#so i wanna remember his long hair in a nicer way

[jimmyssnuggs]

Can you do a Gabe imagine pls? Can it be a childhood friend's trope pls?

For as long as you could remember, Gabe Perreault had been a constant in your life. You had met in first grade, the curly haired boy coming up to you, with your tiny pigtails, and insisting he sat next to you. What came next was a friendship that had only grown stronger as each year passed.

You went to every hockey game of Gabe’s that you possibly could, and tagging along on each other's family vacations.

You weren’t sure when things shifted, but ever since you had arrived at Boston College for freshman year, something had been different. A good, but also scary different.

Seeing girls flirt with him makes her sick now. A year ago, she would’ve given him a thumbs up and a smile as encouragement, but now she can’t stomach it.

——

It’s a Friday night, and instead of going out to a party, you’re sitting in Conte Forum, watching Gabe’s hockey game, just like every weekend they have a home game. You’re his so-called ‘Good Luck Charm’, deemed when the one game you didn’t go to ended in a loss for Boston College.

Ever since then, you were to be present at every Boston College hockey game, with Gabe’s jersey on, per order of him, Ryan, and Will.

You make your way over to the locker game to see Gabe, like every time. Media is done, and Gabe should be walking out the door any minute now.

“Y/N!” Ryan shouts, running over to you. You spot the familiar brown curls walking behind him, and your stomach flips. “Did you see my goal? It was so sick, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was cool.” You respond halfheartedly, meeting Gabe’s eyes. Ryan shoots you a knowing look, but you swat him.

“Gabe-o!” You shout, throwing your arms around him. His arms go around your waist, steadying the both of you. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “You looked like a rockstar out there!”

“Thank’s Y/N/N. You brought us good luck, just like I said you would,” His arms are still around your waist, and the butterflies are multiplying rapidly. “The team and girlfriends are going to the bar tonight, you in?” He looks down at you, and you look up at him.

“Sounds fun. I should probably change out of this though, put on something nicer.” You point down at the jersey.

“Oh, you don’t wanna wear my jersey to the bar?” He mocks fake hurt, his million dollar smile spreading across his face.

“I don’t think this exactly screams ‘bar attire’, so I’m gonna have to say no.” You giggle.

“Fair enough. We can swing by your dorm and then head over.”

“Perfect.”

——

The bar is crowded, and Gabe has a tight grip on your hand, in order to not lose you. He’s deep in conversation with Ryan, while you are talking to Ryan’s girlfriend who’s leaning up against him.

You chose not to drink tonight, instead having a diet coke with lime. Someone needs to make sure that everybody finds a safe ride home tonight.

Gabe is not drinking either, figuring you’re gonna need help with rounding up everyone and getting them back.

“Have you told Gabe you liked him?” Ryan’s girlfriend speaks a little too loudly. She’s drunk, and you can’t blame her. Ryan’s eyes widen, and you squirm out of Gabe’s hold.

“Oh, um, look at the time. I should go.” You all but sprint out of the bar, ignoring Gabe’s shouts behind you.

“Y/N, Y/N, wait!” He shouts, but they fall to deaf ears.

“Gabe, go back to the bar. Your teammates need you,” You yell back, not losing your fast pace. But Gabe is faster, and he lifts you off the ground, despite your feet flailing around. “Put me down, now!”

“Sorry, can’t. Not until you stop yelling at me.”

“Please, spare me the embarrassment. You can never speak to me again, just don’t laugh at me.”

“Was she telling the truth? Do you like me?”

It’s a heat of the moment decision, but you decide it’s now or never. Surging forward, your lips meet his, and his hands fall to your waist, pulling you oh so close. It feels like magic; like a years worth of lingering feelings finally coming to a crash in the best way possible.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, it does.” He goes in for another, hands still on the small of her back to keep them both steady. It feels right, and nothing else could make either of you happier.

#gabe perreault #gabe perreault x reader #boston college hockey #bc hockey #boston college #ryan leonard #will smith #boston college eagles #bc eagles #bc eagles hockey #q writes

[ad0rechuu]

ᝰ MY OH MY. ━━ (009) classic sunwoo-yn-bff-date

WORD COUNT. 1343

WARNINGS. swearing (like always), mentions of food and insecurities, lots of physical touch, princess diaries references, also please remember that sunwoo is sunwoo if u know what i mean ;p | i’m so excited to post this but written chapters are always terrifying to post for me so please leave me your thoughts and feedback <3 i really need it when it comes to these

credits to @ari-shipping-stuff for being my beta reader / writer <33

YOU HAD TO GIVE IT TO SUNWOO. HE WAS TRUE TO HIS WORD.

Half an hour after the text, you opened the door in your pajamas to find a panting Sunwoo, water dripping down his raincoat as he held up a bag.

He didn’t even let you greet him or invite him in properly before he'd stormed past you. He shrugged of his coat and placed it over a random chair, leaving him in his familiar black hoodie and sweatpants as he turned to look at you.

Sunwoo was the first to speak up despite the questions circulating in your mind.

“Why do you look so surprised? I told you I was coming over for a classic Sunwoo-Yn-BFF-date.”

You squinted your eyes at the boy in front of you. He pushed his dripping curly hair out of his face.

You tried giving him the dirtiest look you could manage. “I don’t care what you say. I’m not going out, Sunwoo.”

“Yeah, I obviously knew you’d wanna stay holed up in here.” He rolled his eyes and held up the shopping bag once again. “That’s why I bought snacks and the passwords for Kevin hyung’s streaming services accounts, because lord knows he’s probably paying for all of them.”

As Sunwoo trailed off to complain about Kevin’s spending habits as if he had to pay for it himself, you walked over to the bathroom to get the boy a towel. In the couple of moments you were in there, you caught a glance of your state in the mirror.

Sure, you still looked disheveled and you still had bags underneath your swollen eyes from the crying and lack of sleep, your lips.. your lips were also cracked and swollen from the excessive amount of chewing you did on them out of stress;

But somehow, you knew you looked a little brighter than before and you’re almost certain who was to blame for that change.

You walked back to your living room where, to your horror, Sunwoo had already made himself comfortable on your couch.

You rushed over and scolded him. “Get off my couch! You haven’t even dried yourself off and it’s way too expensive for you to douse it in rainwater.”

Sunwoo scoffed, looking at you with a judgmental expression when you held out the towel to him. “You act like this couch is going to bring you gold. You got it from a fucking thrift store!”

He didn't take the towel, instead grabbing your arm and leaning his head in your general direction.

“Are you seriously implying that I dry your hair right now?” You gasped.

Sunwoo sat up at the edge of the couch, still holding your arm and pulling you so that you’re standing in between his legs.

“Yeah, it’s nicer when you do it.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one cheered up.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Sure, you might sound annoyed, but Sunwoo could tell by the way you gently began to dry his hair anyway that it was only a joke.

“You get to see my handsome face from this close. I consider that a win for all of us!” He smiled up at you, the towel now covering the greater part of his head and ears.

You left it there and turned around to let yourself fall on a comfortable spot next to him on the couch.

“Just for that, you can do it yourself.”

You don’t even look at him, simply letting him gasp at you in disbelief as you grabbed the remote to search for something for you to watch.

Eventually he gave in, continuing to dry his hair himself. Of course, not without complaining, but you didn't mind. It was kind of comforting; him being here while you felt like dying was comforting. So he could complain as much as he wanted so long as it meant you could have your best friend by your side.

“I NEVER GOT why they act like Mia’s makeover was such a big deal. Sure, if she explicitly wanted to change up her look I would get it, but they act she’s a totally different person when she is just as pretty before.”

You ended up settling on watching ‘Princess Diaries’ again, curled up on the couch with Sunwoo’s arm resting behind you while you two stuffed your faces with snacks and other unhealthy, comforting treats. The two of you had watched the movie more times than you could count on both your hands. At that point, it was nearly a symbol of your friendship. It just never got old to you.

You nodded with Sunwoo as he monologued about the movie's endearing yet problematic 2000s-esque plot.

“But that makes me think,” You said through a mouthful of Doritos, still staring at the screen. “Do you think Yeonjun would’ve made that bet if I was different? If I, like, changed? You know?”

Sunwoo’s attention on the movie immediately moved a hundred percent towards you with that sentence. You only turned your head towards him when you felt his wide eyes burning a hole in the side of your face.

“Are you considering changing for him?!” No sign of a joke or anything of the sort could be detected in his voice as he asked.

You smiled and looked down. You did consider it for a while. That was how much you felt for him. But in the end, you shook you head.

“I don’t really want to change. But I wonder about it sometimes. Maybe he’d love me back if I did?”

Focusing your gaze back on the screen, you whispered to no one in particular. “I just wanna be loved too.”

“You should never change for a man though. You shouldn’t change for anyone, for that matter. What’s the point of being loved if it isn’t for your true self? That just seems tiring.” Sunwoo's voice was raised and his eyebrows furrowed. He was clearly not done with the topic yet. “Also, he’s a selfish-stupid-dumb-dumb-poopyhead and nothing you do is going to change that.”

Your laugh echoed through the small living room at his word choice. Sunwoo fought back a small smile at the wonderful sound.

Finally, he turned back to the television with you. “I can’t ever understand why you still care about him so much after everything, but I get where you’re coming from. Don’t we all crave to be loved deep down?”

The last sentence caught you off-guard. Sunwoo often hid behind silly jokes and funny remarks, but he could be quite insightful when he wanted to be. You nodded once again, trusting that he saw it in the corner of his eye.

He did. He placed the arm that was resting behind you around your own, rubbing it gently. “And don’t worry. I’ll always be here to love your true self, despite your, well… thousands of extremely obvious flaws.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed, making Sunwoo cover his ears. You completely ignored all the nice stuff he said as you proceeded to punch him in the arm with an offended look on your face.

He had the nerve to seem just as offended. “I’m not apologizing. You are a very messy and deeply flawed person, Yn!” He said matter-of-factly.

Rolling your eyes, you sunk back into the sofa. “Gee, thanks, man!”

His offended charade didn't last long. Soon enough, a smile grew on his features. He almost crushed the snacks in between you as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you towards him. Your head landed softly against the shoulder of his black hoodie.

“But I meant what I said. I’ll promise that I’ll do my best to make you feel even the slightest bit loved.”

“Why?” A pout was still present on your lips, but you didn't make any effort to move free from his grip, only nuzzling your cheek in the crook of his neck.

You could feel him shrug as he pulled a blanket over the two of you.

“Because that’s what best friends do, I guess.”

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NOTES. writing this i knew exactly what i wanted to do with this chapter and im pretty satisfied with how it came to be also yes i am a princess diaries stan at heart <33

TAGLIST. @tocupid @leo-seonghwa @seonghwaddict @starryunho @yuyusuyu @kodzumo @felixsramen @aapplepii @juhakutie @gyumibear @alixnsuperstxr @atinyinateezverse @nyukyujs @yunho-mp3 @blueresides @shakalakaboomboo @haechology @ahnneyong @atinycafe @i-luvsang @nasangel @asherthehimbo @marvelahsobx @blue-rainydays @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @evilsailorsenshi @allisonleannn @sunkitti @koizekomi @ms-no1kpopstan @marsvillee @tubatu-wari-wari @jazminethecreator

#ᝰ MY OH MY — smau #ad0rechuu — works #the boyz #the boyz kim sunwoo #the boyz sunwoo #kim sunwoo #sunwoo #the boyz social media au #sunwoo social media au #kpop social media au #the boyz smau #sunwoo smau #kpop smau #the boyz x reader #sunwoo x reader #the boyz x black reader #the boyz au #sunwoo au #the boyz fic #sunwoo fic

[yanderelionwrites]

Confession (Yandere!Eijiro Kirishima x Fem!Reader)

A drabble about the reader's inner turmoil involving the current situation Kirishima has put her in... Hope you enjoy!

Content Warning: (soft) yandere, implied kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, female reader

Word Count: 873

Kirishima made (Name) feel weird. It should be a bad weird, but it wasn’t, and that terrified her. It was a good weird, the kind that warmed her cheeks and made her heart flutter in her chest. The kind of weird she had feared would develop the longer she stayed here with the red-haired man.

(Name) had fallen for him. And she didn’t know how to feel about it.

She knows that she shouldn’t like him. He had so selfishly taken her for himself. Kept her cooped up in his home, away from any harm and away from any people. She hasn’t left the house in months. And she should hate him for that.

But she didn’t.

Kirishima is the nicest guy she’s ever met, despite what he’s done. He’s been so accommodating, making sure all of her needs are met and giving her whatever she asks for. He’s respectful too, never overstepping her boundaries and always asking for consent before touching her. (Name) can tell he loves her just as much as he says he does and it made her feel conflicted. She had never felt so much love from another person before, and she would find it sweet if it was under different circumstances. Kirishima’s the perfect guy…but he’s still a kidnapper.

(Name) groaned, burying her head in her hands. She never expected she would actually ever share his feelings! You’re not supposed to be in love with your captor! Maybe she’s just grown insane after being here for so long…

This was all so confusing. She’s dreamed of having a regular relationship for so long, but any chance of that happening has been thrown out the window. Maybe…maybe she should just take it for what it is? It wasn’t all bad staying here with Kirishima, and his place was nicer than any home she could ever afford. She had everything she needed here…and she would never have to worry about expenses again. Not to mention the presence of an attractive man who was completely devoted to her.

 Was it really okay for her to accept these feelings? Obviously no, but (Name) was too far gone to realize that.

She decided she should make it official. Let Kirishima know how she really felt about him instead of dancing around the issue any longer.

(Name) waited until it was time for Kirishima to leave for work. While it was still early in the morning, the both of them were wide awake and ready to face the day. (Name) remembers when she used to hate getting up, latching on to the covers whenever Kirishima tried to drag her out of bed. He had successfully turned her into a morning person, but she wasn’t complaining. It was better this way, as now she had more time to spend with Kiri before he went on patrol. She could actually give him a proper goodbye instead of the tired and mumbly one she used to say when she was still in bed.

“Well, I better get going. Don’t wanna be late,” Kirishima stood in the entrance adjusting his headgear before turning to (Name) with a bright smile plastered on his face. Giving her a thumbs up, he said, “I’ll see you real soon, babe. Have a good day! I love you so much!”

(Name) nodded and gave a small smile of her own. She could already feel her face growing warm as she stuttered out an unexpected response.

“You too, Eiji- Eijiro. I…I love you too.”

Kirishima had only opened the door just a crack before whipping back around. A bewildered look replaced his jovial grin, his eyes searching for any hint of dishonesty in her words. She’s never said it back to him until now and he wanted to make sure she meant it. He let go of the handle and stepped closer to (Name), heart fluttering at the sight of her embarrassed expression. She was just too cute for her own good.

“Do…do you really mean it? You love me?” He asked with a hopeful look in his eyes.

(Name) smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah, I mean it, Eijiro.”

Kirishima’s heart soared when she called him by his first name. He couldn’t believe that finally, finally she had confessed and returned his feelings. He never wanted her to stop saying those three words.

Happiness and excitement took over when he rushed to (Name), embracing her in his strong arms. She gasped and laughed when he picked her up and spun her around.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me!” Kirishima cried, giggling with her as he sheepishly put her down. “Sorry, I got a little too excited there.”

“It’s okay,” (Name) said, grinning ear to ear. “I’m glad I put you in a good mood.”

“Oh, I’m more than just in a good mood! I think you’ve just made me the happiest man in the world,” He leaned down to press his forehead against hers then, taking her hands into his. “Do you think…you could say it again? I wanna hear it a thousand times over.”

(Name) chuckled once more, reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“I love you, I love you, I love you. More than anything.”

~~~

Thanks for reading! Have a lovely day ya'll~

#yandere #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere eijiro kirishima #yandere eijiro kirishima x reader #yandere x reader #oneshots #drabbles #yandere fic

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

If you are do fic requests, can you do one with Simon meeting Ice king(ours, not WK)?

Ice King doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the floor, crying his eyes out as one does when sitting on the floor. Honestly, if you're on the floor, and you're not crying your eyes out, then you're not maximizing use of the floor. But so yeah, he's sitting there, and it must've been awhile because Gunter wandered off already, and he's all alone in the room.

Or he should have been. But he hears footsteps. It's not the slappity slap slap of Gunther, which means... Oh! Does he have a guest? Someone came to visit old Ice King? Could it be his princess has come home at last?

He lifts his head, a grin crossing his face. But it's not the lovely visage of Princess Bubblegum or Wildberry Princess or Turtle Princess or any princess. It's not even Finn who was like his third guess... okay fine, fourth! ... Fifth actually... Whatever. It's not him. It's not a princess. It's just some nerd, with his glasses and his tweed suit and his single streak of grey hair.

"What? Did you get lost looking for the geek convention?" Ice King sneers. "Can't you see I'm busy wallowing in despair? Scram! This place is for princesses only!"

The nerd looks at him for a very long time. It's preeeetty weird. And rude! Really, does this guy have no manners? Who barges into people's places and just does whatever he wants, huh? Freaks. Weirdos. Absolute lunatics.

Frowning harder, Ice King readies a freeze spell. He's just about to launch it when the nerd finally makes his move.

"Sorry, Ice King, I didn't mean to disturb your... I didn't mean to interrupt you," the nerd says, squatting down. "I'm not... exactly lost... But I'm stuck here for now, and I hope you don't mind company."

Ice King blinks. Like this, this nerdy guy is at eye level with him. Ice King doesn't have to keep looking up, like a bug waiting to get squashed. He tries to remember if anyone has ever met him where he's at before. It's kinda nice.

"Wait, you wanna stay with me?" Ice King stops. Wait. Jay T Dogzone says that looking needy drives chicks away. That could also apply to random nerds that pop into his house. So Ice King coughs into his fist, looking away. "I mean, I'm like the most popular guy around. I gotta check my schedule to make sure I'm free."

Ice King gets to his feet, pretending to search his sleeves for a notebook. He pulls out a stale sandwhich, with hints of mold around the edges. Eh. Close enough. He flips the sandwhich open, running a finger down a crusty slice of cheese like it's got a list of names.

Out the corner of his eyes, Ice King watches the nerdy guy stand back up. "Okay, you do that. I can make us some lunch. How does chicken soup sound to you?"

Ice King drops his sandwhich as he turns around to face the nerdy guy. "You can make chicken soup??"

The nerdy guy smiles, and okay. Maybe Ice King was a little too judgy. For a nerd, he has a pretty nice smile - it's a nicer expression than he's used to seeing, that's for sure.

"It's my favorite soup. It's a cure all for whenever I need to feel better."

Yeah. That makes sense to Ice King. But... "I don't know... I'm on this diet... I can't go ruining my hot summer bod."

The nerdy guy sighs the way Marcy sometimes sighs whenever she talks to him. But he doesn't look ready to shout or yell at him. No, nerdy guy keeps that soft look on his face. Actually, the look gets a little softer. Man, if Ice King had a look like that, he'd be mobbed by princesses.

"I can put in a lot of veggies. You can stick to your diet. Don't you worry about a thing."

Wow. That's just so nice. Ice King squints at him. There must be catch. "Waaait, I know your game, mister nerdy guy."

To his credit, the nerdy guy has the poker face of a mountain. "I am almost certain that you don't."

But it's too late. Ice King connected the dots. "The suit. The charming smile. The affable conversation. You're a door to door salesman!"

The nerdy guy snorts.

"You can't fool me! I see through your salesman schemes! Well, I'm not buying whatever you're hawking! Go bother someone else!"

The nerdy guy continues to stay put. "Okay, you got me. I'm a door to door salesman."

Ice King gasps. "I knew it!!!"

"You're very clever, Ice King. But you don't have to buy anything from me. Just listen to my sales pitch over a nice bowl of chicken soup. That doesn't sound too bad, right?"

Ice King wrinkles his nose. "You can try. But I have the mind of a fox! You won't get a dime from me!"

Then he shoves past the nerdy guy towards the kitchen. That guy must be really behind his quota because he follows Ice King despite his ruined sales schemes. And to his credit, the guy does make him chicken soup. Ice King didn't even realize that he had all the ingredients. But he does vaguely remembers Marceline stopping by some time ago, and dropping off a bunch of paper bags.

The nerdy guy may be terrible at his job, but he cooks a decent soup. And Ice King patiently waits for his sales pitch but the guy starts talking about random stories - good stories too.

"You're pretty funny for a nerd," Ice King announces. "I like the story where you swallowed a bug on accident! That one's my favorite."

"I figured you would," the nerdy guy replies as he collects their empty bowls.

"Are you leaving? Already?" The Ice King sits up. He was feeling all warm and cozy from all that chicken soup (with lots of veggies as promised). But now, panic seizes him like he hoped a woman would one day - hard and sharp and taking his breath away. "You can't! You haven't sold me anything!"

The nerdy guy shakes his head. "No, no, no. I'm just cleaning up."

"Oh..." Ice King slumps. After that shot of adrenaline, he now feels all sorts of tired.

The nerdy guy comes closer, to loop an arm around Ice King's shoulders. "Hey, if you need to take a nap or something, I won't mind."

Oh, a nice touch. Yes, this is nice. It's kinda like a hug, even if this nerdy guy is taking him somewhere. Is he about get kidnapped? Or locked in the closet? Held for ransom? Well, joke's on him! No one would pay out for Ice King.

He likes the kind-of hug though. He giggles softly to himself. His spine is all tingly and the nerdy guy is just so warm. So he lets himself be taken to wherever this nerd wants - which is apparently the bedroom. Oh. OH!

As if reading his mind, the nerdy guy rolls his eyes. "No, you need rest. When was the last time you slept through the night?"

"Oh, so you're into that, huh?" Ice King waggles his eyebrows. "Hey no shame here! You like what you like! Here, I can set the stage for you!"

Ice King flaps himself over the bed, settling in. He catches the nerdy guy pinch his brow before he firmly closes his eyes.

"How in the world did I survive this long acting like this?" He hears the guy mutter to himself.

Ice King doesn't know what he means but he's patient. He's sure everything will work out. Except then he hears footsteps going out the room. His eyes snap open.

"Hey, wait a minute! I thought we were gonna do some fun stuff! Where you going?" Realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning. He flies out of the bed and tackles the nerdy guy.

They both go crashing to the floor. The nerdy guy shouts as he barely avoids hitting his head.

"You're gonna rob me, aren't you? This was just an elaborate scheme to take all my worldly possessions and also my Guntie!"

"Ice King, get off!"

Ice King grabs hold of the guy's collar, shaking him. "You can't have him! You can do anything you want to me-"

"And I'm sure you's like that-"

"But not to my Guntie!"

"Ice King!" The nerdy guy manages to pry Ice King's hands off him, using his leg as leverage push him away. "How are you so strong when you've got the muscles of an anorexic teenager? Geez!"

"Hey!" Now that's just uncalled for. Ice King pulls himself away to flex his arms. "I'll have you know that I have a rock solid bod. Check out these guns!"

The nerdy guy groans. With Ice King no longer pinning him down, he sits up and cradles his face in his hands. "Honestly, what am I doing? There's no reaching him. It's impossible!"

Tch. Okay. Weirdo. What nonsense is he talking about now? Ice King turns away as clearly, no one is appreciating a masterpiece when they see one. Actually, isn't it about time for another workout? When wast the last time he lifted weights? Two hours ago? Two weeks? He better get on it.

He gets to his home gym and starts searching for his dumbbells. It's like those things grow feet whenever he's not looking. As he searches through his scattered stuff, he sees the nerdy guy walk into the room.

"Oh, you're still here? Man, you got nowhere to go or what? Are you homeless, is that it?"

The nerdy guy is staring at him again, not answering. Ice King wrinkles his nose. Seriously, what is this guy's damage? Hmph. He goes back to rooting through his piles of weights, tangled jump ropes, and other assorted exercise tools. Wait. What was he looking for again?

"Are you happy, Ice King?"

"No," he replies because that's an easy question - easier than figuring out what the hay he was looking for, at least. "Sometimes, I get very sad, and I don't know why."

Then Ice King looks at the nerdy guy and now he gets to staring at him. He's not young - man, check out those wrinkles, and that suit has seen better days. Did he get into a wrestling match wearing that? And he just looks wiped out - look at those arms and legs - skinnier than a chicken bone. Ah. That's it.

"You're homeless, ain't you? You got fired from your job and now you're depressed. I see how it is." Ice King nods. "You came to the right place! I know a thing or two about picking yourself up after a good cry. Just stick with me and you learn something!"

The nerdy guy blinks. "That's almost nice of you."

"I mean, you just look so pathetic. It's kinda hard not to offer."

The nerdy guy snorts. "Thanks, Ice King."

"I know just the thing to help!" He flies out of the room, towards his den.

He finally got the TV working again after Gunther broke the screen. The picture isn't the best, a little less saturated, but that's fine. He doesn't need high definition TV to watch his soaps.

Like before, the nerdy guy has no trouble finding him as he searches through his tapes. He's got quite the collection. He doesn't know how got so much but he sure has a lot. He gestures at the nerdy guy to sit on the couch - it's a couch made of ice but it's good for some binge watching.

Ice King scoops up a bunch of tapes and pops one in the VHS player before settling nice and cozy next to the nerdy guy. It's pretty sweet to have someone warm to cuddle with. Sometimes, Marceline stops by and sits with him for a little while, but she's not very warm at all. That makes his chest hurt for some reason. He thinks Marceline should have all the warmth in the world. Heck, he should introduce this guy to her. They could become good friends and he can stop squatting at his place.

... Maybe later...

Right now, this guy is just letting him snuggle and Ice King will take what he can get. Again, it's like the nerdy guy reads his mind because he shifts a bit so Ice King can fully lean on him. Wow. This is great. This is what - first tier? But that's okay. Every tier is special and good.

Sometime between episodes of Full House, the Golden Girls, and finally Cheers, Ice King nods off. When he wakes up, he's alone on the couch with a blanket tucked around him. The TV is still on but now there's a brick through the screen. Ice King gasps as he sees a shameless Gunther standing next to the scene of his crime. He immediately sits up but before he can say the first word of his lecture, he shivers a little.

That's a little weird. He doesn't get cold. But... He gets the distinct sense that for good couple hours - maybe even half a day - he was warm.

"Wenk."

Ice King shakes his head, lifting himself all the way off his couch. "Gunther! What have I told you about the TV? Stop messing with my stuff!"

"Wenk."

"Enough of your sass! Hey, don't you walk away from me!"

-----

Several decades into the future, Simon sits by a window overlooking the Candy Kingdom. Marceline hovers behind him, one hand reaching out but never quite touching.

"Are you sure you're okay? I've told Bonnie to be more careful with her experiments!"

Simon shrugs. "Oh, don't worry about it, Marcy. I'm okay. It was just a little time displacement."

Marcy only frowns harder. "And where did you go anyways?"

Simon grabs hold of her hanging hand, squeezing her fingers gently. "I got to meet the Ice King, face to face, in all his glory."

Marcy makes a full body wince. "Oh, that's rough. Do we need to schedule an extra session with Minerva?"

Simon chuckles, shaking his head. "No, in fact, I'm feeling a bit better. Ice King was a troublesome guy, but he... He was just a guy. He could be nice in all the ways he could be mean."

Marcy breathes out slowly, squeezing Simon's hand back. "And... And you didn't..."

Simon shakes his head slowly. "No... I thought about it. The whole time I was there. I could yell and scream at him, just really let him have it. But I think... I think I've been angry at him for long enough."

Marcy has no reply to this, simply drags him close for a hug. Simon falls into her embrace, something tender and sweet and just a little hurt settling between his lungs. It's the ache of a sore limb after a long workout, muscle fibers stretching and snapping into something stronger.

#adventure time #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #marceline the vampire queen #ice king #needs a tighter finish

[legolasghosty]

Hello my love!! How are you?

I saw this comic and immediately had to think of willex.

It would work either way I think, but my first thought was Willie as the green and Alex as the blue fox.

So now I'm unofficially handing this in as a prompt for a drabble, maybe when you need to get your mind off something this can jumpstart your writing cells (and if not, that's totally fine too, but I wanna hear your thoughts!)

Love youuuu!!

Hello my love!!! Sorry on the delay, I was meaning to have this ready to post yesterday! Curse irl people for taking up too much of my time and leaving none for my fiance :( But here we go!!!

Willie opens their eyes slowly. The bedroom is still dark; not even a sliver of sunlight falls from between the curtains. A faint light comes from the digital clock on the far side of the bed. It barely pushes back the shadows that cocoon them and fill the room.

Willie's first thought is that they must be in his room, since his bedroom window faces almost due west and doesn't get any sun till later in the day. But the sheets on the bed are pale and devoid of patterns. There's no dragon stuffy on the bedside table beside his phone. The shadow cast by the lamp looks like a turtle, not a bat.

Alex's room then. And it's dark. Which probably means...

Willie groans when he picks up his phone and sees the time. Great. His first day to sleep in all week and he's wide awake at 4:30 am. They mutter a curse at the heavens and roll over, leaving the evil phone on the bedside table.

The view on this side is much nicer at least. Instead of a timekeeping soulsucker, now he's staring at his sleeping partner's back. Alex's side rises and falls steadily with his breathing. The duvet, which Willie knows rather than sees is a dark pink, is bunched up around his waist. The shadows of the room caress his bare back like a blanket. Willie resists the urge to trace each line and curve of his spine. He doesn't want to wake him.

How the heck did Willie get lucky enough to score a guy this pretty?

Willie props himself up on one elbow to get a better look at his sleeping partner. Alex's hair has fallen over his face like it always does, the ends fluttering slightly as he exhales. His neck and shoulders are relaxed in that funny way that they never seem to get when he's awake. One arm is folded across his chest while the other stretches out towards the far edge of the bed.

Willie wishes there was enough light for him to examine all the random scars across his lover's body. There's the ones on his hands and wrists from his cats of course, and that one across his palm from when a drumstick broke on him and the idiot was too proud to pause midsong and get a new one. Then there's the one on his left bicep from a bike accident when he was a kid, and the one near his right elbow that even Alex doesn't remember the origins of.

The cluster of them on his knee from a bad fall when he was 12. The one on the back of his heel from wearing those awful sandals for too long on a family hike in high school. The ones on his chest that match Willie's. The one on his ankle from a stray box cutter when they were first moving in together.

So many memories, good and bad, all littered across his skin. Willie forces themselves to keep their hands tucked in close. No matter how badly he wants to curl up with his chest against Alex's back and trace every pale mark with his fingertips, Alex's alarm won't go off for hours. The last thing they want is to ruin his rest.

Willie knows they should probably roll over, drag their eyes off of the beautiful man laying beside them before they do something stupid. But for the life of him, he can't. Sue them, Alex is pretty and looks so soft in the embrace of the early morning shadows. It's all Willie can do to keep from reaching over to brush a strand of hair off his forehead, maybe let their hand trail down his shoulder on the way back.

No, he can't. Alex's sleep is important. No matter how much Willie wants to hold him, he can't wake him up. He can't. No. Nope. No cuddles, no waking up Alex-

"I can feel you vibrating," Alex mumbles, making Willie jump.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," Willie hums back after a startled moment, their voice coming out gravelly and low.

Alex doesn't open his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. "Well you did, so we might as well cuddle," he points out, the words slurring together a bit.

Willie chuckles and shifts closer. Alex inches back until his back brushes Willie's chest. It's barely a minute before they're settled, Alex spooned by Willie's body. Alex lets out a contented sigh and nuzzles Willie's arm. Willie echos the sound as they press a light kiss to Alex's shoulder.

"Sleeping now," Alex slurs, his breathing evening out again.

"Sweet dreams," Willie responds. Their own eyelids are getting heavy, their heart rate slowing to match the steady drumming of Alex's against his chest. "Love you."

"Love you too," Alex mumbles as he succumbs to slumber.

Willie leaves another featherlight kiss on his husband's neck as the light fades away behind his eyelids. Gosh he was so in love. They certainly didn't mind waking up in the middle of the night sometimes if it would always end like this.

#Gosh they're so cute #also they're t4t and neurodivergent #they're just lovely together #hehe I did my best to sneak in all the little headcanons #as a treat for my beloved #legolas tag #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfic #willex #jatp #alex mercer #willie jatp

[simp999]

All good things come to an end

Ship: Arven x GN!Reader

Series: Pokémon

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Please bare with me in with the slow beginning, it gets better I promise

Warnings: A few short sentences that hint at Arven having an anxiety attack

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, friends to lovers, bit of angst

Taglist: @5centsanhour @ultranimallover33

Masterlist

“Hey, would you like to hang out today?”

“I’m so sorry Arven, but I’m fully booked with fan meetups and interviews. We’ll have to try again sometime soon, okay?”

Alright, not a big deal. He can just try again some other time. 

Arven hung up the phone and put on some more comfortable clothes, now deciding to stay in for the day. He had hoped to take you out to lunch today, so he dressed a little nicer than usual. It made sense that you were busy, being champion and all isn’t just about having battles and doing whatever you want. Mabosstiff looked up at him, a little disappointed since he liked spending time with your Pokemon, and was itching for a battle soon.

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

“Hey buddy, are you down to go to the park? Mabosstiff wants to see you.”

He felt bad bugging you again only two days later, so he figured he’d try to persuade you with Mabosstiff.

“Ahh, I’ve got a battle with an important trainer from Kalos in a few minutes, and I hear she’s got a strong team. I’m not sure how long the battle will last, so I can’t make any promises for today. Sorry, Arven!”

No dice. Alright, maybe he just has to give more of a heads-up before meetings? It’s gotta work one of these days.

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

“Hi again champ, wanna make sandwiches together on Wednesday?” He was hopeful about this one, planning all of it out.

“Oh! That sounds fun! Let me see my calendar- aw shoot, I’ve got lunch with Geeta where we plan on discussing some league things. I’m sorry Arven, maybe some other time?”

Arven had already planned all around that timing, not like he had much else to do, so he made an extra two sandwiches for later, just in case.

It couldn’t be that you were avoiding him, right? You two were so close and worked so well together while fighting the titans, you must really just have a busy schedule, right?

He ate his sandwich alone, never being able to clear his mind of your image. 

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

Arven was out shouting moves for his Pokemon to use the next time he saw you. He was close to calling out to you, but decided against it, remembering how it’s been lately with your busy schedule. To his surprise, as soon as you heard his comforting voice and caught sight of his unique hair, you ran right over to him, calling out his name. You didn’t catch the way his smile grew slightly bigger.

“Oh, hey! I figured you’d be busy today, what brings you here?”

“This is like, my only day off this week. It’s been terrible lately, not a minute to myself!” You keep complaining about how all of a sudden everybody needs you to make decisions for the league, to do interviews, make ads, try on stupid clothes, go to all these dumb meetings, and so on. The both of you take a seat on a bench nearby and you eventually get to mentioning that you came here to train, since you’re got a handful of trainers you have to battle soon. You absentmindedly begin to run your fingers through Mabosstiff’s fur. 

Arven always loved how you cared so much for Pokémon, always treating them with respect and going out of your way to treat them with such care. He never missed the way you’d scratch behind Mabosstiff’s ear because you noticed that he really liked that, or how you’d always offer your Pokémon their favorite treats after trying new, difficult things or winning a hard battle. Or even when you’d offer to heal up a trainer’s Pokémon for them, and not be afraid to call out those who didn’t respect their own Pokémon. It seemed like it came so naturally to you, and Arven truly thinks you’re perfect Champion potential, even with all the complaining.

“Sorry about the rant, I’ve just been so pent up lately. How’ve you and Mabosstiff been? Taking good care of yourself?”

Your tone was so sincere, you definitely did care about him and thought of him as a friend, right? You surely couldn’t have been avoiding him with how honest you sound right now. 

He begins your guys’ first actual conversation in weeks, glad to finally be able to catch up with you. You were always so hard-working, especially during the gym challenge and while taking down Team Star, so you ended up not having much time with Arven back then, either. Actually, the only time you ever did get to hang out with him was when you were battling for your lives against the Titans. At the odd time, he was able to get his eyes off of the danger in from of him and take a glance at you, while you were completely entranced in the battle. He could tell that that was all that was on your mind, and he probably barely existed to you in those moments. 

The sandwiches afterward were another story though, savoring every bite and being sure to thank him and his godly sandwich-making skills over and over. He cherishes those moments with you. He didn’t get to see that wide smile after beating a Titan very often and adored the way you would sway from side to side a little when you were extra glad about how tasty his sandwich tasted.

But all good things come to an end eventually. With a short call from Geeta telling you about some rogue pokemon that was hurting people, you were off in seconds.

Arven comforted Mabosstiff after hearing a whine from him, sad that you left so quickly. Well, at least he was able to get a few minutes with you. 

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

The next time he tried to call, he was turned down immediately. Maybe you were on a call already? So he tried again a few minutes later, with the same outcome.

And again a few days later.

Same problem a week later.

And then two, then three. 'Why can’t I get ahold of you? Did I get blocked by you? Did you really hate that last meeting you had, and never wanted to talk to me again?' No no, that’s going way too far. But why, just why are you ignoring him? Maybe they just need some space, he thought. Arven put down his phone with a shaky hand, pulling his blankets back over him, ready to waste another day away. Mabosstiff comes to cuddle him, letting Arven bask in his warmth, hopefully gaining some kind of comfort. The stinging in his eyes may not express his gratefulness, but at least he has one buddy that always sticks around.

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

Meanwhile, you’re in Galar, visiting for a few weeks to challenge their strongest trainers. There’s an event going on, and lots of strong trainers and champions are all meeting up. Your mind is completely occupied with planning out sentences for when you meet these people and coming up with strategies for when you battle these people. Leon’s Charizard knows a grass-type move, so using a rock-type might be good. Man, you also have to consider other stuff like abilities and what strategies your opponents might attempt. So bothersome. The time difference isn’t helping either, and all these new people are giving you a headache. You know that most of these people are going through the same things, but you’ve all gotta sit, smile and act professional.

You finally get back to your temporary hotel suite, hoping to get some rest for the day. But of course, with no time to yourself, you get a call from your Public Relations Team. They’re the people who are meant to promote and protect your brand. They also get to control ‘unwanted’ notifications. Without them, you’d be getting tens of thousands of notifications from whatever social sites and random people trying to text and message you. It turns out that there's this one person that has been trying to contact you, and one of the newbies thought that it was some rando. They’ve realized how grave their mistake is when the entire top three floors of the hotel can hear you shouting into your phone. 

There’s a good chance that this decision may end your career as a Champion and may even get you banned from lots of places, but that isn’t even a thought in your mind right now.

You have to go see Arven now. Your face is burning with the frustration of a thousand suns, and the private jet’s pilot taking you home doesn’t even want to risk breathing wrong, or he might get thrown off.

Once you land, you have one of your bigger pokemon carrying you, running around Paldea as fast as possible while on the hunt for Arven. You’ve now calmed down and are now moreso in a state of panic rather than frustration, hoping that everything’s alright and everything is going on just as usual. You knew that he didn’t get lots of comfort growing up, and you knew that he didn’t have many- or even any- friends. You truly hope that he had just forgotten about you at this point. You’ve tried time and time again to call Arven, and nothing. You turned on your notifications and prayed to Arceus that he’d get back to you.

There he was. You had finally found him hours later. He was sitting at his picnic set up, feeding Mabosstiff the last piece of his sandwich. The biggest sigh of relief left you as you hurried over to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, ready to explain and apologize to him.

Arven immediately recognizes the hand and stands up abruptly, feeling immediate anger bubble up within him. Swinging his arm forcefully to get your hand off of him, a yell leaves his mouth and he sends you flying. 

He takes a step back to intake the situation and feels instant regret, his conscience getting back at him, telling him that you’re still a person too, and he has no reason to lash out at you like this.

Then he catches the watery look in your eye and how tears threaten to fall. 'Did I… did I hurt you? Why is it so loud all of a sudden? I hurt my closest, my only friend? Everything’s so bright, why do I feel nauseous? Did I hurt the only person who was ever even somewhat close to me? No, no, NO! Please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, please stay with me. I need you. Please comfort me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for bugging you and being so annoying, I'm sorry for making you fight the Titans, I'm so sorry for-

Arven feels warm arms wrap around him. One goes up to pet the top of his head, while the other rubs circles on his back. He slumps into their body without any thought, his mind going blank. Gentle fingers continue to make their way through his hair, and the circles being drawn on his back don’t stop. It’s the only thing he can focus on right now.

With the softest voice you can muster, you begin to talk.

“Arven, sweetheart, I know I apologize often, but I mean it every time. And please, please accept this as my most sincere apology, I am so very sorry for not being here when you needed me most. I always wanted to spend time with you, but I let other things get in the way of that, and foolishly accepted that.”

You weren’t hurt by him, not at all. Well, on the outside at least. You felt so very bad emotionally for what you’ve put him through, and can’t bear it anymore. You take a deep breath in and encourage Arven to do the same. He slowly tries to accept the situation and sits on the ground. You sit on Arven’s lap and continue to hug him and run your fingers through his hair, then bring them to cradle his face in your palms as comfortably as you can, to make sure he’s completely focused on you. He absentmindedly rests his head in your palms and nuzzles into them.

“It’s okay, I’m here now. I will not leave you anymore. I’ll stay here for as long as you want me to.”

You let go of his chin and bring his head closer to you for a comforting hug, you sit there in silence.

Until the inevitable happens. You feel a vibration in your pocket and contemplate even taking it out to hang up. You end up letting go of Arven with a soft ‘sorry’, and your hand makes its way to your pocket.

'Hey, are you just trying to toy with my emotions? Is this really just going to happen all over again? Did everything you just say mean nothing to you?'

You take your phone out and answer on speaker. Geeta is fuming and insists that you must be at the champion dinner and that this is incredibly unacceptable and blah blah blah.

Without a care in the world, you utter your next sentence;

“Alright, sure… as long as I get to bring Arven as a date.”

The silence coming from the phone and Arven would be deafening if you even cared a little about what she’d say. Worst case scenario, she starts yelling at you through the phone and you hang up on her and continue to cuddle with Arven, or, best case scenario;

“Fine. Hurry back over to Galar, you should make it on time if you leave in less than an hour. That may give you time to get prepared for the dinner itself.”

As much as you want to stay and comfort Arven, you’d much rather bring him to the Champion dinner as a sign of rebellion. And as a sign of love towards Arven because you are bringing him as a date, but that’s not important.

You quickly stand up and offer your hand to Arven, silently asking him if he accepts your offer to this ‘date’. He grabs your smaller hand, and you’re off to pick out your nicest clothing and hurry over to Galar.

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

You and Arven are at long last sitting down, picking away at the fancy food in front of you after such a hectic day.

“Finally.” Arven lets out a sigh of relief, everything that just happened eventually processing.

“Hm?”

“I hope this means we get to spend more time together.”

“I’ll make sure of it. I’ll apologize for being away so much and not being better, and I’m ending that cycle right now. I’ll be there for you whenever you need me, even if I’m just a phone call or text away. I was definitely clear about you being an important contact, so there’ll be no more mix-ups.” You try to lighten the mood, and also want to clarify how important he is to you. Maybe what you said wasn’t enough, let’s try that again.

“Hey.” Arven focuses on your serious expression, as well as the way your hands meet his.

“I’ve loved you this whole time, and I’m going to act on it now. I’ll hug you whenever you need me to, I’ll give you a kiss on the cheek whenever you want. If you need some words of comfort, I’m here.”

“...And if you want a date? Well, I’ll just have to clear my schedule.”

2.11-12.22

4.5hrs

#Arven #arven pokemon #arven fanfic #arven x reader #arven pokemon x reader #pokemon gen 9 #gen 9 #fanfic #x reader #pokemon #pokemon x reader #friends to lovers #simp #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort

[nopointic]

blue eye samurai was so funny to me how everyone who saw mizu's blue eyes immediately were like YUCK! 🤮 DEMON! *hides children behind them* because in modern society today it's the opposite. i remember always being bummed when a character would have blue eyes and that was their defining beauty trait. books would go on to describe characters with brown eyes as dull and lifeless and you don't think these things stick with you but it does. and then colored contacts came out. and i remember so many black people in my city buying blue contact lenses to feel "prettier". it became a huge thing. so with black girls it was ok we gotta straighten our hair with toxic chemicals and for a bigger glow up pop in blue contacts.

then photoshopping became very common. fans would give their favorite artists blue eyes. i remember this specifically with zayn in one direction. it made me so fucking mad. zayn looks like something out of perfect runway anyways. and here fans were making his eyes blue and saying "now he's perfect!" imagine thinking zayn malik needed a makeover. mind boggling then and now.

but here we have a whole show where the culture is like nah those blue eyes? that shit is demonic and ugly. it's obviously cruel and nobody should be treated as such.

but remember when fowler bragged how one day they would love a face like his and consider his beauty above their their own when he got done colonizing their country? it happened.

in damn near every country where nonwhite people exist, european features are the pinnacle of beauty.

we see this when we have "international" modeling show. a model from every country but the sharp jawlines and lightest skin always win. loose curls not tightly coiled hair like some black people have. thin bodies. tall bodies. international but those qualities are always wanted. the same fucking look. a slight shade difference at most.

hell the natural hair movement with black people is oddly just a parade of expensive products to give one the looser curl pattern that society accepts. curl puddings and products to combat "shrinkage" makes up majority of black hair products in the natural section. it's something.

chemically straightened hair. the natural hair that grows out of my black scalp has been called unprofessional and needed several laws to protect others like me from various job discrimination policies. kids with natural black hair are still being told their hair is out of dress code.

skin bleaching is popular in several ethnic cultures. i can find a bleaching soap at my local big box retail store. they're not advertised but it's still a big seller. i want you to put that into perspective.

many products today boast about glowing skin. brightening is a nicer way to say bleaching. turmeric powder and lemon in everything now.

western media loves to point fingers at koreans now due to an increase of kpop in the media. they judge those who spend a massive amount of time, money, and resources to obtain a strict set of beauty standards. lighter skin, weight loss plans, sharper cheeks, new eyelids, color contacts, chin exercises you can learn on youtube it goes on and on. western white people judge asian people on their beauty obsession standards and it's tone deaf. it's a slap in the fucking face when i see it. your ancestors told all of us people of color we were ugly and needed to look like you to succeed in life. now we do it and you wanna point fingers and talk about how vain and fickle we are? that's fucked up! it pissed me off!!!!!!

so i guess it's a bitter taste in my mouth when i do laugh at mizu's "unfortunate eye color" being the cause of so much pain. because now it's the opposite.

as the cool kids say, she would do "numbers" in beauty standard rankings now. ethnic, but not "too" ethnic. blue eyes, androgynous and athletic but not too bulky and long hair? the algorithm says money honey!

funny how all this works out. eurocentric beauty is a hell of a drug. no katana will be able to kill that. no body positivity campaign or hashtag will undo any of this global phenomenon we now live with. we can call brown eyes beautiful now in songs and yet the angels in the church will always have blue eyes. this is the first time i've not seen a fandom go batshit insane when seeing a person of color WITH blue eyes. usually it's all caps with phrases like "woke liberal bullshit" or something. the fallout from the black little mermaid with red hair showed this very well.

white people have damn near colonized every other race and then they cry foul at the thought of a non white person with eyes other than brown and hair other than black and brown. it's the funniest shit. i mean they'll accept a mermaid. but her being black with red hair? too far. we truly would have never heard the fucking end if they made halle wear blue contacts as ariel. white people would have lost their fucking minds on another level lbh!

we joke that brown contacts would have given mizu an easier life. it's sobering that blue contacts and other fucked up beauty rituals give people of color the same easier life now.

mizu in blue eye samurai during that period is shunned for their appearance. today mizu would do numbers on instagram and make money being the face of some random blue low calorie sport drinks available at big chain stores.

anyways that's my TED talk on blue eyes, eurocentric beauty standards and why i really really love how blue eyes samurai shows all of this. i am in awe of the creators making this show from them having a biracial asian baby with blue eyes. because so many don't even realize how their blue eyes will always leave them being talked about no matter what. they will be called a a faker with contacts, have to constantly prove with baby pictures their eyes were and have always been blue. people will make immediate judgements and even though you would think this would not happen in 2023 it does.

so i commend the parents for making this show. it's a conversation we need to have more. how society treats those with certain features when you are not in control of said features. and how far we go personally to try to "fit in" in a world that is hell bent on neat and tidy labels. this is good this is bad blah blah blah.

i fucking love blue eye samurai. please let there be a season 2!

#blue eye samurai #Mizu #eurocentric beauty standards #beauty

[verysanebsdfan]

🥁🤯‼️❤️‍🩹🔥🥁💀🇫🇷💯💥🎶🆙😤

Hear me out

Starlight Glimmer!reader x Saiki K

A reader who is kinda like starlight glimmer with sunset shimmer's abilities (I'm in my mlp phase don't judge but I rlly like their characters and abilities) who is kinda bad at first because of something happening with their friends earlier in her childhood and becomes very rude and cold but slowly learns to open up to the idea of new ways to act and get along with people and be nicer

Like of course they're not perfect, they're going to have social anxiety because what if others find out how bad she was in her past, and some old habits will peak through but they're still trying to learn

Their way with dealing with problems can be a little...extreme, like breaking open a vending machine when it malfunctioned after they paid to get someone a drink or things along that line

(forgive the long request I just woke up)

They also usually act before they think often

Starlight Glimmer!reader x Saiki K

Hello, thank you so much for requesting<3 I am gonna be completely honest i have not watched mlp, so I relied on your description and the internet but i tried. I haven't found much about Sunset Shimmer's abilities tho, well I did but didn't find anything much specific. I mostly mentioned some fire powers cuz from what i found...well nothing good into the story. I read that apparently Sunset can conjure powerful fireballs, but i made it fire in general, and it is also referred to as either psychic or supernatural powers. I hope it is to your liking. Also I wasn't sure but I made it a female reader since ykyk... Word Count: 1.2k

It was a peaceful afternoon when a certain pink haired psychic got rid of the nuisances, uhm, friends and was on his way home. He was in a hurry since his mother asked him to go buy some ingredients for dinner, and there was still a show he wanted to watch today.

As he entered the store, he felt a sudden uneasiness. Something was gonna happen, he knew it. As he collected all the items his mother requested to buy, he walked in the direction of the aisle with coffee jelly. He saw a girl picking up a coffee jelly triple pack, but he quickly hid when he realized that the girl has his schools uniform. The last thing he wants is to have his classmate, whom he recognized after taking a closer look, start a conversation with him. Unbeknownst to him, the girl already knew. She carefully eyed the direction where he left to, quite glad that nobody is gonna ruin her peaceful day.

As she was nearing the next aisle, a certain someone put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed up and turned around to see who was disturbing her personal space. The girl got really startled when she saw a tall guy with a butt chin. She remembered him, some time ago, she was assigned to do a project with him. They were supposed to meet up in a library but he didn't show up, and had a reason, apparently he thought the library was other way and got locked in the school gym. Either way, she knew that he was a real dumb human, so she just patiently waited for him to say something. "Hey!" He shouted, jeez, calm down. "I know you! We did that project together!!" He exclaims loudly. "Yeah, no. You didn't show up, I did the project alone...but yes. Now if you'll excuse me, i have more important things to do than talking with gorillas." The girl announced and turned to leave "Wait!" Nendou shouts again "Do you wanna get ramen with me, pal, and chibi? Huh- where is my pal-" He suddenly realizes "No i won't get rame-" Nendo suddenly grabs the girls arm "Let's go find my Pal!" He insisted and pulled the two high school students behind him.

And that is how you got to where you are now. Seated between Kaidou and Saiki, across from Nendo, really strange individuals, really loud and obnoxious, except Saiki, that is. The Ramen shop didn't look anyhow exquisite...it actually looked quite, dangerous? The food will probably be poisoned or something. When the owner gave them their bowls, everyone looked disgusted (The one episode when Teruhashi tagged with them kinda disgusted) The girl stood up from her seat and looked at the humanoid creature, called 'ramen shop owner' and stared at him. "You call this food?! Impossible!" She yells while trying to hold herself from throwing the bowl on the ground. "You have a problem with that?!" The store owner spat out. "The heck i do! The noodles are expired, vegetable is actually not a vegetable, i have a piece of plastic in it, the broth smells like piss and sweat! If it's okay in your opinion, eat it! I'll gladly pay if you eat the whole bowl!" She yells at him, making the people outside, on the street, wonder what is happening there. "You won't, exactly! Now return our money. Hurry" She yelled the last line before the owner had to run to the kitchen because something was burning. Definitely not your doing.

Saiki knew. He knew that was not natural, the fire. It got extinguished, no one got hurt, but it was bugging him, and he wanted to know just who are you? He got his powers to help him out with getting you to hang out with his....whole friend group....or nuisances. And you slowly started opening up. One this one fateful Saturday night when the group was hanging out at a playground, it was already dark. Kind of a miracle that Kaidou's mom let him go so easily, we thank you so much Saiki on Kaidou's behalf.

"How about we play truth or dare?" Yumehara suggested. Everyone agreed, even you and Saiki, surprisingly, but nobody questioned it. Time passed and questions and dares flew around too. "L/N, truth or dare?" Kuboyasu asked the girl, who has been drawing into the dirt. "Truth" She mumbled tiredly "Have you ever broken a law? And if yes, how?" Who in their mind would ask that?

Yes....Kuboyasu..."Technically yes..." She sighs. "I broke open a vending machine because It broke after I paid, so I got what I paid for, myself." She said. "and also burned down a house" The girl whispered a sentence that only the lovely pink haired psychic heard. It startled him. Why did she do that? "Why would you open it up tho? You can't do that! That's destruction of property! A crime!" The perfect bluenette whisper-yelled. "Teruhashi-san...It isn't a crime as long as you're not caught....and also, why should you care why i did it...maybe because i won't waste my money, maybe because i was pissed? Probably. Not everyone is as perfect as you, not everyone is as nice as you, and I was not in a good mental state. Get over yourself..." Wait- the girl realized her mistake as she looked at the teary eyed bluenette. "I- uh- Teruhashi-san...I am sorry uh! uhm....I didn't mean it like that I just-I'll....I'll go buy you something just please don't cry"

Seriously...the vending machine broke. She turned around but bumped into a certain pink haired highschooler. "Why did you burn down a house?" The pink haired boy asked, very bluntly, realizing his mistake, not correcting it though. "My powe-" the girl realizes and quickly coughs. "My uhh...power in the house went down, and I, the little naive child, thought I could do everything, so I tried to fix it, cut wires and boom...." She says too optimistically. "Stop lying" The pink haired highschooler commanded. "Not here...But we cannot leave the group for too long either..." She thinks out loud. "They actually already went home." Saiki exclaims. "Guys are walking Teruhashi and then Yumehara...I'll walk you...while you talk...or we can talk at one of our places." He says while motioning for her to follow.

You two walk into your house, and you light up the lights. "Sit down, I'll get some coffee jelly, I noticed you staring at it...the day we met." 'Are you a goddess?' Saiki thinks. "So....I suppose you wanna know why? Hm...okay so basically I have powers, it went out of control....And i burned down my friends house....he almost died....that's why I don't really talk about it." You quickly summarized. "I really hate supernatural powers...or psychic powers...because I still feel guilty, I tried to stop it, but they don't even know it was me, not even my parents. You are the only one who knows." She says as she takes a spoon full of coffee jelly. "But I only told you because you have powers too

(○｀ 3′○)"

Anyway! I tried but I do not like how it turned out but

Stay safe y'all! BYE

#saiki #saiki kusuo no psi nan #saiki k x reader #shun kaidou #the disastrous life of saiki k #yumehara chiyo #kusuo saiki #aren kuboyasu

[crheativity]

I played the Ikevil prologue and the rest is downloading-

I like some of these characters ngl. They’re all weird in an interesting/awesome way, Cybird did a good job 👏

Thoughts/opinions under the cut

William seems like a really fun character. I LOVE the queen of hearts inspiration and his design is definitely one of my favourites. His power’s pretty cool, I’m excited to see what the drawback is.

Only thing I’m concerned about- I really hope he doesn’t use his power on the mc much at all in his route, that’d feel really creepy/uncomfy

Harrison I really like too, his design is eye-catching although not one of my favourites. I love the idea that he’s cursed with lying, that’s an awful curse to have and it’d be fascinating to see how the fact that he has to lie constantly affects him later on.

I hope that in his route MC starts to be able to tell the difference between his lies and not though, that’d even put the power dynamic a bit which would be good I think.

(But yeah as someone who likes mischievous boys he’s someone I’m keeping an eye on)

Liam I really liked bc he seems really nice but also really fricking impulsive. Bro needs a mum friend. I kiiinnda like the cat vibes. He’s definitely one of my favourites from the prologue at least.

I really hope the game doesn’t go too dark with the curiosity stuff after they mentioned what the previous owner of the curse did. That’s a bit too dark to happen to a LI for me.

But yeah, definitely a route I’m looking forward to playing.

Elbert’s design is really eye-catching too, I like how cold he looks - reminds me of ice in a way. I remember in the prologue he asked someone else if mc was beautiful so he might be blind? I’m not sure, it’d be really interesting to have a blind LI though. Or I could just be reading that wrong lol.

He’s one of the most interesting to me. He seems nice but quiet. I’d like to play his route at some point.

Alfons scares me. His design is pretty cool but I don’t think I’d be able to play his route. Sneaky man.

Roger just screams Trey mixed with Jade to me. His design is probably my least favourite, but it’s still a good one. I like the massive gun he has at all times for no reason.

Download page says he’ll stop at nothing for his research so I’m a little worried about his route. I hope he’s got enough Trey in him to be a decent person about that.

Jude is interesting. His design is comically evil looking and I like it. He’s kinda mean though. I’d play his route but only if he got a bit nicer throughout it.

Also, am I reading this wrong or is he inspired by Maleficent?? If so then it’s fascinating how there can be such different interpretations of that one character.

Anyway, I’m interested to see how his personality develops.

Ellis is bonkers and he’s fascinating. I want to study him under a microscope. His design is also one of my favourites. I definitely wanna play his route at some point just because his weirdness has intrigued me.

I really like the idea of a character inspired by the briar bushes in sleeping beauty. That’s such a cool thing to pick. I’m so excited to see how they interpret that.

Victor is actually one of my favourites. Probably one of my least favourites design wise (I’m not a fan of long hair) bUT his clothes are super cool.

He honestly just seems like he’s here for a good time and he’s a little childish. I definitely wanna play his route. Also, I love that his curse & what he’s inspired from is scratched out. I wanna find out what it is in his route.

All in all I’m super excited to play but worried bc this game is darker than the other ones I’ve played already so I might wait and see what other people say.

TLDR: William, Harrison and Liam I’m concerned about but interested in, Alfons and Roger scare me and I wanna study Jude, Ellis and Victor under a microscope. Looking forward to playing but I’m apprehensive of how dark it’ll be.

#rheamblings #Ikemen #Ikemen villains #cybird ikemen #another thing #I really love the art #it’s so cool #also I don’t think I dislike any of them yet #except for maybe Alfons #he scares me a lot #also also sorry for the essay lol

[autisticlancemcclain]

five times keith kogane didn’t celebrate his birthday, plus one time he did

1.

“You’re getting big, kiddo! Double digits this year an’ everything. Next thing I know, you’ll be towerin’ over me and askin’ me when I got so small!"

Keith giggled. He knew his Pa was teasing, because Keith was still very small. In fact, he was the shortest kid in his class. (Which didn’t even make sense, because Pa was as big as a mountain!)

“I’m not that big, Pa.”

“Oh, I dunno. I don’t think I could even lift ya up anymore.”

“Yes you can! Yes you can!”

Pa pretended to think, tapping his chin and screwing up his mouth. “Well, I could try, I ‘spose…”

Keith cheered, and Pa grinned before scooping Keith right up and throwing him up over his shoulder. 

“Make way for the birthday boy!” he called, even though they were the only ones in the house and it wasn’t even his birthday until next month. 

“Not yet, Pa! It’s in –” Keith paused to count carefully on his fingers, Pa waiting patiently – “twenty-nine days!” 

“Aw, my little boy’s almost a grown man!” Pa tossed him down on the couch, flopping down beside him with his hand over his forehead dramatically. “My little baby Keith, ten years old. Whatever shall I do?”

Keith laughed, crawling into Pa’s lap and curling up under his chin. “I’m just ten, Pa. Nothing’s gonna change, ‘cept I’ll be bigger and smarter and stronger.”

Pa hummed, bringing up a hand to brush through Keith’s shaggy hair. “That’s right, kiddo. Nothing big will change. But we can still celebrate, huh? Whatcha wanna do?”

Keith brightened, flicking excited eyes up to meet his father’s. “Can I go for a big long ride in the firetruck? With the sirens? Please?”

Pa chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of Keith’s hair. “‘Course, kiddo. Anything you want.”

“Happy birthday,” Keith mutters to himself, glaring at the headstone in front of him. “So much for no big changes. Liar.”

He has the sudden urge to stand up and kick the cold grey stone. ‘TEXAS KOGANE,’ it reads, in big black letters, ‘LOVING FATHER AND LOCAL HERO.’ As if that makes it better;  he’s dead, sure, but at least he was a hero. 

A tear drips down Keith’s nose, without his permission. 

He doesn’t want a hero. He wants his dad back, to take him on a ride around the town for his birthday, like he promised. He would even take just his dad, no birthday celebrations necessary. He’d give up a million birthdays to have his dad back. 

2.

Keith stares at his watch as the minutes tick down. 11:58. Really, he’s not allowed to be up this late. The lady in charge of this home is real strict about bedtime – lights out at 8:30, no exceptions for homework or reading or playing. 

Or birthdays. 

Keith doesn’t much care, though. He hasn’t cared about his birthday in two years. It doesn’t mean much anymore, anyway. The only thing that happens if he tells someone it’s his birthday is they look at him in surprise, then look at him with guilt, then half-ass a birthday wish or maybe some stupid little dollar-store present that Keith doesn’t even want. He only ever wants one thing, and he’ll never get it, so it doesn’t matter. 

Sometimes, thought, secretly, in the very back of his mind, he thinks it would be nice to have someone plan a whole party just for him, with chocolate cake that’s mostly icing and sprinkles, and no candles – candles mean fire, and Keith doesn’t much like fire – but maybe the stupid little song, too. Maybe he would have a bunch of imaginary friends gathered around him, excited to celebrate with him, who smother him with hugs and kisses and happy birthdays and even birthday beats. Maybe there's someone who knows all the books Keith likes, and gets him those fancy hardcovers he can never afford, the ones that look real nice and feel even nicer. 

But the clock ticks right past 12, and his birthday is over, and no one even remembered or cared, and Keith convinces himself that it’s better that way. 

Birthdays are stupid and pointless. What does he care if no one loves him enough to celebrate? He wouldn’t celebrate even if someone did love him. It’s stupid. 

3.

“Hey, buddy,” Shiro says, shooting him a smile as Keith walks through the door. 

“Hi.”

Keith moves to head to his room – he likes Shiro well enough, sure, but he’s not really in a social mood and doesn’t want to make Shiro hate him just yet – but Shiro speaks up again before he can. 

“I have a couple questions about tomorrow, when you have a free minute. It doesn’t have to be now, just before you go to bed. Okay?”

Keith swallows roughly. Fuck. He was hoping they were going to ignore tomorrow, actually, but rationally Keith knew there was a fat chance of that. Shiro’s the type of guy to celebrate his plant’s birthday – and that’s a fact, they celebrated Shiro’s favourite cactus last week with homemade cupcakes that Shiro burnt so badly that Keith couldn’t actually tell what flavour they were supposed to be – so, of course, he’s going to want to celebrate Keith’s. 

“Celebrating my birthday is against my religion,” Keith blurts, because he didn’t prepare a lie ahead of time, like a dumbass. 

Shiro blinks. “Shit, kiddo. Have you been missing religious services, or something? Oh, God – fuck, I mean, not God – is it God? I don’t know jack shit about religion, sorry – shit, is swearing against your religion, too? Fuck. I mean, not fuck – fuck!”

Shiro’s getting so frantic that his face is turning purple, so Keith decides to put him out of his misery, even though watching him freak the hell out is admittedly kind of hilarious. (Shiro freaks out a lot, like he’s terrified he’s going to be the one to fuck Keith up. It’s very sweet, so Keith has yet to inform him that Keith’s already plenty fucked up, thanks, so he’s got nothing to worry about.)

“It’s a religion I made up,” Keith says, and figures that’s a decent enough lie as any. “It doesn’t have a name or services or anything.”

Shiro breathes a massive sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. Or, er. Not God.”

Keith cracks a grin. “Thanks, Shiro, but don’t worry. You can chill out. We’re good.”

“Okay, kiddo,” Shiro says, smiling back. “Sounds good. You heading to your room?”

“Yeah. I’ve got English homework.”

Shiro hums, tilting his head. “Do you want to do it out here? You don’t have to, and I’ll certainly be no help – I’m hopeless with lit analysis, unfortunately – but it might be nice to have company.”

Keith considers him for a moment. He – he hasn’t done homework with someone since his Pa died. No one else just wanted to sit with him, or whatever. 

“I don’t make very good company.”

Shiro smiles. It’s a little sad, and Keith’s not sure how to feel about it. “I like your company plenty. If anything, I’ll be the one who makes bad company – I turn into a zombie when I have too much marking to do.”

Keith glances at the truly giant piles of student papers in front of Shiro. He thinks of his room, lonely and undecorated, ‘cause Keith is still waiting for Shiro to gently sit him down and explain that Keith’s a great kid, really, but there’s only so much Shiro can handle. 

Shiro’s already lasted much longer than any other foster parent he’s had. 

And, uh. Keith likes it here, a little. Sometimes, late at night, when Keith is imagining the birthday party he might have one day, he sees Shiro’s face smiling over at him. 

“I guess I don’t mind doing homework with a zombie,” Keith says, and Shiro lights up. 

4.

Keith reads a lot. Whatever he can get his hands on, really. It’s for that reason that he knows, for a fact, that the man to coin the term déja vù was Émile Boirac, a French philosopher from the 19th century. 

Keith hopes that motherfucking bitch is writhing in the deepest pits of hell. 

Because Keith is quite happy to pin the blame on him for the horribly familiar ache he’s filling, looking at Shiro’s memorial on October 23rd, birthday plans fluttering away in the stale desert wind. 

“Am I cursed?” Keith asks out loud, to whomever may be listening. “Did I do something? I’ll do anything to undo it, I promise. I’ll fucking – forget me ever even thinking about celebrating a birthday again, okay? I promise I won’t. I’ll do anything. I’ll – fucking – live in that stupid shack for the rest of my life and eat canned tuna until I die. I’ll do whatever you want. Just – please.” His face crumples, and his knees hit the hard cement floor, but he barely registers the pain. The same tear makes its traitorous path down his face, splattering on the floor. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over the carved stone: ‘TAKASHI SHIROGANE’.

There’s no other carving, this time. No star pilot, or explorer. 

Loving brother. 

“Please just – please just bring him back,” Keith sobs, even though he knows it’s just as fucking hopeless as it was ten years ago, and he’s alone, again, and this time there’s no one else coming. 

Maybe it’s for the better. Maybe, as he shoves images of smiling faces singing happy birthday – a stupid fucking fantasy for a stupid fucking kid – into the back of his mind, where it belongs, this is for the better. The less people who care about him, the less people at risk, right? And the less people who can hurt him by breaking their promises and leaving him behind to pick up the pieces. 

Birthdays are stupid. Caring about people is stupid. Keith is – Keith’s done being stupid.

5.

Keith’s not big on eavesdropping. If he can, he minds his business. 

But he figures if people are talking about him, then it’s not eavesdropping anymore. By then it’s just…gathering intel.

Yeah. That’s a great explanation for why Keith’s crouched by the common room door like a weirdo, straining to hear every last word coming from his teammates’ mouths. 

“...I mean, it can’t hurt, right? It’s not like we’re doing anything obnoxious. Just the song and the cake!”

That’s Lance, unmistakably. He sounds a little annoyed, like he’s been arguing his point for a while – Keith is very familiar with that tone. He can imagine Lance’s face: mouth twisted into a petulant scowl, dark brown eyes narrowed and deadpan, arms crossed over his chest with his left hand’s ring finger tapping his bicep. He sounds snooty, too, so he’s probably even straightened up his posture and rose up to his full height. 

Keith can’t quite tamp down his smile. God, he loves riling Lance up. Massive kudos to whoever’s doing it now, Keith’s jealous. 

“I’m not sure, Lance.” That’s Shiro. “Keith isn’t huge on celebrating his birthday.”

Keith’s smile drops. Aw, fuck. He checks his watch, frustrated with himself, seeing clear as day that today’s the twenty-second. 

Fuck. He let it sneak up on him, and now he’s going to have to shut it down like a jackass. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“You guys never celebrated his birthday?”

“Well, we didn’t at first, but he warmed up to a small thing eventually –”

“That’s settled, then!” 

Keith can picture Lance throwing his hands up, surely smug about winning the argument, but likely annoyed at having to argue at all. 

God, Keith needs to stop thinking about Lance so much. It’s honestly embarrassing. Here he is, having a crisis, and all his stupid gay brain can focus on is a Cuban accent and the image of a bright smile. 

Humiliating. 

“Hunk’ll make a cake, we’ll wish him a subtle happy birthday when we see him tomorrow. We won’t even make a big deal about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Shiro says reluctantly. 

Oh, damn you, Shiro, you bleeding heart. Heaven forbid you be a surly jackass for once in your life and tell everyone to piss off. 

“Good. I can’t believe we missed it last year, I feel horrible.”

“Last year, we spent Keith’s birthday in a pile of corrosive alien goo on that mission,” Pidge points out drily. “Also, he told us his birthday was November thirty-first, and every one of us fell for it.”

Keith grins, because it’s true and he did. He laughed to himself for like forty minutes when they realised, and they were so ticked and preoccupied with throwing things at him – Allura and Lance were the ones throwing things, that is – that they forgot to ask him for his birthday for real. 

Someone sniffs derisively. “Makes sense for his scorpio ass,” Hunk says. 

“Is scorpio the bitchy one?” he hears Allura whisper.

“Yes,” Lance whispers back, as if he’s not a fuckin’ leo.

“Okay, let’s talk about literally anything else. Don’t we have preparations to do?”

Keith scatters before everyone can file out, hearing Hunk and Lance start talking excitedly about making their way to the kitchens. He makes his way to his room, racking his brain for a way to stop this in its tracks. Hunk and Lance will have already started on the cake, so he can’t hide ingredients or anything. Honestly, his best bet will probably be to hide the cake and hope everyone gets the message. It’ll be awkward, sure, and he’ll feel bad about ruining their hard work, but it’s for the best. 

After all, birthdays are stupid. 

+1

He waits until he’s sure everyone else is asleep, and then sneaks his way into the kitchen, using all the ninja training he has available. He doesn’t turn the kitchen light on, using the cover of the shadows to hide his misdeeds. 

(...Misdeeds? Who says that? Keith reads way too many novels.)

He finally closes his hand around the fridge door, pulling it open as quietly as possible. There, placed carefully away from anything that could ruin it, is a – chocolate cake. With more icing than cake. And endless sprinkles. No candle in sight. 

Keith swallows the lump in his throat, forcing himself to get his shit together. It’s a fucking cake. So what if his team knows exactly what he wants? So what if the stupid little fantasy he dreamed about as a stupid little lonely kid is a very real possibility?

It doesn’t matter. Keith doesn’t do birthdays. Not anymore. 

“Now, if I thought you were just stealing a bite, I wouldn’t stop you. But something tells me that’s not the case.”

Lance’s voice startles him so bad he jumps up with a yelp, braining himself on the fridge door. 

“Jesus motherfu –”

Lance laughs quietly, cutting Keith off mid-cuss. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Bullshit, McClain, you jackass.”

Lance shrugs, grinning. “You’ll never prove it.”

“And they’ll never find your fucking body if you do that again,” Keith snaps, but there’s no bark behind it. “Why the hell are you here? You’re supposed to be asleep!”

“So are you. Instead, you’re committing birthday sabotage. What’s up with that?”

Keith stiffens. “No I’m not. I’m just – admiring it.”

“Uh huh. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I’m not –” Keith sighs, deflating. “Yeah, okay, whatever. I just – I don’t want to celebrate my birthday, okay? It’s no big deal.”

Lance stares at him a moment. Not glaring, or judgemental, or – anything, really. Just stares, until Keith starts to fidget. 

“What?” he snaps. “Say something.”

“I don’t think you actually want us to pretend it’s not your birthday,” Lance says. 

Keith blinks. “That’s – yes, I do.”

“I mean, I think you think you do.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Lance hums, pulling out two chairs and sitting in one. He pillows his head on his arms, resting on the table. He looks at Keith expectantly. 

Keith rolls his eyes and stomps over to the chair, slamming the fridge door shut behind him. The room goes completely dark, save for the faint glow of the emergency light casting shadows on Lance’s face. 

“Well?” 

“I think, if you really wanted us to stop the birthday planning, you would have come inside and said it, instead of crouching outside like a weirdo.”

Keith startles. “There’s no fucking way – you saw me? I was behind a wall!”

“I heard you.”

Keith slaps a palm to his head, frustrated with himself. How could he forget? “You and your fucking bat ears.”

Lance laughs, poking Keith gently on the shoulder. “Me and my bat ears,” he agrees. He doesn’t say anything more, waiting patiently for Keith to organise his thoughts. That’s the thing about Lance – you’d think, with all the talking he does, that he wouldn’t be a great listener. But he is, really. 

“Every person I’ve ever celebrated my birthday with has bailed on me,” Keith says quietly. “It’s not – it’s not always their fault, sure, but it’s a pattern.”

“Two’s not a pattern,” Lance whispers. 

Keith shrugs. “Feels like one.”

“I bet.” 

Keith’s heart starts to feel heavy. It always does, when he remembers anything adjacent to his Pa, and more recently to the memories of losing Shiro. He lays his head on the table, mirroring Lance, to see if that will ease some of the weight. 

“I don’t want you guys to make it a pattern.”

Lance hums. “Not to be a bummer, but the chances of all seven of us surviving this whole thing is pretty slim. We’re going to do our best, obviously, but – it’s grim.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Well, if we’re going to die anyway, why can’t we also celebrate your birthday? I don’t think acknowledging the fact that you were born and we’re happy about it is going to make us any more or less likely to die.”

“This is a really shitty pep talk.”

Lance laughs. “Yeah, it’s not my best.”

“Not even close.”

Lance grins at him, a flash of bright white in the dark. “Is it working anyway, though?”

“A little.”

“Yeah? Where’re you at?”

Keith hums, taking a second to formulate his thoughts into a Real Human Sentence, instead of the jumble of emotions it is currently. “Objectively, I know celebrating my birthday isn’t going to get anyone killed. But my birthday feels kinda shitty, usually. I don’t want to make more shitty memories with you guys than I have to.”

“I dunno. I think any memory I make with you is a pretty good one, so long as you’re in it.”

“...McClain, that is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your goddamn mouth.”

“Heh. You like it when I’m cheesy.”

Keith realises he has a choice to make. 

He and Lance have been doing this – flirting, thing, for months. It’s – stupid. They argue and drive each other insane and tease and play and both of them know damn well they only do it to get a reaction out of the other, because it’s fun, and because they have this thing between them. They’ve never gone past flirting, though. 

Keith kinda wishes they would. And birthdays – they’re for wishes, right?

“I like you.”

“Yeah, Kogane? You should do something about it.”

Keith has never been able to back down from a challenge. Especially not from Lance. 

He reaches forward blindly – emergency lights or no, he can’t really see anything other than the vague silhouette of Lance’s face – brushing his fingers over Lance’s cheek, his eyebrow, his nose.

His lips. 

Once he knows where he’s aiming, he leans over, pausing just millimetres away from Lance’s face. 

“I think I wouldn’t mind. Celebrating my birthday with you guys. I think… I think I could trust you. To handle it.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Lance whispers, and closes the gap between them. 

++1

“Happy birthday, baby.” 

Keith opens his eyes to see his boyfriend of three years on the pillow next to him, shooting him a tired grin. Keith grins back. 

“Thanks.”

Lance leans forward and pecks him quickly – close-mouthed, so there’s no morning breath. 

“I am going to go get in the shower,” he says as he pulls away. “If you would like your first round of birthday sex, I would suggest you come join me.”

“If I ever say no to that, check me for a fever,” Keith jokes, and Lance laughs. 

After they’re more than ready for the day, they head down to the kitchens, where the rest of the team meets them with more excitement than usual. 

“Happy birthday, Keith!” they all say together. 

“Thanks, guys.”

He slides into his seat, Lance sitting down next to him, not pulling away for a second. 

“Here’s your icing with a side of cake,” Hunk teases, sliding him a plate. 

Keith smiles, thanking him and diving in before Lance can steal it all, like the little shit he is. 

“Any plans?” he asks, because that’s normal for him, now. Normal for him to wake up beside the man he loves, normal for him to meet his team and family, normal for him to spend the day with them. 

Normal, even, for him to celebrate his birthday once a year. 

“We were thinking we’d stop by Earth, pay your dad a visit,” Shiro says softly. “Then spend the day goofing around at that old arcade I used to take you to. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, and he’s delighted to find he means it.

#sorry i was so mean to keith on his birthday 😔 #vld #voltron #keith #keith kogane #texas kogane #shiro #takashi shirogane #lance #lance mcclain #team as family #found family #grief #keithtober #happy birthday keith #getting together #klance #healing #hurt/comfort #keith angst #insecure keith #death #my writing #fic #longpost #almost fucking forgot #pinign keith

[strawberrykake]

Deja Vu

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ you’re getting married to keishin today!! 😆💍 congratulations on your wedding! *ੈ✩‧₊˚

my entry for @tahdashi ‘s champagne kisses collab 🍾 no warnings except I’m still learning how to write <3 [notes] : fluff everywhere

♫ playing: say you won’t let go - James Arthur ♫

bride!reader x groom!ukai keishin

It’s been a while since Keishin cleaned himself up like this, buying a tailored suit, going to get a haircut, neat shave. It gives him deja vu of when he first asked you out, hoping that a nicer outfit would increase his chances. Or much later into your relationship when he decided to dress a little more fancy ‘jus cuz’, however, he revealed his true intentions later that night in a velvet black box that he pulled out from his pocket.

Keishin remembered how your eyes immediately sparkled from both delight and tears mimicking the gleam from the jewel staring at you; how his heart beat rapidly moments after opening the box; the way the world seemed to stop until the small nod of your head causes him to almost fall over to catch you in a tight hug.

You were a blubbering mess as you tried to utter words of affection while the love of your life slides the engagement ring on your finger. All Keishin could do is chuckle and wipe your tears away with his free hand, before leaning his forehead against yours and whispering the same thing.

“Shh, don’t cry, dont cry. I love you so much. You have no idea.” As if you weren’t repeating the same words to each other over the past days. He peppers kisses all over your face, holding you close and gently like you carry the world.

Now, you’re both here at your wedding. All dressed up with a small gathering of your close family and friends who watch you up the aisle with awe. But you don’t notice them when you lay your eyes on your soon-to-be husband who wore a classic black and white tux, with a rose peeking from his handkerchief, and his trimmed hair slicked back, looking gorgeous as ever. He has a look of wonder in his eyes, hands clasped together in front of him.

The sight alone makes your heart feel full.

Keishin couldn’t take his eyes off of you, either. The moment you enter the room in your wedding gown, the world stopped on its own once again just for you. All Keishin could focus on was you.

He catches his breath admiring the way tiny jewels cascade down your hair, your hand gracefully holding a small bouquet of flowers, the shy smile on your face, and not to mention your oh-so-kissable cheeks that were blossomed pink. Your dress that was kept a secret from him, finally revealed before his eyes.

He thought you were gorgeous in anything, even when you’re in a old baggy tee and hair messily tied up in a bun. Even when there’s some cookie crumbs left on your hoodie sleeve. Or when your makeup is ruined from watching sad dramas and you’d dodge his kisses saying that you looked ‘horrible’—and he would give you a look saying ‘does it look like I give a damn?’ before proceeding to give your pouting lips a kiss.

In this moment, his breath is nearly taken away. He could be in heaven just from the sight alone.

The jitters he felt before were long gone.

He was going to marry you. And you were going to marry him.

That is all he could ever dream of since that one night you both stayed up late in his little studio apartment playing cards and you fell asleep on his lap. He whispered his love confession right as soon as you dozed off, playing with your hair, tracing your furrowed brows, and kissing your temple, before he picks you up ‘bridal style’ and lays you down on the comfort of his bed.

“I wanna be with you…forever.” Images of you living in the same home and growing old together flashed in his mind. And potentially, raising a child or two…or three. He doesn’t mind. As long as you were together. Of course, at the time, these were just mere fantasies to him. A distant dream.

Keishin sighed dreamily before drifting off on his own by your side. That was the first night he finally got some good sleep after the long hard days of working and coaching. He realized he gained more strength each day he sees you. He craves your laughter, your smiles, your scent, your touch.

Thank God your feelings were reciprocated because he wouldn’t know what to do if that weren’t the case. You brought the light in the dull darkness that was once his life.

“Pinch me,” Keishin echoes the words he used when you first confessed. You finally reach him from what felt like a long walk up the aisle. You scrunch your nose in delight and gently tug on his sleeve jacket as a way to ‘pinch’ him. His facial muscles are already starting to hurt from the constant smile on his face, the stars in his own deep brown orbs remain sparkling.

It was magical. Exchanging vows, delicately placing rings on each other. Despite being together for years, you still felt the electric from his thumb grazing over your hand. And then finally, sealing your vows with a kiss which he’s been dying to do since you walked in.

The crowd buzzes with excitement once your lips connect. Ukai places his palm behind your neck as he brings you closer. Butterflies chase each other in your stomach and your head tips back from the action as he kisses you deeply with affection, unshy of the audience before you.

A few cheers and chatter from the Karasuno boys can be heard.

“Let’s goooo!!” One bellows.

“The Ukais!!” Another cheers.

“Yeahh, Mr. and Mrs. Coach!!”

“Their last name is not coach!”

“Wait what?!”

Your laughter causes you to pull away from each other. Keishin, your now fully-wedded husband, takes the opportunity to pick you up the same way he did that one night at his apartment, carrying you down the aisle to God knows where.

It doesn’t matter. From this day on, with hearts connected as one, you’ll follow each other to the ends of the Earth.

taglist ｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡ @dai-tsukki-desu @crystal-lilac @remajalabill @ashisbored @yuubabe @luvrzumi @wonpielle @wakatshi

#[🥂] — champagne kisses collab #I LOVE UKAI TO PIECES #gonna write a haikyuu!dad hc featuring keishin next #🍙—reader inserts #🍕—collabs #haikyuu marriage fluff #ukai x reader #ukai keishin x reader #haikyuu x reader #ukai brainrot #ukai fluff #ukai imagines #ukai keishin hcs

[banjjakz]

bleed for me; hananene 5+1 oneshot

He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

(Or: Five times Hanako is painfully, embarrassingly obvious about being a vampire -- and the one time he doesn't even need to be.)

wc: ~6.7k

warnings: vampire!au; horror elements; disturbing themes; graphic descriptions of blood & ensuing oral consumption; etc, etc

🖤 read on ao3 🖤

1. Garlic Bread

“I’m home!”

From his lax recline on the bed, Hanako calls out a lazy welcome back. He doesn’t get up because he’s far too comfortable watching old primetime reruns of ridiculous game shows, and also -- well. 

He’s a little unhappy.

Ah, maybe not unhappy. That’s a rather strong word -- sensation? Feeling? For someone who’s felt a lot of them for a very long time, Hanako isn’t the most adept at categorizing his own emotions. Let alone experiencing them. It’s much more convenient to acknowledge that something probably important is sounding off in his chest, and then leave it alone to run its course. Hands-off is always the way to go. Less messy that way.

But then, he’s forced to deal with complex situations such as these:

The lovely, strange, absolutely enrapturing human being whose life he feels lucky enough to occupy even just a small, miniscule part of -- flouncing into his bedroom, all bright eyes and wide-lipped smiles and rosy cheeks and limbs jittering in excitement at seeing him after a mere handful of hours spent apart--

And Hanako, whose cold, dead heart threatens to jolt back to life at the mere sight of her.

How odd. He wonders what it means, and then immediately stops doing that. Hands-off. Mess free.

“Hanako-kun!” Greets Yashiro, rushing to stand at his side, her stockinged feet thump-thump-thumping at the hardwood in a rapid, red-blooded pulse. Her hair flows freely today, which is unusual. Normally, she has it pulled back and away from her face, in one neat platinum sphere at the base of her neck. There’s a decorative clip or three in there, somewhere, too.

Where are those tonight? What happened to the disturbingly skull-shaped barrette? He likes that one. “Hanako-kun, look! For you!”

Oh, she’s holding something. He hadn’t even noticed. Upon closer inspection, it seems to be…

“A greasy paper bag,” Hanako deadpans. “How kind of you, Yashiro.”

She rolls her eyes, and stomps her foot. He can see the vibrant red of her painted toenails even through those dark tights she insists on wearing out everyday. These are one of her nicer pairs, though. No rips or runs in sight. Not even when Hanako scans her legs up and down and up again, just to check. Just to make sure.

Yashiro’s irate scoff sends his eyes scrambling very rapidly back to meet her own. “You’re impossible. You gotta guess what’s in- side the bag, dummy.”

“Radishes. No, wait, we already have plenty of those on hand.”

“Oh my God, I am literally going to kill you. Do you wanna die?” Hanako almost laughs. “Last chance before I change my mind and don’t let you have any!”

“Ohhh. Something I can have?”

Yashiro nods. Hanako tracks the movement of her jaw like a vulture circling a corpse, freshly splayed open and vulnerable and tantalizing with how red the blood, how plump the flesh, how easy it would be to sink his talons in and bare his teeth and--

“I have no idea,” he muses, “what that would be, then.”

“You’re so weird sometimes, Hanako-kun. Anyways, remember how I went over to Kou-kun’s tonight? Because he needed a taste-tester for his school assignments? Remember?”

Ah, and here he returns to the root issue of tonight’s predicament. Hanako is swiftly delivered back into the strange sensation of discontent that plagued him mere moments prior to Yashiro’s arrival. She’d distracted him -- as she is so often does -- from his brooding. 

Hanako remembers that he’s supposed to be brooding.

Hanako begins to brood. 

It’s a pitiful attempt, really, because Yashiro is hellbent on injecting the evening with her unique brand of excitable fanfare, and Hanako has never been able to put up much of a fight against her. He’s weak to the sun and all it’s gifts of brightness, after all.

In a last-ditch effort to save face, he manages to pout. Yes, this will show her. This will express to her his deep-seated dissatisfaction! 

“Hmph. I guess,” sighs Hanako, batting his lashes for good measure.

“Oh quit it. Don’t look like such a jealous puppy--”

“-- Excuse me--”

“--Especially ‘cause I brought you such a good gift! Look!”

And then Yashiro reaches into the bag and pulls out a slice of greasy, buttery, deliciously succulent garlic bread.

Hanako doesn’t even have the time to process her accusation of jealousy (which, hello? A little absurd if you ask him.) as he’s preoccupied with scrambling backwards to the opposite side of the bed, as fast as what will hopefully appear to be humanly possible.

“Kou-kun’s in the middle of his global unit in school, and he chose to make some Italian dishes, so I thought I’d bring home-- hey!! Where are you going!” Yashiro, clearly perplexed, pauses in her bubbly explanation. “Don’t be like that! I know you don’t like Kou-kun for whatever stupid reason, but really? He made it just for you!”

Of course he did, thinks Hanako, scathingly. He will deal with that overgrown menace of a mutt later, when his physical body is not in imminent danger and Yashiro is not growing steadily closer, brandishing the bread as though it were a sword, or rapier.

Oh, if only she knew.

Normally, Hanako would be elated -- ecstatic, even -- to see Yashiro crawling across his mattress, chasing him with a dark intensity in her eyes and a palm outstretched. But the issue here is that her palm, as sweet-smelling and milky soft as it looks and probably feels (Hanako wouldn’t know), is currently wielding a weapon of mass destruction.

He tries to placate her, or at least slow her steady advance, but it’s all for naught. “H-Hey now, Yashiro--”

He should throw her off. She shouldn’t even be in his home in the first place, let alone in his bed, but somewhere along the way Hanako had started making inappropriate, foolish, misguided allowances for this strange woman, and then he… never stopped.

Honestly? For a mistake as silly as entertaining a human of all things, he supposes he should go out in an equally as embarrassing fashion: death by sliced bread.

Yashiro is on top of him now, her thick calves bracketing the bony jut of his hips as she sits on his chest and leans over him, her cheeks incensed a bright and healthy rouge -- a mere few shades darker than those glittering fuschia eyes. Hanako can’t help but wonder just how red she can get; how much red she has to spare. How much red would be enough to burst her open and leak along the sides of her pristinely pale canvas like spilled acrylic in one big, gory, spattering mess. 

For two (definitely, totally, absolutely) mutually exclusive reasons, Hanako feels his stomach contract.

“You’re being ridiculous,” announces Yashiro from her perch atop his body, blissfully unaware of the fact that Hanako could very easily toss her clean across the city if he so chose. 

(Or maybe, it’s the fact that might know, and is unafraid of the prospect. As though she believes he won’t. Humans are such an arrogant, fickle species. He can’t say that he particularly misses being amongst their ranks.)

“It’s bread. Would it kill you to be agreeable for once and just take a freaking bite?”

Her heartbeat. He can hear it loud and clear even as he lays underneath the vice grip of her sturdy legs. Does she even know how fast her pulse rams itself against her veins? Like it’s begging to be rescued from the confines of that pretty, porcelain cage? 

Fuck. Fuck.

Hands-off. 

Mess free. 

“I’m allergic,” says Hanako, slowly, face blank and clean as a slate as he stares unblinkingly back up at his captor. “To garlic.”

There’s a curtain of shimmering white that cascades around the two of them, shifting to block out any and all extraneous stimuli. He should remind her to pick up some more bleach the next time she takes a trip to Daiso. It’s time to touch-up her roots again.

“Allergic,” she parrots.

The way her lips shape around the word, tasting it and rolling it around in suspicion, is captivating. In all his years of dealings on this earth never has Hanako followed a journey so gripping, so intense, as the way that Yashiro Nene’s mouth moves across a sentence. “Allergic,” she says again, flat and faint.

He’s just barely able to nod. “Deathly.”

“You’re deathly allergic to garlic.”

Time grinds to a painful, halting stop. The gradual slowing of the outside world is so acute that Hanako can track with his eyes the moment that Yashiro’s gaze flickers down to his cracked lips and the steady in-and-out of her breath is all but frozen in place. It’s excruciating, the level of detail he’s been subjected to bear witness to as a creature borne of blood and misery. He hates that he can hear her lungs rattle in suspense. He hates that he can name each muscle that goes still and locks solidly into place, anchoring around him in a rigid, tense embrace. He hates that he can smell her fear.

“Precisely. And you are straddling me. Are we done stating facts or would you like to continue on, Yashiro?”

It’s a bad habit he has, relying on humorous deflection. He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

The crumbs in his bed dig into his skin and burn there, serving as a very stark, very physical reminder of his worst habit.

He’s already served his penance. Is currently serving it. Is slated to serve it for the rest of whatever conceivable eternity awaits him. 

So why, then, does his chest twist and ache with an ardor he thought had died with him, all that time ago? 

2. Reflection

The only reason he’d agreed to tag along was because Yashiro promised him that he didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to. He isn’t much inclined to converse with random humans -- especially not over cheap, young wine. 

But this is, of course, exactly what he finds himself doing on a Thursday evening he would otherwise spend alone, holed up in his room, with his blackout curtains drawn to the side to bask in the glow of the full moon. Longingly, Hanako glances out of the large window he’d surreptitiously made a home next to immediately upon their arrival. Ah, well. Next month.

A round of boisterous laughter startles him out of his reverie. He chances a glance back to the sectional sofa in front of him and is greeted by the sight of Yashiro nearly doubled over in apparent amusement, wine glass tipping dangerously to the wayside. Her cheeks are speckled with the beginnings of a youthful pink. Unshed tears cling to her thin eyelashes. When she straightens up to catch her breath, she meets his gaze and allows her grin to melt into something soft and warm and entirely unsuited for the terrible, awful things that run through Hanako’s mind faster than the speed of light.

Having fun? She mouths discreetly, bringing the glass up to take another sip.

He nods, draining the red in his own grasp long and slow. It tastes like ash on his tongue. 

One of the other humans speaks, then. It isn’t the orange haired fellow who’d immediately struck Hanako as a sniveling, blindsided, spineless fool of a man -- no, it’s his wife, who’s entirely too preoccupied with asking questions about Hanako’s personal life for his comfort. 

“Hanako-san,” she begins pleasantly, gripping the wine bottle by the neck as she tops off his glass. Unprompted. “I’ve been wondering about something! Nene-chan is an Insta-freak, you know, right?” A what? “But you’re never on her page,” she continues with a pout, “And you aren’t tagged in any photos. Are you shy? That’s adorable!”

How can a woman speak so politely with eyes as cold as hers? They glitter at him underneath the fluorescent lighting of the living area, small and hard and blindingly bright, a twin set of enchantingly haunted jewels. Delicately, she tastes at the rim of her glass, and says nothing else.

Before he can conjure up a response that isn’t mood-killing and really little more than a thinly veiled threat, Yashiro pipes up. “Hanako-kun’s super off-grid!” She stresses, eyes wide, words comically over exaggerated as though she is delivering information of the utmost importance. “He has a very troubled childhood! He doesn’t like talking about it! So that’s why!”

“A troubled childhood,” muses the purple haired menace.

Yashiro nods solemnly, gulping another hit of her dry white. “Yeah! He’s got a bunch of weird allergies, too. Did you know that he can’t eat garlic? Not even garlic bread? Isn’t that so sad!”

“...Indeed it is. My condolences, Hanako-san.”

Right.

The evening doesn’t really improve from there, apart from Yashiro falling into his side after she gets a bit too wine drunk. Hanako can smell more than just the saccharine perfume she slathers on all the time; no, from this close, Hanako inhales and internalizes the scent of a robust, earthy musk, far richer than anything spritzed or patted superficially into the skin. Hanako can smell underneath her skin. Hell, Hanako can practically see -- can practically taste the delicacies hidden there, with how firmly she leans onto him. Would she still feel comfortable holding clutching onto his arm, if she knew the kinds of things he thinks about her? About doing to her?

They say good night to the amethyst wench and her sad excuse of a clueless human husband not long after that. The apartment isn’t far away and it’s too late to stumble into the car of a subway, so the pair of them trek home on foot.

A quiet night. The moon is as full as she is healing, and Hanako returns to himself a little bit more underneath her watchful, healing gaze.

“Now that I think about it… we really don’t have any pictures together.”

Although Yashiro has sobered up enough to stand straight, she still maintains a loose grasp on his arm. Her fingernails curl into the sleeve of his button down, a splash of bright, vivid red disappearing in the deep dark of a moonless night. Swallowed right up without a second thought. “Is it… is it because you’re embarrassed, Hanako-kun? Of, um… well. Do you not want to be seen with me? I’m sorry…”

He could break his own neck. He should. He would, if she asked him to.

“You own a Polaroid camera, yes?”

“Ah! You mean my Hello Kitty one? Uh-huh! Why?”

“When we return home,” Hanako says, like a fool, “We can take a picture.”

If he were a defendable creature, he’d point to Yashiro’s sudden and swift ascent into excitement as the justification for the latest manifestation of his long, long list of bad habits. Her strong ankles defy gravity and carry her as she floats on air, giggling as she skips the whole way home. Even as they make their way through the front door. Even as she must root around in her cluttered bedroom (that Hanako cannot follow her into, for obvious reasons). Even as she struggles to remember how to change the film, and inputs a decorative mascot-inspired roll, nicking more than a few of her pale, slender fingers in the process.

Even as she wades through darkness, Yashiro is so bright. 

The actual photo itself requires some set-up which eventually results in Hanako reversing the contraption unto them and pressing down on what he’s only halfway sure is the capture button. He assumes that he’s done well when a thin strip of glossy paper leaks out from the bottom and Yashiro swipes at it in a giddy stupor, remnants of the Riesling from earlier that evening rendering her sloppy and uncoordinated. 

“‘Kay, it’s gotta develop now… should only be a few more seconds! Will you keep it safe tonight? ‘M sooooo tired, and I really gotta shower before I pass out…”

Yashiro is already stumbling away, back towards her bedroom. She slips the rapidly lightening square in his palm as she slips back, lingering for one moment too long against the doorframe.

“Thanks, Hanako-kun. G’night.”

And then she is gone.

Which is probably for the best. The film has finally pulled itself from the murky depths of ambiguity. Hanako looks down at the picture in his palm and Yashiro stares back at him: her bold, red lips and silver-spun hair are two twin beacons of color, misplaced and incongruent within the impenetrable sea of blackness surrounding her. 

Where Hanako should have been instead lies a lapse in composition. The photograph is blank and undeveloped around his general silhouette. But that is not the strangest thing about the photograph.

The strangest thing is howYashiro leans into the darkness, unafraid of the way it spindles into her own boisterous portrait and slowly eats at the brightly hued pigments of her warm flesh, her pretty, frilly dress, her smile. That unerringly loud, human smile.

How long will it take, he wonders, before the shot is entirely eclipsed by that cold, dead void.

3. Sunlight

It’s a bad day before he even opens his eyes.

As a creature of indeterminate longevity and supernatural capabilities, sleep is not the necessity it once was for him. But he indulges, from time to time, when there’s little to do during the daylight hours. After all, he’s confined to his bedroom from sunrise until sunset. Pacing the perimeter of a lion’s cage grows tiresome, even to eternally patient apex predators such as himself. Much easier to force his body to shut down and pass the time for him, as his consciousness wanders aimlessly through the realm of a deep, dreamless slumber.

This day is not one of those days. This day is the peak of Summer’s cruel, tyrannical reign. This day is suffocating. This day is warm. This day is bright. 

This day maneuvers above and below and all around the blackout curtains that are always painstakingly drawn over his windows. This day leaks into his bedroom and weasels its way into his sheets, underneath his skin, scorching him from the inside out with such a ferocity that it renders him immobile. Every fiber of his being threatens to splice into terrifying, meaningless oblivion. 

When Yashiro first asked, Hanako told her it was migraines.

It was a vague excuse that pinpointed some rare, untreatable immune-disease that left him inexplicably weak to sunlight. Yashiro really should have been more persistent in hunting down the real truth -- the actual truth -- especially considering her occupation as an urgent clinic nurse. He considers the idea that it’s an answer she doesn’t care enough to unearth. He mulls over the alternative, which is that she is too frightened by whatever she may find to go searching for it in the first place. He then decides he’s done thinking about her. Today is torture enough.

A gentle knock at his door renders all of his efforts fruitless, however. “Hanako-kun?” Her voice filters easily through the heavy fog clouding his awareness, like a blade through slackened flesh. “You okay?”

She’s still standing hesitantly in his doorway, as though waiting for permission to enter. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly to do anything other than lay still and flat as a corpse.

He can’t afford to expend any unnecessary effort lest he wear himself out completely, so he goes for the most direct course of action:

Snakes his arm out of the big, black ball of sheets and comforter in which he’s coffined himself inside. Holds back a curse as he’s made aware of just how weak he’s become. Struggles not to drop his cellular phone when he finally manages to blindly locate it. Unplugs the device single handedly with tremorous fingers. Holds it out to the open air.

“Take this,” says Hanako, voice dim and tepid. “Dial the contact ‘Tsukasa.’ Give him this address.”

Not for the first time, Hanako realizes that he should be grateful for this human’s absence of curiosity. He has amassed plenty of bad habits in the past, all of them metastasizing entirely too close for comfort until he’d been forced to handle them in a way that had been entirely hands-on and the very opposite of mess-free. For Yashiro to wordlessly collect the cellular phone from his trembling grasp and do as she’s told is what he’d call a blessing, if he still believed in feats as fickle as faith. 

She is confused as she makes the phonecall. Hanako can hear the shift of her hair sliding past one shoulder as she tilts her head. He can feel the way her chest flutters in a muted gasp of surprise when the line connects after the first ring. She can’t be more than three or four feet away. Close enough for him to reach out and brush, with the pitifully pale pads of his fingertips. What a sight that would paint, muses Hanako, deliriously. Icarus and his glittering, lethal lover.

Time ebbs and flows and bends and breaks after that. He’s distantly aware that he drops in and out of consciousness. The hot wax slathering each of his limbs is an imagined thing, he’s sure, as is the sensation of free-falling to an anticipated, blunt death. These sensations are from the dreamscape that pulls him beneath its suffocating depths only to release him at the last second, in a cruel imitation of the sea and all her unfathomable terror. 

(He has not dreamt in so very, very long. It’s a bad habit.)

The final time he breaks the surface, he surges up against something -- cold. The kind of cold that forces his own to bow its head. The kind of cold that relieves him of his fever, and sends a violent chill through his body, all at once. The kind of cold one should only absorb in small doses, with limited contact. A once-in-every-three-decades kind of cold. That kind of cold.

“Hi, Amane! You look terrible!”

Tsukasa’s hand on his forehead is frigid enough that it loops back into the realm of burning. Hanako must gently bat it away and blink blearily up at the sight of his twin brother, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he always was. Always is.

“Hi, Tsu.”

“Hold still, ‘kay? I brought the bendy straws you like. All you gotta do is sip. Open wide!”

Obediently, Hanako parts his lips and accepts the flimsy piece of plastic. 

He tries not to think about what, exactly, it is that he’s doing. If he closes his eyes and holds his breath, Hanako can almost pretend that he’s being fed by different hands, in a different world, as a different person. 

“Hey, Amane?”

Gulp, shudder. Resist the instinctive gag that claws its way up his throat like a beast bending the bars of its cage. “Yeah, Tsu?”

“Why are you starving yourself?”

Eyes closed. Mouth shut. Another swallow. Hands-off. Mess free.

“You have food right there,” Tsukasa whispers. “Is there something wrong with her? Is she sick? Y’know, I’m not picky. If you don’t want her, I can--”

Hanako, with newfound strength, launches upright into a sitting position. What wonders a couple of mouthfuls can do. 

Oh, how to explain this. Oh, how to navigate his way through an intersection of muddled implications and unspoken subtleties, all of which will go right over Tsukasa’s head. How can Hanako pretend to be a creature of innuendo and self-control, when his biggest, most glaring lapse in judgement sits across from him in the damned den of his own design?

He struggles for a moment, running a tired hand down his face. “Yashiro is a -- friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” confirms Hanako, desperately avoiding Tsukasa’s curious gaze. “And friends don’t eat friends.”

The words are slimy and leave a bad taste in his mouth. Well. Maybe the words themselves aren’t what lingers at the back of his tongue and stains his teeth. But they are odious, nonetheless, and hang in the air like empty nooses dripping down from a gallows.

“Friends don’t let friends starve,” is Tsukasa’s counterpoint. “If it were me, Amane, I’d let you. Even though you already did, I’d let you do it again. I’d always let you.”

Hanako has never understood why Tsukasa refuses to cover up the twin bite marks that marr his jugular. Is it to punish him? Is it not punishment enough, that Hanako has to see his face at all? 

When his brother grins at him, it cuts like a knife. Hanako remembers a time where those cheeks stretched wider, when those eyes glistened with something other than black ice. Tsukasa plucks the bendy straw out of the cup and drinks straight from the rim, tossing his head back to give Hanako full view of the way his throat opens and closes around the infernal contents. 

He can’t stop staring at the scars: two lone stars fixed in an empty, pallid, apocalyptic sky.

The younger boy is sated only when the cup has been drained dry -- and even then, he pants, exhilarated, pupils blown large and dangerously obsidian as they flitter back and forth as though in search of more, more, more. 

Why are you starving yourself?

He’d always been a messy eater. His baby brother, Tsukasa. Tsukasa who loved Katanuki. Tsukasa who loved to paint. Tsukasa who still loves to paint, but now works solely in abstract monochrome. Tsukasa, who paints himself over and over and over again until he’s dripping, covered head-to-toe in a masterpiece of his own design. Tsukasa, who licks his canvas clean at the end of each night only to start anew in tomorrow’s dangerous twilight dusk. Tsukasa, who collects victims like portraits.

Tsukasa, who had once been a portrait himself. Hanako, who held the brush in his hands and created something freakishly beautiful that wretched, awful night.

Why are you starving yourself?

He feels full enough, watching Tsukasa pass his tongue over his chops. He feels like he’ll never need to eat again.

By the time his brother makes his departure, the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon. Hanako’s room is once again as it should be: a thick, inky fog of opaque black. It’s so dark, in fact, that had he not been what he is, he would never have spotted the slight gap between his door and its frame, where a slender figure lingers in apprehensive wait.

Yashiro is checking on him, he realizes belatedly. 

Why are you starving yourself?

“Good night,” She calls, softly. “I’m about to head out for a double.”

“Be safe.”

“‘Course! I always am… I hope you feel better soon, Hanako-kun.”

He couldn’t have this if he ate like an animal. He couldn’t have Yashiro -- sweet, gentle, lovely Yashiro -- living alongside him as he devoured bodies made in her image. Already, Hanako struggles with what his baser instincts urge him towards… to give into those temptations would be putting her in danger. 

His door clicks quietly shut. His room is bathed in the cover of night once more.

Left alone to his own devices, the beat begins to roam its cage. A growl sounds, low and deep and mortally wounded. Not from his throat -- but from the very pit of his stomach.

Resistance is one thing, but ignorance, however feigned, is quickly ruled out of the realm of his personal possibility. There is no disregarding the sensations that fester inside of him. There is no course for his desires to run. There is only the ugly, maddening truth:

Hanako is hungry.

Hanako needs to put his hands on something.

Hanako needs to make a mess.

4. Silver

“Promise rings!”

“... Excuse me?”

“N-Not in a weird way, or anything like that!” Stutters Yashiro, fumbling with the miniature wooden box in her shaking, manicured grasp. “They’re just little cheap ones. I saw them on display at the mall, and I couldn’t just not… plus, do you even know what day it is?”

Hanako raises a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“It’s our six-months-as-roommates-a-versary!”

“Wow.”

“I’m really happy you recognize the importance here, Hanako-kun. Now stick out your hand so I can put yours on! And then you do me!”

If he didn’t know any better, Hanako would wonder how Yashiro gets anything done with those delicate fingers of hers. They’re as soft-looking and malleable and enticingly peachy as the rest of her, topped off at their gracefully tapered ends with a neat coat of ruby red. They dance along everything they touch, nimble little ballerinas hopping from pose to pose, commanding rapt attention wherever they leap. 

As his own hand raises to meet hers, he must fight the urge to clench into an ugly, defensive fist. 

The first touch sends something like electricity ricocheting down his spine like lightning through a weather vane. She is so gentle. How can she be so gentle? How can she be so round-edged and rosy-cheeked and expect him to just stand here, wordlessly, with nothing to do or say about it? How can she live in his house for six months and celebrate, rather than mourn? How can she look at him, a creature innate to unsightly presence and habit, and say to herself: this is something worthy of care.

The second touch is just as unnerving, but for all the wrong reasons.

“I thought you said this was cheap,” grits Hanako, exhaling sharply through his nose as the silver ring slides slow and meticulously down the length of his finger. 

Yashiro pauses, eyes narrowed. “Is it not? How can you even tell?”

“A-allergic… !”

To her credit, she’s properly mortified. Yashiro almost falls all over herself  to wrench the offending piece of jewelry off and away, apologizing profusely as she studies the burn wound on his middle finger. Her mouth twists into a tense little knot. Hanako wants to smooth it out.

Instead, he follows her obediently into her bathroom after she tells him to come inside and sit his ass down on the toilet -- which he does, sheepishly.

“I can’t believe -- oh, God, I’m so sorry, Hanako-kun… Just, hold still okay? It’s only gonna hurt a little, I promise.”

It’s an injury that would’ve long since healed itself by now, if he were in any other state than the one he currently occupies; which is to say that he’s rather unhealthy. Which is to say that the rats and possums and other small rodents he guiltily entraps in the alley behind the house do nothing besides sate a momentary desire. Which is to say that it is impossibly difficult to keep himself aware and conscious and disciplined enough not to careen head-first into Yashiro’s exposed clavicle and unhinge his jaw and feel his skull shift to accommodate the extra layer of fangs and sink his claws into her perfect, supple hips and feel her go paralyzed with terror as he--

“Okay! All done. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes.” It’s a pretty bandage. Pink and bright with tiny dancing radishes along the perimeter.

“I really am sorry,” mumbles Yashiro, encasing his frigid hands with her own, squeezing and rubbing with her soft thumbs. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. You’ve always -- you’re always so kind to me, all the time, and it just seems like… well, I don’t know. Lately I feel like I just never know how to help you, Hanako-kun. I feel like I just make things… worse. So can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonesty.

“You have to tell me when you need something. Or when you don’t need something. Or when you -- uh, well, I really want you to be honest with me. Okay? Can you promise me that? Because it makes me really sad that you struggle with… a lot, and there’s not so much I know about how to help. So, please? Do you promise? To be honest?”

“I promise,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonestly and also because he can’t close his eyes without seeing her body splayed out in the bathtub behind her, limbs limp and gore overflowing past the rim and into his eagerly awaiting mouth. In this fantasy, he uses his tongue to follow the carmine droplets bulleting down the porcelain edge, licking and slurping until he reaches the source of the mess, the heart of the storm, the original inspiration to all his reverence. He would take his time. 

(Or would he lose himself? Would it be hands-on? Would it be messy?)

“Thank you for trusting me. I trust you… with my life, you know. Maybe it’s naive, but I hope one day you could do the same.”

He can’t touch her, not right now, even though she looks like she’s about to shake apart at the seams. All Hanako can do is watch from a safe distance, and wonder. And want. And ache.

As always.

5. Blood

She comes home early.

Hanako has only just padded his way into the kitchen when he hears the front door unlock. Is it that time, already? No, it can’t be. Yashiro usually arrives when he is just settling in to go back to sleep. She brings with her the pale light of a budding dawn, and although Hanako regrets their sparse interactions and conflicting schedules, he’d rather not disintegrate into a pile of ashes atop the living room couch just because he felt like saying welcome home, honey.

Tonight is different, apparently. A cursory glance thrown over to the microwave clock reveals that it’s only a few minutes past the witching hour. And despite there being a total absence of sunlight when Yashiro opens the door, Hanako still falls to his knees in a sudden onslaught of unadulterated agony.

His vision turns spotty, only worsening as Yashiro rushes inside and screams at the sight of his crumpled body. “Hanako-kun? Oh my God! Oh my God, can you hear me?”

Barely, is what he wants to say, but can’t. His throat is too tight, too dry. His mouth begins to salivate at an alarmingly disgusting rate. 

That smell.

Pathetically, he crawls over to her on his hands and knees, body running on autopilot as it drives him towards the source. Hanako can feel his body shift and transform with the pavlovian response he’s developed over the decades -- an instinct borne out of the memory of a chase, of a hunt,of warm flesh twisting and stretching and tearing underneath his capable grasp, of muffled screams and kicking legs and the eventual, gradual descent into permanent stillness, of hands scrabbling desperately into dirt, into pavement, into carpet, as they scream his name and beg him -- no -- no, stop -- what are you -- Hanako-san--!

Blood. But, not just any kind of blood. 

Fresh, human blood.

Six months is a very, very long time to go without food.

The scent wafts from the messenger bag thrown haphazardly over Yashiro’s shoulder. Hanako claws weakly at it, burying his nose into the worn fabric and moaning in relief at the contact. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, breathy. The debauched soundtrack of his own muffled desperation would embarrass him, probably, if he were cognizant of anything other than the metallic tang filling his nostrils.

The last thing he remembers is Yashiro running her fingers through his hair, shushing him quietly. 

And then it all fades to black.

“Oh, Good. You’re awake!”

Hanako gets about halfway through a sarcastic reply before something is shoved past his lips. Something… familiar. Something -- bendy?

“Drink up,” huffs Yashiro, pushing the straw more firmly into his mouth. “You’re lucky we had a contaminated batch of bags today. I-it’s still safe to drink, though! Or at least… I hope… tell me if it tastes funny, okay? Jeez, Hanako-kun… I didn’t know you were so hungry! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

His lack of a response only propels her onward. 

“Well… I know you don’t like to talk about it… I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just sit and watch you waste away--”

“You knew?”

“... Um. Was I not supposed to know?”

“You knew,” Hanako repeats numbly around the plastic in his mouth, dumbfounded. “This whole time, you knew.”

Unimpressed, Yashiro raises an eyebrow. “That you’re a vampire? Duh. Allergic to garlic? And silver? And sunlight? I’m not stupid, and you aren’t nearly as slick as you think you are, mister.”

 The chuckle she gives after this quickly peters off into something more melancholy, a little bit darker in origin. From where she’s perched on the couch, leaning above him to adjust the straw’s positioning into the medical packet on his chest, Hanako can see the sorrow, there, in her big, doe-like eyes. 

“You never brought it up… and I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries! I’ve never, erm, done ‘this’ before… if you couldn’t already tell. But since you never said anything… I just thought that, I don’t know? Maybe my blood wasn’t good enough to drink, or something like tha--”

“That is absolutely not the case.” 

He’s quick to cut her off. Too quick. “Far from it, really,” he attempts to joke in an effort to lessen the intensity of the blow, but the damage has already been done. Yashiro’s hand freezes around the blood bag, her eyes flitting up to lock onto his own. 

It’s unfairly attractive, the way her blush blossoms across her face. Hanako takes a long drag from the straw and swallows, never breaking his stare.

“I would… definitely be okay. More than okay. With doing -- ahem. That.”

“Drinking,” supplies Nene, so quietly that Hanako reads her lips more than he hears the charged word spill from her pink, glistening tongue. “You’d drink from me?”

What a question. Oh, if only she knew.

“Sure,” he hums, easily, “as long as you promise not to bring home anymore garlic bread. Especially not from that mangy mutt.”

“Hey, that isn’t very nice! Kou-kun isn’t… wait. You’re… you don’t mean…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god. That’s why you don’t like him!”

“His pack leader really, really hates me. Heh.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t look so pleased about that.” She says, with a fond smile. Hanako wants to taste it. 

On his next sip, he’s met with an ugly slurping sound. Normally, the fact that he’d sucked down a pint of blood in less than five minutes would be cause for concern. But his circumstances are not normal. His circumstances haven’t been normal for quite a good while, really, and Hanako can’t bring himself to think about it too hard. Not when his worst bad habit is within arms’ reach; not when she’s digging into her bag and procuring another packet of blood for him to puncture with the blunt end of his straw.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, awestruck.

“And I’ve got seven more where that came from! So just take your time, okay? No rush. I’ll stay here and make sure you get your fill… I promise.”

Hanako thinks he will hold her to that.

+1: Feeding

This is nothing like the first time, which is what he’d originally been terrified of. This is nothing like the second, or third, or fourth or fiftieth or hundredth time.

(How could it be? How could having her pliant and wanton underneath his capable grasp be anything other than pure ecstasy?)

Before he takes the plunge, he -- has to warn her. Again. Just in case she’s changed her mind. “Last chance,” Hanako breathes into the fleshy meat of her, the aroma of pumping blood doing unspeakable things to his mind. “This is your last chance to back out, Yashiro.”

She’s pretty as a portrait, the way she shifts and wriggles underneath his body reminiscent of the melding of a varied color palette coming together in one grand, epic composition. 

But he’s about to stain her in monochrome. 

“Don’t be gentle,” Yashiro gasps, dragging his hands to hold her down. “I’m not afraid o-of a little mess.”

You should have been, thinks Hanako, mournfully, as he paints his first stroke of bright, brilliant red.

#hananene fic #hananene ao3 #tbhk fic #jshk fic #hanako x yashiro #hanako x nene #amane yugi x yashiro #amane yugi x nene #toilet bound hanako kun fic #jibaku shounen hanako kun fic #my writing

[queen-scribbles]

Worthwhile

Happy holidays, @jackalopey I’m your SWtOR Secret Santa! You have so many cool characters, but I have such a soft spot from f!Trooper/Jorgan I couldn’t resist writing for Salama. I hope I got her right, and your holidays were enjoyable.

--- 

Salama had faced down traitors, Senate hearing, an Imperial mastermind, and a prototype dreadnaught. Her closet was proving a greater challenge than any of them. And given the minor personal war she and Jorgan(mostly Jorgan) had waged to get tonight off, she was not going to admit defeat against her wardrobe of all things. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the underwhelming selection facing her.

“Still having trouble?”

She sighed in answer to Jorgan’s vaguely amused question and tugged the end of her ponytail. “Do you think the restaurant will mind if I wear my dress uniform? Might be the classiest thing I own.”

“You really wanna draw that sort of attention on our night off?” he pointed out with a chuckle and she did have to give him that.

Protecting the Republic was her duty, the gratitude expressed by civilians who occasionally recognized them from the news all well and good. But she didn’t really want it interrupting her first time off with her husband in she-didn’t- remember how long. So Salama let out another sigh. “You’re right. So...” she worried her lower lip between her teeth. “The black one’ll do, I suppose. You’re lucky it’s so easy for you.”

“Yes, lucky I have to wear a tie,” he deadpanned.

“You picked the restaurant, Aric,” Salama reminded him with a quiet laugh, turning to meet his eye. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“True.” He leaned in to kiss her forehead. “And it’s a worthwhile sacrifice for time with my wife.”

“Only if she’s dressed in time to make our reservation,” she murmured, but her hand stayed where she’d rested in on his arm and she was hardly moving to pull away.

“Also true.” He kissed the top of her head this time. “And I need to finish getting ready, too.”

She nodded and stepped back to let him go, turning her attention to getting dressed. There was nothing wrong with the aforementioned black dress. It was just a very simple style--as were the few other nicer outfits she owned--and would almost definitely be more understated than the rest of the patrons tonight. But a quality black dress was always in style, or so said the saleswoman, which was why Salama had bought it. She didn’t have frequent enough occasion to dress up for her to worry about the latest trends. A black midcalf halter-top dress was usually a safe bet, on its own or with only minor accessorizing. And it wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing she’d worn, which was a bonus.

Salama paired the dress with beaded flats--no way in hell was she wearing heels--and the necklace Jorgan had given her. She didn’t have much opportunity to wear jewelry, best to take advantage. Her hair went in a simple bun, though she did at least make the concession of leaving a couple loose bits in front to frame her face.

The appreciative glance and quiet whistle her ensemble earned from Jorgan made it more than worth the hassle. Whatever the restaurant staff and other patrons thought.

“Can’t believe I haven’t seen you dress up before,” he commented, tone warm as his gaze lingered on the necklace.

“We haven’t been given an abundance of opportunity since we met,” Salama pointed out, running a self-conscious hand over her hair.

“Still. Much as I appreciate your talent for making durasteel look good, this is...” He cleared his throat. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” She sidled closer and linked her arm through his. “You’re looking quite handsome, whatever your feelings toward ties.”

Jorgan laughed and tipped her chin up with his free hand to steal a kiss.  “Thanks. Shall we?”

“If we want to be on time, I suppose we should,” Salama said. It was a warm enough evening she wouldn’t need any sort of jacket or wrap, so she was ready to go.

---

The speeder ride was uneventful, the wait to get in the restaurant bearable, and the security standing outside very subtle. Salama supposed if you were going to gamble on opening a restaurant this nice so close to the Galactic Market sector, you would want good security.

“Wonder how much of their budget goes to paying those guys?” Jorgan murmured as they walked inside. He’d clocked them, too, probably before she did.

“I’d wager only slightly less than the food,” Salama whispered back. But it’s paying off, she mused as Jorgan spoke to the hostess. The place looked to be thriving. They followed her to their table and Salama did her best to hide just how surprised and impressed she was with the quality of the décor. No wonder they had such good security.

“Think we can go the entire meal without talking about work?” Jorgan asked with a wry smile as they took their seats. “Starting now.”

Salama snorted s laugh. “Doubtful, but we can try.” She looked around, searching the nooks of the ceiling for a non-work conversation topic. “I like what they’ve done with this place. You can tell it was a warehouse in a former life, but only if you’re familiar with the area. They made good use of the space.”

He nodded, following her gaze to the wider balcony that had replaced the typical catwalk. “Takes guts to run a place this nice in this part of town, guess you would have to be willing to go all in.”

“I admire them for the effort and they seemed to be doing well,” she said, looking around the mostly full restaurant. “From what I hear the other places are also doing better than alright.”

A serving droid trundled up to get them drinks, bringing the conversation to a brief lull, and it turned to the menu when they resumed. The choices were varied and slightly more expensive than Salama would have expected. She hoped it was good food, to justify the chunk it was taking out of their paychecks. From the smells wafting through the air, she was pretty sure it would be.

---

The food was definitely worth the price. And they mostly succeeded at keeping the conversation away from work. Only two brief gizka trails--remembering Krel and wondering about their next assignment--that were easily steered back on course.

They made their way home comfortably full and far more relaxed than either could remember being for a long time. Given it was still early, they settled on the couch, shoes kicked off--along with Jorgan’s jacket and tie--to enjoy the free night a bit more.

“That was a good time,” Salama said lazily, leaning against his shoulder with her feet stretched toward the far end of the couch. ”Thank you for dinner.”

Jorgan hummed a quiet laugh. “Glad you enjoyed yourself. Thanks for covering the tip.”

She bit back a smile. “Thank you for not making me twist your arm too hard about that.”

This laugh was louder, and she felt it rumble in his chest. “I know better than to stand in your way when you set your mind to something.” He gave a contented sigh and slipped his arm around her waist. “We needed something like this...”

“MM-hm,” Salama hummed, feeling about as drowsy as Jorgan sounded. Whatever the price tag, whatever assignment awaited them in the morning, tonight had been very worthwhile.

#queens fic #swtor secret santa 2022 #swtor trooper #aric jorgan #trooper/jorgan #2022swtorss

[mar-the-magician]

Tsundere Fae Healer Talks About Home

OHMYFUCK IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS SINCE I POSTED A CHAPTER

Erm, apologies— hello all! I’m not gonna lie, this chapter was kind of difficult to write (for a lot of reasons) but I wanna thank everyone who’s shown so much support and love for this creative endeavor of mine, and especially @morgansplace, @thesunandmoons-blog, and @shinebrite97 for giving me the motivation to finish this with their kind words, fan content, and all other contributions!! Thank you all and I hope you enjoy!! Cw/Tw: this has one or two very mild sexual references somewhere in there— not sure if it’d be enough to trigger anyone, but better safe than sorry! Also death and the afterlife are mentioned in here, just in case that’s a problem for anyone.

Tsundere Fae Healer Talks About Home 

Vmm-vmm

I glanced down at my phone.

One new message from Amir Amator✨ 

I went in and changed his contact

Amir Amator✨(aka Sex on Toast)

Then I had a look at his message. He had sent me an image attachment of a small yellow flower with spiky petals and a whitish center.

‘Eris thought you would like this flower and asked me to send you a picture of it’

I smiled and started typing.

‘Tell him I love it and it’s very pretty

i want to see Hedera, can we meet at the parking lot?’

‘See you there, Traveler 😃✨’

‘that emoji is threatening 

It gives bad vibes’

‘Wdym?? 🤔🤭’

‘Bruh

i hate you’

‘Love you too, Traveler’

‘*really hate you’

‘Really love you too. See you!’

‘Smh’ 

I rushed to the bathroom and checked my hair, changed into a nicer shirt, grabbed my keys, and was out the door.

All the drive there, half of my brain was coming up with questions to figure out if there really was some sort of obstacle to humans and fae having romantic relationships with each other, trying to convince me that it would be for the best. The other half was coming up with all possible answers that would prove that there was no obstacle and hoping, hoping, hoping. 

“Ugh. Stop it! It’s just a stupid crush! Get over yourself!” I screamed into the rearview mirror. 

When I arrived in the parking lot, Amir was already there, leaning against the most expensive-looking car in the parking lot.

“Took you long enough. What was the hold-up? Oh wait… right! You can’t teleport!” He snapped his fingers and gave me a smug grin. I just stared at him for a full three or so seconds and then asked

“Whose car is that?” His curls shook as he laughed.

“Some random person who decided to park here, I suppose. You ready to get going? There’s wards in place so Hedera and I will both be alerted if anything hostile comes near you while you’re in these woods. Do you know your own way this time?” I squinted a little, trying to remember the way that we had gone our last visit.

“I think so, yeah.” His eyes glinted deviously.

“Good! Then that means you two will get some… alone time~”

My stomach flipped over at what he had just implied.

“Oh don’t even go there, incubus.” 

“I didn’t say anything, so who really has the dirty mind here?” He smirked and turned to the forest, holding up his arms and snapping his fingers. Just as it had last time, an opening appeared in the trees where there had been nothing but impenetrable walls of branches and thorns only moments before. He turned to go.

“Well, there you are. Enjoy yourself, Traveler~”

“Why d’you have to go right this second?” I cocked my head curiously. He muttered something that sounded vaguely like

“Can’t talk right now, I’m doin’ hot girl shit,” and I turned an incredulous stare on him.

“What??”

“I must depart, unfortunately!” He blinked out of existence. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Turning back to the path ahead of me, I shook out my shoulders and took a deep breath.

“Whatever. Here we go.”

I was careful about my turns. Judging from how the others had acted before, I did not want to get lost in these woods, no matter how many wards were around.

Once I saw the piles of rocks ahead of me, I began breathing easy again. As I rounded a large pile of boulders, I saw Hedera, draped in a floaty silver dress that was practically see-through (think holy thoughts, me, think holy thoughts) with a daisy crown on her head, half-leaning and half-sitting against a rock. She looked at me and let out a breath.

“Hello again, Traveler.” Gah, how was her voice always so musical?? 

“Hello, Hedera.” I coughed awkwardly. She rolled her eyes and patted the boulder beside her.

“Sit.” It was more of a command than an invitation. 

“Why are you here?” I squirmed a little as I situated myself next to her on the boulder. It was surprisingly comfortable.

“Because… I missed you?”

“Oh really.” She scoffed. I held open my hands.

“Yes? Is that not allowed now? I like you, I think you’re cool, I want to talk to you and spend time with you. Is that so unbelievable?” She rolled her eyes and turned her head away. I had just imagined that hint of pink on her cheeks, right? Right?

“Well. You’re doing that now. Yay-hoo-fucking-ray.” Yup, definitely imagined it.

“I mean— I can leave, if you’d prefer…”

“No.” I smiled crookedly.

“Getting kinda mixed messages here, girl.”

“You already came all this way, it’d be a waste not to spend at least some time here now,” she rolled her eyes. I poked her arm.

“You just don’t want to admit that you wanna talk to me as well!” She shoved my shoulder with a sardonic snort that just barely wasn’t enough to distract me from how warm her hand was.

“Believe whatever keeps you sane, you loon.” For a few moments, we just kicked our feet and stared down at all the beautiful flowers below. Honestly, she was justified in getting mad that I had squished some of them. They were art. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I came here, yes partially because I wanted to see Hedera, but also because I wanted answers to my questions.

“Hey, so… I wanted to ask you some questions about… well, everything, if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m not sure I can answer questions about everything, Traveler.” I made a face at her.

“You know what I meant.” She sighed and gestured into the air.

“Ask away. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

I took a deep breath in through my nose.

“So uh… how long do fae… live for?” If they were immortal or lived for ages and ages on end, that would make a romantic relationship hard on the fae. 

“Ooh wow, that’s a heavy one to lead with.” She laced he fingers through her hair.

“I mean— you don’t have to answer if you don’t want—“

“No, no, it’s— it’s fine. So… essentially, fae cannot die of old age.” My chest tightened up. ‘This is a good thing, this is a good thing, this is a good thing. Destroy that stupid crush of yours.’ My brain tried to convince me. 

“We can be killed, with enough force or magic, and we… we have to choose to die.”

“What?” 

“Hold your fucking horses, let me finish, you eternal question and objection dispenser. Once a fae entity gets old enough, they have the option to simply… leave. Their spirit leaves their body and goes to the afterlife. It’s not painful or anything, you just… stop. That’s our equivalent of ‘old age.’” My brain took a moment to adjust to this information.

“Oh. Okay… that’s… hm.” ‘Someone could just choose to die after their partner died. They wouldn’t have to deal with an eternity of grief.’ She raised her eyebrows at me. 

“Well, that’s a very reactive response.” I coughed and cleared my throat.

“Sorry, just, uh… thinking.”

“Wait.” She turned to stare at me.

“You do that?”

“Oh fuck off,” I laughed. 

“And okay, uh… next question.” Fuck, how to phrase this without her catching on…

“Do… do fae… experience… emotions, the same way humans do, or is there any sort of… fundamental difference?” ‘Real smooth.’ I mentally facepalmed. She looked at me sideways.

“You’re full of all kinds of interesting questions today, aren’t you?” I squirmed underneath her icy stare. She rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue.

“Relax Traveler, I’m not going to eat you or something. No, there’s no real fundamental difference in how we experience emotions or connections. Some of the oldest, oldest fae get attached less easily or quickly, and feel a bit more… numb, I suppose, because they’ve been around for so long and experienced so much that things just matter to them less, but in general humans and fae are fairly close in that department, at least as far as I can surmise.”

“I see. That’s… cool. Yeah, that’s cool.” Her eyebrows turned upwards in a concerned expression.

“You are acting fucking weird today Traveler. Are you— feeling all right?”

“Yeah, no, totally, I’m good!” I gave her two awkward thumbs up. 

‘Sprinkle some normal questions in there, hopefully throw her off the scent…’

“So, um, what’s your favorite part about the fae realm?” I asked.

She flinched slightly. I held up my hands quickly in a disarming gesture.

“You don’t have to talk about it—“

“Stop saying that every time. If I want to keep something private, or it makes me uncomfortable or I’m just not willing to share it at this juncture, I’ll just tell you to fuck right off. Unlike you, maybe, I actually have a spine.” I let out a surprised laugh.

“Okay then…”

“So… my favorite part. It would probably be the… the beat. The pulse. I— I don’t really know what else to call it, but you still look confused.”

“I don’t think I understand. The fae realm has a pulse? Like a heartbeat?” She sighed and stretched out her long, pale, freckle-dusted arms, laying them across her knees.

“There is always dancing, in that realm. It is one of the few things about which my race is willing to swallow their pride and admit that your race has a mastery of. Someone is always dancing, or being taught a new dance, or dancing for a specific reason or ceremony or some such. And part of that is, that realm has a constant beat. A pulsating, bass-like thing that permeates the whole realm.”

“Oh.” I tried to imagine this.

“That sounds really beautiful… but also kind of overwhelming?”

“You could use that to describe the whole realm, from a human point of view.” She tossed her head, and the daisy crown fell over one eye.

“Shit, crud, forgot I had this on—“ she scrabbled with it. I held out my hands in a “come here” motion.

“Let me?” She paused.

“My hair tangles really easily…”

“I promise I’ll be gentle and it won’t hurt.” Plus, if she said yes, I would get to touch that gorgeous, silky, wavy mane… She cautiously inclined her head towards me.

“Very well then…” 

“Where’d you get the daisy crown?” I gently disentangled one daisy after another from her locks with careful fingers. Wow her hair was soft. 

“Eris made it for me. He likes to do that a lot— and it’s good practice for me to keep plants alive for as long as I can.” 

“It still kinda fucks with my mind that people can do that. Just like, going about my day as normal, and then suddenly I remember— oh yeah! Magic exists!” She graced me with an almost-smile as I slowly pulled the crown away from her head. 

“There we go.” 

“Thank you. Yes, well, if you follow through with your applications and are consistent with your studies, you may be able to do things like that as well someday.”

“Hey, why are you glaring?! You don’t know anything about my study habits, I could be the most diligent student in the world for all you know!”

“I’m sure you could be— y’know what, no actually. From what I have seen of you, you would not be the type to do well in the school system. At least from what Amir has told me of it.”

“You— yeah okay fair.” I deflated. She snorted.

“That’s what I thought.”

There was another pause, and I couldn’t decide if the silence was awkward or companionable. She blew air out through her nose.

“Anyhow— the fae realm is… beautiful. I love it, and I miss it. But humans can’t generally go there.”

“What? Why not?”

“It’s overwhelming, like you said. Everything there is— constant color and light and rhythm and noise and warmth and cold at the same time— every one of your senses gets pushed to the max. Same with the demon realm. With proper training and conditioning humans can enter the other realms, but that usually takes years. An untrained human has a pretty high chance of just straight-up dropping dead from sensory overload the moment they enter an access point.”

“Oh— wow.” She pursed her lips.

“Exactly.” 

“So… is the ‘beat’ what you miss the most about your realm?” She let out a bitter laugh.

“I miss a lot of things about it. The smells— flowers and nectar and ambrosia and honey and musk, earth and water, air and hot dust, grass and fruit and charcoal and stones, green tea and crushed roots, merging into something indescribable. The warmth. The tactile sensations. The way you can find new shapes and colors in everything. The swirling power constantly surrounding you. I miss the energy from that place. Here it’s… different. In order to feed off of the energy of this realm, it has to be channeled through a human. To feed there, all I had to do was take it in.”

“I see.” I fiddled with the daisy crown in my hand.

“I’m a little confused about something…” she sighed.

“When are you not?” I started laughing.

“Now you’re just being mean,” I pouted. “But I did genuinely have a question…”

“What?”

“Why… if you miss it so much, why stay here? Why not go home?” She stiffened. Slowly turned her head away from me and held her hand out for the daisy crown. I tentatively handed it to her.

“Fuck. Right off.” She said, running the half-wilted crown through her hands like a rosary. 

“Gotcha.” ‘Well that’s… interesting…’ 

“Besides, it’s not like I completely, totally, without exception, hate it here in this realm. I’ve made it very bearable for myself, at least in this little corner of it. I have flowers, Eris, good smells, fruit, clean water, and plenty of room and privacy to practice magic. Most of the time, anyway.” She turned a stern stare on me.

“I get it, I get it, I’m a nuisance!” I laughed. Why did her harshness make me feel more at ease than her kindness?

“One last question, and then I’ll let you go. It’s getting pretty late, anyway.”

“I assure you, I’m all ears.”

“Does anyone know what happens after fae… die? Like, has anyone ever come back from the dead or anything? Do we know if there’s an afterlife?” Hedera held her hands up to the sky like she was praying.

“You come here into my meadow and expect me to know all the mysteries that your people have been trying to solve for centuries?”

“I’m sorry, I—“

“Oh, hush.” She let her arms drop. 

“No-one has ever come back from the dead. It’s not possible, as far as anyone knows. Necromancy magic is nothing but a bad children’s story. But…” she began twisting the daisies again,

“Human souls can be reincarnated. Fae and demons aren’t ever, as far as we know, but a human soul can be reincarnated into the body of a fae entity or a demon.”

“Oh that’s insane— how does anyone know that?”

“When a fae entity or a demon gets old enough, sometimes they start regaining memories from one or more of their past lives. Humans can actually do it too, with some training— and maybe some magical aid, for some of them.”

“That’s— woah! That is incredible! We actually know something about the afterlife! Like, for certain!” That almost-smile lifted her cheeks and brow again.

“Amir has told me that such revelations often have that kind of effect on humans.” I grinned at her.

“You rely on Amir for a lot of your info about us, don’t you? But you don’t have to anymore— you have me!”

“Yes, well, very nice.” She rolled her eyes. Surely, surely I didn’t imagine the twinkle in them this time, did I?

“Speaking of Amir, though, I promised him I’d give my opinion on some designs he’s been working on today, and he doesn’t like anyone but me and sometimes Eris to see his sketches before he’s done with them, so you might have to withdraw for the day.”

“Amir designs things? What are they?” 

“Clothes, what else?” She pushed herself up from the rock with one arm, looking graceful and easy. ‘For fuck’s sake, focus for one second, would you??’

“O-okay, cool. I will. It was… it was nice talking to you, Hedera.”

“…You’re. An interesting conversationalist, Traveler. I’ll give you that.” Why did just that make me feel warm and wriggly inside?

“I’ll walk you out to your car.” Her tone booked no argument, despite the fact that I was thinking 

‘But what about those wards??’

“Okay! Thank you!” I fiddled awkwardly with my fingers, and she shoved the daisy crown back into my hands.

“You can keep that. It’s not like it’ll last much longer anyway.”

“Ah… thank you.” That was definitely not a thing I should be blushing about.

As we walked along the path that I was coming to know rather well, Hedera seemed rather restless. Finally, as we were nearing the parking lot, she turned to me and asked 

“Traveler. I— I have a meeting, with my tribe, soon. It’s going to be held in the human realm. It would help you to learn more about us. Eris isn’t going to be there, but he said he’d like you to go and meet the other people from our tribe. And— and I want you to come. If you want to, that is, I know it could be an overwhelming thing to fling on you right off the bat and you certainly don’t have to but—“

“Yes!” I all-but shouted. Getting ahold of myself, I coughed into my hand and said

“Yes. Absolutely. I would love to meet more people like you. And I want to learn as much as I can. And I…” I leaned against my car and fiddled with the daisies. 

“I want to spend more time… with you.” 

“I see.” I looked up to see her clearing her throat with a face that was definitely pink. There was no way I was imagining it.

“I’ll… I’ll have Amir send you the date and time. Be safe, Traveler.” She turned and power-walked away, leaving me staring after her trailing silver dress with a lot— a whole lot— on my mind.

Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed!! I might be a bit before my next chapter upload, because I’m going to try to write two chapters so that I always have a chapter’s worth of buffer between me and the gaping hole of taking so long to update should such extraneous circumstances beset me again. However, if the common theme of my writing holds true, the next two chapters are gonna be pretty easy to write, so hopefully I won’t be too long! :D Thank you all again for reading!

#layered realms #layered realms chapter five #a traveler’s tale chapter four #a traveler’s tale #hedera (original character) #hedera #amir amator (original character) #amir amator #amir (original character) #amir #eris #eris (original character) #original idea #original story #original writing #original content #original work #original character #my original fiction #original fiction #original fantasy #fantasy story #fantasy writing #fantasy

[invisibleraven]

❝  can i stay with you tonight?  i don’t wanna go home yet.  ❞ for your favourite rarepair

Going back to the Reggie is the one who survives sandbox for a bit of ANGST, because I just had to. Warning for some suicidal thoughts/intention. This got DARK y'all

Reggie doesn't remember much of those first few days with Ray and Rose. Too lost in the mire of grief, the sound of sirens and flat lines echoing in his brain. Feels little but the chill of the shower beating down on him, because the numbness would overwhelm him otherwise.

The last funeral was today, Reggie standing alongside Celia as she wept and wept. He doesn't want to think about where Bobby's parents are, because they certainly aren't here, mourning their son. Getting their chance at one last goodbye, and he curses the unfeeling nature of humanity.

He knows he should go home, try with his parents again now that he's the only member of the band left who can even have a relationship with his family. But instead he lets Ray and Rose guide him gently to their car, into their place. They loosen the tie around his neck, and Reggie finally feels like he can breathe, free from the stranglehold of the formal wear.

The oversized jacket he had borrowed from Ray comes next, then the shirt, leaving him in his own white tee. He can feel one of them rubbing his back, though the touch feels a million miles away.

"You hungry lindo?" Rose asks, her voice quiet. Reggie shakes his head, having had no appetite for some time now. Food had once been his favourite thing, but it had also stolen the three best things in his life away from him, so how could he trust it now?

"How about some tea?" Ray offers, but again Reggie refuses, knowing the couple is sharing concerned glances over his head. "Well then, I suggest a nap. It's been a long day, you must be exhausted."

Reggie bites his lip, wanting nothing more than to collapse into a weeping, wailing pile, but he knows that won't solve anything. His friends left him, were ripped from him, leaving him alone, leaving him to live out their lives as well as his own, and the pressure feels crushing. The prospect of having to go back to his cold, unfeeling house with all their weighing on him, seems more daunting than anything.

He lets out a whimper, and then starts to speak, his voice quiet and raspy from lack of use other than to scream and sob about the unfairness of the universe. "Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t wanna go home yet."

Rose rushes in to hug him, Ray enveloping Reggie on his other side. "You can stay as long as you want lindo. This can be your home from now on."

Reggie nods, though he doesn't really believe them. After a lifetime of false promises regarding homes, he can't cling to hope regarding this one. But he takes the offer, letting them lead him to their bed. Into a pair of Ray's flannel pants, and cuddled in between them. Soft touches, gentle kisses to his hair. It's a soothing balm against the raging emotions swirling around his brain, and eventually he lets himself drift off as Ray wipes the tear tracks from his face and Rose sings him a quiet Spanish lullaby.

He wakes up screaming, crying, thrashing about, but Ray and Rose are there, eventually calming him down, until he can fall back into a restless sleep. By dawn he's wide awake once more, though less violently this time. Pale light filters in, and he glances at either side of him.

Reggie can't burden these two. They've been nicer to him than anybody other than the band, and he can't bear to drag them down with his misery. He silently works his way out of the bed, grabbing his own things from the chair in the corner and sneaks out. It's a quick walk to Silver Lake, but instead of veering right to his dark and unassuming house, he heads left to the beach.

It's deserted during this early hour, not even the gulls are out yet, so Reggie is alone with the pound of the surf and his own dark thoughts. It would be so easy, he thinks, to walk into the ocean, let it take him. Be with Alex, Luke, and Bobby once more. No more pity, no more loneliness, no more heavy expectations on his shoulders.

Just quiet darkness leading to oblivion.

No more Reggie.

He strips off his leather jacket, leaving his wallet with it, so someone will know. They'll inform his parents, and hopefully they will get word to Ray and Rose somehow. The sun is starting to rise, the sky painted a myriad of hues, and Reggie lets a soft smile take over his face. It's a beautiful day to die.

"Reggie!"

He turns, and there they are, his saviours, looked worried and desperate, rushing in to gather him into their arms. "You scared us Reggie. We woke up and you weren't there!" Ray admonished.

Rose looks at his discarded stuff, at the encroaching waves and her face just shatters. "Please tell me you weren't going to... Reggie no. That won't solve anything. Plus it would break my heart if you..." She lets out a small cry, grabbing his cheeks in her palm. "Stay with us, okay? We'll get you help, whatever you need."

Reggie breaks at that, collapsing on the sand. "I need my friends back," he whimpers, before utterly breaking down. Wracking sobs that make him shake, even surrounded by Ray and Rose as he is. He barely notices the cold seeping wetness of the waves dousing their clothing. Nor the gritty sand that sticks to them as it retreats. All Reggie knows is overwhelming sadness, until the crying jag finally peters out.

"Come on lindo, let's go home," Ray whispers, helping Reggie to his feet. "We're going to sit down and figure something out, I promise you."

Rose grabs his stuff, coming up to Reggie's other side, and to his surprise, they don't lead him towards the little house not 50 feet away. No, instead they bring him to their car, Rose supporting him in the backseat as Ray drives.

And they bring him home.

#filled prompts #ficlet #ray/rose/reggie #julie and the phantoms

[mushroomstears]

Horror Movies

Description: Drake is watching Saw movies by himself when he gets an unexpected visitor

Warnings etc.: Mentions of being thrown, grinding, language, this is really just fluff with a little spice near the end

Caine had been unconscious for almost two weeks, his latest wake up fit causing nearly everyone to avoid him. The only person who even went near him was Diana, taking care of him like a nurse maid.

While Caine was unconscious Drake had total control of Coats, after waiting for a moment like this for so long.

Drake sat in a rolling chair, watching a collection of Saw DVD's. His whip arm wrapped around his middle, slightly shifting every now and then. He watched as people had their lives taken on a flat screen TV, enjoying the sound of their screams.

A pair of cold hands suddenly covered his eyes, blocking his vision. His whip snapped from around him and wrapped around the person's wrist, pulling them forward and flipping them over.

A mess of blonde white hair flashed by and hit the ground, along with a coats uniform. The familiar voice belonging to the person giggled, growing into a full on laugh.

"Damnit Lyssa, what were you thinking?" Drake groaned as he went to help her up from the floor, his whip arm letting go of her wrist.

"Well I thought it would be a cute little moment of 'guess who' but turns out you didn't want to play." Laughter still in her voice as Lyssa stood, the blood ran to her head and she blinked a few times to try and rid of the feeling.

Drake sighed and wrapped the whip around Lyssa's waist, pulling her towards him. He sat back down in the chair and pulled the girl into his lap, not removing the sinuous coil from around her.

"What are we watching?"

"Saw, can't remember which one."

Lyssa layed her head back onto Drake's chest and got herself caught up, watching intently as scenes flashed by. Her hand drifted over Drake's whip, rubbing her thumb in circles on it. It wasn't often that they got to show affection to each other so it was good that they had this moment to themselves.

"Is this all you've been doing today?" Lyssa asked, not turning away from the tv.

Drake shifted in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. "No, I gave what's-his-name a good beat down. Bastard tried to order me around like he was Caine or some shit."

Lyssa hummed a quick response, never looking away from the gruesome scenes before her. Drake cocked an eyebrow and looked down at the pale-haired girl on top of him. "You don't care do you?" He asked not quite jokingly.

The girl shrugged and pulled her hand up behind his neck, rubbing it as his whip coiled tighter around her. "No it's not that, but the movie is just oh so much more interesting than your little quarrels my love."

"You really do know how to make, 'I don't wanna here you complain, shut up and let me watch tv.' Sound so much nicer and heartfelt than it really is." Drake let out a small chuckle, feeling Lyssa's hand brush against his hair.

Lyssa twisted herself to turn around in Drake's whip coil, straddling him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and started to pepper his face in small kisses. "I'm sorry my love, would you prefer I give you my full undivided attention?" She asked between kisses, body shifting every now and then.

Drake stifled a small groan at the friction and brushed his fingers through Lyssa's hair, smiling slightly as he felt the silky soft hair. "That would be preferred."

"Then so it shall be." Lyssa smiled and began to work her way down, kissing Drake's jawline. "Tell me about your troubles, love."

Drake's whip coiled tighter around Lyssa's waist and the tip flicked itself underneath her shirt. Small chuckles escaped the girl as the thin end of the whip traveled lightly across her skin, ticking her. "I wish we could spend more moments like this." Drake muttered almost to himself, eyes glazing slightly as he tilted his head to allow Lyssa easier access.

"I do as well, but we'll be able to soon. The moment Caine is totally out of the picture, we'll swoop in and take the spotlight, yeah?" Lyssa began to kiss down a bit firmer, taking longer before pulling away.

Drake nodded and sighed, enjoying the feeling of Lyssa all to himself. The terrified screams of bloody murder on the tv played as background noise, keeping no share of either Drake nor Lyssa's attention.

"King and Queen side by side," Drake snickered, "More powerful than anyone else."

Lyssa pulled away and looked at Drake for a moment before going to kiss his forehead. "I think I prefer the term 'emperor and empress'."

"Then emperor and empress it is, baby." Drake pulled Lyssa in for a kiss, neither of them wanting to pull away once it was initiated. The kiss grew more and more heated, eventually becoming a full-on tongue wrestling match. Lyssa began to grind down on Drake, hips moving back and forth. Sloppy sounds echoed throughout the room as Saw played in the background.

Both Lyssa and Drake pulled away, taking heavy breaths before smashing their faces together once more.

Drake moved his kissing down, making his way to Lyssa's collar bone and sucking hickeys. She bucked her hips forward, earning a groan from Drake, a smile spread on her face as she added more friction in her movements.

"What do you," Drake pulled away and sucked another hickey. "Think you're doing?"

Lyssa bit her bottom lip and bucked her hips forward. "Just....messing around." She flipped her hair over one shoulder and chuckled, brushing her fingers through Drake's hair.

"Oh? Is that it?" Drake asked, pulling away from Lyssa and looking up at her with a smirk. She nodded and ghosted her fingers over Drake's whip, tapping ever so lightly every now and then. "Yes it is, might I ask what it is that you're doing?"

"Marking what's mine," Drake responded curtly, the tip of his whip going up to wrap around the clips on Lyssa's bra. The girl hummed a response and rolled her hips methodically, creating a little pleasurable amount of friction between her and the boy beneath her.

"What's yours?" Lyssa raised an eyebrow, using her left hand to hook underneath Drake's chin and make him look up at her. "Since when was this body yours?"

Drake scoffed and tightened his whip, earning a tiny yelp from Lyssa. "This body was mine from the moment I touched it. Mine. Never anyone else's."

Lyssa bit her bottom lip, her other hand rubbing up and down on Drake's whip, right where it met his actual skin. "That's hot baby," She mumbled before letting Drake return to what he had been doing.

"It's the truth, you're mine. Not anyone else's."

"Might as well get me a collar that says 'Drake's'."

"Don't give me any ideas."

Lyssa chuckled and began to roll her hips again, craving the feeling she got from being on top like this, as well as the beautiful sounds that Drake let out. "God you're so hot," Lyssa mumbled, boosting Drake's ego tenfold.

Drake went to respond before a cough behind him broke the near silence, both he and Lyssa snapped their heads up in the direction of the sound, shock and anger flashing through them both.

Diana leaned on the doorway, a small disgusted smirk on her face as she twirled hair around her finger. "Caine's awake, wants to see you Drakey boy."

Lyssa sighed and rested her chin on the back of the office chair, Drake on the other hand growled and unraveled his whip, snapping it in Diana's direction with a crack. "Out," He snarled, gunmetal eyes threatening. "I'll be there in a minute."

Diana rolled her eyes and laughed, waving him off before turning around to walk away. "Try not to take too long, he needs to see you ASAP. Lyssa make sure to use protection~"

Lyssa laughed sharply before throwing a book in Diana's direction, chasing the girl off. She turned back to Drake and pulled him in for a quick kiss. "Better go see what his majesty needs," She hopped off of his lap and stretched, earning a satisfying crack from her joints. "We'll finish this later, my room yeah?"

Drake rolled his eyes, getting up himself with a small chuckle. "Better keep that promise."

"Oh I intend to,"

#drake merwin #oc #oc x cc #one shot #smut #fluff #gone series