#he has moles on his back if u squint

[sixosix]

I DRIVE DOWN DIFFERENT ROADS | S. HEIZOU

“you look so pretty,” the stranger with twin moles murmurs, “like it’d be a crime not to want you.”

or, you met a detective once on an unexpected night; fate decides that it won’t be the last time

tags cw drunk character, POV meet-cute and he makes a fool out of himself but u want him anw, drunk heizou, pre-relationship, bff!kazuha

a/n wc 1500, wow this is the longest i’ve written this month!

next part

inazuma wasn’t your first region of destination in mind when listing down vacation ideas. going on vacation wasn’t even on your to-do list—it has been that way for the past three years. 

“don’t be ashamed to ask. you know i would say yes,” yelan, your distant relative who is somewhat of a mentor to you, had told you herself when you briefly mentioned your plans.

yet as you trek through the dewy grass of chinju forest, you mourn all those years when you could’ve taken in inazuma’s sights much earlier when you needed it the most.

chinju forest is completely different from liyue harbor. it’s dim; the sun mysteriously never rises, and it’s filled with flowers—the same ones that glimmer so brightly that everything about the forest looks blue, overpowering the lanterns and candles spread throughout. and although it doesn’t feel like home, you wouldn’t mind spending a few months or so in here.

liyue harbor is always bright with splashes of color: bustling with merchants and tourists, with storytellers and friends you see on occasion. friends who wanted you to see the beauty of other places, too.

kazuha had let you in on his plan to return to inazuma for a bit to visit old friends—and since the traveler had worked the traveler magic on inazuma, too, it became safe enough for kazuha to invite you along with it.

it took some convincing and some restless nights of you imagining yelan saying no, but it turns out she is more than happy to send you off to another region, oceans away. says she could use one herself. and now here you are, freely exploring, taking in new, breathtaking sights, meeting new people, fawning over their food, realizing the world is much bigger than you thought.

and also stumbling into a drunk man tipping side-to-side as he weaves through the forest.

cautiously, you sneak behind a tree, watching the inebriated stranger walk like he’s about to twirl around, catch his own feet over his ankle, and fall face-first.

he looks young. if he were next to you in liyue they’d assume he’s exactly your age, with unruly hair and a short height. in the soft, blue glow of the forest’s fluorescent flowers, this stranger looks like the type of handsome you’ve read in books. soft, striking.

“who’s there?”

your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. for someone barely able to walk a straight line, he’s able to sense your presence the moment your breath hitched; a concealed disturbance in the air.

should you leave?

unfortunately, the thought that kazuha would want you to guide this vulnerable man back to the city torments your conscience. even if you’re oceans away, protecting people and keeping them safe is still your duty.

with a sigh, you step out from the shadows, catching the way the man takes your figure in with squinted eyes. you respond with an inquisitive expression, and he stumbles nearer.

“there…there are— are they still chasing…?” he asks, and you first notice how he has a mole under each eye.

“chasing you? are you a criminal?”

“what….” he looks around, head spinning so fast even you got a little dizzy. “criminal? where?” he garbles, looking as if he’s a second away from throwing up.

“no, i’m asking you— ugh, never mind. who’re you?” you hold him up by the arm, feeling merciful. his weight suddenly doubles as he leans over you, leaving you no choice but to pin him against the tree to keep him from falling.

“the name— i’m,” he manages to say, his words sticking together stubbornly. “shikanoin…sharpest, most successful—”

“okay, okay,” you exhale loudly, not understanding a thing, “let’s just go back.”

“who are… you?” he asks, spitting the last word out, trying to mimic your tone. it fails miserably. his eyes widen as if he sees you for the first time. “oh, wow… you’re pretty. wow. where did you come from? why are you holding me up like this? are you weird?”

baffled by the onslaught of questions, you can only blink at him incredulously. “i’m not a weirdo! i’m trying to help you. you’re drunk out of your mind. and alone!” how did he even get here?

“you look so pretty,” he murmurs instead, “like it’d be a crime not to want you.”

this is getting nowhere.

you pull away in favor of checking if the stranger has anything of use to you. all you can note is a sheathed jitte, a particularly revealing top, and an anemo vision. he wavers again with the loss of your support, resulting in you reflexively reaching out to hold onto the side of his torso. where it’s bare.

“you— you like what you see?” he slurs, and impressively strikes a million-dollar smile despite the droop of his eyes and flush on his face.

“not at all,” you lie. “let’s get back to the city.”

you are, to be frank, tired and ready to slack off for the rest of the day, finding kazuha be damned. staying too long in chinju forest messed with your sense of time; you were expecting sunrise by the time you returned to the city, yet it had only just set.

( not to mention, on the entire way back, the stranger kept talking your ear off, going on and on about how extraordinary and young he is—how pretty you are and how mystified he is. you can guess what his role is here in inazuma judging from his jitte, though you hardly care about how his superiors belittle him and how he laughs in their faces when he solves cases they rip their “receding” hair off dealing with. )

men dressed in various shades of purple saw you dragging him and rushed over to you, crowding over and filling up the small circle with more stench of alcohol. they were all varying levels of drunk, which explains a lot of what happened to the one you met. one of them apologized profusely, though you weren’t listening at all, gaze caught on the way they dragged your stranger away, verbally assaulted with berating left and right.

they were holding him by the arms, looking too much like an apprehended criminal. all that you could think back to was the way he was staring intently at you, too, as if he can’t take his eyes off.

“he’s not usually like this.” the man apologizing is still talking, you faintly realize, zoning back in—yet your eyes never strayed, even as your stranger is far enough to be out of earshot. “he got too competitive.”

“it’s fine,” you say, clipped. “did he win?”

he blinks. “did he— sorry, what?”

“did he win?”

“...yes.” the man’s brows furrow, looking confused.

you bow in respect, smiling politely when your head tilts back up. “i’ll take my leave now, thank you.”

two days later

kaedehara kazuha sits on a rock, watching the sun rise in silence that you quickly disrupt the moment you spot the mop of light hair. he turns his head curiously, having noticed you before you even spoke.

“kazuha!” you exclaim, picking up your pace. “kazuha, there you are. i couldn’t find you at all yesterday. you should’ve seen it—gorou showed me some good views of watatsumi island.”

“i apologize…” he says sheepishly, and to his credit, he does look guilty. “did you have fun? a friend caught wind of my return and whisked me away before i could warn you.”

you laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. “it’s alright. it’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

“how are you liking inazuma so far?” he asks, shifting to give you more space.

you try to think back to the beauty of watatsumi, gorou’s enthusiasm, and kokomi’s hospitality, but all you can think of is luminescent flowers and twin moles and your hands meeting a bare waist instead of fabric.

“i met this drunk guy in chinju forest. he was just really weird, though, no one worth worrying over,” you recount, pointedly leaving out other details. “i helped him get back in the city. reminds me of what i had to do to you and beidou.” 

“sounds eventful,” kazuha muses, hiding a smile behind a leaf he had snatched out of the air. “where did you leave him off?”

“some guys took him. his co-workers, maybe. hope he doesn’t get fired, poor guy.” you’re starting to not like kazuha’s stare, like he can see the images you’re getting in your head. swiftly, you change the topic back to him. “how about you? what were you doing yesterday?”

“well.” he clears his throat, straightening. hesitantly: “you see—and please, hear me out before you say anything—this friend of mine wants to meet you. urgently, in fact.”

“in a few hours, if possible, he said.”

kazuha should’ve started the conversation with that.

a/n no way heizou fic No way...... no way!!! anyway this was actually rlly fun to write i love heizou so much i can only hope i do him justice in the next part where i have to write him in all his heizou glory </3 title is from ts song guess which one

#606:GENSHIN #genshin impact x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #heizou x reader #heizou fluff #heizou x you #genshin impact x you #shikanoin heizou x you #genshin x reader #heizou fanfiction #shikanoin heizou fanfiction #heizou x gender neutral reader

[acerathia]

drowning in you || Rafayel | Qi Yu

Summary:

Valentinesday doesn't work out, does it?

Wordcount: 2.5k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Qí Yù | Rafayel / Reader | MC

Tags/CW:

established relationship, dancing and kissing in the rain, flirting, bathing and washing each other, non-sexual intimacy, references(spoilers) to Mainstory and Myth, Moles as lasting kisses from the last life, implied sexual content after fic, domestic fluff

Note:

Happy Valentines!! I wrote this bc I go insane for him oops

– where r u? ive been waiting for ages omw! close to the entrance of the park –

With a little smile, you let your phone slide back into your bag. Rafayel has told you to come to the park nearby, and you wonder what he’s planning, hopefully not another trip on a boat, the simple memory makes you shiver. After that incident, you would never trust him with an oar ever again. But because you’re supposed to meet him at the entrance of the park, you assume it must be something slightly drier.

You round the last corner, and immediately spot his figure, arms crossed, close to the park. For a moment, you take your time to look at him, the way the sun shines between his hair, giving him some sort of underwater feeling. But you can’t help but squint when you notice his attire, one you have seen before, one Rafayel usually wears when meeting for some art stuff of his. You brush it off, it’s usual for him to wear something that draws the eye, being an artist and all, he does love showing his aesthetic with his clothes.

He seems to have sensed you, because he turns in your direction, and while you smile at him and hurry your steps to get closer to him, his lips push slightly forward.

“Finally, I thought you had forgotten about me! Did you look at the time? It’s been ages, I feel like I’m about to see fish walk on land,” he mutters the moment you stop in front of him.

“Well, I think I already see one,” you grin, before cupping his cheeks carefully. “In fact, this fish is right in front of me.”

The pout doesn’t disappear entirely, but it does soften as he leans closer to your skin. “See? I was right, you’ve left me waiting for too long.”

A huff of breath hits your face softly before he straightens up, not even waiting for your answer as he takes your hand in his, entwining your fingers together. “It doesn’t matter, you’re here now. Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, you both enter the park, and follow the path for quite some time. You have no idea what Rafayel wants to show you, so you only walk by his side, simply enjoying this quality time while looking around the place in peace.

The park seems huge, as before you both even arrived at his set destination, you begin to feel something cold hitting your head. You scrunch your face and look up, only for a drop of water to hit your cheek, your eyelids. You blink in surprise as the rain falls, multiplying with each second, with each step.

A groan, and your gaze immediately flicks to Rafayel, who’s gingerly holding a hand over his head. “Great, now everything is ruined… Did the weather forecast make a mistake? I even checked it for today” He turns to you and meets your eyes. “Let’s go back, c’mon.”

He sighs, disappointment apparent in the way his shoulders slump. “I guess, we’re going to make it up another time… Let’s hurry up and escape this annoying rain.”

You squeeze his hand as you follow his brisk steps into the direction you both came from. “It’s okay, spending time with you is more than enough for me.”

Your words only seem to make him walk faster, the rain hitting your face softly, and you can’t help but slow down slightly.

Laughing, you can’t help but tease him. “But let’s slow down a bit. You’re not going to turn into a mermaid the moment water touches you, are you?”

He turns around to face you, his face scrunched up in a pout. “How ridiculous! That only happens in those TV series. And we’re both already wet, wouldn’t it be too late to consider that anyway?” He cocks his head to the side, before a smug look takes over. “Unless you want me to turn into one to ogle at me, hm? Wouldn’t you like that?” With these words, he leans closer towards you, a grin over his plush lips.

Your eyes flick towards them before returning to his eyes, his lashes clumped and longer with the dripping water. You feel a heat creeping up your neck, and now you’re the one with a small pout on your lips. For a moment, you don’t have any comebacks, so you decide to do what always works the best.

Your free hand grabs his shoulders and you stretch slightly towards him. Your lips meet his. And despite the cold water, his skin is warm against yours. Without missing a beat, his arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you closer, stealing another peck before you could fully pull away.

Once there’s some space between your faces, you can’t help but grin at the redness spreading over the tips of his ears, but you want to see that color over his cheeks. So, you put your lips against his cheeks, closer to his ears.

“Of course I want to see you naked,” you whisper at him, and he immediately pulls away, the color bleeding into the rest of his face.

He holds his hands in front of his face, shielding it from your view. “Wh-what are you talking about?” he stammers, taking a small step back.

You can’t help but think how adorable he looks this flustered, but you stop teasing him, as the rain makes you feel cold, and you imagine he starts feeling the same. Taking his hand once again, you step closer to him and let your forehead rest against his chest.

Almost immediately, despite his embarrassment, his arm winds up against you, his face hot against the skin on your neck. Your other hand comes up to stroke through the wet strands of his hair, now closer to a darker blue when soaked like this.

You don’t know who starts it, but you both begin to slightly rock, a small dance under the rain, interlocked, heart against heart, listening to a tune only you both could hear.

“Let’s go home…” you whisper against his skin, feeling the goosebumps over it.

A sigh on your own skin, and he straightens up, his gaze wandering over your face, filled with something complex, something that warms you despite the cold seeping into your clothes.

Once he nods, you both are on your way again, heading towards the closest apartment of one of you. It doesn’t take long, and you’re glad to be out of the rain, because the moment you enter your home, the rain picks up, the wind sweeping over the streets. You really don’t want to know how it feels to be there.

Soaking wet, you begin to strip yourself of your shoes and socks. “I’m going to take a shower to warm up,” you tell him, and without words he just follows you on your heels.

It’s a burdensome task to get rid of the wet clothes sticking to your skin, but you manage it nonetheless. The heat of the turned on water is already spreading through the air, and you’re almost excited to get under it. With your focus on the upcoming warmth, a squeak of surprise escapes you, when you feel his cold fingers around your waist, his lips against the back of your neck.

You turn your head slightly towards him and kiss the corner of his lips, your fingers intertwining with his, before you fully turn around, your fingers carefully helping him out of his wet clothes, scattering soft kisses here and there over his cold skin. After that, you wordlessly pull him with you to stand under the warm rain of the shower.

For a moment, you let the heat seep into you, relax your muscles, before you grab the shampoo bottle. But instead of slathering it onto your own hair, you motion for him to lean down. Once he does, you put a good portion of the shampoo into his hair, and begin to massage it in, spreading it over his scalp and hair. You watch as he closes his eyes, leaning closer to you.

After you’re thoroughly done, you let him lean his head under the water once again, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair with soft strokes, your hands taking care of each strand, massaging his scalp. Once everything is truly gone, you grab one of your conditioners to take a bit of into your hands, spreading them over your palms before you begin to rub it into the ends of his hair.

A low hum sounds from him and he shuffles a little closer, his hands finding your waist, as always, keeping them there to anchor himself.

Allowing the conditioner to set, you grab his loofa, the one he has deposited ages ago, making himself at home in your home, sharing it with you. Making sure the foam has spread properly all over it, you begin to gently scrub his skin, his shoulders, his arms. You can’t help yourself but scatter some kisses here and there, on his jaw, on his neck.

Coming up to his chest, your eyes lock onto the tiny mole there. “Did you know, some people say that moles are an indication of where our past love has kissed us, over and over again,” you whisper against his skin before kissing the mole softly. “I will love you, for all of my lifetimes, over and over again… And I want to give you something to remember this one, and every one after…”

You’re vaguely aware that you have met Rafayel in your last lifes. And even if your memory is hazy, pieces coming up to you in blurry dreams, you know that you have loved him, and you will continue to love him, for as long as time allows you to exist.

You look up to him, his eyes wide, glazy with swirling emotions. Instead of saying anything, he leans down and catches your lips with his in something sweet, filled with love, of the past, present and future. You melt into his touch, into his warmth, into his steady presence. There isn’t another place you would love to be more than at his side.

For a moment, you let your thoughts focus on him, on the way he calls your name, on the way his ears blush when flustered, on the way he teases you with so much affection.

One last peck, and you continue with your endeavor, gently scrubbing his skin, massaging the tension out of his muscles.

After you make sure that he’s relaxed and clean, you once again guide him towards the water, letting the water glide over his body, warmth seeping into him and relaxing him a bit more. You gently grab his hair and massage all the conditioner away, until all that’s left are his pretty strands of hair.

Your lips meet his forehead, before you turn to take care of your own hair. But before you could even grab the bottle, he does, a bit of the liquid on his palms to slather onto your hair.

With the amount of knowledge he has on you, on your routine and day to day life, he manages to perfectly take care of your hair, his fingers carefully moving on your scalp, caressing the tension there out of your head.

A sigh escapes your lips and this time you’re the one stretching closer towards him, arms around his waist.

Rafayel rinses your hair carefully, each strand flowing through his fingers, and you enjoy each touch of his. Especially when he swipes your hair away to reveal your neck, placing a soft kiss there.

Despite being done, you both stay like this for a moment, his face against your shoulder, your fingers drawing random symbols on his skin, intertwined, skin to skin, warmth to warmth.

Just when you notice your fingers getting prune, do you turn off the water, reaching for the towels to dry up. You pass him his own, and watch as he dabs the water away, before wrapping it around his waist. You begin to feel a little bit warmer when he reaches up to swipe his hair away from his face, running his fingers through the strands, making them stick like that.

You turn around to take care of yourself and leave the bathroom to step into the bedroom, one supposedly belonging to you, yet filled with his trinkets and clothes. You step around some paint brushes clustered on the ground and grab a shirt and other clothes.

Once you put them on, you notice how the shirt belongs to him, something he has left behind after one of his escapades from the journalists. You don’t take it off though, rather you turn towards him as he pulls his pants on, a soft piece of clothing, perfect to sleep in.

His eyes glance up to you, getting stuck on his shirt on you, and you smile as you watch the redness bleeding into his ears, into his cheeks.

He crosses his arms, looking away. “So, you’re now also stealing my clothes now?”

You raise your eyebrows at this. “Uhm, what else have I stolen from you, Rafayel?” you ask, well aware that everything scattered around your place is due to him bringing it over. You can’t say you don’t love seeing his stuff around your place, though. It makes it more livelier, happier.

At your words, he turns around and begins prancing towards you, and you take a step back, your shins hitting the edge of the bed. He leans closer to your face, his eyes running over your face, admiring every single feature of yours, almost like his eyes have landed on an artwork.

You suddenly feel shy under his gaze, so you try to lean back, but when you try to do so, you end up falling onto the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

Instead of letting up, Rafayel puts both his hands on the side of your thighs, supporting himself on the bed to follow you.

“How dare you forget. You have stolen my heart, over and over again,” he whispers against your lips, before dipping in and taking a taste of your lips once again.

A small laugh of yours is drowned by his lips, as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him with you onto the bed. Drops of water fall onto your face from his wet hair, yet you don’t care at all. All that matters is him, Rafayel in your arms and his lips on yours.

With a puff of air, he lands on you, and as the kiss breaks apart for a moment, you take your time to admire his face, the soft lips, his translucent eyes, almost glowing every time he catches your gaze. He doesn’t give you much time, though, before he kisses you again, and again, each kiss making your heart thump with excitement, with all those emotions he manages to awaken in you.

And you’re happy to be the one waking up by his side, spending every lifetime as the person he loves. To be the person who loves him truly in every life.

You can’t help but shudder when his lips move over your jaw to your throat, when he softly murmurs against your skin.

“Let me drown in you…”

#rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x mc #qi yu x reader #qi yu x you #qi yu x y/n #qi yu x mc #rafayel love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x reader

[sunshinesteviee]

ooh bestie!! how about “How are you this perfect?” and “I want to look at your face.” from the soft smut prompts for Steve? 🥺💕

asdfjsld this took me fuckin forever to get to, but here she is finally lol. f!reader, 18+!!! pretty much just all praise kink, and maybe a lil breeding kink if u squint sldkfjasfd

-

Steve is always talkative. All day, every day. You never mind; you like hearing his voice and listening to his thoughts, but you especially love it when his cock is buried deep in your cunt and he’s mumbling nearly-incoherent praises into your damp skin. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Steve grunts, hips hitting yours with a filthy noise for what feels like millionth time as the tip of his cock repeatedly drives into the spot that has you teetering on the edge of release. You clench around him, back arching off of the bed and into his body, pulling another groan out of him, “How are you this perfect, angel? Fuck— you feel like fuckin’ heaven around me. My pretty baby and her perfect, pretty cunt. God you’re so good.”

You’re not nearly as talkative as Steve is, but it’s hard to form any kind of sentence when you’ve already come twice and he’s fucking you like it might be his last chance. Still, you’re gasping out his name, babbling your praises for him, “Stevie— Fuck, Steve. So good, always make me feel so good.”

“Close, baby?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer with the way you’re clenching around him and practically shaking. He can never get enough of the sight of you absolutely fucked out underneath him, hair splayed out on the pillow beneath you, head turned to the side to press into the soft fabric. It’s nearly enough to make him come, so when you nod jerkily, Steve doubles down, one of his hands snaking down between the two of you to rub your clit. “Gonna come for me, baby? Wanna look at your face when you come. Please.”

His tone is nearly pleading, and quite honestly, you miss his eyes and the intense, adoring look he always gives you when he’s this close to coming, too. Opening your eyes, you find him already staring, eyebrows creased in concentration, focusing on you coming first. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as his eyes meet yours, “There she is. My pretty baby. So good for me.”

It’s enough to send you over the edge as he circles your clit again. You’re practically chanting his name, his hair in a tight grip between your fingers to keep it out of his face as you mumble into his neck, “Fuckfuckfuck, baby. Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you feel good, too.”

Steve’s doing his best to keep up the pace, to help you ride out your high, but you know he’s close with the way his hips stutter against yours, his hot breath burning into the skin just above your collarbone. As you start to come down from your high, you hook your leg over Steve’s waist and push at one of his shoulders, trying to push him onto his back. He finally gets the hint, helping you to roll onto his back as he pants, “Shit, sweetheart, I don’t— not gonna last much longer—“

“Got you,” you mumble as you adjust your position, planting your palms on his bare chest and roll your hips over his, “Your turn, pretty boy.”

You swear you can see the blush creeping up from his chest to his neck to his cheeks, his skin hot under your touch from your affection as he all but whines your name. His fingers are digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he throws his head back into the pillows, eyebrows furrowing together as you grind into him. You’re just as focused on making him come as he was for you, and you drop down so your chest is pressed to his, scattering open-mouthed kisses over any bare skin you can reach. 

With a bruising grip on your hips to hold you in place, Steve thrusts up into you frantically, desperate for his own release. His head is pressed into the pillows beneath him, not unlike you’d been only minutes earlier, and you can’t resist the urge to press your lips to his bared neck, to the pretty moles that are scattered there, nipping at his skin and leaving your own bruises behind.

Praises for him tumble from your lips, where they’re pressed just underneath his ear, hands tugging at his hair. “God, Steve, you… you’re so fucking big, you’re so perfect. Want— fuck— want you to come inside me, baby, need you so bad.”

That’s really all it takes, and you watch as Steve comes undone beneath you, your name wrapped up in expletives as his chest heaves, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. You’re not sure how he can call you an angel when he looks like this. When he looks like absolute perfection. His hands soften against your hips, rubbing soothing circles over the red marks he’d made in your skin, and he lets out a laugh, “Fuck, baby.” 

His hands slide up the length of your back, wrapping you up into a hug to hold your body against his gently and you let out your own soft giggle, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “You’re the pretty one, ya know?”

Steve scoffs like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, his palm warm against your back where he rubs small circles into your skin, “Totally not possible, sweetheart.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington #blurbs #steve blurbs #my blurbs

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

The things we leave behind: FURY

A postgame Headspace AU set in the ruins of a discarded dream. In part 3 of 6, Aubrey faces her demons. This AU is easily the most indulgent thing I’ll ever write for this fandom, but I just rly needed to see more interaction between Omori and Sunny & sometimes u gotta make ur own food.

Sunny opens his eyes in an empty void. No ceiling. No walls. Just empty white as far as he can see in every direction. The silence is deafening. How did he survive for years on only this? How and why?

(Stupid question. Of course he knows why. This is the only place he could escape himself. The only place where he could still see Mari.)

He sits up. On the other side of the void, Omori is hunched over his old laptop.

“Finally,” Omori huffs, unfolding to his feet. “Can we go?”

Sunny opens his mouth to say something agreeable. His mouth says, “Where’s Mari?”

…Oh. He didn’t mean to say that. But now that he has, he doesn’t want to take it back. He wondered about it the whole night, the last time he was here. Mari wasn’t at any of her picnics. Omori said she was okay, but—what does that even mean? How can she be okay if she isn’t here?

Omori glares. “None of your business.”

“But—”

“Do you love your friends or not?”

Sunny’s questioned a lot of things over the years, but that was never one of them. “Yes.” Obviously.

“Then let’s go.”

###

Pyrefly Forest is a bloodbath.

It was always a ghost town. A horror story still unfolding. Melancholy scales in minor keys, plinking up and down a phantom piano. The silhouettes of dead and dying trees, choked by cobwebs and shrouded in fog. When you looked at them too closely, they almost seemed to move.

But this is different. This isn’t a graveyard. It’s a massacre.

The ground is littered with corpses. Not human corpses, thankfully—it’s crushed bulbs and shredded leaves, not cooling viscera—but vaguely appalling nonetheless. Strangely, the forest has never looked healthier. The leaves on the trees grow thick and glossy. The bark on their trunks shines steely gray.

Sunny squints toward the nearest picnic blanket. Empty. Like all the rest.

“So,” he says, testing the waters. “Mari’s not at the picnics.”

Omori doesn’t answer.

“But you said she’s okay.”

A curt nod.

“Can I see her?”

“No,” Omori says coldly. “Any more stupid questions?”

Yes. Definitely. A lot. But he doesn’t want to push his luck. “...No?”

“Good.”

###

They find Aubrey by the Weeping Willow’s spring, playing whack-a-mole with half the population of Sprout Mole Village. In lieu of her bat, she’s swinging a ludicrously oversized crowbar, a flashy cartoon weapon in a distinctly different artstyle. Maybe she brought it with her?

When she spots Sunny, she throws an arm up in greeting. “Yo, what’s up! You wanna help me smash these weird rats?”

Sunny darts a glance at his alter ego. Omori’s eyes have gone round with wonder. He obviously didn’t expect Aubrey to be so buff. Or so heavily tattooed. Or so… pink.

“She’s pretty cool, huh.”

“Die,” Omori says immediately.

Sunny gives him a knowing look.

Omori counters with a withering glare. “We might need back-up… Wait here. I’ll call Kel.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Whatever’s going on with Headspace-Aubrey, Kel is bound to make it worse. When Omori just stares, Sunny grimaces. “Aubrey’s… easily embarrassed.”

“What? No she isn’t.”

Sunny can’t help laughing. “You might not know her as well as you think.”

“You might not know what you’re talking about.”

“Two Sunny’s, huh?” Aubrey asks cheerfully. Both of them jump. In the time they were arguing, she must’ve closed in. “Cool, cool. So, were you guys gonna help me fight these weird bugs or not?”

Sunny looks to Omori, who rolls his eyes. “Just make her come with us.”

###

As Omori leads them through the fog, Aubrey elbows Sunny. “So… what’s with the sidekick?”

That gets Omori’s attention. He whips around with both hands curled to fists. “I am not his sidekick.”

“Hah! Oh, man. I forgot how much of a brat you were at that age. You remember that time Kel spilled juice on your sketchbook and you made him sit in the corner?”

“...No,” Sunny lies.

“You made him a dunce cap! Oh my god, he wore it for hours. And when he asked if he could take it off you said— You said, Do you think you’ve learned your lesson? And he said—”

Sunny can’t hold back a snort of laughter. “He said no.”

“He totally said no!!! Oh my god, what a fucking moron. Whoops. Sorry, I probably shouldn’t cuss in front of your inner child.”

“I am not—” Omori sputters.

“Aw, c’mon, Sunshine,” she tells him, one-handing her crowbar so she can mess up his hair. If Sunny tried something like that, he’d lose that hand. But apparently Aubrey gets special treatment. “You know I’m just playing. Can you blame me? You were fuckin’ adorable. Like an angry little kitty cat.”

Omori’s face turns red, then white. He glares at Sunny. “Make her stop.”

Sunny shrugs. “I’m not her supervisor.”

“And thank god for that,” Aubrey agrees. “Hey, so where are we going, anyway? Between you and me, I’m pretty sure this isn’t real.”

Sunny’s gone back and forth on that himself. “I don’t know. Omori?”

Omori doesn’t answer.

“Pfff,” Aubrey snorts. “Silent treatment, huh? Now I’m getting all nostalgic.”

Sunny can practically see the steam rising from Omori’s ears. “You should probably stop messing with him,” he tells Aubrey. “He does have a knife.”

“Aw, Sunny. It’s so cute that you think you could get near me with that thing.”

“I’ve done it before,” Sunny sniffs.

“Only ‘cause you took me by surprise. And it was two against one. Totally doesn’t count.”

“Will you two shut up?” Omori hisses over his shoulder. “Or do you want to get eaten?”

Sunny’s eye narrows. As far as he knows, there isn’t anything in Headspace that eats people. Or at least, there didn’t used to be.

Aubrey opens her mouth to argue. But before she can get a word out, a deep, rattling snarl rumbles through the trees. Even with its source far out of sight, Sunny can feel it buzzing in his chest.

Aubrey’s eyebrows go up, and her mouth clacks shut.

###

The further they walk, the louder the growling gets. Sunny walks a little closer to Aubrey. He’s increasingly convinced that he knows who’s making all that noise.

At the Pyrefly Pluto stop, just south of what used to be Sweetheart’s Castle, Omori finally stops. That rattling snarl isn’t in the background anymore. It’s loud enough to shake the ground under their feet. The grass is littered with dead leaves, shaken from their branches by sheer sonic force. The air is thick with the scent of decay, musty and sickly-sweet. The forest is barren. All the trees here are dead.

“Wait here,” Omori mutters, and darts ahead. In an instant, he’s swallowed by the fog.

Aubrey elbows Sunny. “Dude. What’s the deal.”

Oh. “Sorry. We’re—um. You’re… dreaming.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. There’s not usually two of you.”

…Right. “And we have to go—do something. Talk to someone, or… something like that. Like a quest.” As cover stories go, it’s not very inspired. But it is more-or-less true.

“Uh huh,” she says. “But like. Why?”

Ugh. Of course Aubrey wouldn’t just go along with it. She was always going to be harder than Kel. “We just have to.” No, that’s not going to work either. Aubrey doesn't take orders from anyone. “I need you to?” he tries. “As a favor. …Please.”

“Well,” she drawls, smirking a little. “I guess if you need me.”

He rolls his eye at her. “Really it’s Omori. The other one. Oh. And you should probably stop calling him—”

“Shh,” she hisses, stiffening. “Did you see that?”

“What?”

“In the trees. It was— I thought I saw something.”

Something. But does that mean— Could she be talking about—

Sunny’s heart leaps. He knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up but he can’t help it. He misses her so much. He whips around, scanning the treeline for a familiar silhouette. Long and dark, with one glaring white eye.

A blur of motion flits between the trees. Lightless, eyeless. Almost formless. Just a shadow among shadows. He only sees it for a moment before it vanishes, lost to the surrounding dark.

When he turns around, it’s looming over Aubrey.

(In Sunny’s memories, the Stranger is just a black-and-gray version of Basil. He wasn’t even scary, really. Just lonely, and sad, and strangely magnetic. Wherever he appeared, Omori couldn’t help but follow.

But Sunny isn’t running Headspace anymore.)

The Stranger’s limbs have lengthened, stretched sapling-long and pencil-thin. When he stands half-hunched, his knuckles scrape the grass. His fingers, hooked like talons, are tipped with jagged claws. His legs don't end in feet, but cloven, pointed hooves. And there’s something hanging from his neck. A loop of slick black rope. It drags behind him like a rat’s tail, heavy and unnervingly greasy.

“You,” the Stranger hisses, close against Aubrey’s ear. His voice is like spider's legs. Like dead leaves over dry bone. “You remind me of sss-s-someone.”

Omori materializes out of the fog with his knife already drawn. “Easy, Stranger,” he says warningly.

Aubrey doesn’t flinch. She might as well be carved from stone.

“You aren’t afraid,” the Stranger cackles. “Eh-hehe-heh-he. You were always-s-sss braver than the ressst of us.”

“Wait.” Aubrey’s eyes widen. “Basil???”

The shadow lets loose a wild laugh. “Ohhh, you are interesting, aren’t you? Mmh… Such an a-a-angrrrry little bunny.” When he stutters, his neck clicks and jerks like bad claymation. “A r-rrrRRRHhrr-rabbit hunting wolves. And now you’ve found them.” He twitches closer, breathing down her neck. “You want me to hurt you, don’t you? I can s-sss-smell it on your ssskin. All the things you think you deserve.”

“Stranger,” Omori says again.

“Eh heh heh. Ohh-h-h, calm down, Omori. I'm not here to break your toys. I was only sssaying hello.”

“We’re looking for Aubrey,” Omori says calmly. In the background, the real Aubrey looks confounded. “She isn’t in her fortress. Do you know where she went?”

“I know where ev~eryone is. The princess-s-ss is out hunting. Rabbitsss,” with a savage grin for Aubrey. “Glutting on blood and sinew and s-s-ssssucking the marrow from their little bones.”

Omori doesn’t back off. “Where?”

“I could take you,” the Stranger whispers. His smile is a knife-wound. It slits his face from ear to tufted ear. “But she won’t s-s-ssee you. She hatesssss us.”

Omori gestures impatiently, like that goes without saying. “Just tell me where to go.”

###

“What the fuck,” Aubrey says succinctly, after the Stranger sends them on their way.

Sunny isn’t listening. He’s too busy trying to catch up to Omori. “The Stranger. He’s not not all messed up. Or—not as much. Not like Kel.”

Omori doesn’t slow down. If anything, he walks even faster.

Sunny lets out a frustrated breath. “Omori.”

“What.”

“Why isn’t he all messed up?”

Omori huffs irritably. “He’s another exception. Obviously. Like Longlegs. And me.”

“And Mari.”

Omori doesn’t answer.

“He didn’t sound different,” Sunny mumbles. He didn’t even act different, really. “But he looked—”

Omori whips around with his teeth bared. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want everyone to stay exactly how you left them? This place isn’t yours anymore, Dreamer. You left. You don’t get a vote.”

Sunny frowns. Does that mean that Mari’s different, too? Is she even still his sister anymore? Or is she just another monster? “Is that what happened to—”

“You don’t get to ask me about Mari.”

“Um,” Aubrey cuts in. When both of them turn to glare, she laughs nervously. “Heh. Uh… Sorry to interrupt, I guess? I just had a question.”

“What,” Sunny says impatiently.

“Uh. I guess basically… What the fuck?”

“Shh,” Omori hisses, grabbing them both and yanking them back into the bushes. “She’s close.”

###

A flurry of rabbits streams past, a river of white fur and terrified eyes. Crow scatter and screech. The trees tremble.

And then they see her.

Captain Kel was swollen to Looney Toons proportions, but at least he was recognizably human. This creature is decidedly not. Sunny can tell, because humans don’t typically grow as tall as a fucking house. And they’re definitely not supposed to be covered with plush, feathery pink fur.

The monster’s eyes are huge and dark, but the light that glitters in its pupils glows an unnerving blood-red. As far as Sunny can tell, it’s not any one animal, just a chaotic jangle of monster parts: rabbit’s haunches and ram’s horns and a colossal crocodile maw of shark’s teeth, all smushed together into the world’s ugliest chimera. It looks like what would happen if you put eight tertiary predators in a blender and set it to puree.

Filmy threads from Aubrey’s old nightdress still cling to the monster’s paws, and the entire front half of its body is spattered red. Its round, lizardlike muzzle is drenched in it. But the ribbon Mari gave her is still pristine, tied in a neat bow around her neck. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

Sunny looks at Omori. Omori nods.

Sunny just stares. Because—what? What is he supposed to do about this? Aubrey might be tough enough to come out on top of nine out of ten bar fights, but even she can’t take down a monster the size of a school bus. It doesn’t even look like her. Except for the bow, maybe. And the eyes.

But when he turns to see how the real Aubrey is doing, her face is gone cold. Her fists are clenched, her jaw set.

“So,” she says darkly, once the monster’s lumbered out of range. “That’s the quest.”

It isn’t a question, but Sunny answers anyway. “Yes.”

“It’s me.”

“...Yes.”

The breath hisses through her teeth. “Right. Sure. Of course it is.”

Omori looks taken aback, but Sunny is barely surprised. Aubrey was always more self-aware than the rest of them. She isn’t like Kel, who’ll only take a good hard look at himself if you take his head in your hands and make him. Aubrey sees to the heart of things. It’s why she was so quick to recognize Stranger, even though it took Sunny years and years.

Besides. Aubrey might be all grown up, but that doesn't mean that she can always see it. It’s all too easy for her to see herself in a monster.

Sunny frowns and tugs on her elbow. “It isn’t really.”

“Hahh?” she demands, twisting around to glare. “Which one is it?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. “It’s just a piece,” he tries. “Not even a big piece.”

Aubrey softens. “Y-Yeah. I know. Sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Okay,” she mutters, and shakes herself off. “Okay. So this is, what? Some kinda vision quest? Hunting my inner demons, or some shit?”

“...Something like that.”

“So why are you here? Fucking, twice, I might add?”

Sunny shrugs.

“‘Cause it seems like it’d be a guilt thing, but—if I’m honest, I feel way worse about Basil. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Hrmm.” Aubrey holds her frown for a moment longer and then rolls up her sleeves. “Well. Whatever, I guess. Fuck it. Let’s go kick my ass.”

For once in his life, Omori looks genuinely moved.

###

They stalk Kaiju Aubrey—(Monster-brey? Monbrey? …He’ll keep working on it)—back to King Crawler’s clearing before regrouping at the picnic.

“So I pretty much just hit her on the head until she dies, right?” Aubrey asks cheerfully.

Omori chokes.

“Not exactly,” Sunny snickers. Ideally, she’d stop before Beastbrey died. (Beastbrey, he thinks. That’s not bad.) “Um. Try not to kill her.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that sounds a lot easier.”

“Pretty sure. Yeah.”

“Suit yourself,” she yawns. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to kill monsters, though.”

“She’s not a monster,” Sunny mumbles.

“Pfft. Right. Good one.”

He frowns at her. “You’re not—”

“Aaaand I think that’s enough with the heart-to-heart, thanks! Can we please just fight?”

###

So, they fight.

Headspace-Aubrey made her lair in King Crawler’s old grotto. The grass is littered with sprout mole husks and rabbit’s bones. But the surrounding forest has never looked healthier. The trees here are violently lush, with glossy leaves and thick strong trunks. The grass grows long and perfectly key lime-green.

At the farthest end of the clearing, Beastbrey is splayed languid, gnawing the bones of her last meal.

The bulk of her body is blunt and barrel-shaped, like a boar’s. But those powerful, tightly coiled haunches would look more at home on a jackrabbit, or a frog. Two colossal silver ram’s horns curl from either side of her head, and her thick coat of fur is run through with slender, translucent spines—like a hedgehog’s, if hedgehogs had spines all over their bodies.

To Sunny’s surprise, there aren’t any claws on her front paws. Instead, each leg ends in a blunt, chitinous protrusion of bone, like the head of a mallet. Or like the monster is wearing very uncomfortable white mittens.

While Omori sifts through his inventory, Sunny sidles up to him. “Omori. I really think I should have a knife.”

“Cool. I guess you should go find one.”

But they both know that Omori has artillery to spare. Sunny frowns. “Are you mad at me?”

“Not everything is always about you,” Omori says coldly.

Since Aubrey showed up already armed, she doesn’t need to borrow a weapon. But Omori does thrust a CHARM at her. It’s one that Sunny doesn’t recognize, a pastel-pink headband adorned with a huge silk gladiolus.

“Aw,” Aubrey snickers, amused but clearly also touched. “For luck?”

“Something like that.”

She slides it on, pinning her bangs back from her face. “So? Is it cute?”

“I don’t know,” Omori mutters.

“Sunshine?”

“Totally,” Sunny says promptly. It suits her, actually. It’s flashier than the pins that Basil wears, but then again, so is Aubrey. “Gets a little lost in your hair. Maybe a different color?”

“It’s not for fashion,” Omori hisses. “Never mind. Let’s just get this over with.”

READ THE REST OF CH 3 HERE: archiveofourown.org/works/45213322/chapters/126779419

OR START FROM THE BEGINNING: archiveofourown.org/works/45213322/chapters/113743957

#omori spoilers #omori sunburn #the sunburn is platonic for me but can def be read either way #omori fanfic #headspace au

[scribs-dibs]

kisses? kisses!

feat. dottore, heizou, kazuha

warnings/notes: dottore's is a bit angsty if u squint + he may be ooc lol, typos, probably

dottore;  hands

dottore is not one for intimacy. 

not when he is stained with sin, and not with his twisted nature. love is not for him. to show such weakness is pathetic in his eyes– he would never allow himself to have such a fatal thorn in his side.

dottore was not one for intimacy. until he fell for you.

he would’ve never imagined it–the way the world behind you clouds and disappears into nothing– all because it’s you who overtakes his mind. there are no calculations or schemes. there are no plans as his brain turns off momentarily, only thinking of you, you, you. the longer he stares, eyes of crimson now displayed before you with his mask discarded elsewhere, the more he finds himself sinking deeper into your touch. dottore has a mind to think that this is some sort of elaborate trap you’ve set him in. like a spider stuck in a pool of golden honey.

your touch is soft. it’s warm. so, so different from the chill of the snezhnayan snow that fights against the glass window in your home. the sound of the storm blurs too, as your hands slowly peel off the black material of his gloves. you’re careful, so much more gentle than you need to be with someone like him. with one hand, your fingers slide underneath the palms of his gloves. as it rises, the material folds up and up and up, and soon, the tips of your fingers meet, and the glove slides off. he hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath. 

his hand, now bare, is cradled in two of your own. the skin is scarred, fingers rough and hard from his dirty work. they are ugly, ugly hands that belong to an ugly, ugly soul. even he takes displeasure in looking at them. 

“there, are you happy? you were ever so insistent on removing my gloves earlier,” he says with a voice laced with scorn, “well, here you are. i do hope you know there’s no taking back what you asked for, darling.”

as if you would want to take this back. this part of him that he chose to lay before you. to show his scars so openly, revealed by your own hands. 

you don’t miss the light intake of air he pulls in when you kiss the back of his hand. it’s quiet, nearly missable like the sweeping of an owl’s wings, but you hear it. hear the shock and disbelief that he keeps coiled and squashed flat within him.

“you–”

“i am happy,” you interrupt, “because i love you, and i felt like showing it.”

“brat.” is all he spits out. i love you too, is what he thinks automatically.

and now, he’s all too eager to take off his other glove, waiting for you to do that again.

heizou has never been concerned with the moles under his eyes. but it is said they are a misfortune– a bright red warning sign setting him up for bad luck in love. it’s never bothered him, though. things as flimsy as fate are not something he’d get stuck on. especially not when “fate” is proven wrong.

heizou; face

heizou has never been concerned with the moles under his eyes– he’s never had to be. because the one most important to him, you, simply adores them.

his grin is wide, stretching across his face like a rainbow stretches over clear skies as you cup his face. your “attacks” are unrelenting, dipping forward to kiss the mark under his left eye, then his right, and then his left again. giggles tumble out of the both of you, clumsy and unplanned, but filled to the brim with a fuzzy delight. he isn’t one to just take, though, and this is made clear by the way he cups your cheeks in turn, and with that he has begun an attack of his own. your lips meet a few times in the messy exchange of kisses, and it’s as pure as the first light of day. 

“it’s bad luck, you know,” he purrs to you. the two of you lay under the tree just outside of inazuma city. the setting sun brings out the green of his eyes, “these marks of mine. tell me, my dear partner, why give them so much love?”

his words are uttered between  kisses to your skin. heizou is nothing if not thorough, and it seems he’s insistent on not leaving a bit of skin untouched. if it was anyone else, you’d worry that he wasn’t interested in your answer at all. but you know him just as he knows you, so you’re able to tell that he is simply greedy. parting from you, even for a second, feels far too long. you sigh into his touches, and you're sure to nudge his head upwards for another kiss to his lips. he hums at the brief contact.

“haven’t you heard?” your hands rest on his face again. he looks at you like you’ve got him in a trance– perhaps you do, “moles are where your last lover kissed you most in your last life.”  your palms shift as heiou tilts his head. he says nothing, urging you to continue. 

“i think they’re cute,” you admit with a grin, “i think you should keep ‘em for the next life too.”

heizou’s lips, slightly reddened from kissing, fall into a small “O” at your answer. but he recovers quickly, and now there’s a glint in his eye. it’s the dangerous kind: the one that shows itself when a new clue has come to light and he’s finally cracked the case.

“i see,” his tone is airy, filled with false-thoughtfulness as he inches impossibly closer, “in that case…”

heizou kisses the space under your left eye, then to your right, then to your left again.

“how about we match?”

kazuha’s affection is mellow. it’s like the wind he travels with– it’s swift and soft. he may be a poet, but never found words to be a love language suited for him. “no words, either spoken by mortals or the gods themselves, could ever come close to describing my love for you,” he had said. which is why physical affection is his go-to.

kazuha; neck

its delicate touches: hands grazing over your hands, your cheeks– just before his lips follow after them. these are delicate too, almost teasing in the way he just barely presses down onto your skin. it has you shivering, not out of cold, but out of want. and he knows. you know he knows, because though his touch is faint, you can still feel the way his lips curve into the smallest of smiles. he has the audacity to ask what troubles you after. 

but his teasing is the worst at your neck. this is where he presses the softest– because he knows what reaction it’ll pull out of you. he knows, but he’s delighted at every shiver, every small gasp. it always starts with kisses to your jaw. he follows the edge of the bone, then trails down, down, down in a way that’s almost painfully sweet and restrained. kazuha treats you like you are something to be savored. you can practically feel how he takes you in. your scent, your skin, your everything, and enjoys doing so.

so once, just once, you want to do the same to him.

you know that he hears your footsteps as you sneak behind him. kazuha is one with the wind, instincts sharp as the blade he wields, but even so he lets himself get taken by “surprise.” your hands wind around his waist, and if your presence alone wasn’t enough to make him smile, the touch from you definitely does.

“my love,” the petname rolls off his tongue as naturally as breathing, “it’s nice to see you. is there something on your mind?” he leans against you slightly, pleased with the pressure of you pressing into his back. any contact from you seems to have him purring like an affectionate kitten. 

“nothing…” you lie, and a hand moves upwards to pull down his patterned scarf. he doesn’t stop you, but he does make a beautiful noise of surprise as the first kiss against his neck is planted. 

you grin against his skin, just as he had against yours a countless number of times. you can feel the way he shudders against you, but there is no resistance or displeasure. in fact, locks of white flow with him as his head tilts, allowing you more access. 

his head is facing away from you, but a blush blooms up the tips of his ears and drips down to the very place your lips touch. kazuha hums at each kiss, and gasps when there’s more pressure than he was expecting. 

he loves this, you realize, and your smile never falters as you continue.

══════◄••❀••►══════

hello hello!! thank u so much for reading >_>)

i dont have much 2 say about this one,,,but it was very fun to write,,, kisses >>>>>>>

as always, comments and reblogs are appreciated! ty again for reading hehe

#dottore x reader #kazuha x reader #heizou x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #kadehara kazuha #shikanoin heizou #il dottore #genshin impact #☆.writing

[exams]

i think it would be cute if kakashi had more moles like what if he had moles on his back and chest...beautiful concept

#this is in reference to my one kkir drawing #he has moles on his back if u squint #sunnie.text

[yeehawfolk]

Hi! I think yr totally right about Felix's teeth probably not being great and how he and the rest of the crew should have more scars! Do u have any other lil appearance HCs for him/the whole gang? (:

OK! SO! I have a Lot of HCs about the crew, appearance-wise, anyway. Don't get me wrong, I love their canon designs, but I feel like they didn't utilize "Halcyon is fucked" enough with your companions? If that makes sense. I'm going to break this up character by character, so it'll be an easier read!

Also, I'm gonna put a TW on this for slight self harm on this?? It's not emotionally motivated at all, it's like when you'd compete to see who can get the gnarliest eraser burn in middle school, but nevertheless, I want to warn y'all ahead of time, it's on Ellie's part.

Parvati:

-Honestly, her eyes are gorgeous. They're brown, but an amber kind of brown, and very bright.

-I personally HC that Parvati chews her nails when she's nervous, so they're always nubs and usually pretty dirty, bc Mechanic and all.

-Her hands have faint scars from nicks and burns from working on machinery. The skin on her hands doesn't scar easily, but she still has a few gnarly scars from particularly bad burns or cuts that she wasn't able to take proper care of.

-Constantly has bruises of unknown origin on her arms and legs. She bruises very easy, and always has, which is kind of precarious when you're a mechanic.

-This might already be canon and I just haven't noticed bc I'm using the Switch version, but I HC Parv has some freckles sprinkled around her face. Not a lot by any means, but I HC she gets frequent sun when she's working on certain parts of the town, and freckles are a bi-product of that.

-She has a couple small scars on her face; one just below her eye on her cheek, and another on her chin. I like to think she fell on her chin, and the other was from her first project that blew up in her face, literally.

-Her skin is just a bit ashy because she hasn't had access to a lot of good lotions over the years.

-Despite taking a shower every morning, she accumulates grease smudges and dirt from her plants on herself very easily. She cleans up for her and Junlei's dates, but for casual visits both don't really bother. Sometimes they make a game of smudging each other with grease while they work and by the time they're finished their faces look like they were going for war paint.

-I like to think Parvati and Junlei eventually wear rings with each other (like, years down the line) and when Parvati gets deep in thought, she rests it against her lips. Junlei does something similar by turning her ring on her finger.

-Parv has ok teeth, not like great, but she takes pretty good care of them, even if sometimes she has to forgo it for a day or few while out with the Captain.

-When she's in Edgewater, she's always skinny, and if you squinted you probably could pick out a rib or so. But after she moves in with The Captain, she gains weight, and finally has the little pooch of fat that you're supposed to have around the middle. Ellie helps her keep up with nutritional needs (what you can get in Halcyon, anyway) and gets very proud when she makes her goals.

Felix:

-This boy has horrible teeth. His sweet tooth + being an orphan in the Back Bays didn't leave much time for proper teeth cleaning. He probably never really had enough bits to get toothpaste with, either.

-Oh, boy. He has scars galore. Some are from scuffles (he has some on his back from when he was a kid and used to get in trouble for stealing) but a lot are also from getting burned by pipes, or jagged metal. A fair few are from him doing dumbass things in his teenage years ("I wonder what would happen if I heat up these rounds of light ammo with a flamethrower??") because you can't tell me this boy didn't do dumb things like every teenage boy did but with more disasterous results bc SciFi.

-His nose has been broken quite a few times, so it's crooked in a couple spots.

-Can frequently be found with bloody knuckles just because he forgets that punching someone with a mask over their face really isn't the best idea. This eventually culminates into him making the "Millstone Drop-Kick!" his go-to move.

-This isn't exactly appearance related, but I HC Felix has a fucked back from his life of hauling heavy boxes. It doesn't help that he drop kicks literally everything that moves tho.

-Probably has chronic pain in his hands from his hands getting crushed by boxes at some point or another. Several of his fingers are crooked from being broken and improperly set. His bones probably aren't the best bc of poor nutrition growing up, either, so they're a little easier to break.

-Just. Me thinking about Felix in his 40s, or even early 30s: Honey, you have a big storm coming.

-This is also a little random, but I like to think that it takes a long time for Felix to grow any kind of facial hair (he has chronic babyface) so he's super proud of his scruff.

-Max: That's peach fuzz. If that.

-Felix: Leave me alone you big hairy bastard, just bc you have to shave like every other day to keep a clean face doesn't mean all men do!!

-(He's just a bit sensitive about his facial hair)

-(He one day dreams of growing a glorious beard like Sanjar's, but it would take him like 50 years)

-(Shut up Max one day he'll have an amazing handlebar mustache and you won't be laughing then)

-I have no idea if piercings or tattoos are a Thing in Halcyon (probs not, honestly, but I can dream) but if they are, he tried to pierce his ears by himself once, they got infected, and he got really sad when he had to let them close. The marks are still there but the holes have closed by now.

-ELLIE PIERCES HIS EAR AND HELPS HIM KEEP IT CLEAN

-Felix is strong, but he's skinny and gangly as all hell and it's hard as fuck to get him to gain any weight, mostly because he still has his habit of eating only what he needs and stashing the rest. It takes him a while with the crew to get over that, and when he does, he gains a healthy amount of weight around his middle. Ellie teases him a bit, but is 1,000x happier that he's no longer damn near a walking skeleton.

-Listen. Ellie and Felix are bros I don't make the rules. She denies it but she would kill for Felix.

-Usually has slight dark circles under his eyes, because he has nightmares sometimes and can't sleep.

-His eyes are really, really pretty. Like. Super fucking pretty. He has long lashes and they sparkle when he smiles. His eyes are hazel like Max's, but more on the brown side, with streaks of green radiating out from the pupil.

-Speaking of smiles. He has the goofiest and sweetest grins around. A little self-conscious about his teeth, but honestly that doesn't stop him from laughing and smiling with everyone. He has a couple broken teeth, but honestly it just makes his grin a lil lopsided and cute.

-He gets the Worst bed-head. It stands almost straight up in every direction, but it's really easy to tame. Mostly because he just runs his hands through it and calls it a day.

-He found Max's hair gel once and went Ham. He used the whole can sticking his hair up into a mohawk, and proceeded to parade around for Ellie and Parvati. Then bolt to his room and lock the door when Max shouted his name from the bathroom. Max's hair was out of whack for like. A week. He kept blowing it out of his face and Felix and Ellie would giggle like madmen when he did.

-*BANGS FISTS ON TABLE* FELIX IS BABY! FELIX IS BABY!!

Max:

-My MANS

-Listen, I am extremely gay for Max. This needs to be known before I continue, because I have a metric fuckton of Max HCs.

-So, first off, Max takes VERY good care of his appearance. Like. Insanely good. His hair is always perfectly held back by a moderate amount of gel, his nails perfectly trimmed and cleaned. He keeps a clean-shaven face.

-But don't let that fool you, Max can and will get down and dirty when need be, he just doesn't care to stay like that.

-Quite a few scars from his prison and Tossball years. But because of the clothes he wears you wouldn't be able to see them easily. Mostly on his back/sides, though he has a couple on his torso and legs.

-The Captain calls him Bigfoot because his grows hair really fast and his arms and chest have some pretty thick hair. Max is very confused, because he personally doesn't think his feet are that big.

-Not an appearance HC per se, but he smells like soap, aftershave, and books.

-When he doesn't gel his hair, it falls in his face constantly, and it annoys the fuck out of him.

-Fuckin ripped bro. Just. What the fuck. Why is a priest this fuckin shredded. Why make my gay little heart ache more than it already does, Obsidian??

-Despite his arm muscles being like. Huge, he still has a healthy layer of fat over his middle, mostly because being an OSI Priest, he got a little bit better nutrition VS. literally all of Halcyon.

-When his knee gets Bad (like hiking through Monarch with the Captain) he has a slight limp? Barely noticeable, but you can tell he's not putting weight on it. I HC its an old Tossball injury (that might be canon, I haven't played in forever).

-Its hard to tell in the different lights of the game whether his hair is Black or Silver, and I like to think he's greying, but not fully grey yet. He can have a little hair color, still. As a treat.

-Fuckin no lashes to speak of. None at all. Baldy eyes. Its the only part of him that doesn't have really thick hair and ngl he is very salty about it. Tho his actual eyes are very pretty; they're hazel with a lot of green. He has a darker ring on the outside and flecks of brown in them.

-Has very good teeth, whiter than most of Halcyon's because of the OSI providing for him.

-Broke his nose once during Tossball, though he was able to get it set alright. Slight crook in the bridge of his nose.

-He has a lot of those moles from his face scattered around. Particularly his shoulders and back.

-Also have you seen his fuckin canon thighs??? Bro. They could crush a watermelon. Once again, I must say, what the fuck, why is this priest so fuckin shredded.

-Actually takes his physical health very seriously, so I like to think he's in great shape for his age. Seeing him in some of the canon outfits though makes me more inclined to think that's canon.

-Sorry, I have thought about this A Lot, and the gay jumps out of me sometimes.

-A fair amount of scars on his arms. Not as many as Nyoka, but a little bit more than Parvati.

-Has calloused hands, but they've softened over his years as a priest.

Ellie:

-Now I feel like Ellie wouldn't have many scars that she didn't let scar up on purpose to give her an edge. They're essentially superficial; they look cool but didn't do any real damage.

-Also, her skin is very pale, so she doesn't scar easily anyway.

-Though she does have some, and they're more recent. A couple of gashes on her arms, and a bullet wound in her side. She's proud of them.

-The dark circles under her eyes are because she likes to stay up late at night. Sometimes she contemplates her life, but she doesn't like it, and usually doesn't bother too much.

-Her lashes are very thick and full, and they compliment her eyes very well. Her eyes aren't exactly ice blue, they're a bit darker, and have real pretty lighter streaks in them.

-Yes, her lips are naturally that color. Good for picking up women, bad for looking intimidating to marauders.

-Really soft skin, she's always had access to good lotion. After she leaves Byzantium, she purposely looks a bit more grimy than she did then, which is easy to do because of her skin tone.

-Has a few moles and freckles, but not many, mostly on her shoulders and back. She was inside a lot prior to her leaving Byzantium.

-Her hair doesn't really sit down when she sleeps, but it does lose some poofiness, so she has to meticulously push it up in the mornings.

-Not quite an appearance HC, but I feel like when she gets comfortable with ADA, she gives her compliments. Stuff like "Your screen is very bright today, ADA!" ADA does the same thing. "And your hair is looking very bright as always, Dr. Fenhill."

-Muscular, but lean, and puts on weight a little easier than others, so she wouldn't look like she could kick your ass without her pirate get-up, but she could 100%, no holds barred kick your ass.

-Very good teeth. Despite wanting to look like a gnarly pirate she takes dental care very seriously. Tho she thinks about getting punched in the mouth occasionally so she could like break off a piece of her tooth. Not the whole thing, just enough to make her look tough.

-Idc if piercings and tattoos aren't a Thing in Halcyon, Ellie has pierced ears. Three in each ear, and I like to think an eyebrow and maybe nose ring. She doesn't wear them when she's in Dangerous Situations because she firsthand had to fix ears that had their earrings ripped out during rich catfights that she does NOT want that to happen to her.

-She also has tattoos covering most of her back, and some of her upper arms. She got them "illegally" (meaning it's illegal to The Board, but the Groundbreaker doesn't really give a shit) on The Groundbreaker and she's proud as fuck of them.

-I have Feelings about the missed opportunities for illegal tattoo/piercing parlors. Like I know there's not a lot of self-expression to be had and no Art aside from fonts, but c'mon. Humans have drawn on their skin since the beginning all around the world and we WOULD find ways to do it again, even if it's needle-poke tattoos.

-Anyway, back to Ellie.

-You ever hear of a "lighter tattoo"? Basically, you heat up a lighter and then stamp the hot metal into your skin and it makes a mark in the shape of the lighter head. If you get it hot enough and hold it long enough it can scar. They have a similar thing in Halcyon with Plasma Cutters. Instead of Stab, you heat it up, turn it off, and press the blade to your skin and it pretty much scars within a couple seconds.

-Ellie 100% did a few of those when she was in Byzantium as like the "hahaha edgy" thing that teenagers do.

-Like I know technically kids aren't around but... bruh... you can't tell me that teenagers in a SciFi setting wouldn't do dumb ass shit like that.

-Ellie is honestly the baddest bitch and I love her, ok, she just reminds me so much of of those high school delinquent tropes in 90s movies

Nyoka:

-SO I HAVE SOME FEELINGS ABOUT NYOKA'S CANON DESIGN... IN THAT SHE'S ESSENTIALLY A MONSTER HUNTER BUT SHE HAS NO SCARS!

-Listen, ok, she would 100% have a lot of scars from her life on Monarch. I share some HCs with @nyokaacore in that she has three scars over one of her eyes, and a few others around her face, like on her lips.

-The bulk of her scars are on her arms and body, though, as she usually is able to get the Canid or Rapt off before they get to her face.

-I like to think the scars on her eye are from Freida, the first Rapt she ever killed that's taxidermied on her wall.

-But she has a lot of scars from Raptidon claws and Canid mouthplates, sprinkled with some Manti burns and burns from Rapt spit.

-She also has her fair share of bullet scars on her, and definitely has some patches of skin discoloration from incidents regarding the sulphur pools. Chemical burns are a bitch.

-She's tall, and not exactly curvy? But broad. Big shoulders, wide hips, sturdy legs. Looks like she could kill you, could actually kill you alignment.

-The sand and sulphur in the air plays Hell on her skin, so she's got some old acne scars and places that scarred up into moles on her face. Has an issue with dry skin.

-Her skin is also pretty oily, and she washes it when she can, but water is usually better spent being drunk than washed with. However, she does carry a spare bottle of non-drinkable water to wash Rapt acid off in emergencies, so sometimes she'll pull from that to wash her face with.

-Big hands, calloused, pretty scarred up from her time on Monarch.

-I also like to think that she can tell you stories about most of the scars she has, lmao.

-Her nose, like Felix's, has been broken quite a few times and is pretty crooked.

-Most often, you see Nyoka with a slight sunburn on her face. It's hard to see, but her cheeks are usually warm to the touch.

-Her teeth aren't the best, but she does take as much care of them as she can out on Monarch. Still pretty yellow with some cavities, but not as bad at Felix's.

-Honestly the dark circles around her eyes are usually because she doesn't sleep a lot. She has dreams about CHARON, and that's not her favorite thing to do.

-At a pretty healthy weight for Halcyon, and ofc, has muscles as big as your head.

-Surprisingly soft hands, though.

#the outer worlds #tow #the outer worlds hcs #headcanons #hcs #parvati holcomb #felix millstone #ellie fenhill #nyoka ramnarim wentworth iii #vicar max #maximillian desoto #appearance hcs #asks #anon #i need to stop now or i'll never stop

[ghosttotheparty]

say my name and say it twice (cotton candy skies)

12.

also on AO3 chapter eleven

They did end up calling again. Of course, it was hours later, and by that time, the sky was dim, the sun a dying light bulb as the moon peeked out from between clouds. Jens had told Lucas that Lotte was in bed and his grandpa and his mom were chatting in the kitchen over dinner, and Lucas had said that Milan was probably out at a club and Zoë and Senne were on a date, to which Jens laughed and held his hand out, wiggling it back and forth, saying, “Different family dynamics.”

Jens had thrown himself on his bed (Lucas smiles at his hair as it flopped) and said, “Okay, I showed you my guitar, show me some art.”

So Lucas did.

Just some paintings he had laying around, some paint-splattered canvases, some portraits of people who don’t exist. Lucas didn’t show him the portraits of Jens, obviously.

He couldn’t help but smile at Jens’s reaction to them, the way he sat up and pulled his phone closer to his face as Lucas held up the first one. Jens was smiling too, his brows raised in an expression of wonder as he gazed at the colours. There was an air of curiosity around him, even though Lucas was only seeing him through a screen.

“Who are they?” he’d asked after the third or fourth portrait.

“Just faces I make up, I guess.”

“They’re beautiful,” Jens breathed, looking closer.

“Thank you,” Lucas replied softly, reframing from telling Jens that he’s beautiful.

Even though he really is.

Lucas also reframed from taking a screenshot as Jens looked, his eyes wide and shining, his lips parted, despite how tempted he was.

But Jens really is beautiful.

The way his soft, fluffy hair falls on his forehead (Lucas had to hold back from pushing it out of the way), the way he runs his fingers through it when he’s nervous. He does it often. It’s adorable. The way his eyes shine and sparkle under light, no matter if it’s sunlight, moonlight, streetlight, the lights of his bedroom. The way his lashes are so dark it looks like he’s wearing eyeliner (which, is Lucas is honest, would look incredible on Jens). The way his cheeks flush sometimes when Lucas looks at him, either soft pink or bright red, and how he looks away as he blushes, his smiles shy and bashful. And those lips. The way they felt against Lucas’s was beautiful, those few, short (too short) seconds, where the world felt like it had disappeared.

Part of him had hoped Jens would pull him back, would crash his mouth against Lucas’s, would press his hands to Lucas’s face and neck, and wouldn’t let go.

But Jens looked too… blissed out to do anything, so Lucas just squeezed his hand.

Lucas doesn’t know when he’ll kiss him again. Maybe he’ll wait for Jens to kiss him.

Even though he wants to kiss him outside the studio again, wants to push past the dancers, push Jens’s friends out of the way, reach up and pull Jens down to meet him.

Jens doesn’t see him at first, so Lucas takes the opportunity to admire him.

Jens had on a red hoodie (red looks good on him), a dark jacket over it, with jeans and sneakers, a skateboard tucked under his arm, a smile on his face as the red-haired girl says something.

Jens’s friends seem nice. There’s definitely something between the guy and the curly-haired girl. Lucas can see it in the way they glance at each other as they laugh, the way he fingers linger just a second too long as she fixes his collar that didn’t really need to be fixed. Lucas wonders if that’s what he and Jens look like.

Lucas rolls his skateboard back and forth with his foot as he watches, and he grins as Jens laughs, loud and unfiltered. The red-haired girl shoves him, laughing as well, and he tries to catch her arms, but she’s walking away. Lucas hears her voice, a throaty, scratchy voice, yell, “See you next week, asshole!” and Jens yells back, “Love you-u-u!”

Lucas shakes his head, laughing, as Jens hugs the curly-haired girl, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head, and hugs the other boy, knocking their shoulders together as they pull apart. Lucas catches Jens giving the boy a pointed look, nodding at the girl, who has begun to walk away. They communicate nonverbally, the boy giving Jens a look back before Jens pushes him so he falls into her. Jens covers his mouth in a sarcastic oops gesture as the boy glares at him, and then he wraps his arm around the girl’s shoulders softly as they walk away.

Jens watches them for a second before he turns and catches Lucas’s eye, smiling like he already knew he was there. Lucas grins and puts his weight on his skateboard, kicking off and skating until he’s in front of Jens, who reaches out to stop his as he gets close.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

He considers leaning up and kissing him quickly, but he doesn’t.

“Are they dating?” he asks instead, nodding to the two who are just beginning to disappear from his sight.

Jens looks at him in confusion before looking at where Lucas is looking and saying, “Oh,” chuckling as he looks back at him.

“Not officially, but it’s obvious they like each other isn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s Damien and Rosa,” Jens continues, glancing back at them. “You should meet them sometimes, I think you’ll like them. Especially Rosa.”

“Why?” Lucas asks curiously.

Jens hums as he thinks, scanning Lucas’s face.

“She’s soft-spoken.” He thinks again and pushes a curl out of Lucas’s face that he hadn’t noticed had fallen. “She acts like a ballerina even when she’s not in the studio.”

“The others don’t?”

“Lena definitely doesn’t.”

“Red hair?”

Jens laughs, nodding.

“What does she act like?”

“Uhm…” Jens looks away, shrugging slightly. “She’s very… punk.”

Lucas laughs.

“But you’d like her too, I think, she’s fun to talk to.”

They gaze at each other for a minute before Jens quirks his eyebrows.

“Ready to go?”

“Where are the guys?” Lucas asks as Jens starts down the sidewalk, following on his own board. They skate past a few pedestrians, a couple with a small child, an old woman wearing a pearl necklace.

“Some party or whatever,” Jens calls over the sound of their wheels on the rough pavement.

Lucas smiles at the idea that Jens would rather skate with him than go to “some party.”

They stop at a skate park and Lucas stops, taking a picture on his phone before following Jens, who sits on a halfpipe, taking his bag off and setting it to his side. He looks up at Lucas, smiling, and Lucas could die from how cute he is.

“Do a trick,” Jens says, nodding to the space in front of him, and Lucas scoffs.

“Now?”

“Yeah.” Jens gives him a look like What else?

Lucas looks away, only half-trying to suppress a grin, and he secedes, sighing as he jumps down into the halfpipe. He’s aware of Jens’s eyes on him as he does the trick, desperately hoping, praying that he doesn’t fuck it up.

And he doesn’t.

He looks up at Jens when it’s done, and Jens is clapping, saying, “Ooooh,” as he watches Lucas run and jump up, tossing his board as he catches himself and pulls himself up next to Jens.

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“Broke my arm trying to do that once.”

“What?”

Lucas laughs as Jens’s eyes widen and his head turns to look at him.

“Yep.”

“And you still did it now?”

“Well yeah, I had to impress you, obviously.” He looks away, reaching out and pulling his board closer.

“Well it worked, I am thoroughly impressed.”

Lucas looks at him, cocking his head as Jens smiles softly. Really, the only word for the way Lucas looks at Jens is admire. He lifts a hand and touches the small gold hoop hanging from Jens’s ear, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. Jens doesn’t react, his eyes locked on Lucas’s face.

Lucas takes a breath to say something, but Jens interrupts him.

“Don’t say it.”

Lucas blinks in confusion, his fingers stilling on Jens’s earring, before he realises with an, “Oh,” and a sharp laugh, pulling his hand away as he turns away, laughing.

“I wasn’t going to say it.”

“I know you were.”

“I literally wasn’t!” He pushes Jens’s shoulder, giggling, and Jens catches his hand, holding it for a second before pushing it away. “I wasn’t gonna say—”

“No!”

“God was having a good day when he made you!” Lucas manages to say as Jens pushes him, the words cutting between laughter, and he falls, catching and pulling himself back up.

“That’s what you get,” Jens says, even though he extended his arms on instinct when Lucas fell.

“I really wasn’t going to say it, I didn’t even think about it.”

“Then what were you going to say?” Jens asks, obviously not believing him.

“I don’t know, that I like your earring or something.”

“I know you like my earring.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lucas reaches out and touches it again. “Is that why you’re wearing it every time I see you?”

“No,” Jens says defensively.

“No?”

“I wear it because it’s my thing.”

Lucas laughs.

“That’s how people know you, as the earring guy?”

“Yes, exactly,” Jens says as he laughs.

“Is it in your name?”

Jens laughs harder and Lucas marvels at how his eyes squint under his smile.

“Yes, my name is Jens Earring Stoffels.”

“You were born and your mom just went ‘Oh, his vibes…’”

Jens leans forward as he laughs, falling against Lucas.

“Yeah, I came out of the womb and she just knew I was going to be an earring guy.”

“You mean you weren’t born with the earring?”

“You’re stupid.”

“I’m hilarious.”

They look at each other and Jens has his lips pressed together to stop himself from laughing.

“He really was, though,” Lucas teaches, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows, and Jens rolls his eyes dramatically. “He was!” Lucas lifts a hand and gently touches the mole next to Jens’s eye. “He’s a true artist.”

Jens gives a quiet chuckle as Lucas trails his finger across his forehead, much like he did as Jens slept on his lap, and Jens shakes his head softly.

“So pretty,” Lucas says, his hand coming to rest at the side of Jens’s neck, his thumb brushing back and forth over his jaw.

Jens’s eyes are soft on him, his hand on the pavement between them as he leans closer, ever so slightly, and Lucas thinks he might kiss him.

But there are too many people around, too many skaters laughing and talking, and Lucas could swear he heard “... fucking gay,” from under a boy’s breath as he passed them.

Jens heard it too, and Lucas can tell from the way his eyes follow the boy as he passes, slightly wide, anxious, and maybe even a little mad. Lucas lifts his hand from Jens’s skin, not wanting him to be uncomfortable, and turns away, looking out at the park, at the sky.

The air between them has shifted, but not much, and Lucas still feels relaxed, still feels at peace with him.

He hears Jens sigh, and Jens scoots closer, lifting his leg and placing it on top of Lucas’s. Lucas smiles, letting his hand drift so he’s holding Jens’s knee, his fingers gentle as they brush over the fabric of his jeans. Jens leans, an arm going behind Lucas, holding himself up and he looks at him, analyzing the side of his face. Jens shrugs a shoulder, his cheek pressing to it as Lucas turns to look at him.

There’s a soft smile on Jens’s face, a soft smile that reads I don’t care, do you?

And Lucas drops his head to Jens’s shoulder, his forehead bumping Jens’s face, not caring at all.

After a second, he lifts his head and looks out in front of them again, closing his eyes, and breathing in the sunshine. It shoulder start raining at any minute, the sun peering out from between grey clouds that look drawn onto the sky.

He can sense Jens get closer, smiling as he feels him press a slow, careful kiss to the line of his jaw. There’s a moment, a pause, as Jens pulls back, just far enough that he can see Lucas’s smile, and then he kisses him again. Lucas can feel his lips curve into a smile against his skin.

#babies #<3 #van der stoffels #van der stoffels fic #vds #vds fic #jens stoffels #lucas vdh #lucas van der heijden #jens x lucas #jens and lucas #cotton candy skies #cotton candy skies always look better in person #say my name and say it twice

[boogiewrites]

A Girl Walks Into A Bar 10

Characters: Declan Harp x Bella Fiore (OFC)

Summary: Modern Declan harp AU. Friday at the music festival, from waking up together, to falling asleep together, they do everything while touching on this day of growth for both of them. Bella shows her playful side, letting her more childish behavior come forth and Declan eagerly accepts and enables all of it.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Drugs. Flirting. Bella finally opening up to Declan. Declan being a playful sweetheart. BED SHARING. Cuddling. Mutual Pining! Growing FEELINGS.

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

The sun had been up for a few hours, the warmth of the morning starting to break through the exterior of the van. The sunlight washed in the tops of the windows despite their secure curtains and a beam of light causes Declan to stir. He pulls himself out of a deep sleep slowly, his eyes heavy and body heavier as smoking the night before had relaxed him to the point of total surrender. He blinks and squints, his eyes adjusting to the trickling light in the dark van. He noticed first that he still has his arm around Bella, and the moments of vulnerability the night before come back to him. The covers are still over him, and his arm weighed on her waist but with the relaxed look on her still sleeping face she certainly didn’t seem to mind. He’d slept so deep he hadn’t even feel her move, with the way her breathing was so slow he guesses she didn’t know she’d moved either. Her head was against his chest, her cheek smooshed adorably, her lips puckering and blubbing as she exhaled. He watched her for a few long minutes, totally at ease. He wished she could feel like this when awake, but he felt that same thankfulness as he did last night that she was beginning to trust him enough to let him in and see this side of her at all.

With his arm bent under the pillow, he moves it carefully to push his hair back before settling in slightly closer to her. He relocates his hand beneath the covers resting it behind her back, feeling her hair tickling his hand. He moves his fingers, feeling the soft strands between them for a moment before his eyes move back to her face. She looked so sweet and if he was being honest with himself, beautiful. Her freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks, just barely visible with her light brown skin. Her groomed and arched brows were only imperfect from a scar that rested on one of them, but it was unnoticeable from far away when she had makeup on. The same could be said for a pale scar that ran back and disappeared into her hair he hadn’t noticed before, and a divot near her jawline, the softened square that it was, that he thought might’ve been from childhood chickenpox. He had a similar one himself, along with the much more noticeable scar over his brow and upper cheek from a particularly nasty run-in with a broken beer bottle in his youth.

He gives over to the wants of the sleepy haze he still resides in comfortably. The warmth from her body against his under the fuzzy blanket she seemed particularly fond of must’ve made him feel the warm and fuzz carry into his chest. He moves, the covers sliding down her tattooed shoulder as he gets lost in his feelings he usually tries to push away. His cut almost too short fingernails are still holding yesterday’s dirt underneath them despite his best efforts at scrubbing them the night before. They push back the hair that has fallen in her face, as his half-lidded eyes look over her. She stirs, a dreamy expression and a smile on his face, letting himself feel the growing feelings for the woman in his arms while he could.

Besides how effortlessly charming she was to him with her bad jokes and crooked, mischievous smile, he thought about what was drawing him to her so much. What was making him get anxious when he hadn’t seen her for too long? Or what made him light up at a simple text from her? Maybe he saw pieces of himself in her. They certainly had a lot in common when it came to personal taste. She also had a past that held pain for her, and he felt connected to her for it. She was funny and sassy and crass, all traits he needed someone in his life to have to deal with him. She was reserved, a bit tightly wound at times and had the tendency to express her sensitive side through anger and violence. But he knew how to handle that and he could really understand why a woman like her would act in such a way. Maybe it was the softness that she was starting to pull the curtain back on for him. She made him feel special just by wanting to be around him, she had said it herself, she hated everybody else. He watches her brow furrowed at the touch of his fingers boldly in her hair. A small and sweet grunt as she shifts her body against his and he feels his stomach flutter like a schoolboy with a crush. He’d liked her before this trip, but he was only finding reasons to like her more. Particularly while she was nuzzling against him, looking more like a harmless kitten than a hellcat. He could see the damage that had been dealt to her, but he also saw the strength it had left in its wake. He sighs, not knowing exactly where he stood with her, worrying the feelings he had for her that were now unavoidable for him were one-sided. He leans forward and plants a kiss to her forehead while he has the chance.

She feels a tickle, which draws her out of her deep sleep. But she’s so comfortable, feeling so warm and relaxed that she doesn’t want to wake up. After he sees her shift, only moving closer to him he stops touching her hair and lays back, letting his mind wander and listen to her breathing. With his body protectively arched around hers, he let himself daydream about getting to wake her up with kisses and roaming hands.

She falls back into a dream, with a lucidness to it now. She could feel him against her, smell him as her nose and mouth pressed against the scratch of his chest hair. Her hand opens, her palm bravely mapping out the contours of his pecs and chest before wrapping around to his back, letting out a satisfied moan at the lean muscle she felt there. She feels his mouth in her hair, murmuring a good morning as she smiles in response. His skin is so warm beneath her curious fingers, a hardness when pressure was applied to his skin, but a comforting softness overlying it. He was physically so appealing her body was responding to her suppressed need.

“You didn’t try anything last night.” She says, nuzzling between his prominent pecs.

“No. Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you. You can trust me.”

She hums happily at the perfect response. What any person would want to hear. For a reward, she kisses his chest first, a single peck as she feels his hand move to her lower back, a brief pause before she shifts and kisses his jaw, nose buried in the fluff of his beard before it moves down the swell of her ass and grabs a handful assertively. Her kisses move up and to his neck, his ears, his temples and onto the trio of moles on his cheekbone. A breath away from his pink and soft lips, her thumbs brush across his handsome face. Grazing her nose to his he says her name and she smiles, feeling his lips move against hers. She gives in to what she wants, kissing him, tongue teasing and feeling his big hands move over her curves without hesitation. He says her name again, but she doesn’t want to stop. Then she hears him chuckle. A deep and raspy morning voice full of amusement.

“Bella. Wake up.” He says, watching her squirm and grunt as he watches her mouth move, trying to figure out the words she was saying in her sleep. “You having a bad dream there babe?” He asks, his hand more certain on her cheek before his thumb brushes across her temple and pushes her hair back again.

“Mmmm.” A discontent mewl escapes her as her brow furrows deeply, her hand moving to her face.

“Morning there Cheech.” He teases. “It’s almost 10.” He informs her in a soft voice.

“Sleep.” She says grumpily and slams her face into his chest, pulling the cover over her head.

“Oh don’t be like that now.” A laugh that she can feel rumble in his chest moves through her and makes her let out a deep sigh. At least she was in his arms, she thinks. It wasn’t on top of him kissing him, but that wasn’t exactly the next move she needed to make. But the thought was now firmly planted in her mind.

——————

Bella sits on the bed with crossed legs, her make up bag poured out next to her and her toilette bag on her other side.

“Oh shit. I forgot to put my music on, would you mind babe?” She says with a kind tone that makes him more than willing to do what she says.

“No problem.” He replies, sitting down his water and moving between the two captain chairs and hooking the phone up to the sound system.

“Put it on... upbeat/dancey.” She asks with a playful smile as she brushes out her hair.

“K. Lemme find it.” He mutters, thumbing through Spotify, not yet familiar with it entirely. He sits in the passenger seat and eventually finds her playlists. The usual as he expected, morning mix, shower mix, songs to drink to. But what caught his attention scrolling down to get to the “U” in upbeat, was a string of playlists called Slow Jams. She had Slow Jams Vanilla, Slow Jams Fast, Hard, Rough, lovey, angry and grooves. He smirks and chooses Slow Jams Hard.

She hears the opening drums of Pussy Liquor by Rob Zombie and she stops mid spray of dry shampoo and tilts her head. “That’s not on that playlist.” She states almost as if it were a question.

“Nope.” He grins, his head peeking out at her from behind the chair. “What are these playlists called Slow Jams Bella?” He says with a childish tease in his voice.

She tilts her head and smirks. “I don’t know. What do you think they are Declan?” She mocks back.

“He gives her a wide grin that makes his eyes shut.

“Put it in the right playlist and stop killing my vibe you turd.” She says with a shake of her head.

“You’ve got a lot of playlists.” He says picking the correct one.

“I do.” She bods in agreement. “I like having music for every occasion.” She explains.

“You have two shower playlists.” He laughs. “Commute good, commute bad, work, cooking, parents.” He lists.

“I do know what playlists I have I made them.” She smiles and continues looking into the mirror and getting ready.

“You really do like all sorts of music don’t you?” He asks, still Nosily thumbing through the songs.

“Comes with the territory.”

“But you look like you’re such a... rock and metal chick.”

“It’s my preferred aesthetic. Plus rock is my favorite. Doesn’t mean I can’t also like pop and Motown.” She throws out as examples. “I have to stay current to be great at what I do.” She adds in, and he once again feels that attraction towards her for what commitment she had to her craft.

He watches her for a moment, a Bobby pin between her teeth as she pulls her hair half up into two little buns. “You look like a spice girl.” He chuckles.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She puts her hand to her chest and gives him a teasing pout. “I need my curling iron out of my bag there if you don’t mind.” She points with her elbow while her hands are busy.

“Yep.” He responds only to show he heard her. She had two bags pushed together in the bottom shelf behind a chair. With his back to her he bunches over one, unzipping and digging his hands through it to find no curling iron. But, what he had done was open the wrong bag and currently had a fistful of her black panties. He flinches, his eyes growing wide as he sees the lace and lack of fabric on some of them mixed among her tank tops and bralettes.

“You got in the wrong one there hun.” She calls out with laughter in her voice. “Get out of my panties ya perv.” She lightens the mistake by snapping a hair tie his way.

“But I’ve never seen panties so small! Where’s the rest of them?” He holds up a g string and has an almost convincing look of innocence on his face

“Well you clearly haven’t dated any fun girls.” She laughs and quirks an eyebrow at him. “Or watched any good porn.” She adds with a snort.

“And you have?” He says with an impressed look, panties now tucked away back in the bag as he opens the right one.

“Oh yeah.” She nods. “Well I mean I’ve not dated any girls but about the porn, a resounding yes.” She says with a smile that shows no embarrassment as she takes the curling iron from him.

“Most girls I know don’t.” He says introspectively, sitting with crossed legs like her in the floor, looking up at her perched on the bed.

“No. Most girls lie about it.” She states with a confident delivery.

“Really?” He asks with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah. I mean there’s such a stigma around women and liking sex, or having a sex drive at all. Lots of shame built in about it ya know? Especially compared to guys.”

“You don’t seem ashamed.” He says politely, but his tone was really an appreciation for the honesty she always brought to their conversations.

“Nah.” She frowns and shakes her head. “Never has much use for it. I mean, have you seen the way I dress?” She asks with a goofy crooked grin that he’s deemed his favorite of hers. -------------------- As Declan pulls his large half tied boots over his distressed denim jeans, grunting as he finally gets his heel into the shoe he raises his nose and sniffs the air.

“Bella you’re gonna get suspended!” He calls out with a scolding voice. He hears a giggle in response that makes him grin and sigh.

“You’re such a square!” She says loudly before coughing and laughing. He walks around the back of the van, seeing her smoking the joint that they’d been so generously gifted. "Ya gonna be a narc or hit this with me?” She asks with a hand on her hip, other arm extended with its stack of turquoise bangle bracelets.

“Hey, fuck you buddy, I’m no narc.” He says with a puffed up and defensive attitude, playing along.

“Good. I don’t fuck with narcs.” She grins, a cocky of nod of her head following her words. “You gotta take pics of me ya human tripod.” She says with a feminine giggle that makes that same dopey smile appear unfiltered now from the floaty highness he was experiencing.

“I’m glad you are respecting the title.” He tells between coughs.” Ya finished with this ya stoner?”

“I am and I wanted to not be so uptight in the big crowds today. Plus being high and listening to music is just...” She lets out a sigh and a shrug, “the best.”

“Lemme go kill this.” He mumbles, smashing the cherry on the tire and moving to hide the roach in a tin of Altoids.

She’s already taking selfies in the sunlight when he returns. Big sunglasses with her mini space bun hair, a ripped and almost threadbare t-shirt tucked into the front of her cut off and frayed denim shorts. They had enough holes to match the shirt and he was getting a peek at some of the panties he had been wrist deep in earlier. Except not in the meaning he’d prefer to have at this juncture. He shakes his head and loses the thought, more time for that later.

“At least you’re wearing a whole shirt today.” He jokes. His own a look similar with its holes from wear and time.

“Had to give my skin a break. Didn’t want a bunch of sun two days in a row. Gotta go easy on the tattoos.” She explains. “Speaking of, did you need sunscreen?” She asks, beginning to ruffle through her bag.

“Nah. I don’t burn. Well...I mean I have before but it’s rare.”

“Must be nice to be the son of a sun god.” She says in a teasing tone.

“Nah. Just Cree.” He says proudly with a big smile.

“Well c’mon and take pictures of me Sunny.” She chuckles. “Then we can go get some food, I am starving.”

“Because of your peer pressure so am I.” He admits, rubbing his stomach and holding up the camera on them both.

“Not my fault you gave in. Didn’t you go to those assembly’s as a kid?” her body language is much more friendly today, her cheek next to his for photos, her hand on his stomach as she smiled.

“Must’ve missed that day.” He chuckles as he takes advantage of her clearly comfortable body language and pulls her in as she raises her leg over his hip and grabs him around his middle as he smooshes her face into his chest. It’d be one of his favorite pictures ever taken of them, him with a clear look of pride for having her affections, holding her close. And her with a big smile that showed what a goof she really was as she gave into the goofy nature of the face smooshing and raised her hand to act like she was honking one of his pecs. The following pic was one of her favs. It had his genuinely shocked face open with laughter and looking down at her, with her looking up with an open-mouthed laugh that wrinkled her nose. Since she was a kid, she had no pictures of her enjoying herself in such a way.

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

They walk side by side with their mutual gates of swaying steps, hers with her hips and his with his shoulders. They make their way down the field to where it's populated, the spot they'd chosen was the farthest from the stages and it seemed no one else but the hippie's wanted to keep to themselves and that was fine with them. As soon as they hit the first row of parked RV's and trucks, tents and fellow van enthusiasts the smells of festivals past come and hit them both with a wave of nostalgia. Unfortunately, that wave also came with the B.O., old food, smoke and abused porta-potty smell that lingers with a crowded outdoor festival.

They move through the river of people, trickling in from the rows and into one main vein that led into the gate for the stages and food. As soon as it becomes crowded, Bella begins getting knocked around and bumped into. She noticed Declan was avoided and felt jealous of the power his height, look and sex gave him in a crowd like this. Luckily, she just sighs and comes up with a much less angry and much simpler plan to deal with this problem since she was still pleasantly high.

"Declan." she says and he turns back in a millisecond to answer her voice that he thought sounded as if it were a call for assistance.

"Yeah, what's up?" he asks, stopping and still not getting bumped into as she staggered next to him, still having sweaty bodies slide up against hers.

"You mind if I trail you? I mean, I don't know if you noticed but no one's knocking into you and I'm feeling like Mufasa in that stampede scene here." she says, a guy not paying attention knocks his arm into her shoulder without so much as an acknowledgment, proving her point.

"Oh shit. I didn't notice. Sorry babe. Yeah. What ya need? Wanna run red 42? I'll be the line backer?" he jokes, stepping closer and forming a protective bubble around her.

"I don't know what that means so jokes on you." she replies with a sassy shake of her head. "How about we just stay close?" she says holding out her hand. "You lead to the food and I'll be a lil baby duck and you be big daddy duck and I'll waddle behind you." she chuckles, taking his hand without so much as a flinch.

"C'mon then little fluff butt." he lets out that big dumb laugh she loves, a deep rhythmic pulse that shook his chest. She couldn't help but watch his pecs bounce.

He leads, her hand in his behind his back as she moves unscathed through the crowd. She'd be bringing him to every event that had crowds from now on she decided.

After standing forever, having a conversation about what outrageous thing they would be willing to eat with how hungry they were, they finally got to the booth they wanted.

"GBD." she says with a deepened masculine voice, raising her shirt and patting her stomach.

He snorts at the goofiness she's willing to exude in a public space and lets out a giggle. "What the fuck are you on about?" he asks, getting out his wallet.

"Golden. Brown. Delicious." she says with a face as if she were drooling. "I wish we had more hands. Then we could get like... everything." she says with wide eyes, her stomach audibly growling at the smell of fried food.

"I want a corn dog. Period. Everything else is second. I'm fuckin' dyin' for a corn dog." he says, now rubbing his stomach and shaking his head.

"Make it two. Then I want a mega cheese stick. Wait,no, get two foot long corn dogs!" she says with enthusiasm.

He wasn't sure but he felt what could be love surge through him for her words. "Whatever you want Bells." he says staring at her counting on her fingers and hypnotized by the menu.

"Two foot long corn dogs. A mega cheese stick. Oh a tater'nado! A deep fried snickers for dessert...WHAT SPAGHETTI?!" she says with a dropped jaw as he swoons openly.

"Spaghetti?" he asks, turning back to the menu.

"Spaghetti on a stick. Deep fried mozzarella with pepperoni stacked on a deep fried meatball in a fried nest of spaghetti noodles. Fuuuuuuuck." she says feeing the drool accumulate in her mouth. "That's the most insane thing I've ever heard. We need five." she laughs and turns her beaming face towards his.

"How about one?" he suggests.

"Deal." she nods. "I'm not unreasonable." she proclaims.

"Won't your ancestors like... roll over in their graves for this?" he jokes.

"Like yours did when you ate that "Indian Taco" yesterday?" she smirks.

"Point taken." he nods and purses his lips in acceptance of the burn.

"I hope mine RISE from their graves for this. It's Italian... It's American. It's a melting pot ya old fucks, get into it!" she says cheerfully with waving hands.

"You're a fuckin' nut." he says with a loud laugh that he bends to slightly.

"You have no idea." she laughs with him and touches his arm to shake her head and emphasize her point. "Now feed me before I start gnawing on these beefy arms of yours." she snorts and gives his bicep a squeeze.

------

They sit on one side of the bench with both hands full, already having finished the fried spaghetti and corn dogs and now sharing a cheese stick. The dessert still left to go.

"You got a little... well a lotta..." she laughs with a mouthful of fried bread and cheese as she chews and swallows, fingers picking strings of melted cheese out of his beard.

"Oh I got a little?" he says foolishly, acting like he's going to get it but keeps purposely missing the pieces.

"C'mere you child!" she laughs, grabbing the chunk and then pointing behind him, prompting him to look in that direction.

"What?" he says turning back to her chewing. "No." he says with a slow-growing smirk. "You did not."

"Did what?" she asks with faux innocence, her back hunched and her nose wrinkling with guilt.

"Did you just eat that?" he asks loudly and throws his head back into a loud laugh.

"Maybe?"

"You're so gross." he says in laughter.

"I mean... it's been claimed before." she shrugs and smiles widely.

"It's a statement, not a roast." he says for clarification.

"Roast? You got roast in there?" she asks, leaning forward and putting her fingers into his beard.

"Oh my God Bells, STOP!" he lets out a giggle, grabbing her wrists as he pushes her away. "Let a man eat!" he says putting one end of the string of curly potatoes into his mouth.

"No peace as long as a hungry Fiore's around," she says with a wag of her finger, looking to the basket on the table with the two final desserts's on a stick. She watches him chaw and look around, his mustache moving comically over the rapidly disappearing tater'nado. "Don't hog it all." she says, taking the other end and eating it.

"We gonna lady and the tramp this?" he asks without even thinking about it.

"You're the lady and I'm the tramp." she says with a mouthful and they both laugh.

"You're certainly not a lady so I would agree." he sass's back.

She stops sucking up the strand like a noodle and lets him have the rest. She moves sits up straight and burps. "I plead no contest." she says proudly.

"Oh yeah?" he says with a clear hint of challenge in his eyes. He sits up and belches out a noise that clearly is the louder of the two.

"Damn. I concede." she says. "That's a good one, dude." she says raising her hand for a high five that he gladly takes. "Now for the sweets." she says with a shimmy of her shoulders.

"Now this one is MINE." he clearly states, swiping away the deep fried cheesecake. "Since you didn't want one and went with a Snickers. Ya basic." he proclaims before shoving the end into his mouth.

"Since when do you know current slang?" she says with a judgey tone, picking up her choice of fried food.

"I know things!" he says defensively.

She gives him a side eye before biting into her treat.

"I do! Don't give me that look!" he chokes out with a mouthful of cheesecake.

"Fuck that smells good." she says looking longing at this mouth. "Can I have a bite?" she asks politely.

"I dunno. You made your choice." he says with an attitude-filled shake of his head.

"C'mon. We shared the other stuff." she whines.  "You can have a bite of mine! It's good!" she offers, holding it out.

"Fine." he says handing over his stick. "But keep yours I'm not much for chocolate." he shrugs.

"WHAT?!" she says in a loud offended tone. "You can take me home RIGHT NOW!" she proclaims acting like she was going to stand.

"I don't hate choclate." he laughs and pulls her back down by her wrist. "It's just not my top pick is all. Plus I'm so fuckin' full." he groans and rubs his extended belly.

"I could eat more." she giggles.

"Well give that back before you do." he holds out his hand.

She shakes her head and licks it and grins.

"Bella...." he says with a warning.

"I like it better." she mutters.

"I told you!" he says shoving her knee.

"I think..." she says sneakily starting to stand and making it look like she was resituating her legs. "I'm gonna keep them both." she says with a calm delivery, slow to throw him off of her plan.

"No, you're-!" he starts. But before it's out of his mouth she's up and running away. "Fuck's sake." he says with a loud laugh, propelling himself off the bench and after her, holding both sticks in her hands and laughing like a child. What a different side to her this trip was bringing out. He has a brief moment of sadness, thinking that it would end soon. But it's quickly forgotten as his long legs catch up fast and grab her around the waist, picking her up off the ground and spinning her a few times as her feet kick out and she squealed like a thrilled child.

"Declan!" she shouts and lets her head fall back in a belly laugh.

Her wiggling and snorts of genuine laughter make his heart thump. Her hair falling into his face and her head on his shoulder as she was suspended helplessly as he shook her back and forth, both snacks still firmly gripped in both hands. He puts her down and they both pant from full stomachs and too much running, still laughing, his hands on his knees.

She watches his face light up. The warm tones of his skin practically glowing, his cheeks coming up and hiding his brown eyes under that masculine hard brow. His teeth too perfect looking for the rest of his rugged face shine with the wagging tongue in his mouth as he laughs with a broad smile. The not sober state she was in, the fullness in her belly translating to fullness in her heart catches her off guard. He was really... gorgeous. "You have like..." she begins, her mind floating in a haze of happiness and endorphins from food and fun. "The best laugh dude." she says softly, her light tone taking him by surprise as his eyes reappear, now wide and questioning as he sees her face set in a soft and honest pose. "Your face just... lights up." she offers with a closed mouth smile, one side higher than the other. "You laugh with your whole body." the smile breaks and shows her teeth. "It's really nice." her face looked almost like pity, but he knew it wasn't. He was scared to acknowledge that it really looked more like adoration.

"You're really sweet Bella." he says standing up and looking down at her with a smile that still beamed. "But don't think all those nice words are gonna get you out of this you little shit." he growls and grabs his cheesecake and gets her in a headlock.

"Noooo! Declan!" she whines and laughs, trying to get her snack to her mouth and failing.

"Punishment fits the crime." he says, proceeding to walk around with his arm around her head and her bent over and laughing.

"At least your deodorant smells good." she snorts.

"Flattery will NOT get you out of this one." he says with a firm nod. But really, she didn't want to get away from having her face pushed into what she'd described to Charlotte as his, beefy tiddies. She giggles at the thought and happily stomps alongside him until he deems the punishment over. ----------------------------

The sets ran late and long into the night since it was Friday, starting off the main stage performances. Bella kept her energy up well past the bedtime of the night before since she'd slept so well. She and Declan made their way through the dense crowds, their fingers in each others belt loops, holding the backs of shirts and holding hands to manage. Bella found it far easier to be at a show with a person that was about 5 inches taller than anyone else around him. He could see lines and empty spaces that others couldn't and she found the whole long day to be much less tiring with her own personal giant chauffer to guide her around.

But the dancing and walking, the shouting and singing all caught up to them both, unfortunately. Grabbing a hefty dose of carbs before the booths closed for the night, they took their bag of food and made their way back to the van with the moon and stars out and bright as the lights of the stages faded away.

They chat and catch up with Pat and Joe, having had spent the majority of the day at the craft and comedy tents. They compared their experiences and suggested bands to check out over the next two days. With a comedic sniffing of their own armpits, they laugh and say they need to find some industrial strength baby wipes to control the sweat they were dealing with from the day. Luckily for them, their new friends were always generous and offered them to use their shower in their RV. A chance they both lept at.

So with showers past, both their hair hanging much the same, damp and slightly wavy on their shoulders they're sitting hip to hip in bed, Bella holding a roach with a bobby pin and smoking with the windows cracked and a mini fan blowing out the evidence.

"This is a neat little trick." he comments, the bobby pin looking miniscule in his fingers.

"Thanks. Learned it while hanging out with bands after I graduated." she muses, a smile that held fond memories as he finds himself mirroring the expression.

She lets out a big yawn, a stretch that shows her soft stomach as it raises her shirt, the fried food, and overeating for the day shown in her pooch. "I dunno if it's the weed or if I really am just THAT tired." she says scratching her head. "That shower really took it out of me."

"Probably everything hitting us at once." he says with a slow nod, feeling his muscles powering down.

"All we're doing is talking anyway. Let's just get ready for bed." she says, pulling off her socks and balling them, tossing them at her bag.

"Sounds like a great idea to me. I'm beat." he groans, snuffing out the roach and hiding it away again. They leave the windows cracked, it let in a pleasant circulation of cool air. With their bodies so close the extra drop in temperature was barely noticed to Bella, but she was buried in blankets and not having at least one random limb uncovered at all times like Declan, due to his size.

He lays on his side, face weighing lazily on his hand. She lays on her back, knees bent and fingers messing with the edge of the blanket. There's a moment of silence as they switch off the lights, but it doesn't feel heavy or awkward. The wear they feel deep in their bodies from the busy day is apparent to them both as they lay on each other with no hesitation to the touch now. They had spent the majority of the day holding hands like a couple of kids on a field trip.

He hears another big yawn from her. "So tired." she says, smacking her lips.

"Big yawn for a little lady." he chuckles, that deep and relaxed sound that makes her close her eyes and hum with contentment.

"So nice to come back here where it's quiet after being around people all day." she says, her voice soft and quiet.

"Yeah it's like camping. I like it." he says, resting his head now on his pillow, propped up a bit above her with the height added from his arm.

"Maybe I would like camping if it's like this."

"You should come with me sometime." he offers.

"I should." she says without reluctance.

"We can even use this van." he offers.

"That'd be nice. It's nice to have this like... little bubble with you to come back to after a long day. Like a little escape from everybody else."

"Yeah." is all he responds at first, a smile on his face for her complimentary words. "It's a nice little bubble we've got here." he says before a yawn catches him.

"I like being here..." her words start to take longer to come out as she starts fading, trying to stay awake and talk like a teenager at a sleepover. "With you..." another pause as the smile still hasn't left his face. "Just so... comfortable." were her final words before she dozes off.

He chuckles and she doesn't even notice. Her mouth slightly open, one hand in her hair and the other on her stomach as her breathing moves to a deep and steady rhythm, he yawns again, wanting to stay in this bubble she was referring to. The moon came in just right so he could get a glimpse of her. He wishes he could get a picture of her like this, so peaceful. He'd just have to stare longer to burn it into his mind.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd had so much fun with a woman like they had today. She was bold and wild, never backing down from a taunt or challenge, and never losing gracefully. Which lucky for her, he found to be highly endearing. And it wasn't only because he got to comfort her after.

Another yawn comes over him, and he knows he's going to lose the fight against sleep soon too. He takes a big breath and makes a decision to bring her in for a cuddle like the night before. He lifts the covers, moving her arm gently down and cupping her back, pulling her towards him as he moved to his back. But unlike the closed-off body language of the night before, she lets out a small grunt and a tiny mewl that makes his breath catch at the delicate nature of it as she moves closer. With her eyes still closed, she slides up against his side, an arm thrown over his waist and her head on his chest near his shoulder. Her face nuzzles with a happy little sound from the back of her throat as he tries to control his heart rate at the sudden affection. She shimmies down and settles, his arm around her back and shoulders, making her feel safe. He gets to indulge once again, his face getting to rest in her hair that smelled like berries, his fingers pulling it away from her face, fingers lazily stroking the strands, still damp at the ends. He held her close, breathing her in, stroking her hair with one hand and the other resting on her arm across his chest. She had her full weight on him, a knee over his thigh, she wasn't being shy like that night before.

They both knew something was starting. She felt comfortable to be herself around someone, and a man of all things. He kept catching himself staring at her in small passing flashes of her showing total abandon to the moment she was living in. She wasn't the same woman she was when they'd first met months ago. They both knew that, and although he was more accepting of it than her, she wasn't denying the change that was happening in her when she was around him any longer. There was something besides a mutual appreciation there. Something more than friendship, but neither knew how to make the next step, afraid of what may happen after. So for now, it would be cuddles and taunts, and maybe she could work up the courage to move forward with the endless support that he was so willingly pouring into her.

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness

#Frontier #Jason Momoa #Declan Harp #declan harp fanfic #declan harp x reader #declan harp fan fiction #declan harp fic #frontier au #frontier fanfic #jason momoa frontier #frontier fan fiction #frontier fic #declan harp au #modern declan harp #modern au #frontier modern au #declan harp x oc #declan harp x ofc #declan harp fluff

[yongieee]

lil things i (and everyone should) love about do kyungsoo

• i always think of his smile first but can u blame me? ksoos is adorable:(( the way his cheeks lift up n u see his liddol teeth n the heart shaped lips ughhh😣😣

• more specifically when he gets complimented n he gets really shy n looks down shaking his head n waves his hands in front of him with that trademark smile on his face hes a babie😔

• the way he always cuffs his trousers at di bottom bc hes smol n he knows it (like me hehe)

• his casual american dad fashion in general more specifically his endless collection of jeans n corduroy trousers n chequered shirts n also his lil leather lace up shoes n that brown leather rucksack he takes EVERYWHERE (altho he legit wears the same black tee n nike joggers every day now fkdkdkd)

• his 'huh huh huh' laff n the fact he claps or slaps his thigh when he finds something really funny djdjdjdj

• the countless number of moles on his face n upper body they're all so priddy (tho my fave has to be the faint one on his upper lip)

• how his priority in any situation is always to find good food fkdjdjdjd

• when he clumsily pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.. that shit hurted

• also how he squints even with em on kddkdjd go get another eye test bby

• when hes trying new food he ALWAYS has to smell it first... appreciate the aroma.. feed the senses dkdkfkkfk

• how his left eyebrow is thicker than the right one n how they're both bushy af hehe

• how although he's not the most forward with showing affection and things like that, those big eyes of his give all his love n happiness away:(

• even tho he DESPISES being cute whenever hes asked to do aegyo he eventually gives in and does it oh so well kdnxnxnx

• his drive to work hard and his mindset towards constantly improving his craft whether that's in singing or acting

that's all i could think of for now fndmxjxn but theres hundreds of reasons im sure (feel free to add to this id love to hear everyones cute lil things they've noticed about him😭)

hes such a wonderful admirable person and i only wish him the best both in the next two years n for years to come!💕💕

#exo #squish #my post #i was intending to post this for his bday but then it passed n i forgot about this fndkckmcmd #but it seems apt to post it now since emotions are running high n we're all caught up in all the commotion of him going and :(((((( #i just love him so much n im aware this post is fucking cheesy but i mean blame him🚶🏽‍♀️🚶🏽‍♀️ #anyways im embarrassed im gonna post this and go ndmxmcmxm

[lozenger8]

an empty space you left behind

Inspired by this gifset and written for @dylantyler. Title from ‘Missing U’ by Robyn, because it’s a great song and ‘strumming my pain with his fingers’ was somehow even less subtle.

On Tuesday, Stiles launches from the side of the screen to the center with a guitar neck clutched firmly in his hand and a manic grin planted firmly on his face. 

“What did you do?”

“It was sitting there all innocent and lonely at the pawn shop, Scotty. It cost me like five shifts’ worth, if that. I spent more on that jacket last month. Listen. I already know some songs.”

That jacket? Scott has fond memories of Stiles modeling it for him. It hugged his wide shoulders, making them seem even wider, and accentuated the slimness of his waist. It’s a very attractive jacket. Scott likes it very much. Scott sits through two excruciating renditions of Three Little Birds and Hound Dog, heart thumping louder than usual - loud enough he worries Stiles could hear it - as he watches Stiles’ tongue, peeking out the side of his mouth. 

Oh. This is Not Great.

“Good try!” Scott says, because he doesn’t like to lie to Stiles and he cannot praise the actual playing. “Keep at it.”

Stiles beams at him. There’s no way he can’t tell Scott’s being diplomatic, but at the same time, he doesn’t seem to care he’s nowhere near a Hendrix. 

“I’m gonna!”

*

On a Saturday weeks later, the guitar is on the bed as Stiles is chatting to Scott about blood spatter patterns, and Scott can’t stop his eyes from wandering to it. Stiles catches him after one gruesome retelling of the blood spatter from a women whose wife had used an electric drill post-mortem. He squints, glances from the bed back to Scott.

“You wanna hear my progress?”

“Anything other than the continued adventures of Denise the Dentist, yeah, dude,” Scott says, wincing. 

Scott rolls his shoulders and sucks in a few deep breaths as he watches Stiles reach over and grab the guitar in an ungainly sprawl. Stiles’ shirt rides up and Scott resolutely refuses to stare at the strip of skin above his boxers and the hem of his shirt. The pale skin with two, no, three moles. The treasure trail that used to make Scott jealous.

He fails. 

“I know nine chords,” Stiles says, holding the guitar with a far more natural position than the last time. “I can play them with more than thirty seconds between each change.”

“You sound like you’ve actually been practicing.”

“I have. Every day. Who knew I could attain a talent?”

“You already had plenty of talents,” Scott counters.

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs, “That were already inherent in me being me. A loud mouth, insatiable curiosity, and ability to piss off all minority and majority groups. Talents, sure, but nothing I learned.”

Scott frowns a deliberate frown. “You don’t really think that’s true, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Stiles says, scrabbling for a pick on his desk, gesturing wildly when he successfully lifts it. He mutters the next part, but Scott still hears it. “I know it is.”

Stiles plays him ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’, and it isn’t what Scott would call capable or even intermediate playing, but Stiles even sings along and seems really into it, so Scott can’t help but be thoroughly charmed anyway. Plus, Stiles’ long, strong-looking fingers against the fret-board have been doing all sorts of things to Scott’s entire body. 

His face smiles against his own volition. “That was super cute, buddy.”

“That’s the first time you ever called me cute.”

Maybe to his face.

*

On a lazy Friday evening, spent indoors rather than out partying, Stiles plays Scott, ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’. It’s beautiful and Scott surreptitiously wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. Unfortunately, nothing is surreptitious when Stiles is involved. 

“They weren’t tears of ear-splitting pain, were they?”

“I wouldn’t tell you even if they were, you know that,” Scott says. But he shakes his head. “But no, it’s just one of those songs that always gets me.” Scott gestures at his chest.

It’s true, not a word of a lie, but he was also imagining Stiles singing this song to him for real, not just to show off, and it hurts to know that’s not going to happen any time soon. Probably not ever. Scott resolved himself to that after Stiles decided to go to Washington rather than stay with him, but... but it still sounds out like a discordant note inside his heart.

*

Monday morning a few months later, Stiles texts Scott to ask if he’ll be a sounding board for his rendition of, ‘Fix You’. Scott listens as he writes a paper, swaying from side to side. Stiles has gotten so good he plays with minimal breaks. Scott’s a mixture of proud and sorrow-filled that he hasn’t seen the improvement in person. 

*

It’s Saturday. Scott’s had a shitty week, a shitty month if he’s being honest, and he’s lying on his bed, head on the pillow, cradling his laptop. It’s past midnight. Stiles is up, occasionally wandering around while he talks, even though it’s literally the middle of the night for him - if not the early morning. He’s wearing a loose gray shirt and Spider-Man boxers and Scott wishes he could reach out and tug him into bed. 

“Sing me to sleep?” Scott asks, after twenty minutes of telling Stiles exactly why he’s three fourths the way to miserable. (His friend Shelley ran over a kitten and neither of them could save it, his shifts at the local vet’s were cut, he sent his mom money rather than buying more Aggie cash and is constantly hungry, and Liam was almost captured and slaughtered by hunters.)

Stiles peers at him in the dim light, his face soft and warm in a way that Scott rarely got to see in person, let alone through their video chats, and he returns with his guitar a moment later.

“Um, okay. I’m not amazing at this song yet because I only started it a week ago. But I think you’ll like it.” His next words are muted. “I hope you will.”

When Stiles begins strumming and singing ‘Thinking Out Loud’, Scott’s breath stops in his throat and he clutches his pillow tight with his left hand, claws pricking the cover. 

Stiles won’t look at him when he finishes, sets his guitar down. “Sweet dreams, Scotty,” he murmurs, disconnecting the chat. 

Scott stares up at the ceiling for another two hours. 

It can’t be what he’s thinking.

Stiles would have said something.

Stiles is terrible with handling his emotions but is always vocal in his love.

Yet Stiles has been singing and playing him love songs since those first two tracks. Only love songs. 

*

“You feeling better?” Stiles asks the next time they’re face to face. It’s another Tuesday. They’ve texted during the past couple of weeks or so, but that’s all, and Scott had found himself increasingly mimicking Stiles’ expressions and speech cadences in lieu of the real thing, to the bafflement of his college friends.

“I haven’t learned how to play guitar in the space of seventeen days,” Scott says without answering the question being asked. “But I downloaded this karaoke track.”

Scott starts the track, rocks back in his chair, braces himself, and tries not to fall apart with nerves. 

“Love me tender Love me sweet Never let me go You have made my life complete And I love you so

Love me tender Love me true All my dreams fulfilled For my darlin' I love you And I always will”

Stiles’ expression morphs from confusion to fondness to joy. He picks up his guitar and plays along towards the end of the song, humming with Scott, adding a little harmony when he can. 

“You noticed, huh?” Stiles asks when Scott finishes, scratching the back of his neck and ducking his head down.

“It took me way too long,” Scott says. He shrugs, smiles. “I got there eventually.”

“Yeah, so, I’m like head over heels in love with you, Scott,” Stiles says, too earnest considering the casual phrasing, the nonchalant slant of his shoulders.

“That’s good to hear. I’m like truly, madly, deeply in love with you too.” Scott grins, full of a huge quantity of unnamed and usually suppressed emotions. 

Stiles’ answering smile has Scott’s palms feeling clammy and his nerves zinging. 

“I feel very strongly that we need to somehow be in the same room so we can make sweet, sweet music together,” Stiles says, voice a little rough, like he’s holding back his own crescendo of feelings and can only let one or two loose. 

“I completely agree.”

*

On Thursday evening, after Scott’s least favorite lectures and the longest and most frustrating shift at the vet’s clinic, he finds himself humming along to an old song he’s only heard once or twice in the past 10 years. It takes a while to place it.

It takes even longer to realize he’s humming it because he can hear a guitar strumming the chords. He throws open the window to his shoebox apartment, blood thundering in his veins, hoping against hope he’s going to see what he thinks he is. 

Stiles stands there with his guitar. 

“In my life, I love you more,” Stiles sings. 

Scott rushes down the stairs on all fours, damn near crashes through the door in a cartoon cut-out. He’s not proud of it, but it is what it is. 

He’s careful as he adjusts the guitar so it’s on Stiles’s back, soft as he cradles his jaw, and high-pitched as Stiles closes the distance between them before he gets a chance to and kisses him with a rhythm and tempo that leave him breathless.

#my words #text post #sciles #shameless fluff #music #scottstiles #dylantyler

[southparkgodfather]

its.... yo girl.... not stealing craig kenny or stan for once in her life

Apply 1) Mun information: Name/Nickname: NAD Preferred pronouns:She/Her Age:18 Timezone:EST Tumblr URL:  Discord: -dabs- u know me

2) Muse information: Name: Eric Cartman Mob Alias: Age: 20 Birthday: July 1st 1900 Height: 5'9" Mafia: La Cosa Nostra

Appearance: Fatboi. Being raised and pampered in the mafia, Eric ate anything he wanted, whenever he wanted it. He grew up a fat kid and remained that way his whole life. Maaaaybe he’d tried losing some pounds, but that takes a lot of effort that hes not willing to put in right now. Eric gets to wear the nicest and most expensive clothes because of the power and money he has had since childhood.

Eric’s hair is a soft brown colour and straight. He was paler skin– but not too pale. No form of freckles, moles and especially no scarring or damage of any kind. This man was protected and raised by the mafia to be perfect since childhood. No way they’d let anything harm him, even if he deserves it sometimes. His eyes are a dark chocolate brown colour as well.

Occupation: The current Underboss of the La Cosa Nostra. [He wants to slowly take over the mafia from the inside whoops did someone say power hungry?] He doesn’t actually lift a finger when it comes to working. People work /for/ him.

Backstory: Eric wasn’t born into the mafia like some people. Instead he was born of a single mother, Liane Cartman. His mother was a sex worker, stuck in the sex trafficking side of the mob. She ended up getting knocked up and– boom. Eric Theodore Cartman was born. Liane, unfortunately, couldn’t afford and wan’t allowed to take care of a baby so the mobs took him. Eric was lucky he was born male, because if he was born female, they would’ve just left her to die. Taking the baby boy, they groomed, raised and tailored him to be the perfect mobster. However, the mafia didn’t realize they were raising and grooming a textbook psychopath.

3) At least 5 headcanons about your muse:

-He was born a psychopath, and because of how he was raised; he /knows/ hes above everyone else. He lacks the empathy most people have, is a pathological liar, lack of remorse or guilt, and is cunning and manipulative.T e x t b o o k p s y c h o.

-He always has weapons on his person, and he almost always has henchmen with him when out or around strangers.

-You fucking bet he has a cool, over-the-top, fancy office where “works”. He calls in people when hes bored just to scare them. Usually when lower ranked members get called up, they’re /never/ allowed to talk about what happens in that room. If they talk, they go missing. If someone gets sent to Eric for getting into deeeeeep trouble with the mafia and the higher up rather not deal with them, they often never come back. Its obvious what happens to them.

-Eric has no idea he was actually adopted into the family. If he ever found out, how he’d react is all up to his current mood. He doesn’t even know who Liane is.

-Most mobsters have big dogs to protect them. Eric has his cats. He has four cats at the moment. He has an Ashera, a bengal kitten [cause he can afford them, fuck yeah], a Ragdoll and a Siamese. Don’t. Fuck. With. His. Cats.

-He’s beginning to go blind in his own eyes. [Plotting some stuff already huehuehue]

-Eric doesn’t have many fears. He’s emotionally detached from a lot of things and people; comes with being a psychopath. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any. He very much does, but those are obviously kept under lock and key inside his own mind.

-Speaks many languages and is planning on learning more. So far he speaks English, Spanish, German, Italian and French. He hasn’t quite perfected his Russian but it’s fairly good.

4) Sample Paragraph, give at least 1-2 paragraphs that showcase your roleplaying, the only limit is your creativity:

The room was dim and large. The fire place at the side of the large office like area barely illuminated its surrounding warm brown painted walls, red velvet curtains and expensive carpeted floor. Despite the warm appearance of the room, many terrible things happened here at the hands of a terrible man. At first glance, anyone would want this office to be their own. It seemed nice, normal and pleasant. But much like it’s owner, what rested beneath was the dangerous truth.

Currently, Eric Theodore Cartman was sitting at the a dark oak desk, his feet resting up on it with like he was an arrogant king. You’d think most desks would be littered with any form of paper work. Not his. Rather, on it laid a few different things. You had you’re pens, your ‘list’— a list you didn’t want to be on— and a photograph of an unknown person to most. Those were the normal things laying on Eric’s desk.

On a tray in the center, Eric had a few metal objects. Tools. Scalpels, Extraction forceps, Chisels and mallet, the list goes on. Why did he have these?

Brown eyes studying the tray of what seemed like dental tools, trailing over each one, choosing. ‘Scalpel? No. Too easy.’ Chubby fingers grazed over the cool metals of each tool. Feeling so indecisive and running low on patience, Eric choose quickly. His digits curled around the forceps as he raised it to his face for a closer look. Twisted and turning it in his hand, looking it over as if he was making up his final decision. “This’ll do.” Suddenly, there’s a muffled, weak groan of fear.

Eric’s eyes squinted, shifting from studying over the forceps, to the man sitting at the opposite side of his desk. Well, he technically /was/ sitting. But it’s obviously against his will. The man forearms were strapped down tightly against the cheap chair that he sat upon with strips of leather. No matter how hard he tried to tug and pull away, he wouldn’t be able to rip away the material. Around this strangers head, was a white cloth tied around to the back of his head, it pressing into his mouth— successful gagging and muting him. No matter how hard he pulled or how loud he screamed no one would come. The guards outside Eric’s door would hear, but lend no aid to the poor bastard.

“Running low on patience?” Was he asking to the man or himself? Eric was eager to get this show on the road. Kicking his legs off his table, the fat man pushed off his chair and made his way around the table, now looming over the man tied down to the chair. “You know, they sent you here because they didn’t want to deal with you.” Eric’s large shadow casted over the other man as one of his fat hands shot up to grip harshly at his jaw. In his other hand, Eric clipped the forceps open and close. He cracked the mans neck up, forcing him to look at him— those brown eyes showed nothing. No empathy, no signs of remorse and definitely not any form of pity. All that was on Eric’s face was the ghost of a smile as his hand reached up and ripped the cloth out of the man’s mouth. “But…”

The man coughed, gasped and quickly began to pathetically beg.

“You’re worse off here.”

Eric’s hand swiftly snapped against the others face, causing him to gasp out. Fat hand grabbed his face and forced his mouth open again, shoving the forceps inside and gripping them over one of his teeth.

“Don’t think you can betray this family and get away with it, wise guy.”

Accepted

#application #submission