#they accept no other appeal lmao

[essentialthyme]

Ana Barbosu, you're the bronze medalist in our hearts, Brazil was shaking with fear you'd take our gold, congratulations ❤️

[musical-chick-13]

The problem is. When I go, "Oh, this system is bullshit" and try to live outside it. My choices are still defined by that system. And that makes me feel really weird.

[etherrreal]

"an inconvenient attachment"

Pairing: sae x fem!reader Genre: fluff with smut, fwb to lovers, minors dni! Summary: what you and sae have is completely casual— or at least it’s supposed to be. he’s fine with it at first, until he starts to realize how much he actually likes being around you. now he’s starting to wonder if casual is enough. WC: 20k+ (haha, i’m in danger) Warnings: nsfw, some pwp (mostly plot though), alcohol, casual/no strings sex (until it isn’t 😉), car sex, fingering, light choking, reader and sae are in their mid-20s, reader is also incredibly forward and kind of shameless lmao, pro!athlete sae, big time jealousy, misunderstandings, lots of pining but also lots of denial, sae being annoying and bad at feelings but also very much into you A/N: watched bluelock for the first time this past year and immediately fell victim to the itoshi brothers. consider this an ode to my suffering <3 -Dawn

Sae doesn’t really know what the two of you are to each other.

He knows you hate driving in the rain and love reading at the park, just like he knows how you take your coffee and what your voice sounds like when you first wake up in the morning, all sleepy and soft.

He also knows what you look like tangled in the sheets of his bed, just like he knows how to make you fall apart with his mouth and hands and tongue. He takes pleasure in leaving you bleary-eyed and breathless, in watching you grip at his sheets and drag your nails across his skin as you say his name again and again.

But when it comes to your current relationship, to what the two of you actually mean to each other? Sae has no idea. You’ve never bothered to put a label on it. He figures you’ve never felt the need to, even though normally you’re the kind of person who labels everything, from the colorful tabs in your planner to the glass containers in your pantry.

Not that Sae has any room to judge. He hasn’t made much of an effort to define things between you, either. He’s not one for titles or attachments, least of all romantic ones. He never has been, and that’s something he made clear to you from the beginning, long before the two of you ever shared a bed and started whatever the hell this thing is that exists between you now.

If he’s being honest, Sae didn’t really think much of you at first. He remembers meeting you, completely against his will, at a party he never wanted to attend in the first place, one that his teammates insisted on dragging him to.

In the beginning, you were just another face in the crowd, the best friend of Aina, Oliver’s notorious on-again, off-again girlfriend.

Sae never planned on seeing you again, much less actually getting to know you. In fact, he was fully content to forget you completely, but he couldn’t. And it wasn’t because he had a change of heart or because he was particularly interested in you, but because you made it practically impossible to ignore you.

You, with your ridiculous laugh and your know-it-all demeanor and your unreasonably animated way of talking. It’s no surprise that you were an instant hit amongst his teammates. They all took to you right away, captivated by your quick comebacks and witty humor, by your easy confidence and natural charm.

And though Sae will never say it out loud, he could admit, even back then, that he understood the appeal, at least in a general sense. You’re smart and funny, not to mention daring and lively, with the kind of effortless charisma that makes everyone want to be around you.

You laugh at his dry humor and unapologetic bluntness, but you also don’t hesitate to call him out when he’s being a dick. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re completely gorgeous, either, a vision in smooth satin and shimmery lip gloss whenever he sees you on nights when his teammates actually manage to bully him out of his apartment.

Soon you’re everywhere, laughing during game nights at Oliver’s place and rolling your eyes in the background of Shidou’s Instagram stories. Sae doesn’t accept their invitations to go out too often, but when he does, you’re always there, just as much a part of the group as everyone else is— even more than Sae is, most of the time.

You cheer him and the rest of the team on at games, send him new recipes to try and stupid videos he only sometimes replies to.

And inconveniently, inevitably, you start to grow on him.

Then one night, against his better judgment, he offers to drive you home from the bar, and to his surprise, you accept.

Sae’s not entirely sure why he does it. After all, it’s unlike him to inconvenience himself or go out of his way for the sake of others. But then he remembers the cheeky way you were acting with him earlier and decides it’s worth it, if only to see what you’ll do.

There’s always been a certain kind of tension between you and Sae, an unspoken chemistry neither of you has ever been able to replicate with anyone else. He’s never acted on it, of course. He’s never felt the need to, until now.

You’ve been flirting with him even more than usual tonight, brushing your hand against his arm and leaning in close to whisper in his ear. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

Sae has always appreciated how forward you are, how honest. You’re the kind of person who always speaks your mind, who never hesitates to go after what you want. It’s part of what makes him respect you so much.

It’s also why he doesn’t bother to stop you. Why he doesn’t push you away from him, no matter how close you get or how bold your hands become. It does something to him, he realizes, having you touch him so casually. Makes him possessive in a way he never expected he’d be over anyone, least of all you.

Still, he doesn’t take it as anything more than what it is. You’re always like this, all playful and coy, especially after you've had a shot or two. He knows better than to think it means anything. He takes it upon himself to drive you home anyway, the idea of you being so casual and touchy with any of his other teammates leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

You look unfairly beautiful sitting in the passenger seat of his car, all smooth skin and smokey eyes, jacket sliding halfway off your shoulders as you wave your hands around and tell a story he’s only half-listening to. You’re absolutely stunning and therefore annoyingly distracting, not that he’ll ever grant you the satisfaction of telling you that himself.

The lot behind your building is quiet when he pulls his car in, empty. You unbuckle your seatbelt and thank him for driving you home, but make no move to leave.

Sae notices but doesn’t call you out on it, dismissing your gratitude with his usual impassiveness. He also doesn’t stop you when you reach out to touch him. Your fingers brush against his collar, smoothing over the fabric on his shoulder.

He has makeup on his shirt, you tell him. It’s yours, of course, the shade of the smudge an identical match to the color staining your lips. It must’ve happened when you leaned in to talk to him earlier.

Sae isn’t surprised. You’re the only person he lets be that close to him, the only person he wants that close. And right now, you’re smiling like you already know, like you revel in it.

“Sorry about that,” you say, without an ounce of guilt in your voice, dragging your nail over the stain.

Sae watches the way you watch him, the way your eyes drift down to stare at his lips. There’s something wanting and possessive in your gaze, something he thinks has been there for a while now. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right.” The laugh you give is shameless, your smile brazen as you move your hand from his shoulder to his chest, fingertips skimming against the buttons of his shirt. “I’m not.”

You kiss him, then, a heated and hungry thing as bold and unapologetic as you are. He surprises himself by letting you, tilting his head to deepen the kiss and dragging your bottom lip between his teeth, a calloused hand moving up to cradle your jaw.

Soon you’re kicking off your heels and shrugging off your jacket, tossing it blindly into the backseat and climbing over the center console. You settle into his lap like you belong there, straddling his thighs with your bare knees. He trails his lips along your throat and chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your heated skin and pulling down the front of your dress so he can reach more of you.

His hands push the skirt of your dress up and over your hips, palms smoothing over your skin, and you tug at his hair, pressing your body firmly against his. The movement is exactly what you both need, your hips grinding into his lap.

You both groan when the head of his cock catches against your clothed center. You roll your hips into his again, chasing the friction, his grip on your hips turning bruising.

Sae presses a hand between your legs and pulls your underwear to the side, just enough to run a finger along your slit and gather the wetness there. He lets out a strained curse and drags his teeth along your throat when he feels how warm and wanting you already are, all because of him.

That’s all the convincing he needs to fuck you open with his fingers, while you grind yourself down against his hand, making breathy little sounds in his ear that he decides he wants to hear more of. You undo the buttons of his shirt and tear the material open, hands roaming over his chest as much as the limited space will allow.

It’s not long after that you decide you want more, undoing the button of his pants and yanking down his zipper with little restraint. He mutters something about you being an impatient brat under his breath, but he doesn't stop you.

Instead, he lets you pull his leaking cock out and wrap your hand around his shaft. He bites back a groan as you squeeze him at the base and move your hand up and down in slow, even strokes, smearing precum along the length of him.

You surge forward to kiss him again, and it’s all Sae can do to meet you halfway, curling his fingers inside of you and making you gasp against his lips. You cling to his shoulders and whisper into his ear, telling him how good he feels, how badly you want him inside of you— all of him, this time, not just his fingers.

Your words go straight to his already painfully hard cock, making him buck up into your hand and reach out blindly for the condoms he keeps in his car. You end up beating him to it, fumbling for only a moment before pulling one out of your purse and tearing the packet open with your teeth.

You don’t waste any more time after that, rolling the condom down over his length while Sae slips his fingers out of you and plants his hands on either side of your waist. You line him up with your entrance and sink yourself onto him with a gasp, hips pressing flush against his as you moan and dig your nails into his skin. He tightens his grip on your waist and muffles his own moan against your lips, the kiss he presses to your mouth all tongue and teeth.

You ride him, head thrown back and lips parted, while he leans back to watch you with half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock and pushing his hips up to meet yours.

You look absolutely breathtaking, hips rolling and circling as you gasp out his name and tell him how deep he is and how good he’s making you feel. One of his hands presses against your throat while the other squeezes at your hip, helping you lift yourself up and sink back down to take more of him.

With his lips mouthing at your neck and his thumb drifting down to rub circles into your clit, it isn’t long before you find yourself tipping over the edge. He follows you almost immediately after, spurred on by the scrape of your nails against his scalp and the tightening of your walls around him.

You’re both panting when it’s over, foreheads pressed together and hearts racing as you slump against one another and try to catch your breath. You recover faster than he does and press a parting kiss to his lips that feels almost too sweet after what you’ve just done, climbing off his lap and over the console on shaky legs.

You almost slip when you do, his hand shooting out to steady you at the last second. You laugh while he rolls his eyes and tells you to be more careful, keeping his hand on your hip until finally you settle back safely into the passenger seat.

You’re both quiet as you set to work on fixing your clothing and cleaning yourselves up, redoing zippers and clasping buttons in an effort to make yourselves look presentable again.

Sae finds himself grateful for the silence. It gives him the chance to process exactly what’s just happened between you, and —more importantly— to decide what’s going to happen after.

The sex was good, obviously. Better than good. The best he’s had in a while, maybe even the best he’s had ever— though he thinks he’d rather die than be caught saying any of that out loud. He imagines it must’ve been the same for you, if the way you moaned his name and fell apart around him are anything to go by.

Still, Sae knows himself, which is why he knows better than to allow it to mean anything. He doesn’t need a relationship right now, nor does he particularly want one. He likes you well enough, in a way that makes him view you as slightly less irritating than he does everyone else— but wanting you and wanting to be with you are two very different things.

And at this point in his life, Sae doesn’t want to actually be with anyone, not even you. He doesn’t have the time for it, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have the patience.

Sure, he’s dated before, but it was never anything serious. Never anything real. All of his previous relationships ���if one could even call them that— were just for show, nothing more than publicity stunts orchestrated by his PR team with models and socialites he’s never really cared about.

Most of them understood the arrangement quite well, knowing it wouldn’t last. Some of them didn’t and tried to make it into something more, but it’s never worked. Sae’s never allowed it. As a result, he’s become an expert at shutting people down, at crushing their hopes of receiving anything more than what he’s willing to give them.

He tells you as much after you’re both dressed again, fully prepared to disappoint you and the hopes you’ve no doubt allowed to build freely inside your head. He’s not cruel enough to say it in a way that hurts you —at least not on purpose— but he wants to be honest. The last thing he needs is for you to get the wrong idea and start thinking that this is going to change anything between you.

“You should know,” he starts, serious and stoic as ever, “I’m not looking for a relationship. The only thing I’m interested in right now is soccer.”

He pauses, bracing himself for your reaction, for the moment when his words finally sink in and you realize that he has no intention of taking this any further. He watches your face carefully, mentally preparing himself for what he knows is going to be the inevitable fallout.

He’s spent enough time with you by now to know you’re not really the crying type, so he’s comfortable with knowing that he at least won’t see any tears. He does, however, expect some swearing on your part, maybe even a little bit of yelling, just enough to let him know that you think he’s an asshole.

To Sae’s surprise, none of that happens. There’s no anger, no confrontation, no fallout. Instead of shouting at him and telling him to go fuck himself, the way he initially expected you to, you smile at him and slip the straps of your dress back up over your shoulders, nodding like this is exactly what you were expecting, like you couldn’t agree more.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” you say, laughing lightly, casually, as you finish readjusting the rest of your clothing. “Your emotional unavailability kind of gave it away. Well, that and your apathy, though I’m starting to think the latter is less of a relationship deterrent and more of just you being yourself.”

You aren’t wrong, of course, but the bluntness of your words still makes him scowl, which in turn just makes you laugh even more.

“Hey, I never said I didn’t like it.” You slip your heels on your feet and lean down to secure the straps, though not before sending him a teasing grin from over your shoulder. “I’ll have you know, emotionally unavailable and apathetic is exactly my type. Helps if they have pretty eyes and great hair, too.”

Predictably, Sae ignores your blatant flirting in favor of rolling his eyes. Still, he doesn’t hesitate to help when he sees you struggling to retrieve your jacket from the backseat, reaching behind him to grab it and offering it to you with ease.

“Seems like an easy way to get yourself hurt,” he deadpans, before you get the chance to thank him.

“You’re such a pessimist, Sae.” You roll your eyes at his response, but the smile you give as you take your jacket from him is grateful and genuine. “My point is, if you’re worried about me reading into things, don’t be. I’m not expecting anything from you. If we’re being honest, I’m not really looking for anything serious right now, either.”

He knows you mean it —you’re too honest not to— but he raises an eyebrow at you, anyway, examining you carefully for even the slightest hint of doubt.

“So you’re really okay with things staying the same between us?”

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t. But you have my number if you ever want to do this again.”

You gather the rest of your things before leaning over and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. It’s light and offhanded, free of any pressure or expectations. Then you smile at him, lifting your hand to give a little wave.

“I’ll see you later, Sae.”

You leave his car with that smile still on your face and your purse in your hand. He watches you go, not taking his eyes off of you until you make it inside your building. You don’t turn back to look at him once.

And though he tries not to —though he likes to believe he’s above such baseless, lukewarm desires— he thinks about your offer on the way home.

It doesn’t take him long to make up his mind.

He texts you three days later. The messages are short and to the point —boring, he knows you’d call them— just a simple ’hey’ followed by a blunt ’wanna come over?’ that he regrets sending almost immediately after it goes through, mostly because he knows you’re never going to let him live it down.

You don’t disappoint, replying back a few minutes later with a ’damn already??’ and an ’it was that good huh 😏😌🤪’ that he pointedly ignores. He threatens to block you, you laugh at the message, and less than an hour later, you’re at his door.

This time, Sae’s the one who kisses you first, easing you onto his bed and pushing your thighs apart so he can slot himself between them. His lips trail down your neck, his teeth nipping at your throat. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your body and helping you slip out of your clothes until you’re completely bare beneath him.

He makes you cum twice with his mouth, another time with his fingers— and only then does he finally slide himself into you, hands gripping your thighs and chest pressing into yours.

Practice was cut short today in favor of a press conference Sae couldn’t have cared less about, so he has a lot of pent-up energy, which he immediately sets on using to throw your legs over his shoulders and thoroughly fuck you into his mattress.

You don’t complain about it, either, too lost in the pleasure of it all to scold him for the tight grip he has on your hips or the way he’s nearly folding you in half beneath him. You even make a joke about it afterwards, muttering something about how they should cancel his practices more often.

“But only on the weekends,” you add seriously, trying to catch your breath. “The last thing I need is my co-workers watching me wobble into my office because of it.”

Sae actually laughs, though he tries not to. You beam at the sound, only to end up flipping him off moments later, when you rise on trembling legs in search of your clothes and catch him smirking knowingly at you.

And it’s simple, he thinks, doing this with you. Simple and comfortable and not the least bit complicated, which is exactly how he likes it.

You must feel the same way, because the next time it happens, you’re the one who calls first, inviting him up to your apartment and latching your lips to his neck before he’s even fully through the door.

You never really talk about it, nor do you establish any real boundaries beyond that initial conversation you had that first night in his car, but Sae figures you don’t really need to. It goes without saying that this thing between you is completely casual, just a way to satisfy your physical needs and work off some stress whenever you both need it.

Neither of you wants an actual relationship, but that doesn’t mean you’re opposed to sleeping together every now and then, especially when the sex is as good as it’s been. So you keep at it, meeting up whenever you have some free time and fucking until you’ve both had your fill, all without ever expecting anything more.

Sae doesn’t tell anyone about your arrangement. Neither do you. You both agree it’s easier that way, in the name of keeping things smooth and uncomplicated.

He’s not ashamed of what the two of you are doing —he knows you aren’t, either— but neither one of you wants the headache of having to explain it to the well-intentioned but ultimately chronic meddlers you call your friends. So you keep it to yourselves, treating each other the same way you normally would without any extra consideration or kindness.

You both get really good at it, too, maintaining your composure no matter how many stupid and suggestive comments Shidou and Oliver make about the mystery girl he’s always texting, or how often Aina bugs you to show her a picture of the guy she swears has got you dickmatized.

Sae’s sure they have their suspicions, but he knows that he isn’t among them. As far as everyone else is concerned, you and him are just friends, even if you do have a habit of getting a little handsy whenever you think no one is looking.

It helps that you’ve been shamelessly flirting with him since the day you met, so no one ever bats an eye when they see you brushing your hand against his chest or leaning in close to whisper in his ear. Everyone just assumes that it’s you being your normal, bold and affectionate self, and that Sae —moody, stoic, emotionless Sae— will brush it off and ignore you the way he always does.

They have no idea that as soon as you’re alone, the exact opposite happens. That he’s trailing his lips along your neck and sliding his hands up your skirt, while you lock your legs around his waist and pull him in closer, the way you’ve been doing for weeks now.

Sae’s honestly a little surprised no one’s figured it out yet. More than that, though, he’s shocked that he’s still hooking up with you at all.

It’s not like him to stick with someone for so long, especially without his manager breathing down his neck to keep it up for the publicity. He thought your arrangement would last a week, maybe two weeks, tops— but here you both are, still going nearly two months later, with no signs of stopping anytime soon.

He was so sure he’d be bored of it by now, but he isn’t. He can’t be, not with you. You’re too good at distracting him. You’re even better at making him trust you.

And the more time he spends with you, the more he realizes just how easy it is to be around you.

The thing about Sae is that he’s never really been the kind of person who has a lot of friends. He has his teammates and his manager, his parents and sometimes his brother, but he’s never had someone who wasn’t obligated to be around him. Never someone who didn’t expect anything of him.

You, though— you spend time with him on purpose, not because of anything he can give you. Even if this thing between you ends tomorrow, Sae knows it wouldn’t change anything.

You’d still be there, still without expecting anything, because that’s just who you are. Because for some odd reason, you actually like being around him, despite his attitude and his indifference, despite all the things his teammates and the media are always giving him shit for.

He thinks you’ve always liked being around him, even before you started sleeping together. He knows he doesn’t make it easy, but you’re patient with him despite that, giving him space when he needs it and pushing him when he doesn’t.

And he’ll never say it out loud, but the truth is, he likes being around you, too. Almost enough to make him forget that this thing you have is only temporary.

Almost.

The first time you stay the night happens a week later.

You’re both in his bed, all bare skin and tangled sheets as you come down from your respective highs and try to catch your breath. Outside his penthouse, the rain drones on, quieting the city below you into a nearly imperceptible hum.

It’s well past midnight, so late that it’s early, and sure, Sae might be an asshole— but he’s not cruel enough to make you drive home in the rain, especially when he knows how much you hate it.

“You can sleep here if you want,” he says, without thinking much of it, right as you sit up to start looking for your clothes.

Understandably, the offer catches you off guard. Even in the dark, Sae can see the way you turn back and blink owlishly at him, eyebrows raised, like it’s the last thing you expected him to say.

It’s kind of annoying, honestly, the way you’re looking at him right now. He knows he’s far from being the most considerate person in your life, but the way you’re gawking at him like he’s grown a second head feels a little dramatic.

Not that he can really blame you for being surprised. You’ve been hooking up almost daily for two months now, but not once during that time have either of you ever spent the night at the other’s place.

Something about it feels different. More intimate, somehow, like it’s crossing a line that’s supposed to be there, if only the two of you had bothered to draw it in the first place.

Sae realizes it at the same time you do and finds himself regretting making the offer at all. He’s accepted the fact that the two of you are friends —albeit begrudgingly— but the last thing he wants is for you to think he meant anything by it.

“Or don’t,” he adds quickly, careful to keep his tone as blank and detached as possible. “It’s up to you. I don’t really care either way.”

From the corner of his eye, he watches you spare a glance at the window. The rain is still going, pouring unforgivingly against the glass, and it only seems to be getting worse.

The rumble of thunder that follows shortly after is enough to convince you to accept his offer. You shrug, murmuring a quiet thanks before laying back down and making yourself comfortable next to him.

Predictably, he says nothing in response to your gratitude. He moves over to give you some space and lets you tuck yourself back under the blanket, shutting his eyes as he settles onto his back.

When he feels your gaze on him moments later, he frowns, cracking an eye open to look at you. Sure enough, you’re staring right at him, a knowing, borderline smug smile on your face that lets him know you’re going to be completely insufferable about this.

“Don’t,” he warns, before you can even get a word out.

You have the audacity to look offended. “Wha— I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“Didn’t have to. Your face is saying plenty.”

He throws an arm over his eyes and does his best to ignore you, hoping you’ll get bored enough with his inattention to let the whole thing go.

(You don’t, of course, but he supposes you wouldn’t be you if you did.)

In the end, it’s Sae who gives in first, uncovering his eyes against his better judgment and turning to face you with a scowl.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you’re quick to reply, even as that smug little smile of yours curls into a grin. “I’m just— I’m surprised you offered to let me stay, is all. It’s not what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, well, it was either that or wake up tomorrow to a ten-minute voice note complaining about how shitty your drive home was and how close you were to death.” He turns on his side, shifting so he can face you fully. “I figured if I was going to be annoyed anyway, I might as well get it out of the way now.”

That earns him a smack to the shoulder, along with a scowl meant to convey how unamused you are with his words. He can only hope you’re too busy rolling your eyes to catch the way the corners of his lips twitch upwards, barely suppressing a smile.

“You’re a dick. And for the record, if I did decide to grace you with one of my exciting and wonderfully detailed voice notes, it would’ve been five, maybe six minutes, max.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing you, and you sigh in defeat, relenting.

“Okay, fine, six and a half, but can you blame me? I hate driving in the rain. It’s scary and disorienting, and I always get paranoid that I’m gonna—”

“Spin out and end up on the side of the road,” Sae says, at the exact same time you do, making your eyes widen. “I know. I remember.”

And the crazy part is, he does. He remembers because he knows you, probably better than he knows anybody else, and it’s only now when he’s lying here with you, practically nose-to-nose in the dark, that he realizes just how much.

He’s not sure how or when it happened, but it did. And now, he knows you. He really, really knows you, enough to accept your good-natured teasing and playful smugness, enough to consider your comfort and offer you a place in his bed.

And honestly? He has no idea how the hell he’s supposed to feel about that, so he ignores it entirely, the same way he ignored how his stomach fluttered and his chest warmed when you showed up with a bag of groceries and made him dinner earlier, for no discernable reason other than the fact that you wanted to spend time with him.

His only consolation is that you seem to be as surprised by it as he is. He watches as you blink at him in the dark, wide-eyed and a little stunned, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

Then you smile at him, soft and sweet, and Sae feels something in his stomach shift all over again, something warm and unfamiliar he can’t name and honestly doesn’t think he wants to.

“And here I thought sleepovers were against our unofficial rules,” you tease, nudging his leg with your own. “You getting soft on me, Itoshi?”

“You wish,” he denies, scoffing for good measure. “This is a one-time thing. I’ll be back to my usual asshole self in the morning.”

“Bummer.” You nuzzle your face into the pillow beneath your head, stifling a yawn that betrays how tired you really are. “I kind of like you like this.”

“You like me naked and annoyed?”

“No, dummy. I meant sweet and concerned. It’s a surprisingly good look on you. A rare one, but a good one.” You close your eyes, lips curling into a playful smile. “Naked’s a pretty close second, though.”

In response, he flicks your forehead with his thumb and forefinger. You make a noise of protest but keep your eyes shut, swatting blindly at his hand, and for that, he finds himself grateful. He doesn’t think he’ll ever live it down if you catch the way his lips twitch into a smile.

“Just shut up and go to sleep, you little pervert.”

For once, you actually listen to him, bidding him a drowsy “goodnight” and knocking out almost immediately after. He falls asleep not long after you do, drifting off to the sound of your steady breathing and the patter of midnight rain.

Sae wakes before you the next morning, and the first thing he notices is how much closer you are to him now than when you fell asleep.

He’s not sure how it happened, but it seems that somehow over the course of the night, you’ve managed to curl yourself into his side. Now, your head is resting comfortably on his chest, your hand splayed against the muscles of his abdomen.

Sae wishes he could blame the new and compromising position solely on you, but sadly he can’t. At least not when he looks down and finds that his own traitorous arm has wrapped itself around your waist to keep you pressed against him, one of his legs tangled with yours.

It’s cuddly and intimate and most definitely against the unofficial rules of your arrangement, but still, he can’t find it in himself to wake you. He doesn’t shove you off, either, even though he knows he should, half because he thinks he’d rather die than talk to you about this and half because he doesn’t hate it nearly as much as he thought it would.

You’re pretty like this, Sae thinks distantly, completely unprovoked. You always are, but you’re softer when you’re asleep, more relaxed. It’s different from the version of you he’s used to, the one that’s loud and a little bit unruly, who talks a mile a minute and knocks back caffeine like it’s water because she always has a million different things to do.

He never imagined he’d get the chance to see you like this, all delicate and vulnerable. He never imagined he would want to, or that looking at you would make him feel this way, warm and fond and ridiculous. Human, too, in the way he so often likes to forget he is.

He spends longer than he should taking in the curve of your lips, the slope of your cheek. He untangles himself from you as carefully as he can manage and forces himself out of bed before he does something really stupid, like brush your hair out of your face or swipe his thumb against your cheek.

Sae takes a cold shower and runs through what’s left of his morning routine, willing all the strange thoughts he’s having about you to disappear.

It works for the most part, until you come padding into the kitchen and join him at the counter like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’re bare-faced and sleepy, dressed in one of his t-shirts and the sweatpants he let you borrow last night, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose and your hair pulled up and away from your face. He thinks fleetingly that it’s the cutest you’ve ever looked, which is not only ridiculous but also so unlike him that he has to resist the urge to vomit right then and there.

Somehow he manages, handing you a cup of steaming coffee as soon as you approach. You take it from him without hesitation, accepting the drink with a grateful smile and murmuring a quiet good morning.

If you’re surprised by the gesture, you don’t show it, too busy sipping gingerly at your coffee and letting it wake you up. Then you’re launching into your usual upbeat chatter, this time about your job and the co-worker who you swear you’re one “as per my last email” away from fist-fighting in the conference room.

It’s normal enough to distract him, allowing him to push away the memory of how you woke up this morning and all the sappy shit he’s been thinking about you as a result.

He almost forgets about it entirely, until later that night when he slips into bed and catches the scent of your shampoo on his pillow.

That’s when his mind begins to drift, completely against his will. He starts remembering all sorts of unwelcome things, like the weight of you in his arms, the curve of your lashes against your cheek, how tempted he was to brush your hair out of your face and pull you closer—

Sae huffs and flips the pillow over, somewhere between confused and annoyed, though whether it’s with you or himself, he isn’t sure.

He turns around and closes his eyes, forcing himself to sleep, but the thought of you lingers.

It’s Aina —and, by default, Oliver— who finds out first.

It happens on a Saturday morning, nearly four months into your arrangement with Sae. Aina shows up at your apartment completely unannounced, with a tray of coffee and a surprisingly dutiful Oliver in tow, carrying the rest of the bags. (Apparently, it’s an on-week for them.)

They mean to surprise you with breakfast, hoping to convince you over french toast and scrambled eggs to put a pause on your ‘no relationships allowed’ policy and agree to a double date with one of his teammates.

One could only imagine their surprise when they find you standing in your entryway with an entirely different teammate, one who apparently already has access to sleepover privileges. And with Sae in his clothes from the night before and you in your robe and absolutely nothing else, it isn’t hard for them to put two and two together and realize what you’ve been up to.

The silence that follows their discovery is the loudest Sae thinks he’s ever heard in his life. There’s an uncomfortably long moment where the four of you just stand there and stare at each other, not saying a single word.

Aina is the first to react, letting out an Oscar-worthy gasp loud enough to alert your neighbors. Her eyes go wide, jaw dropping as her gaze jumps back and forth between you and Sae, like her brain can’t fully make sense of what she’s seeing.

“Holy shit.”

Oliver, on the other hand, appears to be having the time of his life, leering at the two of you with the largest and most shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen on his face, like this is the best news he’s heard all week.

“No fucking way,” he says, two-toned eyes darting between you and Sae wickedly, before settling on you once more. “You bagged Itoshi?”

It’s a pretty spot-on assumption, Sae thinks, even if the way Oliver says it is stupid and irritating as hell. You are the one who approached him first, as well as the one who initiated things that first night you slept together. Not that it’s anyone else’s business, anyway, least of all nosy-ass Oliver’s.

You and Sae exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between you. It’s a testament to how familiar you’ve grown with one another over the past few months, where just one look is enough for the two of you to get an idea of what the other is thinking.

Having two of the loudest people you know find out you’ve been sleeping together isn’t ideal —neither Aina nor Oliver is exactly known for their subtlety— but it’s not the end of the world.

The two of you agreed to keep things quiet because you wanted your privacy, not because you’re ashamed of what you’ve been doing, so telling them won’t change much, as long as they don’t make it a big deal.

And besides, it’s not like you’re in any position to deny it, not when they’ve caught you red-handed.

Still, Aina and Oliver are more your friends than they are Sae’s, so he has no problem with you taking the lead on this one, which he attempts to communicate with a subtle nod of his head.

Thankfully, you seem to understand exactly what he means, clearing your throat and drawing all eyes back to you.

You pointedly ignore Oliver and his devilish smirk in favor of focusing on your best friend, who seems to be short-circuiting in light of the new information that’s been presented to her today. You take it all in stride, wielding that same easy confidence that Sae’s always admired in you, and nod at the tray she’s carrying.

“Is that iced coffee for me?”

Aina, for her part, still appears to be at a loss for words, but she makes an effort to answer you all the same, a confused but otherwise affirmative sound leaving her lips in response. You smile, reaching out to pluck the drink from its tray.

“Cool. Thanks.” You take a sip of your coffee before returning your attention to the midfielder beside you, offering him a warm smile and a parting wave. “Bye, Sae.”

It’s an easy out, of course, one that Sae is quick to accept, nodding at you and the stunned couple across from you before taking his leave.

The last thing he hears before your door shuts is the sound of Aina’s voice, baffled and utterly disbelieving as it rings out into your apartment.

“You’ve been fucking Itoshi Sae?!”

Her astonishment is a sentiment that carries over into the texts she sends you that same night, complete with various emojis and an assortment of reaction images she hopes will reflect her lingering shock. Oliver isn’t far behind her, though the texts he sends you are more teasing than anything else.

Still, they’re both strangely supportive about the whole thing. They even promise to keep what they’ve learned to themselves, though they still can’t quite believe it.

You show the texts to Sae the next time you’re at his place, letting him read them over your shoulder as the two of you lounge together in his bed, your back against his chest and his arm wound loosely around your waist.

The reaction images are sadly lost on him —Sae, as it turns out, really only cares about soccer, which means he has the social media literacy of a 70-year-old man— but he’s able to catch the gist.

You laugh about it together anyway, though for him it’s more of a little hum, followed by that tiny amused smirk you’re seeing more and more of every day.

“Did they seriously congratulate you for sleeping with me?”

“Yup. It’s a big deal, according to them. They’re both very proud of me.” You lock your phone and set it gently on his nightstand, twisting in his arms to face him with a teasing grin. “Apparently, I’m hooking up with the hottest midfielder in the league.”

He brushes off the comment at first, the way he seems to do with all of your obvious flirting, but he doesn’t stop you when you lift your leg and hike it over his hip.

And maybe it’s because he’s tired from practice, or maybe it’s because being around you relaxes him in a way he isn’t used to— but he ends up pulling you closer, palm smoothing over your skin and tracing a path up your leg.

“Well,” he mutters, hand squeezing appreciatively at your thigh, “it’s not like they’re wrong.”

“I dunno…” You let your voice trail off, fingertips skimming down his chest as you pretend to think about it. “I mean, ‘hottest midfielder’ is a really big title, and from what I’ve seen, your brother’s pretty hot, too.”

“My brother’s a striker, dumbass.”

“Even better. Think you can put in a good word for me?”

He shoots you a flat look, unimpressed by your joke, while you grin at him and crack up like you're the funniest person in the world. You’re still laughing when he reaches behind his head for a pillow and smacks you right in the face with it, squeaking out a “hey, wait, I’m kidding— I’m kidding!” between bursts of laughter.

And it’s ridiculous, Sae thinks, how easily the sound of your laugh softens him, how quickly it makes him forget about ever being annoyed. It shouldn’t, but it does, and right now he’s trying very hard not to think about what that might mean.

So he pushes it down and ignores it, the same way he’s forced himself to ignore how comfortable he’s gotten with you these past few months, hooking his hand behind your knee and rolling you both over so you’re laying on your back with him hovering above you.

He kisses you, then, deep and wanting in the way he knows you like, the one that leaves you breathless, half to distract himself and half because he wants to. You welcome him eagerly the way you always do, hooking your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair in an effort to bring him closer to you.

He breaks the kiss before it can go any further, drawing back just enough so that his lips are hovering above your own. You open your eyes, pupils blown out with desire, blinking at him expectantly as you wait for him to kiss you again.

When he doesn’t, you move for him, leaning up to press your lips back against his. He moves just out of reach at the last second, leaving you with a crease in your forehead and a pout on your lips that’s almost cute enough for him to give you what you want. Almost.

But Sae, as you’ve both learned, has a bit of a possessive streak. And while he’s already forgiven you for your earlier teasing, he hasn’t forgotten. And he intends, in true egoist fashion, to have the last word, even if it means having to stave off his own desires for a bit.

“You still interested in my brother?” he asks, and it’s pointed, goading. Probably the closest he’ll get to admitting how utterly disinterested he is in sharing you with anyone else.

“Wait, you have a brother?” You widen your eyes and pretend to be shocked, batting your lashes innocently before shaking your head. “Never heard of him.”

“Idiot,” he tells you, quiet, fond. Affectionate, too, if you’d listen closely enough. If he’d let you.

You merely laugh in response, bright and airy, before wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him down to you. This time, he doesn’t pull away, leaning down to kiss you and feeling your smile against his lips.

It’s not long after that your kisses turn heated and wanting, his tongue and lips tracing a path down your neck and over your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth and rolls the other between his thumb and index finger, your nails digging into his back as you moan, pretty and breathless into his ear.

One of the perks of your arrangement lasting so long is that it’s made Sae somewhat of an expert at taking you apart. He knows exactly how to make you feel good, knows your body and all of its little tells, all the ways you like to be touched.

It doesn’t take much for him to have you desperate and keening, just his tongue at your clit and his fingers deep in your cunt, curling against the spot that makes your eyes roll back.

Soon you’re pulling at his hair, your arousal dripping down his wrist and chin as you whine at him to fuck you, all trembling thighs and breathy whimpers. He obliges, half because you’re practically begging for it and half because he wants you so much, it’s starting to make him dizzy.

It’s not always like this. Most nights Sae prefers taking his time with you. He gets off on seeing how needy you get, how much he can make you want him. You never beg for anything, never want for anything from anyone else until you’re here, desperate and panting beneath him.

He likes seeing you that way. He likes being the one you seek out to give it to you even more.

Tonight, though, it’s different. He’s not sure what triggered it, but suddenly he can’t stop touching you, can’t stop thinking about you and how much he wants you. He’s always attentive, but right now he feels greedy, impatient. Wild in a way he isn’t used to. He kisses you, and it’s hungry, deliberate, like he has something to prove.

He helps you to your knees and fucks you with his hands at your hips and his chest at your back, hard and deep the way he knows you like. He makes you cum with your cheek pressed into the mattress and your hands digging into the sheets, and then he flips you over and pushes your knees to your chest, sliding back into you.

He makes you cum like that, too, with his name on your lips and your hands laced with his own, pinned above your head— once, twice more until he’s had his fill and begins chasing his own release, his face pressed against your neck as he finally lets go and falls apart inside of you.

You shower together afterwards, all slow kisses and languid touches as you stand beneath the warmth of his stupidly expensive shower head. It’s softer than it should be, too soft to be considered casual.

Sae knows it, too, just like he knows he should quit while he’s ahead and pull away from you before it’s too late, but he can’t, not when the scrape of your nails against his scalp as you lave shampoo through his hair feels as good as it does.

You exit the shower looking clean and refreshed, hair damp and skin glowing as you towel yourself off. You smell just like him, the scent of his body wash clinging to your skin.

It does something stupid to his brain, knowing that. Makes his ears red and his heart race in a way he immediately tries to bury. For some reason, this time it’s harder to do.

You get dressed in his bedroom and pack your bag. You tell him you have a big meeting at work tomorrow, so you can’t spend the night. You stay for dinner anyway, letting him treat you to takeout from your favorite restaurant.

The two of you sit on his couch and enjoy your meal together. As usual, you’re the one who provides most of the conversation, Sae preferring to nod along and listen, interjecting every now and then with a surprisingly thoughtful question or a sly comment that has you elbowing him in the side.

With takeout boxes littering his coffee table and a movie you’ve both already seen playing idly in the background, his apartment feels more lived in now than it ever has before, the way it always does whenever you come over. Sae does his very best to ignore how normal it all seems, how easily your knee presses against his as you sit beside him on the couch.

When it’s time for you to leave, he walks you to the door. You thank him again for dinner and smile when he brushes you off, reminding you to text him when you get home.

Then you kiss him goodbye and he lets you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it isn’t a big deal, even though you both know it is.

And though he knows he shouldn’t, though he knows he’s better off pushing it down and ignoring it, the way he’s gotten so good at lately— he thinks about it for the rest of the night.

Things get a little blurrier after that.

It starts slowly, at first. An extra toothbrush by his sink, your hair ties on his nightstand. Little pieces of you scattered across his apartment that reveal just how intertwined your lives have become, even if neither of you wants to admit it.

He gets into the habit of picking you up from work. Starts showing up at your door with a bottle of wine and your favorite comfort snacks whenever he knows you’ve had a shitty week. There’s a shelf in his bathroom set aside just for you, stocked with moisturizer, cleanser, and face masks he lets you slather on his skin every now and then, on nights when he’s feeling particularly indulgent.

Your place is just as bad, if not worse. There’s protein powder in your pantry now, his hoodies hung up comfortably in your closet.

You drive him to practice when you have some free time and send him voice notes when you don’t, ones he makes a fuss about but always listens to. And whenever he has a game, you’re the first person who Facetimes him in the morning, wishing him luck and letting him know how excited you are to watch him win.

These days, you’re together more often than you’re apart. Sometimes he invites you over, and you don’t even have sex at all— you just hang out in his apartment and tell him about your day, resting your feet in his lap while his hands roam up and down your calves, and it feels like enough. Having you there feels like enough.

It gets to the point that whenever Shidou or Oliver want to reach him, they call you instead, knowing that Sae will be with you, the way he always seems to be now. It’s so humbling that for a single, horrifying moment, he considers cutting you off completely.

But Sae knows, even before the thought forms in his mind, that he won’t be able to go through with it. You’re too important to him now, too familiar. You’re his best friend, and as confusing and annoying as his thoughts about you have become, he can’t stay away from you.

He doesn’t even realize how bad he’s got it until another two months later, on the night of your birthday, when a conversation with Oliver forces him to confront the feelings he’s usually a lot better at ignoring.

The evening itself starts off normally enough. Sae spends most of it on the field with his team, in preparation for a rivalry game that’s less than a week away. The other players leave as soon as their coach dismisses them, eager to hit the showers and get some rest, but Sae stays behind for some extra practice.

He’s still at it by the time Oliver returns from the locker room. The centerback looks surprised to see that Sae’s still there, but he doesn’t hesitate to approach, joining his teammate out on the pitch.

“Figures you’d be the last one on the field,” Oliver says, greeting him with his signature sleazy smile. “You trying to make the rest of us look bad, Itoshi?”

Sae barely spares him a glance, choosing instead to focus on the row of soccer balls lined up at his feet. “I’ve never had to try to do that.”

Anyone else would be insulted, but Oliver just laughs, too used to Sae’s attitude to take it personally. “Why’re you still out here, anyway? It’s your girl’s birthday tonight. Shouldn’t you be back at your place getting ready?”

You’re not his girl, obviously, but correcting Oliver would be more trouble than it’s worth, so Sae doesn’t bother. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, come on, man. No one’s that much of an asshole, not even you. Aren’t you coming to her party?”

Sae knows all about your party, of course. You invited him a while ago, though you made it clear it was a no pressure invitation. You knew he had that game coming up and that parties —especially the over the top and extravagant kind planned by Aina— aren’t really his thing, so you’d understand if he didn’t attend.

You’ve always been like that. Always more considerate than he or anyone else deserves. He picked up a present for you anyway, a simple necklace with a diamond sun pendant that made him think of you.

He planned to give it to you next week. Figured it would more than make up for his absence tonight, especially when he knows you’ll be busy with your friends. He’ll be shocked if you even notice he isn’t there, which is why he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about sitting this one out.

“I’m not going,” Sae states plainly, kicking the ball at his feet and watching it land in the goal. “She said I didn’t have to.”

“Well yeah, that sounds like her, but don’t you want to? It’d be a fun way to surprise her,” Oliver points out, as if Sae really needs the reminder. “Hell, even I’m going, and she only tolerates me.”

“She knows I’m busy.” Another kick, another goal. Sae lifts the bottom of his shirt and wipes at the sweat on his face, unmoved. “She’ll be fine.”

“Damn.” Oliver whistles and crosses his arms over his chest, somewhere between incredulous and impressed. “And here I thought the two of you were finally getting serious. Shidou’ll be thrilled you’re back on the market. Adrian, too— though for different reasons.”

That catches Sae’s attention. He pauses before his next kick and shifts his gaze to where Oliver stands, narrowing his eyes.

He isn’t sure what his teammate is suggesting here, but he already doesn’t like it.

“Am I supposed to care about who that is?”

“You tell me. See, from what I hear, he’s your girl’s— my bad, I mean your not-girl’s ex. Apparently they ended on pretty good terms. Aina told me he’ll be there tonight, along with the rest of their friends.”

Oliver waits for a moment, letting his words sink in, before he grins knowingly, mismatched eyes smug and goading.

“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t care, huh?”

Sae feels himself frown, eyes narrowing into a glare as something heavy and bitter settles over his chest. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut, too, one that makes his stomach twist with discomfort.

You’ve never mentioned Adrian before. You’ve never mentioned any of your exes before, at least not to Sae, and why would you?

Contrary to popular belief, Sae’s not your boyfriend. He’s not even someone you’re officially dating. He’s just a friend you fuck regularly and hang out with after, even if it has been going on for way too long to be considered casual.

The point is, who you choose to spend your time with, romantically or otherwise, is none of his business, because you never agreed to be exclusive. And it’s not like he cares if you’re seeing other people, anyway, because he doesn’t. He doesn’t care.

He’s just a little annoyed by it, is all. Just a little irritated by the fact that Oliver would waste his time by bringing it up now, even though he knows Sae has more important things on his mind, like the upcoming game everyone else seems to be forgetting about.

That’s what Sae tells himself, anyway. What he reminds himself of even after Oliver says goodbye and heads off to get ready, leaving him alone on the pitch with nothing but his thoughts.

He repeats it inside of his head, over and over again, telling himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care— even as the next ball he kicks misses, ricocheting off the goalpost.

So what if you’re seeing the ex you never mentioned tonight? And so what if the two of you ended on good enough terms for you to feel comfortable inviting him to your party? It’s your birthday, and you’re allowed to spend it with whoever you want.

Sae knows that, just like he knows you don’t owe him anything, least of all an explanation. And he doesn’t care— he doesn’t. He shouldn’t, because if he did, well— then that would mean he cares about you, maybe even has actual feelings for you, and that just wouldn’t make any sense, would it?

Because Sae doesn’t do this kind of thing. He doesn’t do feelings, or relationships, or anything else that puts him at risk of being vulnerable. He isn’t made for it. He never has been.

But then he thinks of you. Of your smile and your enthusiasm, of your quick comebacks and your laugh that turns into a snort whenever you think something is especially funny.

He thinks about the first time you spent the night at his place. He remembers waking up with you after and how easy it felt to hold you, how right.

You are thoughtful in a way that Sae is not, light-hearted and optimistic in a way he knows he’ll never be. You’re smart, too, smarter than anyone else he knows and more sensitive than you like to admit.

You’re stubborn to a fault, you hate admitting when you’re wrong, and you wouldn’t know how to relax even if someone paid you— but Sae can’t think of anything he’d like to do more than spend his time trying to keep up with you.

It hits him, then. The truth he’s spent the past few months trying to deny. All those sappy thoughts he’s had about you, the comfort and ease that settle over him whenever he’s around you— it’s not just because he likes spending time with you, or because he considers you a close friend.

It’s because he has feelings for you. Real, genuine feelings that he can’t ignore, at least not anymore.

It’s why hearing about your ex distracts him enough to make him miss the goal. Why the thought of you with someone else makes him feel sick to his stomach. And as much as Sae hates being vulnerable and honest about his feelings, he thinks he hates the idea of you cozying up to your ex even more.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it yet, or what he’s going to say to you— but what he does know is that he can’t do it here, so he picks up his bag and leaves the field.

An hour later, he’s in his car and driving up to the lounge where Aina’s hosting your party, freshly showered and handing his keys over to the valet. The necklace he picked out for you rests inside the pocket of his jacket, tucked securely against his side.

It’ll pair nicely with his confession, he thinks, if he can find the words. If his logic will allow it.

Inside the lounge, it doesn’t take him long to find you. You’re exactly where he thought you’d be, smack dab in the middle of the dance floor, swaying your hips and singing your heart out with Aina and the rest of your friends at your side.

You look incredible, all smooth skin and glittery eyes, dressed in something soft and lacey he can’t wait to help you out of. You’ve always been beautiful, but here beneath the warm lights with your hair framing your face and your lips curled into that alluring smile, you’re easily the most stunning thing he’s ever seen.

Sae spends longer than he probably should just looking at you, watching you laugh and dance out on the floor, spurred on by the music and the enthusiastic cheers of your friends. He finds himself smiling before he can really help it, tender and fond in the way only you ever seem to make him.

You do a bit of a double take when you spot him, craning your neck past Aina’s head to get a better view. He sends you a short nod as a form of greeting, and you return it with an excited wave of your own, excusing yourself from your friends to join him where he stands at the edge of the crowd.

You smile as you approach, a little breathless from all the dancing, but still so beautiful. You look happy that he’s here, but you’re surprised, too, eyes wide, like he’s the last person you expected to see.

“Sae? What are you doing here?”

It’s a fair question, considering the fact that the last time you spoke, he told you he couldn’t make it, but he raises an eyebrow anyway, like he can’t believe you’d ask. “You invited me, remember?”

“Well, yeah, I did, but I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you say honestly, laughing a little. “I thought you were busy.”

“I was. Now I’m not.” When your eyes widen even more, your surprise giving way to disbelief, Sae’s eyebrows furrow. “Is it really that big of a deal?”

“That you’re choosing to spend your free time surrounded by everyone I know getting drunk off their asses? Kind of, yeah.” You reach out and smooth your hands over his chest, tugging at the lapels of his jacket to tease him. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

And Sae, too sure of his feelings to deny it, but too stubborn to agree, merely sighs, though he does nothing to move your hands away. “Look, if you want me to leave—”

“And rob me and the rest of my friends of the opportunity to ogle you in a button-down? On my birthday?” You put a hand over your heart and shake your head, looking scandalized. “That’s so disrespectful, not to mention selfish. I’m honestly offended that you even suggested it.”

He rolls his eyes, muttering something about you being the most dramatic person in the world, and you start to laugh, lips curling into that lovely little smile that lately he can’t stop thinking about.

Then you take his hand, sliding your fingers through his in a way that feels a lot more significant now that he knows he has feelings for you, and Sae feels something in his chest shift all over again, his pulse quickening beneath his skin.

“Come on,” you tell him, tugging on his hand to guide him forward, completely unaware of the effect you have on him. “I’ll get you a drink.”

You lead him to the bar and prop yourself up on one of the stools. Sae takes a seat beside you and watches as you order two cocktails— something simple for him and something sweet for yourself. The bartender makes quick work of your drinks, setting them down in front of you in record time and leaving you and Sae to chat.

“How was practice?”

“Same as always. How’s your party?”

“It’s been a lot of fun, actually. Aina really outdid herself. I’m thankful, even if it is forcing me to accept the sad reality that I’m basically a grandma now.” You let out a wistful sigh, stirring your drink with your straw. “When I was in college, I used to knock back tequila like it was water. Now it just kind of burns.”

That has him letting out an actual laugh, quiet but genuine, though he attempts to cover it up by reaching for his drink. You notice anyway and beam at the sound, unreasonably pleased with yourself, the way you always are whenever you manage to make him laugh.

He thinks of telling you that you’re the only one who can, the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do so. But the bar is rowdy and the music’s too loud, so he keeps it to himself, taking a sip of his drink and watching you do the same.

You chat for a while longer, catching each other up on all that you’ve missed in the week since you last saw one another. He tells you about the trip he took to the beach and the clothing sponsorship his manager won’t shut up about, and you tell him about the new pastry shop you tried and the comically large fruit bouquet your parents had delivered to your doorstep this morning.

And it’s easy, Sae thinks, talking to you like this. He’s never been a fan of parties, but sitting here with you, listening to your voice and hearing you laugh, it isn’t so bad.

He spent most of the drive here thinking of you and coming to terms with his feelings for you. These past few months have been filled with nothing but denial on his part, with Sae doing everything in his power to convince himself that he only saw you as the friend he was casually hooking up with, despite every one of his thoughts and actions proving otherwise.

But on the drive here, when he finally sat down to think about it, he found that what he feels for you was strangely easy for him to accept, despite the initial shock of it all.

Sae’s never been one for romance or relationships. He’s never imagined that’d be something he’d want, but looking at you now and wanting you the way he does, he knows it’s true. If he has to have feelings for anyone, he figures it might as well be you.

You, with all your sarcasm and your compassion and that soft little smile he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of.

He’s glad that it’s you.

If Sae were softer, more sensitive like Rin, he’d tell you. If he were better with words, if he knew what to say or where to start, he’d grab your hand and take you somewhere quiet and romantic, and then he’d tell you the truth. He’d tell you everything, all about the way you make him feel and all the parts of himself you make him want to give you.

But Sae isn’t like that. And while normally he wouldn’t hesitate to go after what he wants, he’s not going to risk ruining your birthday or the friendship you’ve built by telling you about the feelings he’s only now realizing he has, especially when he has no idea how to put them into words.

So he doesn’t.

He just listens to the sound of your voice and keeps his feelings to himself, pretending that absolutely nothing has changed even when it’s obvious that everything has.

Eventually, Aina and the rest of your girlfriends show up at the bar to steal you away. They’re shouting something about birthday pictures and ass-shaking that Sae only half-understands, but he doesn’t fight them on it. He knows how excited you are to spend tonight celebrating and letting loose with your friends, so he lets them whisk you away, nodding when you promise to catch up with him later.

Shidou and Oliver show up to harass him the second you and your friends are gone. They try to bully him into taking shots with them, but when that doesn’t work, they settle for setting him up with another drink instead. Then they each sling an arm around his shoulders and herd him over to the couches, where a handful of their other teammates are waiting.

The next time Sae sees you, you're back on the dance floor with your friends. He recognizes most of them, like Aina and Eri, Kenta and Misaki. The only stranger is the man standing behind you, the one Sae immediately decides he doesn’t like.

That’s when Sae notices how close this guy is to you and how low his hands are on your waist. All of a sudden, ignoring his feelings for you becomes a lot harder to do, especially now, when he’s almost positive that you’re dancing with your ex.

Sae doesn’t actually know that the man you’re dancing with is Adrian, of course. He’s too far away to hear what’s being said or to catch any names, but with how comfortable this guy seems to be with touching you, it isn’t hard to guess. He’s lean and broad-shouldered, too, with bright green eyes and silky dark hair, and well— you did say you have a type.

And when you glance over your shoulder to look at him, instead of being disgusted and telling him to get the fuck away from you, the way Sae is hoping you will, you smile. You actually fucking smile, accepting the bastard’s outstretched hand and letting him spin you around, like it’s normal, like you’re used to it. Like it’s something the two of you have done a million times before.

Quite frankly, it makes Sae want to fucking vomit.

It bothers him more than he cares to admit, watching you dance with Adrian and seeing how happy you look, how easily you welcome your ex-boyfriend’s touch. You aren’t even doing anything particularly scandalous, just laughing and letting him twirl you around, but seeing it happen still makes Sae’s stomach churn and his chest ache in a way he knows can’t be normal.

When the song changes, Aina ushers you and the rest of your group back towards the bar, ending your little stint on the dance floor. Sae finds himself grateful for the interruption, until he realizes that all it’s done is provide Adrian with the opportunity to get even closer to you, nestling himself between you and Eri.

Aina stands on your other side and waves down the bartender, but all Sae can focus on is the arm Adrian has wrapped around your shoulders, the way he leans in close and whispers in your ear.

Immediately, Sae decides he can’t watch anymore, not unless he actually wants to throw up. So instead of sticking around to see what happens next, he stands up and walks away, before the tension in his chest makes him do something stupid.

Shidou and Oliver call after him in confusion, but Sae ignores them, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.

There’s an outdoor section attached to the lounge, guarded by a set of clunky metal doors he didn’t notice until now. He pushes past them and is pleased to find the space almost entirely empty, save for the trio of smokers who are already on their way back inside, their cigarettes quickly blackening in the ashtray left on one of the tables outside.

Sae walks past them as they exit, ignoring the open chairs and couches in favor of standing closer to the balcony. He braces himself against the railing, nursing a drink he doesn’t even really want in his hand and a heaviness he isn’t used to in his heart.

It’s colder out here than it is inside. Quieter, too, though Sae hardly minds it. He welcomes the chill and the silence it brings, even if it does little to sort out his thoughts. All he knows for sure is that right now, he wants to be alone, and being out here can give him that, so he stays.

He enjoys about ten minutes of blissful silence before he hears the doors push open again. He braces himself with a deep sigh and looks over his shoulder, ready to tell Oliver to go back inside and leave him alone, but he stops himself when he sees that it’s you.

And it’s awful, Sae thinks, how easily the sight of you softens him, how happy he is to see you, even now. A few seconds ago, he was convinced he didn’t want to see anyone at all, but looking at you now, he can’t imagine ever asking you to leave.

The thought’s a little easier for him to stomach now that he’s accepted his feelings for you, but that doesn’t make it any less disorienting.

“There you are,” you say, greeting him with a warm smile and looking just as happy to see him now as you were when he first arrived. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I tried asking Oliver, but he wasn’t sure, either.”

Sae’s eyebrows raise at your words, his previous agitation forgotten. “You went looking for me?”

“Of course.” You join him at the railing, heels clacking against the pavement as you walk. You’re standing close enough now that your arm touches his, but he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. “I can’t exactly fulfill my promise of ogling you if you’re all the way out here, now, can I?”

“I’m sure you would’ve figured something out,” he says, bumping his shoulder with yours, even as the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. “You’re persistent that way.”

“Can you blame me? You know what the sight of you with your shirt buttons undone does to the general public, myself included.”

“Weirdly enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that tonight.”

“Let me guess— Shidou?”

“He’s the only other person as dedicated to flirting with me as you are.”

You laugh, flipping your hair over your shoulder with a shrug. “What can I say? We have excellent taste.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” He raises an eyebrow at you and hums, amused. “And here I thought it was just the two of you being shameless as always.”

“Only for you,” you say, voice low and playful, punctuating your words with a ridiculous wink that he shouldn’t find nearly half as endearing as he does. “Well, you and Pedro Pascal, but he didn’t show up for my birthday the way you did, so— mostly you.”

“I’m flattered,” he drawls sarcastically, making you laugh.

A brief silence follows, though it’s far from uncomfortable. It never is, not when it’s just you and Sae. You know he isn’t exactly the most talkative person, but you’ve never seemed to have a problem with that, never tried to make him into something he’s not. It’s one of the many things he likes about you.

You blink when you catch him staring at you, but you don’t hesitate to smile at him anyway. “What?”

“Nothing.” He’s quick to change the subject, clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away from your own. That’s when he notices the way you’re shivering, your arms going up to wrap around yourself as a breeze passes and goosebumps rise on your skin. “You’re cold.”

“Only a little,” you admit, expression bashful as you rub your arm, “but it’s fine. I’ll adjust. Honestly, with how hot it was inside, I probably need the—”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and offering it for you to take. “Here.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. Really, you don’t have to—”

Your protests quickly go nowhere, Sae choosing to ignore you and all but shoving his jacket into your hands. You accept it from him somewhat unsurely, though that hesitance quickly disappears the moment you feel how warm his jacket feels around you.

You slide your arms through the sleeves and let the jacket rest comfortably around your shoulders, looking up to face him with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He nods in acknowledgement of your gratitude but says nothing else, too busy taking in the sight of you in his jacket and thinking about how much better it’d be if you were actually his.

Not for the first time, he thinks of confessing his feelings. He settles for bringing up the gift he got you instead, hoping it’ll be enough to make you understand.

“There’s something in it for you,” he says quickly, before he can talk himself out of it. “Inside the pocket.”

You blink, taken aback. “Really?”

When he nods, you reach inside his jacket. It takes you a moment or two of rummaging around, but eventually you find what you’re looking for, pulling out the dark velvet box that holds the necklace he got you for your birthday and cradling it gently inside your palm.

You meet his gaze briefly, eyes soft and searching, before opening the box with your other hand. You let out a tiny gasp when you see what’s inside, your eyes widening at the sun pendant that rests before you. It quite literally takes your breath away, and Sae knows, even before you meet his eyes again, that he’s done something right.

“Oh, my god. Sae, this is so— I mean, I don’t even know what to—” He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this way before, so at a loss for words. Usually you always have something to say, but right now you can hardly form a sentence, eyes wide as you all but gape at him. “Are you sure?”

“Happy birthday,” Sae says, as softly and sincerely as he can manage. “I hope you like it.”

“Are you kidding? How could I not?”

You laugh a little, voice disbelieving as you trace your fingertips over the necklace, gentle and admiring. Sae can’t help but smile to himself as he watches you, pleased by how touched you seem to be by the gift.

“It’s beautiful. Seriously, Sae, it’s gorgeous and wonderful— and way too fucking expensive.” You snap the box closed, shaking your head firmly. “I can’t accept this.”

Your words make him frown, brows furrowing slightly as you hold the box out to him. He had a feeling you’d be difficult about this, knowing how notoriously stubborn you are, but he thought you’d at least put the necklace on before trying to give it back to him.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?” You stare at him, bewildered, an almost comically serious look on your face as you lift the box in your hands and shake it around. “Sae, there are actual diamonds on this necklace.”

He resists the urge to laugh at your expression, shrugging his shoulders and raising an eyebrow. “So?”

“So?” you repeat, giving him an incredulous look. “That means it’s probably worth more than my freakin’ apartment! I can’t take this from you.”

“You’re not taking anything. I’m giving it to you,” Sae corrects, completely unbothered, even as your eye starts to twitch in a way that makes it clear you think he’s lost his mind. “You know, like that gift thing people do on birthdays?”

He tries to make a joke, but you hardly acknowledge it, evidently too occupied with having an internal crisis about the amount of money he spent to appreciate his rare attempt at humor. There’s a frown on your lips and a crease in your brow that reassure him it’s going to take a lot more than that to convince you to accept the gift, but thankfully, Sae has already prepared for that.

“I’m not bringing it back to the store,” he says, meeting your eyes so you can see exactly how serious he is. “I already got rid of the receipt, and I’m not giving it to anyone else, so either you take it, or it goes in the trash.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face must make you reconsider, because you’re closing it before you can say anything else. Realizing that regardless of your protests, he won’t be changing his mind, you sigh, relenting.

“Fine. I’ll take it.” You’re trying your best to pout, making a show of your begrudging acceptance, but the sparkle in your eye as you gaze down at the box in your hand betrays just how thrilled you really are to be keeping the gift. “But I would like the record to show that I think you’re a psychopath. A filthy rich, full-blown psychopath.”

“You know, most people would just say thank you.”

Sae expects you to make a quip back, maybe even return his snark with an eye roll of your own, but you surprise him by taking his hand in yours, using the other to cradle the box to your chest.

“Thank you, Sae.” You squeeze his hand and smile, gratitude and sincerity hanging off every word. “I love it.”

You give his hand another gentle squeeze before releasing it and turning your attention back to the box you’re holding, a distraction Sae finds himself grateful for. He’s not sure what kind of expression he’s making right now, but if the way his pulse is racing is any indication, he doubts it’s anything normal.

He watches as you open the box and remove the necklace from inside. Once it’s been freed, you put the empty box back in his pocket and let the necklace dangle from your fingertips, turning to offer it to him again.

“Will you help me put it on?”

For a moment, all Sae can do is nod. His pulse is still racing, drumming beneath his skin with the kind of adrenaline he thought he’d only ever get while playing soccer. He ignores it as best as he can, clearing his throat and taking the necklace from you.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, turning so your back is facing him and holding up your hair so it’s out of the way. He brings the necklace to your throat, fingers brushing against your neck in a way that makes you shudder slightly, goosebumps rising on your skin as you lean instinctively into his touch.

The sight is tempting enough to make him want to forget the necklace entirely and bring his lips to your throat, grazing the spot below your ear he knows drives you crazy, but somehow he resists the urge, clasping the necklace shut without any further incident.

“Well?” You let go of your hair and turn back around to face him, a smile on your face as you put your hands on your hips and strike a pose. “How’s it look?”

What Sae wants to say is that you look stunning. That you always do, and that it has nothing to do with the necklace at your throat or the clothes you wear and everything to do with the way you carry yourself, dramatic nonsense and all.

What comes out of his mouth instead isn’t nearly as poetic. “It looks better on you than it would have in the garbage can.”

It’s probably one of the least romantic things you’ve ever heard, but luckily for him, you’re too used to his personality to be offended by it. All you do is laugh, brushing it off without a second thought.

“You know,” you say, in the shittiest imitation of his voice you can manage, throwing his words back at him the way he’s sure you planned to from the beginning, “most people would just say it looks good on me.”

Sae huffs out a laugh, though he still makes a point to roll his eyes at your words. He watches you grin and laugh along with him, taking in the curve of your lips and the flutter of your lashes, and finds himself speaking again, before he can change his mind.

“It does.” It’s hard to say who the confession surprises more— you or himself. He keeps going anyway, even as your laughter fades and your eyes widen. “You look—” It takes him a second to gather himself, the words awkward and stiff coming from his mouth, but just as sincere. “—beautiful. You are beautiful.”

Understandably, the compliment catches you off guard. Sae’s called you many things before —stubborn, ridiculous, dramatic, even shameless— but he’s never called you beautiful. He’s never called anything beautiful, at least not on purpose. You probably didn’t even think it was something he could do.

Maybe that’s why you’re looking at him so strangely now, his words stunning you into silence. He can only hope you know he meant them. Then he notices the shy little smile on your face and the way you wrap his jacket a little tighter around yourself and realizes you already do.

“Thank you.”

Another silence falls between you, different from before. This one is a little more intense, the air between you thick with words left unsaid, but it’s still not uncomfortable, at least not yet. Sae knows it’s true, because when he leans back against the railing, you follow, settling into the space beside him and letting your arm press against his without a hint of regret or awkwardness.

“I’m glad you’re here, Sae.” You don’t look at him when you say it, eyes on the city skyline below you, all the twinkling, faraway lights blanketed by the cover of darkness. Your voice is quieter than he’s used to, but still undoubtedly sincere. “And not because of the gift, or because of the compliment, even though those were nice, too— but because of you.”

That catches him off guard. “Because of me?”

“Yeah, because of you.” You turn to look at him then, all easy smiles and undeniable fondness. “Just you. I mean, obviously you didn’t have to be here, and I know you probably haven’t been enjoying yourself too much, but still, it’s nice.”

“What makes you think I’m not enjoying myself?”

“You’re kidding, right? This whole thing is loud music and a big crowd, neither of which you’re fond of. Besides, you told me you hated parties.”

“I don’t hate you.” The words fall from his lips before he can stop them, soft and tender and way too fucking honest. Your eyes widen, even more now than they did when he called you beautiful, and immediately he clears his throat, backtracking. “...I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, so you do hate me, then?”

“What? No, that’s not what I—” He cuts himself off when he catches the smile you try and fail to hide behind your hand, any concern he had about hurting your feelings vanishing as he shoots you a scowl. “Oh, shut up.”

You give up on masking your amusement and begin laughing outright. Normally, the sound would annoy him, especially when done at his expense, but because it’s you, all it does is make him grow more fond, the corners of his lips curling into a smile of his own before he can stop them.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you say, your side pressing against his as you lean in close, whispering like you’re sharing a secret, “I don’t hate you, too.”

It’s nothing like an actual confession, nor can it be considered a real sign that you’ll return his feelings, but Sae hears you say it, watches the way you watch him, and suddenly he knows that if there were ever a time for him to tell you the truth, then this would be it.

But words have never come easily to Sae, so instead of saying it, instead of telling you, he decides to show you.

He brings his hand to your face, cupping your cheek in his palm with a kind of gentleness he didn’t even think himself capable of until now. He swipes his thumb along your bottom lip, his gaze never leaving yours, while you look on, startled by his sudden softness.

He knows as soon as he does it that the way he’s holding you now is something different, something real. He knows you’ll feel it, too, knows it’ll catch you off guard, even if it’s far from the first time he’s touched you. It’s why he isn’t the least bit surprised when your eyes widen, your voice a quiet, stunned murmur as you open your mouth to speak.

“Sae, what are you…”

He doesn’t let you finish that thought, closing what little distance is left between you to press his lips against yours. It’s a softer kiss than he usually goes for, every bit as tender and delicate as the way his hand cradles your cheek and filled with all the sincerity he can manage, all the longing he didn’t even realize he’d been feeling until now.

You’re breathless when he pulls away, lips parted and eyes fluttering back open to meet his, dazed, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

“What was that for?”

For a moment, Sae has no idea how to respond. You’ve always been the most observant person in the room —it’s how you found out about the ankle he sprained last month, having picked up on the strain in his voice the moment he answered your call— so the fact that you still haven’t realized he’s trying to confess his feelings for you is unexpected, to say the least.

Still, he doesn’t let it deter him, letting the hand he uses to cradle your face speak for him, thumb brushing across your cheek in a way he hopes makes things a little clearer.

“What do you think?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes locked with his own, stunned and searching. You reach up a hand and place it over the one he has on your face, but your touch is hesitant, unsure— much like your voice is when you speak again.

“Honestly, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be thinking right now.”

Sae is trying very hard to be sensitive for you, but he can’t stop himself from frowning at your words. He knew telling you about his feelings —or, in this case, showing you— wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard, either. And though he knows it’s probably unfair of him to think kissing you like this will be enough, your reaction isn’t exactly making him feel any better about it.

“It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve kissed you.”

“Well, yeah, I know that, but you’ve never—” You cut yourself off, brows furrowing as you fix him with a serious look. “You’ve never kissed me like that.”

“Maybe I just didn’t think you could handle it.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Sae knows, not to mention completely at odds with what he’s actually feeling, but it’s what comes out of his mouth, anyway. You frown as soon as he says it, eyes narrowing as you shake your head.

“You’re such a dick, Sae.”

“I know.” He moves his hand and brushes a piece of hair away from your face. You let him, your gaze flickering down to his lips then back up again to meet his eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

And though he knows as well as you do that you should say yes, though you have every right to push him away and demand he explain himself properly, all you do is lean in closer, your lips hovering against his as you answer, voice low and deliberate and just a little breathless, “...No.”

He closes the distance at the same time you do, your lips meeting in another kiss that’s as longing and passionate as the first. It’s just as soft, too, soft in the way you still can’t quite make sense of, but that hardly seems to matter to you now as you tilt your head and let yourself become lost in it, one of your hands going up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Then you’re pressing your body against his, your lips moving to nip at his jaw, and it’s all Sae can do to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you closer, his mouth finding yours once more.

There’s so much more the two of you need to talk about, so much he still has tell you so that you can finally understand the extent of his feelings, but right now, all he can focus on is the feel of your lips against his own and the weight of you in his arms, steady and solid, like it’s where you were meant to be all along.

He lifts a hand to cradle your jaw, and your lips part, tongue sliding against his as he walks the two of you backwards. Your back hits the railing, and you make a needy little sound in the back of your throat that just makes him kiss you harder, one of your legs going up to wrap around his waist.

His lips are halfway down your neck when your phone starts to ring. The two of you ignore it at first, too lost in each other to pay it any real mind, and eventually it stops, just in time for Sae to make his way back up to your lips, his free hand shifting lower to grip at your thigh.

Not even a minute later, the ringing starts back up again, a loud, chiming tone that’s a lot harder to ignore the second time around. Reluctantly, Sae pulls away, though he doesn’t go very far— just enough to meet your eyes, one of his hands still cradling the side of your face.

“You should probably answer that,” he mutters, even as his other hand smooths over the skin of your thigh, his lips hovering just a breath away from your own.

“What?” you ask, dazed and distracted, your eyes still focused on his lips.

“Your phone, dumbass,” he replies, soft and amused, the corners of his mouth curling up at your reaction. “Answer it before your friends start a tequila-fueled search party.”

“Oh, shit— yeah.” The reality of his words spurs you back into action, your eyes widening a fraction as you snap yourself out of your daze. “Good call.”

You work together to untangle yourselves from each other, unwinding your arms from around his neck while Sae guides your leg back to the ground to help you find your footing. When he’s sure you won’t fall, he lets his hands drop and takes a step back, giving you space to answer the call.

You, however, seem to have other plans, your hand shooting out to grab onto the front of his shirt before he can get too far. Your phone is still ringing, even louder now that you’ve pulled it out of your purse, but you don’t seem too concerned about it, your attention focused solely on Sae.

“This’ll be quick,” you reassure him. “So don’t— don’t go anywhere, okay?”

It’s cute, Sae thinks, how earnest you sound when you say it, how serious you look as you ask him to stay. He’s never been good at denying you anything, even before he realized he had feelings for you, and now? Now, it’s the last thing on his mind. “Okay.”

Your expression brightens, lips curling up as you smile, pleased by his response. Then you let go of his shirt and swipe at your phone screen, bringing the device up to your ear.

“Hello?”

There’s a brief pause as you lean against the railing, awaiting a response. Sae doesn’t think much of it, until he hears you speak again.

“Oh, hey, Adrian.”

That’s when the tension in his chest from earlier returns full force, every muscle in Sae’s body locking up the moment your ex-boyfriend’s name leaves your lips. You don’t pick up on it, either, too focused on your conversation to notice the frown on his face or the furrow of his brow.

(He can’t tell if that makes things better or worse.)

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just stepped out for a minute,” you continue, oblivious to the tension in his frame, the scoff he just barely manages to hide. “No, I’m not, I promise— I’m with a friend.”

A friend, you say, as if that’s all you expect from him, all you want him to be. Just a friend, as if everything that’s happened between you tonight doesn’t matter.

Needless to say, it doesn’t sit well with him at all.

Is that why you told him you were okay with him missing your party? Why you looked so surprised when he showed up anyway? Because you wanted to spend the night with your ex-boyfriend instead?

Earlier, Sae thought that the longing and urgency that poured from your lips as you kissed him back meant something, that you could actually want him the way he wants you. Not just as a friend or a hookup or whatever the hell it is you’ve been doing this whole time, but as something more, something real.

He understands now that it was all just wishful thinking on his part, a fantasy he should’ve known better than to indulge. He feels whatever softness you managed to bring out of him fade away, and with it his desire to open his heart and confess his feelings for you.

The logical part of his brain, the part he usually has no trouble listening to, knows he’s overreacting. It isn’t fair of him to assume there’s something going on with you and Adrian just because you answered his phone call, just like it isn’t fair of him to assume you’ll understand his feelings without him actually talking to you about them.

Still, it’s hard to be logical when all Sae can focus on is the churn of his stomach and the ache in his chest as he watches you chat with your ex. It’s a little easier than watching you interact with him in person, Sae supposes, but not by much. He still feels ready to throw up by the end of it, frustrated and annoyed for reasons he still isn’t sure how to explain to you.

Thankfully, you don’t stay on the phone for long. Your conversation with Adrian only lasts a minute or two, and then you’re hanging up the call, tucking your phone back into your purse without any further distractions.

You reach for Sae the moment your hands are free, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your body against his. It’s muscle memory for him to open his arms and welcome you, his hands moving to rest at your waist before he can stop himself.

“Now,” you say with a smile, earnest and eager as you lean in close, “where were we?”

You kiss him, then, determined to pick up exactly where you left off, your lips warm and soft as they move against his own. And if it were any other day, then Sae would be kissing you back without a second thought, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you even closer.

But that was before your phone call with Adrian, before you laughed and said Sae was just your friend, right after he kissed you and held you in a way he thought would make it clear that he wanted more than that. Now it’s all he can think about, all that frustration and bitterness he felt earlier —and jealousy, he realizes now, begrudgingly, unfortunately— settling into his chest in the worst way.

It doesn’t take you long to notice his hesitance. You feel his lack of response and pull back, a look of concern on your face as you meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

If Sae were better, more honest, he’d tell you the truth. He’d tell you how much he hates the idea of you and your ex reconnecting, how he can’t stand seeing you with Adrian or anyone else for that matter, not because he actually knows him or because he doesn’t trust your judgment, but because he wants you to be with him instead.

But Sae can’t do that. In fact, just the mere thought of putting himself out there, of allowing himself to be that vulnerable without knowing exactly what’s going on inside your head makes him feel like he’s going to be sick, so he doesn’t.

He just shuts down entirely, closing himself off the way he always does whenever he starts feeling more than he knows how to handle. It’s probably the worst thing he can do at this moment, especially when it comes to you, but that’s of little consequence to him when he feels as raw and hopelessly human as he does right now.

“You should get back inside,” is what he tells you instead, distancing himself in the only way he knows how, though it’s the exact opposite of what his heart wants. “Your friends are waiting for you.”

At first, the bitterness in his tone is lost on you. Your lips curve into a smirk, your voice playful and coy as you lower your hands to his neck and tug at the collar of his shirt. “They can wait a little longer.”

You lean in to kiss him again, pulling on his collar so he can meet you halfway, your tongue sliding along his bottom lip. He ends up kissing you back despite himself, parting his lips so your tongue can meet his before he has the chance to think better of it.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to remember he’s supposed to be distancing himself from you, too lost in the feeling of your lips moving against his to recall why he was so upset in the first place.

Eventually, though, he finds it in himself to pull away, turning his head before you have the chance to kiss him again. “Something tells me Adrian wouldn’t agree with you.”

This time, you do notice the bitterness in his voice. You loosen your grip on his collar, drawing back to give him a funny look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just forget it.” Sae lets his hands drop, releasing his hold on your waist. You’re so caught off guard, you don’t even complain, your own hands falling back down to your sides as he takes a step away from you. “You can leave my jacket with Oliver. I’ll get it from him later.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t bother to hide your confusion at his sudden shift in mood, eyes wide as you stare at him in disbelief. “You’re leaving?”

“You said it yourself.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, the smile he sends you wry and humorless. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Yeah, well, neither is being passive aggressive, but you seem to be doing a great job of that right now.” You cross your arms over your chest and frown, your normally relaxed features twisting into a scowl. You’re definitely annoyed by his behavior, but he can see in your eyes that you’re hurt by it, too. He thought seeing that would make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “Why are you being like this, Sae? A minute ago, we were totally fine, and now you’re acting like you’re mad at me or something.”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“Yes, you are, and I want to know why. I mean, all I did was answer one phone call, so why are you acting so— oh. Oh, my god. Is that why you’re mad at me? Because of the phone call?”

Sae turns to scoff at you, acting as if he couldn’t care less, even though the problem is that he very much does. “You really think I give a shit that you spoke to your ex?”

“Why does it matter that he’s my ex?” You tilt your head, then, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, until slowly —despite his best efforts— the realization begins to dawn on you. All at once, your confusion disappears, replaced by a wide-eyed, knowing look that makes whatever hope he had of avoiding this conversation vanish. “Itoshi Sae, are you jealous?”

You’re right, of course —frustratingly enough, you kind of always are— but Sae thinks he’d rather chew concrete than admit it, especially when he’s already resigned himself to burying his feelings.

It’s why he kisses his teeth at your words, his lip curling up in disdain. “Tch, you wish.”

“Liar. You’re jealous as hell. In fact, I bet the whole reason you were even out here in the first place is because you saw me dance with him and got all sulky about it. That’s how jealous you are.” You’re confident enough about it to dare to take a step forward, raising an eyebrow as you meet his eyes with an expectant look. “Am I wrong?”

All Sae can do is scowl at you, irritated by both your smugness and the fact that it does nothing to change the way he feels about you. “You’re a pain in the ass, is what you are.”

And because you’re you, of course his words don’t offend you in the slightest. If anything, your satisfaction only grows, your lips curving into a smirk that’s as pleased as it is insufferable. “I still haven’t heard a ‘no.’”

Sae grimaces but remains silent, half because he’s stubborn and half because you aren’t wrong. You’ve always been smart, too smart, really —it’s one of the things he likes most about you— so of course you were able to pick up on his jealousy, despite his attempts at denying it.

He expects you to give him a hard time over it, maybe even chew him out for how immature and ridiculous he’s been acting as a result, but you surprise him by wrapping your arms around his shoulders. When he doesn’t push you away, you take that as a sign to continue, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You know you don’t have to be jealous, right?” Your voice is tender and comforting when you speak. There’s a certain seriousness in it, too, a firmness that lets him know how much you mean it. He wishes it didn’t affect him as much as it does. “Adrian and I used to be a thing, sure, but it’s not like that between us anymore. He and I are just friends now.”

“You mean the same way you and I are just friends?”

“Oh, wow, you really are jealous. Is that why you showed up tonight? You wanted to make sure there was nothing going on between me and my ex?”

“It couldn’t matter to me even if there was.” He tries not to sound bitter when he says it, but his efforts are hardly effective, the half-smile he forces tight-lipped and strained, even as he moves his hands to settle on your hips. “It’s not like I’m your boyfriend.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to be,” you admit, low and honest. And maybe he’s just imagining it, but he swears there’s a hint of disappointment in your voice, too, a sadness he isn’t quite sure how to make sense of. “I mean, back when we started all this, neither of us wanted a relationship. Has that changed?”

It takes all Sae has to keep himself from ripping his own hair out, because haven’t you been paying attention at all? Of course it’s changed. Do you really think he’d be here fighting with himself and agonizing over how to confess to you if it hadn’t?

He wants to tell you as much, can feel the words right there on the tip of his tongue, but his pride keeps him from saying them out loud, at least not until he knows exactly how you feel, too.

“Has it changed for you?”

“Not so fast, hotshot. I asked you first.”

He sighs. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” The look you give him is as unapologetic as it is pointed, the sternness in your voice leaving little room for argument. “You almost walked away from me on my birthday, asshole. The least you can do now is answer my question.”

It’s a fair point, he knows, especially after everything he’s put you through tonight, but Sae is nothing if not completely awful when it comes to verbalizing his feelings. He knows it most likely won’t be enough to satisfy you, but he gives your hips a gentle squeeze anyway, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you closer. “Isn’t this answer enough?”

“Not even close,” you tell him flatly, every bit as unimpressed as he thought you’d be. “I want you to tell me how you really feel about me. And I want you to say it with your words, not just hold me or kiss me and expect me to read between the lines.”

“Words aren’t really my strong suit,” he mutters, more honest now than he’s been all night, averting his gaze to the floor.

“Try anyway.” You lift a hand and run your fingers through his hair the way you know he likes. It’s disarming enough to have him meeting your gaze once more. Your eyes are soft, searching. Patient, too, despite him, the way you always seem to be. “Come on, Sae. Is it really that hard for you to be honest with me?”

He laughs, though there isn’t any humor to it. “You have no idea.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you okay with me dating other people?”

“Definitely not.”

“Why?”

Sae narrows his eyes, shooting you a flat look, because you know. You have to know. After everything he’s said, everything he’s done, there’s no way you haven’t pieced it together by now. “You already know why.”

“Oh, I do,” you confirm, smug and irritating as ever, smile bright and eyes knowing, “but I want to hear you say it, anyway.” You brush his hair out of his eyes, and he watches as your expression morphs into something softer, something fond and affectionate that makes his heart stutter the way it’s only ever done around you. “For me?”

And though it isn’t easy for him, though it goes against all of his better instincts and is quite possibly the last thing he’s ever wanted to do— for you, he decides to be sincere. “Fine.”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to find the words, urged on by the weight of you in his arms and the tender, encouraging way you’re looking at him. It’s daunting for him to be this honest, not to mention completely unnerving, especially when you both know how bad he is with words in general— but for you, he’s willing to try.

“...I like you. I really, really like you, as in I have feelings for you, and this thing we’ve been doing, this casual, no strings, whatever the hell it is— it’s not enough for me anymore. And I want— I want to be with you. For real, this time, if— if you’ll have me.”

Sae snaps his mouth closed the moment he’s able to get the words out, bracing himself for your reaction. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting from you, exactly —rejection, reciprocation, maybe some backwards, nonsensical combination of them both— but he’s determined to be prepared for it regardless, determined to appear unaffected, even if it means he has to grit his teeth to do so.

But then you’re cupping his face in your hands, gaze soft and open and filled with the kind of affection he never once imagined he’d be on the receiving end of, and any notion he had of remaining unaffected is promptly cast aside, replaced by the warmth of your touch and the tender, fond way you look at him.

You lean in, and it’s all Sae can do to close his eyes as you press your lips against his in a slow, gentle kiss. The gesture is soft and surprisingly chaste, soft like the way he kissed you earlier, back when he was trying to communicate the extent of his feelings. It doesn’t last very long, but it doesn’t need to, not when he can feel it linger even after you pull away, delicate and deliberate, important in all the ways that matter.

When he opens his eyes, he finds that you’re already looking at him, your lips pulled into that soft little smile he doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of. Then you wrap your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his.

“I want to be with you, too,” you say, steady and sure, without a hint of regret or uncertainty, and Sae swears something in his chest cracks wide open, every bit of affection he’s ever felt for you pouring out until it’s all he knows, all he can feel. “As way more than just casual. I have for a while now.”

“You have?” The confession catches him off guard, makes his eyes widen a fraction as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze properly. “Since when?”

“Since your away game in France.” You say it naturally, doubtlessly, without any of the hesitation he would’ve had to grapple with to do the same thing. Not for the first time, he finds himself envying how easy you make it look, how effortless it is for you to be so honest and upfront about your feelings. “You were only gone for two weeks, but it felt like ages. Then you showed up to my apartment with pastries from that bakery your manager suggested, and they were amazing, but all I could think about was how happy I was that you were back. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

For a moment, Sae has no idea what to say. His away game in France was almost two months ago. You’ve had feelings for him since back then? If that was the case, then why didn’t you tell him? Had he really made you feel like you couldn’t talk to him about it?

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wanted to, but every time I thought about bringing it up, I’d remember what we said about keeping it casual. I figured if I said something, it’d scare you off. And I didn’t— I didn’t want to lose you. I still don’t.”

You look down, then, averting your gaze, uncharacteristically nervous as you fidget with the buttons on his shirt. And as Sae watches you standing there in front of him, quiet and apprehensive in a way he’s never seen you before, he wonders if maybe he’s not the only one who’s been reluctant to be vulnerable, after all.

Things would be different if either one of you had said something sooner, he knows. If you’d been brave enough to let the other in. He imagines it would’ve saved you both a lot of time, knowing that it wasn’t just one-sided, that your feelings were returned.

But you’re still here. You both are, and that’s more than enough, he thinks. It’s everything.

(After all, Sae’s never wanted anything the way he wants you.)

It’s why he takes your chin in his hand, urging you to look up at him. For once, you don’t put up much of a fight, your eyes flickering up to meet his own.

That’s when he kisses you, soft and sweet, passionate and patient the way you’ve always been with him, the way he knows you deserve to have returned. He kisses you like he means it, like you have all the time in the world, because right now, you do. He kisses you, and he hopes you feel the promise in it, the one that this time, he won’t hesitate to say out loud.

“You don’t have to worry about losing me, dummy,” he tells you as soon as you break apart for air, breathless and sincere as he presses his forehead against yours. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

You smile at him, then, knowing how much he means it, bright and beaming as you take his hand in yours and lace your fingers together.

“I’m not going anywhere, either,” you promise, and the best part is, you don’t.

When the two of you go back inside to rejoin the party, you do it together, your hand tucked securely into his, your fingers intertwined. You’re still wearing his jacket, still smiling at him in that warm, easy way of yours. He knows now for sure it’s something he’ll never get tired of, knows he’s going to spend the rest of the foreseeable future making sure he deserves it.

When your friends see you walk in holding hands with Sae, chaos ensues. Thankfully, the two of you are more than prepared for it, braving their onslaught of wolf-whistles and too-personal questions without missing a beat.

Somehow, Oliver and Aina are the loudest of the bunch, hooting and hollering in matching degrees of shock and excitement, despite already knowing what the two of you have been up to these past few months. Shidou isn’t far behind them, though he does lament Sae’s new taken status. He wraps an arm around each of your shoulders and very seriously offers himself up to the two of you as a willing volunteer for a threesome, should you ever find yourselves in the market for one.

You and Sae take it all in stride, enduring their teasing and answering their least invasive questions until finally you decide to use your birthday authority to put an end to their pestering, declaring in no uncertain terms that they all go back to celebrating. They complain about it, of course, well-meaning and meddlesome as they are, but still they do as you ask, cooing and waggling their eyebrows at you as they take their leave.

“I’m sorry our friends are all unhinged weirdos,” you apologize as soon as everyone else is gone, blunt and serious enough to make Sae laugh. You’re sitting in his lap on the couch, the two of you tucked away in a dark corner of the lounge in an attempt at finding some reprieve from all the chatter and excitement of the night. “And that they have no concept of what it means to mind their own business.”

He hums in acknowledgement, reassuring you with a kiss to your shoulder that there’s nothing you need to apologize for. You smile at the gesture and drape your arm around his shoulders in turn, using your other hand to press your palm against his cheek and make him look up at you.

It’s only then he notices the slight crease in your brow, the worry you’re trying your best to play off with a carefree smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “They didn’t scare you away, did they?”

“Not even close.” He shakes his head and squeezes at your hip, taking your hand in his to press a kiss against your palm. “You’re gonna have to do a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

“Good.” You wind your fingers through his, that smile he likes —maybe even loves— curving its way onto your lips. Happiness has always been a fickle thing for Sae, floating just outside of his reach, but he sees the way you look at him, feels the warmth of your skin against his, and he knows— it’s here. It’s you. It’s always been you. “I’m glad.”

Yeah, Sae thinks, shifting to meet you halfway as you lean down for his lips, only this time he doesn’t have to worry about hiding or burying his feelings. This time, he doesn’t have to do anything at all except kiss you, the girl he’s wanted for too long, the one he finally gets to call his. So am I.

Written by: Dawn Taglist link

[imagine-darksiders]

Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

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It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

 Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”

[beachf4gz]

I recently was able to restart my adhd meds after a few months of them being out of stock so I have been reading wayyy more DE fanfic again, and something I find kind of interesting is how prominant certain in-game choices are in regards to Harry's fanon characterisation. I understand why the communist route and sorry-cop copotype are by far the most common ways ppl write Harry- I think most people playing the game end up identifying with those dialogue options and therefor end up following those routes (and its a fairly big time commitment to replay with the intention of seeing all the different route you could take)- but I do sometimes really wish there was more writing for the different copotypes and political orientations because the ways Harry's internal processes and position in the world are affected are REALLY interesting to me. I completely understand being uncomfortable (or just uninterested) by the idea of exploring an ultraliberal, moralist or facist character- I think fanfiction as a medium is compelling in part because you are conveying your own relationship to a piece of work, including your own moral reactions and beliefs applied upon the work's characters- but I think DE includes the option to *play as* a character occupying these roles (rather than just presenting them through npcs) in order to invite players to experience and examine the act of being these things both internally and within social contexts.

I think Harry can be fascinating and heartbreaking as a character study in any of these routes, and the gameplay can feel radically different between them even following the same plot. For example, I found the moralist route deeply evocative. It has an uneasy, desperate feeling to it as someone struggles to occupy the in-group, to live in normalcy and civility in the face of their own world ending. It creates an odd position for Harry as accutely disabled and vulnerable- contrasting percieved social acceptance and safety with the tearing of reality "as it should be" at the failure of the social mechanisms he believes in to meet their promise of happiness or safety. The gameover at the statue left me genuinely stunned when I first got it, its sort of horrifying in it's bluntness, and I found it really upsetting in this specific raw way. Its an excellent way of demonstrating, emotionally, the failure and cruelty of liberalism upon those who believe in it- but also its devastating for Harry's character as he is presented through the moralist dialogue. I also found it rlly compelling how the honor cop dialogue options explore Harry as a person seeking dignity in the face of their social ostracisation, and how apocalypse-cop explores the social modes of someone who has fallen out of the "normal reality space", how impaired his ability to live is in response to a full awareness of overwhelming, total threat. I'm not good at writing essays and stuff, idk if I'm explaining this well, but all of the routes are written with such an intimate and personal examination of how it *feels* to occupy different modes of being- of the way the world will treat you if you interact with it in certains ways, or the person you will be and the emotional shape your life will form depending on your framework. I think its kind of abstract and difficult to write properly, but I think its something you can reaaaallly sink yourself into if you find Harry a compelling character- I personally do (lmao) and its something I love seeing whenever I get the chance. I get the appeal of Harry as an exccentric mentally ill communist whose political beliefs are, in social contexts, extentions of his rejection of social norms and position as othered under liberal belief- I do also just enjoy the fact that this version of Harry is only one mode of being he could occupy, and the varying ways in which he is socially, emotionally or cognitively enabled/disabled by other modes of being, and the position the game takes in exploring them all as choices or as routes and reactions by the same person- as someone afloat and disempowered in the world attempting to find "how to live".

[ultimateplaylistmaker]

I have thoughts about the traitor perk in eden's garden, for how just vicious it was. Did she knew it had a time limit for her own death going in? did she accept it and only have that sprung on her after? It's so cruel, so so cruel, and the fact Tozu doesn't even PRETEND to deny it. There's a bit of "well she chose it" but there's not downplaying of like "well i only implied so actually not my fault" hes just like "Yeah i did say she'd die lmao, funny huh?"

It FULLY sets up that unlike the canon games, Tozu isn't pretending like he's fully above the game, that he has to be hands off, and that makes him stronger. He's fully admitting right off the gate that he's not above lose lose situations or playing favorites, he's fully brazen about how obvious it was set for Eva in a way that fully suggests that you cannot break this game by exposing the machinations behind the rules for being forced or lies. Tozu isn't as separate from the players like Monokuma pretends to be, he was fully down for casually showing up on command, fucking with Damon's head, and then leaving, and apparently several others did the same.

You can't even call out Tozu as being an unfair game master because he never really says he is. If he saved a stunt like this for the end it would have been a whole thing of unraveling, but he didn't, he did it in the first real murder and didn't even hide it like Tsumugi did. He's setting himself up as a player on the board immediately, he's not the student's and thus can only go so far, but he's very open about making exceptions and being loose with what he's allowed to do or not do. This isn't the kind of game that requires strict rule following protocol, because Tozu's a player too.

Tozu isn't some far away watching mastermind laughing but required to stick to a script that could break the whole game if taken advantage of, he's right there in the action, he's not pretending he's above the game or that the game isn't inherently biased or weighted, he fully embraces that he's a player as well, just a different player with different rules. Him targeting Eva so heavily isn't a violation of the social code, no more then Wolfgang isolating Eva and Damon was, players are allowed to target each other.

He delights in it even, he loves being the game master not despite being a player, but because of it. Tozu has very little thought that he's built different or untouchable, Grace showed that in the prologue by getting some damn good hits in. Tozu isn't pretending to be the person controlling the pieces, he knows he's also a piece and revels in it. Giving him a kind of power that other masterminds lacked.

He will set traps beyond just motives, he will bait, he will come when you call and adjust the rules to make sure you can do your murder that would totally otherwise break it, he is a potential ally, he is a rival player, he is tangible and real and cannot be just brushed off once he hands over the motive. If you can't figure out how to talk to Tozu, how to appeal to Tozu, if you fail to keep him in mind as a player instead of just a watcher and judge, you will be at an objective disadvantage over those who do, because Tozu knows he is fallible, that rules are imprecise, and instead of pretending otherwise, he uses that fallibility to make himself even more dangerous by embracing it and using it against the group.

[lintwriting]

How to Write a M/M Romance: Scum Villain's Bingqiu

Where Masculinity and Teacher/Student Intersect

Teacher Student Romance is the APPEAL, NOT a Plot Convenience

Easily the most problematic part about Scum Villain (beyond the dubcon papapa to save the world) is the teacher/student relationship baked into the main romance of the work—the one between Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe. Not only is it pervasive, it's not even brushed aside for the reader to forget about, the way the problematic aspects of other medias often are.

In fact, unlike the way age is brushed aside in fantasy dramas that have "teenage protagonists" for marketing reasons, such as The Vampire Diaries or Re:Zero, where the age is only there to draw in a teenage audience and otherwise the characters act like young adults, Scum Villain's Teacher x Student is purposely highlighted in a way that makes it clear that the dynamic is part of its main appeal.

For one, Luo Binghe's main form of address for his romantic partner is "Shizun," calling him teacher in a super respectful, almost worshipful way. This is the opposite of weakening the unbalanced dynamic. It's elevating the Teacher/Student power imbalance (in ways that make the reader suspect it's a kink thing for Luo Binghe LMAO).

For two, Shen Qingqiu is cognizant of how bad it looks to be called Shizun in a romantic context, feeling textually weirded out when it happens during romantic relations. Despite this, most of the ways he shows affection to Luo Binghe are very paternalistic (milf-coded), such as scolding him in fond exasperation or kissing him on the forehead like a father. In addition, Luo Binghe is specifically noted for not having older male authority figures in his life other than Shen Qingqiu, as his adopted mother was a single woman and his bio father could not care less about the son his late wife gave up her life for (seemingly for no reason, BUT I'll get to that in a different meta) (AND despite ample evidence that he CAN be a good father to Luo Binghe's cousin).

And while one aspect of it is that the Shizun/disciple dynamic is a genre-wide trope thanks to the influence of the early work, The Return of the Condor Heroes, wherein the Confucian taboo of the teacher/student romance is a source of tension and excitement within the novel, I wouldn't say that that's the whole of why Scum Villain (SVSSS) emphasizes the teacher/student romance.

Why are We Hot For Teacher: Return of the Condor Heroes vs Scum Villain

For one, within Return of the Condor Heroes, the romance is between a male student and a female teacher (because it's a het novel, lol), but SVSSS is a BL novel and wouldn't necessarily need to play into such tropes to create this "taboo"-evoking tension.

A lot of BL novels already play into the way being gay is marginalized or frowned upon to accomplish this, for instance, SVSSS's author's latter work, Mo Dao Zu Shi (MDZS) (The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation), wherein the main character has compulsory heterosexuality.

For two, the dynamics of the Return of the Condor Heroes is playing with heteronormative ideas about the roles of men and women in romance. It's notable that the student is the male lover, and the master is the female lover in this relationship, playing with non-traditional ideas about who is submissive and who is dominant—while simultaneously using it to reaffirm traditional pursuer/pursued dynamics.

This male pursuer/female pursued dichotomy is not usually explicitly stated within media as that can seem sexist and clunky, rather it is usually implicit and portrayed through various contrivances. Xiaolongnu is a "cold beauty" who therefore must remain pure/aloof, which is accentuated by her role as a teacher, and while she is "dominant" as the teacher setting the terms for their relationship, it's mostly to emphasize the lengths that Yang Guo, the student, would go to pursue her. He becomes extra romantic for pursuing her while accepting her lead on choices like separating for 16 years.

In addition, the teacher/student relationship is a contrivance that affirms society's implicit bias about gender by giving textual, non-gendered excuses for the man to pursue. In this case, it would be an abuse of a teacher's power for Xiaolongnu to make the first move. Thus, traditional gender dynamics where men are the ones pursuing women are reaffirmed without making clunky statements about gender, even through nontraditional dynamics like a teacher/student relationship where the woman is dominant.

But, again, SVSSS is a BL, so the two main characters are both men, meaning there is no societal answer on who should be pursuer and the pursued. However, it is notable that SVSSS does play with this same dynamic of "cold, aloof teacher" and student who would go to extreme lengths to pursue them, while also purposely describing Luo Binghe as the "peak of masculinity."

This is where we start getting into SVSSS's intersection between Masculinity and the teacher/student relationship.

Because while although Condor Heroes uses the teacher/student relationship to affirm the heteronormative dichotomy of the male pursuer/female pursued, SVSSS's usage of this dynamic is in service of satirically demonstrating the "acceptable" avenues of affection when living as a man (since there's no women, and they're both men lol).

Teacher/Student Romance as a Way to Escape Restrictive Masculine Gender Roles

Teacher/student dynamic is a huge aspect to SVSSS because it’s a way to escape the masculine gender roles critiqued within the work. This is on the face of it obvious. Shen Qingqiu lets Binghe act bizarrely clingy under the assumption that he’s merely taking care of a filial or needy child. The understanding that "masculine men have to be straight" and the understanding that "Binghe is the most manly person within the novel as the stallion protagonist" intersect to ensure that any affection between them is strictly platonic, which is a double edged sword.

Because Shen Qingqiu allows Binghe close to him with the reassurance that Binghe HAS to be straight (a surprisingly common way for straight men to interact), that means that as Binghe ages, his access to affection will also get cut off, since he's supposed to be aging out of the role of a clingy student and into the role of stallion protagonist.

This is even grafted onto the scum villain/protagonist dynamic, as exactly at the point where Binghe's on the cusp of becoming an adult, Shen Qingqiu is forced to be the opposite of affectionate and become the villain by throwing him down into Xianxia hell. Which, to him, means that he's killed his baby student and replaced him with a stallion protagonist out to take him out.

So when Binghe becomes an adult, he loses access to affection along two axises within Shen Qingqiu's mind. The first being that he's now vengeful stallion protagonist out to get him throwing him away, which is the explicit reason Shen Qingqiu rebuffs him. And the second being that he's now a straight adult man who isn't supposed to get affection from his old teacher, which is also a factor.

This loss and transformation into a protagonist causes him to become insane to almost comical proportions, indiscriminately killing people and so distraught that at any point he's liable to self-destruct—all because he's constantly being rebuffed when seeking affection from his teacher, who thinks he wants to take him out for throwing him into hell. It's notable that any time Shen Qingqiu rejects him, Binghe lashes out in an almost stoic anger, rather than with the vulnerable crybaby tears that Binghe used as a kid. All this is highlighting the consequences of toxically masculine gender roles—where a severe lack of emotional vulnerability creates only violence and status as ways to express yourself, leading to severe emotional issues.

Now this is where it gets to the satirical aspects. Because all that before is pretty angsty and not very funny, but Scum Villain is a comedic satire. This is because it's not from the perspective of Luo Binghe—it's from the perspective of Shen Qingqiu.

The Point of Scum Villain's Meta

To all of this, Shen Qingqiu is totally oblivious, as he is still under the impression that everything was platonic. Which I'd argue he SHOULD be, considering that Binghe was a young student in his care that he was only trying to groom into being nice, person not into a sexual relationship 💀💀. Now, the ethics of fiction about raising your spouse is a whole other issue outside of the scope of this discussion, but within the universe of Scum Villain, where we know his intentions, he gets the pass from me!

The reason Shen Qingqiu is oblivious is because one, as the most terminally online hater on the Internet, he's read about stallion protagonist Luo Binghe way before transmigrating into the story. And the Luo Binghe of the original story was a miserable sack of shit who got an unhappy ending despite being the peak of what masculinity "should" be.

A harem of women to show his virility, a stoic facade, and a constant stream of face slapping for hundreds and hundreds of chapters. He's an alpha male to the point of farce because Airplane needed to appeal to the lowest common denominator of teen boys on the internet—Andrew Tate's main demographic. It's not just a satire of YY novels—this, too, is part of Scum Villain's critique of toxic masculinity.

The second reason Shen Qingqiu is oblivious is because he's homophobic, sexist, heteronormative, etc. etc. etc. He was an INTERNET TROLL for a reason. And while people like to joke that he was a feminist king on the forums, I feel like it's more in line with the themes of the story to take him reading this schlock at face value because it's part of Scum Villain's trap! Anytime you feel like complaining about Scum Villain's hack writing, you're one meat bun away from an uno reverse card. The instant you start complaining, the author can hit you with a "Cucumber-bro calm down," and BOOM you're done! Never comment again!

And this is so effective because none of us want to be an un-self-aware, terminally online, trash-reading hater like him.

So, the satire of the novel is taking this kind of guy—both the Andrew Tates of the world and his basement dwelling followers—and wondering "Would gay sex fix them?" And the answer is YES, WHICH is HYSTERICAL to play straight in a romance like this. It's "Fellas, is it gay to like women?" but make it into an actual romance.

On a thematic level, being gay is indeed antithetical to a masculinity that upholds having sex with tons of women as the ideal, so it's doubly poignant for this closeted gay man to realize that the only thing he needed to do to live was to accept himself and the people around him by giving up his need to fit them into boxes—both on a meta "they're not fictional characters to him anymore" level, but also on a "toxic masculinity shouldn't define us" level.

Climaxing

The old Shen Qingqiu is dead. Long live Shen Qingqiu. Gay sex to save the world. Luo Binghe is back to his crybaby self. All is well in the world.

One thing I love about this teacher/student romance that it portrays Bingqiu afterwards as really happy and in love. Logically, nothing about that makes sense — 45 year old stepfather marries 25 year old stepdaughter from a bad home who idolized him, even while he acts like he's embarrassed to be around her and encourages her helplessness—but it makes perfect sense because it's a perfect marriage between all these different layers.

The "bird leaving the nest" conflict

Qingqiu is allowed to be affectionate with a scary adult Binghe because Binghe can be both a clingy student and an adult

2. The scum villain/protagonist conflict

Binghe never wanted to kill Shen Qingqiu, only to be loved by him.

3. The comphet conflict

Binghe never intended to go out and get a harem of women as a sign of masculine status, he just wants to be gay with Shen Qingqiu.

4. The "should I treat them like real people or fictional characters" transmigrator conflict—

Binghe is a real person separate from the character of Luo Binghe because he's no longer that unattainable masculine ideal—he's human and happier for it.

All solved with a student/teacher relationship in service of critiquing toxic masculinity. Now that's economical writing!

(I love the inclusion of the original Luo Binghe meeting them in the Extras, and that Luo Binghe is pretty evenly matched with him. I feel like the idea that someone "is automatically stronger with the power of love, and therefore that's why love is better" is pretty shallow, as it plays into the toxically masculine idea that strength is all that matters. Luo Binghe may not be stronger than the toxically masculine ideal version of himself, but he doesn't feel the need to be because he's happy the way he is. And his ideal self is jealous of him for that—not vice versa.)

On their own, these resolutions would probably still feel as creepy as Lolicon, but in the context of critiquing masculinity, it makes a lot more sense. Masculinity, I think, fascinates as a writing tool because there's a lot of mini tools baked-in its structure, like Shen Qingqiu's comedic plausible deniability thing, as well as assumptions about power.

For instance, since Binghe is quite literally the God-emperor of his world, it feels more like a kink thing for him to call Qingqiu Shizun, and not like he's actually less powerful than Shizun in their dynamic. His bouts of learned helplessness come off as traditionally feminine Sajiao, NOT like the learned behavior of creepy pick-me pedophilia. It's like a cat showing its belly, because we all know it's a murder machine showing its vulnerable side out of trust, not because it feels the need to degrade itself. So, while his behavior emphasizes the Teacher/Student imbalance, the reality is that he's doing it mostly for kinky reasons and that the two of them are on a pretty level playing field. It's extremely funny when people joke that he and Qingqiu are the same age due to all that time Qingqiu spent dead, because they are Not Wrong.

Problematic Kinks

Romance fiction is usually about ways to get certain needs met in ways that would never be possible in real life, which is why a lot of it is problematic. Virginity kink is not about real life virgins, but the idea that your partner is guaranteed to think you're competent in bed. Bodice ripper stories do not reflect the reality of getting raped, but is more about the idea of getting sexually satisfied with none of the shame of "being slutty" for desiring sex, since it was "against your will." Or they're about controlling the fear of getting raped within this safe romantic fantasy where everything turns out all right. Or various other things because kinks are personal.

Shen Qingqiu is the perfect example of this, where he functions as a great insert for female readers who might have shame around sexuality, since he's a "prude" without actually being one, hence his parallel with Xiaolongnu. Instead, he's just comedically under the misconception that he's straight or that Binghe's only platonically in love with his teacher—that's why he's always ashamed and putting on airs. It's a comedic/unrealistic version of comphet, so you don't gotta think about purity culture while reading your silly little stories.

And Luo Binghe is the self-insert fantasy of readers with daddy issues. His strict father who criticized him all the time actually secretly thought he was the bestest-westest, most handsomest boy in the whole wide world, and there was a secret understandable reason he had to be mean to him, and he secretly loves when he acts like a crybaby because that just means an excuse to pamper him.

And while in real life, many of these would be incredibly dysfunctional—within fiction, we can make these fantasies work anyway. If your romance manages to hit at one of these underlying desires in a fantastical way, you've got a hit with one audience of people! Whether that be by making them EVEN MORE dysfunctional (papapa to save the world) or by having them somehow communicate it out into a healthy dynamic (the extras, presumably).

All this to say, if you're a man frustrated with your love life, all you need is a gay, milf-y male teacher to ruin your life.

[thisisxli]

What about tooru oikwawa x Hajime twin brother!reader who is shy headcanons?

( I don't know if you do male reader)

Omgg yes ofcc! I really like this idea, it's really cute

Anddd Oikawa's also my fav! <33 I used to be a huge big haikyuu! fan back then lmao. But yes, I will happily do this request. 💗💗

Rs: Tooru Oikawa x Male!Reader

Warnings: small angst, mentions of panick attacks, drama, Tooru's homophobic ex, love quarrels

Tags: Reader is Hajime's twin brother, fluff, Tooru is lovesick and down bad for reader, small The Notebook reference, slice of life, sweet stuff, Golden Retriever x Black Cat energy

wc: 1.8k

First impression/how you met:

Obviously, you both met through Hajime. You've known each other since you were kids. You were born only by five minutes later after Hajime and even so, you were left behind sometimes. This caused you to be really hesitant when Tooru was around. Hajime? Not as much since he was your twin. But Tooru was a different story. You don't know why you got so nervous around him. You started to get really annoyed with yourself when a buzzing prickly feeling started to pick up in your gut whenever he was around. Other than that, Tooru's best friend was Hajime. Not you.

Tooru was never one for introductions as a child but ever since he had met you, it was like you had to know everything about him. Something else told him he just wanted to know everything about you- but it was whatever. Other than that, he felt a little... timid by you. And he swears it's not that he didn't know what to say or anything but you were quiet and you would get really flustered every time he asked you a question. His ten year old brain that time clearly was not fixated on the early signs.

First realizing you had feelings for each other:

You realized you had feelings for him when you watched him set a ball in your backyard, your twin brother spiking it as usual. You were thirteen at the time and you just started puberty. So the hormones and voice change was a huge big weird surprise to you. Watching Tooru glisten in sweat, wiping his nose with the neckline of his shirt. You were practically drooling. That's when a thought popped up in your head, 'oh my god! He's so attractive!' That was when you ultimately decided you were attracted to men. Not many girls were that appealing to your eye anyway.

Tooru realizes his feelings when you two were eleven. He suggested the idea of teaching you and you shyly accepted. He set the ball your way but when you tried to spike it to the other side of the net, you missed and fell on your butt. And it hurt. Tooru immediately rushes to your side, checking if there was some other sort of injury you had. And yet, when he had looked into those teary eyes of yours, that's when he knew that you were going to be the one he was going to marry when he was older. His husband in hand. Surely you did look like Hajime, but you were different. You were unique in a way that made his heart flutter.

How you get together:

You guys got together on Valentine's day. Literally.

Tooru's locker was immensely filled by letters and boxes of chocolate by girls all over the school, some were even boys. You can't lie and say you weren't jealous. You even had your letter you were going to give him. A letter explaining your true feelings and some parts reminiscing some fond memories you two had with each other. But for some reason, he was the one who gave a letter to you. But it wasn't just a letter, he had chocolate.. and gifts! Flowers! And he made sure everyone in your hall saw his proposal! Hajime was in the crowd, crossing his arms over his chest, a soft scowl displayed on his face. Did he know about this? Perhaps he even helped Tooru?

"(Y/N), will you do me the honor of becoming my boyfriend?" Girls shrieked, some cried, some stared at him in disgust while he just stared at you like you hung the moon. You felt small under all these eyes of the people who were crowding you and recording. "Y-yes.." You nod warily, watching him excitedly let out weird sounds and chirps while he jumped with his friends, careful not to drop any of your gifts. Later on that day, he walked you home with your hand held in his hand, both of your other arms occupied with the override of gifts he brought you. Just until Hajime booked his head with a fist, of course.

First kiss/how you kiss:

Much less to say, you were really nervous. You were on your first date with him and it was soon coming to an end; you had a feeling where it was going. "The moon looks beautiful tonight, does it?" When you turn to look at Tooru, he isn't even looking at the moon, he's looking at YOU. You nod, biting the inside of your cheek, "yeah.. it does look beautiful." You both stood on top of a bridge, a small river softly rippling through the streams. As much as you tried to take your mind off things by staring into the reflection of the moon on the water, you couldn't. So you scooched a step closer. And then another step. And another until Tooru took one for you, making you stiff. "(Y/N).." You turn your head to meet his eyes but your lips meet his instead. You were unprepared and was internally screeching inside. But soon enough, you got used to it and start to move your lips against his own. It was slow and passionate. You did not regret a single embarrassing thing you did in front of him as kids after that day.

Whenever you two kiss, they're very playful and chokeholding. At least for you. Tooru loves to bite onto your lip and drag it with him, doing it in front of his friends to show you off and get reactions out of them. When they're not playful, they get sensational and sweet. Some tongue is used here and there. Whenever it's used, you get flustered every time and he absolutely loves it.

Dealing with his ex:

His ex absolutely HATED you. And she hated the idea of a dude and another dude dating each other. You did try to be peaceful with her but she irked you. Tooru would reassure you and pepper you with kisses, rephrasing, "don't worry about her. She's just jealous so don't waste your time, love."

You stepped out your comfort zone and absolutely blew up at her when you caught her putting her hands on Tooru. Non-consensually.

"You better back the fuck up," you raise your voice at the hand-wandering girl, her face falling once she sees you. Suddenly in all your years, you never felt any more bold than you did now. Phones started to pull out from people's pockets and record while you marched your way over to the girl, chest in her face. You were only an inch short from Tooru, same as Hajime. "I don't fuck with the gays, hun. Who are you again?" Her question only seemed to irk you more just before you tightened your fist around Tooru's collar and smash his lips against yours. The colors literally drain from her face when she watches Tooru cling onto you desperately. And you make SURE she watches his tongue slip into your mouth. You seperate your lips from his when she turns to walk away, "yeah, walk away, puny bitch."

Teaching each other:

Tooru LOVES teaching you volleyball. Although you fail miserably at it, he still loves teaching you. Because he gets to pick you up and start back all over again, just to see you try. And he thinks it's cute to see you struggle. He notices you have the habit to pinch your sleeve between your finger nails when you concentrate or struggle.

You laugh every time he attempts to copy one of your drawings, only to end up looking like they were drawn by a five year old. You try to teach him how to draw in your way step by step but he miserably fails at it so. When you suggested to just have him draw his own thing, it was two stickmans. It was him and you, to be precise. You found it adorable and is now hung up on the wall of your room till this day.

Panick attacks:

There was a time you noticed he had been acting strange. You went by the gym to check it out but when you did, you only saw him there just serving balls and setting them as high up as he could. When you called out his name, he messed up his momentum and that's quite literally when he started to cry. He started to hyperventilate and close in on himself which you immediately rush to his side to comfort. He quickly took you in his arms, breathing heavily against your shoulder, his dry throat and muscles burning intensely. Luckily, you had a bottle of water with you. So while he calmed down and laid on your lap while drinking water, he went back to being okay. He did vent to you about his problems and insecurities though. And you were there to hear it all.<3

Arguments:

You both barely gotten into arguments. But after finding out he was going off to move into South America, you were bawling and begging at his feet.

"(Y/N)- look- I'm sorry! I can't stay! I really wish I could but I can't! I don't even know if we.." His voice trails off, eyes softening at your kneeled figure. You were clinging to his pants, soft hiccups leaving your chest as you rest your forehead against his thigh. "We have to stay together," you murmur, snot slowly rolling down and over your lip. Tooru smiles before kneeling down to meet your eyes, placing a hand on your cheek. "And we can. It's not impossible. If someone really wanted to do or keep something, they would've done so already," he kindly smiles, warning a ripping whine out of you, tears over spilling your cheeks. He's quickly alerted and tries his best to wipe away your tears and snot.

Adult life:

"My brother and brother 'n law will be here in a min', just give them a se-" "Tooru (L/N) is here people!!" Tooru slams the door open, cutting off Hajime who now had a grim scowling look on his face. You and Tooru had just got back from your honeymoon, and you both had a great time. It was wonderful and beautiful. You followed behind your husband not too short after, awkwardly lightly bowing to the guests in the house at Tooru's loud boast.

You two lived in a house together. He pursued his dream as a volleyball player and you pursued yours. You both supported each other in every way. But now, there was a debate whether you two should get a surrogate or an adopted child. You two decided you wanted a surrogate, one of your own and one of his own. You two now have one girl and one boy. They were basically twins; the only difference was that one was born an hour after the other.

The girl was named 'Najime' and the boy was named 'Hajime', after your brother.

Fun Fact:

There was huge drama between you, Tooru, and Hajime. You guys were in your late teenage years and Hajime suddenly realizes his love for Tooru. You were sort of devastated when Tooru couldn't really deny his feelings for Hajime. Could you really blame them?

But in the end, Tooru chose you. He made sure he gave you all the attention and love after that, doing whatever he could to gain your trust back again. And Hajime apologized profusely to you so many times. You weren't really happy with him but you managed. You two became close again after a talk with your parents.

As old people, you both passed peacefully in each other's arms at a nursing home.

[gilverrwrites]

STOP WAIT THE TIM DRAKE WITH SIONIS!READER THAT WAS AMAZING

love academic rivals to lovers frfr

anyway but tim is also canonically a high school drop out so sionis!reader finishing school without him (technically dropped out when bruce went missing) 💀 idk why but with roman hating the wayne clan so much, I could see it being kept secret.

like a cute little forbidden fruit/secret relationship. robin & the daughter of the most notorious crime lord in the city?? jeez and you wanna ask why bruce/roman are paranoid /hj

but it's them sneaking around and then tim obviously leaves for his search for batman, dropping out of school, and it leaves sionis!reader all alone.

and then tim comes back!! and bruce is back but bruce doesn't really matter to them(reader), because tim left without a word, without a goodbye, and now he's back and I can imagine all the changes between that happened in that year he was too, the angst of him coming back.

like, would they try to find tim? would they try to go to wayne manor and figure out what the hell happened? I feel like it opens the door to possibilities between them

Hang in there, this is a real rambley ramble.

Ngl, I was picturing it for when he went to Ivy (which he also dropped out of lmao), and I like the idea of them being upfront about it for the comedy/reluctant acceptance angle, but there is still the potential for drama. However, I can see the appeal of them keeping it totally secret too (I'm gonna talk about that later in the post).

For now, heres my vision: You’re Romans favourite kid, his perfect lil angel child, the only one who wants anything to do with him so he dotes on you (to the extent that Roman can dote on anyone) and you go to him one day like; “I get perfect grades, I never miss curfew, I help with the family business, I never ask you for anything, PLEASE accept my boyfriend.” And at first `Roman’s just like… “No.”

Queue the “But Daddy I love him!” tantrum.

Unlike with Jason, Roman has never had any strong feelings toward Tim other than a general distaste cause of the Wayne association, so eventually he tries to come around, but it’s just awkward, and Tim hates it too cause he know your dad is Black Mask, and he can’t do anything without risking being exposed as Red Robin or upsetting you by causing a scene/fight. Is it to much to ask for the two most important men in your life to get along for one dinner? Please?

So, every time they meet the vibes are just off. However, they’re both trying really hard to get along cause they love you.

One night Tim unintentionally catches Black Mask red-handed and he can’t not do his job. The whole time they're fighting, Tim has this whole internal monologue going on about whether he should let Roman off with a warning for your sake, but eventually he’s like WWBD?

So, he hands Roman over to the authorities and the next day he sees you and your bawling! Inconsolable! Your dad is going to prison, your life is ruined. You’re also a bit of drama queen but validly tbh, what will this do for your social standings? Your college applications? Your career aspirations? Fuck Red Robin, you hate that guy!

You were raised by Roman Sionis, of course your inherited at least a little of his melodromatic genes.

Even though you're distressed Tim can’t keep from being like ‘You're mad at the wrong person here! Red Robin is the good guy! You're dad is the criminal, he wouldn't have been arrested if he wasn't a bad person! Who does bad things! He needs to face justice!”

It becomes a massive-ass argument until you’re like “Why can’t you be normal about this? I love my dad and this is going to have a huge effect on my life, why can’t you just be upset for me?”

Tim doesn’t have an answer cause the answer is "I'm Red Robin" but fuck that guy, right? The whole issue goes unresolved.

Or maybe he does snap and tell you the truth but that just makes things worse! "You're my boyfriend and you arrested my father! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?"

When you visit him at Blackgate, your father is quietly elated by the break up, he doesn’t say as much. He plays the concerned father, offers you comfort. He reminds you that when he killed lost his parents, it started a new age of loyalty amonst the Sionis clan. As long as you're good to your family (him), it will be good to you. Oh, and btw, he needs you to handle a few things while he's gone. Don't worry, your family pisses money, he'll be out of here in no time but this stuff is important and time sensitive, and he needs you to keep it on the down low.

The next time you see Tim, he’s Red Robin and you’re the one he catches in the act.

Also, Tim telling that Bat-Fam “So yeah, I’m seeing someone new, it’s Y/N Sionis.” And everyone looks at Steph for a second, then back to Tim and is like “Dude! Get a new type!”

Also also, you visit the Wayne family for the first time, and after growing up drilled to hate these people you’re lowkey so nervous. You’re expecting them to hate you, because you learned nothing from presuming the same thing about Tim. The youngest one is definitely scary, and the butler must be convinced you’re gonna steal something because he will not allow you to be left alone (he’s remembering teenage Roman hanging out with teenage Bruce and being the worst), but otherwise everyone is actually kinda chill. Maybe a bit overly polite but not unpleasant.

But I can totally see the appeal of them keeping it totally secret too. Especially if Tim tells you about being Red Robin. How it might force you to come to terms with your morality by enabling your father/not holding him accountable. Major existential crisis material.

Of if he doesn’t tell you, the angst of your boyfriend just up and leaving without a word, not responding to your calls, texts, emails.

When he does come back you’ve ‘moved on’. Or you thought you had until you saw him again. But after he left you high and dry you’re fuming, and won’t allow him to just walk skate back into your life.

Tim pining after you while you’re excelling in your college/job pursuit. You keep catching glimpses of Red Robin while you’re out on dates or visiting your dad. Tim tells himself he’s just vetting your new boyfriends or ensuring your dad isn’t up to no good. But really its because he’s missed you and doesn’t know how to make up for cutting you out of his life.

He also notices how you never bring your dates home. How you still bury yourself in his old hoodie at night. How you haven’t finished binge watching that show the two of you were working on together. Those little nuggets of hope are what keeps him hanging on.

[jadeoru]

coffee beans.

synopsis: valentine's day was spent the same way every year: coffee, and studying, all while trying her best to avoid the happy couples in love. unfortunately, her tradition was interrupted by a clumsy pretty barista. or: kiyoko felt like she wasn't capable of feeling love, turns out she's just gay

warnings/tags: reader is a barista! fluff, meet-ugly, afab!reader, reader is referred to as a girl, kiyoko's pov, kiyoko is an anxious shy mess (me too), flirting (pathetic), kiyoko's gay awakening lmfao, kiyoko's a la dispute fan because i said so, poop jokes, i actually hate how this turned out but oh well, wrote this for the 3 kiyoko lovers of the world

wc: 3.5k words

now playing: very cliché but definitely girls - girl in red lmao 🎶

Kiyoko saw love as a waste of time. She lived her whole life in a society held together by the prospect of love. It chased her in many forms: her parents, her friends, music, art, - she knew it well. In her childhood, love was just another friend of hers; a familiar taste on her tongue, similar to her mother’s cooking. It was a feeling of home. But as she grew up, the flavour grew progressively more acrid; bitter. She watched as her friends changed, each of them infatuated by the weird feeling. Everyone around her had a crush on someone. Conversations with her friends quickly became dull. No one was the same as they got older. Everyone around her was falling in love; a victim of cupid's spell. She felt left out; ostracised. In her eyes, love seemed like a trap; a chain, connecting you to someone for the rest of your life. She never understood the appeal, and how everyone saw the cruel, suffocating feeling as a warm embrace - whirling inside of you. She was frustrated. It was stressful not knowing what was wrong with her - why she was so different from her peers. She tried relationships, they always felt wrong. She was asked out by 2 different guys, each time she said yes. She agreed not because the feeling was mutual, but because she hoped she could force herself to feel the same. In the end, she discovered that butterflies are just colourful moths that find home inside of your gut, and mess everything up as they inevitably rot away. Cupid shot Kiyoko with their arrow on multiple occasions; each time left her on the cusp of bleeding out. All everyone cared about was love. As everyone around her found their person, she found herself slowly left behind. Love was in the air, and she was allergic.

In a way, her friends felt bad for her. They didn’t understand, and honestly, neither did she. They frequently tried setting her up on dates. She met all kinds of guys, each one somewhat worse than the last. Every date felt so strange; something wasn’t right. Was that how all dates went? - That’s it? She honestly felt guilty. Her friends put so much effort into those dates, trying to find her soulmate. They genuinely cared about her. They wanted her to experience true love. She felt bad for being so difficult. It got to the point where she’d resort to pretending. She’d choose a random guy in her class, one that was objectively attractive, and led her friend’s to believe her poorly acted out infatuation was true love. A part of her hoped that by lying to her friends, she could lie to herself, and believe it. With fingers crossed, she prayed for her to finally succeed, She hoped that maybe, she’d finally experience the warmth of her heart pounding in her chest. 

Graduation passed her by; it never worked.

To her, it was pointless. She tried it so many times, and in the end, she was always left unsatisfied. She lost faith in her search for love ages ago, and honestly stopped believing in it. Instead of flowers and holding hands with someone, love found her in other strange ways. To her, love was the cat that always met with her on her way to college, or when she found a song that she related to deeply. Love was the face of her mother when she was accepted into college. Love was spending time by herself; writing mediocre poetry, back pressed almost comfortably against a tree. With the exception of her father, love was never the face of a man. That was something she never came to terms with until her early adult years. That was something she thought she'd never understand;

She was wrong.

February was the worst. As if the people around her couldn’t get even more annoying, someone had the bright idea to make a whole day about love. She hated it. The commute to town was even more unbearable than it usually was. Instead of being surrounded by groaning strangers that had too much to drink last night; definitely did not get any sleep, mother’s carrying their screaming babies, the annoying screeching noise that erupted from the train every time it came to a halt, she was surrounded by cheesy lovers that flirted way too loudly. Noise-cancelling headphones were the greatest purchase she ever made.

The train to town was almost worse than the bustling, busy streets. Almost. As if her day couldn’t get any worse, all of her favourite places to spend her lunch were overrun, infected by insufferable couples. She turned her nose up with negativity. She wasn’t mad at them, if anything, she was envious. Why did she have to spend this magical holiday alone? It was unfair. She wanted not just to be loved, but to love. Her head spiralled every time she questioned herself;  she never thought about it too much to prevent her from the gnawing pit that grew within her. It took a few miserable Valentine’s Day’s for her to cultivate a steady ‘celebration’ routine; A survival plan: she would take the train at 8:20, which would be significantly less busy than the one she usually got, put on her headphones, blasted La Dispute for the entire duration of the train ride while staring out the window, and then scurried her way through the hectic crowds to her favorite, quaint, quiet, family-owned coffee shop. There, she would grab the biggest, strongest coffee they had (with a generous amount of caramel syrup, to satiate her sweet tooth), and ploughed through her assignments with peaceful relief etched into every line her pen wrote. 

That was how she spent every Valentine’s Day without fail - Without interruption. She finally had a stable routine that wouldn’t make her feel like a dysfunctional human. A routine that wouldn’t make her feel like there was something wrong with her. A distraction from the onslaught of love that crept up behind her; always facing her back, never once meeting her face to face. Up until now, it almost always went smoothly. It almost worked. She got off the train with high hopes, a subtle smile on her features as she silently appreciated the lyricism of the song she had on shuffle. She had only one notification on her phone: a warning to turn her volume down. All of her friends were busy spending time with their person. Of course they were too busy to text her. With a sigh, she increased the volume to the loudest it could go, and drowned out every thought and jealousy that plagued her mind. She didn’t care about damaging her hearing. At least she wouldn’t have to listen to grown adults talking and cooing to each other like babies. She hated that.

The walk to the coffee shop was fine. She kept to her side of the footpath, and held stern eye contact with the pavement. The cracks in the concrete were way more interesting than the romance that clouded the public anyways. Turning the door-handle, she silently rehearsed her order in her mind, before making her way to the counter. It was relatively quiet; empty. That’s how it normally was. This place was her escape from reality. It was small, quiet, the music they played was nice, and the baristas were always so polite to her. However, as she walked up to the counter, she was unable to recognise the barista behind the register. Was she new? She must’ve been, Kiyoko went there at least three times a week, and never once had she seen her. She wasn’t upset though, not in the slightest. She just hoped she would be as nice as the others. She watched attentively as the girl took the order of the person in front of her. She was smiling widely after each sentence that fled her lips. Not a fake customer-service smile, but a real genuine one. Kiyoko admired that. She continued to watch as she took the money from the customer and quickly placed it into the cash register. In one quick moment, Kiyoko found herself standing speechless directly in front of her. “Hey, what can I get for you?” She asked, giving Kiyoko absolutely zero time to mentally prepare herself to talk to her. She stuttered out her order with a strange feeling in her chest. She cringed at how stupid she sounded. “Of course! Would you like that in a takeaway cup?” She asked, flashing her a smile. It was so strange. Her smile seemed so familiar, so warm. The smile on her face almost made her feel at home; safe. She typed her order into the machine. Kiyoko was relieved - the eye contact was becoming too much for her. “Yes please.” She almost whispered, her voice unusually soft. She only nodded in response, letting out an “mhm!” in acknowledgement. She looked up at Kiyoko again, and she finally understood what it meant to have your heart skip a beat. “That’ll be 5,60! Are you paying with cash or card?”

The moment lasted only 30 seconds at most, and yet Kiyoko felt like she was suffering with a life-long crisis. As she handed her cash to her, she found herself questioning every choice she had ever made that led up to that moment. She couldn’t find the right words to describe how she felt. Conflicted? Confused? She couldn’t think of the right one. She couldn’t think of anything, besides the feeling of her hand touching hers for a split second, as she handed the money to her. She placed the money inside the register just like she did with the last customer. But, unlike she did with them, she leaned over the counter - propping her head up with her hands.

“It’ll be ready in about 5 minutes, pretty.”

With bright red cheeks and wobbly knees, she nodded her head, and almost sprinted to the pick-up counter.

There are a lot of things you could do in 5 minutes. You could listen to a song, count the tiles on the floor, or even count each second down to the last minute. Kiyoko chose neither of those. Instead, she stared at the floor, replaying the interaction in her head over a hundred times. She wasn’t entirely sure what was wrong with her, but one thing she knew for certain was she never felt that way about someone before. Ever. Those five minutes were spent questioning her entire existence. She struggled to come to an obvious conclusion. As it reached the tip of her tongue, her name was called out.

She spoke her name in a way that drove her crazy. The way each syllable rolled off her tongue had her worried she was going to suffer a heart attack. She quickly whipped her head around to face the barista again. She was suddenly very aware of how uncomfortably warm her face was. “You know… your name is almost as pretty as your face.” She almost whispered, a grin widely displayed on her cheeks as her eyes consumed Kiyoko whole. She leaned over the counter again, holding the cup out to Kiyoko. She really liked when she did that - for some strange reason. Her compliment caught Kiyoko completely off guard, hitting her almost like an arrow to the heart. A stupid smile spread out on her face. She wasn’t sure how else to react; It wasn’t socially acceptable to kick your feet and squeal in the middle of a coffee shop. Muttering a shy, “thank you so much!”, she held her hand out to grab the coffee from her. But, before she could get a stable grip on the cup, the barista let go of it too soon, almost out of embarrassment. In doing so, it caused the large, hot coffee to fall directly onto Kiyoko’s hand-made, wool sweater; crashing onto it like a boiling wave, spilling all over her and soaking her in the warm liquid.

There was a moment of mutual shock between them, a brief few seconds spent silently staring at each other. She did a terrible job at hiding the disgusted, uncomfortable look on her face as the coffee seeped through her sweater, ruining the shirt she was wearing under it, and sticking to her bare skin. She looked down to assess the damage done to her clothes. They were ruined. A big, attention-grabbing stain was spread unevenly on her sweater. This was the worst. She looked up at the barista, who looked even more terrified than she was. Her hands flew to cover her mouth, but Kiyoko could see the guilty, fearful look in her eyes. They stayed like that for a few seconds. Uncomfortable silence engulfed the room; like time stopped. Kiyoko didn’t look away from the barista, but she could tell that other people were definitely staring at the two of them. She wanted the ground to swallow her up. The barista was the first one to speak up.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She could tell by the tone of her voice just how serious she was. Kiyoko opened her mouth to speak, to quickly forgive her. She just wanted to go home. Embarrassment enveloped her entirely, and the strong scent of coffee attacked her nostrils in an almost painful way, but the barista spoke up again. “Wait here, I’ll go get you some tissues!” She pleaded, raising her hands cautiously. She nodded in response, watching in silence as the barista urgently dashed through the door behind her. She silently cursed herself for not staying silent. She wiped her hand on her sweater, before holding it to her face to look at it. Her fingers were stained brown. At least her sweater didn’t absorb it all. She waited at the counter for the barista to return like a deer in headlights. She didn’t close the door to her break-room, so Kiyoko could just barely see her.

She was really pretty. Like, really really pretty. Even in her coffee-stained apron (She’s probably done this before to someone else - Kiyoko almost laughed at the thought), and her hair all messy from a probably stressful day, she was beautiful. Even as she frantically tore apart her break-room, Kiyoko couldn’t help but feel her heart whirling around at her irresistible pulchritude. A dumb smile plastered across Kiyoko's face. Technically, she should feel annoyed. She loved that sweater to death. But, in a weird way, she was glad. She knew that from then on, every time she looked at that stain, she would see a trace of her. Although she wasn’t entirely sure what any of her feelings meant, she didn’t have the time to care. For now, she would just let herself feel whatever feelings she felt, without the need to understand. She would have a crisis later. For now, she needed to befriend the clumsy, pretty barista. 

She speed-walked back to the counter, holding tissues out to her. Realistically, tissues would not reverse any of the damage, but it was the thought that counted. “Here. I’m so sorry about that.” She said, lips curving into an apologetic smile so nice Kiyoko couldn’t help but mirror it. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” She answered, staring at her lips for an embarrassingly long moment, before finally returning to her eyes. She reached out to take the tissues from her hand. Have her fingers always been this shaky? The lack of sleep she got the night before must’ve been affecting her mind, because she could’ve sworn you grazed your hand over hers purposefully. She must’ve imagined it. She awkwardly wiped her sweater with it, staining the tissue in the process. The stain didn’t budge.

The barista cleared her throat. “Would it help if I told you I still think you’re really pretty?” She fidgeted with her hands, an empathetic look in her eyes as she silently hoped to uplift Kiyoko’s spirits. Totally not because she was also insanely into her. Totally. Kiyoko almost dropped the tissue. Hell, she almost dropped her jaw at the sudden flirtatious remark. Her face went hot as the line between a friendly compliment and flirting was incredibly unclear to her. Was she just being nice? “Maybe it would.” She began, raising her hands, leaving the stain on full display. and tilting her head with a smile. “Would it help if I told you I think you’re really cute?” Kiyoko made a mental note to learn how to flirt later. The barista smiled, letting out an airy chuckle. “Well, it wouldn’t help the sweater I ruined, but it would help my ruined confidence.” She joked, looking at the ground. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed, it was my fault.” Kiyoko stated matter-of-factly, the girl looked at her like she had two heads. “Nope. It was my fault, cutie. I won't accept any other opinions.” She said with a wink - a wink that almost made Kiyoko fall over. Her knees were immensely weak, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the nickname, the wink, or both.

She sighed with defeat knowing not to debate with her any further. “Does it look like I just shit myself?” She asked with a laugh. The barista laughed with her, which only sorta, kind of, slightly, made her heart flutter. “Nah, more like someone shit on you.” She responded, scratching her chin in playful thought. “I’m seriously so sorry about that by the way. Let me make you another coffee, free of charge. Is there anything else I can do to help?” She asked, her words laced with genuine interest. She grabbed an empty cup, writing something on it before turning around and beginning to make her drink. Kiyoko waved her hands dismissively. “Don’t be sorry, accidents happen! - At least now I have an excuse to talk to you longer.” If she didn’t stutter her way through that sentence, it probably would’ve sounded way less pathetic. Unfortunately, Kiyoko felt she wasn’t anything but pathetic. She wasn’t aware of how it took everything in the barista not to get on one knee and propose to her at that very second. “You have a point. Maybe it’s a good thing I spilled it on you.” She chuckled, turning back around to face her again, handing her the new drink - carefully this time. 

“Um, this might be incredibly out of line, but could I maybe get your number?” She smiled nervously at Kiyoko. Normally, whenever a guy asked her for her number, it made her scoff and roll her eyes. But she was different, Kiyoko never nodded her head so enthusiastically in her life. “Yeah, of course!” She did little to hide the excitement laced in her words. The barista smiled the widest she’d seen that morning. Whispering a quiet “thank you,” she handed Kiyoko her phone, and she shakily typed in her number.

“Oh uh, I never got your name?” Through a smile, she responded, “it’s Y/n.”

“Y/n..” she repeated, handing her her phone back, “that’s a really pretty name. It suits you.” With every sentence it was as if their smiles grew tenfold; heightened by mutual happiness. “Thanks Kiyoko, your name is lovely too.” “Shimizu.” She corrected abruptly, y/n furrowed her brow in response. “Please, call me Shimizu.” she almost begged, craving to taste her name on her tongue. “Well then, Shimizu. It was lovely meeting you. I’ll stop bothering you and let you enjoy your coffee, for now.” She winked again, doing very little absolutely nothing to help convince Kiyoko she’s still straight. “For now?” She asked, confused. “Well I’ll definitely be texting you after my shift, so, for now, I will grant you peace and quiet.” She laughed her words out, to which Kiyoko reciprocated.

“I definitely won’t enjoy it when I could be talking to you instead.” Kiyoko took a sip from her drink. If she wasn’t sure then, the deliciousness of her coffee definitely confirmed just how in love Kiyoko was with her barista. She laughed, “Call me whenever you want someone to spill coffee on you. I’ve proven myself to be very good at that”

“Oh believe me, I will.”

[medeaaa]

I rlly need a fic of viktor and jayce becoming like the power couple of piltover in like the hexgates years

(I knowwww it would be antithetical and reductive of arcane’s themes of isolation and structural oppression regarding viktor ikkk but I want it anyway)(but honestly I think it could be done well in regards to that anyway - think the cost of sacrificing your sense of self and identity in order to fit into a world that fundamentally opposes it, and then being rewarded for it, like I’m thinking about how in the show I think we get hints that viktor holds very true to the parts of him that were forged in the undercity in that he always brings up that the point of science should be to ‘change lives’ and ‘help people’ clearly thinking of his own upbringing and the people in Zaun, as well as how he seems completely detached from the wealthy piltover social scene unlike jayce, and while this is definitely in part due to classist prejudice, I also think Viktor actively shuns the elite and sees them as a source of people’s suffering. It’s also his willingness to hold true to his undercity character that I think makes piltovans avoid and disregard him.

So think if the inverse happened, if viktor caved to the pressures of piltovan social pressure and tried to actively change and hide aspects of himself that the upper class piltovans found distasteful. A bit like jayce in a sense where he’s paraded around and has to change himself to appeal to the council and investors. Like what happens when they both get to be the centre of all this attention and praise and pressure and gossip. If they’re treated like a celebrity couple and they’re both become transformed into symbols of innovation and progress that is simultaneously elevating and dehumanising. And the thing is Viktor would never truly ever feel like he succeeded in fitting in, because he would always be viewed a little bit differently due to his background (I wonder the kind of narratives that piltovans would impose on his story in this scenario if it would be sort of poverty porn esque, the underdog, or the ‘good zaunite’ following what I think arcane behind to explore in s2 with vi’s character) and his disability. But also because Viktor would always have to actively choose to play this part and play at social customs and culture that are not native to him and there would be this constant paranoia or imposter syndrome, where he worries that people can see right through him and are questioning the validity of his apparent acceptance into piltovan society

And also how this would splinter into their relationship and how jayce and viktor would have this joint pressure - would it be easier with them both carrying it, or would resentment of the respective roles they have to play seep into their relationship and interactions with each other? Would there be a fundamental misunderstanding on Jaycee’s part on what exactly it means for viktor to try and assimilate into piltovan society, a society that would be actively hostile to him otherwise?

Idk this started with me just wanting some fluff and it ended up spiralling into this lmao

[classicanalyzer]

What If Season 3 - What If... Agatha Went to Hollywood? Thoughts

"Everyone has a story worth telling. Even two lost souls on the wrong path. But sometimes, all it takes is a trip to the movies to remind you that anything is possible, even a happy ending. Then again, who doesn't love a cliffhanger." Uatu

This episode goes so hard. I really love the dynamic between Agatha and Kinko. Howard and Jarvis are a comedic blast. It's such a fun episode playing around with three diva characters who would've been around by this point of the timeline. The episode is also a love letter to cinema and the history of 1940s Hollywood with little details sprinkled out. This is What If at its best.

I love how this AU results from Agatha learning of Tiamut's existence. I also can't believe and love how What If also connects to Agent Carter since Howard did try to become a movie director (with mixed results to say the least). I think they also brought back Bernard Stark when Jarvis was trying to shoo away a flamingo from the set.

The dance choreography goes so fucking hard. I love musicals, so to see a musical dance number in the MCU is pretty great. The Hollywood and Bollywood dancing and music styles meshed really well in this episode. It was a pretty smart idea to acknowledge Agatha's power absorption powers would make it relatively easy for her to take the Eternals' powers. The real goats are the dancing teams of Agatha and Kingo for improvising so well during their fight lmao. Howard mentioning the Hinderberg is pretty funny since Agatha All Along said Agatha was suspected of causing the Hinderberg's destruction.

Agatha is amazing. Kathryn Hahn really loves playing this character and you can tell it. Whoever had the idea of pairing her up with Howard, Jarvis, and Kingo deserves a raise. I really love how she really leans into the actress role so much that she loves it by the end. Her Celestial design is simply beautiful. Her costumes are also great. Agatha becoming a Celestial would've been so in-character for her if she knew about them like we saw in this universe. There's something funny and cathartic about Arishem the Judge calling Agatha, a witch who lived through the Salem period, a heretic, then Agatha proceeding to beat the shit out of Arishem, that was a great historical joke.

I really love Kingo in this episode as well. While the Eternals was flawed, it had a great cast and worldbuilding. I love how Kingo was able to reach out to Agatha by appealing to an empty void inside of them until they did film. I really love his speech to Agatha. Stories whether that be film, games, etc inspire other people like me and I really connected with what he meant. It just reminds you that Kingo has a lot of depth to his character. I will say Kingo turning on Arishem in exchange for a three-picture deal is pretty hilarious (and other requests including his friends being freed). All the Eternals had to do was offer him that lmao. Kumail Nanjiani did an amazing job playing this character.

Jarvis eventually accepts the insanity and chaotic nature of the cast, which is pretty funny to see. He's such a comedic riot in the episode alongside the rest.

This episode really is one of the best episodes. This really showcases What If using its premise to create stories we never thought we needed until now.

"At some point, somewhere in our lives, the world made us feel small, so we set out to show them. But, Agatha, you never needed all this power. Because you've always had the only magic you'd ever really needed to leave your mark on the world." Kingo

"Uh-huh, uh-huh. And what magic is that?" Agatha Harkness

"The movies. The movies are magic, Agatha. Hell, they're better than magic. Because they change the world by changing people. By making them feel something real. And with that kind of power, you don't have to be feared. Because you can be adored." Kingo

"You can't possibly understand how long I've worked for this." Agatha Harkness

"Well, I've been on Earth for thousands of years, so I kinda do. And if you're anything like me, maybe all this time, you've just been looking for the right collaborator. So, what do you say? Wanna change the world? For real?" Kingo

[fanfictionstuff]

may i request a nsfw fic with (afab) demon! reader x amaimon :3 maybe as a pt 2 to the last demon reader x amaimon fic?

I was so excited to see him today in the new episode that I kind of got carried away with this fic and extended it by over 2000 words. LMAO.

4999 words.

I love him so much. He's the new wallpaper on my mac lmao

Rin raises an eyebrow while observing you smile at your phone. Although he invited you to join him and the other exorcist students, you’ve spent the entire time grinning at your device like an idiot. “Who are you texting?” he asks.

“A friend.”

"The only friends you have are at this table," Rin says flatly.

“That’s not true!”

The pink-haired teenager sitting across from you leans in with a playful grin, saying, “I bet it’s a guy~.”

“Shut up, Shima!” You snap, kicking him under the table.

A shocked look crosses Rin’s face. “A guy? Are you really talking to a guy?” He quickly grabs the phone from your hand and holds it out of reach. “Rin! Give me back the phone.”

“No, I have to make sure he respects my sister,” he insists, trying to unlock the phone while keeping it just out of your reach.

Yukio shakes his head at his siblings’ behavior. “You need to be more respectful to our older sister." He takes the phone from Rin and hands it back to you. You receive another text as soon as the phone is back in your hands.

That sounds boring. Come play with me instead.

You bite your lower lip as you read the text. Spending time with your friends isn’t boring; however, spending time with the demon king does sound more appealing at the moment. But if you leave now, Rin will realize something is up and start stalking you or something.

Since meeting the demon king a few months ago, he’s become a staple in your life. Even if Rin swears, he was trying to kill him and almost killed Shiemi. You were there during the camping trip; you didn’t see him trying to kill Shiemi, just using her to pull Rin out, and it worked. Also, you’re aware Amaimon isn’t allowed to kill Rin. That night, both you and Rin were exposed as demons. The young exorcists surprisingly accepted you nearly right away, even while still feeling weary of Rin.

You had thought that Rin had exorcised him. Therefore, when he showed up on your sofa two weeks later, complaining that you took too long to return home, you were overwhelmed with feelings and accidentally kissed him. However, he didn’t let you pull away to apologize. Instead, he leaned in when you attempted to part, preventing you from disconnecting from his lips.

Wait at my apartment; I’ll be home in about an hour.

No.  

No?! What do you mean ‘no’?  

His silence makes you a bit anxious. You look down at your plate, noticing only a few bites remaining. You hurriedly finish, trying not to make it too obvious that you want to leave the restaurant quickly. It seems to fool everyone except Rin, and Yukio from the look he gives you as you stand, attempting to walk off. “I just remembered I have something important to complete. I’m sorry to leave a bit early.” The others nod, telling you goodbye with Shiemi, even trying to make plans for the next time you get to hang out.

Rin is on your heels as you leave the restaurant. “_____, where are you going? Why are you suddenly busy? Are you actually talking to a guy?” He grills you as he falls into step beside you. “Rin, I’ve got something I have to complete.”

“What is it.”

“It’s personal.”

“Fine, but if you have a boyfriend, you know you have to introduce us, right? I need to make sure he’s a good person.”

You pause, giving him an unimpressed look while tugging on his tail. “I don’t have to do anything, Rin.”

“Ow! That hurts!”

You pull a few more times before letting it go. "Quit making noise and return to the restaurant. Unless you want Shima to make a move on Shiemi since you’re too scared to ask her out yourself.”

Rin wraps his tail around himself protectively, narrowing his eyes at you. “Fine, but I will find out who.” he warns before walking away.

You’re walking past a small alley when someone unexpectedly grabs your wrist, yanking you into their embrace. The rich, earthy scent of nature envelops you, instantly identifying the figure behind you. As you realize it’s Amaimon, tension releases from your body, and you relax in his arms. “Amaimon, what are you doing? I told you to wait at my apartment.” His hold tightens, simmering with frustration, as he growls softly in your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Why are you touching another demon’s tail?” Possessiveness laces his words, turning them into a hiss of jealousy, while his hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers exploring as they delicately grasp your tail, a gesture both tender and fervently protective. “Doing this in front of me, you must want me to kill your brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

Amaimon sighs, continuing to run his fingers along your tail. “Is this because you were raised by a human that you’re unaware?” He questions, continuing his actions. “Does it feel good?” The longer he touches it, the more sensitive it feels. “Y-yeah.” His lips brush against your ear as he speaks. “No other man should see or touch you like this and never touch another demon like this.” He warns, and you begin to realize demons’ tails aren’t as innocent as you initially imagined. 

"Wait, Amaimon, what do you mean by 'never touch another demon like this'?" Your voice trembles slightly as you question him; other than kisses here and there, he’s never said anything about a relationship. Sure, you want one, but you weren’t going to expect a demon king to want something serious with you. 

Amaimon leans in even closer, his warm breath tickling your skin as he murmurs, "You belong to me." His voice is low and possessive. 

“Wait, wait.” You pull away from him completely. “Belong to you? Since when?” As you speak, your tail slips back under your shirt. “We aren’t in a relationship, and you haven’t even confirmed whether or not you want to date me.” 

His golden eyes lock onto yours; the possessive expression quickly turns blank. “What?” 

“What do you mean by 'what'? You haven't even officially asked me out or anything.” Sure, you don't have much experience in relationships, but this feels more like friends who occasionally kiss. It's almost like you're friends with benefits without taking it too far, right? 

He just stands in front of you, staring for another minute before turning to walk away. 

You stare at the wall, unsure what to do—confused by his reaction. Did he think you two were in a relationship? Had you just been an idiot all this time and didn’t realize your friendship had morphed into a romantic relationship? Guess I messed that up. 

——-

Mephisto observes his brother with curiosity. Just moments ago, Amaimon had burst into his office, appearing unusually annoyed. Initially, Mephisto thought it might involve Rin. When asked, Amaimon simply shook his head, remaining tight-lipped about what was bothering him. 

“Amaimon, sit down and tell me what’s wrong. I’m a busy man, you know.” 

He doesn’t sit, but he does pause and turns to look at his older brother. “I’ve been courting her for weeks now, and she’s been receptive.” 

“What?” Mephisto’s eyes widen; this is the first he’s heard Amaimon has taken an interest in someone. Let alone the fact he’s interested enough he’s courting her. “Who have you been courting?” 

“You told me I should check online if I had questions about Assiah. It indicated that courting rituals in Assiah include having conversations, texting, giving gifts, physical affection, and taking trips together." He begins pacing again as he speaks. “I’ve done all of these things. So why did she say I haven’t been courting her?” 

“Have you been courting a human?”

“No.” 

“So, who have you been courting? I don’t know of anyone nearby for you to court besides-” Mephisto blinks, disbelief washing over his face. He hadn’t even realized that Amaimon had encountered her; he definitely hadn’t mentioned it. No, that’s absurd; she knows how Amaimon assaulted Rin and even threatened her other friends. It can’t be true. “Are you pursuing Rin’s older sister?” 

“Yes.” 

Mephisto rubs his forehead in frustration. However, _____ would never choose to be with someone who harmed her cherished younger brother. Didn't Amaimon disclose his true identity? "I'll call her," Mephisto resolves, aiming to resolve the situation before Amaimon causes any harm. It's better to address this issue promptly now. 

“No. She’s mine.” 

Mephisto's brow twitches as he speaks. "I can assure you, I have no interest in her. I am going to call her for you." 

“No.” 

"Fine," Mephisto concedes, raising his hands in surrender. "Just ask her if she realizes you're trying to court her. Sometimes, humans can be oblivious, so it might require a straightforward approach." Amaimon begins to protest, but Mephisto interrupts him. "I understand she's not human, but she was raised by one. If her response disappoints you, you will NOT harm her.” Mephisto’s voice adopts a menacing tone as he stresses the last point sentence.

A shiver runs down Amaimon’s spine at the threat. “Okay, bye.”

Mephisto exhales, bracing himself for the tantrum he knows will come from his younger brother when he returns tonight. It feels like there's always some absurd drama with his siblings. 

——-

It’s nearly one in the morning, and you’re lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when the bedroom door opens. You jolt, startled for a moment, but you relax upon noticing the spike on the dark figure’s head. “Amaimon? What are you doing here?” He never randomly shows up at this hour. Instead of answering, he walks quietly around to your side. As your eyes adjust, you see him more clearly. He’s dressed differently than usual—or, rather, he’s wearing less than you’re accustomed to. You’ve seen him without the jacket but never without the vest or arm warmers. Now, he stands before you, wearing only the button-up t-shirt and unusual pants. “Are you okay?”

The more you stare at him, you notice that his shirt’s first couple of buttons have been undone. Was he in the middle of undressing when he decided to visit me? Staring at you blankly with a disinterested tone, he states. “You’re mine.”

He climbs over you on the bed. “Big Brother said you probably didn’t notice I was courting you. I don’t care. You’re still mine.”

“Wait, courting? Courting? As in for a future marriage? Engagement type of courting?” You attempt to push him back like you had in the alley, but this time, it’s like pushing against a stone wall; he won’t budge.

Amaimon gazes down at you, his expression unreadable as he pins you to the bed with his weight. His golden eyes lock onto yours, filled with a possessive intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "I have courted you in the ways of Assiah," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. "You accepted my gifts, my gestures of affection. You are mine.”

Amaimon's long, dark claws brush gently against your jaw, sharply contrasting with the strength he's using to hold you in place. 

"Hold on a moment. Just how long have you been courting me? You’re a demon king; what would interest you in courting me?” 

“You’ve proven you’ll be a good mate for me, and I’ve proven I’ll be a good mate for you.”

You try to think back to when you’ve ever made Amaimon believe you’d be a good mate. You don’t even know anything about demons regarding the way they mate. I’m an awful demon; I don’t even know these important details. You frown to yourself, ashamed you don’t know these things. “Tell me how I’ve proven it.” 

Amaimon’s blank stare feels like it’s penetrating you. “You chose me.”

“Huh?”

“You chose me over your brothers, over humans.”

When did I choose him over Rin and Yukio? Your eyes widen as you wrack your brain, trying to think of a time that would make Amaimon believe you’ve chosen him over them. But nothing comes to mind. “I did? When?”

“Often, even tonight.”

Your eyes widen at his words. He’s right. Multiple times, you’ve brushed Rin off because Amaimon wanted your attention. You’ve left early because Amaimon told you he wants to spend time with you. You’ve been choosing him over your brothers.

Amaimon's grip on you tightens as he leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You've always chosen me, even when you didn't realize it," he murmurs, his tone possessive yet strangely gentle. He leans down, pressing his warm lips against yours. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it tonight, but then I saw you and Rin when you were walking home.” One of his hands slips under the long t-shirt you use as pajamas to grasp your tail. Starting at the base of your tail, he runs his claw along to the fluffy tip. Then he gently tugs, causing you to gasp. “Do you still think touching your brother like this is appropriate?” As a jolt of pleasure runs throughout your body, you quickly shake your head. “I didn’t know.” You admit moaning at the sensation. “I won’t do it again.”  

As he gently runs his fingers along your tail, you feel something wrapping around your wrist; you glance to the side and notice it’s his tail. “Wait, stop.” You push against him softly. “I’ve never seen your tail like this.” You mutter, sitting up to touch it. It feels just like yours and Rin’s, but the color matches his hair. Dark green, with a fluffy tip being a slightly light green. “I didn’t know your tail looked like this.” You had seen his tail before when he changed into his demon form. It was thick and looked like a reptile tail. While you hadn’t really put much thought into his tail in this form, you assumed it would’ve been like what you saw that night, just thinner. You run your claws gently over it, observing the color closely and the fact it’s the same as yours and Rin’s. So, do all demons in a humanlike body or vessel have tails like this? With your focus only on his tail, you don’t notice what it’s doing to him. When he lets out a low groan, you turn your attention back to the rest of him. He stares at you with lidded eyes. “Oh! I’m sorry.” You hold your hands up. “I was just curious; I wasn’t thinking.”

Amaimon lifts his hands to his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it. While he’s lean, he’s a lot more muscular than you had imagined he’d be. You can’t pull your eyes from the lean muscles on his torso. Amaimon shrugs off the shirt and watches you eyeing his body. “You’re attracted to this vessel? Good.”

Vessel? That’s right, this isn’t his real body. Him and Mephisto need vessels to live in Assiah. Is his true body what I saw the night Rin last control, or does he have another body? Your thoughts come to a standstill when you notice Amaimon taking off his pants. As he pulls off the pants, he removes his underwear, too. Embarrassed, you cover your face. “Why are you covering your face?” Amaimon questions apathetically.

“Sorry, I’ve never seen a guy like this.” You whisper awkwardly.

A hint of confusion flashes in Amaimon’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Of course, this is a time you can’t read between the lines.” You complain, embarrassed you’ll have to say it aloud. You uncover your face but keep your eyes above his waist. “Amaimon, I’ve never been intimate with someone before.”

“You’re a virgin?” He sounds slightly shocked.

“Why are you so surprised? I grew up in a church my entire life, and besides, how could I explain this to a human boy?” you ask, raising your tail.

Amaimon pushes you back down against the bed. Slipping his hands under your shirt to rest on your waist. “Because you’re a virgin, I’ll be gentle this time.” He promises, pulling the shirt over your head. 

  As he positions himself over you, a warm hardness presses against your upper thigh, and you can feel his breath on your skin. Your wrists are gently taken hold of and secured above your head as he kisses you passionately, his tail entwining with yours. His lips trail down to your neck, nibbling and kissing before returning to your mouth. His tongue slips between your parted lips, exploring every corner with passion.

Your body responds eagerly to his touch, lifting your hips and accidentally brushing against his throbbing member. He groans loudly, and the kiss becomes more frantic, his hands roaming over your skin with a feverish need. You catch his lower lip between your teeth, sucking on it gently before Amaimon breaks away from the kiss.

His hands slowly trail down your body, leaving a trail of heat. Softly caressing your breasts, his lips follow in their path, leaving hot kisses and nibbles along the way and finally reaching the waistband of your underwear.

Amaimon’s fingers grip the waistband of your underwear as he pauses and gazes at you in silence. Realizing he is waiting for your consent, you lean closer and press your lips to his. “I never imagined you’d be so considerate.” You whisper against his lips. He pulls the fabric down your legs slowly. "Oh, were you imagining this?" he asks. "What were you imagining I would be like, _____? Should I make your fantasy come true?"

As he speaks, his razor-sharp claws lightly tap against your thighs. "I never imagined those claws," you remark with a pointed stare. Your own claws are nowhere near that long as his look longer and sharper than you remember. Amaimon just rolls his eyes and brings his index finger up to his mouth. "It wouldn't hurt that much. You're a demon." Despite his nonchalant words, he bites down on his claw, shortening it, followed by the ones on his middle, thumb, and ring finger. You blink in surprise; you hadn’t expected him to shorten them like that. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“I-I guess I never imagined you’d be so considerate.” You admit, reaching for his hand, running your fingers over his fingertips. The claws he removed are now dull at his fingertips. You know they’ll grow back quickly; by tomorrow morning, they’ll return to the original length. But still, just knowing he cares enough about your comfort to do that. “I was just thinking you would be cautious with them. Not remove them.” You admit. 

Amaimon presses you onto the bed and gently runs his hands over your bent legs. He then delicately spreads them apart, his gaze fixated on your core. “It’s better not to have them when I touch you like this.” He remarks as he traces his index finger along your slit. “Oh, you’re already wet,” he comments, lifting his finger to examine it before putting it in his mouth. “You taste good.”

“Seriously? Don’t just casually comment like that.” You whine, attempting to close your legs, but the demon king doesn’t allow it. 

“Okay, I’ll just eat you out.”

“Amaimon!” 

“That’s the term, right? Wait, let me think. I know some other terms. Mouth-to-genital contact, performing oral sex, cunnilingus...what else is there?” 

“Amaimon! Nobody says mouth-to-genital contact!” 

He smirks. "What do you want me to call it?"

You roll your eyes at him. "Just do it already." 

Amaimon chuckles and then proceeds to lower his head towards your core. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin before his tongue flicks out, gently tasting you. It's an odd sensation you’ve never felt, and you feel a strange mix of pleasure and embarrassment. Slowly, he runs his tongue along you; when he reaches your clit, he lifts his hand, pulling back the hood, then runs his tongue along it. The jolt of pleasure that rushes through you is breathtaking; you jump, pushing his head away. “I-I.” You attempt an apology, but the sensation of what he did is still running through your body. You’ve never felt something that intense before. Amaimon wraps his arms around your left leg, placing his head against your knee as he watches you regain your bearings. 

“If a simple touch has that much of an effect on you, I can’t wait to see how you'll react when you have an orgasm,” he says unabashedly. “Don’t pull away this time, okay?” 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting it to feel like that.” You huff at the smug look Amaimon gives you. 

Amaimon lowers his head to resume his actions; this time, you prepare yourself the best you can for the feeling of intense pleasure. He wraps his arms around your thighs, ensuring you won’t be able to escape his mouth, then focuses on your clit once more, using his tongue to make small circles. Your short claws dig into the mattress as you moan his name. He gives you a moment to breathe, turning his attention away from the muscle, but it’s only a short moment because his tongue starts prodding at your entrance. “Oh!” His grip on you tightens when you lift your hips at the new feeling. Another pleasure you’ve never felt, and his tongue is long. Pushing into you farther than any human man ever could. The feeling of something moving like that inside you causes your legs to tremble. Slowly, he removes his tongue, and you quickly realize why he removed the claws. It wasn’t just to make sure he didn’t accidentally cut you while touching you like you had been imagining. He slips one finger in carefully, glancing up at you as he does. “Does it feel okay?” He questions, expressionless, his apathetic tone not matching his actions of pumping his finger in and out of you. You nod. “I’ll add another then.” Carefully, he inserts two, keeping eye contact the whole time. 

It's an unusual sensation, neither painful nor pleasurable, with him not moving his fingers inside you. Just different. He keeps his fingers still, allowing you to adjust and become more comfortable. Amaimon observes your reactions closely before slowly moving his fingers in and out. The odd feeling begins to turn into pleasure. When he notices you’re starting to enjoy it, he presses his thumb against your clit in small circular motions intensifying the feeling. 

As his fingers curl inside you, your back arches off the bed, and a tightness forms in your abdomen. Just as you're about to reach something, he abruptly stops and removes his fingers. "Were you close to an orgasm? Oh, my bad." He gives a fake apology. "But I want you to cum in my mouth." 

He smirks as you hide your face in shame momentarily before leaning back down, using his tongue to stimulate your clit while simultaneously curling his fingers inside of you. With his left hand placed firmly on your hip, he presses you down onto the bed as he continues his actions. As the knot forms again in the pit of your stomach, you reach down and grip a handful of his hair, tugging at it in desperation. A low growl escapes his lips, the vibrations adding to your pleasure. You wrap your legs firmly around his shoulders, using them for leverage as you grind against his face, seeking the release that has been building up inside of you.

“Amaimon.” You whine his name, needing something. He contemplates pulling away for a moment to tease you. But your claws are digging into his scalp, and you’re begging him so sweetly. He curls his fingers while sucking on your clit, driving you to your climax.

You moan, vision blurring while your body shakes with pleasure. Amaimon continues his actions even when your body relaxes against the bed. Lifting your head, you glance down at him and feel your face start to burn as you realize he’s focused on consuming every drop of your release. “Stop it.” You complain, trying to push him away. 

“No, I told you I wanted you to cum in my mouth for a reason.” He complains, slapping your hands away. A few seconds later, he pulls away and raises a brow at how embarrassed you look. 

“Are you ready?” He questions. 

“For what?” 

“What do you mean for what? Sex? Sexual intercourse? Love making? Penis in vagina penetration?” 

Groaning, you drop onto the bed, “Why do you have to say it like that, Amaimon? Yes. Do you have a condom?” You glance at him; his eyes are wide. “Guess you’re the one unprepared.” 

“You don’t have any?” 

“I’m a virgin. I haven’t needed condoms before.” 

His eyes are focused on a random wall, and you just know he’s trying to think of the best place to get condoms. “Have you ever slept with someone in that body?” You question, knowing he hasn’t been in the human vessel that long. He shakes his head without looking at you. 

“If your body is healthy…I’m on birth control…” 

Almost instantly, he’s back over you, staring into your eyes. “So, are you ready for sexual intercourse?” 

“Amaimon, if you say it like that again, I will kill you.”

He smirks, lifting your left leg on his hip. “It’s not nice to threaten your mate.” He doesn’t give you time to respond to his words; slowly, he pushes the head of his member against your entrance. “Good, you’re still wet enough.” He says nonchalantly as he pulls back slightly to run his member along your folds, making sure to apply some lubrication. He then pushes in, slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. It feels different than his fingers, and it takes a moment for you to feel comfortable. Amaimon gives you some time before slowly increasing his movements, sliding in and out of your tight entrance. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers, watching you carefully, looking for any signs of discomfort. 

It's a fascinating feeling; you've never felt anything like this before, you feel yourself clenching around him. Your heart beats rapidly, and every time he thrusts into you, it sends shudders down your spine. 

"I'm okay." You manage to say between gasping breaths. "Just different."

Amaimon smirks down at you, his eyes glinting with a playful light. "Different is good, right?" He says teasingly before leaning down and capturing your lips in a deep kiss, muffling your gasps and sighs while he continues to thrust into you at a gentle pace.

You respond to his kiss, your hands wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss. His movements becoming slightly faster now. You whimper into his mouth as he hits a specific spot inside of you that sends shivers down your entire body. 

Amaimon pulls away from the kiss, his eyes locked on yours, "Are you okay?" He breathes out the words, each one a pant against your moistened lips. 

"Yes," you manage to get out, your voice strained with need. 

He nods and abruptly increases his pace. His thrusts are forceful yet controlled, each one sending waves of intense pleasure through your body. Your hands grip onto his shoulders, claws digging into his skin as he continues to move within you. 

You call out Amaimon's name as he reaches between the two of you, his thumb focusing on your clit once again. Your body arches off the bed, eyes wide with pleasure and shock at the intensity of what you're feeling. Amaimon's thrusts are relentless but controlled, leaving you breathless. 

You whimper his name again, your voice barely audible over the sounds of your breath and the slick noises. Amaimon's thumb continues its steady rhythm against you, his gaze locked onto yours as he watches your reactions to each thrust. 

In the dimly lit room, his golden eyes seem to glow as he growls through gritted teeth and thrusts into you with increasingly sloppy movements. 

"Amaimon," you cry out, your voice hoarse with desire, "I'm-” Your muscles clench around him, milking him as your orgasm washes over you. Amaimon groans, dropping his head to the crook of your throat and biting down. 

You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist, bringing him closer as he continues to move within you. Your orgasm has yet to subside, still pulsing within you with each thrust. Grabbing his hair, you tug his head up to lock eyes with Amaimon's golden ones, watching them darken with desire.

“Amaimon," you plead, your voice barely a whisper as his hips slam against yours.

Amaimon emits a low, rumbling growl, his eyes momentarily glowing red before reverting to their usual golden color. His movements become erratic, almost violent until he releases into you. 

He falls on you, breathing heavily, his face nestled in the curve of your neck. "You feel good," he whispers against your skin, then tracing his tongue over the mark he left. 

“You bit me.” 

“I know.”

“It hurt.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

——-

“WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY SISTER!?”

You sit up in bed, groaning. Your younger brother's screams and threats pierce the air. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you look around the room and then down at yourself. Why am I naked? You slowly blink, glancing at your body.

“WHERE IS SHE YOU BASTARD!?”

Even though you’re barely awake, Rin is already causing you a headache. Hearing a response brings it all back. "You mean my mate? She’s still sleeping.” Amaimon! Luckily, a robe is hanging by the door. You hastily put it on and fasten it before entering the living room. “Rin? What are you doing here?”

Rin stands at the doorway, sword drawn, facing a shirtless Amaimon. “What is he doing here?” Rin questions, pointing the sword at Amaimon.

“Oh, uh.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly. “He’s my…boyfriend.”

“Mate.”

“Amaimon, shut up.”

[remusawoooo]

came across a very lame and obviously unoriginal anti-w0lfstar post that was written to uplift pr0ngsf0ot claiming canon plausibility as the reason. (honestly, pr0ngsf0ot is compelling by itself idk this new surge of remus/w0lfstar hate but wtv- they are fictional so you do you ig)

*censoring cause i dont want this post to clog up shipper space, its not for that.

this is a rant post so feel free to skip but know that none of this is ever directed to my lovely mutuals. i am usually the type to block and move if you genuinely annoy me (which you all dont <3)

so, a hot take: Sirius is really not as obsessed with James as you all make it out to be, in canon.

is that his best friend? absolutely

did he love him very much? duh

was he devoted or wanted to dedicate his life to James? that's where you lose me icl

if anything James was more interested in entertaining sirius, in the one prominent memory we see of them. there is enough context clues and testimonies to conclude that they were very close. and this is what interested me to ship and explore their dynamic (not a post to say you can only ship with canon hints. im just talking within the topic of my rant lol). there is only one person sirius shows utmost devotion to and that's Harry. that's his godSON, his heir and honestly his everything post Halloween.

it is entirely surprising to me how definitive sirius // james shippers sound when they claim it would be more or most canon. both r/s and j/s operate on the same level of delusion and are informed by canon. yes, I think there is a great possibility in canon that sirius was into james- i love the appeal of pining and even heartbreak if not reciprocated. (I also accept this pining and heartbreak in remus//james if anyone is into that wink wink) similarly, I think that remus and sirius could be romantic starting anywhere in the timeline. a boyish sweet love or secret longing and heartbreak or coming together in their tragedy as adults. endless possibilities, it seems, for all of them.

Anyway, back to the point of this post. its insane to me when w0lfstar in particular gets pushback with emphasis on canon like there isn't chemistry and history between them right on the pages. its not a magnified reading. its there. in their dialogue, their physicality and its Harry clocking all of this. these are two alive and kicking characters in the books that shippers read. idek how many times this has to be said. people genuinely believed this relationship would lead to queer representation in the book, explicit or implied. people did not have hindsight, believed jkr to be a better person lmao. you don't have to accept this reading but you also cannot be so narrow that you refuse to see this reading as a valid experience for other people.

once again, you don't have to ship w0lfstar. at all. maybe the popularity and general hype is the annoying part. there are many reasons to not engage with new age w0lfstar shippers btw. but god this "stanning fictional characters" or hating one immensely for the benefit of another, unironically, is so corny. giving stan twt like what imaginary competition is happening?

another thing that ticks me off is the notion that w0lfstar are not close at all. yeah, i do complex magic to help out people i don't really like for the hell of it as well. ik there will be some justification to those who want to prove their point by any means. "sirius is smart so he wanted to do advanced magic" "he actually did it for james" or wtv else comes up. idk how to tell you that marauders are friends first of all. yes, james and sirius are closer but there is no hierarchy with remus. he is not as close obviously, but he is also on the edges by all of their character designs. sirius, in his recounts, never talks of remus as someone below him or largely excluded, just as someone who was conforming, compliant and the "good boy". it is also quite clear in their communication that they were good friends. james first befriended the quiet kid cause he liked him, supported him financially because that is his good friend. he did not act out of pity. that is a great disservice to his character as well.

this is my personal take/opinion. sirius would obviously mention his relationship with james to harry and not remus' and his friendship. i don't think remus and sirius were secretly closer btw, but it is a bit odd that w0lfstar shippers are expected to write james as the #1 priority for sirius when they are not the focus?(this is a very small group of people btw, miniscule in fact. i'm just ranting to rant, not a larger problem) ig my first hot take comes down to this too. you can interpreted the text as you want and that is okay. you can read sirius as obsessed with james but it is not canon. so to dunk on other shippers when they don't share the sentiment is?? mind you, i am well aware of w0lfstar shippers sidelining or flanderizing james in their interpretations and have ranted about that too many times not that that's relevant here. just pointed out in case anyone misinterprets lol

ship anything man idc but saying w0lfstar has no canon support or to insinuate that w0lfstar shippers are shipper pilled (this made me laugh, what are you doing at the coven meeting friend?) is a bit ?? my point, if there is any, hypocrites piss me off or maybe its the lack of self-awareness? how to interpret the dynamics, character reactions in au, canon divergence, fiction is really all up to you. you can honestly remove remus and replace him with gilderoy lockhart in the marauders for all i care, its fictional. but you can't bring up canon and say something blatantly false to rag on shippers of a ship you don't like. that's just silly now. extremely condescending as well.

[hms-no-fun]

so, (SPOILERS FOR FIONNA AND CAKE but its relevant to the question but im gonna put a bunch of line breaks just in case lol)

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so fionna and cake ended with fionna basically being like, you know, youre RIGHT god, if magic came back my wish would simply be twisted and it would suck, there will be no rule breaking miracles! I will now work as a struggling minimum wage employee in seattle and Be Happy about it. i sure am glad the threat of losing everyone i know and love set me straight!! sorry to send u this really random thing the ending just felt like such a slap in the face and i wanted to ask someone who knows that exact Seattle Struggle. this is absolutely me appealing to the Writing Gods to back me up that the ending wasnt very good lmao but if i have a direct line to the craftsgoat i simply must use it for something stupid at least once

FULL SERIES SPOILERS FOR FIONNA & CAKE AFTER THE BREAK!!!

i really disagree with your read on the ending. it didn't feel like "just struggle with seattle minimum wage forever and be happy about it" at all to me! the whole instigating incident was that fionna wanted to transform reality into something that she personally thought would be better, without taking into account the fact that other people exist and have internal lives just as complex as hers. she comes back to her original world to find marshall and gary holding hands, explains to them the magical adventure she's been on and the fact that their world is about to transform into something unrecognizably magical, and they receive this with abject horror! fionna doesn't know whether simon becoming ice king again will erase marhsall & gary's burgeoning relationship, which makes her realize that in her quest to escape the boring, oppressive reality of working odd jobs to make ends meet, she's only ever focused that energy on how to make things better for her.

i really want to dig into this because it's a key theme of the show. there is a destructive selfishness innate to the "heroes" of this universe, who feel entitled to the joyous empowerment of being able to defeat anyone and everyone they see in open combat. cake has a whole musical number about this! simon's arc in the last two episodes was betty grabbing him and shaking him until he finally asked himself, how would my life have been different if i'd just once let the woman i loved steer the ship for a while? and then of course we see the lich in a reality where he succeeded in eradicating all life, only to find himself desiccated and without purpose, begging the god of chaos for an answer it cannot give. brian david gilbert's ice prince seems perfectly put together and successful, until the reveal that he's outsourced his madness to someone who didn't accept the terms of the crown's curse. this didn't solve the fundamental problem, it just inverted the roles of its expression by making princess bubblegum into the mad candy queen. nothing about the status quo has changed, simon has simply given himself a more dignified role in it.

this is a story about what happens when people in struggle behave as though they are the protagonist of reality. when fionna says "this is the world i want to fight for" she's not fighting for the right to get another shitty minimum wage job. i think you've really missed something by accepting that conclusion when cake the cat is right there saying that her magical self IS the version of herself she wants to live as. being a normal house cat for her was, arguably, a form of body dysmorphia, and the show lets her keep that magic at the end! the thing is, their world IS changed by the events of the show! the status quo is altered!

like, what do we actually see everyone DOING when the credits approach? we see this entire disconnected community banding together to rebuild the city together, and we see a huge crowd of protesters outside marshall's mom's place demanding that she lower rents. we see people connecting with other people, including three outcasts from other universes escaping to this more boring one for their own safety. i loved this ending honestly, because it felt to me like an attempted refutation of the very idea that you can magically transform reality into something better overnight. if fionna'd gotten her original wish and made her world into, like, candy world, then... what? let's say they play it as like, at last people are freed from the shackles of capitalism and everyone just gets to be weird funky critters going on adventures or whatever. what would that, as art, actually say? what would that mean to us in the real world? if we're going into this cartoon looking for some kind of revolutionary energy (which IS present in the text, much to its credit), what actionable or symbolically resonant message are we supposed to take from a story that resolves its problems with magic? at that point, it ceases to be relevant as anything more than pure fantasy, because it has abandoned any connection to the material reality WE are trapped in.

i don't want to magically transform the world overnight. this whole show goes out of its way to explore how trying to transform the world overnight, in a world where such a thing is possible, is a really fucking bad idea for a whole host of reasons. regardless, such things aren't possible in our world. so going into the finale, my worry was that they WOULD turn fionna's world into another candy world and just say, ah, the revolution is when you think the right things so hard that the material plane bends to your will.

that's neoliberal thinking. that's like the essence of the failed leftist project of the "end of history" era from the 90s onwards, when marxism was systematically rooted out of academic cultural analysis and replaced with the delusion that if you can just get people thinking the right things, you can affect change in the world. well here we are, it's 2023 and all that magical thinking has got us is a world on fire and a civilization of human beings so thoroughly disempowered that they would literally rather pretend to be a tortured anime protagonist than exist in this boring, shitty, violent reality. you can't think your way out of oppression. raising labor consciousness is, at best, step one. you want to know why unions are winning big right now when they've been completely useless in this country for decades? it's because they've stopped giving a shit about optics they can't control and remembered that the boss's value does not exist without labor. you do not necessarily need marxism for this, marxism is simply the most accurate articulation of the fact that workers who make the things a capitalist sells can kneecap the capitalist by refusing to make the things they want to sell. change doesn't happen with the publishing of a book or whatever, it happens when enough people in real life press their material demands hard enough that someone in charge is left no choice but to listen.

so for me, fionna & cake ending the way it did was a huge relief, because it wasn't espousing magical thinking. the solution to fionna's ennui and economic anxiety was not to just get another job and be happy to live in the world as it was-- it was to create a sense of shared community and struggle, uniting the not-seattleites in their survival of a near-apocalypse and using it as a jumping off point for fundamentally transforming the state of that world as it exists. fionna had to realize that her problems are everyone's problems, and that making her life personally better at the expense of everyone else's agency is just an act of kicking the can of responsibility down the road indefinitely. no one who gets their wish in this show is happy to have gotten it, or avoids punishing others who didn't ask to be involved.

the "canonization" of fionna & cake felt like a reaction to the idea that we in our world are permanently isolated from the fictional realities we create where change seems to come so easy, and the powerlessness that can engender. instead this show is saying, okay, let's say we are in continuity with these fantastical realities. what do we actually DO with that? how do we make this world more fun, more interesting, more fulfilling for everyone to live in? the answer is the same as it's always been, and no other answer would ever feel satisfying: you do it by organizing the workers against the current arrangement of the state with the explicit goal of transforming it for the better.

what does simon do at the end when he gives fionna her world to her? he says that no one person should have that responsibility, that it's been in one person's hands for too long. so he gives it to her in the form of a dandelion, whose blown seeds merge with and become part of everyone trying to survive the scarab's attack. the idea here is that while no single person ever possesses the power to transform the world on their own, the world itself belongs to all of us, and it is within our power to transform it together. those who hoard power want us to believe that this is not the case precisely because the basis of their power is fraudulent and maintained through the violence of the state.

as someone who does live in seattle for better and worse, as much as i do wish i could make literally anything better right the fuck now by whatever means necessary... the fact is i can't. and it does no one any good to labor under the assumption that i or any other individual has that kind of absolute transformative power. the solutions are all right there, and they are simple, materialist propositions whose only difficulty lies in how successfully we've been propagandized to think that the individual is God, or at least speaks on His behalf. there's no thinking our way out of this pickle, and no one's gonna do the hard work for us.

as to the question of how you actually get people in real life to get together and do all that hard work... well, personally i think it's unfair to ask a 10 episode cartoon show to give you any kind of actionable advice on that front. i might even go so far as to say that such an expectation is an expression of the very same magical thinking which the show tries to push back against! in any case i liked it quite a lot and i hope this rambling answer encourages you to revisit the show and reconsider some of your takeaways

[painted-bees]

Okay so, I'm more intrigued by the journey of sexual discovery when it comes to OCs. Like how did Raf come to find his preferences? I'm sure Margie and Raf regard sex differently, but how about Tess? Sure it's gotta be *different* but. Ig I'm curious about the respective povs and the individual learning curves. Significant moments, internal rationalizing and the like

oh, fun questions! I don't think Raf ever settles into a full understanding of what his preferences are...Every time he thinks he has a handle on it, something new throws him for a loop about it hahaha But his first relationship was with a boy that he had kinda grown up with who discovered his sexuality pretty early, and was remarkably unapologetic about it for his own reasons. And that attracted more folks like him into Raf's friend circles. And I think it was via this guy that Raf didn't find his own queerness to be so othering. Raf has never had a "coming out" moment--to anyone, really. Even if he was straight, it wouldn't be something he'd talk about or refer to often, if at all. It was, at least, very easy for Raf to internalize that he's bisexual. And in the entertainment/music industry (incl. classical), even in the 90's...he wasn't an odd one out for it. The realization that his attraction to people is not actually (and never had been) sexual in the way other people describe it--is pretty new, and he's not super convinced about asexuality as a valid thing. It's kind of funny that it was so easy for him to adopt a progressive attitude about gay/bi sexuality, yet is heavily bogged down by skepticism over the idea of asexuality's validity as an identity. Likely, it's because he's never seen or heard of asexuality in his life, be it through people he's met or in the media. Asexual visibility never really took off until very recently...By the 2010's, it was rarely heard of. The apparent "newness" of it is probably what's tripping him up.

Margie and Raf definitely have very different relationships to sex and what it represents lmao. For Margie, it's a fun activity you can do with anyone, you just gotta employ the correct safety equipment to ensure it remains a fun time for everyone. All she wishes is that it was more culturally accepted as a casual activity. Whereas Raf really doesn't see the appeal unless it's with someone he genuinely wants to show love to. Sex with friends or acquaintances just comes with too much emotional baggage, too much risk, and too much opportunity to be extremely, deeply humiliating. And it's kind of gross...like...picking up a half-empty water bottle off the ground at a bus stop and drinking from it. Who's water bottle is this??? Where else has it been??? What's in it???? Nasty. Nah, sex is an enormous gesture of love and trust, a really vulnerable short hand to communicate the relationship's value to him, as well as outlining how important their enjoyment and comfort is to him as a personal responsibility/desire. Tess's idea of sex is similar to Margie's...but on a vastly more...meta scale lmaooo It's a critical aspect of life, just as much as sleeping and eating--and thusly is an important activity to engage in if her goal is to experience the terrifying ordeal of living as closely as she is capable of doing! (and--if Raf wasn't shooting blanks, or if Margie didn't seem so abjectly terrified about the very idea of viable reproduction, Tess would absolutely parent children with one of them lmao. Kinda a let-down that she can't. Oh well, maybe on the next adventure.)