#you can still go on hating him if that's what floats your boat

[koujaaku]

I made this when Qi Rong's picture from the english-translated novel was revealed, but guess I have to make one for the manhua too because no one learned the lesson...

[leeloooonfire]

Steve Harrington only wears a bra.

Well, not, only, he's also wearing bright orange swim shorts and a cap backward, too.

The top part, however? Hairy man boobs are prettily covered by a black lace bra with a sparkling strass stone in the middle.

Eddie might be a teeny tiny bit drunk (2 beers after months of abstinence and medication does that to a man), but not drunk enought to imagine Steve Harrington in a bra.

'Uh-', he says eloquently and tries not to stare too much at the other man sitting on what must be Buckley's bed. 'Am I interrupting something?'

Steve, face almost as pink as Erica's favourite shoes, opens his mouth to reply, but Robin, sitting crosslegged in front of him, is faster, 'Oh its just you. Close the door, Eds.'

Eddie isn't sure if she means 'close the door and leave, never talk to us about whatever weird kinky little thing we're doing right now' or 'come in, close the door and shut up'. He hesitates for a moment, studying Steve's pretty flushed face and Robin’s wiggling eyebrows before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

His hand is still on the door knob when he turns and finds Robin leaning against Steve’s hairy chest, one of her arms behind his back. She's fumbling with something, frustrated noises escape her closed lips while Steve simply sits still - like a statue. An Adonis statue wearing a bra.

'Fuck', Robin groans loudly, her forehead knocking against Steve's clavicle, his hand patting her head in condolence.

'Not to be judgmental', Eddie starts slowly as he leans against the book case right next to the door, 'But what are you guys doing?'

(Eddie thought Robin's a friend of Dorothy, so why is Steve fucking Harrington sitting dolled up in a delicate bra on her bed and they look like they're ready to make out?!)

When both Steve and Robin send him evil twin looks, he holds both his hands up in surrender, 'Like I said, not gonna judge you, whatever floats your boat or whatever, but what, exactly, is it that you're trying to do here?'

'Practice', Robin grumbles against Steve's chest, tugging behind his back again.

Steve grins, a bit lopsided and goofy, 'She's trying to open the bra with one hand.'

'It's just so much easier on myself,' she says, and now that Eddie knows what's happening, he can make out her hand tugging and fumbling with the hooks behind Steve's back.

'Ah,' Eddie says, again, rather eloquently. 'I should probably leave you to it, then.'

Before he can turn and go, however, Steve says, 'I heard that you're pretty good with your hands, Munson. Bet you can get it off me in no time.'

'Pfff- ' Robin makes, rolling her eyes, 'I wouldn't be so sure he's ever had a bra in his hands.'

And while Robin has flocked him as a raging homosexual as it seems, Eddie heard the rumours about him too: fingers dancing over his guitar, rolling the perfect joints, Eddie the freak Munson knows how to work his fingers. he doesn't hate this rumour at all. It's kind of nice - for his ego and all.

Yes, he hasn't opened a bra before, but he's met this hot goth dude in a corset before, and that's basically a bra with dozens of hooks. He is fairly sure he can open it with one hand and without looking. What he probably shouldn't do is coming too close to Steve Harrington, the man he's had a crush on since they survived the Upside Down together. Not with his naked skin and hairy chest and dark brown nipple peaking through the black lace of the undergarment.

But both Robin and Steve stare at him and Eddie doesn't run anymore - a challenge is a challenge.

'No problem,' he says far more confident than he actually feels and steps closer, one knee on the bed before Robin's even all out of the way.

'No looking,' she says as if she's explaining the rules to a game, 'chest to chest or face in his neck, but you can only use one hand and your eyes have to stay either closed or on him. Seriously no peeking.'

She shuffles out the way to make room for Eddie between Steve's long, also very naked, legs and Eddie swallows quietly before leaning closer.

Steve smells like sunscreen and grass, a bit like the pineapple they ate earlier before the kids left, and sweat. He smells devine and before Eddie can think clearly, he presses his face into Steve's neck. He feels Steve shudder when his damp lips accidentally meet his sun kissed skin and Eddie feels like he's going crazy. What is he doing? Why is he doing it? Even the slightest touch sends shockwaves through his body. God, he's gone so bad for Steve Harrington.

'Ready?' Robin asks, apparently unaware of Eddie's dilemma or the way Steve's pulse is fluttering like a hummingbird right against Eddie's nose. 'Go!'

He sneaks his right arm around Steve, who jumps slightly the moment Eddie's fingertips brush against his shoulder blades. To keep him still, Eddie's left hand reaches for Steve's waist almost automatically. He doesn't try to focus too much on the way goosebumps spread under his fingers and the way Steve literally whines into Eddie's ear. His right hand follows the scratchy lace, nails lightly scratching Steve's skin, until he finds the hooks.

Thumb under the fabric and pointer and middle finger pressing against it, he feels the first hook opening after less than a heartbeat. For a moment, Eddie doesn't want to open the other two and therefore lose any reason to be so close to Steve.

Steve, who has his nose pressed against Eddie's hair and hand curled into Eddie's shirt, slightly tugging as if .... Well, as if to ask for permission to take it off. Eddie doesn't even know when he had the time to grab for the shirt in the first place.

Eddie moves his hand and the second hook opens. He turns his face, brings a bit more space between them to look at Steve. His cheeks are scarlet, lips shiney with spit and when he opens his eyes after mere seconds of Eddie staring at him, he can see that Steve's pupils are dilated, eyes dark with want.

The last hook springs free and without turning his eyes away, Eddie gently brushes the strap off Steve's broad shoulder. Steve quietly whimpers and pushes harder against Eddie's shirt as if to tear it off his body.

'Eddie', he whispers, licking his lips and Eddie just wants everything Steve is ready to offer.

'Ohhh okay, I think I'll leave you two alone', he hears the slightly panicked voice of Robin and then a door opening and closing.

And Eddie leans in...

[olive-main]

Hi, hope you’re well! Saw your request for angst ideas. If you’re interested: Reader has been part of the Inner Circle for years, like an og member. Post war she watches Az fall in love with Elaine or Gwyn. She’s known they’re mates, but he’s always told her he loves her as a friend, and nobody else knows they’re mates. She watches as his relationship grows, maybe they’re having a kid or whatever, this can be all the angst you see fit. She’s finally had enough and decides to leave (either for work as an emissary or for herself). Maybe as she starts to rebuild, Az and the IC realize how much her loss impacts them. But when they go see her, she’s thriving. Ending can be whatever floats your boat, maybe she’s with Eris or thriving in Day as Lucien’s advisor, or something else all together.

To Love and Let Go

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: An unrequited love, and a one sided mating bond. What will reader do when she can no longer watch Azriel fall for another female who isn’t her?

Wc: 2.9k (gah dayum)

A/N: ok, this is the longggest fic I've written to date, but I don't hate it...and I may be persuaded to write a part two with multiple endings bcs I'm indecisive asf. Requests are still open and highly encouraged since I'm on break and have a bunch of free time, clearly.

__

The stars are mocking tonight, their gleam far too bright for the storm brewing inside you. Velaris has always been beautiful, but tonight the city feels suffocating. The laughter of your family echoes around the River House’s dining room, filling the space with warmth and joy.

You sit at the edge of the long table, wine in hand, your smile carefully in place. Cassian is in the middle of one of his stories, something about Azriel and a drunken spar decades ago. The table erupts in laughter, and you can’t help but glance at him.

Azriel sits across from you, his shoulders relaxed, his shadows soft and relaxed as they curl lazily around him. He’s laughing—quiet and rare, but enough to tug at your chest in a way you’ve never been able to stop.

Beside him, Gwyn is radiant. She laughs, bright and genuine, her hand resting on his arm as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand shifts, fingers brushing over hers in a way that’s intimate, tender. Simple. Devastating.

You lift your wine to your lips and down the rest of the glass in one burning gulp.

You’ve known for years that Azriel isn’t yours to have. When the Cauldron whispered of your bond, it hadn’t been the joyous revelation you’d dreamed of. Instead, it had been a curse.

You feel it even now—that golden thread tying your soul to his, pulling taut every time you see him. But Azriel never acknowledged it, not once. How could he when he didn't even know it existed?

“You’re my best friend,” he’d told you long ago, sitting beside you on a rooftop in Velaris, the two of you cloaked in silence and shadows. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And you’d smiled. Smiled and tucked the truth deeper inside yourself, burying it so far down you almost convinced yourself it wasn’t real. Almost.

The conversation shifts around you, but the words blur together, distant and unimportant. You force yourself to stay, to laugh when you’re supposed to, to nod in all the right places.

Across the table, Gwyn leans closer to Azriel, whispering something in his ear. He smiles at her, that soft, secret smile you’ve seen so many times over the years. But it’s never been for you.

The ache in your chest spreads, sharp and relentless, until you can’t bear it any longer. You push your chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor.

“Everything okay?” Mor asks, her brows furrowing as she studies you.

You nod quickly, forcing a tight smile. “Just need some air.”

No one questions you, and you’re grateful for it. You slip out of the room and onto the balcony, the cool night air rushing to meet you. The stars stretch endlessly above, and for a moment, you close your eyes and pretend this life isn’t yours.

But the bond hums faintly in the back of your mind, tethering you to someone who will never feel the same way.

—

You grip the balcony railing, the cool metal grounding you as you draw in a shaky breath. The quiet should feel peaceful, but it doesn’t. Not with the sound of their laughter spilling through the open door behind you, not with the bond thrumming painfully in the back of your mind.

You’ve endured this for years. Watching Azriel laugh, fight, live, all while pretending your heart doesn’t shatter every time he smiles at someone who isn’t you. Gwyn. Elain before her, and Mor long before that. All the women who could never feel what you feel for him—but were lucky enough to have his attention anyway.

And then there’s you, his best friend. The one he trusts, confides in, leans on. Just never in the way you ache for. Even before the bond snapped, you’d been in love with the Shadowsinger. He was always the calm amongst the chaos of your family, the one you could seek refuge in.

The sound of footsteps interrupts your thoughts. You don’t need to look to know it’s him. His shadows reach you first, curling gently around your wrist, hesitant and curious. They always do that, as if they sense the things he doesn’t.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice is soft, warm in a way that makes it harder to breathe.

You release the railing and turn to face him, your mask firmly in place. “I’m fine. Just needed a moment.”

His brows pull together, his hazel eyes studying you in that unrelenting way of his. “You’ve seemed… distracted tonight.”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not distracted. Just tired, that’s all.” The lie was easy on your tongue, a lie you’ve repeated more times than you can count.

His shadows shift, curling tighter around you. “You can tell me if something’s wrong,” he says, his voice low, careful.

You want to laugh again. Wrong? Everything is wrong. Your mate is standing in front of you, looking at you with concern while his love sits inside, waiting for him. He doesn’t even feel the bond that’s been tearing you apart for years. How could you possibly tell him the truth?

“I’m fine, Az,” you say again, stepping back, putting distance between you. “Go back inside. Gwyn’s probably wondering where you are.”

Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it. He hesitates, his shadows brushing against your hand one last time before retreating.

“All right,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t look convinced.

You watch him go, his wings casting long shadows across the balcony as he disappears into the house. The bond hums faintly, pulling at your heart even as you stand there alone.

—

A part of you wants to blame yourself for never telling him about the mating bond. It was known Azriel always longed for a mate, so much so he had made the bold claim of Elain being his mate once upon a time. Now, he's with Gwyn under that same notion. Unfortunately, your heart had wanted him to love you without the influence of the bond.

Your thoughts persist as you force your eyes shut, trying and failing to fall asleep.

Instead, you lie awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of it all presses down on you. You’ve built your entire life around the Inner Circle, around him. And for what? To watch him build a life with someone else? To keep breaking your own heart over and over again?

No.

When dawn comes, the decision is already made.

—

“Are you sure about this?” Feyre asks, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

You stand in the foyer of the River House, your bags already packed and waiting by the door. The soft morning light filters through the windows, casting golden hues over everything. It should feel warm. Comforting. But all you feel is the ache of goodbye.

“I’m sure,” you say, and your voice doesn’t waver.

Rhysand stands a few paces away, arms crossed, his violet eyes sharp and assessing. You were like a sister to him, someone he’d protected and seen through every phase of life. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently. “We can figure something out. If you need time off, time for yourself—”

“I need more than time, Rhys,” you interrupt, forcing a small smile to soften the blow. “I need space. A fresh start. This is the right move for me.”

You’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times, carefully framing your departure as a professional opportunity. An emissary position in Day Court. Helion had been eager to accept your offer, praising your skills and promising a new challenge that you could sink your teeth into.

It wasn’t a lie. You would thrive in Day Court. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Feyre’s grip on your arm tightens, her lips pressing together as if she’s holding back an argument. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you’re running away,” she says softly.

You glance past her, your eyes catching on the open archway leading to the dining room. You can feel him in there, his shadows faint even from this distance. The bond pulls, a sharp tug against your ribs.

“I’m not running away,” you tell her, even though part of you wonders if that’s exactly what this is. “I’m choosing myself for once.”

Rhys nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you need, then we support you. Always.”

A lump rises in your throat, but you swallow it down, turning to hug Feyre. “Thank you. For everything.”

—

Azriel watches from the shadows of the dining room as you leave. He doesn’t mean to linger there, doesn’t mean to eavesdrop—but he can’t help it.

He hears Feyre’s quiet goodbye, Rhys’s reassurances. He sees the way your shoulders straighten as you step out the door, as if you’re carrying a weight none of them can understand.

Something twists in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

He doesn’t understand it. You’ve left Velaris before, gone on missions and trips for weeks at a time. But this feels… different. Permanent.

For a moment, he almost steps forward, almost calls out to you. But then the door closes, and you’re gone.

—

The Day Court is a world apart from Velaris.

Here, the sun always seems to shine, casting a golden glow over Helion’s sprawling palace. It’s vibrant, full of life, and for the first time in years, you feel as though you can finally breathe.

Helion welcomes you with open arms, praising your work and throwing you headfirst into new projects. The days are busy, your nights peaceful, and slowly—very slowly—the ache in your chest begins to fade.

You make new allies and friends. Lucien, especially, becomes an unexpected source of comfort. He understands unspoken bonds, the pain of being tied to someone who doesn’t want you. For the first few weeks, most, if not all your time was spent by his side.

“You’re free now,” he tells you one evening, the two of you sitting on a balcony overlooking the Day Court gardens. His amber eyes glint in the fading sunlight. “It doesn’t feel like it yet, but it will. One day.”

You smile, a real smile, and let the words settle in your chest.

—

Back in Velaris, the Inner Circle feels the void you’ve left behind. Cassian complains loudly during training sessions about how things don’t run as smoothly without you. Mor keeps suggesting trips to Day Court, half-joking but half-serious. Even Feyre finds herself reaching for you during meetings, only to realize you’re no longer there.

And Azriel…

Azriel notices most of all.

He misses the quiet way you steadied him, the way you always seemed to know what he needed before he did. The balance you brought to the group. To him.

At first, he tells himself it’s just an adjustment. You’ll be back eventually. But as the weeks stretch into months, he begins to realize just how deeply your absence has cut into his life.

The shadow of the bond hums faintly in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t understand why.

Not yet.

—

It’s Feyre who suggests the trip.

“You’ve been working too hard,” she tells Azriel, shooting him with a look that leaves no room for argument. “We all have. A visit to Day Court will do us some good. Besides, it’s been too long since we’ve seen her.”

Azriel hesitates but eventually agrees. He tells himself it’s curiosity, that he just wants to see how you’re settling in. Since you’ve left his relationship with everyone, Gywn especially, has grown distant. He tries to find you in her, comparing the small things that shouldn’t matter—and every time it only makes his heart sink.

When they arrive, they find you in the Day Court gardens, laughing at something Lucien has said. The sunlight catches in your hair, your face glowing with a happiness Azriel hasn’t seen in years.

The gardens are breathtaking, a vibrant sprawl of golden blooms and gleaming fountains that seem to echo the brilliance of the sun overhead. But Azriel doesn’t see any of it.

His focus is entirely on you.

You look radiant, the golden hues of Day Court seeming to highlight the confidence you’ve gained in your time away.

Lucien leans closer, his expression soft yet intent, and the sight makes something dark and ugly twist in Azriel’s chest. It’s not the first time he’s seen Lucien or been jealous of the male, but this—this—feels different. He used to feel that pang of jealousy when he blindly pined for Elain, now with you it returned with a greater force.

He doesn’t understand why these feelings have suddenly spread through him. You’ve always been his friend. His anchor. But as Lucien reaches out to brush a stray hair from your face, Azriel feels like he’s watching something slip through his fingers.

“Az?” Feyre’s voice pulls him back. She’s watching him with careful eyes, her brow furrowing.

He shakes his head and straightens his posture, forcing his expression back into neutral territory. “I’m fine.” But he isn’t.

Before Feyre can press him further, Lucien notices their approach and gives a low whistle. “Well, well. Velaris sends its finest.” His tone is teasing, but there’s warmth in his amber eyes as they flick toward you.

You turn, and when your gaze lands on Azriel, your smile falters. It’s a subtle shift, but he sees it. Feels it.

“Rhysand. Feyre. Azriel,” you greet, inclining your head slightly, your voice polite but distant. As if they were strangers and not the family you chose all those centuries ago.

He hates it.

The reunion is cordial at first, filled with pleasantries and talk of work. Lucien stands close to you, his presence steady, his hand occasionally brushing yours in a way that grounds you. Azriel’s shadows stir restlessly, but he forces them into submission.

“You’ve done well here,” Feyre says warmly, her gaze sweeping over the garden. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Your smile is genuine, though it doesn’t quite reach Azriel. “Helion has been… generous with his trust.”

“And with his emissary’s time,” Lucien adds, grinning at you. “She’s a natural. Can’t imagine how Day Court managed before she arrived.”

The praise makes you duck your head slightly, a faint blush blooming across your cheeks. Azriel’s jaw tightens.

“Sounds like you’ve been keeping busy,” he says, his voice lower than usual.

Your eyes flick to him briefly before turning back to Lucien, but there’s something guarded in your expression. “I have. It’s been… fulfilling.”

The word stings more than it should.

—

Eventually, Feyre and Rhys drift away with Lucien, leaving you and Azriel alone amidst the golden flowers. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words.

“You’ve been… different,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, your arms folding across your chest. “Different how?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Happier,” he admits.

The softness in his voice almost makes you falter, but you stand your ground. “I am,” you say simply.

His shadows curl around his feet, agitated. “You left so suddenly,” he says, his tone sharper now. “One day you were there, and the next you were… gone. No warning. No explanation.”

You raise an eyebrow, bitterness creeping into your voice. “I told you I needed space. I told all of you.” You pause for a second, staring at a cluster of white lilies. “Why does it matter now, Azriel?”

“Because I miss you,” he says, the words raw and unguarded. “We all do. But me… I—” He stops himself, jaw clenching.

You laugh softly, but it’s a hollow, bitter sound. “You miss me now? After I’ve finally started to find peace? After you’ve built a life with Gwyn?”

His shadows surge forward, brushing against your arm, but you shake them off. “Don’t do this, Azriel.”

“You’re my friend,” he says, and the words make your heart twist painfully.

You whirl to face him, your eyes blazing. “No. I was never just your friend, Azriel. I was your mate.”

The truth spills out before you can stop it, sharp and cutting. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.

“What?” His voice is barely a whisper.

You laugh again, a broken sound. “The Cauldron tied us together centuries ago, but you never felt it, did you? You never even noticed.”

His shadows pull back, retreating like they’ve been burned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter!” you snap, your voice rising. “You didn’t want me that way, Azriel. You never did. And I wasn’t about to force something on you that you didn’t feel.”

He stares at you, his usually stoic face cracking with something raw and uncertain. “I—”

But you shake your head, cutting him off. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve moved on.”

“You’ve moved on?” he echoes, his gaze flicking toward the direction Lucien went. His voice lowers, dangerous. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, though the word feels heavy. “Because he sees me, Azriel. He knows what it’s like to be unwanted. To feel second-best.”

The words are a dagger between you, and you can see the way they strike him, the way his shadows twist and writhe.

“Is that what you think?” he asks quietly, his voice breaking. “That you were second-best?”

Your throat tightens, but you refuse to back down. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The bond hums faintly in your chest, but it’s different now—fading, unraveling as you finally let go of the male who could never love you the way you deserved.

“I’m happy here,” you say softly, your voice steady. “And you… you have Gwyn. You have your life in Velaris. Let that be enough.”

Azriel doesn’t argue. He just stands there, his shadows a chaotic storm around him, as you turn and walk away.

This time, you don’t look back.

Aaannd scene XOXO ~

[verstappen-cult]

Hi! I saw you taking request for Max and I just got this idea for a scenario where Max and reader got into a fight so the reader opted to drive on their own and got into an inchident nothing serious or whatever floats your boat HAHAHAHA just looking for angst Max

Max was trying to call you to when he received the call that made his world stopped.

You’ve been in an accident.

He can still hear the nurse talking through the phone as he grabs his keys and flies out of his apartment. He doesn’t understand a single thing the woman says because all he can think about is you, and how things were between you two when you decided to go out.

Max feels stupid. He doesn’t even remember what your fight was about anymore. If it was something important it doesn’t matter; you’re all that matters.

He arrives at the hospital in record time and is pretty sure he will receive a ticket for running red lights.

Max hates hospitals. And now that you’re here, he hates them even more.

“Hey, hello?” He walks to the counter where he can see a few nurses. He’s shaking and feels like crying, he needs to see you right now. “My girlfriend had an accident. Her name’s Y/N.”

The nurse smiles softly at him and grabs a notebook. “Are you related to her?”

“I’m her boyfriend.” Max taps his fingers on the counter, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Can I see her, please? I really need to see her.” Max doesn’t care if he comes across as whiny and annoying, he just wants to see you.

The nurse's expression is one of pity as she nods and guides him to your room.

“The doctor will be with you in a few minutes.” She says before turning around and leaving.

Max stares at the door handle for an eternity, feeling nervous and worried. He doesn’t know how you are going to react. You were pretty angry when you left.

Well, he doesn’t care how angry you are. If you want to scream and push him away you have every right to do it, but he won’t leave you. Not now, not ever.

When he opens the door his heart stops beating.

You have a gauze on your temple and your bottom lip is a little swollen, but he doesn’t see any more injuries, which is good.

You meet his gaze and everything happens in slow motion; you start crying, repeating his name between sobs as you open your arms. Max doesn’t hesitate and runs towards you, being careful to not hug you so tightly, even though that’s exactly what he wants to do.

“I’m sorry, I’m so—so so-rry.” You cry against his chest and Max's heart breaks a little more.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Max doesn’t know if he tries to reassure you or him. “Where does it hurt? Are there any more injuries or bruises?”

You shake your head, pulling away and wiping your tears. “No, just my head, really. My side hurts a little but nothing more.” Max cups your face, his own vision blurry due to the tears threatening to slide down his cheek. “It wasn’t big but… your car was actually the one that suffered all the damage.”

Max didn’t think about that. He didn’t even remember you had taken his car in the first place.

“That doesn’t matter.” You open your mouth to complain but he shuts you up with a kiss to your forehead. “I was so scared. I thought I’ve lo—”

“Hey,” You take his hand, squeezing tightly. “I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“It was a stupid fight.”

You smile, eyes softening. “It was, yes.” You place a kiss on his knuckles. “Would you lie down with me? I want you to hold me, please.”

Max waits for you to move and climbs in the hospital bed. It’s very tiny and uncomfortable but he doesn’t care, not when he can feel you and know that you are okay. You rest your head on his chest, sighing.

“I want to kiss you,” You confess, looking up at him. “but my lips hurt so bad.”

Max grins, his soul returning to his body.

“I’m sure we can think of something.”

[sagethegaywitch]

Yandere Merman For Mermay

GN Reader

TW: yandere behavior

Genre: yandere

I completely forgot about Mermay, but here's a silly little idea/oneshot.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yandere Merman who sees you swimming around in the ocean with a silicon mermaid tail on. He instantly approached you, clicking in his native language. He compliments your tail color(s)/pattern(s), which is usually the start of a courting ritual.

Of course, having never seen a merman before or not even believing they existed has you scrambling away from the poor fella. You're desperately kicking to the surface, trying to find the boat you took here with some friends.

Yandere Merman who thinks you're playing hard to get and trying to test him to see if he can swim as fast as you. He easily catches up to you, grabbing onto the fin of your tail. As the air begins to leave your lungs, you're forced to wiggle out of the silicon tail.

Yandere Merman who is so confused when the tail floats limply down in front of him as he looks up to see you swimming away with two human legs. He slowly realizes that you must have been in disguise, too worried about him rejecting you cause you're a human. He chuckles to himself, you're just too cute. Don't worry, he doesn't care if you have a mermaid tail or a pair of human legs.

Yandere Merman who follows you up to your boat to proclaim his love for you regardless your form. You think you're finally safe as you get pulled up by your friends as they ask why you're panicking. You barely get the chance to catch your breath as you feel a slimy hand grab at you ankle. You scream as you get dragged back into the water, your friends trying to pull you back up, but failing as you are plunged back into the salt water.

You struggle as you feel arms around your waist and turn to see the merman from before diving deeper into the ocean. Once you feel ready to pass out from the lack of oxygen, you're sudden brought up into a little cave with an air pocket. You push yourself away from the sea creature as you suck in deep breaths and scramble onto a little rock ledge in the corner.

Yandere Merman who is confused with the distressed sounds you're making, but he shyly approaches you and presents you the tail you ripped of earlier. What you don't know is that he's enchanted the fake tail to morph you into an actual merfolk the next time you put it on. Of course, in your stressed state, you don't even think about putting on the tail, escape the only thing in your mind.

It'll take some time, but eventually you'll come to the realization that he doesn't want to harm you. Escape is still a priority, but you try to sweet talk him into freeing you. From cuddling up to him or taking the courting gifts he offers you, you force yourself to do it for the sake of your survival.

Yandere Merman who is so happy that you're finally returning his love and falls asleep every night holding you close to his chest. It is during one of these nights that you crawl out of his tight hold and move to slip into your silicone tail. Based on your initial journey to his cave, his rocky home isn't that deep underwater and you'd get to the surface faster with the tail on.

As you slide into the cold water, you take a deep breath and quickly swim out of the cave. You only need to follow the sunlight to escape, and you find yourself breaching the water's surface to feel the warm sun on your skin. You smile, finally free, as you swim to the shore.

Yandere Merman who is distraught when he wakes up to see you missing, but he feels a bit of relief when he sees your silicon tail is gone. He swims out of his home and to the surface before going towards the nearest beach. He finds you struggling to take off the tail that has molded into your skin. He hates to see the tears on your face as he drags himself onto the sand to hug you.

You flinch when you feel your kidnapper wrap you up in his scaled arms, causing the tears to fall faster. He clicks and coos at you, letting you sit in the sun for a bit longer before dragging you back into the water. You are quick to discover that you can now breath underwater due to your transformation, and you can't help but be saddened by your loss of humanity. While you sulk, Yandere Merman is delighted that he can now properly show you his home and the ocean without the fear of you drowning.

Being trapped as a merperson isn't that bad when Yandere Merman is your boyfriend. He spoils you constantly with shiny objects and will let you go to the surface when you miss the sun, but he'll always be following close behind to make sure you're safe. Prepare to be be protected by him when other merfolk in his village take an interest in the newcomer. His love for you is as deep as the ocean, and he will not let anyone take you away from him.

[momonyu]

love drunk

eustass kid x reader

kid is (extra) annoying when he's drunk

“say you love me” + kid for @saidbysae

1.2k words

a/n: i can't take credit for the ending bc i think it was a cliche post that was floating around here or twitter when i saw it a billion years ago. anyways i think kid is really soft and i luv him for that

if there's one thing you've learned about the kid pirates, it's that they definitely know how to party. and of all the rowdy, noisy, rambunctious pirates, the captain is the worst of them.

"heat, get me another!" kid yells from across the room.

"another glass?"

"no," he downs his jug and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "another barrel!"

across the room, he spots you and when you shake your head, his mischievous grin gets even bigger and brighter. you're crazy, you mouth. he just laughs and winks in your direction, raising his empty glass in your direction.

it's going to be a long night.

and sure enough, it's in the wee hours of the morning that you're dragging him across the deck towards his room. somehow, he's managed to lose both his jacket and his shirt, but in the autumn air, his body is still running hot. you're practically sweating with his body pressed against yours.

"baaaby, i know i don't look'it but 'm drunk," kid slurs.

usually so clever when he's (mostly) sober, it's silly of him to state the obvious — so much so that you can't help but smile. "i know."

you plant a quick kiss on the arm slung around your shoulders. "let's call it a night, hm?"

kid whines, "nuh uh, no way. tonight, we party like kings!"

he pumps a fist in the air, but with the sheer amount of alcohol running through his veins, his arm goes a little limp in the air before unceremoniously falling like a wet noodle.

you can't help the guffaw that slips out of you — a laugh at how silly he looks — and he can't help but laugh at how silly you sound. in drunken stupor, laughter is exceptionally contagious, and before you know it, the two of you are doubled over, howling in laughter.

you fall into each other, one lover supporting the other, until you make eye contact with each other and the giggles start again. the sound of love fills the chilly night, easing from laughter to (mostly) steady breaths. sitting on the deck now, kid looks at you with a lovedrunk grin.

he looks up at you, "hey."

you winkle your nose at him, "what?"

"c'mere," he points to the spot next to him. "i have a secret t' tell ya."

you roll your eyes but crouch down anyway. "what?"

kid looks at you with excitement that can only be described as child-like. he's a brute with a bounty higher than children can count and yet, here he is, practically giddy with what he's about to tell you.

he pauses for dramatic effect.

"i love you."

he stares at you like this is the most ground-breaking revelation you'll hear in your entire life and — god dammit, if he isn't the most adorable thing in the world right now.

you take his face into your hands, squishing his cheeks in the way he hates when he's sober. "i know."

he pouts. "you have to say it back."

you smirk. "no."

"but i love you!"

"i know."

"why won't you say it back?"

kid looks so wonderfully confused, and you take a moment to commit this expression to memory. if you were a little nicer, you might put him out of his misery.

but you're not and you won't.

"because you're being annoying," you smile.

"but you love me!" kid points a finger at you. "say you love me!"

"don't wanna," you chuckle.

"say it," he deadpans. "or i'll jump ship right now."

you gawk at him.

"you wouldn't."

"i wouldn't? are you sure?" suddenly, kid springs up and starts walking to the edge of the boat. honestly, it's impressive how fast he's moving.

when the crew drinks, kid has done worse things under the influence of alcohol — but the difference between then and now is that there are no burly crewmates to rescue their captain. compared to kid, you are a tiny little thing and you don't stand a chance.

you look around for killer or heat or thatch — or anyone, really. kid cackles and you whirl around. with a raised eyebrow, he swings a leg over and straddles the railing.

you panic — one wrong move and the kid pirates are down a captain. you rush towards him.

"okay, okay, fine! i love you too!" you tug his arm, "now will you please come back here?"

"okay," he beams in victory. adrenaline dissipating, kid climbs down all clumsy with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

"'kay," his voice comes out happy and ditzy. "s'cold out here, take me somewhere warm now.

hand in yours, you lead him towards his bedroom and, thankfully, kid follows without any more shenanigans.

kid trails behind you and yawns, "'m tired."

a gentle smile graces your lips, "wanna go to bed?"

you turn back and kid almost trips over his feet. you're so pretty in the moonlight, and kid is overcome with an urge to kiss you. he catches up to you and snuggles against you (or as much as a 6ft man can cuddle someone your size).

"only if you're coming with," he declares.

"if i say no, are you going to fight me?"

"yuuuuup."

you've eventually made it to his room and it only takes you two seconds to make a decision. one wrong answer and you risk undoing all the work it took to get him here.

you open his door, "fine, i'll sleep with you tonight."

"ya hear that, boys?" he booms, and you gape at him. "i get to sleep with my baby tonight, bitches!"

you're moritified. you hiss at him as you quickly usher him inside, closing the door as fast as you can, all the while kid grins to himself. a smile stays etched on his red lips — a smile so hopelessly, stupidly, irrevocably, spellbound by love — as you struggle to strip him his stained clothes ("come on, let's just stay naked!") and into fresh pajamas ("do i have to put these on? can't we just stay na-" "no.")

finally, the two of you are tucked into bed, in clean clothes that smell like linen and lavender, cuddled under cozy covers. all is quiet in the captain's bedroom and it's not long before the exhaustion catches up to you. kid's chest is warm against you, and you let yourself fall aslee-

"hey."

you groan, "what?"

"i love you."

having already learned your lesson, you sigh.

"i love you too."

you pause, waiting for the follow-up mischief that will plague your attempts to sleep. but the only things that come are steady breathing and silence. satisfied, you return to your journey into dreamland.

until kid whispers, "hey."

you look up at him, so tired that you can barely manage to say, "what now?"

"will you marry me?"

he asks it so gently, so innocently, that you can't help but fall in love with him a little more than you already have. in the comfort of your solitude, in these quiet moments where it's just the two of you, this is when kid's love is the loudest.

he wraps an arm around you, pulls you closer to his heart, and you press your lips against his burning skin, right where his heart beats so fervently for you.

"idiot, i already did."

[auburnitzy]

KAHIDLAW

CHARACTERS – NAWA + MK (OC X CANON)

DISCLAIMERS – Unintended/Accidental Cause of Injury

SUMMARY - "It's all for you."

“... Don’t tear your head off nor stick your neck out for me.” Nawa murmured out of a blue. Her gaze was still trained on the distance, away from him, perhaps on purpose or hesitance.

That came out of nowhere.

Still, it doesn’t silence the lives around them. The push and pull of waves crashing on the shore. The sound of children giggling in the distance. Some chatter as the people on the docks pass by. None of them would be ingrained in his mind unlike the words that just spilled out from her lips.

“Why not?” With a tilt of his head, MK shot her a look of confusion and worry, something that he should have grown accustomed to in his years of friendship with her. “I’m starting to think like you’ve got something under your sleeves…”

“No, I’m just telling you in case something happens in the future.”

“... Okay, that definitely doesn’t sound ominous.” He squinted his eyes, studying her for any signs of trouble before sighing. “You know you’re making it sound like you have a death wish, right?”

For a split second, her eyes widened before she raised her hand to wave him off. “That’s not… is that how I really came across? That wasn’t my intention… but you get it, right?”

“... Yeah. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop worrying about the stuff you’re gonna get yourself into.”

...

… Is this what you meant?

He watches as a blue lotus floats past, followed by one and another before it eventually gives way to more, leaving blurs of blue blooms wading past their boat.

It wasn’t until a quick snap of fingers reeled him back in surprise, his attention returning to that of the other passenger in this quaint little boat.

“They’re utpalas,” Nawa murmured, that same infuriating smile that he grew to both despise and adore settled on her face as she held up a bloom to him. Now, it was just a reminder to him that it was just her way of trying to bring light into such a grim reality. “You probably know by now that…”

“... Each petal represents a death.” he murmured. It still doesn’t ease the revelation that weighed heavily in his shoulders. He’s not sure if it’ll even go away. Maybe it’s just something he’ll live with for the rest of his life, knowing that someone would willingly put themselves through different stages of hell just to get him where he is now. “Your deaths.”

A low hum breathed past her lips before she set the flower back into the waves, letting it float past along with its other kin.

“You still think it’s your fault, don’t you?” Nawa placed a palm on her cheek, staring at him with what could be called amusement and slight censure. Calm. How could you be so calm? How, in the face of such a terrible circumstance? “I told you it’s not. It will never be your fault. I’ll keep saying that until you get it.”

MK doesn’t respond, unsure if he’s even able to at this point. He wants to rip his hair out, maybe even lash out and throttle her– but he knows he wouldn’t ever really lay a finger on her. He simply can’t bring himself to.

“Flower petals fall–” Her hand settles in his hair, a familiar sensation he still finds comfort in, yet this time, it only brought forth frustration and indignance in its wake.

He finishes it before she can. “–But the flower endures.”

“The form perishes, but the being endures.” A grin curled into her lips once more before settling into a smaller one. “I’m surprised you even remember the stuff I say sometimes. It’s sweet. That’s why I adore you.”

And the dam breaks. He feels his eyes burn as his vision blurs, big fat tears welling in his eyes before it devolves into ugly, guttural sniffles and sobs. It honestly makes him feel like a baby, unsure if these tears were out of anger, sadness, or a torturous concoction of both.

Some part of him wants to hate her. Push her away so she could finally be free from the chaos that was him. Sever the threads of fate and destiny that tangled them both – but he knows he cannot. She won’t let him.

A thumb brushes a tear away from his eye. Even then, he couldn’t bring his gaze into hers, giving nothing but clenched teeth and furrowed brows in exchange for her worried glance. It frustrates him to no end, how she could care for him despite his harsh treatment and attempts to push her away.

He hates how genuine it is. How genuine she is, because it makes it more unbearable for him to hate her in general. Even the thought of it unsettles him. The feeling was scary, the direct opposite of what he truly felt.

He condemned her to this. The least he could do is to stop being ungrateful and be honest with both her and himself– because deep down, that’s what he wanted. The only thing that made him hesitate was the fact that she’s being punished for the sin of simply caring for him– both as a friend and a lover.

His hand grasps her wrist, clutching it with an iron grip. “Why won’t you hate me?!”

“I love you.”

“Hell, even abandon me?!”

“I love you.”

“Why do you insist on protecting me?!”

“I love you.”

“Stop saying that and tell me the truth!”

MK’s chest heaved up and down, his grip tightening to the point that purple splotches slowly started to form on the skin of her wrist.

Realizing this, he quickly lets go and shoots her a look of contrition and panic, only to be met with the same irritatingly calm and resigned smile she held only for him.

“... What else can I even say?” She spoke as if he didn’t just harm her. Grip her to the point that it left ugly bruises on her skin. “I love you and that’s all there is to it.”

[cowboy-kidd]

cg!viktor headcannons ᯓᡣ𐭩

x - x - x

—DNI NSFW—

· likes keeping you close to him. driving you into his side when he wants to feel your warmth against his harsh purpled skin. He'll take your hand in his own or brush your hair behind your ear while you're sleeping. He mostly feels alone so having a little one beside him that relies on him in ways opposite of the public he’s saved- that is like him in ways he can’t describe, similarly to Sky but untethered.

· whispers about what it’s like being shrouded in universal colors. the comforting things he’s seen told to you like fairytales before you go to bed.

· goes stargazing every so often with you. points to the thousands of constellations up in the sky and identifies them all for you.

· let’s you sit in his lap while you mess with his fingers. comparing them to your own. your natural curiosity is something he always indulges in.

· when it rains he likes to sit outside with you and just enjoy the sound- you bounce around in the wet grass before coming to sit in his lap and lean against his chest while he cards a hand through your wet hair

· when he’s meditating (and thus floating) he leaves you on the ground- you jump to get to him but fail. when he finally comes back down you run into his legs and try to get him to pick you up—to which he complies—a fond, loving expression on his face. you just pout.

· whenever you get up to something and he can’t parse out what you’re doing before you do it, he gives you this look of confused adoration that turns joyous when you produce the outcome. sometimes it’s a silly face or you dancing to imaginary music.

· calls you Nabi and vice versa- a meaningless little term of endearment from nowhere.

· sometimes accidentally cryptic. he goes about the space talking to what seems to be air and then he lays his eyes on you and realizes he’s frightened you. he cuddles you up to him and whispers into your ear how’s he’s sorry- that he had no intention of frightening you and that whatever he said wasn’t important. still, you ask questions- and he’s always amazed at your bluntness. he tries to articulate the answer the best he can but its difficult without his own extensive knowledge

· calls you little one all the time. If he wants to be extra sweet he’ll place a gentle finger on the soft of your jaw and trace it to your chin or tack on a “my” in front of it. You hate it sometimes because it feels like he’s making you smaller than you actually are with his all knowing, omnipotent shtick but once he starts teaching you things it’s much more than that.

· teaches you many things. the art of watching and waiting- patience, and finally, the arcane. shows it to you and allows for you to touch it- pulls you out before it can truly do any damage and holds you during your recovery. He wants to turn you- it’s the next step in evolution. but he can't, longing for a human connection that isn’t devouring one another for the purpose of a greater life understanding. He wants to know you through you- and finds your tantrums less tedious than before.

· won’t see you get hurt- is almost too gentle, too protective of you when it comes to playing with other kids and other people taking care of you- even if he is just another extension of him. he likes seeing you through his own eyes- not theirs.

· tells you about jayce- just not by name. this amazing man who wanted to help the world, just like he’s doing, who wanted to give people opportunities which would otherwise not be afforded to them because of their social standing. he describes him all the time with a fond look on his face.

· doesn’t play with you a lot, but likes putting stuff together with you. little prototypes of boats or trains that you cart around- distracted while he does the real work.

· likes reading while you do your own thing- maybe taking a nap, sitting together in silence with the steady sound of arcane power reverberating inside of him and through the space, or maybe with the steady rhythmic flip of book paper. maybe he hums.

· you try to get him to take naps with you. your constant pulling on his robe and never wavering stubbornness convinces him to lay down with you. he ends up dropping off before you do- in a space similar to where he is when he’s meditating. You touch his face while he’s sleeping, exploring his smile lines and deep purple bags underneath his eyes before kissing him on his cheek and falling asleep yourself.

· he’s very patient with you, even when you’re not so patient with yourself. he’ll gently take you by the wrists and hold them close to his heart so you won’t beat on yourself anymore. his eyes always hold so much emotion- as do yours (he comments on them regularly.) “how am i supposed to protect you from yourself?” he asks you one night, you’re head on his legs and the rest curled up underneath the blankets. you just shrug and bury your head into his calf, a show of kiddy frustration that just makes him sigh and run his hands through your hair.

· you’re always eager to help with his experiments. you don't have the most steady hand but you’re good when it comes down to it. he can ask you to crush up some herbs or pour a a pre measured ingredient into what he’s making. he always helps and he mostly does it so you feel included in whatever he’s doing.

· never any big lights in your spaces. always candles or glowing orbs in your space- maybe the whiteness of the arcane that engulfs the place in light, but it’s never so bright as to where you can’t sleep- Viktor makes sure of that

· likes hearing you laugh- he doesn’t ever do any strenuous activities but he can make finger puppets and tell you stories like never before

· very good with routines and such. likes making sure he’s putting you down for a nap at the right time and generally doing good at parenting you.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Eddeth

Day #30 - Fame & Fortune | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Fake!Eddeth, Steddie | Tags: Modern AU, Stop Trying to Make Eddeth Happen, It's Not Gonna Happen, Eddie & Gareth Are Best Friends, They Are Also: Idiot², Paparazzi, Social Media, Luddite Eddie, Steve Harrington Has To Clean Up All Their Messes, But What Else Is New?

"Did you know they're shipping us?" 

"Shipping us where? I hope they poke holes first," Eddie says, looking over at Gareth as he's scrolling on his phone. Gareth isn't listening to him, doesn't even laugh, which Eddie thinks is rude. That was a great dad joke.

He's picked up dad jokes from Steve, because Steve's corny as fuck. 

"Not like that," Gareth says, "like, shipping us together. We have a name and everything."

"Speak English," Eddie demands.

"You know, like Bennifer? But we're Eddeth," Gareth says.

"Who's Bennifer?"

"Which version?" Gareth asks, "Nevermind. You don't care. It's the ship name for Ben and Jennifer together. Do you never read the tabloids?"

"No. And I don't like that," Eddie says.

"Well, I knew you wouldn't. But now they're thinking about us. Together. Romantically. Enough that we have a mash-up of our names together."

Eddie barks out a laugh, "Well, alright. Whatever floats their boat."

Gareth sits there quietly for a bit, then says, "Maybe we can use this. Drum up some attention for the band. Get our name out there. Be a trending hashtag."

"I don't know what that means," Eddie says. 

"I know you don't. But we could, like, get in the zeitgeist."

"I hate everything you're choosing to be right now," Eddie says.

"Eddie. This could blow us up."

"Well, sure, in that case I'll tell Steve to just step aside."

"Not for real, dummy. Just for the paparazzi. Get our names talked about more. If they see more of the band, they may like the band more."

Eddie says he'll think about it, but he has no intention of doing any of that. They are exactly the right amount of famous. He can walk down the street without being harassed, but they live comfortably. He isn't about to upset that apple cart.

But it persists. There's buzz, apparently. At least according to Gareth, anyway.

So, at the next show, Eddie hops up on the drum riser and covers Bang Dem Sticks, while flirting with Gareth. It is possible to flirt platonically, and he does it very well. 

The next day, Gareth shows him all the chatter. The tiktoks. The commentary. And, well, maybe they could use this to their advantage. Just for a minute.

So, they walk down a dozen different sidewalks, and no paparazzi cameras pop out to snap pictures. Which is normal. He isn't sure why Gareth suddenly thought they'd make TMZ. 

But Gareth persists, and they even go to the Ivy, and still nothing. 

Even LAX is a fucking bust. 

That night, Eddie crawls into bed next to Steve, and sighs.

"What's the matter with you?" Steve asks, tipping down his iPad to look at Eddie.

"Nobody will take my picture with Gareth."

Steve laughs, "What the hell are you talking about?"

So, Eddie tells him their grand plan, and Steve is laughing his fucking ass off before Eddie can even finish. 

"Eddie. You have to call the paps if you want to do a pap walk. They aren't mind-readers. They don't just show up. Do you think all those pictures of celebs you see are actually candid? They definitely aren't."

Well, Eddie never looks at pap pictures. He has no fucking clue. He likes to fly under the radar.

"Really?" Eddie eventually asks. 

"Really. Do you want me to organize a pap walk for you?" Steve asks, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Well. Kinda," he says, "we're Eddeth."

"I know, honey. I've seen all the videos of you flirting with him on stage."

Eddie laughs, "You know that's not real, right?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm not new here," Steve says, "I'll call it in tomorrow. You can be photographed to your heart's content."

And they are. As if it were magic, a handful of photogs are suddenly very aware of where they'll be on various outings. Eddie holds the door for Gareth. Hugs him on the street corner. They get an inordinate amount of coffees that Eddie doesn't even like.

The pictures run, and not a lot of people care, but they are being discussed in some circles. 

So, they keep doing it. Dinners and movies and trips through the airport where they're not really going anywhere. Only going through security, as if they were.

That's a brand new kind of torture. Who goes through TSA when they don't actually have to? 

More coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee. Eddie's never bought this many drinks in his life. 

And then the bottom falls out. 

Someone makes a video that goes extremely viral, explaining everyone in their Corroded Coffin circle. 

Including Steve. 

In fact, it's almost mourning the breakup of them. Steddie. They're Steddie, apparently, and now the fans, the real fans, those that actually have followed them, are upset. Pointing fingers, assigning blame. Some to Eddie, some to Gareth.

Fuck.

"Uh, we've got a problem," Eddie tells Steve, and Steve just shakes his head, already aware of the situation.

"Do we have to do a pap walk now?" Eddie asks, worrying his hands together. 

He never did anything romantic with Gareth. It can all be explained away, swept under the rug. 

He thinks.

He hopes.

"I really don't want to," Steve says, and that's that. They won't.

Now, Eddie's either a cheater in the eyes of their actual fans, or they think Steve's gone. 

Instead, Gareth does a couple pap walks with his girlfriend, and she's branded a beard, immediately. They really fucked this up, big time. 

"We'll go to dinner. The four of us," Steve says, "I'll call it in."

And Eddie kisses his cheek, over and over.

Just to be safe, Steve has their publicist send TMZ a copy of their marriage certificate, and some boilerplate that Eddie and Gareth are just best friends, and always have been.

As they settle into the booth at the restaurant, pictures still being taken, Steve asks, "Are we done trying to be tabloid fodder? Have we learned our lesson?"

"Yes, Steve," Eddie and Gareth both say in unison.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[sjywrites]

Hii can I request Sophia x reader academic rivals? 🥺 u can do whatever u want w the plot pretty much please and thank u so much <3 :)

༊*·˚ ACADEMIC RIVALS LOVERS?

𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza x 𝓖n!reader. (no pronouns used). 𝓖enre. fluff, angst if you squint 𝓢ypnosis. our two favourite academic rivals have a lil fight, but the situation turns bad, and people realize their feelings. 𝓦𝓒 . 824 𝓒𝓦 . mentions of being hospitalised (sophia), a little angsty!

𝓝ote! this is a little messy since I wrote it during one of my breaks, but please lmk if you want like a part two cuz I really liked this plot!

---

This is purely fiction and is not meant to interpret how the idols act in real life!

,, not proofread + english is not my first language ! ೃ⁀➷

At this point it didn’t even matter if you were better than everyone, you just had to be better than her. It started off very simple, both of you wanted to be better than everyone, academically that is. Eagerly waiting to get tests back and see who got a higher score, a smug grin on one's face when they got a better result than the other. No harm in that right? Wrong, that’s what started all of this.

Sophia walked towards me with her head held high, her uniform as neat as ever and her hair styled in a way making her look almost angelic. Wait, what? “What were your results?” She said, slamming her paper on top of my desk, I shook out of my daydreaming to answer her. “96.” I said while looking down in my maths book, trying to solve an equation but still focusing on what she would respond. She looks away and a teasing smirk spreads on her lips, and moves the finger that covered her results, 97. “Guess I’m just better than you huh?” She said proudly, staring down at me “Just because you got one point more than me doesn’t mean you’re better than me.” I said, pouting a little at her accusation.

Lately I’ve been feeling kind of… weird? Even if Sophia gets a higher score than me, I can’t find it in me to give a fuck. “Well, you’ve been slacking off a lot lately, I’ve gotten higher scores than you on the last four tests. So, I think that makes it obvious who's smarter!” Sophia states like it was the most obvious answer to what I said. Staring at her for a moment, I reply. “I've been busy okay, not everyone has that much free time to spend on studying, and you're talented in general, no wonder you get high scores” She looks shocked at my statement, then she smirks a little, “Did you just admit that I'm smart?” She looked proud in some way or another, “Not what I meant Sophia, but whatever floats your boat.” I grab my things from the desk and walk outside the classroom to my locker, a little frustrated at the whole situation. I did miss her response,

“I study that much so you won't think I'm stupid.”

A week goes by, no Sophia in sight. She missed two assignments, she's usually here every day. Even if she's sick, which I don't get why she does, but still. Did something happen to her? Was it something I did?

“You've been zoning out for the past like, three periods, what is going on with you today?” Lara, my best friend asks. “Do you know where Sophia is?” I ask, not really thinking before I ask. “Why do you want to know, don't you guys like, hate each other?” She looks at me with a very questionable look, suspecting something I cannot grasp, “Yes? No? I don't know Lara, but do you know where she is?” I say, a little confused and concerned. She looks at me with sad eyes before replying, “Y/N, Sophia got really sick out of nowhere, I heard she's at the hospital.” My eyes blew wide at the shocking news, why didn't she tell me? No, why would she do that? We're not even friends.

—

Am I really doing this? I think to myself as I open the hospital doors and stumble up to the kind-looking man in the lobby. I strike up a casual conversation with him as he guides me to a room, I thank him quickly before he scurries away.

There in the little window on the door I see her, Sophia's sitting down on the bed. Her hair is a mess and her clothes look ridiculous, it looks like she hasn't slept for a few days too. I gently open the door and her gaze falls upon me, it's easier to see her face now. She looks tired, really tired. “Hey…” I say, she looks away from me and cuddles up in her sitting position. “What are you doing here?” she tries to sound annoyed, but it just comes out in a tired huff. “I heard what happened, I… was worried about you. I brought some notes from the classes you missed.” She looks shocked at my confession, she relaxes her posture and her gaze becomes soft. “Thank you… I really appreciate it.” She smiles a little as she grabs the papers I handed her, our hands touching softly.

I look at her, really look at her. For the first time actually having time to admire how pretty she looks, how perfect her flaws are. “I just came to give you that… so if you don't need anything else, I'll go.” I turn around to walk away, grabbing the door knob and turning it around, “Wait! Will you… please stay with me a little longer, I need it.

I need you.”

this is so messy I'm sorrrrryyyy!! I wanted to post something today at least :((

[mouwrites]

HIHIHIHIHIHI!!! Can i request Ninjago hcs where reader has wings?:3

Specifically for- uhh, lloyd:)

But OBVIOUSLY!! NO PRESSURE:D Please take you time and have a great day! :)) (or night, whatever floats you boat:3)

Sure thing!! I got ya some headcanons and a little drabble, hope you enjoy!! ;)

Ninjago - Lloyd With a Winged s/o (Headcanons & a Drabble)

Headcanons:

He's not entirely human himself, so he thinks it's nice that his s/o isn't human either

(at least not all the way)

If your wings can be touched (as in: they're not sensitive or intangible or anything), he loves to smooth them while you guys cuddle

Especially if you have feathers! He will absolutely obsess over how soft they are

He helps you take care of your wings, whether that be preening them, cleaning them, massaging them—anything you need

On that note, he's also always conscious of your wings

He makes sure to protect them when you're in battle (or just whenever they might get damaged)

He'd hate to see you get hurt, especially on such a unique and special part of you

He loves to fly alongside you on his dragon, especially when the sun is setting/rising

He'll tell you how he thinks the sky is so beautiful; almost as beautiful as you ;)

If you're strong enough to carry him when you fly, he'll never fail to be amazed, both at you and the view up in the air

A Drabble!

You were gazing longingly outside, admiring the way that the sun tinged the sky orange and the clouds pink. You let out a dreamy sigh, planting your chin on the heel of your palm while you watched the colors deepen.

You suddenly sensed a presence behind you, and you turned your head to see Lloyd approaching with a smile. You gave a wan smile back, strangely unable to return his warmth in full.

“Nice evening, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again, turning back to the view.

You couldn’t see the amused smile growing on Lloyd’s lips as he watched you. “Want to go for a fly?”

You perked up suddenly, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you already. “Would you be up for it?”

“You know I always am.”

You burst into a beaming smile, hopping up on the balcony rail and dangling your legs over. “Ready when you are.”

Lloyd nodded, hurrying away. A few moments later you saw his glowing dragon shooting across the sky, and you slipped off the edge to race after it.

The air was cooler way up high, and you could feel your cheeks and nose turning red in the biting wind, but you were still smiling hugely. If anything, the air was refreshing to you. You breathed it in as you soared higher and faster to catch up with the monstrous speed of Lloyd’s dragon.

At last you came parallel with the creature, and you finally shot Lloyd a smile that matched his earlier pleasantness. Actually, it exceeded that pleasantness by far—there was no place that pleased you like the sky, and with Lloyd by your side, it was beyond paradise.

You turned towards the horizon, squinting at the sun for a second before redirecting your gaze to the vibrant tufts of clouds surrounding you. You dipped through one gracefully, popping back up with moisture sticking to your skin. You hardly noticed the extra chill; your body was warm with glee (and the physical effort of staying in the air).

You turned to smile at Lloyd again, and you saw his lips moving, but the wind in your ears was too loud and the distance between you was too great for you to hear.

You swooped closer, shouting: “What?”

“You’re beautiful!” He shouted back.

If your cheeks were pink before, your entire face was a deep red now. Your smile turned into a sheepish one, and you turned your head, pretending to admire the clouds again.

Lloyd watched you for a while longer. Your grace, your beauty, your incredible wings… he could find no part of you that he didn’t adore. The smile that graced his lips was one of utter affection, and it stayed on his lips even as he turned to watch the horizon with you.

Thank you for your request! And thanks so much for reading, take care sweet duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

[inkareds]

Hiya there!

I just discovered your tumblr and I wondered if you were still writing for Wally West? Because if you do, I'd love a lil' something about Wally West and a gender neutral reader being domestic and cute and stuff. Maybe the reader could be reading to him while they're cuddling. Maybe the reader can say cute stuff to him in another language? (I personally speak french but whichever language floats your boat!)

Thank you very much nonetheless and have a very beautiful weekend. Take care! ♡♡♡

Classical Boredom Wally West

nav // dc m.list // ko-fi

✧.* word count: 1.8k ✧.* genre: FLUFFFF DOMESTIC FLUFF ✧.* warnings: The reader speaks French

Wally West hates classic literature, but when it comes to you, he's open to giving it a second chance

this request is so cute and I literally couldn't help smiling throughout writing this. Also kudos to my French friend who helped translate the French parts of this. ALSO I'M GETTING THROUGH MY REQUESTS FINALLY!!! I'm not ridiculously busy anymore!!!

“I never understand how you’re always so patient to finish a book.”

Wally West, nicknamed the fastest man alive should also probably be given the nickname most impatient man alive as well. As with a lifestyle like his that bred on how quickly he could finish his task at hand, things that he couldn’t rush or just didn’t have a shortcut felt tedious to him. 

Yet somehow he was blessed with a partner like you. Someone who loved the slower things in life, the small domestic moments between the two of you. The slow mornings when he’d groan any time you’d try to leave the bed. The quiet trickling of rain as you read a good book. 

That was another thing Wally didn’t understand. 

How people could read books. 

Especially classics. He loathed classics. He absolutely hated it when he needed to read a classic in school. He just couldn’t see someone actually choosing to read a piece of classic literature and enjoying it when they’re not forced to. 

That is until he met you. 

“It’s interesting,” you shrugged before going back to your book. 

At this point, you’ve dated Wally long enough to get used to his bewildered expression every time he found you nose-deep into another classic book. It wasn’t a month ago that he saw you just as you were about to finish Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. The sight of the grey-bound book caused him to go on a rant on how annoying his middle school English teacher was when he had given the book to read as Summer homework. 

You remembered laughing whilst softly caressing his hair, as he lay on your lap, content in distracting you from finishing the book. Like always you told him to give the book another try as you assumed the reason he never enjoyed reading was because he never actually read due to his own volition. And like clockwork, he refused, jokingly stating that he’ll leave the academia stuff to you whilst he saves the real damsels in distress. 

“What are you reading now?” He asks, coming out of the bathroom in just his sweatpants.

Wally had just finished a day’s work of saving people and was now ready to just collapse in bed with you. But since you seemed so engrossed in your book, the least he could do is entertain your interest as well. 

“Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë,” you told him, smiling to yourself as you watched your drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend look for a comfortable t-shirt to sleep in. 

Gone was the focus you put onto your book when Wally West in all his red-headed glory was in front of you, brows furrowed as he picked up one shirt after the other. If it was up to you, he should just sleep shirtless, but for now, you kept your mouth shut. 

“You know I can feel you staring?” He chuckled turning towards you. 

Unabashedly you rolled your eyes and continued to stare at him. With his gorgeous muscled physique and messy, still slightly damp, hair, he looked positively radiant. 

“Can’t help it, I have a really attractive boyfriend.” You shrugged. 

Wally beamed at your compliment, grinning widely and flexing his muscles at you. Causing you to laugh and throw a pillow from the armchair you were sitting on. He obviously easily caught it and watched you laugh, thinking to himself that nothing could sound more beautiful than the sound of your laughter. 

When you stopped, a comfortable silence lay between the two of you. Two lovers staring at each other, content and happy at the mere existence of the other. Your smile never left you, even when Wally zoomed over towards you, quickly picking you up and speeding to the bed, making sure your hand didn’t let go of your book. 

“Walls!” You scolded him, lightly punching him on his chest as he pulled you towards him. 

He didn’t respond, only embracing your body tight against his own, deliberately squeezing you so much you almost felt suffocated. All before relaxing and peppering a lot of kisses on your face. 

Not a second goes by when he’s out on the street that he doesn’t miss you. Now here he was, able to give you all the love and devotion he knows you deserve. Even as you giggled and tried to wriggle out of his ticklish hold, he held you tight against him as he planted kiss after kiss all over your face and neck. 

“Okay! Okay! Walls! I’m going to drop my book!” You yelled out trying to push him away, causing a boisterous laugh to leave him, rumbling against your back as he finally relaxed. 

“Oh, so your book is more important than me? I see how it is.” He pouted while burying his face deep into your neck. 

You rolled your eyes at how clingy he was being. 

“Yes, Wally West, it definitely is.” At your statement, Wally groaned loudly. 

“What’s so interesting about Wuthering Heights anyways?” 

You smiled warmly at him, any other time you’d brush his question off, knowing he probably wouldn't be interested in the content of your book. But this time, you decided that the book might be fitting for both of you. 

So, you lifted up the book so you could read it properly while Wally was still nestled beside you. You bookmarked the current page you were on and instead went back to a page you had tabbed a few days prior seeing how it was a heartwarming section. 

“This specific book is a romance and it’s just really sweet. Like here, for example.” You pointed at a part on the page, Wally cracked open his eyes slightly to see what you were pointing out, seeing a part that you underlined. 

“Read it for me.” He hummed against your skin, making himself even more comfortable beside you underneath the blankets causing you to giggle. 

“He’s more myself than I am,” you began, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. My great thought in living is himself.” 

You felt Wally’s breath hitched as he listened on. 

“If all else perished, and he remained,” you decided to continue, “I should still continue to be; and if all else remained and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. I should not seem a part of it.” You finished. 

When Wally stayed silent and still, you bit the inside of your lip in slight anxiety. He probably thought it was boring and cliche. 

“I know it’s kinda cliche but it’s a bit cute and I don’t know-” You rambled, “It’s silly, I know.” You nervously giggled, going to close the book and put it away. 

The last thing you wanted Wally to think of you is a hopeless romantic who lived between the lines and letters of books. Yet before you could put the book away Wally’s hand reached to stop your own. 

“No, I think it’s sweet,” he said opening his eyes to look straight at you, “Read me more.” 

You felt embarrassment creep into your face with how earnestly Wally was looking at you after stating that. Quickly going to a different part of the book you tabbed to read. 

“My love for Heathcliff, resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.” You chose to stay silent after that one. 

You felt the way Wally grinned against your skin after you finished, when he looked up at you he had such a boyish grin that you wanted to flood him with your love. 

“This feels like a roundabout way to say how much you love me.” 

His statement immediately made a tirade of embarrassment flush your system as you quickly placed down your book and pushed him off in a small tantrum. 

“You’re insufferable!” You yelled out causing him to erupt into bursts of laughter. 

“No! Baby! I didn’t mean it!” He was able to speak through his own laughter, grasping at you to pull you back into his embrace. 

When you finally let him, he still hasn’t stopped laughing. 

“Awwww stop pouting. I love you too. You’re everything I am and for that I love you.” 

Though you tried holding it in you couldn’t help the smile from creeping up into your face at his confession. 

“Was that poetic enough for you?” 

You rolled your eyes and would’ve reached for a pillow to hit him over the head with it had he not held your arms in place from his tight embrace. When the two of you finally settled, you wiggled one of your hands out of his tight hold to caress his hair. 

Gently untangling some knots from his tossing and turning just before, he hummed in appreciation as he leaned more into your touch. The comfort of it all warmed both of you in a way that would heat your entire being even in the coldest of winters. His being was like fire embers and sunlight personified. But to him? You were the home and shelter that would house his never-ending passion. You were comfort and he was warmth. 

“Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi.” You muttered thinking he was asleep only for him to hum lazily. I can’t live without you.

“Huh?” 

You chuckled, shaking your head slightly. “Nothing mon amour.” 

“Nuh-uh, you said something in French.” Wally stated, suddenly awake. 

“Mhm, I did.”

“So, what’d you say?” he propped himself up on his elbows, his body above your own. 

“Nothing important.” 

“I don’t believe that.”

You threw your head back in laughter.

“Believe what you want to believe!” 

“Tell me!” he complained causing you to shake your head again. 

“Je suis à toi, Wally West. Mon cœur t'appartient.” You brought your hand up to his face, telling him with so much conviction that even though Wally didn’t know what you said, he could feel love tug against his heart. I am yours, Wally West. My heart belongs to you.

Wally grinned at a mischievous idea snuck itself into his head. 

“Fine then, speak your fancy language. I’ll just make you tell me.” Before you could query what he meant by that his lips were quick to assault your neck.

His feather-like kisses littered against your neck in such a light way that it felt way too ticklish. You laughed and squirmed under him especially when his hands started ticking at your sides. Causing bursts of laughter to leave you as you try and try to push Wally away. 

Wally laughed between his little kisses, knowing nothing in life would feel better than now. 

[literaila]

peter or reader like officially asking the other out or deciding to date, whichever floats your boat

ps thank you for all the writing you feed us with

sandwich

tasm!peter x reader

a/n: unedited, unbothered, un-itstoolateforthis

*

“what was that?”

here’s the thing. you’ve been trying to get the words out for days.

almost a week of tiptoeing around peter and giving him (not so) secretive glances over the top of your cubicle, and following him to lunch like a lost little kid, and laughing at all of his jokes like he’s the words best comedian.

he’s not.

you’ve bought him coffee and given him half of your cookie, invaded his apartment, stolen materials from his desk, and kissed him against a wall in the copier room.

and yet, you still can’t get the words out.

“i—“ you shake your head, looking away from him, “nothing.”

he nudges you, almost pushing you off of the bench he coincidentally chose, sitting in the middle of everything, new york city. “no, what?”

“i forgot.”

“you forgot?”

you nod and hum, tearing off a piece of your badly made sandwich, wishing there were ducks to feed it to. or that ducks could eat bread.

“you forgot what you were just about to say?” peter chides, stealing half of your sandwich from the space between you. he’s a thief, and you shouldn’t have left it there.

you try to steal it back from him but he leans away, wonderful, infuriating smile on his face. “i forgot what a pain you are.”

“is that what you meant when you tried to ask me to dinner for the third time today?”

you pause, blinking. then you cough. “what?” you ask, voice high and squeaking. “no, i just—well, um. i didn’t—“

you stop and wait for a moment before peter bursts out laughing.

and you’ve kissed him before. you’ve cuddled with him on couches and fallen asleep on his shoulder, and molded his lips to yours and pulled his hair until he groaned.

but still, your body heats up when he laughs at you. like you’re sixteen and completely stupid.

which you might as well be.

you look away, sighing. this is going just wonderfully.

“no, really,” peter says, his voice closer and far too warm, “ it’s cute.”

“shut up. i’m not asking you anything. i don’t even like you.”

peter laughs again, obnoxiously. “will, erm—“ he mocks, “do you want, um? dinner. or. a snack? my sandwich?”

you’re scowling at him—not that he can see—and you stuff the rest of your sandwich back in it’s bag, moving as far away as you can get from him on this tiny bench. “i would never offer you my sandwich,” you tell him, harsh. “it’s far too valuable.”

“this is literally the worst sandwich i’ve ever had.”

“then give it back,” you grit out, hand darting towards his again.

it’s a second later that you realize just how close you have to get to try and reach his hand—his arm, now held above the two of you. you’re leaning into him, face only inches from his, and you can see the mischief in his eyes. you can feel his breath against your cheek.

“only if you ask nicely,” peter whispers, lip curled.

“please.”

“not what i meant.”

you sigh and try to lean away, but peter puts a hand on your waist, far to close to any skin gaping from your shirt. he keeps you close to him, his smile far too pretty for this moment.

your brows are furrowed and you can’t quite breathe, but you can still push at his chest. “stop, peter.”

“’s just six little words. you can do it.”

“we’re going to be late. it’s almost one.”

peter smiles, his breath just a tease on your skin, his hand just a taunt to dare move away. “not if you hurry up.”

“you’re being mean.”

“am i?”

“peter.”

“you’re the one that’s lying.”

“you stole my sandwich.”

peter smiles, and his hand moves from your back, reaching out toward your cheek. you don’t move, and not just because you don’t want to. “and you my heart,” he says, voice slightly mocking, slightly british.

you groan. “let’s just go,” you tell him reaching up again.

“say it.”

“say what? that i hate you?” you smile at him viciously, “fine. i hate you.”

“close, but no.”

you want to scream at him. you want to melt into the finger that’s tracing across your cheekbone, and you kind of want to lick his neck. just to see what it’s like.

but finally, you sigh. “peter parker, if you think i’m asking you out after this, then you’re—“

peter kisses you, right there.

his hand on your cheek pulls you in, and the one that was holding your sandwich wraps around your neck, keeping you from leaning away.

his lips are warm and his smile is teasing and it’s all far too much for this park bench but you can’t quite bring yourself to even try to stop him. not when he’s being so soft and careful, and not when you can’t even think when he’s near.

his kisses are tiny pecks on the edge of your lips, but somehow peter makes them feel like so much more. he makes it feel like he’s trapped you right there and then laughs at your stockholm syndrome.

eventually, peter pulls back, his lips damp and his smile soft. “how ‘bout now?” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours as he leans back down.

“still no.”

peter chuckles, leaning his forehead against yours. “okay. one more thing.”

“what?”

“will you go to dinner with me?”

you laugh and groan, lips meeting his cheek, falling into his embrace. peter wraps his arms around you, kissing your forehead.

you both stay there for a moment, forgetting about work or the fact that this is a public place, or that you’re going to be buzzing with nerves for the rest of the day. you just sit there with peter, taking him in without the restraints.

honestly, you’d been trying to get this over with all week.

“peter?” you whisper, almost a minute later.

“hmm?”

“why is my sandwich on the ground?”

*

[p0ssywhippedcream]

hey girlypop!! glad you're better now!!!! could you pretty please write a percy jackson angst where he keeps choosing annabeth over the reader (she's his ex) and at one point he calls you pathetic and a bitch when you're arguing over her so you just run away crying?? not like a toxic relationship, just that he's in love with her while being with you! ty my love xox

baby love, I hate to break this to you but this is toxic. if you've ever been through this irl or are going through it, get the fuck out of that situation because you deserve so much better. I'm gonna change a few things cause it seems a little OOC but I will write it, just like promise me you understand that this is fictional and if somebody ever does this to you, you block them, call a friend and cry until you don't need to.

"Percy, just listen to me!"

He whirls around, his frustrated pacing bringing him close enough you can smell saltwater. "I am! It's ridiculous! You expect me to just be over her?"

"Yes!' You cry, throwing your hands down, "Because you're with me now and it's not fair that you're just now telling me that maybe you still have feelings for her!"

"I was with her for three years, y/n! You know what we went through together, she was my whole life."

Your energy is draining fast, you've been going in circles for hours now. "Perce, it's been a year. I understand that she meant a lot to you but romantically, that's over and I'm supposed to be the one you feel this way for!"

"Well how can I, y/n? You're not her." His face is flushed, eyes frantic and lips trembling with a rage that shakes the pipes of his apartment.

The air is electric, emotions bouncing around like molecules fighting for space. Like you, fighting for a space that's not yours, never yours. A space with someone else's name on it.

"And I thought that was okay." So many things want to come out of you, you want to beat on his chest with closed fists until he understands the pain beating inside yours. " I thought that I could mean to you what she did."

Percy rolls his eyes and huffs, turning his back on you as he resumes pacing. "You could never take what she means to me."

You wanted to say that's not what you were trying to do but really, how can you. You wanted to be a part of his life the way Annabeth was, you wanted to paint your name on her place and be what he needed, what keeps him going. You wanted to compare to the girl he went to hell and back for, you wanted to matter just barely a fraction what she did.

"I can never matter to you the way she does, can I?" Your voice is horse and tired and you just need one last confirmation. One last chance is handed his way, thrown into crashing waves like a prayer on a dead man's tongue.

The ocean swallows your hope, the storm is silent as the anger rages on around you. You stand in the eye, driftwood raft held together with half-baked compliments and forgotten I love yous.

"You're just not Annabeth." And it's the way he says her name that splits your makeshift boat straight in two. He says it like she carried each bucket of water from heaven and filled the sea, pouring every pinch of salt herself. She created the marine life from kisses and stars and designed them to make him happiest, she mans the lighthouse for lost sailors. She floats on a yacht in calmer waters as you go under, wondering why you left shore for an empty promise.

"Okay." You're drowning, the current much too strong. No matter how hard you fight, the sea was never going to forgive you for the sin of trusting it.

You're gone, fish food to him. You've left and you've walked and you're never going back to the apartment you loved in. He's sat down, head in his hands thinking of the one girl who survived his hurricane. He picks up the phone and she picks up on the second ring.

"Annabeth, hey."

[quinloki]

Eustass Kid - Bitter-Sweet

Requestor: Anonymous! Reader Vibes Requested: AFAB she/her - no pronouns or bodily description was used in the final result. CW: Physical Injury, angst, amnesia (those last two are gonna be repetitive warnings.)

You remembered it only because your body ached. The concussive force of the blast had sent you flying, and the fear of that memory was seared into your mind.

Everything else was gone.

You couldn’t remember your name, or why you were somewhere that had put you in such danger. You were aware you were in a recovery room of sorts, but it didn’t feel like a hospital, and the uneasy shifting sensation left you assuming you were on a boat.

You hated water, especially the ocean, you were certain of that. Old memories floated hazily through your mind. It hurt to focus on them, but the fringes of those long term memories were clear enough to know you avoided your island’s piers and beaches.

Faces floated in and out of your mind as you stared at the ceiling. You could smell the bracing scent of disinfectant, a sweet scent of some sort of salve or lotion, and the itchy tingle of bandages and what were probably a couple casts. You could wiggle your fingers and toes, but everything simply ached.

You weren’t sure if your hazy memory was because you were in too much pain to be bothered to remember, or if it was all simply gone. A cost for having survived the blast that still rattled your soul against your bones.

You heard the door open, and turned a little, to see an impressively tall man with neon pink hair enter into the room.

“Ah, you’re awake. Don’t move,” he insists, putting his hands up after setting down the crate he’d brought in. “You took a hell of a beating and House says you gotta rest. Cap’n’s orders too.” He adds.

His demeanor and his voice are kind, and casual. Friendly. Your head throbs and you think you should know him, but no name is coming to mind. There’s a soft pang of guilt, but you didn’t consciously decide to forget so much.

“Tha-ungh.” You try to say thank you, but the act of speaking hurts and you wince instead.

“You’re welcome.” He replies swiftly. “Don’t try an’ talk. You hurt yourself more an’ Cap’n’ll kick my ass down the deck. I’m just bringing in these supplies for House, I’ll let her know yer up, and see if Killer can make you some broth at least. You’ve been sleeping for a couple’a days.”

Captain.

Something in that single word makes your chest tighten. The burning sting of tears swells up in your heart and you cried. Silently and easily, surprising yourself a little. A large finger wipes them away and the big guy in the room with you smiles down at you kindly.

“It’ll be alright (Y/N).” He assures you.

Your brows knit and he stops, tilting his head a little and looking at you. There’s a moment of silence and you slowly, and carefully, manage to get four small words out.

“Is… that my name?”

You can feel the large man beside you flinch, and he pales so fast you’re worried he’s going to pass out and collapse by your bed. He nods slowly.

“Yeah. It is.” He answers, lips and words tight. He’s trying not to sound as worried as he is, a strained kind smile doing it’s best to bring color back into his face. “I… I have to go get the doc, so - so jus’ stay here. You’re banged up pretty bad, so please don’t move.”

He nearly bolts out of the room and you lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering who you were a few days ago. What thoughts did you think three days ago, before something happened and changed it all. Did you smile easily? What sorrows gnawed at the edges of your laugh? What joys filled it out?

How could you know words, and a disdain for the sea, and not know your name? Or the name of someone who obviously cared for you enough to react like that man had?

You mumbled the name the pink-haired man had said, letting it sit and roll on your tongue. It felt new and familiar, strange and fitting. A heavy sound because you’d forgotten it, pulling the edges of your lips down as tears slipped quietly down your face.

A commotion pulls you from your heavy thoughts. You can’t make out words, but there’s a cacophony of loud voices drifting into the room. One rising over the rest. You can’t hear the words, but the tone cuts into the meat of your heart.

Pain.

Far more than any anger or rage, there’s just pain in the voice, rough like gravel, warm like -

- red? -

Blood. Warm and harsh, desperate and fading. Slowly fading as the other voices around the booming pain bring it down.

The door opens slowly, and a woman, much smaller than the bubble-gum pink-haired man from earlier, steps inside. Her clothing is eclectic, and she comes over to your bedside with a tight look on her face.

“Mosh says that talking is difficult for you, but can you tell me how you feel physically right now?” She asks.

You nod carefully. “Aches, but,” you lick dry lips and swallow. “I haven’t moved.”

The tight expression softens a little and she gives you a bit of a smile. “Wiggle some for me, make sure your toes and fingers move, let me know if anything hurts sharply. The ache and bruising is gonna persist for a couple of weeks.”

You do as instructed, wincing a little at jolts and tingles here and there, but nothing hurt enough to make you cry out or swear.

“… Who?” You prompt and watch the small lady flinch just as much as Mosh.

“House,” she answers. “My name’s House, kiddo, and I’m the doctor on this ship.”

“Ship.” You grunt the word, and House puts a hand over her face.

“Yeah, it took a while for you to adjust. Not a fan of the ocean, but… you managed before, I’m sure you will again.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. “Memory loss is sticky business. I can’t sit here and say it’ll come back in a couple days or weeks. It might not ever.”

House pulls a stool over and sits down beside your bed. She’s worn and rough, tanned and probably younger than she looks, hair a little bedraggled, and you can see the weight on her shoulders.

Weight that is likely due to you.

“You’ve been a part of this crew for almost two years now. So I have a ship full of people who are concerned about your memory loss. Especially one very loud, very proud, Captain.” House gives you a moment and her expression softens, her smile gets warmer. “You are under no obligation to try to be who you were, no matter what anyone else wants, but all of us will answer any questions you have, and we’ll do whatever we can for you.”

You nod a little.

“For now though, we need to get some food in you, and some water too.” House pats your hand softly. “I’m going to limit your visitors for another week, but you’ll only need to stay in here for today I think. You’re healing up neatly, and I’m not worried about infections or anything.” She stops, looking at you and making sure she has your attention.

“But don’t go thinking the crew’s avoiding you, they’re just going to give you space for a few more days, okay?”

You nod again, moving again to give her a little thumbs up.

When House left, Mosh came back in with some broth. He told you Killer made it, but House wanted to limit new faces and names for a bit, and give you a chance to adjust. You ate, drank what was provided, got some medication from the doctor, and slept a little more.

House checked you over after your second meal of broth, and gave you some hard tack to nibble on. She changed your bandages with help from someone named Hip, who was a younger looking woman with short blonde hair.

Hip talked a lot, just about the ship itself, and House would cut her off if she started losing you. Afterward she just repeated what she already said, trying to help it feel more familiar.

Breakfast the next day was more than broth, but not by much. Dry toast and some juice, and afterward House and Hip escorted you to the bathroom and helped you get cleaned up. House was pleased with your wounds, and once you dried off they put far less bandages on before helping you get dressed.

Hip escorted you through the ship, showing you were the mess hall was, and how to get to the main deck. She put names to faces as the two of you walked, assuring you there wouldn’t be a test or anything and not to stress.

The crew was a little smaller than you expected, at least numerically. With just a couple exceptions everyone was much taller than you were.

A couple of days later you were on regular food, and regular meals with the rest of the crew. You knew most all of them by name now, and people were slowly sharing stories with you about what you’d been up to for the last few years of your life - so far as they knew it.

You weren’t scared. It was comfortable, but also frustrating. None of your memories were old. They were all just from the last few days.

At least one person was avoiding you. The captain. You’d seen him once, and he barely even glanced at you before storming off. Something ached when you saw him. A pain so deep you would’ve bled to relieve it.

A week later you stood at the back of the ship, hours after dinner, watching the moon and the waves. Every glimpse you caught of him made your heart ache so deeply that guilt ate at you for hours afterward. You wanted to remember, to relieve the ache in your heart, to release the guilt that was gnawing at your stomach no matter what anyone else said to you, trying so hard to assure you. If you could remember one thing. Just one thing.

Anything.

If you could just remember his-.

“Mouse.”

The voice and the word slammed into your body like a second bomb. You couldn’t stop the pained sound that slipped from your lips and bent your body. You caught yourself on the railing and nearly collapsed trying to turn around fast enough.

You could already hear heavy steps turning away and your arms reached out for him, even before you could make your legs move.

“Wait!” You force the word out and he stops, turning after a second. Turning, just in time for you to grab the deep red coat around his shoulders. “Wait, dammit.” You insist, holding tight onto the coat, shivering between pain and fear, sorrow and loss.

“Stop… avoiding me.” You demand, tears stinging your eyes as you look up at him. The golden orbs are sunk deep and are dull, heavy circles around his eyes. He almost looks gaunt, and the moonlight against skin that is desperately pale from being locked in his workshop for at least week, makes your stomach knot. “Please.”

“I’m sorry.” He says, in a voice more sand than gravel. Worn down and quieter.

You shake your head, holding onto his shirt. You couldn’t stop him if he decided to walk away, but you were going to just drag behind him if he tried to leave at this point.

“Then… be sorry by my side.” You grumble. “Idiot.” You feel him flinch under your fingers.

“Eh!?” He snaps.

“Idiot!” You repeat, looking up at him.

You can see anger bubbling up into his expression. “Stop calling me that!” He barks.

“I’m calling you an idiot cause you’re an idiot!” You bark back, yanking on his shirt so harshly you actually yank him forward. Anger is replaced by surprise and his metal hand clamps down on the railing stopping him short of falling into you.

“I’m not a-.” His words break in his mouth, tears bubbling down your cheeks.

“Idiot.” You say quietly, shaking his shirt as he moves enough to be kneeling in front of you. “I miss you. I miss you even though I can’t remember you,” you sob shaking the now immovable man in front of you. “If it hurts me this much, how much worse was it for you?”

One warm, calloused, gentle hand rests against your back, pulling you carefully into a hug.

“Idiot.” You sob in relief.

[cloudywriting05]

don't delete the kisses

chapter two.

Coriolanus stared at the back of her head. Was he angry? Intrigued? Upset? All the above? He didn’t know. All he knew was there were two ways to go about it, to have her under his arms, or have her go under. Coriolanus wasn’t insecure about his intelligence up until her arrival. How was it possible she was able to be smarter than both him and his father? It was an insult to the Snow family name for her to be in the same room as him.

He hated her already. He didn’t care that she was painfully gorgeous, or that she seemed sweeter than fruit, easy going or any of the above. If she was at the academy, his entire plan and legacy is threatened. No doubt on earth she would get the Plinth’s prize, absolutely no doubt. Coriolanus needed that money more than life itself. He refused to let a scummy district girl who bought her way into the Capitol take it from him either. 

His irritated thoughts were cut short by the sound of the bell, concluding the class. Coriolanus remained seated, eyes pinned to the back of the girl's head while she packed her book and pencils away hurriedly. The bodies of his classmates rushing towards the exit, he continued to glare, seething in his seat, wondering what he could do to get her under control in some way. The girl seemed to have finally have her stuff arranged, tugged at her skirt, and leaving her seat. Coriolanus, now standing, was still glaring at her; she now noticed. What’s this guy’s problem?she wondered to herself as she continued up the stairs.

“You alright there, blondie?” she asked, stopping at the start of Coriolanus’s row. They stood across from each other in silence for a moment.

Coriolanus, taken aback, admitted to himself she was even prettier up-close, “I’m fine, did I scare you?”

“No, you didn’t. Just try not to stare at me like I stole something from you, and if you are gonna stare– say hi… or something?” she smiled, turning her foot to walk away.

“What’s your name?” Coriolanus blurted out, his own way of getting her to stay.

“What’s yours?”

“Coriolanus Snow,” he said proudly. 

“Ah, so it was you at the top of the academic list– right after me, at-least.”

Coriolanus’s forced smile dropped, instantly angered by the snarky statement at the end, “I guess I’ll just have to learn from you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? I don’t even look old.”

“Debatable.” Coriolanus snapped back, earning a gasp from her.

“Do you have a problem, Snow?” she asked, the anger in her tone was apparent. She took steps closer towards him, refusing to break eye contact. She raised her head to look Coriolanus in the eye: her nerve impressing him.  

“Not necessarily, doll, just stay out of my way. I don’t really like beggars or district scum; it doesn't matter how pretty or smart they look, or even how rich they appear to be.”

“I don’t necessarily like stuck-up schoolboys with bad bleach jobs but here I am,” she laughed. 

She placed her hand on his arm, sliding it down at an excruciatingly slow pace. “Your anger is reasonable, Coriolanus, but I simply refuse to apologise for being better than you. Second place sucks but are you seriously gonna punish me because you aren’t smart enough?”

“Second place isn’t in my vocabulary, beautiful; I would say whatever floats your boat but I’m not sure if you district people have ever seen water…” he snickered, looking down at the girl. 

She let out a short laugh and rolled her eyes, “Funny one, idiot. You can make fun of me for being from the districts, but you will always be second place to me, a district girl. Hey, at least it’s proof that people in the Capitol can’t buy everything they need– like in your case, braincells.”

“You can charm your way up the top with your pretty eyes, but you will never be Capitol. Never.”

“That shit doesn’t bother me, why would I wanna be grouped with you? Fucking dingus.”

Coriolanus, fuming, watched his new enemy storm off.

-

Coriolanus spent the remainder of his lunch scolding himself for arguing with her. How could he let his jealousy take over like that, and insult her? A part of him was satisfised, yet he felt like a phony. He called her district scum while he didn’t have a penny to his name, it was ironic. He didn’t have a clue on earth was he going to repair the relationship between them, or if he necessarily wanted to. He wondered briefly if it was best that they stayed enemies and ruthlessly competed for the Plinth Prize.  

He walked to his final class, Literature, continuing to ponder about the girl. He slid through the door with his head down.

“Coriolanus Snow, better late than never.” Professor remarked, Coriolanus shot his head up towards him.

“Sorry, I was just putting stuff– “

“It’s alright, Snow. Take a seat.” 

Coriolanus breathed a sigh of relief and looked for a seat, his eyes grazing over the girl he’d been losing his mind over for the past hour. She was glaring at him from the front, she rolled her eyes and turned to face the front again. She sat beside two girls Coriolanus could not name, and in front of Sejanus, who was staring at her as well. What’s that dumb-ass staring at? Coriolanus thought.

The Professor cleared his throat, “As you all know your grades in this class are vital to pass your final year. The assignment for this semester is slightly different from others we’ve done in the past. I’ll assign you a partner, your jobs are to find a novel that’s been adapted into a movie. You are both going to analyse and submit a document detailing what the difference are between both works, and how it positions the audience to feel and think.”

Coriolanus sighed eternally. Partnered work? Sounds like hell, he thought to himself. He hadn’t watched many movies due to the lack of money to rent or buy any. He’d seen a few as a child but could not remember the last movie he’d watched, before his parents’ demises, at-least. 

“I’ve already organised your pairs, please come forth when you hear your name,” the professor requested, taking a seat on his desk, “Coriolanus Snow?”

First, as always. Coriolanus shot up from his chair and made his towards the professor, everyone erupted into pointless conversation. 

“Yes, Professor?”

“I’ve paired you with the recent transfer, you are the closest to her in academic terms– “

“Sorry? Sir, that is a reason to not pair me with her,” Coriolanus protested. His plan was to aim for a grade higher than the girl, not have the same grade as her.

“Snow, I don’t like your tone, neither do I like your back chat. I like you, don’t bug me. Grab your task sheet, collect the girl, and find space in the library and begin your planning. Thank you.” the professor hissed, not raising his eyes off the papers in front of him. 

Coriolanus stood there, stunned. He was going to be stuck with the district girl for weeks completing this assignment. Was this the worst situation? No. He had her to herself, there was still a chance to get on her good side. The idea of being paired with her shifted in his head, he was now eager.