#which was cool to find out back when i was looking all this up the first time and again just now

[mwphisto]

LaDs Men and Some of Their Kinks

Includes: Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, and Caleb x implied female reader (separate of course)

Warning, this post includes: somnophila, dacryphilia, brat taming, scent kink, squirting, masturbation, master/pet play, spitting, cockwarming, and more.

A/N: I finished all of my work for university! Now I just have a final presentation next week (which I already did), and then I'll have earned my bachelor's degree! Now I can do some celebratory smutty writing to get back into the swing of things :)

Xavier

Somnophilia is high up there on Xavier's list, but not because he wants to use your body while you sleep. No, Xavier wants you to use him while he is somewhere far off in dreamland. He really wants to wake up to you with his cock down your throat. Even better? He's positive he'd cum on the spot if he woke up to you riding him.

Mutual Masturbation could send Xavier into a frenzy. He loves watching you pleasure yourself, especially when your eyes are glued to the way his fist pumps up and down his length. But he can never truly handle it for long, losing his composure before either of you can make yourselves cum. You're just too cute for him to resist.

Outdoor sex is right up Xavi's alley, though it really should count as he loves fucking you on his balcony. Xavier is quite accustomed to falling asleep in the cozy paradise he has put together on his balcony. Which means, it's also well equipped for him to fuck you stupid. Maybe it's the thrill of someone hearing, perhaps even seeing, or maybe his need to make sure everyone knows you are his (looking at you, Charlie). Regardless, he's rather fond of making you his.

Rafayel

Master / Pet had started off as a joke, almost an inside joke between the two of you after Ebb day had passed. Then, slowly, the joking terms of "pet" and "master" made their way into your intimacy. It didn't matter who donned what role; it just depended on the mood and perhaps even the situation that led both of you to the bed.

Squirting, Rafayel is utterly addicted to it. The first time he got you to cum that intensely, he ended up cumming himself. The lemurian isn't satisfied anymore if he doesn't end up soaked in your juices. He'll go as far as to ensure you are well hydrated before making any moves. This man has done his research, and so far it hasn't failed him.

You're his real-life canvas. Rafayel was shocked that you agreed the first time he asked the question. You had shamelessly stripped for him, nothing but a pair of panties clinging to your ass and hips. Your skin was his canvas, and the gentle, cool strokes of the paintbrush had goosebumps erupting across your arms. He didn't think it was possible to fall more in love with you than he already was, nor did he think it was possible to crave you as badly as he did when he dragged the paint-slick brush over the swell of your tits.

Zayne

Brat-taming just comes naturally for Zayne. Lucky for him, being a brat just happens to be second nature for you. Cool, calm, collected Zayne being pushed to his limits over and over again until he finally cracks. It's the outcome you've been craving from your stoic lover. And once you got it - ass cheeks bruised and your entire lower half being so sore that you're limping - you find that you're utterly addicted. Good thing your lover is on the same page.

Quickies in public spaces are a guilty pleasure. Everyone always expects Zayne to be so good, to follow the rules. Stepping out of line is far more addictive than being the goody two-shoes he's been his whole life. Having you half undressed, speared on his cock while your back is pressed into his desk? Your tits bouncing as you ride him in the front seat of his sports car? Fingering you while you sit beside each other in a dimly lit and crowded restaurant? He's on cloud nine.

Recording your little escapades had been the outcome at the end of the spiral. A spiral you started one evening as you bounced yourself stupid on Zayne's cock, the legs of the couch creaking under your efforts. You were being bratty, and he hadn't quite crossed the threshold yet to feel comfortable putting you in your place. Testing your limits, you had reached for your phone and began taking pictures of you and him as you ground down on his dick. Faces flushed and eyes glossy, Zayne still had those selfies on his phone, under a special album only he could see.

Sylus

Dacryphilia caught Sylus by surprise. He didn't realize how badly it would turn him on until you were choking on his cock with fat streams of tears flowing down your cheeks. You looked like such a mess, so utterly destroyed and he hadn't even gotten into that sweet pussy yet. Bless him, he came before he could warn you, too entranced by your sobbing face and mouth full of his dick to speak.

Cockwarming you has been Sylus' favorite activity besides getting to love you so thoroughly it left you breathless. He wants to be close to you, as close as his body could get and as close as you'd allow. Even on nights when you two haven't made love, he'll ask you rather shyly if he can slip it in. Much to his pleasure, you always let him, especially since you know he sleeps much better when he gets to hold you close... inside and out for that matter.

Sex toys are not off limits for Sylus, honestly, he quite enjoys them. He's well aware of his capabilities and, in turn, he is well aware of his limitations. He can finger fuck you until you're crying, sure. But shoving a vibrating dildo in that pretty little cunt is far more amusing to him. He gets off on having the control, watching your entire body tremble from vibrations so intense that nothing he could do himself would ever get close to replicating. His trick is that you don't get any access to the toys he uses on you. They are his use only, taken out just to drive you mad before he gives you what he really wants. You genuinely have no idea where your lover hides them afterwards.

Caleb

Spitting but not in a way you'd think. Caleb wants you to spit in his mouth, on his dick, use it as extra lubricant. Doesn't mean Caleb will deny you if you ask him to spit on or in you, but god does he crave the feeling of your saliva coating his tongue. He wants to devour you whole, in any way he can, spit included.

Power play is right up his alley. As long as you are consenting, Caleb will go to whatever extreme you desire. It could be as simple as using "yes, sir" or "yes, ma'am" or as complicated as full-on BDSM with safe words and real leather, cuffs, gags, and paddles. Whatever you're willing to give him to fulfill the fantasies, the colonel is willing to accept, and never once will he complain.

A big ole scent kink, he can't help it, you just smell so utterly addicting, it drives him insane. Your shampoo, your body wash, your perfume, your sweat, your arousal. You name it, if it's something on or from you, Caleb will probably love it. You didn't realize it started with your worn panties, ones he stole from the hamper after you would hop in the shower. Caleb was a pervert for it, and he knew it damn well, but it didn't stop him from fucking his fist while inhaling the heady scent of your dirty panties.

[tobesolnelyx]

I was thinking about a oneshot for Natalie x reader in the wilderness. Like maybe they were both friends because they were both outcasts and Natalie always defended reader from anyone who tried to be mean. When the plane crashed, their dynamic didn't really change : they were still sticking together, looking for one another. At first, it was quiet, almost peaceful, despite the dread of the wilderness. But then winter came. Jackie died. Maybe reader refusing to eat her ?(because that was their team captain, how could she ever eat her ? Treat her body like it was only meat?). And she started to be quieter, refusing food portions, not doing anything except the chores. She even started to drift away from Natalie, which worried the girl. And Natalie tries her best to keep reader alive, because that's all that matters to her, but it's so hard especially when reader doesn't look at her anymore. And Natalie sees reader starting to fade away and it's driving her crazy because she doesn't know what to do and she is afraid that reader isn't going to survive, or worse, letting herself die. And everyone on the team is worried, everyone noticed but nobody knows what to do either. And if it's too uncomfortable for you, maybe reader (actively or passively, the choice remains yours) trying to kill herself. Then someone on the team finds her on the brink of death and calls everyone and Natalie is the first one to rush by your side. And when reader finally wakes up, Natalie is still by her side, she never left, watching every breath, even if subtle. And maybe Natalie refuses to ever leave reader's side again, except this time reader actually accepts the help and she gets better (as good as you can be in the wilderness)

So maybe fluff at the beginning/end, hurt/comfort and angst ? Thx anyway <3

— how much tragedy? || natalie scatorccio x reader 🎞️ (pre-crash/wilderness)

a/n: thanks for req! honestly big fan of the idea — always a sucker for hurt/comfort! hope you like it <3

summary: natalie will do anything to protect you. no matter what it takes. even if it means broken knuckles and shattered lies. || angst. hurt/comfort. fluff

warnings: standard yellowjackets warnings (cannibalism, gore etc…), mentions of suicide, attempt of suicide

word count: about 3k

Natalie simply loved being close to you. Not in an overbearing way—at least not when it was just the two of you—but it didn't take a genius to see that this girl had fallen for you. Completely. And maybe, for the first time in her life, Natalie didn't want to change that. She couldn't even entertain the thought of a world where your presence might be gone in any way. Natalie could push everyone else away just to draw you in, closer and closer with each day.

And sure, there were nights when her fingers itched to pick up some random payphone on the street just to tell you it was over—but she knew that by morning, she'd be crawling back on her knees, begging you to take her in like some stray dog.

It all started when you moved into the trailer park. Life had already dragged you through enough that relocating to some shithole town like Wiskayok in New Jersey, didn't exactly feel like rock bottom. Money was tight. Your parents weren't exactly winning medals in the "doing what they should" category.

Word got around fast. Kids from your neighborhood didn't have it easy at school, so it came as a shock when you found out about Natalie Scatorccio. Natalie, who had zero tolerance for the bullshit constantly thrown her way. Natalie, who was so effortlessly cool you couldn't tell if you wanted to be her or be with her. Natalie, who strutted through the school halls with her headphones on, untouchable, unreachable.

Natalie—who one day offered you a cigarette.

It was late. You'd slammed the door of your trailer behind you after yet another fight with your parents. Your hands were shaking with rage and frustration. You collapsed onto the front steps, trying to calm yourself before having to listen to your dad's endless ranting again.

Then Natalie appeared. Of course, headphones on, dressed in her soccer gear. She walked the length of the park with heavy steps, a gym bag slung over her shoulder, lazily smoking a cigarette.

She was smiling. That's what made you stare—that crooked smile.

Then Natalie's gaze—like she knew someone was watching—landed on you. Shit. You must've looked wrecked, because she came over. The smile vanished, but she didn't replace it with that distant, blank stare you knew so well. You couldn't read her at all.

Without a word, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and gave you a look. The kind of look someone gives when they know what it's like to have shitty parents. What it's like to feel like a screw-up since the day you learned to talk back.

You blinked. Once, twice. Then finally took the cigarette from her hand, and she pulled out a lighter.

Your hand trembled as you reached for it, but before you could grab it, Natalie was already leaning in, lighting the cigarette for you.

"Thanks," you mumbled. Natalie looked, for a second, like she was about to turn and pretend the whole thing never happened. But instead, she dropped down beside you on the concrete steps.

She stayed.

And maybe that's why you couldn't ever let her go.

The rest happened pretty naturally. Natalie just started hanging around. At first with a hint of hesitation, then not even bothering to hide the stupid grin on her face whenever she saw you.

You started smoking more around her. One time she even passed you a joint, and after a few hits, when you were completely high, Nat couldn't stop laughing.

"I'm gonna throw up," you groaned, lying limply on her bed. Something by Nirvana was playing in the background, and the air was so thick with smoke it felt suffocating. You wondered if the smell would ever leave your clothes. Maybe it would cling to you the same way it did to Natalie

"Bullshit," Nat grinned. "And if you do, make sure it's outside."

She handed you the joint again. You looked at her through bloodshot eyes, your expression twisted in mild disgust.

"I hate you," you mumbled — but still brought it to your lips.

"Sure you do," she replied, and took your hand like it already belonged to her. Only to intertwine her fingers with yours and press them to her chest. She didn't even look at you. And that's when you knew — you were both screwed.

Natalie could've won an official title as your guard dog. Every time someone bumped into you on purpose in the hallway or threw a stupid comment your way, she was there. As if she had a sixth sense for when someone was trying to bitch at you, even just a little.

"You need to learn to defend yourself," she once said, while you were painting her nails. You frowned, not quite understanding why. Aggression wasn't... your thing. You endured the jabs and teasing because no one had taught you any other way to cope. And besides, the thought of breaking someone's nose didn't exactly thrill you.

"I have you," you replied, looking her straight in the eyes. Even if it was selfish.

"I won't always be there," Natalie said, staring at you. Not because she didn't want to. If anything, she was just waiting for an excuse to be near you. But she knew she couldn't always be.

A moment of silence. A pause. And before you could think about why you probably shouldn't, your lips found hers — brief, sweet. Nat accidentally smudged black polish onto your shirt.

Neither of you ever brought it up. Maybe because you were both terrible at talking about feelings. Still — Natalie didn't push you away.

Oh, quite the opposite. From that moment on, she may as well have been chained to your side. She even begged you to join the Yellowjackets just so she could crack jokes during practice and hear the coach yell at you both to focus, for Christ's sake!

You spent every spare moment together — drinking, smoking. Sometimes just listening to music. Sometimes Nat would sneak kisses from your mouth, even though neither of you ever defined what this was. You got used to it. Maybe it wasn't part of friendship, but you weren't complaining. There was some unspoken rule that you didn't talk about it, but neither of you ever considered being with anyone else.

You won Regionals. Nat even convinced the coach to let you room together at the hotel, despite being a complete pain in the ass most of the time. He probably suspected Natalie would sneak into your room after curfew anyway.

And honestly? She didn't need anyone else when she had you.

Then the plane crashed. In the middle of nowhere. And as if that wasn't enough — help never came.

At first, it wasn't so bad. Almost peaceful. Natalie was near, and you were far away from that New Jersey hellhole, from the annoying parents. From fights, school rumors, real life.

Nat learned how to hunt. She often went out with Travis for hours, but when she came back — whether she had food or not — she always made time for you. Sometimes she insisted on taking you along, even though you knew nothing about shooting animals and were more or less useless.

Sometimes Natalie picked flowers for you. Sometimes you'd end up in the wreckage of the plane, making out for long minutes until you had to go back. It wasn't paradise, it wasn't easy. But it could've been a lot worse.

The avalanche started with Laura Lee. When she was gone, hope began to flicker out. Something dimmed. Everyone's posture changed, like something inside had slumped.

Then came Doomcoming. You remembered little. You weren't even sure you wanted to remember. It was easier not to.

Natalie found you on the ground in front of the cabin. She was panting like she'd just run a marathon — maybe she had. You weren't sure. You stared at her, trying to figure out whether she was real or just another hallucination.

"Nat..." you started, but she just led you to the lake. Helped wash the blood (God knows whose) off your dress and the dirt from your hands. She cleaned your cuts while you stared blankly into the distance, rinsing yourself off without much thought.

Natalie should have known that's when it started. That moment, when your eyes went lifeless for just a second — that's when you began slipping out of her hands.

She never told you what really happened. Maybe that, too, was her weird way of taking care of you.

Shauna and Jackie had a fight. Jackie stormed out, and you wanted to go after her — tell her not to be stupid and just come back inside. But Nat grabbed your wrist.

Maybe Jackie wasn't the kindest to Nat, but she was never cruel to you the way the other popular girls were. Sure, she cared way too much about gossip, but she never asked where you lived, never cared that your parents weren't picture-perfect or that you couldn't afford better clothes.

"Let her go," Natalie pulled you back. "She'll be fine. It's just one night. Maybe she'll finally swallow her fucking pride."

You didn't quite understand. Jackie didn't deserve that.

But then morning came. Snow had fallen. And when you saw Jackie's lifeless body, Natalie's words started haunting you. You threw her a look from the cabin doorway, but her eyes were fixed on the corpse. That was the third time you'd seen Nat look truly terrified — once when you kissed her, once when the plane crashed. And now this.

Something inside you shattered. Whatever little hope you still carried scattered like dust, and you stopped believing her when she whispered above your head at night, "It's going to be okay."

Jackie was dead. Winter had come. No help in sight. It was hell. And suddenly, you'd rather be back home enduring another screaming match with your parents than lying curled up beside Natalie.

And just when you thought this nightmare couldn't get any worse, one night you heard knocking. Coach limped frantically back into the dark cabin, panic written all over him. But Natalie wasn't with him. No one else was.

So naturally, you went to look for her.

Natalie, who at that exact moment was tearing into a strip of meat—ripped from Jackie's leg.

Jackie, who not that long ago had helped you do your makeup for Doomcoming.

You vomited on the spot, even though there was nothing in your stomach to bring up. There hadn't been much food for days.

The next day, you found Natalie in pieces. Sitting in the snow, staring horrified at what was left of Jackie. And even though you had never cared about anyone more in your life — you couldn't bring yourself to comfort her. The words stuck in your throat.

You walked past her. Some grim compulsion driving you to see what was left of Jackie's skull.

"Wait—" Natalie scrambled to her feet and followed you, like she was trying to stop you. Like she wanted to shield you from seeing the truth. You turned around and found you could barely meet her eyes.

"Tell me you didn't..."

Even though you'd seen it. Even though it was burned into your memory. Maybe it was just another sick dream.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, trying to pull you into her arms. She was repulsed with herself. She looked like she might throw up right then and there. "I had to, okay? We're starving—"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Nat," you cut her off. "I'm starving too, and I haven't eaten a fucking corpse!"

After that, everything started to unravel. At least for Natalie.

The others noticed, but either didn't want another problem on their hands or just didn't know how to deal with it. They sent you looks, tried to reach out. But you never answered the way they hoped.

You simply couldn't take it anymore.

And the truth was: you began to vanish before their eyes. A little more each day. Natalie grew desperate.

You barely spoke. Not many people felt like talking anymore, but you — you only spoke when you absolutely had to. You refused meals. Maybe because the image of Jackie being devoured had made it impossible to eat. Or maybe because at some point, you just stopped wanting to live. Maybe you didn't care whether help came or not. What was the point of eating if you might end up like Jackie anyway?

You still did your chores. Quietly. Carefully. But your body was starting to betray you.

Natalie went feral.

You pulled away from her, and she couldn't stand it. She clung to you with everything she had, terrified of what would happen if you slipped away. She couldn't even imagine it. It would break her in ways she wouldn't recover from. She started hunting more. When she brought back a rabbit or two, you refused your portion.

She begged. Got on her knees. Pleaded with you to eat, just a little, because your wrists were getting dangerously thin. Because she could see every bone. Because your skin had turned ghost-pale, and sometimes you froze mid-movement — your body simply giving out.

You wouldn't even look at her. You scooted away on the cabin floor, just far enough that it felt like a knife in her chest. Natalie had only felt this broken once before — when her father died. Maybe that had been easier. His death was sudden, quick. This? This was slow. Cruel. She was watching you fade. Watching the life leave you, and she was powerless to stop it.

No begging helped. No touch. No voice.

The worst part was — you didn't want to live anymore. Your eyes were completely empty. And this time, not even Natalie could save you.

She was at the edge.

One day, you just drifted away.

Your legs gave out. Your body — worn thin from hunger, cold, and the never-ending fight to survive — simply stopped working. You were supposed to bring water back to the cabin that day. At some point, you just collapsed into the snow. Everything went black.

Like you were meant to share Jackie's fate.

When Natalie returned from the hunt and you weren't there, the air was already heavy with tension. She knew. Deep down, she knew something was wrong. And there was no fucking way she was letting you go.

Someone said something — Natalie snapped. Furious at all of them for letting you go out alone in that condition.

Eventually, someone found you.

Natalie nearly twisted her ankle tearing through the snow to reach you. The last time she ran that fast was during the game that got them into Nationals.

She refused. Refused to accept the idea that she might lose you. Decided the wilderness could go to hell this time, because she was not agreeing to this.

She dragged you back. Screamed at Misty, voice cracking between sobs, telling her to finally make herself useful and help.

She didn't leave your side. Not for a second. She watched for every breath, every twitch of your fingers while you lay unconscious. She skipped hunts. Obsessively checked that you were bundled in as many blankets as they had. You were still cold — but not as frozen as when she found you. You were still breathing. That was enough. Lottie could shove her wilderness truths in her ass, really.

Natalie stayed awake for nights. Slept in short, shallow bursts in case you opened your eyes. Her head had just dipped when she felt a sudden movement beside her — stronger than before. The fire crackled in the dark.

And finally, finally, your eyes opened.

"Hey," Natalie was by your side in an instant, on her knees. Her fingers gently brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. "You're safe, I promise." She clutched your hand, trying to warm it with hers, desperation bleeding through her voice. "I'm here. I'm right here. I'm never leaving you again, I swear—"

She whispered in the dark until the words collapsed into silence. Then she pulled you into her arms. You didn't speak, but that didn't surprise her. What mattered was that you were alive. Natalie still had a chance to keep you breathing — and that was all that counted.

When you drifted off again — weak, after hours of being rocked gently in her arms, lulled by promises and shattered reassurances — Natalie made a decision. She would get food into you. Even if it meant forcing it.

But before she could figure out how to do that, they organized a hunt. You and Lottie were both too far gone to be aware of much. There was no time to plan.

The next thing you remembered was waking to find Natalie sitting beside you, just like always — except now she looked worse. Shaking. Her cheeks streaked with dried tears, her hair a mess. You furrowed your brows, trying to take in the scene.

Jackie's necklace was hanging from Natalie's neck.

You were about to ask what happened when she spoke first.

"Please," she whispered, voice hoarse and cracked.

Your gaze dropped to her hands — a bowl of warm meat cradled in her palms.

"Please," she repeated.

And this time — you agreed.

You trusted her. Didn't ask where the meat came from. Wanted to believe that maybe, somehow, she'd managed to catch something. That maybe things were turning.

Natalie felt the weight slip from her chest.

She helped you sit up, carefully propping you against her chest. Her hands trembled as she fed you, silently praying you wouldn't notice that Javi was nowhere to be seen in the cabin.

She hated lying to you. Hated it more than anything.

But the thought of losing you was way worse.

And you ate. You let her help. You accepted the food.

So Natalie told herself everything else could wait.

That night, she whispered it into your ear like a secret.

"I love you."

Natalie loved you so much that she could accept the possibility of you hating her, once you knew. As long as you were still alive.

[hivemuthur]

I’ve had a thought. You believe Viktor to be Experienced, right? What would his first time have looked like? This could be a request if you wanna write a one shot. Or just like share your thoughts. I’d be intrigued to see what you come up with if you wrote it out tho 🤔

You do like to throw me curveballs (I love that, thank you). Here is some virgin!Viktor take, he's not exactly super freaky but take it as the origin of Freaktor :')

Humble as I Go

viktorxfem!reader explicit! first time, a bit awkward, a bit sweet. Both Viktor and Reader are virgins! There is no specified age for the sake of legalities, but you can imagine them both young.

word count: 3,8K

author’s note: ok, so I've seen some angry post about condemnation of virgins through HC-ing Viktor as a non-virgin, and what I'm saying here is that I disagree with his infantilization in most virgin!Viktor fics. I was a late bloomer so I am literally nobody to tell people when it's cool to start having sex, it's absolutely irrelevant to your maturity. But having him unable to add 2+2 or being completely oblivious to sex in his 30s IS ableist. For the most part, disabled people know their bodies pretty well because they have to, and I can imagine Viktor being pretty well-read as well, him being curious about life. So no, it's not a punch toward people who didn't have sex yet, it's a punch toward those who see a disabled guy and think 'let's make him pathetic.' @rennethen beta read, thank you as usual! Happy (sort of) Freakday :')

—

Viktor stares at his thighs intently, grateful for a moment to regroup. The fabric around the knees is bulging and thinned out, threads threatening to pull—if not today, then tomorrow, or the day after. It’s also slightly damp, soft beneath his fingers where he’s wiped his sweaty palms while waiting for you to come back from the bathroom.

He’s afraid to get up from where you sat him on the bed—he’d slipped in the puddle that gathered on the pavement in The Fissures on your way home, after you’d muttered that your parents were away. And your house is nice. It’s warm and cozy. It’s full of love, with plenty of things that don’t match finding a place beside one another. A wet stain from his ass on your bedsheets wouldn’t bode well for what you’re both so excited for—and frightened of—all the same.

The door creaks, and then your head peeks out. A ghost of a smile lingers on your mouth, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear—and Viktor, oh, he can’t help but smile too. He actually laughs, breathy, nervous and quiet, but welcomes the weight of you settling beside him on the edge of the bed, as if your presence alone repels every doubt.

You don’t say anything at first. Just lean into his side, shoulder brushing his, your palm resting between you. His fingers twitch beneath it. “You okay?” you ask eventually, soft.

Viktor nods once. Then again, slower. “I think so.” A beat. “My hands are sweaty.”

You smile into your knees, arms looping around them. “Mine too.”

That gets a laugh out of both of you, hushed and crackling with nerves. You untangle your limbs first and stretch one leg over the edge of the bed, your knee knocking gently into his. His trousers shift as he moves to look at you more fully, and the suspenders tug awkwardly with the motion.

“I like these,” you say, your finger sliding under one of the straps and letting it snap back lightly against his chest.

“They’re necessary,” he replies. “My trousers are too big. They used to be my father’s.”

You hum like that makes perfect sense, which it does. His whole frame still has the look of someone who hasn’t quite finished growing into himself—elbows and knees a bit too sharp, shoulders a little unsure of their breadth. You reach out and brush his hair back from his forehead, and this time he doesn’t flinch, just watches you with wide, liquid eyes.

“I keep thinking I’ll mess this up somehow,” you admit, quiet.

“You won’t,” he says quickly. “Even if we do it all wrong, it’s still with you.”

That makes your throat ache. You kiss him—small and soft, mouths barely moving, just the warmth of it. When you pull back, Viktor’s eyes are closed, but he’s smiling. Your hands drift to the buttons of his shirt, but hesitate, hovering. “May I?”

He nods. “Yes. Please.”

You undo them slowly. One, then another. His skin is pale where it’s usually hidden, collarbones delicate, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. When you glance up, his eyes are open again, fixed on your face like you’re the most intricate, important thing he’s ever seen.

His hands fumble next, trying to return the favour, but they shake a little and get caught in the hem of your sweater. You both laugh again, leaning forehead to forehead, nerves zinging in the air between you like lightning trapped in glass.

“Wait,” he says, reaching down awkwardly, and peels off his socks like they’ve betrayed him. “I don’t want to wear these for this.”

“They’re not that bad,” you say, but you’re already tugging off your own to match. “There. Even.”

The grin he gives you is crooked and overwhelmed, but he’s glowing with it. There’s no hurry, not really. Just a shared understanding that you’re moving toward something neither of you has ever done, and yet it feels inevitable in the best way.

Your hands find his suspenders and slide them down the slope of his shoulders. The tension in the elastic gives a soft snap, and he flinches, then laughs under his breath. He looks smaller without them, somehow—softer. Less held together.

His trousers sit loose on his hips now, waistband gaping far away from skin and it looks like a second Viktor could fit in them easily. When your fingers find the button, he nods, barely a breath. You undo it, and the fabric slides down, pooling around his ankles with a sigh. You both blink at the sound, then laugh again, quietly—he shrugs, self-conscious.

“See?” he mutters.

“Thank gods for those, huh?” you say, pulling at one of the suspender straps, and Viktor chuckles, air leaving his nose loudly as if he was holding it until now.

You guide him out of the trousers, then pause, eyeing the brace along his leg. “Would you like to—?”

He follows your gaze, then nods, sitting back to unbuckle the straps. “It’s easier like this,” he murmurs, focused on the clasps. “I don’t usually take it off unless I have to.”

“You don’t have to,” you say gently.

“I want to.” His voice is soft, but certain.

You watch as he undoes the last strap and lifts the brace carefully aside. Without it, his leg looks thinner, a little tense—but you only touch his knee, light and reassuring, and his shoulders drop. You lean in to kiss his cheek, and he smiles, just barely.

Then you reach for the hem of his shirt, and he lifts his arms to let you pull it off. It takes a moment to work it over his head—his hair sticks up after, and you smooth it back without thinking. He’s left in his undershirt, but the skin you can see is pale in the light, slender and unevenly freckled. When you run your palms down his arms, he inhales sharply, but doesn’t stop you.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, and he ducks his head like he doesn’t believe it, but his smile flickers small and bright.

“You’re not supposed to say that first,” he says. “I was going to say it.”

“You still can.”

He does. Quietly, but steady. “You’re beautiful.”

Then he touches your wrist, tentative, and waits. You nod.

He starts with your sweater, careful with the buttons even though his hands are shaking. You help him with the last one, and then the shirt beneath. His knuckles brush your ribs as he works the fabric off your shoulders. His gaze lingers—not just on your chest, but on all of you, awed.

His fingers trace the waistband of your trousers next, and he looks up again. “Alright?” he asks.

You hum an answer, too full to speak. The zip comes down smoothly. He tugs, slow and a little awkward, and you lift your hips so the fabric can slide off easier. When he gets them halfway down your legs, he stills for a second. Watching your thighs, your knees, your bare skin, as if it’s something rare and precious.

When he finally gets them off, you’re both just… there. Sitting in your underwear, knees bumping, hearts thudding so hard it’s almost funny. You reach for the duvet, tugging it over both of you. Not to hide—just to be close. Wrapped together in the warmth of this.

And then, when you’re ready, you reach again. Gentle. Curious.

“Hi,” you say, and smile.

“Hi,” he echoes, and his gaze never leaves yours.

The covers rest around your hips, pooling softly between you. Viktor’s knees knock against yours again, faint and accidental. Or maybe not. Your fingers graze his, and he turns his palm up, opening it for you.

“I’ve never done this before,” you admit, voice hushed. “Obviously.”

“Me neither.” He huffs a laugh, awkward and fond. “You can probably tell.”

You nudge your shoulder into his. “It’s okay. I think… I’d be scared with anyone else.”

His eyes flicker down, then back up, bright and unblinking. “You’re not scared now?”

You shake your head. “Not with you.”

He exhales like that means the world. Slowly, carefully, he brings a hand to your cheek, thumb barely brushing the skin. “Can I kiss you again?”

You nod, may times, and this kiss is different—shy at first, but it lingers, warmer, his mouth parting when yours does. His hand slides behind your neck. Yours settle over his ribs, thin beneath your palms. The duvet shifts with your closeness, and you both feel it: your bodies pressed together, clothed in breath and nerves.

It changes then—from careful lips to Viktor’s mouth opening a little more, and yours following. The world narrows to the slick, tentative press of tongues. It’s warm, unfamiliar, and clumsy in a way that makes you both stifle little laughs between kisses. His breath tastes like mint and you’re curious when he’s managed to refresh. Yours is all heat. A soft sound slips out of him when you suck gently on his lower lip, and he mirrors it, hesitant but eager.

The sounds are quiet, wet, a shared secret. A rhythm begins to build—just earnest, as if you're both learning at the same pace. His hand slides from the back of your neck to your waist, pulling you in, every touch like a plea for permission. You tip, gently, and both of you laugh as you fall sideways, mouths still pressed together.

Viktor braces himself on one elbow, looking down at you. His curls are a mess. His chest rises and falls in quick little stutters, and your fingers find the hem of his undershirt, then slip beneath. His skin is warm, smooth, and he twitches when you drag your hand along his ribs.

Your legs shift, one sliding against his. The covers slip lower. His free hand trails up your side. Hesitant, at first, but when he finds the curve of your breast and cups it, you gasp—soft and startled and entirely involuntary.

He freezes, then breathes, and you watch his throat move as he murmurs, “I like that sound.”

“Well,” you blush and swallow loudly. “I liked… that.”

His thumb brushes over your nipple through the thin fabric, and the breath that leaves you this time is closer to a moan. His eyes flick to your mouth and linger. Then, shyly, he bends to kiss you again.

You let your fingers drift lower, and wrap them around the hem of his undershirt. He breaks the kiss with a gasp, and lifts his arms in wordless permission. The fabric peels away easily, and when it's off, you pause to look—Viktor’s chest is narrow, ribs visible under pale skin. One of your hands grazes his sternum, and he makes a small, helpless sound in response.

“You’re…” you begin, but it gets lost in a breath. “Beautiful.” His ears go red, and he lowers his head, but he’s smiling.

He mirrors your movement, fingertips brushing the strap of your bra, a question in his eyes. You nod, and reach back to unhook it yourself. When it slips off, Viktor stares like he’s been handed something sacred. His hands hover before he rests one gently against your side, the other cupping you carefully. The sensation makes you shiver, and when his thumb brushes your nipple again—skin to skin this time—you bite your lip.

You tug him back in for a kiss, and while your mouths meet, you shift your hips just enough for your knickers to slide down. You shimmy them off beneath the covers, kicking them away with your toes. He notices. His eyes widen.

“You too,” you whisper, smiling, and he lets out a quiet, nervous laugh.

He pushes his briefs down with both hands, wriggling a little to get them past his hips. They’re snug, but they come off, down to his toes where they tangle, and he has to kick them off. Again, you both let out breathy laughs, pressed forehead to forehead. Now there’s nothing between you. Only skin and heat and everything unknown.

Your palm traces the curve of his shoulder, gliding down his chest, where his heart beats like a second one between you. He mirrors the path, fingers grazing your hip, then your waist, learning you in slow lines and soft breaths. And then, lower.

You hold each other’s gaze when his fingers slip down, brushing through the heat between your legs. The first touch is feather-light, but it makes you tense around the sound it nearly draws from you. His jaw clenches; he swallows, focusing, adjusting, trying again—gentler, more measured.

Your hand finds him in the same moment, wrapping around him with instinct more than knowledge. The sharp breath he lets out doesn’t sound like anything you’ve heard from him before. His hand pauses. He blinks fast, lips parted, stunned by the way your touch makes him falter.

“I—I didn’t know it would feel like that,” he says quietly, wonder bleeding into each word. Your thumb brushes over him and his hips jump. His forehead touches yours, and he whispers, "I might not last that long."

“I don’t mind,” you confess, breath caught.

You’re both still breathing each other in when Viktor shifts, propped on one elbow, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and hesitant eyes. “I… I’ve been reading,” he says, and his voice is so small you almost miss it.

You blink at him, trying not to smile. “Reading?”

He nods. “About this. About how—it might hurt. For you.”

The smile breaks through anyway, teasing, gentle. “Were there diagrams or something?”

The tips of his ears go crimson. “Maybe.”

You laugh under your breath, and it seems to give him courage. His gaze flickers across your face. “Will you let me try something?”

You nod, already breathless at the tenderness in his voice. “Yes.”

His hand glides down your belly, careful and warm, until he’s cupping you again. You’re already soft and slick, the trust between you easing the way, and when the tip of his finger begins to press inside, your body welcomes him with a gasp.

“You’re…” he murmurs, eyes wide in awe. “You’re so soft.”

His voice makes your toes curl. He moves slowly, watching your face the entire time, his brows drawing together in concentration as he slips in deeper, then adds another finger, and you arch at the stretch.

Your hand tightens instinctively around his cock—still warm and heavy in your palm—and the reaction is immediate. Viktor gasps, hips twitching toward you, and then he whimpers, “I beg you, don’t distract me.”

You giggle, trying to find your composure. “Forgive my manners,” you manage, mock-polite, but your voice cracks as his fingers curl just so. “Oh—”

His expression softens into something closer to wonder. “Is that alright?”

You nod, panting. “Yeah. Better than alright.”

“Good,” he says, with so much focus it almost makes you laugh again—if you weren’t so full of feeling. “You’re doing so well.”

“You too,” you whisper, and you mean it. Every moment is something you didn’t know you’d treasure. Every breath from him, every careful touch, feels like something precious.

Viktor’s fingers move again, slowly, curling as if he’s trying to memorise you by feel alone. Your hips twitch, and your head falls back against the pillow, lips parted. It isn’t overwhelming, not yet—but it’s building. Warming. Like a fire catching at the edges.

“I like how you feel,” he says suddenly, shyly, as though he’s admitting something shameful. “Inside. Around me.” Your throat tightens. There’s something about his voice—equal parts reverent and surprised, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this.

“You can—keep going,” you breathe. “It feels really good.”

His lips brush the ball of your shoulder. “Tell me if it stops feeling good. Please.”

“I will.” You smile, lifting your hand to brush his fringe aside, fingers sweeping through soft hair. “You’re already being perfect.”

That makes him fluster, his fingers faltering for just a moment before resuming. He adds a tiny twist to the motion, and the sound that leaves you is unguarded. “Viktor—”

“I like that sound too,” he says, grinning, and then ducks his head to hide it against your shoulder.

You both giggle quietly, your bodies trembling with nerves and affection and something deeper that you’re only beginning to name. Then, he kisses your neck. “Can I try something else?”

You hum and nod, nearly absent and his thumb shifts to stroke you in slow, tentative circles while his fingers stay deep, coaxing the pleasure higher. You cling to his shoulders, skin hot under your palms. It feels good—careful, considered. It’s not polished or practised, but it’s full of kindness, full of him.

And when your hips roll up without thinking, chasing the rhythm, Viktor breathes a shaky “Yes,” into the hollow beneath your ear, like your response gives him permission to keep going. You feel yourself starting to tighten around him, fluttering.

“Gods,” you whisper. “You’re so good.”

“You too,” he says, kissing your cheek, breath ragged now. “You feel… you feel amazing.” His hand has you, fingers deep, careful, as his thumb circles around you slowly. You can feel yourself tipping—your legs tense, your thighs pressing closer around his palm. It's all so much: the warmth of his body against yours, the way he keeps watching your face like he’s afraid to miss even a flicker of feeling.

Your breath catches. “Viktor—”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Let go if you want to.”

One permission is enough for you, and with a soft gasp, you do let go. It rolls through you slowly at first—warmth blooming outward, your muscles clenching around his fingers as your hips jerk. Your breath forms a sound that might be a moan, might be his name. He holds still inside you, except for the slow strokes of his thumb, drawing it out, waiting until your body begins to tremble and soften again. Only then does he carefully slip his hand free.

You’re blinking up at him through the haze, breathless, glowing from within. “You—”

“Did I hurt you?” His brow is furrowed. “Was that alright?”

“It was—” You laugh, dazed. “It was incredible. I think I forgot my name.”

He blushes, his chest rising and falling with shallow breath. You pull him closer, pressing your mouth to his, lazy and grateful. When your hand finds him again, he shudders violently. “You’re so hard,” you murmur against his lips.

He nods, almost sheepish. “Since the beginning.”

Your fingers close around him, and he gasps, hips twitching forward despite himself. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, panting.

“Do you want—?” you begin, but he interrupts with a desperate little sound.

“Gods, yes.” He lifts his head, eyes wide and earnest, “I really, really want to.”

You kiss him again. “Then come here.”

You watch as Viktor reaches behind him, fumbling for where his trousers lay crumpled near the edge of the bed. His hand disappears into the pocket and comes back holding a small, square packet. He blushes when he sees you looking, sheepish. “I, um… thought maybe.”

You smile. “I’m glad you did.” You help him tear it open, hands brushing. There’s a stutter in his breath as he rolls it on, careful and methodical, brows drawn in focus like he’s solving a delicate matter. His fingers tremble.

When he’s done, he looks at you—truly looks. His hair is messy from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses, his whole expression open and tender. “Are you ready?”

You nod, guiding him forward with your hands on his hips, your legs parting to welcome him in. He steadies himself on his forearms, nose brushing yours. “Tell me if I do anything wrong,” he whispers. “I’ve never—”

“You’re perfect,” you whisper back. “I want you.”

He lines himself up, the tip brushing where you're soft and slick. The sensation draws a sharp breath from both of you. And then, slowly, he begins to press inside.

It’s careful, hesitant, and overwhelming—tight and unfamiliar and so incredibly intimate. He gasps, pausing halfway with his eyes fluttering shut. “Oh—God.”

Your hands are on his back, one tracing the line of his spine. “You’re okay,” you whisper. “You’re doing so well.”

He presses the rest of the way in, shallow and shaking, his body curled over yours like he’s trying to disappear into the moment, or maybe into you. For a few seconds, he doesn’t move. He just breathes, and you are grateful for this time to adjust. You feel the warmth of his chest against yours, his heart racing in time with your own.

“It’s—” he starts, then breaks off with a soft, overwhelmed laugh. “You are so good.” You cup his face, unable to say anything. When he finally starts to move, it’s slow and stuttering. He’s trying so hard to hold on, eyes glazed, mouth parted. You kiss his cheek, his jaw, his temple—anchoring him.

“I certainly won’t last,” he confesses, voice breaking. “You feel so—”

“It’s okay.” Your hand slides to the nape of his neck, thumb brushing his hair. “I don’t mind.”

His hips rock a little faster, the rhythm unsteady but full of feeling. Each thrust draws a soft whimper from him, a breathy moan from you. He buries his face against your shoulder, breath heavy. When he comes, it’s with a quiet gasp, his whole body tensing and then melting against you. He clings, arms tight around you like he’s afraid to let go.

You lie there, tangled together in the hush that follows. Eventually, he lifts his head, eyes searching yours. “Did I…?”

You smile and kiss him. “You were wonderful.”

He exhales, dazed and a little teary. “You make me feel like I could do anything.”

“You can,” you say suddenly all serious and Viktor blushes differently this time. His face blushes and his ears, but you are certain his heart does too. He rolls of you, limbs lose and boneless, and pulls you close, arms wrapping snugly around your shoulders until there is space big enough only for you to breathe each other in. Legs tangled and fingers twisted in another’s hair you lay sunken in the sheets. The room quiets around you, and neither of you knows if this was so big only because you don’t know any bigger—but you choose to take it as it is: humbling.

[sturniolohouse]

Warm - M.S.

a/n: hiiii, so this has been in the drafts for a while... finally decided to post it. enjoy !! :)

summary: for the first time as a couple, reader and matt attend wedding together, leading to deeper talks about their future... bf!matt

warnings ! : none just cute shit

word count: 1.7k

song: warm - ariana grande

cause im cool, on my own. but it's warmer in your arms

“We should get married here,” I think out loud, my voice getting lost in the crisp January breeze.

I lean over the railing, gazing at the skyline stretched across and reflected on the dark lake. The mountains in the distance stand tall and stark against the night. The stars shine so brightly in New England, each one just as breathtaking as the next.

New England always has a way of taking my breath away, no matter how many times I’ve been here.

The cold air fills my lungs, but the alcohol running through my system keeps me warm enough to ignore it.

From inside, you can still hear the muffled laughter and the distant bass of music spill out through the double paned glass doors, a reminder that we’ve stepped away from the party. But out here, it’s just us and the brisk winter night.

Matt chuckles softly under his breath behind me in response, the sound faint as another brutal gust of wind whips past my ears and through my hair. Goosebumps rise along my neck and exposed arms, but I stay wrapped up in my daydream.

“Alright, kid. Come on, it’s freezing out here,” Matt says, his voice lighthearted as he rubs his hands together vigorously. 

“Like a fall wedding… when all the leaves turn,” I murmur, still lost in thought.

I hear a deep sigh and some silence falls again, which brings me back to reality. 

I turn to Matt, finding him watching me intently; his head tilted slightly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his eyes ever so glossy– most likely from the wind. 

His chin points towards me, before shaking his head. “You’re drunk.” he finally states, all while biting back a grin.

My jaw drops in mock offense, and his shoulders shake as he giggles at my reaction. His eyes squeeze shut and he looks away momentarily to hide his smile once more, but the crease on the corner of his mouth deepens.

“I’m not drunk, Matt. I’m serious,” I insist, crossing my arms and standing my ground.

I’m really not. My last drink was an hour ago, and I’ve only had two drinks the entire night– three if you’re counting the glass of champagne from the toast at dinner.

I can tell he’s only teasing me, so I let it go, allowing my eyes to wander down his lanky frame instead. 

The outdoor stone fire pit crackles beside him, illuminating his eyes and casting a warm glow along the right side of his face. His hair is tousled, a few strands sticking to his forehead from the sweat we worked up dancing, cheeks flushed from the cold air– evident by the way his breath clouds in front of his face. His hands are shoved deep in his pant pockets, his shoulders hunch against the chill as he shifts his weight to try to keep warm.

Butterflies swarm my belly and I feel myself warm up simply from taking in his appearance alone.

"Have I told you how hot you look in a suit?" I ask, my gaze dragging over him shamelessly– the silhouette of his shoulders, the broadness the jacket gives him. Down to his pants, where they hug his legs just right, making them look even longer.

I glance back at his face just as he smirks, shaking his head and looking away with a hint of bashfulness before recovering quickly.

He licks his lips, giving me a curt nod. "Yeah, I think you've mentioned it a few times tonight, sweetheart," he says.

The urge to be closer to him consumes me, like a magnet pulling me in, needing the familiar comfort of his touch.

He rocks back on his heels, his teeth chattering slightly as I slowly step toward him. When I reach him, my hands slip beneath his suit jacket, arms wrapping around his middle. I hum softly, breathing him in, soaking up the warmth radiating from his body before tilting my head up to meet his gaze, my heavy lids blinking slowly. 

A content smile tugs at my lips as I lean up, pressing a soft kiss to his chin, then his jaw. The scent of his aftershave lingers, sending another wave of goosebumps down my arms.

He looks down at me as I pull away, his hands still in his pockets, but his body instinctively leans in to mine. Molding into me. His eyes soften as they flit across my face and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. 

“I can’t believe there’s not more people out here, it’s stunning,” I motion to our surroundings and the scene behind me. 

“Maybe because it’s negative 18 degrees out here,” He raises his brows and I roll my eyes, pinching his side. 

He jumps, his body jolting against mine as he yelps but I still keep him close. I laugh maniacally and he barely hesitates before pulling a hand from his pocket, just enough to pinch me back on my ass.

“Ow! Okay, okay– truce,” I surrender, wincing but squirm no further from his warmth.

“Yeah, you know better than to pinch me, you little fuckin’ crab,” he says playfully through his teeth, failing to keep a straight face as I throw my head back laughing.

His lips twitch, betraying the smirk he’s fighting before he places a hand on the small of my back, keeping me steady.

“You’re such an idiot,” I say through giggles, wiping at my eyes—only to collapse against his chest in another fit of laughter.

“Alright, alright,” he grits out, half-amused, half-exasperated, shifting to keep us upright. “You’re gonna take me down with you,” he exaggerates. 

I lift my head, trying to compose myself, but before I can wipe at my face again, he beats me to it, brushing my tears away with his thumb. “You’re a mess, kid,” 

“You just make me happy,” I say without even thinking. It slips out effortlessly because with him, it’s so easy to speak my mind.

His eyes blink once, then twice, like the words catch him off guard. He looks away for a moment, his cheeks flushing a deeper pink. He meets my gaze again, something softer settling in his expression.

“You wanna tell me more about that wedding?” His tigterns his arms around my back. 

My breath gets caught in my throat and now, I’m the silent one. 

“What? You were the one rambling about this fall wedding– go on. I’m listening, tell me more.” He sweeps my hair out of my face with his hands, cradling my head in his hands. 

His attention was all on me. 

“Well, it’d be a small ceremony," I start, my voice soft but certain. "Just the people who matter the most."

“Loving what I’m hearing so far, go on,” he hums encouragingly.

His thumbs absentmindedly brushing against my jaw.

"I want it to be here– well, not here-here. But New England," I clarify, watching for his reaction. "I know how much this place means to you. It would make me really happy to have it here."

His eyes flicker between mine as something soft settles in his expression, like he’s letting himself picture it.

"Early fall would be a good time of year," I continue, my voice turning a little dreamy. "Not too hot, not too cold."

“Best season, so again, I’m loving what I’m hearing.” 

I let out a small breath of laughter, shaking my head. "You act like I’m pitching you a business proposal."

His smirk grows, a teasing glint in his eye. "Hey, it’s a big decision. Gotta make sure I’m on board with it all."

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the way my stomach flips when his hands move back down, locking behind my back. He tugs me just a little closer, closing the space between us, and leans in– his face inches from mine.

His voice drops, softer now, low enough that it feels like a secret meant just for me.

"Okay, okay. But, you know in my head, you’re already my wife. A party to celebrate that would just be the cherry on top." He murmurs into the side of my face. 

I’m not sure why, but my breath catches and my heart skips a beat. My fingers instinctively tighten around the lapels of his suit jacket as I pull back to look between his eyes, his gaze unwavering.

We joke about it all the time, how we act like an old married couple, we’ve lied to servers about celebrating our first year wedding anniversary just for free dessert.

But, I think it was the way he said it so casually, so sure.  

Another flood of warmth runs through me when I see how serious he’s being. 

"Matt," I murmured speechless, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He smirks, tilting his head slightly. "What? Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true. You’re it for me, kid."

I don’t even hesitate to throw my arms around his shoulders, hiding my face into the crook of his neck. His hands find my hips, holding me gently as he rocks us side to side. Our heartbeats moving in sync– recognizing one another, like they’ve known each other in every lifetime.

I hear the door sliding open before the music from inside floods into the air and pulls us out of our moment. 

“Alright, lovebirds, get back inside. They’re serving the cake now—holy fuck, it’s cold,” Nick calls out, hugging his arms around himself dramatically.

Matt groans, his forehead tipping against mine. “There goes the peace.” 

I giggle uncontrollably, catching Nick’s eye over Matt’s shoulder. Matt doesn’t even acknowledge him, just buries his face into my neck, still wrapped around me like I’m his human shield. 

“We’ll be right there, Nick,” I say, rubbing Matt’s back absentmindedly.

Nick shakes his head in disbelief. “You two are nuts. I think I actually just caught pneumonia from being out here for thirty seconds.”

He bolts back inside, muttering under his breath, and I can’t help but laugh as the door slides shut behind him.

Matt lifts his head and breathes in deep, eyes closed like he’s mentally preparing to reenter the chaos.

I squeeze his hand gently, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall with that slow, dramatic exhale.

“Ready?” I ask, my voice soft but teasing.

He cracks one eye open at me. “No. But… cake awaits.”

I grin. “Cake does await.” I lean up and peck the corner of his mouth, already reaching for his hand to pull him toward the door.

But before I can take a step, he pulls me right back against him.

His hands cup my face, and he kisses me, slow and tender. The kind of kiss that makes your head spin and your stomach flip. The kind that lingers, even after it’s over.

When he finally pulls back, breathing against me, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Okay. Now, I’m ready.”

[pukefactory]

︶꒦꒷ NOCTURNE COLLECTION ꒷꒦︶

ྐ✚ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring Ken The Butcher X Reader

ྐ✚ Character(s): Ken The Butcher (The Gaslight District)

ྐ✚ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

ྐ✚ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

ྐ✚ Image Credits: @MemuroPage on Pinterest

꒷꒦ You met Ken the same way most people meet death—with a sharp hook around the ankle and the smell of blood in your throat. You weren’t supposed to be in the Whale Belly. You got lost. Or maybe something worse brought you there. But instead of slicing you open like a slab of meat, Ken squinted at your face, muttered something about “wrong time, wrong place,” and offered you a job as a server. With one condition: “You breathe a word to anyone, and I’ll use your ribs for soup stock.” You think that was his way of being sweet.

꒷꒦ Ken doesn’t do affection. He does inspection. He yells at you for not wearing gloves. Yells at you for talking to Mud. Yells at you when you slice onions wrong. “What’re you doin’, lettin’ yourself bleed like that? What if the virtues sniff it out, huh? You tryin’ to die?!” You never realized love could look like a hulking butcher shoving gauze against your palm with shaking hands. Like a man who screams because he doesn’t know how to cry.

꒷꒦ The moment he realizes he’s in love with you, he panics. He tears apart a whole freezer full of pork trying to cool down. What the hell is he supposed to do with this? You—this soft, living thing—liking him? Choosing him? That’s not normal. That’s not safe. So he does the only thing he knows how to: “Stay in the back. Don’t talk to nobody. Don’t look at Mud. Don’t breathe unless I say so.”…And when you do all that anyway, just to stay near him, he nearly bursts a vein.

꒷꒦ He takes “overprotective” to mythic levels. You tripped once and got scraped up. Within the hour, Ken had six gangsters lined up with broken kneecaps, screaming, “WHICH ONE OF YOU PUT A CRACK IN THE SIDEWALK?!” It was a pebble. Doesn’t matter. They’re still cemented to this day.

꒷꒦ He can’t bear to let you out of his sight, so he makes you a butcher’s apprentice. Now you’re stuck in the Whale Belly, learning how to clean knives while Ken critiques your slicing technique with the intensity of a drill sergeant. “No, no, you’re butcherin’ the cut wrong! And not in the good way! Look—like this, you see? Precise. Surgical. Delicate, like open-heart murder.” You can’t tell if he’s flirting or teaching, but either way, you’re sweating.

꒷꒦ When he thinks about the future, he sees red. Not in the angry way. In the wedding veil soaked in blood kind of way. He doesn’t think he deserves a happy ending, but sometimes he imagines one: you in some nice white piece (with a Kevlar vest underneath), him walking you down the aisle (or slaughterhouse hallway), Breadhead officiating. “I’m just sayin’, … if this dump ever goes quiet, and Mel don’t hate my guts, and I ain’t dead yet… maybe we find a chapel. Or a ditch. You pick.”

꒷꒦ He makes you breakfast every morning: eggs (not human), toast (slightly charred), and coffee so bitter it feels like chewing sin. He won’t let anyone else near your food. “You want cyanide in your pancakes? No? Then you eat what I cook.” You tell him it’s perfect every time. He grumbles. But he starts setting the table for two anyway.

꒷꒦ Ken doesn’t trust easily, but he gives you the key to the back freezer. No one has that key. Not even Breadhead. It’s where he keeps the real things. The sacred things. The broken things that still hurt. You found an old photo once—of a baby with a familiar curl in her hair, held by someone Ken tore out of the frame. He saw you holding it and went silent for the whole night. Next morning, he gave you a necklace made from a butcher’s hook. “Wear it. If the virtues come for you… you’ll swing before they do.”

꒷꒦ He doesn’t say “I love you.” He says “Don’t die.” He says it a lot. After arguments. Before raids. When you go to sleep. “Don’t die on me. Not before I do. Not before I finish what I started.” You don’t say anything back. You just hold his hand—scarred, raw, shaking—and hope it says enough.

꒷꒦ If anyone ever hurt you, there wouldn’t be a second time. There wouldn’t be a first time, not really—just a blip before Ken’s rage blotted out the sun. He’s not subtle. He doesn’t bluff. If someone touched a hair on your head, he’d go full monologue: “You touched somethin’ that didn’t belong to you. And now, I’m gonna peel you like garlic and use your spine as a meat skewer.” You asked once if he’d really go that far. He didn’t answer. Just wiped his hands, kissed your knuckles, and muttered, “Only if I’m feelin’ merciful.”

[five-rivers]

Tuck's Labyrinth

[Phic Phight Phill Phor @mistythefifth!]

Tucker was a lot of things.  A genius.  A first-rate bachelor.  A carnivore.   A snack.  A geek.  Unbelievably handsome.  An Esperantist.  God’s gift to women (and men of good taste).  A gamer.  Cool beyond cool.  A hacker.  Eminently eligible.  A ghost hunter.  Drop-dead gorgeous.  A hobbyist archer.  A magnet for Cupid’s arrows.  The reincarnation of an ancient and possibly evil pharaoh.  Bootylicious. The best friend of the personification of memento mori and also Danny Fenton.  And, most importantly, too fine.  

He was not, however, in any way equipped to deal with this.  

“It's so obvious,” said Wes.  “If you'd just open your eyes–”

“You're the one who needs to open his eyes.  Or at least get checked for colorblindness.”

“Do you hear yourself?  If even you think it's reasonable to mix up Fenton and Phantom just by swapping colors–”

“Uh, one, it isn't, and, two, I was talking about coming to school wearing… that.”

Paulina pointed a manicured fingernail in the direction of Wes's clothing, which was, in her defense, a particularly eye-searing combination of flannel plaid jacket, striped t-shirt, novelty camouflage pants, and bright orange boots.  Even Tucker didn't dress like that.  Regularly.  Wes hunched in on himself.  

“It's laundry day,” he said. 

“Your mama's washing your shoes too, huh?”

“Shut up,” said Wes.  “I don't need to take this from a necrophiliac.”

“You–!”

Tucker couldn't take much more of this.  “You guys do know that there's an actual evil ghost in here somewhere?  You know, the one who turned the school into a maze and trapped us in it?”

“I don't know what you're worried about,” said Wes, “Fenton's not going to leave you here.”

Paulina scoffed.  “Fenton's hiding in a closet somewhere. Mi amor, Phantom, on the other hand, will beat up that nasty ghost and sweep me off my feet at any moment.  You can thank me now.”

Tucker loved Danny like a brother, but these guys had way too much faith in a guy who'd once lost a fight with a grocery bag.  (Long story.)

“That's great,” said Tucker.  “But may I remind you: giant maze.”

Wes rolled his eyes.  “Mazes are easy.  You just have to make all right turns.  You can stop the performance already.”

“My what?”

“You know, hyping up your lying friend.  Being a ghost doesn't make him cool.”

“Nothing could make any of you cool,” said Paulina, “but Mr. Delusional is right.  Mazes are easy.”

“You're calling me delusional, when you're–?!”

“Okay, okay,” said Tucker.  “So, three things.  One, the right hand turns thing is only good for getting out of a maze, not for finding people in it.  Two, it only works if you start with a wall that connects with the outside.  And, most importantly, for it to work, you have to actually be doing it.”

Tucker was definitely channeling Danny, or maybe Sam, but there was such a thing as being too laid back.

“Well, we're not stopping you,” said Paulina, examining her fingernails.  “Go run off and do whatever.  I'll tell Phantom when he comes to rescue me.  Probably.”

“Hey, wait, no, Fenton's coming for him–”

Yeah, Tucker wished he could leave.  But these two had no ghost fighting experience, would throw themselves at a ghost if they thought it would get Danny's attention, and would throw themselves at each other if Tucker wasn’t here.  Heck, they were doing it with him here. 

Sam probably would have left, which meant that he was channeling Danny.  

This was terrible.  How did Danny do this?

“Look,” said Tucker, interrupting the argument.  “Even if you think that we’re going to be rescued, we don’t know when and we don’t know if there are other ghosts around who could attack us.  We need some kind of a plan.”  

Paulina and Wes stared at him.  

“Other than just waiting to be rescued,” clarified Tucker.  He waved at the ‘room’ around them.  “We aren’t even somewhere we can barricade, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t see a drinking fountain or a bathroom anywhere.”  They were, in fact, in a fairly featureless stretch of hallway, complete with lockers, slightly-cracked linoleum, and buzzing fluorescent lights.  The locker numbers were non-sequential and had three more digits than the highest-numbered real lockers at the school.  

“I never go to the bathroom at school,” said Wes.  “That’s where they get you.”

“Dude,” said Tucker.  “Like, how?  Do you not drink or what?”

“I don’t drink at school.  If I did, I’d have to use the bathroom.”

“No wonder you’re so crazy,” said Paulina.  “I’d say that you should just go to the bathroom with your friends, like a normal person, but you don’t have any of those.”

“I do too!”

“Yeah?  Who?” asked Paulina.  

Tucker listened, too.  And took out his PDA.  This would be good data for his all-school relationship map.  

(Hey, it was an important multi-function tool.  How was he supposed to know who to ask out without it?  Or who to blackmail with what if someone more credible than Wes Weston found out Danny’s secret?)

“I’m not going to tell you.  You’ll just say that they aren’t real.”

Ooh.  That was just sad.  Tucker put his PDA away.

“Well, now I am,” said Paulina.  

There was a sudden, startling chime from the PA system.  Tucker looked around, trying to find the speaker.  

“Hi, so, first off, don’t panic,” said Danny’s voice.  

That… was maybe not the best way for Danny to start.  Jeez.  

“Oh!  Oh!  It’s Phantom!” said Paulina, bouncing distractingly.  

“It’s Fenton,” said Wes, “and it’s about time.”

“And, secondly, no, I haven’t found the office.  I’m possessing the PA system.  And, no, I can’t hear you, unless you find one of the PA buttons and–”

There were a series of beeps, followed by shouting, followed by a screech of feedback.  

“--ough of that!” said Danny, getting control of the system again.  “So, if you can get to a button, I can hear you, but I can’t teleport you out, so that’s kind of pointless.  Unless you’re being attacked or something.  Which could be happening.  This guy named himself Daedalmouse, which sort of implies the existence of a Mousotaur, and I’ve been fighting a lot of ghost rats trying to find him.  I’m pretty sure that finding him and beating him up will undo the whole labyrinth thing, but I don’t know how long it will take – yes, I know about the right hand wall trick, but that only works for getting out of mazes that are, you know, following the laws of physics, and not finding crazy ghosts that aren’t following the laws of physics.  I’ll try to check in by possessing the speakers every couple of hours, but in the meantime, hang tight, find places with water, all that survivalist stuff.  If you find a way out, go for it, but no Icarus stuff.  Icarus,” mumbled Danny, sounding distracted.  “Icarus.  Icar-mouse?”  The PDA system chimed again, and then fell silent.  

Except for everyone mashing the buttons, but that was just unintelligible noise and didn’t count.  

“The ghost is named Deadmau5?” asked Paulina.  “What a rip off.”

“He said Daedalmouse.  Like Daedalus?  From Greek mythology?  Ringing any bells?” asked Wes.  

“Whatever,” said Paulina.  “I bet you don’t even know who Deadmau5 is.”

Tucker breathed in slowly through his nose.  “Let’s at least find one of the call buttons so that we can, you know, call for help?  Hello?  Wes?  Paulina?”  Tucker sighed and adjusted his glasses.  “Or so that we can call Phantom when he gets on next?”

“Please, like you need the announcement system to call your best frie–”

“Yes, and then once Phantom knows where I am, he will come and rescue me,” said Paulina, skipping down the hallway.  

“Sure,” said Tucker.  He started walking.  He didn’t want Paulina to get too far ahead.  “Are you coming, Wes?”

“You could just call him,” said Wes.  “On your phone.”

As a point of fact, Tucker had already tried that.  It didn’t work.  “I don’t have Phantom’s number, Wes.”

“I hate you so much.  All of you.”

“I know, Wes.”   

.

“Oh!  Look at that!” said Paulina, pointing around the corner.  

Tucker ran forward - well, jogged, they’d been walking for a while, vainly searching for a classroom door - thinking she’d seen a ghost.  She hadn’t.  

They all looked at the vending machine, hungrily. 

Paulina ran forward and punched in a number on the vending machine keypad, then stopped and turned back to Tucker and Wes.

“Do, like, either of you have any money?”

“Aren’t you rich or something?” asked Wes.  

“Which is how you know I’ll pay you back,” said Paulina.  She flipped her hair over her shoulder.  “I can’t believe that the one time I leave my purse in my locker during school, this happens.”

“Is it still school property if it’s in a nightmare ghost maze?” asked Tucker, because there was jerky in there, and his ultra-predator instincts needed fuel, darn it.  “We can always say the ghost broke it.”

“Okay, but, like, how?” asked Paulina.  “I’m not breaking my nails on this thing.”

“Just move,” said Tucker, pulling out his PDA and nudging Paulina to the side.  He probably had some dongle or other that would connect to the vending machine.  Not this one…  Not that one…  There, he could slide that into the card reader and then just run the program.  He hadn’t tested this before, so he had no idea if it would–

Tucker didn’t have Danny’s ghost sense, but after over a year of ghost hunting, he’d picked up a few things.  Like when a ghost was about to cream him.  Unfortunately, he still didn’t have much of a skill set when it came to what to do when he noticed a ghost was about to cream him.  He looked over his shoulder.  

Yep.  That was a giant ghost rat, all right.  

He dropped his PDA, then threw himself to the floor as the rat jumped straight at his head.  It hit the vending machine, sending it crashing to the floor.  Paulina screamed and ducked around the corner.  Wes stared, frozen.  

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled out his lipstick laser.  He spun the top and started firing.  The rat yelped.  He loved this thing so much.

But giant ghost rats had thicker skin than the typical animal ghost, because it jumped on Tucker, knocking the laser out of his hands.  He and the rat rolled around, wrestling.  

Man, all this scene needed was some fire, and then it’d be straight out of that one mov–

Paulina came screaming back around the corner, carrying a large cork board over her head.  It was covered in motivational posters with slogans like ‘If someone tells you that you cannot become immortal, they are liars,’ ‘Doesn’t it make sense that a lot of witch hunts are witch hunts because it’s your birthday?’ and ‘If we all work together we can make the north pole collapse under its own weight.’  

She slammed the board down on the rat’s head and it sort of staggered off Tucker, twitching.  It was a good thing it was too stupid to go intangible.  Paulina had used enough force that Tucker would have some broken ribs if the rat was smart.  

But the rat’s disorientation was momentary.  It turned back to Paulina and Tucker, teeth bared.  Which was when Wes started shooting the rat with the lipstick laser.  The rat yelped and twisted to face him, levitating up into the air, which in turn gave Tucker enough time to roll to his feet and activate his wrist ray.  

He didn’t like the wrist rays as much as the lipstick laser, they were harder for him to aim, but at this range, that hardly mattered.  After being hit a few dozen times, the rat ran away, squeaking.  

“Thanks,” said Tucker.  “That was–  Thanks.  Can I have that back?”

Wes, pale faced, handed the lipstick laser back to Tucker like it was a loaded gun…  Which wasn’t exactly inaccurate…  

“That was so gross,” said Paulina, holding her hands out in front of her as if they were contaminated.  Tucker didn’t know what her problem was, she hadn’t even touched the rat.  

“Yeah,” agreed Wes, who hadn’t even been near the rat, breathlessly.  He was getting some of his color back, though, so that was good.  Tucker never knew what to do when people passed out.  Unless those people were Danny, in which case what to do usually involved evacuation, ghost first aid, and deciding how many days to tell Danny he’d been out for when he woke up.  

“Could’ve been worse,” said Tucker.  “Luckily, you had me.  Tucker Foley, too fine.”

Paulina and Wes stared at him, lips starting to curl.  Tough crowd.  

How did Danny do this?

Tucker shrugged, discarding the thought, and walked over to the vending machine.  He rescued his PDA - the reinforcement upgrades were really paying off! - kicked the machine to shake off some of the broken glass, and reached in to pull out a packet of jerky.  It had his name on it.  Metaphorically speaking.  

“Are you really going to eat that?” asked Wes.  “That thing was all over you.”

“Well, yeah,” said Tucker, peeling open the packet.  “But it was dead, so…”

“It could have the plague,” said Wes.

“Then I’m already dead,” said Tucker.  “Since it was all over me and all.  Ooh, this type has cheese in it.”  He took a bite and the walls shimmered.  The next thing Tucker knew, he was standing on the front lawn of the school, along with the rest of the student body.

“We’re out?” asked Wes.  

“Phantom saved us,” said Paulina, clasping her hands together, her previous disgust forgotten.  “I knew he would.  Next time, I’ll have to give him a hero’s reward.  Fate is so cruel, to keep us apart.”

Wes scoffed.  “He literally sits two rows behind you in almost every class you have.”

Tucker took a deep breath, anticipating the argument, then turned and walked away.  They were out of the maze.  It wasn’t his problem anymore.  He could enjoy his jerky.  

High overhead, Tucker heard Danny scream.  “It was about the ‘mice’ finding the cheese in your stupid maze?  Why the heck are you Ancient Greek themed if you’re just a mad scientist?!”

[raekensluver]

something like home

description: you and george share a quiet moment on a balcony during a loud party.

pairing: best friend!george clarke x fem!reader

contains: fluff, best friends to....?

song rec: i like me better by lauv- "i like me better when i'm with you."

w.c: 950+

you’d only been in the city for a few months, but the lights still felt too bright and the crowds too loud.

it wasn’t bad—not at all. you’d dreamt about living in london for years. but now that you were here, dancing around events and slipping into social circles that once felt impossible to reach, you sometimes missed the quiet hum of your hometown. the slow kind of comfort that didn’t demand anything from you.

like him.

tonight’s party was loud. sidemen-hosted, apparently, which meant the hotel had been rented out and filled with flashing lights, music that trembled through your ribs, and a rotating collection of influencers, footballers, and too-good-looking-for-their-own-good youtubers. it was fun, or at least it was supposed to be. you’d lost count of how many conversations you’d barely kept up with. how many selfies you’d politely leaned into.

so when you slipped out onto the balcony of the twelfth floor, the cool bite of spring air felt like a relief. like exhaling after holding your breath too long.

you leaned against the railing, eyes sweeping the glowing london streets below. horns blared distantly. a dog barked. someone laughed across the street. all the sounds were a bit muffled, a bit softer.

and then—footsteps behind you.

“thought i’d find you out here. you alright?”

you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

george’s voice had a weight to it, even when it was light. familiar in a way nothing else in this new life was. like the feeling of cold grass on bare feet. or your name in someone else’s handwriting.

you smiled and turned your head slightly. “i just needed a breather,” you said, turning your gaze back to the streets. “too many people. too many conversations that go nowhere.”

george chuckled, stepping beside you. “same old you.”

you nudged him with your shoulder. “same old me?”

“yeah,” he said, resting his elbows on the railing, matching your posture. “always needed an escape route. even at your own birthday parties, you’d disappear halfway through and come back with a book.”

you laughed softly, warmth blooming in your chest. “i didn’t know you remembered that.”

“i remember a lot,” george said gently, almost too quietly for the city to hear.

there was something about being around george that made your chest ache a little, like stretching a muscle you didn’t know you still had. you’d grown up together—neighbors, friends, secret-sharers. you could still remember sneaking into his garage to “help” him think of video ideas when you were both fifteen, your knees knocking as you sat on a too-small stool beside him, drinking warm sodas and talking about the future like it was a dream.

then life happened. you drifted. fell out of orbit.

until london.

until him.

you met again by chance—spotted each other at a coffee shop, both stunned into silence and then laughter. from there, it was like no time had passed. except it had. you’d grown. he had too.

now he looked at you like he knew all the old parts of you and was trying to memorize the new ones too.

“you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

you nodded. “just needed a second.”

george tilted his head, eyes studying you in that way of his—soft, but sharp. “too much?”

“i guess. you know i’ve never really been a party girl.”

“you’re doing a great job of pretending,” he teased, bumping his shoulder against yours gently.

“thanks. i practiced my fake laugh and everything.”

“oh yeah? give me a sample.”

you snorted. “you’ve definitely heard it already.”

he grinned. “i knew something was off. no one laughs at arthur’s jokes that hard.”

you laughed—real this time. “arthur’s gonna cry when he hears that.”

“i hope so.”

you both went quiet for a beat. the city stretched out below, golden and alive.

george glanced sideways at you. “you know, i’m really glad you moved here.”

you looked at him, a bit startled. “yeah?”

“yeah. i don’t know…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “it’s been good. having you around again.”

“same,” you said, voice quieter than before. “feels like i got a piece of myself back.”

he looked at you for a long second, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. then he smiled, gentle and wide. “we make a good team.”

“we always did.”

inside, through the glass doors, you could faintly make out chris and arthur standing near the bar, their heads tilted toward the balcony.

“i think we’ve got an audience,” george murmured.

you peered inside. arthur had the biggest grin on his face, nudging chris’s side. chris just shook his head, clearly trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly.

you laughed. “subtle.”

george leaned a little closer, voice warm. “ignore them.”

“ignore the fan club? impossible.”

he was quiet for a second, then said, “i missed this.”

you looked at him.

“missed you.”

that ache in your chest returned, fuller this time.

you reached for his hand without thinking, fingers brushing his. he let you take it, his grip soft but sure.

“i missed you too,” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything, but you saw the way his thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles, how he turned his head to look at you like you hung stars in the sky.

the city breathed beneath you both, a quiet heartbeat pulsing through its streets. after a minute, you let your head fall to his shoulder, the soft fabric of his coat pressing into your cheek. he didn’t flinch. instead, he leaned into it, just a little. just enough.

neither of you said anything else for a while. you just stood there together, shoulder to shoulder, two threads stitched back into the same page after years apart.

inside, the music picked up again.

outside, everything slowed.

[catssluvr]

first kiss, travis martinez

travis martinez x fem!reader (1k words) (request)

in which you are travis’ first kiss.

warnings: kissing, fluff :)

꩜ ꩜

It's a perfect summer day, the sun feels slightly unbearable to be under but the tree shades provide a pleasing cooling sensation. Almost everyone has come to either swim or sit by the lake, splashes and laughter sounding through the air.

The warm breeze feels nice on your skin as you come to surface, water dripping from your soaked hair to your back.

You take a moment to catch your breath, a small smile forming on your lips as you take a look around your surroundings. Van and Tai are doing a splash war, full of giggly voices and heart eyes.

On the corner of your eyes you catch Travis a few feet away, seemingly lost in thought. He's looking at you, you realize.

You turn to catch his gaze in yours, only for a split moment as he gives you a small smile before looking away.

There's something going on between you two, you've known it for a while now. He's closer to you than any of the other girls, both of you growing more attached with every day that passes.

But there's still that awkward feeling present, that usually dissolves when you spend time together but never evolves into anything. Travis is shyer than he tries to come off as, turning into a stuttering blushing mess when you both touch.

An idea pops in your head, having to stop yourself from chuckling as you put your plan in action.

You slowly get out of the water, making your way to your towel so you can dry off before pulling your clothes on again.

Turning back to look at where Travis is still in the lake, you wait for him to notice you before motioning with your head towards the woods.

You give him no time to say anything before striding the opposite way, walking until you find the tree trunk you both usually hang at and you know he will find easily.

You sit there for only a few minutes before he shows up, looking as if he had been on a rush just moment ago and with a dishevelled hair that looks way too good not to run your fingers through it.

"What are you following me for, weirdo?" You ask smugly as he takes a sit next to you, the closeness in which he settles for making your heart skip a beat.

"Shut up." He rolls his eyes, but there's an hint of a smile on his lips.

It feels comfortable and almost natural to be close to him, to get to tease him senselessly until he's too flustered to utter a single word.

"You look like a wet dog." Your hand reaches to ruffle his hair as the excuse leaves your mouth, receiving a light shove almost immediately.

"Oh, me?" Travis raises his eyebrows with a smile full of scheme.

You hum, puffing your chest jokingly. In a swift movement, he launches himself at you, fingers coming to place tickles on your ribs.

You shriek, flinching from his ticklish touches as he comes to be practically on top of you. He chuckles above you, as unaware of the proximity as you.

"Take it back." He threatens with a smirk.

"No!" You gasp between breaths.

"You sure?" He pushes, fingers stilling for a moment of peace before returning to your ribs in full force.

"Okay- i take it back!!" Your breath comes ragged as he pulls away, hands settling on the grass on either side of you.

His breath fans your face as he looks at you, a wide smile of now victory on his face as his eyes practically sparkle. You can't help but let out one more giggle of your own.

"You're smiley for someone who's supposed to think i'm weird." Travis points.

"I'm happy." You answer lowly, honestly.

"Yeah?" He seeks confirmation, leaving behind all the usual playfulness and holding back.

"Mhm."

You feel your eyes drop to his lips, stomach fluttering at the thought of them feeling as good as they look. The slight dryness to them only has you wanting to kiss them more and change that.

"I've never done this before." He whispers close to your own lips.

You can't help but shudder at the thought, it feels even more special than it already did. And you want to be the first and last to get to touch his lips with yours.

"Do you want to?" You rub his cheek with your thumb. Making sure he's comfortable with you is still way more important than what you wish.

Travis doesn't bother to answer, capturing your lips to his in an almost desperate way as one hand comes to hold your chin so that your mouth stays glued to his.

It starts of slightly clumsily, his nose bumping into yours a few times. But he gets the hang of it rather fast, mouth moving against yours until his lips feel numb.

You have to wonder how he's so good at something he's never done, clouding over all the other times you've done it before.

He slows his lips, pressing a pecks to your lips a few times before being forced to pull away by the smiles that form on both your lips.

You giggle awkwardly as you pull away, burying your face in his shoulder.

Travis moves to sit by your side again, wrapping an arm around you so you can rest on his chest again. His heart is beating wildly against your ear, and the way he plays with the belt loops of your shorts makes you sure he's nervous.

"That was really good, Trav." You squeeze his waist affectionately.

"Okay." He nods embarrassed. You smile against his shirt, cheeks hurting from the overuse of it.

"Might have to try again to make sure though." You lighten the mood.

"Dork." He says but doesn't contest it as he untucks you from his embrace to kiss you again, humming with pleasing against your lips.

"Want to go actually swim with me instead of looking creepily?"

"Yeah, yeah. Flatter yourself." He rolls his eyes, pulling you up and wrapping his arm around your shoulder again before pressing a kiss to your temple.

You grab hold of his hand hanging from your shoulder, retributing the kiss there. Definitely happy.

[stellaspectral]

okay i have a request: bayverse!leonardo x fem!reader. the reader has been friends with the turtles for months and during this time she and leonardo have developed a close relationship thanks to their love of reading and the fact that both of them are calm introverts (the reader is much more sweet and in tune with her emotions tough, bay!leo really needs someone like this imo). now leonardo is realizing that what he thought was just friendship is becoming something more, at least on his part, and he doesn't know what to do about it. obviously his brothers notice this change and their way of helping him is to tease him in front of the reader to force either of them to confess (they secretly been shipping them since the beginning and finally their ship is sailing!).

A/N: Hello, anon! I loved writing the dynamic between Leo and the reader, how they’re a lot alike but she has that emotional intelligence that he often lacks. And the brothers’ teasing “encouragement” to get them together was also a fun element to incorporate, even if it’s rough-going at first 🫢

I hope you enjoy! ☺️

Between the Lines (angst/fluff)

💙 Bayverse Leonardo/Female Reader 💙

CWs: Mutual pining, sibling teasing and meddling, brief anger/snapping, emotional vulnerability, confessions, first kiss, happy ending. All characters are aged-up.

The familiar, cool air of the lair wraps around you like a well-loved blanket.

You’re curled up on the worn but comfortable cushions of the couch, a thick hardback open in your lap. Across from you, Leo occupies his usual spot in a patched-up armchair. He’s immersed in an old, slightly battered-looking copy of Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings. He furrows his brow in concentration as he tracks the lines of text.

This is your usual routine, which began not long after you—months ago—literally stumbled into Leo and his brothers’ hidden world. And this comfortable silence you now share has become one of your favorite parts of it. You both found kinship in your introversion. A quiet understanding that doesn’t require constant chatter.

And of course, you’ve bonded over books and love to discuss the stories, the characters, the ideas within them. Sometimes the discussions are deep dives into themes and motivation. Other times they’re just comfortable exchanges about a particularly well-turned phrase or a plot twist neither of you saw coming.

While you’ve grown fond of his brothers’ more eccentric dispositions, Leo’s calm presence is something you enjoy. You appreciate the depth you sense beneath his disciplined exterior, the careful way he observes the world. You, in turn, offer a gentler perspective, a willingness to voice the emotions he usually keeps tightly locked down.

You sometimes catch him watching you when he thinks you’re not looking—like right now. For a moment, his brow smooths out, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his blue eyes.

Before his gaze snaps back to his book, brow furrowing once again.

A faint warmth spreads through your chest at the intensity you glimpsed, even if it vanished as quickly as it appeared. You keep your eyes dutifully on your page, though the words blur together. You pretend you didn’t notice, respecting the boundary he clearly erected by whipping his gaze back so sharply. And that’s part of the understanding too: knowing when not to push.

You shift slightly on the cushions, the worn fabric sighing softly beneath you. The sound seems amplified in the quiet. You reread the last paragraph on the page, forcing your focus back to the intricate plot unfolding. And for another minute or two, the silence stretches. You find yourself wanting to bridge it. But again, you relent, convincing yourself not to press.

Your cheeks are warm. This isn’t just the comfortable quiet anymore; your skin tingles, and the air feels like it does before a storm. Again, you attempt to focus on the words in front of you, but you can no longer comprehend them. All you can think about is the definite shift you’ve sensed in Leo—and the precarious question mark hanging in the space between you.

Because lately, the way he looks at you—it feels … different.

The words on the page have become meaningless squiggles, drowned out by the roaring silence and the frantic beat of your own heart against your ribs. Just now, you feel that look again. That focused stare. You try to take a slow, steadying breath, but it hitches halfway. Then you risk another look at Leo—

—and this time, he doesn’t look away immediately.

Instead, his eyes meet yours. And for a beat, you swear you feel the air crackle. There’s a tension in his jaw you’ve learned to recognize as him grappling with something internally. He continues to hold your gaze, not looking away. You swallow, rooted to the spot.

Inevitably, something shatters the moment.

“Ooooh, lookie here! Study buddies getting intense?” Mikey’s voice booms as he skateboards into the main room, executing a wobbly turn.

Leo’s posture goes ramrod straight. Every muscle seems to tense. “It’s called reading, Michelangelo.” He speaks in a clipped, overly formal tone—a sure sign of his discomfort.

Donnie wanders in, tapping away at a tablet. Though his eyes flick between you and Leo with keen interest. “Technically, Mikey’s right. Leo’s bio-feedback readings have shown a slight elevation in heart rate and galvanic skin response when you’re in close proximity.”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh as you bookmark the page and close your book. Oh boy, you think as Raph enters the room. Here we go. The peace is officially over.

Raph glances from a now distinctly uncomfortable Leo to you, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Yeah, ‘reading’. Looks more like our fearless leader is trying to figure out how to use his words for something other than barking orders.” He gives Leo a pointed look.

Leo’s shoulders bunch up even further, and he shoots Raph a glare that could curdle milk. “I was contemplating strategy, Raphael. Something you might benefit from trying occasionally, instead of just charging in.” The deflection is immediate, sharp.

You tuck your feet beneath you on the couch, feeling the tension in the room climbing. “He’s right, guys,” you say softly, trying to inject a note of casualness. “We were just enjoying the quiet.”

“Quiet? Dude, the air was buzzing!” Mikey insists, ditching his board and planting his feet firmly on the floor. “Like, zzzzt! Electric eel quiet!” He makes buzzing noises and wiggles his fingers for emphasis.

“My sensors registered a distinct increase in localized atmospheric ions,” Donnie says, “that are consistent with elevated emotional states. Fascinating, really.” He taps his screen again. “Further analysis pending.”

Leo makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Donnie,” he grits out.

Raph folds his arms over his plastron, that knowing smirk still firmly in place. “Aw, relax, Leo. Nobody’s judging.” He pauses, letting the implication hang heavy. “Much.” He winks at you, making you blush. “Just sayin’, Leo. Maybe Musashi ain’t the only thing holdin’ your attention these days.”

“Shut up, Raph,” Leo snaps, his gaze darting towards you, checking your reaction.

“Aw, is Leo getting flustered?” Mikey teases, grinning as he looks at you. “You finally break through that super-serious shell of his?”

Heat floods your face, matching the flush you see creeping up Leo’s neck.

You manage a small, slightly shaky laugh. “You guys are relentless,” you say, aiming for amused rather than mortified. You gesture vaguely towards the books resting nearby. “There’s no ‘shell breaking’ going on. We were just reading.”

Leo pushes himself abruptly out of the chair, his movements stiff and jerky. He places The Book of Five Rings down on the armrest with more force than necessary. “Enough, Mikey,” he bites out, his voice low and tight with warning. He refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over Mikey’s shoulder, his jaw clenched tight.

“Actually,” Donnie begins, adjusting his glasses, “the ‘shell’ metaphor is interesting. Because psychologically, prolonged exposure to a non-threatening, emotionally open individual can foster increased vulnerability and trust in subjects typically exhibiting guarded behavior. My preliminary data correlates with a significant decrease in Leo’s baseline stress markers when in your presence, contrasted with—”

Raph snorts, cutting Donnie off. “See? Even Donnie agrees you’re gettin’ soft, Leo.” He grins wider, thoroughly enjoying the leader’s discomfort. “Must be all that … quiet reading.”

“Is Leo gonna start writing poetry now?” Mikey says, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, completely oblivious to Leo’s darkening expression—or perhaps relishing it far too much. “Ooh! Or maybe singing love songs?” He strikes a dramatic pose, hand over his heart.

“That’s enough!” Leo finally snaps. His voice cracks through the room like a whip, sharp enough to make even Mikey flinch back a step.

The playful teasing evaporates instantly. For a fraction of a second, Leo’s furious gaze lands on you. You see a flash of something raw and conflicted—Panic? Frustration? Regret?—before he wrenches his eyes away and pivots on his heel. “I’m going to train.”

Before he can go far, Raph grabs his arm. “Leo, wait. We didn’t mean—”

“Let me go.” Leo shakes off Raph’s hand, his voice low, strained. His gaze flits momentarily back to you, and the raw emotion you glimpsed earlier—that maelstrom of panic and frustration—is starkly visible before he clamps down on it again, hardening his expression.

Raph lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. The smirk is long gone, replaced by a frown of genuine concern mixed with self-reproach. “Leo, we’re sorry. Didn’t mean to push ya like that. We got kinda … carried away.” He casts an apologetic glance at you as well.

Mikey looks up, nodding quickly. “Yeah, dude. Sorry. We were just messing around. Because you know, the two of you …” He gestures vaguely between Leo and you, opens his mouth to say something—before wincing slightly, thinking better of finishing that train of thought.

Leo’s about to throw some barbs at his youngest brother when you stand abruptly and go over to him. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to calm him. “They’re just being—”

“Annoying?” Leo bites out. “Intrusive?”

“Accurate,” Donnie supplies, leveling a look directly at Leo.

“Seriously,” Raph says. “We see how you get all quiet and weird—well, quieter and weirder—when she’s around. So just spit it out already.”

He glares at Raph. “There’s nothing to ‘spit out.’ Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to broadcast every fleeting thought or impulse that crashes through my head.” The insult is sharp, aimed squarely at his hot-headed brother.

Mikey winces again, glancing between his two oldest brothers nervously.

Raph raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, easy, Leo. Just sayin’—”

“Saying what, exactly?” Leo cuts him off, his control fraying. “That I enjoy quiet companionship? That I value having someone around who … who understands me?” His eyes flicker briefly, almost involuntarily, towards you again.

Your cheeks grow warm once more. But before Leo can say anything else, you quickly move forward, laying a hand gently on his arm. “Please, Leo,” you murmur, your voice soft but clear. “It’s okay. Really.”

He freezes at your touch. His muscles remain rigid beneath your hand, taut as bowstrings. But the furious energy seems to stall, caught short by your intervention. He looks down at your hand resting on his arm, his plastron rising and falling with agitated breaths. Then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to your face.

The anger in his eyes vanishes, momentarily overwhelmed by that conflicted look again. His vulnerability warring fiercely with his ingrained need for composure. And for a fleeting second, he looks utterly lost.

Exposed.

Raph watches the silent exchange between you and Leo, his own expression softening considerably. He nudges Mikey. “C’mon, guys,” Raph says quietly. “Let’s, uh … Let’s give ‘em some space.”

Mikey nods, looking immensely relieved to escape the line of fire. “Yeah! Space! Totally! Good idea, Raph!” He backs away towards the tunnels.

Donnie again looks between the two of you, before following Mikey out of the lair. Raph joins them soon after, leaving the room to fall quiet again.

It’s heavy, thick with everything that was just said.

And everything that wasn’t.

Leo hasn’t moved. He’s still looking at you, your hand still resting on his arm. The tension hasn’t fully left him, but the volatile anger has receded. Slowly, deliberately, he covers your hand with his own for a second—before pulling away. It’s not a rejection so much as a gathering of courage.

He turns away slightly, running a hand over his face, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I … apologize,” he says, the word strained. “For their behavior. And … for my reaction. It was inappropriate.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Brothers tease. It happens.”

He shakes his head. He still won’t look directly at you, focusing instead on the worn pattern of the rug. “No. It’s not just teasing.” He pauses, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. “They weren’t entirely … wrong.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You wait, hardly daring to breathe, as he visibly struggles with himself. His fists clench and unclench at his sides. He takes a deep, unsteady breath, the kind you’ve seen him take before facing a daunting opponent.

Finally, he turns back to face you. His eyes meet yours, and the turbulent emotions beneath shatter his usual discipline. The raw vulnerability you glimpsed earlier is fully present now, unguarded and intense.

“Donnie’s observations,” he begins, his voice rough, stumbling slightly over the words. “And Raph’s … accusations.” He swallows hard, his gaze unwavering now, locked onto yours. “While crudely delivered, they hold a measure of truth.”

He takes another breath, forcing the next words out. “My focus—it has been compromised lately. When you are here.” He gestures vaguely towards the couch, towards the shared space, towards you. “This quiet companionship, as I called it. It’s become … significant. To me.”

He pauses again, the silence stretching, amplifying the frantic beat of your own heart. You can see the effort it’s costing him, the sheer force of will required to push past years of ingrained stoicism and emotional suppression.

“I find your presence centering,” he continues, the formality of his words contrasting with the emotion in his eyes. “And distracting. Simultaneously.” A faint, self-deprecating grimace touches his lips before vanishing. “My thoughts deviate from strategy. My focus … shifts.”

He looks down briefly, then meets your gaze again, his own filled with a hesitant, almost uncertain intensity. “What I mean to say,” he finally manages, the words quiet but clear in the heavy silence, “is that my feelings for you extend beyond friendship.”

He doesn’t say more. He simply stands there, stiff as a board, his jaw clenched. As if preparing for a blow after having laid his carefully guarded heart bare. His eyes, usually so calm and assessing, are wide, searching yours, filled with a potent mixture of apprehension and hope.

You can only stare, the echo of Leo’s words reverberating in the space between you. It’s the confirmation of the subtle shift you’d sensed, the answer to the unspoken question that had been tightening your own chest for weeks. But hearing it spoken aloud by him causes a warmth to bloom inside you, chasing away the anxiety that has plagued you for so long.

You see the tight set of his shoulders, the way his hands are still loosely fisted at his sides as if he’s bracing for rejection. For the possibility that he’d misread everything, that he’d shattered the comfortable dynamic you share for nothing. You take a hesitant step closer, closing the small distance between you.

Shoving down your own introverted caution. Because he deserves the same honesty he just offered you.

“Leo,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper.

You lift a hand, not quite touching him yet, letting it hover in the charged air between you. “That quiet companionship …” you begin, echoing his earlier words, your voice gaining a little strength. “It’s … significant for me, too.”

Relief flashes across his face, but he remains still. Waiting.

“I thought … I thought maybe I was imagining things,” you admit, a wobbly laugh escaping you. “The way you looked at me sometimes. The way it felt just sitting here. Reading.” You finally meet his gaze fully, letting him see the emotion swimming in your own eyes. “It wasn’t just comfortable silence anymore, was it?”

He shakes his head mutely, his throat working as he swallows.

“My focus hasn’t exactly been stellar either,” you confess, a small smile touching your lips. “These last few weeks, maybe longer. Trying to read when all I can really think about is …” You trail off, suddenly finding it hard to say the words, your own vulnerability rising to the surface.

You take another step, finally closing the gap. Your hand finds his arm again, resting gently on firm muscle. This time, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his own hand covers yours almost instantly, his grip surprisingly gentle but firm, anchoring you.

“Leo,” you say again, your voice steadier now. “My feelings for you … they extend beyond friendship, too.” You take a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rush of relieved honesty. “A lot further. I …” You swallow. “I love you.”

The admission hangs in the air, raw and true.

For a heartbeat, Leo just stares at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to absorb the reality of your words. Then, the tension visibly drains out of him. His shoulders slump in relief, his posture relaxing. His grip on your hand tightens possessively. A slow, tentative smile—one that reaches his eyes—transforms his face, erasing the lines of worry.

It makes your heart do a ridiculous flip.

“You …” he starts, his voice thick with emotion, almost rough. He clears his throat. “You do?”

You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, your smile mirroring his. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. Not from sadness, but from overwhelming relief and happiness.

He raises his other hand, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. The contact sends shivers down your spine. He seems momentarily lost for words, the disciplined leader grappling with an emotion far more complex than any battle strategy.

“I …” He shakes his head slightly, that small smile lingering. “I hoped. But I wasn’t sure.” He leans closer, gently cupping your face. “I love you too,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

The world seems to narrow down to just the two of you. Leo’s thumb strokes gently over the back of your hand. His other hand remains cupped against your face, his touch feather-light but possessive. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. You give the slightest nod, a silent permission that sends another wave of warmth flooding through you.

He leans in slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to pull away, true to his nature. But you don’t move. You meet him halfway, rising on your toes. The space between you disappears. His lips meet yours, tentative at first. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a hesitant tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

You sigh softly into the kiss, your free hand coming up to rest against his plastron, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. It’s racing almost as fast as your own. He deepens the kiss slightly, his hand tightening its hold on yours. It feels like coming home, like finding a piece of yourself you hadn’t realized was missing.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes remain closed for a moment, as if savoring the connection. You keep yours shut for a few moments, too.

“Wow,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering open.

An unguarded smile touches his lips again. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Wow.” He gently brushes a stray strand of hair from your face.

He takes your other hand, holding both securely in his grasp. He looks down at your joined hands, then back up at you, his expression serene, resolute. The vulnerability is still there, but tempered now with confidence, with the quiet joy of reciprocated feeling.

“So,” he says after a few moments, a hint of his usual pragmatic nature returning, though softened around the edges. “Reading might be … slightly more challenging from now on.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, light and happy. “Might be,” you agree. “But I think … I think I’m okay with that.”

He smiles—a proper, heart-stopping smile that lights up his face. He leans down and presses a brief, sweet kiss to your forehead.

Your respective stories have taken a turn neither of you fully anticipated. But it is a chapter you were both eager to finally write.

Together.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Cain (p3)

Tw: Violence, Cain is a mean asshole, he is also mentally unstable, lost his shit in this chapter; smashing furniture and shit. This is just abusive relationships man, yandere themes. Reader is gender neutral. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is part 3

Click here for part 4

Click here for part 1

Days turned into weeks, into months. You've let this stranger live in your apartment rent-free. But you don't think he's a freeloader, because you noticed that whenever something runs out at home, be it eggs, toothpaste, or your favourite snack, it magically replenishes itself. But you knew Cain was behind this; you barely go to the grocery store anymore because it just keeps getting replaced with new versions of it.

You know that he's not paying any of it. The first time you went grocery shopping with him and saw him with the duffle bag, it had a purpose. His stopping by your shopping cart every so often had a purpose; his being a jerk about people looking at him also had a purpose.

You deduced all that when you came back that day and found that there were duplicates of every item you bought in your pantry and fridge. You weren't hallucinating, you weren't going crazy, you didn't pay extra. Cain stole a copy of what you lawfully bought that day.

Asking him about it (no matter how gently) will make him yell at you for being "ungrateful", "picky" and a "Stuck-up asshole", and make him storm off to "cool down" somewhere else on earth. He would come back either injured or with a whole bunch of random valuables, which would disappear the next day. Being the kindhearted person you are, you wanted to think that Cain returned the items to their rightful owners.

Regardless, Cain still replaces your favourite cereal whenever it's running low.

He still maintains his quirk until now: refusing to eat anything unless you take a bite or sip out of it first. You don't have to worry about cooking too much and wasting the leftovers, or eventually finding out that you don't like the dish. Because Cain is like your compost bin, he would just eat it for you.

He doesn't cook. You found that if you left nothing behind, he didn't get to eat that day... or so you assumed. But either way, you made it a habit to cook a larger portion so he could be fed too.

Conversations are few and far between. You know virtually nothing about the man aside from a few fun facts: he likes keeping his hair red because you caught him one day dyeing his hair with a box dye in your bathroom. You thought that you're going to get kicked out or yelled at because it might be an embarrassing situation to be seen in, but instead, upon noticing that you're there, he said:

"Go piss or shit. I don't care." while applying dollops of dye to his hair in front of the sink mirror.

You said that you do mind it very much, you want your privacy.

"Then hold it in. I'll get out when I'm done." He said so nonchalantly.

Other than that, he's surprisingly respectful in his own way. You thought you would need to do everything yourself on top of taking care of a grown man. But Cain learns. He observes you and, most importantly, does what you do to keep this household afloat.

He noticed that you would clean the dishes a few hours after the meal. Cain would do the same thing, just an hour before you're expected to get up and do it.

He noticed you would take out the trash whenever it filled up, which used to be weekly before he came along. Cain would take care of that before you do.

He noticed that you would stress over the bills and how much it has risen since he came into the picture. And there was the question of your mortgage, too. You're too scared to start charging him rent, fearing that he might not take it well, as he seems to be the type who does not like explicit directives.

However, it seems like he would pick up on it. You would find extra cash that is sometimes speckled with some red liquid. And these aren't chump change either; they can go up to hundreds of dollars, usually enough to cover all your bills and give you a bit of fun money.

He would put them in places where you would absolutely find them, but it's an objectively strange choice. You found a rolled-up stack of hundred-dollar bills in your shoes once, five dollars in the shower caddy, twenty dollars taped to the inside of your uniform (scratching you as you put it on), eighty dollars under your pillow... Asking him about his choice to do this leads to the same angry rant about how you're looking down at him and not appreciating his efforts.

Out of all the places, you don't think that he has ever put cash in your wallet. But with the help of Cain, you managed to get yourself a brand new phone and made the mistake of getting him one too. To which, he took great offence until you framed it as your thankfulness for his efforts around the house. And it was a token of his appreciation. Only then did he accept it without speaking any further.

He's unfortunately not too much of a tech wizard, often leaving them at home when going out for long periods. The way he acts made you wonder if he's someone from the 90s being brought forward into the present.

Cain also had an effect on your work life.

You don't think you have missed a bus anymore, as Cain had the balls to block the doors and force the bus driver to wait for you.

Whenever you're doing the closing shift, he would be there to escort you home. And it was the safest you've ever felt, despite feeling embarrassed when you think Cain is being unnecessarily hostile to innocent people who just "appear" unnerving.

You had an idea to try and get Cain to work alongside you. In hindsight, that was a terrible idea. Surprisingly, Cain agreed to it. Since this is a small town, your boss favours you; he had no problem getting in without an interview or even a background check.

He got fired and banned from the establishment on his first day.

A woman in her mid-ages complained to Cain that her coffee wasn't done well when he had followed all the instructions to a T. She has complained that it wasn't hot enough for her, despite it being at a temperature that can burn. You don't know what set him off that day; maybe it was the ridiculous nature of her complaint, or maybe she reminded him of his many foster mothers who neglected him.

To your horror, Cain decided to splash the cup of coffee against her face. She screamed in pain and fell to the ground. Raising his voice, "Fucking hot enough now, isn't it?"

Cain walked out of the cafe with eyes all on him; it was a miracle that no one was recording. And it was an even bigger miracle that you kept your job, the woman didn't press charges, and neither did your boss. You, of course, apologized profusely to them.

The woman screamed about suing them all, putting Cain behind bars, and closing the cafe down. But you never heard from her again, not even a subpoena. You thought she had a change of heart, and such a nice woman for forgiving everyone.

You expressed your thoughts about it, and Cain kept his lips sealed. He also didn't want to look you in the eye. Perhaps he's feeling remorseful?

You had no idea what happened to your bicycle; it disappeared the day you got your new phone. Asking Cain about it will just earn you a huff and silence. Pressing him about it will get you yelled at for being a dumbass and potentially being part of the statistics of idiotic bicycle deaths.

You think he sold your bicycle.

But it's alright, because he made it up to you by getting a Roomba. You don't know how that is the equivalent of your bicycle, but in his mind, he thinks it is. It was one of the things he's actually proud to present to you, and you didn't have the heart to express anything less than gratitude.

You have to admit that it's quite interesting and fun to watch the small robot just scutter around the room. You would catch him doing that, too, and he doesn't seem to care that you're there, unless you stare at him for too long and not at the Roomba.

Laundry is a strange ordeal with him. There is a Laundromat nearby, and he would always be the one to do it. Whenever you tried doing your own, he would hiss and snarl like a wild animal before snatching it away from you.

As it turns out, he just likes watching the clothes spin and spin through the windows of the front-loading washing machines and dryers. You deduced that it's almost meditative to him, because he would be at his calmest in the laundromat... as long as no one keeps his eyes on him too long.

You even joined him one day, sitting next to him and watching the hypnotizing spin. He paid you no mind, but you knew that he was aware of your presence, as there was one time someone tried striking up a conversation with you. Only for the stranger to be met with Cain's snappy attitude, no one dared to approach you after that.

All seems well. Even though it felt like you were walking on eggshells around him at first, you quickly learned his unspoken, sacred rules and easily maneuvered this strange friendship you have with him. You think Cain is perfectly integrated into your life, and he seems content either sleeping on the couch or on the floor.

He never asked for more, but you're sure that his back is probably killing him from sleeping like a shrimp. So you made the change from a regular couch to a sofa bed, and you made sure to clarify that you're doing this for yourself. Cain didn't object to it, which you can safely interpret as approval.

And approved he did, he was the first one to try out and explore the new piece of furniture. Cain hogged it entirely, using it as a bed and also a shelf, having items randomly placed as if they're soft plushies- you noticed that he's a bit of a hoarder with the random jewelry and items he brings home. He wouldn't encroach on your cabinets and drawers, save for that one portable closet you bought online for him. It was empty for a few weeks until he got the hint that it was for him to put his own stuff. And boy, did he really utilize it.

He doesn't verbally express his gratitude, but you know that he's not taking whatever you gave him for granted. You can see it in his actions, you can feel it.

You don't really have a lot of contacts in this town. But sometimes you do have friends and family flying in and asking if they could spend the night at your place. And you're always put in an extremely difficult position, because what the hell should you tell them? You tried asking Cain if they could stay over, and he flew into a fit of rage. Now, you only saw him cry once, and that was when he first asked you if he could stay at your place. But there were hot, angry tears whenever you mentioned friends and family.

And you could tell that he felt really hurt for some reason. You couldn't tell what the hell he was ranting about, but he goes ballistic over the thought of you having a life outside of him.

Unfortunately, you end up turning them away, because at one point, his outburst got so bad that he took your phone and smashed it against the ground while screaming about how life is unfair to him, about how he wishes death upon your friends and family that he hasn't even met, about how it was only supposed to be you and him. And no one else.

You told him that you didn't understand why he was so upset over your friends and family. You said that you wouldn't have them over if he doesn't want them encroaching on his space. Though you felt bitter when you realized you didn't have full control over your own home.

"Of course you don't! You don't- Don't know what it's like to be me! I fucking hate it, I fucking hate myself! I-I-" He was pacing around, tugging on his hair and grinding his teeth. His teary face scrunched up, as if he were in unbearable pain.

He curled up into a ball on your living room floor and just sobbed. He was expressing a lot of pain, the type that would kill any normal person. But not him, because he's strong and fueled with determination to live in spite of it. But there is only so much stress a man like him can handle.

You looked around. And saw the broken furniture, electronics, and decor that Cain destroyed during his massive meltdown. Most importantly, the phone that's in pieces on the floor. You should have left, you should have called the police, and changed your locks.

Yet, you made the conscious decision to stay and hold a respectful silence for him. You didn't touch him, you didn't give him words of comfort, you just stayed.

And to Cain, that was his first taste of warmth that didn't scorch him. The type of warmth that soothes him, the warmth that he was supposed to receive from the one who loves him.

He mumbled something. You let out a "huh?" as you didn't catch what he said.

"I'm sorry..." He muttered in between sniffles.

That shook you to the core; it was the first time you had heard him apologize. It must have taken tremendous strength for him to have said that. And so, you verbally and clearly forgave him.

He broke down further, crying harder and coughing more.

You didn't know why or what you were doing, but you scooted over and coaxed him to place his head on your lap. You then started to play with his hair. And this seemed to lull him into a deep sense of safety, as you saw him struggling to keep his eyelids open.

He felt warm.

Over the following days, Cain tried his best to clean everything up and to replace whatever he broke. Which is nice of him, but you knew he shoplifted a lot just to do that, and you wished he didn't.

Neither of you spoke about the incident. You end up using his phone as your own now. Cain offered that as a solution. He didn't mention getting another phone for you or himself, though.

Disappointed, but accepting, your friends and family ended up deciding to get a hotel instead. But the visitation date would be pushed back further. You don't think it was a good time to talk to Cain about them visiting, regardless.

Life went on as usual. Except Cain would be at home a lot more, seemingly wanting to get close to you. His temper became much milder, and he became a lot less snappy, instead opting to stay silent when he gets irritated.

You didn't think much of it, until one day he dropped this bomb on you:

"I'm in love with you."

He said this with such conviction, no room for doubt, all certainty. It wasn't phrased as a question, but a solid statement.

You were sitting on opposite sides of the dining table, doing the crossword puzzle book Cain got you as a silent apology for destroying your phone. You looked up and examined his face.

His eyes were soft. Weary, even. There was no hint of wrath, trickery, or shame. There was an air of desperation and even... vulnerability around him. It's a new look on him, and it felt uncanny to you.

You have no idea how to respond. So you opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, but said nothing.

Eventually, you expressed that you're speechless and you don't know what to do with his confession.

He looked crestfallen. Cain then averted his eyes to somewhere else. You saw that he's blinking a lot more and taking deeper breaths.

You thought that was the end of that conversation because he didn't continue it for a while.

But you were wrong.

"...What would it fucking take to make you love me, huh?"

You felt the chills down your spine once you heard the harshness return to his once tender tone. He's back, and he's pissed.

His expression became mean. He became the Cain that you always knew. You sighed inwardly, realizing that you had made him put his walls back up.

"Was everything not enough?! Am I not enough for you, huh?! You think you're better than me?!" He shot up from his seat and slammed his hands onto the table. You winced at the sheer volume of his voice. But you could feel the excruciating torment of being rejected once again, and he felt cold. He felt unwanted once more.

You made yourself much smaller in your chair, putting your hands up as a shield.

"You're a fucking asshole, a fucking piece of shit, I hate-" He choked on his own tears, knuckles turning white over how tight he balled his fists. "I..." He gulped and then coughed, then gasped for air. Then sobbed.

It was a pitiful cycle, and it was scary to watch. But you do so anyway, because you believe that everyone deserves to be heard, no matter how insane.

Cain collapsed back into his chair and sobbed into his hands. He kept wiping his eyes and nose harshly, until they turned red.

"I-I can never hate you, I can't. I..."

Cain sounded so broken. But there isn't anything you could do aside from waiting it out.

"I don't know..." He rasped. "I'm in love with you, and it hurts. It really fucking hurts."

You gave him a minute to calm down before speaking up.

You asked him how you could help. To that, you were met with a long pause from the distressed man in front of you.

He reluctantly put his hands down, not before giving himself one last wipe.

Cain then brought his gaze to yours, and you never realized how beautiful his deep brown eyes were. Tortured, but they held an almost ethereal quality to them.

"Will you... Love me back?" He asked, with caution and hope.

You hesitantly replied that you could... try.

Save for the birds outside and the humming of the refrigerator, it was a pin-drop silence. It seems like Cain was processing all of this on his own.

You don't know if you should have said that. Immediately, you started wondering what you had gotten yourself into. But before your thoughts could get too deep,

"Thank you."

It was said in earnest, filled with gratitude and reverence.

Both of you spent the rest of the afternoon in each other's quiet and comforting company.

[natsredbra]

Wingwoman, go!

summary: Misty develops a cutesy, high school type of crush on Nat - Van helps her execute it!

a/n: Ooookay, it’s finally here. I will cry if it flops. I’m actually kind of proud of this one, which is rare for me. Ty 📼 anon for this very cool req!

warnings: angst (not too bad tho), Natalie can’t tell what she wants…I actually don’t think if there’s anything else but lmk if you do find something!

word count: 4.9k

pairing(s): Misty Quigley x Natalie Scatorccio; brief Van Palmer x Misty Quigley (but mostly platonic)

taglist: @misty-scatorccio, @towabirdno1fan, @feralnataroni, @flurpe @lesbabe6 @radioactivesweet @ambessasevikasexslave, @ashliami @johnnytoothpick @ikeepgettinglostwithchairs @wompingburg

It was quite a warm, sunny day, though the absence of Mari was much colder. Natalie sat in her hut, awaiting her next inevitable meeting while worrying her head off. She was supposed to protect these damn girls. She’s meant to lead and take charge but no, Shauna Shipman being the way she was kept ruining everything.

“Hey, we good to come in?” Van asked, peering inside and seeing Nat look lost in thought.

“Oh- yeah, sure.” She stammered, moving over to make room for the two girls.

“Hi! You look a little pale, are you alright? Should I get you some water or tea? Or I could-“ Misty rushed as soon as she sat down, taking ahold of the girl’s hand.

“No, Misty I’m fine. Just get on with it.” She said quietly, not looking at her. In truth she didn’t mean to be snippy, but she was extremely irritable right now. Had right to be, too.

“Well we just wanted to go over everyone’s chores today. Gen is being annoying about the shit bucket.” Van said in a bored tone.

Natalie could not fucking believe it. Their friend was out there, somewhere missing and they’re worried about their dumps? Jesus Christ.

“Fucking god, I’ll take it.” She said, rubbing her face with one of her hands. The other one was still in the warmth of Misty’s.

“Hey, it’s okay Nat. I’ll do it, I know how stressed you are.” The curlyhead replied to her.

She sounded different, somehow. Sure, Misty was always there to kiss someone’s ass but this felt different. More affectionate, with genuine worry. Van indeed noticed.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as a smirk formed on her face, observing the unassuming Natalie as she softly nodded, giving Misty a small “thanks.”

“So…we will leave you alone. You go rest or something, you look like hell, okay?” Van added to Nat, with prominent concern.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll try to come up with a plan, just make sure everyone gets ready.” Natalie practically groaned, hugging her knees to your chest and resting her head on them.

The couple of them got out, Misty sending a small wave Nat’s way. She acknowledged it. She really did, with a barely noticeable smile.

“Hey, Quigley!” Van called out, tapping her on the shoulder.

“What’s up?” Misty asked all too enthusiastically, turning around to look at her.

“Well your BPM around Nat, apparently.” She said quieter, putting her hands on her hips as she studied the other girl’s expression. Van looked very amused, and had the “knew it!” expression. Tai and her did bet on chores when they talked about it - Van insisted that Misty had a thing for Natalie.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Misty shot back.

She did.

“Are you kidding? You were practically drooling when she took your hand!” Van said with an amused cackle.

“Okay- you can’t tell anyone!” Misty relented, her voice dropping to a whisper-yell.

“I won’t, don’t worry. It’s very sweet.” Van said, though Misty picked up on the slight mockery.

“Yeah, okay. I knew I shouldn’t have told you, you’ll just make fun of me.” She said in a slightly shaky tone, and for some unforeseen reason, it made Van feel slightly bad.

”Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound that way, god knows I was a dork when I crushed on Tai.” Van soothed with an apologetic glance.

“It’s fine. Thank you for the apology.” Misty replied. Before the redhead could muster a reply, they were cut off by none other than Natalie stepping out of her hut.

“Speak of the devil.”

“Attention! Look, we need to get on this, we can’t just have her wander around. After everything we heard last night, she can’t be out there all alone.” Nat called out to the girls as they gathered.

“What do you mean?” Gen asked, sending down a bucket of water.

“Mari didn’t come home last night.” Tai replied in a bored tone, laced with worry.

“How didn’t you know that?” Someone else exclaimed before Nat cut them off.

“Enough! Now that we all know she’s missing, we need to look for her! I’m not fucking joking, she could be in serious danger.” She scandalized, entirely fed up with them all.

No one spoke for a moment after that.

“Fine, I’m gonna find Mari. Who’s with me?” Natalie asked, looking around for any volunteers.

Van slightly kicked Misty’s leg in a “Raise your hand!” gesture, as if she wasn’t going to already. Indeed, her arm flew up. She felt both hurt and disappointed when Nat seemed annoyed by the gesture.

“Shauna. You’re coming with me.” She directed, though it didn’t do much for the brunette.

“I’m not looking for her. Fuck Mari.” Shauna seethed, seeming offended Natalie even had the nerve to ask.

It made Misty a little giddy now, knowing she had no choice but to go with her. Van shot her a knowing look and a grin. “I’m coming too!” Misty cheered, clasping her hands together once she got up.

“We’re going right?” Tai asked.

“Yeah, but not with them.” Van replied, already heading to the woods.

“Obviously.”

—————

“Where do you think she went?” Misty asked, following Nat like a puppy. They had been walking for some time now, and Misty attempted casual conversation more than once, even when Nat didn’t seem to engage.

“Well we know Mari skipped dinner and there’s berries that way, so…” Natalie replied flatly.

“Oh smart! Decisive.” Misty called out, staying quiet for a moment. “You know, if there’s anything you wanna talk about, we can-“

“Well, when Travis and I went hunting we didn’t really talk, we just kind of quietly…” Natalie said, looking down at her feet.

Oh yeah, she knew what they did, it wasn’t talking. Didn’t like it. She decided to change the topic.

“Too many people have disappeared without a trace. Crystal…Coach Scott.” She knew it was a risky mention, but went with it.

“Mm, fuck Coach Scott.” Nat retorted, pursing her lips with an eye roll.

“Do you think that he’s dead? Do you think he definitely burned the cabin down?” Misty inquired further.

Natalie stayed quiet. The truth was, it was a difficult topic for her. More so then any of them really. But long live the Scatorccio name, she’d never admit it.

“He always believed in you, you know. I think he’d be really proud of what you built.” Misty said with no ill intention, yet it scratched Nat’s brain differently.

‘Proud.’ As if anyone was ever truly proud of her. Not her dad, not Travis, not Coach Scott. Misty was proud, Natalie didn’t know it. She payed no attention to it.

“Coach Scott didn’t know shit about me, we basically never spoke.” She shot back at the girl, speeding along.

“Wait wait!” Misty ran up, placing a hand on Nat’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to add salt to the wound or anything! I just thought you’d wanna know-“

Natalie wanted to be like the others, just tell her to fuck off and roll her eyes, she really did. But that’s simply not who she was, especially around Misty for some reason. The girl was annoying and overbearing to no end, but for she intrigued her. It was a mystery as to why, yet it still happened every time they would talk.

“It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way. And I shouldn’t have snapped.” She interjected, scratching her head. It wasn’t an apology but it was pretty damn close - more then Misty every heard.

“Oh, yeah…thank you.” Misty chipped, awkwardly letting her hand drip from Nat’s shoulder.

She looked into the half-blonde’s eyes. They were gorgeous, green, and it complimented her fair skin tone so well. Her hair may have been grown out, but it’s the most beautiful Misty’s ever seen it. Somehow, Nat was also still soft to the touch. Maybe the summer humidity worked in her favor, she thought, but her own callouses were simply outnumbered. Not that she wouldn’t kiss those as well, as little as Nat has them.

“We should carry on.” Natalie said softly. She could see Misty studying her, not looking or checking her out. Genuinely looking over her and mapping out her features. Natalie also thought it was simple admiration.

She stayed quiet due to the mutual, unsaid agreement between them. That Natalie was someone to be proud of.

—————

With all the productive conversation they had, Mari was still a no show for anyone that looked for her. Bummed that their efforts were fruitless, the Yellowjackets settled back into their humble abodes.

“So, how’d it go with…y’know?” Van questioned as Misty came along.

“Well we didn’t find Mari.” Misty said as she set her bag down.

“Yeah, that sucks, but I’m asking what happened with Nat?” Van asked, can you blame her for being invested? There was absolutely no harmless drama in that forest anymore, this is all she could het right now! And the two of them getting together would be as funny as it would be cute, why wouldn’t she wanna participate in that?

“I don’t know, okay?! She definitely doesn’t like me back. I don’t wanna get my hopes up about something that I know won’t happen.” She bellowed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You don’t know anything! Everyone is so horny out here, I saw Melissa and Gen humping each other by the lake.” Van argued back, seeing how the girl’s eyes glimmered with a bit of hope. “I’m just saying, nothing is impossible. If I got Taissa you could get Madonna.”

“You really think I can do this?” Misty bugged, there was never enough praise or reassurance for her.

“Sure, why not? And hey- worst case scenario is she rejects you, which is what you’re expecting anyway.” Van stated bluntly, taking a seat next to her.

They observed Natalie as she talked to Tai across camp, seemingly making a plan for finding Mari the next day. Covering more ground, going south, that sort of thing.

“She’s so pretty.” Misty declared, looking at Natalie as if she hung the moon and the stars. It was the way she thought of her anyway.

Van could only give her a knowing glance from the side. Really, she knew the feeling all too well.

—————

The morning soon came, and with it more worry for Mari’s disappearance. There was no sign of her, and they were all preparing for the inevitable, though no one had in them to voice it.

Natalie got up early. Too early for her liking, but she had a lot on her mind. Yes, her missing friend was not a comforting thought, but what unfortunately lingered the most was the conversation she had with none other than Misty Quigley.

She chose not to think of the hand that lingered on her shoulder for a moment too long, yet her very words. Did she really think coach would be proud of her or was she saying it to get on her good side, just like she tried with everyone else? Natalie asked herself as she stared at the pointy ceiling that gave away a couple rays of sunlight.

But this time, she seemed so raw and authentic, and nothing like what the other girls saw of her. Misty wasn’t the annoying or overbearing girl everyone knew her to be in that moment - she was caring not conniving. Wasn’t plotting a way to be accepted but giving her true reassurance. It hit Natalie harder then it should have

She hated how it made her feel. How feeling seen, even by Misty fucking Quigley made her stomach flutter and an involuntary, tiny smile stretch over her face. Jesus Christ she wasn’t actually smiling over Misty Quigley!

Whatever, Nat chose to ignore her emotions yet again and decided she needed fresh air and a cold splash of water on her face.

Once she did get down to the lake, with Nat’s great luck, Misty appeared to be there too.

“Oh, hey! Why are you up, it’s only now sunrise?” Misty called out, turning to look at Nat.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Natalie gruffly answered, taking a seat beside her.

“Nightmare?” Misty questioned, far too chipper at this hour.

“Something like that. Why are you up?” Nat pondered quietly, glancing up at her.

“I always get up early. I don’t like wasting the day.”

“Right.”

They sat in silence for a long moment yet surprisingly, Natalie was the one to break it.

“Did you mean what you said yesterday? About Coach…?” She inquired in a soft, unsure tone. It made Misty’s heart melt.

“Of course I meant it. How could I not? Anyone would be proud of you, much less him! You were his favorite.” Misty reassured still as her hyper self, though she toned it down a little. The air between them seemed charged, with what, only god knows.

“You’re an amazing leader. Don’t let Shauna or anyone make you believe anything else.” Misty added with a firm tone, her eyes boring through Natalie’s face. She still didn’t look at her.

“Thank you.” She muttered anyway, not letting her tears show.

Misty noticed, she always did. Always would.

Without thinking twice she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Nat’s laden, slender frame. She felt like absolute heaven in her grip, even her soft sobs and watery eyes were like renaissance art for Misty to explore and interpret in her own way.

As if she was everyone else’s in theory but hers alone right now. Natalie was hers to appreciate and nurture as would be a sagging lamb. She almost was, in a way.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s gonna be better, I promise. If anything I’ll make it better���” Misty cooed, circling her arms around Nat’s neck, hands coming out to soothingly scratch her scalp.

Natalie’s were protectively crossed over her chest, yet she made no move to pull away. Simply enough, she curled up in Misty’s hold as hot tears streamed down her face. She was quiet, letting out small sighs and whimpers as she wept.

The moment was abruptly broken by a cheering commotion back at their camp, making them both whip their heads up. Their looks of confusion soon disappeared once they heard none other than Mari’s voice.

Misty took the liberty to wipe the stray wetness that lingered on Nat’s face before helping her get up on her feet. Without another word they hurried along, two minutes felt like hours with all the anticipation running through their veins.

"Mari!" Misty yelled out, running up to the girl. She looked absolutley exhausted and in pain - god knows what even happened to her.

"Thank god you're okay! I mean thank the dirt or whatever- I'm so glad you're not dead." She urged with a laugh that got returned, Natalie moving to stand behind them.

"Where were you?" Charged Shauna, coming in with all her angry glory.

"I walked back to civilization so I could fuck your dad!" Mari chided in a sarcastic tone.

"She fell in a hole and fucked up her knee." Taissa answered instead.

"I dislocated it. Like the girl we played from Manasquan last year. The kneecap was back here and I had to push it all the way in."

"Oh!" "Ew!"

"The hole was like- twenty feet deep, I thought I was gonna die in there! Like Baby Jessica!"

"Baby Jessica didn't die."

"And that was a well."

"A well's a hole." Mari finished off before being abruptly interrupted by Shauna.

"If your knee was so fucked, how'd you get out?" Shauna mockingly inquired after which followed a long silence.

She looked around the girls which returned skeptical looks, expecting a believable answer. Once she realized she couldn’t come up with one, she went with the truth and hoped for the best.

"Coach Scott found me...he tied me up and took me to this cave he's been living in." Mari finally explained, earning gasps that came from sheer disbelief.

Natalie’s chest almost felt like it was in her throat “Fuck.” She muttered, out of fear or rapture, she wasn’t sure, and it was a thin line.

"I knew it! He's totally lost it" Van grumbled with a scoff.

"You don't know that!" Misty defended. Not coach, for Natalie.

"Dude he tied her up and took her to his lair!" Van tried to reason again, though their bickering was soon over

"Can you find your way back?"

—————

After the whole ordeal, as they were getting ready to head off Misty sat in her hut, packing a few necessities. She heard a slight ruffle outside, revealing herself to be Van as she entered.

“So, I saw you were with Nat when Mari came back.” Van prodded with peaking curiosity, sitting down on the hard ground barely covered by a lanky sleeping bag.

“Yeah, so what?” Misty tried to play it off, the slight red hue of her cheeks becoming quite obvious.

“Well…any game?” Van inquired, wanting to coax a satisfying answer. She was living for this, truly.

“No, not really. I mean she was super upset so I hugged her and stuff, but that’s it.” Misty replied dreadfully, zipping her backpack in quite an aggressive manner.

“Dude what?! Natalie hugged you? You do realize that’s like - a huge deal, right?” Van scandalized in a whisper - yell, leaning in in immense interest.

“What do you mean?” Misty asked hurriedly, setting her bag down as her investment skyrocketed.

“Are you joking? Do you know how fucking rare it is for Nat to show someone she’s upset, let alone hug them?” Van exclaimed with a dry laugh.

“Wait, really?”

“Damn, you might be better at this than we thought.” Van jested with a sly grin, pressing her back flat against the hut’s wall yet again. “But wait, do you know how to y’know…properly?”

“Do what now?” Misty shot back, tone laced with confusion.

“Kiss, Quiggles. Do you know how to make out? Other lessons you’ll learn along the way.”

Oh

Oh.

“I mean- I tried, with this boy once. But we were little, maybe eleven. And it was tongueless.” Misty replied with a bit of embarrassment, but mostly a strange sort of engagement.

“Seriously? Nat likes good kissers.” Van murmured in a small question. “How about I teach you?” She blurted out all too casually.

“What? What do you mean teach me?” Misty quietly implored.

“I mean kiss you, teach you to kiss.”

“Seriously? Won’t Taissa be mad?” She bugged, cheeks beet red.

“She’ll be fine, she knows. So you good to do this?” Van dismissed and asked, that fucking grin still on her face.

“Yeah, sure.”

Van nodded carefully, now taking a gentler approach towards the girl. She spread out her legs in front of her, silently urging her to climb into her lap. Misty takes the hint, carefully straddling Van’s lower thighs, almost where her knees arch.

Van was slightly amused and chuckled at Misty’s nervousness, though she didn’t say anything to make it tougher on her. Instead, she leaned forward, inches away from her chapped, pink lips.

She took a moment for Misty to get comfortable and take a deep breath before snaking her hand to the back of her neck, angling closer until their lips met.

At first, it was a soft, close mouthed press against each other’s lips. They lingered there for a moment until Misty took the liberty to place her hands gently on Van’s hips.

From there it slightly escalated, as Misty parted her lips in a soft gasp, Van took the opportunity to envelop the girl’s top lip between her own. The action repeated as they both got touchier, breathing heavier.

Misty tried her luck, slipping her tongue past Van’s entrance. Surprisingly, Van let her, swirling her own against it in a swift, practiced dance.

All Misty could think about was Natalie. What gave her confidence was imagining it all being her. Her imagination knew no bounds normally either, so how could it in a moment like this?

In her very mind, the scenario was much different. She pictured Nat, in all her leather jacket glory, pulling her into her lap and crashing her lips against hers like there was no tomorrow. Like there wouldn’t be tomorrow if she hadn’t. It was what Misty wanted the most, really, to feel needed by Natalie, and god was her head running wild right now.

Van’s mouth against hers never relented, letting her feel the moment out. They found a nice, slow and sensual rhythm the more they went on. It might’ve been the funnest teaching moment Misty ever had, really. Second to the first aid class she took sophomore year, of course.

“Is everyone ready?” Shauna shouted out, making them both jump.

Misty was abruptly taken out of her imaginary haze, wide eyed and flushed once she pulled away. Van gave a her a soft giggle before pushing her off her lap, getting up and ready for the journey.

It was a long one indeed, once they reached the very crucial clearing the sun had already set. Mari needed many breaks due to her leg, and it was too hot to go fast anyhow. Everyone felt a rush of panic once Mari stopped, standing confused as to where she’s supposed to go.

”For fucks sake, really?” Tai barked at her.

“I’m not lost okay? I’m just remembering.” She replied, looking around.

“Hey, it’s okay, take your time. You got this.” Came from none other than Shauna. Surprising at first glance perhaps, yet obvious with her intent.

After much exhausting walking and the group bonding over jelly legs and excessive blisters, all of them arrived to the almighty cave.

"That's it! Over here!" Mari exclaimed in excitement as they all gathered around.

"Shauna wait!" Misty jumped in, "We're really gonna just...go in?" She asked, entirely skeptical of the situation.

"What did you think we were gonna do? What do you think happens when we go inside? You guys, we don't have to do this." Natalie tried one last time, though her efforts proved to be fruitless.

"Yeah, we do."

"Fine. I'm going first - you two stand guard, if you see anything just scream your asses off." Nat stated, and everyone complied without a question.

Like a dumb action movie hero she went in first, protecting her group. Misty went in right behind her as well as the other girls.

Pretty soon they were blocked - in Shauna and Akilah's opinion a diversion made by Ben, yet in Nat's a collapse.

They stood there, doing the only thing they all knew how to - argue pointlessly.

"It's a double bluff, like in that movie with the two guys!"

"The Princess Bride?"

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"We should try both. Shauna, you Van and Akilah take the open path, the rest of us will try to clear out what we can here. Take two lanterns, we'll take the other three and if you run into trouble just get loud, we'll do the same." Natalie commanded quite like she was born for it, with which they parted ways.

Misty inevitably stayed by Nat's side all the way as they searched with no sign of hope. It only got harder the more tired they got, and none could seem to pound down the large mass of rocks piled up in the cave's corridor.

“Do you think he’s in here?” She asked her, holding one of the lanterns for them both.

“I don’t know.” Nat commented, entirely unsure of it all.

“Do you want him to be?” Misty striked again. This girl just always knew how to push Natalie’s buttons.

“They won’t kill him if you don’t let them.” Misty said in a hushed tone to prevent the others from hearing.

Natalie didn’t say anything, because she truly didn’t know what the hell would happen. If Shauna found him first who knows what she would do? God knows she isn’t waiting for permission.

It seemed impossible, clearing it all out. Also seemed as if there was nothing there anymore, as if a black hole enveloped them.

That was at least all until they heard yelling at the other side, fucking Ben, nonetheless.

Hurriedly the girls followed the sound, meeting with a mix of panicky and drowsy Shauna, Akilah and Van and a very roughed up Ben.

Natalie immediately approached him, pointing the rifle right at his chest, "Sorry coach, you're coming with us." The way she said it was kinda hot, Misty thought, but now was not the time.

The walk back was packed with tension. It was quiet and uncomfortable with occasional grumbles between friends.

Misty was there for Natalie. While she had to police their supposedly psychotic coach, she was there by her side, not letting her do it on her own.

“You’re being really brave, Nat.” She mumbled, rubbing Nat’s arm in a quick, comforting motion.

Natalie stayed quiet again - and Misty didn’t take it badly. The reason is because Nat has a specific look she gets when she’s appreciative or obviously reassured, and in that moment, it was painted all over her face.

Putting Ben down in the animal pen, everyone went off to sleep in terrible exhaustion.

—————

Misty caught sight of Natalie sitting by the fire, not yet putting it out. She had a blanket loosely wrapped around her, shielding her from the slight wind that went along every night. It was a nice change from the constant warmth, like a caressing, soft hand easing another one of their troubles.

Troubles, with which Nat seemed to deal with right now. She was sulking, shoulders hunched with quite a sad look in her eye that you barely see. No resentment, no anger. Simple and utter sadness.

“Nat?” Misty approached slowly, careful not to disturb her in case she wanted to be by herself.

“Yeah?” She answered faintly, keeping her eye on the swaying flames in front of her. Before she got stuck out here, she never noticed how interesting fire was.

“Do you wanna talk?” Misty tried again, wrapping her arms around herself - an action she took when she felt afraid of being ostracized or dismissed yet again. Somehow, she never got used to it.

Natalie simply shook her head, and with a tinge of disappointment, Misty slowly walked back to her hut - before she got stopped, that is.

“You can stay. I mean - will you?” Natalie hoped, raising her head to lock her eyes with Misty’s.

Misty, as if on autopilot, frantically nodded before settling down next to the very bane of her existence. Dramatic, maybe? But then again, she got reject more times then she could count, it only made sense for her to be cautious and fearsome.

The couple of them sat in silence - not sure if it was a comfortable one. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable either. Only sound that could be heard was the soft cackle of the fire, casting a warm orange glow over their faces.

Misty glanced to the side, taking note of Natalie’s lineaments. She looked gorgeous in this light, a true undiscovered beauty that made Misty write poetry with her eyes. Nat’s features were more prominent, shining with the acedia of her own actions. The girl would always find a way to blame herself.

Then there was Misty. Not studied, but very thought of. Natalie pondered about her, she could feel her gaze burning holes onto the side of her face, unsure and wondering. She felt wrong and embarrassed for the way she felt, yet the more she tried to push it away, the bigger the feeling got. Why Misty Quigley, out of everyone? Why is she the one to make her feel so safe and accepted? How did she make her feel so secure just this morning, with a hug and a couple sweet nothings? How did her presence make her feel calmer?

“Misty I-“ She started, feeling conflicted and confused.

“What is it?” Misty asked with a tinge of unease.

“I don’t know.” Nat whispered, more to herself than the other girl.

Her eyes stayed glued to the scene in front of her, even though her mind ran insane. What was this feeling and why is it what she felt for Travis before they got together? How is it even possible? She dared not say the word that lingered in her thoughts and without better thinking, she lunged forward and pressed her lips firmly against Misty’s.

Neither of them could believe it, really. Misty was surprised to no end, yet she didn’t back away, as if she ever would. It was what she’d dreamt of for months- Natalie. It was what she dreamt of for years- to be seen. The kiss stretched on, going from a soft brush to a deep mess in seconds, it was primal in a way.

Natalie’s fingers locked in Misty’s curls, making her let out a small, involuntary whine as her grip on the blanket tightened.

All good things do come to an end, and this one’s just so happened to be once Nat pulled away.

[dumbkiri]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 6

χα∂є�� яισяѕση χ ƒ! мαιяι! яєα∂єя

ρℓσт: your vision of death haunts your dreams and the more you sleep, the more you see and feel. getting closer to the event, you know that xaden has something to do with your sacrifice. his choice between you and violet will either kill you or save you. and you don't know which choice leads to you living.

ησтє: again the timeline is different from FW and I need to change some things to fit you (our lovely mc) into the story that literally involves a romantic relationship between Xaden and Violet.

also! I don't know whether to make MC still have a complicated relationship with xaden or have her fall in love with another male in FW (bodhi, ridoc, brennan, etc) seriously there are a lot of males to choose from. so I'm leaving the choice to you, my readers! it's your story!

also since Amber Mavis signet isnt really a thing, I gave her an OP one, but girlie is dead soooooooo doesnt matter anymore

NOT PROOFREAD! WILL BE MISTAKES! LOOKING FOR BETA READERS! MESSAGE ME IF INTERESTED!!!

down.

down.

down you go. 

Fall and fall until your breath is gone. Only then will you ascend to be the daughter you were meant to be. A crown of light and a cloak of darkness is your fate to carry the rest to their gates. Maiden of the Moon, you are the daughter that tames the tidal waves. 

down.

down.

down you go. 

……

The moon. 

It’s always the moon that greets you it seems. With its blue gaze on your falling body, the slow motion of it all devours your aching wounds and swallows you inch by inch. You watched your kunai in your weak grasp painted in blood with a feeling of pride. Then regretfully your digits release it, your only weapon discarded in the sky as you begin to fall faster. 

The [f.color] kunai waved its goodbye to you and a tear left your eyes. Your choice of weapon has always been a dagger, and this unique one allowed you to use it as it was meant to be and as a fidget. You could spin your kunai with your finger while you study, spin it while you ranted to Imogen or while flights on Lenin took longer than usual. You remember Sloane begging for one of your kunais saying that they looked cool. 

You promised her that you would give her one when she proved her worth at Basgaith and bonded to a dragon. But you can’t do that now. They’re going to burn everything you owned, from your drawings, to your wooden figurines and now your daggers. 

You’re still falling? You thought that right about now, your body would have smacked into branches or trees. Maybe even a lake. Yet you felt your body freeze in the cold. Stagnant. Unmoving. 

Then your body jerked and you resumed your descent. All of this, your surroundings and your feelings felt familiar in an eerie sense. You’ve seen this before. When Bodhi accompanied you in your room. When you woke up crying in Xaden’s arms telling him how you died. 

You know this feeling all too well. The dread in your stomach and the wind whipping at your body. This is when you die and you know your heroic death scares you. Yet you knew why you threw yourself into danger and you closed yourself out. 

What was the danger, [Name]? What was the cause of your fall? What was Liam doing?

Xaden’s voice demanded answers and now this time you can find them. For now, he knocked you out of your acceptance. Here you are investigating your death and the cause of it. 

You forced the fear at the back of your mind, taking in your surroundings and watching the vision play. You willed yourself to pay attention to every detail despite this scene playing out your death. 

Someone is yelling your name. No, multiple people are. You can hear their voices carry in the raging storm, from females to males, to your own dragon. 

 Lightning streaks the sky in a rhythm you couldn’t follow. Uncontrolled. Right. It’s raining, actually pouring like a catastrophic storm and you took notice that you didn’t wear your flight goggles. It explains how your vision wasn’t actually smeared with rain drops. Just…fading out. 

You can hear the sounds of dragon roars and other roars that sounded similar but deeper in their throat. In the light the moon provided and the lightning striking across the sky, it was a full on battle in the skies. No sight of gryphons. 

They are out of the equation. Yet because of their lack of involvement, a chill ran down your spine. The sound of a wyvern and their screeching venin calling you out with a word that sounded like…witch.  

Move your body. Will your mind move your body if you keep yelling at yourself?

“Dagger!” 

You felt your heavy eyes watch the moon, too occupied with the feeling it gave you. A sense of completeness. Then the ghostly women and their whispers came back. Rushing in your ears, chanting their wicked words reminding you that you were going to die. 

down. down. down you go. 

Your story is over and your body started to feel numb with the cold rain that splattered against your exhausted figure. The danger…it’s still ongoing. You killed one. You know you did, yet another one lived. All that mattered was going after the one that went after your brother.

Liam. 

You sacrificed yourself to save him. What is the danger? Why the battle? Is it an exercise that went deadly? Or perhaps a mission that went south? Fuck, everything is all blurred in your head. The feelings of you experiencing the vision and the you of the vision confused you. 

It’s wyvern and venin. The you in the vision confirmed that for you. It’s not a training exercise, it’s not war games. It’s not a mission gone south. The two versions of you, the present and the future felt different from one another. 

The you now…you weren’t ready to die. You wanted to ignore this possibility. You wanted to live and see the plans Xaden had succeeded. You didn’t want to leave your siblings behind or leave your devoted dragon alone on the battlefield. 

But the you in the vision knew something about Xaden. Even the mention of him made the Vision you seethe with her teeth clenched tightly. Is it because she was mad at the ill attempt Liam made to save Violet. 

Violet. Now you know why Liam was in danger. Because of the bodyguard task Xaden gave Liam, your brother tried to help her. You stepped in to save him while he saved her from the present danger. 

“Dagger, wake up!”

You have to see if your sacrifice was in vain or not. You have to know that you died saving your brother. Your stomach twisted with a pain you couldn’t yet comprehend although that jolt of the unknown feeling made your eyes open wide. Then with your last strength to keep them open you saw a red dragon fly above you, with your cloak falling off of it like a blanket caught in the wind. 

“[Name]! Hang on!” Liam shouted above you and he seemed okay. 

He’s okay. Alive and well. 

You smiled in relief, feeling blood rise in the back of your throat and coughed it out with painful breaths. Liam is alive. Sloane won’t be stuck with you. She’ll have him next year, leading her through all the obstacles and trials of being a rider. 

“Dagger, wake up!” 

You can’t. Not even if you wanted to. Your body relaxed with the last of its energy leaving you and you knew this was your time. All of it spent to see Liam and Deigh safe and sound. You did your job. You protected your brother with your signet, allowed him and Deigh to escape the…escape what…what was the danger? 

Hmm…whatever it was….you don’t want to think about it. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and sleep. Yes, you welcomed sleep as the moon held you in its sad gaze. 

Your only hope is that your brother remembers you as the sister who loved him enough to sacrifice herself for him. Not as the sister who cursed at him or hated him at their last conversation together. Because he wasn’t to blame for your anger. 

No, you had to give credit where credit was due. 

…….

“[Name], I need you to open your eyes.” 

Xaden, voice strained and desperate, rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. His gentle touch and his disheartened tone woke you out of your vision. Although you didn’t wake as easily as you thought you would. You groaned in your bed and tried to move your lips, but your body felt so stiff. You couldn’t even will your eyes to open.

At your discomfort, you felt Xaden clench your hand in his and his other hand caressed your face. “Hey, I’m here with you,” He encouraged, focusing on the furrow of your brows and tense jaw, “and you’re here with me. You have to relax, you’re not in danger.” 

You can still feel the sensation of falling. You hadn’t stopped falling yet. Liam. Remember me. 

“Remem…” Your eyes squeezed tighter, “Remember..me.” 

“I’m here with you,” Xaden repeated, his hand moving from your face down to your shoulder to shake you lightly. “Open your eyes, [Name]. I haven’t seen them in a week. Please let me know that you’re okay.” 

A week. 

“Dagger, take your time.” Lenin softly hummed in your head and his voice gave you the comfort you needed so badly. He was still here. Along with Xaden. You have to tell him what you saw. 

But you can feel sleep coming for you again, the unknown women’s voices singing all around you in their ghostly whispers. 

“Vision,” You mustered out, “Death. Me.”

“The same vision?” Xaden questioned and you squeezed his hand back for a yes. “Can you tell me what happened? A battle? Enemies? Anything.”

“Liam tries to save Vi…” 

Suddenly, you stopped speaking. Like someone sewed your mouth shut and you heard the women getting louder. A coldness hovered over your body and you let it embrace you. It wiped away the warmth from Xaden, muffled his words of encouragement. 

Your whole body relaxes, the grip you had on Xaden loosening up. Sleep has taken you in her hold again making you relive the vision in its entirety this time. 

……

VIOLET’S POV

“How is Lenin doing today?” 

“What do you think?” Tairn replied with annoyance thrumming in my head, his voice deeper in his agitation. 

“Sorry for asking all the time, but I’m concerned. [Name] has been in this coma for months. Xaden and the rest are more broody than normal and don’t get me started on Dain.” I focused on the spinning dagger on my finger watching it move smoothly and lethally. Well not in my hands, in [Name]’s hands this dagger moved like it had been an extension of her. She flicked this dagger with precise movements allowing it to spin on her finger, her knuckles or her bouncing knee. 

“Lenin sleeps all day!” Andarna added with her childish voice ringing in my head. And a quiet chuckle left my lips because this feathertail could tell me anything. Things Tairn obviously wanted my knowledge of it nonexistent. Although I could not ask about her. What Dain did to her. What Liam is going through worrying about his older sister. Saying he should have been hanging out with her more. Train with her. 

Then there was Xaden. My heart plummeted to my stomach seeing how he was holding up. Which is barely. He stuck to the shadows more often than not and visited her with Nolon any chance he got. Xaden spoke to Sgaeyl more than he did to his actual friends and team. Drifting off in his conversations with her and probably having her relay what Lenin knows, if anything at all. 

When Xaden came back, holding an unconscious [Name] close to his chest with his eyes searching for Nolon and healers, I could tell something had been terribly wrong. Even Lenin’s humming echoed throughout the flight field for days haunted my dreams. A man waiting for his…girlfriend to come back to him. A dragon waiting patiently for his rider to wake up from her dreams.  

“But he said she woke up for a bit. He’s trying his best to balance her.” Andarna chirped up. And I knew her hopefulness came from either Sgaeyl or Tairn. Getting the younger dragon not to worry about her sibling made more sense. Yet if Lenin truly did sleep for months just like his rider, he must be deteriorating in health. Neglecting his hunts isn’t something [Name] would want for her dragon. 

“Tairn, what does Andarna mean by that?” I ask. 

Tairn huffed, “It means she needs to stop bothering her brother. Cloak is dreaming, Silver One. It’s what you humans do when you sleep.” Yeah, he wasn’t wrong about that. I pushed the dream I had of Xaden and I to the back of my mind, drowning it in a pit. There is nothing going on between Xaden and I. Maybe just a bit, but with [Name]’s unexpected coma and the future trouble it brings to the Marked Ones…we haven’t actually spent any time together. 

“Well then, how are you and Sgaeyl doing? I haven’t felt…anything from you guys in a while.” 

“Our son is in a deep slumber and you think we’d engage in any sort of intimacy with one another while he suffers in his silence?” 

“Right. I-I don’t know why I asked that.”

“If you want Shadow to see you then make it happen. Don’t taint what I do with my mate with your ideas.” 

Then Tairn was gone. That was super embarrassing because that’s not at all what I intended to come out of the conversation. But he is right. Why would Sgaeyl, hopelessly protective of her son, want to have sex with her partner when her boy was suffering? In his silence, said Tairn. Lenin is keeping his parents out of the loop. This dragon wasn’t going to share anything with his parents until he had the full story. 

Then again [Name] has missed so much. She’s so out of the loop, I’m not sure I can tell her everything, especially Liam’s near death experience.  From Jack Barlowe kicking my ass, to me saving Liam then killing Jack for the whole fight. Channeling my signet. Liam channeling his signet. I missed her training me, I miss her glares and her insults. And the rare occasions when she would smile at me. I stared at the kunai with slouched shoulders and sighed loudly. 

“I need to apologize to her. If anything happens to her…I need to get this off my shoulders.” 

This meaning the blame I put on her for letting the unbonded in my room. The way I had her friends question her motives. 

I grabbed my flight jacket and stormed out of my room with quick and light steps. Surely Nolon will allow me to visit [Name] at this time. My boots barely made any noise on the steps leading to [Name]’s room. After months of monitoring her, Nolon gave the okay that she could rest in her room. Some people had access to her room while others were strictly forbidden to go near, like Dain and the unbonded. 

I kept close to the shadows on the wall, ignoring the light that came from the moon outside. Then when I found her room, I hurried over to the door and walked right in. Earlier in the months, when Nolon allowed [Name] to rest in her room, Xaden warded the room to certain people. Luckily, he accepted me as a trusted friend of [Name]’s. 

Her mage light flicked on right when I shut the door behind me and I sighed in relief. Her room always brought a sense of belonging for some reason. Like there was this constant safety blanket over me. Definitely not her cloak because that always washed over me like cold water. 

I slipped my jacket off and settled it down on a chair with a huff. Then I brought my attention to her sleeping peacefully in her dreams. She was covered in multiple blankets, her head surrounded by pillows. I’m assuming Imogen sleeps on the floor sometimes with those extras. Which means I better make my visit quick. Any of them could walk in and check in on her. 

I sat myself on the chair next to her bed and sucked in a deep breath. Come on, she’s sleeping. It’s better to do this than tell her when she’s actually awake. Go, Violet. Say it. 

“I’m sorry for making you suffer like this,” It’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

“I know that bonding to Tairn seemed impossible, like how everyone told you that bonding to Lenin was a crazy idea. They both weren’t supposed to choose us somehow. But they did anyway. You trained all your life to become a dragon rider, to live another day. I wanted to be like my father, a scribe. And now, here I am speaking to one of the most badass females I ever met in my life.”

Fuck, where am I going with this?

“I never wanted to be a rider, but when Tairn chose me. I don’t know, I felt like I proved everyone wrong. Like how you prove to everyone that you are a lethal rider with one of the biggest dragons. So I wanted to be like you. I wanted to fight like you, speak like you with confidence. To have a powerful signet. To have his attention like you.” 

Maybe I shouldn’t say that last part. My feelings for Xaden have to be kept to myself. 

“Anyways, I came here to apologize to you. I know you don’t remember, but when I bonded to Tairn I became a target. One night, someone let unbonded riders into my room hoping that they’ll kill me. I saw them for a brief moment like a shimmer when the rest attacked me. Xaden was the first to help me and when he questioned me with Garrick and Bodhi by his side, I let my words slip.”

Yeah, here it goes. The whole story. The truth and my guilt. 

“I told him that the person who let these unbonded in my room had a shimmer around their body. Like a cloak. That’s when he snapped at me, telling me that you would never do that to him. That your jealousy couldn’t have been that petty to put his life in danger. And I said that I saw the cloaked person leave like nothing. Bodhi tried to make sense of it, but Xaden’s fury was unmatched to any reason. He told them to meet you at your door after they woke up Imogen. He didn’t care about being seen with them, more than three because he needed to know. I saw the hurt in his eyes and I- I watched them leave after he made sure I was okay.” 

[Name] didn’t even stir at the information I decided to dump on her. No reaction to her peaceful expression. No twitch of her fingers or toes. Just the steady rise and fall of her chest. 

“Turns out, it wasn’t you. Imogen told us that your cloak doesn’t shimmer. Not after all the hard work you did to make it invisible to the eye. So with further investigation, Xaden and the rest pinned the blame on Amber Mavis after seeing her use your signet for her own gain. Her signet allowed her to copy others and she chose yours.”

I moved my eyes to her lips which parted with soft breaths leaving it. 

“She died. And you asked Imogen to erase your memories. Because your friends trusted me more than they did you. They trusted a word of an outsider more than the ones that left your mouth and you are technically family to them. I wanted to apologize way earlier, but Lenin had other plans. Imogen and Bodhi told me that you would refuse to teach me anything if you knew the truth. So I kept my mouth shut.” 

I reached out to her uncovered hand and held it in my own. Is it bad to say that I missed when she would grab my hand and flip me around on the sparring mat? I need her back to keep me going, to teach me everything she can. 

A groan snapped me out of my trance and I looked up in surprise to see [Name]’s eyes flutter open. For second, her blue eyes changed to lilac. The pretty purples looking around her room then shutting them again. When she opened her eyes again they were back to blue. 

“Vi…Violet?” She sounded confused and her grip on my hand tightened. 

“[Name], are you…are you really awake?” I asked dumbfoundedly, perhaps thinking I was in some kind of dream too. 

“I think I am,” She said in a whisper, not believing that she was either, “How long was I out for?” 

How should I let her down easy? I hummed and said quietly, matching her volume, “Well in two days is the Reunification Day. Uh, it’s been months, but don’t worry you didn’t miss a lot.” 

“Alright then,” [Name] calmly responded and released my hand. I was expecting a harsher or more dramatic response, but she seemed withdrawn. I don’t think I was the first person she wanted to wake up to. 

“I can get Xaden for you, he’s been waiting for you to wake up ever since the challenge with Dain and that other third year.” I say, hoping to get her out of her bed or to get more of a reaction from her. Instead she looks at me with tired eyes and says, “I’ll be alright. I’m going to sleep some more.” 

“No!” I shouted and jumped up from my seat, “What happened to you? You know you can tell me anything, right? I promise I can get Xaden here in a second. He really wants to know that you’re okay.” 

Quickly I reach out to Xaden, closing my eyes tightly and searching for him, “She’s awake! You have to get here quickly!” 

“I’m on my way! What has she said?” Xaden responded instantly, his voice sending shivers down my spine. 

“Nothing, but she wants to sleep some more!” 

“Keep her awake, Violence!” He ordered. The nickname, I haven’t heard him call me that in some time now. 

I opened my eyes and felt creeped out by how intensely she was staring at me. Then [Name] sighed, turning her back on me. She pulled her blankets higher, up to her shoulders and snuggled into her pillows. 

“Don’t worry, Violence,” [Name] said almost in a mocking way, “I will wake tomorrow. I’m almost done seeing how everything turns out.” 

Then she closed her eyes and fell right back to sleep. But I stood in my place absolutely dumbfounded by her choice of words. Violence. Seeing how everything turns out. Her words seemed to ring with truth, not some kind of joke. Or the delirious waking of her coma. 

[Name] Mairi is going to wake up tomorrow. And she’ll know how everything will turn out. 

“Tairn, how is Lenin doing now?” I asked and three beats of silence went by before I got my answer. 

“He’s waking up with a few changes to his appearance.” 

Great, now I need to know how this happened. 

..............................

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬:

@luvly-writer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @honethatty12 @poeticbookwormcat @cheappremingerfromdelululand @eep500 @littlepippilongstocking @86laura11 @lxnvmvrzx @what-will-be-your-verse @sheblogs @fangirling-galore @callsigns-haze @side-angel @faeofthemoonandstars @jesschalamet @abysshaven @bisexualbitchsgotass @books-hlmc @r0sluvs @galaxystern08 @bwormie @littleemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @steph-fowlie

if I missed anyone, please let me know! Send me a DM or something because I lose your names in all the activity! Making me go fishing for y'all

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Prison Inmate Supercorp AU

Kara is works in the prison library, and while Lena covets a spot on the maintenance crew, as a freshie she gets assigned to laundry detail. But within days its clear that the laundry room doesn't agree with her. She doesn't offer a word of complaint, but the laundry room is hot and unbearably stuffy, and being sensitive to heat, Kara takes one look at Lena's flushed and sweaty cheeks before making it her mission to get her reassigned.

Janitorial isn't much, but it at least gets Lena some much needed air, and she gets to stay cool as she mops and scrubs. It does make her an easier target tho-- and a target she is, for the ladies who imagine themselves as Kara's next girlfriend.

They resent Lena's quickly budding friendship with Kara, and do everything in their power to make Lena's life miserable, including trashing the bathrooms, tearing apart her cell, and shoving her roughly in the halls when they pass.

When Kara meets up with Lena in the cafeteria one evening and sees an 'accidental' black eye swelling on Lena's face, she demands to know who did it. Lena wisely keeps her mouth shut. But Kara simply watches her new friend like a hawk, and when she sees the aggressors immediately moves to intervene-- only for Lena to catch her wrist and tug her back.

"I'll deal with it," she says softly.

Kara frowns. "You can't let them walk over you. They'll only get bolder."

Lena nods. "I'll handle it."

So the next time her bullies trash the bathroom, Lena gathers the dirty rags (with all manner of bodily fluids soaked into it) and dumps it in the primary offenders cell.

"You left this in the bathroom," she says simply, walking away before the woman has a chance to retaliate.

Retaliation still finds her. In the yard outside, the group corners Lena on the basketball court. They make a spectacle of it, which invites the other inmates to circle around for the show.

The ringleader moves quickly to shove Lena, with enough force to send her sprawling to the ground, but Lena smoothly steps aside, allowing the woman's momentum to send her stumbling at the unexpected lack of contact. This infuriates the woman, who turns back swinging. Lena again dodges, her movement fluid and graceful as she weaves around the blows. Not a single one lands.

The woman's cronies jump in at a bark from their leader, and they only just barely get their hands on Lena before she twists from their grips and moves into the ringleader's next attack. She turns the woman's right hook aside and wraps the woman in a reverse headlock, kicking her legs out from under her. Before the woman can fall roughly on her back to the pavement, Lena catches her sharply, arresting the fall before injury can occur.

With the woman all but hanging in her grip, Lena stares at her with an icy steel in her gaze. "Leave me alone," she says.

Then she releases the woman, letting her drop the last two inches onto the blacktop. The landing is by no means painful, but an audible oof follows, earning jeers from the crowd, who delightedly eats up the turn of events.

The dent in the woman's pride doesn't let her abandon her mission to ruin Lena's life. She just gets sneakier about it. Instead of targeting Lena in the courtyard, she next seeks her out when Lena is sent to get more cleaning solution from a secluded supply closet. All Lena registers is the point of a shiv heading for her gut, and a blur of an inhumanly fast hand reaching out to halt the hand holding the improvised weapon.

"Enough," Kara growls. The woman gapes, then glares.

"This bitch--!"

"Is my friend," Kara declares.

The woman splutters. "But I--!"

"Are nothing," Kara finished for her. She looks the woman up and down. "You are nothing."

The woman's face heats with insult and rage, but even she knows better than to mess with Kara Danvers. When Kara's grip tightens threateningly on her wrist, the woman drops the shiv, only then being released to scuttle off with her tail between her legs.

When Kara turns, Lena is staring at her with suspicion, frowning. "Do I even want to know how you got here so fast?"

Kara smirks. "Nope."

Lena sighs. "Fine then. Thank you, and all that."

"My pleasure."

[natihoneybee]

Kagi-kun & the Basketball Team and HiraKagi Theories Post Chapter 29

In my free time, I spent the last few days rereading all of Hirano & Kagiura (including the novel) and then skimming through all of Sasaki & Miyano for Easter eggs. I wanted to compile as many details as I could find that’s related to Kagiura and his basketball team. I’m doing this to organize my thoughts better, and piece together details about the team.

While going through the material, I did come up with more theories for the upcoming chapter(s). But I might have to make a separate thread depending on how long the post gets. Anyway, I want this post to have facts and key details, so I’ll try to include volume and page numbers, too.

The first half of the post about Kagi-kun & the basketball team possibly has some spoilers for Ch. 29 but not really. Just in case I’m putting it under a “read more” line.

What we know about the basketball team

These are the names of basketball players mentioned so far: Shirahama Kyouji, Tomonori Kuda, Yamada, and Muroi Yuuki. These are the basketball players’ numbers we know about so far: Kagiura is #11 and there are two players who are #7 & #4 from a Shirahama flashback (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-19).

We know that Kagiura and the basketball team go to the city to watch basketball games or play outside of practice at a gym (Vol 4, chapter 11, page 7). Kagiura tells Hirano that there’s an arena nearby where a pro basketball team plays. And that the school basketball team sometimes takes the school buses (Vol 1, chapter 4, page 17). Based on some paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), it looks like there is going to be an off-campus basketball retreat in the near future, which I think is going to come up in the next chapter and might be part of a larger arc in the next volume. But I will address that idea at the end in the “Basketball Retreat Theory” section.

Kagiura Akira

*I'm gonna be brief with Kagi's section because I could go on and on about him hehe

I’m really excited to see more of how Kagiura interacts with his teammates on the basketball team. While rereading, I focused on the scenes of Kagi with his basketball teammates and these scenes from (Vol 5, ch 23a) really stood out to me. Kagiura overhears another player complaining about him “getting out of cleaning” (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3). And when he meets up with Hirano later that chapter, it’s revealed he’s late because he stayed behind and that “they needed help cleaning up” (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 8). I think that really goes to show the type of person Kagi is and how much he cares about the basketball club. He really works hard at it and doesn’t want anyone questioning his dedication to it. I'll get into this trait of his later in the Basketball Retreat Theory.

Jealous-kun

*I saw someone in another post say that this guy^ complaining about Kagi “getting out of cleaning” from (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3) is the same guy in (Vol 6, chapter 29). And OMGG you are totally right!! GAAAHHH!! Idk his name though. If anyone could come up with a nickname while we wait, that would make talking about him easier (i’ll prob just call him jealous-kun for now). I'm assuming based on the translation, that he's also a second year.

Back to Kagi

Another thing I’ve been thinking about is a scene from (Vol 3, chapter 14, page 10-12) where a girl tries to give chocolates to Kagi on valentines day. I think her near confession is very precious. Kagi is so sweet about kindly turning down her chocolates. He seems really serious about what she has to say to him, too: he’s genuinely listening, asks her for her name, thanks her for watching their games and offers to walk her to the station. And the words she used to describe him “you looked so cool and mature when you were focusing”, definitely stuck with him in the context of Hirano: “I wonder if he’d think I’m cool and fall for me if I acted more mature”. Just something to think about. Now, this valentine’s day scene reminds of a scene in sasamiya with Shirahama, but I’ll get to that in his character section below.

Shirahama Kyouji

Shirahama in HiraKagi

Shirahama and Kagiura seem to be close, they frequently play basketball together even when there’s no practice scheduled, like during lunch (Vol 3, chapter 12, page 9-19) and on weekends (Vol 4, chapter 11, page 7). Someone in another post called them “basketball buddies” hehe. I think we’re definitely going to see more of their friendship as teammates in the upcoming chapters. Shirahama talks a lot about wanting a girlfriend, and often whines about how Kagiura is so popular with girls (Vol 4, chapter 20.6, pages 2-5). In the extra “Something About White Day”, Shirahama learns that Kagi has an unrequited love though, so I’m wondering if they will talk about love later on or if Kagiura will open up about his crush on Hirano to Shirahama. And even though Shirahama lightly complains about Kagi’s popularity with girls, he definitely cares about and respects Kagi enough to defend him from other players who are jealous of Kagi (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3).

Shirahama in SasaMiya

Now jumping to the sasamiya series real quick in their third year: Something I’ve noticed is shirahama becoming more of a regular character since Vol 8. And we finally get a character name tag for him in (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4). Since he’s becoming a bigger role in the sasamiya series, this goes back to my idea of shirahama possibly having a bigger role in hirakagi, too (i.e. he and kagi talking more about crushes or relationships). When I reread the parts of how Shirahama reacted to sasaki and miyano’s relationship (with the context of hirakagi) I started thinking: Does Shirahama know something about Kagiura and Hirano (to some extent)? Like maybe he knows that Kagiura has a crush or at this point is in a relationship that’s secret. Before learning about Miyano and Sasaki, maybe shirahama’s only example of how a couple acts was Kagiura and his experiences. Since, Shirahama seemed really surprised that Miyano wasn’t keeping his relationship a secret, I wonder if maybe Kagiura ever confided to Shirahama about his feelings for or eventual relationship with Hirano and if it was kept secret at some point because they were roommates (this is only the case if they start dating while being roommate, but I think they start dating in Kagiura’s third year tbh).

For Reference, here are the page numbers in sasamiya with Shirahama that I’m referring to: (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4-8), (Vol 9, chapter 43, page 8), (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-21). And these are the specific Shirahama scenes/lines that stick out to me in the sasamiya series that may or may not back up my hirakagi theory involving shirahama (or I’m just delulu *shrug*):

In (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4) Shirahama says “I’m never gonna get the chance to stay late at school getting everything ready for the cultural festival and then leave with a girl after I tell her it’s dangerous so she should let me walk her home!” He says it’s from a sim game, but it’s really specific and actually reminded me of Kagiura on valentine’s day haha. I wonder if this will happen to Kagiura in his 2nd year in the upcoming cultural festival.

“Let’s say I don’t find a girlfriend before college. Then I’m gonna end up getting a job and going out drinking, saying, ‘I wanna get married…!’ I feel like I’m gonna end up sounding like this guy on the team, and I don���t want that.” (vol 8, ch 42, pg 5).

“You scared me…!! You can’t just say that! It’s a secret!” (vol 8, ch 42, pg 7)

Shirahama says “Is that really what couples usually do…? Guess I was overthinking it.” (Vol 9, ch 43, pg 8)

I’m really interested in what y’all think about the scene in (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-21). It seems like Shirahama really doesn’t want to miss basketball practice and the flashback scene he recalls actually hits a nerve. Do you think maybe Shirahama is feeling insecure about his role in the basketball club here? Like maybe he’s not always part of the main team in tournaments? I initially thought that this was a Kagi cameo, but the jersey’s say #4 and #7, and I’ve read somewhere that Kagi’s jersey number is #11.

*Side note: I can’t remember which page in sasamiya it was, but Shirahama mentions going on group dates a lot. Is he going with some guys from the basketball team? If anyone knows, please please pleasee let me know. Obviously, I don’t think Kagi would go, but I can imagine him being asked to go to help the other guys out or “evening out the numbers” haha OR being asked NOT to go because he’s too popular with girls. It could be a funny scene to see idk.

Okay, I think that’s all I have to say about Shirahama on the basketball team for now. I’ll probably refer back to him later though.

Tomonori Kuda

I think he’s the one Kagi mentions in these passages in the HiraKagi light novel on pages 22 and 26. And I think that they might have a “rivals to teammates to friends” type of relationship. At least, that’s the impression I got from the novel when Kagi cheers for him at the Sports Festival and thinks “I’ve gotta tell him how glad I am that he joined the basketball team.”

Also, you can see the name “Tomonori Kuda” in Kagiura’s phone call log, and before Hirano called, he was the last person Kagi talked to on the phone (Vol 1, chapter 3, page 31). So, I’m kinda hoping that they’re close and we see more of that. When the regular players are called over at practice, Kagi and Kuda’s names are both called, and we get to put a face to the name (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 4).

Yamada “Run, Yamada!”

Someone is named Yamada (unknown given name) on the basketball team. This is literally just based on this one background character during practice when Shirahama is talking to Sasaki in (SasaMiya Vol 9, chapter 46, page 11 ) lol.

Muroi Yuuki “headband-kun”

I saw someone referring to him as “headband-kun” in a tag and I thought it was the cutest thing. Muroi Yuuki is a newer character we’ve just been introduced to, and we know he’s Kagiura’s kouhai. He’s a first year, while Kagi is a second year. I believe his first appearance is (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 4 & 7). In the scene where Kagi is helping Muroi with paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), we see a close up of his name and his reason for staying off-campus. We see quite a bit of him in Chapter 29: where he’s on the school bus with the basketball team, he asks Kagiura which activity he’s doing, introduces himself to Hirano telling him he’s on the basketball team and then asks to have Hirano’s contact information. So we know that 1) he will be at the off-campus basketball retreat, 2) he’s a kouhai on the basketball team, 3) He really looks up to Kagiura. I think he’s adorable and I am soooo looking forward to seeing more of Kagiura and Muroi’s kouhai/senpai relationship. I am so glad Kagiura finally has a kouhai of his own! Also, that part where Kagi gives Muroi his phone to watch a game… so cute, it’s giving ipad kid lmao 🤣😭.

HiraKagi Theories (Spoilers for Chapter 29!!!)

Okay! So that’s it for what I have on the basketball team profiles. I’m gonna get into what I think is going happen after Chapter 29. This section is definitely going to have spoilers!

Basketball Retreat Theory

I think there are going to be multiple arcs coming into play during the months May-October of Hirano’s 3rd and Kagiura’s 2nd year (Hirakagi Vol 7 and onward). First, I’m going to address my Basketball Retreat Theory. Based on some paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), it looks like there is going to be an off-campus basketball retreat in the near future, which I think is actually going to come up in the next chapter and might be part of a larger arc in this coming up volume.

I can’t remember exactly where this image^ is from, but it got me thinking: Does Kagi become the new captain for the basketball team? I don’t think that’s something that has been confirmed or not but it just makes sense, right? I just get the feeling there’s gotta be more behind the question that Hanzawa is asking Shirahama, especially since Hanzawa is so familiar with Kagiura and his character. I mean like Hanzawa had asked Kagi about being an RA at some point. Kagi was in the running for being an RA without even realizing it! Tashiro (who became ping pong captain) mentioned that he started getting scouted for the position during the summer/ cultural festival season, which is coming up soon in the hirakagi timeline.

Now, back to the basketball retreat and upcoming tournaments: If Kagi’s senpais on the basketball team are going to start scouting for the new team captain, I am absolutely positive they are going to partially determine who to choose based on how well things run smoothly at the retreat and tournaments. Going back to Kagiura’s profile from earlier, we know he’s Basketball Team Captain worthy and Hirano has even said to Kagi that “They’re well aware of how hard you’ve been working” (Vol 5, chapter 23b, page 6). Not to even mention, Kagi in his 2nd year has now been training and teaching the younger members too! So, following this theory that Kagi is in the running for becoming the new basketball team captain, I think this definitely adds to the possibility that we will see some basketball team drama. Especially if Jealous-kun is another 2nd year basketball player in the team interested in that position.

Homophobic Jealous-kun Theory

Now, this other theory involves Jealous-kun much more. My other theory is that Jealous-kun, who has a history of intently watching Kagiura, catches Kagiura having a moment with Hirano—and like Hirano with Inchinose—Kagi makes eye contact and realizes they were caught. Only, Jealous-kun isn’t as sweet about it and reacts homophobically. If this does happen, I actually think this might go a really angsty route where Hirano and/or Hanzawa get involved. Like… I’m wondering if there will be a physical fight between Kagi and Jealous-kun (which just thinking about that scares me so much cause idek if Kagi can fight??) But the reason I think this is a huge possibility is because of some clues in both hirakagi and sasamiya series.

It’s been brought up multiple times that Hirano is good in a fight, in (Vol 1, chapter 3, page 14) Sasaki tries to reassure Hanzawa that “Hirano’s good in a fight. If anything happens, he’ll be fine… I think”. To which Hanzawa replies “That ‘I think’ doesn’t really make me feel better”. So I’m wondering if there will be a point in the story where we will see Hirano get in a physical fight. Either he fights someone *cough cough maybe jealous kun?* to defend Kagi or Kagi is in a physical fight with someone *cough cough maybe jealous kun?* and Hirano gets involved to try to split it up.

If this does happen, I think Hanzawa could be a witness to this situation. Fast forward to the scene from sasamiya (Vol 6, chapter 30, page 12). Hanzawa says “Some of the guys in my life are gay, and I’ve seen them get in fights before. It’s scary. Whenever they get hurt, I always worry that something happened with one of their boyfriends…” Now, when I first read this scene I only thought about it in the context of Hanzawa’s brothers past relationships (maybe they dealt with domestic abuse). BUT in the context of hirakagi (it’s interesting that Hirano is pictured here), it’s definitely not the case of domestic abuse or toxic relationships.

I think the wording here is on purpose because 1) Hanzawa used the phrase “some of the guys in my life are gay” instead of just using “brothers”. So I immediately thought of Kagiura. 2) When he says “I always worry that something happened with one of their boyfriends”, I feel like it could have a double meaning where “that something” that “happened with one of their boyfriends” could be Hanzawa and Hirano finding out that Kagiura is in a fight with someone and Hirano dashes to him (we all remember how fast he ran when kagi was overtired).

*sigh* Just thinking about this situation is stressing me out. So for now I’m moving on to another thought process and that’s Hirano’s confession, but I’ll get back to Hanzawa later.

Hirano’s Confession

As of right now it’s May in the hirakagi timeline, the sports festival just happened and in the sasamiya timeline this is when Sasaki (awkwardly) confesses to Miyano. 

In the sasamiya series in (Vol 3, chapter 15, page 21), we have this beautiful moment between Hirano and Sasaki that happens in June. Hmph. So, Hirano’s reaction definitely feels personal, right?? Because there’s definitely a window between May and June, I wouldn’t be surprised if Harusono stretched out that period of time. Still, I’m pretty positive that Hirano is going to confess in June right before or right after this scene with Sasaki. Hirano’s comment: “Stop making excuses and just tell him already!” Absolutely confirms to me that there is going to be something on Hirano’s mind that he might use as an excuse to wait to tell Kagi, that will delay his confession, or that will just make him feel hesitant. And I think that something could be related to the basketball retreat theory, the homophobic jealous kun theory, or how Hanzawa feels about gay relationships (at this point in the series). And when he tells this to Sasaki, I think he’s also saying this to himself (maybe).

Hanzawa’s Involvement

Time to get back to Hanzawa. In the sasamiya timeline, we’re officially introduced to his character with a name tag in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 19, page 8). At this time, it’s July. I think it’s really interesting that Harunsono chose this point to officially introduce Hanzawa, especially with Hirano’s dorm life brought up on the same page and Hanzawa seeming to be unphased. Later in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 22, page 19-20 & 24) Hanzawa and Miyano are discussing what love is. At this time, it’s September during cultural festival preparations. I saw someone in another post say that it feels like Hanzawa is repeating someone else’s words. I believe this is definitely the case. In the Sasaki and Miyano anime, Hanzawa’s speech actually overlaps with scenes of Hirano & Kagiura and Kuresawa & Ogasawara on the phone with their respective girlfriends. And the reference to Hirano and Kagiura feels like such an obvious clue now looking back at it. The conversation between Hanzawa and Miyano (in the anime and manga) goes like this: 

Miyano: What do you think it means to like someone?

Hanzawa: I think it depends on the person. Like wanting to do stuff with them? Or like wanting to be together. Wanting to hold hands. Wanting to touch them. Wanting to kiss them. Wanting to hold them. Or wanting to have them all to yourself. … Love is when you can’t stop thinking about the other person, or so they say.

Everything that Hanzawa says and uses as an example of Love literally relates back to Hirano and Kagiura. So, it could be that this is a speech that Hirano has said to Hanzawa before. Even the phrasing reminds me of Hirano. Like in hirakagi (chapter 29, pages 12-13 & 16) when Hirano is talking to Ichinose, Hirano asks “Have you ever wanted to kiss someone? … And try various things. … I’m fine with touching them”. Hirano is sorta still figuring out the type of “like/love” he feels for kagiura (although in chapter 29, page 34 it looks like he’s realized it’s the same as kagiura’s like/love), but once he figures it out completely, I think he’s going to share this information with Hanzawa. And explain it to Hanzawa with personal examples: 

Kagiura and Hirano feel love differently (it depends on the person)

Sometimes it’s wanting to try various things (like wanting to do stuff with them?)

Wanting to continue living together as roommates (like wanting to be together)

Wanting to hold hands (something Hirano and Kagiura have done)

Wanting to touch them (the 10 seconds touch everyday)

Wanting to kiss them (something Kagiura or Ichinose want to do when they like someone)

Wanting to hold them (hugging)

Wanting to have them all to yourself (dating and Kagi's "More than anything, I want to be with you" in chapter 29, page 28)

When you can’t stop thinking about the other person (literally Hirano every moment of everyday and Kagi when Hirano leaves)

And I think this is going to happen in July, since that’s when Hanzawa was introduced to the sasamiya series and seems to be more open to gay relationships by this time. I just think that Harusono is very intentional with their characters and would set it up this way. Especially since in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 19, page 8) Hanzawa doesn’t seem to be as worried as he did before about Hirano and Kagiura’s dorm life as roommates (him no longer being an RA might be a factor as well, but I think it’s mostly because Hirano has talked it over with Hanzawa regarding his closeness with Kagi).

*Side Note: Now this isn't really about Hanzawa's involvement, but on the topic of Hirano’s feelings and for the sake of sticking to chronological order with referencing chapter 29 so much, I'm going to put it here. Are we going to get a kiss in the next chapter?? Before they were interrupted by Muroi (chapter 29, page 30), it seems like they were talking about trying it (when they have more privacy, like maybe back at the dorm?). Because like… Hirano didn’t say no, just not here. Ya know?

Hirakagi Timeline Post Chapter 29

Okay, so I think I’ve addressed everything I wanted to. But to lay it out in a more organized fashion, here is a timeline based on all my theories and how I think it could pan out post chapter 29:

May -> Right now we’re at the Sports Festival

May - June -> basketball retreat/tournaments/team drama that Kagiura is gonna have to face; the basketball retreat theory, the homophobic jealous-kun theory? (could happen anywhere between May-July)

June -> Hirano’s confession!! (hopefully)

June - July -> Hirano and Hanzawa’s heart to heart moment

September - October -> Cultural festival; possible basketball tournament (shoutout to @rubyrose143 for finding this easter egg in sasamiya chapter 23.1)

December - January -> New Year’s Eve (Kagi is sick; Hirano goes to the shrine with Sasaki and meets Miyano, Kuresawa and Tashiro there in the "Special Drama CD My Wish", also shown as an extra chapter in sasamiya Vol 3)

Well, that's it. I hope this was somewhat helpful and entertaining to read. Thank you all for interacting, please let me know if I missed anything, and please please please tell me what you think! ❤️

[qwanderer]

closet argument from The Case of the Very Long Stairway as a gift for @shaylogic for the dgd anniversary exchange!

I wrote a little dialog-only ficlet to go with it, which you can read under the cut!

"Fuck, I can't get this door open. Charles. Do you wanna, you know, do the ghost thing and then let me out?"

"Right. Bad news."

"Oh my God, we're stuck? Is that what you're telling me? Are we stuck in this stupid little closet in the Cat King's tacky little boudoir?"

"Might be."

"Ugh, I can't believe you got us both stuck in here."

"Oi, you weren't much help, Crystal!"

"Well you said you had a plan and then didn't tell me about it! How was I supposed to know how to help you make it work?"

"I didn't know we could get trapped like this!"

"How are we even trapped? I mean I get it, I'm a regular person, I can't walk through walls, but you're a ghost. …It's not iron, is it?"

"Nah, it doesn't burn, it's just… I can't seem to do the whole ghost thing right now."

"What does that even mean? You are a ghost."

"I guess ghosts are solid here?"

"Yeah, real helpful arcane knowledge."

"Dunno what to tell you, it's the best I've got!"

"God, is arguing in closets gonna be, like, a whole thing with us?"

"I hope not."

"How long do you think it's gonna be?"

"If it's longer than a couple of hours, Edwin will find us."

"I dunno, he seemed pretty far down the research hole when we left. Not sure he even knows we're gone."

"I'm pretty sure Edwin will find us. Eventually."

"Right. So, tell me about this plan you had."

"It's stupid."

"I think we can all agree on that at this point."

"I wanna make, like, a present for Edwin, and I want it to be a surprise, so I can't ask him for help making it, can I?"

"Okay, but why the Cat King? And why the catnip? And why am I here?"

"Well, if I go off somewhere with you, Edwin's not gonna think it's weird, will he?"

"Which is great, by the way, if we're relying on him to rescue us and meanwhile he doesn't wanna interrupt our date."

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't think it through. Thought the Cat King was a friendly now, or at least close enough. And he got annoyed at us in the first place 'cause Edwin was mean to his cats, so I thought, well, I'll do something nice for 'em instead, won't I?"

"I mean, they did seem to be enjoying it, I'll give you that."

"I hoped it would maybe distract his cats a little, stop 'em from listening in, but I had no idea it would distract him!"

"Yeah, he is fully baked right now."

"Definitely not the plan."

"Where did you even get potted catnip?"

"Grew it."

"You grew that?"

"Yeah, we have kind of a little garden up on the roof of the Agency. Herbs for spells and stuff. Some things we use enough that it's easier to grow our own than trade for it."

"That's really cool, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I always kill plants. Anyone who can keep them alive is pretty impressive to me."

"So, uh…"

"What. What is that look."

"Have you ever played seven minutes in heaven?"

"Yeah, a few times."

"Oh, is it a favorite pastime?"

"I wouldn't say that. I regret most of what I've done while playing that game."

"Tell me."

"You didn't bring it up because you wanted to hear about shitty things that happened to me before."

"Maybe not, but if you wanna talk about it…"

"All you really need to know is despite everything that kinda sucks about tonight, I'm enjoying it a lot more than any of those nights."

"Yeah?"

"And despite everything you did to help get us into this mess, I still like you a hell of a lot better than anyone I shared a closet with back then."

"That so?"

"Sweetie. Stop fishing for compliments and kiss me."

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hi! so i read your post on percy as the minister of magic and i definitely understand your point of view. i'm curious who you think would be a good minister of magic?

(Referring to this post about Percy as the minister)

The honest answer, I don't think any of them is an ideal minister. At least, not anyone I could think of. If you can take the Golden Trio and make them a minister together like some Roman Trimuvirate, we have something we could work with:

Like, Harry got the charisma, the fame, he draws attention and would be brilliant at telling people to shut the fuck up in the sassiest way possible. When tough things happen, and things get stressful, Harry keeps his calm and keep them moving forward. Plus, he has great instincts.

The thing is, Harry doesn't really care about the bigger system or politics at all. He'd find Wizengamot frustrating and dull, and wouldn't want anything to do with them unless he felt responsible to put in the effort (which he would if he were put in the position). But, like, it won't be something he wants to do. He doesn't have a passion for it.

Ron is more realistic and strategic and is best at looking at the wider situation and its consequences. He is also the most connected with the Wizarding World itself and the culture there. He is the trio's insider, who knows the culture like a native. He is more concerned with the system at large than Harry. He isn't a great liar, but he is strategic and can stay calm under pressure. And Ron post-war is more charismatic than we give him credit for, I think. (And he's the most hinged, emotionally balanced member of the trio, which is very important when dealing with other important people you want to cooperate with you). And, yes, he's lazy about school work, but when he needs to research something, all three of the Golden Trio sit their asses in the library and research when they need to. Hermione just enjoys it.

And Hermione is brilliant at research and bureaucracy. She can get things done, and Ron and Harry would mitigate her idealism. Hermione is very "my way or the highway" and can cause people who agree with her to not want her in charge. While something needs to be done regarding the house elves, her approach ends up offending the house elves she is trying to help instead of getting them to support her (which I think is possible with the right approach). What I'm saying is Hermione is not that subtle or that good of a liar and would struggle navigating the less obvious sides of politics, especially if she'd need to think fast. Hermione is good when she has time to plan, not so much when she is panicking and needs to think on her feet (that's when Harry's in his element).

But, basically, Hermione would get things done, Harry would lead people, and Ron would mitigate both of them, remind them of the reality they live in, and make the whole dynamic work. So, the golden trio together, as a unit, would be a pretty good option (from the ones we have).

Though, writing all the above made me think that Ron, as minister with Hermione helping him out with research and such, and Harry backing him, is slept on in this fandom. I think it could work. (Plus, he'd want it more than Harry would be happy without more attention)

I think Kingsley isn't a bad choice for a minister. I think he would do an alright job, all in all. He's realistic, cool under pressure, charismatic, and knows how to work within the limits of the ministry well. My only problem with him as minister would be that he'd stick pretty closely to the existing ministry's status quo. He does remove the dementors from Azkaban and probably improves the state of muggleborns, but, unfortunately, the wizarding world needs more than that. (Not to mention the anti-Slytherin sentiment that seems to be present in the epilogue spells another dark lord in the near future)

Amelia Bones would probably be pretty similar to Kingsley as a Minister of Magic, tbh. She'd just, realistic, cool under pressure, but probably not see the deeper problems in the very system she works in.

Couldn't really think of anyone else when writing this, but if you think I forgot someone obvious, tell me.