. I was admiring the tapestry,” he lied. “It looks really beautiful from up here. I’m sure it must be quite a sight to live in such a well-kept manor of such good taste.”

Adonis didn’t look much convinced, but his answer satisfied the old lady. Meine saw her posture changing a bit, proud. She probably valued the old images hanging above the fireplace quite a lot.

Meine held back a groan and kept walking behind his dad.

He didn’t really remember this man. He was very skinny, like one of the models for the events Father would take him to. His shoulders were just as bony and his legs were just as tall, like a spider’s. He sat with a very straight posture on his comfortable chair, as if his back was stretched by a metal rod, and his hands gestured everywhere with barely contained excitement.

Adonis’s mouth, in contrast, was a tense and restrined line, his hands mindlessly revolving the sugar spoon inside his teacup. Meine sat up with his own untouched over the small table, and tried to listen. He wasn’t really suceeding. His attention shifted back and forth, at time noticing the evening sky beyond the tall windows, a weak breeze doing almost nothing to sway the heavy crimson curtains in front of them, and then snapping back to the man’s aura, excited and mischievous and plotting behind his smile, as if he thought he had some sort of advantage over his dad. Meine should probably look into if that was relevant or not. Maybe he was just arrogant. Or maybe he had something of value to justify that superiority. Meine checked on his fingernails, looking down. He’d been given a plate of biscuits by a pair of very professional and proper maids, who were playful and giddy under their respectful gestures, not letting any of it make past their stern and respectful masks. Neither Father nor his partner expected him to be paying attention—to the content of their words, at least—so he was free to move his attention wherever he pleased.

Meine forced his gaze back at the stick-man, respectfully like a little kid who was interested in the affairs of the two businessman. His eyes were threatening to fall shut, but he kept them wide open, fighting against the exhaustion slowly turning his bones to mush. His hands were carefully tangled over his lap.

A sharp sting on the back of his head made them shoot up to his temple.

“Little man?” Mr. Stick-man interrupted himself, fixing his attention on Meine. He supressed a grunt. “Are you feeling—”

“I might just have remembered something,” he cut him, because Meine really didn’t want to meddle in his dad’s affairs and hold back a convo like this. “Father, may I ask the servants for a cup of water, and some guidance? The plants down the river were really stunning. I would really like to take a closer look at them,” he forced out an excuse, trying to stop his voice from wavering.

Adonis restrained himself, but his glare sent a chill on to Meine. He avoided flinching, and kept the complacent, well-mannered smile on his face. His father ended up not scolding him or prohibiting him in front of company, and asked their host to call in something for Meine to do. When he left, accompanied by a boy in a valet suit that couldn’t be two years older than him, Meine heard Father apologizing with something silly like blaming his juvenile lack of restraint to keep still during a meeting for long.

He had the servant point him to the closest restroom and Meine didn’t waste a second dispatching him, allowing his legs to give out and catching himself over the marble sink.

His head was pounding. He could barely see anything now, and every shift of the warm light over the white tiles seemed to bright and made him wince. It hurt too much. Meine poured some water on his face, shaking. Shit. He panted, making his breath come in and out, and eventually knelt down on the floor, curling around himself with his hands up still in the sink.

He might have exceeded himself.

In what felt like hours, the bathroom door opened, silent enough to not further worsen Meine’s headache. He wanted so badly to go home.

Heavy, rhythmic footsteps approached him, and then the door closed again.

“Meine?” His father knelt beside him.

“...Headache,” he mumbled, so low Father might not even have heard him. “I’m—I don’t—worn out f-from earlier. I’m sorry, Father,” he tried to explain. God, it hurt to let the words out. His whole body was aching now. Meine couldn’t bring himself to get up on his feet.

Adonis didn’t say anything for a second.

“We are done here. I’d wish you had observed more,” he said. Meine tried to apologize again, but nothing came out. His eyes were a bit wet. He closed them, trying to bar out the light and noise. “You might need a doctor, son.” A pause.

“Come.”

Meine winced. He tried to support himself on the marble again to get up, but it hurt and it made he wanna vomit and he froze in place. Tears welled up on the corners of his eyes.

Father’s arms closed around him and helped him up.

“...th-thank you, dad,” he breathed out. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer, but put a hand on his forehead, adjusted Meine’s posture—which sent a shot of pain down his spine—and wiped off some dust from his clothes. His dad walked out of the room, and Meine didn’t need to be told to follow to push his body right behind him, forcing one trembling leg in front of the other.

He did his very best to hide the pain and nausea and exhaustion behind a decent face and politely waved goodbye to his dad’s partner, not being able to bring his mouth to open and form a thanks for hosting them. Father did that for him.

In the car, Meine collapsed.

When he woke up, he was being carried—he couldn’t tell by who—all the way up to his bedroom, and he bit back a whine. The vibrations from each step sent another wave of pain up his head and if he had the strenght to, Meine would have curled up tighter around himself.

Then, he was laying in bed. The sky started darkening behind his curtains and Father was walking into his room. He had his indoor clothes—wait, was Meine still on his? He groggily lifted his arm to see he was out of his coat, but was still wearing the clothes from the visit, and then let if fall limp on the mattress.

One side of the bed weighted, and he looked up to Adonis sitting on top of it.

Meine’s eye was closed. But he could tell how his father was feeling. At least a bit. The words buildup out of his mouth before he would think them through.

“Dad, did I—” he choked out, before Father could say anything. “I didn’t embarass you, did I? I did good, right?”

His father sighed. Meine felt like he was going to cry. He held it back. He should not cry..

“You did, Meine,” a weak smile, sending warmth down Meine’s body. He put a large hand over his hair, muffling it. “You did good getting out before making a scene.”

He sighed in relief.

“I need you to report what you saw from Lohart at dinner, though,” dad concluded, getting up, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and walking up to the door. “You better take a bath and get changed until then. It’s six PM.”

Meine nodded.

When his father left, he allowed himself to close his eyes for one more minute. His head still hurt a bit, and he was still so tired. Meine didn’t want to eat. He wanted to sleep.

But he would. Eventually. He grit his teeth and dragged his body out of bed, so quickly his vision swayed for a second.

Meine just had to do good for the rest of the day. 6 PM, he remembered.

Today was almost over.

He just needed to hang in there for a few hours more.

Febuwhump Masterlist || Meine Masterlist

taglist: @whumpinthepot || @febuwhump

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Days to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: sickness, vague emeto, delirium, all that fun stuff

wanna start from chapter one or read more? here’s the table of contents!

OH MY GOD WERE GETTING SO CLOSE YOU GUYS, THREE MORE CHAPTERS AHAJEMDN

part twenty-three

❝ BAD TIMING ❞

FRIDAY — 12:02AM — DAY 97

AFTER HIS MELTDOWN AT THE STORE, BENTLEY DECIDED HE NEEDED TO DO SOMETHING, AND FAST. Days had been passing like lightning, and he was growing anxious. The type of anxious that made his stomach hurt. He skipped dinner on day ninety-six by saying he was tired, and went off to his room to make a plan. Patrol had gone back to normal, which meant he had from about midnight to three to properly brood about it.

But the plan never came. He stared at his ceiling for hours and he kept landing on nothing. If he told them, the Waynes might hate him. If he did it, the Waynes would definitely hate him. If he failed, they’d still find out he was a double agent and probably hate him. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, thinking about that hurt.

Jason came to the Manor on purpose during bad weather so he could be there for him. Dick had been the one to pull him off the street and take him home. Damian trusted him enough to sleep beside him when he was sick, and take him to an art show. Heck, Tim stayed by his side through an entire anxiety attack. Bruce stayed with him through the night after a bad dream. Was he really willing to leave all of that behind? All of the care the Waynes showed him, the lengths they’d gone for him? He’d been given a room, a wardrobe, a stocking, food, and a semblance of family life. All because they cared enough to do it. All for a kid they hardly knew.

Bentley ended up just going to bed, because all the thinking was giving him a headache. He’d make a plan tomorrow, he told himself, a real one.

And then, four hours later, only two hours into day ninety-seven, he woke up. The dim bathroom light and clock that read 2:11am were his only sources of vision. 

And he was so hot.

He kicked his blankets off in a feeble attempt at warding off the heat, but it seemed to be coming from inside of him. His stomach was doing flips and he suddenly regretted not eating dinner, even though he’d gone much longer than this without food and it never got all flippy like that. Although he supposed it was probably his intense anxiety making it angry. He also assumed anxiety was the reason his head was throbbing.

He wished he could just make up his mind. No way seemed right, and any direction he chose, he lost. He never got the happy ending.

And he wouldn’t even be having a happy sleep, because apparently Bruce had turned the thermostat from sixty-nine up to the sun. He was too tired to get out of bed, but he spread out on his sheets like a starfish and took off his socks to try and cool down. It didn’t work.

That’s about when he realized he’d been pouring sweat. His pajamas and hair were soaked, and if he cared, he might’ve even changed into different pjs. Some shorts, maybe.

But it didn’t matter. Not much mattered anymore, did it? Not when he was just going to end up losing.

He laid all starfish-ed on his bed for a while until his stomach changed from uncomfortable territory to swallowed an electric eel territory.

He wondered how hard karma was laughing as he curled in a ball on his mattress with a small grumble of discomfort. His skin was burning. His eyes were burning. His brain was burning. His insides felt like they were full of churning lava and when he sat up, the walls swirled and teetered around him, so he laid back down.

Was this really what was going to happen on one of his last days in the manor? Really? Just when he was about to make some kind of decision?

He faded in and out of sleep for a while, and each time he re-emerged, his brain felt more and more foggy. Like it was stuffed with cotton. Each time he was ripped from the depths of slumber, his muscles were more achy, the eel in his stomach was practicing more vigorously for a circus, and any type of movement got difficult and slow like he was underwater. And he kept getting hotter.

He only found the willpower to get up and move when the eel promptly decided it wanted out. 

Bentley’s bare feet padded across the hardwood and into the tiled bathroom, his eyes bleary from attempted sleep, and he didn’t even have time to as much as glance at his own reflection before he threw up in the sink. Once, twice, three times.

By the time his body decided it was done revolting against him (for now), he had hot reflex tears streaming down his face and a terrible smelling bathroom. He couldn’t think much between the cotton in his brain and the eel in his stomach, but with the one little coherent part of his brain he managed to grab ahold of, he determined that he wanted Dick. He wanted Dick so bad.

But Nightwing was on patrol, that stupid part of his brain said, and Duke was home but he had SATs this week. Bentley couldn’t get him sick and make him miss them. He’d been studying forever.

You’re more important than all of that stuff, Bentley, Tim’s voice echoed in his head.

But would he be more important than all of that when they realized he was a traitor?

So the ten-year-old sat down against the bathroom sink, tear-streaks and all, and wrapped his arms around his screaming body. Maybe he deserved this for thinking about betraying the Waynes. Or maybe he deserved it for disobeying his father. Or both.

The hours drug on like they were crawling through molasses, and Bentley threw up until there was nothing left. By the time his stomach was void, the sun was peeking into his bedroom, and he was reduced to nothing more than a pitiful little heap on the bath-mat.

Now he was cold. Really cold, but too tired to get up. He felt like his arms and legs were tied to cinder blocks. His throat was completely raw and all he could really do was shiver there, and curl up tighter.

He heard Damian’s door close.

Then heard his door open a little, and a cat meowed.

And after a couple seconds, his door opened further.

“Bentley?”

It was Damian.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a weird rasp. Thankfully, Damian was observant enough to glance in the bathroom.

He was in his school uniform, but he looked more like Robin somehow. Or maybe it was just Bentley’s fever talking. He heard Damian mutter something not in English — what did he speak, Aramaic? No, wait… it was Arabic. Right? It started with an A, Bentley knew that. Why couldn’t he think straight?

He felt little hands scouring him, checking his back, his torso. He didn’t even find it in himself to do anything but curl up more when Damian pressed lightly on his stomach. He did manage to whine lowly when his ice cold hand (seriously, did he put it in a blast chillier?) landed on his forehead. There was a tt.

“I’m afraid this is my fault, although I assumed enough time had passed that you would not fall ill,” Damian stated, and Bentley vaguely saw him pull out his phone. He was crouching now, in front of him. He really looked like Robin. “I will message my father. I apologize that you contracted my illness, but… I did appreciate the company.”

If Bentley had it in him to respond, he didn’t know it.

“He will come upstairs post-haste,” Damian stated. His hand hadn’t left Bentley’s head, but it was okay, he liked it there. “I am sorry.”

Bentley hummed in response, and the comfort of having at least one Wayne within touching distance was enough to lull him into a deeper sleep than he’d gotten all night.

—

When he woke up enough to look around, it was dark outside again, and the lights were dim but harsh enough to make him close his eyes.

He was laying on his bed in what felt like different pajamas. The sterile smell of cleaner wafted from his bathroom, and something cold and terrible was resting on his forehead.

He felt like he’d been run over by a train and scraped off the ground. His stomach still hurt despite being so utterly empty it was probably disintegrating, and his head only felt weirder, floaty. His arms and legs felt like they were tied down. He turned his head to the side just enough to make the cold thing flop off onto the sheets.

“Hey, kiddo. You awake?”

Bentley squirmed in protest, and a small whine fell past his lips when the cold and terrible thing was returned to his head.

“I know, I’m sorry. You have a fever. One-oh-three point two.”

He couldn’t even comprehend the words he was hearing, but he did manage to peel his eyes open. A pair of familiar, ocean-ey blue eyes were staring back at him. He knew whose eyes those were, but he couldn’t think of their name. He whispered the first one that came to mind.

“Nightwing?”

The blue-eyed man frowned. “No, kiddo, it’s Dick.”

Bentley nearly said ‘same thing,’ but apparently he still had some kind of filter online that kept it from slipping out.

“Don’t feel good,” Is what he mumbled instead. Nightwing ran his hand through the kid’s hair, and he leaned into it like some kind of feverish cat.

“I know you don’t. You’re going to be all better soon, I promise,”

About half of him believed that.

His brain kicked on just enough for him to realize it was dark, which meant another day had been wasted, and he only felt worse, which meant he’d probably waste another day, too. What was he supposed to do?

For right now, he started crying.

It wasn’t very hard. Thanks to the fever, he’d have been crying at the drop of a hat anyhow. He always got emotional when he had a fever. He remembered countless hours spent crying in the downstairs bathroom of Whittaker Estate when he was sick.

“It’s okay, kiddo. I’m right here,” Nightwing’s voice came, and the hand kept moving through Bentley’s disgustingly sweaty hair.

He wanted so badly to tell him everything right then. To tell him about his father, about the plan, about how it was day ninety-something and his father would be coming to extract him or whatever soon, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop crying enough to talk about it. He couldn’t make his thoughts coherent enough, he knew he wouldn’t make any sense.

Instead of his entire life’s story tumbling from his lips, what really came out between gaspy, body-shaking sobs was a desperate: “Please don’t hate me.”

He thought he heard Nightwing take a deep breath — he didn’t know, between his foggy brain and crying he wasn’t hearing much of anything right. 

He didn’t even open his eyes when the mattress dipped next to him and he was pulled into somebody’s arms. Somebody’s arms that were so warm, and he was so cold, somebody’s arms that were so comforting, and he felt so terrible-

There was still a hand moving through his hair, and he was against someone’s shirt. “I would never hate you. None of us would ever hate you.”

Maybe if they learned he was a traitor, they would.

He said nothing, but grabbed onto whatever was closest, and he wasn’t sure if it was a blanket or a shirt that was balled up in his fists. He didn’t open his eyes. He just laid there (sat there? He couldn’t tell if he was sitting up or not.) and cried about all the things he hadn’t cried about yet until his weak body had had enough, and he faded back into blackness.

—

He woke up in the closet.

Wait, no, someone was touching him. He opened his eyes and saw his nice bedroom at Wayne Manor but it suddenly looked a lot like his bedroom at home. He felt like he was on fire and someone kept touching him. He saw the white door at the end of the hall.

“Don’t take me in there,” He murmured to his father, who was touching him, who was right next to him. “Don’t… Don’t put me in there. It’s scary.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here,”

The voice was distant, like someone on a microphone a football field away. It sounded like it was floating. That was his father’s voice, wasn’t it? What was he saying? The white door was still there.

“Don’t… don’t… please, don’t. Please… please don’t put me in there. It’s dark. Please,”

“No one is putting you anywhere, Bentley. You’re in your bed, at the Manor,”

Was the closet door talking? Was Nightwing locked in the closet?

“I’ll be good. I’ll be good, I promise… I promise. Please don’t close the door,”

“God, Dick, he’s delirious,”

“He threw up the last two times Bruce and I tried to give him medicine,”

“What’s his fever?”

“Edging on one-oh-four,”

Bentley started squirming, trying to get away from his father, away from the door.

“N-no! Please don’t close the door, please don’t close the door!”

“Bentley. Bentley, hey, it’s okay. You’re not locked anywhere. Look at me,”

He didn’t look, he only looked at the white door.

“Don’t close the door… don’t close the door… don’t put me in there,”

“Go open the door, Jay,”

Some big black blob opened the closet door.

“The door is open,” The floating voice came. “The door is open. No one’s putting you anywhere.”

His father had opened the door for him? His father wasn’t going to lock him in there anymore? His father was stroking his hair?

He settled back down in the bed as he watched the black blob drift away.

“M’ love you,”

There was a pause, a quiet beat, the closet door stayed open.

“I love you, too, kiddo,”

Bentley floated away on a fluffy cloud of something happy, knowing that his father loved him.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld💛

—

tag list!

@fleur-alise @cademygod @sarcopterygiian

[teoshsnivy]

old scrapped chunk of My Face Is Eating Me

didnt end up liking this direction for it. it's the most [I WORK NIGHT SHIFT AT A GAS STATION] out of the three scrapped versions

plot begins

A freak, a creep, and a weirdo walk into a bar. It’s still dark, but the air is a little cooler in here.

“We made it.”

“You’re sure this is where we’re meant to be?”

The spider, although she can hardly be called that anymore, shrugs. “Eh. Not really.”

“Wonderful.” The bird smiles.

The spider fumbles through the dark and bumps into something. “Nancy, can you get the lights?”

Fur and fabric shuffles around her, circling, taunting, “Put that new eye of yours in.”

“Flipping the switch is easier than eye surgery, dog.”

Behind her, dog taunts, “Wow, you’re right. I guess you should hit the lights.” She cackles and goes to root around behind the bar.

“Jane, can you do something about her?”

Something falls and shatters. The aroma of vinegar fills the space, probably some ancient spirit released from its glass cage. The wolf hits her head on the bottom of the counter, curses, and raises her voice. “I don’t think she’s on your side, buddy.”

Jane smiles, although the poor spider cannot see it. “Mercenary.”

“God damn it.”

Smugly, she orders, “Get the light, please.”

Cass mutters discontentedly as she pats down the wall for the switch. Something about working the horses too much.

“Did you say something?”

The patting of wall intensifies. “I am not paid to get the light!”

“Do you want a raise?”

“No!” She pauses and flips a switch. Doesn’t work. “Wait. Yes, sorry, it would be nice.”

“You can have my share of the useful meats until tomorrow.”

“That’s so much-“

“I’ll see you again.”

“Don’t want it any more, changed my mind.” She changes the subject. “You’re sure this is the place?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure. Wouldn’t lead you astray here.”

Click. The right one this time. They take a second to come on, dim fluorescent white droning a low tone, struggling to stay awake. The lights turn back off as soon as her back is turned. She shoves the little flippy thing back up and it stays this time, slightly melty carapace stuck to the top of its socket.

“I’ll mark it off the list.” Jane’s writing thumb crosses out the first riddle on the invitation: A place for our kind. She wipes the blood ink off on the side of her ghillie suit. The camouflage curls to drink the offered nutrients. “This is The Infestation, yes?”

“The Perpetual Infestation, off the 366 High-Dallas Interstate.”

“Marked.” Jane looks her up and down with that irritatingly analytical gaze of hers. “You seem upset.”

Cass sighs, and straightens her posture. “No comment.”

“Well, we’re at a bar. If you look behind you, there’s a pool table.”

“Oh- Oh shit! Oh shit. Yeah there is.”

“I don’t want to play. Ask Nancy. I’ll be outside, looking for food.”

The doctor pushes open the door again. Clunk. Squeak. Hiss. Click. Nancy notes from beneath the bar that despite all the other malfunctions in this place, the hydraulics still work up at the top of the doorframe. How invaluable.

Cass leans over the bar as if she were a customer. “Psst. Animal.”

Another bottle falls over. Nancy curses. “What?”

“You wanna to get your ass kicked at pool?”

She looks down at the mess she’s making and decides that $300 of accidentally wasted alcohol is enough for now. “Yeah okay.”

[phobiadeficient]

M!Scout and F!Sniper sharing a double dildo? Sharing is caring!

i repeat. ‘writes m/f pairing in a distinctly bisexual way’

(no warnings for this one!)

-

Sniper squeezed encouragingly at Scout’s thigh where it had started faintly trembling at some point, his heels precariously close to the edge of the bed and threatening to slip. “You ready, then, you think?” she mumbled, trying to keep her voice gentle and soothing, the motion of her fingers in easy rolls.

“Maybe, uh—a few more minutes?” Scout managed, voice a little tight, a little reedy, loosening up his grip where he was squeezing her arm just over the lip of too tightly, the flippy part of the front of his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat.

“Oh, come on,” she teased, free hand rising to fuss with his hair gently, “you’re just saying that because you like this part. You’ll like the next part even better, you realize.”

He leaned his cheek into her hand before she could pull it back away again, looking sidelong at her, clearly dizzied with want but still managing to flash her a wink. “So maybe I like lookin’ at your pretty face a little too much, sue me!” he said in some squeakier imitation of a charming tone, and she rolled her eyes to break back out of the moment, feeling that squirmy, uncomfortable thing rear its head somewhere deep in her chest, the one that always cropped up when he started looking at her like that. Warm and sweet and like he couldn’t help but smile when he saw her.

“Big city flirt,” she accused under her breath, hoping to god that her face wasn’t flushing, and his exhale might’ve been a laugh, so she curled her fingers hard enough to make his back arch in retaliation. Just in case.

“Outback sadist,” he accused right back, unable to tamp down on his adoration, and now her face was certainly flushing.

“Mate, you don’t have to pretend it’s for prep—“ she purred, curled her fingers again, and it wrung a string of half-swears from him, thighs jerking, “—you can always just ask me nicely, you know.”

“Who says I even like this? This was your idea, you know,” he joked, even as his voice cracked a bit high.

“Oh, my mistake,” Sniper scoffed, tried to bite back a smile. “Is there anything I could possibly do to make this more tolerable for you? Aren’t I the terrible host.”

“Lean forward?” Scout said, cocking his chin at her, and she did, unable to resist the open challenge of it. He guided her a little further in with a hand on the back of her neck, leaned up to kiss her maybe too-sweetly, and she chuffed a laugh as his other wasted zero time to slip beneath her bra and squeeze.

“Will there ever come a day where I have a moment’s peace inside my own bloody home? Where some man isn’t trying to put my bras out of the job?” she deadpanned when he pulled back away.

“Some man?” Scout laughed, and kissed her again. “Is that all I am?”

“Yes. Some man. I don’t know how he keeps getting in. My theory is that the windows are just big enough.”

Scout laughed again, and there was no way it was that funny, but he did that, where he laughed at her jokes even when they weren’t funny. It made that squirmy thing in her chest protest faintly, so she decided to just get things moving again.

She pulled her hand free and toweled it off, and Scout obliged with letting her lean up again, sitting up and looking over at where her fun new toy sat. “So, uh,” he asked, picking up the thing, turning it over in his hand, “you wanna do the honors of goin’ first, doll?”

“You just want to see how much of that you can get in me,” she deadpanned, putting her hair up out of the way before she could forget.

“Hey now. That’s just true. How am I supposed to argue with that?” Scout complained, paused in his leaning to try to pick up the tube of vaseline to ogle her as she slid her underwear off and tossed them in her hamper. “Can’t it just be ladies first?”

“Oh, what a gentleman,” she drawled, crawling back into bed next to him, watching him starting to slick up the toy. She hesitated before moving to take a position on her hands and knees, trying to leave plenty of room on the bed behind her. She felt odd, suddenly, more on-display than usual, and felt strangely sheepish as she glanced over her shoulder and caught the moment that Scout saw her, eyes wide as he took in the visual, fumbling with the now-slick toy and almost dropping it entirely. “Let’s give it a go, then. Go on.”

“Yeah, for sure!” Scout stammered, quickly situating behind her, and she turned her head back forward, trying to get comfortable. It was made easier as Scout’s slick fingers travelled from halfway to her tailbone downward, spreading her apart and ending up nestling in on either side of her clit, making her hum. He kept up a gentle motion there as she felt one end of the toy tease for a few seconds before he started situating properly. “You’re all good if I—?”

“Go on,” she urged, and forced her breath to stay even as the toy slid in, easy after the first push. She hummed again as the toy reached a good, comfortable depth, almost weighty, and she choked on a gasp as with one more push it was moving past that comfortable depth until—

“Damn,” Scout whispered, a little awed. “That as far as I can go?”

“About,” Sniper confirmed, voice choked.

“Too far?”

“S’alright,” Sniper assured, bit back a noise as he slid the toy out some increment and back in again, trying to adjust.

“Gotta say,” Scout said slowly, picking up a brief rhythm, slide and pull and rub and squeeze blending together and making her head tip to hang forward despite herself. “This is… kind of weirdly comforting.”

“Right?” she asked, dead confused.

“Like, that even a way-above-average dick doesn’t make like, a huge difference immediately. If you were already losing your cool the second you hit seven inches, I might’ve felt a little bad we didn’t do this sooner.”

“No, Scout, that’s not how literally anything works,” she chided, rolling her eyes a little. “You bottom too, you know that.”

“I know, I know, just, y’know,” Scout said, and she rocked into it slightly as the rhythm changed into something a little quicker. “Maybe you missed the Australian dudes, I dunno.”

“I’m not disappointed in you and your dick for being under ten inches,” she drawled, tone dry. “Are you hinting that you want to try that?”

“Uh, no? I’m not explaining that to Medic,” Scout said, sounding genuinely stressed out, and it made her laugh a little bit, and he sat back a little, wiping off his hands the same way she did. “Ready?”

“Right as rain,” she confirmed, and tried to hold the toy into position as he went to mirror her.

“If anything is weird,” he started trying to say, but she shifted back with her knees until they pressed into the outside of his and started leaning back, easing, and he stopped talking entirely, a moan wrung out of him just from the toy starting to press in properly.

And to be fair, it was weird, immediately. She felt as her end of the toy reached as deep as it could go, pressing into her cervix, hypersensitive for a moment before on the other side the head popped in on Scout’s end behind her, and from there it was actually easy for a while. A slight shift of her knees to fix the angle, easing back further, and before she knew it, their thighs pressing together.

“Now do I…” she asked breathlessly, and he pressed back as she leaned forward, and the toy shifted just barely, almost teasingly, oddly enough.

“We gotta,” Scout tried, cleared his throat as his voice broke. “We gotta move at… the same time. Lean… forward?”

She did, and whined a little as it eased out.

“And then back,” Scout breathed, and a broken noise squeaked out before he could cover his mouth. “Fuck, Snipes, I hope that’s good for you too because holy fuck is that good for me—“

“Probably about the same,” she confirmed breathlessly, and when her thighs met Scout’s again, she seamlessly shifted forward again.

It was odd immediately, the way it felt to be in this sort of push-pull, to be fucking by getting fucked, oddly animal, too-warm. She felt like she lost ground a little too quickly for her liking, dropping to her elbows then to only one elbow as it took not much time at all to break and reach for herself, alternating between playing with her slickened clit and occasionally just pressing into her lower stomach when she got too dialed up.

It was bloody fantastic, truly, enough that it was hard to hold herself together, moreso when she could hear Scout losing his mind behind her.

“God damn, Snipes,” he managed, panting, and her face fell into the crook of her elbow for a moment, flushing at the almost pleading tone he had. “Didn’t know you—you like it like this.”

She hummed in question, not trusting her voice.

“Fuckin’—hard and short and, and deep,” he explained, overwrought, voice weak.

“Can’t handle it?” she tried to tease, just to cover for herself. “Over so soon?”

“Like I said, ladies first,” he laughed, and she wished she could deny it and make a competition out of it, but frankly, she was pretty sure he was right. He hadn’t even touched his dick properly yet and was rapidly starting to take over the rhythm for them both. She didn’t stand a chance.

He wasn’t even a gentleman about it. Barely slowed down as her orgasm crashed over her, then returned to the same rhythm again as she reached the other side panting and gasping, oversensitive and weak. She found herself still rocking, even half-mad with it, overheated and hungry for the same thing to happen to him, and by the time she felt him shift to stroke himself off, spilling over his fingers not long after, she was close enough to the edge that he had to reach back to hold the toy still as she bounced on the toy recklessly until the endorphins flooded her again.

She slid off of the toy and flopped down onto her side, groaning, thighs burning and hand threatening to cramp. Scout joined her a moment later, laying with his chest against her back, arm looping loosely over her stomach before eventually his hand migrated to squeeze at her chest, more playfully than expectantly, nosing in at the hair on the back of her neck.

She could almost say ‘lovingly’, if she wouldn’t hate that.

“I gotta wash the toy,” she mumbled, before she’d even properly caught her breath.

“I’ll get it in a minute,” Scout assured, pulling her closer before she could get up. “That was really somethin’, huh?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, settling despite how odd she still felt about him being cuddly like this. Squirmy, almost. “Took a long time to set up, but, we’ll have to remember that one.”

Scout’s hand cupped at her chest, warm and rough near the callouses, body hot against her back. “You’re sure there’s not any other, like, good position for that, though?”

“I can ask the sheila at the till in the sex shop,” she murmured, “why? Was the angle off?”

“No, just,” Scout said, and paused as he clearly searched for the right words. “Just, it was weird that I couldn’t really see you or touch you much. If there’s a different way, though, where it’s not, y’know, all far like that…”

“Worried I’m going to sneak off or something?” she teased, unsure what he meant.

“It would just be nice,” he laughed, nosed in at the top of her spine. “I just like lookin’ atcha.”

She felt him smoothing his fingertips over where her heart and Uber implant were supposed to be, one foot nudging between hers and crooking at her ankle, audibly smiling and shining with adoration, and she identified the feeling in her chest as maybe less of a squirm, really, and more of an ache, now that she thought about it.

[fadingtrashchaos]

Uh hi I like HTF

It was a nice spring afternoon in Happy Tree Town, with it being the birthday day of Flippy, with his friends deciding that they would make him a special surprise party with Flaky, Nutty, and Mime on party planning and decorating while Cuddles is out keeping Flippy busy until it was time for the party to start.

Flaky themselves were currently rushing around Flippy’s home, micromanaging every little detail and decoration that Nutty was currently doing, with Nutty noticing the paranoia Flaky seems to be having.

“Are you okay, Flaky? You seem nerv-exited.” “Nerv-exited?...What’s that?” They asked while snapping out of their paranoia with a confused look, “It’s like you want to jump up and down in excitement while also wanting to curl up in a tiny little ball and hide!” The green squirrel said with a big, dumb, happy grin, “Well…when you put it like that, I am a bit nerv-exited,” the red porcupine said while sighing before speaking back up. “What if he doesn’t like the party? Or he doesn’t like the cake? Or decorations? Or? Or?…WE SHOULD CANCEL THE PARTY!!!” They ended up yelling out while covering their hands on their head in embarrassment. “You are worrying too much, Flaks! I promise Flippy will like this party; we got the best party planners in all of town, including you!” Nutty said while trying to reassure Flaky with a smile on his face.

Flaky slowly removed their hands from their face, looking a bit nutty. “...Are you sure I’m a good party planner?” “Well, duh! Mime can do the entertainment aspect, and I can do the baking aspect, but with you, we become more organized with our ideas!” With this reassurance, Flaky grew a small smile. “Thanks, Nutty, I needed to hear that.” And with that, the smell of freshly baked cake filled the air, indicating that Nutty’s cake was finished baking. “Oh! It’s done!” The green squirrel said before rushing off to the kitchen to take out and decorate the cake…and possibly steal a bite or two.

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter Five: Small and Needy

Azul needs an even more simple favour from Floyd. Surely there is no possible way he can mess this up.

Chapter contains no warnings, but Riddle IS a tragic, deprived bby who needs cuddles and would probably accept them from literally anyone at this point.

Previous | Next Chapter | Fic Index

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46007587?view_full_work=true

Floyd tosses a stack of cardboard boxes into the walk-in freezer, then grumpily leans against the wall to let the chill soak into his skin. Azul wants him to move a pallet of perishable ingredients from the loading dock into the freezer before they get icky, but he seriously isn’t into it. Sooooooo BORED. Azul is acting like a stupid clam, burying himself in the sand and texting him instructions without even showing his face. He HATES it when he does that.

Floyd places both hands in the small of his back and arches, looking at the profile of his reflection in the stainless steel freezer wall. He doesn’t have a bump or anything, but he swears he can feel the extra weight from his new hitchhikers.

‘Doesn’t matter. They’ll get absorbed anyway. Gotta go before Azul yells at me... uuuugh... this sucks.' Floyd kicks the freezer door closed and walks down the hall, rubbing his eyes. The loading dock is just past the VIP room. He has half a mind to sneak inside and see if he can persuade Azul to have sex on the desk~

“…and I thought we agreed that you would tone down your predatory contracts.”

An evil smile spreads across Floyd’s face. Goldfishie! Lil Goldfishie came to visit Azul! Heh heh heh, yesssss. This is EXACTLY what he needs. Dropping all the dumb, perishable boxes, Floyd lurks in a doorway just outside the room, listening in on the conversation. 

“…hearing that one of my freshmen is about to drop out five days before finals because he is convinced that your henchmen are going to EAT him?!”

Floyd winces. Oopsie, sounds like Riddle’s mad he licked that freshman. Sheesh, he hadn’t even taken a bite, it wasn’t that bad…

“A misunderstanding,” Azul soothes. “I negated the rest of his contract. There’s no need for hostility, Riddle…”

“Good. Because I assumed we had a mutually agreed upon set of rules regarding this matter. If I hear one more time that your consultations are doing more harm than good, then I will HAPPILY forbid my dorm from seeking them at all.”

“Your dormmate will pass his finals with flying colours,” Azul replies softly. “As I said before, it was a misunderstanding. And frankly, it’s one that I believe he got the better deal out of.”

“Good. I’m happy to hear it.” 

The imperious tap of Riddle’s high-heeled boots walking across the floor approaches the door of the VIP room, and he steps outside with a grumpy sigh. Floyd freezes, hit with a wave of... smells. He can smell Azul's sweat, and while that is both delicious and tempting... it’s barely half of what he’s picking up on. Sweet tarts, strawberry, old books… His insides churn for a moment, and now he feels... bashful? His tummy is doing flippy flips. Why is it doing flips?? THAT IS SO INTERESTING~!

He curls both hands in front of his eye as though holding an invisible spyglass, smiling down at the Riddle’s approaching form. "Hiiiiii Goldfishie~"

An expression rolls over Riddle’s face. It could mean many things, but in this situation, the best translation is most likely ‘why me.’

“Floyd.” He stares straight ahead and walks past him.

“Hmm~” Floyd follows after Riddle. His long legs have no trouble keeping pace as he follows that intriguing smell. “You came all this way to visit, and you're not gonna say hi? Ruuuuuude.”

Riddle’s face is beginning to simmer from peeled-potato pale, to carnation pink. He takes larger steps to try and get away, but it’s a hopeless attempt when Floyd towers head and shoulders over him. His efforts just make him start to limp slightly, which makes Floyd frown. Are his feet in pain?

“Hi,” Riddle finally grumbles.

“Hiiiiii~” Floyd smiles, feeling those butterflies again. He wants Riddle to stay! He wants to keep him here, and get a little closer, and let him find out why his feet are hurting! “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Back to Heartslabul. It’s finals week and I need to study. Why are you following me?” Riddle glances back suspiciously. “I don’t have time to entertain your nonsense, if that’s what you’re after.”

“I just spy, with my little eye, that somebody’s limping.” Floyd hums, slipping in front of Riddle to cut him off. “Goldfishie’s feet are hurting.”

“I…” Riddle’s eyes widen in surprise. He limps to a stop, grumpily crossing his arms and looking up at Floyd. “It’s just a blister. Don’t you get those?” 

“Ehhhh. Only when I first started walking. Since then, I make sure I wear custom made shoes that fit me just right.” Floyd frowns as the smell becomes laced with something coppery. Blood? That’s one heck of a blister if he can smell blood…

“YOU wear custom shoes?” Riddle sounds incredulous.

“I sure do! These shoes are made for more than walking.” Floyd proudly lifts up his foot to show off his comfy shoes. “They gave us these suuuuper cheap sneakers to wear when we were first going through land boot camp. They were all too small for me, but I didn’t know any better at the time so I wore ‘em anyway. Blisters are the WORST.”

 “I suppose that makes sense. It must have been difficult, to transition from swimming to walking,” Riddle muses. 

“Yeah it does! So that’s why you should sit down! Give your feet a break,” Floyd grins. Riddle sighs and looks up at him with a tired expression. 

“There’s no point in sitting down if I don’t have bandages with me. My feet can have a break while I’m studying. Aren’t YOU worried about your finals?”

“Finals…” Floyd muses. “Goldfishie is such a hard worker… you're very admirable. That is what I think right now. But Goldfishie is also silly to keep walking on feet that need a break. You know I could give you stuff for blisters, right? Mostro Lounge has a first aid kit.”

Riddle hesitates, biting his lip. His heel REALLY hurts. He doesn’t want to walk on this all the way back to the mirror room… 

“I guess… If it isn’t any trouble,” he finally sighs. “I will bring you new supplies tomorrow, if you can accommodate me.”

“Ok! Come to my room!” Floyd takes Riddle by the arm, and leads him to his dorm room. Jade is out, so they’ll be all alone. He’s so excited, his heart is jumping up into his throat. “I’ll clear a space for you!”

A little reluctantly, Riddle limps after him. He pauses at the threshold of his room, looking around with raised eyebrows. 

“How on earth do you find anything when your room is such a mess?” He sounds a little disdainful, but also legitimately curious, as though the idea of NOT keeping his space in strict order at all times had simply never occurred to him before.

“Whenever I want something I guess.” Floyd shrugs as he shoves a pile of books off his bed and onto the floor. He smooths out the sheets and comforter before kicking his pajamas to the side. “My room has its own order. Clothes on the bottom. Snacks on the top.” He pats the newly cleared space, offering it for Riddle to sit on. “It’s not hard for me to grab something on the fly. Your room must be like Jade’s, all straight and tidy.” 

“Probably more like that, yes.” He sits gingerly on the edge of the bed and pulls his boot off with a wince. “I was always told that an orderly space made for an orderly mind. Ugh, this got worse than I thought…”  

There’s a raw blister the size of Floyd’s thumb in the back of his heel. It’s broken open, scabbed, and looks extremely painful.

“Does an orderly mind also mean, ‘ignore my pain ’? Cause OUCH Goldfishie.” Floyd hisses in empathy. He grabs onto Riddle’s foot to examine it more closely.

“AGHHH?!” Riddle falls backward onto the mattress at the unexpected grab, face turning bright red and arms flailing to push himself back upright. 

“Your feet are so small!!!” Floys lightly squeezes the teeny toes out of adoration, even though they’re trying to hop out of his hands. “For such small feet you sure got big blisters! Maybe Goldfishie shouldn’t wear heels anymore.”

“They’re not small! And high heels are TRADITIONAL DRESS FOR MY DORM. Let me go this instant!” 

Floyd tsks at Riddle, kneading his arch and heel to calm him down. As he does, he picks up Riddle’s boot and holds it up for a size comparison. Yeesh! Goldfishie has teeny feet, but this shoe is even teenier! 

“Does Goldfishie like getting into tight spaces? I do too! But these shoes are waaaaaay too small. Betcha I’d find another blister on your other foot if I look.” Floyd sets the boot back down, then rolls his thumbs over the ball of Riddle’s foot to spread out his toes. He smiles down at him, thoroughly enjoying his reddened face. “Is Goldfishie embarrassed?”

“NO. I want my foot back,” Riddle grumbles, even though he isn’t trying to pull away anymore. “And the store clerk told me that high heels must be tight! Otherwise they are harder to walk in.”

“Whoever told ya that scammed ya HARD… heels don’t need to be tight to walk in.” Floyd winces as he rolls his palm over the tops of Riddle’s toes and the ligaments pop audibly. Riddle shivers. A guilty, but relieved expression flickers over his face, even though his cheeks are still blazing a five-alarm red. Floyd recognizes it as the same one Azul gets when he’s been running himself ragged for weeks, and then someone finally tricks him into taking a moment to relax. Sheesh, no wonder Goldfishie isn’t kicking up a fuss anymore. This massage probably feels REALLY good after all that self-inflicted torture.

“Your poor feet… you’ve been treating yourself bad when you're supposed to be treated like a queen.” Floyd sets his foot down, and slides himself between Riddle’s legs. He looms over the blushing beauty and looks him dead in the eye with a promising grin. 

“I can massage more than just your feet, you know. ‘Cause now that I look at ya… everything looks wound up WAY too tight. So? Want the royal treatment?” 

Riddle blinks up at him, looking mostly confused. “More than…? You mean you can show me the right size shoe to order?”

It’s suddenly adorably clear that UNLIKE Azul, Riddle has completely missed the sexual overtone of Floyd’s offer.

“Oooh… ahahaha… Goldfishie is cute.” Floyd snickers, cracking a wider smile. “Yeah I can help ya with that. And more.” 

Floyd gets off him and casually takes off his other boot. There is a layer of medical tape over his other heel, showing he must have treated an identical blister on that foot as well. 

“Ha! Called it!” Floyd tosses the ill-fitting shoe next to its buddy. 

“Hey-! Hn-mmmm…”A surprised little squeak escapes Riddle’s mouth. It dissolves into a stifled moan when Floyd starts to massage his arch.

“You're so tight… Isn’t there anything else I can help loosen up?  Think bigger, Goldfishie.” Floyd asks huskily. He rolls his thumbs over Riddle’s ankle and calf.

“T-think bigger?” Riddle seems to be having trouble thinking at all. “Vil told me about putting cushions in the heel to pad them, but that just made it worse.” 

“Cushions in shoes that are ALREADY too small? Nahhh… that’s not what you need. Hmmmm… let me help ya. Just tell me if you want to go lower, or higher…” Floyd picks up Riddle’s other foot and rolls his knuckles along his calf, trying to convince his muscles to stop being one giant knot. He does feel a little sorry for him, but mostly he’s curious… How far will Riddle let him go? Poor, sweet virgin that he most likely is…

“Well? Higher? Or lower?” Floyd prompts.

“W-which way is higher…?” Riddle is literally melting under Floyd’s hands. It’s blatantly obvious that he’s touch starved, on top of his leg muscles being all balled up and tight. Too bad he can’t make a rule for his legs to follow to force ‘em to relax.

“Here…” Floyd whispers. “This is higher.” He smoothly rolls both thumbs along the top of Riddle’s thigh, growing more and more excited. He wants to spread Riddle out, and split him in half - He wants to see this uptight, virgin queen lose it all and turn into a fucked-out, silly, needy little thing~

“O-oh…” Riddle stifles another moan, and Floyd can see that goosebumps are running up his arms. “That’s…mmmm…I…” 

Riddle’s body very much wants to go limp against Floyd’s mattress, even as a strange tightness flutters through the pit of his stomach. Higher…higher feels good…

“W-wait, what do…ohhhhhh” Riddle moans aloud, weakly trying to focus past the large, strong fingers squeezing upward along his thigh muscles. “You always want something…in exchange…?”

Floyd giggles as he works up higher. Much further and he’ll practically have both hands in Riddle’s crotch~ 

“Hmm…I want… you! Just you. Deal?”

Riddle pants lightly. “What? ME? I don’t…I’m not…” He knows FULLY…haaahhh…f-fully well to be wary of contracts and schemes from Azul and Jade. But Floyd is a wild card. He only seems to follow their rules when it suits him, but what does that mean in this situation…? All of Riddle’s awareness has been narrowed down to the kneading touches squeezing their way up his trembling legs, evoking longing memories of watching other people be hugged…

Even more faintly, of someone hugging HIM…

Floyd tilts his head with a crooked grin. "Yes you! Doesn't have to be now but...in the future sometime? Mmkay?" Floyd giggles as Riddle leans into his touches, as though silently pleading for more. His Goldfishie is so needy! Small and needy. He lets go of Riddle's thigh, and crawls on top of him, straddling his legs with his own. He lightly brushes away Riddle's bangs, tempted for more. More skin contact. More blushing Riddle. More... everything. 

Riddle stiffens underneath him for just for a second, eyes widening in uncertainty. But then the fingers brush back his hair, and the touching…the closeness…

Something inside Riddle wants to break down and cry, it feels so nice. Tingles roll down the side of his face and he simply stares back up at Floyd with a faintly terrified expression. He’s sweating, and shaking ever-so-slightly. He’s also holding his breath, though judging from his expression he’s probably just forgotten to breathe instead of doing it on purpose.

‘So cute.’ Floyd brushes his thumb across Riddle’s check before lightly tracing his lips. “Do you like this?” He asks quietly. This is fun, but he doesn’t want to continue unless Riddle says yes. He wanted his Goldfishie to come to him in the end, and beg him to turn him into mush…

The inside of Riddle’s brain best resembles a highway intersection with sixty cars all piled up in a massive, panicked trainwreck. On one side of the pileup is a voice screaming that this has to be breaking half a dozen rules, though unhelpfully, it isn’t coming up with a specific example. On the other is a growing sense of existential panic at something he refuses to even let himself think about-

And then a fingertip brushes over his lower lip and he gasps, chest burning and heart pounding as the most important rule of all simply asks that he answer honestly…

And he nods.

Floyd smiles, “Do you want more?” He grinds ever-so-lightly against Riddle’s crotch with his own. He wants Riddle to feel him. Feel his size…

Riddle does feel Floyd’s size, and it’s comforting in spite of everything he knows about him. There’s something about being curled beneath him that feels instinctively like he’s been given permission to be small, and for once, not responsible for every tiny thing around him. He nods again, half thinking Floyd is going to keep massaging his legs…even as a very quiet part of him is finally starting to catch onto what Floyd ACTUALLY wants to do…

Floyd trills happily at the confirmation. “I’ll keep you safe, like I do Azul and Jade. We’ll have fun!” 

"Haahhh..." Riddle pants, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as Floyd nuzzles into his neck. Ha ha...fun...he remembers someone else once coming up to his window and stealing him away for a few, blissful hours for fun…

Floyd smothers Riddle in his sweet, musky, ocean scent, marking him all over so that everyone will know who he belongs to~  “My Goldfishie.” He whispers in Riddle’s ear as he rubs his little pet up and down. “Say it out loud… that you want this?” Floyd asks as he squeezes Riddle to him, lifting him off the mattress to grind longingly into his hips.

"Hnnnnn…I want this," Riddle whispers, feeling small and protected again as Floyd's hands wrap completely around his hips, nearly meeting around the back.

“Me too… ” Floyd whispers back. Perfect. This is perfect. Floyd kisses Riddle’s forehead, protectively curling over him like a giant, living blanket. Riddle sighs and melts into the hug, tentatively reaching up to return it after just a moment's hesitation. Encouraged, Floyd covers Riddle’s neck in kisses and tiny love bites. He needs to make it known that Riddle is spoken for, that he is claimed-

Riddle gasps, feeling little flashes of heat and tingles wherever the kisses touche him. The heady feeling of being cared for and wanted is so powerful that he wants to soak into it like a flower opening into a sunbeam. He closes his eyes, letting Floyd explore where he wants. Is this...how it's supposed to feel...? He’s so warm…

“Floyd? Are you here? I need… Riddle?” Jade trails off, incredulously staring down at the mop of red hair underneath Floyd’s arms. Floyd growls at his brother, caging Riddle underneath him. DAMMIT-

“NNGH?!” Riddle panics, squirming out from under Floyd and falling gracelessly to the floor. Floyd lets him escape, grabbing a pillow and throwing it irritably at Jade. “Healing in progress?! Goldfishie has blisters.”

“On his face?”

“JADE!”

Panting and chest tight with far too many emotions, Riddle snatches up his boots, viciously kicking himself for letting his guard down. So furious that his eyes are burning with unspilled tears, he jams them back onto his feet and pulls the laces tight, ignoring the flash of pain from his blistered heel.

“I apologize. I knocked, but no one answered.  I thought Floyd was alone, and sleeping.“ Jade says softly. Riddle hurries out of the room without a word, feeling too ashamed to make eye contact as he ducks past him. Jade WILL use this as blackmail against him later, and so be it. Riddle deserves it for being so. Blatantly.  STUPID.

“Riddle stop!” Floyd calls out, “You're still hurt!”

“…did you just use his real name?” Jade raises his eyebrows as Riddle walks around a corner and out of sight.

“What? No, I said Goldfishie…” Floyd watches him disappear with a disappointed sigh. “Jaaaaade…”

“My my, I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him,” Jade smiles. “Or you, come to think of it. Floyd, have you been feeling unusually flirtatious today?”

“Oh, you too?” Floyd grumbles, glaring up at Jade. “Yee. Why, who did you try to jump on? Sea Lion?”

“Oh Seven, perish the thought…”

“Mmmmm~ What about Sea Slug? Let’s go find him. If we’re lucky he’s packing one for each of us-” Jade throws the pillow into his face, and Floyd giggles as he’s tackled onto the bed.

[yourbestpalpercy]

If I had any art motivation, I’d draw Chaos in ToonTown. Before we start, chaos’s reference sheet is at the end

“Wh…What are you…?”

Chaos curls up into her true form for a second before spreading out her limbs as wide as they would go, “I’m CHAOS!” She cheered proudly, “The embodiment of Chaos itself has arrived in ToonTown! Isn’t that lovely???” She gets close to one of the toons who flinch back from her.

“I bring the fun wherever I go though! Soooo,” Fireworks! She shoots fireworks high into the sky, still frightening some of the toons. Upon seeing how silent everyone was, Chaos slowly landed, studying their appearance. “...What I’m trying to say is I’m friendly. Usually people associate me with death and destruction but I promise I won’t hurt a fur on your heads!” Chaos grins again.

When met with even more silence, Chaos starts humming. “Woooould you all feel better if I took on a toon form? I have been known to change my form a lot. It’s how Harmony can rarely find me. I just blend in^^!”

“...So…you’re like…a god?”

“Oh-! Uhm…kiiiiiiinda? I definitely am, legally buuuut, the thing is that The Clouds are awful! Suuuper mean. Would not recommend,” She shakes her head as she crosses her arms while sticking her tongue out of her mouth.

“Anyways-! BOOM!!” With a poof, Chaos dropped onto the ground as a fox toon that looked eerily like a toon. Her sharpened snout and big hands, resembling the claws she used to have, being some of the few things that tipped off folks to her not being a natural toon.

“In case you were wondering why I sooooo very directly approached you, it’s simple^^! Wackiness is expected in this world, I felt comfortable to show my real self and make a full introduction! Personally, I think that should be something of an honor (hhh-onor).”

“...That’s…some serious uncanny valley, right…?” One of the horse toons said as they turned to a pudgy, purple cat. “Y-Yeah! Y-Your eyes need to be a tiny bit bigger…your snout’s a little too long, a-and you should wear shoes to hide the sharp points in your feet,” The cat gestured to each part, including how Chaos’s feet ended in spikes. “Oh!” Chaos shook her body out, applying the features, including antlers to her head, making her look a little more like a deer.

“Uhh…foxes don’t…” “I know, I just really like antlers. I can’t believe I forgot them. Anyways, whatcha think? Pretty toony, right?” The cat paused before talking to the yellow horse beside him.

“You look great, welcome to ToonTown, Chaos. If you need anything, my name’s Buttercup Plums, this is my friend, Lunarbug Cheers and we’re always around to help! If you need BIG help, you can go talk to Flippy!” Buttercup smiled, pointing off to the side.

[cleverhottubmiracle]

In case you haven’t noticed, the flippy bob is back—and it’s everywhere. The sleek, sharp bob of yesteryear has been officially kicked to the curb, making way for a style with more bounce, more volume, and a whole lot more attitude. It’s the kind of hair that practically demands a strut. Think of it as your childhood dream hair—if your childhood dream was to look like a supermodel with a touch of retro flair. The flippy bob is polished but playful, sophisticated yet effortless. Whether you wear it with a deep side part for full ‘90s bombshell energy or keep it tousled for a laid-back edge, one thing’s for sure: this hairstyle is here to shake things up. Photo: Getty Images Suddenly, celebrities are sporting this lively, flipped-out ‘do—and we’re absolutely here for it. From Halle Berry’s show-stopping Oscars look to Gigi Hadid’s effortlessly tousled strands and even Kim Kardashian’s refreshing glam, this bouncy hairstyle is taking over. Move aside, pin-straight styles—there’s a new bob in town, and it’s flipping its way onto every salon’s must-have list. But what makes the flippy bob the hairstyle of the season? It’s equal parts nostalgic and modern, playful yet polished. Whether you’re aiming for a full-on retro revival or a subtle, breezy update, this trend is the perfect way to refresh your look for spring. Why the Flippy Bob Hair Trend Is Spring’s Favorite Photo: @thezoereport/Instagram Spring is all about fresh starts. So, what better way to embrace the season than with the flirty, playful charm of the flippy bob? This fun spin on the classic bob strikes the perfect balance between retro nostalgia and modern cool, giving you just enough bounce and attitude to turn heads without looking like you’ve stepped out of a ‘90s rom-com montage. (Unless that’s your vibe—in which case, go full Meg Ryan and own it.) From red carpets to street style moments, the flippy bob is making waves, proving that sometimes all it takes is a flicked-out end to bring major personality to your look. Whether styled with a sharp flip for a power move or soft, wispy curls for a more romantic feel, this cut is as versatile as it is effortlessly chic. So, if you’re craving a hair refresh that’s equal parts playful and statement-making, look no further. The flippy bob is fun, sassy, and a testament to the fact that the smallest details often make the biggest impact. Check out how our favorite celebs are rocking the flippy bob trend RN… Halle Berry: The Queen of Classic Flippy Photo: @halleberry/Instagram If anyone can single-handedly resurrect a trend through sheer style power, it’s Halle Berry. Her Oscars look earlier this year was a flippy bob dream—sleek and flipping at the ends with the kind of effortless perfection that only she can pull off. It wasn’t just a bob; it was the bob. Channeling both old Hollywood glamour and modern ease, Halle served up a red carpet moment that was equal parts classic and fresh. The message? Yes, I’m fabulous. And yes, I make this look effortless. If you needed any more proof that the flippy bob is back, consider it officially delivered—on a silver platter, no less. Gigi Hadid: Street Style Meets Hair Goals Photo: @thezoereport/Instagram No one can deny that Gigi Hadid has mastered the art of turning a simple hairstyle into a full-on fashion statement. Her take on the flippy bob has been making rounds, effortlessly paired with her signature off-duty model aesthetic—oversized jackets, baggy jeans, and just the right amount of undone polish. The beauty of Gigi’s bob lies in its effortlessness. It frames her face with that perfect I-just-strolled-out-of-a-cool-café-in-Paris energy. And that wavy flip at the ends? It’s practically begging the question: Can I borrow your hairstylist? Kim Kardashian: Flipping Her Way to the Top Photo:@kimkardashian/Instagram Kim Kardashian, ever the trendsetter, has officially hopped on the flippy bob train. This proves that even the queen of sleek, poker-straight locks isn’t immune to a little hair rebellion. While she’s built an empire on ultra-polished beauty, her take on the flippy bob strikes the perfect balance between effortless and impeccably styled. Of course, this isn’t just any bob—it’s a Kardashian bob. That means every soft flip is precisely placed, every strand gleams with mirror-like shine, and yet, it somehow exudes an I-woke-up-like-this ease. The result? A look so enviable it might just cause a few double-takes (and maybe even a traffic accident or two). Kelly Rowland: Channeling the Retro Vibes Photo: @kellyrowland/Instagram When Kelly Rowland steps into a trend, we all take notice—and her rendition of the flippy bob is no exception. With the perfect blend of shine and undeniable attitude, Kelly’s bob feels like a modern-day tribute to the ultra-glamorous ‘60s, but with a fresh, contemporary edge. It’s retro yet effortlessly cool, exuding just the right amount of character to make a statement without trying too hard. This isn’t a bob that fades into the background. It’s bold, confident, and impossible to ignore. And honestly? We’re more than ready to follow her lead. Hailee Steinfeld: The Younger, Cooler Sister of the Bob Photo: @haileesteinfeld/Instagram Hailee Steinfeld is that effortlessly stylish friend who can throw on anything and somehow make it look cooler than it has any right to be. And her flippy bob is no exception. Fresh, fun, and full of youthful energy, it’s the ultimate “spring break hair, but make it fashion” moment. Whether paired with a sleek high-neck sweater or a breezy dress, Hailee’s bob moves with an enviable ease. It’s proof that sometimes, the simplest hairstyles make the biggest impact, not by trying too hard, but by owning the moment. Flips That Give You a Lift (Literally) Photo: Getty Images Now, let’s talk about the real magic of the flippy bob: the volume. Let’s be honest—we could all use a little extra lift sometimes, and this cut delivers effortlessly. What’s more? No arsenal of products or weekly salon visits required. With the right shape, a flippy bob adds just enough fullness to make your hair look thick and voluminous without the heaviness of longer styles. The best part? It’s universally flattering. Whether you have soft, rounded features or a more angular bone structure, a well-executed flippy bob creates movement and balance in all the right places.  The Versatility of the Flippy Bob Photo: @halleberry/Instagram What makes the flippy bob truly irresistible is its adaptability. Whether you’re keeping it soft and tousled for an effortless, natural look or opting for a sleek, defined finish, this bob works every angle. Even better? It flatters all hair textures. From curly to pin-straight and everything in between, the flippy bob brings out the best in every strand. This season’s version of the bob is all about creating shape and movement. Whether you choose to go light and airy or polished and precise, there’s a flippy bob to fit every vibe. In conclusion The flippy bob is proof that hair trends don’t have to be serious to be stylish. It’s playful, effortlessly chic, and refreshingly low-maintenance. Yes, everything you want in a spring refresh. Plus, it’s the perfect way to shake things up without a drastic change. Want something new but not ready to go full-on transformation mode? The flippy bob is your low-commitment, high-impact solution. So, the next time you’re in the salon chair, ask for those signature flipped-out ends. Channel your inner Halle, Gigi, Kim, Kelly, or Hailee, and embrace the flippy bob. Because with this hairstyle, you’re not just flipping your hair—you’re flipping the script on beauty itself. For the latest in fashion, lifestyle, and culture, follow us on Instagram @StyleRave_ —Read also !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', ' fbq('init', '496558104568102'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' fbq('init', '1453079628754066'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link

[norajworld]

In case you haven’t noticed, the flippy bob is back—and it’s everywhere. The sleek, sharp bob of yesteryear has been officially kicked to the curb, making way for a style with more bounce, more volume, and a whole lot more attitude. It’s the kind of hair that practically demands a strut. Think of it as your childhood dream hair—if your childhood dream was to look like a supermodel with a touch of retro flair. The flippy bob is polished but playful, sophisticated yet effortless. Whether you wear it with a deep side part for full ‘90s bombshell energy or keep it tousled for a laid-back edge, one thing’s for sure: this hairstyle is here to shake things up. Photo: Getty Images Suddenly, celebrities are sporting this lively, flipped-out ‘do—and we’re absolutely here for it. From Halle Berry’s show-stopping Oscars look to Gigi Hadid’s effortlessly tousled strands and even Kim Kardashian’s refreshing glam, this bouncy hairstyle is taking over. Move aside, pin-straight styles—there’s a new bob in town, and it’s flipping its way onto every salon’s must-have list. But what makes the flippy bob the hairstyle of the season? It’s equal parts nostalgic and modern, playful yet polished. Whether you’re aiming for a full-on retro revival or a subtle, breezy update, this trend is the perfect way to refresh your look for spring. Why the Flippy Bob Hair Trend Is Spring’s Favorite Photo: @thezoereport/Instagram Spring is all about fresh starts. So, what better way to embrace the season than with the flirty, playful charm of the flippy bob? This fun spin on the classic bob strikes the perfect balance between retro nostalgia and modern cool, giving you just enough bounce and attitude to turn heads without looking like you’ve stepped out of a ‘90s rom-com montage. (Unless that’s your vibe—in which case, go full Meg Ryan and own it.) From red carpets to street style moments, the flippy bob is making waves, proving that sometimes all it takes is a flicked-out end to bring major personality to your look. Whether styled with a sharp flip for a power move or soft, wispy curls for a more romantic feel, this cut is as versatile as it is effortlessly chic. So, if you’re craving a hair refresh that’s equal parts playful and statement-making, look no further. The flippy bob is fun, sassy, and a testament to the fact that the smallest details often make the biggest impact. Check out how our favorite celebs are rocking the flippy bob trend RN… Halle Berry: The Queen of Classic Flippy Photo: @halleberry/Instagram If anyone can single-handedly resurrect a trend through sheer style power, it’s Halle Berry. Her Oscars look earlier this year was a flippy bob dream—sleek and flipping at the ends with the kind of effortless perfection that only she can pull off. It wasn’t just a bob; it was the bob. Channeling both old Hollywood glamour and modern ease, Halle served up a red carpet moment that was equal parts classic and fresh. The message? Yes, I’m fabulous. And yes, I make this look effortless. If you needed any more proof that the flippy bob is back, consider it officially delivered—on a silver platter, no less. Gigi Hadid: Street Style Meets Hair Goals Photo: @thezoereport/Instagram No one can deny that Gigi Hadid has mastered the art of turning a simple hairstyle into a full-on fashion statement. Her take on the flippy bob has been making rounds, effortlessly paired with her signature off-duty model aesthetic—oversized jackets, baggy jeans, and just the right amount of undone polish. The beauty of Gigi’s bob lies in its effortlessness. It frames her face with that perfect I-just-strolled-out-of-a-cool-café-in-Paris energy. And that wavy flip at the ends? It’s practically begging the question: Can I borrow your hairstylist? Kim Kardashian: Flipping Her Way to the Top Photo:@kimkardashian/Instagram Kim Kardashian, ever the trendsetter, has officially hopped on the flippy bob train. This proves that even the queen of sleek, poker-straight locks isn’t immune to a little hair rebellion. While she’s built an empire on ultra-polished beauty, her take on the flippy bob strikes the perfect balance between effortless and impeccably styled. Of course, this isn’t just any bob—it’s a Kardashian bob. That means every soft flip is precisely placed, every strand gleams with mirror-like shine, and yet, it somehow exudes an I-woke-up-like-this ease. The result? A look so enviable it might just cause a few double-takes (and maybe even a traffic accident or two). Kelly Rowland: Channeling the Retro Vibes Photo: @kellyrowland/Instagram When Kelly Rowland steps into a trend, we all take notice—and her rendition of the flippy bob is no exception. With the perfect blend of shine and undeniable attitude, Kelly’s bob feels like a modern-day tribute to the ultra-glamorous ‘60s, but with a fresh, contemporary edge. It’s retro yet effortlessly cool, exuding just the right amount of character to make a statement without trying too hard. This isn’t a bob that fades into the background. It’s bold, confident, and impossible to ignore. And honestly? We’re more than ready to follow her lead. Hailee Steinfeld: The Younger, Cooler Sister of the Bob Photo: @haileesteinfeld/Instagram Hailee Steinfeld is that effortlessly stylish friend who can throw on anything and somehow make it look cooler than it has any right to be. And her flippy bob is no exception. Fresh, fun, and full of youthful energy, it’s the ultimate “spring break hair, but make it fashion” moment. Whether paired with a sleek high-neck sweater or a breezy dress, Hailee’s bob moves with an enviable ease. It’s proof that sometimes, the simplest hairstyles make the biggest impact, not by trying too hard, but by owning the moment. Flips That Give You a Lift (Literally) Photo: Getty Images Now, let’s talk about the real magic of the flippy bob: the volume. Let’s be honest—we could all use a little extra lift sometimes, and this cut delivers effortlessly. What’s more? No arsenal of products or weekly salon visits required. With the right shape, a flippy bob adds just enough fullness to make your hair look thick and voluminous without the heaviness of longer styles. The best part? It’s universally flattering. Whether you have soft, rounded features or a more angular bone structure, a well-executed flippy bob creates movement and balance in all the right places.  The Versatility of the Flippy Bob Photo: @halleberry/Instagram What makes the flippy bob truly irresistible is its adaptability. Whether you’re keeping it soft and tousled for an effortless, natural look or opting for a sleek, defined finish, this bob works every angle. Even better? It flatters all hair textures. From curly to pin-straight and everything in between, the flippy bob brings out the best in every strand. This season’s version of the bob is all about creating shape and movement. Whether you choose to go light and airy or polished and precise, there’s a flippy bob to fit every vibe. In conclusion The flippy bob is proof that hair trends don’t have to be serious to be stylish. It’s playful, effortlessly chic, and refreshingly low-maintenance. Yes, everything you want in a spring refresh. Plus, it’s the perfect way to shake things up without a drastic change. Want something new but not ready to go full-on transformation mode? The flippy bob is your low-commitment, high-impact solution. So, the next time you’re in the salon chair, ask for those signature flipped-out ends. Channel your inner Halle, Gigi, Kim, Kelly, or Hailee, and embrace the flippy bob. Because with this hairstyle, you’re not just flipping your hair—you’re flipping the script on beauty itself. For the latest in fashion, lifestyle, and culture, follow us on Instagram @StyleRave_ —Read also !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', ' fbq('init', '496558104568102'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' fbq('init', '1453079628754066'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link

[chilimili212]

In case you haven’t noticed, the flippy bob is back—and it’s everywhere. The sleek, sharp bob of yesteryear has been officially kicked to the curb, making way for a style with more bounce, more volume, and a whole lot more attitude. It’s the kind of hair that practically demands a strut. Think of it as your childhood dream hair—if your childhood dream was to look like a supermodel with a touch of retro flair. The flippy bob is polished but playful, sophisticated yet effortless. Whether you wear it with a deep side part for full ‘90s bombshell energy or keep it tousled for a laid-back edge, one thing’s for sure: this hairstyle is here to shake things up. Photo: Getty Images Suddenly, celebrities are sporting this lively, flipped-out ‘do—and we’re absolutely here for it. From Halle Berry’s show-stopping Oscars look to Gigi Hadid’s effortlessly tousled strands and even Kim Kardashian’s refreshing glam, this bouncy hairstyle is taking over. Move aside, pin-straight styles—there’s a new bob in town, and it’s flipping its way onto every salon’s must-have list. But what makes the flippy bob the hairstyle of the season? It’s equal parts nostalgic and modern, playful yet polished. Whether you’re aiming for a full-on retro revival or a subtle, breezy update, this trend is the perfect way to refresh your look for spring. Why the Flippy Bob Hair Trend Is Spring’s Favorite Photo: @thezoereport/Instagram Spring is all about fresh starts. So, what better way to embrace the season than with the flirty, playful charm of the flippy bob? This fun spin on the classic bob strikes the perfect balance between retro nostalgia and modern cool, giving you just enough bounce and attitude to turn heads without looking like you’ve stepped out of a ‘90s rom-com montage. (Unless that’s your vibe—in which case, go full Meg Ryan and own it.) From red carpets to street style moments, the flippy bob is making waves, proving that sometimes all it takes is a flicked-out end to bring major personality to your look. Whether styled with a sharp flip for a power move or soft, wispy curls for a more romantic feel, this cut is as versatile as it is effortlessly chic. So, if you’re craving a hair refresh that’s equal parts playful and statement-making, look no further. The flippy bob is fun, sassy, and a testament to the fact that the smallest details often make the biggest impact. Check out how our favorite celebs are rocking the flippy bob trend RN… Halle Berry: The Queen of Classic Flippy Photo: @halleberry/Instagram If anyone can single-handedly resurrect a trend through sheer style power, it’s Halle Berry. Her Oscars look earlier this year was a flippy bob dream—sleek and flipping at the ends with the kind of effortless perfection that only she can pull off. It wasn’t just a bob; it was the bob. Channeling both old Hollywood glamour and modern ease, Halle served up a red carpet moment that was equal parts classic and fresh. The message? Yes, I’m fabulous. And yes, I make this look effortless. If you needed any more proof that the flippy bob is back, consider it officially delivered—on a silver platter, no less. Gigi Hadid: Street Style Meets Hair Goals Photo: @thezoereport/Instagram No one can deny that Gigi Hadid has mastered the art of turning a simple hairstyle into a full-on fashion statement. Her take on the flippy bob has been making rounds, effortlessly paired with her signature off-duty model aesthetic—oversized jackets, baggy jeans, and just the right amount of undone polish. The beauty of Gigi’s bob lies in its effortlessness. It frames her face with that perfect I-just-strolled-out-of-a-cool-café-in-Paris energy. And that wavy flip at the ends? It’s practically begging the question: Can I borrow your hairstylist? Kim Kardashian: Flipping Her Way to the Top Photo:@kimkardashian/Instagram Kim Kardashian, ever the trendsetter, has officially hopped on the flippy bob train. This proves that even the queen of sleek, poker-straight locks isn’t immune to a little hair rebellion. While she’s built an empire on ultra-polished beauty, her take on the flippy bob strikes the perfect balance between effortless and impeccably styled. Of course, this isn’t just any bob—it’s a Kardashian bob. That means every soft flip is precisely placed, every strand gleams with mirror-like shine, and yet, it somehow exudes an I-woke-up-like-this ease. The result? A look so enviable it might just cause a few double-takes (and maybe even a traffic accident or two). Kelly Rowland: Channeling the Retro Vibes Photo: @kellyrowland/Instagram When Kelly Rowland steps into a trend, we all take notice—and her rendition of the flippy bob is no exception. With the perfect blend of shine and undeniable attitude, Kelly’s bob feels like a modern-day tribute to the ultra-glamorous ‘60s, but with a fresh, contemporary edge. It’s retro yet effortlessly cool, exuding just the right amount of character to make a statement without trying too hard. This isn’t a bob that fades into the background. It’s bold, confident, and impossible to ignore. And honestly? We’re more than ready to follow her lead. Hailee Steinfeld: The Younger, Cooler Sister of the Bob Photo: @haileesteinfeld/Instagram Hailee Steinfeld is that effortlessly stylish friend who can throw on anything and somehow make it look cooler than it has any right to be. And her flippy bob is no exception. Fresh, fun, and full of youthful energy, it’s the ultimate “spring break hair, but make it fashion” moment. Whether paired with a sleek high-neck sweater or a breezy dress, Hailee’s bob moves with an enviable ease. It’s proof that sometimes, the simplest hairstyles make the biggest impact, not by trying too hard, but by owning the moment. Flips That Give You a Lift (Literally) Photo: Getty Images Now, let’s talk about the real magic of the flippy bob: the volume. Let’s be honest—we could all use a little extra lift sometimes, and this cut delivers effortlessly. What’s more? No arsenal of products or weekly salon visits required. With the right shape, a flippy bob adds just enough fullness to make your hair look thick and voluminous without the heaviness of longer styles. The best part? It’s universally flattering. Whether you have soft, rounded features or a more angular bone structure, a well-executed flippy bob creates movement and balance in all the right places.  The Versatility of the Flippy Bob Photo: @halleberry/Instagram What makes the flippy bob truly irresistible is its adaptability. Whether you’re keeping it soft and tousled for an effortless, natural look or opting for a sleek, defined finish, this bob works every angle. Even better? It flatters all hair textures. From curly to pin-straight and everything in between, the flippy bob brings out the best in every strand. This season’s version of the bob is all about creating shape and movement. Whether you choose to go light and airy or polished and precise, there’s a flippy bob to fit every vibe. In conclusion The flippy bob is proof that hair trends don’t have to be serious to be stylish. It’s playful, effortlessly chic, and refreshingly low-maintenance. Yes, everything you want in a spring refresh. Plus, it’s the perfect way to shake things up without a drastic change. Want something new but not ready to go full-on transformation mode? The flippy bob is your low-commitment, high-impact solution. So, the next time you’re in the salon chair, ask for those signature flipped-out ends. Channel your inner Halle, Gigi, Kim, Kelly, or Hailee, and embrace the flippy bob. Because with this hairstyle, you’re not just flipping your hair—you’re flipping the script on beauty itself. For the latest in fashion, lifestyle, and culture, follow us on Instagram @StyleRave_ —Read also !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', ' fbq('init', '496558104568102'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' fbq('init', '1453079628754066'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link