#too tired to care about inconsistencies

[camerobn]

my pd designs ref lala

[ellecdc]

Yaaay:D

That poly moonwater sickfic was so sweet- maybe you could write a sequel where one (or both) of the boys get sick from when they were helping care for you <3

I love these little requests from all the way back in May - it's like a little treasure trove. Also, I wrote this while currently sick and tired (both in the literal sense) so I'm not actually sure how this turned out; it took me a really long time to manage what I got so I apologize for inconsistencies or just all around poor writing <3

poly!moonwater x fem!reader who got Reg sick [1k words]

CW: sick fic, fluff, Remus being The Worst™ [positive and affectionate], my potentially poor writing

You scrunched your eyes closed and threw your head back rather roughly against the sofa; arms that were holding your book falling limp into your lap.

Remus - less theatrical - did not throw his head back nor did he let his book fall into his lap, but he too scrunched his eyes shut with an equally exasperated scrunch of his nose. 

“Who gave him that thing?” You grumbled as you tucked a bookmark in to save your page and made to stand.

“Do you want me to go, dove?” He offered softly, giving you a sympathetic look when he caught you by the wrist as you made to walk past him. 

“No.” You grumbled rather petulantly, kissing the space between his brows when they furrowed further in sympathy. “It’s my fault, I’ll go.”

Remus smiled at you before pursing his lips in ask which you quickly answered by placing a kiss there, too. “I hardly think you did this on purpose.”

The - now ear splitting - sound of the bell ringing again interrupted your moment as you let out a sigh.

“No,” you agreed, “I certainly didn’t do this on purpose.” 

You poked your head into the bedroom to see Regulus much in the same way you left him, curled up in the fetal position under a mountain of blankets, though his hand was currently poking out of said blankets with his bell held tightly in his grasp.

“Hey bubs.” You offered gently; knowing that for as nettlesome as you currently found him, you really had sort of done this to him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Awful.” He muttered, barely putting any effort into aiming as he tossed the bell back in the direction of the bedside table.

You made a sympathetic humming sound as you perched on the edge of the bed and pushed some of his curls away from his forehead. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I have more meds?” He whimpered, voice awfully small as if he already knew the answer but was hoping to elicit some compassion.

You grimaced as you looked at the clock sitting beside balled up tissues, the damned bell you’d supplied him with, a glass half full of water with a pitcher next to it, and some lozenges. “I’m sorry, my love; it’s not been long enough.”

Your response was met with a petulant whine, a body burrowing further into the blankets, and a hand slithering into yours. 

“How about I rub some more vaporub on your chest, hm?” You asked, beginning to pull away without waiting for an answer, only for his hand to tighten on yours.

“Can you just sit here with me?” 

You cooed almost embarrassingly as you settled more comfortably beside him, one hand holding his as the other raked through his hair, “of course” falling so easily from your lips when he looked so young, so vulnerable, and so innocent with his pink flushed cheeks and glassy eyes no doubt from the pressure in his sinuses. 

“I’ve been terribly troublesome, haven’t I?” He asked a few moments later, startling you when you thought he’d been drifting off.

“No, darling.” You denied, though he lifted his head slightly so he could give you a disbelieving look. “You’ve not been terribly troublesome.” You amended, earning you an almost snort of laughter that quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. 

You helped him sit up and passed him his glass of water.

“You’re so nice to me.” He whispered as if the feeling of your lips against his temple was a foreign concept. You tried to quell your smile as you pressed another kiss to his fever warmed skin.

“I’m really not, bubs. I did this to you, remember?”

You were met with silence as Regulus’ eyes darted around your face. “You’re so mean to me.” 

“Awe Reg, come on now.” Remus sounded from the door as he walked in with a cup of tea in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean.” Regulus harrumphed, though his ire was quickly undermined as he made grabby hands for the cup of tea. 

“If Remus catches this next, this flu will have had an almost month-long stint in this house.” You mused as Regulus drank his tea.

“I don’t get sick.” Remus offered nonchalantly with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“What do you mean you don’t get sick.” Regulus all but sneered as he glowered at his perfectly healthy boyfriend over the rim of his tea cup. 

“I don’t get sick.” Remus repeated. “It’s like the universe has decided I’ve got enough shite to deal with, my immune system’s just not one of them.”

Both you and Regulus blinked at him with varying levels of jealousy whilst he brushed lint off the sleeve of his arm. 

“Well isn’t that just fucking dandy for you.” You spat eventually, causing Regulus to nearly spit out his tea in laughter as Remus’ mouth fell open in faux offence. 

“You minx.” He accused you. “I’m in here helping you help your boyfriend-”

“My boyfriend!?” You squealed.

“-who you got sick. I think you should be rather grateful.” 

“Grateful.” You scoffed as you turned to look at Regulus like ‘can you believe this guy?’. 

“I’m grateful for you, Rem.” Regulus let out with a sigh as he handed Remus the cup of tea back and moved to recline against his pillows - that you’d fluffed to perfection for him - with Remus’ damp cloth on his forehead. 

“Okay, well, since you’re all so well taken care of up here.” You teased as you made to stand, Regulus circling his hand around your wrist as Remus made a protesting squawk before you were being manhandled into his lap, though your hand remained safely in Regulus’. 

“No.” Remus murmured into your neck. “We need you to nurse us back to health.”

“I thought you don’t get sick.” You accused.

“I don’t, but I find myself deficient in vitamin you.”

Both you and Regulus groaned as you tried to wriggle yourself free from Remus’ grasp and Regulus buried his head under the blankets. 

“Both of you out, all this corny flirting is making me nauseous again.” Regulus grumbled.

“Well, you heard the man.” Remus stage whispered quickly before he was all but shoving you out of the room. “Feel better bubs! You know where to find us!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Regulus called. “I’ll just ring the sodding bell.”

“You should have never given him that bell, dove.”

[kryscent]

mehndi?

pairings: diluc, xiao, childe, neuvillette x gn!reader (separate)

content briefing: fluff, kissing, lowk jealous!xiao lol, cw//allusions to cheating in childe's (nothing happens lmao reader is just being a little silly), suggestive in childe's part, lovesick genshin men :( (neuvi omg)

a/n: idk why i got so carried away for childe... the melusines are sick and tired lmao. lowkey desi/arab coded reader but applies to any and all if you're open to the concept!

synopsis: as a sumerian diplomat to your partner's nation, times come where you have to return to your homeland when certain duties call. this time, the akademiya scribe and acting grand master (and more importantly your former classmate and good friend), had sent you a short letter requesting your presence in the city. al haitham, ever so meticulous, had noticed some inconsistencies in the liyue-sumeru trade reports and needed your assistance to rectify the issue.

your most recent visit was two months ago, when you returned with an auburn flower painted into the palm of your hand (courtesy of nilou), fascinating your boyfriend greatly. you'd forgotten about the scene, especially in your rush to pack…

so when he shyly asks if you’ll get it again…

if there’s anyone who understands the saying, “duty calls”, it's DILUC. 

that being said, it doesn’t mean he’ll miss you any less… 

his ears colour scarlet, looking away as he asks, ‘do you think you’d have time to do your mehendi this time?’

you grin, eyes crinkling fondly at the conscious effort he made to pronounce it correctly. ‘we’ll see, ‘luc.’ And that was enough consolation of your absence for him, because he’d do anything to see the enchanting art on your hands again. A compensation of sorts, he thinks to himself, miffed. Despite never having seen something like it before, it was so inexplicably you, a simple, dainty extension of your heritage that made him fall for you even more, if that was even possible. 

you open your palms to him, every space that could possibly be painted on is covered in intricate designs of mehndi. ‘there’s a surprise for you in there, if you can find it.’ he pulls off his right glove, tilting his head at you curiously. 

he holds your hands in his, with the care of handling handcrafted terracotta, and searches through the patterns, his index finger tracing along. ‘that tickles,’ you mutter, squirming as an involuntary smile pulls at your lips at his determined expression. he tightens his hold just a tad at your words. ‘is that better?’ he hums, smiling faintly as he continues in his ministrations. 

he stops in his tracks, his breath hitching, and if his cheeks burned anymore he was sure he’d burst into flames, rivalling his vision. there it is, his surprise, along the side of your left ring finger – his name, in beguiling cursive. you’re struck with the urge to kiss him, when he beams so brightly you’d think wedding bells are tinkling, and he buries his face in your palms, bashful. 

‘i love you,’ he says softly, voice muffled by your skin. your smile widens, endeared, leaning down to try and meet his eyes as he avoids you, pulling your hands further towards him. ‘i love you too, ‘luc.’ 

‘how long will you be gone?’ XIAO turns to look at you from his perch on the balcony, watching you pack after you’d denied his help, before dismally turning back to the moonlight. you stifle a giggle at his sulking demeanour – if he had cat ears, they’d be flat against the top of his head; wallowing in his melancholy. 

‘a week, maybe less. al haitham and i work efficiently well together so the work might be done quicker than i’m thinking,’ you answer with a small smile, absentmindedly rolling up your socks. he makes a face – a small scowl that you don’t see with his back turned to you – at the mention of the scribe. ‘why can he work with you but i can’t come with you?’ he mutters petulantly. 

‘you know how much i’d love your company, xiao,’ you tilt your head kindly, reasoning with your adorably envious boyfriend. ‘but you’re not my protector alone, you have the people of liyue to keep safe, dear adeptus.’ he huffs quietly at your point, before turning to face you again, shifting his body to sit against the rails. 

‘then…will you do something for me?’ ‘anything,’ you roll a tunic, glancing at him fondly.  

‘you know, the designs you returned with last time?’ he begins, eyes trained on your palm. ‘you mean mehndi, right? want me to get it done again?’ he nods quickly, neck turned to look away from you as it slowly flushes crimson, his ears burning. 

you return in less than a week, as promised, spending a day in leisure after your work was done to participate in recent festivities. 

‘xiao,’ you say his name, summoning him as you settle onto the edge of your shared bed at wangshu inn. he appears comically fast, looking dishevelled. ‘you’re back,’ he breathes, his smile small. 

you open your arms, and he falls into them easily, sitting beside you. ‘although, i did stay over a day longer,’ you tell him, apologetic. ‘but for good reason! different communities in sumeru celebrate their own kind of festival of lights at different times of the year. like the lantern rite in liyue.’ he perks up from the crook of your neck, curious as you continue. 

‘they were celebrating deepavali in gandharva ville, and tighnari invited me to come join them,’ you show him your hands, smiling at him. ‘as promised,’ you say gently.

his lips part, eyes trailing over every crevice of your palms and wrists, hesitantly reaching out a hand to touch, like they’d wipe away any moment. he looks up at you, wide-eyed, when he sees his name across your inner forearm, at the top of your wrist. 

‘so my protector could join me,’ you tease, grinning, before he sways forward, pressing his lips to yours before you can see his ruddy cheeks.

so when he seems so oddly happy to see you leave…

is he cheating on you?!

‘so when do you get back, milaya?’ CHILDE questions, following you around your apartment as you pack your things for your travels and stay - to him, this was normal behaviour; to you, it was his tenth question in the last three minutes. 

despite your annoyance because you're stressed, and he isn't really helping aside from tailing you like a shadow and probing you with his quizzing, your breath catches slightly at the nickname. (you could be dating for years and he'd still have that effect on you, but never to let him know because he'd never live it down.)

when you'd told childe about your sudden business trip, promising that it wouldn't take very long, you'd expected his usual lamenting and sorrow, not…him grinning at you in anticipation. does he want me to take long, you think to yourself in dismay, your inner conscience pulling a horrified face. 

‘be sure not to rush so you can take time to, you know, hang out with your friends! you must miss them – especially that girl you mentioned last time, the artist – ni-something? nilly?’ 

‘nilou.’

childe’s mind is elsewhere, for once not noting your slowly darkening mood (usually he has the countenance of a spy, mostly when it comes to your upset). the second you mentioned visiting sumeru, he remembers the last time you went, and returned with the prettiest little tattoo on your palm, refusing to let go of hour hand for hours as he traced the design.

‘is it permanent? the henna?’ he sounds adorably curious, occupied with pressing gentle kisses to the tips of your fingers. you fight back a smile, warming at the sight of his cerulean eyes on you. ‘temporary, unfortunately. i’m not that good at doing it on myself,’ and you let out the laugh you’d been holding back when he frowns, drooping visibly, before perking up when you comb your free hand through his hair, expression fond, and he flushes. 

‘maybe i could learn?’

he doesn’t know why he’s so captivated by it, but something about you being adorned in your culture was alluring. he’s going to miss you terribly, he knows, weeping and throwing himself over the chaise and wasting away his days despondently until you return, but it is a soothing comfort to wait knowing that you’ll come back with a gift, seen as such despite being adorned on you (which makes it all the more a present), so he kisses you goodbye as he sees you off at the harbour, trying not to be as dejected.

you worry your bottom lip between your teeth on the way back, a few days earlier than you’d told your boyfriend you’d return. your mind returns to how he didn’t even shed a tear at the pier – you’d expected your dramatic boyfriend to almost flood the port like last time (he really has a knack for raising your standards).

his few letters had mostly probed about your days in detail, asking what you were doing, who you met, but talking about his own few and far between, and your suspicion had only grown. you know your boyfriend is easy on the eyes, and his flirtation comes so effortlessly to him in a way that has the people of liyue swooning (he doesn’t even realise it with how engrossed he is with you). it would cause him no struggle to find someone…else – someone better?

when he meets you at the harbour to pick you up, he presses his lips to yours as fervently as he can without the millelith escorting him away for excessive pda, his hand at your nape. ‘missed you, milaya,’ he whispers into your mouth, ‘–so much.’ 

he pulls away, grinning at you, before flipping your palms in his hand, sulking when he finds them blank. he looks up to complain before his words stop in his throat, eyes falling to the nilotpala lotuses on your collarbone, extending its stems and leaves outward and down the collar of your shirt, and his gaze darkens. his hand wraps around your wrist (gentle, always so gentle), pulling you in the direction of your apartment as his free hand lifts your bags easily. 

he pulls you into your shared apartment, dropping your luggage as he locks the door, before caging you against the wall between his arms. he leans down to meet your wide eyes, and you back away a little as your stomach flips. 

he ghosts his lips over yours, peppering up your cheek before dragging down your neck, humming when he reaches your collar, tugging it down just a tad, the mehndi lotus petals curving into the dip of your skin. ‘did your friend do this one too?’ he asks absentmindedly, kissing the spot before nipping it lightly, soothing over it with a teasing grin when you tug at his hair in warning, your breathing shallow. ‘’ts pretty,’ he looks up at you, eyes hardened to cobalt and half-lidded, his lips pulled into a lazy half-smile. 

you exhale sharply – he wasn’t asking if you’d stay longer so he could meet with his paramour; he just wanted you to have time so he could see the art on you again! (he’s so obsessed with you it’s actually stupid that you’d think he could even look at anyone but you). your heart stutters at the realisation as you push his smirking face away timidly, before your mind clears. 

‘you asshole if that bruises–’

so when you get a letter from his subjects…

as the iudex of fontaine, NEUVILLETTE is a busy man, and sometimes (most of the time) the work cut out for him rises to arduous levels. the only thing that made the wearying paperwork bearable was you. you, who would quietly bring a chair and organise his papers the way he likes it, sometimes filling it yourself methodically, perfectly, if it was within your scope of knowledge. you, who would bring him macarons and pastries at random, and pull him out of his office at meal times to eat together. 

you, who would brew tea to enjoy together at moments like this, when his head throbs from a headache as he presses his forehead to his desk, and he misses you terribly. 

the bushes outside the palais mermonia have grown ears, one would think. they’ve become the commonplace meeting spot for the melusines, the small creatures clustered together in shrubbery as they secretly discuss their worry, staring up at the heavy grey clouds, threatening downpour that had been continuous for the past two days.

that brings them to today, gathered once more as they draft a letter to you. 

‘dear partner of father,

we thought it would be fit to let you know that his state is very bleak and desolate, and he is concerningly not leaving his office very often. this is not meant to worry or rush you, but do you think you could return…as soon as possible? do you know how much longer your duties will take to complete?

p.s. we know father would never expect a present from you, but from our side we humbly ask of you to return with a treat, since we know how much he loves gifts from you. 

regards and sincerely,

the fontaine melusines’

you sigh heavily, ghosting your fingertips over the patterned paper, worrying your lip in concern for your boyfriend. 

reading the letter over your shoulder (nosy), al haitham huffs, a rare smile on his face. ‘we’re on the last report, i can finish it on my own,’ he turns to face the files once more, monotone voice taking on a teasing lilt as you narrow your eyes at him. ‘are you sure?’ 

‘go ahead early, so you can get that treat of yours.’ ‘haitham!’

two days later, a knock on the door brings neuvillette’s head up from where it is surrounded by piles of files, articles and reports. ‘come in,’ he calls, weary, expecting another melusine urging him to eat. 

instead of the small, long-eared souls he’d expected to see, the door opens to you. he stands abruptly, the stacks sliding to the floor and scattering loose leafs of paper onto the floorboards. 

‘mon cœur?’ he stares at you, wide-eyed in surprise, the tips of his pointed years carmine. if it were anyone else, you’d think they weren’t happy to see you. but this is your neuvillette, and the immediate stop of rainfall as the clouds give way to clear blue out the window, and the subsequent chirping of the birds on the sills speak volumes. 

he makes haste, meeting you in the middle of his office before hesitating, and you nod gently at him. he gathers you in his arms, soft and warm against the firm planes of his hold. he cups your face in his palms, kissing you deeply, a clear message of i missed you passed into your breath and into your heart. it beats rapidly against your sternum, swelling with promise to take good care and spoil your sweet, tenderhearted boyfriend. he parts from you reluctantly, breathing your scent in and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. ‘did you have a safe journey?’ 

‘i did, i apologise for taking so long–,’ he shakes his head quickly, and you laugh lightly. ‘and since you liked it so much last time,’ you push up your sleeves, showing him your forearms. he gasps quietly, azure gaze following the tawny trail of lumidouce bells, rainbow roses and romaritime flowers drawn into the skin of your forearms and the back of your hands with artful precision, vines connecting and curling around them beautifully. his heart warms at the thoughtful gift - sumerian culture imbued with his in mind.

a rainbow spreads through the sky outside, the melusines letting out a sigh of relief, patting each other on the back for a job well done. 

kryscent '24 do not repost, translate or crosspost

animated dividers are by @cafekitsune (ilovethem sm omg, its a blessing, tysm for making them)

[unearthly-doting]

Heyyyy could you possibly do

Finding their soulmate: creepypasta edition

any creepypasta characters you want (including Jeff the killer & Homicidal Liu pls 🙏)

finding their soulmate: creepypasta edition.

notes: crying i miss my colored text :( i got another two soulmate posts coming ur way soon guys bc that's in high demand it seems so!! also im on my tablet writing all of this and tumblr mobile sucks so if there's any mistakes blame them not me. anyways send requests for things if u want. love u all !

includes: jeff the killer, homicidal liu, eyeless jack, nina the killer, the bloody painter, and ticci toby.

warnings: not proofread and written while i was super tired so, yandere content, mdni, inconsistent length, reader injury in jeff and toby's parts, stalking, mild poly content in liu's part bc he and sully r a package deal here, kidnapping, breaking and entering, murder, this is all actually pretty tame, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, overprotective behavior. i think that's all??

JEFF THE KILLER — didn't have a soulmate. He didn't have any soulmark, there was no name on his wrist or a string around his finger. The universe had destined him to be alone, it seems. When he was younger, this had been crushing. Why did his brother get to have a soulmate but he didn't? What was so different about him that he didn't deserve a destined love?

Though, after he became the man he is today, Jeff found that he didn't care about soulmates. He probably would've killed his soulmate, if he had one. If anything, he found himself developing a burning hatred at the very concept of soulmates.

Everyone had always played it out to be something wonderful, something people were lucky to have. But he's seen otherwise. He's killed soulmates who have turned on each other just to try and save their own life. It's all a bunch of romanticized bullshit.

And he thinks you're a dumbass for believing that your soulmate would be a good person. Jeff doesn't understand why he hasn't killed you yet, you're just some nobody that he for some reason enjoyed the company of. Maybe it's because you never try changing him. Or maybe it's boredom, who knows.

But he hates when you talk about your soulmate that you've yet to meet. You speak as if you're already in love, and it leaves this suffocating feeling in his chest each time. It didn't feel like anger or annoyance, but he was too prideful to label it as jealousy. Why would he be jealous?

Why do you want to meet your soulmate so badly anyway? You have him. He may not be your soulmate, but does it really matter? You better really hope this man never realizes he's in love with you because you're actually fucked if he does, like…

The moment he comes to terms with his feelings for you, you're never meeting your soulmate. He's crossing out their name on your wrist with his knife and replacing it with his own. You wanted to meet your soulmate so badly, so there. Now he's your soulmate. His name is forever carved on your skin, after all.

He may even force you to carve your name into his arm as well to further solidify the whole ‘soulmate’ thing you so desperately craved. You're stuck with him now, like it or not. No amount of screaming and crying will change what's happened.

Jeff doesn't understand why you're so upset. You wanted this. You were practically begging him for it, always telling him your dream life with the one you're destined with. Seriously, you should've expected this from him.

But it's okay, he'll be the soulmate that you've always wanted.

He'll stay by your side. He'll kill anyone who dares to even think about you. You said so yourself, you don't need anyone so long as you have your soulmate.

Really, he's just giving you what you want. Though he won't lie, he can't help but feel a sick and twisted pleasure at having you depend on him. He likes having you around, even if it's with your mouth taped shut to keep you quiet.

Maybe this soulmate thing isn't as bad as he thought it was.

HOMICIDAL LIU — had always dreamed of meeting his soulmate when he was younger. Something about soulmates always fascinated him, and he absolutely loved hearing stories of soulmates meeting and falling in love.

He learned from a pretty young age that whoever his soulmate was, he shared scars with them. This was something he discovered when he felt a stinging sensation on his arm one day and he could see the scar manifest on his skin. He had been so fascinated by it, and even excitedly showed it off to his parents and Jeff as if it were some sort of reward.

Though, after nearly dying at the hand of his little brother, Liu had become… terrified at the thought of meeting his soulmate. He knew that you shared his scars now. You probably got weird looks from people on the street because of them, right?

And it must've been a horrific experience, waking up in the middle of the night to blinding pain all over your face and neck and arms, unable to stop the scars from forming, not knowing what was happening. You probably hated him. He wouldn't blame you if he did.

But when Liu met you, there was no way he'd be able to let you go. At first, he had just seen you in passing, He knew you were his soulmate the moment he laid eyes on you because you weren't even trying to hide the scars you had. You wore them proudly. He had followed you home that night, just to make sure you were safe.

He felt bad about it, but he couldn't help but come back the next day. His mother must be yelling at him from her grave, scolding him for stalking his soulmate instead of just talking to them like a normal person. A simple mistake on his end (aka Sully literally forced the man in front of you) led to the two of you actually meeting.

You had been so concerned, asking him if he were okay. It had been years since he sustained these injuries, but you still asked. You had always wanted to ask, ever since that night. Your pain was dull in comparison to what he must've gone through, and Liu nearly cried experiencing your kindness because he simply did not deserve it.

Liu tries really hard to have a normal relationship with you, he really does, but he's so utterly paranoid about your safety almost constantly when he's away from you. It makes him sick to his stomach imagining the danger you could potentially find yourself in without him around to keep you safe.

It didn't help that Sully only amplified these thoughts and good lord, how would you react to meeting Sully? Liu had always been very careful making sure that he never fronted when you were around, but Sully was starting to become ansty, eager to meet you.

When Liu wasn't hunting Jeff, he was with you. Sometimes you knew, but most of the time, you didn't. Stalking you was second nature at this point, and he doubts it's something he'll ever stop doing. Besides, it's not like he's hurting anyone by stalking the person he loves. Is it completely wrong and a violation of privacy and respect? Yes. Does he feel guilty? Absolutely. Will he stop? No chance. This is for your safety, after all.

Sully thinks he's a fucking fool behaving this way all for one person just because you're his soulmate (which he also thinks is dumb, by the way.) but then he actually meets you for the first time. You had immediately clocked in on the fact that he wasn't Liu, even though Sully prides himself on mimicking the man fairly well. Looks like you have two soulmates now! Yay!

Unfortunately for you, Sully is a lot more direct than Liu. Liu keeps his possessive thoughts to himself whilst Sully makes it very clear that you belonged to them. Liu's affection was hesitant, scared that he may hurt you if he's too eager. Sully's affection was almost suffocating, the way he'd cling to you and refuse to let go.

And if you ever decide that being with them is too much, trust me when I say they will go to great lengths to keep you with them. Liu isn't above locking you away somewhere if it means keeping you safe, and Sully won't hesitate to kill someone just to keep you in check.

Liu just wants to keep you safe. You can't protect yourself, so let him do it for you.

EYELESS JACK — was confused by the blackened, withered string connected to his pinkie. He knew what soulmates were, though he's not sure why the remnant of one was still tied to him. After his… changes… he shouldn't have a soulmate at all, not even the remnants of one.

Even the smallest string around his finger meant the bond was still there. It made no sense, it defied nature itself just by existing. He didn't understand, but he couldn't deny that he was curious. Whoever was on the other side of this string was destined to be with him, how could he not be curious?

It took time, but Jack had plenty to spare. He followed the string as best he could. The poor thing was so fragile, the smallest tug could tear the bond apart. He's not sure what he'll do when he finds the one he has a fragile bond with, to be honest. Soulmates aren't really… useful, to him. His only driving force is survival. Food. Nothing else is important.

Yet this was, oddly enough. There was just something deep inside of him telling him that he needed to find his soulmate.

And when he found the end of his string, it was connected to you. Now, Jack has no memory of who he was before becoming a flesh-eating demon. He was human once, he thinks, so maybe that's why there's something so familiar about you. A long forgotten part of himself was craving you.

And you? You were utterly horrified to find someone that resembles your missing best friend in your home one night. This was Jack, and yet… he wasn't. You didn't know this man. You didn't want to know this man. But he didn't care. Jack was dead set on having you.

He wouldn't leave you alone. He showed up every single night just to watch you. It was unnerving. To you, it felt like he was waiting for the right time to strike. You were waiting for him to kill you, to devour your soul or whatever.

To him, he was protecting you.

You were his mate. That's what he recognized you as. And as your mate, it was his duty to protect you. He didn't see his behavior as odd. To him, he was just providing for you. He saw no harm in breaking into your home every night to make sure you were safe.

Jack may not understand fully why he's attached to you like this, but he can make an educated guess. It's clear that you knew him. Or, you did, at least. You look at him as if you're looking at a ghost. Clearly, you were someone he's always been attached to. Though, it seems his demonic traits have amplified that attachment.

He won't hesitate to hunt you down if you try running away.

There's nowhere you can go where he won't find you. He'll follow you to the ends of the earth, if he must.

Jack doesn't need you to love him back. Hell, he doesn't need you to like him. He just needs you, in any way he can have you. His entire being aches when he's not with you.

So here you are, stuck with the creature. You're haunted by him, really. And, to be honest, you're not sure if you wanted him to leave.

NINA THE KILLER — wrote literal fanfic on how she wanted her first meeting with her soulmate to go. All she ever wanted was for someone to love her, so when she learned that the inner voice that all of her thoughts was in belonged to her soulmate, she was utterly ecstatic!

This was the only thing in life that mattered to her. Nothing else was important. Everyone in her life thought she was strange, how obsessed she was over someone she hasn't even met.

But if they could hear your voice, they'd understand. Whenever she needed comfort, she would just think random thoughts so she could hear your voice.

And when she finally meets you, it's like something out of a fairytale. To her, at least. She had just broken into your home to kill you, but when you begged for your life, it was like everything clicked.

She looked at you as if you were everything she could ever need, and it made you feel sick to your stomach.

Nina had no plans of letting you go now that she finally had you. One moment, you're in your home, and then the next, you're waking up in a cabin deep in the forest, decorated to seem like a cozy home.

She acted as if she hadn't kidnapped you. In her mind, you two were pretty much married already. You're her soulmate, after all! That's better than marriage in her eyes. And if you don't play along with her, she won't hesitate to remind you just exactly what she could do to you.

Not that she would ever actually hurt you!

No, Nina could never do that. You're the only thing that has kept her sane all these years. Your voice is the only thing that keeps her going these days.

You just gotta understand that Nina can't live without you. She'd never hurt you, but she's not above scaring you into compliance if it means you'll play along with her fantasies.

But if you ignore the fact that she kidnapped you and is holding you hostage in a cabin so deep in the woods that your chance of escape is slim to none, she's actually probably the best soulmate you could ever ask for. When you actually play along with her, that is.

She doesn't force too much affection on you. If she wants to cuddle you, she will, like it or not. But she never takes it any further than that. She respects your boundaries in her own sick and twisted way.

There's no escaping her love now that she finally has you. She'll drown you in it until it's all you'll want.

THE BLOODY PAINTER — had no real interest in meeting his soulmate, even if it meant his world lacked color. The lack of color in his world didn't deter from his passion for art, and he didn't need to see color to create a masterpiece. If anything, the black and white world he lived in seemed to fit him perfectly.

Sure, he had a few passing thoughts on what his soulmate might be like, but it's nothing he ever really entertained. And if he ever met his soulmate, he sincerely doubts he'd want any real connection with them. Rather, he doubts they'd want anything to with him.

So imagine his surprise when he bumps into you one day and color suddenly bursts into his world. It's dizzying, for the both of you, but all Helen can focus on is the red you were wearing.

Red is a beautiful color on you.

It's an awkward start to your relationship, mostly because it was so sudden. Neither of you really knew what to do, and in the beginning, it honestly seemed as if you two just weren't meant to be. But somehow, it seemed to work out.

Helen really didn't want you finding out about his whole serial killer thing. He wanted a normal relationship with you. Something that would separate him from the whole ‘Bloody Painter’ title the media had given him.

He could spend hours just drawing you. You invade his every thought most days, and he can draw you from memory. He has numerous sketchbooks just filled to the brim with drawings of you. And almost all of them feature the color red in some way.

Art was his main way of expressing his love to you. His expression was always apathetic and his words never felt like enough to him, so what better way to show his love than by painting you masterpieces? Almost every piece of art he made these days were dedicated to you. Even his murders.

It was only a matter of time before you learned about his side hobby, unfortunately. You were smart, something he loved very dearly about you. He's not sure when you started to suspect him of being a killer, but he knew you were starting to become wary of him. Whenever the news talked about a recent murder, he could always feel the way your gaze drifted over to him, even if for a moment.

To be honest, he didn't see any reason to confirm nor deny your suspensions. He was curious to see whether you'd stay with him or if you'd try to leave the longer you suspected him. Not that he'd let you, of course. Helen couldn't lose you, you were his muse. If he lost you, how could he ever create art?

Helen would only do something if you tried telling someone about your suspicions. Maybe your friend or family member was a detective, but whoever you try telling is going to end up a bloodied corpse in front of you, your boyfriend standing over their corpse with a look of mild disgust.

Their blood smearing onto your skin when Helen gently cups your cheeks, telling you how careless you had been, how you left him with no choice but to kill that person. You were freaked out by the entire situation, but Helen wouldn't let you go.

Red truly is a beautiful color on you.

TICCI TOBY — genuinely had no idea he had a soulmate, simply because he couldn't feel pain. Truth be told, he didn't even know what soulmates were until he was already a proxy. Kate had been kind enough to explain it to him, when he questioned the mark on her neck.

It was a concept that he found interesting because the idea of meeting someone who would finally understand him was too good to pass up. At the same time, he couldn't help but think it to be bullshit. Toby had always been disillusioned to love, even if he couldn't quite remember why. It just seemed too good to be true.

He wasn't even sure if he had a soulmate, truth be told. He didn't have any marks on him as far as he could tell, and there were no words or names or anything like that. He just assumed he was one of the rare few that didn't have a soulmate.

But then he met you.

You, the newest proxy. Fresh meat, dazed and confused and in need of training. He was like you once, years ago. He trained himself, too stubborn to listen to anyone else. Because of that, Slender always made him train any new proxy it brought. It annoyed him beyond belief, but he didn't have much of a choice.

There was something strange about you. He's not quite sure what it was, but he found it strangely difficult to look away from you for too long. There was just… something drawing him to you. He only understood why when he cut himself on his hand when he retrieved one of his hatchets he had you throwing.

You had gasped. It was a pained one, so of course he had to check you for injuries. When he found the cut on your hand, you had pointed out the fact that he had a similar one on his own. It was… weird, truthfully. And maybe he was being dumb, or whatever, but Toby couldn't help but wonder if… were you his soulmate?

The very thought was enough to drag his hatchet across his arm, watching as the very same cut he had given himself tore into your skin as well. It had left him speechless, to say the least. He felt conflicted in so many ways, and to be honest, he avoided you in the beginning. He had nobody for the longest time, and now he suddenly has a soulmate? It was just a bit much for him, and he needed the space.

But trust that once he's accepted that he has someone in his life now, you're stuck with him. Toby isn't a physical person, so you don't have to worry about him actually sticking to you, but he always seems to be keeping an eye on you. For Toby, he's always been hyper aware of his surroundings because if he's not, he could get hurt without realizing it and then bleed out and die, so sad. But now he has to make sure you don't get hurt as well, already becoming increasingly protective over you.

Any missions tasked to you, Toby will always join you. Doesn't matter how simple the mission is, or if you or Slender try to argue with him, he's going.

He's so protective over you that it borders on possessive. He hates when you get close to anyone, and the moment you leave his line of sight, he's hunting you down. Friend or foe, Toby doesn't want you near them. You have to understand that everyone has bad intentions. Hell, Toby himself acknowledges his behavior to be bad as well, he's well aware of that fact. But to him, it's for your own good. You can trust him, but you can't trust anyone else.

And there's literally no chance that you'll be able to leave him if you tried. As a proxy of Slenderman, you're stuck with him. Slender doesn't care about your comfort, it only cares about you completing the missions it gives to you. Sure, it finds Toby's behavior strange and mildly annoying, but it's not causing you any physical harm, so it simply doesn't care.

But Toby would never, under any circumstances, hurt you. That's something he will vehemently refuse to do no matter what, so you could use that against him if need be.

Just… just let him have this. Let him have you.

[eomayas]

crawling back to you • ljh

pairing: producer!woozi x f!reader, exes2l

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! angst & fluff

synopsis: reader sees her ex boyfriend for the first time after avoiding him for months, and they realize just how much they miss each other

warnings: p in v, fingering, unprotected s*x (reader takes BC), praise, dirty talk, groveling, drinking, they’re at a club

a/n: eeeek sorry i’ve been MIA! i hope u like this. unedited. excuse any plot inconsistencies i started this weeks ago. will be finishing up reqs soon!!

music blares through the club speakers and bodies fill up what feels like every square inch of space available. your drink sloshes in your cup when a club-goer collides with your shoulder, a drunken “sorry” thrown your way as they stagger off. luckily, nothing spills on you and you got an apology.

walking up the stairs to the section your friends got, doubt and anxiety creep around the corners of your brain, the cage of butterflies in your stomach ready to be released. here’s the thing: your ex is up in this section, here because this night is partially about him and partially because your friends guilt tripped him into coming. otherwise, you know he wouldn’t be here. you also wouldn’t be here, if not for being tired of skipping out of fun activities just to avoid him. it’s tiring making up excuses as to why you can’t go to something whenever you catch wind of him being invited as well.

that’s really the problem with your breakup; you shared a group of friends. they all vowed to not get involved, staying true to their word on being impartial, though sometimes you wish they’d show favoritism and not invite him to things, just for your sake.

tonight, you’re here because you’re tired of being tired, tired of being afraid of running into him. you even stopped frequenting the places you used to go together because of the mere threat of possibly running into him. you’re tired of it.

also, you came because you knew he’d be here. not that that matters, or anything.

stepping into the section, you take a sip of your drink to calm yourself, before you’re spotted by soonyoung who waves at you enthusiastically. “y/n! you came!” he cries, jumping up from the couch and nearly tackling you in a hug. he hugs you around the shoulders and squeezes you tightly, and you can smell the alcohol wafting from his breath. “i’m so happy you’re here!” he slurs, and you wonder how many drinks he’s had.

when he releases you, you can’t help but return the toothy smile he gives you. “me too,” you say, though you’re not really sure yet. placing a hand on his cheek, you gently pat him. “youre drunk.” you declare, giggling when he smiles proudly.

out of all of the friends you shared with jihoon, you got the closest to soonyoung. probably because he was always around, but his personality is infectious and he’s just overall a good time. it sucked when you and jihoon broke up because you saw less of him until he reached out a few weeks after to reassure you that he wasn’t ‘picking sides’, but was trying to be there for his friend. you understood, but you needed a friend too.

you and soonyoung release each other, and he grabs your hand and begins to drag you over to where he’s sitting. knowing how close him and jihoon are, you relent and try to pull yourself back. “no, hosh, i don’t think it’s a good idea,” you start to panic, eyes frantically scanning the section for any sign of him.

“nooo, he’s not even sitting with me!” he pouts, rolling his eyes. you furrow your eyebrows at him, and he sighs, gnawing on his lip like you’re goin to hate what he’s about to say. clearing his throat, he says, “he’s made a friend.”

you ignore the pang in your chest and swallow down the lump in your throat. everything in you stops you from whipping your head around in search of him and this new found friend of his. shrugging your shoulders, you attempt to act nonchalant and like you don’t care, but soonyoung sees right through your facade. “good for him,” you say, but it comes out like fuck you.

“let’s drink.”

tipsy, not drunk. that’s your goal for tonight, and you’re dangerously on the verge of approaching drunk, the shot glass in front of you tempting. jeonghan raises his eyebrows at you from across the table, his shot glass hovering in the air. you eye the cup full of liquor, stomach roiling at the thought of taking even a sip. with resignation, you shake your head at last and lean back against the couch, a collective groan and pleading coming from your friends.

“cmonnnnnnn!” they say in unison, making you cover your face and shrink against the cushion.

“this is peer pressure, you know,” you say, pulling your hands from your face and looking at the shot glass. it’s practically calling your name (or maybe it’s seungcheol complaining at you), waiting for you to drink it. “nah, guys, i’m tapping out.” you declare.

“i’ll drink it,” wonwoo says, reaching across the table and grabbing your shot. he clinks both of the drinks in his hands against everybody else’s before downing one after the other. you watch in astonishment, feeling slightly nauseous for him, and a drink is placed in front of you on the table.

“water,” soonyoung says before you can question him, and sets a few more glasses down. somehow, despite his drunken state earlier, he’s managed to sober up as you drank more and more, despite it being his idea to keep on drinking.

you thank him and immediately grab the glass and begin chugging, not realizing how dehydrated you are.

“can i cut in?” you freeze, nearly choking on your water, and pray to the heavens that that voice doesn’t belong to who you are 101% sure it belongs to. you’ll never not know that voice, never not hear it ringing through your head when you watch a tv show you both liked or walk by your favorite restaurants. all the blood in your body rushes to your face, cheeks and neck burning red.

sliding your eyes from the table in front of you and up to the voice, it’s like your brain is wiped of every thought in your head and your senses are working over time. suddenly the music feels too loud, and the lights too bright, and your dress too tight. jihoon is looking down at you, chewing on his bottom lip nervously—a habit he’d never been able to shake.

you realize much too late that he’s waiting for an answer from you, being under his gaze after so long of even seeing him making your brain work extra hard to process anything. jihoon stands above you, looking sexier than ever in all black with hair pulled back, a few loose strands framing his face. you nod choppily, hands clutching your water glass so hard that it might break from the pressure.

everyone at the table magically disappears after that, soonyoung vanishing from your side the moment you tipped your chin up. the only sign of anyone else having been sat around you are the empty glasses littered across the table.

jihoon takes a seat next to you on the couch, not so subtly wiping his palms on his pants. “are you gonna throw that at me?” he says as a greeting, nodding down at the glass in your hands.

at that, your grip loosens and you set the drink on the table, wiping the condensation from the glass on your dress. “no,” you reply, meeting his eyes. jihoons face softens when you look at him, and you wish you didn’t notice it because you feel your heart break in your chest.

“hi,” he says.

“hi.”

there’s a gap of space between the two of you, wide enough for another person to sit. you want to scoot closer and simultaneously scoot away from him, but stay planted where you’re at. “how’ve you been? it’s good to see you, y/n,” his voice is sincere, and it makes you feel confused, and like you miss him. because you do—it’s why you’re here.

you nod, nervously sliding your hands underneath your legs. “good. it’s nice to see you too,” you reply, and you wonder if this is how the night is going to go; you agreeing with and repeating whatever he says. “how are you?”

jihoon mirrors your anxious over-nodding. “good! just been working.”

“sounds like you,” you offer, earning a smile from him that shoots straight to your chest, followed by a ripple of sadness. work. the one thing you couldn’t compete with, so you never tried. and because you never tried, you were always second. second to the music, second to the studio, second to everything you let him put above you.

sensing your discomfort at the mention of the thing that drove a wedge between the two of you, jihoon scrambles to change the subject. work is his fault, but music is something he could never give up. music is his passion, it’s his calling and his purpose in this life. he blames the hours, not the thing. “i’ve been meaning to call you, but i was trying to give you space,” he says.

you nearly scoff in his face because if anything, space was the last thing you needed or wanted from him. you wanted time, but certainly not space. he gave you enough of that while you were together. space is what you got when you allowed yourself to be second. you can only hum at his words, a proper response lost on you.

“i miss you.”

those three words echo through your skull and bounce around the corners before they land squarely in the front. i miss you. somebody had to say it first.

“you don’t show it,” you murmur, looking down at the floor. you’re acutely aware of how much space is between you when the gap lessens, his thighs centimeters from your own in an instant.

“hm? i couldn’t hear you,” his mouth is very near your ear, leaving you no space if you were to turn your head to look at him. you go to lean back against the couch to put some distance between the two of you, but collide with his arm that is strewn over the back of it.

a surge of nerves runs through your body. finding a new sense of boldness, you scoot away from him and turn towards him, looking him square in the eye. “i said, you don’t show it,” jihoon blinks at you, mulling over your words.

“i don’t show it?” he asks, leaning in. you shake your head, your eyes never leaving his. jihoon brings a hand up to rub his bottom lip. those lips. your eyes drag down to rest upon the soft, pink lips that adorn his face. you fight the urge to trace his bottom lip with your thumb, grateful for the darkness of the club because your face is on fire. “well, it’s true though. i miss you.”

in place of a response, you pick up your water glass and chug the rest. you can feel him watching you, his eyes burning right through you. it’s bad enough that you’ve been craving his presence ever since you called things off with him, but having him this close so soon wasn’t exactly as easy as you dreamed it to be. you’re hot under his gaze, and the water is doing nothing to cool you down.

“you don’t act like it. you didn’t even call,” and maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or you’re simply feeling extra bold but you can’t stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth.

jihoon works his jaw and pushes a few strands of hair out of his face. “i didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.”

“i’ll always want to hear from you.”

at your admission, jihoon leans back against the couch cushion, teeth running over his bottom lip. your gaze lingers on his lips for a brief moment, long enough for jihoon to catch. he shifts against the couch, and you let your thoughts get the best of you and rake your eyes over his figure, shamelessly eyeing his lap. his legs are outstretched in front of him, slightly bent at the knee and fallen open wide.

it’s been months since you’ve had sex, jihoon being your last. you’ve managed to take care of yourself, though you miss feeling full. jihoon watches you drink him in, hand curling around the back of the couch. “are you seeing anyone?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. you shake your head, looking at him pointedly. you don’t have the strength to ask him back, brain taking you back to what soonyoung said earlier. a friend. clearly, there’s something there.

he’s watching you again, and this time you don’t have anything to preoccupy yourself with under his gaze. “congratulations, by the way,” you blurt embarrassingly, trying to find something else to talk about. jihoon blinks a few times, like he’s trying to figure out why you’re congratulating him for anything. “on your music. tonight is for you, isn’t it?”

“oh. thanks. and no, it’s not for me. they just needed an excuse to go out,” he says, brushing the stray strand of hair out of his eyes. you follow the movement and let out a small sigh, hands holding onto your knees.

jihoon leans forward and rests his elbows atop his knees. his face is close to yours, mere inches away. if you leaned in towards him, your lips would brush, and you hate how aware of it you are. you should hate him, shouldn’t want to see him, and certainly shouldn’t be imagining kissing him right now. you left him. but he marked the end of your relationship.

a zing of heat spreads through your chest as you look him in the eye. the club feels too dark, too hot, too loud, and jihoon too close to you. “i need some air,” you rush, standing up on wobbly knees. you pull the hem of your dress down, making the mistake of looking down at jihoon. he stares up at you, his eyes wide as they drag up your legs. when his gaze settles on your face, his lips part and his to the darts out to lick the corner of his mouth.

you swallow the newly formed lump in your mouth and make your way towards the stairs and hobble down, hand gripping tightly to the railing. you manage to make it down the flight of stairs without embarrassing yourself and push past people to get to the exit, outside calling your name like a siren. “y/n!” or maybe it’s literally your ex calling out to you.

jihoon is right on your heels, looking a little stressed as you round the corner around the side of the club. you suck in some air and look over at him, a breeze blowing his hair out of place again. “what?”

he holds his arms out to the side for a brief moment before dropping them at his sides. “i don’t know. i don’t know what to say, i just…” he trails off with a light shake of his head, wiping around his mouth. you just stare at him, bottom lip tucked under your top lip. “i just want to talk to you, i guess. i don’t know. i miss you.” he says for the third time tonight.

you only hum, looking up at the inky black sky. you hear his shoes scuff against the pavement, and then he’s right at your side, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking onto his heels. “i’d do it differently, if i could, you know? i fucked it all up.”

“what would you have done differently, jihoon? quit your job? stopped making music? i wasn’t going to have you resent me, jihoon,” tonight doesn’t feel like the night for this conversation, but maybe it is. maybe that’s why you came here knowingly, hoping that you’d run into him to make sense of the end of your relationship. “there’s nothing to really change, jihoon. you came home. you checked in. you did it all.” you don’t know why you’re trying to spare his feelings still, but something in you won’t let you dunk on him to his face like you did behind his back.

jihoon is listening, he hears you. but the only thing he can focus on is the way you keep saying his name, and just how much he really misses hearing you say it. blowing out a breath, he shrugs his shoulders up to his ears and drops them, eyes flicking up to you at you. your bottom lip is tucked underneath the top, your eyes already on him. your arms are crossed over your midsection, and a breeze blows a few strands of hair out of their place and jihoon has the urge to put them back, but he stops himself.

“so now what?” you ask, peering down at him. jihoon stares back at you with parted lips, eyes dropping to the ground before flicking back up to you.

“i don’t know. i just miss you, y/n,” he flicks his bangs out of his face and you purse your lips. it’s not like you don’t miss—you do, way too much, in your opinion—you just don’t necessarily know what to do with what he’s saying to you. is he expecting you to magically forget everything and take him back? should you take him back? should you even be talking to him? “you look really nice tonight.”

and he looks too good right now, too approachable, too take-back-able. he looks good enough to do something you might regret in the morning.

jihoon takes a half a step closer to you, the toe of his shoe touching your heel. you turn, interweaving your legs and pressing your abdomen against his and putting a hand on his shoulder. he swallows and ignores the thump thump thump of his heart, nerves skyrocketing the longer you look at him with your hand on him.

in an instant, you’re ducking down and pressing your lips to his. jihoon kisses you back urgently, one hand resting on your hip and the other cradling the side of your face. it’s rushed, messy, and feverish in seconds, jihoon trying his damndest to pull you impossibly closer.

he grows hard below you and the slightest brush of his erection on your leg makes you shiver and part your lips against his, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. jihoon drops his hand from your cheek and places it over your ass, pulling your crotch against his own. “i drove here,” he pants against your lips when he gets a moment to pull away.

that’s all you need to hear to let him lead you to his car, your heels echoing off the pavement. jihoon helps you into the back and climbs in immediately after, pulling the door closed and caging you against the backseat and the side of the door.

jihoon settles one knee on the floor of the car and the other on the seat, hands bunching your dress up around your hips as he kisses you fervently. your hands work the buttons of his shirt open, mouths pulling apart for a brief moment when you get to the end of his shirt and fumble with the last button for too long. his shirt falls open and you push it off his shoulders, and wet your lips at the sight of his bare torso.

the air in the car is thick as he sits above you, chest heaving as you drink him in. you rake your nails over the toned body that you once used to get to touch just like this. jihoon nudges your nose with his own, gently pressing his lips to yours once you angle towards him. he holds onto the headrest to brace himself, quietly groaning when you start to work his belt open.

“i need you,” you whine when his belt is pulled free, already rushing to unbutton his pants.

“lemme stretch you out first. you can’t take me yet,” and he’s not trying to be cocky (he definitely is), but he doesn’t need to know if you’ve been fucking other people to know that you definitely aren’t ready for him.

you whine at the thought of having him inside of you, your core aching with need. he’s 100% right, but you want him so bad and feel like you can’t wait.

jihoon is already working his fingers inside of you, pulling your panties down to your knees and dragging his fingers up your folds to collect your slick. he doesn’t tease you like he otherwise would if you were still together, rather he dips two fingers into your sopping, warm hole and curls them upwards. you gasp and he bites his bottom lip, pumping his fingers in and out of you.

arching against the seat, you whimper when he presses against your clit with his thumb as he works his fingers inside of you, reaching that spongy part that makes your vision spot and harsh pants leave your lips. jihoon leans down and kisses on your neck, lips dragging under your jawbone and nearing your collarbones. “i missed this,” he groans into your neck, teeth lightly nipping at the soft skin there. you only buck your hips in response and bury a hand in his hair. “missed you and this perfect pussy.”

a soft grunt escapes you when he slips in a third finger. “you take my fingers so well, baby,” he adds, pulling back from your neck to look down at where you mold around his three fingers. you suck him in greedily, and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“hoon, i want you,” you whimper, tugging on his hair. his eyes fall closed as he lets you pull on his hair, head falling back as you do it. “i can take it.” you add, pussy clenching around his fingers. you bring your other hand over to pull down his zipper, eagerly pushing at the waistband.

“you sure?” he asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, fingers still moving inside of you. you nod and lean up from the seat and press your chest into his, turning your head to connect your lips in a sloppy kiss.

jihoon pulls his fingers out of you and pull away from you to shove his pants down to his ankles, haphazardly wiping his hand on the fabric of his boxers. jihoon throws himself onto the seat next to you and tugs you onto his lap, one hand making use of unzipping the back of your dress and helping you out of it, followed by your bra and panties.

you’re left in just your heels and him in just his open shirt, his hard cock flat against his stomach. jihoon palms your breasts, letting out a breath when you rock against his lap. “fuck, i need you so bad,” you say, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his neck. reaching between the two of you, you take his thick shaft in your hand and slowly start pumping him, reveling in how he pants into your ear and grips onto your ass tightly.

“i wanna feel you, baby. ride me,” he rasps, biting his lip to hold in a whimper when you swipe your thumb over his tip. you raise your hips and position him at your entrance before slowly sinking down on him, gasping when the head of his cock presses into your hole and stretches you out. “fuckkkk.” he drawls, leaning his head back against the seat.

you hold onto his shoulders for support as you move lower and lower onto him, breathing quickening with each inch you take. his cock fills you up in a way that is so familiar yet so foreign after months of going without. it would be overwhelming if not for the way he rubs your lower back and kisses across your chest, mumbling at you to take your time. “you feel that?” jihoon groans, hands squeezing your hips.

you only whine pathetically and draw your bottom lip in between your teeth. you sink lower, finally bottoming out and shuddering at being stuffed. jihoon lets you sit on his lap and adjust, his ego swelling knowing that you even need the time. “shit,” you whisper, running a hand through your hair and tilting your head back. the stretch is bordering on painful, but you’re not about to quit now, not when your cunt has its own pulse that’s in sync with your heart.

a heavy hand falls on your neck and jihoon pulls you down to his lips, instantly slipping his tongue into your mouth. you moan against him and rock your hips back and forth, sucking in a breath each time you move forwards. you falter in the kiss, simply pressing against his mouth as you grind against him. “you’re so tight,” jihoon grunts, dropping his hand from your neck to toy with your clit. you clench around him and his breath hitches. “i missed this pussy, fuck. i’ve been thinking about you every night.” he admits, earning a whimper in response.

moving up onto your knees, you work up the strength to fuck yourself onto him and place a hand on the roof of the car to steady yourself. “f-fuck, jihoon,” you hiccup, mouth falling open.

“do you miss me too?” he rasps, pinching your clit , hips bucking when you let out a whimper that goes straight to his cock. “you think of me fucking you like this?”

“yes!” you cry out, a response to both of his questions. your thighs burn but you keep bouncing up and down, a familiar tightness forming at the base of your stomach. “missed this so much.” you squeak, dropping onto his lap and rolling your hips.

“yeah?” he pants out, lips ghosting over your neck. “cum for me and show me.” and you look down at him and swear you see a demon for a second, jaw falling to your chest when he rubs his thumb across your bundle of nerves.

putting both of his hands on your ass, he surprises you when he hoists you up before slamming you back down on his cock, careful to avoid knocking your head against the top of the car. you moan and encircle your arms around his neck and hunch down into him, crying out his name as he manually moves you up and down. “j-jihoon!” the air gets pushed from your lungs each time he pulls you down onto his cock, vision blurring.

your cunt clenches around him in a vice grip, making him stutter as he lets out a string of curses mixed with praise. “s-shit, feels so f-fucking g-good,” jihoon manages. he can feel his release creeping up on him, but he’s determined to have you cum first. he still knows all of your tells: heavy breathing, lack of talking back, the tight grip you have on him. “are you gonna cum for me?”

it only takes him fucking you onto his cock a few more times before youre sputtering out his name and your cunt is spasming around his cock. you gush onto his lap and shake against him, nails digging into his shoulder blades. feeling you against him spurs his own orgasm, and ropes of his cum shoot up into you. you want to blame the alcohol for your lack of concern for a condom, but you’re too far gone (and take birth control pills) to take up an issue with letting him fuck you raw.

you settle in his lap and tuck your face into his neck. jihoon rubs your back soothingly and makes no move to get you off of him, or to move. for a few minutes of you sitting on top of him, he lets himself pretend like you’re still together, and softly peppers kisses into your neck, all while his finger tips gently stroke up your spine. you love and hate the intimacy, wishing it were real and yours to hold onto. wishing that it meant something.

“jihoon,” you’re the first to break away after what feels like forever. you sit up and peel yourself off of him, involuntarily moaning when he slips out of you. you roll onto the seat next to him and shyly try your best to cover yourself. “did you really mean it?” you ask.

“mean what?”

“mean it when you said you’d do it all over again?”

he places a hand on your bare leg and looks over at you. “i did. i’d do anything, really, to get you back,” he admits. he doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic, he just wants you back.

you only hum. his bluntness puts butterflies in your stomach, and has you wondering if a second chance would really be that bad? or maybe it’s the fact that you can feel his cum leaking out of you and onto the seats.

“it’s not going to be this easy, jihoon,” you say, playing with the ends of your hair. his hand slides higher as he scoots closer to you, seemingly pulling you back into his lap. you wrap an arm around his neck and toy with his hair. “you’ve really got to try. show me that you care.” you add softly.

jihoon peers up at you with big, pleading eyes, and you feel yourself soften against him. he kisses the center of your chest and you let out a sigh, curling into his body. “i can do that. i just want you back, baby.”

and if he keeps calling you baby, it really might just be that easy.

[r0ttenhearts]

10 New Messages

scaramouche x reader (college au)

synopsis: with you entering your first year of college and scaramouche still working with nahida, you navigate your feelings of your most consistent problem with scaramouche. his absence.

warnings: angst, no comfort, mean scara, toxic relationship

“how long has it been..”

you were laid on your back in your dorm room, scrolling through your social media app when you remembered scaramouche hadn’t responded to your last message. swiping out of your current app, you went back into your messages with scaramouche. 6 hours ago, unread, not replied.

your sigh came out, clicking your phone off, staring at your ceiling. it wasn’t unusual for scaramouche to take hours to respond. but lately it made you feel restless.

you had been with scaramouche for two years now, but the same problem consisted throughout the last two years. the fights about his absence and inability to communicate were frequent. the arguments would almost feel as if you both were reading lines off a script. you could guess every single excuse and apology he would give you before his lips moved.

though he had always been inconsistent in his communication, he had always made it a point to read back and respond to every single text you’d send him in the time that he wouldn’t be responding. but lately, that seemed to stop as well.

scaramouche no longer showed up to your dorm room unless you sought him out and brought him back yourself. anniversaries were now strained and abruptly celebrated, as scaramouche would show up late to every dinner or hangout, and make himself scarce before midnight.

you no longer asked for apologies, he no longer gave them. but he’d wear the same smile every time he saw you. his wide, mischievous grin he’d always give you before planting his affections on you. he always acted as if nothing was amiss. as if the cold you felt from his inability to stay consistent wasn’t real. his lingering touches by 10, 11pm would go unmentioned by his next arrival.

the aching cold you felt in your heart squeezed your chest. scaramouche never told you what he was doing, never changed his ways. but he made you change, didn’t he? so why couldn’t he for you?

“what the fuck do you mean i have no reason to be angry?” scaramouche seethed before his cold fingers gripped your hair.

“you only ever think about yourself (y/n).” scaramouche spat in your ear, making sure he was all you could hear.

“you don’t consider me. you don’t consider how busy i might be, or how tired i get after a day of being nahida’s messenger dog. its fucking ridiculous. you always throw a fit just because i don’t respond to your meaningless messages about your day.” scaramouche scoffed, letting go of your hair as you stood there, quietly taking in his words.

“grow the fuck up (y/n). no one is going to baby you, no one cares about your incessant babbling.”

scaramouche paused, his eyes scanning your face as you stood there quietly. tears were welling up in your eyes, despite your attempt to blink them away. scaramouche noticed this, pulling you into his chest, cradling your face. “oh, baby, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it.”

“you know i love you, right? i always will.”

three months later, you had finally learned to stop spiraling when scaramouche would leave you alone for too long. that didn’t stop you from utilizing your only way to communicate with him. so there you were, day in and out, texts were sent to scaramouche detailing your every day. annoyances and small victories were retold in your messages to him.

picking your phone back up from it’s laid down position, you scrolled back through your messages with scaramouche. scaramouche’s cold “good morning” to your last text about your shows latest episode. what seemed like 20 messages were sporadically sent, little emoticons in your messages to express your excitement about the drama in your show. you frowned, noting the time jump on your texts as scaramouche hadn’t responded.

you held your breath, your fingers moving across your keyboard on your phone screen.

(y/n): scara?

(y/n): what have you been up to today?

(y/n): i hope nahida didn’t give you too much trouble

(y/n): i felt a little sad today honestly

(y/n): i was thinking about us

(y/n): you feel rlly cold lately, like there’s a brick wall between us

(y/n): i’m sorry, i don’t mean to whine

(y/n): i just miss you, is all

(y/n): i miss the days when you were always around

(y/n): i never had to wait for you back then

you paused, reading over your continued text wall that was your messages to scaramouche. not with. he didn’t talk to you enough for that to be considered messages with him.

“i don’t think he’d read it anyway.” you mumbled, pressing down on your last 10 messages to him. you only meant to do the last 10, really. but with the disappearance of every message came the tight squeeze to your heart, tears streaming until your vision was blurred.

you deleted every single message of your day, the remaining text message for the day being a cold “good morning.”

hours came and went until a notification from scaramouche finally came.

scara: (y/n)?

scara: why did you delete all of your messages

scara: are you starting shit again

tapping on your latest text notification from scaramouche, you muted his notifications and tapped back to your social media feed.

it’s not like he really cared much about you, anyway.

aglist: @samarill @whorerificstuff @somatchajade @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeisms @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @msdevilis @linkookie197 @beriiov @xiaonscaraswife @foxlover1144 @reblog-crazily @sparklylanddetective @gh0sts0up @darliingyu @magica-ren @kuronvshi @Maxineslair @kenmabfasf @atanukileaf @jihyuniepark @chiisananingen @just-anotherbookworm @kleeboomed @crepezinhos

[literaila]

how do u think satoru would react to reader in a depressive episode, especially what do u think the kids would do

obviously, they’ve all noticed.

the past couple of weeks have not been lived through ignorantly. and you have not been acting normal.

the differences are just that, at first. tiny inconsistencies in your otherwise normal personality, your routine.

and then it becomes more than just a… change.

it starts off simple; megumi’s brows furrowing when you ask him a question—something about his teacher, or what kind of drink he wants in his lunch that day—and then forget what you’ve just said as soon as he answers.

tsumiki watching, smiling along idly, as you rub your temples, sighing with every other sentence and squeezing your eyes tight like you’ll be able to wake up if you try hard enough.

and satoru noticing when you linger in your room a bit longer, as the days pass. staring when you freeze looking at the wall in the morning, zoning out so hard that he has to shake you back to life.

just an accumulation of things that might indicate that something is up.

but as these moments—moments when you’re lost in your head, trying to conceal your entire being from all of them, and pretending that it’s all normal—increase, the three of them learn a little something about observing.

and lying to themselves, of course.

eventually, though, when megumi or tsumiki inevitably say something—usually when you’re not in the room, off hiding somewhere—satoru just shrugs.

(he’s going to lie his way through this, just like everything else, thank you).

“it’s a bad day,” he’ll say, like the two children will comprehend that. like they don’t know what a bad day means. “she’s just tired.”

he could make a million excuses for you. oh, you didn’t get enough sleep last night. oh, you’ve only had one cup of coffee today. oh, the world is a truly terrible place and it’s only natural that it runs you down.

but he leaves them with the simplest of explanations, instead. maybe it’s his subtle way of denying that there’s anything wrong. that you could be upset about something. it doesn’t matter, anyway.

and tsumiki, ever so trusting of all of you, listens to him. if satoru says that you’re okay, then so does she. she’ll draw you a picture at school or try to help you make their lunches in the morning, but you’re fine. her questions end with an answer.

megumi, on the other hand, has never believed a word that satoru has said.

so when the older man swears that you’re okay, that they don’t need to worry, megumi only begins to worry harder.

he sees that look on your face when you walk in the room, and megumi knows. maybe it’s because he’s the most attuned to you, out of everyone, in particular. maybe it’s because he’s observant, or too worrisome for his age (as you tell him).

but he knows.

and if satoru says one thing, megumi’s going to believe the other.

(plus the two of you have always had a symbiotic relationship. you worry about him, and he worries about you. you laugh at him, and he gives a little lip twitch in return).

so satoru is not surprised when megumi brings it up for the fourth time in a week.

“you want me to what, exactly?”

“you can talk to them, can’t you?” he repeats, giving satoru a bland look. something like ‘are you serious.’ “they know you.”

satoru snorts. “i don’t think my bosses will appreciate me telling them what they can or can’t do.”

megumi gives him another look.

and yeah, so satoru already does that. they still don’t appreciate it.

he sighs, smiling at the boy. anything to mess with him, really. he ruffles megumi’s hair. “kid, she’s fine. i can’t just tell them to give her a couple of weeks off. there has to be a reason. and,” he adds, cheerfully. “i’ve been told it’s impolite to speak on someone’s behalf without their input.”

“you don’t care about being polite,” megumi argues, crossing his arms.

satoru groans internally. he’s really not going to let this go.

it’s not that satoru necessarily disagrees, but anything he does to help you is going to be refuted with a “butt out,” or “leave me alone, satoru.”

“true,” he says, grinning as he mocks the boys stance. “but i do care about being yelled at. particularly by your mother.”

“she needs a break.”

satoru rolls his eyes. “she’s getting one. the next couple of days are free, and she’s taking a nap right now.”

megumi frowns, even deeper than usual, and stares satoru down until he breaks.

“megumi,” the man groans, childishly, pushing the boy out of the room. “you don’t need to worry about her. chill out. just go back to reading about rocks or whatever you were doing.”

“it’s geology.”

satoru waves a hand, indifferent.

(secretly trying to come up with a way to get you to talk to him. he can’t ask because you’ll just ignore him. he can’t force it out of you because that would get the two of you nowhere.

what other options are left, really? you’ve put satoru in a terrible position).

“then can we get something, instead?” megumi asks, almost pleading. “flowers, or… whatever girls like.”

“y/n already has flowers. i bought them.”

“buy something else.”

“who taught you to be this stubborn?”

megumi only scowls at him.

satoru sighs, scratching his head. he knows he should do something—but he’s so used to sitting around and waiting for you to fix everything.

yes, he does recognize that it’s a terrible habit, and completely unfair. he also recognizes that he is the worst person in the world.

eventually he sighs. “okay. how about i order dinner?” he asks, almost wincing. it’s the most natural response—everything can be fixed with food, in satoru’s sophisticated opinion. “that’ll be easy. want to go ask mom what she wants?”

megumi practically runs to your room, leaving satoru with no time to remind him that you’re probably asleep, knocking just briefly—from what satoru can hear—before going in.

he tip-toes up to the door, also wanting to check in.

satoru is nothing if not nosy.

and he might as well let megumi do all of the dirty work.

“um, i don’t care,” he hears you saying. “whatever you guys want.”

“it’s for you.”

there’s a pause. then, “really, megs, i’m not very hungry, so…”

megumi is frowning down at you when satoru steps in.

“good nap?” he asks, smiling and sitting at the edge of your bed.

“you don’t need to get dinner. it’s my turn.”

he waves a hand. “i feel like takeout.”

you frown, about to argue when megumi speaks up, glancing between the two of you with an almost furious expression.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft but mad. like usual. satoru realizes that he’s been tricked into contributing to this.

“what?”

“why are you upset?”

“upset?” you repeat, eyes widening. “i’m not upset, megu—“

“are you sick?”

“no,” you say, immediately. “i’m just a little tired but it’s—“

“megumi,” satoru interrupts, trying to ignore the almost hurt look on your face—the glance you send his way, pleading and worried. he knows you hate this the most. “let’s let mom sleep some more, okay? tsumiki and you can decide what you want—“

“no.”

and neither of you can argue, or console the confused boy, before he’s climbing into your bed with a determined look on his face.

satoru tried to grab on to him, but megumi is having none of that, shaking him off before he can get a good grip. you’re looking at satoru anxiously, and this is the worst.

if satoru knows anything about you, it’s that you don’t want to be coddled. you don’t want to accept any help, even if it’s from your sweet, concerned son.

“megumi—“ you say, though, satoru notes, don’t make any attempts to move him when he struggles to get under the covers with you, or when he just sits by your side, barely touching you.

“i’m staying here.”

“really, bud, i’m okay. you don’t need to worry about me.”

“you’re sad.”

“i’m not.”

megumi looks at you, and satoru watches as you both share a glance. an internal conversation he’ll never get to be apart of.

for once in his life he’s not even jealous about it.

“it’s…” you say, but the two boys watch as your shoulders slack and your face drops. all at once, you lose color, life, and just sit there. “it’s fine.”

you say it to them, but it sounds more like a reminder to yourself.

satoru’s face falls. he has no idea what to say, what to do to help you—he’s spent so much time denying that there was anything wrong, that he could do anything to help, and now he’s got no answers.

he feels like an idiot, sitting there. megumi shouldn’t be taking more initiative, he should be the one worrying about you, the one to go to—

megumi doesn’t say anything though. he only moves closer to you, not complaining when your arm wraps around his shoulder and you hold him to you.

like a life vest. a support in all of the vastness.

he doesn’t need to say ‘it’s okay,’ or ‘i’m here for you,’ for the words to ring out across the the air.

and, satoru realizes, quickly, he’s only doing what you do for them. what you do best.

climbing in beside them and making sure they know that they’re not alone. being that support, no matter how unwanted.

megumi’s learned from the best.

“sorry,” you mutter to him. “i know im gross.”

megumi shakes his head and settles into you even further. and the boy doesn’t cuddle—or, at least, without being forced—but your face softens as he leans against you, allowing this kind of intimacy.

and, maybe, satoru thinks, that’s the problem with all of you.

no one knows quite what to say. what to do to help someone with something that they can’t understand. neither he or megumi is sure how to dig you out of this hole.

none of you are very good with words.

but, at least, satoru knows how to be good at this.

he sets his glasses on your bedside table, and he moves you both over with ease, smiling when you both grunt at his intrusion.

and then you’re a tower of people, all leaning against one another. building blocks stacked on top of each other.

you relax into satoru almost instantly and he kisses the top of your head, feeling some sort of pride—just at the fact that you’ll let him be here, with you.

maybe that’s the thing with families, he thinks. no one needs to say anything for it to be okay.

and the uneasiness sits there with all of you. the past couple of weeks—the distancing and disassociating—linger there.

there’s nothing he can say to make everything all better. he could destroy the entire world right now, save for your house, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

but this is nice. a hug might not fix everything, but it won’t make anything worse

and after a minute or two, you say: “where’s tsumiki?”

and she peeks her head out from your door, smiling at all three of you. it takes her three seconds to jump on the bed, having been waiting there the whole time, the final piece to your messed up puzzle.

[spicerackofblorbos]

Lost and Found in Another World | Leon Kennedy x VoiceActress!fem!reader

☾ summary ➼ Leon has never had someone he's never met affect him so much as you have. This unknown person with insane talent and the sweetest voice he's ever heard. When he meets you at a con, he is no longer that somewhat self-assured field agent. He's reduced to a starstruck mess.

☾ content/warnings ➼ fluff, canon world (sorta), alcohol mention, fem!Reader, sibling-like relationship with Claire Redfield, set up for a possible second part

☾ a/n ➼ Don't look too hard into the timeline of when and where this takes place. I imagined this was Leon between 21 and 28, considering the aftermath of Infinite Darkness. But you can place him whenever! Don't come at me for canon inconsistencies, I'm here to self-indulge idk.

☾ wc ➼ ~2.3k

Leon Kennedy was never one for anime. To be honest, he was never one for any television shows at all. He was either too tired from work or too distracted inside his mind to even think about sitting down and focusing on something.

The only exception was when Claire would come by his apartment, unannounced, with pizza and her show of the week, usually a show she’s started but she needs someone talk about it with, so she was willing to start it over. That someone was Leon.

This week was a new anime she had heard great things about. It was a short season, so they knocked it out in one sitting – one large pizza and a six pack of beer later. Claire was rattling on and on about the main character and her love interest in the show. They were both transported into another fantasy world, an isekai Claire had called it, and had fallen in love due to their shitty circumstances and their dependency on each other in this new, fucked up world.

Leon didn’t hate it, far from it.

In fact, he quite enjoyed it. From the fantastical monsters to the smooth plotline and storytelling, he was locked on the entire time. But what really enchanted him the most was the voice that belonged to the main character, this bubbly almost borderline naïve elf woman. He had never heard anything like her.

Claire would argue that it’s not her real voice, she’s just a very talented voice actress. Leon didn’t care, it was music to his ears and there were moments where he missed important dialogues and plot points because he was so entranced by that pretty voice.

“A convention? Really.” Leon sighs in exasperation at his red-jacket clad friend who sits across from him at the coffee shop they agreed to meet up at for lunch.

“Yeah! My friend bailed on me and the stupid people don’t refund tickets.” Claire gives a bright smile that reaches into her blue eyes, then slowly her face turns into that one pleading emoji she loved to use on Leon when she needed something. “Please Leon? It’s just a few days.”

“I don’t know, Claire… I just got back from a mission, and I could really use those few days to just sleep.” He rolls his shoulders back as he says that, grunting softly at the warm pain that flares up in his muscles from getting his ass kicked multiple times.

“I’ll pay for your food?”

“I can pay for my own food. “

“You don’t even have to dress up!”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Claire pauses, propping her chin up on a palm as she stares hard at him. His blue eyes shift to the side, focusing on the cars slowly driving past the small café as he cards his calloused fingers through his hair. Across the street sits a park, full of kids playing on the playground with their parents chatting on the benches, vigilantly keeping an eye.

“Some of the voice actors for ‘Lost and Found in Another World’ will be there.” Claire murmurs into her coffee cup before taking a sip.

That gets Leon’s attention, his gaze snapping back to Claire’s smug face. He mentally scolds himself at how fast he reacted to that, knowing Claire did that on purpose.

There’s another pause.

“Which ones?” he asks gruffly, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossing his chest.

“Guess you’ll have to come and find out yourself.”

.

Leon had never been to a fan convention before, and he can see why he hadn’t before. It was crowded, loud, and stuffy to the point that he was tempted to pull his shirt off. It wouldn’t be the oddest outfit voice in the convention center, anyway.

It had been a few hours of bobbing through aisles of small businesses selling their wares until Leon had to put a hand on Claire’s shoulder just to ask to stop for a drink. His friend had an armful of trinkets and soft plushies that she was currently trying to organize inside her large bag that she brought while Leon leans against the wall, sipping on a very expensive bottle of water.

“I think I scoured every stall available.” She mutters, huffing in triumph once her items finally fit together without exploding out. “You ready to visit Celebrity Row?” Claire wiggles her eyebrows up at him before taking off in the direction of their destination without waiting for a response.

Leon just grumbles and follows as his eyes roam around the crowded space, unable to keep himself from finding potential exits in case something happens. Old habits die hard.

Celebrity Row was just as packed as the vendor floor. Lines of people bleed into the middle of the walkways, all waiting for their chance to meet their favorite star. Leon won’t lie and say he wasn’t intrigued, after all, there were some big-name celebrities all here to talk about their newest movies as well as the ones they had previously starred in.

None of them held a candle over who Leon was really hoping to meet, though.

You.

You were a hot commodity apparently; so many people were here waiting for you to show up at your booth. Claire says you are well known for many of your roles in anime and videogames, a sought-out voice actress in not only the small screens but also from your many adoring fans. Did you capture them by your sweet and melodic voice as well?

Leon couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed as he waited in line, being so new to all of this. Claire was in his ear, prattling about this new show that she wanted to try out next week if he was available, but at that point he had zoned out from the conversation and zoned in on you.

You were sitting behind a white table stacked with things he couldn’t see sitting out in front of you. Your name in big letters hovering above you on a banner with pictures of your various roles surrounding it, as if praising the one who had given them life.

Goddamn, your smile. Those eyes. The way your hair accentuates your beautiful face. He could swear he can hear your voice from all the way over here, though impossible since it’s drowned out by the chaos in the con.

Everything about you was nothing he had expected and everything he had hoped for.

“Leon? Earth to Leon!” Claire’s fingers snap in front of his face.

“Sorry. What’s up?” he looks down at her, quirking an eyebrow.

“I was asking how do I look? I want to make sure she likes my cosplay.” Claire does a small spin, letting Leon look at everything.

She had insisted on putting together a last-minute cosplay for your character in ‘Lost and Found in Another World’, something she had called a closet cosplay. It seemed true to fashion, so he nodded, unsure of what feedback he could give at such late notice and lack of context.

“Looks fine to me. I’m sure she’ll love it.” Leon reassures, crossing his arms over his chest as he turns to face the front of the slow-moving line.

“Great. Also, I was really hoping we could…” Claire continues to ramble, excited for the panels she wanted to visit before the end of the night and the ones she was thinking about attending tomorrow. Leon’s eyes do not leave your face.

With every person that you greet, closing the distance between him and you, he feels his heart rate spiking gradually. Leon is a calm and collected person for the most part, especially when he’s out on the field. He’s built up such a stoic wall, a way to protect himself, to hide away who he was before and during the Raccoon City incident.

But you? Why was he so nervous?

“Leon! Go!” Claire pushes Leon forward, knocking him out of his thoughts. Suddenly, he’s throttled into the white table, barely catching himself from falling on top of it. When he looks up, holding himself up by his arms, he’s met with your slightly startled expression.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” you ask, finally hearing that sweet voice of yours in person rattling him more than any bio-weapon could. You’ve stood up abruptly with your hands out, ready to support him if necessary.

“I-…” All he wanted was to apologize, but seeing your eyes up close, his words don’t come out the way he wants. “Falling for you already, huh.” He mutters instead, awkwardly smiling as he straightens up.

There’s a pause where Claire looks at Leon with bemusement, Leon’s face falling in horror at what he just said out loud, and your quivering lips as you try not to laugh out loud.

You fail.

Suddenly you burst into a fit of laughter, your eyes closing as you lean forward trying to catch your breath between laughs. Leon’s face blooms in heat, partly from his embarrassment. The other part from how irresistible your genuine laugh sounds like. With just a few words, he can tell the main character from that anime was close to as true to you. If he could hear that laugh and voice for the rest of his life, he could die happily.

“I-I’m sorry.” Leon says sheepishly, taking a few steps back as he rubs the back of his neck.

“No! Nothing to apologize for, I’m just glad you’re okay. You are okay, right?” you’ve settled back in your chair by now. To right the of you is what Leon assumes is your assistant, waiting impatiently for the next people so they can keep this line going efficiently. You, however, ignore their annoyed, passive-aggressive glances.

You wanted to spend as much time with your fans as possible instead of pushing them through as if they were packages on a conveyor belt. It’s understandable why you need to, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. Nor do it. So you don’t.

“Fine! Yes, I’m fine. Um.” Leon steps away, letting Claire step in front of him so they can talk.

Your eyes leave his to meet Claire, holding your hands out to greet her. There is some back and forth between them - Claire asking about your favorite aspects of being a voice actress, you asking how her day at the con has been. Claire does a twirl for you, showing off the cosplay she carefully put together in such a short time. Your laugh is infectious just as your smile is genuine.

A few moments later, Claire had asked for a photo with you, to which Leon was handed her phone and instructed where to stand and how to do it – as if he hadn’t taken photos for Claire before. A handful of years worth of friendship will do that. And he had expected it anyway, considering how many times she had said how excited she was to talk to and take a selfie with you.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to hold your hand out to him, offering him a sweet smile like a beckoning call.

“Would you like a photo as well?” you ask, your pretty face lit up like the sun. He’s unsure if that’s your permanent disposition or not, but he likes it. And he can resist it. With a gentle nudge from his friend, he takes a few steps forward.

He's hesitant to touch you because he’d assumed it’s against the arbitrary rules set by whoever created these conventions. But considering who you are as a person (unbeknownst to him), you aren’t, and easily you slip your arm behind him and hold him by the waist as you tuck yourself against his side. There’s a surprised grunt that escapes his lips from not only the unexpected contact but also the way you felt so perfectly next to him. Instinctively, his muscular arm wraps around your shoulder out of ease and comfort of the poses you were in.

The perfumes that emanate from you are intoxicating to him and at this point he even forgets why he was here, why he was being held by you. And he’s looks straight at you too, not at the phone clutched in Claire’s hands that is just ten feet away.

“Okay! 1. 2. 3!” Claire presses the camera button a few times, just in case.

All too soon, the contact ends, and you’re turning towards him with a grateful smile as your arms fall back to your side naturally.

“Thank you so much for meeting me today. And thank you for being a fan, it means so much to me.” You say, waving at them before stepping back behind your table, ready to greet new people. Claire practically drags Leon away, which is hard considering how much muscle mass he has.

“Dude, you are so smitten.” Claire jokes once they’re away from the crowd still surrounding your booth.

“Huh, what?” Leon’s eyes drift from where you sit, now focusing on Claire’s highly amused face.

“You’ve got it bad. Want me to ask for her number while we’re here?” she nudges him in the chest.

“Shut up.” Leon grumbles, rubbing his neck again as his face heats up even more. “Send me those photos though.” His voice comes out softer this time, his blue eyes looking away and focusing on the various cosplayers that pass by.

“Yes, sir!” Claire salutes then starts walking deeper into Celebrity Row to see who else they could meet.

Leon was never one for conventions, but if it meant he got to see you again, he’d commit. And maybe even dress up just to see how you’d react.

i'm so bad about plugging my taglist but if you see this and wanna see what other Leon bullshit I pull out of my brain noodles, go here and fill out my form! your email is never shared with me or anyone else.

Taglist: @lucysarah-c @antagonize-me-motherfucker

[yoongihan]

Paint My Nails - HJS - OneShot

pairing: jisung x femreader

genre: f2l, almost pwp probably, slice of life smut, fluffy too

rating: M (so not for minors)

word count: 4.5k or so

warnings: smut in the forms of fingering (fem receiving), penetrative sex (protected - responsible people here in this fic), cursing, a lot of kissing and mc fantasizing about Jisung in ways that are not platonic. They (Felix makes an appearance as the roommate) are all the same age, but mc is older by a few months so they call her 'noona' to annoy her. Mc has a few too many drinks, but most of it is burned off by the time anything provocative occurs. everyone is of age to drink and consent. there's a mention of penance and self-flagelation, but not in a literal sense. mc is just being dramatic.

a/n: i wrote this today. i barely edited it because it was like a race against time because it's still his birthday here where I am and my god, I love this man so much that I hate him (you know what I mean). so in typical me fashion, here's another fic of just pure han jisung adoration, kinda friends to lovers (typical me again), and all inspired by the skz-code episodes of them at the sauna and nail-painting. I'm kind of sure this is just a mess and I apologize for any inconsistencies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock on your apartment door and you lift your eyes from attempting to paint the nails on your right hand (why can’t you be ambidextrous? It’d be so helpful. Like you know…for spy stuff and nail painting) to Felix who is seated on the floor, leaning back against the sofa you’re both using for tonight’s chill night.

“Who’s that?” you ask, squinting at the door now, like you might be able to perceive who’s on the other side. You have had a couple of drinks. Sweet sweet cocktails premade in bottles and cans. Both you and Felix have been indulging in an evening of dumb 80s teen films and self-care. You’d already done his nails, a very pretty lavender, and he was letting them dry.

“Jisungie,” he answers, carefully pushing off the floor to go and answer the door.

“What?”

You don’t mean for your voice to go so shrill, but this is brand new information and there should always be a warning when Felix invites people over.

Especially the Han Jisung.

Felix pauses to look back at you. “Jisung. I invited him over. He was bored at his place.”

“And you didn’t think to let me know?” You gesture wildly. “When I look like…” You wave at yourself, encompassing the loose sweatpants and cropped t-shirt that you definitely first bought in middle school. It wasn’t cropped then. It was normal. You just got taller and a little more…endowed. 

Wearing something like this was fine in front of Felix. Because it’s Felix, your beloved roommate. Yes, he’s one of the prettiest humans on the planet, but because the world is weird, you don’t feel anything but massive amounts of love and affection for him - platonically. Which works out well because romance is the subject you struggle with most. 

Felix cocks his head to the side and you remember that he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how you feel about his friend, Jisung. 

Probably because you keep that shit to yourself because the moment you ever share stuff like that with someone, it comes back to bite you in the ass. Broken and strained friendships, accusations of trying to steal someone’s crush, loss of contact…a mess. 

“You look fine…he knows we’re just hanging out.” 

Oblivious boy.

You huff and close the nail polish bottle tightly (you don’t need to add a tangible mess to this evening’s agenda). You also decide to finish off your off-brand vodka-cocktail-in-a-can as though liquid courage can save this night.

Never mind that you usually say way too much under the influence. 

The door opens and you stare as Felix embraces the newcomer. Jisung’s smile is tired, but warm as his chin rests on his friend’s shoulder. He sees you and mouths a quick ‘hey’. 

You wave. Or you mean to wave, but you actually knock over the empty can instead. 

“Shit,” you mutter, picking it up then cursing again because you definitely messed up a fingernail in your can rescue. 

“Okay there?”

You look up as Jisung slinks off his windbreaker, tossing it on the arm of the sofa and sitting down in the middle. You have one side and Felix was on the floor of the other side. Cuddling would happen after fingernails were dry and safe. 

“Just clumsy,” you say, feeling your face heat up. Hopefully, it shows up just as too much alcohol and not embarrassment. “Hi.”

“Beer?” Felix asks. “Water…Coke?”

“Coke’s good,” Jisung states and glances at the television. “Is this…Teen Witch?”

“Oh my god,” you practically squeal. “How do you know that?”

“My older brother’s girlfriend loves eighties movies. Like…so many…” he glances over at you, grinning. “You know this is like shitty cinema, right?”

You make a face. “You can walk right out that door, Han Jisung, if you’re going to mock our viewing preferences. Tonight is classics,” you point to the screen. “Drinking.” You hold up an unopened bottle. “And nails.” You flash your mostly finished left hand at him. “To stay here you have to participate in at least one of those. Unironically.”

His grin has just widened as he takes a glass of soda from Felix, the latter who plops back down on the floor and unpauses the movie. 

“I do?”

Felix shrugs. “She’s the noona.”

You sigh dramatically, turning back toward your bottle of liquid ‘Starry Night,’ an almost blue-black polish.

“We’re all the same year, losers. I just showed up in the spring instead of the fall like you two.”

Felix and Jisung fist bump (Felix is very careful again because nails) in September solidarity and you huff again. 

“Noona,” Jisung says just to irritate you before taking a swig of coke and reaching into the big bowl on the coffee table in front of him for some trail mix. 

Felix wiggles and groans. “My butt is numb.”

Jisung laughs. “Then sit on the couch, idiot.”

Felix points at you both. “There’s not a lot of room.”

“Since when did you have personal space, Lix,” Jisung scooted closer to you, bumping your arm and you pouted. Another messed up nail. “Sorry.”

“I’d be mad if I actually had had success with this hand,” you reply as Felix plops in the empty space at the end. You can smell Jisung this close. Sort of like cloves and rosemary. He turns to see you sniffing. 

“You okay?”

You are such a moron.

“Sorry…” You stare back at your hand, trying to undo the damage of the last attempt. “You smell good.”

“You can smell me over that?” he points to the open bottle. He has a point, but to explain, you’d have to detail how hyper-aware you are of him and that isn’t going to go well at all. 

Felix pipes up about the movie and Jisung is momentarily distracted from your lack of reply. You try again to paint your right pinkie nail.

“I can do it for you?”

“You can?”

Jisung laughs bashfully, head ducked down as he takes the polish bottle from you. He turns toward you, crossing his legs and patting his knee for you to rest your unpainted hand on. 

“I’m not claiming I’ll be great at it, but I feel like I’ll do a better job than you doing it on your own.” He snorts. “Felix should have offered.”

“I can’t until mine are dry!” The youngest protests. 

“Obviously, Felix is a terrible friend,” you say, placing your hand gently on his jean-clad knee. 

“Both of you suck.”

You and Jisung both coo over Felix’s pout, but Jisung starts painting your nails. You watch his face more than his hands (either feature is one you’re weak about, so it’s really like which type of suffering do you want to inflict on yourself); the furrow in his brow as he concentrates, the pursed lips (okay you cannot stare at those too long because getting horny while drunk is just asking for a restless night), how soft his hair always looks. It’s currently his natural black after having it wavy and orange for a time. He’d worn the unusual color well, but it wasn’t like you could see anything but stars when you looked at him anyway.

“So…” you begin. “Drinking, movie-watching or nails?”

“Hmm?” He lifts his head to meet your gaze and you want to just openly stare (you are the heart-eyes emoji). He has such big pretty brown eyes and when they’re focused on you, you lose all ability to function.  

“Which are you going to do? To stay?”

He smirks at your persistence. “I guess nails. I drank too much last night and still feel like I need to recover.”

Felix holds up his nails. “She does a pretty good job, Sungie.”

You preen at the compliment, making them both laugh. 

It gets quiet (except the movie) as he continues your nails. You press your lips together to not speak, because having his hand holding each of your fingers might be the most erotic moment of your life.

Which is just sad when you think about the last time you had sex. 

“Why were you out drinking?”

“Bin and Hyunjinnie won their bowling league tournament thingy.”

“Why didn’t you go, Lix?” you ask, looking over at your roommate.

“I didn’t get the text until I woke up the next morning,” he says. “Also, are you both going to talk through this…the whole time?”

You and Jisung share a smile. 

“Does it bother you?”

Felix shoots you an unamused look. “I’m going to grab us more drinks and food if you both are going to talk over this.”

“And miss the witty dialogue?” Jisung mocks. You smack his arm with your already dried and done hand and he winks at you.

Fuck. Why is everything he does so impactful?

“Are you okay to drive?”

Your roommate rolls his eyes. “I've had two of those…the rest…was all you.”

You look at the empty cans. “Oops.”

You’re rewarded with laughter from both of them as Felix grabs Jisung’s windbreaker and heads to the door, slipping on shoes. 

“Stealing this, Sung.” 

“It swallows you.” The owner of said windbreaker seems unperturbed by the theft. 

“Because Felix is a delicate flower.”

You get a defiant middle-finger from Felix as he shuts the door behind him. 

Leaving you alone with Jisung.

Which you just realized. 

“How’d I do?” he asks as he holds up your right hand, looking at it with critical eyes. 

“Much better than I was doing.”

He grins at you. “That was a pretty low bar, noona.”

You pull away your hand, mock-annoyed. “I guess, thank you.”

He leans back on the sofa as you screw the cap to the polish back on and set it on the side table. You lift up a green bottle for his inspection.

“This color?”

“For what?”

“For you, Han Jisung.”

“Oh….” He crosses his arms over his chest, drawing your eyes to the width and breadth (is that the same thing, your brain questions) of his torso. He’s not a big guy, not like Chan or Bin, but Jisung works out at the same gym as them and my god, you can tell. 

He once wore a sleeveless t-shirt at a cook-out and you nearly fainted. 

Felix thought it was just the heat and humidity, but you knew it was Jisung’s glorious shoulders. 

“I think I’m going to be super basic and go with black nail polish.”

You grimace. “Ugh, why so boring?”

His eyes are warm. “Cause I am boring.”

“Bullshit.” You hold out your last can of whatever you’ve been drinking. “Please open.”

He pops the top and hands it back to you. You take a long swallow, knowing you’re flushed with his proximity more than anything else. 

“You don’t think I’m boring?”

“Are you fishing for a compliment?”

He straightens up and leans toward you as you continue to look through your supply of polishes. “If I am?”

He probably has no idea that his breath has hit the exposed skin of your neck. Like there’s no way he knows that you shiver because of him.

“If you want me to wax poetic about you, just say the word.”

You can hear his chuckle as you finally find your black polish and turn. He’s only half a foot away and you see his eyes widen at how close you are. 

“Really?” He swallows and draws back just a little, which reminds you that he most definitely does not feel about you the way you feel about him. 

You shrug and hold out your hand. “Hand please.”

He doesn’t immediately do as you ask, and it makes you look up at him. He isn’t smiling, he’s not frowning either. He looks thoughtful, like he’s trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle. 

“What?”

“You can’t see the movie like this.” He says it slowly, as though he’s testing…something. 

You look at the television then back at him. “So?”

“I thought movie-watching was vital to this evening’s plans.” One corner of his mouth lifts and there’s the beginnings of a smirk. “I wouldn’t want to mess that up.”

You roll your eyes, a little nervous for some reason you can’t really explain. “What do you suggest then?”

He adjusts so he’s facing the screen, leaning against the cushiony back of the couch, and then pats the space between his legs. 

“Sit here. Then we both can watch.”

If he sees how wide your eyes get then he doesn’t show it. He just looks at you expectantly, innocently like sitting on his lap, in between his legs is the most normal of things to do.

Which…with Felix, yeah, you totally have. But Felix isn’t Jisung.

Jisung is not Felix. 

It’s probably only a few seconds (it feels like an hour) but you shrug again and move to sit right there.

Oh this is a bad bad idea.

He curls around you, hands coming to set upon your thighs, ready to be decorated. One of your friends might diatribe about Minho’s thighs and you never really got it, but sitting with Jisung’s flush against yours is up there with all transcendent experiences; seeing the Sistine Chapel, getting high in a field at sunset, hearing Led Zeppelin live…

You shake the bottle and undo the cap, placing the bottle in one of his hands before taking the other in yours. 

“You have nice hands, Ji.”

You feel his chin touch your shoulder before resting fully. He’s so close to your neck that he could press his lips (those perfect lips - full bottom and sharp top lip) without having to move much. 

“Thanks.” His voice seems deeper but that’s probably because he’s so close. You start with his thumb, trying to focus on doing a good job and not that your body temperature went up a million degrees in the last two seconds. 

A few minutes pass, not that you’re watching the movie because nail-painting takes all your concentration. You don’t know if he is and if you try and look, your faces would be so close and you don’t think your self-control is that good. 

You know it’s not.

“Are you cold?”

“No, why?”

“Your legs are shaking,” he says softly and you look past his hand to where your legs, clad still in sweatpants are indeed trembling.

Yeah, you’re not cold. You’re so turned on that your body is about to go into a lust-frenzy. 

“Just fidgety,” is all you can come up with.

His head moves on your shoulder, turning a bit more toward you. “Yeah? Do you need to get up, move around?”

God, he’s so nice. Worrying that you might be atrophying and here you are, trying to imagine his hands were under your shirt. 

You might need to do some major penance after this. Some self-flagelation too. 

“I’m good.”

Yeah, you’re so good. All you want to do is turn your face and kiss one of his beautiful cheeks, trail along his jawline, nip a little at that neck, climb him like a fucking tree…

You squeeze your eyes tight in an effort to calm the fuck down. 

You finish one coat on both hands despite your wandering mind. You take the bottle out of his hands, recapping it and shaking it well. He shifts, one hand (the first, the drier one) touching your waist which is bare because of the way too small t-shirt you still have on. 

His touch is scorching. 

“Um,” you squeak. “Do you need to get up and move around? Legs falling asleep?”

You feel his chest move against your back as he takes a deep breath. “No.”

You do turn (stupid really) to see him, confused as to why he’s now gripping your waist as though to keep you in place.

“Jisung?”

His eyes, closed when you turned, now open and stare into yours in a way that makes you forget how to breathe. 

You turn a bit more and as you do, you realize why he’s holding you still. So you couldn’t feel him.

You’re not the only one stimulated right now.

His cheeks are red and he drops his gaze. 

“M’ sorry. I wasn’t…”

With guys, you know that anything can encourage such a response physically. It doesn’t mean that he likes you back. That he even really thinks of you like that. Your nearness to his dick and movement might just be all it is.

But you prefer a different interpretation. Fueled by alcohol and your overactive imagination. 

You kiss him.

Just a light kiss because he’s embarrassed and though you really want to like go full ‘rip off clothing and fuck’ mode, your heart is pretty soft for him. And you just want him to be okay. To know that he’s wonderful and every part of him is wonderful and he doesn’t have to be embarrassed around you.

Because he’s wonderful.

You draw back and offer him a smile. His eyes are wide again, looking at you like you might be speaking in a foreign language. 

“It’s all good, beautiful.”

You’ve never called him that before, but you don’t take it back. Because it’s true and even sober you wouldn’t argue that fact. 

He’s really just beautiful. 

You hear and feel him take another breath, this time a bit shaky. 

“How drunk are you?” His voice isn’t much more than a rumble. 

“Not enough to pass this off as just a drunk mistake.” You fiddle with the closed polish bottle. “Unless you want me to.”

His mouth covers yours in less than a millisecond and you’re too stunned to react immediately. The bottle of nail polish falls from your hand, you hear it plunk on the floor as he turns you around, lifting you so you face him, straddling him. Any worry of the damage to his unfinished nails flies out of your head because holy shit, Jisung is kissing you. 

His mouth is so warm, tongue wet and slick. You fist the front of his tshirt, your other hand tracing his ear and down his jaw. He hums at this, holding you by the hips, pressing you down so you can feel exactly what he wants you to feel. 

“Fuck,” you breathe against his lips. He’s hard and when his hips roll, the contact is delicious. Your head falls back when he does it again, a moan that echoes in the empty apartment. 

He presses kisses to your neck, his teeth catching slightly and you tremble. 

“So damn cute,” he mutters into your skin. He lifts his head, pulling you back down for another kiss. “Cute as fuck, telling me I’m beautiful, watching me like I’m special… I really hope you aren’t drunk because I want you so bad.”

Super reluctant, you draw back, staring at him. His hands have drifted; one is up and under the back of your shirt tracing along your spine. The other has spread over your ass. 

“Not drunk…a little bewildered.” 

He grins up at you, pressing a kiss to your chin. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

His eyes are nearly black, blown out with as much desire as you feel. Lips bright red, plump. Skin flushed. 

“That I see you.” He lets go of your ass, cupping the back of your neck to maneuver you into another kiss. “That the moment Lix said that it was just him and you hanging out, I wanted to come over.” He tugs on your lower lip with his teeth, making you whimper. “That I really hope he gets stuck in traffic and doesn’t come back for several hours.”

“That’s not very nice of you to say about one of your best friends.” You brush his hair back out of his eyes. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve never wanted to fuck Felix.” 

The sentiment reverberates through your body and you wrap your arms around his neck, mouth finding whatever skin available. He holds you like that for a while, groaning when you suck a bruise in the curve of his neck. He stands up, letting you slide down his body until your feet touch the floor.

“But you know, in case the universe isn’t listening and there isn’t any traffic, can we go to your room?”

You laugh at his sheepish expression.

“If you want, I mean.”

You link your fingers with his, tugging him away from the living room and down the hall. You gesture to your open door, but he backs in, pulling you to him, one arm wrapping around your waist. Another kiss or five as he shoves close the door. 

He laughs when he falls back onto your bed, letting you straddle him and start untucking his shirt. 

“How long?”

“Hmmm?” he replies to your question. He’s secured you by your hips, only letting go so you can pull off his shirt. You trace one finger down the center of his chest. 

“How long have you–?” Liked you? Just wanted to fuck you? 

“Wanted you?” He watches as you smooth his tousled hair before you lean down and kiss his forehead then his nose then his lips. “You remember when you took one more green tea shot than Bin?”

You raise up to meet his eyes. “Then? Like the fact that I drank too much?”

He smiles, clasping his hands together at your lower back. “You got pretty sick after that, but you didn’t care. You were so happy to beat Bin.” His fingers slide down past the back of your sweatpants’ waistband. “Fuck…you aren’t wearing anything?”

“I mean…it was just a hangout night…with my roommate. I didn’t expect you to show up.”

He pouts as he pinches your butt. “You’re saying you’d have on underwear and a bra if you’d known?”

“You knew I wasn’t wearing a bra?”

He rolls his eyes. “Duh.”

You try to smack him on the arm, but he catches you by the wrist. He props himself up (hand leaving your un-underweared butt) on one elbow before kissing the hand he’s captured. Just one peck in the middle of your palm. Then he rolls you over, tugging on your shirt. 

You dutifully raise your arms as he rids you of it. Watching his eyes sweep over your half-naked form will live in your memories eternally. He has the most expressive face.

“I…um…” It’s dawning on you that you are definitely about to have sex with Han Jisung. You have not prepared for this at all. “There’s…condoms in the bottom drawer.”

His eyes pull from your chest to your face before he leans down to kiss you softly. 

“Baby, are you shy now?”

“A little.”

He rolls off of you, grabbing a condom before slipping a finger under the waistband of your pants. “Can I take these off?”

“Yep, sure.”

He laughs again before lying down next to you, his hand resting on your stomach. “Why are you nervous?”

“Maybe because we’ve never done this before. I mean, us. Together.”

He nods solemnly. “But I like you, you know. I want you to feel good, so I think it’s gonna be okay. Hopefully more than okay.”

He likes you. 

You roll to your side to face him, mouth meeting his. You undo the button of his jeans, the zipper, hand wrapping around him. He curses. 

“Fuck, your hand feels so good.”

“Ji…it’s your dick. Any hand feels good.”

He makes a face at you before kissing you again. He works to shove off his jeans and boxers.

“Feels way better than my hand.”

You snort as you stroke him, carefully, listening to his breathing, his gasps. After a minute or two his hand encircles yours and he pulls you off.

“I’d like our first time to not have me embarrassing myself.”

You can’t help but look at him fondly as he pushes down your sweatpants, those big brown eyes of his fiery and dark. He cups you before raising one eyebrow.

“Was this just from sitting on my lap?”

“Your very existence is a turn-on.”

He laughs at your petulant tone before sliding one finger into you. You grip his wrist, eyes on his. He moves close, tongue finding yours as he matches the rhythm of his finger with his kissing. It feels good, even if it’s not getting you there. Kissing Jisung could last for days and you think you’d be this content. 

You jolt when his thumb presses on your clit and you feel his smirk against your mouth.

“Cocky bastard.”

“Sounds mean, but your breathy voice tells me I’m doing it right.” He adds another finger and you moan. “You close?”

You nod, which is insane because you’re not usually this primed. 

His fingers curl and his thumb presses just right and you break. He swallows your cries, kissing you as your body quivers with the aftershocks of a very good orgasm. When your heartbeat starts to slow down, he pulls his fingers out of you, drawing you close to kiss your cheek and forehead.

“Okay?”

You push him so he’s on his back, your meager strength enough because you’ve surprised him. You move to cradle his hips between your thighs before looking for the condom he’s dropped on the bed. You open it and roll it on him, seeing his eyes close the moment your hands are back on him. 

He lifts up, resting on his elbows when you position him. HIs fingers grip your hip so tight, you think there might be bruises tomorrow, but it feels good. 

As you sink down on him, he raises up more, almost sitting so he can kiss you, holding your face in his hand. 

“Okay?” he asks softly when you don’t move anymore.

“You feel really good,” you whisper against his lips. 

“Not to try and one-up you, but you feel amazing,” he says, making you smile even though all you want to do is have him move. “Can I?”

Your nod is enough for him and the rhythm for you both takes a few tries to get in sync, but his little laughs when it goes wrong are almost as good as when it finally goes right. He’s sweaty and flushed and panting and when his eyes open to see you, you’re overwhelmed. Because he likes you, he laughs with you, he paints your nails…lets you paint his. 

He likes you because you outdrank one of his friends. 

He comes first, a full-body shudder as he falls back onto the bed, you in his arms. You rest your head on his chest, hearing his heart. 

It’s quiet, even though the movie credits are rolling in the other room with some very poppy eighties one-hit wonder creating the soundtrack to this moment. 

You wonder if you should get off of him, let him clean up when his hand comes back to help you find your own end…again.

“Ji, you don’t have to–” He pushes just enough with his thumb that you squeak. His laugh is weary, but happy. He lifts his head to look at you.

“I don’t, but I want to.”

When Felix does come back, he says nothing about the fact that you are in a different set of pajamas, that Jisung’s t-shirt is backward, and that you are still painting his nails. 

He drops the bags on the coffee table and plops on the floor. 

“You didn’t do it on the couch at least, did you?”

--

(c) yoongihan 2023. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[carto0ncritter]

PLEASE DO NOT HARASS THIS PERSON.

I'm genuinely tired of HB/HH/Vivziepop stans putting words into my mouth.

"You literally hate everything about the show"

Fyi, I didn't hate the premise. I also don't hate: 1) The animation; 2) The voice acting; 3) The potential the show had, and hopefully still has, since it will apparently have at least four seasons.

But ever since HB went from being about the misadventures of assassins in Hell, into a romance drama between two characters who are clearly toxic for each other, that's when I started hating the plot. The third point you made is true, I do hate the plot, and I will continue to do so, unless all this focus on an abusive gay ship (Stolitz) shifts back to what got me and a lot of other people into the show in the first place. And no, I'm not going to stop being vocal about it just because someone else told me to. You're on the internet buddy, learn to accept the fact that not everyone will have the same opinions as you.

And that's really NOT something to get worked up about.

"Just stop watching it if you are this upset about all of this"

Maybe you should stop going into the critical tag if you know that what you're gonna find there will upset you. Just a thought.

And if you've come across my post by searching "blitzo" "moxxie" "millie" or "loona," all you had to do was read the very first sentence I wrote (having to do about my issues with the latest episode) and click off my post because clearly criticism of your beloved show triggers you. And no, I won't stop tagging the characters like this even if I have something negative to say about them. This perfectly explains as to why:

"You hate the main character"

Which one? If you mean Blitzø, then no. I don't hate him. I literally said it in the tags.

But if you mean Stolas, then yeah, I hate him. So what?

"You hate most of the characters in general"

If by most characters you mean Stolas, then yes, I do.

But uh... I don't hate any other character aside from maybe Loona? She's written so inconsistently. There's no real development when it comes to Loona. She acts like a huge bitch and a spoiled brat despite receiving love from her dad for five years straight. She is a grown ass woman who kicked Blitzø in the balls after telling Octavia that Stolas is "trying his best" when he clearly wasn't. She physically abused Blitzø just because he called her out RIGHTFULLY, remind me why she didn't beat the shit out of him again in the latest episode after Blitzø wanted her to overwork herself AND didn't pay her for a month?

Oh and there's also the time Loona cheered for Blitzø, tucked him in and called him dad. Why is she abusive towards him in the very next episode?

That's the inconsistency I'm talking about.

As for the other main characters:

I genuinely relate to Octavia. And I feel sorry for her. Enough said.

I don't care about Millie. It's too little too late for that.

I'm not sure how to feel about Moxxie. Where is his character arc even going? What is his character arc? Learning to stand up for himself for the millionth fucking time?

Stella is a wasted character whose only purpose is making Stolas seem "innocent." I hate what the writers did to her.

Also yes, I dislike Viv for reasons that are 100% valid and available to the public, so I'm not making stuff up.

[greenparker]

In the Stillnes. Tasm!Peter Parker x reader

Tasm! Peter Parker x Reader. Warnings: None? Absent mother... if that counts lol. Summary: After being ditched by your mom for a date, Y/N waits alone for a bus in Queens, where you meet Peter, a friendly stranger. Their conversation sparks a blossoming friendship.

No pronouns used for reader :) A/N: Ive worked on this for so long and I just want it to be finished. And perhaps I will make a part 2 if needed, it was really fun. :) Enjoy

If this continues just know it will be a slow burn 😝

Also ps…. i will be accepting requests if anyone would like.

~

You were exhausted and cold, yearning to escape to the warmth of home after a long day at work. The last thing on your mind was taking the bus, but then your phone buzzed. It was your mom, her sweet voice breaking through your fatigue with surprising energy.

“Something came up,” she said cheerfully. “I can’t pick you up. I finally found a date I’m not going to miss!”

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach. “What if something happens?” You hissed, worry flooding your voice. The world felt cruel and unpredictable, and the thought of being alone in the middle of Queens sent a shiver down your spine.

She laughed lightly, a sound that felt distant and infuriating. “You’ll be fine! That’s why we have Spiderman!” Her high-pitched cheerfulness grated on you. Your heart sank as you realized how little she seemed to care. “The man of my dreams will be here in ten minutes, so I have to go. Be safe! Love ya!” Before you could respond, the line went dead, leaving you staring at the screen, feeling more alone than ever. The bench you were sitting on was cold, your legs twisted together trying to gather warmth as you wait for a bus. To say you were impatient would be an understatement.

The street was eerily quiet, save for the occasional car speeding by. Your breath fogged in the chill air, and you pull your coat tighter, glancing down the road for any sign of the bus. Time seemed to crawl. The distant buzz of streetlights flickered inconsistently, casting long, unsettling shadows that made your heart race with every gust of wind. Your mind wandered back to your moms words—her carefree dismissal of your worry over a man she has never met. How could she be so relaxed? You checked your phone again, half-hoping she’d call back and offer some reassurance, but the screen remained dark. Suddenly, footsteps echoed faintly from behind. You froze, your muscles tensing as the sound drew closer. You slowly turned, and there—just another commuter. He gave you a quick nod, barley acknowledging your presence as he passed by. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. The street still felt empty, and you still felt exposed. You glanced up at the dark sky, closing your eyes and taking in a deep breath, hoping for the bus lights to appear around the corner. Just as the tension in your chest began to build again, the distant hum of an engine reached your ears. Your eyes open and there it was—The bus, its headlights piercing through the had settles in your bones. The bus slowed to a stop, its brakes hissing as the doors creaked open. Warm air spilled out, inviting you inside. You didn’t hesitate, quickly stepping up and scanning your card before finding an empty seat near the back. The heat from the vents hit your face, thawing cold cheeks and fingers. You let out a shaky breath, leaning back into the worn seat as the doors closed with a soft thud. As the bus pulled away, you glanced out the window, watching the dark streets slide by. The city felt a little less overwhelming now, its harsh edges softened by the gentle hum of the engine beneath you.  You were still scared, still tired but at least for the next few stops, you were moving toward home. As you settled into your seat, you noticed a man a few rows ahead, slouched in his seat, staring blankly out the window. He looked about your age with tousled brown hair and a jacket that seemed to be a but too light for the weather. His foot tapped nervously against the floor, and every now and then, he’d glance at his phone before shoving it back into his pocket. The bus hit a small bump, jolting you forward. Your heart leaps as you grab onto the seat handle, the sound of your bag tumbling into the middle of the aisle. Before you could react, the man leaned over, scooping it up and handing it back to you with a half-smile. “Rough night?” he asked, his voice low but friendly. You gave a nervous laugh, clutching the bag. “Yeah, something like that. Thanks.” “No problem.” He shifted slightly in his seat, clearly not in a rush to turn back to his window. “Missed the last train, so here I am.” You made a face, sympathizing. That must’ve been annoying, though he didn’t seem particularly bothered. “Maybe I should have taken it as a sign to just head back and binge-watch something,” He added with a soft. As he spoke, his lips curled into a half smile, and for a second, he bit his lip thoughtfully, as if truly considering the option.

There was something about the way he said it—so casual, like he was used to rolling with bad timing—that made your chest feel a little lighter, even though you still wished you were anywhere but here. His ease with the situation made it seem less annoying. Almost. You found yourself smiling, just a small one tugging that the corner of your lips, despite the lingering bitterness of your own night. “Yeah, I get that,” you said, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before glancing back at your bag.” My ride bailed on me last minute so… here I am too.” Peter raised an eyebrow, his smile widening as if he could relate a little too well. “Ah, the last-minute ditch. Classic. Makes you feel like you’ve got great luck, huh?” You gave a short laugh, shaking your head. “Something like that. Though I’d prefer good luck at least once in a while.”

His eyes softened as he leaned back in his seat. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, at least were not waiting in the cold anymore.” He gestured to the warm bus around you both, then added, “And, you know… we could be stuck with worse company.” There was a slight, playful edge to his words, but the sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You looked at him again, and for a moment, the exhaustion and frustration you carried all day seemed to ebb just a little. There was something… familiar about his presence, though you couldn’t quite place it.

You really did not want to be here especially when it could’ve been avoided, if you had a mother who cared. But his lighthearted words make a small smile form on the corner of your lips.

“Guess youre right,�� You murmured, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the bus. There was a moment of silence, and you could hear the faint hum of the bus as it rolled over the uneven streets. Then he spoke again, breaking the quiet. “You headed far?” “Not too far. Just trying to make it home in one piece,” You replied, fiddling with your fingers as you spoke. It was nice to talk to someone who didn’t seem to mind the awkwardness of the moment. He nodded, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “That’s the goal. One piece and warm.” A smile flickered across his face, and for a moment it felt like the bus had cocooned you both in a little bubble, separate from the rest of the world. You returned the smile, surprised by the warmth it sparked within you. “Yeah, definitely,” you agreed, though a part of you was still battling the lingering chill from being outside. The bus rumbled along, and you glance out the window at the passing city lights, momentarily lost in thought. When you turned back, you noticed he had shifted in his seat, now slightly angled towards you. “So, what do you do?” he asked, breaking the brief silence. Caught of guard, you hesitated. ” Oh, um, I’m a barista,”  You said, feeling a mix of pride and self-conscious. “Its interesting, I guess. Lots of coffee and conversation.” “Coffee? Nice! That’s like lifeblood of the city,” he replied, his enthusiasm evident.” Do you get to experiment with new drinks?” “Sometimes! It can get pretty creative, especially when we have seasonal specials,” you explained, feeling a little more animated. “But mostly it’s the regulars and their usual orders.”

“I can see how that could be fun,” he said, nodding. “I’m Peter, by the way.” He extended a hand, and you shook it, feeling a spark of connection.

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Y/N,” you replied, a hint of shyness creeping in as you caught his gaze.

He smiled again, and there was something about his expression that made you feel more at ease. “So, do you have any crazy coffee stories?”

You chuckled, thinking back on the oddities of your day-to-day. “Oh, you have no idea! Just last week, someone ordered a triple-shot, extra-hot caramel macchiato with a sprinkle of cinnamon—while wearing a cat costume.”

Peter laughed, clearly amused. “That’s amazing! Did you get a picture?”

“Not a good one. I was too busy trying to keep a straight face,” you admitted, your laughter mingling with his. “But it was definitely a highlight.”

As the conversation flowed, it felt surprisingly easy to talk to him, like you were already old friends despite just meeting. There was something about his laid-back demeanor, a quiet confidence that made you feel at ease, though you couldn't quite place why someone like him would be riding the bus this late.

“What about you? What do you do?” you asked, genuinely curious, eager to keep the conversation going.

“Oh, I’m into photography,” Peter said with a smile, his eyes lighting up with a kind of quiet enthusiasm. “I love capturing moments—cityscapes, random things, people who stand out. It’s like, you see something ordinary, but in the right light, it becomes extraordinary.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That’s an interesting way to look at it. So, do you just walk around the city with your camera all the time, looking for those moments?”

“Pretty much,” he replied, his smile growing. “I kind of like to get lost, y’know? Sometimes you find the best shots when you aren’t really looking for them. The city's like a living thing—it changes every time you see it.”

You chuckled softly, amused by his almost poetic take on photography. “Sounds like a bit of an adventure,” you said, leaning in slightly. “Do you have a favorite spot to shoot, or is it all just… wherever the city takes you?”

He paused for a second, tilting his head as if considering it. “There’s this spot near the Queensboro Bridge. Great views of the skyline at sunset. It’s quiet too—hard to find that in New York. I like to go there when I need to clear my head.”

You could sense there was more to that answer than he was letting on, but you didn’t push. There was a certain charm in the way he kept things casual, even when it felt like there was more beneath the surface. You nodded, impressed. “That sounds… amazing. Maybe one day I’ll see that view for myself.”

“Maybe,” Peter said, his smile shifting to something a little more knowing, his eyes glinting as if you had passed some invisible test. “Though you’d probably prefer to be sipping a coffee while watching it.”

You laughed at his comment. “Oh, trust me, I can appreciate a good view with or without coffee. But yeah, coffee helps.”

“Does it ever,” he replied with a chuckle. “I’ll have to stop by your coffee shop sometime—get the ‘barista special.’” He made little air quotes, and you found yourself grinning.

“Oh, you definitely should. Maybe I’ll make you something off the menu,” you teased lightly.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Off the menu? Now I’m intrigued. Got any secret recipes?”

You shrugged, leaning back. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to bribe you for a private photography lesson. I could use some pointers,” you added playfully.

His eyes lit up at that, and he chuckled softly. “Deal. Photography lessons in exchange for secret coffee recipes. Sounds like a fair trade to me.”

You smiled, feeling the tension between you both ease even further, turning into something comfortable. “So, what got you into photography anyway? Is it something you always wanted to do?”

Peter hesitated, glancing out the window for a moment before looking back at you, his expression softening. “Yeah, I guess. It’s always been a way for me to… focus. There’s a lot going on sometimes, and photography—it helps me slow down, appreciate things. Makes life seem a little less… complicated.”

His words hung in the air, and for a second, you sensed that same hidden depth in him, something that went far beyond a guy with a camera wandering the streets. There was more to Peter Parker than he was showing, but you liked the way he made you feel—at ease, like you didn’t have to rush or force anything.

You nodded, appreciating his honesty. “I get that,” you said softly. “Life can get overwhelming sometimes. It’s good to have something that helps you focus.”

He gave you a small smile, one that felt almost... grateful. “Yeah, exactly.” Then, shaking off the somber tone, he added, “Plus, it gives me an excuse to get out of my apartment. I can’t just sit around all day, y’know?”

You laughed at that, feeling the conversation lighten again. “I feel that. If I stayed home too long, I’d end up drowning in Netflix.”

Peter chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, but that’s dangerous. One episode turns into ten before you know it.”

“Exactly!” you replied, grinning. “And suddenly it’s 3 AM and you’re wondering where your life went.”

“Guilty,” Peter admitted with a sheepish smile. “That’s why I prefer wandering the city with my camera. At least then I feel productive.”

“Hey, I might have to join you on one of these photo adventures,” you said, feeling a surge of boldness. “I could use some of that productivity.”

Peter’s eyes lit up at your suggestion, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw a hint of something deeper in his gaze—interest, maybe? “Anytime,” he said, his voice warm and inviting. “Just say the word.”

The idea of spending more time with him, exploring the city together, made your heart skip a beat. But for now, you were content just sitting beside him, talking and laughing as the bus rolled on, the city outside your window feeling just a little less lonely.

As the bus rumbled on, you realized that despite just meeting, there was something about this conversation that felt special—like it might be the beginning of something unexpected.

The conversation flowed effortlessly; you felt a connection brewing between you two. Time seemed to fade away until you caught a glimpse of the city lights outside, realizing your stop was approaching.

“Looks like were on my street,” you said, glancing out the window.

“Ah, just when we were getting into it!” Peter replied, his smile faltering just a bit. “Guess we’ll have to continue this another time.”

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a twinge of disappointment. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Definitely!” he replied, as if trying to hold on to the moment. “Take care!”

Before you could think to ask for his number, the bus slowed to a stop, the doors hissing open. You grabbed your bag and stepped out, a mix of warmth and regret swirling inside you.

As you turned to wave goodbye, you caught his gaze one last time—his expression was bright with possibility, but there was a lingering sense of ‘what if’ in the air. You walked away, a small smile on your face, feeling like you’d just shared something special, yet with no way to continue it.

As soon as you stepped off the bus, reality hit you like a freight train, the biting cold air sending shivers down your spine. You took a deep breath, the chill filling your lungs, and quickly wrapped your arms around yourself, as if trying to ward off the creeping sense of isolation that settled in.

The walk to your apartment building was brief, just a few seconds that felt stretched into eternity. Each step felt heavier, a stark contrast to the fleeting warmth you had shared with Peter on the bus. The anticipation of returning home, once a comfort, now felt like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Once inside, the silence enveloped you like a thick blanket, amplifying the emptiness that echoed in the corners of your mind. Stripping off your jacket, you furrowed your brows, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The dimness of the apartment hit you hard; your mother had left all the lights off, a clear sign of her absence. It stung, a reminder that she had chosen a night out over being there for you.

You sighed, the sound reverberating in the stillness. Each room felt like a shadow of what it once was, and the lack of warmth and light only deepened your sense of loneliness. The walls seemed to close in, and in that moment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were utterly alone, the echoes of laughter and warmth fading into the background.

You fumbled for your phone, activating the flashlight as you navigated the darkened apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last. Once you finally reached your bedroom, you didn’t even bother to turn on the lamp. Instead, you kicked off your shoes and fell onto the bed, a sigh of relief escaping your lips as the soft mattress enveloped you.

But then it hit you like a cold wave crashing over your warmth: you hadn’t gotten Peter’s number. A sudden wave of sadness washed over you, tightening your chest, even though you barely knew him. It was his kindness that lingered in your mind, the way his smile seemed to light up the dreary atmosphere of the bus, making the chaos of your night feel a little more bearable. You closed your eyes, imagining the easy laughter you had shared, and felt a pang of regret. How was it that someone you’d just met could leave such an imprint on your heart? You wished you could have captured that fleeting moment in time, to hold onto it a little longer, to have the chance to get to know him better. But now, as the silence enveloped you, all you could do was lie there, feeling the weight of your unspoken feelings settle heavily in the stillness.

-

A/N: This is my first fic in a long time so Im sorru if this is bad? I didnt want it to get too long so I will be posting a second part, mostly because I need to feel a hole in my life lmao. But i hope you like it, if you have any ideas you want me to add to this lemme know. And if anyone wants a tag list i will make one lol.

[thatsdemko]

ruin that friendship - l.norris

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: lando norris x fewtrell!reader

warnings: playful banter + playful teasing + goes from 0 to 100 towards the end

a/n: thank u to @userlando’s anons and thank u to my love cay( @oconso ) for helping me with the plot 🫶

the mattress shifts, you can feel the dip beside you. a groan escapes your lips knowing what time it is. morning had come far too early, and whoever was making themselves comfortable in your bed had no right to do so.

“get out.” you grumble, the grogginess takes over your voice, it strains your vocals making you sound faint and tired—which you were.

he chuckles, whoever it was, sounded awfully familiar to your ears, but not enough to recognize with your eyes closed. your face is pushed further into your pillow to block out the light that comes from the hallway.

“you’re not going to get up and greet me?” he asks, and the mattress shifts once more, his body is closer to yours. you can smell his cologne, the scent fills your lungs and you instantly remove your face from the pillow due to familiarity.

your eyes flutter open, despite the crusties that refuse to let your lashes lift up. there he, lando, is sitting in your bed, “get your shoes off my comforter!” you launch your body at his lower half, pushing his clean air Jordan’s off the white linen.

“god you’re still annoying.” he gets up off your bed in content of officially waking you up, “also, I want that shirt back, I never said you could keep it.” he adds before closing the door behind him on the way out of your bedroom.

the silence allows you to get comfortable against the mattress again. you feel sleep sink into your body, eyes just beginning to fall heavy, “hey! I found your notecards on the kitchen table, did you want to study?”

you take a pillow beside you and throw it in the direction of his voice, “get out!” you sit upright pointing your index finger towards your bedroom door that’s open once again, allowing the light in.

he chuckles, settling himself back against your mattress, he begins to flip through your note cards, “cognitive dissonance? what the hell is that?” he asks, half expecting you to respond, “it’s called get out of my room, asshole.” your voice is muffled against the pillow, middle finger shoved into the air to show him how you feel.

he laughs once more grabbing a hold of your hand, pushing the finger back into your palm with the rest of them, “come on, I’m bored max left to get bagels like twenty minutes ago.” he whines, you can feel him kicking his legs against your mattress making you turn your head in his direction.

“are your shoes off?”

“why do you care about if I have shoes on?” he retorts back, the slight attitude that you’ve always hated since you were kids. since max met the asshole who pushed your buttons like no tomorrow.

you sit up again, facing him, due to the way you were previously laying, “because this is white linen sheets. unlike you, I cannot afford to buy another comforter.” you hiss, having enough of him for the morning, you get up out of your bed.

“you still haven’t answered my question,” he says, arms crossed against his chest watching you turn on your heel, “what’s cognitive dissonance?”

you chew the inside of your lip before a long sighs leaves your lips knowing he won’t give it up, “it’s when a persons beliefs and attitudes are inconsistent with their value.”

“can you give me an example?”

“can you shut the fuck up?”

—

the cool pool water drips onto your warm legs. the cool droplets against your body send a screech out your lips, as you pull your legs into your chest and fling open your eyes, “god, first you wake me up this morning now this?!”

he laughs, it echoes across the openness, you never realized how loud he could be— at least not until he was in front of you laughing, screaming, or talking. all things that irritated your middle school and teenage mind that seemed to carry on into later life. lando was all your brother had for years, and it seems evident the two never parted ways despite the ending of Max’s driving career.

“you don’t want to jump in?” he shakes his wet curls out with a towel, sitting down in the chair beside you. he takes the chance to notice the freckles on your nose, the pinky color to your cheeks, “you could use some sunscreen.” he notes, tossing you the bottle that’s in his chair.

you let the can hit you in the leg. his comment wasn’t much of a demand or question, rather a statement at the red and pink across your body, and you take the time to apply the white cream all across the parts exposed to the sun.

he sits in the chair, scrolling through his film and taking the chance to share what he’s captured with you. lando’s love for photography was not something you ever expected out of him, it was very sudden. one minute he didn’t have a camera, the next he’s taking photographs of your parents at dinner.

“did you finish studying?” he asks, attention shifting to you, you watch him move in his seat to face you, “didn’t I do a good job as a tutor?”

you scoff, it’s something you couldn’t control when he said it. despite the egocentric comment, he was a patient tutor. unlike max, who grew angry each time you got a question wrong, lando was kind enough to read hints off the notecards for help.

“you were something that’s for sure.” you turn back to the pool, watching your brother and his girlfriend race each other around. you find yourself turning to lando once again, reaching for the sunglasses he’s now sporting, “thanks for helping me.”

he nods, allowing you to carefully remove his expensive ray-bans and place them on the bridge of your nose, “you’re a good friend.” you say, turning away towards the pool.

while you turn away, you can’t see the lump he swallows in his throat, the eye roll he gives you, and the tiny nod, “that’s what friends are for, right?” he asks, standing up from the chair to remove his glasses from your face. his chain hovers just above your eyes, and he leans a little bit forward, lips nearly inches apart, “cause what we have? I don’t think that’s a friendship, babe.”

you can feel the leftover droplets of water in his hair hit your face, some across your bare stomach too. he’s about to pull away when you reach upward, lips desperately pressing against his.

“help a friend out, I think I forgot how to have sex?” your eyes flicker from his beautiful blue ones, down to his lips, his sweet soft plump pink lips that you desperately want running all over your hot body.

he exhales an excited but breathy chuckle, “it’s my pleasure, darling. you’re lucky you’ve got the best tutor in town.”

[casualaruanienjoyer]

(Before you start reading, this is a silly Aruani scenario I wrote as a bit of a follow up to my other snippet, Flowers. I've never written a fic this long before so I apologize in advance if it's not the most coherent! Please let me know what you think, I would love to get any tips if you have any! Plus if there are any Aot inconsistencies, I apologize, I did try my best to build a setting that fits within the canon timeline I hope. Plus, some events happen in the past and the dialogue is marked with italics, I hope this past-present jump isn't too confusing! I'll shut up now and let you read!!)

Weapon

Tonight is obnoxious. Rowdy. Deafening even.

All the girls are chatting enthusiastically, some doing their hair, others trying to decide what to wear. All while Annie rests on her bed with her eyes closed.

She's tired. Her brows are twisted in an almost constant frown, hands resting lazily on her stomach. Why must her roommates be so exhausting?

"I'm so nervous about the exam tomorrow!" Sandra whines, but before she can spiral further down her mental path of despair, she gets headbutted by Mina.

"Come on, what did I tell you!? No more exam talk, tonight we party!"

Ah, yeah.... The party.

The party that the trainees decided to organize the night before one of their big exams. A stupid decision, Annie thought. Wouldn't they want to be in top shape tomorrow morning? Surely that would be the rational way of thinking.

But the more time Annie spent with her colleagues, the more she understood that she was very much not a regular teenager. It was, in a way, frustrating to witness such trivial behaviour. Though deep down it was also strangely endearing. Maybe if her life had been different, she too could have been excited about a simple party.

She never had the time to think about her hairstyle or ponder her outfits. These subjects were so low on her list of priorities that Annie often wonders if they'll ever see the surface. Even when faced with the possibility of buying herself something new, she doesn't know how to choose for herself. What exactly does she like?

She always thought that as long as her clothes made her feel comfortable enough to fight, that's what really matte-

She shifts on the bed, eyes fluttering open to stare at the bunk above.

Right...Fighting. The one thing that truly defines her. After all, a weapon doesn't need cute clothes.

A weapon also doesn't attend parties.

So, the plan is to patiently wait for everyone else to leave so she can enjoy a quiet and peaceful even-

"Annie, are you coming?"

For a second, she doesn't reply. Annie's unsure whether she feels annoyed or surprised that someone noticed her otherwise ghostly presence. But when the intruder doesn't leave her side, she sighs and turns towards them.

Mikasa. Of course. Annie didn't know how to feel about Mikasa. She was an intimidating beast in battle, a perfect sparring opponent for Annie. But she also had a strange crush on Eren that pretty much everyone but him knew about. A shame really, since Mikasa was the first girl that made Annie question her preferences.

Not that a weapon has any time for crushes.

"No" Annie replies shortly. She really isn't in the mood to chat.

"Ah I see" but Mikasa doesn't move. "Everyone is coming."

"And...?" Why does Mikasa of all people care about this anyway.

"I can lend you a skirt, if that's why you look so grumpy".

Grumpy? Grumpy?? Is she joking?

"You'd never catch me wearing one." Annie retorts, taking in Mikasa's outfit. Her signature pastel pink skirt matches nicely with a plain white shirt and her red scarf. Annie often wonders if Mikasa ever washes it. "I don't do parties".

"Reiner and Bertholdt will be there."

Great, now Annie's thinking about those two assholes. Fantastic. Another reason NOT to go.

"You're not doing a great job at convincing me." Annie turns to face the wall, hoping Mikasa will just leave if she ignores her long enough.

"Annie…" a sly voice calls out and it makes her groan. "Guess who else's gonna be there?" Mina shouts smugly from somewhere in the room.

"Yeah Annie" Ymir appears from the bunk above her head. "You gonna leave him hanging?"

Annie can feel her cheeks heat up, but doesn't allow her emotions to show though her words. "No idea what you guys are talking about. Now get lost".

"Huh?" Mikasa replies, clearly in the dark, earning a round of giggles from the rest of the girls who one by one leave through the door. "Oblivious, both of them" Sandra whines once more before disappearing down the hallway with the rest.

Ymir jumps down, hooks an arm around Mikasa's shoulder and pulls her towards the door. "Don't let her ruin the fun, Mikasa. Let's go".

In just a few seconds the room falls silent. Beautiful, peaceful silence.

Annie turns on her back, exhaling. This is exactly what she wanted... so then why does she feel so conflicted.

The first thing that comes to mind is, unfortunately, Reiner and Bertholdt. Exactly why they decided to attend this party is beyond her understanding. Their whole game of playing "valiant soldier" as if nothing had happened really pisses her off. Running off to make friends like they weren't just some horrible mass murderers. Like they weren't the reason for hundreds of innocent deaths, including the family and friends of many of their colleagues.

Yes, innocent, because the moment the three of them arrived to Paradis it became pretty clear there were no devils. No Eldian empire, no nothing. These people didn't even have running water most of the time for fuck's sake!

Annie sits up on her bed, pushing hair away from her eyes.

Reiner would often tell Annie they were "brave warriors" whenever they'd persuade her to go on spying missions around Paradis. Of course, she would do most of the dirty work while they get to sit around 'making friends'.

"Assholes."

Annie rubs her eyes. She really needs to think about anything but Reiner and Bertholdt, so she gets up to stretch her legs.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the old, somewhat muddy mirror that the girls had hung by the door. Her thoughts rewind to Mikasa's question from earlier and when her mind conjures a skirt on her mirrored self, she shakes her head.

"Yeah, no."

How Mikasa could balance being a terrifying beast with being a soft flower girl is beyond Annie. The same person excelling at mercilessly slicing titan decoys left and right would come back to dorms to change into such delicate clothes.

There's absolutely nothing delicate about Annie. Well, nothing she thought was delicate, anyway.

She feels her ears heat up again as her mind finally lands on the one subject of conversation that she REALLY tried to avoid thinking about tonight.

Armin Arlert.

The boy everyone seems to be teasing Annie about tonight.

Out of all her colleagues, Armin was the one she'd spent the most time around. Annie had tasked herself with learning as much about life on Paradis as she could, so they'd often bump into each other in the library. There was a lot of silence when they read together, but sometimes Armin would break it to ask for her point of view on various subjects: history, strategy, science... the list goes on.

"Why would you want -my- opinion?"

"You're a very practical person Annie! Your perspective could really help me ground some of my ideas." He would say with a determined smile on his lips.

"Practical, huh?" Annie looks at herself in the mirror again. Maybe that's what defined her? Practical, simple things. She did really like her very practical hoodie.

Then she glances down at her hands, her rough knuckles riddled with battle scars and bruises. Mikasa's hands were never this gnarly. She didn't spend her childhood beating the ever-living shit out of a fighting dummy.

Even now, Annie would often stay up late training and sometimes she'd find Armin doing the same. He really struggled to keep up with physical training, so he would work overtime to have any chance at passing his exams. His determination often worked against him though.

One time when Annie was practicing throwing her punches, she suddenly got interrupted by a sharp yelp. Armin somehow managed to get stuck under some weights he was trying to lift and was gasping for air.

"Don't overdo it" Annie said, effortlessly lifting the weights from Armin's chest. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Annie, how did you get so strong?"

She thought about her dad for a second, but decided it would be best to avoid that subject. "Practice. A lot of it."

She reached out for Armin's outstretched hand to help him on his feet. He was so light that Annie wondered if a boy like him could ever survive being a soldier.

To her surprise, Armin didn't let go of her grip, instead glancing down at her bruised knuckles. The warmth of his palm was so unfamiliar to Annie that it made time itself stop for just a second.

"Your hands..." he broke the silence, prompting her to pull them away and hide them in her pockets.

"Ugly, I know" she turned to leave.

"No, that's not what I-" his voice cracked, so he took a second to choose his next words. "They're exactly how I expected them to be."

"What does -that- mean?" Annie shot him a questioning look.

"They're strong.... and soft".

"Soft...?" Annie whispers to herself, taking one final look in the mirror before turning to glance outside the window. She can see various trainees heading towards the canteen.

Towards the party. The party where Armin will be. The same Armin that thinks her hands are soft.

"This is stupid" she groans, hands massaging her face in frustration.

It seems like weapons do indeed have time to think about crushes. Way too much, in fact.

As much as she hates to admit it, Armin's been on her mind. With how often they seem to bump into each other, you would think that they're doing it on purpose.

And then... there's the flowers. The mysterious flowers that began appearing on the window sill beside her bunk. The same flowers that the girls had been relentlessly gossiping about up until last week when- well…

When Annie unintentionally discovered the identity of the mysterious person leaving said flowers behind. And to make things worse, almost everyone was awake enough to witness Armin of all people gifting her a bouquet.

"They reminded me of you" was the only thing he said before he disappeared out of sight. However, his words were enough for a wave of gasps and screams to erupt in the whole room. So, ever since then she's been endlessly tormented by her roommates with various uncomfortable and quite invasive questions.

She also hasn't talked to Armin since. Whether it was her who was avoiding him or the other way around, they seemed to miss each other every day since.

So really, she should keep it that way. That's why Annie should not go to the party.

And she should totally NOT open the door, walk down the hallway and out of her cabin. But when the cold wind ruffles her hair, she already knows she'd lost this battle. "Idiot…" she mutters to herself, knowing full well she's heading towards a battlefield she's absolutely not prepared for.

Thankfully, everyone seems to have already gotten to the canteen by now so no one's there to witness Annie's walk of shame towards the building.

Why exactly is she doing this? What will this accomplish? She doesn't know herself.

The more Annie aged the more her feelings became annoyingly complicated and downright unpredictable. She often wished she was just a guy like Reiner and Bertholdt because it just seemed so much easier. A guy didn't have to worry about cute clothes or soft hands. Well, maybe except for Jean, but Annie really didn't want to think about another asshole right now.

So, when she carefully pushes the door to the canteen open, she decides to try and abandon any unwanted thoughts. She steps in and to the side, silently.

The air inside the canteen is warm and the only sources of light are a few stray candles lit on the outskirts of the room. It also looks as if the tables had been pushed to the side to make more room in the middle, where some trainees are dancing around in clumsy circles. Some of them had brought in a few rudimentary instruments to fill the silence with music.

Annie can smell booze in the air and she immediately knows someone had broken into their instructor's personal stash of alcohol. Again.

Parties really weren’t Annie's thing and she already feels uncomfortable. Everything is so loud and overwhelming that it makes her feel uneasy. There’re way too many people gathered close together for her liking. But when she reaches for the doorknob thinking she'd just leave, a voice from behind stops her in her tracks.

"Hey, flower girl! Didn’t expect to see you here! "

Fuck.

It’s too late.

"Hey Annie, did you hear-" but Annie’s hand flies over Jean’s mouth, silencing him. He absolutely reeks of alcohol.

"Keep quiet or else" she shoots him a glare so sharp that Jean shudders.

"Alright, alright" she drops her hand to let him speak and wipes it on the side of her trousers. Jean’s an absolute mess and he looks so dishevelled that Annie really doesn’t want to imagine exactly what he had been doing tonight. Or just where his mouth had been.

"You’re way too tense, sheesh. Here for the party, I take?" a smug grin crosses his face. "Didn’t take you for the partying type."

"I’m not. I was just leaving" she takes a step back towards the door hoping to sneak out before anyone else notices her.

"Ohoho, who do we have here?"

Dammit, that’s one asshole Annie didn’t want to meet tonight.

"Annie, I didn’t know you’d come" Reiner appears from her side, blocking the door. His arms are crossed in an overly confident posture as he leans against the entrance. The collar of his shirt hangs loosely around his neck and his skin is so bruised it makes Annie feel sick. What a god damn loser.

"Fuck off." she hisses back.

"Now, now, there’s no reason to be so aggressive. You should have some fun sometimes too" Reiner laughs. "Do you know what fun means, Annie?"

"I’m not playing this game tonight Reiner" she pushes past Jean, eyes locking on the other exit of the canteen located at the end of the hall. "Pretend you never saw me and go back to fucking or whatever you two were doing."

"Harsh" she hears Jean mutter before disappearing into the crowd. Annie pushes past various other trainees, some that she knows and some she’d not spoken to before. Not that she talks a lot to begin with. She notices Hannah and Franz making out somewhere in the distance, a very loud and very drunk Connie dancing on his own atop a table and a group of people surrounding Mikasa who’s sitting at one of the seats next to Eren, lost in her thoughts.

She keeps her head low as she makes her way straight for the other exit, avoiding making any unnecessary eye contact with anyone familiar. She just needs to reach the stairs, run up and escape though the back. She just needs to make it past the-

Shit. In her desperate attempt to leave she nearly walked into the rowdy circle of people dancing in the middle of the room. Before anyone can yank her in the never-ending circle of hellish dances she pushes to the side, walking around the edge of the crowd.

Annie’s chest tightens and her breaths become somewhat agitated. All this is so… normal that it makes her sick. She feels like an alien- no, she IS an alien among all these people. Loud laughter contorts into horrifying screams in her head and she feels the need to scream I’m sorry! at the top of her lungs. Her feet stumble and she leans against a pillar to hold herself up.

"Annie?"

… Oh no. No, no, no!

Anyone but him!

"Are you ok?" Armin speaks from below her in a quiet voice. He seems to have taken refuge somewhere on the side of all the action, sitting on a bench by the pillar Annie stopped by.

She doesn’t meet his eyes. Hell, she can barely hold herself up at the moment. Stopping helped her steady her breathing, but now her mind floods with thoughts about Armin and she feels like her head is going to explode.

She doesn’t know how much time passed, a minute, thirty, an hour before she gathers her thoughts and replies with a faint "I’m fine".

"Do you need to sit down? Or maybe a drink?" he asks so cautiously that Annie wonders when she became this visibly vulnerable.

"No, it’s ok. I was just leaving."

She finally manages to look Armin in the eyes and suddenly, it’s quiet.

So quiet.

Because he’s looking back at her with so much care that time stops around her. His hair’s a mess, sticking to his face in several places where sweat varnishes his skin. Some of it had been pulled back, presumably to cool him down. She can’t help but think it looks so good on him. Annie’s eyes then shamelessly follow the curve of his exposed neck only to notice that his chest was rising quite rapidly as well. Had he been dancing too?

She didn’t know Armin could dance.

"Um… Annie?" he says sheepishly, somewhat self-conscious.

Fuck, Annie was staring.

"Have you been dancing?" she blurts our, immediately regretting her words. Of course he was, everyone here was!

"Ah, yeah actually. I quite enjoy it" he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you?"

Annie stares at the rowdy crowd in the middle of the room, looking hell straight in the eye. "Not really."

"I see" he replies.

There’s silence for a bit. It’s so awkward that Annie doesn’t know how to deal with it. All the confidence she had earlier on had disappeared. Why exactly did she come here to begin with? She was going to meet Armin and then… what?

"I don’t know how to dance either" he suddenly whispers in a soft voice, taking her by surprise. He leaned over as if he was sharing one of his biggest secrets. "I just make it up as I go. But don’t tell anyone."

She blinks, not quite knowing what to say. His proximity makes her ears burn.

"I can teach you, i-if you want?" he continues somewhat shyly.

Annie has no idea when Armin Arlert became so confident. Was it at the library? Or maybe during training, or perhaps when he gifted her flowers?

Annie curses herself for replaying those events in her mind all at once. Why was he doing all this to begin with?

"Too many people" she mutters, trying to brush him off.

"I see…"

Shit, he sounds so disappointed that her chest tightens. But this is good, it’s perfect because from where she’s standing there’s a clear path towards the exit. A few steps and she’s out of the canteen and back in her bed. All she needs to do is leave. Easy.

So then why does she grab his hand instead.

"My room is empty. We can do it there."

Fuck, that came out completely the wrong way and she mentally punches herself for her inability to choose words more carefully.

Armin’s face reddens so deeply that she worries he might combust. But he looks so determined when he squeezes her hand and nods in agreement. And it’s this pure boldness of his that makes Annie wonder-

Can weapons fall in love?

[theshadowsingersraven]

I don't understand why people are so adamant about the idea that SJM would/could change her entire writing style, love for fated mates, and patterns for Elain and Elain only.

Like, why? Why does everyone suddenly care about the "ethics" of a mating bond or the "wants of the character" just when it comes to Elain? Why do people suddenly stop loving fated mates, forced proximity, strangers to lovers, etc. when it comes to Elain? Why do people suddenly believe that her love story with her mate could overshadow her own growth and development when that didn't happen with Feyre or Nesta?

I don't understand why people in this fanbase treat Elain with this random ""autonomy"" that was never given to Feyre or Nesta. It's giving such infantilization for a character that these people swear up and down is underestimated (true) and yet they do the exact same thing the Inner Circle does, but in real life.

"Elain doesn't like Lucien!"

1. We don't know that. We don't have her POV, and she's only ever said that she doesn't want a mate, not that she has an issue with Lucien. We need her POV to know for certain how she feels. If you don't think we need that and her "body language" or "observable reactions" are enough, respectfully, nothing you say about Elain is going to be worth my time. If you can't acknowledge that a character can have more complex internal feelings that don't match her external expressions, especially considering how Nesta and Feyre behaved with their mates prior, then I don't want to hear any of your analysis. It seems surface-level at best, and I'm not interested in starting and ending character analysis at their surface-level, external behaviors.

2. Okay, say for instance that she doesn't like Lucien.

And?

Did we not all read Feyre going through not one but two enemies to lovers, forced proximity dynamics with both Tamlin and then Rhysand?

Feyre quite literally referred to Tamlin as her captor, and built traps in her room because she didn't feel safe in his manor.

Did any one of those same people give nearly as much of a shit that she didn't like either of them or wring their hands about it to this degree?

I can tell you one thing: I shipped Feylin during ACOTAR and then Feysand during ACOMAF, as I'm sure plenty of people did, too. And a majority of these people adore Feysand.

What about Nessian during ACOFAS and ACOSF?

Did any one of them give a shit that Nesta didn't have a "choice" either when SJM wrote a forced proximity love story for her character? When Nesta kept pushing away Cassian and told him to leave her alone? And Cassian believed that she wanted nothing to do with him? Shouldn't that greatly upset those people?

It didn't upset me because I like enemies to lovers and forced proximity tropes. I didn't question the morals of ethics of the tropes or the mating bond during their book. And if those same people didn't either, then I raise them all, as well as generally most of the fanbase this question:

Who cares if Elain doesn't like Lucien? Elain is a fictional character written by a fated mates and enemies-to-lovers author.

Like...what do you guys think you're reading? Do you not expect her character to change and evolve and thus feel differently about things?

I'm tired of these lukewarm, inconsistent takes that only prove that people just don't want her to be with Lucien because he isn't "as hot" (when everyone in the series remarks on how handsome Lucien is) or broody like Azriel is. I'm tired of people projecting themselves onto Elain and claim that they want what "she wants" when not a single one of us know for sure what she wants, and it's just an excuse for people to feel "correct" or "just" in their preference.

Everyone wants something for Elain if you have skin in the game for her endgame ship. Because you have to. Elain will never be able to choose her endgame for herself because she is a character, and SJM or fanfic authors writing her decide for her.

That is just how writing works. Love to break it to you.

Yes, she wanted Azriel at one point. But he rejected her by calling their almost-kiss a mistake, and then she gave back the necklace. There are no interactions between them on page after this.

We no longer know for certain what Elain "wants". We only have the last time SJM put on page what Elain currently feels toward Azriel and Lucien from other character's point of view.

Elain's character deserves better than the infantilizing stans that treat her as if she's somehow so beleaguered and victimized. She's not. She's a character with trauma, just like her sisters. She's a character that people will villianize or adore, just like her sisters. She's a character that gets both warranted and unfair criticism, just like her sisters. She's just a character.

Everyone's love or appreciation or disdain for her is real, but Elain herself will never be real. And some people really, really need to internalize this.

[dr-spectre]

As someone who's been in multiple fandom circles and calls themselves a Splatoon fan, I've seen a lot of focus and discussion on "THE LORE!!" and "CANON!!!" and to be honest with you... it's getting really tiring and I think people are just WAY TOO obsessed with what a wiki or an intern at Nintendo says rather than forming their own perspective on events and coming to their own unique conclusions.

Now, I wanna say, if talking about lore and discussing which elements are canon or not makes you happy and you love talking about that, then that's perfectly okay. It's fine. It's not for ME personally because my focus on Splatoon is the gameplay, music and the storytelling chops of each Hero Mode.

Story >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Canon for me any day of the week i do not care.

Because, to get away from Splatoon for a second, for my Sonic fans out there, you remember when Sega and the people behind the show Sonic Prime said that it was canon to the mainline Sonic timeline? And if you said otherwise you were technically wrong because "oh Sega said this, so it MUST be true!"

........But then everyone said that Sonic Prime cannot be canon to the mainline Sonic timeline because it has a fuck ton of inconsistencies? Yeah.... funny. Basically, don't put a lot of focus into "what actually happened" and "oh this is what the multi billion dollar corporation said!" because there's always gonna be one guy out there that goes "um this information kinda fucking damages the story in a severe way." (And sometimes that one guy is me.... hehehehe....)

I could obviously talk about.... you know.... Hypno Callie again for the 50th trillion time.... (and i will)..... This bitch.... I wanna love you girlie i really fucking do but Nintendo and millions of people make it hard to....

Nintendo set up Callie's villain arc decently in Splatoon 1 with the Splatfest dialogue, the Squid Sister stories and the Sunken Scrolls, yet they ultimately damaged the progression of the arc by saying "nah fuck u she got kidnapped and brainwashed, removing all of her memories and free will because fuck telling a good story with satisfying set up and pay off that allows for character growth. Fundamentals of storytelling? What are those?" And it also destroyed Callie as a character by reducing her to an object that the player "must save from da evil Octavioooo" and "oh look at her! She put the stupid brainwashing shades onnn againnn!! such a dumb fucking moron dumbass piece of shit right guys?!? lmaoooooooooo!! explore the dangers of addiction and how you need to seriously change your life and be surrounded by those you love in order to change bad habits?? Themes?? PFFTTT! NAWWW! THAT'S LAMEEEE!! It's Callie! No one cares about Callie!! She's stupiddd!!!"

(I talked about Callie in a tumblr comment section one time and I got made fun of for by a guy way older than me. I love humanity.)

It also ruined DJ Octavio's character too because, if what Nintendo said is true about what he did then he cannot be redeemed in Splatoon 3. He cannot go back on the shit he's done. But they try to redeem him out of nowhere and now he's all chill with the New Squidbeak Splatoon and appeared in the Grand Fest.... Yet what he did to Callie which Nintendo loves to push is truly TRULY unredeemable and if that's the case then welp.... I call that bad writing, straight up. It's bad writing.

I really hate it when something happens in a story and you perceive it in a certain way where you feel like it elevates the events, but then the company behind the story chooses to pick the worst outcomes possible just because? And everyone rolls with it just cause? Ugh...

Lesson of today is, don't fucking listen obsessively to what a company says and suck it up. Consume media and come to your own conclusions on what happened. As long as you have tangible evidence to back up your claims you can make any interpretation you want to, whatever makes you feel happy bestie!

[calcifiedunderland]

Pride and Prejudice: A TWSTed AU

The Keeper of the Underworld: I. Shroud

Introduction, or Pick another route!

Idia x GN Reader (they/them)

Warnings: P&P-level angst and miscommunication, some cringe dialogue, parties, possibly ooc Idia, I wrote this before playing Book 6 so I apologize if there’s any inconsistencies

Notes: The level of overthinking I put into these fics is unreal 💀 First and foremost, thank you all for your patience!! Idia was hard to write, but I hope you enjoy, shrimpies~

———

Well this is certainly something, you thought. Of all the things you’d witnessed at NRC, (even overblots), you didn’t think you’d ever see Idia Shroud at one of Kalim’s parties.

You sipped on your drink when a shock of bright blue flames came in the corner of your eye, contrasting the orange-red of Scarabia. Kalim lead Idia into the dorm, bright and sunny, compared to the look on Idia’s face. Poor guy couldn’t even escape, because Cater and Rook ambled in behind him, chatting happily.

It was like the beginning of a joke: A sultan, a card soldier, a huntsman, and a blue flame-headed gamer walk into a room.

Kalim spotted you and grinned, grabbing Idia’s hoodie sleeve and dragging him over too. “Hey (name)! I’m glad you could make it!”

You smiled at the Scarabia Housewarden, “Thanks Kalim! I-“ At that moment, Jamil reached him to drag him away, mumbling exasperatedly to Kalim about being careful. Kalim laughed Jamil off, “sorry (name)! I’ll see you later, okay?” “Alright then…” you trailed off and turned to Idia, who looked like a deer in headlights.

“So…” you rocked on your heels. To be honest, you didn’t know how to approach him sometimes. Sure, you’d gamed with him a few times (with heavy insistence from Ortho) and you weren’t on his ‘avoid at all costs’ ranking list, but Idia did have his odd moments. Some days, you two would get along like a house on fire. Other times, it was like Idia hated you - avoiding you even in tablet-mode, and ghosting your chats.

You’d like to think that your more friendly moments were the ones that Idia counted, but sometimes it was hard to get a read on the guy.

“I didn’t know that you’d be at Kalim’s party today. I thought Ortho said there was an event in… um…?” You finished, cringing at your vagueness. You might not have known much about the game he played, even though he’d made you play it when you came over to Ignihyde, but you knew he probably didn’t want to be here of all places.

Idia’s hair flared a bit, and he looked resigned and moody. He pulled out his tablet. Ya, the event dropped today but I got mobbed by kalim + the extroverts. “That sucks,” you said, “I got dragged here by Ace. Still, it’s nice to see you.” In the oil lamp lighting, you could’ve sworn Idia’s hair turned a bit pink.

You were both silent, and you opened your mouth to speak when Lilia yelled out from the front, “let’s get this party started!” Kalim started drumming wildly, and then electric guitar swelled. Lilia began screaming heavy-metal-style into the mic. Around you, everyone started dancing, and even you found yourself moving to the rhythm.

You glanced at Idia every now and again, but he looked vaguely annoyed and tired despite the liveliness. He looks so over it, you thought. Probably since Kalim maybe dragged him here. You looked around, biting your lip when you noticed your friends having a grand old time on the dance floor, and kind of wanted to go too. Still, it wasn’t every day you saw Idia, and you wanted to do something with him. Especially since he was… well, here.

“So, Idia…” Idia’s eyes snapped to yours, dull. You rocked back on your feet, “do you dance?” Idia rolled his eyes, and you felt your heart sink, for some reason. Obvi not, id probs distract everyone anyway. And also id just rather not if I can help it. Your smile wavered, “c’mon Idia, anyone can dance, even if it’s not good!” Idia typed rapidly into the tablet, i mean ur not wrong. Like literally anyone can dance but ppl only do it bc its wat normies do.

You opened your mouth, then squared your shoulders, words failing you. Idia shoved a hand into his pockets and opened an app on the tablet, scrolling. You swayed for a bit, feeling awkward while Idia kept his eyes glued to the screen, a frown creasing his brows. Finally you shrugged your shoulders, trying to shake that sinking-feeling off.

You stepped into the crowd of dancing people, swaying to the music and trying not to look over at the blue flames swaying in the corner. Unknowing to you, Idia glanced up from his tablet every few minutes, trying to catch a glimpse of you, before trudging back to the cold chrome of Ignihyde, back to his dorm.

———

Ugh, could this get any worse?

Idia flopped onto his bed, shoving his headphones on and opening the mobile game on his phone. Not only did he get a late start on the game event, but he flubbed a chance to talk to you. Even if you did want to dance like all the other non-introverts at Scarabia. Thank Sevens Ortho didn’t know he missed his chance, otherwise the little robot would’ve torn Idia apart.

Idia shut his eyes and went over the details. Doing this IRL was trash-tier. Why couldn’t this just be a good-old-fashioned otome game, or romance anime? First you meet the love interest, then you find things they’re into, then you talk to them more. Then finally you confess, and cue the outro. He’d watched countless shojo and romance anime’s, and that was the basic outline. Eventually, the ethereal, gorgeous, smart, kind protagonist (aka you) would fall in love with their love interest (aka him) and it would all work out. Boom. Happily ever after.

Ah, yes. He could see it now.

Cherry blossom petals rained around both of you. Where are they coming from, this campus doesn’t grow cherry blossoms? Whatever, don’t question it. Anyway, the petals fluttered past your beautiful, sparkling eyes as you stared up at Idia with adoration and love. Idia stared down at you with full-rizz, kabedoning you against the wall.

“Oh, Idia-senpai!” You’d cry, eyes turning into hearts as sparkles and pink flower petals surround you both. “You’re so cool and not cringe at all! I could never want one of those normies! You’re the only one for me! Please date me!” And then Ortho would set off the heart-shaped fireworks and you two would finally kiss-kiss-fall-in-love, just like the popular anime Our High School Has A Host Club And The Leader Falls In Love With Me?!

“Whee hee hee…” Idia stared off into the distance, giggling ominously to himself and hair turning pink at the ends. His character on the screen went into idle mode, and he didn’t even hear when Ortho floated into the room. “Big brother?” Ortho gently tapped him on the shoulder, yanking him from his shojo daydream. Idia jumped, hair flaring. “AAAIIIIEEEE-“ Ortho jumped back, eyes wide but not detecting any signs of injury on Idia.

Idia breathed heavily, wide-eyed. “Ortho! Wh-when did-? I wasn’t-!” Ortho analyzed his heart beat, noting that Idia had traces of blush on his cheeks and his erratic behavior pointed to- “Were you thinking about (name) (last name)?” Ortho asked innocently, his theory proven when Idia flushed and went pinker. The younger boy suddenly got an idea.

“You know, (Name)’s heart rate goes up when they interact with you,” Ortho watched his brother’s eyes widen, “even when you’re not there, when you’re mentioned, their heart rate increases by 45% and they are more likely to be in a positive mood. 82% of the time, they regard you in a positive way.” His eyes lit up happily with realization, “If my calculations are correct, they have feelings for you!”

Idia sat there, thinking. What were the odds you would like him back? Sure, you made him happy, and more importantly made Ortho happy. And it was actually nice talking to you. And he never felt exhausted after interacting with you. And maybe you did enjoy the artificial light of Ignihyde to the spring sun above, and maybe you would like being with dreary, nerdy him.

Ortho could see his brother lost in thought, noting that Idia’s heart rate spiked when he mentioned you. “I also overheard them telling Grim about finding a partner,” he said casually, omitting that you’d been wanting a partner in Alchemy, and not necessarily a romantic partner.

That seemed to fire Idia up. Ortho could see the metaphorical cogs in Idia’s brain turning, an entire blueprint of a plan being made in his mind. At last, a wide cunning grin spread on his face, and he opened his arms, “well, who else but a genius could be partners with the MC?” He said arrogantly, “it’s not like just anybody can woo the protagonist!”

Ortho beamed, cheering, “all you need to do now is confess!” Idia immediately began sweating, freezing up. “H-huh?!”

——

You frowned at your textbook, rubbing your temples as you read through the alchemy procedure. Ugh, this couldn’t get any more confusing.

As you turned to begin writing, the door burst open. You flinched and immediately locked eyes with a frazzled Idia. His golden eyes were wide, and he was panting - he even looked sweaty. Somehow his blue fire hair seemed just as frazzled as him, looking pale-blue in shock. Could flames somehow look poofy?

“Prefect!” He squeaked. “Idia?” You questioned, what’s he doing here? It was odd that he’d be out of his room at six in the afternoon, not to mention he looked afraid of you. It wasn’t like you were a stranger, even though as of late, he treated you like one.

He stared at you from the door for an uncomfortable amount of time, then sped-walked to stand in front of you. You looked up at him from your seat, tapping your fingers. You awkwardly asked “do you wanna sit down?” He shook his head quickly, the ends of his hair were turning pink. You frowned, “…dude, are you okay?”

Idia flinched. He pivoted on his heel, “no, no, can’t do it, not today-“ he scuttled out of the room and slammed the door, screeching to himself and pulling his hood over his head. You stared at the door, vaguely hearing Idia freaking out to… was that Ortho? You heard the little robot boy’s voice through the door, probably calming Idia down, along with an odd spraying sound.

It went quiet and you assumed they’d left. Whatever, weirder things have happened at NRC. As you went back to writing, the door slammed open again. You jumped, heart beating wildly. Idia stormed over to you, hair blazing a trail behind him. He slammed his hands down on the desk, and your eyes watered with the scent of overpowering cologne bodyspray.

“Prefect! I need to tell you something!” Idia’s eyes steeled in determination, and he looked you dead in the eye. He was breathing heavily, and his flamed hair blazed and curled more than usual, turning deep pinkish-red near the ends. The last time you saw his hair similar to that, was when he was rage-playing during one of your gaming sessions. How pissed is he? You felt your heart leap into your throat.

“Idia,” you began, freaked out, “I think you should sit down-“ Idia blazed on, “this is honestly a horrible decision for you and definitely for me. I don’t even want to think about what Mother and Father would say, not to mention how this’d affect Styx.” He was tunnel visioning now. “Plus you don’t even have magic and this might not even work out anyway ‘cause I don’t see us working out TBH…” Slowly his hair began fizzling out, voice getting quieter and quieter as he mumbled to himself.

This was a terrible idea, Idia realized. After everything that had happened with Styx, not to mention everything you had to deal with personally, it wouldn’t be good to get involved with him. You could be in danger, especially as a non-magic user. No, it would be selfish of him to ask you to be with him. Why would you, anyway? There were other guys at NRC, not to mention the entire Sage’s Island, who would be a better fit for not. Especially ones who didn’t kidnap your friends and Grim. Especially someone like Idia.

No, he concluded. He shouldn’t have come.

You frowned deeply. “Idia, what…?” Your alchemy work definitely wasn’t done yet and Idia was making zero sense. He sighed, as if tired all of a sudden. “Nope, no… this isn’t going to work.” He stood abruptly and sped-walked out the door, brushing past Ortho. You overheard the boy try to get his brother to come back, but Idia didn’t stop. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears. So that’s what this is about? Idia didn’t want to be friends with you anymore? All because you weren’t… what? A tech whiz? Good at gaming? Magical? Your heart dropped. Because you were just too different from him? So you weren’t good enough to be even friends with him?

Your eyes stung at the thought. Fine. If Idia wanted to be that way, then fine. You shoved your books into you bag and headed back to Ramshackle. You doubted you’d be able to focus, anyway.

———

Poor Ortho was confused.

After running simulation after simulation, scouring the Internet for any clues, and piecing together what Idia said after running out of the classroom, he just couldn’t understand what happened. That was a first, considering it was Ortho.

Idia had ran out of the room in a hurry, mumbling incoherently. “Brother! What’s happening?” Ortho flew to him, scanning his vitals. Idia seemed to be ok, but his brother seemed… strangely melancholic. “Ortho, it won’t work out,” he said dejectedly, not wanting to talk about it.

Ortho called after him, trailing behind “What did (name) (last name) say? There was a high probability they’d accept your-” Idia sighed in exasperation, shaking his head. “It won’t work. I should’ve never left the dorm…” As Idia trudged back to Ignihyde, Ortho was left with more questions.

He hovered for a moment, before heading back to the alchemy room for you, only to not find you there. Ortho thought hard, thinking back to what Idia said. ‘It won’t work out,’ was what he said - not a flat-out rejection from you. So that meant…

He began floating back to Ignihyde, determined. I can still save this!

———

You were taking overthinking to a new level.

You bit your lip, staring at the game’s chatbox in front of you. Idia was online, and probably didn’t realize you were too. You leaned against the Heartslabyul common room couch (curse Ramshackle’s lack of internet!), and hit send.

Hey is everything ok??

You watched Idia’s game icon immediately switch to “online less than 1 minute ago,” and groaned.

Cater exited the kitchens, leaning over the couch back. “Hey~ what’s got my fave frosh so worked up?” He chirped, looking at your phone. “Ohh, isn’t that the popular game that’s been trending? Wait, didn’t you say Idia got you into it?” Cater immediately had his phone in hand, “that’s supes adorable, playing with friends is so fun-“

You cut him off, throwing your hands up, “that’s it! Idia just doesn’t want to talk to me! He- he just-!” You grabbed a throw pillow and smashed your face into it, groaning. Cater patted your shoulder sympathetically, “well, we’re playing at another one of Kalim’s parties tonight, you want in?” You sniffed dramatically, thinking. “Well, I guess. Sure, why not?”

Later that evening, you stepped into the Scarabia mirror. You and Cater made your way to the food table. As you both munched on Jamil’s cooking (damn, the guy made a good curry), you watched everyone dancing. “Y’know, it was weird seeing Idia at a party,” you commented, while Cater nodded. “Yeah! We decided to bring him along that day, it was fun seeing him.”

You sighed, “yeah, it was, but… it’s not really often that we can hang out in person. I kinda wanted to dance with him last time, but he sort of… blew me off? I guess maybe it wasn’t the best idea.” You winced, while Cater’s eyebrows rose. “You didn’t tell me that. So, he did that and also told you he didn’t want to be friends?” You nodded, frustration flooding back, “Yeah! And I just don’t understand how he can be so conceited about him being so high and smart, and not like me because I don’t-“

“Prefect,” Cater cleared his throat. You looked up mid-rant, meeting Ortho’s eyes, and jumped. He just snuck up on you both like it was nothing. Did he hear you? Hopefully he wouldn’t be mad. In your mind, Idia started it.

“Hello (name) (last name)!” Ortho said pleasantly, so you assumed he hadn’t heard you. Great. “I didn’t know you’d be here! What a coincidence!” That was a lie, Ortho overheard you and Cater talking about the party when you were walking to Scarabia. He absolutely knew. And he dragged Idia here because of it.

“Yep,” you smiled at Ortho, “it’s nice to see you.” Ortho mentally readied himself and remembered every bit of acting advice Vil gave him. “I almost forgot!” His eyes widened, while your eyes narrowed. Ortho was a robot. He didn’t forget shit. “Big brother is here, and he wanted to ask you to dance!” What? Your neck snapped around, looking for Idia’s bright blue hair. Cater elbowed you, bringing you back to reality.

“I-well, I- had not-“ you stammered, fumbling for an excuse. Ortho’s eyes shone at you like puppy eyes, and your anger at Idia cracked. “…yeah, sure,” you watched Ortho rise a bit in the air happily, “Yippee! I’ll go get him!” He zipped off, and you rubbed your temples. Cater twisted a strand of his hair, eyes wide. “Yikes…” “tell me about it,” you groaned.

A few minutes later, you both looked up when Kalim tapped the mic. You didn’t miss Ortho hovering a ways behind Kalim. “Hey everyone! Thanks for coming!” When the cheering died down, Kalim continued, “We’re gonna try something different! Everyone, find a partner and join the dance floor!”

Cater glanced at you, mischievous. “Welp, I can’t leave them hanging~ TTYL, Prefect!” And he left faster than you could say ‘Magicam.’ Sweet.

You hesitantly stepped to the dance floor, half expecting Ortho to float up to you and sheepishly tell you Idia left. Your mind drifted back to that day in the alchemy room. I guess it wouldn’t work, anyway.

To your surprise, a finger tapped your shoulder. You turned, seeing Idia with a with a flushed expression, wearing a casual-but-chic blazer. His hair looked a bit tamer than normal, and cascaded down his back in a low ponytail, bangs flickering over his forehead. Undoubtedly, this was the work of Ortho, who definitely got pointers from Vil.

You both stared at each other, unmoving, until slow music began playing. You averted your eyes. Idia gulped, eyes widening until waving caught his eye. Ortho was flying upwards a little ways away from the slowly-crowding dance floor, gesturing wildly at you. As if that wasn’t enough, he projected words above his head: DANCE WITH THEM!

Idia was lucky that everyone else was more interested in dancing with their partner than Ortho. His eyes snapped back to you, “s-so I guess you wanna-“ he swallowed thickly, eyes shifting to the dance floor. You shrugged, feigning nonchalance and looked ahead. Idia looked back at Ortho, who was pointing wildly at the words. He thought to himself, this is fine. It’s just the mandatory side quest. It’s not fighting the boss. It’s…

It’s charming the love interest. It’s solidifying your route!

Idia steeled himself and forced your hand into his. Your eyes shot to his in surprise, and he walked stiffly to the dance floor. Your hand clasped his, and you both swayed gently to the soft rock from the stage. Your brows furrowed, but Idia locked his gaze onto you, focusing only on you.

Yes, he thought. This is just the player’s pov on the screen, and he was only focusing on the love interest. The other waltzers didn’t exist. The party didn’t exist. It was just you and him.

Meanwhile, you were at a loss for words. While Idia seemed taciturn, you glanced up at the stage. Cater, Kalim, and Lilia were in their own little bubble jamming out, so that wasn’t a lifeline. After a little while of swaying with Idia, you hummed, “I haven’t seen you in a while. Since that day.” Idia’s hands felt clammy, and in the dimmed lights you saw a small pink dusting Idia’s cheeks. You saw him swallow heavily, but he didn’t say a word.

The tension grew between you two, and despite feeling hurt, you felt a little bad. Still, you wanted some answers out of Idia, after the incident in the alchemy room. “Y’know, you never used to be this… odd around me.” Was it the crowd that made him quiet, or… You felt a lump in your throat. Was it you?

Idia’s eyebrows shot up, thinking fast on what to say. Why can't conversations irl have ready-made dialogue?! “I… we c-can talk about wh-whatever you want? I guess?” He tried, kicking himself internally for leaving his tablet with Ortho. You bit the inside of your cheek as you stepped with him, that’ll do for now. “Scarabia parties are a little much, but they’re more pleasant than the Pomefiore mock balls,” you tried “wouldn’t you say?” After an uncomfortable pause, expecting a reply, you mumbled to yourself, “I guess we can stop talking now.”

“...is it like a rule for normies to chat while dancing? Isn’t the act of moving enough?” Idia mumbled in exasperation, hand tightening a little on your own. You bit your lip, your eyes burning. “No, I prefer to not talk to my friends at all and tell them we can’t be friends. It’s so much fun, right?” Idia’s eyes widened, and he scrambled for words, “I- I didn’t mean…” You stopped swaying abruptly, both of your clasped hands in the air. “Why are you here, Idia?”

A chill went through Idia. “T-To be honest, I didn’t even want to come to this stupid IRL dance,” he rushed out, “TBH Ortho had to make me come ‘cause he told me you’d be here-“ “You didn’t want…?” You cut Idia off, heart dropping. The other dancing couples swirled around you, but all the commotion around you felt like nothing more than idle chatter. Hurt flashed in your eyes, and Idia seemed shocked, which made you angry.

“I guess you wouldn’t want to be friends with someone who’s magicless, especially since you have STYX right?”

Idia’s eyes were wider than the Heartslabyul tea saucers. For once, he didn’t have a smart-ass reply. “Um, what? Obvi, I’m kind of stuck with STYX-” You let go of his hand and took a step back, almost bumping into a waltzing couple. “Yeah, wouldn’t want me to mess things up. Make any bad decisions and all that, right?” You felt your eyes water, despite yourself.

Furiously balling a fist and wiping your eyes, “Since you said we wouldnt work out n’stuff.” Idia suddenly remembered everything he’d muttered to himself, from the moment he’d stormed into the room to when he’d left dejectedly. When he’d made his choice and left before you could even get your word in.

Like a coward.

Idia’s heart pounded but shakingly, he reached a hand out to you. “P-prefect, I-I-!” You dodged the crowd, and ran out of Scarabia. You didn’t look back until you crashed through Ramshackle’s door, raced up the stairs, and fell onto your bed, Grim yelping in surprise as you tried your darndest to forget everything that just happened.

Back in Scarabia, Idia somehow stumbled off the dance floor, staggering to a table and breathing heavily. Mentally he replayed everything that just happened. Ortho floated over to him, “Brother? I don’t understand, why would (name) (last name) not accept your feelings?” Ortho went over the footage when he was observing you both dancing, and frowned.

“My senses indicate that based on their body language, they were upset with you. What happened?” Idia swallowed heavily, “I-I said it wouldn’t work out between us c-cuz they don’t have magic,” he stammered, eyes wide, “a-and STYX and-...” Ortho’s eyes widened, then narrowed, “That shouldn’t be a problem! You know that!”

“I meant for them, Ortho.” Idia sighed heavily, sinking into the chair. “I don’t want them to get hurt. Not when…” his mind wandered to Ortho, before NRC. He fell into deep thought. “In the end, I couldn’t even tell them...” He frowned deeply.

Ortho fell quiet, computing. Idia stared at the table, dejected, until Ortho spoke. “You know (Name) (lastname) doesn’t back down easily from a challenge.” That’s true. From playing games with Idia to taking down overblots, you weren’t someone who ran away when it mattered. Maybe that’s why Idia liked you - you were like the protagonists in animes, who found a way to make the world their own.

“You shouldn’t make (name) (last name)’s decision for them.” Idia looked up at his brother. Ortho continued, head angling to the side, Idia shook his head dejectedly, “it won’t work-”

“Your lil’ bro is right, y’know,” Cater walked over, shaking his hair out with his guitar slung over his shoulder. “Sry, I overheard you two,” Cater could piece together what happened. He did see you blow up at Idia (although he couldn’t hear you), and after spamming your phone with no reply after you ran out, now he had an idea of what was going on. “Y’know, if you didn’t tell them how you felt, then how could you know you were making the right choice?”

Idia looked down. Ortho piped up, “Cater Diamond is right.” Idia shut his eyes, then stood up, hands tightening into fists. Cater jumped back as Idia’s hair flared up bright blue, and the Ignihyde housewarden headed straight to the exit. Ortho called out, “thank you, Cater Diamond!” and floated after Idia, “Brother! Wait!”

“Lets go, Ortho,” Idia’s golden eyes steeled in determination, “I can fix this.”

—----

A knock on the door jolted you from your reading of Prejudice and Pride.

It was early morning. Somehow, even though it was the weekend and you’d stayed up all night, you still woke up at an ungodly early hour. After being unable to fall asleep (totally not because of Grim’s snoring and sleep-munching) you decided to go to your living room and read. You were sure that you didn’t have a guest coming, so why would…?

You got up and opened the door, expecting Ace or Deuce or something. The annoyed look on your face turned to shock when you saw Idia standing on your porch. In one hand, he held a bouquet of pomegranate-red roses and some flowers you recognized to be asphodel.

You both stared at each other, unwilling to move. “Idia,” you breathed, “why are you here?” Idia shuffled awkwardly, “I wanted to see you.” You crossed your arms, looking around. “Where’s Ortho?” You were sure the little robot boy made his brother come. Otherwise, why would Idia be here? Idia rubbed the back of his neck, “Ortho isn’t here. I… I wanted to see you,” he repeated.

Wordlessly, he thrust the flowers into your arms, and you wrapped your arm around it instinctively. “I- um,” you looked everywhere but Idia, who was staring at the Ramshackle doorway. “Idia,” you cleared your throat, “about what happened-” “Prefect, I… I wanted to apologize.” Your eyes widened, but Idia continued.

“I… I didn’t mean what I said that day.” Idia looked bashful, face turning pink and the ends of his hair turning a deep blush. He kept talking, rambling on and fighting he urge to grab his tablet and let the device speak for him. “I… really like being friends with you.” The words came out quietly from him, and even though he looked like he wanted to sink into his hoodie, Idia didn’t shirk away.

A lump rose in your throat as you didn’t make eye contact with him, instead playing with the flower bouquet, “I like being friends with you too,” you bit your lip, rubbing an asphodel petal, “I like you, Idia.”

Idia’s eyes widened and went rigid. Both his face and his hair went deep pink. Your own eyes widened at the color, and you felt your face grow hot. So that’s what it meant…? Not anger…?Wordlessly, without thinking, you dropped the bouquet. Your body moved on its own, and you flung yourself at Idia, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

Idia staggered back from the momentum with a squeak, but wrapped his arms around your torso with an iron grip. You gripped his hoodie tightly, finally understanding what had gone on for so long. Your cheek was pressed against his, and despite the early morning chill, you both felt warm.

High above, Ortho hovered in the distance over the tree canopies from afar. He zoomed in on you and Idia, and behind his face mask, he beamed. In midair, he did a heart-shaped loop-de-loop in happiness, and hovered back to Ignihyde.

After a few minutes, you leaned back in Idia’s arms, the both of you chuckling in happy disbelief. You looked up and saw a little blue streak leaving a smoke trail of a heart, and laughed to yourself. Idia turned around, seeing his brother above, a soft reminiscent look on his face.

“…guess Ortho was right.”

~END

——-

Fun fact: the beginning is inspired by idia’s school uniform vignette!!!

Me, while writing this: wow Idia and Cater’s dialogue are unique, they’d be hard to write

Also me: *puts both of them in this fic and suffers*

Writing Idia was SO HARD but I hope I managed to get him right-ish. Trying to balance his reactions with the dialogue was hard 😭

anyway thanks for reading~ please leave a comment/reblog!! <3

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